#this is humiliating why does he have so much gender in him

[lowestechelonabomination]

WHY AM I GETTING SO MUCH GENDER ENVY FROM A GUY 2 YEARS YOUNGER THAN ME

[gimmethatagustd]

wanna watch a sex tape | kth (ft. pjm)

When Taehyung invited you over to watch a movie, you didn’t think the movie he had in mind would be your sex tape… And you definitely didn’t think his roommate would want to watch, too.

↳ pairing: taehyung x reader x jimin

↳ rating/genre: BTS | 18+ | frenemies to lovers | strangers to lovers | smut | a lil bit of fluff

↳ wc/date: 6.9k | August 2023

↳ warnings: no pronouns/gendered language for oc except "pussy", namjoon has mono and it's not the album (hahahaaa), homemade pornography, Big Dick Tae, exhibitionism, humiliation kink (but it's like... unintentional? tae isn't mean or anything), handjob, blowjob, deepthroating, facefucking, crying, anal and vaginal fingering, unprotected anal and vaginal sex, double penetration, creampie, subspace, sub!reader, soft!dom tae, switch!jimin ig, an insane amount of lube like way too much, they're all arguing with each other the entire time, tae tries to deepthroat a camcorder

↳ notes: lol yeahhh soooo... idk what's up with me and threesomes lately, but, uhhh, i'm too embarrassed to proofread this so i'll do it later hkjds

↳ masterlist / taglist

↳ what was jai listening to? up! - lil vada & donnysolo

The Wannabe-Photographer Chronicles (mini-series) Masterlist

“It’s just a movie,” he’d said. “What’s wrong with two friends watching a movie? It’s Netflix and chill in the most literal way, I promise,” he’d insisted. 

So why does Taehyung have pulled up what appears to be a video editing software instead of Netflix? 

You sit with your back against Taehyung’s headboard and your legs tucked beneath you while you watch him place his laptop on the bed in front of you. The moment he presses play, you feel all the blood drain from your body. 

“Kim Taehyung, turn that the fuck off!” you screech. You lunge forward to slap the space bar, effectively pausing the video. “Why? Why why why why why?” 

“You said I could pick the movie,” Taehyung says with a slight pout. 

“This is not a fucking movie!”  

There on the screen, with a fucking sepia filter, is a still of Taehyung’s fingers lodged deep between your thighs. The tendons and veins in his wrist and forearm pop to the surface from the thrusting motion. In the second it took to pause the video, you’d heard your own breathy moans blare from the laptop’s speakers.

This is probably the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to you in your entire life. Probably in anyone’s life! You’re living a nightmare. 

“You’re right, it’s not a movie,” Taehyung sighs. He leans back on his palms and lets his head loll to the side as he stares at you blankly, almost as if he’s bored. It’s enraging how hot he looks. “It’s just raw footage. I have a lot of edits to make before I could call it a movie. For starters, I already hate the filter.”

Ears and cheeks aflame with invisible heat, you dig your fingers into the bed’s fluffy comforter to prevent yourself from clawing Taehyung’s eyes out. He’s genuinely insufferable and has been for as long as you’ve known him. 

You don’t know how you keep finding yourself in these unfortunate situations with Taehyung. The first time, he provoked you. How could you have reasonably walked away from him at Hoseok’s party when it was in your own fucking apartment? After he fucked your pussy and took a photo when you came? What were you supposed to have done?! You’d already tried kicking him out. The little shit just wiggled his way under your skin and made you itch. 

The whole striptease thing hadn’t been your fault, either. Hoseok had a whole conversation with you about not “scaring away” his friends as if it’s somehow on you that his friends are all annoying. But you love Hoseok, no matter how difficult he makes your life sometimes, and you told yourself that you would do better to be nice. Helping Taehyung with his college photography assignment seemed like a nice way to hold out an olive branch to the asshole. How could you have known that it would end with, with, with a sex tape?

Because that’s what this is on Taehyung’s laptop. A fucking sex tape. 

You made a sex tape with Kim fucking Taehyung, the most infuriating man on the planet, and now you’re sitting on his bed while he explains his editing software like this is the most normal thing you could be doing on a Friday night. 

“Are you even listening?” Taehyung narrows his eyes at you. His fingers hover over the trackpad, posed to click on the video’s play button. 

You swat his hand away, and he yelps. 

“Stop it right now,” you snap. “We are not watching this.” 

You’re so embarrassed that your entire body is on fire. The skin at the nape of your neck prickles, and your stomach swoops so severely that you’re afraid you might pass out from how difficult it is to inhale. It doesn’t help that Taehyung’s previous look of irritation has morphed into something slimy and smug. 

Of course, the universe is never on your side. Assuming Taehyung will let this go is nothing more than a pipe dream. 

“You’re that upset about it?” Taehyung isn’t sincere when he asks. 

Using the arrow keys, he fast-forwards through the video. Despite your embarrassment, you can’t take your eyes off the frames as they quickly flash across the screen. Taehyung lingers momentarily on a part of the video that makes the heat in your face travel south. 

Most people look better in real life than in photos, but Taehyung is flawless no matter the circumstance. His sharp, dark eyes stare back at you through the screen. From the angle his head is tilted, his eyes have a narrowed, almost sleepy appearance as he looks through his eyelashes at the camera. You can only see the top half of his face because the lower half is buried between your thighs. 

You straighten your posture and clasp your hands in your lap. Forcing yourself to look away from the laptop is hard, and you hate yourself for being so affected by the image of Taehyung eating you out. It was a fluke. A mistake. Something fueled by lust and some weird desire for you to prove that… what? You could fuck him, and it mean nothing? 

“This is the best part.”

You don’t want to look again, but you do. It isn’t Taehyung’s comment that draws you toward the laptop once more, but another voice. Your own. 

“I liked you better when you were crying and begging for me like a good boy.” 

In the moment, you thought you’d been snappy and clever when you said that line – meant to be an insult more than anything. Listening to it now, you’re ashamed to hear something far more… suggestive to your tone. Had it really been like that? Or are you overanalyzing now?

“I can still be a good boy for you like this…”

Taehyung’s rough, fucked-out voice makes your entire body tense. It was fucking hot when he said it then, and hearing it again only confirms that, yes, it was fucking hot. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin and broken moans flood the room. Watching yourself on video is surreal, a version of you that you wouldn’t otherwise ever know. Most people live their entire lives without knowing what they look like when they’re having sex – not like this. And here you are, watching a version of you fuck yourself on Taehyung’s cock in the very bed you sit on right now. 

“Honestly, I’m offended that you don’t even appreciate how well I edited these shots. They all flow so seamlessly; didn’t you notice?” 

For some reason, the pout Taehyung wears tugs at your heart in a way you wish it wouldn’t. He just looks so genuine. 

“Taehyung,” you speak sternly, hoping you can set the tone for a more serious conversation. Even though your face isn’t in the video, you’re still a little nervous about what Taehyung will do with it. 

Another part of you is very turned on because the video is still playing, and even though you’re looking at Taehyung, you can see the movement out of the corner of your eye. It only gets worse when Taehyung’s moans grow louder. 

“Yeah?” 

Taehyung’s lips part slightly. You watch him run his tongue against the inside of his cheek with your heart hammering in your chest and heat pooling between your legs. Taehyung exhales in real life, the sound soft and shaky, at the exact moment he cums in the video. 

Whatever you were about to say evaporates from your mind like mist in the wind because he sounds so pretty. 

Fucking hell. 

“What?” Taehyung tries again to get an answer from you, but you can’t speak. 

By now, you’re thoroughly wet, to the point that your thighs feel damp from being pressed together. Your underwear is uncomfortable when you shift, and you wish you’d worn more than a pair of baggy basketball shorts. They go well with your cute cropped hoodie and the Nikes you left at Taehyung’s front door. At least they’re black, so there’s no chance your arousal will be seen through your clothes. 

The last thing you need is for Taehyung to know you’re turned on.

“Nothing,” you finally respond, tearing your gaze from his face. 

The new view is worse, though. You immediately look down and see the last frame of the video. Taehyung’s cock rests on your bare ass, cum splattered on your cheeks and lower back, his cock shiny and slick. You breathe in sharply and seal your fate because Taehyung immediately pounces on that tiny detail. 

“I know you liked it,” Taehyung goads, his pout morphing into the classic grin you’ve grown to both hate and love. 

“No, I didn’t.” 

“Don’t lie.” 

You twist around to face him fully. “Listen here, you little piece of–” 

It’s like deja vu, really, how your eyes fall to look at the bulge in Taehyung’s pants. This time, he’s wearing light grey sweatpants that are a little tight in the crotch, showing a clear outline of his cock resting along his thigh. The fabric at the head of his cock is darker than the rest, a wet spot that has your body throbbing with desire. 

Perhaps from the attention, Taehyung’s cock kicks up, twitching in the confines of his sweats. He lets out a quiet, breathy laugh. 

“I’m listening.” 

Taehyung reaches over to squeeze your knee when you still don't speak. Slowly, he glides his hand up your thigh. Once he reaches the hem of your shorts, he lifts his gaze from where his hand is hot on your skin to your face. His eyes lock with yours as he slips his hand into the leg of your shorts and continues following the inside of your thigh. 

Despite Taehyung’s body heat, you shiver from his touch as he travels higher and higher. It tickles, but you bite your lip and force yourself to stay still. The only part of you that moves is your chest as you rapidly take shallow breaths. It does nothing to calm you down; if anything, it worsens everything. You’re working yourself up to the point that you’re gushing in your underwear.

Taehyung’s fingers trace along the elastic, and you know he can feel how soaked you are. His gaze weighs heavy on you, eyes dark and lidded. He presses his fingers against your underwear and drags them along your lips, lightly increasing his pressure to massage your clit. 

“Oh,” you let out with a gasp, digging your fingers into the comforter. You automatically open your legs further, allowing Taehyung better access. He continues rubbing your clit through your underwear, his movements too slow and light for your liking. “Taehyung…” 

“Hm?” He’s so fucking smug you want to slap him, but you also don’t want him to stop. 

“Just, fucking, just–” 

Your desperate request for him to just fucking finger you already is cut off by Taehyung’s bedroom door flying open. With an embarrassing scream, you practically leap off Taehyung’s bed. 

“Taehyungieeee! I was supposed to hang out with Namjoon hyung, but he canceled because he got fucking mono. Can you believe? Who gets mono at almost thirty years old? Seriously! I asked him who he’s been making out with, but he–” 

The dark-haired man stops midsentence with his jaw hanging off its hinges. Wide, unsuspecting eyes flit from your look of horror to the outline of Taehyung’s dick in his pants to Taehyung’s hand now resting on your knee. But what’s somehow the most embarrassing thing is that the man’s eyes eventually land on Taehyung’s laptop, where his dick and your ass are still on display. 

“Oh wow.” 

Taehyung lets out a long groan and lets his head roll backward. 

“This is exactly why I tell you to knock before you come in here.” 

“W-what!” The man sputters. “This is my fault?” 

After a moment of staring at the ceiling, Taehyung levels his gaze to stare at the man. “Did you knock?” 

The man looks pained when forced to say, “No…” 

You would rather die than be here right now. You watch the two men begin bickering about proper roommate etiquette because this is apparently Taehyung’s roommate, Jimin, who you didn’t know even existed. A convenient thing to leave out, right? Of course, Taehyung wouldn’t fucking tell you that there’s the possibility that someone might be in the apartment with you. 

“Well, what are you watching?” Jimin walks toward the bed to get a better look at Taehyung’s laptop. “Fuck, that guy’s cock is huge. What’s this on?” 

“Oh my god, Taehyung, make it go away!” You finally hiss, slapping Taehyung in the arm to make him do something.

Taehyung throws his head back in a fit of laughter, which makes you slap him even harder. 

“That’s me.” 

Jimin nearly chokes. “Excuse me?”

The look on Taehyung’s face is a mix of pride and mischief. He’s absolutely glowing, absorbing all the praise, even if it’s accidentally given. 

“That is my cock. And the ass…” Taehyung jabs his thumb in your direction, much to your displeasure. 

“Oh,” Jimin exclaims. “Your ass looks great.” 

“For fuck’s sake, I need to get out of here.” 

“No!” Taehyung reaches for your arm to keep you from getting up. “We haven’t even fully watched it yet.” 

You narrow your eyes and gesture in Jimin’s direction. Even if you wanted to watch the sex tape – which you definitely don’t – you can’t watch it with Taehyung’s roommate hovering over you like this. You don’t even understand why the guy is still here or how he and Taehyung can converse normally while Taehyung’s got a literal erection. 

Boys are so fucking weird. 

“Can I watch, too?” 

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head. There’s no way, no fucking way. And yet Taehyung’s already nodding and scooting over for Jimin to sit on the other side of him. 

“I worked so hard on this, and it’s going unappreciated.” Taehyung glares at you. 

Before you can react, Taehyung has restarted the video. His hand migrates from your arm back down to your knee and squeezes lightly, maybe in an attempt to be comforting, but you’re already beginning to die inside from embarrassment. 

It doesn’t help that Jimin is gorgeous. You find yourself admiring him as he watches the video, which Taehyung has now turned on with full volume. Jimin’s eyes are glued to the screen. Occasionally, he makes little comments to praise Taehyung’s editing skills or point out how you and Taehyung have “great chemistry.” But the most intriguing part is when Jimin begins to squirm. 

It’s still early in the video, just after Taehyung starts eating you out, when you notice Jimin’s hand move to rest in his lap. It isn’t subtle how he adjusts his erection in his jeans, but he doesn’t know that you’re staring at him.

There’s something about knowing that this complete stranger is now hard because of watching your porn that rekindles the arousal buzzing inside you. It doesn’t help that Jimin and Taehyung are right; the video is hot. It’s ridiculously hot. 

Distracted, you don’t realize Taehyung’s attention is no longer on the video like Jimin’s is. Instead, he’s got his eyes on where his hand disappears into your shorts again. This time, he wiggles his fingers inside your underwear. 

The first press of his fingertips against your clit makes you moan, high-pitched and desperate. You immediately slap your hand over your mouth, and Taehyung chuckles. 

“Y’know, I was thinking…” Taehyung begins, noticing that Jimin’s now watching his fingers move in your shorts. “We should make another video.” 

“You should,” Jimin agrees immediately with a nod. It’s eager, without shame, and that alone makes your pussy throb for some reason. 

Are you into exhibitionism? Is that what this is? What the fuck is going on?

“No way,” you try to protest, but another moan comes from deep in your chest when Taehyung slips his middle finger inside you. 

“I could film it,” Jimin offers, as though finding a director is the issue. His chest rises rapidly as his pretty eyes roam your body. 

Just as before, you let your legs spread. By now, Taehyung isn’t trying to hide what he’s doing. He openly fingers you with his roommate sitting right there, watching. You lean back on your palms and let your head fall back when Taehyung squeezes your thigh with his other hand to hold you open. 

“Yeah, Chim, you film it,” Taehyung agrees. “Baby? Wanna do it now?” He slips a second finger inside you, and you think it’s unfair that he’s asking you this while fingers you because you’d probably do anything to get him to fuck you right now, whether you want to admit it or not. 

“Fuck you,” you hiss. “Fine.” 

With a grin, Taehyung removes his fingers from you. You want to complain, but he and Jimin are off the bed by the time you sit up again. You sit there, dumbfounded, as Taehyung heads to his closet. Jimin trails behind him, nodding at the instructions Taehyung gives him. 

The two return to the bed once they each have a camcorder. They’re smaller than the one Taehyung used before, sleeker, and more colorful compared to the all-black, more heavy-duty one from before. 

Taehyung sets his camera on the bed next to you while Jimin fiddles with his from where he stands at the edge of the bed. 

“Take your clothes off, baby.” 

You bite your lip at the term of endearment you’ve always told Taehyung not to call you, that he calls you anyway. This time, there’s something different about it. You watch him shred his clothes, tossing his t-shirt to the floor and then dropping his sweatpants. As you expected, he isn’t wearing underwear. The sight of his cock, so big and hard that it hangs heavy between his legs, makes you finally start moving. 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you throw out just because you have to stay in character unless you want Taehyung to think you’re in love with him or something. 

But he grins like an idiot and kneels on the bed while he waits for you to strip. You thought it would be weird getting naked in front of a stranger, but excitement thrums through you as you think about Jimin’s eyes on you, filming you, while Taehyung fucks you. 

“Should we do introductions like they do in those casting videos?” Taehyung grins up at Jimin. 

The poor guy’s face is bright pink, and his forehead glistens with sweat. Nothing has even happened yet, but he’s completely hard and looks like he’s about to have a heart attack. His hands shake worse than yours had when Taheyung ate you out in the video. 

“Chim.” 

Jimin swallows but doesn’t speak. 

