#but he is notoriously vain over his own hair

[simbleleven]

Shay del Rosario: Formal Edition

I just had to show you guys the aforementioned 'big sweater corduroy overall dress' combo – it's one of her church outfits. She helps out on Sunday Service, so she has to turn up in something semiformal, according to Mother Superior, which is why she has the first two fits. The other two are definitely for formal school events. She's a pretty handsome girl, when she dresses up.

1: Earrings (Dope) | Rosary | Dress | Socks | Shoes (Life & Death) | Bracelet (For Rent) | Nails (BG) 2: Dress | Tights | Boots (Becca 02) 3: Earrings | Necklace | Acc. Top | Dress | Socks | Shoes (Boots 01) | Bracelet (BG) 4: Earrings (Kitty) | Bowtie | Top | Bottom | Shoes (02)

[prettyngeto]

your lips, my lips (apocalypse) - 18+

satoru gojo x f!reader

summary: if someone told you you'd be screaming out the name of notorious fratboy satoru gojo for a reason other than to berate him, you never would've agreed to come to this party.

content (mdni): nsfw, college au (reader and gojo are both twenty), fratboy!gojo, gojo is an annoying little shit but he's hot so it's okay, fingering, creampie, multiple orgasms, dom!gojo, sub fem!reader, praising, dumbification, unprotected sex (wrap it up kids!) inspired by this fanart by yunonoai

word count: 6.7k

playlist: fluent in bullshit

main masterlist || jjk masterlist || ao3

The air was thick with the smell of alcohol and sweat, bodies moving drunkenly against each other to the sound of the music blasting from the multiple speakers around the house. Multicoloured lights were dancing around every surface visible, your face scrunching in disgust as you caught sight of a half naked couple practically eating each others' faces off against a wall. All in all, it was a typical Saturday night for the infamous Jujutsu High frathouse. Red solo cups littered the floor as you manoeuvre your way through the crowd, eyes scanning around for your best friend. Your hand moved to fish your phone out of your pocket, immediately calling her for assistance, because if there was one thing you were good at - it was getting lost and right now you were most definitely lost. However, it seemed like luck was not on your side tonight because of course tonight is the one night she decides to not pick up. A small whine of frustration left you as you craned your head, going up on your tiptoes to continue your search in vain. 

“The hell ya cryin’ for?” The deep familiar voice of the living and breathing embodiment of irritation rang through your ears. 

Satoru Gojo.

Yeah, luck was most definitely not on your side tonight. 

Gojo had been a constant in your life since you were kids, and not in a good way, in fact he was like that pesky fly that kept buzzing around your room at night even though the window was wide open. On top of this he just happened to be the president of the Jujutsu High frat - something he never failed to remind others of, so although it came to no surprise to anyone that he was here, his presence always seemed to antagonise you. The vice president and one of your mutual friends, Suguru Geto on the other hand was much more tolerable compared to the devil's spawn that currently had his arm languidly thrown over your shoulder as he leaned down to talk into your ear. His smirk widens when you roughly shove his arm off your shoulder and he goes to hold his hands up in a show of faux surrender. "Woah easy there princess, what's got you all worked up huh?" You click your tongue in exasperation and turn away from him, "You ever learn to mind your own business Gojo or do you get off on annoying everyone around you?" 

The glare you send his way only serves to intensify the smirk on his face, his tongue reaching out to lick his lips before he answers. "Nah not everyone, I only get off on annoying you, get it right y/n." The cheeky tone in his voice makes you groan in annoyance before you spin on your heel and walk away from him, the sound of his grating laughter echoing behind you. 'Seriously what was his problem? Someone needs to teach him how to shut the fuck up.’ The dynamic between you and Gojo has always been an… interesting one. It mostly consisted of him doing everything humanly possible to get on your nerves, from pulling on your hair in kindergarten to throwing scrunched up paper to the back of your head in high school and in return, you used him to learn how to perfect your punches, (which admittedly always hurt him but he'd never let you know that). 

“Y/NNN THERE YOU AREEE!” The squeal of your name had you turning around only to become entangled in the long limbs of your best friend, Yuri, simultaneously catching the attention of several others in the room due to the volume of Yuri’s voice. Yuri was the other (more enjoyable) constant in your life, a ball of sunshine who always got a smile out of you since the both of you had met at the ripe age of five. But she could also be a bit… loud, ultimately making you two the centre of unwanted attention wherever you went. “Bitch I’ve been walking around trynna find you for so long. Ugh, I think this is the most exercise I’ve done this whole year.” Yuri pants out once you’ve finally managed to get out of her surprisingly strong hold. You huffed, a small pout forming on your lips. “Yu, don’t be dramatic, it’s your fault anyway. I called you but someone decided to not pick up and then I had to deal with that annoying piece of shit. By. My. Self.” 

“You talked to Gojo? Gojo Satoru? Alone? And the room is still intact? Who are you and what have you done to my violent best friend?” The glare you send her way has Yuri giggling, an arm hooking into yours as she drags you upstairs to the room in which the rest of your friend group were currently playing some stupid games. Excited smiles and waves greeted you as you walked through the door, Yuri pulling you down to sit in between her and Shoko. “You two are right on time, we were just about to start a riveting game of seven minutes in heaven.” The sarcasm in Shoko’s tone made you stifle your laughter, head falling onto Yuri’s shoulder, as she gave you a playful wink in response. “Seven minutes in heaven seriously? What, are we horny 13 year olds again or something?” Yuri groaned, her head tilting to rest on top of yours. You hummed in agreement, boredom already evident on your face, “Yeah who’s dumb idea was this anyway?”

Suguru has a cheeky smile playing on his lips as he answers you, "Google's. We didn't know what to do so we searched up 'fun games to play at a party.' " He was met with blank stares until Shoko nearly choked on the puff she was taking from her cigarette at his confession, the room now filled with the sound of laughter and Utahime frantically rubbing Shoko's back in an attempt to stop her from coughing up a lung. "Oh by the way did anyone see Satoru, we can't start without him or he'll start whining. Fucker said he went to the toilet, it's been like twenty minutes." Suguru's voice broke through the laughter as he leaned back onto his hands, head tilting in curiosity. Your mood immediately soured, letting an audible groan at the sound of his name and to make things worse, this was the moment Gojo decided to make an appearance. His presence was overwhelming to say the least, and the fact that he was aware of the effect he had when he walked into the room definitely did not help his exploding ego. Grey hoodie slung over his shoulder, and hands tucked in the pocket of his matching grey sweats, a lazy smirk made its way onto his face, "Hope you guys didn't miss me too much." His eyes caught yours as he sat down opposite you next to Suguru who smacked him up the head for taking his 'sweet fucking time,' resulting in Gojo readjusting the black baseball cap he was wearing backwards with a whine. 

His sky blue eyes were shining with mirth as he looked you up and down from across the circle you all had formed, arms crossing and an eyebrow raising up at you in challenge. Your eyes immediately narrowed into slits as you stared him down, unintentionally locking onto the way his biceps flexed across his chest in the black compression shirt he never seemed to take off. He followed your eyes down to his arms, smirk widening as he not so subtly flexed his arms even more, watching in amusement as you try to hide the flustered expression in your face by rolling your eyes and looking away with a scoff. 

Shoko cleared her throat impatiently, "Are you two done eye-fucking each other now or can we get this stupid game over and done with?" She asked with a bored expression, looking between you and Gojo with a raised brow. This only seemed to fuel Gojo's amusement, snickering as your jaw went slack at Shoko's words, face twisting in disgust.

"You two. Cut it out. Shoko - you're right and I love you but we don't need Satoru bleeding out on my carpet tonight okay?" Suguru Geto ladies and gentlemen, ever the peacemaker. 

Utahime shot up from her spot next to Shoko, hands clapping in excitement as she retrieved a small black bag. "Okay everyone put something in the bag so we can figure out pairings. And thennnn, all you gotta do is go to the storage room next door for seven minutes. Simpleee!" She announced this with way too much excitement for your liking. Once everyone had dropped one of their belongings into the bag, it was simultaneously decided that Utahime would choose her partner first. Eyes scrunched closed, she dipped her hand into the bag, pulling out what was unmistakably Shoko's lighter. Loud hollers and cheers filled the room all the while Utahime sat frozen, face painted a bright shade of red. Wordlessly, Shoko sat up walking towards the storage room next door. Upon noticing that Utahime still hadn't moved, she turned around, tilting her head, a small smirk appearing on her face, "Ya comin' or not?" Let's just say you had never seen Utahime move so quickly in your life.

Seven minutes later, the pair walked back in the room with flushed cheeks and equally red lips that were sporting matching smiles as they both sat back down. Unfortunately for you, it was your turn to pick from the bag. Your hand reached out tentatively, rummaging through the contents of the bag as your fingers latched onto something cold. Pulling your hand out and opening your eyes, you were met with the sight of Gojo’s infamous silver chain pooled into your palm. Silence. Complete and utter silence… that is until Suguru’s dumb ass started cackling like a possessed soul, slapping his knee with tears of laughter gathering at the corner of his crinkled eyes. “I fucking love this game,” His words came out as what could only be described as wheezes, one hand on his chest as he tried to calm his breathing down. Meanwhile, Gojo was still wearing that ridiculous smirk of his, once again eyeing you up and down as you stared daggers into his soul, cheeks puffed out in anger. 

“I refuse.” Your words were sharp and precise, arms crossing in defiance.

“That’s not how it works y/n…” Yuri’s defeated voice came out in a whisper next to you.

“Well too bad that’s how it’s gonna work now.”

“Says who.”

“Says ME.”

The sigh being let out next to you indicated Shoko’s clear irritation with your antics as she stands up, dragging you with her by the elbow as you splutter out excuse after excuse. Gojo on the other hand, has been uncharacteristically quiet this whole time. Your weak protests were interrupted when you were shoved into the empty storage room, followed by Gojo falling unceremoniously onto you, both of you crashing onto the floor. Before either of you could register your situation, the doors slammed shut encasing both of you in darkness. Gojo was still pressed against you, arms caging your head as a result of him trying to break his fall - and as far as he was concerned, he had no intention of getting away from you anytime soon. 

"Satoru Gojo get the fuck off me right now" you seethed through your teeth, your palms weakly pushing at his chest in an attempt to shove him off of you. 

"No can do sweetheart, I kinda like being this close, don't you?" You could practically hear the smirk in his voice, feeling his hot breath fan across the side of your face as he leaned impossibly closer to you to whisper in your ear. "Oh for fuck's sake Satoru are you fluent in bullshit or something? Get off meeee…" Your words trailed off into a small whine, clearly irritated by his antics but the teasing smile on his face only widened at your words, "Ooo first name basis already huh? This day just keeps getting better. You got a crush on me or something y/n?"

"Shut up Gojo, I hate you and you know it." You hissed out through burning cheeks, and you were struggling to figure out whether it was out of embarrassment or from the newfound fluttering in your heart. "You hate me huh?" His voice lowered, sending a shiver down your spine and you found yourself wishing his lips were closer to yours. 

“Yeah, I do. I hate you and your dumb voice and the way you always wear that stupid compression shirt to show off your stupid muscles and I hate your dumb attractive face and the way you're so stupidly tall and-” Your words catch in your throat when Gojo leans down to be face to face with you, his sapphire eyes darkening as they pierced into yours. 

“Oh yeah?” The husk in his voice paired with his proximity had you subconsciously squeezing your thighs together, breaths coming out in short pants from your ranting as you stared up at him wide-eyed. "Looks like it's you who's fluent in bullshit sweetheart cos this sounds more like a love confession to me," One of his hands reached up to grab your chin and tilt your face up towards his, thumb brushing teasingly over your bottom lip, making its way into your mouth and pressing lightly onto your bottom teeth - giving you no choice but to open your mouth, embarrassment coursing through you at the gesture. His smirk only widened at the action, his thumb pressing lightly onto your tongue, mind already racing with different scenarios, ‘Hm, maybe another time…’ he thought as he took his thumb away to grab the back of your neck to lessen the gap between you two.

You subconsciously lean into him, your body betraying you in every way. Eyes fluttering shut, heart beating impossibly fast, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You feel the warmth of his palm as his hand rests on the back of your neck, pulling you close, - closer and closer until his lips meet yours in a tender kiss. Your hands travel up from his chest, knocking over his baseball cap in the process, nails grazing his undercut softly, drawing him impossibly closer to you. Fingers moving further into his hair, you pull the soft white strands in a show of desire, resulting in a deep groan being let out into your mouth by Gojo as he presses his hips into yours in retaliation. A soft whine leaves you and you swear you feel him smirk before gently prodding his tongue against your lips. You part them for him, his tongue intertwining with yours in a dance of passion, your own hips now greedily grinding up into him. The warmth from his mouth disappears, his hot breath hitting your neck bringing you back to reality as your eyes slowly open only to find him staring at you with that cheeky smile of his. “Someone was enjoying herself hm?” His voice was gravelly as he spoke, eyes flitting back to your lips every so often. “Shut up Gojo.” You whispered, still very obviously affected from what was possibly the best kiss of your life as you rolled your eyes. 

“Oh come onnn, I think we’re past this, say Satoru for me baby.” Twinkling cerulean eyes bored into yours, watching you become increasingly flustered at the pet name. You turned away from him defiantly, refusing to speak but that only urged him on further, voice like dripping honey as he leaned down to speak into your ear. “C’mon sweetheart, you can do it, I believe in you. Look at me and say my name with that sweet voice of yours for me hm?” Gulping, you look up at him with wide eyes and warm cheeks, mouth parting ready to speak, when there's a series of knocks against the closet door, Suguru's deep voice a mere echo in your ears. A loud groan was let out above you as Satoru threw his head back in annoyance, “Ugh, so close. It’s okay princess, I’ll make you scream it soon enough,” he said with a wink as he finally got off of you whilst picking up his forgotten cap from the floor and placing it backwards on his head. He looks down, a hand reaching out to help you up. You take his hand and he pulls you up, biting his lips when you look up at him with those pretty eyes and for some reason he can’t bring himself to look away, both of you forgetting the fact that you were supposed to be getting out of the room.

"Yo Satoru, time's up get outta there." Light floods in as Suguru flings the door open, and your throat gets dry once you notice the desperation darkening Satoru's eyes. With heavy breaths, heaving chests and faces flushed with passion, neither of you seem to be able to look away from the intensity emitting from each other. At this point, there isn't a single thought in your head other than the man standing in front of you, looking at you with so much passion that you fear you'd never be able to look at another man without being reminded of him. The sound of a throat clearing brings both of you back to reality, Surguru watching you with a knowing smirk and crossed arms. Satoru on the other hand, doesn’t even acknowledge his best friend, instead opting to reach for your wrist, practically dragging you away down the other end of the hallway to where his room is. “Fucking took them long enough my god…” Suguru mutters under his breath, making his way back to his room already excited to tell the others about your escapade. 

Meanwhile, Satoru has you pushed up against the door of his bedroom, lips impatiently clashing with yours, hands caressing each other frantically. His cold hands had slipped under your shirt making you hiss slightly. His hands continued to make their way up, his thumbs teasingly rubbing your nipples through your bra, your whimpers getting lost in his mouth. Your own hands were gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer to you. You feel one of his hands moving down to unbutton your jeans, his pinky finger swiping the skin just above the waistband of your underwear, making you buck your hips needily into him. “Fuck baby, I can feel how wet you are through your panties. Messy girl aren’t you?” He mumbles, nipping your ear softly as his fingers start to tease your slit through your underwear. Your whimpers only encourage him further, pushing your panties to the side, tips of his fingers rubbing your clit. Your body was growing responsive to his touch, leaning further and further into him, face buried in his chest as you feel yourself get impossibly wetter. Soft pants left your mouth, one of your hands shyly reaching down to grab his bulge through his sweatpants making him moan into your neck, your eyes widening when you feel just how big he is. You let out a particular loud squeal when two of his long fingers entered you without warning, body squirming as you tried to adjust to their size. Satoru had resorted to biting and sucking your neck in order to hold back his moans as you continued palming him, your cute little whimpers making him harder underneath your hand. His voice comes out in a growl, eyes now boring into yours, fingers relentlessly going in and out of you, painting stars in your vision. “T-toru…” The whimper escaping you had his gaze softening slightly, “I know baby, I know. Be a good girl for me and take it, yeah?” Your eyes screwed shut as you nodded weakly at his words, the praise making your pussy clench around his fingers.

"Shit baby you're so fucking tight around my fingers, you sure ya can take my cock? I don't think it'll fit in that tight little pussy of yours" He leans down to playfully nip on your ear and there's a taunting smile playing on his lips when he meets your eyes again. A defiant look crosses your face, the need to prove him wrong still as strong as ever, even if he is currently turning you into a brainless mess. "I can take it…" your retaliation would've been much more believable to him if your words weren't beginning to slur, coming out in soft pants. So Satoru did what he knew how to do best.

He teased. Mercilessly. 

"Aw my pretty little baby thinks she can take it? Yeah well, you're gonna have to cum around my fingers first if we wanna fit my dick in you sweetheart. But I don't know how much I'm willing to let you cum." His taunts are followed by a cruel curl of his fingers, his knuckles bullying your inner walls, your juices dripping down onto his wrist from how wet you were. You were so so close, fingers clenching around the front of Satoru's shirt, your head buried in his chest as your eyes were scrunched closed in pleasure, small tears threatening to fall from your lash line. 

“You fucking dickhead let me cum please,” you mumble out into his shirt, his fingers relentless in their teasing turning your desperation into frustration. 

“Yeah? You wanna cum baby? Beg for it.” The words coming out of his mouth were nothing short of torture for you as he stopped his movements, fingertips now rubbing your clit in gentle circles, all the while looking down at you with that infuriating smirk of his. See, usually it would take more than those three words for you to listen to Satoru Gojo of all people, but considering the fact that his fingers alone were making you see stars, it was clear to all what your choice was. 

“Please…” you breathe out, face finally coming up from your hiding place in his chest to look up at him with blown pupils, tears still pooled in your eyes and wobbly lips. Gojo’s breath hitched when you made eye contact with him, his throat going dry at the mere sight of your already dishevelled appearance. Fuck, it made him want to ruin you even more so who was he to deny your pretty plea. “Only cos you asked so nicely”, he whispers into your ear, teeth scraping against your lobe, his fingers going in and out in the most toe-curling ways. You felt your eyes roll back as one of your hands clutched the front of his shirt, the other palming him through his sweats, mouth open, letting out what Satoru believed was the prettiest sound he’d ever heard as you squeezed around his fingers, thighs shaking ever so slightly as he continued rubbing soothing circles on your clit.

Satoru’s half-lidded eyes were stuck to you, the image of you cumming on his fingers now permanently etched into his mind. He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, a groan emitting from the back of his throat, but of course he couldn’t help himself from muttering yet another cheeky remark. 

“You know, for someone who claims to ‘hate’ me so much, you seemed to enjoy cumming on my fingers a bit too much.” The glare you throw up at him would usually have more venom but seeing as you just had what could only be described as the best orgasm of your life (although you would never admit this to his face), all your ‘glare’ did was make Satoru’s smirk widen. 

"F-fuck you Gojo,” 

"That's the plan sweetheart."  

In a matter of seconds, you felt arms snaking under your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly and dropping you onto the middle of his bed, navy blue silk sheets rippling underneath you. Of course he would have fucking silk bedsheets, rich prick. Your thoughts were quickly interrupted when you see Satoru standing at the edge of the bed, staring down at you with nothing but lust in his eyes, his tongue coming out to swipe across his lips hungrily as he slowly starts taking that damn black compression shirt off, making a show out of it as he does so. Trust him to be able to turn into a stripper at will. You gulp, scanning him down whilst he makes his way over to you, eyes locking onto the outline of his cock through his grey tracksuits. He’s now on top of you, forearms on either side of your head caging you in, soft strands of white hair falling over his eyes; eyes which he hadn’t taken off you since he locked the door. 

“You’re awfully close,” The words leaving your mouth are barely louder than a whisper and he could feel your breath hitting his lips as you spoke. 

“Problem, sweetheart?” He whispers back, leaning his face down impossibly closer to yours, his fingers gently snaking in between yours at the sides of your head. You bite your lip in anticipation, “No but it will be if you don’t fucking do something,” the retort leaves you before you could think, impatience radiating off you as you look at him through your lashes.

“Knew you secretly had a thing for me this whole time.” He lets out a low chuckle and before you could snap back at him, his lips come crashing down onto yours, hands squeezing yours essentially pressing you down further into his annoyingly comfortable mattress. He grabs both of your wrists into one of his hands, the other making its way down your hips and into your jeans, tracing the waistband of your panties. Meanwhile, your lips have resorted to leaving small kisses across his jawline, sucking little marks down the side of his neck making Satoru let out a soft whine into your ear. And you decide very quickly that you like the noise he just made so, of course, you bite down onto the junction between his neck and his shoulder, one of your hands leaving his grip and sneaking into the waistband of his tracksuits, straight into his boxers stroking his (very hard) length, causing him to let out a quiet growl, his face buried in your neck. 

Evidently, this was his last straw. 

Here you were getting up close and personal with his neck and the next thing you know he’s flipped you over onto your stomach, hands dragging your jeans and panties down your legs, throwing them onto the floor carelessly. “Fuckkk I can’t wait to ruin you,” he practically growls the words out as his palm lands a loud smack onto your ass, a squeal of surprise escaping you, your head turning back to look at him with narrowed eyes and you swear you nearly came on the spot from seeing him kneeling behind you, toned abs on full display, that stupid baseball cap still backwards on his head as he admired your half-naked body sprawled on his bed.

“What? I’m only saying the truth” he shrugs whilst ridding himself of his tracksuits, dragging his boxers along, his hard cock springing up hitting the base of his stomach. His hand comes up to stroke it lazily, and you keep looking back at him, your pupils blown wide, almost mesmerised by his actions as he lets out a soft moan when his thumb swipes across his tip. Your body squirms at his actions, the need to feel him inside you growing by the second and he notices, of course he notices his gaze hasn’t been anywhere else but you this whole time. You feel his cold hands grip your hips, a shiver running down your spine as he manoeuvers your hips upwards, “Ass up for me sweetheart,” he mumbles, his knees pushing yours outwards and spreading your legs open in the process. 

“There we go, good girl. So wet for me hm?” His sweet mumbles went straight to your core, your pussy getting embarrassingly wetter with every word coming out of his mouth. You let out a staggered breath, feeling him get closer to where you needed him most, the tip of his cock teasingly rubbing up and down your slit, eyes fixated on how your pussy seemed to clench around nothing. “Satoru I swear to god if you don’t- ” your grumble was interrupted by a loud squeal as he finally inserted himself into you with one swift movement. 

“Fucckkk you’re so tight, this what you wanted princess?” he groaned, throwing his head back in pleasure, his hat falling off his head in the process. The hand that wasn’t gripping your hips reached back to retrieve his hat, placing it haphazardly on your head, a wide smirk gracing his lips as he admired you, your ass still squirming against him as you tried to adjust to his length with soft whimpers leaving your lips. He pulls out, leaving only his tip inside you before slamming himself back in as you whine out a loud “Toruuuu” into the pillow that was currently clutched to your chest, forearms pressed into the mattress to hold yourself up. He starts moving in and out, irritatingly slowly at first, just to antagonise you that little bit more, make you that little bit more needy for him. Because, fuck he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy seeing the mouthy brat that always had a snipy remark for everything he did be at a loss for words, going dumb on his cock when he hadn’t even started fucking her yet. 

“Is this what all the girls were raving about? Cos right now I’m incredibly unimpressed Satoru,” you breathe out, a cheeky smile playing on your lips as you turn your head back , eyes finding his behind you. His eyes narrow as they stare back at you, not amused by your taunts in the slightest - so he picks up the pace, hips slamming into you as your mouth falls open, fingers tightening around the pillow underneath you, head falling down to your chest as you try to muffle the sounds threatening to escape you from the sudden pleasure. One hand is gripping your hip so hard, you were sure there would be a mark there and the other is teasingly running up and down your clothed spine. 

“O-oh fuck why do you have to feel so gooddd” you pant out begrudgingly, the end of your sentence forming into a whine as your hips moving back in sync against him. “Yeah? Ya still unimpressed? Or should. I. Go. Harder.” Each word was accompanied by a particularly hard thrust, your moans getting too loud for your liking, and you lose all sense of control in your body as you feel yourself move up the mattress with each thrust. The hand teasing your spine bunches the back of your shirt in his fist as he pulls you back onto his cock, “Now where do you think you’re going sweetheart? God, you have no idea how fucking good you look right now.” he breathlessly mumbles out, his voice deeper as he watches you struggle underneath him, your hair splayed out on your back, his hat still on your head, knuckles turning white from clutching onto the pillow so hard and the sweetest sounds leaving your swollen lips. You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet in your life, feeling yourself leaking down your thighs and of course Satoru takes note of this, his free hand swiping the dripping wetness from the inside of your thigh with his nimble fingers, moving to circle your clit in slow movements, his thrusts getting faster. “S-so good holy fuck~” you whine out, eyes rolling back into your head. 

A snicker escapes Satoru as he watches you fall apart further, mouth open and drool threatening to drip down the corner of your mouth as your cheek is squished onto the pillow underneath your head, your soft whimpers and pants making him want to fuck you harder. He moves his hand from your clit to grab your jaw, making you twist your head to face him as he rudely shoves two of his fingers into your mouth and you instinctively start sucking on them, drool now freely dripping down your chin as he pushes his fingers deeper into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue in the process. He kisses his teeth in faux annoyance “Tch, messy girl aren’t you?” He taunts, leaning his body down onto yours, his other hand brushing back the hair sticking to your forehead in an almost sweet gesture in comparison to the way he was practically slamming into you, and the cute moment was effectively ruined when he bunches your hair into a makeshift ponytail pulling your head back, his hat falling off your head all while thrusting into you deeper. You let out a particularly loud squeal, muffled by his fingers in your mouth and his smirk widens, repeatedly hitting that same spot with the same vigour as he leans down to whisper in your ear, “Fuck you’re taking me so well, such a good girl for me.” He removes his fingers from your mouth, tilting your jaw to the side as his lips meet yours in a sloppy kiss, his tongue swirling around yours, his hips never seeming to falter in the cruel pace he’s set out for your pussy. All you could do was whine into his mouth, any semblance of speaking having already left you the second he had put his cock in you and with the way he was hitting that spot inside you, you don’t think you’d be able to speak again. He pulls away from the kiss, a string of saliva still connecting the two of you, spit dripping down your chin as you look at him with clouded eyes and a flushed face. 

“Look at you pretty girl, fucked you stupid haven’t I?” he mutters, looking at you with such awe, his hand still gripping onto your jaw as he leans his body down onto yours, his cock now reaching deeper into you as his thrusts start to become harder, your body jolting and your moans getting louder with every move. “T-toru, ‘m close,” I pant out, letting out small sniffles. “Yeah? You wanna come for me?” he taunts, his hips slowing down on purpose, the hand holding your hair pulling your head back further with a harsh tug for his lips to scatter soft kisses and nibbles on the sides of your neck as you nod impatiently, tears brimming in your eyes. Another whine escapes you as you look at him pitifully, pupils blown wide and lips trembling as you become desperate for release, grinding back onto his dick for in need of more friction. He tuts, his hands moving to grip your hips, stilling your movements. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he grits out, the hand on your jaw moving to the back of your neck and pinning you down, cheeks squished onto the mattress. “You wanna come, you beg for it like the good girl I know you are, understand?” Tears of frustration were now freely running down your cheeks, your face an absolute flushed mess of tears and drool and the sight of you was enough to make Satoru cum right there and then. He thought he should be getting an award for the amount of self control he’s shown so far. But he was quickly brought back to reality when he heard your precious, albeit muffled, voice whimper out a “Toruuu pleaseee~ please lemme cum”, paired with those pretty big eyes of yours and your pussy walls clenching almost teasingly around him, made him choke back a moan. And when you were begging so prettily, how could he say no to you? 

