#turns out the thing that turns jay on is; enthusiastic consent

[hungharrington]

I can see Steve saying "When I tell you to sit on my face, I want you to sit, is that clear?" to read

wet as a dream

anon babe, i'm sure this prompt is supposed to be dom energy and yet all i could read was assuring boyfriend stevie <3 so have sum softness with ur face-sitting hehe 2k words, minors do not interact, and yanno, this is exactly what the prompt suggests + a lot of lovey dovey feelings ! enjoy <3

Look, you were no stranger to sex, to say the least. It might still make you flush, an eager yet still slightly embarrassed warmth whenever you and Steve go from sweet kisses, to a hot make-out, to more…

But even then, you’re not entirely sure anything could’ve prepared for this— for Steve to murmur against your lip between his heated kisses, “I want you to sit on my face.” 

You pull back from the make-out, chest huffing and your voice sounds only a tiny bit strangled when you say, “What?” 

Steve takes advantage of his new view, eyes skirting up and down your face hungry with love. His eyes are warm, grin easy, like it’s no big deal when he says, “I said I want—“ 

“No, no,” You cut in, feeling your ears tinge warmly. “I, uh, heard you the first time.” 

The image his words conjure pours into your mind, sitting on his tongue as his hands curl right around your thighs and keep you as close as he wants— while you mewl atop him, at his mercy. You shiver just a bit, desire streaking through you, and it quickly reminds you of the lap you’re sitting it, the evidence of Steve’s desire hard beneath you. 

His hands haven’t moved, still resting on your sides. His thumbs swatch up and down lightly, trying to read your expression. “You don’t have to,” Steve says earnestly, brows drawing together. “But, I promise it’ll feel so good.” 

That you have no doubt about. You’ve found it especially hard to stay quiet when Steve gets his mouth on you— something in the way he eats you out, with such an enthused fervor, moaning enough that you know he enjoys it too. 

“That’s not what I’m worried bout.” You admit, shifting in his lap again. Your hands that have been resting on his chest fall, landing on your thighs. You avert your eyes for a moment, some old insecurities bubbling to the service — you’ve never done this before but Steve has, he’s probably done it with girls skinnier than you, with smaller thighs and— 

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t, okay?” Steve interrupts your stream of prickly thoughts, moving a hand up to cradle your jaw sweetly. You meet his eyes, knowing your worry displays on your expression. His fondness soothes you. 

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to.” Steve promises. 

“You’re sure?” You check one more, anxiety getting the best of you. 

Steve chuckles lightheartedly, leaning in to kiss you deeply. He pulls back an inch, scanning your face once more, looking for more hesitancy to soothe. “If you are,” he assures with another smile. 

With a deep breath, you nod, aiming for sure. You think back to the steamy image your mind had provided, think back to every time Steve’s gotten between your thighs and drawn out noises out of you that you didn’t even know you could make — you want to do this. 

Steve grins. He reclines himself to lie back on the bed, his hands fluttering down to ghost touches along your thighs. Another nerve trips you up. 

“Can I— can I keep my skirt on?” You ask nervously, your fingers gripping the edge of your skirt. 

Steve softens, grin melting into a reassuring smile. “Of course, honey. And if you want to stop, just- if you’re uncomfortable or find you don’t want to—“ 

“I do.” You interrupt him. “I do want to do this.” 

To prove your point, you begin to work your panties down your thighs — You can feel the slick that’s pooled in them, from when you had gotten worked up from the hot kisses from Steve earlier. You feel yourself clench in anticipation of what’s coming. 

It takes a moment to work them off, getting caught on your ankles awkwardly - but that awkward giggle dies in your throat at Steve’s heavy stare. You failed to notice his growing boner until you situate yourself back on his lap, in nothing but your skirt and bra, and the feel of it feeds into your lust. He wants this. He really fucking wants this. 

“Okay,” you say, biting your lower lip for a moment, trying to think if there’s a sexier way to shuffle up the bed to his face. Steve let’s you get all of halfway before he pauses you, hands on your thighs again— he wants to say this when he can still see your whole face properly. 

"When I tell you to sit on my face,” He starts, enjoying how your expression peaks in embarrassment once again. He grins. “I want you to sit.” 

He raises his brows at you. “Is that clear?" He asks, making sure you’re both on the right page. Steve Harrington certainly did not half-ass some face-sitting.

You nod, a little relieved at his insistence and clear excitement— something delightful burns in your tummy that he wants to do this, enough to assure you to not dare hold back. 

You shuffle a little higher, nerves creeping in as you hover over Steve’s face, unsure how to start. Do you just—? 

The question is ripped from your mind as Steve’s arms curl up around your thighs, hands holding you firm, and he pulls you down onto his mouth. His tongue licks a bold stroke through your folds, warm and wet. 

Heat plumes in your tummy, a soft sigh of pleasure escaping your lips as your head tips back — you can’t quite handle the sight of him between your thighs just yet. You know it’ll send your head spinning. Your hands hold the edge of your skirt up, just an inch or so to keep it out of his face and you try to focus on the sensations instead. 

His pink lips mouth softly along your cunt, tongue soothing along as he works up to your clit — then swirls his tongue over it firmly, enough to pull a soft moan from you. You legs spread a little wider, sinking into him and you can feel the hum of approval from Steve. 

“There we go,” He praises, pressing another sloppy kiss to clit. “That’s it.” 

His encouragement melts into you, fiery hot, and you whine a bit, hips rocking down on his face instinctively. Pleasure twists the coil in your stomach tighter. Steve’s fingers flex against the skin of your thighs, his tongue loose and warm as he licks and suckles at your core.

Time melts and muddles as you lose yourself to pleasure, Steve dutifully giving and giving, his plush lips dragging deliciously against your clit so good that all you do is moan above him. You’re not sure how long you’ve been going, only the mounting pull in your tummy to give an indication, when Steve’s mouth begins to kiss lower and lower — until he’s aligned with your slicked entrance. 

Where you might of once given a moment to embarrassment, you only feel your eagerness grow— especially as Steve releases a filthy moan against you. 

“You’re so wet,” he rasps, the words doused in lust and approval. You shiver at his husky voice, a weak moan scraping out your throat when he skirts his tongue around your hole, avoiding it purposefully. You clench, and whine in complaint. Tease. 

“My girl,” He hums, a few more kisses. You have no doubt you’ve soaked the bottom half of his face with your arousal— but the thought just adds to your lust. “You love this, hmm? Y’glad I ask’d?” 

You’re nodding fervently, desperate for him to keep going, and a pitiful “yes” trips out your mouth. Steve chuckles, the vibrations making you keen, and your impatience gets the best of you; you rock down on him again. 

Steve’s expecting it, if his tightening grip on your thighs and experienced tongue are any indication. He presses up, tongue fucking into the entrance of your cunt hotly and you can’t help how one of your hands shift down rapidly to fist in his hair.

It’s the first time you’ve properly looked down at him, between your thighs, and the sight of him so clearly enjoying himself turns your whine into a loud moan. His hair is messy, eyes slipping closed as he dedicates himself to making you fall apart on his tongue. He looks so fucking hot. 

“Steve,” you whimper, tugging his hair lightly — and you receive a moan in response. He doesn’t let up, doesn’t pause for a moment as your hips move to chase your orgasm which has begun to peak over, just let’s you ride his face. Your chest heaves, every exhale painted in a moan. Every word out your mouth is a curse or his name. 

“Steve,” you whine in warning and Steve’s eyes open. It’s more intimate than you’re expecting, staring down at him with his mouth on your cunt, moments from tipping over the edge- you’re beginning to sound pathetic, whines getting higher and higher. Steve shifts, tilts his head the right way and then— then his fucking nose is rubbing your clit just the right way and you’re gone.

You cry out softly, breathes shuddering as everything peaks — thighs trembling, your hand tightening it’s grip in Steve’s hair, eyes screwed close and your mouth hung open in a moan. The room feels unbearably warm as your orgasm washes over you. Steve thinks he might actually cum in his pants at the sight, especially from his vantage point between your thighs. Fuck. His cock gives a twitch in his pants. 

They’ve been growing tighter and tighter, fueled by your every moan since he’s managed to convince you onto his face — and now his cock is so hard it nearly hurts. Not once had Steve considered slipping a hand down to relieve some pressure; this isn’t about him. It’s about you — and fuck, if you don’t you look beautiful cumming on his face. Twitching and moaning and falling apart on his tongue. 

Steve works you through it, turning back to sloppy open mouth kisses up until you’re finally releasing his hair and shuffling back, so to slump down back in his lap. If you hadn’t just seen stars, you might notice the flicker of excitement in your tummy at Steve’s hardness beneath you. For the moment, however, you’re spent.

Steve hasn’t moved. You try to catch your breath and peer down at him. A laugh catches in your throat at the blissed out smile toying on his face — someone clearly enjoyed themselves. 

“Fucking hell,” you huff approvingly. Steve’s eyes flick over to meet yours and he grins. Your slick is still on his lips, pinker than ever in the sheen of your arousal. He licks them clean. Your tummy twists up at the sight. Why is that so hot? 

“Didn’t I say you’d enjoy it?” Steve hums cockily, his hands searching across the sheets to find your hips. He caresses the skin there gently. 

“Mmhm,” you hum your agreement. “Don’t think I was the only one who enjoyed that though.” You tease, moving your hips down against his bulge purposefully and Steve lets out a deep groan. His hips move up beneath you.

You regrettably stop his movements with a hand on his chest. Steve watches you closely, eyes inquiring. “I’ll return the favor but, um, give me a couple minutes.” 

You smile sheepishly. It dawns quickly on Steve the reason for your pause, needing a cool-off period, and his grin turns down right cheeky. His hands shift up to your wrists and he tugs your forward, capturing you in his arms and holding you against his chest. It’s warm and safe and you can’t help but melt into it, still sapped from your orgasm. 

“That just means I did my job right,” Steve murmurs gleefully, pressing a kiss into your hair. He chuckles at your small uh huh and holds you tighter. 

And with all his whispers of how hot you looked above him, how hard it got him, it doesn’t take very long to find the energy to return the favor. 

[carewyncromwell]

"Everyone’s a writer -- painter -- poet! Everything is avant-garde or chic!

We’ll be in the know before we know it... When you’re in the know, it’s -- Oh, it’s magnifique! To find in Paris what you seek..."

~"Paris Holds the Key (to Your Heart)" from Anastasia (musical)

x~x~x~x

Jacob Cromwell's graduation from Hogwarts truly was an underdog story, to most people's minds. After getting roped into the likes of R, losing his two closest companions to petrification and death respectively, getting expelled, and finally getting trapped in a magical portrait for seven years, it was something of a miracle when he was able to turn it all around with nothing but his astounding intellect and magical talent, graduating with full honors in the spring of 1991. Many presumed that after the trauma he'd undergone, Jacob would settle into life at home with a respectable new career in the Wizarding World -- his sister Carewyn certainly did, taking a much more peaceful job at the Ministry of Magic as a lawyer.

