#every. single. time. AAAA

[casserpillarr]

Asks part 1. :D 👍

SO MUCH SCOUT PRAISE!!! CAREFULL!! ITS GOING TO HIS HEAD!!

More sniper? Granted B)

Comic 7 sniper with the little bug fella! 🪲

Getting that bug picture in my inbox made me smile so wide thank you :)

WAAA THANK YOU ALL SO INCREDIBLY MUCH!!!!! :''DDDDDD

Receiving all these kind asks makes my heart just melt in a puddle and I appreciate every single one. It really makes my day! and it makes me so happy that my art makes you happy! :D

Thank you for your kind words and taking the time to write something that so sweet ❤️ : >

AAAA!!! MY ART IS BEING EATEN!!

-

Decided to do some asks in a bundle since they are simular to eachother :D

Im going to do a couple parts of this as i want to answer more asks hehe

Im rather busy so we'll see when that pops up!!

Anyways thank you all for your lovely asks! also happy easter ( ദ്ദി ˙ᗜ˙ )

[ruusawa]

✶⋆.˚ sɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴅᴀᴅ ʙʀᴜᴄᴇ ᴀᴜ

✶⋆.˚ ᴀʀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴜ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ɴʏᴜᴋᴀᴀʀᴛ

✶⋆.˚ ғʟᴜғғ, ʙᴀᴛғᴀᴍ ᴀᴜ, sɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴅᴀᴅ ʙʀᴜᴄᴇ, ᴄʜɪʟᴅ ʙᴀᴛᴋɪᴅs

✶⋆.˚ 𝟺𝟸𝟶 ᴡᴏʀᴅs

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Why Bruce decided to adopt after Richard, he has no idea. Don’t get him wrong, he loves his four kids, but holy shit, they are hard work.

“Bruuuuce,” Dick, his eight year old whines at him, waving frantically from the doorway of Bruce’s study. “I want cookies.”

Bruce looks up from his laptop and to Dick who’s trying to give him the best puppy dog eyes the little boy can muster. “Why don’t you ask Alfred, champ?”

“He’s putting Cass down for a nap.”

Bruce sighs and stands up. “Okay, I’m sure we can manage.”

He heads over to the bassinet where his one year old, Tim, has woken up. He picks up the baby, grabbing the bat-sling (old habits die hard, it’s bat everything). Bruce carefully puts the sling on, making sure Tim is secure against his chest. He leads Dick to the kitchen where Jason is already, the small three year old trying to reach up onto the counter where Alfred keeps the fruit bowl. Bruce hands Jason a banana, ruffles the boy’s hair and then heads to where his mother’s cookbooks are.

“Right,” Bruce looks the recipe over, “this doesn’t seem too difficult.”

It turns out, it is pretty difficult.

Dick ends up spilling flour everywhere, some getting in poor Tim’s face, causing the one year old to start screaming. Jason, who was just trying to help, bless him, then drops half of the eggs on the floor when he tries to get them off the shelf. Not the end of the world. What is the end of the world is when Dick refuses to let Jason have a turn mixing the batter. It ends in tears and a soft scolding from Bruce. But hey, at least the cookies look cool.

Bruce doesn’t know how this happens every time he cooks or bakes. The cookies end up horribly burnt. And the oven door breaks. Somehow. Bruce is at a loss.

Dick is whinging about his cookies being burnt, Jason is trying, and failing, to reach and steal a burnt cookie. At least Tim is happy chewing his fist, Bruce supposes.

Alfred is, understandably, not pleased with the wreck of his kitchen. The day ends with a scolding, another lifetime ban from the kitchen but… it was fun. Spending time with his boys.

Bruce watches as his four children play on the floor of the lounge. It’s almost peaceful, Bruce smiles softly. Yeah, this is why he had—

“Bruce! Tim bit me!” Dick whines.

So much for peace.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

aaaa, i love this au so much. i'm definitely going to write more of it.

this work is inspired by @nyukaart single dad bruce au, specifically the comic where they try and make cookies

[teaboot]

hiiiiiii so i have concepts of a story that were halted months ago due to my inability to fathom writing From The Perspective Of A Toddler. & now i have learned that you apparently remember the experience VIVIDLY. & i would like to ask,, if you would be so kind,, if you would be amenable to. giving tips. answering questions. etc

for instance the extremely crucial Do You Remember When You Learned How To Spell Your Name. & What Was Thinking Like

. pretty please i had lost hope

Oh, sure! Yeah, no problem

Kay so I learned how to read at around 4 and was p much fluent around 5- I remember cause I LOVED Calvin and Hobbes and Calvin was one year older than me

When I was 3ish I remember my mom starting with the alphabet, and I remembered learning it in chunks- so I usually didn’t forget just a single letter, but the whole chunk. ABCD-EFG-HIJK, like how the song goes, but if I got stuck on D and couldn’t remember E I’d jump to H just grasping for the next thing I could remember. And she made me learn in German too, so I got the idea of certain letters being able to make different noises

*(English alphabet LMNOP was the hardest cause it sounded like a word- ELEMENOPEE- and since all letter names sound like words I thought it was just one letter, like DOUBLE-YOU and WHY.)

**(My favourite German letter was OOPSILON ‘cause my mom made it sound like something you’d say after falling down in a silly way- like “whoopsie-doodles” or smthn)

So by the time it came to reading and writing, I already had most of the sounds memorized- the hardest things to remember where letters that COULD sound the same but weren’t interchangeable- like G and J- and which letters were usually in pairs and when- like -CK and Qu- -and which directions they faced when I wrote them down.

The most common backwards-letters were J, L, N, b, d, S, Z, a, q, and r.

I’m not getting doxxed today but my name had letter/s that I consistently wrote backwards.

In early grades, our teacher wrote our names on big pieces of paper and taped them to the top of our desks so we could see them every day, and let us decorate around them with pencil crayons so they’d be personalized. So remembering the right letters in the right order was pretty easy pretty fast, but some would still be backwards.

After we had the alphabet song down, we all got workbooks with 26 double-sides pages or so where there was one line of a single letter spelled in dashes we could trace, like Aa Aa Aa, then a line of capitals we had to free-write, like AAAA, then a line in lowercase- aaaa. After there was a line of text using that letter we could trace- Anna ate an apple- and then like five lines where we’d repeat it.

We were only supposed to do one or two a day, and I frequently got in trouble for blowing past that.

We had other workbooks just like that for learning cursive, but IMO cursive was easier because we already knew the letters, we just had to learn how they looked then they were fancy and how to connect them fluidly.

The worst part of learning to write was keeping the pencil steady. Holding a pencil to write when you’ve never done it before is kind of uncomfortable till you find a position that works for you, and it takes a while to get a feel for how close your fingers should be to one end. On top of that, it’s super hard to get a tidy line of any shape until your motor skills catch up- and they only catch up if you DO it enough.

My least-favourite things about learning to write was guessing which words ended in a silent E, whether or not a Wr- word was just an R-, and remembering that Q was always followed by a U.

Th- Wh- Ch- -Ce and Sh- sounds had an entire class one day, and a separate poster on the board with trains and people shushing so we’d know which one was which. Like a cheat sheet! Our teacher would sometimes tape construction paper over them before class started or during recess and we wouldn’t notice until after she announced a surprise pop quiz.

I hope some of this was what you were looking for?

Good luck writing! :D

[nipuni]

Hi Nipuni, I hope you’re doing well. I’m just curious what’s your opinion about the rampant use of AI in art lately especially how it impacts artists and possibly stealing artists work to train it. As a fellow artist I’m curious of what other artists would think of this. I’ve seen many beginners artists losing hope in pursuing art because of AI and it truly breaks my heart. I hope artists wouls stay doing art no matter what because it’s very important and their art will always be valuable no matter what. By the way, you don’t have to reply to this if this particular topic is not something you’re comfortable with. I love your art so much and I wish all the best for you, you are an incredible artist and I love the energy you always put into your art🫶

Hello, I am doing great! I hope you are too! ☺️ I'm so sorry I'm so late to reply. I've been following the generative AI conversation on and off for so long now and I have yet to find a single argument that justifies it's cost. I don't think I have much to add that hasn't been said before. I think it is unethical, unsustainable, irresponsible, dangerous, harmful, theft, etc. It is neither intelligent nor generative, it doesn't think, it can't reason it's guided guessing based on statistics and pattern recognition. it's not creating anything new either it's just pulling from a database of stolen human content and mashing it together, it can't be trained on itself either so it needs constant human input too. I just don't see the point? 🫠 It's some kind of gimmicky toy made to appeal to the most annoying people imaginable by the most annoying people imaginable to profit from and at immense cost to everyone else. It's negatively impacting every creative industry in every way and even affecting the way we learn, communicate and engage with media. It's invading everything and making it objectively worse lmao. It's also dangerous in countless ways. An environmental disaster too and for what!! aaaaa It feels like a huge cultural setback and technological dead end and it's so depressing. I wish I had something positive to add after so much ranting but I don't 😔 The impact of this on creative fields among others is undeniable and I fear will make things harder for a while but I'd like to think that it's still early days and there are so many people fighting to regulate this mess and we all can help by advocating and boycotting at the very least.

If anything this whole debacle has made me examine my relationship with art more deeply and I realize I love the process of making art more than I love the result. The space between idea and finished piece that is all me, I'm in there!! and I love it there!! I can't see myself doing anything else or relegating this part. This will change things at a societal and economical level but people will always make art. I don't know where I'm going with this, I don't think the philosophical is a good angle to center the conversation on either, but I guess it's a comfort 😭 'In the dark times Will there also be singing? Yes, there will also be singing. About the dark times.' poem comes to mind

This reply got away from me oh my god sjfkhg I'm focusing on the art side of things here of course but I could go on about the damage to plenty of other fields but I don't feel qualified enough aaaa anyway Thank you so much for the kind words you are very sweet and I hope you don't let all this discourage you 🥺❤️ we will be alright!!

[scatter-snz]

Best Laid Plans - Part 2

Details: 12k, M sneezes, M/F (for now..)

Summary: A secret agent is going undercover for a few days, and his target has a sneeze fetish. It’s time for him to put his research to the test.

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3

AAAA EVERYONE ♥️ I am overwhelmed TwT. Thank you so much for sharing your likes, comments, reblogs, asks, and tags QwQ. My original stuff means a lot to me, so I’m really, REALLY touched that people enjoyed this!! To everyone who left kind words, you give me soul power 💕 I hope this part hits as hard as the first one did, and that you all like it!

Also wanted to quickly shout out @themiseryandcompany, @bestwhumpist, @juxtaposedrose, and @stormyweaver for going so hard in the tags!! Seriously kicking my feet and squealing, I felt spoiled by your commentary, thank you so much for all the love🥹

These are original characters, all in their mid twenties to early thirties!

(Warnings: Unrealistic science, Mess Lite™, fake contagion themes [nobody can catch this cold], exhibition / humiliation themes [main character gets horny in public], feeling pleasure from sneezing, masturbation).

THIS STORY IS NSFW!

-

It was a little after 1930 in this timezone, standard military time. They’d started their final descent to the landing strip with the beginnings of a sunset smeared across a cloudless sky. And during the flight, Omicron learned three key pieces of information.

Firstly, he absolutely could not stop sneezing. It was simply impossible. He’d swaggered to his plushy recliner with hubris and paid for it about 57 minutes later after dutifully repressing every single rising urge that niggled his sinuses over the course of the hour. It grew and grew in him, increasingly worrisome in its size, until the tickle was just too strong to hold at bay. No amount of snorting, nose blowing, or finger rubbing would ward it back.

It forced him at metaphorical gunpoint to the closet-like bathroom, blindly staggering through tears and wrenching hitches, where he dropped to a crouch and then to his backside with almost a dozen cataclysmic sneezes. Each one worked his lungs like a bellows, dizzying him until he saw spots, winding him until he felt breathless. By the end he was wrecked, and clinging perilously to his self control. He realized then that his sneezing wouldn’t bring him to orgasm alone; it could only lead him to the edge and trap him there until he finished the job himself. Which he obviously couldn’t do in the agency’s aircraft lavatory.

So. He gave up on the ‘don’t sneeze until the jet lands’ plan.

Instead, Omicron washed his face, dried his hands, and resigned himself to minding his nose’s whims. His original hypothesis was correct - if he did nothing to deter his sneezes, they’d come at regular, but controllable, intervals. This remained consistent as long as he didn’t make the other critical error.

Which led him to the second issue: if his mind strayed too far toward anything sneeze-related, he armed the tickle with more ammo. His sneezes became unwieldy if he held them back, yes, but they also magnified to arousing proportions if he imagined literally anything tickling his nose. This was the hallmark of Dr. Voster’s virus - the ‘suggestion sneeze.’ So to avoid a case of blue balls, Omicron did his best not to ruminate on the ceaseless, beckoning sensation that lived in him now. This was by far the most trying aspect of his predicament.

And the third and final bit of info was an exasperating realization: Agent Delta was a chronic and committed blesser even in these circumstances.

“H-ah.. DZSshuh!” 

“Bless you.”

Omicron resisted the urge to rub his nose, and instead treated it to a dab from his beleaguered tissue. Any motion more substantial than that would goad it into further misbehavior. He wasn’t interested in another stumbling trip to the bathroom.

“Sir.” He sounded as congested as he felt; his voice was locked up in his sinuses. “You really don’t have to bless me every time.”

Delta patted Omicron’s knee. The two of them sat side by side, despite the sea of empty seats around them. “Aw, Omicron, you keep saying that. I really don’t mind.”

I mind, groused Omicron. That’s why I keep saying it. His gaze drifted to the porthole window and all the little, passing structures beneath. The ground drew closer meters at a time, just as the tickle, yet again, tugged him closer to a conclusion he’d given up fighting. He blinked wetly against the sensation, then let his eyes fall shut. The image of the tiny cars cruising down below lingered, each one speeding undeterred to a destination. They were perpetual. Indefinite. And it was far beyond Omicron’s ability to stop their momentum.

He felt the tickle lurch forward, ripping his breath into a shuddering, “-hUH!hh.. mbb..” Omicron swatched his finger beneath his nose, pausing when the tickle reprimanded him with a lancing spark. “eh-HEH!..hh..”

Hurry up already, he chided with a daring snub to his nose. His nostrils pulsed erratically, aggravated, and another gasp shivered out of him. “h-hh-hh.. HAH-TZSS!sss’uhh..”

“Bless you!” chirped Delta.

It was a particularly unsatisfying sneeze, and ridiculous as it was he felt mocked by his own nose. Omicron sniffled, sniffled again, trying to flare the tickle into action. But it wouldn’t budge. He dug at his eyes with his palms.

“Does your head hurt?” asked Delta.

Omicron dropped his hands and leaned his head back against the seat with another defeated sniffle. “Ndo, sir. Mby head doesn’d hurt.”

“Do you need more tissues?”

His fingernails bit into the palm of his hand. “Ndo, sihHH-”

Unwilling to endure another hygiene lecture, Omicron flinched both elbows to his face and kept his nose there. He heaved through a series of increasingly yearning breaths, light on the inhales, heavy on the exhales, shoulders lifting and dropping each time he thought the sneeze might grant him mercy. In the end it left him wanting. He dropped his arms and panted, eyes still closed, cheeks streaked with tears.

Delta cleared his throat and Omicron lulled his head in that direction, squinting through sticky eyelashes. His superior held a fresh pack of tissues in offering, and Omicron’s cheeks heated. How many of these did he bring??

He didn’t snatch them, but it was a near thing. Delta’s smile tilted with sympathy, and Omicron prickled like a wet cat. “You can vent your complaints to me if you want, I don’t mind.”

“Not sure what you mean,” he muttered through gritted teeth, scrubbing his nose with intentional strength. It stung, but served it right. 