“That’s my girl��� he groaned, pressing a soft kiss on the side of your head before his hips once again began snapping into you relentlessly, the warmth from his body almost lying on top of your back making your head spin. His thumb found its way back into your parted mouth once more, pressing into the back of your bottom teeth, forcing your mouth open further causing even more drool to spill from the corners of your mouth, rendering you a helpless mess underneath him. His free hand slithered its way down to your clit, fingertips rubbing it tantalisingly slowly, your legs were already shaking and his ministrations on your clit made you want to close your legs. Your actions were quickly stopped by Satoru, his hand gripping your thigh pushing your leg further out, your fingers gripping onto the sheets in front of you for dear life at this point. “Keep 'em open,” he hissed out, fingers going back to your clit once he felt your walls squeeze around his dick. “C-cumming Toru~” your words were muffled and barely comprehensible as you babbled around his spit-covered thumb in your mouth. “Yeah? Cum for me sweet girl, c’mon you can do it,” He purred out, the sound of your wet pussy and his hips snapping into yours filling the room. Your jaw went slack, his thumb leaving your mouth to now rub soothing circles onto your jawline as he watched you come undone beneath him, his breath staggering as his self-control was slowly disappearing. “There you gooo, such a good girl. You did such a good job for me baby~” He cooed into your ear, his other hand going gently up and down your spine. “Can you hold on a bit more f’me?” he asks, checking in on you with a soft look in his eyes, and you nod, still dazed from your orgasm. He lets out a small chuckle at the state of you, “Good, cos I’m not done,” he grits out, flipping you over onto your back and resuming his thrusts in you all while looking down at you, his chest glistening with sweat, the front strands of his hair sticking to his forehead slightly. You bite your lip, looking up at him with wide eyes and you bring your arms up tiredly looping one around his neck bringing him closer down to you as the other brushes away the hair from his forehead, mimicking his earlier actions.

“Fuck ‘m so close sweetheart” he whimpers out, his head falling into the crook of your neck as his steady rhythm wavered slightly. “Cum f’me Toru~” you breathe out sweetly into his ear, your hands tangled in his hair as you hold him close to you and Satoru swore he saw heaven when he heard those words in his ear as he lifts his head from his spot in your shoulder, panting out. “W-where do you w-” before he could even finish his question you looked him straight in the eyes and whimpered out your answer, wrapping your legs around his waist, locking your ankles behind his back, pulling him impossibly closer to you.. “Inside please…” A loud groan leaves Satoru’s lips as he throws his head back at your words. “You’re gonna be the fucking death of me sweetheart,” he grumbles out, his hips staggering as he cums, filling you up with his warm load and you stare up at him through wet lashes, clenching around him purposefully just to hear him whimper again. 

He collapses on top of you, sweaty chest sticking to your equally sweaty shirt, letting out a huff, mumbling in your ear, “Best. Fuck. Ever.” and you couldn’t help but stifle a giggle, running your fingers through his hair gently. “Shut it Gojo,” you retort, biting back a smile when his head whips out of his hiding place in your neck, face contorting into an expression which could only be described as complete disbelief and confusion. “Sweetheart I just fucked you speechless on my cock and you wanna go back to last name basis? Be so for real right now.” Although your face flushed at his words, you burst into giggles at his last statement. Trust Satoru Gojo to still have the audacity to be sassy after sex. 

“Sorry Toru~” you purr out, nails grazing up and down the back of his neck.

“Better.” he mumbles out, lips formed into a slight pout as his face plops back down onto your chest. 

“So like… you still hate me?”

“Ehhh, guess you’re not so bad after all.”

“Are you just saying that 'cos I made you cum?”

“Yeah.”

“Fucking brat.”

ミ★ notes from star: the ending was a bit rushed but i hope you enjoyed it lovelies!

prettyngeto © 2024. all rights reserved - please do not plagiarise, translate, steal and repost any of my works on any social platforms for whatever reason.

[noamuth]

House Strighym: Matron Mother Nedvyllanna Strighym

The Matron of House Strighym is notoriously materialistic and vain, which is saying a lot considering Lolthites are generally considered materialistic and vain. Her long silver hair is tied up in an elaborate braid pattern which resembles, to no one's surprise, a spider. Four braids from each side come to the center in the back to form an eight strand braid, which is then loosely rolled up as a bun to create a long abdomen of the spider, and held together at the top by a decorative comb to be the thorax.

She favors dark and elegant flowing gowns with dramatically flared sleeves, some portions made purposely sheer like spider webs to show off some skin. Fine jewelry adorns her hair and lines her ears. It drapes around her neck and wrists and sparkles on her fingers. A few fingers are clad in delicate-looking filigree claws, but many members of House Strighym, especially consorts, will assure they draw blood just as easily as any blade.

She has hobbies of her own, although unlike her crafters who turn their hobbies into job skills to support the House, Nedvyllanna's hobbies are purely for her own benefit. She cultivates poisonous fungi and flora, as well as fungi and flora which can be used to create pigment powders for makeup. She also breeds rats to feed her large dragazhar, Nacta, and occasionally he is allowed to pick off a deep bat from the livestock. Slaves who have offended Nedvyllanna and are particularly unlucky may also find themselves becoming a meal for her dragazhar, and the other deep bats if Nacta allows it--a gruesome sight that quickly reminds every witness of their place in the House.

Nacta is fiercely loyal to Nedvyllanna, not unlike a guard dog, except he has a seven-and-a-half foot wingspan and a sharp tail which can be used as a weapon in addition to its wing claws and teeth. Even when he is not immediately visible or attempting to sit on Nedvyllanna's shoulders, Nacta is almost always close by, watching for danger. His piercing shriek of a bird-like call is not only chilling but genuinely terrifying to anyone not used to hearing it.

She is a powerful Trickery Domain Cleric of Lolth, specializing in enchantments. Although all of her subjects are expected to be loyal, this does not stop Nedvyllanna from using Enchantment magic to make them a little extra pliable. Consorts are especially likely to be magicked in this manner. While many Matrons choose consorts from people they believe they can trust, Nedvyllanna is far more shallow.

Repeated exposure to these enchantment and charming spells over a long period of time can have altering affects on the mind, leading to confusion, and making it difficult to identify which emotions are genuine and which are enhanced--or supplied--by the magic itself. Dalamus' skewed perception of Nedvyllanna's affection and care for him is likely due to a combination of her manipulation and magic.

Appearances are everything to her and she does not tolerate being given any less respect than she believes she deserves. However, this also means that placating her is sometimes possible through adoration, flattery, or even straight-up begging, as it reminds her that she is powerful and in control.

Lolthite rules demand that she have enough guardsmen, soldiers, and instructors to supply some to patrols, the army, and the Academies. Nedvyllanna fills at least a portion of these ranks with those she can hire, rather than training them at the House.

She values beauty and expensive materials, gathering the best artists in Menzoberranzan to work for her and increase not only her House's wealth, but her own personal collection of art, fashion, and jewelry. Many Houses are strict with hair and dress code, but House Strighym allows some uniqueness among her artists and crafters so as not to stifle the creativity for which they were hired.

That said, her expectations for those in her House are still high. This leeway given to the crafters is only to help spur them to perform their best. If they do not, she has no use for them. It is not uncommon to see crafters who have begun to repeatedly under-perform with their work be hauled away by guardsmen at her behest, never to be seen again. Death is a very real possibility should anyone talk back to her or otherwise embarrass her.

She has no maternal instincts; she hates being pregnant, and has no patience for children. Children constantly want and need, without the capacity to give anything useful back. It is probably merciful, then, that her first was a daughter, Pellandra. Still, she wastes no time in sending her children to a private caretaker within the House, rather than deal with them herself. Zektyrr is planned to be the House's Master of Assassins if he shows aptitude for the skills necessary. Until then, Nedvyllanna has little use for him.

Nedvyllanna is frequently flirtatious and seemingly affectionate to her Patron, although it is largely a ruse to maintain loyalty, taking advantage of Dalamus' (and indeed most male drow's) touch-starved state. Only she may initiate touch or physical "affection"--it is given if he has done something she approves of, thereby conditioning him to succumb to her will and fulfill her desires if he wished to be treated softly. Even then, it was not guaranteed, as she cannot let them believe she is soft.

She prefers never to risk being overpowered, even by her consorts, and will use enchantment to assure their placidity. It was not uncommon for Dalamus to leave the bedchambers with small wounds from her nails. She does not indulge in aftercare or pillowtalk. Whether she even likes her consorts at all is a question made difficult to answer by Lolthites' skewed views on attachment and affection. Every Patron feels as though they are truly favored and trusted by her, and by virtue of their position, it is assumed they are. And appearances are very important to her.

[nc-screamsheet]

Random head canons I have

Johnny likes it when V plays with his hair, puts him right to sleep. Will deny it if pointed out though.

River gives the best hugs

Panam snorts when she laughs

Misty is a dom. I will die on this hill, she tops the fuck outta’ Jackie.

Vik’s most cherished item is a “night city’s best dad” V, Misty, and Jackie got him as a joke. It’s by far his most used mug.

Judy dyes her own hair and has on more then one occasion offered to dye Vs.

Kerry can play the piano, it’s not his favorite instrument but sometimes when he can’t get a rift right on the guitar he’ll switch to his piano and try to approach the tune from a different angle

Nibbles seems to react to Johnny’s digital presence. Johnny says it’s just coincidence, Misty says it’s because cats can sense spirits.

Misty is an oddly cold person, on the opposite Jackie is a fucking furnace.

After Randy recovers he takes a serious interest in merc work because of V, much to his family’s displeasure.

I firmly believe that even if the heist had been a success, Dex/ Evelyn/ -especially -the Voodoo boys would’ve found some way to still screw over V, Jackie, and T-bug

Romantically or not Johnny is a little possessive of V in some way. He gets pissy if someone “knows” V better then him, or if V seems to be more fond of someone then him.

In the same vain, if V and Kerry just mesh with each other naturally without Johnny in the equation it makes him irritable. Kerry was his tag along and Vs taken him. And V is his merc and Kerry’s taken them. And worst of all neither are paying attention to him anymore!

Kerry has hired V to work security for him.

Panam is bi but she prefers men.

All of Vs friends and loved ones get put on a “mess with them and I’ll kill you” order once V becomes the ruler of night city’s underworld

Kerry has a collection of robes, some of which he’s never worn. He just likes buying them.

Vs never beat Vik in a boxing match before

River tries to keep tabs on Vs activity. He knows they’re more then capable but that doesn’t stop him from worrying. V is known to wade into shit deeper then they are tall, after all.

V is notoriously bad at answering their phone. Everyone has chewed them out for it at some point.

V would rather fight Adam Smasher again then come face to face with an angry Mama Welles.

Rogue is more then happy to tell some of Johnny’s more embarrassing stories if it means knocking him back down a peg.

Panam never gets the turret on her Thornton fixed. Ever.

Johnny’s prized possession is Vs bullet medallion.

[jungkxook]

—pour up. (m)

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader x taehyung

⟶ genre: fuckboy!jungkook / fuckboy!taehyung + smut  

⟶ words: 14,048 (idk how it’s literally just smut)

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ summary: sleeping with both notorious frat boys kim taehyung and jeon jungkook doesn’t sound so bad ━ especially when you’re drunk and faded.

⟶ warnings: mentions of drug/alcohol use, essentially pwp lol, threesome, double penetration, voyeurism, messy rough sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, dry humping, manhandling, doggy style, riding (sort of?), fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving), face riding, face fucking, deepthroating, breast play, slight begging (mostly oc making jungkook beg hehe), brief name calling, dirty talking, unprotected sex, creampie

⟶ note: this is a repost of a fic from my old blog! also shout out to miss jlin @bratkook​ for being the sweetest and for liking this trashy fic of mine, and a happy early birthday present to @onherwings​ miss juno, the resident taekook lover!! 💛

also the accompanying song to this fic is pour up by dean!

There were times when you were sober where you were persistent about never being in a five foot radius of a frat boy, much less strip yourself of your dignity long enough to sleep with one.

Your appalling disgust and immense irritation of the male species that were frat boys kept you well in tune to your rule ━ until you’re far past the point of drunk and faded. Only then, when your bloodstream is laced with alcohol and your mind is nothing but a hazy cloud of smoke, you shrink into a shameless hypocrite and favour the appeal of a simple hook up. But you have needs too; it isn’t entirely your fault. Kim Taehyung offers you exactly that, with the promise to then act as if nothing happens the very next day so that the two of you can revert to despising one another out in public.

You act as if no one knows about your flings with ultimate frat boy Taehyung almost every weekend, as if they’re just as oblivious as you, but damn near the whole school knows and most certainly the rest of the boys in Beta Tau Sigma, or as Taehyung puts it, his brothers. It’s a useless cycle of bicker, avoid, drink, sex, and repeat, ever since you joined the school as a freshman and the sophomore boy took an interest in you. He’s charming in all the right ways and good looking but his smooth appeal was almost too good to be true and, past his “kind” smiles, you could make him out to be arrogant, vain, and cocky. Maybe you would have given him an actual chance had it not been for his snarkiness but all your brain could truly handle was his dick for a few hours a week.

Unsurprisingly, you always end up crashing at Beta Tau Sigma after one of their raging parties that results in your hook ups with Taehyung; surprisingly, Taehyung is miraculously into pillow talk post-sex and so he doesn’t entirely mind if you stay the night. But, by morning, when the alcohol has all but turned into a terrible hangover, he can hardly care less if you stay or not.

Usually, you wake up on your own, courtesy of past sober you setting an alarm on your phone to make sure you wake up earlier than all the other walkers of shame and anyone else in Beta Tau Sigma. Ideally, it was to help guarantee that no one would ever see you or judge you for stooping low enough to sleep with a fuckboy but you don’t know how well that’s working out for you anymore, if you’re being honest.

That’s why, early one fateful Sunday morning after a night of fun with Taehyung, you awaken with a start to the shrill Marimba tone that rips through the silence of the room and causes you to literally jump out of bed and crash onto the floor. You groan at the sharp pain that shoots up your spine and accompanies your groggy mind as your eyes flicker open only to be greeted with a blinding light that is the sun as it filters through the shut curtains. Littered on the ground are clothes, your clothes, beer bottles, red solo cups, discarded bed sheets, a singular condom wrapper (you thank your past selves for at least being sober enough to remember to use one), and your cell phone.

“Turn that shit off, for fuck sakes,” he grovels.

His hangover, and the early morning, makes his already deep voice even rougher, huskier, and you blame your disoriented mind for thinking he sounds even remotely sexy. He doesn’t bother to lift his head from his pillow or to find where you are in the room, the messy longer-than-usual curls of his hair flopping into his lashes as he flips onto his back. Other bodily remnants remain from the night before, from the mellowing ache between your legs left in the wake of his dick sufficiently railing you to the bite marks on his neck that you had so graciously bestowed him.

Now, you roll your eyes at him instead but dive for your phone nearby and tap the snooze button before it wakes the entire house and rouses the army of fuckboys from the dead.

“Good morning to you too,” You remark. “Is that better, princess?”

“Much.”

You push yourself to your feet and stretch, the stiff joints in your body popping and cracking, before searching for your clothes. You’re certain Taehyung has fallen back asleep as you dig around through the clutter to find your belongings but what else is new? It’s a routine the two of you have come to know well, and one that neither of you mind. You spot some sort of lacy material hidden underneath a few of Taehyung’s dirty laundry laying on the floor and reach for it thinking it’s yours. You’re only mildly disturbed to find that it isn’t yours at all ━ though you’re more concerned about the hygienic purposes of touching some other girl’s thong than you are about the blatant fact Taehyung sleeps with more girls than just you (a fact you swear you could care less for).

“Jesus Christ, your room is a disaster,” You scoff now.

“You could clean it,” Taehyung suggests sluggishly. Now, he’s awake, pretty and hooded eyes fluttering open to find you nearby. He props his hand behind his head to lift his gaze a little higher.

You snort, tossing the underwear away. “You never cease to━”

“Amaze you?”

“Repel me more than when I see the collection of thongs you have hidden in your room,” You correct. Fortunately, you spot your own underwear nearby and scoop it up, quickly slipping into them.

“Aw, baby, is that a bit of jealousy I hear?” Taehyung asks. He runs a hand through his dishevelled dark locks and shoots you a drowsy smirk. “You know you’re my one and only. I can always count on you when I want good head.”

“Please, flatter me some more, Tae,” You quip dryly.

As you hastily slide into your stiff shirt and jeans next and turn to face him, combing your fingers through your hair, Taehyung seems to take your words to heart and tries again. “You look like shit.”

You feign a voluntarily loud and overly dramatic moan. “Ugh, you really do know how to treat a girl━” Your cut off by a shameless snort from Taehyung before you continue on, “You know, you don’t exactly look the hottest right now either.”

“I beg to differ,” he replies nonchalantly. Technically, he isn’t lying, but you refuse to feed his ego any more.

“As if.”

“Funny,” he hums. “Could’ve sworn last night you were calling me hot when you were begging for my dick.”

You don’t bother to reply. Instead, you shake your head as you rub your tired face, uttering, “I need a coffee.”

“You could stay,” he offers. “I can make you one.”

“You don’t even know how to boil water,” You retort. “But thanks for the gesture. Try not to throw up on yourself today, okay?”

Taehyung mumbles something in response but then he’s already flipping over onto his side to fall back asleep again. You grab your bag from the floor and slip into your shoes before tiptoeing out of the room.

The Beta house is just as much a disaster as Taehyung’s room is and you find yourself stepping over more bottles, cups, empty pizza boxes, and hungover passed out people with phallic images doodled on their faces. The sun filters into the ever grand mansion and only illuminates the chaos the frat boys put it through. Everyone is thankfully still asleep as you head downstairs but, as you sneak past the kitchen, you notice two figures rummaging about, boisterous unabashed laughter filling the house that somehow hasn’t woken the others yet.

Jeon Jungkook stands before you with Park Jimin, both fellow Beta brothers, though Jungkook is in the same year as you. They, like most other Beta boys (and especially Taehyung), are well known on campus but Jungkook is perhaps even worse than Taehyung. Now, he’s adorned in only low hanging gray sweatpants that show off the ripples of his toned chest and the happy trail that threatens for your eyes to follow it. He holds a bowl of cereal close to him with the same arm decorated on every inch with tattoos, a snapback pushing his messy hair up and away from his forehead. The best part (and you mean that not at all) ━ or the worst ━ is the fact that he stands on a hoverboard, as if walking is too much for him to handle at nine in the morning. Jimin isn’t far off wearing the same attire, only his look is paired with the fuckboy-essential-starter-pack of socks and Adidas slides, and he’s at least actually using his legs to walk.

“Morning,” Jungkook smirks. “Time for the walk of shame?”

You have to retain a sigh. “I’m surprised you’re up, Jeon. I was sure you were gone past the point of saving last night.”

“A couple of shots do nothing for me,” Jungkook replies, shovelling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “I was pretty much sober.”

At this, you sit back on your heels and look him once over skeptically. “You kept trying to hook up with me, called your dick Jungcock, threw up in one of the vases, and then passed out in the bathtub. I wouldn’t have exactly called you sober.”

The smirk remains on Jungkook’s face. If anything, he seems more so amused and it pisses you off. Jimin bursts into a fit of laughter and shakes his head.

“Always a pleasure seeing you, Y/N,” he greets. “Hey, are you coming to the party going down at Lambdas house after exams? It’s pretty exclusive but you and your friends are all invited by courtesy of us.”

“Ugh, I can’t even think about going to another party right now. How do you Beta whores do it?” You grovel. “Besides, why would we come if we know you’re going to be there?”

“‘Cause Tae’s going and you’re probably gonna wanna suck his dick,” Jungkook suggests snidely.

“I was gonna say the free booze,” Jimin offers instead. “Man, you know the Lambdas. They’re all rich pretentious sons of country club owners. They hardly throw parties but, when they do, you know it’s going to be wild. I wouldn’t miss it if I were you.”

“Well,” You say, “thanks for the invitation but we’ll see. Maybe if we have a pre-game where I can get drunk enough to handle your faces and the Lambda boys together.”

“I’ve always said you’re more fun when you’re drunk,” Jungkook hums pensively. Your eyes narrow into a glare and you’re fortunate Jimin is there to block your path from tackling Jungkook.

“Okay, whatever,” You grumble. “I’m out of here. I think if I stay here any longer, I’ll lose all my brain cells.”

Jimin chuckles but hardly seems bothered by your comment. He waves you off as he slips out of the kitchen to retreat into another room, leaving you alone with Jungkook.

“Can I get you anything before you go?” he asks. There’s a cheeky tone laced in his words that makes you blatantly aware he’s trying to suggest something more, like his dick.

“Absolutely not,” You wave him off. “See you around, Jungidiot.”

He grins and shoves another spoonful into his mouth. “Hey, maybe next Saturday you can think about blowing me instead of Tae, yeah?”

He’s met with you jamming your middle finger in his face and it only seems to entertain him further. As you march out of their home, slamming the door behind you, you have one discernable thought amongst your hangover and that is that you’ll definitely need to have that pre-game before you have the audacity to even see Jungkook, or any of the Beta boys for that matter, at the Lambdas.

That Saturday, you find yourself at the Lambdas house party.

So maybe you had sort of been lying when you said you weren’t so sure of going to it, but the thought was tempting enough and you aren’t one to pass up on a good party, especially when it’s after weeks of headaches and stressing over studying and exams.

Mid-terms come and go and when you finally finish writing your last paper, all you want to do is let loose and party and get dicked down by Taehyung. The Lambdas, despite their pretentious behaviour, looks to be very promising ━ but only after you down a few shots beforehand and have a beer while you’re getting ready. You’re not exactly as drunk or as tipsy as you would have prefered but it still gives you a nice enough buzz that makes you warm and lets the adrenaline pump in your veins and excites you even more for the party. The house you rent is off campus but it’s close to Beta’s and Taehyung offers to give you guys a lift to the Lambdas who are a fifteen minute walk away (but you know Taehyung will do anything to not walk anywhere his penny board can’t take him ━ and it’s not even Taehyung who is driving but his friend, Jin).

You can hear the party at Lambdas before you’re even there. The thump of bass coming from the house isn’t hard to miss, especially not with the way it seems to rattle the ground the closer you get. The house is crammed full to capacity and people have already begun to spill onto the lawn by the time you have arrived. A potent waft of alcohol and weed fill your senses and it is all you could really make out in the rambunctious party. You can hardly hear yourself think, let alone what others are saying to you. Yet, you still found a way to have fun almost instantly, drifting away from the guys to party with your friends.

Most of the night is a blur and a haze of confusion but you can remember drinking and drinking some more until you’re sufficiently smashed. You can’t quite recall where you had lost your friends, though you suspect it was after the intense game of beer pong you were suckered into in which you were certain there were no winners or losers as it was just an excuse to drink even more. It’s nearing 1 a.m. when you finally bump into a familiar face, pulling you back from the unruly party and the adrenaline rush coursing through your veins.

You’ve just slipped outside for some fresh air, perched on the front porch, when you notice Jimin is passed out on the lawn below. The other stragglers gathered outside barely take note of him but maybe that’s because he had chosen to faceplant in the shadows under the porch, tucked safely away from the rest of the party. Just before you can even think to walk over to him and make sure he’s still alive, the front door of the house swings wide open and a frenzied Taehyung bursts outside, shortly followed by an equally dumbfounded Jungkook.

“Where the fuck is he?” Taehyung hisses.

“I don’t know,” Jungkook sighs, disgruntled, “but leave it to him to run off and disappear.”

“Looking for someone?”

The two boys startle at your voice. They whirl around to find you taking a sip of the drink in your hand, as if only just noticing your presence. You hadn’t seen them since you parted ways a handful of hours ago in the party, though you’re fairly certain they’re just as smashed as you.

“Ah, babe!” Taehyung beams wolfishly. “What a pleasure seeing you out here. Uh, you wouldn’t happen to have seen where Jimin went, would you?”

You nod in the direction of the sleeping boy down below. “He’s there. He’s passed out cold, though. What the hell did you do to him?”

“Nothing,” Jungkook says. He grimaces as he hastily follows Taehyung down onto the lawn to stand near Jimin, and you in tow. “Jimin just likes to get out of hand. What should we do, Tae? We can’t just leave him here and Luna’s going to be pissed if she sees him like this.”

Taehyung stares down at Jimin miserably, thinking momentarily. “Well, Luna’s looking for him so we might as well drop him off at her dorm. He can deal with her when he’s sober.”

There’s a brief moment where you spot Jungkook seriously considering this though, as if leaving Jimin on the lawn of a frat house is a safer option than returning him to his girlfriend. Ultimately, he caves and you watch as Taehyung nudges Jimin awake (and by nudge, you mean he slaps the boy across the face) before pulling a very disoriented Jimin to his feet and slinging one of his arms over Taehyung’s neck.

“Fuck, he’s heavy,” Taehyung huffs. “Give me a hand, Jungkook.”

Jungkook nods, stepping forward to take Jimin’s other arm and hook it around his own neck. The two boys seem to be struggling carrying most of Jimin’s body weight, though they’re carrying mostly dead weight as Jimin continues to drift in and out of consciousness.

Before they can leave you offer to help though you don’t know what you can really do so you suspect your inebriated mind just wanted to go with them for the hell of it. Luna’s place isn’t far. It’s a ten minute walk from Lambda’s, but in that ten minutes, none of you talk about anything of real importance except for chuckle and laugh about things that happened at the party.

Eventually you make it to Luna’s, who answers the door angrily after you knock on it as if you’ve disrupted her slumber and frowns when she sees Jimin’s current state. At least she has the decency to thank the three of you. When she shuts the door behind her, the three of you turn to look at one another, almost clueless.

“So, what now?” Taehyung asks. “Head back to the party?”

The thought of making the ten minute walk back to the party in your drunken mind seems like an eternity. That, mixed with the way your feet scream in agony from the heels you’re wearing, you begin to pout and shake your head.

“I can’t walk anymore,” You whine, words drunkenly slurring together. “I’d be fine just sitting here.”

Jungkook’s nose scrunches as he looks at you once over. “How drunk are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, how about we just go back to our place?” Taehyung asks. His arm slides around your waist then, tugging you close to his side. If one thing is for certain, the boy tends to get more handsy the more drunk he is, and you never seem to mind. “I’ve got a fresh bowl we can hit and we can drink there and just chill?”

You and Jungkook consider Taehyung’s offer fleetingly and, to you, it seems much more appealing.

“Sign me up,” You say. “The Lambdas were a bit too over the top for my liking. There’s only so much I can handle.”

Jungkook shrugs and nods in agreement. “Then I guess I’m going with you guys.”

The five minute walk to Beta is short and soon you’re inside the eerily empty house and climbing the steps to Taehyung’s room but not before the three of you raid their cabinets for any type of liquor. Eventually, you’re all lounging in Taehyung’s room, some type of music playing in the background as the three of you pass around a bottle of whisky and the bong Taehyung had promised he had, giggling at each other.

By 2 a.m., you are smashed and faded but blissfully so.

Taehyung and Jungkook are not too far off. It’s Taehyung who comes up with the idea to play strip poker, though with a twist. His version of the game includes: taking a shot anytime one of you loses a round along with either stripping an article of clothing or being allowed to pass it and get dared to do something else, though each person only has three passes.

Jungkook loses the first round, shedding only his jacket. Taehyung and you lose the second round; you decide to strip out of your own cardigan while Taehyung flicks off his hat. Jungkook and Taehyung lose the third round and both kick off their shoes. The game progresses slowly, with the three of you coming up with “clever” loopholes out of the rules, like stripping one sock one round and then another sock the next and all of you are too drunk to really protest. Eventually, the game winds up with Taehyung and Jungkook both in their pants and you still wearing both your shirt and jeans. Both the boys have used one of their passes and are still losing which, you will admit, boosts your confidence ever so slightly especially when you have such a nice view in front of you.

Both boys are toned, with certified gym rat Jungkook’s abs a bit more chiseled, and you know that sober you would cringe at how hard you seem to be drooling over them. Jungkook must notice because he shoots you a wink that has you squirming in your seat.

“Like what you see?” he asks.

“N-No,” You say shortly. “Shut up and go. It’s your turn.”

You end up losing that round, unfortunately, but you have no qualms with stripping out of your jeans and kicking them to the side. The next round, you lose again, except you decide to use one of your passes which has both boys groaning in defeat.

“Remember,” You coo, “play nice boys.”

The two exchange a look and you wait patiently, taking your shot of whisky in the meantime as Taehyung chides you on encouragingly with a cheeky, “Pour up, baby girl.”

You down the shot in one gulp, wincing as it burns down your throat, then chase it quickly with the drink you had stolen from their kitchen. A drowsy smirk tugs at Taehyung’s lips as he takes another rip from the bong, breathing out a cloud of smoke as he hums insouciantly, “I’ve got your dare.”

There’s a split moment where he makes eye contact with you and pushes his hair out of his eyes.

“Come here and kiss me.”

Had you been sober, you might have rolled your eyes at his simple yet assertive dare but, instead, you can’t help but snicker as you lean across to him from your seat on the floor and pull him down for a not so graceful kiss. His whisky coated tongue instantly collides with yours in an open mouthed frenzy that’s full of teeth clashing and wet sounds but it’s hot, too hot, even as Taehyung pulls you closer to him with his hand grasping at your chin. You instinctively react, teeth nipping at his lower lip as you suck hard, momentarily forgetting about Jungkook sitting in the room.

