𝓭𝓸𝓸𝓫𝔂 ⸻ 𐙚 she/hers ✦ east asian ✦ 20s ✦ corporate biotech girlie cuddling with her 2D faves. madly in love with choso + barou + dan heng. [n]sfw multifandom blog + dark content friendly. 18+ only ₊˚⊹ ⟢ please read rules before following and proceeding to masterlist.
⸻ 𐙚 SFW + personal
❀ ❀ ❀ slowish updates hehe (๑ > ᴗ > ๑)
╰⪼ WORKS IN PROGRESS ✎ᝰ.
BLOOD THIRSTY — RIN I. + SAE I. [kinktober / 4.5K approx]
HOT WIND BLOWS ─ BAROU S. [3.0k approx]
╰⪼ RECENTS ✎ᝰ.
SMOKE SIGNALS ━ BAROU S.
ROMAN HOLIDAY ━ NAGI S.
WANNA BRAG ABOUT IT — NAGI S. + BAROU S.
❛ A TRIAL OF INTIMACY AND ROMANCE ❜ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
౿ it wasn’t unlike your boyfriend alhaitham and his roommate kaveh to get into playful spats, you just didn’t think that one day you would end up at the centre of one… in the best way possible.
alhaitham x fem reader x kaveh. threesome though it’s mostly alhaitham letting kaveh touch you. fem oral receiving. alhaitham cums his pants. alot of haikaveh bickering. teasing. you are alhaitham’s gf. a small smidge of possessiveness. pussyjob (and an accidental tip slip). groping and touches.
word count. 7.8k words. ₊ 𓂃 return to masterlist.
You like to think you have a good relationship with your boyfriend's roommate, Kaveh.
It was an almost instantaneous sort of connection when Alhaitham had first introduced you both and despite what the Scribe may claim (playfully for the most part) – you dont think his roommate is a particularly hard person to get along with at all. Infact you might even say he was quite the opposite.
Kaveh has always been kind to you, keeping you company if Alhaitham was busy with work or even just listening to your troubles, and you’re glad that you both ended up building such a strong friendship considering how much time you wind up spending over at your boyfriend’s house.
Well, that and as much as Alhaitham would never admit it, you do believe that he wants Kaveh to like you, because despite how often the both of them may bicker and fight – you think there was a reciprocated sort of respect between them both. They were best friends after all – it's normal to want your bestfriend to get along with your girlfriend.
And thankfully, to your boyfriend’s pleasure, both of your personalities seemed to slot together quite easily. Sure, Kaveh was the opposite of Alhaitham in many ways – he was a little more emotional, dramatic and outspoken but he was also kind-hearted and gentle. You’d shared breakfasts together, dinners or drinks at the Tavern and despite the way the blonde never could hold his alcohol – he always seemed to get a little sappier whenever he ended up a little tipsy around you.
He’d always gush about how grateful he was that you came into not only his, but Alhaitham’s life – claiming that you helped to loosen and soften him up a bit, though both of you know that the Scribe would never admit that himself. You can still remember the look he was giving you both as you whispered giddily beside him at the table, Kaveh even loudly joked that if you ever needed an ear to talk about how annoying Alhaitham was, he'd gladly lend his.
A statement that had earned him not only a scoff from your boyfriend, but also a laugh from you.
And to your surprise, that very same Scribe even lasted until the end of the night before opting to see you both home– (like you weren't all going to the same place anyway).
But because of these moments, the rest of your friendship continued as such, you were comfortable around each other and that was the most important part. It was something you cherished quite deeply to yourself actually, and you were glad to have built such a relationship with someone who was so close to Alhaitham.
But that’s exactly why you worry about Kaveh, especially as you look at him now. You’d arrived at their house this morning – having made plans at the beginning of the week to spend the night with your boyfriend, ultimately deciding on a low-key sort of date night when he was relieved from his duties as Scribe.
You hadn’t dressed up too much, opting for a simple, plain dress given the humidity that often settled in Sumeru around this time of day and your want to be cute but still comfortable enough to rest in Alhaitham’s house for the night. Actually, you hadn’t even expected your boyfriend’s roommate to be home at all, assuming he’d be out in the desert on a job that he’s been dealing with the last few days.
But it seems that job hasn’t even gotten that far yet.
There's an endless amount of blueprints spread out across the coffee table in Alhaitham's living room and you can tell by the tired look on Kaveh's features that he's probably been staring at them for a while. He often got like this, overworking himself to death on projects and stretching himself quite thin just so he can earn himself a smile from a client.
And as much as you loved that part of him, the selfless and adorable part, you can't help but find yourself worrying. Even just looking at him now makes you bury yourself into Alhaitham's chest a little more from where you’re resting next to him on the couch. His arm is resting quite snugly around your waist and he seems to pick up on the inner workings of your brain quite quickly as he lets his gaze drop to you.
You share a look before he’s looking back at his roommate to ask.
"And just when was the last time you had a break, might I ask?" Your boyfriend speaks flatly, although you can hear the way the question is laced with subtle concern.
"Ugh, I don't know, a few hours ago, maybe. I— I don't have time for this, Alhaitham. I still have designs to finish. Why do you ask?" Kaveh’s voice strains, most likely from a mixture of fatigue and not having used it in a while. His fuse was shorter than usual when he got like this– so it was quite easy for Alhaitham to rile him up, though judging by his expression, that is probably the last thing he needs right now.
But then you feel your boyfriend shrug, and you can almost predict what’s coming. "No reason, we were just hoping to spend some time together is all and you seem to be taking up most of the living room."
It’s not that Alhaitham did it deliberately— his manner of speech was just more matter-a-fact, he always preferred to speak factually and didn’t particularly like to lace his words with rhetoric just to make someone feel better. And as it stands now, Kaveh is in the middle of what is supposed to be your date night. So why wouldn’t he say that?
Maybe that’s exactly what makes something in his roommate’s exterior crack. The blonde scoffs, “Do you really need to rub it in, Alhaitham? Can't you at least show a little respect for your senior? I’d kill to be able to enjoy a day off from my work but some of us don’t just organise files for a living.” He’s looking at you both now from where you rest at the other side of the room, and despite the blonde’s frustration, Alhaitham remains quite unbothered.
“Jealous are we now, Kaveh? You get wound up by some things so easily.” He teases, amusement evident in the way his lips seem to curl around his words and you feel his arm squeeze around your waist a little tighter. “I do wonder where all of that frustration comes from. Pent up perhaps?”
Another scoff from across the room, and you feel like you can’t turn your head fast enough to keep up, “Oh please, you wouldn’t know the first thing about anything like that. Haven't you only had one relationship, you... you don’t understand anything!" Kaveh runs his hands through his hair and you can’t help but send him a sympathetic look when he looks at you, although only for a moment as Alhaitham’s readies his quip.
“Oh, are you claiming that you have much more experience, Kaveh? Or would you prefer I started rhyming the facts?” You feel your boyfriend push himself up a little straighter on the couch as he remains holding you, "Like how long it’s been since the last time you had a date to accompany you to the Tavern, or anywhere for that matter."
"What's your deal? I don't have any trouble getting dates, Uh... I've just been busy trying to catch up on my work. I'd be much more suited to being a boyfriend than you anyway, I'm much more experienced."
"Oh really?" There’s a breath of silence when Alhaitham responds this time, like Kaveh’s mind is only just catching up to what his mouth is spouting, though it’s not fast enough for it to stop him as he flippantly twists his wrist in the air. As if shrugging off Alhaitham’s disbelieving tone.
"Absolutely. I can only pity a man that doesn't understand the first thing about intimacy and romance." He responds quite confidently this time, as if he’s completely sure about what he’s saying. But you can feel the response Alhaitham’s body has to his words before he voices it himself. It’s like there’s something akin to amusement, or curiosity in his sudden body language.
But not even as subtle of a hint could prepare you for what he actually says.
"If that's the case then, go right ahead. If you're so confident in your abilities, feel free to demonstrate." Alhaitham outstretches his hand around you as if giving Kaveh the floor, and that earns him a raised brow from the blonde across the room— followed by a confused look from you aswell. Though you allow his roommate to voice that for you both,
"Hmph, what's that supposed to mean?" Kaveh asks, but you both share a look that lasts too long for it not to be deliberate before Alhaitham can answer.
"Well, you both get along quite well, don't you? If you think you're much better suited for my position, we can prove that right now." Despite the implication of his words, Alhaitham seems to look as unbothered by this conversation as always. Which in turn only leaves the both of you, gaping and glancing between him and each other before you turn your whole body around to face your boyfriend. You almost manage a What? But then Kaveh cuts you off—
"T-this isn't funny, Alhaitham. I'm not in the mood for your pranks." Though if you were to turn back around you’d notice the way he seems to have taken a more flushed sort of shade. He buries his head in his hands as if in an attempt to hide that, but that’s an impossible feat when it comes to Alhaitham.
Who turns his gaze back to you despite the way he responds to Kaveh, "Going through all of this trouble for a prank sounds like a real headache." His words are followed by his hand coming up to softly graze along your cheek, and you would think he just answered all of your questions with a single movement with the way you lean into it. But then he speaks again, smiling subtly "I'd even argue that she seems quite eager to help you relax a bit, and judging by the look on your face, you don't seem opposed to that idea either.”
You find yourself feeling incredibly flustered for a moment as you whip your head back around to look at Kaveh again, noticing the way he immediately looks away as soon as your eyes meet. You can’t say you’ve never thought about him in that sort of light— you’d be a fool to try and deny that he wasn’t gorgeous. Tanned skin, blonde hair— his eyes were like rubies almost, his body lean and well cut.
Looking at him now makes you suck your lower lip between your teeth and you can feel the way your boyfriend’s watching you as you fidget slightly to rub your thighs together, as if to quell the sudden heat that you can feel growing between them. But you feel his hand come to rest on your waist a moment later and he finally urges you to chime into the conversation with a “Well?”
It’s not like Alhaitham’s insecure in your relationship either, he’s more than confident in the pleasure he’s able to pull from you and the amount of times he’s had you spread out beneath him account for that. But still, he’ll only go as far as you’re comfortable with— so if you decide against it, he’ll gladly kick his roommate out of his home so that he can see to whatever needs you have himself.
And that reassurance alone makes you smile as you look up at him.
"I don't mind, Kaveh. If... if something like that will make you feel better then." You look back towards Kaveh next, who’s already looking at you and you don’t know if he’s gawking or half expecting you both to start laughing. Maybe both at once as his eyes widen at you now, "I don't mind you using me for it. We're friends, right?"
Right— Friends.
Kaveh swallows, and then he quickly pushes himself to stand and for the first time since you’ve met— you feel like you can’t meet his gaze as he takes his first careful step closer to you. It was quite unlike him to be so quiet, and maybe that’s what makes it all worse. You’re still resting quite comfily in Alhaitham’s lap, and even if you were to try to move— you’re not sure he’d let you with how tight his arm seems to be resting around your waist.
So you wait there, until the architect’s soft footsteps bring him to stand opposite the both of you and Alhaitham helps you this time as you turn around to face him— until you’re resting your back up against your boyfriend's chest and feel him spread his thighs to make room for you between them.
There’s another beat of silence before he finally speaks again,
"Did he put you up to this?" Kaveh takes an uneven breath as he asks, motioning to Alhaitham behind you and despite the way he tries to laugh with his question, the undercurrent of nervousness seems to make it come out as more of a sigh.
You shake your head, remaining quiet despite the way your arousal is making you warm and the blonde’s sudden close proximity isn’t doing anything to help that either. Your thoughts have taken the potential scenario and already begun running with it, and you’re sure your boyfriend is already beginning to pick up on your growing impatience when he squeezes his arm around you.
"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you, Alhaitham? Just how close are you going to let me get before you make fun of me?" Kaveh asks again as his pretty features pull into another frown, but he still doesn’t seem to put any distance between you both.
Alhaitham picks up on that too as he responds to his taunt quite neutrally, "I don't know what you mean, I'm not stopping you. After all, weren't you the one who said you were better suited for my position?"
The silence settles over the three of you again with Alhaitham’s question and you watch the way Kaveh seems to drop his gaze to think, as if he’s going over the proposal in his mind a million times before coming to a decision. But then his gaze lifts to look at you,
"Hmph, I didn't mean it like this." He mumbles, but then he takes a deep breath and his shoulders seem to relax a bit. "Whatever."
Kaveh takes another half a step closer, as his eyes hold you there — and the pretty colour of them makes you rock back into Alhaitham despite the way it makes something in your stomach stir. His voice drops to something softer, gentle when he addresses you, as it always does. "Are you, um... okay with this? You don't have to do this just because Alhaitham said so."
His question makes you smile as you blink back at him, allowing yourself the moment to admire the intricacies of his features while he's leaning in to look at you closely. Kaveh has always been gorgeous, kind but even now — you can’t help but appreciate the sort of person he really was, and you’re glad that someone like him is who Alhaitham chooses to surround himself with.
You offer him a reassuring nod as you let yourself rock back against your boyfriend's chest a little more, "I'm okay with it."
“Fine then.” And with that, Kaveh eventually relents before he’s letting his figure fall to his knees, bringing himself to be just below level with you, and you feel the way the movement makes your boyfriend exhale a breath along your shoulder. It makes you shudder as you find yourself almost instinctively spreading your thighs to make room for him, and it’s hard for the architect to not let his eyes immediately drop to the skin that’s between them when you reach forward to bunch up your dress.
“Ready?” Alhaitham asks you, as if he’s giving you another opportunity to back out when his palm comes to rest on the inside of your thigh from behind. His fingers tap as you take a breath, and his roommate opposite you stills until you’re able to stutter out a response.
“Yes, I’m ready.” You answer, and your boyfriend’s hand pulls at your inner thigh in that same moment, until you’re spread out on his lap and positioning your thighs to rest over the top of his. You feel immediately exposed as you feel the cool air roll over your too warm skin— it’s like you’re being served up on a grand table like a meal, and there’s something in Kaveh’s gaze that seems to feel the same way as you watch the tips of his ears begin to flush.
But still, he’s looking at you like he’s a man who's been starved for years and he’s about to have his first, real taste of good food again.
There’s a moment of silence between the three of you as Alhaitham holds you close, but it’s only for a moment before Kaveh’s palm comes to rest on the opposite thigh to push — helping to hold you open. You feel yourself begin to burn at the way it makes your arousal spark beneath your skin, and you’re feeling particularly flustered already as you watch the way the architect admires the damp spot in your panties.
Kaveh takes another breath, and then he shuffles himself closer from where he’s resting on his knees. “If you’re sure about this. Well…” There’s still a hesitance to his words, but it seems to break off into something quieter, needier when his fingers squeeze into your skin. “Friends, right?”
You stiffen as you watch your boyfriend’s roommate lean forward, but you soften almost immediately when you feel him press a quick kiss against your clothed pussy, exhaling against the warm press of the intimate skin like it’s the first breath he’s taken in days.
But the sound that leaves you is almost humiliating when he pushes even deeper into you next, letting his tongue tease along the damp fabric of your underwear and pressing into the swollen bump of your clit, all while Alhaitham holds you in place for him on his lap. Your thighs and hips quake, as do your lungs when you try to manage a staggered inhale— but you feel like you can barely breathe beneath Kaveh’s movements, feeling the way he’s drinking you up, tongue rolling and curling through your folds so expertly you wouldn't believe there was still a layer between you both.
You’d never imagined Kaveh would feel like this, not that it was something you imagined often — but it still came as quite a surprise. It’s true you’d never seen him date much at all, nevermind heard him even mention prior intimate experiences— but with the way he’s working you right now, you can barely believe he’s even single at all.
You're jolted from your thoughts by a particularly wet smear of Kaveh’s mouth against you until you feel yourself trembling, and Alhaitham knows you’re already close as he curls himself around you from behind. The movement lets you feel the heavy press of his half-hard cock against your lower back, closely followed by the smear of his lips along the shell of your ear. “Any thoughts? Seems like you’re getting quite worked up.” He sighs, deliberately along the sensitive parts of you.
Your boyfriend’s words take on a familiar, teasing drawl— it’s one he’s used on you before, normally when he’s got you buried beneath him on the mattress or just about creaming around the press of three of his fingers, but the tone makes you swallow as you try to turn your head to look at him.
Though the call is quickly cut off by Kaveh’s voice as he mutters up at you both from between your thighs, “Oh, would you butt out, Alhaitham.” The sound quivers through your pussy, like a pleasurable vibration that makes your head drop back to moan and your body jolt as you meet the blonde’s gaze for a moment. He’s flushed to his chest and his hair is mused from his efforts, but you think he looks like something out of a wet dream when the lower half of his face and cheeks are already slick with his own spit and your arousal.
You wonder if he notices the way it makes you even wetter,
“And why would I do that?” Alhaitham cuts off your eye contact with his response, and he deliberately rocks himself into you— pushing more of his roommate’s mouth even deeper between your thighs until you both moan. Though it’s closely followed by the press of Kaveh’s fingertips hooking beneath the fabric of your underwear, before he begins to finally provide you with some relief and pull them to the side.
Your arousal makes you glisten, clinging to the soaked fabric as it's pulled out of his way and it’s quite clear to see the almost proud look on Kaveh’s features as he admires it, then looks up at your boyfriend a moment later.
“See!? I told you.” He almost glows from where he’s still kneeling between your spread thighs, “Take a good look, Alhaitham.” And if you weren’t in such a state you think you’d end up giggling— if not at the blonde’s amusement then definitely at Alhaitham’s deliberate silence in response to it. But your boyfriend doesn’t seem bothered by it at all, in fact he just opts to leave the spread of your thighs to his roommate as he frees up both of his hands instead.
“You seem more surprised than I am.” He eventually opts to say with a hint of sarcasm, well-timed with the way Kaveh’s tongue finally presses back against the now exposed skin of your folds, cutting through the glistening petals as he suckles and smacks at the mess. And you can’t help but arch back into Alhaitham at the movement, an opportunity which he seizes quite eagerly to grab and palm at your breasts as he takes one into his hand slowly. His movements are precise, twisting and flicking at the raised skin of your nipples through your dress until you’re whimpering so greedily for something more.
Lucky for him, you hadn’t opted for a bra today. After all— you were just having a date indoors.
“Better?” Alhaitham breathes against your jawline as he touches you, and you feel the way his teasing question makes Kaveh grumble between your folds, like he’s claiming you needed his touch to feel such pleasure.
But before the blonde can even pipe up and complain about it, your boyfriend’s free hand reaches forward to wrap itself in his roommate’s already tousled hair, and he uses it as leverage to bury him even deeper into your pussy. He turns his attention to him for a moment as he sends him a narrowed look and a whisper of a smirk, and you think the expression on Kaveh’s face as he blinks up at you both makes you begin to throb, “You seem to be putting that mouth to much better use now than you were a moment ago, Kaveh.”
You can feel yourself growing closer, and that alone urges you to turn to meet Alhaitham as you find your hands grabbing to scratch at his muscled forearm. It’s a movement he goes unaffected by, long fingers seemingly unphased by your hands as they clasp gently around one of your nipples before he pulls, and the spark of your orgasm is so close you feel lightheaded. At the same time, Kaveh is going between circling his tongue around your clit and pressing it in and out of your cunt, groaning at the way he can feel your walls squeeze and tremble around the muscle, but also at the way your body squelches as he slurps at the slick his movements seem to press out.
