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theladycarpathia · 1 year

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The Ballad of Starcourt

Hellcheer AU prompt: In space

“Are you taking passengers?”

Chrissy jerks her head up. She wasn’t expecting anyone to ask her anything, not when Robin is the one to the front of the ship, twirling her parasol, and chatting to anyone who might be wandering by looking for safe passage. They’ve been left behind to watch the ship and pull in anyone able to pay a fee to go as far as Auburn. They’d been hired on Persephone to transport some medical goods to one of the outer rim planets and everyone else went off on the buggy to make the delivery. An actual honest job that will get them paid without being shot at. A rarity for the crew of Starcourt.

“We are,” she says, taking in the long, lean gentleman in front of her, guitar case strapped to his back. His trousers are dusty at the hems, practically standard for the outskirts of Hess. It’s not the worst of the outer rim planets but it’s far from the civilized Alliance ruled planet of Obsidian where Chrissy was born. He’s not from one of the inner rim planets, she’d bet money on it. He has dirt underneath his fingernails, thick silver rings on every long finger. His boots are hefty and black, the solid kind that you can walk an entire planet in. They’re unattractive as hell but they last. His long, dark coat looks like a cheaper version of the one Steve favors. There’s patches sewn into it, careful stitching where there were once rips. All of this says someone without any consistent income who takes care of what they have.

“Do you charge much?” he asks anxiously, taking in the dark mass of Starcourt behind her. Chrissy wonders if he just sees a clunky and outdated transport ship, like everyone else.

She remembers standing in front of the ship, clutching her suitcase, and wondering if answering an ad on the cortex was perhaps the dumbest thing she’d ever done. Judging by the ship’s appearance, she was about to be kidnapped and fed to Reavers.

She’d been wrong, thankfully. In the five months since she joined their crew, the chaotic and noisy ship has become her home. She knows the hiss of the kettle in the morning, the best seat at the dining table, every inch of the shuttle that is now her’s. She appreciates that Steve offered it to her, instead of one of the crew bunks. It offers her a bit of space and quiet from everyone else when she needs it. She’s new to the ship and the rest of the crew have such a tight bond that occasionally she feels a little like she’s intruding. Nancy and Jonathan are a couple, and Steve and Robin have been best friends since forever. They even all come from the same planet and her limited time aboard just doesn't feel like they can compare.

“We’re reasonably priced,” she says, because she’s already seen the fraying of his clothes, the angles of his cheekbones. “And my captain might be amenable if you can offer other payment. We had someone fix our microwave for us once so he could get to Crow.”

“I’m good at wiring and stuff,” the man says, looking hopeful. “If that helps.”

Chrissy thinks wryly to the flickering lights in the galley, the hissing of the radio and that their video occasionally flickers green. Somehow she thinks that Steve won’t mind. Robin spends so long making sure that the engine keeps running that she doesn’t have time for the smaller issues.

“It helps,” she says, and watches the dimples appear in his cheeks.

Oh. That also helps.

“I’m Eddie,” he says, offering her a hand. “I need to get to Sierra and I’m kind of broke.”

“We’re so broke that we take payment in baked bread and menial labor,” Chrissy says frankly. Their life aboard Starcourt is far from plush. They eat cheap noodles more often than not, and take illegal jobs because they pay. Some times are better than others, and all the crew do get paid, but the past few months have been tough. Too many parts that needed fixing in one go and if they get grounded, they’re done for. So the parts had to be fixed and they all just made do. “I’m Chrissy. I’m the medic here.” To her interest, he doesn’t do that usual thing people do when they find out that she’s the medic – which is flick their eyes doubtfully up and down her tiny frame. But she was trained at the best school on Obsidian, under Dr Kelly herself and she’s more than capable.

She could have had a glittering career on Obsidian. Everyone said so.

Right up until they didn’t. When the possibility of passage off the planet - and a paying job - presented itself, she’d taken it. And Steve had merely offered her a shuttle to have as her own space, and a fairly well stocked med-bay, and asked no questions about her former life. She’s so grateful for that, and she’ll patch up the crew until the time that someone asks her to leave.

“Nice to meet you, Chrissy,” he says, and his fingers linger a little on hers. “How is a medic required on a transport ship?”

“You’d be surprised,” Robin interrupts, and Chrissy looks past Eddie’s shoulder to see the small group of people standing behind their engineer.

Robin never looks like an engineer, not with her freckled face and wavy brown hair. But Chrissy learned very quickly that Robin does three things very well - talk very fast, make the best stew out of not many ingredients, and fix any spaceship you could mention.

“We have more guests,” Robin says, catching the direction of Chrissy’s eyes. If she thinks that Chrissy found an odd outsider, then Robin’s group is full of the strangest individuals she’s ever seen. There’s two guys about Chrissy’s age: one with brown hair and a smirk that she doesn’t like. The other one with long dark hair is wearing a strange green jacket and a baseball cap. Next to him is an older gentleman, with glasses and a curious expression as he stares up at the very top of Starcourt. He has curls and a friendly face, a backpack dangling from one wrist.

Behind them is another man her own age with a black leather jacket and the most piercing blue eyes that Chrissy’s ever seen. There are two girls standing with him, one with red pigtails and a furious expression and a dark-haired girl with wide, dark eyes.

“Right,” Chrissy says, thrown. “That’s a lot. How did you manage that?”

“I can talk to people,” Robin says, which is true so long as they’re not cute girls. It certainly explains how they ended up with these random guys and two kids. “People can be persuaded if they’re looking for cheap passage.”

“Can they be persuaded to not murder us in our beds?” Chrissy asks, because she has doubts about that. The blonde definitely looks like he might rob you without any issues, and even the two girls look like they might be capable of stabbing someone, given the right circumstances.

There’s a distant familiar rumble and the bright yellow buggy they use for short journeys appears, weaving its way through the crowds of people. Jonathan sits at the front, Steve and Nancy perched behind.

“Thank God,” Robin sighs, raising an arm to wave at them. “I hate doing the welcome speech.”

When the buggy pulls to a halt, Chrissy can see Steve’s eyes flick over their strange assortment of potential customers. None of them look like much but Steve is usually flexible so long as they can pay. And they obey his strict rules. Starcourt is his ship and he doesn’t make exceptions.

“Morning,” Steve says easily, climbing down from the buggy. He looks impressive, in his waistcoat and dramatic coat, hair swept back from his face by the wind. Chrissy sees both of the teen girls look a little stunned, because Steve has that effect on people. No one carries off ‘daring ship captain’ like Steve Harrington.

She doesn’t know much about their illustrious leader, only what she’s been told or can infer. He comes from money - fact. A lot of money - also fact. He has a bad relationship with his parents - hinted at by the stiff way he mentions his home world and upbringing. He’s been a playboy and used to bed a lot of people - she’s been told this by just about everyone.

What she doesn’t know is what causes the only son and heir of one of the richest families in the whole ‘verse to buy a hunk of junk like Starcourt, hire a crew, and disappear into the stars.

Given her own secrets, she’s not about to ask.

“I’m the captain and I have a few rules if you wish to use my ship to get where you need to go,” Steve says frankly to the group. “You obey the crew if they tell you something, you do not wander around the ship, you stay in the communal areas unless told otherwise and I do not accept anything illegal, explosive, or generally hallucinogenic aboard. Understood?”

There’s a general mumbling but the guy with the long hair looks a little sheepish. He raises a hand and Steve sighs.

“Nancy will check anything you may have, just in case,” he says, waving a hand and Nancy hops off the back of the buggy. Jonathan shoots off, hitting the ramp and climbing back onto Starcourt. Chrissy doesn’t miss the fact that there are new boxes on the back. They must have gotten another job while they were out.

“What is it now?” Chrissy asks quietly, once Nancy has commanded the attention of the passengers, fully intent on peering into their bags. Steve follows the line of her eyes to the vanishing buggy as it disappears into the depths of Starcourt.

“Oh,” he says flatly, running a hand through his hair. He looks stressed more and more these days, trying to keep them all afloat. Times are hard and sometimes Chrissy worries how long they can keep flying. She’s not sure what she’ll do if they get stranded on some planet and have to go their separate ways.

“Potato vodka,” Steve explains. “From Murray. We don’t get paid much to deliver it but I figure it helps.”

“Are we in trouble again?” Chrissy asks, because she thought maybe they were through the worst. With Starcourt having had a flurry of emergency fixes, they’d all hoped that they’d finally be able to stop spending every spare coin they had on keeping them going.

“Robin said we need a new…I don’t know, some doodad or we’ll break down in the middle of space,” Steve continues, a worried line appearing in his brow. No one ever doubts Robin when it comes to the workings of Starcourt. “Which I don’t really want and the only way to afford it is to take on passengers.”

“Which you hate doing,” Nancy chimes in as she passes by, intent on following her boyfriend back to the ship. Steve’s first mate, and his oldest friend, doesn’t look like much but Chrissy has learned that appearances are deceptive. She can take down men twice her size, wield just about any gun and hides more knives on her person than you’d expect of someone who’s five foot six.

“Which I hate doing because it involves babysitting a bunch of strangers aboard my ship,” Steve says in frustration. “Is that everything?”

Chrissy spins around to find that the boxes and all of their new guests have disappeared. Robin is folding up the umbrella and deckchair she uses when they’re docked, and just Chrissy and Steve remain on the dusty floor of Hess market.

“That’s it,” she sighs and slides her arm through Steve’s so they can wander up the ramp together.

“That’s a strange bunch you managed to find,” Steve comments, as Robin bounds ahead of them. They step over the threshold to find a flurry of activity, Jonathan and Nancy loading up the storage unit, their guests piling their belongings in the designated lockers. Robin skips between all of them, nearly whacking the blonde guy on the head with her umbrella. He glares at her, having only just missed the collision with his head, and goes back to putting his stuff away. She wonders if the two girls with him are his sisters, even though she’s not sure of any resemblance between the three. Unlike the others, their little group keeps to themselves, nervously eyeing the people around them.

Chrissy spots Eddie across the room, piling just about everything into another locker except for his guitar. He starts to smile at her when he sees her but it freezes on his face when he sees how she’s linked with Steve.

“Something wrong?” Steve asks, as he hits the button that will close up the ship. Chrissy watches Eddie turn away, a flicker of disappointment in her gut. No matter. They have five days until they reach Eddie’s desired port and that’s plenty of time for him to know that it’s just a misunderstanding.

“Just that there’s a lot of interesting people this time around,” Chrissy says instead. Because this does worry her - she’s not sure that they’ve ever had such a strange collection of passengers. Anything could happen with the ship this full. After all, it’s hard to have secrets when you live so close together. And Chrissy would know.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, squeezing her hand. “Who knows how this could turn out?”

#hellcheer #edissy #hellcheer au week #hellcheer bingo #background jancy #harringrove if you squint #prompt: in space #firefly au #captain steve #medic chrissy #mechanic robin #pilot jonathan #mercenary nancy #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #steve harrington #billly hargrove

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chicensembleideas · 1 year

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What to Wear IN DUBAI

It's not all about sights and thrills when travelling. Gaining insight into a different lifestyle is also great. You must follow local laws and customs when travelling abroad. Respecting the host country and its people requires temporarily adopting local customs, lifestyles, and more. It's the same for Dubai. Dubai is in the Muslim-majority UAE. Dubai is modern, but its culture, religion, and traditions are deep. Dubai has a more relaxed dress code than other Arab countries. However, there are dress codes in this UAE city. This article explains what to pack for Dubai. They are exactly what?

What to wear in Dubai?

•Dress code for public places and markets Nothing is set in stone about public attire, but it's best to be conservative. Shorts and tops that show too much skin are prohibited. Men and women are affected. Long capris and sleeved T-shirts or tops are advised. Wear shorts at the right length. Miniskirts, short shorts, and other revealing clothes are inappropriate in public. Low-cut tops and dresses are inappropriate for women. Avoid see-through dresses and lingerie. Low-rise jeans that expose the wearer's undergarments are also inappropriate attire. Dresses should not be too tight, but clothes that fit the body well are fine. Men, too, should avoid exposing too much skin in public (except perhaps at the beach or by the pool). •Desert safari attire You should go on a desert safari if you visit Dubai. There is no hard and fast dress code in Dubai, but arriving at your desert safari in the right attire can greatly enhance your enjoyment of the trip. Jeans, linen trousers, light joggers, and a shirt or t-shirt are great options for all the exciting activities you'll participate in. Even though the daytime temperatures in the desert tend to be high, shorts are not a practical clothing choice. The desert cools off considerably as the sun goes down. Covering your legs is therefore recommended. Bring a thin cardigan or jumper to wear over your shoulders at night. Covered shoes, sneakers, or flip-flops are recommended footwear options. •Dress code for beaches and pool areas At the beach and the hotel pool, wearing swimwear is perfectly acceptable. Wearing a bikini, swimsuit, hot pants, etc., in these areas would be acceptable. However, you shouldn't go to the beach in your skimpy thongs. Swimming attire is only allowed at the beach or pool. Cover your swimwear when walking from your hotel room to the pool or beach. Long dresses or skirts and tops hide swimsuits. The same goes for men. Men can go shirtless at the beach or pool. You must wear shorts and a T-shirt to your hotel. Sunbathing and nudity are illegal in Dubai. Conclusion What to wear in Dubai can seem like a long and, at times, conservative list. Remember, though, that Dubai is relatively tolerant of other Arab cities. You can still enjoy getting dressed up with little sacrifice regarding personal style.

#fashion

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chocolate-teapots · 2 years

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The Mistake: Jeon Jungkook

●╭╮╭╮╭╮╭╮╭╮╭╮╭╮●

You had sex with Jungkook.

So now you must suffer.

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Warnings: gosh where do I begin, swearing, sexual tension, tattooed JK, public makeout, jealousy, groping, duality, filthy talk like it should be illegal, domination, rough smut, JK pushes you into the wall, overstimulation, F receiving oral, fingering, fucking on every surface, crying, grinding, JK cums in his pants, couch sex, arrogant JK.

I was relieved at the idea of a Marvel movie marathon with all the guys in my apartment. But, as much as Scarlett Johansson in sexy tight costumes was a whole buffet for thought, my mind was eating somewhere else.

"Doth mother know you weareth her drapes?" he mocks along with Tony Stark, giggling and slapping his knees in amusement making popcorn go everywhere.

It was humiliating to think that Kook, wide-eyed and choking himself with obscene amounts of popcorn at one time could also be JK, the dangerous long-haired douche that made me press my legs together and hide my flush in the dark at even the memory of his touch. Why did I give in so easily?

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Bringing Jungkook as a plus one to my cousin's wedding sounded like a genius idea at the time. I've known him since the beginning of school so it was easy to have fun making fun of everyone and everything and he was a hot college guy so I didn't look completely boring and sad to judgy family members.

If only I realised it wasn't other people I had to worry about but us.

After a few slow dances, suggestive exchanges and a lot of free champagne we scammed our way through later, my back hit the cold wall of the grand hallway. Kook is no more as we give in to each other's lips, pressing me into the marble in a contagious mixture of moans and giggles. His white shirt is rolled up, exposing his veiny arms and fresh tattoos, and slightly unbuttoned. I could've busted on the spot.

"Taxi!"

He pulls me outside, making me stumble in the airy feeling his kisses gave me, the long tight dress and the heels I was wearing. We made it to the coat check before we gave in again. Jungkook's hand pressed into my lower back perfectly while his other held his blazer, smiling through the slower deeper kiss as the jacket man awkwardly and bitterly waits and watches.

Jungkook knew he was watching so he let him wait.

"Your coat miss," he politely interrupts but rather impolitely strips me with his narrowed eyes and bitter smirk.

"Thanks, buddy," Jungkook snatches it proudly before shaking his head "But, no chance."

The next thing I knew the fresh air was gone. He climbed on top of me in the back seat, kissing and groping and tongues gliding against each other. The windows started to steam, the laughter in between kisses died down and things started to get serious, so serious in fact we hadn't realised the taxi wasn't moving or the driver's presence until he cleared his throat.

Now, where would we go?

"Shit, Jimin's home and I'm not sure I can keep quiet," he breathed into my face, hair and necklace hanging down to chill my skin.

Who made him?

I reach down grinning, liquid courage doing me wonders at the moment. I gripped a slight hardness through his tight trousers watching his jaw clench beautifully in the dark.

"My roommate's in Spain."

"Drive!!!"

I look again at the kid spread out next to me, unblinking and giggling at the action. He often paused to impersonate the movements that he no doubt had memorised.

"Whoosh iron man!"

He never mentioned any of it after he left, in fact, I was certain he pretended as though it never even happened. Everything was fine.

Silly really that it hurt.

It hurt because I couldn't forget no matter how hard I tried and my best friend was making my heart race doing absolutely nothing.

Well, nothing like that.

Stumbling and giggling out of the car and having thrown way too much money at the driver, I try to unlock my front door with alcohol-shaken hands but Jungkook's roaming touch traps my front against the door, the evening chill not helping my shivers.

"Jungkook," I whine for him to stop, unable to use my keys and kind of cold.

He's massaging my hips, placing soft kisses and memorable noises against my neck. I didn't have time to think about what we were doing. Whatever it was I needed it.

"I can't wait to eat your pussy. I've been dreaming about how good you taste."

Fuck.

What was in that champagne?

I swallow the orgasm his words could conjure and mockingly laugh at him against the wood.

"Oh please. I know guys like you. You hate eating out if it's not at a restaurant."

He didn't laugh. Not one bit. He didn't like it.

Instead of the force I was bracing myself for and trying to encourage, he lets go stepping back to let me apprehensively open the door. At that point I didn't know if he was into it anymore, I thought maybe he was just gonna call it a night and I couldn't lie, the disappointment in that realisation was consuming me.

"You're gonna wish you didn't say that."

He waited until the lock clicked, pushing me against the door once more. I didn't have time to apologise for the mess in my place, turn on music, pour him a drink or even turn on the lights. My cheek pressed into the wood harder, gasping as his hand tightens around my neck and flushing at his nails dragging up the side of my thigh.

"I'm gonna lick you dry."

He pulls down my neckline, reaching for my chest and massaging. How could a person's touch be both electric and calming at the same time? I hit my forehead against the door slightly to muffle my noises.

"And, I won't stop when you're screaming either."

"Bwahhhhhh imagine being as strong as Hulk!" he nudges me and I jump out of the past before giving him a smile in agreement.

He gives me a look, knowing something is up but doesn't say anything and just burrows into his massive hoodie again and I happily go back to-

He rips off his shirt, shoes and trousers leaving him in just black underwear that did very little for coverage but a lot for my throbbing. I took him in in seconds but it was too much. His firm chest, his muscles, his wide shoulders, the swirl of tattoos. Drugged with that heat-of-the-moment passion, I forget how much my dress cost my broke ass as I go to throw it off.

"NO!"

I freeze, dress half off and in the middle of lifting it.

"You're gonna ruin it," he pouts cutely, folding the dress up neatly and placing it gently on top of a table.

I was astounded, pausing his reign of pussy-demolishing anticipation to get all OCD on me and lecture me about my laundry techniques all while he looked like that in his boxers. Abs glistening in no light, perfect proportions, smooth skin, tiny waist, thick thighs, heavy arms, messy curly hair, devilish smirk.

We don't make it very far at all.

The fluffy rug in the entrance was comfortable enough for my naked back as we fell onto it. He keeps his promises and my lips are left begging and cold against the air in my dark apartment as his kisses trail low.

That's all they were at first, kisses just sweetly tickling my clit and occasionally making my back arch. Not that it wasn't amazing but I was still in control. I moaned in comfortable contentment, bringing me to a nice orgasm in minutes that was just mind-blowing enough to make me forget for a minute and move on to something else.

He cleans up my little blast, tongue lingering a little too long at my entrance to be just stopping by. The slight overstimulation made me feel full despite being empty. I was confused, laughing uncomfortably as if I was laughing with him at some joke I wasn't in on.

"Jungkook don't I'm- sensitive," I chuckle through gasps, slightly over the edge and I dared to look down at him. I tried pulling him up, telling him to just fuck me already but no.

He didn't budge.

Do you know the feeling you get just before a rollercoaster starts where you immediately ask yourself what shit you've gotten yourself into?

The bar comes down, the announcement lazily declares the start of the ride and you suddenly want nothing more than to get off?

Yeah, this was it.

As I bravely looked down, risking it all for God knows what lay below, my stomach dropped in that rollercoaster way as I spotted his smirk, muscular back flexed, tongue very much grazing my clit still and hands gripping my thighs so hard I could already feel the bruising.

He groans onto me, mouth latching around my pussy and tongue flicking mercilessly in that one spot he mapped out from before.

"Fuck, Jungkook!"

He moans all the same, enjoying every single moment of me pulling his hair out of his scalp with my hands, pinning my hips down to stop my wriggling and the way I had come undone already.

It was like I was getting him off.

"Jungkook please!"

But what did I want?

"Yes?" he asks mockingly stopping his movements as I shrink in embarrassment, not enjoying the cold nothingness of the air without him "Did you say something?"

"N-no..."

"Thought so."

The carpet burn from wriggling and sore throat from screaming I gave myself by my third orgasm made me think he was done. I thought so even more as he pulls away, catching his breath and me catching mine as I lay limp against the floor. I could think. I couldn't do anything.

It was so good but all good things come to an end.

But clearly not.

For the fourth time, somehow with even more energy and aggression, he abuses my clit with his tongue again. I let out one loud whimper not stopping to wonder how no one has called the police yet.

"I can't," I whine over the incredibly loud slurping, trying to get away sweaty and dazed but his hands have me pinned and trapped.

But he had me all figured out by now. He knew the exact places that made me scream as if it was a diagram.

I didn't even have the energy to look down at him never mind to comprehend the mind-blowing sensation this fucking guy was causing. I was restless, trembling, aching and sweating. He was down on the ground getting absolutely nothing from me but cries and sinful moans yet he was in charge, not caring as two fingers enter me and still moaning as he relishes in the sensation.

"Ahhh Kook," I sob, hot tears rolling down my cheeks.

I should've been ashamed, storming off in embarrassment but I couldn't help it. His tongue did wonders, tickling, flat and licking and then kissing again. My hands reached further down until my nails dug into his shoulders in blind pleasure, making him splutter a thigh-buckling growl against me.

"So good!"

"Yeah?" he moaned, finger fucking me into tomorrow and adding just another for good measure.

"Fuck, Jungkook! You're the best!"

Unintentionally feeding his ego, I continued to sob and he watched every part with a delighted smirk. My eyes ached from rolling, lips torn apart from biting and my legs felt as though I had been weightlifting for 5 whole days straight.

"Louder baby. Let everyone know," his voice is clear, not a trace of alcohol in sight as he stares me out relentlessly quickening his pace. The taste was sobering him up, the anticipation of what was next bringing him back to reality.

I'm groaning, panting, whining and sobbing through the tightening in my stomach, waiting for that snap with curled toes and a completely arched back.

"Shit I'm- fuck!"

My thighs squeeze his head until he pushes them apart angrily. His attitude and aggression are all it takes to throw me over the edge, wet noises of sucking and fingering getting even wetter as I finish eventually drowning out my pants.

He licks his fingers, relishing all of me with the pride and arrogance I expected from him. He moans exaggeratedly on them, rolling his eyes mockingly as he grinned.

