Spicy Q&A — Part Two (Mature) (Patreon)

• Alain taking Romanus against a wall.

His hands are everywhere.

If you didn't know better, you'd think he's grown an extra pair of limbs because there's no way only two palms are holding you. Alain gropes your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh to spread your legs wide. But then his nails are racking over your back, following the curve of your spine to grab at your ass while a thumb plunges into your mouth. The fingertip presses on your tongue as five fingers wrap around your throat.

He's rough and demanding, and everywhere.

"Alain," you gasp as the world shifts again, and he's tracing the outline of your underwear. Teeth bite your earlobe, making his name hitch on your throat, and fire spread through your nerves. "Alain, I can't—"

"What can't you do, sparrow?" You can feel his lips moving against the back of your ear, but his voice seems to come from everywhere too. You feel it on your back, where his chest holds you prisoner against the wall, and from above, where his warm breath bathes your skin, and even from inside you, like an extra pulsing heartbeat. "What can't you do when I'm the one doing all the work?"

As if to accentuate his words, Alain rocks against you. His hands are everywhere, but the one constant is his manhood against your backside, hard and digging and making heat explode within you. "I watched you the whole night," Alain hisses. He digs his chin between your collarbone and your neck, and you jolt when he bites the side of your throat. "The whole night. I saw you talking with the other nobles, all pretty smiles, and coy laughs. I saw them looking at you, little sparrow, and I know exactly what was going through their minds."

Alain's hands are back on your underwear, and they're not gentle as he tears it to the side. You gasp, but the sound is muffled by his other hand, coming to cover the bottom half of your face. Alain inhales deeply, nose beneath your jaw, and you close your eyes when his fingers start to work you.

You see stars.

"If only they could see you now," Alain's voice comes from the darkness. He shoves you until your chest is flushed against the wall, and you have to turn your head to the side, the stones chipping at your cheek. You feel him lining himself behind you, and you wonder when, with all the groping and pawing, did he find time to unfasten his belt. "Open your eyes."

His voice demands, and you play along. Cracking an eye open, you meet his gaze. His curls fall past his forehead in a mad frenzy, and never before have you seen that look in his brown eyes. Between the craze, you feel a different kind of heat warming your chest.

"Alain," you say again. He's so close, you can feel his breath on your lips. "You're jealous."

His jaw tightens. "Of course not," he spits, but when you laugh, he shuts you up by assaulting your mouth. Alain kisses you; all tongue and teeth and bruising fingers on your waist as he maneuvers you so he can thrust his hips forward—

You’re filled.

And your laughter melts into a breathy moan.

• Ysabella waking to Romanus giving her oral.

Ysabella floats in an ethereal world.

Soft pastel colors swirl all around her, forming bubbles and distant mountains with pink rivers and green skies and waterfalls that go up instead of down. Ysabella smiles as a gentle warmth rises up to envelop her. It clings to the bare skin of her arms and legs, curls around her waist, cradles her breasts, and hugs her back like a long-parted lover. Her hair floats too, bouncing around her face, and Ysabella cannot see a sun, but sunlight clings to her until her golden skin shines like a star itself.

Everything feels... so good.

The warmth gains form. It's a ghost still, but she can almost feel the five fingers on her belly, while five others gently rub the back of her knee. She feels a little jolt, a small spark, like a kiss being left on her thigh, and Ysabella giggles to the green and silver sky when the kiss is followed by another, and another, and then one other, right at the center of her core.

Bella giggles again, but her cheeks flush, and her heart starts to beat quicker in the cage of her chest. She floats still, but it's like the clouds wrap around her wrists and ankles, and she finds she cannot move.

It's not as if Ysabella wants to. As the warmth, the ghostly hands, travel up her legs, going past her knees, to the outside of her thighs, and then to the dips of her waist, Ysabella knows, intrinsically, that she can trust them. She doesn't know why, but she knows she's safe. So, she laughs freely, feeling the ghost hands travel down the same path, warming her, and sending sparks flying behind her eyes. She lets her head fall into a pillow of clouds.

"That tickles," she says, her voice breathless when the fingers brush the curve of her breasts. The warmth doesn't answer, but she swears she feels spectral lips smiling against her right thigh. And right before a pair of hands properly cups her breasts, another tiny jolt kisses the skin there. Ysabella would have giggled again if she wasn't so busy mewling.