He’s so close up against you, he can barely breathe as Alhaitham holds him there— but he still can’t help but only want to press even deeper as he drinks in your reactions, swallowing loudly as he feels his own cock begin to leak precum against his clothes.
Your lips part to moan, but it’s covered up quite quickly by the sudden press of Alhaitham’s lips against yours, urging you to murmur out his name as he kisses you, messy and driven by the way Kaveh’s mouth is wrapped around you all while he watches. The realisation of all of it makes you feel terribly overwhelmed, and you can feel your boyfriend press more of his clothed cock against your lower back as he licks into your mouth.
“I’m gonna cum.” You try to manage against the heat of the kiss and the movement of Kaveh’s mouth against your cunt, shaking into your boyfriend’s chest before he opts to pull away to admire you. Your chest is rising and falling with every shaky breath you’re struggling to take, and it’s all made so much worse when you feel Kaveh close his mouth around your clit to suckle.
Though it’s only for one, too short moment— seconds from your orgasm, before the hand in his blonde hair is tightening just enough to urge him off of you with a wet pop.
“Anddd, I think we’ve seen more than enough now.” Alhaitham hums from where he rests behind you and it’s almost immediately that you watch Kaveh’s blown features pull into a pretty, flushed frown. The expression he’s wearing makes you whimper a bit, kicking out your feet at the loss of not only your orgasm, but the warmth of his mouth as you feel your boyfriend’s arm snake it’s way back around your waist.
“Are you kidding me, Alhaitham?” Kaveh grumbles exasperatedly, “You’re just being selfish.” It’s quite obvious that he was enjoying himself as much as you seemed to be. But maybe that's the exact reason that Alhaitham’s taking great satisfaction in teasing him like this,
“How am I to blame for your shortcomings, might I ask, Kaveh?” He taunts the blonde before you, who’s furiously trying to readjust his shirt from where it’s tousled over his chest slightly — revealing more of the tanned, smooth muscle as you shamelessly let your eyes trace the valleys of his skin. “Afterall, I gave you more than an ample amount of time to get the job done.”
Alhaitham’s words are again matter-a-fact, but they mostly come from a place of knowing (given the right technique) how quickly he could make you cum himself. Yet here you are, still wound up and needy, and he think’s that's more of a fault on Kaveh’s part that anyone else's. So he waves his hand at his roommate again as the blonde gives him another sharp look from his knees, “Yet you still came up short. Seems I'm not the one to blame after all.”
And maybe it’s his own arousal that makes him barely able to argue back as he only stutters out a strained, “You—“
But then your voice calls suddenly, and the silence that falls over the two men on opposite sides of you almost makes you shake. “Haitham?”
"Yes?" Alhaitham answers to you intently as he turns his head towards you again, meeting your gaze from over your shoulder as you watch the way his features seem to almost immediately soften. It makes you shimmy yourself a little closer before you’re bringing up one of your hands to cover your mouth and whispering something ineligible from where Kaveh is kneeling, like you’re leaving him out of a secret exchange.
It makes him grumble to himself as he watches you both, and if he wasn’t so painfully hard and sweating profusely in his clothes right now, he’d leave you both to it. But for some reason, he can’t find it in himself to look away from you either.
It’s like he can see why your boyfriend dotes over you so much.
Kaveh watches the way Alhaitham listens carefully to whatever you’re whispering to him, smoothing his fingers along your skin from where they rest against your body while you speak, and holding you close in a way that almost makes something beneath his own skin sting. Another moment, and you pull away again to share a look but with the next, Alhaitham kisses you.
It’s a different sort of kiss to the one’s he’s seen you both share before; it’s messier, deeper — possessive in a way, like Alhaitham’s staking his claim over you and it seems almost uncharacteristic of his usual lax attitude. But Kaveh watches the way you curl into the warmth of his roommate’s lips and body, watches you twist in his lap so he can curl you closer with his strength and you let out a little whine as you both breathe deeply into the other's lips.
He can almost see the way your tongue’s are pressing up against each other between your breaths, something so consuming, suffocatingly passionate and heated that it makes him feel suddenly too warm beneath his own shirt again and he has to ground himself with an exhale. The sight makes him swallow loudly and he almost reaches to press his palm into the bulge of his cock— to quell the insistent throb that seems to be settling there despite how it may look. But before he can— Alhaitham opens his eyes to look at him, with a narrowed sort of sharp look before the kiss is breaking wet and he’s following it up with a quick peck against your swollen lips and a shrug, “I guess that’s fine.”
And then you’re suddenly turning yourself back around to face Kaveh again, a little more dazed and kiss drunk this time.
Your finger points softly to the noticeable tent in his pants, but you don’t make him feel self conscious when your lips part, muttering. "Kaveh, you can... take it out if you want."
But Kaveh can barely get his words out fast enough to respond, "Wha.... really? You're sure?" You nod at his question, and he gives Alhaitham a look before he watches the Scribe turn away to look at you instead. Like he’s deciding it’s best for him not to chime in, but opting to not stop him either as he pushes himself back up to his feet.
He feels unsteady as he stands, blame it on the fact that most of the blood in his body has rushed to his cock right now, or the way he’s lightheaded from his own arousal. But he tries to take his time as he strips back the layers of his outfit, not wanting to seem too eager until he’s able to push down his pants, and he lets himself gasp at the first sting of sexual freedom the release gives him.
His cock is as gorgeous as you would expect, tanned shaft and a dark pink tip— paired perfectly with the blonde hair that gathers at the base and a few freckles and veins decorating along the length of him. He isn’t as thick as Alhaitham is, but he has an upwards tilt to him that almost makes you drool, pre-cum already gathering at the tip as it glistens in the dim lighting of the living room.
Kaveh feels himself flush beneath your attention as you watch him, wriggling in Alhaitham’s lap like you’re excited about it. But your boyfriend’s gaze is still on the side of your face, and he’s busying himself with stroking his fingertips up and down the length of your arm instead. It’s quite suspicious for him to be so quiet, but the blonde decides not to question it as he brings himself to stand closer to you again.
His fingertips brush against your thighs as he reaches out to touch you once more, trembling slightly as he allows himself to take a proper look between both you and then the slick petals of your pussy that await him.
Like you, Kaveh would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about you like this before. Afterall, he’s heard the sweet sounds that his roommate is able to pull from you behind the privacy of his bedroom door; the way your voice lilts into something prettier when you cum and that sweet little dazed look you always seemed to wear whenever you’d pad out of the room an hour or so later.
He’s not sure what he’d call it— admiration, amusement, jealousy? It’s hard for him to decide on an answer, and he’s not given enough time to either when Alhaitham suddenly clears his throat. His green eyes are giving him a look from where he seems to have dazed off staring at you, and the realisation makes Kaveh clear his own throat before he’s taking a slow fistful of his cock— opting to smile down at you instead before he’s lining himself up against your cunt.
“Well then, I guess this is happening. Are you ready?” His words waver as the blunt head strokes softly along your folds, and he’s watching the way even the slightest touch seems to make his cock glisten. You already feel soft as silk and even that small bout of friction makes his knees threaten to buckle completely as he tries to steady himself with a breath.
You give him a pretty look and a nod, but before Kaveh can finally sink himself into you, Alhaitham cuts him off—
"Whoa whoa whoa, let's not get too ahead of ourselves, shall we?" The Scribe’s voice calls from behind you as he hooks his chin over top of your shoulder, narrowing his gaze up at his blonde roommate while he gapes and frowns back down at him now. But you listen to him, shimmying yourself down a little lower until you’re spreading your thighs a little more and the shaft of Kaveh’s cock rests between the folds of your pussy this time.
Alhaitham hums like he’s happy with that, "Just like that is fine."
“Fine. Whatever you say, Alhaitham.” Kaveh’s in no position to argue with what he’s giving him after all, he’s been generous enough to let him do this to begin with. So he swallows before readjusting himself again, and he grounds his body by grabbing gently at your thighs to keep you spread.
You’re already soaked as he presses his cock up against you, rubbing it along your slick folds and leaning enough of his weight onto you that it only presses you even closer into Alhaitham’s chest. The first silky grind of the length of him splits through you before catching on your clit, making you both gasp and moan at the wet tacky sound that follows and Kaveh has to take a breath for a moment as he squeezes his eyes closed. Trying not to cum too soon.
But it seems your audience isn’t going to let him away with that so easily.
"Need some help?" Alhaitham goads from where he’s back to stroking at your skin, fingertips dancing up the valley of your ribs and cupping at your tits as he gives Kaveh a taunting sort of look.
It makes him scoff, "N... no! I was just giving her a break, that's all!" Though he’s not sure how convincing he sounds when his voice breaks slightly— weighed down beneath his own arousal and the throb in his cock.
It makes Alhaitham scoff, "How kind of you. There's no rush afterall."
"I know that! It's called empathy Alhaitham, you should try having some!" Kaveh’s voice raises unsteadily, but the frown on his features doesn’t seem to hold much malice when he’s so flushed and stricken with pleasure.
"Actually I think my generosity right now far makes up for that." Alhaitham gives him a narrowed, lidded look before he presses his head into you, and that seems to be enough to end the argument when Kaveh breaks away from his gaze. He looks at you instead when your legs curl up around his waist, pulling him closer as he pushes the shaft of his cock even tighter up against the warm press of your folds– and he feels them wrap around him so invitingly it makes his hips jerk.
Kaveh opts to lean over you this time as he presses his palm into the plush back of the sofa, sandwiching you between him and Alhaitham as he allows himself to be pulled even deeper into the desperate hug of your cunt. You’re already whining when he draws his hips back, a languid and slow movement that makes you almost cry out when he rolls them back into you again a second later— desperately rubbing your slick along his throbbing cock as he tries hard to meet your gaze.
But Alhaitham seems to be stealing all of your attention away for himself as he presses ticklish kisses up the column of your throat from behind, hugging himself into you from where he’s letting his best friend rub his cock between your legs. All while you sit on your boyfriend’s lap.
So he opts to meet Kaveh’s gaze instead, and he looks almost smug when he does.
"Are you really just going to tease me while you watch, Alhaitham?" The blonde over you trembles as he lets his cock glide through your folds again, letting himself hump against you as each withdrawal of his hips makes a loud, wet sound. It’s hard to take him seriously as he coats his shaft in a mess of your slick and his spit, but it still feels like the Scribe is teasing him by not letting him really feel the tight squeeze of your walls.
He just shrugs again. "Actually, I have something far more important to attend to.” And Kaveh has to watch as he takes another slow handful of your tits through your dress, back to swiping his thumb across the pebbled press of your nipples until it almost makes you shake. It’s Alhaitham’s name you moan when your lips part, and he can see the smug little smile on his lips when he hears it. "Though if I'm not mistaken, it seems your pity from earlier was misplaced. Since someone seems to quite enjoy my understanding of intimacy and romance."
Alhaitham leans in a bit closer as he lets his voice, lips and teeth tease along the shell of your ear. But his gaze holds Kaveh’s as he palms at you– groping at your tits as his thumb circles the fabric of your dress again. “So feel free to apologise whenever you’re ready.”
That makes his blonde roommate scoff before he’s suddenly picking up the pace of his hips, like he’s got a point to prove as he mutters out a response, "Oh please, I didn't think it would end up l-like this, did I."
But Kaveh isn't an idiot, he can feel the way Alhaitham’s movements are only making you wetter and urging you to pull him even closer with every grope of his hands as your heels dig into his lower back— so despite his pride, he opts to give in… if only for your sake. "Keep doing that to her." He watches your body rise up into your boyfriend’s palms, long fingers pressing around your nipples to squeeze and he feels the way it makes you shudder.
“Oh? So you do need my help afterall.” Alhaitham chuckles, but the feeling of your pussy against Kaveh’s cock is so hot and aching, he doesn’t care. It feels like he’s burning up in the best way, and his roommate can see that quite clearly too as he relents. “Well, you only had to ask, Kaveh.”
“S-shutup, It’s for her sake, alright?” He lets himself rut into you harder as Alhaitham’s touch steadies you, he can feel you getting wetter beneath him with every thrust of his cock through your folds and for the first time when he turns to look at you, you meet him with your own blown gaze as you stir beneath him.
“It feels good, Kaveh.” Your words break into a whisper, and the tone you say his name in makes his pace stutter almost dangerously as he feels your clit graze along the sensitive underside of his cock, making him to press into you harder. Kaveh’s burning up, he feels like he can barely breathe— even as his roommate watches him hump his cock against his girlfriend’s cunt— he doesn’t care, you feel too good. He’s making a mess of the space between your thighs as his cock desperately drools precum along your skin, but it only helps to further ease his movements as he rubs himself up against you.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself, Kaveh.” Alhaitham huffs, but then he grunts with the next particularly sharp thrust of Kaveh’s hips and it makes you purr. Afterall, how could anyone be able to resist the feeling of your ass constantly grinding up against the press of the hard cock behind you. It’s simply natural for him to be close himself despite the way he’s barely been touched— but he’s far too preoccupied playing with you to care anyway, and it was to be expected that his girlfriend could get him into such a state.
Kaveh gives him a sharp look at his words, but he can’t argue back at all when he feels goosebumps begin to burst along his skin.
Then you gasp, head lolling back against Alhaitham’s shoulder as he rolls at your tits and the next eager press of Kaveh’s shaft against your folds makes you stiffen— legs squeezing tight around his waist as the blonde grits his teeth. “Kaveh, you’re gonna make me cum!”
And your voice breaks into something beautiful as you do, shaking between the two men that hold you and it’s closely followed by another groan from Alhaitham behind you as he gives into his own orgasm– making a mess of his slacks as he ruts his hips up into your ass. The stuttered movement seems to angle your hips up a bit more than planned, but it’s just enough for Kaveh to accidentally slip the tip of his cock inside of you— making you both gasp as you squeeze and cream around the head of his cock, and he treats himself with a short thrust deeper before he’s barely able to pull back in time.
“Just… Just, Ugh—” He’s already mourning the tease of your warm walls trembling around him before his hips jerk, and Kaveh cums with a tight lipped moan of your name as his load lands messily across your skin, painting your body in his seed as his own crumbles beneath the weight of his orgasm. It’s dizzying, how pretty you look beneath him— fluttering lashes and parted lips as more of your cream catches on the shaft of his cock and he presses up against you in a way that makes the blonde sway as he rides out his high.
He feels completely wrecked when he finds it in himself to stumble away from you both, and you give him a cute, satisfied look before curling your way back into Alhaitham— who’s looking equally as wrecked with the now soiled fabric in his slacks bothering him. Kaveh watches the way the stickiness makes him fidget.
The three of you let the silence rest for a while longer as you catch your breath, and your boyfriend moves to pull your underwear back into place before pushing back down the fabric of your dress and pulling you deeper into his chest. It urges you to rest your head into the crook of his neck as you turn to face him, and you share a quick kiss as Kaveh begins to straighten out his clothes again, unable to break his gaze away from you as he does.
Alhaitham is the first to speak as he urges his roommate to look away from you.
“Hm, dare I say I’m actually impressed, Kaveh. Seems whatever you were spouting earlier wasn’t just empty rhetoric afterall.” His voice scratches slightly as he addresses him, no doubt still coming down from his own still lingering pleasure.
But the blonde only just finishes smoothing down his shirt before the compliment makes him freeze in disbelief, “Wha? Really?”
“Oh? You sound surprised.”
Kaveh barely manages one of his prettier frowns to respond again, “Maybe it’s because you’ve never said anything good about me before. So excuse me for feeling like you don’t really mean that.” But he does find it in himself to scoff this time, watching you fidget against your boyfriend’s chest before you’re cracking an eye open to look at him– and he’s pretty sure he can see you smiling as they bicker back and forth.
“And what makes you think I’m not just speaking on someone else’s behalf?” Alhaitham quips back, motioning towards you in his arms and if Kaveh wasn’t still coming down from his orgasm, he’d put up more of a fight than he is right now as he pulls up his pants again. Hissing as he tucks his now softening cock back behind the fabric.
“Are we forgetting I’m your senior? You really should show me a little respect, Alhaitham. A compliment won’t kill you.” The blonde scoffs as he runs a trembling hand through his hair, grumbling when he takes in the mess of the braid, but before Alhaitham can respond back again— you’re making your first attempt to move. Your boyfriend is quick to grab your hand to steady you as he helps you stand but because of who Kaveh is— he can’t help but want to reach out too.
“Hey, do you need me to help clean you up?” He asks kindly, taking in the damp spots on your dress that are most likely due to being soiled in his cum.
But Alhaitham only lures you back against his chest when he stands up behind you, beginning to guide you in the general direction of the bathroom as he finds his own now soiled slacks to be quite uncomfortable themselves. “I think I can handle that part on my own, Kaveh.” He opts to answer in your stead, but you still manage to give the blonde a sleepy, hormone-drunken smile before you’re taking unsteady little steps to follow your boyfriend down the hall.
Kaveh watches you both leave before Alhaitham turns to look at him again, his voice taking a more sincere tone than it has all day.
“But it’s nice to know you’re feeling more relaxed. So feel free to actually get some rest for once.”
hii random question but how do u like biotech?! was thinking of switching majors ( also love ur writing!! )
not random at all im happy to answer !! :)
im not sure what your major is now but i was originally med diagnostics during undergrad and then had switched to biology to neuroscience at the last second haha (a total of two switches) and depending on your overall resume experience you have so far i don't think you need a stem specific major to break into biotech.
my internships were all lab and clinical based as an undergrad and that helped a lot with landing a job in the field. i currently work for a pharma company but in their Quality Assurance department (a desk job - not lab based and thats my own personal pref). i help with processing technical documents and overlooking deviations and so far its nice!
i'll add this tho: my bf works in healthcare and he hates it haha not the work but the pay and the workload of responsibilities. biotech imo offers more above average pay, has better perks, and (for quality assurance) job security.
depending on where you're from, employers typically care about work experience over education. so if you're able to land some internships in biotech (or just a lab tech anywhere) then you're off to a great start!
apologies if this answer sounds all over the place haha its currently 2am where im at AKDFDFHNDKHFKDJG
Hello!!! I love your writings and I have an idea. Our person is Nagi Seishiro and our topic is Nagi's night life, his s/o is his girlfriend and the lovers who stayed for a long time, but Nagi never went further than kissing and you couldn't continue because you were ashamed. When you gave the reins to him, everything went bad and now s/o is wondering if the problem is with herself, will nagi notice this, smut about it
hihi ... (its been a while since i posted on my side account LMAO)
im not gonna lie ur ask got me pondering really hard and i got a mini spurt of creativity at 1 in the morning so umm i made some adjustments but this is what we're working with for now
disclaimer: i've never written anything w omegaverse before but i think i wanna experiment with this prompt so thank you anon
WANNA BRAG ABOUT IT ─ BAROU SHOUEI + NAGI SEISHIRO
synopsis: some say hot springs might hold the cure for illnesses and stress. you, on the other hand, think they're great for fertility and bonding purposes.
contents: afab!fem!reader, threesome (m/f/m), poly relationship, double penetration, anal, they do it in a hot spring, they also do it standing up, nipple play, cunninlingus, finger fucking, slight body worshipping, lots of foreplay, heavy make out sessions, aphrodisiacs
word count: 5.9k
a/n: (hello, hello, i am semi alive sorry hehe) the final part to this unexpected trilogy series lmao (there will maybe be more idk!!) - im so down bad for barou but im even worst when nagi comes into the mix. beta'd by my one and only @pipppinn <3 thanks queen - part one / part two
You’re an early riser.
