#the workers little nightmares

[randybutternubber]

More goo kid and worker drawings for the like… one other person who remembers them. If you wanna see my first post and drawings of them plus HCs (they’re better than these I swear), you can go through the goo kid tag on my blog. And also one shadow kid snuck in

@mjrdm

I guess I’ll sprinkle in a few more HCS

In the third picture I basically just drew my idea of why the goo kid looks like a burnt up hairball covered in tar. They were chased by a worker(s) into part of the factory that had large vats of that weird goo liquid. The worker ended up attacking them, tearing one of their overall straps, and with no other choice, they took the plunge and proceeded to get lost in the sauce. Quite literally.

The goo isnt something that they can just wash off, especially since they kept putting it back on as a way to blend in with the workers. It’s kind of a part of them now.

The goo ended up blinding them in one eye when they initially fell into the vat

I guess warning for more dark HCs, although I feel like they all align with the darker content in LN

The goo is made up of whatever the workers don’t use from the body of a child, oil, tar, melted plastic and other things that you probably don’t want to be smeared on your body. After a worker kills a kid, they essentially strip their body for parts like fabric, metal or plastic from buttons, teeth, etc. basically any sort of material they can use. Most fabrics and other materials that the workers can’t use are sent up in a dumbwaiter to the chained lady so that she can hopefully find a use for them. Most of the organic parts of the kid can’t be used, so they burn them in a furnace that’s very similar to the one in the maw. It likely has a hand in powering the factory as well. The ash is then processed with some other materials to create the goo. This goo plus some other bullshit or something is how workers are made.

Something something pink sauce McDonald’s

If you actually look at the factory/stone giant as a whole, a lot of it doesn’t actually make sense or should work logically. There are a lot of machines that just shit out their products into god knows where and a lot of them are just needlessly complicated

The reason why goo kid adjusted so well to life in the factory is that they were taken to the nowhere at a relatively young age. The incident with the vat happened shortly after they arrived. They basically grew up among the workers, and while they aren’t really friendly towards them, they aren’t outright aggressive unless they mess with the machines. They probably see them as a defective worker or something.

All workers have mouths, but not all of them have permanently exposed teeth

Workers are VERY fast and able to react quickly, especially to light, but they do still sometimes get limbs torn off by the machine. All workers are ambidextrous, as in they do not have a dominant hand and can use both with an equal amount of skill, so they usually just use their other hand, but since they sometimes use two tools at once, they might use their mouth to carry it or tie it to whatever is left of their arm. The goo can stick to it, but they will usually tear off part of their overalls (most commonly the leg parts/cuffs which is why a lot of workers have torn short overalls) until it grows back.

Goo kid got most of their food from the upper levels of the stone giant- just eating whatever was thrown down into the trash

Workers do eat- but not for sustenance. They use their stomachs as just a place to store stuff. it’s mainly because not all of them have tool belts or pockets, so they might swallow down some nuts (don’t) or bolts or other small objects so they can regurgitate them while working.

Most workers start out decked in the same or very similar clothing (overalls, tool belt, hammer, wrench, etc) but they like to steal from each other, plus it’s a factory setting, and it’s very common for them to get their clothes ripped. Workers do occasionally get new clothing, and while they are somewhat of a hive mind, they do vary in personality, especially when away from others. Some workers also differ visually. They can have all different lengths of hair, unless it’s ridiculously long and gets stuck, which usually isn’t a problem though as the goo mats their hair. Different overalls are usually because the person who makes them, (chained lady or the really weird doll with the sewing machine) sometimes use different materials or different styles

Workers are highly flammable, but do not react if set on fire unless the fire is damaging a machine. Unlike shadow kids who are very scared of fire, workers really just don’t care. It doesn’t hurt them like light does.

Workers are a bit larger than most LN children, it’s just that goo kid is small because he’s younger/just short which might give the appearance in the images of them being a lot bigger

Goo kid wears worker’s overalls but they’re sinched since they’re quite short

Workers can climb on all fours on sheer drops while facing downwards since their feet can twist the other way, similar to a few kinds of cats who can also do this

#little nightmares #little nightmares 2 #little nightmares 3 #little nightmares art #noone the sounds of nightmares #the sounds of nightmares #TSON #the workers little nightmares #goo kid little nightmares #goo kid the sounds of nightmares #the shadow kids little nightmares

[ricky-mortis]

So, I heard it was Holloweane Week?

It’s a bit late in the week but I wanted to draw something for it, and I liked this prompt.

The way I see it- their roles may have been swapped, but their dynamic? Exactly the same.

#t4t Holloweane my beloved #everyday I thank tumblr user ohnoitsjetster for introducing me to that HC #I gave Duke 70s hair and I love it so much it came out so good imo #and Miss Holloway is always just <3 #I tried to modernize her a little bit #we’ll see what yall think #these two are fun but by god they are hard to draw #especially Kim #I swear I’ll get better at drawing her #what beautiful people though #social worker miss Holloway and witch Duke tho #omg so good #i imagine Holloway would go by Holly #Holly and Mister Keane #I’ve had a lot of thoughts while drawing this #hatchetfield #Starkid #nightmare time #nightmare time 2 #miss holloway #duke keane #kim whalen #Curt mega #holloweane #holloweane week #holloweane week 2024 #Holloweane week day 6 #my art #:)

[aalt-ctrl-del]

mad take, but I can't with how the "Vivzie hate club" has two brain cells:

how dare this character be absolutely vulgar, vile, sexist, toxic, and a meanie. This show is terrible, and is teaching children terrible things. I don't care if this is hell, this is wrong and I hate.

but also

how dare this character of gluttony not look like a swol fly. This is not biblically accurate character design. How dare the deadly sins not behave in a cliche way that I have come to expect after watching 50 marvel movies. This free show is terrible and I hate.

#helluva boss #hazbin hotel #waiting patiently for the [I was a part of Vivzies team and everything was terrible here is my pdf of carefully catered content] bomb #maybe this was so unexpected the disgruntled worker didn't have the mad tea edited up in a neat little framed package #seriously ken draws was an FULL ADULT and a manipulator dude was toxic as all hell #i hope no one else got tangled up with them especially minors cause that person was toxic #a 5 HOUR PHONE CHAT OVER A BASIC LEGAL DOCUMENT #FOR IPS #30 AND COULDNT INTERPRET A LEGAL DOCUMENT #A SHORT TERM RUNDAMENTARY LEGAL DOCUMENT FOR IPS #I did read the pdf ken provided and.... they come across as an absolute nightmare to work with

[scashu]

Undertale au shop… au?

I work in retail and was like, “huh, why not.” And now we have this.

It’s not a like a shopping centre type of place where you have multiple different types of shops; it’s one shop, where they sell food. It’s literally just a grocery.

I don’t have a lot fleshed out bc this was only a small idea thing for fun, but:

Ink is the shop manager along with Fresh and Reaper.

Dream is mainly the daytime supervisor, while Nightmare is mainly the nighttime one. They sometimes end up switching due to ink getting them mixed up sometimes for no reason (that bitch always forgets which is which)

Cross works on the tills for the most part, sometimes he’s seen working on the floors with Dust, or out the back helping Error, but he always ends up on tills (he’s the only one nm trusts to do his fucking job right)

Dust is alway seen stocking the shelves around the isles, he’s always in one of them. He’s in the same situation as Cross where he has a specific job (working on the floor) but will be signed in on a till incase it gets busy.

Killer works in the off-license (alcohol). It’s his own wee corner he can fuck about in, but he gets bored all on his lonesome so most days he visits the tills and makes excuses to see the others. Error has banned him from going out the back while working, because one time he smashed 4 expensive bottles of wine, and then somehow set a small fire. Error does not like that man.

Horror works in the Deli :) He’s the one who cleans everything up and gets all the food ready to be made and served for the next morning. He used to work during the day, but has found that he likes the night shifts better, they’re more calming for him. He still does work day shifts sometimes, but those days are rare, and only if someone else swaps a shift with him. Since he finishes up a lot earlier than the rest of the gang, he likes to help Error out the back in that spare time or will assist dust in pulling everything in the shop forward, and just cleaning in general.

Error works in the back. Dust gives him a checklist of all that’s needed on the shop floor, and Error finds and helps collect it all for him and anyone else working on the floor. He tried to work on the tills once, ONCE… and fucking hated it soooo no more tills for him. He hates people so much. Anybody working on the same shift most times forget he’s even there. Yet he’s always the first out the door when the shop eventually closes.

#undertale #undertale aus #shop au #undertale shop au #cross sans #nightmare sans #ink sans #dream sans #killer sans #error sans #horror sans #till worker cross #deli worker horror #nighttime supervisor nightmare #off-license worker killer #floor worker dust #out the back worker Error #this was just a silly little thing I made to help cope with work #it’s boring sometimes standing for five hours #so I said why not add sanses #most of the inspiration is from my work place so #silly lil ideas #maybe I’ll never touch this au again #or maybe I’ll focus on it completely #…who knows #my art

[miss-mossball]

based on nightmares I've had - a retelling of little red riding hood

#doodle heaven #my ocs #the story was that little red had an abusive mother who would turn into “a wolf” whenever little red stepped off the strict path #the woodcutter and her were childhood friends and he always wanted to see her happy n urged her to pick some flowers off the roadside #so “the wolf” regularly abused her #and all the while the woodcutter was taking on laborious jobs to save up money to get her out of her situation #in my nightmare she never got away and the woodcutter kept on trying and seeing her more and more treated badly #all the time she never knew he loved her (never knew it was possible to love her) #but in this doodle im giving them a happy ending #my nightmares certainly arent thematic or anything no sir i am a happy little worker bee : ) #also yes they intentionally look like mic and bun+rose #i can make this a thing w roulie if he wantssss #tw abuse #tw blood

[grim-faux]

New chapter is on the way! WHOOOOO!

Here's an excerpt as proof of my unyielding drive

__

They reached a door and as per the system, she launched the boy at the handle. The rooms they fled through merged into a collage of doors and wrecked furniture, musty shadows and misty windows – she thought they rushed through the same room five times, but she knew each space by the discarded rubbish beside doorframes. For a brief spell they lost the Case Worker after squeezing into vent, barely getting away from a wave of splinters chasing their retreat. The wretched hissing vanished, and it was just their ragged breathing in the narrow passage, muffled by flailing arms and knocking knees. Even in the black confining chute, neither felt safe to halt or clear their heads. The instinct to flee overpowered all sense of need for rest or recover their frenzied wits.