She closes her eyes, then, and floats away in a sea of sensation. Ysabella doesn't know how long she stayed like this, with the hands playing with her nipples, and her buttocks, and the jolting lips kissing all the skin they could reach on her thighs and legs, but she felt herself going down. She's losing altitude, coming to crash on the pastel ground as unbearable heat builds on her lower stomach. She wants to laugh, wants to share her joy loud and proudly, but Ysabella can only whimper and struggle against her bonds because she needs to grab at something. She wants to grab the ghost, wants to cling onto them because the ground is coming so fast now, and she knows that the crash will scatter her mind.

The ground is coming—

A tongue laps against her core.

Ysabella wakes with a scream.

The world shifts; it turns upside down. The green sky disappears, as do the pink mountains and the blue trees. Now, all Ysabella sees is a cold ray of moonlight, and a room shredded in darkness.

But this world is infinitely more magical, for, laying between her legs, eyes shining with the scarce light of the moon, you lift your head to smile wickedly at her. "Morning," you say, your lips glinting with her moister.

"I—"

You don't let her finish the sentence. You duck your head and your tongue parts her inner lips, and Ysabella howls instead to the ceiling. Her hips trash, but your hands are like manacles made of clouds, firmly clasping her upper thighs. Unlike the dream, however, Ysabella can use her hands.

She buries them in your hair as you kiss and lap and send her crashing again and again until she forgets everything but how to yell your name.

• "You always turn red in the face, Rafael. Are you red down there as well?"

Rafael has long learned never to expect what comes out of your mouth.

You'll say the most insane, astonishing string of words he has ever heard, and then stare at him as if he's supposed to process your insanity immediately. Rafael, he loathes to admit, has been brought to silence by you many times before. He just... doesn't know what in God's cursed earth to say when you open your stupid lips and speak whatever the hell is on that lunatic mind of yours.

But never before has he been struck speechless so hard.

He doesn't know what to do with his bloody face. "What?" he blurs out, and he'd loath how tight his voice sounds if there wasn't a ringing drowning out all his thoughts.

You cock your head to the side, and the bastard will be damned, but your eyelids lower and your lips spread in a slow, tantalizing smile, and his accursed face burns so bright, he's sure it's radiating a light of its own. "Just like this," you say, lifting a finger to touch his cheekbone. "So red."

Rafael jerks his head back, but he reacted too late, and the effect is pathetic. You chuckle, leaning closer on the bench so that your shoulder brushes against his. Rafael swallows when suddenly, you push your face closer, and now lips whisper against his ear. "I just want to know if you're red there too," you say, breath tickling him, igniting him. You wave your hand in the general direction of his lap. "And if you are... is it the same pretty shade or a different one?"

He can hear the laughter in your voice, but Rafael is too busy trying to come to his senses. He didn't mishear you. You really asked him—

He stares at you, stares down at his lap. And then, the thief throws his head back and cackles to the stars. "Merciful God," he says, feeling tears building in the corner of his eyes. Rafael takes another swing of his beer before he gives you a sidelong glance. "You're a fuckin' disgrace."

You're smiling too, your eyes twinkling, and he doesn't fail to notice how you completely lean against his shoulder now. Rafael doesn't mind it. He finds he enjoys supporting your weight. "Well?" you say after a while. You lift your eyebrows, giving him another pointed look. "Are you or aren't you, Raf?"

"Ya really wanna know?" he asks, voice laced with mirth. It's another one of your jokes, generally made at his expense. But he's not going to fall for it now. You're trying to mess with him, and Rafael knows he's blushing, but he refuses to be any more affected.

"I do," you say. You turn your neck to stare right at him, your hand coming to grab the front of his shirt. His smile slowly dies at what he sees in your eyes. They're hard, your face serious, your brows pushed together, and you don't seem to be joking. You don't seem to be joking at all. "How much more direct can I be, Rafael? Are you going to make me beg?"

He opens his mouth, but the ringing is back, drowning all reason. "What?" he babbles again. Fuck, he's pathetic.

Your hand tightens its hold on his shirt, and Rafael finds himself pulled closer to you. "I've given you enough innuendoes to seduce a eunuch, and yet, you still" — you throw your empty mug to the ground so you can grab his shirt with your other hand — "play" — your lips snarl as your noses come to push together — "dumb."

Rafael blinks.

