#even if he was kinda reticent

[itachanta]

An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place or circumstance. > Revenge of Others (2022)

[knittinglizards]

i have seen like One episode where you could reasonably pay attention and come off with a 'womanizer kirk' characterization (and even that one is dubious bc it's the tarsus iv one and he outright says he initially pursued her in order to investigate her father). assuming it's something they pick up further on? possibly a writers with conflicting ideas thing? i kinda like the characterization i Have seen of him so far wrt romance/sex he's so tense lol

[defmaybe]

J’adore

5.2k words

aespa’s Yoo Jimin/Karina x Male Reader

Prequel to Not Shy

A/N: Kind of extension to Not Shy! Also, this is my last sprint before the midterms lol, I’ll be back after that and try to write something good. Kinda rough bc there’s no beta-reading lol. Thanks for reading as always!!!

—

Spring

“You? A student council member?”

“It’s just the treasurer!”

It’s the easiest position, according to your seniors, which seems to be much, much more credible sources than Kai, the friend you got caught in a debate with.

“Just the treasurer. Mate, have you seen the lads from last year? I swear that one of them almost died.”

“I have to build my portfolio, man. You even have your dance club!” You retort, trying to grasp on something.

“Well, it’s because I like to dance.” Kai says in a mocking tone. He doesn't mean to be condescending, of course. He’s your best friend, after all. “Do you like to work with Excel?”

“I mean–”

“Board games? No, too nerdy. Cheerleader? No, too demanding. And then you fucking jumped onto the student council? I swear, man, you definitely have some kind of death wish,” he says.

You sigh, surrendering to his points. Still, you're too deep in the application process to turn back now. You look back at your phone, seeing all the completed questions in the form.

“I’m not leaving you behind, still,” Kai says, patting your back. “I’ll give you caffeine when you need it.”

Do you think you’re qualified to be a student council member?

Yes.

“I’m sending it now.”

“Good luck.”

Submit

Thank you for your submission. We will announce our selection by May 1st.

—

Summer

Maybe it was how the last year’s council members turned out to be. You were the only one who applied for the treasurer's position. Hell, even the other ones aren’t any more popular either. There was no one in the head of first aid, and they had to roll out another round of applications for that.

The fresh faces of the new student council members are all standing inside this meeting room—so determined, so passionate. Their chatters fill the room up with life.

You glance around the room. You’re familiar with some of them, walk-pasts in the hallways, sitting-fars in the classes, until one woman catches your eye.

Yoo Jimin, you’ve heard that she beat the second place applicant for president by quite a margin. Her confidence is probably what makes her so alluring to the students. Also, her face, fuck, her face, she’s the fucking epitome of perfection.

Maybe it’s the way you stare at her for just a little too long; she starts to walk towards you, and that’s when you fell into her trap for the first time.

She stops just a step away, offering you a handshake—firm, assured.

“Yoo Jimin,” she declares—stern, expressionless.

“Pleasure to meet you, Jimin.” You accept her grip, lips curling inward, letting out a minuscule smile—relaxed, reserved.

“We’ll be working together for the next year. I’m looking forward to it.” She keeps it professional in the expression she makes. There’s nothing to be made of it, except for the fact that she’s very reticent with her face.

You force out another small smile. “I’m also looking forward to it, Jimin.”

—

“Areas! I need two tables and four chairs. Parcels, get your equipment ready.”

The first meeting between the freshmen and their seniors is always the hardest to perfect. There’s the idea that the first impression defines the future of the relationship between the two. So, here you are, in your faculty’s First Meet event. You’re lucky that they let you use the air conditioners on the d-day. Those fucking run-throughs got you all melted.

You have little work to do today, having managed the proposals and preparing to do the post-production stuff. So, you’re at the core team’s table, playing whatever your old laptop can handle, until—

“Are you free?”

You look up from your screen to see the angelic figure that is Yoo Jimin standing in front of you, towering you with ease with you sitting in your seat.

“Uh–,” you can only let out a hesitation.

“I guess you’re—” she bends over the desk to see the gaming screen, before letting out a small laugh. “—free?”

“Y–Yes, Jimin.” A slight view of her cleavage can be seen with her posture, and you have to do your best to find something else to look at.

“Good. Can you help us carry a few tables?”

You look at your frail arms—should’ve done some more work at the gym. “If you want me to tear my biceps.”

Jimin chuckles, before closing on your ear, left hand pressing on your right thigh, “Don’t worry that you wouldn’t be able to jerk off, treasurer. I can do it for you.”

You freeze, not believing the words coming out of her mouth. Did she just say that? Such lewd words?

Jimin, sensing your tensed up body, pulls back from you and laughs. “Oh my god, look at you. I was just fucking with you!”

“Good grief, Jimin. You could’ve killed me,” you huff.

She shoots back a beam. “Come on, let’s get to work.”

—

Fall

The clicking sound of your keyboard and the scratches of the bills you’re arranging permeates the room this evening. Jimin is sitting on the other side of the trash-ridden table—stationeries, snack wraps—eyes unfocused as she swipes one short video after another. Her thoughts seem to be elsewhere now. Dinner? Bed? Someone? You’ll never know.

“Fucking hell, this bitch again,” she mutters under her breath, which you catch. You look up from the budget plan you’re working on, meeting her eyes.

“Sorry, Tinder stuff.”

You return her a tiny smile before going back to inputting the bills. Still, you can hear Jimin’s tossing and turning in her chair as she seems to type something into her phone, before smashing her thumb on the right side of its poor screen. You can’t help but let out a chuckle, one that she catches.

“Yeah, it’s pathetic, isn’t it?” Jimin rhetorizes, placing her phone on the table. “A student president that just can’t find any partner.”

You shrug, still typing, “Well, the work is gruelling.” And she chuckles at your statement.

“Yeah, I guess so. But it’s just, how to explain?” She furrows her eyebrows, tapping her chin to seek the right word in the air, before coming to an answer. “I just can’t find the right person, you know? Half of the line is gone once I show any bit of confidence, and the other half are, well, clingy ass bitches.”

You smile back at her, trying to give her some solace in solitude. “I’m sure you’ll find the right person soon, Jimin. You like–have the whole faculty in your hands.”

She gives you a weak smile. “You always have pleasant words for everyone, treasurer.”

You smile back before returning to your accounting work, unbeknownst to the light bulb brightening up inside her head.

“So, how’s your love life?” She asks, rising from the other side. She leans forward ever so slightly, hands supporting her frame on the white table, slightly revealing the valley of her breasts.

You break yourself from the laptop, once again, meeting her cleavage in your line of sight for a split second. It’s magnetic, but you’re able to resist it, for now.

“Hmm?”

“I mean… you don’t seem to be an awful choice for women, or men, judging from… how many months?”

“Four,” and you gulp.

“Yeah, four months with you, my treasurer. But I’ve never quite caught you being involved in anything,”—she stands up straight, before slowly striding towards your seat, hips swaying at each nifty step—“romantic.”

You clench your eyes ever so tightly at her alluring motion—the swaying hips, the crossing steps—as if there’s anything to examine but her burning lust. “Well, Jimin, I don’t think the passive mid-table guys get much,” you state.

“Is that so? Because you don’t seem to belong at the mid-table.” The distance between you two is shrinking, slowly. And with a few more small steps, you find her towering over you, chest basking in front of your face.

Jimin bends down slowly, revealing just a slight sight of her gorgeous cleavage. The poor crop top is struggling to hold her supple flesh within, even with the workshop shirt helping. You shift just slightly in your seat.

Your eyes are doing their best to resist the magnetic force, but her big brown eyes aren't a sanctuary, either.

“Thanks, miss president.”

Her Dior J’adore is enrapturing you.

“You know, I notice the perfume you wear every day, even if it’s just CK One.” She forces sultry into her perceptive words, and to say, it works. She drags her right middle finger along the length of your arm, lighting a fire in its trail.

You try to keep your composure; it works, for now. She doesn’t seem to notice the sweat hanging off your forehead yet.

“Or how you dress so damn well to class, even if it’s some fuckass subject,” Jimin continues, tracing her hands up to your forearm now.

Your breath hitches, and you can just connect the dots so easily.

“W–Why me, though, Jimin?”

“Oh, clever boy, I just need the real thing, that’s all,” she coos. Her digits are playing with the line of your collarbones now. 

“See, I’m just so fucking sick of my—well, what’s the word, devices. They’re pleasurable, sure, but unlike a real person, which in this case—is you—” Her hand grabs your chin from behind, and you can’t find any resistance. Her sonic reduces into a sensual whisper into your ear. “—they lack warmth.”

“S–So, do you want to have—”

“Sex? Yes, I want you inside me, baby. I want you body clashing against mine, while you moan my name like you’re some common whore.”

It’s haywire, your mind. You are lost in her—her voice, her face, her body, everything that’s about Jimin. Is she really inviting you to have sex with her? Is this interaction even real?

“So, what do you say, wanna go somewhere after this? Somewhere—small, somewhere—private.” Her voice dives into a whisper beside your ear, and you can feel a smile forming beside it. “I’m sure you can work on your bills—anywhere.”

You stare forward, trying to look unfazed to cover your crumbling composure.

“I–I can work on the bills anywhere, Jimin.” Your voice betrays you.

She gives a quiet laugh, “Good to know, treasurer,” before lightly grabbing your chin, with her index and middle finger resting on your lips. Are they seeking silence or entry?

Slowly, they push your upper lip ever so slightly, eliciting a whimper from you. Fuck, is she trying to—

“You know what to do, baby.”

Rejection.

Hesitation.

Submission.

You open your mouth for her—now courtesy of Yoo Jimin. You take in her fingers. They’re cold from the air conditioner. Bite. Lick. Swallow. You close your eyes while doing so, absorbing her taste with your tongue. You feel you’re under her control—so submissive. It’s ecstatic.

“God, do you like being called a whore? Because you’re acting like one right now,” Jimin asks.

You profusely nod at her statement, continuing to suck on her fingers.

“Then keep doing it, whore.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you can hear her giggle. And as your vision comes back to her, the free hand is rubbing against her clothed core now. Mewling sounds can be heard.

“God, keep sucking it, baby. I’ve never cummed as fast as this before.”

“Ngh.” And you keep sucking her fingers.

A sound of the door stops you in your tracks though.

“Guys, I need a few chairs–am I interrupting something?”

Ning Yizhuo, head of student welfare, barges into the room. She stares straight at you two. Good thing Jimin pulls her digits out and puts them behind her back before Yizhuo’s eyes catch sight of you glistening on her, leaving you stranded in your burning desire for your president.

Maybe it’s the way your eyes are still fluttering. Maybe it’s the way your mouth ever so slightly hangs open. Maybe it’s your quick breaths.

Yizhuo wants to know what’s up.

“We’re just–” Jimin tries to find the right word in your eyes. Her blinks are rapid. She’s concerned. She’s afraid.

“You’re–what?” Yizhuo isn’t a patient figure. She’s trying to gauge something out of Karina.

“I–I’m adjusting his posture! O–Our dear treasurer has a bad sitting posture and–”

“Cut the shit, Jimin. What the fuck did you guys do?”

“S–See, he’s sitting a lot, you know? B��Bills. Accounting. Excel stuff.” Jimin’s brows hint at the concern within her chuckle. She pushes the middle of your back to set you straight up. As you follow her move, Yizhuo clenches her eyes.

“Just get me some chairs and don’t fuck inside this room.”

—

Jimin swings her door open, and as expected, every single bit of it is immaculately kept clean. There’s not a single piece of trash on the floor of her white room; the table is meticulously arranged; the bed is folded. There’s a Meteora vinyl placed on her shelf. God, what a tasteful woman.

“Drop your bag.”

You comply as she also does so.

And she immediately pounces on your body, consuming your taste and scent at your nape. Her lips are wet, sending shocks through your pliant frame.

“Mmph, keep this perfume, baby. I just wanna have this scent of you every day.”

It’s CK One.

She plants her kisses along your neck—standing up straight—ever so determined to make you hers. Her hands lock your shifting, shaking body in place, despite being so eager to feel every inch of you—up and down.

“So—pliant, so—submissive,” she whispers.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you deflect, trying to have a hold of the battle. There’s a glint of brattiness inside you that wants to resist her just a little, just before you give in.

“Is that so?” Jimin mewls, before pushing you onto the bed.

“I’m not letting you have me that easily, miss president,” you say with your back against her soft cushion. Jimin is straddling her lean, lengthy legs over yours. She looks so damn tall from this view—you lying beneath her.

“Sucking my fingers, then decide to be a bratty bitch right now—” She lightly taps the tip of your nose, also scrunching hers. “—I like that.”

You say nothing, giving her just a wink from below.

“Oh, baby, I’ll have you scream my name so many times.”

“Fucking make me then.”

And fires ignite in her eyes.

She dives onto your left ear—nibbling, biting, swallowing, whatever she can do with her mouth without tearing your auricle off. Her deep moans send suppressed shudders through your neurons.

Jimin spreads saliva all over your ear, no sign of relenting. Slurping sounds of her flesh ring in your head. She plants each lick with purpose, and it sends jolts and jolts through your body. Still, you’re far from falling apart—tethered on the ground.

“Tsk, i–is this the best y–you can do?”

“Oh, baby, you’re already stuttering? I can do more if you want~,” she tastefully threatens. Then, she brings her right hand into play, tilting your chin up. Your mouth is right beside her neck. The pale smoothness of her skin is presented in front of you, and you just can’t help but—

“F–Fuck!” Jimin yells, clearly enraptured with the swipes of tongue you are giving her. Still, she keeps spreading her saliva on your ear as if it’s hers (it’s hers).

“Oh, b–baby boy, maybe you can use your t–tongue on other things instead,” she whines.

“Your cunt?” You keep stretching your tongue onto her nape, getting a taste of her sweat.

She pulls back from you, robbing the sensations away from your throat. “Clever, now just lie like this. I’m riding your pretty face.”

Jimin then takes off her purple lace panties, giving you a hint of her wet cunt—unshaved—as she lifts her leg, before stuffing the garment onto your nose. Fuck, her musk is so intense; you can just die happily right here.

“You just love it, don’t you?”

You sheepishly nod, pressing her panties against your nose even tighter, eliciting laughs from her sinful mouth.

“I think that’s enough, baby. I wanna fuck your face now,” she says, before tossing away the filthy garment.

Jimin then moves forward on her knees, bringing her heat closer and closer to your face. God, the fact that she’s unshaved only brings you higher. You need to slurp her juice; you need it on your face, you–

“Ready?”

Her cunt is hovering above you now, she’s pulling her skirt up, letting you see her face for the last time before being buried under her.

You nod.

And she sinks onto your face.

The first contact is soft, so, so soft. You’re practically making out with pussy, as she shakes above you erratically. There isn’t much light, with her skirt darkening your vision of what’s around, but it’s like you’d complain. You’re eating your student president out in her room, and you’re doing it so, so well that it sends shivers through her body, again and again.

“Ngh, f–fuck!” Jimin shouts from above—the things you’d do to see her face right now, to see an effect you’re having on her.

You say nothing, just keep lapping up her folds enthusiastically. Her juice drips into your mouth—sweet.

Jimin starts to grind her hips, as the moans grow louder. She’s getting wetter, and you’re still happily drinking her sugary nectar—drunk with it.

“Ah, ah, y–you’re doing well, my treasurer.”

You give her a thumbs up. You keep licking her cunt as if your life is depending on it. She moans so loud; everyone on this floor is probably going to hear that, but you don’t care anymore. The only thing in your head right now is to please Jimin—only Yoo Jimin.

And you can feel her thighs tense, shaking with pleasure. She’s going to cum. Her moans grow more chaotic and shorter than they were.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, fuck!”

She cums hard, collapsing onto the bed, cunt still on your face, ass up in the air. Her core clenches and clenches on your face, and she just forgets to breathe as her hips convulse.

“No squirt today, huh?” you joke from below.

She snaps back into the situation she’s in, sneering, “Fuck off, don’t fucking play stupid with me, wh–whore.”

You laugh, “Alright, alright, let’s get to the main course, shall we?”

“Y–Yeah.”

Jimin lifts off from you, leaving a string of her lubricant between your lips and her cunt.

“God, that’s hot,” you just can’t help but say it.

She giggles, and you can now see the sweat forming on her forehead; there’s beauty in it.

You two, in a haste, discard all of your clothes until you’re left with nothing—just bare bodies on the bed together. You’re sitting opposite of her, expecting her to say something.

She looks ethereal under the room light. The messy hair, the perfect features, the bare body, they all combine into the epitome of perfection right in front of you. Fuck, she’s gorgeous.

“Can I suck your tits?” you mutter. Fuck reticence, you need her, now.

She chuckles. “Sure, but only if I’m on top of you.”

“You just have to find a way to dominate me, don’t you?” you huff.

“Don’t say it like you don’t like it, baby.” She caresses your cheeks, and you shiver at her touch.

You lie down, as she slowly eclipses the light above both of you. Her large breasts are hanging down so close to your face. And—

“F–Fuck!”

You latch your mouth on her right breast as if it’s innate, with your hand kneading on the other. She lets out empyrean moans that only makes you want to suck on them even more. God, you can do this all day.

And not wanting to wait anymore, she impales her cunt with your cock, and you can only moan into her tits. This sensation, it’s overwhelming. Her velvety walls are hugging you so, so tightly. It’s so warm. She’s warm.

“Fuck,” she groans, eyes rolling into the back of her head. “Your cock is so well-bent, baby. It’s hitting my g-spot so good.”

“T–Thanks, J–Jimin.” Your mind is so damn clouded by the pleasure that you can say nothing but her name right now.

And a crack starts to form when she moves—up and down. Her unshaved cunt dragging along your digit, emanating pleasure all over your body from the core.

“B–Babe, c–can you stop s–sucking my tits?” she pleads.

You pull yourself out of her mounds, as she’s still riding you like there’s no tomorrow, and you let out small moans at each contact. “W–What? Ngh.”

“I wanna kiss you.”

You freeze under her. She’s still motioning herself to squeeze the cum out of you, whimpering each time your cock hits the hilt. Is it a confession? Does she love—

“B–Babe,” she brings you back to the mortal world.

“Y–Yeah, kiss me.”

She invades your mouth as if it wasn’t already hers at the second she sits on your face. Your tongues intertwine in a quest to declare their feelings of their owners.

Your hands are still squeezing her breasts. It’s addictive. You press and press into her flesh just to feel her as much as you can. This might as well be the only body you want to have just to yourself, as you dedicate yours to her. Every curve, every contour, every limb, you want her; you want her to want you; you need her. This kiss, fuck, it’s doing wonders to you.

She’d be the one to break off from the kiss to pant above you, hips still smashing into yours in a perfect rhythm.

“W–Wanna go out with me?” she asks.

She’s desperate, all the Tinder dates, all the–

“Babe, I–I fucking know that it’s desperate, yes or no. Fuck those Tinder dates, fuck those guys and girls, I–I want to go out with you, t–treasurer,” she pants.

Maybe it’s her J’adore that’s permeating all over you. Maybe it’s the way your hips are clashing into each other. Maybe, just maybe, it’s the glint in her eyes.

But if you have to recall, it’d be the confidence she’s radiating in clashing your flesh together just right now.

You nod.

Jimin smiles, pulling you into another kiss. You swear it can tear you apart if you have to let this woman go—figuratively.

She pulls off, her breaths becoming shorter and shorter again. “C–Can you cum with me, baby?”

Again, you nod, smiling. It’s inside your loins, building up, building up. Your body tenses up beneath her, same as hers. It’s there. It’s there.

“Fuck, baby, breed me. I’m yours, just breed me, just–ugh!”

And her whole body freezes, juices flowing onto your crotch. Her face is contorted by the pleasure coursing through her. Again, she forgets to breathe, back arching. You don’t slow down, though. Your orgasm is coming too.

“B–Babe–ah!”

It breaks. You busy yourself inside her to the hilt. Just like her, you forget to breathe. You shoot spurts of your seed deep into her womb, intending to breed her as her wish. Your cock shakes inside her, as she moans at each twitch.

It subsides, eventually. The shots get softer and softer to the point the cum just dribbles off the tip of you now. Fuck, your juices even leak out of her cunt onto your crotch, mixed together.

“F–Fuck,” is all she can say, before collapsing onto you, chest pressed up against yours.

“The plan’s still up?”

“Yeah.”

And she slips to the side, embracing you from behind, as you two doze off in the nocturne.

—

“Can I use your toothbrush?”

A long drag of uncertainty comes from the outside. Sun has risen hours ago, yet you two are still in the drowsy state.

“Or do I have to kiss you again for the answer, Jimin?”

“Put your morning breath away from me!”

At least she’s quick with her riposte.

As you brush your teeth, naked, she saunters into the bathroom, still similarly bare from last night. Her breasts bounce ever so slightly with each step in the mirror. Despite the disheveled appearance, her natural beauty shines through the mess—a seraphic being, one might say.

“Ha, yeah, I know I’m pretty, baby,” she says. “People would kill to have a body like me.”

You finish your clean up, before saying, “You’re insufferable, you know?”

Jimin laughs, before giving you a quick peck on the cheek, emanating mellow all over your face. Fuck, you can feel the blood rushing to your erection now.

“You too, babe.” She smiles, before grabbing her mouthwash for a gargling.

Your cock, again, finds the condition to rise in front of this woman. It’s twitching, and you just have to turn back before she notices it.

Still, her sharp eyes find you, and she gives you a small slap on your bare ass, sending pleasure rushing through your body.

“Hey!” she growls with the mouthwash, before quickly disposing of it. “You’re fucking hard again?”

“I–I–I–uh–”

Jimin then presses herself up against your back, arms ever so tightly trapping you from behind in a hug. It’s warm. She’s warm.

“Let me, baby,” she whispers against your wobbling right ear. “I can’t have my co-workers’ needs go unsated.”