“It’s okay to be grumpy, Omicron.” Delta spoke like he was soothing a startled horse. “I’m sure this is a tricky situation to manage.”

What remained of Omicron’s professional decorum disintegrated, and he snapped with a waspish, “What would you know?”

Delta’s eyebrows flew up and Omicron’s blood flashed cold. He hadn’t meant to say that. 

“P...Pardon mbe, sir,” he mumbled and lowered his tissue with a sniff. “I apologize. That was uncalled for.”

“Yes, it was,” Delta agreed, his tone contemplative. “But it was also very out of character for you. I’ve seen you stay composed during triage for a gunshot wound. Just what about this has you so out of sorts?”

Admitting to Delta that there was more to this than simply sneezing - disclosing the induced erections that were slowly eroding his self control - would be professional suicide. Even if this side effect wasn’t Omicron’s fault, it was his responsibility to manage. This was a chance to prove himself, and if he screwed it up he’d never get this chance again. That’s just how it was at the agency.

He’d have to lie. Lie until he could deflect. 

“Dnothi’g, sir,” he said. “It jhhust tih.. iih..ckles-hh..hH..” Omicron’s eyelids fluttered and he crushed his crumpled tissue to his face. 

Please, please, please, he found himself begging as the itch crawled around behind his eyes. Give me a good one.

Against his better judgement, a smoky silhouette sprung to his mind’s eye. Something lithe and graceful, skulking through his nasal passages heedless of the sorry state of them. It glided across raw nerves, pausing to snuggle against their warmth as Omicron sliced his lungs with a gasp. Then dragged the breath back out on a groan. Fuck, he could feel it. Could feel the dimensions of the tickle as it prowled and pawed, arched and sprawled, coy in its torture. He could feel his nerves recoil, his nostrils spasm - a panicked cry for action.

“h-YEH!hh..oh.. hh-HEH-” 

Omicron panted as the tickle receded, plumeing into an indistinct but irritating mist. Like a phantom it spread through him, coating his quaking membranes as it drifted deeper.. deeper.. deeper still. It filled his nose with a sensation too ambiguous to do much more than hopelessly itch. His hiccuping breaths eased to stillness; he was trapped on this plateau, punished by a tickle that wouldn’t grow. It merely wanted to endure. A bit frantic, Omicron tried to grasp onto a more solid visual. It didn’t matter what it was, it could be anything, just so long as- 

“Agent Omicron?”

The torturous mist evaporated, leaving his nose singed and no longer imminently sneezy. It took substantial restraint for Omicron not to pound his armrest in abject, miserable frustration. He blew his nose in defeat, raked his sleeves over his cheeks to clear the tears, and sniffled. His nose squeaked in reply. 

“.. I don’t think I can adequately communicate how annoying this is, sir.”

“Well, it really must be a bother if it’s making you pout like this.”

Omicron puffed up in offense and casted for a snide reply before he remembered that this was his boss. He bit his tongue, figuratively and literally. “It’s true this is testing my patience,” he said, “but I assure you that it won’t impact my performance. I’ll achieve nothing less than exceptional results. And respectfully, sir, I’m not pouting.”

Then he shimmied in his seat to face the window.

Agent Delta considered him with a skeptical eye, and as someone who knew the extent of his subordinate’s gifts he was right to do so. Deception was something of Omicron’s specialty. Trained in the art of information extraction, he excelled at becoming whomever a target wanted to see: a cautious creative type, a severe and dismissive businessman, the gullible boy next door or the leather-clad motorcyclist your friends warned you about. This ability, among other qualities, landed him this case.

But tricking a stranger he’d researched for weeks and swindling his superior officer were two different beasts.

“As you say,” Delta conceded to Omicron’s back. 

The jet’s landing gear grazed the runway.

+ + +

The destination was tropical, but close enough to a coastline that the heat wasn’t stifling. Their resort hotel was nothing short of opulent, offering amenities such as: a grand carpeted staircase, bellhops in uniform, and over a dozen glittering chandeliers. They’d changed into their civilian clothes before entering to better blend in. Well, blend was a strong word for Agent Delta; he wore Bermuda shorts with an equally garish aloha shirt printed with hibiscus flowers. Omicron doubted it was an officially sanctioned garment. He himself donned something understated - khaki shorts, boat shoes, and a white v-neck t-shirt. A pair of gold aviator sunglasses sat on top of his head.

He’d done what he could for his nose. When he caught sight of it in the jet’s bathroom mirror just before they deplaned, he could understand why Delta kept needling him. The skin was blushed an obscene red, the color deepest at his nostrils and fanning out across his septum, cupid’s bow, and as far up to the bridge of his nose. He also hadn’t been aware of how much it moved on its own, incessantly prodded by the tickle inside. Looking at himself too long just made him feel sneezier, and Omicron had braced his hands on the bathroom counter with helpless hitching until he coughed out a single, underwhelming, ih’BZSch!

Now watching Delta check in at the front desk from across the hotel lobby, Omicron tempered his trembling nostrils with a touch of his index finger. Settle down, he bargained. Stop teasing me.

His phone vibrated against his thigh. It was a burner; he got a fresh phone for every assignment and didn’t keep a personal cell. A glance at the number told him exactly who it was. He lifted it to his ear.

“Make it quick, Doctor,” he said. “I’m onsite.”

“Well, hello to you too, Mr. Grouch!” Dr. Voster trilled. His mood further soured at her enthusiasm. “New phone again, huh? How’d you know it was me?”

“I memorized your number.”

“Because I’m your favorite?”

Omicron wrinkled his nose. “I memorize all my numbers. Don’t get excited.”

“You really know how to make a woman feel special, O.”

“Did you want something?” he asked, eyes on Delta as the man chatted amiably with the clerk. His nostrils twinged and he gave them an appeasing rub. “I’m busy.”

“Just checking in. How’s your nose doing?”

As if to answer, the tickle squirmed. Omicron snorted reflexively and rubbed more sternly against his sore septum.

“You’re calling at..” He checked his watch. “..1:15 in the morning your time to ask about my nose?”

“Your viral load should be pretty high by now,” she replied, sounding wide awake despite the hour. “I want to know how it feels.”

“It feels-” He’d been gearing up for a snarky remark, but it died on his tongue. Between one breath and the next something changed. His nostrils slowly flared, grazing his finger where it rested against his lip.

“… it feels?” prompted Dr. Voster.

To his credit, Omicron tried. “I-hht.. h’tzuh..” 

But then his eyes flickered shut as he became entranced by that incurable tickle. It advanced slowly, enormous in his nose, lumbering forward and promising him a bounty. The swell would have intimidated him if he hadn’t been waiting for the better part of a day. He dropped his finger from his lip and braced his hand against the wall instead. If this was as big as it felt, he’d need it to stay on his feet.

“hUH-… ugh..” A sharp sniff, and a mutter under his breath. “..chhome on.. h-hh-!”

Fuck, it was oppressive. Omicron cinched his eyes tightly shut as he eased a breath through his tingling nose. It didn't hasten the advance, only threw gasoline on a raging fire. The tickle licked at his nasal nerves, which began to spasm in alarmed reply. Suddenly he was gulping down air, hitching so loudly it felt lewd.

“hah!hh.. uHH!h.. HUH-.. HUH-.. HUH-!”

The fire burned on, colossal and all consuming, demanding so much of him that his lungs filled to the brim. He could feel his head ratcheting by degrees, twitching back even when he could take no more air. If he could open his eyes, he’d probably see the shimmer of those fancy chandeliers. The tickle seethed for an agonizing moment. A quiet ache of pleasure twisted his gut. And then-

“WRRUZZSSSSHOOO!!”

Ecstasy. 

“HHHH-!.. RRIHSSSSCH’YUU!”

It scraped through him thoroughly with a crack of throbbing relief. Dazedly, he hitched anew. In, in, in-

“h-hH-HH-” And out in one fell swoop. “HPT’ZSSSCHOOO!!..nnngh..”

Omicron thanked himself for the foresight of leaning against the wall. Otherwise he’d probably be on the ground, or at the very least staggering aimlessly as his sneezes tossed him around. His nose didn’t seem to know what to do, other than grant him another.

“HAH’DIZSSSH’uh!”

And another.

“HEH’YIIZSSCHOO!ohhh..”

He gasped for breath, the hand holding his phone routing to his sternum. He could feel his heart hammering, his chest heaving. Each time he sneezed, his abs clenched. And with each release, a cloying ache spread through his groin. He was probably erect by this point but-

“Hih-.. HIHBISSSH’YAHhh!”

He didn’t want to stop. Omicron breathed deeply into the tickle, feeling it paint the inside of his nose with a swath of sensation. Something speared into his sinuses - the probing tip of a paintbrush, a thin piece of twine, a fiendish little intruder intent on undoing him.

“IIH’TIZZSCH’iu!!”

His lungs emptied and replenished themselves with another single, flowing breath. Despite his light-headedness and unsteady legs, Omicron felt himself smiling. 

“HHHH!.. EHJZZSSHUE!!’hhhooohh by god..”

It resonated pleasantly, like he struck his body with a tuning fork, and the trancelike need to sneeze, gasp, sneeze finally ebbed. The tickle receded, mollifying his nose in its tide. He could still feel it floating around in his sinuses somewhere, sated for now but impossible to fully satisfy. And of course his dick wasn’t satisfied in the slightest. His balls ached terribly. He’d had the good sense to arrange himself before entering the hotel lobby, fully aware he might find himself in this predicament in public. Again.

A voice spoke intelligibly, muffled against his shirt. Oh right, the phone. He put it back to his ear.

“What?” he panted.

“Did those feel good?”

He sniffled and fended off a full body shiver. “Don’d all sdeezes feel good?”

“Mm. Yeah.” Her tone was weirdly stilted. “Well. So. This is awkward, but I might have-”

Omicron tuned her out as he gathered himself. He was in dire need of a tissue, and he’d caught his own shirt in the crossfire of those last few sneezes. A quick scan of the room confirmed that just about every guest and employee saw him letting loose without even an attempt to cover his mouth. Many people were staring, including Agent Delta. The man was agog, but as Omicron stared back, he got the prickling feeling that it wasn’t him Delta was looking at. It was a second after that when he heard who exactly caught his superior’s eye. 

“Bless you.”

He clocked the voice before he turned, which gave him a split-second to prepare his expression. He arranged a look of chagrined surprise and hung up the phone on a still-nattering Anita.

“Oh!” He jumped, and flashed a shy smile. “Thagk you.”

She was taller in person, with legs a mile long and hair falling in thick waves to her waist. She wore burgundy lipstick, accentuating the plush shape of her mouth. A voluptuous woman, her Bohemian ensemble framed her curves and flowed around her like a modern renaissance painting. Her jewelry spoke of wealth, her painted nails spoke of elegance, and her eyes concealed a careful fire. 

She held out a pair of sunglasses. Mine, Omicron realized.

“You dropped these.”

He took them from her with a chuckle. “Ah, jeez, that’s embarrassi’g.” He sniffled and didn’t miss her swift glance at his nose. “I really mbade a spectacle of mbyself. Sorry about that.”

“Not at all,” she said. Her voice was dark velvet, soft and sophisticated. “I’m sure you couldn’t help it.”

Omicron juggled his phone and his sunglasses, keeping his eyes on her as he unearthed a half-empty package of travel tissues. He kept up his sniffling, in part for her benefit and also because his nose dripping onto his shirt was an imminent concern.

“Yeah, I’b kind of a mbess todahhy..” He tried to keep his eyes open even as they fogged with emergent tears. His voice scratched against a tender throat, tremoring around little hitching hiccups. “I do-hh!T huh.. don’t eved doe where th.. hh-hH!..mbghh, where all thad came fromb I-hhH!.. ndormally don’d sdnee-”

It overpowered him suddenly. He just barely rushed a tissue to his nose in time.

“hiH’TISsh’oo!” Back to the regulars, and just one didn’t quite cut it. Omicron huffed his way to a second. “..uh.. hck’KSSH’u!.. ugh..”

“Bless you,” she said.

That took care of the itch (for now). He wavered on his feet, fawn-legged from his earlier fit, and muttered a guttural “Pardod be” as he ducked away to noisily blow his nose. It took several tissues before he deemed himself presentable and by the time he got all the used ones shoved into his shorts pockets, he turned back around to see his sunglasses being offered to him again. 

Omicron chuckled hoarsely as he took them from her. “I should probably start carrying a spare pair, at this rate.”

There was an amused tilt to her lips. “Perhaps.”

He shared in her smile until the pause between them stretched a little too long. Then he jolted into awkward conversation. “Ah, um- where’s my manners, jeez, I’m Nicolas.”

Nicolas Foster, his cover for this operation: an under-the-weather tourist in town for a destination wedding.

She inclined her head to him gracefully and held out her hand. “Josaline.”

Josaline Jewel, his target: business mogul of the fashion world with a clothing line, makeup brand, and lucrative designer bag collection all sold exclusively online. The agency suspected her of extensive cybercrime; Omicron’s job was to uncover any signs of money laundering, malware manufacture, or identity theft.

“I’d shake your hand,” he said with a self-conscious scrub of his palms against his shorts and another self-deprecating laugh, “but I’ve been sniffly all morning, I’m sorry.”

“Oh?” Again her gaze flashed to his nose when he wrinkled it with a sniffle. “Are you not feeling well?”

He sniffled again as he fiddled with his sunglasses, bashful. “I’m still hoping it’s the jet-lag, but it feels like I’m coming down with something, yeah.”

He punctuated this with a wrist swipe beneath his warm, chapped nostrils. They flared to caution him against further meddling. Josaline crooned in sympathy.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Doubt it, he thought to himself as he offered a warm smile. “That’s really sweet of you to say. Thanks.”

Omicron researched sneeze fetishes as thoroughly as he cased intel on Josaline Jewel. Operatives observed her engaging with unfamiliar men at industry events or galas, escorting them off the dancefloor and into private quarters. All these men had two things in common: they were shorter than she was, and they were at the time afflicted with sneezing. Though she didn’t seem deterred by illness, the agency lacked further details. To fill his void of knowledge, Omicron dove headfirst into a world of niche kinks; he read and watched a towering amount of sneezy content, some of it about fictional characters he’d never even heard of. But he left the experience a more educated man, enlightened and prepared to perform. Now it would be a game of discerning Josaline’s preferences.

“What brings you to town, if I might ask?” Josaline asked. She took a hesitating step in her peep-toe wedges and Omicron followed the cue to walk with her.

“A friend’s wedding,” he said, and it became obvious that his increasingly wet sniffles required maintenance. He sighed as fished around for his last clean tissue. “He’s an old college buddy, super nice guy. The wedding’s not until next week, but I had some time saved up at work and the flights were cheaper on weekdays, so..” Tissue acquired. “..I guess it worked out pretty well.”

“Do you enjoy traveling alone?” she asked, setting a sedate pace across lush carpet and spotless tile. “I find it invigorating, but it can be a little lonely now and then.”

He blotted gently at his nostrils. They fussed at the treatment, jerking and fidgeting against his fingers. Yes, that’s right, Omicron goaded. Tickle me. Go on. The virus humored him, unfurling and sauntering forward with ambition. Instantly his eyelids got heavy, and his voice grew heady.

“Oh, I couldn’t afford this place by mys-.. mys-hhelf..” He kept the tissue tucked to his face this time, muffling his voice and obscuring her view of anything but his fluttering eyes. “I’m hhuh-” 

The tickle got to work, trailing feather-light fingers along his nasal walls. They writhed, trapped and helpless to the whims of a persistent itch. It stroked sensitive places, unhurried and secure in the knowledge he could do absolutely nothing to stop it. He tried to speak around the buildup, each breath a little blip or sigh he couldn’t repress.

