#but just take some pleasure in this omo moment

[omocatboy]

take pleasure in my medical episode piss tumblr. i’m running an infusion IV bag and i gotta piss so fucking bad, but can’t get to the bathroom while i’m attached. i have to pee so bad, i’m debating trying a bottle but i don’t want to pee everywhere. not in danger of pissing myself just very uncomfortable

i wanna peeee :/

[path777]

깊이 나른한 honeydew: kim mingyu the malewife that you are… some omo action at the end be warned. 1.2k

-

you didn’t think he was actually going to do it.

mingyu doesn’t see you at first; his back is turned towards you as he hums a tune, hands busy over the stovetop. the moment would’ve been funny if he didn’t actually look so good in it, his tanned golden skin in perfect complement with the pale pink straps of the apron stretching across his back. your gaze follows from his shoulders down to his back, his waist. what catches your eye, though, is the glint between his asscheeks, pink and inviting.

he turns around finally, and at the look in your eyes, begins to turn a delightful shade of red. mingyu’s hair is mussed, like he woke up not long before you did and rushed to prepare all of this. he doesn’t look at you, his face turned sideways as he clears his throat.

“good morning,” mingyu says. “i made breakfast. or i-i’m making breakfast.” he nods at the pan of eggs in his hands. you start walking towards him, wordless. not speechless — there were plenty of things you could think of to say to kim mingyu right now. he backs up accordingly, one step back as you take one step forwards, until there wasn’t any space left behind him.

“mingyu-ah,” you say, and you’re pressed right up against him as he holds the hot pan carefully away from you, “mingyu-ah.” you repeat, and even with your height difference you tilt his chin up by a finger, tracing that digit down the column of his throat, pressing over his adam’s apple. “my birthday isn’t for another few months, hm? you’ll spoil me.”

“i like it too, i-” mingyu sounds defensive, about to protest before your hand reaches his chest, cupping and groping at the muscle there. he lets out a soft noise, mouth closed and more lewd than it should have been. then he moves to turn away from you, that noise of pleasure turning into one of protest. “let me finish up here first.”

you grab him by the waist, pressing him back to position. there’s no resistance from mingyu as you manhandle him, only a soft oof as leans back again. “too late.” you say, leaning in to capture his lips in a searing kiss, lips quickly parting, tongues entangling as you reach a hand down to his cock, already chubbed up and bare underneath the thin fabric of the apron. it’s lewd, so lewd - the tent of the apron at his crotch, bringing the hem of it up by inches, all the way up to his upper thighs. “you know i have no self-control.”

“terrible,” mingyu mumbles against your lips, putting everything that was in his hands down and moving his hands to your hips. “just terrible.”

his grip tightens as you queeze at his tip, feeling dampness soak through. “hands,” you remind him, and they move to clutch at the edge of the counter obediently, “how long ago did you wake up?”

“mm, like- like an hour ago, ah-” he answers, voice breathy between whimpers. your hand rubs at his cock through the apron.

“and what did you do after that?” you coax. “used your fingers?”

mingyu nods, swallowing thickly. “three, and i was- it didn’t take too long… last night…” he drifts off, clearly embarrassed to say more.

your lips move down to the nape of his neck, open-mouthed kisses leaving your claim. “still loose from last night, hm? is that plug big enough?”

he whines then, almost like a squeak. “don’t,” the utterance of displeasure is followed by a tilt of his neck, giving you better access to that expanse of unmarked skin. “don’t tease.”

you smile against his neck. “turn around for me, princess,” you say, and he turns slowly, almost teasingly if not for his embarrassment, so that his hips are pressed against the counter.

your hands linger at the bow tied at his lower back, twirling at the ribbon with your fingers. mingyu turns his head to look back at you then, face flushed and eyes desperate. you don’t break eye contact with him as you reach down at a snail’s pace, taking hold of that shiny flared base of his plug. you pull on it slightly, with just enough force that it merely tugs on his rim, pink and puckered. “you’re tighter than i thought,” you say. “i’ll have to use a bigger size next time.” mingyu chokes, breaking eye contact as he turns back.

you move to pull the plug out fully this time. “relax, mingyu-ah,” you say, as the body of it leaves him with a wet pop, and he shivers at the sudden emptiness. his hole flutters, clenching around nothing as he leans down, elbows leaning onto the countertop. the meal he was planning is forgotten as you push the plug back into him, his whole body shoving forward with the force. you weren’t gentle and he moans, back arching as the plug fills him once again. “princess loves his plug, doesn’t he,” you say, forcing the plug in and out of him, pulling through and past his rim every time. “gets your hole so puffy, almost like a cunt.”

mingyu’s stuttering moans haven’t stopped, but at this his knees nearly give way, and you press up against him to keep him against the counter. the plug is shoved further inside him than before, and the continuous pressure against his prostate has him coming, the friction of his cock rubbing against the apron and the counter too much for him to take. “mmh-!” he tries to hold the whine in but a whimper escapes, biting down on his lips as he cums untouched, thick white dripping down from the inside of the apron and down his stomach.

“mingoo,” you coo, leaning in to bite at mingyu’s ear. “what happened?”

he seems overwhelmed, barely responsive as he only whimpers, small and breathy, “sensitive, from- from yesterday,” he’s wrecked, so wrecked - different from his usual stamina - “it was just a little massage,” you say, teasing again, “your cunt is sensitive today, hm?”

and he barely has time to respond before you’re at it again, this time taking the plug out before using your fingers, two at first then three, searching for a place in particular that’ll make him cry out your name.

“no-!” mingyu cries, but his hips are moving obediently, thrusting back in search for more stimulation. “no, i- feels weird, i need- i need-“ your other hand reaches around him to grab at his cock again, this time using the fabric of the apron to jerk him off.

“please, fuck, i need to go, wait i need to go need to go need to go-!” you feel the warmth spread over the fabric and your hand, the sound of mingyu’s moans - loud and obscene - underscored by the sound of him leaking, drops of gold hitting the floor. your fingers leave his insides with a wet noise, and what a sight mingyu is- pink apron absolutely soaked through, his ass used red and puffy. he sinks to the floor then with a whine, untying the apron on his own. he looks at you, eyes red and watery. “um, scrambled or what?” he sniffs.

“what?”

his voice is closer to the usual timbre now. “the eggs,” he clarifies. you laugh.

“go shower, mingyu. the eggs’ll be done when you are.”

[creativekha0s]

So I had this idea in my head that refused to leave so I wrote it out. Definitely a work in progress. It’s WWE characters set in the John Wick universe where nearly the entire roster are assassins. Thought I’d try it out and here’s what came of it. Please enjoy!

—

Fuck. Here we go again.

Liv Morgan walked slowly onto the grounds of the Continental. Safe, for now. As if anyone was anymore. Another reason she always kept her pistol closer to her than her enemies. There were no friends. Just other assassins, other targets, other opportunists with happier trigger fingers looking to collect. She wasn't so different from the rest. Liv liked to believe she had better morals than most around her and morals got you nowhere in this life.

Through the front doors, Liv immediately caught the eyes of some in the lobby. A duo of assassins she hasn't seen in awhile caught her eye and the smirk of one. Rhea Ripley and Raquel Rodriquez, these two together were dangerous. Liv was lucky enough never to have squared off against either but have seen their handiwork up close before. Raquel was a powerhouse of a human who preferred up close combat to guns. Rhea was an expert with knives no matter the kind. Any kind of blade in her hand, run in the other direction.

"Checking in again so soon, Miss Morgan? I assume you want to speak with Mr. Heyman again." The concierge asked.

"Just here for a drink, thank you." Liv half smiled and headed towards the lounge of the hotel. It was quite empty during this time of the day. Once the sun set, the most notorious of assassins could be found here whether it be to hide out or to drink in peace. The likes of The Los Guerreros, The Wyatt Family, The Brood, The Bloodline, The Bullet Club, all have been passed through here at some point in time.

"My usual, please." Liv slipped her hand into her pocket and slid a gold coin across to the bartender as she took her seat in exchange for some of the most expensive whiskey most common places couldn't even afford to sell. Following to the seat next to her was Rhea Ripley, The Eradictor. Raquel stood by to the side.

"Here for business, Livvy?" Rhea flashed her smirk to her again. "A drink that hard should be savored for something else." She slid a coin to the bartender as well and motioned her finger towards Liv's drink letting them know she wanted one of the same. "Pleasure." Raquel didn't care much for her flirting but it seemed Liv wasn't too much wavered by it either.

Liv scoffed to herself and lifted the drink to her lips and took a long swig. "Pleasure? I lost pleasure in this life a long time ago."

Rhea chuckled and raised her glass up staring at the contents. "Because you're small time, Livvy. Knocking off the small contracts, the single unit bounties. You don't think big enough for yourself." After a few sips, Rhea handed the glass to Raquel to finish. "Why don't you tag along with us to New York? There's a bounty raise on that Wick fellow, twenty five million easy. Largest bounty in years and we want it. And we should get to it quickly. I heard Omos and Demon King Balor have already been on his tail."

"Death wish." Liv shook her head and knocked back another swig. Every assassin around wanted to get in on that open contract except the issue at hand was...no one could claim it no matter how much they wanted to. Trying to take out John Wick was absolute suicide and Liv was going to stay as far away as she could, hold her head down, and keep out of the way as much as possible. She had no quarrel with him. Rhea wasn't wrong about taking the small contracts. Easy money that came quick and clean, Liv was good at what she did and not to be underestimated by anyone. "Been nice knowing you if you pursue." Liv emptied the rest of the contents of her glass down her throat and let it burn before it settled.

They shared eye contact for a brief moment, then Liv glanced up to Raquel and gave her a half smile. Then she left the duo at the bar as she walked to the staircase in the middle of the lobby to head up to her room. Meanwhile Rhea and Raquel weren't intimidated at the slightest and left the hotel to attempt the Wick contract. More money to split between the two of them anyway.