You’ve always been, ever since dating Barou, and when you reached the two month mark, far enough to acclimate to your boyfriend’s strict rigid morning schedule, that only hardwired the habit further. So, it comes to no one’s surprise for you to wake up as the sun’s rising in the sky.
What does come as a surprise though, when your sleep-filled mind finally shakes itself away from its slumber, is that you’re unable to get up. There’s a comfortable weight thrown around your waist, more heavier than what you’re formally used to, and a pair of hot breaths pressed into the curves of your neck, both emitting gentle sounds of soft breathing.
You’re trying to remember what happened here, as you crack your eyes open and carefully shift a little to ease your limbs awake. And, of course, the memory hits you like a truck.
Nagi’s birthday party. His gift. The aftermath of said gift. The whining mess. Barou awkwardly denying anything romantic towards Nagi. All three of you passing out in bed.
Your stomach does a flip and suddenly you’re wide awake. Too tense to make any sudden movements.
The only reason why you end up getting out of bed at all is because Barou eventually tosses Nagi’s limbs off of you. Barou’s always been known for his sheer size and strength, but in recent months he’s always been gentle with both you and Nagi. Today, however, your boyfriend’s patience seems to be running on thin ice; blankets are yanked off the bed and thrown into the hamper, he’s grumbling at Nagi to wake up and only glaring in disapproval when the other male rolls over, throwing an arm over his face and making his best attempt at an ‘I’m definitely still asleep’ type of sound. It sure isn’t good enough to trick Barou, but you can tell by his clenched jaw and forehead veins, that there isn’t enough time in the world for him to wait for Nagi to get up.
Maybe a trip out of town will cure whatever tension that’s left in the air.
Retail therapy is more of your thing, but Barou has always preferred winding down in a more nature-like setting. It came up in a conversation one time and, oddly enough, Nagi just happens to be the same—if you want to include booking a cabin fully equipped with electrical ports, washing machines, a sizable TV for entertainment, and a giant soft mattress.
Well, it’s kinda similar.
Barou blinks at your suggestion, more confusion than anything, and sets down a fresh batch of pancakes in front of you. “Hot springs?”
“Hot springs,” you confirm with a grin, pulling up on your laptop the first resort link that appeared from the search bar. “Secluded in the countryside, hiking trails all year round, all natural spring water, and—”
Nagi creeps up from behind, still in his sweats and hair slightly damp from the morning shower. Resting his chin on your shoulder, he peers over the last details. “A private onsen, huh…”
You watch from the corner of your eyes, Barou tensing and immediately turning around, trying to focus at whatever task he’s fidgeting with in the kitchen. You bite back a sigh, masking your disappointment as grogginess, and start swinging your legs aimlessly at the bar stool counter while leaning against Nagi’s tall stature.
“And good morning to you, sleepyhead.”
Nagi manages a hum in response while Barou proceeds to turn on the kitchen fan to presumably block out any additional noise from the taller male.
Your boyfriend is usually good with talking out his feelings. In the beginning, it was almost absolute hell to pry open that stubborn heart of his. Lots of unwarranted bursts of energy, followed by shutting down, and a full day of solitary confinement. It’s gotten better now; it’s a standard rule for him that nobody falls asleep angry—at least with you. The downside to inviting Nagi into your relationship, you realize, is that Barou reverts back to his raged teenage self, and is somehow even more annoyed than normal.
You occasionally gather up the courage and confidence to get the two to talk it out—somewhat. And you can tell that they really, really try. Except that Nagi backs off whenever Barou looks like he’s ready to throw up. So instead, you act as their buffer.
“Private’s more expensive, no?” Nagi tilts his head.
“Yeah, I mean I think it’ll be better than a public one,” you muse, scrolling through the various photos. “We can go in anytime we want, and stay as long as we want.”
Nagi adjusts his position, humming in content. The warmth of his cheek now pressed against yours, and you can smell the faint floral scent from his hair. It’s undeniably Barou’s. “Sounds nice. What’s the occasion?”
“We haven’t been on a trip together before…and I just received a big work bonus last week. Nature’s probably what we need right now.”
“Is there a lot of packing involved?” Nagi pouts.
“I don’t think we’re gonna stay there for that long. Maybe three days max?”
Barou slides you a side of extra syrup, and you can tell this is his way of saying he feels guilty of dreading going on the trip. They’re both avoiding eye contact, ignoring each other’s presence, and it’s incredibly tiring that all their hang ups have turned into a thing.
You can’t bear to bring up any of the weirdness that’s been going on. You sigh and dig into your food before booking two nights at the resort.
The next day at the airport, bleary-eyed and exhausted, you’re having regrets of putting Barou in charge of the itinerary. It should’ve come to no one’s surprise that he’s the type to arrive at the terminal gate seven hours before the plane actually boards. Something about ‘an accident could’ve stalled us’ and ‘just catch up on sleep when we get there’ was his reasoning.
“But even a king should get his ten hours of sleep…” Nagi tried his best not to complain, resting the entirety of his body weight against his wheeled luggage.
You’re too tired to argue back that the standard amount should be eight. Ten hours sounds about right—for you, for Nagi, maybe even Barou if he wasn’t so damned honed in on his notes app.
“Talk any more and I’ll kick you to economy.”
The flight is long, but flying first class is nice. You’re about a movie and a half into the flight before the flight attendants started to offer their complementary champagne. Free stuff is always fun to take advantage of, but you have an inkling feeling that after one glass you’ll be inclined to consume three more. Ideally, you opt for sparkling water and a bowl of fruit —you’re certainly above drinking away your stress. After a while, you put on a podcast and slip an eye mask on, sleeping away until the plane lands in Beppu.
You stir awake with your mind slightly adrift, entire body feeling as if it’s floating. There’s a faint mumbling in the background, thinking it belongs to Barou, but his words seem odd and they don’t string properly in your head. Instead of focusing on that too keenly, you rub your eyes and try to pull yourself awake from the long, jarring ride over. Given that your body is laying flat and the cushioning is far too plush to be the rental car, you realized that you’ve been knocked out for the entirety of the check-in process.
Suddenly, you feel a familiar warmth behind you, and you know almost instantly that Nagi is holding you from behind by the way his arms drape possessively around your waist. You relish at the physical contact and let your eyes adjust to the warm light and the orange glow of the fireplace in the room.
“Hungry?” Nagi asks, distracting you from your thoughts as he runs a hand over your stomach, slipping it under your shirt. He nuzzles closer against your cheek, and you can’t help the way your pulse quickens and your breath escapes in a sigh. But your eyes are locked with Barou, who’s staring up at you as he slowly begins to take off your pants at the edge of the bed.
“Gonna give him an answer?” The serious cadence of his voice burrows itself inside the pit of your stomach, and his fingertips tracing over your thighs as he removes the garment doesn’t help.
Before you could manage a response, Nagi nibbles on your earlobe. “Thought you were a good girl,” he sulks.
You wish you could find the words to respond, but the more either of them talk or touch you, the more your brain melts and the more you squirm. Barou tosses your pants to the corner of the room and gets up, staring down at you with his deep, crimson eyes.
“She is,” Barou corrects before commanding Nagi further, “Take her shirt off.”
Nagi agrees silently, immediately jumping in without missing a beat. His hands find their way on the hem of your shirt, pulling it up a bit so that he can gently remove it over your head. As soon as it disappears, tossed feverishly across the room, Nagi pulls you back into his arms and lets his calloused palms travel to the front of your body, cupping and squeezing your breasts. You feel your back arch instinctively when his dexterous fingers roll against your nipples.
“Sensitive already?” Nagi comments absently as he leaves small love bites all across the crook of your neck. “Can’t answer now, can you?”
“You two are making it really hard to focus,” you hear yourself respond in a harried breath. Your body begins to squirm uncontrollably as your blood boils over.
Your eyes fix on Barou as he takes off his shirt, revealing every toned muscle of his upper body outlined and shadowed by the ambient lighting. He walks off to the corner of the room and returns with a tray of arrangements of sweets you hardly recognize.
The wrapping is in a foreign language, bright and colorful, and you’re able to make out several phallic-like designs on the package. There’s no questioning of what it might be. Barou sets it on the small side table next to the bed, and repositions himself in between your thighs.
“Eat,” he instructs, commanding in a way that only he’s managed to perfect over the years. “We’re going to take care of you.”
You blink, trying to figure out exactly what Barou means by that, but Nagi nudges you gently, forcing you to look back over at him. In his fingers, he’s already unwrapped one of the candies, revealing a round chocolate-like succulent fudge, up in front of your face.
“It’ll be good, ‘m promise,” Nagi offers you a lazy smirk when you lock eyes with him. It’s so goddamn charming that you can’t help but to offer one back, and you bite into the candy, the chocolate immediately coating your tongue.
And, just as you’re swallowing back the first bite, you suddenly feel a slow drip of warm liquid running over your legs, drawing a line from your thighs down to your ankles.
Your attention snaps back to Barou, who’s now gripping one of your calves in his hands, palms coated in some sort of lavender oil, and begins to massage in an up and down motion. He basks your entire leg in affection, squeezing and kneading, even paying close consideration to the soles of your feet before he traces his hand up to your limbs.
“You need to relax. You’ve been overworking yourself,” he chastises with a shake of his head, and you sigh audibly at the way Barou palms your inner thigh, drawing closer towards the ache that’s building in your core.
Your face heats up, noting the soaking sensation that’s overtaken your panties as Nagi presses another round of sweets to your lips. “Maybe because she can’t stand being with you,” he huffs.
Barou pauses, palms tensing as he glares. “Not the time to act like a smartass—”
But before he could object anything, Nagi stretches and takes off his own shirt, and pulls you back further into him. The feel of his warm skin against your back makes you gasp, and that’s more than enough to set something off in your boyfriend. Wordlessly, Barou rubs the remainder of the oil into your flesh, over your shoulders and stomach, and soon to the exposed peaks of your breasts. Nagi takes this opportunity and wraps his hand gently around your throat, stealing your face away and locking your lips into a feverish kiss.
“He’s such a big baby,” Nagi pouts between breaths.
It’s ironic, hearing that coming out of him of all people. But Barou doesn’t budge. Instead, he swallows his pride and continues touching you, mouth latching and lapping at one of your breasts while thumbing over the other. It sends your back arching, mind going hazy as you try to recollect the thoughts you have left.
Your brain starts clicking together small details the more physical they’re getting—they’re fighting for your attention. Barou, whom you’ve known for a few years now, has always been self aware, attentive, but authoritative when he needed to be. His scent, habits, and presence melts completely into your world. You know what makes him tick, which side of the bed he prefers to rest on, how he likes his eggs, and you have no difficulty keeping him in check on the few rare occasions where he gets angsty.
Nagi, on the other hand, is blunt and possibly even more possessive than he possibly realizes. Playing off as cool headed half the time, he secretly loves being taken care of and keeps a straight face when he showers you in endless amounts of pleasure. He’s what Barou calls unpolished and bratty. And maybe it’s his fluffy bangs or how incredibly soft he can be, but you think he can be best described as charming.
Nagi doesn’t stop kissing you, not until you’re squealing into his mouth, tongues wrestling against another as Barou’s thumbs roll over your nipples with tease. Soon a warm, fleshy sensation flicks against your hot entrance, shaking you to the core. You don’t know how it’s possible, but both of their kisses are swallowing you whole. Nagi breaks away from the heated kiss, now attacking your throat with fluttering nips while Barou’s tongue laps at your clit repeatedly. A pitched shudder escapes and you shuffle your hips against both men, demanding more.
“I-I know we came here to relax but,” you bite back a building moan as you try to gain some ground. “I’m surprised that you didn’t kill each other while I was out…”
“Why would you assume that?” Nagi whispers into your shoulder, his tongue swiping at the skin, leaving a tether of saliva as he withdraws. “We get along just fine…”
“Why?” you repeat, voice almost a whine. You know Nagi has a tendency to ignore drama almost as if it's like wildfire. But he can’t really be that dense, can he?
Barou grunts from below, his lips part from your slick folds and his eyes glow as he hardens his gaze on you. The intensity in them calms into a warm vermillion, softness taking reign as he rises and rests his hands on your thighs. He squeezes at them lightly before shifting his weight on the bed, the mattress squeaking beneath your squirms, and leans forward to capture your lips.
“Ignore him,” your boyfriend murmurs in between breaths. “He doesn’t know what he’s talkin’ about. Just focus on me, if you can.”
Trembling, wave of electricity rips through you as Barou’s fingers work delicately against your inner thighs. His thick, calloused digits tracing small circles below while his lips move hungrily down to lavish attention on your neck, then your collarbones. Your breath hitches, fingers tangling in his hair while nipping and sucking at the sensitive flesh. When his lips reach the back of your neck, Barou pauses, his hot breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.
“Such a perfect girl for me,” he groans. “You’re shaking so much, do you know that?”
For whatever reason—maybe it’s your boyfriend’s sudden desperation, or the aphrodisiac streaming through your veins—you find yourself losing control under his touch. Your tongues intertwine as your veins begin surging with liquid fire. Barou shifts, dropping a hand between your legs and grazes over your folds once more, sending a shivering ache through your body that has you leaping forward into his embrace.
“Shouei,” you whisper, voice trembling with need but unsure of what else to say. He has a tendency to drag this side out of you, overwhelmed with the feeling of immense yearning and want. When he slips a digit inside, your whole body shudders. The pressure builds inside of you like a rising tsunami, cresting higher and higher until—
Something shifts behind you, almost abruptly. It causes you to slip backwards into another firm wall.
“I want to check out the hot springs,” Nagi suddenly complains, tugging at your waist like a child.
Barou frowns against your lips, suppressing a low growl, but his hand doesn’t stop. “Then fucking check them out.”
“I want to check them out together,” Nagi emphasizes, voice coated with a rare form of selfishness that you haven’t heard before. He squeezes your sides, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Stop hogging…”
“You’ve been all over her since the night’s started—”
“It’s not fair—”
“Life’s not fucking fair, dumbass—”
“Hey,” you breathe out, heart beating loudly in your ears as the building pressure in your core ebbs away. You place a soft kiss on the corner of Barou’s pouting lips. “It’s okay, I’m still here for you—both of you.”
Your boyfriend’s face is wrinkling in annoyance, but nods nevertheless. The two men eventually pull back, hopping off the bed and discarding their remaining garments. They stand with both of their palms extended out for you to take. You lower your feet to the tatami floors, thighs rubbing together as you feel your slick running down your legs when you take their hands.
Although you could spend all night making out with your lovers in bed, the curiosity of this resort’s hot springs is eating away at you. You’d be lying to yourself if you weren’t a little excited, having to spend a decent chunk of your yearly bonus on this impromptu trip in Japan’s well known town famous for its natural springs. You’re semi-hoping that this trip would somehow hold the cure to whatever that’s happening, but judging from how they’re acting, you realize it might resolve on its own sooner or later.
Nagi surprisingly takes the first stride, leading you and Barou to the patio doors where he slides it open effortlessly and the warm air wafts in your face, welcoming you in its grace. The humidity is a harsh contrast to the cooled, air conditioned room. You experimentally dip your foot into the man made spring, the hot temperature immediately spearing straight through your nerves. You give out a little yelp and jump back.
Barou steadies your figure when you pull back your foot. He sucks his teeth in, a habit he does often when he wants to correct something. “Careful, the signs literally say that it’s hot.”
You glower a little, folding your arms across your chest defensively. “I don’t think I need to read to know that hot springs are hot.”
“Then don’t be surprised when they are,” he counters.
“So smart now, aren’t we?” You sigh.
“Breathe,” Nagi interjects and displays no trouble sinking his limbs into the pool, not even a slight facial reaction. A few feet out and the water reaches the middle of his thighs. “Take it slowly and it won’t hurt as much,” he simply explains, though you sense that there’s another hidden layer to his advice.
Following his words, you inhale slowly and walk carefully towards the body of water again. The initial dip torches the surface of your skin but you hold still, breathing deeply before taking another step. One second your body is engulfed in flames, the next it feels as if a smooth, warm blanket is being draped over your legs.
A satisfied groan bubbles back in your throat as the two of you shuffle over to Nagi, who's currently resting his back against one of the many boulders around the rim. “We’ve made the right choice.”
“Yeah,” Nagi says gently next to you, trying to edge you closer to him.
Luckily, they didn’t make you wait long. Only seconds had passed before they resumed basking you in endless amounts of tugs and wet kisses all over your naked body. You’re praying that the loud sloshing from the spring is enough to mask your onslaught of moans.
“If it’s too much, promise to let us know,” Barou murmurs.
It feels like your skin is boiling as you’re faced with the realization of what’s going to occur. You swap glances between the men, noting their feverish desire for you is spread all across their features. When you manage to grab both of their aching cocks in your hands, they both realize there’s nothing holding them back anymore.
Nagi’s arms reach down below, hooking underneath your thighs, lifting you up. He holds them wide open as he begins angling his erection underneath you, poking softly against the entrance of your ass. You barely have time to register his actions as Barou takes control in the front, moving closer and drenching his fingers in your wetness. Satisfaction coats his face, listening to you gasp and mewl as he rolls his fingers in slow but purposeful circles. His throbbing cock drips pre-cum all over your front as you begin to grind your hips, desperate to feel full.
“Please, please, please,” you choke out, head filled to the brim with the feeling of needles and cotton. Your fingers clumsily claw at Barou’s shoulders for grip, whole body tensing when you finally feel his length brushing over your swollen clit and swirling in the slick. You whine, eagerly letting your legs fall open more and more.
Nagi presses his lips onto your shoulder, teeth dragging along your nape, biting and marking you until you’re shaking from it. The warmth quickly becomes unbearable to focus. Your body nearly jumps from the fluttering tease. In front, Barou’s padded fingers roll over your sensitive nerve once more, and that’s enough to send you over the fucking edge. The three of you rut against each other like pathetic animals in heat and it doesn’t take long for you to reach your high, a thundering wave of ecstasy crashing against your veins.
You hear Nagi hiss behind you, his leverage on your shaky thighs tightens. “Gonna put it in now… Wanna make you feel even better,” he coos, hot breath making your skin tingle.
You hardly have time to calm down from your high as Nagi’s leaky tip probes at the opening of your ass. A sharp pain ruffles through your lower half and you bite back a ragged breath as he eases his way through. Your impossibly tight walls pulse around the length, and you close your eyes, rolling your head back against him, turning your lips into his neck to cry.
“Want you,” his breathing quickly turns shallow, almost as if in pain. “I want you so bad.” The longing in his voice seeps through your chest.
“W-Want you too, but—aah”, you whimper at the depth, writhing in between the men. Your mouth goes slack. “Go slow, go slow, Sei…”
You feel Barou cupping your face, caressing your cheeks so softly—like feathers—muttering soothing words of encouragement, but it sounds incoherent and muffled out from the streaming waters and Nagi’s own whines.
“So fucking tight for me…”
Another inch, he bottoms you out, and your stomach physically rolls. Fat tears threaten to fall from your eyes as you blow out a long, slow breath while the world spins. You don’t remember the last time you’ve taken it up in the ass, since the men usually take turns with each other, so the agonizing stretch feels like your first time. You fumble for the back of Nagi’s head and turn into him, breathing heavily against his lips.
