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ackermans-brat · 3 days ago

Text

DEVOTION

✰ — choi san x gang leader!f!reader ✷ — summary: after a year of fighting in a rebellion, san was tired of battle. like an angel, a goddess, you offered him peace. ✰ — wc is approx. 12k ✷ — genre: nsfw, first meetings, mafia/gang society, simp!san, themes of worship, cultish if you squint, toxicity but san likes it ✰ — warnings: morally grey themes between both reader and san. violence, blood, and murder alongside other mature scenes, including those sexual in nature. in particular: literally licking someone else’s wounds, finger sucking, gagging, and oral sex. there is a heavy power imbalance with reader being the superior, but san is explicitly into this. he has a praise, humiliation, and devotion kink. non-sexual feet washing as a worshipping act. reader has pussy hair and is hinted to be a virgin, but not established. ✷ — rating: 18+. pay attention to the warnings. ✰ — note: the reader in this fic is the leader of a gang, or a “sect” that inhabits a city and she is referred to as “the empress”. at one point san will lick blood off of the reader. i will put the beginning and ending of this sequence in bold so those who are disturbed can skip. thank you to ally @lovetaroandtaemin for beta reading and offering words of enthusiasm to this fic!! i really appreciaste it <3

p r o l o g u e .

the city held its breath when you fall ill. it's a fleeting illness, your aunt, who was left regent in the wake of your illness, announced. the empress will return to her duties as quickly as possible.

and then nothing happened for six months.

rumors spread. you'd died and your death was kept a secret to prevent rival sects from trying to steal territory; you'd been kidnapped for ransom and the "sickness" is a smokescreen. some spoke of treachery, but that's quickly hushed up. for who would dare betray the empress, the sweet little lamb of a girl who crowns her citizens with flowers?

then your aunt was found dead in a pool. seemingly too suspicious to be a coincidence, you began to get better.

the city let out a relieved breath.

you began to appear in public once more. the city basked in your attention. all seemed to thrive. you kept the city secure under your watch, each entrance and exit under firm surveillance, guards on the corners of streets with guns at their hips, politicians carrying suitcases of powder, corrupt men and women entering your penthouse and never seen leaving.

"it's wrong," said choi bada to his brother. "she'll run our sect to the ground."

and once again the city held its breath as choi bada took a single, nearly-perfect shot at you, missing by a mere breath.

war had begun.

choi san had no choice but to stand beside his brother. surely choi bada was right; he wouldn't steer san in the wrong direction. he wouldn't do the wrong thing.

public buildings were desecrated with bullets and blood. san got used to the feeling of fighting, of bruised muscles and blood staining his clothes. he was commanded to destroy a temple you had dedicated to the gods, offerings of the common and rich alike littering the white granite steps. and so he got used to the feeling of wrongness, of feeling as if he was walking a dark and dangerous path of sin.

then choi bada was killed.

the empress, it was relayed to san as he was chained to a wall, was giving him a choice: die beside his treacherous brother or fight in the empress's arena for her forgiveness.

in the end the choice was easy. after all, san had been fighting for the past year of his life. what was one last battle?

san would forever remember the face of the final body. his opponent’s face was a violent mixture of red and purple, blood staining his mouth and teeth. he was ugly from the brutality of the world, another testament to the harshness of the world.

the crowd roared with approval. they were thirsty; fervent.

it was deafening. the screams and shouts of the crowd nearly drowned out the thundering of blood in san’s ear, his adrenaline shooting through his body like waves crashing down against rock. he couldn’t think. he couldn’t do anything other than stand there in the arena, looking at the bodies littering the sand.

“our winner!” declared a voice, loud and booming even without a microphone. the overseer moved into the arena, his clothes a bright, clean stain against the bloodied sand. he effortlessly wove around bodies to get to san. “our champion!”

the overseer grabbed san’s forearm. the other man’s hand was spotless against san’s skin, which had dirt and sand and sweat molded to flesh. san protested for a moment, instinctively pulling away.

he had been fighting for as long as he could remember. touch meant hurt, and he had long stopped expecting otherwise.

the overseer laughed at san, lips twisted thin and wide. he grabbed at san again. “keep easy, pup,” he hissed out. “you’ve won the fight. congratulations. but you won’t win the battle if you keep trying to bite.”

san wanted to punch this man. he remembered how the overseer had introduced him, the snake in wolf’s skin, the brother of the traitorous subordinate to the empress. he remembered the overseer glancing over him, loudly announcing that he’d do.

san was just another pawn for entertainment to the overseer; to the crowd. he was just another puppy expected to sit and lay and play dumb.

he’d been fighting for so long. who would fault him if he were to swing around and throw a punch into the overseer’s face? who’d disapprove if he were to slam the man into the ground, if he were to fucking drive his knee into his stomach?

san made to draw back. he cast a wild look around, searching for something. instead of aid, his eyes caught on the large screen. for a split second he saw himself, feral and filled with hatred. then the screen switched, showing the empress.

the empress’s lips were split in a smile, showing off the white of her teeth. she had her chin resting on her hand, watching; watching san.

“our champion!” the overseer yelled out once more. “the winner of our empress’s victory! choi san!”

the crowd’s praise grew to a frantic roar, rabid with their adoration. he couldn’t see them, the lights of the arena bright. they loved this, san knew; loved blood, loved fighting. it was a performance to them. it didn’t matter who was in the arena; they were all dispensable.

who mattered was who walked out.

“to the empress,” said the overseer, moving his hand to clap san’s shoulder. his nails dug into san’s flesh. “she was most impressed by your little performance.”

san let the overseer direct him from the arena. the crowd was alight with awe, despite knowing san. well: despite knowing san’s brother. despite knowing that for the past year san had fought alongside his brother, war replacing the blood in his veins, soft words replaced by venom.

none of that mattered anymore. none of it mattered now that san had won, had survived a fight against forty-nine others. he was blessed, the crowd saw now; blessed by the gods and to be blessed by the empress.

he had punched and murdered and shot relentlessly in the name of his brother for the past year. and as the overseer bid the guard to open the gate separating the sands of the arena from the crowd, san realized he wouldn’t be expected to fight anymore.

because that was why he had been fighting, wasn’t it?

he was bound by blood to fight alongside his brother. even as he realized it was wrong – fighting for the sake of it, fighting for the sake of power was wrong – he had to stand beside his brother.

and now he was stepping from the arena, stepping from the sands of war and leaving behind bodies he had injured with his own hands. he realized he could leave it all behind. he walked in a prisoner, was walking out a winner. he won the empress’s crown; would wear the flowers of victory.

it didn’t matter who was in the arena.

who mattered was who walked out.

his brother was no longer his ruler.

now it was –

“the empress,” the overseer began, speaking loudly into san’s ears as to be heard over the crowd. people reached out to press their fingers against san. he didn’t know why. he had been bathed before the arena, but it didn’t matter. he was covered in sweat and grime. he was bruised and scratched.

someone pressed their fingers against san’s bicep. he flinched back, inadvertently pushing back into the overseer. the other man gripped san tight. “when you see the empress, you won’t look the empress in the eye. kneel at the empress’s feet. both knees, hands on the ground, forehead between. the empress will say your name. you will announce your wrongdoings and beg for forgiveness. if she forgives, you will earn the empress’s victory. don’t look at her. don’t say anything beyond what i have instructed you.”

the overseer directed san up the stands. there were all kinds of people: some wore tattered clothes; some suits, hair greased back; some industry uniforms. they were all youthful and vibrant beneath the arena lights.

the empress and the empress’s court, as it were, were separated from the rest. the empress’s balcony overlooked the entire arena. only the elite within the gang – sect, san remembered, within the sect – were allowed to sit this far up, this near the empress.

and it showed. they wore polished suits and glittering jewels. the holsters of guns were bedazzled and glimmering. instead of cans of beer, they held crystal glasses. these were the ones the empress trusted most – no, san corrected again. the empress doesn’t trust anyone. these are the ones that have gained, in one way or another, the empress’s approval.

murderers and sellers; crooks and robbers.

san was directed up a short staircase. he stepped foot onto the platform. the metal was covered in soft, lush rugs. incense was lit, overtaking the dusty air of the arena with a fragrant scent. it was purified; they were purifying the space.

san’s eyes flitted over the rising smoke from the incense, and then he caught sight of the empress.

caught sight of you.

