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RUTHLESS: OWNED

💕Pairing: Hoseok x Reader 

📝Summary: Second part of Ruthless 

✏️Genre/au: Non-Canon, Romance, Action, Smut, Bikerlife

✏️Rating: PG 18+, explicit

📝Wordcount: 2833

⚠️chapter warnings: explicit smut, dominant attitude , semi-public sex (while people are sleeping in the same room)

Hii! Did you stumble across this work? Glad you're here 😊 It has a previous part. Please, let me know your thoughts once you are finished. Feedback keeps me motivated to write 😁

Note that English is not my first language, so please if you find grammar mistakes, let me know. :)

“Stabilize!” he told you before standing on the back seat as you rode through the straight road, passing in between Taehyung and Jungkook’s bikes to show off. Even with the handkerchief covering their mouths, you could still tell by their eyes that they were laughing and the whole thing felt like going back in time, when your games didn’t involve deadly vehicles of two wheels but Hobi would make Jungkook show his bunny smile.

As Hoseok sat down sometime before the curve and you reduced your speed to retake the customary formation, you thought about how lucky you were that Hobi understood your need to be on top of your precious bike and how his masculinity didn’t feel threatened by the fact you were the one to ride and him the one to sit at the back. You could remember as if it was yesterday how that had played a part in the two of you being together; how Taehyung and Jungkook denied their back seats to Hobi by saying that was a place only for chicks, forcing him to ride with you. You still wonder what would have happened if they hadn’t just decided to intervene and play cupid for the both of you. What other scenario could have led you to where you were? Simply impossible to know but you just knew the road would have been rode to the same destiny. 

Stopping at the motel you dropped your side bags in the shared bedroom, going cheap with one for the four of you, to make the money last as much as possible before reaching Sonyeondan’s Motorcycle Club’s quarters. However, it wasn’t something that bothered you that much, since your level of comfort around the boys at that point was past last hot summer, where the four of you had ended up lying down on the floor of Jungkook’s living room with the fans on and only very tight and sweaty underwear covering your bodies. That week was infernal; a heat wave at the same time the air-conditioner broke, was some sort of punishment for all your sins, you were sure. You even ended up grumbling to the ceiling to any overlord or divinity listening that you would marry Hobi, that you wouldn’t keep on falling into his arms in sin. The way his cheeks turned pinkish as he smiled and the endearment in his eyes, told you that would make him more happy than any god. 

Besides, Jungkook had grown with you and at that point, it was more than clear that any love he could feel was purely platonic and Taehyung simply had his own rule about not fucking or falling for anyone with a bike. Which made you wonder how he might be feeling about seeing Jimin again and although tempted to ask, you knew better than to push a biker's buttons when it came to the heart. However, you were thrilled about seeing Namjoon and his Forty-eight again, since the last time you visited he’d been out of town for family issues and you hadn’t been able to speak to him directly. Also, slightly nervous about him finally meeting Hobi, especially at such an event, where buzz could make a man’s tongue a bit loose.

The Motorcycle Week was something you hadn’t missed ever since you first got on top of a bike and something you were expectant for, once you got your licence. But now more than ever, all you wanted was for your boyfriend to finally see what it was all about. Because, even though you’d been friends since childhood, Hobi was always out on summer vacation with his family in July and although your families sometimes shared a week or two in that month due to your mum’s being best friends; he’d never come with you when you left for the event. 

You had always gone with your uncle to see the races and different spectacles that happened during the day. When the sun would fall, you’d stay with Namjoon and his mom, at their house. Half the week into the event, your uncle would go all the way north to pick up Jungkook, whose parents were reluctant to leave their son there for a whole week but ended up agreeing with your mom to let him stay there from Thursday morning to Sunday afternoon. On Sunday at 3 p.m. like a clock, Namjoon’s dad would ride with Jungkook at his back and you’d do the same with your uncle right behind them. 

Then as you grew older, with what you thought was a one-sided crush and Hobi never asking to go, you simply kept on following your own tradition. With the first licence, you had your own bike paid in a two-year plan after you got your job and Jungkook took just about the same time when he got his, since he wouldn’t even buy a pillow for his bed. Those Iron’s 883 had been your rides ever since, although at this point they looked nothing like they did at the beginning.   

Two years ago, however, the tradition changed. Namjoon went from prospect to vice president at his father's founded club, Sonyeondan, and you were then his guests at the club. Jungkook, who’d always admired Namjoon and had him as the inspiration to enter the motorcycle life, started then being around the club as a possible prospect and you knew the next day once you arrived, Namjoon would put the leader jacket at his back.

The club was involved with the community and all actions made towards it were for the benefit of the common good, which meant no one involved with the club could have a criminal record or be related to immoral or illegal activities. They were the opposite of the one-percenters, although all of you, all bikers, would be known to follow the same honour code; family first, no-nonsense (respect without taking bullshit), honour the bike, never give up, no rider left behind, stay true to yourself, stick to your guns (which doing a parenthesis to, had nothing to do with such but to principals and words), all gear all time (properly dressed for the road) and ride with pride. Those were things to which Jungkook stuck without exceptions, as any biker should, and adding to his own abilities, you were sure he would be a fully patched member in no time. 

“Four portions of Dwaeji galbi and jokbal, please,” asked Taehyung for everyone at the table as you messaged your location to Namjoon with a winky face and just right after took a selfie of the four of you showing the victory finger pose, only Taehyung making it look way cooler. 

“So, are you ready for this next step in your life?” you asked Jungkook picking some kimchi to eat with the galbi while Taehyung tried to make Hobi understand why he didn’t stick to his first bike he bought like you and Jungkook had; why he had chosen or been chosen by his Road King.

“It’s not like I know what’s going to happen,” he replied, moving the food on his plate unsettled.

“Oh, c’mon! Stop that nonsense. You know they want you there. You are a one in a million, dude.” you encouraged him, making him raise his eyes to you, with a single chuckle from being flattered. “No, really. Other clubs have wanted you to join them. Asked you to do so. That’s fucking rare!”

“What are you guys talking about?” wondered Hobi, curious about your last statement. 

“Jungkook was asked by two non-related clubs to join them in the last event and that has no precedent, even for old dudes like my uncle. He wasn’t surprised when I told him though,” you explained. Jungkook tsked and shook his head, brushing it off.

“If you had a dick, you’d probably be in the same situation,” said Taehyung, looking at you as if he was trying to pierce your soul but you snarled in response. “For real. Jimin said he’d die to have you both in his lines and how much it sucked that he wasn’t  a higher rank to manifest for a mixed club.” You didn’t know what surprised you more, Jimin’s words or Taehyung mentioning him. You wondered if they could have reconciled despite the circumstances or if Taehyung was simply over it. 

“Wow, that sounds so cool,” said Hobi with bulging eyes. “What about Namjoon, he seems like a cool guy. Would he ask you in?” he then wondered, to only get Jungkook and Taehyung to look away and stay silent.

“That couldn’t happen bebe.” you said, kissing his cheek and attacking your meat again while his lips drew an ‘o’.

The rest of the dinner was pleasant and in no time you were all back to the room. Taehyung using Jungkook as a teddy bear, hugging him with his body while he was still awake. Looking at you, as you were next to each other on opposite beds he smiled. 

“I’m actually nervous,” Jungkook pronounced when he was sure Hobi was also asleep.

“Don’t be, Namjoon is there. He’ll guide you,” you whispered back with a smile and then it seemed like Jungkook was going to say something but stayed quiet before saying goodnight and shifting to his back. 

Staying awake once he started to snore, you knew you weren’t going to be able to sleep, so you turned in Hobi’s arms to try and find comfort against the warmth of his body. Rubbing your bump against his crotch by mistake, you found yourself getting trapped in his arms as he drifted awake with a grunt against your nape. You felt him getting hard as his breath changed and you made more effort to turn around. 

“Stop, you little brat,” he whispered in your ear. “You are going to keep quiet for daddy, aren’t you?” he then added with a smile and you nodded. His hands wasted no time invading your body over the loose-fitting black tee and his stolen grey sweatpants, finding their way inside. One hand stimulated your nipples drifting from side to side to his wish while his middle finger and index pressed your exterior lips over your clit, stimulating indirectly. Your breath faltered but you obeyed and stayed quiet. Slave to his ministrations, already craving the hard member pressing against your rear. His lips pressed against your jawline, breathing along with your desire. 

His fingers kept on playing mercilessly without ever touching your sensitive parts directly or doing single drags that did nothing to placate your lust but to increase it. You finally gave in to rub your butt-cheeks against his throbbing shaft, provoking him to grunt, caught off guard. The hand occupied with your nipples sneaked up through the neck of the t-shirt to your jaw, turning your face around. His tongue darted out of his mouth pressing between your soft lips, making its way in as you submitted, exploring your cavity as he pulled down your pants and did the same with his, only to rub his velvety and warm length against your wet fold. Making sure your knees stayed at the front, so he didn’t get caged between your thighs, he kept on rubbing closely until you bucked your hips to try to get the tip inside at the same time he moved forward. Earning you for him to move his hips away, making yours search for him desperately. 

“Behave…” he warned in a low tone, grabbing your lower lip in between his front teeth. “Or I’ll just shift to sleep.” Your breath faltered to the the way he owned you and stayed still until he hummed. His girth landed right in front of your core again and you gripped on his wrist when he lowered his hand to your pelvic bone, letting your lower lip go but sucking on it making you shiver. 

“Please…” you begged, desperately, him pressing against his body with your back while your eyes stayed at the front although you weren’t looking and he suddenly pressed his cheek against yours, softly before abandoning his mission and taking his hand down his side. 

His tip pressed past your folds, to get gripped by your walls closing to the sudden but expected intrusion. But he knew you already. Pulling out slightly he went in and out piece by piece until he reached your end, deep in your core, filling you to the brim and letting out a low grunt as he did so.

“What does it feel like?” you suddenly asked, completely high and drowsy in the sensation of completeness, since he seemed to be on the same level. You could feel him breathing on your neck and hugging you lovingly although the lust, as if being inside of you was making him happy, like it did you. You also thought, although unlikely for his stamina, he could simply be holding himself while trying not to cum since he had been doing such sneaky foreplay and your friends were still sleeping less than four feet away. 

“What does what feel like?” he muttered against your skin, kissing it before slowly shifting a little bit to get to a more comfortable position, with his arm still trapped under your body. 

“To be inside?” you whispered, suddenly feeling stupid for asking when he chuckled.  

“It’s like…” he let out air. “You mould so well to me… I can feel the softness… the wetness… the warmth.” he suddenly got a bit shy and giggled at your nape, as you blushed. “It feels incredible. Like… I wouldn’t move right now, that’s how good… not even needing to cum. Just to be inside of you is… incredible. Addictive. Does that answer your question?” he finally concluded, kissing your shoulder.

“Ye-yeah-” you replied, tilting your head and reaching to slide your fingers on his temples. 

“I would like to ask the same but I think we both agree on the incredible part,” he said chuckling against your chin before kissing it. 

“Oh you cocky bastard..” you whispered with a giggle.

“Tell me it isn’t true. That I don’t make you shiver by just being inside of you, that your walls aren’t tight around me to feel me better, that I don’t make you roll your eyes even before you reach an orgasm…Go ahead.” he dared you, lowering his tone an octave, which was absolutely not something he’d do and you tried to turn all your upper body to stare at him directly. 

Predatory eyes on you and panting, he seemed to really be waiting for that answer with the completely serious face but shaft still hard inside of you. “Even more than that… I can feel every detail and it’s like being completed. As if that part of your body was meant to stay in mine…” you confessed and he suddenly pulled out, putting you on your back completely and entering you slowly but consistently until reaching bottom again. This time you were able to notice how impossibly hard he was and the sweat forming on his temples, as he moved slowly while kissing and hugging you. How it implied on to how much he wanted to rail you and set himself loose until he spilt. “We have all night to make love. Kill that wish first,” you said yanking slightly at the hairline to get him to part from the kiss and whisper it on his lips.

“I can’t do that,” he said pointing out to your two friends. 

“I can face the pillows,” you said looking him straight in the eye. He lost his breath while his eyes focused on you and then he leaned to give you a kiss that left you breathless in seconds as he moved inside of you before he pulled out and turned you around.

“...Did you guys have sex last night?” wondered Taehyung, as soon as he drifted from sleep while you and Hobi snuggled in bed to the view of the sunrise. Jungkook laughed at his side. You could only chuckle while Hobi smiled, both of you giving your back to the other bed. “I know you guys are awake…”

“The soap and water smell coming from the bathroom has done a lot but I could catch on that smell anywhere I go.” pointed out Jungkook not even opening his eyes, still with Taehyung holding him for dear life.

“I think I heard them at some point… ‘What does it feel like?’” he said, copying your voice to an attentive listening Jungkook. 

“TAEHYUNG!” you and Hobi shouted as you sat down at the same time, looking at the other two men. Both smiled naughtily with Jungkook looking side-eyed before all of you cracked up laughing. Filling up the room with the sound until the couple in the next room banged the wall and you all shut up at the same time laughing in silence because of it.

“I hope Hoba didn’t leave cum-stains in the shee-” tried to say Jungkook and you threw a pillow at him. 

“Jungkook!” you scolded him before cracking a smile and letting your back fall again to the bed. This would definitely be shamelessly brought up again. You just hoped Namjoon didn’t get to hear it.

I hope you enjoyed this. Let me know your thoughts and reblog to let it spread 😊 See you soon! ~

I want to thank @bangtanscotyeondan for the beta work 💜

RUTHLESS: SWAY

💕Pairing: Hoseok x Reader 

📝Summary: Second part of Ruthless 

✏️Genre/au: Non-Canon, Romance, Action, Smut, Bikerlife

✏️Rating: PG 18+, explicit

📝Wordcount: 3998

⚠️chapter warnings: explicit smut, dominant attitude , semi-public sex (while people are sleeping in the same room)

Hii! Did you stumble across this work? Glad you're here 😊 It has a previous part. Please, let me know your thoughts once you are finished. Feedback keeps me motivated to write 😁

Note that English is not my first language, so please if you find grammar mistakes, let me know. :)

As your three motorcycles enter the town, it is obvious that it's been brought to life by the biker event. People in leather jackets walk the streets jovially engaged in conversation and different types of bikes fill the parking of every hotel, bar, or restaurant. The rather small village, normally rather quiet, is now louder than it has ever been.

It is a vision that gives you a tingle. The older you get the more you grow into how these conventions go rogue at night and how the excesses make people more real, more true to themselves. You expect to show that to your beloved Hoseok. Lure him into the lust for freedom that your kinfolk feel. Although something in the way he fucks tells you that is innately his. Maybe he’ll be just as fascinated as you were the first time you came here. 

It's on those nights where, in the past, you and Namjoon would sit over the only building standing at the old factory terrain and drink beer as you watched the elders lose their shit over alcohol, plant-based “medicine”, and attractive people. 

The night was only meant to be for the adults, those who could drink and “legally” do all those things, but it was pretty easy to escape through Namjoon’s backyard to attend as his mom was sleeping or still at the party with Joon’s dad. You only had to get down his room’s window, hold onto the ledge and place your feet on the lower window before jumping, then follow the first line of trees from the forest right down a path next to the house and access the dirt road to the farms. Lastly, take the lead to reach the end of the town, where the lot was.

It was in one of those escapes that you met Yoongi, who had turned twenty-one just four months prior but was looking for a place to watch the scene just like you two did and caught you red-handed. 

He looked so good in his seventies style, with those dark cat eyes that seemed to look into your soul and those long black locks falling over his temples, caressing that majestic jawline. Had you not been sitting, you could have dropped to your knees with the instant infatuation you felt.

In a matter of two days and two long nights, you had spent more time talking than sleeping or taking care of your own needs. By the third, Friday night, when Jungkook arrived, and Namjoon had the pleasure of his company -when leaving his side wasn’t leaving him alone or ditching him- you and Yoongi took the road back into town. In Yoongi's hotel room, a discreet double-bed little room with wooden walls and flowered curtains, he showed you what it was to lay with a man. 

You laid under him the next morning, and after a nice breakfast in his room, you left him with a gentle kiss at his door while he was still only wearing his leather trousers. 

He was a perfect gentleman. The perfect one-night stand. 

None of you exchanged numbers, and whether that had ever been an issue or not, you never saw him again. You only spoke about him around that time and you only remembered him when people spoke about their first time. With that, he became a good memory. Yoongi the Nomad. 

Hoseok is well aware of that. He has been for years and he has brought it up recently, right by the time you started to talk about the journey. 

“What would happen if this time Yoongi is there?” he wondered

“He could have been before, but I never saw him or, at least, didn't see him in the crowd,” was the only thing that made sense to you. 

“It is impossible for you to just miss him,” Hoseok concludes, “especially since old habits die hard, and you and the guys are still looking for higher places to oversee more area and watch people exist,” he added with a little endearing chuckle.

You concluded that it didn’t matter. It was just a one-night stand, and it had never been a thing to begin with. Likely, he would not even remember you. 

It’s the view of the hotel that has brought all these thoughts back, but when your eyes meet the antiquity shop, everything dissipates. The first time you stepped into the main street that branches and leads to a single cul-de-sac neighbourhood, what caught your attention was this shop. The view of flowered windows and clean facades, pretty well-taken care trees and bushes adorning the pathways, was stunning and brought a sense of community that not every town has, wasn’t the best of it for you. That shop, with its little mysteries and history, was a reason you once wanted to move in. 

A charming sensation that you shared with Taehyung now. 

You both had stopped almost synchronised, and Jungkook had to move his bike backwards to reach you again. Hoseok looked at it from behind you and with an audible smile commented, “The magic shop!” Causing you to chuckle with sincere amity that was at the same time shared with the other two. 

“We should come check it out tomorrow morning,” said Taehyung over the noise with a little shout. You agreed.

The way the leaves create shadows on your way in this spectacularly sunny day makes you want to lift your hands to your sides and close your eyes. Since you are the one riding, you allow the thought to escape your mind. Hoseok’s hands around your waist keep you grounded and hot on your seat. 

This many people are the only thing that disturbs the town’s peace. But as opposed to what normally happens to the otherwise calm towns, people love to have this many guests here. It's like people in town are the most welcoming hosts to a bunch of brute-looking rascals. You’re feeling included in that description.

Maybe it's because, when the event happens every two or three years, people are responsible enough and do the bare minimum to not leave a mess behind them when they leave. Maybe it’s because some of you are charmers. Or maybe it’s just because you remind old people of their youth, and when respectful youngsters sit to listen, they can reminisce about those times.

It could be easily the latter since by the time you are near Namjoon’s parent’s house, you see a bunch of elders sitting in the town hall garden watching the lengthy and straight street. 

You park the bikes in front of the white fence house with new apricot paint covering its outside walls, and old memories come dancing to you like little nymphs, giving you a new smile as you dismount.

 A family barbecue is being set up in the yard already. The two-story home looks just like it always has: neat, with well-attended flowers on the windows and entranceway, like most of the town, and you can see the flower bushes over in the backyard white panels. Everything that is wood is white, giving it that dreamhouse aesthetic that the European colonists brought two centuries ago. That detail gives you the ick, but it certainly fits the American dream the world has been infested with through Hollywood.

The garage door is open, with a Chevy Impala sitting in the right spot while a Nomad Triumph Bonneville T100 bike and a camo Yamaha Dragstar 650 rest at its left. Namjoon’s and his dad’s. In the driveway, there are two more bikes, your uncle’s Neev Nakshatra 650 Bobber and Jimin’s Bavarian Fistfighter Custom BMW R nineT. If it wasn’t for you being related or long-time friends with the owners of those bikes, you are sure those bikes would be lust-busters. 

They surely seem to give Jungkook a mental boner. His eyes are glued to that direction, and he forgets for a second that he is meant to park his bike. 

Namjoon is the first one to come from the inside of the fence to receive you, apparently hands on deck with the barbecue because he has a brownish apron that covers him chest to knees and still grips a pair of tongs dripping sauce from them. He looks at them when he realises that all of you are staring at the item in question. 

“Oh…” he says, looking at it with surprise and then showing that perfect smile of his. “How was the journey?” he asks kindly.

“Well, it was entertaining,” says Jungkook, looking at you and then at Hoseok, raising his brows when he turns back to look at the host and stands from his leaning position on his bike. Taehyung is the first to dismount, although normally, Jungkook is the most effective to unpack and goes to check Jimin’s bike without a second thought. In fact, his eyes are still on the shiny chrome of the engine as Jungkook updates the soon-to-be President on what things you enjoyed during the trip.

You were apprehensive about him spilling the beans about what happened in the hotel on your way, but you know Jungkook may like messing around with you but wouldn’t put you in that position. As Namjoon gets closer, however, Taehyung loses interest in the bike, approaching him too and hugs him. From your angle the tong-man seems to say something in his ear, but you can’t hear a thing.  Then Namjoon hugs Jungkook and tells him to beef up, letting him know his mom will, most likely, not leave him alone when it comes to food.

Sometimes you ask if Jungkook’s love for Namjoon is truly that platonic since his eyes shine differently when he looks at him. 

When Hoseok is introduced to Namjoon, the latter’s jaw tenses for a second.

“I’m so happy you guys can finally meet in person,” you say cheerfully. Namjoon nods with a courteous smile but stares at him a second too long before he looks at you and gives you a warm hug. 

“If he doesn’t treat you well enough, let me know, I’ll—” he says, clearly worried. 

“Easy, big bear. He’s a good guy,” you mutter before breaking the hug, taking a small squeeze of his well-built forearm. When you return to your boyfriend’s side, his poker face makes you think that something about the interaction was not his cup of tea.

When Namjoon moves to grab a couple of bags that were meant to be taken inside and then moves to go back to the garden with your group, only Taehyung and Jungkook follow. Hoseok retains you with his hand on your waist. 

“What’s up, Hobi?” you ask him as you clearly notice his intentions. 

“I would like to know what that was about,” he comments, looking at them as they walk inside the fence. They look back for a second, but Taehyung says something for them to keep walking. “That looked like something a bit different from all these years of things you have told me about him.” 

“Oh…Yeah, that. Well, as I told you, Namjoon treats me like a little sister.” you respond, shaking your head. “He takes the role a bit too seriously… Now that you and I are together though, he’ll be on your ankles like a Collie. He is like, ‘Me protect baby’,” you scrunch your nose. 

“Yeah, he really seems to be that kind,” adds Hoseok, backing off from his confusion and showing what looks like a bit of discomfort hidden in a smile. 

“Such a shame you never met before because you have a lot in common,” you explain to him and he frowns. “I meant you both are outspoken people, you are easy to talk to, smart, meticulous, calm on the outside and kind of mysterious but also have very child-like moments. Although you can’t tell the latter from him just now.” He acts as if he’s offended with the last comment.

“Child-like?” he puts his arms around you, bouncing you from side to side. “You think?”

“Yeah, you can be really cheerful and playful when you feel comfortable,” you say, putting your arms around his neck. 

“Hmm,” Hoseok seems to weigh the situation for a second, and you wait to see what else he has to say. “So you have talked about me with him,” he says, placing a triumphant smile on his face. “Was my baby gushing over me with her best friend?” he teases, and you slap his chest. 

“I don’t gush, you moron,” you say, scrunching your face, faking disgust exaggeratedly. 

“I couldn’t disagree more,” he says, kissing you as he stands quickly and starts to run to the backyard before you process it. 

“Hey!”

Namjoon’s parents' backyard soon fills with a dozen more people, members of the MC, and they all greet you effusively upon arrival. One of the large and imposing men, Ravas, puts you on his shoulder and says he's taking you home with him, before the ex-president-turned-sergeant-on-arms warns him against it for his health. 

