You always wonder why, out of all the pretty and influential girls chasing after him, he chose you. It doesn't help how of a unit he is. Your typical perfect guy, popular, rich, and body that's comparable to a Greek God... and his voice— how you love his gentle and warm voice, there's just something about it that hypnotize you.
He always compliments you, shower you with affection, and be an absolute sweetheart. It gets you pissy. You don't know why you're always in a foul mood around him, he's not even doing anything that could trigger you. He takes a breath and you're already fuming. Grumbling profanities that he would laugh at wholeheartedly, like you didn't curse his entire being.
You hate how perfect he is. Hate how much you adore him. Hate how much you love him, and inside your mind you always question if he genuinely loves you. Maybe he's just playing with you? Waiting for the day he'd humiliate you, telling how you're too idiotic to even believe someone like him could ever love you.
That's probably why you're always cautious around him, you don't believe him enough to love an average girl like you.
***
He can't believe he's dating the cutest in the world. Everytime you scowl, show that adorable pout, he just wants to squish your cheeks together and kiss you plenty. Like a little kitty hissing when you sneer curses at him.
It's adorable really.
You'd say you didn't want to go to the movies he chose. Yet, you arrived earlier than expected, wearing a hint of makeup in that cute dress of yours. Makes him want to crush you. You put in the effort, took the time, even gave him the watch he'd been talking about—his favorite.
He really loves you. Really really loves you but why are you acting like he doesn't? He's confused. Hasn't he done enough to show you, tell how much he adores you? It makes him sad. Don't you know how much he's holding back? There's only so much he could take, you know. He could just take you everytime you run that cute foul mouth of you, shove his cock to make you shut up. But he's so patient with you because he loves you.
So don't push him too much, ok? Or else you might not like it when he finally show you his desire.
***
"You're late," you grumble, sending him a glare. Your arms are crossed, and your foot taps impatiently on the ground.
He chuckles, a soft, knowing smile playing on his lips. "I arrived just on time, sweetie," he says, stepping closer. "You're just too excited for our date, no?" His voice is teasing, but his eyes are warm, sparkling with affection.
You huff in response, but you can feel the corners of your mouth betraying you, tugging into a smile. He notices and takes your hand, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.
"You're just so cute, you know? I really wanna crush— ow!" He hiss slightly as you swat his arm. He pouts a little, "You're strong, you're gonna leave a bruise."
You roll your eyes— as if that's gonna happen. Huffing you tug on his hand, "Let's go. I'm starving."
He smiles, looking at your back, "Ok, sweetie~."
Ah, you really are so cute.
He can't wait to fuck you.
***
"Why're you not eating, sweetie? Is the food not to your liking?"
Your appetite was gone the moment that waitress flirted with him, leaving you empty and bitter. This always happen. You're sick of it, sick of being jealous and feeling shitty for not looking like his girlfriend. Are you really worthless by his side? Do people not see you as his companion?
"Sweetie?"
You didn't want to lash out on him so you remained silent. Too bitter to talk. Even the food turned bitter, leaving you more upset.
He's such an idiot. But you're more of an idiot for being triggered by that stupid waitress, too much of a wuss to tell her he's taken, that he's yours. You're the idiot.
"I don't wanna eat anymore," you bitterly muttered, your face covered by the shadows of your hair, hiding that frown you wore he always seems to love on you.
He gets a sick twisted feeling in his guts, watching how jealous you get whenever some worthless wench tries to get his attention. It satisfies his urge, his sick thoughts hidden by his angelic face. You really love him, don't you? His lips curving into a sweet smile, eyes twinkling with desires. If only you know how much he gets off with you being jealous, you'd never doubted your pretty little self.
So… why are you saying such stupid things?
“Let’s break up.”
“Hm?”
“I said…” You take a breath, steadying your voice. “Let’s break up.”
For a moment, his smile wavers. Just a fraction. His right eye twitches ever so slightly, a crack in the carefully crafted mask he wears. But then, like a master of illusions, he recovers, his sweet facade sliding back into place, though something darker lingers beneath the surface.
“Now, now,” he says, his voice dripping with a saccharine softness that makes the hairs on your neck stand on end. “What’s the matter?” His tone is gentle, almost soothing, but there’s a sharp edge to it—a venomous undercurrent that cuts through the air.
You don’t answer immediately, your chest tightening under his unblinking stare. It’s as if he’s waiting, watching every little twitch of your expression, trying to peel you apart without lifting a finger.
“I just think…” you start, your voice faltering as his head tilts slightly, his smile remaining unnervingly intact. “I-I think we’re not… good for each other anymore.”
His smile widens, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead, his gaze sharpens, a predator sizing up its prey. He takes a step closer, the air between you growing heavy. “Not good for each other?” he repeats, feigning confusion. “Sweetheart, where’s this nonsense coming from? Didn’t we promise forever?”
The sweetness in his tone sends a chill down your spine, but you hold your ground. “Forever shouldn’t feel like this,” you say, trying to steady your trembling hands.
It shouldn't make you feel bad about yourself, shouldn't make you anxious, shouldn't make feel... pressured.
For a moment, he says nothing, his eyes boring into yours. Then, his chuckle breaks the tension, soft and low. “Ah, I see,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough for you to feel the weight of his presence. “You’re upset. That’s all. We’ll talk this through, won’t we?”
But his words aren’t a question—they’re a command, wrapped in the guise of concern. And as his smile lingers, you realize leaving might not be as simple as you hoped.
***
Why is this happening?
You thought he would accept and move on.
"Mmm, that's it sweetie. Take it deeper." He coaxes, his grip on your hair tightening. He starts to push forward, forcing more of his thick length past your stretched lips.
So why?
Your eyes squeeze shut tighter as he pushes in deeper, your throat convulsing around his invading cock. He throws his head back with a guttural moan.
"That's a good girl. Mhm, your throat feels so good wrapped around my dick." He grunts, starting to set a steady pace. Fucking into your mouth, using your face like a cock sleeve.
It was gross. He never did that to you.
Lewd, wet sounds fill the office as he picks up speed, his heavy balls slapping against your chin with each rough thrust. Drool escapes the seal of your lips, dripping down your chin and onto your messed up clothes.
He looks down, taking in the debauched sight of you on your knees, choking on his cock. His dick is spit-shined and glistening, streaked with their drool. Shit. The sight makes him thrust harder, faster, chasing his pleasure.
"Look at me," He demands breathlessly, wanting to see the tears and desperation in their eyes as he uses their mouth ruthlessly. He's close, so fucking close already from the intense, vice-like grip of your inexperienced throat. He grunts and curses, slamming forward one last time before pulling out abruptly.
Thick ropes of cum paint your face and hair, marking you as his. Some of it even lands in your eyes, making them sting and water.
"You're so pretty... You look so pretty covered in my cum," he whispers lovingly, smearing the head of his cock across your messy face, pushing the hot seed into their skin like makeup. "The prettiest girl in the world."
You were supposed to break up with him...
How did it escalated to this?
***
It's not like he's losing a lot... you aren't that special. So why is he acting this way? There are a lot of better options for him, prettier, smarter, and richer girls. Someone who can actually match him, who doesn't embarrass him, worthier to stand beside him.
Why is he fucking you like his life depends on it?
Your eyes already hazy and unfocused, breathing hard as you couldn't count how many times you've already come.
One of his hands snakes up your trembling body, finding a soft breast. He squeezes the supple mound roughly, fingers sinking into the pliant flesh as he kneads and gropes. He finds a pert nipple and pinches it cruelly between his thumb and forefinger, rolling and tugging until it stands stiff and aching in the cool air of the room.
"Hm? Are you already tired? We're just starting," he coo, his hips slamming forward with renewed vigor. He leans down, his mouth finding your neck, sharp teeth sinking into the tender skin. He bites and sucks, determined to leave his mark on you, to claim you as his own. His. He can feel his orgasm building, his heavy balls tightening as he ruts into your abused cunt. The wet, obscene sounds of your coupling fill the room, punctuated by the creaking of the bed and your cries. He's close, so fucking close to filling your cunt with his seed.
"Gonna... hngh... fill this pussy..." He grunts between clenched teeth, slamming home one last time. His cock throbs and pulses as he starts to come, thick ropes of hot cum painting your inner walls. He grinds against them, making sure they take every last drop as he marks your womb with his essence.
Finally, with a last shuddering groan, he collapses on top of you, his softening cock still buried deep inside your tender, cream-filled pussy. He pants harshly against the shell of their ear, his hands still groping and fondling your sensitive body.
"Y-You're an idiot..." You sniffle, "Why me? There's a lot of—."
He cuts you off, "You know, I would never cheat on you, right?" He whispers tenderly, kissing your ears as if assuring. "No matter who comes to me, I would never pay attention to them. Never. You're the only one I want." His other hand comes up to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his intense, burning gaze.
It was the first time you ever heard his voice to be so... vulnerable.
"The only girl I want... So..." You can hear his voice shake, "Don't break up with me, ok?"
Your eyes glaze with tears, your heart tugging at his words. No, it wasn't supposed to end up like this. You made up your mind a few weeks ago, always nagging at the back of your mind. Ending your relationship would be the best for you two—.
He kisses you then, any doubts in your mind disappearing as his mouth claiming theirs in a brutal, dominating kiss. His tongue pushes past your lips, plundering the warm cavern as he grinds his hips forward, rubbing his throbbing erection against your thigh.
Ah, you don't care anymore.
"Don't think anymore, ok? Just let me do it for you."
He starts to rub the broad head of his cock along your slit, coating himself in your combined juices. "Tell you what, sweetheart. I'll be gentle like the usual... for now." He promises darkly, his voice rough with restrained lust. "I'll make this first part nice and slow, nice and easy for you."
"H-Huh?"
With that, he starts to push forward, the thick length of his cock slowly sinking into your tight, clutching heat. He has to fight the urge to slam forward, to bury himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. But he resists, forcing himself to go slowly, to savor the exquisite feeling of your walls stretching around him.
"Ah, you're still so tight." He grits out through clenched teeth, his fingers flexing against your hips as he fights for control. "Such a perfect cunt."
"Too soon! I'm still... s-sensitive!" You cried out but he starts to move then, his hips rocking in a slow, sensual rhythm as he fucks into you with deep, deliberate strokes. Each thrust pushes him a little deeper, a little harder, until he's finally buried to the hilt inside you. He pauses for a moment, letting you feel the heavy weight of him, the way he's stretching you impossibly full.
"Hehe, sorry can't help it. Does that feel gentle enough for you, sweetie?" He asks, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, yet his angelic face covers it. "Or do you need me to be even more... careful?" He punctuates the word with a sharp thrust of his hips, grinding his pelvis against your clit.
Your brain short circuit by the overstimulation, all you could think about was him, and his big cock, "A-Ah, you— ish... so good~!"
He snarls in feral pleasure as he feels your pussy clench and ripple around his pistoning cock. The way you are moaning and crying out, begging him not to stop... it's the headiest fucking thing he's ever heard. It makes him want to ruin you, to fuck you so hard and so deep that you'll never forget the feeling of his cock splitting you open.
You came in surprise, your eyes rolling in the back of your head, chest heaving, "C-Can't too much..!"
"You can do it," He growls, his voice a dark, distorted rumble. He can feel his own release building, his balls drawing up tight as he fucks into you with wild abandon, "A-ah~ clench this greedy cunt around my dick, dollface. Milk it for all it's worth.
You never saw this side of him before, a more vulgar side to him. Spouting dirty words that's the opposite of his facade. Maybe, you didn't know your boyfriend that well? He was always gentleman to you in bed, always going with your pace and being mindful about his words but now...
"N-No~ I really ah! Can't!" You shake your head frantically, having enough of the sensitivity.
"Yes, you can! You will, sweetie~!"
He buries his face in the crook of her neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin as he chases his pleasure. He wants to mark you, to leave his claim all over your body for everyone to see. He wants the whole world to know that you belong to him, that you're his to fuck and fill and love as he sees fit. The thought of another man putting his hand on you makes him mad, you're only his and he isn't afraid to take that way for you to be officially his.
"I'm gonna cum, sweetie." He grits out, his hips slamming forward with sharp, brutal thrusts. "I'm gonna pump this tight little pussy full of my seed, gonna breed this fucking cunt until it's dripping with my cum."
Breed?
He reaches down, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing mercilessly at the sensitive bundle of nerves. "I want to feel you cum on my cock, sweetheart. I want to feel you shake and quake as I fill you with my my child."
Wait...!
His other hand slides up, wrapping around your throat and squeezing lightly. It's enough to make you gasp for air, pulse jumping wildly beneath his touch. It's enough to make you even tighter, body instinctively clenching down around him as he fucks into you with short, vicious thrusts.
Too much!
"Now, sweetie~ cum. Now." He commands, his voice a dark and sinful. And with a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself balls deep inside her and starts to cum. His cock jerks and pulses as he paints your insides with thick ropes of his hot seed, filling you up just like he promised.
So full...
You gasp out, your skin flushed and damp with sweat. The room spins around you, his weight pressing you down into the mattress as you struggle to catch your breath. Body aches all over, especially between your legs. The feeling of his cum painting your insides is strange, unsettling.
Your vision having black spots, your consciousness fading as you hear him murmur promises to you.
"I'll take responsibility whether we have a child or not, we'll get married and have a cute child."
You feel a warm kiss on your forehead.
"I love you. I love you more than anyone else, I only love you."
uh....surprise! i really love asoiaf, and i've seen so many posts about barbarian!katsuki, but i wasn't really successful in writing him, so here's my take on a fantasy au with katsuki. this takes place pre-fire and blood, really in the "medieval" days of the targaryen dynasty, with a targaryen heir!reader. i took some creative liberties with targaryen marriage customs, but i think they're sorta fun.
this is a beast of a one-shot, but there's lots of lore preceding this (do i smell a prequel?), including that reader asked for katsuki's hand in marriage, and neither of them were really expecting to wind up in a marriage bed together. i normally don't write virginity loss, but i made an exception for these two, i really do love them!!! fair warning, there's lots of high valyrian in here, which i don't speak fluently either, so i'm going to add some translations at the end :)
"perzītsos" - "little flame"
enjoy <3
pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader
wc: 13.5k (told ya it's a beast)
DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut. bakugou is roughly twenty-eight in this fic.
cws: virginity loss, aged-up characters, fingering, oral sex (fem!receiving, male!receiving mentioned), reader has female anatomy, smut, pretentious amounts of high valyrian pet names
𖤓
Leaving the raucous merriment of the great hall behind, its stone walls bursting at the seams with the raunchy, jeering calls of Bakugou’s soldiers and the titters of the ladies of the court, only seems to emphasize the echoing silence of your chambers. The servants had completed the arduous job of transferring your things into your new apartments today; you recognize the tapestries that had decorated your walls since you were a child, now dwarfed by the massive dimensions of your new quarters, and the candelabra you’d been gifted by a nobleman at your seventh name day sits upon a newly constructed ebony desk.
Nearly every hard surface in the room—desks, tables, even small areas of the floor—has been covered in the fat, yellow beeswax candles crafted in the kitchens many stories below your feet, flames dancing and casting shadows this way and that over the stone walls. Many a night have you forgone sleep in favor of losing yourself in the waltz of a small fire on a wick, the sometimes-frantic, sometimes-untroubled rhythm of the flame in the breeze of an open window. Tonight, though, not even the hundreds of flames, these little extensions of the hot, ancient blood that flows through your veins, can distract you from your fate.
“I remember these rooms,” you say offhandedly, bringing one hand to the fine curtains that hang around the tapestry bed, “they were my mother’s.”
Bakugou stays stock still where he stands, letting you examine the marriage bed. The wood was brought into these chambers several weeks ago, alongside a handful of master carpenters. The bed is enormous, easily large enough for three people to get a full night’s sleep without touching each other. It had been built inside of the room so that the intended dimensions could be fulfilled without the worry of actually fitting it through the door, which it would not. The sight of it makes an apprehensive shiver rock through your frame.
“You were born here,” Bakugou says gruffly, catching you by surprise. “I remember.”
You turn to face him, eyebrows raised cautiously at his decision to speak. Considering what lies before you both, the breach in his silence is appreciated, if unexpected. He’s hardly said two words to you all night; two words besides the lengthy wedding vows you’d exchanged before gods and men alike, speaking them practically into each other’s mouths in the purring, labyrinthine cadence of the Old Tongue. The metallic taste of his blood, brushed onto your tongue by his own thumb, is still nestled between your teeth, worryingly permanent.
“You remember?”
“Hardly.” Bakugou diverts his gaze from you to where your marriage bed lies, squinting his eyes as if he’s trying to remember what it had looked like more than twenty years past. “I was three.”
It shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it is, given that you’d practically been raised alongside Bakugou, taken your first steps, tasted your first victories, had your first stumbles under his watchful crimson gaze. The required distance had been there, as you’d always been more of an heir than a little girl, and Bakugou had been busy with his training anyhow, but he was a steadfast part of your memories, even if he had been mostly in the blurry peripherals until the most recent years. This confession, that he had stood in the same room as your howling, bloodied form had been brought into the world, makes you feel more exposed than you already do in your thin gown.
Bakugou must take notice of how your shoulders unintentionally tense up, because his lips pull into a small frown, not one of anger, but seemingly guilt. You sigh, rolling your shoulders back and squaring yourself to face him, trying not to let your cheeks burn hot as your nipples peak under the singular layer of fabric hiding the finer details of your body from him. He’s intimidating, and both of you know it, but considering that you’re the reason you two find yourselves in this room, you think that maybe you should be the one to guide him along.
Bakugou approaches you slowly, making a noticeable effort to dull down the soldier’s swagger he normally walks with, holding your gaze with what you surmise is his best attempt to look open and mild-tempered. You notice how he pointedly avoids looking at your body, how it’s silhouetted by the candlelight and showing itself as a dark, shapely shadow in the white fabric of your gown. He’s close enough to touch now, toes only inches from yours. You’re reminded of how close you stood during the ceremony, how he had sworn to give his life for you, to you. Ānogar ānograro.
“They’re waiting,” you say quietly, eyes darting to the four servants in each corner of the room. Bakugou follows your gaze, and his frown grows deeper.
“May I speak freely?” It’s a laughable question coming from him, but it’s a kindhearted gesture, so you bite into your lip and nod your acquiesce.
“You’re my husband,” you say, trying not to feel discouraged at the pink tinge that rises to his cheeks, “I always want you to speak freely.”
Through a stiff nod of understanding, Bakugou lets a deep breath exhale through his nose before pinning you in place with a scrutinizing gaze. “Have you been…kissed, before?”
“Of course I have, Bakugou.” You can’t hide the breathless chuckle that comes fluttering from your lips, the dangerous hint of a relieved smile that begins to carve into your cheeks.
“Katsuki,” he says, the corner of his own mouth curling when his simple request for familiarity wipes the glimmer of smugness straight away from your face. “Your husband, remember?”
“Katsuki,” you repeat, letting the letters make a home for themselves on your tongue. Something flashes in his eyes, and he clears his throat. You can’t make out the shape of what’s flickered across his face, but you can feel the heat thrumming from his eyes to yours.
“What else?”
“What do you mean?” Your nose wrinkles in confusion, entirely lost on what point he’s trying to make. Katsuki narrows his eyes, clears his throat uncomfortably.
“What else do you have…experience with?”
Oh. He wants to know if you’ve been touched, where you’ve been touched, possibly even by whom. It’s your turn to shuffle your bare feet on the cold stone floor, to look solidly ahead at the v in the collar of his loose tunic, the slope of his neck, anywhere but his eyes. Your stomach begins to roil at the implication of this, of baring yourself to him wholly. It won’t be the first time you do it tonight, and certainly not the last.
“I’ve– um, done most things.” You somehow summon the courage to meet his gaze again, staring up defiantly. “I hope that’s not a disappointment to you.”
“You had no obligation to me before today.” Katsuki shakes his head, as if to dispel the very notion that you even have something to refuse to apologize for. It brings a spark of warmth to your heart, a hum of satisfaction pulsing through you that you’d chosen your husband well, at least in this regard. “But you are a virgin?”
You can’t control the way your eyes go wide, blinking hurriedly at him when he asks the question. Your fingertips grow hot, and you aren’t sure which potential answer would be the least mortifying, so you opt to stick with the truth.
“Yes,” you say, so lowly it’s near a whisper, “I’m a virgin.”
Katsuki swears quietly in the Old Tongue, and though you’re more focused on your feet than his face, you can see the awkward repositioning of his feet, how his hands clench and unclench at your confession. He’s your husband, you scold yourself, you have no need for fear. You jerk your head up to look unflinchingly at his face, unapologetic in your stance. Despite the way he had voiced his indifference to your prior experiences, you can see some strange mixture of relief, nerves, and that same undefinable heat rising to his face, coloring his features and darkening his eyes.
His eyes run over your consummation gown, long, loose, and traditional as they come, lovingly hand-stitched by your longest serving lady-in-waiting. Your handmaidens had taken the liberty of freshening you up after the feast, scrubbing most of the heavy, ash-black ceremony makeup from the bridge of your nose, wiping the kohl from your eyes until you were bare. Your elaborate wedding hairstyle had been let down and reworked into a long, singular braid down your back, loosely secured by a knot of cowhide. That, amongst other things, is for him, and only him.
“After this,” Katsuki wets his lips with his tongue, “we won’t share a bed again–”
“Katsuki–”
“Not until you’re ready,” he amends. His fingers twitch by his sides, a boyish gesture for a man of his massive stature.
“I’m your wife,” you say, puzzled and looking up at him, “I may be a virgin now, but I’m no stranger to what that entails.”
A heavy breath shakes through Katsuki’s frame, and his brows knit together in an expression of comfortingly familiar exasperation. You almost want to smile back at him.
“I expected as much,” he says, one hand reaching forward ever so slowly to brush tentatively through your fingers dangling at your side, to pinch at the thin fabric of your gown and rub it between his fingers, “but that’s a matter for the morning.”
You catch the implication in his tone, in the way he’s holding the sheet separating you from him. There’s something to be taken care of. Your palms turn clammy, fingers beginning to tremble by your sides. It takes everything in you to set your jaw and look up at him, shoulders rolled back and expression carefully schooled into something that you can only pray approaches a warm neutrality.
“Would you like to take it off?” Your eyes flit from your gown to his face.
Katsuki considers you, dragging his eyes over your frame at an agonizingly slow rate, still maddeningly rubbing that fabric between his fingers. Suddenly, his face crumples into a scowl.
“You’re shaking,” he says matter-of-factly. Your cheeks warm, wishing he wouldn’t have brought it up. “Are you nervous?”
“Not of you,” you answer him truthfully, willing the tension in your spine to melt into pleasurable anticipation. Katsuki catches your meaning instantly, the concern in his eyes glittering into something more akin to the anger that settles so comfortably into the frown lines on his face, that strikes his sharp features so suddenly and beautifully you almost gasp.
“Turn around,” he barks suddenly, his posture straightening into that of the formidable general you’ve known him as all your life, not the surprisingly gentle husband he’s shown himself to be in the last few minutes. You start in his arms, beginning to spin on your heels to follow his command when his hands catch you by the shoulders, an apology writing its way into the fine features of his face.
“But you said–”
“Them.” Katsuki jerks his head towards the servants posted in each corner who are, miraculously, turned away from the two of you, heads down and poised towards the corner. You look up to Katsuki in amazement, and his eyes soften. “I wouldn’t speak to you that way.”
“Oh.” It’s light and not enough when it falls from your mouth, and you want to apologize, but Katsuki’s already loosening his grip on your shoulders, urging you to spin.
“Now you,” he says gently, “turn around.”
Too stunned by the duality of him to argue, the whetted and wartorn angles of him contrasting with this unbearable softness, you turn your back to him, urging yourself to relax under the weight of his hands. Katsuki’s hands subtly squeeze your shoulders, as if to warn you of their departure, and the next time you feel his touch, it’s on the end of your long braid, his scarred fingers fumbling with the cowhide tie.
You hold your breath as you feel the tension along your scalp go slack; he’s gotten the tie off of your braid. Katsuki’s fingers begin to methodically comb through your long hair, starting at the bottom and working his way up, deftly avoiding knots and keeping the lightly-oiled strands from tangling themselves as he undoes your braid. He’s surprisingly good at it, and an unexpected pang of pain accompanies your curious thought as to whether he’s had much practice undoing a woman’s hair, something so sacred. Before you can ruminate on the hurt beginning to come to a simmer in your chest, Katsuki’s spinning you back around, causing the calming perfume of your hair oil to cloud around your head as your hair fans out. It centers you, gives you the wherewithal to look up into his eyes.
Katsuki’s face is candid, beautifully so, in the way he regards you. Crimson eyes dart over every feature you have to offer him, now so wild and unbidden compared to your usual state of being, and he reaches a tentative hand towards your hair, before flinching and pulling back. You shake your head, bringing a hand out to catch his and pull it back towards the part of you he so clearly wants to touch before you can think better of it. Katsuki’s eyes widen, only momentarily, before his face settles into an expression of quiet approval, and he runs his fingers through your hair again, less purposeful this time and more for the simple pleasure of memorizing the feel of you under his hands. You blink up at him, waiting.
“Gevie,” he mumbles under his breath, watching how his fingers card through your unruly hair. He mistakenly brushes your nipple, still peaked under your consummation gown, and realizes what he’s done when you gasp lightly.
“It’s okay,” you say hurriedly, surprising yourself when you realize that you mean it. Your back has already begun to arch unwittingly towards him, as if your body has accepted him as your husband while your mind is still trying to wrap itself around the idea. “Touch me.”
You can see the thought cross Katsuki’s face before he even reaches for your gown, pinching it at the hips on either side of you.
“Do you want to take it off, or would you like me to?” Katsuki says, hardly louder than a whisper. You blink, still trying to marry this man with the outspoken, ruthless general you’d invited to the altar with you.
“Traditionally, the man–”
“I know,” Katsuki says, a bit of an agonized bite behind his words. You bite your lip, worried that you’ve finally overstepped, but he sighs, heavy and surrendered. “I know what happens traditionally. I don’t care. We’re doing this on your terms.”
“My terms,” you repeat slowly, trying to gather his meaning.
“Yes,” Katsuki affirms, “your terms. Now, do you want to take your gown off, or do you want me to?”
You want to run to the washroom to realign your expectations, is what you want to do. This is supposed to be quick, you remember your handmaidens preparing you with monstrous stories of being unceremoniously bent over the bed, gown ripped to shreds or simply shoved above your hips instead of carefully pulled between a considerate thumb and finger. You study him, study that freshly sincere affection on his face, his willingness to bring you through this unscathed and…dare you say it, satisfied. Your hand, which, so lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t even noticed drifting, comes up to cup his sharp jaw, plush palm giving against the angle of his face.
“I want you to,” you say, nodding when his eyebrows raise in surprise. “I want you to take it off of me, please.”
Katsuki only answers you with a curt nod of his own, schooling his momentarily bewildered expression back into one of careful concentration, more for your benefit than his, you think. You can feel a slight tremor in his hands when he brings them to the strings that suffice for your gown’s sleeves, little more than strips of fabric tied in loose bows over your shoulder. Despite the painstakingly beautiful embroidery in the stiff linen, curling flames and stars rising from the hem of your gown, everything else about the design of the garment reveals its purpose: to be removed.
You hold your breath while he works at the tied strings, partly because you feel like you should and partly because the slightest brush of his fingers over your skin feels so climactic that you feel that it should make a sound, maybe that of pottery breaking or lightning clapping across a dark sky. It’s silent, the slip of the linen through itself, three cautious pulls and your gown is sagging on one side, the collar falling until your nipple is almost exposed. You gulp and try to look up to Katsuki, but his jaw is set, even grinding a bit in concentration as he keeps his gaze centered firmly on the bow he’s set upon on your right shoulder. You study him, looking for any indication that he’s anxious, or pleased, or disinterested, but he’s an unreadable mask of focus as his large fingers tug on the bow. It slides loose as easily as the first one had, and your gown slips from your body and crumples around your feet on the floor.
Katsuki sucks in a sharp inhale, forced to take in the sight of your naked body now that he’s finished his task. You watch intently as his eyes drag over every part of you, slow and savory, nostrils flaring and pupils dilating. You’re so exhilarated by his wild eyes taking you in, you almost forget to be insecure, to be nervous. This is something you might grow to enjoy, you think; Katsuki’s carefully concealed appetite.
“Am I alright?” You feel your mouth form the words, hear them float into the charged air. You don’t think you meant to ask, but once it’s out, you’re glad you did. It may be a politically-made marriage bed, but as fate would have it, your crown sits upon the head of a young woman, a young woman looking into the eyes of the man that would have her for his own, wanting to be thought of as a thing to be admired. Katsuki’s eyes flicker back to yours, and his brows knit together.
“Alright?” Katsuki’s eyes leave yours once more, and he meets his own gaze with a bold hand on your hip, thumb rubbing circles over your hipbone. “You’re more than alright, but you already know that.”
You feel so small, so silly when you tell him: “I was hoping you’d be the one to remind me.”
Katsuki understands then, meets your fixed look upon his face and lets that molten desire cool into something more digestible, easier to hold, and then he speaks. “Iksā gevie, ñuha ābrazȳrys.”
When you’d learned the Old Tongue as a child, you’d been taught to purr the sounds, to run them together like the slow, controlled flow of ink from the end of a feather. You learned to curl the consonants behind your teeth and let them breathe the same air for a beat, to birth the sounds into the world off of your tongue instead of simply pushing the air out. But when Katsuki speaks the Old Tongue it’s…a growl, forceful and quaking with restrained power. Raw and godlike, the words sound like they were written with his low rasp in mind.
Wife. His beautiful wife. Your breath hitches in your throat at the same time as a vicious swell of desire rips through you, mouth beginning to hang ajar. Katsuki frowns slightly, tilts his head.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“Take me, then,” you say, breathless from your own courage. Katsuki’s eyes widen, and if you could see clearly through your own sudden lust, you’d see the corner of his mouth twitching. “Make me your wife.”
“I will,” Katsuki comes closer, speaking not smugly, but matter-of-factly. He slides one hand around your waist, thumbs at your chin with the other. “But there’s an order to these things.”
No sooner have you opened your mouth to protest Katsuki’s condescension than he’s closing the wide gap between his height and your plush, open lips, pressing his mouth to yours, and your mind goes quiet. You’ve been kissed upwards of a dozen times at this point, something you were proud to remind your ladies-in-waiting of this morning while they giggled and squealed about your big night with the general. A few princes, a handful of noblemen’s sons, the expected suspects. All your ladies had said in return was “Those are boys. The general is a man. You’ll see the difference.”
There’s nothing demanding or unkind in the way his fingers are pressing into the plush curve of your hip, but it’s firm, steady in a way you’ve never dreamed about being held. His hand spreads across your jawline, keeping you tilted up and open for him to move his mouth against. There’s none of the hurried pecking, no errant tongue forcing its way between your teeth before you can even offer– Katsuki’s a man. You understand now, understand your handmaidens’ flushed cheeks and the way they fanned themselves theorizing about whether your new husband was as ruthless in bed as he was on the battlefield. Katsuki makes a fire catch behind your ribs, a desperate urge to impress, to keep your now horrifyingly-apparent lack of experience under wraps.
You bring a hand to the back of his neck, willing yourself not to tremble, and card your fingers through the close-cropped hair, smiling when Katsuki’s lips stutter against your own. His grip on you tightens, one big hand slipping to the nape of your neck and pulling you flush against him. His tongue slips into your mouth, tasting like ceremonial wine and something mannish and mature; you’re hardly able to swallow the gasp that threatens to reveal how the pit of your stomach is beginning to curl in on itself. Your breasts are pressed tight against his chest, only separated from his skin by his linen tunic. The fabric kisses your sensitive nipples, brushing against the untouched skin, and despite yourself, you whimper pathetically into his waiting mouth, cheeks warming.
