Welcome!

Pairing: AU!James x Female!Reader

Warnings: Major angst, trigger warning for a dark-ish theme. 

A/N: hi im alive and this is what I have to give. I will never get into explicit details of the things AU!James endured, but what I am implying can be triggering for some. This AU gets very dark and it stems from my shitty mind I guess? When playing the game, I felt like their ‘father’ would actually be far worse and that their mothers would be their only saving grace. They simply became corrupted because of him. Especially when he took their physical forms. I feel like he’d take their forms bc they were, in his eyes, making his potential heirs weak. While he intends for james to take over, he still needed back-ups should he or any of his brothers fail. Also I want to flesh out my au. Prepare for another like this, but with sam having a weird premonitional dream of his love, and waking up to cold reality. oop

Featherlight touches of warmth glide across his bare skin. It feels as though someone is tracing soft patterns along the expanse of his chest and neck. For some odd reason, he does not panic. He simply lays still and basks in the sweet attention. He has no idea who is touching him but… he does not feel gross. He feels.. happy?

He can hear her huff out a soft laugh near his ear, her breath ever so slightly brushing on his skin. A sweet scent wafts past his nose- everything feels soft around him. His head is well cushioned and whatever sheets he can feel are smooth against him. His bleary eyes struggle to see anything. A figure hovers above him, another giggle slipping out.

“Raestrao… we can’t sleep in all day..”

You’re sat on his lap, panting as he devours your lips with his, the quiet sounds of your kissing seemingly amplified by the still dusk. Orange bleeds in through the window he leans against, and while he slips his tongue in, you pray he won’t notice the blush adorning your cheeks lest you’re up for a whole onslaught of teasing—the verbal kind, not the kind disposed by his wandering hands. For once he’s not going on and on about how desperate his hondje is for him, instead dedicating himself to the work he’s putting in you.

One of his hands rests on your lower back, pressing your upper body and your core closer to his, taking care not to let you escape. The other is at your nape, insistent, firm, but coaxing you nevertheless with every kiss he delivers onto your lips. He moves fast and deep, leaving you shuddering each time you feel his fangs graze against you ever so slightly. Soundless as he tries to be, your lover lets out a growl every so often. You, on the other hand, are doing quite well with keeping your voice down (not that you needed to—you thought you should make him work for it), that is, until you feel a familiar hardness at the apex of your thigh.

Theo sighs openly at your unabashed moan as he grinds his hips against yours, as if saying “look at what you did”, while his hands move downward seeking more. He slips one up your skirt, caressing your thighs, while another fondles your breast from over the fabric. A weak whine of his name escapes your lips as his fingers nimbly plays with you, manipulating you the way he knows you like most, as his mouth latches on to your neck with short, heated sucks—you feel like he’s a predator that’s playing with his food, except you can’t say you’re terrified, just… excited.

“Ahh, Theo,” you sigh, feeling the hand on your thigh traversing up to between your legs. He makes a sound at the back of his throat at the state of your panties—ruined. His other hand on your chest begins ripping at the buttons of your blouse, ignoring your almost half-hearted reprimands with regards to the treatment of your clothing (half-hearted because heaven knows he’s done this so many times already), finding your bare breast beneath the brassiere. The bites and sucks he’s administering to your neck grows ever insistent, priming you for when he sinks his fangs under your skin.

“Godverdomme,” he swears once he slips your underwear aside and fingers you. He’s only half-aware of the room around him, your scent overriding all his other senses. You let out a sound so salacious it sends cold blood pumping down to his cock, leaving him in a state of absolute frustration at how easily you ruin him. You have your head nestled at the crook of his neck and he feels your uneven breath against his loosened collar, and amongst your heavy panting he hears his name uttered repeatedly like a mantra. He grunts yours in return. You gasp when his calloused fingers pinch your nipple, teasing your breast with sadistic intentions, the cool touch he administers only making your temperature spike even higher. You’re left at his mercy now, with one hand between your legs and another at your chest, and you wonder if you should feel cursed or lucky to have such a skilled lover.

But you’re stubborn and you don’t give up easily, so you reach between your body and his to unbuckle his belt, loosening his pants by the waist. He slows you down with his thumb on your clit, and you cry out at the sudden pleasure. Finding his lips back against yours, you feel him smirk, but he doesn’t relent, pumping two fingers in and out of you. 