“eyes,” the overseer warned.

san fixed his eyes onto the ground. the overseer guided him with a hand on the shoulder, steering him towards the center of the podium where you sat. once the overseer adjusted san so his shoulders were square with you, presumably, he dug his hand down onto san. san went, obediently, to his knees.

his knees, bruised and raw from fighting, hit the soft carpet. san placed the palms of his hands down against the rug, his knuckles violently red from all the punching he had done, already swelling – and he placed his forehead down against the carpet.

something settled the crowd, silence taking over and reigning.

a voice broke through. “choi san,” you said, “younger brother to our dearest choi bada, of the formerly respected choi clan.”

your court tittered with laughter at the reminder of how far he had fallen.

“no worry.” your voice neared. you had risen from your chair – your throne. “the man you were when you walked into the arena is no more. now you are before me, clean from your sins if you so wish to be.

“tell me: choi bada spoke of treachery and murder, of annihilation of our precious sect; do you concur with your brother’s disastrous agenda?”

san spoke to the ground, but, he found, he was speaking from the heart. “no.”

two letters, one syllable.

that’s all it took to renounce his brother, to turn his back on his brother’s corpse.

“no,” you echoed. “yet you had fought alongside him. you had killed and burned alongside him. were you not his most trusted?”

san scraped his nails against the rug. “i was.”

you hummed. san thought he recognized the tune, but then it was gone just as he was able to reach out and catch the thread of it. “you could have chosen loyalty to this true emperor, as he proclaimed himself. my guard would have killed you alongside choi bada. and yet you entered my arena, fought, and won. you entered to leave your old life behind, yes? you entered to renounce your clan.”

“yes.”

“and so you will,” you said. “rise, choi san, and know that no hatred, no ill-will, will be held to you.”

slowly, as if you were a predator, a lion, and he were the prey, a mouse, san moved. he lifted himself from the bow. he did not stand. he remained kneeling, palms placed on the torn fabric stretching over his knees. san kept his face towards the ground.

“let me see you.”

san thought back to the overseer and his warning: don’t look. he wasn’t to look at you. yet you were asking, were telling him to look.

so san looked.

and looked.

maybe it was because for the past few years of his life he had been fighting. ever since his brother had declared himself the new emperor, had spurred a rebellion in the name of progression, of tradition, san had been fighting. perhaps he had been fighting since he was born, constantly trying to remain in the good graces of a temperamental, powerful older brother.

regardless: san had been fighting for far too long, and he was tired.

before he’d thrown the final punch; before the man with the bright smile tried to stab a knife into san’s thigh; before san had stepped foot into the arena, before his name had been announced to the masses; before his wrists and ankles were put in chains; before his brother announced his surrender, fuck, before he even announced his rebellion, san was tired of fighting.

he wanted to fucking stop.

‘if she forgives, you will earn the empress’s victory.’

and now you were before him, brilliant and beautiful and blinding, offering an end.

you were confession and absolution. you were thunder clouds parting to reveal soft, ever-blue skies. you were serenity and stability. you were peace, an end to a life of war.

you were beautiful.

san drank you in greedily. he took in the shape of your nose, the curve of your lips; the fall of your hair, the way you were dressed plainly in white and clean of any jewelry despite the extravagance of the elite around you.

your eyes widened as san didn’t look away from your gaze. the overseer hissed behind him. neither of you paid him any mind. instead san watched as a small, pleased smile teased at your lips.

you stepped down from your throne. everyone seemed to hold their breath as you descended. san knew without looking this was being projected onto the screen.

your feet were bare. san remembered you were not to step on unclean earth, were not to be touched by unclean hands; not to hear unclean words. your attendants, san had heard, were cleaned before aiding you. their nails, even, were cleaned meticulously. only the pure could touch you.

“choi san,” you hummed again. you had a twinkle in your eyes. a more ignorant man would claim it to be innocence. san knew better. you were analyzing him. “your brother named you one of his most trusted, bid you to aid him in rebelling against our sect.”

“he did.”

you waved your hand. an attendant stepped forward. he held a golden platter. upon it rested a circlet of flowers. san didn’t know flowers, but even the most ignorant concerning flowers would be able to recognize the small, white blossoms as wax flowers. as your flowers, as the empress’s victory.

your blessing symbolized. only those worthy could wear it, show off the empress’s favor. it was a sign of their devotion to you; of your protection to them. to gain it was magnificent; to be stripped of it, deadly.

“and you rejected choi bada.”

san furrowed his brows. he should lie; should say he rejected his brother, claim he felt it was the wrong thing to do from the beginning. he should claim his allegiance was only ever to you, his empress.

but san couldn’t lie. not to himself; to you.

“not at first.” the elite on the podium gasped. you shot the crowd a silencing look. san only carried on once your eyes were upon him once more. “he was my older brother. i thought he could do no wrong. it was – was my duty, my pleasure to be with him.”

you moved towards him, hands going to the crown of flowers. “until?”

“the temple,” san said, hesitating. “it – it was wrong. he was wrong. it was evil. cruel. horrible.”

you smiled down at him, the crown of flowers resting delicately on your fingers. “your heart is golden, young wolf.”

san shook his head. “if it was then i would’ve known from the beginning.”

“the plots of those closest to us,” you began, “are often concealed. we do not regard our precious ones with clear eyes, choi san.”

you were talking about your aunt. the one who had poisoned you for five years to weaken you, had used your illness to try and spread her territory and harvest your riches. who had exploited your youth, your naive innocence and trust and turned around and hurt you.

perhaps you and san were alike. you both had been betrayed by those closest.

san considered you. the line of your proud shoulders, the stability of your hands. you were the heavens revealed after a storm. you were his empress; his goddess.

“no,” he said gently. “i should have known better. the gods have honored and blessed you as our empress. i should not have presumed any man to know better than the gods. i should have known better than to listen to my brother’s lies.”

“lies,” you repeated back. “i suppose he spoke of my imperfections. in some regard, he would not be wrong. i am mortal.”

san frowned. he lowered himself again. slowly san crawled forward, his bruise knuckles and bloodied forearms – not his blood, of course – stark against the soft white of the rug. he reached, with dirtied fingertips, for the hem of your long, white dress. he lifted it, and, like a devotee to a goddess, lowered his head and press his lips to your feet.

he withdrew.

