are you still working on the bro x reader fic? That one where reader also has a baby? In the apartment buildings I think it was? Four makes a family? I rlly rlly liked it
Currently? No. I'll start on the next chapter soon...ish. Some good news is that I know where I want the next chapter to go so it shouldn't be too painful to write!
Goka nijiku hates condoms and he has an AWFUL pull out game. chud.
cws // fem reader. unedited.
"Baby, you have to wear one."
Goka gives you a look that comes off as pleading more than anything, his brows furrowed as his slightly grown out hair brushing against the top of the slit arches.
He looks between your deadset face and the condom wrapper in your hand, and then down to where you've got your legs crossed and your cunt hidden away from his view.
He thinks back to five minutes ago βwhich might as well be an eternity in his mindβ where he had been sliding the length of his cock through your puffy, wet folds, the evidence giving the heavy thing a glossy sheen. He had pushed the uncut tip against your enlarged clit, his incessant sucking and licking the reason why, and then drug it down to circle around your clenching hole.
He had been a millisecond away from sinking inside of you, giving the both of you what you had been craving from the moment he got home and shed his work uniform, when you had suddenly planted your foot on his chest and pushed him back.
He had made a noise uncharacteristic of him, the sound drawn out and a pitch higher than what usually left him, and he had been too caught up in the fact that his cock was cold and aching instead of warm and snug between your walls to feel embarrassed when you had giggled at the sound.
"You're not fucking me until you put it on, Goka." His ears burn at your words, adams apple bobbing as he licks his suddenly dry lips. You shake the condom in his face, and he glares at it like it's personally wronged him, which it has.
"They hurt." And they do. He had gone through brand after brand, size after size, in an effort to find one that he could comfortably wear at your behest β but he had yet to come across one that didn't cut off his circulation and leave him with a throttled dick that was ready to burst. "We can just .." He licks his lips again, hands moving to grip at your thighs, soft flesh dimpling underneath his fingers. "..go raw."
"Absolutely not."
He groans and pulls at your legs, and you give, thighs spreading and giving him a look at what you told him belonged to him everytime he made you cum β yeah fucking right.
"Everytime we do it without a condom you come inside," his cock jumps at the reminder, his mind going back to all the times he had pumped you full of cum and left you dripping. "And I'm not pushing out any bigheaded babies any time soon."
"I'll pull out." He says it to your clit that peeks out from between your folds, and before he can help himself, his hand is dipping down between your legs as his thumb lands on the little nub. You moan instantly, voice wavering, and he draws small, quick circles into it, breath quickening as he watches a new wave of slick drool out of your hole. "Fuck.."
"Y-You always say that." Your grip on the condom slips, the wrapper slipping from between your fingers and landing on the mattress between your gapped thighs. Before you can reach for it Goka leans forward, tongue licking at your bottom before he kisses you. You reciprocate immediately, mouth opening to welcome him inside, and he pushes two fingers into your giving hole, thumb still working your clit over.
Your hands cup the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and when his bobbing length brushes against your inner thigh you break the kiss and press your hand to his chest, his heart beating fast underneath your palm.
"Gokaβ" He kisses you again, tongue licking into your mouth, and when you give a weak push he reluctantly pulls back, instead moving his sloppy kisses to the hot skin of your neck. "The condom."
"Don't need it." He rocks forward, cock putting against you, and he slips his fingers out of your hole to instead slot himself back between your folds. He grunts, blood hot and boiling underneath his skin, and moves his hands so they're fisting the comforter beside your hips. "I'll pull out. I won't βngh, shitβ cum inside. I'll cum here instead - right here on this pretty clit." His leaky tip bumps against it just then, pulling a sweet noise from you that nearly makes him come right then and there.
Your lashes flutter as he ruts against you again, your hands falling down to rest on his tensed forearms, and his gaze drops down to where your breasts bounce with each jut of his hips. He feels himself ooze even more at the sight.
"Please," he breathes out, cords in his neck popping out. "Baby, please, can I?" You whine, brows furrowing and hips shifting, and then you're giving him a jerky nod and he's rushing out barely audible thank you's, too busy focused on directing his cock to your weeping hole to say it any louder.
He sinks into you easily, your pussy welcoming him in, and his moan drowns out your own as he basks in the feeling. You feel like a Heaven too good for him, a slice of an oasis that he didn't deserve, so he makes sure to indulge as much as he can everytime he has you like this.
His hands are all over you - your soft waist, softer breasts, feverish cheeks, shapely thighs, the sides of your plush ass. He grips and squeezes, fondles and caresses, pinches and soothes. His mouth kisses and sucks whatever it can reach, leaving marks on your skin that only he will see.
His groans and moans are muffled against your skin, your own ringing out in the room and driving him to fuck you harde, faster, cock plunging in deep until his balls are pressed against the wet curve of your ass and his groin is nestled up against yours.
He gives you not even a full second to feel him filling you up fully before he's dragging hinself along your walls until only the fat head of him remains, only pushing back in when you give a shaky cry of his name and dig your nails into his shoulders.
"'S okay." He rasps, forehead dropping to rest against yours. Your lashes are wet, lips swollen, and a flush comes over him from head to toe as you dazedly stare up at him, lips parted and broken moans tumbling free. "...so fuckin' beautiful.. my baby. Mine."
The noises emanating from between your legs is obscene, and he knows if he were to pull back and glance down that he'd see his dick covered in you, a white frothy line encircling the base.
"Goka," you whine, back arching and face contorting, and his nose knocks against your own as he pants against your lips. "'M coming. I-I hafta β!"
He digs in deep, stomach tensing and sweat rolling down his shoulder blades. "Yes - give it to me. Cum. Cum on me." His words come out without any thinking on his end, and he'll lay in the bed as he holds you later and think back on what he said with burning ears, but it gets the intended effect.
You tighten around him, pussy clenching down hard as if begging him to stay put, and he makes a choked noise as he plants a hand on your belly, his balls tightening and his cock twitching as he comes without warning. He wrenches himself away from you with a curse, dick popping free, and his cum spurts up and onto his toned stomach as he watches a thick glob begin to make its way out of you.
"I'm sorβ" He lets out a pained noise when the heel of your foot makes contact with his gut, and he snags hold of your ankle when you go to kick him again. You try it with your other foot and he grabs that one too, bringing your legs together before pushing them against your chest as he pins them back with minimal effort
"Asshole!"
"I know." You shout another insult, body struggling in his grip, but he pays it no mind as he zeroes in on how all your moving has made more of his cum leak out of you. Like a moth to a flame, he finds himself bent forward, eye level with your gaping hole, and his breath hits your twitching clit, effectively stopping your tirade in its tracks.
cws // fem reader. pov switches between bundus & bro without warning. ed (erectile dysfunction). slight exhibitionism.
"Thanks so much for this. Really. You two are so sweet."
Bro just barely hears you over the siren-esque call of your cleavage, the low cut top showcasing the tops of your pillowy breasts and trying it's best to paint him as the stereotypical pervert from next door.
Bundus saves him, the older man's hand giving him a sharp jab in the ribs that has Bro cursing under his breath and smiling through the sting of pain.
"'S no problem, darlin'." Bundus says, and Bro voices his agreement. You had tentatively knocked on their door earlier that day, fingers fiddling with each other and head bowed as you looked up at them from underneath pretty lashes with a meek question on your tongue:
"Can you mount my TV on the wall for me?"
Both men had short-circuited the moment the word 'mount' had left your lips, images of them hunched over your panting, slick body drowning out the rest of your request. When they had finally come to, shameless tents in their pants and predatory glints in their eyes, you had been rambling about how you had no one else to ask other than your boyfriend (some kid that Bundus had once said could fall into a barrel of tits and come out sucking his thumb) but he was at work and you didn't want to bother him and your friend wasβ
Bro had cut you off with a smile and a promise to be right over, and you had beamed at the both of them and sang your thanks as you retreated from their porch and skipped back on over to your own house just next door. Before your front door had even shut, Bro had found his back slammed against their own front door and his dick in a tight, rough grip. His hand had found Bundus's, and they had both moved in quick, sure movements that could only be the result of spending countless hours finding out what made the other person finish the quickest.
They had eventually shown up at your door, a tool bag in hand and desire still sitting in their bellies, and you had welcomed them in with a bright smile and the scent of something sweet in the air. It had turned out to be a cobbler baking in the oven, and if Bundus hadn't been stuck on you before (he had beenβboth of them) he surely was then.
The mounting of the television had taken longer than it should have, an hour long task at most turning into a four hour ordeal due to the two men taking the chance to satiate their curiosity. You had moved in months ago and they hadn't seen much of you past the quick run-ins on the way to work and the introductory quiche you had brought over, accompanied with a shy and cute smile and wave as you gave them your name and asked theirs in turn. Later that night they had both tried out your name on their tongue in a different setting, and found that they liked the sound of it more than they thought they would.
"When a pretty thing like you comes knockin' 'n askin' for help, how can you say no?"
You blink, eyes flitting between Bundus's crooked smile that's hidden underneath a thick mustache, to Bro who's once again taken a keen interest in finding out if it's possible to tell the color of your areolas through the fabric of your dress.
"Oh.." You breathe out, a nervous laugh following after, and Bundus lets out a chuckle of his own as he licks the spoon clean that's gripped in his hand. "I-I see you liked it!" You rush out, happy to change the subject, and Bundus scoops off another piece of the peach cobbler with his spoon, this time holding it out to Bro.
He's taken his eyes off your tits long enough to see the umpteenth save, and he walks over before taking into his mouth. He looks at Bundus as his lips close around the spoon, then over to you who can't help but watch the interaction with a look of interest.
