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ty-the-trainwreck · 1 year

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thinking about cowgirl!nancy and bartender!robin

(this was the product of me realizing that natalia and maya have photos of them wearing cowboy hats and im just)

( plus a little photo of what i think nancy’s pants would look like in this but if they were white)

robin works at a saloon, and one day nancy comes into town and it's not everyday that a woman comes riding in on a horse with her head held high and felt hat held even higher. robin tunes into the gossip circling around the saloon, even though the men insist that it's not gossip. no, that would be too dainty. too feminine. too queer.

the men say things like, "someone's got to show her what a woman's place is in the world." robin barely knows who this mysterious cowgirl is, but she's tremendously livid at each word that comes out of the crusty lips of those bacteria ridden men. she contemplates spitting in all of their beers, but decides to swap out her saliva for six tablespoons of black pepper. robin relishes in the way every man that had said a sour word wrinkle their nose and cough into their elbow aggressively.

eventually, robin gets to meet the mysterious woman.

she waltz into the saloon with her hands clutching her studded rhinestone belt, her black button up had the two top buttons undone and her white pants were tucked into her light brown cowboy boots.

robin was mesmerized.

the woman walked up towards robin, and she finally got to see her face. the woman had sharp blue eyes and an even sharper jawline. robin felt her knees liquify and she barely kept herself standing.

"you serve anything but rum here?"

oh god.

the woman had a southern accent.

"pardon?"

"i don't see one glas that isn't filled with rum."

"oh, yeah. we do, but nobody that visits this place has actual taste buds." robin tried her best to play it cool and not freak out about how attractive this woman was. "wanna take a seat?" she gestured to one of the barstools and took out a table wipe to start wiping down the bar. "gladly." the cowgirl said, her sentences seemed to be short and clipped, quiet compared to the hooting and hollering around the saloon.

"so, want anything to drink? or do you not have taste buds too?" she teased, stuffing the table wipe into her back pocket. the mysterious woman huffed out a laugh, shaking her head. "whiskey, please. i need some after my ride here."

"ah, so you have only lost a few of your taste buds then."

"bless your heart."

robin rolled her eyes with a smirk, turning around to grab a bottle of whiskey and pour it into a tall glass. she slid it towards the lady and watched as she picked the glass up and take a big swig. robin felt her heart beat a little faster as she witnessed the woman's throat bob and swallow all the whiskey. robin quickly redirected her gaze and stared down at the woman's hands instead, making robin even more pathetic that she already was.

she cleared her throat, blinking rapidly and stumbled on her words before she finally found something to say. "what brings you into town? we don't see cowgirls very often." the lady looked up with a piercing gaze. "you got a problem?" robin shook her head immediately. robin was too gay too have a problem with this fucking goddess.

"no! of course not, it's just nice to see someone that doesn't smell like they dived head first into a riverbank made of mud." the lady laughed, taking a smaller and less urgent sip of her whiskey. she savored the sip, swishing it in her mouth for a moment before swallowing and leaning forward. “care to tell me your name, pretty lady?” robin felt shivers shoot up her spine when she heard that southern drawl.

“robin buckley. what’s yours?”

“nancy. nancy wheeler.”

nancy.

“nancy.”

the name felt so good on her tongue.

“when do you get off work? i want to show you my horse.” the lady- nancy, questioned, her fingers traced the rim of the glass on the counter.

robin looked down at the movement, biting the inside of her cheek before replying. “well, in an hour. but i can leave early.”

jesus christ—

was that flirty?

oh my god she was flirting with this woman.

“you better, buckley.” nancy looked up at robin through her eyelids. the curly haired girl in-front of her fixed her hat, bumping it up a little so she could get a clearer look at robin.

robin gulped, walking backwards before bumping into the cabinets. she let out a string of curses that would make a sailor blush. she was embarrassing herself in front of a hot cowgirl!

she scrambled away and ignored the amused look on nancy’s face as she unbuttoned her black vest and straightened her blouse, making sure it wasn’t wrinkled before fixing her hair in the reflection of the window.

robin came back and nancy was behind the counter, pouring out her whiskey and rinsing it. “y’know you’re not allowed back here, right?” she snickered. nancy looked over at her, taking in the slight adjustments to robin’s outfit. “had to clean my glass.” she held up the glass and tapped it. robin reached for it and placed it one of the top cabinets. and she just now realized that nancy was about a few inches shorter than her.

nancy grabbed robin’s arm, tugging the girl into the direction of the doors to the saloon. they pushed open the wooden doors and robin winced at how bright the sun was. “god, the sun is usually down by the time i get off work.”

“couldn’t say the same for me. i need the sun to work so i can too.” nancy led robin to where a beige mustang with a black mane lapped at some water from a wooden trough.

nancy slid her hand off of robin’s arm and robin instantly missed the touch.

“this is my mare, barb.” robin nodded, watching as the horse lifted her head and bumped her nose into nancy’s chest. nancy hummed, running a hand down the horse’s snout before she turned back to robin. “wanna pet her? promise she don’t bite.”

“i want to..it’s just- i had an accident with a horse a few years ago. so i’m not the most trustworthy of horses.” robin watches the mare brush up against nancy, and she thinks back to her horse.

the horse had white and orange spots on it, robin had often referred to them as ‘freckles.’ since they looked like the ones on robin’s face. robin has rode that horse everywhere, wherever robin went, that horse was there with her. until one day, the horse had gotten spooked and bucked. flinging robin off and sending her straight into the ground.

the horse was taken away, and robin had never seen it again. her best friend, gone.

“that’s alright, she’s patient. she won’t push until you reach out first.” nancy reassured in a comforting voice. robin looked at nancy, the woman was so beautiful, and now robin had to deal with the fact that she was kind?

robin was going to fall in love.

“have you ever fallen off her?”

“a few times, yeah.”

“was it scary?”

“terrifying.”

robin looked at the horse in front of her, it blinked at robin with a strange sort of gentleness. she took a hesitant step forward, flinching a little as the mare let out a sigh. “easy…” nancy whispered, scratching behind the horse’s ear. “it’s alright, she’s giving you permission.” robin nodded, letting out a sigh as well before she left her hand up and her fingers were trembling.

it had been years since she had ever touched a horse. sure, robin was surrounded by horses everyday, but watching a horse shake the ground and witness it’s hooves banging against the ground like the dirt it galloped on was a drum and riding said horse was two different things.

yet, the way nancy soothed robin with her soft southern drawl had given her courage.

robin gently pressed her hand onto the mare’s muzzle. the horse closed it’s eyes, leaning into the touch and robin smiled a little. she was still hesitant as she slid her hand up the mare’s snout.

“you’re doing great.” nancy praised, and robin was thinking some extremely inappropriate thoughts as soon as the words left the woman’s mouth.

“can i ride her?” robin asked, her voice barely there. nancy looked a little surprise. “you sure?”

robin nodded, brushing the little white star on the mare’s forehead. nancy sighed a little. “how about this, i’ll let you hold on to me and i’ll take you somewhere we can watch the sunset.”

“trying to take me out on a date, are you wheeler?” robin teased, and nancy let out a laugh.

“i could be, only way to find out is jumping into the saddle.” nancy hoisted herself up and into the leather saddle, patting the spot behind her. robin placed her foot onto the stirrup and pushed up, taking a deep breath before she pushed up and swung her leg over and sat down on the saddle. “i forgot how hard it was to get onto a horse.” she huffed. “not hard when you adapt to always being in danger.”

“very true.”

nancy picked up the leather reigns, gripping them in her palms before she looked back at robin. “hold on.” robin nodded, taking her hands and placing them on nancy’s waist. she decided to pretend that she was not extremely attracted to this woman as she leaned forward a little and got to smell nancy’s hair.

they began to move, albeit slowly. but they were moving, robin was nervous but she trusted nancy to not kill her (trusting a stranger? that would usually be a death wish in the wild west) so she squeezed nancy’s waist a little.

nancy understood immediately, squeezing her calves and the mare picked up the pace. robin let out a tiny gasp as the horse transitioned into a fast trot. “you okay?” nancy asked, giving robin a concerned look before she quickly returned her gaze to the road ahead. “yeah, just a little nervous.” nancy nodded, and she turned them onto a dirt path.

after a few minutes, robin was more comfortable, and she squeezed nancy’s waist once more to signal that she was ready to pick up the speed. “get ready, when she gets going she gets going.” nancy chuckled, letting out another chuckle as robin wrapped her arms around her waist. “i swear wheeler, i will take the reigns myself if i have to.”

“yeah yeah, i hear you.”

the mare sped up and now they were on the edge of a canter and a gallop. robin let out a tiny scream as she looks down and saw how the ground was a blur under the horse’s hooves. “holy shit holy shit!” robin hollered and nancy let out a boisterous laugh in response. the two laughed as they slowly came to a stop and the scene before them was one of the most beautiful robin had seen in her life.

nancy had brought them to a plateu, the winding rocks were shaded an apricot orange as the sun was slowly making it’s descent down the sky. a creek was below them as well, the water a earthy green color as it flowed on by and into the distance.

robin slowly slid off the horse and stood off to the side, staring at the view and she was completely lost in the moment before nancy walked over and bumped their shoulders together.

“it’s nice, isn’t it?” nancy asked. even her felt hat had orange light rimming it’s edges. robin smiled and nodded. “yeah, it really is.” she wasn’t only talking about the view.

“i agree.”

they stood there in silence before nancy reached up, and adjusted her hat. and robin focused on the interesting pattern on where the rim was lifted a little. it was green and black, and the green looked like a handful of snakes had been let loose them frozen and flattened into the hat. robin wanted to touch it.

yes, robin knew that this could absolutely destroy this little thing her and nancy had going on, but she reached out and lifted the hat off the brunette’s head. nancy raised her eyebrows a little but let robin do so, and she smiled a little as robin placed the hat on her head and adjusted it a little.

“hey.”

silence.

“do i look good?”

“more than good, sweetheart.”

robin melted at the way nancy said her words in a slow voice, her words mixed together in the most perfect way and it was possibly the most alluring southern accent she had ever heard.

“you are aware of what it means when you take a cowboy’s hat, right?”

robin looked a little confused.

“no, i am not aware.”

the corners of nancy’s mouth perked up and she turned to robin completely.

“wear the hat ride the cowboy, buckley.”

—

(i am literally from the south but i know no southern sayings and stuff but i was feeling gay at 4 in the morning and wrote this)

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junkdyke · 1 year

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Last night at my bar flash event, a guy comes up to my table and tells me that he just found out his boyfriend was cheating on him on Grindr. So obviously, to heal, I proceeded to tattoo the word "stud" under his asscheek

"Do you need me to bend over? I'm good at that" and he was, indeed, good at bending over the barstool for me

#being a gay tattoo artist is so fun actually #i hope i get one of the videos his friends took #i had to sit on the floor to tattoo him lmao #mine #tattoo stuff #gay #personal

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awritingcaitlin · 4 months

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Rinnie first seeing Taryn versus Taryn really looking at Rinnie for the first time:

Right as Rinnie was paying her tab, someone crashed into her, and a cold wetness seeped into her lap. A glass hit the floor, but it bounced, enchanted not to break. “Goddess Aenehra, I am so sorry!” the elf woman said in Edan. Rinnie turned. The woman had short brown hair and a heart-shaped face. Her white blouse was crisp, but she’d rolled up the sleeves. She looked casually disheveled in her drunkenness. Rinnie reasoned this woman must be in the first century of life. She stood and brushed the ice cubes out of her lap and onto the floor. The other woman steadied herself on the barstool and looked at Rinnie with an apologetic expression on her face. “Are you alright?” Rinnie asked, slipping easily into her native language. She wasn’t angry at her—she’d spent many years getting sloshed and making a fool of herself in bars not unlike this one, then waking up the next morning with, unfortunately at times, every memory. She and her cousin had been good at that. If one could be considered “good” at getting wasted. The woman nodded. “People keep feeding me drinks.”

