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#minors do not interact
barcaatthemoon · 2 days
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clash || katie mccabe x reader ||
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katie gets jealous of leah's constant flirting with you.
minors dni, 18+, smut warning.
"good morning gorgeous," leah greeted as you walked into the locker room. she shot you a little smirk at the way your cheeks turned pink at the compliment. since your move from chicago to london, leah had been your best friend. briefly, she had even been your girlfriend, but the two of you had decided on sticking to being friends after your little relationship trial was over.
"morning charming," you flirted back. leah wrapped her arm around your shoulders as she led you towards your cubby. the two of you had always been right next to each other. it was a staple of the locker room, you and leah just being near each other, bantering and flirting amongst yourselves.
nothing would ever come of it again. especially not while you had katie and leah had lia. the two of you were just good friends, and while lia understood that, katie definitely did not. it didn't matter how many times you reminded your girlfriend that leah as just your friend, katie would get upset every single week it seemed.
you had pulled back on the flirty banter, but this week was a bit of a slip up. katie had been behaving herself for nearly a month, not getting worked up nearly as easily. you and leah had taken that as a green light to go back to the way that things were. that proved to be a mistake because the moment that katie had seen leah kiss your cheek during practice, it was like a switch had flipped.
leah had noticed katie's change in behavior first. it was nothing major, just an eyeroll as some of the girls laughed at a joke that leah told. you were across the field getting a drink of water, so katie really had no reason to be acting so annoyed. if you had to take a guess, that was the moment whenever leah decided that she needed to up the flirting.
"here let me hold that for you, it looks heavy," leah said as she grabbed your hand. it was cheesy, but both leah and katie knew that those lines tended to actually work on you. much to leah's delight, you blushed deeply as leah took your hand. you tried to roll your eyes and play it off, but it was far too late.
for the rest of practice, leah was extremely flirtatious with you. at times, it felt a bit excessive, but you honestly loved the attention. that left katie to sit fuming by herself up until lunch. a few of the girls were going out to get some food, and you had assumed that katie was one of them until you felt her pull you away as you made your way towards the bathrooms.
"i'm going to fucking wring her neck out," katie growled. it didn't take you very long at all to figure out who katie was talking about. "that arrogant little blonde bitch. she had her fucking chance, but now that you're with me, she just has to put her goddamn fucking hands all over you. i'll fucking kill her next time she touches you!"
"katie, calm down." you gently placed your hand on her chest. usually, that did the trick to calm her down, but she pushed your hand off of her. "katie please don't start a fight. leah and i, we're just messing about. it's nothing to be upset about, i promise."
"if it's just you messin' about with each other, then why do you blush like that?" katie questioned. you didn't have an answer to that. any sort of compliment or attention had you turning red in the cheeks. katie knew that, or at least you thought that she did.
"katie that's not fair, you know that anybody could tell me i look nice and i'd be red as an apple," you told her. katie's jaw clenched as she moved a bit closer to you. her thigh slotted in between yours. you could feel it there, wondering if she had something planned.
"it isn't the same when leah compliments you. i've noticed, trust me. it's not even the same when i do it. i could sit here all night telling you how fucking gorgeous you are, but you wouldn't care. no, not unless it's leah calling you her gorgeous girl. i bet you wish it was her in here with you, don't you?"
"no, i don't want anybody except for you right now," you promised her. that seemed to please katie, who rewarded you with a bit of friction. it was quick, but enough to pull a small moan from you.
"do that again for me," katie ordered. she moved her leg again, this time pressing a bit harder as she did. you didn't want to stand there moaning, just barely hidden around the corner of a door from the hallway. you wanted to do this somewhere private, like your place or katie's, but katie had other intentions.
you let the tiniest of moans slip again before you clamped your hand over your mouth. katie tutted at that as she moved your hands away, warning you to stay how she had you. katie seemed intent on seeing how far you would let things go, when you'd stop her. unbeknownst to her that you were quickly reaching the point of no return.
"katie, don't tease me," you warned her. if she were to leave you high and dry, there would be hell to pay after training. katie knew that your wrath was generally worse than anything she could think of, especially when she'd turn herself on in the process of teasing you. katie loved watching you cum, often getting off of it to the point of nearly cumming when she ate you out. "it'll start a whole new fight."
"no teasing, i know," katie said as she dropped her head to press a kiss to your neck. you could feel her fingers rubbing against your shorts, playing with the wetness that was gathered there. your hips bucked up to meet her fingers, grinding down as hard as you could against them.
"i want your mouth, show me why i shouldn't just go to leah right now," you said. it was mean to tease katie like that, but you didn't care. she could get mad about it after she ate you out. you'd make it up to her at home, where she had a plethora of toys to use in order to take her frustration out on you.
"excuse me?" katie paused completely, but she didn't withdraw her fingers.
"you. heard. me. i. want. your. mouth." you punctuated each word with a harsh grind against her fingers. katie looked absolutely gobsmacked for a moment, but she still did exactly what you told her to do. katie spread your legs even wider once she had your shorts and underwear off. you grabbed onto katie's ponytail as you placed one of your legs over her shoulder. "you look so fucking hot on your knees for me."
"don't get on a power trip," katie warned. the two of you had found a pretty good balance, and you were toeing the line of breaking it. still, katie grabbed onto your hips and pulled you forward. she kept you securely pressed against her face as her tongue probed around teasingly.
"katie please," you whined. she chuckled at how quickly you had lost all of your fight. all it took was getting a fraction of what you wanted before you were putty in her hands. you weren't even grinding yourself against katie's face anymore, instead just making absolutely pathetic sounds as she lazily dragged her tongue around your cunt.
katie hummed and pulled you closer as your hips started to rut a little. you were close, and katie could tell from the way your moans started to get higher in pitch. she couldn't move to silence you, so your cries rang out in the empty room she had pulled you into. silently, she prayed that nobody was in the hallway because they definitely would have heard you crying out her name as you begged for your release. as much of a showoff as katie liked to be, she didn't want anybody else to hear the way you sounded whenever you came. that was for her and her alone.
"shh, shh. hey, it's okay, i've got you," katie cooed as she held you up. it was a bit of a hassle getting you redressed. lunch was just about over, and katie knew she had to move quickly to get you something to eat. katie left you outside of the cafeteria as she grabbed a couple of plates, opting to eat in the hallway with you.
"are we good now?" you asked as katie passed you a bottle of powerade. she had to open yours, your hands still shaking from before.
"hmm, i don't know. that was pretty cheeky talking about leah like that while i'm trying to fuck you," katie answered. it was honest, which you were grateful for. katie didn't look that upset, but you also knew that she didn't like to be that way around you.
"well, i am sorry about it. i really do only love you like this. i'd never let anybody else even try touching me like that in public." katie didn't doubt your words. there was a conversation looming between the two of you, one that katie was dreading just as much as you were.
"i'll start keeping my hands to myself, promise." katie held up two fingers, most likely the two that had nearly been inside of you just moments before. one look at the cheeky grin on katie's face confirmed this for you.
"yeah, you'd better mccabe."
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Incubus reader with anyone you want oc or cod character
I'm not picky
-💬
CW: Starts out with non-con vibes (kinda), mention of torture
Incubus!Reader who sees Simon "Ghost" Riley in a strip club (the 141 were there for a mission) and thinks "Ah, a military man, he's easy prey." So you follow him from the shadows and sneak onto base because traveling into people's dreams is just so much easier when your bodies are closer together.
And you wait until the dead of night, when he falls asleep. You slip into his dream, wearing the most revealing robe with nothing underneath. You prepare yourself to give him the wettest wet dream ever, only for you to realize that he's having a flashback.
You see flashes of his time with Roba, being tortured. You feel the fear wafting off his dream self in waves, tainting the entire horny vibe that you had going on. He's so deep in the flashback, unaware of your presence.
And your cold, sex-driven heart melts with worry. You've never worried about mortals before, you've always took what you needed from them. But it's not so fun when they're not able to enjoy it themselves.
"Shh," you murmur, quickly using your dream manipulation magic to shift the dream into a better one. You shift the dream until you're both standing on a beach, calming waves pushing and pulling against the shore. "It's okay, you're safe."
Ghost stares up at you in shock, still feeling the fear he had been moments ago. But then he relaxes, realizing he is indeed safe. He doesn't question why you're there, he just runs into your open arms.
You've never comforted someone before, but your arms wrap around him so tightly. You cradle him close to your chest, having switched from the revealing robe to clothes that covered most of your skin. "I'm here, we'll stay here until you feel better."
And so you do stay, you stay in his dreams the entire night. Every time a flashback tries to creep into the sanctuary you created for him, you gently shift the dream back to the beach. You hold Ghost in your arms, his ear pressed against your pec to listen to your heartbeat.
When morning comes and he's about to wake, you leave the dream first. You wake up and you give one last look at Ghost before using the shadows to disappear.
Maybe you'll meet him again, maybe you won't. But you did good, for the first time in the centuries you've lived. And that's given you an odd feeling of power, a stronger power than sex has ever given you.
Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and request something! (Check the rules in "Rules for Requesting NSFW" before requesting.)
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thefreckledgymrat · 8 hours
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September 2023 ➡️ April 2024
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champion-prism · 1 day
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antis who are minors are seriously so terrifying. like you children should not be interacting with adults who create or engage in nsfw content, period. why are you inserting yourself in adult spaces just to tell adults to make those spaces child-safe? this would be completely redundant if you did what you were supposed to do and STAYED AWAY FROM ADULT SPACES. its like the internet equivalent of a thirteen year old forcing their way into a strip club and screaming "IM A MINOR AND THIS IS UNSAFE FOR ME AND SHOULD NOT EXIST" like smh why are YOU IN THIS SPACE????????
minors simply do not practice internet safety anymore! they put their ages online. they put their faces online. they put their names and a gazillion other identifying details online. and then a lot of them go out of their way to insert themselves into adult spaces. and engage in conversations with adults in said spaces.
like. do not do that.
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tuiccim · 1 year
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PSA for New Users/Blank Blogs/Ageless Blogs
If you keep getting blocked from content creator blogs there are three major reasons and ways to fix them.
🚩🚩🚩This is a Huge RED flag!🚩🚩🚩
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1. Update your avatar. Anything besides the default picture.
2. Update your blog title and description. "Untitled" is a red flag that you are a bot. Something as simple as "Here for the fanfic! 18+" will do it. If you want to follow an 18+ blog, add your age range or 18+ to the blog title/description to let them know you are an adult.
3. Reblog or post something to let us know you aren't just a bot. You can reblog some of your favorite content or make a post that just says "Human. Please don't block me!"
4. Please respect others' boundaries. If a blog says they are 18+, don't follow them if you are a minor. If a blog posts things you aren't interested in, unfollow or block them.
Most of all, be kind. Kindness costs nothing and means everything.
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hey:D ‼️ slashers x a femme bimbo reader? i would love michael, tommy, vincent+ bo, and jennifer? (whoever else u choose is fine) please and thank you!
Bimbo S/O Headcanons | Multiple Slashers (18+)
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thank you for requesting, anon!
reader is assumed as being female and a bimbo
there’s no sex described, but there’s a lot of sexual talk around the reader, hence the smut tag
this includes : billy lenz, brahms heelshire, carrie white, jennifer check, michael myers, the sinclair twins & thomas hewitt
minors and ageless blogs will be blocked
billy lenz
billy is a pervert by nature and would have sexualised you irrespective of how you acted or what you wore (when there’s a will, there’s a way and all of that)
but you being a bimbo made it all so much easier and so much more enjoyable for the unknown voyeur
it seemed like everything you did have him an erection as he stared at you through cracks in the ceiling and walls and doors
how your short pink skirt would ride up and show your pretty panties whenever you bent over or sat down
how your tight white shirt did little to hide your breasts or the fact that you’d opted to go braless
the way you frequently stumbled and tripped in those pink heels — exposing your ass to him more often than even he could have wished for
all of that was enough of a dream come true, but the moment you picked up the phone and he got a true exposure to your delightfully ditzy and naively trusting persona this man was a goner
you were his dream-girl through-and-through
his pretty piggy who’s only good at taking billy’s thick cock into her dumb holes
his bimbo that has no chance of escaping him or his lewd calls and comments
of course you were his the moment you stepped foot in his house, but you continuously exposing yourself for him (as he perceived it, anyway) just gave him the go ahead to claim you entirely
and you’d best believe that he’ll want you dressing as sluttily as possible at all times
bo sinclair
although he tends to present himself as the perfect southern gentleman at first glance, bo is a verifiable pervert with pretty much no shame
it would have taken a remarkable amount of self restraint for him to keep up the act in front of your group — especially with you looking and acting like that
tight shirt, mini skirt and a body that he just wanted to lose himself in
god it was like you were made for him, but that could wait until he had splintered your group
but until then, he sated himself by glancing down your top whenever you leaned forwards, lifting up your skirt whenever he got the chance and catching you whenever you tripped (getting away with many less-than-innocent touches due to your obliviousness)
his advances get more and more aggressive and obvious as your group is picked off one by one until you’re the only one left untouched and somehow still oblivious to your situation
and bo finds himself torn between keeping you around as an alibi and a good fuck, or just using and discarding you to vincent as he’d done before
in the end, of course, he ends up deciding to let you live whilst putting on a whole show of wooing you so that you think you’re staying willingly — justifying it by saying you’ll help future “tourists” feel at home
but his brothers can tell that he’s grown more than a little fond of your presence (beyond, even, your sex appeal and naïveté — shockingly to all involved, he actually seems to care)
brahms heelshire
you were not what anyone in the heelshire family were looking for when they sought out a nanny
you were clumsy and naive; not being able to do much in education or housework without inevitably messing something up
you were a veritable slut without the intent; with tiny skirts and translucent shirts that could barely even be considered clothing and that certainly weren’t conducive with the image they wanted to present as a family
but, to brahms, you were perfect
the perfectly dainty damsel in distress for him to leer and gawk at from behind the walls as you went about your day hopelessly attempting to abide by his schedule
and whilst you frequently forgot certain rules, he let you off — equally because he knew you weren’t acting intentionally and because he loved watching you too much to let you go
his favourite times of day were those that necessitated you coming into contact with water or bending over because they gave him the most wonderful views of your body that often appeared in his masturbation fantasies
loves the way you coo over and jokingly scold his doll — actually just loves hearing you say his name and talk to “him”
is much more possessive and protective when it comes to anyone bringing supplies to the house because of, well, everything about you
like it’s all well and good having a pretty little thing with nice tits and ass to stare at all day and night, but issues arise when somebody else gets to look at what’s his
and even if you’re too ditzy and naive to recognise the grocery boy’s intentions, brahms is all too aware of what goes on in a man’s head
and he may just take it upon himself to show everyone, including you, what happens when someone touches what belongs to him
carrie white
carrie was brought up in a highly conservative christian background — so, needless to say, your presence itself would be a significant shock to the poor girl
everything about you is a complete upturning of the values she was raised with, from your personality to the way you dressed
god, the way you dressed was sin personified and every time she caught herself staring she’d mutter a quick prayer for forgiveness
tight white shirts, short pink skirts and high pink heels — a recipe for disaster that she found herself drawn to
those miniskirts would so frequently ride up your thighs and expose your tiny pink panties to anyone who dared to look whenever you stalled in readjusting them (though they were always short enough to expose those thighs of yours)
those shirts that would turn wonderfully transparent whenever you got even slightly damp (be that through rain or spillage) and exposed your otherwise bare chest to prying eyes
those heels that were the cause of so many incidents like those above
and, values be damned, she was more thankful for your obliviousness than anything else as she didn’t know what she’d do if you recognised the way her peers leered at you
how she looked at you with so much lust, with eyes that lingered too long to be innocent on your chest and the apex of your thighs and your ass
how she thought of you whenever she touched herself, one hand balled up in a fist that she bit down on to muffle herself whilst the other crept between her legs to toy with her puffy lips and swollen clit and seeping hole
you, in all of your naïveté and clumsiness, were at the centre of all of her fantasies and she wanted nothing more than to keep you in the dark about it all for as long as possible
jennifer check
you and her will almost inevitably end up sharing clothing and/or accessories because your styles match so well
date nights will consist of you sharing skincare routines and doing each other’s makeup
she uses your nature and appearance to her benefit, ramping up her sexuality with you in public to help lure in men for her to kill and feed on
she repays you with plentiful sex, affection and spoiling with money she gets from her “boyfriends”
will shamelessly ogle you whenever you lean forwards or bend over and gets a kick out of flustering you just as much as when she gets away with being a complete perv
gropes you in public like all of the time and usually plays it off as innocent or accidental — would stop if you asked, though
50/50 whether she lets you in on what she’s doing so you can help or strings you along as an accomplice
loves how oblivious you are and gets off on the power dynamic between you and her as the more experienced, dominant partner
buys you the most transparent, slutty, short clothes that she can find for you both so you can match, she can get food, and she can see as much of you as possible at all times
she will shift targets on a dime if she notices someone getting too close to comfort and taking advantage you in the same way she does — and she makes a point to show everyone that you’re very much so taken
makes you wear underwear that she chooses so anyone else ogling you gets a blatant reminder of who you belong to
michael myers (any)
initially michael found your demeanour more annoying and inconvenient than anything else
you were attractive, of course, but your clumsiness and obliviousness just made him frustrated — made him want to stalk you to force you to notice the word around you
and he did. for well over a month
even going into your home and standing over you as you slept, rearranging things in your house, anything to get you to notice that something was up
but you never did
even when he confronted you on your walk home and started following you, very obviously, you just chatted with him as if nothing was wrong and how much of a coincidence it was you were going the same way
you even complimented his mask — which immediately made you more tolerable
and almost made up for the dozen times he’d watched you trip over thin air or otherwise expose yourself to people unintentionally
after a while he even became somewhat protective, targeting people that were sexually aggressive or otherwise weird towards you to get his frustrations out before returning to his routine of stalking you
at one point he began to masturbate to the sight of you — which he’d never been able to do given his life being spent entirely in an institution with no privacy
he takes full advantage of your naïveté to tease and manipulate you, especially after you realise who he is
he just signs that he won’t hurt you if you let him stay with you and don’t tell anyone he’s there
and you oblige
and he doesn’t hurt you
the only real change is having to deal with him shamelessly staring at you all of the time, but after you get together you don’t really mind so it’s not really that big of a deal
thomas hewitt
everything about you seems perfectly engineered to turn this poor man into a flustered, red-in-the-face, 404-ing mess
you’re not exactly what his mother had raised him to look for in a woman but that made you somehow more attractive? like a forbidden fruit in a sense
your high high heels that you constantly tripped over weren’t exactly made for life in their rural town but your confidence in them made him reluctant to have you change
those teeny-tiny shorts and skirts left nothing to the imagination when it came to those smooth, long legs and those brightly coloured thongs you wore and caused him a lot of trouble whenever he caught a glimpse of you and ended up dropping his tools
your thin white shirts that hoyt always managed to get wet somehow were incredibly form fitting and gave him the perfect view of your chest
but whilst your body and sexuality haunted his mind and left him wanting and guilty when he’d reach between his legs for relief at the end of the day — it was your demeanour that captured his heart and endeared him to you
your naïveté kept you up and out of the way of the family’s dirtier dealings and meant they didn’t have to hide anything too hard as you believed whatever they promised to you
he felt bad for lying but he also knew it was a necessary evil
and your clumsy nature meant that any guests felt more at ease around you, joking around and letting their guard down to flirt with you which made his job a whole lot easier
so, needless to say, you were definitely a good investment for the family even if you kept unintentionally torturing poor thomas with your displays of sexuality and femininity throughout the house
vincent sinclair
you immediately caught vincent’s eye when you entered ambrose because of how different you were from your companions
your clothes were more revealing and feminine: all light colours, cropped edges, frills, pastels and the whole nine yards
definitely a far cry from the muted neutrals and heavy jumpers that he usually saw
more artistically inspiring, barbie like even
it made you attractive, certainly, but it also made him want to preserve you as an art piece even more — he wanted to capture your beauty permanently
but then your personality endeared you to him
you were immediately kind and trusting towards his twin, which painted you as a very naïve person but the genuine way you defended him and scolded your friends for interrupting the “funeral” caught his heart
hell, even bo seemed taken a back by your demeanour (before trying to look down your shirt, of course)
and then there was the clumsiness that gave him the perfect view of each and every angle of your body that those short, tight clothes did little to hide as you stumbled and tripped over your heels in the museum
even gentlemen have their limits and, from what he justified as artistic curiosity, he indulged himself in plenty of looks
you even made him chuckle a few times when you apologised to the figures you fell onto
all of it, to him, made you seem so much better than your companions — someone worth saving and keeping as a living art piece in ambrose
it wouldn’t be hard to convince his brothers, they were always talking about needing some company
and, beside, you didn’t strike him as the sort to be hard to lie to
so if you believed your friends abandoned you, maybe you’d be happy to stay with them — and, maybe, you’d never have to learn about the truth of ambrose and it’s wax museum
and he’d get to ogle you all he liked from behind the safety of his mask (only as an artist, of course! he’d never sexualise you… or at least he tries to claim as much to himself)
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markster666 · 3 months
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ALASTOR X FEM!READER (SMUT/18+) - Good To Be Back on The Air!
Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader
Tags: Humiliation, public, porn without much plot, shameless smut, 18+, Chains, Ownership, Possessive, Pet names, Dom and Sub, etc
Fandom: Hazbin Hotel
Word Count: 654
A/N: Love the idea of Alastor broadcasting a mf live while pleasuring them. Enjoy. Unedited, so apologies for any spelling mistakes. (Minors please click away)
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Alastor has always wanted to show off his prized possession: you. He wanted to make people WISH they could even look in your general direction without possible harm from The Radio Demon. If Alastor had mind reading abilities and could hear somebody even think they had a chance with you, he'd split them in half within seconds.
You were his and he was about to make that abundantly clear to a large audience.
Alastor's voice boomed throughout the hotel as he yelled your name, ushering you to come to him. You quickly got up from your task and rushed up to meet him in his radio tower, opening the door and closing it behind you.
Alastor was reclined in his broadcasting chair, final checking his microphone and equipment for today's broadcast.
"Hello, my Dear!" he said as he swiveled around to face you, his legs crossed and his fingers tapping his knee mischeviously. "Do I have a special treat for you today."
You were about to ask him what he had in mind before the chain that binded you to him appeared around your neck. You fell to the ground from the sudden force and he started pulling the chain towards himself.
"Crawl to me." he commanded.
You nodded and crawled towards him, as he kept tightening the chain. You stopped at his feet and he stopped winding up the chain.
"Such a good girl! Now... open wide and listen to me, Doll."
You opened your mouth and he slipped his thumb inside, caressing the side of your face with the rest of his hand.
"I'm heavily inclined to give my lovely loyal listeners a real treat during today's broadcast. I want them to hear those beautiful noises you make for me. Do you think you can do that for me, Doll?"
You nodded your head, whimpering as you do so.
"Good! Now strip."
You did exactly as you were told and stripped naked.
He undid the zipper on his pants, pulling you up by your chain so that you could straddle his lap. He wouldn't let you sit on his cock yet, so you just grinded against his thigh.
"What a needy little dear you are! Give me one second." He kissed your cheek before he started his broadcast.
"Salutations ladies and gentlemen! What a wonderful night to be with you all, as I have a very special guest with us tonight! Usually I keep this one ALL to myself, but, I'm feeling rather generous! I think you'll find her pretty little noises music to your ears."
At that, he pulled your chain so that you were right over his cock before slamming into you directly to the hilt, making you scream out in pain and pleasure.
Alastor held his microphone staff next to your head to pick up the sounds better. He started thrusting up into you at a very rapid pace, growling and nipping at your throat in the process.
Your moans caused a lot of feedback into the microphone from how loud you were.
The Radio Demon bucked up into you like it was the last time he'd ever feel Heaven again in his entire life. He tugged your chain so your foreheads touched, him forcing you to keep eye contact with him.
"Cum for me princess. Cum for the audience. Show them how I OWN YOU."
At that, you screamed out his name and came all over his cock and he came at the same time. He didn't loosen his grip on the chain as you rode out your high.
He brought the microphone back up to him.
"Thanks for listening folks! Hope that brought a wonderful smile on all of your hellish faces. Ta-Ta!"
He turned off the broadcast and kissed your cheek tenderly.
"That's my good girl."
Also Vox was listening in on the broadcast and now he's crying alone into his Alastor body pillow so yeah
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yawnderu · 4 months
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misogyny, incel!König, anal sex, pussy slapping, slut shaming. MDNI
Incel!Roommate!König is so nasty and mean :( he knows you're nothing but a slut just like your friends, having to live with hearing you getting fucked by other men. It doesn't matter if it's not often or if it's always with the same guy, you're still giving it up to someone you're not dating and that's enough to make you a whore in his eyes :(
He refuses to fuck your pussy, calling you a filthy girl while his cock is plunging deep into your tight ass. Your cunt is too used up and loose for him, don't dare tell him that's not how anatomy works!! he's a much smarter and stronger man, he obviously knows better than you :((
Incel!Roommate!König has no mercy as he fucks into your ass, pulling out only to slap your cunt until it's raw and sensitive. It's the punishment you get for giving it up to other men :(( if you want to be a whore, he has no problem treating you like one.
Maybe he'll even call his friends from the military and get them to come use you like the filthy little mutt you are, making your body count even higher than it already is and leaving you with a cum-filled, loose cunt <3
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forbidden-sunlight · 4 months
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yandere!holy knight with saintess!reader scenario [part one]
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Warnings: obsessive behavior, religious themes, implied manipulation, brief mention of suicidal thoughts/ideation.
There may be possible triggers in this story.
If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the 'back' button on your mobile device or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.
You are responsible for your own
Internet consumption!
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
Hey guys, before we get started, I’d like to address a couple of things.
First, the content here is a bit darker than my previous works, as stated in the warnings above. If you or someone you know is struggling, you aren’t alone. There are many support services that are here to help. I will leave a link to some of these sources in this link here. Tumblr also has their messaging system, Kokobot. I want you guys, my audience to feel safe when reading my stories. If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, that’s okay. Please prioritize your physical and mental health, above all else.
Second, bullying is not tolerated. If I see any sign of it on here, I will have no choice but to take this story down. Finally, there will be some references in here from The Locked Tomb series by Tamsyn Muir, such as Harrowhark and Palamedes. I claim no ownership over this magnificent series as it belongs to the rightful creator.
With that being said guys, sit back, relax....and perhaps begin to pray for salvation. Because this is past the point of no return :)
Part Two
Part Three
Yandere!Holy Knight had always believed he was meant to serve a greater purpose. Not to accumulate wealth and power like his older brother, only to abuse his authority and hurt people who did not deserve a whipping for a cup of tea that was two degrees too cold to his liking. No. He wanted to help others in his own way, without expecting anything in return. Perhaps…that was why it had been so easy to leave his family and find his place here in the Holy Temple of Aesir. Or it was because he is the second son, the spare heir to the Emery viscounty, that his parents allowed him to leave without so much as a second thought. 
He had given up his name when he was baptized by the high priest, and was reborn as Sir Palamedes. Five years have passed, and he has ascended to becoming the vice commander of the Holy Temple’s paladins.He must protect the Holy Temple, its clergy, and the people of the Helux Empire. This is the oath he took, and is proud to uphold. Yandere!Holy Knight, however, wished the Reverend Sister would take better care of herself. 
The Reverend Sister is a title given to the child chosen by Aesir to deliver His message and protect His children from the wicked monsters who come forth from the swirling, black puddles of miasma. Only the Reverend Sister’s magic can purify the darkness of such an ancient evil. In his mind, there is no one more fitting to being the Reverend Sister than you. Harrowhark. 
God’s Beloved. 
The Possessor of Aesir’ All Seeing Eyes. 
The Holiest Woman in the World.
There are many monikers tied to you. All of them are true, and all of the rumors couldn’t be further from the truth when the bards sang songs of your innocence, your enchanting beauty and ‘swan like neck’. If you had ever heard these lyrics, you would promptly take off your shoe and throw it at them with a low, irritated hiss before stomping away in a huff. 
 Yandere!Holy Knight would probably try very hard to not laugh at seeing, or at least imagining, your annoyance. 
Yes, you were the Reverend Sister  but you were not a naive beauty as everyone believed you to be. You were grumpy, diligent, kind-hearted, and knew the world can be a dark, cruel place. 
The Holy Temple of Aesir had saved you in your darkest hour; instead of throwing yourself into the cold, murky river as a means to escape from the wretched place you had come from, a low-ranking priest had found you. He took you in, taught you everything there is to know about prayer, penitence, and how to embrace the worst part of yourself  even when you wanted to so badly rip it out because it is still part of you. What you had experienced, the hardships, the sorrows…that is life. And to understand that no mortal is perfect, to accept it and use the gifts Aesir had bestowed upon you to help others…that is when you will truly see how beautiful the world is through His Eyes. 
His Eyes that you now possessed. 
No one had dared to look upon them in fear of incurring Aesir’s wrath…yet Yandere!Holy Knight did when he was in the Holy Temple’s care for a year before you arrived, a young man at the age of fifteen. He saw them and thought they looked like a pair of jewels. Sapphires that glowed brightly under the sunlight, and could see everything. Past, present, and future for a brief time. Due to the physical and mental strain that these Eyes have placed on your body even when it was to create illusions or obscure the sight of magical beasts, you weren’t allowed to overuse them. That was why the High Priest insisted that you wore a veil over your face.
You opted to have the seamstress to make adjustments to your mother-of-pearl robes and add a hood to hide yourself from the world. You might have also bribed her to create a matching cloth to wear over your eyes, enchanted so that you could see through it without putting further strain on your vision. 
Rebellious. But you were perfect in Yandere!Holy Knight’s eyes. A Reverend Sister who cared for the congregation, the people, and his men far more than she lets others believe. 
He thought this peaceful life would continue as it had for the last ten years. To watch you from afar and know that you were safe so long as he still held a sword in his hands. But nothing lasts forever. 
One day, the High Priest had cloistered the clergy in the temple’s pews and announced that Aesir had shown him in a vision that the Reverend Sister who had been with them for these past ten years was not the true child of the Creator. It is in fact the young lady standing at his side. A dainty, beautiful lady with pale blue hair that fell past her back, gentle robin’s egg eyes darting from the carpeted floor to the clergy and then to the High Priest. She wore a  strapless white dress with matching gloves that stretched all the way to her elbows. Pear-shaped dangled from her ears, and black lace with a single blue rose attached to the side coiled around her swanlike throat.This stranger, this…noblewoman, is all but ready to accept her duties. From this moment forward, she would be known as Esther. 
“Let it be known, Brothers and Sisters, that the one known as Harrowhark shall be sent into exile for her sins against Aesir. That is the will of the Creator, so let it be so.” 
Yandere!Holy Knight’s heart plummeted into the pit of his stomach at the High Priest’s words. What? He thought. This cannot be true! You are the Reverend Sister, you are God’s Beloved! Why would this man (this fool a nasty voice in the back of his mind growled) deny it now? Ten years. For ten long years, you have been a faithful bride of the Holy Temple. Now, after everything you have down, the recklessness in trying to sacrifice your life for his men on missions, reaching out to the people and listening to them confess their sins in the prayer box because you did not wish to see them suffer and try to offer guidance without overstepping your boundaries….you would just be cast aside as if you were nothing to them? To the Holy Temple, to him?
No. Yandere!Holy Knight cannot and will not accept it. He knows the High Priest. He knows this man would never dare to do something so stupid lest he will incite the anger of the clergy, the people, and the Emperor himself, who is a religious man and knows the Reverend Sister. 
Something is not right. 
He was not the only one who believed it. You did too. You had told him as much later that night, when you found him at the training grounds, trying to relieve his anger by practicing his swings with his two-handed longsword. You were still here. You hadn’t left like the High Priest had ordered you to do so. Thank Aesir. 
If he were a lesser man, he would have scooped you up in his arms and laughed joyously, waking up everyone else in the barracks and gotten smacked across the face for pushing past your five-foot rule. But he didn’t.
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You had not been blessed with His Eyes just to pretend that you will unconditionally obey the High Priest’s request to leave and be branded a heretic, a false Reverend Sister, for the rest of your life. No. The woman who will be baptized as Reverend Sister Esther and become God’s Beloved is not who the High Priest believes she is, regardless that this chain of events are happening because of a vision. 
All the sacred texts in the library, all the prayers you have had to learn by heart, not a single one of them contained the words Affection Level. It did not explain why those floated over this stranger’s head, why its dark-pink smoke was encircling the High Priest, a man who possessed just as much holy magic as you did, if not more due to age and experience. You had strained your sight,  vision becoming blurry just to see what was the thing under Affection Level. It was…a bar with lines? Measured in tenth percentiles, from ten to one hundred? What is this sorcery? It isn’t anything you have ever seen before, not even when you have visited monasteries across the Empire for yearly sabbaticals. How did this woman attain it? 
This magic did not possess the gentle warmth of Aesir’s touch, his love towards all creation without expecting anything in return. 
Take. Take. Take. Conquer. Move on. Take. 
That was what you could feel, and you had no doubt in your mind at that very moment, the High Priest’s words going from one ear and out the other. There is an evil presence in the Holy Temple of Aesir. This woman, Esther, is a harbinger. An anchor. She was tied to this evil and she was reveling in it as if she had finally, finally gotten what she desired without lifting a finger. And that terrified you more than anything, the possibility that this sorcery can brainwash the entire congregation and no one would be the wiser. 
Shit. What the fuck is going on? Forgive me, Aesir, for saying such vulgar words in your sacred House, but what the ever-living fuck is going on?
If the sight of seeing this Affection Level  and its abilities did not rattle your bones, it was seeing two tiny names hidden right under the meter. The High Priest…and Sir Palamedes. And inside tiny square boxes right, no, on the left side of their names were the words capture target. 
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Yandere!Holy Knight stared at you in disbelief, your confession of what you had seen earlier this afternoon ringing in his ears. “You believe that this woman will bring harm to the Holy Temple, Sister Harrowhark?” He said. “If that is true, then why would the High Priest risk the safety of the congregation? Is it because of the influence of this…Affection Level? And why is my name there?” He was aghast. “How could anyone think of conquering someone if they do not consent to it or do not desire such a thing?”
Like the Brothers and Sisters of the Holy Temple, he had taken a vow of chastity alongside the oaths to protect them and the countrymen. Only clergymen or paladins who were high-ranking would be allowed to marry so long as the union was approved by both the High Priest and the Emperor. 
You blinked at him, jeweled eyes glowing in sympathy as you slowly shook your head. “I do not know, truly. But if Reverend Sister Esther is coming after you, then you must put your safety and well-being above all else. Even my own.” You put your gloved hands in your mother-of-pearls robes, digging around in the pockets before you pulled out a drop-shaped peridot on a silver chain. You placed it in his open palm, and pushed his fingers forward to clench the hand into a loose fist. 
Murky, violet orbs looked at you in confusion, astonishment, and fear. “Lady Harrowhark?” He whispered. 
“Keep this on you, Sir Palamedes. The holy magic stored in here should be able to protect you from whatever this evil is, or at least I hope so. I was able to persuade the High Priest to postpone the announcement of Reverend Sister Esther’s baptism and my exile until after the Festival of the Stars. That will give us one week, while the others are celebrating Aesir’s creation of the world, to find everything we need to know about the Affection Level and how to remove it from Sister Esther before it can corrupt anyone else in the congregation.” You then stepped away from him, turning your back towards Yandere!Holy Knight and throwing the hood of your robe over your head.
 “Recite your prayers, steady your hand, and for Aesir’s sake keep your distance from that woman.”
Then you left the training grounds, disappearing into the night and back towards the Sisters’ sleeping quarters, leaving Yandere! Holy Knight alone in his troubled thoughts. He knelt at his bedside that night, clutching the talisman you had given in his clasped hands as he dutifully murmured the prayers of Fidelity, Honor, and Strength. To protect him from evil’s temptation. 
May Aesir grant him the strength to remain pure of heart and mind before he succumbs to his unholy feelings towards the Reverend Sister Harrowhark, God’s Beloved and the woman he should not have fallen in love with.
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©️do not repost or use any of the characters depicted here without the author’s permission. forbidden-sunlight, 2024
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therealmrsgojo · 1 month
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Gojo Satoru being drunk-in-love
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Your body trembles with pleasure as Gojo Satoru's fingers work on your clit. You're lost in the moment, your words slurred and incoherent as you feel yourself being pushed toward the edge of ecstasy.
Your eyes roll back into your head, and you let out a series of high-pitched moans as he continues to hold you down, his touch sending shivers down your spine.
As he whispers those three words, "I love you," tears glisten in the corners of his eyes. You can barely hear him over the sound of your own ragged breathing, but the words hit you like a ton of bricks.
"I love you," He repeats it again, this time with his chest, and you feel his tears splatter onto your chest as he whimpers. Your heart swells with emotion, and you feel a deep connection to him in this moment.
"I love you so much, Y/N." His thumb increases its speed on your clit, you gasp sharply at his confession, your head spinning with a mix of pleasure and overwhelming emotion.
You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, and you know that he's not far behind you. He finally reaches his own peak, and you feel him pump you full and collapse onto you, his head resting on your collar as you both catch your breaths.
But as he begins to get hard again, his shoulders tensing with anticipation, you know that this is far from over.
"More, 'Toru," you whisper, "I want more."
"I'm going to break you, my sweet girl." and you know he means it in the best way possible.
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note: alexa play - slut (taylor swift)
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the-whispers-of-death · 13 hours
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Can you do ghost x bunny!reader x soap (poly) where the reader keeps making tunnels in blankets and falling asleep in them? Like maybe he made a tunnel in the blankets on the bed and falls asleep in them and then ghost plops down on the bed without realizing he’s there and lands on him?
Your boyfriends were off on a mission, they'd be back soon, but it left you to your own devices. And you were bored to say the least.
So you decided to make a tunnel using the blankets on the bed, your fluffy tail twitching in happiness as you did so. You made tunnels that couldn't be detected unless someone got onto the bed, but you figured you'd just get out of the tunnels when your boyfriends came back.
Until you fell asleep and hours passed by, Soap and Ghost coming back to the barracks.
Soap frowned when he didn't see you. "Si, {Name}'s not here," he said, whining almost. He popped his head into the bathroom, deflating even more when he saw you weren't there either.
"He's probably still training, love," Ghost said, his gruff voice softening as it always did when he talked with one (or both) of his boyfriends. He took off his boots and set them on the floor haphazardly, the sound surprisingly not waking you up. "I'm knackered, so go to the firing range if you really want to. I'm going to nap."
At those words, he flopped down onto the bed. Right where you were sleeping in the tunnels you had made. The feeling of his back hitting yours sent a wave of confusion and panic through him, especially when you loudly yelped at the sudden weight on top of you.
"Simon! {Name}!" Soap cried out, rushing forward to help a flailing Ghost try and get off of the bed so he was no longer on you.