“You’re so cruel,” you say, the words coming out in a string of shakiness as you are temporarily distracted from your own sinister goal when he leans down to lap at your breast. His warm mouth welcomes the arch of your back as a sign of encouragement, and he grows ever fervent in his ministrations. You rake your fingers against his chestnut hair, quietly begging him to please don’t stop as his tongue draws wicked circles on your skin, avoiding the spot he knows you’d like to be attended to the most. So you counter, fingers working to get his throbbing length out of the confines of his trousers, and the stuttered sound of his voice when you touch him is priceless.

Then he sucks at your nipple with so much intensity that your grip loosens, giving him a head start to finish you off.

“Ahhn, mngh!” 

“More,” he demands with three fingers buried inside you, finding himself drunk on your voice. 

“We shouldn’t—the hallway… people can hear…” you gasp, struggling to maintain your bearings. Your hand wraps around his cock and it’s his turn to moan, albeit muffled by the flesh of your breast. 

“Nobody’s around.” His thumb is against your clit with an intent to finish you. You keen in pleasure, throwing almost all of your caution into the wind. Theo seals the decision you’ve made for yourself with another lap of his tongue on your breast, no more teasing this time—just urgency, desperation, want.

“Theo—Theo, ah, I—”

He groans at your soft hands working on his length. 

“Come, then,” he demands.

You want to protest, want to tell him that he’s nowhere close, but it’s like your body has been trained to listen to his words, and you come with a prolonged, trembling moan. He watches as you unravel, flashing blue eyes feasting on the sight of you in utter rapture, jaws slack and lips apart, hair sticking on your face by the sweat you’ve accumulated. And you’re right, he’s far from satiated, but he’s a methodical man of patience, and you’ve experienced it firsthand.

The next thing you realize after pure ecstasy is your head laying against soft pillows, and when you open your eyes you see your lover examining you like he would a piece of art. Your open blouse with its buttons missing; your naked, hickey-riddled breasts, the flush of your face—in your ruin he thinks you are at your most beautiful. But then you smile, spent, not knowing how his heart skips a beat, and he’s proven wrong. 

“It’s barely dark out,” you whisper, voice slightly hoarse. “how’d it come to this?”

He scoffs, indignant. “It’s obviously your fault.”

You look at him like you don’t remember the past five to ten minutes—and he can’t blame you, having given you that orgasm so intense it seemingly wiped out your memory.

“You said, and I am repeating this verbatim: Theo, I’m bored, let’s make out.”

You chuckle, the sound slowly melting into a moan. His fingers are between your legs again, caressing the most sensitive part of you in consolation and apology, because he’s far than done. “I didn’t expect you to be so… eager.”

“You come to me with those puppy eyes asking me to make out with you, and you’re telling me you don’t expect this?” He replies, lining his cock up against your entrance and your breath hitches in your throat. 

“Don’t act like you don’t like it,” you say, licking your dry lips. The smirk he sends your way is absolutely feral, and it’s the only thing you see before his heat slides into yours and a pair of fangs latch onto your neck, reducing you into a mess more than you already are.

Thank you @hallowsivy​ for your ask! Here’s part…. one of four…. of your lengthy request that resemble a shopping list..(⊃‿⊂)

Prompt #90: “I’m not buying IKEA furniture again.”

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Character: Issac Newton

Rating: E- [18+ nsfw after line break]

Themes: the joys of building IKEA furniture… and then accidentally breaking it, blowjobs, ruined orgasms, f/m

Word Count: 1492

a/n: I know… I know IKEA was founded in 1943, but let’s just —whoosh forgetti— the historical timeline inconsistencies for the sake of the prompt lol

 ◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

“Well,” Isaac says while taking off his work gloves and wipes his brow, “I guess it’s done.” 

You hand him a glass of lemonade and admire his handiwork; the black-brown queen sized bed frame stood erect out of its compact cardboard packaging, all that’s left is to drop the mattress —currently leaning on Isaac’s rickety bookshelf— right on top.

“It looks great, Isaac. Sturdy too, I hope?” you grin, and waggle your eyebrows.

