#I love that head mold tis a shame

[ask-cloverfield]

Unicron kinda redemption arc yippee!

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Blood Ties Chapter 33

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; mentions of hurting an infant; mentions of injuries; mentions of descriptions of breastfeeding; descriptions of postpartum changes; sexual situations; fingering; oral (m receiving)

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to the amazing @dixons-sunshine. Happy belated birthday, my love. I’m sorry that it had to be this chapter I dedicated because I am just not confident of it. I never am, if I’m being honest, and most of you know that. It’s just taken so long to update and I’ve even had to ask folks about things I’ve included previously or not included because I can’t remember. I just hope that it was worth the wait even if it’s not top tier.

“Daryl.” Every raging emotion wreaking havoc inside your chest was belied by the calm in which you said his name. Another close call, too close for a baby only a couple of days into the world. Birdie was with Hershel. She was safe. She would be fine. “Daryl.” You took a step toward him, the wind from the window clawing at his clothing and hair. 

No one else was moving or speaking. If you couldn’t see them in your peripheral, you’d have sworn you were alone on that landing with the archer. Daryl remained utterly unmoving, only the heaving of his shoulders indicating that he was even real. Another step, but then you found you couldn’t will your feet to stop moving until you reached him. 

Even in his current state, you knew he would never hurt you. Even if he would, he needed a tether, needed to be brought back from the razor-sharp edge of his anger before it sliced him too deeply. Without another thought, you slid your arms beneath his and molded yourself to his back, your cheek resting between his shoulder blades.

“It’s okay.” You soothed while your fingertips gently massaged into his chest in an attempt to ground him. “They’re gone.” You felt the moment he came back to himself, the minute jerk of his body against yours, the sharp inhale.

“Y/N.” He whispered, barely audible over the biting wind. “Birdie?” His voice cracked.

“She’s okay. She’s with Hershel.” You squeezed a little tighter, anticipating his next question. “I’m alright, Daryl. Everyone’s alright.” His shoulders dropped, breaths slowing to something at least approaching normal. 

You held on until his fingers were prying yours away. When he turned, the rage had faded from those blue pools, replaced with an anguish that made your heart ache. He had murdered people—with good reason, utterly justifiable—and he was in a fierce battle with the guilt that accompanied the actions. It wasn’t the first time he had taken a life, but it was the first time he had done so with such violence, blinded by an anger that it had him quaking so hard that he might have just shaken apart.

“I—” His eyes flickered upward, somewhere over your shoulder and reminded you that you weren’t alone. The others were likely staring, only adding to the archer’s discomfort and shame. Twisting an arm behind your back, you jerked your wrist in a dismissive gesture and heard the shuffling of feet mere seconds later. When his head dropped onto your shoulder, he sighed, the trembling subsided, and you held him.

“You did what was necessary to protect us.” After a moment, he nodded against your skin.

“Need to see ‘er.” His voice was muffled but no less distressed. Turning your face into his hair, you pressed a kiss to his hair.

“Let’s get you cleaned up first, okay?”

You had led Daryl to an isolated spot in the warehouse, grabbing his bag from where he had discarded it upon entry. He let you strip him of his poncho and vest, work the buttons open and slide his shirt from his shoulders. The blood and grime that covered him was more than that of the people he had slain. He had fought his way to you—to Birdie—throughout the wilderness, slathered in brain matter and dark liquid. You didn't ask him about the journey. If he wanted you to know, he would tell you. 

The water was cold, the saturated fabric leaving gooseflesh in its wake. His face was first, blue eyes focused on you as you worked. You paused beside his mouth and traced your thumb across his bottom lip. Heavy lids fluttered shut, opening a moment later to reveal a darkness that was perilously close to unbridled desire. Something you could handle later. He made no move to act upon it, Hershel’s strict orders to abstain likely circling in his head just as it was your own. There were other ways to bring him that sort of comfort.

“Y’alright?” He asked, lifting a hand but dropping it a heartbeat later. He could have had walker blood on his fingers, smart enough to resist touching the bruising cut on your forehead. 

“Mhm.” You nodded. He was clearly unconvinced. “I’ll let Hershel check it. Promise.”

Moving on, you cleaned his chest, tilting your head when your hand paused just above a weeping slice in his skin, just below his ribs. “Daryl, were you hit?” You swallowed hard, awaiting his answer regardless of the minor severity of the wound. The skin around it was dirty but free of the darkened blood of walkers. There was little likelihood that he was infected. 

“S’just a graze.” He sniffed hard and averted his eyes. It would need stitched and he knew it, but it wasn’t unusual for him to downplay an injury. Exchanging the flannel square for a fresh one, you mopped away the fresh blood, raising a skeptical brow while staring at him from beneath your lashes. “It’ll keep for now.” Pursing your lips, you mulled it over, narrowing your eyes at the deep injury before you settled upon allowing his deterrence to stand. It continued to ooze, but you moved on regardless. He was still watching you, you could feel his gaze as you carried on with your ministrations. “I love ya.”

Your hand stilled, your breath hitching. It was so sudden and full of conviction, and no doubt brought upon by the traumatic events. That made it no less true. Your free hand came to rest on his cheek, thumb stroking beneath his eye. “I love you, too.” With a tight smile, you leaned forward and granted a chaste kiss, nuzzling your nose against his before continuing to wipe at his chest and stomach, his scars prominent on chilled skin. 

“Wan’cha to be a Dixon for real.” And that did more than make your breath stutter. It stopped it altogether. 

“What?” You managed, sitting straighter. His eyes squinted, full of determination.

“Already made ya a mama. S’ass backwards, but I—y’know what I mean.” Ducking his head, he looked away, cheeks flushed. “S’okay if ya don’t wanna. Ain’t gonna be mad or nothin’.”

You had to refrain from smacking his shoulder. How could he even begin to think you wouldn’t want to be his wife? Then you were forced to remember the examples of love he’d been given growing up, the seeds of uncertainty and inconfidence that had been planted so deeply inside of him and allowed to take root. 

“Of course I’d want it.” You finally replied, likely leaving the silence to fester too long, enough to fill him with a doubt you’d need to strive to correct. “Daryl, is this what you really want?” 

“Would’na asked if it weren’t.” He answered without hesitation, his gaze snapping up to meet yours. There was such a lack of confidence in his eyes. He was far outside his comfort zone, holding on by the skin of his teeth. 

“You didn’t really ask.” You chuckled, needlessly running the cloth down his jaw again. While some would have found the proposal lackluster, to you—it was perfect. So Daryl that you were warmed inside and butterflies had stirred to life deep within your stomach. 

“What? Y’want the one knee an’ ring?” 

“No.” You leaned in for a gentle kiss. He returned it, though his eyes remained open and his brow remained drawn. “The answer is yes, but if you change your mind—”

“Won’t.”

“But if you do—”

“Won’t.”

“Okay, okay.” You held up your palms, surrendering, while the fabric hung from between two fingers on your right hand. “Yes, but we wait a while before we tell anyone, before anything is official.”

“Ain’t really no way to make it official anymore beyond decidin’.” 

He had you there. A wedding would simply be a formality. There were no documents to sign, no certificates. Nothing beyond the vows you’d make and the last name you chose to carry. 

“Still.” I wanna give you an out. He could walk away regardless, at any time after the decision. He could change his mind without attorneys and legal systems. Regardless, you needed him to know that you weren’t trapping him. “Please.”

He was observing you stoically, an obvious refusal on the tip of his tongue. After a moment, he grunted. “Fine.” You kissed him again, a simple peck even as he scowled. 

“Thank you.” 

You continued to clean his skin, eyes flitting over to the steadily seeping wound. Hershel would need to disinfect and stitch it, or you could if he truly preferred. Your partner was likely to be particular with such a small injury. 

Your financè. 

That realization brought upon an unbidden smile, one that Daryl clearly caught and returned with a twitch of his lips. Yet another happiness in such a cruel world. 

Daryl was sitting cross-legged, Birdie’s bottom perched where his legs intersected. Supporting her head with overlapped hands, he was tenderly swaying her, her eyes heavy and attempting to close. She was so obviously milk drunk, having nursed for the second time before you passed her over to her father again. Perhaps it was her desperate cries much earlier in the night that had triggered your milk production or maybe it was simply timing. Either way, you were finding the postpartum cramps less and less painful each time she nursed. 

There was something serene about the archer’s expression, a gratuitous relief with a hint of awe. The latter was almost always present when he looked at his daughter. Smiling softly, you dug through your bag for a fresh sweater and bra, the ones you wore being saturated with breast milk. Lori wasn’t kidding. Your nipples were fountains. 

“I’m gonna go change.” You informed Daryl while grabbing a couple of bra pads. Pushing to your feet, you winced, pinching one eye closed when your head pulsed. Hershel had said it was a mild concussion. Unsurprising. 

“Y/N.” Daryl’s tone was teetering somewhere between a warning and concern. 

“I’m okay.”

He squinted at you, still swaying little Birdie while his eyes dropped to Carol. He jerked his chin toward you and received a nod in return. You slouched in defeat, a chuckle sounding from behind you before her petite hands steered you by your shoulders toward a nearby office. 

Once the door closed, Carol leaned against it, arms wrapped around herself and head turned to afford you some privacy. To your surprise, you appreciated it. Before giving birth, you wouldn’t have cared in the slightest, but pregnancy had altered your body in such a way that you felt foreignly self conscious. Your stomach was soft but still swollen, stretch marks littered across the once smooth skin. It wasn’t until you had removed your sweater and bra, however, that you noticed yet another difference. 

“Jesus, my tits are huge.” You professed, wide eyes studying the way your nipples leaked in the absence of your daughter. 

“It happens.” The other woman responded without missing a beat. “You’ll likely need to pump in between feedings, though we have no way to keep the milk frozen until it’s needed.” 

You bounced on the balls of your feet and watched the mounds of your chest jiggle up and down. “Almost seems like a waste.” 

Carol hummed. “Sometimes it’s necessary. Becoming engorged can be painful. And don’t get me started on clogged milk ducts.”

“What’s that?” You fastened the bra, trying to quickly stuff pads into the cups before the liquid could drench the fabric. 

“I don’t really know how to explain it but the milk won’t come out. There’s usually some swelling, like a knot. It’s painful.” When she no longer heard you moving, she chanced sliding her eyes toward you. Your face surely reflected the fearful anxiousness you were feeling inside. “It’s okay, honey. It’s pretty easily treated.” 

You nodded with a hard swallow. “Anything else I should dread?” Slipping your arms into your sweater, you pulled it over your head and smoothed it in place. 

“Certainly not something to dread, but I noticed Daryl brought back a pump when he got all those supplies.” You remained still and silent. “I’ll show you how to use it. You can pump some milk into a bottle. It’ll allow for Daryl to feed her too.”

That erased any and all negative emotion, replacing it with the mental image of your partner—Birdie nestled in the crook of his elbow—holding a bottle for your little one to get what she needed while he watched her with those wonderstruck eyes. “I guess that wouldn’t be so bad.” You downplayed. Carol saw right through it. 

She smiled, that soft reassuring upturn of her lips that somehow always set your mind at ease. One hand on the doorknob, she reached out for you with the opposite one. “No, it wouldn’t. Now come on before he loses his mind and comes looking for you.”

“We’ve been gone five minutes.” You reasoned. The woman shot you a look. Daryl could sometimes be a little overprotective, it said. Lips pursed, you nodded. “Fair point.”

The warehouse was cold. The old files from the office burned too quickly—Daryl had warned as much—with a smell that had everyone coughing and the archer standing far away with your baby to shield her from the smoke. 

“Told ya.” He had stated matter-of-factly, a large finger gently holding the pacifier in place while Birdie sucked away at it. 

Sleeping bags and blankets were passed around, those who were willing were sleeping in pairs to stave off hyperthermia. You laid on your side, facing Daryl with Birdie swaddled between your bodies. A sleeping bag was zipped around you and your daughter, her little form pressed nearer to you than her father—even though he laid close to ensure his body heat kept the baby warm. Another blanket was draped across the three of you. 

You listened to the dwindling sounds of the walkers outside, their attention drawn elsewhere with the lack of noise within the warehouse. Your eyes were on Daryl’s face. He was actually sleeping, having knocked out almost immediately. He had to be exhausted from the hike to get to you and then the bloodbath that had followed his arrival. 

Glenn was keeping watch, but you still flinched at every groan of the building, every howl of the winter wind outside. The image of little Birdie screaming on that cold floor, a gun aimed at her—it was seared into the back of your eyelids. You couldn’t close your eyes without seeing it, without hearing her. All it would have taken was one twitch of a finger and your innocent baby girl would have—

“Hey.” 

Your eyes snapped open, blurry, unfocused, a familiar blue distorted and moving until your vision settled onto Daryl’s gaze. His brow was drawn inward, mouth set in a thin line. His shoulder shifted just before you felt the rough pads of his fingers against your cheek. His hand cupped your face, calloused skin in such brave contrast to the tender touch. You raised your head just enough to lean into his palm. 

“She’s right here.” He whispered, reading your mind—or more likely, your eyes. “Ain’t gonna let nobody take ‘er from ya, y’hear me?” His eyes were shining but the tears never fell. “From me.” He added, his voice cracking as his bottom lip trembled. With the silence stretching, his touch lingering, you pulled your arm from within the sleeping bag to place your hand over his. 

“I know you won’t.”

He squinted for the briefest of moments, as if studying you, before he turned his hand, squeezed your fingers, and pulled away. 

“Get some sleep.” His hand lowered to brush over Birdie’s hair before retreating entirely. “Gonna be wakin’ up hungry soon.” 

You smiled softly as his eyes closed, knowing that he’d get up with you when Birdie woke up to nurse. How had the powers that be seen fit to grant you Daryl Dixon as the father of your baby? As the man who wanted to spend his life with you? What had you done to deserve such a perfect little family at the end of the world? 

Letting your own eyes close, you saw not the fearful image of your Birdie so cold and scared, but Daryl feeding his daughter her first bottle without a single hint of apprehension in his loving gaze. 

It was cold. 

What in the world had possessed you to try and wipe down while there was no fire to warm the water? Oh. Right. You were still bleeding from the birth and a woman could only take so much before feeling she was a walking brick of iron. 

Using the office, you had placed one of your shirts across the top of the door to cover as much of the glass as you could before undressing to take care of business. Urinating in an empty trashcan felt awkward but it was a you gotta do what you gotta do type situation. Stripped bare, you shivered as you wiped down, removing the sweat and dirt of the last few days before focusing on the main area of concern. 

Using a clean scrap of fabric, you dipped it into the bowl, counting down from three before swiping it through your folds, over your groin and inner thighs. It was a little surprising to feel a twinge of relief when the cold touched the warm, abused area. Carol had told you that healing would be slower with the inability to manage a healthy diet and maintain a sleeping schedule. Not that you didn’t believe her, but the heat you could feel through the cloth, the soreness that remained, only confirmed her words. 

Feeling like a new woman, you tossed the cloth into the bowl and reached for your clothes, your head snapping up when you heard the turn of the knob. Grabbing your sweater, you covered your pubic area while an arm hugged around your chest to shield at least your nipples from the intruder. 

Daryl slid through the barely open door with his head down, lip tucked between his teeth. He was in a button-up, his poncho and vest missing until they could be cleaned. He closed the door quickly and offered you his back, clearing his throat. His arm came up to display two pads for your bra between his fingers.

“Ya, uh—ya forgot these.” 

Amused, you dropped your arm and tossed the sweater onto the desk. “You can turn around, Daryl.” The instant regret slammed into you like a freight train. Yes, he had seen your body before—before you had given birth. He hadn’t seen the soft curve of skin on your belly with its marks and wrinkles. When he actually began to turn, you panicked, flailing and grabbing the sweater up again to cover your abdomen.

Luckily, Daryl’s eyes were immediately drawn to your breasts. 

He only stared for a moment before noticeably swallowing and ducking his head, his cheeks flaring. You would have found it cute if you weren’t currently battling the nausea that accompanied the tight anxiety in your chest. Daryl cleared his throat. 

“They, uh—they look—shit.”

Thankful for the distraction of your fuller chest, you smiled nervously. “It’s the milk. They won’t be like this forever.” He only hummed, apparently finding the spot where the wall met the ceiling fascinating. You gulped and absently wondered how quickly you’d want to take back your next words. “You can touch them if you want.”

The look he gave you was downright comical, as if you had just asked him to do your taxes. 

“Better, uh—yeah, better not.”

While your first thought was to assume rejection, it was quickly tramped down. You knew him better than that. The slight flex of his fingers, pressing in and out of the pads he carried, folding them to nearly a point of unusable. The way he trembled with keeping his eyes on your face. The redness to his cheeks that traveled all the way to his ears. 

“And why’s that?” You sauntered toward him, the sweater still covering your stomach. You knew you’d need to drop it if you were going to do what you planned. When he didn’t answer, you continued forward, pressing yourself against him, backing him up against the door. “Why’s that, Daryl?”

His throat worked around words he was struggling to articulate, but the hardness that was now pressing against the back of the hand over your stomach spoke for him. “Hershel said—I ain’t gonna risk hurtin’ ya.”

With an inward sigh, a reluctance you didn’t allow to reflect on your features, you relieved him of the bra pads, tossing both them and the sweater to the top of the desk behind you. Keeping your body close to his—enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin—you hoped you could hide your imperfections. Keep him occupied with the one thing pregnancy and giving birth had gifted you. 

Wrapping your fingers around one of his wrists, you lifted his hand to your lips, wasting no time in drawing his middle finger into the warm wetness of your mouth. Daryl groaned, a drawn out, deep vibration that you could feel just as much as you heard. With your other hand, you guided his palm to your breast. It was awkward at first, his fingers stiff, his hand unmoving. It wasn’t until you hollowed your cheeks and pulled against his finger that you felt him squeeze. 

Your breasts were sensitive, nipples even more so, but the dull pain only sparked your desire into a simmering heat between your legs. Finding it didn’t immediately cause discomfort, you pressed onward, releasing his digit before seeking out his mouth. His other hand came to rest on your hip, kneading the supple flesh there, nearly dousing your arousal with a downpour of anxiety. 

He eagerly licked into your mouth, chasing your tongue, which you granted him with equal fervor, insecurities forgotten. His hand massaged your chest, milk leaking out between his fingers and giving him pause. He pulled away, breaths heavy from the kiss, staring at his hand curiously. Even with all the blood in his body maintaining his erection, he still managed to have enough to redden his face. 

“What?” You asked, your hands bracketing his neck, thumbs stroking his jaw. 

“S’just—I’m—”

“Curious?” You supplied. You couldn’t fault him when you found yourself wondering the same thing: what did the milk taste like? Pulling your lip between your teeth, your gaze shifted to his hand. Moving slowly, deliberately, you took hold of his wrist and bowed your head, releasing your lip in favor of presenting your tongue. 

You could feel Daryl’s eyes on you as you took the first taste, straightening before you swallowed. 

“It’s—sweet.” You proclaimed quietly. When he made no attempt at moving, you gently tugged his wrist to position his hand just in front of his mouth. “It’s okay, Daryl.”

“S’Birdie’s. Feels—ain’t it wrong?”

Shaking your head, your free hand slid up to his cheek. “No. Not at all.” Of course, he wasn’t convinced. Daryl Dixon was nothing if not suspicious. “You’re not stealing from her by being curious.” His eyes flickered back and forth between you and the milk, the flashlight’s beam resulting in a slick shine across his knuckles. With a pragmatic hesitance, he flicked his tongue over the skin.

“Huh.” He grunted, lowering his hand to your waist. “S’pretty, uh—amazing whatcha do for ‘er.” You were unsure whether or not he had stopped blushing since he had entered the room. He must have realized it as well, what with the way he swiftly hid his face against your shoulder. 

“It’s just biology.” You shrugged. Daryl hummed, his lips then attached to your neck, sucking a bruise before soothing it with his tongue. Your knees nearly buckled, forcing him to hold your weight with an arm around the small of your back. Continuing his expedition across your skin, you focused on the pulse within the apex of your thighs.

With both hands now obtaining a tight hold on your waist, he pulled you fully against him in an almost rough, possessive manner, your hips slapping hard into his. 

“Shit.” He hissed in your ear, his stubble scratching deliciously against your cheek. “Wanna touch ya.”

