#the most expensive part is making sure u have a good and big enough cage but | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wri0thesley · 4 years ago

Note

I propose slow loving sex with Gojo thank u for ur time

propose and you may receive

prince charming - gojo x reader (2.5k)

[comments and reblogs are much appreciated! // my jjk masterlist]

warnings: afab reader, no pronouns. not sfw. minors dni! light fingering, piv sex, coming inside, soft. . . soft . . .

Most people who know Satoru Gojo would tell you that the man has two modes. Two ways of being. There is the way that he is from day to day; the laugh, the shovelling of sweets into his mouth, the constant stream of upbeat nonsense and jokes that few people are able to keep a proper track of. This is the Satoru Gojo he is with his students, you think – when the weight of being the strongest does not weigh so heavy on his shoulders.

Then, there is the Satoru Gojo in battle. There is the lift of his blindfold, the way that his blue eyes bore into his enemies – the self-assured way of talking, the ruthless precision with which he deploys his skills. This is the Satoru Gojo that does bear the weight of all of his strength; but his lips still quirk at the corners, he still cracks a joke sometimes though his tone is steely. They have shades of one another, those two personalities - but still, they are the two personalities that he chooses to show the world.

You, however, are permitted to see a different side than most people do.

You see Gojo now, with his body over yours, his soft lips brushing your jawline. You see him with his big hands, cupping your face so he has more access to your neck and your ear, the kisses coming slow and soft and relaxed. He is a large man, despite the fact that he is tall, lithe muscle as opposed to pure brawn – he cages you beneath him like he never wants you to be able to escape him.

You do not want to escape him. Not least when you finally manage to capture those lips in your own and you taste sugar on his tongue. As his teeth nip gently at your lower lip and a breathy sigh is transferred into his mouth; as his long fingers run down your body, appreciating you with a soft hum.

“I’d ask what I did to get so lucky,” he murmurs, voice low and throaty, “but I think I deserve you.”

Some things do not change; Gojo’s arrogance is always there, beneath the surface. He is lucky you find his self-confidence charming, your lips sliding into a smile as your own hands gently push up the shirt he’s wearing. His skin is warm and soft beneath it (you dread to think how expensive it was; Gojo spends money like it’s going out of style, and you have a myriad of gifts to prove it).

“You don’t shut up, do you?” You ask him, mildly, your smile not leaving your face. He laughs softly, and it feels like wind blowing through a field of flowers.

“You love me for it,” he says, all fondness, and he’s right. His shirt is parted from his top half and you admire him; unmarked skin (you suppose his technique means he’s free from the scars so many other jujutsu sorcerers learn to live with), the lean but taut muscles of his abdomen and shoulders. You run your fingers over him and he sighs, leaning into your touch like a cat. Your thumb brushes the hollow of his throat as you take a handful of his pale hair and drag him down into another kiss.

If nothing else, it occupies his mouth.

You can feel his hardness straining in his ripped jeans (pre-ripped for his convenience, with an eye-watering price tag, but even you have to admit that they make his ass look rounder and cling to his thighs and crotch in a way that makes you needy and heated if you stare for too long) as he moves his body against you, half-grinding.

You’re on the couch. You really should move to the bed – heaven knows Gojo’s is big enough for both of you – but there’s something domestic and sweet about Gojo kissing you here, amongst the remains of the sweets he’d been feeding you and with a romantic comedy neither of you are watching any more playing on the screen.

It’s so easy to feel like everything with Gojo is a life-or-death situation – to ascribe more meaning to a brush of his fingers on your shoulder or a murmur of ‘I’ll be home later tonight’ than you really need to.

This, though - this is simple, and easy. It lets you forget the world outside, just for the moments in which Gojo’s body is pressed against yours – lets you think of yourself as a normal couple.

There is nothing more romantic to you than the thought of you and Gojo being able to be just anybody.

So you spread your legs further apart so he can settle between them, sighing as his mouth moves from your own to brush kisses over your cheeks and the bridge of your nose instead.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he tells you, as he pulls back and tugs on your own shirt – you allow it to be removed, thrown onto the ground where you may never see it again. Much more interesting than the lost shirt are Gojo’s hands, large and warm, sliding up the expanse of your stomach and to your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh. He undoes the catch of your bra as if the motion is as easy as breathing – and maybe to him, it is. Upon your flesh being newly bared, he sighs, leaning down to kiss the swell of the curve. To find your nipple with the warmth of his tongue and tease it to hardness as he flattens his tongue against it and laps at you, the motion sending little electric shocks of pleasure to the place between your thighs. You sigh and squirm, and he gives the hardened bud a gentle graze of his teeth as he pulls back to look at you.

The sight of his blue eyes concentrated wholly on you and all of the distilled starshine contained within always makes you lose your senses for a moment. It should be unfair, you think, for him to look like that. For those wide blue eyes to seem so innocent when you know that he is not--

“You’re so beautiful,” he tells you. You know that he’s telling you the truth; Gojo is not the kind to mince his words. His hands rest on your waist, curving down over your hips to tug at your bottoms and make short work of those too. You lift yourself slightly to allow it, Gojo wriggling so that he can get them off without ever having to really move from between your legs. The bottoms go the same way as your shirt, and you are below him now in nothing but your underwear--

Though that’s barely covering anything. Gojo sighs to see the pale white of the piece you’re wearing has gone translucent from the gush of your slick, clinging to the outline of your folds and showing him just how needy the kissing and the touching and the groping has gotten. He trails a finger down and brushes your mound through the fabric, ghosting over your clit.

“This is for me, doll?” He asks you, a smirk on his face that you want to kiss off.

“You know it is,” you breathe, lifting your hips – and the smirk softens into a smile.

“Maybe I like hearing you say it,” he murmurs, increasing the pressure of his touch so he is rubbing you through the cotton; his big fingers pressing against your clit, making your hips jerk. You don’t know if you want to jerk away from the sensation of the fabric pressing against your swollen nub, or jerk into the pressure that you want so badly – so you settle for circling your hips, panting soft little noises.

Gojo smiles at you and the expression on his face is dazzling. Your heart skips a beat; he’s so beautiful. You’re so unbelievably, amazingly lucky--

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, leaning and kissing your cheek, burying his face in the crook of your neck to kiss and lick and suck at the skin there. Your back arches as his attentions send yet more shivers down your spine, set you aflame even further. If you didn’t know better, you’d swear his face was warm – is he blushing? “If you could see yourself, you’d understand--”

“If you could see yourself,” you tell him, through the pounding need in your chest, “you’d understand exactly why I’m looking at you like that--”

“Oh, I know,” he preens, though his face is still warm. He hooks his fingers into the wet underwear and pulls them over your thighs. “I know why you’re looking at me like that! I’m gorgeous-- but . . .” He seems to stumble over his words before he manages to get a good hold on them again, before he pulls back and the flush on his cheeks is only barely there. “You don’t know how gorgeous you are, and . . .” He places a hand to his chest. Your underwear is dangling from his thumb, though you’re not entirely sure how he fully tangled you out of him in the position the two of you are still in. “It breaks my heart!”

You smile despite yourself.

“You’re being too romantic,” you tell him, though your insides are secretly all aflame and bubbling. “It’s not like you.”

“I’m wounded,” he says. One hand lands on your thigh, drawing circles and patterns on the slick skin – his middle finger gently nudges the very outside of your sex, teasing the puffy lips apart so he can brush your clit. Your gasp dies in your throat. “I’ll have you know I’m an absolute Prince Charming, baby--”

And he’s giving you that charming smile, even as that same finger presses deep inside you in one swift movement and your knuckles clench on the couch cushion. You groan aloud, lifting your hips to allow him deeper, to make you feel fuller--

Your eyelashes flutter, eyelids somewhere between open and closed, but you still see that Gojo’s own gaze is fixed on you. It’s tender. Loving. You feel strangely exposed beneath it – but at the same time, you feel warm and comfortable and right as he adds another finger and stretches you out on it, scissoring them apart. He brushes the spongy spot of your walls that always hits different and you sigh, murmuring out his name--

“Satoru,” you’re practically whining. “Satoru, faster, please—”

“Prince Satoru,” he corrects you, with a grin that’s slightly crooked to one side and more charming than it has any right to be. He pumps his fingers in and out of you a few more times, until they are thoroughly coated in your wetness, until the fire inside you has been suitably kindled and your breath is uneven and your face is hot – and then he pulls them out.