"You're... an... asshole."

It didn't end there.

I mumbled something about feeling guilty for not having anything left for him but I did try. Still shaking and with corpse-like floppiness, I reached down to him but couldn't no chance.

"Just relax and enjoy the ride," he kisses my lips sweetly, carrying me over to the couch and promising just one more round and accepting full leadership.

"What about you?"

"Y/N, trust me. Watching you is enough," he laughs breathlessly, still licking myself off his mouth as he takes off his underwear.

He wasn't lying. The white mess contrasting against the sleek black fabric on the ground was enough evidence and so was the huge raging red hard-on waiting to take me where no one has ever been taken before. Don't think I didn't miss him grinding against the ground and his hips stuttering as he finished.

The question is, did I really make Jeon Jungkook cum in his pants?

"Ready?" his nose is touching mine, hair tickling my forehead as he waits.

"Fucking ruin me."

That's all he needs, devouring me with eye contact as he fucks me raw from the beginning. This was different from him going down on me, breathtaking hearing his noises and words that made my eyes roll. The feeling was incredible, better than anything else I've ever experienced by about a million lightyears.

"Pussy so good."

He grunts with every powerful thrust, hitting that spot every single time and losing me to the idea that there's always room for more.

"All yours."

He flips me around, railing me into the cheap couch until I'm just a puddle, a stain that I would grimace at tomorrow. The sofa moves to the left with every thrust, dragging against the wood in a moan-worthy scratch every time until we almost hit the table.

"Kook," I gasp into the pillow I chose my bury my head in, hugging my head with my arms as he blows me away with his inhuman thrusts, spanking and massaging my ass through his reign over my body.

"Fuck, you're such a slut for me."

If this was life, I wanted it all.

He slaps again, taking the air out of me at the harshness of it. He was brutal but it was the hottest thing alive. It was like he knew what I wanted without the added humiliation of asking for it.

But he didn't like the sound of just skin and my faint presence. If I had something left to give he was going to take it and take it by force no doubt.

"Y/N..."

His hands twist my hair into a head-splitting rope, pulling my back to his warm protruding chest with little to no mercy. As if I could ever stop him and still I felt safe even as he groaned into my neck, hips snapping into me like we were the only people on earth.

"Where'd those pretty noises go huh?"

His hand reaches forward and down to find my whimpering clit again, rubbing impolitely into the puffed flesh. My knees buckled, head catching itself on my shoulder, relying completely on his tight grip and pounding to keep me from face planting the couch. Jungkook caresses my jaw until my hooded eyes gaze into his, on his shoulder.

"Am I not good enough huh?" he whines directly onto my open mouth, catching every single moan he dug out of me. He tips his own wicked groans into my mouth making me drip onto the sofa beneath us and he glides us into cumming together.

"No no you're- you're...can't...think."

He laughs kissing me as he reaches his high, breathing out my name and curse words as my eyes roll, thighs tremble, every hanging organ collapse and vision go entirely fucked. I fall forward but he catches me.

My 5th orgasm.

"-Yeah I think it must be 5 times."

"What?"

I snapped, jumping at the connection between my thoughts and the boys around me who could surely tell that my leggings were soaked through, skin flushed and pupils were blown in intense need.

Silence.

Taehyung was wide-eyed.

Hobi stopped eating.

"I just said I've seen the movie 5 times," Jimin mutters apprehensively.

Relief wasn't the word.

"Oh okay. Yeah. Me too," I mutter, going back into my dreamland of staring at the edge of the tv pretending I was in the moment again.

It didn't end there either.

Well, it did but it was just the next day.

The morning after...

When I was in the middle of drunkenly reassuring myself this meant nothing the next day and I hadn't, in fact, fucked my best friend but this insane talented fuckboy who happens to have the same name ruined it all.

Waking up to a groggy head, puffed and painful nether regions and nausea was one thing but the sight of my gorgeous best friend cuddled into my navel holding what was now a damp towel to my clit with one hand and the other tightly wrapped around my body was another thing.

"Jungkook," I groan in sensitivity, hangover-ness and in an attempt to wake him run my hands through the wild mop of black hair.

He refuses, groaning into my bare skin and now cuddling my lower body tightly with both arms.

"I'll pee on you," I warn groggily, not enjoying the panic of that actual possibility.

"Is that an offer?"

I snort feeling his smirk against me and pushing him away, he rolls over sheets just covering his dick. He stretches, body firm and golden in the sunlight. How could he look this good after that much alcohol and sex?

Shit. I fucked my best friend.

I crawled to the bathroom by rolling off the bed, whimpering at my aching everything and grimacing at the trail of wetness dripping down my bruised thighs.

"Shit."

As I peed, I noticed more marks all from his hands and a couple from his mouth not that he was so unscathed. His back was raw with scratches from my nails and I didn't miss him rubbing his jaw before I crawled out of bed.

I whimper again at the hot and painful sensation.

I fucked my best friend.

"If it helps, I'm really sorry," he calls guiltily from the other room.

"Yeah yeah, I'm not the one who has to explain to Hope tomorrow why I'm limping everywhere and crying when I pee."

"I'm the one who has to convince him I bought a cat...naked."

I don't know what I was thinking when I thought everything would just work out. It obviously did for him. He was relaxing into his 2nd marvel movie of the day quite nicely, not glancing at me once or hesitating before he spoke.

I saw no cogs spinning or hesitation in his usual flirty and giggly way with me. He still made dirty jokes, nudged me, hugged me platonically and I didn't feel his heart flutter when he did it.

I was nothing to him.

It's been four days and I was begging for more. I know, odd how JK literally fucked me dry and yet here I was absolutely dripping for him and having to live off breadcrumbs as I caught the lines in his lower stomach when he stretched or the tickle of his arm as it accidentally brushed against me.

I was just like his other bitches, desperate and devastated that he left so soon.

"I'm uh- more popcorn," I mutter getting up suddenly, overwhelmed and too warm to look at Chris Evans's heavenly butt cheeks again and pretend everything is okay for another million movies.

"Doesn't she have a full bowl...?"

My head was spinning, the kitchen crumbling down around me as I knew they watched my every movement. I tried to calm myself by making more popcorn but the writing was blurred and the packaging anxiety-inducingly bright. I just hoped no one would follow me.

At least guessing the cooking time would buy me more time to ease my rash, and calm the throbbing and the uncontrollable jolting my thighs did when I was sitting down.

Mainly, it allowed me to think about how stupid I had been to not realise sooner how much I wanted him.

And, not just in that way.

Jungkook was a great friend, a funny guy and was basically good at everything. I don't know why I expected barely anything memorable from him in my drunken logic. I had a lot to drink at that wedding but I could still think hard about what I was doing before I let him kiss me.

I thought it would be fine.

It wasn't.

"You okay?"

I wasn't.

Wait-

"Yeah," I automatically reply, not noticing him come in.

I'm blushing because I didn't expect him there. He scared me. That's all.

Why would I be blushing over him? It's just Jungkook.

Yeah, the Jungkook who stapled me to my rug and ate me out 4-

"Sorry," he mumbles, bumping into me from behind as he reaches for some glasses in the cupboard above me.

I hold in my gasp as his body presses my hips forward into the counter, claustrophobically trapping me in his presence without laying a hand on me once. Swallow it.

"It's fine."

"Is it?" he mumbles again against my skin, bringing me away from reality again as his hands rubbed against my hips just like before.

He pressed us both into the kitchen counter allowing me to feel every part of him teasing me through our clothes as his hand starts to wander.

"I thought it was 'so good' 'oh kook' 'you're the best!'" he moans teasingly, rolling his eyes and biting his lip to emphasize his little performance.

Though he sounded hot and arrogant by making fun of me for letting go so easily to him, it wasn't helping my own perception of myself. I flush redder than the popcorn bowl, genuinely humiliated.

"Shut up," I duck away from him trying to get away but he's got me.

He's got me. He's got me on top of the counter while still managing to tower over me, casting a dark shadow in the dimly lit kitchen. Jungkook grabs my legs, wrapping them around me as I refused to touch him, refused to look at him until he made me.

He was too beautiful.

"No need to be embarrassed pretty girl," he rubbed my leggings surely feeling the steam from underneath them that had gathered through 2 whole movies of dirty thoughts "Do you know how hard I get just thinking about the noises you made?"

His lips wander the surface of my neck and I just let him. Who was I kidding when I told myself it was easier to not have him?

"You think about it?" I ask genuinely, whimpering lowly almost not just because of the 6 guys behind the door sitting in silence watching a movie but at the possibility that I wasn't the only one losing my mind to pleasure here.

"All the time. You're driving me crazy," he looks down my frame, my heaving chest, the visible ache between my legs and the trembling. "For two movies I've been wondering what's been going on in that head of yours and why you were sitting so far away."

His hips drive into me and even through his thick grey tracksuit, I can feel what he wants.

"What are you doing?" I whisper, panicking as I watch him sink to his knees again despite how much I don't want to stop him.

Please.

"Right now I'm trying to taste you again, right here on this counter," Jungkook grumbles matter-of-factly as if he was just trying to tie my shoelaces. "I'm starving."

He wasn't. The staring contest between my clothed clit and his hungry eyes said otherwise. He was basically drooling, tongue poking out achingly slow to lick his lips as if he was remembering how it felt to lick me off of them.

"Someone might come in..." I whisper nervously but really I was running out of excuses, getting more and more used to the idea of a quickie in the kitchen the lower and lower he pulled down my leggings.

"Good, let's give them a show."

#bts imagines #bts smut #jungkook imagine #jjk smut #jungkook smut #park jimin #kim taehyung

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jeankirsteinn · 3 years

Text

Pretty Brats

Rating: Explicit (18+, NSFW content)

Summary: You find yourself in a suite with a bitch and an even bigger brat. You have to take care of them the proper way.

Pairing: Kisaki Tetta/f!reader/Hanma Shuji

Warnings: dom!reader, sub!kisaki, switch!hanma (?), f!reader (she/her pronouns), threesome, size kink, praise kink (use of pet names), slight impact play, restrainings (belt), oral sex (m receiving, deepthroat), fingering, slight butt play, p in v, facial, creampie, mention of slight exhibitionism, voyeurism, mention of alcohol and smoke, tag game, squirting.

A/N: no character is underage here. Hanma and Kisaki are respectively 28 and 25 and this is set in the timeskip (actual present).

Words count: 2.8K

Do you know who I am?”

“My fucking brat?”

“Watch your mouth kitten. I am—”

You block his mouth with a gentle finger: “Yes, a very powerful man, Kisaki. We know. Now shut it and let me suck your cock…”

You unbuckle his belt and let his tailored trousers hit the pavement of the suite he booked for the night.

Two of your fingers run around the stiffness of his boxers, making his dick twitch. He’s caressing your hair with a hand full of gold rings; you feel the tenderness of his gesture on your head, but deep down you know he’s about to grab your hair and fuck your face.

You’ve been a tease all night, sucking the last drop of patience out of his body while talking business with his clients. He was hard before even concluding this huge deal he was talking about for months. Honestly, you were surprised he didn’t come in his pants, with your hand squeezing his crotch under the table all night.

You insert two fingers into his boxers and slowly rub them downwards, uncaging his pulsing cock. Kisaki sighs, a sigh of relief. Man, it must hurt after being trapped the whole night into that tight suit, in a club surrounded by pretty women and especially having one of the hottest girls out there playing with his manhood.

“Drop on your knees. It’s more fun that way.” A deep voice coming from the shadows of the suite reaches your eardrums. Oh yes, you almost forgot about him. Almost.

Kisaki second in command, his most trusted man, Hanma Shuji, is sitting on a nice armchair with a leg crossed and a Martini in his right hand, sipping delighted on the show you two were putting up. Hanma is a sucker for this type of things. It thrills him beyond anyone’s imagination the sight of two people getting down and dirty right in front of his eyes. Most of the thrill also comes from them obeying his orders.

And, you assume, there is also the waiting factor.

Yes, you and Kisaki are teasing each other, but you’re teasing Hanma too. Or, better, he’s teasing himself too. He’s gonna push himself to his limits and then jump right in and fill your pretty pussy with his release once he’s satisfied enough.

You drop on your knees with a light moan, violently slamming your hands on Kisaki’s ass. Nope, not a head’s up for the brat, dick was going right into your mouth.

“Fuck, shi—” wheezes him with a strangled voice.

You swallow him entirely, gagging a bit before reaching the end of his shaft. With a free hand you massage his balls, and you start your up and downs. Flows of saliva already come out of your mouth.

“Damn, woman… you’re one hungry cock sucker.”

“Wait until I get to yours.” You mumble, licking Kisaki’s tip while darting your eyes at Hanma.

Shuji growls, reaching his dick with one of his tattoed hands to massage it.

“Eyes on me, pretty lady.” Frowns Kisaki, grabbing your cheeks with a hand and redirecting your face on him. Behind his glasses, his expression is illegible. A mixture of angriness and tenderness.

After all, you are his woman. And you know he would do anything for you. Anything in the world.

“Such a spoiled brat.” You murmur against his dick. He finally takes your face with both hands and holds it still while thrusting into your mouth.

“Fuck, you feel amazing. So w-wet…”

Another growl comes from Hanma. You can hear a belt unbuckling in the distance. Is he giving up already? The show just started.

“Kisaki, baby… I think Hanma is giving up already. We should do something about it.”

Kisaki glares at Hanma for a hot second, the reflection of the dim light in the room hitting his glasses. “Is that so, Shuji?”

“Oi, oi, oi… I am the one giving orders here.” Smirks the tall man, tossing his black leather belt on the ground.

“Oh, I don’t think so.” You detach from Kisaki’s pretty dick with a string of saliva connecting his tip to your chin.

You get rid of the tight dress you were in, slowly approaching Hanma. You untie your bra right in front of him while looking directly into his eyes. Shuji sighs, that diabolic smirk depicts on his face.

“Do you like my tits?” you ask innocently.

“Fucking perfect, sweetheart. Let me touch though, just to be sure…”

He slowly puts his hands up, but you are fast and grab the belt he previously tossed while restraining both of his wrists.

“The fuck are you doing, girl?” growls him smiling at you in an astonishing way. He is amused, you can tell… he’s not even rebelling against your attempt to restrain him (it would take nothing for him to overpower you). Sick Hanma, he will never change.

You hop on his lap, making sure to rub your clit on his hard crotch to reward him. He’s gonna need that.

He tosses his head behind the seat, moaning deeper while you set his arms behind the chair with the belt.

“You won’t move for a bit like this.” You murmur against his neck, licking a swollen vein until you reach his collarbone. You suck on his soft skin, until you hear a hiss.

“You’re gonna kill him like this.” Chuckles devilishly Kisaki, laying on the immense bed and getting rid of the jacket, tie, and white blouse.

Hanma returns to look at you from behind his eyelids. He has such pretty eyes. Your tits are right in front of his face, bouncing furiously in an attempt to jump off him. He catches one in his mouth, nipping avidly at your nipple. From your mouth escapes a little moan as he suckles your tit while watching you amused.

“Shuujii!!” you cry out.

“Oh, so sensitive… go ahead, entertain me, little brat. Make me suffer a bit.” Even in a submissive position like that Hanma Shuji could give orders. Pff, that fucking bastard.

You return to face Kisaki who was now lazily jerking off on the bed.

You bend over to get rid of your panties, maintaining his eye contact while his rhythm starts to accelerate. Behind you the sight of your ass makes Hanma squeak a bit in his seat.

“Did I tell you to jerk off?”

“No, but I—”

You jump on the bed, instantly towering Kisaki “But, but, but… Shut up already with the rationale. I’m gonna ride your wet dick until you’ll beg me to let you cum.”

A low groan comes from Kisaki. The sound of your voice saying such filthy things makes him tremble.

You adjust yourself on top of him, teasing your wet folds with his swollen tip.

Yes, you are already wet, courtesy of Hanma. His bulge hitting on your clit made you so aroused back there… and the fabric of his pants? So fucking textured it was a delight to rub your naked body on it.

Kisaki thrusts slightly his hips, unable to resist your temptations.

“So eager uh, Kisaki-sama?”

You know he loves it when you use honorifics that increase his pride and position. Kisaki would give anything to be the all-over dominator of this situation. Fact is he’s not. You conduct the game, he’s the spoiled brat. He’s your pawn now.

You slowly start to move your hips in circular motions, taking his shaft entirely in you. He reaches your hips with his hands, squeezing them to leave his mark, biting his inner lip to retain a moan. He didn’t want to give such satisfaction to you just yet. You just started to fuck him.

On the other hand, Hanma is moaning softly, randomly stomping his elegant shoes on the ground to remind you he is there and could see everything but do literally nothing.

“Oh, you really have to be so dramatic, Shuji?”

Your ass cheeks are now violently slamming on Kisaki’s lap while you glare at him from up and down, the smallest grin of pleasure coming to the surface.

“Kisaki, play with my clit…”

With a thumb, he reaches your sensitive bud and teases it with small, clockwise motions. You let out a loud moan while you ride his dick relentlessly, your pace absolutely destroying him.

“Fuck you’re taking me so-so well baby girl…” cries out Kisaki, now completely lost in thrusting in you at your own pace. A strand of blondish hair escapes his elegant hairstyle, hitting the sides of his cheeks and moving at the rhythm of your body bouncing over his.

“Yeah, ride him like a fucking cowgirl.” Raises Hanma from behind.

Kisaki lifts himself up to hug your torso, burying his face in your tits.

“Kisaki…” you moan feeling his skin against yours. You’re so wet for him.

“Say my name again, please. So f-fucking erotic.”

He inserts two of his glistened fingers in your mouth and you suck on them automatically.

“Ki…sa…ki!” this time you whispered it softly, taking his fingers in your mouth.

“Again.”

Now the brat is abusing your kindness.

“Fuck… Hanma.” You say passing your fingers through Kisaki’s hair.

You hear Hanma’s unmistakable chuckle followed by a growl “I know you want me like that, sweetheart.”

You feel Kisaki, under you, totally losing control of his pace. He pins your hips up in the air with both of his arms and fucks you determined to make you come.

You feel your pussy clenching harder and harder on him and an impelling urge to release your orgasm on his words comes through.

“Fuck me…” you cry out while you come.

“I bet that tall ass zombie doesn’t make you cum so hard on his dick, babygirl.” He spits out viciously.

“I bet I can make her squirt, blind asshole.” Chuckles Hanma, now blushing from the sight of your orgasm.

“Look who’s talking—fuck, baby are you still going?!”

You didn’t stop riding his cock, not even your orgasm ended. Seeing them fight over you makes you so damn excited you just want to continue.

“I’m gonna cum, pretty one.”

As you feel your pussy getting filled with Kisaki’s hot cum you hear a hiss behind you. Hanma is really struggling to keep himself collected.

“Shit…”

Kisaki pulls you in for a long kiss, biting and nipping at your soft lips while his dick is still impaling you.

“What do you think baby…” you whisper in his ear, slightly tickling him “can I help Shuji now?”

“Do your best, love.” His hands are still wrapped on your hips, gently rubbing your soft skin, provoking goosebumps on the end of your back.

You pull out, putting a gentle, comforting kiss on his shoulder.

You turn to look at Hanma avidly, meeting the same, hungry gaze on you.

“You’ve been patient, Hanma. I’ll reward you for that.”

He stares at you while you carefully come closer. He doesn’t even move anymore. You sit on his lap, untying his arms from the belt around him.

Half a second later you find yourself in the air, two strong arms wrapping around your body, his mouth on your neck.

“Hanma…”

He murmurs something against your neck while sliding his big hands on your bare ass, squeezing tight your pretty body.

Kisaki chuckles amused watching you two from the bed.

“I’ll give you something new, something exciting, baby…” whispers again, running his tongue around your lips. He balances himself perfectly as he walks around the suite with your trembling body in his arms.

“Han-ma… I’m making a mess of your suit…” you feel your wet pussy rubbing against his jacket, probably forming a spot on it. Kisaki’s cum is adding onto it, running down your thighs wrapped around his waist.

“You know I like it messy.” He carefully puts you on the ground, spreading your legs apart with his.

You’re now facing a mirror, prettily displayed near the bed Kisaki is resting on, watching you two. Truth be told, you didn’t even notice that mirror, as giant as it is, leaned on the wall.

Hanma is roaming his hands all over you, impatiently humping you from behind. You can feel his hard, needy crotch pressing on your side while his fingers run up your torso and reach your nipples.

Another squeak comes from you and your reflection stares at you all sweaty and hot. You turn around not to look at yourself as he plays with your body.

“Girl, watch us in the mirror. There’s a reason if I put you here. I want you to look as I fuck you.”

He strips off his pants and briefs, and another second later the jacket and thin chemise he had on were gone too. If you thought Kisaki’s dick was a decent size, oh well... after seeing Hanma’s you had to rethink your sizing chart standards.

“Spit on it.” He says while guiding your head down to meet the tip of his cock. You do as he commands and he massages it with his long, calloused fingers wrapped around it.

He grabs you by the neck as he likes to do (so not very subtly or gentle) and bends you over, spreading your legs to guarantee himself a nice and comfortable view.

He starts playing with two of his skilled fingers, one at the wet entrance of your folds and the other tickling your puckered hole. Your legs are already trembling, giving up confidence.

If with Kisaki you had total control of the situation, Hanma already assured himself total domination over you. There was no escape.

He’s humping you again, dick as hard as possible impatient to slip in you. His little nervous chuckles and hums are sending shivers down your spine.

“Don’t ruin her too much, Hanma. I like her.”

“I bet you do, you won’t stop talking about her.” You try to ignore the daring confession Hanma just slipped from his mouth, but the warm feeling of joy rises in you. Kisaki doesn’t stop talking about you.

With fingers spreading your folds he thrusts in you gently. He is conscious about his size after all, and as much as he wants to fuck you aggressively he never intends to hurt you.

Your walls are immediately filled with his size, stretching around him.

The fingers around your neck tighten as he thrusts more and more, picking up a pace you are not sure is 100% human. He’s destroying you, pounding his massive self against your walls.

“Oh fuck me…” you whisper, abandoning yourself in his strong arms. He’s completely sustaining you now. The reflection in the mirror makes you so horny. Seeing his focused yet distorted by pleasure face looking at your body while his dangling earring tilts is all you wanted from him.

But you won’t give up that tiny bit of dominant energy you have left. He said he would have made you squirt.

He’s moaning so much now that even Kisaki is getting a little concerned.

You meet his gaze from the mirror, saying nothing but rolling your hips around him. This causes him to flinch from pleasure.

“Don’t you just look at me like that, girl. Say something.” Orders Shuji wrapping his long fingers around your neck. The reflection of him railing you from behind is too much to bare now.

“I want my pussy… filled with your cum…” you whisper.

Hanma widens his eyes, slamming his hips against your ass harder and deeper.

“Make me squirt on your dick Shu- uhmm… ji.”

“Fuck…”

He pulls out, towering over you with crazy eyes and a grin “You’re a mad girl.”

He lifts you up, pinning his hands on your hips while your tighs squeeze his.

He’s lifting you like that, blocking your movements as he thrusts his cock in you as you’re his favorite toy.

“Kisaki, help me out. Fill this bitch’s mouth.” Groans him.

You rest your head on the bed, squeezing its blankets in preparation for what’s about to come.