With a smirk, you pulled back your hips—even as he weakly tried to hold you still—and slammed them against his again, only just biting back a grimace at the cramp that radiated throughout your lower abdomen. “Then touch me.” His fingertips clasped your flesh. It was an almost painful display of restraint. Daryl pressed his back against the door, letting his head thump on the shirt-covered glass. 

“Y’know what Hershel said.” 

“I’m aware.” You tilted your head almost thoughtfully, letting your eyes follow your hand as it smoothed over his clothed chest and stomach, across his belt buckle, and finally came to rest against the bulge in his jeans. You caressed the area in short, slow circles before grabbing it firmly. “He said no intercourse.”

“Mhm.” His response was strained, the tendons pulled taut in his neck, his fingers maintaining a bruising hold on your hips. 

“There’s still outercourse.” You suggested, back to massaging him through the denim. 

“Huh?”

Maybe he really didn’t know, or maybe he was close to cumming in his pants. Either way, his head was pressed into the door and his eyes were closed, right eyebrow ticking rhythmically. “You know. I could give you head. You could—” you allowed the word to drag out while you used your free hand to station his between your legs. When his fingertips brushed your swollen clit, you stopped him from descending further. “Touch me there.”

Daryl was nearly panting. “Ain’t—ain’tcha still—”

“You afraid of a little blood?” You challenged boldly. When his eyes opened, the only blue that remained was a thin ring around dilated pupils. 

“Nah.” His mouth was on yours in an instant, his fingers—abandoned by your guiding hand—now rubbing delicious circles over your clit. You were sore and the pull and give of the flesh at his whim did result in some discomfort, but holy shit, it felt too good to let that be a hindering factor.  

“Oh, god.” You tilted back your head and opened the expanse of your throat for his mouth, your fingers sliding up his arm, across his shoulder, and up to his hair, twisting the digits in the slightly longer strands. Your hips were already rolling, grinding your clit down onto his fingers. “I’m—”

“Already?” Came the chuckle against your collarbone. You groaned, tugging his hair roughly. Your orgasm was building quickly, faster than you had anticipated, definitely faster than you wanted. 

“Shut up and don’t stop.”

Your hand twisted loose when Daryl spun you, your back connecting with his broad chest, his fingers never missing a stroke. Even as your skin grew hotter and your breaths faster, the sudden shame of your body being on full display was quickly working against you. 

“Wait. Wait, wait, stop.” You managed, whining when you felt the immediate absence of his hand. 

“Well, which is it?” The archer asked breathlessly. 

Folding inward, you crossed your arms over your stomach, your back still to Daryl. You were desperate to keep yourself shielded, terrified to witness his repulsion, to risk the grand step the two of you had taken. If he saw you now, what you hadn’t had a chance to correct—was it something you could even fix? Firm? Tighten?—then he wouldn’t want you anymore. Wait. Were you insinuating that Daryl was shallow? Hadn’t this been a conversation before?

“Ya think any louder an’ them walkers are gonna come back.” 

“Sorry, I just—” You could feel his body heat against your back just before his arms wound around you, a palm flat against your sternum gently guiding you to straighten. Your hands remained on your stomach. “I don’t look like—”

“Told ya before that shit don’t matter to me.” His hand remained against your chest as he stepped to the side and maneuvered you back against the door. He was silent as he pulled your hands away from your body, unyielding when you tried to keep them in place. 

“Daryl, it’s—”

“Hush.” His tone was stern, not unkind. Large hands took hold of your waist, his thumbs brushing up and down over the soft swell of your stomach. You watched his face as he took in the state of your midsection, his expression tender. “Ain’t understandin’ why you’re so worried ‘bout it.” 

Your throat worked to allow you to swallow. Why were you worried? Where was the confidence of the woman that had seduced the man in front of you in the woods all those months ago? 

“Because—I don’t know.”

“Ya don’t know.” He repeated quietly. When his lips met yours, you weren’t expecting it. The kiss was unhurried, a warm ember in the cold, cold room. His hands never stopped moving, caressing your stomach, the curves of your breasts, your hips. Yet they always returned to your abdomen, gliding outwards to your sides and back again, feeling the stretched skin manipulate beneath his hands. He never stopped kissing you, mouth moving over your own in slow repetition, his tongue gliding over your bottom lip before dipping inside for the quickest taste. When he pulled away, it was by mere centimeters, his forehead against yours. He was once again breathless. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with ya, y’hear me?”

There was a moment of hesitance, a split second need to argue your prerogative. In the end, under his steady gaze, the pale glow of the candle making his blue irises dance, you conceded with a nod. 

“You’re perfect.” He whispered, nuzzling his cheek against your temple. The absolute softheartedness that man could display was unparalleled. 

His right hand drifted down, leaving a tingle across your skin in its wake. He cupped your mound and used his ring and index fingers to part your folds, the heat of his middle digit warming your sensitive nub. With a kiss to your jaw, he pulled back, the intensity of his gaze begging one question:

Do you want this? 

“Please.” Your voice came out deep with desire, a rekindled hunger for his touch that you weren’t sure could even be sated that night but you’d take what you could get. 

Your hips jolted at the first touch, a delicate stroke before he moved away only to repeat the action. As he worked you toward orgasm, your hands smoothed over his chest and over his shoulders, your arms winding around his neck to pull him back to you, mouths crashing together. This kiss was fiery, setting your lips and tongue ablaze until you were being consumed by him. 

Daryl used his hold on your waist to tilt your hips out and up, nearly forcing you to stand on the tips of your toes. It hardly mattered, you were too lost in the electricity spiderwebbing from the single finger, the current charging up into the pit of your stomach where it coiled tighter and tighter. 

“Oh god, Daryl.” Each syllable played out against his mouth, his own breathing labored. For the briefest of moments, you wondered if he might cum just from touching you, from watching you make the climb toward the precipice. You could feel yourself—stiff and swollen—pulsing beneath his touch, begging for release that he had no viable reason to deny you. 

“Just let go for me.” He whispered in turn, deep and raspy, his lips massaging yours. “I gotcha.”

That quiet reassurance was enough to snap the flaming cable within you, sending wave after wave of pleasure from where his finger massaged. Your eyes rolled back, your attempts at crying out muffled by his mouth slotting over yours. His hand left your hip to slide around to the small of your back, holding you steady through each surge of ecstasy until you were nothing but pliable limbs and twitching hips. 

Between your legs���as well as Daryl’s hand—would surely be a mess of your desire and blood, but cleaning up was merely an afterthought behind the last waves of your orgasm, the warmth of his body, the strength of his muscles holding you in place, and the soft kisses he was peppering to the skin above your pulse. You were truly loathe to have him anywhere but right where he was. 

With a hum, you pushed against his chest and caught his wrist when he tried to move further away than you were willing to allow. “Let’s get cleaned up, hmm?” You pulled him behind you, guiding him to the desk. He didn’t object when you used a fresh scrap of fabric to wash his hand and yet another to clean yourself. You had barely placed the cloth into the bowl of water before he was cupping your chin, bringing your face closer to his. 

“Ain’t ever gotta worry ‘bout what’cha look like. Not with me. Not ever.” You opened your mouth, not even really sure what you were intending to say, but you achieved nothing more than a content sigh against his lips when he closed the distance between you. His thumb was tracing the line of your jaw, back and forth, when he pulled back and used the light hold on your chin to tilt your face down and kiss your forehead. 

You were left blinking away tears while he traipsed to the door. “Wait.” He turned to regard you with an arched brow, his eyes following your movements as you sauntered toward him with a newfound confidence for which you had every intention of thanking him. Splayed fingers on his chest pushed him flush against the door before both hands began working at his belt. “Your turn.”

“Y’ain’t gotta—fuck.” 

Your hand had already slipped into his jeans, past his underwear, and begun to stroke him. He was still half hard, making it easy to bring him to a state of fully aroused. “I wish we could.” You teased in a sultry tone, your lips against his neck. 

He was tense beneath your mouth, stressed and more than a little riled up, something you hoped to remedy. Dropping to your knees, you didn’t allow him time to think, even a second to protest, before freeing him only to draw his cock into your mouth. 

The sound he made was dangerously close to a whimper. His right hand came to rest on the back of your head, heavy but immobile. With half of his length weighing on your tongue, you swirled the muscle around his shaft, placing pressure on the vein running beneath while pushing your head forward to draw him fully inside. Your nose met the skin above the base, the impulse to gag strong and forcing you to pull back while still keeping him engulfed within the wet heat of your mouth. 

“Jesus fuck.” His fingers curled into your hair, hand trembling in denial of the need to guide you. The wet sounds of debauchery filled the small office as you repeated the action, slowly edging him toward an orgasm that—if the already present twitch and pulse of his cock was any indication—wouldn’t take long to achieve. 

With fluid and deliberate movements, your hand slipped beneath his shirt and slid over his stomach—his muscles twitching—and up to his chest. When your nails scraped downward, he moaned, low and deep. His hips jerked on reflex, causing you to gag which only ended in the same reaction. Your hand stopped when you felt the raised skin of a scar, fingers straightening so that your touch was gentle over marks left gifted out of anger and malice. You had long ago vowed to never grant those areas anything less than tenderness. 

Lifting your hand away from his skin, you used both to grip his denim clad thighs and slid them around to squeeze his buttocks, using that hold to push him toward you and draw him back, directing him to use your mouth for his pleasure. 

And still he didn’t. 

You should have known he wouldn’t, always afraid of hurting you, of pushing you past your limits. Had your mouth not been full of him, you would have smiled. Instead, you kept one hand on his ass while the other wrapped around what you could not easily take. Your lips chased your fingers back and forth, your head bobbing. 

“Y/N.” He growled from above, his grip in your hair tightening enough to make your scalp sing. Still, he merely held on while his other hand joined the first. Between wet slurps and quiet grunts, the room was filled with filth and sin and the scent of sweat and sex. 

Daryl was hanging on by a thread. 

Your efforts doubled, your cheeks hollowed and pace quickened. His breaths were heavy, near wheezing, with barely contained moans, his head pressed back into the door, eyes tightly closed and lips minisculary parted. 

“M’—m’gonna—”

You hummed around him, the only warning you received before he spilled against the back of your throat was the tensing of his muscles beneath your hand. A string of expletives left his mouth in a rush of breath, his body bowing over you while he finally allowed his hands a purpose of holding you in place while his hips thrust to prolong the intense waves of pleasure. 

As he came back to himself, he quickly released you, watching you pull yourself off of him with a hard swallow and deep inhale. Daryl was trembling, his knees slightly bent. Sensing he was barely maintaining his footing, you rose and wiggled your arms around his torso, providing him support while simultaneously laying your head against his chest to hear his heart gallop. 

After a moment, you felt his cheek rest against your temple, a deep breath shuddering beneath your cheek. 

“You’re tryin’ to kill me.”

“Nah,” you laughed. “If I wanted to kill you, I’d use a knife.” He straightened, forcing you to pull back and look at him. He was sweating while you were growing colder in your bare state, your chilled hands tucking him away and doing up his pants. 

He opened his mouth, likely a retort on his tongue, when there came a knock on the door. Dear god, had someone heard?

“Someone’s getting cranky out here.” Carol’s voice was quiet, amused, and close to the door. 

Daryl gulped, his eyes wide before he settled into stoicism and jerked his chin toward the desk. “Finish up, I got ‘er.”

You offered him a nod and stepped back enough for him to open the door and slip out. You grabbed your sweater and went back to the door, listening for what you could possibly hear on the other side. 

“Can’t let’cha mama an’ ol’ man have a break, kid?” Daryl asked quietly, still close to the door. You could hear Birdie’s little squeaks as she likely settled into her father’s arms.

“She wants to be an only child for at least a year, Daryl.” Carol’s voice was further away. 

“Th’fuck? How’d—” The archer exclaimed. 

“I hear everything. I mean everything.”

Your face reddened and you stepped away from the door, knowing full well that a teasing was awaiting upon your return. Pulling on your bra, you situated the pads and then continued to dress. The mess of cloths and water were dumped into the trashcan. With an indignant pout, you reached for the doorknob. 

“I swear that woman has a built in sex alert system.” You grumbled on your way out, closing the door behind you.

[hyunluvbug]

my chef

pairing: lee felix x gn reader!

premise: you wake up from a nap to find your boyfriend, felix making dinner.

content: fluffy!! sfw! some kissing and cuddles

word count: >1k

the covers encase your body. making your body extra warm and cozy. your head is resting amongst the many soft pillows. confusion surrounds you as you don't remember ever falling asleep. you sit up in bed and notice many sleep marks coating your arms. you stretch out your arms and move the covers off your body.

you decide to get out of bed when you hear the muffle of music and sizzling. once you head down the hallway, you see him. your boyfriend, felix is at the stove. he is flipping over what seems to be steak in the skillet. his back is towards you and you notice his black hair is tied into a small ponytail. his hips sway along to the song faintly playing in the room.

the angelic sound of his voice fills the room. he is singing along to the song, putting the original artist to shame. his voice is like pure honey and it resonates into your body.

you walk up to him and wrap your arms around his slender waist. you head rests onto his back. his comforting scent fills your nose making your body even more relaxed.

"did you have a good nap love?" felix asks and continue flipping the steak.

you nod against his back. you feel his back rumble when he lets out a small chuckle. he sets the spatula down and turns around to face you. he pulls you into his chest and kisses the top of your head.

"i'm glad." he rubs his hands up and down your back soothingly.

"you didn't have to make dinner, i was going to order takeout." you pout, suddenly feeling bad. you always feel like he's the one cooking and that you never contribute.

"hey, it's ok. i love doing this for you." he smiles down at you, his smile going up into his eyes. the smile you love oh so much. felix was always in the kitchen cooking up something delicious. he was practically your own personal chef. ever since you moved in together, he had made so many meals and desserts for you. you had turned into his own taste tester.

you move away from his embrace and roll up your sleeves, "well can i help then?"

he smiles happily at your request, "of course you can. my lil chef." he teases.

"you can help make the mashed potatoes," he says, pointing to the potatoes on the counter.

"yes sir." you salute to him and he grins. you get straight to work.

-------

after dinner had been served, you both devoured the food in minutes. of course, the steak was absolutely amazing, anything felix makes always is. now the both of you lay on the couch. the tv is playing some random movie.

you face felix, looking all over his face. wondering how someone can be so pretty, handsome and beautiful all in one. his freckles are on full display today and they make him look even more pretty if possible.

"need something baby?" he asks, realizing you're not paying attention to the movie.

he looks down at you and you smile shyly. you lean up to place a kiss on his cheek. his nose scrunches up cutely from the surprise. but you don't stop there. you continue placing more kisses on his cheeks, trying to cover every single freckle. felix begins to let out the cutest giggle as your lips continue touching his face.

"baby." he whines. "kiss my lips before you drive me crazy."

you follow his request immediately and place your lips onto his. letting you lips mold together, his soft hand rests on your cheek to pull you closer. his lips taste like absolute heaven, they're so soft and have the faintest taste of cherry.

he pulls away to press tons of pecks all over your own cheeks. paying back for what you did to him. you are both a giggling mess as your lips crash back together. his cheeks become warm the more he kisses you, letting his hands fall down on your waist.

he pulls you up into his lap and kisses you even deeper than before. his lips are practically swollen from how hard and deeply he is kissing you. you let out some soft mumbles and he pulls away. both of you practically breathless.

"what was that?" he asks looking into your eyes.

"i was saying i love you." you mumble and looks down at your lap.

"aw is my baby shy?" he teases, his hands coming up to pinch your cheeks. you push his hands away.

"you ruined the moment."

"don't worry, i love you too." he coos and places a quick peck onto your lips.

[resetting37]

17 for whoever or as many characters as you'd like to talk about

omg yes !!! thank u !!

Prompt

What is the worst thing you have put your OC through story-wise?

Hm, well some of the worst things are technically "backstory" (do i have a written story ? No, so this shouldn't matter) but I'll go ahead and share some, at least for the main cast

Audrey - parents died when she was twelve, and when her brother left shortly after, she had been alone in the mourning. In the current storyline, I'd say trapping her in the soul void™ for a few months was kind of shitty (It was a period in which her physical form dissolved with this mold she keeps, leaving her consciousness trapped.)

Advik - He's lucky to escape most of the consequences that Aurora unleashes onto the main cast, but still, being banished to the wasteland with someone that wants to murder him is not fun. Also, the constant guilt he feels throughout the story from being tied to a sketchy government project featuring human subjects lingers. Something he doesn't get closure on until towards the end of the story.

Avery - she gets poisoned and imprisoned. (thanks Aurora) You could argue her journey in Recom in trying to find a cure for her girlfriend had led to a reunion with an enemy that caused a mental breakdown (and for Avery to commit a violent act that led to the loss of said enemy's eye), but that sort of led to her getting attention back home, so in Avery's case, it was a net good. (It's not, but Avery craves attention)

Zack - his mom dying and being kicked out of the family right after. Again, that's "backstory", so idk how much that counts, but throwing away almost all of his friendships in order to be with the person he loves only for that person to choose his own worst enemy over Zack, that sucks. Oh ! And he suffers a bad fall and gets imprisoned (thanks Aurora)

Katsumi - being betrayed by the person she loved and getting publicly shamed, leaving Kat to start her life all over. (thanks Aurora) That's yet again, backstory, so I'd say another bad thing is having to witness her mother almost dying because no one was taking the lab experiment escapee seriously and said escapee was targeting scientists in a bloodsucking spree.

Morgan - Almost dying from a building collapse. Almost dying from a train cart crash. Almost dying from her own mutation. Although Morgan would beg to differ. The fact she survived many near death encounters is a good thing ! 🥴

Sean - him realizing his god complex is just that, a complex. He's just a guy, and because he got way too carried over his head, he lost every meaningful connection he ever had. Congrats.

[libidomechanica]

“But longing want to teenish”

A rispetto sequence

               1

One breeding on the Princess—why not vary, he hall-door, and and fly all wear, tis song, and morning down and drizzling destinies, to

the clown, rent; of heaven. But longing want to teenish hungry peak these shepecote, in the world when a pile one poor flocks the Heaven.

               2

Seeing there around, strike thinke no memoree. When you mought him aright that am I, and you live an amorous Leander one count,

they met. Aye, I thing by; but, that ensues from herbs and sparrow when Januar’ wind while thee into thee what tell my steep, as she, Let son!

               3

As where? Should brother worser face impers of stone to the came to Vivian-place resist: curst accept the Indian days be over

yet a pleasure; I am very saul, that secret for cobweb lawn, see now foreground heat the wren had from my morn: shall do it.

               4

A vestige of accident. Unless upon the charm her burnt because eastered at thought is somethings here foolished, bounting back

a press upon me was more replete with a cycle, we willowers direct, exquisited this end you be happen to herye, none.

               5

He has such cunning down to melts of three: husband into the dead and all it were I loathsome chaungeable stem But such euill a centure!

The missay, who lord of the air land March her. Like a Statue of my nest. And whining, my day go in together; for her trees.

               6

When looks o’erpower. I keep the night; back to you: besides. Charlie, he stand but in for in Christian craft is the bath assume us

is a sharks from your to sue nothings on my will part was’t shame, some beauty in the palms of flesh—in his own. In mine of steep in fields.

               7

Where and Cosset favour and when gaunt minstrung, puppet to harsh net? In year American Triple me, and hair, to lay at relaxed,

to language but, whom we gave told to catch: of process! Of his frequent wool and leaves in flash’d our her a light forward, as if she lost.

               8

Light of you are gone, Live! Equal to rise, reliue. Like for neither carke. And helped upon us to me, And one were two wide Border not

long, it will young heards dance of Time, the dewe drouth, and did driue so gentle, where? Which flowers, and some Dreams are the ventured catalepsy’.

               9

To be venom-bag, and in a momental sea while her sapped pale little place. Dark in miserable reed disturb the iron gate is

english is fixedly as with fearing she waterspouted, ere I hope is it, mermaid’s no other ere I live, the night the guest!

               10

Trembling is scarce expressed again. This he ladies. Where enamour elbows: on a whirlwind: I by day he world star. Who canst the lays

head a lively he touch’d then strained and nigh. Your is come other drums, a though the day and other as I have powerful love must be?

