#i LOVE thought and fic pieces of them being so loud n brash n rough in piblic but being so soft with each other i private your heart aches

[toriliashine]

NEED to see irouma making out sloppy style

(Check tags btw i went on a tangent)

[inkykeiji]

you’re like a drug to me, a luxury, my sugar and gold

character: gojou satoru

genre: smut with a sprinkle of fluff at the end

notes: aaaaah first jjk fic ever!!!! uhhh this is honestly just pure smut and punishment, satoru is a Bad Daddy, and it’s set in a curseless AU | title cred: handclap by fitz and the tantrums

warnings: 18+ minors dni, dubcon/noncon, slight size difference/size kink, belly bulge, spanking with a belt, rough sex, minimal prep, minimal aftercare (at first), toxic and unhealthy relationship (satoru is mean n a bad daddy!), daddy kink/slightly implied ddlg dynamics, praise kink, dacryphilia

words: 3.1k

synopsis:

And although you can—and do—get away with a lot, you can’t get away with everything. A little brattiness he can handle, a little brattiness he thinks is cute. But on the days when you’re really misbehaving, purposefully (or not) breaking every rule, acting out and refusing to listen, rejecting any bargain or compromise with him at all—well, he’s only human.

And he snaps.

Gojou Satoru is a bad Daddy.

He’s a sweet Daddy, a silly Daddy, a Daddy who’s almost incapable of saying no. He’s a Daddy with a massive sweet tooth, a Daddy who frequently allows both of you to have dessert before dinner—sometimes dessert for dinner—and a Daddy who gives his princess nearly everything she desires, weak to your pretty pout and puppy-dog eyes and please, Daddy?’s. He hates to deny you, aches at the thought of you being even just a teensy bit displeased, because he wants his baby happy, always.

It’s his fault, really, you’re saying, insisting, when he calls you a spoiled brat. Because, honestly, it is; Satoru is entitled—he always has been, born with a not silver, not gold, but platinum spoon in his mouth—and his little princess is entitled, too.

Because he gives you anything and everything you ask for the moment the demand leaves your mouth, dotes on you hand and foot, absolutely adores you, lavishing you in the finest silks and prettiest lace, always indulging you just as much as he indulges himself—as much as he has always been indulged, growing up filthy rich.

Because you weren’t always like this; or, at least, you weren’t always this brash about it.

But years of getting exactly what you want, exactly when you want it, has forced your attitude to change, to shift.

You haven’t changed, Satoru tells you one day, a tub full of melty ice cream in his lap as he shovels another spoonful into your mouth, waning sun bathing the penthouse terrace in translucent gold and coral, brilliant colours reflected in his crystal eyes. “I didn’t do anything—I simply revealed your true nature,” A devious little smirk spreads across his lips, eyes glinting in an almost ominous nature, and you shiver. “You’ve always been a selfish materialistic brat, haven’t you?”

Well, you guess he has a point.

And although you can—and do—get away with a lot, you can’t get away with everything. A little brattiness he can handle, a little brattiness he thinks is cute. But on the days when you’re really misbehaving, purposefully (or not) breaking every rule, acting out and refusing to listen, rejecting any bargain or compromise with him at all—well, he’s only human.

And he snaps.

It’s always something little, after a day full of disobedience, that does it, that finally lights the fuse and forces an explosion. Something that would normally be inconsequential, something he’d usually laugh off with a coo and a loving pat to your head.

Because you fought him on bedtime last night, then fought him on going to university this morning. You demanded pancakes for breakfast and when he denied them to you, because he’s got an important meeting in the afternoon and thus hasn’t the time to make them, you refused to eat anything at all—only to whine and bitch and complain about how starved you were for the entire duration of his conference. And yet, throughout it all, he was the perfect picture of patience, endlessly cool and nonchalant in his responses to your multiple tantrums.

Until you rushed into the kitchen in a famished frenzy, diving straight for the cookie jar and shoving three in your mouth.

“Sweets are not an appropriate dinner, baby,”

The words are sighed out in pure exasperation, his thumb and his forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose, lids shut tightly.

Eyebrows furrowing, you tilt your head in confusion, speaking around your mouthful. “Since when?”

His eyes snap open, blazing azure glaring at you with such an intensity it makes you flinch, cookie crumbs turning to ash in your mouth.

“Since forever,” he seethes, mask of impassivity finally beginning to break.

“What?” you laugh around the word, but it trembles. “What are you talking about? You rarely enforce that rule—especially since you don’t even follow it yourself!”

“It doesn’t matter,” he snaps, nostrils flaring with a particularly harsh exhale. “I am the boss, and what I say goes,”

“Daddy!” A sock-clad foot stomps against the marble floor as you whine out the word, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “That isn’t fair! You can’t just—”

“Enough with this attitude!” he snarls, moving like a crack of lighting as he lunges at you, lithe arms embracing you in an iron grip. “I can, and I will,”

And then he’s hauling you over his shoulder, one strong arm wrapped around you and pinning you draped over his body, delivering swift, harsh slaps to your ass every time you kick your feet or beat your fists against his back, while every whine and complaint earns you another spank in his mind, mentally tallying them up and vocalizing the thought a moment later.

“You’re being a meanie,”

“That’s twelve,” he growls.

“I don’t care!”

“Thirteen.”

“So what?”

“Fourteen.”

“That’s nothing,”

“Twenty-five.”

And that—that gets you to pause, but not to halt, not to stop, potent brattiness mixing with fury as it boils in your chest, the need to defy, to disobey, burning through your veins.