“F–Fucking hell.”

In one careful motion, Jimin slides her arms down to your erection, right hand grabbing the length. “Wouldn’t mind some respect from my baby boy~” Her grip and the languid, careful strokes make your legs wobble.

“Tsk, n–no fucking way, J–Jimin,” you muster any inhibition you have left to deflect.

“Well, then.” Jimin then tightens her hold on your cock, transpiring both pain and pleasure to you. “How about now?”

“Nghhhh, f–fuck,” you cry out, the contorted expression appears in the mirror.

“Just like that, baby, moan for me. Show me who owns you,” Jimin coos, loosening her hold a slight, still keeping the adagio tempo.

“Nnnh, J–Jimin.”

“Good boy, good boy,” she murmurs.

She drags her filthy hand up and down your cock so leisurely, finding the rhythm for your pliancy. She strokes and strokes to build you up to the second release with her, this time by her hand.

It feels like eternity—the way her unhurried digits find the pace that would make you want so much more, or how she whispers ‘good boy’ into your ear every time she wants a whiff of reassurance of control. It’s like she needs one, anyway, judging by how you’re moaning like a bitch right now.

“God, you’re making so much sound for me.” The way she swipes her index finger at the tip of your cock on each stroke, fuck, you can fall onto the floor right here and now. “Wanna see your face in the mirror, baby?”

You turn your head leftwards to find reflections of a contorted face and a grin side by side. Her hand is diligent as ever—building you up to your inevitable release.

“What do you say, baby? Wanna see our faces in the mirror?” she inquires again. You can feel a mischievous smile beside your ear.

“Ngnh, a–alright.”

With ease, she forces your body to turn into your image of the ball of lust—the shower of kisses on your neck; the hand sliding up and down your cock; the thigh pressing up against your ass. You shift and shift within her restraint, and that seems to only fuel her fire.

“Moan some more for me, baby. I wanna hear your voice. I want my men moaning.”

You comply, letting out a series of whimpers just for your student president. The sensation of her hand is so damn enthralling—each slide, each nick of a finger, each twist of her wrist, they are all designed to make you surrender to her.

“Good boy. Your moans are so pleasing to hear, you know that?”

“Nngh, t–thanks, Jimin.”

“Wanna up the ante, baby? I can do it faster~” As if her languid tempo isn’t already doing its job in trapping you inside her overflowing lust.

You hesitate, finding yourself wanting this act to go on to such lengths, maybe even when the sun sets again. Being under her comforting warmth is too satisfying.

“I–I don’t know, Jimin.”

“Oh, this baby can’t decide? Guess I’ll just have to–”

She suddenly lets go of your length, cutting your string of desire so easily. You whine, as Jimin lets out a laugh.

“Don’t!” you say in a rush, and letting go the hand you haven’t realized you’ve been holding—hers.

Jimin giggles. “Say please, baby.” She tightens her hug on you, squeezing the plea out.

Your eyes meet hers in the mirror.

“Please, Jimin.”

“Good boy.” And she wraps her hand around your erection again, casually stroking it.

“Ngh.”

The sound of her jerking your shaft fills the room. It’s heavenly—her voluptuous chest pressing up against your arching back with right hand busy sliding on your rod. She does it so cleanly—the technique, the pace. You swear you will cum by the second she whispers another ‘good boy’ into your welcoming ears.

As if she knows your inevitable release, she seeks a higher speed on your cock, stroking it with a swiftness that tries to draw out your moan and your cum as much as she can.

“Ngh, J–Jimin,” you whimper.

“Oh, gonna cum already, baby?” Jimin giggles at your crumble, before giving a peck on your left cheek. “Go on, cum for me. Cum, just like you did last night inside me.”

White spots start to form within your vision. Your breaths become more erratic. It’s there. It’s there.

“Jimin~”

And you explode all over her mirror, painting white streaks on it. You are left with ecstasy on your face as Jimin smiles at your release. Your body shrieks and shudders in her embrace. Your cock twitches in her hand, sending flying ropes of cum everywhere. Fuck.

“Yes, baby, just like that.” Her voice is deep—so seductive.

You continue to shake in her hold, not being able to subside from your high so quickly. Your release grows lighter and lighter in her hand, until it comes out in drops, finally letting you catch your breath.

“Good boy,” Jimin says, before forcing your body towards hers. You are spun around, and she gives you a kiss.

It’s short, but it’s powerful—no tongue fighting for dominance, no slurping sounds, just a kiss.

And she pulls back from it once she’s satisfied, judging from the smile on her face.

“Wanna do this again?” she asks.

“Definitely—well—maybe. You know Yizhuo would beat our asses if she catches us again, right?”

“Just shut up, babe. She won’t know if you’re good with secrets like me.”

You pout, bringing out a laugh from her.

Winter

“It’s going well, isn’t it?” Kai asks.

You give him a small smile. “It’s bearable, yeah.”

“Good to know, good to know.” He then takes a sip of his latte from his cup, looking outside.

“Fuck, I forgot to ask you this,” you say. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Oh yeah! In fact, there’s a woman I've been seeing recently, Yizhuo. You probably know her, right? You guys are working together,” Kai answers.

“Oh,” you utter. “Oh.”

He chuckles, before continuing, “Yeah, I know it’s weird–”

“No, no, not at all, bro,” you deflect with a chuckle along with him. “I’m happy that you’re happy.”

Kai, still chuckling, inquires, “How about you? It’s gotta be more than ‘bearable’ for you to be all happy like this.”

You give him a smile.

[livelaughlovesubs]

~ 08.10 - Fyodor ~

Dom!abilityUser!reader x sub!Fyodor - reader is gender neutral

Warning: wrong use of ability, aphrodisiac, handjob, teasing, marking, biting, little manhandling, mind break, sub space (?), cum eating, finger sucking, dacryphilia, use of pet names like baby - darling, kinda manipulation (on both sides), hints of hierophilia

~ Word count: 5k ~

Nini!rant: did I repeat myself a lot during this fic? I hope not…

Kinktober list 2024

Your vision blurred. The smoke burned your eyes and lungs, and a rough and painful ache spread from your chest to your throat. It didn’t help that your consciousness was fading in and out, or that you felt like blanking out every time you closed your eyes. You coughed, repeatedly, enough for blood to drip down the corners of your lips. Its metallic taste was one of the very things still keeping you sane. Then you dropped to your knees, fingers clawing at the filthy floor, nails filled with dirt as everything around you got rendered to ashes.

The heat made you sweat, and even though you could feel a chilly sensation run down your spine, flickering lights and the crunch of wood burning filled your awareness. With the last bit of strength you had, you looked up, arms reaching out to your mentor. They were the one who raised you, and the one who were shrieking and burning on the ground.

“Ughh- guhh…!!” You tried to talk, to call out to them, yet your voice was hoarse. Only groans of pain alongside incoherent grumbles left your lips as a dark figure approached you. The person kneeled on one knee, using their hand to cover your dry eyes as they whispered, “This is the punishment for their crimes, their sins.” Before long, your vision turned black.

An infinite amount of time passed as you slumbered comfortably. It felt way more comforting than the harsh reality you've been exposed to. When you eventually woke up, you were still alive and breathing, there was also no pain anymore. The smoke subsided, the fire ceased and all the burning buildings disappeared, or were you simply somewhere else? How long has it been since you were knocked out? You sat up from where you were and tried to look around, that’s when you noticed the soft cushion beneath you. Someone brought you here, someone saved you-

“You are awake.” A pretty voice emerged from somewhere. You had a surprised expression on your face, though it almost immediately turned into an alert one the moment you saw whom the voice belonged to. “You- you are..! Urghh!” As soon as you raised your voice a little, you began coughing again, the pain also returned as if it was only playing a prank on you. “I’d advise you to not overuse your voice.” The male said, closing the distance between you two, and taking a seat opposite of you.

There was a large window behind him, where warm rays of sunlight gently illuminated the room. Some of the orange light shone upon his silky black hair, causing it to have a colorful glow. The sky was a mix of red and pink decorated with some elements of orange and yellow, all these shades faded and intertwined, creating a scenery worthy of the title 'perfect'. Based on that alone, it must be dawn right now. In your memory, it was in the middle of the night when that horrific accident happened. It means you’ve been knocked out for at least a day.

Now wasn’t the time to admire nature's beauty, you had more important things at hand, for example, the person in front of you. He has been reticent since he sat down, piercing through your skull with his violet eyes. It felt like he was trying to read your mind, this pressure was suffocating. “Fyodor Dostoyevsky.” You mumbled weakly, each word you uttered itched and hurt. This man was the one who burned your home, he’s the one who put your mentor to sleep. But why?

Many strong emotions filled you from the inside, about to make you explode. Though you couldn’t, now wasn’t the time. “Why… did you let me live?” You asked him, hoping to get to know what your value is in his eyes and the reason behind his actions. Was he planning on using you as a war trophy? “What did master do to you?!” Due to your lack of voice, you were whispering, yet the way you stressed your words showed your intentions, you were in despair, and pure confusion.

Instead of answering anything, he poured you and himself some tea, then gestured for you to drink. “It's a simple black tea with lemon and sugar, to soothe your throat," he explained as he reached for his cup, but you bested him to it. Out of concern and wariness, you took his cup instead of yours, not caring about politeness in the face of death. Fyodor didn't stop you, he pulled his hand back to let you have full access to his cup, then grabbed yours and took a sip.

Despite the absurdity of the situation, you were thankful for the beverage, its effects showed in less than a minute. Afterward, he got up to go over to you, he leaned forward to cup your cheeks, and his gesture was painfully gentle. It tugged at your heart, it stung and you felt tears prickling in the corners of your eyes, the loss of someone dear was still a fresh wound.

For some unknown reason, you couldn’t move, too overwhelmed to act, too speechless to push him away. The burning sensation returned, a small part of you wished you could go down with your instructor. “As for your question, it's because I only punish the sinners.” He showed you a look of pity, full of what seemed to be genuine empathy, brows furrowed as he cooed, “Your mentor, he… he has been torturing the innocent souls of this world, there was no other way.” The way he talked was peculiar, strangely foreign yet elegant.

When the news of your teacher being a cold-hearted murderer echoed through your mind, you felt your world crumbling for a moment. They would never do that- right? After all, if they were that ruthless, they wouldn’t have taken you in. You didn’t know where to look at. What if he was lying? Was your faith in your guardian so poorly that you’d believe false information this quickly? Yet you weren’t able to shake off that ominous feeling, that familiar sense of betrayal and doubt.

"I'm sure it came across as quite the shock, but I ask you to believe me." The male said, pulling out a stack of paper from under the desk, and slamming it onto the tea table. "Feel free to look through it, take as much time as you need. And, my condolences." A hint of bitterness laced his tone. Your heart was wavering now, torn between whether or not you should believe him. The way he acted seemed to be real, though it could also be that he was a fantastic actor. In the end, you decided to reach out to the proof he provided you, holding one of the papers as you scanned over it.

It was a detailed report doting down the various crimes your mentor apparently committed, you even realized some of the events, but in a different setting. "Is... is this for real..? Haha- I can't believe it, and, if that's so, I didn't find out all this time?" Your thoughts hung from your lips and showed on your expression, a part of your world was crumbling down on you.

A sense of guilt and dizzy disgust engulfed you, shaking you from the core, and making you question all the memories made with him and your very existence. Could you still call yourself innocent after aiding such a horrible person with such a nativity? Even though you were still lost in your own little space, he raised your chin up, to stare down at you. Your noses were almost touching with how close he was. And with how the light drew across his features, paired with the romantic nature of the atmosphere, you couldn’t stop an impulsive thought from occurring.

The short-lived idea of him being a saint, a divine sent to expose the truth and bring salvation— he has saved you, twice now. You blinked a few times, wondering how you could think of something like that, it was crazy. Your brain must be struggling to process all this information, which led to you having some insane ideas, that must be the case, surely.

The closeness was making you feel dizzy again, eyes staring right into his dark pupils. He was smiling at you, kindly so, though his eyes had nothing but emptiness behind them. Even someone great like him isn't perfect in the art of acting, the eyes are said to be windows to the soul after all. “Y/n.” Fyodor mumbled his voice tender as it wrapped around your heart like a seductive spell, making you feel grossed out by your body's perception of him.

“Focus on me.” The male reminded you, the corners of his lips going up a little. You resumed staring at him, feeling the mood change involuntarily. It’d be a lie to say he wasn’t pretty, and he appeared even more beautiful when he calmly suggested, “Y/n, why don’t you join the decay of angels. By doing so, you can pay for the sins of the deceased, and he'll eventually be able to rest in peace.” He wasn’t asking you, he was making a deal.

You didn't know why but something about him made you feel drawn to him, it made you want to peruse him. Whatever it was that caused you to feel this way, you didn’t want it, it was annoying how it kept clouding your judgment. The thought of joining the enemy group so soon without mourning for the departed didn’t seem correct.

But you couldn’t decline either.

All you could do was stay in your seat, a drop of sweat dripping down the sides of your face as you subconsciously admired him. This bubbling sensation spread to every fever of your being, and in the end, you nodded meekly. The smile on his face widened, and then he asked you, “Y/n, please tell me how your ability works.” Once again, he didn’t seek your opinion, only stating what you had to do. But he was also aware you were an ability user, which might tied into the reasons why he saved you.

With a little hesitation, you reached your hand out to stroke his hair, his didn’t pull back or flinch, as if he was used to it, and nudged into your warm palm. Without missing a beat, you whispered in the still rough voice, “It’s poisonous gas.” As soon as he heard that, he noticed a sweet smell coming from the direction of your hand and he shuddered. Eyes widened while the sickening grin didn’t leave his face, as if he was proud of your small victory against him.

Before he could open his mouth, you added, “It’s not a life-threatening one, don’t worry.” He didn’t look angry, only amused as he let go of you, lingering for a moment longer than necessary before pulling back, sneering almost confidently, “A sly one, aren’t you?” You gave him a bright smile in return, "and you're confident much."

After his touch departed from you, he could feel his body heating up, a strange rush of need engulfing him, eating away at him from the inside. He blamed it on the poison, and he wasn’t wrong. His mind searched for the kind of poison this might be, trying to match the symptoms before he got interrupted by you, or more specifically your hand which had been placed on his head, without him noticing, he must have been careless. You scratched his scalp as gently as he has been treating you. It didn’t look like you were caressing a person but rather a cat, crawling at his skin.

For some reason, his heartbeat went higher and his blood rushed to his head, a meek whine slipping past his rosy lips, “Hmm...” He was in disbelief at his own voice, baffled by how foreign it was. Hell, he didn't recognize himself, this was like a completely different person. “What did you do-” Fyodor's gaze shot up to you, he sensed something ominous.

Consequentially the hand on his head moved down and clasped over his mouth while your other one wrapped around his waist. Then you pulled him closer, getting up in the process and pressing him into the soft cushions. The warmth of your body heat still lingered on his skin, it felt strangely comforting. A heavy blush crept onto his features as he furrowed his brows, both of his hands now crawling at your wrist, trying to peel you off him.

Though he didn’t need to do that, since you were willing to let go by yourself. Alternatively, you were holding his slim waist with both hands now, fingers sinking into his flesh loving yet roughly. “Uh-hmm..!” This time, he placed his hands over yours, trying to signal you to stop. Whenever you pressed down on his hips, a tingly feeling would course through him and he’d shudder helplessly. Poor boy didn’t take it that well, head hanging forward while he gritted his teeth. His pitch-black hair framed his face, sliding past his shoulders and tickling you by brushing over your skin.

“Let go, y/n..” he voiced out those shaky words, letting his facade crumble. You got even closer, nose now in the crook of his neck as you took a deep breath. Then you whispered into his ears, “Thank you for saving me and telling me the— truth…” The last word became so quiet he was barely able to register it. After that, you stuck the tip of your tongue out to lick his earlobe, at the same time you drew circles on his hips with your thumbs.

“Hnngh.. w-what are you..?!” Fyodor winced again. Because you were basically pressing your upper body against his, he couldn’t help but lock his hands around your neck, holding onto you tightly as he pressed his chin against your shoulder. His eyes were half-lidded as more lewd sounds escaped him. At the same time, this weird emotion coursing through him kept making him feel all buzzy inside. Confusion was a word much too vague to explain the state he was in.

On the other hand, you thought the way he held onto you was cute, it was like a little kitten that didn’t want you to leave. “...So please let me repay you.” You uttered, finishing your sentence from before after a long break, then answered his questions, “You are currently under the effects of an aphrodisiac, I thought it might help me service you better.” That’s why he’s feeling this way, so hot and bothered. It was because of your ability.

“M-make it go away then…!” He groaned, glaring at you. You weren’t expecting him to engage in such unsightly acts now, were you? “I am doing that right now. Don’t worry, you’ll feel so good.” A somewhat sinister smile spread on your lips, and then you bit his ear. “UhmM..! No- what?" Fyodor shuddered, head spinning a little from all these foreign sensations. "Are there other ways?” This is bad, it was so pleasurable that it was maddening. His body has become so sensitive all due to the poison, that he was reacting to your every touch, every light brush of your skin against his.

“Begrudgingly, no. Since there’s no other way, try to enjoy it.” You explained, one hand moving to his collar and unbuttoning his shirt while your eager tongue trailed down from his ear to his neck, leaving behind a wet path. “Haaah… you- ughh!” He eventually gave in, squeezing his eyes shut as his body quivered. Now both hands were working on his clothes, but you did it slowly, teasingly slow. At the same time, you licked over his skin, occasionally sucking on a specific area. It didn’t take long until you found a spot he especially liked.

You knew by how he squirmed around, arms losing strength as they limped and fell back next to his body, a dark reddened spot forming where your lips last touched him. It was too much, this drug was making him go insane, he couldn’t think of anything but giving himself to you. “Please..” he begged unbeknownst to himself, feeling you prying his shirt open. Then your knee pressed against his tightly shut legs, trying to separate them and force your way between.

After you did, you grabbed his waist and adjusted his position a little. He didn’t show any resistance, only whimpering in silence as he let you manhandle him. Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes from raw lust, the need for your touch made him so frustrated that he became impatient. “Hurry up.. take responsibility for the mess you made,” Fyodor demanded while wearing a needy expression, you didn't know he was such a touch-starved man. “If that’s what you want.” You smirked devilishly as you took a bite out of him, or rather, you left your teeth marks on his pale skin.

The marks were deep, sinking down on him, like a form of testimony for this shared intimacy. Many hickeys were placed around the bite marks, decorating his sickly-looking body with colors. “Cute,” you commented on his appearance, then moved your lips past his chest down to his belly button. Fyodor didn’t react to that silly compliment, thinking it must have been a slip of the tongue. He let out a shaky breath when he felt you rubbing your cheek against his smooth and soft skin. That single gasp soon turned into a series of huffed moans due to you teasing his nipples.

You used both hands to skilfully circle around the nuds, sometimes flicking them with the tip of your fingers, or nudging them lovingly. Small gestures like this were enough to make him turn his head to the side, cursing out this annoying poison. The more you played with him, the stronger his reactions became. When you got to rubbing his cute and hardened nipples, his thighs squeezed around your waist, subconsciously trying to hide something very inappropriate. But you noticed anyway. He got hard by having his chest played with, enough for him to leak through his pants.

“Fyodor, I didn’t know your nipples were this sensitive.” You gasped excitedly, acting more dramatic than needed. A small yet noticeable wet patch was on his pants, the sticky fluid seeping through the fabric. “It’s because, hah.. of the aphrodisiac.” The male argued, gazing up at you all hostile. “Mhm, sure sure.” Instead of letting it get to you, you continued what you were doing. Humming to yourself before questioning him, “Well, do you want me to touch you?” His eyes basically lit up at that question, drool on the verge of dripping down the corners of his mouth.

“Mhm…” his tone was meek as if he was deliberately hiding his excitement. Putting his pride aside for now, he nodded almost too eager for his liking, and proceeded to avoid your gaze again. Since you got his approval, you decided to take it a step slower, leaning back to take your time to admire him. To worship him. That’s when you noticed how slim he was. Maybe it was due to his hands that were buried in his sleeves, or his shirt that was slipping down his arms, no matter the reason, he looked so petite right now. He was not intimidating or scary at all, not like the demon he was rumored to be.

You’ve already noticed his rather weakly looking physique, but to think it was this apparent. He didn’t really have any toned muscles, nor did he have any colors on his face. To be honest he seemed fragile, like a porcelain doll. When you put your hands on his hips again, gently holding him up and making him arch his back, the only thought running through your head was how easily you could snap him in two, causing you to be even more gentle with him, way more than before. All to take care of this man who was like a saint sent from above.

“D-don’t tease.” Fyodor groaned, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. His arms were still holding your back, clinging to you. Seeing him so needy and defiled made you impatient as well, and you rubbed his bulge through his clothes. The dark patch grew in size, and some of the liquid stuck to your hand. “I-I said don’t tease.” He repeated his words, this time putting more emphasis on his tone, toes curling while he tried to close his legs, of course to no avail. “I doubt this is only the work of the aphrodisiac.” You commented, then pulled his pants down alongside his underwear, revealing his throbbing cock.

It was twitching around in an angry shade of red, leaking pre with no end in sight. “You look like you enjoy it so much, it's so lewd.” You commented, smiling satisfied. The boy glared at you, he didn’t seem to appreciate your commentary, sneering, "Don't let that imagination of yours run wild. It's all the work of your ability." Then he locked his legs around your waist before scoffing, “Just get on with it.” He held you close to him, so close you could hear his weak but fast heartbeats. It had a weird sense of calmness to it.

Ignoring the fact his voice trembled with every word, he was simply too adorable to take him seriously. “Of course, if you allow me the honor of corrupting you?” You asked sarcastically, and your snarky question was met with a fierce glare from him. “I’m not getting corrupted, I’m thriving out the pest inside my body. And may I remind you just whose fault it is?”

