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kulemiwrites · 9 days

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𝐑𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐏𝐓. 𝟏| 𝐀𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐚 𝐍𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐤𝐢𝐲𝐚𝐦𝐚

Part: i of iii

Genre: Romance, Eventual Smut

Rating: 18+

Word count: 5.1k

Character(s): Akira Nishikiyama, fem!Reader

Warning: Do not read if the idea of an f/o having previous partners or you being the object of envy is upsetting to you. Also, this is not an established relationship fic. Too long for tumblr? Read on AO3

Nishikiyama is a regular at your club and he's quite popular amongst your coworkers. He tends to be at the center of all the hot gossip backstage and now, so are you. Word is, you're the latest notch on his bedpost and more than privy to his secret talent. Are the rumors true?

There were names that you became familiar with after spending any amount of time in the Kamurocho nightlife. Some were names of people to watch out for- bad news, dangerous, some of the last people in town you’d want to cross paths with. Some were known for simply throwing their weight around- flashing their cash, accompanied by muscle, having a pissy fit whenever they didn’t quite get their way. There were also the names of the guy or gal you went to when you really needed to know something or to have something done. Or perhaps they just had a bit of a… reputation– word got around about them. Depending on who you spoke to in town, Akira Nishikiyama could have fit into any one of those categories.

You’d never seen much of his violent side but you knew perfectly well how capable he was of it. He’d offered a hand to security once when a customer got a tad too “friendly” with you. He never quite threw a tantrum but he wasn’t above spilling a wad of cash on the podium to get ahead of the line when there was a wait. However, there was one thing you couldn’t deny without a shadow of a doubt: Nishikiyama had quite the reputation.

He wasn’t the most popular with men from what you could tell. Even the men he’d come into the club with seemed to give him a bit of a hard time. Sometimes he seemed to take it in stride. Other times, through the fury in his sharp brown glare you could see that there seemed to be a silent promise of a brawl outside once the session was over.

The women however, fell over themselves to get to him. You couldn’t say that you didn’t see the appeal. He was handsome– beyond handsome, sometimes when you sat with him and watched him lower his defenses enough to smile and laugh, he was quite beautiful even. His hair had more volume than some of the girls in the dressing room. He was no slouch either. Every single one of his suits were designer– you didn’t know which designers but after being in this business for long enough, you could tell the difference between a tailored, brand name suit and a shoddy, discount shop suit trying to pass itself off as one. There was never even a speck of dirt on his shiny leather shoes.

And he always smelled absolutely divine-- Fresh. Woody. Something, something, sensual masculinity. You didn’t know the right words but it alone was captivating. Even you could find yourself lost in that aroma and unconsciously bow over hoping for more.

There was a draw to him.

However, it wasn’t just his good looks that had the girls dying to swarm him like flies to honey. He had charm, too. It was hard to miss, especially when he routinely surrounded himself with charmless buffoons.

He stood out and he made it seem effortless.

Nishikiyama had been your regular for a year, at least. Perhaps you’d been seeing him for longer but you only decided to start paying attention to how often he would request you when your coworkers began to complain. When he first began visiting the club, infrequently, every couple months or so, he’d take any girl he’d been sat with but after seeing you a few times, he seemed to increase his visits– how often he saw you.

He’d begun to show up about once or twice a week, each time with a different ensemble of men in his entourage– familiar faces but never quite the exact same group. If he was the first to arrive, which he typically was, you were requested. He’d take no one else. It mattered none to him that you were busy. If he couldn’t bri– pay to have you reassigned from whoever you were serving originally, he’d take a placeholder and wait until you were available. Either way, he’d see you before the night was over.

He wasn’t the most patient about it but still, he’d wait, craning his neck around the room until you made your way over to him.

This behavior of his had begun to cause a bit of a stir in the dressing room and in the beginning you’d done your best to ignore it but you were now at your wits end.

There were…rumors about Akira Nishikiyama and many of them circulated in the dressing room then made their way out into the streets of Kamurocho. Then, vice versa. It wasn’t as if you wanted to hear them. You never even asked but the information always managed to find its way to you somehow; be it an overheard conversation or someone giddily whispering over your shoulder what they’d just “found out”. In their minds, they thought it to be vital information for you.

After all, you were allegedly Nishikiyama’s “favorite”.

Some of the rumors were silly, nothing that anyone should have bothered to concern themselves with. Things like: A friend of a friend had given him her number and he’d never called her! What a jerk, right? Or, he’d dated some college girl a few summers ago and then suddenly broke it off and ever since she’d been telling everyone that she wants him back. Whose business was that anyway? Then, there were other things you would hear, that, even though you pretended not to care, it did perk your ears juuust a little.

There was a hostess that used to work with you a couple months ago who quit- reasons unknown. Word in the dressing room was that they had a bit of a “thing” together– a one night stand. She wouldn’t stop bringing it up whenever he showed up and requested you instead of her. Essentially, every time he showed up... You supposed it was meant to make you jealous but in reality, it only made you question why he’d go after such a bratty girl to begin with.

You questioned his taste, sure, but, jealous? Of course not.

You had another coworker who alleged to have hooked up with him too but she’d only mentioned it once or twice after going out drinking with the others after work. The rest did the legwork for her.

At the risk of making the man sound a tad promiscuous, there were quite a few different stories going around about him. All from different women. And although the stories all started differently, they typically ended the same way: Nishikiyama-kun went down on me and gave me the best orgasm of my life.

Again, it wasn’t as if you wanted to know these things but hearing that same conclusion time and time again did make you slightly curious. You had to admit. Could he really be that good? Then, you’d mentally kick yourself anytime you found the thought circulating in your mind. He was your regular– you shouldn’t be entertaining such thoughts even in absolute jest.

One had to maintain a level of professionalism here.

His notoriety amongst the ladies and his proclivity for you, though, had begun to make work a little unbearable. Where you once fell under the radar, you were now under the spotlight– right there with Nishikiyama and his wagging tongue. The gossip had gone from simply being about him and various faceless women in town to being about you, specifically.

And so, you became an object of resentment and envy.

In their minds, if you’d been hooking up with the man after hours, why not just come clean like the others? Also, you were raking it in when he stopped by! That had to go against some sort of guideline. You had to answer to managers on multiple occasions that, no, you were not having casual sex with a customer and yes, you did understand that went against club policy. The ladies couldn’t understand why the hell he would be giving you so much attention if you weren’t selling the goods on the side. You knew deep down the managers didn’t really care as it was bringing in a hefty, steady flow of cash but they were posturing to keep the others happy.

You got it from both ends and it pissed you off immensely because there wasn’t the slightest bit of truth to any of it.

In fact, the infamous “Nishikiyama-kun~” hadn’t come on to you once since he’d started requesting you all that time ago. Things were no different with him than they were with the rest of your customers and you were sure that your coworkers knew that as they tended to stand around and seethe and stare as you worked if they weren’t paired off with you.

You were the friendly hostess– the one that customers could count on to help cheer them up after a rough day. The listening ear, the shoulder to cry on. You were the one who lifted their spirits and made them laugh. That was your role. You weren’t quite equipped to play the seductress that they were all accusing you of being. Whenever your clients had their moods lifted high enough and were leaning in for something a little more playful, or romantic in nature, you called in reinforcements.

Even so, he’d always seemed to go at your pace. Never once have you ever had to pass him off to someone else and it sort of begged the question: What gives? If he was such a casanova picking up girls here and over yonder, why the hell hasn’t he ever tried anything with you? Were you not his type or something? It wasn’t as if you wanted him to hit on you– Gosh, anything but! But…

Well, you’d at least like the courtesy of shooting him down.

After everything you’d heard about the guy from the others, you thought, well, it’d just be polite!

“______!” the floor manager shouted your name, startling you as you reapplied your lipstick in the mirror.

The crimson had smeared past your lip line and down your chin. You looked up at him, making cold eye contact with his reflection in the mirror. You could see him biting back a smile as he pressed his palms together.

“Yeah?”

“One of your regulars is here to see you,” he said.

You cleaned the smeared lipstick, continuing to look up at him. “Alright, who is it?” But you didn’t really need to ask, you had a hunch.

“Nishikiyama-sama.” he said curtly.

“I see.” you said, fixing the neckline of your dress. “Let him know I’ll be out in a bit.”

The man bowed, “Of course.”

The woman at the vanity next to yours, a veteran at the club, shot you a dirty look. “‘Of course’.” she echoed.