A moan emits from you as your fingers thread through his hair. Jungkook is left to watch but his eyes stay locked on your figure and the way you cave so easily to Taehyung, the way your mouth moves against his. He can’t seem to tear his eyes away from your position on your hands and knees, or the way you arch your back in an attempt to get closer to Taehyung, and he certainly can’t seem to look away from the tempting curve of your ass jutting in his direction. All Jungkook suddenly wants is for you to be kissing him the same way you’re kissing Taehyung.

You’re only interrupted when he finds the nerve to clear his throat after a few moments. “Nah, it’s alright, I’ll just sit here. Do you guys want me to leave?”

He’s being sarcastic, of course, and when you and Taehyung part to look at the boy, he’s scowling. The two of you chuckle lightly but don’t respond, though you remember the game you’re still playing. Taehyung kisses you one last time before you settle back onto the floor, a sheepish giggle bubbling in your chest. Taehyung loses the next round and he decides to strip down into his underwear though he hasn’t lost yet (the goal is nudity and neither of your drunk selves have enough dignity left to give up before then).

The round after that, you lose again. You decide, once more, to use another one of your passes and the two boys pause, thinking of a dare for you as you take a shot (which, you have realized, only get harder to take as time passes).

“I have one,” Taehyung says at long last.

“Bro,” Jungkook groans, “if you just wanna fuck, let me know. I’ll leave. I don’t think I can sit here and watch you dare her to suck your face again.”

Taehyung laughs and shakes his head. “Easy there. I was just gonna suggest that you━” he points at you before nodding toward Jungkook, “give him a lap dance.”

“A what?” Jungkook’s jaw drops open, his eyes widening. “M-Me?”

You glance up at Taehyung, quirking an eyebrow. “Him?”

Taehyung erupts into another fit of laughter but he’s the only one who finds the situation hilarious because you and Jungkook continue to sit there, dumbfounded. When Taehyung calms himself down, he wipes his eyes and shakes his head.

“Are you seriously telling me you haven’t been noticing?” he asks.

“Noticing what?”

“The way Jungkook keeps eye-fucking you,” Taehyung says simply.

Jungkook gaps. “The fuck? I haven’t.”

“Jungkook, you’re not exactly sly,” Taehyung says. “He’s been doing it the whole night, babe. It’s not the first time he’s done it, too. I just figured we could do him a little favour.”

Your turn to look up at Jungkook and purse your lips. He’s seated in Taehyung’s desk chair and has a frown painted on his face. It’s not like it comes as a surprise to you because he’s constantly trying to flirt with you even when you’re sober but his sudden flustered appearance puzzles you slightly. You’ll admit the idea is ludicrous, but Jungkook is undeniably hot, and grinding on his dick sounds more than wonderful to you in your current state. Either way, you stand to your feet.

“I’ll do it,” You say. “Why not?”

“Wh-What?” Jungkook yelps. “You will?”

“Yeah,” You flash him a pearly smirk. “What? Is confident Jungkookie finally shy?”

At the mention of the taunting nickname, he straightens up in his seat and scowls. “No. I’m just surprised you gave in so easily. You must really like me, huh?”

“Keep dreaming, Jeon,” You retort.

The music is still playing in the background as you slink towards Jungkook’s seated figure. Meanwhile, Taehyung is watching with an amused look on his face and sits back, clearly enjoying the view as he tells you that you have three minutes. As you approach Jungkook, he leans back in his seat and watches you with dark eyes. Jungkook’s eyes sweep over your figure, from the way you muse your hands through your messy hair, your tight tank top with one strap falling down your shoulder, your lacy and scantily clad underwear, and your smooth legs. He gulps at the sight and shifts in his seat.

As soon as you’re standing in front of him, you whirl around so that your back is to him and jutt your butt out just enough to catch his attention as you sway your hips to the music. Your hands ghost up your sides just faintly enough so that chills run down your spine and you lock eyes with Taehyung for a split second to see him grinning. You sit back on Jungkook’s lap and his breath hitches in his throat suddenly. He hates to admit how easily you’re driving him crazy and as soon as you are but he takes the time to enjoy the dance anyway, eyes staying trained on your ass as you grind against him in agonizingly slow circles and right against his dick nestled against his thigh. He can’t help it when a moan emits from him.

“Fucking hell,” he grunts, raking his hands through his hair. You snicker at his reaction, craning your neck to look behind at him.

“Enjoying yourself, Kookie?”

“N-No,” he rasps. This is a lie, of course. “Turn around.”

His command only humours you but you don’t disobey. You get up for a second to spin around and face him before climbing back onto his lap, swinging one leg over his. Before you drop your hips completely on him, you’re rocking them back and forth against the thin air, your hands snaking around his neck. His hands suddenly find purchase on your waist and he yanks you down onto him with a sudden neediness that surprises you, though you don’t complain. You continue to grind against his lap and you can’t help your greedy self when your hands reach out to run up and down his toned chest. He shivers at your slightest touch, his jaw clenched, but he keeps his gaze focused on your eyes, as if challenging you for more. Behind you, Taehyung is taking another hit from the bong and laughs lightly at Jungkook’s reactions.

“Let him touch you,” Taehyung says.

You expect Jungkook to listen to Taehyung and reach out to grab onto you but he hesitates, his hands remaining at your hips. So, instead, you take his hands in yours and begin pulling them up, sliding them along your midriff and up to your chest. You don’t even flinch as you let him cup your boobs over your clothes and you watch him slyly as he gulps.

“Is this the first time you’ve actually touched a girl, Jungkook?” You quip. “You’re gawking at my boobs like it is. Not gonna wet yourself, hm?”

“Fuck off,” he growls, though there’s no malice in his voice.

Instead, he focuses his attention on your breasts and the weight of them in his palm. They’re soft and supple and he squeezes them firmly, jiggles the flesh as he fondles at you blatantly. He hates to admit it but he feels as if he’s going to combust at any second, repressing the sudden urge to tear off your shirt and burrow his head in your chest, your boobs in his mouth. He doesn’t know whether the soft moan that slips from your parted pink lips is intentional to mess with him or because you had been getting carried away yourself. Either way, Jungkook’s certain it’s the hottest thing he’s heard in a while, the hottest thing he’s seen in a while, and he hates how his sudden erection forms, how embarrassing it must be. When you feel his hardened length start to poke at your thigh, you look down at him past your lashes and smirk.

“Are you hard already, Kookie?” You giggle.

Taehyung roars with laughter abruptly and the outburst only makes Jungkook redden.

“I━I━” he stammers helplessly.

You shake your head at him and then purposely press your hips a little more firmly against his, gripping at his shoulders now. You’re challenging him now too, and he doesn’t know what you have in mind but you’re wickedly set on making him cum in his pants before Taehyung stops you.

“Time’s up,” he says.

Jungkook almost groans out loud in frustration when you pull away and step off of his lap. He’s embarrassingly hard now but his drunk self doesn’t try very hard to hide it. Taehyung’s stare is settled on Jungkook as you walk back to your seat but, before you can even sit down, Taehyung is beckoning you over.

“Come here, babe,” he hums. You look at him curiously but move in his direction. “What do you say we help Jungkook with his problem, huh?”

“Help? How?” You question.

“Come sit,” Taehyung gestures to his thigh.

Jungkook watches with silent seething jealousy as you take a seat on Taehyung’s thigh and then he’s kissing you, pressing his lips against your neck. You react almost instantly, your head craning to allow him more access and your eyes clamp shut, your mouth hanging open in delight.

“Tae━” You mewl, tugging at his hair, as if to prompt him wordlessly about Jungkook’s presence. But when does it become too much? Every action seems to keep building and building, that you know where the night surely must be heading; that you crave it.

Taehyung’s tongue swirls at your neck, his lips sucking on the sensitive skin, before he peeks one eye open to look at Jungkook.

“Look at him,” Taehyung hums against you. “Look at how jealous he is right now. Look at how bad he wants to be me right now.”

You take a moment to register his words, your head spinning. You struggle to find Jungkook as Taehyung continues to ravish your neck. Jungkook’s stare is hard, his jaw clenched; his hands are balled into tight fists that let you see the bulging veins in his arms. Is he jealous? Angry?

Taehyung suddenly bites down onto your neck and you gasp in surprise, leaning against his chest. His nimble fingers find the hem of your shirt which he lifts and discards on the floor with ease. Next to come off is your bra. You don’t realize your torso is bare until a slight breeze hits your breasts and perks your nipples and Taehyung reaches up to cup the soft tissue in his large hands and Jungkook can’t look away because, fuck, touching you is all he really wants to do.

“Do you see him staring now?” Taehyung asks. “Do you see how desperate he is for you? Look at how bad he wants to touch you right now, baby girl. Will you let him?”

You’re still staring at Jungkook as Taehyung speaks and note how fast Jungkook’s demeanour has changed. He looks helpless, his erection more prominent in his straining jeans which he shamelessly palms at to feel some sort of relief.

“Better yet,” Taehyung hums, averting your attention back to him. He’s sliding one of his hands down your front and in between your legs, pushing your thighs apart. His digits come in contact with your clothed pussy and the sudden touch, light and feathery, makes you jump and gasp. You hadn’t been aware of how wet you had been until he touched you just then and the coil in your stomach only tightens with each passing second. “Will you let him play with you?”

It takes you a second to respond, though that isn’t because you’re struggling to decide. The thought entices you far more than you ever believed it could. Taehyung is suddenly rubbing his fingers against your clothed clit in so very slow circles that it suddenly has you tripping over your own thoughts. You’re biting hard onto your lower lip as you force yourself to nod hastily.

“Do you want him to?” Taehyung asks.

“Fuck, yes,” You whine. “Mmm, Tae━”

Taehyung shifts you in his lap so that your back is pressed against his chest, leaning all your weight against him. It’s hard to focus as one of his hands fondles one of your breasts while his other presses figure eights onto your clit. You’re on full display for Jungkook now, though his eyes fall to the wet spot that forms on your pretty little underwear as your arousal leaks from you.

“How badly do you want him to?” Taehyung asks.

“So badly,” You whimper.

This catches Jungkook’s attention and he leans forward in his seat. Taehyung smirks against you and then he’s moving, withdrawing his hand from between your thighs to hook around the waistband of your underwear. He gives it a quick tug and you fumble to lift your hips so he can pull the useless fabric down your legs. Once it pools at your feet, you kick it off to the side and then Taehyung’s hand returns between your thighs.

“Spread your legs,” he says.

You do as you’re told, pushing your thighs apart but then instinctively squeezing them shut when Taehyung continues to press his fingers against your clit. The sudden stimulation is too much for you and your face begins to heat up so Taehyung uses the chance to push your legs apart for you. He hitches one of your thighs over his own as if to anchor you in place and it works.

“Can you stay like that for me, baby?” Taehyung drawls. “Look at Jungkook for me.”

You nod, your throat dry as you lift your gaze to lock eyes once more with Jungkook. You find the boy gawking at your sex and you moan suddenly. His head snaps up to stare at you with a sudden blazing determination and lust in his eyes before they fall once more to your pussy, admiring the way it pulsates each time Taehyung swipes at your clit or tweaks at your nipples. But the best part? The best part is just how wet you are, your clear juices coating Taehyung’s fingers, spilling onto yours and Taehyung’s thighs with the passing seconds, and suddenly Jungkook is hungry for you. But what he doesn’t know is how you suddenly imagine Jungkook in Taehyung’s place, sat beneath you poised daintily on his lap, his fingers pressing against you.

You twist on top of Taehyung, your own hand reaching up to grasp at your other breast, pinching at the nipple tightly. A delighted moan fumbles from your lips. “Jungkook━ Fuck━”

“It’s nice, yeah?” Taehyung asks aloud to the other boy. “She’s pretty, hm?”

Jungkook nods eagerly and then groans. “She’s dripping. Fuck, it’s so hot.”

Your face burns at his words but you don’t have enough wits to think of a snarky retort like usual.

Taehyung chuckles. “Why don’t you come here then and touch her? Taste her? Is that okay, baby?”

When you realize Taehyung is asking you, you nod eagerly. “Shit, please━ Jungkook, wanna feel you━”

At your request, Jungkook practically tumbles out of his seat. As soon as he’s standing on his feet, the realization seems to hit him and he takes his time, walking to you slowly. His gaze sweeps over your exposed body and he licks his lips, his eyes suddenly darkening. Taehyung doesn’t stop touching you or marking your neck his even as Jungkook walks closer and it hits you in that moment what exactly you’re doing and who you’re with ━ and you fucking love it. Jungkook kneels down in front of you and Taehyung nods in encouragement.

“She’s impatient and feisty,” Taehyung informs. “But that makes her fun to tease.”

“I know how to pleasure a girl,” Jungkook quips.

“But you don’t know how to pleasure Y/N,” Taehyung replies. “You’re too cocky, Jungkookie, and she doesn’t like that. You need to take your time with her and you don’t do that often with girls, do you?”

Jungkook doesn’t respond but, judging by his face, you assume Taehyung is right.

“What do you want me to do?” Jungkook asks. He’s staring at your face now and only your face. His intense stare makes you squirm on Taehyung’s lap, and makes you suck your lower lip between your teeth.

“Touch me,” You rasp. “Touch me, please, Jungkook.”

God, how he loves hearing you moan his name. But the anticipation is killing you. You’ve felt Taehyung’s fingers plenty of time; you’ve never felt Jungkook’s, and the abrupt need seems to grow more intense with each passing second.

“You heard her, Jungkookie,” Taehyung says. He draws his hand away from your heat and kisses your neck softly. “Go on. Touch her. Be gentle, go slow.”

Jungkook is shaking with excitement ━ or maybe it’s just the weed and alcohol in his bloodstream ━ but he eyes you carefully, gnawing down on his lower lip. He reaches out at a tedious pace and hesitates, his fingers hovering over your core. Taehyung is watching with eager eyes whilst planting open mouthed kisses along your shoulders, neck, and jawline. Jungkook finally presses his fingers against your pussy and your reaction is immediate. You toss your head back against Taehyung’s shoulder and jutt your hips forward.

“Nnngh, fuck, Kook━” You whimper. “M-More━ Wanna feel more━”

Jungkook takes that as a good sign and follows after Taehyung, rubbing circles into your clit slowly. He feels just how wet you are, his fingers coating with your cum as they move with ease past your folds, and it’s enough to let the wave of glee wash over him again.

“See? Look how much she loves it already,” Taehyung says. “Keep going.”

Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice. As he rubs his fingers over your clit, his other hand comes up in a greedy fashion. He can’t stop himself from slipping a finger past your folds and it takes all you can not to moan out loud but you give up on the prospect of remaining quiet when it feels so good to have both boys on you.

“Let him know how you feel, baby,” Taehyung purs. “How he’s making you feel.”

You struggle to find your voice momentarily, too caught up with the lust and desire but then a cry of delight falls from your lips. “Fuck, ah, Jungkook! That feels s-so good━”

Jungkook’s head snaps up to look at you in pure disbelief.

“Holy shit, that’s so fucking hot,” he huffs. “I never thought you’d moan my name and now you’re so wet and tight and for me━”

“And me,” Taehyung admonishes offhandedly.

Jungkook doesn’t reply but that’s mostly because he’s suddenly fixated on curling his finger inside of you and watching your every reaction. Your hips jut forward and you cry out, panting at the blissful feeling but it isn’t enough. You need more, and you need more now. As if Taehyung can read your mind, he chimes in again, disrupting yours and Jungkook’s reverie.

“Why don’t you have a taste of her?” he asks. “You won’t regret it.”

Jungkook’s eyes light up and he watches as you nod eagerly, desperate pleas coming from your mouth. Jungkook lowers himself down between your thighs and you wait with bated breath before he’s licking a clean stripe against your folds with his flattened tongue. The sudden slippery warmth has your body writhing in pleasure.

“Jungkook━” You cry out. “Oh my god━”

Jungkook grins. Then he’s licking at you again, tasting your sweet succulence, and groans into your hot core.

“Shit,” Jungkook huffs. “You taste amazing.”

He nibbles down slightly on your clit without warning and tugs. You instantly jerk into his mouth, a strangled moan ripping from your throat that sounds something like a scold of his name and a desperate plea for more. “Jungkook!”

Taehyung snickers against your neck and you can feel Jungkook’s lips curl into a taunting smirk between your thighs. Jungkook’s finger still curls deep within you as his tongue returns to lapping at your clit and you can feel his nose brushing against you the deeper he burrows into you. Meanwhile, Taehyung is continuing to ravish your neck, his hands tweaking at your nipples. The onslaught of senses is so much for you that you nearly scream when Jungkook’s tongue dips into your heat so suddenly to accompany his finger. He laps at you hungrily and you gasp, your breath stuttering as your hands come down to tug hard in his raven locks, your hips bucking forward and into his mouth. It feels fantastic, too incredible for you to put into words, as you feel the wetness of his tongue lap at your walls and suddenly you’re aware of just how susceptible you are to both of the boys near you.

“Fuck, don’t stop, Jungkook,” You moan.

“Now who’s the needy one?” Jungkook coos against your cunt. “Gonna cum on my tongue?”

“P-Please━ Want it so badly, Kook━”

He smacks his lips against you, taking as much as he can of you into his mouth and sucking hard until all you hear are the lewd wet sounds of his tongue and finger working miracles against you. You’re clutching his hair so tight, pushing him closer into your heat but he doesn’t relent. One of his hands comes up to hold onto your waist, to push you firmly back onto Taehyung’s lap and closer into Jungkook’s mouth. You can feel Taehyung’s budding erection poking against your thigh and it’s enough to make you flustered once more.

In an attempt to help Taehyung, you find yourself grinding not only into Jungkook’s mouth but onto Taehyung’s lap, earning a growl into your neck. Taehyung’s free hand comes up to your chin which he grabs roughly. He forces you to look at him and then he’s smashing his lips onto yours in a heated fashion for an entirely ungraceful kiss. It’s needy and hot, completely open mouthed as your tongues mingle in the air and as Taehyung sucks on your lower lip. Yet you tear your gaze from Taehyung to look down at Jungkook as he buries himself further into your pussy, his nose nuzzling against your clit. You’re dripping by now and you can see your own juices smear onto his lips, dribble down to his chin, and it’s the hottest thing you could ever imagine seeing. He doesn’t seem to care as it spills down his neck and suddenly the mere sight has you squirming again. You part from Taehyung’s mouth with a wet pop that rings in your ears and moan.

“Fuck━ nghn, I━I━ think I’m close,” You whimper.

“Fuuck, yes,” Jungkook growls against you.

“Let it go, baby,” Taehyung hums, nibbling at your ear. “Cum for him, for us.”

Jungkook’s pace quickens, pumping his finger faster in you and sucking at your clit until you have no more strength to hold off. Your hands fumble in his hair, trying desperately to pull him closer, and you hate how badly you want your sweet release already. It doesn’t help when Taehyung twists your body ever so slightly so that he can lean down to your breasts and catch one of your nipples between his teeth. His tongue swishes back and forth against the perked bud and you whimper again, the coil in your stomach tightening and loosening.

You’re so close now and Jungkook can hear it, can feel it, can taste it. You don’t have much longer after that before your orgasm is hitting you hard.

“I’m gonna━” You reach out to grasp at Jungkook’s hair, tugging at the roots. “Fuck, Jungkook━”

You cry out suddenly, the coil in your stomach springing apart. Jungkook moans into your pussy as you cum, pulsating around his tongue and finger and dripping into his mouth. You’re reduced to nothing but a whimpering, writhing mess against Taehyung as you buck back and forth into Jungkook’s mouth to ride out your high. Taehyung pulls apart from you to rub circles into your hips and the seemingly gentle move somehow soothes the intense wave of pleasure into something much sweeter. Fire burns at your core and flicks outward until your whole body is warm and numb and then you collapse against Taehyung’s chest, panting hard. Jungkook drinks up every last bit of you and you begin to cringe at the oversensitivity before you gain some of your wits again. You push his head away hastily and this time he relents.

“Did all your little happy wet dreams finally come true, Jeon?” You snicker languidly.

The boy sits back on his knees and looks up at you, locking gazes with yours. You can finally see his face, his tousled black hair, his swollen red lips, and chin, all of which are covered in your perfect sheen. He licks at his lips and wipes at his chin and neck where his tongue can’t reach and he does all of this without breaking eye contact with you. A small smirk forms on his face and suddenly you’re filled with an intense need for payback.

“Yeah, you act confident now but you seemed to enjoy it when you were riding my face,” Jungkook says. You roll your eyes, about to reply before he adds, “So, you’re welcome.”

“You’re impossible,” You huff, pushing yourself off of Taehyung’s lap.

“Where do you think you’re going, baby?” Taehyung mewls behind you. “We still need you.”

“Oh, I know,” You quip. You reach down to grab onto Jungkook’s chin, forcing him to look up at you. “But it’s my turn, don’t you think, Tae?”

Taehyung chuckles and nods in agreement. Jungkook, however, hardly looks bothered, though he seems a little taken aback by your sudden assertiveness when you begin pulling him up to his feet before pushing him back onto the bed. Taehyung scoots over so that the three of you can fit comfortably on his bed and then you’re moving, crawling over to Jungkook on your hands and knees.

“Are you trying to intimidate me?” Jungkook asks. “Because this is sexier than it is scary.”

You’re hovering over his crotch when he speaks, your greedy hands reaching forward to brush against his hard dick straining in his jeans. He nearly jolts in his seat at the sudden touch and you and Taehyung giggle again.

“Mmm, baby, teach him a lesson,” Taehyung hums. “Suck him off nice and slow but don’t let him cum.”

“Not unless he begs for it,” You say wickedly.

Taehyung stifles a chuckle. “I told you she’s feisty, Jungkookie.”

The younger boy is eyeing you carefully as you busy yourself by undoing the belt buckle on his jeans. He acts unimpressed, unfazed, as you unbutton his jeans and began sliding them off his legs, but you can see the needy and impatient glint in his eyes. Your eyes fall immediately to the ever present straining bulge in his boxers and you gulp in response, licking your lips. You can’t help yourself when you reach out to brush your fingers faintly along his length. He jolts in his seat and grits his teeth, shooting you a hard glare.

“Are you seriously going to tease me?” Jungkook grumbles. “We can skip all of that, y’know━”

“It’s payback, Jeon,” You hum, running your fingers down his dick and then back up again. “Where’s the fun in it if I skip all of the teasing?”

“You know,” Taehyung murmurs from beside you. He’s reclining back, watching you with intense eyes and is completely shameless about his prominent erection contained by his boxers. “I’m surprised the idiot hasn’t referred to his dick yet as Jungcock.”

You giggle, an all too innocent and sweet sound for the way you’re palming at Jungkook’s dick. Jungkook, who is apparently having a rather difficult time keeping up with his surroundings while your fingers continue to work against him, scoffs. His eyebrows knit together as he throws a beady glare at the older boy.

“You’re ruining the mood,” he grunts.

Taehyung clicks his tongue against his teeth, a smirk tugging at his luscious lips. “Of course. I digress.”

You turn your attention back to Jungkook who’s staring down at your hand with parted lips and a crease in his brows. Without warning, you grasp him through his boxers and he groans suddenly, bucking forward. The desperation of his situation only seems to increase in severity when you peel back the elastic band of his boxers and slide them off his legs, finally freeing his dick which springs out from it’s confines. He’s much bigger than you expected, his tip angry and red, leaking with pearly beads that dribble down his length and the bulging veins that line it.

“You’re staring again,” Jungkook hums when he notices you pause, your eyes wide. “Sure you don’t like what you see?”

You shake yourself from your daze and frown. “Shut up.”

The boy starts to chuckle at your flustered expression but yelps when you clasp your fingers around the base of his cock. A beautiful moan falls from his lips and excites you even more. You start pumping him slowly, guiding your hands up and down his length in careful and measured motions, wiping your thumb across his tip each time you reach it. Jungkook shudders in your touch, his teeth coming down to gnaw hard on his lower lip. His eyes are glued to your hands working against him, his face scrunching up in pure euphoria.

“Mmm, fuck,” he grunts, his head lolling back. “Stop teasing me and go faster.”

You don’t listen. If anything, you slow your pace and it has him so frustrated that he lets an involuntary whimper escape him. He bucks into your clenched hand, practically begging for more but remains quiet, safe for his heavy panting.

“You heard her, Kook,” Taehyung says. “Beg for her.”

“There’s no way I’m begging,” Jungkook hisses through gritted teeth. “Never. I never have and never will.”

“Bullshit,” You scoff. You fondle at his balls with your other hand and he moans again. Your hand comes to a complete halt all of a sudden, interrupting Jungkook as he is about to speak. Before he can protest, you lean down and lick at his tip, swirling your tongue around him once to taste his saltiness. His hips rut forward into you but you pull back almost immediately and find Jungkook gaping. You meet his desperate eyes for a steady gaze. “Beg. Just once, Jungkookie.”

Jungkook’s stare wavers as you run your fingers along his tip, squeezing slightly. He tries to compose himself, to remain calm, but when you are relentless, he caves very easily. He only gives in when you kiss the base of his cock. And those eyes ━ fuck, the way your eyes turn so wide and already look so fucked out. How could he resist you?

“Fuck, fuck, okay,” he gasps. “I need more, baby, please. Ah, please━ You feel so fucking good.”

His needy pleas satisfy you and your lips curl into a devious grin. You lower yourself on him suddenly, licking a clean stripe up his length and he moans loudly. You enclose your mouth around his tip and suck, earning a small growl from him as he pushes his hips forward for more. In the next second, you sink your mouth down his length, taking as much of him as you can.

“Fuck!” he moans abruptly. “Ahh, shit, that feels amazing, baby.”

You hollow out your cheeks as you pull your head up and then back down, starting at an even pace that has him moaning and writhing beneath you. He feels much bigger in your mouth but you don’t mind even when he bucks himself into you unexpectedly and hits the back of your throat. The action makes you gag around him and, in return, he curses at the way it feels.

“K-Keep doing that,” he mumbles. “Please, fuck, just like that.”

His fingers thread in your hair and he pulls you down greedily on him but you don’t refuse.

“Can you do it, baby girl?” Taehyung questions. His hand finds his way on your back where he rubs gentle circles into your skin. “Can you take all of him in your mouth?”

You nod carefully around Jungkook’s hardened length.

“Good girl,” Taehyung smirks. “Go slow.”

You follow his orders, sinking gradually onto Jungkook until you feel the tip of him hitting the back of your throat. You gag once more but, instead of pulling back, you shut your eyes and take a few deep breaths in through your nose. In, out, in, out, and then you swallow. Jungkook’s reaction is sudden and intense. He bucks into your mouth unwillingly and moans even louder, his fingers clutching at your roots.

“That’s it, baby,” Taehyung hums and his sudden presence is comforting.

“A-Again,” Jungkook stammers. “Again, please━ holy shit, you feel amazing.”

You swallow again and then a third and each time you can feel yourself sinking lower onto him. Tears prickle at your eyes as your nose is suddenly pressed against his lower abdomen but his reactions are well worth it and so you continue.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” Taehyung says, planting a chaste kiss against your shoulder. “You deserve some more attention, hm?”

His fingers slowly rub circles down your back, his lips following your arch and has you shivering beneath him, before stopping at the dip just above your ass. He’s kneeling behind you now, his fingers massaging into your thighs. You sigh against Jungkook when you feel Taehyung’s fingers continue their trek to your ass, rubbing you carefully. You, in response, push your hips back, waiting for more.

“You’re still so wet, baby,” Taehyung says. “I bet you’d come with one touch of my finger.”

With Jungkook buried hilt deep inside your mouth, you’re hardly prepared for when Taehyung slips his fingers underneath to your folds. It’s embarrassing to admit how right he is. You react instantly, moaning around Jungkook and jutting your hips back for more. The simple vibration has Jungkook groaning, his hips bucking forward. You hadn’t even been aware of just how wet you are before Taehyung pointed it out but then you can feel it, pulsing out of you and dripping down the top of your inner thighs.

“But you need more, don’t you?” Taehyung asks. “How about my cock? Will you let me fuck you, baby girl?”

You nod eagerly, the simple question exciting you even more. Taehyung chuckles and leans down to press a kiss to the arch of your back.

“But you’ll have to be good and keep pleasuring Jungkook too, okay?” Taehyung says.

You hum in response and swallow around Jungkook as if to tell both boys that you have no plans on stopping. Jungkook twitches inside you and scrunches his eyes shut.

“Fuck, Taehyung,” he grumbles. “Hurry up. Any time you touch her, she swallows. It feels so good.”

Taehyung snickers but he takes his time. He runs his fingers up and down your folds until you’re moaning needily against Jungkook. You look over your shoulder to see Taehyung’s fingers wrapped around his own hardened and pulsating erection, pumping himself a few times as he stares at you carefully. He positions himself behind you and takes the chance to run his tip and length along your folds. You whimper suddenly, hoping your desperate noises will spur him on.

“You want more, baby?” Taehyung asks.

You hum again, your voice muffled and hoarse.