Following closely were the muffled laughs from you, hoping to not embarrass him. “Yes yes~ it’s all my fault, so I’m taking responsibility.” Then you wrapped your hand around his shaft, pumping his dick up and down. “HnggGhh! Ah- ahh.. wait, that’s so s-sudden..?!” He moaned loudly, unable to restrain his voice. Your other hand caressed his body, still placed on his waist and holding him up.

“Was I wrong when I speculated you wanted this to be over quickly?” You pressed your forehead against him, slowing down to rub his sensitive gland. More and more precum collected at the tip, dripping down his member, making lewd squelch sounds whenever you moved your fingers. “Haaah…” he squeezed his eyes shut, clawing at your back to balance out the growingly overwhelming sensations. Moaning into your ear, encouraging you with the sweetest melody known to mankind. “Huh? Yes.. you, you weren’t wrong. So hurry… please.”

Right now, you must be grinning so stupidly, totally captivated by him. You quickened your pace, hands gliding across his skin. It was very easy since he had been dripping so much, and you couldn’t stop yourself from making a comment about it, “You are so wet down there, Fyodor. Are you that excited?” He pinched your back, embarrassed by your words, “Don’t- nggGhh… make my body sound so perverted ♡.” Afterward, he continued to try and bite back his moans, but he failed miserably.

“Ah- hmmm..!! It’s too intense, y/n.” Pretty tears rolled down his cheeks as he mumbled as quietly as possible, his voice all breathy and broken. When you noticed these fresh tears climbing down his face, you leaned close to him and licked them away. His tears were salty, like any other human, and they were still warm when they reached your tongue. He sobbed meekly in response to your questionable course of action, his cries stiffening a little.

Why was he crying? Was it due to the embarrassment he felt, or the troubling feelings bubbling inside him? Or because he was too overwhelmed by his own emotions, by this growing heat that was on the verge of exploding? Nonetheless, he blamed it on the aphrodisiac, to shelter himself from the truth, to deny reality once more.

“It’s alright, it’s normal to feel this way.” You whispered against his smooth skin, only moving your lips minimally. With the hand that used to be on his waist, you wiped the tears from the other cheek, watching the water dry after a while, commenting with an adoring voice, “So beautiful.” He was stunned by how tender you were with him, it made his skin crawl and his heart tighten. It was noticeable by the way his blush seemed to intensify. His dick twitched against your hand, uncontrollably so, desperate for more friction and attention. “A-a bit more— I, hic, a little bit…” Fyodor said, unsure what he meant with little, but he knew he was close.

Your hand was all slippery with his juices, and you made sure that he knew every single detail. “Look at that, my hand’s all sticky and dirty now, thanks to you.” To demonstrate what you meant, you raised your hand and held it in front of him, waiting until he opened his eyes to have a look. “Ah..” he winced a little at the loss of pleasure, then buried himself into the nook of your neck, choking out a muffled sentence, “I-I don’t want to see that.. just- make this heat stop… it h-hurts ♡.”

When he did that, you felt your own heart skip a beat, and you cooed at him, “Aah.. right, yes, my bad. You are just too cute.” He held his breath, and only exhaled when he felt your finger wrap around his weeping cock. You kissed his hair, wrapping one arm around his head and playing with the hair on the other side, stroking and caressing it. “So very cute.”

Fyodor seemed to have a rather hard time registering the fact these compliments were meant for him, and not just for the heat of the moment. He stayed quiet, except for the occasional whine that’d escape him when you drag your hand up and down his twitching dick. Then you raised the speed of your hands again, now trying to bring him over the edge. His nails dug into your flesh when he noticed a knot forming in his stomach, toes curling while he gritted his teeth. Your touch was simply heavenly, there was no better way for him to describe it.

"Arghh, y/n..? D-don't stop, don't you dare- i- nghh!!" The male threatened though he wasn't able to finish his sentence without his moans interrupting him. "Hmm~? Why can't I stop?" You teased him, despite knowing the reason very well. Your hand pumped him fast and steadily, slowly down only to take extra care of his tip. He inhaled sharply, opening his mouth to speak but ending up biting your shoulder with a messy expression. "Mfmmhh..! HnnGh~"

A shiver ran down your spine, you could barely stop yourself from grinning as you asked again, "Is something the matter, Fyodor?" If only he wasn't so messed up right now, he'd be seething with anger. Because right now, no matter what expression he pulled, he looked like a ravished and whithering animal. Wet and dried tears continued spilling from his swollen eyes, his entire upper body was covered in marks like a cherry blossom, and his skin glistened with sweat and a heavy blush.

Now moving down to his lower body, which looked like something straight out of a sinful magazine, he was so wet and sticky that he felt ashamed. To be this aroused from nothing but a simple handjob as well, it was a huge hit to his ego. Fyodor took a few moments to collect himself, and once he did, he mumbled almost inaudibly, "It feels too good.. m' gonna cum.." That was the moment you absolutely lost it, you were so infatuated with him it was worse than hypnotise.

Quickening your pace once more, you chuckled happily, "It's alright baby, cum for me, spurt it alll over my hand ♡♥︎" the sudden rise in intensity and pleasure caught him off guard, so badly that he scratched your back, screaming in ecstasy, "aaHhHGgg! W-wait, s-stop~!! It's- it's too muucHhhh! ♡♡ cumming, cumiiinnnng, pull away, it's dirty~ ♥︎♡" The boy looked like he was going crazy from all this bliss, head thrown back while his pupils turned heart-shaped.

He was mewling, drooling, and shaking from his core, brain way too mushy to think, to see if what he was babbling even made sense. Never would you have thought you could turn such a composed and fine man into this dumb little thing, addicted to the sin of the flesh. You kept moving your hand to help him come down from his high, lips pressed against the shell of his ear, "Shhh, it's alright darling, it's okay. It doesn't hurt, right? So it's okay, defile my hand like how I defiled you."

A few minutes passed in silence. You gave him enough time to get used to the feeling and cope with the reality. In the meantime, your hand departed from him, your fingers were all slick with his body fluid, and a pool of thick semen collected on your palm. While you were wondering what to do with it, his breathing was ragged and heavy, looks like he was still not used to all of this. You reached for some tissues from the table, wanting to clear up this mess if not for him to suddenly grab your wrist, bringing your finger to his lips and sucking on them feverishly.

He lapped up all the fluids clinging to you, all while gazing at you with the same eyes as before. Heart-shaped and pleasure-ridden, addicted, and out of his mind. Despite him still having your fingers in his mouth, he cried out, "he heet if stell here, i-if dihmmd woo.." (the heat is still there, it didn't work) before taking your fingers out, gulping down the fluids, and pleading sweetly, "p-please purge me more...♡♥︎♡" This was unexpected, you didn't expect him to react in this way. But you weren't going to complain, you didn't mind taking it a step further. Just...

How were you going to explain that you never used your ability on him?

Tags: @showtime-ss @thisisnotangel @ghostgoosygoose @i-dont-fooken-know @chuuya-brainrot @allyfoxglove @thigh-o-saur @fallenthemisticalyingyang @fem-dom-roze

Nini!rant 2.0:

An aphrodisiac sounds like something really fun, right? Though sadly there is no such thing in real life. According to science, all these foods and pills that claim to raise sexual desire and lust have no real correlation with boosting arousal. Because after all, sexual desire is created due to a series of brain chemistry and sometimes hormones. And that is something so complex it can’t be mimicked with chemicals or food.

Chocolate? The sugar raises euphoria and others, but not lust. Oysters? Apparently it raises testosterone levels, though that’s not arousal neither. Cinnamon and exotic spices? Now that’s a stretch. Sometimes the things suggested by people aren’t even healthy to consume! Like the Spanish fly, which helps with getting an erection. But that’s actually just blisters in the urethra, the tube in the penis…. Cuz the fly comes from blister beetles… yea

Though I’m not saying it can’t work, because sexual desire is created by the brain, right? So if you believe eating a banana helps then you can trick your brain, and it ends up actually helping. Or the rumour with the spices, most of the time it’s about the smell, and if you smell something nice that you like, that calms you, you’re more likely to become turned on then agitated or sad.

I wish aphrodisiacs were real though 😔

[yuzuocha]

KITH? KITH. [PT. I]

kissing hcs for xavier and zayne, let's go. rafayel and sylus will be in pt. 2.

warnings ‣ there might be a little steam, but thats it

xᴀᴠɪᴇʀ.

— when one usually shoots a glance towards the sleepy, cryptic, book-and-meat-loving hunter, they would see him as a reticent, passive lover who doesn't show much affection – especially physical ones – towards his partner.

— well, it isn't as if they were completely wrong, per se. however, the impression they had of Xavier when it came to romantic endeavors couldn't have been more wrong – especially when it came to kissing.

— in most cases, his kisses are sweet and gentle, just like his demeanor. he loves planting them all over you. your cheek, your temple, your ear, your shoulder, your palm – you name it, he most definitely enjoys it. hell, even if it's the bridge of your foot, your thigh or the back of your neck.

— he definitely has a preference to give than to receive, though he's more than happy to be gifted with a smooch. his mouth-to-mouth, on the other hand, couldn't be more different.

— it's as if a switch turns on whenever he touches your lips with his.

— xavier didn't actually have any experience in kissing beforehand – or so he says – but his trained instincts, senses and perception swiftly kicked in and turned his clumsy kisses into (literal) breathtaking ones.

— his direct kisses never fail in threatening your knees to buckle underneath his touch, and he knows what drives you insane – nipping your bottom lip and swiping his tongue to soothe the small bite, cupping your neck into a more favorable angle with one hand while the other tipping your chin upwards to make the kiss deeper and your breaths shorter.

— and then xavier sweetly pecks your lips as if he didn't just ravish you in your entirety.

— it's also important to mention that he's hardly shy, contrary to his sloth-like nature. he is bold and open in his ways of affection and would care less for pressing lips together in public regardless if there was no audience or a stadium filled with them.

— still, he'd prefer more private spaces simply because the sight of you is something that is for his eyes only – nobody should ever see that dazed expression of yours other than him. possessive? yeah. but do i love it? yeah??

"very pretty." xavier whispered, breaking the string of saliva that connected him to you. all you could do was weakly nod back like an idiot. you couldn't tell whether the droplets on your face were sweat or tears.

or perhaps it's both.

xavier leaned down once more and gave a final kiss so gentle that your knees threatened to give out. your lips didn't have time to feel cold after xavier pulled away — he had one hand cup your jaw and cheek and had the other hand's thumb brush your swollen lips.

as the corners of his lips curled upwards,

the clumsy xavier had long been buried six feet under — and that's assuming that inexperienced side existed in the first place.

ᴢᴀʏɴᴇ.

— he's a surgeon. he has incredible dexterity and control. just in what world would you ever think he's awkward at kissing of all things? it's kinda ironic that zayne likes kissing despite knowing the amount of germs spread between the two are numbers that'd make any doctor froth at their mouth, though.

— despite his fondness for this activity, you're usually the one who gives small pecks and not the other way around. though, it isn't necessarily his fault – he's a doctor. a chief cardiac surgeon, at that.

— he doesn't sleep as much as he should to begin with, it's difficult to see you outside of check-ups and your occasional crashing at his place, and even at home he has to continue reading papers and study to not lose his edge.

— don't worry, however. he's largely upset about his quantity of kissing you. he just doesn't show it that much – so he uses those feelings to make the scarce kisses count.

— his kisses are slow but steady, allowing half-second pauses for you to breathe and his hand gently around your neck for support – indeed, a true gentleman. at the end of each kiss, it always leaves you feeling oh-so warm and soft, as if he swaddled you up in the coziest blanket in the world.

— during certain moments nightly activities ehehehehe, he still retains that loving finesse and control. he's someone who cherishes every single moment of contact, a perfectionist even in romantic endeavors.

— god bless zayne.

you could feel his hand twisting the door's lock.

clack. chief cardiac surgeon zayne really doesn't want to be interrupted at this moment.

but you couldn't afford to divert your attention to something like that; with one of zayne's hands gently combing through your hair and the other returning to your jaw, his gentle yet deep kisses only grew in intensity. the taste of sweet mint lingered, but it didn't do much in cooling you down.

he pulled away for half a second, letting you exhale and take in another breath.

"it's astounding how you dropped by just when i was missing you most."

you were about to respond, yet zayne returned to kissing – they were mellow and delicate yet meltingly profound, very much attuned to his inner nature.

it was a long moment before zayne opened his eyes and released your mouth with a soft 'pop'. he locked gazes with your dazed, nearly lovesick expression, his eyes somehow growing softer than his kisses at the sight. he trailed his hand towards yours while looping his fingers around your own.

"is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

you were too busy melting in your feelings for him to construct a response.

tysm for reading! comment down below or message me if you'd like to be a part of the taglist, and if you can, please do consider reblogging! it helps out a lot ;; w ;; and and!! my inbox is open for requests! PLEASE SEND SOME ASDJQVEJWHE I NEED THEM

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[painted-bees]

Sometimes you just need to be held and gently rocked like a child by someone who means something to you.

I mentioned before how Raf doesn't really get anxious before a show, and genuinely enjoys performing on stage--but that the most difficult part of a performance for him are the hours right after a show has finished, starting from the moment he walks off the stage.

Almost every single time, no matter how fun or well executed a performance was, there's a kind of quiet terror that follows him off the stage like a dark shadow and infects him once he's left the safety of the stage lights.

He becomes uncharacteristically furtive, and while he will answer when spoken to, his responses are simple, short, with a kind of sharpness in tone that suggests a level of defensiveness. Like a child awaiting a harsh scolding. Because that's kinda...what he is, in that moment. He is waiting to be kept awake into the early hours of the morning by a lecture about what he did, what he didn't do, what he should have done differently, what needs to be improved upon before the next time. Or he's waiting to be told that he's gonna be on his own for a few days, because the people who are supposed to love and take care of him are "too disappointed to fairly manage him" right now. Or he's waiting to be dragged into a busy room populated by strangers he's supposed to impress while he's casually, conversationally picked apart in front of them by the person who brought him there in the first place; the person who wanted to show him off.

It's a frustrating reaction to have...He's not a child, he's a grown ass man--and he owes venue staff, and his bandmates, and everyone else backstage a modicum of respect and kindness, and to thank them for their work, and to revel in the completion of a good show. But he's not really...he can't do that. He comes off as quietly despondent at best, or kind of a stuck up asshole at worst. When he did shows with Lacey, she called it his "post-performance tantrums" and exercised very little patience for his 'immature sulkiness' following concerts. And the low mood would persist for a solid week then after.

Once he started doing shows and stuff with Margie, she'd initially wonder if his poor mood was because she had done something wrong, or didn't meet expectations, if it was a bad show.... It wouldn't be until the following day before Raf could find himself in a state of mind where he's able to explain what he's feeling, much less why. And...for whatever reason, he's reticent to offer the most simple explanation to her--because saying "it's a ptsd thing, just give me space and patience and don't take it personally because it's nothing to do with you" comes with the risk of being asked other questions about himself and his upbringing that he's not comfortable getting into and--it's a whole thing, in his mind. So the first few shows together are consistently...a bewilderingly negative experience for Margie, in that it's a very tense, quiet, insecure and shame-ridden 24-48 hours after the show--followed by delayed revelry days after the performance with Raf finally able to reflect positively upon the experience and assuring Margie that it actually was a great performance, and that he had a lot of fun--and they're able to recall their favorite moments together, etc.

Unlike Lace, though, Margie never digs into him about his behavior. She just mirrors his silence, and then--very uncomfortably--gives him space because she doesn't really know what else she can do, and--assuming she's the problem--she doesn't want to risk messing things up even more, since she doesn't know what she did wrong in the first place. And, you know, there's only so many times Raf can reassure her, too late, that she was great, actually. And so he finally does relent to telling her that this is just...how he is after a show, that it's no one's fault, he's not mad at her or anyone--it's just ptsd. That's all he tells her, and, as per always with Margie--she doesn't try to pry out more information from him about it.

Margie goes down her own little rabbit hole of research instead, and comes to Raf with the idea for a new post-performance routine (communicated with staff and such before hand to ensure accommodation) wherein they don't try to gladhand, or pack up, or do literally anything for the first half hour after they walk off stage. Instead, they find a quiet, dimly lit corner somewhere away from everything and just sit, and rest, no expectations, no obligations, nothing. Raf agrees to put this idea into practice, and it quickly evolves into, well idk... Being held and gently rocked like a child by someone who means something to him.

[shizunitis]

SVSSS high school AU

[looking out the window with a thoughtful frown]

I was thinking back on my time in high school and…

Did anyone else have a classmate that was obviously Rich and kinda spoiled, but that was So Nice to everyone? Had the mannerisms and vocabulary of a doted-upon heir but the accepting and excited eyes of a sheltered kid seeking friends and companionship? Not necessarily smiling all the time, but was always present and active when interacting with the others?

Shen Yuan. Vice Class President. Beloved by teachers and classmates alike. Always willing to lend you money, and he won’t even ask for it back. Wouldn’t, even if he remembered!

And then the classmate that was subtly bitter about everything and mostly brushed off everyone? Made kinda’ lame jokes but didn’t really seem to care much when no one laughed, cause they wanted the others to let them be? Conspicuously absent from extracurricular activities, really didn’t give much of a shit as long as they got by?

Airplane. Ends up labelled as the class rebel but he doesn’t do anything, so it’s kind of bewildering that that’s his legacy. He is very unaware of his own vibes.

The clearly smart kid who never studies and still gets perfect or almost-perfect marks on everything, but no one really knows anything about them because they’re so reticent? Dislikes attention if it comes from who they perceive to be looking down on them? Any sort of authority figure is, to them, an opponent they must best without letting them know they’re competing at all? Bratty as fuck?

Binghe. Depending on which one we’re talking about, they’re either stupidly popular and elicit jealousy from their peers or admired (and highkey feared) from afar. Is vying for Class President to impress Shen Yuan. They’re a duo! They need to be a united front!

(It would also be very funny to me if Bing-ge was a year older than Bing-mei but got held back a year. The fights? The seething jealousy? Shen Yuan sandwich? Superb.)

Mobei-Jun is the silent, kind of out-of-his-depth but solemn kid everyone gravitates around and it’s astounding to him that these people are so invested in his opinion. Leave him alone. He does not want to bear witness to any of your pathetic attempts at flattering him! It’s so clearly fake. Very pretentious and doesn’t even realise it. Parents are Stupid Wealthy.

The class president is obviously Yue Qingyuan. Luo Binghe will win, though. It’s just a matter of time.

Liu Qingge is on some sports team, probably captain. Luo Binghe will win against him, too.

(Shen Yuan once mentioned that Liu Qingge’s muscles are very manly and now it’s on sight. This is the only thing the Luo brothers agree on. Neither are happy about it.)

God. Imagine them on a school trip. The poor chaperones.

[pin-k-ink]

maelstrom // miya osamu & miya atsumu (pt. 2)

tw ⇢ polyamory/threesome, nipple play, breeding kink, double penetration, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation/name calling, anal sex, unprotected sex, squirting, grinding, dry humping, shower sex, implied marathon sex, kinda rushed ending

wc ⇢ 8.7k

Osamu's ultimatum seemed to suck all residual heat from the stuffy hallway as his words settled over them with leaden finality. For several heartbeats, an oppressive silence stretched burning hot and taut between the twins.

Atsumu's eyes had blown wide at his brother's uncompromising decree, features slackening briefly before that ever-present veneer of bravado snapped back into place. His lips peeled back in a ferocious sneer as he straightened to his full towering height.

"That's your big idea?" he scoffed, voice dripping derision. "Put it all out there and what...just hope for the best? Let the 'pieces fall' and all that overly poetic bullshit?"

Osamu simply watched Atsumu's scathing tirade with an impassive mask, seeming utterly unbothered by his twin's attempt at biting disdain. The muscle in his clenched jaw ticked ever-so-slightly, the only indication he'd even registered Atsumu's barbs.

When he spoke again, Osamu's timbre emerged hoarse but resolute. "You got a better plan besides sneakin' around and steppin' all over each other? Talk is cheap, 'Tsumu. But we both know keepin' up the mind games ain't sustainable."

That seemed to deflate Atsumu's bravado slightly, the fire dimming behind his piercing gaze as resignation gradually crept in. He worked his jaw wordlessly for a moment in clear agitation before letting out a harsh, blustering sigh.

"Look," the blond began again, swiping his tongue across his lower lip. "We both want her, there's no denyin' it anymore..."

He locked eyes with Osamu in a sudden bout of inexplicable courage, daring his twin to rebuke the undeniable truth laid bare between them at last. But the grey-haired twin simply held his stare, seemingly unbothered by such an inflammatory revelation after all this time.

Atsumu pressed on before gathering doubts could fully leech his momentum. "So why don't we both fuck her? See how she really feels when she’s pushed to her limits."

The brazen suggestion very nearly made Osamu's impressively steely facade crumble, if the way his pupils blew wide was any indication. For a handful of charged seconds, Atsumu could have sworn he glimpsed naked vulnerability warring with want and resignation bleeding through the hairline fractures of Osamu's composure.

But as swiftly as the flicker of unguarded rawness appeared, it was viciously shuttered away once more by the grey-haired twin's impenetrable mask.

"You just hear yerself, 'Tsumu?" Osamu rasped at last, the barest tremor of disbelief underpinning his words. "Puttin' it all out there like that...with her? You can't be serious..."

The blond simply cocked one brow in a cocksure display of nonchalance. "Why not? She deserves to hear the truth straight up for once. Instead of us dancin' around it like cowards."

Atsumu paused to let the weight of his boldness fully sink in, watching as Osamu's throat worked subtly around an audible swallow. "We both go all in, show her the whole damned hand instead of keepin' our cards tucked away...Then we let the chips fall how they may."