And then...

“Please,” Doctor Edgewing said. “Call me Rinnie.” Taryn quirked an eyebrow ever-so-slightly. For an arrogant person, she dropped formalities quickly. “My name’s Taryn.” Rinnie smiled and leaned against the table behind her. Taryn did not relax. She eyed her charge carefully. Rinnie was the picturesque Island’s elf. Taryn noted the thin bands etched around her left bicep—the tattoos mages got when they’d mastered a given school. Below her elbow was a gun not quite in an Island’s fashion, but certainly with Island’s influence. The tendril of fire was more Island’s-style, however. Rinnie had multiple hoops piercing each ear, from lobes to pointed tips. And there was an aquamarine stud in her left nostril. Her unruly red hair seemed to have a mind of its own. Her posture was a casually controlled relaxed slouch. And her light blue blouse was unbuttoned one more button than considered proper. She appeared to be sizing Taryn like Taryn was doing her.

#my writing #the brewing war #rinnie #taryn

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oatflatwhite · 2 years

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stuck in indianapolis (feeling not so alone)

steve/eddie, post-canon (eddie lives) | 14k

read on ao3

The littlest Sinclair leaves Hawkins for college out of state on a picture-perfect fall’s day, the kind they put in movies and shit—as regional manager for Roane County Family Video the past three years running, Steve would know. Crisp, golden-red leaves that crunch underfoot beneath a blue and cut-glass sky.

The clouds roll in overnight. The next morning, between pockets of drizzle and golden-red leaves now turned to brown mush in the gutter, Steve hitches a trailer to the back of the beemer and packs up twenty-six years of life into twelve cardboard boxes and his old Tigers’ duffel bag. The nail bat he puts in the trunk. At the gas station just outside of town Steve fills the tank until the pump clicks off and floors it the eighty miles to Indy, September rain blurring the rear-view. He doesn’t look back.

The bar, when he finds it, because it’s still daylight out and it’s been past eight and teeming with weekend crowds every other time he’s come here, looks quiet and unassuming in the watery afternoon light. Steve’s used to the streetlamps outside flickering dingily, the throb of a nightclub beat beneath the cracked concrete pavement (thanks, shitty urban planning). But the door opens when he tries it, and there’s a couple old guys sitting at a booth opposite the bar nursing flat, half-finished schooners and flatter conversation. Neither of them look up when Steve walks inside. He takes a seat on one of the red leather barstools, hooking his foot over the metal rung. It spins, with a nails-on-chalkboard squeal.

“Just a sec, man,” the bartender tosses over his shoulder, crouched down and elbow-deep in the glasswasher with his back to the rest of the bar. His hair’s caught up in an untidy bun, and there’s a new tattoo on the nape of his neck Steve can’t quite make out thanks to a flipped-up shirt tag that he’s overcome with the urge to tuck back in.

“I can wait,” Steve says, instead of climbing over the bar to do just that, and he says it just to see the way Eddie’s shoulders tense beneath the black tee he’s wearing. Tense, then release, as he unearths himself from the plumbing and swivels on the heels of scuffed steel-toed boots that Steve’s pretty sure have been to the Upside Down and back. His nose is pierced, Steve notes, a little distantly, twice: a tiny stud on the side he had last time Steve was here and a brand new ring through the cartilage right in the middle. It’s tugged a bit too far to the left, uneven, and if Steve’s ever wanted anything in his life it’s to lean forward and twist it right again.

“Harrington?” Eddie asks, disbelievingly, like he’d’ve sooner expected Jason Carver to stitch the two halves of his body back together and stroll through those doors demanding a hug from his best pal Eddie than Steve, sitting at his bar at three p.m. on a Monday afternoon.

“Munson,” Steve replies, and raps his knuckles on the sticky bartop to give his hands something to do other than reach out to Eddie. “Miss me?”

keep reading on ao3

#GOD IT'S DONE GOODNIGHT #off to rewatch the old guard now hehe #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #ronance #ronance fic #ronance fanfiction #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #oatflatwrites

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missgeniality · 3 years

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Unicorn Ride (m)

“What do men know? Because they have seen no unicorns for a while does not mean we have all vanished.” – Peter S. Beagle

➺ Banner: The amazingly talented @kithtaehyung ❤️

➺ Pairing: Jimin x Female Reader

➺ Trope: Strangers to ??, PWP, Non-Idol!AU

➺ Genre: Smut

➺ Rating: +18

➺ Word Count: 8.8k

➺ Summary: Hunting men down at a club is inviting disappointment with open arms. But tonight, your body has been twisted, turned and bent on every possible surface, and you might be willing to reconsider.

➺ Warnings: alcohol, dom!jimin, bratty!Y/N, a very desperate Y/N, making out, biting, light exhibitionism, elevator oral (female), fingering, Y/N tastes herself, some dirty talk, Y/N could have flashed someone at one point, degradation, spanking, Y/N grinds on a knee, Jimin has his tattoo, blowjob, one pussy slap somewhere, throat fucking, spitting, anal fingering, begging, edging, protected sex, rough sex

➺ Author’s Note: It’s here! The reason for my nightmare, THIS PARK JIMIN! This is purely self-indulgent, it has no plot, I wrote the dialogues half asleep, it’s 8000 words of mess in bold and highlight. Thank you to my betas: @taegularities, who not only betaed this but listened to me complain about my writing for weeks, @kithtaehyung, who is always ready to beta and make banners for me whenever I need, even though her plate is more than full with her own work, and @bangtanhome, who jumped by to help me with many details and hyped me up like nobody’s business - I love y’all! Fic starts under the cut, because we’re filthy from the get-go.

This fic is dedicated to @mimikookie for BTS Writers Club’s fic exchange - Bambi, love, cutie, sweetie pie - I hope you enjoy this!! 💛

As always, please let me know what you thought of the fic, my messages and ask box are always open for comments!

ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

When you stepped into the hotel bar tonight, your aim was to take a mediocre dressed man back home, to use his mediocre working dick to get to a mediocre impact orgasm.

With the sex gods looking out for your deprived soul, you got yourself a classy, impeccably dressed man, with the features of an angel and a tongue of the devil digging deep into your cunt in this elevator, when your rooms could be fifteen steps away; if you ever thought to get out, that is. You couldn’t even wait to get to the safety of your room, the panels of this ornate elevator ask you, mock you, taunt you; but your brain cells refuse to find an answer, shutting off to fully experience the wreckage his mouth is leaving behind.

With your heels in hand, you haul your ass across the hotel lobby, naked feet thwacking against the marble floor. Not one man in the club downtown had the IQ of two peas, studded with the inability to hold a tolerable conversation; the star of this glimmering night being the man who leered “I’d like to push your buttons” while staring down your chest. You need dick, badly, if you may add; but it’s a constant fight between your pussy and your standards. And now here you are, filled with dignity instead of cock.

Your feet lead you to the long row of elevators, and you press the button to summon one to finally haul your ass to bed. But a twinge in you tells you to check the hotel bar; maybe you'll get lucky and find a man to slip your room number to, movie style. Well, let's be real, it's more likely for you to find a fifty-year-old CEO with no qualms on cheating on his wife and fructose fathering your existence, but your blue-balled self will take it. So you turn around, and determinedly march towards the bar, intent on not letting your dignity win the war.

Empty. Well, except for one couple in the corner of the bar seating, who look exceptionally wasted and hitting a base that's far gone from first. Oh well, at least someone is getting it on, you sigh before seating yourself on the barstool. You're here, might as well exploit the bar.

"What's a unicorn margarita?" you ask the bartender. Fuck, even this bartender doesn't look interested. What's the point of a bartender if he's not down to fuck?!

"Tequila, cointreau, lemon and some blueberry syrup," he rattles off from memory, showing no hint of any emotion, making it difficult for you to gauge the side of the spectrum this drink lies in.

You're about to change your order - fuck, if you lead your day further down the dumps - but your response never leaves the confines of your throat as a new member joins your little bar party.

Tinted glasses are what you first see. Who pulls off such glasses anyway? Indoors too? Only this stranger. His suit looks like it was stitched right over his body, not a single extra patch of fabric to mar the stunner outfit with unwanted creases. The only wanted crease you can tell is at his buttoned blazer, cinching to spotlight his svelte waist visible through all the layers.

He struts in, every step he takes echoing a clack across this dreary bar, and every sound straightens your spine further and further in sheer anticipation to see him up close. Shoulders swinging, he walks in like he knows he owns the world, and that you don't know about; he definitely owns a couple of things in you.

His hair, a whole crime. Streaks of pink and purple streaming through his lush platinum tufts, refusing to fall out of place even as he drags his fingers through them and brushes them behind, and you're almost ready to drool and bark at him like a ravenous dog; but he does the sin of meeting your eyes - a questioning glance, slated eyes and raised eyebrows.

God, that's a seat for your face.

"Hello? Ma'am? You want the unicorn margarita?"

"Uhm, yea-yeah, sure." And you move your eyes back to the cotton candy across the bar.

Apart from your neurons not firing off and the general state of mind where you would say yes to close to anything for this man, you're curious to see what this bar could do to make or break the classic drink. One sip in, you can tell it's the latter; the blueberry syrup added for color has a sickening sweetness you can’t digest.

Across the bar, you see him holding the same multicolored drink in hand, his pretty face scrunched up in distaste as he mirrors your feelings. Your eyes meet, and he smiles when he sees your glass.

“A mistake if I ever made one,” he calls out to you, and you grin in reply. Fuck it, even if you can't get laid, you definitely can't make it through this drink alone. Stepping off of your bar stool, you make your way to him.

“Are you looking for some company? Preferably people drowning in similar miseries?”

“Aren’t you dramatic,” he welcomes you with that godsend voice of his, as you take your throne beside this gorgeous specimen. As he sips that cursed drink, his beautiful face crinkles once again in anguish. “You know what? I take that back. Hundred percent valid, your thoughts.” You laugh out loud as you gulp your drink down in one go, not wanting to elongate your time spent with the pitiful excuse of a cocktail.

“Jimin," he begins to offer his introduction, "I buy drinks to match my hair. What’s your excuse?”

"Y/N. I have a pitiful amount of faith in barmen even though they always disappoint me."

"Ooh, are we still talking drinks here?"

Success. You’ve brought sex to the table, and with some luck and the right play, you could be having sex on a table. You cock your head to the side in question, and your flirtatiously raised eyebrow cues him into your understanding.

"Of course," you flutter your eyelashes in a show of innocence, "what else could it possibly be?"

He shakes his head, your eyes dripping with a saccharine glow for someone with a dirty mouth. With another sip of the dastardly drink, he asks, “So what brings you to town?”

“Just here and there,” you shrug, not wanting to talk shop, “vacationing and stuff.” You raise your hand to beckon the bartender, who begrudgingly paces towards your side of the counter. “A bourbon on the rocks, please,” you throw him a glance, “would you like a repeat of that?” you mock.

“Oh no.” Jimin downs the glass, trying to keep his reaction to a minimum lest he offended the bartender, “the same will do for me as well.”

“Ohh, a bourbon guy, a man after my own heart,” you praise his choice of poison, clinking your new and drinkable glass of liquor with his own. He gives you a raised eyebrow in response before swallowing his shot down in one gulp, and fuck. When was the last time you found the bob of an Adam’s Apple hot? When did a sideways glance have your panties in a bunch? You push the thought away, not wanting to reminisce about your recent lack of adventure, and tip your glass down in one go. The crisp, cold liquid glides down your throat, the sting of bourbon cleansing your palate, ridding your tastebuds of the horrendous sugariness.

“So, vacationing, you said.” Arched eyebrows curtain his curious eyes, glancing down to soak up your dress of the night, sequined lace that hugs your thighs far too high up - your fishnet stockings not covering much of what’s exposed - posing a guileless question, “Having fun then?”