Ghost was cursing up a storm, feeling so guilty. "Love, are you alright?" he asked when he was off the bed and you were out of the crushed tunnels you had made. He was holding onto you so tight, fearing you were hurt. "I'm so sorry, my love."
You sniffled, blinking back tears as the initial pain dissipated. "It's okay, I'm sorry for falling asleep," you murmured, burying your head into Ghost's neck and tickling him with your bunny ears.
"Don't be sorry, love. I should've checked to make sure you weren't underneath the blankets." Ghost peppered gentle kisses all over your face, relaxing when you started to giggle at the kiss.
Soap rested one hand on Ghost's back and the other on your back. "It's all okay now. No one got here." He then leaned forward to lightly and playfully pull on your bunny ears. "How about we forgot all about it and cuddle on the bed, hm? We'll even cuddle in the tunnels you made, M’eudail."
"Okay," you replied, feeling better now.
Ghost gently laid you on the bed and both him and Soap followed suit, laying on either said of you. Your legs all entangled together, wrapped up in each other.
No matter what mistakes you three made, your love was strong. And safe.
Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and request something! (Check the rules in "Rules for Requesting NSFW" before requesting.)
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cherubify · 1 month
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SERVICE CHARGE / LEON KENNEDY
6.5k words, based on this
cw: waitress f!reader, blackmail, stalker, power abuse, noncon, dubcon, (unprotected) p-in-v, fellatio, spanking, implied cunnilingus, dirty talk, corruption kink, breeding, lack of aftercare, mentions of blood (no bloodplay) / minors dni
a/n: big thanks to @xoxostarlet for beta reading! pls check out her work it's vry yummy! n thanks for 50+ follows!! also i hc this as post re4 leon bcs of my og drabble but it can be di/ vendetta leon too it works even bttr ok bye!!
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Leon’s not quite sure why he’s so taken with you– a girl waitering at your family’s restaurant, a dingy place in the outskirts of the city. Maybe it’s because he’s a simple guy- sees a pretty, little thing and can’t help but fantasise about you. You’re younger than he’d like, but old enough to warrant his wandering gaze at the way your oil stained apron wraps around your perfect waist, at the knotted ribbon you always messily tie that rests on the swell of your cheeks. You’re practically an angel in his eyes, your halo the form of a sloppily tied hair bun that sits atop your head with unruly strands sticking out.
Maybe it’s because you’re quite a character- armed with rather polite comebacks and one liners that you dish out to ungrateful, difficult customers. Of course, you’re so well loved by the regulars (him included) that you barely have to lift a finger to kick them out yourself. Everyone here in this tiny family restaurant loved you, their perfect waitress with the perfect smile. You’re enthusiastic about your mundane job too, fast on your feet and even faster with your words when running through demanding orders.
Maybe it’s because you’re still so young that you have this amount of energy. Or maybe it’s because of the lack of hired hands that you had to work with ten times the amount of energy you should normally exert. He remembers caring more about details and the nitty gritty things when he was your age. But he digresses.
Whatever it is, he thinks you’re quite the charmer. You have him wrapped around your little finger, and he’d like to make it known to you. But the trouble lies in your denseness. You’re beyond saving with how each of his flirtatious comments would fly over your head, soar, even. With how clueless you were, it was a safe bet to assume you were a dumb little girl who had yet to have her cherry popped. Just a silly virgin playing the pretence of an adult.
Oh right, that’s another reason why he’s so taken by you. The idea of ruining you was exhilarating– worth the trouble of driving for half an hour after work to this hole in the wall just to see you. He finds himself wondering how you’d look bent over the tiny bathroom sink in the back of the shop, jeans pooling at your ankles as he eats your cute butt. Oh, how he’d love to unravel you with only a thin door separating you and your customers and parents.
He has to thank his superiors for meeting you. If it weren’t for that random party they held that night, he probably would never have touched this decrepit store. (For him, an hour away from home meant one less hour to kiss his bed.) That night you had introduced yourself as their waitress and patiently guided them through the menu with recommendations.
The waitress before him with quite the looker, pretty despite the mess on her apron and the sweat that clung to the nape of her neck. How old were you? In your late teens– or maybe your blossoming twenties? He searched your eyes for answers, while you tucked your loose hair behind your ear and waited patiently for his table to decide. He made small talk because that’s something he’s gotten good at with the ladies.
“Quite the establishment you’ve got running here.” He commented as he gestured at the rowdiness with his eyes. You snapped out of your frozen daze to meet his blue eyes. Was this hottie talking to you? You swallowed nervously and wrung your fingers together.
“Sorry,” you laughed breathlessly. “It’s always like this after eight til closing hours. These guys trod in here after work and take it out with booze.”
“I can see that. Your parents own the place, hun?” He asked.
“For twenty years. Going stronger than ever,” you nodded. He smiled and asked for your name, and you willingly gave it with a demure smile.
Your name fits you, perfect for an angel such as yourself, he thought. His coworkers paid you little attention in their drunken state; this was their second round of restaurant hopping. Leon had to remain sober to chauffeur them home, and he was glad that he was sober enough to see and not forget you. You wouldn’t become a blurred image, a forgotten ghost in his memories as a result of intoxication. He was glad he was the only one who would remember this encounter.
On the way out, he had an arm supporting his fallen coworker. You held the door open, not minding the men who leaned lifelessly against his car like mannequins. You seemed amused, casual about the blacked out group that left the store blacked out drunk. Must have seen it a lot, he assumed.
“Do patronise us again, Mr Kennedy. Preferably when it’s not rush hour,” you had chuckled lightly.
And if such a pretty girl like you asked so sweetly, who was he to deny you? So he came as often as he could. You were always busy with attending to other customers, barely having enough time to sacrifice for idle chatter. He needed idle chatter, enough to grow your curiosity in him to be interested.
To get your attention, he would pull out a lighter (an expired one of his, a convincing prop) and click it a few times, cigarette pursed between his lips. And somehow, miraculously over the sea of rowdy customers you always heard it. The clicking over the cacophony in the restaurant. And like clockwork, you would storm over to warn him not to smoke inside.
“Mr Kennedy!” You placed your hands on your hips, frowning. Your brows were scrunched up in a disapproving frown whilst a pout played on your lips.
“It’s Leon,” he said while pocketing the bud and lighter. The grin on his face of hardened features made him look way younger– but you snapped out of your thoughts to fold your arms across your chest.
“Well, Leon,” he shivered at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue. A buttery sound, gentle but firm like your nature. “I told you we don’t allow smoking in our shop. If you want, there’s a quiet alley beside us for it.”
“I know, I know,” he shrugged, and you’d roll your eyes in feigned annoyance before asking for his order.
You placed his menu before him, and without opening it, he recited his usual. And this cycle occurred over and over again like a broken record. Your reactions were the same, albeit less exasperated each time as you got used to his antics. He could tell– he was starting to grow on you.
He would leave generous tips for you too thanks to his expandable wallet. You know, for the service charge. The first few visits you fought to return the money because even though you were poor and desperate, you weren’t going to accept hundreds like it was nothing!
“Mr Ke- Um, Leon. I really can’t accept this,” you shook your head and pushed the stack of bills to his chest.
“Just take it. For the great service.”
“I really can’t, you always leave me no choice.” You frowned but pocketed it anyway. Couldn’t argue with the man who loomed over you even with a counter separating him from you. It made you nervous, and you lacked the heart to push, unlike with other customers.
“Why can’t you?” The blonde asked as you showed him out. Holding the door with your back, you shook your head.
“My parents already think you’re a mafioso with the amount of money you tip. Anymore and I don’t know what they’ll make of you!”
Aw, you were concerned for him? Little ol’ him? He wanted to swipe a thumb over the pout playing on your plush lips and kiss you. Kiss you and lead you to the alleyway beside your family store and take you then and there. How would you react to that, he wondered? Would you be happy?
He was answered instantly when your eyes lit up at something behind him. He turned to see a beat down Toyota in the driveway, and a skinny guy clambered out with a backpack, books in hand. Your face glowed radiantly. Leon wondered what you saw in that awkward boy. You bid Leon goodbye with a stutter and led the boy in, leaving poor Leon to stand on the porch with a disgruntled expression and stinging in his chest. He knew the answer to his earlier question: probably not, because you already had a thing for someone else.
Leon visited again during one of your quieter shifts. During a weekday, on his time off. You sat in the corner of the store with the same boy while doing homework together. When he said something, your face lit up and you laughed toothily. A genuine, earnest and bright smile. Something he never got to witness, receiving only your customer service smiles when he cracked his best jokes for you.
But he couldn’t bring himself to stay mad at you for long. It couldn’t be helped that you were just a doe-eyed girl who didn’t know how to appreciate him. No matter, he could teach you how. Since you were lacking the brain cells to even try. But first, he had to do something about that boy.
It was easier than stealing candy from a baby. Just a few documents and the boy’s home was evicted. He knew the rest, but as you sat across Leon, face buried in your arms as you shared the story, he listened. It was like playing a video game and being spoiled of its ending. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave your side as you sniffled about your new ex-boyfriend. Your first one, too. He really helped you dodge a bullet, and you should be thanking him instead of ruining his dinner table with your tears. It left a sour taste in his mouth, but he swallowed it.
“It’ll be okay,” he whispered, even though there was no one else in the store but you two. (And your parents as they watched from the kitchen. His eyes met theirs, and they whispered not so discreetly to one another and he smirked.) He patted your head, and you flinched at the unexpected weight on your head. He mussed your hair with a (fake) smile.
“It’s all gonna work out, I promise.”
You looked at him incredulously, brows furrowed. But you nodded anyway. Good, as you should. You need not question him; just listen and obey.
Months easily passed as he played this game of cat and mouse with you. You, the unsuspecting mouse, who had grown to trust him. Fondly, maybe. He knew what you saw in him- a reliable, honest regular who gave you good advice and helped you at times in need. And it was true, from the goodness of his heart, he was at your every beck and call. And he would be forevermore, even if you rebuked him to the depths of hell, where he rightfully belonged.
So one day, when you looked worse for wear, he asked if something was up. You shared with a tired smile that you’ve been struggling to focus in class lately due to the influx of new customers. A food critic had written a blog post about the store and business boomed. He had to find out who the culprit was and take down their site, but that was for later.
He perked up when you shared that you wanted to put flyers around the neighbourhood to hire more workers. So he offered to help. He had a car, so he could spread the word further and get the job done faster than on foot, he reasoned.
“Thank you so much. You’re the best, Leon!”
Your eyes shone with relief and you threw your arms around him. He caught you, albeit with surprise. You showered him with gratitude while clinging to him as he sat, shellshocked in his seat.
Your first hug. Your curves were soft against his hardened one, and his hands itched to hug you back, to trail down your smaller body and feel you through your work clothes. But Leon steadied himself- he had to win the game in the long run, he couldn’t afford to drop out of the race so soon. The blonde retreated his hands and cleared his throat, and you practically crawled off him. Your hand bumped into the tent between his pants, but thankfully you were too flustered to notice.
“U-Um, I’ll pay you back,” you had said, and you offered him a shy smile. “Not that I have much but I’ll make sure it’s worth your time.”
“How about a kiss?” He prompted with a lopsided smile. Oops, that was an impulsive move. Like chasing the king’s piece while neglecting the imposing queen a few tiles away. Said queen being your parents, who stared at you disapprovingly like you had shed your angelic wings for those of a demon’s.
Your mouth gaped open for a moment but then you shook your head. “You shouldn’t tease me,” you whispered, hands rubbing your arms awkwardly.
His face fell, but he recovered with a boyish grin.
“Just pulling your leg. ‘S all good!”
It wasn’t good. His plans crumbled because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Now it was awkward between you two. He found the papers you put up yourself and threw them onto the passenger seat, a messy pile with the share you had given him for his part. He clicked his tongue and shredded the flyers that you painstakingly designed, tossing the pieces out the window as he raced down the highway home in his car. He had to push harder, find other ways to corner you so you wouldn't be able to refuse him. Not again.
Once he reached home, he practically inhaled his shirt, where your scent faintly clung. It was intoxicating, the heat of your body pressed against his and the smell of your sweat mixed with your natural scent. God, you knew how to rile him up without even trying. His cock was painfully hard in his fist as he laid on his bed, stroking himself with his jacket to his face.
When he arrived at the establishment the next day he found you in the back– in the kitchen– where you hung your head in shame while scrubbing dishes. He had caused quite the scene in the store; your father had mustered the courage to warn him (albeit politely) not to lay a hand on his precious daughter. It was quite funny, the man shook like a leaf as he weakly poked a finger into Leon’s chest. It was astonishing and hilarious at how his voice choked whilst dishing out empty threats of what he’d do to Leon if he messed with his girl. All the while your back faced him, unwilling to speak for the next few weeks.
Your parents had taken it on themselves to switch shifts with you whenever he appeared. They practically had his visiting hours memorised too, so it wasn’t like he could waltz in whenever he pleased. They were a pain, an overprotective bunch. For a grown up miss like yourself, it was a wonder why they were still so protective. Probably because they could recognise a wolf in sheep's clothing the moment he walked into their restaurant a second time, eyes prowling until they landed on you.
It mattered not because he would have his way whether they approved or not. He needed no consent form, and not from you either.
Your family’s restaurant was on the ground floor of a little building you stayed in. Your residency was located on the second floor, off limits to customers by a locked door. Nothing a little lock picking could solve, thankfully.
Nobody but you was home, he made sure of that when he saw your parents leave in their car. He wasn’t quite sure where you were, but when the sound of running water leaked into the empty hallway, a smile creeped onto his face. His eyes fell on one door that was coloured differently from the rest. There you were. The door creaked ajar, and he peered from the thin gap to see you standing in a glass box. It was humid, water vapour swirled around the bathroom whilst condensation fogged the shower, leaving him little but enough to see.
The shower was turned off, and your hands mindlessly trailed down your body as you scrubbed it with a loofa. You bent over, reaching for your toes, and Leon almost burst in to take you there himself. The growing tightness in his pants hurt, and hell your perfect ass was beckoning him like a sailor to a siren’s call. You hummed softly, blissfully unaware of the man ogling your flushed, naked body.
He swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he shakily took out his phone. The sound of the camera clicking was muffled by the echoing sound of the shower as you sung your silly song. When he had his fill, he took one last longing glance before closing the door behind him.
Women spend forever in showers. Assuming this, he snuck into your room. It was simple, save for the abnormal mountains of plushies that lined your bed and your shelves. Japanese merchandise everywhere– he recognised a smaller white bear next to a much bigger brown one. Rilakkuma, or something. You had quite the collection. Were you fans of those bears? Should he gift you some? Ah, but your parents would toss them into the fire. As his mind somersaulted from one reckless thought to another, he noticed a laundry basket in the corner of your room.
He sauntered over and peered at its contents with sparkling blue eyes. He lifted your sweaters and produced a white one with a pink bow on the front. Your used panties. His heart hammered in his chest as he held it with trembling fingers. The blonde sniffed the damp patch on the gusset and groaned. His dick was already aching to be freed earlier when he saw you in the shower. Now his balls were clenching and screaming for release.
But it would be a waste to stop now. He didn’t know when you would return. So he pocketed the article of clothing and continued rummaging through your possessions.
He even went through your closet to inspect your collection. What were you into? Did you have a specific brand you frequented? Did you prefer lace or silk? Or cotton, like the one snug and warm in his pocket?
He found a matching set of lace underwear sat in the back of a drawer, a translucent design with roses and ribbons. He inspected it curiously– were you waiting to use them? Were you planning on wearing this for your ex-boyfriend? His lips curled into a snarl. It was a good thing he had gotten the kid off your radar. He couldn’t afford to let anyone see you in such scandalous lingerie. Only he should have the privilege of doing so. His mind raced with thoughts as he traced a finger along the strap of your bra.
Then your door creaked and you swung it open. He turned his head to see you, standing at the doorway wrapped in a fluffy towel that hugged your chest and hung above your knees. Your wet hair clung to your face, rivulets cascaded down your flushed skin. When your eyes met his, you froze. Wide eyes met his.
Uh oh.
Before you could scream, Leon lurched forward and clamped a hand over your mouth. He shushed you softly, mirroring your wide eyed expression.
“I know it looks bad,” he whispered. The force against your mouth prevented you from speaking. You began trembling as his lips inched closer, “But I don’t mean any harm.”
“Mmhmm?!” You mumbled against his palm. He withdrew and you gasped, stepping back while hugging your damp, shivering frame. “Leon, you can’t be here. This- This level is off limits to customers!”
“But I’m not just a customer,” he spread his arms. He slowly approached, footsteps thudding against the carpet, “And c’mon, you like me, right?”
Your eyes were ready to pop out of your skull. “Like you? I mean- Yes but- but not like- Like…” You squeaked as your back thumped against your door. Your hand reached behind and blindly searched for the doorknob. When you finally caught it, the blonde slammed a hand beside your head.
His face inched forward, a frown contorted on his handsome, hardened features. “Like what?” He breathed. You shivered at his warm breath fanning your cold skin. Hesitation paralysed your tongue, and as you struggled to speak, he clasped your jaw with his hand. His questioning, cold gaze was unlike the usual warmth he carried. And it scared you. You swallowed and choked out.
“...Not like lovers.”
A silence ensued between the two of you. The birds outside your window chirped with fervour, as if you weren’t cornered by your customer whom you had grown to trust over the past couple of months. His thick brows knitted tightly against his forehead as he gripped your jaw harshly. You winced, his bruising touch hurt and your hands clawed at his wrist. His nose wrinkled with displeasure as his eyes darkened. He was disappointed, but he couldn’t deny that he saw it coming. Didn’t sting any less.
“So that’s what you think of me,” he spat. Then he smashed his lips against yours and yanked your towel off your body. Your hands flew to his chest as you desperately pushed, a muffled scream on your lips as you resisted. Leon gripped your wrists and slammed them over your head against the door whilst slotting a knee between your trembling legs.
You tried to shout but he shoved his tongue into your mouth and embraced yours in a passionate tango. You couldn’t scream, couldn’t stop him as he shut you up with fervent kisses that sent shocks down your spine. His knee rubbed against your slit, and he bumped into your clit purposefully, eliciting a whine from your saliva stained lips. He pulled away to look at you– and gods, you were so beautiful. So pliant for him, so–
“Help!”
You screamed at the top of your lungs. But your head snapped to the side, and you stared blankly at his shoes. Your cheek stung, pulsating with a dull throb as you placed a hand over where he had slapped you. Tears welled up in your eyes and you refused to look up at him. You tried to run again, but this time he dragged you over to your bed and pushed you down.
Then he flipped open his phone and showed you his photos. You gaped in shock at the hundreds of blurry yet distinct shower pics in his album. The focal point? You.
He met your concerned gaze with a half-lidded one. He spoke quietly and slowly as he held the device over your face.
“You can run, but all it takes is one push and I’ll have this photo publicised everywhere. You wouldn’t want to ruin your parent’s business… right?”
More tears welled in your eyes and your bottom lip trembled with a sob. He hushed you and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Lashes fluttered close as your tears slid down your damp cheeks while the water from your undried hair seeped into your sheets. His voice was a broken record as your vision darkened.
“Shh, it’s alright. It’s gonna be alright…”
The rest was a blur. All you remembered was foggy vision and searing skin. But Leon remembered it all. You put up quite an impressive fight for a little girl like you. You had landed a blow in his temple and sent him reeling into your bed frame. But you were too weak to run, thanks to all the love bites he left around your inner thighs and legs that left you tingly and numb. You tried to crawl away, but even then it was pointless.