Upstairs, Liv took a seat and pulled out her burner phone to open the list of contracts available for anyone to accept. Of course at the top, John Wick for 25 million. No way in hell would she ever touch that. Anything over 5 million was a risk to her. Again, Liv Morgan was an amazing assassin and should never be taken lightly but she also knew her own limitations to certain contracts. The higher the bounty, the more difficult it was to kill. And Liv was content with playing the system her way and taking the easier contracts for much less money. One day she wanted to leave this al behind and she wanted to be alive to enjoy the money she's already accrued.

She scrolled through the list of names carefully after the first 8 names were over her desired number:

PENDING:

Damien Priest: 4 Million USD Giovanni Vinci: 3 Million USD Riddick 'Madcap' Moss: 2.5 Million USD Io Shirai: 1.5 Million USD Johnny Gargano: 1.5 Million USD Tommaso Ciampa: 1.5 Million USD

Liv was familiar with more than half of these names and the bounties being over 1 million all around was well enough to keep her interested. Question was, which target to choose and for how much?

Incoming Text Message...

Liv's phone had buzzed again before she had a chance to set it down. A new open contract was available like clockwork. It's what kept the business of this lifestyle moving along. Swiping up, Liv clicked on the message. She didn't blink once reading it.

Alexa Bliss: 5 Million USD

The contract was open and it was set to kick off at midnight. Liv looked over to the clock on the side table of her bed. It was 10:30 PM. She would barely have time to prepare. Liv didn't allow her emotions to become the best of her, this is the path she chose while Alexa chose hers. Except the guilt in her stomach became more apparent the longer she stared at the text. Or it was a bad feeling. Liv got those a lot.

New Incoming Call...

"Fuck me." Liv should've known. This is why she hated getting those bad feelings, why she wanted out of this life as fast as possible, to never look back on what she was forced into as a child without a choice in the matter. Her eyes stared at her phone screen while she let it ring three times. She took a deep breath and brought the phone up to her ear. "I really need you to rethink everything you want to do or say to me before you end up getting us both killed."

"Five million dollars is pretty tempting to put a bullet hole in the middle of my forehead, isn't it?"

Liv was close to crushing her phone in her hand. "Tell me you didn't do it. You didn’t fucking do it…”

"Oh baby I did what I had to do. What I always said I was going to do if the McMahon Family ever fucked around with me again. I killed Vince McMahon. And I need you to help protect me from the backlash it's going to cause. The contract is only open for a week because they think I'll die as easily as he did." Liv could hear her breath hitch here and there, she was on the run. "Please, Liv. I bear your Marker and you know that, but I'm asking you myself first because..."

That was a long time ago or so it seemed to Liv. She tended to block out what her and Alexa had before things went downhill.

"...you know why. I don't have too much time left."

Liv kept her cool as best she could. Fuck, she could use another drink. Perhaps she'll go for one before she makes a big mistake. "I'm at the Continental. Meet me here but don't you dare come inside. Rhea and Raquel are here, I think Wade Barrett is around and every fucking person you don't want after you if they see your face at the hotel. Let me know when you're here, I'll find you. You owe me for this one. You so fucking owe me."

"Whatever my bounty is at when we're done, consider it your payment. That's a promise to you, baby. I'll be seeing you, very soon."

The call ended immediately after and Liv rolled her eyes hard. So much for another swift payday, she thought. She had to get ready and fast. Not only was 5 million dollars a good bounty when it was close by, but Alexa wasn't much known for making friends with others that resided in the Continental. And who knows what the McMahon family was willing to pay to bring back Alexa's head for what she had done. The High Table wasn't going to be very pleased with this now that a few shifts in power were going to come into play.

Liv needed to act quickly before things tipped away from her favor. She needed to think of a plan, a place to go, and guns. She was going to need a lot of guns.

[mzmezzler]

Hiiii I hear you’re looking for Lino asks? Thank GOD because I’ve been wanting to read a Lino omo fic for so long but I could never find one :( maybe if you could do something like he’s been teasing you and annoying you all day and you’ve had enough so you punish him. Maybe something like he’s fully clothed and you’re naked and you’re face sitting and he’s eating you out but you’re leaning back and pushing on his stomach and rubbing his bulge until maybe he goes in his pants... iF THATS TOO MUCH IM SO SORRY

Cat Scratch - Minho x Fem!reader

shortlist: dom!reader, sub!minho, omorashi, humiliation, face sitting, slight brat taming, humiliation, clothed handjob

word count: 848

summary: see the ask above ^^

a/n: this fucking prompt...I love it...but I also hope I didn't write it weird. I have a rough couple of days with the thought of sex but I really wanted to write this. I hope it's ok

Any and all feedback is appreciated :)

“What? you wanted my attention so badly, cat got your tongue hun?”

The squeak that left his lips was pitiful, but it only was the cherry on top for the scene before you.

Here was Minho, sprawled out in the sheets below you with his chest heaving while you hovered over his head. Moving to sit behind his head you watch his stomach rise and fall while carding a hand through his hair.

“Oh look at your surprised little face-” You place a finger on the brunette’s chin, chuckling at his focused expression. “You ought to make yourself useful. I was in the mood to humor you tonight”

He was so pretty with that strangled look on his face paired with the slick and spit shiny on his chin and lips from where you were previously grinding on his face.

“But you wanted to be a needy bitch, but now you get what you were pestering me for and now what?-” You grit while petting Minho’s head, letting your grating words mingle with your comforting touch.

“- now you can’t deliver, and that won’t do.”

Your soft words must have shaken something behind Minho’s far away eyes, because

If the twitch in his damp sweats was anything to go by, he still had some more to go.

It was always amusing to see how many times Minho could cum untouched, but after the first two releases the brunette was more than likely to only have a couple of nearly clear droplets of cum to dribble into the rest of the mess in his pants. All before he goes on to piss in his sweats, soiling the bed. The first time he did it wasn’t planned, but the tears in those wide sparkling eyes were so addicting as the boy sobbed to himself in his own mess. All because he was so ashamed of the fact that despite the embarrassment, he liked it.

Lifting yourself from your place at the headboard, you go to straddle Minho’s face, ignoring the brunettes' groan before you settle yourself back onto him. The sensation was instant with a shiver traveling throughout your body as Minho started to work his tongue along your folds in one fat stripe before sucking all that you could give.

The sounds alone would be scandalizing if not for the instant pleasure coupled with the lewd sounds.

“God, you’re a greedy thing, just can’t help yourself.” You gasp.

And with a harsh suck you lurch forward, letting a deep moan be forced out of you. Bracing yourself on Minho’s chest while subtly rolling your hips over his face you feel Minho’s own groan at the pressure being applied to his lower chest.

The discovery made a smirk blossom on your face as your breath remained heavy with Minho’s tongue working against you.

And so to add onto the moment you press the open palm of your hand on his bladder, drinking in the sight of the way his body jolts and twitches under your hand. With your other

With every push and grope you reap the reward of those muffled grunts sent shock waves through you as you watched the wet patch in Minho’s pants grow while you approached your own climax.

“You’re being so good for me love, such a good boy for me”

The only reply you got was a broken moan after a light slap to the brunette’s erection.

It was almost maddening how tightly wound you could make Minho in such a short period of time, and the closer he got the harder he worked on you. His tongue moving like he was only meant to eat you out like a mindless toy, only for your pleasure.

“Ah-, Min I’m close, keep going” You gasp suddenly.

Rocking your hips back onto Minho’s mouth he gives another harsh suck before you almost fall forward and tense as your sudden orgasm runs over you.

As you were so wrapped up within your release you don’t catch how far you press onto Minho’s stomach. With the force in tandem with his filthy state, Minho taps twice onto your thigh, signaling that he couldn’t take it anymore.

But before you could move Minho’s ragged breath halts before the light grey patch in his sweats grows into an ever growing, dark wet patch. It doesn't fully register for a bit that Minho is actually pissing himself for a couple of moments.

Shakely rising from your spot straddling the boy’s face, you move onto his side. You can’t even form yourself to be displeased as he gasps and whines while the last weak drops mingle in the seats.

“How do you feel Minnie?”

Looking over his from you wipe the slick from his chin with a sigh, “You’re such a filthy little thing”

And again were those sparkling eyes, so lost within pleasure all to where nothing else seemed to be present, it was just you soothing Minho in a soiled bed while he floated in a space between sleep and euphoria. Just the two of you basking in each other’s afterglow.

[hidethisblogjfc]

Sorry if this is terrible lol

Warnings- Mentions of stuffing, Scat, Eprocto, messing, brief mentions of omo (but I'm not really into that ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

Boxes from varying take out restaurants are littered around them, everything from Chinese from that questionable hole in the wall down the street, to a popular burger joint a couple blocks over. They aren't all from just one day, no, some of these are from dinner five days go. They've never been as good at keeping up with the cleaning as B is, or perhaps, A thinks, this slobby behavior is just a consequence the laziness that accompanies their...…over indulging.

By now, B has been gone on their overseas business trip for about five days, which means that A has two days to get everything back into unassuming order, though, part of A warns that maybe they should get around to it sooner, rather than later. Still, they ignore it, because it just feels so good to live out their fantasy, especially after keeping it under close wraps for so, so long.

A loves B, they do, with everything in them, but there are just some things that they're almost positive B won't get behind, and so, its been easier to hide their less than conventional desires; only getting an extra serving of fries as opposed to the additional burger or two that they want, or getting a large soda instead of that extra large milkshake. Usually, A wishes that they could take things further than just a handful of fries and sugary pop, they want to push their body, see how much they can eat before they're too full to move, become an almost permanent resident of the living room sofa, only giving the weighed down cushions a break when they lug their heavy frame to bed. For as long as they could remember, that's the life that A has dreamed of. But it's quite possible that B, who's notoriously clean, neat and healthy would be absolutely repulsed by just the idea.