"Loved it. Best I ever had. Real sweet." Bro hums in agreement as he comes up, and Bundus licks the spoon clean again. "Makes me wonder if the baker is just as sweet."
Bro laughs, loudly, and the sound wipes the shocked look off your face and replaces it with a mildly amused one. "Don't pay him no mind." The sentence comes out with a twang not native to him, and Bundus grins at the sound of it. "Es un idiota." You laugh next, and both men decide then and there that it's a sound they don't want to go another day not hearing.
β
"Ain't no way he's givin' it to her right." Bundus says aloud to himself, talking around the cigarette in his mouth as he leans back in the chair on the porch, sock clad feet kicked up and crossed one over the other as they rest on the railing. His eyes are focused on where your boy has just stepped out of his car βsome little clown car that wouldn't fit even half his bodyβ to meet you.
You've got a smile on your face, eyes bright and practically bouncing on the balls of your feet as you wait for him to make his way up the porch steps to you. He takes his sweet ass time getting to you, and he doesn't even smile back at you when you throw your arms around his waist and stretch up to give him a kiss.
From what they had gathered earlier, the place was an inheritance to you from your deceased grandmother, and Bundus can't help but think the guy's just shacking up for the time being. Even better, he thinks. Bundus had gotten lazier in his older years, more willing to watch things play out rather than have a direct hand all the time, and he had no problem waiting the young buck out. The kid had wandering eyes like most his age, and he'd eventually get wandering hands too, and then you'd wander your pretty self right on over to the two of them so they could make it all better for you.
He takes another drag, this one slower than the last, and holds the smoke in his mouth as he watches the way your dress clings to the softer parts of you. He can't remember the last time he and Bro had a soft thing like you between the both of them, and while he had never missed it before, he damn sure did now.
His cigarette ends up stamped out and laid in the windowsill where he'll habitually come and find it later, and he makes his way into the house to find his counterpart messing around in the living room. With his usual tact, Bundus presses himself to Bro's back, chin bumping against the top of his head and hand slipping underneath the man's wifebeater. He gropes at his stomach, fingers sinking into the soft flesh there, and then travels further up to grab at his chest neck, rough fingers tweaking at stiff nipples.
"That's your second one today."
"What is?"
"Cigarrillo. You cutting back again?" Bundus makes a noncommittal sound, hand unceremoniously dropping down to squeeze Bro through his jeans. He can feel him hardening underneath the coarse fabric, and he lets out a breath when he doesn't feel his own cock stir to life. "One 'n done?" He can hear the grin in Bro's voice, and he gives him a rough squeeze, forcing a pained groan from him, before moving to drop himself down onto the couch.
"Your lucky day."
Bro licks at his lips, eyes watching as Bundus pulls his clothes off as if he can't be bothered to make a show of it. He enjoys it nonetheless, peeling off his own clothing. He puts more care into it than Bundus, and while the older man can put on a facade as if he's annoyed by the fact that he's gonna be the one on the receiving end tonight, his eyes that drink in the sight of his now revealed cock tell the real story.
"I'd say I feel bad, but I don't." Bro's stomach tightens as he absentmindedly tugs at his hanging cock, the weight of it too much to stand up and bob in the air. A thick dollop of pre stretches down from the uncut tip to the floor, and Bundus's eyes follow the trail until a deep, throaty groan brings his attention back up to see what brought on the reaction.
He follows Bro's gaze, his own sizable cock, despite still being soft, hanging limp over his balls. There's thick patches of platinum blonde on his groin, inner thighs and cock, and on the mushroom head there's a shiny glaze of precum that steadily dribbles out.
There's nothing about Bundus's appearance that Bro would firstly describe as cute. Rugged, for sure. Handsome, absolutely. Sexy, every day. Big as all hell, continuously. But cute? The man's head brushed most ceilings, he had an eight foot wingspan, and if you caught sight of his shadow you might think Bigfoot really was stomping around out there. But the sight of his cock that had started sparingly listening to him once he hit the age of fifty-seven four years ago always brought that adjective to mind.
"And here I thought you'd take pity on an old man and settle for a handy." Bundus deadpans, the way his gaze focuses on the swing of Bro's cock as he steps forward revealing that he wanted anything but that.
"Like you settled for one last week, cabrΓ³n?" Bundus barks out a laugh, only for it to cut off into a groan when Bro pops a squat between his spread legs and gathers his flaccid dick up in his hand. "Couldn't walk right for three days."
"Well, when your dick chooses to work 2 days out the week, let's see if you don't get a lil' excitedβshiiit." Bro licks at his weepy tip, tongue pressing into his slit and making Bundus jerk his leg up. He keeps at it, the both of them knowing it's not gonna get him any harder, but he can still feel the sensations, and Bro likes making people feel good β he likes teasing them, too.
"Had no problem getting hard this morning when you thought she was asking you to fuck her." They share matching grins, both men thinking back on how they had instantaneously popped stiffys as if they were in their teens again and discovering their very first porno mag. "Or maybe you just like the idea of me doing the fucking. I spoiled you too much, hm?"
Bundus goes to say something that would surely make a nun's ears bleed, and Bro chooses then to take his two lubed up fingers, the digits coated in a mix of his and Bundus's pre, and slides them into the older man's entrance. He grits his teeth, jaw working underneath his scruffy beard, and head tilts back to hang over the back of the couch as Bro works them in deeper. It's a snug fit for the fact that they haven't gone all the way in a while, the last one having been pressed into the mattress being Bro himself, and he goes slow to allow him to adjust.
"Lotta lip for someone that cums soon as I get halfway in." Bro adds another finger, watching the way Bundus's stomach moves in reaction to the addition. "And don't fix your mouth to make it like I'm the only one nippin' at her heels, you sonuvaβwon't you stop pussyfootin' and put your dick in already."
Bro's teeth sink into his bottom lip just as he sinks into Bundus. Despite all the times he'd found himself inside the older man, Bro moans like it's the first time he's ever felt him wrapped around his length.
The sound is muffled quickly, a rough hand snagging him by the back of his neck and jerking him down, and then a pair of chapped lips are mashing against his own. Their tongues meet, unhurried, a stark contrast to the way Bro fucks into him β the sound of their bodies meeting is loud: the slap of his balls with every snap of his hips, fat sacs clapping against the curve of Bundus's ass.
The hand on the back of his neck moves to instead grip at his ass, blunt fingers sinking into the giving flesh, and the action spurs Bro on more, muscled thighs tensed as he adheres to the silent demand. Every drive of his hips forces a grunt out of Bundus, his limp cock drooling, and Bro braces one hand on a brawny shoulder and the other on a soft, yet still firm, pec.
Their lips part as they suck in gasping breaths, spittle in their respective beards and goatees, and Bro's native language drips off his tongue as he gives deep, hard strokes β cock pulling out until only the sensitive tip remains, Bundus's rim holding on for dear life, and then stuffing himself right back in until he's pressing against that spot inside Bundus that makes his sun-kissed skin a feverish red.
Both men's words turn into nonsensical grunts and groans, eyes unfocused, and Bundus' head tips back once again, gaze straying to the open window andβ
His lips crook into a smirk as your shocked gaze locks onto Bro who stands over him, brown strands of hair plastered to sweaty shoulders as he chases his orgasm. Bundus can feel his own coming, breath quickening and heart racing, and when a hand grips at his cock and tugs he's coming, weak spurts of cum dribbling over the back of Bro's fingers. He had loudly groaned when he came, prompting your attention to move to him, and his smirk turns into a full fledged grin as he shoots you a wink.
You jump out of your skin like a kid getting caught with their hand in the cookie jar, and Bundus is too amused by your reaction to give Bro shit for finishing inside of him. You fumble for the curtains at the sides of your window before snatching them shut, and now seemingly hip to the situation, Bro lets out a low laugh as he falls onto the couch beside him.
Soon enough both men are laughing, their voices reaching to where you're currently fielding off your boyfriend's questions about what your problem is while you try, and fail, to get the image of your two next door neighbors going at it out of your head.
"...this is really nice, babe, but..." Your eyes flick between the large bouquet of flowers, the beautifully designed Mother's Day card, and Goka who stands in front of you with a befuddled facial expression. "I'm not a mom?"
"I know." Goka watches you examine the flowers closer, a pleased little smile finally curling onto your lips, and he makes a mental note to circle back around to that flowerist when this bouquet wilts away.
"Sooo? What'd you get it for?" You give him an expectant look, and he feels the tips of his ears betray him, palms growing just a bit clammy. He thinks it's ridiculous that bringing the proposition of trying for a baby to you is more nerve-wracking than when he gets dropped off in some desolate wasteland of a country with orders to wipe out the terrorist organization hiding out in fortified, underground tunnels.
He had been abducted and held as a pow - water-boarded, electrocuted, beaten, disfigured and left scarred, starved, isolated for weeks on end, and he hadn't so much as flinched or showed any discomfort, and yet he currently felt like aborting mission.
"I," he starts, only to abruptly stop when you swing your gaze up to him and slightly raise your brows, the usual way that you show he has your full attention. Goka falters, throat clearing, and he thinks he can get it out if he focuses on the shape of your brows instead, but then you go and open your mouth.
"Hm? C'mon, baby, tell me." You whine. "You've got me all curious now. What is it?"
"Uhβ do you think that card is good enough for my mother? She's picky." Goka rubs at his undercut, trying to will away the heat in his face.
"Oh, don't I know." You blow out a breath. "So this is for her? Hm.. yeah, I think it's nice. I like the gold lettering. Very fancy-schmancy. Are the flowers for her too, then?"
"No, those are for you." You give an excited little dance in your seat at that, and he takes the card back when you extend it out to him. "...thanks."
"Mhm. Of course!"