Kisaki is already hard again from watching you too and he’s a little too happy to comply.

He grabs your perfect face with both hands, stroking his thumb on your cheek, and fucking your mouth so good.

As you deepthroat Kisaki, Hanma is still pounding in you hard, filling you to the brim with his thumb pressuring your butthole way too insistently.

As you moan saliva and tears spill from you. Fuck, you feel so full and ready again. You want them to cum in you so bad, both of them at once.

Your pussy clenches hard on Hanma, the way too familiar feeling of letting go and abandon yourself to pleasure hitting you like a truck.

You moan around Kisaki as you’re sure you’re squirting, feeling warm liquid flowing down your thighs.

“Good girl…” Hanma throws his head behind as he buries himself in you, hot cum sprouting from his tip and filling your pussy completely.

“My good girl.” Kisaki pulls out of you to jerk himself off and finish, covering your face and open mouth with his semen.

Your strength left your body after this. The only thing you crave now is a long bath and aftercare by these two assholes.

“My pretty brats…”

234 notes · View notes

aimless-imagines-for-fun · 4 years

Text

His

Paring :: mafia dark!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings :: 18+, Smut/NSFW, Dark Themes, Possessiveness, Oral(M Recieving), Deep Throating

Word Count :: 2,787

Summary :: Bucky’s had a long day and you’re the only one he can release his stress on

A/N ::....there may or may not be another part... idk yet.... I just really like Mafia Bucky

Some days were better than others, for both you and Bucky.

So far, your day had gone swimmingly. You woke up, did an easy morning stretch to help you wake up, and proceeded to clean around your house in your favorite sundress. There wasn’t much to do, with the house usually clean due to Bucky hiring professional cleaners to come once a week. Still, the dishes weren’t going to do themselves.

The highlight of your day was a package being delivered. A book that you had pre-ordered from one of your favorite authors. After you cooked your lunch, you spent the rest of your day reading the book, sitting on the dark grey couch in your large living room. That was all you could do besides watching tv or doing a small hobby to keep you occupied until Bucky came home.

Bucky’s day, on the other hand, was infuriatingly long. He was a businessman and a mob boss, meaning he’d usually have long days. If he was lucky, he’d just have to deal with some idiot trying to cheat him. Today was an unlucky day. He received a visit from Helmut Zemo, the head of a Sokovian Mafia trying to start up in Brooklyn.

Bucky sat at his desk, leaning back in his leather chair as he stared at the man who just entered his office.

“I already told you the deal Zemo. There’s no bargaining, if you don’t like it save your breath and get the hell out of here.”

The Sokovian ignored him, walking over to a large bookshelf that was against the wall. “You know, for the most powerful man in Brooklyn, you’d be surprised how quickly some of your ‘people’ are willing to betray you if you offer them enough cash.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, a scowl forming on his face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Zemo glanced over for a moment. “The docks.”

A few nights prior, one of Bucky’s incoming shipments of illegal weapons had been robbed. A small number of men were killed, and the rest were injured. There was also a weird symbol that had been spray-painted around the docks, a sign that whoever had done this was publicly declaring war.

Bucky’s jaw clenched and he was now sitting up straight in his seat. “You did that?” “It was quite easy to.”

“So why the fuck are you here now? I could put a bullet through your head in a second.”

Zemo laughed, finally turning to face the other man. “You won’t because you know I’m not stupid enough to come here without just as many men you have.” He let out a small breath, taking a few steps forward. His gaze moved down to Bucky’s left hand, an eyebrow raising with curiosity. “You haven’t married her yet? She’s a lovely woman.”

In an instant Bucky stood up, his hands balled into fists. If a look could kill, Zemo would be dead and his body burning.

“I came to tell (Y/N) thank you. Not long ago, one of my guys got a bit lost and she helped him. Pietro said she was ‘the kindest girl he’d met’ and ‘extremely helpful and friendly.”

Bucky cursed in the back of his mind. It sounded exactly like something you’d do, you were kind and naive by nature, simply wanting to help people when they needed it. It was what drew him to you, and it seemed like it was attracting unwanted attention from others now.

“I’m gonna give you ten minutes to get the hell out of my territory.”

“Why so generous?”

“It’s a nice neighborhood,” Bucky replied sarcastically.

Zemo walked back towards the door, understanding he had pushed the man far enough. A coy smile crept on his face, looking at Bucky one last time. “I’d keep her better guarded and up to speed if I were you. She’s too innocent to be involved with you.”

Once Zemo and his men left Bucky nearly tore apart his office. It took Sam and Steve a good hour to calm the man down and make sure he didn’t do anything reckless. Once he cooled down, Sam revealed that Tony Stark had been the one to cross Bucky. Tony’s father was the previous big bad until Bucky came around.

“I don’t give a fuck what you do Steve, just make sure Tony doesn’t think he’s not get strung up on a tree after I shoot that Sokovian bastard in the head.”

His voice was full of annoyance and his grip on the steering wheel of his car was so tight the whites of his knuckles were visible. It was one thing for Zemo to publicly humiliate his authority by robbing him, but he had indirectly threatened you by mentioning you to Bucky. You were his and his alone. He had invested far too much in securing you, ensuring that you’d never leave him.

Bucky leaned on the doorframe of your apartment’s bedroom, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you step around the room. “What are you doing?”

“Going home,” You muttered, continuing to pack your suitcase.

“That’s on the other side of the country.”

“I know.”

“I can’t keep an eye on you if you’re in LA.”

You looked up from the clothes you were packing, glaring at him. “I know.”

Bucky let out a huff. “So you also know I can’t make sure you’re safe.”

You let out a dry laugh, eyes rolling. “I’ll probably be a lot safer once I’m far away from you.”

The man pushed himself off the door frame, now approaching you with long strides. “You’re not leaving (Y/N).”

You threw the shirt you hand in your hand down, turning to face him. “Yes, I am Bucky, because you lie to me!” Your voice was strained, eyes looking up at him full of pain.

“I didn’t lie to you-”

“Yes, you did! You lied to me about what you did and you hid the truth!”

When you and Bucky started dating, he told you he ran a large ‘supply and demand’ business in Brooklyn and that was it. Like the naive girl you were, who had just moved to the east coast, you believed him because you fell for him hard at first. He spoiled you and made you feel like a princess in public, and in private you helped him release all the pent-up stress he had built up from work. A few months later, you finally figured out why Bucky was always so protective of you and wanted to know where you were 24/7.

Bucky could see the tears you were holding back, mentally cursing at himself for being the cause. He cupped your cheek with his normal hand. You had to resist the urge to lean into his hold.

“I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry, but…” His voice trailed off. In a swift motion, his metal hand wrapped around your waist lifting you up and over his shoulder. “You’re not leaving me (Y/N).”

“James Buchanan Barnes! Put me down this instant!” You slammed your fists into his back to no avail. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”

“I love you too darling,” He mumbled, proceeding to walk you out of your apartment.

You were on the fourth chapter of your book when you heard a car door slam. You sprung up from your seat, moving as quickly as you could to greet Bucky at the front door. When you got there, you saw he had already let himself inside. His brows were knit together, looking down at the door’s locks.

“Why isn’t the door locked?” He questioned before he even saw you.

With the territorial instinct he had when it came to you and his meeting with Zemo earlier, it was clear he was not happy about such a small thing, no matter your excuse.

“Oh, I must’ve forgotten to lock it when I got the mail today,” You said quietly.

He had lectured you multiple times about how important it was you locked the door, even before you move in with him.

You wrapped your arms around his torso, properly greeting him with a smile like you did every day. You had done this so many times, you noticed how long it took for him to softly wrap a single arm around you before walking away. He was upset.

“Go to the bedroom and wait. Now,” He ordered.

Your heart started racing, wondering what was going to happen to you. If he had stress pent up, he would either wait until after dinner or start kissing you roughly the second he stepped in. He had only acted like this when you pushed him to his limit, like when you threatened to leave him or attempted to run away when he first forced you to live with him.

You sat at the edge of your shared bed, hands holding and fiddling with the hem of your dress. When Bucky was this angry, he was painfully rough to the point where you would begin crying. You quickly began thinking of everything you had done recently, wondering what could’ve pushed him to this point.

He walked in, jacket off and the sleeves to his white button-up rolled up to his elbows. Even though your mind was screaming with fear, your body started heating up with desire seeing him. Especially when your eyes glanced down to his pants and saw a hardness forming. ‘Fuck, he’s been thinking about this.’

Walking up to you, Bucky grabbed your chin with his thumb and index finger, forcing you to look up at him. As a sort of last-ditch effort to get some kindness from him, you gave him a doe-eyed look.

He leaned down, pressing a long kiss against your lips before pulling away. “Get on your knees.”

You took in a deep breath, accepting he wouldn’t be gentle. You pulled away from his cold metal hand, sinking down to stand before him on your knees. Keeping eye contact with him, you managed to under his brown leather belt and navy trousers. You looped your fingers at the hem of his pants, pulling them down along with his briefs just enough for his fully erect shaft to be freed.

With both of your small hands wrapping around his shaft, you could feel yourself growing wet at the sound of his soft groan. At first, you started stroking his length slowly, leaning your face closer to lick the tip and swirl your tongue around the head.

Bucky didn’t allow you to continue this very long. Only a small dribble of precum was licked up before he grabbed a fist full of your hair from the back of your head and pushed himself further in. Another groan escaped him feeling the warmth of your mouth around his cock. He hit the back of your throat and you gagged, not yet ready for him to go deeper. He did it again two more times, warning you that he planned on having you take all of him in his mouth.

Your hands moved up to his thighs to hold yourself steady and you relaxed your throat the best you could in preparation. Once he started to push his dick further in, you could feel tears start to well up in your eyes as he went down your throat. You moaned each time he shoved his shaft down your throat, sending a soft vibration on his shaft.

Bucky eventually started thrusting his hips into your mouth, fully fucking your mouth as tears started to fall out of your eyes. Watching your glossy eyes stare up at him with his cock down your throat he nearly lost it, feeling his ballsack tighten. Not wanting to cum just yet, he pulled out, a string of your saliva falling off his dick and dribbling down your mouth. You gasped and began panting for air, wiping away your drool with the back of your hand.

He sat on the edge of the bed now, pulling your hips to stand in front of him once you stood up. “Off.”

You took off your dress, followed by your bra and wet panties. Already knowing what was going to happen, you moved to straddle his hips. You and Bucky had had sex numerous times before, but you always needed a moment to get used to his size. He wasn’t going to allow that.

With his large hands on your hips, he forced you down his entire dick, groaning at how tight your walls clenched around him.

“Bucky!” You cried out, body tingling as he filled you up, balls deep.

He held your hips with such a strong grip you were sure there were going to be marks after. He bounced you up and down his cock, watching you with a dark gaze as you moaned and whimpered against him. Only he could make you feel like this, act like this for him.

He thrusted his hips up, and you moaned loudly, back arching as he hit a sweet sensitive spot. “Please!”

“Please, what?” Bucky asked, knowing full well what you wanted. He wanted you to beg.

“Fuck me right there Bucky! Please!”

More than happy to comply, he proceeded to slam into that same spot, your breath growing faster and cunt tighter each time it was hit. His breath was becoming heavy, and his movements ragged.

He watched as you looked down at him fucking you and saw you shudder. “Ah!” Your walls tightened and your release hit you, juices pouring out. Feeling you release triggered his own orgasm, releasing inside of you. You could feel spurt after spurt of hot cum filling you up and your tight cunt gladly took it.

He finally stopped bouncing you, rolling his hips into you and allowing you a few seconds of rest. He pulled his limp dick out but watching your pussy drip with a mixture of both your cum, he found himself hard once again.

You barely had any time for your mind to clear up after, your eyes widening as Bucky forced you on your hands and knees. Not sparing a single second he rammed back into you, his hand smacking your ass hard.

You let out a cry, the stinging pain from the spank only lasting for a short while before you felt the pain and pleasure of him filling you up again.

“Tell me how much you love it,” He breathed out, watching your ass bounce against his hips with each thrust.

“Bucky!” You moaned out, your walls tightening around him again.

You barely had any time to recover from your last high and still sensitive. You started moving your ass against him, feeling his ballsack slapping your clit each time he thrusted.

“I love it so much!” You breathed out. “I love feeling your big dick fill me up and fuck me!”

You bit your lip, feeling the juices drip down your thighs. Your arms were starting to grow weak, barely able to hold yourself when you screamed again. Your pussy tightened and released, begging him to cum and fill you up again.

His large hands buried into your hips, continuing to fuck you as you released around him again. His build-up was growing with the sight of you taking his cock, thrusts growing sloppy.

Bucky wasn’t blind and could tell your arms were going to give out. So, he released his grip on you with his metal arm to lean over you. He wrapped his arm around your chest, holding you up while squeezing your breast.

Hearing your soft whimpers as he still fucked you did it for him, his hips bucking to release another hot load inside of you. He stayed in you until he finished then pulled out, releasing you to collapse on the bed.

Weakly, you turned yourself on your back to look at him, face flushed and tear-stained. He lowered himself above you, metal arm pressed down near the side of your head to keep him above you. Bucky’s eyes danced over your facial features. His gaze moved down, watching your chest rise with each pant before looking at the mess in between your legs.

With his other hand, he reached down and dragged two fingers up your wet folds, gathering the juices on them. When he raised them back up to your face, both of your hands grabbed him and began to suck and lick his fingers clean.

“Christ you’re fucking beautiful.”

He pulled his fingers away, smashing his lips against yours. You wrapped your hands around his neck, a hand moving up to play and tug on his hair as you kissed.

#bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #dark!bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine #james bucky barnes #james bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #mafia bucky barnes #mafia!bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan smut

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years

Text

Perks of the Job | dark!Boba Fett x reader x (soft)dark!Din Djarin

summary: the only thing worse than one bounty hunter on your trail is two. the only thing worse than a bounty hunter who wants to abuse you is a bounty hunter who wants to make you into a lesson for his makeshift apprentice. the only thing worse than a villain is a villain who thinks he’s a hero.

word count: 5.8k

warnings: smut (noncon, including vaginal, oral m receiving, anal, and dp… so you know, basically everything), a specific kink of mine which I have dubbed "no, not there!" or NNT for short (betcha can guess what that means), din catching feelings lowkey, hair pulling, choking, bondage, forced begging, all the good stuff

Boba had proven to be unendingly useful in bounty missions, even if he was a little bit rough around the edges and slightly more ‘shoot first ask questions later’ in his attack style. Still, Din was grateful for his aid and was happy to tag along when Boba explained he was tracking a target to Florrum— just a smuggler, wanted by the New Republic for trafficking death sticks all across the Outer Rim, nothing too serious or high-profile.

Turned out Din was less useful than he wanted to be, because only Boba was able to get into the club he’d traced your beacon to, so Din was instead left to wait on Slave I and try not to get into any trouble in the meantime.

After less than an hour of resting his eyes in the cockpit, he heard Boba’s voice come in through the comms system. “Target acquired,” he rasped, and Din instantly noticed the distant sounds of struggle and the destruction he must have left in his wake. “Be ready to take off when we board.”

Din leaned forward to hold down the blue button; “Roger,” he replied quickly as he kept an eye on the camera feed of the loading platform, opening and extending it so the hunter and his bounty could board easily. The man appeared on the visual soon after, dragging a woman by the scruff of her neck.

It was you, with your hands tied behind your back and your mouth restrained by a makeshift gag. You were putting up quite a fight, but not nearly enough to stop a man as ruthless as Fett. The second the two of you were inside, Din triggered the loading platform to return to its upright resting place as he started the engines, the ship’s gyroscopic insides tilting against the lift-off sequence. He turned his attention away from the screen as he saw Boba toss you to the ground, focusing instead on his task of exiting the atmosphere and getting the ship into hyperspace so you could be returned to those who sought you.

Hyperspace was quieter, which meant he could hear the sounds of your resistance more easily even with you in another part of the ship entirely. Wondering what all the fuss was about (and, secretly, a bit curious about this feisty young woman Fett had captured), Din made his way out of the cockpit and towards the cargo bay where Boba was wrestling with you.

It didn’t really seem like a fight, in the traditional sense of the word, since a fight implies two opposing forces— it seemed more like you were giving everything you had to try to wrench out of his grip (and go where?, Din was forced to wonder, we’re in hyperspace) while your captor was merely humoring you by not immediately knocking you out and freezing you in carbonite.

Your desperate grunts and whines were muffled by your gag, screeching to a halt as Boba used one hand to hold your torso and pull your back against his chest, the other gripping your jaw tightly. “Stop fighting, little girl,” he hissed, “you’re just going to get yourself hurt.” That deep commanding voice enough to intimidate even Din; thankfully, Din was on Fett’s good side, for the moment, and was pretty sure his own ‘bounty hunter voice’ (as he referred to it only in his own head) was at least 80% as scary.

You made this little motion like you were considering disobeying his instruction, but your rebellion was quelled by a gloved fist tangling into and subsequently tugging your hair. You winced, but relaxed a bit as you gave in to the reality that you’d been bested.

Din didn’t understand what was happening when Boba bent your bound-and-gagged form over a console, but he knew it couldn’t be good: not with the way tears were pouring down your face and soaking the cloth tied through your mouth, not with the way you struggled underneath his grip in your hair and on the back of your tunic.

“What are you doing,” Din asked, although it didn’t come out quite like a question without that uptick at the end, his voice firm and steady and deep even as his heart started to race.

“What do you think I’m doing? I’m taking my bonus,” Boba answered plainly, kicking your flailing legs apart to slot his body between them.

Boba must have seen the younger man’s confusion, even through his helmet, because he took a pause from his work to look back at Din.

“You can fuck ‘em before you chuck ‘em, you know,” Boba informed him, like it was obvious— like this was open secret that he was amazed he hadn’t already acted on. Truly, the thought hadn’t really crossed Din’s mind before. His upbringing had been devoid of any sexual education, even to the point of drawing a clear line between right and wrong. Then again, right and wrong were always a blurry mix in his mind as a bounty hunter: instead of that dichotomy, he was taught that there was the Code and nothing else. And the Code didn’t have anything to say about this, specifically, even as guilt and fear tingled up his spine along with the sickly addictive feeling burning in his gut— arousal, as he realized with a little gasp.

Fett leaned down to push his helmet against your ear, as if you’d be able to hear him any clearer even though the helmet’s modulator made it all sound mostly the same anyway. “Don’t try to fight me,” he insisted again. “Just stay still and keep your mouth shut.”

After a shaky breath, you nodded a little, and Boba sat back up, letting go of you with both of his hands— Din was pretty surprised to see you actually stay still, clearly the threat had gotten to you. Fear, as the Mandalorian had learned many times, was a much more powerful tool of control than force. Boba had you beat in both regards.

There was a little grunt from the man behind you as he reached down to fiddle with his trousers, finding the belt and opening which he reached into. From where he was standing, Din couldn’t really see what exactly his travel companion was doing, but even he wasn’t so naive not to figure it out.

A harsh, cracked sound spilled from your mouth, muffled through the gag, as Boba roughly pulled your trousers down and slid his cock between your legs, teasing you— taunting you. It wasn’t enough to violate you, apparently; he had to degrade you, siphon every drop of terror as he reminded you what was happening. You shook your head, and even though your words were objectively unintelligible, it was apparent to Din that you were pleading with your captor to stop.

Din got the sense that he should leave, but his feet were welded to the floor. His eyes were trained on you, shaking and breathing unsteadily where you were bent over and your head was turned to the side to press on the cold metal. You closed your eyes tightly, and Din recognized the expression as ‘bracing for impact,’ although in your case, it wasn’t that you were about to be impacted but impaled. Of course this couldn’t be right, Din knew enough to know that, in fact he was pretty sure it was illegal on some planets, but they weren’t on any planet right now, and Din had done things that are illegal on every planet. Maybe this really was normal bounty-hunting fare, and he was just too inexperienced to realize that. Maybe this was a relic of how hunters operated in Boba’s time; and Din, of course, had a lot of respect for tradition.

Maybe, more than anything, Din had lost track of the part of himself that cared if it was right or wrong, overpowered by a much more primal part of himself that had been chained and suppressed for far too long. The funny thing about monsters is that they get hungrier the longer you keep them caged up.

The way your fists clenched and shook as you were forced to take the hunter’s cock inside you, the way your teeth ground together and a hiss leaked out from between them, the way you whimpered and cried and he could see the shiver run up your spine… Din was obsessed with it, and his chest burned with a foreign emotion that could be described as jealousy, but that wouldn’t explain all of it. It was more than that, indescribable even to someone much more fluent in the language of feelings than Din was.

You sobbed quietly as your body went limp underneath his tight grip on the back of your tunic, just between your shoulder blades. He was already moving his hips quickly, chasing the pleasure he stole from your body. Din could see that he was hurting you, pain unmistakable in the way your expression twisted, even as the rest of your body seemed to have resigned itself.

Din wished, against every instinct of justice still firing wildly in the back of his mind, that he was hurting you like that, and not his companion. Although, he also fancied himself noble enough that, given the opportunity, he would treat you fairer than Boba would. And he was right, but then again, to be less cruel than Boba Fett takes little chivalry.

Your cries were sharp, loud enough at times to echo around the ship’s interior, other times completely silent as the brutality of Boba’s movements knocked the wind out of your lungs.

“Take her mouth,” Boba offered, “it’ll be a good way to shut her up.”

Din’s head was spinning as he tried to process that. It was like his body was moving on pure instinct as he stepped closer, his trousers getting tighter as you looked up at him. Your eyes were pleading for something: mercy, presumably, but he felt helpless to do anything but obey Boba’s order. It was an order, right? He had to do it.

A gloved finger tucked under your gag and pulled it out of your mouth, the fabric falling around your neck as you licked your dry and cracked lips.

“Please,” you whispered.

He kept one hand weaved into your hair as the other opened his pants, his cock bouncing free the moment it was given any space to do so. He held it at the base tightly, afraid it would all end too soon if he didn’t.

“Please, don’t do this,” you insisted, whimpering a little as he rubbed his cock around your lips, smearing the clear precum over your cheek.

The hand he’d tangled into your hair moved to grip your jaw, forcing your mouth open, and he gently pushed his cock inside— barely enough to rub his cock on your tongue, to feel the humid moisture of your breathing. You didn’t close your lips until he pushed his cock deeper, enveloping him in the silky skin of your mouth as he tried to keep his cool. How it felt was one thing, but how it looked was another entirely— your lips stretching over his girth, your cheeks bulging where the head of his cock pressed against the inside, your eyes blinking up at him as they brimmed with fresh tears. He hadn’t even been creative enough to imagine something like this those few times he’d gotten himself off with his hand, those few times basic biological need overcame confusion and naivete and ineptitude. Now it was going to be the thing he thought about every time, which was why he was doing his best to commit it to memory now.

Every groan and whimper that Boba forced you to make was vibrating through his cock, making Din sigh shakily and hold your head with both hands.

“Maker,” Din whispered as his head fell back, even though he didn’t believe in the Maker. At least, he hadn’t before.

“Good, isn’t it?” Boba encouraged, his voice tinted with the curl of a grin. Din couldn’t imagine what Boba was getting out of sharing his spoils with him, but he wasn’t one to question the nature of a gift when it felt like this, like your hot, wet tongue massaging the underside of his cock.

“Yes,” Din agreed hoarsely.