And A loves B too much to lose them.

But they also wish they could have that life, that dream, with their partner.

But they can't.

Which is why when B came home one day, announcing that they're cushy job, would be sending them away for a week of seminars, the idea had bloomed in A's head; this was their chance. At first A felt a little guilty, especially when the first delivery guy had shown up, both arms filled with A's order, making a joke about how they must having been having a party, because conventionally, one simply doesn't order off half the menu unless there's company. And then, when they'd offered up the card that B religiously maintains for them, A had felt even worse; they were lying to the person they loved.

But then A popped that first egg roll into their mouth. The crispiness of the egg dipped shell crunching between their teeth, the explosion of flavors; oily, fried cabbage and carrots, melding with the saltiness of soy sauce and the juicy meat inside, had them moaning in pleasure. By the time the first delicious roll was through, and A glanced down at their lap, seeing that there were five more to go, all remnants of contrition seemed to dissipate. For the first time in years, they could eat without someone at their side, reminding them to take it easy so they don't make themselves sick.

That night, the first one after B's temporary departure, A had surprised themselves by finishing everything they'd ordered. Granted, it was past one am when they'd popped the last dumpling into their mouth, and they most definitely couldn't move after, but that was all part of the fun.

Things became even more fun when all that greasy food had started digesting, or at least, tried to. A was no laid on the sofa, the blue light from the television illuminating room, t-shirt bunched up at their chest and their hand splayed on their bare, bloated gut. Loud, deep belches plagued them for a while, the scent acting as a reminder of everything they'd scarfed down; eggrolls, noodles, orange chicken and stuffed dumplings, all washed down with two liters of their favorite soda, straight from the bottle.

Ever so often, A would groan following a protesting gurgle emanating from their over worked tummy, and eventually, those gurgles and that audible sloshing, slowly began making its rounds through their system. They weren't ready for the toilet yet though; fetid gas had just started being expelled into the chair, creating a humid cloud around them and joining their wet burps.

As much as it hurt though, and as foul as their gassy emissions were, A could hardly find it in their being to be remorseful. The gas continued through the late night, progressively growing sloppier, with a dangerous moisture accompanying each drawn out, bubbling fart. Yet, despite the symphony created by their ass, their gut didn't deflate one bit, instead it continued to press against the waistband of A's sweat pants, stained at the front with sauces from their adventurous dinner. A hadn't gone to bed that night, opting to spend the night dozing off in front of the television, occasionally rousing to drowsily rub large circles on their tum.

It was early the next morning when a particularly harsh cramp gripped their tummy, squeezing out a long fart, reminiscent of a liquidly gurgle from their ass, ended in a loud squelch. The new slimy warmth seeping past their crack and spreading around the seat of their underwear made what had happened glaringly obvious, while the musky air had taken on a new foulness.

Briefly, they'd contemplated standing up, and heading to the toilet like they usually would, but the feeling of their sloppy mess gathered in their undies brought an incomparable pleasure, and so instead of standing, A simply turned on their side, bending their knees slightly, so their butt wouldn't be pressed into sofa. A short, primal grunt pressed their lips together in a tight line as they pushed, a blort audible over the hum of a morning show as a larger batch of runny poop landed in their pants.

"Oh fuck," they hissed, reliving their bladder too, creating a dark wet patch on the front of their sweats to match to one at the back. The thick, pee soaked fabric clung to their thighs, while at the back, the mess made it pull away from their skin.

Their tummy groaned angrily, bubbling under A's palm as their load came effortlessly, soft lumps stretching the puckered, swollen lips of their anus. The semi-solid masses were occasionally interrupted by waves of pure mush, making a sickly burbling sound as it joined the impressive load in their underwear, making it wetter and heavy. It felt like waves of thick, warm sludge was just steadily flowing out of them, as if a tap had been opened.

Eventually when A stood, they could still manage brief, packed toots, though, unless they wanted to risk the integrity of the sofa, they'd had to finish up in the bathroom.

That, was going on five days ago. Now, A has let go even further, eating whatever they want guiltlessly, making their pants double as their bathroom, regardless of wherever they are in the house, and showering only when whatever they're wearing threatens to leave telling stains on the furniture. It feels like they're living an absolute dream; a slobby, smelly dream. Though, in two days, its back to normal.

Two days, forty-eight hours, countless minutes. It's a ways away, so A figures that they can get away with their questionable hygiene and eating habits for a while longer, and with that in mind, they linger among the clutter they've created, sitting in their eggy stink with the television playing reruns of their favorite show, as they wait for dinner to arrive, a generous selection from the bar-b-que place a couple blocks away.

It's late, and while their latest pair of sweats is a bit tighter than usual because of the perpetual bloat they've acquired over the past few days and even a little stained from misjudging a couple farts, A's pants are mostly dry and somewhat clean. They've already decided that they won't give a shower too much thought until the next morning, and the evidence of their latest raid of the snack cabinet is littered around them. It feels like heaven, that is, until from down the hall, they hear keys jingling in the door.

And there's only one person beside them with a key. The other person that lives there, A's unassuming partner; B.

They're early!

"Shit," in the haste to stand up, the pressure on their on their pudgy tummy pushes out a rumbling fart, only worsening the stench in the room, and suddenly, what mere minutes ago felt like ultimate bliss feels like a cruel punishment. B can't see them like this.

"A?" A can hear the curiosity peaked in B's tone, and they know its because the musky odor has long travelled down the downstairs hall of their condo, "Baby what's-"

A desperately tries to greet B nearer to the door, and hopefully stall, before they can witness their unofficial base of operations, but they're too slow and they're just pushing aside some of the empty boxes and soda cans when B enters, one of their carry-on's slipping from their shoulder and falling onto the typically pristine marble floor, jaw hanging slack in surprise. Cautiously, B probes, "Did you have a party or something?"

With their already dodgy stomach knotting with nerves, A shakes their head; B probably gonna figure it out anyway. A hasn't even though about it at this point, but B pays all of the credit card bills, just one look at the next one is gonna give away what they'd planned on hiding. Really, it's best they just tell the truth. "No," A croaks, wringing their fingers in front of their distended tummy, squeezing their musky cheeks closed to keep a barrage of nervous gas at bay.

The shock on B's face is unwavering, and it takes a moment before they're finally able to muster up their next questions, "You ate all of this? This is...…all you?" A is just noticing the slight scrunch in B's nose, and it only fuels the fear that the end of their relationship is inevitable. Why would someone like B want to be with A, they think and there isn't a way in their mind that this is going to work.

"Yeah," A nods, embarrassed.

B seems like they're about to say something, but their thoughts are interrupted by a buzz on the intercom;

A's food is here.

And they have a lot to talk about

[bleucheeks]

[013] rub his back; (6/?)

BTS sickfic // kookie-centric // word count: 4,201

Summary:

Jungkook still has a fever. Jin and Hobi cuddle him without shirts on. The boys decide to stay up all night for their maknae.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12520580/chapters/38743097

Jimin’s hooded silhouette pads carefully on bare feet to click open the large window shutters of the dark bedroom. The sounds of the waves outside get a little louder and the breeze seeps through the room, and that’s when Jin jolts awake. The oldest lifts his head toward Jimin, all wide-eyed and confused. He wakes Jungkook by accident, round eyes startled and weary, hazy orbs over pale pasty skin.

“Ah, I’m sorry baby,” Jin whispers quickly, feeling the maknae’s body tense and move in his arms. He runs a hand through the sick boy’s hair. “Go back to sleep.” Jungkook’s baggy eyes close shut and his breaths become rhythmic again, intermingled with Hoseok’s light snores beside him. Jin drops his head back down on the pillow, rubbing his face with a groan.

“Oh my gooooddd, how could I fall asleep,”

Jimin comes to crouch near the bed next to them. He taps Jin’s forehead before running a single finger through his hair. He’s been itching to check on the three sleeping members.

“Your face is puffy; you must be so tired, hyung. Your mouth was hanging open when I walked in.” There’s a giggle in his voice, as there so often is, and his eyes are soft with gentle amusement. Jin groans again; how dare he fall asleep? Jungkook needs him. There’s a weight on his chest and a humid warmth right on his neck and that’s when he realizes Jungkook is practically on top of him, half of his body strewn across him, with his face tucked into Jin’s neck and puffing steady streams of hot and sour air on his skin.

The aroma seeping from the kitchen reminds him suddenly of the dinner he was supposed to be making and he gasps.  

“Omo, the soup—the stove, is everything—?”

Jimin places a hand on his chest. “Soup’s done and the kitchen’s cleaned up, hyung. Don’t worry,”

Jin’s hands are over his face again.

“It’s okay. You needed the rest.”

“I don’t even remember closing my eyes.”

“Because you’re tired. But it’s only been 30 minutes. Relax.”

“That’s all?”

Jimin answers with a hum, petting Jin’s hair, making Jin drowsy all over again. He should probably make himself some coffee.  

“Maybe I should trust you more.” Jin comments, giving in to heavy eyelids and reveling the calm of the moment. Jimin’s nails tickle along his hairline in the best way.

“Maybe?” Jimin snorts. “Yah, you really should.”

The raw scent of sea breeze and wet sand fills Jin’s nostrils and he makes a sound of pleasure. “This is nice.” He swishes his feet carefully under the sheets in search of a cool spot on the mattress, for a bit of relief from the deadweight of Jungkook’s fevered body on top of him.

“Yeah,” Jimin says softly. “I thought Kookie could use some fresh air,”  

“Always an angel, our Jimin,”

Jimin’s eyes sparkle proudly at the praise. He leans over to kiss Jin’s forehead. Jin smiles with his eyes closed.