Katsuki pulls back, to your disappointment, and you begin to chew at your lip, frantically thinking through the last several minutes to wonder what you’ve done wrong. Had you been too forward, touching him back so quickly? Your fretting dies down quickly when you see that Katsuki’s only stepped back to finger the hem of his tunic, ripping it over his head. You only have a moment to catch a blurry flash of honed muscle and scarred skin before he’s back on you, calloused hands wrapping around your hips. It only takes a few moments of him kissing you, of your fingers dragging absentmindedly up his veiny forearm, before you ask him for what you want, palms pressed flat against his chest and pushing lightly.
His brows knit together, and his eyes flicker over your face, searching for any sign of discomfort. You take a deep inhale, hoping to hide how rapidly you’ve lost your breath to him, steeling yourself to look him in the eye.
“I want to see you.”
Katsuki’s face screws up almost comically, and he tilts his head.
“See me?”
“See you.”
You take a step back, keeping your hands on his arms, holding him just where you want him and– is it a sight. He’s sharper than you would have imagined, deep grooves carving into his skin where his muscles bulge beneath it. You suck in a sharp breath as you let your eyes move slowly from his hardened stomach to his broad chest, little nicks dotting his skin where a stray swordtip had punctured armor, and a particularly nasty gash cutting across his front, stretching from his shoulder to his ribcage. It looks like it should have been fatal. Katsuki crosses his arms over his chest, maybe in an attempt to stop you from ogling him like you are, but it’s counterproductive; all he’s done is give you a golden opportunity to watch the skin of his arms stretch to accommodate the way his biceps swell and shrink with the movement, the twitching and flexing of each individual muscle laid bare for you to see clearly.
When your gaze finally returns to his face, you almost want to snort at his expression: pink cheeks, a scrunched nose, and eyebrows lifted to indicate just how entirely unimpressed he is with your drooling.
“Done ‘seeing’ me?” Katsuki asks, mouth lifting in just the smallest hint at a smile. Your heart flutters lightly in your chest; it’s the first attempt either of you have made at humor since your betrothal, and it’s hugely relieving to have something to smile about.
“It was only fair that I take my turn,” you say, gesturing down at your bare skin. Katsuki’s lips lift a little more until his gaze lowers; his eyes darken as he lets himself take you in. You can see the same thought crossing his mind just as it occurs to you: you belong to each other now, every bit of skin, muscle, heart that you’re bearing to each other isn’t just your own anymore. That scrunch in his nose, the scar across his chest, the way he narrows his eyes to study you. It all belongs to you now.
Katsuki steps forward, letting his hand interlace with yours, fingers hanging in the spaces between your own.
“Are you ready?” His question is no more than a puff of air against your forehead, both of you mercifully standing so close that you aren’t forced to look in his eyes when he asks.
“Yes.” Your voice shakes despite your attempt to be resolute in your answer, and you tighten your fingers around his in apology. It’s all new.
Katsuki kisses you again, slower and warmer than last time. It’s not desperate or hurried, but it is sensual, a promise of what awaits you when he lays you down on your bed. You sigh into his mouth, growing comfortable now with the feel of him on you; so comfortable, even, that you don’t notice he’s been backing you up until your back hits the poster of the bed, effectively pinning you between the hard, ebony wood, and Katsuki’s strong chest.
Your confinement does something to him. It’s immeasurably minute, the way his breath seems to puff out a bit heavier, the sudden jerk of his fingers into your hips, but it’s there.
“When you said you had experience…” Katsuki says, voice gravelly and dangerously close to a pant, “what did you mean by that?”
“I–” you pause, swallowing thickly around the growing lump in your throat, “I’ve been kissed, and I’ve…been touched.” You settle on that, hoping he grasps what you’re suddenly too shy to say.
“Did he make you cum?” He asks it so quietly, you almost wonder if you’ve heard him correctly, but you do hear him, and your chest caves in on itself as the breath leaves your lungs. You’ve snickered over such things with trusted girl friends, your ladies in waiting, but to hear it so gruffly, from the lips of a man—your new husband, no less—is a shock to your system.
“I think so,” you murmur, hardly able to form the words. You can’t see him, his head hunched over your shoulder and his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear, but you can practically feel him frown.
“If he had, you would know so.” Katsuki presses a soft kiss on the cartilage of your ear, travels down to bring your earlobe between his lips. He moves farther down, kissing gently down the slope of your neck, so slowly as if not to scare you.
“How would I know?” You can’t believe you’ve even dared to ask the question, not entirely sure you’ve prepared yourself well enough to hear his answer. Katsuki sucks in a sharp breath against your collarbone, pausing his ministrations where he’d begun to lick and suckle at the prominent angle of it. Your face warms as you realize how deeply his faint touches have begun to affect you, how your chest is beginning to swell and sink with heavy breaths, how your skin tingles and sparks in anticipation of the next absentminded swipe of his knuckles, of the light pressure of his mouth.
“I can show you,” he whispers, and the world stops turning for a moment, “if you’d like.”
“Yes,” you breathe out before you can think better of yourself. You trust his hands, the steady way that they graze the curve of your hip and splay out against the small of your back. He’s stable and unwavering, keeping you afloat.
Katsuki nods against your shoulder, almost imperceptibly, and brings one of those strong hands up between your shoulderblades. He spreads his fingers out, forcing your back to arch for him, and brings his free hand up to your chest, pausing when he’s only a hair’s breadth from your breast. His eyes meet yours, a concentrated divot appearing between his eyebrows as he searches your face for any signs of discomfort. You arch into his touch, surprising even yourself with your boldness, and your jaw drops a bit at the sensation of his rough palms on your soft, supple breast.
Your eagerness spurs him to action, and he bends at the waist, scattering a litter of kisses across the top of your chest. You hold your breath as he dips lower, but your attempt to remain silent fails entirely when he closes his lips around your peaked nipple. A horribly broken whimper slips from your lips, and you squirm, though whether your body’s trying to push you into or away from the wet heat of his mouth you can’t tell.
Katsuki’s mouth stretches into a ghost of a smile around your flesh, or so you think, until his teeth graze your nipple properly and a quiet cry bursts from you. He smiles fully with your breast still between his teeth. His hand holds your back firmly in its bowed position as he moves to your other breast, twisting his tongue around your nipple there and kissing gently along the fat curve of the underside. He continues his descent, grazing his lips over your stomach, and you don’t realize he’s on his knees until he’s suckling softly on your hipbone, one hand now sprawled over your stomach. Katsuki rubs his thumb over the top of the thatch of hair between your legs, almost reverently, and it makes you regain your bearings, gulping.
“W-what are you doing?” You nearly cringe at the sound of your own voice, words syrupy and thick on your tongue.
Katsuki raises a cautious eyebrow, pulling back from the slight bruise he’s begun to place upon your hipbone. He’s still moving carefully, ghosting over where he wants to touch you as a warning before pressing his skin fully to yours, unwilling to spook you just yet, but something’s quickly changing in him. His jaw ticks as he considers you, looking down on where he kneels between your legs with wide eyes.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Katsuki asks back, looking genuinely confused. Your cheeks are aflame.
“You’re on your knees.” It sounds too simple as it leaves your mouth, an insult to your own intelligence, and you scowl in frustration, looking off to the side. The quiet chuckle between your legs snaps your attention back to Katsuki.
“I’m on my knees,” Katsuki agrees, leaning in and brushing his lips against your inner thigh, sending a full-body shudder racking through you, “for you. Do you…not like it?”
Your mind, foggy in the places you’re accustomed to using and glaringly sharp in useless departments like, for example, the way Katsuki’s eyes are glinting dangerously in the low light, struggles to find an answer for his question. You do like it, seeing this hulking, powerful man kneeling before you, tucking his chin up to the supple flesh of your thigh and blinking up at you curiously, but not for any reason that you can put your finger on.
“I didn’t say that,” you say carefully, willing your senses to come back to you. “I just…you look like you’re planning something.”
Another cutting half-smirk flashes across his face, gone as soon as it appears. “You’ve never been tasted before, have you?”
“Tasted?” You try to keep your face from showing your shock and confusion; surely he’s not about to do what you think he is. Katsuki hums an affirmative, placing another kiss to the clammy crease of your thigh and your cunt, a gasp ripping from your throat before you can stop it.
“Do you not want me to?” Katsuki tilts his head, expressionless. You try to find the answer to his question on his face, but he’s blank, leaving the decision entirely up to you. “It’ll help with the pain.”
The pain, that’s right. Soon, he would be taking you for his own, stretching your body in a new way that you’d heard the whispers about: bloody bedsheets, sore between the legs, pleading for the end. You chew into your bottom lip, considering your options.
“Do you want to?”
“I do,” Katsuki says, eyes dark and unreadable, “I want to make you feel good. But we’re doing this on–”
“My terms,” you finish for him, nodding, “I remember.”
“Good.” Katsuki nods, and you try desperately to ignore the heat that thrums through you. “So, if you don’t want it, I won’t. Simple as that.”
You think for a brief moment. Katsuki’s admitted to wanting something of you, of your body, perhaps for the first time since you’d gotten him wrapped up with you. You repeat his words over and over in your head, trying to make sense of them. I want to make you feel good.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Katsuki knits his brows.
“I want to try it,” you say, and add with a shaky exhale, “being tasted.”
If you’re not mistaken, Katsuki’s shoulders shiver between your legs, his eyes glazing over a little at your words. You feel pride ringing in your chest, seeing him uncoil, even if it’s only the slightest bit. You’d chosen correctly. Much as he did when you asked him to undress you, Katsuki nods tensely, and he moves deeper between your legs, nudging your knees apart for himself.
“It’ll feel good,” he murmurs quietly, picking up one of your legs and draping it over his shoulder, “but if you want me to stop, tell me, alright?”
You nod down at him, knowing that every bit of your nerves at being so exposed is showing all over your face. Katsuki flits his gaze down to your cunt, glistening in the candlelight and humiliatingly wet from his touch, and you can see him bite into the inside of his cheek, see his eyes flutter closed. Despite your embarrassment, you’re keen on watching, learning from him. Katsuki leans in, and his tongue slides between your wet folds, but even over your choked noise of surprise, one thing rings clear in your mind at the startling new sensation.
Katsuki groans, louder than you’ve ever heard, languid and gratified, face pressed so firmly into your center that you can already feel his shadow of stubble scratching the insides of your thighs. His hand, wrapped around the thigh over his shoulder, suddenly tightens, fingers digging into the meat of your leg much harder than he’s touched you yet. You focus on the muscles of his jaw, tensing and straining on the side of his face, while he licks into you like a man starved.
The way he eats you is such a deviation from his feather-light touches that you almost can’t believe it’s the same man, lewd noises echoing throughout the room as he suckles on something between your legs that you hadn’t even discovered properly for yourself, only swiping at it blindly in the darkest hours in your chambers. Your back curves viciously, breathy moans spilling from your lips, fingernails clawing into the ornately-carved posts of your marriage bed. Katsuki holds you tight against him, eyes hooded in bliss and mouth moving ceaselessly against you.
You’ve snuck a hand down between your legs before, rubbed shyly at the growing wetness, at the swollen skin, and experienced maybe a glimmer of the feeling that’s now glowing hot in the pit of your stomach. You would almost feel panicked at the spiraling, swooping sensation; that is, if you weren’t so wholly consumed by the white-hot pleasure coursing through your veins.
“Katsuki– I, it’s so– oh,” you trail off, losing your words as Katsuki establishes a rhythm of flicking his tongue between your legs right on that damned spot that you wish you’d known about before, maybe you could have prepared– “Oh, Katsuki, it’s– so good.”
Katsuki elicits a sound that’s closer to a snarl than anything else you can think of, tightening his iron grip into your skin. One of your hands absentmindedly fists in his hair, and before you can find the presence of mind to rip it away, he moans, openly and unashamedly, eyes screwing shut. He likes it, your foggy mind realizes, and you dig your fingers in harder, anchoring what’s left of you to the earth using the straight, sandy locks.
The heat, the sparks that are flying around every nerve ending in your body, begins to pick up an overwhelming speed, and all of the sudden, you feel like you need to kick out, to curl in on yourself, to scream so loud the windows blow out.
“Katsuki,” you say desperately, making watery, scared eyes at him. Katsuki’s brow furrows, and he only holds his pace, red eyes glaring into yours. You’re trying to warn him, but no words will form, and you can’t catch your breath, panting and clawing at his hair and almost sobbing until–
Everything peaks. A broken cry comes shooting out of your throat, your standing leg threatening to give out under you, and you writhe and twitch on Katsuki’s face, shamelessly surrendering to the most intense tidal wave of pleasure you’ve experienced in your life. From the fuzzy peripherals of your consciousness, you can hear Katsuki groaning encouragingly into your wet cunt, still dutifully moving his tongue against you and smearing the evidence of your arousal all over his cheeks. When the world comes back into focus, it’s dazzlingly harsh, your muscles weakening as soon as Katsuki’s face clears into its typical arrangement of sharp angles and hard lines.
“Oh–” you gasp, your one good knee finally buckling underneath you. Luckily, Katsuki has already begun to stand, and one of his strong arms darts out, catching you around the waist. You wish he wouldn’t look so smug.
“How do you feel?” Katsuki asks innocently enough, but even in the aftermath of that, you don’t miss the twitching at the corner of his shining mouth, the expectant arch of his eyebrow.
“Good,” you pant, willing your cheeks to lose even a portion of their heat, “it was– fine.”
“It was good,” you reaffirm, glaring at him. Katsuki grins brightly, the most light you think you’ve ever seen enter his face. It makes you blush almost as hard as the orgasm he dragged you through. Something wild and wicked flickers in your mind, and you look up at him curiously. “Do you…do you want me to do that to you?”
Katsuki’s smile drops as quickly as it came, and his cheekbones darken, a deep flush spreading over his face. You almost wonder if you’ve misstepped, upset him in some way, until you catch him palming over his pants. Your throat tightens.
“No,” he says, all the mirth drained from his face, “no, you don’t have to– no.”
“Alright,” you acquiesce, transferring your weight from Katsuki’s firm grip around your waist back to your feet, finding your legs weak and shaky beneath you. Your gaze floats over your shoulder, back to the plush sheets of your marriage bed, and Katsuki clears his throat, backing away a step so you have the room to climb into the bed, lay yourself down.
You’d expected to feel shyer, but there’s surprisingly no urge to curl in on yourself, not even Katsuki’s eyes take you in, darkening in the candlelight. The aftershocks of pleasure— white-hot, addictive pleasure he’d introduced you to— are still echoing through your limbs, and you’re just curious enough to bite back your initial trepidation. You want to know what else he has to teach you.
Katsuki begins tugging at the laces keeping his pants snug around his waist, loosening them and shooting you one final look, one last assurance. His eyebrow is cocked questioningly, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he looks a little nervous. You nod, holding a breath deep enough in your lungs that it aches, and his pants hit the floor.
You’ve seen naked men, here and there, over the course of your life, and your ladies had described enough of the act before you that you can’t find yourself shocked at the sight, but more so at the wanton aching that ricochets through your limbs, chill bumps erupting over your arms and shoulders rolling of their own accord. You don’t have much to go by, but you’re fairly sure he’s big comparatively, so hard that the tip is an angry shade of red. Katsuki climbs over you before you have much chance to look further, but the damage is done; a fresh wave of arousal courses through you, and you widen your knees to let him situate himself.
“I’m going to get you ready,” Katsuki says between chaste kisses to your lips. “Is that alright?”
“But you already–,” you feel frustrated at your own inexperience, knitting your brow at him, “I’m ready.”
“You’re not,” Katsuki assures you, and before you can bite back another retort, his battle-scarred fingers are rubbing softly through the mess between your legs, and your jaw falls slack. Katsuki’s monitoring you for any signs of unease, eyes bright and focused on your face. You’re wet enough that he’s sliding through your folds easily, meeting little resistance as he rubs tight, concentrated circles into that spot that he’d used to make you see stars earlier. “Do you trust me?”
“Mhm.” It’s all you can manage to hum an affirmative, biting back the breathy noises trying to break free of your throat. It’s a wonder, how so little effort from him has your blood molten in your veins, limbs pliant and muscles twitching.
Katsuki’s fierce gaze doesn’t let up, but you understand why when you feel it: a finger, presumably, stretching you in a new, uncomfortable way. You’re unable to contain the gasp that bleats out of you, eyes flying wide, and Katsuki’s hand stills, eyes squinting as he tries to determine the nuances of your reaction. It’s novel, and admittedly, makes you a bit restless, but it isn’t unpleasant, and embarrassingly, your hips cant up into his hand, answering for you. Katsuki works slowly, never ceasing the small circles he’s rubbing into you, letting the discomfort align with the deliberate, savory pleasure that’s now ever-present in your core. When he begins to move his finger in and out of you, working you open, you realize it feels good, more than good, even.
“Alright?” Katsuki asks, distrusting of the whimpers and shaky moans beginning to fall from your lips. “Talk to me.”
“It’s strange,” you admit, words fragile and breathy in the space between your lips, “but I like it, it feels good. Really good.”
Katsuki hums approvingly, teases your entrance with the rough pad of a second finger. He arches his eyebrow at you, the question hanging silent, but clear between you. The prospect is daunting, but you welcome it; he’s already shown you so much, made you feel so much. You trust him, nodding eagerly.
“Please.”
Katsuki works his second finger in, grinding his jaw when you choke on a moan, rolling your hips into his palm. He nods, letting you wriggle your hips around as you need to, to ease the stretch of him inside of you. You can feel the power behind the lightness of his touch, eyes flitting down to the strained, corded muscle of his forearm as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. He’s holding back, and when you think wildly of what might happen the day he doesn’t have to anymore, your body clenches around him.
Katsuki pulls a face at you, amused. “What is it?”
“What?” You pant, feeling that knot begin to tie in on itself tighter and tighter behind your bellybutton.
“Y’liked something, thought of something,” Katsuki studies you, mouth quirking up into a little half-smile, “I could feel it.”
If you were any more present, you’d be mortified, but all you can do is reach a hand to stroke along the bulge of his bicep, dig your teeth into your bottom lip.
“Was thinking about you,” you admit shyly, trying to force your words to come out a little less broken than you know you sound, “you’re strong.”
“I am strong,” Katsuki agrees, curling his fingers against something inside of you that makes you jerk, makes him smirk at you.
“You’re holding back on me.”
“I am,” he says, placing a kiss to your shoulder, “you’re not ready for it. Need to go slow this time.”
“One day you won’t,” you say, mustering all the strength your hazy mind has to offer to look him squarely in the eye, watch his reaction. Katsuki inhales sharply, eyes widening at your boldness, only to narrow at you, predatory and curious. His fingers have stilled momentarily, and you pull your stomach muscles, jerking your hips up against his hand, frustrated. Katsuki only glares down at you, jaw ticking.
“One day I won’t,” he finally answers you, pulling his fingers from where you’re throbbing and needy. You almost whine, but bite into your lip before the admission of desperation flies from you. “If that’s what you want.”
You don’t have the chance to answer before Katsuki’s sucking his own fingers into his mouth, sucking you off of them. Your jaw stutters, and you gape at him as his eyelids flutter, a low groan rumbling in his strong chest.
“Taste good,” Katsuki says, as if it’s the most casual thing in the world, “sweet.”
“Can I try?” The question flies from your lips before you can even think to contain it, and your eyes grow even larger, shocked at your own debauchery. You’re seconds away from stuttering out an apology when Katsuki’s massive hand appears in front of your face, fingers glistening in the candlelight.
“Here.” Katsuki offers his fingers to you, eyes dark and hungry. You only stare at him for a moment, trying to discern if you’ve done something horribly wrong, but he’s completely sincere, brushing his wet fingers along your bottom lip. You open your mouth, suck him in. It’s more viscous than you would have imagined, sticky and thick on your tongue, but it’s pleasantly gamey; a little bitter, a little sweet. You don’t realize that you’re suckling on Katsuki’s fingers until he groans again, deep in his throat, gritting his teeth.
“Sorry,” you say sheepishly, pulling his hand free from your lips.
“What’d you think?” Katsuki regains his composure quickly, tilting his head at you with something impish sparkling in his eye.
You’d chosen your new husband due to his unwavering dedication to the kingdom that he’d sworn his life to protect, his kingly attributes that had set him so far apart from your other, softer suitors. You hadn’t even thought to consider what other sides to him might be lurking beneath the formidable exterior of decorated general; could it be so that the red-cheeked, boyish creature above you, so intent on helping you explore your body, was the fierce warrior that had supposedly cut down over a hundred enemy soldiers entirely on his own?
“I liked it,” you say, biting into the smile starting to grow on your face. The way his eyes light up makes you feel like a vixen, like somehow, you can be a woman after all. “Everything is…it feels good.”
Something virile glints in Katsuki’s eyes, but you don’t shy away, holding his gaze. “Good.”
“I want to…I want you to have me. I want to have you.” You’re not even sure if you’re making sense, tongue heavy and useless in your mouth. Katsuki’s hand has wandered back down between your legs, rubbing lazily at the wetness there, and it’s got that steady heat creeping back through your limbs, setting your nerves on fire.
“You’re sure?” Katsuki asks, raising his eyebrow at you. All the mischief has drained from his face as he examines you, and while you appreciate his caution, the craving for something more is growing uncomfortable.
“Please,” you say, tilting your chin up to press your lips gently to his in reassurance. Katsuki is finally convinced, it seems, because he rolls off of you and settles his back against the headboard, reaching an errant arm over to tug you on top of him.
You hadn’t anticipated this; Katsuki’s set you right on top of his hips, your dripping cunt placed firmly against his hard cock, back ramrod straight from the sudden exposure, nipples peaked in the charged air. The feel of him pressing insistently against where your body needs him most makes your head spin; you hadn’t expected it to be so distinct, hard and thick beneath you.
“What are you–”
“It’ll be easier this way,” Katsuki says, looking very much like he’s putting all his effort into appearing unaffected, but only a moment ago, you felt his hips twitch upwards into yours, “you can control it.”
“I don’t– I don’t know how to do it. Not the right way, I mean.” You’re burning in your humiliation, hot in so many different ways now you aren’t sure if you could even count them, but you’re bared completely to him, and you figure your dignity was left somewhere crumpled on the floor with your consummation gown.
“Don’t worry about that,” Katsuki says sternly, looking so unbelievably flustered that if you were any less preoccupied, it would make you giggle, “not yet. You need to get used to having something inside you, first.”
Something inside you; him, thick and hard and drooling wetness onto his bellybutton. That’s right. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, doing everything in your power to ride the wave of exhilaration going through you. You roll your hips experimentally, once, twice, swallowing the gasp that aches to leave your jaw.
“Just like that,” Katsuki mumbles, so quietly you almost think you hadn’t heard him, “take your time.”
You take his advice, bracing your clammy hands on his neck. You grind down on him again, feeling sparks of pleasure shoot up your body. With each swipe of your hips, you can feel your cunt grow wetter, feel that bottomless want in your stomach open a little more. The growing hunger in you is primordial, some hidden part of your mind directing you. The urge to have something inside of you, to feel full in a way you can’t begin to imagine, is causing you to grow restless, fingers drumming anxiously on Katsuki’s shoulders. When you meet his eyes, a muscle feathers in his jaw, but he stays silent, hands placed gently on your hips as he watches you grow accustomed to his girth, the weight of him between your legs.
“I think I’m ready. Can I?”
Katsuki stays silent, only nods sagely in assent. His grip on your hips grows tighter as you lift yourself up, reaching down blindly to grip him. He sucks in a breath when your fingers wrap around the length of him, and your eyes flit to his in alarm, but he only shakes his head, brow furrowing.
“Go ahead.”
You nod back, wincing at the anticipatory trembling of your thighs on either side of his hips, pulling his cock up from his stomach. You rather like the smooth feel of the skin in your hands, and you think briefly that maybe this will be something to revisit later, having him needy and in the palm of your hand. The swollen head catches, and you almost gasp at the surprise of it, how a dull thud of satisfaction rings through your body. You inhale deeply, and begin to sink down.
Katsuki’s fingers dig into your hips even harder, but you hardly feel it over the incomparable stretch between your legs. You’re sure now that he’s big; he has to be, the way it feels like your very insides are moving to accommodate him. You’re trying not to huff at the feeling, but a whine escapes you, and Katsuki’s tight grip stops you just as you’re nearing the halfway point.
“Okay?” He’s tense, coiled like a snake, all the muscles in his strong body locked, but his eyes are concerned.
“Uh huh,” you manage, wiggling your hips around and dropping yourself down a couple more inches, making you both gasp, “s’just big.”
“Fuck,” Katsuki hisses, throwing his head back. You pause, body contracting around him in your attempt to take him wholly, only a short distance from the blonde hair at the base of his cock.
“Is everything alright?”
“Can’t say shit like that,” Katsuki grits out, voice hoarse. You realize with a slow, muggy blink that you haven’t yet heard him swear, not in the Common Tongue, haven’t yet seen him become so unraveled and yet, at the same time, so rigid. It’s affecting him, that instinctual part of your brain supplies, it feels good for him.
If you were any less dazed, you’d smile. Katsuki Bakugou, High Commander of the fiercest army the world has seen in over a century, famed warrior an ocean over, is practically twitching trying to bite back his own pleasure as you take him inside of you. The rush of adrenaline that thought sends through you gives you the motivation to let yourself go, nestling the entirety of him deep inside yourself and meeting his hips. You choke on a moan, eyes prickling with tears.
“Oh,” you pant, lifting yourself just a bit, trying to squirm away from the discomfort.
“Does it hurt?” Katsuki grunts, eyes running over every bit of your body.
“No, it’s just,” you keen again, interrupting yourself with breathy, whiny little noises, “full.”
Katuski makes a noise that you think was meant to be a hum of agreement, but only comes out as a growl. If the white in his knuckles and the sharp, tense bone of his jaw is anything to go by, his arousal is only barely being held back, restricted to a tight leash. You’re not his first, not the only wet warmth he’s buried himself in, and this isn’t at all the first time he’s experienced this white-hot, carnal pleasure that’s licking up your veins. You find the strength to blink back the budding tears in your eyes, to really look at him.
He’s holding it together well, fingers grounded where they dig into your fleshy hips, crimson eyes looking you up and down, taking you in, but like the quiet snap of embers in the background, ruining the illusion of the room’s heat emanating from you and Katsuki, his body betrays him. His muscles are jumping under his skin, twitching involuntarily like the hide of one of the cavalry’s prize stallions, ready to run. Katsuki’s fucking a princess in his mind, you think, a future queen, and he’s proceeding accordingly, trying to keep his caresses light and his infamous temper in check.
You blink at him, vision watery, and realize suddenly that, for the first time in your life, you want to be a hot-blooded, wild, mortal. You want only to be a woman with a man inside of her, and you want to be regarded as such.
“Still doin’ alri–” Katsuki cuts himself off with a grunt when you roll your hips, biting back a wince at the unfathomable pressure in your stomach, the depth of him snug inside you. “Wait–”
“I’m fine,” you say, surprising even yourself at your sharpness. Confidence swells in your chest as he squirms under you, kissing away the burn of how he’s worked you open.
“But–”
“Eminna skoros iksis ñuhon,” you say down to him, looking upon your new husband with hooded eyes as you grind your hips down into him, adjusting to the strange stretch that accompanies his body inside of yours. Each movement of your hips into his makes it easier, soothes the slow throb of your body trying to make room for him. Pleasure begins to ignite again along your fingertips, and when you scoot forward a bit, pushing your hips back, his cock nudges something inside of you that makes your jaw drop.
Katsuki’s eyes widen momentarily, but you can see the moment he loosens the leash, succumbs to his baser instincts. His grip on your hips loosens, shoulders slackening, and his eyes darken, lids dropping a bit just to cover the tops of those crimson irises. He’s beautiful, godlike even, planes of hardened muscle at your command, the flames from the candles reflected in his eyes. Katsuki drags his gaze over you, nostrils flaring, bringing one hand up to the back of your neck and pulling you to him, pressing your foreheads together. The shift in him makes you gasp; the calm force with which he chooses to exert his strength.
“Lo emilā nyke, emagon nyke,” Katsuki says against your lips, all trepidation gone. You shudder in his arms, letting pleasure wrack down your spine like fire catching. “Yn eminna ao, hae sȳrī, dārilaros.”
Your blood sings at the low purr of the Old Tongue, poured into your mouth like a fine wine, but you curdle at Dārilaros. Princess. “Eman daor pāletilla skori iksā iemnȳ yno. Iksan iā ābra, iksan aōha ābrazȳrys.”
Katsuki nearly snarls, swears under his breath. “What did I tell you about saying shit like that?”
“You call me your wife,” you say, thoroughly pleased with yourself at his rapid unraveling. It’s never been like you not to have the upper hand. “Treat me as your wife.”
Even a hair’s breadth away from his face, you can see Katsuki’s last shreds of honor, that warrior’s heart, dying out. His eyes flicker over your face as you fruitlessly roll your hips, not able to get to the full extent of your pleasure with him gripping you so tightly. For the first time, you can feel his hands tremble against your skin. He’s only steps away from joining you in your damning mortality, finding the raw, primal humanity deep down inside of him. You rut your hips at him again, useless against his resolute grasp.
“Please,” you sigh against him, not even thinking to be ashamed of the breathy, needy plea you let out, not even wholly sure of what you’re begging him for, “make me feel good again.”
Katsuki groans, low in his chest, and nods, a covenant you’re building in the hot air between your mouths. His hands grab into your hips more fully, and he lifts you, only part of the way, before sliding you back down the length of him. You gasp into his mouth, caught off guard by the punch of him back up into the space he’s carved out for himself. It feels like he’s in your lungs, your breath coming out labored and pinched.
“Move,” Katsuki commands, settling back a bit and forcing you to sit up straight, hands on your ribcage. You’re bared completely to him again, and it’s still horrible, but the arousal dims any humiliation that threatens to rise. “Move.”
You wiggle your hips again, moving shakily along his cock, but Katsuki’s not pleased, evidently, as he digs his hands back into your hips.
“Like this,” he says, using his iron grip on you to correct your movements. Katsuki drags you up and down his cock in smooth, fluid motions, and despite the slowly-easing discomfort, your nerve endings come alight, the molten want finding a new peak as he rips a moan out of your throat.
“Oh–”
“Better?” Katsuki huffs, a vicious grin cutting across his face. Your arms flail a bit as he moves you, rolling you along his length as if you’re nothing more than a doll to him. Katsuki notices your awkwardness, takes one of your hands and places it firmly on your breast. You follow his lead, thumbing gently over one hard nipple, and, at the jolt of pleasure, you quickly bring your free hand to match on the other side, letting your head fall back.
“Katsuki,” you pant, quickly losing your composure and falling victim to the sensations devouring you, “it’s– that’s so good.”
“I know,” Katsuki breathes, still pulling you this way and that, “you’re perfect, so soft around me.”
You’ve never gotten to be soft; iron princess on the iron throne, made of embers and scalding steam, but for him? You bloom, pretty as a petal, letting your body meld into his like it was always supposed to be here. You’re not soft like silk, you let yourself be soft like candlelight, like magma, like the crashing of the ocean when you’re far enough away that the waves won’t get you, drag you under. Soft like doom.
“I feel– fuck, I think I– I need more.”
Katsuki’s lips twist at the breathless curse that flies from your lips, so foreign and funny-sounding in your regal mouth. You want to tease him right back, but he slides you off of him, and the loss is so devastating, your bottom lip nearly juts out as it did when you were a child. Before you can protest too much, Katsuki’s laying you on your back, hands sliding along your thighs, and you follow your instincts and bring your legs up to wrap around his waist.
“If it’s too much…” Katsuki trails off, losing his words when he goes to brush your bottom lip with his thumb and you suck him in voraciously, nibbling on his finger.