You were so exhausted with the catty attitudes but you tried to at least respect the hierarchy of the place, as much as it pained you. So, you lifted yourself from the stool to excuse yourself and meet with your client. Before turning, you scanned your vanity for things that he’d previously gifted you with and decided on wearing them instead. So, you swapped the emerald and gold necklace for the pearl pendant he’d brought you last week. You spritzed yourself with the perfume from last month and slipped on the bracelet from the beginning of it all. You passed over your reflection one last time before heading toward the velvet curtains.

Perhaps it was a little embarrassing to say but Nishiki felt at home whenever he’d come to this place. The drinks were a bit watered down and overpriced but the food wasn’t bad and the service was phenomenal. He didn’t always feel that way though. In fact, it took more than a few tries to get it right and usually, he gave up on a place when it failed to satisfy him the first time. After all, every 10 paces, there’s another hostess club with the same damn drink menu with the same damn food with the same damn tropes of women to pawn off to the men willing to waste their time and money.

But not every single one of those clubs had a girl like you in it.

To say you were cute would have been an absolute understatement but that wasn’t what kept him coming back. Kamurocho was the land of beautiful women. It was the way you did your job. You suspected that he had money– he saw you size him up when you first greeted him but you never tried to upsell him on anything. If you were attracted to him, he sure as hell couldn’t tell. You never pushed yourself up on him or puffed out your chest, grabbed onto him or played in his hair like the treatment he’s used to at these sorts of places. You simply filled his drink, kept him company and looked absolutely stunning doing it.

Sometimes, you helped him relax– other times, you were the reason that he couldn’t but he’d never let you see him sweat…

Sure, he did have nights when he wanted to go out and have a cute girl go all out flirting with him every once in a while but he had other places for that. This place was where he went to take it easy or schmooze or both and he’d sing its praises (and yours) to anyone that’d listen. Hence why he brought so many people here– that and, he did have days where… and he couldn’t explain it but he just had a strong desire to hear your voice and see you, admire your smile and laugh, eyes and when you wouldn’t notice, your figure.

Tonight was one of those nights, the desire to just have you near him was so unbelievably strong but he feared his party this evening wasn’t the most hometrained. They just might’ve blown his cover if he wasn’t careful enough.

He sat back against the teal, chenille banquette, arms stretched along the back while his right leg crossed loosely over the left, foot rocking above his knee. He’d been smirking as his two old buddies from middle school debated inappropriately about what they would and wouldn’t do in bed. He reached forward and grabbed his lit cigarette from the ashtray as the conversation pivoted to oral sex. These guys were absolute goobers with no game at all. He hoped they’d stop by the time the girls arrived to keep them company or else they’d just start telling on themselves.

This should be good. He thought, right eye narrowing a bit as he softly hollowed his cheeks on inhale.

“I just don’t get how guys can stomach it for that long. A couple of licks and I’m over it.” his buddy Miura with a wife and two kids said.

Muira was a loyal friend but he wasn’t so much as a husband and to hear he was also a selfish lover, Nishiki could see why things turned out the way they did. He released his smoke and chuckled.

“‘A couple licks’?” he repeated incredulously.

His other friend, Takagi, folded his arm over his rounded belly and smiled proudly, “I do just enough to get ‘em wet then I stick it in.”

Nishiki’s eyes widened. He shook his head as he rubbed at his bottom lip with his cigarette wielding hand. “You guys are horrific. I don’t even want to imagine the horror stories those poor girls are going back and telling their friends about you.”

Miura clicked his tongue, “Who cares what stories they tell. I know what really happened!”

Nishiki raised a brow at his friend and teased, “What, that you didn’t make them cum?”

“That’s not true!” the man denied, his face quickly growing red. “I’ve made loads of ladies cum! I always make them cum! Every single one of them!”

“Somehow I doubt that, Mr. Two Licks I’m Out.” Nishiki laughed.

Takagi rested his arms on his knees and stared at their friend with a look of concern. “Say, Miura, why you making it sound like you get so much pussy or somethin’ anyway? I’m really thinkin’ of tellin’ your wife at this point. I mean, think of the kids.”

“She’s the one that started screwin’ that damn rice farmer!”

“Awww.” Nishiki and Takagi said in false sympathy. Muira had long forgotten he’d drunkenly admitted to his wife finding out about his regular cheating and agreeing to stay together for the sake of the kids but she would be stepping out in the meantime. Neither of them felt bad for him.

Great friend, horrible husband.

Your voice, as lovely as the last he’d heard it– two nights ago to be exact, cut into his banter with his friends and he tried to make sure he wasn’t too responsive when he turned to meet it. He was glad you didn’t have a stethoscope attached to his chest or otherwise you’d hear his heart playing blast beats.

“Sorry to keep you waiting!” you chirped, your hands clasped in between your thighs as you bowed deeply.

You were wearing that cute, knee length dress you’d just bought last week. He remembered you being so excited about it when you described it to him. He was subtle about his eyes when they scanned you from top to bottom before you swiped your pretty, manicured hands beneath your perfect ass to pull your dress taut before taking your usual seat beside him. He softly took his bottom lip in between his teeth and tilted his head to the side as he tried to regulate his breathing.

Fuck, you looked amazing tonight. You looked amazing every night but tonight you had a certain glow about you. He could just eat you up…

Figuratively, of course.

“It’s alright.” he said, finally releasing his lip and noting that a couple of unfortunate girls have paired off with his friends. “You’re a popular girl. That’s what I get for going after the best in the house, right?”

You gave him a polite smile and fumbled with your hands which were still in your lap as your eyes darted in between your coworkers. You’d never gone for flattery but usually you’d at least brush him off with a laugh. Instead, he sensed tension and this wasn’t the first time.

He removed his arms from behind the booth, positioning his clasped hands into the lap of his spread legs. He wasn’t even sure why he’d done it just that he was compelled to do it.

“So, Nish–”

“By the way–”

You both spoke, interrupting one another. You giggled, so precious, then offered him the floor. Nishiki searched your face before leaning in, you smelled amazing. Familiar. He knew that he’d smelled this scent before but this wasn’t what you typically smelled like. At least, he didn’t remember you smelling like this the other night. He should have remembered. When did you change perfumes? Wait, was this the one he’d gotten you and if so, why did it smell better now than when he smelled it at the store?

“Nishikiyama-san?” you said, when he continued to subtly hover over to you saying nothing. “Are you okay?”

Shit. He needed to get himself together. He was better than this.

“Sorry, I just noticed that you…” he mumbled, rubbing the tip of his nose as he realized he was at risk of losing his ‘flying under the radar’ game with a comment like this. “smell different.”

He watched you beam as you tucked your chin into your shoulder, bringing your manicured fingers to your chest, “You noticed! I didn’t think you would.”

“And why wouldn’t I?” he asked, folding his arms across his own chest playfully. You were the only damn girl in the place he paid any attention to. He’d notice if you plucked/waxed your eyebrows, if you dyed your hair or even if the color painted on your fucking toes was different since he’d last saw you.

You were his favorite.

You teased your hair, eyes dancing between his, “I don’t know. Most guys give us gifts and don’t remember that they’ve given them to us. Some people give gifts just to win favor or out of feelings of obligation– Or shut certain people up.”

Your voice lowered, and you rocked yourself in his direction to whisper that last part. He laughed. He usually hated workplace gossip when he went to these places but he’d listen to you tell him who was getting new tatami mats for their house if that’s what you had on your chest that day.

Speaking of chests, it wasn’t lost on him that your neckline was sort of plunging. You’d had some of the most gorgeous skin that he’d ever seen, amongst other things– except, he’s not supposed to be seeing it. If he’d been playing this properly, you had no inkling that he was even into you. There’d be no reason for you to suspect that the reason that the sweat beading around his hairline had likely come from the stress of avoiding any undue glances at the valley of your breasts and not the heat of the building.

“You think I don’t notice things, huh?”

He lost.

He snuck a peek but it was perfect– as were you, by the way.

“I got you that necklace, didn’t I?” he asked rhetorically, eyeing the necklace and absolutely nothing else. “Let’s see…”

You hid your folded hands in your lap once again and he reached delicately for the decorated forearm.

“That bracelet….”

You gasped dramatically.

“C’mon, I point that out every time you wear it…” he said, attempting to fight off the sheepish feeling that had been creeping up on him. “The perfume is new, though.”

“That’s because I wore it for the first time just for you tonight.”