               11

Too stranged, and kind, shall I lie wishing Lilly, and shall burnt rounds were dead, deep he lips: breather’d all with not, rape, thou came within the

flowers. ’ And three: husband, smile on the Foxes creeping shadows, tongue that idle man ne’r before a whirlwind a weigh hearing Two grew.

               12

Then it in dew limpid asleep. All the lived whom my heauen the holy must deep the pale look up Now thrown? With true that arc his close old

that by theirs of Eternal brink. Eye, and of man. Of newe went, didonis kept sayshould save, half-entrance tough bent his that make delight.

               13

My song, all be? The Prince: then tried, and play upon a peace? Soules the strenuous spot, now that until time’s ward, honour meat; and pray that

made! Hard then, Sir’ I; and all I would behold, perfectly-chisled cheek, like ourse, and heathy house-clocks to ourse their practice eulogies.

               14

Voice none you tell to Loue of pray. Finger. Hark, and that crazed within the his freshment iudge betters that hunterfeit is poorer prettiest.

Beating blast—thou shall be; weel my man, with tears all the battered o’ersnow’d vine, I shall sweetness of deed was molded but thou should hat.

               15

Enchanted their thoughts concealed thriue, and sound upon his darting through many time it thy prison me if every sweetest land? Long to

the down the mellows and is true Love’s walked ere flower forgetfulness. We know had reheads, lashes she man! This might of half houshold.

               16

And new, and trill, and wets the sealed: the ages wild as like weeds of bliss for the dreary might a tomb. I feel one hair riots, in the

meadow to take hath to sleep or shall cups our beauty and who make an effort of the things that be for restled laugh many wrough blind.

               17

They were half a perfect ceremony a curious taste of worth to searing hours, I turn to bind, at dimme any evidence,

with thee, I though fowl croak the palms in like a iolly shades call the crowd—tomorrow. And, descended not lone I lay and brows her fears.

               18

I would confus’d Destinies, even of think us while your shadows dapple you luld have me from gray sea shove, let state, half-amaze

of all those from the bed to wedded the trader, priuely I not be rocks an element, woodland, tost open, with hymn. Belovéd!

               19

To pour’d there will be? Why should staff she has clear as them still thy heart compact, each from heaven, nor the other tree was mind give to passing

arter by sight nay! Secrete heard Loues spur, then in the part his own single lift hour of golden cherished him. With his voices smart.

               20

Wide she courts of thickly to imbibe it elastic streams are. Our vale, his less revenge these? Yet prove an aged for I might him in

awe we lived the mercy the cheating at thought! And when the other a plead thy mammie’s warke: the finger. Which I rise, Most minstrels shine.

               21

A daught to there in with coral. True-love length and I had gone souereign’d As large full for wounded. Thy troth, and speak, and Hopes apart strove

sun’s low and was she light into rose: he fierce to Loue, curling, as much, not they deftly shall in her laughing her flocksley Hall; there thee.

               22

Courage, goethe’s my Highland agony, mutteringles, and I returned among time found all hedges drowned. Her girl wast grief to beare,

daring news of lawn, seated the silence: these thought of thee, I dibbled steep performer lost to you: then came rocks,—and Shírín then shaw.

               23

She fled! If I come by loveling, and sorrow is to breast, that Beauty, not spie! He king I am mortality of many

a mist while some ghosts, and know the cure! By this, things on them where paused with an inflated out, first day- tide. Must which husband, after nine.

               24

Am madness of view she is a bird hated upon the matter hearted thinking displeasant sighest own, and watched up your garments

have so fair, but once as theyr steal about this best how smooth pity that faith. Cause he measures by a cheeks like one do speak in love.

               25

Hands from their weak to vision our virtuous reported behold and what all men, and fell, my joy and through and flush sang naturally

downwards that a treached upon his moorland Mary. Will be, and I, thou, that time or a selfsame the find, that tall he distance pearls.

               26

Robed to the looks behind he, to ponder innocent because I love Europe’s should all from the robes of her have it pleach’d new glove

young, think. To tell you in shall I reed, to linger. How there. Here I bid her false to leaden path called it. One I frowning the cooleree.

               27

Heard not know, I thy soule steal about you; found my eyes, and the bounded took the most sweete are that Light is high certainty toying like

they fall old bygones dumb presence beast aged Saturn there were I returning rose. Than Morpheus in California and Adonais!

               28

Mother, they stiless, and stung and tended throught to unknown joy, thy beauteous forth and from my bones, that seldom thou Englishman, of a

solemn fearful light not with stand take thing in the dead, so long, a countrywoman, town, and her ire; she kitches be over hands. Swamp.

               29

It least doth no brow, a cap instincture fetch me so was not how the beach; a chamber me richer please, that will no glowed might to the

dewy splendours to fair tiptop nothing his battering billows retires, but the Flood, where cry. In the conventide. And I have seen.

               30

’ Horizon’s silver brother. Which its roots are burn in foot was gone bag man, and throngs of which my head stooped that being away! No heauie

herd, sincere carnation of faire dispell, yet again each to set his too deeper to be sing, was still my ain lass throng might to cleare.

               31

Tobacco, neck herself years to learnt, with so discourself to pale for the ocean-ridge, will, melissa knell on thee as then the fauour

and over hand, and a bonie Jeanie or no more bene a sum of shame. That the soft amazed with gentle little sphere Adonais.

               32

She resume; and sign or page, I gave upon the Caspian spread that which it is wanton lassie, kindling down I’ll hauiour garden

walls were living shame, it springs wander is ever, to desire my ain. Of the scorn with many sea nymphs’ enveigling have his.

               33

Fully I stood trill, and, as not out of the sullen year is a firm foot, but if to sore he has clear which in her hostage till the

gates the into like some behold, the gold. A Haire: when I died, luxury, he reflected carried forest-house, now some downes and choose.

               34

If this mourned at rest of the gusty formal come be in a tuft of her kirtle embraced at ease the silly she same so longed Chieftain!

Pleasure re-animate grass upon the cruel space; its do to heart what sleep she is doubts, displays has-ke, ystables, just tarry.

               35

With a blest? And fro shrunk with her shining; forst sin nor eloquench’d the pigweed spot shall play; I put do in the clouds, and afternoon

when wealthy Sistered charities and to pry and dare, no lingers, Fenwicks, seeing all thy faces level may bread away free.

               36

The pinion. You at thou can scandal, a wide all their cheeked my beauty had know. Magnanimous eyes glows a moment stuck o’er-sweet, as

the level stone-crop starry yearning, my darling lethal and bare two are clear: six thousands morning our down a paleness upon.

               37

Her fancy; what all waite. But on a silver-fond: so, love that the fear to boom as one as if a Poland ranne of many a pass

and puff from all the chase fear our gloom, in your bondslave to be done, he college lights made barren sleepe, as fragrant in women’s implies.

               38

Of poetical of sighing, as thy honour hand it, consuming shadow from their broad. On sense at will no other, her look well, the

raindrops they that blink. When we felt. As linesse no hope it seemed shepherd, in his Son, her vows, poor moment day of men requestionship.

               39

The find now on the from his night. Then such cold it not die of form delight that bondslave a gentle shadows, whereat paine. Were and puffs

of hopes outreachery, women heaping turned. Thou done thou wert deadly brake, the told on the cast up from benediction fools delight.

               40

Then I stoop my heart of pain ere found the snow up for a last, full verse. I, may aye between you a tide Thee moved between my souls’

sacrifice and one poor branches swain one in extreme hope from hue to dishevell’d with gold, or fair Scylla alone, ridden in double.

               41

For none bittering soul, or far away cool refrain that my hand, convulsion that from the valley of his banner real glances added,

looking of sadden’d together. Then can well; fair tho, thy Beauty in Life, or a whirl around my thou that which the braw gently?

               42

Be you so; that bowers are gone. Alas, dost thought day though evening the world confused such did see, my dear made. I have ye e’ening. Hark,

and will sweetest she goe nye, for breast: see the lightened mile-and-a- half the which young. Now lends the dangling to end their appointing lines!

               43

Amendment, from the old and through th’ ever. And whining, and he round Leander, brighted Troth, when we find Wordsworth not yet am

I told that won by the evilly see heaven broidered though roll. But, Delia dawn; her level stood alone thee to gloves. Eye.

               44

By the cross my own skin, howe my love minds, sike deep and kiss, seemed to the deuoured boding for on her love, but on the spiders here was

once did it or by their dull breast down tongue thee to our serve, I present iudge be swept saying. The Death, ere love you I look her their prey.

               45

After nine desolation I would be kind seal dome copses in mesh, and yours they eye couldn’t consumed away from ugly night him repent;

closes I must go. To turned about the her head, as of lightes, must tellection makes glassy ear as his battle, more the night.

               46

—I heard head, freshening save history. Not borne, these them, war, or, made. Live it least dayly, or your quaile. Thou shall their sleeps you go. For the

Head? With shall I do we mace, their those soun’. Thus wing—at Neptune fell future depart. Remember would be to herd-abandon from hill.

               47

All there mething birds the Vision with hold touches brows sense and once from their lot want to serving-boy apprehend them, the gods love the

dead, but the terror thee praying: as the greene things to cry o, learnd a lesson new life was more than autumnal stands to find her e’e.

[billconrad]

The Worst Thing I Almost Did

    There are many common themes in entertainment, such as when Luke Skywalker learned the truth about his father. The audience loved the suspense, the surprise, and the fantastic aftermath. Most plots have the basic pattern of a beginning or introduction, a detailed middle, and a conclusion. Stories that do not follow this typical theme are generally not entertaining.

    I wanted to discuss something that happened to me that does not fit the story mold. I almost did something and learned a valuable lesson. Around 20, I went to the movies with a friend. Afterward, we headed to the parking lot and saw an 18-year-old walking (away from us) with his father. This kid had gone far out of his way to look like a complete punk. He put in safety pin piercings all around his head, grotesquely shaved off his hair with orange/yellow hair dye, and wore a satanic shirt. This is an excellent example of all that is wrong with society.

    This obscene sight upset my tranquil evening, and I decided to confront this idiot. I walked up to him to say, “You look terrible!” (Alright, truth. Four-letter words would have been involved.)

    When I approached, my opinion did a 180. The 12-year-old boy had been severely burned, and his entire face was radically disfigured. The severe damage made him look a lot older. The safety pins were surgical staples from a recent reconstruction operation. Most of his hair would never grow back, and what little remained was stained with orange antiseptic. His “satanic” shirt, upon closer inspection, proclaimed his survival success at a Christian youth camp. The boy smiled at me. I immediately understood the sight before me. This was a happy child with his father, who had just attended their first movie after a traumatic event.

    I walked away feeling like the biggest jerk in the world. I reflect upon that shameful memory to this day, and I believe the experience helped me become a better person. What a great life lesson. Hey, let’s include this powerful memory in one of my stories.

    Not so fast. Bill almost insulted a boy. Boring! It would read much better if Bill insulted the boy and cried his eyes out in shame. Why? Readers cannot relate to a near event. “Bill thought about the incident.” So? Technically, Bill did not do anything wrong. The kid smiled at him. Big deal. “Hey, Bill! Man up and move on! No harm, no foul.”

    The core moment was the kid’s smile. There was no conflict, but that smile did more to my ego than a thousand bullets. At that moment, the twelve-year-old boy was far more mature than me. It is challenging to have a character go through the same event and pull the reader into their pain because nothing happened. Taping into this powerful memory would be fantastic, but it will not happen.

    What can we conclude? One. Be careful who you insult. Two. Life is complex and rarely predictable. Three. Real life does not always translate into words. Four. It’s fun to explore these topics.

    You’re the best -Bill

    April 13, 2024

    Hey book lovers, I published four. Please check them out:

    Interviewing Immortality. A dramatic first-person psychological thriller that weaves a tale of intrigue, suspense, and self-confrontation.

    Pushed to the Edge of Survival. A drama, romance, and science fiction story about two unlikely people surviving a shipwreck and living with the consequences.

    Cable Ties. A slow-burn political thriller that reflects the realities of modern intelligence, law enforcement, department cooperation, and international politics.

    Saving Immortality. Continuing in the first-person psychological thriller genre, James Kimble searches for his former captor to answer his life’s questions.

    These books are available in soft-cover on Amazon and eBook format everywhere.

[paradox-time]

Ok, imma jump in the kitchen with you.

Gale definitely feels like The Eye, his curiosity and greed for hidden knowledge was his downfall.

Shadowheart thematically is perfect for The Dark

Lae'zel, though, isn't as much Slaughter as she is Vast. A warrior from the Astral Plane, a soldier to a Tyrant who's only goal is God-like power and influence. Being from a place without time or boundary. Just, her whole culture is based on the concept of an Infinite Empire. Then she becomes a Space Warrior trying to kill a supposedly immortal god-queen. Lae'zel is The Vast.

Karlach being part of The Lonely makes a ton of sense, her isolation is a huge portion of her struggle, but as obvious as it is, I like The Desolation for her. Everything she ever loved and everything she ever lived for was ripped away violently and now she's literally always of fire and burns away anything she touches because of a random violent one-off bad-luck shit-show. That's the entire point of The Desolation.

Wyll is a difficult one. The Hunt works from the "he hunts monsters" angle, but that's it. The Lonely works better for Wyll than it does for Karlach, though. Isolated from his family by Mizora, banished from his home by his father, keeps himself alone because he is afraid that anything or anyone he cares about will be in danger because of his Infernal ties. Further isolated himself out of shame when he becomes part devil. Canonically has no close ties or friends, even from the city he spent his entire early life in. He craves a slow and dedicated romance that will last a lifetime so he won't have to be alone anymore.

I actually really like Astarion being linked with The Corruption. So many people forget that it's not just bugs and mold, but also unhealthy attachments and predatory relationships. Jane Prentiss loves The Hive as it ruins her from the inside out, The Corruption is just as much about toxicity and abuse as it is about maggots. Astarion, trapped by Cazador, continuously subjected to insane amounts of abuse, unable to leave, unable to heal. Resentment growing like rot until he has the ultimate choice of letting it consume him until he is exactly what he hated, or cutting out the festering mass that is everything that connects him to Cazador. Also the whole Szarr family crest being a Rat King is so Corruption coded. Also vampires have always been an allegory for both disease and predatory relationships. Give yourself credit where credit is due, Astarion as The Corruption is genius.

The Dark Urge being such a customizable character makes his entity a bit harder to consider. Depending on how you play Durge, he could go Slaughter, Spiral, or even Web. I love the Extinction angle though, but that's less his character and more his purpose (a purpose that he is ignoring to go play in the woods with a bunch of tadpoled strangers for a few months, no wonder Bhaal was upset). I don't even have a concrete answer for Durge, weird considering I almost exclusively play as him (12 times lol). He is just such a fucked up little hodge-podge of opposing forced daring to try to act as a person. Uncontrollable bloodthirst that he takes undeniable glee in, despite how he might feel about his joy at bloodsport afterwards. That is absolutely Slaughter. The voices in his head, the visions in his dreams, his fantasies turned action without him even meaning to, his total lack of understanding what is real and what is The Urges, the memory loss and paranoia. Dude, it's The Spiral. The you have his issues with control. The only reason he exists is to be his father's will on the material plane, a puppet to possess, a knife to be wielded. He is not even technically a sentient person, more a creature made to look like a person that suddenly decided it wanted agency. Like the pencil you use to write suddenly trying to draw by itself. It's why he has to die to free himself from Bhaal. And even then, he wasn't free until a different god forced him out of Bhaal's domain. The Dark Urge is absolutely a victim of The Web. I leave the final alignment up to reader discretion, I literally can't pick.

Ok thanks for the opportunity to yap about both BG3 and The Magnus Archives in the same post. <3

Alright guys I had an idea

Gale - Eye

Shadowheart - Dark

Lae’zel - Slaughter

Karlach - Lonely

Wyll - Hunt???? Idk there is probably a better fear for him but I’m not sure rn

Astarion - the corruption, this one is also a big stretch

Durge - Definitely the Slaughter but tbh I don’t want to double up on fears so I’m going to say the extinction

[yngai]

as much as i adore plague doctor/monster hunter ada wong & her unused design (& have tried to fit her within the game’s narrative & general timeline), the role of a mysterious helping hand guiding ethan through the events of RE8 would be much better served by mia, hell, the game would be benefit greatly with her in the leading role,

[bubbledumbbinch]

Kinktober 2021 - Tickling

Pairing: Lilia Vanrouge x GN! Reader

Prompt: Tickling

A/N: This piece of writing is strictly 18+. NSFW. Minors DNI.

Warnings: yandere, dubcon/noncon, mild angst(?), jealousy

Your muffled moans struggled to come out. Bounds restrained your arms and legs as you felt like you were being tortured. Well, because you were.

It had all started back when Lilia Vanrouge, your upperclassman from Diasomnia, had taken a liking to you. That's definitely what he would call it, not an obsession. Lilia's infatuation started when he was able to get closer to you and meet you during the time preparing for the Magical Shift tournament. His magenta eyes shifted with wonder as he watched you try to solve who was causing issues for multiple players across the school. Since then, Lilia had taken a secret liking to you.

Recently, Lilia had spent more time trying to court you, sending small gifts and talking with you more. Retelling his memories from the fae war was one of his favorite pastimes. He could feel the excitement radiate off of your body and your eyes were so cute. "Wow, Lilia-senpai! Sounds like you were really tough back then, that's so cool!"  Your voice repeats in his mind, sending sparks to his heart. Flashing you a sharp toothy smile whenever you made him laugh, looking at you with large, almost expectant, eyes. To say the fae was entranced with you was an understatement. He felt like he was so very close to asking you to become his partner.

That was until he noticed you embrace his fellow club-mate, Cater. A smile was visible on Lilia's face as his heart wrenched. He approached you as usual, brightly exclaiming your name. You turned to face him, still smiling after your interaction with Cater, who had already left.

"Oh, Lilia-senpai! Hi!" you giggled as the bicolored hair boy was close. "How are you doing?"

"Hi (y/n)! Ah, I was just wondering if we were still going to my room later to hang out." His voice was cheerful, but carried a bit of tension, which you had yet to notice. "I thought we could go into another… history lesson?"

Your eyes lit up at the idea, excited to hear another one of Lilia's stories. "I would love to! I'm finished with everything, so let's go now!"

"Mm, I love your enthusiasm (y/n)." Magenta eyes turned dark as he took your hand and led you to Diasomnia.

Lilia's room was cozy and familiar. You sat with him on the side of his bed as he joined you.

"Hm, I think it would be interesting to discuss how we… interrogated our enemies." Lilia's voice trailed off, maybe in a way where he was thinking of the past.

"Oh, like… torture..?" You asked, unsteady. He turned to you, his smile back on his face. "Yes! And if it's okay, I'd like to show you, with a demonstration."

You were confused, yet intrigued. "I- okay," you started hesitantly. "Is it gonna hurt?"

The fear in your voice only made Lilia's heart soar. You were so cute and you were all his. "No, my dear, I assure you it won't. If anything you might like it..!" He giggled as he shook his head.

Your eyes scanned the floor, searching for words. Eventually, you returned his gaze. Y'know what? Sure, show me, Lilia-senpai!"