Your boyfriend chokes on his drink and sputters, “I-I’ll! Yes, of course. The instructions are very well written, and all tools needed came included… it wasn’t too much work on my part. You said it was manufactured by a Swedish company?”

Isaac bends down, picks up the manual for the MALM bed frame and thumbs through it.

“Yup,” you place the drink tray down on his coffee table and move to tear the plastic sheeting on the mattress, “they make affordable furniture options, and great meatballs too. Come give me a hand, Isaac?”

“A furniture shop that sells meatballs…” Isaac muses as he lifts the mattress with you, keeping his side lower than yours in order to take the grunt of the weight. “Maybe Comte can procure some on his next trip, e-easy!” he exclaims as the mattress slips out of your hands during a laughing fit.

The last but not the least here’s Nobunaga and Kenshin, sorry for the wait 😅 I admit, this is challenging because it’s hard to think what fighting moves I should draw and it’s hard to decide which one is the best 😅 And as for the ketchup, did I splash them too much? lol😜 I have a hard time finding reference of Kenshin’s battle clothes for the perspective. I hope I don’t have mistakes there. 😅

Pairing: One Sided AU!Matthew x Female!Reader, Implied AU!Sam X Female!Reader ((Slightly implied that reader is on the bigger/heavier side but that can be ignored.))

Warnings: Angst. Thats it

A/N: I have yet to write for the blue baby and how sad is it that it must be angst smh. Also I’m aware ive already done something like this, however it was supposed to be where it was implied that the reader and James were a thing but since sam is my bias it was easier to do him at the time. My best bitch knows what this stems from bc we talk about this au often. Rip. Anyways this is short n garbage so aye, maybe ill write more and better on my day off.

“Oᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ, ɪs ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴʏʙᴏᴅʏ ᴀᴛ ᴀʟʟ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴀɴ ᴇxᴘʟᴀɪɴ ᴡʜʏ I’ᴅ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴜᴘ ғᴏʀ ʜᴇʀ?”

He’s not quite sure how he ended up here. Watching her from afar, wishing he was the one littering her skin with kisses and making her smile like that. He longed to be the reason why she smiled that one special smile. He wanted to thread his fingers with her and have her placed in his lap, despite how she’d protest about squishing him.

He wanted it all.

He hated it. He had no right to harbor these feelings- to think these things. It was clear she adored his brother. It was clear she fit with him, a man that looked like he could protect her. Matthew didn’t doubt his abilities, but he knew how he’d be perceived. He knew what people might think. He hated that he even cared. Apparently some old habits do die hard, if at all.

H U R T E D

Not Vincent

An Ikemen Vampire x Ikemen Sengoku cross over short comic part 1

I’ll draw part 2 soon 👀🌻

Based loosely on the steamy encounter event. Alright it’s been a rough 4 years since I’ve written any sort of fanfiction and it’s my first time writing in second person POV so be gentle~ I wanted to give Dazai a little love because I really like his character and can’t wait for his route!! 

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire Character: Osamu Dazai Rating: M to E, I didn’t get crazy explicit but it’s 18+ Warnings: Mild Choking, mild dark themes, sexual content, mention of blood Word Count: 6,067

You can find all other IkeSen works of mine on my page under the Masterlist. NOTES: Thank you so much to the wonderful folks who came out and hung out with me as I wrote my first Ikesen piece since ‘American Dream’ in ages. I’d been batting around this idea at the lovely @a-shout-to-the-void and finally buckled down and did it. TW: torture, abuse mentions and descriptions, blood, painful injuries. A lot of descriptions and references to Ieyasu’s childhood with the Imagawa Don’t worry, no one dies. It also somehow has a good ending? Idk man. Also, hello to my first piece with Yoshimoto in it whatupppppp

—-

It was three months after the second disappearance of the Takeda, and the main hall was deathly quiet. All were assembled–Nobunaga lording on his dias, his allies gathered close–and no one spoke. 

Ieyasu wished someone would. 

“He wasn’t difficult to bring in at all,” Mitsuhide commented, as if it were the weather. Clouds from the shoreline–perhaps it will rain. 