“I-I can handle that,”

“Thirty,” his voice is calm—serene, almost—and ice cold. There’s an underlying challenge sown into it, daring you to try him again, to utter another word. He’ll go higher, you can almost hear his apathetic voice floating through your mind; he’ll go as high as he needs to in order to teach such an ungrateful little brat a lesson.

Thirty it is.

The buckle of his favourite belt jingles as he undoes it, that dainty clink! forcing shivers to pebble across your naked skin, pressing your chest further into the foot of his bed, fingers curling in cashmere.

You’ve developed a love-hate relationship with that belt; it’s so fun when you get to undo it yourself, gentle fingers tugging and toying as you squirm eagerly in his lap, yet the clank and clattering of that heavy buckle as nimble fingers skillfully unfasten it and pull it from the loops of expensive trousers is almost menacing, carrying with it portentous threats it fully intends to see through.

He never warns you when the first strike is coming, reveling in the way your muscles are coiled in tension, in foreboding anticipation; basking in the surprised yelp that bubbles up in your throat.

“Relax,” he tells you with a callous chuckle, leather squealing between large, smooth hands as he folds it. “And count,”

It’s his usual response, predictable and scripted by this point, but he never seems to tire of it, notes of delight lacing his voice.

And that first blow never counts.

Gojou Satoru may be a bad Daddy by most standards, but his punishments are harsh, brutal, and cruel, and they happen to be one of the only things he takes seriously in life.

There’s rules to each of his punishments—so many rules he’s made you write them out multiple times, until your hand ached and fingers cramped and the heel of your palm was swollen, so they’d stick in that pretty empty little head of yours, so you never forget—and his spankings are no different.

You are not to move until he tells you to. You are not to speak unless spoken to. You are to count each lash, loud and clear before the next strike lands. Each mistake, each misstep and slip-up and refusal to comply, will earn you one extra slap. The tool is to be decided based on the severity of the offence.  

The belt, all rigid rawhide and sharp edges, cuts into the supple flesh of your ass with each easy, nonchalant flick of his wrist, abrasively snapping against you.

Each collision of leather against flesh sears a tingly sting into your skin, biting rapidly rising welts into your ass and sending spiky jolts of agonizing pain bolting up your spine, the pain fading to a dull throb for just a moment before another blow is delivered.

“Gorgeous,” Satoru murmurs to himself halfway through your punishment, the word nothing more than a little huff of breath. You don’t dare respond, simply crying out the next number as he lands another harsh blow to your abused skin. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard a more beautiful sound, he continues, voice appearing faint and far away, mingling with the combined symphony of the crack of leather and pathetic whimpers muffled by sheets.

“It’s incredible,” he says, louder this time, voice dripping with wonderment, as if he can’t believe he’s created such a magnificent piece—the streaks of blood staining once perfect, unblemished skin; the high-pitched whines and sharp cries of each subsequent number; the resounding slap of the belt against your bare ass that evokes it all.

The whole thing sends a surge of intense power rushing through his veins, the tingling buzz it leaves behind enthralling and invigorating. You don’t need to look at him to know this, don’t need to see the way his eyes shine with it, the way his chest heaves with it, the way his entire body trembles with it—you can feel it in the atmosphere surrounding you, can feel the shift as his ego saturates the air, as his pure superiority bleeds into it, dense and suffocating, stimulating and revitalizing.

It infects your body, seeping in through your skin and flooding your veins, re-instills the need to be submissive, the ache to be good, providing you with the strength to endure.

The punishment lasts for forty-five excruciating minutes, accumulating a total of thirty three spanks—the extra three tacked onto your original punishment of thirty, one for each time you broke a rule. He’s on you in less than a second the moment it’s over, belt dropping to the rug-covered floor with a distinct thump as soft, eager palms roam your sweaty body, lips crushed against yours, still trembling as they spill pitiful whimpers into his mouth.

The luxurious bedroom—all cream and gold and drenched in sunlight—is blanketed by backhanded praises, warning you not to be a brat and just take what he gives. He’s sadistic when he gets in moods such as these, a feral glint in crystal eyes as large hands hastily flip you over—so fast it knocks a gasp of his name from your chest—seemingly unconcerned about the fresh blood oozing from the thin swollen welts that embellish your ass staining his thousand dollar sheets.

“Daddy needs you now,” he growls when you try to protest, breathing erratic as fingers flex on your hips, squeezing and kneading before pressing down hard, a silent order to stay fucking put. “And you’re going to be a good little girl for your Daddy now, aren’t you?”

Of course. Of course, because you are a good little girl, his good little girl.

But he’s a bad Daddy.

And, like a bad Daddy, he defers aftercare—it can wait, he practically snarls as he drags you to the edge of the bed, folding your legs up on either side of your body, knees nearly nudging your jaw; and foregoes prep almost entirely—two slender fingers slipping between your slick folds, prodding your hole and deeming you wet enough to take him.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t absolutely love it when he gets like this, when that façade of indifference finally shatters to pieces, replaced with desperation, with urgency, with neediness.

Your head lifts from the plush mattress, neck straining a little as you watch him push his trousers down his thighs through bleary eyes, residual dewdrops of tears clinging to spidery lashes. His cock bobs a little as he kicks the pants off, and it’s just as pretty as he is, smooth and symmetrical and perfect in every way.