Hoseok seems surprised and Namjoon looks embarrassed about it but you are a good sport since you’ve known him and most of the tribe since you were very little. Your response is to try and wrestle him, like you did back in the day. 

In some sense, you know they do it to test your new boyfriend, see if he's ‘good enough’ for their ‘little princess’. You can't really complain since they do that with the other women related to the members too and has resulted in being one of the many good ways to judge a character. 

To no one's surprise, you manoeuvre with your legs to use the weight of your body, bouncing from one side to the other while grabbing him by the neck and jumping away from him when he moves his hands to try to hold his balance. There is applause and you smirk when the guy looks up and pushes his hair back.

After that little play, the beers and food flow through the garden animatedly. 

Namjoon keeps sending glances towards you and Hoseok when he hugs you from behind as you listen to Joon’s dad pass from the talk about the surgery that will make him stand down from his position as president and move to the moment when Jungkook first got on a bike.

Namjoon’s dad had left for work, and he and Jungkook were at home alone since his mom had an earlier schedule. Namjoon had just gotten his bike licence and he was showing Jungkook his bike when they had the brilliant idea for him to teach the youngster. 

Without too much thought, Namjoon took Jungkook for a ride on the back going to the furthest lonely road in the mountains nearby, almost half an hour from home. There, he swapped places with Jungkook and told him to start it. 

Namjoon wasn’t stupid or reckless—Jungkook had already been on smaller bikes and been able to balance, but a bigger bike is always a bit more difficult to manage due to the weight and dimension. 

Jungkook was too excited to test ride it because Namjoon’s Forty-eight Harley Davidson was awesome and he got too carried away with the speed, although the eldest shouted at him to slow down as he wound along the road. 

Fortunately, the moment when Jungkook fell from the bike was when he was reducing the speed to stop next to Namjoon, so the only injuries he received were a forearm burn and some gravel pokes on the face. For the pride of his family man, a scar stayed under his left eye. Like a war medallion. 

Jungkook can’t avoid scratching the almost imperceivable white skin that has prevailed from that day’s memories as Namjoon pats his shoulder proudly. He has come a long way since that day and will soon join the rest of the men who are now under Namjoon’s command. The place where he has wanted to be since he was old enough to be on top of a two-wheel fury. 

A little sense of jealousy overcomes you as you see him being surrounded by the men. You will not be given the chance. Just because of what you have hanging from your chest and what doesn’t hang from between your legs. Not because of your lack of capacity but because of your lack of male genitalia. 

“Wanna go for a walk?” suggests Hoseok. You notice he hasn’t even looked your way, but he seemingly just sensed your contradiction. 

“I think that would be great.”

You two take off through the neighbourhood's private path to the woods without interrupting the scene, although from the corner of your eye, you see how Namjoon looks your way.

The path is lined by flowers and the shadows of tall trees that beautifully lead the way into the wilderness. If one could call it that. 

It is well taken care of. The ground is clear of dead plants or any other visually uncomfortable objects. There are mouldy old trees fallen here and there but they only add charm to what looks like a little piece of heaven. 

Hoseok holds your hand, fingers entangled, as you walk in complete silence. His mere presence and his light touch bring some sort of peace to the troublesome sense of not belonging that you have felt just some minutes before. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand. Because I’m not you. Because that part of your life has never really called to me like it does to you. But if you want to talk about it, I’ll listen,” he offers with a gentle tug on your hand, making you stop to attract you to his body in a hug. 

“I couldn’t choose to be born a woman,” you say. “I don’t regret what I am but stupidly it’s like they don’t consider us as people when it comes to being part of a club. Like there’s some sort of legal gap in which everything I am and can do holds no weight to belong in their circle. Like I’m just some side thing,” you say, raging and feeling your tears almost fall. “It’s like they can see my talent only for the entertainment it brings, not a quality to consider. It’s frustrating,” you mutter, pressing your head against his shoulder. 

“I think you are amazing,” he says against your temple. “So I think I understand your frustration when it comes to this,” he adds, kissing it. “You deserve better.”

After holding the hug for a bit in which you feel valued and loved, you keep on walking, going up the mountain and taking the left turn to go a bit down in the direction of the lake where you fished with the families just a summer ago. At this very moment, you feel bitter at the memory, because if they truly valued you as one more of theirs, they should be able to keep in mind your feelings and bend the rules like others have done in recent years. 

As you sit down next to a thick logged tree, you feel like you need to blow off some steam. You sit and straddle a slightly surprised Hoseok. 

He easily gets the hint as your lips find each other and your tongue twirls with his and you suck the end of it. It is simply amazing how easily he gets in tune with you. His face between your hands keeps you grounded as he presses your core against his bulge, holding you by the hips. 

His lips are soon on your throat and quickly your back finds the floor as you kiss his forehead. His lips meet your cleavage followed by a grunt that turns into a growl, causing your skin to prickle in goosebumps.

“Stupid bastards,” he mutters against your raised skin. “I would kill for this pussy and these titties,” he adds, squeezing your breasts as he takes a mouthful of the right one. You moan for a second but then start laughing and so does he. 

“Thank you, my love,” you mutter. Putting your fingers on his overgrown hair that smells so much like him. “I could not imagine my days without your dick either,” you respond, pressing your lips together before a lighthearted laugh escapes the both of you. 

“That has an easy solution,” he adds. 

“Does it?” you question with an eyebrow raised as he looks at you from above.

“I could put it in and not take it out,” he replies, convincingly, raising on his ankles and putting his hips against your ass, grabbing you by the waist as he makes grunting noises and mimics being inside of you by grinding effusively. 

“So obscene,” you feign surprise. 

“Oh? Is it?” he says. He grabs the edge of your trousers and pushes the centre button open. “I can prove to you just how obscene I can make us,” he leans forward and takes your bottom lip between his, sucking it with a low growl. 

“Please,” you beg, insane for his ministrations. Any sense of decorum is thrown into the lake. 

You look around as he does and the place is deserted at the moment. With the log covering you from the main path, it doesn't seem like such a bad idea. 

Hoseok manoeuvres you on your hands and knees so that your clothes are easy to work around while allowing him to control your body. He pulls your ass up and pushes your trousers and panties down just enough for the warm air to hit your pussy and then his mouth takes it over. You use his shirt under your arms to bite as he devours you like a man starved. 

“I love it, fuck! I love it!” he mutters against it as his tongue works you like the chords of a guitar, like a master player. You moan, just loud enough to not be caught if someone were to pass by. “So fucking good…” he growls.

When he believes you’ve been undone enough by his mouth and tongue, he rises to his knees. You hear the rattle of his belt as your head rests on the piece of clothing under you. 

He pushes inside slowly at first but is so eager that he takes a quick pace almost immediately. “Goddamnit,” you mewl, biting the clothing again before you hear him giggle. 

Having dozed off almost right after putting your clothes back in place, under the nice breeze that created waves over the smooth surface of the lake, you wake up when the air has refreshed and sends a chill down both your spines. The sun is already on its descent, and you suddenly realise it’s been hours since you left the house. 

As you descend the path, held by the hand again, you notice the music is still playing from the house but that the sound of chatter is much more subtle than when you left.

“Where were you guys?” Jungkook asks as you open the backyard door that you previously used to access the path. There you can see people are still gathered but some have already left. 

“Maybe they couldn’t keep their hands off each other,” says a very drunk Taehyung, who is sitting with an arm holding the weight of his face as he seems about to doze off. 

“Nah,” says Namjoon, also drunk and slurring his words so they sound drawn out, “not our Army. She wouldn’t just be so public about it,” he adds excitedly like it’s funny. 

“If we did,” you say looking at him in the eye, “it’s none of ya’ll’s business.” 

With that, you take Hoseok by the arm and head inside where Namjoon’s parents are starting to make some side dishes to accompany the meat leftovers from lunchtime. When you look back, hearing the laughter from your friends, you are surprised to see Namjoon taking a sip of his beer, his eyes digging holes at Hoseok’s back.

I hope you enjoyed this. Let me know your thoughts and reblog to let it spread 😊 See you soon! ~

I want to thank @moonleeai, @hisunshiine and @star-my the beta work 💜

Inexplicable Things

Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Theodore Nott, Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini

Summary: No way, no way in hell. Draco is supposed to be in France or America or, wherever else he’d deemed more important than Harry when he left five years ago. Draco is not supposed to be showing up at the DMLE out of the blue, forcing Harry to watch him as he struts confidently across the room towards him.

Rating: Explicit

Read on Ao3 

Chapter 1 

When Harry steps into the lobby of the DMLE he freezes for a second. To the untrained eye it would mean nothing, a quick pause in his steps, but as Theo makes eye contact with him and wiggles his eyebrows significantly before looking back at the man talking to Kingsley, Harry knows he’s just been caught out.

Who’s to blame him really, Harry thinks as he smirks and saunters over to Theo. Wouldn’t anyone stop and stare for a moment when confronted with broad shoulders and lean legs and a messy plait of golden blonde hair that juxtaposes perfectly with a crisp black suit? He pushes himself up onto Theo’s desk and cheerfully swings his legs back and forth.

“You’ll never guess who the new staff is,” Theo says mischievously, a small grin on his face.

“There’s new staff?” Harry responds blandly, more focused on watching the man facing Kingsley. He finds the gentle shift of his muscles under his suit a bit hypnotic.

“Yes, remember? Kingsley told us yesterday?” Theo asks. His eyes flick between Harry and the conversation happening across the room. “Don’t tell me you weren’t listening again.”

“I might not have been listening.” Harry admits cheerfully. “Is it him?” He gestures casually.

“Yes,” Theo responds. His eyes glint like he’s keeping a secret.

“Great!” Harry hops off of Theo’s desk. “Then I guess we should introduce-” He cuts himself off as the man shifts away from Kingsley and turns towards them because suddenly, everything is not great. In fact, suddenly everything is the opposite of great and the air in his lungs feels like it’s turned to ice. He grips the side of Theo’s desk in an attempt to steady himself because there, striding towards him, is Draco Malfoy.

And what? No way, no way in hell. Because Draco is supposed to be in France or America. Or, wherever else he’d deemed more important than Harry when he left five years ago. Draco is not supposed to be showing up at the DMLE out of the blue, forcing Harry to look at him, to be in the same room with him. Didn’t Draco know that Harry had been so in love with him he couldn't see a way out? How could he just show up here without so much as a warning? Harry lets go of the desk and clenches his fists. The DMLE is his territory and if it’s up to him Draco will be long gone-

“Hey are you okay?” Theo interrupts his thoughts in a hushed voice.

“Yes, fine,” Harry says, attempting airy and landing on a slightly shrill.

Theo looks at him pointedly and opens his mouth to fire off what Harry assumes will be a series of highly intrusive questions. Harry watches as Kingsley directs Draco towards them and knows that extreme measures have to be taken. He stomps down heavily on Theo’s foot.

“Oww, Merlin's Beard Harry!” Theo exclaims loudly. Harry smirks a little. Theo jabs him hard in the stomach in retaliation and by the time Kingsley and Draco reach them they're both doubled over in pain. Not the most dignified way to see the first boy to ever break his heart, Harry reflects, but at least he’d avoided Theo’s questions. He straightens up facing Kingsley and does his best to avoid Draco’s searching eyes.

“Sorry about that Shacklebolt,” He says professionally. He hopes Kingsley can’t hear the note of pain in his voice. “How can I help you?”

“Well,” Kingsley pauses, looking back and forth between them, his eyebrow raised in amusement, “I was wondering if one of you could finish showing around our new potions consultant. I’ve got a meeting at 10 and unfortunately we’ve only just managed to cover the lobby.”

“Oh, sure. Of course we can,” Theo offers before Harry can step on his foot again. “I can’t believe I haven’t seen you since-” he winces a little, “the war I guess. When I got back from eighth year abroad you’d already left. How’ve you been?”

“Fine,” Draco responds, tight lipped, “Happy to be back in London I guess. I missed my friends.” He’s looking everywhere but Harry. Underneath his suit jacket his shoulders look tense and rigid. The tendons in his cheeks are clenched tight. At least Draco isn’t completely unaffected by Harry’s presence, which means he remembers too. Remembers the harsh stolen kisses in stoney alcoves, remembers the way he’d left Harry, creeping out at night like a coward, leaving Harry to wake up in a pool of cold sheets chest already aching.

Harry forces a breath out of his chest and focuses back on the conversation in front of him. Draco’s explaining the potion work he’d just finished in America before the DMLE had specifically requested his presence in London. And fuck, there goes Harry’s plan of getting him fired within the first day doesn’t it? He leans into Theo’s arm for a second to steady himself. Draco’s steely gray eyes track his movement, watching how Theo relaxes himself against Harry, then narrow.

“Alright, well let's get this show on the road shall we?” Theo asks cheerfully, seemingly unaware of the tension between the two men. He must be pretending, there’s no way a highly trained Auror like him could have missed it.

As Theo ushers Draco forward, toward the Auror offices he glances behind him and raises his eyes at Harry only confirming his expectations. Harry sighs, preparing himself for future interrogation. He’s never told anyone about Draco. Wherever they had between each other had felt inexplicable, something large and unfathomable, completely terrifying to put into words. So he hadn’t, and then Draco had left and it hadn’t mattered anymore.

In front of him Theo is explaining the fingerprint system they use to enter the offices. Draco leans forward cautiously to press his finger against the mechanism. Harry pretends not to notice as a piece of hair falls from his braid and drapes across his tanned face. He looks so different now, like someone’s taken a picture of him and added a filter. His hair's no longer silver, it's streaked with a darker shade of blonde and he looks like he’s been spending lots of time in the sun. He bends further forward to get a better look at the door device and Harry thinks he catches a glimpse of a tattoo peaking its way out of his shirtsleeve.

“Harry,” Theo calls, breaking into his thoughts, “I’ve programmed Draco into the system so we can head in now.”

Harry forces his feet forward towards the offices. When he pushes himself through the door he finds Theo waiting for him as Draco ambles over to the oak door marked D. Malfoy. It’s just Harry’s luck that it’s right next to his.

“You’re really due for an explanation later mate,” Theo hisses at him under his breath. “It’s hard for me to believe that your childhood nemesis could throw you off this much.”

Harry shrugs him off silently and continues forward striding over to where Draco is pushing open his heavy wood door.

“Why are you here?” He whispers softly into Draco’s ear. He smirks as he watches Draco’s body twitch a little in surprise.

“What do you mean?” Draco responds, slow and innocent, his eyes wide, “I work here. Kingsley told you.”

“Yeah I know.” Harry pauses, irritated, “I mean why do you work HERE when I’m sure there’s hundreds of other places you could work and not subject me to looking at your ugly face every single day.” He shoves himself closer up into Draco’s space and is dismayed to find Draco’s grown taller than him in their time apart. Looking up into his eyes makes Harry's throat go dry. He ignores it.

“What are you going to do now?” Draco smirks down at him in cold amusement, “Pee on the floor to mark your territory like a dog? Contrary to popular belief, being the Savior of the Wizarding World doesn’t mean that all of London is at your beck and call Harry. Believe me I wouldn’t be here if I had the choice.” His tone is taunting, but the smile stretched across his face looks frozen and lifeless.

Harry doesn’t even flinch. He stares at Draco, eyes narrowed into green slits and steps forward again. He lets his gaze ghost down across Draco’s pale lips and notices as his chest hitches slightly in response. “I don’t care about your reasons Draco,” He hisses, “You’re going to regret you ever came back here.”

He steps away and watches Draco’s face as his smile falters into a frown. He’s about to respond when Theo joins them again. Harry jumps a little at the sound of his footsteps next to him. He doesn’t know how he could have forgotten that Theo was half a room away, watching them.

“I have your entry paperwork for you Draco,” Theo says, his gaze flicking between them, “I’m thinking we can all go down to the conference rooms and you can fill it out there.”

“Sounds good,” Draco tells him, a genuine smile flickering across his lips. ~~~~~~~~~

In the conference room Draco shucks off his suit jacket before settling into one of the leather backed chairs. He looks more vulnerable without it, like a reflection of his schoolboy self. Harry watches him twirl the end of his forest green tie in his fingertips and thinks about the last time he’d seen Draco in a tie like that. It throws Harry straight back to the halls of Hogwarts, the two of them caught alone outside the eighth year common room as the sound of the party pulsed out through the open door, to the slippery feel of silk against his palms as he’d pulled it tight kissing Draco hard as he choked against his mouth - both of them tipsy and flush with the rush of holding their secret out like an open palm that anyone might take.

“Harry, could you grab us all some tea?” Theo asks, looking at him suspiciously. Harry curses himself for being so obvious.

“Sure,” He calls back, twisting himself away from Draco and towards the tea spread in the corner of the room. He makes their drinks quickly.

He’s heading back to the table when he hears Theo asks Draco, “So, what was your favorite part of The States?”

Draco responds quickly glancing up at Harry with a calculating gaze, “Well the National Parks of course. In fact I became quite a hiker during my time there.” He pauses, watching Harry carefully before continuing, “And of course all the beautiful men. You know, I think they make them differently in America.” His tone is conversational but cruel.

Harry sucks in a hot breath and focuses on keeping his face under control. Tension knots up his spine and into his muscles. It’s unfair that Draco still has such an effect on him. It’s been five years. Five fucking years, and all it takes is 20 minutes in a room with Draco Malfoy and it feels like he’s 18 again.

He takes another deep breath and starts to walk towards the table. He stumbles a bit on the carpet and as he looks down to stabilize himself he notices the third cup in his hand. It’s chamomile, no cream, two sugars, just how he used to make it for Draco late at night after studying, when they were both curled up in his bed wrung out and limbless with exhaustion. He looks up from the cup of tea and straight into Draco’s knowing eyes and suddenly he’s so angry he can’t think straight. He catches Draco’s eyes, holds him locked in a silent stare and lets go of the cup before it reaches the table. It falls almost in slow motion. Draco doesn’t look away from his eyes until the tea has soaked through his nearly completed documents and spilled from the table ledge into his lap.

“What the fuck Potter,” He hisses jumping up from his chair.

“Sorry, You know how clumsy I am.” Harry murmurs demurely.

“No actually I don’t. I don’t think they’d let an Auror on the field if they were that clumsy,” Draco spits shoving his way into Harry's space. His feet bracket him on either side. Harry thinks he’s forgotten how to breathe because he hadn’t noticed before, but Draco still smells like cedar and smoke, like too many memories. His chest aches and suddenly the fury explodes out of him because fuck Draco for making him feel like this. Before he even realizes it he’s reaching out and shoving Draco’s chest hard. Draco stumbles back quickly, fresh pain blooms across his face like he’s just been burned.

“Don’t you dare fucking touch me Harry,” He snaps.

“You used to never get enough of my hands” Harry spits abruptly, before immediately wishing he could take it all back, because Theo has turned around in his chair and he’s looking slowly back and forth between them with wide eyes. Merlin's Beard, how had he forgotten about Theo twice in one day.

Draco’s standing there frozen staring straight at Harry. His chest moves slowly up and down like each breath takes effort. Blooming high on his cheeks are dark patches of color. He looks shocked like he’s just been slapped. Harry stays fixed in place, glaring at him. He doesn’t know where to go from here. How to retrace his steps onto more stable ground. The silence in the room rings so deep that Harry’s almost sure Theo can hear his heartbeat.

All at once the bright beeping of Theo’s pager breaks the silence. Harry flinches his hand going straight to his wand holster on the outside of his left thigh. His war instincts still kick in at times like these, he sighs and forces himself to relax, shaking out his right hand. When he glances across at Draco he’s doing the same and abruptly Harry wants to laugh.

He gets a sort of vindictive pleasure out of the idea that Draco’s still as scarred by the war as he is. It’s what had first brought them together wasn’t it? All those nights sitting together in the common room when they couldn’t sleep, the tight grip of Draco’s lean arms the first time he’d comforted Harry after a nightmare, the way he’d whispered to him until he forgot what he’d been dreaming about, Harry relaxing boneless into Draco’s slim frame. Harry wonders if Draco remembers it too. When his gaze flicks upwards and meets Draco’s eyes they’re dark, guarded.

“Welllll,” Theo’s voice breaks the silence, he draws out his words gentle and cautious, “Looks like Dean’s partner had to head home sick and he thinks he’s found a lead for their case,” He pauses glancing apologetically at Harry, “You know how it is. He needs back up so I’m gonna head out. Leave you both to finish whatever this is.” He raises his eyebrows at Harry, something unspoken in his expression before turning and heading to the door.

“Oh and Draco, there’s another copy of that paperwork on the counter in a box.” He calls over his shoulder. Harry winces, he’d forgotten about the paperwork he’d ruined. In hindsight dumping his tea all over Draco’s paper had been a bit of a dick move. Not that he was going to apologize or anything.

A little sheepish Harry turns on his heel towards the counter running along the side of the room. When he reaches it he gathers his case notes from him and Theo’s current case. He likes to work in the conference rooms rather than his office, it’s dark and cold and feels a bit lonely so cut off from the world. He turns back to walk back to the table where Draco is sitting head bowed and before he can stop himself he grabs Draco’s paperwork as well.

When he reaches him he slams the papers onto the wood table heavily. He smirks a little as Draco starts in his seat, his finger flinching.

“What’d you say, pretty boy? How about you put that brain to work and actually get something done.” Harry spits at him gruffly. And fuck, he can’t believe he said that because what? Is he stupid? Calling Draco pretty is not a good way to get back at him, to make him hurt the way Harry had. Before he can stop himself his eyes flicker, running across Draco’s face next to him. His cheeks are pale. He’s gripping his pen a little too tight in his hand. Harry breathes out slowly and focuses back on the notes in front of him.

They sit there for a long time in silence, nothing but the sharp back and forth scratch of Draco’s quill. The paperwork seems to take a lot longer than it had the first time. Harry doesn’t mention it. They work past lunch. Harry ignores it, his stomach is tied tight in so many knots that he doesn’t think he could eat if he wanted to. He focuses on tracing his eyes across the black letters of the notes in front of him and taking deep breaths. He makes up rules in his head, rules about not looking at Draco, about not touching him. He doesn’t take in a single word of his report.

It’s about 3 o’clock when Draco shoves his chair back slightly and drops his quill loudly onto the wood in front of them. Harry jumps in his chair and glances across at him. Draco’s lips curve up into a small smirk, the bastard.

“Looks like I’m about finished here,” Draco drawls slowly, “What about you? Don’t worry if you're not. I know reading has always been a bit,” he pauses searchingly, “How should I say it, challenging for you?” The line of his lips sharpens a bit, becomes cruel.

The anger in Harry’s veins blossoms spilling out into his finger tips, filling his head until it’s pounding, until he can’t think straight. Until all he can see is Draco’s cold gray eyes looking down on him. “Fuck you,” He growls and then he’s reaching out shoving Draco back for the second time today. Draco’s body heat on his palms feels like tiny flames, like if Harry touches him for too long his skin might blister into a burn. Draco twists away and reaches out, grabbing at Harry’s arms, shoving at his sides. They grapple for a couple seconds until Harry swiftly knocks Draco’s legs out from under him and he tumbles, laying back across the table. Harry climbs onto the table straddling him and uses his body weight to hold him pinned, grinning maliciously. Draco squirms against him.