++
"Hm? This way? But this way is longer, Goβaww, look at the little onesie!" You make a beeline for the clothes rack, hands outstretched so you can feel the fabric of the honeybee onesie. 'Little' is an understatement. It looks as if it's made for a toy doll and not a living, breathing child.
Goka picks up a similar sized one, and that gnawing urge to see you round with his kid grows even more. It had first started when he had seen you with your niece and nephew a few months ago. The babbling toddlers had each been perched on one of your hips, their eyes wide and happy as they talked your ear off with baby talk and spread drool all over your cheeks with their fingers. You had smiled and nodded along, playing into it as if you could actually understand what they were saying.
Oh, really? I think the current economic state of the country is at an all-time low as well. Hm? No no, no way they'd make the children go back to chimney sweeping - don't worry about that. Huh? She said what?!
You were a natural, as if you were in your element, and when you had passed them off to Goka in an effort to use the bathroom uninterrupted, he found that he wasn't as horrible with kids as he originally thought he was. It felt forced when he tried to respond to their nonsensical gurgles, and it felt awkward trying to twist a smile onto his mouth, so he had resorted to poking at their beer-esque bellies and watching them scream in laughter.
Then he had tried out a makeshift airplane ride, taking each toddler under a brawny arm and carefully flying them through the air. That had earned him a standing ovation as well as a throw-up scare.
In an effort to settle them and their stomachs down, he had taken to letting them climb all over him like a piece of playground equipment β boosting their feet up when they couldn't reach his shoulders, hunching over so they could walk across his back, and shooting his hands out when one lost their footing and went tumbling.
When it had finally been time to go, the cries and pleas for the both of you to stay had kicked that dormant desire laying quiet inside him to life β the desire to build a family with you.
"Baby, look." You call his attention and he looks over, eyebrows raising as he sees that you've found a onesie that matches your current outfit perfectly. Mommy & me. "Isn't this so cute? Oh my god, I should get it for me and my niece!"
"Your niece?"
You raise an eyebrow.
"Yes, my niece. Who else would I buy this for? It's not like we have a baby." Goka blinks and so do you, and the words are on his tongue βwe could make oneβ but they don't come out.
"Your nephew. There's a blue one to your left." He steps forward and pulls the garment free from the rack, his eyes looking down his nose at you, and something tugs at the corner of your mouth as you keep his stare.
You pluck the clothing from his hand before stretching up to plant a kiss on the underside of his chin, your smile felt against his skin.
"C'mon, Uncle Goka, let's go see if we can find one for you to match with us, too."
++
Goka has been sitting at the dining table for the past six hours, a series of books laid out around him. The Expectant Father. The Birthing Partner. Mayo Clinic Guide to Your Baby's First Year! Early Childhood Development. Raise Them Better Than You Were. Breaking The Cycle: Generational Trauma. How Much Biting Is Too Much Biting? Teething and What To Expect.
They had arrived about an hour after you had left for work, and Goka had ripped into the box before the front door had even shut behind him and hunkered down in the dining room.
He had a notebook to the left of him, pen in his left hand and a highlighter laid in the spine of the open book to his right. The page was highlighted top to bottom because he had felt like everything was important, and his notebook was full of neat notes that were separated into different categories.
His head was bursting with childcare jargon, and he was aware enough to know he was getting way ahead of himself considering he pussied out on getting your take on if you even wanted a kidβ
Goka closes the book with a slow blink, eyebrows pulling together and a hand coming up to rub at the ghosting of stubble popping up on his face and chin. Did you want a kid? It had never come up before on either end, whether one of you being for or against it.
You had always cooed at babies in passing, and you adored your niece and nephew, but did you want one of your own? With him? The uncharacteristic giddiness that had been flipping around in his stomach for months on end sours, and he has to stand up and head to the kitchen in search of something to get the sudden acrid taste out of his mouth.
He ends up with a fistful of walnuts, a snack that he's never liked, but he read that it was good for fertility and increasing a man's sperm count and brought a value box. He munches on it with a grimace, too lost in thought to notice the quiet purr of your car's engine cutting off in the driveway.
If you didn't want a kid, he'd accept that, of course. He'd be upset in his head about it, but he'd get over it, and if he didn't then he'd just shove it down until he thought he was over it β he was good at that.
He notices the nearly imperceptible sound of fabric shifting against each other and keeps his back turned, the rest of the walnuts being dumped into his mouth as he slowly chews. A soft exhale that sounds mildly amused reaches his ears next, and the corners of his mouth quirk up.
He lets you get closer before bursting your bubble.
He turns quickly, hands shooting out to snag you by your waist, and a screech of laughter flies out of your mouth as you willingly let him pull you closer.
"No fair! I was so quiet this time." You try to force a pout but fail, his fingers shifting against your side and pulling forth another round of giggles.
"Not quiet enough." He swoops down to kiss you, your eyes immediately fluttering shut as you lean into him, and he rests his weight against the counter as he pulls back. "How was work? Did they like your banana bread?"
"They did! Except for Lauren, of course. God, I can't stand that woman. She said it was too banana-y. Duh, you ditz. It's banana bread!" You go off on a tangent, face scrunching at certain points, and Goka pulls free your work badge from your belt loop and lays it flat on the counter. "βmiddle of the meeting as if I didn't know what I was talking about. It's like she forgets that I'm the department supervisor. Doesn't she know that she answers to me and not the other way around? She's crazy."
"Mhm." He nods in agreement, his mind far off in hypothetical baby land. You keep rambling on, and Goka unintentionally gives you a blank stare, the look continuing until you tug on his shirt. He comes back to the present to see you giving him a quizzical look, and his skin warms when you grab his hands in your own and intertwine your fingers together.
"Are my tales about the adventures of working in the office not riveting enough for you, Mr. Nijiku?" You say it jokingly, already knowing the answer. He had told you before that he could listen to you go on and on about the mundane details of the inner workings of a computer all day long without growing tired of hearing your voice. Goka hung onto every word you said, always, and it showed in the way his ears would perk up like a dogs the moment he heard your intake of breath, signaling a string of words that were soon to come.
"I.." He trails off, suddenly hot, and the way your thumb rubs at the back of his hand doesn't help him any. "I want to talk to you." You give him a patient look, and when he doesn't follow up with anything you let out a soft laugh and give his hands a shake.
"About?" He glances off to the side, teeth unconsciously grinding against each other.
"Do you.. Have you thought aboutβ" You catch his gaze, a soft, tender smile on your face, and the nerves that had settled in his chest weeks ago vanishes in an instant. His shoulders lose their stiffness and he suddenly finds it a little easier to breathe. The words that had been stuck on his tongue for months finally wiggle themselves free, and they come out effortlessly. "Do you want to have a baby? My baby?"
You laugh.
He doesn't know if that reaction is good or bad, but he's always loved the sound of your laugh so he takes it as a positive regardless. "And it only took you seven months to ask me." Your hands uncurl from his, and he finds himself reaching back out to take hold of you, but you're already across the kitchen and rooting through your purse that you had placed on the kitchen island.
"It was eight months, actβyou knew?" You give him a look as if to say 'duh'.
"Of course I knew. You're an open book, babe. Literally." You tap your fingers on the many books scattered on the table, your other hand hidden behind your back, and come back to stand in front of him.
"So you let me suffer all that time."
"Aw, don't pout." You reach up to pinch at his cheek, and he grabs your wrist before you can pull it back to kiss at the inside of it, catching a whiff of the perfume you had placed there that morning. "You're a big boy - I knew you'd get the words out eventually." His supposed pout deepens.
"Asshole."
"Hey!" You laugh. "You're gonna have to get that potty mouth under wraps if you wanna set a good example for our kid." He catches on instantly, lightning fast reflexes finally proving useful with you, and a smile that's only ever been brought on by you spreads across his face.
"Does that mean yes? We can try?"
"We don't have to."
The hand that had been behind your back comes around to reveal a white and blue stick, and he identifies it as a pregnancy test right away, the positive sign even faster.
"I was a few days late on my period, so I brought a few tests on my lunch break today, and, well... tada." He gingerly takes the test out of your hand and holds it up to his face, eyes flitting between the bright blue cross on the screen and then down to your stomach. Pregnant. You're pregnant. With his baby. He's going to be a father. "Gokβ"
He cuts you off with a kiss, his empty hand cradling the back of your head as he tries to pour all the love and happiness bubbling up inside of him into you. He doesn't know what to do with it, never has, which is odd considering he's had plenty of time to figure this out. You've invoked these feelings in him since the first time you ever spoke to him, but he still finds himself overwhelmed with it all, so he keeps kissing you, the pregnancy test carefully placed aside as he flattens his palm over your stomach, mind once again flooded with dreams of the future.
CWS: Mentions of physical child abuse. Past grooming. Mentions of statutory rape. Inappropriate relationship (adult/minor). Underage drug use. Underage drinking. Toxic relationship. Domestic violence. Flashback chapter.