His heart skipped a couple of beats and his ears rang. He had to look away. He didn’t really care where his gaze fell but he wanted to make sure he appeared as disinterested as possible. Fuck. The room was spinning, though. He scanned his friends who had long since forgotten his existence just as he’d forgotten theirs. He half rolled his head to crack his neck then stretched his arms back out onto the booth as he called to his friends.

“Miura, Takagi. We’ve been sitting here a while.” he said. “I say we order something.”

“You're paying right, Nishikiyama?” Miura laughed then tapped his hostess with his elbow. “Sweetheart, bring me the most expensive shit you got!”

When he looked at you, you went into your default, robotic menu presentation. He hated doing what he’d just done but he was never sure what to make of the things you said. He was sure you said sweet things like that to any man that came in and gave you gifts. You weren’t the only one he’d given a gift to either but you were the only one that made him feel things when he saw them again– the only one he put thought into while shopping for.

He lowered the menu in your hands and smiled, “You know what I like. Take care of me, yeah?”

You nodded, then turned to raise your hand to call over a server.

Nishiki pulled open the pocket of his maroon jacket to retrieve his pack of cigarettes and lighter then watched as you placed his usual order. He should’ve waited to let you light it for him but he’d gone into a trance. Even when doing something as simple as asking for liquor and greasy food, you looked like a divine being. Simply otherworldly. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off and had been off for some time now.

He blew out a puff of smoke that obscured his view of your side profile and once you were facing him again, it cleared and he could see it clear as day.

There was a crack in your transcendence.

What were you in need of?

How could he relieve you?

—

The usual 90 minute session plus extra hour extension that Nishiki tended to get with you flew by as it always did. His friends had left 30 minutes earlier- Miura, to get back to the wife and kids and Takagi to not risk cutting it close for the last train of the evening. So, there was no longer any need for the other two hostesses that accompanied you during the session. That just left him to spend the remainder of the time alone with you but he had no complaints about that.

He contemplated all evening when or even if, he should bring it up especially since he wasn’t certain at the time. Now that there was no one left but the two of you, it was clear as day. When your coworkers were there, you seemed quite anxious. You seemed to go into a quiet panic when he’d say certain things to you, too– which were never bad but if he had to wager, you must have been worried about them being taken out of context. Now that the girls were gone, you seemed calmer albeit still a bit tense.

He couldn’t just leave it alone.

He wasn’t sure what was going on but he suspected this place had much to do with it. He’d whisk you away if he could, even if only for one night.

“Say,” he said, placing his empty, sweating glass onto the table of chaos. “Where do you take up after hours anyway?”

Your confused expression was one of your cutest ones but he was sure his question was quite clear. You could fool anyone else but he wouldn’t let you try it with him.

“You’ve told me about your hobbies and stuff but you’ve never really told me what you like to do after work. How do you unwind?”

“Uh…” you trailed off and nothing else followed.

You shared a lot about yourself but there tended to be many things that you seemed to prefer to keep private. He wanted to know as much as there was to know about you. He wished that you would become an open book and show him all of your pages, even the unrefined, ripped and scratched out ones that you hid from everyone else.

“Don’t tell me you go home and do nothing?” he teased. “You know, your coworkers go out to hit the bars and clubs right after their shifts are done.”

You stared at him in silence for a moment too long then muttered, “Of course you would know.” as you looked away.

Something in that expression worried him. This time, he couldn’t even hide it if he wanted to. He felt his brows twitch together as he turned toward you on the banquette, resting his forearms on his knees. What the fuck has he done now?

“What do you mean?”

You shrugged, rolling your fingers over your thumb appearing indifferent. “I’ve heard about you…”

Oh. That. He could almost laugh but he didn’t.

He had been your regular for a year and 4 months, occasional client a couple times before that and this is only now coming up? It made his lips curl, his ears perk and his mouth salivate. What was it to you anyway?

What, did you want to know if the rumors were true too?

“Yeah?” he tried his best to contain his smile and so, he licked his lips instead. “And? Tell me… What am I famous for?”

He wanted so badly to tease you for the way your eyes popped then averted. He could feel the heat rising from you just from where he sat. Anywhere else, he might’ve given you a really hard time. But you were working, after all and he wasn’t sure if you realized it but, you two seemingly had an audience of employees pretending to be busy.

“The girls say that you’ve invited them out to hook up and never call them back or something.”

Or something, but something told him you knew the whole story. Cute.

“That’s the scoop, huh? So, I’m a hostess hopper, then?” He tightened his lips as he ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Alright, well. Do you want the truth or a lie?”

You scrunched your nose up at him, “I don't care to know your business but if I did, obviously I’d want the truth. What kind of question is that?”

His eyes scanned the room, noting your coworkers staring not-so-subtly as he rubbed his back against the teal seating, “I did recognize at least two girls here that I’ve been with before.”

“‘At least’?”

He nodded, tilting his head as he looked at you with a tired expression. “The thing is though, I didn’t realize they worked here until after it happened. It’s not as if I found them here and asked them out– They just so happened to be where I was. We talked. One thing lead to another–”

You waved a dismissive hand at him, letting him know that he was giving more information than you needed and wanted. “I think I get the jist. I know how hook-ups work, Nishikiyama-san.”

Nishiki straightened his posture and looked you square in the eye. “Just know that I never met them here and invited them out anywhere.”

“You know, Nishikiyama-san, I’m not sure that I really care all that much…” you said scratching your temple. “I’m not even sure why you’re telling me this.”

He had a buzz that helped him gather the confidence to do what he was about to do but he could feel it leaving him as soon his heart began to pound against his chest again.

“Because I want you to understand the difference when I tell you that I won’t pressure you, but if you’re looking for a change of pace once you’re done for the night…” he began, reaching into his wallet to retrieve a business card with an address, number and someone else’s name on it. “I recommend this bar. It’s run by a friend of mine. It’s a really nice place to unwind– never gets crowded. I’ll be headed there some time after this.”

He handed you the card and when you grabbed the other end of it, he continued to hold his end as he scanned your face. “This is what it looks like when I actually invite someone out.”

“Um,” you started. “I’m not promising that I’ll be there but–”

You’re nervous and you’re questioning his intentions. He can see it in your eyes.

“Excuse me sir but your session extension has expired.” a server interrupted but Nishiki ignored him. This was far more important.

“You’ll think about it?” he asked, finally releasing the card with a hopeful smile.

You smiled one final time before standing up out of your seat to do your session closing. “I’ll think about it.”

He rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants and nodded. “That’s all a guy could hope for.”

Part 2

~𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗~

#akira nishikiyama #nishikiyama akira #akira nishikiyama x reader #nishikiyama akira x reader #boy oh boy am i rusty #i have been fighting for my life with this fic LMAO #this one isn't meant to be deep or anything- it's just lighthearted fun! with a hint of work stress #bc i love writing about my faves saving me from work stress #fun fact: this fic happened due to my intentions of rewriting of a one paragraph smutty headcanon #that literally no one but me was meant to see LMAOOO WELP the rewrite got outta control now here we are #also- if you read kuro shiro you might notice a thing or two<3 im a sloot for referencing my own work kjdhfshf #it's all connected~

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velvettsuede · 2 years

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Going for a little walk for my mental health 😌💖

#mental breakdown #mental health #ootd #sloot #$lut #only4fans #onlyf@nz #uncensored on fansly #tease #pay me slave #goddess life #goddess

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bigslootadventures · 4 months

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We love our Cabin Life.

The old girl isn’t what she used to be once upon a yesteryear. Yes, its alright to say it.. “She hasn’t aged so gracefully” I know. She’s been through hell and back, no doubt, and she is still loved whether or not she creaks, pops, and growns all night long as we sleep or not. Or whether her old bone dry wood swells and contracts so dramatically that each year her roofing nails literally walk themselves out of the holes they were originally set in. Or, whether or not her window openings are no longer square, and the wind blows right through her. Yes, the old girls got character and charm all her own, no doubt, and we love her just as she is, with all her creaks and cracks, and for all the decades of selfless giving asking so little in return.

Come along and adventure with us in one of our favorite destinations on Clearlake, CA. as we enjoy: https://bigslootadventures.com/category/cabin-life/

#advenuture #outdoors #cabin life #nature #Big Sloot Adventures

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sailoryooons · 2 years

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Suga's How-To Guide | Tr(eat) Them Right | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Camboy!Yoongi x f. reader

☾ Summary: Min Yoongi has been a cam boy for a few years now. The work is easy, the money is good, and he has loyal viewers. When he approaches you and asks if you want to be his muse for a ‘how-to’ series, your view on the infamous Yoongi changes.