“You could never beat me in a fight,” Harry hisses close to his ear, “All that time wasted getting you Potions Mastery. Quite a pity really, giving up on defense magic to work in a little lab, while Auror's do the real work. I never pictured that for you.” He leans back slowly, eyes caught on Draco’s face. As his insults hit home Draco’s face hardens, his jaw clenches, his eyes flick shut. Something about his expression sparks an ache in Harry’s chest. Carefully he drops Draco’s hands where he’s been pinning them to his sides and slides backwards off the table. He muffles a sigh of relief as his feet hit the floor.

~~~~~~~~

After that the room remains silent as they gather their scattered paperwork off of the table. Harry’s just sliding his papers onto the back counter when he feels a warm hand clasp his shoulder. He turns into it and Draco is there, looming over him. Harry tries not to notice the way their tussle has loosened Draco’s braid and left his hair falling over his face in gentle waves. He looks softer like that, reminiscent of youth.

“You’re in my way Potter,” Draco tightens his grip on Harry’s shoulder and tries to shove him to the side. Harry digs his heels in, succeeds in remaining still.

“On the contrary I think you're in mine,” Harry responds coolly, “Why are you here anyways, at my job, in my ministry? I think it’s time you leave.”

“I like it here in London,” Draco says, his tone bored, “I missed my friends, and my mother’s sick, she needs me. You don’t own the place you know. You’re just going to have to deal with it.” He pauses briefly, a glint in his eyes, “Or you know you could quit, leave your precious Ministry in my hands.”

“Like hell I will,” Harry growls back, “I don’t give a shit about your presence.”

Draco inches closer. So close Harry can feel his body heat radiating off of him. His gray eyes look lighter now, almost playful, his lips shape into a more genuine smile, “Oh please Harry, you’ve been watching me all day. I bet you didn’t read a single word of your silly little case file.”

“You’re just self obsessed Malfoy, I was very focused on my reading.” Harry responds casually. He hopes Draco doesn’t hear the tiny tremor in his voice.

“Oh?” Draco steps even closer, caging Harry in against the counter behind him. Harry’s throat goes dry, his lungs feel tight like he’s forgotten how to breathe. “Then what was your case about?”

And, Harry should know because he’s spent two weeks on the case they’re talking about. He’s spent hours on it, named suspects, even chased several through the streets and yet now, when it’s most important he draws a blank. Draco’s eyes are fixed on his face and there’s tension in the set of his shoulders, a twist in the shape of his lips. He looks like a wolf who’s caught it’s prey, like he’s waiting for Harry to give in.

“Fuck you,” Harry says again, but this time there’s no heat behind it. He’s aware of how soft his voice sounds but there’s not much he can do about it with Draco’s lips so close that he can feel his breath on his face. The space between them feels charged, electric. Harry wants to touch Draco so badly his hands shake. He shifts slightly gripping the counter behind him in an effort to stop himself. He watches as Draco’s eyes track his movement.

Draco leans in until his lips graze across Harry's ear. “What Potter,” He pauses, placing a hand on Harry’s waist. His touch feels like an electric shock, “What are you scared of?”

“Actually,” Harry’s muscles feel tense, caught between fight and flight,“I think you’re the one who’s scared. After all, you're the one who left me.”

Harry watches as Draco’s breath catches in his throat and his gray eyes shutter. Then he’s stepping forwards pushing his body up flush against Harry. The buttons of their shirts catch against each other. Draco’s hip digs sharply into Harry’s stomach. The slight pain feels like a relief until Harry glances up and green meets gray and suddenly he can’t think anymore. Can’t think of anything, except for how close Draco is right now, how shudderingly hot Harry feels just from this, the way Draco is staring at him like he couldn’t look away if he tried.

When Draco speaks it comes out slightly choked like he’s forcing words out of his throat one by one, “You can’t blame me for all of it Harry, you know it’s your mess too.”

Then he places his second palm against Harry’s side and Harry’s head is spinning from the contact and also because what does Draco mean it’s his fault too? He’s wracking his brain for what he could have done when suddenly Draco grinds his hips forward and Harry’s mind goes completely blank.

When Draco kisses him Harry wonders for a second if this is just another dream. It wouldn’t be the first time that Harry’s subconscious conjured him up, soft and pliant, standing close, only for Harry to wake alone. But no, he thinks, because this Draco is taller than dream Draco, has tired lines around his eyes. This Draco kisses him like a fistfight, like a forest fire. His body against Harry’s feels like a long time coming, like ready or not.

Before he can stop himself Harry leans into the kiss, biting back a sigh as he licks upwards into Draco’s hot mouth. Draco groans in response and as if on their own accord Harry's hands raise from where they were gripping the countertop to smooth their way across Draco’s firm chest. Harry’s breath catches as he cups the rapid beat of Draco’s heart in his hand before sliding it over, pushing the open buttons on Draco’s shirt. One of the buttons tears and pops off, the soft sound of it hitting the floor rings bright and loud in the silent room. Draco pulls back angrily, his mouth a firm line but then Harry’s palms are on his smooth chest and he’s gasping for breath, buttons forgotten.

“Fuck,” Draco murmurs as he leans in kissing a line down Harry’s jaw and pausing where he meets neck. He pulls back for a second and Harry glances up at him. His irises are blown out leaving his eyes dark against his lightly tanned skin. His breath shudders for a second and then he’s licking a stripe down Harry’s brown skin, mouthing it until Harry’s head starts to spin. He shifts, slotting a thigh between Draco’s and dragging his hands down to Draco’s waist. He pulls him in, pressing them flush together and feels Draco, a hot hard line against his hip. Harry snaps his hips up again pressing against him and Draco’s groaning again, louder this time.

It doesn’t take them long to find a rhythm. Their hips jerk against each other in hot friction and then Draco’s broad hands are running over Harry’s back, down his sides. With Draco’s hands on him Harry finally understands what it must be like to be a Phoenix; it feels like he’s going up in flames, like he’s losing himself to smoke. He can’t think about anything but Draco; doesn’t want anything but him. He tries to focus on taking long deep breaths, worried for his stamina with the small noises Draco keeps making against his throat.

Abruptly, Draco reaches between them, palming Harry through his jeans and Harry bites down hard on Draco’s lip in an attempt to keep even an ounce of composure. Draco mumbles something softly, something that sounds like Harry’s name and the heat that’s been building at his core gives way and rushes euphoric through his bloodstream.

Vaguely, his hips still twitching, Harry is aware of Draco pulling back. He tries to control his ragged gasps, they ring loudly in the silence of the conference room.

“Well,” Draco growls down at him, voice low and taunting, “Have fun explaining this to Ginny tonight.” He presses soft fingertips along his neck where Harry assumes there’s a line of hickeys red and raw across tender skin before leaning back down, pressing his hips to Harry’s once again.

Head reeling Harry stands frozen for a second before he reaches out and shoves Draco back. Draco stumbles. His eyes are shocked and wide. “You’re such a prat,” Harry spits at him, wincing at the lack of heat in his words, “What in Circe’s name has Ginny got to do with any of this?”

Draco’s mouth opens slowly, his lips are swollen and red. Harry’s eyes track down his body, find the bulge in his pants, flicker up back to Draco’s face. He still doesn’t say anything, his eyes are narrowed on Harry’s and he looks almost confused.

All at once Harry wants to laugh almost as much as he wants to punch Draco because wait what? Did Draco just imply that he’s with Ginny? That he’s cheating on her?

“God, you always do expect the worst from me, don’t you,” He tells Draco coldy, pushing past him and shoving through the heavy wooden door of the conference room into the hallway.

As he walks Harry ignores the uncomfortable itch of wet fabric between his legs. His whole body feels numb and icy. He brings a hand to his face, presses it across his hot lips and then upwards along his jaw. His careful fingertips explore everywhere Draco’s touched him. When he pulls his hand down, dragging it off of his skin he’s surprised to see wetness. It’s only then that he notices the tears spilling from his eyes.

He thinks the only thing that could make things any worse is if Draco has followed him - so he catches his breath and turns scanning the hallway, and discovers that actually the worst thing is that Draco hasn’t.

He spins back, forcing his feet forward towards the nearest floo and disappears in a quick flash of green, his mind back in the conference room where Draco’s still standing, left wanting and alone.

The room remains silent as they gather their scattered paperwork off of the table. Harry’s just sliding his papers onto the back counter when he feels a warm hand clasp his shoulder. He turns into it and Draco is there, looming over him. Harry tries not to notice the way their tussle has loosened Draco’s braid and left his hair falling over his face in gentle waves. He looks softer like that, reminiscent of youth.

“You’re in my way Potter,” Draco tightens his grip on Harry’s shoulder and tries to shove him to the side. Harry digs his heels in, succeeds in remaining still.

“On the contrary I think you're in mine,” Harry responds coolly, “Why are you here anyways, at my job, in my ministry? I think it’s time you leave.”

“I like it here in London,” Draco says, his tone bored, “I missed my friends, and my mother’s sick. She needs me. You don’t own the place you know. You’re just going to have to deal with it.” He pauses briefly, a glint in his eyes, “Or you know you could quit, leave your precious Ministry in my hands.”

“Like hell I will,” Harry growls back, “I don’t give a shit about your presence.”

Draco inches closer, so close Harry can feel the body heat radiating off of him. His gray eyes look lighter now, almost playful, his lips shape into a more genuine smile, “Oh please Harry, you’ve been watching me all day. I bet you didn’t read a single word of your silly little case file.”

“You’re just self obsessed Malfoy. I was very focused on my reading.” Harry hopes Draco doesn’t hear the tiny tremor in his voice.

“Oh?” Draco steps even closer, caging Harry in against the counter behind him. Harry’s throat goes dry, his lungs feel tight like he’s forgotten how to breathe. “Then what was your case about?”

And, Harry should know because he’s spent two weeks on the case they’re talking about. He’s spent hours on it, named suspects, even chased several through the streets and yet now, when it’s most important he draws a blank. Draco’s eyes are fixed on his face and there’s tension in the set of his shoulders, a twist in the shape of his lips. He looks like a wolf who’s caught it’s prey, like he’s waiting for Harry to give in.

One of my fav excerpts from my new fic Inexplicable Things

Watching Draco in the lab feels like time travel. It takes him straight back to eighth year, “Remember how it used to be?” He asks softly, quickly, before he can convince himself not too.

Draco stops mixing the potion and holds himself very still, his body tightly coiled. When he turns he’s staring at Harry with a breathless focus.

So Draco remembers as well.

Remembers the way they’d danced around each other in potions class as if they were afraid to touch, afraid to speak to each other. Remembers Harry sneaking down to the potions lab to meet him late at night, the excuse of their assignment always at the tip of his tongue. Always sneaking, always careful, Draco’s pale hands covering Harry’s mouth to muffle his sighs as he pressed him back against the countertops and let him unravel.

Harry remembers all of it. Even now, sometimes he finds his mind back there in the potions lab, at Hogwarts, thinking about what it had been like for someone to touch him like he meant something, like he was made of glass. He can’t quite count the number of times he’s come with Draco’s name on his tongue.

Excerpt from my new fic Inexplicable Things

Closing his eyes he tips his head back against the steady wooden wall and wills his head to stop spinning. When he peels his eyes open again Draco’s there beside him.

Harry sucks in a breath, holds it and feels unsteady on his feet.

“Come with me.” Draco tells him, hand outstretched. 

Harry doesn't even wait a beat before taking it. 

Draco’s skin is soft against his and his palm is bigger than it used to be. Harry forces himself to draw a breath against the tightness of his ribcage. Heat crackles down his spine.

Draco tugs him through the loo door and stops suddenly, making Harry stumble a little. He catches him and presses him up against the wall.

When Draco kisses him Harry’s lips are already parted.

There’s less anger in it this time, just the casual pleasure of open mouths and tongues sliding together. Harry moves his hand up, clenching his fingers around Draco’s wrist, and watches as he squeezes his lids shut. He feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff, the strong wind pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

Draco groans into his mouth and the inside of Harry's thighs flare with warmth. He reaches up with his free hand and tangles it through Draco’s long golden locks tugging gently. “Fuck,” Draco exhales quietly, slotting his thigh in between Harry’s and pressing him more firmly to the wall.

Excerpt from my new fic Inexplicable Things 

Inexplicable Things (Chapter 3)

Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Theodore Nott, Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini

Summary: No way, no way in hell. Draco is supposed to be in France or America or, wherever else he’d deemed more important than Harry when he left five years ago. Draco is not supposed to be showing up at the DMLE out of the blue, forcing Harry to watch him as he struts confidently across the room towards him.

Read on on AO3 here 

Chapter 1 

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

When Harry finally drags himself home he feels wrung out, like exhaustion has taken root deep in his bones. He keeps his head down, eyes focused on the floor and crosses his fingers that no one is home. 

“Hi,” Theo calls to him softly, as soon as the door opens. He’s spread out on the couch holding the book Harry had been reading earlier. The lamplight falls on him softly making his skin glow golden in the dusky light of the room. 

“You okay?” He continues, looking up at Harry with a gentle light in his eyes. 

“Um, I think so,” Harry lies, hoping it isn’t obvious. He steps closer and Theo swings himself into a sitting position. He pats the newly vacated space next to him inviting Harry to sit. 

“Well,” Theo says, syllables long and drawn out, “I think we have a lot to talk about.” 

“Nope,” Harry says, popping the p and looking determinately at the flames in the fireplace, “Nothing to talk about here.” 

“It seems like Draco brings up a lot of emotions in you.” Theo says calmly, putting his hand on his thigh. 

“For the thousandth time, it’s not like that.” Harry snaps brushing Theo’s hand away. 

“Hmm,” Theo murmurs, his intense aura of calm is starting to annoy Harry, “Well, first of all that’s the first I’ve said anything about it so it’s really not the thousandth time. Second of all, I think you should tell me how it is because there’s clearly something going on that you feel the need to defend yourself about.” 

“Nope. Nothing.” Harry grits his teeth so hard it hurts. 

“Harry, I found you half naked in Ron’s pub’s loo kissing your childhood nemesis turned maybe lover turned who even knows what and then you looked straight at me and ran away, only to return two hours later looking like you’ve been crying,” Theo throws his hands up in exasperation, “I think you might have something to talk about.” 

When Theo puts it like that it does sound sort of insane and the thing is, maybe Harry could benefit from talking about Draco. Theo might give him some perspective, help him differentiate the present from the past. 

“Okay fine. We hooked up for a while in eighth year and then one night he walked out on me. If you really want to know what’s going on though you should ask the stupid blonde git. He’s the one who bloody left.” He grabs a pillow off the couch and throws it hard into the wall next to him watching it bounce off the sage wallpaper and tumble to the ground. 

“Wow, you’re not bitter at all,” Theo says with a sarcastic smile. 

“Shut up,” Harry grumbles, turning back towards him, “I’m in emotional distress.” 

“Yep,” Theo says grinning a little, “That’s been made pretty clear.” He waits a minute, then adds, “So do you want to tell me about it a little?” 

Harry sighs and stretches his long legs out on the couch shifting sideways till his head falls onto Theo’s thighs. The firelight reflects on his face in stripes of golden light setting his green eyes on fire. Harry trails his eyes down his face taking in his shapely cheekbones and tanned skin. He thinks, not for the first time, how easy it would have been if they could have fallen in love.

“Well,” He starts and then pauses, “They roomed all the eighth years together in the same dorm. I was with Dean, Terry, and Neville. Ron was with Blaise, Draco and Michael.”

“I didn’t know you and Ron got separated like that,” Theo says, looking pensieve. 

“Yeah, he didn’t take it well at first,” That was a bit of an understatement. Ron had thrown an armchair across the common room and yelled at Mcgonagall. She’d refused to grant him a room switch and he’d boycotted her class for two whole weeks until Hermione told him she’d break things off if he didn’t start attending class. The threat, unsurprisingly, had worked and as time went by he’d resigned himself to his fate. Though, that didn’t stop him from pouting about it daily and sneaking away at night to sleep in Hermione's bed. 

The absence of Ron in Draco’s dorm had often been helpful, Micheal stayed late in the library most nights studying and Blaise was often gone having amorous adventures (Harry only knew that because he liked to regale them with graphic stories every morning at breakfast). This meant it was easy for Harry to slip through the door unnoticed and quickly slide between the green curtains surrounding Draco’s bed. 

“So was sharing a common room what made you realize you liked Draco?” Theo asks, looking down at Harry through thick eyelashes. 

“Not immediately,” Harry replies, “It was more that the forced proximity forced us to see each other for who we really were.”

Harry thinks about the first time he saw Draco study in the common room book held high against his face, brow furrowed. Harry had been unable to look away. The idea of Draco Malfoy curled up doing something as unassuming as reading a textbook felt unfathomable. Draco was a Death Eater, had let Voldemort into the castle, and yet there curled up in a brocade armchair he looked so mundane, so normal, it was hard to wrap his head around. Harry watched as he turned the pages, eyes squinting and serious. He noticed that every couple of pages Draco brought his long slender fingers to his mouth and wet them with the flick of a tongue to help grasp his parchment more easily. 

When Ron had walked into the room Harry had quickly thrown himself into raucous conversation, grateful for the distraction. He hadn’t liked the way that looking at Draco like that made him question things. 

In the next couple weeks he became distracted by glimpses of other versions of Draco. Draco tumbling into the common room early in the morning, the crease of a pillow on his cheek, hair rumpled. Draco sitting in the corner of the room, head tilted back against the wood paneling, laughing at Blaise’s joke as they shared a bottle of whiskey. 

Things hadn’t really changed between them until the night Harry stumbled into the common room late at night mind still riding on the coattails of a nightmare to find Draco, pale and alone, huddled in the corner of the coach crying. 

Harry had tripped over the leg of an armchair and Draco had turned to him, eyes brimming with tears. There, illuminated by a single lamp he looked so young and hurt, so fragile that Harry had moved towards him, tentatively perching next to him on the couch. 

Draco had yelled at him then, in a broken hiss, so as not to wake other people. He’d told him to go away and called him a variety of obscene names, some Harry hadn’t ever heard before. Harry had sat silently and ignored his tirade until he’d finally given up and sunk back desolately into the cushions. That night they sat in silence for hours watching the flames flicker and consume. 

It had taken two weeks of them stumbling upon each other in the dark for them to speak a single sentence. 

“So, when did you realize?” Theo prompts him and Harry realizes he’s been staring quietly at the ceiling for several seconds. 

“It took me so long,” Harry tells him, looking sheepish, “I didn’t realize till he kissed me.” 

Harry pauses, staring up at Theo’s chin. He tries to focus on the warmth of Theo’s body underneath him, the glimmer of light on his face. He draws a conscious breath, stomach rising with it. His mind won’t stop playing the scene for him in an obsessive loop; the dark of the potions classroom, the green of the flames beneath the cauldron, and Draco’s lips against his soft, cautious, like Harry might rip away at any moment. 

“That makes sense for you,” Theo tells him, laughing a little. 

“Why does it make sense for me?” Harry asks, feeling a little put out. 

“You tend to be kind of unaware of your emotions,” Theo says carefully, “I think it has to do with the way you were raised. We emulate a lot of the patterns we were taught as children, even subconsciously.” 

Harry is suddenly reminded of the period two years ago when Theo forced himself to read at least six extremely large psychology textbooks. 

“Anyway, he kissed you and you liked it and then what?” Theo continues hurriedly, probably trying to distract from the fact that Harry has unknowingly been the subject of his psychoanalysis.  

“We fumbled around in the dark, in hidden alcoves, in the potions lab late at night. I didn’t tell anyone about it. I don’t think Draco did either. Most of the time we didn’t even talk about it to each other, but we kept doing it.” 

When Harry remembers eighth year it’s a montague of wandering hands, soft touches and secret smiles. 

“When he showed up in the DMLE it was hard,” He admits ignoring the quaver in his voice, “It reminded me of how easily I fell in love with him and how little he hesitated to take it all away.” 

“Circe,” Theo breathes, reaching down and carding a hand through Harry’s hair, “So he didn’t feel the same?” 

“I thought he might have,” Harry admits, leaning into his gentle touch, “Everything was just so good between us. By the end of the year we were sleeping together most nights. We talked about everything, the war, our childhoods. I guess we talked about everything except how we felt.” 

Theo makes a pensieve noise, blowing out a breath of air in a little puffing sound. “So what made you think that he suddenly didn’t ?” 

“He left,” Harry says simply, closing his eyes. He watches the scene play out on the inside of his eyelids. 

He’d been aware of it before he even opened his eyes. They’d left the window open and with the lack of body heat next to him he’d woken up with goosebumps along his skin. If he was honest with himself he’d already known something was wrong then. He’d felt it in the depths of his stomach, in the unsteady beat of his pulse. He’d rushed out of the room in his pajamas and stumbled upon Blaise in the common room. Usually he tried to be discreet, but that day was different. He’d matched right up to Blaise in front of everyone and asked if he knew where Draco had gone. When Blaise had explained he’d left. Harry had turned around and walked directly out of the room. He couldn’t comprehend how Draco could treat him so cruelly. 

He spent the rest of the day convinced there had been a misunderstanding, that Draco would come back for him, but a day turned into a week and suddenly it was graduation. Draco returned, just for the day. He ignored Harry the whole time, looked straight past him like he wasn’t even there. Harry had thought he would go crazy with the feeling of missing someone who was right in front of him, close enough to touch but impossible to hold. Looking back on it, he doesn’t even remember the rest of graduation, just Draco’s eyes cold and blank and the horrible ache blossoming in his chest. 

“And when he came back for graduation he refused to talk to me.” There’s a traitorous tear slipping out from between Harry’s tightly closed eyelids. He swipes at it angrily. Theo pretends he doesn't see. 

“I knew he was leaving that morning for his potions mastery. We’d talked about it for weeks. He was so excited. I just thought we’d talk about it before he left. That I would have time to tell him how I felt and we would find a way to make it work. I didn’t think he’d just leave me.” His voice cracks as he finishes, and he pulls a great shuddering breath deep into his lungs. 

Theo sighs, “That’s horrible Harry. It must have made everything worse that no one even knew about it.” 

“It did. Though, they definitely knew something was wrong. I started going out a lot. Drinking. Hooking up with strangers. Ron and Hermione were so happy together and I felt like they couldn’t understand the pain I felt. Ginny was the one who really stuck with me. I think that’s why we’re so close now.” 

“I’m glad you had her. I wish I could have been there too,” Theo says, looking sad. 

“It’s okay. I have you now don’t I,” Harry attempts to grin at him, it comes out twisted and strained. 

“You do,” Theo looks down at him fondly. They sit there for a second watching the light of the fire track it’s way across each other's skin. 

“Harry,” Theo breaks the silence, voice soft and even, “Do you think there’s a chance that maybe Draco did care? I mean… I didn’t know him then but I knew him before and I think he has a tendency to be afraid of the things he wants.” 

Harry sits up then, peels himself out of Theo’s lap,  and perches back ramrod straight on the couch. There’s tension in every sinew of his body. 

“That’s such a cop out though,” He struggles to keep his voice flat, “ I was scared too but I never would have just fucking left him.” 

“Yeah but did he know that?” Theo asks, “You said you never talked about your feelings right? So maybe he thought you’d move on once he was in France. Maybe he was just trying to spare himself the pain of it all.” 

Harry clenches his fists and tries to keep his face blank. 

“I’m not trying to make excuses for him or anything,” Theo continues hurriedly, “It was screwed up that he left you.” 

“So what if he did care?” Harry asks, the words feel strange on his lips. 

“Well,” Theo’s voice is drawn out and contemplative, “Then maybe being back here means something for him too.” 

Harry thinks about that, pictures the tense line of Draco’s shoulders when they’d first seen each other at the DMLE, remembers the way Draco had almost kissed him in the potions lab only to draw back at the last minute with carefully blank eyes. 

“Maybe,” He tells Theo noncommittally, trying to tamper down the quiet flutter in his chest, “I can’t do anything about it though.” 

“You could talk to him.” Theo suggests, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

“Ugh, why would I do that?” The whole idea sounds terrible. Harry would rather get the stomach flu than talk about his feelings with Draco Malfoy. 

“Because he still means something to you,” Theo rushes before pausing and then continuing in a more tentative tone. “He drives you up the wall mate, it has to mean something. When has anyone else ever gotten under your skin like that?”

Theo’s got a point. Harry can’t remember a time that Draco hadn’t been there in the back of his subconscious, a flash of gray eyes, a blur of blonde hair. He’d died and been reborn, been saved by Narcissa only to spend his whole way back to the castle picturing the contours of Draco’s face and wondering what he would have looked like if he’d been born with his mothers eyes. 

“You’re right.” Harry sighs, “But it's more complicated to talk to him than you think… We might have, um. Okay we kind of hooked up that first day he was back. And, um” He finishes in a rush, “I left that time, I walked away in the middle of it. I think it was a one time thing.” 

“A one time thing that was about to happen a second time, if I hadn’t walked in on you,” Theo corrects him with his eyebrow raised. 

Circe, Harry can’t believe he’d forgotten. He thinks about the soft brush of Draco’s fingertips on his warm skin and shivers a little. 

“Okay, maybe not a one time thing,” he dips his head looking sheepish, “But I don’t think it really meant anything.”

“So you wouldn’t do it again?” Theo looks skeptical. 

“Um, I mean… I might?” Harry stumbles over his words, “But again, it wouldn’t mean anything.” 

“So you’re telling me you wouldn’t care if he took someone else home? If he started dating them?” 

Fuck, Draco’s lips parted, his irises blown wide. His strong smooth hands spread across someone else’s body. Harry’s stomach flips over, it takes conscious effort to will down the rising nausea. 

“I think…,” his voice comes out rough, he coughs a little before continuing, “I think I do care, you’re right.” He leans forward scrubbing a hand over his forehead, “Merlin, Theo what am I going to do?” 

“Probably talk to him.” Theo says bluntly, lips quirked up in a wry smirk. 

“God you really should have stuck with your psychology studies.” Harry tells him, “How am I supposed to talk to him? It’s like anytime I try to say anything to him I can’t force the words out of my mouth.” 

“I think you just need to force yourself to start talking. Once you get a couple words into the conversation it should get easier.” 

“Ugh, what if I just don’t tell him?” Harry whines, wriggling in closer to Theo’s side. 

“Then you don’t tell him and you don’t find out how he feels and whatever this is, continues.” Theo says, shifting until he can swing his arm over Harry’s shoulder. “It’s up to you mate. You have to decide if Draco is worth having the conversation.” 

Harry leans into Theo’s warm embrace. He thinks about Draco’s gray eyes, they way they narrow when he wants something and flicker to light when he laughs. He thinks about Draco’s long limbs, his casual saunter. He thinks about the afternoon in the potion’s lab with Draco leaning back beside him. He thinks he always knew it would come to this, his heart full and ready, waiting to spill into pale broad palms. 

“Okay,” He signs, leaning boneless into Theo’s side. “I’ll talk to him, but give me some time.” 

“Oh Harry,” Theo says fondly, sounding almost like a mother. “There’s no rush at all. And, don’t worry if he turns you down I’ll get you a nice treat.” 

Groaning Harry shoves at his shoulder, “Way to inspire confidence in me Theo.” 

“What?!,” Theo crys, indignant.“I’m trying to make sure there’s positives either way!”

“You are insufferable.” Harry tells him leaning into his chest even further. 

“Well you’re stuck with me so you’ll just have to suffer.” Theo says cheerfully, taking his hint and pulling Harry into a long hug. 

“Hey. Where’s Ginny?” Harry exclaims, suddenly pulling out of Theo’s arms. 

“Oh,” Theo says, a glint in his eyes, “I think she went home with Blaise.” He glances over at Harry and immediately breaks down into a peal of laughter, “Mate! You look like your eyes are going to pop out of your head!” 

Harry laughs then too and burrows into Theo’s side. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry avoids talking to Draco for a whole week. 

He watches as Draco walks through the DMLE lobby every morning and feels like his heart is going to rabbit out of his chest. Everytime he thinks about visiting Draco’s office or tracking him down in his laboratory his palms start to sweat and the back of his neck feels uncomfortably itchy. 

On Thursday Ginny attempts to force an interaction by making Harry get a potion ID’d but he has a panic attack instead and she finds him in the loo hands on his knees gasping over the toilet bowl. 

“Oh Harry,” She tells him, her eyes filled with worry, “I really thought this would help things. You know, help you get it over with.” 

He just shakes his head at her and continues to struggle through shallow breaths. 

Ginny stands there with him until he gets himself under control and convinces him to ditch work with her for the rest of the day to get ice cream. The ice cream, and the break from thinking about the inevitable doom of talking to Draco Malfoy, cheers Harry up immensely. 

On Friday he focuses on blocking out all thoughts of Draco. He figures the conversation will happen if it’s meant to and he doesn't need to push it. 

But then the weekend comes, and he spends both days thinking about Draco wrapped around other men, pressed together in bed or in bathroom stalls, open mouths and pants shoved down. It makes him feel breathless like there’s not enough space behind his ribs for his lungs. He commits to talking to Draco at work on Monday. He tells Ginny if he doesn’t do it he will let her dye his hair in punishment. She is ecstatic. 

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s the end of the day before Harry finally convinces himself to knock on the door of Draco’s office. His hands are sweating and his heart is pounding out of his chest. The sound of his fist against the wood door sounds hollow and comes to quite an anti-climactic conclusion when Harry gets no response. 

He waits a minute and then knocks again. 

Still no answer. 

Harry wants to hit something, preferably his own head against a wall, for being stupid enough to harbor feelings for Draco Malfoy.

 He turns on his heels to return home and wallow in his own misery, only to freeze stock still in the hallway. Shit, he can’t go home because Ginny is waiting for him with a manic grin and a vat full of fluorescent hair dye. Tensing his shoulders he moves back to Draco’s door. Swallowing hard, he gives it a tentative push and holds his breath as it slowly creaks open. 

“Dracooo” He calls cheerfully, before quickly falling silent. Because what? Draco’s office hadn’t looked like this last time he’d visited. 

Harry’s hands start to shake as he looks around the room. The desk is overturned, the lamp shattered against the hardwood. Books have been ripped off of the bookshelf and scattered haphazardly across the floor and ripped slivers of parchment rain like confetti. He swallows down the dryness in his throat and makes a conscious effort to breathe through his nose, just like the sodding meditation practice Hermione has thrust on him against his will. 

Before he’s even thought about it he’s leaving the room at a flat out run and banging his way through the door of Kingsleys office. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure Mr. Potter?” Kingsley asks him in a wry voice, looking like he’d rather be talking to literally anyone else. 

“Um. Uh. Someone’s ripped apart Draco’s office. I think he’s missing. Maybe he’s been kidnapped. We have to do something.” He spits out in a garbled mess. 

“Oh,” Kingsley looks unperturbed, “That. It’s fine Harry. We’ve got it under control.”  

“What?! The office didn’t look in control. In fact, it looked the opposite of control. It looked like a complete mess,” Harry spits at him, crossing the room in two long strides and pulling his wand from it’s holster.

“It’s fine Harry,” Kingley says sounding exasperated and perhaps a little fond. “I know where Draco is. I know what happened. Take some deep breaths. It’s okay.” 

“It is not okay and I don’t believe you.” Harry retorts. He moves up to the edge of Kingsleys desk where he towers over him and stares at him harshly, narrowing his eyes into green slits. “You better explain yourself right now.” 

Kingsley sighs looking resigned and motions for Harry to sit down. Harry ignores him. 

“Okay look Harry. I don’t like to spread people's personal business around but I don’t think keeping this information secret is worth getting hexed over so if you’ll shut the door I’ll explain.” 

Harry twitches a finger and uses a burst of wandless magic to slam the door closed. The sound of the wood banging shut echos in the silent room. Kingsley winces and rubs his temples.  

“Can you at least sit down?” Kingsley asks, looking exhausted. 

“Fine,” Harry concedes, sitting down with his back ramrod straight into the bright purple armchair next to Kingsleys desk. 

“Well,” Kingsley tells him, sighing, “Once again this stays between you and me, but Narcissa was admitted to St. Mungos today. Draco didn’t take it very well when I told him. He was the one who destroyed his own office. So, it’s all fine, he's okay.” 

“Okay?” Harry practically screeches, “Obviously he’s not okay if he had a magic flare strong enough to destroy his whole office.” 

“He didn’t have a magical flare,” Kingsley explains to him slowly. His brow is creased and he looks fed up. “He destroyed it piece by piece while holding his wand. He displayed an excellent amount of control actually.” 

“Okay, but that doesn’t mean he’s okay?!” Harry bursts out again. He wants to reach out and shake Kingsley. How could he be so unworried?

“Harry,” Kingsley is talking slowly like he’s working with a kindergartener, “I have Aurors come back from missions maimed and dead all the time. A sick mother? A small tantrum? Those things are barely a blip on my radar.” 

It certainly doesn’t feel that way to Harry. Draco’s hurt feels huge and significant and Harry thinks he would move heaven and earth just to ease it. 

“You can go comfort him if you want,” Kingsley offers calmly, his lips twisted in an expression of amusement. It makes Harry want to hit something. 

“Yes,” He says without hesitation, “Yes. I’ll do that. Since you can’t be bothered too. Even though it’s your literal job to keep Aurors healthy and safe.” 

Kingsley doesn’t even flinch, “Great Harry, you do that.” 

Harry pushes his chair back and rises from his seat, “Alright, well where is he?”

“He might be in his potions lab,” Kingley says kindly, “Or his house. I’d check both.” 

“Oh good. Don’t tell me you don’t even know where he is.” 

“Harry,” Harry suspects Kingsley's tone is meant to be soothing, “I told you. Blip on my radar. He’s going to be okay. You’ll find him.” 

Harry doesn’t even dignify him with a response. He shoves his way out of the office, jaw clenched and heart beating fast. He’ll find Draco. He has too. 