“Ho, sorry, I’m rooHH-!.. uh.. rooming with another frihhend whose… als-uHH’h..H-H!” 

He paused as the tickle escalated, now lounging indulgently as it guided him to a gasping high. Its approach was always rhythmic, an everlasting titillation that magnified as the tolerance of his nose diminished. Omicron shot Josaline an apologetic glance over the edge of his tissue and found her looking right at him. For the first time she lost composure, and hurriedly ducked behind a lock of her hair.

“.. Are you alright?” she asked, staring at the floor as they continued to stroll.

Omicron cringed through another playful swipe of the tickle, like fingers made purely of fluff skimming up the length of his nose. He gasped hugely, certain it would come, but then let it out on a near-moan. “..ohhh, sorry- it’s this cold, I-.. Iyyiieee..HH! iG’GZZSCHhu!”

It was a little stronger than he thought it would be. Instinctually he flashed a hand out and anchored his grip to whatever was nearby. The tickle gave him another long, firm stroke and his nerves begged mercy. 

“HIH!PPSSHh’oo!” And another lancing tickle, like washing your car with a sponge, running your hand along a cat’s back, a frictionless glide but it was malicious in its softness and it agitated his nose into rebellion. With one hand, Omicron sealed the tissue more tightly over his nose and mouth. “MMPPHSssh!”

He emptied his remaining air in a desperate blow. His nose tingled with temporary relief. The single, brave tissue did its best, but he’d absolutely need to wash his hands and find another fresh package as soon as possible. Picking his head up, he balled up the trash and knuckled his nose with his fist.

“Sorry, that was gross, I’m-” Genuine anxiety prickled in him as he looked up and realized his other hand was clasped firmly to her upper arm. That was an accident. Omicron flinched away and clung white-knuckled to his disguise. “-SO sorry, oh jeez, I really didn’t mean to grab you like that, I wasn’t- I just, I had to sneeze and then it felt like it was gonna be a big one so I-.. guess I reached for whatever was around, I wasn’t thinking…”

Josaline stood and silently let him run out of steam. A molten heat pooled in her irises. A rose tint glazed her cheeks. She lifted her purse, an understated but expensive clutch with a golden chain, and popped it open.

“Not at all, Nicolas.” Her words melted from her lips. “I truly don’t mind.”

She slipped a swatch of white fabric from her bag and shook it. It unfurled like a flag of surrender, and she held it out with a coy smile. He lifted his finger once again to his nose to graze it just beneath his itchy nostrils and felt a telling touch of moisture. His ears flushed and her smile grew.

“Oh gosh, sorry, that’s..” Cupping one hand over his nose, he reached with the other. “Thank you, Josaline.”

Omicron took the handkerchief and paused when she didn’t let go. Their eyes met.

“I do hope this won’t be the last we see of one another,” she told him. 

Just behind her, the elevator dinged. He blinked, only just noticing where exactly they were. She stepped back into the gilded lift, leaving him with her handkerchief and one last view of her burgundy smile. Then the doors closed. Omicron dropped his shoulders and blew a slow breath from his cheeks. Initial contact: not a catastrophe. Step two: arrange a serendipitous rendezvous.

Agent Delta appeared beside him. Omicron was certain he’d watched it all from a covert corner. He spoke softly, so as not to be overheard. “This is going swimmingly. Well done.”

Omicron ignored his heart’s little leap at the praise. He didn’t like to count chickens before they hatched. His mind raced to assemble all that he’d learned, the pieces of what intrigued her. “Thank you, sir.” 

“Nicolas.” Omicron looked at him, and resisted shooting the man a withering glare when Delta brightly grinned and said, “Your nose is running.”

“Yes, thank you, sir,” Omicron snipped. “I’m aware.”

He tucked into the handkerchief. It was a balm to his sore nose after so many cheap tissues. The cotton was of superb quality, probably with a thread count higher than his bed sheets back home. Omicron nuzzled into it to snuffle and blow; seconds later, he realized with dawning dread that this was the wrong thing to do. For while this handkerchief was freshly laundered, it was also steeped with an overpowering perfume.

The tickle took umbrage with this. It bristled in his nose like a startled cat, sinking claws into his tender membranes and whipping its tail angrily against the sensitized border of his sinus. He couldn’t even suck a breath in before-

“Tssh! Ih’TSsh!.. HSH’u!” He ripped his nose away from the handkerchief, holding the cloth away from him with revulsion. “Hih’KSSh!.. h’KZSh’iu! Ugh!”

“Ooh, bless you, bless you.”

The handkerchief disappeared, and without any other options, he buried his nose into the prayerbook of his hands.

“IHPsh!.. h’PZSsch!.. fugk, ednough, plhHE- HH!BZSSh!”

“Bless you!”

At last it abated. He could imagine the tickle huddled far back in his nose, growling low as it continued to lash its tail. Omicron sniffled behind his hands and coughed from the effort.

“It’s impossible to say whether she doused this intentionally or not,” mused Delta, studying the handkerchief. He tried to pass the offending item back to Omicron, who shrunk away from it. He didn’t want it anywhere near his nose. “She couldn’t have known you were allergic.”

“I’b dnot allergic,” Omicron argued through gritted teeth. Delta gave him a look that plainly said, I don’t believe you, but I’ll humor you because you’re irascible and sneezy. Omicron fantasized about strangling him with a garrote. 

They took the elevator up in silence. Delta passed over another package of tissues and Omicron plowed through several of them. More garbage to add to his pocket collection. He’d have to unload once he got to his hotel room, and used tissues weren’t the only load on his mind. His erection had yet to flag. It was easy to ignore during his conversation with the target, focused as he was on his work, but with nothing to distract him Omicron was getting tense and eager for alone time.

Which is why he balked when Delta tried to follow him into his hotel room. Omicron stopped just over the threshold. “Is this your room?”

“It’s our room.”

Omicron’s grip tightened on the doorknob. He’d been lying when he told Josaline he had a roommate. That was his cover story, yes, but not the actual plan. “I thought we were bunking separately.”

“I’ve reconsidered,” Delta replied, and while his tone was light there was a finality to his tone. “Sharing a room will reinforce our cover, and given this is your first high stakes case I’d rather stick close to support you on the ground.” He fixed Omicron with a pointed stare. “Unless there’s a reason you’d rather not share?”

Oh, you bastard, he seethed. You know what I’m going to say. Delta was already suspicious - giving him anymore ammo would just worsen things for Omicron. His hand slid off the knob. “Of course not, sir.”

There were so many reasons Omicron would rather not share a room with Agent Delta. He preferred solitude over company, silence over noise, and Delta was the opposite. The senior agent prattled about nonsense while awake and he snored very loudly while asleep. He hovered around Omicron all evening and compulsively blessed his sneezes and bullied him into watching crappy reality television shows. The hotel room was excellent, but small; there was no opportunity for privacy. The silver-lining was that there were two beds so they didn’t have to share.

After unpacking, discussing tomorrow’s plans, and sharing an array of delivery boxes from Panda Express while they watched some inane matchmaking show, Omicron collapsed into bed with a heavy head. All the congestion settled behind his eyes, and both nostrils were blocked as soon as he reclined. He jammed the charger into his phone with stuffy grunts of exasperation and then noticed the flurry of missed calls and text messages from Dr. Voster lighting up his screen. They were hours old, most of them berating him for hanging up on her and demanding that he call her back.

But it was late, he was tired, and surely by now she was asleep. He’d catch up with her tomorrow.

+ + +

Steamy hot water fell around him, sliding warm down his skin and thickening the air. Omicron tilted his head back. He hitched a single breath, and shuddered it out on a voiced sigh. “..huh..”

He braced his hands more securely against the shower walls and steadied his feet beneath him. He woke this morning with post-nasal drip and a too-big tickle in his nose. Just as Delta said before, it stockpiled power in his sleep and by the time he came to bleary consciousness, he could feel the itch in every nook and cranny of his respiratory system. It wanted out.

The tickle scuffled with his weary sinuses and his lungs snagged with a sharp gasp, “Hih!” and another slow, yearning sigh. “..hhuhhh..”

His prick throbbed and he brought a soaped-up hand down to grip the shaft. He was rock-hard, woke up that way, too muddled with arousal and tickling misery he could do nothing but stumble to the shower. Another grungy sniffle roused the tickle to action; it shimmied in the confined space, touching every nerve with its feathery borders. It was such an overpowering sensation that he couldn’t actually sneeze. Only suffer.

“h-H-HH!” Both he and the tickle waited, but to no avail. He deflated with a moan. “.. hhh-uuuhhhh..”

Omicron stroked himself, stepping forward to press an arm to the cool tile wall and lean his forehead there as he lost himself to the climb. Sneeze or no sneeze, he was going to come. Muggy air coaxed a dry cough, a snuffling breath, another flexing fidget from the tickle. It didn’t settle afterward, but instead began to twist and turn. Thrash and flail. His nose shuddered helplessly in the onslaught. Yes, yes, yes, chanted Omicron as his nostrils pulsed. That’s it. Tickle me.

He smoothed his thumb over his slit, arching forward. He panted hot breath against the sweaty tile. Water pounded down against his shoulder blades, muscles shifting beneath skin as the tickle wriggled and wormed against its prison. His nose frazzled at the attention, and Omicron’s parted lips flinched up with a little grin. He heaved with breath, whining his way through a monstrous buildup. All the while he pumped his hand at an increasingly feverish pace.

“..uh... hhUH-hh!.. HUH!’hh.. HAH-H-” His voice reverberated off the walls with obnoxious volume. The sound of wet skin squelching mingled with the patter of water on the shower floor. He gasped at the bolt of pleasure sparkling below his stomach. “-H-Hhh’oh-hh.. h’H-uhh..”

The arousal broke his momentum. He thumped a fist against the wall with an abysmally soupy sniffle. With warring sensations, neither could win. Omicron lifted his head to the shower spray to wipe his face and paused to chafe his index finger beneath his flitting nostrils. He slowed the rhythm of his other hand. You can do better than that, he challenged the tickle. C’mon, let me have it. He snorted, feeling his sinuses vibrate with the strain. Make me sneeze.

Wish granted. With a loss of sensation down below, the tickle rushed in to fill the void. It consumed him in an instant. Omicron inhaled as if the shower water suddenly turned to ice.

“HHHHH!! IIHDDZSSSCHHYOOO!!”

It was finally out, the start of what felt like a dozen. His whole body trembled, including his dick, and Omicron dazedly picked up the pace as his nose cramped with another powerful swell. Another butter-smooth gasp.

“HIIIIH!! EHTZZSSHHH’EH! Mmmbb-!”

A beautiful ache bled through his abdomen, mirrored in the tingling clarity of his nose. Fuck he didn’t know when Delta would be back from his morning run, but.. “nnnggh..HAAASCHHYUU!-uuooh..”

He’d never been a quiet man in bed and these sneezes were some of the best he’d had so far. His membranes twitched in relief each time, as did his prick, before another storm quickly gathered. Omicron instinctively sped up the tweak of his wrist as he rocked into each stroke. He wouldn’t last much longer; he’d been edged long enough. His flaring nostrils flew wide.

“h’YIZZSSSH’Iyuh!! hooh-.. hh.. H-HIISSCHH’OOO! hhhAH-!” 

The orgasm hit like a truck. It rippled through him, wrenched him forward, and it would have been perfect if the shower floor wasn’t so damn slippery. As he shook his way through the aftershocks, the tickle snuck up on him.

“iiGGXSHH’TT- AAH-” Nothing about him was prepared. It exited roughly through his congested airways and upset his equilibrium. His feet went out from under him and rolling with the momentum spared him a concussion from the slick tile. It didn’t spare his pride however when he heard a voice from the other side of the door.

“Bless you, Omicron! You okay in there?”

Fuck, cursed Omicron, back flat to the tile as the shower pelted water into his eyes. When did he get back?

“Fine!” he barked back. The slip-scare soured what remained of his orgasm and the inside of his nose ached with raw exhaustion. He touched a knuckle to the tip. Before Delta could ask, he added, “I dropped the shampoo!”

“Well, be careful,” Amused, now that he knew his subordinate was alright. “Sounds like that nose of yours means business today!”

Omicron covered his face with his hands and sighed.

+ + +

Sunshine coated the simmering pavement. People kept their sandals on as they milled about for fear of burning their feet. Couples cuddled together in upholstered loungers around the pool’s perimeter. Loners relaxed with books on couches sheltered by giant, colorful parasols. A dual walk-and-swim-up tiki bar bustled at the far end of the pool, surrounded by wading, tipsy tourists. This was an adult-only area, so aside from the group of trust-fund college grads squealing and shoving one another off the diving board, it was quiet and classy. 

Nicolas ignored wandering eyes as he maundered the water’s edge. 

After his ill-fated shower, Delta informed him there was surveillance of Josaline Jewel in this area and it was time for a fated meeting. He’d put on a pair of colorblock swim trunks and a thin cotton cream shirt he left unbuttoned over a waxed chest. He was not a big man, but his work kept him toned. Defined abs, firm pecs, broad shoulders with muscles that rolled across his back when he moved. He’d use them all to his advantage.

Deep in his sinuses, the tickle swelled. His nostrils weakly complained and he hushed them with a quick back-forth sweep of his finger. He’d use this too, when the time came.

An arm draped over his shoulders, dragging him in for a chokehold hug. “The whole team should take a vacation sometime,” Delta said fondly. “This is fun.”

Speak for yourself, groused Omicron. Irked as he was to have Delta here, it would help his cover. Acting with a partner provided an opportunity that single performances couldn’t. Besides, jerking off in the shower took the edge off his temper, so Omicron weathered the affection without complaint. He only pressed an elbow to Delta’s chest when his own expanded with a fast-rising urge.

“G-Gonnaahh-” He hiccuped a hitching breath. Experienced now in dodging, Delta leaned away as Omicron pitched haphazardly into his opposite arm. “hih’DZSSS’ooh!”

“Bless you,” muttered Delta, and mercifully didn’t complain about the distinct lack of vampire-sneeze etiquette. Some of these sneezes just got away from him, no matter how slow or quick they came on.

They both paused for more, but after a couple uneasy breaths, none arrived. Omicron checked the damage: no shirt stains, a slight drink spillage but not on himself or anyone else, and Delta wasn’t caught by collateral. Insufferable as his senior officer could be, Omicron would perish if he accidentally sneezed on him. 

Delta lowered his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. “See her anywhere?”

Omicron scanned as they walked, swirling his stemless wine glass before he took a sip. “Not yet.”

“Maybe she left before we got-”

“Hello.”

They whipped their heads to the left and there was Josaline. She wore the widest brim sun hat that Omicron had ever seen, black with a dramatic dip, and streaked with a white ribbon that matched the chic blacks and whites of her asymmetrical one piece suit. She still wore heels, toes painted to match her nails, ankles crossed. Her smile peeked at them from under her hat and designer sunglasses.

Nicolas roused himself and gave her a helpless smile, as if he hadn’t meant to stare. “Hi.”

“Were you looking for me?”

He fished a hand at the back of his neck, flushed to his ears, and Delta playfully tightened his grip. “Yeah, he couldn’t stop talking about you.”

Nicolas elbowed him with a hiss under his breath. “Harry!”

“I’m Harry by the way,” Harry told her, swooping in to offer his hand. Nicolas wrestled out of his hold in the meanwhile, straightening his shirt with a huff. Josaline raised a hand to her mouth to hide her widening smile.

“You must be the friend Nicolas mentioned. The one he’s rooming with?”

“Oh, he told you about me, huh?” Harry smoothed back his hair and waggled his eyebrows. “All good things I hope.”