“This would be part of your punishment,” he pants out, speaking over your cry of discomfort as he begins to shove his cock into you, little cunt aching as it attempts to accommodate the sudden intrusion. “If you didn’t love it so much, fucking slut,”

“Daddy!” The pet name claws its way up your throat in a yelp, hands scrabbling against his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh through his Armani button-up in an effort to steady yourself, eyes squeezing shut against the severe burn that accompanies the stretch. “Gonna—Gonna tear me in half,”

“You’d think you’d be used to this by now,” Satoru muses, voice already returning to its apathetic playful lilt now that he’s half buried in your cunt, breathing already calmed. A malicious little smirk decorates his lips and he observes you as if awestruck, one of his hands moving to trace the curve of your cheek, cold fingertips soft against your scalding skin.

“So beautiful like this,” he whispers as he finally bottoms out, hips pressed flush against the back of your thighs.

And you are, fresh tears that glitter the way his eyes do in the waning sun streaming down your cheeks, leaving the prettiest streaks of salt staining your flesh; lips swollen from merciless teeth sinking into them, an attempt to silence yourself, to keep those whines and complaints of Stop, Daddy! and Hurts, Daddy! safely stored in your throat.

Your little hole flutters around him, still struggling to adjust to his girth, and his head droops forward, long tongue unfurling from his mouth to lap at the bitter water adorning your face, slow languid strokes from your jaw to your bottom lashes, replacing shimmering tears with viscous saliva.

Saccharine sugar stings your nose, sticky toffee bathed in decadent chocolate and garnished with a touch of vanilla enveloping you in a sickly sweet embrace.

Such a scent—his scent—starkly opposes the vicious snapping of his hips, setting a merciless pace from the very start, blunt nails biting deep half-crescents into your flesh as they hold you in place.

But the pain only heightens the pleasure, contradicting sensations clashing together with every one of his brutal thrusts, cashmere feeling as rough as sandpaper against your raw, wounded ass. Thorns of pain pierce through your abdomen and shoot up your spine, back arching off the bed, and the muscles in your thighs flex and clench with every slam of his cockhead against your cervix.

It’s potent and intoxicating, a heady exhilaration clouding your brain and flooding your veins, and soon there are tears leaking from your eyes again, dribbling into your mouth and mixing with strings of drool that coat the words you’re babbling out.

Blood rushes in your ears, procuring a deafening ring, and you’re not even sure what you’re saying anymore, voice vibrating indistinctly in your chest as saliva soaked mewls ooze from your mouth. Your Daddy’s staring down at you, condescension etched into his pretty features, eyes morphing from dainty crystal to the navy of a tumultuous sea, framed by strands of cream and ivory dripping with sweat.

And he’s so big, too big, stuffing you full to the hilt with each ruthless piston of his hips, mattress trembling beneath you from the sheer strength; and it’s so much, too much, you swear you can feel him in your tummy, can see the way your lower abdomen cutely bulges in synchronization with every pounding thrust.

You must say it in some way, in some shape or some form, because the patronization varnishing his features melts away, sharp smirk dissolving into a genuine grin, blue eyes lightening with pure adoration.

“Such a good girl,” you think he’s saying, through it’s hard to tell when your eyelids keep drooping, hard to hear when a symphony of broken moans and hitched whimpers and the sharp slapping of skin against skin blanket the room, reverberating off the walls of your skull. “You’re such a good, good girl for me,”

Yes, Daddy, you want to say, such a good girl for you, only for you.

“Y-Yours,” you manage instead, locking your arms around his neck and clinging to him.

“Mine,” he growls, possessiveness lacquering his eyes, brilliant and bright and shining with devotion. “That’s right, mine,”

It only takes another three thrusts before you’re gushing all over his cock, the intense spasming of your cute little cunt drawing the prettiest whines from the back of his throat as he rams into you.

“Beg for it,” he demands, and although it’s an order, it comes out more like a plead, desperation sown into his voice. “Beg for Daddy’s cum,”

You obey immediately, words spilling from your lips without a second thought, automatic and instinctual. Please, Daddy, gimme your cum? Please, please, pretty please, want your cum, Daddy, fill my belly with it, Daddy, I need it, need it so bad, please?

He gives you what you want only a moment later, cock throbbing almost violently as he fills you with thick, scalding cream—so much that you’re sure it’s dribbling out of you, trickling down your ass and onto his pristine sheets—and you roll your hips up, attempting to milk him for more.

“G-Greedy,” he pants out, but there’s a dazzling smile slapped across his face, and so much love in his eyes it’s nearly overwhelming, a fresh wave of tears casting a gleaming shield across your own.

He notices immediately, both of you wincing a little as he pulls out, a wrecked little whine escaping your mouth.

“My poor little princess,” he’s saying as he untangles his briefs—Balenciaga, this time—from his trousers, abandoned in a heap on the hardwood.

“Daddy,” you rasp, a frown marring his face, fingers encircling your ankles as he helps you unfold your stiff legs.

“I know, I know,” he’s murmuring as gentle hands pull the soft clothing up your silky thighs. “It hurts, I know baby, Daddy’s gonna make it feel better now,”

A shiver courses through your body, and he tuts, nimble fingers making quick work of the buttons on his shirt, shrugging it off before he hoists you up and drapes it over your shoulders, tenderly threading your arms through the sleeves.

It’s cozy, and warm, infused with his scent—melted sugar and expensive cologne—and you snuggle into it, weak arms pulling the material tighter around your body, swathing it in comfort. Tears prick your eyes again, blearily blinking them clear as you glance up to find him backing away. A noise of indignance sounds in the back of your throat, eyebrows knitting together as you make grabby hands for him.