~~~~~~~~~

Harry tries the potions lab first. It’s a gentle mess as usual. There’s a couple of cauldrons strewn across the gray countertops and he notices several potion vials capped off and waiting for inspection. Harry doesn’t think that Draco’s there until he reaches over and flicks on the lights illuminating him curled in a chair in the corner of the room. 

Harry waits for a fight. For a hex to be thrown. Anything. 

Nothing comes. 

“Draco?” He calls hesitantly as he moves slowly towards the corner. 

“Harry, I-” and then suddenly in the next breath Draco is sobbing. Great heaving sobs that wrack his entire body. The scary part is they’re nearly silent besides his ragged breathing as if he can’t bear to let them out. 

Harry finishes crossing the room faster than he thought humanly possible. Before he knows it, he’s kneeling at Draco’s feet and Draco is reaching out for him, clutching at his shoulders and pulling him in. 

“I’m here,” Harry whispers in a rush. 

“Okay, I, okay.” Draco responds, his voice breaking. 

Harry barely dares to move lest it make Draco stop touching him. He raises his hands slowly up to Draco’s waist and rests them gently on his hips, his chest between Draco’s thighs. 

“It’s okay,” He repeats himself. “Take some deep breaths. You don’t have to tell me anything just now.” 

Harry’s entire chest feels like it will cave in. Draco. Draco who pushes him away, is holding him like his life depends on it. Harry leans into his body heat and focuses on modeling long deep breaths. Eventually Draco calms enough to mirror him and they breathe in unison. 

“I’m here if you want to talk about it,” Harry says, when he thinks Draco’s finally calmed down enough to speak. 

Draco pulls away from him enough to raise his head. He looks beautiful even like this, with his gray eyes red rimmed and desperate. Harry presses his fingertips to Draco’s pale cheeks wiping the wetness away. 

“Fuck,” Draco exhales, “Sorry.” He falls silent again. 

“Hey, you don’t need to be sorry. It’s important not to bottle everything up.” 

“Merlin” Draco whispers, leaning forward and pressing their foreheads together. “I just can’t stand it. She wasn’t even a good mother. It’s not fair that I feel like this.” His breath stutters into another small sob. 

“Narcissa was selfish,” Harry tells him softly. “But, you’re allowed to think that and love her all at the same time.” 

“It just hurts so much,” Draco confesses, his warm breath tickling Harry’s ear. “It shouldn’t hurt this much. Circe, she spent my whole childhood making me hurt. It should be over by now.” 

“I know,” Harry breathes. He reaches up cradling Draco’s shoulders and stroking softly across his golden locks. Draco relaxes into the touch. 

“Sometimes I wish she was already dead,” Draco’s voice is quiet. His eyes are squeezed shut. 

“That’s okay,” Harry tells him gently. “She put you in unfair positions. She never protected you. She didn’t keep you safe. It’s okay to feel that way.” 

“It doesn’t feel okay,” Draco snaps, pulling away from Harry and sitting stiff backed in his chair. With a twitch of his wand he levitates a glass vial and hurles it across the room. Harry watches as it hits the heavy wood door with a crash and collapses into silver shrapnel. 

“Well,” Harry says wryly. “That’s one way to deal with your emotions.”  

Draco makes a choked noise in his throat and Harry turns his gaze back on him expecting more tears. He’s surprised to see a small smile etching it’s way across Draco’s cheeks. 

“Criticizing my coping mechanisms is not a good way to comfort me, Potter,” He says, amusement glinting in his eyes. 

“Well pardon me if I took issue with you destroying half the Ministry,” Harry says pointedly, his chest full of relief. 

“I was having an emotional crisis.” Draco corrects him. He looks pale and worn out, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You weren’t even having an emotional crisis when you burnt down the potions labs. At least I have an excuse.” 

“Okayyy, whatever.” Harry retorts, pushing himself to his feet. 

He stands in silence. Draco collapses into the back of his chair with a forlorn expression on his face. 

‘So, are you going to go see her?” Harry asks him carefully. 

“No.” Draco replies. Harry watches the muscles in his jaw clench and then slacken. “I can’t see her right now. Maybe in a day or so-” His eyes flick closed for a second, in a tired blink - “but not now.” 

“Alright, come on then,” Harry says, offering Draco his hand to pull him from the chair. 

“To where?” Draco asks. For once, he doesn’t sound stubborn or angry. Just tired. So very, very tired. 

“To my house,” Harry tells him simply. “I’d have to be crazy to leave you alone like this. Who knows, you might decide you fancy destroying Kingsleys office next and then we’d all get sacked.”

A slow smile creeps it’s way across Draco’s face. “Well when you put it like that…” 

“Exactly,” Harry says, trying to hide the smug look on his face. “You can’t risk being responsible for the end of my career. Come on now.” 

Draco reaches for his arm tentatively and Harry just barely suppresses a full body shiver as hand makes contact with bicep. Then, before either of them can talk themselves out of it he spins on his heel and apperates them out of the lab into his living room. 

“Hey, I didn’t know you could apperate out of the DMLE,” Draco whines at him looking betrayed as he straightens his robes. 

“Only after five o’clock,” Harry tells him smugly. “I’m surprised no one told you.”

 He turns away from Draco for a second, glancing surreptitiously around the flat for Ginny’s bright hair or Theo’s ruffled curls, both of their bedroom doors are firmly shut. He breathes a small sigh of relief. 

“Interesting decorations,” Draco says slowly, glancing around the room apprehensively. 

Harry looks around the room, taking in Ginny’s quidditch posters and Theo’s photography experiments with fresh eyes, “Yeah, it’s kind of a mix of things. Ginny and Theo are in charge of the decor. Don’t ask me.”

“So Ginny and Theo also picked out a lifesize cardboard cutout of you to place in the middle of the living room?” Draco asks wryly, stepping forward to investigate the figure. 

Shit, Harry had forgotten about that. 

“Yeah, they think it’s hilarious.” Harry tells him. He focuses on the wall in front of him and tries not to blush. 

“It is a bit.”