Somewhere in the scarce patches of light, they stumbled into a junction where another kid was nesting. She could smell the other kid before clearing the murky shroud; they had a bunded of cloth and scraps of food scattered. At any other time, she might’ve snagged some scraps, but the kid was already growling softly at the intruders, long before they emerged from the heap of fabric that served as the rest spot. Mono barely spared a glimpse on his way through, he went to the next passage and dunked into the inky veil.

At some distance the vent was caved in, but they backtracked a bit and by sniffing at the murk, managed to fumble into a tight crease. Having the boy to help with fumbling in the dark did make navigation easier – for one, he became a soft barrier her elbows or face plowed into rather than a wall or corner. He also hissed at her when a gap was located, and they managed to drag through the intolerable crawlspace with minimal cuts and bruises.

At last they tumbled out of a crack in an obscure wall somewhere, and landed in a heap of garbage. A swell of flies and other insects swirled when they disturbed the nest, but at least it was noiseless. Six untangled herself first, since the boy was also wrapped up in the tail of his coat. She gave the dim room a cursory examination, foremost absorbing the lack of movement and sound from horrible creatures. Two doors afforded the next direction, and if the urgency was upon them, furniture dotted one of the wilting walls.

#little nightmares #six #mono #feral six #feral mono #feral children #the Case Worker #the Thin Man off somewhere {I wonder where the children has run off to?} #the child off somewhere {running from persistent threat} #mono doesn't need protecting #the thin man needs protecting from mono

[miamierre]

👇

#au idea mumbling in the tags bc i refuse to post like a normal individual #saw some dweebs on twitter arguing abt aang vs korra and started thinking abt an a:tla au (vaguely and unseriously) #also ik this is already a prompt in the piarles server so i KNOW its been discussed already. but i think if i were to assign them bending #i would say firebender charles (obv) but i imagine pierre might be a great earthbender? like i get the appeal of giving him #waterbending bc literally who doesnt want to be a waterbender amirite. but earthbending feels SO underrated conceptually #pierre totally could have the grace to be a waterbender but he feels more ragged around the edges (To Me) thinking abt him bending #like very physical. toph-like in his ability to sense the world through his feet (not to her extent bc he's got his vision but you get it) #he's a steel worker (using normal abilities. not his metal bending) by trade and works with charles in the shop #(charles does use his bending there but he didn't want to enlist in the fire nation's reformed army) #they get along well enough. charles is a skilled fighter even if he hates it but he loves to spar with pierre with the blades they make #and pierre loves to hone his bending abilities through these little events. tries to learn to fight AND bend the blade at once #they also teach each other the bending footwork for each other's abilities. so charles can firebend like an earthbender #and pierre can earthbend like a firebender. something something soulmateism #anyway. thats my two cents! thanks for reading this nightmare paragraph. #AU tag

[shimaira]

Note: the character Tamesis uses fae/faer pronouns.

~*~

"Oh my, is that for me?" Tamesis asked, smiling coyly at Devon.

Devon leaned against the doorpost, clad only in a black leather miniskirt with matching thigh-high boots and taped black X's across her nipples. "I don't know," she purred. "Do you want it to be?" She smirked and pushed herself away from the post and slowly made her way across the bedroom towards her partner.

Unfazed, Tamesis simply replied, "You were wearing something else earlier for your show, why did you change? I thought you finished like fifteen minutes ago?"

Devon stood beside Tamesis and booped faer nose. "I did finish, yeah." She supressed a smirk and waited for Tamesis to roll fear eyes at the pun. "But I'm doing a private session with Lynx in a bit. I had to cancel the other week because of that seizure, so I want to make it up to them."

"Oh," was all Tamesis said, then fae tilted faer head. "Do you still want to come to Avalon tomorrow then? Cal texted me earlier as she'll be going too."

Devon bit her lower lip and drew a sharp breath, considering. "Maybe not for breakfast, but what about brunch? Eleven okay? I should be able to get up at ten with sufficient sleep." She gently caressed the soft, black fur of the cat that lay purring at Tamesis' feet. "Hey Pixie."

"Sure, I'll let Cal now we'll be a bit later." Fae smiled. "And you do look awesome. I'm sure Lynx will love it. Will you be adding a wig too?"

"Hmm, maybe…" Devon ran a hand through her cropped raven hair. "Which one?"

"The long— No, wait!" Faer blue eyes shimmered. "What about that black mask you got last month? It would def match the rest. Oh! And maybe some black lipstick and then smear it to one side?"

Devon grinned. "You got good taste, babe." She bent forward to plant a kiss on top of Tamesis' forehead. "I'll go get to that then. But yeah, I'll be working for a little while longer, so don't stay up for me."

"Okay." Fae pursed faer lips toward Devon, signalling fae wanted another kiss and Devon happily obliged. "Have fun. I'll be seeing you on the other side whenever you get to bed."

"You too—though not too much without me." She stuck out her tongue in jest.

And with that, Devon left, hips swaying and humming along to a tune in her head from her earlier webcam show.

Copyright L.B. Shimaira

#writeblr #wip: nightmare stalker #just a little snippet #amwriting #ace characters #sex workers can be ace too #fae/faer

[iwannarunawayandbeapirate]

[muttering to myself] unions and strikes are important and i support them even when they impact my own life. unions and strikes are important and i support them even when they impact my own life. unions and strikes are important and i support them even when they impact my own life. unions and strikes are important and i

#this is about how i won't be able to go to school for the next 3 days due to a massive train strike #a few years ago i would have been overjoyed #but post-covid lockdowns and homeschooling? #i just want to go to school and learn new stuff in an actual classroom #instead of trying to teach it to myself from what little the teachers actually upload online #this is also like the 4th strike in the past few months #and not to mention the times i've been late or unable to get to school due to weather conditions impacting public transport! #i was a few minutes late both yesterday and today and it was not my fault #however. even though this annoys me #i still support unions and strikes as a valid way for workers to get what they want/need #it just so happens that this specific strike severely impacts my day-to-day life #i can't just go by car either due to 2 reasons #1. my parents don't have time to drive me to school for an hour; drive back home; and then pick me up again #2. the traffic is going to be a nightmare #so yeah #i'm just tired of having to stay home all the time #personal post

[cornfieldsrambles]

YOU HAVE PERMISSION TO INFODUMP PLEASE TELL ME ABOUT WIGGLY'S SIBLINGS???? THAT HE APPARENTLY HAS????

omg ok SO

Meet the Lords in Black. Charming, aren't they?

Yes, Wiggly does indeed have four brothers who all do different things, so I'll cover them one by one, in order of introduction (since we've already met each of them in Nightmare Time at least once). BTW Nightmare Time has a fuckton of lore in it that I won't go into here, so even though I am about to spoil significant parts of it for you, I do recommend watching it, it's really good and if there's enough interest they might make a third one!

(Also you might notice they're all in doll form in this picture. This is how we knew them up until NPMD introduced us to what I call their Tumblr sexyman forms. Which are rad as hell by the way.)

So you already know Wiggly. That little green fucker, Wiggog Y'Wrath, the Capitalist Cthulu who does uwu-speak and starts a cult by invading people's minds. This will become a bit of a reoccurring theme with these guys. He's also the only one to successfully start an apocalypse, and the only one to have attempted to birth himself into our reality. (Or is he? We'll get to that...) He does seem to have some kind of dominion over the other LiB, as whenever all five of them show up there's always emphasis placed on him, like in NPMD where he does most of the talking while his siblings occasionally butt in.

Now for Bliklotep. Blinky seems to have slightly lower-scale ambitions than Wiggly, but don't let that fool you. Eyeball Boi is still incredibly dangerous. He runs an amusement park, WatcherWorld, deep within the Hatchetfield Witchwood. But it's not for the amusement of the patrons. Oh no. It's for Blinky's own amusement. Once you step inside, every insecurity, every shred of potential conflict will be ripped to the forefront, turning people against each other to the point of trying to kill each other until he's fully infected their minds. It's implied that, if not all, but a significant chunk of the workers at WatcherWorld were once patrons before having their minds taken over by Blinky. He's also implied to be the thing in Trail To Oregon that Jack Bauer sees during his venom-induced hallucination, as Blinky is referred to as "The Watcher With 1,000 Eyes", which is exactly what JB says he sees? Making Blinky the only LiB to induce a Starkid crossover. My headcanon is that the Dikrats founded Hatchetfield. But regardless.

Next up on the roster is Tinky. T'noy Karaxis, the Time Bastard. You may be wondering about that one line in NPMD where he recognised Pete as a Spankoffski, and said he "could have the whole set in his toybox". Has Tinky gone after Pete's relatives?

Well. Um. You know Ted, right? Yeah, his name is Spankoffski. He's Pete's big brother. We actually got the surname reveal before the brother reveal, lol. And that's not the only reveal we got about Ted. Our boy Teddy Bear has this whole entire tragic backstory and it turns out he gets fucked over in literally every timeline! Isn't that fun?

So, to summarise an entire episode: Tinky makes travel fuckery happen, Ted wants to go back in time to fix his life, accidentally goes back to before the time machine was created and gets stuck in the past, literally. Tinky is watching and laughing at the whole thing, then shows up to blow Ted's brain to smithereens with his weird little magic box, the Bastard's Box, where he stores all the people he toys with. Anyway Ted eventually catches up with the present by aging, except now no one knows who he is, he's... actually I won't spoil that. But once he dies he ends up eternally trapped and tortured in the Bastard's Box. Yaaay.

Fast forward to Nightmare Time 2 and we get introduced to Nibbly, in possibly the most unexpected way imaginable. He's revealed to have been behind a whole episode literally right at the end of said episode, and even though it was kind of foreshadowed, it hits you like a freight train in the best way. Remember when I said Wiggly was the only one who tried to birth himself into reality? That was kind of a lie. Nibblenephim can sort of do that anyway. Every year, he can possess a bunch of carcasses and create a living form to walk the earth for one night. He also has a cult of followers who provide him with the carcasses, as well as a sacrifice to feed on. There's a little more to it, specifically with how the sacrifice is chosen, but again, I'm trying to spoil as little as possible. Go watch Nightmare Time. Nibbly also seems to have a "pig" motif, and his theme song, The Nibbly Ditty, is a banger, easily my favourite of the three LiB theme songs we've heard so far.