“What’re the others doing right now?”

“Yoongi’s in the shower, I think. Tae, Joonie and I are just sitting around for now. Might hook up Hobi’s Switch and play some games, or watch a movie, or walk out on the beach. We haven’t decided yet.”

“I’ll be back out there in a little bit,” Jin says.

“It’s okay, hyung. We’ve got it, seriously. Just stay here with him. I’m pretty sure Kookie will throw a fit if you get up anyway.”

Jin breathes out a quiet laugh. “You’re probably right.” Jungkook is a koala right now. Even asleep, his hold is secure and his hands are balled up in Jin’s shirt to make sure it stays that way.

Jimin finds the maknae’s warm hand and squeezes it, rubbing his thumb along the top of it. Jungkook stirs at the touch, opening his eyes just as Jimin leans forward to peck his cheek, earning Jimin a drowsy goofy smile. “Still so warm,” Jimin comments, a frown creasing his eyebrows. “What’re we gonna do about this fever, Jin-hyung? He’s been running a temperature on and off for about a day and a half.”

“I don’t know,” Jin says, frowning too, tracing lines along Jungkook’s shivering back. “Was trying to see if some sleep would help, and maybe it will, but it’s only been half an hour. And I didn’t want to try giving him any medication until he’s able to keep some water down. It wouldn’t do him any good if he’s dehydrated, you know? It’ll tear up his stomach.” There’s some silence while Jin thinks this through.

“Can you do me a favor?” He adds, looking up at Jimin. “Come back in another 30 and we’ll check his temperature. Then we can see if we can get some soup in him.”

Jimin likes that plan. He nods his head and his eyes light up a little. Jin can tell Jimin’s worry is starting to consume him. He’s either wringing at his hands or chewing at his lips, or both. When he worries, his hands and feet stay busied and he hovers around Jin. And since Jin’s been occupied in bed with Jungkook, he’s been peeking through the door to check on them every other minute, wondering if he should fix the tangled sheets around the three sleeping members or tidy up the room. He’d finally given into the urge to open the windows, after having slipped away from Yoongi’s watchful eye. And speaking of. . .

“Yah,” Yoongi hisses by the door. Jimin jumps, because he knows Yoongi had specifically told him not to go into the bedroom. Jimin looks back at his hyung with a sheepish grin, his shoulders stiffening. “You woke them up, didn’t you,”

“I did not,” Jimin whispers back. Jin grins invitingly at Yoongi, waving him inside, but Yoongi stays by the door, eyes narrow and nose scrunched.

“Sure, sure. Come Chim, let them rest while they still can. I’m sure Jin will holler if he needs us, won’t you, hyung?”

“That’s right,” Jin answers, still rubbing idly at Jungkook’s hot skin. He reaches with his other hand to squeeze Jimin’s.

“Are you okay, though? Do you need anything before I leave?” Jimin asks, and bless his whole heart. Jin lifts Jimin’s hand to press his lips there.

“I’m fine, baby. Thanks for asking. Just tell Yoongi what I told you and come back in a little while, alright?”

Jimin pouts. Jin reaches over to pat Jimin’s butt. “Go on.” He orders, biting his lip to keep from laughing. His loyal and sweet and considerate angel takes his time walking to the door, looking back a few times to get some last looks at the sleeping maknae before Yoongi grabs his hand and leads him out.  

x

Jin stares up at the ceiling, brushing hair away from his forehead so a breeze from the open windows can cool him down; he’s starting to get hot, but he doesn’t want to disturb Jungkook, who already seems to be having a hard time getting comfortable in his sleep. Every few minutes, he stirs a little and presses himself further into Jin like a needy baby, humming restlessly and burrowing himself into the elder’s sturdy torso.

His arm is still across Jin’s body, latched tight and unyielding. Jin can feel all the discomfort, the chills shuddering his body in waves, the catches in his breath against his neck, the tightening and the gurgling starting to build in activity in his stomach, the heat.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to care that he’s sweating so much himself. The beads of moisture gathering around his face get absorbed by Jin’s shirt.

The moment Jin moves, Jungkook whimpers.

“One sec bun, lemme just—,” Jin quickly unravels himself from Jungkook to get out of his t-shirt before the younger can react, gets it done in two seconds, tossing the sweaty shirt over the side of the bed and gathers Jungkook’s aching body back into his arms.

The maknae seems to like that Jin’s skin has no barriers with his own. He snuggles close, head throbbing with the movement, breathing in the warm tones of Jin’s musk before letting out a sound of miserable frustration. He bumps his forehead into Jin’s chest three times. Jin is concerned, but he’s also stifling a giggle.

“Hey you, what’s the matter?” He cuffs the back of Jungkook’s neck, lightly massages. Jungkook groans, voice thin, as it’s another word short of tears.

“I don’t know. . .m-my body hurts,” His head is pulsing, feels so tight that he’s scrunching his eyes. And his skin raises with goosebumps at the slightest touch of anything. And the ever-present nausea is sitting in his throat, not severe enough to need to vomit, but enough to threaten it. His stomach feels like a literal knot, tied up at the esophagus and bloated with acid and air. Every time he thinks he’s going to burp, the feeling settles back down and adds to the pressure in his belly.

Jin hums with sympathy, his voice brimming with concern. He feels the tense wrinkles on Jungkook’s forehead as he kisses there, feels the goosebumps as he rubs Jungkook’s back with a splayed palm.

“Like fever aches?” Jin suggests, bringing Jungkook closer when he tenses from a particularly violent chill.

“Mm,” is the shaky answer, with a nod of his head. Jin’s bottom lip juts out. He rocks Jungkook a few times. Hoseok must have felt the movement; he rolls over and slings an arm across Jin and Jungkook, hooking his chin over the maknae’s shoulder.  

“My baby doesn’t feel good, does he?” Hoseok’s voice rumbles from the heaviness of sleep.

“Mm mm,” Jungkook responds, guiding Hoseok’s arm toward his sick stomach. Hoseok adapts well. He knows exactly where his body should be and what it needs to do to comfort Jungkook right this very second.

“You’re gonna be okay, bun bun,” he reassures, nuzzling the back of Jungkook’s head with his nose. “Try to get some more sleep. Be my snuggle buddy.”

Even though Jungkook doesn’t feel any different physically, he can relax a tiny bit more with Jin and Hobi sandwiching him. Their embrace buffers his chills and the scents of their bare skin makes it a little easier to be distract himself from the nausea.

Jin kisses warm skin wherever lips can reach, whispering I love you, tracing and rubbing along Jungkook’s spine between Hoseok’s body, skin on skin on skin, three bodies melded together until their breaths and their heartbeats slow and fall into the same rhythm.

 x

 Exactly a half hour later, Jimin is back, and this time with everyone else. They all hover by the bed as Jimin crouches to wake Jin up. It doesn’t take much; Jin’s eyes open with expectancy, but he’s surprised to see all four members watching him. Jungkook stirs. Jin keeps a hand pressed into the small of Jungkook’s clammy back, rubbing a thumb there for comfort in case Jungkook’s reaction is fitful, but it isn’t. The youngest’s eyes flutter open, squirming before tightening his arm around Jin’s chest. Jin feels Jungkook’s leg snake around his own, toes wiggling and rubbing into his ankle. Everyone watches fondly at the three cuddling members below him.

“Bunny.” Jin mumbles lovingly into Jungkook’s hair. Jungkook looks up and around, then blinks at Jimin, and then Namjoon, Taehyung, and Yoongi.

“Hi Kookie,” Namjoon whispers.

“Hi,” A rumbly croak answers.

It’s hard not to coo when Jungkook’s this vulnerable and clingy. He looks so young like this, with his eye peeking up from being obscured under Jin’s chin. Namjoon’s eyes sparkle with adoration. He looks like he wants to touch the maknae so bad. He settles with a kiss on Jungkook’s forehead because he just can’t resist and Jungkook feels a flush of warm before color burns brighter on his feverish cheeks.

The young singer’s breaths are still dragging deep and low from having been pulled out of sleep, round doe eyes puffy and rimmed dark and shadowy like a raccoon’s, yet adorable. But god, he’s in bad shape. His skin looks sallow even under the moonlight, cheeks flushed from his high temperature. His forehead is beaded with sweat, but that probably has a lot to do with the combination of his fever and the fact that he won’t let go of Jin.

“How’re you feeling, champ?” Yoongi asks. Jungkook loves how soft Yoongi sounds right now, how caring his eyes are toward him. He’s sad that he isn’t feeling better.  

There isn’t much contemplating before he shakes his head and mumbles, “Not good,” which earns frowns from everyone.

“Ahgi,” Jimin whines, sending his small body forward, rubbing his whole face into Jungkook’s shoulder, natural aegyo running full-force, voice and all. “I’m so sorry you’re feeling so bad. If I could be sick in your place, I would.”

“No you wouldn’t,” Jungkook croaks, deadpan. Hoseok playfully sticks his tongue out at Jimin, who looks appalled, but relieved that Jungkook has enough in him to tease him. He pops his head up to make that comical wide-eyed stare he does. “You really think I wouldn’t? Jungkook-sshi. Wah—I’m so hurt,” Jungkook lets his heavy eyelids fall shut and his lips turn up in a sleepy smirk. Jin breathes out a chuckle.

“You might be right,” Jungkook relents. He knows Jimin probably would be sick in his place if it were possible. Although never pleasant, Jimin is no stranger to vomiting. After all, Jimin has the touchiest stomach in the group. Jin’s had to hold a bag or a bucket or some sort of container under Jimin’s chin more times than he’d ever want to admit. The drawbacks of suffering motion sickness in a career where travel is so frequent.