“Okay,” he sighs. “Only because you’ve been so good.”

You have no time to brace yourself from the sudden impact of feelings. He doesn’t do much except for push himself into you, past your folds. It’s only just the tip and yet your heart jolts in your chest, the coil in your stomach tightens. It feels so good to finally have something of larger girth in you that you gap, simultaneously sinking down further onto Jungkook. The two boys grunt above you, both of them panting hard.

“You feel so good, baby,” Taehyung mumbles. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

He leans down to press a kiss against your shoulder, his other hand coming up to rest on the dip of your lower back to guide you. He slowly, so very slowly, pushes himself into you, inch by inch, so you can feel the way he stretches you open, feel the way he buries into you. Your leaking arousal only proves to be of an advantage, letting him easily push into you without any trouble. Your fingers grip the bed sheets beneath you in an ironclad grip and you squeak when he’s finally buried hilt deep within you. You nearly gag around Jungkook again, who’s still panting and writhing above you, but the way Taehyung’s tongue marks patterns into your shoulder comforts you. You whine against Jungkook, pushing your hips back for more and the simplicity of your action has Taehyung’s breath hitching in his throat.

“So warm,” he grunts and then sighs against your back. “You always feel so amazing.”

He still hasn’t moved and you’re beginning to grow impatient, distraught over the feeling of him rock hard inside you but unmoving. You debate pulling apart from Jungkook to yell at Taehyung but you assume he can understand your haste judging by the way your body writhes beneath him, your fingers clench into fists. He pulls out in one languid movement, his breath stuttering, until only his tip is left before he pushes himself back in, equally as slow. He sets at a steady, easy pace that, at the very least, lets you grasp onto some sensible thoughts and pushes you to keep pleasing Jungkook. Jungkook can’t take it anymore; he starts rutting his hips up into your mouth with gritted teeth. It’s a hot, erotic mess of mingled moans and groans but you never want it to stop ━ in fact, you want more.

“You like that, baby?” Taehyung grunts.

You nod hurriedly, humming in response.

“Ah, fuck━” Taehyung groans. “Want it harder?”

You nod once more, this time eagerly. When Taehyung pulls back one more time, he slams himself back into you without any warning and you jerk forward, sinking down onto Jungkook. The younger boy moans, his head lolling back as his fingers twisting in your hair. You don’t expect Taehyung to do the same thing again, pull out slowly and then push himself back in with more force, but he does, and he repeats the action again and again until he abandons it for a whole new pace. Soon, he’s thrusting into you hard and fast but always making sure his hips reconnect with yours before pulling out so you can feel him practically in your throat.

“Like being fucked like this?” Taehyung asks. “You like being used like a little slut?”

His thrusts are relentless suddenly, jerking your body and back and forth until he’s fucking you in a way that has you sucking off Jungkook just right so that you hardly have to put in any effort. Although his hard thrusts feel amazing, each time you’re pushed forward, you sink further down onto Jungkook unwillingly and that, paired with the way Jungkook frantically fucks himself into your mouth, you nearly gag each time as he hits the back of your throat, drool pooling at your lips and dribbling down your chin. Tears prick at your eyes from the feeling and it’s too pleasing to quit, to pull away from Jungkook just yet. Jungkook’s staring down at you when he notices your scrunched up face. You’re surprised when his hand finds your cheek, his thumb brushing reassuringly into your cheekbone.

“You’re doing so━ ah, fuck━ so well, baby,” he rasps.

You can taste the saltiness of precum on the tip of your tongue and you wonder how close he is. You have no qualms in finishing him off then and there but soon the pleasure you’re receiving from Taehyung becomes too much. Soon, he’s hitting you at an angle that shakes something in you. You pull apart from Jungkook with a loud pop, saliva and cum coating his length and your lips, and a gasp wretches from your throat.

“Fuck!” You cry hoarsely. “Ah, T-Taehyung!”

You’re too weak to push yourself up and end up burying your head in Jungkook’s lower abdomen, feeling the heat consume you. You’re near numb, senseless, as you let Taehyung ravish your body, fuck you hard into the mattress and Jungkook. It’s a frantic build up, an intense wave of emotions that you seem to pass through, and you can hardly bring yourself to react. All you can hear is the sound of moaning and skin against skin and the heat seems to make its way up to your head, making you warm and fuzzy. Jungkook gently pulls at your face, lifting you up and bringing you to him so that he can smash his lips onto yours and all you can taste is bitter liquor, you, and him, but that doesn’t stop him from sucking on your lower lip even when you pull apart to moan and gasp.

“T-Tae,” You sob. “Fuck, Tae, I━I’m c━close━”

“Cum for me, baby girl,” he murmurs. “Let me hear you.”

You shake your head frantically at the sensitive sting between your legs still raw from your orgasm from Jungkook, shutting your eyes. Taehyung’s hands find their way onto your hips and he pulls you down his length until you’re balls deep and pauses. He lifts your hips and you can feel him twitch inside you that it even makes your own thighs tremble and shake. You’re sure you’ll collapse on him if he doesn’t hold onto you and he must realize this too because he grips your hips tight to continue thrusting into you. Soon you’re tumbling towards your high. Taehyung’s pumps are frantic, growing sloppy with each passing second, as he pushes you to yours and his high. The coil snaps in your stomach again and you’re in a moment of freefall where you’re stunned by the wave of pleasure. Then, Taehyung is bringing you back down to reality with his hard thrusts, the way he moans, and the lewd wet sounds of him pumping himself into you.

“Ah, T-Tae━” You whimper. “So good, fuck━”

His name falls from your lips in a repeated mantra. You crumble beneath him, collapsing entirely against Jungkook, who’s brushing your hair away from your face. You’re shaking with each touch, your walls pulsing around Taehyung and clenching hard. He moans and curses behind you and you know he must be close to his high because he, too, is fumbling for it. His thrusts are even more hasty and soon he’s reaching his climax. His moans increase in volume and his thrusts become sloppier until he finally pulls his cock from your walls and nearly collapses against your back.

With his hand clenched tightly around his shaft, he jerks himself off until he’s releasing onto your back in white hot spurts. He’s panting hard, sweat coating his forehead, but he takes the time to press chaste kisses along your back and shoulders as the two of you attempt to calm your shrill hearts. It’s silent in the room for a moment despite your panting breaths. Taehyung takes a moment to grab his discarded shirt and wipe at the mess he’s made before he collapses next to you at long last with a huff of air. You moan wearily, rolling off of Jungkook to lay on your back between the two.

“God, you’re amazing,” Taehyung sighs.

You giggle up at the boy and lean towards him to kiss. His fingers rake in your hair and a few silent seconds pass before you’re nearly back to an even breathing pace. That’s when you notice Jungkook, his hand gripped tightly around his still painfully hard dick.

“Jungkook,” You pur his name, catching his attention. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” he quips.

“It’s your turn,” Taehyung points out. Jungkook glances at Taehyung and then down at you, quirking an eyebrow.

“W-Well, I just thought━” Jungkook stammers. “I just thought you’ve had enough. It’s okay, you don’t have to.”

“I call bullshit again,” You scoff.

“Baby girl,” Taehyung hums, “do you want Jungkookie to fuck you?”

You nod eagerly but Jungkook doesn’t seem too convinced, or maybe he’s hesitant. Taehyung’s eyeing him closely, curiously, before he gaps. He bursts out into a fit of chuckles, earning both yours and Jungkook’s attention.

“Shit, of course,” Taehyung grins. “He’s probably gonna let go the minute he’s in you. You’re close, hm?”

“Only because she’s already been down on me,” Jungkook grumbles.

“You know that’s not it,” Taehyung replies. “You’ve been wanting this forever.”

Jungkook’s eyes suddenly darken as he glares at the older boy. “Taehyung.”

“Wait, what?” You ask, turning to gawk at both.

“Jungkook has a little crush on you,” Taehyung smirks. “This is all he’s ever wanted. I bet he’ll bust a nut the second he fucks you and he’s embarrassed.”

You gasp as you turn to face Jungkook who looks entirely disgruntled but you’re more shocked about the fact that Jungkook likes you than anything else. Jungkook, notoriously arrogant fuckboy, who’s seemingly made it his mission to give you a headache every waking moment by trying to flirt with you. And maybe you’ve always sort of known it; maybe you’ve always sort of felt the same.

“That’s not true!” Jungkook protests. “I━I━ Well, Tae hardly finishes when he’s with another girl. He’s jacked off to the thought of you before, too━”

Taehyung starts. “Fuck off━”

You’re stuck between the bickering boys, staring up at both of them with a dumbfounded expression. Before either boy can strangle the other, you’re speaking up and interrupting them.

“I don’t mind,” You say. “I’m just… surprised.”

Both boys are silent now, aggravated probably, and you giggle. You reach up to rake your fingers in Taehyung’s hair and then look up at Jungkook, using your other hand to grab onto his chin once more and force him to face you.

“Come here, you idiot,” You drawl. “I want you to fuck me. Wanna feel your dick.”

Jungkook seems taken aback but then his eyes are sweeping down your body and he writhes in his seat. Before he can protest, you’re pulling him down onto you to kiss. It’s passionate and rough but hot altogether as your lips smack against one anothers. Jungkook’s desperate situation seems to hit him again, especially when you snake one of your hands down to his length and wrap your fingers around him to jerk him off. He pulls apart from you, gulping.

“Fuck, okay, okay,” he gasps. “I need to be in you right now, please.”

You and Taehyung smirk as Jungkook shifts around on the bed to kneel between your legs. He pauses, glancing up at you once more and noting the way you bite your lower lip seductively, before finally pushing himself in. He goes slow, but not as gradual as Taehyung. You can still feel him stretching you open and he groans. He seems to slide the rest of the way in with a lewd squelch sound because of just how wet you are and then he’s buried balls deep, fitting so snug within you.

“Holy shit,” he whines. “You weren’t kidding, Tae. She feels amazing.”

Taehyung hums in agreement. “What does she feel like? Let her know, Kookie.”

Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut momentarily to focus. “Wet,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “Warm, tight ━ fuck, so tight.”

He marvels at the feeling, wonders how you can still clench so tightly around him despite being stretched wide by Taehyung. He bows his head to rest in the crook of your neck and moans. His words are enough to spur on your own reaction and you whimper against him.

“Oh, fuck, Jungkook━”

The sensitivity you feel in your core met with his hard cock makes you cringe but simultaneously pleases you and you’re bucking your hips for more. He groans at the feeling, his hands flying down to grip your hips. He’s big, stretching you wide, but you feel anything but pain except for the sharp burning sensation as the intensity of your past orgasms start to hit you. He rolls his hips back and then thrusts into you so hard that you yelp and jerk back on the bed.

“Go easy on her, Jungkook,” Taehyung admonishes. “She’s not a doll.”

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook sighs, nipping at your throat. “You just feel so good, Y/N.”

“I’m okay,” You reassure. You feel his length twitch within you and your head lolls back. “Fuck, I feel more than okay.”

“Can we try something?” Taehyung asks.

He receives two weak nods in response. Jungkook pauses, shifts the two of you until he’s on his back and you’re straddling his hips, his dick never once slipping from your core. The older boy grabs onto you and yanks you onto his hips.

“What do you say we give Y/N the pleasure she deserves?” he asks. He pushes his length past your folds and is rewarded by the sound of your moans as your jaw unhinges. “Think you can handle both of us, baby?”

“Fuck, yes,” You gasp.

Jungkook seems just as enticed by this. He’s careful as he pushes his cock into you and your reaction is explosive. With Taehyung already stretching you wide, you wonder how Jungkook will fit but it’s snug and perfect. You can feel him stretching you further, inch by glorious inch, and he hasn’t even begun moving when your walls clench around the two of them. Taehyung hisses in your ear and Jungkook pauses at once, sputtering for air, giving you time to adjust. When Jungkook pushes himself further into your cunt, rubbing against Taehyung’s cock and your own walls, you can’t help the delicious moan that falls from your lips.

“Oh my god,” You whimper. “Fuck, fuck, that feels so fucking good━”

It’s such a sticky, hot mess, and all you can hear is the sound of guttural moans and grunts. You jut your hips forward, a silent plea for something more. Jungkook’s hand grasps at your ass and then he’s pulling out. He growls suddenly, thrusting his hips forward and the sensation suddenly overwhelms you. As he picks up a pace that leaves you breathless, Taehyung slowly thrusts into you and the pleasure becomes too much. Your hands reach out to grab at anything, fingers digging eagerly into Jungkook’s chest, Taehyung’s sides.

“Oh, fuck,” Jungkook grunts. His face is scrunched in pleasure and concentration, his mouth hanging open.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” Taehyung growls. “You like being stretched wide like this, huh? Such a good girl too. Fuck━”

He’s sweating, but so are you, and all you can hear is the sound of yours and the boys’ moans, the vulgar wet slap with each thrust Jungkook makes. It’s only amplified with each small leisurely thrust Taehyung makes into your throbbing pussy, his dick rubbing against Jungkook’s with each thrust. Your walls tighten around Jungkook and Taehyung as the seconds pass and you know you’re already close to your third orgasm of the night but you try to hold off despite the room spinning. All you can do is lay there for Jungkook to ravish and control, for Taehyung to enjoy, too caught up in the moment. Your breasts bounce wildly with each thrust Jungkook makes and his gaze seems fixated on your chest before flickering down to watch himself disappear inside you each time. Taehyung is raking his fingers through your hair, soothing you through your next climax and it’s close.

“Fuck,” Jungkook hisses, panting hard. “I’m not gonna last.”

You push your hips forward as if to probe him on and he growls.

“No, shit, let me enjoy this, baby,” he whines. “Ah, so tight━”

He’s grumbling to himself, cursing under his breath and you smirk tiredly. Jungkook leans his head down to kiss at your chest, catching one of your nipples in his warm mouth. His tongue swishes back and forth over the perked bud and your chest arches into his face. Your fingers are clutching tight at his hair even as he obeys and adds more force with each thrust, slowly picking up his pace. His mouth widens and he sinks lower on your breast, humming against you in pleasure. Taehyung’s own pace quickens. It’s not as relentless as Jungkook’s but he makes sure to help aid you to your high, ramming his hips into yours until both their cocks slip into a seamless pattern. All you can focus on is the crude wetness, the way their dicks threaten to slip from your hold at how sloppy and wrecked your cunt becomes.

“Ah, yes,” You hiss. “Fuck, yes, yes━ So good, oh my god━ Right there━”

Your voice is cut off by a loud moan. You feel the familiar wave hit you once more and this time you hardly have any strength to fight it off or welcome it.

“I can’t━” You wail suddenly. “Fuck, I can’t━ I’m gonna cum━”

You’re fumbling for words to warn him that you’re close before you’re cuming around them. Their names wrench from your throat in no discernible pattern, accompanied by vulgar curses. Your body writhes between the two boys, your chest arching into his mouth, your legs tightening around Jungkook’s waist.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” Jungkook coos. “Come on, wanna feel you cream all over us━”

Stars form behind your eyelids and explode into galaxies as they swirl down your spine and to the tip of your toes, making them and your fingers curl in delight. Your vision grows blurry and tears stream down your face at the build up of pressure finally being released for the third time and you can’t help it when your mantra turns into delighted sobs and whimpers. You’re clenched so tight that Jungkook feels as if he hardly has any space to move and the confinement of his length has him gasping. He pulls apart from your breast to watch your scrunched up face with hooded eyes. He moans again, and desperately leans down to suck at your jawline.

You’re too spent to keep up with him or Taehyung as he helps you further to your high but you know Jungkook is close when his thrusts become messy, quick spurts. You gasp each time he thrusts up into you until he’s finally cuming.

“Shit,” he hisses. “Gonna cum━ Gonna let us fill you up, baby?”

“Please, please, wanna feel it,” You mewl.

He slams his hips into yours and stills for a moment as he releases into you in one hot wave and emits a beautiful moan of your name. You’re panting hard even as he rides out both your highs with a few more incredibly sloppy pumps before he finally collapses against your chest. The two of you are struggling to catch your breaths, your heart beating in your ears.

The room is silent, blissful, and it takes you a few moments of basking in it before you’ve regained your breath. Your fingers rake in Jungkook’s soft and sweaty hair and you hum in content. His mouth presses a few open mouthed and hot kisses along your neck and jawline before connecting with your own mouth. This time, the kiss is chaste and you smile against his lips before he’s pulling out of you. You moan at the missing feeling of his warmth and the way his own cum leaks from your core, down Taehyung’s cock, and your own thighs.

But Taehyung isn’t done. He thrusts up into you to ride out his own high, pushing Jungkook’s release back into you. His pace is steady, deep, and all you can both do is moan and gasp for air.

“Fuck, Tae,” You rasp tiredly. “Cum for me, baby.”

The boy gasps for air, nearly fumbling behind you to reach his high. “Gonna make this pussy mine. Fuuck━”

When Taehyung finally reaches his own high, it’s in another sticky stream of hot cum, each fluid mingling with the other in a pitiful mess. He pulls his slackened length from you and you whimper at sudden the loss, core and legs aching. As you slide onto the bed between the two tired and breathless boys, Jungkook wipes at your glistening core with a shirt and you sigh in content.

“Why haven’t we done that before?” You gasp, earning a chuckle from both. Jungkook lets out a boisterous laugh and you flick his arm. “If you say anything dumb, we’re never having a round two.”

“Round two?” he asks, wriggling his brows. “You want this to happen again?”

You nod, though you can already start to feel yourself succumb to sleep as it creeps upon you. “What do you think, Tae?”

“I think,” The older boy hums, “that’s your best idea yet.”

Jungkook seems surprised, excited even, and you smile sleepily. Taehyung throws his arm over your waist and pulls your back to his chest, wrapping you in his arms as he slips off to sleep. 

Before you fall asleep that night, you snake your arm up Jungkook’s chest and let your hand rest against his beating heart which you can still feel beating shrilly even long after your messy night together.

You awake to the familiar sound of your alarm.

It’s loud, annoying, and jolts you awake only to toss you into a haze of muddled confusion and an incredibly terrible hangover. Your head throbs and your body aches. Sunlight splashes in from the closed blinds and illuminates your face, making you squint.

“Turn that off, Jesus Christ, Y/N,” Taehyung snaps, his voice muffled and aggravated.

Your mind is too groggy to realize he’s sleeping next to you, too groggy to suddenly remember what happened the night before. Until, of course, you feel your limbs tangled with not only Taehyung’s but another’s. When you crane your neck to look, you see Jeon Jungkook splayed out beside you sleeping peacefully and you gasp.

The events of the night before suddenly flood your mind and everything is hazy up until your wild time with the two boys. Your muddled sober mind alerts your heart and suddenly it’s beating hard and fast in your chest as you register the situation. You’re used to waking up with a naked Taehyung by your side but never were you used to waking up next to a naked Taehyung and Jungkook.

Jungkook stirs in his sleep then and you curse silently, diving for your phone on the floor before realizing your drastic mistake. Your core is still tender and your legs feel so delicate, nearly caving in beneath you as you wobble precariously. Somehow, you manage to grab your phone and tap the snooze button hastily. Taehyung’s still half asleep on his side but Jungkook lays on his back and you’re surprised to see him looking up at you with a quirked eyebrow and a tiny smirk.

“Don’t you dare say anything,” You hiss. “Holy shit, that wasn’t a dream?”

You gnaw on your lower lip and reach down blindly to grab the nearest article of clothing on the floor (one of Taehyung’s shirts) to toss over your bare body. To soothe your aching muscles, you resort to kneeling on the edge of the bed.

“It wasn’t,” Taehyung murmurs.

“Nice to know you think our dicks are dream worthy though,” Jungkook snorts. “So when’s our round two?”

Your promise from the night before dawns on you all too suddenly and, though you feign your usual annoyance for both boys, the potential prospect of another night with the two of them thrills you to no end.  

“I━ I━” You stammer.

“Come back here, baby,” Taehyung muses. “It’s too early to be up right now. You can sleep a bit longer before you pretend you hate the both of us.”

Your eyes flicker down to your phone to check the time: 6 a.m. You can barely walk, let alone function this early in the morning, even without the added stress of your hangover, and sleep seems far too appealing to ignore. Maybe you can stay for a few more hours…

“Fine,” You grumble. You crawl back between them and wiggle around until you’re laying back on the bed. “But you’re making me that cup of coffee when I wake up, Taehyung.”

“Anything else, princess?” Taehyung grins.

“Maybe run me a bath too,” You wince as you settle back against the bed. “Everything hurts.”

“Will do,” Jungkook says. “Gotta do the most to make sure we get that second round. Now, come here━”

The boys snicker and, soon, the three of you have slipped back into a peaceful slumber.

You know that when you wake you’ll profusely deny that the night before and the morning after had ever happened; that you’ll never again find yourself in either Jungkook’s or Taehyung’s bed, much less with the both of them at the same time ━ but you find that you never really listen much to rules anyway.

⟶ All rights reserved to © jungkxook. I do not allow reposting, translating, or any sort of modifying and reuploading of my work.

⟶ Feedback is always appreciated!

[justfangirlthingies]

Love Story (Dad! Draco Malfoy)

This is a songfic based on "Love Story" by Taylor Swift

Dad! Draco is something I absolutely adore, I just couldn't help myself

Word count: 2568 words

Warnings: a bit of angst maybe, but the rest is fluff

The reader is a pureblood, but that's only mentioned once, so I guess if you want to change that up in your head feel free to do so, it's not like I can control your thoughts or anything

Soft draco content!

Also, this is my first time writing anything for Draco, sorry if he's a little OOC, but I guess you'll just have to deal with that. I just found this idea cute. That's it. Carry on with your reading :)

By the way, the war and all that jazz did happen I just, I dunno left it out because that would've been too much

"Darling!? Are you alright?" Your husband barged into the hospital room. His platinum hair disheveled and tie loosened. He was panting heavily, presumably from running all the way here from his workplace. "I came as fast as I could, but the minister wouldn't let me leave early, since I'd be at home for the next weeks anyways." A soft smile graced your lips as you spoke up "Draco it's fine don't worry. I'm - I mean we are fine"

His eyes flooded with guilt as a look of sorrow took over his face "I-I missed it? I'm so sorry I wasn't there..." Draco stammered quietly as he slowly started to approach you. You gave a small nod as you reached your arms out for him. The blonde didn't hesitate to engulf your smaller form into his arms as soon as he had reached the hospital bed you were sprawled out on. "It's not your fault love" You whispered soothingly while you allowed your fingers to run through his already messy hair. Soft lips brushed your temple as you basked in Draco's warmth. The male moved away from you a bit to catch a glimpse of your face. "Is it a girl or a-" but before he could finish, the door opened once again and in came a doctor with a small bundle wrapped in a lime green blanket in his arms. "Ah you must be Mr. Malfoy then."

Draco just stared at the blankets and gave a small nod, trying to make out the baby underneath. He watched as the doc handed you the small human. A smile etched onto your lips as you took the baby from the man. Your husband finally caught sight of your child. Well of the blond fuzz on the baby's head to be exact. You noticed his stare and giggled "You want to hold him Draco?" You questioned and without even giving him time to think, handed him your newborn. "He?" he smiled tenderly when he finally saw the baby-boy's full face. His icy blue eyes found a pair of identically coloured irises staring back up at him.

"Have you decided on a name yet?" The doctor asked after a few minutes. This resulted in Draco looking up from his son and throwing a questioning gaze at you. "Go ahead." You reassured him.

It's not like he had to make up a name on the spot. After all the two of you talked a lot about baby names and had decided to stay with the Black family tradition for the naming, seeing as upholding this tradition was of utter importance to him. It was a relieve to see you hadn't changed your mind about the name you had decided on beforehand.

"Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy" spoke the love of your life. Huge grins on both of your faces as Draco pulled you closer towards him and Scorpius so he could hold the whole extent of his new family in his arms.

With that the doctor left the three of you to have some privacy and to get to know your son.

A content sigh left your lips and you decided to speak up "Look how far we've come Dray. We survived my father and a war, moved in together, got married and now we're starting a new chapter. A family"

"Ah yes of course." he replied before a smirk appeared on his face "Though I have to say, your father was the greatest challenge we've had to overcome." A chuckle escaped his lips as he started reminiscing about the past "Do you remember how we met?"

You hummed in response "We were both young when I first saw you"

I close my eyes and the flashback starts

Your eyelids fluttered close as you swayed in the memory of the first time you laid your eyes on him.

▪︎

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▪︎

I'm standin' there on a balcony in summer air. See the lights, see the party, the ball gowns

It was a peaceful evening. A little boring for a nine-year-old maybe, but still nice. Your family had hosted a ball and invited all the other well known and mostly wealthy pureblood families. Nothing unusual.

One thing however, was a little extraordinary. Notoriously you were the only child at such gatherings, but on this fateful night you had seen another child. A pale boy around your age, you guessed. His gelled back hair was a white-blond colour, it framed his face along with his sharp, pointed features. That's when your (e/c) orbs met his piercing grey ones.

See you make your way through the crowd

And say, "Hello"

This encounter made your evening much more eventful and enjoyable and it also gained you a friend for life.

Little did I know that you were Romeo

Had you known who he was back then, maybe you would've kept your distance. But the thing is, you didn't know.

▪︎

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▪︎

From then on your friendship only continued to blossom as years passed by

Sometimes Draco would sneak out of his house just to wake you up and spend time with you in the middle of the night. Many times you woke to a tapping sound coming from your window

you were throwin' pebbles

In the beginning you were surprised to see him, standing outside underneath your window when you opened it. Occasionally you'd sneak out and go for walks.

His nightly visits became more frequent, often leading to you sneaking him into your home, up the stairs and into your room.

On some instances you spent hours on end just talking. Other times, you spent those same hours engulfed in one another's embrace, lips meeting each other halfway, limbs entangled and bodies pressed together.

Unfortunately your father had seen the light from underneath your door and heard voices talk when he woke that night. He barged into your room and as he saw the Malfoy boy sitting criss cross on your carpeted floor, the two of you deeply engulfed in conversation, he yanked the blonde up and dragged him out of your room and down the stairs

And my daddy said, "Stay away from Juliet (Y/n)"

You had followed after them as tears cascaded down your cheeks. And I was cryin' on the staircase Beggin' you, "Please don't go, " and I said, "Romeo Draco, take me somewhere we can be alone. I'll be waiting, all there's left to do is run. You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess It's a love story, baby, just say, "Yes"" His heart broke then and there as he watched your devastated form call out to him in vain. Before Draco had a chance to answer your request he was shoved out the front door by your father.

"(Y/n) (M/n) (L/n)! Just what do you think you're doing sneaking around with the Malfoy boy?!" Your father hollered, his voice laced with anger. The man you called your father could be very intimidating at times, especially when he was fuming and glared at someone, just like he was doing with you now. The adult's words dripping from his voice like venom "You won't see him again." "Bu-" You were about to cut him off and protest, but he just continued and talked over your failed attempt to interrupt him "I don't want you talking to the son of a death eater! He's probably already one himself."

Your face contorted into a scowl as you seethed at him through your teeth, tears still dropping from your shimmering (e/c) irises "You can't tell me what to do!" It slipped past your lips and your face nearly went to a look of surprise at your own words. Your eyes widened slightly, but now that you had already made the mistake of talking back to him with that attitude, what did you have to lose? You tried to keep your demeanor the way it was when you talked back to the man you called your father.

"What was that young lady?!" He scolded "That's no way to talk to your father (Y/n)!" You snarled at him before you got up from your place on the staircase and turned to retrieve to your room, making sure to slam the door on your way. Waking your mother and siblings in the process. You only knew that because you heard voices and different footsteps.

As soon as the door was properly shut you threw yourself onto the bed and hugged one of your pillows close to you as you sobbed and screamed in frustration, pain, anger, sadness, agony or however you would like to describe it. The fact that the pillow you were currently clutching to your body as you shook with tears, still smelled of the boy who had captured your heart and was with you not even 10 minutes ago just had you break down even more. That is how you went to sleep that dreadful night. Crying yourself to sleep while you held onto the pillow for dear life.

▪︎

▪︎

▪︎

It took you some time, but you found a way to meet up again. In secret.

Just you and him.

Merlin knows what would happen if someone found out that the two of you were sneaking around again.

So I sneak out to the garden to see you

We keep quiet, 'cause we're dead if they knew

▪︎

▪︎

▪︎

So close your eyes

"We should run away together Draco. Just imagine all the things we could do then." you suggested quietly, your head resting on his chest.

Escape this town for a little while, oh oh

'Cause you were Romeo, I was a scarlet letter

▪︎

▪︎

▪︎

Of course it was only a matter of time until your father found out about your little ordeal again.