You don’t have time to whine.

Not with the sound of his zipper, the sound of him kicking off his expensive jeans – the heat of him settling over you on his knees and taking your hips to slide you easily onto his cock.

He groans out your name like it’s all he ever wants to say.

“You feel like you were made for me,” he says, and you reach up and grab a handful of his hair again. He lets it be pulled with only the softest sigh – lets you bend him over you so the two of you are cheek to cheek, chest to chest, so close that you can feel his heart beating. “Fuck, doll--”

He’s right. He fits inside of you like the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle; warm and tight and perfect.

It’s a triumph, for Satoru Gojo to be lost for words – but he stops speaking as he fucks you slow and soft. It’s not that you and he only usually fuck hard and rough – but his job is stressful, and he is teasing and smug, and it’s more usual for you to be bent over on his bed as he pulls your hair and runs his mouth than it is for anything like this to happen.

He doesn’t seem to have any complaints about it, though – and neither do you. How can you complain when he holds you so gently? When he kisses you like he’s savouring the taste of you instead of devouring you?

He’s not speaking, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t noisy – he’s panting, groaning, moaning. He’s always loud in bed – he has almost no self-control when it comes to pleasure, you don’t think – but the noises also go right through you in only the best of ways, making you shiver and shudder. It’s unfair that his voice should sound so good. It’s unfair that he should have almost no flaws--

Some people might say his personality is a flaw, you suppose, but you unfortunately find him charming.

You wrap your legs about his waist and his cock hits deeper, brushes that same spot inside of you – but you find you do not care so much about the orgasm as you care about having Gojo in this embrace.

Not caring about it, though, doesn’t mean that is not going to happen – not with the slow thrusts of his hips, or with the sight of him with his lip bitten and his hair all mussed up from your tangling.

You’re not sure if Gojo has ever found something that he isn’t good at, and fucking you is no exception. His cock hits every spot inside of you and seems to find new nerves you didn’t know would feel so good when stimulated; your entire abdomen (hell, your entire body) feels like it’s on fire. You were slick enough before he’d entered you, but now you can feel your own arousal pooling on the couch cushions beneath you – you can hear how wet Gojo’s cock must be, on the push-pull of him fucking into you. The glide is slick and silky and searing, and your fingers flex on his back, as the tight string inside of you readies to snap.

“Sat-- I’m-- ‘m gonna--”

Your words are lost to the feel of him, to the haze that seems to descend around you whenever you and Gojo are together. You see the curve of his smile, hear him softly whisper;

“S’alright, baby--”

A stroke of his hips that has the flat plane of his pelvis pressing against your clit and you let yourself go, tumbling into the bright lights of your oblivion, your thighs tightening reflexively about him as if you want him to drown inside of you. Gojo sighs, groans, moans out your name as your cunt milks him for all he is worth, squeezing around him – and, he, too, lets go. Heat. Warmth. Gojo’s cock, twitching, heavy and perfect and right inside of you.

“I love you,” you whisper, against his collarbone, in time with the beating of his heart – and Gojo looks at you as his hips continue to roll slow and leisurely, eking out the final drops of his release as it settles inside of you like a claim, and he smiles slow and soft like honey or syrup.

“I know,” he says, quietly. “I love you too.”

He stays inside of you, on top of you, in the embrace, even as his cock begins to soften. Enjoying your warmth, your presence, your closeness.

Maybe he is a Prince Charming.

You’re not going to say that aloud to him, though.

He’d never let it go.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #writing #jjk posting #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you #not sfw #jjk writing #afab reader #neutral pronouns #Anonymous

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xmint-conditionx · 3 years ago

Text

art on exhibit | myg + jhs feat. knj

pairing: sugardaddy!hoseok x fem!reader, ceo!yoongi x fem!reader, brat!reader, sub!reader, dom!hoseok, dom!yoongi w/c: 5k but i feel like it should be so much longer for some reason smh summary: you and your sugar daddy, hoseok, are big fans of exhibitionism, but this is the craziest you’ve ever taken it. most of his prestigious party guests are jumping to get to get their hands on you. will you be able to handle it? tags/cw: 18+ please, smut, exhibitionism, voyeurism, remote controlled vibrator, almost reaching limits, spanking, marking, biting, ball gag, degradation (slut), praise, punishment, crying, light oral (f recieving), public humiliation, rope play, shibari, suspension, almost like being pimped out but u like it?, open relationship, hoseok is sort of protective tho, overstimulation, subspace, the orgasm nearly kills you, this one is real nasty, namjoon is just a guest appearance tbh but maybe later he doesn't have to be???

a/n: this thing has given me so much trouble by not appearing in tags. it didn't the first time i posted it on the old blog, and it hasn't been showing up this time either, so please feel free to give this one some extra love. also, honestly, i was sitting on this idea for a long! time! before i actually wrote it out. if i was spaced out in my last class of the day, i was probably thinking about this. i am almost proud and almost ashamed to share this with you all, lmao cause it's honestly a huge fantasy of mine. i’ve been really wanting to do a sugardaddy!hoseok thing for a while, and if you guys like this, then i think i can add more to the story. alright, y’all stay nasty. enjoy!

The ropes dig into the skin of your thighs ever so gently, and you close your eyes to listen to the din of the party that surrounds you. Guests only arrived 30 minutes ago, and you’re already dripping wet. This isn’t the first time you and Hoseok have done exhibitionism, but this is the farthest it’s ever been taken. Men and women in their best black tie attire surround you, glasses of his most expensive champagne in their hands. Not all of them are looking at you; some are too bashful to acknowledge your existence. Some only sneak glances when they think nobody else is looking. Few have come up and examined your entire naked frame, suspended from Hoseok’s ceiling in the middle of his entertainment space.

They’re examining you as if you were a piece of fine art; just another pretty and peculiar object that Hoseok has collected. You’re placed among some of his other art pieces - some Pollocks, some Dalis, some Picassos, and one O’Keefe - and somehow, you feel like you fit. That’s what Hoseok had said anyway. That since you were one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen in his life, he wanted to feature you as the work of art you are. He chose to display you in his favorite way.

Red shibari rope surrounds each of your legs like a cage before confining your hands behind your back. The rope trails over your torso and is twisted and knotted around your exposed breasts, but not tightly. Just enough to accentuate your natural shape. Your legs are tied so that they remain apart, one held higher than the other to leave you fully exposed. Your stomach is facing the floor, but not entirely; Hoseok has tied you so that you’re almost lounging comfortably there, suspended in midair. The lines of rope flow with the form of your body, and even though all of your weight is pressed down onto them, the ropes are the soft and luxurious kind - no doubt expensive - that make you feel as though you could be floating instead.

Just then, your attention is jolted to your cunt, where his favorite black remote control vibrator has just been triggered. You clench around it, and your moan is muffled by the ball gag that is secured over your lips. When you open your eyes, he is standing solidly in front of you.

His black button up shirt and jacket combination is draped over his shoulders beautifully, and his shiny brown hair is parted in the middle. He looks incredible. Radiant. Sinful.

“You looked bored,” he says with a little smirk as he continues to let the vibrator run inside of you, “and we can’t have that… Perhaps I should turn it up.”

He twists a small knob on the remote and the vibrations steadily rise in frequency until they’re as high as they can go. A semblance of a scream escapes your lips behind the gag. You begin rocketing toward climax, but Hoseok knows you and your body too well. Just as you begin to feel the tingles spread over your body, he shuts it off, and your muscles immediately go lax from being tensed up and ready to come.

He laughs softly as you pant, and then takes a quick look around the room.

“You seem to have gathered some attention. That’s my good girl.”