“you are perfect,” he said. “any imperfections, spoken or thought, are lies. you are my empress. i would give myself to you for an eternity. i will give myself to you for an eternity.”

your face, for a split moment, was horribly vulnerable. he saw you not as an empress, as a queen of a city of sin, but as a woman.

then, just as quickly, your face turned back into stone.

“you would give yourself,” you said, “to me.”

“every part of me is yours,” san earnestly said. “body and soul.”

you glanced over him, eyes taking him in. san wondered what you saw. he wondered if you just saw the superficial part of him, what only appeared on the surface. if you saw the sharp cut of his eyes, the line of his jaw; the broad square of his shoulders and the bruises and scrapes that littered his skin. or if you saw beneath that.

what lay beneath the surface of him, san did not know. he didn’t know if it was anything special – if he was anything special. he had killed and sinned just as any other person in the arena; had been taken as a prisoner. he was just as dirtied as everyone else.

everyone but you.

your shoulders relaxed back and you grew to your full height, an empress once more. you stepped to san, lifting the crown of wax flowers up for all to see. “the redeemed brother of choi bada,” you announced, “who prostrates himself before our gods and our great empire. this empress, low and humble before our heavenly fathers and mothers, accepts choi san into our empire with open arms.

“let choi san spend the rest of his life in reparation to our empire. let him serve our great city in body and soul. let him prove himself devoted, and let us say no more of his past.”

and then you were placing the flower crown upon his head.

the crowd roared with approval.

you glided your fingers along his hair. he wanted to stop you. he knew his hair was greasy from sweat, knew his skin was dirty. he wasn’t clean. and yet you traced the side of his face with the pads of your fingers, let your nails skim along the line of his jaw.

it was too much. it was too much. san couldn’t remember the last time someone touched him and he didn’t expect pain. here you were caressing him as if a lover, as if he were precious. it was too much.

you brought your hands back to your body. you raised one up, palm out, for silence. the crowd quieted, reverent before their empress.

when you spoke, your voice was stern with authority. “let it be shown our gods and empire is just. let it be known that our empire will not turn its back on those who repent. let it be known that i will not punish those who offer themselves wholly, who renounce their sins before me.”

your hands framed his jaw. you tilted san’s face up, and then you were pressing your lips to his forehead.

san felt his entire body go numb. he couldn’t think; couldn’t breathe.

the crowd screamed fervently. you continued to speak, though san wondered if anyone was able to hear your words.

“let it be known i will not turn my back on those who need me.”

and like a flower with the sun, san so desperately needed you.

you stepped back. your face had grime around your mouth from where you had kissed san’s dirty forehead. a attendant stepped forward with a white cloth, but you waved them aside, letting the dirt remain.

“bring him to my bath,” you ordered, gesturing towards san. you looked towards him, brows raised. “you will serve me, body and soul, yes?”

san nodded.

you smiled. it was a small turn of the lip, but san felt it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

san couldn’t help but feel horribly out of place in your penthouse.

it was the sort of place that he never would have stumbled into ordinarily. windows took up the entire wall, clean and giving him a view of the artificial glow of the city underneath the moon. the furniture and carpets were all white and spotless, the floor a mute beige that warmed the space.

everything was all clean. there were no personal touches within the penthouse from what san could see as he was guided from the overly large living space to the master bathroom. everything was meticulously placed, offered no insight as to whom the owner of the penthouse – the entire building, really – was.

there were flowers throughout the penthouse, san noted. they were the only source of life within, the only sign of color. geraniums and roses, lilies and petunias. they were spaced out as to not overwhelm and truly were the only things within the space that betrayed the character of the owner.

the attendant slid open the door to the master bathroom. immediately san was hit with the gentle scent of vanilla and flowers, though he couldn’t place what particular sort of flower he was smelling. the bathroom’s size was in proportion to the rest of the apartment, meaning it was still considerably bigger than any bathroom san had stepped into before.

the bath was already running, though san was tempted to call it a pool. it was longer and wider than any man or woman could possibly be, settled into the ground with shining white marble framing it. the bath only touched one wall, artificial stone breaking up the smooth texture of the rest of the room.

the attendant moved about the bathroom, leaving san by the door. she turned off the faucet of the tub. “don’t worry about the water, there’s a heater in the tub.”

she went to the lights. the bright overhead lights dimmed; the wall scones lit up, giving the bathroom a dark, moody feel.

“usually you should be scrubbed clean,” the attendant said, wrinkling her nose as she took san in. “obviously you haven’t bathed in days. but the empress insisted on leaving you as you are.”

the attendant went to the marble counter. she pressed on something, and then a cabinet door was opening. san wouldn’t have been able to guess anything was there at all, as there were no handles and he couldn’t see the frame of the door.

she withdrew from the cabinet with white towels. “the empress will direct you on how to attend her. do not presume familiarity; do not mistake her kindness for permission. it’s hard to get blood out of stone.”

san’s eyes snapped to the white stone wall framing one side of the bath. it had been unassuming before, just another pretty feature; now it seemed to stand before him ominously, a stark warning.

“you mean –” he broke off, brow furrowing. “the empress –?”

“our dear lady is not a sweet little lamb,” the attendant said, pride the undercurrent to her tone. she placed the towels on the white counter. she bumbled around, pulling things from drawers san hadn’t noticed. the attendant reached out for a vase of flowers, sweet little things with white petals and yellow centers.

“the biggest mistake one can make is to presume her submissive in any respect,” the attendant advised him. “never presume to know more than her. never think, for a single second, that you aren’t eating out of the palm of her hand.”

san shifted back. you had been – well, not unassuming. but he hadn’t – didn’t – this picture the attendant was illustrating of you seemed so stark in comparison to the woman who had grabbed his face and kissed it so gently. he couldn’t imagine you like this. san couldn’t imagine you being a master manipulator, couldn’t imagine you having some secret agenda. he couldn’t imagine you, so benevolent and beautiful, being a snake wrapped in lamb’s wool.

the attendant hummed, content with the flowers. she turned to san. she looked him up and down. “if you have some sort of secret agenda –”

“i don’t!” the words were forceful and sure as they escaped san’s lips. he frowned at the attendant, standing straight and staring down at her. he crossed his arms over his chest, feeling the muscles of his arms clench from how rigidly he was holding himself. “i swore my body and soul to the empress. any person who dares to say otherwise is wrong.”

the attendant inclined her head. “so you say.”

and then you were walking into the bathroom.

san felt his breath leave him all at once. even in the dim artificial lighting you were perfect. you were bare of any accessories, simply clothed in a white dress with your feet gently slapping against the floor. yet you were more beautiful than any gaudily clad creature san had ever seen.

you said something to the attendant. san didn’t hear. he was too busy taking you in: the soft lines of your arms, the precious curves of your mouth. the way the very air around you seemed to sweeten with your presence, bending to your purity.

the attendant left, and then you were raising your arm up to finger at your earrings.

and san saw red.

literally.

your forearm was painted a vibrant red, blood gently pulsing from a single cut.

san was at your side in a second, his hands reaching out for your arm. he grabbed you, his hands cradling your forearm as he frowned down at the injury.

“what happened –”

but san was cut off by your hand pressing into the tender meat of his neck. your thumb pinched mercilessly, making san shutter and his grip on your arm weaken.