Jacob, however, celebrated his graduation and freedom by traveling the world and doing and learning as much as he could -- and in those travels, he ended up making quite a name for himself, not as "that delinquent Jacob Cromwell," but as a freelance magical researcher. One of those people who took immediate notice of Jacob's brilliance in this regard was a witch who ended up becoming a very good friend of his -- the statuesque Headmistress of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, Olympe Maxime.

It all started when Jacob finally -- after pecking away at it off-and-on for about two years around his travels and random Cursebreaking expeditions -- finished a scholarly essay applying the principles of Muggle chemistry to various Potions ingredients. It was a subject he'd first experimented with in his fifth year at Hogwarts (right in the middle of his Potions OWL, ridiculous as it was), but Jacob had felt more prepared to return to the subject after doing more research and even covertly sitting in on a few Muggle chemistry classes while traveling abroad. Then over the span of the next twenty months, he wrote out a full piece on all of the research he'd done, adding in some theories about a variation of the periodic table possibly being applied to various Potions ingredients and how applying the principles of organic chemistry to Potioneering could spur the invention of new Potions. Jacob sent a copy of his essay to his former professor and friend, Horace Slughorn, and the ex-Potionsmaster reacted with great enthusiasm.

Pleasantries aside, though -- Jacob, my boy, your essay! I spent an absolutely lovely afternoon reading it over a glass of brandy, and I was simply enraptured by it! I hope you don't mind, but I've already sent a snippet of it off to a friend of mine who writes for The Practical Potioneer, to see if he'd be interested in publishing the whole thing in some future edition -- such a thing awaiting your explicit consent, of course.

Jacob enthusiastically gave Slughorn the "go-ahead" to send the rest of his essay along, if his friend expressed interest in publishing it. Later that year, when Jacob came home for Christmas, he was able to surprise his mother and sister with their own first editions of the potioneering magazine containing his essay. Lane was so delighted and proud that she actually ended up bursting into silent tears.

"The Practical Potioneer," she breathed, her wispy voice choked with emotion. "Oh, Jay...I used to read that every month, when I was in school...whenever the Hogwarts library got in a new copy that I could check out...and now..." She brought her hands up to cradle her son's cheeks, "...now my little Blue Jay's gotten published in it!"

Jacob opened his arms in anticipation of the big hug his mother gave him, squeezing her tight. Despite being just as strong of a Legilimens as Carewyn, he'd never been as good at sensing people's emotions as she was -- but in this moment, he was positive: his mother was so, so proud of him. And that feeling filled Jacob up with so much vindication and warmth that he too felt close to tears.

Both Lane and Carewyn would put Jacob's article in positions of honor. Carewyn framed all four pages of Jacob's essay and mounted them on the wall of her office under a print of Hogsmeade village Badeea had painted for her. Lane herself left the magazine with her son's essay out on the side table by her favorite "reading window" for the rest of her life, and she shared it with every single one of the few visitors she invited to her cottage.

x~x~x~x

As fate would have it, a French Potioneer traveling abroad on holiday picked up several Potioneering magazines from the countries he visited, so as to read them on his long train ride home. One of those such magazines ended up being that very edition of The Practical Potioneer, and the French wizard was thoroughly charmed by the theories presented by the British researcher called Jacob Cromwell: so much so that he translated the essay into French and then sent it and the original magazine to the French Wizarding World's main newspaper, Le Cri de la Gargouille. The paper then published the translation of Jacob's essay in their paper in February 1994, specifically as part of their Mode de Vie Magique section -- a section that was, in fact, a favorite of one Olympe Maxime.

About a week after Le Cri de La Gargouille printed Jacob's translated article, Jacob received a letter via owl post that was sealed with a light blue seal marked with a cursive "B" over two crossed wands.

Monsieur Cromwell, Firstly, I must apologize if this letter reaches you more than once. When seeking out an address for you, I was informed that you currently have no permanent address, and so I had to get creative to find a way to contact you directly. Fortunately it seems that the Owl Office in Paris is most resourceful in locating witches and wizards while they are on holiday abroad. But now, to business. A week or so ago, while reading La Cri de La Gargouille, I came across your essay regarding the application of Non-Magic chemistry to our own Potioneering, and to put it simply, I found it absolutely enthralling. I profess no expertise in Non-Magic science, aside from the psychology books I've read by Non-Magic authors, but your knowledge of the two subjects is clearly thorough, and your conclusions in comparing the two were fascinating. Your application of Non-Magic chemistry to Potioneering is a subject I would like very much to share with my older students, in preparation for their entry into the Wizarding World. And so it is because of this that I cordially invite you to the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic for a high tea on the afternoon of March 1st, at 3 o' clock. Please RSVP as soon as possible -- I hope that since my return address is so prominent, your response should not take long to reach me. Chaleureusement, Olympe Maxime Directice of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic

x~x~x~x

To say Jacob was thrilled at the prospect of visiting the famous Beauxbatons Academy would be an understatement. He was so over the moon at the prospect that he sent letters to Carewyn, Lane, his best friend Olivia Green, Horace Slughorn, Filius Flitwick and Madam Rosmerta about it, before he finally calmed down enough to remember that he hadn't even RSVPed to Madame Maxime's invitation properly.

Salut, Madame Maxime! Mon français n'est pas très bon, mais j'ai pensé que je devais répondre dans votre langue, parce que vous m'avez écrit dans mon langue. Le français est une belle langue aussi -- c'est ma préférée des langues gallo-romantiques. J'aimerais beaucoup te rendre visite! J'ai lu beaucoup de livres sur votre école. Je ne peux pas attendre! À bientôt! Jacob Cromwell

Jacob then had to immediately set about making travel plans to France. First he took a boat from Rebun Island (his current location) to Tokyo; then he took a very long plane ride from Tokyo to Frankfurt, Germany; once he'd gotten his bearings, he then took a train to Paris, where he was able to take the Floo Network from le Place Cachée to the Wizarding village of Lapinfort, by the outskirts of Lourdes. It was in Lapinfort that Jacob was handed a response from his sister Carewyn, which had arrived via owl the previous day.

Dear Jacob, I just got your letter. I can't believe you're actually going to visit Beauxbatons Academy! I know how much you've always wanted to go there, and to know you've been invited there by Madame Maxime herself...I'm so proud of you! I'm not exaggerating when I say I'm rereading your letter as I'm writing this and I can't stop smiling. Truly, though, I hope you get on with Madame Maxime, and that your lecture for her students goes well. I met Maxime once when she accompanied my school friend Penny's penpal Aurelie Dumont on a visit to Hogwarts, and she's a very glamorous woman. But please, Jacob, I'm begging you, don't make ANY comments about her size -- she's even taller than Hagrid, and I get the feeling she's secretly very self-conscious about it. The last thing I want is for you to make a bad first impression!! As the French say, "bonne chance!" Write to me as soon as you get this, and then be sure to also write to me all about your meeting, after it's over -- I want to know everything. Love you, Carewyn

Jacob wrote Carewyn a quick note to let her know of his safe arrival. Then, once he'd finished, he went into town and found a carriage led by flying horses that could take him over the Pyranees mountains and to the famous Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.

It was truly as beautiful of a school as Jacob's books had claimed. Just as Hogwarts was a mysterious, grand stone castle, Beauxbatons was likewise a kind of palace, though one far more ornamental and delicate: a true French chateau, framed by elegant gardens trimmed with fairy lights.

As Jacob disembarked from the carriage, he found himself enchanted by the tiny seashells embedded into the cement paths that led through the gardens. He soon found himself wandering the left of these paths, rather than looking for the entrance properly, and found himself embarking on a quest to locate the center of the hedge maze he'd found himself in. It wasn't until about a half-hour later that he found his way back out and to Beauxbatons' entrance.

When Jacob reached the grand, white front doors, they sparkled with silver sparkles as they opened for him. Clearly the school knew this was a welcome guest, rather than an enemy -- Jacob's eyes lit up at this thought, and only became brighter seeing the school's interior.

The ceilings were even high than Hogwarts's, and shining as bright white as a spring-time sky full of angelic clouds. The halls were framed by large, beautiful, painted marble columns trimmed with gold, as well as countless living portraits trimmed with ornate ivory frames. There were crystal chandeliers decorated with colorful glass flowers and ivy that sparkled with even more fairy lights. Living statues were mounted in displays of honor down the hall, and they all turned their heads to look at Jacob as he passed. Everything was so bright and pristine, and yet not flimsy. There was power here, inside of this ageless, seemingly fragile beauty: the kind found in the Greek Parthenon or the palace of Versailles.

"Ah...Monsieur Cromwell."

Jacob looked up, startled, to find a very foreboding, but beautiful woman dressed all in light blue satin with a white feathered-shawl around her shoulders, approaching him. She was large before she got close, but once she had, she towered over him, nearly as tall as the ceiling.

Like Hagrid, Jacob recalled.

The thought of the friendly gamekeeper, as well as of Carewyn's letter, made Jacob grin from ear to ear.

"...You must be Madame Maxime!"

"Oui," she said lightly. "You are late, Monsieur Cromwell -- I expected you 'alf an 'our ago."

The Directice's dark eyes flitted over the much smaller man, taking in his incredibly informal white t-shirt and jeans with muted disapproval.

Jacob, however, was blissfully unaware of this.

"Oh yeah -- sorry about that!" he said brightly. "I was just exploring your gardens -- fabulous hedge maze you've got, on par with the one at Villandry Castle. I think I found at least one of its treasures in my wanderings -- that is, if you don't count the absolutely beautiful Herbology specimens...nearly got caught in that French Devil's Snare, when trying to examine your color-changing peonies. But at the center of the maze, I found your garden of wood nymphs -- "

Maxime looked very startled. "You found eet?"

"Yeah! Bloody brilliant use of Concealment Charms, though -- took me about ten tries, before I got the order of turns right...but yeah, so I found the garden in the center, and that tree...absolutely stunning! I don't even know what breed it is exactly, maybe a variation of Wiggentree, but it's exquisite! Is it unique? It surely must be -- I've never seen one so big! Anyhow, the wood nymph Queen wasn't so keen on me getting close, but once I showed her I meant no harm, she pointed the way out for me...who knew wood nymphs would be so keen on Whitney Houston? Though really, I don't blame them -- Whitney's got a wicked set of pipes -- obviously I couldn't do her song the same justice she would've, but hey..."

Many a person had found Jacob's talkativeness exhausting to deal with, in the past. Even Jacob's first friend and love Duncan Ashe had frequently had to tell Jacob to shut up now and again, whenever he'd go off the deep end in rambling. Surprisingly, however, Madame Maxime didn't seem the least bit uncomfortable or overwhelmed -- if anything, her expression bloomed into something a bit more intrigued.

"You zaid zat you not only found our garden for ze wood nymphs in less zhan an hour," she said, "but zat you also earned zheir favor? Monsieur Cromwell -- I do not zhink you are aware of quite how rare zat is."