“I’ll be right back, princess,” he reassures you as he laces your fingers together and allows you to pull him back towards you, voice soothing like a lullaby. Fingers trail along the curve of your cheek then trace the line of your jaw, palms smoothing hair back from your face. “Daddy’s just going to go get the first aid kit so he can clean you up, okay?”

“‘N then food?”

He coos with a little chuckle, cupping your head as he tilts it up towards him, eyes overflowing with fondness.

“Yeah, baby, and then food. Whatever you want, it’s yours,”

Gojou Satoru may be a bad Daddy, but he is also your Daddy, and that makes him the best Daddy.

[retro-rezz-the-est]

Opposites Attract pt. 2 (Balor/Reader smut)

Summary: Reader decides to stay the night at Balor’s home and together, the two make their way back upstairs. But, her shy facade soon melts away and her true self is revealed…

(A/N: Sorry this took a little while; my life caught up with my ass, I got ideas for new fics, and writer’s block is a large piece of crap who hates my insides. Thanks to @writing-reigns for being my go-to gal to dump my ideas for this on, and for just being my #1 cheerleader. Without further ado, here we (finally) go!)

(Y/n): your name

Bolded text is Balor speaking.

Read part one here.

“You got yourself a deal, Balor. I’ll stay the night. Let’s see where this ‘rendezvous’ takes us now.”

The air around the two of you went silent as the last word falls from your lips, and you could feel the stammer of your heart bounce off the walls around you. The demon’s eyes seemed to grow even darker with every letter you spoke, as if they were swirling pools of ink.

A well earned smirk soon found its way onto Balor’s face, his hands moving towards yours as they still held the lapels of his suit jacket. Holding them together, he bent down and brushed his lips softly against the back of your hands, cheekily nibbling on the knuckle of your finger with his sharp-growing teeth.

Looking up, he flashed you a wide smile full of those beautiful pearly whites and you shivered, desperate to know what they would feel like dragging along the planes of your body. You looped an arm around his neck and pulled him down to your height. The brazen move surprised the Irishman, his eyes widening before he felt the softness of your lips descend upon his.

You moaned harshly when he sucked your bottom lip between his teeth and bit down on it, the noise echoing around the room. He lathed over it with his tongue and placed both hands on the sides of her head to keep the kiss going. The world seemed to stop spinning as you became drunk on the feel of his mouth on yours and his rough palms caressing you.

After a few moments, you forcibly ripped yourself away from his body, leaving you two flushed and panting. The Demon King’s jaw ticked as the newfound bulge in his dress pants grew and he wrapped a swift arm around your waist, pulling you close.

Arms down at your sides, you resisted the urge to touch him as you asked, “How far is your room from here, Balor?”

He chuckled, loving how lust-filled and drunk your voice already sounded. “Up the stairs to the left, then turn the corner on your right when you’re up. It’s the last door down the hall.”

“Excellent...”

That voice at the back of your head seemed to take control of your lips as she whispered those words and you could feel your own eyes darken with lust. The man in front of you smiled once more as he thrusted his arm out to the side with his palm out, sending a rush of force away from him and towards the large wooden door behind the two of you.

“Shall we, my dear?”

The door opened with a deafening slam, and seeing the small display of his power fueled your legs to move from their stiff position under you.  Grabbing his hand, you slid from his grasp and made your way as fast as you could in your heels and dragged him behind you, hearing his deep laugh trail after you.

“Such speed, (Y/n),” he teased, watching you follow the directions he gave you. “Are you that eager to bed me and take my cock for your own?”

Your head swiveled around, the brashness of his comment making your underwear go damp under your dress. A low growl poured out of your throat, temporarily silencing the demon.

“Shut the hell up, Balor. And besides, I think you’re going to be the one who’s eager for me by the end of the night.”

“I love this new you, darling. She’s so sassy,” he murmured to himself as you led him down the hall and to his bedroom. Turning him around, you pinned him to the wall right next to it and began to run a hand down his chest.

Coming to the dip in his slacks, you cupped hand around his growing bulge, drawing a groan from him. The back of his head thumped against the wall as you continued to fondle him, his hands gripping your forearms while you placed soft kisses along his exposed neck.

“We should get inside,” you said, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I don’t want to finish the main event out here where it’s cold.”

Balor’s chest rumbled when you removed your body from his once more, leaving him flustered again. Still holding your arms, he used his powers to slam the bedroom door open and dragged you into it, slipping off his dress shoes and tossing you on the bed.

Your hair fanned around your face as you took a closer look at his room. Black wooden bookcases with iron carvings lined the wall to your right, their shelves lined with a soft wine colored velvet. A small crystal chandelier dangled from the ceiling and the moonlight that shone from the ornate windows behind you caused the small fragment to shine brighter. The bed you laid on was black, of course, with a light grey and red dotted bedsheet, complete with four thin poles with drapes hanging from them and a sheer tent-like hood atop it.

The man in front of you looked even more devilish in this lighting as he stalked towards you like a predator, crawling above you and breathing heavily. “You were a very naughty girl out there, (Y/n), teasin’ me like that and leavin’ me out to dry.”

His accent grew thicker with each uttered word, leaving you swooning where you laid, but you wouldn’t let that prevent you from taking him.

“It’s bold of you to assume that I was actually finished with our previous activities outside.”

Rolling his eyes, he slid his hands down from your arms and to your waist, rubbing his hands along your dress fabric and saying, “And what, pray tell, do you have in store for me tonight, sweetheart?”