“I’ll tell you,” you promise, spitting him out and letting your own hand flutter across his cheekbone. He’s almost glaring down at you; so intense is the desire in his eyes that a small part of you wants to shy away, but you don’t. You wiggle your legs that much wider, arch your back, lean into the burn of him. You were born for the heat.
Katuski’s mouth quirks up in a little smile, already so fond it makes your chest ache, and he slides back into you, groaning when your cunt sucks him in greedily. You try to embrace the novelty of it, the dull throb of his cock splitting you wide, digging your nails into his arm by mistake. Katsuki swears in surprise, and you jerk your hand away, until he looks down at you admonishingly.
“Go ahead, perzītsos,” he hums, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your hairline, “I won’t break.”
He pulls back and thrusts back into you, harder than you’d expected, and your nails return to his wrist beside your head, digging half-moons into the pale skin. He’s different from this angle, not so agonizingly deep in you, but nudging against something inside you that renders you incapacitated, fuzzy-minded and pliant in his arms. Katsuki’s not faring any better than you, eyes hooded and little grunts slipping from his lips each time his hips connect with yours.
“What does it feel like?” Katsuki asks, beginning to look out of his mind with need. “Ivestragon nyke.”
“Deep,” you choke out, letting your jaw drop when he leans down to lick into your mouth, “full, I feel– full.”
“Good,” Katsuki mumbles, “good. Doesn’t hurt?”
“No.”
In answer, Katsuki moves his hips faster, snapping them against you with brute force. He’s keeping that ever-cognizant eye on you, monitoring you for any indication of pain or panic, but even through the haze of the tightening knot in the pit of your stomach, you can see him tumbling over the same edge that you have, lost to your baser instincts. You’re soft to him, your warm walls hugging him snug as he chases an end for you both, but sharp in the way your fingers claw into his skin, your teeth nip into his shoulder. Mine. Mine. Ñuhon.
“Katsuki,” you warn him, the balloon of pressure welling in your belly, growing so large you feel as though you might choke on it.
“I know,” he says, leaning down to press his forehead to yours. His voice is broken and ragged and tastes like hot coals, like copper and bronze and prophecy. You drink him down eagerly, so out of your mind with want that you’ve transformed. You’d entered the room as a blushing virgin of the highest, most noble bloodline, and here you are, twisting and keening under him, all molten limbs and whorish pants. Sweat dapples your forehead, drool smeared over your chin, and you’ve never felt more beautiful.
“I’m so– it’s the, the same,” you gasp, familiar words devolving into nonsense, “but it’s not enough, I don’t, I–”
“Here,” Katsuki growls, closing one strong fist around your wrist and sliding your arm between your writhing bodies, “just like I did it, remember?”
You find the same sensitive spot that Katsuki had shown you quickly, swollen and raw with pleasure, and try rubbing shaky circles over it, try to maintain some semblance of a rhythm and imitate his earlier movements. It’s uneven and inconsistent, but the added stimulation rockets through you, and your back pulls taut as a bow, arching off the featherbed.
“Close?”
“Yes,” you gasp, still not grasping what you’re close to, but feeling very much as though you’re teetering on the edge of a cliff, that same rushing building in your ears. You somehow had the presence of mind to register that what’s building inside of you now is different than it was with his mouth between your legs; it’s faster, wetter, fuller, and it feels like it’s choking you.
“Come on,” Katsuki urges you, bordering on a snarl as he pants desperately into your mouth, “want to feel you cum around me, feel this little cunt milkin’ my cock.”
“Kat–” you try to call out for him, so overwhelmed the edges of your vision are going dark. He’s grinding his hips into you forcefully, pinning your fingers to the apex of your cunt, forcing you to rub yourself harder.
“You can do it, raqiarzy, come on–”
You cut him off with a loud sob of his name, thighs caging him in and the innermost walls of your body clamping down on him. Light bursts behind your eyelids, the white-hot flames of dragonfire and the embers of a burning forest exploding as your body is racked with wave after wave of bliss. Katsuki’s skin breaks under your fingernails, the slight dampness of tearing flesh familiar even in the haze of your orgasm. He works you through it, driving his hips into you despite the vicious tightening of your cunt around him, whispering affirmations into the pallid skin of your shoulder. Every muscle in your body contracts painfully, and you’d feel ashamed of the sounds escaping you if you could find enough wherewithal to care.
“Close,” Katsuki grits out, rolling his hips into your still-contracting cunt as your high begins to dwindle, “you ready for me?”
“Uh-huh, please, I– yes,” you babble nonsensically, interlocked ankles bouncing at the small of his back. As your orgasm drains from your veins, your muscles go lax, zapped of the fervent energy that had overtaken you. You find your body to be pliant and receptive, but your mind solely focused on watching that same ethereal pleasure that had possessed you wash over Katsuki. “Yes, I w-want you to cum.”
“Fuck,” Katsuki swears, hips stuttering, “take it, take it all–”
A guttural groan accompanies a sticky warmth flooding your insides; you squirm in his tight grip and moan at the sensation of being filled, feeling a fresh rush of arousal flow through you as you feel his cock twitching inside of you. You bite deep into his shoulder to muffle the pathetic mewls slipping from you at the feel of both his and your cum leaking out of your body, pooling in a little puddle underneath you. Everything is so earthy and musky; Katsuki’s salty skin between your teeth, his bruising grip into your hips, the stink of sex and sweat permeating the bedsheets.
Katsuki’s chest heaves against yours as his hips rock into you one last time, the thatch of blond hair at the base of him pressing against where you’re swollen and achy hard enough to make you whimper. When you wriggle around underneath him, he seems to snap back into himself, propping his upper body up on his elbows and bringing a hand to your face, thumbing over the arch of your cheekbone.
“Y’alright?” His carmine eyes are still glazed over, words gummy between his teeth, but the tenderness of his hand as he strokes your cheek lets you know he’s there.
“I’m alright,” you say, and you mean it. Something so deep in you that you don’t even have a name for is throbbing, and your body is still clenching and fluttering around where he’s softening inside of you, but your limbs are heavy and your head is in the clouds.
He’s a sight to see, a sight you commit to memory; sweat glistens on his pale skin, his eyes are hooded and sleepy, and a contented, lazy grin is starting to tug at the corner of his mouth. Katsuki pulls his hips back, pressing his lips to your temple in apology when you murmur something unintelligible, but hinting at discontent. You feel empty in a way you had never known you were supposed to, not until you’d learned what it meant to be fulfilled.
“Anything hurt?”
You shake your head, not sure how to verbalize that you’re not feeling any pain, but a deep-seated satiation that hints to the fact that you might never be able to lift yourself from the bed again. Katsuki’s still caging you in, heavy body crushing yours, when a jarringly unwelcome sound floats over his shoulder.
“Ah, um– Princess? I need to confirm–”
“I know,” Katsuki, sliding back into the skin of a general with ease, growls over his shoulder, “that you’re not daring to speak to my wife while she’s naked underneath me.”
Even given everything, your cheeks flare, and you shove at Katsuki weakly, making apologetic eyes at the attendant despite your humiliation. “It’s his job, Katsuki–”
“They can’t send a woman for this shit?” Katsuki cages you in even further, glaring at the servant who’s nearly shaking in his slippers. “Well?”
“I–I can fetch a female servant to confirm the consummation of the–”
“Do that, then.” The attendant’s soft footsteps as he scuttles away are hardly overshadowed by your breathy, tired giggles.
“You didn’t have to terrorize the poor man,” you swat lightly at Katsuki’s chest, “it’s his duty to confirm that the marriage has been consummated. The priests won’t have it any other way.”
“I’m sure he heard enough,” Katsuki grumbles, flopping onto his back beside you. He opens one eye, notices the sheet dragging dangerously close to your nipple, and tugs it up to your chin, closing his eye again and humming contentedly. His arm pauses for a moment, like he wants to stretch it over your shoulders, but he pulls it back by his own side, thinking better of it. You aren’t sure if you want to be held, if the intimacy outside of your duty as his new wife will be too grating against your already-raw nerves.
“My ladies will be here soon,” you say quietly, “to bathe me and help me prepare for bed.”
“Figured,” Katsuki grumbles, sounding entirely displeased at more people disrupting your peace. Something about it warms your heart, some small part of your mind hoping that his displeasure is rooted in a desire to keep you all to himself, hidden beneath the sheets.
“Your own attendants shouldn’t be far behind.”
“My what?” Katsuki sits up on one elbow again, looks down at you disbelievingly. “I don’t need any…ladies.”
“You’ll get used to them,” you tell him offhandedly, wondering if you’re being truthful. You’re just beginning to get acquainted with the intricacies of the man behind the title, but the general seems fiercely independent to you, and the image of him getting his hair scrubbed by a flock of servants is enough to make you chuckle to yourself.
“What?”
“Nothing,” you assure him, “I’m sure you’ll be a perfect royal specimen.”
Katsuki’s eyes narrow in irritation. “You didn’t inform me that ladies would be a part of my duties.”
“We can get men!”
“That’s worse.” Katsuki’s face screws up in an ugly scowl that makes you laugh outright. The lightness of your laughter makes his face fall a little, the hardened exterior giving way to the same man that had kissed reverently up the inside of your thigh, had been so achingly gentle with you when you weren’t sure what you would need to get through the night. A man you think you could love.
You look into each other’s eyes, something like starlight, like candlelight, like true, gods-given warmth buzzing between you, when the door creaks open, a gaggle of ladies and one priestess entering the room. Katsuki groans, tugs the blankets even further up your chests, the moment broken.
Ignoring his grumbles of protest, you pull yourself from the blankets with ease, baring your nude body to your ladies. There’s no shame in front of these women who have raised you, much to Katsuki’s astonishment. You don’t miss the way their eyes catch on the purple blooms on your hipbones, the way they squeal with excitement when you lay back and spread your legs for the priestess, displaying the thin trickle of Katsuki’s seed still steadily leaking from you. The priestess nods solemnly and leaves in the same manner; at least that’s done.
Your ladies do an absolutely dismal job of trying to appear subtle as they stare at Katsuki’s still-heaving chest, his narrowed eyes darting around the room suspiciously, his round biceps– your closest lady, Alanna, whisper-squeals in your ear about how huge your new husband’s arms are, and you have to pinch her cheek harshly to get her to stop, sensing Katsuki’s tangible discomfort from across the room. He behaves well as they bathe you, sitting up in bed and watching silently as you’re preened and fawned over, as your tangled hair has a brush torn through it and is twisted neatly into your nighttime braid.
A group of women hovering silently by the door, eyeing Katsuki nervously, appear to be his newly-appointed handmaids. You do both Katsuki and the women the favor of dismissing them for the night, unsure of how Katsuki, who is still gripping the sheets to his chest like a young, blushing maiden, will react to being pampered and scrubbed by foreign hands.
“You can dismiss those serving girls for good,” Katsuki says gruffly, clean and ambling over to a looking glass to swipe a brush through his hair. “‘M not a boy, I don’t need any help getting myself to bed.”
You conveniently slide past the omission on the tip of your tongue– before Katsuki’s anxious staff had left, you had requested them to bring a hot bath, all of Katsuki’s bathing things from his old chamber, a freshly-dried sponge from the Narrow Sea for him to wash himself with. It’s enough to keep it to yourself, seeing how content he is in his new living space now, that you could do something for him amongst the chaos you’ve now thrown his life into.
“We’ll see,” you hum, picking at a stray cuticle over the covers and trying not to ogle him too obviously.
He’s still blessedly nude, unabashed in his swagger around the room as he dries himself with the strips of soft, woven cloth your ladies had left behind per your request. When he approaches the bed you’re laying in, you stiffen, unaccustomed still to these small intimacies. Royalty has proven to be a lengthy and lonely existence in your experience, and sharing it with someone is foreign to your solitary nature. Your own parents had had their own separate chambers, as every monarch before them. It was Katsuki’s one condition to accepting your proposal; you were to share bedchambers, like a common husband and wife.
“Princess?” Katsuki is hesitant when he approaches you, as if he already senses your trepidation. You will yourself to unclench your muscles, to relax your shoulders. You have no right to make him feel unwelcome in his own bed– the bed you now share.
“I told you I don’t want you to call me that.” You try to offer him a playful smile, but it only glimmers across your face. This is yet another bridge you need his guidance over.
“You did,” Katsuki nods sagely, the corner of his mouth twitching as he remembers the circumstance of that particular conversation, “I’m sorry, perzītsos.”
“Come to bed.”
“Are you sure?” Katsuki cocks an eyebrow at you, looking down at the huge bed warily.
“It was what you wanted.”
“Only if you want it.” Katsuki sighs deeply at your look of not-quite-belief and sits on the bed a respectable distance away from you. He reaches for your hand, a question, not a demand, and you slide your fingers into his calloused palm, humming contentedly when he runs his large thumb over your knuckles. He stays like that for a moment, contemplative and looking at your hand, bare of all of its usual finery and rings. “What did I say earlier?”
“When?”
“Before.” Katsuki raises his eyebrows enough that you catch his meaning.
“That we were doing things on my terms.” Something in your chest, warm and wet and laden with flowers, swells big and tight enough to pop.
“That didn’t just apply to, ah, earlier,” Katsuki coughs uncomfortably, flicking his eyes up to you, “that’s for all of this. Our…our lives are…the same now, and I don’t want you to think I need you– seven hells, that’s not what I meant–”
“You’re not very good at this, are you?” You interrupt him suddenly, a saccharine smile curling the corner of your lips. Katsuki flushes a vicious red, frowns and shakes his head in confirmation. “Neither am I.”
“No?”
“I haven’t suddenly found myself married before, so no.” It feels silly, all of the sudden, to have guarded yourself at all. Katsuki is many things, but above all, he is steady, a resolute rock against an angry ocean. “But while I feel many things about our…unexpected union, one thing I do not feel is alone. We can do this on our terms, not just mine.”
Katsuki nods again, looks back down to your hand in his, and cracks a wry smile. “This is why you’re the politician.”
“I’m a princess,” you deadpan, “not a politician.”
“But I can’t call you that,” Katsuki scoffs, rolling his eyes. The lightheartedness lifts the atmosphere in your bedchamber, oppressive with marital expectations and the stuffy heat of candles left burning too long, and it gives you the needed weightlessness to have your eyes slowly blinking closed.
“Exactly,” you agree matter-of-factly, stifling a yawn. “Will you call someone in to dispose of the candles?”
Katsuki snorts, pushing himself off the bed without answer. Before you can protest or feel hurt by his sudden abandonment, he crosses the room and bends at the waist, blowing out one of over two dozen candles. You can only watch in growing fondness and amusement as he huffs at each little flame, the room growing darker by the moment. By the time he’s finished, your eyes are hardly open, drifting shut as you sink into the pillows. A satisfied throb echoes through your body as you wriggle down beneath the sheets, the lingering evidence of Katsuki’s presence on and in you bringing a warmth to your cheeks even in the now-dark room.
The last thing you register as you slip into the beginnings of a heavy sleep is the dip of the bed behind you, and a thick, muscled forearm creeping stealthily over your waist.
“This alright?”
All you can muster is a tired mumble of acquiesce, nuzzling into the firm chest behind you. Katsuki chuckles quietly into your hair, a dark, soothing sound that has your mind careening towards sleep, eager to melt into this world of warmth and comfort in his arms.
“Ēdrū sȳrī, ñuha perzītsos.”
───── ⋆⋅ 𖤓 ⋅⋆ ─────
as promised, high valyrian translations here :)
Ānogar ānograro = "Blood of my blood."
Gevie = "Beautiful"
Iksā gevie, ñuha ābrazȳrys. = "You are beautiful, my wife."
Eminna skoros iksis ñuhon. = "I will have what is mine."
Lo emilā nyke, emagon nyke, yn eminna ao, hae sȳrī, dārilaros. = "If you will have me, then have me, but I will have you as well, princess."
Eman daor pāletilla skori iksā iemnȳ yno. Iksan iā ābra, iksan aōha ābrazȳrys. = "I have no crown when you are inside me. I am a woman, I am your wife."
Perzītsos = "Little flame"
Ivestragon nyke. = "Tell me."
Raqiarzy = "Beloved"
Ēdrū sȳrī, ñuha perzītsos. = "Sleep tight, my little flame."
Thinking about jock bully hunting you down after the bell rings...
You hurry – haphazardously shoving your books and pens into your bag before slinging it over your shoulder – ready to get out before the chimes are even done singing.
Thankfully, it seemed fine for now as you couldn't hear the roaring of buzzing students in the hallway just yet, only your own class packing up their belongings with movements rather lazy compared to yours.
But you couldn't afford to take your time – even with the free period following the end of your class. You needed to leave before he could find you.
"Where’ you off to in such a hurry, Specs?"
You ought to have knocked on wood before finishing your thought – you admonished yourself with eyes squeezed tightly shut and a punishing bite to your lower lip.
It's funny – you winced – how his voice is so casual, so breezy and laidback, all cool and friendly – funny how it sends such spiky goosebumps down your spine.
You ignore him, trying to squeeze past him – quick and dexterous as you attempt to slip away and disappear out the door – maybe be so lucky to lose him in the crowd.
"Whoa, whoa- you tryna run off on me?" He joked. His large hands held up to block your way.
You watch the rest of your classmates leave – leaving you to fend for yourself. But you couldn't really blame them… none of you wanted to explain new bruises to worried parents at home.
He was like a shark circling, and if he smelt blood in the water, you were as good as done for. And you were like an open cut.
"Now, what did I do to deserve a disappearing act, huh?" He pouted. His head tilted, blocking out the lights in the ceiling, shadowing his already scary face.
You nearly squeaked instead of speaking. "Please- I- I-"
"Calm down, will yah?" He dismissed. Flashing you a wide smile – the one that nearly fooled you into believing he was a good and decent guy. "I ain't come to pick on yah…"
You didn't listen. Once again, you bravely tried to push past him with your bag squeezed tightly to your chest – trying to rush to the door.
But his size was like the door itself. Big and squared. Muscly and tough as he blocked your way effortlessly. Though, no less bothered with your insistent attempt at running away from him.
"Now, when I tell you to do something-" He laughed passive-aggressively as his hand reached out to clutch the handle on your bag, yanking you back. "You should perk up and listen, yeah? Use that head of yours for something useful for once."
His knee rode up between your thighs – making you whimper where you stood, caged between his thick arms and the desk behind you.
"Wouldn't wanna make me angry now, do yah?"
His breath tickled your face, and you bowed your head under his gaze – unable to take your eyes off of the veins flexing along his beefy arms as his large hands gripped the table’s edge, sleeves rolled up like usual – the sight of his knuckles whitening, making you queasy with unease.
You tried ducking away once again. "Please, I need to-"
But he just clicked his tongue at the measle effort. Cutting you off yet again.
"You don't need to do anything but stand here and entertain me." He decided with a voice a bit more biting than before.
You jolted, your eyes round and wide as you looked back up into his glare.
He laughed out a lighthearted chuckle before his hand broke off from marring the desk – scratching the back of his neck with an apologetic smile – serving a small effort at easing your worries where you stood tense and rigid in your place in front of him.
"Thing is…” He started once again, his tone back to normal – or whatever he wanted you to think was his normal. “Coach is gonna kick me off the team if I don’t get my grades in order.” He explained. “So’s thinkin’ since you’re such a good little nerd, you wouldn’t mind helpin’ me out.”
His hand reached out to tickle your chin.
“M’sure havin’ a cute little nerd-tutor like you is exactly what I need.”
Your throat was so tight you thought you might just choke. “I don’t-”
“Good!” He boasted over your pitiful protest. “Since y’got nothin’ better to do, how ‘bout we just head straight for my dorm right now?” He asked – though you knew better than to think it was a question. “Le’me carry that for yah-”
He yanked your backpack from your chest, ripping it out of the tight hug before throwing it over his own shoulder.
“I can carry you too if yah want?” He posed – smirk loud on his face as he placed his large paws at your waist – followed quickly by you shooting your arms forward to shove him off in protest.
But though you thought you’d put in some strength behind it, the boy in front didn’t budge at all.
He just arched a brow as though asking if that was really all you had. And you hoped dearly he couldn’t see how the stiff muscles of his shredded chest had actually strained your wrists instead.
“What do you say, short stuff?” He leaned in, his breath foggy on your glasses and hot on your cheeks, as his hands clawed themselves into the fat of your waist, pulling you off your feet just a bit.
“N- no, thank you.” You stuttered out, stumbling a bit as you braced yourself against him. Your eyes squished close as you bowed your head away from him in a mix of fear and embarrassment while you suppressed the mortifying feeling of nearly pissing yourself.
But the tall boy realized little of your inner turmoil – rather enjoying it as he scoffed out an amused laugh at you. “A'ight then, come on.”
He yanked you along – his large paw gripping your arm as you struggled to keep up with his long strides. Nearly needing to resort to jogging where you otherwise tripped when the gap between the two of you became so large you had to skip a step or two to catch up – and before you even realized it, you were already standing outside the boy’s dorm waiting for him to find his keys.
He unlocked the door and welcomed you inside with the same grace of a warden showing a prisoner to their cell – with the weight and breadth of his warm hand on the small of your back as he nudged you inside.
The room had an overwhelming dank scent of both bodyspray and sweat and other things you’d only expect to smell in a boy’s locker room.
“Yo.” Came another voice from inside.
“Sup, roomie.” Your bully replied lazily. Grinning at how you gripped his shirt, all but jumping into hiding behind him.
You’re cute…
“Who’s that you got there?” His friend arched a brow at you, where you peaked at him from behind your bully’s sleeve.
“I’mma need the room.” He announced, not really answering the question.
The roommate then scoffed with a grin, beholding you with slim eyes for a moment, then scoffed once more before he got up to leave.
“Don’t hit the books too hard – Coach’ll have your ass if you don’t bring your A-game later.” He warned, pulling his gym bag up on his shoulder as he excused himself.
You looked around once he was gone, spotting dumbbells and other equipment – and quickly realized how there must be many more muscles beneath his shirt than what you’d already borne witness.
“So- uhm-” Swallowing the lump in your throat, you awkwardly turned to the boy. “Where're your books?”
Your bully smiled, taking a casual step toward you. “My books?” He asked, nowhere near even trying to sound the least bit genuinely confused.
“Your- uhm...” You paused, feeling uneasy. “Textbooks?”
His smile sharpened. “That’s cute.” He mocked sweetly while buttoning up the small black buttons of his white uniform shirt, giving a flash of those muscles you’d been anxiously anticipating. “You actually thought we were gonna study?”
♡ summary: on the twenty-first birthday of katsuki bakugou, an offering is made in his honour as he becomes chief of the dragons. clans usually offer up sacrifices of berries or nuts, salts and fresh catches. but for those of dargon’s blood, their offering is a mate…and that mate is you.
♡ warning(s): please read ! heavy smut, ( characters aged up to early twenties ), dark content, dub-con, heavy!voyeurism, heavy!degredation, slight!misogyny breeding!kink, dacryphilia!kink, unprotected sex ( wrap it before you tap it, kids ), fingering ( female receiving ), blowjobs, tummy bulges, face slapping, choking, spitting, cumplay, reader is a sexual offering. listen,,, its a lot…
♡ author’s note(s): HAPPY BAKUGOU DAY <33 i love this man sm :( and i wanted to do somn special for his day so here’s my contribution to the bakugou birthday bash collab!!! ( my first woo ) hosted by the lovely @jodrawssmut @phasmwrites @katsukikitten @bakugotrashpanda @lady-bakuhoe and @ramen-rambles !! pls go ahead and check out the works from the other creators!! and enjoy <333
♡ masterlist | requests | kofi
it was tradition in the tribes of barbarians roaming japan, that on the twenty first birthday of the eldest child of the tribe leader came— an offering would be made in their honour and the title of chief would be passed down to them. for those of nymph and earth tribes it would be the month’s harvest of berries and nuts, for those of mer and water tribes it would be fresh salts and the biggest catch they could find… and for tribes of dragons and fire it would be— a mate.
the dragon clans worked differently from most others, with rituals fuelled by the heats of their core and the fire in their spirits— their desire. so when the moon came to be at its highest and the eldest child had come of age, the virginity of the most eligible men or women of the tribe was offered up as thanks for the leader’s hard work.
"For what it’s worth, princess, if the devil is real. It’s me.”
Contains- Serial Killer! Suna, oral (f receiving), dubcon, semi-public fingering, groping, choking, biting, manhandling, riding overstimulation, marathon sex, mentions of necrophilia/noncon, implied somnophila, baby trapping(?)
A/N- sorry for the long wait guys, writer's block can be a bitch
Sleeping with him was the biggest mistake of your life-
No. letting him ‘help’ you was the biggest mistake of your life.
Ever since you two had sex, he’s been sleeping in the same bed as you. You did attempt to persuade him to sleep on the couch once again but he simply responded with
‘We both saw what happens when I sleep on the couch, sweetheart. Besides, sharing the same bed might bring back some of those ‘dear’ memories you lost.”
As you predicted, it would be challenging to sneak out of your room at night, especially when Suna’s arm is wrapped around your waist, his chin tucked on your shoulder, and his stern back against your chest.
You thought about lying to him, telling him you’re getting up from bed to use the bathroom but really you’re planning to find his car keys and drive away from this nightmare. But what if you take too long and he gets suspicious? Last time you got lucky when he misunderstood your attempt to steal his car keys.
You hate that you spent the entire week with him, pretending to be in a loving marriage, kissing him sweetly, and sometimes bathing with him. But he hasn’t fucked you since the first time- well with his dick at least.
If he thinks you look too cute in a nightgown- which you always do, he’ll push you down on the bed, scrunching up your silky slip-on onto your breast and shamelessly make out with your cunt, fingers holding your thighs down and apart to keep you from squirming away. He never fails to give you an intense orgasm. You're so addicted to his touch that you don’t know how you’ll be able to cum again once you escape from him...While on the topic of escaping, you’re finding the idea of freedom too difficult to obtain by yourself. You’re gonna need help.
“ So- I remember you mentioned before that we were still friends with twins from high school” You blurted out while having dinner with your ‘fiancé.’
“ Yeah, Osamu and Atsumu. What about them?” Suna asked nonchalantly. “Well, I think you should invite them over. I think it’d be good for me to meet someone from my past” you suggested.
“ It’d be hard to contact them because the service in this place is horrible” Suna claimed, leaning back in his chair. You let out an instant “oh” with a noticeable pout on your lips.
Then you heard Suna sigh, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Okay. There is this part of the house where the service is somewhat usable. But it’s on the roof so I don’t want you following me there. Your body is still sore which makes it difficult for you to stay up there without falling” Suna pointed out.
He’s right. You’ll probably hurt yourself if you try going on that roof. So the idea of stealing his phone to call for help isn’t possible.
“You have no idea how much this means to me. Thank you, Rin” You complimented. “ Yeah well, I gotta keep my wife happy” Suna got up and kissed your forehead before retreating upstairs.
You waited impatiently for Suna to come back down. A sick part of you wishes that he’d accidentally slip off the roof, breaking his neck because then you’d be freed from this nightmare. But he only takes twenty minutes to come back down, placing his phone back into his pocket as he walks towards you.
“So? Did they say yes?” you questioned. “They said they would love to stop by. But I had to make Atsumu promise he wouldn’t bring another hookup over. I better start cooking dinner because those two guys know how to eat- especially Osamu” Suna replied, giving you an endearing pat on the head as he went to prepare for their arrival.
--
You hadn’t seen any pictures of the twins prior before they arrived, so it was quite intimidating when two muscular tall men stood at your doorstep. The dark-haired one holding a classic bottle of wine. While Atsumu opened his arms to you, giving you an unwelcomed hug.
“There is our Y/n. It’s been too long since we saw ya” The bold twin one cooed, his arms around you tightened.
“You’re one foot in and already flirtin’ with my fiance- don’t you have any shame, Atsumu?” Suna replied, subtly informing you of the difference between the twins.
So if the blonde, somewhat pervy, twin was Atsumu. The other one must be Osamu.
“I ain’t flirting. I was just being friendly to a friend who’s gotten into a terrible- just terrible accident “ Atsumu pouted.
“I decided to tell them your situation. I hope you don’t mind” Suna commented, smiling innocently.
It’s unsettling.
They’re completely lying to you- you’re not friends with them. How are they so eerily confident then? How can these two lie straight to your face and pretend that you’re Suna's fiancé?
Because you’re not. You’re not his fiancé.
Right?
Dinner with them made you even more confused. They’re doing the same thing that Suna did. Reciting old stories about your so-called past together. It’s getting more difficult to distinguish what’s the truth or not. Yet Atsumu’s words manage to slip you back into reality.
“You should really be thanking me. If I didn’t set you two up in college- y’all would not be getting married.. at least Suna wouldn’t be” Atsumu teased.
“I thought we started dating in high school?” You spoke up, pointing out Atsumu’s mistake. Rather than Atsumu getting embarrassed for making such an innocent mistake.
Atsumu got nervous.
If you weren’t already so superstitious during dinner, you wouldn’t have noticed how he blinked away, how forced his laughter sounded, and how his brother deadly glared at him.
“Would you pardon us? I think I have to remind Atsumu about some manners” Osamu asked, seeming all friendly while his jawline clenched, a fist under the table.
Suna clicked him, glancing at a nervous Atsumu and then back at Osamu.” Go ahead,” Suna replied.
You were left alone with him once again.
You and your fiancé-No. He’s not your fiancé. You and your demon.
“You’re lookin’ a bit nervous, sweetheart. Are you feeling okay? Just say the word and I can get these idiots to leave any time” Suna suggested. “No- they don’t need to leave. I just need to go to the bathroom to freshen up. That’s all” Your laughter sounded a bit too forced, sweaty palms pushing you up out of your seat. “Don’t take too long” Suna mumbled, watching you march quickly out of the dining room.
This is your chance.
You can ask- no- you're going to beg the twins to help you because surely, they wouldn’t want to risk being an accomplice for a serial killer.
You followed their distant voices, words too unintelligible to understand. Eventually, you ended up in front of the door connecting the garage to the summer house. Luckily, they left the door slightly ajar, allowing you to hear their conversation clearly.
You were about to walk in before you heard Osamu say
“Are you a fuckin’ idiot, ‘Tsumu? At this point, Suna not gonna let either of us have a turn with her” Osamu argued with his brother.
“Shut up- shut up. I’m a fuckin’ volleyball player not an actor” Atsumu huffed. “Yeah and I own a restaurant but I know how to keep my story straight,” Osamu remarked.
“I don’t even know why Suna cares s’much about keeping up this whole game” Atsumu commented.
“he’s just gonna kill her like the rest.”
Your heart is racing because your last hope of escaping this n nightmare just revealed they could care less about your life- fuck they could be worse than Suna. Instinctually, you step away from the door, wanting to be as far away from them as possible. But that’s when you feel a stern chest against your back, stopping you from backing away. You slowly turn your head and notice Suna behind you, his eyes glued on the view of the twins arguing about whether they’ll still get a ‘turn’ with you after Atsumu’s mishap.
“Rin-“
“Quiet. It’s always amusing to watch the twins argue, right? “ Suna replied, his hand tilting your face to watch the twins, his chin resting on top of your head, forcing you to watch the truth unfold.
“You know he does sadistic shit like this all the time. Just try to have fun with her while she’s still alive” Osamu huffed.
“I didn’t come here to play an actor. I just wanna fuck her before Suna finally cuts her up or whatever sadistic shit he plans to do with her” Atsumu groaned.
“ Yeah, well, there's no way in hell he’s gonna let you have a turn with her if you don’t play along correctly. You’d be lucky if he even lets you fuck her corpse”
Atsumu hummed, his once annoyed attitude slowly disappearing as he looked lost in thought- until he made the comment
“I wouldn’t mind that at all actually.”