For the most part, you were pretty compliant. Like the good girl you were, you spread your legs prettily when asked and even nursed his cock with your lewd tongue, eyes glazed with tears and self-hate whilst he ate your pussy out. Hell, the rumours were true. Virgins gave the best head. You let him cum down your throat too, like the good girl you were. Your mouth pussy was so tight that he swore he saw angels flapping above him. And the cherry on top was when he finally hilted inside you, becoming one at last.
You laid quietly on his chest as he stroked your hair. It was damp, unlike your body which blazed with an ungodly heat that only hell could compete with. Your heart thumped in your chest, a rhythm unmatched with Leon’s. You couldn’t see his face, and it was probably best this way.
He was your first– a fact you had to come to terms with. You sniffled softly. Even though he forced himself on you, he still made sure to make it not hurt too much. It was too easy to give in to his touches– so you failed to put up a decent struggle. A single tear slid down your flushed cheek. You hated that he was so gentle yet so cruel with you.
For Leon, you would be his last, because he swore he’d never let go of you. He would make you his. Physically first, emotionally second, whatever the order mattered little to him. Because you were now bound to him, your souls intertwined in ways your bodies could never attempt to achieve.
He stared up at the ceiling. There was so much to do, and so much time now that you were his. Today felt good. Great. Pride glowed in his chest and he kissed your damp hair tenderly. You were finally his. Finally his to take and to train.
“L-Leon!” you squealed, clawing at the sink that he had bent you over. Jeans and panties pooled at your ankles, sitting on your dirty sneakers. Your lips were bleeding because you bit them to stop your screams.
You always had the wildest reactions to whatever he did. Was it because you were a nervous wreck? It’s been barely a month since he started breaking you in. Quite a bit of time to get accustomed to his antics. Looks like you needed more practice, he mentally noted.
“Shut up,” he hissed, rising to his full length to tower over you. His chest pressed against your back, and you whined at the heat pressed between your butt. “Be quiet or they’re gonna find us.”
You held his gaze in the bathroom mirror, and he placed his hands over yours as you still gripped the sink. Your hair had come undone, a mess that framed your flushed face as you panted softly. Goodness, you looked like a wreck. No thanks to the smug bastard behind you.
The blonde took pride in his work and belted out a laugh. A smack on your ass reeled you over the sink again, and you glared at him. Your eyes screamed: aren’t you a hypocrite? But he answered with a boyish grin that gave you butterflies. The damned smile of the devil himself.
His zipper travelled south and he popped himself out of his pants. He stroked it mindlessly before spinning you around so that you faced him. You stared at him incredulously and he gestured with a nod of his chin.
Leon needed no words, you knew what he wanted. Your bare knees hit the sticky bathroom tiles as you knelt, on tiles where its corners were cracked and filled with dirt that religiously lined its crevices. You took his semi-hard on in your little hand, and it twitched to stand at full length. It curved towards his toned abdomen, jumping in your loose hold. The head was flushed, beads of precum dotted the circumference of the tip.
You looked up at him and licked tentatively. He inhaled through his teeth as you gave him puppy licks, teasing the tip with the curve of your tongue while languidly stroking his cock. His hands carded through your hair, pushing back your stray hairs so that he could see you better. So pretty and willing for him, he grinned, and so eager to please.
A broken moan fell from his lips as you suckled on the tip like a baby on a pacifier. He tugged your hair backwards, and you frowned at him but took him in your mouth fully. You swallowed around his length, and it jumped in your throat as he clamped a hand on your head. He held you steady as he thrust his hips, fucking your throat deep and slow like he liked. He was never the kind of guy to rush a process in sex. Not when your mouth pussy was the perfect toy in the world. All for him to monopolise and use.
He chewed on his bottom lip and groaned. “So good. ‘S perfect for me, shit- Good girl. Taking my cock with your mouth so well- fuck…” He babbled mindlessly, drowning in his pleasure as you clutched the back of his ankles. You gripped onto the scratchy fabric with your fingernails and moaned around his length. Suddenly, somebody knocked.
“Hey. Are you there, (y/n)?” Your father called out. You stared up at Leon in terror, but he was too preoccupied with your throat hugging his dick to even care. You gagged when he jabbed his dick against your gummy walls.
You glared at him with teary eyes, and he gestured at your nose- no doubt reminding you to breathe with it. Gently slapping his legs, you tried to free yourself with a warning look. Leon rolled his eyes and called out, “You’ve got the wrong person. It’s just me.”
“Oh-” your dad recognised him, and he hesitated before saying, this time louder. “(y/n)’s missing, I can’t find her anywhere.”
“I’m sure she’s fine. Maybe she’s upstairs,” He grinned as he thrust into your mouth. You gagged again, and he chuckled softly as he stroked the top of your head. “Perhaps she’s taking a shower.”
As if something clicked in you, your eyes widened in fear and you tried to pull away frantically. Not that he’d let you, as he held your head in place from the back, fingers tangled with your hair as he dug his blunt nails into your scalp. A warning to remind you of your place. You complied with a weakened grasp on his pants as you lowered your eyes.
Your father muttered incoherently before stomping away. When a minute passed, Leon finally pulled out and you gasped exaggeratedly, a hand rubbing your sore throat.
“You’re such an asshole sometimes,” you whisper shouted through coughs. The fight in your eyes had returned as you leaned against the wall, pants still pooled around your ankles. The man you mistook for a kind person was truly a wolf in sheep’s clothing all along, a ravenous beast that ravaged you whenever he fancied. You knew that now. If only you had known sooner, then you wouldn’t be stuck in this mess.
“You know you like it,” he said in a sing song voice. You crinkled your forehead as he lowered the toilet seat cover and sat on top of it.
He spread his legs and leaned back. His dick twitched against his stomach. Its length shined with your saliva and blood from your busted lips. Your chest tightened as he coaxed you with the wave of his hand.
“C’mon, finish what you started.”
Your parents were on to the two of you faster than he’d expected. There was one time when he almost found Leon and you in the restaurant’s kitchen. If it weren’t for the locked door, he was sure your dad (if he could muster the strength) would chop his balls off and frame them above his bed like a banner. That was how much he had grown to detest the regular, evident in the way he would wordlessly slam his dishes down on his table. Maybe he knew what had transpired in the toilet that day. How he fucked your ass and brains out in the toilet til you were a whimpering, unthinking mess. The store had to close for the day because of the lack of help on the sales floor.
Your dad even refused the fat tips for his wonderful service. Oh, whatever shall Leon do?
Your mother was also a bit of a tough crowd. Eyes sharp with distrust, always keeping her daughter by her side in the kitchen. Her death grip on the butcher knife would’ve been frightening if it weren’t for her trembling knees when he gazed her way. Maybe she also knew of that one time he made you squirt in your parent's room, coating their bedroom mirror with your shared fluids as he pressed you against it. Quite the overprotective parents they were.
And for the other regulars, they continued fantasising about their lovely waitress. Not knowing that she was taken by a traitor among them, a guy that kept to himself in the corners, lighter in hand as he lured your attention as always. Like a moth drawn to a flame, you always found yourself in his arms time and time again.
Your parents were in their room next door as you sat in his lap, legs wrapped around his waist. Two bodies clung desperately together, wrapped in a sweaty embrace as he cupped your plush ass cheeks in his hands, hoisting you up and then dropping you so you’d slam down on his length. His eyes, muddied with desire, were locked with yours as your tongues fought for dominance in each other's mouths. A pile of underwear, his and yours– the lacey one with roses and ribbons (from ages ago)– were tangled on the carpet indiscreetly.
Your hands wandered up and down his scarred back. The tip of his cock jabbed against your cervix, and you whimpered against his lips. Fingernails dug into the scar on his shoulder, an indented wound that caused him to exhale through gritted teeth.
“Leon-” you pulled away and rested your forehead against his. Your nose bumped into his as he bounced you, “-I love you. I love- mhn… love you so much…”
The blonde could barely hear your muffled words over the incessant creaking of your bed. But he nuzzled your nose, a smile playing on his flushed face.
“I love you too,” he whispered, and he pressed a tender kiss to your lips. “Love you so much, baby.”
He slowed down his ministries and embraced your lips with delicate kisses. With his twitching cock buried in the depths of your sticky, pulsing cunt, you moaned his name and angled your head for more. Your arms wrapped around his neck in a loose embrace as you stayed like this, sloppily kissing while basking in the moonlight that seeped from your curtains.
You grinded your softness against his body, chest mushed on his sweaty pectorals. A mewl fell from your swollen lips as you gazed at him longingly. “More, need more.”
“Fuck,” he inhaled shakily. He swiped his thumb under the crease of your eye. “You’re such a needy thing. Drunk on my cock this quick already, hm?”
“Yeah,” you smiled softly, “‘Cause it’s you.”
The man laughed quietly– he swore there were butterflies in his stomach. They fluttered around in his depths as if he wasn’t currently balls deep in you. God, he was so whipped for you. He was such a lucky man– he didn’t deserve your smile.
He carefully flipped you over and placed you on your knees. You rested your head on the sheets, leaned forward to tilt your butt towards him. It rested on your crack, and a giggle bubbled from you when you wriggled against his cock. A playful smack on one cheek echoed in your room. You would shoot him death glares whenever he did that. But today you moaned into the sheets and smooshed your ass against his torso for more.
Fuck, he grimaced. How did you get this lewd? Oh it was thanks to him. With his ego mightily stoked, he chuckled and soothed the hand mark with another.
Leon gripped your waist with one hand, another spreading your cheeks to get a better view as he slid himself into your wetness. You were always a tight fuck, gripping hard enough to snap him in half, but today’s descent into you had him arching his own back in bliss. It was like you were trying to milk his balls worth, like you wanted a bun in the oven tonight.
You gritted your sheets in your teeth, strings of drool snaking down your chin as your body rocked up and down the bed. Muffled moans rose in pitch as he speared your insides, his hipbone smashing into your jiggling ass with the relentless snapping of his hips. Dishevelled threads of blonde hair hung over his tightly lidded eyes, bouncing as he chased his high.
“Fuck fuck fuck. I love you. You’re mine-” he rambled as he slammed into your womb punishingly. “-Gonna breed you with my kids. You want that? Fuck, say you want it!”
Tears welled up in your eyes as you babbled his name brokenly. Garbled ‘yes’s fell from your quivering lips, and he snaked a hand under you to slap your clit with his calloused, scarred palm. You gasped and he shoved your head into the mattress when you cried his name in pleasure. A few more slaps and you were trembling like a leaf, your upper body totally collapsed onto the bed like a used doll. Your walls gripped him tightly, ripping out a deep moan from Leon. Then he pressed his hips flushed to your quivering butt and emptied his seed into you.
The warmth in your belly was comforting, the heat spread to the rest of your body as you hummed softly in approval. You collapsed entirely on the bed, and his dick slipped out with a soft sound. Stained with rings of cream, it hung limply between his toned thighs, and you weakly crawled over to run your tongue along one of its veins.
Leon’s cock twitched on your tongue. Amused, he took his phone and snapped a picture of you. He held the screen beside your face, gazing at the matching blissed out expressions you carried in both. He pushed your hair behind your ear as you nuzzled against his leg. Your eyes began fluttering shut, and he gently adjusted your limp body so that you laid down beside him. He pulled your blanket over the two of you and held you flushed to his chest. Your breathing slowed to a steady pace, and he pecked your forehead with his lips.
You deserved a bigger tip the next time he visited. For your generous customer service. He made a mental note and closed his eyes, too tired to care about the rattling of your doorknob across the room.
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all content written by @puppyina ! do not repost, edit or plagiarise. requests are open for any past written characters.
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allfearstofallto · 7 days
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Diluc x Fem! Reader
TW: 18+ MDNI, oral (f. receiving), face sitting, squirting
You can't tell how well he's doing below you, but you can still feel his lips and tongue against your clit, still feel his hands gripping your ass and thighs, so you know he's alive. He insisted that you sit on his face, despite your protest that you might suffocate him, he told you it'd be a wonderful way to go if you did.
Your cunt was dripping down messily on his face, his breathing sounding labored, but when you went to pull away to give him a breath of air, he'd just pull you back down, shaking his head side to side aggressively. You couldn't deny Diluc's skill, there was nothing he loved more than eating you out, forcing multiple orgasms from your body. The way you trembled and whimpered above him was a good sign, your toes curling and your lips mewling words of praise for the man's mouth.
When you came, you knew you'd squirt for him, when did you not? You worried once again about killing him with your cunt, but his strength was much more than yours and you couldn't lift yourself off if you wanted to. Diluc held you there as you convulsed through an orgasm, pussy dripping all over his face, making the noises his tongue made only sloppier.
He finally allowed you to pull away when he was sure that you'd finished coming for you and even overstimulated you a bit more. Your legs trembled as you flopped onto the bed next to him, where he was gasping, face covered in your slick, some of it even managing to soak his red locks.
"Are you okay?" You questioned a bit fearfully, wondering about his lack of anything to say.
Diluc's red eye were glossed over and big, his chest rising and falling as he breathed, a small smile forming on his face, "I think I just saw God,"
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barcaatthemoon · 1 month
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atlas || ingrid engen x mapi leon x reader ||
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mapi and ingrid help you relax after a rough week.
minors dni, 18+, smut ahead.
the physical and emotional weight of your workload was dragging you down. mapi was the first to realize it, and once she did, the first person she went to was ingrid. ingrid had a way of relaxing you that mapi knew she couldn't pull off. the woman had a tendency of being a little too energetic for that. however, it seemed that this time, ingrid couldn't really help you either.
they both hated it, but mapi and ingrid had no choice but to wait for all of you to be on a break to bring it up. a lot of things had been happening at barcelona, so you were very busy as social media director. your promotion had seemed like a blessing at first, especially since it meant that you could travel with your girlfriends everywhere that they went. however, all of that travel really cut into the time you had to organize everything else.
"i miss her," mapi sighed as she watched you fast asleep on the couch. it was obvious that you hadn't meant to fall asleep like that with your laptop and several notebooks open. you had been working, despite ingrid and mapi's insistence that you come with them out for the day. they had tried to have a good time, but mapi couldn't knowing that you were still in the apartment.
"it's been hard, especially on her. i mean, look at her," ingrid said as she nodded towards you. mapi let out a little whine as she looked at you. even in your sleep, the stress of your job was evident. they knew that this was temporary, mapi remembered when she first signed to barcelona years ago when you initially had been brought in as an intern. you always had a bit of a struggle starting out, but eventually, you'd find your footing.
"i could cry," mapi muttered quietly. ingrid had just barely heard her. if it was anybody other than you, ingrid would have been deleriously jealous of the way that mapi loved and cared for you. she knew that while mapi had been dating her for longer, you had been in her life longer. you were one of mapi's best friends first, and so, ingrid knew what to expect.
"we can let her sleep, and then do something special for her tonight," ingrid suggested. mapi nodded as she let ingrid pull her away from the living room. you slept the entire day away, waking up only when mapi physically picked you up and carried you into the dining room. you were still very tired as you ate, but the food did a lot to energize you a bit.
"what's the occasion?" you asked, not missing the way that both of your girlfriends were dressed up a bit more. mapi shrugged the question off as she tried to pretend that everything was normal. ingrid, however, was more than happy to give a reason for the little show.
"we are celebrating you, and all of the hard work you've been doing lately," ingrid said softly. she got up to carry your plate into the kitchen for you, kissing the top of your head as well as mapi's as she passed.
"i'm sorry if i haven't been very attentive," you apologized. mapi shook her head as she took your hands in hers. "i've been busy, and i know that you hate being left to your own devices. you need me too, not just the club."
"it's okay, i understand, i do. tonight, don't think about any of that. let ingrid and me take care of you, please bebita." if it wasn't for the way that mapi as looking at you, you might have gone back to your work for the night. "you've been working so hard."
"i'm so tired of it," you admitted. you sounded like you were on the verge of tears, so mapi did what she knew would help you calm down. she dropped your hands to grab your cheeks, pulling you in gently for a kiss. you kissed her back, moaning into it as you felt her deepen it. you sat forward in your seat, like you were prepared to crawl into her lap at any moment. the two of you could have kept going forever like that until ingrid interrupted you.
"come on, let's move this to the bedroom." ingrid guided the two of you away from the table. you broke the kiss with mapi once you were in ingrid's arms, turning your attention to her instead. ingrid picked you up and carried you into the bedroom, walking strong despite the kisses you were pressing to her neck. mapi followed behind ingrid, taking the opportunity to feel her up on the short walk to the bedroom.
ingrid laid you down on the bed gently, and mapi moved around her to get behind you. almost immediately, you could tell how the night would go. it was rare that they both focused solely on you, but you were grateful for the distraction. it wouldn't last forever, but they'd be taking a good amount of the weight of your work off from your shoulders from the night.
mapi's hands settled on your hips, squeezing gently as she peppered the side of your face in kisses. ingrid was laying between your legs, effectively pinning you against mapi's body as the two of them kissed you. it was a lot, but you were more than happy to just go along with whatever they wanted.
you trusted both women with your body completely. they knew the things that you liked, and sometimes, you swore they knew what you needed before you did. on your own, you would have tried to rush things, but they were taking things so slow with you. even mapi, who had a tendency to get a little ahead of herself in these situations.
they took their time undressing you and themselves. the feeling of their skin against yours made it hard for you to think. mapi could tell that you were having a hard time keeping up, so she backed away just enough for you to focus on ingrid. the taller woman kissed you slowly, but it wasn't without an almost overwhelming amount of emotion.
you didn't know how she did it, but ingrid always kissed you with her entire being. from every little peck as she left the apartment to the way she'd completely take your breath away. you swore that you could feel the love and concern ingrid had for you as she kissed you. it was enough for you to get a little lost in the feeling of her lips, but still gentle enough for you to easily slip away if you needed it. ingrid wouldn't judge you, knowing that occasionally you weren't up for this sort of thing when you were stressed.
"you look so pretty kissing ingrid," mapi whispered in your ear. she turned towards ingrid before she spoke up again, "you're taking such good care of our bebita, ingrid."
"i want more, please," you told them. mapi took that as her cue to come back a little more. her hands moved along your sides until you moved them onto your breasts. mapi's fingers teased your nipples as your hips ground against ingrid's thigh. ingrid bit her lip as she felt how wet you already were from just kissing them. it was going to be easy to get you to cum for the first time, and while ingrid wanted to spend all night between your legs, she wouldn't push you any further than what you could handle.
"do you want my fingers or my mouth, bebita?" ingrid asked you. she was usually adamant about not speaking spanish in the house, but that pet name had always stuck. technically, mapi had been calling you her bebita long before either of you had figured out your feelings for each other. ingrid remembered her hesitation about seeing mapi because of you, and in hindsight, she felt a little ridiculous about it now.
"mouth please," you answered. ingrid gave you one last kiss before she moved down to lay in between your legs. mapi turned your head towards her, pulling you into a gentle kiss as ingrid's hands came up to rest on the insides of your thighs.
unlike ingrid's kisses, mapi's rarely ever managed to stay as gentle as they started. the press of mapi's lips against yours quickly turned into something much firmer, not that you minded. you nipped at mapi's lip a little, which earned you a slightly rougher pinch to your nipple than before.
"mapi," ingrid warned. mapi's cheeks heated up at the warning. you bit your lip as she moved around your body to press a kiss to where she had just pinched you. ingrid watched as your hips bucked forward at the contact. she shot mapi a look, one urging for the tattooed woman to stay there until you pulled her back for more kisses.