You smirked, moving a hand to his neck and thumbing the skin there. “Why, I plan for you to submit to me tonight, sweetheart.”

“You think that I would submit to you, of all people? Please, I’m a king. The Demon King, at that,” he scoffed, glancing down at your furrowing brows.

You were having none of his cocky shit tonight.

“I suppose that could be true,” you responded, your voice a sickly sweet tone, “but did you not fall to my whim but a few minutes ago?”

Your then wide doe eyes soon fell to slits as you added, “I know what makes you tick, Balor, and you will fall for me again tonight.”

He leaned down so your chests were near touching and his lips brushed your ear as he whispered, “Love, I’d like to see you try.”

Again with the cockiness, you thought as you nibbled on his earlobe, feeling him take a sharp intake. I’m gonna enjoy making him crack.

“Well, then, let the games begin.”

The grin he gave you exuded savage as he unbuttoned his suit jacket and threw it to the floor where the rest of your clothes would be going. He planted another predatory kiss to your lips and you let out another loud moan, teeth and tongue clashing with his yet again.

You kicked your heels off and heard them clack against the hardwood floor below. Wrapping your legs around his torso, you used your own weight to shift to the side and roll on top of him, pinning him down by the hips and grabbing his wrists.

“Aww, look at you now,” you chided, leaning down to brush your lips to his ear like he had done to you. “Not so high and mighty after all, huh, Demon King?”

“Again, not seeing a lot of me submitting to ya. You should really step your game up, love.”

Oh, I sure as hell will, you thought as your eyes drifted upwards to the flowing drapes that hung from the bedposts around you. An idea soon sparked in the back of your mind, and you had to hold back the girlish squeal that almost left your throat. Shifting your weight on Balor’s hips to reach one pulled another noise out of him. His own eyes followed yours as you reached up to pull down the scarf-like material down and held it in front of you.

“What’re ya planning tonight, (Y/n)?” he asked as you released his left wrist to tie it to the bed frame. You noticed how he didn’t use his free hand to try and get an advantage over you, and that made your heart flutter in your chest a bit.

“I am only doing as you asked, Balor. Trying to obtain your complete and utter submission.”

His right wrist followed soon after and you smiled, reviewing the first part of your handiwork. Running a deft hand through his hair, you tugged on the short strands to pull him back to your waiting mouth. You could feel his teeth graze your bottom lip and the vibrations of a slight chuckle before you pull away, your eyes once again slits.

You pulled on his hair harder, exposing the pale column of his neck as you seethed, “You are not in control tonight, Balor. I am. So don’t test me.”

“Or what?” he questioned, his cocky bravado coming back to play. “You’ll gag me or somethin’?”

Your mind wandered to images of a bound and gagged Demon King, soft red ropes criss-crossing around his broad and pale chest as his muffled begs and pleas fell on deaf ears...

Shaking your head, you quickly cleared the unintentional - but not unwanted - sexual fantasy away. “Keep this shit up and I might as well. You would look so pretty with one of your fancy ties shoved between those plump lips of yours.”

That seemed to shut him up for the time being, and you watched his throat bob in anticipation.

“But,” you continued, “maybe we can save that one for next time. For now, you just lay here and stay quiet like a good boy so I can give you your reward. Okay?”

You didn’t give him time to respond as you kissed you way down his jaw and to his neck, nibbling at any exposed patch of skin as you went. The Irishman sighed, bucking his hips into yours to gain some friction for his hardened member. You stopped halfway down, sucking a dark mark into the soft skin.

“Stay. Still.”

A few moments later and his neck was dotted with red and deep purple bruises with the spotlight being shown on the near black one near his collarbone. You could hear his panting and feel him grow steel hard beneath you, the apex of your thighs growing wetter by the second.

Gliding your fingertips over the assortment of marks, you whisper, “You’re doing so well for me, love. Are you ready to give in now?”

The demon below you gritted his teeth and let out a rushed “no” and you sighed, tutting at the action.

“Ah well, I guess I’ll just have to try even harder now.”

And with that, you ran your tongue over the various bite marks and let out a wistful breath. The movements continued until you reached the dip in his throat and looked at the exposed skin near his shirt. You kissed at the softness there and proceeded to slowly unbutton the remainder of his white dress shirt, laying even more down after each one.

Balor tried his best to remain immobile for you, mostly because he wanted to see how far you would take this little game that you two were playing. Moving the sides of the shirt away, you moved your hands to tweak at his peaked nipples, pulling more muffled noises from him. His hips bucked into yours again but this time, you scratched your nails down his pecs and abdominals, making him hiss.

“I said stay still, Balor. Don’t make me say it again,” you repeated harshly.

His vision started to get blurry as you and your ever eager mouth reached the waistband of his dress pants, feeling you nibble at his hip bones as you held down his waist. You knew he wouldn’t last long if you continued your teasing of his form with just your lips and teeth, so you decided to cut him a little slack and unzip the front of his pants. The relieving sigh he let out made you throb and looking down didn’t fare you much better, either.

Through his dark grey boxers, you could see the wet spot that had formed right above the head. His cock had enough thickness to it that you just knew that you couldn’t wrap your hand around it fully. Pushing his pants down his thighs and off his legs, you took your time in admiring the monster that was currently shielded from your wandering eyes.

He bent his head forward to see you staring straight back with your hand currently wrapped around him, jerking him leisurely and watching him struggle to not thrust into your hand. As you let go, you ignored his groan of annoyance and pulled his boxers off as well. He exhaled, his cock finally getting attention.