Jin makes to prop himself up. Namjoon immediately starts to help handle Jungkook a little, lifting him so Jin can adjust himself while Jimin sticks some pillows against the headboard for Jin and Jungkook to sit up on.

Jimin turns on the thermometer in his hand and slips it in protective plastic before telling Jungkook to lift his tongue. The maknae rests his head on Jin’s shoulder as they wait for the thing to beep, too tired in the body to hold it up. Hoseok watches with his elbow propping himself up, holding Jungkook’s hand under the covers.

“101.4,” Jimin announces with a hopeful chirp. “That’s not too bad, right?”

“Not too bad, no,” Namjoon repeats, a little grin touching his lips as he runs a comforting hand through Jungkook’s hair. “Tae, bring the water please.”

Taehyung comes forward with an open bottle of lukewarm water and a bendy straw. “Here you go, Kook-ah.”

“You think you can try a few sips, baby?” Jin asks, because Jungkook’s lips have turned up at the offer. The last time he swallowed anything it was that god-awful drink at the hospital, and none of those attempts had ultimately stayed down. The only difference in how he feels now opposed to then is that he’s a little more rested. And he’s still nauseated, just not intensely so. Maybe he can try.

The first sip coats his dry mouth and he swishes it around before he swallows. It goes down easy and soothes his throat, so he chases it with two more, suddenly realizing how thirsty he is. They all watch his lips begin to suck eagerly at the straw.

“Yah, slowly, Kook,” Yoongi reminds, ready to pull away the drink himself. Everyone exchanges looks of assurance at each other. Jimin is beaming, looking ready to cry with relief.

Jin kisses Kookie’s cheek, squeezing him. “This is good, baby. Good job.”

Jungkook looks at all of his hyungs’ hopeful smiles at him and he smiles back. He’s feeling hopeful now too.

x

Not wanting to waste any time on the winning streak of the maknae’s lowering fever and keeping down half of a water bottle, Jungkook had been moved to the kitchen for a change of scenery and a bowl of steaming chicken noodle soup. Jin had put a new shirt on himself and on Jungkook that was fresh out of the dryer; Hobi was still walking around shirtless and proud of it, choosing Taehyung to follow around and pester, trying to get his restless and cooped-up dongsaeng to laugh some.

Yoongi and Jimin had apparently finished cooking dinner, but no one had actually eaten yet. Jin had found that to be odd, but Yoongi explained that they’d all been too worried to eat. So Jin gets busy in the kitchen, re-warming soup (tasting to see if it meets standards) and plating up kimchi and rice. He serves Jungkook a bowl first before getting back to work, looking back occasionally to make sure Jungkook hasn’t fallen off his barstool or that he’s still eating. Jungkook keeps shooting him weak yet comical faces so the eldest doesn’t have to check again so quickly.

  He likes that the house is now buzzing with life compared to how quiet it was in the bedroom. The TV’s on and utensils are clinking in the kitchen and Hobi’s got coffee going and the boys are chatting and cracking jokes again.

Jungkook chews on a few spinach leaves and sips up half the broth in his bowl but leaves all the noodles before stopping altogether. His stomach was already full after the water alone, so the soup doesn’t feel necessary. It sits heavy in his belly and sloshes every time he shifts in his seat. He pushes the bowl to the side and puffs some air out. The fullness makes his throat constrict and he hiccups, laying his head down in his arms on the cool polished granite of the kitchen island.

Jimin hovers close. Jungkook can feel his small hand start patterns on his back before his stomach suddenly unfurls with a loud gurgle. It carries into a whine and Jungkook coils, spine jutting along Jimin’s palm.

“You okay, bun? That didn’t sound very good.”

Jungkook just nods his head, still hiding his face, biting his lips and wrapping an arm around his stomach. The pressure staves off the beginnings of what could have been a nasty cramp, but it also pushes up sour air that he’s not too keen on burping up with an audience around. Swallowing hard pushes the burning air painfully back down into his stomach, and had it always been this bloated and hard? Jin turns around, looks like he’s about to say something, but stops himself when Jimin puts a finger to his full lips.

Jimin should have known Jungkook would say he’s okay when he’s not. Even as his tense posture makes it clear that he’s in distress, the maknae’s determined not to worry anyone.  

“You know, Jungkookie, I think it’s been well established that you’re not feeling well,” Jimin murmurs. “Just tell us what hurts so we can help you, baby. Okay?”

Jungkook just nods again, not answering. Jimin keeps rubbing his back. After a few seconds, Jungkook lifts his head, face flushed and lips tight. He doesn’t feel well; the soup and the water want to come up but he’s fighting the feeling. He can’t have medicine until he’s kept the food down. The nausea’s starting to swell in waves again, but the last one that hit is gone, so he smiles unconvincingly at Jin and takes Jimin’s hand to squeeze it reassuringly.

“I’m okay.”

x

Everyone decides an all-nighter is in order. Jungkook feels too sick to sleep and too stir-crazy if he can sleep, so Hobi distributes mugs full of coffee. Jungkook looks so guilty as they down their mugs; they were staying up for him.

“Turn that frown upside down, kiddo!” Jin cheers in his best dad voice. “All-nighters are essential for vacation. It’s a must, you know.”

“That’s right, hyung!” Taehyung chirped. “Time to turn up!”  Taehyung starts butchering cypher lyrics, bouncing on his heels and dabbing. Hoseok humors him, joining in and mimicking his moves. Yoongi jokes under his breath that Taehyung could’ve done without the extra caffeine.

There’s a jacuzzi out on the deck of the bungalow. Bright pink and orange flower petals from all the bushes nearby cover the deck and float in the steaming water, casting beautifully in the moonlight. They strip Jungkook down to his boxers and Jin lowers the maknae’s aching body into the hot tub. Yoongi has some music playing on the Bluetooth speaker once everyone’s settled in.

Jungkook stays curled into Namjoon as the leader scrolls idly on his phone, sandwiched by Jin while he continuously scoops warm water into a cup and pours it carefully along Jungkook’s neck. The boy shudders each time the water hits his skin, sensitive still, but the way his eyes flutter shut each time, they know it feels good.

After a while, conversation builds among the group as they all muse about memories and reflect on favorite moments from their tour. There’s always plenty to talk about; Namjoon even reads aloud some entertaining twitter posts from their fans. He shows Jungkook some memes he knows will make him laugh, but Jungkook seems too blissed out to give much of a response.

The warm water loosens up the air Jungkook had kept fighting to swallow all this time. It starts to hurdle out without warning. The first one rumbles past his lips while his chin is hooked on Namjoon’s shoulder. Namjoon feels it as it gurgles from deep in Jungkook’s stomach and forcefully exits in a loud belch. Jungkook opens his eyes, staring ahead, surprised the sound had come from him. Color had already burned bright in his cheeks, but now his ears are blushing too.

“Sorry,” It’s poignant how sincerely apologetic he sounds.

“That sounded like it needed to happen. No big deal, babe,” Namjoon comforts. He stays preoccupied with his phone so Jungkook can see that he isn’t fazed by the sound. Jin’s hand starts an upward motion on his spine.

“I wish you wouldn’t swallow your burps, ahgi—no wonder you’re so crampy.” Jin gently nags. He brings a hand around to feel Jungkook’s belly. It’s tight and convex, a hard dome under his fingers. He clucks his teeth with a disapproving tsk, working his hand on the maknae’s back with more purpose. He pats—lightly at first—between Jungkook’s shoulder blades, making Jungkook squirm before he belches yet again over Namjoon’s shoulder.

Mortified, Jungkook starts to lift himself, to be considerate to Namjoon, but the leader’s hand guides Jungkook’s head to rest back on his shoulder. “I’m more gross than you, JK, deal with it,” Namjoon quips. Everyone except Yoongi snickers at the comment.

“It’s just how life works,” Taehyung says with a shrug. It’s been an inside joke between him and Jungkook since a few nights ago, when Taehyung accidentally knocked his glass of water over at a restaurant and some spilled on Jungkook’s pants.  

“Yeah, Tae burps like fifty times a day.” Jimin reveals.

“Hey!” Taehyung cups his hand in the water to squirt a mini geyser toward Jimin, whose arm is slung around him. Jimin playfully shoves him away. “I do not—when have you ever heard me do it?”

“Yah, you’re telling me you don’t burp? You let loose the minute we’re alone. I just act like I don’t notice, and you don’t know I count them,” Jimin bites both his lips, eyeing Taehyung carefully. Taehyung is blushing from the exposure. They both look about to burst out laughing.

“You’re such weirdos,” Yoongi says under his breath, but he still looks amused, laughing a little when Jimin jabs him with his elbow. He rests his arms out along the headrest of the jacuzzi, leaning back. The night sky is clear, the stars are out, and the waves are crashing along the shore in the distance. It’s truly beautiful out. Thank God they get to be schedule-free for a few more days.

“I could’ve done without the coffee. What I really want is some wine,” Jimin muses. He lifts his head up, at Jungkook looking briefly serene between their hyungs under the light of the moon. “Wine’s good for achiness, right? Would that be good for Kookie?”

Namjoon smiles from his phone. Jin contemplates. “It might. I’d actually give him some if he’d had a cold or something, but I don’t think he’d be able to handle the bitterness if I gave it to him right now. Anyway, it’s probably too hard on his stomach.”

“Oh, okay,” Jimin says, leaning back again. Taehyung joins him and they watch stars and look for constellations and everyone dips in and out of conversation, enjoying each other’s company under water jets and bubbles. Jungkook is seemingly relaxed, save for the times he jolts and presses quiet hiccups into Namjoon’s back, or the times he steers an airy burp away from everyone. His body is lax under Jin’s light finger massages along his arms and across the back of his neck and into the small of his back where the tension might be gathering most. Jungkook’s eyelids are heavy; he looks relaxed. Jin hopes Jungkook’s fever is finally starting to taper off.