And beer splashes his pants when he lets go of his mug to grab your face and drag you into a desperate kiss. "Ah!" He hears you gasping, but Rafael plunges his tongue past your lips to steal the sound. His fingers cup your cheeks and jaw, holding you close as he does what he's dreamed of doing for far too long.

His eyes close when you kiss him back. He moans when your nails pull on his scalp and then jerks when you suck on his tongue. He's in bloody heaven. Bloody heaven as you climb into his lap, and he's holding your hips now as you wrap those pretty legs around his waist and tug on his hair as if you're desperate. It drives him insane, almost as insane as you. Rafael tilts his chin, deepening the kiss, ignoring his lungs as they scream for air, and hugs you tight against him. Your chests flush together, and all he hears are your sighs, all he smells is you, all he tastes is your tongue, all he —

Your hand palms his crotch.

Rafael jerks so violently, he almost sends you both crashing to the ground. "Oh, fuck," he groans. He grabs your wrist in a vice-like grip, taking your hand away. "Wait. Wait."

You're breathing heavily, your lips swollen, and fuck him, but you look so good. "Why?" you ask, frowning lightly.

Rafael swallows. You sound so confused. He's such a bastard, but he can't. "You're drunk," he says. You are. You must be. Otherwise, you wouldn't do this.

You adjust yourself in his lap. Rafael bites the inside of his cheek when your ass grazes his erection. "I'm not drunk."

You hold his gaze head-on. You don't seem drunk, but... "Are ya sure?"

You pause for a moment. Then, you come closer again until your lips graze his, and your eyes are all he can see. Rafael always thought they were so beautiful, but up close, they look even better.

"Rafael," you drawl his name and hold his chin in your hand. Your nails dig in, not harshly but firmly, and he's lost then. "Fuck me."

He's lost.

• More Lance.

You watch quietly as he plucks at the strings.

Lance handles his lyre with such graceful care that you'd think he was touching a gift from God. You could watch him play for hours, half-laying on a plush rug while the bard sits beside you. His ankles cross over each other, and your bare legs stretch atop his lap, the lazy sunlight of a late afternoon silently coming to bathe you both in its gentle warmth.

Lance has his face turned up, eyes half-lidded, and a strand of bright blue hair falls past his narrow cheeks to brush at the corner of his lips. His lips. You cock your head, eyes heavy too with the pull of sleep, to better see the curve of his mouth.

His shirt is open at the front, the gold and silver buttons undone, and you see the trail of brown hair that leads to the waistband of his pants. His true hair color. You wonder how he'd look as a brunette and realize you can't quite make up a picture. Lance has blue hair and mismatched socks and a tooth made of gold. You can't imagine him as anything else.

He has such a unique beauty. You've tried to tell him again and again, but the man has trouble believing you.

"You look deep in thought." His voice rings in the air, mingling effortlessly with the melody of his song. He has such a beautiful voice too. You told him, but yet again, you could see he didn't believe it.

Lance glances at you. "Care to share what plagues your mind?" he asks with a pleasant smile.

"You're handsome.”

The music stops for a moment. Lance stares, but then he laughs. "Ah!" he says, looking down as he resumes playing. He watches the lyre, but you know he doesn't need to. He's avoiding your eyes. "I see."

"Do you?" you ask, slowly propping yourself up. Your knees bend on his lap, so you can bring your face closer to his. "I don't think you do, Lance."

Lance hesitates. "I'll admit, I think I've lost track of this conversation," he says, still avoiding your eyes. His fingers start a more restless song. "What is it I do not see, my mercenary? I'll be sure to open my eyes very wide."

You open your mouth but find you can't put your thoughts into words. You follow his line of sight to his fingers. So nimble. "I think I lost track too," you whisper as slowly you put your hand atop his. Your fingers brush his knuckles, and Lance stops playing.

Perhaps words aren't needed. You just need to show him.

You circle his wrist and tug upwards. Lance lets go of his lyre, allowing you to bring his palm near your face. You peek at him through his fingers and see the confusion in his grey eyes. Hiding a smile, you gently kiss the skin.

His fingers are full of callouses from hours playing songs and holding the small crossbow he always hides near his hip, but his palm is surprisingly soft. Your lips brush it right at the center. His arm flinches at your touch, but Lance keeps still.