"do you want this bebita?" mapi asked you. you could still feel enough of mapi's body behind you to feel safe and comfortable, but that need was quickly being replaced by the feel to feel both of their mouths on your body.
"please," you whined. mapi didn't need to be told twice, and she mvoed back in with her mouth at the same time as ingrid. mapi peppered your breasts with kisses as her fingers teased your nipples. ingrid's tongue was making lazy figure 8 motions in between your legs, just barely grazing along where you wanted her to. the two of them worked together well, almost perfectly in sync despite not having had to talk one another through anything.
"shh," mapi cooed softly as she lifted her head a little. the noises you were making quickly began to jumble together. you were whining and whimpering as you started to move more. ingrid didn't want to grab your hips and pin you down, so mapi took it upon herself to kiss you to calm you down. your nails scratched against the side of her face a little, but mapi didn't let it distract her from swallowing up every moan and whimper that threatened to escape from your lips. "you're doing so good, it's okay. let ingrid do her thing."
"fuck, fuck, fuck," you repeated again and again. mapi felt your body tense on top of hers, and that was when she knew you were gone. as loud as you could be while being fucked, you always went dead silent when you came. ingrid began to back away, stopping only when she heard you and mapi talking to each other. the little confessions of love after sex were secrectly mapi's favorite. if she was ever asked, you knew that she'd say something cocky about the way you looked cumming on her fingers or strap, but truthfully, she loved the way you curled into her as the two of you showered each other in love and adoration.
"rest now," ingrid said as she took the spot next to you on the bed. mapi slipped away to get something to clean you up with as you and ingrid lazily made out on the bed. you were so tired, enough so that you were ready to fall asleep right there in her arms. ingrid kept you awake and distracted enough for mapi to clean you up and pick out some clothes for all of you to wear to bed.
"thank you, i think i needed this," you mumbled against ingrid's chest. this time, ingrid laid in between you and mapi, both of you with your head resting against ingrid's chest. ingrid had one hand on mapi's back and the other in your hair, both of them scratching lightly. "i love you, both of you."
"we love you too," mapi told you. she reached over and twirled a strand of your hair around her finger.
"whenever you need us, don't hesitate to ask," ingrid said. you glanced up at her and smiled. you couldn't help it, there was rarely ever a time you could remember not smiling when you saw ingrid. "we'll always be here to take care of you, in whatever ways you need."
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sailoryooons · 8 months
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Angel | myg (m)
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☾ Pairing: Mafia!Yoongi x Sex worker! F. reader
☾ Summary: Yoongi never meant to keep coming back. You never meant to become Yoongi’s favorite. Being Min Yoongi’s favorite has dire consequences. 
☾ Word Count: 15,551
☾ Genre: Semi-established relationship, mafia, smut, surprising amount of fluff
☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 
☾ Warnings: Sex work and mentions of sex work, Yoongi and the reader are very confident in their relationship but also don’t want to ask for more, uses of the word whore negatively in some parts, vague references to dismemberment in an offhand conversation, intense action sequences, depictions of violence, reader is smacked around and kidnapped, depictions of injuries and pain, two sequences of detailed anxiety attacks, graphic depictions of blood, violent scene in which reader fights for her life and gores someone, depictions of murder/panicking while committing murder? Idk how to describe that one, mentions of nightmares/light reference to PTSD post-murder, explicit language, explicit sexual content including oral (m. and f. receiving) light throat fucking, nipple play, ass play (f. receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, Yoongi… almost doing a strip tease but it’s not as goofy as that it’s more sensual?? Yoongi is a little bit possessive at the end. 
☾ Published: September 3, 2023
☾ A/N: You voted for it, you got it! Introducing the fic that came out on top for the Hali’s Happy Agust Bracket Challenge! Thank you to everyone who voted during the entire month of August, I had such an amazing time seeing everyone yelling and voting and sharing and having fun with it. It means the world to me that you guys have fun and enjoy doing these kinds of things! Here is mafia Yoongi in all of his glory - I did try to keep it tame with the murder/violence/criminal side of it because there are things in this genre I’d like to table in later (most likely on Hali’s After Dark) but I hope that you enjoy this! Somehow it really turned into two people who are just !!! eternally confident in one another, despite their strange trades. Shout out to the hurricane and covid for FAILING TO STOP ME FROM WRITING THIS I’M A GOD (not really I am very tired but I did it osifjdoigj). This is mostly edited.
☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.
Masterlist | Ask | Angel Playlist
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Yoongi would rather be anywhere else but the low lit, smoky club. The production team on the dancefloor below uses way too much cryogenic smoke for Yoongi’s taste, fogging the dancing bodies with thick clouds, the lasers reflecting off the smoke in dizzying patterns. From the VIP section, he isn’t choked by the haze, but he is choking on the cloying perfume of the woman in his lap.
She’s pretty enough, one of Kwan’s finest. No doubt trained from a very young age to please her employer’s most prestigious guests. Yoongi doesn’t touch her though, save for letting her sit on his lap, her hand cradling the back of his neck. She leans into his chest, her breath close to his ear as he watches Kwan consider Yoongi’s deal.
Yoongi doesn’t have to make the deal at all. Offering to become a minority owner of the club is a mercy, really. Yoongi could go after the investors who fronted the money when Kwan opened his business in the middle of the entertainment district, and he could wipe out the petty criminals pushing drugs in shadowy alcoves near the bathroom, damaging the cut that Kwan takes from them at the end of each night. 
Yoongi could even go as far as to sow chaos every night, sending in his followers to pick fights with the elite clientele, make it a nightmare for the celebrity clients and cities government officials who use the back rooms for more nefarious matters, exposing the underbelly of La Vie if he felt like it. 
Investments, Hoseok always insists. Investments, not enemies. They already hate that you’re taking a chunk of what they built - especially the seaside property.  Let’s try to play nice and show face. 
Forcing hands is exactly how Yoongi got to this position, sitting in a club and offering Kwan a rather generous deal: Kwan retains eighty percent of ownership, Yoongi becomes a twenty percent owner, the only person allowed to supply the club’s drugs, is paid for security services, and has access to the information funneled through those that work the private client rooms. He could just take it like he always has, and he still has half a mind to do. 
Men like Kwan who think they’re savvy in business and the nuances of the criminal enterprises that run the city make Yoongi’s lip curl. 
“These terms are bullshit, and I don’t have control of the back rooms.” Kwan looks up from the contract, glasses sliding down his nose. He’s a little bit older than Yoongi, and good looking. He has a traditionally handsome face that idols and actors like to get moderated to look like. He looks like new money though, with designer pieces that don’t quite match and a Patek watch that is flashy, but not coveted. “While it is under my jurisdiction, it is a handshake deal with Anya that she runs them the way she wants. They are her clients, not mine.” 
“Then Anya will have a handshake deal with me.” Kwan’s face darkens. Yoongi is tired of this. Is tired of the feeling of the girl’s hand stroking the hair at the base of his neck, is tired of the way she presses up against him, and is tired of Kwan’s dawdling.
“Take the weekend to think about it,” Yoongi insists and stands. The girl falls off him, letting out a surprised sound as she hits the booth. Yoongi adjusts his suit and frowns when he sees there is body glitter on it. He casts a harsh look at the girl who stares up at him with big eyes before turning back to Kwan. “There are no terms for negotiating. Thank you for the drinks and the entertainment. You’ll hear from me.”
Kwan’s face is red like the neon of Yoongi’s favorite motel when he walks out of the booth. Synth and base rattle the metal catwalk that makes up the VIP section, overlooking the dancefloor. Seokjin slides into step with Yoongi as he goes, an imposing shadow as they circumnavigate the walkway. 
It’s loud and raucous when they get to the dance floor. Members of the security team watch Yoongi as he goes, their eyes alert. He pays them little attention, just like the gazes of the people dancing in the ground when they catch sight of him.
Sometimes, Yoongi feels a little bit like a myth in moments like this. Out in public, Yoongi is an astutely dressed man who speaks quietly and says very few words. He wears nice but not gaudy jewelry, and he always styles his long hair slicked back, showing off the faded, red scar over his eye. What Yoongi lacks in height, he makes up for in omnipresent stares and quick reactions.
Everyone in the city knows exactly who Min Yoongi is, and they know that he doesn’t make threats. He simply acts. 
Outside, rain falls from the inky sky. Hoseok leans against the brick wall under the awning, clove-tinged smoke drifting from the cigarette jammed between his lips. When he sees Yoongi, Hoseok pushes off the wall and adjusts his suit jacket. Where Seokjin looks tall, dark and imposing, Hoseok is wiry and sharp, dressed in all white, looking pristine as he raises his eyebrows at Yoongi in question. Yoongi nods towards the idling SUV as an answer. 
They don’t bother with an umbrella. Yoongi ducks his head down as he quickly walks across the pavement and into the car. The interior is moderately cool in the SUV. He takes a seat in the middle, Seokjin sitting alone in the row behind him and Hoseok to his right. 
Outside of the rainy window, the world turns into a smear of wet neon. Checking his watch, Yoongi notes that it’s just past midnight. If he hurries, he can stop by the Red before he goes home for the evening. If he goes home for the evening, at that point. The thought of sinking into sheets that smell like almond and cinnamon ease him. 
“So?” Hoseok flicks through his phone, face lit up blue by the screen. He looks hauntingly beautiful, all edges and sharp lines. “Deal or no deal?”
“Giving him the weekend to think about it.” Hoseok sighs. “He thinks it’s a bad deal for him because it it is, and he’s stuck on the operation Anya runs in the back rooms. He doesn’t want to lose that connection to her. She feeds him information for his extortion of city officials.”
“How else would he have cleared that permit near the docks to build,” Seokjin mutters. Yoongi casts a glance into the back seat where Seokjin sullenly stares out of the window. “Fucker is sticking his nose in a district he has no rights to. At least we had the means to get that operation cancelled.” 
“Yeah, and it’s part of why he doesn’t want to deal with us,” Hoseok says. “Even so, offering the deal is the right move. If he doesn’t take it, crush him like a fucking bug. He’s an intelligent businessman, it’s no surprise that he’s going to try and find a way around you. He might sniff around or try and fuck up some assets.”
“Hobi, you better fucking hope he doesn’t go to that fucker Seo.”
“He doesn’t have the balls. Seo Changbin is unhinged and volatile. He’s more likely to send Kwan to his family in chainsawed pieces.” 
Yoongi grunts, amused. “Bang has kept him under control as of late. Seokjin, have Jungkook look into getting some people in there. I’m not interested in them linking up as permanent partners.” 
A headache presses against Yoongi’s temples. He doesn’t care to debate politics and machinations with Hoseok and Seokjin. He closes his eyes and rests his head against the headrest, letting their discussion fall to a dull sound. 
Yoongi feels like he’s bleeding at the edges, the color of him spilling out of neat lines and all over the pages. His empire is growing faster than he can keep up with, he’s playing politics more than he’s playing the savvy gangster, and the more capital he gains, the more of himself he loses.
When Yoongi had started to climb the ladder of crime and chaos, he didn’t know where it would lead him. An early grave, perhaps. But Yoongi has always been smart and knows how to pick his battles, knows how to innovate. He is not the most inspiring man to lead people in the underbelly of the city, but he does know what he’s talking about and he’s good at guessing what people want most.
People, he’s discovered, all want the same thing, whether they’re at the bottom rung or the top. 
The boy he once was wouldn’t recognize him. The new Yoongi wears designer suits, the carefully curated art collections in the opulent halls of his home, the shaking hands with political figures to help install certain assurances within the city. There are more officials that line Yoongi’s pocket than there are gangs in the city, but it’s a weapon he wields well. 
Old Yoongi might not be so impressed. 
Yoongi feels the phantom ache of the scar on his eye. It doesn’t matter what old Yoongi wants, though. This new version of him is doing whatever he needs to live another day and to install another brick in his kingdom. 
The driver drops Yoongi off at home. Tall gates with security cameras and guard house at the entrance keeps almost everyone away from the Min estate. There’s been a few idiots here or there who have climbed the walls and met the three lovely dobermans that roam the property freely. 
Erebus catches Yoongi’s eyes as he walks to the large garage. The eldest of Yoongi’s canines sits and watches Yoongi approach with keen, dark eyes. He grins at the dog, whistling lowly. Erebus stands and joins Yoongi on his way to the side door, jamming in a code to the garage.
Inside, the automatic lights flip on. Yoongi squints from the harsh lighting, closing the door behind him. Rows of vehicles gleam under the fluorescents. Sports cars, old collectibles, sturdy SUVs. Yoongi has an armada at his disposal, though he so rarely drives himself anywhere these days. Not after Seo put a hit on him a few months ago, the insane fuck. 
Yoongi pulls the tie loose from his neck and begins to change. He presses his finger on a thumb-print lock to a wardrobe and pops it open. Inside are casual clothes: jeans, a t-shirt, a riding jacket, boots and a gleaming black helmet. Nondescript clothes that can belong to anyone. 
Every movement feels heavy. He should go upstairs and swallow down something to help him knockout, but he doesn’t. Instead, he finishes going through the motions and tosses the worn clothes in the wardrobe and walks over to the parked H2R in, all sleek, black metal. 
Erebus sniffs Yoongi’s knee once, a sort of send off. Yoongi bends down and kisses the doberman on the head before shooing him, sending the dog through the garage and up the stairs that lead to the main house. 
Instead of starting the bike in the garage and peeling out the front of the home, Yoongi pops the kickstand up and walks it out of the side door, careful not to bang the tailpipe on the door or scrape the shiny black paint. Once outside, he walks it through the entire yard, arms aching a little as he keeps the bike balanced. 
Gravel crunches beneath his boots and the tires of the motorcycle. Crickets chirp in the yard until he makes it to the back gate in his home that opens up to a government only street. Being back-to-back with the minister has its perks, like an extra security measure that he doesn’t have to monitor constantly. 
Swinging his leg over the bike, Yoongi slides the helmet on, turns the key, and presses the on switch. It roars to life, vibrating underneath him. He revs it a few times before he pulls back on the throttle and shoots down the street like a bullet from a gun.
Iron gates, walls and security houses blur past him. He lives among the gods of the city, high up over the glittering lights and those who pay pilgrimage to the political, criminal and tech giants who loom over them. Yoongi was one of them not that long ago, rising faster than he could have thought possible.
Still, he descends often. Nightly, even. Like even the most powerful gods, Yoongi’s weakness is a vice he can’t - doesn’t want to - rid himself from. While he doesn’t think of himself as impervious, Yoongi doesn’t have many weaknesses. 
His biggest one, though, spends most days at the Red with a private suite in the luxury pleasure house disguised as a motel. 
Yoongi parks his bike in a secured garage that he has a paid spot in. The payment for it is discrete and in all cash, one of Yoongi’s several attempts at covering his tracks when he visits.
The garage is still a few blocks away from the Red. He tucks his hands into his pocket, enjoying the balmy evening, rain still clinging to the air though not falling now. This late at night, there aren’t many people out. Cars drive by, tires hissing on the wet road. Neon lights burn above fluorescent-lit windows of small food shops. 
At the end of a dead end street, a red motel sign buzzes against the night sky. The non-descript brick building doesn’t look like much, but Yoongi knows better than most. Instead of approaching the front door, he leans against the wall a few shops down, tucked underneath the shadow of an awning. 
Pulling his phone out, he dials and brings it up to his ear. As the phone rings, he looks up at the four-story building. There are windows with dark curtains pulled shut and never opened. Yoongi knows that the glass looks ordinary, but is bullet proof grade to protect the most private of clients. 
It doesn’t look like much. The brick is old, it’s bracketed by a laundromat and a hardware store, and across the street is a noodle shop and boarded up general store. 
“It’s late,” you answer, voice scratchy. Yoongi nearly shivers at the sound of your voice, eyes fluttering shut as he breathes in the rain-tinged night. “What’s a girl to do when a boy calls her this late, hmm?”
“Let said boy upstairs and out of the rain.”
“Hmm.” You don’t say yes, but Yoongi can hear the rustle of sheets and the soft creak of the bed when you get up. He waits in silence, though he imagines you’re walking across the bedroom to head to the main part of the state room. “It’s not even raining anymore, I bet.”
“It is. I’m soaked to the bone. Freezing. I might catch a cold.”
“Whatever shall we do?”
He grins, ducking his head. He can feel the warmth climb up his neck to his face, shaking his head. Only you can get him like this, heart skipping like he’s in grade school making out with someone behind the bleachers for the first time. 
“Come on,” you tease on the other line. “Your door will be open.”
“Thanks, Angel.”
“Mhmm.”
His door isn’t really his. But it is a private access door in the back of the alley that requires a keycard and has an armed guard sitting in a security room next to the entry way on the inside. Yoongi hangs up the phone and heads to the special door, avoiding the puddles dripping from fire escapes. 
Just as Yoongi reaches the heavy door, he hears the beep of the auto-lock and it swings open with you leaning on the frame. He wants to eat you whole. You’re not in work clothes, meaning you either wrapped up a while ago or didn’t work tonight. He doesn’t want to know so he doesn’t ask, instead walking up to you as you step to the side and let him in. 
Glowing light flickers underneath the security door to the left. You close the door behind you and pass him, letting your fingers grab his hand and link fingers. There are security cameras here, but it’ll look normal, with you pulling him through the halls and to the elevator. Touching is very much permitted here. Encouraged. Required. 
In the elevator, you stand by Yoongi. He leans into you, silent. You squeeze his hand, very small in his, but warm enough to soothe him. You smell faintly almond and cinnamon, making him go wild as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. You giggle, leaning into him fully, arm pressed to arm. 
Perhaps it’s stupid to be so open like this. When Yoongi first started coming here, he was still and awkward, never coming too close, never letting himself be too familiar. Now, the need for you is too strong. He doesn’t care if there’s a camera on him watching him melt into you. He doesn’t care if maybe it shows that this is a little more than money, a little more than just a quick fix.
Yoongi has been coming to you for almost three years. He doesn’t remember when it stopped being about sex, but it hasn’t been that way for a while. At first, he thought it was so silly. Mafia man in love with a woman he pays to have sex with him. Except it wasn’t so silly. You’d long stopped considering him a client and insisting he doesn’t pay you. 
He doesn’t dare. He doesn’t know what money you make from clients. He knows that it has to be good to be at the Red, which specializes in top clientele. He knows it has to be great, even, because you always meet on your terms. In this space. 
He also doesn’t dare to ask you to stop. He doesn’t know how many clients you take, or who. He doesn’t know when, he doesn’t know how often. He knows nothing about your work except that he doesn’t ask you to stop and you don’t ask him if he wants you too. 
It’s an unspoken rule between you. Yoongi is too afraid to ask you to come live with him, and perhaps you’re too afraid to ask him to take you. Whatever the reasons, neither one of you is brave enough to cross the line first. So instead, you dance along it, making whatever this is work. 
Inside the stateroom is clean and smells like expensive candles. The room is luxurious and is exclusively yours. A cut of your earnings go to holding the room, just like the rest of the workers in the other rooms. 
With the door firmly locked behind the two of you, Yoongi heads to the open kitchen and leans against the counter, facing you. You kick off your slippers and turn to face him, half shadowed by the darkness of the hall, half lit by the warm salt lamp in the living room. 
Yoongi drags his eyes up and down your frame. Soft curves, gentle lips, kind eyes. He was gone the first time he saw you, and he’s gone now. Even after all this time. 
“What?” you ask, fingers fidgeting with your t-shirt. He thinks it might be one of his, but he might be imagining it.
“Come here,” he instructs, patting his thigh. 