“Jimin,” Taehyung tries again. It seems like Taehyung has a knack for leaving people speechless. He moves to the edge of the bed, still on his knees, and leans forward slightly. Jimin must be too nervous to move because he stands completely still as Taehyung opens his mouth. 

You watch with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal as Taehyung takes the flip screen of the camcorder into his mouth. All the while, he keeps his eyes locked on Jimin’s.

It’s so fucking hot you have to look away. 

Finally, something snaps. Jimin jerks backward, pulling the camera out of Taehyung’s mouth. 

“Tae!” He exclaims in disbelief, quickly using his sleeve to clean the screen. “What is wrong with you?” 

“If you wanna join us so bad, hurry up and take your clothes off.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to. Your dick spoke for you.”  

Jimin takes his eyes off Taehyung to look at you. It’s an unspoken request you find yourself granting by nodding your head without even thinking. How could you deny a man that looks like that? Whatever happens, happens. But you know that you want them both if you can have them. The thought just never crossed your mind before. 

It seems that Taehyung has helped you learn a lot about yourself, like how you apparently get off on being embarrassed. 

“I don’t want to fuck you,” Jimin announces to Taehyung. He tries to look serious, but it’s hard not to laugh when his dick bobs from how quickly he tugged his jeans off his body. 

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I don’t want to fuck you either; shut up.” 

You thought it would be awkward having Taehyung and Jimin in bed with you, and it is, sort of. Uncharted territory is scary, no matter what it is. It must be evident that you’re feeling this way because Taehyung reaches for you. He pulls you close by the back of the head, and you think the kiss will be rough and charged. Instead, it’s soft. He moves his lips with yours in a gentle rhythm, something meant to be grounding and comforting. His other hand cradles the side of your face, and his thumb caresses your cheek. 

“You guys are so cute.” Jimin’s comment makes you pull back from Taehyung. 

“No, we’re not.” 

“Thank you.”

You scowl at Taehyung, but he’s still wearing that grin that’s getting harder to hate. It slowly fades into something darker once Taehyung finally looks at your body, eyes lingering on how shiny and wet your thighs are from him fucking you with his fingers. 

Taehyung bites his lip, reaching for the camcorder on the bed beside you. 

“Let me record Jimin fucking your face, baby.” 

You and Jimin gasp simultaneously, immediately turning your heads to look at each other. Even though it’s clear that Jimin was invited into this to have sex with you, too, for some reason, you thought Taehyung would be greedier. You thought he wouldn’t want to share, didn’t expect that he’d be the one calling the shots. 

Then again, it isn’t that surprising. Hasn’t Taehyung always called the shots? Sure, you let him, but he was good at it. A director. He’s in his element, you realize. 

You quickly realize, once Jimin’s cock is down your throat, that Jimin is the greedy one. He kneels directly in front of where you sit on the bed and digs his fingers into the back of your head to hold you still as he fucks your throat. 

“You’re doing such a good job, baby,” Taehyung murmurs. He kneels next to you, recording all the sloppy sounds and visuals of you messily gagging on Jimin’s cock while you jerk Taehyung off. 

Tears spill from your eyes as Jimin’s cock hits the back of your throat. You do your best to keep pumping Taehyung’s cock, but your rhythm falters. 

“Fuck, yes, swallow. Like that.” 

Jimin’s moans are different than Taehyung’s. While Taehyung’s moans are soft and deep, Jimin’s are high-pitched and erratic, coming in stunted waves rather than smooth like Taehyung’s. They sound pretty together, even if they’re so different. 

You can tell Jimin won’t last as long as Taehyung, though. He has to pull away from you very quickly, which is fine because you gasp for air, leaning forward slightly to catch your breath. 

“Don’t go so fucking hard,” Taehyung snaps once he sees your reaction. 

“Wha–” Jimin’s eyes grow wide. 

“I’m fine.” Your voice is hoarse, but you’re genuinely okay. You pat Taehyung on the thigh to reassure him because, well, it’s kind of cute that he cared enough to chastise his friend like that. 

Taehyung reaches down to wipe the tears from your cheeks with a stern look that feels strange coming from him. “Let’s take care of you, okay, baby?” 

It’s soft, the way he talks to you. It isn’t for the cameras. 

“I wanna go first. You got your chance before,” Jimin whines.

“Why don’t you ask me then?” 

Jimin crosses his arms against his chest. “May I fuck you first?”

“Sure,” you say with a shrug. 

Taehyung rolls his eyes, but despite the annoyed look on his face, he flops backward onto the bed. The motion causes his cock to slap against his hip, and he groans, slightly rolling on his side. 

“See, stop being such a drama queen,” Jimin chides.

You let out a rather unattractive snort that makes Jimin grin. 

“I like him.”

“Shut up.” 

For once, Taehyung doesn’t have a witty comeback or a stupid smirk to flash your way. Instead, his face twists into something unpleasant. The expression quickly dissolves, and you almost feel like you’ve imagined it. 

Taehyung leans back on his elbows and looks down at where you settle between his legs. Even when Jimin moves to kneel behind you, Taehyung’s eyes never leave yours except to check the flipped screen of his camcorder. 

“Wait, use this.” Taehyung sits up, and his cock is suddenly very close to your face. He reaches over to open his nightstand drawer, nearly ripping the entire thing out. “A lot of it.” 

Something passes between Taehyung and Jimin’s hands. You only glimpse it, but between what you see and the sound of a cap popping open, you know it’s a half-empty bottle of lube that Jimin is now squeezing all over your ass.

“What the hell,” you hiss as the cool liquid drips down your thighs. “Might as well dump the whole fucking thing on me, shit.” 

You refuse to admit that it feels nice having Jimin massage the lube into your skin. It heats up quickly, and his hand easily glides across your muscles. You feel yourself sink forward, lifting your lower half to give Jimin more access. In the midst of how good Jimin’s hand feels, something cold and hard presses against your lower back.  

“If you ruin my camera, Jimin–” 

“That’s hyung to you.” 

“No fucking way.” 

Their banter would be cute if you didn’t have your ass in the air and Taehyung’s dick mere inches from your face. And maybe if you didn’t fucking hate Taehyung and weren’t wary of Jimin at best. 

“Are we gonna do something, or…?” 

Taehyung fluffs a pillow behind his head to keep him propped up so he’ll have a better shot for filming. 

“Yeah, put it in your mouth.” 

You roll your eyes because there Taehyung goes, bossing you around again, but something deep inside whispers that you fucking like it. Not that you would say it out loud. You can’t help how your pussy gushes over him, though. It’s a betrayal, honestly. 

“Say, please.” 

Taehyung sticks his tongue out at you. “No.” 

You don’t have a chance to bitch him out because Jimin chooses that moment to slowly inch his cock inside of you. 

“Oh my god,” you moan with your lips brushing against the base of Taehyung’s cock. You rock back gently, helping Jimin ease into you.  

“So tight,” Jimin says once his hips are flat against your thighs and his cock is fully buried inside you.

“Right?” Taehyung murmurs. “You always feel so good.”  

It’s a bit difficult to bob your head along Taehyung’s cock when Jimin’s fucking into you like his life depends on it. The rhythm is all off, but Taehyung doesn’t seem to mind. He’s watching you with fucking stars in his eyes, hyperfocused on where your lips suckle the head of his cock. When you take more of him into your mouth, he switches the camcorder to his right hand and reaches out to you with his left. 

Taehyung runs his thumb along your upper lip, shallowly dipping into the corner of your mouth to feel how little space there is with your mouth full of his cock. 

“Don’t run away; you gotta take it,” Jimin grunts, squeezing your waist and pulling you back hard onto his cock. 

You want to snap at Jimin that it’s not your fault you keep getting lurched forward, but Taehyung’s letting out cute little whimpers from you rubbing your tongue against his slit, and you don’t want to do anything to make him stop. 

When you finally pull off Taehyung to breathe, a string of spit connects your lips to his shiny cock. 

“Can I fuck you in the ass, baby?” Taehyung practically hums the question, his voice already fucked out, deep and hoarse. “I think we need to diversify our portfolio.” 

At the question, Jimin slows down his thrusts until they’re shallow and don’t jostle you too severely.

You’re nodding before your brain can catch up to how your body reacts to Taehyung’s request. 

“Jimin?” 

“On it, boss.” 

You mean to groan in annoyance at how fucking corny they are – as if they’re actually trying to make this into a bad porno – but a moan comes out instead as Jimin slowly presses a generously lubed finger against your rim. 

“Have you done this before?” Jimin asks, working you open with one finger before moving on to a second.

“Y-yeah,” you whimper, the sensation of Jimin’s cock still moving inside you while his fingers are in your ass enough to make you lose your mind. Even if you hadn’t fingered yourself before, the amount of lube Jimin poured all over your ass removes nearly all the friction and tension. 

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Taehyung groans in an almost frustrated tone. He reaches down to pump his cock since you’re virtually useless with Jimin’s fingers and cock moving inside of you simultaneously. 

“Oh my god, Jimin.” You bury your face in the inside of Taehyung’s thigh, biting down just to ground yourself.

“Shit, that hurts,” Taehyung hisses, but he doesn’t tell you to stop. 

Once Jimin has four fingers inside of you, he leans forward to get closer to ask you if you’re ready.

“Do you want us at the same time?”  

Something that almost sounds pained comes from Taehyung, a broken whimper you’ve never heard from him before. He squeezes his eyes shut and nods his head even though the question isn’t for him. 

“Please, fuck, Y/N, please say yes.” 

You can’t even appreciate hearing Taehyung beg because you’re desperate for this, too. 

“Yeah, yeah, let’s just, let’s go.” You get up, nearly slipping from all the lube that has dripped down onto your body and Taehyung’s. 

“I don’t understand how Taehyung ended up not doing any of the work,” Jimin grumbles as he helps you turn around. 

You’re hardly paying attention to the men’s bickering. They can do whatever weird bromance thing they’re doing, but you’re trying to get doubly dicked down. Cameras or not. 

You sit on Taehyung’s abdomen with your legs on either side of his thighs and face Jimin. Taehyung’s large hands squeeze your waist to lift you up while Jimin grabs Taehyung’s cock to guide the head to your rim. 

“I can’t believe I have to touch your dick,” Jimin adds to his list of grievances that you’re sure Taehyung will never hear the end of. 

Taehyung just laughs, causing your body to jiggle in his tight grip. 

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.” 

Jimin grimaces. “I really don’t.” 

It’s surprising that the two have never done this before when it feels so natural for the three of you to fall into place like this. 

Eventually, Jimin lets go of Taehyung’s cock once the tip pushes inside you. Taehyung feels much bigger than you remember, and Jimin’s fingers certainly don’t compare. Luckily, Taehyung is gentle as he pushes past the ring of muscles. Thank god for the ridiculous amount of lube. It allows you to sink down on Taehyung’s cock with only mild discomfort at first. 

“Relax, baby,” Taehyung murmurs. His hands slide up to squeeze your tits, rubbing and pinching your nipples as you eventually slide fully onto his cock. 

“O-o-okay,” you stutter as Jimin kneels between you and Taehyung’s legs. 

Jimin’s slow as he eases his cock into your pussy, mindful of the pressure you will feel with both cocks inside you. He pauses when he’s halfway in to squeeze even more lube onto his cock, making sure there’s enough to drip down to Taehyung’s, too. 

“What are we filming, a fucking lube ad? What is this?” 

“Shh, baby, you’re gonna ruin the audio,” Taehyung scolds from behind you. 

Biting your lip, you watch Jimin’s face as he concentrates on sliding into you. He’s pretty, sweet even, but… he’s not Taehyung. 

“Wait.” 

Jimin’s bright eyes flit up to meet yours. Concern twists his features, making his eyebrows scrunch together. “Are you okay?” 

“What’s wrong? Does it hurt? Did we not prep you enough?” Taehyung tries to sit up, but Jimin slaps his thigh.

“Stop moving!” 

“I just wanna know what’s going on!” 

Taehyung rubs comforting circles into your sides, sliding his thumbs down to trace your hip bones before running his palms back across your ribs. 

You shake your head and try not to think about what you’re going to say.

“I… I want to,” your face heats up, and you internally scold yourself for feeling the way you do. “I want Tae.” 

Your words are rushed, but Jimin seems to understand – perhaps even more than what you’ve let on because he gives you a small smile and eases out of you without any questions. 

“What?” Taehyung peers from around your body.  

“No assfucking for you, buddy. Better luck next time.” 

“Jimin!” It’s your turn to haul a slap, this one hard against Jimin’s arm. “I’m a person.”

At least Jimin has enough sense to appear bashful. Grabbing your arms, he helps you lift off of Taehyung. He guides you so you’ve got your knees on either side of Taehyung’s hips. 

When you straddle Taehyung, you press your palms to his chest and dig your fingers into his firm pecs. He’s gorgeous like this, skin smooth and tan. A few moles scatter his torso, like little flecks of chocolate that you suddenly realize you’ve missed out on having the chance to lick up. His cheeks are dusted a light pink, and his sweaty bangs are brushed away from his forehead. 

He’s gorgeous all the time, but especially like this. 

“See something you like?” 

You dig your nails into his skin, and Taehyung winces, but he maintains that stupid fucking sparkle of mischief in his eyes. 

“Shut up. Maybe.” 

Taehyung’s grin widens. It’s bright and lopsided, makes him look like an idiot, honestly, and your stomach swoops because, fuck, you’re so fucked. 

“Are you two lovebirds ready or what? My dick is starting to hurt.” 

Taehyung apparently thinks slapping your ass is the best way to respond to Jimin’s question. 

Reaching between your bodies, you guide Taehyung’s cock inside your pussy. The unholy amount of lube makes it easy for him to slip in, which is good because you need to focus on relaxing your body once you feel Jimin’s cock press against your rim. 

You’ve never had two dicks at once – god, it sounds insane when you think about it, even though you know plenty of people who have explored this side of their sexual fantasies. It just isn’t something you’d do, mainly because you’ve always been insecure and a little shy. The hardass exterior is a great wall you’ve built to hide from getting your heart broken, but of course, Taehyung has managed to fuck with all your plans. 

It’s a strange sensation once Jimin fully bottoms out. The three of you freeze, allowing your body to adjust. 

After a while, Taehyung grabs your ass, holding you open as he and Jimin slowly begin to rock into you. As it was when you were sucking Taehyung off, it’s a bit difficult to find the right rhythm at first. Taehyung and Jimin bicker back and forth about who should thrust first and who should pull back. Taehyung jostles you in his lap a few times, squeezing your thighs to adjust your legs against his hips when he isn’t kneading your ass. 

Jimin eventually pushes down on your back, pressing you against Taehyung to open your hips more. The action pushes your chest into Taehyung’s face, much to his amusement, because he immediately sucks one of your perky nipples into his mouth. 

“Oh god,” you moan, reaching out to squeeze Taehyung’s broad shoulders when he flicks your nipple with the tip of his tongue. His mouth is wet and warm, and your nipples have always been extra sensitive when you’re aroused. 

“Fuck, Tae, just, go now,” Jimin instructs through gritted teeth. 

Taehyung begins thrusting into you at a different tempo, knocking your heart into your throat because you can feel both of their cocks alternating thrusts inside of you now, both rubbing against each other between your walls. 

It’s embarrassing when the first wave of tears starts streaming down your face. You start babbling, hardly aware of what you’re saying because the pleasure is so intense it feels as though your brain completely short circuits. 

“Tae, Tae, oh my god, Taehyung,” you breathily chant into Taehyung’s ear. You can’t lean far forward because you have to keep your back arched for both Jimin and Taehyung to comfortably thrust into you. That frustrates you because you suddenly feel the need to be closer to Taehyung. It’s like everything inside of you will explode if you don’t. 

“Tae, I n-need y-y-you,” you sob. 

“Shhh, baby, we got you, okay? I got you.” Taehyung reaches up to lightly wrap his hand around your throat. It isn’t meant to choke you, just to comfort you with his presence since he can’t hold you against his chest. 

“Dropping?” Jimin asks as he pounds into you from behind. 

“Just sensitive, I think,” Taehyung responds for you, and it makes you warm to know that he knows you well enough to answer correctly.

His hand slides from your throat to hold your jaw. The position allows him to press his middle finger into your mouth. You immediately suck on it, finding comfort in it even as you continue to cry from the pleasure. 

“I’m gonna cum. Tae. I’m gonna cum.” 

Taehyung’s hand quickly drops to squeeze between your bodies. He rubs your clit, adding the extra sensation you need to finally push you over the edge. You cry out Taehyung’s name as you cum on both his and Jimin’s cocks, fingers digging into Taehyung’s pecs so hard that you worry you’ll draw blood. 

Jimin immediately cums, too, the feeling of your ass clenching around his cock proving too much for him. 

“Wait, wait,” he pleads until Taehyung stops moving. “Let me pull out.” 