Maybe this is working.

[curiousmagician]

Omo story #1 featuring characters F1 and F2

From the start of gym class, it was extremely obvious Amy needed to pee. Jesse couldn’t keep her eyes off the other student. Every free moment there was to stand, Amy wrapped her legs around each other, bouncing. Every stretch was done with extra wincing and care not to jostle her swollen bladder. Amy avoided any activity that would require her to part her legs, choosing instead of make a half-hearted attempt or, if it couldn’t be avoided, doing the exercise really quickly with one hand balled up against her crotch.

At first Jesse wondered why Amy didn’t go in the locker room, but then she remembered Amy hadn’t made it to the start of class. Amy had been seen dashing into the locker room after nearly everyone had already emerged, looking panicked at being late for class. Jesse knew as well Amy had been in detention quite a few times by now. She probably thought she couldn’t afford to risk it again, and had skipped the bathroom to avoid being late.

Jesse thought Amy would beg to be excused to use the toilet or their coach would say something, but neither possibility occurred. Amy was in clearly dire need at the start of class, but as the minutes wore on Jesse knew she had to be on the verge of wetting herself. Amy’s squirming grew so obvious and provocative, people began to joke about it. A couple of girls made hissing sounds at her. Some others talked loudly about times they had pissed themselves. One girl even “accidentally” spilled her water bottle right in front of Amy. Jesse found the whole situation made her feel very odd. She pitied Amy, but part of her felt like it was starting to burn and heat her up in ways she had never felt before.

Jesse was sure Amy was going to wet herself long before class ended, but somehow it didn’t happen. Although her face was bright red, and her hand remained tightly pressed between her crossed legs, and she couldn’t stop rocking back and forth, her restraint lasted. But the moment the teacher dismissed them, Amy took off in the fastest hobble she had ever seen. Jesse couldn’t help but watch the poor girl, and she was positive she saw several trickles dribbling down her legs and a droplet or two landing on the gym floor just before she disappeared into the locker room ahead of everyone else.

Jesse and the rest of the girls entered the locker room soon after, and it sounded like someone had already turned on a shower. The sound of a heavy stream of liquid spraying onto the floor reverberated around the room, paired with soft, euphoric moans. Jesse’s eyes widened and her heart shot into her throat when she saw what was really the source of the sounds, and a fine layer of sweat began to coat her body. Amy had only made it to the first shower by the entrance, and it was there everyone in the class saw her releasing an incredible stream of piss down her crossed legs. Her back was turned away, but the vibrant and forceful waterfall gushing from her body left everyone in shock. Jesse’s eyes drank in the way the poor girl’s workout shorts clung to her ass, outlining every crevice, the multitude of streams cascading down her legs, the enormous puddle flooding the shower almost faster than it could rush down the drain. Most of all, Jesse hung onto Amy’s every single sigh and moan, sounds that caused an instinctive heat to rise up in her body from how closely they seemed to resonate with pleasure.

For several seconds the girls were spellbound by the shocking accident taking place, but soon the meaner girls began to laugh and taunt amy. The others quickly came out of the spell and went to change, either avoiding looking at Amy or muttering harsh remarks as they went by. Jesse found herself still entranced, openly staring at Amy’s butt as the spray began to die down, her eyes drinking in every trickle, every last stream draining from her body. She only came out of it when Amy turned around and her tear-streaked eyes met Jesse’s. Realizing she’d been gawking openly, her nipples erect and her body trembling with heat, she turned and quickly left, not bothering to change into day clothes.

For the rest of the day, the only image circling around in Jesse’s mind was Amy’s accident. She simply couldn’t fathom how Amy could let something like that happen to her. Why didn’t she just go and risk being late? Surely that would have been better than the display that happened. The more Jesse thought about it, the more Jesse obsessed over it. At the same time, having left the gym without changing, Jesse’s bladder filled to an almost painful level during her last class. It was gradual, but Jesse felt almost tortured by the last twenty minutes, her legs crossed as she squirmed non-stop in her desk. She was positive everyone knew what was going on, but even as her need to pee became agony, all she could think about was Amy’s uncontrollable piss.

As pressing as her need was, Jesse mostly didn’t show it aside from some squirming, foot-tapping, and crossed legs. But with fifteen minutes left, she suddenly felt an awful pressure in her midriff. Panicking, her hand shot between her legs. As she openly struggled to hold back her urge to piss she felt her fingers graze her clit, sending electrically-charged tingles through her body, and she realized all she wanted to do was wet herself desperately thinking about Amy. The danger, the sympathetic humiliation she’d felt from watching another girl wet herself, it was all turning her on and had been from the moment she’d become aware of Amy’s need to piss. Jesse couldn’t stop her face from reddening, or from touching herself subtly under the guise of desperation. She writhed helplessly at her desk for several minutes, nearly drowning in foreign sensations she didn’t know how to process. Amy’s accident played in her mind over and over, the image sharpening itself in her brain, enveloping her thoughts. She felt something inside her building, swelling, threatening to send her over the edge…

With a jolt, the bell signalling the end of class rang, shocking Jesse out of the spell. FUCK I can’t hold it anymore! She thought, panicked. She was afraid to remove her hand,it felt like the only thing keeping her bladder restrained, but somehow she forced herself, using every last bit of her weakening bladder muscles, to hobble from the classroom, her bag held in front her as she moved.

Her desperation seemed to skyrocket as soon as she saw the sign for the women’s bathroom. Panicking, she was forced to stop, overwhelmed with fullness, squirming visibly and helplessly. She bobbed in place, clenching herself, the slightest warm trickle forced through her grasp to wet her panties. The realization of what was about to happen to her made her clamp up enough to keep going until she burst through the restroom doors, on the verge of an accident.

What she saw made her heart stop. The stalls were full, and four other girls were in line ahead of her. At the head of the line, looking about as desperate as she had in gym class, was Amy, now standing cross-legged in jeans, her face flushed red. Once again their eyes met and the effect was instantaneous on Jesse. Crying out in horror, she backed out of the restroom, gasping and hunched over as she fought back waves of pressure. She was so close, so close to relief, but she knew she couldn’t bear waiting, not with her there.

But she really didn’t have any time left. Soon it wouldn’t matter where she was or who was watching, she wouldn’t be able to wait. She began to panik. She began to hobble down the hallway, red-faced, as quickly as she could. Shame lurched up inside her, but it was better than wetting herself.

Somehow Jesse made it home without wetting herself, but only by the skin of her teeth. Her bladder bulged through her tight nylon gym shorts, cradled by her muscular, straining thighs holding back the flood. She stumbled into the house, cursing to herself, her right hand wedged between her legs, and hobbled ackingly to the closest place where she would have some privacy: her room.

Jesse was under no impression she would have made it to the bathroom in time. As soon as she closed the door behind her, urine jetted between her fingers in one hot burst after another. The wetness shocked her, and she knotted her legs together, her fingers jammed uselessly into her crotch as her long-held urine flooded between them. For several seconds she fought the torrent forcing itself from her body, trickles running down her shaking legs, the cloth caught between her clenched ass cheeks soaking wet, a series of “No!”’s uttered in a panicked whisper. She took a couple of stumbling steps into the middle of the room looking for anything, anything that could save her, but it was useless. But despite her resistance, the relief began to wash over her, and soon she stood there almost entranced, mouth half-open, pissing full-force through her shorts. In the back of her mind, she was still panicking at the loud, undeniable pitter-patter as her urine splashed onto the hardwood floor and the puddle spreading around her feet, but the relief of finally emptying her bladder was overpowering. For a minute and a half Jesse wet herself, sighing and whimpering in euphoria, and it seemed like an eternity.

As the last trickles streamed down her trembling legs, Jesse surveyed the damage with dawning horror. The puddle covered most of her room and even ran underneath the crack of her door, into the hallway, soaking several of items from her not quite dirty laundry pile along the way. She couldn’t believe she had peed so much and waited so long just to flood her room. Jesse frantically cleaned up, praying no one would notice that she wasn’t coming out of her room or that there was pee in the hallway leading there. Luckily, no one called for her until dinner time, but she refused to come out.

[little-nini]

Grapes~

D-Dae Dae h-hyung i-is so fun t-to p-play with! I get b-b-bored easily, but h-hyung always f-f-finds something t-to do. H-He can b-be s-serious, too. *blushes* Th-That's what I-I l-love about him...

-

It was a Monday evening, and the EXO members were bored out of their minds. The schedules they had were done during the afternoon hours and left them tired. Two of them, however, were wide awake on the living room couch with nothing to do as the others slept.

Jongdae lazily poked Jongin's cheek that he then puffed out in cuteness. He whined and poked the other in the ribs, pouting when he remembered his hyung's immunity to tickling.

"Hyung~ W-W-What are we g-gonna d-do~?"

Jongdae shrugged his shoulders and stared at the blank TV screen. He knew nothing was going to be worth watching, and continued to think of what him and his baby could do.

His brain gave off a spark, and headed for the kitchen drawers. Jongin watched in curiosity as his hyung takes out a deflated, lavender balloon. It was the only one left over from EXO's anniversary party. Jongdae carefully inflated said balloon and quickly tied it closed.

"D-Dae hyung, w-what are w-we p-playing?"

"Balloon volleyball. Don't let it touch the floor, Nini~"

Jongdae gently tossed the balloon into the air and tapped it the younger's way. The little reached over the couch, eyes focused on the party decoration. When he tipped it back to his hyung, Jongin smiled at his success.

As their little game continued, the duo tried sillier moves: head bumping, spiking, even balancing the balloon on their noses. Jongdae and Jongin really enjoyed playing as they stood on pieces of furniture.