“Are you holding up fine?” Barou’s voice is one octave away from breaking.
You manage to find the strength to nod and rock your hips, signaling for more. “Mhm, I’m ready for you, Shouei…”
Swallowing hard, Barou lines his leaking cock up against the folds and presses into you, crowning, and you let out another long breath, moving into it as he pushes inside. Drunk off of arousal, you suck in air through your teeth as he advances slowly, ears growing warm at the wet sounds coming out of you.
The building pressure, their grunts, whines, and possession of you—everything becomes easily overstimulating. Time seems to stand still as your body adjusts and accepts them both, dazed and breathless. Then, a crushing press, and the men start to move.
“Shit,” Barou breathes, shakily. His slow thrusts tease you as he kisses and bites your collarbones, making your insides whirl like a cyclone. Your walls flutter around both men in reaction. “Do you want us to keep going?” he asks you softly.
You blink, eyes glossed over, lightheaded. You nod slowly in response, and Barou offers you a rare smile before continuing.
“Don’t worry about anything,” he whispers. “Just focus on getting used to us being inside of you.”
Nagi follows up, his groans and vocals vibrating against your back. “Let us do all the work tonight.”
Barou kneads one breast and cups the side of your cheek with the other hand, pulling back and sinking in slowly as if he’s afraid to break you. Behind, Nagi snaps back his hips, setting an unforgiving pace. You make a strangled noise, brain short-circuiting, unable to hold back the cries from your drowned out throat as they take you in unison. The thought of being surrounded by other residents almost fades from your mind until you feel Barou pinching your cheek.
Hungrily, Barou lurches forward, pressing his forehead against yours and nestles his cock deep. “Keep your voice down, do you want people to catch us like this?” he rasps out.
You shake your head, delirious with pleasure. “Mhm—I won’t, I promise…”
“If you do,” Nagi rolls his hips back, just enough that his tip stays in, and plunges back in with vigor, earning a stammered cry. “Let them hear it, all of it.”
Your entire body trembles at the heightened sensations running through. You stare between the two men, mouth agape as you wait for the next movements. Nagi adjusts your body in his arms, pulling your thighs further apart so they both could reach your furthest parts. Your walls flutter and grasp at anything and everything, tightening and clenching around their lengths, watching the stretch and flexes of their torsos so sensual that you’ve etched it in your memories right then and there.
“You like this, don’t you?” Barou asks, voice a roll of thunder.
Nothing coherent comes out, just a huff of a breath that you didn’t know you’ve been holding onto. Even at the start of the relationship, you’ve never been filled up like this before—toys were present, but that was the extent of it. You’ve always taken the lead, sexually guiding and dominating one of the men for that night, enjoying the sight of their fucked out faces. Seeing their eyes right now, drinking in the bounce of your breasts, the slick sounds emitting from your entrance, and the sobs dragging from your throat—you can understand why this is dangerously addicting.
You squirm, moan, and beg under their physical demands, pleading their names left and right. Barou groans at your silence, and despite the wildness in his eyes, he brushes your hair back, admiring your flushed out expression while he bottoms you out again. His hand travels down, circling your clit once more, and you hiss sharply, throwing your head back so hard against Nagi’s shoulders that your vision goes starry. Your consciousness weaves in and out, not sure what to focus on as your body’s currently being worshiped and used.
A new feeling starts building in your lower abdomen. It starts out as a rhythmic throb in your stomach before traveling all the way down to your clit, pulsing and being drenched in sudden heat. As if your head couldn’t get any fuzzier, you let out an impossibly erotic groan, “I-I feel funny…”
Nagi controls your body the best he could, but you feel the way he’s twitching inside of you, just as desperate for relief as you are. His hips are shaking with anticipation and want. He leans down and bites your shoulder to find ground. “Drug’s kicking in…”
“W-What?” Your eyes go wide, mind immediately cuts back to the aphrodisiac earlier, wondering how ridiculously strong the dosage was, but the questions quickly cut short.
Barou’s thumb presses harder against your clit and mumbles into the line of your cleavage, your nipples perking as they brush against his warm skin, “Sorry, but tough it out for us a little longer.”
You’re not entirely sure what they meant, but you take their word for it, just like you’ve had for the rest of the night. You shut your eyes and throw your body into a craze, relishing in the way the pads of Barou’s fingers play with the bundle of nerves and Nagi’s digits digging into the flesh of your thighs. Your moans throaty and deep, sounds escaping that you didn’t even know you were capable of making. The torrent of pleasure seems ceaseless, bright colors clouding your vision as you tumblr through an endless fog of bliss.
Sensing your incoming release, Nagi lifts you up even further, toned arms pulling your thighs even further apart, and you yelp and whine when Barou’s tip brush against your gummy core. Both men are deep in concentration, hips snapping back and forth, the sounds of all three of your bodies joining in a sinful harmony. If there is such a thing as a breeding haze, you’re certainly lost in it.
“S-Something’s coming up—fuck—I can feel it,” you’re close to cumming again, and just when you thought you’re going to fall over the cliff, Barou pauses just long enough to cup your tear streaked cheeks with both hands.
“You’re squeezing around us so hard right now, baby,” he sits still inside of you for a moment, watching your dumbfounded expression soon morph into fucked out ecstasy when he begins to pump mercilessly inside, raking and grinding against your walls. “Are you holding back? Don’t.”
Both men pound inside of you, pulling all the way out before diving back in as deep as they can go. The fractured orgasm they had left you hanging over before starts to build again. They stroke quickly and punishingly, tearing into the place where tears are now starting to flow from your eyes while keeping your hips suspended and motionless, denying you any space to move.
Drool dribbles down the sides of your mouth, your nerve endings and senses igniting every time your walls squelch and clench around their needy cocks. You gaze up at Barou, tears blurring your intoxicated vision as you digest his flushed out cheeks and focused face. Your hand grasps blindly behind you for the feel of Nagi’s neck, earning you a honey-coated sigh from the tall giant, “L-Love you, love you two so, so much—aah! I’m gonna—”
The rush arrives suddenly.
You cum hard with a shudder, biting back your cries and vicing your walls against them. You feel the leak of fluids seeping out of you, but Barou thrusts his hips upward, making sure that his fat tip presses against that special spot again. This blinds you with a final surge of pleasure. Quakes rumble through your body, briefly making you lose sense of time and place, and they’re both still fucking you despite your bones are turning into jelly.
It’s not long before they cum right after another, both pumping hot, steady streams of thick, white ropes into you until they’re gasping for air. Nagi exits first, inching his veiny dick out of you with an audible pop. As soon as Barou backs away, the feeling of emptiness takes over and only then do you realize how much they’ve worked it out.
You want to say something, anything, but you feel yourself drifting off, the bright but welcoming soreness aches all over your body. Before your vision fades, you hear the soft calls of your name and feel the slow raking of fingers through your hair, loving every second of it.
You roll around in the bed, stretching your body out and enjoying the comfort of the plush blankets draped over your shoulders and the warmth of the two bodies next to you. Unconsciously, you begin to giggle as you slowly pull yourself out of sleep, kicking against a firm leg.
A light groan and heavy arm sprawls across your body right after. You open your eyes at last, shaking away the grogginess only to find Barou staring longingly right besides you. He’s propped up, elbow resting against the pillow, as his long, dark locks carefully frame his face as he examines yours.
With his hand on your waist, Barou pulls on you softly while squinting blearily. “Mornin’.”
“Good morning,” you whisper back. You try to shift around, leaning up to deliver a chaste kiss to his cheek, only to miss and hit his bare chest instead. Soreness ebbs all over your body, primarily your inner thighs and stomach, a reminder of last night’s little apology.
“You’re too damn eager, aren’t you?”
“After the stunt you guys pulled, who wouldn’t be?”
“Consider it lucky,” Barou runs a hand through your hair, slowly to avoid any of the tangled knots. “It was a last minute plan.”
“Ooh?” your eyebrows shoot up. “Didn’t know you were able to convince Sei to do all of that on such little notice.”
Barou chews the inside of his cheek, his face tight, seemingly admitting in defeat. “Wasn’t my idea.”
“Then—”
You feel the mattress dip beside you and then some stirring. Turning around, you greet Nagi with a bright, warm smile, even though he’s still very much groggy.
“Good morning, Sei,” you reach out to pet his hair, marveling at how soft it is, no matter how many times you’ve touched it before. “Wanna get breakfast soon?”
He stirs again with a groan, winding the sleep out of his eyes with his fists and looks around the room before landing on your face. He mimics a smile back.
“Mhm, let’s…” Nagi drapes his arms and legs over your bodies, a lazy attempt of a horizontal group hug. He doesn’t bother opening his eyes as he says, “Let’s stay like this for a while, yeah?” His hands fumble around, feeling the peak of your breasts and giving them a small squeeze.
Barou doesn’t shove off Nagi’s thighs from his lap—at least, not immediately. You quickly recognize it as an affectionate gesture, especially with the way he gingerly places it down. He rolls his eyes and huffs, but if you look any closer to your boyfriend’s face, you realize that he’s trying to hide any hint of satisfaction on his lips.
⊹ ˚. BAROU SHOEI ┊ tags. . 18+, professional player barou, established relationship, afab reader, pussy inspection, oral sex (f! receiving), praising. divider creds: cafekitsune.
You are comfortable. Barou's bed has always felt that way to you. Your back rests on the soft mattress, your body sinks just a little into the blue sheets with white triangular patterns. The room smells clean as always and of the lavender spray in which Barou bathes every space in the room after he comes out of showering after a long match.
The ceiling fan makes a barely audible noise which you catch, recognizing for the first time about three weeks ago after years of spending time in his room. The window is open too, helping to keep you from breaking a sweat.
You have a pillow under your head, one on your lower back and, you're comfortable… You might even fall asleep, if of course, you weren't so excited to pay attention to him.
You crane your neck to get a better look at him and see exactly what he's doing, what he's looking for.
"Shoei…"
"Hold still," he growls, grabbing a restless foot that moves over the width of his shoulder.
"I wasn't planning on going anywhere—," you tell him, even though you know he's not paying attention to you, not to what you have to say at least.
Your stomach raises your hands with a deep inhale.
"What are you doing?" you want to stir beneath him again, acutely aware of what he's doing, or rather what he's not doing.
Every now and then you feel his fingers sinking the cotton of your panties between the folds of your pussy, other times his breath leads in hot swirls to your slit and, you know at this point your panties are soaked, dripping through them, making the material see-through.
"I'm watching." Barou replies, obvious. One thumb at a time strokes your clit in circles, the feel of the fabric kissing your sensitive area and you gasp slowly. "I can tell you like it when I do it."
"That's not—"
"Don't lie to me," he accuses you with a smile you can't see. You settle your posture again to watch, the air billowing over your heads brushes the sweat from your forehead and tousles Barou's dark strands in soft spirals. Across your 'M' shaped legs and the valley of your stomach, he gazes at you with narrowed eyes and a hunter's gaze. "You're so wet," he acknowledges, breaking the connection between his eyes to look at your pussy now.
He tosses the edge of your panties aside, the smell of sex and sweat wafts to your nose barely noticeable amidst the overpowering scent of lavender. Your breath hitches and your face feels even hotter. You know that it being summer only makes your heat that much worse.
With your pussy now naked under his nose, Barou can take a much better look at the mess he's created. His thumb helps him spread the folds apart, going up and down on the soft sensitive flesh of your inner labia.
"Hold your thighs for a moment," he commands, his voice husky.
You do so, grab the flesh just below your thighs and expand them further for him, with your feet now not on his shoulders but in the air you feel much more unsteady, weaker.
You are trembling as he squeezes your clit between index and middle fingers, as he slides a digit up your slit and your hole twitches at the sudden touch. Barou can sense your desire, noting how eager you are by the flushed hue that has taken over your pussy. Borou squeezes it, pinches it, uncovers it as if he is touching it for the first time, like a scientist experimenting. You are trembling, now harder, you call his name and regret it almost immediately.
Barou looks at you as if he hasn't touched you for days. His mouth is open, his lips wet with, perhaps sweat, his own saliva. His hair is black as if someone has tousled it with their fingers and his crimson eyes have turned dark.
"What, baby?" he asks as if he doesn't know what you want. "What is it?" he speaks after leaving a kiss on your thigh.
Your throat turns scratchy as soon as he lowers his head without losing eye contact, his tongue just a pinkish flash that you lose sight of after it sinks into you. A flat tongue lick that makes a mess of your juices, he tastes you, devours you. He takes your nectar on his tongue and swirls it around your clit, sucking and licking, increasing his stroke with each new taste.
Barou grabs your ass and pulls you further into his mouth. He raises his eyes and looks at you with your pussy in his mouth, shaking his head from side to side as he sucks on your clit.
You're not going to see him for days after today because of his practices and the big game he has at the end of the month. You know he has to concentrate, that he's not going to be distracted by seeing you in person because he can't think of anything but you when you're around, always full of devotion to you, so maybe this is his way of making you remember him, that you'll be thinking about him all those weeks until you see him again.
Barou sucks once more on your clit, your fingers loosen to grab his hair and yet he whimpers like a wounded animal. He pulls away with pursed lips from the sweet fruit he is devouring to bark— "Keep them open for me."
You do as he asks, and Barou alternates between fucking you with his thick tongue and licking your clit. Between the heat rising like an invisible fog that overwhelms you and his punishing tongue leaving you no room to escape, you have no choice but to cum in his mouth, arching your back and falling further into the trap that was him.
"Give it all to me," Barou rolls the words on his tongue, full of possession, full of egotism, proud to know that there is no one in the world who can taste you the way he does.
And this is all he will think about in the match. Every goal he scores, he'll get him closer to being with you and going home. Every game he wins, he knows it will be an orgasm he's going to give you.
"That's my girl. Drink water, you're going to give me another one."
𝓼𝔂𝓷𝓸𝓹𝓼𝓲𝓼: Barou seems to have enough of your godawful dating life. What he doesn’t know is that you’ve reached your breaking point, too.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚: explicit content ﾉ 18+ ﾉ fem!afab!reader ﾉ friends to lovers ﾉ idiots in love ﾉ roommates AU ﾉ barou centric ﾉ soft love making bc he's a CLB duh ﾉ narration heavy ﾉ kinda mean to reader but it all means well ﾉ first time/virginity loss ﾉ dry humping ﾉ fingering ﾉ missionary ﾉ no beta we die like men
wc: 8.5k (longest smut fic i've written thus far whew)
a/n: hello friends i am back hehe trying out a new format :3 and also a standalone barou fic because wow i've always paired this guy w nagi sjakhdkajdfh pls give me more hair down barou im begging on my fuckin knees
“Promise me that you won’t get mad,” you peek around the door frame, head poking into Barou’s room.
“The hell did you do this time,” Barou tries to keep his voice casual, red eyes flickering from his computer monitor to your face, then back again. Frankly, he has no idea what you’re possibly referring to, but whenever you’re vague like this, it’s usually not a good thing.
Your brows knit together and you clench the sides of the door. “You gotta promise me, Shouei.”
It has to be something bad, at least in his mind, because you’re trying really hard to look convincing. He can make out the small fidgeting motions by just how hard your knuckles are gripping against the door frame. Barou exhales and pauses, and it’s for a long, rare moment. He’s always the type of guy to say whatever comes to mind, and it’s usually a whole bunch of unfiltered harsh truths and things that others don't want to hear. It’s rare that Barou is actually picking his words carefully and, of course, that catches your attention even more.
“Shouei…”
After a few seconds, Barou manages to narrow the possibilities down to three.
The first answer being the obvious choice: you’re planning to invite a bunch of your friends over for a last minute party. Your friends are loud, messy, and a bit too friendly towards him despite the numerous times he’s yelled at them. Whatever, he’s used to this by now. Afterall, he’s been living with you at this apartment for well over a year now—four years if he counts the amount of times you’ve crashed at his dorm during his time in high school and university.
The second outcome might be directly related to the second half: you’re moving out. Could it be a new job opportunity with better pay? Hell, he’s seen you hunched over and obsessively scrolling through multiple job posting sites these past few months that he’s had a feeling that the day will come sooner or later. But it wouldn’t be something that Barou could see himself getting frustrated over.
Which only leads to the third option: you’ve somehow brought home a stray animal and expect him to be okay with it—
“Okay, dude, you’re seriously starting to freak me out.”
Barou snorts and rolls his eyes. “Can’t promise if I don’t know what it is,” and motions at the empty space by the edge of his bed. “Whatever you brought back home, though, it’s a no. You know I have a cat allergy.”
“I wouldn’t bring an animal home without telling you! Plus, that’s such a lie because you had a cat growing up,” you flush brightly and glower. Needless to say, you end up shuffling past the door frame, into full view, and Barou quickly realizes what you’re referring to, and why you’re acting so agitated.
Breath quickly catches in Barou’s lungs. He averts his gaze, looks back, and clenches his jaw—all in a matter of seconds.
“You’re… dressed up,” he’s pretty sure his face is all contorted, because you’re suddenly acting meek again.
“Don’t give me that look,” your hands fly up and do a poor job covering your chest and exposed thighs.
A form fitting dress is the last thing he’d ever imagined you in, then again, you were never the type to actively show off your feminine outfits in front of him—lounging around in nothing but sweats and an oversized tee is a sight he’s more used to—until now.
“I don’t normally see you wearing stuff like this,” he tries to make the words casual and dismissive, though he’s very aware that he’s just admitted that he pays close attention to you. And, for whatever reason, he has the burning urge to tear himself away, before the tiny voice in his head starts taunting him to go even lower. “Why are you even showing me?”
“Y’know, I had an explanation to give you, but now you sound borderline pissed,” you begin to tip toe back behind the door frame, slowly.
“I always sound borderline pissed,” Barou adds. He’s paused his task at the desk, computer monitor on mute, and the room is exceptionally quiet, except for the low, hesitant creaks from the floor panels. After another moment of studying your face, he exhales and shakes his head. “Let me guess… a date?”
“Oh,” you look momentarily surprised, or maybe that’s just his imagination. You revert back almost immediately though. “How’d you figure it out so quickly?”
If it weren’t for those damn career boosting sites, the second most used apps would be those stupid dating ones.
Both of your parents work all the time, business partners even, so it’s been mainly the two of you left to your own devices at a young age. Barou didn’t have many friends growing up, outside of you and his sisters, if he can even count them.
You’re generally introverted by nature, but somehow you seem to attract people who seem to lack common boundaries and have a strange affinity to soccer. Of course, that includes him, your friends, and all the dates you try and bring back—Barou never lets them go past the shoe rack and, thankfully, your dates always seemed too afraid to object.
Your parents think that it’s a blessing of some sort. That he’s your personal guardian or a shitty guard dog to keep out unwanted men. Something about keeping you safe, another comment about being a good future son-in-law. Conversations with your relatives always tend to steer from topics of career goals, the amount of savings you have, to relationship status, and—ultimately—hey, Shouei’s available, right? Of course, you two don’t have that type of relationship.
Barou is observant, despite what others might think. Observant enough to know that you get uncomfortable when the idea of the two of you being together comes up. You tend to go quiet, then flustered, all before storming off to your own room. Maybe that’s why you spend all your energy into those dating apps—a weird rebellion phase of sorts.