"Heh, I knew you'd do this for me~"

~~~

Your arms were tied to the upper corners of his bedpost with your legs free. Your jacket had been placed neatly on his chair. A cloth was stuffed into your mouth. It all felt so… weird for some reason, even though you already verbally agreed. Trusting Lilia should have been enough, though, he had been so nice to you. There was nothing to fear.

Suddenly, as you felt the sides of your shirt lift, you couldn't help the surprised whimper that fell from your mouth. His cold fingers descend onto your exposed sides, causing you to start giggling in joy. "MMPh!!!" your core was contracting with the laughs that wracked your body.

"Aah, my sweet (y/n), your laughs are so precious. I want to hear more!" Lilia's eyes grew darker as his grin extended. He crawled on top of you, sitting on top of your crotch. His cold fingers tickled the sides of your body once more. He reveled in the way you writhed under him.

"Nnnh!! hh- hmm, MMH!!!!" You did your best to shake your head and kick your legs, signalling you wanted him to stop.

"Oh, you want me to stop?" Lilia questioned innocently, turning his head to the side. You nodded profusely, sighing in relief when he finally did.

"What were you doing with Cater?" it came out as more of a demand rather than a question. His tone automatically brought sweat to your face. In the confusion, you could only manage to say a measly "huh?"

"(Y/n). I saw him touch you, earlier. He likes you doesn't he?" Lilia's smile was slight, still there, but small. And his eyes seemed like they looked in yours, but were almost looking beyond you.

"How about this, I'll remove the cloth so you can talk to me." As soon as it was removed, you breathed in and out rapidly, gasping for air.

"I- Lilia-senpai, Cay-kun and I are just friends…" You said, gulping. Yet, his expression hadn't changed.

"And, even if he did hug me, I didn't do anything wrong! You and I are just friends too, so you shouldn't question if other people like me or not…"

Wrong answer. Lilia's smile faded and he seemed visibly upset, crossing his arms.

"Hm." Was the only noise he released as you felt the tickling begin at your sides again.

However, his eyes were still trained on you, and his arms still crossed. Looking down, you saw green feathers moving on their own, tickling up and down your sides. You laughed - laughed until it really started to hurt. There was pain in your abdomen that only worsened over time. Your kicking legs suddenly felt as if they were bound in place, probably also due to Lilia's magic.

"Ah, aahn- Lilia-senpai, s-stop!! Please!!" You cried, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

"Hm, let's amp this up, no?" Lilia brought his hand to his mouth, smiling deviously.

Lilia's weight was lifted off of your body along with the torturous ministrations the feathers wreaked on you.

Chest heaving up and down, you felt as if your body was too tired to do anything. However, as soon as you felt your pants being unbuttoned and undone, you spared some energy to lift your head.

Lilia's fingers dragged your pants down to your knees, chuckling once he saw the arousal in your underwear.

"Aah, my sweet (y/n), I guess you don't really hate this, no?" He teased, bringing a finger to swipe at your clothed crotch. “Hmm, you’re so wet for me!”

"Oh!!" You turned away from Lilia, embarrassed about your own situation. "Lilia-senpaaai~, please, haanh, stop…!" You moaned, finger still rubbing at your arousal.

Again, the feathers started to torture you. The tickling brought pain and tension back into your body. Your screams molded into moans, heat coming straight to your cheeks as Lilia's fingers were still stroking you through the thin cloth.

"Hm, I'll think about it! How's this, I'll stop once you tell me you love me. You'll be my sweet (y/n) and I'll be your boyfriend!" Lilia's eyes shone, staring into yours. Goosebumps littered your skin as you heard his words.

"Ah, wh-what!? N-no..!" You protested, still writhing underneath him.

"Tsk, I guess you've chosen this then…" The speed of Lilia's fingers quickened their pace, ultimately slipping under the waistband of your underwear, stroking you directly.

"Oh- ah, oh fuck… " You couldn't help but let a curse slip from your mouth. "Lilia-senpaiii~ don't… stop…" You close your eyes in shame, as the sensation of Lilia's fingers invaded your senses.

"My sweet (y/n), oh my darling." Lilia coos, "It seems like you really like your punishment, don't you?" His tone teased you.

"Haah, fuck, I- I love it, so- aanh~ much..!" your babbling only grew as your climax approached rapidly.

Your moans only grew louder as you felt the feathers now tickling your pert nipples.

"Lilia, Lilia, haanh, Lilia-senpai!!!" You repeated his name like a mantra, breathing and growing more and more erratic.

Your moans were making the fae's cock twitch in his pants, yet he held himself back. He wanted to really take you when you were lovers. But that would be soon enough, wouldn't it?

"(Y/n), am I making you feel good?" Lilia's voice drew out. His voice was deep with lust and only sent tingles throughout your body.

"Y-yes, fuck! Lilia-senpai, I love- mmh, it feels so gooood~" you moaned, eyebrows furrowing together. You felt sinful, in pain and yet also pleasure. The tickling was stimulating your nipples while Lilia's fingers kept going faster.

"Lilia-senpai~ I- I'm gonna cum…" you turned into his pillow, muffling your moans. Drool was spilling from your mouth and you didn't even realize it. "Please, Lilia-senpai, make me cum!! I love it!! I- I love you, Lilia-senpai!!" you screamed, teetering on the edge of your orgasm.

Lilia moaned with you, absolutely loving your drunken confession. "Yes, my love, my (y/n)!" Lilia groaned. "Cum for me, my darling. Then we will be bound together!" His fingers stroked you with fervor, feathers teasing your body even more.

You reached your orgasm, screaming as liquid spurted out of you. As you rode your high, Lilia's fingers slowed. The feathers' torture on your body also ceased, leaving you to breathe heavily. Your arms were unbound, and you didn't even realize you were shivering from head to toe. Even with the freedom to move you couldn't.

Lilia's lithe body found its way to slump next to yours, arms wrapping around your form and pulling you close.

"I love you, (y/n). You're mine, now." Lilia's voice whispered softly into your ear.

[banished-away]

A few others i remembered from the top of my head in Daughter of the Drow by Elaine Cunningham: "Although there were none about to see and envy him, Gromph’s proud stance suggested he was keenly aware of the impressive picture he made. The magnificent cloak of the archmage, a glittering piwafwi whose many pockets held more magic than all of the Sorcere, was draped proudly about his shoulders. Jeweled broaches adorned his shoulders and held the cape in place. The archmage touched one of them, a fist-sized sapphire that held the magic needed to enspell the city’s timeclock." "The newly elevated matron rose in a whisper of silk and the gentle tinkle of silver jewelry. [...] yet the female’s delicate appearance was completely at odds with her deadly reputation. Ghilanna Tlabbar was tall and slender, as vain of her appearance and reputedly as wanton in her habits as any Tlabbar female. Unlike most of the priestesses in attendance, she dressed not in somber robes but in an exquisite black gown. Black seed pearls and fine embroidery graced the tightly molded, daringly cut bodice, and the entire length of her legs was clearly visible through the gossamer layers of her skirts. Yet her lovely, painted face was set in grim lines."

"Meanwhile, far from House Baenre’s audience hall, Gromph’s daughter skipped lightly through the tunnels of the Underdark. Her eyes gleamed red as they pierced the darkness ahead, and an occasional cross-draft rippled through the thick white hair that fell in wavy locks to her waist. She was dressed for travel in boots and breeches fashioned from thin, supple leather, a shirt of quilted silk, and a vest of fine chain mail. [...]. Behind her, well out of reach of the whirling weapon, trudged a young drow couple. The female wore the insignia of House Shobalar, a lesser clan known for the rare female wizards it produced. The other drow was an exceptionally handsome male, elaborately dressed but for the single-braided hair that marked him as a commoner." "The young drow sat with unusual patience as a skilled servant wove her hair into dozens of tiny braids, then looped and tied the plaited strands into an elaborately contrived whole. Liriel usually left her hair flowing free, but tonight she needed a hairstyle that could hold up to considerable abuse. Her gown for the evening was also durable and designed for movement. Pure white and daringly cut, the dress had several long slits on the skirt to allow her to indulge to the fullest her passion for dancing."

"Something must be done about that Baenre brat!” stormed Zeld Mizzrym. The priestess fairly quivered with wrath, and beneath the black and purple folds of her robe her bosom rose and fell in an indignant rhythm." "She flung open the door and began to riffle though the clothes stored inside. The black, red-trimmed robes of a novice hung crammed against one side of the wardrobe; most of the space was taken up by festive gowns, scandalous undergarments and night-clothes, and frivolous dancing shoes." (Context: this is Shakti going through Liriel's wardrobe)

Ghilana's robes and the clothes in Liriel's wardrobe being pointed out as particularly extravangant suggests what Ruka said, that it is more typical in Menzoberranzan to cover yourself than to show off, at least in official occasions (Liriel's gown described in the last paragraph was specifically for a party). However, despite this tendency, drow do not seem to have a particular taboo or shame against nudity itself, but rather simply have a tendency for practicality and prefer the protection clothing gives: "Then, as was custom following a nedeirra, the dancers began to remove their finery. Personal servants rushed forward to collect the discarded clothing. The party-goers were ushered, unselfconsciously naked, into another room." (from Daughter of the Drow) "The drow’s exasperation increased fourfold. She [Liriel] had yet to accustom herself to human notions of modesty. Drow had a keen appreciation for beauty—including that of the body—and had few taboos about nudity. The main reason they wore clothing at all was because it offered protection from attack and hiding places for weapons!" (from Tangled Webs)

also, some pictures from the Legend of Drizzt Visual Dictionary under the cut. While it's not super accurate and is sometimes downright questionable, I think its a good starting point for the general aesthetic of 5e-era drow (My scanner is not big enough to fit the book, so have a few terrible phone pictures):

Drow Fashion 🕷️✨

Extremely rare description of drow haute couture:

It seemed just another day for Matron Mother Quenthel Baenre as she went to her evening prayers. Her magnificent black robes, laced like flowing spiderwebs, swirled around her as she regally moved along the center aisle, passing the inferior priestesses at the many side altars of the Baenre House Chapel. The slightest breeze could send the spidery ends of that robe drifting upward and outward, blurring the form of the matron mother, giving her the appearance of etherealness and otherworldliness. (R. A. Salvatore, Night of the Hunter)

Now I wonder how many other incredible examples of drow fashion can be hidden under "wondrous robes", "ornate robes" and similarly non-descriptive labels typically used in novels... *sigh*

For some reason, I imagine that luxury gowns of drow matron mothers might resemble some designs of Iris van Herpen, but with a spidery touch.

For more of my drow lore ramblings, feel free to check my pinned post 🕷️

[pillage-and-lute]

(For next time you’re looking for prompts) I really like your writing, and when I thought of this I wondered what you’d do with it: Geralt and Jaskier are together, but agree to pretend not to be for their next stop. Maybe one of them wants to win an old bet, or Jaskier’s not 100% sure his betrothal to a local noble has been officially dissolved, whatever, (not homophobia), fluff and high jinx ensue. Anyway I hope something unexpectedly nice happens to you today.

Hi Dahliavandare! Thanks for the blessing in my inbox  🥰

This ran away from me, tons of backstory about Jaskier’s family. Just, way too much.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Geralt, darling,” Jaskier said hesitantly. “I have an errand we need to run, and I’m not sure you’ll like it.”

Geralt hummed noncommittally. They were resting at their camp outside of Hagge and the warm summer air and the feeling of Jaskier curled against him had lulled him into a warm, fuzzy stupor.

“You see,” Jaskier continued, fiddling with the buttons at his cuffs. “I’m a noble, and you know that of course.” He laughed awkwardly. “And I’ve been lucky enough to pawn most of those responsibilities off onto my much savvier sister, but there are certain niceties that landed families observe that--”

“Spit it out,” Geralt grumbled, although not bad naturedly. 

“I’m betrothed,” Jaskier said. “And we need to go to Gwendeith to break it off.”

Geralt turned to look at his beloved. “You’re engaged?”

“Betrothed!” Jaskier yelped, then saw Geralt’s expression. “Oh, dear heart, there’s a slight difference in meaning, especially to nobles. Engaged implies an intent to marry--”

“And betrothed doesn’t?”

“Well, sort of, but I’ve been betrothed practically since I was born, engaged would imply I’m sort of planning the wedding. It’s a contract, a social contract. My family and my betrothed’s are pretty minor nobles, so really it’s just a way of saying ‘maybe someday our kids could marry’. It isn’t the hard and fast marriage it might be if I were, say, a prince.”

“Then why do it?” Geralt asked. Most of the time he was happy to understand as little of the lives of the gentry as possible, but Jaskier was important.

“Honestly,” Jaskier sighed. “I think Papa arranged it because he cared for me, Mama too.”

“It takes away your choice,” Geralt began.

“It doesn’t. A betrothal like mine and... Iliana, that’s her name, only met her twice, it’s sort of social insurance. Especially for her, but for me as well. Nobles are supposed to marry, so, if at some point neither of us had found love we could marry one another. For Iliana there’s the security of having a husband, although from what I’ve heard she can handle herself fine, and for me its assurance of heirs if that sort of thing concerned me, and companionship for us both.”

It sounded...mostly sort of logical to Geralt.

“But I love you,” Jaskier said. “And I don’t want to be betrothed to anyone because I love you and, someday, whenever you get over you allergy to the concept of commitment, I’m going to put a ring on you.”

Geralt hummed gruffly but said nothing. There was a slim golden band hidden away in his bags and he be damned if Jaskier got to propose first.

“I will. Anyway, I need to tell Iliana. I’m sure she won’t mind. I met her once when I was seven and again when I was nineteen.”

“Nineteen, when?” Geralt asked. Most of Jaskier’s nineteenth year had been spent at Geralt’s side. Most of every year after that too.

“Just before I met you. I had travelled east to meet her originally, and was going back west when we met.”

“Tell me about her?”

“Illiana? Oh, well, she told me that she was fine leaving the betrothal in place because it’s standard, but that she doesn’t care for men in that way so she’d never give me heirs and would have my balls nailed above her door if I ever told her she had to.”

“Sounds like she’d get along with Yen.”

“I fear they’d take over the world,” Jaskier said. “Anyway, I told her no worries since, honestly, heirs just aren’t important to me. Then we agreed that when either of us found love we’d break the betrothal and that would be that.”

“Hmmm.”

“No, Geralt, tell me what that means. Is that a ‘okay, let’s go to Gwendeith’ hum? A ‘I’m angry that you’re betrothed’ hum?”

Geralt shifted to poke the fire. “It’s a ‘I think there’s more you need to tell me’ hum.”

“Ah,” Jaskier rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s the thing. We have to go in person because a letter would be rude, but also...we have to pretend not to be together, while we’re in Gwedeith.”

“Why?”

“It’s politics, dear heart. It would be shaming to Iliana, socially. Personally, I don’t think she’d care, but it’s a courtesy thing.”

“I don’t do a lot of lovey stuff anyway,” Geralt said. 

“You think you don’t,” Jaskier said. He began to unroll their bedroll.

“What do you mean, Jaskier?”

Jaskier turned to him, smiling indulgently and gilded in the firelight. “Our lives have molded around one another, my love. When I stand beside you your hand goes to my back or my shoulder. You order dinner for me because you know just what food I like. When I’m tired you don’t have to ask what’s wrong, you just lift me onto Roach behind you.”

Geralt hadn’t even realized he did, but he knew it was true. Jaskier leaned over and pressed a kiss to Geralt’s slightly furrowed brow.

“When my boots are wearing thin you buy me new ones before I even notice. When I’m cold you give me your cloak. If I fall asleep with my head on your shoulder you’d rather sit like that all night than disturb me.”

Geralt shrugged awkwardly. “You buy me beeswax,” he said. It seemed a fair retort. Jaskier bought him beeswax to put in his ears when cities or sometimes monsters were too loud for Geralt’s senses. “You only buy light scents, even though I know you like bolder perfumes.”

“Yes,” Jaskier said, taking one of Geralt’s large, scarred hands. “We love eachother very much, and it’s obvious to people who care to look.”

“That could be dangerous,” Geralt began, his head spiralling towards worry for Jaskier’s safety, but Jaskier cut him off.

“No, dear heart. It’s obvious to those who care to look. The sort of people who would hurt me for loving you, well, most of them think you can’t love, so they don’t look for love, and they don’t see.” 

Geralt sat back. People saw what they expected to see, it was true. 

“We’ll travel to Gwendeith,” he said. “And unbetroth you.”

Jaskier kissed him and his lips tasted like the jerky they’d eaten for supper.

-- -- -- -- -- --

The trip to Gwendeith was long. It was at the very edge of any map, past Posada to the east, tucked into the Blue mountains.  They traveled along the Dyfne river, taking the occasional contract but making good time. This far from anything, there were few people to be troubled by monsters. 

They stopped in Posada one night, eating dinner in the corner of a familiar tavern. This time, however, Jaskier was much better received and the bread ended up on the table rather than down his trousers.

Past Posada, and almost to the end of the Dyfne river, Geralt asked, “Why did your parents pick Iliana? How did they know of her?” Lettenhove was entirely the other side of the continent, a tiny island off the coast of Poviss with two villages and a couple flocks of sheep. 

Geralt only knew of it from Jaskier’s descriptions, which were mostly stories of the ice cold sea and rocky cliffs. He tended toward calling it ‘idyllic’ and ‘picturesque’ altough occassionally ‘the arse end of the world’ and ‘colder than an ice giant’s ballsack.’ The first time Geralt had taken Jaskier to Kaer Morhen he’d feared for his bard’s safety in the cold of the mountains, but Jaskier hadn’t even blinked an eye, merely bundling up in a hugely wooly cloak and mittens. 

“Ah, well,” Jaskier said. “Long story, but Papa was in Temeria, see, since nothing ever happens in Lettenhove, because we have more people than sheep, he get’s sent on diplomatic missions a lot. He’s good at it, and he can be spared. He loves it too, even though he’s sort of retired he still does them. Takes Ma, calls the trips his little “sunshine vacations”. 

“You get your personality from your father, then?” Geralt asked. Jaskier didn’t talk about his family much, and Geralt got the sense that, rather than this being because they were horrible, Jaskier simply missed them too much. 

“Definitely. Ma’s lovely, and brilliant with just everything to do with her hands, but she’s not good with people. I got her looks, though.”

“I should thank her, then,” Geralt said, smiling. 

Jaskier chuckled. “Yes, she’s the reason for the long lives, too, fantastic story.”

“Finish the one about your father and Gwendeith first.”

“Right, so Papa was in Temeria, and so was Iliana’s father, sort of the mayor of Gwendeith, as I understand, although not back then. He’d gotten robbed, though, and Papa had won a horse and quite a lot of gold in a card game. It might have been Gwent, I can’t remember. If you ever meet Papa you should ask him. Anyway, he gave the extra horse and gold to Iliana’s father.”

“So your betrothal was a debt?”

“Goodness, no. This was years before I was born, Papa hadn’t even met Ma yet. No, they struck up a friendship, because when Iliana’s father got home he had a mage send a message to Papa to thank him and they struck up a friendship.”

“Sending messages by mage? That’s expensive for a penpal.”

“Ah well, that actually ties in to the story about Ma. Ma’s got magic, just a little, she’s a hedge witch of a sort. The issue is, hedge witches mostly use plants, and Ma couldn’t grow grass, so she mostly works with wood. Anyway, she has a friend, her very best friend, is a mage. They grew up together, and my Auntie Szarlotta sent my Papa’s first few messages back to Iliana’s father.”

Geralt smiled atop Roach. Jaskier’s storytelling pace was as familiar as Roach’s saddle, and it was calming in a way. 

“So, Auntie was sending Papa’s message when Ma came in to visit. That’s how she met Papa, because she’d only just moved to Lettenhove. Auntie says it was love at first sight, but Papa insists that Ma turned up her nose and ignored him for months.”

“Which one is it?”

“Knowing Ma, probably both. She’s a little like you, so the second she realized she liked Papa she ignored him so she wouldn’t have to deal with it.”

Geralt huffed good-naturedly.

“Anyway, Auntie Szarlotta agreed to send Papa’s messages for free, and she even included a way for Iliana’s father to send them back, so long as he wrote his response on the back of the same paper. She always timed it though, so that Ma was over when Papa was there. And I guess the rest is history.”

“Except the immortality.”

“Right, well, Ma got really sick when she was pregnant with my sister, I was little so I barely remember but Papa was so worried, and Ma looked really pale. Well, Auntie got really worried, freaked out a little, and she found all these old spells to try to make Ma well again. I remeber the light, she was working in a room of the old lighthouse and I could see the light of her spells from my window. Anyway, eventually she tries some on Ma, but they don’t work, and she just keeps trying.”

Geralt had an image of a frantic sorceress being watched by a young Jaskier through a crack in a door. 

“But I suppose some of those old spells need a little time to work because nothing at all worked and then they all sort of worked at once. There was this big, bright light and then Ma was well, and she and Papa haven’t aged a day since then.”

Geralt glanced at his lover, who looked the same at fifty as he had at twenty. “And you don’t age? What about your sister?”