You whimper when you feel Jimin ease out of you, your ass clenching and unclenching as your body adjusts. Now that only Taehyung is inside you, you collapse against his chest. Your lips find his neck and suck, making him shiver underneath you. 

“Can I move?” Taehyung asks, and you hum, too afraid to speak. 

Taehyung fucks into you harder than he had before. There’s something desperate about it, the way he chases his pleasure and can thrust at the speed he wants without needing to match with Jimin. You don’t even know what Jimin’s doing, probably cleaning himself up or filming you. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is how Taehyung moans your name as he thrusts into you. It’s sloppy and wet, something Taehyung appreciates. 

“You sound so good,” he moans into your ear. “Will you cum for me again?” 

You frantically nod your head, already almost there. 

“Just let go for me, okay? You can trust me.” 

It feels like more than just sex when he whispers it in your ear, another quiet promise meant for you and not the camera. 

You cum for a second time, this one accompanied by a silent scream that’s pressed into the crook of Taehyung’s sweaty neck. 

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Taehyung groans, squeezing you against his chest as he finally finds his release, too. 

You feel warm and gooey, none of your limbs cooperating when Taehyung tries to move you off him. Jimin has to help, and the two lay you on your back and get to work cleaning you up. It should be embarrassing, but you kind of like having two men doting on you. It’s nice, even if you’re still a little sticky from cum and lube, even after they’ve done their best to wipe your body down. 

Why haven’t you ever done this before? This is lovely. Men should be taking care of you. 

You smile at them, brain fuzzy and warm, when Jimin helps Taehyung tuck you into bed. 

“How are you feeling?” Taehyung asks. He presses his thumb to your bottom lip, caressing it lightly. 

“I’m barely holding on.” 

Jimin snorts and immediately turns his head away when Taehyung shoots him a death glare. 

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” The nervousness in Taehyung’s voice is cute. 

“You’re cute.” 

Rather than say something smug, Taehyung covers his face with his hands. 

“We broke Y/N.” 

“What?” Jimin whips his head back around. “What, because you’re cute?” 

“Yes.” 

You use the rest of your strength to slap Taehyung in the thigh. “Oh, shut the fuck up before I kick your ass. Take the fucking compliment.” 

Taehyung peeks at you from between his fingers. “Fuck, you scared me for a second there.” 

With a roll of his eyes, Jimin stands up and stretches his arms out. “You’re both fucking drama queens.” 

all rights reserved © gimmethatagustd on tumblr & AO3

do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my work

[arvandus]

Learning Moment - Satan x AFAB!Reader (18+)

CW: 18+ NSFW; reader has female anatomy, but no gender-specific terms used and no gender-specific clothing; early stages of a relationship; use of a vibrator; mutual masturbation (with toy and without); fingering; no pet names, no use of MC or Y/N. Satan is unfamiliar with human world gadgets 😆; slight differences in human vs. demon male anatomy but nothing pearl-clutching. Not proofread, this already got away from me enough as it is...

WC: 3,858

"What is this?"

You turn around and freeze when you see your boyfriend holding up your vibrator between thumb and forefinger. His brow is furrowed, aqua eyes staring at the thing with confusion.

"Where did you find that??" you demand.

He glances at you, his neutral gaze taking note of your obvious discomfort. "It was under your blanket."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit... you thought you'd put it away...

You reach out to grab it from him, but Satan retracts his arm, holding the object higher and out of your reach.

"Give it to me!" you demand, your face growing hotter with each passing second.

"Tell me what it is, first."

"It's nothing!" you exclaim. "Just some... earth thing. It's not important."

"Really?" Satan turns his back to you and holds it closer to his face for inspection, his hands turning the object over and over. "Then why are you so keen on getting it back?"

"B-because!" you reply defensively. "It's... personal!"

But Satan half ignores you as he sniffs it. "It smells like you..." he half turns to look over his shoulder at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Do you use this to pleasure yourself?"

"WHA-" you freeze, eyes wide and hands shaking. You clench them before covering your face.

You want to die, to stop existing this very instant. Let a hole open up and swallow you whole...

Satan's eyes widen at your reaction, and he lets out a gentle chuckle. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about... I just want to know what it is."

Your words are muffled by your hands. "Come on, you really don't know? You have to be teasing me."

"We have sex toys, but there are some differences between our world and yours." He talks about it so casually, all the while his eyes grazing over the smooth surface, eyeing the size. "Ours are... bigger."

His tone holds a hint of concern, his eyebrows furrowed.

"They're not all like this," you say defensively. "Some of ours are big. This just... isn't one of them."

"But you enjoy this one?" Satan asks.

"Why do you sound so worried??" you ask.

"Of course I'm worried!" he huffs, his cheeks flushing pink. "If this is the size that you like, then we might have a problem when we finally..."

Your eyes widen in understanding. "OH." Then you repeat the word, drawing it out as the pieces fall into place. "Ohhh...."

Your humiliation subsides and you cross your arms over your chest. "That's not... I mean, it can be, but it's more about what it does."

Satan's eyes widen in curiosity and he stares at the object in his hand. "What does it do?"

He shakes it a little and pokes at it, hoping to activate whatever spell he thinks makes it work.

You bite your lower lip in amusement. "You, uh..." - you wiggle your finger at it in a circular motion - "have to turn the bottom... like a dial..."

Satan turns it over in his hand and turns the black base. It immediately begins vibrating in his hand and he jumps slightly, before his eyes widen even further in understanding.

"It's called a vibrator," you explain. "You put it on the, uh... the clitoris, and uh... yeah."

Satan's mouth curles into a small half smirk. "Yeah, I figured that much out... I'm not exactly a virgin, you know."

You put your hands up in playful defense. "Hey, I never said you were... but maybe demon and human anatomy is different for all I know."

It wasn't like you'd gotten very far yet with him to find out... you always managed to get interrupted whenever things got steamy in his room or yours.

Satan gives you a side glance that makes your spine melt. "We're not."

He states it so matter-of-factly, that it has you biting your lip to stifle a whimper.

"Hmm," he hums as he looks back at the still-vibrating toy. "I'm always impressed by human ingenuity. Our toys can do these sorts of things too, but it's different. More spells and chemical reactions, pheromones and aphrodisiacs."

Satan finally pulls his attention away from the vibrator, and puts it entirely, completely on you, aqua eyes trapping you like sunlight beneath the water.

"Show me," he says.

It's a statement, but feels like a question, the way it always does with him. He's always been direct, and yet he always leaves you room to refuse.

But even so, you blanch, your brain left lightheaded as the blood drains from it to pool low in your stomach.

"W-What?" you stutter.

Satan turns off the device and steps forward to hand it to you, closing the distance between you in the same move. What little air remains between you feels electric.

"Show me," he repeats. "I'd like to see how it's meant to be used."

There's a momentary lapse of silence as your brain glitches on what he's asking of you. Your mouth opens and closes a few times before you finally find your voice, hiding behind the dry lump in your throat.

"W-what? Why? You pretty much already know..."

Satan keeps his eyes on you as he takes your hand and turns it palm up to place the vibrator into it, the cold plastic warmed by his touch.

"Being told and witnessing it are two different things," he explains, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. "If this brings you pleasure, then I want to learn about it."

He puts his forehead to yours as his arms wrap around your waist affectionately. "Please," he adds quietly.

Satan, you realize, can be very persuasive when he wants to be... it's not a side others usually see, but then again...

He's not exactly trying to get into anyone else's pants.

You let out a short laugh. "Okay."

Satan's lips curl into a pleased smile.

"But..." you continue. "...you have to kiss me."

Satan's smile widens, and he tucks the knuckle of his finger beneath your chin to bring you closer. "Whatever you want."

He kisses you, softly at first, gently as he always does as if he's afraid he'll hurt you. His tongue draws against your lips, wet and warm, and you open your mouth to him, letting him in.

Every nerve was already awake and waiting, ever since he asked those two simple yet insane words.

Show me.

But now the nerves are singing like a siren's call, luring you into drowning in the presence of him.

Your arms wrap around his neck, and his arms pull you against him, his fingers splayed across your back and caressing in soothing strokes.

As he kisses you, he turns you so your bed is behind you, and begins to walk your backwards. You don't fall back when your thighs touch it... Satan's arms around you keep you against him, as he lowers you gently into the soft bedding.

You scoot back towards your pillows as you lead him into your bed with your mouth, your hands, your legs opening to make room for him.

Satan settles himself between your parted thighs, the denim of his jeans pressing against your own. The pressure is enough to pull a moan from your lips, and Satan responds with a hum to match, as his body covers yours.

Each movement and transition between you is fluid, carried on a tide of longing that neither of you have had the opportunity to fully pursue. Your leg hooks around the back of his thigh automatically, your hips beginning to roll to a rhythm your body demands. Satan's mouth leaves yours to plant wet open-mouth kisses down the curve of your jaw and into the soft pulse of your neck as your head tilts back. Your mouth is parted as breathy gasps bloom from your chest and your fingers tangle themselves into his golden strands. Satan groans, his hand trailing the side of your body from thigh to breast, his hand slipping beneath your shirt to cup the warm, soft flesh--

"Aren't you supposed to show me something?"

He's whispered the words against your neck, and they bury themselves into the small indents left by his teeth.

You suck air into your lungs, your wide eyes staring at the ceiling. You can't seem to find your voice, your thoughts far too muddled beneath the pleasure you feel.

You feel the weight of him leave your body, the cold air rushing in to take its place, and suddenly he's in your field of view.

He's gorgeous, chaotic. Hair tousled messily, a tainted golden halo. His irises are nearly drowned out by black pupils that spark with latent, electric magic. His lips glisten wet, his canines slightly sharper than you remember them, and he's smiling down at you, cheeks flushed in the color of affection, skin lightly sheened in the sweat of desire.

Satan has one hand braced into the mattress to hold his weight as he hovers, while his other slowly slides down beneath your shirt, his touch hot against your skin. Down, down, over your ribs, covering your belly, and now he's at the boundary of your jeans, his single hand working apart the button. It sticks, the denim unyielding, and he glances down at it with a glare.

"Curse this thing..." he growls. You giggle, and finally it comes undone, and he's returning his eyes to your face, victorious. "Got it."

You wiggle yourself out of your pants, leaving your underwear on. Satan helps, leaning back to tug them off your ankles and toss them aside.

He leans over you again to kiss you, long and slow, his tongue invading your mouth, savoring. As he does so, you feel his hand press the toy into your open palm.

Then he leans back, perching himself back on his heels as he keeps his seat between your open legs. The air in your room is cold, but Satan's hands are warm as they rest against your thighs, waiting patiently.

Well, not exactly patiently... a moment later, he takes the vibrator from your hand and turns it on, and then puts it back into your hand with a satisfied nod, his eyes glittering with eagerness.

You can't help but giggle at him.

"Are you really that excited to see me do this?" you tease.

"Why would I not be?" he asks back.

You bite your lower lip again. Satan watches the action intently.

"It drives me crazy when you do that, you know..." he mutters.

Your mouth curls into a grin and you slowly move the vibrator gently, sensually down the center of your belly from solar plexus to navel. Then you let it travel further, past the edge of your underwear, over the soft mound of venus to finally slip over the edge. Your breath hitches slightly as it passes your clit, but you keep going further, until it's gently humming against your covered entrance. God, you're already so wet, you realize... you can feel it soaking through the panties, coating your pussy lips.

You hum in pleasure and your eyes flutter closed. Satan's hands tighten slightly on the meat of your thighs then loosen.

Slowly, gently, you circle your vibrator over the fabric of your underwear, teasing yourself, avoiding your clit entirely. You had no doubt that giving it any attention would send you quickly over the edge, and the last thing you wanted was to disappoint Satan by coming too quickly.

The slow and gentle stroking turns into gentle pressures against your hole, the wet fabric acting as a barrier, even as it slips and slides with ease. You feel his hand leave your right thigh and you open your eyes just enough to see Satan's gaze trained on your pussy, his hand stroking his stiff cock through his too-tight jeans. His cheeks are flushed, his mouth parted prettily, and you can tell that he's struggling to keep himself quiet.

"Take off your belt," you whisper.

Satan's eyes meet yours, wide with surprise, pupils blown wide with lust. He does as you command, his fingers quickly undoing the buckle and yanking the white leather from the loops to land on the floor with a clink.

His hand is back on his covered cock, stroking the shaft with a firm grip that has the muscles of his thighs tensing against your own. His human form flickers out for a brief moment, and you catch the glimpse of sharp, curled horns and the flicking black movement of his tail behind him. But then it's gone just as fast, his human form returning.

Fuck he's so hot.

You moan as a small wave of pleasure makes your cunt throb. You use your free hand to pull aside your underwear, finally letting yourself be exposed to Satan's heavy gaze.

The air leaves his lungs on a heavy breath of "oh fuck" and once again his demon form flashes, stronger this time, lingering for a few seconds before being tightly locked away out of sheer willpower.

You put your toy to your swollen pussy and it glides against it easily, coated in slick. Your hole flutters a needy spasm, the band of muscles between your legs tensing to the point of aching. You can feel your pulse in your clit, and you want to whimper, to take what you want selfishly.

But Satan is in front of you, his expression pained with arousal, his jaw clenched as he stares down at your sex, and you realize that even though he's not in you, even though he's not touching you, that this is still something you're sharing together.

"Satan..." you beg softly. "You can touch yourself... it's okay..."

Satan's strokes halt, and he stares up at you for a moment, hesitant.

He swallows around a dry throat, his voice slightly graveled. "A-are you sure...? I don't think I can keep my human form if I do..."

You smirk. "I like your demon form. It's hot."

Satan's mouth turns down into a small frown and he averts his gaze. "No, I mean... it might be a little... different..."

Oh. Oh.

He doesn't want to scare you, you realize. Your gaze softens and you tilt your head slightly.

"It's okay. I promise."

There's no more words, just a heavy gaze of uncertainty being transformed into gratitude. Then, he licks his lips and undoes the button and zipper of his jeans, and shoves his hands into the waist-band of his boxer briefs. A heavy sigh escapes his lips and he leans his weight back onto his free hand behind him as his head tilts back. His human form shimmers away until only his demon form is left, and now you can appreciate the parts of himself that he usually keeps hidden from you, parts that have only ever come out when he's angry.

Never when he's aroused or happy.

You watch his adam's apple bob when he swallows, and you nearly want to cry with how sexy he is, how he doesn't even realize it, and how fucking lucky you are that he's yours.

With a single stroke, he pulls his cock free from the confines of his pants, and you suck air deep into your lungs at the sight of it. It isn't entirely human, but not entirely monster either. Gorgeous like the rest of him, the tip flushed, the size manageable. The part that stands out, however, is the darker coloration and smooth ridges along his shaft. His hand moves over it firmly, the tip leaking precum, and you swallow at the thought of what it would feel like inside you, those ridges rubbing against your sensitive walls...

It is a cock made for pleasure, and now you're strongly considering throwing the vibrator out the window.

No wonder he was so worried before...

And you would have, too, if Satan asked it of you. But instead, he does what you don't expect.

"Keep going," he mutters. His hips are jerking into his hand now, and you realize he's close.

"If I do, I'm gonna cum..." you whimper. "I don't think I can hold it back anymore."

Satan let's out a soft chuckle, the corner of his mouth curling upwards to flash his sharp canine.

"Don't you want to cum?"

"I do, but..."

"But what?"

You lean up and reach your hand to him, and Satan grants your request by sitting up and giving you his free hand. "I want to feel you..." you whisper. You take his hand and place it palm up against your heated, wet cunt. "Here."

A puff of air escapes his lungs, coating your lips. "Fuck..."

Satan freezes his own strokes, withholding his release to help you through yours. He takes your hand that's still holding your vibrator and puts it gently against your clit. "Hold that there."

You listen, and his hand abandons yours, fingers slipping down between your legs until they're kissing your entrance. You're fighting every impulse, every nerve, withholding your impending orgasm even as the thrumming against your swollen clit sings like a tuning fork, and you're the glass, ready to shatter.

"How many fingers do you want?" he mutters. His face is inches from yours, his eyes staring into yours, strands of his messy hair sticking to his damp forehead.

You swallow as your nose brushes against his, and it takes an extra ten whole seconds to process his question. "Um... two?"

He kisses you then, his mouth capturing yours sensually, lingering and slow as his fingers push into you. They glide in easily, your body wet and ready for him, and there's not a hint of discomfort, only relief. Sweet, sweet relief.

He glides his fingers out and back in, and your breath shudders within the cage of your chest. He does it again, his lips pulling away just enough so he can watch your expression, gauge your pleasure.

"You like it?" he asks, the huskiness of his voice nearly hiding his worry.

You nod.

But Satan is perceptive, and can tell that while you're enjoying it, that there's something more... something you want...