You look at him again, and now you don't hide your smile. "I love your hands," you say, leaning in to kiss him again. This time, your tongue peeks between your lips, and you drag it until you reach the base of his ring finger. You can taste the slight saltiness of his skin. You can hear too, his small intake of breath. "It's so hard to focus whenever you're playing your lyre, Lance. I keep watching your hands."

You talk in whispers, leaving kisses between the words. Your teeth graze his thumb, and the base of your spine tingles at his muffled groan. "You drive me crazy with your hands. Have I ever told you? How good you are with them?"

You peek at him again and resist a chuckle at his wild-eyed look. The grey is darker than before. Lance blinks. "Uh... I don't believe you have," he says, and now your spine tingles again at the tone of his voice. Melodious still, but deeper.

"Well, I'm telling you now," you continue, grabbing his hand firmly between both of yours. His index finger presses against your bottom lip, and you sweep your tongue over the clipped nail. "You can make me come again and again with just your hands."

Lance's mouth hangs open. His chest heaves up and down while his hair falls over his face. "You look so beautiful," you tell him, and then you push his finger into your mouth.

Your eyes close as you hum around it, gently licking from top to bottom. Lance calls your name, but you ignore him and focus on hollowing your cheeks. Your core is burning bright, but it flares when you feel his other hand coming to cradle your cheek.

You open your eyes to see him staring intensely at your lips, and you smile as you suck on his finger. "What are you doing?" Lance mumbles, but his hand moves past your cheek to grab your nape, his fingers almost possessive in their hold.

You pop his finger out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting it to your lips, so you can answer. "I'm showing you what you're not seeing," you say, and then lean in until you can taste his lips. Lance opens his mouth eagerly, pulling you closer—

But you lean back. "Stay still," you say, ducking down to kiss his jaw next. "I want to say what else I love about you. Your voice... your voice drives me to insanity too,” you admit as you graze your teeth down his throat. "I could listen to you talk until I die of old age."

Lance inhales, hands seizing your waist when you kiss his Adam's apple, sucking the tip into your mouth. "Lord's nails," he curses, his voice breaking.

You smirk as you continue down. Kissing his chest, dragging your tongue past his belly bottom. Your hands part the strings of his pants. "Hmm, can you guess what I love next?"

And his breathless laughter is all the permission you need. You pull him out of his pants and do your best to replace the sweet melody that hung in the air with his sighs of pleasure.

No less sweet. No less dear.

• Who prefers to use their hands, and who prefers to use their mouths out of the ROs?

Hadrian is a tough one. Honestly, the man is happy to be touching you, period. He doesn't have a lot of experience, so everything is still very new to Hadrian. New and exciting and, sometimes, almost unbelievable. He can't believe he gets to roam his hands over your cheeks, your neck, and down your shoulders until they intertwine with your hands. He doesn't believe he can trace your sides and feel your belly and even, Lord help him, cup the plump flesh of your ass. Hadrian would touch you forever if he could, but then...

He doesn't believe he can kiss you, either. Taste you everywhere. Lord, he does want to kiss you everywhere. And the sounds you make... Hadrian can't pick one. He likes both. He wants to use his hands and his mouth, his fingers and his tongue, all of him is available for you. May you use him as you please.

Alessa prefers to use her mouth. There's no competition. Alessa likes to kiss and be kissed and there are few things on earth as sensual as the feeling of your lips on her neck. Few things taste as good as your tongue, mingling with hers, rolling inside her mouth and filling her whole. Alessa has a sweet tooth, but she doesn't mind the saltiness of your skin or the acidity of your innermost parts. She closes her eyes, focusing all her being on the nerves of her lips and the explosion of flavor in her tongue, and delights in whatever sounds she can pull from you.

Her darling one. She'd kiss you perpetually.

Alain prefers to use his hands. He's a lazy man, and he likes to build you up slowly. Alain likes to have you on his lap, sprawled on top of him as the nobleman plays with every inch of your body. He likes to watch your face as gradually, you come undone for him. As you start to lose words and thought, and all you can say is his name. "Alain," you beg. Oh, how he likes you begging.

His fingers tease and pluck, they twist and dive, they caress and pinch. His mouth is better used to whisper praises in your ears, tongue occasionally peeking to trace the outer shell of your ear. But his hands... his hands move lazily, casually, but they never once stop.