He wants to chastise you, hoping it’ll lead towards you finding another pastime that consists of less unimpressive dicks. Perhaps picking up more books would be well suited for you. Though, upon recent apartment cleanings, he’s stumbled upon plenty of your obscured romance novels. The type of novels that the covers consist of half naked men in cowboy attire with the classic damsel in distress in his arms—Barou doesn’t understand why anyone reads that stuff—piled up all on the living room coffee table.
Scolding you is definitely on top of his to-do list right about now, second to decluttering the fridge. Advising that you can’t blindly trust men on these shitty platforms because god knows what they lie about to get a person’s attention. But he has a feeling that you’ll brush him off, spouting an all too familiar speech that you’ve given him plenty of times before about not being a kid. It’s probably a dumb idea, and he knows that.
So, instead, he shrugs and ignores the anxious buzzing tugging at the back of his mind. “An educated guess.”
“Oh, hm,” you go quiet at that and he isn’t entirely sure why that makes him nervous. “Do I look weird?”
“What?”
You tilt your head. “You’re staring. Like deep in thought.”
So much for keeping his expression neutral.
“Hmph,” Barou snaps his gaze back to his monitor, observing you from its reflection.
His awareness of your dress comes in levels of recognition. First is material: even from the distance he’s sitting, he can tell with a quick eye that it’s from some sort of designer brand. The silk fabric clings to your figure as if it was made for you, worshiping every curve and kissing your features perfectly. Second is how you chose to style it: the adjustments made to your chest is purposeful, making your cleavage the centerpiece while your neckline draws attention to it. Third is his own reaction to it: his mind races to the thought of how unfair everything suddenly feels.
“It’s nothing. It’s just—it’s different from the usual, that’s all.” An awkward beat and, “You don’t look weird.”
You lean back on your heels, body now coming back into view, and there’s a small grin. Looking closer, he sees that you’ve got your makeup and nails done, too.
“What? You’re coming at me for relationship advice now?” Barou asks, after a moment. “I’ve got nothing to say.”
“Your big mouth always has something to say,” you look at him with quirked brows.
He sighs airily. “Who cares, it’s not like you’ll listen,” then rolls his eyes. It’s a bit of an exaggeration, of course, but you’re quite literally one of the most stubborn people he’s ever come across.
Barou’s familiar with your on and off dating sprees before, and in the beginning he did loosely hand out some advice—even though most of the information came from all those dumb teen magazines he found in his sisters’ rooms. It’s almost like a damn script by how it plays out: obsess over a mediocre guy, go on a date or two, and be extremely disappointed when they don’t live up to your expectations.
It’s been about three months since your last date, and Barou doesn’t understand how this one might end up any different.
As if you’ve read his mind, you begin to explain, “We’ve been texting for a few days now. He seems super nice over video call, likes to cook, has a stable job—”
“Hate to break it to you, but that’s the bare minimum.”
“Shouei,” you grumble, “be nice.”
He feels his eyes narrow, lips pressing thin. “You planning to bring him back or something?” Barou can’t seem to mask the edge in his voice.
“If everything goes well, then yeah,” you look relatively proud of yourself. “Which is why I’m asking you to not scare him away—you’re capable of doing that, right?”
“It’s not gonna happen regardless,” the words roll out almost too naturally for both of your comfort, “something always goes wrong, anyways.”
Your lips press thin, weight shifting subtly between your feet. “Don’t be such a dick. I’m bringing a guy back this time.”
Barou doesn’t know what to say. What the fuck can he say? All he knows is that this is making him feel more annoyed than usual. You’ve got to be aware of that, right?
You two have fought before, of course. Nothing ever goes well when it deals with two stubborn individuals. Thankfully, none of the arguments have never escalated past mild inconveniences. Barou can’t seem to remember when’s the last time you’ve actually gotten angry, though. He imagines it being similar to his mom, or sisters, and it’s terrifying because you’re giving him that look—one where you’re a comment away from swatting everything off his desk.
His brows draw together for a moment, eyes squinting, before regaining his ground. He bites back his tongue. “Do what you want.”
“So, I take it that you’re not…?”
Barou scoffs, drumming his fingers against the desk. “Why would I be mad? I’m not in charge of you.”
It’s over a late dinner when Barou finally checks his messages. He sees a few notifications under your name, and he pauses. He doesn’t know why he’s hesitating, there’s a strange churning feeling in his stomach and suddenly he’s lost his appetite. Barou flips his phone down at the table before discarding his utensils, and the look Isagi gives him is a weird one.
“Everything alright there?”
“I’m not mad.”
Across from him, Isagi leans against the kitchen counter and laughs. “Didn’t say you were,” he picks at his dinner plate with a tilted head. “So, erm, why did you call me over here again? Something about a problem…? You still haven’t gotten to that part.”
“Everything’s fine. I’m fine. Not a damn problem around in this shithole. Fucking perfect around here,” he’s suddenly hot with anger.
Isagi replies to this with a vague handwave. “If I had to guess, someone’s out on a date, again, and you haven’t done much about it.”
Barou shoots him a scathing glare. Thinks of denying for a moment. Doesn’t. “Why bother asking if you already knew?”
Like him, Isagi is oddly extremely aware of everything and everyone. On and off the playing field. Which probably explains why he’s both the coach and fan favorite of the bunch. And more of a reason why Barou is stuck third in line for most sponsorships, right behind Itoshi Rin. Well, whatever, he was never a people’s pleaser to begin with. Though, it is nice having him around to vent to—if you count offering to cook dinner in tense silence while going over sporting logistics—because Isagi Yoichi doesn’t judge. Unless your name is Kaiser, then that’s a whole different story.
A shrug. “Wanted to hear it from you, though that might’ve taken all night.” It’s not a tease.
No matter how rough and rugged Barou looks, he can’t wipe the knowing smile off of Isagi’s features.
“So,” Isagi continues, “how long before you miss out on your chance? A few months? Days? Right now?”
He lowers the volume on the TV and shoves another bite in. “Most likely never. If anything goes down south, that’ll be on me.”
“You’re thinking about this carefully,” Isagi observes, earning him another annoyed look. “It’s a good thing—you’re usually, uh, headstrong and tenacious most of the time.” It’s kinda a compliment, Barou thinks.
“We live together,” he emphasizes, “that’s different.”
“For how long, though? At this point it feels like you’re doing this to yourself.” The corners of Isagi’s lip raise, just a little. “Have you tried seeing if she likes you back?”
Barou scowls and absently fiddles with his hair, still a bit damp from the shower earlier. “What’s with that question? If I knew then I wouldn’t be inviting you over here, dumbass.”
A beat or two. He stares at the wall for a moment and cracks.
“If she liked me back then I doubt she’d be out right now with some random guy,” Barou hates how whiny his voice sounds. He’s not the type to openly complain, especially not with his feelings like this. With Isagi, however, it seems like he brings that side out of everyone. What a weirdo.
The younger male simply smiles. “Maybe look into her dating history, you might be able to figure out some patterns.”
“Like I’m some sort of masochist.”
“Well, you’re currently spending your Saturday evening watching football highlights with me, and I think that’s telling by itself.”
Barou doesn’t take the bait, doesn’t bother to say anything to that. He just shoves a spoonful of rice in his mouth and half-distractedly finishes watching a previous games’ highlight on the TV. A quarter way through, and he feels himself starting to drift off.
Isagi’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and that’s a surprising relief to Barou. The younger male lets out a small noise, sets his empty plate in the sink, letting water and soap soak it up for a bit, and fishes his phone out. A few seconds and he starts making his way towards the door, gym bag in hand.
“Rin’s asking to see me for something,” he mindlessly explains while slipping on his shoes. “Guess I’m gonna have to pass on keeping you company tonight, bud.” Isagi says this with a bit of playfulness, but he shoots him a look of sympathy when his hand reaches the knob.
It makes Barou flinch, badly. “Go home, dumbass.”
Once Isagi leaves the premises, he goes back to his own devices. Watching sporting highlights soon went stale, so he opted to watch a drama that you’ve been raving about a while back.
It has an interesting start. The main lead somehow paraglides her way into a foreign country and the tall, handsome, and stoic—your words, not his—military officer has to take care of her.
He remembers, when you first discovered the drama, the main actor was all you could talk about. Sure, he’s your typical standard silent, tough guy trope, but you were especially smitten over him.
“The way he looks after her, the yearning and the need, it’s just—” you would wave your body back and forth, at a loss for words.
The ending credits snaps him out of the small lull and, out of curiosity, Barou browses through his social apps and thumbs your handle into the search bar. You guys are mutual friends, so this shouldn’t feel weird. Though, if he’s being honest with himself, he really, really doesn’t care much for what other people do in their spare time. Looking at his own account, there’s only two posts and both of them are cringey gym mirror selfies from several years ago.
So Barou doesn’t really know what to expect when he looks through your recent story highlights.
There’s a picture of a fancy looking latte with an equally fancy looking cheese foam design on top. The guy’s out of the frame, but he can make out an arm with a decked out watch in the corner. Another picture and this time it features a set of flaky chocolate pastries on a square plate with red sauce paired on the side. The third picture makes Barou pause, because it’s a selfie of you and some guy. From appearance alone, the guy is conventionally attractive, but he also has an extremely punchable face. White collared button up shirt, except for the plain fact that it’s wild open and his damn chest hairs are poking out. He’s got his hands around your waist, his stubbled chin pressed extremely close to yours, looking into the camera as if you belonged to him.
He feels his head throbbing, almost full of cotton, and he shuts his phone off, tossing it onto the far end of the couch. Barou doesn’t bother to clean the dishes, at least not yet. He sets his dirty plate aside, letting it soak in the sink alongside with the other bowls. It’s not until after another hot, long shower that Barou starts stress cleaning the apartment.
And, yeah, vacuuming the living room and running the loud dishwasher at nearly midnight is pretty outrageous and, frankly, dramatic—even for someone like him. By the time he’s done destressing, the air wafts with lemon essential oils and a hint of antiseptic scent. Eventually, after everything, he crawls under the blankets and lies still for a long time before the hint of sleep catches up.
It’s one in the morning when he hears you coming home; heels wobbling against the wooden panels, faint mumbling with a drawl, and sounds of keys hitting the small trinket bowl by the front door. He thinks maybe he should go see you, but stops himself halfway. Barou doesn’t know what he’ll do, how he’ll react, if you come back with smeared lipstick stains on your face, or if you smell like musk— like some stupid, rich casanova’s cologne.
Barou’s just about to pull the covers back over his head when a noise from the living room jolts him wide awake. A loud clatter, body hitting a surface, and he snaps his attention away. And, luckily for him, you just smelled like straight alcohol.
“I should’ve never gone out, I should’ve just…” A beat, followed by a series of painful groans.
You’re definitely tipsy from whatever drink that’s in your system. From what Barou can tell, it was strong.
“Did you take anything else?” It’s a rhetorical question but he keeps his voice quiet, low, and observes you from the couch.
You’re half slumped over, limbs hanging all over the place and your trench coat is doing an awful job at covering up your promiscuous dress. Tired exhaustion plagues all over. Barou quickly covers you with a spare throw blanket on the side.
He tries to get you off the couch, as carefully as he can, and you nearly jump out of your skin from the proximity. Your eyes are glazed, mouth slightly dry and slack, and some of your makeup has smudged—whether it’s from the date or the excessive tossing and turning, Barou doesn’t really want to know. What he does know is that you’re close, now actively leaning into his touch, and your eyes meet, and he’s yet again faced with that strange fire rushing through him.
He swears under his breath, lifting you into his arms.
There’s a million things he wants to say, majority of them being half-ass insults and I told you so, but none of that seems appropriate. His face is only inches away from yours. Barou quickly realizes that his mouth has gone dry and his tongue feels heavy. His recent reactions towards you have been… confusing, to say the least.
You stir, hand shooting up to hold your head. “Is he gone?”
“Your shitty date?”
“Mhm,” your head droops to the side. “That asshole…”
He scoffs, and makes a mental note to personally beat up the guy who left you while you’re like this. “He’s not here.”
“Fuck, thank god,” your eyes hover on his neck. It catches him off-guard. You swallow, and a strange expression flicks across your face, a bit unreadable and different from your usual wasted self. “You were right, sorry.”
For a moment, he thinks he’s in a dream; that he’s still in university, still checking up on you in-between his classes and labs—out of courtesy from your family, and being on the receiving end whenever you get your hopes up.
He shuts his eyes and opens them.
“Let’s get you to bed.”
Barou hears every heavy thump that his heart makes as he carries you to your room. His eyes keep shifting all over your body, whether he means to or not. Most of it is out of concern, your face looks terribly dazed and you’re warm all over, even if you keep insisting that it was just one drink. You’ve never been a heavy drinker, no matter how many times you tried to train your lack of alcohol tolerance. He wonders if he should let you sleep in what you’re currently wearing but, after quick consideration, you’d probably feel extremely uncomfortable the next day.
You press into the warmth of his shoulder, against his neck, then exhale. “I’m a pretty shitty friend, aren’t I?”
“What?” Barou’s eyes flick down the hall, then back to you.
“Ugh,” you make a face. “You know what I mean. How I’m always so tunnel vision when it comes to shit like this…”
“Then just stop,” he feels his face tightening ever so slightly, the unfiltered words unclogging. “Everytime this happens. Why bother going through with it?”
“You wouldn’t understand.” You laugh a little, and it’s half bitterness, half joy—something a little broken and somehow Barou immediately understands.
He watches, almost morbidly, the way your eyes subtly linger on parts of his body for a moment, before sighing. A hesitant, unspoken conversation stuck in your throat, and all at once, Barou wants to scream.
But he doesn’t.
He feels flames crawling up the back of his neck when you snuggle closer into his arms. Thankfully, before he can further combust, he’s pushing his way into your dimmed bedroom.
Barou takes a careful glance around in the dark, noting the familiar scent of you, the numerous prints that hang from the eggshell colored walls, and the small pile of clothes on your desk chair. He’s only been in your room once before, but that was just to help you settle in, so he’s never really paid attention to your surroundings. Now, though, as he lays you on top of the mattress, he notices everything in this room just screams who you are, and he realizes that maybe he should’ve said his piece earlier to avoid all of this together.
The idea fizzles out when Barou feels you tugging loosely on his wrist before letting it fall against the mattress.
“Shouei,” you call out, reaching for his hand again.
He absolutely hates the way he instantly stops and holds you, cherishing the warmth of your skin. Your fingers shakily curl around his, and Barou can’t help but squeeze back. His heart is thundering against his chest, and he’s making it painfully obvious that his breathing is erratic.
After a moment, he clears his throat. “What are you doing?”
His blood has rushed so high to his head that it’s the only thing he can hear, clogging up in his veins and leaving him feeling like he has to cling onto you for dear life. Barou isn’t quite sure what’s happening here, still disbelieving at the way you’re batting your eyes at him, eyes brimming with tears and lips puckered.
“Stay with me, please,” you mumble.
Barou lets out an airy breath, and hears himself saying your name. He’s so confused by all the fucking emotions hitting him right now, and it doesn’t help the fact that his voice gets so soft and tender when he calls out for you. His hand twitches against yours.
This isn’t fair, this isn’t fair, this isn’t—
“You’re drunk,” he finally manages to respond.
His crimson eyes trace your face in the dark, and makes out the shine of wetness on your lips when they part. You lift your eyes, and they instantly hook him in. He resists the urge to lean forward. And, just as instantly, he wants to kneel down, close his eyes, and exist anywhere but this moment.
“I’m not,” you continue and tug him closer, forcing him to sit on the mattress. Your words come out more as hot breath. He definitely smells it but, if he’s being honest with himself, you’re usually not this desperate.
Needless to say, it’s still a concerning fact. “You’re not yourself.”
You squeeze harder, brows furrowed. “I know what I’m doing and what I want.”
Barou tears away from your mouth and glances back into your eyes, studying them closely. You’re still clamped onto his hand, and he knows you’re burning on edge, too. Undoubtedly, he’s half-mast in his pants, and he’s very aware of that, as you slowly rise up, eyeing him with an expression that can only be described as hunger.
“We’ll talk in the morning, idiot.”
“What’s your deal?”
I should be the one asking that.
Barou stares at you for a long moment, The silence is heavy, suffocating. The bed shifts, and in that second, that quiet desperate hope, becomes even more evident. His grip tightens, just a little, and there’s that building headache pulsing through his temple. He really shouldn’t be here, entertaining whatever this is. What he should be doing is sleeping, it’s midnight and, fuck, he has to go to practice tomorrow, but you…
“Are you even listening to me?”
“I am,” his voice is rough when he answers, words dripping with heavy caution. “Even if you aren’t wasted, you’re acting like a real piece of work, right now. None of this shit is funny.”
“I’m not trying to be—I’m being serious,” you reply, but your lips are trembling.
Barou’s stomach lurches and he swallows back a groan, not the pleasure kind. “What do you want me to do?”
Suddenly, you shift restlessly, as if taken aback. “Stay by my side.”
“I know that,” he breathes in, and out. “I asked if there’s anything you want me to do?”
The moonlight creeps past your curtains and coats you in various shades of silver. It’s then, Barou realizes, that he's afraid of what your answer might be. He’s taken care of you hundreds of times before, it’s become second nature for him to look after you, but now this feels foreign—almost daunting when you’re looking just as scared.
But, scared as you are, you lean forward, steadying your palms onto his broad shoulders. It burns his skin at contact, but he steels himself, watching your lips part slowly. Focusing—absolutely fucking focusing—on the way that they move and the damn syllables that come right after.
He feels like dying when the words finally register.
“Kiss me.”
Barou stills, pressing a palm against the mattress and clenches his jaw, running his tongue hard against his teeth. He opens his mouth to reply—and immediately snaps it shut. It’s when you make a small dip in the bed that he recovers, gears running over a hundred miles an hour in his mind. “You want that?”
“Don’t make me repeat it,” your eyes wander all over his face and the intensity almost burns his skin. “It’s embarrassing enough that I’m doing it like this…”
Barou stares in awe. His throat feels tight and his chest clenches uncomfortably. “Doing what?”
A frown erupts on your face and you’re visibly frustrated, more flustered. “Why are you choosing tonight to be a dense prick? Do you need me to spell it out for you? I’m confessing to you. I like you—god, this is so fucking stupid—I’ve liked you since grade school, throughout college, and now! The dates, the guys, none of them work out because they’re not you. Do you know how many times a guy is saying some shit and I’m sitting there thinking ‘Shouei wouldn’t say that’ or when I’m trying to find a guy that looks kinda like you, and even that’s fucking impossible—that’s how much you’re on my mind!”
Your confession—honesty—hangs in the air and Barou nearly chokes on it. You make a low, undignified sound, and press your back against the headboard, looking absolutely anywhere but him. Barou, on the other hand, hears nothing but pounding in his eardrums. He’s not sure if that’s his heartbeat, or yours. There’s a feeling of tight strings tugging at his chest again, a painful ache being left behind. After a moment, the bed creaks.
“Okay,” he breathes, and swallows around that awful lump in his throat.
“Okay?” your voice cracks embarrassingly. “I pour out my feelings and all you say is ‘okay’? This is worse than a rejection. Yoichi said the worst thing you could say is ‘no’ and—”
“Wait, that idiot knows about this?”
“That’s what you’re focused on? Ugh, forget it, I’ve said too much already!”
“Stop,” Barou’s face contorts into a heavy scowl, taking slight offense. “God, sometimes you ramble on so much that it’s hard to take everything at face value.”