WC: 4.6K
Bro rushes into the kitchen as he fights to put his backpack over his shoulders, struggling like its shrunken three sizes over night. His shoes are still untied, scuffed sneakers squeaking against the shiny, tiled floors over the kitchen.Β
He pauses immediately at the sound and winces, his eyes darting to his parents bedroom door. He waits a beat, and when no sound comes from the other side of the door he continues fighting with his bag, finally figuring out what the problem is when his hands slide up and find that the straps have been tightened all the way. He fixes it quickly, the bag finally settling over his shoulders and laying against his back, and pulls a banana free from the bunch laying on the counter.Β
He glances at the time displayed on the microwave, peeling the banana open as he does, and strides over to the trashcan to dump the peel in it. With his attention split between the digital clock and his makeshift breakfast, he misses the barstool at the kitchen island that hadnβt been pushed in all the way. The toe of his shoe catches it, and his body falls forward as his hand shoots out to brace his fall. The barstool comes clattering down beside him, the loud noise echoing throughout the house, and he groans as the old springs in his parents bed creak underneath shifting weight.Β
βFuck.β
-
Bro smooths out the wrinkles in his uniform top as he walks down the street, occasionally wincing as he brushes over the sore spot in the center of his chest. His mother had ironed his uniform for him before she had left for work that morning, and he feels a bit bad that the effort had gone to waste because his dad was an angry fuck in the morningβhe was always an angry fuck, but doubly so before the hours of seven am.Β
He spots a familiar tall body a bit of ways down the street talking with a shorter one, and the two clasp their hands in a handshake, a small baggy passed as they do. The shorter person crosses the street after the transaction, and Bro calls out to the one remaining, a smile spreading across his face as they raise their hand in greeting.
βWhatβs up, Arkha?β Their hands dap each other up before they fall into step beside each other. Corvus shrugs a shoulder, hand moving to reach for something in the side pocket of his bag. He retrieves a bottle of hand sanitizer and applies a generous amount to his hands. βYou know theyβre still doing bag checks at the door, right?β He looks over at Bro, head slightly angled down due to his tall height, and Bro internally glowers at the difference in height.Β
βMy cousin switched over from Prestman so itβs cool. Heβs gonna be working the door from now on.β He puts the bottle away, the strong smell of the hand antiseptic fading away until he smells of a mix of laundry detergent and moisturizer. He straightens his already crisp shirt out, flicking away invisible pieces of lint, and Bro tries to smooth his own wrinkled shirt out once again.
βThe one with the shit on his teeth? The barnacles?β Corvus huffs out a laugh, his own straight, white teeth flashing, and the two of them round the corner and spot yet another familiar body leaning against a stop sign.
βItβs called Tartar, Bro. And yeah, that's the one. Heβs gonna help me push the rest of what Iβve got so I can go to class. My mom has been on me about missing so many days.βΒ
Corvus would eventually stop selling drugs when his supplier would start cutting fentanyl into the batches, and heβd sell those laced drugs to his classmates and the people in his neighborhood that he had grown up with, which would lead to their deaths if they were lucky. If they werenβt, theyβd end up strung out until they eventually ODβd in dirty bathrooms and crack dens, but not before losing themselves first. Heβd go on to take school seriously and go off to college to study law, then to graduate school, and then heβd be hired on as a criminal defense lawyer and make The Forbes list.Β
Enjin joins the duo, his uniform more wrinkled than Broβs and no backpack in sight. Heβs got a joint tucked behind one ear thatβll more than likely be smoked before they reach the school, and thereβs dark bags underneath his eyes that have been there since they first met two years ago when he was placed in the rundown foster home on the rougher end of the city.
βYouβre such a fuckinβ mamaβs boy, Arkha. You still on breast milk, too?β Bro barks out a laugh when Corvus reaches out to hit Enjinβs shoulder, and then laughs again when Corvus has to pull the hand sanitizer back out and douse his hands in it yet again. Enjin groans, rubbing at the sore spot, and falls into step as well. βYou really shouldnβt hit me around Bro, man. Youβre gonna give him war flashbacks from his dad or somethinβ.β Broβs laughter stops abruptly, and before he can make Enjinβs other shoulder just as sore, a voice is shouting at them from up the street.
Theyβve officially reached the more bougie rows of houses, and sitting on the stoop of a three story home is none other than Gris. He stands up as they near, the phone that he had been typing on pushed down into his pocket. Just as they reach the staircase, the front door to the house opens and his dad comes rushing out, tie undone and briefcase tucked underneath his arm as he takes the stairs two at a time.
βIβll see you tomorrow night, Gris.β He spares a quick ruffle to his sonβs hair as he passes him by, and Bro thinks back to how his own dad had sent him off this morning with a fist to his chest and spittle in his face. βStay out of trouble β and that goes for all of you. Especially you, Enjin. If I get another call from your caseworker begging for another pro bono because you got into something Iβll wring your neck myself.βΒ
Enjin rolls his eyes. βYeah yeah, Hank. Donβt act like you donβt love me.β His joint is plucked from behind his ear, and he groans and hangs his head down.
Hank stops in front of Corvus, and like routine he fixes the manβs tie with quick, sure movements. βItβs not an act, you spindly bastard. But this kid,β he juts his chin at Corvus as he heads to his car thatβs parked on the street. βFuckinβ love βem. Once I get my firm up off the ground Iβve got a spot for you if you keep your nose clean.β He tosses his briefcase into the passengerβs seat before pushing the door shut. βAnd you.β He points to Bro. βYou know youβre free to come over whenever shit gets dicey. Take advantage.β He gives him a sincere look, and Bro nods as he gives him a grateful, albeit embarrassed, look. βAlright, boys. Stay safe and stay out of jail.β He angles his head up and cups his hands around his mouth as his voice booms down the empty street. βBye, sweetheart! I love you! Donβt let the milkman in while Iβm gone, alright!?β
βSo the mailman is free game, then?!βΒ
The older man laughs as he gets into his car, and Bro watches the mustang peel off down the street. Heβs always liked Grisβs dad, his mom too, which wasnβt a surprise. He found that he liked everyoneβs dad as long as it wasnβt his own. He spent most of his summers split between their house and his own, something that would stop a year down the line when Hank would come home early from a business trip to find his wife dead in the bedroom and his son comatose, both of them the victims of an act of revenge from a case everyone had told him not to touch.Β
Gris would end up hating his dad for a long time because his grief would turn into anger, and itβs easy to throw blame to whoever is closest, and his dad would hate himself until he eventually took his last breath as he succumbed to stage 4 cirrhosis of the liver due to drinking his sorrows away. Heβd leave his law firm to his most trusted attorney, and his assets to his son, and heβd be missed by everyone who loved him.Β
βYour dad is such a dick, man. He took my joint.β
βChin up, twiggy. Iβm sure youβll have another by the time lunch comes. Bye, ma! Iβm leaving!β
βOkay, love you! Donβt be late!β
The group continues on their way, and soon enough they all come into sight of the school, the last two members of the group, Semiu and Mildretta, joining up with them as they reach the line building outside the entrance. They make conversation, laughing and cursing and drawing the attention of the others around them, and when itβs their turn to have their bags searched and their pockets turned inside out, Corvusβs cousin makes sure to look past the drugs snuggled up against his chemistry textbook and waves their group in.
Before everyone breaks off to go to their classes, Enjin slings his arm around Corvusβs shoulders, ignoring the way he pointedly looks at him and tries to shrug him off. βYou got me with a free bag after school?βΒ
βNo.β He finally manages to get Enjin off of him, and Semiu shakes her head before grabbing him by the collar and proceeding to pull him down the hall.
Corvus would give him a free bag like he always did, and a little later down the line heβd unknowingly give him a laced one, and Enjin would find himself a resident of a slew of rehabs paid for by both Corvus and Gris, and occasionally in prison when Corvus wasnβt able to win his case. Heβd eventually get clean and use the skills he had learned when he was locked up to work in an autoshop. Heβd get chummy with the owner, the older man taking him under his wing, and when he eventually passed on heβd leave the shop to Enjin and heβd take it to new heights and eventually expand the business into other cities and then states.
Mildretta and Gris go off to class together, and when Corvus gets a nod from someone two grades above that slips into the boys bathroom he goes off, too, leaving Bro to head in the opposite direction by himself.Β
Theyβd all meet back up tonight βsave for Corvus who had to make up for lost sells due to school, and Semiu and Mildretta due to their dads being hard-asses and keeping them on short leashesβ since it was Friday, and that meant his house was the place to go to sneak liquor and smoke outside behind the shed while the adults got drunk off their asses and stopped caring about what the kids were getting up to.
β
βYour mom is so fucking hot, man.βΒ
Bro can just barely make out the words over the thumping sound of the music, the bass emitting from the speakers seemingly shaking the floor underneath their feet, but when he finally processes it, his face twists into a disgusted frown as he shoots a hand out to smack the back of Enjinβs head.
βShut the fuck up, gringo.βΒ
Enjin grins, his eyes not straying from where they watch Broβs mom who dances in the center of the room, his dad not too far off as he drinks straight from a bottle. His usual frown is gone, instead replaced with a grin, and he laughs at something Marlo, a neighbor from down the street, says. Itβs a rare sight, one that heβs never seen directed at himself, and a wave of jealousy briefly flares up at the fact that some guy who practically counts as a stranger gets the best from his father opposed to his own flesh and blood.
Most of the people attending could count as strangers in Bro's book, only a few being vaguely familiar. Thereβs Lynette, the widow from the apartments three blocks over that his mom met at the hair salon. Sheβs a sad, reclusive lady so she rarely comes, but he guesses his mom had done some begging to finally get her to show up. Bro steered clear of her, never knowing what to say when she broke into a sad spiel about her late husband. Heβd nod and give her sympathetic looks, before guiltily forcing out a few lines of broken English to get her to go and find a more fluent party.
Mr. O from next door was a middle aged Asian man who genuinely didnβt speak a lick of English or Spanish, but a liquor bottle and music transcended language barriers and he found himself at every gathering they hosted. He was nice enough, and he always brought over some kind of dish when he came so he was a party favorite.