"Tell me," he whispers against your lips. "Tell me what you want me to do."

Your free hand is clutching his shoulder now, nails digging into his shirt that somehow never made its way off his body.

"I..." you swallow, and withdraw the vibrator just slightly. "I want you to curl your fingers... when you're pulling them out..."

You feel his lips curl into a smile against your own and he kisses you.

"Like this?"

He does it, and that familiar high note of pleasure cuts outward from between your legs, and you moan loudly into his mouth.

"Yes! Yes, just like that," you beg.

Another moan as he repeats the action. Once he's confident he has it figured out, he begins stroking his neglected cock again.

But then suddenly, a heavy silence falls like a blanket, and you quickly realize why...

"Oh shit..." you groan.

Satan pauses, confused as he stares at your now lifeless vibrator. "What happened?"

"The battery died...." you toss it aside and give a pained laugh followed by a frustrated growl.

Satan stares for a moment, then smiles mischeviously.

"Do you know how to touch yourself?" as he's asking, his fingers begin pushing back into you, slow and gentle, until he's knuckle deep.

You suck in air, and force your answer out through clenched teeth. "Of course I know how."

"Then maybe we don't need it this time..."

He curls his fingers for you, and your back arches as you gasp.

"Uhh, no.... no we don't."

"Good." He plants a kiss to your lips. "Then touch yourself so I can watch."

Oh fuck...

You lay back against the bed as your hand dips between your legs, fingers finding your swollen clit with ease. You begin to expertly roll tight circles over the sensitive nerves, and within seconds, your thighs are tensing, legs shaking.

Satan keeps his fingers in you, his pace following the one you're setting for yourself with each press of your fingers. His other hand is pumping his cock again, and his breaths are turning ragged.

"Can I cum on you?" he asks, his voice strained.

Another wave of pleasure jolts as your impending orgasm rapidly builds. Your head is pressed back into your pillow, chin lifting, back arching as the tension overtakes every inch of your body until it feels like ropes made of fire binding you, restricting you.

"Yes," you breathe. "Yes please."

"I'm close," he mutters through clenched teeth. You can feel the vibrations of how rapidly he's fisting his cock, the motion shaking the mattress. "I'm not cumming without you."

Your eyes open to look at him, and the sight of him all messy and suffering in his pleasure of you is the push you need. The tight band finally snaps, and you're moaning, gasping, your fingers working yourself vigorously while Satan's thrust in and out, fingers caressing that sensitive spot on each swift withdrawal.

Then his fingers withdraw and you feel his weight shift, his thighs lifting until he's on his knees between your legs. Immediately comes the hot, wet sensation of his cum spilling onto your fingers, your clit, your cunt. His moans are rough and guttural, nearly animalistic, and you're reminded that he's a demon, all inhuman strength and tightly guarded rage, coating your sex in his seed. It only turns you on more, and you ride out your orgasm, your fingers rubbing your clit vigorously, mixing his cum with your juices, as if you could imprint him onto you, carry him with you always.

Finally, the crushing, fiery waves ebb for both of you, and you're left with your cunt slightly aching and spasming with aftershocks. Satan is spent as well, sitting back on his haunches. You open your eyes to look at him, and you realize he's staring at your pussy, now covered in his seed, underwear still yanked to the side, now stretched out and ruined. You can feel a dribble of his cum sliding down your lips, and he gingerly takes his finger and rubs the droplet against your sensitive clit. You suck air in through your teeth, your back arching at the overstimulation, and he smiles.

He leans over you and lays his body onto yours, allowing you to feel the softness of his cock against your body. He kisses you tenderly, and you reciprocate as your arms lazily wrap around his neck.

"Thank you for this," he whispers against your mouth. "It was very... educational."

You chuckle at him. "You're a quick learner."

"Well, I am pretty smart..." he grins. "But... there are some things that can't be taught through books."

"So we'll have to practice more, then. So you can study..."

Satan hums at you, as he stares down at you, his cheek propped in his hand. "Hm. Yes, lots of studying."

You giggle and kiss him. Then he rolls over to his back to lay next to you, his eyes staring at the ceiling.

"Although..." he continues, "I think next time I want to hold the vibrator."

[sumeruin]

bad idea, right?

♫♪: pairing: toxic ex! scara x afab! reader (modern but still in universe au)

♫♪: warnings: written by a minor, kind of dubcon but reader is very obviously into it, slapping, spitting, bondage, degradation, slight humiliation, toxic relationships, pet names, fingering, female anatomy but no pronouns or gendered terms used, i think that’s it but if i missed any please let me know!!

♫♪: a/n: originally meant to post this like. weeks ago lmao sorry <3

♫♪: minor writing smut, dni if uncomfortable!!

fuck. you don’t know why you keep doing this, if you’re being completely honest. he’s bad for you. so, horribly, unbelievably bad for you. and yet, as he sits on your couch, leaning back and propping his feet up on your coffee table like he owns the place, you don’t want to kick him out. all you wanna do is slap that stupid smirk off his face and let him fuck every single thought out of your mind.

his voice breaks you from your thoughts. “are you planning on saying anything, or am i supposed to just stare at you?” his eyes linger on your waist, following the curves of your body and leaving you feeling much too exposed for your liking.

you cross your arms over your chest defenseivly, returning his smug stare with a glare of your own. “why are you here? i thought i made it clear last time that i never wanted to see your face again.” unless it’s in between my legs, your brain adds silently, and you desperately try to shoo those thoughts away. if you start thinking about how good he is in bed, you’ll never be able to make him leave.

he clearly notices your internal struggle, raising an eyebrow and letting out a laugh that’s only slightly mocking. his condescending gaze makes your cheeks heat up with embarrassment. how does he always manage to make you feel humiliated when he’s the one who keeps crawling back? “you did, but we both know that’s not true. i bet if i looked between your legs right now you’re wet just from looking at me. you always were into the weirdest things. you found another guy willing to slap you around yet?”

your face burns at the reminder of the things you’ve asked him to do, all of them depraved and perverted in nature. from the times you’ve begged him to spit on you, to the times you’ve placed his hand on your throat and silently urged him to apply pressure while he was fucking you. it’s clear he enjoys your humiliation, a fact that only makes you more humiliated and only sends yet another pang of heat in between your legs.

“th-that’s none of your business, *scaramouche*. just- what do you want?” he flinches ever so slightly at the venomous way you say his name, and that fact that you’re calling him that at all. you never call him that, it’s always “kuni” or “scara” or some random pet name. never “scaramouche”.

after a few painfully long moments of contemplative silence, he slowly stands up and walks towards you, and you can’t help the way you reflexively lean into his touch when he grabs your chin. he chooses not to answer your question, simply tilting your head to face his as he speaks, tapping your cheek with two of his fingers. “open.”

despite your best judgment, you obey, silently opening your mouth and gazing up at him in confusion.

he simply admires the sight for a moment, then, without any kind of warning, he spits directly into your open mouth. his grip tightens on your cheeks so you can’t close your lips, and he smirks to himself as you grimace at the feeling. “you done being a bitch yet? or am i going to have to fuck it out of you?”

you glare, though he only laughs in your face at your attempt at intimidation. “you look pathetic, trying to intimidate me while my spit is sitting on your tongue and your drooling all over me like a dog. is that what you are? my pathetic, stupid little mutt? maybe i should put a leash on you. then you wouldn’t think you could leave me.”

he lets go of your cheeks, though he gives you a threatening look that promises consequences if you try to do anything other than swallow. you do, sending him another barely threatening glare as your voice comes out. “fuck off. ‘m not yours anymore.”

scara only gives you a mocking smile at your words, gripping your wrist and dragging you over to the couch before practically throwing you on the cushions. you’re suddenly thankful for that throw pillow phase you went through a few years ago. maybe celestia did have a plan besides making you waste your money.

he hovers over you, his eyes furious and his mocking smile gone, seemingly having decided to drop the faux nice facade and embrace the dominance he holds over you. his hand curls around your neck, not tight enough to choke you yet, just enough to cut off a little bit of oxygen and fill your brain with that fuzzy, soft haze. “fine. you wanna be like that, huh? i can deal with a brat.”

he yanks your pajama shorts and underwear down your legs, carelessly tossing them to a random corner of the living room before working on your shirt. he doesn’t even bother trying to take that off the right way, he simply rips the fabric down the middle and exposes your perfect tits, which he then decides to start massaging with his left hand. with his right, he takes his belt off and restrains your hands behind your back. you can’t control the moan that falls from your lips as your back arches into his touch, and you’re only a little ashamed of how desperately needy your voice sounds. “fuck, scara-!”

he grins in response, his eyes trailing from your exposed cunt to your eyes as he responds, his free hand trailing down to rub little circles against your clit. “yeah? i’m right here, doll. not going anywhere.”

scara relishes the way you jolt under his touch, body shaking as whines and mewls fall from your lips. fuck, it’s been so long. you hadn’t realized how deprived you’d been until someone was finally playing with your pussy. no one’s ever as good as scara, not since you slept with him the first time. he knows very well how much he’s ruined any other guy for you, how he’s the only one who can make you cum this hard. and he loves it.

he deems you wet enough after a few more moments of him rubbing your clit, and then he slides two of his fingers in your twitching cunt, not even bothering to take off his rings beforehand. not that you’re complaining, you both know how much you love the feeling of the metal rubbing against your insides. he notices the way you start to drift away, and lands a heavy slap to your cheek, snapping you out of the pleasure induced trace he put you in with a predatory grin. “are you trying to hide from me? you should know better.”

you can only whine in response, trying to blabber out a coherent response while on the verge of cumming your brains out all over your ex boyfriend’s fingers is much harder than it looks. all you manage is another little mewl, gazing up at him with teary eyes as you whine out the words. “not- not tryin’ to hide, kuni… p-please, need more- need- need to cum, please let me cum!”

scara only gives you another grin, clearly pleased with your performance, and he slips another finger inside you, scissoring them and making you cry out as your back arches and your legs twitch from where they’re resting on either side of his body. your moans get less coherent, but he doesn’t seem to mind. he just pulls his fingers out of your pussy and holds eye contact while licking them clean, then pulls his pants down just far enough to take his cock out. he slaps it against your clit a few times, and pats your, quickly reddening, cheek condescendingly as he speaks. “i don’t think you’ve done anything to deserve getting fucked.”

his soft pats switch to a harsh grip on your chin abruptly, and he forces your face to make eye contact with him while he continues. “why don’t you convince me, hm? tell me how sorry you are for pretending you wanted to leave me, how much you missed me. then i’ll consider it.”

scara’s grin is wicked now, staring deeply into your fucked out eyes as your face scrunches up and you start to sniffle at his denials. he’s the one who started this, why is he making you seem like the desperate one? you wouldn’t be this desperate if he had just kept his stupid hands to himself. still, though, your cunt aches from the overwhelming emptiness, little drops of slick drooling out and making a mess of your favorite blanket.

so, you obey like always, the words flowing from your lips with an ease that makes it seem like something you’ve always known, a deep rooted fact that you can’t possibly deny as you stare up at him through thick lashes with glossy eyes. “p-please, kuni, need you so bad, it hurts! i- i was wrong, wasn’t- wasn’t thinking… missed you so much, please!”

scara smiles, baring his teeth in a way that you distantly know should terrify you, but as he thrusts deeply inside you, filling you up so well with one deep stroke, you can’t find it in yourself to care anymore.

you aren’t sure you ever did.

[featguler]

we don't talk about it ────── you don't have the time — arda tries convincing you to come to his game.

♡ ────── pairing : arda güler x reader ♡ ────── tags : reader's gender, ethnicity, nationality, and appearance is not specified. situationship!arda guler. reader speaks turkish n is speaking turkish with arda in this. angsty i guess??? i keep asking myself why i keep on giving him these stressful situationship scenarios omfg ♡ ────── wordcount : 715 ♡ ────── notes : more situationship arda i literally dc. also sorry for not posting in a while im tiiiired with work and my intern!! >:(( title is from august by flipturn!! ♡ masterlist.

“So you can’t come?”

Arda breathes into the mic, his eyes immediately fluttering close as he hears shrugging on your end, his phone trapped between his shoulders and his ears.

“Yeah.”

Arda tries imagining you right now. He tries imagining the expression on your face, he tries imagining what you are doing—swaying around, sitting down, biting your nails, rolling your eyes—and he lets his fantasies feed more into his imminent heartbreak.

He is in the changing room. Practice was rough that day, though he thinks that maybe it’s just him. Brahim seems to be having the time of his life, and Federico is somewhere talking to Antonio about the shenanigans that his kids, plural now that the youngest have turned one, have been up to lately.

And the room is far from quiet.

It’s alive—full of Eduardo chanting a Spanish song that Vinícius just taught him, full of Jude giggling as he texts his family group chat, and it’s full of Arda’s ailing heart beating against his ribs.

“Sorry,” you mumble to his speaker. Normally, Arda would find a way to voice his disappointment; he would click his tongue, he would thump his head against the wall, he would hang the call and scream into his mouth. But not right now.

“It’s in a week,” he tries negotiating, “not a week, even. 10 days. It’s in 10 days.”

The background noise increases—maybe he’s hallucinating—and Arda decides that he wouldn’t let anyone notice his distress.

No.

A part of him is embarrassed that he’s mulling so much over someone who he has been pining for for ages. He wonders if his older teammates, like Toni or Luka, know what a situationship is. His mother certainly does not. He asked her.

And sure there’s nuances and context in every relationship, but it somehow feels humiliating to explain to his teammates that he’s sad over someone who he is crushing on, but is technically going out with, but also not dating, yet is in a relationship with.

“I know, Arda,” he hears something shifting on your end. “It’s just that I promised my friend that we would go hang out.”

“You can hang out at the Bernabeu,” he encourages, still, his voice light despite the disappointment anchoring his chest. “I’ll get you the tickets.”

Arda opens one eye and watches the changing room, making sure that nobody is giving him their time of day.

“I asked you a few days ago,” he mutters quietly, rubbing the back of his neck rather harshly at the pent up frustration he’s developed every time he speaks to you. “I mean, I asked you first. It’s not fair.”

“Not fair?”

You echo him, and Arda lets out a rather long, extravagant sigh.

“Sorry.”

“We’re not—” you sigh. “Not fair? And whose fault do you think that is?”

Arda bites his lips, thinking over his words.

“Sorry.” He sighs again. “My fault. It’s my fault.”

“Right,” you huff into the speaker.

“Right,” he repeats, before uttering out a weak, “I miss you.”

You didn’t answer him for a moment, and Arda fears that he might have lost his hearing, but he eventually hears a breath.

“I miss you too.”

“I miss you more.”

A stupid smile etched on his lips—an idiotic, hopeful smile.

“Whatever.” He can basically see you roll your eyes. “I’m still not coming. I’m not coming to any of your games, you hear me?”

Until you make it official. He can basically hear you say.

He’s had this conversation a million times, and for some reason, it’s not enough push for him to commit to a relationship. He feels like if it were anyone else, he would not have much of an issue in putting a label on your relationship.

But it’s you.

And he has spent so long wanting you. What if you become his, and then you leave? You break up with him, leave him shattered? There is no breakup if there is no relationship in the first place—the senseless voice in his head keeps on whispering—there is no being left alone if he never decided to stay.

“Tell me if you change your mind.”

You huff to the phone again. “See you, Arda.”

He holds back an I love you, and laughs softly.

“I’ll see you around.”

[pomefioredove]

Heyyy um. “Stop saying things that make me want to kiss the hell out of you." with. epel. hes so accidental confession…..

epel IS so accidental confession... ur so right

summary: "stop saying things that make me want to kiss the hell out of you" type of post: short fic characters: epel additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, pre-book 5

It had already been a long day.

It isn't that he thinks you're going to make it worse; no, if anything, you're probably the only person who'd make it better.

It's just that Epel doesn't want you to see him like... this.

"Well... it's an improvement," Vil sighs, putting his hands on his hips.

"Now, don't move. I'll be back with proper shoes."

Epel scratches at his collar like a dog in a cone. He didn't even know you could find bows in this size.

At least it's over. For now.

Soon, he can sulk back to his room and pretend to practice for the audition thing Vil had been pestering him about for weeks.

Maybe take a nap while he can.

"Oh, my..."

The sound of the door grabs his attention, and for a brief second, Epel is terrified that it's Rook coming to tell him how the color of his bow matches his eyes.

No. It's much, much worse.

"Rook said I might find you here," you're clearly holding back a smile. Epel glares.

"I toldja- I told you I was busy today,"

"Yeah, you seem really busy,"

This is a nightmare. It has to be.

Vil and Rook and all the pampered fancy students in this dorm can humiliate him all they like, he's got nothing to prove to them.

But you?

"I-I couldn't get out of it, alright?" he huffs. "We're experimenting with styles."

You laugh at that. If he were in a better mood, he might have joined you. It does sound ridiculous.