He hesitantly presses a palm to your cheek and holds it there, watching your sudden stiff reaction. He shudders, slowly, before dusting the palm across your cheek, ears, hair, and settles it against the back of your head. He’s aware of his breathing, shaky and full of nerves. Barou moves closer until he can feel your breath fanning over his lips.
Before he can say anything else, you lean up and press your lips softly against his. They’re surprisingly soft, he realizes. There’s no heat to it, just a plush press of warmth, a little bit of pressure, and you’re silently swearing under your breath when you pull back.
“Oh god, was that dumb? Am I being stupid right now or what?” Your hands fly up, cradling your face. A muffled scream, then a groan. “I’m sorry—I don’t know what I was thinking! You—me, we were—argh!” Your body retracts back, knee pressing up against your chest as you begin to lean away from him, almost in disgust with yourself.
Barou begins to feel a strange surge in his stomach and gnaws the insides of his cheek. The unusual warmth comes back and, this time, it settles between his legs, but there’s more to that. It was a small, soft kiss—barely long enough to be classified as one. He watches you fidget more before snapping.
“Do you know how to fucking relax?” Barou adjusts his grip behind your head, tangles his fingers in your hair, and drags you back in for another.
This time, it’s lasting, a more proper kiss, and he feels you getting lost in it. Your hands fumble their way back onto his body, finding ground on his thighs and leaning forward into the heat. Barou makes sure that his grip in your hair isn’t too tight, but warm and full of affection, and it makes you moan quietly, mouth parting and allowing his tongue to swipe over your lips.
Hardly any words are exchanged while he kisses you, slowly becoming more frenzied, drowning in the wet heat, tongues curling and hands roaming. There’s a steady, painful throbbing eagerness between Barou’s legs, and he’s positive that you can feel it.
It’s overwhelmingly awkward and stupid, how worked up you both are from just a bit of kissing; from taking turns ghosting each other’s jaws and necks, to hands blindly groping and snaking under clothing to get a squeeze at bare skin. You lean up again, lips tracing the contours of his jaw, and shift a hand down, curling your fingers through his sweats and around his length. A light, breathy noise slips out of him and he feels you pulling away, eyes half-lidded, lips swollen from the heavy makeout session.
“I, um, take it that you like me back…?” You ask quietly, tugging Barou out of his trance.
He blinks, feeling the tips of his ears flushing with warmth. “You really know how to ruin the mood, don’t you?”
“I-I just need confirmation, stupid!”
“Maybe,” Barou confesses, his voice wavers just a little as he speaks. His body shifts with you in his arms, palms cupping both sides of your face. When you refuse to meet his eyes, he huffs. “Look at me. I wouldn’t do this to just anyone if I didn’t like them.”
You make a low, unpleasant noise. “So, you’ve done this with others? I don’t want to think about that.”
Barou’s chest tangles over itself again and, for a moment, being with you feels just a little less daunting. His posture stiffens, then goes lax in a quick second. He could honestly ask you the same thing, whether or not some of the men you’ve matched with have showered you in affection like this but, given your behavior, it seems like you’ve been hesitant and selective. If Barou’s being honest, he’s glad it’s that way.
“Then we don’t have to,” he surges forward, forcing his head down to catch your gaze before capturing your lips in surprise once more.
Eventually, he ends up hovering over you. You’re lying on the mattress, head semi-propped up against the pillows with half of his body weight on top of you—not too heavy, but not too comfortable. Barou’s vaguely aware of what this might lead to, with the look you’re giving him—with the look he’s giving you. He should really go to bed, or else he’s going to wake up with a migraine and a sore neck. But your cheek is nuzzled against his palm, he’s got his other hand running through your hair, soft and lazy, and he’s finding himself grinding against your lower half almost pathetically.
It’s impossible to put his thoughts into coherent sounds when your fingers work at his pants and manage to free his erection, springing it heavily against his stomach. Barou’s mind short-circuits, body jerking in reaction, with the slow, experimental pump of your fist around his aching cock. The look you’re currently giving him is mesmerizing, and it makes him feel as if he’s the most powerful person in the world.
He’s not sure how far you’re willing to go, especially since this feels like your first for everything. You adjust your hand around his length and let it run for a few more strokes. It feels foreign and electric at the same time, softer than his own hands that’s for sure. After you brush your thumb over his tip, smearing the pre, Barou immediately tries shielding himself from you, face buried in his shoulder, and swallows back a rumbling moan.
You pause, hand loosely wrapped around his base, frowning. “Is it bad? I’ll stop if…”
“No,” Barou clasps a hand over yours, squeezes, and sets a slow, firm pace. He shudders again when you adjust your position, hot breath fanning over his tip. “You don’t have to go down—”
“I want to,” you look at him with pleading eyes. “I want to make you feel good, Shouei.”
His mind goes through a whirlwind of possibilities, debating the urge to either run or dominate. Barou closes his eyes, breathing deeply in order to steady himself before he fully loses it. His cock twitches and your hand is clinging around him like a mold.
“Please,” you moan, a plea that’s both an invitation and a surrender, and it’s that damn voice that cuts through his brain fog.
You make a small noise of confusion when he pulls you back, and settles you flat against the mattress. Disappointment flicks across your face but disappears as quickly as it came when his palms make contact with your legs. He carefully watches you squirm, thighs pressing together, when he starts hiking up the dress past your waist and eventually off your body.
Barou sucks in his teeth, eyes drinking in your shy figure underneath him as he stares at your heaving chest, stomach, and plump thighs. He swears under his breath, hesitating for just a moment, before slipping a hand lower, past the barrier of your panties.
A strangled moan catches in his throat as he discovers the slick heat from your arousal, thick fingers pressing gently at the entrance. Your face casts a wild, bewildered look and you throw your head back, hand covering the lower half of your face.
“D-Don’t tease me…”
Barou clicks against his teeth. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
Almost entranced, he stares at your slick center, folds glistensing and your clit practically pulsing with need. His fingers tremble, exploring with hesitance born from innocence. The warmth between your thighs is new, intoxicating, and downright terrifying. With each careful, slow, tentative touch, the sound of his name spilling from your lips is like a sacred plea and it ignites a spark within him.
He can’t wait any longer.
Barou groans as he rubs his padded fingers in between your dewy folds and slides in, a tight and perfect fit that draws a gasp from both parties. Your walls flutter around him almost instantaneously, paired by high pitched mews rolling off your tongue. He watches your knuckles fist the sheets as he starts his slow, stretching movements.
Your body squirms under his onslaught, thighs threatening to press closer from the sensitivity but he settles a firm grip on one of them. The sight of you under him, vulnerable and consuming, with hot tears springing out of the corners of your eyes, drives him over the edge. His fingers pick up speed inside, soon turning relentless, scissoring your gummy walls at a pace that you struggle to keep your volume low. Barou watches you throw a hand over your mouth when his thumb starts rolling over your clit in slow but purposeful circles. The scent of sex drenches him, listening to you mew and beg, his heavy cock leaking all over your thigh when you begin to raise your hips.
“Shouei,” you moan out, skin glistening and wet, flushed from the heat. Your fingers grasp sloppily against his biceps, sending shivers down his arms. “I want to take care of you, too.”
He spreads your legs even further out, applying more pressure to your core. Seeing the sight of you buckling your hips, grinding so shamelessly down on his fingers, brings him more pleasure than it should. Hearing the sighs and whines you babble out tells him everything he needs to know.
Barou raises his lips to your temple as he picks up the pace, groaning from the lewd sounds below. “Finish for me first, I don’t like owing favors,” he starts kissing your throat, tongue tracing over your sweet spots as your walls start fluttering around his digits.
Your hands land on his biceps, clutching his body as close to yours as possible while you calm down from the rush, unable to stop the way you're wailing his name right into his ear. It isn’t until Barou releases his fingers that he realizes that his sweats are now soaked from your orgasm.
“I'm sorry...” You sharply turn your head away, pleasure quickly replaced by embarrassment.
Barou carefully brushes the hair out of your eyes and captures your lips in a sweet and tentative kiss. “Was gonna get rid of them anyway.”
"Oh," you breathe out, unable to form a more suitable response.
He gets up from the mattress and manages to free himself from the remainder of his clothes. Normally, he would toss them in a hamper, but tonight he’s kicking them to the side. Mild anxiousness and anticipation claws at his throat when he formally settles between your legs and, this time, your hands are back to poorly covering up your bare, flushed out body.
Barou furrows his brows and gently pulls them aside, already reading your thoughts. “Stop, you don’t look weird.”
“But—”
He bends down, hands kneading on the flesh of your breasts while his mouth latches onto the side of your neck. You struggle to keep your voice down and squirm under his touch, again. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers. “Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.”
It’s like he can almost see all the blood rushing towards your head when he pulls back. You’re nodding, shaking and quivering, and he can practically hear your heartbeat over his own.
“Let me know if I’m hurting you,” Barou’s amazed that he’s able to keep it together, that his voice is even, because your fingers are slowly guiding his cock towards your entrance.
He’s had a girlfriend in the past, though the intimacy has never gone past making out. He has a faint idea of how it should feel and what he should do, but all that thought gets thrown out when his tip presses softly against your wet folds. Everything starts to feel unbearingly hot and tight.
“I trust you,” you sharply inhale when the first few inches slide into the soft, heated space, and spread your legs wider. You shift against the mattress, a hand splaying on his chest while the other is fisting the sheets. “I trust you more than I trust myself, Shouei.”
He hisses in response to that, adjusting his length, and cranes his head back so he can avoid releasing everything right then and there. You bite back a loud moan as soon as he bottoms you out, your nails digging and leaving half crescent marks into his chest at the stretch.
“Shit—you’re so warm,” he steadies his breathing, and reaches out a hand, caressing your flushed cheeks. He carefully dives in to kiss your lips and then your throat, biting until he nearly breaks skin.
You shudder beneath him, responding with a noise that’s in between a moan and a laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re going to cum already?”
Barou ignores your taunting and scrapes his teeth along the ridge of your throat until he finds your earlobe, basking in the way you’re squeezing around him. “How you do want me to fuck you?”
Silence takes over as your answer, eyes widening at his response. A small thrust and he watches you wince from the stretch. Barou slows down his movements, pulling all the way out before sliding back into the hilt. Shocks of pleasure surges through his veins, and his throat rumbles with every tight pulse your velvety walls offer him, holding your hips steady as he builds up the rhythm.
Your moans and gasps send shivers down his whole body, arching your back as he finds the furthest point. Your grip on his chest tightens, fingers grasping, nails breaking the skin. Though, the pain is nothing compared to the binding pleasure Barou feels being buried deep around your enveloping, addicting warmth. His brain melts into a puddle, every nerve in his system heightens to a new level as you’re tightening around him.
You raise your hips higher, opening yourself and deepening the angle that he can thrust his way through. Barou’s browline pools in a thin veil of sweat as he works his way through it all, staring down at you in a silent, consumed gaze. He presses his hips forward and manages to find the spot that makes you violent and wild. The sound of his name shatters the air and you throw your head back, bliss screeching through both of your veins.
"Shouei, it’s too much," you cry out.
Barou sucks in his teeth, fingers pressing hard into your flesh. “Just breathe, you’re okay.”
He watches your eyes widen with a shaky nod. Your chest rises and falls, eyes frantically darting from the area between your legs up to his face in an attempt to calm yourself.
“I-I know, I know,” you respond, choked out and breathless.
Any consideration for neighboring guests in the complexes are abandoned as Barou pumps into you, his core tightening as every thrust brings him closer. Your walls and arousal coat around his cock with eagerness, as if afraid to let him go.
At the sight of you, teary-eyed and a babbling mess, Barou leans down and his mouth captures yours in another searing kiss that mutes your sounds. Your fingers shoot up, tangling in the mess of his long, black locks, pulling him closer until there’s no space left—until he feels nothing but wet skin and sheer desperation.
He buries his face in your neck, his hot breaths and pants tickling your skin as he senses the incoming orgasm. Barou shuts his eyes and lets his concentration break, mind fully focusing on the feeling of you swallowing him as he works his cock deep inside of you as he could go. All he can think about is how warm and tight everything feels, the sounds you’re making, how much he loves hearing you, and how long he’s been waiting for this moment. Now, with your cries of passion filling the room, back arched in a way he can't even fully describe, it’s more than he can handle, more than he can believe.
Your walls clench violently around him, one hand flying up and tugging at his hair so hard that it stings. But he’ll take it, Barou will endure all the pain and hunger from you knowing you’re cumming hard on his cock. He lets the pain ebb away, turning into waves of ecstasy. Your name falls from his lips and fills the dark room.
Barou bites back a moan and chews his lower lip, head nuzzled deep into your shoulder blade and hips stuttering as his vision goes blurry. Pleasure overtakes him, both immense pressure and the immediate release of it exploding in his skull, and he ends up gasping for air, legs jerking and body trembling as he releases inside of you.
He holds you tightly, rocking your body and panting against your warm skin as both of you try to catch your individual breaths as the aftershocks settle through. Everything stills, all that’s left are the low hums of the air conditioner and your frantic heartbeats. Barou isn’t sure how much time has passed when he finally feels his length go limp. Gently, he slips out and catches the way you moan in disapproval at the feeling of sudden emptiness.
He raises his head and meets your eyes, finding yours wet and half-lidded, completely fucked over. Lifting a thumb to wipe away the threatening tear, he rolls off and settles upright by the edge of the bed. The darkness strains his eyes, but he manages to find what he’s looking for. A few moments later and he hands you a few tissues from the bedside table and cranes his body.
“Are you okay?” Barou’s cautious of the volume of his voice, as if raising it an octave higher would break you even further.
Your breath hitches, wincing and moving meticulously to avoid spilling out all the contents on the sheets. “I think I am?”
“You sound unsure.”
“Well,” you prop up next to him, body curling tight together like a coil, head nudging against his bare shoulder. “We just had sex.”
The word almost slaps him in the face, making him sit up even straighter.
“We… did,” he said, slowly, and now feeling a certain way that he isn’t sure how to describe. Comfortable isn’t the right word, but it’s not exactly uneasy either. But that’s another step to think about, one that he probably won’t take today. He pauses for a moment, tongue heavy in his mouth, but pushes through and ignores the fretting in the back of his mind. “Do… Do you regret it?”
“No,” and you’re quick with it, despite avoiding eye contact. Instead, you curl your fingers around his bicep and squeeze hard. After a pregnant pause, you throw back the question. “How ‘bout you?”
“I don’t,” Barou finds himself equally as responsive, and he’s sure about a lot of things.
He’s sure he’s going to wake up tired and sore, but definitely is still going to out perform his other teammates tomorrow. He’s sure that one day he’ll surpass Isagi. And he’s sure that he wants to be here, with you. You two are best friends and… what, girlfriend and boyfriend now? It’s a crazy thought, but it has his heart fluttering like some dumb teenage romcom.
You simply nod, humming in deep thought, before reaching over and pulling him in for another kiss, and this time, it’s soft and delicate. Fragile, slow, and it has Barou clenching around the edge of the mattress. You’re both making quiet sounds, and he wants to keep going, but he can’t quite subdue that little bubbling jolt of fear in his head. And, because you’re stupidly observant at the strangest times, you pull back.
“We should… probably talk about this, right?”
“We should,” he agrees but, as soon as he glances at the time, exhaustion hits him like a freight train. Barou shudders and he allows gravity to take over, collapsing back onto the cold, wet mattress.
“Hey,” you shake him, enough to rouse some of the tiredness away. “Don’t crash here tonight, everything’s covered in sweat.”
He scoffs and turns over, relishing in the mild comfort. “You’re starting to sound exactly like me.”
“C’mon, Shouei,” he can’t exactly see you from this angle, but he imagines a big pout plastered over your face. “I mean it, let’s sleep in your room. This is like a sex bed…”
“Don’t call it that,” Barou cringes.
“I mean, technically it is. Y’know, couples get twin beds in hotel rooms all the time for that purpose and—”
“If we move to my room, will you promise me that you’ll be quiet and get some sleep?” Barou can slowly feel bags forming under his eyes.
Your weight shifts above him and you make a small noise of approval. “Sure, but no promises.”
It’s different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood.
(Or: Aventurine wins you in a game of poker. He decides to cash out his prize right then and there—to enjoy you on the card table, laid out among all the chips and cards.)
8.6k words of psychological issues, explicit smut, and deranged characterization. aventurine tops, reader bottoms. public sex, voyeurism from strangers, piv, oral (reader receiving), fingering with gloves on, creampie. mild dubcon but the reader is ultimately into it. afab gn reader, they are playing a fem-coded role for an espionage assignment (dress, heels, makeup). themes of objectification. discussion of slavery and sa during slavery (not explicit). dead dove do not eat, mdni.
You are in the grandest casino of Kinyoshi Moon Colony, and Aventurine is running your latest husband into life-ruining debt.
You aren’t cut up about it. If your marriage (or concubinage, rather) were genuine, you'd maybe be annoyed about the loss of capital. But as it is, this relationship is an assignment from the IPC—one of the longest and most excruciatingly boring yet. Fortunately for you, Aventurine’s presence tonight means that you've finally gathered enough intel for Diamond’s needs. It is time for the IPC to terminate your latest contract, and Aventurine is here to collect you.
Which is a little funny, given your relationship. It is strange sitting across from your boyfriend, draped over another man and thoroughly ignoring him. You’re entirely focused on fawning over your husband instead—laughing into his ear, lighting his pipe and filling his whiskey glass, and oh, Mister Li, you're so funny, you're so clever, I think you should go all in!—but Aventurine doesn't react. He only smiles at the two of you, like he isn't bothered by the sight.
This is, of course, an act: when you came home from your last marriage (assignment), he'd made sure to pleasure you so thoroughly that you forgot all about your ex-husband (mark). Aventurine did not openly admit to any kind of jealousy at the time, but you could tell he hadn't been keen on letting another man touch you. He usually isn't too keen about anyone touching any of his things, in fact. Despite appearances, he always abhors the thought of losing anything important.
But any fears he might have are concealed right now. They’re always concealed. Hidden by the expensive suit, the countless stacks of chips, the golden walls and high-vaulted ceilings of the Venetian Zhijin, Masked by his generous gifts, his easy laughter, his careless frivolity. You can see right through his gilded smile. The rest of the table cannot.
They are all intrigued when Aventurine asks, a playful lilt in his voice, “How about we make this game a little more interesting, gentleman?”
The other players at the table consider him. The other plus-ones—concubines, courtesans, gigolos, and so on—look at him with calculated expressions of cursory interest. You do so as well, but only for a moment. Your gaze quickly returns to Mister Li’s face—your husband is meant to be your true focus, after all, not the game. You are not a player at this table, but an accessory. Closer to an expensive watch than a human being.
Some business magnate from the Triangulum Galaxy leans back and raises a brow. “I'm listening,” he says. You watch a bead of sweat travel down your husband’s neck.
“How about we up the ante,” Aventurine says, his voice light, “but instead of betting more money this time, we bet our dates?”
You think, in other star systems, other worlds, such a suggestion would invite riot. But Kinyoshi Colony being what it is, and the Venetian being the establishment that it is, the other players at the table only laugh. Nearly half of them deal in the trade of human beings anyway—this is nothing novel for them.
“Well,” one of them says, “it’s not like winning more money’s gonna make a difference to any of us.” A round of chuckling. He turns to his date—some noblewoman from Jarilo-IV who seems greatly out of her depth—and says, “What do you think, love? How do you feel about being part of my wager?”