Without another word, he pockets the remote, and you watch how his ringed fingers delicately pick up a flute of champagne from one of the server’s tray tables. Then he simply walks away. His immaculately shiny black shoes gently thud on the marble floor as he makes his way through the crowd, to presumably some other obscenely rich friend of his.

You feel a small amount of saliva about to peak over your bottom lip. You’ve been good about swallowing everything but it seems your denied orgasm has made you forgetful. Moments later, a small thread of your own spit runs out of your mouth and onto the floor. You know that you have been dripping from the other end too, and you wonder if any of the guests have just seen you drool on yourself.

As if to answer, Hoseok comes back from behind you and grabs you by the jaw. His face lights up when he confirms that you have made a mess of yourself. He turns to one of his guests and speaks.

“See, Namjoon?” he says, tilting your head up toward his guest so that he can see, “She’s incredible.”

You meet eyes with the guest, and put on your best innocent look. You love how a blush starts to creep up into his cheeks, and how his pillowy lips part slightly. Even though you’re bound from head to toe and easily the poorest person here, you feel like you’re the most powerful person in the room. The guest clears his throat and turns his attention back to Hoseok.

“How much was your price?” he asks.

Hoseok looks down at you, and a smirk begins to form on his plush lips.

“1,000 US Dollars. Per second,” he says, “Which charity will it be, then?”

You’d been the one to come up with the idea for the proceeds from the charity fundraiser to be benefitted by getting to control the vibrator. Hoseok loved it.

“Your education charity,” he says, “and I’ll take 30 seconds.”

Hoseok nods, “Do you want to go ahead and write the check now or do you want me to keep a tab running and let you know at the end of the evening?”

The tall man considers this, and looks back at you for a moment before answering, “keep it open, will you?”

“Alright, Mr. Kim. All yours,” Hoseok says as he fishes out the device from his suit pocket before turning to you, “Be good, you hear me? Don’t come until you have been given permission by either Mr. Kim or myself. Understood?”

You nod frantically as you watch the remote being transferred from Hoseok’s hands to Namjoon’s. The earlier flustered man turned more confident once he held the little black fob in his palm - quite a large palm now that you look at it closely. It would look so nice trailing up your thigh, you think. You look up at Namjoon and convey a pleading look, one that silently asks for mercy.

He does not give it.

With a small grin, he turns on the vibrator, and you scream (or try to) at the suddenness of the sensation. He spends his entire 30 seconds with the device in your pussy at full speed, and you can’t hold back your groaning. You clench around the bullet, and when his time is up, you feel beads of sweat starting to form on your brow from the exertion. You’re left a panting mess in front of him, Hoseok, and every other guest that has turned to watch you squirm.

Namjoon’s satisfied smile and nod encourages others in the room to have a turn. Before long, you see a few more guests make their way over to where you are hanging. This time it is a group of women.

“Hye-jin!” Namjoon exclaims, before he hugs the woman and offers a short to the three others that come over with her. She’s dressed in the most beautiful black form fitting dress you’ve ever seen. Her hourglass figure sways captivatingly in the gown, and you’re momentarily mesmerized by her figure. You look up at her and she’s smirking down at you; you were too distracted at the way the large jewels on her necklace fell over her collarbones to realize that they were already discussing you.

“I should have known it would be you to break the ice,” she says playfully to Namjoon, who just presses his lips together in resignation as he puts his hand to the back of his neck.

“How’s the comeback?” he asks casually, as if there isn’t a fully naked and exposed woman suspended in front of him. His ability to be so casual while you’re at the edge of your sanity shoots a ping of arousal through your body. You shiver slightly, and you catch Hoseok looking at you out of the corner of his eyes. He’d never admit it, but he cares about you a lot. You can tell he’s checking to make sure you aren’t getting ready to start snapping your fingers- the safe action you’d both agreed on to release you from the ropes and send you into his master suite. Even when he had walked over to find Namjoon, you know even then he wasn’t out of sight or earshot from you.

He had a clean and plush robe stowed away in the closet nearby, and was always ready to release you should you want to be. You’d worked together before the event to set up a space in his suite to go should you need to retire for the evening, and you caught him setting a hoodie of his on the side of the bed where you typically sleep. You’d always playfully taken them, either to flirt or to wear it (and only it) to encourage a round two. But he had never deliberately set one of them aside for your use. He knows you won’t be using it to flirt or to rouse him into more sex, so his little efforts to bring you as much comfort as possible had set alight something in your heart.

He really did take pride in taking good care of you. As a good sugar daddy should.

You’re yanked back to reality when the vibrator starts up again. You clench around it and feel a gush of wetness surge out at the sensation of it going at full blast. Just when you become used to the speed and lower your whining, you open your eyes to see the woman holding the remote this time, grinning down at you with full lips. She meets your gaze and turns it up all the way, which makes you tense up every last one of your muscles. The woman next to her with long, light hair and a wicked gaze, whispers something to her while eyeing you up and down. It then occurs to you that you weren’t paying attention and don’t know how much time she purchased.

As the seconds tick by, they feel like hours. With the device at full speed, you feel yourself closing in on a climax, and so you squeeze your eyes shut and brace yourself for the orgasm that is about to rip through your body…

She turns it down to the lowest setting and watches as you groan at the second denial crushes you. More saliva drips down your chin as she switches it off, leaving you with only the beads of sweat that cling to your skin.

“Thank you, Hoseok. Worth every penny,” Hye-jin says, handing the remote back to him.

Hoseok beams his thousand-watt smile at her, and congratulates her on both the success of Maria, her solo album, and then thanks her for her donation.

She thanks him in return, and both women walk back into the crowd. Namjoon has also gone, which just leaves you with Hoseok again. His eyes meet yours for a moment, and you see a fire in them that you’ve never seen before. You’re dangling about waist height, and you can’t help but to look down from his face to try to see if you can make out a bulge. You don’t get time to really look, because as soon as you break eye contact, he moves to your back and smacks your ass cheek hard. A loud thwack echoes throughout the large space, over the din of the partygoers. You inhale sharply at the sting, and let your breath back out in a long groan, drawing the attention of more guests. You knew that the champagne would loosen inhibitions eventually.

You hear the footsteps of a couple other guests walking toward you from behind where Hoseok stands. You crane your head to try to see over your shoulder, but they stand just out of your peripheral vision. They’re talking in low voices, and you can’t make out what they’re saying. You wish you could swing yourself around and look at them, but knowing that the only thing they can see of you is your dripping cunt, you’re not so mad.

You feel a hand on your thigh, a touch you’re familiar with. You know it’s Hoseok’s hand, as he gently trails up your inner thigh, purposefully teasing you. An involuntary shiver runs through your body and you can’t help but to whimper slightly. You hear a man’s chuckle, and then he’s speaking, again too low for you to hear.

Hoseok uses his grip on your inner thigh to spin you around so that you’re facing the group of men. Namjoon has come back, this time with what appears to be a friend in tow.

“Baby girl,” Hoseok’s voice says gently, and you look up to meet his gaze, “Yoongi here has just asked if he may touch you.” Your eyes widen at the thought, remembering how just Hoseok’s hand trailing up your thigh had your toes curling. You look up at the new guest, and see only a cold and stone-like expression. His eyes seem to bore right through you, and directly into your cunt. You’re momentarily mesmerized under his heavy stare, before you slowly nod your head.

“Yoongi here has just generously donated one million dollars to one of my charities, so do you know what that means?” he asks you, not expecting an answer, “How long is one thousand seconds?”

“Sixteen minutes and 40 seconds,” Yoongi says, not breaking eye contact from you, “If I’m correct.”

If your mouth could drop, it would. Namjoon, looking up from his phone, just nods nonchalantly.

Hoseok asks the man what he has asked everyone else: if they would like to keep a running tab or if they would like to write a check now. Yoongi reaches into his back pocket and pulls out what you assume to be his checkbook. With rings glittering in the lighting of the room, his hand swiftly fills it out. He rips it out and extends it to Hoseok.

“I won’t be needing more time.”