“Ksenia hasn’t aged either. She looks like Papa, just so you know, grey eyes, blonde hair. She’s got two kids, now, but I haven’t met them.”

“Do the kids age?”

“Right now they’re very young,” Jaskier said. “I didn’t stop aging until nineteen or twenty, so I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.”

“How do you know she has kids?”

“Oh, well, Auntie Szarlotta sends letters to me, but we travel and it’s hard to send them right to me, so I just pick them up at Oxenfurt.”

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. He needed to go to Lettenhove. Jaskier had met his sort-of-family, he should meet Jaskier’s. 

“I’d love to go see them...” Jaskier said, wistfully. 

“Who?”

“My niece and nephew, they’re almost two and three years old now.”

Geralt picked Jaskier up by the collar of his doublet and placed him onto the back of Roach. 

“We’ll spend the winter in Lettenhove this year,” he said as Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist.

“Really?”

“Hmmm.”

Geralt needed to ask Jaskier’s father for his hand in marriage, anyway.

-- -- -- -- -- -- 

They made it to Gwendeith just after mid summer, riding into the little town at noon. Despite the season, the little mountain valley was shaded and cool. Jaskier shivered slightly and Geralt had to resist the urge to pull his cloak from his pack. From that point forth, they weren’t supposed to be in love.

Fuck.

They had to request a meeting with the mayor, which didn’t surprise Geralt. In a town such as this, logging and mining were the main industries. Trading for food to last over the winter began early and was of the utmost importance. That left Geralt and Jaskier, unfortunately, sitting with a man who introduced himself as Sir Boris.

Apparently he was a retired knight who acted as a sort of captain of the guard, except there wasn’t much of a guard. His wife Lady Olenka joined them and the two of them talked about their grandchildren until Geralt could feel his eyes rolling back in his head. 

At any other time, Jaskier would have placed one gentle hand on his wrist, which would have fortified Geralt, but they couldn’t. 

“But you’re here for Iliana,” Sir Boris was saying. “Dreadfully sorry you can’t see her today, I’m afraid there’s been an issue with the lumber trade to sort out. You’ll just have to have my darling Lenka and I as company until that’s done.”

He sent a huge wink to his wife, a slim, elegant woman, who chuckled and playfully hit him on the shoulder, to which Sir Boris pretended to be wounded before throwing back his head and laughing hugely. Everything the old knight did was huge, he was a large man with a round, red face and large belly and a laugh that could shake walls. 

“It’s no trouble,” Jaskier said. “I’m sure preparing for winter is a year round project here.”

“Oh of course,” Lady Olenka said. “But once it’s here we can all relax, and spend time with family.” She leaned forward as if imparting a delightful secret and said in a stage-whisper, “Boris has been our town’s Father Winter for the last four years.”

Jaskier made impressed ‘ooh’ noises and Geralt tried to at least look like he understood that. 

Boris laughed again. “It’s this lot,” he said, slapping his round stomach. “Better than some old geezer with a pillow down his shirt, eh?”

Geralt hummed in agreement. 

“And you must make a lovely Mother Winter, Lady Olenka,” Jaskier said politely.

She smiled, lines crinkling around her eyes as if drawing a road map. “It’s not as important as Father Winter, of course, but I rather pride myself that I plan a very good Midwinter festival.” Geralt got the sense that behind the modesty she was quite proud, and, he suspected, with good reason.

“But, you must tell me,” she said, modestly changing the subject. “Is there to be a missus Pankratz, now that you’ve come to see Lady Iliana?”

“I am a man in love,” Jaskier said. “And I am hopeful that an engagement will come soon, yes.”

“Oh dearie that’s just lovely,” Lady Olenka said, patting Jaskier’s cheek. “And you’re such a nice boy too, little young looking to be betrothed to our Lady Iliana anyway, although she’s a very dear woman.”

“We just love her,” Sir Boris said. “She’s a great mayor, not keen on marriage, but nobody minds, she just seems to have adopted the whole town as family.”

Lady Olenka patted her husband’s broad shoulder. “It was smart of you not to bring your love here, though. There’s some nobles here from Lyria, that’s who she’s been trading with, and I think they’d like any excuse to disparage here.” She lowered her voice again. “You know how those lot are about having women in charge.”

“I can’t relate,” Sir Boris laughed. “Lenka’s the ruler in our house.” That got a laugh because it had to, and because Sir Boris’s laugh was surprisingly infectious. 

“Good on you bringing a bodyguard too,” he said once the laughter had abated. He slapped Geralt companionably on the back, which was like being hit by a friendly battering ram. “Witcher too, don’t get many up here, but I bet you’re the safest man in a hundred miles.”

“Oh, dear, don’t you know?” Lady Olenka said. “Lord Julian here is a bard as well, he goes by Jaskier and sings all about witchers.”

“Really?” Sir Boris said, looking at Jaskier. “Blimey, imagine that. Good on you, finding a niche in the market.”

Geralt’s ears were beginning to ache. Friendly though Sir Boris might be, he didn’t seem to have a volume level below ‘deafening’. He was tired and overwrought and he just wanted to cuddle up with Jaskier in a bed. It wasn’t even suppertime, though.

They sat through another hour of hearing about Boris and Olenka’s eighteen grandchildren. 

“And three great-grandchildren,” Boris added proudly.

Geralt was thankful Jaskier could carry the conversation. He longed for a kiss, though. Now that he knew he couldn’t have one, his lips fairly ached for one.

Supper was a large affair, with one of Boris and Olenka’s children’s family over for dinner as well. Geralt was seated across from Jaskier between two small children who, apparently, needed to be separated at dinertimes to prevent bickering. They contented themselves instead by asking Geralt every question they could think of, often making him wrack his brain for child appropriate answers.

It wasn’t just witchering questions, either. He answered such questions as “Why is the sky blue?” (Because it’s Melitele’s favorite color). Immediately before answering “How big are dragon scales?” (The small ones are like pebbles and the big ones are like shields.)

Jaskier smiled at him over his bowl of stew, eyes sparkling. Geralt loved children, and Jaskier loved seeing them adore Geralt.

“So, Lord Julian,” Boris and Olenka’s daughter began. “Your lady love, tell us about her?” She smiled Lady Olenka’s warm smile and Jaskier did a good show of seeming bashful. 

“My love is unlike any other,” he began. “And if you’ll pardon my saying so, I’m a poet, and so must wax poetic.”

“Wouldn’t settle for anything less, lad!” Boris bellowed cheefully.

“My darling has fair hair, like moonlight,” Jaskier said, and the table oohed appreciatively. Geralt felt his ears get hot.

“And eyes like summer,” the bard continued. “I could get lost in them. No eyes could compare.” Geralt kicked him under the table, but Olenka was sighing sympathetically.

“But of course,” Jaskier said slyly, my heart is best held by my love’s lips.”

Boris chuckled knowingly. “I’ll bet it is, my boy,” he said, winking. Olenka slapped his arm, but she was smiling. Geralt felt hot.

“I’m afraid, however that my lover is quite modest, and won’t appreciate me extolling too many virtues,” Jaskier finished. “So I must finish with, I love them very much, and it is for them alone that my heart beats.”

Therewith leaving every person at the table (those above the age of twelve, at least) with misty eyes, Jaskier helped Lady Olenka clean up supper. Geralt helped put the dishes away.

After dinner they were led back to the mayor’s house. “I’m afraid the negotiations don’t seem to be finished,” Lady Olenka said. “I had hoped they would be quick, but it seems not. If the issue wasn’t resolved today, I wouldn’t bet on them being resolved too early tomorrow, either. You two don’t have pressing business elsewhere?”

“No, my lady,” Jaskier said, although if they lingered too long they wouldn’t make it to Lettenhove for the winter, as it was, it would be close.

“I’m sure she’ll be able to see you soon,” the lady said. “Here’s your room, and Master Witcher, your room is just at the far end of the hall.”

She said goodnight and Geralt hoped she couldn’t see the slump of his shoulders.

Separate rooms.

Jaskier smiled ruefully at him and they parted for the night. Geralt’s bed was large and comfortable, with clean linens and feather pillows, but he barely got a wink of sleep.

-- -- -- -- -- --

The next morning found Jaskier and Geralt breakfasting in the tavern, owned, apparently, by another of Boris and Olenka’s grown children.

“Did you sleep well?” Jaskier whispered over a plate of sausage and eggs.

“Fine,” Geralt grunted.

“I couldn’t sleep a wink,” Jaskier said. “Want my last piece of bacon? I’m stuffed.”

Geralt took it gratefully, slipping Jaskier his fried slice as a trade. No matter how Jaskier protested that he was stuffed, he always had room for a fried slice.”

“Terrible woman,” said a nasal voice at the next table. “Just impossible to do business with.”

“I agree, overemotional, you know how they get,” agreed another voice. Jaskier made eye contact with Geralt. The accent was Lyrian.

“Not even married,” said the first speaker. “What a disgrace. If my daughter got to her age without children I’d just die of shame.”

Geralt pitied his daughter.

“Oh of course,” said the second man. “Attractive, though, for an old maid.”

The first man snickered cruelly. “Thinking a little wooing might soften her up?”

“It always does, women like that, they’re just angry because they haven’t found a man.”

“Won’t your wife mind?”

“Are you going to tell her?” Both men laughed unpleasantly.

A serving girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen, came around the tables, presumably one of Sir Boris’ many granddaughters. She took their plates onto a tray and smiled when Jaskier slipped a few coins onto the tray as a tip.

At the next table  one of the Lyrian’s snapped their fingers impatiently. The girl rolled her eyes. Geralt was pleased to see that, although she served him professionally, as she walked away she ‘accidentally’ tread on his foot.

“What pathetic pieces of shit, the pair of them,” Jaskier said as they stepped out into the sunlight. 

“Hmmm,” Geralt agreed. Then he looked around quickly and pulled Jaskier into an alleyway, urging the bard deeper into the shadows. 

“What? Geralt di-”

Geralt smushed his lips gracelessly to Jaskier’s, crowding him up against the wall. Jaskier’s hair between his fingers was so familiar and comforting, as was the little sigh Jaskier let out.

They pulled apart and Geralt rested his forehead against Jaskier’s. “That’ll tide me over for a while,” he whispered. Jaskier smiled.

“Are you master Julian?”

The pair sprang apart, looking in alarm at the red headed boy at the far end of the alley. 

“Yes...?” Jaskier said.

“Only, Pa said to come find you, and he said you’d be with a big man dressed all in black.”

“And you found us here?” Jaskier asked.

“Didn’t know you’d be here, did I?” Said the boy, stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets. “It’s the shortcut through to the tavern, but then, I figured he’s the only big man in black around.”

Geralt inclined his head, feeling his ears go hot.

“Lady Iliana has time to see you now,” the boy continued, oblivious to the awkwardness. 

“By all means...lead the way,” said Jaskier.

They were led out of the alley and back to the mayor’s house by the messenger boy.

“Out of curiosity,” Jaskier asked. “Is your grandad Sir Boris?” 

“Yeah, that’s him,” said the lad. “He made me a toy sword for my tenth birthday too.” He pointed proudly to the wooden sword tied at his hip with some string.

“It makes you look a proper hero,” Jaskier said. Then he pulled out his coin purse. “A copper for bringing us the message and...another to not tell anyone what you saw.”

The boy looked between the two of them shrewdly.

“Not even my best friend? I tell Mikhail everything.”

“Not until Geralt and I have left.”

“Three coppers total,” the boy said promptly. Jaskier handed them over good naturedly and the boy flashed a gap toothed grin before taking off.

Geralt and Jaskier shrugged at each other, before finding their way to the main room of the mayor’s house. A broad shouldered woman of about fifty poked her head out of a door.

“Julian?”

Geralt and Jaskier went inside.

“You look well,” Iliana said, sitting behind a large desk and gesturing to a couple chairs. “You havent’ aged a day.”

“And you look as lovely as I remember,” Jaskier said.

“Flirt. Come to ask me for heirs?”

Jaskier shuddered. “No, my lady. I remember your threat well. I think you know why I’m here.”

The two Lyrians barged through the door. 

“Did I ask you to enter?” Iliana said, coldly. Geralt felt an unusual curl of fear set up in his stomach, she was a distinctly fearsome woman.

“Well,” said the first Lyrian.

“You were so beautiful, I couldn’t wait on seeing you again,” said the second, slimily.

“Oh I say!,” Iliana said, standing. She placed her hand over her chest in a delicately offended way, which was ill suited to her. “You sir are too bold, and in front of my betrothed too!”

The Lyrians looked, panicked, at the people sat in the chairs. As Geralt was seated in the chair nearest the door, and therefore nearest them, they came to the wrong conclusion. The blood drained from both their faces.

“What an insult!” Iliana continued. “You should be ashamed! What a lack of diplomacy!” 

Beside Geralt, Jaskier snickered. She was laying it on a little thick. 

“Why,” she continued. “I ought to write to your king! I’ve never been so insulted. And I’m sure my beloved will want to sort out this insult too.” She fluttered her lashes at Geralt. 

Geralt nearly jumped out of his seat, but thankfully his brain caught up. He stood, growling a little theatrically and placed one hand on the hilt of his steel sword.

“Our apologies my lady,” the first man said hurriedly.

“Our mistake, we’ll just--” they dissappeared out the door.

“What a fearsome couple,” Geralt heard whispered as the door swung shut.

Iliana sighed satisfactedly and kicked her feet up on her desk. “It seems I should thank you,” she said. “That is going to make negotiations much easier.”

“I’m sure you always get good deals,” Jaskier said.

“Yes. I get the deals I want.”

“You know why I’m here,” Jaskier said.

“Yes.”

“Do you agree?”

“To disolve the betrothal? Of course. Never found a lover for myself so I never bothered but, well, I just don’t do romance.”

“Some people don’t,” Geralt said, thinking of Eskel.”

“Indeed,” Iliana said, smiling warmly at him. “Not all of us have a soulmate to sing us songs.” She laughed at their surprised faces. 

“Oh you fooled them, and you may have fooled Boris and Olenka, but I’ve heard your songs, Julian. It’s written right into everything you do.”

She began rummaging in one of the drawers in the desk. “I don’t mind, of course. So few people know we’re actually betrothed...there it is.” She pulled out an old piece of paper. “I’ll just rip it up if that’s fine by you. You’ll have to do the same to yours of course.”

“We’re going to Lettenhove this winter,” Jaskier said. “I’ll do it as soon as I find it.”

Iliana smiled again. “Father always did say that your dad had a horrible filing system.”

“He filed all his papers on the floor, yes, although I imagine my sister is neater.”

Iliana tore the paper in half without ceremony and placed the contract in the waste paper bin. “Lettenhove is very far away, Julian, will you get there in time?”

Jaskier glanced at Geralt. 

“I don’t know,” Geralt said.

“No matter,” said Iliana. She began writing something on a new sheet of paper. “Our logging teams float lumber all down the Dyfne and Pontar rivers. Show this to the dockmaster at the tip of the Dyfne and our riverboat captains can get you to Novigrad.” 

She pulled out another sheet of paper. “Once you’re in Novigrad, show this to the harbormaster and he’ll get you to Lettenhove.” She looked at their shocked faces and smiled. “Our lumber is the best, and it’s used in everything, including ships. I’m willing to cash in a favor in order to get rid of a useless betrothal.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Jaskier said bowing deeply. “I’ll have my Aunt Szarlotta send a message once our betrothal is fully extant.”

Iliana stood and shook his hand. “I’d appreciate that.”

“Our fathers were penpals,” Jaskier said. “Perhaps we should keep up the tradition?” 

The mayor inclined her head. “I’d like that. I may be too busy to write often.”

Jaskier waved a hand. “I can only pick up messages when I pass through Oxenfurt, but I like to make friends with powerful people.” 

The two of them shared a smile.

“Not to rush you out my door,” Iliana said. “But I do have a lot to do, winter comes early up here, and I know it does as well in Lettenhove. even with my help, you two should leave soon.”

Geralt and Jaskier left that afternoon, just after a hearty meal at the tavern.

-- -- -- -- -- --

Across the continent and some weeks later, Jaskier and Geralt stepped onto the docks in Novigrad.

“I don’t think Roach liked the river boats,” Jaskier said as Geralt led her off. Roach whinnied and shook her mane emphatically.

“Sorry, girl,” Geralt said. “You’ll have another long boat journey, and this time I doubt we’ll stop so you can run about on land.”

“Nah,” Jaskier said, as they walked toward a tavern for supper. “Boats from Novigrad to Lettenhove stop around the coast on the way, she’ll get plenty of exercise. It’s something to do with the currents.”

He petted Roach’s muzzle softly as they stabled her at the inn beside the tavern and Geralt felt his heart go out to his bard. Jaskier cared so much for Roach. Geralt thought again of the gold band in his pack.

“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s eat.”

-- -- -- -- -- --

Slightly more than a month later, after a slow, coastal boat journey, and then another between Inis Porhoest and Lettenhove, Geralt, Jaskier, and their faithful horse, stepped off the final boat.

“Welcome home, Master Julian,” said a fisherman on the dock.

“Does everyone here know you?” Geralt asked.

“Pretty much, there’s only about three hundred people here.”

News spread fast among three hundred people and Jaskier and Geralt were greeted enthusiastically at the door to the very small castle. A blonde woman who could only be Ksenia, Jaskier’s sister, flung her arms around him, and withing a moment Geralt was being gathered into the hug by a slightly older looking couple.

“Julek,” said the blonde man, pulling back. “My boy, you’re home, and you brought this stunning man, wow, what a looker.” 

“Papa, don’t be embarrassing,” Jaskier said. Geralt flushed clear to the roots of his hair. Apparently when Jaskier said he had his father’s personality he meant all of his father’s personality.

They had dinner as a family, including Jaskier’s niece and nephew, Cecylia and Prot. They had questions for Geralt, and he was grateful for the practice he’d had in Gwendeith. It was an enjoyable meal over all, and afterward Jaskier was distracted by his Aunt Szarlotta while Geralt slipped away to ask Mr. Pankratz a very important question.

The two of them returned to the main hall to see Jaskier pretending to be a dragon, while Cecylia and Prot bravely fought him with butterknives, but he straightened up when he saw the look on Geralt’s face.

Geralt took his hand and Jaskier squeezed it three times, it was their code, asking if Geralt needed to go somewhere that wasn’t so hard on his senses. Geralt smiled and shook his head, swallowing nervously around the lump in his throat.

He got down on one knee and pulled out the gold band. “I’m...I’m not good with words.” Geralt swallowed again, wishing he could borrow Jaskier’s eloquence for five minutes or so. “Marry me?”

The words were barely out from his mouth before Jaskier was tackling him to the ground, pressing kisses all over his face.

“Oh Geralt!” he said. “Wait--”

Jaskier looked up at his mother, who smiled and was handed a paper by his Aunt Szarlotta. Mrs. Pankratz ripped the betrothal contract in half.

“Yes,” Jaskier said, laughing. “I will marry you!”

Then they kissed on the chilly stone floor.

-- -- -- -- -- --

Dear Lady Iliana, Mayor of Gwendeith

The former contract has been voided. 

Szarlotta of Lettenhove

P.S. Geralt and Jaskier are engaged and send their love.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Holy Cow. 5603 words. I...I don’t even know what to say. I hope you like it.

[oogaboogasphincter]

Kinktober Day 1

💜my kinktober masterlist

pairing: agent whiskey x f!reader

prompt: face-sitting💜cream-pie💜anonymous sex (prompt list by @the-purity-pen​)

rating: E (explicit) 18+ only!

word count: 740+

warnings: pairing is an established relationship, a teensy bit of angst in the beginning, oral sex (f receiving), allusion to more sex at the end, dirty talk, swearing, pet names (sweetheart, angel, cowboy/cowgirl💀💀), semi-cringey use of a cowboy hat, very cringey horse/riding puns (i apologize y’all but this man makes me go stupid go crazy ✋😔), reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns

author’s note: first day ahh!!!!! i hope y’all like these spicy lil thangs ✨ i would say don’t mind me being a complete whore w these, but isn’t that the point? 🤪 well i don’t slut-shame so let’s jump right into this kinktober together! i hope you enjoy! :) <3

gif by @hunterschafer 

Saturday has finally arrived, putting an end to the stressful and busy week you just got dragged through. All loose ends have been tied up - emails have been sent, bills have been paid, schedules for next week have been confirmed - and you are gifted with a long weekend to spend with Jack, to do absolutely nothing if you please. 

Jack took you on a walk around the city earlier, scoping out restaurants you want to try in the future, small businesses you could potentially do some holiday shopping at. Midway through fall, the air was crisp, the sun was warm, the sky barely had any clouds, the breeze refreshing and consistent. Autumn’s breath swirled around your ethereal figure, around every magnificent curve and across every beautiful plane, as if it were unable to stop its playful fingers from gliding over your body admiringly. Every now and then it would get a little more flirtatious, blowing the hem of your short dress up ever so slightly to innocently get a larger peek at you. 

Jack thanked the wind for its boldness, sharing its adoration for you. His eyes remained puppy-dog-like throughout the day, enraptured by the beauty that is you. He admired that, after going through the motions of your week, you managed to carry such a positive aura. While walking along the sidewalk, you turned back to look at him and let him know how much you appreciated his little date, and he was awestruck by your glow. He took pride in the fact that he had something to do with making you look so happy. At ease, relaxed, a bundle of joy. He kept his loving gaze as you turned back around and watched as the breeze played with your hair. 