She doesn't like it. She clearly doesn't like it, and she also clearly doesn't know how to say it. Were you not on the clock, you might intervene. Maybe. As it is, though, all you can do is observe quietly. All the power in this gambit lies with Aventurine. Even when surrounded by men who manipulate the wealth of entire cities, planets, galaxies—he remains in full control.
“There’s never any shame in folding,” he says, magnanimous. Then he looks your husband in the eye, smiling conspiratorially. “But I know there are some of us who aren't afraid to take risks.”
Li laughs. “You’re right about that, Mister Aventurine.” He gives you a fond smile. And of course he does—you’re his last shot at winning back all his losses for the night. “I think you'd make a pretty little chip, don't you?”
Although Mister Li is clearly less distressed at the thought of betting you than he was at the thought of betting his company just last round, you notice, out of the corner of your eye, a muscle in Aventurine’s neck twitching. It’s very, very subtle, and he'd have never let himself do it if the table’s attention were on him, but he did it. Perhaps it was involuntary. Your mouth curls.
“Sure, darling.” You try not to sound too giddy. “I’ll be whatever you like.”
Ordinarily, you wouldn't be so happy about this farce. This is, put plainly, a stupid way to extract you from your mission. Were the cards in anyone else’s hands, your husband could win and you might be stuck with him for another several weeks, at least—assuming that you aren't discovered and killed first. Or you could go home with another man and be subjected to the kind of things that men do when they trade human beings, and you don't think the IPC would care too much if you were. You are an asset before you are a person, after all. At this table, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being—and at the Company, you are an overpriced knife.
But to Aventurine, you're a chip in one of his games, and you don't mind that so much. Men who only know wealth will throw around their riches thoughtlessly, but men who have endured poverty will hold onto them tightly—desperately. Aventurine takes care of his luxury watches, his elegant knives, his liar’s dice. His capital. And he never loses anything. He always comes to collect. You trust him to collect you, even with this stupid plan, so you are calm as you watch the dealer shuffle the cards.
The table makes their bets. Most of the players go all-in. A couple fold, perhaps feeling some degree of concern for their partners, but it's more likely that they just have shit hands. A lot of the ones who continue playing have shit hands anyway. Your husband doesn't do too badly—a straight flush. He seems confident.
Then Aventurine lays out his cards. Ten. Joker. Queen. King. Ace.
All hearts.
You have to take a sip of your whiskey to stop yourself from laughing.
Aventurine, himself, has the grace not to look too smug about the outcome. Or maybe it's very unremarkable for him, all these winnings being pushed over to him—poker chips and human beings. Some of the other dates are clearly anxious as they move toward him (they are expected to be loyal to their husbands), and some are clearly excited (they are expected to be frivolous, hedonistic playthings). He humours them all, for a little while. Puts on the usual show as they crowd around him, charms them because it'll be good for business partnerships in case any of their husbands care even a little bit about them. You'd do the same in his shoes. But in your current ones (six-inch heels, black leather, red bottoms, luxury), all you can do is seat yourself on the card table and light up a cigarette. Waiting.
Aventurine eventually sends them all off. All I wanted was to get to know you, he says cheerfully, which is probably not a lie. After they leave, he asks the dealer to close the table and go on break. Turn a blind eye. You raise a brow when they obey him.
How interesting.
You're still enjoying your cigarette by the time he turns to you. You flash him a smile, one of the ones that you use for work. His expression doesn't change, but his thumb brushes against one of his many rings—switching off your synesthesia beacons for some privacy—and he leans back to study you. You know he's admiring you, but it could be mistaken for a leer.
“Well, well,” he says, “If it isn’t the esteemed concubine of Li Fengzhi.”
“The esteemed fifth concubine,” you correct. He hums, looking surprised.
“I thought you were the fourth. Did I misremember?”
“No, just misinformed. He took another concubine right before I arrived on Kinyoshi. He acquired a sixth just last week. Turns out he picks up paramours like they’re strays.”
“How inconvenient.”
“It made no difference to me,” you dismiss. “I’m his favourite anyway, but I’m sure you knew that already.”
“I’d have had to be blind not to notice it. You have the man wrapped around your finger.” Aventurine leans back, studying you as you smoke on your perch. “But before we continue—why don’t you come a little closer, esteemed Fifth Concubine?”
You make a face. “That title doesn’t sound as nearly as flattering in Avgin dialect as it does in Zhijinese,” you note, though you get off the table anyway. You don’t go very far, electing to seat yourself on his lap, your arms draping around his shoulders. The feathers of his jacket tickle at your bare shoulders; the satin of his gloves glide down the skin of your thighs before settling on your calves. “Since you’ve won my company for the night, though,” you sigh, “I suppose I can humour you, Mister Aventurine.”
“Lucky me.” He leans in, his breath sweeping the shell of your ear. His fragrance surrounds you, your body warming at the familiar scent of ambergris and vanilla. You realize, all of a sudden, how much you missed it. You have to stop yourself from pressing your face into his neck and melting—it would be a dead giveaway for your identity and also too revealing of your feelings. Aventurine might be endeared by it, but he might also find it disconcerting. He often needs to be tricked into intimacy.
He does enjoy being wanted though, and he can obviously tell that you want him. He pulls you closer, one of his hands giving your thigh a generous squeeze. It makes you throw your head back in a laugh, exposing the soft skin of your throat. You aren't surprised when he takes the opportunity to kiss it, his lips gentle against your pulse.
“You’re being very forward,” you tease him. “Did you miss me?”
“I’m just trying to be careful,” he defends himself between kisses, his breath warm on your skin. “We should try to conceal our mouths as much as possible. No one can intercept our synesthesia beacons, but someone could still read our lips.”
You give him a funny look. “We’re the only two speakers of Avgin in the known universe. Who could, other than ourselves, could read our—mmph…”
Aventurine has caught the rest of your sentence with his mouth. He’s hungry and wanting for you, the heat of his lips overwhelming. Your tongue is as practised as his, but you find yourself too distracted by your thrill to focus, your kiss wet and eager. Messy. Unprofessional.
You’ve never kissed any of your husbands like this. You’ve never kissed any of your other owners like this. You feel dazed when he pulls away.
You compose yourself. “So you did miss me.”
He smiles. “Guilty as charged.” A gloved hand rests on your face, satin tracing your lips. “How could I not? You’ve been away from the house for so long.”
Your eyes narrow. There’s no idiom for this in Avgin, so you flip briefly to Interastral Standard: “Pot, kettle, black. You leave home all the time.” You smack away the hand at your waist, petty. He looks amused. “And you almost always die.”
He switches out his smile for a pout. “Don’t tell me you’re still mad about last time.”
“You nearly got yourself blasted with atomics, so yes, I’m still mad at you.”
Now he’s frowning. “Am I going back to sleeping on the couch when you come back?”
“Yes,” you say. His deepening frown is meant to be read as a joke, but you know better. Deciding to throw him a bone, you lean in, whispering playfully into his ear: “You can still fuck me on it though.”
Aventurine hums, as if considering. His hands traverse your sides as he contemplates your suggestion. You move to straddle him, your thighs squeezed around his hips. When you grind against him, you can feel how much he wants you despite his composure, his control—his length straining in his pants, pressed against the silk covering your core.
“I don’t think I can wait long enough to fuck you on the couch,” he says, voice teasing.
“No?” You hum as his hands travel upward, feeling every inch of you. “The ship on the way home, then?”
“We don’t leave until tomorrow. Do you really think I can wait that long?”
You don't expect to feel the warmth of his hands on your chest. Your breath hitches when he starts palming your tits through your dress, neon eyes admiring the curve of them. One of his thumbs skims over the peak of your breast, and his mouth curls when your nipple hardens. “No bra? That's convenient.”
“I—” You squirm in his grip, whining. It just makes you grind against his lap more, your cunt moving against his slacks. A wave of heat runs through your lower half, and you clench around nothing. You can see people from a nearby table glancing at you, doing double takes. You can feel their lingering gazes on you, and you know Aventurine can too.
“I—are you going to”—your voice shakes as he pinches your nipple, as his other hand moves to squeeze your ass instead. Your dress is short—designed for easy access—and his fingertips easily skim the underside of its skirt. You wonder if he’s going to pull it up. You wonder if he's going to go even further than that.
But that would be an absurd thing to do in the middle of the busiest casino in the colony, which also happens to be the busiest trade hub in its star system. It would be absurd even for the two of you. Nevermind the reactions of the other players in the room—the staff here would immediately blacklist you, and so would every other gambling house in Kinyoshi.
You try to calm yourself. “Are you—ah—going to take me upstairs?”
He's fully kneading your breasts now. You can feel your clit throbbing, your body responding to his rough and unrepentant touch. “Hm… I don't think I want to.” Aventurine’s voice drops. His smile takes on a distinctly wicked quality. “I think I'll take you right here.”
“But we’ll get kicked out,” you whine. Even as you protest though, you're panting and moving your hips now. Grabbing at his arms, rutting against him like you're in heat. His fingers hook around the thin straps of your dress, pull them down your shoulders, already starting to indulge despite your reservations. You bend into his touch.
“Who? The staff?” He smiles, as always. “I own the place now. I don't think they'll be giving me trouble.”
“Y—you what?” For a moment, you're too shocked to keep up the wanton show. “You do? Since when?”
“Since last night.” He thumbs one of the straps that's fallen halfway down your arms. The rest of your dress threatens to come down with it. “Technically it's the IPC who acquired it—or, well, their shell company did–-but I'm their designated representative here. I signed the contract.”
“The IPC isn’t going to be upset that you're fucking a concubine, who's not even your concubine, on their new property?”
Aventurine shrugs. “They know the kind of establishment the Venetian is. People gamble with humans here all the time, you know, so this has definitely happened before. The IPC definitely expects it to happen again. And besides”—he returns his attention to your dress, starting to slip the fabric down your shoulders—“I'm just cashing out my winnings. I'm sure they wouldn't deny a gambler his vices. That'd be bad business.”
You want to say more, but then he tugs, suddenly exposing you. You’re bare in front of him—in front of everyone. You can feel eyes on you. Heat curls in your gut as he grabs your tits again, his satin gloves smooth across your skin, and your nipples pebble beneath them. “Hm… much better.”
“But…” You bite your lip, glancing around. There are so many people watching now—so many voyeurs, who've forgotten about their games and their slots. Though there are a greater number of people who are continuing as usual, studying their hands, smoking their cigarettes, unperturbed. All regulars and VIPs, you know from your intelligence.
Aventurine pauses as you catalogue the room, raising a brow. Probably he's surprised at your sudden modesty; you usually have none when his touch is involved.
“Of course,” he adds, “if you'd rather enjoy the suite upstairs…”
“No—I don’t mind staying down here… it's just that I’ve never…”
Your voice trails off. Your eyes traverse the space again. There are people who’ve fully thrown their cards down, greedily drinking in the sight of you instead. Even some of the dealers are watching between hands, glancing at you instead of watching for cheaters. Like this is public entertainment, like you're a show.
Aventurine tilts his head.
“You've never had sex with an audience?” he guesses. He sounds surprised—perplexed. You don't know why. You know he knows it's a stupid question. You know he knows the answer.
You had sex in front of people all the time before you met him. You did it for the same reasons that he’s almost certainly done the same. To this table of business magnates, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being; to the IPC, you are more like an overpriced knife; to this gambling hall, you're an interesting sideshow.
To your captors who fucked you in public, you guess you were something like a toy.
The thought sitting in your mouth is this: you've never had sex with an audience and enjoyed it. It was painful—not painful for the heart or the mind or anything else sentimental, but painful like it felt you were a fish being gutted open by a knife. And even beyond that physical pain, you simply didn't enjoy being passed around. You didn't like being owned by those people. You didn't like being an object for their entertainment, something for them to parade around.
But it's different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You like being his plaything, spread for his viewing whenever he wants. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this commodity code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood.
You want him to own you too. You want him to show everyone that he won you, that he bought you, that you're his possession now. That he, and he alone, is free to treat you like a toy.
You're getting wetter just thinking about it.
“Nevermind,” you whisper. “Let's do it.”
His smile widens ever so slightly. Slyer than usual.
“Good,” he says. He guides you into standing. “Let’s get you settled then.”
You're seated back on the card table. The cigarette is forgotten in the ashtray next to you. Aventurine takes the time to straighten out your dress, lifting the straps back up and affording you some modesty—before he gently lays you out.
You look up at him as you're spread in front of him, laid out next to his royal flush and winnings. Like you're another chip in his stacks, the most expensive one. He puts a hand beneath your leg, drapes it over his shoulder. He takes the opportunity to kiss your calf, his lips delicate.
You glance at the tables around you. You watch the business owners and politicians as they watch Aventurine. You watch them as they watch your boyfriend pepper kisses up your leg, unless he's settling in between them. Your thighs spread easily for him, and you don't resist as he hikes up your skirt.
Then he frowns.
“I’ve never seen these panties before.”
“They’re new,” you relay.
“From your husband?”
“Yup.”
“I see.”
You can't see his face, but he sounds distinctly displeased. You expect him to complain, to say they're not expensive enough or not designer enough or just plain ugly.
You don't expect him to tear them right off.
“Aventurine?!”
You're so surprised you sit up, just in time to see him throw tatters of silk to the floor.
“What?” He looks up at you, expression unbothered, almost mild. “It wasn't your colour.”
Your mouth opens. “But it was still very nice!”
“I'll buy you nicer ones later. I’ll buy you a whole drawer of nicer ones later, when we’re done here.”
He looks down again, humming. Your cheeks flush as he spreads your legs again, baring your glistening sex to him—this time completely bare. Satin glides along the inside of your thighs, and your breath hitches when he reaches their apex. You feel the light touch of a finger along your opening, and you feel your body responding, tightening around nothing.
“Tell me,” he says, “What else did your husband do with you?”
His voice is casual, almost disinterested, but you know Aventurine is listening carefully.
“Not much,” you answer truthfully. “I haven't cum in months, you know.”
“Oh?” He sounds surprised. “You don't have sex with him?”
“No. He's fucked me a lot. It”—you whimper, pausing when you feel his fingers spreading you open, fluttering hole and swollen clit exposed to him—“it just wasn't very good.”
“Then”—you feel a thumb press against your clit, and you swallow—“he never touched you here?”
“N-no.”
“Stupid of him.” He’s drawing slow, lazy circles into the bud now, making you squirm on the table. You press yourself eagerly toward his familiar touch, having desperately missed it for months. Aventurine, perhaps sensing your neediness, asks, “And you didn't touch yourself?”
“He didn't let me,” you whine, and now he's frowning at you.
“I knew I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he says, and you have to bite back a laugh. Aventurine’s mouth curls at the sound, and he leans in to place a kiss on your thigh. “But that’s fine. I'll make it up to you now.”
Aventurine kisses are soft and precise. They pepper a path up your thigh while his fingers continue to play lazily with your clit. You want—need—to feel something inside you, but he doesn't oblige. His fingers merely run along your entrance, teasing your dripping pussy with luxury satin, and that's all they do, even as your hips buck needily toward him.
He pauses for just a moment. When you look at him, you see him staring at you—at the brand on your inner thigh, the commodity code that your captors left on you, branding you as a product to be used and sold.
His voice is almost soft when he asks, “And what did your husband say when he saw this?”
“He never did,” you reply. “He always fucked me from behind. And he never went down on me.” You pause, thinking about the way he spoke of his business. Of his trade partners. Of what your captors had done to your home when you told him about it, feigning intimacy only to be matched in cruelty. You think about the way he fucked you, how it felt to be gutted open on his expensive, silk sheets.
None of it matters to you, really. This is behaviour that you’ve long accepted, that your body always anticipates. But you always like to offer Aventurine intimacy, whether real or feigned, whether he returns it equally or responds with undeserved cruelty: “I think it wouldn't have bothered him if he had noticed it.”
You can't see Aventurine’s eyes, but you can feel his reaction when he places a chaste kiss on your product code.
“I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he repeats. Then he pauses. “Maybe I shouldn't have let you go at all.”
“I didn't mind,” you say. You aren't lying. “You gave me up for a reason.”
He stands. Cups your face with a palm, luxuriant fabric and gold rings pressed against your skin. Sometimes he's given up the aventurine stone temporarily for assignments, parting with it in elaborate gambles that he always manages to win. The way he’s touching you now reminds you of the way he holds the gem whenever it returns to his hand.
“Well,” he says, “I’m sorry it took so long to get you back.”
Aventurine tilts your chin up for a kiss. You meet it eagerly, and it's so tender in its familiarity that every memory of your husband fades. There's only Aventurine, and his gentle mouth, and the way his hands slide your dress down again, how he palms your breasts again. How he teases one nipple with his expensive rings until you're moaning into his mouth. How his other hand travels down until his gloved hand is cupping your heat. You drag your hips against his touch, desperately seeking some kind of friction, your wetness drenching the cloth. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your body aching to be filled by him, aching in a way that it does for no one else.
It’s one of the most addictive feelings you've ever known.
Aventurine only stops touching you so he can push away all the chips, clearing space on the table. He ignores the cacophony as countless stacks fall over, not sparing the plastic coins a single glance. Like you're the only prize that matters to him, even though the sum of his winnings come out to more than you ever were worth.
He lays you out on the table again, flat on your back, exposed, before kissing a path down your body—your neck, your breasts, your stomach, between your thighs. He deigns to give your product code one more kiss, his lips so gentle that it makes you tremble—and then he finally puts his mouth on you. He licks a hot stripe from your dripping pussy up to the crest of your sex, and your eyes close in bliss.
If you felt any uncertainty before this, it's completely gone now. Your hands ghost over your tits, playing with them as Aventurine’s tongue plays with you. He sucks on your neglected clit, fingers squeezing your thighs, keeping you spread open and still for him. He presses in, lets you drag your cunt over his greedy mouth and grind your clit against his face. Heat and pressure coil tight in your belly as he pleasures you, your body flushing with the kind of bliss only Aventurine can give you. You’re so lost in it that you almost don’t notice how quiet the rest of the hall has gotten, the cacophony of chatter and slot machines oddly subdued—almost missing. In their absence, the obscene noises that Aventurine is drawing from your mouth and body are louder than they should be.
The pleasure in your belly is just starting to swell when he pulls away. You give him a pleading look as he leans over you, but before you can start begging for more, you feel his fingers press against your heat. He watches you with keen eyes as he starts rubbing your pussy, maybe enjoying the desperate noises you make at his touch. You buck your hips, moaning as your clit and entrance grind against the fabric of his gloves, seeking friction. You’re empty, aching, desperate to be filled, but you think you can finish like this, just by rutting against his satin fingers—
Aventurine withdraws his hand, and you whine.
“No,” you beg, “please, please keep going, I was getting close—”
He raises a brow, feigning surprise. “Keep going?” He brings up his hand, shows you his gloves. The satin is soaked, shiny and stained with your slick. “I don't think I should. Look at what a mess you’ve made of my gloves.” Aventurine hums, frowning. “These are designer, you know. And limited—there are only 95 pairs of these in the whole universe. And you're ruining them.”
“I'm sorry,” you say, mind so fogged with lust that you can't even return his teasing. “I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you, I'll do anything, just—just let me cum—”
“Anything?” His smile is sly.
“Anything.”