And my daddy said, "Stay away from Juliet(Y/n)"

And once again you found yourself in an oddly familiar occurrence as you were crying after the man you loved. It pained both of you to see each other hurt. "But you were everything to me" Draco called out to you and he made sure your father had heard him too, for the young Mr. Malfoy was indeed completely and utterly in love with you and he wasn't afraid to show it. As soon as your pleas reached his ears again he felt his heart sink in his chest. I was beggin' you, "Please don't go, " and I said, "Romeo Draco, take me somewhere we can be alone. I'll be waiting, all there's left to do is run. You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess. It's a love story, baby, just say, "Yes""

▪︎

▪︎

▪︎

Maybe your father was right, maybe you did deserve someone better, Draco thought. At least that's what the silver-eyed boy told himself. It was his only way of staying sane and grounded. His way to cope was to hope you'll meet someone better than him, someone more deserving of your love, even though that thought hurt him, it was a comfort to think that, maybe you'd move on, but his heart still held onto the last bits of hope he had left in him. And that's when it happened. An owl landed on his windowsill. Not just any owl. Your owl and the letter it carried had your family's seal on it.

He felt his heartbeat increase rapidly, his hands clammy as he opened the window. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to smile, to cry, scream or throw up then and there because that letter could contain anything. A wedding invite maybe? He hoped not. After contemplating for a bit he decided on opening your letter. As he did so, he became more nervous with each passing second, still clinging tightly onto the last bit of hope he had left.

The letter read: "Romeo Draco, save me, they're tryna tell me how to feel. This love is difficult, but it's real. Don't be afraid, we'll make it out of this mess. It's a love story, baby, just say, "Yes""

Oh but this time he would say "Yes"

Oh, oh

For this time, he had a plan and he was determined to execute his plan

▪︎

▪︎

▪︎

I got tired of waiting. Wonderin' if you were ever comin' around. My faith in you was fading

You were on the breach of losing all your hope, but you decided you'd try one last time. So you went to the place you'd told him you'd wait for him. If he didn't show up today then that's it, you would give up. However, what you didn't expect was to actually meet him face to face. When I met you on the outskirts of town,

When your eyes met his again for the first time in so long you didn't know how to react. Was it appropriate to hug him? You weren't sure so you just stood there frozen on the spot when you asked him once again. Desperately clutching to your last bit of hope that you didn't even know you had left.

and I said

"Romeo Draco, save me, I've been feeling so alone. I keep waiting for you, but you never come. Is this in my head? I don't know what to think"

Tears streamed down your face as you poured your heart out to him and when you felt his warmth surround you, you didn't hesitate to lap onto him with all your might. After a few minutes he tore himself away from you and when his grey eyes met pools of (e/c), he saw the terror in your eyes. Did you think he didn't want to be with you? "I'm sorry this took so long love" he spoke, leaving you with a confused expression on your face "but your father is a tough man" he chuckled. This only earned him another puzzled look from you as you arched an eyebrow in utter bewilderment. You were not sure what he was about to do and you certainly didn't expect him to do the thing he was about to do.

He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring and said, "Marry me, Juliet (Y/n). You'll never have to be alone. I love you and that's all I really know. I talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress. It's a love story, baby, just say "Yes""

There you stood before him. Eyes wide. Eyes that you couldn't believe. All you could do was just stand and stare.

"Umm...(Y/n)?" Draco looked up at you, his eyes holding only love and adoration and maybe a hint of fear because you were not answering. He gently reached upwards and caressed one of your soft hands. The touch bringing you back to reality and out of your trance. "An answer would be nice" he chuckled nervously. You quickly pulled him up by his hand and kissed him "Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!" you grinned and beamed up at him. You leaned in again and brushed your lips lightly against his as you spoke against the soft skin "Yes Draco. Yes"

Oh, oh, oh Oh, oh, oh, oh

▪︎

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▪︎

All of a sudden you were ripped from your little bubble by soft cries.

Just like that, in the spur of a moment, you were back to reality. Slowly your eyelids fluttered open, only to see your husband cradling your son in his arms to cease his crying "Shh, shhh, shh. It's alright Scorpius, your daddy is here" he cooed softly "we need to be quiet buddy because mommy is sleeping and mommy deserves her sleep after such an exhausting day." Draco smiled triumphantly when little Scorpius stopped crying "And you need all your sleep as well, your day was just as exhausting" he whispered softly.

'Cause we were both young when I first saw you

[pagingdoctorbedlam]

Ready for zombies, Zoro, and some hurt/comfort? Then take a swig of this potion for @quirkyseastone ‘s “Brew a Love Potion” event! (But please read the warnings first!)

Characters: Zoro x Reader; appearance by Bartholomew Kuma

Genre: Zombie/Apocalypse, Hurt/Comfort (a bit light on the comfort though, woops)

TW/CW: Violence, guns and swords, blood, light gore, mentions of cannibalism, undead bodies

Inspiration: The concept for zombies in this fic is inspired by the novel Breathers by S.G. Browne (at least, what I remember from having read it over 10 years ago...)

Word Count: ~3.1k words

...

"Hold still, we're almost..." You apply the last bit of blush before appraising your handiwork. Not bad, if you said so yourself. At a glance, Zoro doesn't even look dead. "There. Want a mirror to see?"

"I trust you not to doll me up too bad." Roronoa Zoro yawns, even though the legendary zombie hunter no longer needs to sleep, having recently been turned into a zombie himself. Which, contrary to popular belief, is not in and of itself a death sentence. Most zombies act as they did in life, even if their bodies no longer recover the way a living human's does. The danger comes from the zombies who try to stop this decay by feasting on human brains...and sometimes more dangerous are the humans who've decided that every zombie is a ticking time bomb regardless of said zombie's intentions. 

At least Zoro had never been that way, but now he's got to hide from the hunters who once considered him a legend. Sure, it wouldn't be hard for him to fight off hunters, even if you've had to stitch each limb back on at least twice (and you're still not sure where one of his eyes ended up). But you'd rather your newfound partner in protecting innocent zombies not cause a scene simply by walking through the market.

"Remember, don't rub your face. This makeup cost me a fortune. And try to fake breathing this time, okay?"

"Yeah yeah, I got it." He manages to take a breath that's believable but isn't so deep that it rattles the loose bones and organs in his slowly decaying chest.

Both of you get to your feet and finish the rest of your preparations for the outside world. Your clothing hides as much skin as possible, even with the warm temperatures outside. You spray Zoro down with cheap cologne so he smells less like roadkill and more like a teenager trying to cover up a bad case of B.O. And you slip on filtration masks in a vain attempt to avoid the ever-present smoke and dust beyond your walls.

No one's sure if the zombies came about because of the bombs, or if the bombs were secretly launched because the powers-that-be learned about the first nascent zombies and failed with their pre-emptive strike. But now much of the world is a wasteland, and bargaining for resources is bad enough without half the population lobbing accusations of cannibalism at the other half. You can't hold off this trip any longer, because you've ended up looking after a number of innocent zombies, and they need medical supplies before they fall apart any further.

You shoo Zoro away from the driver's spot on your motorbike. "Nuh uh buddy, we aren't getting lost today." You've heard a new band of hunters is coming to town, and the last thing you want is to run into them before you have a chance to secure your supplies.

"I don't get lost! They just keep changing where the market is." Zoro still reluctantly waits for you to take your place at the front before he sits behind you and firmly snakes his arms around your waist. You pretend you can feel his pulse when he holds you, even though you know the heart in his chest has long stopped beating.

Markets are supposed to be neutral ground. Everyone needs resources to survive after all, and one of the few things that bombs and zombie outbreaks couldn't kill is commerce. Stalls line the aisles of what was once a grocery store, faded advertisements promoting foods that no one's seen in years, and someone has fixed the speaker system to play the same old pop hits in a vain attempt at normalcy.

You hold tight to Zoro's hand, both to keep him from getting lost and so he stays close in case of danger. He obliges, and even holds bags for you as you pull him around. You might've called this romantic in the times before, back when your purchases would've been far more frivolous than bandages and shelf-stable rations, but you're unsure how close you and Zoro would've been without being thrown together by circumstance.

You pause by one stall, eyes wide. Zoro doesn't notice and keeps walking until he notices that you won't budge. He raises an eyebrow when he finally joins you. "What, some kinda' plastic plant?"

"Not plastic. It's real." You forgive him the mistake though, as the plant has sturdy, waxy leaves that almost look sculpted. It feels like so long since you've seen anything green (aside from Zoro's hair), much less an actual plant. But you note the name scribbled in tape on its battered plastic pot. It's nothing useful, not medicinal or edible in the slightest. Just a begonia that hasn't even bloomed yet.

The shopkeeper asks, "Gonna gawk, or you gonna' buy?"

You know you can't afford a plant, what with how rare they are. You might be able to bargain and beg if it were something more useful, but...

"We'll buy." Zoro slams something down on the table. "This'll be enough?"

You catch the glint of gold peeking from between his fingers. Jewelry isn't useful anymore, but human greed has a hard time giving up old habits. The shopkeeper smiles wide and practically shoves the begonia at you with one hand while snatching up Zoro's earring with the other. You thank him and depart the stall without another word, clutching the flower close to your chest.

"What was that about?" You hiss at Zoro.

"Looked like you wanted it," he says with a shrug. You squint up at his remaining earrings, only to realize that in his haste to remove the one he traded away, he tore the hole in his ear a little in the process. Probably didn't even notice that he'd done so, the stubborn fool...

Well, what's done is done. "Thank you. I'll make sure to take excellent care of it."

"Don't mention it." Which you know is Zoro-speak for "you're welcome". So you smile back at him without saying anything more on the subject, and continue the rest of your trek through the market.

You make the mistake of thinking this is a surprisingly nice day. But you don't realize that someone has noticed how Zoro isn't bleeding.

When Zoro pulls out one sword and tightens his grip around your midsection, you don't have to ask why. You're being followed.

You absently wonder what gave you away. Never removing your masks? A smudge in Zoro's makeup that revealed the deathly pallor underneath? It doesn't really matter, you think. Whoever is after you will chase you down until they can swing their weapons and play at being heroes, so all you can do is fight on your own terms. You avoid going home and swerve the bike toward the burned-out husk of an abandoned store that not even the most desperate zombies would hide in.

You glance at the tilted rearview mirror on your bike. The figures chasing you are hulking brutes, but nothing compared to their ringleader. He's built like a brick house with legs, and his imposing figure is thrown off by the pristine white hat topped with small bear ears. Instead of a holstered weapon, he has a bible strapped to his side. You've heard of this man. Judging by the look in Zoro's eyes, he does too. One of the most notorious zombie hunters in the country: Bartholomew Kuma.

What is he doing here, of all places?

Zoro says, "Soon as we touch down, hide. It's me they want."

"I can't just leave you. You know who that is back there?"

"Doesn't matter. I already died once. They can't do worse than that to me. But they could still hurt you plenty. 'Specially if you came back before they were done with you." In the rearview mirror, Zoro's eyes are sharp and cold as his blades.

You know how to handle a weapon in self-defense, but you're nowhere near the master that Zoro is. And he has a point. You're still human, you can bleed, you can hurt. And that might chew Zoro up worse than anything Kuma and crew could throw at him. You resign yourself to your fate and think of where in that burnt-out building you might be able to hide, preferably while still keeping an ear out for danger.

You speed on, trying to shake your pursuers, but soon the road runs out. The bones of burnt buildings jut out before you like oversized tombstones. You remember scouting here before, trying to usher out displaced zombies before the remnants of the building could collapse on them. Much of the ruins have fallen since you were last here, but there's still a concrete bunker that was once a stockroom, and it's mostly intact. You can lay low there until the fighting's over. 

You relay this plan to Zoro, and you tell him, "I'll be safe there, don't worry about me. Once the fighting's done, I'll come back down and patch you up. So don't die on me again, alright?"

Zoro nods, even though he surely knows the claim is more for your comfort than anything. He's a zombie, after all, and they don't heal the way humans do unless they devour human brains. He won't bleed, but if he looses a limb, or even his head? There's nothing you can do to fix that. And to be honest, you're not sure if that'll do him in, or if he'd continue living in pieces. You don't want to find out.

You park. And you know you should hit the ground running, but your heart is hammering in your chest. You turn to Zoro as he pulls out his blades.

You quickly put your warm hands on his cold cheeks and pull him in for a kiss. You two never attached words to what's simmered under the surface for so long, but in case of the worst...you couldn't handle him not knowing how  you truly felt. He blinks as you pull away, briefly stunned. You wonder if he'd blush if he could.

You run into the burnt-out husk of a building. The touch of your lips on Zoro's is replaced by a sword between his teeth.

In another lifetime, before people stopped dying right and the world went to hell over it, this building was a clothing store. You shopped here for outfits you haven't seen in years. Once, a friend who worked here snuck you into the back room, and you ate cheap takeout while surrounded by wall-to-ceiling racks of clothing and shoes. If you took time to wipe away the dust, you might still find graffiti left by the workers during their final shifts. You wonder if your friend left one.

You cannot look because you are huddled on a shelf and trying not to make a sound. The shelves are sturdy metal and easy to climb even without the rolling ladder. You're hidden high above the heads of anyone who might come in and pressed against a wall. No one should find you here.

For awhile, you heard sounds from outside. Speaking at first, though you couldn't make out what was being said. Then battle, swords colliding and guns firing. Screams. Then...nothing. You don't know if it's safe to come out. You'll find out soon. There are footsteps approaching.

A voice you do not recognize says your name.

"Roronoa Zoro is dead. Again. I am sorry that it had to happen." Heavy footfalls contrast a voice that is soft, almost even kind. "I understand why you might want to save him. You've built quite a reputation for that, you know. But I'm afraid it ends here. We cannot allow you to keep any more abominations alive. You understand that is what they are, don't you?"

You know he's trying to goad you into revealing yourself. It takes everything in your power to hold still and silent.

Metal crumples nearby with a shrill squeal, as if it could protest its false bones being broken.

"If you were to go on a trip...where would you like to go?"

The question throws you off guard, almost enough for sound to escape your lips.

"We do not have to kill you. All the government wants is to talk. If you cooperate, you'll be transported somewhere safe. Free of zombies, even." More metal crumples, and you wonder how Kuma is doing it. Does he have a weapon, or is he strong enough to break the storage shelves with his bare hands? "All you have to do is come willingly, and when we're done, you can go wherever you'd like, and you'll be kept safe."

But the only place you can think of is home. With Zoro. No matter what might come after you there.

The shelf under you shifts, and your body spasms as if you fell in a dream and awoke with your mind still lurching. You reach for anything to grab onto, but your fingers only touch air. (For the briefest instance, you spy graffiti drawn by a familiar hand upon the wall.)

You do not immediately recognize the feel of the arms, because they are warm and pulsing with life. You stare up at Zoro's face in disbelief. He's missing an eye and his face is smeared with blood, mouth drawn in a thin line.

"You survived," Kuma intones softly. "You ate them." And you wish you could refute him, but even before he spoke, you knew it to be true. Zoro's bloody fingers dig into your clothes to hold you tight. You hear his heartbeat for the first time, and it rarely skips a beat. Kuma says, "Let your friend down, Roronoa. You don't want to do this."

"Think I'm some mindless cannibal? Think again." Zoro sets you down and looks  you dead in the eye. "Told you I wouldn't die. And neither will you. Now, get out of here." Half a second before returning his sword to his mouth, his tongue flickers over his blood-stained lips. "Hurry!"

You do as he asks and flee to the doorway of the building. You know you should run to the motorcycle and drive out of here, but there are two problems with that. One is how you don't want to leave Zoro again. The other is that even if you admit the truth to yourself, that he finally gave in and consumed the brains of his enemies like the zombies he used to put down...you don't want to turn around and see what he did to the corpses of Kuma's followers.

The fight is swift and brutal. You've seen Zoro fight before, but while he's normally a whirlwind with his blades, now he's a demonic torrent. Much as he tries to stick to his traditional fighting forms, they slip into more instinctual slashes when Kuma pushes back, and the only thing that keeps Zoro on top is sheer ferocity. He moves so fast, you swear he's slashing three times faster than a normal man, leaving the afterimages of a three-faced demon. (You've heard rumors of zombies growing entirely new parts when they've eaten too much mortal flesh, but surely those are only rumors, survivors not understanding what they're seeing...)

Kuma is far quicker than his size would suggest. But even he begins to buckle. He blocks one blade with a bible far sturdier than it appears, and then lunges forward in a final desperate attack. Zoro braces to parry an attack, but is taken aback as no blow comes. Something metal and blinking is clasped onto his wrist.

"We will not meet again."

And Kuma is gone. You blink in surprise. You swore you didn't see him leave through the other holes in the building, didn't feel anyone pass you, and yet...

The normally composed swordsman growls as he sheathes his swords and tries to pry the blinking metal bangle (a tracking device, what else could it be?) off his arm. You want to approach him, but are unsure if you should; all you can do is watch as he uselessly paws at the bangle. Until he stops suddenly. You catch a glimpse of fresh crimson.

Zoro freezes as the reality of what he's done, what he's become, finally settles in. He's a statue slowly dripping red, most of which isn't his own. His breath shudders, and that too takes him off-guard. He sways where he stands, almost falling to his knees but somehow staying upright.

Before you can stop yourself, your feet carry you toward him, and you reach out. Your fingers brush against his back. He growls, "Don't. I'm not..."

"It doesn't matter what you are. You're still Zoro." 

Gentle pushes at his shoulders turn him around so he faces you. His face has more color than you've ever seen, blood red and flesh pink and mottled blues and violets of bruises. His closed eyelid twitches as the eye underneath regenerates. How long will it be until all the color's gone, and electrical impulses run short to leave his heart to hang heavy and empty in his chest, and how much longer than that until he gets a taste for life again regardless of the cost?

That doesn't matter right now. The future looms taller and more frightening than Kuma, but right now, you're two scared humans in a broken warehouse. You wrap your arms around Zoro and pull him close.

For the briefest moment, you feel his mouth open, hear the click in his jaw. His teeth brush against your ear. You close your eyes and refuse to think about it.

His chin rests on your shoulder. Mouth closed. Arms wrap around you right and your hearts beat together, lungs scramble for air together, blood and worry (and tears, you think, but you're not sure whose) intermingle and crawl to a slow stop until only a numb and temporary peace remains.

"You'd be forgiven for walking away." His voice is raw and tired with the weight of living again and all that took.

"Maybe. But someone has to keep you from getting lost." You give him one final squeeze before letting him go. "Come on. Let's go home and get you cleaned up."

When morning comes, you'll have to face what the future holds for a brain-eating swordsman and the one who looks out for him despite it all. But tonight, the both of you are miraculously alive and breathing, and there's a green new plant in the window ready to soak up all the sunlight tomorrow can offer.

[kemetic-dreams]

Why did the Romans use the word Caesar for the title of their emperors? According to Pliny, the word ‘Caesar’ derives from the word caesaries meaning ‘a full head of hair’.

This one touches on two different, both eminently Roman things at the same time.

The first part is the origin of the name “Caesar.”

Caesar started off as a “cognomen”, a kind of inheritable nickname. Roman names were originally similar to our own: a first name followed by a clan name. The person we know as “Julius Caesar” was actually Gaius (personal name) Julius (clan name) to his contemporaries. However Rome as Rome grew the stock of clan names was too small: there were fewer than two hundred over all, and many of those were pretty rare or obscure. Thus, you might wander into the Forum and call “where’s Gaius Julius?” and get several people raising their hands.

So, the Romans began augmenting the clan names with additional markers that distinguished different branches of the same clan. These third names (in Latin, cognomens) were effectively inheritable nicknames: they were typically assigned at some point based on a distinguishing personal characteristic of some individual but they came to refer to his descendants as well… at least until one of them was so notable that he and his own descendants acquired a different cognomen. There were no formal rules, which leads to a good deal of confusion for people trying to trace Roman family histories.

In any case, the famous Gaius Julius Caesar descended from other Julii Caesares, but these were a fairly late-emerging branch of the Julian clan — the first recorded person to hold that name was Sextus Julius Caesar, a general in the Punic Wars about 100 years before the famous Caesar was born. Even the Romans were not completely sure what “Caesar” signified: There were four different explanations floating around in antiquity:

from caesus, “cut” — perhaps related to the legendary origin-story of the Caesarian section.

from caesius, “blue-gray” — presumably a Julius with piercing blue eyes.

from caesaries, “flowing” or “luxuriant” hair. Perhaps from a particularly vain Julius known for his locks, or perhaps from a baby born with an unusual amount of hair. It could also be a sarcastic name for a family prone to baldness: it was not unheard of for cognomens to be somewhat insulting.

from a supposed foreign word for an elephant which a Julius had killed on the battlefield in Africa. This one is regarded as especially dubious.

Opinion today is remains divided, though #3 is regarded as the likeliest origin. That one was a bit of pain for the historical Gaius Julius Caesar, who was notoriously touchy about his hair loss as he aged.

This is probably the only lifetime portrait of Caesar — most of the ones in museums are extremely flattering ones done after his death by order of his adoptive son and political heir, emperor Augustus. Those tend to show a younger and more hirsute Caesar; this one shows how much forehead he was sporting by the time of this assassination.

All of which explains where the name Caesar comes from and why it might mean “hairy” even if the most famous owner of the name sported a serious comb-over.

As to why it came to mean emperor: well, that has to do with the fact that Roman self-image was extremely hostile to one-man rule. “King” was a dirty word in Rome, so even when Gaius Julius Caesar (and later his adopted son, the future emperor Augustus, who took the same name) became the sole ruler of the Roman world it was important to pretend that whatever they might be, they were not kings. Nope. No sir, not kings.

Since formal Roman manners were reminiscent of 19th century British ones — you often addressed your peers by surname rather by their given names — being able to address the ruler of the Roman world as “Caesar” preserved a figleaf of Roman equality in what was, in fact, a dictatorship. That habit lasted long enough to lost its original meaning and to morph into a formal title which remained in use in one way or another, for more than a thousand years.

More on that process here:

Steve Theodore · 1y

Why did Caesar come to mean emperor? Why did all Roman emperors call themselves 'Caesar of Rome'?

Actually this is history’s greatest example of what you might call the “euphemism treadmill.” Roman tradition was extremely hostile to the concept of monarchy; the founding myths of the Roman Republic were oriented around the wickedness of kings (particularly the last king, Tarquin the Arrogant). Dis…

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Steve Theodore · 4y

How would commoners address royalty in Ancient Rome?

In general, our ideas about formal address reflect the history of the middle ages. Classical antiquity did not use respect-forms like “your highness” — there was not, in fact, even a Roman equivalent of “sir” or “mister” until quite late. Originally Romans greeted each other by name: “hello, Marcus…

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[voidstilesplease]

For @steodiscord's SteoSpooktober vol. 3 - Prompt: Castle

for a moment, we ruled the world

Stiles found him by the east rampart, overlooking the glowing festival lights and sounds of merriment of the town they had saved together. The night would not be ending until the first break of dawn. Their people waited years for this celebration.

“You slipped away from the feast,” He said as he settled beside his companion, the wind blowing on both their dirt-free faces.

His companion smiled, not taking his eyes away from the scene before him. The scar that ran from below his earlobes to the top of his chest gleamed white under the moonlight. Stiles wanted to reach a hand and touch it, thank him for the night he stood to defend him and got it – the first of many scars.

He had held his head like a hero. He was.

“I am certain that my absence will be less noticeable than yours, your highness.”

Stiles smiled sadly, lowering his gaze to his hands. He softly replied, “I wish you would still call me Stiles.”

His companion turned to him then, the same picture of longing Stiles sees in himself in the other's eyes despite the upward stretch of his mouth. “I still cannot believe we’d done it,” He said in lieu of acknowledging the request. Stiles fought to quash his disappointment. “A thief and a princeling against a powerful magician who controlled a dragon. Did you ever believe we stood a chance?”

“It had seemed impossible and daunting in the beginning, yes,” Stiles confessed. “I didn’t know if I could trust you.”

The echo of laughter from the ballroom and town streets reached Stiles’ ears, and despite the traces of an impending heartbreak, his chest swelled with pride. There were countless times in the course of two autumns when Stiles thought he was never going to step foot inside the Beacon castle or stand before its glory again. That he would die in the wilderness far away from home, in a vain attempt to incarcerate his family’s murderer, his people’s tormenter, with a criminal who betrayed his own people for gold as his sole companion. Hearing the exultations upon his return, alive and victorious, had brought Stiles to tears.

His companion shrugged, “I wouldn’t have trusted a notorious outlaw with my life, too.”

Stiles shook his head, “You’re not an outlaw anymore, Theo. You saved this town as much as I did.”

Theo gave him a rueful smile, “Only because you held a sword against my throat and promised to grant me pardon and gold if I pointed you to the right location.”

Stiles huffed in annoyance at Theo’s self-deprecation. He had more swagger when he was shackled to horses and tree branches at the start of their expedition. “So all the times you put yourself in harm’s way to protect me was for the gold?” He couldn’t stop the bitter tone of his voice.

Theo’s smile dropped, as he leaned over the parapet, hair swaying from the breeze. It was a moment before he exhaled and responded, “You know it wasn’t.”

Stiles sighed and mirrored his position, eyes once again landing on the people dancing and drinking in the streets. He wished he could be as exuberant; wished he wasn’t on the verge of losing someone dear to him again. Stiles had left the castle two autumns ago, grief-stricken and desperate to spill the blood of the one who spilled his parents’ blood, deaf from the pleas and reasons of the people around him, and left the throne to Lydia, his best friend and betrothed, because it was the only way to heal his heart. He didn’t expect to be coming home and trying to soothe it from another loss.

He sounded so small when he asked, “Are we never going to talk about us?”

“I love you.”

Stiles whipped his head, eyes wide in surprise. He had not expected him to say it at all. Theo was never one for vulnerability. “What?”

Theo snorted in amusement, although it came out half-hearted. “Oh, did you not know?" His eyes reflected the same yearning again. "You robbed this thief completely of his senses.”

Stiles swallowed, his heart lurching to his throat. He straightened and took a tentative step forward. “I apologize, but that is one offense I will never be sorry about.”

Theo shook his head, “I do not regret any of it. Sure, I came along for the promise of wealth, but dying would have made that worthless, and we came close more times than I could keep up with. You’d given me chances to escape when you could barely stand from your injury. Any criminal worth his salt would have fled without looking back.”

“You didn’t.”

“My peers would call me mad, but I couldn’t.” Theo chuckled humorlessly. “I had a purpose in the years I spent half trying not to die and the half trying not to fall in love like a common fool than all the rest of my life before you.”

Stiles took another step and reached for one of Theo’s hands in between his. “So stay,” he begged earnestly. “Be a knight in my court. We’ve slain a dragon together, outwitted a magician. We are already a force to be reckoned with. We can be anything.”

Theo looked at their joined hands, both calloused and scarred. Slowly, he withdrew. “Anything but together.”

Stiles’ arms fell to the sides, fists balled, struggling but failing not to tremble. “Theo,” he pleaded again.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me that you do not love Lydia,” Theo said evenly. “Then, perhaps, I may consider.”

Stiles detested that he couldn’t. Perhaps for all that he was celebrated for his intelligence, he was rather imbecilic. He was asking a man to stay for him when he knew he could never abandon Lydia for him; when no one would think twice to condemn them if word got out of what else they had done in their time together, dragon-slayers or not. When he did not want to hurt Lydia with a betrayal like that, but wouldn't be able to stay away from Theo and hurt him every day that he had a wife. How was it even possible to care for two people at the same time? How could his heart be big enough to house them both?

The wind picked up, making them both shiver. All around, they could hear the festivity. Between them, things were falling apart.

It was Theo who broke the silence with one of his smirks that Stiles evidently learned was placed as his front - a defense against the real turmoil inside him. “I have made my peace with it," He reassured, lifting a shoulder in a show of nonchalance, but his heartbreak simply could not be hidden especially in the crack of his voice. "I will, however, bring with me the battles we fought together; remember the blood we washed from each other's faces. All the fervent kisses we shared and the one night you allowed me to be closest to you. That you love another doesn’t invalidate any of what we had.”

It was another to be hurt and enraged than to be hurt and helpless. But both left a hollow space in his chest. Stiles didn’t know how he could still be breathing.

He whispered, “May those memories break our fall.”

Theo stared for a moment, smiling, before abandoning his resolve and pulling Stiles into his arms with a bruising force – the first they shared since they came home. The one Theo probably longed to give him but was too afraid to. He drew a shaky breath by Stiles’ ear. “I had the time of my life fighting dragons with you, Stiles.”

Stiles' eyes fluttered close as he burrowed his face into Theo’s neck, breathing in his scent for the last time. He didn’t know hearing his name from Theo’s mouth for the final time could effortlessly summon the tears he had been holding back. Stiles clung to him just as tight. He replied, “I had the time of my life with you, love.”

Around them, the festivity continued.

~•~

[lupinsx]

Hopeless Romantics

masterlist

Request: Hello love! I loved petty rivals! Would you consider writing a second part?