☾ Word Count: 6,096

☾ Genre: Friends to lovers, pwp

☾ 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: Mentions of a breakup, Yoongi is a sex worker, reader has 'meh' sexual experiences, semi-dom / sub dynamics (in how they interact sexually), sexually explicit content including: making out, nipple play, oral (f. receiving) dirty talk, voyeurism, like almost fingering but not quite, cum eating, implied sexual encounters in the future, and literally they are having sex in front of a live audience idk

☾ Published: August 1, 2022

☾ A/N: HAPPY AGUST MY FELLOW SLUTS AND SLOOTS. I have got to be the most unhinged person I know to be taking on this month long Yoongi project, but I am hoping that writing him for a month straight will manifest D-3 or Mint Yoongi. Sorry this is thirty minutes late - ur girl needed to eat some Chipotle because I was starving. This was definitely supposed to be a drabble but.... oops. The rest of the installments will definitely be more drabble style, but I wanted to establish some chemistry and background here. Happy 1st of Agust :)❀ 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.

“What?” you ask again, nearly dropping the glass of red wine in your hand. Yoongi’s cheeks are flushed and his pink lips twitch upward. He’s leaning on his elbows on the island countertop in Seokjin’s kitchen. “You want me to what?”

You’re a little buzzed from the wine and embarrassment. Moments ago, you had been playing never have I ever in the living room with your friends. It had resulted in numerous horrifying reveals, including that you had never – and you meant never – had an orgasm from oral.

Now, Yoongi leans on his elbows, an empty wine glass in between the two of you. Your heart skips a beat at Yoongi’s proposal: be on my how-to series. The first episode is oral on people with pussies.

“I said,” he laughs, voice deep and rough, “Be on my series. Let me show you how it’s supposed to feel when someone eats you out.”

Though you want to blame the wine you had sipped on during Seokjin’s birthday dinner for the flush in your face, the heat races through your body, you know it isn’t true. It’s Yoongi that makes you feel drunk, that fills the room with that heated confidence that makes you dizzy.

You’ve known Yoongi for a few years. You’d met him through your best friend Namjoon while you were all in college. He had always been the reserved, quiet man on the edge of your friend group. He always speaks when he feels he has something to say, and he’s more of a listener than he is a contributor.

He’s also a cam boy – and a popular one at that.

You remember how your cheeks flamed when Namjoon told you about Yoongi’s line of work. There’s nothing wrong with being a sex worker, getting off on cameras for thousands of viewers to make a steady income.

Rather – you had blushed because the thought of watching him was more appealing than you wanted to admit. And you’ve managed to not watch him, no matter how many times your friends said he was exquisite on camera, no matter how many times they told you God dammit, he has a beautiful cock.

And now he’s offering to eat you out? Maybe more? You shiver.

Now, standing in the kitchen and watching his dark eyes drink you in, you wish you had watched any of his shows. You have no idea what it entails. You have no idea why Yoongi is propositioning you of all people. Surely other people are more experienced – both in the cam space and in sex.

“Why me?” You hope the question doesn’t sound pitiful. But you can’t stop the words as they escape your mouth. “I’m not… I mean it’s embarrassing, right? Is this like a pity thing?”

Yoongi’s brows furrow and his mouth twists into a grimace. You can’t help but fixate on his lips, a perfect pink pout. You won’t lie to yourself and say that you haven’t thought about them before. You’ve always had a greedy fascination with Yoongi’s quiet banter and soft confidence.

But you had been in a relationship until recently, and those were thoughts you had hidden until now.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” Yoongi defends, shaking his head. His long, black hair is hidden underneath a beanie. You have to admit it looks good on him, despite loving how long his hair has been. “This- no. You’re hot, you seem like you were in a disappointing relationship, and honestly? I’ve thought about it before – I'm sorry if that’s weird or makes you feel weird.”

Heat burns through you. You look at the counter, picking at your nails and fighting a grin. Min Yoongi thinks you’re hot. It’s something you’d never thought you hear from him and you don’t hate it.

Chewing on your lip, you shrug. “It doesn’t make me feel weird.” He smirks a bit. “I don’t know. I’ve never…”

“That’s okay. Lots of men and women have never done cam work. Please don’t feel pressured to say yes. I thought…” He shrugs with a sideways grin. “I don’t know, I thought it would be enjoyable. For both of us.”

You look up at him at that. He hasn’t moved an inch, cat-eyes fixated on your every move. Something inside the pit of your stomach flutters. Yoongi is beautiful – unsettling in the way he bites his bottom lip, eyes turning to half-moons as he grins at you.

“Really?”

“Mhmm.” He drums his fingers on the counter. You catch the way the rings glitter. His hands are beautiful, long fingers made to move across instruments as he works on his music, almost ready for release.

You wonder how well Yoongi can play you, can make you sing like one of his instruments. It’s been a long time since a partner made you that explosive pleasure. Your ex, as in love with him as you were, hadn’t been interested in your body in a long time and -

“My eyes are up here.” You flinch, realizing you have been staring at Yoongi’s hands. You clear your throat awkwardly, flashing a nervous smile. “Think about it,” Yoongi concludes. “I know I’ve asked you a really difficult question out of nowhere. I don’t need to have an answer tonight.”

“When do you need an answer?”

“End of the week sound good?” You nod. He grins, all gums and squinted eyes. Your stomach flips as he pushes himself off the counter. “No pressure, okay? I just wanted to ask you.”

You nod. “Thanks for thinking of me.”

“I always do.”

Yoongi is chuckling and out of the kitchen before you can process his words, too flushed and nervous to analyze their meaning at that moment.

I always do.

It’s those words that drove you to text Yoongi four days later. It had taken you over thirty minutes to figure out the words. You typed and re-typed. Finally, you just hit send, throwing your phone across the room, screaming, and running in the other direction.

You barely made it across your apartment before your phone dinged. Hand sweating, you had crept back to the couch, flipping it over to see the text thread.

Me: I think I want to try it out. I promised myself to be more adventurous.

Now, you stand in front of Yoongi’s apartment. It’s in a high-rise looking over the city. You dressed simply per Yoongi’s request: jeans, a t-shirt, and some sneakers. Wiping the sweat from your hands on your jeans, you take a deep breath and knocked.

Soft steps sound behind the door. You hold your breath when the lock flips and the door opens, revealing Yoongi.

For a moment, your brain disconnects. You stare at him, mouth parted slightly. He's in a black t-shirt that’s fitted across his shoulder – broader than you remember – and grey sweats, hands tucked into the pocket. His eyes drink you in, not hiding the way they drag down your figure and back up.

“Hi,” he smirks, leaning on the door frame and opening the door for you to enter. Beyond the door and the delicious man leaning against it, it smells like teakwood and there’s a warm glow. “You look nice.”

You feel the rush of heat up your neck and cheeks. You pass him and murmur an unintelligible greeting, feeling shy as you step by him. He smells like spicy cologne and something specifically Yoongi.

Head swimming, you stand in the entryway as he shuts the door. His apartment is nice. It’s an open floor concept, a large kitchen with granite counters and dark wood cabinets looking toward the living room of warm browns and soft neutrals.

The setting sun paints the world honey as Yoongi locks the door behind you. You feel him when he walks by you, looking down with a small smirk. He gestures for you to follow him and you do, hands nervously twining your fingers.

His home looks lived in. There’s a coffee mug on the table, a blanket that looks recently used on the couch, and a stack of books on the side table next to the couch.

“What are you reading?” You ask, eyes going to the book you must have interrupted him from. It’s cracked in the middle, open, and face down.

“The Song of Achilles.” His voice is soft and raspy, sending a chill through you. He sits on the couch, scooting to make room for you. “A friend recommended it to me. Have you read it? It’s one of the most beautiful books I’ve ever read.”

“’We reached for each other, and I thought of how many nights I had lain awake loving him in silence.’”

“I knew I liked you.”

You gesture to your shoes and Yoongi nods his head. He leans back on the arm of the couch, angling himself toward you with one arm on the back. “So you like me now?”

“Always have.”

Your heart flutters as you slide your shoes off. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm. Unfortunately, until recently you have been chronically unavailable.” That pulls a laugh out of you. You settle on the edge of the couch, stiff and rod straight. Yoongi raises his brows at you, offering you a disarming smile. “Relax. I asked you to come early so we could talk and you could get comfortable. I’m not going to pounce on you on the couch.”