Draco smiles and sits down, perching on the edge of the couch. 

~~~~~~~~~

They order pizza for dinner and eat it on the couch. Draco jokes with him but his cheeks remain pale and his smile is small and tense everytime it spreads across his face. Harry wishes he could wrap him in his arms and never let go, but he’s not sure if he’s allowed as much as a brush of his hand across Draco’s leg, so he fixes himself firmly to his side of the couch. 

When they finish eating Draco mumbles about needing to finish some potions work and pulls several thick packets of paper out of the small pocket of his coat. 

“Do you have an extension charm on that?” Harry asks him, eyes wide. 

“Obviously,” Draco drawls in a way that reminds him of Snape. He levitates the papers into the air with a flick of his wand and pulls a quill from his other pocket with a flourish. 

Draco’s eyes are narrowed and Harry finds himself cataloging the sprinkles of darker color in his light gray eyes. 

“So, do you have anything to do?” Draco asks him, whipping his head up from his papers and looking Harry pointedly in the eye. 

Harry flushes a deep beetroot, “Oh um, yes. Now that you mention it I think I do.” He scrambles for the case notes he’d left on the bookshelf yesterday only to drop them. The papers scatter like snow. 

“Merlin,” He groans. 

“Well,” Draco says long and drawn out, “That does look like a lot to do. Especially since you have to do a bit of cleanup now.” 

When Harry looks over his shoulder to glare at him he’s biting his lip in a clear attempt to keep from breaking into laughter. Harry wants to shove him. Harry wants to kiss him so hard he forgets his own name. Harry blinks slowly and focuses back on the papers before him. He gathers them slowly and pretends he doesn’t feel Draco’s gaze tracking him as he moves across the floor. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Harry spends the next hour carefully focused on the parchment in front of him. He focuses on the scratch of his pen over the parchment, the rough edge of the paper against his fingertips, the couch steady and solid under his body. He refuses to look at Draco. He can go an hour without looking at Draco. It shouldn’t be hard. 

It’s excruciating. 

Eventually, Harry gives up and lets his gaze skitter across to where Draco is sitting. He freezes for a second, his breath caught in his throat. 

Draco’s asleep. He’s tucked up against the side of the coach, his papers still hovering in the air around him. He’s curled into himself with his limbs bent awkwardly, quiet snuffling breaths escaping him. The flames of the fireplace leave his features in shadow, as he dreams, his lashes flicker against his cheek. 

When Draco had sauntered into the DMLE Harry had pictured it would end in angry words and an ache in his chest. He’d never thought it could lead to this, Draco wrung out and seeking comfort on the left side of his couch. 

Maybe Theo was right. Maybe Draco had cared more than he’d let on. 

Harry thinks about love, the way it arrives when you least expect it and leaves exactly when it must. Sometimes love stays; Ginny, her small hands clasped around his shoulders as he gasps for breath in the Ministry toilets.  Sometimes love can’t; Sirius, eyes dark, body vanishing behind the veil. Sometimes love shouldn't; Draco, young, afraid, slipping out through the crack of Harry’s door towards a fresh start at life. 

Harry watches as Draco twitches in his sleep and realizes he no longer feels a painful twist in his stomach when he thinks about the way Draco left. They’d never talked about their feelings. Harry had thought showing them with a gentle caress of a cheek, a wink across a crowded classroom, would be enough. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Draco never knew. But, maybe he did. Maybe he left anyway. 

That doesn’t change the fact that Draco’s here now. 

Harry takes a deep breath and promises himself that he’ll talk to Draco. He shifts closer to him and quietly calls his name. 

Draco snorts and rolls onto his side, and then Harry has some problems speaking because the firelight catches on Draco’s hair like a halo, and Harry isn’t prepared for the double whammy of hot and disarming all at the same time. He gulps in an attempt to clear his throat and by the time he gets himself under control Draco is blinking at him slowly and stretching his legs out catlike in front of him. 

Possessive Billy Loomis x Brat Male Reader

"Chasing You Down Baby boy, cause once I catch you.... Hehe you better pray for your ass"

[Tw: Death (Minor character) blood (Injury) knife and smut]

[I do not own this art, if I knew the artist I would credit them. It's good art]

Running down a darkened alleyway a young man seems to be running for his life, his breath is coming out swiftly his chest is heaving from exertion and sweat is dripping down his face. Yet the first thing someone would see if they truly looked at him is the manic glee in his eyes and the wide grin going across his lips.

The young man knew better than to tease his boyfriend by flirting with other people but a brat is a brat, he really just couldn't help himself Billy always got so possessive and rough after he flirted with people.

This time though was a little bit different usually Billy would drag him away from whatever party they were at and fuck him back at their house after tying him up. This time he may have fucked up a little bit, he had allowed another man to touch him even if it had just been a quick kiss on the cheek.

The flushed young man should have known better after all no one else was allowed to touch him he belonged to Billy, and now he was running down an empty and dark alleyway trying to escape from his pissed-off lover.

***********

Flashback

***************

Billy and him had just arrived at Stu's house for another party while Stu's parents were out of town. After greeting a few people and getting some drinks you had began to feel bored, it was just like the other few parties. With too loud music and too many drunk idiots, Billy wasn't even paying attention to you he was chatting with Sidney about some art project.

You slipped away from the conversation Billy was having to go find something else to do.

{I currently am still writing this please let me know if you are interested in being a BETA.}

Feign Lust to Fool the Masses

(A/N: first off, if you see the excessive amount of swearing, specifically fuck, that's because my friend dared me to make the word count for "fuck" to be 69. So, count all you want, and you'll find out that it is indeed 69-- excluding this note. AND ALSO. HOW DOES ONE MAKE OUT WITH A FUCKING TV I'VE BEEN LOSING MY GODDAMN MIND)

Let’s get one thing straight: you fucking hate Vox with every fiber of your being.

And you know that he felt the same about you. The only reason that you were together would be because you, too, were a media overlord, specializing in interactive media such as VR headsets and such, and that if you were to partner up with someone with as powerful as Vox, then the quality of your technology would significantly increase as well as his ability to brainwash people.

And because of the numerous projects the both of you would work on, many of those intently waiting for the next upgraded piece of technology had assumed that you two were, well… in their words, boning.

You’d have to blame Valentino for that; the demons under him use your mechanisms for sexual reasons so much to the point they’d assume that the overlords who made VR happen in Hell are as horny as them.

And with that, you compromised with Vox. Feign dating in public, to attract more people hence more power, and to also make them shut the fuck up. 

Seriously, everywhere you used to go it was always just “are you and Vox dating?” or “what does his dick taste like?” 

Like, did they really fucking think you’d settle for a TV head? 

Either way, it had been around 6 months since the whole “fake dating” charade started, and now the both of you were invited to this extravagant ball that Velvette had arranged.

How she was able to afford it, you weren’t quite sure.

“Are you ready?” Vox asked absentmindedly, scrolling through his Voxtek phone, not even sparing a glance at you.

You glanced down at your champagne cocktail dress, something Vox had gifted you in public a week ago in preparation for the ball, along with the red bottomed heels that you personally loved. “More than ready, dear. Ah, wait,” you walked towards the overlord before lifting his head up so that he had to rip his eyes from his phone and look at you instead. From his TV head, you could see your reflection slightly, and the moment Vox realized what you were doing, he tensed, his brows furrowing in annoyance.

“What have I told you about using my head as a fucking mirror?” You just scoffed, rolling your eyes as you fixed golden necklace number 3. 

Your lack of a reply ticked Vox off immensely; he fucking hated it when you did that. Everyone always obeyed his sense of superiority; you never did.

You finally took some time to study what Vox was wearing, and grimaced. “Is that really what you’re wearing to a ball? Didn’t Vel give you anything to wear or something?”

Vox groaned slightly before finally standing up from the couch, fixing the lapels of his usual coat. “Fine, I’ll change.”

“Make sure you’re matching with me! Everyone has to be convinced!”

“Fuck off!” 

And you might as well have tried Charlie Morningstar’s idea of redemption just for the Lord to take you because Vox took so. Fucking. Long. To change.

You pinched your nose bridge, walking towards his bedroom. You both had separate rooms, after all, just in the same apartment in the tower to not attract unwanted attention. 

You gripped the doorknob and sighed loudly; just what was taking him so long? “Vox? What the fuck are you doing in there?-” You cut yourself off, staring at Vox’s mess of a bed, heaps and heaps of clothes on it. “Are you seriously fucking kidding me right now?” You deadpanned, leaning on the door frame.

He glared at you, and you took notice of how the only garment he currently had on were his pants. “Oh, shut the fuck up; give me another 10 minutes.”

“It’s been 30!” You exclaimed, heaving in a deep breath before walking towards the bundles of suits on his bed, scouring through it to find a navy blue —almost black— suit, along with a champagne tie; you knew Vox of all people had one.

You finally fished out exactly what you were looking for, and glared at him, the coat and its pair of pants in one hand and the tie in the other. “It took me less than a fucking minute, max. Now, go,” you threw the suit at him, which he successfully caught. “I’ll be waiting outside. And I swear to fuck, if you take another 30 minu—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He retorted, rolling his eyes.

Dear God, this ball is going to be insufferable.

“Oh, (Name)!” A familiar voice exclaimed from the mass crowd of people, causing you to perk up with a grin. “Rosie!” You turned your head, exchanging kisses on the cheeks with her. You had no idea where Vox went, and honestly, you couldn’t care less.

“So, how’s your new lover?” Rosie asked, her signature grin plastered on her face. You tilted your head, placing a hand on your chest. “Well, he’s been such a darling to me! Always giving me beautiful gifts and such.”

The overlord you were talking to raised an unconvinced brow. “But how is he in private? Does he really treat you as well as he does in public?”

Your mask almost broke for a second. Does Rosie know? 

You shrugged it off with a small laugh, trying to sound as convincing as possible. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, my dear Rosie. He’s such a gentleman behind closed doors, too.”

She laughed the same way you did. “Well, I’m sorry for askin’. I just want to know if my friend is being treated right, that’s all.” You nodded, agreeing with her statement. Nothing wrong with wanting to know if a dear companion is doing well with their new partner, right? 

“And besides, he always looks at you with such formality; I almost thought he was using you.”

…Pardon?

Your eyes slightly widened when you looked at Rosie before you quickly recovered. “If you’ll excuse me, Rosie.”

“Oh, of course!” There was confusion in her voice, but she didn’t pry.

Swiftly, you searched for Vox in the large number of people currently at the ball; seriously, how the fuck does Velvette know this many sinners? 

You and Vox needed to be more persuasive in terms of being a “couple”. If you two were claiming to be lovers and yet none of that micro body language bullshit that you’d hear some of the “Vox and (Name) enthusiasts” would be talking about on some social media platforms was happening, you might as well fake dump him right then and there.

You spotted him conversing with some people in the media, and rolled your eyes, cursing internally. He saw you just as you walked towards him, and Vox’s brow raised in confusion. “(Name)? What are you doing—?”

“Vox.” You strained a smile, your voice sickeningly sweet. Your hand gripped his arm tightly, making him wince ever so slightly. “A word in private?”

The sinners he was previously talking to snickered to themselves and backed away, giving the two of you some privacy. 

When they finally left, Vox’s smile disappeared from his screen. “What the fuck do you want, (Name)? You know we don’t have to stick toge—”

“We aren’t convincing enough.” You simply stated, causing him to stare at you. After a couple of beats, he laughed, a hand on the one gripping his other arm. He picked it away from his coat with ease before letting his hand linger on yours to save face. “Oh, (Name), I show my ‘affection’ for you everyday; how is that not—”

“The way you look at me, apparently—” “Oh my fucking God, stop cutting me off!” He exclaimed, smiling at those who were starting to stare at you. Vox took a deep breath before tightening his grasp on your hand, making you wince this time. He cleared his throat before speaking. “What do you mean, ‘the way I look at you’?” His voice was incredibly forced, as if he was trying his very best to not explode at that very moment.

You sighed, pinching your nose bridge with your other hand, the one not being gripped by your fake partner. “I was just informed by someone that you look at me like I’m just a business partner, and not a romantic one. And I’ve read some comments, and people in paparazzi say that you barely touch me when we’re in priva—”

“Oh, like this?” Vox suddenly grabbed your waist with one arm, the other one finally releasing your hand from his grip. “How should I look at you, hmm?” His now free hand hooked a finger under your chin and lifted it, making heat rush to your cheeks.

Jesus, he’s never actually done anything this physical… ever. And you can’t believe you’re saying this, but it horribly turned you on.

“What, speechless already?” Vox’s voice was low and sultry, which was a contrast to how he normally talked to you in front of people. It was as if he was only talking to you, not the masses. 

His hand on your waist trailed down lower to your hips, and with the way the dress hugged your body, you could feel every crevice of his claws. 

Vox pulled you closer to him from his grip on your waist, grinning when he saw the way you raised your brows. The hand on your chin began to cup your cheek, and you cursed at yourself for instinctively leaning on it. “You want to be more convincing? Let’s be more convincing.”

You could feel the hundreds of eyes on the both of you as he slowly hooked your leg up and around his thigh, his hand at the bottom of yours. You couldn’t help but shiver at his touch, your gaze darting everywhere to find out who was watching you two.

“Eyes on me, (Name).” Vox ordered, but it wasn’t the kind that he would bark out to his subordinates. It was gentler, more to capture your heart than your attention.

What the fuck are you doing, Vox?

You decided to play his game, so you quirked a brow up as a smile ghosted your lips. “Yes, sir.” 

And at the moment, the both of you realized that this was a game of who will break first. 

“You know, I must say…” You whispered, your hand resting on his chest. “You looked better without this on.”

“(Name),” he chuckled tightly when you traced the way his coat fell on his body. “Are we really doing this?”

“Doing what?” You smiled innocently, messing up his tie ever so slightly; you knew how much that ticked him off. How much untidiness could quite literally be the end of him. Hell, when his room was a mess, he took another 20 minutes to fix everything. “Well, we have to convince the masses, don’t we?”

“You’re playing a dangerous fucking game,” Vox warned.

“Now, who’s to say I don’t know that?” You tilted your head, leaning forward with a smug smirk. 

Vox’s eyebrows raised humorlessly before sighing. “Alright, so we’re doing this.” And with that, the hand on your cheek brushed against the line of your jaw before wrapping itself around the back of your neck, the tips of his claws slightly digging into your skin. You choked down on a moan, not ever wanting to give him the satisfaction of actually melting in his touch.

He noticed the way you held yourself back, however, and he stared at you, amused. “Well, I didn’t know someone here had a thing for pain.” He teased, chuckles escaping his throat as he did so. 

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” You snapped quietly, making him hum. “No, I don’t think I will.” He calmly stated, the fingers of the hand on the bottom of your thigh lingering somewhere higher, causing your breath to hitch. “I’m sure you love the sound of my voice.”

“You’re fucking egotistical.”

“And you love the way it gets stroked. Though,” he grinned, his face slightly lighting up when your leg stayed wrapped around his thigh even when he removed his hand from yours. “I’m sure you’d like to stroke something else, no?”

Your eyes widened at his boldness; what the fuck was he implying? You barked out a nervous laugh, your cheeks heating up even more. You cursed at yourself when you felt the way Vox’s words traveled straight down to your arousal. “You’re insane.”

“Oh, yeah? It’s your fault for driving me so fucking crazy.” His hands roamed around your body, and you’re suddenly incredibly aware of the amount of people not staring at you, half of them hoping you two would fuck right in front of them.

Your jaw tightened as you tried to regulate your breath. “Vox, don’t you think this is a bit much for the public eye?” You attempted to reason out, but he only tilted his head before grinning. “You’re right. They wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

With that, he grabbed you by the wrist and started to drag you to somewhere private, leaving a trail of gasps and whispers behind.

“Vox!” You exclaimed, shock coating your voice. “What the fuck are you doing!?”

“Well, you said it was a bit much for the public eye,” he explained, looking at you with a grin, his eyes half lidded. “Then we’ll do it in private. Plus, it looks good on camera. I saw a couple people taking pictures of us.”

You snorted; you noticed them, too. “Yeah, they’re not really discreet—” You cut yourself off with a yelp when Vox yanked you closer to his body by your waist, his knee slotted right in between your thighs. It was only then that you realized that he had you sandwiched between him and a wall. 

From this angle, you could barely see the faint glow of the event a couple of feet behind Vox; it wasn’t so close that they could fully see what you two were doing, but it wasn’t far enough for sinners to not accidentally walk into a rather… scandalous scene.

That idea alone sent shocks down to your core.

“Oh, do you enjoy the idea of fucking me in public?” Vox laughed out, an amused grin plastered onto his face. It was just as shit-eating as the one who bore a smile all the time, and you couldn’t wait to wipe it off of his face. “Just shut your fucking mouth, will you?”

He rolled his eyes, his hands roaming around your body once more. You had to admit, he was… so fucking skilled with them. 

You almost immediately melted in his touch, but you stopped yourself from giving him the pleasure of a reaction. But nothing slides in Vox’s vision; he saw you. He saw the way your eyes fluttered closed before snapping wide open, as if your brain was shouting at you to not give in. Hell, he felt the way your body reacted to his hands, the way your hips slightly twitched up as he grazed them.

And to think the both of you were still fully clothed. Imagine how much damage he could do to you when you weren’t. 

Vox’s knee began to steadily rock you, causing you to purse your lips in a feeble attempt to stop yourself from making any noises of pleasure. Yet that expression of yours only fueled Vox’s desire to tease you, to prove to you that he can be as convincing as he can.

His hand hovered just above the high slit of your dress, his fingers threatening to slip under it. “What’s wrong, (Name)?” He taunted, the smug grin never leaving his face. “Why so silent all of a sudden?”

You let out a groan through gritted teeth; hopefully he would assume that it was one of annoyance. Though, you both knew it was far from that. “We aren’t an actual fucking couple, you know? Y-You don’t have to…” You trailed off, taking in a deep breath as he slightly quickened the pace. 

His laughter was rich and low, condescension dripping like venom. “Oh, but you told me that we needed to move the people a bit more. That I didn’t touch you when we’d be alone. That I didn’t look at you like I wanted to fuck you at every given moment…” He leaned closer to your ear, his voice nothing but a growl when he spoke. “You think I care if they find us here? Fuck, I hope they do.” You squirmed slightly at his words, shivering slightly at his voice. You hated admitting it, but it really was one of the main reasons you could even stand his ass. 

He rocked his knee a bit harder, pushing you against the wall. The small distance between your chest and his closed as you wrapped your arms around his neck, small yet strained moans coming out of you. You could feel the way your slick probably stained a spot on his pants; they were dark enough for it to be mistaken as black, anyway. No one would notice, right? 

As soon as your moans reached his ears (does he even have ears?), he groaned before letting out a tight chuckle. “You’re such a fucking freak.”

You scoffed at his words, clearly offended. “Excuse me? You call me a freak when we literally live with the freakiest fucking pimp in all of Hell?”

“Do you want me to stop?”

You opened your mouth to speak before hesitating. You grunted, heaving an annoyed sigh. That alone gave Vox a satisfactory answer, dropping his knee. You stumbled slightly, your body missing the feeling of his knee against your sex. You glared at him, though Vox noted the way your slight desperation tried to hide itself. “What the fuck, Vox? I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” The overlord huffed out, his hands leaving your body and landing on his pants, unbuckling the belt that was snatching his waist even more. But before he could fully unzip his pants, he looked at you with a raised brow, his face entirely serious.

That was then you realized he was asking for your consent.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. He teased you for what felt like forever and he’s only now asking for your consent? Might as well slam it into you.

You rolled your eyes, a small smile gracing your lips. “Whatever. Do what you want, I guess.”

Vox quickly studied your face before grinning; he knew what you meant. “I’m going to break you until your pride flies out of the fucking window.” He declared, finally freeing himself from his now too tight pants. His claws slipped under your dress from the slit, the pointy tips making your shudder in anticipation. Your stomach flipped when he grazed your soaked underwear, barely rubbing his thumb softly against your clothed clit with a grin. “Jesus Christ, (Name); you’re so fucking wet.”

You whined involuntarily, gritting your teeth together. “Just do it, Vox.”

“Do what?”

…

Holy fucking shi—

“You know what I fucking mean!” You exclaimed, the embarrassment of having to elaborate reaching your cheeks. Vox furrowed his eyebrows as his teasing smile grew, feigning confusion. “No, I don’t, (Name). Why don’t you tell me?”

God, this man is going to be the death of me. “Vox, don’t make me do this—”

“Fine then, I guess I’ll just—”

“No!” You shouted out, making Vox look at you just as he was about to re-zip his pants. You pursed your lips as he waited in expectancy. You cursed under your breath, your undead heart pounding out of your chest. “Goddamnit, Vox, just– just fuck me…”

“What was that? I didn’t get that, sorry—”

“Fucking Christ, Vox, fuck me!” 

Ah, there it was. Vox rolled his eyes exasperatedly, that shit-eating grin still on his face. “Fine, fine. No need to fucking shout.”

You deadpanned, staring straight at him as he swiped your underwear away, leaving your pussy bare. You bit your lip at his touch; the way he was subtly teasing you making you clench around nothing. He gave himself a tantalizingly slow stroke before aligning his cock to your hips, his tip easily sliding between your folds and just in front of your entrance. “Fuck…” You cursed under your breath, but you knew you had to do this. For the press, right? Totally!

Vox groaned at how wet you were, guiding his cock to rub against your clit, just to see you squirm. 

And squirmed, you did. You let out a strangled moan, your hand covering your mouth. But just as you were about to do so, Vox grabbed your wrist before making both of your hands wrap around his neck, something tying itself around your wrists, forcing you to keep your arms there. 

You stitched your eyebrows together, looking at Vox in alarm. He finally put his tip inside of you, moaning softly before answering the question you left unsaid. “Don’t try to muffle your pretty noises, (Name). We both know it wouldn’t fucking matter in the end, anyway.”

His claws gripped your hip before cupping your ass as he thrusted slowly into you, only stopping halfway for you to adjust. He glanced at your flushed out expression, your eyes already half lidded. It looked like you desperately needed this, and if you were to be honest, you really did. Ever since you announced that you were in a “relationship” with the overlord of media, it was like people were repulsed by the idea of fucking you, or more specifically, terrified of the idea of crossing Vox.

Remember, you two had hated each other behind closed doors for 6 fucking months. 

“Vox, you know damn well I can take more,” you growled, glaring at him with a sneer. He raised his brows in amusement at your sudden hostility, and inclined his head slightly. “Alright, then. You said so yourself.”

With that, he thrusted himself into you until your pelvises touched, causing you to let out a guttural moan. Jesus fucking Christ, this man was not playing.

“What, can’t take it all?” He teased, giving you a pout of pity. Your jaw tightened once more, using the fact that he had your wrists tied up to your advantage to pull him in closer, your breath heaving. 

The way his cockiness dissolved as soon as you reeled him in stroked your ego, and you smirked smugly. “I can. Don’t underestimate me, you fucker.”

Vox snapped out of his shock and laughed lowly, almost fully pulling out. “Feisty.” He snapped his hips against yours, earning a small shriek of bliss and surprise from you. He pushed you against the wall even more, so that your back was firmly pressed against it. 

His thrusts were slow yet hard, well calculated to hit your g-spot every damn time; it was making your mind fog up. Vox’s grunts at every thrust weren’t really helping you, either; in fact it was making you even more aroused. 

Suddenly, he quickened his pace, still pulling out until only the tip was inside before shoving his cock inside you with no remorse and no effort whatsoever; you were making this incredibly easy for him. “Fuck…” He let slip before gripping both of your thighs and wrapping them around his waist with ease, snaking an arm around yours afterward. 

With this new position, Vox was able to thrust in deeper, making you cry out in ecstasy. He groaned at your voice, and at the way your walls were tightening against him. “Holy fucking shit, (Name).” He almost laughed out, his hips finding an even quicker rhythm. 

You refused to actually concede, finally and fully immerse yourself in the intense pleasure that Vox was giving you. It was as hard as he was inside you, though, since you slowly felt your better, logical judgment leave you. Every single time he slid in and out of you like it was nothing, you couldn’t help but let out a stifled moan, trying to mask it with a gasp. He was genuinely so fucking huge it made you wonder how. 

Unfortunately for you and your pride, you felt that stupid fucking knot that you had tried to ignore tighten in your stomach, making your breaths heavier than you wanted it to be. Vox had taken notice of this, and grinned, staring at you with such arrogance you just wanted to rip his stupid head off of his stupid neck. “Are you seriously going to cum already?” 

You laughed in his face, a string of pants following suit. “You wish.” You spat, trying your best to not let any noises of pleasure escape you. 

Vox raised a brow before barking out laughter, nodding his head slightly. One of his hands removed itself from the bottom of your thighs and moved painfully slowly towards the top of it, and you immediately knew what he was going to do.

“No,” you muttered in horror, and he just cackled at your reaction. His fingers barely lingered near your clit as he spoke. “I did tell you I was going to break you, didn’t I? I’m going to make you so fucking dumb on my cock, you’re not even going to remember your own fucking name. Is that clear?”

Vox massaged circles against your clit, rendering you unable to think properly, or pull yourself together. Your eyes fluttered closed as his fingers do sinful things to you, all the while thrusting himself into you. 

When Vox spoke once more, his voice was slightly muffled, as if there was some sort of effect on it. From that, you knew what he was trying to do, despite him knowing that it doesn’t really work on overlords.

“Is that clear, (Name)?”

You decided to give into that at least, and nodded your head weakly. “Y-Yes. Yes, Vox.”

He brightened at your answer, his grin beaming. “That’s my good girl.”

At his paise, you clenched around him, your high just a couple of thrusts away, and—

Waves and waves of pleasure and pure bliss crashed into you as you finally reached your orgasm. You let out a throaty moan, which then turned into sobs when you realized that Vox wasn’t stopping any time soon. Or at least, wasn’t stopping until he would cum inside of you.

Vox’s fingers never left your overly sensitive clit either, which makes you tighten the way your legs wrapped around him. At that, he cursed under his breath, his hand finally leaving your clit and finding solace around your waist. “I’m going to fucking cum inside you, yeah?” He babbled, his screen dim and glitching slightly. Oh, so that’s what happens when he’s close. “I’m gonna stuff you with my fucking cum, you hear me?”