“down,” you hissed, sharp and severe.

obediently san dropped to his knees, hands at your hips. ignoring your own injury you grabbed his hands, forcing them away.

“don’t touch me,” you snapped, your injured arm darting out. you gripped his hair in your hand, nails digging into his scalp. you wrenched his face back, exposing the line of his throat and making him gasp into the humid air of the bath. “never, ever touch me without permission. you understand me?”

“you’re hurt,” san gasped out, eyebrows high on his face as he pressed his head back into your hand. it hurt, your grip on his hair harsh. yet he didn’t want to move away, didn’t want to move from the pain you were delivering onto him. “you’re hurt, empress.”

he watched through squinted eyes as your jaw, which had been jutted out in anger, softened. the corners of your mouth sagged from where your lips had been twisted from fury.

your grip on his hair loosened. you clicked your tongue, stepping close.

gone was all anger from your being. instead you moved close, your hand cradling san’s cheek. blood dripped from your wound, down onto his pants and the marble floor.

you hummed down at him, thumb gently swiping along the sharp cut of his cheekbone. “i apologize,” you whispered, voice sweet. “forgive me. when a person rushes towards me i cannot help but react.”

san felt his heart clench at hearing you say such a thing. if it was up to him, you’d never feel fear again. never feel as if you were in danger, never feel anxiety or terror. you’d be safe; safe for ever and ever. he’d make you safe. he’d make the world safe for you.

“i should have known,” he said in apology.

you smiled, then. you laughed softly. your fingers went to his black hair, pulling slightly as to expose his face to you further. “sweet boy,” you said.

san turned his face towards your palm. you let him. he let his eyes flutter shut, nose tucking into the curve of your hand. he felt treasured like this; precious.

“next time you greet me,” you said, voice light, “remain still until you are acknowledged. understand?”

“yes, dear empress.”

you grinned down at him. “my sweet boy,” you cooed again.

yes.

yours.

“you are hurt,” san said. he blinked up at you, mouth pushed into a soft pout. “what happened?”

“nothing of consequence,” you returned. “i only worry about it staining your clothes.”

san frowned. you were hurt, and it wasn’t anything important?

“you could help me clean it,” you said, hesitant.

san looked up at you. you were so beautiful and kind. you were a powerful woman, far above any else in superiority and worth. and yet you were allowing him to help you when you were in pain, when you were in need of aid.

you, so innocent and – and holy, to be touched only by the pure, were letting san touch you. not only that, you would letting him clean you.

“come on, pup,” you instructed, “clean me.”

slowly, as to not startle you again, san grabbed your arm in his hand. he moved your hand from his face, immediately missing it. but you had given him a task, and san would be deplorable if he were to hesitate in acting on it.

when san touched his tongue to your blood, he found, to his astonishment, it tasted perfectly normal, as anyone’s blood would. it was tangy, tasted like rust. it wasn’t horrible, san found. it wasn’t revolutionary, of course; he wouldn’t go around drinking other’s blood. but it was, well, your blood, a symbol of your humanity, and you were letting him lick at it.

you hummed softly, stepping close. you slid your free hand into his hair, petting softly. there was little space between the two of you. and san loved it. he couldn’t help but smile gently into your skin. san pressed a soft kiss to your arm, ignoring how he only seemed to further spread your blood.

“so messy,” you said, and san peeked up at you. you were smiling down at him, and san swore he could see your eyes sparkle. “such a messy eater, choi san.”

he pressed another kiss to your skin. san alternated between kissing your arm and licking at your wound, his mouth overwhelmed by the tangy taste of your blood. he endured it, though. he couldn’t help himself. he felt, weirdly, as if he was drunk.

it was almost as if this was some sort of drug; as if worshiping you were addictive. san was kneeling before you, blood smeared over his mouth, and he didn’t want to stand. he didn’t want to erase that gentle smile from your face. if that meant kneeling before you and licking your wounds, then –

well.

he’d done worse things for more horrible people.

eventually you pulled san away. your wound had long stopped bleeding. your arm wasn’t entirely clean, thin smears of bright crimson a blight against your skin.

you cupped his face with both hands. you looked over him. san wondered what you saw.

you pressed your fingers to the corner of his mouth, lightly following a path he was blind to. “you’re so messy,” you said again. “covered in blood and dirt.”

your fingers wandered over his face. san’s eyes fluttered. you followed the curve of his nose, the sharp jutting lines of his cheeks.

“you are to attend me in the bath,” you said, voice a sweet song. “and yet you are covered in filth. you will wash before you serve me.”

then you stepped away.

you went to the hidden cabinet the attendant had gone to earlier. you opened it, removing a white towel.

“kneel in the shower,” you commanded.

the shower was tall and large. the showerhead was large and like a saucer, and when you turned it on the water was like a trickle of rain.

san went and kneeled in the shower underneath the water.

“your clothes,” you said, tossing the white towel onto an ottoman beside the shower. “take your clothes off.”

san felt himself flush. you hadn’t said for him to take off of his clothes, and so he hadn’t thought of it. he felt sheepish; stupid.

you didn’t make fun of him, though. you held out your hand. san stood, beginning to take off his clothes. you kept your eyes on him as he did so. first came his tank top. it was white originally, though the arena had dirtied it considerably with sand and other grime, and tight against him. once it was off he handed it to you. you took the shirt from him, letting it hang from your fingertips, continuing to let your eyes smooth over his abdomen and chest.

next, his shoes and socks. he kicked those out of the shower.

he only hesitated when his thumbs were hooking into the waistband of his underwear.

you laughed at him, dropping his pants and shirt to the side. “don’t be shy now,” you teased. “are you not going to attend me? will you not wash my body with your hands? be naked and let us be on equal ground.”

and so he pushed his underwear down. he fought to get it over the swells of his thighs, but then they were quickly falling to his knees and onto the floor.

you stared at him openly.

san’s dick – regrettably – was at half mast. he felt as if he had been hard ever since you made him kneel in front of the arena crowd. and with you staring he felt a small sense of shame, but still his cock continued to harden, blood thickening it and letting it take on a darker hue.

“cute,” you laughed again. “now on your knees.”

san returned to his knees. you stepped into the shower. you were still wearing your white dress, and you were ignoring the shower water as it rained down on you.

slowly, leisurely, you reached for a bottle of soup. you squeezed out a small white liquid to your hand, and then you were stepping close.

you were perhaps half a foot away. you were close enough to where all san had to do was lean his head forward to press his face into your stomach if he wanted to.

your free hand went to his chin. you tipped his face up. you cupped water in your hand and then began washing his face. after a handful of seconds you were lathering his face in some sort of face wash, fingers gentle as you scrubbed.

“you’re getting all wet,” san mumbled, opening an eye to peer up at you.

you raised your brows at him. you rinsed off your hands, and then you were cleansing his face of the soap. “i’m bathing you,” you said simply. “why would i take off my clothes?”

san thought it was odd for a fleeting moment that you weren’t undressing despite the fact your dress was absolutely soaked, but then you were running your fingers through his hair.

“you will have to keep yourself clean,” you instructed him. “especially if you are to attend me.”

“attend you?”

you scoffed. “did you not devote yourself to me, ‘body and soul’? regretting your words already, choi san?”

he hurriedly shook his head. you left him for a moment to reach for a bar of soap.