Nicolas took another sip of his drink as they chatted, wrinkling his nose to one side and then the other. A quick, strong sniff flared his nostrils wide. He let the breath go on a sigh. Josaline tilted back the brim of her hat.

“Feeling any better?”

“Ndot really,” he conceded, then moved to sit across from her on an empty lounge chair. His shirt fell open to frame his sculpted chest and she curtly inspected the view. His pecs jumped with a brisk sniff, then another. He knuckled more aggressively at his nose. “But I’mb dnot gonna let it spoil mby vacation, if I can help it.”

Feeling lousy wasn’t actually a lie. Omicron woke up in the thrall of the tickle, yes, but when he had the ability to think afterward he realized he wasn’t at his best. His throat stung when he swallowed, scraped sore from all his harsh sneezing. His abs felt like they’d been through a ruthless core workout. And there was a disconcerting malaise settling over him, a woozy feeling that he refused to acknowledge in hopes it might just go away. 

“Forgive me saying so, but should you be drinking in your condition?” she asked, nodding to his glass. He took a breath to reply but Harry interrupted with a booming laugh and an amiable slap to the smaller man’s back.

“That’s just lemon tea and honey,” is what he told Josaline and that was also true. He did lie to Delta about it just being a prop for his cover story though. In actuality, it took the edge off his aching throat. Harry carried on, unaware. “I told him to try a hot toddy but he’s a little goodie two shoes when it comes to nursing a cold.”

Nicolas narrowed his eyes, blinking as they began to glass over. All the while since he woke, the tickle in his nose continued to haunt him. Contrary to Dr. Voster’s claim to Delta, the sensitivity hadn’t diminished at all. He bodily turned from the conversation with his drink held far away from him. His other arm tucked snugly around his nose as he sucked in a shuddering breath. Then quaked in place.

“.. hik-.. iH-GZSShu!”

“Bless you,” chorused the other two. 

He picked his head up by hesitating degrees before giving it a sharp shake. More sniffling, a thick clearing of his throat. His gaze darted to Josaline, who glanced away when he caught her looking. “Pardod mbe.”

“You know what? Try not to ruin my vacation either,” Harry griped at him, then looked to Josaline. “Nobody wants to get within five feet of me with him around. He’s like a walking cold medicine commercial.”

Omicron’s eyebrow twitched. “Well at least I don’d snore.”

Delta shot him a look that Nicolas met with innocence and a sip of his drink. Omicron shouldn’t push his luck, but he refused to pass up the chance to take pot-shots at Delta while he could get away with it. Josaline giggled.

“I can tell you’re old friends,” she said as she looked between them. “Do you see one another often, outside of events like this?”

This spiraled into deeper discussion. Delta and Omicron rattled off fake trivia to all her questions, and asked about her in turn. She was vague about her work but fairly open about her personal life. Almost all of it was useless small talk, aside from a compelling instance when she told them she created the software for her website’s security certificate herself. Her competency in coding wasn’t something Josaline Jewel advertised to the public. 

Dr. Voster called him exactly three times during the chat, and each time he dumped her to voicemail. She knew he was working. Whatever she needed to ask him could wait, or ideally, be an email.

Soon the sun was past its apex and Omicron was running out of tissues. Mortifyingly, a passing poolside waiter brought him a little bin for him to toss his trash so he didn’t have to keep walking off to a garbage can. Over the course of their conversation Josaline’s attention gravitated squarely to Nicolas and both men took this as a cue.

Harry slapped his hands on his thighs and stood. “Alright, I’m gonna check out the casino. I’ll catch up with you later, Nick.” He winked. “Have fun.”

Nicolas waved him off with one hand and tended to his unruly nose with the other. His nostrils pushed against his fingers, pulsing irritably. The tickle seemed to get worse over the course of the day, and his sneezes were coming with frustrating regularity if he didn’t waylay them. He tried to strike a balance between holding back and letting go, observing Josaline’s reactions all the while. She definitely wanted him to sneeze as badly as he did, which is why he chose to press the flat of his forefinger hard against his septum until the urge receded. He huffed away the gasp he’d gathered.

“.. huh-hh, sorry, I’b probably ndot great combpadny right ndow..”

He opened his eyes to find Josaline staring at him from under her lashes. She’d taken off her sunglasses some time ago. “On the contrary, I find you captivating.”

Nicolas laughed, ducking his head to cough. “Really? Thad’s a relief. I was worried all… this,” here he gestured to his nose, “would put you off.” 

He punctuated with a sniff, the sound purely liquid, and rushed a hand to cup his nose while he tried to free the last of his tissues from the pack with the other. “Ugh, sorry-”

“Did you lose the handkerchief I gave you?”

Omicron feigned surprise, as if he hadn’t been waiting for her to ask. “Umb.. so-.. hah.” He scrubbed his finger under his nose, subduing his wavering nostrils. “I did use it, but I thig’k you had someb kinda perfumeb on it?..”

Her lips parted in shock, and Omicron knew at once that the scent on that cloth wasn’t intentional. Maybe it was a habit of hers, dousing her handkerchiefs in perfume, but she didn’t know it would actually make him sneeze. There was a faint, petal-like blush spreading across her cheeks and her thighs tensed more tightly together. Well, well.

Nicolas blinked wetly, as if the memory of the handkerchief was enough to make his nose tickle. Granted, literally anything was enough. “As soon’d as I-.. as I-yee…huh-” He blinked again, and again, each time a little harder and with more moisture in his lashes. With a swallow, he tried to hurry through the rest, “As I used ihht I.. st- st..”

He pressed a hand to his sternum as his chest jumped with a little sip of breath. The tickle fluttered in him, enticing. Omicron gave in for just a moment, letting his eyes fold shut, relaxing into the sensation of it. Sometimes the virus felt mechanical, automatic, indifferent to him and his reactive nose. Like a machine chugging ever onward, so did the tickle continue to toil. Tickling.. and tickling.. and tickling… Blind to his convulsing nerves, deaf to his snagging breaths, just carrying on with its function with no regard for the consequences.

Unable now to open his eyes again, Omicron spoke around compulsive gasps and breathed his words on the exhales. “hH!S’made be-.. h-HH!Bade be-uhhh.. snd’HIH!.. sdeehEEZZSSHOO!”

Nicolas snapped forward, sneezing over his lap, and belatedly raised a hand to his nose. It was running copiously. He wouldn’t get the job done with what was left of his tissues, unfortunately. He squinted against another hopeful tickle, begging himself now to keep it together. He really didn’t want to sneeze again like this.

A flash of white caught his eye. Josaline, her gaze boring into him with palpable weight, offered another handkerchief. He swallowed. It was identical in every way to the first, and Omicron suspected it smelled the same too. But this was what she wanted, and he was a professional. He would deliver.

He took it from her and began to unfold it with both hands to give her an uninhibited view of his face. As he began to wind up for another sneeze, he gave the tickle full control over every micro-expression. The fitful flare of his nostrils. The crease of his crow’s feet. His quivering, parted lips. The way his nose gathered grimacing wrinkles at the bridge when the urge became undeniable. His voice bled into his heaving exhales, unintentional but not unwelcome.

“H’uhh.. iIH!hhh..h-h-!hohh.. mbbggh..”

This was the worst part, when it crested to a peak but couldn’t quite get him high enough to tip him over. Throwing caution to the wind, he lifted the aromatic cloth to his face and breeeeeeeathed-

“KZZSSSCH!”

Rough, wrenched out of him in fury. As the methodical tickle gave way to a fierce burn, Omicron had just long enough to wonder if Delta was right: he might actually be allergic.

His eyes rolled closed and he shuddered helplessly into the handkerchief. “iih’TZSsh!” A tight breath and then, “iik’KISHH!... hd’IZSSH!.. Tshh! it’TZSH!”

There wasn’t time for anything else. No wavering gasps, no bleary moment of respite before the next volley. It was a quick trigger release, too itchy and ineffective to do anything but wind him. “-DSSH’uu!.. hd’DZSSH’oo!! ohh..HH!”

He heard Josaline stir in her lounge chair, and then felt the jostle of his own when she sat down beside him. A hand smoothed up and down the line of his spine, pausing to feel his back expand with a single, catching breath. 

“-ig’GEZSC’Hoo!.. GZSShuu!.. Chshh-IH’chzssh!.. HIH!chzsch! Ugh!” He finally managed a shaky blow into the folds of the handkerchief. A couple desperate hitching breaths and then he quickly committed to another. It cleared away most of the mess; he was able to free his nose for air.

His eyes were still locked shut, but he could feel his nostrils twitching like a rabbit’s. Rushing a finger beneath them did nothing. He sneezed against his hand. “iihpssh!... h’TZschh!h- hIKssh!! TIZSSCH’u!”

It felt endless, and nothing like the big, bad wolf sneezes that the tickle cooked up. No, these didn’t help anything. Each sneeze just somehow itched him more. “..hah-..hh.. hH’ZSSCH’yah!”

He nearly lifted the handkerchief back to his face and caught himself at the last moment. Loathe as he was to do it, he used the collar of his shirt instead. He had nothing else. Omicron lifted the corner to his nose, his nostrils so warm to the touch they felt feverish, and muffled what he could.

“MMFZSSH!.. hg’ISHH!..” At least it was slowing down. He sniffled, feeling muzzy, and finally cracked his eyes open. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He closed them again with a jumpy, “hih- IH!-..MMPHZSSH!!”

Omicron waited, tense, for the next one. It sizzled in his sinuses for a solid few seconds before dissipating in a wave of prickling dismay. It left his nose wary, on guard for the next attack, even as the virus insidiously labored away inside him. His shirt was a lost cause, so he shrugged it off and used it to blot at his face as he snuffled and hitched his way into presentability. Holy hell, that was more than he bargained for.

“Bless.”

A touch alighted on his bare arm. Nicolas picked his head up, squinting through puffy eyes and already cringing with apology. “Sorry,” he croaked. “I thigk I mbight be allergic.”

“Yes, so do I,” she breathed, and smoothed her touch to his back again. Without his shirt in the way, her palm glided up and down his skin. Her other hand thumbed a tear from the corner of his eye. “You poor thing.. I didn’t realize that’s what you were trying to say. Forgive me.”

They were both lying to each other now. Nicolas shook his head, both his hands coming to hold one of hers. “Ndo, ndo, it’s ndot your fault! I couldn’d explain itd well.” He gave her a pitifully tearful smile. “Had to sdneeze too bad.”

The tone shifted. Omicron could feel it keenly. Josaline squeezed, then let them go. Her hands lifted instead to cradle his cheeks, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I need to confess something.”

He blinked at her, wide eyed. “... Codfess whad?”

“I’m not the sort of woman to be repelled by all... this,” she said softly, with an equally soft graze of her thumb against one of his chapped nostrils. It flared in response, and Omicron fended off the visceral need to rub it. Josaline stroked him again, and his nose twitched away from her. The tickle bristled and he leaned out her hands, racked with fittish hitches. He jammed his finger beneath his septum, barely catching himself before a sneeze tumbled out. 

She watched him avidly as he battled back the urge, one eye squinted shut in a lopsided wince. Her attention honestly flustered him; Omicron never liked attention when he sneezed, and her gaze in particular stripped him bare. He lowered his finger reluctantly, and kept his hand hovering at chest level. The sneeze was stalled but certainly not gone.

He sighed his words. “S-uh.. Sorry, I-.. hooh, I bight.. I-ihhm godda-HH!” He wiped his head to the side. “iih’DZSCH’iew!! ugh, b’sorry..”

Her voice wavered. “Please don’t be sorry.”

“I-hhuh.. hkrrm!” Omicron cleared his throat, bringing the edge of his shirt up to his nose to blot and then, with great disgust, blow. He was going to burn this thing when he got back to his room. When he finished he looked away from her, painfully embarrassed. “I’m seriously so gross right now, I’m sorry-”

“Nicolas..” She slid a hand up his arm, splaying her fingers on his shoulder. Her other arm came around to rest at the juncture of his neck so she could toy fingers at the short, fine hairs on his nape. “I want to be clear. I’m not put off at all by your cold. Frankly, I think it looks very good on you.”

He frowned at her as the gears turned, then perked up when they slotted in place. “.. Oh!”

Josaline smiled wide enough to show her teeth, humming a little laugh. “I would like to kiss you. Is that alright?”

She drifted into his orbit as she spoke, her smokey stare flicking between his eyes and his lips. He nodded, and met her halfway. As their mouths met, she tugged down the brim of her hat to hide them from view. They kissed behind a black veil, his hand reaching to cup her jaw as she pushed a palm up the plane of his bare chest. With his nose so completely packed, Nicolas gulped air between passes of her tongue and chuffed soft, stuffy breaths against her skin.

Something about Omicron. He was suited to his job in many ways, one of which being his attitude toward infatuation and sex. Romance made his skin crawl, and physical intimacy was to him nothing more than a nice dessert. Delicious? Yes. Mandatory? No. He desired sex as much as he desired bubble baths or a night at the opera. He never let it distract him from his mission, even when at times it was his mission. It was a point of pride for him.

She eased him onto his back, kissing him deeply into the plush of the lounge chair. The new angle wasn’t great for his nose, shifting congestion in his head like tetris blocks until he whimpered against her lips. She finally let him up for air and he heaved in a breath, snuffling squeakily and then coughing when the air bottled up in his sinuses. He belatedly turned his head, and flushed up to his hairline.

“- guh, suh-sorry,” Nicolas whispered, his voice gravelly. “Can’d breathe through by dose at all.”

“Stop apologizing,” Josaline whispered back. She nudged the tip of her nose against his, nuzzling him even as she bit down on his lower lip to mumble around the flesh. “Can I help?”

He didn’t get a chance to reply before her tongue was back in his mouth. It was dark beneath the shade of her hat, with bits of sunlight dancing through the weave. While it was no mystery what they were getting up to under there, it was as subtle and as tasteful as public displays could get. She leaned more of her weight against him, pushing the planes of her palms up the span of his chest until he made another pleading sound.

Again she leaned back by an inch and again he tried to catch his breath. His nose fizzed with a wicked tickle. Sinuses immobile. Couldn’t agitate his nose with air. It would have to be something else, another method.. 

A bolt of inspiration struck.

“Josah-H!.. Josalind,” he mumbled. She was passing time sucking a bruise on his neck. “hah.. Josalind, cad you-”

She blew a puff of cool air over the patch of wet skin and smirked as he shivered. “Can I what, baby?”

“Hhhelp,” he gasped, and arched when she laved her tongue over his collarbone. His neck was sensitive, and Omicron resolutely continued even as he arched his back. “I’ll breathe better if I cad sdneeze, bud.. huh..” He sniffled in vain. The attempt ended in another disappointed cough. “.. id won’d combe.”

It was like he said the magic words. Josaline lifted her head and refocused her attention on his nose. It looked pitiful, so raw from rubbing and snubbing that the skin shined a brilliant red. His nostrils flared like a beacon, irregular but frequent. Nicolas gazed up at her, blotchy and half-lidded. She skimmed her pinky finger up the bridge of his nose, watching his eyes fall closed and his brows crunch and his nose wrinkle up beneath her touch. She sighed, besotted.

“I can certainly do something about that, but I’m not sure I should do it here,” she murmured. Fingers threaded through his hair, scritching lightly at his scalp. “I have things in my room-”

He slivered his eyes open. “Whhee.. cad d..” They fluttered closed again as he breathed, breathed!... And then sighed out a groan. “-ohh..We cad go to your roomb-h-H!.. hiiff you w-wand.. but..huh-”

Unable to help himself, one of his hands routed from her waist to his nose to grind beneath his throbbing nostrils. Just enough to take the edge off so he could finish what he was saying. His entire expression scrunched as he worked his nose, but he plowed onward.