You yelped around his length when Boba brought a gloved hand down to smack your rear, the sound almost as erotic as the way your flesh rippled and shook with his aggressive touch. “Go on, suck him harder, give ‘im a real show,” Boba instructed to you darkly. You whimpered but did as he’d said, hollowing your cheeks and creating the most wonderful pressure as you sucked on Din’s swollen head.

Boba shed himself of his right glove, tossing it aside to palm at where your flesh had turned red in the shape of his hand already. Din shivered as he watched Boba’s thumb move inward— he couldn’t see where it was, but he had a pretty good idea based on the way your entire body tensed up, a weak whimper of confusion echoing around Din’s cock.

Instinct told him to take his cock out of your mouth, even if the idea of not feeling you for a moment was unpleasant in so many ways. Still, he figured he needed to hear whatever it was you had to say.

“Don’t,” you pleaded with Boba. “Not that.”

“Bet you’ll like it,” Boba assured, and he must have pushed in to the first knuckle because your whole body jolted forward, running from the sensation as you winced. “Relax,” Boba instructed firmly.

“Stop,” you whimpered, and Din’s heart twisted to see you in pain.

“Do what he says,” Din suggested— not a command, just his best proposal of a solution. In situations of inequitable experience, Din deferred to Boba liberally; certainly, Boba knew more about this than he did, even if that was a very low bar.

“Please, make him stop,” you whispered to him, more of a conversation than the two of you had had before. He was almost tempted to honor your request, even if he would never consider standing up to Boba, but his body was pulsing with need and it overrode any sense of decency left.

“I’m sorry,” was his only consolation as he pushed into your mouth again, and though it wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t very useful to you, either.

He held your neck as he pushed himself deeper, his sense of shame deteriorating in favor of pleasure. It was embarrassing enough to be doing this at all, let alone with Boba right there, watching him— well, Boba didn’t really seem to be watching him, too preoccupied with watching you squirm beneath him, but still, he could see it and that was a fact Din preferred to ignore. He imagined instead that this was a private, intimate moment the way it ought to be, the way that he had deduced these activities were usually conducted. He also imagined that you wanted to do this to him, that you were on your knees willingly as opposed to bent over a table by force. It was so easy to picture you wanting it, begging for it, even. Let me do this for you, I want to taste you, I want to make you feel good, you would offer as you knelt down, and he would still feel guilty for it but he wouldn’t stop you, either. Din hadn’t previously allowed himself to fantasize about having a companion of that nature, but as he indulged himself in his imagination now, he decided you would be unendingly generous: with your time, with your love, with your body. In return he would protect you… from exactly the sort of thing he was subjecting you to right now.

Renewed guilt seared through his chest as reality hit: you’d never care about him, you hated him, he could see that clearly in the way you looked up at him while he used your mouth. And he didn’t blame you for it at all, although he wished you would appreciate that it was Boba’s idea in the first place and that his crime was far worse than Din’s. Fett seemed to get off on your reluctance, relish and savor it, while it was just a compromise to Din.

You closed your eyes with a little sigh through your nose, relaxing your mouth further for him to thrust his hips forward into. He realized that you were trying to relax like Boba had told you, and for good reason— Fett had replaced his thumb for two fingers, and Din was almost curious enough to lean forward and try to get a glimpse of your puckered hole opening up to him. You looked pretty with your eyes fallen shut, those eyelashes delicately resting on your cheeks, but it wasn’t as good as being able to gaze right at you.

“Don’t close your eyes,” Din instructed quickly. When they opened again, he saw your stare dart around his helmet, seeking somewhere to latch onto. “Right here,” he clarified, releasing one hand from your throat to tap on the tinted visor. When you looked at where he had told you to, it was almost like you were really looking him in the eyes— although, truthfully, he was sort of glad that you couldn’t because he was sure you would find more there than he wanted you to see. It would be impossible to hide his nervousness, his inexperience, his fear if it weren’t for the beskar in the way. Even now, your bright eyes threatened to pierce right through him.

“You’re gonna come, aren’t you, girl?” Boba rasped, the closest Din had ever heard him to beaming with pride.

You shook your head against the intrusion in your mouth, and Din pulled out to give you a chance to talk. (Perhaps it also served the secondary purpose of delaying Din’s orgasm, which he had been holding back for so long now as he found himself oddly insecure about his stamina, but that’s neither here nor there.) “No,” you denied, but your voice was wavering as your eyes darted to the floor.

“She’s lying,” Din announced.

“I know,” Boba replied. “I can feel it— on the inside,” he hissed, and Din wasn’t sure if he was addressing him or you but it made a jolt of electricity shoot up his spine either way. You seemed to react strongly to that, too, although any verbal reaction was lost to him shoving his cock into your mouth one last time— yes, this time he had no intentions of stopping until he pumped his come right into your throat.

It was all happening so much faster than he intended, due in part to your moans shooting right down through his shaft to his balls, which grew tight with his impending release. He’d never felt anything like this— he hadn’t realized before that it would feel different when it wasn’t his hand. I mean, of course everything before the orgasm would feel different, but he imagined that the peak itself was the same. That assumption was beyond inaccurate— he’d never fucked his own hand the way he was fucking your throat, he’d never moaned the way you were making him moan now, he’d never tightened his fists like he was now, and even if he had, it wouldn’t have meant choking you and hearing all your cries come to a sudden halt.

Without your noises it was only the slapping of flesh and the occasional filtered breath through a helmet. He missed your moans, and yet he relished his power to take them away so suddenly.

He could feel the shape of his own cock through the thick skin of your throat, bulging into his hand, accentuated by your pulse just nearby. He could feel you fighting for air. He understood now why Boba had more fun with this than he did with hookers in cantinas— your helplessness was his power. Your weakness was his strength. And Din had never felt so strong.

He relaxed his grip to give you a chance to swallow as he came, pumping into your throat, grunting with each pulse of his cock filling your mouth.

Suddenly the sensation felt like it would become too much, forcing Din to pull his cock out of you and step back. At the same time, Fett stepped back too, which was odd because Din was pretty sure he hadn't finished: if he had, he was a lot more subtle about it than Din was.

“You want your turn, don’t you?” Boba addressed Din, making the latter feel awkwardly exposed.

“I thought this was my turn,” Din answered.

“With her pussy,” Boba clarified, and Din was sure that he had managed to blush hard enough that it was somehow visible through the helmet.

"And you?" Din asked, not wanting to impose.

"I'll be attending to… another matter," Boba explained with that audible smirk in his tone, and Din had a few ideas of what that could mean, all of which caused him to swallow thickly as Fett grabbed you and pulled you up to stand before unceremoniously dropping you to the floor. Din joined you there, not quite sure what he should be doing but figuring he should get on with it as the other man knelt down behind you.

Pulling you onto his lap, you spread your legs to straddle him in an unexpected show of submission which Din thoroughly appreciated. One arm held you up while the other grasped his cock, still hard and hopefully not too sensitive so he could actually do this— he could actually fuck you. It felt unreal; it felt beyond real, hyperreal as he started to slide his cock through the soaked and swollen intricacies of your sex. You must have come like Fett said you would, otherwise he couldn't imagine how you'd become so wet… he could even see it glistening on the inside of your thighs.

When he found the opening he was looking for, all Din had to do was lower you down onto him, gasping slightly as he watched and felt you sink down onto and around him, a little grunt coming out of you as your hips met his.

It was lucky that he’d already come once, in your mouth, because otherwise he would’ve lost it right then and there— you were so warm inside, soaked thoroughly such that his movements were smooth and easy as he instantly started to fuck you, groaning at how perfectly your body accepted him.

“Slow down,” Boba grunted, “I need to get in.”

You cried and shivered as the other man pushed into your available entrance, your head falling exhaustedly onto Din’s shoulder. He looked down at your face, then, and brushed your hair away so he could see it better, peeling strands from where they had been stuck to your forehead and neck by the thin layer of sweat that covered you. He wanted to comfort you, to promise that the pain would ease soon, but he couldn’t really think of anything to say; so, he just held you tight as he began to move within you again, and saw the other hunter do the same.

He made a conscious effort to not look at Boba’s cock, for fear of comparing it to his own. It was disturbing enough to be able to feel it, slightly, through the thin barrier your body provided. How inconceivable that Din had woken up a virgin and would fall asleep tonight with the memory of this lodged in his mind forever. In one day of sexual activity he’d gotten more done than many would in a lifetime, and yet he still lacked the most common things: love, passion, consent… perhaps someday he’d find those, even if it could never be from you.

Not worried anymore about an attempt to fight or flee, Din reached back and untied your wrists from each other, hoping he wouldn't get scolded for it by Fett who thankfully remained silent aside from his own restrained sounds of pleasure. You clung to him instantly, your freshly-freed hands clutching at his back, and he decided to interpret it as a token of affection even if he knew that was a bit of a stretch. If nothing else, maybe you recognized him as the lesser of two evils.

He opted to take credit for the way your moans were different from before; even in his wildest fantasies could he not convince himself that he was better at this than Boba was, but he could swing at the idea that you preferred him because you were meant for him. It was probably more outlandish, yes, but it was so easy to believe that you were made to be his when you felt so good around him. Din hadn’t even known anything could feel this good.

Something Boba had said earlier gained clearer meaning when Din felt your inner walls seize up and shift around him. Trying not to be too loud, he resorted to coping with the feeling by gripping your waist tightly. The idea that he could leave bruises on your skin excited him more than he would have anticipated (if, of course, he had anticipated any of this).

Another tug on your hair from Boba wrenched your head back. "Gonna come," he grunted at you lowly, "in this tight little ass. You want it?"

"Please," you whispered, not quite sounding enthusiastic but managing to give him whatever he was looking for, apparently, as another choked noise signalled his release. Your body reacted strongly to that, clenching down hard on Din's cock.

"You like it," Din posited. "I can feel it," he reminded you when you tried to deny it with a shake of your head, "from the inside."

Boba took his time pulling out, the most peculiar sensation that made Din shudder a bit. As tight as you were when you were full in that way, Din preferred having you to himself.

"I'll be in the fresher," Boba announced as he stood up and tucked himself back into his uniform, looking so composed in a way Din envied; he was sure, somehow, that he looked a complete mess even with the armor covering him. "I'll leave you to your fun. Don't take too long."

“I— I won’t last much longer,” Din stammered, wondering immediately if it was too much information.

“Not inside,” you begged suddenly.

Boba chuckled a little as he left, and Din wondered if it was what he said or what you said that made him laugh. The thought was forgotten as the hunter left, and he suddenly felt a wave of nerves wash over him— the way he always felt when he was alone with a pretty girl. Not that he'd ever been alone with a pretty girl quite like this.

Not sure what to say, he opted to just not say anything as he held you tight and bucked his hips up into you. You wouldn't let him off that easy, apparently, as you reiterated yourself: "You can't come inside, please don't—"

"This isn't a negotiation," Din reminded you firmly.

He was too close to imagine stopping now, anyway; the snug grip of your insides was too good to be ignored, his body was incapable of slowing down as he fucked you deeper and faster than ever. He noticed which angle of his hips made you moan loudest, hoping to feel you come around him just like Boba had.

“Come for me,” he instructed, hearing an impression of Fett in his own voice as he tried to come across as dominating, “I wanna feel it.”

You shivered a little, whimpering into the crook of his neck before he lifted you by the jaw to look at your face. You looked exhausted, eyes blown wide and dark, lips swollen and bitten red, hair tangled and unruly from being used essentially as reigns.

“Can you do that? Can you come?” he pressed, grinding his hips up into yours and watching you whine at the sensation of being filled so deeply. You nodded, but that wasn’t enough for him. “Say it.”

“Yes,” you answered, “I’ll— I’ll come.”

“Good,” he praised plainly, doing his best to hold himself back until he got his chance to feel you reach your peak.

Your head fell back as your hands weakly tugged at his shoulders, and Din hoped that tearing your tunic down the front to grope your breasts would speed things along for you. He hadn’t taken off his gloves, but even so he relished the weight of them in his palms, curiously pinching at a hardened nipple which made you flex around him again.

“Are you close,” he asked, losing that intonation of a question again, focusing instead on trying not to sound exasperated.

“Yes,” you hissed, “I’m gonna— fuck,” you interrupted yourself.

You were moving a bit on your own now, instead of him holding you still and letting you limply take it like a ragdoll— no, you were rocking your hips in time with him, pushing down against him. You wanted it, obviously, and Din was more than happy to give it to you. He slammed into you with each thrust, held you down so you couldn’t squirm, groaned when he felt your body pulse around him. A new surge of wetness gushed between your bodies, your broken cry echoed right against his ear— if this wasn’t a dead giveaway that you were coming, he wasn’t sure what was. Unable to hold back anymore as you sobbed and shivered on top of him, he finally released into you, everything building up so fast only to snap in a moment, an embarrassingly weak moan slipping from his lips.

He was sure he had never been so exhausted, but it was the most incredible feeling as well. A little tear fell down your cheek— from terror, maybe, or disgust, or even pleasure… he had no real way to tell.

As he began to catch his breath, he wondered if he should say something; and, if he should, what that would be. Thankfully, he felt the lurch of the ship leaving hyperspace— the weight of gravity sinking a little heavier as you slumped down on top of him.

He picked you up and set you down on the floor, standing as he delicately stuffed his cock back into his trousers. “Looks like he’ll bring you in soon,” Din mumbled, but you didn’t really seem to care much, just laying on the floor and staring into nothingness. He watched his seed leak out of you and onto the steel, making a mental note to clean that up later, hoping you weren’t too angry with him for disobeying your request that he finish elsewhere. “You’ll need a new tunic,” he noticed as he realized it was probably less than ideal to bring in a target who had been so obviously violated. “I’ll bring you something to cover yourself with,” he decided.

Heading for his sack to search for an old cape or blanket that you could wear, he passed by the cockpit where Boba was steering the ship.

“I’m keeping the reward,” Boba interjected suddenly without turning back to look towards him, making Din stop walking, “since I was generous enough to share the… fringe benefits.”

“Of course,” Din nodded, not having expected a share of the bounty in the first place since all he’d done was keep lookout during the actual hunt. He was ready to walk away, but Boba spoke again as he turned the captain’s chair and faced Din, finally.

“Did you do what she asked?” Boba pressed.

“What?” Din choked, taking a moment to remember what he was even talking about— when you asked him not to come inside, apparently. “Oh, um, no.” His face warmed beneath the beskar as Fett chuckled to himself.

“Good,” he nodded. “Never take commands from a target, or a whore.”

Din shuffled nervously but said nothing, considering he had no idea how to respond to that.

“Besides,” Boba continued as he turned back to the controls of the ship, “if she’s pregnant that’ll be the New Republic’s problem.”

Din figured he was free to go now, taking a moment to glance over Boba’s shoulder at the planet ahead before continuing ahead. His quest for a cloak for you was nearly forgotten as he tried to clear his mind of what Boba had said so casually. He needed a shower, desperately, but he didn’t have time before the ship landed— and Fett probably intended on making Din complete the transfer and bring the credits back, since the older hunter wasn’t exactly a friend of the Republic.

He ended up grabbing an old shirt of his, tossing it at you when he entered the room where he’d left you, finding you standing with your trousers pulled back up. Silently he wondered if you had made any effort to clean yourself of his come or if it was still there between your legs, but neither of you said a word as he put you in more formal shackles than the rags that Boba had tied you with originally.

The New Republic officer definitely reacted to your appearance when Din brought you forward, all but dragging you as he gripped your arm. “When’d she get so roughed up?” the young officer interrogated as he handed Din the credits he was owed.

“Found her like this,” Din shrugged.

He didn’t seem to buy it, with the way he scanned your form and raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything else as he motioned for two guards to take you away. Din considered looking back but decided against it, returning to the ship and immediately surrendering the credits to their rightful owner in Boba.

“Next job’s on Dantooine,” Boba informed him gruffly as he piloted the ship out of the atmosphere. But Din wasn’t listening, instead watching your new prison shrink and disappear into a dot, hoping to find in himself the carelessness that Boba had already mastered. He had a thousand questions he wanted to ask his hunting partner— Is this how it always goes? Will it happen again? Do you really think she could be pregnant? — but he wouldn’t even consider speaking any of them aloud. It was almost funny that they had shared something so disturbingly intimate and Din still felt unable to be direct with him, although neither of them had the sense of humor to appreciate it.

“Thank you,” Din blurted out. “For teaching me about the job.”

“My pleasure,” Boba replied gruffly, and with a jump back into hyperspace, the ship was submerged once again into silence.

#dark!din djarin smut #dark!din djarin x reader #boba fett x reader #dark!boba fett x reader #god how tf do i tag this uhhhh #din djarin x boba fett x reader #din djarin x reader x boba fett #the mandalorian dark fic #hopefully that's enough

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amortentiaboys · 4 years

Text

let the light in

my first microfic in a while, it’s so good to be writing again! written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt, ‘androgynous’. i chose the club name because ‘andros’ means man/ warrior in ancient greek, and i like that it’s so similar in etymology to androgyny. also, it sounds cool. anyway, enjoy! \\ Rated T, cw for alcohol

Draco’s barely been able to think since Harry started frequenting ANDROS.

It’s a frighteningly regular occurrence, considering he prides himself on his mental faculties and devastating quick wit. (Pansy calls it insufferable snark. Draco disagrees.)

Alas, tonight is no exception. Harry walks in and Draco stops dead, his tequila shot raised halfway to his lips because Merlin’s saggy arse.

He’s radiant.

Well, Harry’s always radiant. Tonight, however, he looks positively otherworldly. Gold mesh top over tight leather trousers, long curls cascading over toned muscles and sinuous curves to his waist. Thick lashes frame sharp green eyes, strength and slender beauty all rolled into one body. It should be illegal.

Harry catches sight of Draco and grins, striding over. “Fancy seeing you here, Malfoy.”

Draco downs his shot and straightens. “Bit on-the-nose isn’t it, Potter?”

Harry beams at him and the alcohol burns brighter in his veins. Maybe it’s just because he’s standing in Harry’s circle of light, fractural beads of iridescence from Harry’s body glitter thrown over his own pale skin as the lights strobe. “Oh? Why’s that?”

Draco smirks and flails a hand at the planes of rippling, glittering muscle. “Always the golden boy.”

A slow grin spreads across Harry’s lips - his very full, very distracting lips - as he ducks his head to meet Draco’s eyes. “Is that a problem, Malfoy?”

Draco’s brain shortcircuits. “Draco, please.”

“You know -” Harry leans in closer still, and now Draco can see that there’s gold eyeliner swept over his lids, Salazar, that’s why his eyes look so bloody green tonight, “ - I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say please.”

Draco digs his nails into the wall, scrabbling for a shred of self-restraint and coming up empty except for this strange, buoyant feeling in his chest. It feels an awful lot like hope. “I can say it again, if you want.”

Harry inches impossibly closer, their lips brushing together until Draco can barely stand it. “Yes.”

They crash together, heat and breathy sighs and desperate hands, and Draco finally lets the light in.

my other microfic

#drarry #drarrymicrofic #draco malfoy #harry potter #this is woefully over the limit lol #drarry fic #drarry squad #drarry fic rec #drarry drabble #fic: microfic #my fic

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stopbeingcurious · 4 years

Text

You make me feel young again*

PART THREE / MASTERLIST

pairing: post azkaban sirius black x y/n

warning: dirty thoughts/ letters

a/n i had so many request to make more of this series so here we are... enjoy :P

A couple of weeks had gone past, without any contact from Sirius and yours and Professor Lupins relationship had gone back to normal, like nothing had ever happened.

The only thing on your mind was the way Sirius touched you, how his skin felt against yours. You missed it.

You remember the words Sirius spoke the last and only time you were together;

“Not many girls like you,”

Not many girls like you? The way Sirius spoke about his time as a teenager he made it sound like he had slept around.

It was taunting your mind, you wanted to see Sirius again, you needed too. You daydreamed in class about him, at lunch in the shower, in bed. You needed that mans affection again.

It got so bad that you were loosing sleep, you were genuinely so aroused that you couldn't sleep at night, not with a puddle and a heartbeat between your legs.

You thought you could relieve some of the tension yourself but of course that didn't work, just made it worse.

You needed male attention.

And of course your friends caught onto your behaviour changes, asking you a variety or questions when you left your dorm room looking like a disheveled mess.

In other words, you were desperate.

class

You're currently sitting in class, potions to be exact, listening to Professor Snape bore on about how it's illegal to become animagi underage. You had no interest whatsoever in the subject at hand so decided to rest your head on your hand and let your mind wander. What you didn't remember was that Professor Snape was a skilled Legilimens. His voice rung out from the front of the class just as your mind wandered in the direction it had been for a while now, Sirius.

“Y/n, I suggest you concentrate if you don't want your fellow classmates and I knowing what you're thinking about,” His eyes narrowed in your direction, pulling everyones attention from their work, all eyes on you. Some smirks, some confused, some bothered because they had been distracted.

You let out a silent huff as you switch your attention to the parchment in front of you.

common room

Your friends surround you, all looking intrigued. They had just interrupted you from reading your book sitting next to the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room.

“We know somethings up Y/n, would you just give up and tell us already!” Angelina flung her arms around in expression. She was pulled out of her expressive state with a hand on her shoulder, Freds.

“Ange is right Y/n, we just wanna know if there was anything we could do to help.” Fred asks, his body was slouched forwards slightly so he didn't seem as intimidating as he usually did.

You measure your friends that you're okay and that you're just not getting enough sleep.

You were so into your book and now your attention has been snatched by your brain again, filling your vision with images of that night, the night where right went wrong, the night of your life.

You'd had enough of this tormenting, the only way you could get to Sirius was through Professor Lupin and you had an idea.

You proceeded to write Sirius a letter, a very detailed letter, just to bless his imagination as much as you blessed his everyday but the your mind flooded with questions; What if Sirius didn't want to see you again? Is that why he hadn't contacted you first? Did he think you were just a one time thing? But Sirius thought the complete opposite of this.

Sirius received your letter, Remus handed it to him with a stern look on his face.

“I didn't read it, I respect your privacy Sirius but you have to be smart about it,” Sirius knew straight away who the letter was from. Remus sat at the table opposite him in their shared home.

“We don't know what it says yet Moony,” Sirius scoffs and opens the letter.

Dear Sirius,

If Prof. Lupin is around, do not show any sign on your face with the words I am about to say. Sirius I miss your touch, I'm not sure if you thought it was a one time thing and I could be embarrassing myself right now but if you feel the same, if you didn’t want it to be a one time thing I wonder why I can see you next. I sit in my classes, arousal pooling in my panties because of you. Your making me feral Sirius, I need you inside of me soon, I cant please myself, I need you and your big cock to stretch out my tight pussy, its waiting for you Sirius.

Y/n :)

Sirius couldn't contain himself, he quickly grew hard in his trousers also trying not to show any signal as to what the letter had just read. Of course he wanted to see you again, he wanted his hands all over your body, his callous fingers rubbing against the red of your ass where he has just slapped.

Remus looked at him with confusion as Sirius was sitting there with sort of wide eyes wondering how he was suddenly wrapped up with an 18 year old. He was pinning over her, attached.

“Sirius, what did it say?” Remus leaned forwards in his chair, hand sewn together as well as his eyebrows.