Silence fell back around them in the wake of his challenge, the brothers simply staring each other down through the dimness. Osamu's expression was utterly inscrutable beyond the tense ripple of the tendon in his corded neck, an unconscious betrayal of the turbulent emotions roiling beneath his careful facade.

When he finally found his voice, it emerged barely above a gruff rasp. "You can't be serious...sharin' her like that, puttin' her in the crosshairs..."

But despite his dubious protests, there was the faintest undercurrent of interest bleeding through the reticence. As if, deep down, the prospect of calling their longtime bluff for real and letting the chips fall where they may ignited a long-dormant spark of possibility.

Atsumu didn't miss the warring desperation and curiosity swirling behind his twin's usually impassive gaze. He knew Osamu had glimpsed the unwavering certainty blazing behind his own eyes and felt the first fluttering tendrils of doubt creeping in through the cracks.

For once, Atsumu understood the magnitude of the moment, the way their entire dynamic seemed to be pivoting on a precarious axis towards...something. Something cataclysmic and inevitable, if the tangible electricity swirling around them was any indication. There would be no ignoring or tucking away this hairline fracture threatening to shatter them from the inside out.

It was time for them both to nut up and confront the undercurrents raging between them, no matter how tumultuous and life-altering the aftermath might prove to be.

"I've never been more serious in my goddamn life," Atsumu rasped in a tone loaded with finality. "No more games, no more pussyfootin' around it. We put everything on the table and give her the chance to finally deal us in...or fold us out for good."

He let the weight of his ultimatum settle between them with leaden finality, watching in eery silence as Osamu's throat worked convulsively around his next inhale. The brothers stared at one another through the dimly lit hallway, the churning riptide of recent escalations and long-repressed wants swirling dangerously in the ether between them.

Only one of them could take the plunge and decide whether they would keep riding the tide towards oblivion, or finally swim for the surface - no matter how agonizingly distant salvation might appear.

The weighted silence that followed Atsumu's bold ultimatum was utterly suffocating. The brothers simply stared each other down through the dimness, chests subtly rising and falling with measured breaths as the magnitude of what Atsumu proposed hung viscous between them.

Finally, Osamu inhaled a deep, steadying breath through his flared nostrils. His pale eyes had taken on a curiously resolute glint, as if he'd already come to some internal reckoning despite the ceaseless war still raging behind that impassive mask.

"You're serious about this," he stated lowly after another protracted pause. It wasn't a question, but rather an acknowledgment laced with something that bordered on...resignation? Acceptance? In that electrified moment, it was impossible for Atsumu to parse the nuances swirling in his twin's carefully measured tone.

The blond simply cocked one piercing brow, neither confirming nor denying. He didn't need to give voice to what was already an intrinsic truth reverberating between their souls like a struck tuning fork.

Of course he was serious - deliriously, uncompromisingly so when it came to the chances of finally shedding these shackles of want, of confronting this all-consuming fire that had steadily burned away any remaining hesitations over the years.

Osamu held his stare for several more weighted heartbeats, the muscle feathering along his jaw ticking rapidly beneath the surface. Then, finally, the grey-haired twin seemed to wilt infinitesimally, shoulders sagging as the burning intensity of his focus dimmed to a resigned smolder.

"Alright then," he rumbled, more to himself than Atsumu. "Why don't you lay out this genius plan of yours..."

"Simple - you and I take turns putting the full court press on (Y/N). Go all out with our...attention and affection for her, while the other watches how she responds," Atsumu explained, voice dropping to a resonant murmur. "Let her feel the weight of our desires separately so there's no deluding ourselves about where her true preferences ultimately lie."

Osamu's throat bobbed with a tense swallow as he absorbed the bold proposal. Atsumu could practically see the vivid implications playing out behind his twin's widened gaze - the three of them entangled in an intricate push-and-pull of heightened tensions and want.

"You can't be serious..." Osamu rasped after a loaded pause, though there was a undercurrent of intrigued curiosity bleeding through. "Puttin' her through that kinda ringer just to scratch our own itches? It's twisted, even for you."

"Is it really any more twisted than this holding pattern we've been stuck in?" Atsumu countered, taking a calculated step closer until their shared breaths intermingled. "At least this way there are no more mind games or delusions. We finally get definitive answers about where she wants this to go...one way or another."

The weighted silence that fell between them was utterly charged, loaded with the unspoken implications of Atsumu's daring proposition. Osamu's jaw worked subtly as he studied his twin through narrowed lids, clearly waging an internal war with himself.

"And if she don't want either of us that way when the dust settles?" he murmured at last. "What then?"

Atsumu held Osamu's penetrating stare unflinchingly. "Then we walk away, lick our wounds like big boys, and move on with the scraps of our friendship intact."

Another laden pause stretched between the brothers as Osamu absorbed the litany of potential consequences awaiting them. Atsumu could see the turmoil and temptation warring behind those stormy gunmetal irises as raw, undisguised want steadily won out over reservation.

Finally, Osamu inhaled a fortifying breath and gave a slow, weighty nod of resignation.

"Alright...lay out the game plan then," he growled, the gravel edge of his tone making it clear this would be a reckoning of cataclysmic proportions, no matter the outcome. "If we're gonna air all this out properly, no more half-measures."

In the days following their heated confrontation over how to finally address the swirling tensions, you noticed a distinct shift in Atsumu and Osamu's demeanors whenever you were around. It was subtle at first - the lingering graze of calloused fingertips trailing over exposed skin as one passed you a glass, or the heated weight of a stare seeming to undress you from across the room.

Little by little, the charged atmosphere steadily amped up each time the three of you occupied the same space. Casual touches that should have been innocent instead carried an unmistakable frisson of suggestion and simmering promise. Weighted looks exchanged over the subtlest of movements that raised the fine hairs along your nape with visceral awareness.

It was as if some unspoken gauntlet had been thrown down between the twins - a sensual game of escalating provocations to see who could stoke your arousal into outright delirium first while the other watched on with rapt intensity.

The first overt move came from Atsumu during a lazy afternoon you'd spent stretched out on the sofa, utterly engrossed in one of your favorite novels. You had been so absorbed in the story, muscles pleasantly lax and unguarded, that you failed to notice the blond's approach until he was looming over you.

"Well now, don't you look pretty as a picture sprawled out like that," he purred in that honeyed drawl that never failed to raise goosebumps.

You startled slightly at the sound of his voice, blinking up at where Atsumu stood haloed by the window light in a way that seemed to set his tawny irises blazing like burnished amber. His gaze slowly trailed from your messy upswept hair down to where your thin cotton top had ridden up enough to expose a tempting strip of flushed midriff.

Feeling heat prickle across your cheeks from his unabashed perusal, you shifted self-consciously and made to sit upright. But Atsumu's palm landed on your shoulder in a stilling gesture as he lowered himself to occupy the sliver of unoccupied couch space beside your hip.

"Don't get up on my account, sweetheart," he murmured, voice dropping into that sinfully deep register you'd never consciously paid much mind to before. "I'm rather enjoyin' the view from here."

He punctuated the suggestive words by letting his free hand ghost down the length of your straightened legs, mapping the supple curves with a heated sort of reverence. You felt your pulse kick up several gears as Atsumu's calloused fingertips traced idle, tingling patterns over your calf working gradually higher and higher up the seam of your inner thighs.

A breathless whimper very nearly escaped as the blond's ministrations inched nearer to unexplored territory. But just before his questing touch could stray too far, a subtle cough from the hallway shattered the heated trance.

Both you and Atsumu whipped your heads towards the sound to find Osamu leaning against the door frame, expression utterly inscrutable as he watched your intimate tangle unfold. You felt a full-body shiver ricochet through you as those simmering gunmetal irises raked over every inch of your and Atsumu's twisted forms from across the room.

For several suspended heartbeats, nobody spoke or even dared move a muscle as the weighted tension rapidly crowded out any remaining oxygen. Atsumu held your gaze boldly, lips ticking up in that same provocative half-smirk while his fingertips continued their scorching caresses mere inches from your core.

Then, wordlessly, Osamu pivoted on his heel and retreated back down the hallway without acknowledgment, leaving that same electrically charged atmosphere swirling in the vacuum of his absence.

Atsumu's eyes burned with banked embers as he refocused his attention back on you, feathering one final searing path down your instep before withdrawing his touch altogether. Still, you found yourself frozen in place on the sofa, utterly transfixed by the oblique game of smoldering provocation that had been unleashed around you.

"You just hold that thought for me, (Y/N)..." the blond rasped in a tone thick enough to lap over your sensitized skin. "That was just the opening salvo, darlin'. Best get ready for whatever encore I have planned next."

With that heated promise seeming to scorch your very marrow, Atsumu rose fluidly and stalked off without another glance - leaving you alone to try and process whatever delirious spiral was unraveling.

The next few days seemed to pass by in a heated daze after Atsumu's bold seduction on the sofa. You found yourself hyperaware of every little gesture and look exchanged between the three of you - searching for any hint of further escalation in their provocative game.

The twins, for their part, appeared to relish drawing out the simmering tension to an exquisite degree. Casual touches would linger just a beat too long, searing your skin with the undisguised promise of something more illicit lurking beneath the surface. Weighted looks were exchanged over the subtlest of movements, drinking in your reactions with rapt intensity.

It was as if they were meticulously priming you, turning up the lowburn of arousal steadily until you were practically vibrating with maddening anticipation of what salacious delights awaited. Simply occupying the same space as Atsumu or Osamu had your nerve endings thrumming with visceral awareness of their virile presence surrounding you.

The breaking point came several nights later as you relaxed in the dimly lit living room with a glass of wine, trying in vain to lose yourself in a book. Your mind kept wandering, utterly unable to focus beyond replaying the memory of Atsumu's heated stare in detail. You could practically still feel the ghosting path of his calluses against your sensitive inner thighs.

You shifted restlessly on the plush sofa, thighs subtly pressing together as a spiral of molten arousal unfurled low in your belly. Attempting to shake off the insistent throb, you reached for your wineglass only to nearly drop it in surprise.

Osamu stood haloed in the entryway with his broad shoulders blocking out most of the hall light. You blinked owlishly, struggling to rein in your rapidly scattering thoughts as the grey-haired twin silently appraised you with That Look - the same hooded, weighted stare that made you feel utterly bare despite being fully clothed.

"O-Osamu," you stammered out on a breathless exhale. "I didn't hear you come in."

Rather than respond right away, the twin simply crossed the room in a few prowling strides to claim the unoccupied armchair positioned perpendicular to the sofa. You watched with rapt fascination as the corded muscles in his shoulders and biceps flexed and rolled beneath the snug cotton tee he wore. Osamu offered no explanation, no greeting beyond admiring the long, lean lines of your body from beneath hooded lids.

Finally, once settled into the chair directly across from you, he spoke in that same deliberate drawl that always sounded like liquid gravel over steel.

"No need to get up on my account, (Y/N)," he rumbled, pupils blown wide enough to nearly eclipse the gunmetal irises entirely. "Just...make yerself comfy there."

You swallowed hard as Osamu's penetrating stare dragged over every dip and swell of your figure boldly. There was no mistaking the undercurrent of heated promise laced through his words, nor the visceral way your body instantly jolted to life beneath that smoldering perusal.

A loaded silence fell over the dimly lit room like a thick veil, seeming to trap the feverish atmosphere swirling between your forms. You found yourself incapable of looking away from Osamu's piercing gaze even as your pulse kicked up into a thunderous cadence against your ribs.

With exaggerated, almost predatory grace, the twin shifted one booted ankle over his opposite knee - a subtle adjustment that somehow made the virile bulk of his densely corded thighs flex and roll mesmerically. Osamu didn't break eye contact as he reached for a small bowl on the side table beside him. Retrieving one of the grapes nestled within, he brought the plump fruit to his lush lips and slowly, deliberately, slid the rounded tip between parting teeth.

A punched-out whimper very nearly escaped as you watched the muscles in his chiseled jaw work to envelop and suck the grape into the cavern of his mouth in one sinfully sensual motion. Osamu's eyes hooded to mere slits as low groan of muffled appreciation rumbled in his broad chest.

"Mmm...so ripe. So fuckin' sweet," he husked before slowly drawing the stem and remnants from between kiss-swollen lips.

You were utterly paralyzed, every centimeter of your sensitized skin seeming to prickle with liquid heat. The tip of your tongue instinctively flicked over your lips as you stared through the dimness, utterly transfixed by the low purr of Osamu's pleasured rumbles and the hypnotic dance of his throat working around each indulgent swallow.

"Y'know, (Y/N)..." Osamu began again in that smoke-roughened rasp you'd never paid too much mind to until this exact rapturous moment. "I ain't had a real, soul-satisfyin' taste in weeks."

He paused to tilt his head slightly, hooded eyes roaming over your body like a physical caress that left molten heat pooling low in your abdomen.

"Care to...indulge me?"

The blatant invitation hung ripe and heavy between you, coiling that slow smolder into an outright inferno in your core. You found yourself utterly at his mercy, unable to look away as Osamu plucked another plump grape and brought it towards those lush, glistening lips in a tantalizing caress.

The weighted silence that fell felt utterly charged, thick enough to trap the feverish atmosphere swirling between your forms in a heated vortex. You watched, utterly transfixed and paralyzed, as Osamu brought the plump grape towards his parted lips in a torturously languorous glide.

His gunmetal eyes remained locked unflinchingly on yours as the very tip of his tongue peeked out to lave a teasing stripe over the taut, glistening skin. A harsh exhale punched from your lungs at the erotically charged display, breath already coming in shallow pants as arousal thrummed white-hot beneath your skin.

"So ripe..." Osamu husked in approval, the deep rasp seeming to reverberate straight through your center. "But I think it's gonna need a lil'...extra flavour to really satisfy this cravin'."

Without breaking your heated stare, he guided the succulent fruit over his bottom lip, leaving a dewy trail of moisture in its wake that made your mouth water uncontrollably. Then, with clear deliberation, Osamu slid the very tip between his parted teeth and hollowed his cheeks around the smallest suckle.

Your fingers clenched spasmodically into the soft upholstery as a rapturous shudder lanced through your core. Every nerve ending felt electrified, as if routing all overstimulated signals directly between your thighs where that telltale insistent throb was mounting toward a fever pitch.

Osamu made an absolutely obscene sound of dark approval around his teasing mouthful - a resonant, filthy purr that punched out your next breath in a broken whimper. Mercilessly, he continued worrying the delicate skin with lips and tongue, savoring every indulgent lap and pull with exaggerated bliss until rivulets of juice trailed over his chiseled jaw.

"Mmm...that's more like it," he growled once the shriveled remains fell from his swollen lips. "But somethin' still ain't quite hittin' the spot yet."

The heavy-lidded look he slanted your way then very nearly made you combust on the spot. Equal parts banked challenge and dark invitation seemed to smolder behind those dilated iron-rings boring into your trembling form. As if silently demanding to see how far you'd allow yourself to be tempted...how thoroughly you'd bend to Osamu's will if he proceeded with this sublimely filthy temptation.

"Though maybe you could help a fella out with that, darlin'..."

His voice seemed to caress every single word - an unmistakable undercurrent of suggestion laced through each thrumming syllable. As if already envisioning you on your knees before him, plush lips stretched wide to accommodate something far more satisfying than mere fruit.

You didn't realize you'd whimpered aloud until Osamu's smirk deepened fractionally, teeth catching his lower lip in a display of pure sin. The way his throat bobbed around a heated swallow somehow only made the demonstration even more erotically charged.

"That's what I thought," he rumbled, sounding utterly wrecked with want despite the veneer of outward control. "Now why don't you come on over here and give this mouth of mine somethin' real to savor..."

The unmistakable invitation hung between you, suspended in that electric ether of roiling tension and smoldering desire that had grown too potent to ignore any longer. Osamu looked for all the world like a panther that had finally roused itself to wakefulness in order to enjoy an overdue, hard-won hunt.

And in that breathless moment, you were achingly aware that you represented the only prey desired - one that was no longer keen to evade the inevitable collision much longer. Not when every sinuous line of the predator's powerful form practically vibrated with the promise of rapturous surrender unlike anything you'd ever crave more.

With that intoxicating revelation, you pushed upright from the sofa, legs feeling oddly unsteady beneath your weight. Osamu watched your every move through heavily-hooded eyes, gaze never wavering as you drew nearer to the edge of the coffee table between you.

When you finally sank to your knees atop the smooth wood surface, his breath audibly stuttered at the sight of you spread out before him. You felt a surge of dizzying power at the reaction, at the knowledge that you had the ability to unravel him even when he seemed poised to do the same.

"That's it," Osamu breathed, tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip with an enticing glint. "Closer now. Right here..."

You let yourself be guided by the warm, firm grip of his hands, allowing Osamu to position you until your legs were splayed to straddle his powerful thighs. The position left the apex of your thighs hovering mere inches above his own, a tantalizing distance that sent sparks of heat crackling up your spine.

"Now...open yer pretty little mouth for me, (Y/N)..."

He punctuated the command by bringing another glistening grape to his lips, eyes darkening further with unbridled lust. The sight of his lush mouth parting around the succulent flesh was almost enough to make you keen with the sheer visceral impact.

Instead, you followed his command, mouth falling open in a silent plea. Osamu hummed his approval, leaning forward until your parted lips were mere centimeters apart. His free hand reached up to gently cradle the side of your face, thumb tracing along the delicate curve of your cheekbone while he watched your reaction raptly.

Then, finally, Osamu tilted his head to guide the grape into the cavern of his waiting mouth, letting the taut skin glide over his lips and the slick, inviting surface of his tongue. He held the bitten morsel between his teeth, the low groan rumbling from his chest vibrating all the way down to your core.

Your own moan caught in your throat as his thumb came to trace a burning path along the seam of your lips, lingering at the center. Then, in an agonizingly slow caress, Osamu leaned in and slid the bitten half of the grape past your waiting mouth.

You were helpless to resist as his tongue chased the delectable offering, curling around your own with a filthy swirl. The sweet, tangy flavor exploded across your senses, making your eyes roll back into your skull. Osamu's tongue continued its sinful dance, sweeping through every crevice in a decadent tease.

Your lips clung together as he slowly withdrew, both of you gasping raggedly. The hand cupping your face slid back to thread into the hair at your nape, holding you steady as Osamu dove back in for another greedy taste. This time, the hand not cradling your face reached up to grip the plump flesh of a breast, kneading the mound with deliberate, torturous rolls.

"Fuck..." Osamu growled against your mouth, tongue dipping out to lick a scorching path along the seam of your lips. "You taste so fuckin' good, baby. And I can't stop cravin' more..."

Your back arched instinctively as his touch slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, calluses catching on the taut peak of your nipple. Osamu groaned as he tweaked and rolled the pebbled flesh, seeming to relish every gasp and whine that tore from your lips.

"I could spend all fuckin' night just drinkin' you in," he growled against the side of your neck, teeth grazing over the tender pulse point. "Tasting every goddamn inch of you, feelin' those pretty moans and whimpers on my tongue..."

You cried out as his lips fastened over a sensitive patch of skin, sucking and licking with devastating purpose. He continued to play with the pebbled flesh of your nipples through the fabric, alternating between pinching and rolling with just the right amount of delicious pressure.

"God, 'Samu...please!" you keened, head thrown back in shameless abandon as your hips instinctively canted towards his. "Need more..."

You felt more than heard the low, filthy chuckle reverberate against your sternum. Osamu's free hand skated down the line of your stomach, teasing the band of your shorts.

"Yer killin' me, baby..." he rasped against the side of your throat, hips bucking up in a filthy grind. "I wanna give you everythin' yer beggin' for. Make you come so many times you'll forget what fuckin' day it is..."

He punctuated the words with a sharp nip, making you jolt and keen at the exquisite sensations coursing through your body.

"But we can’t. Not yet," Osamu breathed, the gravel of his voice edged with a pained undertone. "We need to keep waitin'."

The words sent an icy splash over your skin, cooling the firestorm of arousal into a confused simmer. You blinked your eyes open, staring down at the grey-haired twin in utter befuddlement.

"Wh-what? Why?" you blurted, the question sounding embarrassingly like a whine even to your own ears.

"Because...not yet," Osamu repeated, leaning up to brush his lips over yours in a chaste caress. "Trust me, baby. Just...trust us."

And before you could protest, the twin was gently extricating himself from your entangled forms, leaving you cold and bereft. Your body still pulsed and thrummed with unsatisfied need, and it was all you could do not to drag Osamu right back to the couch.

He simply pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead and brushed a gentle caress down the line of your arm.

"Go on now, get some sleep. I'll see you in the mornin'," Osamu murmured. "Trust me, it'll be worth the wait."

In the aftermath of Osamu's provocative display, you found it increasingly difficult to meet either twin's gaze without a full-body shiver ricocheting through you. The heated memories and visuals they had brazenly etched into your psyche seemed permanently seared on an endless loop.

You tried in vain to go about your normal routines and regain some sense of equilibrium amidst the unwinding spiral you'd found yourself caught up in. But simple, innocuous moments were now weighed down by lingering stares filled with thinly veiled promise. Every casual touch or shared proximity seemed to thrum with a heightened undercurrent of tension building towards...something.

It was only a matter of time until that precarious simmer finally reached its cataclysmic boiling point.

That moment came several nights later as you relaxed in the bathroom's steaming heat, luxuriating in the deliciously hot spray pounding against your tired muscles. Rivulets of water streamed over your skin, washing away the day's lingering stress in soothing rivulets down your body. You tilted your head back with a blissful sigh, allowing the humid caress to lull you into a light, waking trance.

Which was likely why you didn't immediately process the plush bathroom door creaking open behind you. Or the dual masculine presences that materialized within that swirling, vapor-hazed sanctuary a heartbeat later.

"Well now...isn't this just a delightful little surprise," Atsumu's honeyed drawl seemed to reverberate straight into your very marrow. "Here I was thinkin' we'd have to chase ya down to join in the fun."