And finally, we are introduced to Pokotho, in the very last episode of NMT2.

Except no. We were formally introduced to Pokey there, yes, but we've seen his apocalypse already. Long before NPMD, before Nightmare Time, even before Black Friday.

Yeah, remember me saying that Wiggly was the only one to successfully start an apocalypse? That was also a lie! Pokey already did that, and he did it without ever showing his masked face. Remember The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals? The blue spores that came down in a meteor and turned everyone into singing zombies? That was Pokey's doing! That's his blue spores! That's his apocalypse!

This also provides an explanation for why blowing up the meteor didn't work. Emma and Hidgens were right about the hivemind thing, but wrong about the location of the central brain. It wasn't the meteor - the meteor was just the vessel which carried the spores to Earth. The central brain was sitting safely up in the Black and White, laughing as Paul blew himself to smithereens. The central brain was Pokey, the Singular Voice, the most uncompromising of his brothers. The one who hates every voice that is not his own, hence the hivemind and making all of his zombies speak in HIS voice.

Anyway in NMT2 he's happily collecting musical zombies by taking on a human form and infiltrating a fighting ring of superpowered children until he has enough to kickstart another apocalypse. (Don't question it, we're almost done). He also calls himself Otho, not Pokey, making him the only LiB to have two different abbreviations of his name. Hannah is also there (remember her? Lex's little sister?) and she is like incredibly important to this whole thing, she has a super powerful mind, but that's a whole other thing.

But I did mention Hannah for a reason. Because you said "Wiggly's SIBLINGS". And while the Lords in Black are always referred to as brothers, they do have one more sibling. A sister. A Queen in White. And her name is Webby.

Yep, Hannah's imaginary friend isn't imaginary, who could have guessed? She's benevolent, always trying her best to combat her brothers' antics, but given that there's one of her and five of them, this is a bit of an uphill battle. Webby doesn't have a full name that we know of, nor does she have a doll. We don't know much about her. And she may not be all-powerful - but then again, neither are her brothers.

Infodump concluded. Hope this helps, it was very fun to write.

#the lords in black #hatchetfield #starkid #nightmare time #nmt2 #nightmare time 2 #wiggog y'wrath #t'noy karaxis #bliklotep #nibblenephim #pokotho #npmd #nerdy prudes must die #the guy who didn't like musicals #black friday

[zbdjjsjwjajba]

jesus my dreams r weird as shit

AAA mb tw for blood (lots of it!!) and (idk if its a tw but) shadow creatures

the one i just woke up from i think was a continuation of a dream i had a while ago? cant fully remember but anyway

so its me (or my pov at least) aran bokuto ans akaashi right? (idfk y hq is involved in this but it is) and we're at a resort? like a vacation resort kinda thing in the middle of the ocean on a tiny little sandy island,,, so u would think everything was normal

a bit of a timeskip bc of missing memories of this first dream and suddenly we're trying to escape this resort that just turned into a fucking tall ass building,,, and its the most scp shit bc this building is suddenly ONLY stairs, doors and hallways

and thats the first dream (or what i remember of it)

now timeskip (?) to the dream i just woke up from we're like half way up the building and we're screaming and crying bc this fucjing building is filling up w BLOOD and u can hear the fucking screams of other ppl UNDER the blood,,, so at this point we're going insane right

and we're running and we've split up to see if different doors take us all the way up and im starting to see fucking shadow ppl in the hallways and doors ways and all that so im scared im afraid and i somehow meet back up w bokuaka and akaashi is bloody and clinging on to bokuto (not even talked about we just move on?!) and we're on a platform of a staircase and i open a door and this huge fucking shadow thing is running at me and i close the door and accept my fate

and then fucking aran opens the door and ive never been more relieved in my life,,, so we regroup and start climbing back up again and WE REACH THE TOP and we're out on this rooftop and its snowing???? and HAS been snowing for a while?? and we talk about how to escape and we think of taking a boat and going back home (home?? we live together??) and then it pans out onto the ocean and theres just a bunch of abandoned boats,,, some r still bobing some have started sinking for whatever reason

and we all just go so what the fuck do we do now and the dream ENDS

#shit is fucking wild #like WHAT TF DOES THAT EVEN MEAN??? #honestly more like a fucking nightmare #my goodness #haikyuu!! #tagging hq bc funny #ive also only just remembered that before i had the blood dream i had another dream in-between #that was about me ans my friend applying for a job? and we had to write down what we looked like currently on a little chart and i had #apparently already missed a week of work?? and then i had the shit that happens to me irl all the fucking time and i didnt get invited to #the co worker group chat but my friend did and then the dream cut off into the blood bath #fun fun times heyyy #just blair talking <3

[randybutternubber]

I’ve noticed a distinct lack of love for the kid from the first ep of TSON who helped noone and the workers, so here’s some art with some HCS (Kid on the left, I’ll just call them goo kid, worker on the right)

Random goo kid HCS

Goo kid fell into a vat of some weird ass shit shadow goop in the factory

They use this to their advantage to basically blend in with the workers

Goo kid is around 6 to 7 years old and was relatively young when they were taken to the nowhere

Because of the factory having a lot of darker areas and the goop messsing with their eyes, they don’t have great vision and they’re nearly blind in one eye. They also have some hearing issues due to basically getting exposed to loud ass factory equipment constantly. Due to this, they’re very tactile and they often try to hold the hands or touch the faces of other children, but it’s often met with rejection due to often getting mistaken as a worker and usually not properly asking to do so. Their sense of smell is also pretty fried

Goo kid is mostly non-verbal and has a very limited vocabulary as a result of being taken so young and spending most of their time around the workers who don’t speak

The workers often try to give them tools like hammers and wrenches, thinking that they’re another worker

Even if a worker realizes they’re not one of them, they tend to not be very aggressive towards them because they’re very used to them being there. They’re mainly aggressive when goo kid is with another child or gets too close to the machinery

Goo kid’s clothes were taken from a worker. Most of them wear workers overalls, but it’s very common for the overalls to be heavily damaged as the shadow goop stuff isn’t that good when on fabric and they’re often torn by machinery

Because of lack of exposure to light, goo kid has pretty pale skin, which is also very sensitive to the sun, along either their eyes

Worker head canons

Workers act smarter when alone/in small groups and show a lot more individual personality as well. When they’re in groups, the hive mind kind of takes over and they become completely engrossed in keeping the factory running. This is why they tend to act quite dull/stupid when together, but the individual workers seemed to stalk/observe Noone and goo kid before striking

Like nomes, workers do hoard items, often in their pockets/pouches or tool belts if they have one, but they also like to hoard items in their own little nooks and crannies



They sometimes accidentally (or purposefully) steal each other’s tools while working, and yes, they will brawl over a wrench, but they often don’t notice/don’t know who took it

Workers can coalesce into far bigger shadow amalgamations, but it can only occur in very low light conditions, and only if the situation is bad

They have great eyesight in the dark and can see a ton of detail when up close, but otherwise, their vision is quite poor. Their hearing, on the other hand, is excellent, and like birds when they call, their ears have a sort of shadow muscle something something like that that closes when near loud machinery. This is another reason why goo kid doesnt talk besides being primarily non verbal and why they stop noone from speaking. Their hearing also helps with noticing if a machine needs fixing

Workers walk on their toes and their feet are rarely flat on the ground. This, coupled with their claws causes them to have a unique sounding footstep

Their toes/feet are very flexible, allowing them to scramble around and climb quite well

Their arms are proportionally longer since they often work with tools that are quite large for them

Workers can scramble around on all fours quite effectively

Some of them have exposed teeth

They often grab goo kid/lead him “back to the group” when they find them far away from where most of the workers are. It makes exploring difficult, but if goo kid gets stuck/lost, it can be very helpful

Goo kid is a bit scared of the workers, but because they tend to just think they’re another worker, they aren’t absolutely terrified

Singular workers are generally more playful and curious. They’re also more likely to notice something is different about goo kid. They poke them and sometimes try to apply some of the shadow goop to their face thinking that there’s something wrong with him

#little nightmares #little nightmares 2 #little nightmares 3 #goo kid the sounds of nightmares #goo kid little nightmares #the workers the sounds of nightmares #the workers little nightmares #the shadow kids little nightmares #little nightmares fanart #TSON #noone the sounds of nightmares #the sounds of nightmares #tson noone #I guess a bit of world building? #my art

[steddielations]

nsfw, actor eddie, hair and makeup artist steve, sub top

The downside of Eddie having a bunch of tattoos is that he has to sit in the makeup trailer longer than anyone else getting them covered, along with his character’s makeup. 

The plus side is he gets more time with Steve. 

They have this game. It started on Eddie’s first day. He was all wired up with nerves because it’s his first time in a lead role on a big production like this.

Every nightmare scenario of how he could screw up was running through his mind. He couldn’t sit still enough for Steve to give him the wavy hair and facial scars that his character has. 

Eddie kept apologizing and Steve was great about it. He asked Eddie about the heart on his arm with “Wayne” across the ribbon and distracted Eddie from over-practicing his lines, busy telling Steve all about his uncle who raised him and where they’re from. 

Eddie killed it on set that day, and pretty much every day since then. He loves acting, he loves fully immersing himself in the story he’s telling. This role is the biggest of his career so far, but it’s not even about that, he loves the character he’s playing, he meshes well with the director and has chemistry with his co-stars.

But Steve is his favorite part of this whole deal.

Eddie ran out of tattoos for their little game of telling Steve the story behind a different one every day. They never ran out of things to talk about though.

But Steve takes his job seriously and he’s good at it. He explained once why he likes doing this. It’s an art, getting the right look for the right character, or the right person, connecting with and taking care of whoever’s in his chair.

He explained it all while he was running his fingers through Eddie’s hair in those perfectly practiced strokes. Steve’s very good at his job, that’s why it feels so nice when he touches Eddie, even if it’s just work, because Steve cares about this. That’s why it’s easy for Eddie to be lulled into bliss when Steve’s fingers are so gentle on his scalp.