“..I usually don’d ndeed buch,” he clarified. “Jusd thinking about id is edough to.. to…” He dropped his hand and snatched in a gasp so deep, his chest lifted Josaline where she lay across him. “HHHUH-!” But nothing came. He growled, his first real display of frustration in front of her. She comforted him with another rake of her fingers through his hair.

“Truly?” she asked, and when he fought his eyes open to look at her she seemed awed. “No.. external stimulation at all?”

Omicron knew of the methods to which she alluded, but Nicolas didn’t. He gathered his eyebrows together. “.. Ndo?”

“How do I help?”

“You cand just talk.” He anchored his hand back to her waist, his gaze glassing over. “About how buch id t.. tiihckles..”

She pressed her lips together, her cheeks beginning to darken. “.. could you demonstrate?”

Not the response he expected. He figured she’d want to take the lead, but Omicron was nothing if not flexible. “Yeahhh..h!IH-.. I usually thig’k about fhheathers or.. flowers or.. sombthig like..” He closed his eyes and conjured an image. “Like a little bug, crawli’g around up there.”

And just like that, it’s what the tickle became. Small, at first so unobtrusive as to be barely of notice but over time the irritation compounded. Omicron hauled in a hearty sniffle, coughing for his trouble, but the endeavor cleared up some of his consonants.

“It doesn’d know what it’s doing, but it’s tryi’g to escape and the luhh.. lohhnger it searches the.. huH!ohh.. the mbore unbearable it becomes.”

He could feel it zipping about, uncaring and unaware of how it stirred his haggard nose into motion. As it scampered along the length of a nerve, the membrane flushed and quivered. As its glossy wings grazed the tender pink walls, they shuddered. Another sensation pulsed further down; heat began to pool into his abdomen.

“And it’s tiih.. tiHII-!ckling mbe, but it doesn’t know that and I can’t tell it to stop and at this p-hhoint I don’dH! wantHH!- hhihht to..” 

The little presence adventured in the wrong direction, into more sensitive depths, so deep in his nose he didn’t know it could tickle there. Omicron moaned at the honeyed ache in his groin. He desperately wanted friction, but common sense kept his hips welded to the lounge chair. He felt the tickle flutter, then flit, and then begin to panic. It realized this wasn’t the exit.

“Ahhnd th-then.. it starts freaki’g out. It’s buzzing all around and maki’g my ndose itchier and itchier, and I’m st.. start-HH!h’ingHH!!h-to.. IIH!”

Omicron imagined the wet, cavernous expanse of his tortured sinuses, every inch of it undulating in agitation all because of one little tickle. And that tickle persevered even now, darting around in the abyss of his nose unceasing. A smile flickered across his lips as another pang of pleasure swirled through him.

“.. and I just want it to keep..HHHH!” He huffed a momentous breath and his chest jumped under her hands. Words carried on his pining exhale. “.. -want it to mbake mbe-HHHHH!” Tingles trailed down his spine as he uttered the last few words in a high, airy voice. “.. make mbe snhheeze… HHDZZSSSCCHH’OOO!!”

Sparks popped behind his eyelids and Omicron moaned helplessly through a wave of carnal delight. He didn’t come, but the sneeze was paradise. He hitched gratefully up to the next one in line. “HH! HH! HHHH-” Something billowy and soft tucked over his nose and he pitched into it. “EH’JZZSSHHH’IUU!”

He groaned into fabric, stretching restlessly on the lounge chair as his cock twitched again. It was confined to the tight pressure of his swim trunks, a problem Omicron couldn’t think clearly enough to solve as he huffed and puffed his way toward another humongous sneeze.

“-ah.. haH.. HAAASZZSSSH’UE!” And still his nose craved more. Who was he to deny it? “-iihHHIIZZSSHEW!! mmbb..” Once they started, they felt too good to stop. “.. uhTZSSSSCH!!iuuhhhhh..”

Omicron keened, muffled by the cloth snugged over his nose. The break afforded him a chance to snurfle into its folds and reach up to brace his hand over the one that held it there. Deep in his nose, the tiny intruder buzzed brainlessly against nerves flayed raw. They were defenseless, vulnerable and so, so very sensitive. His chest rose and fell with an increasingly staccato rhythm, his expression frozen with need. He needed t-to.. He hhhad to-!

“ehhHPBBZSSCCH’IIYUU!”

He seized into the cloth and collapsed back to the chair. Heat surged through his veins, wondrous but left wanting as his erection strained against the front of his shorts. But at last the attack on his nose abated; the tickle retreated to the dark, hidden place where it liked to bide its time. Omicron mustered through a long, alleviating blow into the sturdy fabric. Sinus pressure dissipated from behind his eyes, just enough to take the sharpest edges off his encroaching headache. Then he just laid there panting and steadying his hazy vision when he finally opened his eyes.

He noticed a few things.

Nearly everybody in the vicinity was looking at him, sunbathers and staff members alike. Josaline was not an exception. Her hand rested lax in his, where she’d held his shirt to his face as he sneezed. And blew his nose. And he had a visible erection, blocked mercifully by Josaline’s position to the wider crowd but absolutely not hidden from Josaline herself. And for the first time, Omicron thought, Oh shit. I might actually be compromised.

“Um-..” he squeaked. All he could hear was a rushing noise, like standing in a wind tunnel, his heart banging against his ribs. Cold sweat broke out over his skin. “Um-..”

Josaline was similarly speechless. Paralyzed, even.

Did she not like it? Was it the bug thing? Fuck, he should have gone with pollen or something, that was more mainstream or at the very least, comparatively less weird. What was he thinking?! He thought this ‘sneezing untouched’ method might entice her, but a hell of an idea that was. Dr. Voster and her ridiculous pursuits. ‘Sneezing by suggestion,’ his ass. Now he was sprawled out here on display with a cock harder than diamonds and he’d just blown his nose into his shirt and practically into her hand-

Don’t panic, he counseled himself through shaking breaths. This is salvageable. Just play it off with a laugh, apologize for everything, then tactically retreat, regroup with Delta, fess up, come clean, apologize AGAIN-

“I-I’ll go,” he said, barely present as he gathered his shirt and held it in front of his crotch to stand. “I’m really sorry, very sorry about this. I just… um..”

Delta will be so pissed that he’ll take me off the case and the agency will put me on probation and I’ll be sorting files in the office for the rest of my career and they’ll never let me live this down, I’ll be the laughing stock of the force, I’ll-

A hand caught his wrist. He looked down and there was Josaline, coaxing him with soft, careful touches to sit back down. She smoothed hair off his sweaty brow.

“Relax,” she told him. “No one knows. They only looked because you were loud, and nothing more.”

If she meant that to be reassuring, it didn’t help. Everybody and their neighbor just watched him obnoxiously sneeze and moan for what might have been several minutes. So much for subtly, which was his entire job description as an agent. He was a disgrace to the force. Omicron buried his face in one hand, elbow propped on his knee. Nebulous plans to cut his losses and find a new job stalled at the sound of her chuckle. 

“And didn’t I tell you to stop apologizing?”

He shrunk inward, painfully embarrassed and hissing a whisper into his clammy palm. “Yeah, but that was-”

“It was incredible.” 

Omicron snapped his head up, blinking the blur out of his eyes. Josaline’s flushed cheeks and smile came into focus. She scooted closer to him, pressing her bosom to his arm and tucking her head in the crook of his neck. She raised the edge of his shirt, still piled between his limp hands, to dab beneath his nose. Omicron startled, recognized the feeling of something wet on his upper lip, and lost what remained of his composure.

“Could I not be a disaster for just five seconds? Please??” he demanded of the universe, of the virus, of anyone, and turned his head away to clean himself up without help. Sniffling and scuffing his nose prompted retribution. It tickled like a dangling string. Omicron ducked forward. “..h’HIDZssch!!”

Josaline swayed with him and pressed a kiss to his throat. She trailed her lips up and up even as he rushed to wipe his nose. “Listen, Nicolas,” she said against the corner of his mouth. “There is something else I need to confess to you. I want to introduce you to someone.”

Omicron’s nostril wrinkled as it was bestowed a kiss. “.. intro..hh.. duhhce me to someone?”

“Yes.” Silken breath glossed over the bridge of his nose. “To my husband.”

Everything grinded to a halt. 

It was a good thing she expected him to be floored by that news. Husband? Husband?? The word echoed around in his head, immaterial; he couldn’t grasp the concept. There was no intel about a husband. Nobody mentioned a husband. She’s married? How can she be married!? His eyes jerked to her left hand, bare of a ring. She followed his gaze with a charming smile.

“Neither of us wear one,” she explained. “We married for practical reasons, and we aren’t interested in exclusivity. He and I consider ourselves free to explore as we like.”

She’s… married. The fact churned sluggishly in his mind, untethered and unexpected. She’s married. So..

“..uhh..” Omicron contributed intelligently. “Uh, s-so.. huh-” 

Oh for fuck’s sake. He fought tooth and nail to keep his eyes open, watching Josaline bite her lip as the last sliver of light disappeared. Now the tickle was just kicking him while he was down. It snagged him by the lungs and hurled him forward over his lap.

“-eHTCHZSS’hoo!”

“Bless you,” Josaline purred, stuck to him from shoulder to hip.

Omicron tucked his fist beneath his nose with a couple convalescing sniffles. “-nguh, thagk you..” Another sniffle, sharper, and a crinkling blink to disperse the dark spots floating in front of his eyes. “So, you want me to.. meet him?”

“While my husband and I have similar tastes,” she continued delicately, “we find it more gratifying to seek pleasure with others than with one another. However..”

Here she guided him to look at her with a single finger to his chin. 

“.. very rarely, one of us will meet someone special. Someone who would please us both. Together.” 

This conversation was going at light speed while Omicron was still floating in space. He nodded, buying himself time, trying to gather more than just the word husband. So his mortifying sneeze-fit failure was actually a success, to the extent that Josaline wanted him to meet her husband, who also had the hots for sneezing? Presumably? Possibly? But wait, nothing in the files ever mentioned a husband, so that meant this was a secret husband..

“Do you understand?” Josaline asked. “What I’m proposing?”

Ménage à trois, his strategic mind supplied. Ménage à trois with the suspected cyber criminal’s secret husband. 

Suddenly, and Omicron truly didn’t know how, everything was turning up aces. Not only did he have intel on a secret husband but he’d get to meet the guy. Talk to him. Learn more about Josaline through him. Find some incriminating indication that she actually was a white-collar mastermind screwing thousands of people out of hundreds of thousands of dollars. And then he’d get his ass kissed by everybody at head office and they’d crown him King of Spies and give him only the coolest assignments henceforth. Maybe he’d get a fancy company car.. or a commissioned self-portrait in a tuxedo.. or..

Omicron jolted, as if coming awake from an impromptu nap. Shit. He rubbed both hands over his face, dismayed when they came away sticky. The humidity must be getting to him. Moist air always made him groggy. 

“Nicolas?” Josaline looked a little uncertain now.

“I’d love to,” he blurted, then ducked his with a sheepish sniffle. “Ah, I mean.. if that’s-.. if you’re offering..?”

“If you’re comfortable?” she asked back. Nicolas nodded, maybe a little too quickly because his head felt like it was on a string five feet in the air. Josaline broke into a toothy smile, reaching to smooth thumbs over the puffy skin beneath his eyes. “Really?”

“Well, I-... as long as you’re both okay with it,” he replied. His nose creased at the bridge when she nuzzled the tip of hers to his. Omicron hiccuped a breath, and huffed it against her lips. “I-hhah..”

“Dinner tomorrow night,” she promised him, watching avidly as his expression contorted. Omicron squirmed his nose in a bid for it to behave, but Josaline wasn’t having it. She kissed just beneath his nostrils as they flared against her own. Lurking in the recesses of his sinuses, the tickle emerged. “I’ll ask him.”

Then she sealed her lips over his as he contended with the damage in her wake. His nose felt full of fuzzy bits, and with his nose as his only source of oxygen, Omicron was forced to keep stirring them with air. Each inhale swept them in a wind, sending them spinning against every inflamed atom of his nerves. They moved deeper, joined by more, an escalating infestation drifting deeper into his sinuses until he was dizzy with it.

“mmm!” he hummed into her mouth. Both her hands sunk into his hair, holding him still, keeping him locked to her lips as the tickle grew and grew. He sucked a hitching, shaky sniffle that whipped all the fuzz into a storm. Omicron whimpered again, higher and sharper. “-MM!”

Only when he set hands on her shoulders did she part from him with a soft sound, and even then she did it reluctantly. By now Omicron was lost to his gasping ascent. “hih-..hIH!h.. IHT-!” On the cusp, he whirled to the side and rocked with a perfunctory, “-DZSHH’iew!!”

She draped her arms around him, tugging him into her side as he fussed with his nose. Nicolas topped backward with her to the lounge chair. “Bless.” 

“Ugh, thagks,” he snuffled and shifted in her arms to see her better. “Had to sndeeze, I’m sor-”

Josaline pressed a finger to his lips to silence an impending apology, and when she was sure he’d gotten the message, she trailed her painted nails along his bottom lip. “It’s a date, then?”

Nicolas smiled. “It’s a date.”

/tbc! 

I know what happens next, I just have to write it! Thank you so much to everyone who’s stuck around for part 2, I really appreciate you!💗Hope to see you again at part 3 ^w^

PART 3 IS HERE!

[alienpossession]

Previous part

The gym is rather quiet, but that's exactly what Carl and his new alien fella needed. They waited inside the car for around 2 hours before coming out, and the wait seemed to be worth it as their primary target still busy posing by his own with his phone on record of all of the moves he did.

As they walked in, Carl still attempted to snuck around while the alien didn't waste its time to transform itself into Braeden's form. He subdued the receptionist right away and then after a bit of resistant from the smaller receptionist, the headlock proven to be enough to knock him out. Then, Carl followed behind the alien in Braeden's form to walk in to the gym floor and it's just in time for the real one to turn around and witnessed his doppelganger

"What the fuck??? And, the fuck nerd, what you doin' right here?" the real Braeden exclaimed, shock plastered on his face because what kind of Twilight Zone bullshit is he in with this presence of his doppelganger? Before Braeden could react any further, Carl's alien friend instantly lunged at the real Braeden, his massive arms putting extra pressure that turned the real Braeden blue quickly

"Hey there twin, nice to meet you, but I'm taking over from here," the alien friend said with a wide grin while choking the real Braeden super hard

Almost out of breath, Braeden surprise did not end there as the vice-like grip of his impostor calmed down yet suddenly he found himself kneeling right in front of his perfect copy. A sadistic grin appeared on the copy's face, before he grabbed Braeden's hair

"Say aaaa bro," and with a kick to his nuts, he yelped in pain and that's exactly when the fake Braeden inserted the thick, veiny cock that Braeden always pounded to any inviting warm pussy into the OG's mouth. Braeden of course gagged by it and even attempted to bite it, but a very painful slap that caused his ear to ring stopped him from doing such a stupid, desperate action as he realized that he really is in the mercy of his doppelganger aggresor.

But then, he realized that he felt like--- lost of wor--- memo---- and that's when he real---d that something is ent---ly wrong with his me--- the longer he let his throat pounded

As if losing life essence, the dick lodged in his mouth seemingly suck something out of him rather than him forced to suck the meaty appendage. It's like as if the footlong is actually a vacuum cleaner that sucked everything from inside and before long, Braeden started to lose consciousness while his impostor seemingly more flushed with life. In a brutal, yet classically Braeden move, the alien then grabbed the OG Braeden's neck and forced him to swallow every single inches, yet he's too limp already to make any worthwhile sucking. Before long, the OG Braeden eventually turned into this almost rubbery, empty and bony degenerate form that looked like a crumpled piece of flesh.