You cross your legs, for no good reason other than to ensure the shift in your hemline caused by the movement catches his fancy, and to your glee, it does. You bask in his anchored attention before adjusting your dress again, leaving the skin he could possibly see to his astir imagination.

“I wish. Haven’t had my fill,” you match his gaze when they meet, keeping them steady save for his occasional flit across to admire your curves. You beckon for the bartender to ask for a refill before presenting your own question. “What about you? What brings you here?”

“Let’s just pretend I’m here on a super-secret James Bond-esque mission because the reality is fucking depressing.”

A soft, sonorous giggle, very unlike his suave, sleek disposition bursts out of his delicate lips, catching your own laugh in surprise - he laughs without heed, without worrying about how loud or how soft he is - his refreshing aura rumbles forth a second roll of laughter within you, just to keep up with his endless sniggers.

“Why not,” you wipe a small tear droplet from the corner of your eye, “and I can be the sexy villain, one who seduces you in the first part, just to-” you hold your forefinger and middle finger out, curling the rest inward and point your makeshift gun at him, “-to hold a gun to your head in the immediate next scene.”

He’s still smiling at you, soft features clearly enjoying your silly company, as he slyly wraps his hand around your jutted fingers, tugging your gun closer. “I mean, we have to try and stick to the script,” he says, voice lowering in decibel with each word uttered, the cherubic smile slowly fading into something sinister, “you have to give me some action before we - you know - literally jump the gun.”

“Of course, a Bond movie needs some action.”

“I hope we’re talking about the same action here.”

He gives you a cheeky wink after the statement, one that you return with an earnest blush - blush? Weren’t you ready to gobble dick in public mere moments ago? Weren’t you all but willing to be fucked into the counter till every floor is made aware of your sordid quest? The heat warming up your cheeks goes completely against your motive; you need to drink the decorum out of you.

You try to release your hand from his - surprisingly strong and surprisingly soft - grip, turning to the bartender to ask for a refill, when the grip on your hand pulls you closer to its direction, and you’re a hair’s breadth away from touching noses. “Are you sure you wanna do that?”

“Get another drink?” you attempt to clarify, trying to ignore the thudding of your heart, “Worried I can’t handle myself?”

“I’m worried you can’t handle me.”

Fuck. Why does he have to say the perfect things to make you flood your pussy, and with such nonchalance like it’s a casual Tuesday for him? You’ve had men talk like you were their accountant, their underling, or both - a blase lack of effort or lack of respect evident in their voices. But Jimin is the best of both worlds (copyright queen Miley), there’s a hardened edge to his tone, without simply assuming your complicity - respect hidden within the raggedness. How complex is this man, and how far will you bend for him?

Only time will tell.

Hopefully, time will tell.

“I’m a big girl, I can handle it. Besides, at the pace we’re going, it seems like it’ll be long before any action takes place.”

Your hands drag free of his hold to ask for another hit, but a sound makes you stop. His glass, now rid of the dark brown liquid, meets the bar counter with a loud clink, louder than the earlier ones. Each remaining ice cube rings against each other, and the bells in your head awaken in anticipation of some movement to this slowly progressing scene. Sliding off the barstool in some smooth motion, he buttons his suit up before stretching his hand out to you. You meet his eyes, now veiled with drapes of lust and affection instead of his glasses, and you’re happy to uncurtain those and find what truly hides behind.

“Which floor are you on?” he poses the question, a precursor to the long-awaited ask of the night.

“Depends. Which one are you on?”

"Oh-oh Jimin!"

Your head is thrown back, hitting the wall of the elevator in a sonorant thud, but the pain doesn't even register. It feels like the elevator cords could snap and throw the both of you into the abyss and still, Jimin wouldn't stop licking the syrups you're churning out, and you couldn't have any feeling come in between you and the long wished for pleasure that runs through your body.

“Keep them spread, don’t you try to close them on me.”

With not a care in the world, Jimin had dropped to his knees (after pushing you to the corner, quite literally), and immediately settled between your legs. His suit looks expensive - Armani? Gucci? All you can say he’s eating you out like Dolce ate Gabbana. Your stockings, followed by the strip of cloth protecting your modesty were torn in heat of the moment, the scrapped bunch thrown to one corner of this elevator - the fabric skillfully being replaced by the strip of his tongue. The view of his multicolored hair between your legs, the bright, vivid ribbons adorning his soft blonde locks as they find residence between your legs stirs fractious excitement within your fragile heart.

“Look at that, are your knees about to give out?” Jimin’s soft murmurs reach your ear, but never make it to your brain, focus completely elsewhere. He smiles lightly, continuing his torment, speaking against your nether lips, “I am not against laying you flat right here and taking you whole.”

“I-” You don’t have words to say, and even if you did, your throat would refuse to comply with any movement that is not a moan. What you do though, is lodge your hands in his hair to attempt to control him. Attempt would be a strong word, because he seems to know your body better than your own junky fingers. You raise your left leg to bring it around his neck, eliciting a sly smile that you can feel on your nether lips. Snaking an arm around your hip, he pulls you into him, as if there is any distance to close.

“Seems like you aren’t either,” Jimin chuckles, his sultry voice crackling in the confines of the elevator, “your mess is dripping down baby, it’s so sexy.” He drags the flat of his tongue from your thighs, collecting your arousal, bringing it up to press against your clit, feeling it palpitate as all your blood wheels itself downstairs. “Tell me,” he coos, “how do you like the idea of fucking me right here?”

“Aah! Fu-” is all he hears because he starts sucking your nub, and a very-frazzled you slam your palms on the rows of buttons in the panel, setting the elevator in motion.

“Jimin, wait-” With short, quick pants, you try to look back at the panel, trying to see how you can get the elevator back to your original destination, but Jimin isn’t happy with your attention faltering towards him.

“Sweetheart,” he calls out to you playfully, but his racy fingers trace a line right from your ankle, moving upward, completely differing his honey-voice, “What’s got you worried? Afraid someone will see you? Like this?”

His 'this' was not simple. The 'this' was punctuated by two thick fingers entering your dripping hole, not to mention his cheeky thumb finding your clit to torture it even more. With all the bases covered down here, Jimin’s lips move up, his free hand searching for your nipples as his lips search for answers to unsaid questions in the nook of your neck.

“Will you step away,” his whisper jolts your mind, “if the doors open?” He sucks in your skin, harder, almost telling you there’s no way he’s letting you move away. But the clench of your walls, the slick dribbling down his fingers, they tell a different tale. Your hardening nipple under your dress, your fervid whimpers, and your head moving to give him more access don’t rock your pictorial boat. A weak “no” glides by between your wails and mewls, and Jimin’s pleasure with your answer shows. His thumb resting on your clit starts making a move, and together with his digits inside you, your eyes might as well roll back into your skull because this has to be demonic. Your orgasm is crashing right around the corner, and you-

Ding!

To your absolute horror, the elevator doors open your show to the public i.e., an old couple looking forward to entering, taking a step or two inside before you can hear the gasp of shock, disgust, and embarrassment all rolled up in one, at your - umm - compromised state of affairs.

“Jimin!”

You peek over his shoulder to see the scarred souls; they still haven’t moved away from the astonishing scene, and it is uneasy, your pussy is gushing at the thought of having an audience for your debauchery. You mutter a quiet ‘sorry’ to the traumatized couple before shifting your focus back to the man of the hour, who seems not the least bit perturbed by the happenings. His fingers are still lodged inside, looking still on the outside, but curling inside to stimulate her g-spot, and your eyes could be looking behind if they could roll that far.

“What do you want me to do?” could have been a very innocent question from a very concerned individual. Jimin was no such man. The sneer in his whispered voice was registered by you as he registered the ever-growing waterfall you are releasing onto his hand. Lips curved to the right, he sees your fucked out state, soaking in your teetering-at-the-brink-of-orgasm glow. “Want me to move, let them see how fucked out my tongue got you?”

Your hand shoots out to grab his collar as the elevator dings back shut, and you pull him close, pushing yourself back onto his fingers, - only to have your lips consumed by his own, with a force mimicked by his digits plunging deeper into your cunt. His tongue pushes its way into your cave, awakening your own muscle with its moves, and relocating it to his own mouth where he sucks it away like nectar from a honey hive.

Jimin’s response to your voracity is “Maybe I’ll invite the next people to join, you seem to like that.”

You let out an irritated huff, face heated up in an embarrassing glow whilst trying to find a spot on his neck to latch onto. One night (one that has barely begun) and you’re already rediscovering yourself.

“Stop awakening latent kinks in me, I need to get back to normal men.”

His fingers card through your tresses until they reach your scalp, tugging you off his neck to look right into your eyes. From your peripheral vision, the glow of his lips, coated in a shiny sheen of your arousal and saliva glistens under the lighting, and you dart forth to clean that up for him but he stalls.

Seeing your fucked out state, Jimin chuckles, "Fuck, you’re clenching so hard baby, so good."

So cocky.

You might love him.

Instead of saying something embarrassing, you force him closer, joining lips before snapping back, "Oh, I’m good. I’d be great if you actually made me come."

The creases on his forehead show that he's not one to back down from a challenge. You jolt up, practically balancing yourself on the balls of your feet, as both the elevator starts moving to a new destination, and his fingers start moving deeper, massaging and curling inward, letting the base of his palm apply generous pressure on your clit. Heated breath embraces your skin as he snickers into your ear, “Make you? From the looks of it,” accompanied by another harsh pump, “I can make you do just about anything.”

The gall this man has, to go around stating complete facts. With his hand just about ready to touch the sky, he reaches deep within you, three thick digits performing a graceful dance on the slippery stage of your pussy walls, when he grabs your lower lip between his teeth. Your response is felt, hard, as you clench around the intrusion, and he digs his teeth in, harder. The elevator beeps open on a new floor, but you are unbothered by whether you invite a new audience or not. If they come in, hopefully, they enjoy it as much as you do. Probably not.

“Tall words,” is what tries to leave your mouth, but your entire body squirming under his attention swallows any chutzpah your words could have conveyed. His sturdy fingers touch all the right points, from his thumb soothing your engorged nub, to his digits ensconced in your warmth curling into the patch that is making your head hit the walls for the nineteenth time today. His lazy lips suck, bite and pinch any skin they find, tracing your jawline with his spittle, and you’ve never been this turned on, so keyed up, this stimulated from all ends, that you can’t control the cascading orgasm gushing through you.

Your body feels like rubber, still reeling from the effects - your climax feels endless, like an onslaught that refuses to end. From what, just fingering? Only when Jimin kisses your cheek, in adoration almost, and plucks his digits out of you, do you truly return from your high to plant your feet on planet Earth.

Your hand is still digging into his tie, which is crumpled beyond recognition - and you pull him into you. Your lips fit again, like they always knew how to, not a string of awkwardness, shifting of positions, or adjustments of angles - it just fits right. Jimin breaks contact, much to your pique, until he brings his sullied fingers to fill in in his lips’ stead; your eyes shut at the taste you were unprepared for, moaning loudly to convey your approval of his ideas.

“I love a woman who can enjoy herself,” Jimin mutters in marvel, smearing the leftover juices on his fingers onto your lips. “Love that you don’t quiet down.” When you dart your tongue out to taste the rest, his fingers block your way, only to whisper “Allow me,” before diving in to taste your arousal intermingled with your saliva. It is intoxicating, every move of his awakening a new cell of lechery you didn’t know you had in you.

You do exactly as he desired, you’re loud and messy. Open-mouthed kisses and intense, throaty moans to respond to every right thing he does, which is basically everything; your tongues meld together to taste whatever the other did, and your hands move messily across his whole body, trying to feel him through the multiple layers of cloth he adorns. The only part you can feel is his hardened cock, stiff and unrelenting; your palms come down to his ass and push him to you, grinding his cock against your wet core. If you caught him by surprise, he doesn’t show it, still fully lost in making out with you. You are caught unaware though, his taut butt cheeks are not what you had expected. Plump, cushy, a handful to grab - what a marvel of science he is.