(Funny, they could use some of that. The summer was stifling and showed no signs of abating, even as the seasons turned. The crops weren’t going as well as expected, and Azuchi was a cooker. They’d slitted the screens open, but even then, Ieyasu could see sweat beading on Hideyoshi’s forehead. Even Mitsuhide, usually pristine and inhuman, sported small pools of darkened silk in the underlayers that peeked through.)

Masamune almost smiled. “Do you really think he was stupid enough to come here on purpose? He’s got guts.”

Nobunaga’s perceptive red eyes flickered in Ieyasu’s direction. 

“Perhaps.” Mitsuhide allowed a smile. 

Passing through the entrance at Musee de Louvre and mistakenly arriving at the mansion, the one I’ve encountered is…

Isaac: Though I’m unfamiliar with you, why don’t you sit down first?

Isaac: …Standing here without moving an inch, you’re obstructing the people behind you.

The scholar hailed as the “Legendary Genius” — Isaac Newton. 

[This is an unofficial work based on fan-translation. Copyright belongs to Cybird.]

My previous HC post only mentioned the boys and how they are etc. This one will go into how Malix and Diana come to play as well as their intentions and reasonings. Their intent towards the player will differ depending upon who they are falling in love with, at least mostly in Malix’s case. Diana will have the same intent, which is to get the boys back, but she goes about it differently. I gave her a bit of a bigger role for more impact, that way her switch up in SM2 has a bit more meaning. I like her in canon but only in SM2. Her absolute power in the first game irked me, but however I do understand she’s a demon and therefore not so easy to touch, yknow?

I think...this may be the most romantic date yet.

Warnings: Female!Reader, NSFW

Tagged: #hanayome

Translations and important notes: There’s no time for me to edit this so please enjoy before I probably regret this in the near future lol

Also please read the previous parts, this won’t make sense otherwise!

“The messengers have left,” Nobunaga announces, pouring you a cup of tea. You murmur your thanks as you take it from his hands, shyness suddenly sinking in under your skin. The thin fabric of the juban kimono you’re wearing feels a lot airier that you are used to, what with the outer layer being discarded and all—it’s as if you were naked. 

But so goes the ceremony, because the deity in front of you wears similar clothing. Plain white fabric wraps around his muscled limbs and torso, covering just enough skin to be presentable but also sheer enough to reveal places that are especially… tight. You swallow your anticipation down your throat as you remember what he told you earlier.

Don’t be shy. These, he gestured to your juban sleeve, will not be needed for later.

“After the sun sets, they should arrive at your village with my message and look at the contents of the box I sent them to ascertain that you’ve been made my bride,” he begins, sipping his own tea casually. Your hands trace a part of your hair that is uneven, cut for evidence. “I have made it known that their customs will no longer stay the same.”

“What will happen after?”

He looks at you, downs the contents of his cup, and motions you to come closer toward him. You do as you’re told. There’s a letter on his mahogany desk, speaking in detail of how the head priest will no longer have the privilege to communicate with him, and all the other changes he has decided to make within his temple of worship. You see the word ‘bride’ inscribed many times within the instructions. It hasn’t quite sunk in that the bride is you.

“I shall have the village’s craftsmen engrave this onto stone, so as to not have it fade with time,” he says, gazing at the piece of paper. “But before I deliver this message, there is something else that needs to be done.”

Then he turns to look at you, a kindling fire in his eyes, and you resist the urge to sigh. The very same heat burns at the bottom of your gut—a mix of nervousness and anticipation. 

“I know,” you quietly reply. He reaches for your face, thumb gently caressing the flesh of your rapidly reddening cheek. His gaze is passionate, longing, a show of all those emotions restrained by his own deep affections towards you. You realize that he has waited for so long. It’s a miracle he’s remained patient so far.

“You know, but are you willing?”

You’re not sure what motivates you to move towards him. Desperation? Submission? Either way, you find yourself situated on his lap, his hands quickly finding your waist to keep you there. Something within his eyes flashes dangerously, something ready to strike. You stop breathing. Maybe he does too, because he looks tense—within the short amount of time you’ve spent with him, he has never appeared more human than he does now. Craving, like a man starved. You feel your body growing hotter by the moment at the thought of driving a literal god into a state of such need.