Carl's alien friend take the clothing that clung to Braeden's body and then put it on himself. The jockstrap framed his ass and cupped his cock really well and the shorts accentuated his hard-work for the leg day in the gym. To complete the look, the alien also fished Braeden's tanktop for him to wear and in just a matter of seconds, it's like as if Braeden always standing right then and there. He grabbed the weight still not returned by the real Braeden to the rack and seemingly started his rep while staring at Carl

"The fuck nerd, what you doin' right here?"

Carl cannot help but get hard on the perfect impersonation displayed by his extraterrestrial friend. The alien also noticed the swelling and put on a smirk

"Well, I know you always ogled at me, but this time, you're a full-blown perv for coming over to my gym. Can't blame you though, I'm that irresistible,"

Carl eyes widened. Shit. A pre......if this doppelganger Braeden opens up his mouth once more, he knows he's finished!

"Pfft, are you really this pathetic? How can you handle my brothers if just meeting me already make you leaking? I have so many bros to infect in the frat house and other frat too, how can you manage them once they are all like me?"

And like a cascading waterfall, Carl soaked his pants with his cum as his mind flooded with the idea of having all of the frat house under his alien best friend's control, much to the laughter of the impersonator Braeden.

"Real disgusting, twerp. Hmmm, guess we gotta clean it up on the CCTV, just like the part where this rubber waste created," the doppelganger Braeden said with a wide knowing grin while picking up at the limp, rubber-like skin of the former Braeden that he just sucked dry moments before

[precure1ove-archive]

HELLO & HAPPY DECEMBER!! this is my first time requesting but may i request a fluffy scenario with the octo trio being surprise smooched under the mistletoe by their s/o? ty !!

come and kiss me pretty baby w. octatrio

byi : kissing(duh), teasing, joy and fluff ,leech twins, biting is mentioned in floyds

a/n : aaaa im so happy im you're first request ur gonna get a big kiss or hug anon!! these were so fun to write and think of scenarios of, i tried to make them each unique in their own way so im sorry if they turn out ooc or just badly written,,,.

Azul Ashengrotto

Christmas was supposed to be a joyous occasion, especially for those young and in love. Azul however felt nothing but utter failure, he wishes he put an octo-pot on his wishlist. 

You see, Azul had the plan of sweeping you off your feet and giving you a perfectly planned kiss from the many mistletoes he had conveniently placed around the lounge. He knew some may not work that's why he bought a few, but you had ignored every. Single. One. Of. Them. 

First was when the annual christmas party started, he had very strategically led you over to the counter to make you an Azul made original mocktail, and right above it was a mistletoe in the spot you always sit at whenever he's making you a drink. But for whatever reason you sat in a completely different chair, he saw Jade chuckling at him when passing by as you sipped your drink and Azul made sure to give him the meanest glare possible.

The second time was in a specific corner that he planned to walk over with you and act surprised at the mistletoe that's so randomly there. However with whatever entity watching above that seemed to enjoy teasing him, you walked over to the spot where the plant was no longer in range to be considered smoochable. Azul stopped and gaped at you for a couple of seconds at that before slipping back into his persona, silently cursing at himself.

The third time had actually worked, just not in his interest. A mistletoe could be seen nearby the seating area, and he had thought to go over there with you for some food as a break from all the partying. But it just so happened that Floyd was sitting on that exact table, and joked about how the two of you must kiss, staring right at Azul as he said this. 

And you gave him a kiss on the cheek.

This is why Azul is currently outside the lounge, using the pathetic excuse of needing fresh air to go and thinking of how he's going to punish Floyd for one upping him, with his own partner as well!?

Sliding back against the wall, he sits and sighs in defeat. Now he’ll never get the ‘special feeling’ of getting kissed under a mistletoe and instead be another loser on christmas. A slow creak knocked him out of his thoughts and he looked up to find your face staring back at him, arms behind your back.

“You okay? You seemed less into the Christmas spirit ever since the party started.” You speak, a small worried smile on your features as you slide down to sit next to him. He mumbled some words along the lines of ‘doing just fine’ in the fabric of his suit, a faint pink overtaking his cheeks at the thought of telling you he’s upset about not receiving a kiss.

“Well I know just the thing to cheer you up, can you look at me?” 

There was a teasing tone to your voice, he was almost tempted to not face you after all the stunts you pulled but since you didn't do it intentionally he turns to look, only to be met with a painstakingly familiar green and white plant and an even more familiar pair of lips on his.

Huh, maybe he got his Christmas wish after all.

Floyd Leech

Ever since floyd had been introduced to the concept of ‘mistletoe’ you learnt it had lost the special feeling it once gave you. Especially when it happens at least 20 times a week during the Christmas season.

You love Floyd really, however having a plant shoved into your face and then being kissed more than once every interaction has made your lips bruised and checking your back 24/7 incase he jumps at you, mistletoe in his hand. You can't even hang out with him like you normally do, it's less hanging out and more making out like no tomorrow!

There's nothing wrong with it necessarily, Floyd kissing you is more than welcomed, until it's to the point that's all you do, with no breaks to even breathe! 

Gently massaging your lips from a most recent mistletoe ambush-a cut is already healing from a few bites during the session- you think to yourself of a way to atleast make Floyd stop or lessen the kissing.

Since this is his first time learning about mistletoe perhaps you can try to encourage him to follow a few made up rules about it.

A surge of confidence enveloped you at the idea, to get Floyd to be even remotely interested in following rules there has to be something he can gain from it. A plan begins brewing in your mind, wandering off to your next lesson with a goal in mind.

When the bell rings, instead of rushing away and attempting to hide from Floyd, you walk about through the halls decorated with tinsel and baubles looking for a familiar face within the crowd of students. Because of your very unsuccessful attempt of searching for Floyd, you end up sitting on a bench outside waiting for him to find you as he always does.

 Resting your eyes for a few seconds, a very familiar fake plastic plant smell is placed in front of you, and with opening them the object of your nightmares and its wielder is staring down at you with a smile sharp full of affection.

This time, however, you're prepared. Before Floyd even gets the chance to deliver you a big smooch you place a hand against his puckered lips, blocking him.

“Shrimpppyyy, what’r you doin..lemme kith you.” Floyd grumbled, his words half muffled by your hand.

“No can do Floyd, i'm not kissing you with a mistletoe anymore you broke the rules.” You state firmly, or tried to, it's hard to be strict when he looks so ridiculous with his face, now, in your hands.

“Whaddya mean rules? Kissing has no rules..” He grumbles, hand drawing random shapes on your leg as he listens intently, this is the first time in ages you had a proper conversation since it's mostly been kissing. “Mistletoe kissing does though! So if you want to kiss me during christmas you have to follow them or no more kisses!” 

Floyd’s face drops at this, no more kissing his Shrimpy that's his second favourite thing-his first being his Shrimpy of course-a frown makes place on his face, weighing the option in his head ... .kiss Shrimpy or not kiss Shrimpy..

His classic charming toothy grin is back on his features, placing the mistletoe on the bench beside you. Leaning more into your hands, “So.. tell me the rules Shrimpy, i'll listen like one of those Savanaclaw pups!”

“First it has to be a real one not that plastic one you bring everywhere, second you can’t wait under one for me we have to be under one at the same time… and third you cannot carry your own everywhere and we have to kiss only once if there's only one mistletoe!!” You should honestly receive an award at this point for how you can think of these and putting up with Floyd simultaneously.

Floyd-who seems lost in thought for a moment-now stood up to his full height, patting the top of your head affectionately “Mkay Shrimpy, i'll listen to you if ya say so!”

After telling Floyd the very legitimate rules to mistletoe, you begin to finally look forward to being less cautious about being jumped by a big eel who has a big fascination with kissing you.

And what a day it has been with no extreme make out sessions for a while-a small part of you misses it… thankfully a text notification knocks you out of a dangerous thought.

 ‘Azul needs me at the lounge..probably something to do with Floyd.’

Walking to the sea-themed dorm, you notice your eel boyfriend sitting outside..he must have done something to really stress Azul out for that. Floyd, now noticing you, sits up straight and runs to you for a squeeze, a suspiciously mischievous smirk on his face. 

“Shrimpyy, you gotta talk to Azul for me or he’s banning me from beating up the small fry!” Yeah he’s definitely done something to upset Azul but Floyd-is-up-to-something senses in your mind are going crazy.. just what is he up to, ”Okay Floyd, i'll try but i'm not promising anything!” 

You should really listen to the warning sirens in your head as nothing prepared you for the lounge being completely decked out in mistletoes.

No-one in sight except for you and Floyd, speaking of him you slowly turn to face him. The doors now close as he stalks closer to you. “I listened to Shrimpy's rules and now i get to kiss Shrimpy as much as i want too!”

Next time you think to just let Floyd kiss you on his own terms like usual.

Jade Leech

It's no secret that Jade loves to surprise you, perhaps a bit too but that thought is all but forgotten when he treats you like a proper gentleman. 

As the winter season is here and that means Christmas, Jade was nothing but delighted to learn the concept of mistletoe but you didn't have to know about it and so he conducted a plan to deliver only the best mistletoe kiss for you.

Speaking of the mastermind, you watch him walk around the lounge serving orders and collecting dirty dishes. That's why you're taking your time with yours, and Jade knows this by the amount of times he's walked past your booth eyes locking with yours as to signal something. 

Of course you know what he's trying to do, Jade usually comes over when you’ve finished a drink or meal as a guise to take a break from waitering and talk to you. You think about finishing the cup soon, the potions homework you have to finish is becoming increasingly frustrating and you know Jade would just love to help especially since the lounge is more busy with the christmas season.

The decision was already made to drink the remaining liquid, potions are hard and you can get your boyfriend to help! And so when Jade walked around to check, you saw the relief on his face as he stopped by your booth.

 “I was wondering when you were going to stop being so cruel to deprive me of your presence for so long.” He fakes an imaginary tear, hand placed on his chest as he sits across from you. If you didn't know him so well and not his partner you're sure you would've missed the slight slouch in his shoulders and how his smile was strained more than usual.

“How terribly inconsiderate of me, i didn't know you wanted me this bad,” you smile softly at him, banter between the two of you is easy and you did feel bad as Jade had been working more often due to the winter season.

Jade smiles at your words, drifting his eyes down to the pile of paper and scratched pencil markings on it, he lifts one up to see what you were struggling with.. “...Potions homework. I assume you need my help?” A look of pure exasperation made its way on your face, slumping downward, “It’s much more difficult than what we did before...”

Jade chuckles at this, reaching over to pat your head lightly. This is all working his favour, perfect.

“How about you come over to the bar and I can help you there? That way I can work and assist you at the same time. I would hate to cut our time short, especially when you’re struggling!” You know now you had bagged the right twin, scrambling for all the materials you had spread out on the table to move to the bar area. 

Perhaps you were too blinded by his offer and forgot a big rule when dealing with your boyfriend, he doesn't do anything for free. When you finally sit down, ready to actually get some work done, to only look up and see a familiar hanging plant that's been terrorizing many students. 

Jade's face was already leant towards yours, “Oh my, I wonder who put it here.. Apparently there's tradition that goes with this plant, are you willing to demonstrate?”

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[dearwhs]

all eyes on you ⋆ klh

𖦹 genre: fluff wc: 1.2k warnings: nothing much as far as i know !

𖦹 notes: aaaa what do we think? hes so cute im sobbing TT is it too obvious im into love at first sight stuff? ehe

𖦹

at last, leehan's favorite day had finally arrived—visiting the aquarium!

you see, after every long and hellish weeks full of uni workload and duties, leehan likes to spend most of his precious free time by visiting the aquarium. he usually brings his dandy camera to capture pictures of everything he found interesting. and when he does? he's gonna yap about it as soon as he gets back at the dorm. he will be telling every single detail for HOURS, wherein riwoo's mostly his victim when it comes to his silly aquarium talks (we know riwoo secretly enjoys it).

𖦹

today's finally the day! when leehan stepped inside the aquarium, his head instantly spun as he gazes at all the lil fishies swimming around. his eyes darted everywhere, and i mean everywhere. this is practically heaven for him.

every step he took was filled with excitement, foot bouncing left to right, his smile stretching so hard it nearly reached both of his ears, eyes almost fading from happiness. the soft blue glow of the tanks hitting his face—it made everything feel magical, all his stress and worries poofed.

click here, click there– ooooh, riwoo's gonna so love these!

leehan's face was beaming with joy, as he walks towards the nearest tank scrolling through his camera, admiring the shots he had previously taken. he walked continuously, and then suddenly his feet had stopped... he was in the jellyfish exhibition, which perked him up, leaving a huge smile on his face, "perfect!"

he fixes his camera angle just right, adjusting the lens, focusing on the jellyfish, and getting ready in position to capture the sea creature—its tentacles drifting away in slow motion, swaying along the water's flow.

click! click! cl-

wait–

leehan's head slowly tilts in confusion. "since when did a jellyfish... well, stop being a jellyfish and turn into a… girl!?” uh, no, leehan... i think that's actually just a girl.

normally, he'd pan his camera on another direction and go on with his little hobby and move on. but, why was his hands frozen? why was one of his eyes still closed, focusing on her through the camera?

she was barely moving, just stuck there, standing. and yet, she looked ethereal in leehan's eyes. maybe it was the way the blue dim lights reflected on her face—her gaze, it looked so calm and drawn to the movements of the jellyfish, it piqued his interest. and for some reason, he found himself staring at her longer than he should've.

for the first time today, he wasn't focused on the lil fishies. should his corydoras be worried? no, right...?

𖦹

as for you, you snap back to reality as the jellyfish flees away, your gaze shifts to the guy right in front of you who seems to be taking pictures—or at least that's what he was supposed to be doing. you can tell he's staring at you—not even at the floating jellyfish in the tank, but right at you. is he even taking pictures at this point? he's completely frozen in place.

as leehan makes eye contact with you through his camera, his eyes widens in shock—he immediately drops his camera down, trying to act normal as if he didn't stare at you for too long. his face became a mess, his mouth opened trying to say something, but no words came out... his own mouth betrayed him.

you couldn't help but to throw a chuckle at him. he immediately shakes his head a "wait!" in panic and tries to explain himself with the use of his hands this time. you cover your face, trying to hide your little devious laugh, "uh, you know you can just go to this side if you want to talk to me... right?" oh, you should've seen how red leehan's face was. embarrassment is clearly written in his face. and to make him feel at least a little better, you decided to move on his side instead.

"ehe, i..." he laughs nervously as a sheepish smile forms on his face scratching the back of his neck, "i swear i was just trying to take a picture of the jellyfish!! and then–" he's defending himself as much as he can, to the point that even his dino hands are out, just so you don't misunderstand. he's really trying here.

your face couldn't hold back. a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you watch this cute but odd stranger explain himself. "well, did i look okay?" leehan's dino hands freezed mid-air, slowly coming down, his eyes blinks rapidly, "huh? w-what-" oh, you just broke this guy. you bursted out laughing because of his silly reaction, shaking your head as you try again after catching your breath, "i said, did i look okay in your picture?"

"o-oh! the picture.. right!" he lifts up his camera, searching for the photo he just took a few minutes ago. "here, see!" and strangely, your eyes just blinked slowly, disappointed at the picture as all you could see was the jellyfish captured beautifully—and there you were on the corner, slightly blurred, photobombing...