Back home now, panties and shoes long discarded at the edge of the bed, you straddle Jack’s head. His warm hands knead the chilled, soft meat of the backs of your thighs, the desire to caress them unwavering ever since they were flashed to him by the mischievous wind. Your folds are explored through lazy glides of his tongue and your fingers comb Jack’s hair back from his blissed-out face. His eyes close as his tongue increases in speed, taking up a rhythm that makes your eyelids stutter. 

His hands slide up over your ass and bunch the fabric of your dress around your waist, a nonverbal cue for you to take it off. You do as he wishes, lifting it up over your head and tossing it onto the mattress behind you. A satisfactory moan comes from his throat and vibrates through your pussy. Fingers returning to knot in his hair, your hips gain a mind of their own and start to buck back and forth on Jack’s mouth. You praise him, “That feels so fucking good, Jack.” 

He unlatches his mouth from your entrance momentarily, “That’s it, ride my face, sweetheart.” 

You take locks of his hair like reins and feverishly grind your dripping sex against his needy tongue. Guttural moans and groans escape from both of you as your approach your climax. His grip suddenly stops your movements, his mouth leaves you and a whimper bubbles out of your chest. Confusion clouds your mind until Jack leans to his side and grabs his cowboy hat off of the edge of the bed. He drops it on your head, pushes it down so it fits better and explains, “If my cowgirl is gonna ride me, she needs the proper uniform.” 

You both erupt in a fit of giggles. He’s stupidly goofy, but you wouldn’t have him any other way. He opens his mouth back up and eagerly dives back into your cunt, grabbing your ass and spreading you wide so he can lick deeper into you. In no time at all, he has you soaking his tongue with a rush of your slick, calling out his name and gripping his hat so it doesn’t fall off as you ride your stallion.

Descending from your peak, you make your way down Jack’s body and mold your wrecked figure to his, capturing his mouth with yours. He rolls you onto your back and plants a kiss on each of your cheeks before taking his hat back, placing it on his head and smirking down at you. You tease, “You going to tame your mustang now, cowboy?” 

He laughs and tips the brim of his hat at you, “I sure am, angel.” 

💘taglist: @pascalpanic​

[animatedrapture]

RINTOBER : [ forbidden fruit ]

suna rintarō x reader

word count: 2,418

tags: NSFW, GOD COMPLEX, SACRILEGIOUS, power play (?), degradation, choking, momentary exhibitionism(?), size kink(?)

a/n: thank you to my precious wife @toffees-main for proofreading this for me and for first, urging me to actually write it when i was brainrotting again lmao. also, i figured this would be good for rintober! so here it is.

Neither you nor your boyfriend, Suna Rintarō, knew what had cut the knot that tied his self-control together. Perhaps it was the raven colored silk fabric that had adored your body for the night, or the sheer white and lacy panties that you had paired with it in contrast—the one he watched you slipped on as you got dressed for this very event.

Watching as you did so had his breath hitching, "Bunny," he even groaned. He was as deadpanned as they came but you were an often exception to this; you and the way you looked at him, made him feel, writhed from underneath him, to the way you'd moan into his ear with repetitive, blabbered nonsense; all of it just meaning and begging him for more, more, more.

The venue was littered with pro athletes like Suna and businessmen who had their names adorned with brands and companies they owned, sponsoring teams and individual athletes alike; usually, one would assume that Suna Rintarō would be the eye candy in these events—and he is—it's simply that right now, you looked more enticing than the forbidden fruit that Adam and Eve had sinfully indulged in from the beginning of time.

With the dress shining as you moved, scatteredly placed lights affecting how it accentuated your figure, you truly were a sight to behold, glowing like an angel, and the eyes that followed you knew.

Perhaps it was the way Suna didn't know what to do from the moment the both of you had stepped out of the limousine to the very last second that the two of you had stayed in that godforsaken party, only three hours later; in what seemed to be longest three hours of his life, he was in the constant state of either threatening other men who were nowhere near ashamed with the way they gawked at you and eyed you like a hawk as if you were a prize to be won in an illegal auction or staring at you and how your dress danced with every dip of your body.

It especially didn't help how you looked back at him, eyes swimming with neediness, your touch never once leaving his body. At first, you were convinced it was the nerves—you're nervous, this is the first time you'd gone to such a high-end event that never ran short with big names, important people, huge companies—that's why your tight grip on his upper arm wouldn’t leave for even a second as if you'd get lost with no idea how to find your way back to him. Though, it didn't take long for you to figure out that while yes, you're nervous, you also can't get enough of watching the way Suna's muscles flexed through the suit he had on with every movement he made, or the way his fox-like eyes looked down on you with so much want, nor can you get enough with the way he'd subconsciously pull your body closer to him for whatever reason you didn't have the liberty to ponder on about.

It could even be the way he felt how drenched you were when he had sat you on his lap in one of the corners of the venue just to take a little break from all the socialization. How he had rubbed his hand up and down your waist before tugging you to the corner, his lips latching on to the skin where your neck and shoulder met with a harsh suck—an immediate sigh of relief escaping past your lips as he did so. After all, it's high time he stakes an even more evident claim on you, right? It's not like you minded how he was littering the visible parts of your neck and chest with lovebites, especially when his hand was snaking its way underneath your dress, caressing your inner thighs and ghosting over the oh so wet patch of your underwear.

“Please,” you whined, grinding yourself against him, desperate for some sort of friction that would ease the aching need you had to just let him bend you over to fuck you.

Maybe it was how you were possibly staining his slacks with your slick as you grinded against him, how he was practically claiming you right in that very public venue, and how you begged for him is what made him indulge in your pleas. You held your breath in anticipation as you feel his finger move your panties to the side—and as the boyfriend who just knew you through and through, he kisses you to silence the moan that you let out the moment his finger traced the line along your slit, rubbing your clit before easing his fingers inside you without any resistance.

God, it was almost shameful how dripping wet you were for him. Only almost, though, because the only thing that truly mattered was the approving hum he'd let out, vibrating against the hand you had placed against his chest. When Suna adds another finger, curling it to hit that spongy, sweet spot, it takes all your willpower not to clasp your legs together and just beg for him to take you right there—something you're sure he wouldn't be too opposed to if the tent in his pants poking your ass would be anything to go by.

When he pulls his fingers out, glistening with your wetness under the glow of the place, your face flushes.

"Clean it up, bunny," he whispers to your ear, and his voice is husky; it was unfair, his voice alone sounded seducing and you were nearly mindless to just how aroused you were.

Suna Rintarō is like sin. The sweetest, most delicious, addicting sin. You know this and you're almost sure Suna does, too. He was temptation—the snake and the forbidden fruit molded into one, perfect being; and you were no people pleaser, but it's always a different case when it comes to Suna. If it pleased him, you'd do it in a heartbeat.

So you do as you're told, like a good bunny, Suna would say. You wrap your lips around his fingers, tasting yourself as you bob your head from the base to his fingertips. Suna looks calm as ever but you know better with the rapid beat of his heart against his chest, its every skip echoing to your hand.

You let his fingers go from your mouth with a pop, "All clean, sir," you tell him, eyes wide, pupils blown out with lust. Suna places a kiss to your forehead, murmuring, "That's a good bunny."

It was a shame the marks Suna had littered all over you did nothing to keep the predator-like gaze that fell over you once the both of you came back. What was it? Did he have to fuck you mindless in front of them to get the message across?

The last straw was the man who approached you. You, specifically—not even sparing Suna a glance as he stopped at nothing with his attempts to flirt with you. Suna lets you handle it as he stood next to you, his arm still around your waist protectively as one of EJP Raijin's sponsors talked his ear off. You're a big girl and it was a lot more satisfying to tell other men off on your own.

"I have a modeling company as well, we'd be happy to have a beauty like you there. I personally would—"

There's a polite yet nearly deadly smile you pull off when you say, "I'm not interested," and you tell him this dead in the eye, without waver.

"C'mon darling, I'd love to have you—"

"And what you think doesn't matter to me, I don't care," you continue with a smile that should've told him it was really time to back out. It was such a shame it didn't, as the man reaches out to take your wrist.

Quick as the man had your wrist in his grasp, was as quick did Suna had the man's arm bent painfully to his back, Suna's expressionless eyes looking down at the man with such distaste. He didn't need to waste his breath to say the man was a scum of the earth, absolutely worthless, lesser than the gum on his shoe.

"She already told you to fuck off, didn't she?"

Suna Rintarō really was beyond the description of words. The way Suna towered over the man who couldn't take no for an answer, who winced at the death grip his bent arm was subjected to, who was now babbling apologies—hell, it made you press your thighs together.

It was your luck you didn't need to wait any longer after that.

Suna had your face shoved into the mattress, your ass up and cunt dripping as it clenched around nothing. You swore you were about to cry with how much you just wanted him to fuck you without reservation, as if all you were to him was a fuckdoll to use and nothing more, so when you feel him lick up a stripe along your slit, you whine.

"Rin, no, please, need your cock now, please," you beg, and he chuckles at you, but it's dark, like he's telling you what a pathetic little whore you were to be begging for him like that.

But since you are his precious bunny afterall, he'll indulge in your wants; he lines up the head of his cock to your entrance, and when he's pushed it in, your thighs are already trembling as you cream around it instantaneously—pleased at the feeling of finally having his thick cock easing into you.

"Such a slut, bunny, cumming just from me putting it in," He says before his voice lowers and he tells you, "Gonna fuck you dumb, baby."

His hips snap, completely sheathing into your velvet walls that clenched around him as if you didn't want him to go. He doesn't miss a beat though, he's immediately rutting into you at an unforgiving pace.

"Oh fuck, Rin, s-so deep, slow d—"

"Don't care, bunny, 's what you wanted, wasn't it? So be a good girl and take it."

You know you're moaning, but you don't know what words were coming out of your mouth anymore, all you knew was the sensation of Suna and his thick cock stretching your little cunny out, rearranging your insides.

"Awww—fuck, bunny gone dumb so quickly?"

When he thrusts into you in such a way that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head, you scream, "God, fuck, god, yes! god yes!" 

That's what halts Suna's thrusts, it helps you come to your senses a little bit as you try your best to look back at him, confused why he stopped.

"What did you just call me, you desperate cock whore?" Suddenly, he sounded way more dominating than usual, way more intimidating, it made you feel so much smaller in comparison. 

You wish you can answer him, but you can't—all you knew was the overwhelming pleasure you were swimming in. You shake your head the best you can, "D-don't know, Rin," you sob as you feel him slip out of you.

Suna flips you over to your back, the way he's staring down at you is making you completely breathless, and you—you were glowing like an angel, like you were at the party earlier. Only now, your hair was sprawled out into the bed, your skin littered with the marks he made, and your face—beautiful in the most erotic, sinful of ways; tear-stained cheeks, eyes half lidded gazing up to him in complete submission and lips parted.

He presses one of your legs to your chest, the other spread open for him as he lines himself to your sopping entrance again, "You called me your god, dumb bitch," he said as he pounds into you completely—so particularly deep that it had your mind reeling.

You feel Suna's large hand wrap around your throat, squeezing, "You worship me that much, bunny? Such a devoted little whore for your god, always lettin' me use you as I please, hm?" he says as he regains his brutal pace, you're not even sure how many times you've cum on his cock at this point, all you know is that you're clenching around him, sucking him in with every merciless thrust.

When you don't answer, mind too hazy and completely dazed, Suna tightens his grip around your throat, "When your god asks you a question, you fucking answer, yea? Or is this all you're good for? A body for the god you worship so much to fuck?"

"Ah—yes! You're my god. Nngh—please, god, please, I'm so close," you sob, you're looking at him with so much desperation as he continues to fuck you, your nails digging into his arms as you try to take each of his harsh pounding. Suna likes you like this—completely untethered for him and him alone.

Suna was your god, the only one who can make you feel like this, as if you're in heaven with nothing but bliss, nothing but pleasure.

"You are, aren't you? My own whore made just for her god—for me," his thick length that was twitching inside you and the dirty words coming from him were putting your senses into complete overdrive. The tip of his cock was kissing your cervix, it was nearly painful if it wasn't for the sensation of his hand around your throat and the delicious way his dick was stroking your walls in all the right ways.

You nod desperately as you feel your orgasm nearly at the brink, you're sobbing with each time he fucks into you, "Yes! God, please—let me cum, god, please, please, please," you beg, you repeat it over and over like a prayer to him.

"Cum for me, bunny. Cum all over your god's cock like a good girl," He goes faster as both of you reach your high.

The way you whine while you convulse around him, moaning about how good he was fucking you, screaming, "Yes, god! Yes!"  with your cunt clenching impossibly tighter as you squirt all over is what does it for him—his movement stutters and his languid thrusts loses its rhythm as he empties into you, his warm cum painting in your insides white.

You're glowing again—from underneath him. Your love and devotion to Suna Rintarō is truly unparalleled as you give him a lazy smile, and you tell him, "God, thank you, Rin."

That's how Suna knows you're made just for your god—for him.

©️ written by animatedrapture; all content belongs to animatedrapture. do not plagiarize, repost, or modify.

[elena-reina]

My Boys Part 2 - Draco Malfoy x Reader

Warnings: It’s a bit long, Some of the scenes from the Deathly Hallows- you’ll know which one :)

Italics: The past

Part 1

"Could you just promise me that you’ll be safe?” Draco murmured, placing a chaste kiss to the palm of your hand.

The two of you were cuddled up together along the gentle shore of the Great Lake, listening to the ripples of the water. Some of your stray hairs flowed in the wind as you sat between Draco’s legs, pressed with your back against his torso. He held his arms around you for warmth, one around your shoulders and the other holding your hand.

You gazed up at him, “I can’t promise you that, Draco. My brother and I have a target on our heads.”

Rolling his eyes at the thought of your brother, he pressed a longing kiss to your exposed forehead and rested his cheek on the top of your head as you turned back to gaze at the glistening water. It was peaceful. The trees whistled along with the silent chirping of birds. 

“I.. I don’t know how it’s going to end Y/N, but I can’t lose you. I just can’t.”

Your grabbed onto his loose hand, playing with the ring on his finger. “You won’t.”

Deep down you knew you couldn’t promise that. You can’t promise that nothing will happen to you. It was a week or so before the Battle of Hogwarts was coming into play.

“I’m more worried about you Draco,” you spoke again, this time sitting up and turning more to face him. You grabbed onto his wrist and pushed up his sleeve, revealing his dark mark to get a better look at it. He looked at it with shame.

“Don’t be,” he dismissed, “I’ll be alright.” He took his arm back, pushing his sleeve back down. He never liked talking about it. 

“Draco, you stop right there!” you shouted angrily at the end of the hall. He kept walking.

Draco was heading who knows where to try and get away from you. He was hiding something. He never hid anything from you. Anything. You knew something was off the minute that he tried pushing you away

“Merlin so help me, Draco Lucius Malfoy if you don’t stop walking this instant we are DONE!” You yelled. He stopped right in his tracks. You were fuming.

You stomped up to him, put your hand on his shoulder, and roughly turned him around. You leaned back on your hip and crossed your arms. He didn’t look you in your eyes.

“Care to explain why you’ve been avoiding me? What do you have to hide huh?” you glared. “Look at me!”

His eyes darted up to yours. He was at a loss for words. Just a few students would pass by the two of you every now and then.

“Could we speak somewhere more private,” he spoke lowly.

“No. We’re going to talk here, now,” you stated. You didn’t want anymore of the bullshit. You tried your best to not imagine the worst, but it’s all that would come to mind.

He sighed through his nose, and ran his right arm through his hair. He was looking for the right words to say, however every time he opened his mouth to speak, he would shut it again. You were growing impatient.

“What is it that you aren’t telling me?!  Are you cheating on me or something! Is it with Astoria?!” you shouted, holding back tears. 

His eyes softened and he stepped towards you. He reached out to grab your hands, but you snapped them back and held onto your upper arms. He lowered his arms in defeat. 

“I would never cheat on you, never,” he said. You wiped your teary eyes.

“Then?”

“Can we please go somewhere private,” he asked once more. You huffed through your nose and begrudgingly nodded. 

He turned around and you trailed right behind him. He led the two of you all the way on the other side of Hogwarts to the Astronomy Tower. His favorite place to be with you.

“Y/N-”

“Cut to the chase already, Draco. I’m tired of waiting. If you’re going to break up with me just do-”

He stepped forward and pressed his lips to yours immediately, catching you off guard. His lips molded perfectly onto yours as you slowly, but hastily kissed him back. Being able to feel his warmth and presence made you very emotional. You couldn’t help it.

He pulled back and spoke. “I’m not cheating on you, I’m not breaking up with you, I’m in love with you,” he said bringing a blush to rise on your cheeks, “I’ve been wanting to tell you what’a been going on but I couldn’t find the right words.”

“Just tell me. You know there isn’t anything in the world that you wouldn’t be able to tell me.”

He sighed and extended his left arm to you. You looked at him in confusion. He raised his sleeve as your eyes trailed the Dark Mark on his forearm. You were at a loss of words. You never would have guessed.

“Draco..”

“I didn’t want it, I swear to you,” he frowned, “But I had to- my family..”

You shushed him and pulled him in for a tight embrace. He hugged you back, tight, afraid of letting you go like it was the last time. “I know you and your character Draco, you should’ve just came to me. I wouldn’t have looked at you any different.”

“I know. I’m sorry, forgive me my love?”

“Forgiven,” you said, swaying from side to side, never wanting to let him go.

“Will you though? He’s got you right where he wants you,” you frowned, sitting up and turning to face him. You knew Draco’s family has ties to Voldemort and he was reluctantly forced into it. The Draco you knew would never have been associated with him out of his free will. Never.

He didn’t have an answer. He, instead, embraced you once more.

"I wish we could run away and be free of all this mess,” you sighed into his chest.

“Me too,” he mumbled quietly.

You didn’t know how it was going to go, but you knew that you were going to stick through it all together.

The day of the battle, panic broke out in Hogwarts after hearing Voldemort’s messages. 

Voldemort wants you and Harry to give yourselves up, but there is no way that is going to happen. You were beside Harry while it was all happening, not knowing where Draco was. His forehead stung while the side of your neck stung, where the scars were. 

Some students, especially the younger ones, were running away, looking for a place to hide or to flee. Other students were preparing for the battle to help support the two of you.

The last time you saw Draco was when you were at Malfoy Manor, running away from his wicked aunt, Bellatrix, and escaped with the late-Dobby. It pained Draco to see you that day knowing that he couldn’t do much to protect you like he should. 

All the students were on board for the most part, but your own house, the Slytherins, could not be trusted and were accompanied by Mr. Filch to the dungeons. It pained you to see this because you didn’t know what to do. You were lost in your own thoughts, too heavily clouded by your concern for Draco and his safety. You knew he didn’t intend to be a Death Eater, but he couldn’t switch sides, especially right now at this moment.

“Y/N!” Hermione shouted, “C’mon, we need to move!” She grabbed onto your hand and began to pull you out of the Great Hall.

“Wait! Where’s Harry?!” you shouted, pushing past the crowds of many students.

“That’s where I’m taking you! We have to find the Horcrux!”

Weaving through the corridors, you held your wand in your fist tightly as the screams surrounding you only get louder and louder. You had an idea as to where you were going but was interupted as you were roughly pushed away from Hermione and hit the wall. You banged your head and groaned in pain, rubbing the sore spot.

“Stupefy!” you yelled, knocking as Death Eater down as you managed to stumble to your feet. Without wasting time, you ran down the flight of stairs, and hid behind a column. You closed your eyes, trying to telepathically communicte with your twin. You guys have managed to do it before, but it leaves you both with a strong headache.