Jacob cocked his eyebrows, smiling fully. "Why, because of your Concealing magic? Ah, well, I am a freelance Cursebreaker, a lot of the time...puzzles are my favorite thing. And magical creatures are always groovy -- you should meet my friend Hagrid, he works at Hogwarts, he's swell with creatures..."

"What I mean is zat conquering zat maze is a test all seventh year students must face 'ere at Beauxbatons, in order to graduate," Maxime said, her smile spreading more fully. "And most only reach ze garden, before 'aving to quickly leave it. Ze wood nymphs are very protective of zheir tree -- which, yes, is a one of a kind specimen: I rescued it on a trip to Greece myself," he eyes twinkled with a bit of mischief.

Jacob blinked. Then his face broke out into a bigger smile than ever, his skull-like light blue eyes positively alight with delight.

"So does that make me worthy of touring the hallowed halls of your Academy, Directice?" he asked, raising his eyebrows eagerly.

Maxime beamed. "Quite worthy, Monsieur Cromwell."

"Groovy!" cheered Jacob. "Because I was meaning to ask about your school's architecture -- everything I've read about Beauxbatons states that it was built in the 13th century, but all of the decor and landscaping I've seen since I got here is distinctly Baroque -- more properly, Rococo-inspired, which wasn't popular until the 17th century at the earliest. I would assume Beauxbatons has gone through some structural changes thorough-out the years -- understandable, given the history of war on France's borders, in contrast to the isolated Scottish Highlands where Hogwarts is situated -- but are these original from that period, or was it brought back in a revival, after the fall of Napoleon and the virulent anti-monarchist views held by the common man had calmed enough that such beauty could be celebrated again, rather than solely condemned?"

Maxime indulged Jacob's questions as they walked down the long hall and then up a grand staircase to her office. Once there, she offered Jacob some tea (which Jacob drank to be polite) and a dish of endlessly duplicating chocolate madeleines (which Jacob couldn't stop eating). While drinking their tea, Maxime asked Jacob some questions of her own about the kinds of magical research he'd been working on, which prompted Jacob to go off on a tangent about poisons and antidotes, which in turn got Maxime eagerly talking about the perfumes she mixed herself, using the flowers grown in the Beauxbatons gardens.

"Truly, it iz also not zo different from your non-Magique 'chemistry,'" said Maxime. "Just as with Potions, you zimply need zome zort of essential oil, a proper base, and zhen different 'notes,' to achieve ze desired effect. Combine jojouba oil, lavender, and rose with just a 'int of Lady's Mantle as a top note, and voila! You have a perfume zat not only makes you feel relaxed and beautiful, but makes you both smell and appear even more beautiful, to ze people around you."

Jacob's eyes lit up. "Using Beauty Potion ingredients in perfumes! What a groovy idea! I can't wait to tell my Pip -- she's always liked lavender as a scent..."

Maxime beamed, clearly very pleased by Jacob's enthusiasm. "You can zee why your piece about applying non-Magique chemistry to Potions interested me zo much. I would frankly love to 'ear 'ow you'd explain your theories to my students...if you would be willing to let me 'sit in' on your lecture."

"Of course!" Jacob said at once, without any hesitation. His grin was so big he could hardly contain it. "Mais oui! I'd be honored!"

Maxime and Jacob would go on to talk for another whole hour, long after the tea was gone. It was only then that Maxime brought Jacob downstairs toward the Potions classroom, where a set of seventh years had just filed in, and introduced Jacob to the class before settling in the very back of the room as he started his lecture. Although Jacob went on quite a few long tangents in his lecture, his enthusiasm captivated the French students, so much so that they couldn't even look down too much on the weird Briton with the crazy hair and sloppy clothes. He was so animated and intelligent when he talked that soon all of the students were raising their hands and engaging with him, asking follow-up questions and even challenging his conclusions, which Jacob reacted to with almost more enthusiasm than he did to the questions. By the time Jacob's lecture was through, Maxime's eyes positively radiated with how charmed she was by this tiny, quirky little wizard with the messy curls.

"You will have to visit again, when next you publish anozher zuch work," she said insistently.

"Oh, totally!" said Jacob eagerly. "I'd love to come again sometime. Even just to explore some more -- your school really is smashing! I'd love to see your library next time..."

"Mais oui -- but of course."

Jacob's enthusiasm clearly pleased Maxime greatly. It made her give a slightly-too-hard pat to Jacob's cheek that ended up more feeling like a slap.

"Au revoir, Monsieur Cromwell," said Maxime with a warm smile. "I do 'ope zat you shall visit France again soon."

Jacob blinked. Then he smiled a bit more awkwardly.

"Well, uh...my travels kind of keep me on the move. I don't really know when I'll be anywhere a lot of the time -- I just sort of figure it out as I go along. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't like to come back sometime, obviously! And until I do, I could always send you letters, if you'd like. I love sending letters," Jacob added with a grin.

Maxime cocked her eyebrows. "You do not zeem to like receiving zhem quite so much, if you do not have a proper return address."

Jacob laughed uncomfortably. "Oh no, it's...not me not liking receiving letters, I just...keep forgetting to file for a proper collection box, with the Owl Office. Pip's always getting on me for that -- she ends up getting most of the letters for me, and she thinks it'd be a lot easier if people just sent them straight to me, rather than her having to figure out where to send stuff to me based on what I tell her of where I'm next going..."

"Your 'Pip' iz right about zat," said Maxime with a cool smile. "I would zuppose she is just too nice to tell you to stop making 'er pick up after you."

Jacob laughed a bit more fully, though still rather uncomfortably.

"Yeah...yeah, I guess you're right..." He smiled a bit more fully. "All right -- when I get a proper collection box, I'll let you know straight away."

"Good," said Maxime. "I would not like to 'ave to zend three of ze same letter again. I am not ze zort of woman who likes to appear desperate."

Jacob laughed again despite himself. "Desperate? I wouldn't have said that. I thought that it just made you determined, honestly. It sounds like just the sort of thing my Pip would do, to make sure she reached me."

"I have met your zister before, Jacob Cromwell, however briefly," said Maxime, her wry smile widening a bit. "Zo I know, both because of 'er and because of your clear esteem for 'er, zat your comparison is a great compliment."

Jacob grinned. "Better believe it is."

Sure enough, with Madame Maxime's prodding, Jacob opened up a collection box with the Owl Office and enchanted it so that his mail could seamlessly appear in a collection tray on the desk inside his portable room in a suitcase. With this, he was able to receive and send letters a lot more quickly and efficiently -- and it was because of this that Jacob received the news of Cedric Diggory's death so quickly from both Carewyn and Maxime and he was so quick to return home to the United Kingdom in the spring of 1995. Jacob would lose touch with Madame Maxime when she went with Hagrid to negotiate with the giants, but they would reestablish contact after her during the War and especially after, when they no longer had to send messages in code.

The two would remain friends for many years to come, sending letters and gifts to each other while Jacob was traveling. One of Jacob's favorite gifts from Olympe Maxime ended up being a custom cologne she brewed for him, made of cocoa beans, leather, Egyptian musk, and Lady's Mantle. It was a scent Jacob wore chiefly on dates, when he really wanted to look and feel his best, and whenever anyone asked him about it, he was always incredibly proud to boast about his talented friend, the stately Directice of Beauxbatons herself.

[honeymoonjin]

A/N: part of the Roll Deep series. Banner created by @jeonau, go show her some love xx In a desperate bid to cure your troubles in the bedroom, you and your boyfriend Jimin reach out to a famous dom on twitter that specialises in helping couples spice up their boring sex lives, Jay94. Warnings for sexually explicit content: threesome, exhibitionism/voyeurism, pet names, sub!Jimin, sub!reader, dom!Hoseok, being filmed w consent, double penetration, protected sex, unprotected sex (only one of them wears a condom), fingering, maybe a hint of cuckholding.  Word count: 5.9k

--

“You have the forms?” Jimin hands them to the young man enthusiastically. “Alright, age verification, STI tests, hard limits… This all seems in order. Give me a sec to go over these and I’ll be right back.”

The moment he leaves the hotel suite to sneak into the adjoined bathroom, Jimin jumps on you with all the eagerness of an overexcited puppy. “This is it, jagiya! It’s finally happening, can you believe it?”

You bite your lip, trying to steady your racing heart. “Not really… Jimin, when you suggested a threesome, this really wasn’t what I was expecting.” The truth was, you weren’t all that surprised when Jimin had come to you one night and proposed inviting another person in to bed with you. The two of you had always been complete matches for each other since the moment you met, but it seemed that chemistry had never really extended into the bedroom. The two of you barely bothered with sex anymore since it was just never good for either of you, and you had felt that frustrated tension rising in both of you for the past few months. “Honestly, I thought you were gonna ask if one of your friends could join in, not some random guy off the internet.”

Jimin’s eyes widen in protest. “It’s not some random guy, it’s Jay94! He’s one of the most popular nsfw profiles on twitter. Trust me, this is way better than any of my friends. He’s an expert. A sexpert.”

As nervous as you are, you can’t help the reluctant smile that breaks across your face. “You’re such an idiot.”

“You love me.”

You shake your head at his cheeky grin with a laugh. “If this goes downhill, it’s your-”

“Alrighty!” You jump a little when the door to the bathroom opens again and the man steps back in with an easygoing beam on his face. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” You pout as Jimin pushes you over a little to leave room beside him for the man to sit down, the three of you lined up on the edge of the firm mattress. “First of all, just so you both feel a little more comfortable, my name isn’t Jay, it’s Hoseok, but please try to avoid calling my real name out in bed. If you do slip up, I can censor it out, but it disrupts the audio, so either use Jay or a title like sir or daddy.”

Before you can hold it back, you let out a snort at the way he’s speaking so casually about things. Jimin widens his eyes and whacks you, but Hoseok just shrugs, unbothered.

“I know it sounds weird now, but a huge part of what I do is to make sure all my companions are 100% comfortable and aware before we start filming. This isn’t a sex dungeon; you can laugh and joke around and ask questions as much as you want.”

You shift slightly on the bed. “Well, then… Jimin’s seen like all of your videos, bought some full ones and everything, he’s a big fan-”

“Y/n!”

“-but I don’t really know so much what’s going on. What do you, uh, normally do?”

Once Jimin collapses back onto the bed, covering his cheeks as they burn bright red, you can see past him to Hoseok, who gives you a reassuring smile. “Well, I don’t know how much your boyfriend has told you, but I specialize in providing help to those that have difficulties in performing sexually. Think of it like hands-on training, in the literal sense. I normally work with subs-”

“Subtitles?” you question curiously.

His eyebrows lift in bewilderment. “Submissives. Wow, he really hasn’t told you a thing, has he?”

Your eyes slide to Jimin as he sits up, leaning back on his elbows so that you can still see Hoseok. “To be fair,” Jimin protests petulantly, “I did tell her she could check out your profile at any time. She just chose not to.”