Your eyes flew open with a full-body jolt, heart rate instantly tripling as the heated realization crashed over you in waves. Both Atsumu and Osamu stood mere feet away, drinking in the sight of your naked, glistening form with raptor-like intensity. Instinctively, you hunched in on yourself in a feeble attempt at covering your modesty - an action that only earned you twin rumbles of dark approval.

"Don'tcha dare go hidin' that gorgeous body from us now, sweetheart" the blond purred, eyes blazing with undisguised hunger. "We've been awfully patient waitin' on you to come around to playin' properly."

You felt a shiver trace your spine at the raw heat dripping from his words, the promise of sinful delights hanging thick in the humid air. As if sensing your body's visceral reaction, Osamu took a calculated step closer until his silhouette was framed in the shower's steamy glass before he slowly pushed it aside.

"That's it, let go and just feel it darlin'," he rasped in that smoke-roughened baritone that seemed to vibrate straight through your nerve endings. "You know you been wantin' this just as bad as we have."

Blood roared in your ears, breath coming in shallow pants as your senses were consumed by the virile, overwhelming presence of them both closing in like twin apex predators. Despite the embarrassed flush heating your cheeks, you found yourself utterly frozen - utterly powerless to resist the pull of their gravity wells as they steadily drew nearer.

"Don't we look pretty surrounded by all this thick, hot steam..." Atsumu's voice was practically a physical caress ghosting over your overheated skin as he crowded against your other side.

Without warning, two large palms whipped up to splay against the edge of the tub - one olive-toned and the other paler. Atsumu and Osamu leaned in until you could make out the blown depth of their hunger-dark gazes piercing through the condensation. The weight of their menacing proximity sent shockwaves of electric awareness thrumming straight to your core.

"It's got nothin' on how goddamn radiant you look flush and dripping wet like this though," Osamu half-growled in a register so deep it raised goosebumps along your arms. "Makes a fella wonder what those pretty lips would feel like stretched wide 'round--"

"Easy there, 'Samu..." Atsumu cut him off with a rumbling chuckle that somehow sounded even filthier than his twin's lewd musing. "No need to go scarin' her off before we even get started, now is there?"

Dazed and utterly drunk on their sinful words and the blistering heat of their stares raking over every bared inch, you could only whimper. The steam and humidity rapidly became a sweltering cocoon around your over-sensitized form until you felt light-headed with want. Desperate, shuddering inhales flooded your senses with nothing but the scorching, intoxicating amalgam of their virile musks surrounding you from all sides.

"That's our girl..." Atsumu crooned in a molten rasp. "Gonna make this so good for ya, darlin'...better'n you could ever dream of..."

Your harsh pants were the only sounds in the swirling steam for several charged moments. Then...

"Last chance to tap out before there's no turnin' back from this, sweet thing," Osamu rasped against the fevered hollow below your ear, one large palm drifting south to splay possessively low on your abdomen.

Their piercing stares seemed to bore straight through your wavering restraint in that eternal heartbeat's suspension before the storm finally hit. You could practically taste the roiling tension, the unspoken challenge thrumming between their equally corded frames.

Both of them were coiled and ready to strike - teetering on that razor-thin edge of control whose final threads threatened to burn away entirely at the slightest provocation. Every molten nerve-ending screamed in sheer desperation for you to simply give yourself over to their merciless onslaught and surrender to rapture.

The decision seemed to stretch on in protracted torment, the universe itself holding his breath in anticipation of your answer. Finally, with a ragged sob of undoing, you allowed yourself to cant back into Osamu's unforgiving heat while reaching out to fist your other hand in Atsumu's shirt, pulling them both impossibly closer.

The harsh groan punched from the blond's lips as your bodies crushed together in a tangle of feverish limbs was pure, wrecked sin. Osamu's teeth sank into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, growling his own unrestrained approval at your blatant capitulation as you arched against them.

"That's our good girl..." Atsumu panted against your swollen mouth, hands roaming in a heated frenzy over every slick, trembling inch of newly bared skin. "Gonna take such sweet care of you, darlin'. Make sure every sinful dream comes true..."

Osamu's chest rumbled against your back in a resonant purr of agreement, the delicious friction of his hardening ridge grinding against you sending white-hot lances of liquid fire licking straight to your core.

"No more holdin' back, no more fightin' what we all been chasin' too damn long," he rasped, dexterous fingers already seeking out the most intimate planes of your shuddering form.

The urgency only seemed to ratchet higher as they began divesting themselves of clothing with frantic yanks and rustling fabric. You whimpered at the unveiled reveal of Atsumu's sunkissed skin and taut musculature as his shirt hit the tiles. Osamu was equally mouth-watering behind you - all granite ridges of powerful muscle sheathed in olive-toned radiance.

Within moments, all three of you were bare and thrumming in the steamy bathroom. Atsumu stepped into the tub first, calloused palms skating up your sides until he could tug you against his body in one sinuous motion. The searing kiss of his cock branding your lower abdomen punched out a desperate mewl.

"C'mere, sweetheart," he growled against the slope of your neck, lapping patterns of liquid fire with his talented tongue. "Let me show you how to fully let go..."

You barely had a moment to gather your wits before Osamu plastered himself along your backside, the twin layers of scorching heat utterly suffocating in the most delirious way. His massive palms mapped the generous curves of your hips and thighs in a clear claim of possession before hooking under your knees.

"That's our good girl," he rumbled in your ear as he and Atsumu lifted you in tandem, utterly surrounded and cradled by their virile bulk. "Gonna treat you so sweet, darlin'...make you come apart on our cocks over and over until there's nothin' left but blissed-out boneless."

The thought of being so thoroughly, rapturously undone by these two beautiful demigods had your pussy fluttering with desperate, aching need. You would gladly splinter into a thousand pieces if it meant basking in the furious, unholy blaze of their passions fully unleashed without restraint.

For once, you surrendered to that primal side of your psyche without any shred of hesitation. Allowed the liquid lava flow of yearning to consume every last rational circuit until only raw, blazing instinct remained.

"Please..." you heard yourself keen as your body was slowly lowered onto Atsumu's rigid cock. The exquisite, shuddering breach arrowed white-hot ecstasy straight into your core as you wailed into the steamy air, "Oh god...pleasepleaseplease..."

The answering growls of approval were utterly feral, spilling from between gritted teeth as Atsumu sheathed himself to the hilt inside your molten clutch. Your head fell back against Osamu's broad shoulder, eyes rolling back in a delirious moan at the sensation of being completely, gloriously stuffed.

"Fuck..." Atsumu panted, fingers clenching and flexing against the globes of your ass as he attempted to rein himself back from the edge. "Goddamn, you feel even better than I imagined... ‘Samu, spread her wider."

The grey-haired twin growled his wordless assent, gripping the underside of your knees until you were completely splayed out. You keened helplessly as the position allowed you to feel every exquisite inch of Atsumu's massive, velvet steel buried to the hilt inside your pussy.

"You wanton little goddess, just look at how greedy yer perfect little cunt is swallowin' my dick," he panted, hips flexing up in shallow grinds that had his girth dragging torturously over that swollen bud of nerves. "Can't wait to fill ya up and watch the proof spill outta you later..."

He punctuated the filthy words with a punishing snap of his hips that made you scream and jolt forward. The resulting impact ground your clit against his pelvis in an instant, triggering an electric current of bliss to ricochet through your entire system.

"Fuck yes, right there...you love takin' us both, don'tcha sweetheart?" Osamu growled, lips skimming the shell of your ear as his blunt crown nudged your rear entrance. "Let me feel how fuckin' sweet this pretty little ass is while I fill you up."

He punctuated the command by circling his engorged tip around the sensitive, puckered rim. Strong hands hiked your knees up higher and wider, practically folding you in half until your thighs were pressed flush against your breasts.

The position left you utterly exposed and splayed open - a fact that made both twins growl and buck in tandem as the erotic visual registered. You couldn't bite back the shameless whimper of want that tore from your throat at the sensation of Osamu's velvety hardness slipping inexorably inside.

The twin sensations of being so completely filled by them was almost enough to send you flying apart then and there. But they held you pinned and suspended between their muscular bulk, utterly trapped in the most glorious way.

"Yer so fuckin' perfect, (Y/N)," Osamu groaned, hips grinding against the round globes of your ass as he bottomed out. "So fuckin' gorgeous when yer stuffed fulla our cocks and beggin' for more."

You writhed and whimpered, utterly lost to the ecstasy of their combined presence and the sinfully carnal drag of their pulsing girths. A litany of pleas and babbling whimpers spilled from your swollen lips, utterly incoherent beyond begging for more.

Atsumu and Osamu seemed to read your body like a language they spoke fluently, instinctively knowing exactly how to work you apart in the most devastating way. With a snarl, the blond surged forward, capturing your lips in a sloppy, claiming kiss. His tongue swept in to tangle with yours, coaxing and tasting with filthy swirls and languid flicks.

"Mmm...she's so fucking sweet, 'Samu," Atsumu purred, eyes half-lidded with unadulterated lust as he devoured the sight of your debauched form. "Gotta taste that pretty mouth for myself..."

A sharp nip to your bottom lip accompanied the last word. Without warning, Osamu snapped his hips forward, sheathing himself fully inside your tight ass with one punishing thrust. You threw your head back on a wanton scream, unable to stifle the sounds bubbling up your throat even if you'd wanted to.

The two men set a blistering pace then, fucking into your splayed form with unbridled abandon. Osamu's powerful hands gripped the ample flesh of your thighs, ensuring your pussy and ass were spread wide and stuffed full for every single punishing thrust. Atsumu's fingers dug bruising crescents into the supple curves of your ass as his cock pistoned into you.

Both sets of calloused fingers seemed intent on leaving their mark on your skin - a claim etched into the deepest marrow of your bones until nothing but pure ecstasy remained. The molten-steel heat of their engorged lengths sliding against each other through the thin barrier only made the friction that much more blistering.

"Oh fuck...don't stop," you panted, nails digging into the taut muscle of their biceps as you hung suspended and writhing between their muscular bulk. "Please don't stop...feels so goddamn good!"

Atsumu's groan sounded torn from his very core as his hips snapped up in a bruising thrust. The impact of his balls slapping against your skin sent another wave of liquid fire roaring through your core.

"Yeah, sweetheart...take us both like the good little whore you are," Osamu snarled, tongue licking a scorching path along the delicate curve of your shoulder. "This what you needed so bad? To be stuffed fulla cock and pumped 'til yer stuffed with our cum?"

Your answer was a high-pitched wail, head thrown back against his broad chest as his thick length plunged deep into your ass. The sensation was almost overwhelming - the molten glide of their girths rubbing and stroking against each other in tandem.

"Look at ya," Atsumu groaned, staring down the line of your torso where your body was speared open between them. "So goddamn perfect with yer pretty little pussy and ass stuffed so full...just like they were always meant to be."

His fingers trailed down your belly, ghosting feather-light circles over the skin stretched tight from their relentless invasion. Osamu's free hand mirrored the movement, the contrast of their calloused caresses setting off a chain reaction of pleasure-fueled shivers.

"Fuck yeah, we can feel the head of my dick through her tight little stomach," Atsumu growled, fingers pressing deeper to trace the outline of his shaft buried inside. "You see that, 'Samu? We're fillin' her up so goddamn good."

"Hell yeah," his twin rasped, tongue and teeth worrying at the juncture of your shoulder. "And I can't fuckin' wait to see her pretty belly bulgin' with our cum. Markin' her as ours and ours alone."

The thought triggered another cascade of electric heat to sizzle straight through your center, and you were distantly aware of the wet gush soaking your thighs. They groaned and panted, both sets of hips jackhammering with increased vigor.

"Shit, feels like she's gettin' tighter," Atsumu gritted, eyes locked on the point where he and Osamu were pumping in tandem. "She likes it when we talk about how we're gonna breed her."

Osamu hummed his agreement, large hands spanning the breadth of your lower abdomen to press down on the slight bulge from Atsumu's cock. You wailed at the added pressure, vision tunneling with the onslaught of sensory overload.

"Y'like that, darlin'?" the grey-haired twin crooned, teeth grazing your pulse point. "Gonna keep you nice and full with our cum all night...over and over again 'til ya can't remember what it's like not havin' our cocks buried inside ya."

"And once we've gotcha knocked up with our babies, we'll still keep comin' back for more," Atsumu rasped, watching as Osamu's fingers hovered over the slight swell. "Keep fillin' this pussy and ass 'til yer absolutely stuffed and leakin' with our cum."

It was too much - the filthy, decadent promises pouring from their sinful mouths, the way their powerful forms bracketed and dominated your own, the maddening drag and grind of their twin cocks buried so deep within. The pressure building in your core became a tsunami threatening to drown you under the deluge.

"Oh god..." you sobbed, back arching and limbs quaking as the wave threatened to crest. "I-I'm so close...I can't...please don't stop, oh god...I'm--"

"Fuck, she's squeezin' us so tight," Atsumu groaned, forehead dropping to yours as his hips slammed up in a frenzied tempo. "C'mon, baby. Come for us, let go and come all over our cocks like a good girl..."

His fingers slipped down to circle the throbbing bud nestled in your soaked folds, pinching and rolling. It was too much - the sheer overwhelming perfection of it all. You shattered, falling apart into a million glittering shards as the world erupted into brilliant white.

"Holy fuck!" Atsumu bellowed, the sound echoing in the steam-hazed air as his own release triggered a violent, shuddering cascade. His hips stuttered and punched up in a brutal series of thrusts as he came, the warmth of his spend flooding your core and filling every crevice.

Osamu roared as the twin sensations triggered his own climax, burying himself to the hilt and grinding his hips against your ass. The molten flood of his seed seemed to set off a secondary ripple of orgasmic bliss, and you keened and jolted between them as you felt a heavy rush of liquid gushing out.

"Fuck, she's squirtin' all over me," Atsumu hissed, eyes clenched shut as his head tipped back on a wrecked groan."'Samu, you seeing this? Goddamn, that's the hottest fuckin' thing..."

"Holy shit," the grey-haired twin breathed, panting heavily as his own hips continued to buck up in a reflexive grind. "Never seen anyone fuckin' do that before. So goddamn sexy, baby."

Their praise was punctuated by the steady drip of liquid trickling from between your splayed legs, mingling with the water and their mixed release already swirling down the drain. You were too delirious with the aftershocks of ecstasy to speak, head lolling back against Osamu's slick chest and panting for breath.

"Think you've got one more in ya, sweetheart?" Atsumu coaxed, leaning forward to capture your lips in a languid kiss. His fingers were already stroking teasingly over the swollen bud of your clit, coaxing your limp body back into a fevered simmer. "I want her ass this time, 'Samu. Gotta have a taste of that tight little hole."

"Yeah, think she's good to go, Tsumu," Osamu rumbled, hips still flexing minutely to keep the delicious friction going. "How's it feel, darlin'? Did we wear you out enough yet?"

The question was punctuated by a filthy grind that made your pussy flutter with renewed interest. Your answering moan was garbled and incoherent, but the way you pressed back against Osamu's still-engorged length seemed to signal all they needed to hear.

"That's our good girl," Atsumu praised, voice pitched low and rough with hunger. "So beautiful, lettin' us fill ya up and fuck you until yer a boneless mess..."

You gasped as Osamu's cock pulled free of your ass, leaving a trail of warm, viscous fluid dripping down your thighs. Before you could protest the loss, you felt the blunt tip of Atsumu’s cock nudging against the tight ring of your rear entrance.

"Goddamn, you really did make a mess back here," the blond breathed, sounding almost awed. "Just look at all that cum drippin' outta her. 'Samu, spread her wider. Wanna see everythin' as I take her tight little ass."

With a groan, the grey-haired twin complied, using his grip on the underside of your thighs to pull your cheeks even wider apart. A fresh wave of liquid gushed down your skin, prompting an answering moan from Atsumu as his cock slipped inexorably inside.

"Oh fuck yes," the blond hissed, fingers digging into the supple flesh of your ass as he began pumping shallowly. "You feel so goddamn good, sweetheart. Yer such a good little slut, taking both our cocks like this."

The filthy words made your spent pussy clench, spurring Osamu's fingers into a blur of motion over the swollen bud. His own cock was pressed up along your spine, shamelessly rutting against the slick valley of your back while his brother slowly fucked into your ass.

The rest of the evening devolved into a fevered, filthy haze of sin and sensation. At some point, Atsumu and Osamu shifted you off the shower and back into the bedroom. But you were too blissed-out and overwhelmed to register much more beyond the constant, delicious stretch and drag of their cocks pumping in and out.

Your throat was raw and hoarse by the time Atsumu and Osamu finally declared the marathon over, only once you were utterly spent and covered in a sheen of sweat and drying release. You barely registered being tucked into the middle of the massive bed, cocooned in a nest of soft blankets and wrapped between two solid walls of male bulk.

Sleep claimed you instantly, pulling you into the deepest, most restful slumber you'd had in ages. And you never noticed the silent exchange between the twins, or the shared glance of satisfaction and smug contentment as they settled in on either side.

You were awoken the next morning to the sensation of a pair of soft lips suckling at your nipple. Your eyes flew open with a gasp, only to find Atsumu's dark gaze peering up at you from the valley of your breasts. He flicked his tongue out to swirl teasingly around the pert bud, humming with pleasure as his eyes slipped shut in an expression of rapture.

"Good morning, sweetheart," he purred, the silky timbre sending delicious shivers through your form.

"Morning, Tsumu," you whispered, the words catching in a gasp as he took the nipple fully into his mouth, suckling and swirling.

The action triggered a fresh rush of moisture between your thighs, and the blond growled as he felt your hips instinctively cant up against his hardness. His palm skated up your bare side, cupping the other breast and rolling the stiff peak between his thumb and forefinger.

Atsumu was suddenly yanked back, and you found yourself blinking in dazed confusion at Osamu's looming presence as the grey-haired twin's arm pinned his brother to the mattress.

"I told you to let her sleep in," Osamu snarled, his baritone even rougher with sleep. "You've been rutting against her all damn night and need to learn some goddamn self control."

His eyes shifted to your startled form, and his gaze instantly softened. You could practically see the gears turning behind those stormy depths, the way he was mentally cataloging your disheveled state and assessing the situation. "Besides, we’re supposed to let her decide who she wants, once and for all."

You sat up slowly, your mind still hazy from sleep and the events of the previous night. Confusion etched across your features as you looked between the two brothers, trying to make sense of Osamu's words.

"What do you mean, 'decide who I want'?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Atsumu managed to wriggle out from under Osamu's arm, sitting up and running a hand through his tousled hair. "We had a deal," he said, a hint of mischief in his eyes despite the tension in the room. "We both wanted you, so we agreed to let you choose between us after last night."

Osamu shot his brother a glare. "You make it sound like some kind of game," he growled. "This is about her feelings, not just our own."

As the twins bickered back and forth, you felt a sudden surge of clarity amidst the confusion. "Wait," you interrupted, your voice cutting through their argument. "Do I... Do I really have to choose?"

The room fell silent, both brothers turning to look at you with surprise. Atsumu's eyes widened for a moment before a slow, suggestive grin spread across his face. "Well, well, well," he purred, his voice dropping to a low, seductive tone. "Looks like our girl might be kinkier than we thought, 'Samu."

Osamu's gaze met yours, a flicker of understanding passing between you. "Is that what you want, sweetheart?" he asked softly, his voice laced with a tender warmth that made your heart flutter. "You want both of us?"

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks, but you held Osamu's gaze steadily. "I... I don't know if I can choose," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I love the both of you so much, and last night was..."

Atsumu's grin widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Hear that, 'Samu? We rocked her world so hard, she can't even pick a favorite."

Osamu rolled his eyes at his brother's antics, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He leaned in closer to you, his hand gently cupping your cheek. "If that's what you want, baby girl, then that's what you'll get," he murmured, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. "We'll just have to make sure you're thoroughly satisfied... by both of us."

Atsumu chuckled, his fingers trailing teasingly along your arm. "Hope you're ready for round two, princess. And three, and four..."

[iovetecchou]

Too Far Gone ⧸ Choso

༞ Contains...! smut, established relationship, mentions of masturbation, scent kink, virgin!choso, making out, premature ejaculation, use of 'good boy', slight dry humping, slight oral fixation, choso rips your shorts when he cums <3 lots of saliva... you're welcome.

༞ AFAB Reader.

༞ 1,291 words.

Relationships were foreign territory to Choso. So, when he finally mustered up the courage to ask you out, and you said yes, he was dumbfounded. Choso partially expected you to reject him, so when you inevitably didn’t... he had no clue how to function.

He was reticent around you more than ever before. You had been seeing each other for months, and Choso, was still acting cagey. You knew intimacy was brand new to the tense man himself, but you’ve initiated every physical act. You chalked it up to him just being nervous and inexperienced. 

Your first kiss together? That was all you. Choso stood frozen before you when it happened. When you pulled back to read his expression, he was blushing profusely. With a lopsided grin adorning his face. 

It took him several more times of you offering chaste kisses before he finally caved. Choso’s kisses were devoted yet hesitant. His lips would quiver as he sucked in a shaky breath before pulling himself back. His eyes swirled with desire as if he wanted- no, needed more from you. Though, your doting boyfriend never acted on such desires. Choso’s touches remained perfectly innocent— until something seemingly snapped within him. 

He had just gotten out of the shower when you arrived. You visited the place he called home often, so this wasn’t out of the ordinary. “Choso, I found this new game we can play together. It’s kinda scary though, think you’re up for—“ Your train of thought was cut short when you finally looked up from your phone. Your boyfriend was practically bare before you, only clad in a thin cotton towel that hugged his hips. You couldn’t help but ogle Choso’s exposed torso.

You didn’t expect him to be so built under his clothing. Choso always wore baggy, ill-fitting apparel, so it left much up to the imagination. But seeing his defined muscles decorating his stomach and arms caused heat to pool in your core. 