"I believe I have a favor to return," you offer when both your lips retire for a breather.

"It was wholly my pleasure, but seeing as you're eager, I won't say no," Jimin says, before diving into your lips again.

If it wasn't enough to scar that poor old couple who witnessed your sordid conditions back then, you effectively scar Jimin's entire floor.

With great difficulty you both detach yourselves, only to get back to each other like the strongest magnets known to man. It was a tug of war; who was tugging who, where, what, none of it made sense. Jimin tugged you towards his room while you simply tried to pull him closer to yourself. Your lips would have been away a total of two seconds, in the minute-long walk it would have taken to get to his room.

Frustrated halfway, Jimin pushes you against a wall, one hand still wet from your orgasm coming up to grab your chin as he speaks practically into your mouth.

"What a feisty bitch," he breathes out as you dig in harder, both with your palms in his hair and your crotch on his leg, "Let me get you to the fucking room."

"I don't know, you've awoken something in me," you snap back as you attack his blemished neck, "I don't mind the corridor as long as you put on a good show."

"Oh, you can count on me for that, but-" he grabs your wandering hands, crosses them behind your waist to hold you in place, only to have you wrap your leg around him and pull him closer.

Undeterred, he twirls you around, and you are shoved into the wall chest-first and he presses into your ass. Through his taut pants, you can feel his cock again, and the pressure of your cheeks makes him moan, and you hiss on feeling his unstinting thickness, the anticipation of feeling it stretch your walls making you salivate.

A rough smack echoes in the empty aisles, and a second later you feel it sting on your ass. Bringing his hand back to your chin, he turns your face to the left, planting your cheek against the wall, only to get greater access to your shoulder, so he can-

"Fuck! Dude!"

It's your voice, trying to be cross with him for biting deep into your shoulder, but even he can see through your barely-there ruse, tonguing over his very prominent teeth marks that have you rutting against the wall. Just any friction at this point will get you off, and now you're not beneath grinding the whole wall just for a hint of release. Remember that woman with dignity? A figment of your imagination. She was never there.

"As I was saying," Jimin starts again, voice perfectly steady for how hard his cock is, "I'd like to fuck you into my bed if that's okay with you."

Filthy courteous. A gentlemanly freak. An oxymoron of the highest order, and you don't know who to write a check to for this blessing.

"Fine.”

“Yeah, I better take matters in my own hands,” and he does what you had anticipated, but not quite - you were expecting a bridal lift, his hands perched under your back and your knees, but he does you one better. You are now flung over, waist digging into his shoulders as his arm rests just below your dress hem. That reminds you - your dress isn’t even long enough to possibly manage this position without flashing every occupant who traverses this hall. “Talented hands, aren’t they?”

Dignity be damned.

“Oh my God, put me down!” you yell in protest, ignoring the heat rising to your cheeks at this ungainly position.

Mostly, because his wandering palms still haven’t had their fill. One such sneaker slipped under the fabric to give your cheek a tight squeeze, and you squeak at the unanticipated intrusion. “What part of this is any better?” You huff as he hikes your skirt up, exposing the fleshy mounds, “Someone sees you, and you’re gonna have handcuffs slapped in an instant.”

“Maybe I can borrow them for a specific someone who-” he pauses to smack your right cheek, roughly, the quiet hours of the passage being tainted by your vulgar pursuits, “-can’t keep her hands to herself,” he finishes with another smack on the same cheek, and the sting is brutal, but only goads you further.

“Jimin, you’re revealing to be nastier than I ever thought.” Your tongue snakes out to lick your lips, which had gotten dry from either all your hydration moving downtown or the lack of kissing in the past, well, forty seconds.

From your limited vision, you can see the ninety-degree turn Jimin makes, before the shuffling and distinct sound of a door clicking open, before the scene around you changes.

“What gave it away?” Jimin snickers, flinging you over the bed, “Was it the tonguing in the elevator,” he unbuttons his coat and proceeds to take it off, “or was it the fingering out in the open?” He slowly moves to meticulously hang his coat in the closet, a very unnecessary move considering your current disposition.

“Or maybe, it’s all the things I’ve yet to do to you,” he quietly ends.

You raise yourself, balancing on your elbows as you watch him regard you, eyes tantalizing every hair on your neck as his tongue juts out to trace his upper lip, slowly. Your own eyes follow his tongue with a dizzying fixation, that beguiling muscle that shows no strain in its movement after the carnage it released onto you. It’s so alive, you can almost feel it against your cunt as they draw you into flashbacks of it snacking on your cum, muttering bawdy words of affection that would make inventors of the language shy away in shame.

The silence is too much, too arousing yet nowhere near culmination. You break it, sighing, “You’ve got to be hurting too,” as you bring your gaze to his hardness, staunch and stiff against his pants.

“I don’t know,” Jimin takes his first step towards you, “I’m a man of taste, and the night is young,” he finishes, standing at the edge of the bed, his cocky demeanor commanding you to give in, letting time tick by, because he just knows. He knows you can and will pounce.

“Well, you might be a man of taste,” you get on your knees on the bed, and catch his tie to tug him back for the umpteenth time tonight, but this time making the right decision to take a step further and remove it, ready to fling it away from sight - but he grabs it, wrapping it around your marred neck, knotting it a little too tight - you choke only slightly, but your raspy words come out undeterred, “but I’m not a woman of patience.”

“Oh, I could tell when you were ready to climb me like a tree in the corridor,” he shakes the tie knot, having you sway along, until he pushes you back on the bed.

Crawling over and hovering above your body, his knees straddle yours, until he moves his right knee between your legs to slowly push your dress up, slithering upward until the joint makes contact with your center, still dripping from your earlier climax. You shamelessly gyrate, not bothered that his dress pants now need some hushed laundry, as he undoes his cuffs while not letting his gaze move from you even for the briefest second.

The buttons on his shirt had been irking you all night, irking you enough to halt your grinding to slide yourself up and start undressing him in earnest. Jimin halts to simply stare at you, your fingertips laced in need as every button glides out and gives up on its assignment. Once you pull out his shirt and undo the last one, you look up and meet his gaze, letting your fingers graze the lone strip of exposed skin as your hand moves from his hip to his chest, and you swear you feel his skin quake under your touch.

The atmosphere between you two is electric, your line of sight could crackle under the sheer intensity - but before the air bursts into flames, you slide both your hands along his chest and under the fabric, shucking it off of his exquisite frame, and boy. His limber body, the lines of defining muscles canvassing his torso is terrorizing your pussy, and your digits flutter back to run their tips over your new finding - in thin, spindly letters a ‘NEVERMIND’ bedecked his pale skin. He watches you with a keen eye, and you can hear nothing but the stilled sound of each other’s breaths.

“Does this come with a story?” You jest, but rush to add, “I mean, you don’t have to tell me - if it’s personal or -”

Jimin’s grin interrupts your sentence, as he wraps around you with his arms in an effort to pull you closer - a stark contrast to the man a few minutes ago fully content in using his tie on you like a personalized leash.

“You’re cute,” he coos, “and no, no story. Just a reminder to not mind the worthless aspects of life.”

“Feels like there’s a lot of subtext to that.”

“Maybe. For now,” he grabs your wrist, hand dangerously close to his nipple, “it’s not a rule you need to mind.”

“Oh,” you smile, fully catching his drift but walking into that trap anyway, “what would you like me to mind?”

Your hand is pulled downward, until it settles on the generous mound that peeks under his pants - and when you clamp down on the tip over the cloth, he breathes a soft “This, please.”

“Who would have known,” you chuckle, the poise in your tone not reaching your hands as they work on ridding him of his pants, “you know how to ask for things, instead of pushing me around like a ragdoll,” and instead you push him down, landing him onto the plethora of pillows that decorate this plush bed. When you finally pull his pants down, you’re caught tongue-tied, and you might as well be fully tied, because you stop in your track when you witness what you’ve uncovered.

“Fuck.”

There’s not a part of his body that doesn’t flow into the other one like butter, but his thighs - his thighs - the angel creating Jimin sure broke a few laws, and is well on their way to hell, because those thighs did not get made in anything remotely holy. There are rocks on planet earth that are probably softer than his thighs, now flexed under your scrutiny - probably only to be beaten by his rock-hard dick.

“I might be wrong, but someone complained that the pace was too slow,” he grunts, a dangerous smirk on his perfect lips.

Wading through intense complaints from that one oversexed side of your brain, you detach your eyes from his thighs to drag it up to his face, which is now placed on his weaved fingers, regarding you with a cocky smile, the effect he has on you clear as day. You shake your head with a smile - he’s got you stupid before his dick can.

“It’s only fair,” you call out but hasten yourself, finally ridding him of his pants and boxers - and when his dick bounces out, you feel a jolt hit your cunt like lightning, and pull a short breath when it slaps against his abs - a failed attempt to complete your moot sentence and yet no voice leaves your throat. All you know is that you’re ready to face Armageddon just to catch that dick between your legs.

“Cock got your tongue?” you hear the cheeky man respond to your drooling.

You don’t answer, choosing to bend down sultrily, landing a sweet, innocent kiss onto the leaking head, pulling away to see the bare minimum strings of precum stretch, trying to pull your lips back onto his dick before snapping.

“Oh, fuck, you…” Jimin speaks to nothing, voice far too strained for it to be a real threat.

“Fuck me? Soon, baby.”

He laughs in anguish as your tongue continues to torment his volcanic dick - kitten licks barely covering the head - every brief contact you make, you can feel his thighs clench, hardening in anticipation of anything more than what you’re offering. Finally, you flatten your tongue and roll it around, and for the first time tonight, a hiss followed by a moan emanates from the man who had been tormenting you so far.

Just when you’re getting bold, a hand digs into your hair, clawing at your scalp, and the pain involuntarily throws your mouth open - an opportunity Jimin grabs with his dick, pushing into you till you’re sufficiently stuffed.

“Ah, that’s perfect. Is this what you wanted?” He shakes the fist of hair as his cock shifts around in your mouth, “To test me till I snap? To make me treat you like the ragdoll that you are?”

Even with your mouth full, you try to smirk at him - this is not a tactic you should employ with him, but when have you ever learned your lesson? Your willingness to play his game has Jimin in bliss, and you feel it when his dick twitches under the attention of your tongue. He stays there for a while, enjoying the warmth of your mouth.

“Look at that, the peace in the air when you’re not off being a mouthy slut,” he thrusts in harder, never letting the hold on your hair dwindle, “Happy? Is the whore in you satisfied? I bet not.” A harder thrust, your throat finally voicing its limits in a feeble groan, but Jimin pays heed to none, “Bet you don’t know what life is like without a cock in hand and another in your mouth.”

You mewl at his words, the obscenities only sending harder pulses to your cunt. Jimin lets go of your hair for a fleeting moment, allowing you to move if you need to - you do, but the prospect of making him come overrides any need for relief, and you stay put where he left you, dick reaching an ungodly point in your throat.

“Yeah,” he grins, a snarky smile as he continues plunging into your mouth in short, rough motions, “fucking thought so. Gonna use your throat so well, I don’t want you talking for days. A toy like you doesn’t need to run their mouth as you do - suck you fucking whore, what are you waiting for?”

You whimper, for the only reason that his girth doesn’t give you much space to suck on. Still, you hollow your cheeks out as far as you can, bobbing your head in whatever space your throat provides without alerting your gag reflex, and you hear Jimin sigh in return. The ringing pain in your jaw is making its presence known more and more with every passing second, but you refuse to give in with every breath that’s left in you.

He starts fucking your mouth in earnest, every thrust accompanied by a delectable groan on his part, and he controls the pace while you’re just left to take his assault. Rolling your eyes up, you let yourself enjoy the scene unfolding in front of you, his clenched jaw, blissed-out face, neck scattered in your earlier attacks - your vagina feels incredibly empty, and after some pumps, you tap his thigh (are they made of metal?!) to ask, plead, beg to cut to the chase.