You’re ready to defend yourself, but instead of looking offended, Hoseok just grins even wider, eyes running down your body and back up again. Your cheeks heat up as he chuckles. “Well, then, she’ll be extra fun to play with.” The lust in his eyes vanishes as he snaps back into professional mode, and the duality has you feeling a little whiplashed. “Most of the time the people I film with are fans like young Jimin here, so they already have some awareness and preconceived expectations. Which on the whole is a positive thing, but I’m definitely going to enjoy the chance to introduce someone completely new into it.”

“See, jagiya,” Jimin interjects, “I told you this would be fine! All we need is a push in the right direction and our sex life will be fantastic after this!”

Hoseok laughs at your boyfriend’s eagerness, and the sound is carefree and high-toned. As irrational as it may be, you’re already finding yourself comfortable in his presence, even in this very odd context. “Alright, Jimin, let’s start with you first since you know what you’re doing. What do you believe your strengths are in bed?” Automatically, Jimin’s face turns to you for confirmation, and Hoseok tuts. “I’ll ask her to leave the room if I have to, Jimin. This is your question to answer. No rights and wrongs, just learning curves.”

You fight the urge to smile fondly at the rosy flush on Jimin’s cheeks as he looks down at the mattress, gone shy. “Um… I guess I’m good at trying new things? Uh, I’m a good kisser. I don’t know. I don’t think I have any strengths, really. I have the motivation and want to be better, but I just don’t know what to do.”

Instead of passing any comment, Hoseok simply nods solemnly and turns to you. “Do you have anything to add about his strengths, Y/n?”

You try and ignore the way him saying your name makes you warm up inside. “I agree with Jimin, he’s an amazing kisser. And he has a fantastic ass, the best I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s just because you haven’t watched 128B. His ass was better than mine.”

You crinkle your brow in confusion, but Hoseok apparently understands Jimin’s statement. “Ah, 128B was a fun time. He was a sports coach, though, not so good with taking instructions and listening to me.” His voice lowers to a honeyed drawl. “You’ll behave well for me, won’t you, Jimin?”

Jimin’s face goes blank and his eyes glaze over. He nods.

Satisfied, Hoseok lights up again and shifts out of that persona. “Anyways, that’s that, let’s move on. Y/n, your strengths.”

You swallow hard when the attention shifts back to you. “I can take risks; I can follow instructions. I’m eager to please. I think… I think I’m good at giving handjobs and blowjobs.” Jimin nods vigorously with a cheery beam. “Okay, yeah. I think that’s it.”

“Alrighty then,” Hoseok nods, “we won’t waste time with those, then.” Jimin’s face falls. “Jimin, what are Y/n’s strengths in bed?”

He pouts, slumping on the bed. “Handjobs and blowjobs,” he mumbles pettily.

Hoseok laughs heartily, clapping him on the shoulder. “You two can do as much of that at home as you wish, but this here is for working on everything but your strengths. Now, I think I might see our problem here. The two of you both seem to be naturally submissive, which might make things awkward in bed, as neither of you will automatically jump into a position of leadership. We’ll work on that.”

Spiel done, Hoseok stands up and starts checking out the cameras, stationed strategically around the room. Your heart begins to race. God, this was really happening. “Do we-” you cough a little to break the nervous lilt to your voice, “do we wear masks? I don’t want to be recognized…”

Without looking up, Hoseok quirks his head in the direction of the closet, in front of which is a large, splayed-open suitcase with a terrifying selection of sex toys, some you couldn’t even guess the use for. “Top zipper pocket has masks, you can choose. Cute ones, full-face ones, comfortable ones. Go wild.”

You make your way over on shaky legs. Pulling a general handful out, you hold them up to your boyfriend, who smiles cheerily and picks out a soft fuzzy pink one, a solid band with two slots for his eyes. You chuck it over to him, then choose a simple black one, not unlike a sleep mask, only with those same eye-holes cut out.

“Now, then,” Hoseok announces, now crouched on the floor, fiddling with a camera tripod, raising it higher, “the fun part. Kinks. Since the two of you don’t seem like overly experienced people, I think today can be about exploration and discovery.” When he straightens up, he goes over to the suitcase and opens a different pocket, putting out a mask rather similar to yours, but a glossy black latex rather than the cheaper fabric of yours. He puts it on and adjusts the straps as he continues talking. “Y/n, since you might not know, it’s important I tell you how important communication is. We’ll be doing new things, challenging you, pushing limits. I want you to go along with it as best you can, but the moment things get too much for you, or if something just isn’t arousing to you, please let me know. Similarly, be sure to tell me when something does feel good, or if you want more. Feel free to use the traffic light system. Green means go, yellow means slow down or pull back a little, and red will stop our proceedings immediately. This goes for you too, Jimin, of course. You both understand?” The two of you nod obediently, but Hoseok shakes his head. “Verbal consent. You both understand?”

“Yes,” you say, though it comes out husky like a whisper. Jimin speaks his agreement too.

“Alrighty, masks on, please. We’ll start rolling.”

In a hurry, you slip your mask over your head, adjusting your hair so that it doesn’t stick up, though you don’t imagine it’ll stay neat for long. Jimin follows suit, but takes it one step further by beginning to slip off his shoes and socks.

Hoseok turns back from switching on all of the cameras, and chuckles. “My my, someone’s eager. First things first, you know what you can call me, but I’m assuming you don’t want your real names being used.”

Your eyes widen. Fuck, you hadn’t even thought about that. “No, definitely not.”

“That’s okay, do either of you have a preference for a pet name?”

Jimin lightens up. “Oh, uh, I like being called baby boy. If that’s okay.”

Jimin had brought this up with the two of you before, and although you obliged, you always felt a little silly calling him that when you had automatically viewed him as the more dominant person in your relationship in general. Hoseok, however, clearly doesn’t have that prejudice, as he prowls over to Jimin, who still sits on the edge of the bed with his legs dangling over the edge and pushes himself between Jimin’s knees.

You’re taken aback, and more than a little turned on, by how predatory Hoseok looks right now, as he brushes Jimin’s hair back from his face and tips his head up. Jimin looks in heaven, letting his eyelids slide closed and his mouth part.

“Hm, is my baby boy gonna be good for me tonight?” Jimin exhales shakily and nods as much as he can in Hoseok’s grip. The elder smiles, and bends down to pull Jimin into a deep kiss. Your hips shift against the mattress at the erotic sight of another man claiming your boyfriend with lips, teeth and tongue. Even though it’s not happening to you, by the time Hoseok pulls away, breaking a strand of saliva with his tongue, you feel your heat thumping furiously in your chest. Jimin’s already-full lips are even more swollen and his eyes are lidded as he blinks in a daze. You want that for yourself.

Luckily, it looks like you’re going to get it, as Hoseok sets his sights on you and leaves Jimin’s side to stand in front of you. The black latex clings to his face, stopping just along his cheekbones, and it makes his eyes seem even more domineering. You swallow.

“No preference?” he asks. You shake your head wordlessly, but he just smiles and grabs your chin gently but firmly, turning your head up to face him. You feel your pulse throbbing in your neck, and you can barely breathe. You hadn’t felt this excited in the bedroom in a long time, and you hadn’t even gotten started yet. “Eyes on me,” he commands, “let’s let your body speak for itself, hm? Are you gonna be my baby girl? My princess? My whore? My kitten?” Without realizing, you suck in a breath through your nose, and a broad grin stretches across his face. “Interesting. I bet my little kitten wants a kiss like her boyfriend got, doesn’t she?”

You lick your dry lips. “Yes, please.”

“Good girl.” And then his lips are pressing against yours, and you feel like you’re being devoured whole, drunk on the sensation of his fingers tightening on your chin as his tongue explores every inch of your wet cavern. The nerves about being filmed go away under the drag of his teeth against your bottom lip, and you’re filled with a shameless need. You wanted this man to take every part of you, not just your mouth.

Too soon, he’s pulling away from you, letting you go. You sway slightly, feeling unanchored without his hands on you. You sneak a glance at Jimin, who’s biting hard on his lip, palming at the front of his jeans, where you can see he’s rock hard, straining against the stiff fabric. Jimin sees you staring and gives you a baleful look from under his eyelashes.

Hoseok, ever observant, notices this. “Do you want your clothes off, baby boy? Looks like you’re having a hard time.”

Jimin pouts and glances down, rubbing himself again. “Hurts,” he complains simply.

“Undress for me, then,” Hoseok commands. “Stand up in front of us and undress.”

Us? The moment Jimin hops up off the bed, Hoseok takes his place and sidles up behind you, tugging you back so that you rest on his chest, his legs on either side of you. You gasp at the way he moves your body for you, pulling it around as he pleases. His arms snake around under yours and rest on your thighs. Your ass is right against his crotch, and you can feel how hard he is.

Jimin pauses and stares in surprise. Standing awkwardly in front of you in his bare feet, he tugs at his shirt uncertainly.

Hoseok’s behind you, so you can’t see his expression, but it’s enough to make Jimin’s eyes go wide and glassy. His voice is stern. “Did I stutter? Undress. Slowly.”

You frown in concern, mouthing, ‘are you okay?’ to your boyfriend, but he nods lightly, grabbing the edges of his shirt and slowly slipping it over his head, revealing the unblemished skin beneath. His fingers slip down, passing over the little happy trail below his belly button to reach for his jeans.

Your breath catches when you feel fingers dancing around your throat, brushing your hair aside and tipping your head over slightly. Instead of his fingers, or his lips like you were expecting, the sensitive skin is greeted with a broad swipe of his tongue, and you let out an unbidden whimper, causing Jimin to freeze and Hoseok to chuckle throatily in your ear.

“Lesson one, anticipation and surprise. You know how you can’t tickle yourself because you know it’s coming? That’s the exact same for sex. Things feel better when you increase anticipation and change expectations. If I had just sat our kitten down and licked her, she probably would’ve cringed away and found it gross. But because I put her on edge, it felt good.” Hoseok’s teacher voice drops away to something darker. “Did I say to stop, baby boy?”

Jimin gasps and hurriedly unbuttons his jeans, before remembering to go slow, and gingerly slides them down his legs, hopping on one foot to get each pant leg off from around his ankles. Now only in his underwear, you can see that his straining erection has managed to slip out of the waistband of his underwear, the head peeking out the top of the elastic, smearing a pearly clear fluid on the solid plane of his lower stomach. You feel your mouth water at the sight.

“All the way,” Hoseok specifies, and Jimin takes a deep breath for slipping his underwear off, exposing himself fully to the two of you. “Now turn around and show me that ass my kitten loves so much.” Jimin blushes furiously, but turns around, crossing his arms over his chest for comfort. You and Hoseok both shamelessly drink in the sight. “Fuck, baby,” Hoseok groans, “she was right. That is the best ass I’ve ever seen. Come here, on the bed.”

Jimin’s cheeks are still pink when he turns back around and climbs on the bed, cock bobbing in the air, but his eyes are bright with the praise he received, and you can see that when he crawls further up the mattress, he sticks his ass out more than strictly necessary.