"Well... this one isn't flattering,"

You make an attempt to ruffle his hair, and he grabs your wrist. There's a warm feeling in his face that's threatening a blush, which is the very last thing he needs right now.

He wants you to think he's tough, after all.

"I know," he says. "I didn't have any say in the matter, alright?"

You grin. Damn it. You're insufferably pretty.

Usually, that's something he likes about you. But now?

You get a little closer, and your hands close around either sides of the bow. "I know. Let me..."

He can feel that damn blush on his cheeks and he turns to hide his face.

You loosen the tight hold of the tie, and let it come apart in your hands, smiling.

"Better...ish," Damn, damn it.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles. He's making a complete fool of himself, and he knows it.

You do, too. "Don't be embarrassed- it wasn't that bad,"

It was.

"It was almost dashing,"

It was not.

"Vil has good taste, I'll give him that,"

Epel looks back up at you, jealousy rearing its ugly head.

You're supposed to be his friend, his... something. His.

"Why don't you go hang out with him, then, if you like him so much?" the bitterness in his tone is obvious. You raise an eyebrow.

"...I didn't say-"

"Just- stop saying things that make me wanna kiss the hell outta you!"

There was a part of Epel that really wanted it to sound strong. Manly. Aggressive, maybe? No, just strong.

The rest of him didn't mean to say it at all.

But it ended up sounding romantic anyway. Even you were taken by surprise. The conversation falls flat.

The, you grab one of his hands, and-

The door opens again.

"You again," Vil says dryly, his eyes first burning into you, and then to the discarded bow on the floor, then to the shared embarrassment on your faces.

He sighs.

"I am going to pretend as if I don't know what's happening here. You- out. Epel, you are excused. This is enough for one day,"

You give Epel one last look, but before he can feel guilty for getting you in trouble, he catches a smile on your face.

After the door is closed, he follows.

"Wait,"

He tenses in the doorway, and turns to his housewarden, who already looks exhausted.

"Let me make myself very clear," Vil says, hands on his hips.

"You are capable of making your own decisions- but I will not tolerate any fooling around on my time. Understood?"

Epel nods. For once, he can't even disagree.

The last thing he wants is to be interrupted again, after all.

[pinkgy]

I feel like out of the kings, if Mc wore makeup, Satan, Beelzebub, and maybe Lucifer would be the most into seeing how much they can mess it up during sex. Like, I imagine Satan would find it particularly hot if Mc got angry at him for it if they put a lot of effort into their look. As for Bell I feel like he'd just like seeing mc's debauched face and licking off their flavored lip gloss. Plus I feel like he'd like seeing their lipstick marks on him Lucifer I think would particularly like seeing mcs mascara streaking down their cheeks as they cry.

I totally agree with you !

Here you have my headcanons + some other ideas.

𝗪𝗛𝗕

𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗔𝗡 𝗕𝗘𝗘𝗟𝗭𝗘𝗕𝗨𝗕 𝗟𝗨𝗖𝗜𝗙𝗘𝗥

"𝗥𝗨𝗜𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗠𝗔𝗞𝗘𝗨𝗣"

GN! Reader + No mentions of Gender-Specific anatomy.

𝗖𝗪

Dacryphilia, Hair Pulling, Spanking (Satan)

Spit kink, Humiliation, Degradation, brief mentions of food, A very messy hc. (Beelzebub)

Dacryphilia, Choking, Fingering, Spanking, Hair Pulling, Cursing. (Lucifer)

𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗔𝗡

✧ Why is he turned on by you putting so much effort into doing your makeup?

✧ Why does that eyeshadow color that compliments your eyes so nicely have him having all kinds of wild thoughts? And that beautiful color you used for your lips? They suddenly look so desirable, so kissable.

✧ Satan suddenly has the urge to tease you, and ruining that pretty makeup look you just did with such effort sounds like a great idea, the best that could happen? and you getting mad at him, just the thought of that has him with his dick straining his pants.

—

"D-do you know ..." you sob "How long did it take for m-me to get my makeup done?"

Satan had his left hand holding your cheeks while the other one had a strong grip on your waist "Oh Really? Tell me more about it" he suddenly stopped his thrusts against your hole "Your pretty makeup is all ruined" he teases you "fucked this hole so good, you're such a mess right now "

The frustration of feeling that the aggressive movements of his hips against your hot body had stopped, plus the rage that your carefully applied makeup had been totally ruined thanks to a certain person getting horny out of nowhere, all of that had you completely enraged at the one who was currently on top of you looking at you with a shit-eating grin

Suddenly Satan grabs you by the hips and turns your body, leaving your head pushed against the mattress thanks to his hands grabbing your hair harshly. With another hand Satan pushes your hips upwards leaving your ass up "It bothers you, doesn't it? You must be so frustrated" he keeps teasing you, and with the most annoying smirk you've ever seen, Satan leaves a strong spank on your right asscheek and smashes his dick inside you hard, trying to make you feel every inch of it entering you.

The force of his movements leaves you breathless, the backs of your legs are red from the impact of his body against yours, and traces of your makeup are smeared against the sheets, and that only makes Satan get harder, if that's possible.

"Get mad at me all you want, the more you get upset, the more I'm going to rail you."

𝗕𝗘𝗘𝗟𝗭𝗘𝗕𝗨𝗕

✧ Your lips for Beelzebub are one of his most exquisite tastes, and that they could taste even better seemed impossible.

✧ Since he entered the room he can smell a particular odor coming from his favorite food, your lips, a rather pleasant smell, will it taste the same as it smells?

✧ Now just a little makeup turned him on, and all Beelzebub wants to do is eat you, in many different ways. How would this nice lipstick look like staining his cock while you suck it? how would his body look full of lipstick marks?

—

How long has it been? Minutes? Hours? You don't know, the only thing that is perfectly clear to you is that Beelzebub's tongue inside your mouth seems to have been there forever, you have never felt a more nasty and messy kiss like this one, your saliva and his are running down the corner of your mouth, reaching your chin and letting a thin trickle fall on your chest.

"you make me believe you put on this delicious lipstick just for me" Bell takes your jaw with his hand and licks your now-closed lips "You must love getting ruined by me, what a slut" His humiliating actions towards you have your underwear wet with excitement, which is reflected in your face and Beelzebub notices it.

With his unoccupied hand, Beelzebub takes your flavored lipstick from the nightstand and opens it with his mouth and he squishes your cheeks together with the other hand. "Open that pretty mouth of yours" You do as he says and he starts to apply lipstick messily, leaving your lips and the skin surrounding them glistening with the glossy product "So pretty, is like putting frosting on a cupcake" he licks your lips softly.

You felt so humiliated, but so aroused at the same time, from Beelzebub's messy kisses all over your face to his hard dick pressing against your bare thigh, everything was so nasty.

"Now, how about you spread all that lipstick all over me? It's not fair that you get all the kisses, I want some too" Beelzebub says with a fake pout and removes his hand from your face and places it on his clothed cock while getting your body closer to his, pressing his lips to your ear "I also want your tongue all over me"

𝗟𝗨𝗖𝗜𝗙𝗘𝗥

✧ He's delusional, he would believe that you got your makeup done because of him, and would get hard by that though.

✧ Is makeup waterproof ? he doubts it, that's why he's been watching you for a long time waiting for you to finish your makeup and leave the room to check that the products you used on your eyes are not waterproof, or better yet, tear-proof.

✧ When he realizes that it's not waterproof, Lucifer is willing to do anything to see your makeup running down your face because of your tears, he should stop thinking about it or he will get even more excited.

—

"You can do better" Lucifer has you bent over his lap, two of his fingers rapidly moving in and out of your entrance while his unoccupied hand leaves hard slaps on your ass.

"I can't !" You whine and he takes your hair with his hands and pulls it so he can see your face, he swears to everything that his dick got even harder if it was possible, and small streaks of what used to be your undereye eyeliner were spilling down your cheeks because of the small tears that were peeking out of the sides of your eyes.

Lucifer couldn't take it anymore, he needed everything from you, his dick was already hurting from how hard it was and you weren't even sobbing, there was still so much left to ruin from you.

Quickly, Lucifer grabs you by the hips and throws you face down on the bed, and without giving you time to process the situation, he positions your hips up and buries his big dick in you in a single hard thrust "F-fuck you !" you scream when he enters you, feeling all 12 inches inside you, lucifer takes your hair and pulls it until he lifts your body and your back is against his chest.

At this point your face was completely wet with tears, Lucifer was completely railing you, his cock was ruining you from how hard he was fucking you, and it didn't help that his hand was wrapped around your neck, making sure you both kept eye contact, Lucifer wanted to see every tear run down your face, sometimes he licked them and then kissed you, and other times he rubbed them on your face, further ruining your make up.

"Cum one more time for me, because this is not ending until I say so"

...

Sorry for my lack of updates, one of my dogs just had eye surgery and I've been really stressed, she's better now tho so I'm definitely more relaxed.

Happy Holidays for everyone! And hope y'all have an amazing 2024

[worriedvision]

NPC behaviour - Wanderer

Gender neutral reader, reader and wanderer were basically scripted to be together and it was rolled back due to backlash. For obvious reasons, this is solely a hypothetical. Angst ending for reader. Short compared to what I was going to write, as I don't really know how to not make it sound too complicated tbh lol!

--

"Hey, Wanderer, who's that?" Paimon asks, tilting her head as she spots you running towards Wanderer. He groans, knowing what you were about to do but not stopping you as you tackle him into a hug. "Hey, I get why you'd not trust him but-" Paimon protests, assuming you were attempting to hurt Wanderer.

"Don't worry, I'm dating this one." Wanderer tuts, you kissing him on the cheek. "...why do you look so shocked?"

"Well..." Paimon starts, whispering to the traveler to speak for her.

"...you didn't strike us as the lovey dovey type." The traveler starts, changing their pose. "Happy for you, though!"

If only the players agreed. Your NPC was programmed to stay in the one spot, gushing about your plans with your partner.. the development of you was to be the opposite of Donna.

Unfortunately, you are gushing so much without being able to help it that players would make fun of you. Pulling up characters they ship with your partner, attacking your NPC (doing no damage) and you'd even hear some people discuss how you were not worthy of dating the Wanderer.

When you were able to have the rare moments of offline time with your partner, he reassured you he isn't dating you because he felt guilty, or he feels like he needs something to keep the other side of the bed warm.

"Don't forget, we have our promise rings." He states, pulling out the ring he puts in his pocket every day. You trace the ring on your finger, and you smile warmly at him for the gesture.

...if only that wasn't a scripted event, one where the traveler eavesdropped.

Your next "scene" was your boyfriend pulling out the ring that he had in his pocket, smirking devilishly at you as he makes his way towards the edge of the port. Your character runs, begging him to explain what happened, but he only chastises you for being so silly to think you were going to be together long term. You try to explain you want to have a proper discussion - even if it does end with a break up, you'll at least know what went wrong.

The music fades when he throws the ring, you rushing to grab the ring only to be stopped by the Traveler who holds you back from jumping in. You hear your now ex-partner walk off, laughing as your character begs for another chance to no avail.

You could swear when you next saw him offline, he looked guilty, but you quickly brush it off as he returns to his no longer living you face.

While you were tired from being in scenes where your boyfriend needed you for character enhancement, it was much more humiliating to be the NPC with a well known line.

Your characters voiced line is stuck at a whiny "Maybe I need to give up on love".

[freakenomenon]

okay hereeee are some ted opinions that i feel as though i should share before i explode with frustration.

teds paranoia is due to AM of course, yes. this is horribly tragic and what AM has done to the survivors is HORRIBLE. but.... it doesn't excuse the CLEAR misogynistic bias ( and possible racial bias STAY WITH ME HERE IM BLACK I AM THE MOST CERTIFIED TO TALK ABOUT THIS. ) ted displays towards ellen. when talking about the others he doesn't make derogatory statements towards their gender identities or their choices within their past lives. especially with benny being gay he only states that AM had sexually humiliated him because of it, which does not mean he agrees with it. but then when he shifts over to ellen it's so OBVIOUS how victim blamey and sexist his words are. implying that she enjoys servicing them and that AM had given her pleasure despite her clearly not wanting any of that. he doesnt only just GLOSS OVER the sexual humiliation of benny, he uses it against ELLEN. paranoia does not CAUSE bigotry to sprout, as someone with paranoia if anything it's more offensive to IMPLY that it would cause saying something that horrendous to a SEXUAL ASSAULT VICTIM. ( not only talking about the elevator here by the way, ellen being forced to service the others can genuinely be considered proximity assault and COERCION but whatever ) yes, i do feel bad for ted in the aspect that he is a torture victim and he's gone through so much and that he has genuinely been driven mad. but bigotry within madness cannot be justified in ANY right. it's also very insulting to his character to imply that his ONLY personality traits are being a douchebag. yes it's a big part of him because he is ,,, a douchebag. but to truly understand why you shouldn't like ted as a PERSON ( not as a character, he's very well written do whatever you want ) you have to peel away exactly at what makes his actions unjustifiable in the end.

moving on, his portrayal in the game is both interesting and completely absurd and horrendous. let me start this off by saying. Ted. Does NOT. love ellen. Ted is not ACTUALLY in love with this woman. He's just clinging to whatever he can for validation and he believes that he is ENTITLED to her validation because of his isolation and belief that the MEN hate him. not to mention his warped view on sex due to him being groomed may have led him to believe that sex = love. the short sporadic and awfully humiliating sparks of passion between ellen and ted during those intimate moments, especially for a grooming victim. may be incredibly confusing and conflicting. which of course is not at all teds fault, he's a victim. i don't blame him for that. teds character in the game in some aspects couldve been a beautifully done portrayal of how "love" and a want for it can bring out the worst in someone. that having trauma doesn't always make good functioning morally correct members of society. in other aspects. it's. bad. God fucking. JESUS it's bad i don't even want to talk about how horrendous he is written in the game christ on a celery stick. I can't even say this is because of my personal disliking of ted. all of the characters are so STRANGELY written in the game that is actually absurd in resemblance to their characters in the short story. but whatever.

rant over.

[xxzlushiez]

Save your tears

2000’s! Bill Kaulitz x Gender Neutral! Reader

Synopsis: sometimes the pressure of being a celebrity gets to be to much especially for a kid

AN: this is pretty short I’m very sorryyyyy I’m posting more today though🤭

Notes: angst, bill’s insecurities, letting his walls down, crying, reverse comfort, rude interviewers, talk of bills appearance, the band being a family

“Can’t begin, I seek within, to feel the warmth brought within your skin. Did you know?” - welcome and goodbye: Dream, Ivory

- Bill wasn’t one to let things get to him, whether it be about how he acted or how he chose to dress he never minded, but it just wasn’t his day

- While doing an interview he kept getting questions on his appearance and why he acted the way he acted, it would’ve been fine if the interviewer was just curious and didn’t ask them as if it was a bad thing

- Maybe it was the tone of voice or how the question was asked but everyone could tell how uncomfortable he was

- shifting in his seat, legs crossing and uncrossing, looking around at the other band members for reassurance

- Poor baby was tearing up on live Tv

- When the first break was announced he b-lined it into his dressing room to where you were watching the interview on the company issued TV

- When he got to you he let everything out, tears all down his face and mascara running as when he made it into your arms.

-You cooed at him and sat down on the couch as he cried into your chest, his voice was so broken and shaky as he ranted about what happened

- “You should’ve seen it Name they were humiliating me! Did you- did you hear the things he said to me?”

- “I can’t go back out there everyone saw!”

- “who says that to someone?!”

- “Why does it matter to him what I look like?”

- He was so embarrassed with everything he couldn’t believe how rude the interviewer was and kept bursting out in tears

- played with his hair and wiped off his smudged makeup while whispering sweet-nothings into his ear made him hold you closer

- Held your hand against his face to feel your warmth because everything around him felt so cold

- sat on his lap while you reapplied his eyeshadow and eyeliner

- Him fidgeting with the hem of your shirt

- Rest of the band came in to hang out and boost his spirits by mocking the interviewer

- Gave him reassuring words but he insisted you come out with him for the rest of the interview

- made you have your hand on his thigh the rest of the interview

- Answered questions for him when he got caught up on his words

- Photos released of the you and Tom rolling you eyes

- whispering corny pick up lines to make him feel better

- laughing with Gustav when the interviewer made mistakes

- Fans started a hate club against the interviewer

[yanderes-galore]

yandere concept for redson lmk? please

Sure...! Hope you like it :)

Yandere! Red Son Concept

Pairing: Platonic -> Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Denial, Dark themes, Stalking, Delusional behavior, Condescending behavior, Unhealthy relationships, Jealousy, Possessive behavior, Violence, Branding briefly mentioned, Isolation/Kidnapping, Dubious companionship/Forced relationship implied

I feel like Red Son would be the type of yandere to think he doesn't like his obsession... yet does at an unhealthy amount.