There was Dolly, an older white woman who was missing a few teeth but didnβt let it stop her from smiling in your face and telling story after story. There were a few men from his fatherβs job, along with some of his motherβs coworkers as well. Some people were just randoms from the street that had been drawn in by the music and the open front door, and he even recognized a few super seniors from school with red solo cups in their hands.Β
Yet another group comes creeping through the front door, and Bro writes them off as yet another group of stragglers and turns to head over to the unoccupied drink table where Gris currently lingers, but then a brand new face is grabbing his attention and keeping him rooted in his spot. Sheβs beautiful. And heβs not the only one that thinks so. Multiple heads turn to look as she enters, and Bro tracks her with his eyes as she seemingly floats into his home.Β
She nears him, and before he can think of looking away so his gawking isnβt so obvious, sheβs meeting his stare and tilting her head at him. She smiles, dimples popping up in her cheeks, and Bro gives her a wave that Enjin will absolutely give him shit for later.Β
She opens her mouth to say something, but then Enjin is shouting something about βGrisβ and βout backβ and dragging him away, leaving Bro to give the woman an apologetic look as the distance between them grows.
β
The door to Broβs bedroom softly clicks shut behind him, and he immediately heads over to his dresser thatβs pushed against the wall, various gaming magazines lazily tossed on top. He tugs open the second drawer on the left, and with a last, cautious glance to his door, he begins to move his clothing aside in search for the reinforced ziploc bag of weed hidden inside. Enjin had managed to smoke all of his own to no oneβs surprise, and Bro had resigned to giving up his own when Enjin kept bitching about losing his high.
His shoulders stiffen when his bedroom door suddenly swings open, the squeaky hinges that had ruined his many attempts at sneaking out announcing someoneβs arrival, and Bro quickly shoves the ziplock bag of weed back between his clothing before stepping back and taking a seat on his bed in an attempt to look casual.
He wasnβt sure who he had been expecting, but it definitely hadnβt been the girl from earlier. She looks around the room before her eyes finally land on him, and she looks surprised before giving him a smile that makes him give a natural one of his own, his throat suddenly feeling dry.Β
βOh, sorry, I was looking for the bathroom.β She says, and Bro nods, his mind trying and failing to come up with something to say. Heβs never been bad with girls, and heβs had a few almost girlfriends before he fucked up and said something to piss them off, but Bro can tell that sheβs not like the girls he goes to school with. She doesnβt have the braces, or the pimply faces, or the silly bandz on the wrist that heβs currently trying to yank off of his own wrist before she sees. Sheβs got makeup and long lashes, sharp cheeks and sharper eyes, tattoos that peek out from the hem of her dress. βAre you Marleneβs son?β
βHuh?β His eyes lift from where they had been unconsciously trying to decipher what her tattoo said, and when her question finally registers in his head he gives a quick nod. βOh, uhβyeah. Iβm Bro.β
βBro.. Your mom named you that or is it just a nickname?β She slips into his room, casually shutting the door behind herself, and Bro completely forgets that she had originally been looking for the bathroom because holy shit sheβs in his room.Β
βA-A nickname. Iβm named after my dad, but I donβtβpeople just call me Bro.βΒ
βThatβs cute.β He lets out a nervous laugh, lips rolling into his mouth before he releases them. She looks around his room, lingering on the magazine pages heβs got pinned on the walls featuring a slew of shiny, classic cars. Then she shifts to the shelving, which hosts small replicas of cars that date back as far as the early 1900βs. She reaches out to touch one, and Bro makes a noise of complaint before quickly swallowing it down, but she hears it nonetheless. Her hand pauses before she touches it, head turning over her shoulder to look at him, and she quirks a brow at him. βWhat, I canβt touch it?β
βNo, no, you can. Itβs cool.β He says, and he clenches his teeth and presses his lips firmly together as she lets out a chuckle. She picks it up from the shelf and brings it closer to her face, and heβs torn between being happy at the fact that a pretty girl like her is touching his stuff and being annoyed that a pretty girl is touching his stuff.Β
He doesnβt have to switch between the two emotions for long before sheβs placing the car back down, waltzing over to him, and plopping herself down onto the bed beside him. He stiffens up immediately, even more so than he already was, and his hands move to rest on his thighs, clammy palms subtly wiping themselves dry on the material of his pants.Β
She notices his stiff posture and playfully bumps her shoulder against his, her knees turning inward so they brush against his leg. He shifts away without thinking and she notices, shooting him a mock offended look.
βWhat? Youβve got a girlfriend or something, guapo?β Her smile widens as she says it, and Broβs skin heats at the compliment. He was used to being complimented, really, but always by his mother or the aunties in his family and the abuelas at church, and the occasional rumor that went around in the school halls about what girl thought he was cute that month. He had never heard it from someone like this.
He glances off to the side, hand idly reaching up to twist at the dark, wavy hair that only just reach the back of his neck, only to immediately drop it back down, muscle memory kicking in as his body remembers all the times his father had swatted his hands to try and break the habit.
βNo, not yet, butβI mean Iβve had one. A bunch.β He rushes out in an attempt to save face, voice cracking as he says it, and he clears his throat right after to try and cover it up but she laughs as she notices it anyways. The sound is teasing, similar to how his older cousins laugh and poke at him whenever he tries to insert himself into their dealings, and he grows defensive without meaning to, body tensing and eyes unconsciously going to the shut door of his bedroom.
βAww, donβt pout. I didn't laugh in a mean way. I just think itβs cute.β Fingers suddenly sift through his hair, and Bro whips his head around to look at her, lips nervously twitching. βYouβre almost bigger than your dad but youβre still just a kid.β
βIβm not a kid.β His βpoutβ turns into a frown as he rushes the words out. He had just turned 15 three months ago, and he had been mistaken for an adult more often than not when he was out in public. His mom sent him to the liquor store four blocks whenever the party ran dry and he never got carded. His father tasked him with buying his cigarettes, and if he was drunk enough heβd pretend not to notice the lack of change and the extra carton in his sonβs back pocket. He got stopped on the streets by asshole cops whenever they felt like harassing someone, and heβd have to practically shove his school ID down their throats for them to believe he was still a minor. And she had thought he was older too, initially, hadnβt she? Thatβs why she was sitting here, smiling and touching him and talking to him. βIβm already in highschool.β
βYeah?β She giggles, leaning in closer, and he stiffens up and swallows as her chest pushes against his arm. βWhat are you? A freshman?β He jerkily nods, palms growing sweaty, and his eyes drift over to the door again.Β
βA-Are you a senior?β She shakes her head. βYouβre in college?β Another shake of her head, and then her hand is on his thigh and Bro jumps in his body as he swallows again, this time harsher.
βI graduated college six years ago.β She squeezes his leg. βThatβs why I said youβre just a kid. Compared to me, anyway.β Her hand drifts upward, and Bro watches as it settles over the bulge in his pants and smooths back and forth. His gasp gets caught in his throat, and he has to switch to manual breathing as flaming hot heat settles in his face. The only other time heβs had someone else touch him below the belt, it had been his seventy year old doctor during his yearly physical while his mom stood behind the privacy curtain to make sure he wasnβt a cochino.Β
She presses against him harder, and his heart slams against his ribcage, pulse thumping in his ears, and his hands fist the Hulk comforter bunched underneath him. βMm, or maybe not.β She laughs again, the sound making gooseflesh appear on his arms, and just as she reaches for the button on his pants the doorknob rattles.Β
She pulls away from him quickly and rises from the bed, somehow still graceful as she does it, and Bro is still sitting frozen as the door is shoved open to reveal an annoyed Gris, a drunken Enjin hanging off his shoulder.Β
βBrooooo, where the fuhββ He wretches, head dipping forward, and Gris makes a disgusted face before shoving the lanky boy forward so he lands on the beanbag in the corner.Β
βHe found your dadβs moonsββ Gris cuts himself off at the sight of the woman still in Broβs room, and then he looks back to Bro, and then back to her. βHeβs actually sober, by the way. He just has low blood sugar right now.β Gris grins, and Bro snaps out of his stupor to snag a pillow from the head of his bed and lay it across his lap.
βDonβt worry, GΓΌerito.β She smiles, and then her gaze swings over to where Bro is still sitting, smile widening when she notices the pillow over his lap. βI wonβt tell if you won't." He reaches up for his hair and stops short again, instead settling on picking at a loose thread on his pillowcase. βText me sometime, Bro.β
His head whips up, eyes shining and cheeks warm. βI-I donβt have yourββ She points to his nightstand, and he reaches over and snags his math journal that he had left open. A number is scribbled right underneath Geometry equations, followed by her name written in cursive.
Angel.
When he looks up sheβs gone and Gris is standing over him, mouth agape and eyes wide as he slams his hands down on Broβs shoulders and shakes him.