Hoseok taps your side, guiding you to move forward, so you assume it’s your turn to undress, but the moment your hands find the hem of your shirt, Hoseok stops you.

“Not yet,” he chastises, “I want you to undress me.”

You swallow hard as he gets off the bed, standing in front of you. You go for his shirt first, brushing the backs of your knuckles over his skin as you lift the black fabric off, tossing it in the same general pile that Jimin left his clothes in, before turning your attention to his jeans. You feel the weight of his stare on you as your hands hover shakily over his crotch, popping the button open. After unzipping them and sliding them off him, Hoseok kicking his shoes and socks away at the same time, the only item that remains is his underwear.

But just as you go to reach for them, you feel a hand on your shoulder. “Kitten,” Hoseok says in a low voice, “not with your hands.” The pressure on your shoulder increases, and you let yourself be pushed onto your knees.

Face to face with the sizeable tent in Hoseok’s briefs, you glance up at him one last time before getting closer, using your teeth to grab onto the elastic just on top of his hipbone, and dragging it down.

The whole affair takes longer than you were expecting, and you feel yourself go hot in the face with humiliation at the ungraceful act, wiggling your face side to side to try and pull it over the curve of his ass, switching sides as one would get stuck, but his hand stayed on your shoulder the whole time, and something deep inside of you was lighting up at the chance to do as he asked, thriving on that feeling of subservience.

Once you’re done, you sit back up on your knees, and reel back when his cock stands proudly to attention right in front of your face. He’s bigger than Jimin, although quite a bit less girthy, and although you never thought you’d say it, his dick is actually… pretty. A single vein runs up the side, and now that you’re seeing it head-on, you notice it curves slightly to the left, the head just beside his belly button instead of in line with it. You glance up at him with a question on your face.

He grins and runs his fingers through your hair, gathering it at the back. Your breath picks up in anticipation, but that’s shattered when instead of guiding you onto him, he’s tipping your head away. “What did I say? We’re not spending time on our strengths. Besides, you haven’t done anything to deserve this cock in your mouth. You haven’t even bothered undressing like the rest of us.” Your cheeks burn in indignation, but he just laughs at you, jiggling your head back and forth a little condescendingly before releasing his grip on your locks. “Come on, kitty-kitty, clothes off. No dilly-dallying this time, we haven’t got all day.”

He gets on the bed, not even watching you as he joins Jimin, who looks to be growing more impatient by the second. You stand up and pout as Hoseok throws a leg over Jimin’s lap and presses him down into the covers, reconnecting their mouths together to wetly make out with one another. Feeling forgotten, you rip your clothes off, eager to join in the action again, but once you hop up on the bed, fully naked, both men ignore you.

You sit back and cross your legs, awkwardly scratching at your arm, feeling horny and left out. You can hear the smack of lips, panted groans, and the guttural praises that fall from Hoseok’s lips, and here you are, untouched and unattended to. You awkwardly clear your throat, but the only reaction is Hoseok wrapping an arm around Jimin’s back and sitting them both up, leaving some room between them for his free hand to slip between and play at Jimin’s nipples, teasingly flicking and rubbing at the sensitive skin, swallowing up your boyfriend’s whines.

The noises are arousing, but you’re starting to get a little sick of it, of Hoseok drawing noises out of your boyfriend that you had never even heard before. “Jay,” you call, loudly enough that he can’t ignore you.

Hoseok grins against Jimin’s lips and doesn’t make any move to pull away as he replies, so that the sound is a little muffled. “Want some attention, kitten?”

You frown. “Yes.”

“Then take it.”

Cameras all but forgotten, and etiquette thrown aside, you huff and move up to them, pushing Hoseok away so that he falls back and bounces against the mattress. With one possessive move, you straddle Jimin and push him back down again, kissing him more deeply, more greedily than Hoseok did, reaching a hand up to bury in his hair and tug at the roots perhaps more harshly than you normally would have. Jimin reacts immediately, cock twitching under you as he keens.

“That’s it,” Hoseok praises with a voice thick with amusement, “that’s exactly what our baby boy needs. Someone to take control. Does it feel good, kitten? To take what’s yours?”

You pull back and sit up with a hand on Jimin’s chest, panting slightly. Your boyfriend looks up at you, blinking with wide eyes surrounded by fuzzy pink fabric, lips slick with spit. His pupils are totally blown out, and he licks his lips in wonder. “Yeah. It does.”

“Then that’s lesson two. It can feel good to take control once in a while, and power dynamics are fluid. You can be on your knees begging for cock one second, then making your baby boy writhe beneath you the next.”

You catch your breath and twist around to face him. He’s sitting up, one hand propping himself up, the other resting calmly on his inner thigh, though by the deep flush of his cock, you’re sure he’s just as desperate for friction as the two of you are. His mask is still perfectly in place, disguising the top half of his face, but the smug expression he wears is clear as day. “What’s lesson three then?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Lesson three is testing limits.” His eyes dart down to where you’re still straddling Jimin’s thighs, spread out over him. “Do you think you could fit both of us at once?”

Reflexively, you shake your head quickly. “No way.”

Hoseok’s grin is catlike. “Should we try?”

You bite your lip, remembering the color system he had introduced. If it was too much, you could just call out yellow and he’d pull back. Hesitantly, you nod once. He tilts his head. Verbal consent. “Yes. I want to try.”

“That’s my good girl. Boyfriend gets first pick; baby boy, which hole do you want?”

Jimin, still flat on his back, pushes himself up to rest on his elbows. His eyes slide around the room: his cock, your pussy waiting just behind it, Hoseok’s cock, Hoseok’s face. He stays there, clearing his throat. “I, uh, maybe… maybe we could both go in her, you know…?”

You turn back around to Hoseok, who looks disappointed. Your heart sinks even as you feel yourself growing wetter at the thought. You hate him looking displeased. “That’s a great idea, baby boy, but how can you expect to fuck your girl right if you can’t even bring yourself to say the right words? Kitten, come here.”

You get off Jimin and crawl obediently over to Hoseok, who immediately grabs your hips and pulls you down against him, your back against his chest. With one hand pinning your arms and chest down, he slips his legs under yours, hooks your ankles with his, and then spreads them, pulling you with him so that you’re wide open and bare to Jimin, who pouts and pushes his hips against the mattress in search of friction.

“This, my dear baby boy, is a pussy.” With his free hand, Hoseok reaches down and slaps it lightly, making you jump in your grasp. His fingers slip over too, too wet to get any real friction, and you tip your head back over Hoseok’s shoulder when he buries two fingers deep inside you, holding them there. “I want you to repeat after me: I love my girlfriend’s pussy.”

Hoseok suddenly begins thrusting his fingers into you at a pace that has your toes curling. Instinctively, your thighs tense as they try to pull in around his hand, but his legs hold you open for him, and you’re helpless to do anything but take the brutal onslaught of pleasure he’s giving you.

Jimin sputters. “I- I love my girlfriend’s… pussy.”

“I want to fuck my girlfriend’s pussy.”

You whimper and shake on top of Hoseok as he pins you down and fucks you on his fingers. You hear Jimin swear under his breath. “I want to fuck my girlfriend’s pussy!”

“Good!” You gasp when Hoseok suddenly removes his fingers from you and pulls them up to his mouth, sucking on them like a lollipop, getting every last drop of you. You groan and go limp, feeling empty. “Then come fuck it.”

Normally, when you and Jimin had sex, he would painstakingly get you ready finger by finger, and when he finally took you, he would do it so slowly for fear of hurting you that you would reach a hand down to rub at your clit while he wasn’t looking, just to make sure you stayed wet. Now, however, he doesn’t waste time with any of that. Maybe it’s the safety net of those safewords, maybe it was Hoseok riling him up, maybe he was just too horny to think, but the moment he gets to you, using Hoseok’s thick thighs to keep himself steady, he lines himself up and pushes into you with one harsh thrust, snapping his hips with a grace you had only ever seen from him when he danced.

You cry out and clutch at the tops of his hands; the only things you can reach with Hoseok still locking your arms to your sides in his embrace. It’s a strange feeling, having one man holding you tight and another man fucking you, but your nerves are on fire with the feeling of being surrounded by them, every single one of your senses drunk on the two of them. That thick smell of sex, Hoseok’s proud chuckle in your ear, the way Jimin ground against your pubic bone with every thrust, hitting the underside of your clit and causing you to clench helplessly around him.

“Ji- fuck!” you cry, holding back from crying out his name like you desperately want to. Instead, you babble nonsense about how good it feels, eyes scrunched shut to fully drown in sensation.

“Stop,” Hoseok commands, but Jimin’s out of his mind, chasing that high, and he continues to pummel recklessly into you. “Stop or I won’t let you cum at all.”

Jimin growls, a guttural sound you’ve never heard from him before. “Fuck!” he complains, giving one desperate thrust before stilling inside you. You pant and go lax against Hoseok, feeling the wave of pleasure fade away.

“Don’t give me that attitude,” Hoseok scolds in a stern tone, “you were the one who wanted to share her pussy with me. Now, lie back and take my kitten with you.”

You whimper when Hoseok slips his legs and arm away from you, and you fall forward limply, crashing onto Jimin’s chest as he lies flat on his back. The move has him shifting inside you, and you grind your hips against him to feel something again, only to stop and jump when a firm hand lays a slap against your ass. Jimin groans as you clench automatically around him.

Out of seemingly nowhere, Hoseok produces a foil packet and rips it open, pumping himself a few times before slipping it on as he chastises you. “Wait your turn, kitten, don’t get greedy on me. You’ll have more than you can handle soon enough.”

You bite your lip and lower yourself fully onto Jimin’s chest so that you can arch your ass up to present to Hoseok. Although you had never even considered being taken by two men at once, you found yourself almost drooling at the thought of both of them inside you. “Please,” you beg pathetically.

Hoseok chuckles, and you feel his finger pressing into you, a tight fit around Jimin’s cock. “Patience,” he chastises, increasing to two fingers.

It’s torture, waiting for him to stretch you out enough. You know it’s necessary, but god, you just want him in you already. Finally, after he can comfortably scissor three fingers beside Jimin, he removes them and you feel the bed shift as he gets into place, cock brushing against your inner thigh.

He lines you up with one hand on his cock and the other splayed out on your ass, and begins to press in. The fit is snug, and you’ve never felt this split open before, but it has you open-mouthed, drooling on Jimin’s chest, unable to hold back the low moans that fall out of you with every inch.

“Color?” Hoseok checks in, and after you confirm it’s green, he rubs your ass comfortingly. “Having fun?”

“So good,” you groan, clutching at the sheets on either side of Jimin, feeling the muscles in your thighs tremble. “Fuck, so good.”

“How are you holding up, baby boy?”

Jimin has his eyebrows knitted and his eyes tightly shut. He nods stiffly. “Mhm. Good. Really good.”