“if you’re going to attend to me, ‘body and soul,’” you began, sliding the soap along his shoulders, “you will need to keep clean. you cannot touch me if you are dirty.”

you stilled. you tapped his chin with a finger. san looked up. your face was serious, your eyes sharp and mouth firm. “you are devoting yourself, yes?”

“until i die, empress.”

you relaxed, visibly pleased at san’s eagerness. “you will be mine. you are mine, then, choi san.”

“yours.”

you returned to cleaning him. he tried not to look at you too much. the white dress stuck to your skin as if it were your skin. san could see the curve of your breasts – tits felt too crude of a word to use for you – and the soft imprint of your nipples.

“if you do well enough when you bathe me, you can be my bath attendant,” you declared. you stepped back. “stand.”

“bath attendant?” san stumbled to his feet, legs slightly numb from having been kneeling for so long. he’ll have to get used to it. he liked being on his knees for you.

“‘body and soul,’” you reminded. “don’t you want to bathe me?”

san nodded. “so badly,” he said.

and he meant it. he thought about bathing you, his hands gently massaging soap into your hair. he’d wash whatever part you wanted. he’d take care to wash behind your ears and neck, to lightly rub soap over your breasts if your nipples were particularly sensitive. he’d even wash your pussy if you’d let him.

san felt blood rush down to his dick at the thought. it was horribly, disastrously crude of him to think such a thing. he should be ashamed.

you rubbed the bar of soap over him. your hand followed, sliding along his skin and smoothing the suds. your hands were sure as you slid them along his abdomen, thumb swiping over his muscled stomach.

“so strong,” you said. “it would be a shame not to have you as a member of my personal guard.”

“‘body and soul.’”

you laughed at him, reaching up and pinching at one of his brown nipples. he hissed, dick throbbing as he reached up and cupped his own tits to protect them. “you are awfully devoted,” you teased. “it is a good thing you stumbled into my arena instead of someone else’s, choi san.”

“i wouldn’t be like this to anyone else,” san announced. his eyes flicked over your face. your hair was stuck along your forehead, and he could see that you had on mascara, the black liquid running over your cheeks.

rise, choi san, and know that no hatred, no ill-will, will be held to you.

you had crowned him with the empress’s victory. you had promised him absolution of his sins. you were merciful. you were beautiful.

“you wouldn’t have to be in my guard,” you murmured, moving around him. you went to his back. he felt acutely aware of you. the soap traveling over his skin, your hand smoothing over the muscles of his back. “you fought for one tyrant already. i will not be another.”

san let out a sharp breath.

he turned. he looked down at you.

“i’d do anything for you.”

for a moment you just stared at him, your hands stilling over his abdomen. the shower beat down on his back, water sliding along his body.

“so much power for one woman to have,” you murmured. “turn back around.”

you continued to bathe him. your hands slid over his body. when your hands went to his dick, san couldn’t help but tense. you ran your fingers along the veins of his hips, letting them lead to the base of his cock. his cock was fully erect. you paid his tumultuous state no mind. you slid your hands along his dick methodically, touch sure and firm.

san sucked in a deep breath, his hands going to your shoulders, searching for something to tether him.

“hands off of me,” you ordered. your hand could just barely wrap around his dick. you slid your fist from the base of his cock to the tip, wrist twisting.

san let out a groan, and he tried to ignore how high his voice went at the end of it. your hand continued to his balls, fondling lightly as you gave a perfunctory wash there, too.

you released his dick. it flopped up to his stomach, and he couldn’t help but wince at the urgent need that shot through him, his cock throbbing. san wanted your hand wrapped around his dick again, wanted it so badly.

“finish up,” you commanded. you stepped from the shower, dropping the bar of soap onto the ground, not bothering to hand it to him.

san turned and bent over to grab the soap. when he straightened, he turned back to face towards where you had left him. you had one shoulder of your dress down around your elbow, your hands reaching up for the other as you watched san.

he got, delightfully, the feeling as if you had been studying him while his back was turned. san felt, stupidly, as if he were a little mouse and you were the mighty lion. as if he was running frantically between your paws, searching for a way out as you continually shifted your paws, not giving him a way out.

well –

san didn’t want a way out.

if you wanted to play with him like cat and mouse, san would let you. you saved him. from what, san didn’t know, though he did know whatever his fate would have been had you neglected to acknowledge his victory would have been far worse than this; worse than standing naked in the bathroom of your penthouse, erection strained and wanting.

you saved him; you wouldn’t hurt him.

you gave him the empress’s victory. you would protect him.

further: you asked him to bathe you, to guard you.

you wanted him at your side.

when san finished washing, all the dirt and grime of his old life swirling down the shower drain, he turned off the water.

you had completely undressed, and were standing by the sunken tub. your dress and undergarments were scattered. san couldn’t help but let his eyes rove over you. he looked at the curve of your thighs and where the meat of them mellowed to bleed into your knees. san stared at the hair of your cunt, at the soft skin of your stomach; the hang of your tits and your nipples, hard due to them being exposed to the room.

his dick ached.

“get into the tub,” you ordered.

the tub, san found, varies in depth. the steps were cold white marble, and when his foot was submerged beneath the water, it was extremely warm. the water was the sort of warm that would lure its occupants to sleep.

when he crossed the tub, as the stairs were on one side and you the other, the level of the tub floor began to steepen. near the stairs, once he was off of them, the water only went to the middle of his thighs. as he neared you, the water began to slowly rise until it lapped against his lower hips, warm around the base of his cock.

you had lowered yourself to sit on the edge of the tub when he climbed in. your legs were hanging over the edge, knees parted just enough for him to stand between them.

you were grinning, the white of your teeth striking against the plush color of your lips.

“what a predicament you have there,” you murmured, eyes flicking down to san’s dick.

he felt blood rush to his face as you gazed unabashedly at his cock. “i –”

“clean my feet,” you interrupted. you leaned back on your hands, not concealing your body in the slightest. san looked over your stretchmarks, over the pebbling of your nipples. he wondered, fleetingly, if you’d let him lick them.

“your feet?”

“you said you would clean me,” you said. “go grab the soap.”

the soap, as it turned out, was on the other side of the tub. slowly san waded through the water, pushing against it. he grabbed the soaps, all flower-scented and bottled, and turned back to you.

“shame,” you said. “i quite liked the other view of you.”

blood shot to his face again. san was sure his cheeks and ears were vibrantly red.

“this view is not so bad either,” you amended.

he knew you were talking about his abs and his dick, just as he knew you had been talking about his ass with the prior comment. san was being treated as if he were some piece for you to ogle at, and fuck, if that didn’t make his dick absolutely throb.

you spread out your knees, letting san press close. he set the bottles beside you, and then he couldn’t help but let his hands hover over your hips.

“you want to touch me?”

san looked up to you. your head was tilted slightly, and you were looking down your nose at him. he traced the curve of your jaw with his eyes, the line of your throat. he wanted to touch every inch of you. he wanted to devour you.

“yes,” he said, voice hushed and yearning.

you smiled, baring your teeth at him. you raised your leg, and then you were pressing your foot flat against his stomach.