You want to stop listening but Suna won’t let you. “Please, just let me go and I won’t- I won’t tell anyone” you muttered, voice cracking. Suna laid his forehead on your shoulder, you could feel his smile on his skin.
“What about our wedding?” he cooed, voice teasing, his hands wrapping around your waist, tips of his fingers sliding under your waistband.
“Rintarou, please- I-I don’t want to die. I’ll do anything just don’t hurt me” you begged.
“I don’t like when you call me by my first name, it makes me feel like I’m in trouble” Suna commented, a soft pout on his lips. This time his hands are traveling further down the inside of your pants until his fingers are tracing over your covered slit. You wish you could fight his touch but you’re too scared to upset him.
“Rin, I don’t wanna pretend anymore. I just wanna go home” You’re starting to cry and he doesn’t need to look at your face to know that tears are pouring out of your eyes.
You act like you’re strong but the second you’re faced with a challenge, you crack like glass. So easy to read. Maybe that’s why he likes you so much.
“You wanna go home? Go ahead and ask the twins for help. But I don’t if they’ll be that compliant” Suna suggested. He’s right. He’s always right.
“I like you. I don’t think I’ve ever been so infatuated with a person like this before. So I’ll give you two choices. You could either go beg the twins to take you away from this ‘hell house’ or
you can become my pretty wife”
You don't want any of that. You want to run far far away. But he’ll catch you like he did the first time and then he might actually kill you.
“So, what will it be, princess?” He repeats, forcing you to break from your silence. That nickname, it always appears when his true colors are shown. You're starting to hate that word because now you associate it with danger.
“How do I know you won’t kill me,” you ask, in the quietest voice, afraid of his answer. He chuckles at your question, raises his head from your shoulder, and smiles.
“Because I'll never get bored of you.”
That’s all it takes. You nod your head, not wanting to hear yourself agree to stay. To be his, forever.
He leans over, lips almost touching yours, narrow eyes with an unwearying stare forcing you to look at him.
“You know how to keep quiet, don’t you Mrs. Suna?”
That’s when his wandering fingers finally slip beneath your panties and you’re reminded that Osamu and Atsumu are right behind the door in front of you. “Rin, not here” you begged, squirming to get out of his grip, only for him to hold you tighter.
“Why not? Atsumu would probably wanna hear, that fuckin’ freak” Suna laughed. Just as you were about to utter an argument, you’re cut short by the painfully slow pumping of Suna’s fingers, thrusting into your cunt. You feel weak.
Instead of telling him to stop, your words cut into a breathy moan and Suna is forced to lean over to your ear.
“ Careful, princess. You don’t want them to hear you.” He whispered a reminder, tongue poking out of his mouth to lick a stripe down your neck, causing you only to tighten around his long thrusting fingers.
“ Try to argue with me but I can feel how wet you are. Maybe you’re the crazy one huh? Or maybe it’s both of us. Guess we're soulmates then” he’s talking more than he usually does. Maybe because he knows you're scared to get caught.
Or maybe he’s drunk on the success of your agreement to your engagement. Doesn’t matter because he’s only getting more confident, pulling down the neckline of your shirt as long as your bra with his other hand, groping the soft skin of your breast all while his thumb is massaging your clit.
Fuck- you’re so close and he’s so fucking hard, forced to grind his painful erection against your back.
You feel pathetic when you're uncontrollably humping his ruthless fingers, chasing your high.
When you hear him chuckle from behind you, most likely realizing your movement- he has no right to sound so fucking sexy.
“Can’t believe you were begging me to stop, aren’t you just the prettiest liar.” He mumbles.
And you’re finishing on his fingers, legs shaking, eyes tearing up, your hands covering your mouth muffling uncontrollable moans.
Suna slowly pulls his hands out of your pants, bringing his drenched fingers into your mouth, disgustedly making you clean his fingers, tasting yourself.
He spins you towards him, leaning over to wipe off your smeared make up, fixing your appearance for you because you are all too stunned by what has just occurred.
Just on time, Atsumu and Osamu are opening the door, both surprised to see you.
“ Holy fuck- how long were you two standing there" Atsumu called out. You both turn around to look at them, Suna wrapping one arm around your shoulder, pulling you to his side.
“We just walked in actually” Suna lied for your sake.
“ Well…Wow! look at the time- “ Atsumu said, checking his watch, pretending to read the time. “It’s getting late, ain’t it? I’m a bit too tired to drive…guess me and Osamu gotta stay over the night” Atsumu whistled.
Holy fuck- Atsumu and Osamu still think they have a chance with you.
You’re beginning to tremble at Suna’s side, fully not trusting him to protect you.
“I’ll call you two an uber,” Suna says blankly.
You could see Atsumu grit his teeth, not knowing why he wasn’t getting rewarded for his ‘efforts.’
“Well- can we at least visit tomorrow” Osamu questioned, trying to hint if they’ll at least have a chance to fuck your dead corpse.
Sick mother fuckers. Just like Suna- maybe even worse.
“Next time we’ll see you is at our wedding” Suna smiled passively aggressively, knowing he just pissed off the twins.
Atsumu is about to open his mouth, most likely attending to spoil the truth because Suna ruined all of his ‘fun.’ But Osamu stops him by gripping the back of Atsumu’s shirt.
“ No need to argue with an old friend. We’ll leave… just call us next time when we’re allowed to come over” Osamu sighed.
Then they proceed to leave. Not without Atsumu forcing you into a hug, his hand dangerous lying on your lower back, a final act of perversion. They leave and you’re left alone with Suna and his narrow eyes are locked on yours.
“Could fuck you here or on the bed. Pick one”
There is no option to deny him. He is going to be your husband after all.
“Bed.”
He’s not even letting you walk there, probably thinking you’ll move too slowly for his liking. So he's picking you up effortlessly because of his muscular arms, delivering you to the bedroom before and tossing you onto the mattress. He’s on top of you in a heartbeat, his hands tugging off your clothes, not caring if you’re telling him to slow down because they’ll rip.
He’ll buy you a new one- fuck he’ll buy you anything you’d want as long as he gets to fuck that tight pussy of yours.
Your heart is slipping at the sound of his belt unbuckling, too nervous to look at the sight of him sliding down any of the clothes covering his hard cock.
“Fuckin’ you raw, yeah? Doesn’t matter anymore since we’ll be married soon” Suna clicks his tongue, holding his heavy cock in his hands, pressing his leaking tip against your hole.
You shake your head frantically, “Don’t please Rin- don’t do that to me” you shuttered.
“ What? Ya afraid you’ll conceive the devil’s reincarnation? For what it’s worth, princess, if the devil is real.
It’s me.”
Without another argument he’s forcing himself into your shameless cunt causing a gasp to slip out of your mouth, not waiting for you to adjust until he’s fucking you into the bed. You’re holding onto everything but him. And he doesn’t like this- it’s not wife behavior is it?
So he leans over and painfully bites into your collarbone, “ hurt me back.” He commands.
And you give him exactly what he wants, slipping your hands under his shirt, digging your nails into his toned back, causing him to only get fuck you harder like it a competition on who can break the quickest.
You’re not holding back your moans- thankful for the lack of people near you, only giving Suna the privilege of hearing them.
Once you orgasm for the second time that night, he’s switching positions and forcing you to take him on his lap, his back resting on the bed frame.
You know what he wants you to do but you’re already so tired, you drowsily shake your head, hoping he’ll stop, and let finally you sleep.
Except all you do is annoy him, hissing under his breath as his hands grip your hips, forcing you to bounce on his cock, overstimulating your insides.
“ Slow down, Rin-“ you asked, knowing he won’t let you stop but at least the idea of slowing down seems possible.
“You wanna go slow, princess? Then you gotta do it yourself” he commented. You hesitate before nodding your head, thinking it’s a better option than letting him fuck you relentlessly.
His hands go behind his head while yours leans over on his thigh, slowly pushing yourself up, sucking in your breath and you sink back down.
Suna whistled at the sight of you fucking yourself on his cock, acting like the perfect wife.
He’s moving the hair out of your face before wrapping his hands around your neck, freaking you out as he lightly squeezes the sides of your neck. The action is causing you to stop your movement.
“Did I tell you to stop?” He asked, tightening the grip around your neck, making it harder to breathe, a growing light-headed.
Your hands are shaking as you’re lifting yourself up and down on his cock. It’s humiliating, knowing you’re getting off because of him- how easily he has control of your body
“Say you’ll stay” he pants, chest heaving, feeling your cunt squeezing on his cock because of his husky voice.
“ Say you’ll stay forever. Can’t ever leave my side, princess. Dont think I can live without this pussy” he asks, face flushed.
“ I’ll stay—Rin” you managed to croak out with the tightness around your neck.
That’s all he needs until he’s leaning over to your torso, hands moving to grip your waist, forcing you to stay still on his cock, cumming deep into your pussy.
You think that’ll be it for tonight until he’s pulling back and kissing you, tongue slipping into your mouth, hands moving to grope your breast again until he’s hard once more.
He’s manhandling you until you’re on your hands and knees. He's behind you, watching your legs shake as he guides his cock back into your stuffed pussy, fucking his leaking cum back into you.
You’re screaming from overstimulation, tears soaking the bed sheet under your eyes, hands gripping onto the bed sheet. You feel like you’re being crushed when he presses his chest against your back, his arms wrapped around your lower stomach, cock bullying your insides.
He’s never this energetic.
And you’re also never this honest, finally admitting to knowing the truth behind this charade. But you tell him you’ll stay isn’t something he believes in.
“ Bet you’re thinking about leavin’ when I’m asleep, yeah?” He huffed against the nape of your neck.
“You’d probably find a way to kill me first though. You’re not dumb enough to think I won’t find you” he uttered, talking to you as if he’s not fucking you into oblivion.
“ Doesn’t matter if m’dead or not. I’ll always be with you- every second til the day you fuckin' die, you'll be thinking about me. dreaming about me. haunted by me. So don’t you dare test me. Just be good and I’ll be good back. I fuck you good as well” he adds, his finger rubbing your swollen clit while his hips are forcing you to the edge, squeezing his cock so hard he can’t pull out to cum- not like he was going to do in the first place.
Suna lifts himself and rolls you to the side, admiring your fucked out expression, how you’re staring at the ceiling, chest heaving as you recover from your intense orgasm.
“ Maybe if fuck a baby into you. You wouldn't be able to leave,”Suna commented, the lack of playfulness in his tone suggested to you that he was actually serious about the idea of knocking you up.
“ I'm not - I not planning on leaving— I won’t do it, Rin. I’m telling the truth” you babbled, crying at the idea of going another round, hands frantically wiping down tears that felt never-ending.
Suna chuckles because for once, he believes you. He leans over and kisses your cheek sweetly.
“I’ll be nice and give you a morning-after pill I got laying around somewhere afterward, yeah? I’ll take care of you, but you gotta take care of me,” he cooed.
You are too cute. So much more innocent than Suna is- never committing the horrendous crimes he’s done. And he thinks you begging him to spare you from sex is so much more exciting than you begging him for your life.
But to you- it feels like you’re begging for the same thing. You’ll die if he fucks you again- that your body is too overstimulated and exhausted.
That doesn’t stop him- nothing will really, from getting hard, thrusting into you again. You don’t know when he stopped fucking you- was it after you passed out the third time? Or did he continue ever after that? When it’s over, you’re half awake, back leaning on his chest, his hand ushering you to take the suggested birth control in his hand. Then slowly tilt the glass of water down your mouth. While you manage to drink the refreshing liquid, you get a glance of the mess between your spread legs, cum shameless dripping out and you wish you never met him.
You’re awake and you don’t feel physically dirty, the evidence of cum wiped off your legs by Suna while you were sleeping.
If he hadn’t marked your body with his teeth and hands, you’d almost pretend last night was nonexistent. Plus the aroma coming from him cooking from the kitchen downstairs only ruins the fantasy even more.
Maybe you’ll run away one day and get away with it. But you can’t say you could ever truly escape, Suna.
: ̗̀➛ public sex, manhandling, rough sex, squirting, biting, big dick!boku, jealousy, possessiveness, breeding, unprotected sex, bokuto thinks reader was flirting but she really wasn't
tell me, tell me tell me that you love me too
"kou.." you mewled out, hands flat against the cold locker in front of you, your chest pressed against the hard surface.
"tell me that you love me—hah, y/n..!" he groaned out, his hands gripping painfully onto your hips as he pounded into you from behind. your legs dangled pathetically in the air, being held up by him, too dumb with pleasure to actually hold yourself up.
"hah.." you huffed out, your teeth grazing over your index finger as you tried to muffle your shameful moans. you could even register what your boyfriend was saying, too focused on the delicious pleasure he was giving you, his thick cock stretching you out so well it had you seeing stars.
"y/n?" he cried out once more, pressing his chest against your back, slamming your body against the locker. he was frantic, his eyebrows furrowed as he awaited for your confirmation. one of his hands released from your hip, coming you to hold your own against the locker, pinning you in place.
he was on a high, nerves shot and heart beating so hard it had him nearly doubling over. just earlier, a considerably attractive guy had came up to you and had indulged in a friendly conversation with you, and to the insecure bokuto, it looked like he was flirting with, and worse of all, it seemed you were enjoying it.
he was quick to drag you into the locker rooms, roughly manhandling you against the lockers, biting and kissing your neck as he cried to you, begging for your attention.
"kou.. ishh too much.." you babbled out, your face was a met, smeared with tears, saliva and even your own snot. he's been fucking you regardless of how many times you've came, just wanting to hear you scream his name over and over and over again until he's satisfied and reassured.
"y/n, say that you love me." he whined once more, suddenly pulling out his cock from your abused pussy and grabbing you by your shoulders and whisking you around. he made you feel like a rag-doll, like you weighed nothing as he effortlessly lifted you and held you down on the benches. it hurt to be manhandled like this, but the feel of the sting as your back made rough contact with the scratchiness of the cheap metal had you yelping out with pleasure.
with a growl, he was already plunging his cock back into your poor cunt, resuming his unrelenting pace, his hand coming down to the back of your calf and lifting it up over his shoulder. he bent you in half, leaning down to shove his tongue down your throat, swallowing down every cry of his name.
you were weak against him, even if you wanted to, you couldn't, he used your own weight against you, overpowering you with ease as he fucked you. "y/n, you're mine." he grunted, pulling away so he could leave more love bites and hickeys on the soft skin of your neck. the next day, for sure, you'll have to hide yourself from all of the knowing stares they'll give, knowing that your boyfriend fucks you stupid.
he held himself up on one of his arms besides your head, his eyes glued to the way your pussy sucked him in. his cock twitched at the sight, a creamy ring forming around the base of his cock from your wet pussy, "fuck, y/n," he groaned, clenching his eyes shut when you got impossibly tighter around him, sending heavenly jolts of pleasure up his spine.
"nobody—ah-can fuck you like i do, y/n. you d-damn know that," he grunted, his thrusts loosing rhythm as he tried to draw out his oncoming orgasm. "huh? you know that right?" he said, his moving over to the side of your cheek, cupping it gently.
"yeshh.." you babbled, "love you kou.. love y' cock.." he cursed once more under his breath at your lewd words, his hand moving down from your face to your clit, rubbing rough circles onto your sensitive bud. "gonna breed 'ya— gonna breed your cunt so everyone knows who you b-belong to.."
he nearly doubles over when you cum for the nth time once more, squirting all over his lower abdomen and thighs, your back arching as your vision goes white. he slams his hand down onto the bench, holding on to dear life as he stuffed your cunt full of his seed. "f-fuck," he gasped out, his hips desperately humping slowly against yours like a bunny, his orgasm shaking him to his core.
he breathed heavily as he finally fell limp against you, his heavy body weight feeling like a big blanket. his head laid against your rapidly rising chest, his eyebrows still lightly furrowed as he still felt the lingering pains of jealousy within him, his lips mushed against your school's vest as he inhaled your sweet scent, now contaminated with the sick oder of sex, semen, and sweat.
"You don’t know where you’re running to. All you know is that if you stop he’ll catch you. You don’t even know who he is."
Contains- Serial Killer! Suna, slightly inspired by the movie 'Secret Obsession', reader pretends to have amnesia, stockholm syndrome(?), dubcon, mentions of masturbation (m), dry humping, unprotected sex, couch sex, riding, groping
You were just having a bad night, driving back home after a stressful family dinner only to have your car’s tire pop, leaving you in the middle of nowhere. You called the roadside assistance hotline and they told you that ‘the quickest they could get to you was in two hours.’ So you sighed, sitting in your car, mindlessly scrolling through social media to ignore that you were stranded, the woods being your only company.
Then there was a knock on your window, turning your head to see him. He was handsome, tall, with narrow golden eyes, and dark brunette middle-parted hair. But his clothes were too casual to seem like he worked for the emergency hotline.
You slowly rolled your window down, “Hello? Do you need something?” You asked.
“ No-no, I ain't like that, princess. I was driving home and saw ya parked here. I figured something must be wrong since we’re out in the middle of nowhere. I mean- unless you got some business with the woods, something must be up, right?” he responded.
“ Yeah, I just have a flat tire. Now I’m just waiting for the emergency company to send someone to replace it” you answered.
“ Ain’t that gonna take a while? Reckon they don't get many workers this late at night. Plus, we’re a long way from civilization... But I could fix it for ya instead" he suggested.
“Are you sure? I mean- I don’t want to waste your time” you responded. “C’mon now, I can’t let a sweet girl like you out here. Dangerous at night, ain’t it?” he laughed, waving off your concerns. “Alright then I'll take you up on that offer” you agreed, mostly giving in because you couldn't stand waiting any longer.
“I’m gonna need some help- so you gotta get out of that car seat and get ya hands dirty for me, princess” he added, lips curling into a smile as he tapped your locked car’s door.
“Of course- just give me a moment to get out” you uttered, watching the stranger nod his head. As the stranger in front of you went to retrieve a spare tire in his trunk, you quickly slid the pepper spray from your glovebox into your back pocket because
He was a stranger after all.
“Alright, princess let’s get this tire changed” the man called out for you, causing you to step out of the safety of your car.
He rested the replacement wheel on the side of your vehicle, “do you know how to change a tire?” he asked, squatting down to get a better look at the flat.
“I barely passed my driver's test- so not really” you commented, causing the man to snicker. “It ain’t too hard, just gotta raise the car a lil bit first- ah fuck” he cursed, looking around him. “What’s wrong?” you asked, worried by his sudden change of tone. “Just forgot to bring out the jack. It’s in my trunk, get it f’me really quick, can't lift the car without it” he sighed, pushing back his dark hair in disappointment.
“Sure, I’ll be right back” you agreed, turning around to walk to his car. You approached the trunk of his black vehicle, struggling to open it as if it was jammed or locked.
Then you hear a twig snap from behind you, instantly you turn your back, seeing the same friendly stranger, his arms raised above his head, hands gripping onto a dagger heading towards you, his pupils dilated. He didn't seem excited, scared, or sad. No, all of his friendly attitude morphed into something blank, something inhumane.
It was reflex.
You pulled out your pepper spray and misted his eyes with the eye-watering contraption. He’s on the ground, hissing in pain, fingers digging into the road. You’re running back into your car, only to realize you left your car keys inside. But you don’t have time to curse at yourself for the stupid mistake, not when he’s seconds away from recovering.
So you’re dashing into the forest, into the darkness.
Branches are scratching your face as you frantically run into the forest, heart beating out of your chest, hearing his quick footsteps and his laughter- fuck- his laughter sounds almost animalistic like a fox's cackling. Due to the rush of adrenaline, it feels like you and him are the only objects in motion, everything else just seems blurry.
You don’t know where you’re running to. All you know is that if you stop he’ll catch you. You don’t even know who he is.
It was already too late when you finally noticed the steep ditch in front of you, tripping over your own feet as you fell head in, the immediate painful impact causing your world to collapse into darkness, eyes closing as you felt the warmth of your blood drip down your forehead.
“You should really learn to watch where you step, princess.”
—
You’re surprised you woke up, knowing there was a serial killer behind you, you thought you’d be a goner.
You knew it wasn’t a simple nightmare when you noticed the bandages around your arms and how you weren't in your bedroom. You try getting up but you hit with an intense feeling of soreness that forces you to fall back into bed.
Unable to physically get up, you take the time to visually examine yourself and the unfamiliar environment around you. Judging by your fresh pair of clothing and the neatness of the bedroom, you figured you were saved by the road assistance employee who was assigned to change your tire. But it doesn’t matter who saved you; you’re just happy you’re alive.
Hearing the bedroom’s door creak open, you promised yourself you’d thank your savior who walked through the door.
But it’s not a savior- no, it’s the devil- it’s him.
This time he’s not wearing a classic grey hoodie. It's something that just screams wealth, a neat black button-down followed by khaki dress pants tied with a belt.
You don’t know why. But you’re first instinct is to play dumb- play dumb so that he might believe you’re no longer a threat. If he thinks you don’t remember the crime he committed, he’ll believe there’s no way you’d report him to the police
“ What happened to me?” You uttered, rubbing your bandaged forehead.
“ You don’t remember hitting your head? ” he asked, eyebrows raising in curiosity. He pulled a swivel chair out from the desk in the room, planted it in front of your bed, and then sat in it, arms crossed, awaiting your response.
“I-I don’t remember anything” you gulped, hoping he didn’t catch your bluff. “Anything? Really? Not even your name?” he hums, eyes narrowing in curiosity.
“ I don’t remember my name... I don’t know who you are either” you added, averting your eyes from his unwavering stare, anxious with how close he was to you.
He takes a moment to process what you have just said. Then his lips curl into a smile, clearly indicating that he's figured out what you were implying.
“It looks like you have a case of amnesia from hitting your head too hard. Don’t worry, darling. As your fiancé, I’ll gladly help you recover” he says, sweetly as he leans forward, placing his cold palm on top of your hand, tilting his head slightly to emphasize the caring gesture.
Did he just say, fiancé? Fuck- fuck, you're screwed.
But if you expose the truth, you’d be exposing your lie. He won’t hesitate to kill you if he knows you’re faking it.
“F-fiancé?” You stuttered in disbelief. “My name is Rinatoru Suna. Yours is Y/n L/n. But you’ll be having my last name soon enough,” he chuckles before leaning back on his chair, the wheels causing him to push away from the bed. You have to remind yourself to keep calm.
“ Where are we” you interrogated, trying to keep your tone as gentle as possible to not raise suspicion.
“ At our summer house, away from everyone and everything. It was supposed to be a nice vacation but then you went and hurt your head trying to get firewood late at night. Luckily, I found you unconscious in a ditch- figured you must have tripped over something in the darkness and hit your head” Suna stated, body language so calm that if you didn’t know any better you’d actually believe him. A serial killer and a pathological liar, that’s a deadly combination.
“ Could I get my phone? I'd like to text my parents that I’m okay.” You asked even though you expected your request to be denied.
But to your surprise he smiled as he got up from his chair, “Of course, sweetheart ” he replied, walking over to the desk, sliding open a hidden cabinet attached to the table.
He uses two of his fingers to hold up a clear ziplock bag that carries a painfully cracked phone. “You can have it back but I doubt it’ll be any use, probably would cut your pretty fingers if you touch the screen” Suna commented.
You couldn’t hide your disappointment as you showed a frown. Suna clicked his tongue as he walked back over, lifting your chin with his fingers, “Don’t look so sad, sweetheart. Even if your phone wasn’t broken, the service in this area is horrible. But that’s why you picked it though. Since you claim I’m so ‘addicted to the damn phone” he teased, swiping his thumb on your lower lip, acting as if you were an average loving couple.
“Are you still in any pain” he mumbled, tone soft as he kept his fingers holding your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes.
“I'm still sore...thank you for taking care of me, Suna” you responded, a pit of shame growing in your stomach as you realized you ‘thanked’ a serial killer.
“ Rin. You call me Rin” he advised, tone still soft as he gazed at your features with admiration,
“ T-thank you for taking care of me, Rin” you corrected, voice too scared to talk any louder.
“Of course. What else are fiancés for?” He replied.
—
All your pent-up fear bursts the second Suna leaves the room to prepare dinner. You’re trying to be as silent as possible as you’re clenching your chest, panic attacking causing your heart to race.
Why is he doing this to you? Why hasn’t he killed you yet?
You can’t spend your time pondering these questions; you need to leave. You get out of bed slowly so you don't instantly fall back down, limping towards the wide window before parting its white curtains, revealing acres of forest, not a single neighbor, or person in sight. You and him are alone in this modern mansion, surrounded by the woods.
But not all hope is lost; you see his car parked outside the house. All you need to do is use the vehicle to escape. You plan to leave tonight before he gets bored of playing ‘house.’ You’ll steal his car keys when he’s asleep and then drive back to civilization.
—
Suna sits you down carefully at the dining table, treating you as if you were glass. He puts out two plates of steaks with a side of mashed potatoes.
“I hope you don’t mind steak. As a professional volleyball player, I require a lot of protein to keep up the physique” Suna chuckled, taking a seat across from you, his palm holding his face as his eyes admired your appearance.
“You play professionally?” you asked.
“Of course, how else would we afford this summer house? Y’know, volleyball is the reason we met. In high school, you walked into the gymnasium in the middle of practice and got a volleyball straight to the face. The twins were too busy arguing whose fault it was that you got hit, so my captain at the time, Kita, made me walk you to the nurse’s office. The rest is history” Suna recited. The way he spoke, so casually, not a single stutter just made his words feel so real. The story sounds like a classic rom-com movie, so sickly cute that you almost wished it was real.
“Being escorted out from a volleyball to the face, how romantic” you teased, trying to make yourself sound more relaxed. “If it makes you feel any better, they still feel bad about it to this day,” Suna snickered, shaking his head in disbelief.
“You’re still friends with them?” you questioned.
“You mean we’re still friends with them. Unfortunately, yes. They’ll probably be one of my groomsmen at our wedding” Suna corrected. “C-could I meet them later?” You asked, hoping that the so-called twins could be your potential saviors.
There was a pause in Suna’s actions, he slowly switched his view off of his plate to look at you.
“Sure, I suppose that wouldn’t be an issue” he responded, a fake smile on his lips.
“Y’know, you haven’t touched your food yet. Protein is important for recovery” Suna added.
Your hand is trembling from fear as you attempt to cut the thick pan-seared steak in front of you. You want to curse at yourself for showing fear but how could you not? You’re sharing dinner with a serial killer- who knows, maybe you’re next on the menu.
“Y/n. Let me do that for you” Suna interrupted. Judging by his still-happy demeanor, he’s blaming your trembling on your body’s recovery.
You feel sick.
You feel sick because the same hands that tried to kill you are now feeding you and all you can do is gladly accept, putting on a fake smile with every bite.
The rest of the dinner was mainly peaceful, mostly him reciting fake memories of your ‘dating’ years with him. You can’t help but laugh at some of them, especially the one where he heard you scream in the middle of the night so he rushed out of bed, to the living room, expecting a robber but instead he saw you on the couch, pointing to a defenseless spider.
A shameful part of you wishes these stories were real because, besides the psychotic part of Suna, he seems like the ideal partner, wealthy, intelligent, calm, attractive.
Once dinner is over, Suna leads you back to your bedroom, he offers to help you fit into your nightgown, claiming ‘it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.’ You make it very clear that you could do it yourself, making Suna turn his back as you change. However, as you let out a noticeable hiss caused by the unbearable ache from bending your sore arm to attempt to pull off your shirt, Suna steps in to help you.
“Don’t be embarrassed, this is normal things couples do” he commented, making you sit down on the edge of your bed, his fingers hooking under the hem of your shorts, pulling them off of your ankles. Then his fingertips are trailing up your thigh, under your shirt, lifting it above your head, leaving your bare chest naked to his eyes. The room was silent yet millions of thoughts were loud in your head. Suna clicked his tongue at the view of your naked chest, his hand came up to grope at your breast, his breath hitching at the softness.
“R-Rin, stop that” you stuttered, as you watched his hand trail off your breast to the center of your chest, palm laying flat. “I can feel your heartbeat right now. It’s running so… quickly” Suna mumbled, before replacing his palm with the side of his face, his ear pressed against your chest, closing his eyes as he concentrated on the sound of your heart beating.
You’re holding your breath, you feel paralyzed with fear of having such a dangerous man so close to your skin. Suna sighed as he pulled away, smile on his lips, his palm holding your cheek, “Sorry. I got caught away, didn’t I? You’re so just cute, I couldn't help myself” he apologized, thumb swiping on your bottom lip. “I-it’s okay” You stuttered, glad the experience was over.
After he dresses you in your nightgown, he helps you lay into bed, ensuring you’re completely comfortable. As you expect him to leave the room, he simply takes off his shirt, revealing his toned back,
“Rintarou, what are you doing” you gasp, using his full name to add more emphasis, averting your eyes, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “What? We always sleep next to each other” Suna replied. “I just don’t think I’m ready for that. I’m still trying to adjust to this life that I have no memories of” you confessed, feeling uncomfortable sleeping next to a man you barely know- especially when the man tried to kill you. Suna sighed as he walked over to you, tilting your chin up with one finger.
“You’re making me really making me regret being so careless with you that night” Suna commented, eyes narrowing in annoyance. “W-what do you mean?” you asked, thinking that he’s finally caught onto your lie.
“The night you got hurt. I really should have been the one collecting the firewood” Suna added, releasing your chin, stepping back, an innocent smile curled on his lips.
He walks towards the door, and before leaving he looks back at you, “I’ll just sleep on the couch tonight” he suggested, rubbing his nape. “Why not just sleep in the guestroom?” you offered.
“After catching Atsumu hooking up with a random chick in that guestroom- I swore off of touching that mattress” Suna responded, rolling his eyes at the fake scenario in his mind. “I’m sorry- I’m sorry you have to sleep on the couch because of me” you apologized, not really understanding why a feeling of guilt is forming in your stomach because you seriously can’t be feeling bad for a serial killer.
“Don’t be. Just sleep well tonight. Goodnight, sweetheart” Suna replied sweetly, turning off the lights in your room as he left.
A part of you wonders if the story of Atsumu was true. Or perhaps he’s sleeping on the couch because it’s close to the front door, the safest exit to escape from him.
You won’t lie; it's somewhat disheartening knowing that he’d be guarding near the exit. But as long as you don't wake him up, it shouldn’t be too hard, right?
You must have stared at the ceiling for two hours, praying, strategizing, and overthinking about your current situation. You tilted your head to look at your nightstand, the digital clock reading ‘2:00 am.’
He must be asleep by now.
You curse at yourself for stumbling out of bed, almost knocking over the clock on your nightstand. Then you limp down the hall, leaning on the wall for support, hoping you’re not making too much noise.
You slowly make your way down the stairs, a lingering creaking sound following every step causes you to cringe. There he was, sleeping peacefully on the white sofa, sleeping only in grey sweatpants, closed eyes emphasizing his envious long lashes. You tiptoe towards the key rack on, searching for his car keys.
It's not there.
You click your tongue, wondering where they could be until you notice an imprint in his pants pocket.
Fuck- fuck.
He’s either forgotten to take them out of his pants or slept with them on purpose. But it doesn’t matter because you know you have to fish them out of his pants while not disturbing his slumber. You slowly approach him, leaning over, holding your breath as you hover above his waist. Your hand carefully moves towards his pants pockets until you feel a palm on the back of your head. You swore, your heart stopped at the feeling, fear flushing into your body. Then you’re head is pushed against his crotch, cheek coming into contact with the imprint of his bulge.
“Such a good girl” Suna murmured in his sleep.
“Such a good girl for me, Y/n” he added, drowsy hands brushing through your hair, his hips slightly lifting, pressing himself against your face.
“R-Rin” you yelped, pulling away, his hand dropping to his side. Suna’s eyes are slowly opening, “fuck- sorry baby, it’s a force of habit” Suna huffed, sitting up, eyes slowly focusing on his settings. You felt yourself slowly relax as you got out of that uncomfortable state.