You grin and approach him. He opens his arms for you and he sighs as you press against him. Your arms wrap around his middle, squeezing him tight. Slotting your head between his shoulder and neck, you hide your face against him, breath warm against his throat. He envelops you in his arms, wrapped around your shoulders and draped down your back. 
Almond fills his senses. He closes his eyes for a second, breathing you in. You don’t say anything, content to sag against him in the low light of the room. This is what he comes here for more than anything. Everything else you offer is secondary. His foremost desire is this - you. 
“Everything okay?” you finally ask, because of course you do.
“Mhmm. Just a long night.”
“You smell like perfume.”
“Hmm?”
“Like peaches.”
He opens his eyes and looks down at you. You crane your head so that you’re peering up at him with one eye, brow arched. His mouth twitches. “Jealous?”
“Maybe.” 
“Interesting.”
“Not particularly.” 
He lowers his arms, letting them drape around your waist. He smacks the round of  your ass a bit, not enough to hurt but enough to make you pout. “We really going to get into the mechanics of this right now?”
Your smile is all he needs to know you’re not serious. At least, not enough to do something about it. “No, but it’s fun to tease you.” 
“Perhaps I should tease you back, then.” 
Hand in hand, you lead him to your room. Yoongi sees the white sheets and grins. White sheets are for him. Grey sheets are for clients, something you’d established in the infancy of whatever this relationship is. He appreciates the little layers of how you make things different for him. You make him feel special - and not the kind that he pays for. 
Falling backward into the bed, you look up at him with those fucking eyes that make him week in the knees. It’s dark in the room but he knows it well, standing at the foot of your bed and reaching down to snatch an ankle and pull you a bit closer. You squeal as he does, making a jolt of joy go through him, grinning. 
“How was your day?” he asks, lifting your foot to rest on his shoulder. He presses an innocent kiss to your ankle and he watches your brows furrow. “What?”
“Are you a foot person?”
“What if I was?”
You shrug a shoulder, watch him trail kisses down your calf. He nips the meat of your leg, an innocent bite but one that makes your leg twitch. “I’d say I’m surprised to learn something new about you after three years.”
“Yeah?” Yoongi lowers himself so that he’s on his knees, the carpet pressing into his slacks. The back of your knee fits perfectly over his shoulder, your leg resting along his back. You lean up on your elbows and look down at him, watching him settle between your legs. “Think you know everything about me, huh?”
Yoongi’s hands feel your warm skin. He marvels at the softness of your thighs, stroking his hands back and forth. Looking at you, he raises his brow in question. You’re too distracted by the feeling of his hands. It stirs something in him, and he cruves his fingers, dragging his blunt nails softly against your skin.
“Feels good,” you mumble, half-lidded. “I do know everything about you, Min Yoongi.”
“That so?”
“Yes. I could eat your heart if I wanted to.”
Yoongi’s stomach flips at how right you are, at how much you know it. Your confidence in his feelings never fails to make him feel like he is cut open and laid bare at your feet, waiting for you to step on him. To make him regret that vulnerability. 
You never do. At every turn, you’ve shown him that you won’t take advantage. That you have no desire to use the fact that one of the most powerful men in the city is in the palm of your hand. Power for the taking. You could wield him like a weapon, he thinks, and yet you don’t. All you want from him is for him to speak freely, to kiss you often, and to hold you tightly. 
So he does. 
Yoongi presses kisses up the softness of your thighs. You drop from your elbows to lay flat on your back again, your breath catching. He watches raptly at the rise and fall of your chest as you gasp a little. He knows exactly what you like, reaching for your sleep shorts to pull them off slowly. 
Tonight, he has nowhere else to go. Neither do you, letting him lean further up between your legs to press wet, open-mouthed kisses against your hips. You squirm a little, sensitive in the hip area. He loves it - would die for it - letting his tongue slip between his teeth to lave over your hot skin to soothe stinging flesh where he’s nipped you. 
His hands are familiar with every dimple in your skin and every curve. He traces them as he pulls your shorts down, grabbing the elastic band of your underwear as he does. He throws them on the floor, hands settling on the inside of your knees as he presses you open, dropping his eyes to your wet folds. 
Yoongi groans. You’re always so eager for him. That’s never been an illusion, the way your cunt drips slowly down to the curve of your ass at the most innocent of touches from him. It fuels Yoongi’s ego, knowing he has this effect on you. Knowing he’s the only one who can get you trembling in anticipation just by kissing the inside of your knees. 
He made the mistake only once asking if you ever get off with your other clients. The flash of anger and irritation had never made him ask again, but you at least gave him an answer: no. 
Thinking back on it now, Yoongi doesn’t know why he asked. He doesn’t care who you have before or between. All he cares about is being in the darkness of this room, your scent heady, his head shadowed between your legs. 
Leaning forward, Yoongi drags the flat of his tongue up your cunt slowly. You let out a moan and he hums, closing his eyes. He’s been craving your sweet tang all day, the tip of his tongue lingering just under your clit before he drags around it, missing your bundle of nerves on purpose. You let out a sound but he grins, removing his tongue to return to tracing sloppy kisses on your legs instead. 
Already lightheaded, he grounds himself by sliding his hands along the outside of your thighs, gripping you here and there as he lavishes you with attention. He knows he’s tired, but he at least wants this. Wants to taste you before bed, to have you melt in his mouth, fingers in his hair. He needs it. 
Yoongi doesn’t dip into the drugs that his operation injects into the streets. He doesn’t need to. There’s nothing that makes him forget who and where he is the way you do. Nothing that amounts to feeling your soft skin beneath his palms, smelling the barest hint of sweat beneath your vanilla perfume.
When Yoongi gets a taste of you, it’s an instant high. He feels lost, hands skimming up your thighs to hold your hips to the bed. Your hands seek his, linking your fingers and pressing your joined hands to your hips as he drags his tongue up the inside of your thigh.
This is why he keeps coming back. The intimacy. The reassurance that this is something more than an accident that Yoongi stumbled on a few years ago. That this is more than the roll of bills he will leave on the nightstand tonight, even when you say not to. 
There is nothing else he needs in these stolen moments with you. 
“Yoongi,” you murmur, voice soft. He hums in response. “Please, I’m going to lose my mind.”
“Good,” he shoots back, biting your knee. You twitch and curse at him, making him laugh. Your glossy cunt is a sure sign that you’re not lying, though. Clit swollen, hole clenching. “Fuck, you have such a wet pussy.” 
“Then put your fucking mouth on it, Yoongi.” 
He laughs. “As you wish, Angel.” 
A breathy whine in the shape of Yoongi’s name leaves your mouth when he starts to eat you out properly. He takes his time, eyes closed as he indulges, tongue rolling up and down your slick pussy. You turn liquid in his mouth, your hips canting as he flicks his tongue across your clit. You shiver in his hands and he grins, gently sucking your clit into his mouth. 
“Yeah,” you pant. “Fuck, like that.” 
Alternating between fastening his mouth on your pussy to suck gently and sliding his tongue into your hole, Yoongi goes with what he knows makes you a mess. Holds out his tongue and lets you fuck yourself against his face, your hand coming to grip his long hair. 
The wet slide of you against his face makes him ache in his pants. He ignores it, determined to hold you still as he buries his face in deeper, picking up the firmness and pace of his mouth and tongue. He feels your essence drip down his chin and his neck. Hears the squelch when he thrusts his tongues into your pussy. Can’t get enough of the way your thighs close around his head, muffling the sound of you whining and saying his name.
Yoongi’s scalp stings when you pull his hair. He doesn’t care. He whips his head back and forth between your legs, tongue pressed against your throbbing clit. You’re shaking underneath him and he pushes you further, dipping low to slurp at your pussy bottom to top, not letting an ounce of you spill out. 
“Holy fuck,” you squeak, voice high-pitched as you arch off the bed. He looks up at you, mouth attached. “Your fucking mouth.” 
He grins, and leans into you further, pushes your thighs higher. Your legs bend easily under his weight. His hips are pressed against the foot of the bed now, hips rolling slightly, seeking for friction. His eyes close as he gets the barest bit of friction against his cock, more focused on making you come into his mouth than getting himself off.
When you come, your whole body goes taut. Yoongi holds you tight in his hands, mouth moving against you messily as he licks you through your orgasm. You dissolve in his mouth, making him hum against your heat. You twist in the sheets, body twitching, muscles flexing. He avoids your clit, thrusting his tongue into your entrance until you’re gasping for air, hands pressing against his head to get him to stop.
Yoongi removes his mouth with one, lascivious lick. He sits backwards on his feet, panting as he looks at you melt into the bed. Your limbs are lifeless and tangled in the blankets, your hand over your eyes as you catch your breath. You look fucking beautiful. 
“Come here,” you rasp, voice rough. 
The bed creaks under Yoongi’s weight. He walks over on his knees, drinking you in. Your cum slicks your thighs, shining in the barest shaft of light escaping the bathroom from a nightlight. You turn to face him, face balmy with sweat. You reach up and work the zipper on his pants, making his stomach flip.
“You don’t-”
“Shut up,” you growl, tugging the metal down hard. He smirks as you press your fingers into his hard shaft through the cotton of his briefs. “Wanna feel your cock in my throat. Can you fuck my mouth?” 
“Fuck yeah, Angel.” 
Yoongi nearly falls getting out of his pants. You laugh, the sound so sweet that he feels himself blush. He’s hot all over, coming alive in the darkness of your room as he strokes his cock. You look innocent, splayed on the bed and blinking up at him. 
Precum drips from his dark tip and you open your mouth, tongue catching it. He curses under his breath, entranced by the way your tongue disappears between your lips. You hum, a glint in your eye as you smirk at him. 
“Vixen,” he says, shaking his head.
“Give it to me.”
One day he thinks he’s going to die of loving you. He knows that this is what it is. It’s more than you opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue for him. It’s more than him letting you suckle on the tip of his cock playfully, his eyes fluttering shut and his thigh muscles twitching. 
Yoongi loves you. It is an incredibly simple fact in his over-complicated world. Among all of the shit and the moves and countermoves he deals with every day, coming here to simply be in love with you is a relief. A home. 
A shiver crawls up his back as he slowly inches his cock into your mouth. Your mouth is wet and warm, your tongue rough on the sensitive underside of his shaft. He keeps one hand on the base of his cock and the other on your jaw, keeping your mouth open to make the slide easier. 
Everything fades away again. Yoongi sucks in a sharp breath as you open up for him. When he touches the back of your throat, he’s careful at first. He knows you can take it. You’ve taken so much more from him, gone so much harder. He doesn’t want to go hard tonight though. He feels soft at the edges, your taste lingering in his mouth.
The wet sound of your throat convulsing around him making him stroke faster. He knows you’re okay, breathing heavily through your nose as you gurgle around him, spit and precum slicking his shaft as he pulls in and out, marveling at the way you look at him, eyes watering.
Your eyes fix on him. Yoongi clenches his teeth, trying not to burst in your mouth. It’s hard when you look at him like that, gaze so dark and hungry and fathomless. You’ve never said you love him. You don’t have to. He knows. He knows in the same way he is aware you know he loves you. He knows enough to trust you with him. With everything. 
There’s not a single doubt with you. It is a rare gift to share this open trust with someone, especially in his position. It is an added bonus that you know he loves it when you swallow around his cock as he presses into the back of your throat. The tight heat of your throat constricting around him does him in, and Yoongi comes with a growl.
You take it in stride, gulping. Taking it down. His eyes roll back in his head and he thinks that if he didn’t love you already, this alone would make him fall in love. 
Pulling out his softening cock, he falls backward on the bed. He’s still in the top half of his clothes, but he is exhausted, lashes fluttering. Your hands are delicate as you begin to pull the jacket from his body. He rolls to the side and lets you, lost in the daze of a much needed orgasm. He feels at ease now, more than he has all day. 
“Come on,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the spot under his ear. “Take a quick shower while I change the sheets, they’re sweaty. And I came on them.”
“I’d sleep in them anyway.”
“Hmm, too bad. Shower.”
“Meh.”
“Yoongi, you smell like a whore.” That makes him crack an eye and look at you. Your gaze is pointed. “And not like me. I don’t like it.”
“Huh. So you are jealous.”
“Get in the shower.” Your mouth twitches as you try to fight a smile. “Or else.” 
-
Getting up before the sun is your favorite thing. Even now, when you’re tired from being woken up in the middle of the night, you make an effort to crawl out of bed to make coffee. Your steps are heavy and you shiver in the freezing air of the kitchen as you open a drawer and pull out a coffee pod. You hold it up close to make sure you’ve got Yoongi’s favorite brand before sticking it in the machine and popping the lid down, punching the button to brew.
Yoongi is a sleeping mound in your bed. Leaning against the counter, you admire him from afar. He’ll be up soon, your body clock tuned to the hours of his operation. It’s been that way for over a year now, your circadian rhythm trained to be the most functional during the hours in which Yoongi is awake. 
When you were younger, you would have hated to admit that. Would have detested the thought of ever adjusting a single part of yourself for a man. Your entire job was to be moldable. To put on whatever face your client needed, to shape yourself into whatever person that you needed to be. 
You have been so many things. A wife. A mistress. A temptress. A lost loved one. And darker things still, sliding on the skin of client’s fantasies over-and-over again until you lost the substance that made up whoever you were for hours at a time. 
Back then, it would take hours and days to regain who you were. It wasn’t until you were more advanced that you were able to separate who you are from who you pretended to be. Now, it’s not necessarily. There is no other, no mask. Just you and Yoongi, the single client you decided was worth being moldable for.
The smell of coffee wakes him up before his alarm. You watch him sit up in bed, eyes not yet open. His hand spreads to where he expects to find you, only to discover open space. He swivels back and forth then, looking for you. Maybe a little panicked.
A pang aches your heart. It is so easy to forget that even after years of getting up before him first, Yoongi will never be trained out of the instinct that something of his has been taken. The day he doesn’t worry is the day he’ll lose everything and you know it.
“I’m over here,” you call gently. He relaxes and pulls himself together before getting out of bed and trudging out of the room.
Yoongi is pretty in the morning. His face is swollen with sleep, making him look so much younger. Like a dumpling, even. His mouth is fixed in a pout as he rubs at his eyes, steps uneven and dark hair sticking up all over the place. He looks at you, eyes glassy. The faded pink scar over his eye is less intimidating in the morning. You grin and open your arms. His reaction is automatic, sliding between them and sinking into your embrace, head thudding to your shoulder. 
“Hi,” you purr, your hands squeezing around his middle. His shirt is soft in your fingers as you play with the hem. He grunts back, not much of a morning person. You don’t mind. Instead, you let him lay his weight on you, unwilling to move even as the coffee finishes brewing. He smells like sage shampoo and something more unique to him. “You okay, sleepyhead?”
“Mhmm.”
“Can’t talk yet?” he shakes his head against you and you laugh. “Come on, coffee.” 
With Yoongi latched on to you, you walk over to the coffee maker. You giggle, elated as he clings to your front, letting you move him backwards. With his butt pressed against the counter and arms wrapped around you, you lean around him to grab the steaming mug and bring it in front of him.
Pouting, he drops his hands from you and takes it. 
Years of mornings and carefully pulling back layers of Yoongi has earned this rare silliness between you. You’re acutely aware of the fact that the sleepy man in front of you, no matter how soft and blushing he is in the mornings, is a murderer. He’s extorted people, has threatened them, sits at the top of drug trade, and has pushed people into political office with dirty money and blood. Your eyes linger on his scar, a memento of his violent youth. 
You don’t care. It doesn’t matter what Yoongi is and is not. All that matters to you is that he is Yoongi and that he is yours. At least, yours in the way it matters. You don’t dare ask him for more than what you have. It is the one thing you’re afraid of, because even though you know that he loves you, that you know he trusts you, asking for more is something you don’t want to do. Too many people want more of him. You just want whatever you can have. 
As he sips his coffee, careful not to let it spill over and burn you while you bury yourself in snuggling him, you close your eyes. A couple of years ago, you didn’t think a life like this was possible. Getting in at the Red was the first step in the right direction. Though still for sex workers, it was an upper level platform in the industry you clawed your way to. 
Both of you are similar in that regard. Yoongi started from nothing. A poor boy who dropped out of school to work a job and help pay rent at his apartment, too uneducated with not enough resources to make a dent in the world. It was the same story for you, though perhaps a little bloody around the edges, a hand that started selling you before you could make the choice yourself. 
At the thought of your mother, you feel your jaw clench. The bite of the memory is only soothed by the knowledge of Yoongi putting her down himself. Perhaps it makes you a monster, but you’ve accepted that long ago you were what the world crafted you to be, and you wouldn’t apologize.
If you were Yoongi’s shield, he was your sword. You protected him from the weight of his atrocities, and he slayed your monsters. 
It’s what drew Yoongi to you in the first place, the unapologetic approach to life. You appreciate it in him too. He doesn’t try to pretend that he is more or less than what he is, and you never try to hide the ugly parts of yourself. 
And here he is anyway, coffee-warm lips pressed against your forehead. It almost makes you ask for more, but you don’t. This is enough for now. 
The room at the Red isn’t where you live, but it’s yours in everything except lease. You long stopped using it for its intended purposes, now pleased to use it as a neutral ground to meet Yoongi and to stay where you know he is safe. His sprawling estate under guard and gun is surely safe enough, but you like having Yoongi where you can see him. 
After a mostly innocent shower together, Yoongi gets dressed and kisses you goodbye after you walk him down. It’s still dark outside when you swipe your security key. He puts on his biker helmet and gives you a little salute before jogging down the alleyway, splashing into the morning and vanishing around a corner. 
You linger for a moment, watching the empty space where he vanished. It would be nicer to be somewhere you didn’t have to escort him out. Somewhere you could be together all the time. You don’t think Yoongi would say no if you invited him over to your apartment, but you don’t have the security and the heavy protection that the Red offers. 
Collecting your things, you scribble a note for the cleaner before heading out. You’ll only return to the room if Yoongi intends on swinging by again. Though it is more than a suitable place to spend all your time, you like your small apartment tucked downtown above a coffee shop. It has a hominess that feels more like you. That is a little less sterile. 
Sun cracks over the city, spilling light like yolk over the buildings. You shield your eyes as you make your way down the sidewalk, shafts of light falling between buildings. The subway is full of people heading to work. Everyone shuffles without speaking, some buttoning collars of uniforms while others close their eyes in seats, headphones snug over their head. 
The lull of the train as it starts makes you drowsy, but you fight to stay awake. Now that you don’t spend hours sleeping in and recovering from servicing clients late into the night, you value your mornings. Want to be the kind of person whose business hours are during the day, to feel the sun on your skin. 
At your stop, you disappear in the flow of people going up the steps. The concrete above is still wet from the rain the night before, your steps tapping wetly as you go. It’s still summer, but the wind in the shade is cool as you enter the parking garage of your building, heading toward the elevator. 
It’s mostly empty, people having left for work already. There’s a single black SUV by the elevator that you don’t recognize, the windows too dark to see inside. As you approach the car, you realize that it’s on, idling quietly. 
Years of living in the wrong part of town have you slowing your steps. Your eyes flicker to the plate to see a metal shield over it, hiding the numbers on the vehicle. The back of your neck tingles. You come to a full stop, staring at the running vehicle. No one makes a move to get out and there’s no indication that someone is inside.
While you don’t live in the luxurious part of town, your neighborhood is relatively safe. It’s not without instances, but you live deep into Yoongi’s territory, his foothold on this block strong. You’ve never had to worry about walking down the road by yourself at night or making it to your apartment when drunk.
Now, you’re worried. Instinct needles you sharply. There is no reason to think the SUV means you any harm, but something is screaming at you to walk away. 