And, okay Eddie’s not made of stone, and he has eyes so he has a thing for Steve. A crush, but there’s a line there. This is work. They’re co-workers, despite how many pretty smiles and lingering looks are exchanged. Eddie won’t cross that line.

Until he does. 

It’s an accident. He never would have done it on purpose. 

Steve’s fingers are just so talented. Eddie’s eyes are closed, he was having another fit of nerves earlier so Steve took extra time with his hair. It put Eddie in a space so relaxed that he feels like he’s floating when Steve’s hand twists in his hair with the perfect amount of tension. It feels so intentional. The moan just slips out.

Eddie apologizes like crazy afterward, he feels terrible. Steve is a picture of professionalism, he’s charming and fun but he runs the makeup trailer like it's the navy and he takes his shit seriously and Eddie crossed a line. 

But Steve just shushes him, guides him to sit back in the chair and says it’s alright. 

Eddie blinks in disbelief but Steve just looks at him. 

It’s a look. 

A look that Eddie can’t stop thinking about for the rest of production.

It’s a look he sees again on his last day on set.

Eddie already shook everyone’s hands and said his goodbyes. He's just stopping by his trailer one last time to make sure the assistants got all his stuff cleared out. 

When he opens the door, his stomach flips, finding Steve waiting inside for him.

“You wrapped filming today,” Steve says in place of a greeting. But his smile and the way his arm is languidly stretched over the back of the couch is inviting. 

Something tells Eddie to lock the door before he goes over to sit next to Steve.

His gaze is even more intense up close. Eddie feels Steve’s eyes on him everywhere, like he’s just eating Eddie up. 

“Yeah, I did,” Eddie says, a tad nervous.

He doesn't want to make a move he can’t take back in case he’s wrong about why Steve’s in his trailer looking at him like that. He doesn’t want to be one of those douchebag movie stars that assumes everyone wants him and he has a free pass to hit on the crew. He’s sure Steve’s had enough of that bullshit.

“We don’t work together anymore,” Steve simply states.

“I know, it sucks,” Eddie laughs a bit sad because he really is, “Sorry if it’s weird to say, but I’m gonna miss you.”

Steve’s eyes shift between Eddie’s and then down to his lips, making his heart stutter in his chest.

“No it’s a good thing,” Steve says and Eddie’s brows knit in confusion. “It means I can do this finally.”

Eddie thinks he’s watching his daydreams play out the way Steve starts leaning in. 

It’s only real when Steve’s lips press softly to his.

Just once, so light, long enough for Eddie to catch on that it’s happening, then Steve pulls back before Eddie can reciprocate.

Steve chuckles faintly at the dramatic frown Eddie’s pulling. 

Then Steve’s hand cups Eddie’s cheek, his thumb stroking Eddie’s face as he tells him, “We can stop there and keep it professional and say our goodbyes. Or I can climb on your lap and give you something to remember me by.”

Eddie gulps. Steve’s offer and his silky voice and his perfect touch that Eddie’s already so addicted to is such a heady mix, making it hard to form words. “Yes, climb me— I mean, option B.”

“Yeah, honey, you want that?” God, Eddie always blushed hot when Steve called him that casually in the makeup trailer, now he’s melting hearing Steve say it like this. “Well, go on and take your pants off for me.”

It happens in a syrupy warm blur. Eddie sheds his jeans and underwear like he’s told and he’s rewarded with a gorgeously naked Steve Harrington in his lap. He’s allowed to touch, only after Steve has threaded his fingers through Eddie’s hair more reverently than any time before, like something precious in his hands, and kisses Eddie deep and hard. 

Then Eddie gets to nuzzle the chest hair that’s been driving him crazy peeking out of Steve’s shirt every time he leaned over. Eddie gets to touch Steve’s soft strong thighs, feeling the smatter of hair leading up to his ass that’s been driving Eddie even more insane trying not to stare at. Then he slips his fingers in and moans into Steve’s mouth when he feels the hard bulb of a plug nestled inside Steve.

Steve pulls back from the kiss, smiling and smearing his thumb over the spit on Eddie’s lips. “Yeah, I’m so ready for you, Eddie, baby, you have no idea.”

Eddie’s practically drooling watching Steve take out the plug and get a bottle of lube from between the cushions and a condom, oiling up his hand. When his fist wraps around Eddie’s cock, Eddie helplessly bucks into it, but Steve’s solid thighs pin him down. That makes his mind lust-foggy and his eyes flutter up at Steve, who bites his lip watching Eddie as he lines up to his hole.

“Mm... you know how bad I wanted you?” Steve sounds relieved as he sinks down on Eddie’s cock. “You know how bad I wanted to climb on your lap when you were sitting in my chair. You know how starry-eyed you get when you’re drifting? Just from me touching your hair, so fucking cute.”

Eddie’s just a mess of moans, Steve is so hot and tight around him. It’s too much with all the sweet praise to really comprehend that Steve knew all those times he was getting spacy.

“It’s so easy to put you down.” Steve’s breath comes harder, not letting Eddie move as he starts to roll his hips. “Such an actor, high strung all the time but that’s okay. It’s your passion. That’s sexy. Been dying to hold you down and ride you until you can’t think about anything but me, though.”

Eddie gasps out a groan when Steve tugs sharply on his hair, being right about everything that Eddie’s into so far. It’s no secret that Eddie’s intense, just a different kind of intensity in the bedroom than with his craft. 

Steve seems to get it, seems to know that Eddie needs everything hard and relentless with the way he’s bouncing on Eddie’s dick. He can feel the strength in Steve’s hips, dying to feel them fucking into him too, mouth watering at the sight of his thick cock jumping with all the movement.

“You’d let me tie you down and use you, hm?” Steve asks, drawing Eddie by the hair into a biting kiss that just barely grazes the surface of what Eddie would let Steve do to him. “I know. I’d fuck you up so good if we had time, baby.”

“Steve, holy shit,” Eddie practically sobs, fingers digging into Steve’s ass.

“You close, honey?” 

“Fuck, yeah.” 

Steve suddenly cups his face, just a tad rough and Eddie thought— hoped for one hot moment— that Steve was going to slap him. Just the thought is enough to make him do what he's supposed to, “Can I?” 

“Mh-hm just keep looking at me,” Steve strokes Eddie’s face as he circles his hips and takes Eddie deep. “Wanna see those pretty eyes when you come inside me.”

Eddie does as he’s told, his gaze falling half-shut as he lets go, spilling into the condom like he’s pumping Steve full.

It’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him, followed by the second hottest thing when Steve kisses his slack mouth as his warm heavy spurts of come land on Eddie’s belly.

While Eddie’s coming down, he lets Steve shift him onto the couch. He gets some tissues and then pulls Eddie to lie on his chest because of course he would, he’s Steve.

“Was that enough to remember me by when you get all big and famous?” Steve asks after a while, trailing his knuckles down Eddie’s bare arm.

Eddie looks up, seeing the first glimpse of hesitance in all of Steve’s practiced smoothness.

So Eddie leans in and assures him between pecks on his lips that slowly turn to smiles pressing together. “Nope, think we gotta do it again. And again. And again.” 

#here's some sub top eddie from yours truly #also i've talked about actor eddie before but we need to talk about him more plssplss #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie smut #subeddieweek #sub eddie week #famous eddie munson #hairdresser steve harrington

[cupid-styles]

late night talking

in which harry’s quiet, shy, and always sends y/n tips during her cam streams. or: nerdrry x cam girl y/n

word count: 5.9k (wanted to get this out before christmas so it’s a bit on the shorter side than my other longer fics!!)

content warnings: sexual content (y/n is a cam girl soooooo voyeurism/exhibitionism is implied), smut (mutual masturbation, dirty talk/sexting, daddy kink, slight dom/sub dynamics)

please lmk if you’d want a part two for these cuties !

part two here

. . .

On a day-to-day, this is how Y/N typically spends her time:

She wakes up and throws herself in the shower with her eyes half shut. She eats some type of sustenance for breakfast, whether it be a granola bar or a warranted effort at some overnight chia seed concoction, and then heads to her main job, where her boss, Sam, has half her experience and somehow gets paid double her salary.

She does whatever's asked of her all day because she went to school for graphic design and she quite likes it, but only when Sam isn't up her ass, asking her to do tasks he's too lazy to do. At 5 pm on the dot, Sam is usually trying to get her to stay late but she's already on her way out the door. When she gets home, she forces down another quick meal — sometimes it's one of those frozen, premade things, other times she has the energy to make a veggie pasta or stir fry — pulls on a lingerie set, and sits on her cam site, where she strips and touches herself for money from strangers. 

Her cam streams are her favorite part of her day.

She guesses she's some type of exhibitionist if she enjoys getting off in front of people she doesn't know, but it's a win-win considering they're voyeurs, too. Plus, when you put monetary tips on top of it — well, Y/N can't really complain. 

She hides her face because her worst nightmare is her family finding out (that just sounds like a nightmare of a conversation to have with her parents), but she does have a few regular customers that come to most, if not all of her streams, are consistent tippers, and are always sweet to her. They ask about how she's doing and are polite in their requests, typically following them up with some sort of financial compensation so she has a reason to go through with it. It's not a bad deal at all — she enjoys her little community and the whole double life thing isn't the worst thing in the world. 

Y/N's been doing this for about a year, so she's gotten pretty familiar with the types of customers that come through her stream, but there's one in particular — fleetwoodlondon — that somehow still has her stumped. 

The thing is, this fleetwoodlondon person is far too nice. That's what confuses her the most. He (and she assumes it's a guy, because she doubts any woman would do this type of thing, but maybe she's just stereotyping) sends her tips for nothing in exchange, always tacking a bit more on when she's mentioned that she's had a rough day or she hasn't had a chance to eat dinner yet. She's messaged him privately, too, thanking him for his generosity and asking if he wants anything special in return, but he always says the same thing: No, that's alright. Thank you for the offer. Have a good night. x

There's a part of her that feels like it's bazaar, but there's a larger portion that's fascinated by him. She wants to know why he does what he does, why he feels that she's special enough to even do this in the first place. 

It's a shame he's rarely willing to exchange more than 10 words with her. 

. . .