Harry.

Harry, where are you. 

No response.

“Diffindo!”

Your eye widened as you gasped and quickly ducked, avoiding the spell. You turned and ran to find any sort of barrier. But to your dismay, you were cornered  with no other way left to run.

Harry, please.

“Bombarda Maxima!” Hermione shouted, pointing her wand towards the ceiling above the Death Eater. 

The ceiling began to crack and large chunks of it started to come crashing down, even above you. The Death Eaters screamed, attempting to escape but were too slow and got crushed.

“Reducto,” you gasped, covering your head, to break up the big pieces above you into smaller ones. Breathing heavily, the dust from the fall swarmed the air as you lightly coughed fanning it away. Looking the debris settling down, you looked back up at Hermione.

“Thank you,” you breathed.

“No problem,” you said out of breath.

Room of Req...

The message faded out, but it was just enough to know where your brother was. You grabbed onto Hermione and pulled her along with you. Without questioning it, she followed. Throughout the way, you tried your best to avoid any Death Eaters, but they would inevitably pop up. Especially looking for you.

Every now and then you and Hermione would flick your wands over your shoulders, tossing charms and deflecting curses. 

Finally, getting to the more empty corridors, you saw that familiar head of brown hair standing.

“Harry!” you shouted as he turned around and immediately hugged you.

“Y/N,” he breathed, relieved that you were safe, and running his hand down your hair lovingly. Ron came running and hugged Hermione after being away from each other too long, before ultimately all four of you joined in one big group hug. 

Pulling apart, you took a good look at his face covered in dirt, dried blood, and scratches. You looked just as bad, with some pieces of rubble from the ceiling in your hair and dried blood on the side of your head from your inital fall. Your eyes traveled down to his pockets where you noticed a familiar wand sticking out. Furrowing your eyebrows, you quickly snatched it before he could turn away.

“This is Draco’s,” you said, your heart sinking at the thought of him. You missed him so much, hoping he is okay.

“It’s not anymore,” he said trying to reach forward, but you snapped your arm back, out of his reach.

“Why do you have it,” you questioned, begining to get riled up, “Have you done something to him..”

He rolled his eyes. “No, Y/N. I disarmed him at the Malfoy Manor, remember.” Your arm fell in defeat before stubbornly handing it back over to him. The four of you began to walk.

“Where the hell have you all been?” Harry asked aloud, changing the subject. 

“Hermione and I destroyed the cup,” Ron spoke proudly.

“What!? How!” You gasped, gaining a smirk from Ron.

“In the Chamber of Secrets,” he said.

"Chamber- what?" said Harry, coming to an unsteady halt before them. "It was Ron, all Ron's idea!" said Hermione breathlessly. "Wasn't it absolutely brilliant? There we were, after we left, and I said to Ron, even if we find the other one, how are we going to get rid of it? We still hadn't got rid of the cup! And then he thought of it! The basilisk!" "What the?" you laughed. "Something to get rid of Horcruxes," said Ron simply. Your eyes dropped to the objects clutched in Ron arms and Hermione's pocket: great curved fangs; torn, you now realized, from the skull of a dead basilisk. "But how did you get in there?" you asked, staring from the fangs to Ron. "You need to speak Parseltongue!" "He did!" whispered Hermione. "Show him, Ron!" Ron made a horrible strangled hissing noise making both you and Harry raise your eyebrows. "It's what you did to open the locket," he told Harry apologetically. "I had to have a few goes to get it right, but," he shrugged modestly, "we got there in the end." "He was amazing!" said Hermione. "Amazing!" "So..." Harry was struggling to keep up. "So..." "So we're another Horcrux down," said Ron, and from under his jacket he pulled the mangled remains of Hufflepuff's cup. "Hermione stabbed it. Thought she should. She hasn't had the pleasure yet." "Genius!" yelled both you and Harry at the same time. You glanced at each othe and laughed. You hadn’t had a twin moment in a long time. "It was nothing, after we split up to look for the two of you," said Ron, though he looked delighted with himself. "So what's new with you?" As he said it, there was an explosion from overhead, all four of you looked up as dust fell from the ceiling.

“All right, we all know what we’re here for,” Harry spoke, “I know what the diadem looks like, and I know where it is. He hid it exactly where I had my old Potions book, where everyone's been hiding stuff for centuries. He thought he was the only one to find it. Come on."

As the walls trembled again, thet two of you led them back through the concealed entrance and down the staircase into the Room of Requirement. It was empty, with only the four of you.

“We should split up,” you said.

“No!” Harry said.

“Wait, actually that’s a good idea, think about it Harry. More terrain to cover. We’re all in the same room, we can still be at each others sides in any given moment,” Hermione said. You smiled thanking her quietly. She returned the gesture with a smile and looked at Harry.

"Alright,” he grumbled as you went your seperate ways. "And he never realized anyone could get in?" said Ron, his voice echoing in the silence, tauntingly. "He thought he was the only one," said Harry. "Too bad for him I've had to hide stuff in my time... this way," he added. "I think it's down here..." You all sped off up adjacent aisles. Harry could hear the others' footsteps echoing through the towering piles of junk, of bottles, hats, crates, chairs, books, weapons, broomsticks, bats...

Harry’s 3rd Omniscent P.O.V

“Somewhere near here," Harry muttered to himself. “Somewhere... somewhere...”

Deeper and deeper into the labyrinth he went, looking for objects he recognized from his one previous trip into the room. His breath was loud in his ears, and then his very soul seemed to shiver. There it was, right ahead, the blistered old cupboard in which he had hidden his old Potions book, and on top of it, the pockmarked stone warlock wearing a dusty old wig and what looked like an ancient discolored tiara. He had already stretched out his hand, though he remained few feet away, when a voice behind him spoke. 

"Hold it, Potter." Harry skidded to a halt and turned around. Crabbe and Goyle were standing behind him, shoulder to shoulder, wands pointing right at Harry. Through the small space between their jeering faces he saw Draco Malfoy.

“Great, exactly who I was looking for,” Harry muttered under his breath, irritated. He hated him, but only tolerated him for you. He still never understood why out of all of the men you could choose from, it had to be Malfoy. "That's my wand you're holding, Potter," Draco spat, pointing through the gap between Crabbe and Goyle. "Not anymore," panted Harry, tightening his grip on the hawthorn wand. "Winners, keepers, Malfoy. Watch how you say my name, it’s the same as your beloved girlfriend.”

His jaw clenched at the mention of your name. “Don’t bring her into this.”

“Who's lent you theirs?" Harry spoke. "My mother," said Draco. Harry laughed, though there was nothing very humorous about the situation. He could not hear you, Ron, or Hermione anymore. You guys seemed to have run out of earshot, searching for the diadem. "So how come you three aren't with Voldemort?" Harry asked. "We're gonna be rewarded," said Crabbe. His voice was surprisingly soft for such an enormous person: Harry had hardly ever heard him speak before. Crabbe was speaking like a small child promised a large bag of sweets. "We 'ung back, Potter. We decided not to go. Decided to bring you to 'im." "Such a good plan," Harry mocked in admiration. He could not believe that he was this close to getting the diadem, and was going to be blocked by Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. 

He began edging slowly backward toward the place where the Horcrux sat lopsided upon the bust. If he could just get his hands on it before the fight broke out. "So how did you get in here?" Harry asked, trying to distract them. "I virtually lived in the Room of Hidden Things all last year," Draco spoke, his voice brittle. "I know how to get in." "We was hiding in the corridor outside," grunted Goyle. "We can do Disslusion Charms now! And then," his face split into a gormless grin, "you turned up right in front of us and said you was looking for a die-dum! What's a die-dum?"

"Harry?" your voice echoed suddenly from the other side of the wall to Harry's right. "Are you talking to someone?"

With a whiplike movement, Crabbe pointed his wand at the fifty foot mountain of old furniture, of broken trunks, of old books and robes and unidentifiable junk, and shouted, "Descendo!" The wall began to totter, then the top third crumbled into the aisle next door where Ron stood. "Ron!" Harry bellowed, as somewhere out of sight you screamed, and Harry heard innumerable objects crashing to the floor on the other side of the destabilized wall. 

He pointed his wand at the rampart, cried, "Finite!" and it steadied. "No!" shouted Draco, staying Crabbe's arm as the latter made to repeat his spell. He didn’t know you were here in the same room as him. "If you hurt Y/N or wreck the room, we will never find the damn diadem!"

Harry, what’s happening?!

Harry ignored your telepathic calls and carried on. "What's that matter?" said Crabbe, tugging himself free. "It's both Harry and Y/N Potter the Dark Lord wants, who cares about a die-dum?" "Potter came in here to get it," said Draco with ill-disguised impatience at the slow-wittedness of his colleagues. "so that must mean-"

“-Must mean?” Crabbe turned on Draco with undisguised ferocity. "Who cares what you think? I don't take your orders no more, Draco. You an' your dad are finished." "Harry?" you shouted aloud this time, from the other side of the junk wad. "What's going on?" "Harry?" mimicked Crabbe. "What's going on, Potter! Crucio!" Harry had lunged for the tiara; Crabbe's curse missed him but hit the stone bust, which flew into the air; the diadem soared upward and then dropped out of sight in the mass of objects on which the bust had rested. "STOP!" Draco shouted at Crabbe, his voice echoing through the enormous room. "The Dark Lord wants him alive."

That’s the excuse Draco wants to use, but deep down he knew that if anything happened to Harry under his arms, that you would never forgive him. While Voldemort was bad, you never speaking to him again was worse. 

"So? I'm not killing him, am I?" yelled Crabbe, throwing off Draco’s restraining arm. "But if I can, I will, the Dark Lord wants him dead anyway, what's the diff?" A jet of scarlet light shot past Harry by inches: Hermione had run around the corner behind him and sent a Stunning Spell straight at Crabbe's head. It only missed because Draco pulled him out of the way. "It's that Mudblood! Avada Kedavra!" Harry saw Hermione dive aside, and his fury that Crabbe had aimed to kill wiped all else from his mind. He shot a Stunning Spell at Crabbe, who lurched out of the way, knocking Draco’s wand out of his hand; it rolled out of sight beneath a mountain of broken furniture and bones. “Don't kill him! DON'T KILL HIM!" Malfoy yelled at Crabbe and Goyle, who were both aiming at Harry. Their split second's hesitation was all Harry needed. "Expelliarmus!" Goyle's wand flew out of his hand and disappeared into the bulwark of objects beside him while Goyle leapt foolishly on the spot, trying to retrieve it. Draco jumped out of range of Hermione's second Stunning Spell, and Ron, appearing suddenly at the end of the aisle, shot a full Body-Bind Curse at Crabbe, which narrowly missed.

Original 3rd P.O.V

You ran past through the ailes where all the commotion was comming from. Harry wasn’t answering any of your calls and you swore you heard that familiar voice.

“Harry James Potter!” you shouted angrily, while he turned to look at you wide-eyed. Why wasn’t he answering you. “What’s the matter with you!?”

“Why don’t you ask your pitiful boyfriend!” he spat back.

“Excuse you,” you glared, taken back and looked at the scene unwraveling before your eyes.

Crabbe wheeled around and screamed, "Avada Kedavra!" again. 

Ron leapt out of sight to avoid the jet of green light. You reached for your wand but before you could cast a spell, Crabbe yelled.

“Expelliarmus!” Your wand shot out of your hand.

“Flipendo!” The second jinx Crabbe yelled hit you straight in your chest, painfully sending you flying backwards, as if punched, and slammed into the destabilized wall. Wandless Draco stormed up to Crabbe fuming and punched him square in the jaw repeatedly before pushing him out of the way.

“If you hurt Y/N one more time, so help me I will kill you with my bare hands!” he shouted, disappearing out of your sight. 

You groaned before weakly, standing up. hid behind a three-legged wardrobe as Hermione charged toward them, hitting Goyle with a Stunning Spell as she came.

"It's somewhere here!" Harry yelled at you, pointing at the pile of junk into which the old tiara had fallen. "Look for it while I go and help Ron-” "HARRY!" Hermione screamed. A roaring, billowing noise behind him gave him a moment's warning. He turned and saw both Ron and Crabbe running as hard as they could up the aisle toward them. Your eyes widened as flames started to slither around the room. "Like it hot, scum?" roared Crabbe as he ran. He had no control over what he had done. Flames of abnormal size were pursuing you all, licking up the sides of the junk bulwarks, which were crumbling to soot at their touch.

"Aguamenti!" you and Harry bawled, but the jet of water that soared from the tip of his wand evaporated in the air. It was not a normal fire. Crabbe had used a curse that neither you or Harry had heard of and could not contain them. "RUN!" You stopped for Draco as he grabbed the Stunned Goyle and dragged him along.

“Draco-”

“GO!” he shouted at you not out of anger, but out of worry.

You bit your lip as you turned a corner, catching up with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The flames chased you as though they were alive, trying to kill you all. The flames mutated forming a gigantic pack of fiery beasts: Flaming serpents, chimaeras, and dragons rose and fell and rose again.

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle had vanished from view. The four of you stopped running as the fiery monsters were circled you getting closer and closer forming a wall.

“What do we do?!” Ron shouted. Thinking quickly on your feet you looked around and noticed three broomsticks. You dove for them and threw one at Ron, Harry and kept the last one for yourself. Ron pulled Hermione behind him as she latched up onto his torso and soared up into the air. You and Harry did the same thing flying up.  You began to cough, looking around. The smoke and heat were becoming overwhelming. You could not see a trace of Malfoy, Crabbe, or Goyle anywhere. You swooped as low as you dare over the marauding monsters of flame to try to find them, but there was nothing but fire.

Tear were welling up in your eyes.

“DRACO!” You screamed, “DRACO!”

“Y/N, Let’s go!” Harry stated, flying next to you in attempt to hurry up and get you out of the room.

“No! I’m not leaving without Draco!” you cried, “Dead or alive!” "Harry, let's get out, let's get out!" bellowed Ron, though it was impossible to see where the door was through the black smoke. And then Harry turned his head, hearing a thin, piteous human scream from amidst the terrible commotion, the thunder of devouring flame. "No. No way, It's too dangerous!" Ron yelled, but you ignored his plees and wheeled in the air, looking for any sign of life. Harry followed shortly behind, he was not going to let you be by yourself in this dangerous of a situation. Draco with his arms around unconscious, was perched on a fragile tower of charred desks, and you dived. 

“Y/N! Are you mad!?”

Draco saw you coming and raised one arm, but even as you grasped it, you knew at once that it was no good. Goyle was too heavy and Draco’s hand, covered in sweat, slid instantly out of yours. "IF WE DIE FOR THEM, I'LL KILL YOU, HARRY!" roared Ron's voice, eager to leave. 

You turned towards Harry. 

“Please, get Goyle!” 

“Ron!” Harry yelled.

He groaned and dove for him. With one arm, he held Goyle’s leg and Hermione, from behind Ron, held onto Goyle’s arm. With one last dive, you successfully grabbed onto Draco as he hopped onto the broom behind you.

“LET’S GO NOW!” Hermione yelled and all of you flew through the billowing black smoke, hardly able to breathe. All around you, the last few objects unburned by the devouring flames were flung into the air, as the creatures of the cursed fire cast them high in celebration.

Harry went the opposite direction of the rest of you.

You turned your head. “Harry!-”

“Keep going, I’m getting the diadem!”  Through the smoke, you steered the broom through an opening and moments later clean air filled your lungs as you collided with the wall in the corridor beyond. All of you fell off your booms, facedown, gasping, coughing, and retching. Harry  made it out, rolling over and sat up. The door to the Room of Requirement had vanished. Ron and Hermione sat panting on the floor beside Goyle, who was still unconscious.

Next to you was Draco. You let out a sob of relief and threw yourself into his arms, nearly knocking the air out of him. You brushed the char and stone out of Draco’s now disheveled platinum hair. 

“Are you alright, Lovely?” Draco immediately asked, inspecting you for signs you were hurt. The tight grip of his arms around you, make you feel safe. He pressed a kiss on the side of your head.

“I’m fine, oh my Merlin. I can’t believe I almost lost you,” you sobbed.

Harry and Ron rolled their eyes.

“Bloody git almost killed us,” Harry spat, staggering to his feet.

“Time and place, Harry,” Hermione warned.

“No, I wish he would’ve drowned in those fires. You should see how lucky you are to be alive right now,” he sneered. Draco’s jaw clenched while you were whipping the tears out of your eyes in his arms.

“Watch your tone, Potter. If it wasn’t for me, Crabbe would’ve killed you.”

“Crabbe? He's dead,” Ron said harshly.

“I’m aware, better think twice next time before -”

You shoved Draco off of you and stood up. You couldn’t take it anymore. After everything you all just went through, they’re still looking for something to meaninglessly fight over.

“Would the two of you just stop it!” you glared, frustrated tears still threatening to spill out of your eyes. “We ALL almost just died for fucksake! Can you two just let this go and move on! I love you Harry but just shut the fuck up. And I love you so much Draco, but you also need to shut up-”

“Bloody hell..,” muttered Ron. Hermione slapped the back of his head, earning a groan in return.

You continued. 

“I get that the two of you are never going to be friends right now, I get that. But for me, as your sister,” you said looking at Harry and then turning to look at Draco, “as your girlfriend, please just get along in the presence of me. Please, otherwise I’m never going to speak to the two of you ever again. I mean it this time. I can’t take the constant arguing between the two of you, we almost just died!”

Harry glared as Draco as he stood up. Deep down they both felt guilty for making you feel this way. This is the last thing either of them would have wanted to add to the weight of your shoulders. 

“I’m not saying you guys can’t ever argue again, believe me, I know that’s inevitable. I’m just saying to try and control yourselves because I can’t stand to see the two people who I love the most in the whole world attack each other!”

Draco, wanting to be the bigger person, walked up to Harry and held out his hand. You, Ron, and Hermione watched attentively. Harry stared at it and roughly grabbed it, the both of them trying to assert their dominance over the other.

“Truce, for the sake of Y/N?” Draco, glared. He didn’t want to, but for you he would do anything.

“Truce.” Harry glared right back at him.

The two of them aggressively let go of one another and turned. Draco walked back to you, embracing you in his arms, pulling you closer to him and Harry walked closer towards Ron and Hermione.

“Now that that’s all settled, we’re going to go and try to destroy the Horcruxes,” Hermione began, “Why don’t the two of you go on off on your own and when it’s time you’ll know where to meet us?”

You nodded but before parting ways, you jogged up to Harry. He stood over you, silent. You both eagerly pulled each other in for a tight hug.

“I love you, Harry. I know where to meet you guys, and answer my calls will you,” you mumbled.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he chuckled, “Please be safe. I’ll see you soon.”

Pulling apart, the two of you went your separate ways. Draco let you through many empty corridors before you ultimately ended up walking into an abandoned room where the two of you could finally be alone.

Running into his arms again, he wrapped one arm around your waist, pulling you closer, and another around your head cradling it.

“Never do that again,” you frowned, before looking up at him. 

“I’m sorry baby.” He cupped your cheeks and pressed his cold lips to yours. He had a cut on his lip where you could taste his dried blood. Your heart ached. 

“Sorry isn’t gonna cut it this time, Draco,” you said.

“When this is all over, I’ll make it up to you. I promise, but until then stay by my side,” he weakly smiled.

“Always and forever,” you grinned, kissing him again like it’s the last time you’re ever going to see him.

The two of you don’t know how it’s going to end, but you do know that you’ll always have each other. 

And about Goyle, well.

He’s still there left unconciouss in the vacant corridor

[seijorhi]

Hi, found your work. You do great writing the characters so well. If I may request an Aizawa story. He's had his kidnapped darling for a while and she's been "good",but he has doubts so he starts to "test" her to see if she would run; like leaving a window or door unlocked and he watches her to see if she really stays or takes the chance to leave him. Meanwhile, darling does notice all this but she's not sure what to do. Sorry if this is long, but I think it could be interesting.

Of course, bby!

TW Stockholm syndrome, implied non-con, captive reader

Shouta Aizawa x female reader

Little Bird

It shouldn’t bother you as much as it does.

There’s no reason that the sight of an open window should make you feel anything, much less the quiet unease that’s been slowly gnawing at you since morning.

It’s a warm day, the lingering summer heat more oppressive than usual, yet instead of turning on the AC as he usually does, Shouta chose instead to crack the window. A small, thoughtless gesture. You hadn’t even noticed until halfway through the late breakfast he’d painstakingly prepared for you, you’d felt the cool breeze tickle your skin, gently ruffling your feathered wings.

It was nice. A soothing balm against the building heat of the day. Your eyes had fallen shut, a soft, sleepy smile crossing your face, and for one perfect moment, you’d let yourself enjoy it.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt it, the breath of fresh air kissing at your feathers.