Then the elevator opens and a normal looking man and woman exit. They don’t pay you any mind as they get into the vehicle, shutting the back door. Your nerves ease and you laugh at yourself for being so ridiculous. There’s no reason for anyone to be doing something nefarious this early in the morning. 
Shaking yourself out of it, you walk the rest of the way to the elevator. As you reach your hand to press the button to call the elevator car, you hear the sound of the car doors opening. You whip your head to look over your shoulder as men get out of the passenger seat and the back seat.
Instinct kicks in. You turn and run, screaming shrilly for anyone that can hear you. They take off after you, steps thundering against the pavement as the SUV squeals its tires to back out of the spot and peel after you. There’s nowhere to go but out into the street. You head for the sidewalk only to be snatched from behind and lifted off your feet.
You react immediately. You throw your elbow back, connecting to one of the men’s faces. He screams and you hear bones crunch. He drops you but your knees buckle, a mix of fear and lack of coordination making you fall to the ground. The other man is on top of you, pressing you into the ground as you scream savagely, kicking your limbs to wiggle out of his grip. 
He grabs your hair and pulls. You yell out, eyes smarting from the sting in your scalp as he then shoves your face into the ground. It hurts. Pain blooms in the side of your face. You’re aware of tiny pieces of gravel digging into soft skin, cutting up your face. The sting is small in comparison to the throb that pulses through your cheekbone as he grinds your face into the pavement. 
Screams echo in the garage as you’re yanked backwards. There are several hands on you, grip like iron. You snarl and yank your limbs to no avail. Just as you’re pulled into the interior of the car, a piece of cloth is slapped hard against your face. You gasp in surprise, a pungent smell filling your nose before you feel a swift fog take over, your mind fading until there is nothing left. 
-
Pain. It’s the first thing you feel when you come to. It’s a slow sort of drift toward awareness, like sluggishly swimming to the surface of a deep lake. You manage to drag yourself there, but immediately want to sink back into the nothingness again once you feel how much you hurt. 
Your face perhaps hurts the most. Not only does your skin burn, but it feels like you’ve been rocked with a cinderblock on the left side of your face. You dully recall having your head pressed into the concrete with near bone-breaking force. It explains why when you open your eyes, the left feels a little swollen. 
The room you’re in is empty. Your shoulder muscles are on fire, hands tied behind your back in the chair you’re sitting in. It’s hard to pinpoint what hurts worse, body littered with bruises and injuries. Still, you’re alive and that has to count for something. 
A man leans against the wall across from you. He watches you curiously. When you become aware of him, you straighten a little in the seat. Your ass tingles with the numbness of sitting there for who knows how long, and your biceps strain with the movement, making you hiss. 
“I’d like to untie you,” the man offers. “But I need a guarantee that you’ll behave.”
You want out of the ropes, so you nod your head. He nods once and pushes off the wall, walking over to you. You use the nearness of his proximity to gather as many details as you can: Patek watch, a basic model. He smells like mandarin and something spicy like pepper - maybe an Arabian fragrance. The suit he’s in is well-tailored and when he pulls a knife out of his pocket to cut the ropes around your wrist, you see a mother-of-pearl handle. 
Money. This man has money. 
Relief makes you sigh, melting into the chair when the pressure in your shoulder blades releases. You immediately lift your hands and place them into your lap, rubbing your trembling fingers across your palms, pressing firmly to encourage blood flow. Your handles tingle as the circulation begins to return to normal, though you can’t make a fist or move all of your appendages immediately. 
The man backs away and leans against the wall once more. He’s incredibly handsome, the kind of guy who might be an actor or in the movie industry, perhaps. You continue to assess him, placing him a few years older than yourself. His hands are linked in front of him. No marriage ring, no tan to indicate there was once a band there either. 
The expensive cologne matched with the watch leads you to believe someone else picked them out, which leaves you with two options: a lover or a sales associate. Judging the make of the watch, you know it doesn’t look like a limited edition series, so not a very personal gift, if a gift at all. And while the cologne smells expensive, it’s too spicy for a day scent, indicating that he doesn’t have someone to tell him the difference between night and daytime colognes.
If you have to guess, they’re things he’s purchased himself on the advice of a sales associate or because of the amount of numbers on the price tag. It’s a habit that comes with new money.
“I apologize for the roughness,” he offers. “It wasn’t my intent to hurt you.”
“Intent matters little. Results matter a lot.”
“Well said.”
Feeling starts to come back to your hands as you flex them. You’re in some sort of construction building. It looks like maybe an apartment building in the making, with plastic tarps covering the windows and metal scaffolding exposing unfinished concrete. Outside, you think you faintly hear the sound of docks and workers.
“Do you know where we are?”
You look him up and down. “We’re in a building. You’re against a wall, and I’m in a chair.”
He scoffs. “Smart mouth.”
“You asked a question.”
“So I did. We’re in a building that was supposed to be my next venture. Someone, however, got in the way and created a bunch of red tape with the city. Now my funding has been slashed and this building has been sitting unfinished for a year, draining me of my property taxes.”
“Well,” you deadpan. “I’m a whore, not a lender. I can’t get you a loan.”
He grins, but you can’t tell if he’s amused. “You’re not just any whore though, are you? I have on good authority you service high profile clients. One of your clients is the reason this building is stuck in paperwork, and now he wants to take even more from me. I can’t let that happen.” 
Yoongi. He’s talking about Yoongi and you know it. You try not to squirm in your seat, meeting his dark eyes head on. Your mind is trying to make decisions and keep up as much as possible, funneling through the list of names Yoongi has mentioned, anything at all that can give you a leg up.
“High profile clients are where the money is,” you admit. You think perhaps this man is Kwan Daehyun, whom Yoongi has been playing chess with for the better part of a year. “I don’t like to sell information on my clients, but I suppose you know that since you kidnapped me.”
“Consider the sales price on this particular client’s information to be your life. I just need a little bit of information, and you’re free.”
You shrug. “You’ve got me there. What do you want to know?”
“Min Yoongi.” You continue to stare at him, giving away nothing. Your heart is racing in your chest and you try to keep your hands from shaking. When you continue not to answer, he clicks his tongue, annoyed. “What can you tell me about his weaknesses?”
You can’t help it, you laugh. Kwan frowns as you giggle. It hurts to laugh, face bursting with pain as you catch your breath and shake your head. “What a cheesy fucking questions. What, you think I just have a list of things that can hurt Min Yoongi?”
“I know how pillow talk goes. He must talk about his stress. Brag about his assets. What else do men go to whores for?”
“To get their cock sucked, usually.”
Kwan pushes off the wall and storms toward you. You sneer up at him, a little less afraid of him now. He appears small and gutless to you, kidnapping a sex worker to ask for pillow talk secrets to gain a fucking advantage. It means he has nothing on Yoongi and has resorted to pisspoor tactics to get anything usable against Yoongi.
Though how he managed to get to you is unsettling. You’re unsure how he made the connection, or how long he has been watching Yoongi. You find that to be the most irritating, to know that Yoongi has been under surveillance for any period of time. Not that you’ve been smacked around and put in an abandoned building on threat of murder. 
“I will fucking kill you.” 
There is truth in his words. Questioning you is a desperate attempt, but perhaps not his only. It occurs to you that he doesn’t thin you hold any value beyond questioning you, and though he’s said he’ll spare you life, you don’t think that’s true. He only sees you as a vacuum for information, and if you don’t have it or you give it to him, he’ll kill you.
You need to be valuable. And fast. 
“Kill me and you ruin any chance of that deal with him.” Kwan hesitates, eyes darkening as the words spill out of your mouth, “In fact, that was probably already off the table as soon as you had me physically harmed and dragged into a car here. So now, you should stop asking me about what Yoongi’s weaknesses are and start asking, what will Min Yoongi do if you call him and tell him who you kidnapped and tied to a fucking chair.” 
Kwan narrows his eyes. You see him assessing the weight of your words. You fight the urge to leap at him and reach for the folding knife in his pocket. Just because you can’t see a gun doesn’t mean there’s not one, and just because you can’t see or hear anyone else in the building doesn’t mean they aren’t there.
Outside you can hear the cry of a seagull. When you breathe in, you smell ocean water and salt. Definitely keeping you in a building by the docks. You think you know the one. Kwan takes a few steps back from you and crosses his arms over his chest. 
“You think he gives a shit if I have you?”
“You asked for Yoongi’s weakness. You’re looking at it.” 
“I think you’re bullshiting me. I think you’re a whore he won’t deal for.”
“One way to find out, right?”
Instead of answering, Kwan turns on his heel and walks towards the opaque tarp. He walks through it and two men replace him at the entrance. Both of them are armed, staring down at you. Ignoring them, you roll your neck in slow circles, trying to ease the soreness.
Tentatively, you reach a hand up to your face, pressing your fingers into your cheek. You hiss, the pain still raw and present underneath your fingers. You can feel small scabs from where the gravel broke skin, but thankfully it doesn’t feel like your eyes are too swollen. 
Time passes. You remain in the chair, fidgeting now that you’re awake. Your tongue is heavy in your dry mouth and your lips begin to burn from wetting them constantly, only to be dried out by the salty air. You feel itchy and irritable, trying not to squirm too much in the chair lest you disturb the guards.
Most of all, without having to put on a brave performance, you feel afraid. Afraid of being here by yourself in this warehouse, afraid that you’ve made a mistake trying to make yourself valuable, afraid that Kwan isn’t going to give you a chance to talk to Yoongi as proof of life. 
You’re not versed in this part of Yoongi’s life. So much of his business has been held separate from you. The violence and the extortion and the sketchy deals have always been something he did outside of that room at the Red. You’re not afraid of this life, though. Just unprepared and trying to guess what to do next, fueled by poorly written crime movies and stories that Yoongi has told you in the warmth of your bed.
It feels like hours have gone by when Kwan comes back into the room. You sit up straight when you see the phone in his hand and see the fire in his eyes. He looks like a man who has had something go right - which means you have him right where you want him, if he’s doing what you think he is. 
Kwan holds out the phone to you. “You have five minutes to talk to him as an act of good faith on my proposal.”
You see Yoongi’s name on the caller idea and try not to start crying. Swallowing thickly, you lick your lips again and bring the phone up to your ear. The tremble in your hand and your voice isn’t a performance when you say, “Hello?”
“Where are you? He hasn’t told me.”
“Yeah, I’m alive.” You sniff a little. “Agh, don’t make me cry. My face will get saltier than it already is.”
“I need more than that, Angel. He’s trying to make deals with me, but I need to know where you are to come get you. He won’t tell me where you’re at unless I wire over money and legally sign over assets.”
“No, he hasn’t hurt me. He’s been polite, though I’ve been kind of a beach- bitch. I’ve been a bitch. Sorry, I’m very tired.”
“Is it the building in the warehouse district at the docks? That apartment shell?”
“Yes, I can do that. Just… please agree to whatever he says, I feel tired and loaded. Bloated. Sorry, I’m confusing words again.”
“Yeah, well I’ve got fucking guns too. We’re going to come get you okay?”
This time when you sniff, you feel actual tears. Of relief that he understands your weird turns of phrase, of the terror at knowing he’s going to have to come get you. To risk his life for you. You knew he would, and yet you almost hate to ask him. 
“Thank you.” 
“You’ll be okay, Angel, but I need you to listen.” 
“Okay.” 
His voice is firm as he says, “I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. Don’t think twice about it. It is you or them, do you understand me? There is almost a certainty you are going to have to kill someone when we come get you. Start thinking about it now. Try to get used to it so that when the time comes, you’re not afraid anymore.” 
“Okay. I love you.” 
“See you soon.”
-
Yoongi likes to think that he is an expert in control. His compartmentalization is unmatched, and though he is incredibly proud, his pride is not easily wounded. Foolish slights and insults don’t rile him the way they might have in his youth, and physical threats of harm are amusing, especially when no very few people carry through on their threat. 
When Yoongi hangs up the phone, he loses every ounce of control he’s ever felt. Never has his urge to destroy been so sharp. He sees red, slamming his hands across his desk and swiping everything off. He tastes metal in his mouth as he bites through his cheek, screaming as he hammers his fists on top of the desk hard enough that he thinks he might split the wood. 
Hoseok and Seokjin hear the commotion, crashing into the office with Namjoon and Jungkook behind them, weapons drawn. Yoongi is shaking when he looks up at them, the phone screen cracked in his hand. He cannot stop shaking, the adrenaline coursing through his veins like a dose of heroin. 
All of their voices sound like a mess of sounds. The ringing in his ears overpowers everything they’re saying as he stands there, hands at his side, mind racing and chest heaving as he pants. Why is he panting? Yoongi feels like he’s suddenly not getting enough air, dropping his phone to loosen the tie around his neck, trying to give himself more room to breathe. Why do his clothes feel so fucking tight?
Suddenly it’s like there isn’t enough air in the room. Yoongi feels the tunnel vision come up on him fast. Chills spread through his body as he wavers, hands held out as he tries to catch his breath. He feels hands on him trying to steady him, but he yanks away from them. They feel too close, too much in his space and he needs more room. Room to get this blazer off and breathe. Breathe, why can’t he breathe? 
Yoongi stumbles into a wall. His vision pulses on the edges and he can vaguely make out Hoseok’s voice. He looks up at him and sees his friend, his advisor. Hoseok isn’t touching him, but his head is cocked as he tries to keep and maintain eye contact with Yoongi. 
“Inhale for seven seconds,” Hoseok says. “Then exhale for seven. I’ll count.”
“What?” Yoongi demands.
“You’re having an anxiety attack.” Hoseok states it as if it’s the most common thing in the world. “You have to regulate your breathing or you’re going to pass out. If you pass out, we can’t help.” 
It’s the only thing that gets him to listen. He counts with Hoseok, drawing in long breaths.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.
Yoongi has to shake this. Has to get ready and call his people, needs to make plans to come get you. He knows exactly where you are - wants to fucking kiss you for how clever you mange to be even while terrified. 
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.
He knows you’re afraid. Yoongi has never heard your voice tremble like that since he’s known you. He knows every tone of your voice, every color to the spectrum of your sounds, able to pick them apart to know how you feel. And while you spoke in a clear tone, it was all wrong. Colored with terror. Voice soft and rough and wavering. 
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.
The ringing in his ears fade. Yoongi continues to take slow, deep breaths. His hands are still shaking and he feels a little light headed, but when he blinks a few times and looks around, he sees his closest men and confidants standing around him, waiting. 
“Talk to us,” Hoseok urges. “What’s going on?”
“Kwan has my girl. They’re in that apartment project we froze in the docks.”
“He told you where they were?”
“No, she did.”
Hoseok looks weary. “That sounds like a trap - did he already offer you a deal?”
“He said several things. He didn’t tell me where they were, she did.”
“In front of-”
“Hoseok, stop asking stupid questions or I swear to fucking god I’ll hit you first. She’s not used to any of this, but she isn’t fucking stupid. She used the words salt, beach and loaded. They’re in that building and they’re armed.”
“Poetic,” Seokjin grunts. Yoongi cuts his gaze to his head of security and the man pales. “Sorry, bad timing.”
“Get every fucking person we know on the fucking ground and here. We’re going to get her.”
“They’ll see us coming from a mile away.”
Yoongi stares at Seokjin. “I don’t give a fuck. Kwan wanted to find a weakness, well he found one. And now I’m going to paint that shitty little development with his blood.”
An hour later is when it hits Yoongi. He stops in the middle of tying a shoe and he stands. He’s replaying the conversation with you over and over in his head, looking for any other details he could have missed. He was so fucking proud of you for getting your point across even while scared, but now it’s something else he thinks of.
I love you. He had almost not realized you said it at all at the end of the call. He can’t remember if he said it back, but he’s suddenly sick over the what if of it all. What if he doesn’t get to say it back? What if he gets there and swarms in, only to find you dead? 
In a moment of panic, he texts Hoseok to request proof of life on the hour every hour from Kwan under the guise of considering his horrendous deal. Kwan, of course, thinks he’s got Yoongi. He doesn’t, naturally. They haven’t agreed on a time or place to meet, and Kwan does not seem to understand just how poorly he’s miscalculated. 
None of it matters. All that matters is that Yoongi is going to come get you like he promised, and he is never letting you out of his sight again. 
-
Surprisingly, your living conditions change a little upon Kwan learning that you’re more valuable kept alive and in decent condition than beat up or dead. He has a cot and a fan brought in, along with an ice back for your cheek and a thermos of water.
You crush the thermos almost immediately. Though you’re kept under armed guards now, you’re relieved to be able to lay down and stretch your sore limbs. When the ice pack finally grows hot and melts on your aching cheekbone, one of the guards gets you a new one without question.
It almost makes you feel bad for what is to come. Almost. 
You know Yoongi. It’s why you gambled with a hostage play in the first place. He won’t let them have you and it doesn’t matter what Kwan offers him, Yoongi is far too powerful to accept deals from the likes of Kwan. It isn’t so much a matter of pride as it is a matter of power. You know Yoongi has the power to pull you out of this without further harm. 
At least, you have put every ounce of trust and confidence in him that you have. 
Time moves slowly. It’s hard to know how fast Yoongi will mobilize or what his plan is. It would make sense for him to perhaps cause a distraction elsewhere to get Kwan’s eyes off of you, but it’s also a dangerous game to play with a hostage. 
It doesn’t matter. Yoongi has his job and you have yours, which is to work the screw out of one of the cots joints. You’ve picked one that isn’t imperative to the overall structure of the cot. It can bear your weight without the screw as long as you don’t lean on the joint too much. It takes you a while to unscrew it with your bare fingers, all while lying on your back trying to look uninterested in anything.
I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 
Finally, you pull the cool metal free. You slide it into the pocket of your sweatpants. The weight of it feels better than nothing. It won’t do much damage, but a well placed punch to the face with the screw between your knuckles will do what you need, even if you damage your hand to do it. 
You’ve never killed someone. Thought about it a few times, maybe. Had some people try to sway you to slip something into a client’s drink, but you never accepted. Killing isn’t your business. It’s Yoongi’s, but you know that if he’s telling you to take the chance, it’s because he wants you to live. 
The thought is chilling. You rest your hand on the pocket, feeling the shape of the screw. You don’t know how to kill. You’re not even entirely sure that you have it in you. You’ve seen people die and you’ve seen people murder. It seems easy.
You’re not sure if it’s that simple. 
It’s late into the night when a commotion draws you from your half-slumber. You lift your head as someone comes in and mutters something to the guards. They nod and one of them leaves, the other turning to face you with a glare, hand resting just inside his jacket where you assume there’s a gun.
Outside, you hear the sound of peeling tires as a car takes off. 
Nerves take over. You feel your heartbeat pickup as you continue to lay on the cot, one hand under your pillow. It’s hard to think of what might be happening over the sound of your own pulse, but you try to regulate your breathing. There’s nothing happening right that second that you can control, so there’s no reason to panic.
A few minutes go by. It’s agony, waiting with bated breath. It’s quiet outside except for the sounds of the ocean and the mostly empty warehouses and docks. Plastic snaps in the breeze, loud in the silence of your waiting. You think that this is the worst part, the anticipation for what’s to come. You can’t sleep now even if you tried. 
When the first round of gunfire comes, you almost lose control of your bowels. It’s a shameful sort of fear that takes you by surprise, making you freeze up. You have been waiting for it, and yet now that you can hear the sound of automatic weapons somewhere below, it feels worse than you imagined. 
Looking up at the guard at the door, you reel in surprise to see him rushing toward you. Time seems to slow down. The sound of guns and yelling fade to the background everything suddenly becomes hyper focused. 