“clean me.”

and so san began to wash your feet.

he cupped the water in his hand, bringing it up and letting the water escape his hand to trinkle over your foot. san ran his hand over your foot. despite the fact that you walked barefoot, as to represent your divinity, the underside of your foot was nearly clean.

even as san finished cleaning one foot and shifted to the next, starting by rinsing it off, his erection didn’t flag. he continued to wash your foot, trying to ignore how his cock throbbed in tandem with his heart, how the warm water of the tub lapped over his balls and the base of his dick.

you hummed as san finished washing your second foot, toes flexing in his hold. he smoothed his hand over the gentle incline of your foot, thumb swiping over your ankle.

san looked down at your skin. your foot was drenched, your leg dry. he ran his fingers over your skin, letting the pads of his fingers drag along your flesh. san

“could i –” san broke off, looking up at you. you raised your brows at him, waiting. “can i kiss your skin?”

you tilted your head. you flicked your eyes up and down his figure. eventually, slowly, you nodded.

san felt his heart flutter in his chest. he bent over. he pressed the tip of his nose to your leg, feeling the slight bumps along your skin from where your shaven hairs were trying to break through. he let his lips ghost over your skin, torturing himself; appreciating you.

san let his lips trail down your leg, and then he was at your ankle.

slowly, but not hesitantly, he pressed a kiss to the skin there.

you sucked in a breath.

san pulled back slightly, looking up at you. his voice, when he spoke, seemed to come from deep within him. “you okay?”

“i’ve been worshiped before,” you said, in lieu of an answer, “but not quite like this.”

“shall i continue?”

san watched as you visibly shivered before him. his dick throbbed, a slight pearl of precum budding from the tip.

you nodded. san pressed his lips to your ankle once more.

san let his mouth move over your skin. he didn’t bite or lick or anything. he simply explored. his mouth was but a tool used for mapping, learning the rises and curves of your body.

once san found he was satisfied with one leg, he shifted to the other.

san’s mouth went to the crook of your knee. he turned your leg in his hand. he pressed his mouth to the part where your knee and thigh met, his nose pressing into the flesh as he mouthed at your skin.

you let out a gentle sigh. it was slight, hardly there. san only heard it because he was so incredibly tuned into you. he wanted to listen to every hitch in breath, wanted to be able to see every twitch of a finger. san wanted to devote himself to you, and so he heard the slight breath that escaped you, the little exhale, as he kissed your thigh.

his dick, horribly, angrily, throbbed. his balls were tight against him, precum beading and sliding along the head of his dick.

you hummed at him, and then you were lowering your leg. “you’ve a problem.”

“it’s not a problem,” san said. he settled his hand on your knee, wanting to press his mouth back into your skin. “i can ignore it.”

you shook your head. “fuck yourself,” you said, words so horribly dirty compared to the white aura of pureness that clung to your identity like a shroud. “fuck your hand, choi san.”

san took his hand, the one not on you, and moved it to his dick. he didn’t begin fucking, instead intently watching you, as if he were a dog waiting for the command from his master to have the treat.

“i told you what to do,” you said, voice dry. you shifted closer, thighs now dangling over the edge of the tub.

san fisted his cock, immediately shivering into his touch. he felt as if he had been effectively edged for hours. san brought his hand down to the base of his dick, slowly, deliciously, dragging it up to the tip. the water smoothed the stroke, each motion of his hand making san keen into the touch.

“how funny,” you said. san looked at you. you were still, eyes watching his hand as he fucked himself. “such a strong man driven to patheticness by the sight of a pair of tits.”

“no,” he groaned from the back of his throat. san thumbed at his dickhead, not bothering with the slit; being uncut, he was far too sensitive there to bother, the sensations too harsh for him. his foreskin glided with his strokes, concealing and revealing his tip in equal measure.

“it’s you,” he got out eventually. “been – been hard.”

you chuckled at him. “since when? since i made you kneel for me in front of hundreds?”

san was quiet. he stilled his hand at the base of his dick, furtively bucking his hips into his hand, the sensation too little to do anything proper.

“oh it was,” you said, glee gently curving around the edges of your voice. “you’re really into this devotion thing, aren’t you? into worship.”

“never been before.”

you laughed again. you reached out one foot, nudging against his thigh. san let out a choked noise, and then he was fucking his fist down onto his cock.

“you get hard from kneeling to your empress,” you said. “the strong man who killed ten men before my eyes likes being made to bow in reverence. how fucking cute of you, choi san.”

san groaned, this one loud. he began fucking his fist in earnest, the strokes quick. you placed your legs on either side of his thighs, and then you were bringing him close, legs wrapping around him.

“fucking choi bada’s general. likes bowing to the empress that demanded the death of his brother, hm? that it, choi san? just needed me to tell you what to do? you like me telling you what to do, choi san?”

“yes,” he hissed out.

you laughed, loud and harsh. he opened his eyes to watch your chest heave with your laughter. you looked at him, eyes twinkling with mirth.

“then cum,” you commanded.

san’s orgasm ripped from him, balls tight and throbbing as his release tore through him. he couldn’t help but tip his head back, exposing the column of his throat, hand frantic as he worked over his dick.

san didn’t stop fucking his hand until it was bordering on the edge of too much, little shocks of pain shooting through him.

when san opened his eyes, satisfied, it was to the sight of you covered in his cum.

thick and white, the fluid stuck to your skin. his cum was covering your thighs and stomach and tits, not great enough to completely conceal your skin, but still significant.

san felt horrified.

here you were, this pure, divine person in front of him. you wore white, your attendants had to clean themselves before even handing you a glass of water. and here you were: covered in his cum.

“i suppose,” you drew out, “it is a good thing i’ll be bathing.”

you lifted a hand, going to swipe at some of the cum on your stomach.

san darted out, his hand wrapping around your wrist. “don’t,” he said, urgent, “it’s dirty.”

“then you’ll just have to clean it,” you taunted back.

you drew your hand through the cum on your stomach. you pressed your thumb to the fingers stained with san’s spunk. you inspected it, as if you were curious.

then you held out your hand.

“clean me.”

for a moment san was confused. his brow furrowed. he looked between your stained fingers and your face.

you raised your brows. “clean my hand, choi san.” you paused, and then: “it’s the least you could do for touching me like you have.”

san felt himself blush. he reached out, both of his hands wrapping around your wrist. he was acutely aware of the fact that you were watching him, eyes not missing a single movement.

san lifted your hand to his mouth. he hesitated for a moment. he pressed his lips against the tips of your fingers, and then he was moving them into his mouth.

your skin was salty in his mouth, and slightly soapy from having bathed san. san didn’t take your fingers out, though. you had told him to do something, and he was damned if he wasn’t going to do it.

san guided your fingers further into his mouth. his spunk was on the tips of your fingers, and nearly immediately he could taste it. it was bitter and horrible, and san didn’t understand how anyone could swallow it.

knowing you had commanded it, however, and not wanting to let you down, san continued to push your fingers into his mouth. he gagged when your fingers were halfway, the pads of your digits pressing gently against his tongue.

you laughed. “oh cute,” you cooed. “poor little choi san can’t handle two fingers in his mouth, yeah?”

cheeks tinged with red, san fought against his gag reflex to slide your fingers further. he had to stop when he felt the tops of your nails at the far back of his mouth, the feeling of wanting to gag licking at the back of his throat.