His cool confidence in saying this small phrase makes your stomach drop.

Hoseok grips your chin and tilts your head up. “Remember, baby girl, don’t come until you’re told to. You want to be on your best behavior for Mr. Min. Trust me.”

He speaks sternly and then releases your jaw, trailing his hand back to stroke your messy hair, before settling on your two hands secured behind your back and giving them a light squeeze. A silent reminder of your out, should you need it.

This Yoongi must be… a force to be reckoned with.

“Your time starts now,” Hoseok says, tapping his phone screen. You squeeze shut your eyes and brace yourself for the abrupt shock of the vibrations, but seconds pass, and they don’t come. You gingerly open your eyes and look up at the man standing above you, toying with the remote. He regards it with vague interest, and then he flicks up his eyes to look at you. Your heart stops for a moment, as he begins to rake his onyx eyes over your body. He purses his lips slightly and begins walking around you, all too slowly.

Even though he has disappeared from your view, you can feel his eyes on you. Your anxiousness grows as he remains out of your sight longer, and this is no doubt intentional. It seems as if he picked up your unease earlier when he first approached.

This guy is good.

You’re so on edge, that the light vibrations that begin in your cunt still surprise you. He turned the vibrator on to its lowest setting, but these low and slow vibrations still make you have a sharp intake of breath. He finally arrives back to your front and seems pleased at your reaction. He squats down so that his face is level with yours.

“What a good girl you are,” he muses, lips parted, tongue playing with the inside of his cheek, “I hope Hoseok here treats you well. You seem… pent up.”

At those last two words, he revs up the vibrations slightly, causing you to let out a small moan. He stands and puts the remote in his pocket. You watch as he gently rolls up his sleeves to the elbow, his forearm flexing as he fixes them. Your hungry stare betrays you.

“Is she always like this?” he asks Hoseok, almost laughing at you. “God, she’s desperate.” He looks at you. “Does Hobi not fuck you enough, little girl?”

Your eyes widen at the implications, and you furiously shake your head no, trying to convey as much as you can with your eyes alone. He just chuckles.

“Loyal,” he says, “I like that.” He looks back up at Hoseok. “Is your agreement exclusive, or is there room in her life for a second... benefactor?” You look up at your sugar daddy, eyes wide with what he might say. He’s just standing there, arms folded over his chest, as if he were discussing the weather or the stock market.

“I’m afraid she’s all booked up for the foreseeable future, unfortunately,” he says cooly but firmly, a little bit of edge to his voice.

“Pity,” Yoongi says, taking a step toward you, “I could think of a million good ways to take up her time.”

“You’ve got 14 minutes left,” is all Hoseok says in response, a definite sharpness to his tone. You’ve only heard this type of voice from him when you’re being particularly bratty. You rarely hear him this stern.

The vibrations quicken slightly, and you can tell from your frequent use that the device is at about its medium speed.

Yoongi takes his hand and reaches out to your back, and with a featherlight touch, begins to trace next to where the ropes lie. He keeps working down your back, and gently trails down your bare ass cheek and ghosts against your pussy. You can feel the heat from his hand, impossibly close to touching you. You hold your head back and try to look at him as you whine out a plea.

“Eyes straight ahead, little girl,” he says, and you comply reluctantly, flopping your head forward dramatically as you sigh. His hand grabs hold of your thigh, and squeezes it so hard you’re sure you’ll find a bruise there in the morning. “And lose the attitude.”

You whimper as he releases your thigh, and goes back to delicately running his fingertips up to your core. He stops just short of your cunt, and you desperately want him to just touch you. You flex your back and buck your hips in order to push yourself onto where you know his hand is. Your clit makes contact with his hand, and as soon as you feel it connect, you feel it missing. Not even a moment later, a sharp sting spreads across your ass, and you clench around the vibe.

“What a greedy little slut you are. Do you always misbehave this much?”

You turn your head back to look at him, and as you meet his eyes, you can see he begins to fume.

“Namjoon, keep her head straight. Someone's not listening.”

You turn your head back around and Namjoon is quickly grabbing your jaw firmly in his hand. Your eyes meet his, and his earlier show of no mercy seems to still be intact. You feel Yoongi’s hand soothe the soreness he just created, only to once again reel back and give the same spot another firm smack, just as hard as the first one.

You cry into the ball gag and the shockwave from his hit sends you slightly swinging forward into Namjoon’s belt. Even though the vibrator is only at medium speed, you feel yourself beginning to get close to a climax. Your moans get longer and higher, and your body tenses to prepare for it. You hear Yoongi behind you.

“Don’t.”

You know exactly what he means. You focus on your breathing and furrow your brow in an attempt to stave off your orgasm. It’s working, but barely. He turns up the vibrations and you cry out again, your head shaking as much as Namjoon’s firm grip will allow.

“Don’t.”

You distance yourself from the situation, distracting yourself with thinking about schoolwork. The essay you’re currently writing. How the rough draft needs to be done by tomorrow night. You need three more in-text citations to make --

His hand is against your clit, and he’s rubbing at an agonizingly slow pace, with just enough pressure for you to want more. You inhale sharply and work harder to distract yourself.

You have two of the quotes picked out, but you need to finalize the third one to really hammer in your point. Maybe you can spend tomorrow morning reading --

His lips graze over the ass cheek he tortured earlier, your smarting skin responding sharply to the gentle contact. He gives you a soft kiss, and then you feel a sharp pain as he sinks his teeth into your already ruined ass.

Your eyes fly open and you make desperate eye contact with Namjoon, trying to show him that you can’t last much longer. Thankfully, this Namjoon is a perceptive man, and he looks from you to Yoongi.

“She can’t take much more, Yoongi.”

“Good,” he says, breath grazing over where he just bit as he speaks. “Come, slut.”

For the first time tonight, your orgasm peaks and rips out of you. Your whole body trembles with the sensation, and you feel his pressure on your clit increase to see you through. The orgasm is hard, and long, and it leaves you with tears streaming down your cheeks, mascara running wildly. You’re coming down slowly, and you feel his hand pull away. Before you realize it, he is standing in front of you again. Namjoon releases you, and your head hangs lifelessly as you pant.

Yoongi stands directly in front of you again, and you find yourself staring at his expensive shoes. You’re completely spent. Post orgasm bliss spreads throughout your muscles, and then, a slight discomfort. You realize what it is: the vibrator is still going.

You squirm lazily and whine at the sensation, it being too much. Yoongi squats down and gently lifts up your head by the chin. Your exhausted eyes meet his, and he clicks his tongue.

“Aw, are you all sensitive now?” he asks gently, in an almost patronizing tone. You don’t care. You nod sleepily.

“Is the vibrator too much, little girl?” You nod once more, eyes fluttering shut.

“Then use your safeword gesture,” he says, almost as if it’s a dare. "Go on. Snap."

If he’s not done with you, then you’re not done. You open your eyes and look directly at him as if to say “challenged accepted.”

Without moving his eyes from yours, he cranks up the vibrations until you’re whimpering again.

“Six more minutes,” you hear Hoseok say from beside you.

“Plenty of time,” Yoongi replies without skipping a beat. “I think we can get three more in. One every two minutes? Surely a slut like you will have no problem with that, since you wanted to come so badly earlier.”

You groan at the ache in your cunt, and at the slight displeasure the vibrator is causing. Yoongi stands again and walks back behind you, and this time you know better than to move your head to look.

Soon the vibrations begin to feel pleasurable again, and you’re having a hard time keeping your moans quiet.

“Atta girl,” you hear Yoongi say from behind you, “Your next one’s already coming isn’t it? You greedy little thing. You’re going to ruin Hoseok’s nice floors with your slick. And in front of all these people?”

Just like that, you’re reminded that you have an audience. Quite a large one. You open your eyes to see just about every guest’s gaze glued to your straining form. The heat bubbles in your abdomen as your next climax rushes toward you.