Hoseok laughs breathily as he finally bottoms out. “Hm, I don’t think our baby boy is going to last very long. We better get a move on then.” And with that, he slides partly out and rocks back up into you. You cry out and pant against Jimin’s chest as Hoseok begins to fuck you, his front pressing against the curve of your ass with every thrust.

It’s too much. You can’t close your mouth or even think, but at the same time it’s not quite enough. You gargle in an attempt to make words, pushing a shaky hand down further to reach for your clit, hoping that one of them would get the message, and luckily your Jimin opens his eyes at the feeling of your hand pressed between you and reaches down to thumb at your clit.

You had told him once that many women couldn’t orgasm without clitoral stimulation and although he may have been inexperienced in other areas, he never forgot to provide that stimulation for you no matter what you were doing. You babble out a thank you, feeling your orgasm quickly approaching, more powerful and deep than it’s ever been before. “Close,” you manage to make out through moans.

Hoseok grunts in affirmation. “You gonna cum for us, kitten? Look, our baby boy is about to.”

You open your eyes blearily and glance up at Jimin, who’s started rubbing at your clit in a frenzy as he whines desperately, arching underneath you. You lower your head back down to suck at his nipple, dragging your teeth over, and he cums with a shout, spilling inside you.

You can feel cum running out of you as Hoseok continues to fuck you, and in the back of your pleasure-addled mind you wish he wasn’t wearing a condom so that he could fill you up too, and the thought of two men’s cum dripping out of your abused pussy propels you over the edge, and you begin to convulse under the overwhelming sensations hitting you like a strong wave.

Hoseok thrusts once, twice, three more times before he presses himself flush against you and groans, scratching your ass slightly as his fingers curl.

The three of you stay in a pile, all panting heavily, for about ten minutes. Your legs have gone numb yet strangely tingly, and they have no energy in them. Hoseok pulls out of you first, but extremely slowly, trying to let your pussy adjust to the empty space he leaves behind. When Hoseok lifts your hips up and Jimin falls out, you whimper at the strange sensation of your walls not closing in fully, still stretched wide open by the two cocks you had inside you.

As Hoseok quickly leaves to dispose of the used condom, you roll limply to the side, and Jimin’s hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers and holding on tightly. You turn your head to face him and smile dopily. “Thank you for talking me into this, baby.”

Even after the vigorous sex he had just had, Jimin’s eyes are bright and he beams warmly at you, squeezing your hand. “Thank you for saying yes. I can’t wait to take you home and fuck you again. Fuck that beautiful pussy of yours.”

Your cheeks flush, but you chuckle. “Oh, so now you’re a sexpert, huh? My beautiful pussy probably needs a day or two to recover, Jiminie.” Your face falls. “Oh fuck, the camer-”

“I’ve switched them off,” Hoseok assures you calmly as he walks back in the room. “You were both too fucked-out to notice. I hope you enjoyed yourselves.”

You let out a contented sigh. “God, yes. That was amazing. I wish I could do that again.”

Hoseok shrugs. “I’ve had plenty of people come back for a second-”

“Uh-uh,” Jimin protests, sidling up to you possessively. “I appreciate your help, Hoseok-hyung, but now that I know how to fuck her right, I can guarantee she’ll be too tired to come back again. She’s my kitten.”

[shirtlesssammy]

13x16: Scoobynatural

We now return to The Killer Stuffed Dinosaur in Love:

Remember when we were all speculating that there were going to be dinosaurs on Supernatural this season? Well, here you go.

Sam and Dean quickly dispatch the evil plushie with holy oil and fire. Jay, the shop owner next door pops in to see what all the ruckus is. “Defective product,” Sam admits dismissively. The shop proprietor, Alan, is so thankful that he offers the brothers “anything” they want in return. Dean nabs a sweet -but delicate- flat screen TV.

Later at the bunker, Sam’s busy doing research when Dean shows up to show him “something important.” Very Important! Sidenote: Dean Winchester has now admitted to watching (and liking!) Finding Nemo (and most certainly it’s sequel) and Frozen.

Dean takes Sam to his new “Dean Cave” or “Fortress of Dean-a-tude.” He’s still working on the name.

I am thoroughly enjoying the analysis of what the names mean —Dean thinks of himself as Batman and thinks of Cas as Superman. It’s their Man Cave together! How did Dean get all this stuff together without Sam’s help? Cas! It’s their Man Cave! Who has canonically watched movies together? Dean and Cas! It’s their Man Cave!

Dean shows Sam around and finally turns on his new TV. It flashes purple and zaps the boys into cartoon-land! As is the usual with these two, Sam is confused, concerned, and wants to solve the situation right away. Dean’s just ready to roll with it. After some truly amazing speculation about whether it is the work of the Trickster, they jump in Baby and drive.

They arrive at a malt shop, and see the Mystery Machine, quickly realizing that they’re in a Scooby-Doo cartoon!

They go inside and Dean sees the Scooby gang immediately.

Sam continues to be skeptical of the situation, but Dean defends his favorite childhood character. All those years on the road, no matter what motel their dad dragged them to, Dean was sure to find Scooby and the gang waiting on the TV. Dean asks to join them, and Fred enthusiastically agrees. (Pure. Good.)

The gang tells Sam and Dean that Scooby was recently named heir by an southern colonel. Scooby saved his life once. They all agree to head to the mansion together. Before heading out, Dean fulfills a dream 8 years in the making: he finally got a bigger mouth. And before reaching the mansion, Dean has a confusing Rebel Without a Cause moment with Fred over how much of a crush Dean has on him who’s car is faster. Fred wins.

Once at the mansion, Dean realizes they’re in the episode, “A Night of Fright is No Delight”!

Inside, the colonel’s attorney, Cosgood Creeps, explains why they’re all there and plays a vinyl record(!) from the deceased Colonel Sanders (Sam’s bitchface and grunt WAS AMAZING. Also, did the showrunners just decide to dress Asmodeus like that for a throwaway joke that would have worked even without it?)

The colonel’s last will and testament stipulates that everyone must spend one night in this haunted house to get their inheritance. Sam calls bullshit. LOL-- he is just the best. Velma assures Sam that the house isn’t really haunted, and Dean stops Sam from telling her that she’s in a “c-word”. “They are pure, and innocent, and good.” --Man, how Dean lands that line kind of breaks me a little inside. I just can’t imagine how many times he watched this show as a kid wishing he was in their world --where the monsters all were men in masks. They gave him an escape and hope when he had none of that in his world. Then Sam asks why they can’t just skip to the end of the episode if Dean’s seen it already. “Because sometimes it’s about the journey and not the destination.” Boy do hyperfans (Boris included) feel called out right about now

Everyone turns in for the evening. Dean tries bunking with Daphne, but things take a turn for the gay when Daphne bunks with Velma and Fred tells Dean, “Guess you’re with me slugger.”

They all head to bed. Dean finds some more than suitable sleepwear.

Once everyone else is asleep, Dean gets to eating, and Sam wonders if there’s more to be done. Dean assures him of the play-by-play. Soon enough there’s a commotion and they all head out to investigate. They find Cousin Simple dead.

*Classic Dialog Alert*

Velma: Jinkies!

Daphne: Jeepers!

Scaggy: Zoinks!

Scooby: Ruh-roh!

Dean: Son of a bitch!

Commercial break, and when we return all the characters are back in their regular clothes. Heehee. Fred is flippantly joyful about having a new mystery to solve. Sam is understandably upset. Dean acts upset to impress Daphne (eye roll, Dean.) They head out to investigate.

Dean and Sam come to some hard truths about their situation --things are real, people can really die, --and for Dean-- Scooby-Doo can die, and that’s not happening on his watch.

Back in the drawing room, the team tries to figure out the bigger picture of what’s going on. Velma logics them through the situation, all the while lightning flashes and the lights flicker out --and a mysterious figure approaches the window!

It’s Cas!

He meets the Scooby gang and explains to the brothers how he came back to the bunker, with fruit from the tree of life and technically married to some djinns’ queen. Lol. He quickly finds Dean’s new playroom (because he already knew about it!) and gets zapped into Scooby-land.

The room suddenly gets cold so the team heads out to investigate (again). A ghost appears and Fred tries saving the day but the spirit disappears. They enter the room from where the ghost came to find Cosgood Creeps horrifically dismembered. Dean wants to barf. Fred and the gang wander off indifferent. Sam calls bullshit.

Fred suggests everyone split up to search for clues. Dean pairs with Daphne (and Fred!), and Velma picks Sam, so poor Castiel is left with “a scruffy philistine and a talking dog.”

Velma and Sam head upstairs to investigate the attic while Velma very, very awkwardly flirts. “Why do you keep talking about my shoulders?” Sam asks. Sam. Please.

Sam gets scared by a mannequin, then brushes himself off and tells Velma that ghosts and all other kinds of supernatural things are real. Velma laughs at that foolish, foolish, broad shouldered man. Usually ghosts just turn out to be unscrupulous real estate developers. They find the fluids Velma was looking for, which Sam identifies as ectoplasm. Suddenly toys start levitating and attacking the two. “It's probably just Christmas lights and fishing line,” she protests while getting pelted with glowing blocks.

Speaking of awkward flirting, Dean asks Daphne about her taste in men while Fred investigates the library. “Strong, sincere, and an ascot wouldn't hurt.” LOL so specific. Dean pulls himself together long enough to notice a book that stands out because it isn't “painted into the background.” He pulls it and nothing happens at first. Then a trapdoor suddenly opens and they all plummet down three divergent slides into the...dungeon of the mansion? There, Dean forgets about consent (ew Dean) and tries to feel up Daphne. When the lights turn on, he finds that he's been sliding his hand up the thigh of...the ghost! Serves him right, I guess? With the rest of this episode in context just don’t...think about this moment too much, okay?

They run off.

Meanwhile, Cas, Shaggy, and Scooby are creeping through the house when the ghost confronts them. Cas raises his eyebrow, ready to study the ghost intently when it chases after him. And then we get something perfect and pure. We get a Scooby chase montage. Over the sweet strains of the Scooby Doo theme song, everyone runs around and wacky hijinks ensue.

They run to and fro, the ghost appears here and there, and we even see Scrappy Doo (which shouldn't make me happy but it DOES).

They end up barricading themselves in a grand bedroom. The room grows cold. The lights flicker. And the ghost bursts into the room. Fred charges the ghost and gets bashed into the wall. Velma and Daphne get magically pinned to a wall. Shaggy gets tossed from the room. Dean and Sam grab a pair of iron candlesticks to chase off the ghost. Fred awakens to...mortality.

Shaggy plunges off the balcony, falling towards his doom when Scooby launches himself after him. Scooby grabs onto Shaggy but now they're just both falling towards their horrible, cartoon death. Cas leaps into action. He jumps from the balcony and shoots through the air. When he catches hold of Scooby he uses the cartoon aerodynamic properties of his coat to give them lift and a gentler landing. Guys, this was seriously...sexy?

Uh. Anyway.