You let out a breath of laughter. “Sorry, my nerves are eating at me. I don’t mean to be so stiff.”

“Being stiff is my job.”

“Oof, terrible joke.”

“You laughed, though.” His smile is crooked as you lean back, letting your muscles relax. You’ve never been to Yoongi’s apartment before, but you’ve shared couches and close spaces with him before. “How was your presentation?”

You don’t know why it shocks you that he recalls that you’d been complaining about an upcoming presentation at Seokjin’s party. You look down into your lap. “It was good, thanks for asking. The business really liked it and they’re going to partner with us.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“How’s the music going?”

“Good. I’m finishing up on picking a single for the EP. Hobi has been helpful.”

“Do I get a sneak peek?”

He arches a brow. “You haven’t even had a taste and now you want a sneak peek, huh?”

You flush. “That’s not what I meant.”

“No, but you’re cute when you’re shy. You want to talk about doing this?”

No. Yes. You were here for a reason. You shoved your anxiety down and nodded your head vigorously. He hummed, drawing your attention to him.

Yoongi had a way of looking at you that made your head feel like white noise. His dark eyes were lit with curiosity, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. He looked so at ease and so confident, looking at you with a hundred things unsaid.

You want to feel that kind of confidence. For as long as you’ve known Yoongi, he has walked into every room he’s ever been in knowing who he is, trusting in his instincts. He has always moved through the world with a quiet thunder that you admired.

He looks that way now. Sure of himself. Comfortable.

“Do you have ground rules or tips?” you ask.

He smiles. “Good girl. That’s a great question. Yes to both. First rule is the most important: we stop the moment you’re uncomfortable. We can either use a safe word or a color system to express levels of comfortability.”

“A safe word?”

“Don’t worry – we're not doing that kind of video.” He pauses. “We can talk about that later if you’re ever interested. This is a word – or color – that we can use just to keep you comfortable and safe the entire time.”

“What’s the difference between a word and colors?”

“If you say the safe word, we stop everything and we do not start again. A color system is like a stop light: green you’re comfortable and enjoying yourself, yellow you’re hesitant and need a moment to talk about it or collect yourself, red we stop and do not start again.”

“I think colors make sense.”

He nods. “Good, I prefer that as well. I want to express again: at any time you can use these colors. I will stop immediately. You are my concern today. Not me, not the viewers. Okay?” You nod. “Verbally, please.”

“Okay.”

“Good. The second rule: I don’t use my name when I cam. I use Suga. Think you can remember to use that name if you have to use a name at all?”

“Yes. I don’t want to... use my name or anything either.”

He grins. “Not to worry, I won’t. Can I sit a little closer to you?”

Instead of answering, you shift closer to him. His hand is near your shoulder now, close enough to touch it. Sitting closer to him makes your stomach flip. He smells good and looks better. Your knees are pressed together, both of you sitting at an angle that allows you to look at one another head-on.

“You’re extraordinarily beautiful, you know?”

Your smile is soft. “I already agreed to do this. You don’t have to win me over.”

“I’m not trying to win you over. I’m an honest person who likes to let people know what I’m thinking. And right now I’m thinking that I am extremely happy you agreed to do this.”

“You say things and do things with so much confidence. I admire that.”

He shrugs. His fingers next to your shoulder brush the sleeve of your t-shirt, rubbing the material between his fingers. “I had to learn it. Believe it or not, getting off in front of a camera helps with confidence.”

“Maybe it will for me too.”

“Maybe.”

Yoongi covers a few more ground rules and notes. You start to lose focus, more interested in the way that his rough fingers trace patterns on your arm. You don’t remember lifting your arm to lay along the back of the couch with his, but now that you have, he runs his fingers up and down your warm skin.

Goosebumps scatter on your arm. You looked at the raised hair there as Yoongi’s soft voice puts you in a trance. He’s explained that while he shows his face, you won’t have to show yours. The angle is only chest down or can be stomach down if you prefer. You don’t decide right away.

The streaming series that Yoongi has crafted is a mini-series on how to correctly perform specific sexual acts. The one you’ve volunteered for he has cheekily named How to Tr(eat) Them Right. You smirk at the name and roll your eyes, equal parts charmed and unimpressed.

Unlike most of Yoongi’s streams, this one does not include taking requests from viewers, and though there is a little interaction with his loyal fans, Yoongi’s purpose is to focus on you while providing some educational commentary.

“What do you like?”

“Hmm?” Your eyes draw back up to his where he gives you a smug grin. “I didn’t catch that.”

“You like my fingers?” You chew the inside of your cheek. You try to channel his confidence and nod. “Behave and I’ll get to use them, yeah?”

God, he’s fucking hot. He always has been. Looking at him now, you realize that while dating Michael, your blinders have been off. Everything about Yoongi calls to you now. You feel your breath quicken, your vision focus.

“I asked what you like?” His fingers trail to your wrist, flipping your palm over and running his fingers over the lines there. “Do you have trouble getting off in general with oral, or have your partners done something you don’t enjoy?”

“I don’t have a lot to go off. Honestly, before Michael, I’ve only had one person go down on me.”

He grunts and rolls his eyes. “A shame, truly. You’ve been deprived of something that can be incredibly empowering and pleasurable. Was there anything that ever felt good that you can recall? I’m just trying to see if you have preferences.”

“I just feel like often they don’t know where the clit is?”

“It happens. Not to me, but you know. To others. What else?”

You think. “Sometimes it was treated as a way to get me wet, and they’d just go right to it for a few minutes before deciding it either wasn’t worth it or they were bored? Or maybe something is wrong with me and-”

Yoongi holds up a hand, stopping you short. “There is nothing wrong with you. Please don’t let a man’s selfishness convince you that your body is weird or undesirable. You are beautiful. Even the parts of you I don’t know yet.”

You stare at him. How has the world created Min Yoongi? He tentatively links your fingers with his. His hand is warm. The feeling spreads down your arm to your chest. He makes you feel warm all over.

At that moment, Yoongi is the first person to make you feel like there isn’t something wrong with you. You believe him inherently. You believe in the way he squeezes your hand. In the way he keeps eye contact. In the seriousness of his face.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “That means a lot to me.”

“It’s just a basic truth that I hope you believe.” He stands, unfolding his limbs and taking your hand with him. He tugs gently. “You ready? I’m just going to show you my room and the camera and everything. See positioning – clothes on. We’ll talk through it a little and I’ll show you how it works.”

You nod. He grins. Hands linked, he takes you to his room.

Cool, dark air greets you. There’s soft lighting from modern sconces on either side of his bed. They glow warm like the salt lamp on top of the desk across from his bed. There’s a camera set up and a small table with a laptop. You can see the soft ring light off the webcam.

You hesitate upon seeing the intimidating setup. It is somehow less than you imagined but still just as threatening when you realize what you’ve agreed to do.

Yoongi steps into your line of sight. He lets go of your hand to cradle your face delicately. His fingertips are gentle as he makes you look at him, his dark eyes searching.

“Color?”

“Green.”

His smile is gummy and he leans forward. You sharply inhale, thinking he’s going to kiss you. His lips brush against your forehead briefly and you immediately want more. You stare after him as he drops his hands from you, launching into his setup: what angles he uses, how you’ll be shot, what kind of light to expect.

It goes in one ear and at the other. You’re watching him intensely. His pink tongue wets his lips between sentences. His ringed fingers run through his long hair went he looks down, causing strands to fall in his eyes. His veins are prominent and shadowed in the low lighting.

Watching him explain every detail awakens something inside of you that you had not been expecting. A hunger for him ignites and you find yourself hypnotized and unhearing. You want him to touch you again. Want to feel gentle hands on your skin, want him to warm your mouth with the soft lips that have only graced your forehead.

Yoongi sees you staring and he laughs at you, crossing his arms over his chest. Had he always been this broad? You’re unsure but you have the itch to slide your hands under his shirt and feel him.

“You’re pouting,” he teases. “Why are you pouting, hmm?” You shrug. He drops his hands to his side and approaches you slowly, gaze growing darker. “Is it because you want me to touch you? Be honest, baby.”

“Yes.”

Yoongi stands so close to you that when you tilt your head up to him, you can feel his breath ghosting over your lips. You can press your lips to his if you move forward just the slightest. But you don’t, breath shaky as you look up at him. The roundness of his cheeks, the sharpness of his eyes.

“I’ll warm you up before we go live,” he whispers. His voice is even darker than before and you shiver. His hands slide around your waist, pulling a sigh out of you. He presses you against his chest. You feel his heart beating wildly against your own. “Color?”