“What are you doing here?” Suna questioned. “I-” you stuttered trying to form a believable lie.
Suna hummed, tilting his head as his eyes narrowed on you.
“Don’t worry, I got it. You can’t sleep with me, right?” Suna answered for you, a lazy smile on his lips.
“ Rin, I should go” you commented, trying to leave only for him to lean over and grab your wrist.
“Can I confess something to you, sweetheart, I haven’t been honest lately” Suna uttered, his hand drifting up your arm.
This is it, he’s bored of playing the fiancé role,
“ I missed you s’much during the time you were unconscious. Ya were asleep for three days but you still looked so fucking cute. I couldn’t help but get hard from looking at you. I had to jerk off right there at the sight of you. Fuck- how could I not? You were all defenseless, all cute, all mine.” Suna revealed, your cheeks boiled from the lewd comment, you could only stutter his name in response.
“ You’re not mad at me for it, right? You can't be. You’re too nice to be mad at me” Suna teased. “Y-yeah, I’m not mad at you, Rin” you answered, hoping he’d let you leave.
“Prove it then. Prove you forgive me. Prove you still love me, baby” Suna replied. “How do I do that,” you asked. You watched as Suna straightened his back against the sofa’s frame, his eyes glancing at you and then at his lap, signaling you to sit on it.
Your hands are shaking as you grab the cushions, positioning yourself above his lap, hovering over his waist, only for his hands to grip your waist, pulling you flush against his bulge.
“That’s better. That’s s’much better” he huffed.
“Rin, this is embarrassing “ you responded, tilting your head away to hide from his intimidating gaze. “Don’t be shy. This ain’t anything we haven’t done before” Suna hushed, leaning over, kissing the skin of your exposed collarbone.
“But it doesn’t matter how much we've done it- I can never have enough of you” Suna added, his teeth digging into your skin, causing you to yelp, only to be replaced by the cooling feeling of his tongue brushing against the mark.
Then he’s slowly moving your hips so you’re grinding against his clothed cock, feeling the hardness through his sweatpants.
“ Ya feel that baby? So fucking hard because do you. You know how bad I wanted to bend you over on the hood of your car?” Suna teased, smirking against your neck.
“M-my car?” You questioned his words, only for the thought to be forgotten by the buck of his hips causing a gasp to erupt from your mouth.
“ Y’know, I can feel your wet pussy soaking my sweatpants. Messy girl, staining my clothes. What should I do with you?” Suna asked, keeping your hips pressed against his, covered clit coming into contact with the hardness of his erection.
“ Rin, I-“ you whined, finding it hard to form proper words, too overwhelmed by pleasure. “ Don’t worry, sweet girl m’gonna take good care of ya” Suna hushed, hovering you over his waist so he could pull his clothes down just enough to get his cock out of his sweatpants.
He didn’t bother taking your panties off, simply pushing them to the side as the tip of his cock sunk into you. You’re embarrassed how you’re already shaking from the tip, hands holding onto his shoulders, jaw clenching.
“ I can’t- I can’t do this, Rin” you whimpered, only for his hand to grip your waist, forcing you deeper down his cock.
“Course you can. You were made for me and I was made for you” he chuckled. His hands are making you bounce on his cock, each thrust making him hit deeper inside of you, he’s biting his tongue at the feeling of your tight pussy warming his cock.
“You like that, baby? Ya like my cock stretching your cunt?” Suna grinned. As you tilt your head to release a moan, Suna leans his head over, kissing-sucking- biting the soft skin of your neck.
“Rin- slow down” you huff, hands aiming to hold his shoulders, hoping that holding something down would make it more difficult for him to bounce you on his cock.
Suna clicked his tongue, tilting his head as he looked up at you, admiring your appearance because fuck- you look divine, all flustered because of his cock, moonlight seeping through the window highlighting your physique, once-clear skin now littered with imprints of his teeth.
“You’re so cute, y’know that, right?” he teased, flipping you onto your back, hovering above you, his hand trailing down your waist.
“I think I know an old habit we used to do that might help you recover some old memories” Suna uttered.
“What are you going to do?” you asked, voice slightly trembling. Suna sat up straight giving you an innocent smile, “ can’t tell ya, you just have to trust me” he cooed.
You watched as he got up from the couch, whistling as he went to the coat rack by the front door. Then he stuffed his hands into his jacket’s pocket, his whistling stopped the second he felt for the desired object.
It was hard to see what he was holding due to the lack of light, all you knew was that it was small. You sat up against the couch, back leaning on the couch’s arm“ What’s in your hand?” you asked. “I’ll tell ya but you got to promise you won’t freak out” Suna replied, sitting down at the edge of the couch, pulling your ankle towards him, causing you to lay back down.
“I promise I won’t freak out” you responded skeptically.
Then you saw it, a switchblade, the sharp knife pointing out, metal being shined upon the moonlight,
You’re instantly getting flashbacks of him holding that dagger above your head, his vicious eyes looking down at you as if you were his prey. In some sense, you were and still are his prey.
“ Rin, I think that’s too much for me” You commented, squirming away from him only for him to push you down with his hand pressing against your stomach.
“ We used to do this all the time. I’m not actually gonna hurt you, sweetheart” Suna remarked.
“ I- I don’t think I really want to” you stuttered, eyes glued on the blade, fearing that he’d just stab you without warning, cutting you up until you were dead.
“C’mon, Y/n, this might restore some lost memories. You do want to remember our life together, don’t you?” Suna questioned. He’s putting you into a corner where you’re forced to agree because disagreeing would bring up suspicion.
Suna knows you’re too smart to say no because a woman with actual amnesia would try anything to get their memories back.
He takes your silences as an agreement, sliding the knife from the neckline of your nightgown to the hem, effectively cutting the fabric.
He finishes the job by tearing the fabric apart with his hands, a lingering ripping sound followed as the once expensive nightgown is now pieces of rag.
“Don't pout, I’ll buy you a new one, pretty girl” Suna replied, tongue rolling over his front teeth as he admired the sight of your bare breast. “T-that’s not what I’m worried about,” you remarked, voice stuttering, trying your best not to look at the blade in his hand.
“Y’know, it’s custom made, one-of-a-kind switchblade” he confessed, tracing the tip of the knife across your collarbone, the blade was pressed down lightly, not breaking the skin.
“Look at it, sweetheart. Isn’t it pretty?” Suna asked. You tilt your head enough to look at the blade's cutting edge, black leather handle, clean sharp sliver metal, and subtle rose imprint stemming from the heel to the tip.
A part of you wonders if this was the same weapon he tried to kill you with.
Another part of you wonders if this will be the weapon that he will use to finish the job.
He glides the blade down from your clavicle to your inner thigh.
“Such a pretty girl- such a pretty pussy.”
His pressure with the blade is light yet you could still feel it move against your skin, never spilling blood. You felt him spell his name on your thigh, you wondered what was holding him back from actually craving it out.
A stinging pain coursed through your inner thigh as you heard Suna curse under his breath. You looked down between your legs, the cut was minor- more like a nick really, but blood was still dripping off of it.
Suna’s tongue dipped out of his lips, licking up the spilled blood on your thigh, before kissing the skin around it as a form of a sick apology.
He doesn’t raise his head from between your thighs, instead, his tongue is pressed flat against your panties, you gasp at how the warmness of his tongue is still felt through the thin fabric.
He’s chuckling at your reaction, switchblade completely disregarded as his fingers curl under your panties, sliding them down.
“ Pretty- every fucking piece of you is so god damn pretty,” he commented, leading your leg to rest comfortably on his shoulder, cock heavy in his hand as he pressed the leaking tip onto your throbbing clit.
He pushes into you again, the overwhelming familiar stretch of his cock sinking into your tight pussy causing you to tilt your head, a moan coming from your lip.
That’s when you feel it, the cold metal of the knife pressed against your neck, not cutting or slicing the skin, just simply placed there as if it were a threat. Your eyes focus back on Suna, terrified that this is your final moment.
But it’s not.
He’s thrusting into your pussy like he’s addicted to the feeling of your warmth wrapping his cock. Suna doesn’t have the same expression he had when he was moments away from killing you.
The one he’s wearing is excited, blush across his cheek, tongue flickering over his teeth, dark pupil dilated. And he fucking is.
The sight of your body bouncing with each thrust of his hips caused the skin of your neck to press slightly deeper into the blade.
“Can’t tell if ya scared or excited because this pussy just keeps getting tighter every time your neck gets closer to cutting open” he huffed. Then he leans over, bringing your leg closer to your chest, tilting his head towards your ear, he parts his lips and utters the words
“Maybe you’re a little bit of both, princess.”
‘Princess’ he hasn’t called you that since this whole charade started, the last words you heard before you woke up to this lie. Yet the endearing name is sending you to the edge, shameless moan so loud that you’re grateful your closet neighbor is miles away. Suna hisses at the feeling of your pussy squeezing his cock as you trembled from your orgasm. He’s still thrusting into your cunt, chasing his own release, his chest heaving.
Suna has to fight back the urge to cum in your twitching hole, he praises himself for managing to pull out, spilling his cum on your stomach. Then he drops the knife on the ground, leaning over again and for the first time that night, he kisses your lips, kisses you like a husband would kiss his wife, so sweetly.
He gets up and gathers napkins in the kitchen then carefully wipes the mess he left on your stomach by this time you’re exhausted, you just let him handle you as you try to process what just occurred.
He looks down at you, his fingers grazing your cheeks, “can’t let you sleep here, sweetheart- won’t be good for your back” he mumbled to you, his voice soft. Then he’s lifting you, holding you in a bridal style, going up the stairs, making his way to your bedroom, softly placing you on the mattress.
He’s climbing into bed next to you, pulling you close towards him so your back is on his chest, his arms wrapped around your waist, chin tucked on your shoulder.
Your arms were sprawled out on the bed and you couldn’t help but notice your ringless finger, reminding you
english is not my first language. please excuse any mistakes
Born as a beta, you never thought fate would toy with you by giving an alpha as your soulmate. Especially not one like Miya Atsumu, the one whom you went to school through college with and still having to see his face ever so frequently as if he had sworn to never let you live in peace.
For someone who made faces when seeing the lunchboxes your mom packed for you and proclaimed a beta was weak when you first presented at fifteen, Miya Atsumu couldn’t seem to detach himself from you.
So when you had a crush on one of your colleagues at twenty five, having his nose in your business as usual, Atsumu knew instantly.
“Another beta.” Lying comfortably on your couch, Atsumu scoffed. “Predictable.”
“Didn’t ask for your opinions.”
“I’m giving it anyway,” he said in a singsong voice, but his face was without mirth. “You can fuck whoever you want, but I’m getting my fix. That’s non-negotiable.”
Oh, yeah. His fix.
He patted his lap. “Come here.”
Then it all began again. Him cradling you in his lap, hands going all over, lips spilling hateful words.
‘Weak fucking beta.’ He would say. ‘Even Osamu got an omega soulmate. Makes me jealous as fuck.’
But then he would kiss you like the world might end tomorrow, doing everything opposite of what he said. This time was no different. His hot tongue was everywhere he could reach, acquainted itself with yours before leaving a wet trail down your neck.
You protested when he nipped a little too hard, scared he might leave marks. He did that once. The deep purple hickey you saw in the mirror after he left your apartment scared the shit out of you. A little more force and teeth could have broken the skin, and that thought caused chills to run all over your body. You didn’t want to bear his marks.
Yet, Atsumu didn’t care. He never did. His hands were now on your buttocks, squeezing hard through your thin pajama bottoms. He moved you to one of his thighs for better concentration. The hands on your butt now rolled your hips back and forth, to the point your moan finally slipped out of your tightly zipped lips and you forgot about the harsh nibbling on your neck.
“Go whore yourself out,” Atsumu whispered. “Like I fucking care.”
Same here, asshole.
You thought, didn’t say out loud.
Touching each other lifted the heavy weight in the heart caused by the act of not accepting the soulmate bond. Nothing more, nothing less. If not for this calling of intimacy both of you obliged to feel, he wouldn’t be here. You knew that. He said it way too many times.
Still, your cheeks were licked, your lips were tasted, neck wet with saliva. You felt like a prey about to be eaten every time he was close. Yes, he may not care. But he sure was possessive enough of things that were given to him.
Whenever you tried to wiggle out of his firm grasp, he tightened his fist. This time was the hardest you ever felt.
—
In more than twenty years of knowing each other, never once did Atsumu come to you when he had gone into rut. So when he called you two in the morning one week after his last fix, ordered you to pack a bag and tell your boss you would be on leave for a week, you were baffled. It was never more than kisses and touches with him. Your clothes were always intact and on. The idea of that being changed had you flat out saying no.
That didn’t stop Atsumu from coming to get you one hour later though. When he saw that you did nothing to get ready, his jaw was clenched. A split second later, he packed your bag himself, shoving clothes and toiletries in without any care. You were still in pajamas when the passenger door was slammed closed and he hit the gas.
—
There were reasons why betas are not for alphas. Physically, they were incompatible. Betas weren’t designed for alpha’s stamina, not to mention one in rut. At one point, you did not care to count anymore how many times you had blacked out. Fading in and out really fucked with your memory. All you remembered was the non-stop pounding, Atsumu’s breath against your face, and his uncharacteristic cooing, praising you as his good girl.
“Knew you were built for me.” The blond menace pulled on both of your wrists, never stopped his thrusting. “Let me knot you again, okay?” When you shook your head, face wet with tears, Atsumu shushed you softly. “Shhhhh. You can do it, I know you can.”
And you could. But it was not without pain.
“Shouldn’t have waited this long,” Atsumu said close to your lips. “You almost got away.”
He talked too much. But it would have been a big fat lie to deny that his words didn’t turn you on. That his vile confession didn’t affect you.
“Bold of you to even think I would let someone else touch you.” He sounded out of breath, closing to his end. “All the effort goes to waste. No no no no.”
You felt it coming, just seconds before. Then your whole body was taken by the waves of thrills and your whole vision turned white. Atsumu was not your first, but as if he was the harbinger of agony, it hurt when he first penetrated, hurt when he knotted. And when you felt a sharp sting at your sensitive neck, you knew he defied the rule of nature once again by marking you.
Fruitless. That was what it would be. Betas were not made for alphas. Mating bites did not forge any bond with the wrong person and would fade over time. But Atsumu had always been stubborn. One bite turned into two, three, then countless. All you felt was pain and the wetness of blood before darkness took your consciousness like the many rounds before.
—
The mating bites faded within two weeks, all except the first mark, proving to you that even biology could not win over destiny. Same went with all other beta-alpha soulmate couples out there after you had done some research. They were rare, but they were there. You shouldn’t have let Atsumu bite you. Should have known better that things could get weird when it came to soulmates. Now, he wouldn’t get off your ass, had the audacity to move his things to your apartment and yours to his, calling you his girlfriend in front of everyone and expecting to see you at his games.
You didn’t even like volleyball to begin with. And as you watched his magnificent tosses to any players he deemed to have high chances to score, you thought of a way to get out of his clutch.
He needed an omega, the correct designation he always longed for. Because even with all the protective caresses and the promise to never let you go, Atsumu was still mean. Like going back to the ninth grade when you put makeup on for the first time and he gave you the nastiest comment that made you go wash everything off in the school toilet, his words still stung badly when he chose to weaponize them.
‘Samu’s mate smells like she needs to be bred.’ He said that nonchalantly one day at Onigiri Miya, sitting side by side with you at the counter where his twin and his mate helped each other with cooking and serving the hungry athletes who were there to celebrate the day’s victory ‘Don’t know how he stands that. So sweet’
Hearing that made your conversation with Hinata pause. His steely gaze was the first thing you saw when turning to face ‘your boyfriend’.
It didn’t end there. For days Atsumu was in a devilish mood, his jabs that you knew most of them were meant to just rile you up for fun had become a real emotional harm. He still fucked you, make no mistake about that. And it was as devilish as his temper.
‘Too hard, Miya. Too hard.’ You still wouldn’t call him by his first name.
Veiny hands wrapped snugly around your neck, Atsumu only went faster after hearing that. The bathroom mirror was foggy with hot steam from the shower, but you could see enough. One of your legs was perched on the counter, allowing the view of his cock pistoning in and out of you, your breasts bouncing fast.
‘Would have been pregnant already if you were an omega.’ The sentence came out coated with his accent, thicker than normal, like he didn’t have full control of how he spoke. ‘But that’s alright. I can take my time with you. We’ll get there,’ he purred. ‘Still, what a shame, huh?’
Shame his ass for saying that and not letting you leave. ‘Go fuck an omega then.’
He smirked. Pissed you off. ‘Nah.’
As his toss to Sakusa scored a winning point, the loud cheer brought you back to the present. You saw Atsumu eyes staring up at you from the court below and knew what you had to do.
—
Getting an omega who wanted to spend a heat with Miya Atsumu was easy enough. Sending her up to your apartment where he was already there waiting for you was as simple. You drove away then, not far, stopping at your favorite 24-hour cafe because you needed somewhere to sit and waited for the first feedback from the omega girl. Half an hour later, you got a call.
The screen showed the female omega’s name. You picked up and said hello, expecting to hear that everything went well and that you could go find somewhere else to sleep for the next five nights.
But you only heard cries. Not of pleasure, just a full-blown crying with hiccups.
“Hey, are you okay?” you asked, frowning. “Talk to me. What happened?”
“He—he screamed—at me,” she spluttered, almost incoherently, “and only asked where you were.”
You cursed quietly, finally able to stop stirring the poor coffee you ordered without any interest in taking a sip. “Where is he now?”
“I don’t know,” she cried. “He left—after the screaming.” Her voice wavered all the more when she kept on trying to speak. “You had to see him. He looked murderous. There was not even a hello. He straight up shouted at me, accusing me of breaking in. When I tried to explain—mentioned you, his face was all red.” A hiccup interrupted the long babbling. “He said he was married to you and showed me the ring.”
You were not sure what crack Atsumu was on, but there was definitely no ring or marriage.
The call was still on when you heard the cafe’s door pushed open. And it was as if you saw the devil with your own naked eyes.
Atsumu walked in.
His strides declared no peace or mercy when he saw you, ignoring the greetings from the two night shift baristas.
Not wanting to cause a scene, you stood up, didn’t say anything when he put his hand on your shoulder and led the way out.
The drive was silent. Your car was left at the parking lot near the cafe, you would have to come and get it as soon as you could before the parking fee turned as murderous as him. When asked where he was going, he answered solemnly, “My place. Yours stinks.”
You just knew it was going to be a long night.
—
Atsumu was the one who got the car out for you the next morning since he was the one who could still walk without wobbling. The sheets you slept on were rumpled. They reeked of cum.
You reeked of cum.
‘You think you’re so funny?’ he asked, knowing you couldn’t answer with his cock occupying your mouth but did it nonetheless ‘You wanted me to fuck her? What was going on in that pretty little head?’
He pulled you by the nape of your neck before pushing your head down, forcing your throat to take more of him till you felt the urge to gag.
‘I thought we had an understanding, baby,’ he said, finally relenting his grip on your head. ‘No whoring yourself out.’ Then he stressed, ‘And no whoring me out. I’m yours.’
‘Do you understand?’
You only nodded.
‘Words.’
‘Yes, Miya.’
‘Atsumu,’ he said, looking like he wanted to throw up. ‘You’re not fucking my brother. Don’t make me imagine that. Call me Atsumu.’
‘Yes, Tsumu.’
Looked like you delivered. Atsumu grinned from ear to ear. ‘Good girl. My best girl.’
That was last night.
A warm kiss to the cheek woke you again, must have dozed off after Atsumu left, but those scenes were not a dream. You heard him whisper,
“I got your car. Parked it at your place.”
He looked like he got a ten-hour sleep while you could not move a limb without feeling sore. Not fair. And the way he looked so good in sheep’s clothing, his wolf’s skin all hidden. Not fair at all.
“Shower.” Your voice was hoarse, but you got the message through. That was good enough.
english is not my first language. please excuse any mistakes
Born as a beta, you never thought fate would toy with you by giving an alpha as your soulmate. Especially not one like Miya Atsumu, the one whom you went to school through college with and still having to see his face ever so frequently as if he had sworn to never let you live in peace.
For someone who made faces when seeing the lunchboxes your mom packed for you and proclaimed a beta was weak when you first presented at fifteen, Miya Atsumu couldn’t seem to detach himself from you.
So when you had a crush on one of your colleagues at twenty five, having his nose in your business as usual, Atsumu knew instantly.
“Another beta.” Lying comfortably on your couch, Atsumu scoffed. “Predictable.”
“Didn’t ask for your opinions.”
“I’m giving it anyway,” he said in a singsong voice, but his face was without mirth. “You can fuck whoever you want, but I’m getting my fix. That’s non-negotiable.”
Oh, yeah. His fix.
He patted his lap. “Come here.”
Then it all began again. Him cradling you in his lap, hands going all over, lips spilling hateful words.
‘Weak fucking beta.’ He would say. ‘Even Osamu got an omega soulmate. Makes me jealous as fuck.’
But then he would kiss you like the world might end tomorrow, doing everything opposite of what he said. This time was no different. His hot tongue was everywhere he could reach, acquainted itself with yours before leaving a wet trail down your neck.
You protested when he nipped a little too hard, scared he might leave marks. He did that once. The deep purple hickey you saw in the mirror after he left your apartment scared the shit out of you. A little more force and teeth could have broken the skin, and that thought caused chills to run all over your body. You didn’t want to bear his marks.
Yet, Atsumu didn’t care. He never did. His hands were now on your buttocks, squeezing hard through your thin pajama bottoms. He moved you to one of his thighs for better concentration. The hands on your butt now rolled your hips back and forth, to the point your moan finally slipped out of your tightly zipped lips and you forgot about the harsh nibbling on your neck.
“Go whore yourself out,” Atsumu whispered. “Like I fucking care.”
Same here, asshole.
You thought, didn’t say out loud.
Touching each other lifted the heavy weight in the heart caused by the act of not accepting the soulmate bond. Nothing more, nothing less. If not for this calling of intimacy both of you obliged to feel, he wouldn’t be here. You knew that. He said it way too many times.
Still, your cheeks were licked, your lips were tasted, neck wet with saliva. You felt like a prey about to be eaten every time he was close. Yes, he may not care. But he sure was possessive enough of things that were given to him.
Whenever you tried to wiggle out of his firm grasp, he tightened his fist. This time was the hardest you ever felt.
—
In more than twenty years of knowing each other, never once did Atsumu come to you when he had gone into rut. So when he called you two in the morning one week after his last fix, ordered you to pack a bag and tell your boss you would be on leave for a week, you were baffled. It was never more than kisses and touches with him. Your clothes were always intact and on. The idea of that being changed had you flat out saying no.
That didn’t stop Atsumu from coming to get you one hour later though. When he saw that you did nothing to get ready, his jaw was clenched. A split second later, he packed your bag himself, shoving clothes and toiletries in without any care. You were still in pajamas when the passenger door was slammed closed and he hit the gas.
—
There were reasons why betas are not for alphas. Physically, they were incompatible. Betas weren’t designed for alpha’s stamina, not to mention one in rut. At one point, you did not care to count anymore how many times you had blacked out. Fading in and out really fucked with your memory. All you remembered was the non-stop pounding, Atsumu’s breath against your face, and his uncharacteristic cooing, praising you as his good girl.
“Knew you were built for me.” The blond menace pulled on both of your wrists, never stopped his thrusting. “Let me knot you again, okay?” When you shook your head, face wet with tears, Atsumu shushed you softly. “Shhhhh. You can do it, I know you can.”
And you could. But it was not without pain.
“Shouldn’t have waited this long,” Atsumu said close to your lips. “You almost got away.”
He talked too much. But it would have been a big fat lie to deny that his words didn’t turn you on. That his vile confession didn’t affect you.
“Bold of you to even think I would let someone else touch you.” He sounded out of breath, closing to his end. “All the effort goes to waste. No no no no.”
You felt it coming, just seconds before. Then your whole body was taken by the waves of thrills and your whole vision turned white. Atsumu was not your first, but as if he was the harbinger of agony, it hurt when he first penetrated, hurt when he knotted. And when you felt a sharp sting at your sensitive neck, you knew he defied the rule of nature once again by marking you.
Fruitless. That was what it would be. Betas were not made for alphas. Mating bites did not forge any bond with the wrong person and would fade over time. But Atsumu had always been stubborn. One bite turned into two, three, then countless. All you felt was pain and the wetness of blood before darkness took your consciousness like the many rounds before.
—
The mating bites faded within two weeks, all except the first mark, proving to you that even biology could not win over destiny. Same went with all other beta-alpha soulmate couples out there after you had done some research. They were rare, but they were there. You shouldn’t have let Atsumu bite you. Should have known better that things could get weird when it came to soulmates. Now, he wouldn’t get off your ass, had the audacity to move his things to your apartment and yours to his, calling you his girlfriend in front of everyone and expecting to see you at his games.
You didn’t even like volleyball to begin with. And as you watched his magnificent tosses to any players he deemed to have high chances to score, you thought of a way to get out of his clutch.
He needed an omega, the correct designation he always longed for. Because even with all the protective caresses and the promise to never let you go, Atsumu was still mean. Like going back to the ninth grade when you put makeup on for the first time and he gave you the nastiest comment that made you go wash everything off in the school toilet, his words still stung badly when he chose to weaponize them.
‘Samu’s mate smells like she needs to be bred.’ He said that nonchalantly one day at Onigiri Miya, sitting side by side with you at the counter where his twin and his mate helped each other with cooking and serving the hungry athletes who were there to celebrate the day’s victory ‘Don’t know how he stands that. So sweet’
Hearing that made your conversation with Hinata pause. His steely gaze was the first thing you saw when turning to face ‘your boyfriend’.
It didn’t end there. For days Atsumu was in a devilish mood, his jabs that you knew most of them were meant to just rile you up for fun had become a real emotional harm. He still fucked you, make no mistake about that. And it was as devilish as his temper.
‘Too hard, Miya. Too hard.’ You still wouldn’t call him by his first name.
Veiny hands wrapped snugly around your neck, Atsumu only went faster after hearing that. The bathroom mirror was foggy with hot steam from the shower, but you could see enough. One of your legs was perched on the counter, allowing the view of his cock pistoning in and out of you, your breasts bouncing fast.
‘Would have been pregnant already if you were an omega.’ The sentence came out coated with his accent, thicker than normal, like he didn’t have full control of how he spoke. ‘But that’s alright. I can take my time with you. We’ll get there,’ he purred. ‘Still, what a shame, huh?’
Shame his ass for saying that and not letting you leave. ‘Go fuck an omega then.’
He smirked. Pissed you off. ‘Nah.’
As his toss to Sakusa scored a winning point, the loud cheer brought you back to the present. You saw Atsumu eyes staring up at you from the court below and knew what you had to do.
—
Getting an omega who wanted to spend a heat with Miya Atsumu was easy enough. Sending her up to your apartment where he was already there waiting for you was as simple. You drove away then, not far, stopping at your favorite 24-hour cafe because you needed somewhere to sit and waited for the first feedback from the omega girl. Half an hour later, you got a call.
The screen showed the female omega’s name. You picked up and said hello, expecting to hear that everything went well and that you could go find somewhere else to sleep for the next five nights.
But you only heard cries. Not of pleasure, just a full-blown crying with hiccups.
“Hey, are you okay?” you asked, frowning. “Talk to me. What happened?”
“He—he screamed—at me,” she spluttered, almost incoherently, “and only asked where you were.”
You cursed quietly, finally able to stop stirring the poor coffee you ordered without any interest in taking a sip. “Where is he now?”
“I don’t know,” she cried. “He left—after the screaming.” Her voice wavered all the more when she kept on trying to speak. “You had to see him. He looked murderous. There was not even a hello. He straight up shouted at me, accusing me of breaking in. When I tried to explain—mentioned you, his face was all red.” A hiccup interrupted the long babbling. “He said he was married to you and showed me the ring.”
You were not sure what crack Atsumu was on, but there was definitely no ring or marriage.
The call was still on when you heard the cafe’s door pushed open. And it was as if you saw the devil with your own naked eyes.
Atsumu walked in.
His strides declared no peace or mercy when he saw you, ignoring the greetings from the two night shift baristas.
Not wanting to cause a scene, you stood up, didn’t say anything when he put his hand on your shoulder and led the way out.
The drive was silent. Your car was left at the parking lot near the cafe, you would have to come and get it as soon as you could before the parking fee turned as murderous as him. When asked where he was going, he answered solemnly, “My place. Yours stinks.”
You just knew it was going to be a long night.
—
Atsumu was the one who got the car out for you the next morning since he was the one who could still walk without wobbling. The sheets you slept on were rumpled. They reeked of cum.
You reeked of cum.
‘You think you’re so funny?’ he asked, knowing you couldn’t answer with his cock occupying your mouth but did it nonetheless ‘You wanted me to fuck her? What was going on in that pretty little head?’
He pulled you by the nape of your neck before pushing your head down, forcing your throat to take more of him till you felt the urge to gag.
‘I thought we had an understanding, baby,’ he said, finally relenting his grip on your head. ‘No whoring yourself out.’ Then he stressed, ‘And no whoring me out. I’m yours.’
‘Do you understand?’
You only nodded.
‘Words.’
‘Yes, Miya.’
‘Atsumu,’ he said, looking like he wanted to throw up. ‘You’re not fucking my brother. Don’t make me imagine that. Call me Atsumu.’
‘Yes, Tsumu.’
Looked like you delivered. Atsumu grinned from ear to ear. ‘Good girl. My best girl.’
That was last night.
A warm kiss to the cheek woke you again, must have dozed off after Atsumu left, but those scenes were not a dream. You heard him whisper,
“I got your car. Parked it at your place.”
He looked like he got a ten-hour sleep while you could not move a limb without feeling sore. Not fair. And the way he looked so good in sheep’s clothing, his wolf’s skin all hidden. Not fair at all.
“Shower.” Your voice was hoarse, but you got the message through. That was good enough.
The blonde pouts, lovely, long eyelashes fluttering, “It’s one weekend, for my birthday. Please? Don’t make me beg.”
Biting back a heavy sigh, you take her proffered phone, glancing down at the images of the picturesque onsen retreat flashing on the screen. And it does look amazing; traditional Japanese architecture, steam rolling across the natural springs and lush mountain views. Of course, Ame’s birthday is early-October, and by then the mountains and surrounding valleys will be awash in vibrant hues of red, orange and gold.
The whole thing oozes a calm, relaxing tranquillity and you can only imagine how lovely it’ll be if you do decide to go. The where has never been the issue. “It’s not that I don’t want to go, you know that,” you begin. “I’m… I don’t know if I’m all that comfortable spending a whole weekend with either one of them.” Especially not trapped in such close, cosy quarters for days on end. “I don’t want to ruin your birthday by making things all weird and tense.”
summary: they were sweet, fun and caring friends to have in your life, it was almost so easy and comfortable to be with them, as if you had those sitcom friendships that always had each other’s backs. But that’s what they wanted you to see. Blind to their lingering gazes and touches, Miya Atsumu and Miya Osamu pined after sweet, gullible you. Their mere crush grew possessive, they had come to an agreement that they would both share you, after all they were brothers. Their little long term plan to woo you was interrupted when you strayed from the path they were creating for you…so before they could lose, they had to seal the deal. Show you how much they loved you, and how you belong to them.
a/n: finally finished this commissioned piece for @belpomme !!! It took me so long cause there was so many ways to go about it and I rewrote the events quite a lot till I was satisfied. But Ah!! It’s done! Thank you so much for commissioning me! It’s so flattering and humbling that you trusted me to write your idea/fantasy for you. I hope it meets your expectations!
“Atsumu, could you help me with that?”
Tearing his gaze away from the little heart shaped pendant resting just below that part where your collarbones almost met, he got up from his seat.
The library was particularly empty this afternoon and the spot that you always studied or hung around at was always secluded from where the crowd usually studied.