He empties your mouth, face slightly contorted in worry, but you assuage him quickly, “You know,” your voice is barely yours anymore, sounding hoarse and scratchy, and it catches you by surprise as you bring your hand to wrap your neck with a surprised ‘o’ on your lips. Jimin laughs out loud - stop shifting personas so fast! - as you continue, “As I was saying, my pussy is wetter than my mouth,” you cock your head to the side, “if you’d like to try?”

“Oh,” his eyes turn dark, more demon than human, as an idea forms in his head and he comes on to his knees, “I can fix that.”

His hand in your hair dislodges itself, bringing itself down to the tie you don, wrapping it around his fist and tugging you closer - the tightening grip forces you to open your mouth, breathing heavily. At this diminished distance, you can see the telltale signs of his advancing orgasm, beads of sweat lining his multicolored hairline, lips bitten from his teeth digging to halt the high from taking over (although, you have to take half the blame there) - but before you can look into it further, he makes his move.

Two fat globs of spit, released with vigor, land plumb on your eager tongue, and you can taste him again, taste his sweetness with a hint of your own, and you want to savor the taste - but you wait for his order.

“Now that’s perfect, isn’t it?” He gives you a snarky grin before pushing you down, impaling your mouth with his dick again, this time his own saliva coating his length and he pushes in again. Everything he did, everything he does, only brings your attention to your empty pussy, and his honeyed voice rumbling at the feeling of your mouth only makes the emptiness worse. In the inconvenient position, you shuffle your hands forth to cup his balls - they feel tight and ready to release into you, and you give them light, punishing squeezes to make them do exactly that.

But the taste of his cum never comes, because in one swooping motion, he frees himself of your mouth’s hold and - surprisingly - moves off the bed.

“Hey, wha-oh!”

For a flash second, you thought he wasn’t content with edging you alone, extending his edging kink onto himself, he roughly tugs you to the end of the bed, bringing you to stand.

“I’m going to nail you into this fucking bed,” he grits out, before turning you around and crudely shoving your face into the bedding, “and your job is to shut up and take it. Got it?”

Holy fuck. Have you ever been this turned on, enough to paralyze your tongue from forming any word?

“I said,” his fingers find their familiar spot in your hair as he pulls you up, biting words unleashing into your ear, “Got it? Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Yesyesyesye-” You unleash an outpour of the one word that’s running through your mind, all the way up until you are unceremoniously stuffed into the bed again, and you wait, with bated breaths - the familiar rustle of a condom wrapper in the background - but instead of his thick length, you find his fingers again, and you groan for some respite.

Jimin laughs at your neediness. “Just checking if you were wet enough,” he says, “but I don’t know why there was any doubt.”

“You better hurry up before I suck it all back in,” you attempt a feeble threat.

The head of his cock finally pokes at your entrance, and you are already wailing, fingers bunching up the bedding as he pushes in further. “Haven’t you-shi-” Jimin stutters, “-haven’t you had enough sucking?”

You don’t even try a glib response - it would never come, because he bottoms out, and your walls are stretching to accommodate his dick, pressing all the right points to send your head into a whole new dimension, where pleasure is the only emotion you feel. His cock twitches inside, and you pull yourself out of your palace of desire to whisper at him to move.

He makes no move, and you’re not sure what he’s waiting for - you go to repeat yourself louder, just to be su-

Smack!

The unexpected lash on your left cheek jerks you, shifting his dick in you and making you clench further. You can hear the move affect him as he hisses and pushes you flush against the bed.

“Wow,” you’re panting, out of breath before you even start, “even at this point, you find a way to drag this out.”

“Trust me, if you had my view right now,” Smack! Another slap hits you, and you clench harder, this time bringing a full-blown groan from Jimin as he holds onto your hip to steady himself, “even you’d take your own, sweet time.”

Every slap henceforth only hurls you further towards your orgasm, words no longer working for you so you resort to communicating only through wails and whines, hoping he would decipher your pleas.

When he finally moves again, you all but scream Hallelujah to the angels puppeteering him from the heavens, and you take note of your current situation - you’re perilously close to your orgasm. This has been record-timing, from penetration to orgasming, and you rush to pay attention to the nub thrumming since this whole ordeal began. Sliding your hand under the frame of your body, and you-

“Ah, tsk, that’s not happening.”

Somehow Jimin - who was lost in the dreamland of your pussy, you know, you checked - caught your move, and now has your arm twisted behind as you wail and unfruitfully search for the orgasm that is almost yours. The one thing that shuts you up is his double-handed spank, each side facing the equal brunt of your actions, as Jimin hisses and slows his pace.

“Shut the fuck up,” his hands come down and dig into your supple cheeks, squeezing them and pulling them apart. “Your body is mine to use. So pipe the fuck down,” he growls, before setting his eyes on your newly exposed hole.

“You can tell me when to-fuck-when to stop,” he breathlessly utters, “but other than that, just lay back and take it like a good little plaything.” You cry a loud yes to his patronizing words - at this point, he could very well ask you for a billion-dollar check and you’d happily bid farewell to all your possessions.

He lands a spitwad on your ringed hole, the cool wetness making it pulsate while your clit palpitates in anticipation and your hold on his dick tightening. His thumb traces a circle before shallowly digging inside.

“Jimin, oh God, more, more-” you don’t know what you’re chanting for, the buzz getting you drunk on his actions and making it harder and harder to keep your orgasm at bay.

A dark, sinister snigger lined with need leaves Jimin’s short-winded voice. “So you’re an anal whore too,” he lightly moves his thumb in the confines, your responding moan triggering more chuckles, “no one is surprised.”

“F-fu-oh God I-” you can’t even gather the wits to give him a fitting reply, especially because his dick is thrusting into you in new directions.

“You’ll let a stranger just about fuck you anywhere,” he adds to the growing pile of awards he’s presenting to you, grinning ear to ear at your lack of diction, “tell me, Y/N, tell me you’re a needy, insatiable whore. Scream it, let the neighbors hear you.” A particularly deep thrust hits you hard, at the right spot, and you push yourself back on his dick, angling yourself right, “fuckin’ do it, Y/N, or else I’ll finish and leave you.”

You shriek at the thought of it, the coil in your belly taut and threatening to snap, your brain rushes to stitch the right words and before you know it, you’re spewing them at him. “Oh-oh yes, yes, yes, I’m a desperate whore, I need to be filled every day, and every night, can’t leave my - oh fucking hell, right there - my pussy empty, shit, and why should I? When dick like yours exists?!”

His thumb twists inside, breaching in enough to be able to curl a joint, and you take that as an acceptance. Your whole body thrums to the beat of his thrust, tips of your toes curling inward, attempting to halt your libido from seeping out of you, and you’re certain the establishment is never letting you set foot inside ever again after the fest you carried tonight.

“Gah, your pussy is just-so tight, I want to you fuck you open over, and over, and over again,” Jimin’s hips pump into you with ceaseless vigor, chasing his own high while tending to both your holes. “I’m going to leave you dripping for days.”

“Oh-oh-Jimin! I’m goi-ugh-fuck, no one will fuck me this goo-ah!”

Even with your spastic and incomplete verbiage, the content reaches him, and a passing cloud of clemency (and his swiftly approaching peak) brings him to slip two fingers of his unoccupied hand down. But jerk that he is, they do nothing except tap your clit, lightly, softly, with no destination in sight.

You continue to egg him on, “Gonna feel your dick in me for day-ohhh fucking hell-days to come, gonna feel you in me! Please, please let me come, I can’t-I-”

“Just a little more baby,” Jimin coos, a hitch in his throat hinting you that he too is at the end of his run, “Tell me more,” he hisses as his digits land a hard thwack right on your clit.

“Oh right there, right there-Jimin please please I need to come so bad, I’m gonna think of this night forever,” you’re crying at this point, the pressure of holding back swarming tears in your eyes, tongue letting just about anything out. “Any day I have bad sex I’m gonna think of you, any day I have good sex I’ll think of you, cuz no way in hell am I getting dicked down this good-shit I’m gonna-” you pause for a breather, “Jimin, please let me come!!”

He finally lays a soft kiss on your back, whispering “Go on, cream my cock like you’ve been longing to do” before the two digits press firmly onto your clit and draw figures over it - what figures, you can’t tell, because your orgasm washes over you with the force of all the mighty waterfalls all over the world, combined. Both the walls of your pussy and you are spasming, the pinnacle of your orgasm coursing through your body, trying to find an outlet to the boundless energy it carries. It finally leaves through your mouth, a loud, elongated moan marking the end of the fuck of a lifetime.

Jimin grunts at the way your pussy clamps over his cock, and in two more pumps he’s emptying himself into the rubber, utter hushed cusses until he comes down from his climax. His fatigued build falls onto your back, a soft hand wrapping around your waist as you both catch your escaping breaths.

“I thought I was gonna die over there,” you finally snort, as much as your breath allows you to, “do you keep all your women waiting like that?”

He just laughs, pulling his softening member out and discarding the condom, “I’m not sure what you mean. All I remember is you telling me I dicked you down goo-ow!” He laughs as you slap his chest in jest.

Jimin pulls you to the pillows and kisses you, deep and sensual, lips telling you he hasn’t had his fill, but body limp and heated and begging for a break. As you attempt to adjust your dress, he halts you by pinning your hands to his chest, and you simply give in to his wordless demand.

With your head laid on his shoulder, air filled with a relaxing silence, you let your pointer finger drag along his chest, tracing the prominent tattoo, catching his flinch as you linger over his nipple.

“You know, I too have a tattoo, a pity you couldn’t catch it.”

“Oh?” Jimin cocks his head back to meet your gaze, the tiredness evaporating in an instant to give way to renewed vigor. Your outfit is a sight to behold, crumpled dress bunched above your hips, the straps of your dress messy and astray, falling off your shoulders, and his lone tie still surviving the ordeal across your neck. Through the thin fabric, he can see what he actually didn’t catch - your soft breasts devoid of his branding, and if he looks carefully, he can spot your juicy nipples pebbled under the jeweled cloth. Pulling the tie to have you fall back into him, he hums softly, palm coming forth to grab the shunned mounds of flesh.

“Where might that be?” he softly asks, inching closer and closer to your cleavage.

You shrug playfully, his ministrations already taking over your mind. Slipping one strap off your shoulder, you murmur, “Why don’t you find out?”

Within a blink, you’re trapped, caged underneath his whole body. He bends low, his unicorn strands tickling your cheek as he licks a soft stripe against the shell of your ear, before whispering, “Oh, you bet I will.”

Thank you for making it to the end! For more of my writing, find my masterlist here. As always, thoughts and feedbacks are greatly appreciated!

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sydsaint · 2 years

Text

Christian Cage and Frankie Kazarian AKA the DILF special 🥵🥵

It's a perfectly sunny weekend in Florida, which it often is in the Sunshine state. AEW training center has just concluded another session that you were teaching along with a couple of your fellow AEW stars. Christian Cage, Frankie Kazarian, and Chris Jericho to be exact.

You step out of the training center and the heat immediately hits you. "Whew!" You go for your sunglasses as soon as you are in the sun. "Nice day out, eh boys!" You prompt the older men behind you.

"Well, it is Florida, sweetheart." Chris quips, eyeing you up in your shorts.

You roll your eyes behind your sunglasses and gesture to your face. "Eyes are up here sleazeball." You remind him.

Chris puts his hands up in defense and scoffs at your response. You ignore his clear displeasure and watch him walk off stomping like a child.

Christian comes up on your right and slings an arm over your shoulder. "Now that was kind of mean." He comments with a playful grin.

"Awe, he's just mad because I don't like playing games with married men." You roll your eyes again. "Especially ones that think the women owe them everything." You add.