“You may come again,” is all Yoongi says as you’re thrown off the edge again. As soon as you begin to recover from this one, he ups the vibrator to full speed. You scream into the ball gag at the overstimulation, and cry out as tears spill out of your eyes. It’s entirely too much, but you love it. Before you realize it, another orgasm rips through your body, almost as if it were a continuation of the last one.

He doesn’t miss this though, and spreads your ass cheeks apart so he can get a better view. At this point, you’re not sure if you can do another one. You feel as though you might pass out if you come again. But the overstimulation is so overwhelming that you can only think of reaching one more high. You tense your entire body and try to get another one, but your muscles are so spent that you can’t stay tense for long. After a few more tries, you just sigh and hang limply, your limbs heavy and tired. You hang on the edge of climax, being able to see the other side, but not being able to go there.

Mascara tears stain your cheeks from exertion, and you are well and truly spent. You give up.

But you don’t snap your fingers.

Yoongi fastens his lips over your aching clit, and sucks. Just like that, you feel your orgasm building again so you clench, desperately trying to claim it; this time, you reach it.

It tears through you like a slow strike of lightning. You feel yourself shaking as it takes its time fracturing within you. It grows white hot in your belly, and it’s as if every cell in your body has been burned alive. All of the energy you have left is spent thrashing in the ecstasy of your orgasm, and for a few seconds, you know nothing else but the pleasure.

You find yourself deep in subspace, practically dead to the world. You don’t even have the energy to open your eyes. You barely register Hoseok as he begins untying the ropes around your hands, getting assistance from both Namjoon and Yoongi. You feel his hands as he releases your ball gag and caresses your face as he asks if you’re okay. You give the tiniest nod, and he wraps your limp form tightly in his arms as the two men finish unwrapping your legs. He swoops down and sweeps your legs up to carry you bridal style away from the party.

The next thing you know is the soft and cool silk of his sheets enveloping you as he lays you down. You exist there for a time, every nerve ending in your body tingling as you drift off.

You wake some time later to hear quiet chatting. You inhale and breathe in the musky scent of Hoseok’s favorite cologne. You find yourself curled around the hoodie he left for you. As you slowly open your eyes, you can just make out the time on the nightstand clock. It’s almost 3 AM; the fundraiser had to have ended over four hours ago. You breathe slowly and close your eyes again so you can focus on the voices in the room.

You hear Hoseok straight away; his tone is forever instantly familiar to you. The way his normal speaking rhythm is a little sloppy with alcohol. In reply is a voice you more recently became acquainted with. The voice who you last heard giving you permission to come. It’s a little bit more rough now, a Daegu accent slipping out in his intoxication. The third one takes you by surprise. A low and calm voice. Lower than you’d ever suspected possible, from hearing him speak this evening. Even still, Namjoon’s even tone is a rumble you can make out.

You sit up slowly, not wanting the blood to rush to your head. You were sleeping hard. Your dry mouth guarantees that. At your movement, the three men stop their talking and look over at you. Hoseok is the first to set down his glass and walk over to you. His black tie is gone and so is his jacket. His collar is wide open, showing off his tanned chest behind the many unfastened buttons. He gets on his knees next to the bed and reaches for your hands. Once he finds them, his brow is creased with worry, as he brings your hands up to his lips.

“Are you alright, baby girl?” he asks into your hands. You still have the weight of sleep over you, so you don’t respond right away.

“She had her gesture, Hoseok. She could have used it,” you hear Yoongi say, and you look in his direction. He sits with his legs spread, glass of whiskey hanging off of his fingers. Your eyes meet, and even though he’s trying to seem impertinent and uncaring, there’s a tinge of worry and guilt in his eyes. You glance to Namjoon and see that his worry is more plainly stated.

Hoseok caresses your cheek and turns you back to facing him. His eyes plead for an answer. So you give it.

“Yes,” you say, voice raspy, “I’m alright. I feel great, actually.” Hoseok visibly relaxes and you hear Yoongi across the room mutter an “I told you so” to Namjoon.

“He didn’t push you too hard?” Hoseok asks.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you reply smugly, meeting Yoongi’s eyes, “But he did well and truly wear me out... Clearly."

You chuckle as Hoseok covers your hands in a million tiny kisses.

“Perhaps I do need to step my game up,” he teases, “I’ve never seen you so fucked out.”

“Nothing a good nap can’t fix,” you tease back. He smiles up at you, and you once again get lost in his brightness and warmth. “Mind if I join you all for a drink?”

“Of course not, baby girl,” Hoseok says, “I’ll go get your robe--”

“Don’t bother,” you say, wiggling into his hoodie and pulling the hood up and over your hair, “but you can go get me a glass.”

#bts smut #hoseok smut #yoongi smut #namjoon smut #yoongi x you #hoseok x you #namjoon x you #xmint-conditionx

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slashingdisneypasta · 5 years ago

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Michael Myers x Reader || Oneshot

Title: I’m Weak

Notes:

Could be considered the second, much later part to the smut oneshot I wrote but only if you want it to be.

Based off this quote, which has bene used in the Oneshot: ‘You’re scared of the way I make you feel because you don’t want to feel anything.’ by Maya Banks.

I dunno where all this inspiration for Michael is coming from.

I love how acclimatised to all of Michaels insanity reader is

Plot:

Dating, or whatever the relationship can be classified as, the infamous Shape reaches its horrendous peak. You’re frustrated and if he doesn’t help you out here, then not even the truest, biggest love in the world can stop you from leaving- because if he isn’t really there, it isn’t worth it.

