#belmused

stirring the pot ( accepting ) — @belmused

Of all the times he's been in Kikuta's company, this is when something monumental cracks within him. The very foundation of trust threatens to give away completely. How could it not when something so pivotal had been kept from him for so long? Years of secrecy — of these half truths to skirt around. All while they worked together like normal. Chatted, joked around, shared meals, spent an eternity recovering together.

The thought makes him sick.

Ipopte doesn't want to believe it — he needs this to be a lie. That, despite not having a direct hand in the slaughter his father was involved in, Kikuta knew. He knew and let it fester. Kept a tight lid on leaving the single thing that's driven him forward in life abandoned in the shadows.

His teeth clench so tightly he can feel the strain down in his neck. In the rigid set of his spine. In the white knuckled curl of each fist at his side. Yet he doesn't lash out. Even if a blind rage pushes at the edges of his vision.

Thing is, some part of him understands. As much as he loathes to admit it — even think of it as anything remotely rational — he gets it. Does it hurt to know that he's bleed himself dry only to be shunted with lies? Yes, without a doubt. Can he extend some thread of understanding that Kikuta might have just been following orders? Unfortunately ... he can. Loyalty runs deep within this division, even more so when guilt is involved. And if he knows anything about this man — if that, too, hadn't been completely fabricated — it's that this has been eating at him just as much as it hurts Ipopte to know the truth.

what’s koto doing if she sees this guy doing this out in the wild…

What's that rustling ... ?

What's this ... aura ?

WHAT THE F-

She picks up a discarded plank of wood & starts hitting him whac-a-mole style.

Making chan chan yaki shouldn't be difficult, and it isn't if Hiromi avoids making it traditionally by pan. Which he's done successfully once before. Nothing had been burned, the coloration wasn't too shabby and it even tasted half decent.

So why is being choked with nerves?

Why is he consciously fighting with himself to not pace around the kitchenette? There's no reason for him to watch the timer like a hawk. The rice cooker will sing its jaunty little tune when the cycle's done. Yet anticipation grates at him in the worst of ways; almost to a nail biting degree.

He's aware how the simpler a recipe is, the higher expectations tend to be. Which very much applies here, but it's also the fact that the fish being cooked is one Atsuya caught himself. He even cleaned and scaled it — so, yeah, this feels very high stakes ( even if he knows it won't be held against him if things are inedible ).

u made him cry, goose. how can u live with yourself...

unprompted and mean because i'm Innocent — @belmused

chiyo’s just gonna place some cat ears atop her head 💜

. . .

Ah, she'll do it ... for Chiyo.

She supposes.

A single kiss starts at the low of her belly, planting just beneath the navel before pulling further up. He follows an unseen line to the ribs. Nips the delicate skin blush red, only to then soothe over it with the flat of his tongue. One side, then the other before marking his attention at the swell of Chiyo's chest.

Atsuya's sure to be thorough there too; all while he pushes another finger in where slickest. Three fingers now. Slowly working towards the second knuckle of each. Already, she feels molten, loosening quite nicely despite any hints to speed things along. They'll get there in due time — heaven knows he's been aching for it since the very start.

sensual starters ( please send me more thnkx ) — @belmused

They've been at this for ... fuck if he knows. Seconds tick like hours and minutes pool as an eternity. He's lost all sense of time, nearly forgotten the meaning of it, really. It's hard enough to keep himself still under the unyielding ministrations Kikuta subjects him to. Though, to be fair, he holds the solution to the unfair teasing. All Ipopte has to do is ask. They both know Kikuta's good for it and, perhaps more frustrating yet, how good it will feel for the both of them.

But of course, the words stick to the back of his throat like cement glue. He's already making all of these other sounds; throaty groans, breathy whimpers, strained moans aplenty. So what's a few words to spare? Even one would do. Yet he continues to be too stubborn, or rather too shy, to fully give in and properly enunciate.

The entire line of his body is tense and slick with sweat. Arms burning from the way he braces himself and belly pressing flush against the mattress, there's not much room for him to wriggle away. Not that he actually wants to — not entirely. It's just torture to be stretched halfway full. Worse yet, is how he's being pressed into at a very specific angle for a prolonged period of time. The only silver lining here is that it wasn't Kikuta's fingers rubbing at his prostate. If he had, Ipopte would've been seeing white for the second time with how deft those hands can be.

For a second, his back arches a little more, mindlessly attempting to get Kikuta's cock deeper inside. Yet the older man draws back just enough to keep the depth unchanged. How the fuck is he even doing that? Panting, almost driven mad to the point of tears, Ipopte unspools a muffled whine. He hears what's being said over him. Wants to take some amount of pride in that, but can't when he's being kept a trigger hair away from much needed relief.

".. please." Barely audible, but saturated in desperation, he can feel the entirety of his ears, neck, and upper back flush red. "Mokutarou, please just—"