Frankie comes up on the other side of you and grabs your arm. "Lucky for us then, aye Christian?" He glances over you at his partner in crime.

"Amen to that, Kaz." Christian chuckles. "Beach day you two?" He suggests. "I'd love to take advantage of the nice weather and the extra time we all have."

"I think you two just want to see me in a bikini." You joke with a laugh.

Kaz laughs with you, his arm hooked with yours. "Guilty." He admits. "But Christian is right. I could go for a beach day."

You have to admit, a day at the beach with your two favorite men does sound nice. Especially after working all morning. You agree to the beach plans and head back to the hotel to grab a swimsuit and a couple of other things. Christian and Frankie part ways for the time being as well and you all agree to meet up in about an hour at the beach.

When you get to the beach you've got a pair of shorts on over your bikini bottoms but leave the top as is. You quickly spot Ricky and Daniel at the beach bar and jog over to them.

You take a seat on the barstool between the two young studs and beckon the bartender over. "Well aren't you two a sight for sore eyes. You two players out trolling for beach bimbos?" You ask them.

"Y/N! What a lovely surprise." Ricky greets you. "You out here looking for another sugar daddy?" He fires right back at you with a grin.

"Trust me. The two I've got take care of me just fine. In more ways than one." You peer at Ricky over the rim of your sunglasses with a playful grin.

Ricky chuckles and pays for your first drink. You thank him with a smile and turn to the other playboy at your side.

You twirl the umbrella in your drink and get Garcia's attention. "Still the strong silent type, Daniel?" You ask him curiously.

"Actions speak way louder than words, shorty," Garcia replies nonchalantly.

A smile plays on your lips at his mysterious charisma. "Damn." You laugh. "You know that line just may have worked on me." You admit. "If I weren't into older men that is."

"Well, you know where to find us when you decide that the old-timers can't keep up anymore." Ricky buts back into the conversation with a flirty smile.

You laugh and sip at your drink when a shadow casts over you from behind. You swivel around to find that Christian and Kaz have finally arrived.

"Trust us, she's plenty satisfied." Christian snickers and grabs your hand to pull you off of the barstool.

Kaz puts a hand on your back and pushes you towards Christian so he can get to the bar. "Plus she's not into fuckboys." He adds and orders a couple of drinks.

"Well, you two have a good rest of your day." You laugh. "Good luck with your trolling. Chau!" You walk off between Kaz and Christian.

You all head further down the beach and find a nice place with chairs to settle down in. You take a seat between Kaz and Christian and settle down to soak up some sun.

"You look absolutely gorgeous by the way sweetie." Christian comments when you get your shorts off.

"Mhm. Stunning." Kaz adds from your opposite side.

"I know I do." You giggle and pick up your drink. "Lean in and say cheese you two!" You pick up your phone and switch on your camera.

Kaz and Christian both do as told and you snap a couple of pics for Instagram later. Then you proceed to spend the next couple of hours soaking up the sun with your two favorite dilfs.

After a couple of hours when the sun is starting to set over the horizon Christian suggests that you all grab dinner together. You agree since you haven't eaten hardly anything all day and you all head out.

"I'm thinking Sushi. Thoughts, you two?" You strut down the boardwalk with Kaz and Christian on either side of you after you all get changed.

Kaz nods and slings an arm around your waist. "I could go for sushi, yeah." He glances over at Christian. "What about you Cage?"

"Fine with me." Christian agrees. "Here, this place looks nice." He spots a nice sushi place across the street and steps forward to get to the door.

You, Kaz, and Christian all get a table out on the deck and order some food. You get the occasional passing glance from people walking by. But you're more than used to that by now. Honestly, the amount of people that have assumed that they are looking at either two dads and their daughter, or a dad, his brother, and one of their daughters astounds you. But it's funny to see people's faces when they realize how wrong they are.

After dinner, everyone heads back to the hotel and piles into the elevator. This is usually the time that Kaz and Christian ask you who's room you want to spend the night in. Or if you want your own room. But you've got other plans tonight.

"Alright, you two. You've both been at my side all day." You turn to both of them in the elevator. "So how about we end the night off on a high note and end it like we started it. Hot, sweaty, and as a trio?" You tease them.

Kaz and Christian share that silent look that always lets you know that you're going to have a long night. You step back between them and Christian digs his room key out of his pocket since he splurged for the nicer room this time.

"Lead the way, sweetie." Kaz grins when the elevator opens.

"And we'll follow," Christian adds.

You giggle and grab either of their hands and head for Christian's room. Tonight is looking like it's going to be another sleepless night in Florida.

#aew #aew dark #aew elevation #aew dynamite #aew fanfiction #aew imagine #wrestling #all elite wrestling #christian cage #frankie kazarian

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thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch · 3 years

Text

Hearth

(dabi) t.todoroki / reader

genre: prohero!touya, fluff

warning(s)!!: cursing ofc, dabi's atittude/snark, he's still dabi- just not a villain lol, he doesn't have his burns just his piercings, bloody piercings/lip

synposis: touya comes home with a bloody lip and three missing nose piercings, you get the honor of cleaning him up and getting him to bed for a well-deserved rest

w.count: 2.4k (probably the shortest thing i've written in years and no that's not a joke)

-x-x-x-

“Shit, that stings,” Touya hissed to himself as he felt around the bloody and bruised right nostril of his nose where three small piercings should have been. He hissed as he quickly took his fingers away from the small holes missing their jewelry. “I can’t wear nothing around here, damn.”

The commotion around him was hardly his focus when his nose stung so much, not even his split lip bothered him when he licked over it- too focused on his poor nose. It was pitiful really, getting into a scrap with a low-level thug trying to run off with a duffel full of loose bills from some random convenient store. He was fine overall, not being too unfamiliar with fistfights without having to use his quirk, but the thug sure did a number on him when he grabbed at his face- probably aiming to yank on his hair, but falling short- and somehow ripping all three of his studs from his nose.

Blood dripped in small drops off the side of his nostril and from inside his nose, creating a slow stream to his top lip which entered his mouth- filling it with the metallic taste of his blood. His pierced tongue’s metal bar tasted nothing like the iron of blood and he shook his head in distaste.

He sniffed and palmed gently at his minor wound before the cops showed up and wrapped up the situation. They offered to have his injuries cleaned up at the station- but he was so close to being finished with patrol and heading back home he didn’t bother. It wasn’t like he was in any sort of critical pain, he just wanted to rip his nose off.

His patrolling went smoothly after that, the small scuffle being the highlight of his evening and as he walked, bored back to the agency he was working at with his father (begrudgingly), he changed and slung his duffel with his gear and suit inside over his shoulder. He’d leave all this stuff in the changing room locker with his name on it and a secure lock- but you had insisted he bring it home tonight so it all could be tuned up and cleaned properly. You were a stickler about that.

Touya damn near broke into a run, mad-dashing it to the door, when he heard his father behind him call out his name when he was so, so close to the agency doors. As far as he was concerned, he was done for the day.

D o n e.

Endeavor could suck it.

He wasn’t sure how far he ran before he deemed it safe enough to slow his strides, but then the chills set it. He wasn’t cold- even if it was the middle of winter- all thanks to the cold resistance he inherited from his mother winter wasn't really ever that cold to him. If anything the sweater and joggers he wore were almost too warm with his swift escape from work.

He stopped at the corner of the sidewalk, waiting for the traffic lights to signal he could safely cross the road and have the right to sue if someone were to hit him, and looked up at the grey clouds. It looked like it was due to snow again and he chuckled to himself at mentally picturing you shiver just at the mere thought of more snow. Lowing his chin back down to look ahead, his pace quickened, already more than ready to be home.

“Hey, babe! I’m back!” Touya called into the house. The difference in temperature made him shiver- even if again, he wasn’t truly cold in the first place. Heeling off his shoes and setting them on the shoe rack, he walked inside.

“I’m in the kitchen!” You called back. He chuckled to himself as he walked into the living room first, dropping off his hero-filled duffle on the couch, and then swiveled on his heel to head into the kitchen. As he passed under the doorway, he grabbed the bottom of his sweater, pulling it up over his head and completely off as it rested on his forearms- shaking out his white hair.

You looked over your shoulder at the movement and immediately went back to whatever it was you were doing. Shaking your head in small shakes with a quiet sigh.

“Do you really need to undress in the kitchen?”

“What?” He smirked, tossing the sweater on a barstool as he basically pranced his way to your side, slinging one arm around your waist loosely with the other coming to mess with the soapy water you were currently washing dishes in. He picked up a finger-load of suds and flicked them at you, making you try and crush his toes under your heels- to which you failed. “It’s hot in here.”

“That is probably the lamest excuse you've ever used to strip,” you teased as you kept doing your thing. Looking around the counter, he saw take-out containers. Before he could question them, you started talking again. “I really didn’t want to cook today, so I ordered in. I hope that's fine.” Touya shrugged.

He wouldn't want to come home after a day of work and cook either, so it worked for him.

Detaching from you, he danced over to the containers he knew were his and took them to the island where he slid into the barstool his sweater was on and sat down on it. As you finished up, you turned to finally take a proper look at your boyfriend after his day. Your eyebrows furrowed as your eyes narrowed.

Was that dried blood under his nose? And was his lip split?

“Touya?”

“Whuat,” he muttered with a trail of noodles hanging from his lips between chopsticks, muffling his voice. Ever the mannerless fool.

“Do we wanna talk about the blood on your face?”

He swallowed his bite as he started scrapping around for more noodles and fewer vegetables in his container. “No, not really.”

You rolled your eyes as you left the kitchen and him to his food. Digging around in the bathroom, you tossed a few things in a small basket and went back to the kitchen where he had successfully separated all his greens from his food and set them aside. You sat on the stool next to him as he finished.

“You know it’s not good for you if you don’t eat your vegetables.”

“Oh, boo-hoo. I ain’t eatin’ ‘em.” You spun to face him as you grabbed his knee and spun his stool to face you in turn. In your basket of bathroom items were things to clean up his face.

You took his chin in your hand and twisted his jaw back and forth to look for any other injuries. “I ain’t all that banged up. Just this,” he told you with a huff. Looking at his chest and shoulders and stomach- it seemed he was telling the truth. There were no other injuries.

You would hate to see the poor guy he got into it with if all Touya had was a split lip and... all three missing piercings? You hadn't actually noticed his piercings were completely gone.

“How in the world did you lose your piercings?”

“Some prick tore them out. Got pretty into it with ‘em over it.”

“Of course you did,” you rolled your eyes again as you emptied your basket and grabbed a cotton ball between the prongs of a pair of tweezers, and coated it in saline. “Look down,” you told him as his chin dipped to your instruction and you began to clean his piercing holes. You saw his lips twitch in a silent hiss as you cleaned them as gently as possible.

Touya didn’t move from your touch at all aside from a wince here or there. When you pulled back to clean the blood on his lip and skin, he kept as still as he could as he just looked down at you. Watching you work with your eyes focused and brows pulled in concentration always made him want to laugh at how cute you looked. You were a wonder to him.

A wonder on how he managed to snag you as his own.

When you finished, you were throwing your stuff back into the basket to take back into the bathroom when you felt a weight on your shoulder. Glancing without moving your head, you caught in the corner of your vision Touya’s nest of white hair brushing your cheek and chin. His forehead rested on your shoulder as you relaxed, your boney shoulder couldn’t be comfortable to lay on.

“You’ll want to leave any new piercing out of your nose for a bit.”

“Hmm,” he gave you a small hum, but you weren’t sure if he actually heard you or was just responding to respond. He had a bad habit of hearing but not exactly listening.

Moving your head as slowly as possible to not disturb whatever moment he was trying to create with you, you saw the digital numbers on the stove showing close to midnight. While it was rare to get a quiet and soft moment with Touya, you knew he couldn’t sit with his ass on a barstool and his head on your shoulder all night. He had to shower and get changed for bed where he can sleep on a comfortable mattress.