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader

Summary: After a near-death Quidditch incident, Draco becomes the target of some juvenile teasing, leaving the formerly unconscious Y/N terribly confused. (Sequel to Petty Rivals)

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Brief usage of swear words.

part one

a/n — I'm so happy y'all enjoyed Petty Rivals enough to request a part two. I hope this gives the storyline enough justice. Make sure to read part one first! (link provided above)

tags: @bi-andready-tocry

——————————

Numb. That was all you felt as your eyes slowly crept open, adjusting to the harsh light.

You found yourself sitting on the uncomfortable hospital wing bed. Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, you attempted to bring to mind the string of events leading to your arrival here. The last thing you remembered was being in the middle of a Quidditch game, and the surge of determination as you reached for the Quaffle.

Ah, yes, I got hit by the Bludger, you recalled with a slight grimace.

With the intent to stretch out your sore limbs, you tried to sit up properly, only to be restricted from further movement. You felt something heavy on your abdomen, holding you down. Glancing towards your lower body, you nearly yelped at the sight.

There, laying on your stomach soundlessly, was a head of platinum blond hair. The very head of your notorious rival, Draco Malfoy.

You held back from making a commotion, knowing Madam Pomfrey or any of the others might rush to the scene. Instead, you kept quiet, wondering why in the hell would he be here. Draco was still clad in his emerald green uniform, meaning he stayed for the duration of time you were unconscious. Seeing how tired he was, asleep on the chair with his head on your stomach, you could assume it hasn't been a mere hour. You almost felt a little sorry.

With a tentative motion, you tapped his shoulder. "Uh, Draco?"

His body stirred gently and repositioned before falling back into a deep slumber, this time in a more uncomfortable position. His head was now facing you, body inched closer, and arms wrapped around your waist as his face laid comfortably over your abdomen. Your cheeks took on a cherry shade at the increased contact. Although you'd hate to admit it, seeing him peaceful without any discontent made your heart flutter ever so slightly.

No, you interrupted your thoughts, don't think that way about him. He's your enemy. With those words in mind, you proceeded to tap his shoulder again, this time a little more aggressively.

"Five more minutes," Draco croaked, his raspy morning voice sending shivers down your spine. Ignoring the sensation, you nudged his body impatiently. It was then when he finally opened his eyes.

"I said five more—" Upon sight of your unamused glare looking down on him, he immediately shot up, eyes wide as he got up from his chair.

Glancing at him suspiciously, you cocked an eyebrow at his behaviour. "What were you doing here?" you asked, desperate to know the answer before your delusional mind took over.

Draco diverted his gaze to the floor, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably as he scrambles to find a reasonable excuse. "Flint told me to stay here. As, uh... punishment! Yeah, a punishment."

Since when was he ever nervous around me? "Did he tell you to stay for the entire time?"

"Uh, yes—I mean, no, I just fell asleep on accident."

"Alright then," you mumbled awkwardly, playing with your fingers. You didn't know what else to say at the moment, and neither did he, judging by the way he still wouldn't make proper eye contact.

Clearing his throat, he hesitantly turned towards you. "Madam Pomfrey said you're free to go once you wake up. So, uh, I guess I'll head out now..."

And with that, he strode towards the door, leaving before you could even think to respond. While you got off the hospital bed and stretched your body, there was a nagging feeling you couldn't ignore, present ever since you caught sight of his heavy-eyed countenance on top of you.

Why is my heart beating this fast?

~~~

The next day, you were finally able to return to your classes. You felt bad when Madam Pomfrey told you it has been nearly two whole days before you woke up. Was Draco there for that long? You hoped this wouldn't end up being a ploy for him to acquire blackmail material. Strangely enough, you completely didn't doubt it.

Walking into the Grand Hall, you were met with the sight of an angry Draco speaking aggressively to the Slytherin table, only to receive puckish grins in response from them. Although the words were incoherent, you managed to catch one ominous line at the end.

"Don't speak of it to her."

It was at that moment when all eyes suddenly diverted to your frame. Draco sat back down upon noticing your presence, eating silently as he kept to himself.

"Hey Y/N!" Pansy shouted, patting the seat next to her for you to come to sit. "How's your head feeling?"

With a tired plop, you settled down and shoved a spoonful of eggs into your mouth. "Wonderful. Madam Pomfrey is a miracle worker."

As you spoke, you failed to notice the various teasing glances shot at the boy sitting across from you. But still, he merely kept his glance downwards, refusing to utter a word.

"How did it feel when you fell down?" Blaise asked, biting back his tongue in case a laugh threatens to emit. You paused your chewing, trying to recall the sensation.

"I don't remember. Right as I got hit I was knocked out, so the fall was mostly unconscious."

After sending conspicuous looks to each other, Pansy continued, "Do you recall, perhaps, hitting the ground at the end of the drop?"

"I don't think so?"

Before the pair can press further, a fist to the table interrupted them. With a murderous glare, Draco lifted his head and stared at the two Slytherins dead in the eye.

"Guys," he growled, earning nervous gulps from Blaise and Pansy, "cut it out. She fell, simple as that."

"Okay Drakey," Blaise muttered under his breath before him and Pansy burst into a fit of giggles. Rolling his eyes, Draco stormed off, presumably to head to class early. Although, the effort went in vain as the bell chimes shortly after his departure.

"You seriously don't remember anything after getting knocked out?" Pansy asked in a final attempt as you two stood up. You simply offered a shrug in response, wondering why they asked those questions when they saw everything. As you headed towards your class, a stubborn question remained in your head. Why did Draco storm off so angrily?

~~~

"Settle down, class, today we'll be learning about some more advanced potions."

There was a chorus of groans following Professor Snape's announcement—yours being particularly loud. You were always filled with worry whenever a potion of higher difficulty was to be attempted. To you, it was just another opportunity to make a fool out of yourself in front of your peers.

"Now, can anyone tell me what this potion is?" asked Snape, lifting the lid to reveal an intoxicating scent. Rather than eager hands shooting up, everyone slowly inched closer, desperate to get another whiff.

While you appeared to be in pure bliss, Draco took a couple of curious sniffs before leaning back in his seat with an expression of revulsion.

"Doesn't it smell wonderful?" Blaise sighed, addressing the moody boy by his left. Draco gave a slight scoff in response.

"Gross, no. It smells like whatever Y/N douses herself in every morning."

With a suspicious glance, Blaise sat back down. Soon, Professor Snape put the lid back on, and the rest of the students snapped out of their dreamy trance. It was then when Hermione raised her hand.

"Sir, it's Amortentia," she started, taking a small pause before continuing. "The most powerful love potion to exist. It causes the drinker to feel a powerful infatuation, and it smells different to each person, according to what attracts them."

Upon seeing the description confirmed with a nod from Snape, Draco's cheeks took on a prominent red shade. His friend had his mouth wide open, staring at the blond boy with a puckish sort of surprise.

"We do not speak of this," Draco muttered through gritted teeth. Blaise merely nodded in response, a teasing grin still visible on his face.

Before Snape could go on, a noisy Gryffindor spoke up from the corner, inciting a string of laughter with his comment.

"Malfoy, was that what possessed you to play Prince Charming out there? Or was it your own sheer will?"

It seemed it was only you left confused by the jibe. While you pondered over why Draco of all people was supposedly playing Prince Charming, the said boy glared at every giggling student. It was only until Professor Snape cleared his throat when the class went silent again.

"Today, we will be recreating this potion in groups of two. I'll allow you all to sort this amongst yourselves."

Thank god, you thought to yourself. The result was horrid last time you were forced into a pair with Draco. Looking towards your usual partner, Pansy, you frowned at the sight.

Pansy immediately went to Blaise, ignoring your curious gaze. Everybody had already gone with their usual picks in the class, leaving only Blaise's former partner alone with an angry expression.

Of fucking course, they left me with him.

Burrowing your head into your palms, you waited until a presence was felt next to you. Cautiously looking up, you were surprised with the sight of Draco's face merely inches away. He paused for a moment, staring deep into your irises before you broke the eye contact with an awkward cough to your left.

"So, uh, I guess we should start," Draco mumbled, pulling out his textbook and flipping to the instructions page. As you leaned in slightly to read the fine print, Draco found himself distracted by the smell of your hair.

It was the very same scent found earlier in the steam of Amortentia.

"Should I begin cutting the peppermint? Or do you think you're a better fit for the task?" you interrupted his thoughts with a faint snarl. His eyebrows furrowed at the comment before he remembered the events of the previous Potions class.

"Hey, I really am sorry—"

"Don't worry, you already apologized. I'm just being petty," you chuckled, patting his shoulder jokingly. However, Draco kept his gaze on you, staring with a solemn expression.

"It wasn't a proper apology if I acted like a git afterward. What I said was uncalled for, and frankly, I was just being jealous."

"You? Jealous? Very funny, Draco, but you don't have to lie to make me feel better," you sighed with a bitter smile, but he was quick to shake his head.

"I mean it!" he piped up, rubbing his neck with that same awkward look from the hospital wing. "You are absolutely brilliant at everything else. I guess it made me prideful to be more adept in this one class."

You stared at him with an unreadable expression. He paused, assuming you were weirded out by his words and thus went back to focusing on the textbook. Meanwhile, you felt a growing admiration for the boy.

"How about you cut the peppermint?" Draco said, offering a gentle smile.

"You're not afraid I'll mess it up?"

"You won't. I'll teach you how to do it."