“Yes, Vox.” Was all you could respond with, your breaths turning into mere hiccups. You couldn’t help but whine at the thought, your breath hitching when you felt the way Vox’s cords against your wrists tighten. You didn’t want to admit anything you were thinking aloud, since what you were thinking right now (if you could even do so) would be how right Vox was at fucking you dumb. You were so incredibly close at losing your mind, and wait– no, not—

“Are you going to fucking cum again?” He asked condescendingly, his hips ramming into yours with such force, you could feel the way his tip was teasing your walls. You groaned at his words, frustrated at how good he made you feel. “Shut the fuck up and finish inside me already.”

“Oh, so you want me to do that?” He pestered you through pants, making you whine. “Vox!”

“Yes, ma’am. Jesus, you’re really fucking feisty.” 

Vox started to rut inside you as if the both of you didn’t have an event you had to get back to (which you totally forget about, by the way). You felt the way his aching cock twitched in you, accompanied by how soft whines were coming out of his throat.

Honestly? Hearing Vox like that made you reconsider this whole fake dating thing.

“I’m so fucking close.” He said through gritted teeth, and you couldn’t help but moan in agreement, feeling that same knot tightening and tightening, and holy fucking shit he felt so good inside of you, you just wanted to—

The both of you came with loud and guttural moans, your chests heaving. Vox’s hips allowed himself a couple more slow and hard thrusts as if fucked his cum deeper and deeper inside of you, causing some whimpers to be ripped out of your throat.

The two of you stayed like that for a hot minute, barely listening to the way you were panting your lungs out. Your tongue practically lolled out of your mouth, your eyes half lidded. You weren’t necessarily fully fucked dumb, per se, so you could rub that in Vox’s face later.

“Don’t think we’re finished, my dear.” Vox growled, his voice husky. Fuck, it was like he read your mind. You laughed nervously, looking at him in his eyes for the first time the whole session. “What do you mean?”

“What’s your name?” Was all he asked you, causing you to furrow your eyebrows in confusion. You carefully placed your two legs on the floor again as you responded to him. “(Name), why?-”

“Exactly.” Vox concluded, slipping out of you with a groan. “You still remember your name. You’re lucky we’re not in private otherwise I would’ve done way more fucking things to you.” He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and cleaned his cock of his and your juices before doing the same to your now swollen cunt, the texture of the fabric making you grimace. 

You looked down at the pool of cum that accumulated on the ground, and pursed your lips. Your head stayed tilted down as you stared at Vox, batting your eyelashes. “Is that a promise?”

He just scoffed at your words, shaking his head slightly. “We have to go back. Just leave it there.” 

You realized he was talking about the puddle of cum on the floor, and glared at him in disgust. “Excuse you? We have to at least clean this fucking shit up—”

“Leave it to someone else.” He ordered, making you roll your eyes. You allowed him to grip your wrist (which now had a red line from his cord)  and walk you back to the party. You stumbled on your own feet when you finally recognized what heels you were wearing, along with the fact that your legs were shaking violently. 

The overlord you had just fucked noticed it, and sighed irritatedly, hooking an arm around your waist to keep you balanced. “Don’t get fucking used to this in private.” He grumbled immediately before a smile appeared on his face, nodding at the whispering crowd that was finally coming into view.

“You didn’t answer my question before.” You muttered so that only he could hear it, smiling as you snaked an arm around Vox’s neck for the masses. 

“What, about the promise?” Vox snorted, a smug grin replacing his charismatic one. “You better hope it isn’t.”

“I don’t just hope; I fucking expect it.”

“Be careful with your words, (Name). You might regret it.”

You just shrugged. “We’ll see if you actually stick to what you say or not. Or maybe you’re just all bark, no bite.”

“Oh, fuck you.” Vox retaliated with a strain, though you knew he was now clearly enjoying your banter.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

And for the first time in a while, you heard Vox genuinely laugh. At your cockiness or at you yourself, you weren’t quite sure, but a win is a win.

Feign Lust to Fool the Masses (part 2)

(A/N: This might end up being a full on fanfic. What. Additionally, I wrote this on a whim and so if there are mistakes I apologize in advance) (I also had Horny, Angry Tango on loop the whole time writing so...)

PART 1

TAGS: knife kink, slight masochism, orgothumophilia (kink of having someone getting mad at you), riding, multi orgasms, somewhat public sex, Vox is fucked dumb, dom!reader (somewhat),

A month. It had been a month ever since that risky escapade and it seemed like it only weakened your relationship.

Vox barely talks to you about it, or just in general, for that matter. It was like he was so incredibly immersed with his work, that he had just forgotten that he needed to be immersed with you. 

Not that you cared, though. Your relationship with Vox was just to gain more power. 

To fool the people, right? Right.

But even with that fact engraved in your head, imagine your anger when you heard from Peppermint (Vox’s assistant; sweet little thing) that your so-called lover had been having private sessions with some of the lower employees of Voxtek. Now, that was just plain stupid. He was already in a “relationship” with one of the more powerful overlords in Hell; what more does he need?

Was that night really not enough for him?

Nevertheless, nothing and no one stopped you from storming into one of Vox’s conference rooms with a knife in your hand, not even Val nor Velvette. Though, you saw from your peripheral vision that they were betting on what would happen, whether you would kill him or fuck him.

At this point, you were perplexed between the two emotions.

“Vox!” You exclaimed, bursting through the door. His subordinates all nervously glanced at you as their lips sealed themselves shut, leaving the room silent. 

Your “partner” quirked a brow up, pure blankness written all over his face. His expression ticked you off, and at that moment, you could’ve broken apart the door frame. “Out, everyone.” You demanded, causing the others to look around the room and at each other, confused. 

“Out!” You barked out, your grip against the glass door making it shatter inside of its lamination, creating cracks that spread from your hand to its hinges. 

All of them immediately scrambled out, picking up their things and scurrying outside of the same door you practically broke. Vox calmly stood up, but just after he gripped his armrests to stand up, you pointed at him. “Not you.”

“Fucking Christ, okay.” He mumbled, sitting back down with knitted eyebrows and a baffled smile. 

Vox patiently (which was unusual of him) stared at you as you waited for everyone to leave, a slight bit of your true demon form slipping through the facade of the more socially acceptable one. He watched as you took a deep breath, arms crossed, before storming towards him, your jaw gritted and your glare enough to kill a million sinners all over again.

Frankly, it turned him on.

“You.” You spat out, jabbing a finger in his chest. His smile angered you even more; it was so innocent yet so mischievous you wanted nothing more than to wipe it off of his face with your knife. “Do you not realize what you’re doing right now?” 

Your voice was barely a whisper, but with how close your faces (well, face and a screen) were, it was loud in Vox’s mind. “Enlighten me.” He calmly said; he’s never actually been this calm, honestly. It surprised him, too.

But seeing your blood boil because of his words was too entertaining to not give up being dramatic; he wanted to see you livid. 

You looked at him like he was crazy. Well, maybe he was, trying to provoke you like this, but you didn’t seem to notice it. “The public has barely seen us together now. Do you seriously not keep yourself updated in what they say? Isn’t that what your whole fucking brand is about? Appeasing the masses with what they want to keep your power?”

Usually, he would be incredibly insulted by those words. Normally, he would have the sinner killed in just a snap; he had the power to do so, anyway. But the way your brows scrunched with your nose, or the way your lips curled into a snarl as you poked at his chest? He couldn’t kill that face.

And fuck, your words were like drugs to him, intoxicating him, pushing him farther away from better judgment. Vox wanted to prod and taunt you until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Vox feigned his ignorance; he loved doing that, as it seems. You grinned manically, scoffing before lifting him from his chair and throwing him onto the carpeted floor. The grunt that forced itself out of his mouth wasn’t enough, so you placed your foot against his chest, looking down at him as if he were just some lowly scum.

Maybe he is.

“Cut the shit, Vox.” You spat his name out like it was venom you needed to remove from a wound, and only then did Vox notice the knife that your hand gripped tightly. His shock was barely noticeable, but it was there. “You haven’t done anything to calm them down. Do you know what they’re saying, hmm? That they thought we’d broken up because we aren’t seen together anymore? That it ‘might be the end of an era’?” You mocked their comments, their words seemingly stuck in your head.

As you derided, your hands placed themselves beside your face, the knife glinting from the white lights of the room. And just before Vox could even process what was going on, the same knife was now held up against his neck, the sharp side pressed against where his screen and his neck connected. 

“And I heard from a little birdie you were cheating. With lower sinners, to make matters worse.” You practically growled.

Vox couldn’t contain his excitement anymore, and neither could his pants, his cock straining against it wildly. He grinned at you, his eyes wide with adrenaline. “You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad.” 

Well, that caught you off guard, and it caught him off guard, as well. He was thinking it, yes, but it never crossed his mind that he would actually say it out loud. 

“You think this is a fucking game?” Your voice sent shivers down his spine, and he wanted to feel more of it. Wanted his skin to vibrate so violently, and the only way he could actually have that sensation was from you and you alone.

Fuck, you two weren’t supposed to actually like each other. Or he wasn’t supposed to, at least. It was just supposed to be business; the romantic aspect was only supposed to cover that up—

Oh God, what was Vox doing? What was he thinking? Is he going to regret this the next morning? Is he going to regret grabbing a fistful of your top and kissing you, his tongue immediately curling around yours?

Your nose smacked against his screen at his sudden movement, and you grunted at that as your leg removed itself from his chest, but you seemed to ignore that. Matter of fact, it seemed like you cared more about the knife against his neck, since you pressed it harder against it, the fabric of his high collar already ripping at its contact. Your knife’s pressure wasn’t enough to break skin, but goddamnit did Vox want that to happen.

Wait, was Vox getting even harder at the idea of you killing him? That’s a fucking kink he didn’t know he had.

You knelt on him, your thighs straddling his own. You grunted as he began to grind against you, his grip on your top finally loosening so that his hands could cup your head and tangle themselves in your hair. 

You were the one that parted from the kiss, but that was only to catch your breath. You sneered at him, your hands already working to remove his pants and other garments in that area. “I fucking hate you, Vox. You’re doing all of this shit to rile me up. You think I don’t see you and your stupid tricks that you fucking do to make me even more furious?” With an easy rip, Vox’s pants were shed off of him, the cold air of the conference room hitting his hard cock.

“And yet you still give into it, my ‘tricks’.” He taunted, the signature blood dripping from his mouth as he grinned, trying to prop himself on his elbows. You had stopped him from doing so, though, with a hard shove. “Oh shut the fuck up,” you retorted, sliding your undergarments to the side and aligning your hips with his. 

Vox watched in slight awe and disbelief; are you really going to fuck him in the conference room?

“I’m going to ride you so fucking hard, the only thing you’ll be able to say at the end of this are strings of apologies, begging me to stop.”

Oh fuck, that made his cock twitch.

Vox snickered, his brows furrowing in determination. “Try me, (Name).”

You scoffed at his challenge, not even thinking properly before sinking down on him with such force. You immediately regretted it, of course, the sharp pain of not allowing yourself to adjust sending bolts to your brain as if they were laughing at you, asking, “are you fucking stupid?”

Or maybe that was Vox you heard. His laughter, you meant. He started to snort at the way you winced at his cock, and you scornfully glared at him. “Not. A fucking. Word.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He replied sarcastically, making you look at him with such misfit, a cold droplet of sweat went down his back.

“I’m going to make you actually call me that, just you fucking wait.” You snarled before slowly bouncing on him.

Vox’s head (screen. I’m sorry; I’m not letting you guys forget he has a screen for a head) fell back as you did so. He had forgotten that after his decision to destroy you at Velvette’s ball, he didn’t really fuck around, contrary to your belief.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure where you got that information.

Basically, he was just as sex-deprived as you were. Work had consumed him so much that he didn’t have any time to grip his own dick with his hand and give himself a quickie. Just so many annoying people that decided causing a ruckus was the right way to get his attention, so many times did he have to calm Valentino’s ass down.

It was obvious that he desperately needed his tension to be relieved, and he was as relieved as the pleasure you were giving him when he finally understood that you needed it, too. 

Well, with you already knowing what fucking his cock was like, you couldn’t really satiate your sexual urges with other people, right?

Your grunts and groans snapped him out of his daze, your hands grasping handfuls of his vest as you shut your eyes. The pace you set was already starting to intensify, Vox had to admit that he was slowly losing his mind here.

A whine that he didn’t know he could even make escaped his lips, his eyes already half lidded. “Fuck, (Name), what are you doing to me?” He muttered, praying to whoever that could listen that you didn’t hear it.

But of course, God would never listen to a demon’s prayers. You cackled, grinding in between every bounce. His legs spasmed at the sudden addition to the pleasure, your voice fogging his brain up. “Someone giving in already? Didn’t you tell me that I was the one who’d forget their name? What happened to that, Vox? What happened to your charismatic, cocky, facade?” 

“Shut up.” He grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut to focus on something else; he can’t let any noises come out of him, nor can he let himself cum so easily.

But fuck, it’s been a month. A month of frustration and dreams that he had of you every night where he would fuck you everywhere you two went: his office, his bed, his bathroom— shit, he’d even fantasized while mindlessly listening to the news reporters that he had you babbling on his cock in one of the balconies of the Vee Tower, for everyone to watch, and— oh no. No, no, no, no—

“Fuck!” He shouted out as he felt himself cum inside of you, causing you to fake a gasp at his actions. But just because he had cum, doesn’t mean you were going to stop any time soon. “Vox! Already? It’s barely been 10 minutes.” You provoked, the grin on your face making him purse his lips in slight anger and embarrassment. 

“Is it my fucking fault that you’re so tight— shit.” He cursed under his breath, which was already running away from him. He could feel the way you used his cum as a lubricant, the wet, lewd noises of skin slapping making him moan.

Half of these noises you had him make, he didn’t even know he could, so props to you, he guessed.

The noises you made, however, were quieter than his, a contrast to the first time you two had ever done anything like this. You were so good at controlling yourself, like the idea of Vox being the one fucked dumb was keeping your mind from being clouded by concupiscence. The same kind of lust that was blurring the lines of rational and irrational in Vox’s.

Wait, no— goddamnit—!

Vox hated his mind and how it fixated on your soft vulgar sounds; it had just made him cum for the second time in a row. 

Your eyes widened when you felt the warm liquid splash around your walls, a shit-eating grin adorning your face. “Did you just cum again? Vox, have some self control! Fucking pervert!”

Vox stared at you like you were crazy, trying to avoid glancing at the way your body bounced up and down. “I’m the pervert? You’re —fuck— the one riding me in a public room!”

You laughed at his words, as if his meek attempt at trying to irritate you even more was barely working anymore. “You’re the one enjoying it.”

Though, just because something is barely working, doesn’t mean it doesn’t entirely.

Vox noticed the way your legs were shaking, your chest was heaving, your bottom lip was quivering. He noticed everything about you. And when you practically slammed your hips against his, he knew that you were incredibly annoyed at his words.

Yet he couldn’t snap back with something snarky; he was already slipping away from reality and into the pleasure and bliss (and borderline pain, honestly) you were providing him. He felt his throat vibrate as the moans and groans he could no longer force to be silent escaped him, his chest desperate for breath.

Jesus Christ, what the fuck were you doing to him?

“What’s your name, dear?” You asked, your voice as sweet as honey mixed with the most dangerous poison there was on both Hell and Earth combined.

Vox had to think before replying. “You know damn well it’s V-Vox—”

You groaned in annoyance, gripping the knife you placed beside Vox’s body. “You haven’t broken yet. You know,” you leaned closer so that his chest was pressed against yours, allowing the head of Vox’s cock to reach an even deeper part of you. “You’re much more resilient than I thought you’d be.”

He slipped out a small whimper at the overstimulation; everything was too much. And when your cold hand skillfully untied his bow, which was then replaced by the cold metal of the knife, he couldn’t help himself again.

With a choked grunt, he finished inside you for the 3rd time, his whole body twitching at how warm and tight you were against his overly sensitive cock. “Fuck, damnit, (Name)—” He whispered, his voice already hoarse at how much air passed through his mouth.

“You’re the fucking freak now.” You taunted, your pace still unforgiving, not an ounce of mercy resting within your soul to give him a damn break. “You’re the one that came because a knife was against their neck, not me.”

His stomach flipped at your words in embarrassment; shit, he did just cum at that. Yet how come he wasn’t as ashamed as he really should be at that thought?

“(Name), the game’s o-over.” Vox tried to reason, attempting a small grin on his face. It was quivering just as much as his body was, but he tried to not let it show. “I-It’s— oh, fuck!”

“What was that?” You mindlessly, breathlessly asked him, your hand slipping under his vest and dress shirt. Your cold hands toyed with his torso, your thumb barely grazing against his nipples. 

He cursed at himself when he whined at the sudden contact, his back arching off the floor. “N-Nothing—” “Tell me what you were going to say, dearie.” 

Goddamnit, you were trying to make him speak now of all times? He could barely even hold his thoughts together, and he knew if he didn’t answer you, he wouldn’t even be able to properly formulate sentences.

As if he can now.

“It’s-” Vox sighed, hearing his own undead heartbeat pounding. “L-Let’s think about this, (Name)—!”

“Ah, ah, ah.” You slowed your pace down, making him choke down a whine; he was getting so close again. “Try again.”

Try again? What the fuck did that mean—

Oh.

Oh no.

Vox gritted his teeth before responding tightly, his words coming out dry and rough. “Please, ma’am. I-I’m sure you’ve had your fun, but I had a meeting… before this…!”

You tilted your head, your eyes half lidded. If you were to be honest, you were trying everything in your power to not think of the cum that filled you inside; Vox honestly wasn’t lying when he said he could fuck you dumb. “What was the meeting about, huh?”

Oh, shit, Vox couldn’t remember. “W-Well—”

“Can’t remember, can you?” You grinned, removing the knife from his neck and straightening your posture to get more force in bouncing. “What’s your name?”

Fuck, it was that question again. It was that question, and Vox was having a harder time answering it. He knew what he was supposed to say, but somehow it was rolling off of his tongue like it used to. “V-Vox, ma’am—!”

“A shame, really.” You sighed, though it came as small hiccups from the way you were riding him. “Oh, I know!” You stared at Vox with a grin that he didn’t even know you could do. “I’ll make you cum one more time, and—”

“No!” He cried out, gasping for breath. His screen glitched as he talked, making his voice break with it. “Please, I can’t take one more–”

“Oh, but you can.” Vox heard the soft noises of wetness from your grinding before it went back to the slapping of skin, making his groans turn into whines. “And you will for me, won’t you, darling? To fool our supporters? Our patrons?”

God, Vox remembered the reason why all of this started in the first place. He opened his mouth to say something smooth, but the only thing that slipped out of it were pleads. “Fu-hu-huck, ma’am, please– I-I’m sorry for not—” He keened when he felt that familiar knot in his stomach, warning him about what was to come (badum tss). “Goddamnit, I’m sorry for not paying more… attention to you…!” 

The more he talked, the quicker you set your pace, your head nodding as he talked. And the more you quickened, the more pitiful apologies left him, his screen dim and glitching violently.

“What’s your name?” You growled lowly, and for the first time in his fucking life, he could not remember.

“F-Fuck,” he racked his brain for anything. Any answer he could give you that sounded believed, but he was met with nothing. “I-I don’t—”

“You don’t remember?” Your voice was full of frenzy and joy as you finished his sentence for him. You leaned forward to plant a sloppy kiss on his neck, which was now coated with a thin sheen of sweat. “That’s a good boy. Oh, how the tables turned, no?”

You drank up the way he was quite literally fucked up under you; it gave you such a power surge, and he didn’t realize how much of your ego was being fed just by his appearance alone. 

“G-Gonna…” Vox trailed off, a long dragged out cry being forced out of his throat. It was so pathetic; it was so hot. 

“Go ahead, Vox.” You cooed. Ah, that was his name. 

With your voice, he unraveled under you, his guttural cry music to your ears. 

He painted your walls white for the fourth time that day, his cock eagerly twitching inside of you. This time, however, you had stopped bouncing to catch your breath and to let the adrenaline subside. 

Without warning him, you lifted your hips up, making his cock slide out of you. Vox gasped at the loss of warmth, whining slightly.

You gaped at him, eyes wide in bewilderment. You actually did it. You fucked him dumb.

Other than the pants and small whines from either you or him (but mostly him), silence encompassed the conference room. But just as you were about to try and stand up, Vox’s rough voice caught your attention. 

“I never fucking cheated, by the way,” he said through breaths. “I have no idea who gave you that idea; I would never do that to ruin our reputation.”

“Wait, but–” you cut yourself off, finally connecting the dots.

Peppermint heard that from Valen-fucking-tino. 

“Oh, my god.” You practically laughed out, finally standing up properly. Your hand shakily gripped the conference table for balance as your free hand straightened any wrinkles from what just happened. “That makes more sense.”

“What does—”

“It’s none of your concern.” You said before clearing your throat and running a hand through your head. And just as you were about to walk out of the door, Vox finally put his body weight on his elbows to look at you. 

“Aren’t you going to help me—”

“Nope, still mad at you.”

“Okay.” Vox sighed, grumbling a “fucking bitch” as you left. 

Instead of insulting you, though,  it made you smile.

𝐌𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫?!

𝗗𝗘𝗦𝗖𝗥𝗜𝗣𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 - 𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴 ‘𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶’ 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳.

[𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙜!𝙎𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙪𝙨 𝙎𝙣𝙖𝙥𝙚 𝙭 𝙋𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧!𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧]

“Don’t you dare make a single sound.” Severus hisses while he has you pushed up against a shelf of books.

He wraps a hand around your throat to keep you pinned and lets the other stray downwards until it reaches the end of your skirt. You squirm as his hand trails over your thighs, leaving behind a bed of goosebumps.

“S-Severus.” You said his name like a prayer and you sounded heavenly, but it was too loud for his taste.

His hand is quick and sharp when he pulls it back, only to harshly slap it against your panty-covered pussy, “I said be quiet.” He demands again as you whimper.

You bite down on your bottom lip as his palm and fingers rub slowly over your covered clit, but it doesn’t stop you from squirming further, making him tighten his grasp around your neck.

“Don’t piss me off more than your brother already has. I have no problem using you to get Potter off my back.”

You weren’t sure what hurt more, his grudge against you because of who you’re related to, or the fact that he really was only using you to get back at your brother; but then his finger grazes over your clit in a certain way and you forget everything he said.

The hurt that crosses your face didn’t go unnoticed by the slytherin, but he pushes aside the guilt by inserting his hand into your panties. You gasp as his fingers touch your bare cunt, reaching towards your wet opening to gather your slick up to your clit.

“P-please I-”

You don’t know what you're pleading for, but you stop when suddenly he pulls his hand away and your body is being turned around to face the book shelf. A hand swats you your covered bottom, but he ignores your cry and instead lifts your skirt to drag both of his hands over your panty-clad rear.

“You just can’t listen, can you? I guess it runs in the family.”

He pulls your panties down to your ankles and you writhe from the cold air rushing against your slicked pussy, but you freeze when Severus drops to his knees. His hands knead your ass cheeks before he pulls them apart to inspect both of your openings. Your cute little butthole puckers from the sudden intrusion of privacy and your gaping hole, leaking of your sweet juices, pulses wildly; begging to be tasted. To be filled.

He can barely stop himself before he buries his face between your thighs. You sob as his cunning tongue prods your puckered opening first. He spreads your cheeks as far apart as he can to give his tongue more room to explore, allowing the tip to swirl around your rim. He moans gratefully as your tightest hole slowly opens up for him to ravish, but he pulls away. You needed time and to be better prepared to take his cock in your ass; time wasn’t something neither of you had right now.

“Gonna fuck this hole the next time I get my hands you.” He murmurs, but you hear him clearly and his words make you wiggle your bum in anticipation.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You like the thought of me fucking your cute ass? Who would have thought the youngest Potter was such a whore?”

Your only reply is another whimper, but he doesn't need to hear your words, your reactions are more than enough to understand. Your hands grip the shelf tightly, trying to steady your shaking body, but it’s useless when you feel his tongue digging into your other hole.

“S-sev!”

Thankfully he’s too busy to notice or care for your little nickname slip-up and groans when he fully enters his tongue inside your opening, finally able to taste you like he’s wanted to since the first time he had inappropriate thoughts about you. Your sweetness and bitterness blended so well together, making him gather as much as he could on his taste buds, but as much as he wanted to taste you more forever; he knew your clit was begging for attention.

He pulls your body further away from the shelf, only to bend you over completely, spreading your legs further apart. You have no time to react before his lips suck in your nub with so much force that it makes you jump, causing the shelf to shake.

“Holy sh-”

You’re cut off when he releases your clit and begins dragging his tongue across it, switching from pattern to pattern. It was embarrassing how close you were already, but the pressure building up in your lower tummy was too good to forget. Reaching behind you, you grab a hand full of his hair and hold him right where you want him.

“Severus, I’m cumming!” You whisper as quietly as you can, but it’s no use.

You’re cumming hard and holding in any noises is impossible.

You hold him closer and tighter, practically grinding his face into your pussy, drowning him in your essence. He doesn’t seem to mind though, for he only grabs your hips and pulls you closer to his mouth until you're fully spent. After you’ve heaved one final breath, he places a single kiss to your clit before standing up. He rises you up from bending over, only to shove you face-first into the shelf again.

“I think you're ready for my cock. Don’t you agree?”

You nod your head violently, making him chuckle.

“Good girl.”

He reaches down to undo his pants and pull out his cock; and before you can say or do anything, he’s inside of you and thrusting. He wraps his arms around you, undoing some of the buttons of your shirt to shove your bra down. His hands squeeze and twist your nipples while he hides his face in your neck.

Tilting your head, he’s lavishing your skin with wet kisses and nips.