"Omo! Nini, look!" Jongin whipped around to see nothing out of place. He whined as the balloon flew over his head and towards a small assortment of plants on the coffee table. "Hyung~ N-No f-fair~" The younger pouted at Jongdae and his chuckling, half-smirk.

"You can't be mad at me, Nini. You know that~" The dino-hyung attacked his baby with a swarm of pecks and kisses. Jongin tried hard to push him away and bit his lip to stifle the oncoming giggles. The pecks were soon accompanied by tickles, and the tanned boy exploded into a laughing mess.

"Eep! H-Hyung, kyah! Hahaha! S-S-Stop~!"

"Say you love me, kitty~" Jongdae pouted and whined as he tickled Jongin more. Their little tickle session continued until they heard a loud—

POP!

Jongdae immediately froze, and Jongin's laughter faded. The two glanced at the coffee table with a disappointed look. The assortment of plants included a small cactus, and on said cactus were frayed pieces of their new founded toy. They simultaneously whined and plopped onto the couch, headed back to the drawing board.

Minutes went by like hours, and the duo couldn't keep their eyes open to such boredom. They later decided to cuddle while they brainstormed. A pouty baby buried his face into Jongdae's chest, and squeaked as a pair of large hands poked at his sides.

"I'm s-still bored, h-hyung... W-What should we d-do n-now?"

"No idea, babe..." The older scanned the room for other makeshift toys to play with, but his mind was a total blank. They're not in the mood for videogames, and the channels on TV weren't any better. Jongdae groaned in frustration and wished that Yixing's little assortment would burn in a fire.

A slight nibbling on his collarbone snapped him back to reality. He looked over and saw a tiny blemish where the younger, who then chewed on the jaw strings of his hoodie, had nipped his skin. Jongdae gently patted the little's chocolate locks, and smiled at the ethereal creature.

"Hungry, Nini?" The little nodded. He beamed at his hyung with wide, innocent eyes; Jongdae tried his hardest to not squish little Jongin in his arms.

He got up from the couch and ventured into the kitchen for some snacks. The older checked the cabinets to find canned food and sugary sweets. 'Those aren't good for him' Jongdae thought as he closed the cabinets. He neared the fridge and yanked it open in hopes of finding something healthier for his little—something like fruit. Jongdae moved around some leftovers to find a full, unopened package of grapes.

He quickly took the bag and smirked to himself. The grapes were naturally sweet and healthy for Jongin, so there shouldn't be a problem with his choice.

∆Ten Minutes Later...∆

"Heads up, babe!"

A certain dinosaur smiled as he tossed a plump grape in Jongin's direction. Said boy leaned forward from the couch in time to nab the fruit between his just as plump lips. He giggled in triumph as he bit into it and relished in the sweet juices.

"Th-Thwank chu, h-hyung~"

The two munched on the sweet fruit for a while—Well...it was more of Jongin stuffing his mouth and Jongdae politely scolding him.

For the third time since they have started eating, Jongin held out his hands for more after stuffing his cheeks with what he had.

"No way, baby. You have to eat what you have first. I know it's sweet and that you want more, but if this keeps up I'll have to put these back." Jongdae gestured to the half-full bag of grapes, and the little immediately whined in protest. He made a sulky expression before glomping his hyung onto the couch and in a swift motion, Nini slapped the other's chest in anger as he swallowed the now mushy grapes. Jongdae merely chuckled at the younger and lightly gripped a hand around his tanned neck, bringing little Jongin's face down in front of him. The two shared an extended session of kisses, filled with languid movements and warm pants for air. As they pulled away for a brief moment, Jongin slapped the older's chest again.

"I w-want m-more grapes h-hyu—Mph!"

The little let out a muffled whimper as he was silenced by Jongdae's kisses again. His body seemed to weaken and heat up as his face reddened even more...

The following days were filled with pouts, but Jongin learned the hard yet pleasurable way, to be nice when asking for something that he wants.

[17mounteens]

HAPPY 1000 FOLLOWERS YOU ALL DESERVE IT SO MUCH OMO ILYSM😍😙😙❤27 + Jeonghannie pleasee❤

27. First time having sex in public

in which lingerie shopping gets Jeonghan a bit too excited. you can either visualize the sexiest piece you can think of, or if you have trouble doing that, you can try eg. the top photo here!

“So, what do you think?”

Jeonghan put his phone down and moved his gaze up to you instead, and you grinned to yourself when you saw his Adam’s apple bob and eyes widen momentarily.

“It’s gorgeous,” he managed to say while putting his phone into his pocket and eyeing you up and down intently. You were buying lingerie, and in the particular black piece, you felt irresistible. Jeonghan licked his lips. “Can I come in?”

You blinked. 

Clearly you also were irresistible.

“What now?” you asked, giggling, while Jeonghan got into the dressing room you were in, dropping his bag to the floor and locking the wooden door after himself. His eyes were surprisingly dark, in the way they usually were when he was horny, and you found your heart beating a bit faster at that.

“Have you ever,” he began but took a deep breath as he took your whole figure in again, the black lace accentuating all the right parts, and the generous cleavage only made it all so much better, “had sex in a dressing room?”

Your eyes widened when he placed his hands on your hips and got even closer, gently backing you to the wall that was covered with a mirror.

“N-no,” you said quietly and looked into his eyes, astounded yet excited when you played with the idea. It didn’t sound like he was kidding in the least. You swallowed. “Are you saying you want to?”

Jeonghan’s lips spread to a grin, and he giggled quietly. “I’m saying that seeing you in that lingerie really makes me want to. But only if–”

“Let’s do it,” you breathed, all too aware of his half-hard length pressing into you, but just as aware of the people waiting to get to try on some clothes as well as the general bustling in the clothing store. Regardless, you didn’t hesitate the least as you got your hands in Jeonghan’s hair and pulled him down for a hungry kiss and felt his hands move higher on your body.

His lips were passionate against yours, and as his hands caressed you everywhere they could, you could feel yourself gradually get wetter, especially when Jeonghan began massaging your breasts through the thin lace of the lingerie. The forbidden nature of it all joined with his touch, as sensual as ever, turned you on faster than you could ever fathom.

“Jeonghan,” you breathed a bit shakily when he rubbed your nipples with the pads of his thumbs while slowly starting to grind against your lower stomach. He pulled back from you for a bit and looked at you, his eyes hooded and full of lust.

“Yes?” he asked quietly and began sliding his other hand down your body, until he could move his fingertips up and down your slit through your panties.

You swallowed hard, your hips bucking against his hand instinctively, and bit down on your lower lip. “We’ll have to be quiet. And fast.”

Jeonghan’s lips spread to a smirk. “It won’t be a problem, I promise. Don’t you just love the thrill?”

“I do,” you nodded, unable to hide the excitement you were feeling, and encouraged him to move forward. And so, as he slid your panties to the side and began massaging your clit lightly while still caressing your breast with his other hand, his lips pressed to yours, you also moved your hands down so that you could unbutton and unzip his light blue skinny jeans that you then slid down a little.

Jeonghan let out a quiet, appreciative sigh when you began palming him through his boxers, and hissed a “Fuck, yes,” into your kiss when you finally slid your hand into his boxers to stroke him.

“Quiet,” you giggled, but struggled to hold back a moan yourself when you felt his finger slide into your wet, awaiting pussy.

“Quiet,”Jeonghan giggled against your lips mockingly, but it died quickly as he sighed contently when you stroked him steadily. Your kisses were passionate and full of tongue, and with the two of you touching each other as sensually as you were, it didn’t take too long for him to be fully hard in your hand and you to be quivering under his touch, now with two of his digits moving in and out of you, curling every now and then, which had you biting on your lips every single time.

When you began shaking a little, Jeonghan realized that you were close to your orgasm, and hurried to pull his fingers out. You winced and looked up at him pleadingly, your pussy pulsating with need.

“What the fuck,” you whimpered quietly, breathing fast, and looked at your boyfriend, who just stared back into your eyes devilishly while licking his fingers clean.

“Can’t let you come yet,” he whispered with a grin and raised his eyebrows meaningfully. “Wanna do it against the mirror? I’d love to see how gorgeous you look, baby.”

You had no complaints, and soon you had turned around and had your hands pressed to the mirror as you waited for Jeonghan’s next move. He looked at you appreciatively, and froze for a second when someone tried to open the door.

“Ah, it’s taken, too…”

The person stayed behind the door, however, but with you soaked and Jeonghan too hard to bear it, neither of you cared enough, and neither of you wanted to admit how much their presence turned you on.

“I don’t have a condom, but I have tissues,” Jeonghan whispered to your ear when he pressed against you and began moving his cock up and down your wet slit, gathering your arousal on it. 

You nodded and wiggled your hips a little, hardly able to shake your thoughts off how badly you needed him. “It’s okay, just hurry up.”

He didn’t waste another moment before aligning himself with your entrance and pushing in slowly, breathing into your neck and quietly mumbling something about how good you felt and how incredibly hot you looked.

When he began moving inside of you, you cursed it all: it was surprisingly difficult to remain silent, especially when you were as turned on as you were, and the knowledge that there were people so close and that it was forbidden to have sex in the dressing room only turned you on more.

“This is amazing,” Jeonghan mumbled into your ear while running his hands up and down your thighs before leaving them on your hips, still feeling up the lace of the lingerie.

You shut your eyes tightly when he hit a particularly good spot inside of you, and pursed your lips as well. “It feels so good, fuck…”

He grunted quietly and looked at you through the mirror, taking in the way your face was contorting with pleasure and how your breasts moved a little with each thrust of his, the sight even better than usual with the lingerie.

The sight alone had him thrusting a bit harder, although it was fairly difficult considering he had to keep any suspicious sounds at minimum (which was a pity because both of you loved the sound of his skin slamming against yours).