The whole rivalry was momentarily forgotten as Draco guides your hands in cutting peppermint, spending the rest of the time in class with airy giggles and crimson cheeks.

~~~

Later that day, you decided to get some fresh air, opting to practice Quidditch for a while to clear your head. The entire day has been very puzzling to you. With Pansy and Blaise's strange questioning, Draco's odd behaviour, and the teasing comments suddenly directed towards him. You felt out of the loop, confused with everything despite only being gone for three days.

Something had to have happened while you were gone, and you were determined to find out. After blowing off some steam with your trusty broomstick, of course.

However, you were quick to realize you weren't the sole Slytherin there when a voice speaks up from behind you.

"Oh, Y/N? You've awoken?" said Marcus Flint, walking down the stands to approach your figure by the railing.

"Yeah, just yesterday. I came to catch up on the practice."

"Cool. How are you feeling?" he asked, briefly scanning your body only to find no visible bruises. You sent him a thumbs up in response, earning a sigh of relief from the Slytherin team captain.

"Ah, this could have been a lot worst. Thank god we still have one of our best Chasers."

You paused, eyes squinting as you let out a small chuckle. "What do you mean it could have been worst?"

"It was bad enough you got knocked out by a Bludger, but at least you never hit the ground. That would have been deadly," Flint explained with a playful tone. You simply stood in front of him with more confusion.

"How did I not hit the ground?"

"Wait, you don't remember?" he asked, emitting a loud chortle. "Oh god, it was the funniest thing ever! Draco flew past us so quickly just to catch you."

You found yourself taking on a red shade as you hear his words. Ignoring the burning sensation, you pressed further. "Draco caught me?"

"Yeah. Held you bridal-style and everything. Quite a charming fellow, isn't he?"

Failing to notice your wide-eyed expression, Flint continued with an amused tone. "Even after Madam Pomfrey arrived, he still wouldn't let go. Carried you to the hospital wing himself even though I told him to get back into the game. Poor boy even slept there."

At that point, your frame was motionless as you stared off into the distance. You had trouble grasping his words, believing what he says was really the truth, but his explanation seems to justify the teasing and odd looks from the morning.

As if a lightbulb went off in his head, Marcus Flint piped up once more with a sly grin. "I think Malfoy has a not-so-little crush on you."

"W-what?" you snapped out of your trance with a defensive look. "Draco doesn't like me!"

"Yeah, definitely, he only refused to leave your unconscious side because he sees you as a friend. His uncontrollable need to hold you was certainly platonic."

With a scowl on your face, you grabbed your broomstick while slinging your bag over your shoulder. "I need to talk to him," you mumbled under your breath, storming off with determined strides.

You wanted answers. You needed answers. Because why in the hell would Draco care that much? He's never expressed the slightest bit of concern for you, so what's with the sudden change in behaviour?

He even had the nerve to lie and say Flint made him stay with you at the hospital wing.

You entered the castle with a glare capable to kill. Marching through the corridors, you made your way to the dungeons in record time.

"Draco Malfoy!" you shouted upon entering the portrait hole. A small crowd of onlookers formed at the sight of your furious arrival, though most lingering students seemed to file out instantaneously.

Scanning the common room with narrowed eyes, your eyes landed on the couches where a group of fifth years laid. Amongst them was Draco, sitting nonchalantly as if your call was left unheard.

Striding over there, you stood in front of the blond boy, arms lazily crossed. With an unreadable expression, Draco mumbled teasingly, "Yes?"

"Come with me, now."

"I don't know, I got quite comfortable here," he remarked with his usual smirk painting his face. You rolled your eyes, deciding on resorting to physical means rather than verbal negotiation.

Without further consideration, you grabbed Draco's arm and yanked him up. His eyes widened at the action, and before he could protest against the forcefulness, you dragged him out of the portrait hole and into the hallway.

"Where are you taking me?" he groaned as you pull him by the wrist towards the nearest exit. Once located, you yanked harder as you turned your direction. It was only when you two finally touched the grass that his wrist was released from your grip.

"What the hell Y/N?"

Instead of replying to his angry self, you stared at him, eyes holding a mixture of confusion and anger. "Why did you lie to me?"

"Lie?" Draco asked, his expression morphing into one of nervousness. "W-what do you mean lie?"

"You told me Flint made you stay at the hospital wing. As a punishment, remember?"

It was then when the colour drained from Draco's face. His lips parted slightly, shock evident in his widened eyes. With a tentative pause, he stammered, "He told you everything... didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did. Were you planning to stop being a coward and tell me, or keep quiet about it forever?"

It seemed as though your comment got to Draco since his anxious demeanour turned angry in nearly an instant. Stepping closer in an intimidating manner, he snapped, "Well what did you expect me to do?"

His fuming expression told you it wasn't a question needing an answer. Instead, you stayed still in anticipation of his next words.

"What the hell did you expect me to do? Watch as you fall to your death? Get back into the game after my heart gets physically ripped from my chest?"

There was a pause in his speech, where he scanned your face for traces of emotions within them. Then, he took your silence as permission to continue.

"I almost thought I lost you! I thought you were going to fucking die out there. So yeah, I apologize for not telling you how afraid I was. For not explaining how goddamn desperate I was to see you awake and healthy again that I'd stay in the hospital wing for days with no hesitation."

Draco's voice was rising with every syllable, to the point where he shouted this last statement. "Don't you get it? I'd do anything for you.

"Heck, I'm in love with you!"

It was then when his angry countenance wavered, and Draco repeated in a softer tone. "I'm so hopelessly in love with you, Y/N. I always have been."

Your stillness remained throughout his rant, though your face altered with shock and confusion upon his confession. He's in love with you. The notorious Draco Malfoy has admitted to being in love with you. You didn't know how to respond, but one thing kept repeating in your head; you most certainly felt the same way.

"Now, I don't expect my feelings to be reciprocated—" Draco was promptly cut off by you crashing into his arms, holding his frame tightly in a hug.

"But they are. Draco, I love you too," you replied, voice muffled by his chest. Although his face wasn't visible, you could practically feel the warmth of his smile radiating as he hesitantly wraps his arms around you.

However, before much time could be spent enjoying each other's embrace, a shout from the distance pulled you two out of your dreamlike trance.

"Ask her out already!"

Heads whipping to the side, the majority of the Slytherin fifth year population was made visible in their position by the entryway. As you two glared at the pesky onlookers, Blaise and Pansy held a sheepish grin in front of the crowd.

Rolling his eyes, Draco turned his attention back to you shortly after sending a less-than-friendly hand gesture towards them. "You know, I think I do have something to ask you."

"And what might that be?"

"Would you, Y/N L/N, do me the honour of accompanying me to Hogsmede next Saturday?"

"Of course, Draco Malfoy," you drawled through widened lips. The smile painting your face soon became replicated onto his as he became giddy at your reply, though quickly afterward, he went back to his usual stoicism. It was a poor attempt overall to hide his excitement.

Ignoring the loud cheers coming from not too far away, Draco kept his eyes locked on yours, the silence between you two broken when he mumbled, "I'll meet you by the portrait hall at 10. See you later?"

"Yeah, I'll see you later." Draco then took his exit, but not before landing a small peck on your forehead and turning away before his cheeks went visibly red.

As a small grin took over your expression, you stared at the retreating figure of Draco Malfoy. You couldn't help but think about how he used to be a mere petty rival. Now, he's the one person running through your mind at every waking moment, the one who turns you into a hopeless romantic.

And you wouldn't want it any other way.

——————————

a/n — Ah, this was definitely a fun one-shot to make. I love writing about a flustered/angry Draco! Please like, comment, and reblog to show support. Feel free to submit requests in my inbox or let me know how I did with this one. 💘

[charcoalhawk]

Don’t listen to the sound || Christmas truce 2020

Hey yo @tidehopper I was your Christmas truce partner, so sorry for the delay! I ended up doing Ghost language, this was super fun to do!

—————————

It all starts in English, Dash’s favorite subject right behind Gym.

Now, don’t get Dash wrong, he holds no lost love for the boring hour and a half where he has to sit there while Mr. Lancer goes on and on about the intricacies of the color of drapes or why this particular book is more important than the ten other books he’s had to read in other English classes, but this is the one class where he sits right behind Fenton and that's at least entertaining enough that he almost never falls asleep.

The day starts off like any other, meet up with Quan for their Monday jog then speed home to shower so he can drive by and pick up Paulina before their second period. Walk into English just before Lancer calls Dash for attendance and he’s technically on time.

Falling gracelessly into his chair he sees that today is supposed to be a ‘silent partner activity’, meaning he should be able to pawn off most of the work to whoever gets assigned to him while he talks to Quan about the school’s upcoming football match that Friday.

As the class settles around him he can’t help but notice that two thirds of the loser trio is having a particularly heated argument right next to his desk just as Fenton slips into the classroom. He gingerly places a note on the teacher’s desk before shuffling silently to his own where he promptly collapses into his chair, hands curled around his head like he’s trying to block everyone out. After all the shit that happened their freshman year Dash had backed off a bit from harassing the other teen whenever he could, and the two had settled into a shaky stalemate, so he allows himself to feel the smallest bit of sympathy for the other teen.

From what he remembers from his study session the other night Jazz had been complaining that her parents had been messing with some weird ghost hunting equipment for the past few months and it had made the house practically uninhabitable. It had gotten so bad that both Fenton kids had been staying at friend’s houses and Jazz had joked that she might as well get an apartment for her and her brother because her parents had become well and truly obsessed.

With every appearance of Phantom the ghost hunters had become more and more adamant on catching him, not that they ever came close. There had been a particularly big battle last Friday with Phantom fighting against the ghost Technus, and no one had seen hide nor hair from the so called scientists since they had shown up at the end of the battle guns blazing like there was anything they could do. They had gotten one lucky shot in against Phantom with an unfamiliar weapon just as the superhero was capturing the other ghost, but it hadn’t seemed to have any affect on him.

Dash forces himself to focus when Lancer starts calling out names, and hides a wince when he’s paired up with Fenton. The twin death glares he receives from Manson and Foley tell him he’s not not going to be able to slack off today.

Lancer passes out sheets of paper to each row, but when it gets to Fenton he doesn’t even lift his head. Manson moves quickly to pass the paper along to Dash, but he can tell something’s up.

As everyone moves to turn desks to face each other Fenton has yet to move, which only serves to unnerve Dash more, Fenton is a notoriously antsy person and a light sleeper, even when he had fallen asleep in class no one had ever been able to sneak up to him and slam down a textbook to wake him up. Manson and Foley are whispering now, sending concerned glances Fenton's way every couple seconds, and Dash decides to bite the bullet.

Placing a hand on Fenton’s thin shoulders he shakes the other teen, growing more annoyed the longer he gets no reaction.

“Fenton?” He asked, trying to keep his tone light, “Hey Fenton! Get up so we can do this dumb assign-”

ᏇᏂᏗᏖ. ᎴᏗᏕᏂ Ꭵ’Ꮇ ᏁᎧᏖ ᎴᎧᎥᏁᎶ ᏗᏝᏝ ᏖᏂᏋ ᏇᎧᏒᏦ

Dash felt a chill go down his spine as the room went silent around him. Whatever sound Fenton had just made was not human. It wasn’t even inhuman, it just sounded wrong. Like every instinct Dash had was suddenly screaming at him to run, run run get away it’s not right wrong wrong wrong-!

In an instant Fenton was sitting ramrod straight as if someone had stuck a metal pole down his spine, glancing wildly around the room like a cornered animal. In a moment that seemed to last an eternity Dash caught a glimpse of Fenton’s eyes, and he instantly regretted it. Fenton’s eyes were glowing a bright acid green, reminding Dash eerily of Phantom's own bright green eyes. But while the ghostly superhero’s eyes seemed to be alight in joy and determination, Fenton’s were dead and cold. They made Dash want to put as much distance between himself and those empty eyes as possible.

The moment was broken when, with inhuman speed and grace, Fenton leapt from his chair and escaped the classroom before anyone could move. All eyes immediately moved to Manson and Foley, with some sparing a glance at Lancer in the vain hope that their teacher had any idea what was going on.

Manson is just opening her mouth when suddenly the door that Fenton fled through seconds ago was all but slammed open by the town’s resident ghost fnatics. They were in full ghost hunting regalia and brandishing their ecto-guns like they actually knew how to use them. The two scan the room as Lancer moves swiftly over to them and the three begin a frantic discussion just outside the classroom in voices too quiet for any of the students to hear.

All eyes snap back to Mason and Foley, hoping that the two of them could possibly shine some light on whatever the hell just happened, but they're gone. Gone. There one second gone the next gone. As panic starts to consume the class Dash feels a chill go up his spine and yanks his phone out of his pocket and sends a panicked text to Jazz.

He doesn’t think English is ever going to be his favorite subject again.

[sheeswee]

Very long character analysis/headcanons on the kidnap fam + Maglor & Maedhros’ dealings with trauma ahead ^_^

Maglor is more fair tempered and less quick to react than Maedhros, so I feel like the way his trauma would effect him is never talked about... he’s always just “the sane one” but he went through the same stuff as Maedhros (minus some torture and loss of a lover) but he has the same terrible experiences as him and we should talk more about that.

When they adopted (kidnapped) the twins they had just lost their own twin brothers, the last two besides themselves. They were now the only ones left in Fëanor’s line besides Celebrimbor and were completely alone in the world, without allies or hope.

Yes, Maglor didn’t inherit his father’s temperament, but he still murdered, he still fought, he still swore the oath.

I imagine Maglor’s issues are more unpredictable, and that he probably has very intense ups and downs. Most of the time he’s just Maglor. Somewhat serious and practical, but also good with the kids and a bit overprotective and fussy. After all, he was an older brother, too. It wasn’t only Maedhros who looked after and was responsible for the sons of Fëanor.

But sometimes he would break. He would get that look in his eyes and wander off. If you followed you’d hear him rambling, talking to someone not there, or crying, or both.

Sometimes while holding one of the kids in his lap he would go into a trance, playing with their hair for hours, refusing to let them go and not acknowledging a word said to him.

Sometimes they look for Maglor and find him in a trance, eyes fixed on nothing, plucking sharp chords on his harp. They leave his dinner beside him and tell him to eat before it’s cold.

Maedhros is different. Maedhros has days where he is jumpy, and any touch makes him flinch hard, hand on the hilt of his sword, eyes blazing and furious and terrified. Maedhros never appears scared in any situation, not battle nor weather nor sickness... except of an unexpected touch, or a raised hand. He always apologizes profusely, it’s a knee jerk reaction for him.

Sometimes, when he sleeps, which he doesn’t do as often as he should, he murmurs nonsense, twitching and breathing fast, pale as a ghost. Whenever he wakes from a nightmare he is especially jumpy, and often irritable for the day. He does not mean to lash out, and he always says he is sorry, but the words are just noise. He is not himself those days.

Sometimes, Maedhros and Maglor fight. It’s never loud, no yelling or getting physical, but sharp angry words at night when they think the kids are asleep. They try not to make it obvious when they aren’t speaking, but Elrond and Elros learn to read them easily.

But sometimes, Maedhros and Maglor speak so warmly and fondly of people and places in a language long dead, the kids can almost see who they were before. Under scars and lines of weariness and horror unimagined, there were once two young and joyful elven princes, who’s worries were simple of raising brothers, impressing fathers and strengthening alliances with friends rather than enemies.

Despite it all, the kids love them dearly. It’s not always like this, and they’re usually somewhat of a functional kidnap family. They learn to adapt, and become expert empaths after learning all the signs of when someone is having a bad day, or when to be cautious of raising their hand or their voice.

It does not change how they feel towards Maedhros and Maglor in the slightest. To Elros and Elrond, it is just a part of living with them they do not love them despite it, they love them for it. Because it is Maedhros who holds them on cold nights and tells them of valinor, and Maglor who teaches them the stars.

They are a family, in some ways, at least.

...

This is a spin off thought from all that, but I imagine Maedhros at first tries to keep a distance between himself and the kids. He doesn’t want these two innocents to be associated with kinslaying fëanorians. To Maedhros, the best option is to make sure the kids continue to hate and fear him, to maintain the hostage and captor role. That way, when they get returned to someone who can actually raise them, nobody will blame them for being around two notoriously hated and despicable exiles.

This, of course, does not work. Maedhros grows to love the kids immensely, and though he won’t say it aloud, they are the reason he is alive besides the oath. They are the reason why he keeps fighting to lift the curse of his kin. If he can just free himself and Maglor, and protect these kids... because in them, he sees his dead brothers, who he couldn’t save. Who he couldn’t free. Who he couldn’t protect no matter what he did. How many hundreds, thousands of years of war did he fight and sacrifice and amend and break just to keep his family alive, and to no avail? How many times did he play the good guy and destroy his reputation to save his brothers? And every time it was ruined. Every time it ended worse than it began. No amount of time would release him from their oath. It would have to he fulfilled. 

And for a while, they ignored it. He and Maglor turned a blind eye to their binds while raising the kids. They knew the consequences of ignoring it would be severe, but at this point why even try to be the good guys anymore? All that had done was spit in their faces.

After a long while, when the silmarils were recovered and stored away, Maedhros convinced Maglor to go with him and steal them back. To give the kids to someone who would protect them and didn’t have a ticking bomb attached to them, ready to go off at any time.

Maedhros knew now that if they could bear through it a little longer- do this the hard way but get it over with, reclaim the silmarils and lift the curse- they would finally be free. It would be over.

But it wasn’t.

When they stole them, bore them away, and held them at last in their hands it burned their flesh unbearably. They had been deemed evil and unworthy by the Valar. What greater betrayal than to be told by the gods they would be broken to the death unless their oath fulfilled, and then told once fulfilled that in doing so they were no longer saveable?

Everything, every word spoken, battle fought, blade bloodied, brother lost, war waged and step taken, was in vain. Every single action Maedhros had every taken, in hopes of saving his family. In hopes of maybe saving himself, was for nothing.

[tales-unique]

MEMORIES OF THE WEST

Two days. Two long, hot days you’ve been tied to this damn tree. Your mother would be turning in her grave over how easily you’ve gotten yourself caught by the O’Driscolls, even when you knew that they were notorious for prowling the roads leading in and out of towns. Craning your head you look up through squinted eyes to look at the sky through scattered branches, calm and clear, painted a beautiful gradient of orange, red and pink as the sun begins to set. Almost three days now and you’ve had nothing to eat or drink, something that’s starting to take its toll on your body and mind. Your head pounds incessantly and your stomach growls weakly, making you twist in discomfort. The bite of the ropes around your wrists soon stops the movement though and you wince at the sharp, stinging pain left in their wake. At this point all you truly beg for is death, and maybe this time you’ll get what you ask for.

You glare at the returning party as they whoop and holler about their catch, turning their horses in circles in excitement while you stare wantonly at the deer they have. They catch you, of course, and one is quick to dismount and get right up in your face about it. “Got a problem, girl?” He’s a mean man that reeks of sweat and bad tobacco, the scent so sour you recoil as far away from him as your punished body, and the tight bindings, will allow you. “I’m starving!” You hiss, but it’s pitiful and he laughs. “Too bad. Ain't enough to go around.” “Liar! That’s a whole damn deer you got there! Please, I’m starving! I jus’ need a little!” Your hunger makes you desperate and he knows that. The grin he gives you is dirty and makes your skin crawl, twisting your body to try and get out of his reach. It’s futile, and soon dirt-smeared hands are roughly grabbing at your waist to pull you back in front of him. “Y’hear that boys?” He calls out to the others, laughing as they whistle while hitching the horses, “little thing is starving! Tell me girl, whatcha willing to do to get a meal, huh?” You turn your head away as he leans in close, fighting the urge to wretch. The feel of his hands sliding down to your backside, the heat of his breath tickling your ear and cheek, makes you want to vomit. “C’mon now,” he coos at you, “dont’cha want to eat? All I ask for is a kiss!” Despite his forceful coaxing and your limited range of movement you continue, by some miracle, to evade his crusted, cracked lips. Then, all hell breaks loose. All at once there’s the thundering of horses hooves on the dry dirt, bullets screaming through the humid air, warm splatter on your face. A hole right through your would-be rapists head, his wide eyes mirroring yours before he falls down at your feet, lifeless. You stand, rooted to the spot just as the tree firmly pressed against your back is as the others scramble to form some sort of meager defiance, but they’re no match. It doesn’t take long. Like fish in a barrel. The O’Driscolls barely had time to reach for their pistols before they, too, were gunned down. The horses, spooked, whine and stomp from where they’ve been hitched and you’re glad that they’re not hurt. One of the riders seems so too as he gets down from his own mount to inspect them. His figure is hazy from the dust but you can tell he’s tall and strong and attractive. You’re sure that he’s talking, too, but you can’t hear him. The ringing in your ears is too loud. Gunshots. Blood pumping. Adrenaline. You hazard another look down at your feet, the man's lifeless body draining out before you. His blood stains your shoes. You spit on his back. Good riddance. “Hey! Are you okay?” The voice, suddenly clear, startles you and you quickly flick wide eyes to another man approaching you. The second rider? He’s well dressed and attractive too, but you’re not about to swoon at his feet. “Get back!” You shriek, fear spiking. He stops, startled, while quickly holding his hands up in surrender. “Easy there, amiga, I won’t hurt you,” he states slowly. You don’t believe a word of it. Instead you try, in vain, to pull your hands free from the ropes so you can flee. He sees this and hurries over to you, cursing under his breath at the wounds you’re inflicting on yourself in your haste. You don’t care. You try to fight him; kick him, elbow him, even snapping your teeth at him in a bite that doesn’t quite reach. You don’t trust him. You can’t trust him. Pressure releases from around your wrists and you stumble sideways, suddenly free, the ropes cut by an intricately decorated and expensive-looking knife that somehow manages to miss your flesh. Now you’ve fallen onto the ground face to face with the dead man with a bullet hole through his head, the force of your struggling having caused your fall down. Ignoring the stinging, open burns to your wrists you quickly scramble to your feet. Hair stringy with stale sweat and fresh blood, clothes smeared and ruined, delirious with heat and adrenaline, you still try to run. Hands firmly planting themselves on your arms stop you before you’ve even started and you yell out, wanting to pull away but your body doesn’t respond properly. Short, jerky movements but nothing that actually helps. White hot panic floods your empty stomach as you realize you’re too weak and that the adrenaline isn’t enough anymore. You suck in a deep breath, eyes beginning to sting despite your best intentions. You will yourself not to cry in front of the quiet man before you, but again you fail. You whimper, trying desperately in vain to wriggle free. You babble pitifully, incoherently, with a quivering lip and glossy eyes; childish. But his dark eyes are kind, even after what he’s done, and he slowly lets you go, only to catch you when you stumble forward. “You’ve been out here too long,” he mutters, voice low and comforting, “heat, starvation, you’re weak. Come on.” He gently guides you to his horse, much to his partners annoyance. “Charles, what are you doing? We can’t take her with us!” He argues. “Can’t leave her, either,” Charles counters as he heaves you onto the saddle where you clutch at the saddle horn for dear life. The two men then lead the hitched horses, consolation prizes for the few minutes of trouble, as well as take the deer that had been caught. “Or do you want her death on your conscience, Javier?” Charles grunts as he tightens knots and secures ropes, eyeing his partner expectantly when he’s met with silence. The well dressed man, Javier, grumbles something you can’t hear and mounts his own horse, Charles following suit, coming to sit in the saddle behind you. “Didn’t think so,” he chuckles, low and smooth, and you lower your head to stare at the saddle horn gripped tight in your hands. You don’t say a word. Would it even matter if you did? It’s not like you’re in a state to challenge them, so you allow yourself to fall into unconsciousness lulled by the sway of the horse and the sounds of night insects rousing from their sleep. When you finally come to you take a look at your surroundings. Trees. Tents. Campfires. It’s larger and you feel your heartbeat quicken. You want to run but you can’t, you’re still on Charles' horse with the large man pressed in behind you, arms either side as he handles the reins. There are more people here, men and women alike, and you shrink back against Charles instinctively. “Where are we?” You ask hoarsely, throat scratchy and dry. “Home, for now at least,” Charles answers, pulling his horse over to a hitching post while Javier does the same. He barely disturbs you as he dismounts, helping ease you off the saddle and onto shaky legs. “Dutch won’t like this!” Javier grouses as he too dismounts his horse, allowing it to wander to a patch of grass to graze. Charles doesn’t answer, instead leading you towards three women sitting around a campfire. They’re having a hearty conversation when you’re put upon them, feeling awkward under their shocked gazes. They talk over each other quickly but the general consensus is who the hell are you and why are you here. “Ladies,” he lifts his hand to quiet them, the other gently squeezing your shoulder, “I hope you don’t mind taking care of our friend here? She’s had a rough couple of days.” You swallow, looking down at yourself. Bloodstained. Stinking. Traumatized. Rough doesn’t come close, you think. “Jesus, Mary, Joseph, Charles! Bring her here!” One of the women growls, ushering you to sit by the fire despite her anger. Probing hands go to touch your head, the side where your hair hangs limp with blood, but you pull away quickly. “Ain’t my blood,” you murmur and the women all share looks before the first, already stinking of whiskey, giggles with a snort. “I’d hate t’ see the other guy!” It’s an attempt to lighten the mood and you force a smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes and they notice. “I’ll go get you something to get clean with, a wipe down will do ‘till we can get you a real bath,” another offers in a soft voice, kind and smiling warmly. You watch her put the book in her hands aside as she gets up, eyes trailing after her. “That’s Mary-Beth,” the blonde introduces, “I’m Karen and that there’s Tilly,” she motions with a half empty bottle to the young woman opposite you. “Just what happened to you, anyways?” Tilly asks, leaning in from where she sits on a log, “Yeah, you look half-dead!” Karen adds, scowling when Tilly sends a glare her way. “I...” You cough, gladly accepting a bottle from Karen and tipping it back without so much as a thank you. Manners be damned, you were so thirsty! The alcohol burns down your throat and your eyes sting with tears but by God it was a welcome flood. Karen cheers while Tilly shakes her head, rolling her eyes. As you gasp for air Mary-Beth returns with a bucket of water and a rag, setting them down by your side. She’s also taken the liberty of bringing you some food. It’s nothing fancy, a small bowl of leftover stew and a crust of bread, but you gratefully accept and begin your ravenous feast. It’s definitely a sight for them to behold, but you are starving so they can excuse your table manners. In between shoveling spoonfuls of stew you listen to the argument you’ve caused, Charles and Javier’s voices are known to you while the others are new. They aren’t happy that you were brought to their camp, but Charles argues that you were in need and he wasn’t going to leave you traumatized and starving on the roadside. You smile to yourself, thankful that at least he cares. “Dutch is always so mad these days,” Tilly whispers as she moves to sit next to you. You spare her a glance before turning to look over your shoulder. Dutch, you assume, is the leader of this band of societal misfits. He points accusingly at Charles, then over to where you sit, and back again, while others interject to add their piece. “C’mon, I’ll help with your hair,” Tilly distracts you, turning your head away from the fray with warm hands. She fishes a rag from the bucket, ringing it out while giving you a small smile. Mary-Beth is assessing your wrists, no doubt thinking up a way to ease their soreness. “It’ll be cold, so don’t squeal now!” Tilly laughs and you bite your tongue when the water drips down the side of your face when she starts dabbing at your scalp. Mary-Beth giggles behind her hand at your scrunched up face and Karen starts to sing, merry with alcohol and new company, and by the time the bickering has ceased you’re looking as clean as you can be with just a rag and a bucket of water. Done with your hair and leaving you to wipe your face and neck, Tilly starts rummaging through her chest, sizing up old dresses so that you can change into fresh clothes. Mary-Beth takes the chance to wrap up your wrists with bandages after wiping them gently with a damp, soft handkerchief, apologizing when you wince or hiss. “There! This one should fit, and the colour looks good too,” she smiles, folding the dress up, as well as some other bits and pieces for you, including a pair of shoes not stained with blood. You hastily wipe your hands dry on your ruined dress and take the offered items. They feel freshly washed and soft despite the course material, nothing like the grubby dress you wear now. “You’re too kind,” you smile nervously, half expecting this to be a fever dream and you’ll wake up any minute tied to that damn tree with crows picking at you. It’s not a dream. Tilly tells you to bed with them for the night once you come back from changing, making room on their bedrolls so you can at least sleep comfortably. You’re surprised that Dutch and the others haven’t come over yet to force you out, but she assures you that it can wait until the morning since everyone needs sleep. In truth, you’re thankful for it — that way they’ll all have clear heads when they decide what to do with you. As you settle down you spot Charles walking to his own bedroll and offer a smile when he looks your way. He smiles back and bids you goodnight with a small tip of his head, and for once since your kidnap you actually feel comfortable enough to sleep among a band of strangers.

[thetorturerwrites]

I’m not sure if this is a kink or what it’d be called, but I’d love some steamy mirror sex with Flip if you’re willing! Thank you so much!

+ Anonymous said to thetorturerwrites: Mirror sex with Kylo, please?? I love reading all your TT stuff!!

Well......y’all should know by now that I’m not normal.  And this is what my not-normal brain came up with. Its possible I’m about to cancel myself with this, but here we go.

Also...I’m not at all sorry for so many things here. 

***

It was the smell of his own cigarette smoke that roused him. The menthol curled around his brain and coaxed a muddled groan from the very center of his chest, where it hurt the most. Flip tried to lift his hands to rub at his pounding temples, but he couldn’t make his body obey.

That’s when Detective Zimmerman took over.

His head shot up on a sharp inhale, and he blinked rapidly to rush his eyes into focusing. His tongue darted across dry lips, like a snake tasting threats on the air. Sweat. Blood. He vaguely recalled having been hit in the face. He also smelled grease, gasoline. Shaking his head to clear it further, narrowed eyes travelled around the empty warehouse in a calculated attempt to memorize details of his location.  When he could get to a radio, he’d need to be able to tell someone where he was.

Flip leaned forward, testing the ties that anchored him to the wooden chair and cursing when they held true. He pushed against the grimy floor; but without his boots, his bare feet slid futilely through splinters and dust.

“Fuck!”

It was a grouse, a begrudging admittance that he was stuck, trapped, goddamn kidnapped. He tipped his head back and heaved an angry breath through gritted teeth because fuck this whole day.

“Comfortable?”

Flip’s head whipped to one side, gaze landing on the black-cad shadow he’d somehow missed before. His lungs seized; his ribs ached because now he remembered. He remembered being punched in the chest, sent sprawling on the cement, and bashed in the head right before everything went dark.

He scrutinized every inch of the body attached to that deep voice. Just as tall as Flip, he had broader shoulders with longer, darker hair. Arms like pythons crossed over a wide chest, and those chiseled, lean legs carried him to sit opposite on the floor. He planted his feet and rested his elbows on his knees, looking at Flip defiantly.

Flip’s mouth went dry. His fingers flexed, and he was glad they were hidden behind his back. This was the guy they’d all been hunting for, the guy the whole damn state was after. And he sat there, smug as could be, looking like nine different kinds of sin.

It was Kylo Ren, notorious leader of the First Order.

Flip’s body responded before his brain could catch up. His breathing went shallow, little puffs blasting through his parted lips. His pupils dilated, adjusting to the dark and drinking in every available valuable detail. His thighs flexed, and his cock stiffened. Flip never once felt himself lean that way before, but this was the most attractive man he'd ever seen in his life. 

Gulping down the glass in his throat, Flip finally managed to speak.

“Where...where’s my unit?”

"You mean the murderers, traitors, and thieves you call friends?” The behemoth shifted an inch closer, being sure to catch Flip’s eye when he looked away. “You'll be relieved to hear I have no idea."

Kylo stared him down, and Flip wanted to pistol whip the smug look off of his face. He shifted in his chair and tried a different tactic, canting his head slightly and plastering an amiable grin on his face.

“It’s Kylo, right?” 

When he made no move to confirm or deny, Flip carried on in his best soothing voice, trying to de-escalate before anything even jumped off. 

“You know you can’t just kidnap a fucking cop, right? Every officer on the beat is gonna be looking for me. But we can skip all that. Tell me what you want.”

Flip watched as Kylo’s lips pursed and lifted at the ends in almost slow motion. He watched as the man's hungry stare roved him over from ebony crown to bare toes, watched appreciation creep across that beautiful face.

The cocky bastard smirked and shifted to his knees, closing the distance and invading any semblance of personal space Flip may have had.

“Turns out I can.” 

He leered, gesturing wide, putting the circumstances of Flip’s captivity on display. 

“You’re my prisoner.” 

Heavy, strong hands slid up from Flip’s knees to squeeze at his meaty, muscular thighs. Transfixed, Flip stopped breathing when smooth, shaven, and sexy leaned in to nudge at his stubbled jaw with the bridge of his nose. 

“And I want you to do as you’re told.”

Dark eyes that were so similar to his flashed a dangerous mix of serious and seductive a brief second before buttons clattered to the floor, collateral damage from his flannel being torn open. Flip's jaw locked in a vain attempt to pretend this wasn’t happening, that he wasn’t responding.

“Join the First Order.” That velvet voice rolled over his earlobe, and Flip outright squirmed under its power. “You’ll be a strong asset.”

“Fucking anarchists? Communists?”  He all but spit the words out and leaned away from his tormentor, but he couldn’t even jar the chair an inch. He was wholly caught in the spider’s web. “I’d rather eat a rusty spoon.”

Flip’s buckle jangled, but he didn’t hear it, too caught up in the condescending chuckle at his left. And when his jeans eased open to alleviate some of the pressure on his straining cock, he groaned out loud. His entire body stiffened, too aware of how near his captor was, too aroused by the smell and the feel of it, too ashamed of how fucking good he felt being made to feel so helpless right now.

“I could shoot you.” Kylo’s knuckles dragged the spot along Flip’s chest where the bruise began to bloom, feeling the rapid heartbeat beneath. “Slit your throat.” Flip’s Adam’s apple bobbed at the feel of surprisingly gentle lips against his pulse. “But that would be short-sighted, don’t you think?”

Kylo was a younger, angrier, larger version of himself, Flip realized, and he knew there was no talking him out of what he wanted. He burned with conviction, so much so Flip knew he’d be able to feel it buzzing under Kylo’s skin. Something he very suddenly wanted to do desperately.

“Jesus fucking Christ…”

Flip gasped hard, chest rising up as a rough hand took hold of his cock -- eerily similar but decidedly not his grip. The palm of Kylo’s hand was smooth, but not overly soft, and Flip’s hip bucked upwards without his deciding it. His head dropped forward to rest against that unyielding shoulder because the room spun, and his eyes blurred.

“You know I can take whatever I want.”

There was no getting out of this unscathed. Kylo was simply too demanding, too overwhelming. The only way to the other side was through -- through Kylo, through this frustration, through the fire licking up his belly. Flip grunted and met his tormentor’s eye. 

His own full mouth hitched at the corner, a dare and an invitation.

“Get on with it, then. You talk too much.”

[immoral-tales]

Wicked Ballad

Simeon X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7,313

Warnings: angst; mentions of religion; corruption;

A/N: I would like to thank my close and dearest friend for aiding me when I was writing this heart-wrenching story. If it had not been for her, I would have—most likely—made it much worse. Truth be told, many stories and art have inspired me to write this story, therefore, I would like to thank everyone. I sincerely hope you love this story as much as I adore it. I almost cried whilst writing it, I poured my heart and soul into it.

Summary: a bittersweet tale of an angel and his human crossing paths with each other. their story truly is a wicked ballad.

❝You say I took the name in vain I don't even know the name But if I did, well really, what's it to you? There's a blaze of light in every word It doesn't matter which you heard The holy or the broken Hallelujah❞

He could vividly recall the very first time his blue gaze had laid on her. It was in front of the Cathedral of Notre-Dame, in the middle of the night. Dragging an unfamiliar piano in the deserted streets of Paris, the clock striking midnight. He could remember the word “Yamaha” was emblazoned on the wooden part. Settling herself on the wooden stool, she opened the lid of the piano, her manicured fingers skimmed over the keys. Straightening her back, she took a deep breath and started playing a soothing melody. The harmonious notes lingered in the air, dancing with the wind, engulfing the deafening silence with great ease.

The moon glimmering in the darkness of the night, the scattered stars accompanied it with their dim illumination above the cloudless sky of the city. It was a breathtakingly beautiful sight, one in a million. A familiar wind caressing her face; the symphonious notes her slender fingers produced, reverberated in the air, waltzing around the ancient buildings of the capital of France.

It was an enchanted song for a creature like him. Humans... Who would have thought their simple, yet unforgettable creation would mesmerize an angel?

The rumors spread like wildfire about the fallen angel finding refuge at the cathedral. Every one of them refused to accept the responsibility, the humans heard about their ceaseless quarrel and took matters into their own hands.

Both of the sides present in the city, they had heard so much about. It was the day when the creatures of hell and heaven had decided to leave their humble abodes and visit the neutral territory, the human world. If they had been familiar with the term, they would have referred to this realm as Switzerland, always avoiding conflicts like the plague and minding their own business. Even though they had a perfect opportunity to get involved, they would never trouble themselves as humans abandoned their faith years ago. They stopped believing in miracles decades ago.

Heaven and Hell, paying a visit to the capital of France to see the scene unfolding right in front of their eyes. It was the day when humans had enough of their endless cycle of invisible war as if they did not have their own wars to handle.

An angel had fallen and no one was certain what path he would choose. The spectators surrounding the Cathedral of Notre-Dame had made sense now. As a human would have said, they were the juries of the court and they would be making a verdict. A final decision would be theirs. And humans, they had to play the devil’s advocate. An ironic choice of words.

The situation was becoming tenser and tenser, it could have been cut with a knife. The air surrounding the cathedral felt suffocating, making it almost impossible to breathe. And it was not because of the pollution.

It was a sight to behold, and every one of them was well aware of it. The woman sitting in front of the piano resumed playing her captivating melody. She had realized the predicament she was in when she dragged the piano across the empty streets of Paris. She was not alone, she had viewers from other realms. If she were not too engrossed in her activity, she would have mocked their curiosity. Tilting her head; her cold and calculating eyes were fixated on the entrance of the cathedral. Her hands moved in a hypnotic manner as if it was natural for her to be in the darkness, playing an enthralling piece of music. As some would have called it, a true masterpiece. It had never been her responsibility to lure the fallen angel out of the holy grounds, yet she understood his dilemma rather well.

The song was nearing its end and the woman could sense the tension in the air rising as the last notes of the harmonious melody faded, becoming non-existent. Finding a replacement to it was not that difficult, the breeze swept in, greeting her as if it had been an old friend of hers. The silence reigned in the air, lingered there more than necessary. It had overstayed its welcome, refusing to leave her side.