Due to how Red Son acts with people, I can see him in denial at the idea of liking anyone but his family.

This goes for both friends and family.

He just... doesn't think he can do such a thing.

He sees everyone as peasants compared to him and is too prideful to stoop to such a level.

He's dramatic and temperamental, he isn't used to being close with people.

So much that he gets uncomfortable with physical affection and fears being emotionally vulnerable.

As a result, I feel Red Son would be very rude to his obsession at first.

If this sounds familiar... This is because he seems like he'd fall a bit into the 'Tsundere' archetype at first.

Red Son acts like he hates your guts, like he only sees you as a peasant and wants nothing to do with you.

He may even sense this odd attachment to you but tries so hard to ignore it.

He can't seem to get you out of his head no matter how hard he tries.

In response, he may even be a bit more cruel in his words towards you.

He doesn't understand why he can't stop thinking about you.

Which makes him vent his frustrations about you... at you.

Red Son comes off as condescending at the start of the obsession.

He thinks he should see you as beneath him.

Yet, Red Son is quite the lonely demon due to his personality.

He's so deep in denial when it comes to you.

The moment he thinks of you fondly, or even finds himself wanting some sort of bond between you...?

He immediately thinks you did something to him and not that he wants to be friends.

Red Son would either take a long time to confront his obsession, or need someone to help him.

Said someone is most likely MK or Mei, which is a humiliating experience for him.

MK and Mei were most likely his first friends/allies, so if he ever did break and confess his situation... They'd probably tell him he wants to be your friend or something similar.

Red Son doesn't even consider romantic feelings until he becomes friends with you.

With some help, he finally manages to talk to you.

And you're so nice it's both sickening yet pleasing to him.

Even as "friends", Red Son struggles on connecting.

Yet he's less condescending now thankfully.

He does realize that his words have hurt you... and he doesn't want that....

He isn't the most affectionate friend, mostly closed off as he rants to you about something.

He's actually surprised you even listen to his rants.

It... feels a little nice, actually.

Keep in mind that Red Son is not used to anyone caring about his emotions.

So the fact you let him vent is a... nice yet foreign change.

Red Son would probably not see his behavior as bad once it starts manifesting.

He is still new to the whole friend thing... so jealousy is probably something he thinks just... happens.

He feels a bit embarrassed at first to admit he wants to hang out.

Yet when he puts aside his ego, he really does enjoy your presence.

Maybe you aren't a peasant....

Due to his temperamental nature, I think you can tell when he's jealous.

He's seething when your attention is taken away from him during one of your hangouts.

After all, this is time for just you two.

Why does someone else have to ruin it?

Due to his entitlement, Red Son would make a fuss over someone paying attention to you.

The moment you ignore him he has a fit.

No, no, no! This is your time together.

I can see you trying to prevent a fight due to Red Son threatening whoever decided they would speak to you.

Best you calm him before flames start sparking.

Red Son definitely thinks it's a privilege to be his friend.

He deserves your time and will get it no matter what.

Even when you don't hang out, I can see him still trying to watch what you're doing from afar.

After all... are you having more fun with other people?

In that case... He just needs to plan how to win you over better.

Until someone mentions something, Red Son may not realize his behavior stems from romantic feelings.

Isn't it normal for friends to be jealous of others?

Isn't it normal for him to enjoy your smile when he shows you his inventions?

It's gotta be normal for him to feel giddy at the thought of being alone with you... just you and him.

The longer he knows you, the more vulnerable he is with you.

Except he never notices until you point it out... immediately causing him to grow defensive at your words.

It probably isn't until someone comments on his behavior that he considers his feelings for you aren't friendly.

Someone probably mentions he could have a crush on you in a teasing tone, only for him to tell them off.

Only to realize... maybe they're right?

He'd be in denial of his romantic feelings for a long time.

But then... Hey... It makes sense to him.

Why else would he be so possessive around you?

You're even the only person he tolerates physical affection with.

He's easily flustered but he will admit your hugs are addicting... He keeps thinking about them even at home.

The issue is... He has no idea how he'd even confess such a thing?

Which, for a long time, leaves Red Son silently fighting with his feelings.

It doesn't help that his heart flutters when you smile or his skin heats when you touch him.

You're clearly trying to be friendly, but it just has an entirely different effect on him.

Even now he still can't hide the jealousy he feels when others get your attention.

Part of him wonders if he asks you out and you date... if that means you're his now?

If he makes you his partner, does that mean he has control over you?

All of this is so new to him... and he is a demon.

Demons are naturally possessive of what they enjoy.

Especially him.

I can only imagine Red Son's is something he tries to make grande.

He plans it all out as some big reveal before dragging you towards him.

He'd say that it should be an honor to have his heart considering his parentage.

He'd accidentally be condescending in this... which may make you say 'No'.

If you said 'No', he's baffled.

How COULD you decline his offer!?

He worked so hard to make this perfect!

He'd throw a fit, give up for a bit, then realize he still very much needs you and decides to try again.

If you said 'Yes', he's smug.

He knew you'd agree with some convincing!

Truthfully, he was never going to take 'No' for an answer.

Now that you're dating, he feels entitled to you.

He's clingier and more demanding, often wrapping an arm around your waist.

Now he's overconfident, braggin to anyone that'll listen that you're his.

He's obsessive about you to an alarming degree.

He refuses to let you out of his sight without throwing a fit.

Scold him if you want, he isn't listening, probably will just tell his parents about all of your fights.

He's a brat that isn't afraid to burn someone if it meant he got you to himself.

By this point there's no going back.

People can correct him, but he's not listening.

All he really cares about is having you to himself.

He's never felt this way towards anyone else but you.

He'd be a fool to give you up now.

In terms of if Red Son would hurt anyone over you? I don't doubt it.

Sometimes he can't control his flames, which may lead to someone getting hurt.

That and I can see him eventually trying to have you move in with him.

After all, he lives in a castle.

Don't you want to live in a castle?

He'd definitely convince you to stay at Demon Bull King's Fortress.

He'd als desperately look for his parents' approval of you.

If they say you're a good fit... Then you never have to leave!

His kidnapping is typically coercion, carefully drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

Then he can keep you isolated in the castle, just so he can keep you to himself.

After that I can see him clinging to you, surprisingly giddy at the thought of having you to himself.

Now he doesn't need to share!

Seriously, who's willingly going to come here?

Not many! Which means you're all his.

Now you can love in peace!

This may seem OOC, but maybe Red Son could brand his obsession as punishment?

It's definitely way later into the obsession, most likely when he isolates you in the castle.

By that point he would've had to snap in order to make such a decision.

He'd brand a specific symbol or pattern to remind people that you're his, then immediately attempt to comfort you afterwards.

Ironically, Red Son is like playing with fire.

You're completely oblivious to what you do to him.

You think being friends will be nice.

Unfortunately... He just gets worse.

If you stay with him despite the warning signs... you're merely growing the fire deep inside him...

Soon his obsession will grow and grow if nothing is done to prevent it...

Leaving you to get burned.

[kechiwrites]

white flag toxic baby daddy!ghost x reader part 5/?

synopsis: maybe it's time to give up the ghost. lord knows you tried.

wc: 2k

cw: afab!reader, angst, hurt and some comfort (finally), language, allusions to postpartum depression, abandonment issues, trust issues, no gendered language, discussions of pregnancy. no use of y/n ever.

author’s note: the talk is finally here! i hope you enjoy, i am very proud of it. new to baby blue? start here.

It’s almost one in the morning when the bed creaks under Ghost's body, signalling his departure. The immediate absence of his warmth, the loss of his skin on yours makes you miserable in a way you wish you didn't have to examine. It makes you feel weak and yearning and empty and wistful all at once, tumbling all the emotions together until it spills out of your mouth unbidden.

“Will you stay?” You whisper it, almost as if you want it to go unheard.

It's heard.

Immediately, Ghost stops moving, stops dressing. Hell, you're almost positive he'd stopped breathing.

“You want me to?” he turns to face you, expression typically placid but his body frozen with tension.

You feel like you’re going to be sick all over your sheets when you croak “yeah” out into the stillness of your bedroom, spitting your white flag at his feet, for him to accept or trample over. 

Neither of you move for what feels like an eternity. Staring into each other's faces like they hold the answers to all the bullshit questions you made in each other. 

You break first. 

"C'mere. Please." You shift under your blanket, nodding your head towards the indent he’d made in your mattress, the sheets still warm from his heat.

Ghost is quick to move, reclaiming his spot in your bed, sliding under your covers and into your grasp, where you can cling to him like you wanted to years ago. Like you want to now. 

Your head sits on the swell of his chest, his heart beating even and quick below your ear. The position you're in makes your lower back twinge, but neither of you move, your legs now twisted in his. Initially, when he’d returned after Tommy’s fourth birthday, you’d been worried about what you’d say to him, how you’d finally tell him everything you’ve been thinking from the moment he left you. Now, the words are easy. They come when they are called, straight from your mind, stewed in your grief, pinched, sorrowful words, soaked with your tears, spoken into the dark, thin fabric of his shirt.

“I hate you.” You gasp, and wind howls through the cavern in your chest, “I hate you so much, I wish I never met you.” Hot tears burn your eyes and slide over your nose and cheeks, you hiccup through your burning throat and just speak.

"You ruined my life, you gave me this person, this little person who needs me for everything, and then you abandoned me. For so long I hated you and I hated him." Ghost's chest stops rising and falling for a moment when you confess it, the shame and anger catching him off guard. It's clear he can't quite believe it after seeing you with Tommy day after day, being who your son needed you to be, raising him, loving him, all like it was second nature. And why should he? He was off God knows where, doing God knows what while you tumbled through heavy bouts of depression and self loathing. Days where you wanted to stay rotting in your bed, but Tommy's reedy, desperate cries forced you to rise, to resist. 

"I hated my own son. My baby. Because of you." The window in your bedroom is open, and the rain outside gets heavier, like it’s trying to drown out the sounds of your confession, your accusation, like it wants to bury your humiliation and vitriol under the rushing white noise. Fill the cavern with water instead of letting it close.

“Why couldn't you just stay for me, Simon? Why couldn't you be who I needed you to be?” 

He’s breathing again, slow and steady but you can hear his heart thud irregularly in his chest, like it’s trying to follow the thread of your thoughts, but it can’t quite keep tempo. 

‘He’s scared.’ you think, and for the first time, in a long time, it doesn’t feel good. 

“I felt like I was dying. Tommy has your big ass head,” your laughter sounds like a death rattle, but you press on, spilling the dark, black ichor of the past onto Simon, into the bed you share. "It hurt so bad, the worst pain I ever felt. And I was alone. You left me alone. I wanted to die so bad.”

“I'm sorry.” he finally speaks, and it’s always a little surreal to hear his voice without it being muffled by a mask after so long. Strange to hear how deep and clear his voice can be when there isn’t a barrier between you, or your blood rushing past your ears. 

Ghost is holding you so tight, like you’ll get up and bolt at any minute, and maybe you will. Cause he’d deserve it. He’d deserve to be left behind. Just this once.

“Why? You knew what you were doing to me. You left knowing I wanted him. Knowing I'd do it all by myself. And now you're back, and you want to what? Fuck me? Break me? What do you want, Simon? How can I make you stop this…game you're playing.” You’re crying again, a small headache beginning to form at the base of your skull, reminding you what sorrow costs, what getting it all out will bring you. Pain. Pain that leaves you feeble and empty and bone-fucking-tired.

Somehow, his arms tighten around you further, feeling all at once like attachment and hatred and deep deep longing for intimacy with the one person who saw you as you were and decided he didn't want to stick around to see the rest. 

“And you know what? I know that none of this means shit for you because I let you fuck me again. Because I have no goddamn self control." You have to rein yourself back from shouting into the dark. "No self respect. A-and I can't stop missing you, missing you and me together, because it felt so real, it felt like you loved me." You anchor yourself up, letting the tears that collected on your nose and cheeks fall onto his chest. The pressure in your ears changes and you sniff against your runny nose. You feel pathetic, tiny in the wake of the all encompassing ache he brings with him everywhere. You can barely see him in the dark but you try to meet his eyes anyway. "If you ever, ever cared about me, if you care about your son, Simon, you will stop trying to break me down. You will give up on being a family. You lost your fucking chance. And it's not fair for you to come back when I know - I know - you're going to leave again."

You're short of breath and light headed when you finally stop, gulping down air and springing up tears for the third time, burning hot on your face, stinging your eyes so badly you worry the pain will never subside.

He waits a moment, before he sits up too, like he wants to be sure you got it all out before he tries and inevitably fails to make everything better. 

"I fucked up. I get that. But I can't let go of it. Of this." His voice creates this itch inside your head, like it needs something specific to go away. You’re sitting between his legs now, hands fisted in your soft white blanket, the body warmed fabric poking out between your fingers. 

“I’m trying, and you don’t want me to. He doesn’t need me to. But I want to.”

You both sit with it for a while, chewing on each other’s regrets, on his mistakes, on your heartache. It’s strange, hearing an actual apology from him, like you’d dreamed about early on. Cloudy blue and pink fantasies about opening your front door and seeing the father of your child on his knees, begging for forgiveness, grovelling for a second chance. It hadn’t happened, of course. And you’d let him into your bed anyway, because you’d missed him, four years and five months had passed you by and you still felt his absence, still felt cold at night, still felt empty in the morning. So when he knocked, you let him in.

And maybe that’s where the next question you ask him comes from. You were rarely jealous when you were actually "together", but now, the idea of Simon, your Simon, cuddled up with someone different? Enjoying himself while you toiled? Chuckling deep and low while you cried to your ceiling? It made your stomach turn. Maybe you weren't so much jealous as you were bitter. Bitter, you knew. Bitter was your closest friend. Bitter stood by your side while you raised your son, paid your bills, scrubbed your floors. Bitter was all you could taste lately.

"Was there ever…anyone else?"

He shifts next to you. Tries to play it off like a stretch. Like the line of questioning didn't burrow under his skin like a mite, eager to lay eggs that hatch guilt into his blood.

But you know better. You know him better. 

"No one important." He mutters. 

"Well that doesn't matter, I wasn't important and you knocked me up!" Your laugh smacks of your best friend, its acrid taste settling in your mouth.

"You were important. Are important." He asserts, circling his hand around the back of your neck, squeezing once before he lets go.

"Not enough for you to stay. Or call." You mumble.

You aren't even looking at him and you know his hand is up over his face, shielding him from God knows what. 

“I needed you to stay the same. And you couldn’t anymore.” You want to turn and face him, argue that he changed you. You didn’t make your son by yourself after all. He stops you, keeps you facing your bedroom wall while he hunches over to press his face into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder.

"And I don’t want to need anybody, I haven’t in a long time."

"Least of all me, huh?"

“You know that isn’t true.”

“I don’t know shit.” You gesture around your hands waving over the entire of your bedroom. “Clearly. If I knew what you thought of me, we wouldn’t be here. In this fucking…mess. Right?” 

It’s another white flag, if you were being honest, an opportunity for him to take your olive branch and not smack you across the face with it. A sign that the fuel for this particular fire, at least, has begun to burn out, leaving little but glowing embers behind.  

In lieu of speaking, his arms tighten around you again. It’s not an answer, not really, but you leave it alone. You push on a different wound. And another. And another. You poke and prod Simon with every question you’d had while he was gone, and you don’t care about the blood you leave in your wake. 

“Does the force know?” They do now.

“How?” I told ‘em.

“Why’d you tell them?” It’s…You’re important.

“No we aren’t. Not to you.” A shake of the head and a quiet rebuttal.

Eventually, it feels like the two of you keep speaking in circles, he asserts things are different, you doubt and lay righteous blame, he apologizes and asserts things have changed now, and so on and so forth until the late hour tugs at your swollen eyelids. He pulls you down to the mattress, lays back and arranges you across his chest once more. Your legs fit together a little better now, and you can feel sleep slowly taking hold of you. 

Before you slip under, you murmur into his chest; "Simon.” He makes a low noise in his throat, an indication of his attention. “Do you love me? Did you ever love me?" It’s a plea for the truth, for an answer so irrefutable that it finally soothes the ache, scratches the itch, mends the torn fabric that lays between you.

"You're as close as I ever got." You feel his lips press against the crown of your head before you fall asleep, succumbing to a simple, dreamless slumber.

When you wake up the next morning, he's there. Not sleeping. His hair is a mess, and his face is bare. He's reclined against your headboard, reading a romance paperback you borrowed from the library, frowning at the yellowed pages like it's written in Latin.

When you start to cry, he holds you until Tommy stirs awake, knocking at your door for Sunday morning pancakes.

so...what'd we think? this one made my husband cry :)

series masterlist here

support city girls who like sad broken men, reblog what you like.