Wet raven locks stuck to his neck. The dampened strands of hair clung to his cheeks slightly too, and tiny water droplets trickled down his throat and to his full pecs. At this point, you were silent for too long, and it was evident you were practically eye fucking your boyfriend. But you seriously couldn’t look away. You spent countless nights imagining what Choso might look like, entirely uncovered for you. What it would feel like to touch him, to make him feel good. Hear him cry out in pleasure because of you. 

You spent many late evenings getting yourself off to these impure thoughts you had about your boyfriend. So, to say your mind wandered while you gaped at his half-naked form was an understatement. “Uh… change of plans. We can always play that game another time. I have something else in mind.” You cleared your throat, trying to conceal the fact that you were unbearably horny. 

“…Sure, what else did you have in mind?” Choso spoke softly; a complete contrast to his deep voice as he averted his gaze from yours. That signature blush of his coated his face once more, spreading to his ears. Making him feel hot under your intense gaze. 

You hardly gave Choso any warning as you lept into his arms. On instinct, he caught you. Strong arms wrapped around your waist as your legs hooked loosely around his torso. Your sudden action caused the towel to slip off his hips, leaving him entirely naked. Choso's eyes were blown wide at the realization. He tried to pull back to conceal himself, but you wouldn't allow it. Instead, you pulled him in for a heated kiss. Your hands tangled in his damp hair, tugging on his raven locks playfully. You ground your hips down on instinct when Choso let out a delicious whine against your lips. 

Your eyes fluttered open as you felt his cock begin to stiffen underneath you. Choso's length twitched and throbbed against your clothed lower half. The further you ground down against his needy cock, the more desperate your lover's whines became. His legs were shaky from the intense pleasure. The furthest you had gone in your relationship was a few heated makeout sessions. So, this was exhilarating for Choso. He slowly stumbled backward until the back of his thighs hit the edge of his bed. You both let out a gasp as he sat down, causing his cock to slot between the crease of your ass. You could tell he was big just by the feeling of him alone. You scored your bottom lip with your teeth at the thought of your boyfriend stretching you out with his cock.

Choso gazed at you, half-lidded eyes darker than before. A string of saliva connected both of you as your lungs burned for air. Choso looked like he was contemplating something as you huffed, trying to catch your breath. But, before you could ask him what was on his mind, he flipped you over. Now Choso was above you, comfortably slotted between your parted thighs. His eyes never once left yours, not even for a single second. This was rare. Choso almost always averted his gaze after a makeout session. But something shifted within him. His resolve dwindled down to nothing before he could hold himself back. 

He began kissing down your neck, huffing against your skin. Breathing you in. Choso allowed his hands to drift underneath your flimsy shirt as his kisses traveled lower. He was whining against your skin as his hands pulled your shirt over your midsection. You let out a soft sigh as he kissed your stomach, carding your hands through his raven locks once more. "You're so soft... smell so good... especially right here... fu-fuck..."

Choso mumbled in his daze. His face was centimeters away from clothed pussy as he inhaled deeply. His eyes finally left yours, dark orbs now fixated on the wet patch left behind on the fabric of your shorts. He pushed his face further into you, nose brushing up against your clothed clit as he breathed you in. His hips twitched from below the more he lost himself in your scent. "A-Amazing... Never smelt something so... so- hah... wonder if it tastes just as good..." Choso continued to mutter to himself as his tongue darted out. He lapped at the wet spot on your shorts, further dampening the fabric with his saliva. 

You watched in amusement as Choso's eyes rolled back from the faint taste of your essence. His hands held your hips tightly in place as he indulged. You let out a whine, imagining how he would react if he tasted you without the barrier of clothing. You were sure he would lose his mind. He continued to pamper his perverse desires for a few moments more before it became too overwhelming for the chaste man. "Hah... so good... sh-shit!" 

You gasped as Choso's hands that adorned your hips pulled at the fabric of your shorts, tearing them apart as he twitched and bucked his hips. He was drooling as his eyes rolled back in pleasure. A faint smirk etched into your face as you realized what had happened. Choso just came... from this alone. Pride pooled in your chest at this realization. "Good boy, Choso..."

Choso was twitching so much as he rode out the aftershocks of pleasure. He bit his lip at the realization that his cock was still painfully hard. He was too far gone, Choso couldn’t control himself around you. It was as if an invisible force surrounded you, pulling him in. You had a certain effect on him that no one else acquired.

"You really think I'm a good boy? But I didn't... here, let me make it up to you."

this is definitely gonna need a part two...

[xoxochb]

hey girl!

binged a few of ur works this morning lol (sleep? never heard of her) and kinda sorta very much may have slightly fallen in love with apollo. i blame u /j

anyhows in case ur taking reqs atm (sorry if u dont) id like if u please some domestic fluffiness of my boi and his mortal wife (she chooses to remain mortal. its a bridge theyll burn when they get there)

feel more than free to add angst muehehehe (like him watching her in the garden and thinking of the misfortune hes had with all those hes loved in the past. tears are shed and promises are made)

tysm and take care :D

*also, reader here is sort of a foil to apollo; level headed practical down to earth but no less loving and caring. shes like a budding flower in that shes reticent and aloof but to those who know her well, little is sweeter than time spent her company.

so sorry if this is too detailed lol theyre all ideas so do what u want and enjoy!

— half return

warnings: slight angst, redeeming fluff, also I’m not good at gardening so bear with my here, short ish?? pairing: apollo x mortal/wife! reader a/n: I’m always taking requests angel don’t worry :)

It was nearly unreal, the sight of you. despite your sunburnt skin and floral sundress were veiled in all kinds of dirt and various weeds or plants, your beloved husband, watching from your porch, thought you had never looked more ethereal in this messy state. you pick another bunch of flowers and begin placing them one by one into the dirt, making sure after it will swallow the stem to keep them in place

It’s almost inevitable, the thoughts, every small glance to a simple plant brings him back to his variety of failed relationships; daphne, hyacinth, cassandra, et cetera (the list goes on forever). the memory… the switch from human form to plants, with daphne a tree and hyacinth a flower (you’d made sure never to plant those in your garden to be cautious of the reassuring trauma). he only prays to every god or goddess he knows that you won’t end the same way, dead or plant. you were too sacred, too special, I mean seriously, when has anyone ever seen a god settle down with just one person, let alone a mortal at that? slim to literally never. until now. and the other olympians teased him for letting a mortal of anyone have such an affect over him— a god. he ignored the teased though, and married you anyways

too caught up in his worrisome thoughts, apollo fails to realize that you had stood from your cross crossed sitting position, far enough so you could admire your work. a soft smile adorns your mouth, eyes twinkling at the sight of your handiwork. you walk back over to the flowers where you had left your tools, taking off your dirt-covered gloves and placing them in your bucket before looping the handle around your arm and heading up the stairs of your porch where you place down the bucket. then, with a wider (and probably more intimate) you sit down on the porch swing beside your husband

your tranquil voice is the first to break the silence, “lost in thought, my love?”

yes. “I just just watching you”

“like a creep?”

apollo let’s put a melodic laugh, pulling you to sit atop his lap. “if admiring my wife was to be a crime then I would imprison myself”

“silly” you laugh and peck his lips, then in your palms he sees a purple flower saved from your garden “for you”

he takes it gently from your hands. “for me?”

you nod happily. “It’s a heliotrope. it symbolizes eternal love”

oh, it’s like you were reading— stop everything. “eternal?”

“yes” you confirm “I have a book, I showed you once do you remember? it’s that big one with the white spine. it has the language of the flowers, names, what they symbolize, it even tells you the best time to plant them. I mean, what season to plant them in, it’s really cool, honestly, do you remember it? I already asked that… but—”

your ramble is cut off my soft lips against your own, ultimately stopping any coherent thought from being processed. for a moment you stay like that, and very slowly (like, a snail could slide a mile in this time) you pull away, and with lips still against each other, apollo assures, “I remember, darling”

꣑ৎ if you enjoyed then reblogs would be greatly appreciated! my requests are currently: open if you have any <3

[lowkeyren]

hello !! i really love your aventurine fics <3 i was wondering how you go about characterising him?

ahh thank you!! (,,>﹏<,,) i'll js use this chance to give a brief overview of my understanding of aventurine!! so feel free to scroll below for my take on aven characterization on my fics. for now, tw: yapping (lol)

at face value, aventurine is js a cocky bastard (/aff) with a rlly fucked up backstory; in which i believe that he fakes his confidence to mask his insecurities + his inability to let go of his past (evident from quest desc, reddit user compiled it here). 

his self loathing words are also kind of an inferiority complex (??) though he hides it really well. plus he often puts himself down because he genuinely doesn't believe that he's worthy (was literally sold for 60 tanbas, definitely fucked with his mental, thinking his life is only worth that much) + his tendency to overcompensate in money cus he isn't able to believe that people would genuinely want his company if not for his fortune or riches.

CN: 

没了那块「砂金石」，你就只是个被公司判了死刑的茨冈尼亚奴隶——还是说，你脖子上那行「商品编码」也是琥珀王的恩赐？

translation: without that piece of "aventurine", you're nothing more than a sigonian slave sentenced to die by the IPC —or is the line of "commodity code" on your neck also a gift from the amber lord?

he was favoured by gaiathra, but does he really see his luck as a blessing, or a curse? i’m sure we’re aware of his tendency to hide his hand behind his back because he’s terrified of losing despite being known to “have nothing to lose” when gambling; well his mantra on "all or nothing" also breaks me deeply cus it’s the same thing the man who bought him said (fits his character too i guess). 

i genuinely started tweaking when he (indirectly) said he attempted on his own life 3 times in penacony + when we had to take a photo of kakavasha, and there were 3 other empty spots for his parents and sister. 

tldr: aventurine fans are allergic to happiness because aventurine himself is allergic to happiness.

OKAY IM (not) DONE, SORRY LET ME ACTUALLY ANSWER THE QUESTION LMAOO

for my aventurine fics, i have yet to write one that actually deep-dives into his character, not one that mainly focuses on his character at least!! 

but i digress, dwst was written with “aventurine often wears a smile that masks his true motives, but when he's drunk that facade crumbles.” in mind. (though it didn’t come out exactly that way? up to your interpretation honestly!) 

from heartfelt embrace: “but nonetheless, maybe one day aventurine will open his heart to you, and you’ll find the courage to speak your truth. until then, you’ll find comfort in the warmth of his embrace.”

^ aventurine's guarded nature is evident in his emotional reticence. as he’s not ready to reveal his vulnerable side just yet, he yearns to provide warmth and security to you even if he struggles to express his feelings verbally.

incandescent feelings overflow was also kinda like “haha he has a nonchalant facade, but in reality he does have smt to hide” (can be interpreted as his romantic interest in you or he simply finds teasing you amusing) 

anyway live laugh love aventurine!!!!

good question google

[tropes-and-tales]

Sharing is Caring

(Murph Connors x F!Reader; Benny Magalon x F!Reader)

CW:  Mild angst. Smut (Cuckholding as a kink; open relationships; mention of threesome; mention of foot fetish; brief oral, m! receiving; less brief oral, f! receiving; PiV, protected). 18+ only.

Word Count: 8434

AN:  This was originally requested for Kinktober 2023 (oops) by an anonymous person!

Of all the guys, Murph Connors has always been the least forthcoming about his romantic life.  Big Nick, Henderson, Z…they all lay their love lives out for the scrutiny of the others.  Their divorces, their conquests, their ball-and-chain back home giving them grief, their sweet new thing just a phone call away.  The baby mamas and the ones that got away.

Murph is something of a mystery with most of his personal life anyway.  Stakeouts and hotel parties alike, he’s always more likely to sit and smoke and listen thoughtfully than he is to open up about his time away from Major Crimes.

Which is all to say:  Benny is never clear on when Murph started dating you.  The big hulking asshole just brought you around one evening—a low-key night at a dive bar. 

It was jarring, the first time the guys met you.  You knew a lot about them, and they knew nothing about you.  By the end of the night… they still don’t know much about you.  Which may be why you and Murph became a couple:  you had a slickness to how you answer their questions, a cool way of turning their queries back around on them. 

You ended up leaving them that first night early.  You leaned over and brushed a kiss over Murph’s stubbled face, and you waved at the guys and said it’s been a pleasure, and then you were gone.

“Nice girl,” Big Nick offered, a touch sardonic.  “Playing your cards close to the vest, huh?”

Benny lifted his glass of beer towards Murph and added, more nicely, “good for you, Connors.  She seems great.”

Murph chuckled and shook his head a bit.  “You have no idea, man.”

-----

If you’re like a case file, Benny only builds you up little by little.  One tiny gleaned fact at a time.

When Murph puts in for some PTO because he’s taking you back east for a long weekend.  “She’s had a rough fucking month with work,” he says, and that’s how Benny learns that you work in the family courts system in some capacity.

When Murph comes in on a Monday stiff and limping.  “She took me fucking paddle boarding.  You ever do that shit?  Fuck, every part of me hurts.”

When you show up unannounced one morning, in a sharp wool suit and heels that click on the floor.  You smile at Murph and hand him his lunch.  “You forgot this,” you tell him, and you strain on your toes to kiss him lightly. 

And that same moment, Big Nick comes out of his office and asks Connors if his mommy brought him his bologna sandwich.  You are quick to flip him off and retort that you just came from his mom’s place, Momma Big Nick sends her regards and says he should call more often, which makes the guys laugh.

When Murph hooks up with one of the hired girls at a hotel party.  Benny is no angel, but he goes out on the balcony to smoke a cigarette, and he feels a sting of something.  Disappointment in Murph?  Pity for you? 

When, days later, Benny brings it up to Murph.  “Kinda shitty, man,” he says, even though none of them are saints by any stretch, and both Z and Big Nick are serial cheaters.  Benny supposes he thought better of Murph and his whole strong-and-silent routine, mistook his reticence for a version of virtue.

When, a beat later, Murph looks at him in surprise and says, “it’s all aboveboard, bubba.  We’re in an open thing.”

When Benny can’t come up with a reply fast enough, Murph takes in his expression and adds, “oh, yeah, didn’t you know?  She’s way chill with a lot more than you’d think.” 

-----

When Murph brings you around for Z’s birthday party.  You and Benny end up in the kitchen together, restocking a cooler of beer together.  Benny clears his throat, and you glance at him.  Your lips are curved in a bemused smile, and before he can even voice his question, you preempt him and say, “you’ve got questions, huh?”

Benny nods.

“It’s only complicated when you think of it through the framework of antiquated social mores.”

What can he say to that?  When has Benny ever really sat and considered the framework of antiquated social mores?

You touch his forearm softly.  “What I mean is, Murph and I are never going to get married and have kids and a house in the suburbs.  Murph isn’t built for that and neither am I.  So why not do our own thing, recognizing that it will end eventually?  Why not have a little fun?”

“Not about that wife and mom life, then?” he asks with a smile, though he’s still out of his depths.  Every woman he’s known has wanted those things—or at least he thought they did.  He’s been married twice himself, one small son from the second one.  His mother, his sisters, his cousins, every woman he’s dated… they all seemed to be marching towards the same template, right?

“Marriage is just a legal contract that almost never benefits the woman.  And children?”  You laugh with a tinge of bitterness.  “In this world?  Maybe I love my children so much that I’ve decided to never foist them into this existence.”

“Grim.”

You cock your head at him.  Appraise him.  “Did Murph ever tell you what I do for a living?”

“You work in family courts, right?”

“I’m a minor’s attorney for the Juvenile Court.”

“Oh.  Shit.”  Benny’s work sometimes touches on juvenile cases, abuse of children.  Neglect.  But only sometimes, and he can’t imagine dealing with it exclusively.

“Oh shit is right.”  You don’t say more.  You finish dumping the ice into the cooler, then say in a brighter tone, “you’re up, Borracho.  Carry the cooler out, will you?  I’d hate for all that work at the gym to go to waste.”

If Benny perhaps preens at the unintended compliment, and if he perhaps flexes more than necessary as he carries the cooler, no one mentions it. 

-----

The other guys must have a passing interest in you too, and Murph feeds them breadcrumbs of information over months and months.

The fact that yes, you’re pretty chill about things, but also pretty adventuresome.

The fact that you have a nice little bungalow in Little Armenia, and in a fact that both shocks Benny and kinda, sorta turns him on, you have a hidden sex room in that nice little bungalow.

“What the fuck is a sex room?” Henderson asks, and Murph actually blushes at the question.  His face turns florid, but he answers with a cryptic, “look it up yourself, man.”

Which Benny does later that night on incognito mode. 

Other things that come out, over time and usually by accident with Murph is just a touch too loose with the booze sometimes at their parties.  He spills the salacious stuff and the sweet stuff, both.

You have a secret OnlyFans where you deal exclusively in foot stuff.  You never show your face, and you have a small but dedicated clientele who pay outrageous sums for you to do weird shit with your admittedly very lovely feet.  One guy pays for you to step on elaborate desserts, to get frosting between your toes.  Another guy pays you to flex and contort your feet around various sex toys.  Another pays to watch you paint your toenails in colors he chooses.

“It pays really well,” Murph says as the guys laugh and rib him.  “How the hell do you think she afforded the down payment for that house?”

You are trying to learn Japanese (why asks Big Nick, and Murph shrugs and says why not? Then adds, “she loves Japanese cinema, man, and she doesn’t trust that the subtitles get it right.”)

You set up a threesome for Murph’s birthday last year, you and a woman you had carefully vetted. Afterwards, the three of you had sat in the kitchen and ate leftover apple cake from the Armenian bakery down the street.

You live across the street from a widow who has no family, so you routinely check on her, make double recipes when you cook, and make sure she’s good.

Once, at a hotel party (one that Benny wasn’t at because he had his son that weekend), Murph hooked up with a hired girl and had you on Facetime for the entire exchange.  At your request.  And that it tapped into some unrealized jealous streak, so when Murph dropped by your place afterwards, you fucked him senseless.

“Best sex of my life,” he mumbles around the mouth of his beer bottle.

And how the experience has opened up a new avenue of exploration.  How you’re on the lookout for a willing candidate to fuck so Murph can be jealous.  So Murph can be cuckolded.

Big Nick lifts his hand at that revelation.  “I volunteer.  Shit, man.  Sign me up.”

Murph snorts and shakes his head, and he changes the subject as elegantly as a drunk person can, but his eyes slide over to Benny and linger there a beat too long for it to mean nothing.

-----

“She likes you, you know,” Murph tells him weeks later. 

They’re on a stakeout, and when Benny turns to look at his partner, Murph is just gazing straight ahead out of the windshield.  Benny lifts his eyebrows in surprise.

“She doesn’t know me.”

“She does.  Better than you think, bubba.”

“We had half of a conversation once.”  Benny reaches back through his memory and finds nothing else.  No meaningful glances, even.  No lingering touches.

Murph reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out his pack of smokes.  He shakes one loose and offers the pack to Benny, who waves him off. 

“You interested?” Murph asks as he pulls out a lighter, sparks up.  He takes a deep drag, breathes out plumes of smoke. 

Benny hesitates to answer.  Of course he’s interested.  You’ve been pinging on his internal radar since you turned up on the scene, but how the fuck does he tell Murph that?  You may be chill and Murph may be chill, but it feels precarious, fucking with his partner’s woman.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Murph offers helpfully.  “You don’t have to answer.  Just know that she’s interested in you.”

“It’d be a dicey thing to fuck with your woman, Connors.”

Murph snorts.  “It’s up to you, but maybe you aren’t getting it.  She isn’t my woman.  If she heard you call her that, she’d lay into you.”

“Then who the fuck does she belong to if not you?”

Another snort, and Murph shoots him a scathing look.  “Man, it’s the twentieth century.  She belongs to herself, you fucking caveman.”

Benny chuckles, shakes his head.  “Yeah, okay.  You’re a regular Gloria Steinem.”

“I’m a pretty enlightened kind of guy.”

“But it’s the twenty-first century.”

“Close enough.”

-----

The next time Benny sees you, it’s at Murph’s place.  For once, the stingy bastard is opening up his own wallet and hosting an evening.  There’s a fight on pay-per-view, and Murph lays out a surprisingly robust spread of pizza, wings, and booze.  Big Nick invites a few of his regular girls.

Your contribution to the evening is your presence and the spoils from your visit to a dispensary.  You settle on the couch beside Murph, cross-legged and leaning forward as you roll a joint.  Murph’s big paw rests idly on your back, steadying you, and Benny watches from the corner of his eye.

When you light one up, you take a deep inhale, blow it out slowly.  You pass it to Murph, who declines, who passes it to Z, who takes a hit, who passes it to Benny.

He usually doesn’t bother with pot, but when he glances over and sees you watching him, he lifts it to his lips and takes a hit as well.  It’s smooth, tastes faintly of something citrus, and when he exhales, he can see you smiling at him through the plume of smoke.

-----

The shit you’ve brought is strong, and by the time the party settles in, Benny’s head is swimming.  Everything has a halo to it, bright and golden, and he knows he has a goofy grin on his face but he can’t quite care.

“That must hurt,” you tell him.  Everyone has shifted around, drifted.  Henderson and Z are the only two watching the fight in earnest.  Big Nick is off with one or more of the hired girls, and Murph is stretched out on the couch and drowsing despite the TV noise and music.

Benny is outside on the patio, looking up at the sky and wishing he didn’t live in a place with so much smog.  Then you’re standing over him, smiling, and you gesture at the bit of free step beside him.  He nods, and you join him.

“What hurts?” he asks.

You gesture at his face.  “You’re smiling a lot.  Pretty stoned, huh?”

“Why would it hurt?”

“You’re not exactly a smiley sort of guy.”

He laughs, and you giggle along with him.  “Yeah, Connors said you know me pretty well.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”  He pauses, blinks against his dry eyes.  “What do you know, then?”