Standing up from the wooden stool, she stretched her arms and stepped forward. The sounds of the clacking of her high heels against the pavement resounded in the deafening silence. A knowing smirk tugged at the corners of her lips, her eyes continued to study the grand entrance as she did not trouble herself to pick up her pace. Strutting towards her destination, her walk was painfully slow as she was tormenting her spectators by depriving them of the show. She inspected the tufts of white hair peeking out of the opened door. Her suspicions proved to be correct as she halted in front of the cathedral. Opening her lips, she started speaking. “There is no need to be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you, I promise.” Raising her hands, she demonstrated she was unarmed. Perhaps, he was not aware of the gesticulations, but the tone of her voice indicated she was not a threat to him.

Taking his sweet time, he had finally decided to reveal himself. Stepping forward, he walked out of the cathedral. His movements were slow; however, the woman had no problem with it. It was a normal occurrence for her, and she was well aware, earning one’s trust was not a simple task. Taking a deep breath, she extended her hand for him to take. As he fully exited the premises, she could clearly see his appearance under the artificial light of the lampposts. He was a young angel. His stark white hair covered his amber eyes filled with curiosity. He was not a fallen angel, he had merely lost his path and found refuge at his Father’s home.

Tilting his head, he examined her cautiously. Before the woman in front of him had a chance to utter a word, he ran towards her and wrapped his small arms around her, embracing her tightly. She froze in one place but quickly reacted as a low chuckle escaped her full lips. “Easy there, no one is going to hurt you.” Ruffling his short hair, she looked down at him with a smirk. He was so young, yet they kept referring to him as a fallen angel. Hypocrisy at its finest. She had a strong desire to roll her eyes but refrained herself from making the young angel uncomfortable.

She handled the situation quicker than anyone had anticipated, therefore, they were free to return to their respective realms. But one issue was still present, she was not certain what to do with the angel. Shaking her head, she glanced down at the boy who was not planning to release her from his iron grip. Opening her mouth once more, she was interrupted. Pursing her lips into a thin line, she furrowed her brows as she heard a loud clapping noise resonating in the air, shattering the deafening silence. A hulking figure emerged from the shadows, clad in a red uniform. The Prince of Hell graced her with his presence as his loyal butler trailed behind him.

Quirking a brow, she turned around to greet the familiar faces. Shielding the young angel with her body as he hid behind her, watching two men with great fascination. A sly smirk danced across her beautiful facial features. Nodding her head in acknowledgement, she began speaking. “Came here to enjoy the show, My Lord?” Those undertones of mockery still laced her alluring voice as she cast a glance at the notorious butler. Allowing every one of them to realize she was aware of their location as they lurked in the darkness of the night.

A sigh escaped her full lips, her attention returned to the young angel as she squeezed his shoulder lightly, in reassurance. As long as he was with her, she would never allow him to be put in harm’s way. It was her silent vow, yet all of them understood it. She had no intention of demonstrating her positive qualities to the world to see—the spectators of the three realms, to be more precise. The woman could feel how her young companion’s tense body relaxed as he resumed staring at the demons. He had never seen them before, and it was not that difficult to deduce it.

As always, booming laughter reverberated in the streets of Paris, bringing her back to reality as she craned her neck to get a better look at the handsome prince. Despite wearing high heels, he was still taller than her. As much as she did not wish to admit, she had always wondered what they had been giving him to be this huge. However, she did not have any right to complain, and she was not going to.

“How could I possibly miss such a spectacular show?” Grinning confidently, he exposed his pearly white teeth to the world; and crossed his muscular arms over his defined chest. His golden eyes glinted with mischief as they studied his beautiful companion. Straightening his back, he resumed speaking. “It is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to witness a human playing the piano for an angel in the streets of one of the human realm’s most popular cities.” His excitement was quite noticeable in his voice, but he did not trouble himself to conceal it as he meant every one of his words.

Nodding her head in understanding, she glanced at his loyal butler as he mirrored his master’s action. Of course, every one of them was aware of it, but a human had to do the dirty work. Their every step was calculated beforehand; however, the humans had the element of surprise; and she used it to her advantage. These immortal beings never anticipated such an outcome, but she did. It was her world and no one knew it better than her.

Shaking her head to dismiss all of her useless thoughts, she gave them a questioned look; and was ready to deliver her endless cycle of sarcastic remarks. Taking a deep breath, a sly smirk danced across her attractive features as she opened her mouth to start speaking. “As much as I wish to give you what you desire most, unfortunately, I enjoy our game of cat and mouse a bit too much.” Her mesmerizing eyes shone underneath the moonlight, yet they did not reflect anything.

Another boisterous laughter echoed in the air, stepping forward, the brown-haired demon prince got closer to the woman. He pounced on her, enveloping her with his strong arms in a tight embrace; and lifting her off the ground. A low chuckle escaped her full lips as she looked back at the young angel. He was still astounded by the scene that unfolded right in front of his eyes. Feeling safe around the demons was an understatement, but he could feel at ease as she was with him. This human woman was his guardian angel, but in reality, it should have been the other way around. His amber eyes observed their interactions cautiously as he understood the woman was not hostile towards the demons. He had always had a great fascination with humans, but coming into contact with a human was a different experience. The young angel was thrilled to learn more about them. His morality clashed with his desire. At this point, he did not wish to return to his home, the Celestial Realm. He decided to remain with her. Oh, how excited the woman would be upon hearing the news.

“I would like to discuss a very important matter with you, but not here.” The tone of the demon prince was quite serious as it caused the young angel to snap out of his trance-like state. Getting even closer to his companion, he whispered words that were only meant for her. His golden eyes were locked with her captivating ones as he awaited her answer. He earned a nod of approval from her. His grin widened as he clasped his manicured hands together. He snaked his arm around her waist and guided her away from the cathedral. The Cathedral of Notre-Dame. He assured her his loyal butler would take care of her piano.

Walking away, the clacking of her high heels resounded through the streets of Paris. The young angel followed her as he eyed the demon prince suspiciously, but he trusted her. He had faith in her.

Saved an angel; was tempted by the demon prince himself as he led her away from the cathedral. The woman was aware of her surroundings from the beginning. No one could use her. That was her remarkable ability. She was desired by many, yet none of them had the privilege to touch her or even dream about having her in their arms. She was one of a kind; and every one of them knew. The Prince of Hell did not cajole her into following him with his words, she merely accepted his offer.

The clacking of her high heels became unbearable as the spectators resumed enjoying the scenery. His blue gaze had never left her as he silently prayed she would look back. One last time. The woman halted dead in her tracks, surprising her companions. Looking over her shoulder, a half-smirk decorated her beautiful facial features as her eyes stared into the void of blackness, far away from the artificial lights. His breath was caught in his throat, she could sense his presence. She could feel his eyes on her, she had heard his prayer.

“After introducing our new exchange program students,” a loud, booming voice resounding in the large ballroom. Covering the melodious music to earn every one of the attendants’ attention. All eyes were on the tallest man in their presence and they looked at him with great interest as they awaited their prince to resume his speech. “I would like all of you to enjoy yourselves.” It was not the monologue they had anticipated, but none of them were troubled with the short introduction of their prince’s guests from the other realms.

Every one of them returned to their respective activities as the pleasant, yet unfamiliar melody played in the background to make the visit of attendants at the Demon Lord’s Castle unforgettable. The Prince of Hell himself was quite preoccupied with engaging in conversation with his close friend, the Avatar of Pride, and an old acquaintance of his as his sharp golden eyes detected a rather familiar face in the ocean of people. A huge grin tugged at the corners of his lips, his eyes crinkled in delight as he managed to get both of his companions’ attention. The black-haired man gave him a questioned look, awaiting his response. Diavolo did not pay any heed to his subtle signals. Waving his arm, he opened his mouth to start speaking. “It’s good to see you again. I thought you would never come.” His voice had a playful lilt to it as his eyes were fixated on a feminine figure in front of him.

A woman clad in a long, black dress with a slit that reached her mid-thigh that hugged her curves perfectly. A simple, yet elegant combination of attire attracted their attention, but she did not seem to mind all the eyes that were on her as she idly conversed with the white-haired sorcerer. Flashing him one of her infamous smirks, she excused herself and turned on her heel to leave. Swirling her alcoholic beverage absentmindedly, she straightened her back and stepped forward. Her high heels were clicking and clacking against the marble flooring as she took a deep breath. She already had a certain destination in mind, her smirk grew wider. Her eyes were fixated on the handsome demon, weaving her way through the crowd was not an obstacle for her as she easily arrived at her destined location. The tantalizing sway of her hips earned her several compliments from the demons.

A low chuckle escaped her full lips as her eyes met his golden ones. Bowing her head for the sake of formality, she straightened herself, once more, and took a sip of her beverage. “My apologies, My Lord. Every woman takes her sweet time preparing herself for the big event. Unfortunately, I missed the introduction of your new students.” Breaking eye contact with him, she cast a glance at the sorcerer and resumed speaking. “I have to admit, you have chosen rather intriguing candidates from my world, without consulting me.”

Simpering, he followed her gaze and nodded his head in agreement. Diavolo shrugged his shoulders as he commented on her remark. “It was Lucifer who chose the candidates from the human world.” Looking at his companion, his eyes glinted with an unreadable expression as he continued talking. “I believe you are familiar with Lucifer, but have you ever met our new exchange program student from the Celestial Realm?” the brown-haired prince questioned his beautiful companion as he directed her attention towards his third companion.

A handsome dark brown-haired man with a brilliant shade of blue eyes—the most enthralling color she had ever seen in her life. He had a charming smile dancing across his breathtakingly beautiful features. His blue gaze never left her figure as his companion resumed his conversation. “Allow me to introduce you to Simeon. He is one of the two angels sent from the Celestial Realm to take part in the exchange program. And this is [Name] [Surname]. She is…” He trailed off. The Prince of Hell stopped for a moment to think about it.

The woman standing right next to him sensed his distress and decided to get involved to avoid any unpleasant situations. Offering one of her infamous smirks, she extended her hand for him to take as she opened her mouth to begin speaking—well, finish what Diavolo had started. “Lord Diavolo, I’m certain the introduction was not necessary as we are familiar with each other.” She sent a wink in his direction as Simeon stared at her extended hand. It took him several seconds to realize what that gesture meant as he took her hand, shaking it. His grip was firm but gentle. Releasing her slender hand from his bigger one’s grasp, her next sentence made him snap out of his reverie as his heart picked up its pace.

“We met in Paris.”

Simeon blinked once, twice, thrice. His heartbeat was getting faster and faster as her words echoed in his mind. He did not hear how Diavolo and Lucifer left them alone to speak with other guests. His companion took another sip of her beverage and attempted to break the ice. Biting her lower lip sensually, she thought for a moment. “Have you ever heard the tale of Romans? In ancient times, Romans shook each other’s hands to demonstrate they were unarmed and their handshake was a symbol of friendship and loyalty.”

Shaking his head to dismiss his useless thoughts, his blue eyes met with hers. She was aware of the events, taking place in the capital of France. Oh, Lord Almighty, she knew. The brown-haired man was great at having conversations with anyone, yet this one human managed to take his breath away by uttering several words. He was not certain how to respond to her, but to one’s relief, she quickly detected his uneasiness and resumed speaking. “I know what you are thinking, Simeon.” A low chuckle escaped her lips, once more. “Please forget what happened in Paris. The young angel is safe and he is with me. During my absence, he will remain in Rome, at my family estate. If you don’t trust my word, then you may pay a visit to him. In the meantime,” she inspected her surroundings. “May I have the honor to accompany you outside as it is getting rather crowded in here?”

Placing her half-empty glass on the nearby table, she inhaled the fresh air. Getting closer to him, she linked her arm with his and started to lead the way, guiding him outside of the Demon Lord’s Castle. Simeon was speechless, he could not utter a word as he allowed her to sweep him away. The blue-eyed angel had met many humans and demons in his long existence, but this human woman intrigued him. Her enigmatic aura attracted him, he wished to learn more about her. Simeon was an experienced and mature angel, he could easily read anyone like an open book; however, her behavior puzzled him. By now, he could have gone through numerous subjects during his conversation with Diavolo and Lucifer, but not with her. The woman waltzed into his life without asking him, and currently, she is dragging him away from the ball.

It would have been an understatement if he had said he preferred to remain at the castle. His gorgeous companion guided him outside of the premises, into the gardens. There was the moon glimmering above them in the darkness of the night as the stars accompanied it with their dim illuminations. It was a beautiful, cloudless sky. Looking up to get a better look at the scenery, he noted the moon of the Devildom differed from the one in the human world. And he was certain, she would not be fascinated by the view unlike him. His blue gaze landed on his arm that was linked with her, and then, his mesmerizing eyes studied her as if he was trying to memorize every small detail of hers. In his eyes, she was perfect.

Yet the angel wondered to himself, how he had managed to find her. There were more than seven billion humans on Earth and he had the privilege to meet an occult detective with an eccentric personality and antics. He had to find this particular human interesting. Simeon cursed his existence, at the same time, he silently thanked his Father for allowing him to meet her. Developing romantic feelings for a human was not an option, but he indulged in his sinful desires a little bit.

Releasing him from her grasp, she turned around to face him as she leaned back on her elbows against the railing. Her cold and calculating eyes studied him, but not with a scrutinizing gaze. Her tense body relaxed as she allowed herself to close her eyes for a moment. The deafening silence reigned in the air, she refused to speak up, taking pleasure in being far away from the crowded ballroom.

A soft hum resonated in the darkness of the night, opening her eyes, she straightened herself. Her gaze softened as she glanced at her handsome companion. Pretending she was sitting in front of the piano, her slender fingers started moving with perfect synchronization. It seemed they had minds of their own as they produced illusive notes, waltzing in the air. Her eyes met his brilliant shade of blue. She studied them with great curiosity. It was barely undetectable, yet she noticed how his sapphires lit up, engulfing her with his warmth.

Stepping forward, she got closer to him. Her eyes were locked with his as the silence lingered between them, not planning to leave them any time soon. Even though she delighted in being with him in solitude, she had a strong desire to have a decent conversation with the angel. The woman opened her mouth to start talking. “This will remain between us. Cross my heart and hope to die,” a low chuckle escaped her full lips as she resumed. “Stick a needle in my eye.”

Before the brown-haired angel had a chance to respond to her a rather odd vow, she gave him a two-finger salute and turned on her heel, leaving him to his own thoughts. Simeon opened, then closed his lips into a thin line as his blue gaze never left her. Her tight-fitting dress outlined her curves, awakening immoral desires within him. Feeling his heartbeat increasing, this human did wonders to his immortal heart.

The rays of sunlight seeped through the famous stained rose windows of the cathedral, dimly illuminating the surroundings. The rows of pews decorated the main part of the church to greet as many believers as possible. Its doors were always open to anyone that wished to pay a visit to one of the wonders of the modern-day world. Every one of the visitors adored the magnificent masterpiece of the French Gothic architecture accompanied by its loyal guardians, gargoyles—never once leaving their respective places to keep a close eye on the place they learned to call home. An intriguing statement, yet all of them were well aware it had the seeds of truth.

The Cathedral of Notre-Dame—The place where it all had begun—had always had countless visitors to witness its greatness with their own eyes, yet it was devoid of its usual attendants. A familiar silence reigned in the air as it lingered more than necessary, not allowing anyone or anything to produce sounds. However, the clicking of the rather familiar shoes against the marble flooring resounded in the large cathedral, shattering the deafening silence completely. The sounds of footsteps halted in front of the altar as the man dropped to his knees, his white cape pooling around him as his head lowered in humiliation. His heavy breathes resonated throughout the church, his quickened heartbeat could be heard.

His lips were pursed into a thin line as both of his hands clutched a rosary, hard enough to draw blood. Closing his endless oceans of blue, letting out a shaky breath, he stopped himself. The stagnant air in the church was suffocating, burning his lungs. The man opened his mouth, yet no words came out. Inhaling the fresh air, he listened to his heart hammering against the ribcage, convinced it would jump out of his chest.

Evening his breathing, he gained enough confidence to open his bewitching eyes as he raised his head. He started speaking. “Father, I have sinned against heaven and in your sight, and am no longer worthy to be called your son.” His words echoed in the cathedral.

His very own words made him shiver with disgust. Was remorse eating him alive? Were his mind and intuition screaming at him that it was too late to redeem his actions? Was he regretting his deeds? All of the questions were running rampant in his mind. He could not help himself, yet he had tainted himself. Was he even worthy of stepping his foot in his Father’s house? Thinking about it made him hang his head in shame, the tufts of his brown hair framing his sapphire blue eyes. The angel tightened his grip on the rosary.

A soft melody found its way as his mind played tricks on him. It was a wicked ballad, yet he was enamored by it. He could not escape its clutches, dragging him further into the depths of hell. The return was non-existent. His predicament was laughable, he understood the absurdity of his situation. The brown-haired angel had always believed he would not make a similar mistake, yet there he was contemplating his own existence. Simeon was certain it was a fleeting feeling, a mere infatuation with a human woman.

The brown-haired angel should have heeded the warnings of not following the white rabbit until the end of the road. Now, he had fallen down the rabbit hole and he could not claw his way out of it. He fell deeper than he had anticipated. Could his soul still be saved?

An angel falling for a human. How could anyone be so foolish to voluntarily corrupt themselves? Straying away from the path of the righteous man. An angel; a man of God—falling head over heels in love with a human. Having strong bonds with the creations of God had never been an issue, but getting involved with one of them had always been frowned upon. Simeon had been aware of it, yet he could not help himself.

His body stiffened, his prayers had fallen on deaf ears. His heart-wrenching pleas had not been heard, it was apparent. He could sense it. Simeon’s words merely ricocheted off the ancient walls of the cathedral. His stark white attire dirtied, his hands scarred beneath the black gloves from clutching the rosary. It was a sight to behold. An unforgettable memory for a mortal man, yet no one was there to witness the angel’s former glory. The angel’s silent cry of distress to be heard. He was all alone at his Father’s home.

The cursed notes of melody had never left him, accompanying him until the end. A loud clatter reverberated, the rosary slipped through his iron grip and fell to the polished ground. A low chuckle escaped his lips, his heart beating rapidly against his chest as he looked up, his brilliant shade of blue staring at the ceiling. He should have known, yet he knew. It was inevitable. Every one of them was aware of it from the beginning.

The clanking of ice, joyous laughter, and a familiar song played in the background. Creating a welcoming aura for the guests that desired to visit a small bar in Zurich, Switzerland. The true neutral territory of the human world—especially for humans. They had once said: “politics is a dirty game.” And every one of them agreed. As they would say, it was a “human thing” and a demon, nor an angel would never understand it. An intriguing concept, yet some were not courageous enough to delve deeper into the matter. The creations of God—humans—were an interesting case.

As the music resumed playing in the background, the guests enjoyed their alcoholic beverages in their own small circle of friends. It was a unique place and all of them intended to keep it that way for a long time. It was a perfect consensus among strangers.

A certain woman frequented the bar with her associate and it was yet another day to discuss their daily lives. Her eyes had a mischievous glint as they were locked with her companion’s unnaturally-colored ones. With a shake of her head, she took a sip of her dirty martini. Settling her glass on the wooden table, she opened her full lips to throw one of her snide remarks in his direction, but she was interrupted when someone barged into her haven. Quirking a brow, she looked over her shoulder to see the person who opened the wooden double doors with such force. Her eyes widened as she froze in her seat. Her words were caught in her throat.

Her companion mirrored her actions as he cast a glance at the entrance of the bar. Exhaling, he blinked several times to adjust his vision. He was not certain whether his eyes were deceiving him or his mind was playing tricks on him. He swallowed thickly as he opened his mouth to start speaking. “Luke, what are you doing here? Most importantly, how did you find us?”

Solomon took the words out of her mouth as if he had read her mind. His yellow-blue eyes studied his partner thoroughly, her every facial reaction and movement. The sorcerer did not require her affirmation to understand something unspeakable had occurred, yet he was not certain whether she was aware of it or not. His curiosity had always been insatiable, but with this woman, he never allowed himself to let his guard down as she was a walking disaster. She attracted trouble without even trying. And of course, the young angel—already—in front of their table was the living proof of it.

Clenching his hands into fists, his face was entirely red as his nostrils flared. “How could you do this to us?! I thought you cared.” The young angel’s fury was directed towards the woman.

Her expression was unreadable, her eyes were devoid of emotions. No sign of life. She could not utter a word as she lowered her head in shame. All eyes were on her, everyone at the bar watched how the entire scene unfolded. The guests of her favorite bar were the witnesses of her humiliation and failure as their judgemental stares bored holes into her soul. Every one of them was observing her with their scrutinizing gazes. Lowering her head even further, her hair obscured her regretful face. She received their silent curses openly, accepting them. Taking a deep breath, she raised her head and looked at him.

The white-haired sorcerer could sense her melancholic soul, her nihilistic thoughts, and the rapid beat of her heart. He did not even deem necessary to use magic on her to see her facade cracking and her mask slipping after all these years. Yet he still was amazed by how she held herself. He could not tear his eyes off of her as he resumed observing her.

“Of course, I did…” She trailed off, taking her sweet time to process the young angel’s every word. The background music did not allow silence to reign in the air, not this time. “I…” The woman stopped as she pursed her lips into a thin line, refusing to say another word.

It was getting unbearable, the tension was tormenting the young angel. He was not used to it, he was not even used to being surrounded by so many sinners. Humans and their judgemental gazes. He could feel his lungs burning because of the air. It had been tainted. Shaking his head in disbelief, his nails dug into his palms, his knuckles turning white from the sheer pressure. Gritting his teeth, he exposed his pearly white teeth to the world.

“They are judging Simeon.”

Four words. Those four damned words. Feeling her skin being prickled with goosebumps, her frozen state worsened. She could not hear anything, his words were nothing but white noise. A shaky sigh left her full lips as she blinked once, twice, thrice. Her mind replayed those four words. Closing her eyes for a moment, she listened to the song that resumed blending in with the background effortlessly. The woman then allowed her heart to calm down as she opened her eyes. Looking at him, she finally responded.

“Tell me more.” Her voice was firm but uncertain.

“Simeon’s life is at stake. He is going to fall.”

Slamming her hands against the wooden table, she stood up from her seat. The chair fell to the laminate flooring with a loud thud, yet no one paid attention to it. Their eyes were still on her as every one of them heard. “I have to go,” muttered under her breath.

Taking a sip of his alcoholic beverage, Solomon continued watching the entire scene with great amusement. His eyes followed his companion’s figure as she left their favorite bar, the young angel running after her.

Once he had heard a visit of an angel supposed to be a good omen, but now, he started to doubt the statement. A sly smirk danced across his handsome facial features as his hand started glowing, surrounded by the dim golden illumination. With a flick of his hand, the golden light spread throughout the small bar. “Always making me do the dirty work.”

How hypocritical of him to speak such words. Solomon was fully aware of it, but he could not care less about it. He had always been more of a spectator than a player. It was a mutual agreement. She had his back, and in return, he was always there to aid her. A perfect symbiosis between two human beings. He was quite proud of his achievement.

The judgement had been passed.

An angel had been cast out of heaven.

He had fallen.

Standing in front of the familiar castle, the darkness of the night concealed her figure rather well. Her hands shaking, her breathing ragged as she was on the verge of losing her consciousness, yet she held herself perfectly. Her nerves betrayed her as she dropped to her knees, her legs refusing to assist her. Digging her manicured nails into her own skin, her gaze lingered on the Demon Lord’s Castle. Her vision blurred. Blinking several times to adjust her vision, but she could not. She had not realized how tears trickled down her cheeks, soaking the soil beneath her. When was the last time she cried? She could not recall. Her pulse skyrocketed.

Her mask was cracking without her noticing it. The beating of her heart could be heard from kilometers away. She should have known, yet she did not deem necessary to pay any heed to it. Now, he had to pay the price. He already had. Lowering her head in shame, her hair covered her disheveled appearance and expression.

Attempting to stand up, she teetered. The woman mentally embraced herself for a possible impact, but it never came. Looking up, her eyes met with his. His arms were wrapped around her waist to catch her. Draping her arm around his shoulders, she balanced her shivering body as she tested her legs. This time her legs did not betray her as she leaned against him. He did not reject her physical contact. Laughing bitterly, she straightened herself and opened her chapped lips to start speaking. “Impeccable timing as always, Barbatos. You’re always there to witness my failures. You have seen both of them. Would this answer your eternal question of what it means to be a human and hurting someone you love?”

“He has been waiting for you. Forgive my curiosity, but how long have you been in the Devildom without anyone being aware of it? How did you manage to convince the Young Master to permit you to remain here?”

Assisting her to stand up, he bombarded her with so many questions, she did not have enough time to process every one of them. It was quite uncommon for the demon butler to question people, yet the woman in front of her was a different occasion. He was one of the most powerful demons in existence, yet he still had difficulty understanding human nature and how this woman’s mind functioned. Inspecting her unkempt appearance, he noted she had seen better days.

Separating from his strong grip, she stretched her limbs and wiped her tears away. Inhaling the fresh air to calm her beating heart down, she pushed her hair back and tilted her head. Biting her lower lip—a rather familiar habit of hers to which even Barbatos got accustomed to. She thought for a moment, she was stalling some time. She could have easily used a question dodging technique, but she decided to tell the truth.

“You and I both know you are already fully aware of my current predicament. Is there anything you wish to know?” Those undertones of mockery were remarkable, considering her current situation. Quirking a brow, she studied the demon butler as an infamous smirk of hers tugged at the corners of her lips. “I thought we had a mutual understanding here.” Stopping herself for a moment, she shook her head to dismiss her useless thoughts. Straightening her back, she looked at him and added the last part. “My egotistical desires led us to this irrevocable act. I should have known. I did, yet I did not do anything.”

The last part of her speech was barely audible, but the demon butler heard every word of it. Nodding his head in acknowledgement, he placed his chin between his gloved thumb and index finger, he appeared as if he was thinking. He opened his mouth to start speaking. “This is not my place to meddle; however, do you regret your decision of getting involved with him?”

A low, bitter laugh escaped her full, yet chapped lips. Her eyes glinted with an unreadable expression, once more, he had difficulty comprehending her emotions. He decided to await her response before jumping to conclusions. That smirk of hers still present on her gorgeous features. Several dreadful seconds passed before she responded.

“How could I?” She stopped, once more, allowing the silence to reign. “I have made many foolish choices in my God-forsaken life, but loving him is something that I would never regret.” Looking up at the darkened sky, she resumed. “It’s quite ironic, I’m telling my life story to a demon who doesn’t give a flying fuck about me. Look, how low I have fallen.” Her every word was dripped with venomous self-hatred.

“Unfortunately, you are not wrong; however, I’m not the only listener you have tonight.”

Casting a glance at the demon butler, she noticed another dark figure standing behind Barbatos. Under normal circumstances, she would have easily detected an unwanted presence looming into her field of vision. It seemed she was too absorbed in her self-pity not to let her guard down. Her mask had slipped. She realized it a long time ago, but it was too late. It had always been too late for her.

Furrowing her brows, she did not say anything as she patiently awaited the figure to reveal themselves. The woman already had her suspicions, yet she refused to believe her own intuition as her heart skipped a beat. She could not shake her head or dismiss her useless thoughts as she did, not long ago. Her entire body was frozen in one place, she had no desire to move. Inhaling and exhaling, her chest was rising and falling. Mentally, she tried to deceive her mind to calm her rapidly beating heart, but to no avail. Her heart rejected her attempts, becoming an obstinate vital organ.

The tall figure stepped forward, revealing himself in the dim moonlight. Her breath hitched as she stepped backwards. It was him, the most magnificent creature in this damned world. A genuine smile decorated his handsome face as his brilliant shade of blue shone—in the darkness of the night—brighter than ever. A pair of midnight black wings were folded tightly against his back as a pair of black horns protruded out of his skull, completing his ethereal beauty.

Simeon stepped forward, but she moved backwards. Her gaze shifted between him and the demon butler. Her heart was wrenching, the feeling of regret was getting unbearable. She watched how Barbatos turned on his heel and disappeared into the darkness. As expected, he always did it. It would be no different in this situation.

She stopped moving, raising her head up, her grief-stricken eyes met with his. His smile grew wider as he approached her. Without wasting any moment, he wrapped his arms around her, embracing her tightly as if he was afraid of waking up in a world where she did not exist. Placing her head against his chest, she listened to his heartbeat. It was not quickened like hers, it was as serene as the melody of their wicked ballad. She refused to stand idly, but she could not touch him. Her consciousness did not allow her to reach for the stars.

He could sense her distress, but he was fully aware of her internal conflict. As much as he could remember he had always been fascinated with human nature, how different they were from angels and demons. Humans always had a knack for making their lives more difficult and he had a perfect opportunity to witness such an event with his own eyes. Ironically, he could relate to her struggles. He understood her. 

Hiding his face in the crook of her neck, he whispered. “I forgive you.” Wrapping his large wings around her form, he shielded her from the harsh weather of the Devildom.

Three words. It only took three words to lift all of her burdens off her shoulders. A shaky sigh escaped her chapped lips as she snaked her arms around his torso, tightening her grip on him. Her heartbeat started to quiet, inhaling the fresh air did not burn her lungs anymore, and her tense body relaxed. After all these years, she had finally found her place.

“I know.”

[hardkinkbardkink]

anon asked: Witchers undergo mutations around/before puberty, right? As a result, their cocks are incredibly small — Geralt’s even more so, due to the double rounds of mutations. Jaskier is so enthralled by this, and loves stroking and petting it so softly while saying the meanest things to Geralt for it, calling it an overgrown clit, spanking the shaft when the witcher tries to touch it when they fuck. If Geralt can’t come from just his hole, why should he come at all? It’s not like his cock is worth it.

***

Jaskier is notorious for getting his hopes up too damn high.

At least this time he had fine reason for it, didn’t he?

He’d spent months observing his witcher, noting the nuances of his physique–and his main conclusion is that Geralt is, at the very least, a demigod. Maybe a full deity. Maybe he is Chaos, personified, there to tempt Jaskier away from salvation with a chiselled jawline and thighs girthier that most tree trunks they pass.

It is only logical to assume, under these circumstances–

Well, and Jaskier isn’t vain, he really isn’t, shallow only when it comes to his own person but definitely not to others, and–

It’s not to say Jaskier doesn’t appreciate having Geralt naked for him anyway, every last inch of his scarred, golden, hair-covered skin, but–

He’d thought Geralt would have a cock to match all of that thick, overgrown rest of him.

“I’ll order you a whore. For the trouble.”

Jaskier doesn’t register the words at first, too preoccupied with the way Geralt’s cute tiny prick bobs between his legs when he makes to get dressed. When Jaskier does process his intention, he quickly crosses the space between them and presses all up on Geralt’s glorious chest.

“Nonsense. Nonsense, my witcher, we’ve just begun.”

They barely begun, more like. Shared a wet, breathtaking kiss downstairs, with Jaskier wiggling onto Geralt’s lap. Got gently spit on and chased up the stairs to their one solitary room. Out of all that, getting Geralt to undress took them the longest.

And sure, Jaskier thinks, when he reaches to pet at Geralt’s cute little cock, his tight balls–sure, he’d already got all stretched and slick before he even went downstairs, and oil is dripping out of him, soaking the seat of his trousers, but–well, plans can be changed, can’t they?

“Go lay down for me, dear,” he says before he goes to undress, back turned to the bed. He can hear it creak when Geralt does as he’s bid, and Jaskier shudders at the unexpected surge of power.

Geralt inhales sharply when Jaskier is fully divested of his clothes, bent over casually so Geralt can catch a glimpse of his gaping, puffy hole. He rummages through his travel bag longer than he should; just for the fun of it. Just to rail Geralt up some more.

“Jaskier?” Geralt says with a note of uncertainty when Jaskier crawls on the bed to straddle Geralt’s thighs.

Jaskier smiles at him brightly as he uncorks a vial of unscented oil and tips some onto the wooden, lacquered cock in his hand. The sound of his palm working it over is quite obscene. Jaskier can see Geralt’s prick twitch and drool as he watches.

“You see, Geralt,” Jaskier begins as he shuffles a bit forward, bringing the toy behind himself, hovering just above Geralt’s straining prick. “I really was rather looking forward to getting utterly wrecked by your fat cock tonight.” He sinks the toy into himself easily, smooth and curved just so. “But it seems that you’ve failed to provide the cock.”

He huffs out a laugh when Geralt turns his head in shame, clenches his fists by his sides.

“It’s the mutations,” Geralt tells him quietly.

Jaskier brings a hand to his witcher’s cheek and guides him back to have Geralt watch as he bounces on his toy.

“Oh?”

It’s not his biggest toy, but Jaskier does love it greatly. Perhaps not as much as he loves the despair in Geralt’s eyes as his gaze stays glued between Jaskier’s legs, on the wooden cock disappearing into him and Jaskier’s own hard dick bouncing heavily along with him.

Jaskier moves his free hand to touch teasingly at the wet tip of Geralt’s prick.

“We–we were all children when they first started the–the process,” Geralt explains in a rushed manner and Jaskier rewards him with a quick tug at his cock.

“So all witchers have pathetic little boy cocks?”

Geralt whines and looks like he’s about to stop talking, so Jaskier strokes him more firmly, fucks himself on his toy harder.

“Mine’s the smallest.”

Fuck, and isn’t that a thought? His White Wolf, the fastest, strongest of all the witchers–with the tiniest, cutest prick?

“Oh, Geralt,” he sighs blissfully. “Have you ever even got to fuck anyone properly? Or do you have the whores lick your little cock like it’s a clit?”

Geralt twitches in his palm, moans when Jaskier tightens his grip.

“No matter now, darling, I’ll take care of it for you, won’t I? Make sure you’re nice and satisfied, poor thing.”

Geralt nods frantically and presses his lips in a tight line when his prick pulses out a few pathetic drops of spend. Jaskier laughs.

“What a cute thing. Just for decoration.”

Jaskier snatches one of Geralt’s wrists and brings his hand to wrap around Jaskier’s own cock. He thrusts into the tight clutch of it, clenches around his toy until he sees stars.

“Fuck, you like my big cock, darling? Feel how nice and hard it is? You’ll like it when I put it in you, I promise. You can ride it just like this, and I’ll rub your little clit until you squirt for me.”

Geralt groans, and Jaskier tosses his head back when he comes, laughing breathlessly.

They’re going to have so much fun.

***

Jaskier does make sure Geralt stays satisfied, though maybe he indulges himself too much, sometimes.

“Did you use to ask the whores to fuck your needy hole with their fingers?” he asks as he does just that.

Geralt writhes a bit under his touch, but shakes his head faintly.

“Did they suck your tiny cock? Bet they could fit your balls in their mouths, too, all in one go, trying to choke on you but you’re just too small.”

Jaskier tucks his pinky along with the rest of his fingers and crooks all of them just right. Geralt gives a reedy moan in response and his fingers flex when they tighten around the fistfuls of sheets at his sides.

“But you don’t need me to do that anymore, right, dear? You’ll be a good boy and come just on my fat prick.”

“If you put it in me,” Geralt huffs in the voice he usually uses to threaten people. As if it’d work on Jaskier.

“Oh, that’s very naughty of you. Good little boys don’t get bossy. They take what they’re given or else they get nothing.”

Jaskier pulls his fingers out, to better show his point, and watches as Geralt bucks his hips, humping the air.

“And look at that little thing, all red and swollen and eager,” he says, bringing a single finger to rub tiny circles around Geralt’s dripping cockhead. “Don’t you want to feel good when I fuck your sloppy hole like it’s meant to be? Don’t you want to come over and over while I breed you and rub your clit?”

He can see the muscles in Geralt’s thighs and belly quiver, until he takes his touch away entirely.

“What do we say, love?”

Geralt squeezes his eyes shut and spreads his legs wider when he whispers,

“I’m sorry.”

Jaskier raises his eyebrows expectantly and gives Geralt’s prick a light slap to get his attention. He decidedly does not expect Geralt to whimper and his cock to drool. Fascinating.

“Please fuck my greedy hole and make me squirt on your fat cock.”

There isn’t much conviction to the words, not yet, but the corner of Jaskier’s mouth twitches involuntarily anyway.

“Good. Very good.”

Sinking his cock into Geralt’s tight, virginal hole (oh, were you embarrassed, dear? Didn’t want a real man to see your adorable prick and laugh?) is a spiritual experience. Maybe Geralt is a god after all. Jaskier knows he doesn’t have to be gentle, so he isn’t–just fucks Geralt roughly like he’d been dying to ever since he first thought about it.

“Oh, you’re perfect, darling, aren’t you? My perfect little plaything, begging to be used.”

Geralt doesn’t answer, and Jaskier can’t even be sure whether he’s heard a word of it–because his perfect face is slack with pleasure, mouth open and eyes heavy-lidded, the very picture of debauchery, and he moans at each thrust of Jaskier’s cock like a whore paid to do it.

Jaskier has to focus very hard on not coming at the mere sight of his witcher lost in such rapture.

Lost completely and utterly, because he goes against Jaskier’s explicit wishes and reaches down to palm at his prick.

Jaskier tuts at him and bats his hand away, before he slaps the little thing, once then quickly a second time when Geralt howls.

“I told you, dear, you don’t get to touch.”

Geralt looks at him, then, and his eyelashes are breathtakingly wet.

“Jaskier.”

A flick to his cockhead makes Geralt squeeze around him deliciously.

“If you were meant to touch your cock you’d have an actual cock, love, not this pitiful little thing.”

He slaps it again, and then lands a few hits to Geralt’s cute pink balls that draw up at the attention.

Jaskier fucks him properly, rides him like he needs it to breathe because he does, really–he could survive exclusively on the dizzying moans that spill out of his witcher.

Geralt comes after a few moments, untouched and beautiful in his pleasure, squirming and twisting away when Jaskier keeps abusing his oversensitive hole, and then quickly comes a second time with a hoarse scream, his pretty little cock pulsing out more spend than Jaskier’s ever seen it do.

“That’s it, darling, gods, you were made for this.”

When Jaskier spends with a shudder he feels a hand come to rest firmly at the back of his thigh and Geralt, voice quiet and broken, whispers,

“One more. Please.”

And who is Jaskier to deny his perfect, lovely plaything?