You rotated your arm causing his forehead to push further into you, sliding to where it rested against your neck, and his cheek pushed into your shoulder instead. You reached around and rubbed his back to which he hummed at- pleased with the touch. His skin was always so warm, it almost made you envious with each shiver you would get from the chilled winter air.

“Touya,” you softly called to not drill a nail into the peace of the kitchen. He said nothing. He didn’t even hum at you, but you knew he was listening. “We have to get up. You need a shower and sleep.”

“Can’t we stay like this a while longer?” You almost gave in but looked at the clock again. As far as you knew, he had to go back to work tomorrow so he needed to get into bed asap. It pulled at your heart, but you couldn't let him stay up any later than necessary.

“No, we can’t,” you let him down easily with a soft voice and with your hand still trailing up and down along his spine. “Come on,” you shrug, “up.”

He groaned as he sat up and slid from his stool, you doing the same as you grabbed your basket of things to put back in the bathroom. Touya followed you as he rubbed at his neck and silently let out a yawn he tried hiding from you just so he couldn’t avoid admitting you were right and that he needed to go to sleep.

As you were putting things back where they belonged, Dabi had opened the door of the wide, standing, glass shower and turned the water on- waiting for the temperature to be perfect. He looked over his shoulder, seeing you putting back the saline behind the mirror in the medicine cabinet. He took the chance when the mirror was away from him and you to sneak up behind you, the running shower water masking his footsteps.

He slowly reached around your head, shutting the cabinet as the mirror swung back to face you, Touya behind you. He dropped his arm over your shoulder and lowered his head to kiss the back of yours, his other arm wrapping lazily over your chest.

“Shower with me,” he cooed, dying his voice in honey to get you to join him without a fight. When you agreed, the shit-eating grin he had on his stupid face made you want to pull on his bottom lip and reopen the split in it or maybe force open his mouth and rip out the bar in his tongue.

He always got what he wanted and it was so not fair.

After promising no funny business in the shower, getting out, drying off, and getting ready for bed, Touya was insistent that the thermostat be turned down to 68F which was absolutely not going to happen. That was way too cold for the middle of the night in the middle of winter! He may be a walking space heater, but you weren’t.

Except, when you crawled into bed, you puffed and pouted because of course he always got his way. The temperature in the dark house was a chilly 68F and you were bundled in blankets- sulking.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” he laughed as he yanked the blanket that was tucked around you away to slither his way beside you instead. As he tangled his legs with yours he was immediately pulling you closer to him by the back of your knees. One of his arms under your head to curl his wrist inward to scratch the back of your head and the other around your side to rub your back. You suddenly understood.

He just wanted to lay as close as possible to you and not verbally say it. You tried containing your small laughter at his attempt at being coy.

“What?” He groaned as he shut his eyes, trying to get sleep to come to him. You dug your face into his neck, which he happily accepted as he pushed his cheek against your forehead in return.

“Nothing,” you told him.

“Just go to sleep.”

When the next morning rolled around and Touya’s phone had begun to ring for the fourth time, you had pried his arm off you and looked over his shoulder. The screen was showing his father calling him and as you rubbed your eyes and reached over to answer it for him- since he slept like a log- your wrist was caught and you were shoved back down into his chest.

Touya, who had been awake for some time now, was well aware he was exceptionally late to the agency and no he was in no rush to get there any time soon. The old man can call all he wants- he wasn’t going in just yet. There was a reason the old man was the only member of his family to not know his address.

Endeavor can still suck it.

-x-x-x-

a/n: for some reason the image of prohero touya coming home to just coze with his partner after another day just popped in my brain and has been relentlessly curb-stomping me into an early grave

#dabi #touya todoroki #dabi x reader #touya x reader #dabi fluff #bnha #boku no hero academia #dabi au #prohero dabi #prohero touya #au #bnha au #my hero academia #touya fluff

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

Mr. Petrus is somewhere in public when a meek stranger approaches him on the street. They immediately recognized him as a Handler—formerly theirs. They appear alone, and half a second from falling to their knees should he so much as look at them a certain way. They try to tell him something but the words catch in their throat and only a quiet noise slips free. How does he react this unexpected interaction?

CW: Pet whump, whumper POV, creepy/intimate whumper, escaped whumpee returns to whumper, dehumanization, collared, implied dubcon/noncon at end, dubcon touch, dubcon kiss

He isn’t usually the type to go out to bars - Luke’s a workaholic on a good week, content to all but live in his Facility sleeping quarters, leaving for supplies or to spend a day out in the sun and then coming right back.

When you love what you do, as they say, you’ll never work a day in your life.

Still, Renford's essentially mandated he take a damn vacation for once. He’s left behind his trainees and headed out to enjoy himself at a bar he used to frequent, back before he found he preferred to frequent the cells the frightened young men are held in, waiting for the slightest touch to remind them they exist.

Luke sits back on a barstool with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Oh, he’s not supposed to smoke, but this bar doesn’t push the issue and he’s not the only one filling the air with the familiar, acrid scent.

Out on the floor, people dance together, barely lit by dim lights changing color every so often, Red, blue, and green move over sweaty skin, curves and straight lines. Luke enjoys it all. He quirks a smile. He can see, just looking, who here would look fucking gorgeous with a collar buckled around their neck and a little more emptiness inside.

Get ‘em so empty they need someone to fill it up.

Luke’s probably ten years older than the oldest of the people on the dance floor, but that doesn’t bother him. Plenty of people like an older man, and those who don’t… well, if he gets them on the wrong end of his baton, they don’t really get to choose what they like or don’t, now do they?

The beat is a deafening rumble that rolls against his skin in rhythm and Luke hums contentedly. His beer is cool and rolls with citrus sourness along his tongue and down his throat, slightly fizzy compared to the darker stuff. Bright enough to flirt with tasting like cider, or nearly so.

Some local craft brewery shit, probably. In his Facility studio, Luke just keeps some basic Coors. No need to get fancy at home, after all.

Does he even have beer in his actual home? It’s been so long since he’s been there…

Something touches his arm, pulls just slightly at his sleeve, and Luke turns, head tipping to the side, a grin already on his lips.

There’s a lithe, beautiful young man there, with hair dyed a brilliant, ridiculously bright purple, eyes ringed in eyeliner. He has a lip ring, Luke notes, his tongue moving out to run over his own lower lip in thought.

There’s something familiar about the young man, although Luke can’t quite place him. Not exactly.

But the shiver of trepidation mixed with a desperation to have eyes - and more than eyes - on him… Luke knows that well enough. It tells him what he wants to know. His smile widens, just a little. “Evening, pretty boy.”

The young man looks up at him, his hand still hovering just over Luke’s bicep, and his mouth opens like he’ll reply. All that comes out is a soft sound that Luke only hears because a new song has started, slightly off-key piano playing over a heavily-synthesized voice and the slow introduction of a beat.

“What?” Luke’s eyebrows raise. “Use your words.”

The young man takes a step closer, and then another. He’s moving like a newborn fawn, on suddenly-awkward legs like he might fall to his knees at any moment. Luke was watching the dancers before, but now his gaze is wholly caught by the absolute goddamn sexiness of a runaway pet who can’t stop himself from walking back into a cage.

“H-Handler Petrus,” The runaway says, and when Luke’s hand moves to cup his face, the young man tips his head immediately into it. His eyes are watering, wet with tears that haven’t yet fallen. As soon as one slips out, Luke leans slowly forward and licks up the side of his face. The runaway whimpers at the wet heat of his tongue, the casual ownership of the action.

“That’s me,” He murmurs into the young man’s ear. “You know it. Why aren’t you running from me?”

The young man swallows, hard, and turns his head, pressing his own lips in a shivering, fearful brush against Luke’s cheek. “I-I’m hungry,” He says, voice almost too low to pick up. “And… and I don’t-... I don’t w-want-...” His voice trails off, and Luke’s smile only widens as the runaway leans forward and rests his forehead against Luke’s shoulder.

He sighs, setting his beer down half-drunk and turning to run his condensation-cold fingers through that garishly bright purple hair. “You ran away, huh?”

He already knows the answer.

The runaway pet nods without speaking.

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, is it?” Luke slides off his barstool, shifting to slide an arm around the runaway’s shoulders. He slaps a ten-dollar bill on the bar and walks away, heading for the door, the beat of a song bouncing off his skin right up until they step outside. It’s chilly out here, with a stiff breeze blowing the scent of saltwater through the air around them. It feels a little like walking through the surf, down here at the old warehouse district.

“No. I’m… hungry all the time, I still have to fuck for a place to sleep, people are… mean sometimes, I don’t know. I don’t know what to do, where to go.”

Fuck. He has to make sure the lib people don’t get ahold of this little beauty. He’s exactly what they’re looking to save.

“What’s your number?” He asks, casual as can be. The runaway isn’t wearing long-sleeves or a bracelet, he’s scarred on the inside of his left wrist when Luke takes a peek. Looks like he cut the tattoo off of himself, or had someone else do it, once upon a time.

“654338,” The pet says automatically, without hesitation. “Designation Romantic, Facility 001-”

“Yeah, I got that part.” Luke cuts him off and the pet falls back into silence. “Why’d you run away?” With his blue eyes as cold as ever, Luke lights another cigarette, takes a deep, deep drag, exhales smoke into the air in front of them as they move. The runaway coughs into one hand.

“I just… didn’t want to, anymore. With my owner.”

“You should know that what you want doesn’t fucking matter,” Luke says amiably, but the runaway winces and hunches into himself. Luke watches from the corner of his eye, his own mouth watering at the sight of the pet’s shame, his nervousness. “You don’t exist to get what you want. So why come up to me?”

“I thought maybe-... maybe you could help me.”

“Get back to your owner?”

The pet turns to look up at him, with gorgeous warm brown eyes full of pleading. “No, Handler Petrus. Please, please no. Just… just, to someone else, please, someone who won’t-... hurt me so badly. Please. Please.”

“It’s my job to get any runaway I see back to the Facility, gorgeous thing. Then back home."

“No. No, don’t take me back there! Please, I can’t-... I can’t do the lights again, please. I can't take how he h-hurts when, when he-"

"Yeah, yeah." Luke rolls his eyes. "Wimp."

The pet's eyes close against more tears.

Luke snorts at the sight. Pathetic. “We have pretty strict contracts that ensure runaways go right back to their rightful owners.”

“No, please, just-... can you help me another way?” The runaway goes up on his toes, presses his lips to Luke’s chin, against the corner of his mouth. Those pretty hands move to slide up under Luke’s shirt, cold fingers against his warm stomach. They tease moving downward. There’s a distance in the pet’s eyes, now, separating himself from what he’s doing to earn what he’s desperate for.

Luke considers. Then he has an idea, and he sighs, as if he's won over.

“Tell you what.” He rubs a thumb over the runaway’s lower lip, toys with his lip ring. The pet opens his mouth to show the silver stud on his tongue. Luke’s smile goes slightly cock-eyed, a jolt of heat straight to the pit of his stomach, spreading from there. “I’ve got a friend who might be able to keep you. I’m not going to just hand over anyone, though.”

The pet takes Luke’s thumb into his mouth, sucks lightly, rolling the tongue piercing against the underside in an unspoken promise. He pulls back just to ask, “What do I need to do?”

“I have an apartment, a week’s worth of vacation scheduled, and you can show me just how good you are at earning your keep.”

The runaway swallows with an audible click in his throat, then nods. “I-I can do that.”

“I know you can, baby. I’m the one who trained you. Now, let’s go find out how good you are with that tongue ring.”

Luke leads the pet away, towards his car, smiling contentedly into the night. He can enjoy a week of desperate eagerness, then drug the fuck out of the pretty thing, buckle a collar right back around his neck, and throw him into a cell at WRU to be wiped and put back where he belongs.

Once he’s on the Drip for a couple of days, he won’t even know Luke broke a promise.