“You’re probably too stoned for this conversation.”

“Nope.  I’m good.  Lay it on me.  What’s my favorite color?”

You shake your head.  “No idea.”

“Favorite food?”

Another shake, paired with a smile.  “Also no idea.”

Benny snorts.  “You don’t know me at all.”

You draw your legs up to your chest and hug your knees closer to you.  You bend your head, rest your cheek on your knees, and fix your gaze on him.

“Funny that you think your favorite color and food is what defines you,” you say. 

The pot has left him dry-mouthed and loose-limbed, so he fumbles as he reaches for his half-empty bottle of beer.  You watch him as he takes a sip, then fumbles to set it back down.

“What defines me then, huh?”

“Murph never told you?”

“Told me what?”  Told him that you were interested?  Told him you might want to fuck him in one of your sexual games, and told him that you were free to do that because you belonged to yourself and no one else?  Benny thinks it all, rapid-fire, but he says none of it.

You turn your head away from him and stare straight ahead, where Murph’s built out a sad-looking fire pit of scavenged bricks and concrete blocks.  “There was a case a while ago.  Couple cooking meth in their house.  South Central. You and Murph were on it.”

Benny remembers.  He has to dig past the pot and past the other cases since then, and then he remembers:  the scrawny dude, the scrawnier woman.  A shitty little house, one of those places where people kept adding on lean-to additions without permits, little more than shacks.  They had a surprisingly sophisticated meth lab, and they also dealt in other unsavory activities:  guns, fenced goods, occasional assault. 

The meth makers had a kid.  Benny remembers that. 

Benny wishes he didn’t remember that.

“You and Murph were on the case, but you were the lead.  By the time their kid came through the system to me, you were off the case.  I guess you got moved onto other things, so when I needed testimony, that’s how I met Murph. 

“I didn’t know.”

“So I do know you, kinda.  I thought it had been Murph, so when I read through the case notes, I told him how impressed I was.  How thorough it was.  How…I don’t know.  There was a barely contained rage in the notes about the conditions that kid was found in.  Murph told me right away they weren’t his notes.  ‘That’s my partner, Borracho,’ he said.”

“What does that tell you about me?” Benny asks, curious. 

You turn your head and look at him again.  “It tells me that I work off of police case notes all the fucking time, and half the time, they barely note the kids caught in the cross-fire.  I read a note from an officer that says ‘child seems small for his age,’ and then I see the kid and it’s obvious they’ve been starved their entire life.  I talk to a detective; he says, ‘yeah, kid had some bruises but kids are always getting dinged up.’  Then I see the x-rays from the medical exam and the kid’s broken more bones in five years of living than you or I will break in our combined lifetimes.”

He doesn’t have a reply for that.  He knows the profession he’s in.  He knows the type of people that it attracts.  He knows that even the well-intentioned get jaded, get burnt out or exhausted by the parade of misery each day. 

“You saw that kid.  You didn’t downplay any of it.  You witnessed and documented it, and because you did all that, I was able to terminate his parents’ rights.  He’s been adopted by a cousin.  She’s a nice lady, out in Lubbock.  Kid has a backyard and a family dog and his own room.  I got a card from them last Christmas.”

Benny breathes out a heavy exhale.  He didn’t realize that’s how you and Murph met, and he never realized you’d known about him all along. 

“Well, shit,” he finally says. 

“You’re a good guy,” you tell him.

He shakes his head.  The way you say it, like you’re capitalizing the “G” in “good.”  He likes to think he is good-ish, but he often feels like he skews more on the bad side of things.  Not evil, but more towards the less admirable traits a man shouldn’t have.  He doesn’t see his son enough.  He doesn’t speak up when Big Nick is behaving badly.  He should go home more, help his mom around the house, spend more time with his nieces and nephews.  He drifts towards inaction, and if he’s learned anything in his career as a cop, doing nothing is often as bad as… doing something bad.

The pot loosens his tongue more than he’d like, and he blurts out, “so I took good case notes and that’s why you want to fuck me?”

You inhale sharply, then burst into gales of laughter.  You release your hold on your knees and stretch your legs out in front of you, plant your palms on the step beside you and laugh. 

“Goddamnit, Benny,” you manage to get out between peals of laughter.  “When did you get so blunt?”

He laughs along with you.  “You brought super-pot.  I’m a fucking lightweight.”

“Oh, god.”  You swipe at your eyes, then stand up.  You turn to go back inside, but you pause and look down at where he’s still settled on the patio step.

“For the record, you took good case notes and that’s why I think well of you.”  A beat, and you add, “I only want to fuck you because you’re hot.”

Hearing you admit it from your own mouth and not secondhand and obliquely from Murph makes Benny’s go all fuzzy in the head, a wave of lust so strong that he has to stay out on the patio for a while until he calms.

-----

“Just curious,” Benny asks Murph a few weeks later.  “How would it work?”

They are on another stakeout on the same miserable case, and Murph grunts from the driver’s seat.  “How would what work?”

“You know.”

“I don’t.”

“Jesus, c’mon.”  Benny runs a hand over his jaw.  “Don’t make me say it out loud.”

“You can’t be so squeamish if you’re considering it, bubba.”

“Fine.”  He huffs out a breath through his nostrils, then turns to look out his window.  “How would hooking up with her work?”

He can see Murph turn and look at him; his reflection is a ghost in his window.  He can just make out a wide grin.

“How does it work?” he teases.  “Well, when a guy likes a girl a whole lot, he takes off her clothes—”

“Fuck off.  You know what I mean.”

Benny catches Murph’s shrug in the reflection of the window.  “How would it work if I wasn’t in the picture?”

“It’s that easy?”

“Yeah.  I can give you her number.”

Benny pauses, considers how out of his depth he is.  “And you’d be fine with it?”

Murph chuckles and turns to face forward, his eyes fixed on the house across the street they are scoping out.  “Dude, that time I hooked up at the hotel party and she watched on Facetime?  Then I went home to her?  I thought I was gonna die.  She was like a damned wildcat, and it was amazing.  So yeah, I’d be fine with it.  It’s a fun thing to explore.  You have your fun, I’ll see if I get all jealous like she did.  If I do, then I’ll go fuck her brains out too.  If I don’t, then she got to have fun with a guy she’s got a thing for.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.  Like I said, it’s fun to explore.  Fun to play around with.  Win-win-win all the way around.”

“Sharing is caring,” Benny adds.

Murph laughs.  “Exactly, dude.”

-----

Murph gives him your contact information when they clock out, and he puts a heavy hand on Benny’s shoulder.

“Treat her good, though, yeah?  She’s chill and fun but she’s also kind of a softy, so be nice to her.”

Benny nods.  “I will.”  He takes a beat, then adds in a lighter tone, “any tips?”

Murph laughs and drops his hand from Benny’s shoulder.  “You’re on your own there, bubba.”

-----

Benny probably asks Murph at least ten more times if it’s okay.

At the same time, he asks you probably fifty times if it’s okay.

“You seem uncertain,” you tell him over the phone one night as you try to hash out plans.  “You know you don’t have to do anything.  Hell, if you want to just go and grab a beer, I’m down.”

Benny chuckles at that—like he’d be content with just sharing a drink after living with you in the forefront of his thoughts for months. 

“Maybe it’s just difficult because I live in a framework of antiquated social mores.”

“That framework starting to feel like a cage yet?”

“You planning a jailbreak for me?”

“Yup.  Operation Free Magalon.”

He glances around his apartment:  spartan, utilitarian.  The latest in a long string of places.  He’s bounced between apartments and homes, marriage to divorce to marriage to divorce, and now he’s back here alone.  It’d be nice, he thinks, to let loose like this.  To explore something different. 

“When works for you?” he asks, and by the end of the call you have a date and time for him to go over to your place and hang out.

“Still no pressure though, Benny,” you remind him gently.  “We can hang out and see what happens.  If nothing happens, we’ll have had a nice evening of good company.”

-----

It turns out to be a nice evening of good company after all.

Benny goes to your place and brings a bottle of wine, because he has no idea the etiquette of this sort of thing.  He’s never actually seen you drink wine, and you take it from him with thanks, but then set it aside and tell him that dinner is about ready.

Because you cook for him.  Because of course you fucking do.

He relaxes little by little.  You eat, and you make a pitcher of margaritas light on the tequila so neither of you get wasted.  You chat, stilted at first, then more comfortably.  After dinner, you shift to the living room and the conversation continues.  You ask if he wants to spark up, then joke and tell him you have a milder strain, so the two of you share a joint, passing it back and forth, loosening up even more.

It probably helps, knowing that you want him.  Benny has always been secure in himself, but never as blustery confident as Big Nick or even Henderson.  There’s always been a thread of submissiveness in the beginning of his relationships, a subtle feeling-out before making a move.  He’s always wanted to know it was a close-to-sure thing before putting himself out there.

The tequila and pot relaxes him enough that he unclenches his shoulders, his arms.  He unclenches his jaw.  When you move towards him, he’s able to meet you halfway in a smooth motion.  He’s able to get an arm around your waist and maneuver you into his lap right out of the gate.  You settle there, your weight so close to where his cock twitches at the change to the evening.  Then you cup his head in your hands and lean in to kiss him.

It's soft, at first.  It surprises him how softly you kiss him.  He’s way out of his depths, and he supposes he has a lot of preconceived notions.  Part of him thought you’d open your door in some dominatrix getup, all patent leather and metal hardware, and Benny realizes that he doesn’t have much of a handle on any kinks beyond the tamest ones.  Because you answered the door in a simple dress, and now you’re kissing him gently, almost shyly, your hands soft against his face as you settle more of your weight on him.

It progresses in slow movements.  You kiss.  You deepen the kiss.  Your hands touch him in widening arcs:  his face, then his neck, then his shoulders.  His chest, his arms.  Lower, down his belly, and your palm slips under the hem of his shirt to touch him low, right where the waist of his jeans cut into him.

Lower still, as you kiss him, as you sweep your tongue against his, as you taste him and breathe against him and make little moans that make him grow harder.  You feel him there; you rock against him, and he swears he can feel the wet heat of you through your panties and through his own clothing.  Your hand fumbles at his belt, his button, his zipper, and he’s about to reach down to help you but you succeed.  A beat later, he feels your hand on him, grasping him lightly through his boxers. 

He can’t help the moan that tears out of his throat.  He hasn’t been touched since his ex-wife, the second one, left him.

He slides his hands from where they rest on your hips.  He slides them back and grips the fat of your ass, kneads and grasps you.  He pulls you closer to him, and you pull your hand away from where you’re grasping him.  You steady yourself, hands on his shoulders, and now he definitely can feel the wet heat of you:  the head of his cock has slipped the bounds of his boxers, and he bumps against the damp cotton of your panties.

“Benny,” you breathe against his mouth.  “Can we move this somewhere else?”

In a less-than-smooth move, he shuffles forward with you still in his lap, then staggers into a standing position.  He keeps his hands under your ass, hauls you up, and you wrap your legs around him. 

“Tell me where to go, baby.”

-----

Benny’s incognito searches made him think your sex room would be something wild:  padded walls with shelves of dildos, perhaps, or red satin sheets.  A piece of weird leather furniture, maybe, like he saw on one site.  Chains hanging from the ceiling like a meat locker.

Murph oversold it a little.  It’s just a separate bedroom, done up nicer than the average guest room.  There’s dark, soft-looking bedding on the king-sized bed.  The frame is wrought iron, and sure, there’s handcuffs dangling from either side of the headboard.  The lighting is soft and low, and there’s a steamer trunk at the foot of the bed that Benny will one day learn is full of sex toys, neatly organized by type.

He takes it all in in a split second and no longer, because you’re in his arms as he carries you to the bed.  He moves to lay you down, but you keep your legs wrapped around him.  He follows you then, an awkward drop but you tug his full weight onto you and kiss him fiercely.

The pot keeps it from being too frenetic.  The eagerness keeps the pot from making it too lazy.  It’s the perfect balance, an ebb and flow of energy and speed.  You strip him quickly, and when he goes too slow in stripping you, you push him away, kneel above him, and tug your dress over your head. 

Benny lays back on the bank of pillows and watches in awe:  your arms lifted up lifts your breasts, and you’re wearing one of those bras that barely covers anything.  Lacy black cups only cover the rounded fullness at the bottom, and he can see where your nipples peek out.  He takes in the rest of you:  the softness of your belly and the curve of your hips, the equally skimpy panties.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he mumbles.  He reacts automatically, grips himself and gives his cock a few pumps with his hand at the sight of you half-naked and kneeling over him.  Backlit by the soft lighting.  Gazing back at him with half-lidded eyes, lips parted.  The pink tip of your tongue skating over your lower lip as you watch him touch himself.

“You do this before?” you ask.  Your voice has a husky quality, either from the tequila or the pot or the moment, or all three.

“Do what?”

“Touch yourself thinking about me.”

No sense in lying.  He’s done it more than once.  He nods at you.

You rock back on your heels and smile at him.  “I’ve thought about you too.”

The admission makes a fresh pulse of desire rocket through him, makes his cock twitch in his hand.  “Yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

“How’d it go?” 

“Hmm.”  You move to all fours and crawl towards him, and he releases his hold on himself.  You work your way up from the bottom of him, teasing him.

“I thought about you the night I finally met you.”  You say it right near his erection, your warm breath skating over him, making him shiver. 

“And the night that Murph fucked that blonde girl?  I imagined you here, fucking me at the same time.”  Your tongue darts out and licks against him, teasing, lapping up the precum that’s leaked out of him.  Benny groans, and his hips judder upward, but you’re already moving away.  Pressing a kiss on his belly, right below his navel.  Then above it.  Up his sternum, his chest, his collarbones, and your lower body is hovering over his now.

“How would I have fucked you that night?” Benny manages, but it comes out strained.  You lower your weight on him, and he feels how wet you are, your panties drenched as you slide against his erection.  Back and forth, teasing him.  Torturing him.

“On all fours,” you reply.  You suck a line of wet kisses along the side of his neck, mouthing at his tattoo there.  He feels your teeth, your tongue.  Feels your words sink into him when you add, “your hand on the back of my neck, holding me down against the mattress.”

“Fuck, baby—”

“So deep that I can feel you in my throat.  So deep I can taste you.”  You bite the tendon between his neck and shoulder, and he groans, reaches up.  Slides his hand against the back of your skull and holds you there.  You continue rocking against him, sliding against his cock, and he’s glad for the pot because it always keeping him from coming too soon.

The pot also makes it difficult for him to focus completely.  The word taste lodges in his mind, and his thoughts drift in that direction and settle there.  He holds your hips for a moment, but then he reaches up to gently untangle you from where you’re kissing him, and he sits up underneath you.  You smile at him, your lips swollen, and ask what he wants.

“Wanna taste you.”  He reverses it back on you—he bends his head and kisses your neck, sets his teeth against the soft skin of your throat and makes you whine.  “Can I?”

“Fuck yes.”

“Lie down then.”

You do as you’re told, and Benny detours to your tits, has you arch off the bed enough to undo your bra and toss it aside.  He puts his mouth to you, thinks of it as a preview for you.  He lowers his head and nuzzles against your soft skin.  He drags his tongue over the curves of you, breathes against the wet line of spit, and smiles when you whine again.  He blows against one nipple, then the other, then wraps his lip against one.  Rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger, pinches lightly until you hiss.  Switches to the other:  his mouth on one, his hand pinching the other, and you making the sweetest goddamned noises he’s ever heard.

He makes his way lower.  He nuzzles here too, feels the delicious damp of your panties.  Takes a deep, blatant inhale of you, and it sets you squirming underneath him.  Eager.

Benny hooks his hands under the waistband and draws them down your legs, and you lift your hips to help.  Completely bare now, he rocks back on his heels to look his fill, and his earlier assessment was correct.

“Perfect,” he mutters, and the praise makes you squirm, makes you fix him with a heavy gaze.

Makes you part your legs as he stares down at you, drawing his eyes to where you’re already a mess just from fooling around with him.  You’re so fucking wet, your arousal slick on your inner thighs, and Benny is too stoned to finesse it:  he just dives in, clumsy and impatient, his facial hair rasping over your sensitive folds.

“God, Ben,” you moan.  He feels your hands on his head, and you tug against his hair.  Pull him firmer against your hot flesh.  He doesn’t need any convincing.

Eating pussy is generally one of his favorite moves in the bedroom.  Men who get squeamish about it mystify Benny; to him, there’s nothing hotter than literally tasting a partner.  To putting one’s mouth to a person.  When he was much younger, he could get off just by eating a partner out, and it never bothered him when he did.

It helps when his partner is so damned into it too.  Benny’s been with partners who didn’t like it, too traumatized by previous boyfriends who gave them shit about it.  You?  You’re all in.  You steer his head bossily, and he’s happily led.  You moan and swear in equal message; you groan out his name and praise and gentle instructions on what to do more of.

He works the flat of his tongue over your seam, and he reaches with a hand to part your folds to reveal the slick inner core of you.  He laps at your hole, then draws his tongue upward to swirl around your clit.

“So good, Benny,” you sigh.  “Oh, just like that.  Please.  Don’t…fuck, don’t stop.”

He sets that rhythm, over and over.  He adds a thick finger, slips it into your clenching heat, and he groans at the feel of you, of being inside you.  It makes your hips press upwards, makes you breathe out his name, so he adds a second finger, lazily slides them in and out of you as he laps up and down your slit.  He wraps his lips around the firm bud of your clit and suckles.  You lift your hips again, chasing the sensation, and he chuckles.

“Good?” he growls against your core, and you whine out yes, so good, so fucking good.

“Better than Murph?”

His words don’t give you pause—you go with it.  “Yes,” you whisper.  You sound wrecked, halfway fucked-out, and he hasn’t even gotten his cock in you yet.  “Y-you’re better.”

“Fuck yeah I am.”  He pushes his two fingers deep inside you and feels the answering clench of your cunt.  He crooks them, rubs his fingertips against you from the inside, tests different spots.  Finds it a moment later when a fresh pulse of cum coats his fingers, enough to slick into his palm.

“Murph ever find this?” he asks as he presses against your g-spot. 

“N-never.”

“But I did.”

Another press of your hips, seeking more, needing more.  “You did.  Feels so good, Ben.”

“Gonna come like this?”  He peers up at you from between your thighs and takes in your wrecked expression.

“I’m close,” you warn him. 

“Then let me have it,” he replies.  “Wanna taste you coming in my mouth.”

It only takes another moment, and you do what he says here too:  you tighten your grip on his hair, almost to the point of pain.  You moan his name, and then you come.  Your thighs clamp shut around his head, and there’s a moment where he’s deprived of enough oxygen that he sees sparks in his peripherals.  He grins at the thought of passing out between your legs.  Your orgasm sends a fresh pulse of arousal, and he laps it up as you tremble above him.

Benny makes his way back up to you, and your hands tug him down.  You kiss him deeply, and you must taste yourself on his tongue because you moan against his mouth.

You break the kiss and smile up at him as he catches his breath.  Your hands stroke his shoulders, and your fingertips scratch against his head.  It’s been so long since he’s been touched, he practically purrs under your attention.

“Still good?” you ask.

“You know it.”

“There’s condoms in the nightstand if you want more.”

Yes, Benny wants more.

-----

He gets you on all fours, just as you said you imagined.  He rolls a condom onto himself, gives himself a few experimental pumps with his fist as you shuffle backwards towards him.

“Now, like you said.”  Benny lays a palm along the back of your neck and pushes you down gently until your head is turned and your cheek is pressed against the mattress.  “Like that.”

He can hear how turned on you are when you echo, you’re voice heavy with desire, “just like that.”

“Good?”

“Perfect.”  You wriggle your ass at him, tempting him, and it doesn’t take much.  He grips his cock with his other hand, swipes the tip through your slick.  He teases it a bit, teasing the broad head of his cock along your plump lips, pushes the barest bit into you but then pulls out.  Does it until you whine, and there’s a threatening tone underneath the simpering.  Like there’s only so far he can tease you.

He enters you as slowly as he can.  He wants to feel every inch of you, and he stares down at where he splits you open, where he disappears into your body.  He can feel you try to push back and rush it; the only thing stopping you is his hand on the back of your neck holding you firm.

“Benny…”  It’s a drawn out whine.  A pleading tone. 

“Patience, baby.”  Benny grits his teeth and slides the last inch home, his cock buried to the root, his hips flush against you.  “There we are.”

He feels how tight you are against him, the little twitches against him as you mold to the shape of his cock.  If the analogy is a cliché, so be it:  it’s a perfect fit, a key made for a lock.  He releases his hold on your neck and skates his fingertips down the bumps of your spine.  You shiver against the sensation, and he smacks your ass lightly a beat later. 

“Benny, c’mon.”  Another whine.  “Please.”

“Please what?”  He smacks you again, not hard, and then he sinks his fingertips into the swell of your hips.  Holds you tight against him but only to stop you from moving.

“Please fuck me.”

“Yeah?”  He draws out an inch, thrusts back into you.  “Like that?”

It makes you groan, the sound coming from deep inside you, deep in your belly.  “Just like that.  Just like that, please.”

He does it again:  pulls out a fraction, slides back in, hard and firm.  “Feel good?”

“Fuck yes.”

Again.  Hard enough to jar you forward a bit, and his hands on your hips pull you back.  “You ever been fucked like this?”

“N-no.”

Again, and he pulls out halfway and pauses.  Looks down at where his cock glistens with your arousal, where your cunt twitches and spasms against him.  Struggling to push him out or pull him in, he can’t say for sure.  He pushes forward and pulls you back in one motion, and it knocks the wind out of you, pushes out a guttural moan.

“Murph never fuck you like this?”  He repeats it, a hard thrust that makes you keen this time, then he holds it, buried as far inside you as he can go.  He pulses forward, feels where the base of him grinds against your clit, where his heavy balls press against you.