Harry's days usually go like this:

Wake up, do some yoga or meditation, and log onto work. He works from home as a computer engineer for some large company that, if he's being honest, he doesn't really know a ton about, but they pay him extremely well and let him stay home all day, so it evens out. He's a diligent, hard worker on a small team of other shy, quiet people, so meetings are few and far between. On the occasion where he does have to present something a larger group, he'll stumble and stutter his way through a PowerPoint slideshow and take a puff of his asthma inhaler the second he's done. 

When work is over, he hangs out with his cat, Beatrice, cooks them a yummy, healthy dinner, and watches TV with her. At the top of the 7 pm hour, he shuffles Beatrice off to his bedroom because he doesn't want her to see how her dad spends his free time: Watching a girl he doesn't know on a dodgy cam site, getting his rocks off, and sending her a large tip at the end of the night. 

The first time he stumbled across her stream, he felt weird about it. It was semi-dystopian to watch someone in this way, knowing she was doing it live somewhere in the world. But she seemed to enjoy it and she had a decent crowd of subscribers and tippers in the chat, so it made him feel better when he eventually gave into his own temptation, dipping his fingers beneath the waistband of his sweats and fisting his cock the way she'd been encouraging her viewers to do. And the thing is, he never planned to attend another show — he assumed he'd just go on his merry way and that was the end of it.

But he couldn't stop thinking about her.

The softness of her skin, the lacy set that covered her most intimate parts, the giggles and teasing comments that fell from her plushy lips. He couldn't see any other parts of her face, but she had a pretty voice, and he just knew she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever see. 

And, in complete honesty, he really loved when she shared small details about her life. It wasn't in a creepy way — he saw the way commenters replied in her chat and it made his stomach turn — but it was just... nice to get a peek into her life outside of this site, where Harry had to click out of porn pop-ups and erectile dysfunction ads every 5 minutes. 

Hearing that she saw a cute dog on her way home from work or she got a free cookie with her lunch today was what reminded him that she was just another human, doing her best, the same way he was. And maybe it was true that he could never get her to pay attention to him in real life, but at least on this platform, he stood a chance. 

Harry had more money than he knew what to do with. He lived a comfortable life, he didn't have a partner or kids, and his savings account was plentiful. If he sent moan-a-lisa (the first time he read her username, he did smirk at the playful pun) a decent tip at the end of the night, he wouldn't feel bad about it. His money could be going to worse places.

It was only when she started to message him privately that he started to panic. 

About once a week, she would thank him profusely and ask if he wanted something in return — a custom video, pictures, even a phone call. But when he thought about it, he was just too anxious and scared — he felt like maybe he portrayed a slightly cool persona online, but if that wall got broken down, she'd see that he was lame. A computer nerd that stayed home all day and spent his money on a girl he'd never know in real life.

At least at a distance, she might at least think he's nice.

. . .

"Alright cuties, thank you so much for joining me tonight!"

Y/N watches as the chat floods with a variety of responses to her ending the stream: Some were kind (thank you for spending ur time w us!!!! have a good night!), others were sad and slightly parasocial (nooooo :( I'll miss u so much baby don't go), while the slight minority were just plain mean (stupid bitch u didn't even do anal 2nite). 

"I'll be back tomorrow at the same time, 7 pm eastern standard," she says with a toothy grin. She waves them a goodbye, clicks the "end live" button, and lets out a sigh of relief when her camera finally shuts off. Her show ended up being nearly four hours long tonight and she could feel a warm bubble bath calling her name. 

As she begins her post-streaming routine of grabbing a snack, starting her bath, and peeling the lingerie set off her body, she hears her phone go off. Almost like clockwork. 

She grabs it and glances down at the notification. Unsurprised, her eyes scan over the message: fleetwoodlondon sent you $300!

Rolling her lips into her mouth, she clicks on it and opens the app. Immediately, she thumbs over to their private conversation, where she types out a message. 

moan-a-lisa: please tell me you've reconsidered and are willing to let me doing something in return for all these tips.

As she's tossing her peach-toned lace set in the hamper, her phone dings again. She already knows his response before she even reads it. 

fleetwoodlondon: Nope. Have a good night. x

She smiles playfully at his reply and shakes her head, eyes still glued to her screen as she walks to her bathroom. She shuts the door, lights her favorite candle, and climbs into the porcelain tub, breathing out a deep sigh as the warm water and bubbles begin to soak her sore joints and muscles. 

moan-a-lisa: please???? im in the bath rn and could give u a fun little peek:)

With the exception of customers that pay for phone sex or custom videos, Y/N never produces off-the-cuff content. But the mysterious air of this fleetwoodlondon user is enough to make her break some of her own rules. 

She's surprised when she receives a near-immediate reply — she'd mentally prepared herself to wait 10 or so minutes before he typed back, like he usually does.

fleetwoodlondon: Cute. 

fleetwoodlondon: I just don't want you to feel pressured to send me anything. I don't tip you for that reason. 

With a confused expression, she sits up to shut the water off. She nibbles on her bottom lip as she lowers back into the water, contemplating the weight of his words. In the end, she decides to  go with her gut.

moan-a-lisa: why do you tip me then?

She's not entirely shocked when she doesn't receive an instant response to her question. She sighs, dipping her head back into the warm water. It's annoying, the way this person she doesn't even know is sticking around in her brain. She's not big on dating or seeing people romantically, so it's pretty unusual for her to be so focused on someone. 

She tosses her phone onto the plushy bath mat on the floor and decides to enjoy the comfort of her bath instead of worrying over it. She takes care to wash her body and face, and when she gets out she puts her favorite skincare products on before brushing her hair out. When she finally looks at her phone an hour later, she sees a notification from the user himself. 

fleetwoodlondon: I just think you deserve it. 

fleetwoodlondon: But again, I never want you to feel pressured into sending me something just because of the money..

She shakes her head as she walks back to her bedroom. Pulling a pair of comfortable sweats on, she's still confused by the angle he's playing at. And while most guys would maybe weird her out, she wonders if she's being naive by feeling some sort of kinship with this person. 

As she's contemplating her response in the darkness of her bedroom, her phone buzzes again in her hand. 

fleetwoodlondon: I just like hearing about you. Knowing that there's just another regular human behind the screen, I guess. I promise I'm not trying to be weird because I know you probably get a ton of odd messages from people all day.. but I suppose maybe I'm just sort of lonely? And I enjoy the consistency of knowing I can watch your stream every night.

fleetwoodlondon: I'm so sorry if that crosses a line. Reading that back, it's probably creepy. 

She has to bite her lip to hold back the smile that curls onto her mouth from his words. It's not creepy, not coming from him, anyway. He seems... innocent, somehow, despite being a frequent viewer of her streams. And, in all honesty, she gets it — she's lonely, too. She doesn't have many people in her life besides her family and the people she works with. She understands why her viewers come to her daily streams because she shows up for the exact same reason.

moan-a-lisa: it's not weird. i get it

moan-a-lisa: but if you're not interested in receiving content from me in exchange for ur tips, can we do something else then?

fleetwoodlondon: What?

moan-a-lisa: tell me about your days too

fleetwoodlondon: Really?

moan-a-lisa: yeah. i think im lonely in the same way u are. it could be nice.

fleetwoodlondon: Okay. I can do that.

moan-a-lisa: good:)

. . .

Harry doesn't entirely realize what he's signed up for when she starts messaging him the next day. 

In theory, he assumed that maybe she was just saying that stuff to be nice. He knows she has a habit of trying to relate to her viewers and make them feel special. It was kind of her, but he chalks it up to that — that is, until he receives a private message from her at 11 a.m. the following morning. He's never spoken to her during the day, only during or after her streams in the evening. His eyes nearly bulge out of his skull when he reads her username on his phone — he's working on a big project with a few coworkers and they're on a meeting together (cameras off, of course), and he immediately chokes on his spit, excusing himself and turning his mic off. 

moan-a-lisa: how's ur day going so far?

He swallows nervously. What is he supposed to say? Isn't there some cardinal rule about not revealing private information to strangers on the internet? (Though he thinks maybe that went down the drain awhile ago, considering how they ended up in contact.) He nibbles on his bottom lip as he quickly types out a response, trying his best not to overthink it. She's just being nice, he reminds himself, she probably thinks you're some desperate loser who needs companionship. 

fleetwoodlondon: It's been alright, just working. Nothing too exciting. How about you?

He attempts to redirect his focus back to the coworker that's currently asking him a question about the project when his phone instantly lights back up. 

moan-a-lisa: boring:( im working too except i kind of hate my boss. he's a douche

moan-a-lisa: what do u do for work? 

"Harry?" 

He stutters, clicking the button to turn his mic back on, "Yeah, that sounds good, Mike," he rushes out nervously, "I trust you, you know what you're doing."

"Alright, we'll move forward with that, then."

"Great. I actually need to take a break for a bit, need to feed my cat," Harry says quickly. "Let's reconnect on this tomorrow."

His coworkers agree and the meeting ends, allowing him to focus all his brainpower on replying to her. Is it messed up that he ended a working session for this? Yes, potentially, and he feels guilty for it, too. 

fleetwoodlondon: I'm a computer engineer. And I'm sorry to hear that you hate your boss... do you have another job outside of streaming?

moan-a-lisa: yea I do graphic design during the day

moan-a-lisa: computer engineering??? so in other words ur smart as fuck and that's how u afford to pay me ridiculous tips so often?

He snorts to himself. He's always felt his job title sounds more impressive than it actually is. In reality, tech stuff is all he's ever been good at, so it was a natural move to major in computer science in school. He never thought he was particularly intelligent, even if his professors and peers insisted that he was. To this day, he feels like he's just a computer nerd that got lucky.

fleetwoodlondon: I mean, I wouldn't say I'm 'smart as fuck' but I do have more money than I know what to do with. So yeah, I guess that would explain the tips. 

moan-a-lisa: i feel like ur being wildly humble rn 

fleetwoodlondon: Definitely not. I just happened to find the niche I'm good at.

fleetwoodlondon: Do you like graphic design?

moan-a-lisa: yeah but i think i would like it way more if i could do freelance work or go to another company. like i said my boss sucks, he's kind of a misogynist and has way less experience than me.. not saying i should have his job BUT 

fleetwoodlondon: ...But you should have his job.