βHer number? What the fuck? And look at your fucking boner β did yβall fuck?β
βWith my pants still on, dumbass?βΒ
βBrooo.β Gris gives a giddy laugh, the beer he drank earlier making him more animated than he usually is, and Bro canβt help but join in on his laughter. βDid you see her tits?β He makes motions over his shirt to signify breasts, and Bro snorts and raises up to his own feet. The two teens are leveled shoulder to shoulder now, but that will change in the next year when Gris gains six inches over his best friend seemingly overnight. βThereβs no way she goes to Westman. She must go to the school over the tracks - Jacobi. They get all the pretty girls.βΒ
βNah, sheβs not in school.βΒ
βShe dropped out?β
βShe graduated already.β Bro walks over to Enjin and kicks the beanbag heβs on to check if heβs still up, and when he doesnβt get a response he squats down and flips him over. βSo I guess sheβs working now, or something. Did he take something? Enjin. Hey, pendejo.β
βNah, man, just the weed and that shit your dad keeps under the counter. Sem took his pills before we got here, remember?β Gris walks over next, closing the door as he does, and bends down to give a series of light smacks to Enjinβs cheek. βHey, En. Corvus is here with his dick out.β
βThatβs not gonna work, youββ
β...huh? Arkha?β Enjin comes to life for a second, head managing to lift and eyes staying open long enough to give the room a scan. Once he sees that Corvus is nowhere in sight he passes back out, head flopping down and body going limp. Gris and Bro meet each other's eyes, and the laughter that follows after is loud enough to drown out the music beyond his bedroom door.Β
The two of them wonβt laugh like that for a long time, and Bro wonβt hang out with him or the rest of his friends either. Heβll date Angel and heβll fall in love, and sheβll tell him that she loves him, too, and heβll believe her despite all the guys in the videos on her phone. Despite the names she calls him when he makes her mad. Despite the smacks she lands on him. Despite all the lies she told him. Despite the men twice his age that she had instigated fights with in attempts to see if he could protect her when it came down to it. Heβll stay with her until Dear is born, taking everything she dishes out because thatβs all heβs ever known, and heβll even stay when Angel gets pregnant again despite him not having touched her since he held his son for the first time. Heβll only leave when the abuse that had been directed at him attempts to shift towards his son. Sheβll threaten to fight for custody, heβll remind her of the maximum prison time for a person convicted of statutory rape, and he wonβt hear from her for months at a time until she wants to parade around as a mother to her friends and family on social media.Β
Bro will raise his son with the support of his childhood friends, and heβll struggle in the beginning, doubly so when Dear is diagnosed with Autism, but heβll do his best and thatβll be more than enough. And then heβll meet you, eventually, but that part of his life has yet to be written.
Hi everyone! As you can see, I had to open emergency commissions.
Yesterday I had to hospitalize my guinea pig :( His name is Edgar, and he's very small and sick. Since he's an exotic animal, the care and expenses are much higher ;; (The truth is.. I can't write about all this without crying π₯Ί)
So, if you'd like to commission either of these two options, I would be incredibly grateful! I'm currently hoping to accept 10 commissions. If the hospitalization and care costs keep rising, I might have to add more:c
I have seen the innocent/virgin Follo agenda and while I don't fully subscribe, I can see the appeal, because I like to imagine him as absolutely desperate when it comes to sex. Like just absolutely pathetic. He will quite literally cry and beg if it means he gets to sink into you just a second sooner, and I think this coupled with Gris's meanness and teasing is sooo hot.
Like!!! I can just imagine you and Follo acting like two dogs in heat, his cock hard as a rock and leaking like a broken faucet β and you're in no better shape. Your lips are swollen, nipples raw, hole stretched from countless fingers and tongues, sore spots pulsing all over your body from rough hands and sharp teeth.
You can't recall how many times you've cum, nor how many times Follo has practically sobbed at Gris to just let him fuck you already. Each time he slots his cock up against your entrance, face flushed and eyes glossy, Gris wraps his hand around his length and prevents him from pushing in any further than the tip.
Gris always pushes him off with a mean grin, squishes his cheeks together and kisses him hard before directing him to do the same to you, but this time he sinks in himself, fat and girthy cock stretching you out infinitely better than his fingers ever could.
Follo groans, brows knitted together and eyes locked on the way Gris bottoms out inside you, the rim of your hole gripping him so prettily. He resigns himself to jerking off, slim fingers flying up and down his slick cock, and just when he's about to come Gris stops him yet again.
Before Follo can pull a Jekyll and Hyde and blow a fuse rather than his load, Gris is pulling the smaller man in front of him, his own legs spreading wider to accomodate, and guiding his cock to your stuffed hole. Gris uses his other hand to push his finger in alongside his cock, seemingly making way for Follo, and you gasp and moan and cry as he's guided in.
You stretch and stretch and stretch β body giving way to the both of them, and Follo sags back against Gris's broad chest, lashes fluttering as he spills inside you before he's even fully inside.
It had taken years for him to finally allow himself the delicacy that is you, deluding himself into believing that he'd be able to step up to the plate of being the man you deserved.
And he tried, everyone with eyes knows that he did everything within his power to do his best.
Any free moment he had he spent at your side. Anything his eyes landed on that he thought you may like ended up in your hands. Everything you asked him to do he did, happily. Whatever you wanted, craved, admired was yours. He was yours - mind, body, and soul β and you were your own.
He didn't dream of possessing you, never having been one to indulge in unnecessary suffering, and even now, as he stands stock still in the market with you a bit of ways away from him talking with an eager man, he still doesn't dream of it.
He had suggested a brief trip out since an unexpected lull had come up in his duties, and you had eagerly agreed, practically bouncing in your spot as you rattled off all the places the both of you could go.
He hadn't reminded you that he had suggested a brief trip, only smiling and nodding along as you excitedly tugged him out of HQ and into a vacant truck. Your first stop had been a small eatery that you adored, and Corvus had settled for a tooth-achingly sweet drink while you had gotten a concoction of confections that the kids back at home would have gone to war over.
You had rambled on and on, and he had soaked it all up, attentively listening while simultaneously winning the game of footsie you had initiated with him underneath the table.
The next location had been a nearby stroll, your hand intertwined with his as you both took in the views of dust-ridden city. Those same streets always seemed gloomy and daunting when he walked them alone, but they had a glowing brightness when he had you pressed against his side and nuzzling against his arm.
Your walk had ended at an impromptu market trip, and while Corvus had been drawn to a pendant that he thought would look enticing hanging from your neck, you had been drawn to a broach that you commented would look nice on him.
The two of you had split for no more than five minutes, but when he had turned to make his way back to you, necklace tucked away in one of the pockets in his jacket, he had seen you locked into a conversation with a man that was awfully close to you.
He's smiling and so are you, but Corvus has analyzed every smile you've ever given out and he sees this one for what is β you're being polite. Your eyes are shifting around, searching for him in the crowd, and the man keeps drawing your attention back to him with his talking.
He can't blame him, it's intoxicating β your attention. Corvus finds himself wanting to get drunk on it every minute of every hour, but that's selfish, possessive, and Corvus is not a possessive man by choice.
Something dark and cold curdles in his stomach regardless.
"...would have kicked myself over it all night if I didn't come say something, but you're absolutely beautiful. Just.. breathtaking."
Someone shoves past him and he doesn't move an inch, steel gray eyes zeroing in on the way your smile turns bashful, one hand raising to nervously push a strand of hair behind your ear.
"Uh, thanks, that's really sweet, butβ"
"But? Aw, don't tell me you're in a relationship." He whines like a childβa greedy child who has overstepped, and Corvus moves without his own input. "You'll break my heart."
You laugh and he moves faster.
"I'm sure some other lady would be happy to mend it together."
"But I want you to be the one to meβ"
"Darling." Corvus stands behind you like a silhouette, feet bracketing your own, and his face blanks as he stares down at the man in front of you. He has enough self-preservation to forwither, body noticeably flinching back, and Corvus lets a hand snake around your front so he can flatten it over your stomach. "I was looking for you."
Your breath of relief is audible to only him, and he bolsters as you lean back into him. "Sorry, I was talking with... what was your name again?"
The man visibly gulps.
"D-Don't worry about it. I've actually gotta go, so." He makes a speedy exit, and Corvus watches him as he goes, his attention only coming back to you when you let out a disgruntled noise.
"What's the matter?" You tilt your head back to look up at him, and he can't resist pulling his glove off his hand and brushing the tips of his fingers up and down the length of your arm.
"Somebody snagged the broach while that guy was bothering me. Hmph." A pout finds its way to your lips, soft things poking out, and Corvus's body once again acts on its own accord.
His hands find their place on your waist, and with a quick maneuver he spins you around so you're facing him instead. You gasp as the sudden change of position, hands coming up to rest against his chest as you give him a confused look. He doesn't leave you without an answer for long, his head swooping down so he can sweep you up into a kiss.
You can afford one last bewildered look before your eyes are fluttering shut and you're melting against him, and the miniature version of himself that lives at the forefront of his mind offers up that same look because this is not something he indulges in.
He'd never been one for bold, public displays of affections. They were too officializing, too claiming, too possessive, and Corvus wasn't a possessive man by choice. He limited himself to tasteful kisses to the apples of your cheeks, gentle hands on your back to steer you in the correct direction, things that were the complete opposite of how he was actively stealing your breath away.
The ample amount of noise around the both of you dims down to low murmurs and dull thuds, and Corvus momentarily forgets just where the both of you are when he curves his hand around your hip and pulls you closer to him a bit rougher than intended.
You gasp again, testing him, and his tongue tries to venture forward to seek out your own and he manages to quell the desire, momentarily. But shortly after the man's face is flashing in his mind in an unwanted slideshow and then Corvus wonders if he's watching, still thinking he has a chance with you, still thinking that you're notβ
That Corvus hasn't given you every part of himself and left with you no choice but to carry him around with you always, broadcasting to the polluted world just who it is that loves you most.
The third missing silver cuff on his ear that's found a new, better home on your own. The yellow stitching woven into the fabric of your uniform. The hair-tie that's reserved for him encircling around your wrist. The bag dangling from your shoulder that had been one of many gifts from him. The spare, white gloves kept safe in said bag because you had insisted so cutely. The marks decorating your skin underneath the clothing you wear. The soreness that you carry in your hips and thighs from spending the night in his bed. The seed that he had left in the gusset of your panties when the two of you got more distracted than intended in one of the many Cleaner's trucks.
No, Corvus isn't a possessive man by choice, but it seems he is one by nature, and he can't truthfully find it in himself to be ashamed, not when it gets him laid in the backseat of the truck with you on top of him.
"Arkha.." Your voice is weak against his shoulder, breathy little pants being forced out of you with each plunge of his fingers into your noisy sex. Your slick is dripping down his wrist, along with the leftover frothy cum you've left on his slender digits, and your hole is sucking him in, pleading for more than it can handle. "Arkha."