“Merlin, look at you.” He rants, “Taking my cock so well. I wonder what Potter would think? His own little sister getting fucked where everyone can see.” He grunts when your cunt squeezes his shaft, “But you like it, don’t you? You like me fucking you right here, where anyone could catch us?”

You start muttering incoherent sentences and it riles him up even more. His thrusts speed up and can feel the burning sensation in your lower belly again. You clench around him tightly, making him growl.

“So fucking good, you feel so fucking good!” He blubbers as he feels his own pleasure coming to the edge.

You weep as he hits so deep inside of you, making your brain go foggy. It’s coming, you can feel it and you hope he does too, because before you can warn him, you're cumming around him. Your spasms spur on his own release and he over-fills you with his seed, making some of it slip out and run down your thighs. You both try to catch your breaths, but Severus can’t stop himself from holding you closer.

As you continuously wail for him during the after-shocks, he whispers sweetly in your ears.

“You did so well, love. Such a good girl for me.”

His endearments make you keen until a few voices gasp. You and Severus quickly turn your heads to the sources of the sounds. Your heart falls to the pit of your stomach while Severus smirks and holds you tightly.

There stands your brother and his friends, all frozen and wide eyed at the sight in front of them. You pull your shirt around your chest, but the rest of your body stays still.

“Can’t you see we’re busy Potter?” Severus spits out, but he’s too amused to be angry.

James only looks at you in shock before uttering your name.

“Y-Yn. But- You-” He stutters.

You sadly look back at Severus, expecting to see him looking at Potter in victory, but he’s not. He’s looking at you, with the most sincere smile, like you're something he’s wanted all his life (which is true).

Butterflies flutter around in your stomach and you’re too happy to care about what your brother thinks as you stare at the young man you've liked since you first saw him.

James would get over it.

Eventually.

masterlist.

SMUT WARNING : public sex , oral ( female receiving ) , spanking ? , dom/sub undertones ? , throatfucking

[ Y/N ] POV

I was quick to nod, and ranpo was even quicker to grab my hand and pull me by the arm to the nearest closet or bathroom even if it was a kiddie restroom, when there he quickly pushed me in the closes bathroom that was near and gentle pushed me against the wall of the bathroom pressing his lips against mines in the most gentle yet rough way possible, both hands on either side of my head resting between my jaw and neck to hold me still while he used his hips to pin me to the door

the kiss was needy, tongues automatically finding one another and accidental teeth clashing, we were swallowing each other's breath while my hands gripped at his shirt, tugging on the buttons in attempt to discard it

"still eager as ever, huh?" I breathed out before returning my mouth to his and he slipped a hand between my legs

several minutes passed till ranpo pulled away, both of me and ranpo out of breath as he gripped the ends of my shirt looking me in the eyes asking for permission which I gave him a slight nod .

with that ranpo slowly lifted up my shirt eyes traveling up my body slowly drinking in my upper half and subconsciously dragging his tongue across his bottom lip licking it .

once the shirt was off he quickly went to the back of my bra and it was off in a mere second .

grabbing ahold of my two my two breast he gave my right breast a kitten lick before putting my whole nipple in his mouth swirl his tongue around my nipple every once in a while .

"been so long, i've almost forgotten how you taste." he spoke voice breathy, looking up at me before taking his mouth off my nipple with a 'pop' sliding both hands under my pants to pull both my pants and panties down .

I only hummed and leaned my head back, eyes shut and head spinning as ranpo slowly licked at my clit

it was taking everything in me to keep quiet, biting at my bottom lip and trying to keep my knees from giving out as he sped up, taking turns fucking me with his tongue and sucking on my throbbing clit

one of my hands held tightly to the sink while the other tangled itself in his hair, pulling him closer to me and making him moan against my pussy

"fuck." I moaned, letting my eyes fall to the man below me, messy black hair a mess and green emerald eyes looking up at me as he continued lapping at my heat

his tongue and the look in his eyes were urging me to cum, the familiar pinch in my stomach quickly approaching as i let out little gasps and whimpers that eventually turned to louder, high pitched moans

"god, i'm gonna cum." I breathed out, voice strangled as i gripped his hair even harder, resulting in a harsh slap to my thigh and teeth grazing your clit "fuck,ranpo!"

I came fast, and hard. My body shaking as ranpo's mouth only continued, his cock straining against his pants at the sight of me above him, mouth open and squeals leaving my lips as I came all over his tongue

ranpo was quick to stand up, spinning me around and pushing me roughly against the door again, this time my cheek pressing against the wood and a harsh smack landing on my ass

my clothes all discarded scattered across the floor of the bathroom, leaving me bare in front of him

"you have no idea how badly i want to pound that fucking cunt of yours, but i think i wanna fuck your pretty mouth first." he whispered, landing another rough hit on my bare ass before turning me back around and pushing me to my knees in front of him

he was quick to undo his belt and pants, pulling his achingly hard cock out and smirking at the way my eyes widened .

i licked a stripe from the bottom of his base to the tip, lightly sucking and looking up at him

"gonna be a good girl and let me fuck that throat?"

I nodded and opened my mouth widely, it immediately being filled by his cock while ranpo let out a deep moan

I began bobbing my head up and down on him, followed by him beginning to thrust himself in and out, picking up his speed till i wasunable to stop myself from gagging and my eyes from watering

I moaned with his cock still in my  mouth, watery eyes staring up at ranpo who was staring right back down at me

he abruptly pulled out, jerking me back to my feet by my hair and roughly shoving me against the sink, maneuvering one of my knees to rest on the marble countertop before rubbing his cock against my wet slit, my eyes meeting his in the mirror in front of me

"tell me how bad you want me to fuck you, [ y/n ]."

ranpo rubbed himself against my entrance, collecting all of my wetness

" please- "

" [ -n ] ! [ Y/N ] " i heard someone whisper shout to me near my ear making me flinch and open my eyes .

I looked around at my surroundings seeing that I'm still in my work attire sitting at my desk with ranpo next to me with a smirk on his face .

" what were you dreaming about, your moans sounded so pretty "

previous | chapter three

a song for a mockingbird (director orson krennic x reader) ▴ part i.

fanfiction (7 parts) – A STAR WARS FANFICTION

pairing : dir. orson krennic x reader (fem!reader)

summary.  Director Orson Krennic is in love with you. Yes, he is madly in love for the first time in his life, with a person and not with a project. You have quickly become his most consuming obsession. You haunt his days and nights. His body is a burning inferno at the mere mention of your name. Your frightening name. You are a Tarkin. And not just any Tarkin, you are the daughter of Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin.

This story contains some digressions from the storyline of the Star Wars universe. In the original works and legends, Wilhuff and Thalassa had only one child, a boy, but in this story, they had two, including a girl: you.

A fiction inspired by the seven deadly sins. It will have one chapter per sin, so 7 chapters.

rating. mature

warning. lemon, smut, semi-public sex.

Thank you for reading ! :D

CHAPTER 1.

ENVY. It symbolizes the sadness felt when someone else possesses something that we desire, as well as the will to get it no matter what the price or the means.

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“Hold your breath and count to ten Feel the Earth move and then Hear my heart burst again For this is the end I've drowned and dreamt this moment So overdue, I owe them Swept away, I'm stolen

Let the sky fall When it crumbles We will stand tall Face it all together

Skyfall is where we start A thousand miles and poles apart Where worlds collide and days are dark You may have my number, you can take my name But you'll never have my heart”

‘Skyfall’ – Adèle

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

IMPERIAL BALL, CORUSCANT CITY.  ••   YEAR -1 BBY (BEFORE BATTLE OF YAVIN)

Once a year, Emperor Palpatine summons his most loyal servants to feast with him in his lair. The Imperial Palace. The best architects and decorators in the Empire are working hard to turn this huge reception hall into a showpiece for the eyes. Every year, the accustomed guests are delighted to be able to taste the refined dishes specially served for the event or to get drunk with the most exotic spirits. The Emperor always takes great care in decorating his impenetrable fortress, his reputation precedes his exaggerated sense of perfectionism. The imperial palace has no equivalent in the galaxy. It shines with richness and hardness, with the hexagonal shapes, straight lines, and sharp angles of its corridors. Far from being a place known for its shimmering colors, gray seems to be the Emperor's favorite color. The walls are soulless and painted in a charcoal gray, which contrasts beautifully with the crimson red of the imperial banners spread across the sides of the walls. Some of these banners even hang on the interior walls of the Imperial Palace in Coruscant City. Most of the decorations and artwork are scattered here and there, soberly and coolly.

You walk into one of the spacious pillared halls, unusually transformed into a ballroom. Works of art and marble statues guide your way until you reach the most ornate of them all. Even though you are a veteran of this very special reception, you can't help but gasp at the charm of the walls draped with imperial banners. A feeling of deep pride comes over you, strengthened by the honor that is specially reserved for you as a member of an ancient and powerful imperial aristocratic family. You are carried away by the beauty and cruelty of the regime to which your family has devoted its life for eighteen years.

After all, you are not just any ordinary person. You are the daughter of a high dignitary of the imperial administration, the one and only high ranking official, Wilhuff Tarkin. Grand Moff of the Galactic Empire. A close friend of Emperor Sheev Palpatine himself. You are the daughter of Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin and Thalassa Tarkin, born Motti. An extremely weighty name to carry. A family heritage that glorifies you and gives you many privileges. You are untouchable. You are highly desired by everyone. People are dying to be in your good graces, as if you carry within you the holy power of life and death over poor unfortunate souls. Being the daughter of Grand Moff Tarkin is not without its consequences, however, as it comes with a price of bloodshed. You had a childhood full filled with your father's devouring ambitions and your mother's ruthlessness. You grew up surrounded by beautiful things, but you were never truly loved, unlike your older brother, Garoche Tarkin. He is the worthy male heir of the noble Tarkin family. He is the one your venerable father holds in the highest esteem. When Garoche died, it was like a stab in the heart. This heartbreaking loss left your family to decline year after year until it became a desert land.

Your stunning face melts into the countless mirrors that adorn the walls of the ballroom. The beauty of the room is far from exceeding the number of mosaics that are covering these gigantic marble walls. Your beautiful eyes are then lost on the crystalline sculptures that portray forms both abstract and inspired by the most beautiful victories of the golden age of the Empire. You feel extremely proud to belong to the side of the victorious, the oppressors, the powerful and the aristocrats. Those who crush and break the spirit of the weakest, of those rebel insects that the imperial officials smash with the back of one of their boots. You share your life with the members of this illustrious and aristocratic family that inspires fear and honor throughout the galaxy. You live in one of the finest apartments in the residential tower of the Imperial capital of Coruscant City, since your father was named Grand Moff, after growing up in Port Tarkin on the planet Phelarion. 

Coruscant. A planet that impresses all others with its ability to capture shooting stars and repel those that come so close to it that they are burned. A symbol of modernity and technological progress. It is the epicenter of the core worlds, an impregnable and fortified galactic city. The towering skyscrapers, the hustle and bustle of its crowds, the repulsor vehicles hurtling through the clouds. Coruscant expresses a magnificence that cannot be expressed in such simple words. You must live there, breathe its air corrupted by industrial vapors and walk its crowded streets to understand its beauty. It is the place of wildest rumors, both envied and hated for its affiliation with the reign of evil. Coruscant is the pride of its inhabitants, some of whom feel particularly proud, because they have everything. They are everything. The planet of Coruscant has been the capital of the Galactic Empire for fourteen years. The most slanderous of them point out a metallic aftertaste in their mouths, criticizing its life as a whirlpool that encircles you as if in a stranglehold. The other ones say that it is a fast-paced life that requires adaptation. They all praise the same thing, that when you get swept up in the current of this hyperactive life, a feeling of euphoria comes over you and never leaves you. Coruscant then becomes your beloved home, the one and only, the one that cannot let you down. Coruscant becomes like a part of you. You owe it loyalty and respect. However, behind every beauty comes its opposite. You know that every rose has its thorns, but that beauty cannot exist without its share of ugliness, like the sun rises and sets to give way to the moon and darkness. Coruscant is a cultural melting pot. The deeply rooted beliefs of its citizens are for the most part radically opposed, but these differences are necessary for the survival of the community. Each citizen of Coruscant has his or her own share of light and darkness. Director Orson Krennic is no exception to this rule.

Orson Krennic, the architect of the Death Star. His hands are golden and his genius is matched throughout the galaxy only by his arrogance. He is easily recognized by his white cape and heavy DT-29 blaster strapped to his belt. He is the only high-ranking officer in the Empire to show off his cloak, a secret way to assert his position in the eyes of others. For this son of modest workers, born in the city of Sativran on the planet Lexrul in 51 B.C., to be part of the elite of the Imperial administration is a remarkable achievement. Full of pride and prejudice, Krennic has been the director of the advanced weapons research office for several years. He oversees the construction of the superweapon with great care, reflecting a perfectionism that often turns to obsession. His work means absolutely everything to him. As for the Death Star, it means a lifetime work. His detractors do not sing the praises of his perfectionism or his intellectual rigor, they prefer to blame him for a laxness and a slowdown in the progress of the project. Director Krennic does not care about their gossip, he is convinced that he is acting in the interests of Emperor Palpatine and his glorious Galactic Empire. Orson Krennic is a man who has risen from nothing to the top of the administration. Everything seems to work out for this ambitious, temperamental, self-important character. Everything. Everything? No... Orson Krennic is actually obsessed with a project of a completely different kind than his precious Death Star. She has a name that makes your hair stand on end, a perfectly shaped face with a falsely angelic air, a position in the imperial aristocracy that appeals to both lust and fascination. A young creature, far too young to stand on his own two feet, perhaps even too young for a man like him. Director Krennic, however, is literally obsessed with this noble lady. You. You are all seven deadly sins for Orson Krennic. He doesn't know how to behave in your company, you have quickly become his dirty little secret. You have become his unhealthy, all-consuming obsession that has haunted his days and nights for almost a year. But... you are a Tarkin. You are the forbidden fruit in his eyes. How many times has he lusted for the chance to make you his? He wants you so badly that it shatters his hope of a normal life. You eclipse his precious Death Star, his lifelong project, in a heartbeat. He only has eyes for your beauty, your elegance, your aristocratic accent, your manners and your intelligence. He wants to make love to your body as much as to your bright mind. You are his mockingbird. You keep escaping, unable to stay in place, when he tries to catch the shine of your feathers.

When he sees you coming down the endless steps of the great marble staircase of the imperial palace, Orson Krennic is astonished by your apparition. It seems to him almost as much surrealistic as divine. You are wearing a long, champagne-colored gown, made of the finest silk in the Galaxy. It molds perfectly every part of your body, your curves are as if sublimated in this fabric of great quality. Wilhuff Tarkin does not spare any expense on the beautiful things you wear. You are a representative of the noble Tarkin family, you speak for an entire line of close admirers and supporters of the Emperor's totalitarian regime. Your beauty takes the breath away from most of the imperial officers in the ballroom. They all stare at you, one after the other, while you finish your walk. This dress is incendiary, glowing under the bright lights of the candles and the crystal chandelier hanging from the roof. It is bare at your back, letting the people who stay behind get lost on the glow of your skin. With one hand on the marble ledge of the gigantic staircase, you finally look up at the first face that catches your eye. Orson Krennic. He is true to himself, dressed in a spotless white imperial uniform that matches his incredible cape. You can even see a glint of lust in his beautiful ocean blue eyes as he finishes his cup of bubbly alcohol in one swallow. You can see him holding back a slight coughing fit with trouble. The look in his eyes says a lot about the depth of his intentions towards you. He's not your date for this party, yet you find yourself bemoaning this statement.

By turning away from him, it takes to you both to share a glance almost... conniving. You suddenly felt crossed by the same fantastic thought. You let yourself go for a few seconds to your most unspeakable fantasies, before feeling on you a very familiar look. Wilhuff Tarkin, your father, is with your mother a few meters away. They both urge you to join them, which you do, with grace and dignity. You walk beautifully, sitting on three-inch heels, your walk is smooth and feline. You feel yourself floating above the marble floor of the huge ballroom. As you walk towards them, you catch Director Krennic's furtive gaze on the perfect, naked line of your back. This is far from offending you, it rather delivers ecstatic shivers to your body.

Orson Krennic is a man your father does not carry in his heart. You can expect no blessing from him in such a fantasy. It is heresy, in his own words. What often comes out of his mouth are insulting and condescending words. They are full of hatred and jealousy.The rivalry between them is legendary, and neither Krennic nor Tarkin is able to put this animosity aside. Even for you. What Tarkin doesn't know, however, is that the ambitious director Orson Krennic is mad with desire for his own daughter.  How ironic. Krennic has a secret crush on you. He sometimes thinks that no other man deserves your compassion as much as he does. He cherishes the sweet fantasy of shocking his rival. He sometimes sees you as a means to an end to destabilize your father. He thinks Tarkin will go completely mad if he knows that the man he hates most in the world is bedding his beloved daughter. Krennic is aware of this situation and enjoys it like a little child. Besides this strong urge to get back at your father, Krennic's feelings for you are sincere. He envies all those people who gravitate to you like stars in the galaxy. Especially when these young men are near you and hope to gain some of your affection. You are an extremely desirable and desired woman considering your family situation. Tarkin's daughter is the most prized young debutante on Coruscant. You enjoy the privileges of wealth and social comfort, and you have the right to set the rules. You have inherited your father's megalomaniac tendencies and the need to be in everyone's mouth.

You find yourself spying on Director Krennic in lovely company. They are all incredibly attractive in those shimmering silk and satin dresses. He laughs a little too loudly for it to be an innocent discussion. As he brings a sip of his drink to his lips, you spot the thin, playful smile that is gradually taking shape. You curse yourself for wanting so badly to know the taste of that strong alcohol on his mocking lips. He is not a man who shines by his physical beauty, but his charisma has something magnetic and almost animal. That damn cape, yet another ostentatious sign of wealth. You love this outfit as much as you despise it. How can such thoughts cross my mind? you think. You slap yourself gently, your cheeks still burning. Have I lost my mind? you repeat countless times in your head. The idea that your body could desire a man as despicable as Orson Krennic sends a chill down your spine. You roll your eyes, as you try to get your thoughts under control.

You don't know that on the other side of the mirror, Orson Krennic is boiling over just as much as you are, discovering all the courtesans that are raining down on your pretty feet. The Director envies all these people who gravitate around you like stars in the galaxy. Young imperial officers, shapely and of a suitable age unlike his own, all full of future and aspirations. They probably hope to capture Tarkin's daughter in their traps. Tarkin's impetuous and icy daughter. You're just a daughter of in the eyes of these brave young Imperial recruits, most of them from the Imperial Youth. None of these men feel the way Orson Krennic does about you. They don't have his strength of personality or his burning passion for every part of your body.

Orson Krennic is unfortunately not reachable. You know it will never happen between you, it's impossible, the barriers between you can't be broken. Not that easily. It would take a miracle, you think. Unfortunately, it's not up to you, which is not the case with these fiery young officers. When one of them approaches to you for a dance, you are far from resisting the temptation to catch Director Krennic's ocean-blue gaze as he passes you by. You put then your hand on the arm of one of these officers, to move away you from the one who tears your soul. He is young, attractive and well born. He is exactly like you. He too is the son of an imperial officer, born into an ancient family of the aristocracy of the city of Coruscant. Everything is much easier with him. However, this young man is not the infamous Director Orson Krennic. Everything is much more spontaneous with someone you know. That's where you belong, don't try to deny it, it's in the arms of a young nobleman that your father places all his hopes in you.

You let yourself be carried away in the effervescence of this evening. Things are not so complicated with this young man, they are almost natural. The only point that bothers you is that you feel indifference for him, despite his gentleness and his foresight. Everything is far too flat for a proud flower as passionate as you. Fool of you, dear little noble lady. You are getting bored in the arms of your courtesan, and you don’t even try to hide it. As he twirls you among the other couples on the ballroom floor, your eyes seek to capture those of Director Krennic. He is lurking in the shadows, in the middle of a conversation with your venerable father. From a distance, this conversation looks aggressive, Krennic and Tarkin are like a dog and cat fighting over the last piece of meat on the table. From time to time, your pretty face catches a few furtive glances in your direction. He seems to like the smell of danger. He seems to like you even more than anything in the whole Galaxy.

 He looks at you compulsively, while in the same company as his worst rival. You love to feel that lustful gaze on every part of your body, you also love the way he caresses the crystal of his sparkling cup. He slowly draws invisible circles with the tip of his thumb as he fantasizes about the curve of your divine breasts. You can't help but believe that he is imagining obscene things about you, shameful and degrading things. You feel those two icy orbs focused on your back, on your buttocks, on your neck and on your mouth. He does more than observe you, he spies meticulously on your every move. So many attentions can only make you blush more.

After a seemingly endless amount of time, Orson Krennic leaves his conversation with Grand Moff Tarkin and two other officers of the Empire. You frown as you discover that his fanciful figure has now disappeared. You seem completely lost for a few seemingly endless minutes. You need him. You scream inwardly to feel those exquisite burns caused by his impure gaze on your skin once again. You reach for it left and right, until a leather-gloved hand comes to rest on your date's shoulder.

"Director Krennic!" he shouts, taking a step back. You observe a particularly funny scene, he seems embarrassed by the fact that Orson Krennic is witnessing your proximity.

"Leave us." orders Krennic, strengthening his grip on the soldier's slender shoulder.

"Fine. Director..." Not a word too far. "Lady Tarkin." he snaps, politely inclining his head in your direction. The young officer apologizes to you, seemingly terrified by the menacing shadow hanging over Director Krennic.

Orson Krennic doesn't even glance at the young soldier as he walks off to find his fellow graduates. "Ah, the Imperial Youth... They definitely think they can do anything, under the guise of enjoying the privilege of being well born, as well as representing the future of the Empire."

You feel his powerful arms wrap around your waist with possessiveness. Oh my... Is he really positioning himself as a courtier in front of all these people? In front of your own father? Something is boiling inside you, the beginnings of a volcano about to erupt. It seems to be devouring you with its big ocean blue eyes, almost like a hungry carnivore in front of a poor frightened doe. You are far from being frightened by the expression on his face, it is not expressionless, it is simply void of any purity. You feel extremely flattered to be the target of so much attention from him. You are pleased to see that he is ready to take all the risks to make you admire him. This night is the night of all dangers.

"Director Krennic," you whisper, not without a flash of pride in the sound of your voice. "My father is watching us with some displeasure." And there is much to be angry about. Wilhuff Tarkin, Grand Moff of the Empire, watches in the distance as Krennic makes lame attempts to get his precious daughter's attention. Yet he remains stoic in the presence of his wife, Thalassa Tarkin. The desire to have Orson Krennic shot has recently become one of his greatest obsessions.

In reaction to your observation, Krennic struggles to stifle an amused chuckle. "Your father has made me mad, my dear little Tarkin," he whispers as he places a hand on one of your hips, taking the time to stroke the silky fabric of your champagne dress. It is a game between you, you do not stop flirting together without putting a word on your relationship. It is dangerous and forbidden, it consumes you both in the unspoken. You feed on the ambiguous nature of your relationship, thinking that it will protect you from slander.

"So, what did you two talks about?" You ask him an innocent question with no hidden motives, and yet Orson Krennic feels his pulse begin to quicken dangerously. He avoids your gaze for a few seconds, before leading your every step onto the dance floor. You dance like any two aristocrats, but one is unfortunately not. You let yourself be seduced by the soft classical music that echoes from the backstage. An orchestra has taken up residency, one of the best in all of Coruscant City. You are whirling around among the other couples that have been gradually forming in the imperial ballroom. "Director?" you hope to shake him out of his torpor.

You notice that Director Krennic's gaze darkens as your conversation goes on. You are a fine observer, you know that something is tormenting the thoughts of the imperial officer. After a few seconds, Orson Krennic snaps coldly: "Things that do not concern you in any way, Lady Tarkin." Words hurriedly spoken, particularly your family name, but which he almost immediately regrets to have pronounced with so much hate.

He reads a flash of disappointment in the depths of your eyes, which seems to make him particularly uncomfortable. Krennic sighs as he twirls you around with one hand, before pulling you back to his chest.

"Let's talk about something else. I need some fresh air, if you don't mind." he murmurs, curling his lips into a charming smile.

"How about giving me a tour of the Emperor's summer lounge?" you say, thinking you can more effectively interrogate him once Grand Moff Tarkin is out of his sight.

"Good idea. I'll give you a tour of the gardens at the same time. They're prodigiously well-kept this time of year."

Touché. You see that your suggestions were correct. You've managed to cheer him up, although it's still not enough to make him forget the bad thoughts that have been running through his mind about your father.

"I'd love to have you walk me around under the glow of the moon."

Orson Krennic's face almost suddenly lights up. He is already fantasizing about the idea of a moonlit walk through the countless marble galleries of the Imperial Palace. The peculiar fact that this walk would be in your company seems almost unreal to him. "Please," he says, stopping his dance to offer you his forearm. "…all is yours..." the director murmurs. A proposal heavy with meaning, though it has the appearance of false purity.