Warnings: Slightly Yandere themes, I guess? I mean, if this were a Hetalia Oneshot I would say severely yandere themes but this is already a horror character so. Yandere, I GUESS??

~~~

“You’re scared of the way I make you feel because you don’t wanna feel anything.” I say, not like it’s a revelation or because it needs to be said. But because it makes me feel better. Because I’m spiteful, because I’m allowed to be. Because it makes Michael breath- you can see his chest rise and fall as soon as it sinks in, and it is a glorious feeling to know that I’ve made his unfaltering, never ending emotionless composure stutter. “And I don’t understand it, but I know that engulfs you.” I take in a breath, stepping back. Every word that gets past my teeth and bashes off my lips is steely and cold, wholehearted. “And I know you’re failing.”

He doesn’t move apart from the breathing, but he will. He’s feeling more then he has since- probably since he was a kid. And I’m feeling more then I want, then I ever thought possible because by some twisted miracle I love him and I’m gearing up to leave him. And he’s aware.

“Well guess what, you can’t go through life that way, Michael, you’re human. You have to feel, it’s like breathing. And sometimes you have to feel your guts get ripped out but that means you care, and that can feel really, really great.” Its worth every tear. “Now, I care about you like that. But all I get from you is the pain and that’s just not good enough, I’m sorry.”

And I am sorry. Not for him, but for me. Because I know if he lets me go and I get out like I want to right now it is going to h u r t. But I’m not going to kid myself into thinking that it’s the end all be all of my life. He’s just a man, and he won’t kill me.

Michaels fists clench tighter and moves from the doorway -he was about to go out for the night, - back into the room. But only momentarily.

As if he didn’t even need to think about it, like I didn’t mean a thing to him, he reaches forward and yanks and drags his black t-shirt off of me, leaving me in the long sleeve I was wearing underneath. “Michael!” I gasp, as the collar scrapes up my face and the warmth and his smell disappears from me. My present and my memory.

And then, with that nasty little act, before I can even really focus on him again, the door slams closed and it feels like it shook the floor and the walls around me, and he’s gone. For a moment, I dumbly look at the door. I’m shocked- I mean, I knew it was coming. I initiated it. But there’s a big difference between waiting and experiencing and it is awful. I can’t believe it’s over. Michael’s gone. The behemoth that eats all my food, squishes my fingers until I let go of the TV remote, and keeps me tight against his chest at night is… gone. And all that, with it.

All of a sudden, surprising tears blur my vision and sobs clench at my chest and I feel… so, alone.

___TIME SKIP___

A week later, it still hurts that he’s gone and I desperately want him back. On the way to work and on the way back, the highlight of my day is driving by the places I know he would hide out, to look for any sight of him as I slowdown and drive by, and I can’t sit and watch TV, or… or, sit and anything because that leads to thinking about him because, evidently, my brain can think of nothing better then the most painful thing for me at the moment. But I’m not crying about it. I have a life, I bake. I work. I walk. I bought expensive ear plugs so I can blast nightcore in my ears as a distraction so loud that my brain goes white and blank. And, there’s always this dull, terrible aching deep in my chest full of dread because, ha! My heart just can’t get a grip and understand that he’s gone.

I’m just crocheting a scarf or… maybe a funny shaped blanket, with my loud ass music on-its some YouTube playlist of those frighteningly painful and addictive nightcore songs. The one I’m listening to now is a Carrie Underwood redo. ‘Choctow County Affair’, - and occasionally glancing up at the TV to see the news headlines when my fingers suddenly go spectacularly numb at a certain picture.

No, its not of Michael. But Loomis. That bastards on the telly, probably griping about how he shot Michael however many time’s and Michael isn’t human, but I have to wonder why he is on TV. They only bring him out when Michael’s been caught again and it causes me lose the breath in my throat for a second and hurt my ears as I rip out the earplugs. My ears ring as I try to listen in to what Dr Loomis is saying, as the headline at the bottom says ‘Deadly Scrape with the Shape’- news anchors think they’re so clever. Fucking hell, poor taste.

The newsman, Clive Weatherman-yeah, this guy gets made fun of a lot. Went into the wrong area of news,- waffles on with the same question and my head hurts. “What was he wearing, Dr Loomis? We heard he wore the same Captain Kirk mask he has the last consecutive times he’s broken free of the hospital- is this true? Does this say anything about his mental state? Its pretty freaky, to me. The viewers want to know.” Oh my god, shut up! I need to hear Loomis’ information, that’s trustworthy at least.

“Yes, he was wearing that terrifying mask, concealing his soulless eyes from me. He should still be wearing it, so if anyone watching sees a man in a mechanics uniform and a bleached Captain Kirk mask you should immediately alert the authorities.”

A relieved breath escapes me at Loomis’ warning. Michael hasn’t been caught, he’s still out there. I don’t know why that relieves me, he’s a menace to society and is better off in an asylum- I just know he’s free.

And… while he’s free… he can find m-

“I shot him twice, also. So, the man you’re looking out for will be bleeding quite badly.”

“Oh, fuck.” I exclaim, pushing off the couch immediately and zipping up my jacket, barely stopping to put shoes on before I’m at my front door ready to search for him- but a heavy thump at the door before I can even touches it stops me immediately in my tracks. Damaging, floor shaking bangs vibrate against the door harshly, and I open it. Michael nearly falls through it because of the loss of solid wall to keep up his weight, but stands up tall again, heavily.

My eyes go wide as a look on. He certainly is bleeding a lot, both his hands covering the wounds just above his rib cage and holding tight, shoulders rising and falling at a steady, much faster rate then usual. But, still solid and tall. Somehow.

But that’s not surprising.

Swallowing my fear and a good portion of air at the same time, I take him by the wrist and drag him the rest of the way in which is heartbreakingly easy to do due to how weak the blood loss has made him and close and lock the door behind him. Then I get to work stitching up the wound the best I can.

When you’ve known Michael for… I dunno… even just a couple weeks? One week? You learn the basics of surgery quick, so this is routine. Once its over, and my hands are idle again is when things get hard.

I’m pissed that he came here, after leaving like that. Because it was me, too. I wanted to him to piss off, and he wanted to piss off. We made a decision and he can’t come back and take it back whenever it fits for him!

And, I’m… also, glad he’s here. I don’t know how I’ll let him leave again when he has to. I sure won’t be letting him in ever again, after this.

At least that’s what I tell myself. I truly do not know if I’ll ever get better from him.

It mustn’t be more then an hour later when he truly shatters my soul and my heart. God, how did I ever think this would be easy? Not just breaking up with him, but loving him. Not because he’s a killer, either. Or unstoppable force. Just, plainly because he’s Michael, and my hearts done the worst thing ever in loving him.

He’s all stitched up and I’m getting ready to leave the room, go to bed. Pretend I’m pretending he isn’t here on my couch. This is when he gently, so gently, so heartbreakingly gentle compared to his… everything. Like this, this gentle, he takes my hand in his. Not even my whole hand, actually. Just his fingers, wrapped around my fingers, and as the moment goes on his thumb starts to rib circles into my palm. I try not to melt.

“Michael… what, the hell are you doing here.” I ask, and try to be firmer then his hand around mine. His grip twitches.

I watch, curiously and unsure of what to do, as he shifts on the couch and digs with the hand that isn’t holding mine into one of his pockets, and brings out a folded sheet of paper. He hands it to me, and as we hold hand’s he watches me assess it.

On one side it’s a Chinese restaurants menu, written in clichéd curly red script and clearly he found this in the garbage somewhere or in a gutter because its dried all bubbly like it was wet and there’s a yellow colour formed on the top half. But on the other side is familiar handwriting that I could recognise anywhere.

‘Y/N’, it says. And he’s written my name the biggest out of all the other stuff and twice as bold. Like he wrote it over a couple times. The rest is in messy scribble like he couldn’t get it down fast enough. ‘I didn’t know I could miss someone, but I do. I hate it. Not only do I miss someone, but I also wish to take something back that I did. I wish I hadn’t left you alone.

I’m going to let Dr Loomis shoot me, and then you’ll know I won’t do it again. And neither will you.’

Well… It could be worse, I guess. Slowly, darkly, I turn to Michael. “Michael… “Holding the note up, my hand steady from many months of Michael and his ways. “You can’t do this.”

He pulls his mask off and looks me in that vague, insane way. No emotion.

Coming back to him, because I’m weak, I lower the note and furrow my eyebrows. “You can’t get yourself hurt to prove a point.” Kneeling down by the couch and running a hand through his hair, I sigh. “I’ll worry.” I whisper.

Not even a quiet moment passes, of me petting his hair, before its not enough for Michael and he lifts me up onto the couch with him, our chests and everything else tight together as one of his arms hooks under and around my middle. Like it used to be, like I needed it to be. I’m weak.

Letting go of any last remining reservations, because even if I did want to leave or kick him out which I most certainly don’t he would never let me, I lean my face up to nuzzle in his neck. He shudders out a sighs, and tries to bring me impossibly closer. Its so warm and I missed this and I’m weak.

Finally, I’m weak, and this will be the rest of my life I think.

#Michael Myers x Reader Oneshot #Oneshot #Michael Myers #Dr Loomis

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yourarmynoona · 7 years ago

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Red Light District || Chapter 1