Shaggy broke his arm and this makes him extremely indignant. “I have jumped out of a biplane in a museum and was fine! How did this happen?” Sam and Dean decide to reveal the truth. The Scooby gang learns that the ghost is real, the supernatural is real... The gang then goes into a total breakdown.

Velma: “I thought I was blind without my glasses. But I was just blind.”

Fred: “We've been stopping real estate developers when we could have been hunting dracula?!”

Daphne: “AM I GOING TO HELL?”

Shaggy: “We told you every freaking time, but did you ever listen to me?”

Scooby: “We're doomed.”

Dean rallies the troops. They've fought monsters – even if they were human monsters. “You're heroes, and together we're gonna take down this phantom.”

They fret about their lack of weapons. To the Impala! But Dean refuses to give them weapons. (Because they are childhood and innocence and I’m just going to cry in this corner here.) Instead Fred builds a trap. It's an elaborate rube-goldberg style trap involving salt, iron chains, a soap-slicked slide, and a giant net of coconuts. It's DELIGHTFUL. Alas, Fred's trap fails, sending Cas, Scooby, and Shaggy into a washing machine. “I told you it wasn't going to work,” Sam complains. Dean tells him Fred's traps never work (LOL) and calls on Daphne to commence plan B. They lure the ghost down to the library and then pull the special book, dropping the ghost into the dungeon and directly into a salt circle.

How badass is this salt circle? So badass.

Anyway, Dean demands that the ghost reveal itself and it turns into a small child. The little boy curls up in a ball and tells them that Jay, the creepy real estate mogul at the pawn shop, has been using him to scare away business owners. Dean promises to set him free and the little ghost boy literally glows with happiness. I didn’t come here for FEELINGS!!! (That’s a lie. I did.) The Scooby gang continues to unravel and Dean asks the little boy for a favor.

Cut to the Scooby gang bursting in to find the Winchesters and Cas with a trussed up...something. The Winchesters tell them that there isn't a real ghost. Instead, it's Cosgood! Of course, it all makes sense now. Wires. Lights. Etcetera. Velma and the rest rationalize their experience with a little help from the Winchesters. With the Scoobies mentally set to rights again, everyone takes their leave.

Velma kisses Sam goodbye. “Always the quiet ones,” Dean notes. When the Scoobies leave, the little ghost boy zaps them all out of the TV again. Back in the real world, Dean smashes the TV and fishes the pocket knife out of the wreckage. The little boy appears, this time as a real ghost boy. They burn the knife with reverence and the boy dissolves into light.

This was beautiful and sad. Well done.

Later, Jay is in front of the pawn shop owner about to get him to sign over his shop when the Winchesters burst in. Dean's wearing...an ascot. They confront Jay who finally owns up to his nefarious deeds. They can't nail him on “ghost terrorism” but they do get him for tax fraud. “I would have gotten away with it if it wasn't for those meddling kids,” he grouses.

Yaaay! With the case wrapped up, Dean cements his nerdiness by saying “Scooby dooby doo!” into the camera, despite the side eye from Cas and Sam.

What. A. Delight.

Boris: I have watched this episode 4 times already, and I even made my sister, who’s not a Supernatural fan, watch it with me. She knows enough about Supernatural to blurt out, “It’s Cas!” when Cas showed up. It warmed my heart she said that --and that he was included in this episode. Sidenote: Does Sam have some of his own performing that he needs to let go? His practical resistance to the whole situation was humorous, but what if he had just admitted to remembering and liking Scooby enough to enjoy the ride? Oh, Sam.

Quotey Snacks:

Be like Elsa. Let it go.

When it's important you make time, Sammy.

Cas is kinda like a talking dog.

There are no words in this newspaper, Dean.

Oh, Dean. Boys and girls don't sleep in the same room, silly.

Well, gang. It looks like we've got another mystery on our hands!

We should look for evidence. Like fingerprints. Or fluids!

Killer stuffed dinosaur in love.

G-g-g-g-g-g-ghost!

I will miss your wise words and your gentle spirits.

Except Fred, he’s a wad.

“How do I look?” “Two dimensional.”

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

[obsessedauthorchan-blog]

Shakespearean - Chapter 14

Title: Desire

Jason was at Tim's place again. It was a Thursday, and Jason was helping Tim with his Shakespeare again. The class had moved on from Romeo and Juliet to Hamlet (apparently getting the most obvious, well-known, and cliché plays out of the way first). Tim had been utterly elated when Jason told him the play had actually been translated into Klingon, and he vowed to read it in that translation before the end of the week.

Jason was explaining to Tim the differences between the first quarto (the 'bad quarter') and the 1623 First Folio, when Tim suddenly interrupted him. "Yeah, um, while all of that is interesting, I'm going to venture a guess and say you've never seen a movie adaptation of Hamlet either."

Taken by surprise, Jason's mouth opened and closed a few times, giving him an interesting resemblance to a fish, before he retrieved his wits enough to answer, "No. No, I haven't."

Tim grinned and jumped up from his bed, getting his computer up and running to play, Jason assumed, Hamlet. Jason sighed in resignation, pretending he didn't know about the smile he was trying to hide. He was starting to think Tim liked watching movies with him as much as Jason liked watching them with Tim.

Just like last time, Tim left Jason in the room to go get snacks. He came back with his arms full, making him look even smaller than he already was. His incredibly pleased grin made Jason's heart melt on sight, and he inwardly groaned, remembering how hard of a time he'd had the previous week with paying attention to the movie and keeping his thoughts off of Tim.

Then again, Jason had been thinking about Tim all week, so he didn't really know why he would possibly expect it to be different now.

They curled up in their respective chairs with comfy blankets and Tim clicked play with his mouse. It wasn't long before Jason rolled his eyes. "Of course Mel Gibson is in it."

Tim nodded enthusiastically. "Helena Bonham Carter is Othelia."

"Ugh," was Jason's only reply, making Tim frown.

"I'm sorry, did you just say, 'ugh'? As in, you aren't insanely pleased by the cast of this movie?" Tim narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"No, no, they're fine."

"I don't believe you."                              

"Really! It's fine." Jason held up his hands in surrender.

Tim looked away from him, nose snootily held in the air. He turned back to the movie. "Uh huh. Sure."

Jason sighed. "It's just cliche. Mel Gibson is in all kinds of stuff like this. He's kind of known for it."

Tim rolled his eyes, but he did look at Jason again, so apparently he was worth his time again. "He's known for it because he's in it. He was in this movie when he was making a name for being in stuff like this. This was before Braveheart."

"Okay. That's fine. I already said it was fine. I'm not a movie buff, so it's not like I knew that."

Tim was about to continue arguing with him when he froze, his eyes kind of going a bit wide. "Jason, how many movies have you seen?"

Caught off guard by this new line of questioning, Jason shrugged. "I don't know. A couple dozen, maybe?"

Tim narrowed his eyes at him. "And when did you see your first movie?"

Swallowing a little nervously, he hesitated, not sure he really wanted to answer. "I saw a movie once when I was 9 or something. The librarian who taught me to read let me watch one on a computer. The next time I saw one was a year or so ago."

Tim stared at him for a second, completely expressionless, then he nodded and turned back to the computer. "Next week, I'm showing you Braveheart."

Jason wasn't sure how Tim knew that he'd never seen it, but he was grateful anyway. He was also grateful that Tim hadn't made a big deal about his lack of movie experience. He smiled and turned back to the movie, hoping he would manage to pay attention this time.

No such luck. Tim would randomly ask him a question about one thing or another and it would take him a moment to focus on the movie and figure out what the question was so he could figure out what the answer was. It was actually kind of exhausting, trying to stare at Tim without him knowing.

The famous soliloquy had just begun when Tim had another question. Instead of just asking like he usually had, Tim turned his whole head to look at Jason, unexpectedly making eye contact. His words died on his lips as he realized that Jason had been staring at him. "Jay? What're you-"

That stupid nickname. Jason blamed how much he loved hearing Tim call him that nickname for what he did next. Interrupting Tim's question, Jason darted forward and captured the younger man's lips in a kiss. His hand came up and cupped one of Tim's cheeks. At first, Tim seemed surprised (gee, I wonder why), but then he seemed really pleased with the kiss considering he returned it quite fervently.

What Jason had expected (in the very small part of his mind that knew he was going to do that) to be a very short kiss that immediately resulted in rejection turned out to be a very long, very heated, passionate makeout with Timothy Drake.

At some point during the kiss, Tim stood up out of the chair, trying to get a better angle. The kiss deepened, and Tim used his newfound leverage over Jason to stick his tongue in his mouth. Jason couldn't find it in him to complain, and he happily allowed his mouth to be explored for a while. Tim seemed to get bored with the status quo, however, and pulled on Jason's arm, prompting him to stand up, too. Deciding that he wanted a little bit more control than Tim had previously granted him, Jason reached down and grabbed Tim's hips, easily lifting him up. Tim wrapped his arms around his hips, and Jason moved his hands to cup Tim's ass, making holding him up a lot easier.

Thankful that Tim was so light, Jason turned and walked until Tim's back was against the wall, barely managing to be mindful of the desk next to them. Tim groaned when his back hit the wall, and he arched his chest forward into Jason's. Tim's arms, which had previously been snaked around Jason's neck, unwrapped and slip over his shoulders, his hands exploring Jason's considerable musculature. One of Jason's hands slipped up under Tim's shirt, exploring the contours of his abdomen. Tim moaned into Jason's mouth, sending vibrations over Jason's tongue. Jason separated their lips, swallowing as much saliva as he could and catching his breath.

Their foreheads leaned against each other, and their eyes were closed. Tim's hands were still slowly roving over Jason's back muscles, and he cleared his throat. Tim's head shifted against his, prompting him to look at him. They made eye contact, and Jason couldn't help but grin smugly at how debauched the younger man looked. Tim smiled back briefly and said one word. "Bed?"

Jason's smirk fell away in something akin to awe as he fervently nodded his head. "Fuck yes." He pulled Tim off the wall and moved to the bed, dropping him and letting him bounce once before crawling over him. Tim met him with a sweet smile and a sweeter kiss and Jason was pretty sure he was in heaven. Tim's hands tugged on his shirt, pulling it up and over his head, breaking their kiss for a moment. His hands ran over Jason's chest, and Tim bit his lip to cover a playful smirk as he pinched a very sensitive, very particular spot on Jason's pectoral. Jason growled in response and tugged off Tim's own shirt.

He looked down at the glorious body below him, trying not to let his imagination run wild at the thought of all he could do to him, when something made him pause. "Wait, Timmy, how old are you?"

Tim rolled his eyes and ground his hips up into Jason. "Seventeen. Almost eighteen. The age of consent in Gotham is 16, now would you get down here already."

Jason smirked and decided to tease him for a moment. "I don't know, Timmers, I'm nineteen, almost twenty, and I'm not sure how I feel about this." He leaned back down over Tim, arching his back to get as close to Tim as he could get without actually touching. Their faces were centimeters apart. "I might take advantage," he whispered.