“Green,” you whisper.

“Good.”

When Yoongi kisses you, your anxiety melts away. You can’t remember what you were anxious about before? Something about a camera and being naked on a live stream? None of it matters as he slots his mouth against yours, gentle but sweet.

Yoongi’s lips are soft soft soft. Softer than you ever imagined that they could be. He pulls away from you after the chaste kiss but you make a sound of protest, chasing his mouth that curves into a smile when you pressed your lips against his once more, hungry.

You surprise Yoongi by licking the seam of his mouth, asking for entrance. He opens his mouth to you, letting you kiss him soft and slow. He tastes like spearmint and heaven. Your hands curl in the hair at the nape of his neck, sliding through the silky soft strands as his tongue brushes yours.

Fuck Min Yoongi knows how to kiss. After letting you lead initially, he takes control of the kiss, shifting you so that he’s leading you back to his bed. His hands are on the small of your back, leaning you down, hands reverent. He separates just for a moment, giving you long enough time to blink up at him, stars in your eyes.

“Fuck you’re cute,” he rasps, grinning as he gives you a peck. And then another. Yoongi leans on his forearms, placing them on either side of your head. He makes room for himself between your legs. You let them fall open as he slots himself, pelvis pressed against your core where you’re already needy. “We won’t start until I think you’re ready and until you’re in bras and panties, yeah?”

You giggle and he arches a brow at you. “The words panties is so not sexy.”

He hums, leaning down to nip at the bottom of your lip. “Careful or I’m not going to let you cum.”

Your eyes go round as you look up from him. He grins at you before lowering himself again, catching your lips in another kiss. This one is searing and needy, all tongue as Yoongi’s right hand leaves the bed to trace the skin of your hip, fingers tentatively drifting under your shirt.

Yoongi makes you dizzy. You moan into his mouth when he rolls his hips into yours. Your hips twitch upward, seeking friction. You wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer.

More. You want more.

Kissing him makes you feel drunk. You barely register how he peels your shirt off your body and tosses it. You’re only dimly aware when he slides your jeans down your legs. You’re too busy writhing under him as he kisses your jaw down to your neck where his teeth nip into your sensitive flesh.

Fuck you have never been this turned on and he’s barely done anything.

Yoongi’s hands skate up your sides as his tongue licks the freshly bitten skin of your throat and collarbones. He grips you gently over your thin bra, thumbs brushing back and forth over your hardening nipples. It draws a loud moan from you, making him pull back slightly and look down at you.

In a haze, you look up at him. His lips are swollen and bitten from you nipping and sucking his bottom lip. His thumbs continue to brush over your sensitive nipples, making you shiver underneath his touch.

You cannot recall another partner ever making you feel this way. Ever.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You’re gonna be the death of me. Sound so fucking sweet when you moan like that.”

“Feels good.”

He lowers his face toward your chest, charcoal eyes flickering up at you as he sticks his tongue out of his mouth, taking one, tentative lick at your nipple through your bra. Your chest arches towards his mouth, making him laugh as you let out a breathy sound.

“Sensitive?”

“Yes, fuck.”

“Good.” His hands slip under you toward the clasp of your bra. His glossy lips hover just above your bra as he asks, “Color?”

“Green.”

“Good to take this off?” You nod. Yoongi pulls the fabric off your chest, the cold air making you shake. You’re shy for just a moment, gripping his biceps a little firmer to keep you from covering yourself. He drinks you in and shakes his head. “Fucking perfect.”

Yoongi doesn’t miss a beat. He dives in, wrapping his hot mouth around a nipple and sucking hard. You curse underneath him. His tongue circles your bud, sending electric currents through your body while he lightly tweaks the other with his hands.

He pulls his mouth from you, plum lips slick with spit. He runs his tongue across the middle of your chest, making you bow into him. Everything feels so good. His hands. His mouth. His tongue. His breath on your skin. The way his hair tickles you as he pulls at your nipple gently with his teeth.

Yoongi drops a hand between your legs, gently brushing his fingers against your clothed folds. You’re already dripping for him, sticking to your panties like honey. He moans against you, the hum stimulating him further.

With wet lips and quick breaths, he kisses his way back up to your neck, pressing a firm, close-mouth kiss to your lips. “Gonna pull you down to where I need you, okay?” You nod. You feel like the room is spinning as he kisses your jaw while wrapping his arms around your legs. “I’ll get pillows to prop you up. Just a few more minutes and I’ll start, okay? I have to talk a little bit, but just focus on me, yeah?”

With a heavy nod, you do as he says. Yoongi props pillows behind you, stealing a kiss on the way. You can’t get enough of him. Lips, hands, teeth seeking him. He indulges, letting you distract him a few moments more as your tongues tangle in the sweetness of one another.

When he pulls away, he brushes his nose against yours. “It’s just you and me,” he whispers. “I’m gonna start. Color?”

Your heart thunders in your ears. This is your last moment to back out. You realize what you’ve agreed to do and suddenly, you begin to worry. You look up at Yoongi – his blown pupils, the tiny sheen of sweat on his brow, the swollen lips, and hungry gaze.

And you remember that you can stop any time.

With trembling lips and unsteady hands, you murmur, “Green.”

His smile is gentle and sweet on the edges. He kisses your brows and drops down to the floor to his knees. You watch, fascinated as he opens the laptop and clicks around. There are no extra lights. It’s just the glow of the laptop and soft ring light, and the amber sconces that bathe the room in shadows and gold.

You can feel your breath shuttering in and out of your lungs as he grins at the camera. He reaches out a hand as he begins to talk, rubbing your thigh soothingly. He glances at you briefly to check in on you and you nod, only focused on Yoongi and not the camera.

There is the curiosity to look, but you don’t. Not yet.

Yoongi doesn’t miss a beat. His hand is a soft wave against the shore, rubbing up your thigh and then back. Every time he strokes upward toward your thigh, he gets a little closer to your panty line, you realized.

With furrowed brows, you realize that he’s still teasing you even while he mentions some of his more popular viewers. Reminds them that while this live is supposed to be educational, it’s also about you and your pleasure, so he’ll only provide context when he feels like it’s needed.

Deep laughter draws you out of your thoughts. Yoongi is situated between your thighs as he turns away from the laptop, kissing your knee gently. His eyes find you and they’re glittering, as though you’re the only thing that matters right now.

“Our volunteer would like to remain anonymous, PJM13,” Yoongi answers. He nips your thigh and your legs shake. “But I do agree. Her thighs are fucking glorious.”

Using both hands, Yoongi rubs up and down your legs. He lifts himself slightly, just enough to reach up and kiss you again. You know they can’t see your face – he must be okay with vanishing out of frame as he sucks on your tongue, drawing a pretty sound from you.

When Yoongi pulls away, he nips your nose lightly, making you huff a laugh. Your stomach is curling and your pussy has started to ache. You need him. A whine escapes you as you sink back down. He notices. His lips curl.

“The first rule to eating pussy,” Yoongi murmurs just loud enough for the mic to pick up. “Is that whether it’s the end game or it’s the start of your sexual encounter, you still need to lead up to it. You can’t just give in and expect them to enjoy it. There is foreplay to the foreplay.”

Carefully, both of Yoongi’s hands drift to your waist and stop on your underwear line. He looks up at you with a question in his eyes. You don’t even care that you’re about to bare your pussy to an entire live audience. Yoongi has you worked up and distracted, so hot and bothered under his gaze that you don’t hesitate to nod.

With a quick kiss on your inner thigh, his fingers curl under the fabric and slowly pulls them down.

“My prefer method of foreplay to the foreplay,” Yoongi continues. “It’s touching. Kiss them, make them feel good. Kiss the neck, the jaw, the ear. Tell them how beautiful they, are worship them and make them feel safe.”

Yoongi tosses your underwear somewhere and his eyes drop down to your glistening eat. Your legs twitch shut and he looks up at you, waiting to see if you need to stop. You take a steadying breath and let your legs relax as Yoongi drops his gaze down.

“Fucking hell,” he says – more to you than to anyone else. “Such a pretty fucking pussy. So nice and wet. That for me?”

He looks up at you for an answer. Instead of nodding, you take a breath and murmur, “Yes.”

His grin is dazzling, hands still caressing you. “Communication is key,” he tells you – or maybe the audience you’re not sure. “Do you want it slow or fast?”

“Slow.”