Harry's stomach tightens at the description of her boss. Thankfully, he's never been on the receiving end of such treatment, but he has friends that have — one of college peers was even told by a higher-up that she'd never get a managerial role at the company because of her sex. It makes him sick to think about, but especially when he imagines her being in that position. He doesn't know why he feels so protective over her (he knows she doesn't need that from a stranger online), but he does, and it's weird.

She doesn't reply after that and Harry forces himself to be okay with it. Now that he knows she has a day job, he reminds himself that she's busy and doesn't spend all of her time replying to private messages on her cam site. It's a bit of a struggle to focus on his job, but it's a welcomed distraction so he doesn't have to think about what she's doing or why she hasn't responded. 

He ends up working late to make up for the meeting he cut short and the time he took to reply to her messages. But when he peers over the screen of his laptop and sees the digital clock in his living room tick towards 7 pm, it's almost as if it's some sort of Pavlovian response, the way he grows antsy and begins to thicken up in his pants. He takes his time logging off from work and heats up a leftover stir fry from the night prior, swallowing hot mouthfuls so he's ready in time for her show. 

Just as he's done eating and he's bringing up a private tab on his phone, he gets a notification from their prior conversation. His stomach pings with anxiety, his eyebrows raising in surprise when he reads the words: will you be watching tn?

He thinks it's a stupid question — of course he'll be watching, but maybe she doesn't know she's part of his evening routine. He swallows, fingers trembling as he presses on the notification and quickly types back. Maybe he's over exhausted from staring at his computer screen all day, but the flirtatious response that comes from his end is even a surprise to him. Wouldn't miss it for the world, he sends back. 

She responds with a few angel emojis, his heart doing a flip as he reads the words she sent: good. i like knowing ur in the audience:) message me after and let me know what u thought. 

When her stream starts, he wants to bite his fist. She's wearing a beautiful navy blue set that serves as a gorgeous contrast to her smooth skin. The bralette and underwear are intricate with sweet lace detailings, providing peeks of her nipples and the small patch of pubic hair that decorates her mound. 

"Hi everyone," she greets with a grin. Despite the usual angle that only reveals a bit of her mouth and chin, he somehow feels like he knows more of her now. Selfishly, he realizes that he hopes she doesn't talk to other viewers the way they've chatted. "How are we doing tonight?"

There's a lull in conversation and he knows it's because she's reading through the immediate uptick of responses in the chat. He recognizes a few of the usernames who are also regular viewers, while others likely found her on the homepage. 

"I'm good, thanks for asking!" she replies, rolling her plush lips into her mouth, "I didn't have too bad of a day, actually. Had some nice entertainment to get me through work."

Harry's heart stalls slightly. She couldn't be talking about him, could she? It's probably wishful thinking, assuming that she would think that highly of their short conversation. 

"You guys are so nosy," she giggles, the sound of it making him smile, "Since when do you care so much about my personal life? Thought you just wanted to watch me cum."

As if that serves as some sort of reminder for her viewers, tips begin to flow in, along with demands in the chat. He watches her tug her bottom lip between her teeth as his eyes scan the messages too, stomach churning at what people ask of her. He wonders if it bothers her, but then again, he assumes she must have thick skin to do this. She doesn't need someone like Harry to defend her against horny strangers online.

"You're all silly," she murmurs as she rises onto her knees. Her thumbs find the thin fabric that hits at her hips, pulling the straps teasingly before letting them snap back against her skin. "Hold on, I have to do something."

For a moment, she cuts away from the screen, only leaving her legs in the view. Harry swallows as he lets himself examine her soft skin, fingers twitching at his sides as he imagines touching her — maybe even pressing kisses and dark marks into the surface of her thighs, too. 

His eyes flicker up to a notification at the top of his screen and it reminds him to turn his phone on do not disturb. However, instead of finding an email from work or a text from a friend, it's her. She's messaging him while she streams, knowing he's watching. His stomach tightens almost instantly. 

moan-a-lisa: are u watching?

fleetwoodlondon: Of course I am.

He watches as her lips curl into a small smile now that her body is back in frame. Her phone is in one hand while her other brushes up over her torso and chest and back down to her legs. 

moan-a-lisa: what do you want me to do tonight?

He swallows harshly as she lowers her phone. She starts to reply to other messages in the chat, knowing it's important to engage with her viewers to keep them entertained. 

"You guys know what my hard limits are, stop asking me to do that stuff," she says playfully, wiggling her hips slightly, "I promise, no amount of money will make me want to fist myself."

He snorts at that, momentarily forgetting that she's waiting on a response from him. Honestly, he doesn't know what's appropriate to ask of her — the last thing he wants is to make her uncomfortable.

fleetwoodlondon: Do whatever you want. You should get to call the shots for once.

On screen, she hums, though it seems like it's mainly to herself. As she plucks at the straps of her bralette, slowly lowering them down her arms to reveal the valley of her breasts, her tongue peeks out to lick over her lips.

"I really just want someone to dominate me tonight," she says, her tone dropping seductively, "I wanna be told what to do and how to do it. My brain's so fuzzy from being so horny all day, I can barely make a decision for myself."

Harry swallows harshly at her words. The chat instantly goes wild as tips quickly flow in, volunteering to be the ones to do it. She smirks, winding her arm around to unclip her bra, letting it fall to the floor. 

"Sometimes I just think about you dominating me, you know that?" she murmurs, pursing her lips as her hands find her tits, gently squeezing at her nipples. "Today at work, it was all I could think about... made me so wet, I had a mess in my panties by the end of the day."

His eyes are bulging out of his head now — she couldn't possibly be talking directly to him, could she? It seemed silly and improbable, but also... they had spoken today while they both worked. 

"Maybe someone from London, y'know? I've always had a soft spot for guys with British accents."

He almost comes in his pants on the spot. 

At a surface level, Harry is kind and quiet. He's always been quite introverted, he prefers to be alone, and he thinks he could go days without seeing a single person, except for Beatrice. But somehow — and there's probably a psychological explanation for this, one that he's uninterested in finding out — he makes up for it in the bedroom. He doesn't know why, but when he's with someone intimately, he just becomes... dominant. He's aware that his tastes aren't vanilla, like many of his past sexual partners had assumed, as spanking, bondage, toys, edging, and overstimulation are all some of his favorite pastimes. And with the way she's teasing him right now, it's only pushing him further to the dominant threshold he typically keeps tucked away. 

Pulling their conversation back up, he doesn't think much or read his message over before sending it.

fleetwoodlondon: If you wanted me to tell you how to touch your pretty little pussy, all you had to do is ask.

He sees the smirk that curls at her lips through the screen and he swallows, wishing he could taste them. 

"Yeah? You wanna tell me what to do?" she asks breathily, wiggling a bit in her seat. His cock is already throbbing in his pants as he taps at the screen, eager to respond. 

fleetwoodlondon: Spread your legs. Tease yourself. 

It's not even 30 seconds before she's shifted onto her butt, knees to the sky as she opens her legs. Her underwear is still on, covering her modesty, but she uses gentle fingertips to trace over her mound and down to the crease of her thighs. He watches her shiver beneath her touch. 

fleetwoodlondon: Move those pretty panties to the side. Let me see how wet you are for me.

"Fuck, 'm so wet for you," she moans, echoing the words from his message. She does as he requests, plucking the damp fabric from her center to reveal her glistening lips. Harry wants to verbally moan at how gorgeous she looks. "Can I touch myself, daddy? Please? Want it so bad— wanna be your good girl."

fleetwoodlondon: You are being good.

fleetwoodlondon: You can touch yourself, but only with your fingers. 

She dives in almost instantly, fingertips ghosting over her clit as her head falls to the side, slightly overwhelmed by the pleasure after waiting all day. She trails them down to her hole, where she's leaking steadily, and smears her arousal up to her clit, giving it a soft smack. She whimpers from the quick sting. 

"Do you see how wet I get for you?" 

fleetwoodlondon: Open yourself up. Pretend it's my fingers instead of yours. 

She moans as she pushes a single finger inside, arching deeply from the sensation. With her bottom lip wedged between her teeth, she gasps as she nestles a second in.

"Not big enough," she whines, grinding her hips down against her fingers, "Can't— they're too small, daddy, need yours instead."

fleetwoodlondon: I'm sure you do, but I'm not there. So be good and keep fucking yourself open with your pathetic little fingers. I want to watch you cum and lick it all up.

Harry can barely take it, watching her take her fingers knuckle-deep as she falls apart on screen from things he commanded her to do. He can see her thighs beginning to tense, her jaw slack as whimpers fall from her lips, and he wants nothing more than to finish with her. Quickly, he frees his cock from his sweats. So much pre-cum is leaking from the tip that he's almost embarrassed by it — he doesn't need any extra lubrication, so he wraps his fist around the head, bringing the substance down to the base of his length. He groans lowly and sets his phone up on the coffee table, leaning it against a box of tissues so he can use his other hand to pull at his sorely full balls.

"Fuck, daddy, you're so filthy," she moans, fitting a third finger in. She gasps from the stretch and it makes his eyes roll back as he pumps himself, trying to match the beat of her own thrusts. "Are you— y'gonna cum with me? Please, I want it, wanna lick up every last bit of it—"

"Jesus fuck," he mutters to himself, pausing momentarily to squeeze his base. She normally makes him finish fast, but it's never been this quick before. He has to give himself a break before he bursts all over himself. 

"I'm gonna cum," she bleats, almost as if it's a promise, "Fuck, it's coming, I'm gonna cum for you, daddy— shit, it's all for you—"

He watches with wide eyes as her pussy pulses around the trio of fingers deep inside of her, a slew of curses falling from her lips as she falls apart. It's so beautiful, even if he's not privy to seeing her facial expressions. Her whines and whimpers are music to his ears, and finally getting to watch her reach her peak is all the permission he needs to reach his. 

When he does a few moments later, all he can imagine is her hand wrapped around his cock, fisting it quickly while she mouths at the tip to catch the warm spurts of cum. He feels himself, heavy and twitching and tensing beneath his grasp, involuntarily whispering out similar sentiments to hers: "it's all yours, fuck, it's yours, it's yours."

His eyes flicker open to see her sucking on her fingers, a smirk on her lips as she gags around them. Her mouth is drooly and messy with spit and Harry wants to fall over.

"Thank you, daddy," she breathes out, "And thank you for watching, cuties. I appreciate all the sweet tips. I'll be back tomorrow at the same time, 7 pm, eastern standard time."