Ysabella... if she had to pick one, she'd say her hands. Ysabella likes to kiss you. She gets overwhelmed, sometimes, with her own emotions, and she can do nothing but jump up and squeeze you tight and pepper your face with little butterfly kisses.

But when you're alone, Bella likes to explore. She likes to trace every line of your body, from the hardness of your muscles to your softer parts. Your scars, your dimples, and small imperfections. She likes to feel them on her palms, and study them with her eyes, and Ysabella will occasionally lean over to kiss a particular spot, but her elegant fingers are already exploring the next piece of skin. She likes to touch you teasingly between your legs, with a sultry smile on her lips, and wait until you can't resist any longer. Then, when you pull her in for a kiss, Ysabella laughs into your mouth and puts her fingers to work.

Showing you exactly how good her noble hands can be.

The Pirate King prefers to use his mouth. You're too damned delicious. The man appreciates the fine things in life, and he'll admit that you quickly became one of his favorite flavors. He'll kiss you until he steals all the air from your lungs and then kiss you some more. He stops only when your fists bang on his chest, and then the Pirate will try his best to drink in your gulps of air. He likes to kiss your neck, relentlessly, until your eyes close and you're lost in sensation. He'll kiss your collarbones then, teeth dragging, tongue maddening, and spend as much time as he can kissing the little dips and wrinkles of your nipples.

The Pirate loves every part of you, from the dimples on the bottom of your spine to the soft skin underneath your knees, but it's your cunt that he can't get enough of. He'll lay between your legs until the sun rises on a new day, tongue working, lips sucking, fingers claiming.

Neia prefers to use her hands. Much like Alain, she likes to watch your face as she works you. But while Alain goes slow, Neia isn't half as merciful. Her palms are harsh, as are the callouses on her fingers, and it's almost rough the way she'll demand your pleasure. Her grip is tight from the very beginning, her fingers never wasting much time to tease, because why would she when she can simply take?

Her mouth is good, but honestly, Neia would rather you use your mouth on her. No, Neia likes control, and there are few things as empowering as holding you very still and doing with you as she likes. And what she likes best is to dive her fingers inside you, dragging against your walls, while her teeth make fresh bruises on the skin of your neck.

Lance prefers to use his hands. There's no surprise here, the bard has very expert fingers and he quickly learns how to best put them to use. He sees your body as an instrument, deserving to be studied and learned as devotedly as his lyre. And study it, Lance does. He studies the spots that make you gasp and the ones that make you moan, plucking different sounds from you as if he manipulates the strings of your being. He watches on as you bite your lip, or tense, or melt like butter in his hands. Your whimpers, your sighs, every last one of your whispered words, Lance studies and puts to memory.

He learns you intrinsically, and there are few things Lance likes best than to play you whole, bringing you to the edge of that cliff, again and again, but never quite allowing you to jump. Building up that crescendo until, finally, it explodes in the most beautiful of melodies.

Rafael likes to use his mouth. Like Alessa, there's really no competition. The bastard loves — and I mean loves — to go down on you. He'll spend hours there. If he can, he'll tie you just to make sure you say where you are. He'll say whatever filthy thing is on his mind between kisses, slurpings, and sweeping of tongues. His hands are great to hold your hips, fingers bruising in their grip, but Rafael barely pays attention to the nerves on his palms because he's all into the ones on his tongue.

He's sloppy, not very finessed, but his enthusiasm more than makes up for it. If you're a male, he'll lick you everywhere before taking you deep, his gag reflex long subdued. And if you're a woman, Rafael will plunge his tongue as far as he can, thrusting in and out while his nose digs into that secret pearl of nerves that makes your jaw slacken.

• Do the ROs like sex hard and rough or slow and soft?

Okay, I’m prefacing this by saying that it really depends, of course. It depends on who their partner is and their mindset at the time. It depends on the mood they're in, if they're tired, if the sun shines or the moon is the one who reigns the sky.

With Romanus, I think they'd all enjoy an occasional more rough, wild session where carnal pleasure is all that matters. Whether it's fun, with you grinning into the kisses and laughing together, or intense, with quiet grunts and brutal paces, they'd all explore that.

But they would all also need to have slower and tender intimate moments. Some ROs will start as more detached, while with others, your first time together is something significant and meaningful and thus softer by nature.