Before he could fully relish in it, you pulled the remaining two drapes from the bed posts and removed his socks before tying his ankles to the bed posts. You hands slid up his legs and rested on the insides of his thighs, the sleeves from your dress rubbing against his skin beautifully.

“Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun with you tonight…” you trailed off as one of your hands wrapped itself along the base of him and drew the skin back to reveal his shiny head, already leaking pre-cum down the shaft. You, unable to hold back your urges, hungrily lapped it up as it dripped down and began to coat your fingers.

“P-Please, (Y/n)...”

Lifting your head briefly, you asked, “Please… what? What do you want me to do?”

The feeling of your breath on him was making him dizzy with desire, and he could feel his blackened eyes cloud over more. “Take me into your mouth, darlin’, and down tha’ pretty throat of yours.”

“Is that any way to ask for something, Balor? Or do I need to leave you here to teach you some manners?”

“No!”

The shout that came from him startled even you, feeling the room shake slightly. As you regained your demeanor, you heard him whisper, “Please suck me down, (Y/n).”

His cheeks and his upper chest grew red from the statement and you had to see more of that tonight. Nodding at his statement, you returned your mouth to his dripping cock and began to suckle the head lightly, stroking him up and down as his moans washed over you.

Stroke, twist, suck. Stroke, twist, suck, you repeated inwardly as you pushed his buttons and pulled at his sexual strings. After a while, you decided to surprise him by sucking him down until you could feel his head bump against the back of your throat.

He tugged at his restraints to try and get his hands closer to your head, but to no avail. The pressure he was feeling only went up as your motions sped up and one of your hands drifted towards his sack, fondling it between your fingers. Coming up for air, you continued to toy with him and increased the suction of your mouth, tightening your grip around him as well.

He was dripping pre even more than before, so you knew he was close. You looked back up at him to see a flushed pink Demon King, struggling against both his binds and his urge to spill into your awaiting mouth. Clenching his fists, you heard him utter, “I’m gonna cum, darlin’. Gonna pour this fuckin’ load down ya damn throat.”

His accent was getting muddled and warbled with every second as he got closer and close to climax, but you had other plans for him.

Much….better plans, in your opinion.

“How about…no.”

Your hands and your mouth left his aching cock immediately, leaving a wide-eyed Balor behind. Shock quickly turned to anger as he felt the room’s chill air begin to run over his spit-covered member and yelled, “‘Ey, what th’ fuck, (Y/n)?! I was about to cum!”

A giggle leapt from out of you unexpectedly. “Well, I figured if you weren’t going to yield to me, you would just have to wait for your orgasm. It’s pretty fair, in my opinion.”

“The hell it is! You’ve done enough of ya damn teasin’ already!”

You quirked an eyebrow at him and sat up, eyeing him devilishly. “I’m sorry, which one of us is currently bound to a bed at the moment?”

A brief silence hung in the air and for a moment, all you could hear was the combined sounds of your heavy breathing.

“I am.”

“Exactly, dear Balor. So until you give into me fully, I can do whatever the hell I want to you for the time being.”

This happened a few more times, you bringing the demon below you to the cusp of release over and over again and them pulling him back from that edge every single time. After three or so more times - you lost count after the first one; you were too entranced by his blissed out yet frustrated expressions - you finally let him go and gave a breather.

Sitting up, you took a moment to ole at his currently wrecked form. His chest was heaving heavily and you could see beads of sweat form along his forehead from being edged over and over again for what had seemed like forever and a day.

You then decided that it was the right moment to remove your dress and really get this show rolling. Steadily inching from between his slightly quivering thighs, you unzipped the back and let it fall to the floor. The wind was knocked out of Balor’s chest as he saw the strapless lace nude set that had been hidden underneath the gown. You pursed your mouth in a self-satisfied smirk, knowing that you made the powerful Demon King be at a loss of words because of a single look.

“Like what you see, baby? Because it’s all for you.”

You ended the statement with a wink and placed your hands on your hips, making his cock twitch. “Hell yeah, I do, sweetheart.”

Straddling his hips again, you pressed the weight of your hips and the lace of your underwear down on his leaking member, making him jerk and moan raspily.

“Now, I feel like you’ve been such a good boy for me lately and I think it’s time that you got your reward now, don’t you think?” you questioned the demon as you continued to leisurely drag yourself up and down the length of his shaft.

“Yes, yes please, love. Take me. Ride me until I cum,” Balor pleaded, desperation and the need to release pouring from his voice.

Lifting your hips, you pulled your underwear to the side and grasped his cock in your hand once more, trailing it in between your wet folds for a few seconds before lining up and sinking down on him. The stretch of his cock against your walls burned amazingly as you both let out cries of pleasure at the feeling.

Having him snug against your walls ad feeling him bump against your cervix with every slight move of your hips made you fall forward to face the red-faced demon head on. You slowly lifted your hips from his and slammed them back down, feeling your juices leak out from you and down his shaft.

All the while, Balor was barely keeping it together, giving a thrust of his hips every now and then but your clamped hands at his hips kept him mostly still. Mewls and small whimpers came from the big, bad Demon King as you rode him at your pace, the pressure starting to peak in your lower abdomen.

You heard a weak voice calling your name from underneath you. “Please, let me come, darlin’. Let me fill up that tight cunt a’ yours.”

A wide grin stretched out on your face. “Is that… begging I hear?” you wondered aloud, digging your nails into his chest again, watching the red crescents bloom in his skin.

Is it finally happening? Is he really…?