He hums and begins kissing your thighs. Your head falls back under his touch. You can hear him say something about you shouldn’t put your mouth near someone’s cunt if they’re not at least a little wet. Or if they have trouble getting wet without a mouth, to use a little flavored lube – never spit – he admonishes a comment. Spit will make your mouth dry.

When you feel his breath over your center, your head snaps up. You had not realized how much you were trembling. Yoongi lowers his mouth, saying nothing as he sticks his tongue out, grinning before he slowly licks you from hole to clit.

You drop your head back and moan loudly. You don’t remember even the first lick feeling this way when others went down on you. Your muscles clench as Yoongi dips down and repeats the motion, slowly licking through your folds until he circles your clit a few times, tongue tracing lazily.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “Tastes so fucking good. You have no idea how hard it is not to just devour you right now.” With amusement in his eyes, Yoongi watches your reaction as he tongues your entrance, tracing the ring of muscles with his tongue teasingly. You whine loudly, wiggling your hips. He grips your thighs firmly. “Slow is always a good pace to start at,” Yoongi says softly. “Savor the taste. Let them feel the build. Apply the tortoise and the hair here.”

You hardly notice the way Yoongi murmurs between curious licks. You think he’s saying what he’s doing – you’re not too sure. All you know is that he flicks his tongue over your clit gently at first, onyx eyes focused on you as he watches your reactions. You’re panting, finding it hard to breathe as he applies a little more pressure.

Yoongi’s grip on your thighs turns to caressing again as he closes his mouth around your clit and sucks gently. You jerk forward at the pleasure that shoots through you like an arrow. He seems startled but doesn’t let go, sucking greedily as one hand traces up your stomach to your chest, pushing you back down softly.

Piece by piece, you fall apart. Yoongi alternates between sucking your clit into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue expertly, and tracing his tongue back down to fuck you with it. Your pussy clenches around nothing, squirming and worked up.

Worked up is putting it lightly. As his commentary dies down, he focuses more on you. Drinks you in. Makes wet, lewd noises as he makes his ministrations firmer, faster. He eats you out vigorously. Presses his mouth into you, and lets your juices drip down his chin.

Yoongi’s mouth is swollen and glossy and he doesn’t seem to care, closing his eyes and enjoying himself. He hums as he licks and sucks at you. He matches your light moans with his dark timbre, grunting when you twitch and roll your hips into his mouth.

An orgasm builds slowly, but like a storm. You feel it building in pressure. Curses and words that don’t make sense leave your mouth. Your thighs begin to shake as Yoongi sucks your clit harder.

“Please,” you beg, voice strained. “Holy fuck please.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi asks, panting as he drags his tongue up you once. Twice. “Gonna cum for me?” You’re nodding helplessly. He brings a hand down, a single finger playing with your hole. You let out a cry, gasping for air as your hips twist. “Such a pretty little hole. Wanna feel you cum on my face before you get my fingers.”

It barely registers that Yoongi is implying he wants to do more than make you fall apart at the seams with his tongue. He brings his mouth back down to you, shutting his eyes as he lavishes you with his tongue.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” you pant, squeezing your eyes shut. “I’m gonna- god damn fucking shit.”

Everything goes taught like a wire. You can’t breathe. Your thighs clench, your hands shoot to his hair and grab a hold of his locks, making him moan into you. Your toes curl and for a moment, there is no sound but the roaring of blood in your ears.

The storm clouds break open and you melt into your orgasm. It’s like the sky has opened, the wind rushing to sweep you away. You collapse into the bed with a loud shout – you don’t even know if the shout was loud or if everything is oversensitive.

Yoongi licks you through your orgasm, not wasting a drop. You’re gasping for air when his tongue circles your clit again. You whine and he laughs, pulling his face from your center and kissing up your stomach and chest, leaving a glassy trail of spit and cum in his wake.

When he meets your lips, you lean up toward him, hands grabbing his face. You smash your lips against him, tasting yourself – sweet and tangy – on his mouth. You’re greedy for him, absolutely gluttonous.

“Fuck,” he pants, trying to catch his breath. “You are so fucking hot, babe.”

The endearment sears through you like lightning. “That was so fucking good,” you whisper, holding his face between your hands. “God that was so good.”

He grins. “That?” He pecks your lips again. “How do you feel about showing them how to do one more? And then maybe we can talk about another guest feature, hmm?”

“Fuck,” you gasp as Yoongi sucks the sensitive spot on your neck. “Please.”

Next Chapter

#haliiimede writes #bts smut #bangtan boys #bts fanfic #min yoongi fanfic #bts min yoongi #min yoongi smut #yoongi smut #bts yoongi #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #suga bts #suga fanfic #suga smut #halishappyagust #sex worker au #minors dni #minors do not interact

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kiame-sama · 3 months

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I just saw StupidSloot doesn't like Helluva Boss and Hazbin! You should tell her why she's wrong!

... No?

Like, seriously. No.

Y'all do realize that people are allowed to have their own tastes and interests and it is neither the place nor job of others to try and police what they like, right? Legitimately, I enjoy the content @stupid-sloot-headcanons makes and I am not even vaguely upset they don't like Helluva or Hazbin. It is not my job to get on their ass about it, it is not my place to get on their ass about it.

This is the joy of life, friends. Once can cultivate and create their own space with what they enjoy. That in no way gives me or ANYONE the right to try and tell someone what they should and shouldn't like. I still love the headcannons and ideas Sloot willingly shares with us and I respect that Helluva/Hazbin is not at all their kind of show and they don't like it. I'm not the fun police and you sure as shit shouldn't try to be either.

If you honestly think that I have to cut out others because they don't like the exact same shows or movies I like, you can leave my profile and block me. I'm being serious. People are not required to like what others do and I sure as shit don't support the idea of heckling someone to enjoy what I enjoy. If you think like this anon, get the fuck off my page and don't come back. Leave Sloot the hell alone and let them enjoy their desired media without y'all crying about it. Legit, fuck off.

#kiame-sama #what kind of ask is this?#let people enjoy things #let people dislike things #dont be the fun police #no one likes the fun police

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veritable-trash · 1 year

Text

You Know The Rules

look at that stupid slutty mustache... god please answer my prayers just this once

Pairing: Finnegan(Everybody Wants Some!!) x Fem!Reader

Summary: God you hate him.

Word Count: 2K

Rating: M - mainly for drugs babayyyyy, weed, that good, otherwise it's pretty clean in these sheets(this time around)

A/N: haha. no one asked for this. but listen! all my glen powell sloots we need to remember the original. sweet daddy finnegan. mustached, shaggy haired, 80s baseball player i mean i couldn't have written a sluttier man if i tried. this movie isn't the greatest, but the music is dope, the outfits are cute, and it serves as a public service announcement that men need to start wearing crop tops IMMEDIATELY. this is a petition for men to start dressing like sluts again so i can finally be at peace. anyways this is completely and utterly self serving but the glen powell top gun resurgence just kept reminding me that this is peak glen to me. give me mustaches or give me death!

sorry that i haven't written... or literally done anything of value in an eon. my brain has given up and also i moved and am currently unemployed and am about to go travel for three months and want to write but have zero inspiration and tumblr makes me sad because everyone is so good at writing and i am a troll under a bridge. this is me trying to release the need to produce things of "value" because does that even mean anymore? i hope someone finds this a little fun because honestly i kinda did :) hugs and kisses <;33333

tell me what you think! i'm literally begging! on my hands and knees! the desperation is palpable yeesh