“You look so hot,” Jeonghan whispered to your ear and leaned down to kiss your neck, his hips meeting yours swiftly as one of his hands slid between your legs to rub your clit.

You bit the inside of your lower lip and furrowed your eyebrows at how incredible it felt to have him touching your sensitive bundle of nerves, and felt your breath hitch in your throat when he sucked lightly on the skin of your neck while the knot in the pit of your stomach began tightening.

“Don’t stop,” you whimpered quietly and focused solely on how amazing it all felt joined with the excitement of doing something forbidden, and with Jeonghan breathing into your neck and mumbling more and more about how damn close he was and how amazing your pussy felt around his cock, you were soon coming undone around him.

He lasted a moment longer, until he was shooting his release inside of you, his hips stuttering to a stop and his lips pressing to your neck desperately while his hand on your hip tightened its grip a little.

You caught your breaths together, and once you trusted your voice enough, you spoke. “That was fantastic.”

“I know,” Jeonghan whispered with an obvious smile audible in his voice, and snickered before kissing your cheek. “I can see why it’s appealing to some.”

“And you’re sure you’re not one of them?” you asked in amusement and kissed his lips before he pulled out of you, reaching for the tissues in his bag that he had dropped to the floor.

“I’m not denying anything,” he said with a chuckle and gave you a tissue. You raised your eyebrows knowingly and cleaned yourself up.

“At least you’re not alone,” you hummed meaningfully and grinned when Jeonghan nudged you lightly.

While Jeonghan buttoned his jeans, you giggled. He quirked his eyebrow with his lips spreading into a grin.

“Considering what just happened, I guess we’re taking this?” you asked and pointed at the body you were wearing. Jeonghan snickered and got his arm around your waist before pulling you closer so that he could peck your forehead.

“Oh, we’re definitely taking it.”

Admin Scooter

[aare-babatunde]

Why is it such a tragedy if a Yoruba woman finds a non-Yoruba man with whom she feels totally compatible and decides to marry him? She claims that he is a genuinely lovely person with a fine character – often much nicer than any Yoruba man she has met. He is at home with her Yoruba background and culture and both share the same values, hobbies and pursuits. A perfect match, yet not made in Heaven. Why not?

The decision to marry out is perhaps the most telling moment, when a person must consider what being Yoruba actually means. Is being Yoruba simply an accident of birth? Is there a difference between a Yoruba and a non-Yoruba? Can one retain full Yoruba identity if married to a non-Yoruba partner? What if one finds the perfect partner – loving, caring, considerate, good fun – but unfortunately non-Yoruba? If one has found true love, does ethnicity really matter?

1. Where do you come from?

No person just arrives on the scene. We are all the product of bygone generations; in the case of the Yoruba, descendants of Oduduwa and Obatala. Oduduwa’s descended to Ile-Ife and was the first ruler of Ife. The Children of Oduduwa various independent royal dynasties in Yorubaland were subsequently constituted as a nation with Oduduwa held as the progenitor of the Yoruba race.

To date, Yorubaland is said to be dated back around 500 B.C. when Ile Ife was founded. To be born a Yoruba today is not an accident of birth but the sum total of over 4,000 years of ancestral self-sacrifice, of heroes who at times gave their very lives for their beliefs.

Every Yoruba has a very illustrious background – they are all sons and daughters of Oduduwa and Obatala!

2. The first people

One may ask, however, why must I continue this chain, to pass on the traditions and to carry the baton just because I was born Yoruba? There are plenty of others who will carry on the traditions. What difference does it make if I side track a little and shunt myself into a dead-end?

Yoruba are called Omoluabi. The word Omoluabi is an acronym for the phrase, “Omo + Ti + Olu-Iwa + Bi” which means that an Omoluabi is a person of honor who believes in hard work, respect the rights of others, and gives to the community in deeds and in action. Above all, an Omoluabi is an epitome of the sacred wisdom of the 256 chapters of Ese Ifa, containing 1,024 verses. Every Yoruba is compared to a verse in the Odu Ifa. Even if only one verse is missing the entire Odu Ifa is incomplete and invalid. Every Yoruba is an ambassador of his people in his echelon in society. That is his God given responsibility and privilege. To shirk this responsibility is to deny oneself the ultimate privilege.

3. Children

The Bible explicitly forbids intermarriage. The source is in Deuteronomy 7:3-4:

“You shall not intermarry with them; you shall not give your daughter to his son, and you shall not take his daughter for your son, for he will cause your child to turn away from following me and they will worship the gods of others.”

This is also the case in the marriage relationships within the Yoruba religious sphere. In one of our religious text of Odu Ifa, Ogunda Okanran, explores not only religious law but the cultural mandates, and historical markers of marriage. This Odu defined in this Ese Ifa (verse) is a story of Orisa Ogun and Iya Agere. These two were equally told the importance of marriage within and among the Yoruba people and to remain married. It is indicative of the idea that there is no such thing as divorce in the religion of Ifa according to this verse. The Odu Ifa did place a high importance on marriage within and among the Yoruba people.

A Yoruba woman who has already married out and borne children should be encouraged to give them a full Yoruba education. There are today thousands of Yoruba who only have a Yoruba mother. However, to a couple contemplating intermarriage, the facts speak for themselves. Except in a small number of cases in which the mother is very determined and gives the child a very positive, strong Yoruba education, in many cases the child grows up with a mixed and confused identity; in simple English, half-Yoruba. Technically, there is no such thing – one is either 100% Yoruba or not. However, in terms of identity, the child feels only half-Yoruba. Even if the mother is a proud Yoruba, the father, whether Ibo, Hausa, Fulani, Edo, Uhrobo etc., does not share the same beliefs and values. Even if he is sympathetic, or even agrees to the child being brought up Yoruba, there are bound to be differences. Does one support Yoruba or Ibo, both or neither? Whichever one chooses is confusing or even contradictory. Many intermarried couples today support both – but what sort of message does this give the child? Is the child Ibo, thus rejecting the notions of his Yorubaness, or is the child an Ibo with Yoruba roots? It causes great confusion for the child and in many cases the child sees both nationalities only on a superficial level, distanced by his parents from true belief.

The child is also given the test of mixed allegiances. All passages of life create a problem. Should the child be raised as a Yoruba or Ibo, both or neither? Should the child have an Ibo or Yoruba name?

And what chances are there that the child should want to marry a Yoruba, and carry on the chain?

There is another point: people are social beings. From time immemorial they have gathered in communities. One thing the international Yoruba community prides itself in is the idea of the Oduduwa descendants – all Yoruba are one fraternity, one brotherhood, one nation. Wherever a Yoruba goes he will have an international support group that extends hospitality and help, if needed. By having a non-Yoruba child one has extricated the child from that community and bequeathed alienation to him. Everybody wants to belong – it is a basic human need. Intermarriage causes great confusion to children with regard to where they actually belong.

4. It’s in the genes

Marriage in general, even between two people of similar background, entails a certain risk as to eventual adjustment and compatibility. Even if the two have been acquainted for some time there is no sure guarantee as to what the relationship will be like when the acquaintance is turned into a marriage, where the two will be thrown together under one roof for 24 hours a day, day after day and week after week. But when the backgrounds are entirely different, and where these differences date back for scores of generations – and are consequently of a deep and lasting quality – the chances of adjustment and compatibility are lessened.

Intermarriage often results, sooner or later, in friction and unhappiness. That a casual, or even more serious, kind of relationship seemed in the past to indicate compatibility, is not a proof that it would be so ever after in a marriage situation. Even if a couple are happy with each other, deeply in love, and have decided to marry despite their different ethnic backgrounds, there are so many factors that can change a person’s feelings.

Years into a marriage, where much of the relationship is routine, the soul and Yoruba heart may be aroused to search for the deeper meaning to life. There may be a quest for spirituality and rediscovery of one’s roots. Consider the possibility that these feelings will not be shared by your spouse. On the other hand, a Yoruba partner means a shared history and a shared destiny.

5. It’s simply not right

There is, of course, the argument that the percentage of intermarriages is considerable and many of them seem to last. However, the statistics show that the percentage of separations and divorces among intermarried couples is greater than among marriages within a similar background.

To be honest – in the plain sense of the word – one would not wish to drag another party into an alliance which is likely to be troubled. If there is true love between the two parties, one would certainly not wish to cause the other this pain, and would readily forgo the prospect of immediate and short-lived pleasure in order to spare the other the probable result. Otherwise the professed love is tinged by selfishness.

Should there be children from such a union, there is the added consideration of the possibility of the children having to witness constant friction – and worse – between their parents.

One’s personal desire is no justification for involving oneself to involve another person – least of all a loved one – into such a situation, even if the other person is agreeable, and sincerely so. No person has the right to harm another person.

Should I marry a Yoruba just because he is Yoruba?

Many young people feel themselves pressured by their parents to marry a Yoruba spouse and, even though the choice is wider in the non-Yoruba world, they feel obligated to marry within the fold out of a sense of duty. They often ask the question, what is the difference between the Yoruba and the non-Yoruba – both dress the same, both share common values, both eat the same food? If a woman finds herself with a choice between two men, one Yoruba and one non-Yoruba, should she marry the Yoruba man just because he is Yoruba?

The answer is a resounding “Yes!” Yes, because therein lies the potential for a truly Yoruba marriage. Although at present there seems to be no difference between the Yoruba and non-Yoruba, as people grow older they change and mature. The vicissitudes, strains and challenges of life pull a person in all directions. If one is at least married to a Yoruba, there is more common ground and potential for growing in the same direction.

However, as strongly as the answer is yes, it carries an equally strong piece of advice. The institution of marriage – any marriage – needs much hard work. No marriage can be taken for granted. A man and wife must understand that they have to work very hard in order to make the marriage successful.

https://tmblr.co/ZvwGisYOHVArSu00