In the blink of an eye, the screen is blank, she's gone, and Harry has cold cum resting on his stomach. 

. . .

If Y/N's being honest, she's not sure what got into her last night.

She can't stop thinking about him — fleetwoodlondon — and how he became the dominant of her dreams. They didn't exchange any messages after she ended the stream, and she wonders if that made things worse. But he's all she can think about at work today as she pretends to work on a project for a minor client that Sam passed off to her this morning.

With a nervous swallow, she pulls her phone from her pocket. She keeps hoping that he'll message her first, but she's not entirely surprised when the only notifications she has are from her work calendar. Sighing, she brings up their private conversation, biting her lip at the last dirty text he'd sent her. 

moan-a-lisa: hi

moan-a-lisa: how's ur day going?

In an attempt to distract herself while she awaits his response, she redirects her focus to the project she’s working on. She can’t help glancing over at her phone every five seconds, wondering if maybe she took things too far last night and he doesn’t want to talk to her anymore. By the time an hour goes by and her stomach is growling with hunger, her spirits are crushed as she leaves her desk to head downstairs to the cafe for lunch. 

She’s pouting over a panini and a blondie when her phone buzzes on the table. She thinks her mind is playing tricks on her when she sees his username, only to realize she actually had an unread message from him. 

fleetwoodlondon: Boring, I’ve just been working all day. Was just thinking about you actually. 

With raised eyebrows, Y/N’s curiosity is peaked. She assumes he’s referring to her the stream — to be fair, it had been incredibly hot for her, too, so she fully understands if that’s all he associates her with. (Even if she has to force herself to suppress any disappointment seeping from within.)

moan-a-lisa: yeah? what were u thinking about? 

fleetwoodlondon: I picked up a book about graphic design and iconic advertising. It’s really interesting and I was thinking you might enjoy it. 

fleetwoodlondon: Sorry. That’s probably the dorkiest message you’ve ever received on here. 

Y/N doesn’t think she’s grinned this wide in weeks. 

. . .

Y/N and Harry continue to text every day after that. 

It’s weird. She’s never had this close of a relationship with a viewer before, and Harry has never found himself caring about someone he barely knows like this before. They don’t even know each other’s names and yet, they’ve been talking for a month, revealing tidbits of their lives that their closest loved ones don’t even know. In a sense, the consistent presence of the other on the phone is the most comforting thing either one has ever experienced. 

Harry knows about her siblings, the time she broke her arm on a swing when she was five, and when she got so drunk in college she threw up in her friend’s lap. Y/N knows that he moved from London for graduate school, he has a cat named Beatrice that he adores (and feeds right before tuning into her stream every evening), and watches Titanic when he’s had a bad day. 

So, he doesn’t really get why he’s so nervous to talk to her on the phone tonight. 

It had started as a joke — they’d been messaging earlier today, making fun of the fact that they felt like teenagers the way they were glued to their phones to talk to each other. Y/N had brought up wanting to hear his voice so she could finally hear his accent. Harry noted that he didn’t even know her name. And so, they made plans to talk on the phone at 5:30 this evening. 

He’s so anxious he feels like he might puke. As he watches the time slowly tick by, he grips his phone in his hand, waiting for it to start buzzing with an incoming call. He wonders if she feels nervous, too, or if this is no big deal for her. He feels silly for wondering if his infatuation has developed into a full blown crush, but he doesn’t think he can help it. He really, truly thinks he’s fallen for her just based off of chatting with her every day. 

Beatrice feels the tension radiating off of Harry’s body so she wiggles herself into his lap, nuzzling her head against his thigh. He welcomes her comfort, giving her gentle pets at the clock finally ticks to 5:30. His phone begins to vibrate promptly. 

He takes a long, deep breath. 

And then he clicks ‘answer.’

And he hears the most beautiful voice he’s ever heard before. 

part two

#writing #harry styles fan fic #harry styles blurb #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #one direction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one direction #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic rec #harry styles au #harry styles writing #harry styles angst #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles oneshot #Love on tour #nerdrry

[sailoryooons]

Angel | myg (m)

☾ 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

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.” 

#yoongi smut #suga smut #min yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #suga fic #suga fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fic #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #mafia yoongi #mafia bts #minors dni #minors do not interact #halis happy agust

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

You asked for Spencer Reid and Reader requests, particularly plus size, and I am so down bad for that man! Especially later seasons him.

Could I have one where he and the reader are intellectual peers but also enemies? Like she's on the team and just as wicked smart as him and into old literature and languages but they constantly butt heads? And the team knows they really just have feelings for each other, but they'll never admit it. Maybe the reader admits it to Penelope or someone one night drinking that he's hot but she never thought he'd actually sleep with her bc she's fat, but she'll take his attention any way she can get it. Maybe Spencer overhears and proceeds to show her just how hot he finds her arguing with him? 👀 Thank you in advance, girlie!

༉‧₊˚. 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 || 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

— pairing: spencer reid x plus size!reader

— summary: you and spencer hate each other, that much is obvious... right?

— warnings: very surprisingly crude language in this, self-doubt, implied insecurities, misunderstandings, e2l, they're in love and everyone else knows besides them, i made them dorks i don't apologize, mentions of wet dreams, mentions of male masturbation, dirty thoughts, kissing, stripping, vaginal fingering, spencer's dirty mouth, lots of reassurance 'cause i'm a sap, spencer reid #1 consent king, missionary, unprotected sex, sex god spencer?!?! (he does his research), pleasure dom!spencer, switch r & spencer, heavy praise, and a fluffy ending to tie this all up in a nice little bow!

— wc: 3136

⋆ a/n: okay i do admit that this is RIDICULOUSLY long, but i knew exactly what i was getting into writing this and honestly i had so much fun! i don't think i've ever created such characters that have so much chemistry with each other, so cheers to that! (unedited unfortunately :[)

masterlist | AO3

As soon as you hear Spencer’s voice, you make a point to groan obnoxiously loud.

“And just to think I would be able to go home without a headache today.” 

You could feel the glare from said man burning a hole in the back of your head, so you swivel your chair around in order to face the music – in a pleasurable masochist kind of way. His annoyingly handsome face was twisted up in irritation – much to your glee – his eyebrows turned down, and his perfect, plush lips pulled into a deep frown. 

You could tell you had interrupted him saying something that he deemed important, most likely a fact that you and him would go back and forth on, and you couldn’t be more pleased with yourself.

“Funny you mention that seeing as though your voice is the cause of mine.” He bit back, his eyes narrowed into slits. “Aw, you think of my voice?” You tease. “Only in my nightmares.” You wink at him. “You still think about me.”.

“You know what this reminds me of?” Luke piped up from his own desk, drawing the attention from your other intrigued co-workers in the bullpen. “Oh here we go.” Tara said in amusement at Luke’s rambling.

“Back when I was a kid there was this girl that I went to school with, and I would always tug on her hair or try to trip her,” His voice was almost reminiscent. “Everyone thought I hated her, when in reality I was just trying to get her attention.”

“Ah,” Matt said with a smile, “The classic ‘boy bullying the girl he likes,’ or in this case, it’s the girl this time.” Your cheeks began to heat and your eyes went wide, Spencer’s own face and the tips of his ears turning an admirable pink hue.

“Absolutely not -”

“What? No -”

Both Spencer and you stumbled over each other to try and defend yourself, but you didn’t have a chance because Emily’s voice cut through whatever was about to be said next, the woman making haste from her office and into the room with the round table.

“Alright you guys, enough. We’ve got a case.”

“To a job well done!” Penelope cheered as she held up her citrusy alcoholic beverage in the air, signaling she wanted to toast.

You smiled indulgently at the woman sitting next to you, clinking your glass with hers noisily and flickering your eyes over to where a disheveled Spencer Reid sat. You didn’t say anything to him though, because you’re a big ol’ softie and like to let the boy wonder rest before you have him back on his toes.

His eyes met yours the same time your glasses collided. You wish you could say that the vibrations from the clinking was the cause of the shiver that forced its way down your spine, but you knew better. 

It was like the rest of the bar disappeared, the sound of the others joining in on your rejoicing fell on deaf ears. You could have sworn his dark brown puppy-dog eyes drank you in before he looked away and cleared his throat, taking a rather comically large gulp of his water.

Your eyelashes fluttered like a thousand butterflies wings as you rushed to drink your own beverage.

“Okay, what was that!?” You felt Penelope’s finger poke at your ribs before you actually heard her. 

“Ow - fuck! What was what?” You yelped quietly, your hand reaching down to bat away her stabbing digits. “The - the -” She fought to portray her words before her face lit up when she found the correct ones, “The eyefucking!” 

Your stomach erupted in butterflies, “Eyefucking? What eyefucking?” You asked with a scoff, hiding your blush behind the rim of your mug. 

“Oh, please, don’t give me that.” It was Penelope’s turn to scoff at you. “Everybody knows that you and Spencer like each other.” She said it almost like it was a fact, leaning forward to take a smug sip of her drink through the miniature black straw.

Spencer knew listening in on Penelope and your conversation was inappropriate; but in his defense, you guys weren’t really quiet about what you were talking about.

“I -” He heard you begin, “It’s one-sided.” Was all you said before draining your beer. “So you admit it!” Penelope exclaimed with a gasp.

Spencer felt his eyes go wide at her words, but there was this desperate feeling that spread throughout his body; one that caused his fingers to twitch and the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

“When you put it like that it sounds childish!” You complained slightly, biting at the meat of your lip. “I… I’m just not his type you know? Like - you know better than anyone that guys don’t pay attention to girls like us, so you have to learn to improvise.” You were cringing at your own words, but the liquid in your cup was enough to loosen your tongue and lower your inhibitions.

“Was me choosing to constantly argue with him the smartest way to try and peak his interest? No, but I knew he liked a challenge and well… it definitely wasn’t the proudest conclusion I ever came to, but what was I supposed to do? It isn’t like Spencer would date me let alone actually want to sleep with me.”

Spencer wanted to argue with you about how wrong you were, to tell you about every thought he’d ever had about you.

He wanted to tell you about how much you frustrate him, how at first, he thought he hated you and it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize he hated how badly he wanted you; hated how many dirty dreams he had included you and that plush body of yours. He’d wondered how soft you were, how you smelled and tasted. 