I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 
As the guard leans to pick you up, you strike like a snake, pulling the screw from your pocket and jabbing upward with a savage scream.
His guttural cry splits the night. You feel hot blood spray your hand and dot your face as you plunge the blunt screw into his eye socket. Blood makes your fingers slippery and as he falls onto his back, hands clutching his face, you lose your grip. 
I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 
No hesitation. You dive for him, stained hands searching for the weapon. The metal of the gun slides in your slick fingers. Through the blinding pain, the guard realizes what you’re doing and grabs your forearms. You pull back against him but can’t shake his grip, your hand stuck in his jacket on the gun. You finger the trigger and squeeze, but it doesn’t budge. The fucking safety. 
Sliding a knee down, you crush the cap of your knee between his legs, pressing his balls with your full weight. He screams and his grip goes slack. You yank on the gun, almost dropping it as it slides free from the holster. Your grip is clumsy and shaking, your heart pounding so hard you think you might die of fright before you manage to find the safety on the hammer and pull it back. 
I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 
Click. Squeeze. Bang. 
You don’t aim. Don’t have the sense to at that moment. This close, you don’t have to aim at all. You hit your target and his yelling turns to shrieks. You can’t tell where you’ve shot him, all you know is that you have. You scramble away, hands slipping on the floor, gun clutched clumsily in your hand. 
A hand goes around your ankle and you scream as he drags you backward. You roll onto your back, bringing the gun up again, trying to aim in the general direction of his chest.
Squeeze. Bang. 
It’s so loud. Your ears are ringing and you’re unable to hear anything as the grip on your ankle immediately goes slack. The guard goes limp, the fight leaving him immediately. You don’t look - can’t look. Can’t focus on anything but the way your vision tunnels. 
Dizziness sweeps over you as you crawl away from him again. Your knees and palms might hurt if you could feel anything at all, but numbness starts to take over as you manage to press yourself against a wall near the doorway. You don’t dare move toward it, too untrained to handle a gun while terrified. 
“Angel!” you hear Yoongi’s voice screaming somewhere in the building. You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Your lips tremble. You try to find your voice, willing the words to come. Mouth open, his name on the tip of your tongue, you can’t find a response. “Angel, come on, baby! Where are you?”
“Yoongi,” you whisper. It’s not nearly loud enough and your voice cracks on the name. You close your eyes and take a deep, shuddering breath as you muster strength behind your voice. “Yoongi!” 
“That’s it, keep talking to me.” 
It sounds like he is yelling somewhere down a stairwell, voice echoing up concrete walls. “Up!” You start to curl into yourself. “Yoongi, up!” 
Steps thunder in the stairwell. You drop the gun next to you and look at your hands. They’re slick and wet. In a panic, you start wiping them on your sweatpants, smearing red as you do. You viciously wipe your hands. You want the blood off, you don’t want it all over you, it’s hot and stick and it’s not yours and it belongs to the dead man who was trying to take you-
Warm hands grab your face and tilt you upward. You blink through blurry tears. Yoongi looks back at you, his forehead sweaty and his slicked back hair a little messy. He turns your face from side to side as more of his men flood into the room, guns raised.
Yoongi’s mouth moves but you can’t hear him. You shake your head, looking up at him. His grip softens and the gentle brush of his thumb back and forth across your face eases the rising panic inside of you. You sniff, taking a few slow, trembling breaths. 
“Are you seriously injured?” Yoongi asks again, voice rough. Cracking. “Do you need medical attention?”
“No.”
“The blood-” You shake your head violently, closing your eyes. “Okay. It’s okay. You did what you needed to do, Angel. I’m going to get you on your feet and take you home, okay?” 
“I don’t-”
“My home. Not yours. You’re coming home.”
Yoongi doesn’t need to explain what he means. As he slowly pulls you to your feet, you know what he’s telling you. You’re going to his estate, because it’s yours too now. The agreement is unspoken but mutual. You don’t want to go back to your apartment. You don’t want to go back to the Red. Right now, all you want is to wash the blood from your hands and get away from this place. 
Seokjin is at the door with a blanket. He wraps it around you as Yoongi keeps his hands around your waist, steadying you as you walk. You get down two levels of stairs before he tucks you into him and presses his lips against your temple.
“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, mouth moving against your skin. “I won’t let you trip.”
You do as you’re told. His steps are confident and careful as he leads you through the bottom floor. You hear the murmur of voices, the flapping of plastic tarp, and the humming engines of vehicles. Yoongi lifts you lightly and helps you get into the cool interior of a car that smells like leather. 
When the door shuts, you flinch and open your eyes, staring straight forward. Yoongi is next to you, arm going around your shoulders as he pulls you into his side again. You realize for the first time as you glance at him that there’s blood on his face and in his hair. His knee bounces up and down, his hand resting against it, still gripping a gun with the safety off. 
“Are we safe?” you whisper, staring at his gun. 
“Yes.”
“Then why-”
“It makes me feel better,” he admits. “I just need to come down.”
“Okay.” 
“Look at me.”
You do. His eyes are dark and though his mouth is pinched at the corners and the vein throbs in his forehead, his eyes are soft for you. “I love you,” he murmurs. “We’re safe.”
-
A week makes the pain in your cheekbone fade away. A week does not make the memory of squeezing the trigger fade. At night, the memory is worse. What your mind had been unable to remember at first comes back in full-clarity at night, gripping you in your sleep and dragging you down into an endless terror until Yoongi pries you from the clutches of your nightmares and wakes you. 
It’s easier with him by your side, though. You’re at least able to fall asleep, if not stay asleep through the night. When he wakes you from screaming and thrashing in the sheets, you’re able to settle against him, his hold on you firm. Comforting.
Yoongi takes this in stride. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t lose his patience. He simply murmurs that he gets it and holds you, his skin warm and smelling like home. 
Home. 
The estate is a sprawling mass of elegance that stuns you each day. Beyond the opulence of the home and the luxury that it offers, what matters most is the security. The personnel at every entrance, the high gate with cameras and alarms, the three lurking dobermans that still terrify you when you see them standing in a dark hall at night or watching you in the kitchen when you get a glass of water after a nightmare. 
Nox has come around to liking you, at least. She’s become your shadow in the house, which had made you a little unsure at first. Now, she trails you up the stairs and to the master bedroom. You’ve grown used to her - prefer it, even, when Yoongi is not home like right now. 
Erebus and Khonsu are on the floor of the master bedroom. Both watch you as you enter, unbothered but aware. Where their younger sister has adopted you as an owner and a thing to protect, they still seem set on Yoongi only. 
The three dogs remain in the bedroom as you end the bathroom. It makes you feel safe to know that even if someone managed to get through the gates, up the driveway, through the secured doors and the dozen people that Yoongi has stationed at the estate since your kidnapping, the dogs are another line of defense. 
So is the gun under the bathroom cabinet and in the nightstand, but you don’t want to touch a gun ever again. Not if the nightmares it gives are like this. 
Steam fills the room accompanied by the scent of eucalyptus. Carefully, you peel the clothes from your body and toss them into a corner. The stone shower is warm with heated floors and a digital panel both inside and outside for control of the fifteen different water settings. There’s even steam options, but you simply turn on the rain feature, slipping under the dripping ceiling. 
The hot, wet taps of the water lull you into a trance. You stand with your head tilted down, letting the rivulets of water run the full length of your body.
“Angel, I’m home,” Yoongi calls from the bedroom. You smile, appreciating that he announces his presence instead of sneaking up on you. He’s always careful to make noise when he enters rooms now and announces his arrival. “You just get in?”
“Yeah,” you call back. “Join me?”
“Give me five.” 
When he finally enters the bathroom, you turn around to look at him. He’s already pulling the tie around his neck loose, dropping it to the ground. You catch sight of the red across his knuckles. Though he is free of blood - an effort on his part now to bring it home to you - you notice the days where he comes home and his knuckles are split or bruised, hands aching. 
Watching Yoongi undress captures your full attention. His movements are slow and methodical. His back is to you, shirt dripping off his broad shoulders to join the tie on the floor. He looks up in the mirror and pauses, dark eyes catching yours. You raise a brow and gesture for him to continue. When he does, it’s with his tongue poking his cheek and a smirk. 
Knowing that you’re watching, Yoongi turns it into an art. His fingers trace the top of his slacks before he slowly undoes the belt, pulling it with a satisfying hiss through the loops before holding it out to the side and letting it clatter to the floor. Your eyes are zeroed in on his reflection in the mirror as he works the button open, peeling the top of his pants apart to reveal the logo of his briefs. 
Yoongi pauses. Your eyes dart up to his in the mirror to find him watching you, eyes dark. The scar looks menacing today. You squeeze your thighs together, chewing on your bottom lip. He notices, smirk growing as he rolls the slacks down his thighs and kicks them aside. You see the imprint of his half-hard cock in his briefs, your attention on him alone enough to get his blood pumping.
You’ll never get over having that effect on him. Knowing that even after the nightmares and becoming an inconvenience - in your eyes, at least - the chemistry between you isn’t gone. It’s still there, a burning candle. 
Slowly, Yoongi peels off his briefs. His heavy cock bobs as he steps out of them and you feel your pussy clench around nothing, just thinking about him stretching you open. He says nothing about the small bead of precum at the tip as he turns and walks over to the shower.
He’s built beautifully. Broad shoulders with a slim, tapered waist. Strong arms and large hands, firm chest and soft but muscular stomach. Yoongi is the perfect blend of pretty and rugged, a combination that you didn’t know existed until him. 
When he steps into the shower, you step further into the water, making room for him. He shuts the door and frowns at the distance between you, holding out his hand. You take it immediately and he pulls you forward, careful not to let you slip on the tile.
He doesn’t waste a moment. Yoongi’s mouth captures yours, wet from the shower water as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, nipping lightly. You hum, bringing your arms to loop around his neck, fingers combing through his wet hair. His cock presses against your lower stomach, and you shiver. 
Yoongi’s kisses are addicting. Slow, like he has all the time in the world, but hungry, like he can’t get enough. His tongue brushes the roof of your mouth, his teeth pulling at your lip again when he pulls his mouth away to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw. 
Tilting your head back, you let him pepper kisses along your throat. You close your eyes, letting him hold you to him. The room tilts as you sway in his arms, the feeling of him licking the hollow of your throat entrancing. It’s so simple yet it feels so good. 
One arm loops around your waist to keep you pressed to Yoongi, his other slides up your wet skin to cup your breast. You let out a breathy moan when you feel his thumb circle your stiff nipple, the stimulation so bare but so good. 
Yoongi keeps you cradled against him, mouth working your neck and shoulder and back up to your mouth while his thumb lazily plays with your nipple. You're pliant in his arms, letting him do whatever he wants with you.
His mouth starts to descend and when he finally takes your nipple into his mouth, you can’t stop the whine that escapes you. He hums as he sucks gently, tongue flicking back and forth over the peak. You can’t help but twitch in his arms, a ripple of pleasure sliding through you. 
Heat pulses between your legs and you feel the slick gathering in your folds. Your legs squeeze together again as Yoongi drags his teeth over your sensitive nipple before letting go and switching to the other. This time, he looks up at you through dark, wet lashes, sticking out his devilish tongue as he uses the tip to trace your skin.
“Show off,” you mutter, voice shaking. 
He laughs and runs the flat of his tongue over your nipple before giving a sharp suck that has you arching into him. “You love having your tits in my mouth,” he shoots back. He bites the top of your breast softly, teeth scraping your soft skin. “Don’t deny it.”
“I plead the fifth.”
“Hmmm.” 
“You don’t have to say anything,” he teases. The hand around your back slides down to your ass. He grabs a handful, squeezing generously. “Can you turn around for me? Legs spread so I can see that pretty pussy.” 
“Fuck.” 
He drops his arms so you can turn around. You press your palms against the wall, shivering as the cold tile leeches the warmth from you. The temperature difference makes the room tilt. You slide your legs apart and stick your ass out toward him, lifting a little. 
“Fuck yeah.” 
You can’t see him, but you feel him as he slides down to his knees. His palms grip your ass, spreading your cheeks open. You close your eyes and let your head hang between your arms when it feels too heavy to hold up yourself. 
“Just want a quick taste,” Yoongi mutters.
“Shiiiit,” you hiss, feeling his tongue dance up and down your cunt. He licks you in broad, slow stripes before he puts his entire mouth on you and sucks sharply. “Just like that.” 
“Fuck.” The smack of his lips against your wet heat are bracketed by the slick sound of him stroking his cock, the filthy sounds echoing in the shower. “I could eat you out every day.”
“You do.”
“Fine.” His tongue zigzags back and forth, reaching to swirl around your click. He kisses your cunt and stands up. “I’ll make it twice a day, then.” 
The blunt head of his cock slides between your folds. You press back toward him, eager to have him push in and split you open. He tuts at you, giving you a gentle smack on your ass. “Eager.”
“I’ve been waiting all fucking day for it, Yoongi. Give it to me.” 
“Mmm.” 
The feeling of Yoongi sinking his cock into you slowly drives you mad. You feel like you can’t breathe, every inch of his thick length stretching your walls to the max. It feels like he’s in your guts when he bottoms out, the pressure immense and good and dizzying. 
He starts slow, giving a few shallow thrusts as you adjust to be pried open. You relax around him, falling into the pleasure as he begins to fuck you in earnest. Hands on your waist, he pulls your ass backwards, meeting every one of his strokes in a loud, wet smack of hips on ass.
A shiver ripples down your spine and you moan when he adjusts the angle, prodding your g-spot. “Yeah?” he asks through gritted teeth. “That the spot?”
“Yes, please fuck me just like that.”
Nothing else exists beyond this. The steam makes your skin even hotter, cloying the air and making it hard to breathe. It makes everything fuzzy, like you’re drifting in and out of reality, pleasure unfolding in you as you squeeze around his cock. 
Each snap of his hips is punctuated with stilted breath. You’re gasping, thighs burning as you take every inch of him, fingers curling against the wall, eyes rolling back as you fall into a mute space. You make sound but no words come out, the pressure against that spot inside of you driving you mad. 
Yoongi slides a hand from your waist over the curve of your ass and between your cheeks, thumb pressing gently on the rim of your ass. You let out a loud moan, fingers trying to grab the wall to no avail. The new stimulation feels delicious, Yoongi’s thumb pressing against your asshole in time with his strokes. He doesn’t push past the ring of muscles, but it doesn’t matter - it’s enough to send you careening closer to your orgasm, toeing the line of insanity. 
“Fuck, Angel,” he pants, fucking into you harder. “Just like that, make it fucking creamy. You gonna come?” 
“Fuuuuck yeah.”
His thumb presses harder against your rim. “Come on, give it to me.” 
“Shit shit shit shit.” 
You lose the ability to say anything. Your body folds forward, only held up by Yoongi and the press of the freezing cold wall as he fucks you with precision. It sends you over the edge, your knees knocking as you come, fists pressing into the wall as you yell through it. 
The sound of the shower is drowned out by your babbling. Yoongi thrusts hard a few more times, hand slipping away from your ass to grip your waist hard, chasing his high. He comes with a loud curse, fingers digging into your skin. 
For a moment, he leans into you, pressing his cock as far in as he can go. Your pussy throbs around him, every pulse ebbing around him. He presses kisses up your spine, hands sliding up your ribs to pull you upright until your back is against his chest. 
“Fuck,” he pants, voice rough. “I’m so glad you’re mine.”
“I’ve always been yours.”
“I mean entirely. Without sharing.”
You pause, looking up at him with a frown. “You know I haven’t been… taking clients for two years, right?”
He pauses. “What?”
“You stupid boy,” you laugh, laying your head against his shoulder. “Of course I wasn’t. I just wanted you.” 
“Then why stay there?”
You shrug a shoulder, letting your eyes fall closed. The warmth of the orgasm blooms through you, Yoongi’s skin hot against your back and  the shower hotter still. “It was a place I knew you’d be safe when you visited. And I didn’t want to ask you for more. Everyone always wants more from you. I just wanted you.”
“All that time, I could have just… asked you to come home?”
“Yes. But it’s okay. I’m home now.”
He kisses your neck. “You are home, Angel.” 
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Text
Basically just Sukuna admiring your pussy and eating ya out. (NSFW CONTENT!!! MINORS DNI!!!)
(Sorry for the grammar mistakes in advance yall, English is not my first language💩)
(I had this in my mind for so long, I had to get it off💀😭)
── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──
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First of all. Do you think Sukuna gives your pussy such massive pleasure because of you? Nope. You're wrong.
That pussy belongs to him, alright? He is the King of Curses, and if he says he owns you, says he owns it, that is a fact. That pussy is his to play with, to tease, his to taste. His to eat. He couldn't care less about how does it make you feel, what matters is that it's tasty. Addicting. Intoxicating. And that the King likes it.
And the way Sukuna is so mesmerised by it, gazing at it like its the tastiest meal he has ever witnessed, while completely ignoring you, like you're not even there. Those massive arms keeping you still, while he takes his time, savoring the view of your lips glistening with juices, clit twitching in sensitivity, your little hole clenching pathetically around nothing, practically calling out for him.
Oh, and he hears her. And he missed her, too. Sukuna can't help but let out a gentle rumble out from his chest, nose hovering above it and taking in that sweet, sweet scent, brows knitting and eyes closing, as his grip on you gets stronger, as a warning to keep still and quiet. That breath keeps fanning your folds, a cool contrast to the warm, awaiting arousal.
The King then finally makes a move, and swipes his tongue across your labia so painfully slow, gathering your nectar, and earning rather loud sounds from your throat, much to his amusement. "Quiet, woman. Can't you see I'm feasting?" He sneers, chuckling darkly at your huffs and whines of protest. His nose nudges those lips, admiring the shape of your cunt, the size of your fluttering hole, and the delicious juices it produces. Sukunas cannines gently nibble on those lips, gently tugging at them, as his fingers trace lines across your thighs, squeezing and scratching at the skin with those sharp nails, leaving red marks all over them.
Sukunas head dives deeper, now entirely evenloping his mouth around your clit, flicking and sucking at the aching nub, as his two fingers prod the entrance, teasing your cunt, making more wetness ooze out of your hole, coating the already soaking flesh. His mouth goes lower, gathering and slurping the nectar rather loudly, like a child without table manners, making sure his tongue doesn't leave anything behind. The King groans at the addicting taste of your cunt. He could never get tired of it. Without a warning, the warm muscle plunges deep inside your entrance, as his lips open wide and settle over the entire vulva. He keeps tongue-fucking you, slowly at first, but gradually picking up the pace. His fingers tease and massage your pink swollen a-hole, coated in wetness, making it easy for the fingertips to slide in, massaging and scissoring it. Sukuna then makes out with your lips, leaving open-mouthed kisses and nips at the pink flesh, while his warm muscle goes even deeper inside your hole. His eyes rolled back, grunting and sighing at the delicious meal he has been given, his face lightly pussy drunk and covered in a shade of crimson red.
Of course, because of doing such wonders with his mouth on you, you soon came hard, squirting all over him. Soaking his hair, face, making the curse simply hiss in delight, muttering praises at your cunt for doing such a good job for him. And he makes sure to lick it all off, he doesn't want his prize to go to waste. You try to push him off, overstimulated and panting, but he just doesn't care. Sukuna will continue eating you out, until the King feels satisfied. Until he has slurped every last drop of your cum, until there is nothing left, until your cunt gets all swollen and red from his abusing.
He does own it, after all. It's his. And he eats it not because of you, because of him.
── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──
(Likes and reblogs are appreciated <3)
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