Sirius snapped out of his stance on the command of Remus’ voice.

“It said that what we did was a mistake and that she is sorry,” Sirius lies straight through his teeth, pretending that the letter had bruised his ego.

The air was clear, and everyone could breath again.

Sirius was relieved that Remus had believed him and Remus was relieved because Sirius and yourself were no longer infatuated with each other, lifting a huge relief of his shoulder.

But Remus didn't know the contents of Sirius next letter to you...

hogwarts

You were sitting at breakfast, tapping on the table. Your distractions had gotten better over the last couple days meaning that you'd been sleeping better meaning that your friends hadn't been on your back constantly.

“You alright Y/n?” Angelina sits next to you, swinging her legs dramatically over the bench, stretching her arm into the middle of the table to grab an apple.

“Yeah I'm okay thanks Ange,” She smiles at you. “How are you?” You ask, taking another bite of the toast that sat on your plate.

“Yeah yeah I'm all good, anyway I came here to tell you that Professor Lupin wants to see you before class,” Your eyes widen, had he read the letter between you and Sirius? You didn't think he would have, he wasn't the type to invade privacy.

Angelina noticed the colour drain from your face and a worried look creeps onto her face. “Whats wrong? What did you do? Are you in trouble?” She bombards you with questions to which you stand up and run out of the hall towards the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. You might as well pack your bags now, theres no way that he is going to let you off without punishment after he read the letter.

Your legs ran as fast as they could take you, dodging students and teachers, earning a phew ‘No running in corridors’.

You came to an immediate halt in front of the door you recognised so well and you knocked.

“Come in,” You heard from the other side of the door.

You take a deep breath, feel the cold untouched door handle underneath your shaking skin. You breath again, trying to steady your breaths and trying to hold back the tears that were ebbing on your waterline.

You push the door open to find your DADA Professor standing at the top of the stairs leading up to his office, you sniffle and bite your lip, hiding any emotion.

“Come into my office Y/n,” He turns around and strides into his office, leaving the door open behind him.

You begin to walk towards the stairs, having his emotionless words replay in your head, thinking out all the possibilities of how this interaction could go and how you could make it easier for yourself. You pace the floor feeling the cold air of the classroom consume you due to the lack of human warmth. You shiver and resume your journey now striding up the stairs.

Pushing the door open, you stride into his office the same way he did. You immediately saw a letter on the desk, you mentally cursed yourself, letting your Professor do all the talking.

“I see you got my message from Angelina?” He was slouched back in his chair, looking rather relaxed.

You nod, worried if you speak that your voice will break as you were on the verge of tears.

“Why so quiet? Is there something wrong?” His eyebrows furrowed as he asked.

“No nothing, just not sleeping properly lately,” You lie, you figured you would just tell everyone the same thing so that if the subject came up everyones stories would match.

“Ah yes, Angelina told me,” You looked shocked. “Anyway,” He dismisses the subject. “I have something for you,” Remus turns your attention when he picks up the letter on the desk with his long, dainty fingers.

The letter was for you? You thought that was the letter you sent Sirius.

You take the letter that he was offering and examine it. There was no name on the front of it and it wasn't sealed at the back. You look up at your Professor and all he does is smile and nod, then your attention is back on the letter, you practically ripped it open, knowing that it was from Sirius.

Dear Y/n,

I assume you will have received this letter from Remus.

We cant send any more letters as I told Remus that your letter was about how you thought what we did was wrong and that it was a mistake so tell him that as well, thats what he knows. I am in instant need of you, I want to feel your body below me, writhing around underneath me. I need to taste you, all of you. I want to make your ass all red then kiss it all over. I want to make you cum over and over and over until you cant cum anymore, would you like that? I will find a way that we can reunite but you're going to have to wait pup, I'm sure you can do that for me.

Sirius *paw-print*

The colour drained from your face once again and your heart rate sped up drastically. Only Sirius words had this great of an effect on you. You had to hide any expression from Remus, you knew what he knew and you had to go along with it.

“Im sorry Y/n but I think it was for the best,” The Professor sat before you, shuffling papers ready for your first lesson with him.

“I agree Professor, thank you for delivering my letter,” You reply, trying to ignore the puddle in you underwear. You had to do something about it before class started, you could sit in his lesson feeling aroused the whole time!

“Your free to wait in here Y/n, class will start soon,” You decline your Professors offer and run to the toilet with the letter, needing to relieve some of this built up tension.

#harry potter #harry potter smut #sirius fluff #sirius black fluff #sirius black smut #sirius black #sirius orion black #remus lupin smut #remus john lupin #remus lupin #professor lupin smut #professor lupin #hogwarts

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shove-off-malfoy · 3 years

Note

“Don’t worry- it’ll be a lot prettier at our wedding”

Another great ask :) thanks anon, hope this is what you were looking for!

—

“Don’t worry - it’ll be a lot prettier at our wedding”

Draco jumped, his champagne slopped over the lip of his glass.

“Jesus, fuck Potter. Would you stop doing that?”

Potter had made a habit of harassing Draco whenever they were at the same event. This particular event happened to be Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley’s wedding. Four years after the war and people were already happy and settling down into their families. Draco had cried through the ceremony.

“Can’t stop. Won’t stop.” Potter leant back onto the buffet table obnoxiously and gave Draco a shit eating grin.

“You are a petulant child.” Draco smiled slightly when Potter stomped his foot and pouted. He sighed, “They’re sickening, aren’t they?”

They stood side by side watching the newly weds spin around. Luna looked beyond ethereal, spinning in her glossy vine covered robes. Ginny was allowing herself to get caught up in the enigma that was her wife. She clutched Luna as she spun willingly and freely across the meadow. Obviously it was an outside wedding and Luna was barefoot in the grass. But hey, as long as Draco could stay warm and dry he wasn’t complaining. In fact he endorsed the life that Ginny and Luna were creating. He wished for that happiness.

“I know what I said but I’m not sure I can top this one. It’s pretty beautiful.” Potter grinned at them, his eyes glistening.

Potter himself was also looking pretty beautiful tonight. Draco opted for staring at Luna and Ginny instead of staring any more at Potter’s tight, forest green robes. The way the hugged his arms and legs ought to be illegal. And oh his arse-

“Yeah. They seem really happy.” Draco snapped himself out of his Potter crazy thoughts.

“Didn’t think this would be possible so soon after.”

After the war. Those words didn’t need to be said. Draco knew that Potter felt the same as he did. The war still felt close in every step he took, and yet-

“It’s been four years Potter.” Potter looked away from the couple and turned to Draco. “I think we’re allowed to be happy now.”

Potter forced a little huff and then scratched the back of his neck, “Yeah, you might be right.”

They stood in silence for a while, and Draco grabbed a bottle of champagne from the table behind them to refill in glass. He took a sip and let it burn a little.

“So, just one more time. Why won’t you go out with me?” Draco choked on his sip, and heard Potter chuckle besides him.

“What are you talking about?” Draco spun round and looked at Potter wide eyed. “When did you ask me out?”

“I flirt with you all the time!”

“That was flirting?!”

“Oh Merlin.” Draco heard a voice from the table in front of them. He turned to see Granger resting her head on her hand and tutting at them.

Potter laughed. A big beautiful belly laugh, that Draco couldn’t look away from. He Adam’s apple bobbed with the impact as his laugh ripped out of him. “I’ve-” he stopped to catch his breath, “I’ve been trying to seduce you for the last year,” Draco’s eyebrows shot up, “and you’re telling me you had no idea?”

“Seduce me?” Draco’s voice was two octaves to high and he choked on his words, spluttering. Harry Potter, Draco’s walking wet dream since he was sixteen, had been seducing him with witty banter and sly comments for the last YEAR.

Oh Merlin. How had he not picked up on this?

“Yeah, seduce you Malfoy. You okay with that?” Potter was grinning smugly at him.

Draco nodded profusely. “Yes.”

Harry laughed again and looped his strong arm through Draco’s. “Fancy a dance?”

“Okay.” Draco squeaked, wishing his voice would return to a normal, casual pitch.

Potter wrapped his strong arms around Draco’s waist and leant into him. After which Draco promptly stopped breathing. Like a mature adult.

Draco rested his chin on Potter’s shoulder and let himself be spun around in the grass, not caring that the bottom of his trousers were getting damp.

He took a deep breath. “Ask me again.” Draco breathed into Potter’s ear.

Potter looked down at Draco, his brows furrowed. Then the realisation came to him. “Draco, will you go on a date with me?” Harry gave him a soft smile. (Fuck it, if he was Draco, Potter might as well be Harry).

“Maybe. I’ll think about it, but I have a lot of potential suitors.” Draco rested his chin on Harry’s shoulder again and felt the the shaking of his chest and he laughed.

“Okay, Draco. Let me know, maybe at dinner on Saturday next week? I can pick you up from Mungo’s after your shift if you’d like.” Harry spoke in hushed tones as they slowly danced.

“That would be nice.” Draco couldn’t contain himself. Of all the ways he thought this night would end, the most likely of which was him going home to his flat alone and crawling into a cold bed wishing for the same happiness that Ginny and Luna had, Draco had never imagined this.

He never let himself hope that Harry might feel any kind of affection for him. Yes, they were civil now, but Draco had just thought that Harry used him as the punchline to his jokes. He had no idea that was Harry’s idea of flirting. His heart jumped at the thought that Harry had been trying to win his affection for a year now. Oh Merlin, they hadn’t even been on a date and he was already fucked.

“Yeah, I think that will be nice as well.” Draco felt Harry smile and hold him closer in his embrace.

As they spun, Ginny caught Draco’s eye as she too was danced around by her partner. She winked at him and kept on dancing.

Maybe Draco would get a shot at happiness a lot sooner then he thought.

—

Aaah this was so fun to write!! Thank you for the wonderful ask, so much potential :) I’m steadily working though all your asks Anon so don’t think I’ve forgotten 💕💕

Thank you for reading! Please leave feedback if you want to, any reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated :)

#draco malfoy #harry/draco #harry potter #drarry #ficlet #drarry ficlet #drarry headcanon #ginny/luna #wedding fic

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handeaux · 3 years

Text

Cincinnati Men Balked In 1908 At Donning The Daring Sheath Trousers

Humans are such frail creatures, willingly submitting themselves to the capricious whims of fashion! In 1908 one such capricious whim landed with a resounding thud in Cincinnati – the dreaded sheath trousers.

With the new century, men’s fashions had grown bolder and more adventuresome. The staid grey/brown fog of Victorian propriety melted into the innovative Edwardian styles in which, it seemed, anything was worth a try. A dispatch from New York in September 1908 proclaimed the daring clothes awaiting Cincinnati men:

“Green – full rich hunter’s green – will lead in the colors of the garments but it may be relieved with stripes. To go with the green suit one must have a green hat. Soft hats, preferably made of plush, are being carried by leading hatters. They are known as Yodels (the hats, not the hatter) and evidently are of Swiss origin. Following close in the wake of the yodel hat is the Marathon tie, whose chief point of excellence seems to be that its colors are fast.”

One can only imagine a striped green suit topped by a plush green yodel and accented by a Marathon tie – whatever that is. But the fashion mavens saved their pièce de résistance for the nether extremities:

“But perhaps the most striking novelty of all is the sheath trousers. In these the leg seams on the outside, instead of running down to the bottom, will stop at the knee and be laced from that point on.”

Where did that come from? It turns out that the idea of lacing slitted clothing came from women’s fashions. The spring fashions for 1908 included the sheath skirt, sometimes known as the “directoire” style, slit up the front to expose women’s legs clad in tight-fitting trousers. According to the Enquirer [22 May 1908]:

“When French modistes first introduced them at Longchamps a few weeks ago the shapely girls wearing the new garments were unceremoniously hustled out of sight by unfeeling policemen, whose sense of the artistic had not been sufficiently educated. Whether Cincinnati modistes will succeed in popularizing the garments remains to be demonstrated.”

Sheath skirts did not dare to flash onto Cincinnati’s staid sidewalks. The idea of women wearing trousers was still very offensive, even illegal. By autumn, though, the boffins of fashion had cast their designs upon the masculine side of humanity. Walter L. Hurley, a salesman at Shillito’s, drew the short straw and actually donned a pair of these pantaloons for a photograph in the Cincinnati Post [25 September 1908]:

“The new sheath trousers are on tap in Cincinnati, to be had by anyone who will step right up and pay the $5 a pair and they are actually being worn. And really, as a matter of fact, they are not such awfully bad things to look at – not even as bad as their progenitor, the sheath gown.”

A Shillito spokesperson told the Post that the department store had not, in fact, actually sold any sheath trousers but that there had been some interest.

“Since the trousers were put on sale last Saturday, two and three calls have been had at the John Shillito store daily by people who were thinking seriously of wearing them. By next week the company expects actually to have sold some, and by the week after, it is confidently expected that either every man in town will be wearing them or else the police will be under instructions to arrest anyone who does.”

While no reports of arrests for wearing sheath trousers have survived, it is also notable that no reports of anyone actually wearing the daring dungarees have survived either.

Condemnation of the style arrived rapidly. In his “A Dictionary of Men’s Wear,” published later in 1908, William Henry Baker pounced upon sheath trousers and rent them into shreds and lint:

“Sheath trousers—one of the idiocies of 1908, ascribable, doubtless, to the hysterical feminine revival of directoire immodesties and their pernicious effect upon some men too invertebrate to uphold the precious responsibilities of their sex.”

While no living man appears to have actually purchased or worn sheath trousers in Cincinnati, the humor columnists and cartoonists enjoyed the fad and milked it for ideas. In one cartoon, a fashionable young lady upbraids a sheath-trousered fellow:

“Copy cat! You’ve used our corsets and buttoned shoes and now you’ve appropriated our sheath idea. In another year you will be wearing a rat in your hair.”

Another cartoon suggested that sheath trousers promulgated the feminization of men to the extent that women will be giving up their seats on crowded streetcars to make room for sheath-trousered dandies. Despite the implication that sheath trousers were sissified, one cartoonist showed manly President Theodore Roosevelt admiring the sheath trousers worn by his Secretary of War William Howard Taft and his Vice President Charles Fairbanks.

The fashion influencers learned their lesson and the 1909 forecast for men’s clothing predicted the end to “freak clothes” and a return to grey, grey, grey.

“Plain effects will distinguish the best-dressed man from the one who is wearing his last year’s suit.”

Almost. The Cincinnati Commercial Tribune [15 December 1908] predicted the return of the sheath effect in stylish men’s overcoats. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose!

#sheath trousers #cincinnati fashions #shillito's #william howard taft

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blancheludis · 3 years

Link

@whumptober2021 Day 4: Taken Hostage / Pushed / “Do you trust me?”

Fandom: Batman Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd Tags: Hurt Tim Drake, Kidnapping, Protective Jason Todd, Accidental Brother Acquisition, Jason is Robin Words: 7.826

Summary: “Batman will come for you, right?” Tim only realizes that is the wrong thing to ask when Robin’s face falls.

“I don’t need Batman to get out of here,” Robin insists with a stubborn tension in his shoulders. “I’m just saying we don’t have to wait.”

Waiting is the thing Tim does best. For the perfect picture opportunity, the best angle. For his parents to come home. He can sit tight for hours and days and become all but invisible.

But Tim agrees anyway. Why wouldn’t he? Robin is a hero. His hero. And he’s lucky they were kidnapped together. Now they only have to get out this cell in one piece.

---

The shove comes out of nowhere.

Tim has gotten good at navigating Gotham’s rooftops nearly blind, a camera pressed to his face. He has also learned to make sure nobody is around to catch him. What he does is not strictly illegal, but he is taking pictures of vigilantes at night and enough people take offence at that. He is not wearing a mask himself, but he still cannot be found out here. His parents are already not happy that he has not given up photography – a mere waste of time that will neither get him into a prestigious college nor bring the Drake name any profits – even without knowing about his nightly activities.

The roof was empty when Tim climbed up on it to get a better angle of Robin. It is a rare enough occurrence that Robin is out alone without the protective shadow of Batman hovering nearby and Tim does not want to miss a minute of it. So, he is crouching on the roof, his camera trained on Robin, when someone appears suddenly next to him and shoves him over the edge.

A sound escapes Tim’s lips, half a gasp due to the force of the unexpected push, and in the brief second he is hovering in the air, he can see Robin look up searchingly – and then he is falling.

Tim has a lot of experience with falling, but he will never get used to that navel-jerking feeling of tumbling into the unknown, those first moments of blind panic at having lost the ground beneath his feet. He clings to his camera, curls like he was taught to, and hopes fervently that he will not break anything. Bruises are easy to hide and something he has dealt with dozens of times before. Broken bones, however, need a bit more than his first-aid kit has to offer – and cause more questions than he cares to answer.

The falling is over as soon as it began. He was not too high up but the impact is still painful. The crack of plastic thunders in his ears and that is what throws his momentum, makes him tense too much as he tries to save his camera, and he feels his ankle bend.

Pain flares up, sudden and hot, before he comes to a panting halt on the pavement, a sharp throbbing in his foot and right side. He just lies there for a long moment, afraid to move his ankle but glad that his lungs still work as they are supposed to. The roof above him is empty. Nobody is looking down after him.

But – Tim did not just fall from nothing, did not trip. Somebody was there and pushed him. Just as he is sitting up, determined to have a look at his camera and then his foot before he gets out of here, he hears footsteps coming closes.

“Well, what do we have here?” a muffled voice asks.

Tim whirls around, but all he can see is a fist flying towards his face. And then nothing.

---

Tim comes to slowly. That in itself is a warning sign that something is wrong. He has a rather conflicted relationship with sleep and he does not slumber. Either he is awake or not. This in-between is strange, making his thoughts all sluggish.

He blinks, his vision curiously blurry, and wonders about the cracks in the ceiling – and then the pain hits. A low, insistent pounding like drum beats fills his head, growing worse with every breath he takes as if the miniscule movement alone is aggravating it.

With a rush, Tim remembers what happened. The rooftop. Being shoved. The cracking of his camera.

He shoots upright, battling the way the room spins before his vision settles. Bile rises in his throat but he swallows carefully, unwilling to give into the panic rising inside him. Perhaps his father’s lessons will have their use, after all.

His ankle throbs, but Tim ignores it for now in order to find out where he is, because this is somewhere inside instead of outside in the streets, and he definitely did not make it home.

The room is small and bare. Cracks run through the grey cement covering the ground and walls and ceiling. There is no window, but a lone light bulb dangles in the middle of the room, offering a bit of light. The ground is stained in places, the origin of which Tim does not want to think too closely about. No furniture, just a heavy metal door and Tim himself being cuddled into a corner.

This is bad. If his father finds out what he was doing, why someone managed to snatch him right off the street – he hopes this is not a play for ransom. His parents are out of the country and the last thing he and his father did before they left were yell at each other. Tim is not at all sure they are willing to pay a single dollar to get him back. And if so, likely only to preserve the family name.

Of course, Tim does not want to think about what other reasons there are for someone to kidnap him. Children go missing from Gotham’s streets every day, and only a few of them are found again. Mostly, they do not have anything to look for them. Tim does not, either.

The pounding in his head grows worse. With some effort, Tim pushes the growing panic down. Before he gives up on himself, he should try to find out more.

Carefully, Tim gets to his feet. The room starts spinning again, which is rather worrying, but it snaps into sudden focus when he puts some weight on his right ankle. A whimper breaks over his lips, echoing hauntingly in the empty room, as he sinks back to the ground.

Don’t be broken, he thinks as he pushes up the leg of his trousers. The ankle is swollen and the pain intensifies when he applies pressure. When he is careful, though, he can move it in every direction and he cannot feel any bones obviously out of place. That does not have to mean anything, he knows. Ever since he started following the masks around, he read up on first-aid, aware of how many things can go wrong. Hopefully it is just a sprain, although that does not make it any less painful, and it might still mess his leg up for good.

Before Tim can convince himself to get back up and try again, he hears a key being shoved in the lock and then the door is yanked open, making a terrible screeching noise that grates in his ears. The light outside is much brighter, stabbing Tim’s eyes so he cannot make out much of anything as he scrambles backwards, trying to get away from whoever has entered the room. Something big is thrown in and then the door slams shut again without explanation.

The something is a person clad in yellow and green and –

“Robin.” Tim’s voice breaks halfway through the name. His mouth is suddenly dry and his thoughts come to an abrupt halt.

This has just become so much worse. Someone did not just push Tim off a roof just because they could or for ransom, but they got Robin, too. Either Robin wanted to help and was overpowered, or they were after him and Tim is just collateral damage. Either way, he is doomed. Because he is not hard to catch, crawling around the city at night to take pictures of vigilantes. But Robin is in an entirely different league.

Robin looks up at him, eyes wide behind the mask, then untangles himself into a more dignified position even though his suit remains rumpled. “Oh good, you’re awake.”

Tim does not know what could possibly be good about that if this is the reality he woke up to.

“What happened?” he hates how weak he sounds, how young. His father would have his hide for that – but his father is not here because Tim had to do something forbidden and get himself caught. He breathes. In and out. In and out.

Robin is here. That means not all is lost. If nothing else is certain, Tim knows that Batman will come for Robin and they will not leave him behind, even if they find out about the pictures. They are the good guys. They might tell his parents about it – which will undoubtedly not end well for him either – but they will not leave him to die in this place.

“These assholes want me to help them out.” Robin makes a rude gesture at the door, then looks a bit sheepish at Tim. “Sorry you got caught in the crossfire.”

A weight drops off Tim’s shoulders. It is not his fault that Robin was caught. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But it does not sit right with him, still.

“They went after me first,” Tim says, remembering clearly that Robin was still free and unbothered while Tim was already falling. He might have even gotten it on camera, that last, searching look around at Tim’s yell. But his camera is not here. They might have left it broken on the ground when they took Tim. It is unlikely he will ever see it again.

It is stupid to be bothered by that. It is only a camera and he can afford to buy a new one. But it is the one thing that brings him joy.

“Yeah.” Robin runs a hand through his hair, putting it into complete disarray. “You’re supposed to be my motivation.”

Oh. “They took me hostage to make you help them?” Tim is no stranger to being pulled into other people’s games. His parents’ business partners do that all the time, either hoping to gain something for the company or to get some advantage over his parents. It is almost familiar, to be used for his worth to other people instead on his own merit.

“Seems like it,” Robin says and sounds apologetic. He is also watching Tim very closely as if he expects him to have a breakdown. But Tim has been taught to appear calm even if he feels anything but.

“That’s ridiculous. You don’t even know me.”

Tim should be glad. If all goes well and they do not die here, his parents might never find out what happened. He does not have to tell Robin his last name. He is just a nobody who had bad luck. Once they are out of here, he can just vanish. If they get out of here.

Robin cocks his head to the side, concern crossing his face. “You’re a civilian,” he explains then puffs out his chest and points at his suit. “That’s what this whole thing is about. Protecting people.”

Perhaps people who do not stalk them and take pictures without asking, who do not put themselves in danger constantly just because they are hoping for the right shot.

But Tim believes him anyway. He was raised by a cynic but he knows Robin. Knows him through endless nights of watching him do the right thing, of putting his life on the line for others.

“What do they want you to do?” Tim asks, changing the topic without much finesse.

He is also not sure he wants to know the answer to that. What if they are asking something terrible of Robin, like killing somebody. Tim cannot be the reason for Robin to do that.