[moorishflower]

Eating Out (Dream/trans!Hob Explicit)

i heard we were writing trans Dreamling and then I saw that one ask someone sent @gabessquishytum and I blacked out for a few hours and woke up with this on my desktop please enjoy

Contains: FtM Hob Gadling, public sex, oral sex, free use/multiple partners, voyeurism, multiple orgasms, scent kink, hair kink, little bit of eldritch Dream as a treat

The club is almost violently loud, and the instant that Dream materialises within it he wishes to leave.

He could. There is nothing holding him here. Not even his new agreement with Hob Gadling, that they meet twice a month, holds sway here – they have already held their pre-arranged meetings for December, have 'caught up' with each other, as Hob calls it, though Dream always feels as though he has nothing to contribute. He tells Hob about the unceasing tedium of ruling a kingdom, of settling disputes between his creations, of shoring up the defences of the Dreaming such that it will be prepared for any onslaught, and it is all the same, always the same things over and over again for aeons, but Hob leans towards him and listens with the most fascinated air. He asks questions. He is interested.

Dream would much rather hear about Hob's life. His many lives, in fact, within the last two centuries. It seems as though Hob is always doing something: viewing art with noted professors on the subject, or attending poetry readings, or assisting in the building of various installations of a political nature at protests, or organising a play put on by trans youth from local universities. In this century he is highly invested in matters regarding gender and sexuality – which Dream supposes makes sense. His own gender would have been considered at best a novelty in his own time, and at worst an affront to God. These days, however, he lives openly and freely as the man he has always known himself to be.

It is all of these things, and more, that are the reasons why he is here tonight. The Dreaming is stable at last – there are no pressing matters for him to attend to this eve – but he is shortly expected to meet with Lucifer in order to renegotiate their ancient treaty of tentative peace, and he is, as Hob would say, not looking forward to it. He is, in fact, dreading the experience. He is certain that Lucifer has neither forgotten nor forgiven his brief foray into Hell when he retrieved his helm, and the humiliation they were forced to endure at his hand. He will freely admit that he was. Not as gracious. As he could have been, upon his triumph.

He does not want to think about it. And so he is here, looking for Hob Gadling.

It occurs to him, however, as he watches the ebb and flow of people around him, that Hob may not wish to be found this night. He had assumed, when he'd reached for Hob's presence in the Waking and drew himself towards it, that he would appear in Hob's flat above the New Inn. That is where he is most often to be found, this time of night, unless he has prior engagements.

This club, though...it is of a distinctly sexual nature. Its patrons dressed in leather and latex, and some dressed in almost nothing at all. There are sheltered alcoves with faux-leather seats where two or three or more humans whisper quietly to each other, and kiss, and touch sensuously; there are other stations that Dream recognises, but only from dreams: a St. Andrew's Cross, a whipping post, a wooden bench over which a young man bends while a woman dressed entirely in white lace strikes him with a thin crop, raising fine red weals on the pale skin.

Perhaps he ought to leave. If Hob is here to procure a partner for the evening, then it is no business of Dream's.

Except.

Except the thought makes him. Unhappy.

He examines this realisation with detached interest, because he knows if he allows himself to become invested in the idea there will be no going back. Hob is his friend. They have known each other for over six-hundred years. He does not want to ruin their friendship, burgeoning as it currently is.

Neither does he wish for Hob to be here, seeking something that he believes Dream cannot provide for him.

Is that the crux of it? The source of his displeasure? Hob has come here, seeking fulfilment, instead of seeking out Dream? He would have no reason to approach Dream. Their friendship has never had a sexual component.

Although.

He remembers the way Hob had looked at him in 1589, so proud of the largess he had provided, eager for Dream's approval. He remembers the slow up and down glance of 1389 when he had approached Hob's table, when he had still been a beardless ruffian, binding his chest with scraps of wool. He remembers, in 1789, how Hob had looked at him, how he had tugged at his ear, how eagerly he had come to Dream's defence.

Perhaps he had simply not been in the best position to notice any interest. Hob's, or his own. Too prideful. Too convinced that Hob was just like every other human, grubbing about in the dirt for power and acclaim. Too assured of his own high status – one such as he, friends with one such as Hob?

He knows better now. Knows that Hob has lived rich and varied lives, which Dream has, for the past several months, taken succour in, experiencing them through Hob's tales, learning more and more about his friend. Liking what he has learned.

This, he decides, is a new aspect of that learning. And perhaps a new chapter in their friendship, if Hob is amenable. It has been long and long since he has laid with a human – he spares a moment to thank the memory of his sister for withholding her gift from Hob, for it means that Hob is not, strictly speaking, mortal – and perhaps it would be wise of him to observe Hob in this environment first. If Hob is here, he reasons, then necessarily he will be familiar with the etiquette of such a place.

And if Hob is otherwise occupied with a lover already...

He decides not to continue that thought.

A path forward decided, Dream wends his way through the crowds. The club is densely-packed with people, all ages, all nations and creeds and genders, and of them all he is the least-appropriately dressed in his coat and t-shirt and jeans. He does not bother to change, and no one approaches him – he is as a ghost, drifting between the revellers, a visitor to this holy house of Dionysus and Pan, following the faint trail of Hob that guides him like a ball of twine. Gentle prodding at daydreams reveals that Hob was here at the bar, that he, also, had been dressed-down for this occasion, in a white button-up and a pair of loose trousers. Still, others had looked upon him and had, in gauzy fantasies, wondered what he would look like dressed in less. Had wondered what his stubble would feel like against their cheeks. Had imagined his hands – broad, callused, peasant's hands – on their hips, their thighs, their genitals.

Dream does not linger in these daydreams for long, but pursues his true quarry, slipping through the gathered throngs, enjoying, for the moment, the feeling of stalking his prey. It is only infrequently that he is allowed to feel this, the thrill of the hunt, the pursuit; he is, by necessity, a guardian of his dreamers, but he is dreams and nightmares both, and often he longs for an end to the mournful tedium of his duties. Longs for peaceful oblivion or, at the very least, something that he can sink his teeth into.

The club is much larger than he had initially thought, and Dream follows Hob's trail up stairs and down corridors, until he finds himself in a section of the venue that has been cordoned off; several security personnel stand stationed at pre-set points, keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings within.

There are significantly fewer clothes in this part of the club, Dream realises. And what is worn is designed for easy access.

It is less crowded here, but no less quiet – the air is filled with the sounds of pleasure, moans and squeals and throaty whispers, creating a chorus of rising debauchery that drowns out the thumping music below them. He remains unseen, untouched, as he slides through the gaps in the crowd, around amorous couples, ignoring the slick sounds of bodies entangled and flesh entwined, until, at last, he reaches the end of the trail.

Hob Gadling has arranged himself in a secluded section of the upper floor, where dark curtains have been set up to give a modicum of privacy, though the acts happening just beyond are still within full view of the rest of the floor. He is seated in a chair, one of the low, slightly reclined ones that pepper the rest of the club, though this one has been considerately draped in plastic sheeting. The reasoning behind this is immediately obvious: Hob Gadling sits with his thighs spread, revealing the hole that has been cut in the groin of his loose trousers, and there is a woman kneeling before him, with her face buried between Hob's legs.

Dream does not care about the woman, though objectively he recognises that she is beautiful, and clearly quite happy with her current position. His eyes are fixed on Hob, who has his head thrown back, sweat dappling his forehead, mouth open as he gasps and pants. His neck is pulled taut, revealing the tempting line of his jugular, and his shirt has been unbuttoned to reveal the thick hair on his pectorals, almost completely hiding the scars beneath. The woman between his legs does something that must be particularly pleasing, because Hob's eyes slip shut, and his hips rut upwards, and even through the music and the noise and the crowd Dream can hear the sound of his moaning, reaching a fever pitch as he climbs towards climax. When he comes, all his muscles strain at once...and then he slumps, panting, while the woman leans back and licks her lips. The entire lower half of her face is soaked in fluid, and Hob's thighs glisten with the same. It is clear that he has been here for some time.

There is a small sign, Dream realises, that has been set up beside the chair, and a few people positioned around it, reading its words, watching with interest. Some of them watching with eagerness. Eat me out, the sign says. Accepting all comers. Face-sitting offered for best orgasm. Beneath this titillating invitation is a short list of the things that Hob is not interested in. No PiV, says one, and, No S/M.

He watches the woman climb to her feet and then lean down again, whispering something into Hob's ear. It makes him laugh, whatever she says, a full-throated, beautiful display, his head tossed back as he guffaws. Then the woman kisses his cheek, and Hob takes the opportunity to pull her in for a generous hug. Dream has been on the receiving end of such hugs before, but he has never considered that he might be gifted them under such. Specific circumstances.

Then the woman moves away, and he is treated to the sight of Hob on full display. And Dream stops. And looks. And breathes.

Hob had been beautiful, with the woman between his legs, but now that it is only him he is even moreso. With no one in the way Dream is able to see the thick trail of hair on his belly, leading down to the dark thatch of his pubic hair, curls wet with spit and slick. The lips of his sex are parted, red and swollen from the attentions of Dream knows not how many, and here, too, he is wet and open and wanting, with his cock jutting proudly upwards. The plastic sheeting beneath his seat is soaked in his own fluids, and even as Dream watches a newcomer approaches, speaks quietly to Hob and, at Hob's cheery nod and grin, kneels down and begins to lick the plastic clean.

He could remain here unseen, Dream realises. To interrupt Hob's revelry would surely lead to a foul mood later on, but. But.

He wants.

For all that he is neither flesh nor blood, he responds as the form he has taken bids him to, his trousers growing tighter as his erection fills, his stomach clenching with desire, his heart beating faster. His mouth floods with saliva at the sight of Hob's hairy thighs flexing, the dark, spit-damp and abundant curls of his sex, the thin trail of sexual fluids that drips from his fluttering opening and is caught on the tongue of the man kneeling in front of him. And he feels a flash of jealousy, when Hob reaches down and pets the man's hair, and says something softly to him. He recognises the look in the man's eyes, one of fervent adoration, and knows that, were he in the same position, his own expression would be much the same.

He does not wish to ruin their friendship, but. But.

He must make a decision. To remain here, unseen, a silent watcher, is a violation of Hob's trust in him. To reveal himself is to potentially face Hob's ire, but he might take pride in the knowledge that at least he tried.

Dream inhales, breathing in the sharp smell of lust and sex, and steps forward, allowing himself to be seen.

Hob does not notice him at first, still murmuring to the man between his legs. After several moments, though, he looks up, and Dream sees the exact second that Hob spots him: his eyes go wide, and his legs reflexively clamp shut, nearly trapping the man between them, and his muscles shift as if he plans to launch himself upwards before his expression turns resigned, and he relaxes back into his seat. A quick word is had with the kneeling man, who shrugs and then clambers to his feet; he gives Dream a lingering glance as he takes his leave, as do several others of the assembled patrons.

"Dream," Hob says, raising his voice to be heard above the muffled music and the moans and screams emanating from other rooms on this floor. He is still sitting with his knees locked together. "What are you...I mean, far be it for me to judge what you do in your spare time, but what on God's green earth are you doing here?"

"Seeking you out," Dream says. He takes a step forward, and then another, until he has come to a stop almost directly in front of Hob. There is a pillow on the floor, he notices. He had not seen it before; it bears the indents of many previous lovers. He wonders how many have serviced Hob this evening.

He sinks down to his knees.

"Um," Hob says. His eyes are huge, the pupils so dilated that his irises appear as two drops of ink in white clouds. "Dream? What...?"

"I will leave if you wish me to," Dream says. He lifts his hands, letting them hover uncertainly over the heavy curve of Hob's thighs, but not yet daring to touch. He can feel the warmth emanating from Hob's body, more intoxicating than any wine or stimulant, and another wave of wanting crashes over him. Were he standing he thinks he would be staggered by it. "But. If you have no objections. I would very much like to stay."

"No objections," Hob says, voice rising to a squeak. His legs fall apart again, slowly at first, tentative, but widen with more generosity as Dream accepts the invitation, and lays his palms at last on Hob's thighs. They are just as muscled and warm as he had thought them to be, the hair on them coarse where it rubs between his fingers, against his fingertips, and there, at their centre, Hob's sex revealed to him once again. His cock still firm, jutting upwards, his labia still spread and glistening as Dream lowers his head to breathe in the scent of him.

"You smell ambrosial," Dream murmurs, and Hob barks a sudden laugh.

"I've come six times," he says. The tension is slowly leaving his body, allowing him to slump backwards as Dream strokes his thighs. "I smell like sweat and jizz, more like."

"As I said." And to drive home his point, Dream bends down and presses his nose to the sopping curls of Hob's cunt, inhaling deeply. Sweat, yes, and Hob's excitement, and the saliva of others, easily and summarily dismissed in favour of Hob's natural scent, and his friend's murmured, "Oh, oh fuck," as Dream lets his nose brush along the side of his prick. It strains towards him, twitching faintly with Hob's heartbeat. Impudent thing, Dream thinks, though not without a great deal of fondness, and he looks up at Hob through the wild fringe of his hair, blinking slowly.

"You know, I wasn't expecting this," Hob says. His hands clench at his sides. "I only come here maybe twice a year. I wasn't...You don't have to..."

"I wish to."

"...just because I'm. Here. What?"

"I am precisely where I wish to be," Dream says. "And if you truly have no objections. I wish to sample you."

"Jesus Christ," Hob says, and his head falls backwards, thumping against the cushions. "Yeah. Yeah, fuck. Do you know how long I've thought about this?"

"Since 1789," Dream says. He drags the tip of his nose along the length of Hob's cock, and then presses a soft kiss to the head of it, greatly enjoying the sound of Hob's muttered curses. The smell of him is growing denser, sharper, as fresh wetness drips from his cunt.

"Longer," Hob says. "Since the moment I saw you. Thought about bouncing on your cock later that night, even. I would've ridden you so fucking hard."

"Perhaps later," Dream murmurs, and then, for the first time, takes Hob into his mouth.

The effect is immediate, electrifying: Hob goes rigid, mouth opening in a soundless cry as his hips rut forwards, pressing his pubic bone against Dream's nose. His prick is thick, compact, perhaps three inches of trembling nerves that slide along Dream's tongue like silk. The taste of him here is not as strong as it would be directly from the source, but the musky salt of it delights Dream's senses, enraptures him. He lets Hob set the pace at first, trying to gauge how tired he is, how sore...though it quickly becomes apparent that six orgasms in an evening is not, apparently, his friend's limit. Hob does not cry off, nor beg for Dream to give him a moment, but sighs and moans and laughs as Dream sucks at him, first softly, and then with greater force, tracing the thin skin of Hob's prick with the tip of his tongue, then letting it fall free of his mouth so that he can instead lavish attention on the plump lips around it.

Here, he thinks. Here is where his mouth is intended to be, at the nadir of Hob's sex, where his labia are spread like flower petals and his cunt clenches and leaks. Dream hums to himself in delight as he laps a searing path from the root of Hob's prick down to his twitching, wet opening, kneading Hob's thighs with his fingertips as he does so. There is so much hair here that it is impossible to keep his face dry – nor would he want to, even if he could – and Dream leans in to taste, pushing his nose through Hob's pubic hair, committing the scent of him to memory as he licks and sucks at everything he can reach. His wild hunger makes him crude, inexpert, but when he glances upwards to gauge Hob's pleasure he finds his friend flush-faced and panting, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, one hand pushed back into his own hair. When he sees Dream looking he smiles.

"Do you know how gorgeous you are?" he asks. "Between my legs? I've imagined this for so long."

The encouragement is. Pleasing. More than he had thought it would be. Enough that it makes his own cock twitch as he basks in the pleasure of Hob's praise. "So beautiful," Hob says, and he lifts his hips slightly, demanding. Dream is eager to indulge him, and buries his face once more into Hob's sex, licking, now, at his cunt, pressing the tip of his tongue inside to where he is wettest and hottest, savouring the taste of him. The scent that has gathered in his hair, surrounding him now, filling Dream's nostrils, making him dizzy with lust. He cannot resist the temptation to bury his tongue deeper, and then deeper still, longer than any human Hob would ever have taken to bed. Muscles clamp down around him, and Hob makes a startled, thrilled little noise, and then begins laughing again, one hand at last stealing to Dream's hair. He does not clutch, but strokes, softly, like a favoured pet, and Dream purrs, mouth sealed around Hob's cunt, tongue buried in him until there is no more space for anything but Dream.

"You're a marvel," Hob says; Dream flicks the tip of his tongue against the opening to his cervix, soft, soft, and Hob's whole body goes as taut as a bow. "A fuh-hucking marvel oh God, oh fuck, Dream!"