“Never.  Never!”  Your voice is higher, reedy.  Breathless.  “God, Ben—”

“He’s gonna fuck you after I leave, isn’t he?”  There’s a filament of jealous burning in him.  He doesn’t understand this cuckolding kink from the other side of things.  If you were his, he’d fucking make you his.  He wouldn’t fool around at hotel parties like Murph did; he’d be right here with you, keeping you stuffed full of him, satiated. 

He also doesn’t understand the possession side of things, why it’s such a bad thing.  Of course you belong to yourself.  When he says you’re mine, Benny means a hundred nuanced things.  He means that he’s also yours, that you belong to each other not in an ownership way but in a way he can’t quite express without sounding like some antiquated asshole.  That you’re his to keep safe, to love, to take care of, just as he’d be yours to keep safe and love and care for.

Of course, you aren’t his anyway, and he’s not yours.  This is a borrowed moment, so he deals you a handful of deep, slow thrusts, his cock hitting the end of you and making you whimper each time.

“He’s coming over after this, right?”  Benny asks it again.  He wants you to say it.

“Yes.”

“He gonna fuck you this good?”

You shake your head against the bedding.  “Nuh-uh.”

Benny pulls you tight against him, and he grinds himself into you, pushes every fraction of himself into your clenching heat.  You’re so fucking wet that it goes a brush easier, but he can’t know that he’s deeper than any man’s ever been, that he’s nudging against the mouth of your womb, and that you’re thinking no, Murph’s never fucked me this good because he’s never been so deep inside me, and it’s just like I imagined that time—I can feel Benny in my chest, in my throat.

Benny knows none of what you’re thinking.  Instead, he reaches down and grasps you under your arms.  He hauls you off your hands and up to where he is.  He wraps his arms around your torso, holds you—your back to his chest—and he whispers in your ear, “good.  No one will ever fuck you as good as this.”

You turn your head.  He can see the fucked-out look on your face, the dazed expression, the teary eyes.  Your lips parted as you pant, breathless, then agree with him.  Echo his words, tell him, “no one will ever fuck me as good as you, Ben.”

It ends too quickly after that.  Even with the pot delaying his pleasure, Benny can’t put it off forever.  He feels you as your second orgasm approaches, the way you tighten up against where he’s bouncing you against his cock.  Then, a beat later, you come, and the walls of your cunt ripple against him like you’re trying to pull him into you.  Like you’re trying to consume him, and Benny thinks he wouldn’t mind being consumed by you.

His own orgasm is quick to follow yours.  He feels the telltale heaviness in his gut, the taut tightening of his balls.  In the split second before it breaks around him, he wishes he hadn’t worn a condom.  He wishes he could come inside you, fill you up with himself, leave you a mess for when Murph visits you later. 

He wishes the other man could see you looking blissed-out and satisfied, then could look down and see Benny’s cum trickling out of you.

The mental image—you filled with his spend, the mess of it as it drips from your body—is what pushes him over the edge.  The tension in him snaps, and he pushes in as deeply as he can as he come harmlessly in the latex.

-----

If Murph is due at any point afterwards, Benny can’t tell what the timeline is.  You don’t rush him out.  You don’t harry him along so your real boyfriend can come and take his turn.

In fact, it’s a lazy post-coital scene.  He helps you clean up.  He spends a long moment in your bathroom, sobering up and gazing at his own reflection.  This was a bad idea, he thinks now that his orgasm is behind him. 

There’s too much jealousy but not with the people he’d assume.  He’s the one that burns with jealousy. It's a cuckolding kink that has somehow boomeranged around to hit him, not Murph.

But back in the bedroom, you’re stretched out and sated, a lazy smile on your lips.  You pat the empty space beside you, and Benny takes it.  He puts an arm out and you curl up against his side, then he wraps his arm around you.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Mmm-hmm.  You?”

“Oh yeah.”  You turn your head and kiss him above his collarbone.  “You’re great, you know.”

Benny hums at that but says nothing.  You must read something in it, because you ask, “is this going to be a problem?”

What’s the point in lying?  There’s a hot ball of jealousy sitting like lead in his gut, and it’s not what it was supposed to be.  He was supposed to have a fun little interlude, then go home.  So why’s he the one feeling like he’s being cuckholded?

“I don’t want it to be a problem,” he answers honestly. 

You hear the unspoken “but” in his reply, and you urge him to explain.

“Maybe I wasn’t the best guy for this sort of game.”

“Why not?”

How should he put it? He's got two divorces under his belt. It should be obvious. 

“Because I fall pretty easily, I guess,” he replies.

You twist in his hold and settle your chin on his chest so you can gaze up at him.  “This wasn’t a game, you know.”

Benny snorts.  “No?”

“Murph and I have an open thing.”

“And you wanted a guy to fuck you so he could play around with being jealous about it.”

You shake your head faintly.  “You’re missing the point, Benny.  I wanted to be with you.  The cuckholding was secondary.  It’s not the other way around.  I wasn’t looking for a guy for the sake of cuckholding Murph.  I was looking to be with you first and foremost.”

It gives him the barest bit of comfort, but you still sense his confusion.  You sigh and push away from him, and you leave the room for a moment.  When you return, you have your phone in your hand, and you’re typing as you walk back to the bed.

“There,” you say.  You set the phone down on the nightstand, then crawl back in to lie down beside him.

“There what?”

“There…I texted Murph.  Told him not to come over.”

“But—”

“He sent back a thumbs up.”  You strain to brush a kiss onto his frowning mouth.  “It’s all good, Benny.”

He furrows his brow because he can’t quite believe you, and he tells you so, which makes you sigh again but smile.

“It’s an open thing.  It’s not serious.  He messes around with other women, I mess around with other men, and sometimes our outside stuff overlaps, but usually it doesn’t.”

“You sure?”

You nod, and you kiss him again.  Softly.  Lingering.  “I promise,” you assure him when you break away.

“I’m sorry to mess it up.”  Benny had been prepared to slink home and lick his wounds, but it turned into a massive non-issue.  He feels a sting of guilt all the same.

“Oh, you didn’t.”  You snuggle closer to him, the softness of your breasts pressing against his arm.  “But now that there’s no time limit on your exit, we could go again.”

Benny’s cock twitches at the thought.  “Yeah?”

“Mmm-hmm.”  You kiss him again, then run the tip of your tongue over his collarbone.  “But maybe this time, you don’t mention Murph at all while we’re fucking.”

“Deal.”  Benny reaches his hand and cups your breast, tests the weight of it in his palm.  Runs the pad of his thumb over your hardening peak. 

The second time that night, it goes slower.  It’s softer:  gentle movements against each other, and without the specter of Murph in the room—glowering from the corner, the cuckold—it’s an entirely different experience.  It’s quieter but deeper, more intimate, and when he comes a second time, Benny doesn’t think of the other man at all.

He falls asleep, though he doesn’t mean to.  He means to go home either way that night, but he falls asleep with you in his arms, with your arms around him, and the thought that he falls asleep to is this:  maybe he’s old-fashioned and maybe he falls too easily, but you could be his, and he could be yours, and it might be amazing if he could convince you to consider it.

[iamnmbr3]

imagine draco teaching himself to cast a Patronus during 7th year because Voldemort has Dementors swooping all around and he can't stand how they make him feel and what they make him relive. Plus he knows his life isn't worth anything to the Death Eaters. It's not like they'd be too fussed if one of the Dementors got him.

but the thing is. everything is pretty bleak. it's not so easy for draco to conjure a happy thought. especially when even memories from his happier days in childhood are tainted - by the knowledge of how his old sense of safety and security is gone and by the fact that many of the memories that once filled him with pride now make him feel only disgust and shame and regret.

But the one thought he finds to hold on to is that Harry Potter is still alive. Because while that is true maybe there's still some hope this could end and Voldemort could be defeated. Not to mention Draco's more personal reasons to not want Harry dead - feelings he can barely even acknowledge to himself. He shouldn't be surprised when he finally succeeds and his Patronus takes the form of a lion.

and then the war ends. He doesn't see much of Harry other than at his trial where Harry to his surprise actually speaks in favor of him and his mother. anyway years later somehow harry and draco end up involved in some dangerous shenanigan or other. maybe draco is a curse breaker called in to consult to the aurors or something. anyway they're working together and end up having to face Dementors.

only Draco's hesitating to cast a Patronus and harry asks him "Do you not know how?" And draco kind of reticently tells him he knows how and Harry asks him what he's waiting for then and Draco's like "... you'll laugh" and Harry's like "Why? ... It's not a ferret is it?" and Draco hesitates and at first Harry thinks 'oh merlin it actually IS' but then draco kinda looks amused and is like "No." But he still hesitates. till finally he has no choice.

At the time harry thinks he's probably just embarrassed by the irony of having a Patronus that is the symbol of Gryffindor. it seems like a bit of an overreaction honestly. It's not till months later that he works out maybe there's a deeper significance.

[david-talks-sw]

I havent watched it yet, but I saw a lot of reports that The Acolyte promotes a lot of Jedi Order "hate" if you will. What did you think about it? As a Jedi fan, I kind of DONT want to watch it because of that.

If you ask me, it's a fine show :) it hasn't quite gripped me, the thick lightsabers that look like toys are a nitpick that keeps triggering me.

But overall it's nice!

Yes, there are some small jabs.

The Jedi in The Acolyte are really reticent towards using their lightsabers, resorting to hand-to-hand or even stun weapons.

From what I've seen on Twitter, people are speculating that this is to show how much more "good" the Jedi were back then, as opposed to the more "square, dogmatic, quick-on-the-draw Prequel Jedi," who lost their compassion and have fully detached themselves to the point of dehumanizing themselves.

Yord is clearly meant to be one of the first "Prequel Jedi" as described above.

It's played for laughs 50% of the time, but yeah. The narrative frames him as being a bit of a dick who's a bit too proud of himself. And I'm seeing reflections of Tales of the Jedi Mace Windu & what Filoni described Episode I Obi-Wan as.

Same goes for Vernestra, dogmatically insisting he return to Coruscant because "protocol" and literally shown playing politics.

I've seen folks draw a parallel between Vernestra's attitude and that scene in Episode II where Yoda and Mace agree that they can't let the Senate know their powers of foresight are waning... and yeah, people interpret that scene as the two of them playing politics.

The director commentary of Episode II states that's not the case. It's more about the fact that if they trying to keep the war from starting.

Parallels between Sol and Qui-Gon

Very evident. But again... if you ask me, Sol is just being a Jedi. Qui-Gon isn't the only one with those character traits. Look at Obi-Wan, Yoda, Mace, Shaak Ti.

Finally, there's some hints that some evil shit went down years prior to the show and the Jedi were at the center of it.

I'm gonna hazard a guess that it's not as black and white as Mae or Sol makes it seem. A "big misunderstanding" type deal.

So yeah. Vernestra and Yord strike me as one-dimensional and a bit cartoonish. But overall:

Love seeing Jedi do some Kung Fu.

Love that they finally fixed how lightsaber blades look on camera.

Love the concept of a Jedi-centered detective story.

Mae and Osha are fun in different ways, but I'm kinda scared that, from their mantra, the show is gonna culminate in a "Gray Jedi is the way" kinda direction, and you know how I feel about that.

Love Qimir. And I get the feeling he's more than what he says he is, if you get my drift.

Love the acting in it, the set pieces, the production value, the way some Force powers are used (Sol with the Force speed, fuck yeah!)

Love that the title of "sith acolyte" is an actual thing now. It kinda helps us figure out what Dooku was between when he left in Dooku: Jedi Lost and his last episode in Tales of the Jedi. If I understand correctly, Sidious had an apprentice while grooming an acolyte... once the apprentice kicked the bucket, he promoted Dooku.

8/10 as far as I'm concerned.

[yuri-is-online]

Masquerade request with number 5 for Jamil (tho not sure he'd be shy, more like reticent, potentially) aand since I can ask for two others I guess I might as well go for Azul and Deuce who kinda seem like suitable sorts for this prompt.

Ty!

-viperwhispered

5. You know it's him and he knows it's you, but you're both a bit too shy to admit you would like to keep holding onto each other when the masks come off, so you'll just stay here together a little longer.

Completely agree that Jamil wouldn't be shy in this scenario, more like a prisoner of his own self destructive tendencies. Also hello! I'm always really happy to see you in my notifications Whisper <(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)> Your comments are always very much appreciated.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, this is mildly angsty and I am uncertain if I have provided any comfort here. Uhh unrequited requited love, everyone here is a pining idiot, Deuce is bro zoning himself. The other event requests can be found on my masterlist.

Jamil

He is unprepared for what it feels like to hold you.

It's one thing to look at someone, another to think of them, but both keep a level of imagination to the interaction. Jamil doesn't have the risk of failure in his imagination; he can comfort himself in his perceived superiority and not actually make the effort. There is no warmth in those thoughts, no weight, no you, nothing resembling the delicate weight in his arms that he finds himself wanting to-

"Are you alright?" You ask softly, bringing some focus back to Jamil's eyes, he smiles at you and you wish you could be certain that he really means it.

"I'm just... unused to this." Jamil chooses his words carefully. He does not expect you to know it's him, but there's always the chance someone else does. It makes him feel sick to think the small sigh of relief you give could be meant for someone else, his mind has a ready supply of suspects, but tonight is supposed to be for strangers to play act at romance. He is... allowed... to want this. "I am not that interesting of a guy, you know?"

"I'm sure you're plenty interesting." You say and Jamil swallows to steady himself, trying to remind the spiraling fractions of his mind that you are saying this to a stranger. You would, you have very likely, said this to anyone who needed the encouragement. "If you let yourself go I am sure you will find there's a person underneath the act." But would it be one you approve of? And why is he worrying over that when everyone should approve of him anyway, especially considering what middling results his classmates are barely capable of?

"Your compliments aren't necessary." His smile says otherwise but you cannot bring yourself to push it least you push Jamil away. "But if you wish to keep them coming I will not stop you." You wind your arms around him to pull Jamil just a bit closer. If only he could read your mind as well as command it, if only he wanted you as much as you wanted him.

"Are you sure you can withstand it?" No he's not. "Because I could go on for quite some time." You are clearly teasing him. Jamil's heart should be used to stress, it's been working overtime since he was first sworn over to Kalim, but he's not. There's something new about this stress, or maybe it isn't stress at all and that's just what he's labeling it because that's what he is used to feeling.

"I can take anything." Jamil certainly projects something like confidence, but even as the other guests begin removing their masks his stays firmly put. In both senses you suppose, unable to keep a bitter sigh from escaping you.

But you say nothing, choosing to simply squeeze his hand and hope that he will somehow inhale the meaning of your movements with the sharp breath he takes.

You can want this, please say you want this, please say you want me and give me a reason to stay.

But he can't in good conscious. He is bound by a duty he wishes upon no one, he refuses to ask properly. Just what it is Jamil wants of you needs to be asked for in freedom. So once again you slip away into the night alone with his hand reaching out towards you just out of sight.

Azul

"You have a strong grip." Your voice is muffled as the gentle, but strong hand at the back of your head keeps you firmly resting on this handsome "stranger's" shoulder.

Azul appears to be under the impression this will be easier on him if he cannot see you, but he seems to have forgotten he still can look down the expanse of your back when he holds you this close. What you're doing can barely be described as dancing, swaying is what people might call it but Azul barely registers that he is moving.

"Of course I do." His voice lacks the usual musical performance you associate with it, he sounds almost... tired. Overwhelmed, you decide is the more accurate term as you exhale into his neck and try not to savor the way he shudders. "To keep precious things close is what any pirate would do, hm?" You smile.

"Fancy yourself a heart thief? I would think that's a more Heartslabyul gig." He stiffens, you know he was just trying to make a jest at the appearance of his costume but you appear to have touched some sort of nerve. Azul pulls you closer, arm wrapping properly around your waist instead of simply sitting on it.

"Is it?" Azul wants to vomit all his feelings up, eject them like a sea cucumber and walk off the embarrassment from showing his guts. Anything has to be less painful than thinking of his-

No you are not his. That's why he is being a coward and not looking you in the eye like any proper gentleman would. Why he had asked for a dance, kissed your hand, and not let go of you all under the flimsy pretense of a mask. Azul dislikes taking solace in your kindness, but he knows he can rely on you to not make him pay for this. Even if you really should.

"Has your heart already been carried off to a maze?" Azul is trying to make a joke, but you are so close to his heart you can hear the nerves hammering away at his typical sense of self.

"I think my heart is drowning." You whisper it, low into his pulse point before your eyes squeeze close in embarrassment. Azul's pulse does not slow, and he cannot squeeze you any closer, a sure sign as if you needed it that he isn't Floyd nor could he ever pretend to be. But he can guide you into a sway that's a little more like a dance.

This is enough for tonight. It will not be enough tomorrow, but it is enough for tonight.

Deuce

This is how friends look at each other. Deuce would know because he has never looked at you any other way. There's a respectful distance between you both, an almost boring decorum to the proper ballroom dance he is happily guiding you in. If it weren't for his continued refusal to call you by your name or meaningless title, it would be like you were talking normally.

"Do they have dances like this where you're from?" Deuce is genuine in his interest, always eager to find a new way to ensure you feel like you belong.

"In books and movies maybe." Your laughter makes him soar, spinning you into the air for a brief second that adds a shriek to it that brings a grin to his face that has you feeling lightheaded. "Honestly I never thought I would get a chance to go to something like this!"

"Why not?" It's a stupid question, even if you have repeatedly reassured him there is no such thing.

"Well a Masquerade is kind of a rich people thing, and I'm not rich." Technically you shouldn't be here either, but you let that thought go unsaid. It never even crosses Deuce's mind, there is something so natural about having you in his arms that the idea of a world without you in it-

A world without you in it. It crystalizes as someone taps on the mic to announce the band will play just one as nice slow song that if everything in Twisted Wonderland had been normal he would be rolling his eyes at as he escapes to the sidelines. But that's not what's happening, he is pulling you closer to him and placing his arm around your waist without so much as a second thought.

"I'm not rich either." Deuce says, no where near as stiff in tone or posture as you would have expected him to be when trying to slow dance. If anything he holds you as if it is the most natural thing in the world to him, lapsing into uncharacteristic silence as he really looks you in the eyes with some strange hidden emotion in them.

It's always been there of course, this is always the way Deuce looks at you, but the mask ironically forces you to really see it.

"I'm lucky to be in this world with you." He means it, and though you hold tightly to his hand he doesn't think you know just how much.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

For the guys who want kids

S/o is shy so instead of just saying "let's adopt/have kids" they leave baby/kid clothes around the house to try and tell him without telling him

Undertale Sans - Oh. Uh... He doesn't feel pressure at all right now. Sans would have preferred way more if you ask him directly. It's not like he's against having kids, it's just, that's a big step you know? You already buying children's clothes is too much of a big step. He needs time, he's not ready.

Undertale Papyrus - You can hear him gasp from the other side of the house, then run as fast as light to your room to ask for explanations. He's very enthusiastic about the idea of adopting kids, more than making them. It's not against you, it's just... He doesn't enjoy the way you make a baby. But he's fine with having one!

Underswap Sans - If he pretends there are no baby clothes around, he doesn't have to talk about it. Blue is very, very reticent to have children, and he doesn't like the way you asked him. He's pretty much in denial and pretends it never happened. He doesn't want to talk about this now, it's stressing him out.

Underswap Papyrus - FINALLY! He had no idea how to tell you he wants kids because he is so awkward when he has to ask if you want to have sex lol. He's kinda relieved you read him or did not read him at all and that's just a coincidence, who cares! Let's go, he's so happy!

Underfell Sans - Woah, woah, WOAH. Too fast! Too fast, he's out of here! When he sees all the baby clothes around, he starts to hyperventilate, runs to the door, and starts running for his life as far away as he can lol. Maybe prepare him to the idea before that. He's not ready, and now he's terrified. Good luck with that.

Underfell Papyrus - That's the first time you see him speechless. He doesn't know what to even say. His mind is entirely blank. That's... something he didn't see coming. He's too in shock to give you any answer though. Maybe later? Right now he needs to reboot himself.

Horrortale Sans - He's confused why there are baby clothes everywhere. He is kinda wondering if he put them here actually, and if he put them here... Why??? He's not sure what to do of this so he starts to clean because he doesn't want you to get mad at him for trashing the house. You facepalm. Not once he thought about the meaning of the clothes, sorry xD

Horrortale Papyrus - His face immediately turns bright orange. OH. He nervously looks between you and the clothes, unsure about that. He understands, and he would love to, but... Man, he's full of insecurities, he's so scared he's going to give them to his child. Maybe you two should talk a bit more about this.

Swapfell Sans - "Ah, I see you want to copulate to produce an heir." You smack him behind the head. Why the hell does he have to say it so weirdly?! Nox gives you a angry look. What's your problem? You want to copulate or not? You're giving him mixed signals here!

Swapfell Papyrus - He immediately start to wear the baby clothes, obviously. He doesn't think one second about why there are baby clothes everywhere in the house, he just wants to clown around. Or is he in denial? You'll never know.

Fellswap Gold Sans - .... "WE'RE NOT GETTING A DOG." "But that's not dog clothes?" "IT IS. I SAW THAT OLD LADY WITH A CHIHUAHUA DRESSED LIKE THIS." "Wine, those are baby clothes." "DOES IT MATTER IF THEY ARE BABY OR DOG CLOTHES? WHAT YOU LOOKING FOR? HAVING A BABY?" ..... You stare at him. He stares back. "OH SHIT YOU ARE." Wine starts to turn redder and redder as you realize you're actually serious. What the hell? He was not ready for this! Why are you doing this randomly?!

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He takes one of the little shirt with shaking hands and then he just bursts in tears. So, right now, Coffee thinks you're pregnant, he kinda didn't get it's just you asking. You're not ready for the disappointing face, then the very determined one as he's ready to drag you to his room right here and right now.