“don’t gag,” you said. “i hadn’t told you to take my fingers into your throat, but now that you’ve decided to do so, you will. swallow around my fingers, choi san.”

feeling bullied, but not disliking it, san swallowed around your fingers.

his mouth went tight. he could feel the vacuum of it, the sucking sensation.

“suck my fingers clean.” you shifted before him, your free hand reaching up to brush at your cheek as if you had an inch. “lick them.”

san ran his tongue over your fingers, gathering his cum from them. he swallowed again, only to immediately gag. san pulled away from your hand abruptly, lips pressing firmly together and throat working fervently to try and assure that there was nothing else foreign in his mouth.

you wiped your hand over his shoulder. “how boring,” you said absently.

“i’m sorry,” san apologized. he placed his hands on your knees. you didn’t immediately scold him. “it just felt weird.”

“it just felt weird,” you echoed back. “are you going to make it up to me?”

san nodded, and then he was pressing his face to your tits.

instantly your arms were around him, hands sinking into his hair and nails digging. he hissed, and he heard you say his name, low and dangerous.

but then san ran his tongue along the curve of your tit. he found he loved the first taste of it, the combination of your slightly sweaty skin and his spunk, and so san quickly licked a long stripe over your tit again.

your fingers weakened in his hair, nails scraping lightly. you gripped the ends of his hair, and then you were pressing your nose to his ear.

“you better lick me clean,” you muttered. “i don’t want to dirty the bath water with your spunk.”

san shivered in your hold. he didn’t know if it was from your command or how your voice spat out spunk.

san ran the flat of his tongue over your skin. he licked at your tits as if it were his favorite meal.

once you deemed them clean, you were pushing his face lower to your stomach.

san, ever obedient to his empress, began cleaning you there, too.

it was weirdly relaxing. san lapped at your skin. he continued even when most of the cum had been licked from your torso, just letting his tongue rove over your flesh.

“good boy,” you eventually praised.

then you were spreading out your legs, pushing san back. you were gentle with it, however, and he felt his heart flutter in his chest and his dick give a little lurch.

“here,” you said, your hand sliding to your cunt. “don’t forget here.”

your cunt, in consideration with the staining of cum to your tits and stomach and thighs, did not need to be cleaned.

but san found himself kneeling along the ledge that ran the complete length of the sunken tub, his fingers going to your cunt.

he used his thumbs to spread your lower lips, nails scraping lightly against your damp pussy hair. for a moment san just looked, taking in the pretty shape of your cunt.

then san was pressing his nose to your clit, tongue rolling out to lap at your hole. you were wet, the fluid bittersweet. san couldn’t help but lick at you again as soon as he had tasted you, running the broad width of his tongue up your pussy.

you moaned out, the loudest san had heard from you thus far.

and he found it absolutely addictive.

san didn’t know if all cunts were like this; didn’t know if it merely pertained to your pussy. but san found himself completely fixated, letting his tongue run from your hole to your clit, gathering your fluid and swallowing it eagerly.

he wanted to, quite simply, devour you.

no –

that wasn’t right –

san wanted to worship you.

your cunt was his altar, and san was devoted. he thrusted his tongue into your hole, licking at the rim. san moved his tongue to your clit, and that, too, he worshipped. he found it particularly addicting, the way you moaned and thighs tightened around him as he lapped at your clit.

san slid a finger into your hole, and you gasped out as you tightened down on it. your cunt clamped down on his fingers as it if were his cock, unwilling to let it go. your pussy milked his finger greedily as he ran his tongue over your clit messily, your hips in constant movement underneath him.

“fuck,” you groaned out as his finger arched up, pressing against a spongey pat of your pussy. your voice was loud, echoing around the bathroom. fleetingly, san thought about the other attendants and how he didn’t want them to hear the precious sounds you were making, because then, honesty, he’d gave to punch them until they forgot their own name, but then you were tightening your thighs around him.

fluid trickled around san’s finger as he thrust it in and out in rhythm with his licking of your clit. he lapped at the velvet area framing your clit, flicked his tongue rapidly against the spot in sporadic stimulation.

eventually your moans crescendoed, and a rough call of “san!” burst from your mouth as your pussy tightened around his finger and fluid gushed from your cunt.

san didn’t stop fucking his finger into you and licking at your pussy until you were hissing, physically pushing him away.

you had laid down at some point, and now you were propped up on your elbows. your face was twisted into a scowl, chest heaving as you looked at him.

for a few moments you didn’t say anything. you just stared at him.

eventually you pushed yourself up off of the marble. your skin was covered in goosebumps, and when you ran your fingers along your hairline san saw sweat had collected there.

you were shockingly quiet.

san laid his hands on your thighs, coming close. “are you okay?”

you looked at him, brows furrowed. your eyes danced over his face, taking him in.

then you scoffed, pushing him back. “you’ve got cunt juice on your face.”

you slid off of the edge of the tub and into the water. you were close to san due to him having been pressed against the edge. your hands went to his hips, and then you were moving him away from you, albeit not cruelly.

san watched as you sunk down into the water, letting it come up to your neck. you grabbed a handful, wetting your face.

“what do you want me to do?”

you glanced at him, eyelashes clumped together from the water.

“i suppose you wash me,” you said. “no one has ever attended me in the bath before, so you won’t have a point of comparison. you can decide if that’s good or not.”

“no one’s served you in the bath before?” san frowned, moving to grab the face wash. it was, in a complete contrast to the white marble of the room, in a sweet pink bottle with little cartoon characters decorating the bottle. “that attendant said you had killed someone in here.”

you shrugged. you stepped to him, your hands on his abdomen. you angled your face up towards him, waiting. “i have. did. and can.”

san ignored the threat. he held the bottle in one hand, using his free hand to spread water over your face once more. he tried to ignore the proximity, the way your hands touched his stomach.

he didn’t dare to ask at first, knowing it wasn’t his place. he was made to serve you, and san didn’t have a problem with that; he would never ask for anything different. more importantly: san didn’t want anything different.

“what happened?” he squeezed some of the face wash onto his hand, and then he was gently rubbing it into your cheek. “why did you kill someone?”

“i’ve killed a lot of people,” you mumbled, eyes falling shut as san’s hand roamed over your face, applying the face wash.

san hummed in acknowledgment. it was hard to think of you killing anyone, especially when you were like this. you were still in his hold, pliant as san ran his fingers over your face. you were soft and sweet, hands gentle against his abdomen, and he just couldn’t imagine you using those hands for sin.

“you shouldn’t have to kill anyone.” san, satisfied with how your face was lathered with face wash, dipped his hand into the water. he then, gently, slowly as to not get any in your eyes, began to wash the soap off of your face.

you frowned at his words.

san, sensing you wanted to speak, wiped at your mouth. he pressed his thumb along your lips, swiping at the soap.

“i am the empress of a large . . . enterprise,” you said. you peered at him. “to ask another to do such a thing without being willing to do it myself leads to dissent. i cannot be a good leader if i am unwilling to do what i ask of my followers.”

san felt a pang in his chest. he couldn’t help but feel admiration for you. the thought of you killing anyone, of bloodying your pure hands, filled san with such unease that it twisted at his stomach. but your explanation for the brutality filled him with pride. you were not some far-off, lofty creature urging worship. you were willing to do what had to be done.

san decided, not for the first and certainly not for the last time, he was proud to be the one you crowned victorious.

he smoothed his hand over your face one last time. san let the pads of his fingers trail over your chin, and when you didn’t immediately push back, he continued his exploration. san dragged his fingers down the column of your throat. he couldn’t help but watch his fingers travel. san settled his finger on your clavicle, letting his thumb drift down.