But Robin scoffs, caught between amusement and annoyance. “Rob a bank or five.”

That is surprisingly mundane. Banks are robbed every day without the help of vigilantes. Some even successfully. “What do they need you for then?”

To his surprise, Robin pouts. “I could totally rob a bank, and probably better than them, too” he says, entirely missing the point.

Despite their situation, Tim finds himself grinning at Robin’s offended tone. He imagines him as some kind of modern Robin Hood, robbing a bank and then making it rain money right outside of it.

Then he sobers. They are still locked up in some cell and he has a busted ankle and a possible concussion. “Well, you shouldn’t do it.”

Robin’s expression grows serious, too. “They said they’d hurt you if I don’t,” he says in that same tone Tim’s father does when he is testing Tim, fishing for a reaction.

Now it is Tim’s turn to be offended. “You’re Robin,” he exclaims.

Robin nods but does not give an answer. Instead, he leans forwards, seemingly unconcerned with their situation. “What’s your name?”

Tim could lie. He is good at it and it would surely save him a lot of trouble. But it is not every day that one meets their hero and despite the circumstances, he wants this interaction between them to be real.

“Tim,” he says, hesitating long enough to make Robin frown. He still holds his last name back. That does not have a place here, and there is a small chance that Robin knows their next-door neighbours are called Drake and have a son named Tim, even though his life is certainly interesting enough to not bother with who is living down the street.

“Do you trust me, Tim?” Robin asks, his voice gentler now as if he does not want to spook Tim. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

With a start, Tim realizes Robin thinks he is afraid. Well, he is, but for the entirely wrong reasons. They are in a bad situation but it could be so much worse. For one, Tim could be here alone.

He nods because that seems like the thing to do. He is cold and in pain and his hero might be forced to commit a crime to keep him alive. While he is aware of all of that, he can barely touch those thoughts, like his head is underwater but he is seeing lights on the surface, jumping out of reach whenever he reaches for them.

Tim is fine. Beneath the mask, Robin is just a kid, too, and Tim will not make it harder on him by whining. Or panicking. That will not do either of them any good.

“Batman will come for you, right?” It is a mistake to ask, Tim notices that right away when Robin’s shoulders stiffen.

He does not understand. Batman and Robin are a team. They have each other’s back and, of course, one would come running when the other is in danger. Right?

“I don’t need Batman to get out of here,” Robin says, crossing his arms in front of him only to let them fall again a moment later.

That certainly puts a crack in Tim’s picture-perfect idea of his favourite vigilantes. He knows better than most that things are seldom as calm and shiny as they appear on the surface, but Batman and Robin – nothing is supposed to taint that.

“I’m sorry,” he says because he is not sure what else to do. His mother taught him that other people’s weaknesses are there to be exploited, but he does not want to be that kind of person.

Robin looks at him, then sighs. “No, you’re right.” He sounds conflicted, making him sound even younger. Like that, he is more human, mask or not, but that is not helpful in the situation they are in. “I’m just saying we don’t have to wait.”

Waiting is the thing Tim does best. For the perfect picture opportunity, the best angle. For his parents to come home. He can sit tight for hours and days and become all but invisible.

“I can’t fight,” Tim points out, afraid that he will be the reason Robin gets hurt, after all. He had some training, bullies and his family name made that a necessity, but he is no Robin, no hero.

“You don’t have to,” Robin says, full of conviction. “I’ll protect you.”

Tim wants to ask how but he has learned that too many questions only make things harder, at times. Instead, he offers, “You could pretend to be me.”

He is not sure where it comes from, but a plan is forming in front of his eyes. Tim is a bit smaller than Robin and a lot scrawnier, but people tend to look only at the suit. And they only needed a few moments to jump the kidnappers anyway. As soon as an actual fight begins, the ruse will be up.

“They’ll notice,” Robin scoffs. He does not quite dismiss Tim, but Tim knows that tone very well. It is hard not to let it get to him because some part of him desperately wants to impress Robin, but he has practice with that, too. “And what good would that bring us anyway?”

“We’ll swap clothes,” Tim explains, shamefully eager at the very idea of touching the suit. “They don’t think I’m a danger, so when they come back, they’ll go right for the suit and ignore you. So, you can take them by surprise.”

It is a good plan, or as good as they will likely get. They are locked in a windowless room that does not stop spinning before Tim’s eyes, and only one of them is really capable of getting them out if Robin does not want to wait for Batman – and Tim does not want to either, yearning for some pain meds, an ice pack and his bed. Taking the bad guys by surprise is their only chance, really. Otherwise, they are simply two children sitting in a trap.

“I’m Robin,” Robin insists as if Tim has forgotten that. As if, in addition to taking his clothes, he suggested stripping him of the title as well. “I can’t take off the mask.”

There is that, true. Tim opens his mouth to say Robin can keep the mask, that they will just keep their heads down until it is too late for the kidnappers to realize the wrong boy is in the suit. What falls from his lips instead is, “I know who you are.”

Robin moves quicker than Tim’s probably concussed brain can follow and then he is right in from of Tim, shoving him against the cold, unforgiving wall. The impact knocks the air out of Tim’s lungs and, before he can react, Robin’s arm is pressed against his throat, not quite choking him but a definite threat.

“What did you say?” Robin growls in a clear imitation of Batman, a few decades too young. It still causes a shiver to run down Tim’s back.

“I’m sorry,” he pushes out, only to have Robin increase the pressure. How did things go so wrong so quickly? He just – masks, secret identities. Tim has gotten so comfortable with following them around that he forgot nobody is supposed to know who they are. “I live next door to you,” he blurts out, not caring anymore about keeping his last name secret.

For the first time since waking up in this room, he is afraid instead of just panicked. When he started following Batman and Robin around, he knew he could never let them catch him. They might be the good guys, but they do have their identities to protect, and he has seen countless times what Batman does to the people that cross him. He did not even try to find out who they are. It just made sense.

“I haven’t told anyone,” Tim croaks, growing desperate when Robin does nothing but stare at him, never relenting his hold. “I won’t.”

“How?”

Tim whimpers when Robin shoves him again, aggravating his headache. This is not supposed to happen. He never thought Robin would like him, really, the kid with stalkerish tendencies, but he did not think meeting his hero would go quite like this either.

“I’m running BatWatch.”

That stupid blog that started as a challenge to himself but has quickly become the centre of Tim’s life, uploading pictures and commentary on Gotham’s very own vigilante bats. All complimentary, of course, because they protect the city and certain journalists just do not know what they are writing. Tim just tries to put the Bats back into a more positive light. Sometimes, it makes him feel like a hero in his own right. That is his secret identity.

After a long, tense moment, Robin’s hold loosens, even if he does not take the arm away. His expression is still closed off. “You? The blog has been around for years.”

Tim takes pride in that. It grew from a few blurry pictures every other week to detailed articles. People like to complain about Batman, and Tim just wants to remind people of all the good the vigilantes are doing.

“You’ve been Robin for years,” Tim shoots back, voice still more of a croak from the shock. He is not sure the danger is over.

Robin sits back. His hands are still on Tim but not quite as threatening anymore. That can change again any moment, Tim knows, so he clears his throat and just breathes.

“You know who Batman is and you never told anybody?” The incredulity in Robin’s tone is insulting, but Tim guesses a certain paranoia is part of the job.

“You’re heroes,” Tim exclaims and winces inwardly. That made him sound entirely too young. There is no hiding he is still a kid but he does not have to act immaturely, too.

“And you want me to believe it is a mere coincidence that you were in the right place to be kidnapped along with me?” Robin says, sarcasm dripping from his tongue, which Tim does not fully hear because his mind is stuck on right place. “How do I know you’re not working with them?”

The accusation hurts worse than the shove earlier, although it leaves him just as trapped. “I would never,” Tim says and glares in the best imitation of his mother as he can manage.

Feeling, cornered, he bats Robin’s hands away with what little strength he has left, pain and disappointment having taken their toll. To his surprise, Robin lets him go. He gets up and ignores the way his vision swims and the pain in his ankle flares up. There is nowhere to go. The room is still bare and the door is still locked. But he needs to get away from Robin and his accusations, so he limps to the far corner and sinks rather ungraciously back to the floor.

Somewhere in the depth of his mind, he can hear his father laugh at his naivety. What did he think would happen? That Robin would be impressed? That he would expect a scrawny teenager to be good for anything? He had been dreaming about meeting Robin for years but – well, he should have listened better to what his parents say about dreams.

“You’re hurt,” Robin says, sounding sheepish.

Tim glances over his shoulder and sees that Robin stood up, too, but he thankfully does not come closer. In fact, he looks a bit lost, all suited up with no way to escape.

“It’s nothing,” Tim mutters, looking back at the wall. A crack runs through it right in front of his face. He imagines digging here and finding nothing but more cement. A grave in the middle of the city.

“You were limping.”

What does that have to do with anything? “Just a strain.” And definitely a concussion. He should better not mention that, he is already enough of a liability.

“We can’t get out of here if you can’t walk,” Robin says, sounding almost agitated, but when Tim looks at him it does not show on his face.

So, this is how it is. He knows this game very well. “Then you had better leave me behind. That’s safer anyway if I’m one of them.”

That cutting tone is from his mother. Any other time, he would hate how much of his parents he recognizes in himself, but it does come in handy every now and then. Although it does not bring him any satisfaction to watch Robin flinch. Tim is the faulty one here, the obstacle to overcome. It is better to just take him out of the equation.

He does not want to be left behind, of course. Chances are low that the kidnappers will simply let him go when they do not need him anymore. And he has no particular desire to find out where Gotham’s lost children end up.

“I’m – I won’t leave you here.” Robin has come closer, looking down at Tim with a seriousness that hurts.

Tim smiles, but it feels all wrong, hollow yet sharp at the edges. It should not surprise him that he does not measure up. Just because he looks up to Robin does not mean that Robin will find anything worthwhile when looking back. Something about him always turns people away, he is never quite enough.

“They won’t need me once you’re gone,” Tim points out and does not say that he is very aware that this will likely end with a bullet in his head. It is not like he can change that. He is tired and, for once, wants nothing more than to go home – without putting Robin in more danger.

Silence stretches between them for a long moment in which Tim thinks he really is doomed. Then Robin says, “Come,” his jaw set with new determination. “I’ll need your clothes.”

Tim does not move, even as Robin begins to take off the suit, no trace of hesitation left in his movements. In the privacy of his mind, Tim has longed for years to wear the Robin colours. But not like this, not here, not when the real Robin has already made his judgement of Tim.

“What about the mask?” Tim asks quietly, intent on reminding Robin what a stupid idea this is.

“I can’t let them see my face, so I’ll keep it on,” Robin says matter-of-factly, as if this very problem did not end in a physical altercation only minutes before. “But you can stay with your back to the door and I’ll jump them before they can notice anything.”

That is what Tim thought they should do earlier, but now he is full of doubt. Turning his back to the door alone fills him with uneasiness. He might not be a fighter, but it feels wrong to serve himself on a silver platter, too. And, since Tim is the hostage in this scenario, what if they do not go for Robin, which would squander their element of surprise. What if Robin will not be able to deal with whoever is coming for them? What if there are too many opponents? What if –

“Hey.” Suddenly, Robin is right in front of Tim, one hand on Tim’s shoulder and blatant concern on his face. “I’ll get you out of here. I promise.”

Tim takes a deep breath, concentrates on the ground beneath him and the warmth from Robin’s hand and even the way his ankle throbs. The situation is not ideal, but he is alive and mostly intact. He is not alone.

He believes Robin. What would life be if he could not trust his hero anymore? Robin helps people. It is his job.

But Tim has been following Batman and Robin around for a bit too long. He has seen them share street food during long patrols. He has watched Robin jump around in circles around Batman when bored and limp home after a bad fight. Beneath the mask, Tim knows very well, is just a boy not much older than him. Jason Todd, child of Gotham’s darkest streets, full of foul words and endless bravado.

This is not a heroic story. Tim is not behind the camera taking pictures. He is not a bystander, sequestered safely away on a rooftop. This is real. And Tim might have dreamt of himself as Robin – or at least as Robin’s sidekick – but not like this. He is acutely aware of how inadequate he is.

And yet, Tim nods. If he knows anything, it is how to pretend, how to keep his head held high. His hands, when he unzips his jacket, are shaking. If Robin notices, he does not comment on it. That makes it easier, if only slightly.

It is hard not to stare as the Robin suit lands piece by piece on the ground, rumpled and nearly unassuming, just flimsy looking material in too bright colours. The shaking gets worse as Tim reaches for it, but he does not allow himself to hesitate. It is now or never.

The suit does not quite fit. Tim is too small and too scrawny. Worse is the way his skin burns, touching something forbidden. He guesses he will not have those dreams of being Robin anymore, considering how miserable he feels while pretending for even just a moment.

“You look good,” Rob- Jason says. Because in Tim’s clothes he looks altogether too young, just another boy stranded in a bad situation. Tim cannot detect any condescension in his tone.

Still, Tim scoffs and avoids looking down at himself. “Let’s hope it fools them.”

He would be surprised if it does. He certainly feels like a bad impostor, radiating his uneasiness for everybody to pick up.

Robin opens his mouth, doubtlessly to tell Tim some more reassuring lies, but Tim turns away, effectively cutting him off. He just wants to get this over with.

He lies down on the ground, trying for a posture that is not too conspicuous while still allowing Jason to blend into the background. Even though all his instincts scream that it is wrong, he turns his back to the door.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jason put his hood up and mess up his hair until his face is shrouded in shadows and the mask is not so obvious anymore.

And then, they wait.

Or, rather Tim plans to wait. Jason apparently does not deal too well with silences because he first shifts around impatiently, then huffs. Finally, he clears his throat and says, “Hey, Tim –”

“I’m fine,” Tim cuts him off. This is his one-in-a-lifetime chance of being cooped up with Robin, but talking did not turn out too well before, and he would rather not make things worse. “You don’t need to keep asking.”

It is also not a lie. The pain in both his ankle and his head have dulled to a low throbbing and the panic is under control. He is aware this will change once they are moving again, but for now everything is all right.

Jason hums, clearly not believing him, but then he says, “Actually, I wanted to know why you never said anything.”

Tim closes his eyes briefly. “About what?”

“Who we are. If you knew all this time.” Of course, Jason will not let this go. Perhaps he has a right to, considering how carefully Batman has hidden his identity all these years.

“It’s a secret.” Tim cranes his neck to stare at Jason. He admires Robin and would never endanger him like that. But if Jason is still not fully convinced Tim is not working with the enemy here, his doubt should be expected.

But then Jason asks, “Why didn’t you talk to us?” His tone is way too innocent for such a loaded question.

Tim is silent for a long moment. The truth would be that he did not want anyone to stop him from going out at night, but he can hardly say that. Jason Todd might understand the lack of parental supervision that lets Tim do as he pleases, but as Robin, he might ask questions that Tim really does not want to answer. And Batman surely would not let that stand. He is happy with things as they are. Getting a glimpse of all the excitement from afar is enough.

He gives a one-shouldered shrug. “You have better things to do.” Better than indulging Tim’s stupid dreams.

He feels Jason’s stare on his back but does not look up again. “Well, what if someone kidnapped you and made you tell them?”

The veiled accusation sits like hot coals in Tim’s stomach. He wants to snap back, say that nobody would kidnap him. But the very fact that he is sitting in a locked room with Robin right at this moment makes that argument void.

“I’m sorry,” Jason says when Tim does not answer. He should not apologize when he is right.

Footsteps come closer, effectively cutting their conversation off. Saved by the very real possibility of being killed, Tim thinks and tries to relax his tense muscles.

The door opens with the same screeching protest as before and Tim feels woefully unprepared. All he has to do is lie here and let the real Robin do the work and yet his hands start shaking again.

“Have you thought about our offer, little birdie?” a voice asks, sounding too close for comfort already. “Or do we need to make the kid scream?”

Don’t go to Jason, Tim thinks fervently, even as he forces himself to keep his face turned away. The entire game will be up before they can even make the first move if they recognize him.

There is another set of footsteps, perhaps two, but Tim cannot look up. He has to give Jason the chance to get them out.

“Ignoring us won’t –” The man cuts off with a grunt and Tim looks up just in time to see him doubling over while Jason whirls around him, using his leg as a ladder to jump up and kick at the second guy before punching the first in the temple with his elbow. The man goes down like someone cut his strings.

All Tim can do is try to not get crushed and watch as Jason never loses momentum but makes short work of the other two men. It is over so quickly that Tim is left with too much adrenaline in the sudden silence, his heart beating as loud as a war drum and his hands balled into fists he thankfully did not have to use.

“Yes,” Jason exclaims. His grin is very much out of place but Tim still finds himself answering in kind. He did not even do anything and yet he feels victorious. “The credit goes to you, of course, since it was your idea.”

Tim wants to say that they are not yet out of here, but his face heats up and he lets his eyes drop. Looking at the unconscious men is better than to meet Jason’s undeserved praise.

“I mean it, Tim,” Jason adds, putting a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “You were already thinking up plans while I wasted time on being angry. You kept a cool head. Not everybody could.”

The warmth from Jason’s hand and words spreads right into Tim’s core. They should not just stand around but get going but Tim cannot help himself. He does not get compliments like this, barely does anything worth noticing. Even ignoring the whole kidnapping, this is a night he will never forget.

“We should make sure they won’t be able to follow us,” Tim says, still feeling the glow in his cheeks. “And we should probably change clothes again.” Silently, he prays Jason will agree that there is no time for that. Even just pretending, the suit is a comfort now that they survived the first hurdle of getting out of here.

“Let’s stay like this. The colour suits you.” Jason winks but gets serious a moment later. He leans forward and fishes two pairs of handcuffs out of a pocket of the suit. “Put these on two of them. I’ll take care of the third.”

It is strange to move the unconscious bodies, even though they are definitely breathing. There is not even blood. Tim hurries to finish the task and then watches Jason string up the last guy with his own shoelaces.

“Ready to go?” Jason asks as he gets to his feet, looking strangely energetic for someone in their position. “I think I know the way out, so follow after me. We’ll try to avoid running into any more of these idiots.”

So, there are more. Their victory quickly turns sour at this reminder that they have not yet escaped. But Tim nods. He is very much out of his depth and really, really glad he is not alone.

At the door, Jason pauses again. “Will you be okay with your ankle?” Concern passes over his face and he looks Tim up and down as if he considers carrying him.

“I’m fine,” Tim says quickly. He will not slow them down and he will not make this harder on Jason. It is bad enough that he had to be rescued.

When Jason turns away, thankfully believing him, Tim takes a probing step. His ankle hurts and he knows it will only get worse from here on out. But he stands by his word. He will manage. Once he is safely at home, he can put some ice on it and recover. And home is so much more within reach now.

Jason hurries ahead, light-footed and with the easy elegance of a fighter. Following after him, Tim feels clumsy and loud. He closes the door to their cell and then looks cautiously down the hall. It looks identical on both sides but Jason never hesitates over which way to choose. That has to be enough.

They make it out without issue. Tim’s chest hurts as if he held his breath the entire time until they finally step out into the night air. He breathes and feels a smile spread on his face. They did it.

Jason touches his elbow briefly, motioning him to keep walking. Of course, they are not out of danger yet. So, Tim follows, down dark streets then up to the roofs. It is different to walk Gotham next to Robin, even if Tim is still the one wearing the suit. It feels like nothing in this city can touch them.

The throbbing in his ankle has turned into a constant burning. He does not say anything, though. It is still manageable and they are not yet safe. Still, he is glad when Jason is finally content with how far they have come and signals Tim to stop.

“How’s the foot?” Jason asks and reaches out for it almost as soon as they are sitting down.

Out of instinct, Tim withdraws. He is not used to being coddled, so they do not need to start now. “It’s fine.” At Jason’s blatantly unbelieving look, he adds, “I’ll put some ice on it and it’ll be right as rain.”

Jason clearly does not like that. “We should do an x-ray, just to be sure.”

“No hospitals,” Tim refuses immediately, the vehemence in his voice biting. If his parents find out about this they will never again let him set a single foot out their house unchaperoned.

And since they got out without anybody learning who Tim is, chances are good that he can keep this entire night secret. His parents will likely not come back before his ankle is healed, and even so he could lie to them. A sudden hospital visit, on the odder hand, is not so easily explained away.

Jason narrows his eyes but wisely does not decide to ask about the hidden implication. “We’ve got all we need at home.”

With home Jason means the manor. Bruce Wayne’s manor. Or even the rumoured Batcave.

“I can’t go home with you.” The mere thought has his brain sputtering to a halt. He needs to go to his own house, sort out his ankle and concussion, and then probably look for something else to take photos of. Batman cannot be made aware that he has a stalker, especially not a kid running around rooftops at night. “And you can’t tell anybody about me.”

He is not making a very good case for himself here, Tim realizes, feeding into Jason’s suspicions about him.

“I feel like that’s my line.” With a pointed look, Jason asks, “Is anybody even waiting for you at home?”

Tim hates the way his shoulders straighten automatically. Jason has no reason to suspect that his home life is anything but orderly and normal. Apart from him being out alone at night. Plenty of children do that, certainly, sneaking out of their window with no one being the wiser. They would not want their parents to find out. Nothing here indicates that Tim’s parents are away from home more often than they actually sleep in their own beds or that Tim has been managing his own life without anybody’s input for years. Nothing indicates that, one of these days, Tim’s father will run out of patience and beat some sense into him instead of just shouting and throwing things, or that his mother’s disappointment in him will simply grow too much to bear and she will not come home at all anymore.

Tim plasters a smile on his face and rolls his eyes. The effort is wasted, certainly, but appearances must be upheld. “I very much hope they’re not waiting because then they’d know I snuck out.” If he times it right, he will even miss the housekeeper who’s coming in the next day, and then he will have all the time in the world to sort himself out.

Jason does not believe him. He stares at Tim, looking suddenly much older than his years. He mutters something under his breath that sounds like “How do you do this, Alfred?”, but Tim does not know who Alfred is or what he has to do with this, so he ignores it.

Finally, Jason nods, even if he does not look happy about it. “I’ll bring you home.”

Tim already told him that he is living next door, but that does not mean he wants Jason to come. “You can’t –”

But Jason shakes his head, interrupting him. “I’ll drop you off outside your door, then we’ll exchange numbers. And you will call me if you need anything.” It sounds like a threat more than an offer of help.

Tim should be elated. He has met his hero, got out of their adventure together more or less intact, and he gets Robin’s number out of it, even if he already knows he will never use it. He also got to wear the Robin suit, no matter the reason.

“We should change our clothes,” Tim says because he will not be tricked into going to the Wayne house after all because they put this off.

He realizes his caution was right when Jason starts grinning. “Oh, no,” he exclaims far too happily. “You will keep that on and I’ll pick it up tomorrow when I check in on you.”

Check in – the only person checking in on Tim is the housekeeper, who is paid handsomely for it and for not telling anybody that Tim’s parents are constantly out of the country. “You don’t need to check in on me,” Tim says, barely able to comprehend the concept. “I’m perfectly fine.”

He is. Or he will be if only people stopped putting their noses into his business.

“It’s non-negotiable, Tim” Jason says and cocks his head. “Now, do you want to stay stubborn and let me carry you or can I call someone to drive us?”