“Well. I suppose if you help me clean this up, I wouldn't mind rewarding you with more.”
You don't need to ask what he means by that. When he holds out his hand to you, runs a finger along your lips, you obediently open your mouth for him. Your tongue slides along the wet satin, only making his glove messier—but he seems not to mind. He merely watches intently as your tongue cleans his fingers, taking in the obscene image of you hungrily lapping your own slick off the expensive fabric.
He lets you ruin his glove thoroughly before finally drawing back, peeling it off.
“I'm not sure that did any good,” he says, frowning. “I’ll probably need to buy a new pair. But”—he pulls away, and you feel him settle between your legs again, his hands spreading them. “I'll still reward you for the effort.”
Aventurine is quick about getting his mouth back on you. His tongue is hot on your skin, expertly teasing your clit. You feel his fingers running along your entrance again, growing sticky with his need. He laughs when you press your hips toward his hand, desperate to be filled.
Then he's pressing his bare fingers into your heat, and your back is arching off the table.
The moan you let out is obscene. It only gets worse when his fingers curl, making the pressure in your belly even heavier. Utterly shameless, you beg for him as he fucks you with his fingers: Aventurine, please, please, I need more, please, I'm so close, I'm so close.
As if taking pity on you, his mouth finds your clit again, his fingers pressing into your sweet spot at the same time. And he doesn't let up, pushing into it even when you think you can't take anymore—tongue swirling against your overstimulated bud, fingers making you gush uncontrollably. You practically sob when you cum, a noise of desperation that echoes in the gambling hall.
His smile looks a little fonder than usual—or maybe just entertained—as he stands again and leans over you. You taste your own release in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, and he strokes your face when he pulls away.
“So good for me,” he praises. “Are you going to let me do more?”
You nod eagerly. “Whatever you like,” you say, all sense of shame gone from your body, “and however you want.”
Aventurine’s mouth curls. “Your husband fucked you from behind, right? Why don't you bend over for me, then? Let's show him how he should have been doing it.”
You see the diamond pupils of Aventurine’s eyes glance off to the side, where, sure enough, your husband is spectating with some of his business partners. You force yourself to turn away before you can smile, hiding your expression from the other men. You’re not meant to derive any real pleasure from any of this, let alone pleasure of the vindictive kind. Your relationship with Aventurine is supposedly nothing but a gambler and his newly won, human plaything. It would be suspicious if you appeared to be anything else.
You slink off the table in a distinctly performative way, and Aventurine plays equally into the show—probably an act as familiar to him as it is to you. He guides you into turning around, your eyes falling on the scattered cards on the tabletop, the casino’s eyes falling on you. His hands waste no time in pulling down your dress and reaching around to knead your breasts, in full view of the rest of the gambling hall. You're only vaguely aware of your audience now, registering the interested, hungry stares, but not really caring. You're too focused on the way that Aventurine is tugging and twisting at your nipples, at how he’s pressed up against your ass, his cock straining through his pants. You grind needily against him, whining.
Aventurine kisses your shoulder. “Poor thing. You've been neglected for so long, haven't you?” His hands retreat, and you hear the sound of a zipper being undone. Then your skirt’s being pushed up and you're being bent over, your dripping pussy fully presented to him. When you feel the press of his cockhead against your entrance, you desperately try to push yourself back onto him. But he doesn't allow you to—only running the tip along your wet folds, still sticky from your release, while he stills you with a gentle touch on your hip.
You make a pathetic, desperate noise. Aventurine chuckles, though there’s now a breathy quality to his voice.
“Be patient,” he chides. “I'll take care of you.”
You know he will. He always takes care of you, in a way that no one else ever has. Even when he gambles your life for some mission, even when he can barely afford you the barest hints of intimacy, even when he displays your body to an audience of slave traders and murderers—he always takes care of you. Even if you are only a knife or a wristwatch or a chip in one of his games, he still treats you like you're worth holding onto.
Aventurine finally moves. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his cock sliding into you. Usually he needs to be careful after your long missions away from him, knowing you'll be tense. He understands that your body always anticipates being in pain after being touched by other people. But he has you so worked up right now—still dripping from your release, still pliant from his fingers, still eager to please him before the crowd—that your cunt easily swallows his length. The stretch is pure bliss, pleasure unfurling in your body as you're filled up properly for the first time in months. He's just as affected as you, breath shaking as he bottoms out.
“Fuck,” he breathes—laughs. “Nearly forgot how good this feels.” He pauses, his breathing slowing—almost stopping each time you squeeze around him. You turn back, throwing him a pleading glance, and he meets it with an endeared smile. “Eager today, aren't you?” He hums, a hand sliding along your waist. “You really do need to be properly fucked.”
He's stalling. Trying to give you a moment to adjust, but you don't need it. “Yes,” you encourage him. Aching for the press of his cock against your walls, you grind against him, and you hear a strangled groan as you force him to move inside you. “Please, Aventurine—please, please fuck me, I need it so badly—”
He hums, both hands grabbing your hips, his fingers sinking into you. “Well. Since you asked so nicely.”
The first thrust has your eyes going wide, your hands reaching for the card table as you’re forced to bend over. You spread our palms next to the mess of heart cards and shiny tokens, bracing yourself for the way your body’s about to be used. He doesn't give you time to breathe after, each stroke filling you deep and fast. The rest of the gambling hall grows very, very quiet as Aventurine fucks you, and suddenly all you can hear is the appreciative murmur of the crowd, clink of ice cubes in aged whiskey, the noisy flick of lighters as more patrons opt to pause their games and enjoy the show. You hear the shattering of all the stacks beside you, hundreds of thousands of dollars in chips fall over beside you, tokens clinking as they roll across the tabletop. But all of that is soon drowned out by the wet noise of your pussy being fucked open, the squelch of your slick around his cock. You moan each time he bottoms out, eager to be filled.
When you feel his cock press into your sweet spot, your moans quickly turn into cries.
You hear something like a breathy laugh from Aventurine. Your body always reveals itself so easily to him, and you know he enjoys it. He hits that spot again and again, builds an agonizing tension in your body with every thrust of his hips. It has your pussy gushing around him, your thighs growing wet and sticky with your need.
Just when it feels like you can't take anymore, he reaches down and presses his fingers against your throbbing clit. Your knees buckle as he toys with you, chest heaving against the table as he sets a brutal pace. You're—overwhelmed, mind going hazy as you're fucked mercilessly. So far gone, you can hardly register the disgruntled expression of your husband, the hungry gazes of his companions, the way that other players are starting to shift in their seats, palming themselves at the sight of your pussy being split open. There's only the tight coil in your gut, the chips between your fingers as you grab uselessly for something to ground you, the cock that's filling you over and over and over—and oh fuck, you’re going to cum, you're really going to cum after being won in a game, from having your pussy used like a sleeve, from being watched by men who will never own you no matter how many times they trade you, no matter how many times they fuck you, no matter how many times they pass you around, because you'll only ever belong to Aventurine—
Your orgasm crashes through your body, and you sob.
It's a broken, blissed out noise. Your pussy is equally shameless, gushing as you pulse around Aventurine’s cock. You go limp as he fucks you through your orgasm, uncaring about the mess you're making. He only groans as you squirt all over him, hips stuttering as he reaches his own peak—spilling himself inside you, pumping you full. Aventurine’s body slumps over yours as rides out his high, his face pressing into your shoulder. You find the wherewithal to shift yourself, just enough to your lips against the tattoo on his neck. He looks at you for a fleeting moment, the blue ring of his eyes electric on you, before capture your mouth in a desperate, messy kiss.
The two of you stay there for a long moment, panting into each other. Then Aventurine collects himself, remembers how to talk: “Fuck.”
You piece yourself together just as easily. Maybe even faster. Smiling into his mouth, you ask, “Enjoy yourself?”
“Clearly.” Aventurine presses his lips into your neck, lingering only briefly. “Can you walk?”
“I think so.”
Aventurine takes his time with moving, as if basking in the afterglow—or bragging in it. But he does rise, eventually. Pulls out slowly, making you shudder. He helps you to your feet, lets you hold onto him for support. His spend drips down your thighs as you right yourself, messy and hot on your skin. You can feel it sliding down your legs as you walk, braced against Aventurine as he guides you in the long walk toward the elevator. It slips all the way down to your calves, to your expensive heels, even onto the marble floor.
You're fairly certain that it's not an accident when Aventurine flips up your skirt as you pass your ex-husband. At the very least, it isn't a mistake when you stumble in that same moment, bending over and giving him a good look at your well-used pussy, now overfilled with your boyfriend’s cum. You don't stop to look at him, but you know he must be red-faced, displeased—aware that he’s been humiliated. Beaten by a Stoneheart, concubine stolen by Sigonian, one of his favourite possessions claimed by a former slave. You'd laugh if he could.
You can't help but kiss Aventurine while the two of you wait for the elevator, a smile glowing into his lips.
It's absurd, but a staff member approaches the two of you as you indulge in one another. Aventurine pulls away as you’re approached, looking mildly annoyed as he switches on his synesthesia beacon.
“Sir,” the staff says, “you’ve left your other winnings at the table.”
Even in his post-orgasm bliss, Aventurine responds promptly. “I’ll cash it all,” he says. “Send the money to my room. I'm not coming back tomorrow.”
“Very well. And the terms of the… human resource exchange that just happened?”
Aventurine’s jaw clicks. It's quiet, but surprising. You watch him carefully.
“We didn't bet contracts,” he says. “This is a concubine, not a slave. But tell Mister Li I'll buy them anyway. I'll pay whatever price he wants, which I’d wager is the company that he gambled and lost to me. Maybe suggest that to him.”
“Of course,” the staff member replies, bowing. Despite the first-rate service, Aventurine looks like he can't get out of there sooner enough as he guides you into the elevator. You give him a curious look as the door closes.
“You're going to give up a multiplanetary corporation just for this?” you ask.
“Not entirely. The IPC was planning to acquire it anyway. It'll be ours again in a few months.” He stares at your reflections in the mirror, his strange eyes lingering on your dishevelled form. “We’ll put your intel to good use,” he adds, and although Jade or Diamond or any of your real bosses would say this with a smile and reward you with a bonus, Aventurine’s expression is unreadable.
“What's on your mind?” you ask, fingers brushing against his hand. “You’re worried about something.”
Aventurine blinks, and it takes him a moment to recover.
“Nothing. Just hoping we didn't give our relationship away just now.” He cups your face with a hand, guides you into looking at his smile. A deflection. “I might have gotten carried away.”
You lean into his touch, eyes playful: a performance. As if he's some stranger that you're entertaining, a captor being entertained, a plaything about to be used. As if you expect to be treated like the disposable commodity that your husband just gambled away.
“I wouldn't worry,” you reassure him. “I'm sure after the show we put on, it'll be clear to anyone that you're only keeping me around for sex.”
It's very, very subtle, but a muscle in Aventurine's neck twitches. He'd never allow it in a game of cards, never before the IPC, never before the prying eyes of slavers and killers—but he allows it in front of you. He always unwittingly bares himself to you, even as he swallows his discomfort before adopting his usual, vulpine expression. You don't think anyone else would notice what lies beneath the gilded surface of his smile, his liar’s eyes. You don't think anyone else would notice his tells, his vulnerabilities, his quiet fear of loss.
After all, there is no one else in this universe who knows how to trick him into intimacy.
Winning has always come with a certain emptiness for Aventurine. Gambling is, after all, a zero sum game. He plays a royal flush and people lose their homes. Winner takes all. He survives the fighting pits, his blade dripping red with the lives of other slaves. Winner takes all. He runs from the stench of blood and burning flesh, praying for thunder and rain loud enough to drown the screams of his dying kin. Winner takes all.
He alone survives. He alone enjoys his riches. Ever since the Avgin died, he has always been by himself. There is no amount of coin nor credit that will ever change this.
Here is another unyielding fact that hollows any win: that no matter how many credits he collects, he will always be a chip himself. He will always be a plastic token worth sixty coppers. Gambling is a zero-sum game, and ever since the day he was chained, Aventurine has been the pool of riches divided among winners. He has always been the commodity being traded between hands. He has always been the prize to be cashed out and used. Even now, with all this money and power, it will never be him who comes to collect: it will always be the IPC. Winner takes all.
Such is his fate. Luck is always on his side, but he has always had the losing hand against destiny. No matter how many times he wins, there is nothing that will ever truly belong to him.
But then he met you.
Then he met you, and now his luck does not always feel like such a cruel or empty thing. Now the zero-sum game has meaning. He hedges his bets in the market and buys out a planet, and acquires you along with the shares. Winner takes all. He gambles his life against a nuclear power and comes out on top, and the IPC allows him to keep you by his side. Winner takes all. He plays a royal flush and wins at a table of slave traders, and he gets to fuck you until you can't think of any cock but his own. Winner takes all.
Gambling is a zero-sum game, and when you're the reward, Aventurine wouldn't have it any other way. He’ll never share you with anyone. He'll never sell you to anyone.
He’ll never lose you to anyone.
Sometimes it surprises him, this attachment he feels to you. He doesn't quite understand it, but he thinks it mostly just has to do with how good it feels to fuck you. Much like gambling, Aventurine has never enjoyed sex until you came along. Sex for him has always felt like a humiliation, like being gutted open as a captive animal, like being won and passed around in the grand hall of some gaudy casino.
Which is, in fact, another thing he never thought he'd enjoy: having sex in the Venetian Zhijin before an audience of revolting men. He'd resented having to do it as a slave, but he’d enjoyed doing it with you as a Stoneheart. He'd even do it again if he could—take you over and over again on that card table, fill you up with his cum. Spread your cunt in front of everyone, so they could see for themselves that you were now his. Winner takes all.
Winning doesn't feel empty when you're his reward. Sex doesn't either. Because Aventurine isn't a chip or an animal or a commodity when he fucks you—he's a player. Someone with a seat at the table, as just as wealthy and powerful as the slave traders around him. Someone who’s allowed to own something—really own something.
Really allowed to own you.
Aventurine owns you. When he fucks you, he is a player at the table, and you are the prize he gets to keep. And no matter how you feel about him and how you act toward him—this is all the two of you will ever be. He knows this. He knows that you know it too.
So sometimes he can't fathom it, the way he treats you in bed. The way he always kisses your commodity code when he sees it, the way he allows you to kiss his own. The way he always thinks about pleasuring you until you're drunk on his cock, so addicted to him that you’ll never want to be touched by anyone else. The way he always likes how your body feels when it's being shaped by his hands. How different it feels from being forced to touch other people.
How badly you make him want something that he's always hated.
And this is what he understands least of all: how he doesn't like to hear you say aloud the true nature of your relationship. How he doesn't like it when you accept this reality and say, you're only keeping me around for sex.
It hollows him out when he hears it. A bitter feeling swells in his throat, and he forces himself to swallow.
Aventurine keeps his face neutral as he enters the suite with you. As soon as the door is shut, you pull him close—close enough for him to see the blurred lines of your lipstick, smudged from his mouth; close enough to see the white diamond necklace on your neck, a collar for a concubine; close enough to see the finger-shaped discolorations on your throat, poorly hidden by your foundation.
Close enough to see all the things done to your body by others—all the things you didn't choose for yourself.
“How do you want to have me next?” Your fingertip traces his lips. “On the bed? In the shower?” Your eyes are playful. “Maybe against the window?”
Aventurine’s hand cups your cheek, gold rings pressed against your skin. His hold is delicate, more careful than with anything else he's ever handled—any of his watches, his furs, his jewellery. Even more than with the aventurine stone.
“I want to kiss you,” he says.
You blink.
“Kiss me?” Your brow ticks up, but then your face lights up in supposed understanding. “Okay. You can kiss me. And then?”
“And then I'll keep kissing you.”
You tilt your head, not understanding. “Really?”
“What? Is that off-limits now?” He leans in, expression playful. “Don't tell me I've got to go back downstairs and win back permission to kiss you from your husband.”
Before you can say anything else—ask anything else, perceive anything else—he presses his mouth to yours. Your eyes widen for only a moment before falling shut, your arms wrapping around his neck. Your lips part for him, and he delights in the noise you make as he deepens the kiss.
He did lie, in a way. The two of you do end up fucking again—this time in bed, your mouth gasping into his as you fall apart for him, wet and needy around his cock. You're so warm around him, so pliable beneath him, so desperate when possessed by him. He knows that he could keep going, that he could do anything to you, that you'd be eager to let him use you however he wants.
But all he does afterward is kiss you.
This is yet another act that he never thought he'd enjoy. Kissing has always felt like a chore or a power play or a manipulation. It has always come with a certain emptiness—just like gambling, just like sex. And then he met you, and now it no longer feels so hollow. Because when he wins bets for the IPC, he feels like a poker chip in one of their games, but when he’s fucking you, he feels like a player at the table. And sometimes, when he kisses you—when he holds you close, when you come down from your high and press your face into the crook of his neck and in the vulnerable haze of your bliss, tell him, I missed you—
—he finally feels like a human being.
end notes: christ alive I have never written anything so horny glddjsksjs. I apologize for both my mid smut writing and deranged characterization 💔
initially this was supposed to be brainless pwp about aventurine eating you out on a poker table but I kept asking myself “why the hell did aventurine gamble for human beings and why are these two insane enough to be fucking in a casino tho lol”, and thus a coherent narrative was born from my shameless lust for this guy! but please also don't take the story too seriously because this is a dumb smut piece first and foremost and I mostly wrote it with my clit 😔✌️
that being said, if you are curious about the subject matter that I covered – here's an afterword expanding on my intentions with the themes.
dooby your tags… 🫣🧍🏻♀️ i’m cryin you got me so good LOL but for you on one hand it would be inch resting to see you and barou in a toxic situationship (which obviously you eventually make it out of cuz yall are otp <3) but also… rin just bc he’s so hot yet stressful but you’d be getting amazing d always :p
tori... 😳😳😳
would u know that for the past few days ive been thinking abt writing first time w barou... although i dont think he'll do it while in a toxic situationship normally BUT this got me thinking otherwise mhm... wait i'll have to head back to the drawing board with this one because damn you got my brain itching now LOL (ily)
and omfg rin HES SCARIER THAN BAROU i feel like every time after sex i would leave crying because he'll say something mean and degrading akshddksf then i'll pull up pics of his brother and make his ass cry back
both will provide fantastic d game ,,, one will just be more traumatizing (rin)
YOU LIKE AVENTURINESJSJS. (I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT HIM)
BOY DO I HAVE THOUGHTS ABOUT HIM (spoilers under cut)
tragic character design/backstory: only one of his kind, having to gone through genocide/slavery/fighting in a battle royale in order to survive, thinks back constantly about the loss of his parents, his sister, wants his freedom back
canonically his race (avgins) are known to have attractive features (look at his eyes!!) but that also caused jealousy from others. which eventually led to a disgusting stereotype that all avgins are manipulators and liars.
his real name is kakavasha <3 <3 <3
the part in the game where the gem aventurine is commonly used as a counterfeit gem for jade because jade is considered more valuable... *CRYING* :(((
BUT HE USES THIS FACT IN ORDER TO TRICK ONE OF THE CHARACTERS (im looking at u sunday...)
masks his true feelings and thoughts via outward appearance and his cheeky attitude, afraid of failing/makes his decisions through gambling like constantly
forced to play the role as the villain :((
additional fact (not super important): his voice is nice and silky (i play with chinese audio c: )