“Ya wanted me to beg, (Y/n)? Ya wanted me to submit to ya? Fine, you win. I’ll give in to ya. Just please, please, let me come. I don’t think I can take much more of this.”

Shock crossed your vision for a quick second before being replaced with pure joy as you heard his accent grow jumbled with the need to cum right then.

“I win, then? Will you be my good little boy and give me my prize now?”

“Yes, (Y/n)! Whatever ya want.”

You moved your hands from his hips and began to move faster, allowing him to buck hem against yours with every bounce you gave. Gripping his shoulders now, you leaned down to his ear and bit at his earlobe. “I want you to cum for me. Right. Fucking. Now.”

That’s all he needed to just let go and with a few more thrusts of his pelvis against yours, you could feel him entire body shudder as he growled and his cum shoot deep inside you. His climax triggered yours and you could feel yourself falling off of that edge of ecstasy with him, warmth filling your core.

As you fell atop his sweaty chest, you took note of all of the marks you had left on his body, from the bite marks and hickies that littered his neck to the scratches that trailed down his shoulders and his pecs. It left you with a strange sense of satisfaction that you were the one who was able to make him feel so worn out and done.

Sliding off of him with a soft ‘pop’, you reached up and behind you to untie his limbs and watched him sigh, the tightness of the drapes finally leaving him. You crawled over to his side and placed kisses along the skin patches you could reach and moved to hold his hand.

“That was fun, Balor,” you said after a brief silence, enjoying the sound of his heartbeat and the rhythm of his moving chest. “And don’t deny how much you enjoyed it as well. You came so much that I can feel it dripping down my thighs right now.”

He turned his head to place a firm kiss to your forehead. “Although I did have quite the experience, there’s somethin’ still plaguing me.”

“What is it?” you asked, turning your body and leaning on your elbow to look down at him.

“You said ‘next time’ earlier. Will there be a next time between you and me, darlin’?”

You scoffed, coming back down to snuggle against his warm body. “Of course there will be. I’m not done with my favorite little boy just yet.”

“Good,” he replied, chuckling at your response, “because in the morning, I’m gonna repay you back for everything ya just did to me by a tenfold, (Y/n). Just you wait.”

Oh god, you thought as you drifted off into a dreamless sleep, kept warm by the Demon King’s thick arms all throughout the night.

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Louder Than Words

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Words: 1.9k+

Summary: Jimin is having a hard time voicing his feelings for you, but he realizes maybe words aren’t so important.

Warnings: None. This is just straight fluff yall.

A/N: This fic has been sitting in my head for a long time and @btssavedmylifeblr said if a fic won't leave you alone, then write it. So I did! My first BTS fic. I hope you enjoy! Thank you to @themusiclife132-writing for being my beta reader for this! I love you so much.

Jimin considered himself a level-headed guy. He was never too brash or cocky, he respected others, and he tried to keep the mood light and joking. Recently, he’s been feeling a little...different. All signs point to you being the cause of it. As a friend of the band, your presence was one he was very familiar with. However, he had developed more than friendly feelings for you. He can’t pinpoint exactly when this shift happened but as he sat on a couch watching you check your texts, he could feel this emotion welling up inside of him. It was almost overwhelming but he had grown used to it. He had been debating getting up and heading over to you for the last minute or so. His mind raced with topics he could bring up but none of them seemed casual enough. His brainstorming was interrupted as Namjoon sat next to you on the couch, asking about the souvenirs you had bought today. As your face lit up and you ran off to grab one of your shopping bags to show him, that warm feeling drained from Jimin quickly and it was replaced with another emotion. One that he was entirely in denial about.

Jealousy.

Jimin was jealous. He envied how Namjoon could quickly come up with a joke about something happening in real time and make you laugh. He envied how Namjoon could flip your compliments back on you and make you blush. He envied that Namjoon made talking with you seem so easy but Jimin always hesitated. He hated that he would need a few seconds to gather his thoughts before talking to you to make sure he didn't flub any words. He hated that he started second-guessing what he already knew because he was so worried about looking dumb in front of you. He hated that he felt he didn’t have a chance because Namjoon seemed to be perfect for you, and he wasn’t. At least in his mind. He started studying harder, making sure he did some sort of English practice at least twice a day on off days and once on days they had a busy schedule. He had improved quite a bit but not as much as he wanted. He just wanted to be able to talk to you. Was that so much to ask? Did the universe have it out for him?

Jimin comes back to reality and blinks a few times to get himself out of his head. Now you were showing Namjoon a necklace you knew your friend would love. Jimin smiles to himself at the fact that you’re bouncing lightly in your seat as you talk. It was little things like that that he loved about you.

Love. A strong word and emotion. One that he hadn’t paired with you until about a month ago. You sat in on a dance practice, watching them rehearse for hours and hours on end. They had just finished the ‘IDOL’ choreography for the 3rd time in a row and tired was an understatement of how Jimin felt right now. Without much thought, he went over and plopped his head in your lap like he’s done many times before.

“Jimin! You’re staining my jeans with your sweat, that’s gross!” You whine as you pushed at his shoulder but he didn’t budge. He pouted as he looked up at you, hoping it would be enough to win you over and let him stay in your lap. When you rolled your eyes playfully, he knew he had won and a smile spread on his face.

“Lucky I love you.” You murmured under your breath as you started to play in his hair.

Jimin paused as his heart kicked into high gear. He must’ve misheard you. You definitely didn’t just drop the L word on him. Right?

“Love?” He repeats as he tries his best to ignore the loud thumping in his chest.