"Yes, love?" He murmurs, fingers pushing in deeper, once again seeking out that spot that only he knows of, a secret that he plans on taking to his grave so it never sees the light of day.
"Need it .. need you."
"You have me. Always."
"No," you sob, and he placates you with a curl of his fingers, the pads of them rubbing against a rough patch that has you gushing. "This... I need this." You push your hand down between your bodies, palm rubbing against the bulge there, and his tongue swipes out to wet his lips.
"You can't take it. Not now." You whimper, head lifting from his shoulder so you can settle your teary eyes on his, and he softly kisses the pout on your lips.
"B-But you said it was mine. You said βohhβ you said I could have it when... whenever I wanted. YouβArkha!" He bullies that sensitive spot, lips mouthing at the curve of your chin and venturing downwards. You drop your hips, desperate to take in more of him, and his ears ring at your words.
"It is yours." 'It' throbs in his pants at being claimed. "But I don't want to hurt you. I haven't stretched you out properly." You sob again, this one louder than the last, and Corvus shushes you with a deep kiss, tongue seeking out yours as he brings you to your end for the umpteenth time. You slump against him, spasming around his fingers, and he tugs on your plump, bottom lip before letting it go.
He adds another finger before you can come down from the high he brought you to, fully intending on solving the problem preventing him from burying himself inside of you and letting his nature take over as he leaves you with something you'll carry with you forever.
Goka has suffered from bouts of intense jealousy all throughout his life. It was worse when he was a teenager β he left a trail of blood, sweat and tears in his wake in his vain efforts to catch up with his elder sister, only to be surpassed by his younger brother who had chosen to go down the wrong path.
He woke up before the sun rose to train his body - defense, offense, martial arts, taekwondo, kick boxing, wrestling, he did it all. He trained his endurance and ran for miles, on and on until his throat was raw from his heavy breathing and his lungs felt like they would burst. He practiced his swings on his sword until the calluses on his hands cracked and bled and his arms were too tired to even lift his fork at the dinner table that same night. He built himself into a marksman, hitting targets dead center until he was able to empty a magazine and only have one entry mark on the target.
He was at the top of his class in the training camp, scoring nothing but exemplary marks for his academic studies. He was proficient in all weapons, but had a preference for the handheld, long range kind. There was no one that had bested him in battle, no victories won against him.
He was commended, applauded, awarded, and yet he had been placed as second in command to his sister rather than getting his own squad to lead, and he still heard remnants of admiration and praise in honor of his younger brother who had thrown away the family legacy to join up with a shoddy bunch of nobodies.
It was infuriating.
It made his blood boil and left a copper taste in his mouth.
It soured his meals and put knots in his stomach.
It made him latch onto you that much more.
Despite being inferior to his siblings in every way imaginable, he had managed to delude you into thinking he was someone worth settling down with β you, who were the only remarkable thing that had ever come into his possession. He was painfully nondescript in his own eyes, yet another cog in the Hell Guard to keep things churning how they should, but you turned the mundaneness of his life into something he looked forward to.
He looked forward to the mornings because you were always there, poised by his side and looking as if you were born to constantly test his resilience β it was a test that he failed every morning, and his punishment was a towering caseload that awaited him when he finally managed to wrench himself out of your arms and head out.
He looked forward to the evenings where you'd stop by the Hell Guard's main station with a bento box wrapped in Furoshiki cradled in your arms and a sweet smile on your face. He'd tell you that you shouldn't have bothered bringing him lunch, that you should have done something for yourself instead, and you'd tell him that this was for you, that you had missed him and wanted to see him, and Goka would grunt and snarf the food down while the tips of his ears burned red.
He looked forward to the nights where he'd be greeted at the door with the scent of vanilla and oats, along with your body colliding into his own weary one. There was always a meal waiting, still sizzling on hot plates because you always timed it just perfectly despite his varying schedules. And after the meal there was a quiet, hot bath where you worked hard to rub the knots out of his shoulders and smooth out the furrow in his brows.
What he did not look forward to were the instances such as this one.
"I told you to stop showin' up unannounced like this."
Goka walks behind you, signature frown painted onto his face, and sweeps his eyes back and forth over the bright-eyed recruits lining the field. They look as if they've seen something transcendental, mouths parted and gazes glued to you as if they can't help themselves, and he breathes in deeply through his nose.
"And when have I ever done anything other than what I wanted?" You quip back, head turning over your shoulder to give him a smug look that he finds attractive. He looks at something else instead - your dress. It's a piece you picked up in the city and the bright, colorful fabric lets it be known. It clings to you, thin straps snug against your rounded shoulders. The material stretches over your hips and butt, and he exhales heavily as he watches the plump flesh move with every step you take.
He lengthens his stride, the toes of his shoes just barely missing the backs of your own, until he's acting as a shield from the eyes that dart here and there in an attempt to drink every inch of you in.
"I was tired of being cooped up in the house all day, sooo I figured I'd come and see my husband hard at work." You finally come to a stop at the edge of the training ground, where dirt gives way to a cobbled walking path. "Are those the new guys you were complaining about having to train last week?" You spin around, not the least bit perturbed at his proximity. Instead you peek around his bulk to look at said 'new guys'.
"Yes." He sidesteps so he's blocking your view again, and you turn your head up to give him an annoyed look, but it's quickly washed away as an amused smile curls onto your lips.
"Don't act like you're not happy to see me, Goka. I saw Kyouka on my way in." His mouth twitches. "She already told me all about how you've been going hard on the new recruits because someone was actually on time for once."
"Ain't my fault you always make me late."
"I make you late?" You give him an incredulous look, and he turns his back to you in favor of facing the gawking trainees. The relaxed look on his face vanishes in an instant, features hardening and eyes going flat, and he raises his hand in a silent command. One man from each line joins in the middle as they both take a defensive position, and with another signal they begin circling each other, one waiting for the other to strike. "Last I checked, you're the one who can't keep your hands to yourself. Or your tongue."
He cuts his eyes at you and you laugh, body pressing into his side as you curl your hands around one of his. You turn your smile up at him, and he makes a mental note to visit the family physician so he can be checked for a heart murmur.
They gawk harder.
"Stop pussyfooting and fight." His voice booms throughout the field, and both men shoot forward, fists raised and faces scrunched in anticipation of a hit. Their fists connect with each other's temples, and Goka watches with blatant annoyance as they both collapse down to the dirt. "Pathetic."
"Don't be so mean. They're practically babies β just look at those faces." You coo, thumb swiping along the back of his hand, and Goka rolls his shoulders. The two men are pulled off the field by a few waiting medics, and Goka gives the signal to start the next match. You watch with rapt interest, eyes wide as you take everything in, and when only a single man stands you let out a loud cheer and let go of his hand to give a series of excited claps.
The appendage feels cold despite the dry heat of the air.
"Did you see the way he swept his legs out from under that guy and then slammed him down on the ground like wham!?" Goka regrets teaching them the move. "That was so coolβI've gotta tell him!" You're quick when you're determined, and the hand that reaches out to take yours is met with empty space as you take off towards the trainee.
He stops bitching about the blooming bruises and scrapes on his body when he sees you, instead straightening his spine and meeting your gaze, and Goka's eyes narrow as copper bleeds onto his tastebuds.
You talk animatedly, hands assisting in the conversation, and the trainee's eyes flit between the low cut of your dress and your face.
Goka approaches.
"...show me? I'd kill to see it up closeβnot literally, of course, don't pull out the cuffs now." A chorus of laughter rings out, and Goka wonders if it's because they believe you're funny or if they believe you'll keep granting them a look at something they don't deserve to see if they do. "So? Can I see?"
"Of course."
Gazes shift from you to Goka, and his leg kicks out quicker than anyone has ever been able to react to. He sweeps the trainee with the wandering eye's legs out from underneath him, and while he's still suspended in the air he grips his throat and speeds up his fall. A cloud of dirt kicks up from where his body was slammed into the ground, and a mute silence falls over the field as Goka wipes his hand off on his pants leg as if to clean it.
"Goka.." You breathe out, eyes looking at the unconscious man sprawled on the ground before slowly raising to meet his own. "Your office. Now."
-
"You're so strong, Goka."
His back collides with the wall as you shove him back, your body pushing into his as your hands work to untuck his uniform top from his utility pants. Your lips kiss against whatever skin they can find, teeth biting down before your hot tongue soothes the sting.
His own hands can't decide where to settle β they switch between gripping your waist, rubbing at your hips, and kneading at the fat of your ass. He had been expecting you to chew him out as you marched him to his office, instead you had jumped him as soon as the lock clicked into place.
"You didn't even try and you did it so easily. Do you know how sexy you looked? I could've fucked you right there." You rip the button on his pants, the small thing skittering across the floor, and he sucks in a sharp breath when you drop down to your knees and yank his pants down with you. "I know it's bad... but I love it when you get jealous."
You nuzzle against the bulge in his boxers, lips mouthing at his tip through the fabric, and pre soaks through the material as his hands fumble for something to gain purchase on. "I wasn't--" He cuts himself off with a groan when you yank down his boxers next, heavy cock bobbing free, and immediately take the leaky tip into your mouth and suckle.
His stomach rolls and tenses, sweat rolling down tense, muscled thighs. Your mouth stretches around the girth of him as you take him deeper, tongue working along the underside of him, and his teeth gnash together when your hand comes up to fondle with his balls.
He goes to speak and finds that he can't, lips moving with nothing coming out, and you decide to speak for him. You pop off his cock, strings of spit connecting the both of you, and your other hand quickly jerks up and down his length, hand twisting on each downward stroke.