You take the opportunity of Wilhuff Tarkin's face being turned toward one of his prized lieutenants to escape his surveillance. You hurriedly walk away from all the social bustle. A hand on one of your hips, Orson Krennic is directing your every step. He then leads you to one of the alcoves opening onto a hallway filled with marble statuettes. Although you are far enough away from the ballroom, you still feel the pressure of Krennic's gloved fingers on your lower back. You greatly appreciate this physical closeness between you, not least because it is forbidden to you. It is impossible to deny that you are both deeply attracted by the taste of danger. As your eyes move to the arm he has offered you, you cannot contain a pleasant shiver as you imagine being his. You even feel a sense of power. You find yourself in the arms of the powerful Director Krennic. Orson... You take the time to detail every line and stitch of his flawless white uniform. Your eyes gaze intently at that incredible, immaculate cloak, its flaps rubbing lightly against your lovely legs. When you walk like this, side by side, you look like a respectable couple of members of the imperial high society. What helps a lot in making this observation is the fact that Krennic is a high-ranking officer in the administration.

You take the time to listen to his speeches about the history of the Imperial Palace, including his glorification of the transformations that have taken place in this former Jedi temple, and you can't help but feel a sense of devotion. Orson Krennic knows his topic well, as he has spent many a night nurturing his brilliant intellect. He's not just an architect, the star of his former training. Orson Krennic is much more than an architect or officer of the Empire. He is a man deeply devoted to the culture and beauty of the Imperial regime. He seems to forget no detail, everything is scrupulously studied, nothing is left to chance. Orson Krennic does not seem to believe in coincidence, he is a man with deeply anchored scientific convictions. After all, he was one of the stars of the Republic Futures Program in Brentaal IV, where he particularly made his mark as an engineer and project supervisor.

"Your knowledge of the Empire's architecture fascinates me. Really. Director Krennic, you are a man who leaves no space for mistakes, aren't you?"

"Oh... Let's just say I'm a perfectionist." A slight laugh escapes his lips, he feels a sense of pride run through him. "I would never have reached the position I hold now if I hadn't made a name for myself with my intellectual rigor."

"You also distinguished yourself by your youthful antics."

You give him a discreet little wink, thinking back to the crunchy anecdotes that your father was willing to share. Of course, these anecdotes were not told in order to glorify his actions, but to push him deeper and deeper on the path of incompetence and frivolity. It may be foolish of you, but you would like to learn more about the young student he was in the days of the Republic. You even want to find out more from Orson Krennic himself. You want to share this intimacy with him by sharing his nightlife as a student.

"I was young once, like you, my dear," he says, swallowing painfully. His former smile mysteriously disappeared as if by magic. "We all have a reputation that precedes us. Mine is now irreproachable." He pauses briefly before continuing in a more tempered tone of voice, "I suppose Grand Moff Tarkin is the one I have to thank for this?"

"Don't be upset with my father, other people could have told me about this. Tongues are loosening...in no time at the teahouses of Coruscant City."

"I'm not angry." Yes, you are, you think. You're lying. Of course he's lying. You're actually embarrassed that this sort of thing has come to my ears. You're angry because this defamation comes from Tarkin. He is the one you despise most in the galaxy. You can see his eyes darken at the mere mention of your father's name. You feel his veins boil dangerously. His body has become strangely tense, he has apparently become stoic and distant towards you. You let Director Krennic become entangled in his lies, because you cannot support him. He seems to have a particular resentment towards Grand Moff Tarkin, and this does not leave you indifferent. You want to know the tragic background of this rivalry, but you are well aware that this risks making him angry. A heavy silence settles progressively between you, which leaves you wondering.

"I imagine that you don't intend to brag about having taken me away from my father," you say, laughing softly. You try to get out of this situation with your first spin of denial. You think you can joke with him about Tarkin, but it's actually a big mistake. You still don't know that you're just throwing twigs on an already burning fire. You are still repeating the same things, yet you are aware of your partner's feelings about Wilhuff Tarkin.

Your failed attempts to cheer up the sinister Director Krennic still do not work. You are resigned to the fact that the remaining part of your moonlit walk will be an awkward silence. You are like two strangers trapped by their own demons.

"Director, I..." you begin, wanting to apologize. "Tell me more about the architecture of the Imperial Palace, we stopped at the wrong time. Teach me everything you know."

"I don't feel like discussing that much anymore right now."

"Oh... Of course you don't. I understand perfectly." You can't hide a flash of sadness in the depths of your eyes, however. "We can discuss another of your brilliant projects in this case, anything you like. Why not the one you have in common with the Grand Moff? I understand you're working on a way to extend his hyperspace firing capability. If you ask me, it will be good enough that it can do what it was created to do." In other words, you ask him to share his impressions of the Death Star. You don't realize at the time that you have just triggered something in him. Orson Krennic stops walking almost instantly. He removes his arm from yours, while his eyes slowly darken into a blank expression of emotion. He quickly turns to you, perhaps a little too abruptly, which startles you.

"Because he told you about that too?" he spits spontaneously, with a violent tone that is unlike him. It actually sounds more like him than you think. Krennic is a man with an aggressive nature. You have never witnessed his mood swings, since they have never been directed at you. Yet Orson Krennic is famous for his explosive temperament and triumphant, if somewhat overdramatic, arrivals. This never particularly offended you until he took out his frustration on you.

"This is none of your business, this project is not supposed to be discussed in any way with me! You should never have even heard of it before it was made official in the Emperor's presence!"

His words are hurtful, his fists are madly clenched and his eyes are close to popping out of their sockets in anger. You feel him getting more and more impatient, close to spouting his famous curses. This verbal assault hurts you more than you can imagine.

"How... How could he tell you about this instead of warning our Emperor!" he recalls, shaking his head vigorously. That's it, he is carried away by his impulses. You blush as you go along, not knowing how to dismantle this time bomb.

"I'm sorry, please don't get so angry."

"Of course I'm being angry! How can I not be?"

"I just thought..."

"You thought you could relay my confidences to your beloved father, didn't you? Is that why you've been so... charming with me all evening? Is it to please him?"

You feel as if you have been slapped by the violence of his words. Then, you consider that he went too far in his accusations. You understand well that it is anger which drives his words, but they remain hurtful nevertheless. Your tongue clicks coldly against your mouth, a sign that you are also about to raise your voice.

"I am his daughter, as you say. It is only natural that some things are confided to me, it is a price to pay. You must accept this reality. I am a Tarkin," you reply in a condescending tone.

You stare at each other for a long time without saying a word, as if you were about to jump on each other's necks and kill each other. Lightning flashes in the whites of your eyes, both of you can't stand this inextricable situation between you. You have been torn between attraction and ignorance for far too long.

"I am far from allowing myself to challenge the success of your family. I am somewhat familiar with the Tarkin's military and political achievements," he says, hoping to soften the tension between you. Krennic is hurt, but no less lucid about the disagreements between you. "You've been making consuls, royalty, since your first steps in the galaxy."

"Oh, for pity's sake, Director Krennic! There is no need to confuse you with hypocrisy and false flattery. You despise the Tarkin name to the depths of your flesh. If you could destroy one, you would surely be in heaven by now."

"My compliments on the greatness of your noble family's soul are entirely sincere," he replies acidly. Orson is overwhelmed, he hates being rebuked so much. He can't find an explanation for your apparent animosity, even though he's been particularly charming in meeting you. What he doesn't know is that you're sure he doesn't really care about winning your affection. All he cares about is satisfying the wishes of Grand Moff Tarkin. For some reason, you are saddened by this statement.

"You are incapable of understanding," you say in a chilling voice. You back up these last words with strength and honor. Incapable. Orson Krennic is frowning. He seems to stumble over this word. No one calls Orson Krennic a failure. He is the brilliant architect of the Empire's secret projects. No one dares to even consider talking to him like that. He is Director Krennic, the one who terrorizes the cadets with his imperial attitude. "Your lowly lineage does not allow you to understand the duties of a child born into the old aristocracy."

Orson Krennic, however, remains unmoved by your cruel words. A thought creeps into his mind almost instantly. Did he really hear what she just spat in his face? Is it a dream, or rather a nightmare? Your words echo his past wounds, especially his miserable childhood in Sativran City somewhere on the planet Lexrul. He is very, very, very far from appreciating these words, which sound like a painful complaint to him. To say that Krennic feels at this moment a sympathy for your torments is an understatement. He feels his knuckles tightening inside his leather gloves. It is with clenched fists and crossed arms in his back that he decides to break the silence that has settled between you. 

"I may not be able to understand the requirements that a high lineage birth implies, but I understand perfectly your inclinations..." At your stunned look, Krennic steps threatening towards you. He breaks the last inches that are separating your bodies. He's a head taller than you, which makes you step away until your back hits one of the icy walls of the summer lounge. "They're even very understandable, my sweet, how can you resist such a winning man?" he says, smiling wryly. Orson raises one of his gloved hands of a very beautiful black leather towards your face, then encloses it between his fingers at the level of the chin. Krennic then thrusts his two ocean-blue orbs into yours, satisfied that you are being forced to face him.

"What inclinations are you talking about?" you mumble, flabbergasted by this twist of fate. You've been very naughty with him and you're finally getting what you deserve.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about..." he whispers in your ear. You feel the vibrations of his sneer against your neck. Director Krennic's whispering voice in your ear is heavy, his breath on your skin erratic and burning. "Your entire body burns at the slightest touch of my fingers," he snorts, then emphasizes each of his syllables with playfulness.

You instantly close your eyes, trembling at the feel of his white uniform against your breasts. He strokes your chin with his fingertips to illustrate his point. You feel your cheeks flush like never before, you are far familiar with so much physical proximity. He witnesses this heat source radiating on your cheeks, which seems to excite him more. By the stars of the whole galaxy, you sigh. You blink countless times in reaction to this invitation. Everything about him is out of place, both his words and his proximity. He has an unbelievable amount of luck to be alive at this moment. You feel your pulse contracting, your hands clenching and your skin turning into a lovely scarlet color. You think you've heard it all in your young life, but obviously you haven't gotten to the cherry on top yet. What a... jerk. Your throat is getting drier and you can hardly swallow after witnessing such obscenities.

Someone help me, you plead in your head. A plea that gets trapped with all the others in the immensity of the galaxy. No one in the world can hear your prayers. An unsuspecting part of you doesn't want anyone to help you. Even before you do anything, you already feel drunk of him. The feel of his body immobilizing yours, his hands on your face, the way his scent surrounds you, the sound of his drawl, his laughter, his hurried breathing. Every detail of his person only fills your heart more and more with emotions bursting like a storm wave. Even that terribly sarcastic and charming smile is tearing apart what's left of your moral principles. One more word from him and you're on your knees.

"You... You're out of line!" you shout, while threatening to slap him in the face. As your hand rushes like a tornado to his closest cheek, he grabs your wrist with astonishing speed. Strength and authority. You can only bow to such control. As he finally releases your now limp and helpless hand, Orson Krennic decides to pin you against the wall nearest you. He then slams his hand against the cold marble without warning, which makes you jump. You raise your eyes towards this gloved hand which is a few millimetres from your face, before looking back into the immensity of his ocean blue eyes. You drown in the azure of his eyes, you feel yourself slowly suffocating, you painfully take in a breath of air hoping that it will put an end to your agony. "Do…do not come closer to me or my father will hear about it!" you mumble while blushing more than the decency requires it to you.

"Be aware of your desires, you will only take more pleasure in it..." His loud voice turns into a husky whisper as he longs to turn your beliefs upside down. His husky voice fills your mind with a delicate scent of desire. You are thrilled by the authority of his voice, and especially by the strength of his body against yours. You feel extremely vulnerable between this wall and him. You do not see any means of escaping you of this hold which proves more and more oppressive. He takes great pleasure in teasing your nerves, like a big child with a new toy. For the first time in his life, Krennic feels literally aroused by so much innocence. He is burning to discover the limits of your resistance, it even has something terribly intoxicating.

"You're wrong, Director," you lie. Another lie. You are familiar with lies like this. You were raised on hypocrisy and false pretenses. He understands that you are on a slippery slope, one that is likely to take you to his bed.

"You're dying for a man like me to shut you up right now," he says, judging the look on your face under his lashes. He leans dangerously toward your neck, before sliding one of his gloved hands under the silk of your dress to catch your thigh in his palm. He grabs your thigh with firmness, then raises it without asking your permission, to tackle it against his hip. You tremble at this intimate connection as you feel your lower abdomen catch fire from inside. You even feel a rigidity between the folds of his uniform, the desires of Orson Krennic are betrayed by the size of his erection. He comes then close to the hollow of your ear and whispers you some words in a slow agony: "You want it as much as I do, honey..."  This is the worst thing that could happen to you. You're forced to reluctantly admit that Orson Krennic is right about everything, including your hidden desires.

"Director..." your whisper drowned out by your sigh.

You are whispering this single qualification as a mark of respect. As he grabs your waist as if it were the apple of his eye, you try to resist his urgent appeals. He suddenly puts his half-open mouth against yours. Under his force of persuasion, you feel that he has just broken the last strengths that it remains to you. You let him break the path with his warm and terribly playful tongue. Far from being motionless, his hands explore the whole of your body, to find your voluptuous and decadent curves. You sigh several times, unable to deny that you strongly enjoy each of his caresses. His expertise leaves you shaky, as if on the edge of a cliff. You feel like you're about to dive headfirst into what seems to be a flood of emotions. You don't know why, but you are no longer able to fight back. You find yourself alone in front of his whims, you resist as best you can the assaults of his mouth, his tongue, his lips, and his hands on your skin. He dominates your relationship, proudly draped in his uniform and immaculate cape. A white knight on his trusty steed. He wants you more than anything and he will get you willingly or by force. You seem to enjoy this closeness to the silky fabric of his suit. You even start to beg him to take possession of you while keeping his uniform impeccable. You beg in your head, luckily for you. This can only drive him literally crazy. Director Krennic is nothing but a damn time bomb at this very moment.

"Good girl." He rewards your performance with a caress on your cheek with one of his phalanges. "Give yourself up..." he whispers in the hollow of your ear as he reaches up to nibble the lobe. I've wanted you for so long, he thinks. You can't say no to me. Not this time, not now. As to illustrate the torment of his thoughts, Krennic tightens his grip on the silk fabric of your dress, he is very close to tearing it under the force of his impulses. Never. "...to me..." he breathes before his word is lost in a loud growl against the skin of your neck. Director Krennic's voice is unbelievably smooth, it even seems to burn every inch of your body with an all-consuming fire. You are mine.

The muscles in your lower abdomen twitch painfully, a sign that you are far from unaffected by Director Krennic's assault. His lips brush the curve of your right cartilage sensually and move to the bony line joining your chin. He caresses the swollen skin of your lower lip in a surprisingly tender gesture. You can't help but be delighted by the tenderness of some of his gestures, which hides deeper feelings than you realize. He lusts after you, he has wanted you for too long to be able to restrain his need for intimacy with you any longer than necessary. The closer his mouth gets to yours, the more you notice that his mind is dispersed in an obscene outpouring of thoughts. Director Krennic's gestures make you literally dependent on him.

"(Y/N)." he whispers halfway between the corner and the cupid's bow of your lips. He whispers your first name, taking care to separate each syllable as slowly as possible. It's the first time you've heard him whisper your name. Far from being offended by it, you seem to take an unhealthy pleasure in this simple mention. You want to hear it again and again. You love to hear it from the mouth of the one who has been setting the burning fire of desire in you. You close your eyes, remembering the sensual way he made your name flow like honey in his mouth. You dream now of feeling his tongue more deeply, so much so that you could cum like this. "Don't resist me anymore." he pleads as he takes possession of that pulpy, deliciously half-open mouth that's just waiting for him.

"Director Krennic." you beg, we do not know really for what reason. You feel overwhelmed by conflicting feelings. You're torn between wanting to push him away and wanting to dive into the blue of his eyes.

"Orson..." you sigh while he is kissing your neck. Your moans and sighs drive him completely crazy. He can't stop laughing when he sees that you weren't too hard to persuade. You feel the vibrations of his laughter against the skin of your neck, which he covers with kisses and light bites. "Call me Orson." An almost unheard whisper echoes your sighs and groans. You find yourself halfway between dream and reality. A sensual torpor finishes all your doubts in the blink of an eye.

As you throw yourself around his neck, the growth hidden between the pleats of his uniform swells dangerously. He likes the fact that you answer his propositions, that you are devouring his mouth with so much desperation. He feels strengthened in his intentions, he is now persuaded that you desire him as much as he desires you. And he is right to think that your whole body vibrates at the simple sound of his voice. You had a few scruples before throwing yourself at the first man you saw, but they've vanished like snow in the sun. It must be said that Orson Krennic is not just any first comer. He's that important imperial officer who always chats with your father with so much anger, he's that detestable pushy guy who tries to make his way in the aristocratic hierarchy of the Empire, despite his poor social origins, he's that man with the ocean blue eyes who undresses you with a simple glance at the curve of your buttocks. Orson Krennic is a fantasy, as much for you as you are for him. You dream of imagining your father's face when he hears what you're doing now. You dream of Orson taking you against him, in the crowd of all those aristocrats of the Empire, and twirling you around until you lose your footing in that huge ball. You even dream of him marrying you and making you his, both officially and unofficially. You love the idea of carrying on his family name, it might annoy your parents, but you love his name so much. Krennic. You want to be his first and last wife. You admire his career path to the highest levels of power. He came from nothing and made it on his own with his mind and skills. You love his calculating look and explosive temperament. You won't be bored in your life with a man like him. Despite the taboos, you fantasize about the possibilities of a lifetime with him. You let him cover your body with his strong arms, while the heavy panels of his cloak wrap around you as they move. He can do whatever he wants with you, his needs are orders.

No sound for miles, the darkness of the night drapes your meeting in a blanket faintly lit by the rays of the moonlight. You surrender to each other in a kiss that blends passion and need. You kiss as if you were looking for a breath of oxygen. As if all your conniving glances, your smiles in half-tone, your touches mean only one thing: the explosion of the senses. You feel the hands of the imperial slipping under the silk of your dress, and you briefly think again of your father. Your lips curve in a smile against those of your cursed lover. The idea excites you strongly, you feel then violent contractions in your lower belly. You kiss him with more fervour, while he pulls up his hands to the two hills which are used as opulent breast to you. His skilled fingers grasp with all the expertise of which they are capable these nipples full of life, whose tips take almost instantaneously a pretty red blood color.

"Orson..." you beg. "Don't stop, please..."

You hear a grunt of excitement from Orson Krennic, as he notices that your nipples are as hard as marble. He is crazy about the idea of being the one and only able to make you so responsive to his caresses and kisses. Very quickly, his lips take the place of his fingers. Here he is, on his knees in front of you. He went up your dress to your collarbones, you hardly hold the fabric above his silver hair, while he sucks hastily the tip of your breasts. Behind the excitement of your first lovemaking, you are surprised by his sensuality. It quickly becomes more and more unbearable, as your intimacy is covered with a translucent liquor, symbol of your desire. You want everything and right away. You catch then his face of your two hands to raise it gently towards you. He stares at you with his big ocean blue eyes, you even notice that his pupils have dilated. His look is much darker than at the beginning of the evening, it is almost magnetic. He carries you away in a whirlwind of shivers and contractions. His desire overwhelms you so deeply that you feel more and more unsteady towards him. You are finally aware of the power of his feelings for you.

You finally feel ready for him. It must be him and nobody else. You want him to be the first man to possess you. "Take me now." Yes, there. Against that icy marble wall, in the corridor of the Emperor's summer salon. You want your first time to be in a situation where anyone is likely to catch your lovemaking.

He instantly looks up at you, stunned by your boldness. A flash of light goes through his beautiful bright eyes, a mixture of excitement and annoyance. His old-fashioned side is hurt, Orson Krennic prefers to do things his way, rather than give in to your desires.

"It's where I want, when I want." he says as he turns back to your mouth, he takes the opportunity to nibble your lower lip until it bleeds. "I wouldn't take any chances here." he insists, unwilling to risk public humiliation. You are his dirty little secret. At your defeated and almost begging face, Krennic stretches his lips into a sly smile. "Unless... you beg me hard enough for me to think about it more seriously." He's playing with you, playing with your nerves. He wants to remind you who's calling the shots between you two, he wants to persuade you to believe in his superiority. "Beg me," he orders slowly. "Beg me good, (Y/N)."

Just as you were finally at the crucial point of your encounter, you hear male voices emanating from the corridor. They make you abruptly stop your exploration of the other's body. You release yourselves, not without regret. Orson Krennic grabs your wrist in one of his hands, to hold you against him, behind one of the many marble pillars of the summer lounge.

"Have you seen Director Krennic?"

"Krennic is a bloody fool to believe for a moment that he can win my favor this way," taunts a voice recognizable among a thousand, that of a middle-aged man. Wilhuff Tarkin. A flash of fear crosses Orson Krennic's eyes at the mere idea of being discovered in such an unfortunate position in your company. He thinks spontaneously about his reputation, but more importantly, his career. Tarkin could destroy everything with the snap of his finger. 

"He's certainly gone to sleep somewhere. I found him particularly inclined to drink tonight."

"No doubt one of the many remnants of a straggling education..."

"You were right, Governor. A high-ranking position in the imperial administration does not erase all traces of its mediocrity."

"I told you so, lieutenant. Our social origins betray us in one way or another, no matter what circle of society we claim to be from today."

"Poor Krennic can now only hope to get a girl of good lineage to wash his name."

"Because you think that a father, worthy of the name and of noble lineage, will agree to give his daughter to a man of inferior condition? Come now, don't be a bigger fool than you are, lieutenant. The aristocracy of the Empire is much more conservative than you think. Marriages are made exclusively among ourselves. Krennic can only hope to find a wife among the common women. Believe me, it will be a miracle considering his age and temperament."

At the taunts of Tarkin and his loyal lieutenant, Director Krennic can no longer control his anger. He feels his fists painfully clench in his black leather gloves. He tries to keep his nerves and pushes you behind one of the balconies leading to the gardens. He takes the opportunity to briefly brush his hair back, before heading towards Tarkin and one of his loyal lieutenants.

"Ah. Director Krennic. We were just talking about you."

"Well, here I am, Governor...is there anything I can do for you?"

The strangely goofy smile on Orson Krennic's face catches Grand Moff Tarkin somewhat off guard. He finds Krennic behaving in a way that clearly does not call for innocence. Wilhuff Tarkin frowns in annoyance. 

"There's no need to be so formal, Director. You kidnapped my daughter, where is she?"

"Your daughter..." then repeats Krennic with a falsely concerned look. He seems to think quickly, before giving the most appropriate answer. "She insisted on visiting the Emperor's summer salon. I accompanied her, in all honor, Governor."

"There is no need to confuse yourself with excuses. I am well aware that you don't stand a chance anyway. She's a Tarkin. An heiress of noble lineage. Unions are only made between members of our family, not to remind you of your lowly birthright. I admire your courage. She must have rejected you as she always does. I don't like her manners, but for once, I'm very happy about it, Director."

Krennic tries to keep a straight face but the urge to burst out laughing is far too great. All of Wilhuff Tarkin's insults and rebukes cannot remove that falsely silly look from his face. He relishes in thought the moments he shares with you. The urge to pin the Grand Moff down is also strong, but Krennic is aware of the risks of such recklessness. He cannot let the excesses of his ego get in the way of his career in the Imperial administration. Krennic thus manages to dissimulate his amusement by a first spin of denial. He feels the sneer at the corner of his lips only get bigger.

"You look even more foolish than you normally do, Krennic."

Tarkin looks suspicious but brushes off the possibility of Krennic and his daughter getting closer as quickly as possible. He has shaped you in his likeness, and there is no way you can disappoint him. It is clearly not a chance in his eyes. You are far too beautiful and pure. You are too high class for Orson Krennic. However, Krennic's smile is far too joyful not to find something to worry about.

"Where did you leave her?"

"She went back with one of our latest recruits, an officer, I can't remember his name, you know..."

"No, how should I know? Do you think that the name of each of our young recruits is made known to me? You're wasting my time, again, Director."

Wilhuff Tarkin spat that last word in his face. He had always been ironic about Orson Krennic's title, but this time, the inappropriate attitude of the director annoyed him to no end. Tarkin is clearly angry. He motions to be left alone. Krennic silently watches the Grand Moff walk back to the ballroom with his lieutenant. Not without one last well-placed advice...

"Enjoy this evening, Krennic. We will talk again tomorrow about the progress of your work. The Emperor is not the last to be impatient."

Krennic then sets off to find the place where he left you, but the mockingbird that you are finally escaped him. He came close to capturing your melodious song. Maybe next time. He doesn't know yet that you refuse to leave him your heart.