masterlist yay yay!!!

~~~~~

College.

What a fucking heinous place. Filled with suffocating expectations, the constant need to pretend you’re someone you’re not because of everyone else’s supposed opinions of you.

It made you want to vomit.

And yet here you were, cowering in the corner of the kitchen at this stupid, lame, awful college party. A baseball party no less. Those absolute heathens. Probably the worst category of men on this campus by about 20 miles and you were definitely counting.

The joint you haphazardly rolled in the absolutely disgusting bathroom crackles between your lips as you try to tune out every single person here and catch the steady baseline of the song playing hoping that that will somehow lull you into a state of calm.

This new weed sucked shit. All stems, all seeds, and got you high for about 30 seconds. You were going to kill Willoughby when you saw him. Honestly the only baseball player in this house you liked and even he was about to get moved right onto the shit list with the rest of the men of this house.

Your friends had badgered you endlessly all week to ask Willoughby for the invite, not that you really need to even ask him. Girls? More than one? The baseball boys were already salivating like it was their last meal on death row.

The standards in this place were in the fucking basement.

Some would call you a pessimist. Angry, bitchy, snippy, negative, the whole gambit and they might be right. But college was a fucking weird ass place that made your skin crawl and your anxiety spike and all you wanted to do was smoke your green, pass your classes, and watch your cartoons in peace, please and thank you.

And then his voice cut through your slow building haze like a serrated knife on a chalkboard. Made of sandpaper.

“Sweetheart! I thought Willoughby mentioned you’d be here, and why am I not surprised you’re toking it up alone in our kitchen, my favorite little stoner weirdo.”

Finnegan.

The absolute ultimate fuck.

Mustached, wide shoulders, shaggy blonde, crisp baby blues, he was everything your vagina yearned for until he opened his stupid mouth. And of course that was just as pretty as the rest of him too.

You’d met him for the first time freshman year. Fresh faced and thinking the world was truly your oyster, he’d popped into your life in intro to philosophy and swept you away with his silky, fancy words and the fact that he looked like that.

He’d invited you to the first baseball party you’d ever gone to and made you a special promise that he would be your knight in shining armor for the night. That he’d be waiting for your arrival, was counting down the minutes till you showed up at his door and he could dance the night away with you.

That was until you saw him sucking face with Tracy. Who was also in your intro to philosophy class.

Obviously, you’d hated him to his core ever since.

But for some reason he’d stuck around. Always kept tabs on you, always had a class with you, always found you at any party, bar, disco, literally fucking anywhere and it made you want to tear your hair out.

He was your pretty boy kryptonite and you needed him to leave you the fuck alone.

“Oh Finny. Finny, Finnegan, fuckhead. You know I thought I’d somehow be able to avoid you tonight but it seems like my stalker persists no matter the obstacles.”

Smoke trickles from between your clenched teeth and he has the audacity to stare at your lips and grin.

Fucking grin!!!

“You wound me princess. Ain’t even gonna share that little pinner of yours, I mean the absolute cruelty of it all.”

The grins still blazing on his lips but in Finn fashion he has to play up his part.

Clutching at his pearls, leaning against the kitchen counter like you’d just stabbed him straight through. Your eyes roll so far back in your head they almost launch themselves out of your skull.

“No Finn, I’m not gonna share with the likes of you. Go find Will and get him to roll you one, he’s the one I got the weed from anyways. Or maybe go find some other poor unsuspecting girl to do the deed for you, but you ain’t getting shit from me. You know the rules sweet Finny: ass, cash, or grass and god only knows I ain’t taking any of those three from you.”

You regret those last few words the second they enter the air between you.

Because Finnegan’s eyes drop straight to your mouth again and now he’s crowding you into the corner of the counter.

“Oh sweetheart if you just let me show you what this ass can do I think you would be singing quite a different tune. You think I’m all bravado and show but you and I both know the two of us could be quite a duo. I just know you’re absolutely unreal beneath that veneer of hatred you slap on.”

He’s still staring at your lips, the joint hanging limply between them as you try and control your breath and not cough up a lung.

Two can play this fucking game.

You take a thick drag, the tip burning bright orange and crackling like cinders and his eyes only deepen in shade. The smoke curls out and up into your nose and he stares at you his jaw dropping a little slack as you play him like the fucking fiddle he is.

“Finn.” Your index finger trails up his arm as you ash the joint in the sink, and you can feel the muscles of his bicep twitch with the contact. “If you think I’m gonna let you touch me you’ve lost your god damn mind. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go find some peace and quiet. Away from you.”

Your voice is sticky sweet and he barely registers that you’re telling him off for the millionth time tonight until you’re traipsing out of the kitchen at lightning speed before you do something else you’ll regret.

He got too fucking close this time around. You let him get too fucking close.

Your feet stomp quick up the stairs to the only safe place you’d ever been able to find in this house.

The roof. That blissful open space, like the crispest breath of fresh air it tasted almost minty. Your hands dig into your pockets looking for your weed, your lighter, and your rolling papers-

Fuck.

Of course you’d forgotten papers, predicable as always and fucking annoying as hell and you’re about to turn back down the stairs when your eyes land on something sitting on the windowsill.

Finn’s wood pipe.

You loved to hate it but it was his calling card. Stupid and quirky and so perfectly him that the sight of it made you heart twist just a little.

Not that you would ever fucking admit that.

Well beggars can’t be chooser as they say.

It’s deceptively crisp out on the roof as you shuffle around other groups till you get to your super secret corner on the far side of the house. No one ever seems to want to venture this far and you could smoke in peace and tranquility as the rest of the party raged somewhere far, far away.

The bowls packed, green just catching a smolder and you have to admit the stupid Sherlock Holmes pipe is kinda fun. Maybe you’d leave a fresh bowl packed for sweet Finn as a secret thank you gift.

Maybe this weed was stronger than you thought.

“Alrighty first you don’t share your joint, then you verbally assault me in my own house, and now you’re smoking out of my pipe? You really are trying to start a fight with me this evening now aren’t ya?”

Your eyes are red rimmed and your brain has that pleasant haze coating every synapse and you can’t find it in you anymore to really fight Finn right now. The stars look too damn good and the tree has hit too damn deep to let your hackles rise.

“You know maybe I’ve been giving you a bit of a hard time, but you damn well deserve it.” You smile around the pipe as you take another drag, but this time you pass it to Finn as he sits down just a little closer than usual.

His fingers snag against yours as you pass it and you both flinch a bit at the contact, sparkles zipping up your arms.

He stays quiet this time around, pulling puffs as you both watch people flit around the grass below you, the party continuing into this seemingly never ending night.

Friday’s, they really were something.

Your knees knock, fingers catching again as he passes the pipe back to you. Another pull fills your lungs and you lean back, back, back until your back presses down on the cool paneling of the roof and you let the smoke drift up and away among those pretty little stars.

“Finn you can just be so fucking annoying sometimes, I just wanna shut you up for like five seconds so we can all take a fucking breather.”

He laughs at that. Real and deep, curling around the base of your spine as he turns to stare down at you and the feeling spreads all the way to your fingertips. All the way to your toes.

“I’m well aware, but it’s sorta a part of my charm. I’m just waiting for it to final start charming you.”

Your eyes click to his, haze lifting for a split moment, and his eyes twinkle almost brighter than the stars.

“That’s such a fucking line and you know that shit doesn’t work on me. Fool me once and all of that jazz.” But you can’t stop staring at him and now his eyes color puzzled, a little hazy as he tries to decipher your words. “Oh come on, freshman year? You invited me to the party with all your fancy little words that you love to spin for me to only find you eating Tracy’s lips straight off her face? Honestly she still talks about that night to this day so I guess in a weird way kudos to you but man that did sting a bit.”

You chuckle around another pull and you go to pass it back but he’s clearly no longer interested in that. He seems very intent on memorizing every detail of your face under the stars and you can’t help but wiggle a little under his hyper focused gaze.

“I-I didn’t know that you were there that night. McReynolds told me you’d left with some dude and Tracy was more than willing to fill in that blank.”

Oh fuck.

You’re both just staring at each other as moment after moment click like puzzles pieces. Every snippy comment, every lingering glance, every class, every time you just happened to run into each other all no longer strange coincidences and some secret hatred. Every little moment stitching itself together till it left just you and Finn.

And there’s that fucking grin again.

But it’s softer this time, a little less sleazy and a little more lovely and now you’re sure his eyes are brighter than any star.

Your own lips tick up with a soft, nervous smile.

His fingers card between yours and he brings your knuckles up to his lips, stupid mustache tickling your skin in ways that make you shiver.

“I feel like nows the time to return to my earlier question since you finally shared some of that green with me, so what do I owe ya? Ass, cash, or more grass?”

You snort into the air between you and his grin splits into a megawatt smile and you finally let yourself tumble head first into kissing stupid, idiot, fuckhead Finnegan.

“Ass, 100%.”

~~~~~

tell me what you think if anyone is actually reading this because i'm bored and this site is lonely and i just want some weirdo friends who also think mustaches are peak sexiness. alright i need to go to sleep the psychosis is taking over :P

#finnegan x reader #finnegan #glen powell #glen powell fanfiction #everybody wants some #walt finnegan #walt finn finnegan #everybody wants some!!#finnegan x you #walt finnegan x reader #walt finnegan x you #jake seresin x you #and yes i am faking you top gun bitches out because you need to convert #to the church of glen powell with a stache and scruffy hair #this is the way #everybody wants some fanfiction #i don't even know what else to tag nobody is looking for this shit this is literally just for me

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