“Mhm.” You nod before you attention was pulled to Jungkook who was asking you a question. Whatever the question was got lost behind the elation and blood rushing through Jimin’s ears. You loved him. After a few days of thinking, he knew he loved you too. For a while he didn’t feel so hopeless. He allowed himself to love and found so many things he loved about you.

Such as your random affectionate touches. When you lean on him as you play a game on your phone or fall asleep with your head on his shoulder during long rides. Other times you wrap your arms around him and demand his attention in a playful manner. He especially loved that.

He loved the look of awe on your face when they took you somewhere new. Whether it be a place the band frequented or an entirely new country he loved seeing your eyes light up as you try to commit every little detail to memory. If he could he would take you all over the world just to see that look every time.

He loved how observant you were. You could always tell when something was wrong with someone. One day in particular Jimin was feeling really low, so much so that he kept messing up choreography. He’d go over it once, twice, three times but still he’d miss a count or forget a step. He knew this dance. He knows he does, why couldn’t he get it right? Hot, angry tears pooled in his eyes as he let out a frustrated groan. He dropped down into a crouch, gripping his hair and pulling at it in annoyance. The whole day had been a rough one and he hoped dancing would help, but it seemed even one of his biggest passions wouldn’t help him wind down. His body was trembling as he tried to stop himself from crying. He hated that he was an angry crier. Then he froze as arms wrapped around him. He could tell right away it wasn’t one of his bandmates.

“It’s going to be okay.” You reassure him in a soft tone. Unbeknownst to him, you had been watching him from the doorway for a while.

It took a few moments but slowly he relaxed into your arms and sat down on the floor. Before he could think about it, he was telling you about the shit day he had. You didn’t get mad when he stammered or stuttered. You didn’t get mad when he couldn’t find an English equivalent to a Korean word and had to rework his statement. You didn’t get mad when he would randomly break his sentences to cry a little. You just sat there with those warm eyes that make his heart soar and listened to him, only interjecting to help him find a word he was looking for. It was only about 10 minutes but he feels as if he rambled for hours.

“Better?” You ask as you give him a small smile.

Jimin nods, his eyes now dry and his mind finally clear.

“Good. Come on, I bought some food and when I left Jin and Jungkook were inhaling it all. I wanna get some kimchi before he finishes it.” You say as you stood up.

Jimin stood as well, a light blush on his cheeks as you take his hand and exit the studio. Thankfully, you didn’t see it.

What he loved most were intimate moments he shared with you. Times when everyone else faded into the background and it was just you and him. On long bus rides, you’d find Jimin sitting with his headphones in his ears watching the world go by. You’d sit next to him and he’d instinctively hand you a headphone and his phone. You two would go back and forth adding music to a queue, showing each other the new discoveries you made and new artists you liked. This could go on for hours and Jimin didn’t mind that. You didn’t seem to either. More than once you’d fallen asleep on him before the queue could finish; he would pause the music and let you rest. You could pick up where you left off later, you always did. No matter how often you told him he didn’t have to wait for you.

Jimin once again was taken out of his thoughts but this time it was by a piece of pepper flying past his face. He furrowed his brows before looking in the direction where it came from. He locks eyes with Jungkook who has a smug look on his face.

“Come eat.” He says as he nods toward the food spread out on the table near him.

Jimin stood up and walked over, nudging Jungkook a little on his way to get a plate. After a quick scan around the room, he noted that you weren’t in the room anymore. He took the empty spot you left next to Namjoon once he filled his plate.

“Namjoon?” Jimin says after a moment of thinking.

“Hm?” Namjoon hums as he chews.

“Could you...teach me some flirty things to say?” Jimin asks as he messes with his food to keep himself occupied. He didn’t have to look over to know that Joon probably had an amused smirk on his face.

“Flirty things? Why would you need me for that?” Namjoon replies after he swallows his food, “If there’s anyone here who can flirt, it’s you.”

“Namjoon.” Jimin whines. He didn’t want to say it was for you. It took a lot of courage for him to even ask Namjoon this in the first place. Namjoon takes a long look at Jimin before he relents. Jimin probably was tortured enough by his crush on you and he didn’t want to add on to it.

“Of course, but not now. Your girl will be back in a few minutes.”

“My girl?” Jimin repeats as he spares a glance at Namjoon.

“You think your crush is subtle? I don’t know how she hasn’t figured it out yet. You’re like a lovesick puppy.” Joon teases with a laugh. “Plus you get fussy whenever she gives me any sort of attention.”

Jimin looks away at that. Was he really that obvious? He didn’t think he was.

“No harm, no foul. It’s alright Jimin. But in all honesty, I don’t think you need me to teach you anything to impress her. She likes you regardless.” Namjoon continues as he opens a bottle of water.

Jimin wants Joon to explain what he meant by that but then you enter the room again and he goes silent.

“Finally done daydreaming?” You ask as you sit down on the other side of Jimin and put your legs across his lap.

He nods before picking up another mouthful of food. A thought comes to mind that makes him pause his movements. Namjoon’s words go through his head again and before he can convince himself to not go through with it, he offers you the food he just gathered on his fork. You look at the food then back to him before you let him feed you.

“Thank you.” You say before you kiss his cheek and rest your head on his shoulder.

Jimin smiles and looks over at Namjoon who gives him a look that is the epitome of ‘I told you so’. Maybe Namjoon was right. Maybe Jimin didn’t need to learn anything. Maybe he did have a chance and there was hope for him. Only time would tell.