I’ve worked on this for the last two days because I really wanted to get it out of the system! I wanted to showcase a bit better how it is to be the lovely Miya Twins Darling and I hope I was able to show it! Still heavily relies on the original idea of @shorkbrian of how the two would be as a yandere! Hopefully I’ll get to write them even more because I love them so much ♥
Characters: Yandere!Atsumu Miya x Darling x Yandere Osamu Miya
Rating/Warning: Mature, Yandere
Words: 3791
»»———————— ♡ ————————««
It wasn’t like you could speak about ‘relief’ as Osamu used his free arm to help you out of his brother’s clutches, but you were thankful nonetheless. You had been struggling for the better part of the night already, but only now your tiny trashes had woken the more reasonable twin up, making him come to your aid. You met his gaze for a second, whispering a quiet, “Toilet,” into his direction, to which he nodded understandingly.
Usually, you had to wait it out until the morning, Atsumu’s grip just too tight on you. But some entity seemed to have been merciful on you, making Osamu wake up from your struggles and help you out. Clearly, he was still tired, barely awake himself. Even so, he pushed his brother off of you roughly, without any regard to Atsumu’s sleep, and allowed you to climb over him so you could use the adjoining bathroom.
Not without a touch to your thigh, mind you. Subtle yet urging.
It was Osamu’s way of telling you to hurry up and get back into bed, while - and that’s what you presumed - showing some tenderness. Usually, he wouldn’t go out of his way to show his affection, but he was tired, it was early in the morning, and his mind was foggy. Hurrying you was just a side-effect of him not wanting to deal with a whiny Atsumu in case he woke up, and you were gone.
Nights were always Atsumu’s. He’d be the one to keep you close, suffocate you against his chest, and never let go, even if you whined and struggled in his embrace. And he snored. Terribly. It wasn’t a loud snore, and not constantly, but every time you finally managed to drift off to sleep, he tore you out of it with a snort or loud buzz in your ear. Oftentimes, it helped to imagine how nice it would be if you could just stuff his mouth, but how would you, with your arms crushed in his hold?
Undoubtedly, sleeping next to Osamu was better. He just… slept. Yes, he was the ominous wall between the edge of the bed and you, someone who’d wake up if you dared to step over him, but at least he didn’t do anything to endanger your airways or bladder. The most he ever did was twirl a strand of hair between his fingers while Atsumu loudly told you a bedtime story. It wasn’t a touch you liked, but at least it wasn’t harmful or with underlying intentions.
All of those thoughts aside, you were glad to finally feel the cold floor under your feet, making quiet steps towards the bathroom, knowing exactly where you had to step. You’d walked this way a million times already; after all, you had nothing better to do. More importantly, it was the path to your little oasis, your sanctuary - the only thing the twins hadn’t taken from you entirely with their presence.
Shutting the door behind you carefully, you made sure to turn the lock before switching the light on. Funny, how such a small, gloomy room, stuffed with a bathtub, toilet, and sink, could become the only place you were truly at peace. It was the only room you could lock yourself in and have some peace. In a way, it was all yours.
The boys had a separate bathroom available, one you rarely got to even see. It always depended on how ‘well’ you ‘behaved’ and how relaxed Osamu was. Yes, Osamu, since Atsumu would let you roam the house as much as you wanted if it was just for him to decide. But Osamu had different views on that. Mainly that the kitchen was so close to the other bathroom and bedroom in that small apartment, you’d be able to easily get hurt from his sharp, expensive knife-collection if you were to roam freely.
There were, of course, also your countless tries of escaping which spread doubt in him.
Thus, only on good days were you allowed to savor the freedom of being able to explore, sleep in a different bed than the crowded queen-sized one you shared with the two, or even eat at a proper dinner table. Most of the time, however, you only had this bathroom to yourself, so you had to treasure every minute in it. Inside of here, they wouldn’t enter if you locked the door, Osamu holding back Atsumu from dominating even your toilet-runs with his presence. You’d not put it past him to watch you pee if he could, and that thought was one of the scariest of them all.
Akaashi, Kita, Tendou, Ushijima edging+overstimulating their s/o which causes them to squirt.
Akaashi Keiji x Reader
Kita Shinsuke x Reader
Tendou Satori x Reader
Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader
Requested: For Anon!!! I had to add Kita into this because while I was writing it I took a break and saw this fanedit of Kita… He’s so handsome,, I truly forgot that I am the carpet he walks on. I would do anything for Kita like I would genuinely sell every item that I own and give him the money if he asked me to. This is why his is longer than the others, I was not able to help myself. I am sorry. Sigh, anway! I hope you all are doing alright~
summary: You’ve never known a yakuza to be boring. But what else could they mean when they say that Kita Shinsuke, the head of the most powerful yakuza group in Kansai, is traditional?
warnings: 18+, smut, yakuza au, arranged marriage, inherent sexism and misogyny, smoking, mentioned drug and alcohol use, violence (sorry to the oc in this fic lol), blood, spit, oral (f receiving & mentioned m receiving), mild exhibitionism, orgasm control, possessive!kita, hinted yandere-ish behavior, implied dom!kita, fingers crossed he's not too out of character 🤞🏽, reader is a spoiled little yakuza princess, idk if reader is all that likable but I like her and that's all that matters
notes: I feel like I'm starting to specialize in chaos characters bc while Kita is not one in this fic, the reader certainly is. but a different kind of chaos.
words: 5.9k
minors, ageless, and blank blogs do not interact
The one word you hear over and over again when people talk about Kita Shinsuke, the head of the Inarizaki, the largest and most powerful yakuza group in Kansai, is traditional.
Despite his current position, he comes from a long line of traditional rice farmers. Once he took power over the Inarizaki, he put in place a stricter, more traditional code of conduct that all members were expected to adhere to. Instead of partying away his nights in Kobe’s clubs and brothels, he spends his evenings in a traditional house in the Hyogo countryside.
And he has traditional family values, with traditional expectations of what he wants in a wife.
But you know that traditional really just means boring.
Unfortunately, a traditional and boring life seems like all you're destined for because your father, the head of Kanto's largest yakuza syndicate, the Fukurodani, has decided to seal an alliance with the Inarizaki through marriage.
Specifically, your marriage to Kita.
After all, you're a woman and a woman can't lead the yakuza. Your only value comes from how useful you can be as a tool to build alliances and cement power. You had at least just hoped that your father would have chosen someone more exciting for you to spend the rest of your life with.
While he would never stomach seeing you at the head of the organization, he could easily have married you off to his right-hand man and hand-picked heir, the Fukurodani's young and wild wakagashira, Bokuto Koutarou. After all, nothing would ensure an eventual smooth succession better than a marriage to his only child.
And even if he decided you were more useful as a means of building his power rather than ensuring his legacy, there were still other options.
There were plenty of crazy yakuza out there who would have kept your interest piqued if only your father had chosen to further consolidate his power in Tokyo or to look for an alliance up north rather than out west.
But your father has made his choice and Kita has agreed and you have no say in the matter. It's not long before the young yakuza kumicho, along with his most trusted men in the Inarizaki, arrives in Tokyo to negotiate the finer details in person.
And when you finally meet him at dinner with your parents, you can't say that you're impressed.
As you sit next to him in a private room at one of Tokyo's finest restaurants, listening to him as he genially answers your mother's questions about his own upbringing and tells her about his close relationship with his grandmother, all you can think is, 'what a waste.'
Regardless of how handsome he is and how much his men seem to respect him and how powerful his position is, he's missing that wildness inherent to every true yakuza.
By the time the plates are cleared and the manager of the restaurant is falling over himself to thank your father for his patronage, you’ve made your assessment of your new fiancé.
Kita is dull.
It’s all you can think as he cordially thanks your father at the end of the evening.
‘You’re so boring.’
It’s all you can think as he humbly accepts your mother’s compliments and adoration.
‘You’re so boring.’
It’s all you can think as he politely bids you goodnight with a bow, telling you softly how nice it was to meet you.
‘You’re so boring.’
You have to bite back the urge to say the words aloud, directly to his face, just to see what he would do. Would he drop his courteous smile? Would he clench his fists? Would he slap you?
‘You’re so boring.’
He would probably just look slightly taken aback before doing his best to laugh off any offense.
“It was nice to meet you too, Kita-san,” you finally reply, your tone suggesting anything but. You feel the disapproval rolling off of your parents in waves and can already hear the lecture that awaits you once you’re alone with them.
Your father will chastise you for the disrespect that you’ve shown to a new ally, and by extension him. He’ll sternly remind you that this is your duty as his daughter. If he’s really feeling irritable then he’ll light up a cigarette and grumble about how he’s spoiled you for too long and hopes that Kita has a firm hand.
Your mother, however, will almost certainly turn so shrill in her anger that you’ll want to cover your ears. She’ll berate you for insulting your husband-to-be. She’ll scold you for your clear disinterest and boredom through every course of dinner. She’ll then blame your father for being too lenient with you over the years, to which your father will respond by simply taking a long drag of his cigarette.
But in the present, Kita simply gives you a polite smile in return and the chorus continues in your head.
‘You’re so boring.’
Just because you’re now technically engaged doesn’t mean that you need to change how you live your life. If anything, you need to savor all the fun you can before you’re shipped off to Hyogo to spend the rest of your days popping out kids and taking care of some big, empty, country house with a man who’s less interesting than the rice his family grows.
It’s not even an hour after you get home from dinner before you’re leaving once again. Only this time, you’re wearing something far more revealing and decisively less conservative than the formal kimono that your mother forced you into for your meeting with Kita — something meant to appeal to his traditional taste.
Your current outfit is one that’s perfectly suited to the high-end clubs of Roppongi. Not that it really matters considering you’re tucked away in a private VIP room, away from the large crowds and deafening music and prying eyes.
Normally, you would be surrounded by a group of your friends. But after being confronted with the man that you’ve been sentenced to marry and seeing the unending boredom in your near future, you've recognized that it also applies to your sex life.
You’ve only spent a couple of hours with Kita, but it was more than enough to know that he probably prefers fucking in missionary with the lights off. The only orgasms that you can expect as a married woman will probably come from your vibrator — unless he decides that a vibrator isn’t traditional enough, in which case you’ll have to rely on your fingers exclusively.
So, instead of the VIP room being filled with your friends, it’s just you and the man whose face is buried between your thighs, Ito Tatsuya. While your feelings towards Tatsuya tend to lie closer to ambivalence than anything else, his skilled tongue is more than enough to make up for it.
With the way his lips are wrapped around your clit, it’s easy to ignore how he acts tougher than he truly is. He talks a big game but has refrained from acting on all of his talk and joining a yakuza group. Ultimately it works in your favor as no yakuza would dare lay a finger on the beloved daughter of the Fukurodani’s feared kumicho, knowing that doing so would bring the wrath of the entire criminal organization down on their heads.
Tatsuya is the closest that you’ll get as he’s only tangentially affiliated with one of the few other powerful yakuza groups in Tokyo, the Nekoma organization. Although their power will never come close to the strength of the Fukurodani, your father has a good relationship with their kumicho, Nekomata Yasufumi. The two yakuza groups have had a strong alliance for decades.
Likewise, Bokuto has his own sense of camaraderie and friendship with Nekomata’s wakagashira, Kuroo Tetsuro, whom you’ve had the pleasure of meeting on multiple occasions as you run in the same circles. Unfortunately, it’s never turned into anything more, despite your best efforts.
Kuroo Tetsuro. That’s a man. That’s a real yakuza.
If your luck was better and if relations with the Nekoma group were worse, you probably would have been married off to him rather than the snoozefest that you’ve ended up with.
It’s easy to slip into the fantasy that it’s Kuroo whose grip feels scorching on your thigh, whose fingers are pumping in and out of your dripping cunt, whose tongue is lapping at your needy clit. The image in your head pushes you closer to the edge as your hips buck in time with his fingers.
But just as you can see your orgasm within reach, your attention is yanked away from your pleasure when the door to the VIP room opens with a BANG! as it’s kicked in. You protest with a whine as Tatsuya lifts his head from between your thighs, pure murder written across his face at having been disturbed.
Unaffected by the interruption, you use your grip on his hair to try and tug him back to his original task, but it’s of no use. He’s already removing his arm from around your thigh to reach back and pull out the gun that’s been tucked in the waistband of his pants.
You're momentarily impressed that he would flaunt the country’s severe firearm restrictions. Although the effect is lost a few moments later when he sits up only to freeze, his features going slack.
When you finally turn your head to see who’s behind the disruption, you frown unhappily.
“Kita-san,” you greet with an irritated sigh. And even you know that you’ll never get Tatsuya’s mouth back on your pussy at this point and you release your hold on his hair with a resigned huff.
Tatsuya scrambles to remove himself entirely from between your legs, carelessly dropping his gun onto the low table before the couch that you’re sprawled out across. He lifts his hands to show that they’re now empty and he’s not a threat, as if anyone would ever believe he was one.
You wonder if his panic stems from knowing exactly who it is that’s found you both in such a compromising position or if it’s solely due to how intimidating Kita and the two men on either side of him look.
For as boring as he is, you’ll give him credit. The sight of him standing in the doorway, the black jacket of the same suit he wore to dinner draped across broad shoulders, his arms crossed casually over his chest, his expression giving nothing away, is impressive. Even if he didn’t have two of his underlings with him — one with grey hair and one with dark hair, both of them wearing similar looks of apathy — it would be more than enough to put the average person on edge.
However, you’ve spent your whole life surrounded by dangerous men, with dangerous men at your beck and call.
So, as Tatsuya begins to babble, making excuses and insisting that he doesn’t want any trouble, you simply roll your eyes and push down your skirt just enough so that your pussy is no longer on display. But even in the low light of the VIP room, the insides of your thighs — and how they shine with the evidence of your rapidly-cooling arousal — are clearly visible.
“Suna,” Kita says, his gaze fixed on you. The dark-haired man needs no further instruction before he’s moving past his oyabun towards Tatsuya.
He easily grabs the cowering man from the couch by the front of his shirt and roughly shoves him to his knees on the floor, keeping him in place with one hand fisted tightly in his hair, just as yours had been only a few minutes earlier.
Kita slips his jacket from his shoulders and in doing so, you catch a glimpse of the blood-red lining on the inside. He passes it to the man still at his side, who carefully folds it over his arm in a way that won’t leave any creases. He then methodically begins to unbutton and roll up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, exposing his forearms and the large swaths of tattooed skin that extend almost to his wrists.
Part of you is surprised. Kita seems too dull to have even the smallest tattoo, let alone full tattooed sleeves. But another part of you knows how much significance tattoos have historically held to the yakuza and he’s nothing if not traditional. Your thighs unconsciously squeeze together as you imagine how far they spread over the rest of his body.
The action doesn’t seem to escape his notice because he raises an eyebrow at you but makes no further comment before he turns to Tatsuya, who continues to plead for mercy.
“Enough.”
Kita doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t put any force behind the single word. Other than ensuring his sleeves are snugly held in place just below his elbows, he doesn’t even move. But there’s a danger to him that Tatsuya is quick to pick up on and his blubbering comes to an immediate halt.
He fearfully waits for the silver-haired yakuza to go on and when he does, it’s probably not in the way he was expecting. Because rather than explaining who he is or why he’s there — which Tatsuya has probably figured out on his own by this point — Kita places a hand on the back of the kneeling man’s head. The other man, Suna, releases Tatsuya altogether, wordlessly deferring to his oyabun and taking a step back to give his boss space.
The tension in the room is thick as Kita looks down at the trembling man on his knees, his face still as blank as it’s been since his sudden arrival. It snaps in an instant when he sharply yanks Tatsuya’s head down and his nose meets Kita’s raised knee with a sickening crunch! that would leave a less seasoned group of onlookers feeling queasy.
As it stands, both Suna and the other Inarizaki man appear to be amused, entertained even. You get the sense that displays of this nature from the yakuza boss aren’t common.
But as you see the blood pouring from Tatsuya’s nose and hear his howling and watch as your fiancé’s fist repeatedly makes contact with the man’s face, you feel none of that same amusement. You also don’t feel afraid or disgusted or concerned.
You’ve long grown desensitized to the violence associated with the yakuza. If anything, you can feel the boredom setting in once again.
You reach out to the table in front of you for the ashtray where your cigarette rests, having set it down when Tatsuya buried his face in your pussy. However, as soon as you pick it up, a long column of ash falls from the end and you realize with a pout that it’s already burned down to the filter.
The little noise of irritation you let out can’t be heard over Tatsuya’s pained cries or the brutal sound of fist meeting flesh again and again. You pull a new cigarette from the open pack on the table and perch it between your lips before grabbing your cheap lighter.
Once it’s lit, you take a deep, contented inhale of smoke before exhaling a large cloud that sits atop the room before dispersing. You glance back to Kita and Tatsuya to find that the scene looks exactly the same as when you looked away — except for Tatsuya’s face is completely bloodied and already swelling, and he seems on the verge of passing out.
“Really, Kita-san?” you finally ask with a yawn as you roll onto your side, your head pillowed by your bicep.
He pauses, his fist raised mid-air, and looks over at you, his eyes roving over your lackadaisical sprawl across the couch. He wordlessly releases the front of Tatsuya’s shirt from his grasp, who then drops to the floor in a bloody mess.
Suna immediately steps in to harshly kick the man over onto his stomach and places a heavy, threatening foot right on his spine. Not that it matters considering Tatsuya seems to be in and out of consciousness by this point.
But your attention isn’t on Tatsuya; it’s on Kita as he approaches you, his pace unhurried. You’re slightly impressed that he’s barely out of breath from the beating he just delivered. He picks up the discarded gun from the table and in one smooth motion, pulls back the slide to look at the chamber before releasing the magazine to check it as well.
“It’s empty,” he notes before tossing it to the man holding his jacket, who easily catches it and claims it for his own. A loud bubble of laughter escapes you at Tatsuya’s expense, finding it hilarious that the only marginally cool thing that you’ve ever seen him do was all for show.
You slip your cigarette to rest between your smiling lips as your gaze flits between the other Inarizaki men and find that they too appear to think it’s funny. Suna even presses his foot harder into Tatsuya’s back with a smirk that only grows wider when he receives a groan in response.
However, the yakuza boss doesn’t seem to share the humor that you and his men are feeling. He grabs the edge of the table and lifts it up just enough to tilt it and send everything on top of it to the floor with a dull crash. You frown at the waste of a barely touched bottle of champagne, a top-shelf bottle of whiskey, and Tatsuya’s small, unopened bag of cocaine.
Kita pays none of the mess any mind as he takes a seat on the edge of the table’s now cleared surface, directly in front of you. With you still laid out on the couch, you’re eye level with his knees.
You look up at him and raise a challenging eyebrow, daring him to make his next move, daring him to keep you interested. You’re sorely disappointed when the first thing that he does is tug down your skirt to protect your modesty, something you find truly pointless considering the three men walked in on you in the middle of having your pussy eaten.
The sensation of the backs of his fingers running along the skin of your thigh as he pulls on the fabric sends a small shiver down your spine and reminds you that you were interrupted before you could cum. You shift your leg to expose your inner thigh to him in a tempting invitation for him to finish what Tatsuya started, but he simply ignores your provocation and gives your skirt one final tug to ensure it’s in place.
With a displeased roll of your eyes, you take another deep drag of your cigarette. But before you’ve finished, Kita plucks it from your lips and holds it aloft. He ignores your cry of protest as he waits half a moment for Suna to take it from him. You sit up in an effort to try and grab it back, but Kita’s fingers suddenly grip your chin hard enough that you think you’ll still feel them tomorrow.
He’s grasping you with the same hand that he used to pummel Tatsuya and you can feel how his fingers are warm and sticky with the man’s blood. It only takes a quick glance down to see that his knuckles are drenched in it.
With his hold keeping you in place, you’re unable to see what Suna does with your cigarette. However, you soon hear Tatsuya let out a low moan of pain and you have an idea.
“That’s a filthy habit,” he says. His tone is rather benign but you’re certain that you’re being scolded. “I won’t have ya keepin’ it up as my wife.”
You let out an unattractive snort and hope your expression conveys just how unimpressed you are.
“They’re my lungs. If I wanna turn them black, that’s my right.” If he didn’t have your chin held so firmly, you would probably have stuck out your tongue and pulled down on your lower eyelid to taunt him.
“Yer rights extend only to the ones that I allow ya to have,” he comments and from any other man, there would be a threatening weight to his words. Kita, however, speaks them so casually that it sounds like he’s making nothing more than an absent observation of an indisputable fact.
You can only pout in return and he releases his grip to give your cheek a gentle, condescending pat. He then lifts his unbloodied hand out at his side with his palm facing up.
“Osamu.”
The Inarizaki man with the grey hair is quick to come forward, his hand slipping inside the jacket that he’s still carrying to pull out something from the inner pocket and place it into Kita’s patiently waiting palm. He then returns to his previous spot near the door, ensuring that there’s a respectful distance between himself and Kita and you once more.
The small, carefully polished wooden box that he’s been given piques your interest. When he opens the lid, your eyes widen at the ring sitting inside of it. It’s elegant and beautiful — a traditional round diamond set atop a thin, pavé diamond band. It manages to avoid being ostentatious while still leaving no doubt about its expensive price tag, and therefore the status of the man who gave it to you.
For such a boring man, he apparently has good taste.
Your left hand moves on its own as you lift it for him expectantly. There’s the briefest flash of amusement in his eyes — the first real emotion that you’ve seen from him. But he wordlessly takes the ring from the box and slips it onto your third finger.
The first instinct you have as soon as you feel the cool metal on your skin is to bring it to your face so that you can examine your new engagement ring more closely. But he grabs your hand so suddenly to keep it in place that it startles you.
You raise your gaze to see that his own is glued to the ring that you’re now wearing. His thumb gently sweeps across the band and the gesture is a sharp contrast to how tightly his fingers are clasped around yours.
“See this?” He nods towards the ring, as if there were anything else that he could be referring to. “It’s not just a beautiful ring on yer pretty finger. It's a symbol of our commitment — yer commitment to me.”
It’s slight, barely even noticeable, but there’s an edge to his tone that’s been missing all night. You can suddenly imagine how it is this young, unassuming man with his calm and collected temperament worked his way to the top of the most powerful yakuza syndicate in Japan.
He takes a long moment to pause thoughtfully and it seems so natural that you wonder if this is a common occurrence when he speaks. You suppose you’ll have the rest of your life to figure it out.
“I have a lot of respect for yer father,” he breaks the silence, confusing you with the direction that he’s chosen to take your conversation. “He’s built one of the most sophisticated operations in the country. He’s a smart man who’s surrounded himself with people he can trust, who would take a bullet or a prison sentence for him without question. I won’t hesitate to say that he’s earned his reputation.”
He sounds sincere, but you still have no idea where he’s going with this. If this were anyone else, in any other situation, you would ask if he was more interested in marrying your father than interested in marrying you. You have enough self-awareness to know that doing so with Kita wouldn’t go well — but only just.
“He’s a man of honor and I don’t mean to insult him.” He pauses again, this one shorter than the previous one. However, something about it feels heavier and when he finally looks back up at you, his eyes are much colder.
“The Fukurodani may be the most powerful syndicate in Kanto, but when it comes down to it, no one can match the power and numbers of the Inarizaki,” he states.
Maybe it’s the matter-of-fact way he says it, maybe it’s how composed his expression is despite the events of that evening, but you’re suddenly incredibly aware of how his grip on your fingers has slowly tightened over the last few minutes, almost bordering on painful.
“I already own everythin’ from Kansai to Kyushu. If I wanted Tokyo, I could come and take it.” You believe him. While your father won’t let you in on his operations, you’re far from clueless about the politics of the criminal underworld, including who has power and how much.
And Kita is right. The Fukurodani are the most powerful group in Kanto, one of the most powerful groups in all of Japan — second only to the Inarizaki. If a war broke out between the two over control of the country’s capital, it would be a hard and bloody conflict but the Inarizaki would undoubtedly be the victors.
This marriage benefits your father more than it does Kita.
“Maybe one day I will. The alliance doesn’t really matter,” he tells you. But while he looks slightly pensive as he speaks, the corners of your lips begin to slowly turn upwards.
“Then what is it you want, Kiiiiitaaa-saaaan?” you ask, playfully stretching out his family name — what will soon be your family name.
The coldness in his demeanor seems to melt, although not into anything that could ever be considered close to warm. If you had to describe it, you would probably call it patronizing.
“Y’know they call ya Tokyo’s yakuza princess?” he replies and your smirk widens. It takes some effort with how tight his grip is, but you manage to wiggle your fingers just loose enough to intertwine them with his.
“Do they?” you ask innocently, as if you haven’t proudly worn the title over the years. You look at him knowingly through your lashes. “Even in the Hyogo countryside?”
“Even in the Hyogo countryside,” he answers mildly, briefly humoring you and you reward him with a pleased grin.
“Oh really?” you muse, bringing your joined hands up to your lips to lightly skim them along his bloody and torn knuckles.
His tolerance seems to have hit its limit because he quickly yanks his hand from yours to grab your jaw, his fingers digging into your cheeks so roughly that you give a small wince. His hand is large enough that it covers your mouth almost entirely.
If anyone else were in your position, they would most likely be trembling in fear. You can only smile into his palm, the mischief mirrored in your eyes.
Kita doesn’t come across as a man who often — if ever — gives into temptation. But although his patience with you has grown thin, he seems willing to allow himself just one small indulgence.
His hand shifts so that he can slowly run his thumb across your lips, leaving behind a sticky smear of blood in its wake. As his touch reaches your cupid’s bow, you slightly part your lips to press a soft kiss to the pad of his thumb before opening your mouth and catching it between your teeth.
You use just enough pressure so that he can’t simply slip it free. The metallic tang of blood is strong on your tongue as you brush it teasingly against the tip, your gaze meeting his coyly. You close your lips around his thumb and give it a light suck that would have a lesser man on his knees, begging for you to let him between your thighs.
Kita reacts with a thoughtful hum and nothing else, not even the most minute muscle twitch.
“Tokyo’s spoiled little yakuza princess whose father lets her get away with whatever she wants,” he remarks, entirely unbothered even as you continue to suckle on his thumb while he speaks. “I won’t be anywhere near as lenient with ya. And I won’t have ya makin’ a fool outta me just because we’re not married yet.”
Although the danger is there, completely unmistakable, his voice lacks the menacing tone that should accompany his words. Instead, they’re low and soft, caressing your ears like a lover’s would, luring you in seductively.
Impulse control has never been something that you’ve practiced; it’s never been something that you’ve needed to practice. In an act of utter shamelessness, you take his free hand, the one casually hanging from his knee, and place it high on your bare thigh.
When you try to slide it further under the hem of your skirt, which has already begun to ride up since he tugged it down, you find that his hand is immovable. His fingers dig into the fat of your thigh, sinking into your soft skin with the weight of both his grip and his possessiveness.
“Yer mine now,” he tells you, his voice still gentle and entirely at odds with his burning touch and the taste of blood in your mouth. “I don’t need to wait for paperwork or a ceremony to make it official.”
His heavy gaze drops down to look pointedly at how you’re thighs are squeezing together, even as he keeps one of them firmly in place. He then slowly drags it back up to meet yours, leaving a scorching trail in its wake.
“I’m not just gonna give ya whatever it is ya ask for.” The words are a threat, even if he speaks them like a promise. “If ya want somethin’ from me, yer gonna have to earn it.”
Right now, there’s only one thing that you want from him and it's at the forefront of your mind.
“But I didn’t get to cum,” you whine around his thumb, your pitiful complaint slightly muffled.
Osamu and Suna’s matching looks of disbelief go unnoticed by you and Kita, neither man ever having imagined that someone would dare to say something so brazen to their fearsome oyabun.
There’s a flash in Kita’s eyes and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards for a fraction of a second. Both happen so quickly that you only notice because he has your rapt attention and it slowly dawns on you.
He likes it. He likes your audacity. He likes your impertinence. He likes how you sound like the spoiled brat that you are. He likes that he has Tokyo’s spoiled little yakuza princess squeezing his hand between her thighs and sucking on his thumb as she pathetically pleads with him to make her cum.
His thumb is slick with your saliva as he slips it from your mouth despite your efforts to keep it where it is by trying to sink your teeth deeper into it. He leaves a quickly-cooling trail of spit on your skin as he readjusts his hold on your jaw, once again digging his fingers into the hollows of your cheeks. The action only exaggerates the pout that you’re already giving him.
“And ya won’t again ‘til we’re married. I don’t care if it’s with someone else. I don’t care if it’s with yerself. The next time ya do will be on our wedding night.” He pauses, letting the silence hang over the room so that the impact of his next words is truly felt. “If yer good.”
You let out a displeased noise in protest but it goes ignored as he uses his grasp on your jaw to move your head a bit to the side so that you’re looking over his shoulder and directly at the grey-haired Inarizaki man behind him.
“This is Osamu. He’s gonna be stayin’ in Tokyo for a bit.” He gives you a single wave in acknowledgment from where he stands. “Yer father’s already agreed to it.”
The implication is clear: Osamu is to be Kita’s eyes and ears in Tokyo. If you act in any way that’s unbefitting of your new status as the woman set to marry the Inarizaki’s kumicho, he’ll certainly know.
“You’ll be seein’ a lot of him,” he tells you as he returns your focus back to him. He then leans forward, closing the gap between you to tenderly press a light kiss to your forehead, his lips moving against your skin with his next words. “So, be good for me.”
He sits back and meets your gaze expectantly and it’s clear that he wants your assurance that you’ll do as told. You give a childish roll of your eyes and his grip tightens in warning.
“I’ll be good,” you reply, the words feeling foreign on your tongue but they seem to appease him.
However, his eyes soon land on your lips and then narrow. It’s a small movement, but the temperature of the room seems to drop with it. His next question is spoken as softly as everything else he’s said that night, but there’s a new kind of gravity to it, one that promises danger should he receive an answer that he doesn’t like.
“Did ya use yer mouth on him?”
It’s clear that Tatsuya’s life depends on your response. Luckily for him, there’s only one answer that you can give.
“I don’t suck cock,” you say and it’s only because Kita is grasping so tightly onto your jaw that you don’t physically turn your nose up at the suggestion of you getting on your knees.
But then something unexpected happens. The calm and carefully controlled expression on Kita’s face softens into something finally approaching fondness, a faint smile forming on the straight line of his lips.
“You will for me,” he promises and you raise a challenging eyebrow, even as your own grin begins to grow.
“I will?” you ask playfully and he nods.
“You will if ya wanna be good,” he’s kind enough to remind you and there’s a strange fluttering in your stomach that you’ve never experienced before.
“Yes, Shin-kun,” you smile, and despite barely having had any of the champagne that’s now spilled across the floor, you feel drunk.
You hardly wait for Kita to order his men to leave with a firm but impassive, “out,” before sliding from the couch and sinking to the floor between his parted legs. Your knees already ache from the unfamiliar sensation of resting against such a hard surface.
The weight of his hand on the back of your neck burns as you rub your cheek against the expensive fabric of the slacks covering his muscled thigh. As you reach for the buckle of his belt, you look up at him to find him watching you ravenously.
It absently occurs to you that throughout the entire evening, you never once heard him raise his voice. Even when he was brutally assaulting Tatsuya, he never seemed angry or bothered. No matter the situation, he remained unfazed.
But as you slide a hand inside of his pants to grip his half-hard cock through the soft material of his boxers, you can see it. Underneath his composed visage and mild temperament, burning bright in his shining and hungry eyes, is a dangerous flame — one that threatens to consume you and every inch of Tokyo in a devastating and all-consuming blaze.