Neither of these, Tim thinks. Especially because the only one Jason would call that Tim can think of is Batman. Then again, Jason did not sound so eager to have Batman come for them, earlier, so perhaps that is an empty threat.

“You don’t have to carry me,” Tim says pointedly but does not make a move to get up. He will when they get going again. Until then, he is happy to rest.

Jason clicks his tongue. “I’m not going to let you limp,” he says as if that is the worst thing that happened this night. “And to stop your next argument, they guy who’ll pick us up knows all about the suit.”

So, not Batman? But it does not matter. He is fine, and he really cannot have anyone else see him and find out about this night. “I can –”

“Listen, Tim,” Jason cuts him off and puts that damned hand back on Tim’s shoulder as if he knows how grounding that is. “I’m not the motherly type. That’s what we’ve got Dick for. But this was a stressful night and you’re hurt. Let me please make sure that you get home in one piece.”

He sounds earnest, but also like he is reaching the end of the rope. And Tim does not want that. It was a stressful night. “Fine.” If he is honest with himself, giving in is a relief because he really does not want to get back to his feet and his vision is still swimming, although he better not even hint at that if he wants to get Jason off his back. If he is that concerned about a busted ankle, he will definitely not let Tim out of sight if he learns about the possible – definite – concussion.

“Great, I knew you’d see reason.” Jason claps his hands and gets to his feet, seemingly not at all tired. “Now, let me make a call and then you can give me your number.”

Tim hums and leans back, desperate to just rest his eyes for a moment. His heart is still beating too quickly, not yet reassured that the danger is over. He listens to Jason talk on the phone and then to him telling some stories about too big manors with perfect banisters. Tim wishes he could take a picture of this moment, the two of them on this roof, but his camera was lost somewhere in that basement or on the way there. He will grieve for it tomorrow. Right now, he is just glad that he is alive, happy to let Jason talk and bask in the surrealism of this night.

Perhaps he dreamt this whole thing up. Exhaustion might have caught up with him and he slipped at home, hit his head. Perhaps – but then Jason nudges him awake and says, “Alfie’s here.”

They climb down the roof and into a car and the old man who introduces himself as Alfred has the warmest concerned expression that Tim has ever seen.

No, he decides, this was real. He is in the Robin suit and tomorrow Jason will visit him and pretend to believe whatever lies Tim will make up about his parents. Swimming in the exhausted void left behind by too much adrenaline, Tim grins at Jason, carefree and just happy to be alive. With a conspiratorial glint in his eyes, Jason grins back.

Yes, very much real.

#whumptober2021 #no.4 #do you trust me?#batman #fanfiction #tim drake #jason todd #jason is robin #hurt tim drake #My writing

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typinggently · 4 years

Note

Love these so much, #14 with Tommy and Alfie if you have the time? You’re awesome!❤️

Lovelies - I don’t have words enough to say how happy it makes me that you’re enjoying my writing AND how sorry I am that this took so long. thank you so, so much for your patience, and for your lovely words, and I hope you like it ❣️

early stages of their relationship,

can be read as a modern day AU or in the canon timeline

Betting is, generally speaking, Tommy’s field of expertise. It’s part of his job, after all. So really, he should be smarter than to agree to this, but Alfie is a good businessman and he’s not going to tell his opponent that he’s being an idiot.

Instead, he relaxes back into his chair and puts his hands firmly on the armrests. “So, Sweetheart - no hands for me, no help for you, is it?”

Tommy slides smoothly into his lap, one arm draped around Alfie’s shoulders, eyes on the jar he’s holding. “Yes,” he says, distracted. It’s not what they’ve grown accustomed to using, thick and gleaming, dripping from Tommy’s fingers.

The monosyllabic answer doesn’t phase Alfie. He doesn’t need to make conversation – he’s fine just looking at Tommy. He’s in Alfie’s favourite stage of undressed, trousers and shoes discarded, shirt unbuttoned and slipping over his shoulders with every move, undershirt pushed up. There’s a hickey just above his left hipbone, not even two days old. They’ve gotten accustomed to one another lately. Really, it’s no wonder they’re getting playful with it.

The bet in itself isn’t particularly risky – a decent sum of money, but nothing that Alfie couldn’t spare to lose. And it’s an easy win, too, isn’t it? They’ve been doing this for a while, Alfie knows what Tommy can take. He’s seen his head tip back, his eyelashes flutter and his body melt into the sheets as soon as Alfie fucks his cock into him. There’s no way the man will get past even ten strokes before dissolving into a mewly mess. Betting he’d last 10 minutes bouncing on Alfie’s lap without help is laughable.

Easy money.

And sure, it’s a delight to watch Tommy lose himself, but Alfie knows that his self-control will outlast that display. It should be easy enough to keep his hands off him for the four to five minutes it usually takes until Tommy’s slipped into his pillow-princess mindset, anyway. By that time, he’ll paw at Alfie’s shoulders, begging him to flip them and fuck him good and hard. And that’s a nice win for Alfie. (And then, he’ll flick his nipples and suck on his throat and squeeze his hips to his heart’s content.)

Not that it’s really about the money, but there’s a certain smug pride tied to the fact that he can make Tommy lose it that quickly. It’s a matter of honour, if anything. A point to prove. And Alfie’s ready to prove his point, even if it means keeping his hands off of Tommy for the time being.

His train of thought comes to an abrupt halt once Tommy actually sinks down on him. Due to the rules, Alfie hadn’t been allowed to help prepare him, so the feeling is a shock to his system. Tommy’s hot and tight, which in itself is awe-inspiring time and time again, but what’s even more breath-taking is the smooth way he sinks down, all self-control and strength.

He makes a soft sound as he settles on Alfie’s lap, cock buried deep inside his hole. Alfie, still a little light-headed with the way Tommy took him in one go, watches as he slips out of the shirt and then pulls his undershirt over his head, drawing the eye to his muscular torso, the faded ink on his chest. Fabric is dropped on the carpet, then Tommy rocks his hips slowly, experimentally.

The glide of his hips is smooth, practised, and his thighs tense around Alfie’s, warm-strong. He makes a soft, appreciative noise, then rises up to his knees before dropping down in one controlled, smooth move.

It’s then that Alfie has the faint realisation that he might’ve misjudged.

Because, see, what he forgot is that Tommy’s field of expertise isn’t just betting. There’s also the matter of the fucking horses.

And Alfie hadn’t really thought about it before, had paid little attention to the leather and the gleaming fur and the golden bridles that flicker and glint and huff (or whatever it’s called) from the photos and paintings and etchings Tommy spreads around his home. He’s never been to the stables, has never seen Tommy on one of the damn beasts. Had he been, he probably would’ve thought twice about accepting the bet.

His head falls back and he blinks at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath as Tommy really starts moving. Liquid spine, warm palms Alfie’s chest. The softest little moans.

Alfie swallows, closes his eyes. It doesn’t help, of course. In fact, it gives him nothing to distract himself from the heat of Tommy’s body, the easy-slick way he’s grinding down on him. His fingernails dig into the leather armrests of his chair.

Tommy’s breath hitches, he sinks down until he’s almost sitting on Alfie’s lap, cock almost buried to the hilt, and starts grinding on him, not lifting himself up far enough for Alfie’s cock to slip out of him, instead just squeezing around him, using him to find the angle that’ll make Tommy’s eyes roll back, Alfie’s name soft on his tongue. Alfie gasps, shivers, and starts counting his breaths.

In the end, it takes less than 7 minutes before he reaches for Tommy, who laughs and goes easily. That’s what you get for making bets with someone who’s made his fortune by fixing races and running illegal betting booths.

firstly.........I should rewatch the show before making bold claims about what exactly Tommy does (and with like, subtitles, because I didn’t understand half of what they were saying back in the day). Sorry if that’s completely off-track, I tried to verify it by doing research but....I simply do not remember and I am bad at research :) sorry!

But honestly, I really love this idea? I’ve spent so much time writing stuff where Alfie bests Tommy, so this was such a thrill and I’m really loving it. I'm also intensely thinking about expanding this into an actual fic? The concept has potential, I feel. It was SO much fun to write and I hope you liked it, too! thank you so much, again, for your sweetness and your patience.

prompt source❣️

#*stares at timestamps in shame*#but honestly - I'm so thankful ;-;#tysm❣️#listen i had SO MUCH FUN #filth #drabble #alfietommy #sholomons #tofie #I forgot...all their shipnames #anon #ask

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potter-loves-malfoy · 5 years

Note

hey ! been a hp fan since forever but i’ve only recently started delving into fan fiction. are there any super iconic drarry fics you could recommend me or just any really good ones that you like ! thanks !

Okay I’m so so so sorry this is maybe like a year late. I, uh, don’t have an excuse. I’ll rec some here, also will link to my list of favourites. I also just like to sort by kudos on ao3 and just go through the most popular fics when I start reading for a new fandom so I also just suggest reading those for “iconic” drarry fics. I am also relatively new to the fandom I’d say, I’ve only been here for a little over two years, so I’m sure I have followers that are more qualified to recommend some Drarry Squad staples (feel free to add to my list! Please actually add to my list lol) These are just well known Drarry fics that I happened to stumble upon and really really love.

Higher and Higher (Temptation) by birdsofshore

Only Harry Potter could manage to put on a magical collar on impulse and find himself unable to take it off again. Now following Draco’s direct orders gives him intense pleasure, and Draco has a whole heap of troubles to deal with, not least the way Potter looks when the collar has him gasping with bliss. The whole situation would test the morals of a saint... and Draco’s no saint.

Lumos by birdsofshore

Harry never expected to spend eighth year listening to Draco Malfoy wanking.

The Critiquer by dysonrules

When Harry submits his cock photo to a renowned Cock Critiquer and gets a terrible review, he decides to take a photography class to hopefully improve his skills.

Running on Air by eleventy7

Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects.

Draco Malfoy, It's Your Lucky Day by Faith Wood (faithwood)

Even though he's unarmed, injured, lost in the Forbidden Forest, and facing a possible murder charge, Draco Malfoy gets lucky.

All Our Secrets Laid Bare by firethesound

Over the six years Draco Malfoy has been an Auror, four of his partners have turned up dead. Harry Potter is assigned as his newest partner to investigate just what is going on.

Because Potter Is Allergic to Poppies by Lomonaaeren

Auror Harry Potter is in hospital being treated for a curse when someone tries to kill him. Obviously it is up to bored, trapped Apprentice Healer Draco, who was only admitted to the Healer Program in the first place to do the menial work, to find out who did it. Because then they will promote him. No, it’s for no other reason, thanks.

Right Hand Red by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)

Harry felt Malfoy's breath on his lips as they came together over the bottle, hands firmly planted on the floor as though they each needed their familiar soil, refusing to cross into enemy territory.

Except that Malfoy no longer felt like his enemy.

Malfoy felt inevitable.

All Life is Yours to Miss by Saras_Girl

Professor Malfoy's world is contained, controlled, and as solitary as he can make it, but when an act of petty revenge goes horribly awry, he and his trusty six-legged friend are thrown into Hogwarts life at the deep end and must learn to live, love and let go.

Reparations by Saras_Girl

Harry is about to discover that the steepest learning curve comes after Healer training, and that second chances can be found in unexpected places

Part 1 of Foundations!verse

Turn by Saras_Girl

One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

Part 1 of Turn!verse

The Printed Press by Soupy_George

Draco Malfoy was still slightly amazed that he was standing on the doorstep of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. He never would have thought that Harry Potter's very public and very ... sweary, emotional explosion would have led to him offering Draco, of all people, a job.

Stately Homes of Wiltshire by waspabi

Malfoy Manor has mould, dry rot and an infestation of unusually historical poltergeists. Harry Potter is on the case.

Tea and No Sympathy by who_la_hoop

It's Potter's fault, of course, that Draco finds himself trapped in the same twenty-four-hour period, repeating itself over and over again. It's been nearly a year since the unpleasant business at Hogwarts, and Draco's getting on with his life quite nicely, thank you, until Harry sodding Potter steps in and ruins it all, just like always. At first, though, the time loop seems liberating. For the first time in his life, he can do anything, say anything, be anything, without consequence. But the more Draco repeats the day, the more he realises the uncomfortable truth: he's falling head over heels for the speccy git. And suddenly, the time loop feels like a trap. For how can he ever get Harry to love him back when time is, quite literally, against him?

Written on the Heart by who_la_hoop

Harry doesn’t mind that so many Slytherins from his year have returned to finish their NEWTs, really he doesn’t. It’s just – do they have to be so friendly? He’s not prejudiced, really he’s not. It’s just – they’ve got to be up to something, right? Unnerved by the attention he’s attracting from everyone – the Slytherins are the least of it, to be fair – and struggling with a raft of changes to Hogwarts itself, Harry wishes he could be happy that one constant remains: Draco Malfoy really fucking hates him.

When he’s hit by an illegal love-spell though, Harry finds he has more to worry about than whether or not Blaise Zabini actually wants to be his friend. For if everyone affected has been blessed – or cursed, by the look on Malfoy’s face – with a magical tattoo revealing the name of their soulmate, what does it mean that Harry’s skin remains completely bare.

Bonus:

I don’t know how iconic this one is, but I’ve recommended this so many times if only because it’s the fic that initiated me into the fandom. It’s the fic that made me start shipping drarry, It’s the fic that made me start to fall in love with these boys. So yeah in addition to being an amazing fic, it is also one that has a lot of personal value for me.

One Night at the Leaky by birdsofshore

Harry should have known better than to accept a drunken dare. Especially when Malfoy was sitting right there, looking like that and wearing those bloody tight trousers.

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randombtsprincessa · 5 years

Text

Behind the Stick

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Min Yoongi x Reader (2nd POV)

Words: 7k

Genre: Smut

Summary: Your bartender for the night and you take an interest in one another.

Warning: Drinking, Bartender! Yoongi, Wings Era Yoongi, Dom! Yoongi, flirting, kissing, nipple play, groping, fingering, oral (both receiving), deep throating, protected sex, public sex, something very close to subspace, yeah, someone knows you had sex.

You crossed your legs, the fabric of your sinfully tight dress stretching across the knees at the movement.

The dress was armor, worn to seamlessly blend through the type of ambience the bar you’d visited had going on. It was fiery red, not a color you wore a lot, but it matched well with the vermillion of the décor. The dress hid you amongst the frequenters of this particular establishment, chatting and very much unaware that you were not here to drink yourself dizzy and go home to sleep.

You were working.

And so, you needed to be left alone so you could do it. Dressed in your working attire of practical jackets and shoes, you doubted you’d get what you wanted. So, you’d shirked off your normal blouses, pulled off trousers and loafers and donned on that dress and the heels.

The heels…

You swore to god, the heels were a work of the Devil’s hands. Sinewy yet sleek, they latched onto the palm of your feet, held up by shimmering ribbons that had taken you the better part of the evening to figure out.

They added a stature that made you taller than you were, straighter in your slouch and you felt like a goddess, sitting at a corner of the bar top, idling over a simple gimlet.

You let out an exhale, taking a sip when a tiny, imperceptible change zipped through the business side of the counter. The man who’d been wiping the glasses exchanged a look with the one who checked the bottles and headed to the other far side.

You watched, interested, the process of the Shift; when one batch of workers went home and the second batch took over. It was like clockwork, each piece working near flawlessly – once routine had been perfected, of course.

You glanced down; eyeing the lime garnish and chewing into it, lifting your eyes back up to watch the bartenders. Now, there were additions. Two other men had joined the ones who had been present when you’d walked in.

One of them was laughing, a bubbly laughter barely echoing through to you but the other, slighter man stood some space away, his back to you as he listened intently to what was being discussed.

You felt rather see the solidification of a decision. It seemed to come from the man whose face you couldn’t see. Nodding and gesticulating with his hand, he sent the first two men off on their way. The man who’d been laughing had sobered by now, nodding as the man set out what seemed liked instructions, nodding while the man pointed to different directions. When he was done, the taller man went to the main area when the man you’d been eyeing finally turned, entering the bar.

You kept chewing on the lime wedge, absent mindedly keeping your eyes on the man. He rolled up the sleeves of his simple white shirt and turned to check the bottles before picking a few up, taking whiffs from them. Placing the bottles back, he checked under the counters, too thoroughly to miss anything and nodded to himself.

Raising his head, his elfin features settled into a professional mask; blank and a little off from approachable. Shrugging off your interest, your eyes soon drifted back to the subject you needed to study for your piece: What People were like when Inhibitions weren’t a problem.

Idol Magazine was on its way to becoming a people’s choice magazine and part of that problem came from the fact that people were actually reading what was in it. It wasn’t just a magazine that shopaholics picked up on the way to the checkout counter or people brushed by for the quick gossip. Each month, a reader survey the office itself conducted showed just what the people loved and or wanted from your magazine.

No, it was a people’s magazine and writers in your magazine worked hard to cater to a variety of tastes.

Your particular area was an in-depth representation of the people who surrounded your readers. Armed with a Psychology and English degree, you’d stepped through the building of your workplace, eager to start and you’d worked diligently.

You loved your job, absolutely.

The thing with writing was that you couldn’t just give your readers whatever general idea a layman would have. No, you had to watch, examine, understand and give examples. If you did not, some moron quoting Aristotle was bound to come over, barging for you to be taken down.

No, you wrote a column worthy of a college thesis and you gave it your all.

Hence, why it was necessary for you to put down your intrigue for the new bartender and turn to your material subjects. You owed your loyal readers that, after all.

You spent the next few minutes deep in your study, taking notes down in your phone on the pretext of texting.

You’d just focused on a particular couple. The man was red faced, probably trying hard to control his liquor while the woman he was with looked torn between amusement and annoyance. You’d have wondered if you should maybe get someone to interrupt but it didn’t look like a first date; the girl kept patting his hand, speaking in a familiar soft voice to soothe the nearly gagging man.

You put down a few more notes.

“Lady; what’ll it be?”

Starting at the sudden question along with the shadow that fell over you, your fingers fumbled and sent the phone clattering on to the melamine counter. You looked up like a frightened rabbit.

It was the bartender, bearing down on you with raised eyebrows at your reaction to him.

“What?” You asked, gaining some composure back.

“I was going to take your order.” The man said. His lips twitched, eyes flickering between your own before flitting down to your phone. “Also, I’m going to have to ask if you’re doing anything illegal, just in case your reaction had something to do with it.”

You snorted at the passable joke. Never mind the fact that it was actually wrong of you to be observing his clientele like this but well…you needed something to write about.

You weren’t breaking any laws, of course. Ok, maybe some code ethics but you never took any oaths.

“I’ll take another gimlet, and no, I’m not; I just got way too much into my phone. It’s bad habit.” You sidetracked him easily and he was probably more interested in working anyway.

He nodded at you, going to the center to mix the drink while you finished the note, shutting down the app. You had enough for a five hundred to thousand word column.

With nothing better to do anymore, you indulged in your earlier fascination with the bartender, who had currently moved on to making three drinks at once.

You were right about him not seeming like the usual bartender. The level of precision with which he poured, stirred, garnished the three different glasses in front of him with no pause, no hesitation spoke volumes as to his experience.

What was it about bartenders anyway? They worked with alcohol all day, almost every day, were more than likely to be privy to the shadiness of any town but there was just something so…alluring about them. The knowledge, the street smarts and unexpected wisdom was almost never shown. Of course, the outside was just as charming to the species.

Tattoos, piercings, too tight shirts showcasing forearms and chest…you couldn’t go wrong with that packaging.

Your bartender didn’t have any of that.

His pale skin was unmarked, smooth like porcelain and his white shirt didn’t emphasize his physique. You also couldn’t see any piercings on him. The unbidden thought of seeing all of him just so you could see if he had any ink or metal hidden away from public view made you blush, looking away.

No, you couldn’t harbor feelings like that for a complete stranger. He was working and so were you, albeit that you were done. He still had a whole shift ahead of him. You doubted he would be very much interested in being distracted by you when he was trying to pay his bills.

You certainly wouldn’t appreciate that.

He was good looking though…

With groomed black hair, a button nose and pouty, perfect small lips, he would’ve passed off for a life size doll. Yet the expression of focus, eyes sharp and lips pursed as he worked fast and efficient…

You couldn’t help imagining that look as he worked just as efficiently on you. You wondered if he would wear the same expression when he pounded into you…

You slapped a hand to your forehead, trying to force out the image of the young bartender sliding himself in you. You were getting drunk, it had to be it. Even if you had been nursing the gimlet as slowly as you could, it had to be the alcohol.

And you had just ordered another one…

You glanced at the bartender again, watching him serve up the drink and grabbing yours.

Oh no…here he comes…

You managed to school your features in a mask of polite disinterest just as the man stopped in front of you, glass in hand.

“A gimlet, ma’am; would you like something else?” He asked, equally polite.

You quickly shook your head, taking the drink from him and taking a huge gulp. He immediately raised his hand.

“Whoa, you don’t have to take it down in one go.” He said.

He was right, the liquid throttled on its way down and you nearly spat it back out again. “I’m sorry, I know,” You coughed out.

He placed his hands down flat on the counter top, leaning his weight on them before he did a quick scan of the room, returning to you.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

You blinked up at him. Your name…? Why did he want your name? Your name wasn’t anything important…

“What’s yours?” You countered.

Something shifted in his gaze. “Well, that tells me you’re not a regular.” He snickered.

You took another gulp from your drink, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shook his head quickly. “Nothing, nothing; just saying that if you were a regular we’d probably be very familiar by now.” He said.

The edges of his mouth hitched up into a smirk, as if he was amused by a private joke, his eyes – pitch black, reflecting the star like lights of the bar.

“That’s very cryptic of you. Are you trying to hint that you’re a star employee and I should tip you more?” The tart in your voice could’ve put the lime garnish to shame but it only made your attractive bartender grin broadly.

“Nice, let me guess; you’re a speaker? No, most of those people use that prompter shit, reading out other people’s words. So, definitely not political,” He mused, tilting his head.

You laughed. “That’s very…liberal of you.” You teased.

“I am a leftist at heart. So, you’re a writer, aren’t you?” He continued probing.

You sighed, resigned to giving in. “Yes, I’m a magazine columnist for Idol. My name is Y/N.”

The man smiled. “Columnist Y/N…it’s got a ring to it. I’m Min Yoongi, I’m,” he paused, “just a lowly bar worker.”

You gave him a knowing smile, sipping at your drink. “You don’t seem like one.” You murmured.

Yoongi’s eyes popped open, “Why do you say that?”

You shrugged, swirling the little toothpick in your drink. “I don’t know, you don’t seem too…lowly, if you know what I mean.”

He leaned forward, elbows angled towards you. “I don’t indeed. Do explain,”

You continued to stare down, trying to get your thoughts into order, as per what you’d seen of him for the evening.

“You just…you’re dominating, you feel powerful and you have this aura. When you were taking your shift, I saw how you gave out instructions and they got followed. You mixed three drink and I didn’t see one mistake – you didn’t even slow down, and there were no complaints. This gimlet is much better than the one the other bartender made – don’t tell him I said that. You’re just…more. Which either makes me think you’re way more experienced behind a bar; or you know, that you’re a wine god or something,”

Yoongi listened to your barely audible rant with an intrigued look on his face. He placed his face on his palm eyeing you.

“So, you think I’m too qualified to be a bartender, is that it?”