“To be honest,” you begin, linking your hands behind his neck, “when I first met you, something inside of me changed. Like I somehow became awake.” Carnelian eyes never once gaze away from yours, and it normally would have shied you away from him even more, but not this time. As your voice drops into a whisper, there’s a rumble in his chest, as if there are thunderclouds threatening to unfurl. 

“I’ve never felt this way before, but ever since that day, I want you.”

Nobunaga grabs one of your wrists and brings your hand to his lips, kissing and nipping at your palm. A shaky breath escapes you. The slightest of his touch brings you to heights you’ve never climbed before, every calculated slide of his tongue on your skin a drug of pleasure. He sucks on your fingers.

“Want… this…”

“It will do you good to remember those words,” he finally says, letting your index finger go with a wet pop of his mouth. “I’ll use them against you if you dare complain later.” The telltale signs of a smirk enters his face, and before he can throw you a smug look, you press a chaste kiss against his lips, murmuring voiceless against them.

Never.

With a grunt, his hand flies to the back of your head, pulling you infinitely closer. His lips mesh against yours in a sacred dance, open-mouthed and desperate for a taste of you he has longed for. As the western side of the room bleeds orange from the sunset, your eyes flow with tears, your hands slowly roaming his chest and shoulders just to convince you it’s all real. He’s incredibly warm, the sensation rolling off his skin inviting, the hand on your lower back especially so. You can hear each kiss. The sound travels down your spine each time with a jolt of arousal, settling between your thighs that already feel too hot for you to withstand. He seems to know, hand snaking down to rub against your leg while the other begins work on your flimsy clothing. He never stops kissing you.

“Nobunaga,” you gasp his name, and he groans impatiently in response. Nimble fingers swiftly untie the knot that keeps your outfit together. With a simple tug it unravels almost completely, revealing so much of your skin you immediately feel cold. Your lover doesn’t waste a single second, diving towards your neck to press his lips against you as he moves to undress you completely. Helpless, your hand scrambles on his chest, parting the collar so that you won’t be the only one naked.

He already has your clothes open right down the middle now, and the notion of modesty disappears from whatever consciousness the two of you clutch on to. Ravenous and wanting, his lips move down to your collarbone, tongue marking every inch it encounters, before finally he arrives at your breast. You feel his ragged sigh against your chest before you’re engulfed in heat—his mouth, latching onto a turgid peak like a babe, while he continues your work of undressing himself. Another easy tug and he’s already taking his arms out of the sleeves.

You watch everything he is—he is circling your nipple with his tongue, he is quickly taking his clothes off, the muscles of his arms and back rippling in the process. Heavens, he’s a deity, and you shouldn’t be surprised that he turns out to be painfully beautiful. You moan when his teeth comes into play, lightly scraping your sensitive skin, and when he uses his hand to fondle your other breast, you can’t help but dig your nails into his forearms. He chuckles, vibrations travelling from his mouth to your nipple. 

Again, his name escapes your helpless lips, and it fuels him to give you more. He pleasures both peaks equally, growing rougher by the second, leaving your chest slick with his saliva and tingling with stimulation. Before you can register anything, he’s propped you up, forcing your legs to wrap around his waist so he can carry you to the futon in the center of the room. Somehow your juban slips down your back, leaving you completely bare against him. 

He lays you down, and with a predatory glint in his eyes, he discards his own robe before joining you. The silk beneath you feels exquisite, but his body feels better, enough to make you lose whatever little sense you have left in you. Welcoming him with an open-mouthed kiss, you let your tongues taste each other as your fingers delicately explore his chest. A palm on his left rib cage lets you feel his heartbeat—fast and warm.

“Look at me,” he commands, and you can’t help but obey.

The fire in his eyes burns brighter the lower he moves. He delivers kisses on your skin—shoulders, breasts, stomach, hipbone. He sees your chest heave with each inhale and exhale, a sign that you’re aware where this is going, yet your eyes never once leave his.

He spreads your thighs and you close your eyes in embarrassment.