However, they all have a general preference. I'll say that with strangers or partners they don't care much about, these preferences can be different — Alain, The Pirate, and Neia are usually rougher and just generally quicker with other people — but with a Romanus in a relationship, they change. I'll write this as their general preference with Romanus.

Hadrian, to no surprise, prefers slow and tender. He likes to be close, as close as possible, to kiss you sweetly, and handle you with as much care as his powerful hands allow. Hadrian needs the soft moments the most out of all the ROs, for sex is something deeply significant to him and not to be taken lightly.

Alessa... this one is hard. I'd say softer because Alessa likes to take her time, but she really enjoys a rougher spar too. She likes to touch and be touched, to tease and be teased, so, in general, Alessa likes when you are alone and have all the night at your disposal. However, she'll go mad when you handle her as you wish, your touch demanding, your lips full of teeth, and your hips unrelenting. She likes that too.

Alain also prefers slower. Mostly, because he's so lazy 😄. The noble can, and will, set a more energetic pace, but honestly, he prefers to take things slow and deep, and kiss you with slothful lips and half-lidded eyes. With Romanus, Alain discovers that he's not satisfied with only his pleasure. He likes to drag sex for as long as possible, making you come again and again. It's... surprising. He never quite understood why people called sex as making love but with you... with you, he gets the need to be closer.

Ysabella prefers slow and soft too. This is becoming a trend, but the noblewoman really enjoys a gentle touch. She likes to keep her nails light and playful as she touches you, and she likes when you take the time to properly kiss her until her lips are swollen and her heart beats like a caged bird. Is she opposed to a bit of a rougher tumble? Naturally, no. Bella likes it when you leave hickeys on her golden skin, but, in general, she prefers a softer session.

The Pirate King prefers it hard. He likes to take, and there's no better taking than you. Make you his, in a sense. He'll often manhandle you, grip firm, eyes firmer, and give it to you hard and deep. Fast too, if time is short, but the pirate has always prided himself in making it last. If you don't mind, he pulls your hair — just a bit, just a little sting — and uses his teeth on your breasts. His palm around your neck or on the curve of your back. If you don't mind — and he can tell if you do — the Pirate sets a brutal pace.

But... the man has his tender moments too. Especially when he gets to sit back and let you take the reins, ride him as his little peach desires. It's rare, but he comes to enjoy it. Very much so. Dangerously so.

Neia comes as no surprise: she likes it rougher too. Mostly because she doesn't have the patience to play it soft and sweet. Physical pleasure is but a sensation to her, and she only values what it brings at the moment. She likes to leave her partner satisfied mostly out of a sense of pride, of a job well done, and not so much for their sake. With Romanus... even her rougher sessions suddenly have her standing closer. Or have little, gentle touches in between — a hand sweeping over your back, fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, a kiss on the arch of your cheek.

She'll bruise you but kiss your lips after. Neia likes it rough but finds she can't be brutal with you. Not unless you really ask for it.

Lance prefers it slow and loving. He doesn't see lovemaking as a race to completion but rather a journey to be enjoyed. Every step is different, and there's no sense in seeking only the end when the middle and the beginning can be just as satisfying. He'll hold you close and push his face against your neck, feeling as much as hearing the steady beat of your heart. He'll lace his fingers with yours, seek your lips with his, and move his hips in tandem, both of your bodies locked in a private dance meant for no other but yourselves.

Rafael likes it rough and dirty. He doesn't mind if it's quick as long as it's passionate. He likes it intense. He wants to feel, and God, there's not much better to feel than you. Rafael wants to experience every second he has with you as if it's his last, and that translates to almost... desperate sex. If you don't try to calm him, Rafael will be all over you, giving you as much as you can take. As much as you allow him to give.

But if you calm him. If you place a hand on his chest and whisper soft words into his ear, your fingers stroking his nape or tracing the outline of his lips. If you touch him lovingly and tenderly... Rafael slows down. His kiss becomes deeper, his grip slackens, and his thrusts languid instead of feverish. He'll move with you, not against you, and the bastard will be damned, but this feels so good too.

- - -

Oof! And that's it! I know there are still a few questions and scenario requests left unanswered, but I'll use them as inspiration for future mature scenarios! They won't go to waste. This, I promise.

But, as of now, this concludes the Spicy Q&A! It really pushed me out of my comfort zone and was really fun to write! Thank you, again, to everyone who took part. ♡ I wouldn't be able to come up with half of these on my own! 😊

Part One