(Moodboard by Me)

Description: [Sex Worker!AU] [DomTae!AU] You were young, naive, and oh-so desperate to keep your head afloat in the big city. Working in the Red Light District was easy. Until he came along.

Rating: M

Pairings: Taehyung x Reader; Jungkook x Reader; Jimin x Jungkook x Reader; Taehyung x Jimin x Reader

Themes: S-M-U-T. Drugs, Alcohol, Sex, and mentions of abuse.

3.5k+ Words

Notes: Find the music for the dance scene here. This is the SECOND piece I’ve ever written for BTS AND THE LONG AF. I’m hoping to keep it to 5 chapters, though who knows. I get carried away.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

It was Friday evening and the city streets were beginning to fill with the sounds of patrons laughing and stumbling drunkenly about from one establishment to another. As the golden and lavender painted skies began to fade into a deep midnight blue scattered with glimmering orbs and the moon’s luminescence illuminating the glowing city skyline, a neon red glow begins to creep onto the damp asphalt and pavement of a familiar set of streets deep within the concrete jungle. The air is cool and damp, the familiar echo of footsteps following groups of men and women who cast shadows as they walk between the red hued lights filling large windows with scantily clad women and men in seductive poses or swaying their hips to the low thrum of music emanating from within their establishments.

Like any other Friday evening, your shift at Euphoria began as soon as the sun disappeared beneath the city skyline at 8pm sharp. Tonight was a special night, however. You had been working and dancing at Euphoria for almost 4 months since you had started going to college almost a year ago. Despite having excellent grades and doing well in High School, financial aid was barely enough to cover the tuition for your classes and your family could barely afford to send your younger brother to the private schools you had attended for the best education possible. It was tough at first. You had moved into a seedy apartment because the cost of housing was so high in the city and had spent nights unable to sleep between the domestic fights of your neighbors to your right, the loud drug-filled parties upstairs, police sirens, and the multiple part-time jobs you took to eat, pay your tuition, and not end up on the streets. After half a year of sleepless nights, tired and aching muscles, and struggling to not fall asleep in class, you had decided you had had enough. Searching through the various “Now Hiring” ads online in job forums, you had seen a tempting ad for weekend work with incredible pay and no experience required for women only. Normally, you would have been sketched out by the requirements for the job however, you were beyond exhausted and had made up your mind to toss your pride (and dignity) aside and take a chance on the job.

That was how you ended up at Euphoria as a dancer and server. Euphoria, compared to many other clubs and “hotels” in the area was higher-end with most clients and patrons paying thousands a night to see the most beautiful men and women dance at their feet or make their deepest, darkest fantasies come true. It was a large, spacious establishment with a large vaulted and mirrored ceiling that encompassed a central stage with two go-go cages at either end and three, iridescent poles, all illuminated by neon red and magenta lights surrounding the stage. There were various leather-clad booths with rich-wooded tables and private niches filled with large velvet cushions, inset leather couches, and weighted privacy curtains along the far wall with smaller pole platforms for entertainers strategically placed throughout.

Euphoria dripped wealth and luxury for its patrons from the surroundings to the expensive top-shelf spirits that filled the enormous magenta-illuminated bar staffed with multiple bar tenders and bar backs shaking up the newest mixology creation or wiping down crystal glasses that hung from racks between the library of spirits that spanned to the ceiling. The venue began to glow with various shades of crimson and pink as a sensual playlist selected by the resident DJ began to play in the background. In addition to the vast stage and dancefloor, there was a long hallway between the VIP booths guarded by a singular man of abnormal size and musculature. One didn’t get to know what resided down the long, red-lit hallway. Unless they paid the right price, that is.

The night had only begun and men in crisp, dark business suits were filing in group by group as they checked with the resident bouncer to ensure their favorite booth or table had been reserved. There were attractive men and women beginning to sit beside patrons that were slowly becoming inebriated by alcoholic creations that would equate to a week’s pay for the average person. Girls with their perfect eyeliner, false eye lashes, and scarlet lips wearing revealing outfits laughing at haughty businessmen attempting to make small talk with them and muscled young men in tight fitting jeans with shirts unbuttoned to expose their finely chiseled chests serving refined older women with their legs neatly crossed in plush seats became a part of the highly orchestrated nightly activities that filled Euphoria.

At the moment, you were leaning over the bar requesting a drink for one of your regular patrons, Mr. Bong. Mr. Bong came in every Friday night and requested to be seated in your section and though he never requested services beyond perhaps the occasional private dance, he could be a handsy man. However, you most often didn’t mind because paid more than the average wealthy patron. From what you knew, he was the Chief Operations Officer for some major conglomerate, but the name currently escaped you. As you leaned over the bar to yell the order, the hem of your black bandage dress riding up your backside, a young bartender with a defined nose and large doe-eyes came over with his familiar bunny smile.

“___! Mr. Bong again? Is he having the usual Dalmore ’64?” he asked giving you a brief glance before sliding over a rolling redwood ladder that slid along the bar and reached the highest tiers of the library of liquor stocked at Euphoria.

“Yup! I swear, Jungkook, he should just buy the bottle. He has all this money and he just buys per glass. He knows we reserve bottles here” you kicked your legs off the bar, your breasts pressed to the bar and threatening to spill over the low neckline of your dress.

Jungkook just smiled as he quickly climbed up and down the ladder, bottle in hand. “You would think but eh, he can waste whatever money he wants here as long as he keeps tipping me good.” Jungkook grabbed out a cleanly wiped crystal glass, a round frozen whiskey stone, and began to pour the liquor carefully into the glass before recapping the oddly shaped bottle. You could only roll your eyes in response.

Jungkook was only a year younger than you but he had come to the city with the dreams of becoming a singer and dancer. His family was much like yours in that they were not wealthy and he was having to pay his own tuition, thus he ended up becoming a bartender at Euphoria about the same time you started. The both of you shared a unique bond since you were the youngest of the staff and he was the only male on the crew who hadn’t made a pass at you in some way. Though you weren’t sure if it was because you had a special friendship or it was his naturally shyness around women. Even though the bar was illuminated by bright red and magenta, you could definitely see the times a heated blush rose to his cheeks when he glimpsed your breasts in a revealing outfit or a woman would touch his arm flirtatiously.

“You got that straight. I’ll be back soon for more so store the bottle. Don’t want you having to go up and down all night unless you’re getting paid for that” you laughed, your magenta lips peeled back into a smile as you laughed at the innuendo. Sliding the glass filled with the deep golden liquor in your direction, Jungkook just shook his head. You had to admit, he was finely muscled and extremely attractive with his pierced ears and the few tattoos you had glimpsed on his chest and upper arm. Maybe if there was a time you were both lonely one night, you wouldn’t say no. You gingerly grabbed the glass, giving Jungkook a final wink, and sauntered off back to Mr. Bong with a seductive smile.

The next hour you spent in conversation with Mr. Bong, touching his arm delicately and speaking about the things you were familiar with, ushering him to perhaps seek a private dance with you before you were to go on stage. However, tonight he was far too inebriated and simply paid you a rather large tip from his Black AMEX card before you had to say your polite goodbyes.

The club was now packed and filled with not only the business types, but the young and wealthy socialites who were heirs to family companies and had come to blow off steam from their duties or education. There was an assortment of men and women of all ages who were in attendance as you made your way from the VIP booth with Mr. Bong, past the stage, and towards the back to get ready. Jungkook was extremely busy with a group of young men who looked like they had stepped out of a runway magazine and you could see the DJ, Yoongi who went by the alias AGUST D, was head bobbing as he began to mix a faster and more upbeat set of songs for the remainder of the night.

“Hey, _____! You look positively gorgeous tonight” you heard a voice call. It was Jimin. He, like you, was a server and entertainer. Jimin, however, was the most in-demand dancer at Euphoria. He had grown up and danced for most of his life, which had afforded him a lean and muscled physique that looked as if it was sculpted by the gods. Jimin had been dancing at Euphoria for the last year and was known by his stage name, “Christian”, after a drunken night where he had gone from his sweet and cheeky demeanor to straight Dom, pushing down and spanking poor Yoongi who was just trying to get him to sober up. Jimin had regal and princely features with his jet black hair parted neatly down the center, plush lips, and the copious amount of silver rings and earrings he wore. He walked the line of androgyny quite well and both men and women loved him.

“Thanks Jimin! I’m going to try something new tonight and hope I don’t bust my ass” you said sarcastically, slipping on your black silk robe.

“Oh? Something new you say?” Jimin remarked with his best acting.

You giggled, placing one foot up on a nearby chair as you strapped your patent leather platform heels on.

“Duh, I’m going for this new ‘Subby Leather Vixen’ vibe. I feel like I’ve been playing it too sweet this entire time.”