"well, it's a shame-" he cuts your sentence off and moves a little bit closer, just enough to not make you feel uncomfortable, "do you want me to take another picture? i'll make it look nicer this time, i swear." you blink at him, caught off guard, "huh?" he immediately swings his arms in panic, "oh, um- only if you'd like to, of course." you let out a small giggle at him as you nod.

next thing we know, you were posing infinitely. it was basically a photoshoot in an aquarium—his camera is full of your photos rather than the fishies he initially came for.

after finishing the mini photoshoot, you stood next close to him, analyzing the photos which turned out absolutely gorgeous. "well, that was the most fun i had in a while." you said as you picked up your bag on the floor. he lightly chuckles at your words, "yeah, me too."

you wanted to say something, but you hesitated for a second—still, you decided to go for it. "since you took my pictures, maybe i could get them?" obviously hinting at something. "o-oh, yeah, of course." he muttered, as he fidgets on his phone, unsure of what to do next. "so uh, how do i..?" you stared at him, confusion creeping in, "how do you what-?" he just coughs as he scratches his head, "how do i.. send them to you?– uh- through an email?? airdrop? bluetooth...? or a pigeon??? i think i know how to do that–" your laughter immediately cuts him off. seriously though, a pigeon !?

you flashed him a smile, "a number works too, y'know?" this statement turned him red like a tomato. he just gives you a small embarassing nod as he stretches his arm out to give out his phone to you. and as for you, he was undeniably adorable—making you smile as you casually hand him his phone back.

as you two bid goodbye, you couldn't help but to slip in your name before you part ways, "it's y/n, by the way. l/n, y/n." he gave you a smile, also revealing his name. "it's leehan. kim leehan."

as you walked away, you just realized you gave your number to a stranger. well, a cute one for sure.

leehan on the other hand walks all jumpy, realizing he just scored a new connection.

𖦹

after a long but unexpectedly fun day, you found yourself going back to the moment earlier—only for riwoo to burst your thoughts, asking how your trip went. you grinned at him in excitement, "this is gonna be a long story, hyung!" and of course, riwoo was prepared; blanket? check! snacks? check! all that's left to do now is have the yapping session.

𖦹

if you liked this, a like, reblog, or comment is highly appreciated, thank you! ><

[f0rgetm3not]

Idk if it makes sense but could you do like Bakugo seeing us for the first time with our natrual hair (curly)?😀 Like we usually straighten it but for some reason we didn't do it and he's confused but also stunned lallalalalala

Don't you worry 'bout your curly hair

Bakugo x curlyhaired!reader

AAAA this is perfect! And as a girl with curly hair I absolutely stand for this idea.

Summary: Your straightener broke, so you're now forced to wear your natural curls... but Bakugo LOVES it.

♡FLUFF, crack?

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

"Are you fucking joking."

You'd mumble to yourself as you stand infront of your mirror. Looking at the frizz MESS on your hair, a dumbfounded expression on your face.

The love of your life, your muse and the reason you hadn't shaved all of your hair off yet was broken. Your dear straightener was BROKEN. How does one manage to break a straightener? You don't know, but you can't exactly glue it back together.

And you couldn't scream about it because your boyfriend, Katsuki, was snoring away in dreamland in your bed only a couple feet away with blankets upside down and inside out. Great.

Admitting defeat you take a spray bottle of water and wet down the birds nest on your head, fighting back the urge to grab the nearest siccors and end the misery of having to style your curly hair.

Once your hair was wet enough you'd grab an old curl cream and rake it through your hair, it was sticky and gave you flashbacks of when you used to do this every day, but hey it smells good.

Scrunching your hair in sections and applying gel, hoping that it would at least look decent, took about 30 minutes. And miraculously, Bakugo didn't wake up. Even when you dropped your mousse and almost had a mental breakdown.

Looking yourself in the mirror after your routine, you had to admit... you did a pretty good job for not having done this for years.

But a quick look at the clock on your wall and you mind was set into panic mode again, class was starting in like 20 minutes and Bakugo was going to kill you for not waking him up now.

You quickly walk to your bed and shake the blond out of his sleep. Earning an annoyed groan from him and a furrow of his brows.

"Kats, wake up, school starts in 20..." You said carefully, bracing yourself for an angry boyfriend.

"WHAT? Why didn't you wake me-" Katsuki began but was soon silenced once his red eyes landed on you.

More specifically, your hair. The shiny curls going down your shoulders. The strangely good smell that came from your hair. Wait, didn't you have straight hair?

"Wait, what?" Was all he could say, a confused expression on his face as he narrows his eyes at you.

"What happened to your hair?" He asked uncertainly, was it a dream? Because you sure looked like one.

"My straightener broke—c'mon Katsuki we gotta go!" You'd hurry, dragging your boyfriend out of your warm bed.

The rest of that day Katsuki couldn't tear his eyes off of you. Why didn't he know this before? Why didn't he know you had the capacity to look like a greek godess? But of course, he had to act like nothing. He couldn't have his classmates know he was even more head over heels for you.

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

Authors note: Yay hope you like it!! It's kinda short but we need some curly hair appreciation here, I haven't seen like a single fic like this so I hope people like it! IF YOU HAVE CURLY HAIR PUT THE STRAIGHTENER DOWN.

(If you have straight hair this is absolutely no hate, you guys are stunning divas ily❤️🔥)

[hellsitegenetics]

IF fighting is sure to result in victory, then you must FIGHT!

sun tzu said that, and i'm sure he knows a little more about fighting than YOU do, paaaalll because he INVENTED IT! and then he PERFECTED IT! so that no living man could best him im the ring of honor!

then, he used his fight money...to buy two of every animal on earth

and then he herded them onto a boat,

and beat the CRAP out of every single one!

and from that day forward, any time a bunch of animals are together in one place, it's called a TZU!!

UNLESS IT'S A FARM.

String identified: gtg t t ct, t t GT!

t a tat, a ' a tt at gtg ta , aaaa ca T T! a t CT T! tat g a c t t g !

t, gt …t t aa at

a t t t a at,

a at t CA t g !

a tat a a, a t a c aa a tgt ac, t' ca a T!!

T' A A.

Closest match: Daucus carota subsp. sativus cultivar DH1 chromosome 4 Common name: Carrot

(image source)

[lemonisntreal]

TONE DEAF :: Rosita and Norman <3

The first in a [hopefully] series of redesign + headcanon posts where I give you my take on a character for my AU

I'm grouping the two together because a] a lot of fluff headcanons I have, they share [because they're literally husband and wife]. And b] if I made an individual post for every single character, I... would go insane. So yeah. A bunch of characters are gonna get clumped together.

[FULL MASTERPOST HERE [yet to be made <3]]

HEADCANONS // BACKSTORY ⬇️

Me and the bad bitch I pulled by being autistic [also autistic]

Both of them are the same age, mid to late thirties.

In terms of general intelligence: Rosita has gifted IQ, while Norman is at genius level.

I know. I know Norman seems kinda dim in the movies. But guys [LMAO]. "I know it looks like there's nothing happening behind those eyes, but...... he can make entire computers!"

He's so smart yet so stupid. He's that kind of character. Like he can do all of this super impressive shit, and is super talented and can do math like BOOM done, but he's also kinda a "deer-in-the-headlights" when it comes to life [I LOVE HIM 👹]

Both of them worked hard and have their college degrees almost completely paid off at this point because of the scholarships they earned.

Rosita has a degree in engineering, Norman's a computer scientist.

They're both in STEM, it's just that Rosita likes to handle more of the mechanical aspects of things while Norman's better with the technical stuff, which I think is cute af.

Yin and Yang <3

This dynamic is just how they are too. How they act. Like for example, Rosita can be very to-the-point-

She's very much a problem solver and will get right to it once she understands what she's doing. Like yeah, she often takes a very methodical approach to it [see the scene where she's got all the papers laid out to try and learn to dance- very new territory for her], but once she learns, she gos all in. And EATS.

Norman's gotta have a plan before doing anything, meanwhile. He has a morning routine that can't be interrupted or else his whole day and mood will be thrown off. He reads through a recipe twice before even starting. That kind of stuff.

He's a lot more hesitant to even try.

A lot of people find Norman boring. But Rosita is enraptured by every word he says, she LOVES his long spiels about hyper-specific [and often mundane] things.

AAAA--

Norman is also a closeted DORK. He ran a tabletop games club in highschool with a couple other of his geeky ass friends [he's still into D&D to this day and has introduced Rosita to the game too]

[she's fun to play with, but super competitive. This goes for ANY game, actually, not just D&D. She'll kinda accidentally turn everything into a "contest" due to her inability to not do her very best] [it's mostly inspirational, not annoying, if that makes sense?]

I also wanna say Norman was in a weird amount of drama that he didn't want to be in at this time. Like all of his friends had falling-outs, and he was just always caught in the middle of it.

He's afraid of confrontation [UNLESS IT'S FOR HIS WIFE] [HE STANDS UP FOR HER RAHHHH] [this is gonna happen when I get to rewriting Sing 2, he's NOT just gonna take Crystal calling his WIFE "mommy pig"]

They're sooo "excuse me, he asked for no pickles"

Norman and Rosita technically met in high school, in Junior year when Norman first moved to Calatonia.

WHICH, he and his family did this because this was a point in time where laws having to do with the rights of animals were VERY flimsy, and Calatonia was one of the first and only safe places at the time-- for Pigs especially, actually.

The 3 Little Pigs is deadass CANON TO SING. So Pigs were/are actually a marginalized species in this universe.

[[during the warring period that I have yet to really talk about, they were often victims of the anarchy and poaching, so stigmas and insults around them still exist to this day]]

[[[[see Jimmy Crystal]]]]

So anyway, they "met" in high school- Norman totally crushed on Rosita from afar whenever he'd catch her in volleyball matches-

Rosita had a major tomboy phase throughout high school, slowly falling out of it during college [still only saves dresses and skirts for special occasions really]

[[Fun fact, Rosita is also sapiosexual [attracted to intelligence] [Roxanne Ritchi ahh] ]]

[[Norman is bi]]

They actually got introduced to eachother and had a proper arc when they went to the same college [which might've been a college in Redshore actually? But I'm not 100% sure on that headcanon. It would line up since Rosita's "wanted to perform in Redshore since she was a little kid" and Redshore is obviously a massive city with a lot of notoriety. Idk though- and it's not really that important to the story anyways]

Norman and Rosita had plans together- they were gonna make it big and live freely. Things were looking up with the lawmakers, who were finally repealing a bunch of nasty stuff that was put in place during the war times. And the two had hope that their dreams could actually be accomplished.

Rosita, who was originally gonna play it safe and become an engineer, was now thinking about attempting to become a performer [which Norman has supported since the beginning, he LOVES her singing, and often tells her that she's "better than some of the people I've heard on TV!"]

But. Life got in the way...

Present day, Norman works in Redshore at Crystal Enterprises. He's the head of some sort of organizational team- not really working on what he loves at this point.

And this is because of their children, who were a very sudden appearance in their lives [which is why we see so much struggle in the chaos at the beginning of the movie in this AU]

Rosita stopped everything, and Norman grabbed the first high-ish paying job he could, spending all his spare time on clocking in overtime hours.

The kids are all adopted, and there's only 6 now: Oldest Caspar [13], twin boys Mickey and Moe [11], middle child Kelly [9], little bro Freddy[8], and Zoey the sweet baby sister [6].

They became foster parents after the death of Rosita's sister [this hc is kinda subject to change, but this is the story rn. I'll specify on this later ☝️]

So Rosita's kinda put her life on hold for these babies. She's such a great mom to them, and they love her and Norman so much

But some of the older kids [Caspar specifically] are kinda in a rough phase since they feel like she resents them [which she doesn't], or that she isn't their "real mom" [which she IS]

This is like an E plot in the story, but definitely's gonna get at least a little bit of focus.

Rosita and Norman's marriage is falling apart just a little bit due to burnout, but it'll get better <3 [I can't do anything tragic to these two they're too sweet]

Norman snuggles up to Rosita in his sleep. Rosita starfishes LMAO

They wake up entangled. This is normal.

"Pig piles" are also a thing- there have been several nights where all six children "had nightmares" and so the family of 8 all slept in the same bed.

Norman has the best bond with the two girls out of all the children. They immediately latched onto him to be their level-headed dad.

Rosita can carry two kids at once easily, and often "relocates" them like this :>

She's probably the strongest out of everyone in the troupe if you don't count the potential Meena has. She solos.

She's constantly taking notes on everyone and everything around her. At the theater, you'll catch her tidying stuff up she spots out of the corner of her vision while you're having a conversation with her [she's still listening]. She knows everyones favorite foods, and allergies, and their preferences in things, etc. She's the most attentive and considerate out of all of them [the mom]

She may have a touch of OCD.

She gives the best hugs.

Rosita is also a FANTASTIC cook [not even a headcanon, I'm pretty sure the entire fandom agrees on this one] and often bakes stuff for her sweet-toothed children [and husband]

This is actually how she initially connected with Caspar, who refused to eat or speak at first when they were all placed with Rosita.

Cinnamon rolls.

Kelly will only eat the frosting off the top, and has ruined an entire pan before by doing this.

Rosita actually isn't the biggest fan of chocolate, small detail.

Idk why she just strikes me as not being an enjoyer.

Loves vanilla though. People are furious when she answers "vanilla" with zero hesitation to the chocolate vs vanilla question.

Norman is kinda a hopeless romantic, or at least really enjoys the aesthetic of it [in a sweet and not shallow way ofc], and goes all out every Valentine's Day: balloons, flowers, the works. He's learned that Rosita prefers strawberries over a box of chocolates, however. Has a tradition of getting a fruit basket for her <3

They also have a tradition from all the way back in college, where they go out to eat at specifically the in-universe equivalent of Olive Garden [which was the fanciest thing they could afford at the time] and eat a shared giant plate of spaghetti.

Norman loves coffee. Insists he likes it black but actually prefers a good 50:50 ratio of creamer and coffee.

Norman is also ☝️ lactose intolerant LMAO

[[or would be, if traditional milk was widely accessible/a thing. I say "lactose intolerant" but what I really mean is he's allergic to most milk substitutes- like nuts and soy [gives him tummy ache, not anaphylaxis] ]]

God, parenthesis are carrying me so hard rn.

Stopping here because I'm tired, but I could go ON about these two omg-

Normita forever rahhhh <3

[mcrdvcks]

I LOVE ALL YOUR PETER WORKS AAAA and i was wondering how do you picture peter having a crush on someone who isn’t exactly a nerd like he is (so she would be soooo impressed by anything he says even if she wouldn’t show it) because i bet he would be a cutie patatooie anyway aaaa thanks for your time and take all the time you need, xoxo thanks again!!

this is a little short, sorry. i guess my writing juices are starting to falter a bit, lol. hope you like it!

send an ask for my 2,000 followers celebration!

warnings/tags: awkward peter, peter trying to flirt and be cool, fluff

He doesn’t think he has a chance at first. You’re not into tech. You don’t read comics. You don’t speak “science.” And yet—every time he starts rambling about string theory or particle acceleration, you just… watch him. Quiet. Patient. And he melts.

You don’t interrupt. You don’t nod off. You just listen, arms crossed, head tilted a little, like “what kind of adorable alien are you?” You don’t say you’re impressed—but your eyes sparkle and he feels it.

Peter’s convinced you’re secretly bored. He’ll backtrack mid-sentence: “Sorry, that was dumb. You probably don’t care about quantum tunneling—” You shrug. “I mean… I don’t know what that is, but the way you say it makes it sound cool.” (Peter.exe has stopped working.)

You never ask him to stop being smart. He notices that. He’s used to people zoning out when he geeks out. But you? You let him talk. And sometimes you smile in this quiet, amused way like he’s showing you a magic trick. It makes him trip over his own words.

He tries to impress you without being too obvious. Corrects a math problem on the board with casual genius. Helps you carry your books and explains a concept like it’s NBD. Accidentally uses a ten-dollar word and blushes when you repeat it back.

You start teasing him. Just a little. “Didn’t realize you were fluent in nerd.” “You say electrons like it’s a love language.” “Should I start calling you Professor Parker?” He turns red every time. But he lives for it.