He’ll be the same puppy-eager for Luke’s hands and mouth and anything else he wants to give him that he is right now. Plus, Luke’ll get a nice little bonus for turning in a runaway.

This is shaping up to be an excellent vacation.

#luke petrus is a piece of garbage #whump #bbu #box boy universe #box boy #implied dubcon #dubcon touching #dubcon kissing #dubcon kiss #escaped whumpee #referenced starvation #referenced drugging #pet whump #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #luke is such a fucking asshole #the red letter anon

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bruhlsbees · 3 years

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Blurb idea! Okay so I wear alot of goth and punk clothing and I just love the idea of opposites attract pairings so like maybe a goth/punk/alternative reader with Alex? Like they meet at the bar on open mic night while she's preforming and he's like whoa she's so cool! But so out of my league💀 and he thinks he'll never get a chance and all of a sudden the reader comes up and is like hey you're cute wanna hang? And he is baffled lol

opposites attract || alex kerner x fem!alternative!reader

gif credit to @/lovecafes

summary: while singing at an open mic night in the bar, you catch the attention of someone least expected

pairing: alex kerner x fem!alternative!reader

word count: 2,313

warnings: drinking (alex and reader), alex being incredibly awkward, reader loving it and teasing him

a/n: hope you like this one!!! i thought this was an incredibly sweet idea - i imagine reader is singing something from the cranberries, like zombie or linger - this is also set a couple years after the events of goodbye, lenin! - i'd say in mid 90s

The last act had just left the stage when the host jumped on the stage, grinning out at the audience who continued to hoot and holler. It was open mic night down at the local bar, The Sour Apple, and for a last minute event, a lot of people turned out. The Sour Apple wasn’t your usual hangout. Typically you were in the basement smoking pot with the rest of your friends, or performing in backyards with your band - but you wanted a new change of scenery that night, and you thought - hell, an open mic might be fun.

You had invited a few of your friends and bandmates, hoping that maybe you’d be able to perform some of your new songs to test the crowd and see if they were feeling it or not. Only a couple of your friends showed, but the whole band came out and you were pleased. It took quite a bit of convincing, especially for your drummer, Reed, to tag along since apparently he had a bad history with The Sour Apple.

Not only that, but you all stook out like a sore thumb. Leather, studded belts, platform boots, multicolored teased hair, heavy makeup - you weren’t fazed by the stares you received when you walked in, all typical reactions when you went into a new place. Maybe that’s why you stuck to the typical spots, to avoid the judgement. It wasn’t like you cared, but it did get tiring after so long - feeling the stares on the back of your head while you just tried to enjoy life.

“Okay everyone, last call for anyone who wants to get up and participate in open mic!” The bar fell silent into hushed whispers, looking around to see if anyone else wanted to get up on stage. “Any takers? Come on now, don’t be shy!”

Turning towards the rest of your bandmates that were seated along the bar, you grinned their way before the bassist, Lee, shot up - beer spilling from the cup as you gained the host’s attention.

“Right here! We’ll come up!” He exclaimed, stepping off the barstool he was propped on and onto the main bar floor, turning and holding up his hand towards the bartender, “Five shots of jäger my good man!”

While the bartender poured out five shots, the rest of the band groaned, wishing that Lee hadn’t been the one to pick the shot. He was the only one to like the taste of the thick licorice. You only wished it was something more easy, like fireball or hell - Jack Daniel’s would suffice. But you braved the shot, clinking glasses with the rest of them before dumping your head back and letting the warm shot run down your throat.

You held in your gag as you sat the glass down, being pulled now by the guitarist, Winny, through the crowd and up onto the stage. As the singer, you took center stage, the spotlight blinding you as you held your hand up to block the light while you adjusted the mic stand, the rest of your band getting set up behind you.

“Hey everyone! We’re the Toxic Cats and we’ll be singing-” You stopped short, what were you going to sing? Turning around, you glanced towards Lee who shrugged before the other side at Winny who came up to the mic.

“You all know the Cranberries! How about their new song that just came out! You all liked that?” When the crowd erupted in cheers, you smiled weakly, looking at Winny who winked your way, “Looks like we got our song. Go kill 'em, Tiger.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

“You gonna sing tonight, Alex?” Denis teased from his spot at the bar, downing the rest of his pint while he glanced over at Alex who was facing the stage, shaking his head. “I heard you got a real pretty voice.”

“Well whoever told you that is lying. Don’t think anyone wants to hear me sing. Sound like a rat stuck in a trap.” He explained, lifting his own pint up to take a drink from. He sighed and leaned back against the bar, blinking slowly as he watched the last act get off the stage before the host jumped on. Shaking his head, Alex exhaled slowly, turning back to face the bar.

As he turned, he caught the laughs that came from the other end of the bar. The group of alternative folks catching his attention. He didn’t mean to stare, but they were just so...different. They weren’t the typical crowd that hung around The Sour Apple, and it surely didn’t go unnoticed.

“Weird folk they are,” Turning, Alex furrowed his eyebrows at Denis who was drinking a new pint now, glancing at Alex, “They’re in a band...not a big fan of their music, but they’re pretty popular I’d say. I’ve seen a couple of their shows. Always doing something with fire or chanting in another language. Gives me the heeby jeebies.”

“I think you’re drunk, Denis.” Alex noted, rolling his eyes as Denis waved him off, insisting that he wasn’t while sloppily sipping from his pint. His attention fell back towards the end of the bar, towards the band as they now took shots before heading up onto the stage.

Through the crowd, Alex only noticed the red hair on you. It reminded him of a Coca Cola can - maybe that wasn’t the best comparison, but it’s what he thought! His posture returned to his original spot, leaning against the bar while facing the stage where you now stood center stage at. While your teased dyed red hair stood out the most, he also noticed your outfit, which surprisingly impressed him.

Starting at your feet, he noticed the high platform boots - you were probably taller than him in them. Alex also noticed the ripped tights, wondering if they came that way or if you did that yourself, under the black skirt that was tattered. You were wearing a band tee of some sorts, not recognizing the band. He had seen alternative girls before, but never once did he look at them the way he looked at you. You were pretty and Alex was awed by your mystery.

When you finally began to sing though, the familiar tune of the Cranberries, Zombie, harmonizing through the bar, his lips turned into a smile, straightening up to really be intune with the song. He had heard it a thousand times, but your cover, hearing it from you - it was more haunting and beautiful than anytime he heard it on the radio.

Alex felt hypnotized to your voice, leaning forward with his mouth gaped open as he listened, gaze remained fixed on you as you swayed on the mic or leaned against one of the other band members. He hadn’t even realized it was over until Denis shoved him, his attention snapping towards him.

“Jesus man, you’re drooling!”

His cheeks went hot, face red as Alex reached his hand up to his mouth, wiping away the drool with the back of his hand before turning back towards the bar, doing his best to ignore Denis who was laughing and in a drunk fit.

“Oh man, you got the hots for her don’t you? The singer! Man, I don’t think I would have ever taken you as the type,” Denis watched as the band made their way back towards their spot at the bar, high-fiving those in the crowd as they passed by them. When you were settled back in your seat, Denis stood up and grabbed the back of Alex’s jacket, pulling him up and with him towards the end of the bar, “Come on, go introduce yourself!”

Before Alex could protest, Denis shoved him towards you, stumbling forward and knocking into you. You turned around, ready to yell at whoever had knocked into you and made you spill your beer before your gaze softened, seeing Alex cowering.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to-”

“Hey, it’s fine...relax,” You let out a weak laugh and turned towards him, placing your now empty pint on the counter, “I’m a little disappointed though, someone just bought me that. I didn’t even get the chance to drink it.”

Alex smiled back at you, staring at you for a little too long before he knocked himself out of his trance, turning towards the bartender and holding up his hand.

“Two pints please!”

It didn’t take long for the bartender to fill up two new pints for the both of you. Scooting them forward while Alex picked up his, you picking up your own. You clinked your glass against his before taking a drink, setting your glass back down with a sigh.

“I don’t think I caught your name,” You introduced yourself and leaned forward, your right index finger swirling around the rim of the glass, “I’d like to thank the cutie who bought me my drink.” You sent a wink his way and grinned, seeing him look down briefly as his cheeks went pink.

“Alex, I’m Alex!” He introduced, sitting down finally on the barstool beside you. When you called him a cutie, his chest tightened, feeling flustered as he tried to think of what to say next.

“My favorite color is red!” He blurted, “How do you get your hair so big?”

Alex cringed at his question, closing his eyes and mentally slapping himself in the face. He was sure at that point he had lost all chance of impressing you, and he hadn’t even been talking with you for more than two minutes. But when you laughed and didn’t throw your drink in his face, he opened his eyes and smiled weakly.

“Lots of hairspray and teasing. Unfortunately I’m not the most eco-friendly with this hairstyle. Mother Earth is probably taking her revenge with all my split ends.” He let out a laugh at your joke, glancing at the guitarist of the band who turned in her stool, leaning forward.

“Or maybe it’s because you’ve just fried your hair. I’m telling you, you should just let it go natural.” You waved off Winny and nudged her back, your attention keeping fixed on Alex.

“So, Alex, did you just want to come over and ask me about my hair?” You took another drink from your pint, your gaze fixed on him as you watched him get flustered again, trying to think of the words to say. “You know, guys like you don’t usually go for girls like me. Did your buddy set you up for this?”

It had happened plenty of times. Pretty boys always got a kick out of embarrassing the alternative girl. You wouldn’t be hurt if this was what was going on, but you would be pissed to have your time be wasted. To your surprise though, Alex seemed to be different.

“No! I mean, well he pushed me over here, but not like that,” He rushed, leaning forward slightly in his stool, as if ready to catch you if you tried to turn away. “Your singing, I’ve never heard you guys before. You sound great! God, part of me was thinking that you sounded better than the Cranberries-”

“Better than the Cranberries? Now you’re just pulling my tail,” It was your turn to blush, cheeks red as you waved him off while he continued to praise you, his hand falling to your knee. You looked down briefly at his hand, smiling before back up at him, “Well, maybe you should come see one of our shows? I’ll get you a front row seat on the best couch in the basement.”

The best couch in the basement. Why did he have a feeling that this wasn’t something he had experienced before. He watched as you pulled a napkin from the bar, digging into your coat pocket before pulling out a pen, scribbing your number down before handing it over to him.

“Here’s the house number. If you call just ask for me, I’m usually around.” You looked up at him and smiled, opening your mouth to say another thing before hearing your bandmates call you for you behind, insisting that it was time to go. Frowning, you grabbed your coat and stood up, towering over him in your platform boots.

Your gaze kept on Alex who stared at the napkin, his smile stained on his face as he ran his thumb across the number. He looked cute, innocent, pure. All things you weren’t used to. When you heard Reed calling for you name, you nodded and waved them off before resting your free hand on Alex’s shoulder, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek.

“I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

But before he could answer, you were already turned and heading out of the bar, catching up to the rest of your bandmates who were climbing into the taxi to head back home. Standing up, Alex held the napkin in his hand, staring at the dark doorway that led outside of the bar. Of course he was happy, but damn - did you have to leave so quick?

Turning, Alex tucked the napkin neatly into his own jacket, making sure it was secured before making his way back to Denis, sitting back in his original spot. When Alex settled back in, he turned and looked at Denis who was laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

Without saying a word, Denis motioned towards his own cheek, signaling for Alex to check his face. He reached his hand up and swiped at his cheek, noticing that your black lipstick had made it’s way onto his skin. He smiled to himself, feeling giddy inside before cleaning the rest off.

“So I take it went well?” Denis asked, leaning closer towards Alex. Smiling, Alex nodded and took a final sip from his pint.

“It went great, now come on, let’s get you home.”

#ask #nony #alex kerner #goodbye lenin #good bye lenin #alex kerner imagine #alex kerner x reader #alex kerner x you

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