“Not really no; you could run this place for all I know…but then again, appearances are deceptive.”

“Yes they are,” He said suddenly and you eyed him, surprised at his proclamation.

“Uh, listen…this is going to sound really unprofessional but the place is winding down and I’m going to close in half an hour or so. If you want, you can sit at the back and we can…chat for a bit. I’ll let you out the back.” He offered.

You froze, considering what he was saying. There was no way he was actually offering just a ‘chat’. He had plans and you didn’t know if you were equipped to handle whatever he was going to dish out.

But then again, you did want to see if he had any tattoos or piercings…

A slow Cheshire grin spread across your lips. Yoongi’s eyes dropped down to your lips and sure enough, his own split, revealing a swipe of his tongue as he lapped at his drying bottom lip.

“Deal,” You whispered, only for him to hear.

Yoongi had been right. As the minutes passed, even the most inebriated of the patrons started to take their leave. They respectfully parted ways with their tables, the glasses and some even cheerfully greeted the second bartender, who’d already begun to clear the tables. You watched, now seated comfortably within the plush leather booth at the far back, as they stumbled on out. The booth was meant for the VIPs, you were told but since it was closing time, Yoongi didn’t think anyone would mind.

Now empty, the bar had a different atmosphere.

It was silent for now, aside from the small clinking of glass as the man who had been walking around the bar checked the bottles and cleaned and put away the glasses.

A light song rung out in the background, Yoongi walked back down from wherever it was that he had vanished to. At his appearance, the other man quietly slipped towards the back, letting Yoongi man the bar enough to make himself a drink. You watched him carry it to where you were sitting.

For now you were feeling sober enough to know what was going to happen sooner or later, and you were not one bit jittery about it. In any case, you could feel the tell tale pin pricks of excitement coat your arms and the back of your neck.

Yoongi sat down right next to you, setting a respectable distance between you while you watched him with hooded eyes.

You watched as Yoongi took a swig – the whiskey slipping past his pouty lips, coating them in a shiny glisten as he rushed his tongue out just after. His Adams apple bobbed, drawing your gaze to the slender, smooth column of his throat.

“So,” he spoke, your eyes flitting back to meet him as he turned, angling his body towards yours. “What does a job for a magazine columnist entail? I suppose it’s something to do with what you were doing with your phone before?” He asked.

You chortled at his inquisitiveness. “Yes, I was people watching. I can’t just give my readers some general idea about life. I’d be fired for treating our magazine for anything less than the first rate art that it is.”

Yoongi smirked. “You don’t think it is?” He asked.

You stopped, looking down at your glass, nearly empty now. “I think it’s wonderful. We’re open. We’re diverse. There’s a severe lack of good civic opinion out there and we offer that. I love my job. I love what I have to do to write my pieces.”

Yoongi was staring at you, deep thoughts lurking behind his too black eyes. “You’re making me want to get a subscription.” He teased and you laughed, finishing the drink and placing your now empty glass on the black table top. “What about you, what is your life like?” You returned his question.

Yoongi hummed, pensive as he continued to gaze at you. However, he didn’t look at you, as if he was far away in thought even while keeping his eyes on you.

“I don’t know what to say, I think. I get up in the morning; do what stuff that needs to be done, some leftover paperwork then come to work. I stay here till closing time then go back home. That’s pretty much it.”

“You make it sound so mundane.”

“It is but…it’s what I like. I love my job, like you. It’s a good routine.”

You nodded, looking around the bar again. “How long have you worked here?”

That took him a pause to answer, thinking his answer. “I’ve been here since it was opened.” He said.

Your eyes widened. “How long has that been?”

His lips twitched, hiding the growing smile behind the rim of his glass. “A good while, maybe five to six years; I’ve watched it grow.” He admitted.

“Wow,” you said awed. “That’s always a good thing to see, watching things grow.”

“It is; I had to start work pretty early in life. I didn’t get much of a college education or anything but well, you can still make something of yourself and this establishment is the peak of my existence.” He cast a small, fond smile around.

You smiled too, only at him. It was obvious, watching him and he adored this bar. The gleam of true appreciation made your belly flop.

“I admire you, Yoongi. There are always people who think that you can’t be anything without a degree and then there are people who achieve things in their life without it. It’s horrible how they are looked down upon. Between you and me, I think it’s the people who make something of their own lives without anyone’s help who are the best.”

You stopped, noticing Yoongi shift, leaning forward to put his glass down as well. He let his arm rest on the back of the booth, essentially caging you in.

“You’re probably the most intriguing person to walk through this bar, Y/N.” He placed a delectable point upon your name. It made you want to curl up.

“Are you going to do anything about that?” You asked quietly.

Yoongi’s eyes flickered over you, taking in the sin of a dress that you had on, trailing down to your legs to rest on the heels.

“I’m going to kiss you, if that’s okay.” He murmured.

You took a quick breath. Heat was already settling in your stomach, roiling when you managed to say, “Go ahead.”

Yoongi didn’t waste much time. Leaning all the way in, he left barely a breath’s distance away, letting his hot mouth hover just over yours, enticing you with the possibilities of everything he could do with it.

You let him complete the action, barely breathing yourself as he engulfed your mouth in his. The acrid taste of the alcohol rested on both of you, intermingling on your taste buds as you slipped him your tongue. It was a bold move but you thrilled when he reacted eagerly to it. Cupping one cheek in his hand, he moved over completely, all traces of space gone between you two.

He sucked in your tongue in his mouth, delicately embracing it with his own, engaging in a daring dance. You let your hands wind around his neck, inching towards the soft mass of hair at the base of his head. Yoongi parted from you for air, hair falling into his face, shading his eyes. His cheeks burned red and you could feel him radiating heat.

You shifted, maneuvering in the small space. Hiking a leg over his waist, you towered over him momentarily. Yoongi’s eyes were still half covered with his hair and you had no intention of brushing them out. He looked so sexy; you could already feel the seep of arousal from your core.

And the way he bit his lips while staring up at you, swollen lips open, you knew you’d have trouble walking tomorrow…

Yoongi placed his palms flat on your legs, letting them slide up. The fabric of your skirt hitched with his touch while your skin seared everywhere that he exposed. Reaching up till he was barely brushing the hem of your panties, he paused, letting you sit down exactly on to where he had been hardening.

You let out a soft whimper, Yoongi’s grip making sure you grinded on him, relieving pressure for him. He remained stoic – content to watch you fragment from his ministrations.

“I don’t know what you were expecting out of wearing this dress tonight, Y/N, but I can hope I can do it justice.” He growled finally.

You shook your head, rising back on to your knees again. “I didn’t expect anything. A girl just likes to look good once in a while,” You pointed out.

“And the shoes…?”

“Makes me feel like a goddess,” You muttered, distracted with the way he was blowing cool air onto your scorched skin.

“You do feel like one.” Yoongi agreed and you close your eyes, feeling him press a smirk to your skin. Laving a tongue across your collarbone, he reached the strap of your dress.

Yoongi allowed you to sit down once again, giving him further access as he dipped into the cleavage the dress generously offered you. Soft nibbles accompanied his fingers fiddling with the strap, tugging it off and down from your skin. He removed his mouth, watching you as you slid the other one off as well.

The dress was zipped at the back and you felt his hands trail over the fabric, squeezing the back of your neck lazily, grinning when you moaned.

“You like that, do you?” He asked, nodding to himself when you gave an appreciative hum.

He squeezed again, harder, letting you feel his nails rake the soft skin there barely before the other joined in the back, tugging at the zip tab.

“Wait,” you said, suddenly remembering that you were doing this in public – at a bar, no less. “Are you sure we’re alone?”

As hot as Yoongi was and as much as you were enjoying the feel of him against you, you didn’t want to be an unwitting subject to being caught having sex in his workplace. It would mean Yoongi being fired from his job that he loved so much.

Yoongi had already stopped, looking up at you in question. Your concern made him smile, genuinely, pressing softer, tender kisses to your jaw line.

“Yes, baby,” The endearment made you shiver in his hold. He angled your neck for his teeth next, grazing at the pulse point. “We’re alone. I sent Hoseok off to home.”

“You’re sure no bouncers or anything is going to come by?” You asked.

“The guard might come, but trust me; we’re not getting in any trouble.” He assured you, pulling away from you to look at you seriously.

You looked at him curiously. “Unless, you want to be…we can do something about that.” He suggested.

You laughed, his hands gripping onto your hips to buck you against him, trying to get the mood back. He returned to the zipper, pulling it all the way down to the small of your back, where his hand stayed – warm and calming.

You let your arms rest loosely, the front of the dress pooling around your chest, held up by nothing as it fell, baring you to Yoongi’s ravenous eyes.

“Fuck, they’re perfect.” He said, on the very edge of a growl as his hands shot out to grab onto the soft flesh. The sudden press made you keen, arching your back into his hands.

Yoongi’s touch was relentless, kneading your breasts, pulling at your nipples, tracing the sensitive underside before he was taking them in his mouth. His teeth – you noticed, he liked using them – were the first to meet the tender skin. His palms groped at your wildly while he suckled.

Your head fell back, hips rolling against his. Your underwear had become uncomfortable. The fabric was skimpy at best, and the flow of your juices had absolutely destroyed them. You were almost sure Yoongi could feel your wetness soaking through by now.

Yoongi released your nipple from his mouth with a lewd ‘pop’, mouth open as he pulled you into a messy kiss, wet and teeth clashing. You allowed him to delve fully into your mouth, reaching wildly for his hand. He gave it to you, still engrossed in kissing you, not pushing away until he felt you place it along the exposed skin of your thighs. He looked down, then back up at you; understanding the silent plea reflected in your blown out eyes.

“Ah, you want me to touch you, baby?”

You nodded haplessly, whimpering when Yoongi trailed his hand up, resting it right against your soaked panties, cupping you gently.

“You’ve ruined your panties.” He murmured, pushing the dress away to look at the tiny thing. “And such pretty ones too, I almost feel bad.” He gave you a wicked grin before he was dipping his hand in them, the material stretching around his wrist.

A long, finger entered you so abruptly, a long whine escaped you with no barriers. You had to grip on to Yoongi’s shoulders for support, unable to keep from buckling when he curled the digit.

“Such a wet, dirty girl; you lose it on only one finger?” Yoongi teased your entrance with another finger, his thumb barely grazing against the pulsating bud of nerves that cried for attention.

“Yoongi, please…I’m going to explode.” You were about near to screaming for him to help you but he shook his head.

“Not just yet,” He pulled away, leaving you gasping from the emptiness before lifting you onto the table. He let you sit, moving the glasses from before onto the next table before returning to sit in front of you again, eyes fixed to your core.

You leaned back on your elbows, watching him, panting as he raised the dress up as far as it would go, bunching around your waist and then pulled you to his mouth.

The loud moan that followed when Yoongi’s lip encircled and sucked onto your clit was so obscene, it would’ve caused a nun to curl her toes. Your previous fascination as to what Yoongi’s mouth could do was well rewarded while he lapped and laved around your pussy as if he was drinking directly from a fountain.

Two fingers stroked into your walls, in tandem to the slurping cause by his tongue, lapping away the traces of your arousal as fast as it came. Your hands moved, cupping your own breasts, playing with yourself when you saw his eyes fixed on your face. You smirked at him, unable to help yourself when you let your hand trail down to his head, fingers twining with his hair.

Your nails raked along his scalp, scratching lightly. That caused Yoongi’s eyes to close; tongue pressing into your entrance as he let out the filthiest moan you’d head, muffled by your wetness. You dropped to the table, both hands clutching Yoongi’s hair, keeping his mouth against you, riding out your high. It came in waves, rising and then crashing against you, drowning you in ecstasy. You ended in pants, eyes blinking away spots.

Hands ran up your legs, rubbing away tightened muscles and sore spots.

Yoongi got to his feet, leaning over you. Hands splayed on the either side of your waist he eyed you ferociously. His hair was stragglier; no doubt the result of your tugging and stuck up. But you could see his face now, especially his eyes, which were almost fully blown out.

“You,” he said lowly, color flaming high in his cheeks and voice barely controlled, “are the hottest thing I’ve ever come across.” He placed a hand on your sensitive flesh, a finger parting the lips as he studied you, amusement glinting in his eyes.

“You’ve made a mess, baby. Gushed out your sweet juices all across my table,” He commented, swiping the finger straight into his mouth. He groaned, eyes narrowing but staying steady on your face. You watched, entranced, each shift in his face before he was popping the finger out.

“You taste so good, Y/N. I’m going to have your taste on my tongue all night.” He told you.

You didn’t know if it was the high of the orgasm or just the basic Yoongi effect but you reached for him, sliding forward till he was standing between your parted legs.

Yoongi let you fumble with his pants, pulling his belt free from the loops, letting it fall free as you unzipped him. While sitting on him you had fairly anticipated his size but by god you were so curious, you had to see him naked.

And you told him as such…

“Take my clothes off?” He asked, snickering at you.

“Yes, come on, I want to see you naked.” You ordered firmly, already shoving his pants down to his ankles.

Yoongi obliged.

Taking a single step back, he gave you a final heated look before he was hooking his fingers under the hem line of his shirt, lifting it. He was teasing you, you knew, by the slowness and the distinct air of stripping in the air. He let the fabric caress each inch of his torso. His stomach, tightening from the flex, the chest, much broader than you had guessed.

His shoulders and arms weren’t muscled, showing the lack of strenuous exercise but while there were no muscles, there wasn’t flab either. Yoongi was a fit fucking god and you drooled.

Of course, there were no tattoos or piercings, anywhere…you even looked at his back as he turned to discard away his shirt and the rest of his clothes – underwear included.

Yoongi stood before you, gloriously naked and godly. He turned to look at you with full knowledge of your ogling and he reveled in it. Lips pulled into a smirk, eyes on the narrow side to make his pretty face look like it could cut steel.

Under the pretty packaging, Min Yoongi was a lethal man.

And you had never wanted a man so damn much in your whole life…

You grasped onto his hair, pulling him down into a kiss that made him stumble from its force. His hands wrapped around your waist, tugging you tighter against him.

A chill from the night air had seeped into the empty bar, making the heat radiating off your bodies and from your exertions all the more tantalizing. He panted against you, hot puffs of air landing on your own lips when he pressed his forehead against yours.

“Let me suck you off.” You said.

Yoongi grinned, nodding his acceptance before gently helping you off the table to stand in front of you. He wrapped a hand in your hair, a murmured ‘my turn’ making you tremble in his hold as you kissed down his body. You suckled near his navel, letting your mark bloom lavender against his pale skin.

He held your hand to help you kneel, the hardwood flooring under your knees sharpening your focus on the magnificent manhood in front of you.

Both of Yoongi’s hands were now in your hair, wrapping and pulling it into a makeshift ponytail. “Go on then, baby,” he encouraged.

You sighed, gripping onto his hips to nuzzle along his length. He smelled like citrus, maybe from the drinks he’d handled and garnished or his body wash but it was mouth watering. You wrapped your lips around his tip, sucking gently, getting used to the feel of his thick weight on your tongue.

Gradually, you moved further, widening your mouth and taking in more of his velvet hardness. You rubbed his skin, one hand stroking along the rest of his length. You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath before going all the way, holding yourself as you felt him breach your gag reflex.

Above you Yoongi cursed, a string of incoherent words following when you repeated the motion, finding joy when Yoongi’s grip on your hair tightened, holding you where you had stopped.

“You’re fucking perfect, you know that? I might not let you go.” He warned, drawing your attention to look up at him.

Yoongi in this angle was heavenly. His hair was back to falling in his eyes but he was consciously blinking or shaking the strands away now, trying to look at you sucking him off. Color had drained from his face, probably aiding his erection but his lips were raw from being bitten and chewed upon. His chest heaved stomach tense and you had never felt more powerful kneeling in front of a man.

You could very possibly end him at this very moment and he would more than likely be happy about it.

So you stayed there, kneeling in front of him, watching him crumble with the suction you created around his hot length. You sent him a wink when you caught his eye and just as you had anticipated – he broke.

“Up, up, get on the table,” Yoongi had finally reached the point of growling. The hair he held, he used as reins to tug you up roughly and yet you relished in it, feeling him turn you around and push you to bend over the black table.

“You little minx, you enjoyed watching me nearly blow my brains down your throat.” He accused in a grunt and you could only laugh.

Your giggles continued in his search for a condom, rifling through his pockets till he found one; the sound of the packet ripping making your anticipation rise.

Interrupted with moans when he grabbed and squeezed with abandon; all the parts of you that he could reach – your tits, your hips, and the curve of your ass. He took full advantage, shoving the dress down till it was only circling your waistline.

“We’re keeping the shoes on.” He grunted in your ear.

He leaned back down, hand travelling down the outside of your thigh, pressing kisses down your spine, one at the edge of your rear, the inside of your thighs and one at the curve of your ankle. You groaned when you felt him part your folds again, his tongue running over the cooling flesh, igniting flames again.

He gripped onto your leg, admiring the trails of ribbons that held it up before pulling it up along with him as he stood.

He kept a tight hold on you, watching you teetering on the single shoe. He pushed your knee to brace on the table, still keeping his hands on you, balancing you before pressing up right against you.

His body stabilized yours, your hands using the table to anchor yourself against it. It was hard to stand on the single heel but Yoongi was soon pulling you back on to him, holding up most of your weight.

“So fucking hot,” He mumbled against the back of your neck just as you felt him push the head of his cock into your entrance.

The stretch of his cock burned so good, you didn’t even try to hide or curb the moan that fell from your lips. Back arching, your fingers clawed into the wood of the table and it was only just the first thrust.

Yoongi reared back, thrusting shallow, the angle making him rub tightly against your walls. His hands gripped on to the cheeks of your butt, holding you open so he could slide inside of you easily.

“It feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” He asked and even with your eyes closed, you could tell the edge he was tight lining on.

He sounded strained, almost at the brink of control.

“Yes, but you can go rougher.” You prodded, eager to feel him more.

“I can, indeed.”

In a split second, Yoongi was no longer considerate. An arm wrapped around your torso, palm at the base of your throat and fingers around your neck. His other hand snaked to the front, resting at your mound.

He still held up your weight but his pace went from shallow to deep, fast – brutal. Skin slapped against skin, his fingers strummed your clit mercilessly, playing a tune to match his rough rhythm.

You cried out, his name falling from you incessantly; as if a prayer, a call for retribution…you couldn’t tell. Very gently, you felt pressure increase near your windpipe.

You might have frozen, might have asked him what he was doing, but the uncontrollable coil in your core, his length battering into your cove and the harsh pressure on your nerves made you delirious with pleasure.

The lack of air made your eyes haze over and then, unbidden, floating in some sense of hypnotic plane. Only pleasure and the giver of it existed as you turned literal putty into his hands.

Then came, unbidden, Yoongi’s voice, a command: “Come for me, Y/N.”

You obeyed.

You couldn’t even scream. You couldn’t make any sound. You only came for Yoongi.

Body quivering and writhing in his hold, you arced against him, his head burying into your neck as he grunted, his own orgasm following as you clamped down on him. Impossibly tight and unable to stop himself further, Yoongi emptied himself into the rubber, sighing against your skin as if you were his only salvation.

You lay spread out on Yoongi’s table for how long, you had no idea. When you came down, Yoongi’s weight was still on you, warm and bracing. He was massaging your back, blowing warm air near your ear. You hummed, letting him know of your consciousness.

Yoongi craned his head, watching you blink twice to gain some semblance of composure. You could feel droplets collecting at the corners of your eyes and Yoongi quickly swiped them away with his thumb.

“Y/N, baby, how do you feel?” He asked voice calm and close to you.

You asked yourself the same question and smiled to yourself. “Fantastic, just fantastic…did I pass out?” You hedged.

Yoongi chuckled. “No, floated off a little…maybe a little like subspace but you were very much here. You were beautiful and brilliant.” He kissed your cheek.

You let him nuzzle into your skin, indulging in the aftercare.

Yoongi soon migrated to the seats, pulling you upright so he could pull the dress down your legs and up your chest properly. He leaned you against him, zipping you up before he got dressed himself.

You sat on the leather, watching him buckle his belt when the sound of approaching footsteps and keys made you both freeze.

The guard was here and you had just obviously had sex with Yoongi. There was no denying it. The scent of sex was palpable, the table was questionably messed up and both of you looked…well, fucked.

It took Yoongi only a second to recover and you prayed that his assurance for his job security was legitimate before the man walked in. Dressed in a grey uniform, he stopped, stuttering in his steps when he caught sight of Yoongi at one of the tables.

Nobody spoke for a moment.

Then –

“Boss,” the man said, surprised. “What are you still doing here?” He asked.

You flinched at the question before realizing something. Huh…boss…?

Yoongi carded a hand calmly through his hair, looking unconcerned. “I was just checking the stocks, Jungkook. It took me a long while so my…um, girlfriend came over to pick me up. I’ll be leaving now. Make sure to lock up behind us.”

“Girlfriend,” Jungkook mused, taking a look around before shrugging, apparently deciding it was none of his business. “I always do sir; have a nice night sir, ma’am.” He bowed politely and Yoongi grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the seat and quickly ushering you out of the back staff exit.

Yoongi and you emerged out into the parking lot, walking quietly till you had reached your car.

“You’re…the boss? You own this bar?” You broke the silence first, turning to Yoongi.

He nodded, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry for not telling you beforehand. I was going to tell you though, but Jungkook interrupted.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before? You were making all those cryptic remarks.” You said, wrapping your arms around you. Why did you have to forget brining a jacket?

Yoongi moved closer to you, his closeness providing you some extra warmth. “I, well, you see, people behave differently to what you appear to be. I was short a tender today. It’s a lady, and her sister gave birth. She needed the day off and I worked her shift. You just…you caught my eye and you said all those things you don’t expect people to say. I just wanted to see if you would feel the same attraction to a bartender that most people feel for the Bar owner.” He rolled his eyes. “Sorry, it sounds stupid now that I say it out loud.”

“No, not really, its fine, I understand. What about inside, about the girlfriend, why would you say that?”

Yoongi snorted. “Well, I’m hardly going to say you’re a customer, am I? He’s a good cop, Y/N; he knew we just had sex in there. I’ll bet you anything he spends the night out or inside the staff room tonight.”

“Right, I hope he won’t be expecting to see me around on the regular then.” You turned to unlock your car.

“I was hoping you’d become one.” Yoongi said.

You smiled slyly. “For you or your bar…?”

Yoongi shrugged. “It’d be a double offer. Be mine and the bar’s going to be a regular anyway. Be a regular here and you’re bound to run into me.” He returned my smile.

You pretended to think about it. “Well, then, I’d say that first option sounds better.” You dropped a quick kiss to his lips. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow, then.”

You slid into the driver’s seat, with Yoongi leaning in through the window.

“It’s a date.” He winked.

This work is a gift for the precious @yoonmochiiii !! Happy Holidays, lovely.

It was an amazing experience, being your (not so secret) Santa and getting to know you! I hope you enjoyed yourself and that you like your present! I hope we can be friends in the future as well and stay in touch!

Have a beautiful Christmas, and have a glorious, safe and bountiful New Year sweets!

#secretsanta2019 #btswriterscollective #smutcentralnet #yoonmochiiii #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #yoongi scenario #bts scenarios #yoongi #min yoongi #bts suga #bts #suga

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