He overanalyzes every single moment. “She said my name. Was it normal-sounding? Or like Peter? Was there a lilt? Is lilt a real thing? Should I google that?”

You once gave him a compliment so casual he nearly dropped his phone. “You talk like a genius.” He stared at you for five full seconds and went, “What? Who? Me? Genius? Haha no. I mean—thank you?? Wait—”

He tries to learn what you’re into, too. Even if it’s totally different. You like photography? He reads articles. You like fashion? He watches one runway show and pretends he didn’t tear up when the music hit. You like poetry? He copies down your favorite lines and pretends he’s just “doodling.”

You once caught him rambling nervously about satellites and orbital physics and smiled just the tiniest bit. He caught it. Thought about it for the next eight hours.

He gets extra flustered when you touch his arm or laugh at something he says. “Haha yeah totally—wait what was I saying? Satellites? No, uh, I mean moons—um, moons are cool—wow okay bye!”

You know he has a crush. You’re not oblivious. But you kind of like watching him try. He’s awkward. Sweet. Weirdly charming. And when he lights up talking about something he loves? You don’t care if you understand it or not. You’re just happy it’s him.

[merakiui]

hucow skully turned out to be a bull with late puberty

WAAAA >w< everyone thinking he was a dairy cow for the longest time, only to be surprised when he’s actually a bull!!! Late bloomer Skully who definitely doesn’t seem like a bull or have any of the noticeable traits, but the farm supposes his height might give it away……and maybe his dick because what purpose is a big dick like that going to serve if not for breeding a fertile hucow???? What really gives it away, though, is the readiness and eagerness with which he fucks you. <3 so excited to have you in his arms. Sure, the farm had to lock you in a pillory so you’d stop struggling and attempting escape. Someone has to produce the next generation of cows, and if Skully’s not going to step foot near any of the eligible heifers then you’re just going to have to suffice. Which is wonderful news for him because he loves you oh-so-much.

Maybe they even hook you up to a milking machine. It can’t hurt to start stimulating your tits now because eventually you’ll start lactating, and maybe they can even bottle and sell your milk. Skully’s sorry it’s uncomfortable. He really wishes they’d let him breed you on a softer surface. Then he’d be able to hold you in his arms and whisper more intimately every promise and praise he keeps in his heart. Oh, but this can be romantic, too! He’ll do his best to make it so, but then he’s also sorry for gripping your hips so tightly. He’ll lean over and try to grab at your tits, wrapping his arms around your middle (later to be swelling with babies!!!! He’s so excited!!), in hopes of unhooking those pesky machines. It’s better to touch you with his warm hands, to cradle your tits so lovingly, kneading them as if he really does expect milk to come trickling out after just a few squeezes. In due time.

He knows you don’t like this and that it’s stressful, and for that he can’t apologize enough. But soon the aphrodisiac will settle in and you’ll be even wetter than you are now, your body impossibly hot, and you’ll be far more compliant. It’ll make it easier for you to take every inch of him and it won’t be such a strain! He’s really so proud of you for taking this much already and not letting a single drop spill out. Maybe your body wants this and your mind just isn’t on the same page yet. He likes to think it’s that and not open objection.

As he thought, it’s impossible. >_< you’re so pretty and soft and warm… and you make the sweetest mewls and moans when he pounds into you, each thrust announcing your connection in the most sinful of squelches. You really are so noisy. It’s too cute. Maybe you’re secretly a hucow yourself and just haven’t realized your true nature like the farm did with him. Aaaa wouldn’t that be a lovely surprise? It would be fate, right? But then isn’t it already fate that you’d be so compatible? It’s not forced. It’s love. You’ll see. :)

[deerspherestudios]

Evening! I was a bit late for playing day 3 but when I did get around to it OMG CHEEA YOU HAVE DONE ABSOLUTELY WONDERFULLY WITH THE NEW INSTALMENT!!! The animations, the new sprites, the story overall SHDIUCSABSDHDBCA, chef's kiss! Day 3 is my absolute favorite so far!!! It shows us so many new and different sides of Mychael, his playful teasing with ruffling our hair, his honestly eerily threatening demeanour (honestly that one scene where he grabbed our wrist and yelled at us just sdiubciscni mychael pls chill bro), and especially tickling him?!! I was fully planning a frontal attack like mc had but he's saved by the kettle… for now >:3 I cannot emphasise how much of an emotional rollercoaster and how much I was invested into every single part of every single scene!! (i was honestly smilling like an idiot for the most of it/pos)

I absolutely adore mychael as a person because he genuinely feels so alive, someone I would honestly love to be friends with and just hang out about!! Gentle giant mushroom man with crippling social anxiety, mychael you lovable man hhhhhh. But in all honesty, that smack we did on the beginning of the third day is deserved. Sorry not sorry mychael but you have to learn to properly communicate, I will make it my mission to make you thoroughly understand how important proper communication is if you want to befriend someone! The little cooking scene too!! Honestly cheea, on every single meal time I always go back to see every single food option cause every single one makes me hungry, they all look so tasty and very scrumptious, and iusdhcisuadhaiusdh mychael you absolute madlad for learning all of these things on your own like how?!?

Thank you so so so very much for making the game and mychael cheea, no proper amount of words can properly describe how I absolutely love your creations. Please do rest properly and take the time you need to relax for a while. And please do remember to take care and stay hydrated!

Aaaa a a thank you for the ki n d wor d s <3 < 3 < 3 ,, .

[yan-lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Day three: Ghost!Idia obsessed with his darling

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/n: Ghost Idia, my beloved 🥺💕. I've been meaning to explore the concept of a ghost yandere because it sounded fun tbh. Though there was so many ideas for this fic aaaa, in the end i liked it just like it ended.

You had always heard stories about the restless dead, about how they would return if they had unresolved matters but you never expected one to be so fixated on you - or, to be more clear, for your dead boyfriend to still seek you out. Idia Shroud wasn’t supposed to linger in this world, yet here he was, more present in death than he ever had been in life.

He hovered at the edges of your vision, his ghostly form a flickering shadow you could never quite escape.

And though you tried to convince yourself it was just your imagination, perhaps the grief, you couldn’t deny that familiar voice calling out to you, whispering words that chilled your blood and stirred something in your heart. He both comforted you and terrified, he wiped your tears and made you cry harder.

There was no in-between.

“You can’t run forever, beloved,” His voice echoed one evening as you sat alone in your dimly lit room, food cold and untouched as another set of tears fell from your eyes. “Tears don't suit you, a smile does. And you used to smile so prettily when I was alive. You remember?"

You froze, eyes darting around but there was no sign of him. Not physically, at least. The air grew colder, and you saw your breath cloud in front of you, you hugged yourself tighter. You felt fingers ghosting over your shoulder, and his voice came again, closer this time, dripping with an unsettling affection. “Why do you keep pretending? You’re meant to be with me.”

“I-I’m not supposed to be with you.” You stammered, trying to summon the courage to deny him. To give him peace, as he deserves. “You’re gone, Idia. You should rest.”

“I can’t rest when you’re still here,” He snapped, his voice taking on an edge of desperation, his fingers digging into your shoulders painfully as he blinked a million times. “You don’t get it, do you? You were my world, my reason to live... I can't rest without you, even in death. I can't move on, not yet..."

You tried to ignore him but he was always there, always watching, always doing something that scared you. Every mirror in your home fogged up when you tried to look yourself in it, words scrawled in the condensation: Come to me. You don't love anymore? Please please please please.

At night, you’d feel him brush your hair away from your face, his touch icy and tingling, leaving goosebumps in its wake, as he lied by your side, trying to cuddle you even if it was impossible now.

“You look so lonely,” He’d murmur, voice as soft as the wind outside, as you closed your eyes and pretended to sleep. "I hate seeing you like this... Come to me, my love. Let's be together again.”

A single tear fell from your eye as you slept, cold and shivering. Life wasn't fair. He was dead, yet he was here.

You could touch him, could see and hear him. Life was cruel.

Every day became harder. Your friends stopped calling. Your lights flickered constantly, leaving you in darkness more often than not. Doors would lock on their own and windows refused to open, trapping you in this reality where only he existed. And he was always there, waiting for you to finally break.

Waiting for you to cry and drink yourself to sleep. Sometimes, you'd just lie in bed and stare at the ceiling.

One night, you woke to find him sitting at the foot of your bed, his ghostly form more solid than ever before. His hair glowed faintly, illuminating the pale, almost ethereal skin of his face.

There was an intensity in his golden eyes, a longing that made your heart skip a beat. “I’ve waited long enough,” Idia mutters, voice trembling with emotion. “I can’t stand to watch you suffer in this world anymore.”

You tried to pull away, but his fingers wrapped around your wrist, and despite their icy chill, they felt real. Too real. “Idia… please…”

“I can make all the pain go away,” He whispered to you, his voice rising. “All you have to do is come with me. It’s not so bad, I promise.” He leaned closer, his breath cold against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “We can be together forever. No one will ever hurt you again. I’ll make sure of it.”

You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. “But I’m still alive.”

He smiled, a sad, resigned smile that made your heart ache, there were tears in his own eyes as he stared at you. “Not for long, love.” He murmured.

“You belong with me. You always have.” He reached out, his touch more tangible than before, and you could feel your heart slowing, your breath hitching, as if he were draining the life from you with every second you spent in his presence.

“It’s okay,” Idia whispered, pressing his forehead to yours, his eyes searching yours with an almost frantic desperation. “It won’t hurt. I’ll be right here. I’ll always be here.”

“Idia, no—” you tried to pull away, but your body was growing heavy, and all you could see were those glowing eyes, all you could hear was his voice, begging you to stay, to give in, to let him take you away from this world that had always been so cruel.

“Please, Yuu-shi!” He breathed, tears streaming down his cheeks as he leaned in to press a kiss to your lips, the contact sending a shock through your system. “I love you. I need you. Come with me… please."

And as your vision blurred, as the warmth seeped from your body, you could feel him smile against your lips, feel his relief wash over you like a wave.

“That’s it,” He whispered, his voice fading as everything went dark. “We’ll be together now… Forever.”

[asce-of-hearts]

I got a little bit drunk when I thought about it! izuku was the one teasing you about being wet for him as he started fingering you and kissing down your neck with shoto at your other side dry humpimg against you whispering how much they love, how cute you look all embarrassed mewling underneath them. they’re slowly removing clothes leaving small kisses every time they do worshipping your body head to toe. now, they’re start to go lower kissing down your thighs whispering how good you are to them as izuku runs his hands all over you waist reaching up to tease and toying with your nipple and pressing his lips against your stomach, he so gently and using his fingers to toy with your underwear sliding it down in a single motion never stopping his kissing, keeping his eyes on you the whole time. while shoto kisses you neck still leaving hickeys when he does whispering into your ear that makes you squirm, it was long before Izuku starts to eat you out <33

-🦊

Devouring

Content: Some nice Deku character analysis/smut/something ohyeah

A/N: I wrote only Deku bb because I feel like I suck at writing poly aaaa. Also I'm sorry I tarnished ur erotic dream and turned into a sort of character exploration I'm pretentions and u know it ily foxy

more Deku content here

TAG LIST

WARNINGS: ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP (INTERPRET IT AS HOWEVER YOU'D LIKE, ALTHOUGH VERY IMPLIED TO BE MARRIAGE), BODY WORSHIP, FEM!READER, SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT, ORAL (RECIEVING), SOME BREEDING KINK AS USUAL HEHE HOHO, SIZE KINK, I LOVE U IZUKU MY SWEET GENTLE MAN.

His touches are always reverent.

A scholar at heart, a researcher, Izuku doesn't know how to touch you in any other way that doesn't feel like both being worshiped and examined, like he's sizing you up to eat you alive and devour you hole. The sensation has a strange feeling to it, always lingering between the thin line of creeping you out and arousing you. His hands, usually gloved, can't escape the layer of callus that covers them, as time passes it has become more coarse, rougher, harder. The hands of a boy left behind, replaced by those of a man. With decorative veins that pop up every time he flexes, or moves, or does anything. You can't help but stare, at how his arms wrap around your waist in the morning, or when he helps you open a particularly tight jar. He's handsome, has become more handsome over time. A skinny teenager replaced by a big, beefy man. It's like he grew thrice his size from one moment to another.

The gentle giant you called your lover had his moments of roughness. You can recall a time he pinned you against the bed and pounded you so hard you had to cling to the headboard so you wouldn't loose your mind. You had bruises on your hips after, and again, reverent hands came to soothe them as he bathed you. You could count instances like this with your fingers, rough sex wasn't the favorite flavor of love making for either of you, much less for him, who knowing his strength, always has this worm in his brain telling him that if he touches you wrong he will break you in a million tiny pieces. A thousand tiny yous that will run around his feet and then disappear in a psychedelic mass of blood, guts and pink cartoon hearts.

And you're always a little wet for him, he knows it. He knows that whenever you two share a bed in the comfort of your home, he can snake his hand downwards and will find your heat welcoming and inviting, damp and ready to take what's given. That he will be able to whisper sweet nothings in your ear as his hands toy with your clit, pinching it softly, rolling it, rubbing it with the hardened pads of his gargantuan digits. And you will gasp softly, clinging to his neck, or his shirt as you let him continue his ministrations, your hips from time to time bucking forward to get more friction, friction he's happy to provide. Stimulation he will gladly give to you on a silver platter. His voice, sultry and gentle, will come to whisper the filthiest words and the sweetest praises. "My precious girl, look how wet you are already." He'll say, kissing the shell of your ear, making you gasp as his free hand rubs your hips, keeping you steady as his thumb circles your clit, and his other fingers rub at the soft, puffy folds of your pretty cunt, asking for permission, which you unspokenly provide. "Want me to take care of you, yeah?"

"Please, Izu, please..." You will mewl under him, the driest chuckle leaving his lips, kisses peppered to your neck as you don't need to ask twice. He sticks them in, slowly, gently, letting you adjust to the stretch, the sting of the intrusion. He'll ease the pain by whispering more, my making you want more of him.

"Can you feel how hard I am already?" He will ask, hips pushing forward to press his hardened length, with it's greedy 10 inches, twenty five dot four centimeters, the one's he's so proud of, poking against the soft, plump skin of your ass under his trousers. "It's your fault, my love. You make me like this... I'm already leaking like a faucet," He turns you around, fingers leaving your insides as he sprawls you over the bed, facing you. He takes his time, popping one of your nipples in his warm mouth, suckling at it like a man starved, biting and then soothing the sting with a practiced lick, then a trail of kisses travels downwards, to your stomach, where he'll stay a moment. "You would look so pretty with a baby inside you, my baby." He smiles, that smile you know and love, bright, making his big eyes crinkle at the corners. "With my freckles, and your face... We will have such pretty kids," He says, lovingly, and then, he goes down. And he doesn't waste time, his tongue, pressed flat, licks all over the line of your slit, stopping at your clit to suck. "But first... first I have to get you ready... and enjoy you all to myself for a while." He murmurs, voice muffled as he starts to eat you out like a man starved. Greedy, sloppy, never stopping the incessant want he has for your cunt, his favorite meal, the one place he would be happy to die in. In that second he isn't a hero, or a man, he's your devoted lover, the only one who can do this sort of stuff to you.

The only one who can make you cum with his tongue in record time.

"Now let's see if I can get my girl to cum in less than a minute this time..." He grins, eyes darkening for a moment as you mewl when he sucks at your clit again, pulling at his hair. "As a personal challenge, of course." He winks at you, pressing a kiss to your puffy folds.

"I have to get selfish from time to time."

kishimoto i will never forgive you for that ending. we deserved beefy hero izuku. sleep with one eye open mf

hope you enjoyed this!!!!!!!

have a great day/night

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