Did your moans and whines sound as enchanting as your laugh? Did your eyes twinkle the same way when you were about to cum? 

Those thoughts kept him up at night and his hands in his pants, stroking himself to his unlimited imagination all revolved around you. Those were the days that he was more prone to pick fights with you, mostly because he was embarrassed, ashamed, and quite frankly plain ol’ horny.

Spencer thought you were just so sexy, especially when he had managed to light that fire under your ass that really got you going. He wasn’t a sadist or a masochist by any means, but he loved when you yelled at him. So, for you to think so lowly of yourself it almost drove him mad because you didn’t know.

But you were going to.

You were going to kill whoever was bothering you on your day off.

The knocking was unexpected, but so was who was responsible for the noise.

“Spencer?” You asked in surprise. 

Usually you were prepared for your exchanges with the man, but if your pajamas were anything to go by, you were anything but. Spencer felt his mouth go dry at the sight of your tits sitting braless in a thin undershirt, your soft tummy slightly straining against the cotton material and a pair of shorts that look like they were practically strangling your thighs.

The only thing he could really say was… “Do you know how infuriating you are?”

Your eyebrows furrowed and you crossed your arms over your chest, and little did you know the action pressed the tops of your breasts over the hemline. “Excuse me?” You almost scoffed, “Please don’t tell me you came all the way here just to argue with me.”

“No I - fuck just let me finish.” This was not how he wanted this to go. You looked like you wanted to say something but your curiosity made you choose to stay silent.

“Do you know why you’re so infuriating?” He asked, taking a tentative but careful step towards you. “Because you haunt my every living thought. I see you when I’m awake, I see you when I’m asleep. I can’t… I can’t escape you! I can’t escape how I feel about you.”

Your eyes were wide and your brows were furrowed; it looked like you almost couldn’t breathe.

“But you want to know the worst part?” His hand lands on your cheek and his thumb gently caresses the skin there. “You have the audacity to think that I wouldn’t want you.” 

“You want me?” You asked in disbelief. “But I… but I thought you hated me? I mean - I haven’t been all that nice to you.” You attempt to joke weakly, but your body is on fire; your stomach is tangled up in knots. You were trembling in excitement at his words but in disbelief too.

“Do you have any idea how much I love arguing with you?”

You laughed at his words, your lips slipping into a small smirk as you threw your arms around his neck in an act of boldness. “Oh yeah?” You hummed seductively. “You wanna show me how much?”

“Yeah,” He replied breathlessly. “I do.”

And just like that his mouth was on yours and a long leg shot out behind him to shut your front door. The slam made you yelp, but it quickly melted into a giggle against his lips when he reconnected them.

Spencer tugged you closer to him, and God the feeling of your body was so much better than anything his subconscious could have conjured up. You felt so soft and the front part of your torso pressed against his chest in a way that if he didn’t have you naked under him soon he was going to go crazy.

“Where’s your bedroom?” He didn’t want to pull away from you, but he wanted to do this right.

“I didn’t know you were a gentleman, Reid.” You teased with a dazed smile on your face. “There’s a lot of things that you don’t know about me.” You quirked a brow. “Oh really? How about you tell me?”

“Later,” He said with a lazy shake of his head, “Later.”

His hand reached down to cup your ass, your crotch rubbing on the large boner restrained by his pants. You moaned quietly at the feeling, and found yourself saying, “Down the hall and to the left.”

When you arrived, he couldn’t keep his hands off you; they grabbed at your back, ass, waist, hips. There was so much of you that he had no idea where to start. All he knew is that he wanted all of you right now.

“Can I take your shirt off, please?” His words almost came out as a whine and it welcomed a fresh wave of arousal in your panties. “Take off whatever you want, I’m yours.” A reassuring confession that Spencer had no idea he needed to hear. 

His lithe, veiny hands tugged at your top first, dragging it over your head and throwing it somewhere random. Your pants and panties were next to go and you couldn’t help but shiver at Spencer's intense stare.

“I’m uh- feeling a little vulnerable here, could you lose a layer or two?” 

The man blinked rapidly, his fingers shooting to undo the buttons on his cardigan. “Yes, yeah of course, sorry I -'' You grabbed the shaky digits. “Calm down, take it slow. I’m not going anywhere.” It was a light jab meant to ease his nerves. For a moment he looked unsure but you gave an encouraging smile.

After his clothes disappeared he held you by your waist, walking you backwards until your calves hit the bed. You quickly hurried to scale the mattress until your head hit the pillows.

“God,” Spencer gulped. “This is so much better than what I imagined.” You giggled slightly. “As much as I appreciate your flattery, I want you to fuck me. Now.” You said it with such simplicity that his eyes nearly bulged out of his sockets at your crudeness.

He swallowed his shock. “Whatever the lady wants.”

He hurried to crawl over your leaning body; you cup his cheek in an act of haste, dragging him down to lay on top of you. His own hands didn’t stop their determined trail, tracing the soft planes of your plush body until he reached your wet cunt.

You whine loudly at the feeling of Spencer’s fingers stroking your damp slit.

“So responsive.” He murmured with delighted smirk. You go to say something snarky but you’re quickly cut off when he begins to rub tight circles on your clit. “‘M sensitive.” You gasp against his lips, your back arching and pressing further into him.

His body falls to the side, laying next to your naked one with a cheek balanced on his fist. “I’m gonna make you cum on my fingers first,” Spencer whispers into your ear. His ring finger entered your warmth slowly and he felt himself choke on his words. You mewled, a hand shooting up to tangle in his long, curly hair, the other grabbed at his wrist.

“Then, I’m gonna make you cum on my cock.” After a few experimental twists of his wrist, his middle finger joins the first. Your breathing speeds up with every movement of his digits. 

“Afterwards, ‘m gonna clean you up and take you out to eat.” Your brain could barely process what he was saying, but every word that left his mouth added to the swarming butterflies in your gut – which felt so juvenile seeing as though he was already knuckle deep inside you.

“And when we get home, I’m gonna eat this sweet pussy for dessert.” 

Your eyelashes were fluttering rapidly, your hips moving frantically on his fingers in an attempt to try and get him deeper. Spencer must have sensed what you needed, because with a few firm swipes on your sensitive clit sent you spiraling over the edge.

“Spencer, Spencer, Spencer… I - I -” Your gummy walls squeezed his digits, and the only thing keeping you grounded was the heat coming from his body.

“Wow.” You laughed breathlessly. “Wow indeed.” He mimics with the same amount of amusement.

“Are you okay to keep going?” He asks. 

“Are you kidding?” The look on his face was almost laughable, and you gave his naked chest an encouraging pat. “Hell yeah I’m good, how about you?”

“If I told you I could cum just from watching you, would you believe me?” You roll your eyes and snort. “We’ll find out later, loverboy. Get up here.”

He scrambles to get on top of you, but then stops. “Wait, wait,” He reaches behind your head and grabs a pillow. “Lift your hips up for me.” Your eyes go wide, because who in the fuck taught him that? Though you move a bit slowly through your surprise, he manages to get the soft thing under you, your lower back now elevated.

But all excitement dies out when he realizes there might be no protection, he looks like he could almost cry.

“It’s cool, Spence. I’m on the pill and I… I haven’t had sex with anyone in an embarrassingly long time.” You admit shyly, your eyes casting to the side nervously. “I’m clean too. I don’t really remember the last time I’ve had sex either.” 

You guys make eye contact and erupt into a fit of giggles, “To relearning the art of sexual intercourse then.” Spencer scrunches his nose up at your wording, but you don’t give him any time to retort because you’ve already placed two hands on his face, tugging his head down to kiss your smile-split lips.

He takes the time to kiss you for a moment before reaching down to line his dick up to your entrance. You both shiver at the sensation. You guys disconnect your lips to watch him enter you, your foreheads pressed together and breaths mingled in anticipation.

You moaned in unison when he slowly but surely seethed himself in you fully, and your body tensed at the long awaited intrusion. “Gimme a sec.” You gulped. “Yeah, yeah, of course.” He panted.

You allowed yourself a moment to relax, brushing your fingers through his curls as a way to comfort Spencer as well. After taking a few more seconds to enjoy the raw, intimate moment between the two of you, you said, “Okay. Okay, I’m good.” 

Spencer licked his lips and rolled his hips tentatively, and your breath hitched. A string of whimpers were soon to follow with every drag of his cock against your sensitive inner walls, the leftovers of your previous orgasm leaving your body feeling electric.

Your mouth drops open into an ‘o’ shape when his tip brushes your g-spot.

“Right - right there Spence…good boy - fuck - good fucking boy.” 

The term of endearment was an accidental slip of the tongue, but it had frayed some nerve in his body, because the groan that left him was guttural and hungry.

“Say -” He huffs. “Say it again, please.” The pace of his thrusts speed up as he begs, and your nails drag down his back. “You’re my good boy, Spencie.” His eyes flutter shut at the praise and he doesn’t bother to be gentle anymore.

“Mphm! More - I need more.”

“Okay, okay.” He rushed to balance on his elbow so that his other arm could slip between the two of your bodies to rub at your clit. Your back arched, and Spencer all but throbbed inside of you, his balls tightening and threatening to cum right then and there; but ever the gentleman, he waited, his stomach sucked in tightly and his body jolting quivering.

“I - I’m gonna cum.” 

It didn’t take much to pull you into a kiss. It was sloppy, and messy, and lewd and all of those other wonderful synonyms. Spit dribbled down your chins and with one last hard thrust that almost sent you up the bed, you gripped onto the older man for dear life.

Everything went white as you came; your hearing, your vision, every single cognitive thought you had pretty much flew out the window.

It was Spencer gently wiping the sweat off of your brow that brought you back down to reality, your lungs finally opening up and expanding for that much needed air.

“Hey,” He cooed. “There you are.”

“Hi,” You sighed with a ditzy smile on your face.

There was a moment of silence before you said, “How about we save the oral for breakfast?” Spencer laughed, but nonetheless nodded in agreement. “That sounds perfect.”

“So, what’s for dessert then?” He couldn’t help but ask. “Hm…” You pondered for a moment. 

“How about ice cream?”

“I like ice cream.” But then he added, “But I like you more.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst.” You groaned, covering your eyes, but your grin gave you away. “I like you too, I guess.”

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