"You were and it's okayβ it's more than okay. I love it." You stroke him faster, harder, and his knuckles turn white from how hard he grips the shelf of the bookcase to his left. "I'm so wet that it's sticky, Goka." He moans - a guttural, deep sound that makes his throat raw and takes the last bit of breath out of his lungs, and his head knocks back into the wall behind him as you suck him back into your mouth.
You bob and slurp, spit and precum dribbling from the sides of your mouth, and you tighten your hand around his balls as you gag, the head of his cock meeting the back of your throat. He's still not fully in βhe doesn't know if he'll ever be able to fully fit insideβ but it still feels goodβamazingβunreal.
The wood of the bookshelf cracks under the strain he's putting in under, and you hum around him, watery eyes blinking up at him. You pull back to lick at him, and his chest tightens as he holds his breath, attention focused on the way your tongue glides up the length of him until you reach his tip. You circle around it, prod at his slit, dip underneath his foreskin and roll your tongue around.
His voice cracks on your name, and you somehow manage to giggle before your lips wrap around his tip and suck. Your grip grows firmer on his balls, unyielding, and he can't begin to control the way his face contorts as he cums. Thick, creamy spurts of cum fill your mouth, and your cheeks puff up as you hold it all in. You stroke him, coaxing the rest out, and when he feels like his legs are going to give out from underneath him you pull off of him and prop your mouth open, awarding him a picture of your mouth filled with his cum before you gulp it down.
You lick your lips after, even sucking off the drop that had landed on your finger, and he fights to catch his breath as you stand back up to your feet, stretch up to press a loud kiss to the underside of his chin and saunter out of his office only to stop in the doorway.
You throw an innocent smile over your shoulder as if his pants and boxers aren't still around his ankles and your stomach isn't full of his seed.
"I left some of those parfaits that you like in the kitchen, by the way. Don't eat too many, either, you know your stomach gets sensitive when you have too much dairy." You give him a wave and blow a kiss. "See ya at home, sexy."
gris lowkey having a thing for piss but more-so in an omorashi humiliation sort of way. he thinks itβs hot he likes the squirming
cws // fem reader -> reader is a bit tipsy. exhibitionism. piss.
Gris feeding you drinks all night should have been the first sign of how your night was going to go.
Usually, he was always limiting the amount of alcohol you consumed β plucking bottles out of your hands and sipping at your cocktails before handing you a half empty glass. He never liked when you got pissy drunk, especially when he wasn't around to keep an eye on you, so you had expected to get nothing more than a buzz when the both of you had walked into the grungy club behind Enjin, Bro, Follo and Semiu.
You had branched off from him and followed Semiu to the bar, chatting her ear off and pointing out women who looked a bit starved for company. You had ordered a white wine spritzer, something weak and that he wouldn't raise his brow up at, and made your way back to where the guys had acquired a small section. You had slid into your spot beside him, raised your glass up for him to see, and he had ducked his head down so his lips brushed against your ear as he spoke and said: Give me a taste. A 'taste' consisted of him downing the whole thing, and before you could get angry he was calling over a waitress and placing an order for your favorite drink, making sure to tack on a 'don't let her glass get empty' followed with a hefty tip.
You were on your fifth drink now, and your smile had been present ever since the waitress put down your third glass in front of you. Your skin was warm, your vision swam if you turned too quickly, and everything that came out of Bro's mouth was indescribably hilarious.
"You--" You're cut off with a hiccup, and Bro grins at you as you frown as if you're personally offended that your body interrupted you like that. "You're too funny to be single, Santa β can I call you that? I think it's sooo sexy when you say it. Can you say it now?"
The empty seat beside you is occupied once again, and a hand curls around your hip as you're pulled back into a firm body. The scent is familiar, as is the touch, and even with your liquor-addled brain you know it's Gris.
"Say please." He speaks loud enough for you to hear, and you do what he says without a fight.
"Please." Your head tilts to the side, suddenly feeling too heavy to stay upright, and then your body is tilting next and Gris has to pull you upright to keep you from toppling over. You break out into a fit of giggles as you lean forward and brace your hands against the cushion of the booth seat, unintentionally giving Bro an eyeful of cleavage as your breasts practically spill out from the top of your low-cut dress. "Can you please say it for me?"
"Santa." It rolls off his tongue prettily, and you're laughing once again, missing the look the two men share over your head, as well as the way Gris shifts the both of you so you're closer to Bro. When your laughter subsides another drink is pushed in front of you, and you sip it happily, only for your face to screw up when it hits your tongue.
"Water?" You crane your neck back to frown up at Gris, and he clicks his tongue at you and nudges the glass back to your lips.
"Good. You're not too drunk to tell the difference. Drink up." He tips the glass back, and you have no choice but to swallow. He tips it back further, and you splutter, splashes of water spurting out from the sides of your mouth and running down to land between your chest. He pulls it away, and you glare at him as your hand fumbles its way towards the table in search of your actual drink.
"You're cutting me off?" Before he can answer you, an arm is curling around your waist and hoisting you out of your seat and into a lap. You look to Bro, eyes owlishly blinking, and then to Gris who doesn't do anything but spread his arms across the back of the seating, his head rolled back and turned in your direction.
"Here, conejita. You can have mine." Another glass is pushed to your lips, and your eyes flick down to see a dark liquid. Gris smirks, corner of his mouth lifting, and your thighs squeeze together without thinking.
"She's never taken brown before."
"She'll love it." His voice is deep in your ear, and your mouth opens with the help of his coaxing. "Once you go brown." Gris laughs and so does Bro, the joke lost on you, and your throat burns as the brown liquor slides down. You choke and go to turn your head, but Bro gently cups your throat, pointer finger pressed underneath your chin to keep it tilted. "Easy, mami. Nice 'n slow. Don't swallow it too fast, take your time β just like that. Good girl."
His lips brush against the racing pulse in your neck, and you jolt in his lap, earning a chuckle from him as he sets the now empty glass down onto the table. He turns your face to his, and before your sluggish brain can process that he's leaning in, his tongue drags up the side of your mouth before swiping along your bottom lip to collect the remnants of alcohol.
You flinch back entirely too late, face even hotter than before and stomach flipping, and your head turns to look at Gris before he's catching your chin and turning you back. He kisses you full-on, taking advantage of your open mouth to deepen it, and your eyes flutter shut on their own accord as his taste and smell overwhelms your senses.
You can hardly comprehend the turn of events, nor what led up to this, but it feels goodβhe feels good. You melt into him, forgetting yourself, and your hands curl into soft, curly strands as you moan. You shift your hips, scantily-covered pussy dampening your thin panties, and moan again when he tenses his thigh underneath you and rocks it upwards with the ball of his foot.
"Y'see why I don't let her drink?" Gris voice brings you out of your trance, and your lips detach from Bro's with a wet, smacking sound, your eyes blinking open. "She can't do anything without consultin' her pussy first."
"Nothin' wrong with that." His breath fans across your lips, and a shiver races up your spine as you move your eyes to the side, wet lips turning down into a pout as you meet Gris's gaze. "The ladies know what they want." He leans in to kiss you again, and your hands push at his chest. You only manage to send yourself flailing backwards, Bro unmoving, and your back meets the seat as your head lands on Gris' thigh. You look up at him from the new angle, a shocked laugh slipping out of you, and he cracks a smile at the sound.
"I hafta to tell you something, Gris." Your eyebrows furrow as your teeth worry at your bottom lip. "Bro... he... he kissed me."
He smiles fully now, and your eyes practically sparkle as you take it in, lips parting and heart skipping around in your chest. "He's gonna do it again, too." You finally take note of the breeze brushing against your lips, along with the telltale tickle of hair against your inner thighs, and then a mouth is placing a kiss at where your hidden clit lay. You gasp out a cry, thighs clamping shut around Bro's head just for him to force them back open, his tongue delving through your puffy folds to part them a second later.
Gris leans over you, his hand pressing down on your lower stomach, and you squirm underneath him, slick drooling out of you as Bro sloppily laps away at you. The blasting music drowns out your moans and cries, and their hands keep you from twisting out of their hold each time he latches onto your engorged clit and sucks as if he's trying to pull something out of you.
Gris keeps pressing and kneading, fingers pushing down into the pudge of your stomach and rubbing, coaxing, and through your hazy mind you feel something. Something pressing, something urgent, something that makes sweat pool in your belly button and your mouth open and close on muted words.
You've gotta pee.
You pull on Gris's shirt and he moves back some, hand stilling, and looks down at your teary eyes. "You okay?" Bro pauses mid-lick and your hips unconsciously lift, seeking him out.
"Gotta..." You sniffle. "I-I've gotta pee."
They both resume.
"So do it." He looks away from your face and back down between your legs. "You're so fucking greedy, Bro. You're trying to suck her whole pussy into your mouth."
The need grows and grows, and your warnings and cries fall on deaf ears, your twisting and turning met with squeezes to your hips and thighs and plunges of a thick tongue into your hole and harsh sucks to your clit.
You sob out as the first stream bursts free, Bro not pulling away in time, and your hands fly up to cover your face as the dam holding it all breaks from the pressure. Gris hand leaves your stomach to drop between your legs, fingers quickly flicking back and forth over your sensitive clit, and your scream is muted as you come.
"Fuck, baby, look at you. Fuuuck."
"Look at the mess you made on me, princesa. C'mon, don't be shy now." Bro tugs your hands down and you cry as you take in his appearance. He's soaked head to chest, a fat grin on his lips, and your squeal is silenced when he presses his dirty lips to your own, tongue forcing its way inside and making you taste yourself.
You miss the sound of Enjin entering the room, and pointedly ignore his loud complaint of the cleaning bill 'being a fuckin' bitch' as Bro licks into your mouth and Gris pets at your hair.
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