Jimin opened his mouth in an ‘O’ in understanding. He was a very seductive dancer and naturally good at it. You however, had to adjust and become comfortable before exploring the direction you wanted your stage personal to take. There were a handful of girls and guys in the coed dressing room currently other than you and Jimin who were chatting and laughing as they applied copious amounts of makeup or changed into their outfits for the night. Untying your robe and slipping it down your shoulders to take a look in the full-length mirror of the dressing room you heard a whistle from behind and a catcall coming from Jimin.

“Ah ____ I love it!” Jimin cheered grasping you in a rather large hug from behind, his chin resting on your bare shoulder. “You know, I’d totally be down to fuck one of these days if you wanted” Jimin said seductively, his dark hooded eyes meeting yours in the reflection of the mirror as he gently rocked your body in his arms. You blushed as you laughed out of his grasp, your nose scrunched at his comment. Jimin was indeed shameless.

“Jimin! I thought you were all over that Min-booty last time we were out? And hey, what about Jungkook? I could have sworn you said you were going to get in his pants by the end of this year?” You said jokingly, your hands adjusting your faux-leather bra-top and your faux-leather thong that had an “X” of tiny chains across the front. Jimin simply laughed and clicked his tongue. Bingo.

“Yoongi, maybe if I was super drunk again and Jungkook clearly has a thing for you. Not stepping on toes there ____. Though I wouldn’t mind jumping in on some action between you two so-“

“Foxx on in 3!” the stage manager called, promptly interrupting Jimin’s comment and much to your satisfaction.

“Gotta go Chimchim, see you in a few!” you scampered out of the dressing room, your platform stilettos clattering across the hardwood of the dressing room and into the crimson lit hallway as you laughed at Jimin’s displeased expression. You just had to love his brashness. Jimin was pretty much your best friend and even though he joked about sex with you from time to time, you wondered how much truth there was to it. A part of you really wouldn’t mind. After all, the night Jimin had gone total Dom on Yoongi was also a night you had made out with him and if his kissing was any inclination as to how he could fuck, you were probably down to do it. It was better fucking a friend by choice and having a good time than someone you had met five minutes prior.

You were waiting patiently for the girl before you to finish her routine, her body sliding to the floor in rhythm with the end of the heavy guitar riff and the lights cutting out. As men cheered for her and the lights dimmed up only slightly, you could see the bouncer assist her in gathering the wads of money that she had been writhing in only moments earlier right before the stage manager approached her. She was going to get lucky tonight. One of the men in the audience was intrigued enough to pay for her private services.

In just under a minute, that was going to be you.

Removing your loose silk robe and hanging it on the doorhanger in the hallway entrance behind a heavy velvet curtain, you did a series of hops to shake off your nerves. It wasn’t the first time you had gone out there but the nerves never seemed to go away.

“You’re on!” the stage manager called from behind you.

You put on your best act and sauntered out from behind the curtain, a brilliant spotlight on you. It followed your form as you crossed one foot in front of the other and walked up the stairs to the platform, the pulsating rhythms creeping into your body, making your body fill with a passion and desire that even the most heated lover could only hope to give you. Your song, “Wicked Games” was playing and it never failed to turn you into the vixen men dreamed of.

You walked slowly, seductively, your hips exaggerating a drop with every cross of your black stilettos before you. You worked your hands over the bare flesh on the outer part of your thighs and drug them hashly, sensually across the curve of your hips and the swell of your breasts, running them behind your neck to raise your hair up in unison with the beat and the slow, passionate sway of your hips.

You swayed your hips side to side, creating an infinite pattern you were slowly losing yourself in. Your hands wandered from behind your neck and crossed around your throat with your thumbs running along your plush, magenta lips before sliding back down your breasts, stomach, and along your thighs as you dipped down low to the ground, spreading your knees outwards and swinging your hair around. Slowly you brought your thighs together and slid forwards onto the floor reaching outwards on the black reflective stage.

That’s when you saw him.

He was a man of about your age, dressed in a plum silk shirt and dark slacks, his legs crossed elegantly as he reclined deep into the velvet of a VIP couch. Something about him was alluring and his ash brown hair was doing little to hide a carnal stare of dark eyes following your every movement. Your eyes met his and you beckoned him forwards from his seat with a long, elegant curl of your fingers before turning around and laying down onto the stage, writhing as if in pure ecstasy. With your arms above your head, you kicked your legs straight upwards, making small languid circles before letting them fall open and down, bringing them to an angle to which you swiveled your hips as if seeking pleasure from a lover.

Though your eyes were closed, you could feel his eyes on you, his heated gaze ready to set your skin alight. Bringing your legs together, you swiveled them together to position your body on all fours. You were going to make sure to give him a show he’ll never forget. With the bass pulsing deep inside your veins, your rolled your body upwards, your hands grasping a chrome pole before you. You could see his lust. Bringing your hands to your top, you leisurely unzipped your top, letting your naked breasts free. His tongue ran leisurely across his wonderfully plump lips as you tossed your top aside and grasped the pole, walking gracefully around before pulling your body upwards, your legs tightly wrapped around the pole as it spun. You closed your eyes and let go.

You bent back with your arms outstretched before grasping the pole and splaying your legs open as the pole carried your magenta and crimson illuminated figure delicately in a circle. As you spun, you lowered your body, grasping the pole lightly and letting your legs carry you around before they met the floor. His searing gaze fueled your desire. With hands holding tightly, you grasped the pole tightly and flipped yourself onto the pole, your thighs tightly clamping to the slick metal so that you could reach outwards, as if beckoning him to come to you. Your body was feeling hotter than normal as the cold metal of the pole stung at the flesh of your thighs as you slid to the floor and crawled on all fours one last time towards the edge of the stage.

Your veins were coursing with desire as you noticed he was waiting for your attention, his teeth with a firm grasp on his lower lip. With a swing of your hair and roll of your hips, you brought your hands to his face, running a thumb across his bruised lip. Your breath quickened when you felt him take a thumb into his mouth and suck it harshly as he stared into your eyes as if trying to penetrate the darkest depths of your soul. Your thumb slid out from between his lips and your hands worked down his throat and to his chest before you brought them to the floor. He grimaced at the loss of contact and you could tell he desperately wanted to reach out and touch you.

The music began to fade as you sauntered back to the pole to grind passionately on it, your hips swiveling back and forth and into circles. His eyes were hungry for your body and you wanted him to know exactly what you would do with him if he was willing to pay the right price. As the music dissipated and lights dimmed low, leaving only the neon glow of the stage, you left the stage, giving one last glance in his direction.

By the time you had left stage, cheers and whistles erupted from above the music and the MC made his announcements about how to meet with you.

When you got back stage and grabbed your robe. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat.

Your fingers were aflame.

Your core was throbbing.

You prayed desperately that he was going to have you tonight. If you didn’t get a chance to fuck him, you thought you would end up having to finger-fuck yourself into oblivion to relieve the tension his gaze and mouth had created.

“Oh my God ____! That was SO HOT! I’d sell my firstborn to get a chance with you tonight! I haven’t seen you perform that way in ages. Who got you horny?” Jimin was shouting excitedly as you made your way down the hallway.

“Oh my God Chimchim!” you blushed, “I was just feeling it tonight is all.”

“Lies, all of it.”

You smirked and held back a laugh.

“Okay maybe. There’s this guy out there, he looks like a fucking model. He’s wearing this dark purple silk shirt and dark slacks. He’s sitting right in the front VIP area and-“

“WAIT. Oh my God, ____! That’s V! He’s a famous model and actor! He’s pretty much the hottest thing out there right now. You’re so lucky ___! I’d kill for a guy like him.”

“V? Like, the V from that one period drama series?!”

“YES FROM THE PERIOD DRAMA SERIES!”

Jimin was grabbing your hands and leaning close as he excitedly explained just who the VIP in the front row was. V was his stage name but apparently he was an international model for GUCCI and also acted in a new show on TV. You didn’t get to watch television much but if Jimin knew who he was, he must be big. Jimin was a pop culture aficionado who knew everything and anything current about celebrities not simply from TV, but because he had habit of befriending anyone and everyone who was of some importance. He had a way with schmoozing his way into ritzy parties and taking you along for the ride. And you thought that part of him would never come in handy.

“___, I have a request to meet with you. VIP in booth #7. Willing to paydown big bucks for a night. Come out when you’re ready” the stage manager called out to you and you felt your heart stutter.

“___ THIS IS IT. You’re going to get to fuck the one person guys and girls only dream of!” Jimin was cheering as you rolled your eyes and walked off, slipping your bandage dress overhead and leaving the dressing room. Jimin was too excited for his own good.

And you were more nervous than you had ever been.

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