Tim was barely coherent enough to scoff, obviously a bit overwhelmed with his lust and Jason's closeness. "I've wanted in your pants since the day we met. I doubt you could actually take anything I'm not already perfectly happy to give."

Jason, though utterly surprised at that little tidbit of information, didn’t relent. He dropped the teasing tone, becoming serious in an instant. "Tim, are you sure?" He wanted - no, he needed - to make sure that this was 100% consensual.

Tim sighed. "Yes, I'm sure, Jay. Why did you think I asked you for help with Shakespeare?"

"Because you suck at it and you didn't want to mess up your 4.0."

Rolling his eyes, Tim leaned up and gave him another long, sweet kiss. "Yes, Jay, but we could have done tutoring at the library instead of in my room with the door shut.”

Jason’s jaw dropped a little as he realized what a little mastermind Tim actually was. Apparently he'd been quiet to long, because Tim's face had sort of fallen. "Jason?"

He couldn't reply, didn't know how to. He knew he didn't want to stop, he knew he wanted this thing with Tim to continue, to be more, but for some reason he couldn’t make himself move.

"Jason."

He was wrapping his head around it all, going back to last week to try and remember if Tim had looked disappointed when he'd gotten out of the car without even a kiss. He hadn't seemed like it, had seemed pretty happy, actually, he was even smiling, and-

"Jason!"

Jason tried to tell Tim what was going on in his head, tried to tell him how he felt or give him a kiss, but he was still frozen in place. It was actually starting to freak him out.

"JASON!"

 Jason jerked to a sitting position, his eyes popping open and his mouth opening in a startled gasp. He looked around himself to see that he was still sitting in his chair by the desk, Tim was in the chair next to him and the computer on the desk was rolling credits. Jason swallowed and looked wide-eyed at Tim. "What the hell just happened?"

Tim cracked up. "You fell asleep. I think it was just before the soliloquy."

Jason was internally panicking now that he realized that he'd just had a dream about almost banging Tim. While in the same room as Tim. He gulped, really hoping it hadn't shown. "Crap. Did I snore?"

Tim was still chuckling, and he shook his head. "No, but you did drool a lot." He started laughing even harder at Jason's expression.

"Oh shit!" Jason looked down to see he'd gotten a fair amount of slobber on both his shirt and the upholstery on Tim's chair. He tried to dry some of it up with the hem of his shirt, raising it up enough to show his stomach. "Man, I'm so sorry."

Tim calmed down a little and waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it, Jay. It was kind of cute."

Apparently Tim realized what he said around the same Jason did, because when he looked up he saw that Tim's ears were pink and he wouldn't look Jason in the eye. "Uh," Tim said, standing up and moving back to the bed. "Did you have a nice dream?"

It was that moment that Jason realized he had some wood in his pants. Dropping his shirt, he cleared his throat, hoping his mental panic wasn't showing on the outside. "I don't really remember," he lied. "Did I say anything?" He was really glad he'd chosen to wear looser jeans and a longer T-shirt.

"No. Why, do you normally?" 

"I don't know, Timbers, I'm not usually awake to notice."

Tim laughed again, and Jason figured he was probably in the clear.

A/N 18 year old me is facepalming and wondering why 17 year old me actually wrote this, omg it’s so bad! A dream, guys! I wrote a really, really cliché dream about the first kiss like a frigging amateur *dies in the Pit of Despair* Heaven help me

[jpthakid-blog]

◤ being apart of something special, makes you feel special ◢

when a random newspaper enthusiast ( they’re calling themselves reporters now ) asked jp to do an interview about his greek row world, he was elated at first. it wasn’t everyday that someone asked jp about himself ( which everyone should, his life is fucking amazing ), so he was brushing his hair and spraying his body spray as usual, til it dawned on him: what the fuck was he gonna say? not that it wasn’t known, but jp loved to exaggerate certain things about himself & his experiences. for crying out loud his name isn’t even jay patrick - a name he uses, as well as a variant of his real name, often. so, how was he going to play this? honest & deep? fun & action-packed? he didn’t know, but he wasn’t gonna not be himself that was for sure.

the reporter set up his camera in the ekt common room. jp was applying a bit of blush to his cheeks ( yes, he wears make-up, what of it? ) as the guy got out a notepad.

"so,  what’s your name, age, grade, role you play in the greek system (president, vice president, social chair, member, pledge) and what house you are in and why you decided on that house”

“first off, how are you? you good? you lookin’ great, lovin’ the hair. don’t evah let someone tell you not to dye your hair blue. over there lookin’ like sexy smurf, you bettah werk, bitch.”

the reporter smiles, running a hand through his hair.

“anyway though, to the folks at home ya’ll can call me jp or jay patrick, but if you wanna write me a check for the fliest mo-fo since space jam, jeremiah merrick is always at your service.  i’m 21,” he points to the camera, “who tryna link up for a sex on the beach?” he winks, “i’ma junior, and i’m a member of epsilon kappa tau. ekt till i die!!” he barks, throwing in a dog howl, “this house was a no brainer. check it, we rich, we fly, and we party till we die. we also got a bomb ass color scheme and that’s really important. ain’t nobody tryna be out here in shit brown tryna stomp the yard.”

the reporter snickers "uh, are you a New York native? If not where are you from and what brought you to NYU? Do you like the city life?”

"real talk, i used to hate new york. i’m from north carolina, right, so we loud down there but we not ny loud. you know how fuckin’ annoying it is when you’re not the loudest bitch in a room? like i’m tryna explain myself and this sara ann chick cutting me off with her shenanigans. that’s another thing i won’t get used to -- random people cutting you off mid-sentence. like, damn john you’ll get your turn to talk about your new tanning bed, back back.”

"with all these thoughts you must be a psychology major, right? or a theatre major? If you had to choose another major right this second that had nothing to do with your current one what would you choose?”

jp pauses, “why i gotta be a theatre major? is it ‘cause i’m loud and black?! the nerve!!”

“no, no that’s not ---”

jp starts laughing, “i’m just fuckin’ with you, man. nah, i’m not a theatre major, but that was my second choice. i’m a dance major. i’m a b e a s t with these legs, bruh.”

the reporter takes a deep breath, "you’ve been in the greek life for some time, any crazy stories you can share with us regarding your time in a fraternity? Were you hazed as a pledge?”

“nah, nah, see you tryna trick me into sellin’ out my frat. nah, jp ain’t a snitch.” he folds his arms over his chest, then leans forward, “but, if you tryna pay me then i can tell you what true hides under his bed. hint: it vibrates.”

"speaking of true, what is your relationship with the higher ups in your house, do you think they could be nicer? Meaner? What about your fellow members and the pledges?

“i mean errybody cool in their own way, ya know? i’m not that tight with everyone which is my bad. i don’t like being tied down so i kick it with a lot of people on greek row. but i think true doin’ the damn thing with his faxhawk headed ass. you think there’s a club of hot bald dudes i don’t know about? just a bunch of fuckers runnin’ ‘round shining each other’s head talkin’ about the good ol’ days when they had hair? i think about that every time i look at true. i bet if he bent down i could see my reflection on the side of his head. he cool though.”

unsure how to react, the reporter pulls at his collar and continues, “What, uh, what’s your favorite and least favorite class so far? Are you on any teams or in any clubs? If so how is that?”

jp wets his lips, leaning back in his chair, “favorite’s gotta be film appreciation. i mean it’s a mad early and fucking long class -- that’s the type a class make you rethink why movies gotta be 2 hours long. like damn debbie just suck his dick so we can roll credits. but, nah it’s lit. we just watched, uh, shit what’s it called? run loila run or something like that. it was nice and had like no dialogue. a lot of running though. like that bitch was gone. least favorite is african american writers of the 1920s. my professor picked a lot of slave books, which, i get, ya know, but roarin’ 20s, was that not a thing? i get it, we used to pick cotton, but i swear there was other shit poppin’ off too.” he shrugs, “i’m a cheerleader! ra-ra, bitches! i love every second of it. special shout out to my boo thangs!”

“so you must’ve looked forward to gaining a lot from this school year, then?  Is there any event you wished you attended; maybe the first game of the year, or the first debate?”

jp shakes his head, “i don’t try to set some goal like that, that’s that new years type bull that i don’t do. i was just looking forward to growth. bein’ better and fiercer than yesterday. i didn’t make the first game ‘cause i twisted my ankle, but i was back and shakin’ my pom poms all up and through new york by game three, sooooo...”

"If you were asked to put your current most important item into a time capsule what would it be and why? Do you think ten, twenty years from now that item will still hold an importance in your life?”

tilting his head in thought, jp takes a moment to respond, “see, my most important thing can’t be put into a capsule. the most important thing to me is my personality. who i am, what i do, that keeps me goin’. if i bottled that into a capsule the lid wouldn’t even close, my guy, but it’s for damn sure still gonna be important to me years later. i am who i am. i don’t hide that from anyone. i’m loud, effeminate, confident -- proud as fuck.”

"i hear that. What are your thoughts on the other fraternity/sororities apart of Greek row? Is there one house you dislike, is there one you are envious of, is there maybe one you are scared of?”

“you diggin’ for dirt, i see you. out here tryna be the male rita skeeter. but, nah, like i think all the others frats and whatnot are chill. no beef, no qualms. at least on my end. whatever dirt you tryna find, you should point that shovel towards kappa alpha. it’s always some shit with them. it’s like a taco bell bathroom over there 24/7. i’m all for dramatics, but i don’t do drama.”

"well, with that in mind if you had to give three pieces of advice to an upcoming freshman in terms of rushing or being apart of a fraternity what would you tell them?

“stay away from kappa, run bitch, run!!!! nah, i’m fuckin’ with ya. listen, ya gotta listen to your gut and follow through. your instincts are always right. secondly, be you. no one wants to be around a fake person all the time. this isn’t bravo and you are not kenya moore. and lastly, if you’re ever uncomfortable don’t be afraid to speak up. can’t nobody make you feel dirty without your consent. hazin’ or otherwise.”

"Do you actually feel like you are apart of a brotherhood? Is that the most important thing of Greek Life? Why did you choose to go Greek?”

“shhh, don’t say that i’m tryna make true my one and only. why you tryna be incestral?!” jp chuckles, “on the real, i think we can all be closer. go skinny dipping and hold each other’s penises for support type, but yeah. i got brothers for life. i chose greek for the lessons, the parties, and the experience. i never would’ve gone to australia or sucked my 4th dick -- shoutout to juan from club inferno! -- without goin’ greek. so, go greek and suck a dick, kids.”

"this was quite an interview, man. do you wanna sign off with a quote you believe describes your time so far this year?”

“a quote from my carolina beauty maya a always brings me joy. and it goes a lil’ somethin’ like this, ‘My mission in life is not merely to survive, but to thrive; and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humor, and some style.’” jp bows.

“thank you, jp.” the reporter shakes his hand.

“thank you, sexy smurf.”