Maybe Kita Shinsuke isn’t as boring as you thought.
can we get a story with jungkook or yoongi or any of the members, with them saying, "you're such a handful." and then we say, "good thing you have two hands."
that concept could literally mean anything...and since im a yandere account...god damnit im in!
a man's world
you've been living in a man's world so long that you forgotten what it was like to just be a woman living in it.
word count: 10.172
warning: smut, character deaths, oral sex, fingering, dry humping, kissing, blood, torturing lolz, a bit yandere tendencies not too too much, but like yoongi's obsessed with the mc so, nipple sucking/pinching, impregnation kink, squirting, orgasm, unprotected sex, praising, ass-slapping, cowgirl position, overstimulation, creampie,
Though you can’t hear it, you can feel the way your heels click against the floor. The music is blaring loudly inside the club and it causes you to snarl. It was too humid, smelt of cheap perfume, alcohol and sex. You were too high end to be caught in a club like this, you think. You notice it by the way your eyes meet countless men who don’t know who you are, their eyes roaming your body as if they had a chance.
“You can’t go back there.”
There’s a hand on your bicep that stops you and almost instantly you yank it away. You hold your purse closer to you, your head whipping around to find a tall man staring down at you. His eyes are dark and he’s glaring.
“Back there,” the man juts his head towards the long hallway in the back of the crowded club. “is for employee’s only.”
“I’m well aware.” you snap back. “Where’s your boss?”
The man’s eyes narrow. “Not in.”
“Bullshit.” you snicker. You were growing irritated by the second. You didn’t have time to sit and chit chat with the less than.
You spin on your heels and venture down the hallway, the man hot on your trail. You are well familiar with this club and know down the hall to the right is where you’d find exactly who you were looking for. Your hand wraps around the knob and you slam it open. Just as you walk in, the man grasps you by your arm once more and yanks you back.
Yoongi watches as your free arm reaches back and punches Haru right between the eyes. The man, tall and bulky, stumbles back in shock. His lip twitches as he watches you continue to hit the tall man who is far too stunned to initially speak. He’s seated at his desk, cigarette between his fingers. Your scream, mixed with the music coming from down the hall, is echoing off of his walls.
“You stupid bitch-”
Though you were well-trained since a child alongside the very man you come to see - and more - you still had a bit of a disadvantage. You were told that men were naturally stronger than women and by the look in Haru’s eyes, he was done being nice with you. His fist tightens and before he has the chance to do anything, there’s a gunshot that rings through the air.
Haru gasps, a stinging in his shoulder. He falls back against the door, his hand clenching the gunshot wound that’s now oozing blood. You stand a bit straighter, rolling your eyes.
Yoongi’s right hand has his gun pointed in the air when you turn to meet his gaze. His cigarette hangs lazily from his lips, dark eyes meeting yours.
Footsteps gather in the hallway as Haru begins to sob. Soon, familiar faces crowd the room.
“What the fuck?”
Jungkook looks between you and Yoongi and immediately he has a clue.
“I thought we had rules?”
Jimin’s arms are crossed as he steps into the room. Haru is bleeding out and he couldn’t care less.
“Y/N.” Jimin nods his head towards you. “What a pleasure.”
“Can we get someone to get him out of here?” Jin sounds disgusted. “He’s bleeding all over the floor and I don’t like the smell of iron.”
Yoongi drops his gun onto the table and proceeds to take his seat at the desk.
“Ah, isn’t it the infamous Y/N.” Taehyung leans against the open door. “What is it this time, hyung? Did Haru try to get with her?” he snickers. His eyes look down the hall. “Take him somewhere, please. He’s annoying me with all that whimpering he’s doing.”
Yoongi exhales the smoke from his nose, eyes darting around the room.
“He was going to hit her.” Yoongi answers coolly.
Jungkook furrows his brows, but he remains quiet. You were a woman, sure, but he’s watched you take down men bigger than Haru before. You weren’t the primadonna Yoongi treats you at times.
“Y/N, what can I help you with?” Yoongi questions, his attention turning to you. “Drink?”
“I suppose I’ll take my leave.” Jimin announces. Whatever you wanted - especially if you came to Yoongi solely and not all of them - meant that it wasn’ for his ears. “I have inventory to take care of.”
The room is silent once more as Jin was the last to leave, closing the door behind him. Yoongi awaits your response, pouring you a glass of whisky to match his own. He motions for you to sit in the seat across from him, his cigarette smoke dancing in the air.
You drop your purse on the desk, uncaring if a few items drop due to the weight of it. Your eyes are hard and glaring and with that, excitement runs through Yoongi’s body.
“My men,” you begin, voice cold and laced with venom. “are dead.”
Yoongi picks up the glass and places it against his lips. He takes a sip, eyes watching you. “And you’re telling me…because?” he murmurs a response before taking a sip.
Instantly, your hand slaps the glass out of Yoongi’s palm. It crashes against a nearby wall, sending liquid flying everywhere.
“My men are dead and I know you motherfuckers-”
Yoongi stands, his chair scraping against the floor. His face comes closer to yours, so close that you can smell the liquor already on his breath.
“Bangtan didn’t kill your men, Y/N.” Yoongi hisses.
“Bull. Shit.” your teeth grits.
You were only 21 when you inherited this empire from your father - much to your dismay and possibly that of those working for him. You weren’t a man, you always heard. This was a man’s world you were in - the drugs, the trafficking, the murder. A woman didn’t belong in it, and yet it all belonged to you now.
Your father didn’t have any more children after you. You often thought about how easier your life would be if you were a boy growing up. You didn’t have time to think about what the other girls did growing up - the birthday parties with friends, sleepovers. You didn’t attend a school so those homecomings or prom you’d see on T.V. weren’t for you. The birthday party you begged your father to give you were littering with the same gang members, murderers and drug traffickers you grew up alongside.
Now here you stand, years later. A shell of your former self. You contemplate if you lack the natural empathy and softness you witness other women have. As a child, you told yourself by this age, you’d be married with kids - not leading a syndicate. Marriage and children appeared to be out of the question as you couldn’t stand a man for longer than 3 minutes - the misogyny, the audacity and overall incompetence.
“Bangtan and Deathrow,” you roll your eyes; partly because you hated the family names chosen by people who were dead now. “for years now we have been rivals. However,” Yoongi’s pink tongue coats his lips. “we have never harmed you or your men.”
You inhale deeply. You stretch the kink in your neck before responding. “Deathrow and Bangtan are the only families that run anything around here.” you grit. “And I have a dozen dead bodies and no one to account for them.”
Yoongi’s eyes glances down to your own lips. He’s fascinated that even when you surround yourself with such heinous activities, you haven’t given yourself up. The heels, the light makeup, and not a single hair out of place.
Yoongi was also a bit drunk and he shouldn’t be growing hard right now - especially not when you’re glaring daggers at him.
“You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.” Yoongi’s voice softens a bit.
Your eyes glance away.
Things were complicated when it came to you and Yoongi - or the rest of them. While Yoongi had 6 other people to rely on with equal responsibility, you only had yourself. You couldn’t afford to have a day off when you had everything your own family has worked hard for on the line. The people who worked under you had their own mouths to feed and juggling it all was far too much for one person to handle.
The feud between Deathrow and Bangtan was once a partnership. You grew up alongside Yoongi and the rest of them. Jungkook is just a couple years younger than you. You recall the way you would wrestle with him in your youth. It was Hoseok who showed you how to shoot a gun for the first time and you trained alongside him instead of you both attending middle school.
The rivalry began with an unknown traitor that divided both sides and though you remained cordial with the boys, now men, you grew up alongside, it was evident where your loyalty and theirs must lie.
“You got my birthday gift.” Yoongi states. His eyes almost didn’t catch it, but you’re wearing the necklace around your neck. The diamond-studded chair with an oval-cut gemstone; your birthstone. It was a gift he had sent to you on your birthday and though he had not expected you to say anything in return, he had hoped you kept it.
Your body warms at the realization that you hadn’t taken off the necklace prior to coming. You swallow a bit, your throat aching.
Yoongi rounds the corner of his desk warily. He would never hurt you and he doubts you would either, but he doesn’t know where your mind is now and he doesn’t want to set you off.
“There’s been a little trouble around here, as well.” Yoongi murmurs. His hand touches your arm, slightly bringing you closer to him. “A few of our own men have died. It seems we may have a bit of competition.”
The scar on Yoongi’s right eye is the constant reminder of the history you and he shared. Without thinking of your actions, your hands lift to touch Yoongi’s cheek. Your fingers slide across the long, red scar, the memories of that time flooding back to you. The way Yoongi’s lips pressed against your warm skin, his large hands sliding up your sides. Those same lips kissing down your chest, to your stomach and right between your legs. His tongue flickers between your folds, his fingers diving right into you and pumping in a way that only he knows how.
Then, the memories come crashing down. Your bedroom door crashes open and you’re forced to cover your naked body. Your father doesn’t bother to look down at you and instead focuses his entire attention to Yoongi, men surrounding your bedroom and making their way towards Yoongi.
“What do you want me to do?” Yoongi asks. His larger hand places itself over your hand. It causes you to come back to reality - the present.
You blink, removing your hand from his face. Yoongi doesn’t like it; he feels a breeze run through him.
“I want you to find out who killed my men.” you say, voice hardening. “And take them out.”
Yoongi furrows his brows, a smirk forming onto his lips. He tilts his head at you. You were so cute when you demanded bloodshed.
“You’re too beautiful to be running a syndicate, Y/N.” Yoongi tells you. He has the urge to hold you like he used to, but he holds himself back. “You deserve to be doted on.”
“Stop fucking playing with me, Yoongi.” you hiss, eyes darkening. “I have product to move and the men that were supposed to do that are being buried. I have to make arrangements for their families. My fucking product-”
“Is it stolen? Ours, as well.” Yoongi quips.
“-and I don’t have time for you to be fucking flirting with me!”
Yoongi cracks a smile and instantly, your hands crash against his chest.You shove him as hard as you could.
“Yoongi-”
“Your issue isn’t with me, Y/N.” Yoongi embraces you, unphased by your outburst. “You and I have a common enemy.”
Yoongi’s cologne is citrusy and musk and instantly you calm down. You want to melt in his arms and have your worries go away, but you cannot.
“Why won’t you let me help you?” Yoongi questions.
“I came here for your help.” you whisper - and he has to know how difficult it was for you to do this.
“I know. That isn’t what I meant.” Yoongi holds you closer. He doesn’t want to let you go - not like he was forced to. His eyes peer into yours. “You’re stressed and you’re doing it all alone. Let me help you.” he murmurs. “Let us help you.”
Yoongi’s nose is tickling yours and his lips are only a breath away. You’ve once again found yourself in this predicament; right in his arms. You inhale his scent once more and then sigh.
“I missed you.” Yoongi speaks.
“I didn’t come here for that.”
“I know.” Yoongi grins. “You come to use me like you always do.”
You’re silent, eyes unblinking as you look at Yoongi.
“That’s what you do. You come in here and demand something because you know I’ll do whatever you ask.” Yoongi continues. His arms tighten around your embrace.
“So…I’m a user?” you snort with a roll of your eyes.
“No.” Yoongi shakes his head. “I’m a man and I’m supposed to be a provider.”
You’re quiet.
“And I’ll keep providing for you, Y/N…all you have to do is let me.”
Yoongi’s lips are soft and you instantly melt against them. You’re unsure how much you truly missed him until you finally had him in your hands. The years you’ve gone by keeping him at a distance has led him to this very moment now.
Yoongi doesn’t care about anything on his desk anymore. He gladly hoists you up onto the desk and forces your legs apart, your skirt rising up. His tongue dances around with yours, large hands cupping your hips to assure you remain close.
It takes Yoongi forever to remove his lips from yours, but when he does it only trails down the side of your face to your jaw, then chin. Your breathing increases as he reaches your neck. His warm tongue circles the nape of your neck, a low groan coming from his throat.
“Y/N…”
Your breathing hitches at the sound of your name coming from Yoongi’s lips - so deep and vulnerable, yet dripping with years full of lust.
“What do you want from me, Yoon?”
Yoon, you haven’t called him that in years.
“You know what I want.”
Did you?
Your legs tighten around Yoongi’s waist, bringing him closer. You can feel him melt in your embrace. As much as you try to hide it, there isn’t a point in lying to yourself in saying that you didn’t want Yoongi, either. You missed his hands on you; touching you in ways only he knew how to.
“I’ll give you what you want,” you sigh, your hands on his shoulders squeezing. You can feel Yoongi’s bulge right at your core. You roll your hips just to tease him. “find out who’s behind our missing product.”
Yoongi inhales deeply for a moment, eyes squeezed shut. He was going to do what you asked of him, regardless if he was involved or not. It’s what he always did for you, no matter the rivalry between both families. “You’re such a handful.” Yoongi exhales, yet he wouldn’t have you any other way.
“Good thing you have two hands.”
With the same two hands, Yoongi had worked overtime. It took a week for him to find out just who was behind it, but there wasn’t a time limit. In the meantime, he had allowed you to borrow some of his men to move your product - an action that would’ve been frowned upon if he wasn’t who he was in the family.
Jin watches amused with how ruthless Yoongi could be when it comes to you. The man, often lazy and would rather sit behind the scenes and direct others to do his work, was now getting his own hands dirty. That’s what Hoseok and Jungkook were for, yet he joins the younger men just because you asked him to.
“To think it’s been…” Jimin does the math in his head. “...what? Six years?” he asks Jin. He assembles the stolen drugs into duffle bags.
“Just about.” Jin responds, the screaming of the tortured man nothing but background noise.
Six years since Yoongi and you were…anything. It was evident that Yoongi had set his sight on you since youth; silently, of course. He lingered around you for too long for anyone to not get the hint. It only increased as you grew older and grew into your own feminine figure that Yoongi found himself having to show others that he was serious about courting you.
That meant shooting someone right in the leg - but other’s got the point. The downfall of Bangtan and Deathrow only meant the downfall of you and Yoongi’s relationship; he grew grumpier, more silent and care little about anything unless it directly involved you.
“We need to get information from him, hyung,” Jungkook sighs, watching the way Yoongi appears to leave the man's head underneath the running water far too long. “not just torture him.”
“He’s probably intimidated since it’s three of us.” Hoseok calls, leaning against the wall.
“Probably.” Yoongi calls. He shuts off the water and turns his sights to Jungkook and Hoseok. “Get the rest of the drugs and weapons and load them in the truck.”
Hoseok knits his brows. “But-”
“Fine.” Jungkook shrugs, locking eyes with Hoseok. There wasn’t a point in arguing with Yoongi now. He know just as well as the rest of them that he was going to stop; his adoration for you far exceeded his own sanity.
Once alone, Yoongi shoves the man back into the seat. He grabs his pocket knife and undoes the robe around one wrist. He then slams it against the table. “Okay,” Yoongi murmurs, dark eyes locking in with terrified ones. “I want all the names that were in charge of the job.”
The man shakes his head. “Please-”
“It wasn’t a choice.” Yoongi snickers. “You…upset someone I care about.” the cold metal of the plastic knife presses against the man's cheek. “And I’m going to right this wrong, okay? Now right before one of them died, they said it was around five of them.”
Yoongi removes the knife from the terrified man’s cheek and proceeds to place it against the man’s thumb. “You have five fingers. Let’s count down the names, shall we?”
“P-Please, I don’t know-”
A blood curdling scream echoes off of the walls. Blood shoots out from the man's thumb, painting the wooden table crimson.
“Name’s.” Yoongi deadpans. He’s already making his way towards the index.
“Wu-”
Index finger is the next to go - only because he was sick of playing games.
“Shinra!” the man suddenly belts, the veins on his neck pulsing at losing another finger.
Yoongi is covered in blood by the time he’s done, but he’s satisfied. He would never consider himself blood thirsty. He hated getting dirty. Jungkook and Hoseok were always on this type of job - but if it was something you’d ask him to do (and you had) he had no issues.
“There has to be another way, hyung.” Jungkook says as Yoongi emerges, soaked in blood. “Flowers or something. You’re covered in blood.”
“Y/N isn’t exactly a normal woman, now is she?” Jin calls from outside. He slams the trunk close. “Though I don’t think she called for so much blood shed.”
Of course, however, Yoongi wasn’t going to listen. He was told to handle the problem and the only way he knew how was bloodshed.
“Who’s coming with me?” Yoongi questions.
“Now?” Jungkook lifts his brows. “You don’t want to change first?”
“No.” Yoongi deadpans, his eyes narrowing. He glances around to the faces of his brothers. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”
“Have you asked for anything in return of Y/N yet?” Jin asks. “Don’t you think you need a little…more?”
Yoongi swallows. He shrugs his shoulders.
“There can’t be any rivalry, anymore. Not on Bangtans end, right?” Jimin shrugs his shoulders. “Why not join forces again? It would save all of us a headache.”
“And Y/N could relax, as well. She’ll have our help and won't have to lead alone.”
The quiet part doesn’t need to be said aloud, Jin thinks. Having you closer meant that Yoongi would be more at ease.
“I have plans.” Yoongi answers. “You know I cannot go to Y/N empty handed. I have to do what she asks first.”
“Of course.” Jimin shrugs one shoulder. “Do you need any more help, hyung?”
Yoongi shakes his head. “I’ll deal with the rest alone. We should get whatever product we have back to the warehouse.”
“I agree.” Hoseok nods. “Bangtan and Death Row nearly lost millions in profit because of…what do they call themselves?”
“Who cares?” Yoongi snorted - because after today, there wouldn’t be any of them standing to utter their name.
Yoongi’s seats are leather and of course the blood would surely stain them, but he doesn’t care. He could get another car if it came down to it. He was on a mission; a hunt. He wouldn’t go back to you empty handed like he promised and he has five names on the list who he had to deal with prior to returning to you.
You know of Yoongi’s presence immediately. You hadn’t talked to him much in the week that it took for him to handle the problem. Your driveway is long and it allows you enough time to walk down the staircase and meet him at the door after you buzz him in.
From the large, oval-shaped window you can see Yoongi get out of the SUV, door slamming behind him. He appears relaxed, glasses over his eyes. There’s a breeze in the air that causes his dark tresses to dance in it. It’s nearly an hour before sunset and Yoongi’s skin glows beneath the orangey tint that makes your heart leap.
Your eyes tear away as he begins to gather something from his passenger seat. Your eyes turn to the large mirror in your foyer and ponder if what you were wearing was appropriate. This was Yoongi, after all, and though it’s been years, he’s seen it all already. That, and you weren’t exactly expecting him tonight so the nightgown shouldn’t appear as trying too hard.
You meet Yoongi at the door, opening it just wide enough for you to see him and vice versa.
“Y/N.”
“Yoongi.” you respond. “You could’ve had me meet you at the warehouse.”
Yoongi knows you aren’t upset with his presence here. Your eyes glance down to his hands, now noticing his left is holding a small, leather bag and his right a bouquet of flowers.
Glancing back up at Yoongi, you furrow your brows.
“Can I come in?” Yoongi asks, voice cool and relaxed.
You open the door wider and Yoongi takes his invitation. As the door closes behind him, Yoongi turns to face you. Your nightgown is black and silk and he notices it hugs your curves perfectly, but he didn’t come here to dwell.
“Why are you holding flowers?”
Yoongi holds out the bouquet for you, his own eyes matching the stoicness of your own.
Your hands are trembling when you grasp them, an embarrassed jolt flowing through your body. You avoid his gaze.
“I handled our problem.” Yoongi speaks first. He lifts the small, leather bag and holds it with both hands. He slowly opens it - as if to build tension and anticipation. “And they are no longer a threat.”
Yoongi doesn’t care for these men, but you were an empathetic person. He knows you’d want to know more about these men, and what better way than to find out who they truly were than by checking their fingerprints?
Severed thumbs sit inside the small bag right on top of ice. You could laugh right now at how cheesy Yoongi can be at times. Slowly, he closes the bag and tilts his head.
“They’re a small organization that holds no real power.” Yoongi goes on.
“Are they dead or just missing fingers?”
You’re positive you know the answer. Yoongi wasn’t one to allow anyone to walk free - especially if it concerned you.
“Dead.” Yoongi shrugs. There’s a small table in the foyer that Yoongi places the bag on. His eyes meet yours and a smile appears on his lips. “You’re still wearing the necklace.”
Your palms squeeze the bouquet. Licking your lips, you shrug. “It was a gift, was it not?”
You turn on your heels, making your way the opposite way and towards the kitchen. Yoongi follows you, allowing his eyes to wander your body freely as now it was just you and him.
You had a vase around here somewhere so you can put these flowers in.
“I suppose I owe you.” you say over the running water. You can feel Yoongi’s eyes on you right now and there’s a bit of excitement that runs through you.
“Do you?”
You turn the water off and turn around, vase in hand. You go towards the island and begin to place the bouquet of flowers, one by one inside the vase. Yoongi notices a small grin on your lips as you assemble them to your liking.
“You still like sunflowers.” Yoongi notes. “I’m glad that hasn’t changed.”
Yoongi recalls the time you said that you didn’t prefer roses as they were often clique. Yet, you also never received flowers before as you weren’t in the lifestyle to receive them from anyone - not unless it was on a gravestone. But you stated that if anything, you’d prefer sunflowers.
Your hands slide off of the bouquet and you face him. Yoongi is watching you watch him. “I haven’t thanked you.” you murmur softly. “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to.”
You step closer, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He must’ve showered right before coming here as he smells entirely too clean; not a complaint in the slightest.
“Of course I do.” you murmur. “You helped me with my problem.”
“You knew I would. That’s why you came to me.”
You don’t need to respond as he was correct. You always knew Yoongi would do what you ask - which made going to him easier for you. It was a guarantee that he would get it done with no questions asked; everytime.
“How long can you stay?” you question, eyes blinking up at him. Your fingers dance on the back of his neck softly.
“However long you’d have me.” Yoongi hums, his nose touching yours. ”What are you trying to give me?”
You swallow, lifting so your lips were ghosting his. “Whatever you want.” you murmur.
“Whatever?”
You nod your head, eyes slowly closing. You’re expecting his lips to meet yours in the same passionate kiss you and he shared a week prior. Instead, Yoongi pushes himself away from you, his warmth immediately gone.
Slowly, your eyes open to find Yoongi going through his pant pockets. “Yoon-”
Your mouth immediately shuts when Yoongi’s fingers take out a small, square box. He opens it, the diamond ring shining back at you. It’s oval cut with surrounding smaller rings around the base.
“What the fuck are you doing?” you hiss as Yoongi begins to lower to his knee. “Get up.”
“What?” Yoongi furrows a brow. “Why? Isn’t this what girls typically want?”
Your eyes widen and you stare at Yoongi as if he’s insane. He had to be.
“You thought I wanted you to get on your fucking knees with a ring?!”
“No!” you hiss, your hands forming fists and body heating up. You yank Yoongi’s shoulders and force him onto his feet. “What-”
“I was trying to be romantic.” Yoongi snaps the ring box close and sighs. “Jin told me-”
“Your first mistake was listening to Jin.” you grumble with rolled eyes.
“My first mistake was assuming you’d listen to me.” Yoongi retorts. “I don’t want to just fuck you as payment, Y/N. You aren’t some whore.”
You were growing nervous underneath Yoongi’s gaze.
“I want Bangtan and Death Row to be allies again.” Yoongi continues. “I want us,” he waves his hands between the two of you. “to be…more.”
“There is no us.”
Yoongi doesn’t blink when the words leave your mouth, but he visibly stiffens.
“There can’t be.”
“Why not?” Yoongi protests. “Am I not good enough for you? I’m only good when you want to use me?”
You’re taken aback by the venom in Yoongi’s voice. He never spoke to you in such a tone.
“Do you not know how many men I’ve killed for you?” Yoongi hisses. “I drop whatever I’m doing to come to your beck and call and you’re going to tell me that there isn’t anything between us? That there can’t be?”
You’re unsure how to respond, but Yoongi is already stepping closer. His presence, until now, has never been threatening to you. His eyes are wide and angered and they’re directed towards you.
“It’s not you-”
“If you say it’s not you, it’s me,” Yoongi chuckles bitterly. “I might just scream.”
“It is me, Yoon.” you hiss. “I…you want me to be a fucking housewife. I don’t even know how to cook-”
“I do.” Yoongi shrugs. “Do you think I don’t have enough money for a private chef?” he scoffs.
You bite the inside of your lip.
“I…I don’t even clean-”
“Isn’t that what’s the maid for?” Yoongi shrugs his shoulders again. He wasn’t going to allow you to excuse yourself from anything you’d say.
“I-”
“I don’t care what you can or cannot do, Y/N.” Yoongi interrupts. “Have I not proved myself worthy to you for years now?”
“It’s not about…” you trail off, closing your eyes and letting out a soft sigh. “...you know it isn’t about that.”
“Then please enlighten me, Y/N.” Yoongi’s frustration was seeping through. He felt as though his head was going to explode. “You know how I feel about you. You know I love you.”
Your eyes flutter open to look at Yoongi’s. His stoic eyes stare right back at you.
“You know I love you.” Yoongi repeats, voice softening. “So why won’t you allow me to take care of you? You don’t even want to do all of this.”
Yoongi knows you like the back of his hand. He understands that you were brought into this life to one day take over an entire syndicate, even if it wasn’t something you wanted. Your father’s death came entirely too sudden and overnight, you had to grow up and handle it all. But he knows the real you.
“You think jumping straight to marriage is what I want?” you couldn’t help but snicker.
Yoongi straightens his shoulders. “Probably not.” he admits, shrugging a bit. “You told me that you wanted to be married before.”
“When I was a dumb teenager?” your lip twitches. “I-”
“You told me you wanted to go on a date and experience a normal life. Outside of this.” Yoongi interrupts. “So let’s do it.”
“Do what?” You blink.
“Go…on a date?” Yoongi clears his throat. There’s a tint of redness forming onto his cheeks.
“You’ve never asked a girl on a date before, have you?” you scoff, but you’d be lying if you said your own cheeks weren’t warm.
“And you’ve never been asked on a date.” Yoongi retorts, a grin forming onto his lips. “So we’re one of the same.”
For a moment, you and Yoongi are silent as the two of you stare at one another. Your body is warm, your heart fluttering stupidly like it had when you were a teenager whenever Yoongi was around. It involved sneaking around a lot to assure your father never caught on to what you were doing.
You bite your lip, taking a deep breath. What could go wrong?
“I guess…a date wouldn’t hurt.” you murmur.
“Good.” Yoongi couldn’t help the smile that forms onto his lips. “How about now?”
“Now?” your eyebrows lift. That didn’t give you enough time to procrastinate in your closet if Yoongi was already here waiting for you.
“What could go wrong?”
Turns out, a lot could go wrong on a date.
For normal people, a lot could’ve been the restaurant being booked for hours. Or traffic. Maybe even cancelling on the other person.
However, you and Yoongi weren’t normal people. A normal dinner date turned into an ambush entirely, bullets flying past the two of you in such rapid speed that it took a second too long for Yoongi to even be prepared for it.
“It’s just my shoulder.” Yoongi grunts, a hand against his bleeding wound. He was breathing heavily, his right hand - the same side he was just shot in - currently holds the gun.
“I fucking hate you.” you seeth at Yoongi, a look of pure panic on your face. Your own heart was beating rapidly and tears brimmed your eyes. “I told you I should have brought my gun you idiot-”
Another shot rings out, this time from Yoongi. You’re unsure how he’s managing to still fire from behind the car while bleeding out.
It was Yoongi’s idea for you to not bring your own protection for once. He stated that you wouldn’t need it - an attempt to slowly wean you off of your mafiosa lifestyle that you were born into. Now you were regretting believing his words - not because you never felt safe around Yoongi, but it was also about helping Yoongi when he was in need.
“Give me the gun.” you demand, wiping your pathetic tears away. Why were you on the verge of crying when you were you?
Yoongi glances at you, frown deepening.
“Y/N-”
“I wasn’t asking.” you hiss. Yoongi had managed to take down two men, but there were still two left sending out shots - and you were beyond pissed.
Yoongi hands you his gun with a stoic expression. You had sense called your own men for backup and knowing Bangtan, they weren’t far behind. You are unaware if the men that ambushed you had more on the way and quite frankly, you didn’t want to stay to find out.
You’re crouching around the car, gun in your hands. Your eyes zone in on one man behind another car, his eyes set on where Yoongi is behind his car, waiting for another shot to give out.
You scoff, raising your gun and closing one eye before shooting. The bullet shoots right through his head, blood splattering as his body falls limp.
“You assholes ruined my fucking date!” you hiss angrily, aiming the gun at the other shooter, hitting him right in the shoulder. As his gun drops, you rise to your feet and begin to storm towards him.
Yoongi wouldn’t consider himself a completely dominant man. He was alright with having a woman by his side as an equal - a woman like you. You knew how to lead just as much as he did. His eyes watch the way your heels click against the concrete as you storm towards the huffing, bleeding man. Your eyes are glaring directly at him, hand pointing the gun right into his face.
“Please-”
Yoongi jerks when the gun slams against the man's face and he’s sent flying against the concrete. His breathing increased - this wasn’t the time. His pants grow tight as he watches you continue to slam your gun against his face. He licks his lips at how amazing your legs looked from here - how your dress makes your ass appear even greater.
Yoongi exhales, getting up from leaning against his car and making his way towards you. His shoulder is throbbing and he was bleeding at an alarming pace but it was nothing he’s never felt before.
Blood shoots from the man's mouth and Yoongi is close enough to wrap a hand onto your waist.
“If you keep beating him he won’t be able to talk.” Yoongi murmurs, but he admits you look entirely beautiful when you are aggressively upset. “Hoseok can’t be far. Him and Jungkook would get the information out of him.”
“Fuck.” you hiss one last time before slamming the gun against the man's already bloodied and bruised face. “We gotta stop the bleeding-”
“I’m fine.” Yoongi shakes his head with a shrug of his shoulders.
“You’re obviously not fine, Yoongi.” you deadpan, turning to him. “I can see the blood dripping from your shoulder. Do I look like an idiot?”
Yoongi’s lip twitches and he holds back a laugh. He doesn’t want to appear as if he was taking you for a joke - he wasn’t.
Tires squeal to a stop and Yoongi turns his head to the sound of it. Just as Hoseok and Jungkook arrive, so do a few of your own men.
“What do we have here?” Hoseok asks, slamming his car door open and his eyes roam around the bloodied scene.
“Looks like we have a bigger problem than stolen product.” Jungkook answers. He’s holding rope in his hands.
“Miss.”
One of your men come besides you, his eyes examining you. ‘“Are you alright?”
“Yeah.” you murmur. Jungkook was wrapping the man - who’s in and out of consciousness, with the rope. “Clean this mess up.” you say, putting Yoongi’s gun back on safety. “And figure out who these motherfuckers are. Immediately.”
“Yes.”
Yoongi swallows, his eyes roaming to the way your hips sway as you walk towards his car and open the backseat. You’re ripping apart your own cardigan for him to wrap his shoulder for the time being.
Yoongi watches you as you walk back towards him, taking the ripped cloth towards his shoulder. He’s silent, but he’s upset that the date has been ruined. For the first time, you and he had the chance to be normal for a few hours - and it was ruined by reality.
“I’m sorry.”
Your eyes glance up at Yoongi as you tighten the cloth underneath his arm pit. He was lucky that the bullet didn’t penetrate through.
“Why are you apologizing for being shot?” you murmur. Hoseok and Jungkook had speeded down the road and your men were in the middle of cleaning the mess.
“I wanted for us to go on a date.” Yoongi snickers. “And be normal for once in our lives.”
“It isn’t your fault that we’ve made enemies.” you pat his shoulder gently, your lips forming a small grin. “It comes with the job.”
Yoongi’s tongue coats his lips, feline-like eyes watching you still. “You’re very beautiful, Y/N.” he says, tone deep. “Especially when you’re angry.”
You roll your eyes. “Pull yourself together, Yoongi.” you say. “You’re the only man that gets horny after being shot.”