A finger creeps up to touch you there, travelling upwards from under, collecting your wetness until it finally comes to rest on a bundle of nerves. He presses, only lightly, but the pleasure is so overwhelming you let out a loud moan. Lust courses within his veins as he continues playing with you, circling and pressing and flicking at the sensitive nub. You are at his mercy all the while, only capable of thrashing and squirming at his ministrations.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for so long,” is the only thing he allows himself to say before leaning forward. His lips latch against your cunt, making you scream as his tongue immediately goes to work, replacing his fingertip. You’re reduced to a hot mess as he sucks on your clit, tongue occasionally dipping into you, while his fingers inserted to the knuckle. Your hands clutch at his hair. It’s so much, but so overwhelmingly good, you find it hard to breathe. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” you moan, your hips jerking up with each thrust of his fingers, “nngh, please—”

“Patience,” he mutters, never once letting his lips leave your core. He’s panting. 

“I can’t,” you reply, the thought of not reaching the edge too painful to bear, “I need to—ah, I need to cum!”

“So impatient,” comes his answer, but then he adds one more finger inside of you and his tongue encompasses your clit, delivering fast flicks, and you can feel yourself racing towards the peak. 

“Nobunaga!” You wail, voice hoarse from overexertion. White fills your vision and you feel it—a coil snapping, your release spurting out from the crux of your thighs where he’s already waiting, readily drinking every single drop that you can offer. He moans loudly at your essence, ravenously devouring you until you’re overstimulated and clean. When he looks up at you, his chin is glistening.

“You never did keep your eyes on me,” he says, reaching a hand towards the edge of your lips and wiping his thumb against it. You’ve been drooling. A wave of shyness takes over you—how utterly ruined you must look before him right now, but there’s no time to feel ashamed, because he already has you pinned under him, his throbbing member prodding against your core. You let out a weak sigh.

“Tell me if it hurts.”

He enters you in one slick thrust and you can’t help the sound escaping your throat, a mix of pain and pleasure at the same time. He’s big. The inside of your mouth turns dry even as he offers his own to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and your insides clench at the thought. He’s towering above you, strong and unmovable, peering down at you to gauge your expression. You slide your arms around his neck.

Nobunaga hisses at your tightness enveloping him. It feels too good to be true, the culmination of his long years of waiting, you and him becoming one. Just the thought of it is enough to drive him mad. Suddenly he can’t wait any longer.

A gentle thrust of his hips, and you mewl—a distinct sound of pleasure. He knows you’re beginning to enjoy this, and he’s right, because you are quickly hypnotized by the sensation blooming between your legs. Fullness. Nobunaga presses his lips against your ear, nipping and sucking at the lobe as he pants. Both your hips and his are equally eager, chasing the ecstasy that is release. Faster.

“More,” you whisper, and it’s so sensual he nearly loses it. 

He urges your legs to wrap around him, allowing him to go deeper. The two of you moan in unison at the newness of it, but he doesn’t stop—he cannot. Not when you’re so hot and wet around him, not when you’re moaning his name louder with each breath, not when he’s so hell-bent on making you his. His—yes, finally. Centuries and now you’re here, in the flesh, wrapping around him like velvet. You’re his.

“I love you,” he says before kissing you again, deeper and more passionate than all the others combine, and the piston of his hips turn wild. You writhe, unable to contain the euphoria of your orgasm.

“Ngh—ah, hah, Nobunaga!”

He releases inside of you just as the sun sinks under the horizon, but a glow emerges from underneath your skin and his, just as golden as daylight. Blanketed by the brightness, the two of you kiss, with him still pressing his hips insistently against yours. You feel him, hot and wet inside of you, and you feel so incredibly full you might cum again from the sheer pleasure of it. His arms move to bring you against him as he gently rests his weight on top of you, not wanting to let go just yet. 

“Finally,” you hear him sigh. “You’re finally mine.”

Those words alone are enough to make your heart feel incredibly full, so you lean forward to kiss him, soft and gentle on his lips. He reciprocates, and when you part, the glow fades until it disappears altogether, leaving you and him alone in the room. Nobunaga almost reluctantly unsheathes himself, and you feel his juices and yours leaking out of you—perhaps you’re turning into something indecent, because you immediately sense the arousal travelling up your spine.

“How do you feel?”

“Happy,” you answer, combing his hair back to reveal more of his handsome face, “but I was hoping I could return the favor somehow…” 

He catches the implication, and the smirk he sends you makes your heart jump. “It’s only nightfall. We have until dawn.” His hands sneak up your chest, moving to fondle them again.