“do you need your hair washed?” san’s voice was deep even to him, and he could feel blood rushing down to his cock. his dick throbbed as he smoothed his hand downward, the thumb gently gliding along the curve of your tit.

your nails scraped against his abdomen. “no.”

san looked over your tits, admiring the hang of them, your pebbled nipples. he wanted to put his mouth on them, san decided.

“i do need washed,” you announced.

san pulled away. he immediately missed your body, missed your hands against his body.

san grabbed the body soap, and then he was returning to you.

“lift your arms,” he said, glancing you over.

you hummed, tilting your head. you looked him up and down. “no,” you said. “i’m sure you’re capable.”

san hesitated before you. he wasn’t sure quite what you were saying at first. but then you raised your brows at him, waiting, and san felt his dick throb painfully as realization struck him.

san slowly, haltingly, reached for your arm. san ran his hand over your arm, lathering your skin. he hesitated before sliding his hand along the underneath of your arm, fingertips pressing into your armpit.

you stood still, letting san wash you. he was gentle but efficient, trying not to linger on any spot in particular.

san tried to fight the instinct to just run his hands along your body and attach his mouth to your tit, wanting to worship. you were perfect and before him, and he didn’t know how long you would let him admire you for, and he sort of wanted to test it.

eventually, you went to the ledge of the tub, climbing to rise up out of the tub. your skin immediately broke out into goosebumps, and, seemingly despite yourself, you shivered.

you turned to him, water falling in droplets around you. “my legs,” you said.

and so san began to wash your legs. he was careful here, too. he ran his hands along your calves, along the backs of your knees. san took care when cleaning the insides of your thighs, biting down on his lip to keep his touch from lingering.

once he was done, he sunk his hands into the water to wash them.

“i’ve finished,” he said, glancing over you.

“not quite,” you returned. you sat back on the edge of the tub. you spread out your legs, baring your cunt. “you haven’t cleaned here.”

san blinked.

he tilted his head, confused. “but i already cleaned you there, didn’t i?”

you sighed, rolling your eyes. “you’ve licked me,” you clarified. “i need to be cleaned, choi san. i can’t walk around with a dirty cunt.”

“do i – do i lick you again?”

“choi san,” you admonished, “who knows where your mouth has been? your fingers are clean enough.”

and so san went between your legs, your knees knocking against his arms.

san smoothed his hands over the inside of your thighs, taking you in. he hadn’t been quite able to fully look at you before. now, with his dick throbbing and hard once more, he looked his fill.

you were laid back against the cold marble. your tits were like mounds, rising with every breath you took.

“you better hurry,” you announced into the bathroom air, “and clean my cunt before i get too cold.”

san swallowed his hesitation down.

then he was sliding his hands to your cunt.

he didn’t quite know what you were wanting from him. he didn’t know if there was a special soap you wanted him to use, if you truly meant for him to clean your pussy. san was a man confused, and you didn’t look like you were going to give him any aid any time soon.

san thought back to how he had cleaned your cunt earlier, lapping at it like a puppy. he decided you didn’t truly mean for him to clean your pussy.

so san slid one of his wet fingers into your damp cunt, slow and rigid.

he watched as your body tensed beneath him. you relaxed just as quickly.

san, for a lack of a better word, swabbed your pussy with his finger. he searched within your cunt as if it were some vessel in need of cleaning, as if he were trying to find something hidden within you that needed addressing.

eventually, though, you got tired of it.

“a second finger, choi san.”

san withdrew his forefinger. he was gentle as he slid both fingers into your cunt, knowing two was significantly more of a stretch than just one. you let out a long breath as you forced your body not to react to the second intrusion, lashes fluttering.

this time san took creative liberty. he scissored his fingers out, forcing your pussy walls to spread out and accommodate his digits. you weren’t loud, instead letting out gentle gasps.

your pussy, san noted with some degree of excitement, was gaining dampness. the hair of your cunt had already been wet from the tub, but as your body began to dry, your cunt only seemed to maintain its moisture.

as he scissored his fingers, feeling your walls resist and relent, a decidedly lewd and wet sound began to fill the bathroom. it was, of course, the sound of your cunt wetting itself, the slick noise produced by the near-constant move of his fingers within.

san looked over your body. you were so angelic, all spread out on the marble. his dick throbbed in response to you and your beauty.

san changed the angle of his hand, lowering himself so he could kneel along the ledge and get a better angle. he curled his fingers up towards the front of your body, hitting that branch of nerves that had your knees squeezing around him and mouth opening wide in a sweet gasp.

“san,” you gasped out, and –

– and fuck –

his name was a blessing falling from your lips. san had heard many beautiful things in his life: the song of a violin in an orchestra hall; the bubbling laughter of an infant; the silence that came after a year of battle. he had never thought a single word could be beautiful, thought it could be glorious when uttered, but the way you said his name made san feel as if it was gilded and sparkling. as if you were a goddess uttering a blessing.

san bit down on his lip, and then his second hand was joining his first at your pussy. he began thrusting his fingers into your cunt in a decisively wicked and relentless rhythm, striking the branch of nerves perfectly.

he coupled the sensation with slick swipes of his thumb over your clit. san watched as your body reacted beneath him, thighs lifting up off of the marble, hips eagerly trying to search something out.

you gasped into the air, back arching.

“won’t you say something?” your voice was raspy, and when he looked down at you your legs tightened around him, knee lifting up as if you were trying to cover yourself with it. “say something.”

“you’re perfect,” san said.

when you came, cunt tight around his fingers and mouth open wide, he thought you were divine.

san continued to fuck his fingers into your pussy as you came, though he gentled considerably. he drunk you in greedily, eyes darting over your body as you tried to catch your breath.

he loved you, he thought.

eventually, you let out a strangled groan, your foot on his hip and pushing him back.

san went obediently, pulling his hand from your pussy. he stepped off of the ledge and into the tub.

you sat up, eyes distant. he didn’t know if it was from the force of your orgasm or not. for a few moments, you just sat before him, brow furrowed and lips pressed into a firm line. you were not, for a few minutes, tether to the earth. he wondered what you saw.

san could see the moment you came back to yourself, blinking and seemingly shaking yourself out of whatever daze you had been in.

“are you –”

“back,” you commanded.

san moved further into the tub. you shifted, gently lowering yourself in. san watched as you stoically washed at your inner thighs and pussy, not caring to be particularly gentle or modest.

deeming yourself clean, san supposed, you stood from the tub.

he went to the edge, bracing his hands on the marble. “let me help –”

“no.”

you stood, water dripping down your figure. san watched as you went to the white towels. you took one and wrapped your hair up, your body shivering in the cold air. next you wrapped yourself, though you didn’t quite stop shivering.

“clean yourself,” you announced. you didn’t look at him as you went to the door. “you’ll find things to make a bed for yourself in the living room. i am not to be disturbed.”

san pushed himself out of the tub, kneeling on the marble, lips ready to ask a question –

but you were gone, leaving san alone in the bath with the white flowers on the marble counter.

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