“Ignore the fact that a bullet grazed me.” Yoongi says. He begins to follow you back to his car. “And concentrate on the fact that I can appreciate the way you handle a gun and beat up men.”
Yoongi rounds the corner to plop down into the driver seat. He notices your eyes on him. You want to speak up and offer to drive, but you don’t - you know he’s going to deny it.
Within a half an hour, you and Yoongi are back in your home. You have him seated on your couch while you tend to his wound. Hospitals were always out of the question which is why there were paid medics on hand. Yoongi, however, refused to see anyone. Instead, he’s chugging a bottle of whiskey as you dab a rag soaked in alcohol onto his wound to disinfect it.
“You’ve gotten yourself drunk in under an hour.” you deadpan with a shake of your head.
Yoongi, eyes glossy, tilts his head.
“I wished you would’ve gotten yourself checked out-”
“Y/N,” Yoongi interrupts you. He takes another swig of whiskey, the burning sensation dying down. “will you marry me?”
You dropped the rag onto the couch beside him and sigh. “You’re on that again.”
“I’m not taking no for an answer.” Yoongi grumbles, his eyes squinting at you.
“You’re going to force me into marriage?” You’re amused now. Drunk Yoongi was always funny. His shoulders would relax and he’d let loose more than he was when he was sober.
“Of course not!” Yoongi gasps, then hums. “...I would just keep asking until you said yes.”
Your fingers tap lightly against his shoulder as you smile his way. It causes Yoongi’s heart to jump and he takes another swig of whiskey in an attempt to hide his red cheeks.
“Yoongi…?” you murmur, your fingertips stopping at Yoongi’s neck. He’s warm, and when he feels your fingers against his bare skin, the hair on his body rises.
“Y-Yes?”
Yoongi wants to shoot himself in his good shoulder for stuttering like he was a school boy.
Your fingers dance up the side of his cheek to touch the scar. It’s embedded into his skin, smooth to the touch. “It seems like everytime you’re with me, you get hurt.”
Yoongi craves your touch. He settles his cheek against your palm, glossy eyes watching you.
“Who says I’m hurt?” Yoongi responds.
Your fingers trail along his scar and he recalls the day it happened - the way your father had slashed his eye as a mere warning. He recalls the way he screamed as blood trailed down his face, but even then he didn’t care about the pain that caused the half of his face to throb. He hears your cries and pleads for your father to leave him alone.
“If it means being with you, I take whatever.” Yoongi shrugs.
Your thumb traces Yoongi’s lips now, not realizing just how close you and he are. You missed being this close with him. It reminds you of when you were younger when life was a bit easier.
“What are you scared of exactly?” Yoongi speaks. He softly nuzzles himself closer to you. If he was sober, he would’ve felt a bit of pain coming from his shoulder. “Do you think I cannot protect you? I’ll die-”
“Yoongi, please shut up.” you press your thumb against his lips to silence him. You let out a soft giggle. “Everytime you get drunk, you go into a drunken speech of passion.”
Yoongi makes a sound with his throat.
You sit a bit straighter before going to sit into his lap. Your dress rises up a bit and instantly, Yoongi’s hands place themselves onto your thighs. He rubs his hands against your soft thighs, a low moan coming from his lips.
“We can talk about marriage later.” you say. Your nose rubs against his. “For now, let me thank you.”
Yoongi’s cock is dangerously hard against your clothed pussy. His breathing increases when your lips kiss the corner of his lips, teasing him.
“I know I can be a handful.” you murmur against his skin, your hips rolling.
Your lips press against his softly, but Yoongi is determined to taste you entirely. He deepens it, his nails digging into your hips to keep you perfectly in place. Your lips are so soft and sweet, your gloss tasting like mangos. Your perfumed aroma captivates him entirely and he doesn’t want you to move away from him.
Yoongi’s lips are covered in your gloss when your lips remove to breathe. His lips press against your chin to your jaw.
“It’s okay.” Yoongi kisses along your neck now. “It’s good I have two hands, right?”
The kissing grows heavy. Your hands rub along his chest while his hands roam up and down your sides. Your hips continue to jerk needily to feel more of him.
Yoongi is grateful for the alcohol running through his system so that he could appreciate you fully without feeling any pain. His cock is already painfully erect and waiting to be let free to feel you - but he’ll wait for the right time. His tongue pokes out to run along the smooth skin of your neck, dipping lower and lower.
“I’ve wanted to take this dress off of you since you put it on.” Yoongi says, muffled against your skin. His tongue runs along your collarbone and goes down to your breast.
“You could’ve had me naked hours ago.” you retort, head rolling back when you feel Yoongi’s warm tongue reach your breast. “But you wanted to waste time on a date.”
“It wasn’t a waste of time.” Yoongi retorts. His hands roam upwards to touch the straps of your dress and begin to pull them down. “I want to take you on many dates and show you off. Show everyone who you belong to.”
Yoongi was a possessive person and even without stating it aloud, he has claimed you as his countless times. When the straps fall down, his breath hitches at the sight of your bare breast. Your nipples are erect and both of his large hands grasp them entirely.
“I’m yours?” you scoff, yet you continue to roll your hips. Your right hand places itself above Yoongi’s. “I didn’t agree to marry you.”
“You don’t have to.” Yoongi responds quickly. “You can keep denying me, but I’ll never allow another man to have you.”
Yoongi’s tongue wraps onto your erect nipple, rolling it against his tongue. He suckles needily, wishing he could do this forever - be in this blissful scenario where it was just you and him and no one else to interrupt it. Or shoot at him.
“I’ve killed for you already.” Yoongi says when he allows your nipple to pop from his mouth. “If I can’t have you, no one can.”
You bite your lip. That obviously is a red flag in itself. Yoongi had threatened countless men - a part of Bangtan and Deathrow - and had killed for you, both requested or not. If you were a normal girl living a normal life, it would frighten you how obsessive he could be.
But you established that you weren’t normal and neither is he. You were both born into this world of murder, drugs, sex and trafficking - so it excites you that Yoongi doesn’t go down without a fight.
“You can be happy with me.” Yoongi wraps your other nipple into his mouth. He pinches your free nipple between his index and thumb. Your hand roams his dark tresses, keeping him close against your chest. Your pussy is throbbing, Yoongi’s own hips meeting you halfway as you’re grinding.
“I can give you the wedding you wanted. I can give you the babies you’ve talked about.”
Yoongi’s hands wrap around to unzip your dress. He then proceeds to slide it down your bare back, shuddering at your naked skin.
“You’d look so pretty pregnant, Y/N. It’ll be hard to get you to stay at home and not pistol whip anyone,” Yoongi jokes, tugging your dress down. “but it can be done.”
You roll your eyes, but Yoongi’s words cause that familiar throb between your legs.
“You think about getting me pregnant a lot?” you raise a brow.
“Of course I do. Don’t ask me dumb questions.”
Yoongi forces you up to remove your dress. It falls onto the ground by your feet. Your panties are basic cotton grey and it’s easily able to see the wetness right between your legs.
“You’re already so wet, Y/N. Your pussy wants to feel me.”
Yoongi’s cocky, his fingers cupping your pussy entirely to feel just how wet you are. He licks his lips, groaning. “You want to be bred, Y/N. You’re just stubborn.”
Yoongi begins to tug at your panties hastily. His mouth salivates. He hasn’t tasted you in years and being a patient man has done nothing but make him insatiable.
“You want to get me pregnant so bad, Yoongi. You’re a bit too obsessed.”
“You know that, right? Is that why you constantly tease me?” Yoongi dips his fingers between your wet folds. He shakes his head at just how sopping wet you were. “You roll your hips, talk to me a certain way.”
“I talk to you like a dog.” you deadpan, a soft moan releasing immediately after.
“And that’s what I love about you.” Yoongi brings his fingers into his mouth and grunts.
Yoongi pushes you onto the couch and falls onto his knees. He had to taste you.
You yelp when your legs are forced apart and Yoongi immediately begins to devour you. He’s completely starved, having missed your touch and taste for years. He doesn’t care about being quiet - you and he were alone. He suckles and smacks his lips against your wet pussy without a care in the world.
You’re squealing loudly as Yoongi’s head bobs back and forth. Your hand grips his hair, eyes watching as he devours you. His right hand forces your thigh down forcefully. You’re unsure how long you wanted Yoongi between your legs - more ways than one - and having him here now is entirely liberating.
“That feels so good, Yoon.” you whimper, your pussy clenching around nothing. You wished it was stuffed with his cock and he bred you just like he said he wanted to.
Yoongi knows it does. He recalls the times he would eat you out without expecting anything in return - just because he loved the way you tasted and how hard you’d cum from his tongue alone.
Yoongi places two fingers into his mouth for a moment before inching them closer to your hole. His tongue then twirls onto your clit, eyes flickering up to watch your reaction. Your mouth opens in a gasp, back arching a bit.
Your pussy immediately squeezes around his fingers and he begins to pump. His tongue continues to twirl onto your clit for added pleasure, determined in letting you cum.
Your hands grip your breast and your eyes are fluttering close. Your hips grind a bit, thighs shaking.
“Y-Yoon…!”
Yoongi chuckle, lifting from your clit. His lips and chin are coated in your arousal. “Yeah, baby?” he asks, tone sultry. “Does it feel good?”
You nod your head, swallowing.
“Your fingers feel so good.”
Yoongi continues to pump, feline eyes watching your every move. The way you’re gasping every few moments. Your eyes fluttering open and close, your thighs quivering and shaking.
“You’re going to cum already, aren’t you?” Yoongi chuckles a bit, biting his lip. “You’ve been bottling everything up for so long that it only takes you about 5 minutes to cum all over my fingers.”
Fuck Yoongi and the way he was right about you. You had consumed most of your time running Deathrow that you hadn’t allowed yourself any true release. Your fingers could only do so much, and your vibrator could only stay charged for so long. It wasn’t the same as having a man fuck his fingers into you so vigorously - as if he’s getting direct pleasure from it.
“That’s right, baby.” Yoongi marvels at the way your juices coat his palm that he adds another finger. You’re wet, pussy making sloppy squelching sounds. “Cum all over my fingers, Y/N. You’re finally being such a good girl.”
Who knew you had a praise kink?
You let go just as Yoongi intends. You weren’t expecting the pressure from deep within you to be released all over him, shooting out the clear liquid all over him and the floor.
Yoongi chuckles, releasing his fingers from your throbbing pussy. “You made such a mess. I knew you would.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, your chest rising and falling.
“I want to ride you.”
Yoongi’s eyes shoot up at your sudden change of tone. “Oh?”
You nod. You weren’t a rider - you never enjoyed it. Yoong did, however, enjoyed taking the lead. This time you wanted to have a bit of control. You needed to hear him moaning for you; because of something you were doing for him.
Before Yoongi can say anything else - not like he was going to deny you anyways - your hands grasp onto his shirt. You bring him closer to you so you can wrap your legs around his waist and flip him onto his own back.
Yoongi is amused by how easily you handle him. Dare he even say attracted by your sudden actions. You hover above him so you can undo his pants and slide them down to reveal his covered cock. It’s twitching angrily, ready to be set free and taken advantage of by you.
“Your cock is still pretty.” you state when you tug his briefs down. His cock springs out, oozing pre-cum from a pink tip you want to wrap your mouth around. But that’ll wait for another time.
You don’t allow Yoongi the time to react before you grab it with your soft, yet firm hand. You center yourself.
“Fuck, hold-”
Yoongi grunts when you sit on him completely. His legs shake a bit at feeling you bare wet pussy squeezing him.
“Oh..shiiit.” Yoongi hisses out. He swallows thickly, his eyes fluttering a bit.
You smirk. Yoongi was a simple man indeed. You’d have to show him what you’d learned over the years - mainly though porn as the thought of being with another man repulsed you. You were a certified man hater unless it was Yoongi; the man that wasn’t officially your man, but still is in theory.
Your feet planted itself onto either side of him and your arms wrapped around his neck. Your hips rise and fall in rhythm, his cock hitting your sweet spot with each bounce.
Yoongi’s large hands immediately fall onto your ass, squeezing them into his palms. He doesn’t care how needy he sounds with his whimpers and moans - he wasn’t embarrassed to show you how good you were. He’s happy that he has the chance to feel you again - the tightness of your pussy, the flesh of your ass. Your breast bounces in his face and the sight is entirely heavenly that if he were to die right now, he would be content.
Content until Yoongi thinks that with him gone, you’d be vulnerable in the world and he immediately takes it back.
“You’re fucking yourself so good, baby.” Yoongi couldn’t help but to slap your ass and then immediately squeeze the flesh as you continued to bounce on his cock. His lips connect to the flesh of your breast, kissing along them as he curses to himself.
“Your cock feels so good, Yoongi.” you moan in his ear. You’re surprised by your own stamina - but having his cock in you after years of denying him for whatever pathetic reason was possibly why. Your pussy clenches and unclenches with each pounce, your clit rubbing against his skin for added friction.
“Yeah?” Yoongi’s teeth grazes your right nipple. “Your tits are so amazing.” he says, finding that your bouncing breast in his face was pure bliss. “I’ve waited so long to feel your pussy around me. You kept teasing me over and over again.”
Another slap onto your ass has you squealing - and clenching. Yoongi does it again to feel your pussy squeeze his cock again; and again and again until you can feel the flesh throbbing.
Yoongi’s hands squeeze your ass to keep you in place, his mouth wrapping onto your nipple. He begins to thrust upwards, pounding into you with such greed. Your skin slapping against his echoes off the high ceilings, your high-pitched squeals added onto that for added flavor.
Yoongi’s eyes flutter upwards, feeling entirely too blissful. His thrusts are powerful - so much so that he needed to feel you deeper.
Yoongi flips you onto your back, slamming you against the leather couch without much warning. He forces your legs apart so he can see just how wet you were for him, dripping all over his cock.
“Look at that.” Yoongi chuckles, continuing his brutal pace.
It’s disrespectful, even, the way Yoongi fucks you. But neither of you care. He plunges his cock so deep into you that you can swear you feel him in your stomach, and even then you’re only begging him for more.
Drunk Yoongi was a different Yoongi, at times - but he was the same man that craved you entirely. His hands - a part of him that you always admired for how large, veiny and beautiful they were, clasp onto your shoulders. His dark eyes stare right into you, pounding his cock in and out of you.
“You’re so d-deep.” you gasp, your toes curling when he hits that same sweet spot that only he could ever reach.
“I gotta be deep if I’m going to get you pregnant.”
Why was that so tempting?
Damn Yoongi and his dirty talk - along with his fucked out expression and deep, husky voice. How could you not want to be bred by him when he looked this good? The scar just added onto his attractiveness.
“I-I’d like that.”
Yoongi groans. “Yeah?” his eyebrows knit. “You want my baby but won’t marry me?”
Yoongi’s hands squeeze your shoulders tighter. Your back arches a bit at the added touch.
“Want my fingers. My tongue. My cock.” One hand lifts from your shoulders to your face, his thumb tracing your lips. “My babies…but won’t give me the satisfaction of marriage.”
You whimper at the familiar bubbling in your stomach.
“Stop-”
Yoongi pushes himself away from you. He’s standing, pulling your body with him so that your lower half is fully in his embrace. He drills into you at the same alarming pace and you’re only forced to watch helplessly moaning.
“Yoon-g-gi!”
Yoongi wasn’t going to spare you - not when you felt so good. Not when you were making such sweet noises.
“Marry me, Y/N.” Yoongi demands, a thumb placing onto your throbbing clit and twirling vigorously. “Whatever you want, you got it. Do I need to kill ten more men for you?”
Your hands squeeze onto nothing. You don’t recall Yoongi being this much of a aggressive fucker but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love every moment of it.
“Yoon-”
“Yes or no, baby? Don’t you want those babies we talked about?”
You did - damn Yoongi for making you want babies you hadn’t thought about in years.
“They’ll be so cute. I want a little girl just like you to spoil.” Yoongi’s thumb continues to tier; harshly onto your clit.
You squeeze your eyes shut, a loud groan coming from your throat.
“I’m gonna cum,” you gasp out, wanting to squirm away from his possessive embrace.
“Are you going to marry me or not?” Yoongi grumbles, replacing his thumb with four fingers. You were milking his cock so well, arousal dripping from your pussy to your thighs and around his cock. He wished he had a camera to capture such a beautiful moment.
“Yes!”
You were cumming, but Yoongi didn’t care about that right now. You had finally agreed to marry him - and maybe it was the orgasm talking, but he took it serious enough to continue twirling your clit until you’re leaking all over the place. And even then, he continues fucking into your pussy greedily until he’s cumming in you, shooting you with warm ropes of cum.
You’re exhausted at the end of it all - an hour and a half and three orgasms later. Your pussy is leaking cum from Yoongi, who’s insatiable but satiated at the moment. The fucking went from the livingroom, to your bedroom. Your eyelids are heavy and all you wanted to do was sleep.
“Yoongi?”
It was ten minutes later when you spoke to the man. He’s wide away, seemingly coming down from his drunken state.
“Hm?” Yoongi says, cigarette hanging from his lips.
“We should probably talk.”
Your eyes are still closed and your voice is full of sleep.
“Maybe after you’ve rested-”
“Give me the ring.”
Yoongi is silent as he inhales the smoke, the familiar burning sensation hits his throat.
“I’m not going to ask you again.” you say, eyes still closed.
Yoongi does as you say. He had the ring tucked in his jacket pocket just downstairs and when he retrieved it, you held out your hand for him to put it on. Your eyes finally open to inspect the ring and how it looks on your finger.
Yoongi doesn’t speak, and neither do you. It was like that at times with the two of you. Instead of saying anything, you glance at him hovering above you and tuck your hand underneath your face and close your eyes.
What’s understood doesn’t need to be said, but Yoongi can feel the way his heart jolts at the silent agreement.
MY FAVORITE JUNGKOOK FANFICS & RECOMMENDATIONS PART1 ✮⋆˙────────୨ৎ───────˙⋆✮
My first lists! These from my favorites JJK fics writers and how amazing their works and most of the fics are top-notch and i really recommend y'all to read it and show some love to their works!! 💗 ( Most of the fics are 🔞+ ) @myjungkookthighs
♥︎— NEEDY | Part 1, Part 2 by @girlygguk ( I'm going to say i love all of my baby lyssa's works she's an amazing writer that i adored so much. All her fics like a drugs to me , top-notch! lol)
nerd!jk x cheerleader!(f)reader
hiding his feelings when you didn’t even know his name was hard. hiding his neediness and obsession when you finally did know his name and you were his fucking girlfriend? impossible. well, then it's a good thing you like him needy.
♥︎—FIRST CLASS | Part 1 by @girlygguk ( chef kiss🤌)
rich student!jk x (f)rich student!reader
in which you are just another spoiled, bitchy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby who has everyone at Yonsei University eating from the palm of your hand. and jeon jungkook, your spoiled, fuck-boy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby best friend, is always first in line to take a bite.
♥︎—CRAZY | Part 1, Part2 by @girlygguk (addicted like a mad person)
ceo!jk x employee!(f)reader
you know it sounds twisted. that most people would see hyungwon as the perfect boyfriend. healthy, balanced, all the things that relationships should be. that’s when you realized... you weren't like most people. but that's okay. because neither is jungkook.
♥︎—HABITS (STAY HIGH) | Part1 by @girlygguk
student plug!jk x rich girl!reader
You9:06 PM do you be 🙄’ing other bitches yes or no
♥︎—BAD THINGS | Part 1 by @girlygguk
jock fuckboy!jk x nerdy fuckgirl!reader
getting jealous, sending mixed signals, simping for a gorgeous geek who has no idea what effect she has on him... it's just what jungkook does best. oh, and football. he's really good at football.
♥︎—DENIAL | Part1, Part2 by @girlygguk
idol!jk x (f)actress!reader
it's been a plethora of secret meetups, quickies in the bathrooms of his award shows, and 2 am 'you up?' texts during your year-long situationship with jungkook. you both agreed in the beginning that your careers are far too hectic to commit to anything serious, but you can't shake the shitty ache in your chest every time the high wears off, or when you're crawling out of his bed in the middle of the night. trying to exile the shitty feeling of longing that you harbor for him, you spend time with another one of your guy friends. jungkook sees, and he's ma
♥︎— BETWEEN THE RIDE AND THE ROSES (series) by @focusonkayjay
biker!Jk x flower shop owner!Reader
There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.
♥︎— FRIENDS WITHIN TOUCHING DISTANCE (series)by @dailynnt (Shout out to my love, her fic so amazing !!)
Best friend!Jungkook x Fem!Reader fwb!
What happens when two best friends try to get along under the same roof? You've been living with Jungkook for three months now, but your cohabitation is still a challenge for you. He continues to live like a real bachelor without following the rules you agreed upon from the beginning of your decision to live together. Should you find a compromise or should you find a new place to live?
♥︎—OLDER by @lovieku
dilf!jk x inexperienced!fem reader (i'm sucker for older or dilf jk!😭)
you’ve tried, but you can’t help yourself from crushing on your best friend’s dad. hot, buff, tatted up and successful, mr. jeon is the starring actor in all of your wettest dreams. and as you wake up from one while sleeping over at his house after his daughter’s birthday party, you don’t expect all of them to suddenly come true. but they do.
♥︎—HANDS ON ME by @lovieku
nerd!jk x popular!fem reader
it’s about to look like jeongguk’s birthday everyday with you.
♥︎—OBVIOUS by @lovieku
bookstore employee!jk x virgin!fem reader
you lose your virginity to jeongguk, the only boy you’d ever trust with such weight. and what you both feel for each other couldn’t be more obvious.
♥︎— GUYS MY AGE (one-shot) Drabble 1, Drabble 2 ,by @kooktrash
dilf jk x female college student!y/n [she/her] ( i had read 3 times cuz i'm sucker of it bcs IT'S CHEF KISS🤌)
a summer spent at your friend’s place wasn’t something to be anything to look forward to. her hot, young dad would seem to change that for you when you decide a game of teasing would suffice your boredom. you got more than you bargained for when you realize he’s not a fan of games.
♥︎— INFRUNAMI by @kooktrash
friends to lovers. y/n[afab, she/her] x best friend jungkook
you’ve made great friends throughout the years but none like jeon jungkook. he’s there for you when you need him and although at times when things get complicated between your feelings and thoughts… there’s one thing for certain. you both have been wasting time acting like there’s nothing between you.
♥︎— DEPEND ON ME by @kooktrash
Hybridbunnygirl!reader x human!jungkook
you’re so used to letting Jungkook do everything for you. he babies you almost and you’re both constantly reminded of the strangeness in your friendship. you’ve always loved him but he can’t see you as anything but the little bunny girl he used to protect. you change his mind
♥︎— NEVER AGAIN by @kooktrash
neighbor!jk x Reader
jeon jungkook is just your nosy neighbor who can’t seem to be anything less than a selfish, heart breaking, prick in your eyes. yet somehow he manages to wiggle his way into your life but is it enough for him to change your mind or will he prove your judgements right?
♥︎—MY DEAR FRIEND by @kooktrash
friends!jk x experienced!reader, f2l ( about a few day need to moved on from this fic)
just friends? keep telling yourself that, you and Jungkook have always danced on the line of friendship and something more but lately you’ve struggled being able to tell where you guys stand.
♥︎— BUNNY ADVENTURES by @kooktrash
hybrid!Jungkook x human!reader
you had absolutely no intentions of ever owning a hybrid until jungkook came along. a mistreated, misunderstood rabbit hybrid who’d only ever wanted was to be treated like an equal.
♥︎— RISQUE (series) by @mercurygguk
older!jk x reader age gap au (my all time favorite 😭)
in which jungkook struggles to keep his relationship with you strictly appropriate and it’s not like you’re making it easy for him.
♥︎— THE DILF INSTALLMENTS (series) by @mercurygguk
dad!jungkook x f. reader
this series follows jungkook’s life as a divorced father. but wait, how exactly does one balance being a father, a boyfriend, a friend, and a respectable boss at the same time? read the installments below to find out!
♥︎— THE ART OF (DILF JK SERIES) by @venusiangguk
dilf jk x grocery store clerk reader ( never over this bcs it's cute 🤧)
you find a baby in your store and in turn, a dilf finds you
♥︎— ONLY WHEN IT'S US (series) by @luvismenu
Uni! Jungkook x Fem Reader Strangers to??
you both say it’s nothing serious, but with every touch and argument, it gets harder to stay away.
♥︎— STARBOY (series)by @luvismenu
popular classmate!jungkook x class president!reader
everyone assumes you two can't stand each other, but is that really true?
♥︎—BED CHEM (Mini Series) by @muniimyg
Uni student!Jungkook x uni Student! Reader Frenemies to lovers!
after overhearing jungkook fuck someone else; you can’t help but want out of being his frenemy
♥︎— BABYDADDY!JK (series) by @muniimyg
ex!au jungkook x ex!reader
Co- parenting
♥︎—ITBOYFRIEND!JUNGKOOK | (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) by @muniimyg
ITbf!Jk x Fem Reader
♥︎—JUST TAKE IT (series) by @ahgasegotarmy116
Inexperienced f!reader x Best Friend's Dad Jungkook (20 year age gap) dilf! jk
A turn of events has the people you thought you trusted stabbing you in the back and leaving you broken hearted and betrayed. Who knew though that sometimes things just happen for a reason
♥︎—BANG-ABLE (mini one-shot/drabble) by @ahgasegotarmy116
f!reader x Sex Bot Jungkook (I'm obsessed!! 😭)
You've been single for way too long and you're done with causal sex and all the drama that comes along with it...so why not try something new?
♥︎— DEEP SIX (mini series) by @bratkook but i read on AO3
biker!jk x reader
It’s like a stranger had a key, came inside of my mind and moved all my things around. He didn’t know snakes can hear the prey, can’t try to break the psyche down.
♥︎— CHAMPANGE CONFFETI by @margotw10bis
boyfriend!Jungkook x camgirl!reader
Your boyfriend loves watching you on live but his whole mood changes when he reads one specific comment from one of your fans
♥︎— PARADISE (series) by @minisugakoobies i read on AO3
Stripper!Jungkook x Reader (my absolute favorite!😭)
That sexy man on stage - the one currently giving your friend the lap dance of her LIFE - is your super shy neighbor, Jeon Jungkook?!
♥︎— THE PINK PILL -"3 DAYS" by @dollfaceksj
best friend!jungkook x fem!reader (top-notch!i read twice😭)
In each of these universes, you find yourself consuming what is known as the pink pill. This pill is essentially a drug that enhances your libido to the max and you’ll quite literally never experience arousal like you do when you’ve taken this pill. Thankfully, in each universe, there’s a man that’s ready to help you explore and reach your peak of sexual euphoria.
♥︎— THE WEEKEND by @chryblossomjjk
dilf!jk x babysitter reader ( the best thing ever! 😭)
every weekend, you give jungkook a little taste of something he’s missing monday through friday.
♥︎—SUGARPLUM ELERGY by @bymoonchild
College!Jungkook x Reader , fwb (i can't let go of this story top-notch)
You know no bounds nor depth with Jungkook. While your fuck buddy loves sleeping in your bed and doing laundry for you with his favourite fabric softener, you are in love with a mysterious honeyed, velvety voice on Soundcloud. All’s fine, until you find out that the voice that metaphors your heart to a sweet sugarplum melody actually belongs to the boy who has been taking up a special spot in your bed and in your heart, strumming at your heartstrings all this while. Or, Jungkook has one braincell, but it’s heart-shaped.
♥︎— MICROWAVE (MIS)ADVENTURE by @bymoonchild
housemate!Jungkook x Reader
Out of all things to be afraid of, Jungkook, the seat-stealer of your 8am class and annoying housemate whom you despise with every fiber of your being, chooses to have a phobia of microwaves, but he loves buying microwaveable food – because come on, they’re irresistible – and you somehow find yourself getting dragged into his microwaves (mis)adventures. Cue chaos, sarcasm-laced banter and an unplanned romance.
♥︎— COLD NIGHTS AND BLURRED LINES| WARM NIGHTS & CLEAR LINES| cnbldrabbles by @awrkive
basketball!jungkook x nerdy!(fem) reader,fwb (i'm crazy over this 😭)
jungkook and you have been in a sexual relationship with each other for four months now, and it’s casual for the most part. but as time passes, you can’t help but feel that some of the lines suddenly got blurred in the process. is it a cliché to blur the lines with your fuck buddy? it definitely is. will you do something about it? both of your emotional constipation have a hard time saying yes.
♥︎—CAN'T LET IT GO (part 1)| PHYSICALLY OBSESSED(part2) by @chunghasweetie
dom!oc x nerdysub!jjk
loser nerd jk has crushed on her for years and is assigned to be her college tutor for her calculus class. studying doesn’t go exactly as planned and he ends up losing his virginity in the best way possible.
oc finally cuffs jk and they celebrate
♥︎— HE GIVE IT TO ME (Part1) | WONT TOUCH YOU LIKE ME (Part2)by @chunghasweetie
fem!oc x dealer!jjk
always giving out free shit to his favorite customer.
after a petty argument jungkook spots you showing out at a party with the hosts arm around your waist.
♥︎— MERAKI by @taegularities
grumpy!Jk x sunshine!reader
Jungkook finds you irritating; far too energetic and insistent. But his perception of you changes bit by bit, minute by minute, when he's persuaded into spending an entire night with you at places he doesn't know.
♥︎—NO NUT NOVEMBER by @2hightocare
dilf!jungkook x fem!reader
Jungkook didn’t think stuff through when he made a bet for “No Nut November” he seemed to forget that he can’t say no to you.
♥︎— FOR ME (DILF!JK DRABBLES COLLECTION ) by @personasintro
dilf!jungkook x reader
A collection of drabbles accompanied with dilf!jk
♥︎— BURNING HOUR by @jungqkook
Richbf!jk x gf!reader (you gonna need holy water later lmao!)
there’s nothing better than spending an entire day at your boyfriend’s yatch, tanning and waiting for the sunset with a drink in your hand… too bad your boyfriend had other plans for you.
♥︎—BETTER BOYFRIEND THAN HIM by @jungqkook
friend!Jk x reader
jungkook makes it a mission to prove to you that he can be better than your boring boyfriend. when it comes to sex, at least.
♥︎— FIGHT FOR YOU (series) by @ahundredtimesover
bodyguard!jk x heiress!reader
Working at a private security agency has its perks. The downside? Being the personal bodyguard of spoiled, rich heiresses like you. But there are things that Jungkook didn’t expect, like rejecting you, falling for you, and realizing what he’d been missing all along.
♥︎— GUARDED by @junghelioseok
bodyguard!Jk x Reader
❛❛ good girl. ❜❜ ❛❛ don’t get shy on me now. ❜❜
♥︎—BODYGUARD by @sxtaep
bodyguard!jk, idol!reader
when you’re stuck in a near-death situation, your high school crush, now your bodyguard, begins to regret ever rejecting you 5 years ago.
♥︎—STRIKE THREE by @avveh (ao3)
Bodyguark!jk x Bratty!Reader ( i'm obsessed!)
When discipline and chaos meet, one will always rise to the top.
♥︎— EVERYTHING IN YOU |Part1, Part2 , DRABBLE1, DRABBLE 2, DRABBLE 3 by @jjungkookislife
roommate!sperm donor Jk x pregnant! Reader (my favorite iso cute)
You want a baby and Jungkook is willing to help
♥︎— BABYMAKER by @badbtssmut
bestfriend!Jk x Reader
You want a baby, but you just broke up with your boyfriend but your best friend Jungkook offers you the solution to your heart break, he’ll give you your baby, no strings attached.
♥︎— SPECIAL PREPARATION by @badbtssmut
Piercer!Jungkook x Reader
You go to a piercing shop to get a clit piercing but your piercer Jungkook has an interesting way of prepping his clients.
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Actually i like all Miss Cherry @redcherrykook fics and i read them all and her works always the bomb never disappointed me and here i will share my most favorites from her🤪💗