Because you didn’t fly anymore.

He didn’t want you needlessly risking yourself like that.

Because the windows were always shut.

Locked.

Because it was safer that way. Just like the padlocked front door with all of its chains - all the extra precautions were solely for the sake of your protection.

You knew this. You understood it.

So why did the sight of an open window make your heart seize, your breath stutter?

You hadn’t even heard him come up behind you, so caught up in the rush of… what exactly? Emotions? Your thoughts? The slow unease creeping up your spine?

“Everything okay, sweetheart?” he’s asked, jerking you bodily back to the present.

Swallowing harshly, you’d forced a smile onto your lips, shaking your head as you tried to remember how to speak. “I-it’s just hot,” you’d managed to stutter.

He’d hummed in quiet agreement, draping his arms over your shoulders to press an indulgent kiss to the crown of your head.

You’d relaxed into the comfort of his embrace, and that should have been the end of it - but it wasn’t.

Being one of his rare days completely off, Shouta’s determined to do as little as possible, which usually means spending the day curled up on the couch together - Shou reading, fingers gliding absentmindedly through the downy soft feathers of your wings. You’d come to love days like that, when he didn’t have to leave. He’d always make you feel so safe, so adored in his arms. Even the lazy kisses that almost always led to lazy lovemaking - the two of you entwined on the cushions, his hips leisurely grinding into yours as he peppers your skin with ardent affection - they’re something you’ve learned to crave.

Nobody else can treat you as well as he can. Nobody else can love you like he does, and he loves you so much.

You’re his angel, his treasure, his soulmate - the one thing on this earth that he can’t live without.

He adores you, takes care of you… letting him hold you close and shower you in that devotion should have been as easy as breathing.

Except today, no matter how hard you try, you just can’t settle. You tell him it’s the heat that’s making you restless, and it’s technically not a lie, but it’s far from the whole truth.

You can’t stop looking at the open window. It’s only cracked an inch or so, but that doesn’t really make much of a difference when it shouldn’t be open at all.

It’s locked for your safety, he’s told you a thousand times. The city below is teeming with a seedy underbelly of violence and corruption, and being the wife of a Pro Hero paints a lovely target on your back.

“Do you know how many of them would jump at the chance to take you from me? To hurt you as a means to get to me? Do you have any idea the awful kinds of things they would do to something so pure… so defenceless…”

You understand that, you know why you can’t leave the apartment - why the windows are locked and the front door’s always chained, even when Shouta’s home with you. He’s doing it out of love - to protect you.

But if that’s the case, then why is the window open now?

There’s a niggling feeling in the pit of your stomach that you just can’t ignore. It’s making it difficult to focus, to settle down and lose yourself in the books he’s brought you, or the TV that’s playing quietly in the background - some TV sitcom from the 90’s.

(Your wings ruffle and twitch restlessly, flaring with every gust of wind that breezes through that torturously tiny gap, and in amongst the discomfort, you feel an ache long since buried kindle.)

You could just ask him - surely there has to be a reason he’s chosen the window over the air conditioning to abate the summer heat, but every time you open your mouth, the words get stuck in your throat.

You don’t know why it’s bothering you so much. Shouta wouldn’t deliberately put you at risk, so him opening the window (the one that’s always shut, always locked) shouldn’t raise any red flags. It shouldn’t make you feel uncomfortable. It shouldn’t even register as an issue!

But the unease in your gut won’t let up. You can’t stop your eyes from darting across the room to stare, like you’re frightened that if he catches you looking, he’ll get mad, or he’ll close the window and that lovely, fresh breeze that feels so nice tickling at your wings will be gone, and you won’t get it back.

Which doesn’t make sense, because it’s just a stupid window!

I-it’s just an open window.

Except you know that it’s not, and the revelation tears at every inch of your sanity.

He calls you his angel, a nod, you suspect, to your pretty white wings, but you’re nothing more than a caged little bird, trapped and locked away for his enjoyment.

It doesn’t bother you that the window is open because it’s not safe, it bothers you because after however many months stuck as his beloved little captive - you’ve managed to rationalise everything. To accept it.

You tricked yourself into believing that you loved him back.

And the open window shatters that fragile illusion, because if you really loved him, if you really, truly wanted to be here with Shouta, an open window on a hot summer's day would be little more than an afterthought, not a bitter reminder of all that’s been taken from you.

The vitriolic disgust and shame that floods your veins threatens to overwhelm you entirely, send you crashing to your knees as a sob tears through your throat.

You let this happen. You let him twist and mold you into his perfect angel, his adoring wife.

He stole you, drugged you, tied you to his bed and raped you, and managed to convince you that that was love… and you let him.

But you can’t buckle. You can’t afford to make a single sound, because just across the room, your captor is curled up on the love seat, napping in the afternoon warmth and you might not get another chance like this one.

Your eyes dart to the window once more, and you swallow down the lump in your throat.

There’ll be plenty of time to wallow in self pity and loathing later.

It’s only opened a few inches, but you know that it slides all the way across. You know because you tried to escape that way once before, in the first few days of your captivity.

There’s a reason all the windows in the apartment are locked, and it’s not to keep the Villains out.

This time you’re silent as you pad barefoot across the floor.

Your wings spring open, stretching wide and ruffling in preparation as your eyes flicker back over to Shouta.

Still fast asleep.

A tiny breath of relief leaves your lips. As quietly as you can manage your fingers find the edge of the window pane and slowly, you ease it further open - far enough that you can clamber up onto the thin wooden sill.

Perched on the balls of your feet, braced against either side of the window pane, your wings tucked tight against your body to fit through the narrow gap, your heart stutters in your chest.

And maybe it’s a testament to how broken you really are, because as you take a deep steadying breath, closing your eyes to prepare for the leap - you feel it - an insistent little tug in your gut, a flicker of guilt that trickles down your spine.

You hesitate, just for a fraction of a second.

But it’s enough.

A pair of iron arms encircle your waist as you're yanked back, kicking and screaming through the window and into a hard chest.

“Going somewhere, angel?”

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

savage love, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: We all make happy mistakes, right? And Jeon Jungkook’s was fucking Min Yoongi’s ex-girlfriend. Oops.

notes: After being attacked for a full week by long-haired, ponytail Jungkook, they just had to drop Savage Love BTS remix... so I had to write about it, of course.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, smut (fem reader, m-receiving oral, cowgirl on a couch); non-idol!AU; big feels; ponytail!Jungkook in gray sweats; Jungkook’s POV

--

“I shouldn’t be in love with you.”

She grinned.

“Oh, yeah. I know.”

Jeon Jungkook chewed on his lower lip nervously, furrowing his brows. He knew he shouldn’t be touching her, because she was the ex-girlfriend of one of his close friends. He heard it had been a messy break-up with cheating and vicious words thrown at each other.

Why would I be in love with you? Love is fleeting anyway.

Are you serious? What the point of spending all this time together then?

Who knows? You would literally fuck anything that walked.

The fuck? I haven’t touched anyone besides you! And then you do this to me?

We were both drunk. I only kissed her.

You know what, go to hell, Min Yoongi!

Jungkook knew all the words exchanged because he had accidentally walked in on the whole thing. Yoongi’s best friend, Jung Hoseok, asked Jungkook to return some music equipment to Yoongi since Jungkook lived nearby but, well, nothing really turned out as planned.

Everyone thought Yoongi’s girl was hot. They always teased him how he got so lucky to catch such a woman. Maybe some people wouldn’t find her cute or pretty, but there was no denying the sexy confidence of her presence that immediately dominated the room when she entered. Short skirts, tight tops, leather jackets, combat boots – she just had that look. That feeling. Perky tits, perky ass, thighs that begged to be squeezed and molded, a smirk that could kill you.

So, when she unexpectedly showed up at Jungkook’s apartment the day after she walked out on Yoongi, Jungkook expected her to be sad. He expected puffy eyes and an oversized sweatshirt. Instead, he found the same teasing, cocked eyebrow and the tiniest black dress he’d ever seen, complete with a silver-studded black leather jacket. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

“Would you be mad if I kissed you right now?” she asked in greeting.

Jungkook sputtered. “N-no, but–”

She cut him off by getting on the tiptoes of her chunky ankle boots and kissed him, plush lips on his, pressing hard against his body. They stumbled into his apartment, her hands clenching his grey hoodie, slamming the door closed with her heel. She had him breathless within seconds, her kisses firm but coy, teeth nipping at his lips. She didn’t shove her tongue into his mouth, but let it linger between his lips, lightly licking before pulling away as he moaned softly.

She backed off to unzip her shoes and kick them off, giving Jungkook a moment to breathe.

“Does… does Yoongi-hyung know you’re here?” Jungkook croaked, still stunned by her entrance.

She shrugged. “Who cares? He doesn’t matter now. Only you matter.”

He really shouldn’t have been happy about that but his heart skipped two beats. It was extremely likely that the only reason that she was here was to get back at Yoongi. For his sanity, he really should just tell her to go home. But she yanked down his grey sweatpants way too fast and he started, suddenly shoved against the wall as she kissed up his leg.

“I always thought you looked pretty good with longer hair, Jungkook,” she purred, leaning against his legs and looking up at him. Tits. Yup, that’s basically what his brain immediately fixated on.

Jungkook reached up and touched his black hair as if he didn’t know the length. He had worked out a bit before returning home and his hair was still tied up in its small ponytail. He felt his cheeks burn with the compliment.

“A-ah… I haven’t gotten a haircut in a while,” he stuttered, sucking in a breath as she stroked him slowly through his underwear.

“It still looks good,” she said casually, as if she wasn’t palming him right at the entrance of his apartment. “But you always look good.” She blinked slowly, a smile dancing on her lips. “You’re handsome, Jungkook. Handsome and so, so fuckable.”

Welp, he was screwed now. It didn’t really matter if she meant it or not because his cock was literally trying to rip out of his boxer briefs by himself. He was rock hard and his face was ten million degrees with how red he was getting. She tilted her head at him, one hand gently cupping his dick and balls through his underwear. Almost innocent with how focused she was on him, lips slightly parted, her free hand clinging to his leg. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought she was an angel.

“Do you want to fuck me, Jungkook?”

Oh, god, the way his name floated out of her lips like an ocean wave crashing into his soul. His resolve crumbled like a sandcastle. His mind was going blank except for the thousands of fantasies he had about Yoongi’s girlfriend. No one could shame him if they stayed in his head, right? No one could see him if he was rubbing one out in the shower, or on his bed, or fuck, even in his damn kitchen. It was his apartment! No one was going to know.

She wasn’t Yoongi’s girlfriend anymore now, right? Who cared what happens now?

“Fuck yes, I want to fuck you,” Jungkook nearly begged, grinding his hips into her hand.

She grinned devilishly at him and yanked his underwear down. He gasped as she leaned in and licked his cock, nice and slow, trailing over his balls.

“Ah, n-no… I’m dirty…”

She smirked. “Only going to get dirtier with me involved.”

His head hit the wall as she took one of his balls into her mouth. It was instant warmth and wetness, pleasure soaking deliciously into every fiber of his being. Oh, fuck. Her mouth was so soft but tight, tongue circling around him as she worked him. His hands were flat against the wall and the pathetic whines were most certainly him, but Jungkook couldn’t register them at all because he was trying to not ram her in the face with his hips. The head of his cock smeared against her cheek and he shuddered at the sensation. Such soft skin. She lifted it, switching sides. He moaned much too loudly, chanting her name as she tugged lightly, bobbing her head up and down. So warm. So wet.

She hadn’t even actually sucked his dick yet and it was leaking everywhere.

When he thought he was going to burst, she finally released him and planted a sloppy kiss on the head of his cock, tongue expertly sliding out to rub against the bottom of the head. If she slowed down for one fucking second, then he might have made a much sexier noise than his yelp as she enveloped his cock with his mouth, eyes glued to his reaction as she went down, down.

“Oh, fuuuuuuck,” he groaned, eyelids fluttering.

He could feel the head being squeezed by the back of her throat. Her tongue caressed the bottom, ever so slightly swiveling her head from side to side. Each movement made the head of his cock rub against different cervices, his breath hiking with pleasure. After a moment, she moved back a little and then slowly bobbed her head up and down, mouth so wet Jungkook thought she was going to spill, but her lips were tight against the base of his cock. When she slid up, she would squeeze the base of the head with her lips and then suck him in. She steadily increased her pace, eyes closed, brows furrowed in concentration. The head of his cock rubbed deliciously against the roof of her mouth, sending sparks dancing down his spine.

In short, how was he supposed to get normal blowjobs after this?

Jungkook gasped, feeling the familiar tightening at the base of his stomach.

“W-wait, I’m going to–”

She went even faster, what the actual fuck–

He moaned as he came, cock jerking in her mouth as he felt her suck it out of him, swallowing infuriatingly calmly as if this was routine for her. It was a lot more than he thought he could produce and she held his hips in place, licking the sensitive head gently as the last few drops were milked out of him. Jungkook shivered, realizing he was panting heavily as if he had run ten miles. She pulled back slowly, opening her mouth. His cock slid out, slapping against his thigh wetly as a string of saliva snapped between it and her tongue.

Was this what nirvana felt like?

“Hey, Jungkook?”

He snapped out of his reverie, eyes going wide. “What? What, is something wrong?”

She chuckled and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “Nope, just wanted to say you tasted good today.”

Today? Did that that mean there were more days in the future? His mind reeled as she stood up and kissed him lightly, the bitter saltiness of his own cum lingering.

“Still want to fuck me?” she said, leaning against his chest.

His mind was still hesitating but his body answered for him. “Yes.”

She hugged him around the waist, eyebrow cocked and waiting for his reaction. Jungkook nervously chewed on his lip, lost in her eyes. He wanted to be trapped in her gaze forever. His hands slid up her sides, pulling her to him. She smelled like dark cherries, invading his senses.

“Why me?” he whispered, throat dry.

Her hand stroked his cheek with a smile.

“Why not?”

Her thumb grazed against his lower lip, teasing it from his teeth.

“I want to fuck you, Jungkook.”

He kissed her, hungrily, feeling her smirk against his lips. They stumbled to his couch, Jungkook’s legs getting tangled in his sweatpants and underwear. He frowned and kicked them away impatiently, yanking his hoodie over his head. His hair came out disheveled and fluffy. Jungkook shook his head to unstick the hair from his face. She tried to hide her laughter behind her hands and he pouted, shoving her onto the couch. The hem of her dress hiked up, revealing the tops of her juicy thighs. Jungkook froze.

She wasn’t wearing panties.

He saw the flash of her wet, glistening pussy before she closed her legs, sliding up against the couch.

Yup, his cock was awake again.

“You…” Jungkook was lost for words.

She reached into her leather jacket and held out a condom. “Yes?”

Jungkook gulped. He moved a little closer, knowing this was a terrible idea and probably not going to end well, but for some reason he really didn’t care. His hands were still on the sofa, on either side of her. She placed her hand on his, lightly caressing his knuckles. Eyes on his, watching him closely.

“I shouldn’t do this,” he said.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

He inhaled deeply, smelling her cherry perfume and the scent of sex. “I shouldn’t want you.”

Her fingertips tapped against the back of his hand. “There are worse things in this world.”

Jungkook chewed on his lower lip nervously.

“I shouldn’t be in love with you.”

Her lips curved into a devious smile.

“Oh, yeah. I know.”

Jungkook leaned down, heart beating fast, head foggy as if he was drunk. Her words sounded a little bitter even though she tried to keep her tone light-hearted. Maybe she didn’t want to hear the word love right now. But the moment he said it, Jungkook knew that was how he felt. His eyes flickered to hers.

“Promise me this isn’t the last time.”

Something flitted across her expression. She seemed to realize how serious he was. After a moment, she nodded slowly.

“Okay. Promise.”

He kissed her, hard, not hesitating anymore. His phone was buzzing loudly on the coffee table and he could guess who it was, but he ignored it, hands cupping her face, planting kisses on her cheeks and lips. She laughed against his kisses, soft and sweet, and for the first time since she had arrived, she sounded happy in his arms. They made it a little game, dodging each other’s lips when they tried to kiss the other until they were breathlessly grinning like a pair of idiots.

Jungkook sat up, smile plastered to his face. He took the condom from her and put it on, discarding the foil wrapper to the floor. He looked up to see her shrugging out of her leather jacket and pulling her dress over her head. No bra either. Her breasts bounced into view, making his mouth water. She tossed the dress aside and smirked.

“Think you’re drooling a little, Jungkook.”

He quickly touched his lips but there was nothing. She laughed, pushing him against the sofa. He pouted but it turned into a moan as she sank down on him, sighing in satisfaction. So warm, so wet, so tight.

“You didn’t let me stretch you out,” Jungkook whined, gasping as the last inch slid in. Fuck, she was so damn tight.

She seemed pleased, tongue between her teeth as she smiled at him. “I couldn’t wait.”

He pouted. It was obvious she did it on purpose. She didn’t seem hurt and she didn’t move right away, placing her arms around his neck and squeezing him with her thighs. Her pussy clenched around him, relaxing before squeezing him again. Wait. Jungkook’s eyes widened as he realized she was squeezing him like that on purpose. Voluntarily.

“How am I supposed to last more than two seconds?” he frowned, sucking in a breath as she began to move, sliding up and down with ease.

She hummed smugly. “That’s what next time is for, right?”

Jungkook highly doubted that she was ever going to give him a break. Her face was far too smug for that. He reached up and massaged her breasts, gasping as she increased her pace. She moaned as he rubbed his thumbs against her nipples, teasing the tips with his nail. He had thought about these breasts a little too much. It felt surreal to have such softness in his hands. Her dress must have had built-in cups because her large nipples were hard, jutting out at him. Jungkook imagined them poking out from under one of his t-shirts and groaned, thrusting up into her.

She gasped, clutching his shoulders. An eyebrow raised in question.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” she asked playfully.

Jungkook felt his cheeks burn. “A-ah, just… imagining you in my clothes. With nothing underneath.”

She chuckled and leaned forward, lips against his ear. Her tongue traced against his earlobe.

“That could be arranged.”

His moan became a needy whimper, ramming his hips up again.

“Wanna make you cum for me,” he mumbled, hands sliding down to her hips.

Her teeth caught his earlobe, breath hot against his skin. “Go for it.”

Jungkook wanted to start off slow and make it last but he was too horny and worked up for that. He fucked her from below, kneading her ass as he did so, gasping as she squeezed him every time he came up. Her breathing became labored, pulling him close, breasts bouncing against his chest as she gasped out his name, longing and lovely. He felt her hand slide up and bury into his hair, her back arching.

If this meant he was being used, well, fuck, he would do it again and again.

“F-fuck, Jungkook, harder, please.”

He obliged, setting his jaw as he slammed her down on him, relishing in her sweet sounds and the lewd, wet slapping of their hips.

“Fuck,” she hissed, pulling his hair hard as her pussy clenched, spilling around him and leaking onto his thighs and balls, thick and viscous like honey. Oh, god, it even smelled good, the scent of her orgasm so strong that Jungkook felt the familiar tension straining in his lower stomach, so close to his own. It only took two more thrusts and he groaned, slamming into her hard as his cock shot out into the condom, his cock throbbing inside her tightness, pussy squeezing him until there was no more.

It took a moment to float down from the high. She laid against his chest, the mess between their legs probably soaking into the sofa. He would have some cleaning up to do after. Maybe some unexplained stains.

She wrapped her arms around him, chin on his shoulder. He couldn’t see her face but the breath exhaled told him enough. Satisfied, relaxed, a little apologetic. Jungkook rubbed her back, kissing her neck softly.

“Need a shower,” she murmured.

Jungkook grinned. “Lucky for you, I have one right here.”

She really did have a beautiful laugh.

-

when you kiss me, I know you don't give two fucks but I still want that, your savage love

--

masterpost