A crowd has begun to form, Dream notes, though it is distant and unimportant information, useful only as much as these people may now see that Hob has chosen him, that Hob favours him. He is too focused on the task at hand to feel anything but the faintest hint of possessiveness – why should he, when he already has what he desires? – and he sets to it with relish, pumping his tongue in leisurely strokes, deep enough that Hob will feel him later, like a sweet bruise. Above him, Hob swears a blue streak, his neglected cock pulsing, prompting a sharp outcry of pleasure every time that Dream bumps the base of it with his nose. Eat me out, the sign had said, and Dream intends to follow it to the letter – there will be time enough, he hopes, to worship every other part of Hob later.

"Dream," Hob says, "Dream, I'm, I'm close, I'm–"

Dream does not wish to be warned. He wishes to be covered in the smell of Hob, drenched in him, and so he presses his tongue sharply up at the same time as he moves his hand to stroke Hob's prick with his thumb, humming in satisfaction as above him Hob shouts, thighs clamping hard around Dream's ears, a gush of fluid oozing around Dream's tongue as he works Hob through first one panting, keening peak, and then a second one just after, smaller, Hob squeezing rhythmically with his thighs, his cries of completion turning to whimpers and then to silence, just the sound of his breathing, like thunder, and murmured noises of appreciation from the gathered crowd. Dream slowly pulls back, and looks with satisfaction as Hob's gaping cunt, at the trickle of spit and come that drips from him, smoothing the curls there flat and sleek.

"Oh," Hob says. His voice is shaky, but inexpressibly fond as he reaches forward and cups Dream's cheeks with his palms. "Oh, I've made a complete mess of you."

He does not need a mirror to know that Hob's words are true. Dream can feel the warm air of the club brushing cold against the wetness on his cheeks, his chin, where it drips in thin lines down his neck. Hob smiles at him, his thumb stroking Dream's bottom lip.

"I think I might have one more in me for tonight, if you're interested," he says, and then with his foot he stretches out and tips over the little sign he had set up beside his chair. "But maybe somewhere where it's...just us? If there's no objections?"

His voice is hesitant. Searching. Dream gazes up at him, dazed, as he had known he would be, with how much he wants, and not only with how much he wants Hob's body, but his laughter as well, and his joy, and his time and his company. No, there are no objections.

"It would be my pleasure," he says, and Hob, still smiling, leans down and kisses the damp tip of his nose, and then the corner of his mouth, and then Hob's lips cover his own, gentle, and around them the club continues on in its revels but, for the moment, it is only them, and it is perfect.

[elllisaaa]

Can you do sub Beomgyu smut?

[cuz I'm a female dom, and I absolutely fucking love hove bratty he is and his whines make me- well, wet]

uk those fics where the reader, teases them in public and they punish xer/xim in the bathrooms/public???

can you do that with sub beomgyu, and rough and dom reader[any gender is fine, preferrably female]?

only if you're comfortable though...

ALL MINE - C. BEOMGYU

-> pairing : brat sub!beomgyu x fem dom!reader

-> words count : 1.6k

-> genre : smut

-> warnings : dom/sub dynamic, teasing, dirty talk, praising, semi-public sex, face slapping, cock slapping, gagging, humiliation, bondage, choking, use of 'good boy', 'whore', 'slut' and 'miss', handjob, cum eating

+ the way i'm depicting beomgyu does not represent him, it's only a work of fiction.

-> 18+ content bellow, minors dni

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated ! sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language

-> author's note : i fucking love to write subby men, and beomgyu and his bratty attitude gives me the perfect opportunity to do so. as you said, he gives out that vibe so much ! it was so fun to write this, thank you anonie, hope you'll enjoy this !

-> masterlist | txt masterlist

Going out with your friends had always been an activity that you liked, the feeling of joy when you reunited with them couldn’t be compared to anything else. But now that you were taking Beomgyu with you, it was even more fun. Why ? Because he wanted to impress your friends so badly, he wanted to make a good impression on them. That’s why he kept trying to present himself in a good light, and acting as if he was the one leading your relationship when you both knew that behind closed doors, you had him on his knees for you. 

Despite that being well established, and your rules being really strict, Beomgyu had been not so subtly touching you the whole night : putting his hand on your thigh, leaning in to whisper some dirty things in your ears, and even taking your own hand to bring it closer to his crotch under the restaurant table. Not that you particularly minded playing this type of game in public, but it wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You had made it clear to him before going out - that he will get his reward for having been good all week if he did one last thing for you, which simply consisted in behaving and not teasing you during this dinner out. 

After spending two years together, you thought that you would have finally succeeded in taming his bratty attitude. But no. It was coming out every now and then, and always when you were the most frustrated and had the least patience left. It was almost as if Beomgyu had a second sense that allowed him to know when to mess with you just so he could get punished harshly. Well, truth be told, maybe it was exactly why he was doing this - because he knew that the way you were going to torture him will be delicious. 

“- Haven’t I made it clear, baby ? Keep your hands off me tonight and you’ll get what you want, okay ?”

Beomgyu threw his best pleading eyes at you, still not listening to your orders as you felt his fingers creep up higher underneath your dress. You let out an exasperated sigh, pushing his hand away from you. Under the guise of getting closer to you, your boyfriend nuzzled his head in your neck, whining in your ears.

“- But I need you so bad, I’ve been good, just let me touch you, I’ll be quick.

- You know what, you wanna be a slut and a brat ? You’re gonna get punished instead. Go to the bathroom and wait for me.”

For once, Beomgyu listened, getting up from the table and excusing himself. You let some minutes go by, and when you felt like he had been marinating for long enough, you got to the bathroom too, saying that you were going to see if your boyfriend was doing good.  

“- You’re not even able to not touch yourself for ten minutes ? You’re a fucking whore Beomgyu.

- Y-Yes but only for you.”

His cocky smile despite his shake voice and his hands stroking his clothed boner made you want to break him, to wipe the smug look in his eyes. You entered fully in the small cabin of the bathroom, pushing him to sit down on the toilets. You locked the door behind you and detached the ribbon you put in your hair before going out. 

“- Give me your hands. 

- No.”

The loud sound your hand produced when you slapped him echoed in the bathroom along with the moan he let out. You grabbed his hair roughly, tugging on them to get him to look at you. His once confident look was now completely gone, his eyes glassy and he was almost ready to drop on his knees. But he loved to test your patience even more. So he still didn’t give you his hands, and moaned again when you slapped his other cheek. 

“- You’re getting on my fucking nerves Beomgyu, if you wanna cum you better give me your hands.”

Without saying a word, he did it and you tied them together with your little pink ribbon. It was quite funny how you were always dressed so cute, with cute little make-up and cute little hairpins, but once you were alone with him, you turned into the nastiest little demon. And Beomgyu loved this contrast, loved to know how people could never suspect the real dynamic of your couple. 

“- See ? You know how to be good so behave.

- But I don’t wanna.

- You will when I’ll make you cry. All it takes is for me to touch your small dick and you’re begging for me to let you cum, right ?”

Beomgyu wanted to protest, to say something, but you were already squeezing his hard cock through his clothes, stroking him at a quick pace, that had him squirming in place and whimpering out loud. Your other hand came up to his throat, getting a firm hold of it, enough to shut him up a little. 

“- Y/N… Baby, baby…

- What ? You’re complaining now ? You’ve got what you wanted though, or is it still not enough for you, fucking slut ?”

Your boyfriend nodded as he tried to free his hands from the ribbons, but you had grown too used to tying him up because he was constantly acting up. It felt good to be completely at your mercy, but he also wanted to touch you, wanted to feel and lick your skin, wanted to grip on the flesh of your ass while you bounced on his cock and milked him dry. 

“- You’re so greedy. You’re gonna take what I give if you wanna cum, understood ? 

- A-And if I don’t want t-to ?”

A sinister smile spread on your lips, your hand squeezing his throat harder, making him choke on his own words. 

“- Then you don’t cum at all.”

You let go of his cock, going as far as taking a step back and Beomgyu’s eyes opened wider. He tried to reach your hand and pull you back to him, but his tied wrists wouldn’t allow it and he let out a desperate whine. 

“- No, no, no, I need to cum !

- Beg for it.”

He shook his head and earned himself another slap, his cheeks starting to get red, and not only because of the unbearable heat of his body. But he loved how much it stinged everytime you hit him again. Beomgyu let out another loud moan when you slapped his cock over his clothes this time, and you shoved two fingers inside his mouth, smirking at the way he gagged around them, and at how quickly his eyes welled up with tears.

“- I said, beg for it. Are you ready to be good now ?”

You slapped his hard on once more, staring at his face when a tear rolled down his left cheek, saliva starting to drip down his chin and neck. When you pulled your fingers out, he was a mess, and you knew you had finally ruined him for the day.

“- Please, please miss I’ll be your good boy now, I’ll do everything you want, just let me cum please, please !

- There we go baby, was it so difficult, uh ?”

When you slipped your hand in his boxer to touch him for real after having been deprived from the skin to skin contact for such a long time made him cry out so loud you had to shut him up with your fingers again, fearing that someone would hear him.

“- You want everyone to hear you, is that it ? Screaming like the slut you are because you love the attention ?”

Beomgyu tried to protest, tried to say that he only wanted to be good for you, that he made all these noises because he knew you loved it when he was loud, but the pleasure was already overtaking his body and all his senses. The rush of adrenaline this situation was giving him made him feel so overwhelmed he felt like he could cum right now. He grabbed the only thing he could reach -  the fabric of your dress - to catch your attention, his muffled noises giving away how close he was to his release. 

“- What is it baby ? You’re close already ?”

You chuckled when he vigorously nodded his head, closing his eyes to focus on him and trying to delay his orgasm because you hadn’t given him permission to cum.

“- I’ll let you cum then, but on one condition baby. You’re gonna stain your pretty pants with your cum, and then we’re gonna leave. And if you follow my rules for once, I’ll reward you once we get home. Did you understand ?”

He nodded once again, his hips jerking into your hand as if they had a mind on their own. 

“- Then go on baby, cum all over yourself, be my good boy.”

The last praise that you whispered in his ear did it for him. He came all over your hand and himself, a wet patch quickly forming on his blue jeans as he whined around your fingers, his own hands tugging on the material of your dress to pull you closer to him. Before he could even register what you were doing, you showed him your hand covered in his cum, and Beomgyu didn’t need you to ask him before he started cleaning you off, eating his own release from your skin. Once you were satisfied, you finally detached his hands, letting him pull you into a hug and bury his head against your stomach while you threaded your fingers through his hair. 

“- You did so good for me baby, such a good boy.”

He hummed in agreement, his hands sliding from your lower back to your ass, giving them a squeeze. 

“- Does this mean I earned my reward ?

- Don’t get too confident now, you still have to make it up to me for ruining my night out with my friends.”

And Beomgyu agreed with you, because that meant he would spend the next two hours with his head buried between your thighs - his favorite way to apologize.

-> i don't allow any copies, translations or reposts of my works.

txt taglist (fill in this to be added) :

@bbgnyx @hann1bee @iraisswiftie @lichyuu @foxinnie8

[hyunjinsbelovedamericano]

Falling asleep with skz

do you know how long it took me to word this title without having it sound sexual??😭😭

pure fluff,reader has no specified gender

proof read

Bangchan

he would play with your hair,give you head massages,he would also try to braid your hair or put it in a hairstyle and fail terribly.when you look in the mirror or your phone camera you see that the hairstyle he put it in was atrocious.if he asks you if its good you just laugh awkwardly and say "it's perfect..." his smile would be so big so you just let him continue to do your hair until you fall asleep

Minho

Minho twitches in his sleep so you wake up from this,you just see.him moving around in his sleep which is keeping you from sleeping and there's nothing you can do about it other than wake him up.You feel bad waking him up but you have too in order to fall asleep.After you wake him he gets a bit annoyed because he was having a fantastical dream and you ruined it,you ask what the dream about and he ends explaining everything in detail too you(ngl this is a great fanfic idea)

Changbin

Cuddle bug no.1,he would be big spoon most of the time but loves when you're big spoon.I feel like he would talk about his day and hatred for jyp,this man can go on and on about how much jyp boils his blood.You can only laugh and agree,he would also complain about that one time were he got a room right next to jyp.Back to the cuddling topic he can barely fall asleep without cuddling someone or something,so your kinda like his pillow

Hyunjin

Hyunjin is a confirmed sleep talker,you would have full on conversations with him. "Some guy ate my egg" you turn your head to see where the noise came from and saw that was from Hyunjin, "How dare they" "I know how could you do that too me" then he would continue to go on and on about some guy eating his egg.Before Hyunjin falls asleep he reads poems with you and tries to guess the meanings behind them(that's so cute ahshsjsjsnxnwn)

Han

Han is a blanket hog,you would wake up and Han rolled up in the blanket.He's also a messy sleeper,you would wake up with his whole foot in your face. "Han get your toes outta my face" he's still asleep and his foot is still in your face,did you guys she the clip where seungmin was waking him up and he was wearing a full on COAT like bro...anyways don't be surprised when you open your eyes and all you see are Han's butt cheeks

Felix

Cuddle bug no.2,everybody knows that Felix is a cuddly person.I see him as a little spoon,I feel like he would love to be held by you and feel protected.You and Felix would read children's bed time stories and rate them, " This one's so boring I'm falling asleep,so 7/10?"He looks at you for reassurance but you already fell asleep.He won't just cuddle you when you're going to bed but anywhere,he would but you from behind whilst you're cooking(I might write an imagine for this),he really enjoys cuddling you

Seungmin

When you fall asleep with seungmin,he kicks you 90% percent of the time,you would wake up on the floor."ow why did you kick me?" You look up too see seungmin having his best sleep.I feel like seungmin wouldn't really cuddle you he might have his arm around your waist of smth,you guys would take a trip to the past and start saying embarrassing stories,he would laugh a lot at your humiliating stories but you make sure to laugh just as hard at his

Jeongin

I don't know why but I feel like this man snores,not all the time but yk.When he does snore and it sounds like airplane departing you get so annoyed and can't sleep,when you bring it up to him he's like "What..I don't snore!" So the next time he does you record him and send it him " You were saying? " Now it's like his mission to record you snoring so you guys are even.Bro will watch you sleep just to catch you snoring "Just go to sleep pretend I'm not here"

[wildechildwrites]

Relax

Shinsou Hitoshi/Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Depression, self-esteem issues, mind control (not in a bad way but it's in there)

No use of Y/N, gender neutral reader

Summary: You haven't left your bed in days, too depressed to get anything done. Shinsou stops by your apartment to check on you and helps in his own way.

A/N: Wrote this because I've been too depressed to get out of bed, forgive any mistakes or ooc I didn't even really want to post it in the first place.

AO3 Link: Relax

You think you’ve hit a record for continuous hours spent in bed, and probably permanently fucked your kidneys because you don’t even have the energy to get up to use the bathroom. The floor of your room is disgusting, and dishes are piled up in the kitchen. You know you smell, and that there’s so much work for you to do, deadlines you’ve barely managed to avoid by calling in sick to the hero agency you do secretarial work at, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

There’s a knock on your door, but you just ignore it, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. You don’t want to see anyone, and you’re not expecting to anyway. 

Whoever is at your door doesn’t stop, knocking harder and more insistently. You even hear your door knob jiggle, which spurs your anxiety on enough to get you to drag yourself out of bed. Your legs feel slightly wobbly, the inactivity of the last few days catching up to you as blood flows through your limbs. Catching your own reflection in the mirror makes you wince, but it’s a lost cause you’d rather not address. Whoever is knocking hasn’t stopped, and you yank open your front door irritably. If it’s some stupid solicitor–

Your jaw drops at the sight of one of the heroes from your agency, Shinso Hitoshi, standing outside your door. He’s dressed for patrol in all black, wrapped in his scarf, his voice modulator hanging loosely around his neck. His hair is wild as always, purple locks sticking in all directions, and he scans your form quickly, as if checking you for visible injuries. You remember how disheveled you look and your face heats up. 

“What are you doing here?” your voice is hoarse from disuse and your most recent crying jag, and you immediately wince at the way you sound, but Shinsou’s expression doesn’t change.

“I’ve come to check on you. I heard you were ill.” His tone is blandly neutral, as though it’s something that he does all the time, like you’re not just some stupid underling he’s contractually obligated to tolerate. His violet eyes narrow. “You’re not sick though.” 

You shrug self-consciously. You don’t understand why he’s here. You’re friendly at work, going out of your way to make conversation with the normally reserved hero, but you’ve never spent any real time together. You’re not sure what made him decide a house visit was in order. He definitely has more important things to do than checking up on you, and now you’re just wasting his time. You wrap your arms around yourself.

 “I just needed a day off.” You step backwards, going to shut the door. “Thanks for checking on me.” Shinsou’s foot shoots out, wedging the door open. There’s a beat as you two stare at each other, your mouth open in surprise.

“You’re not doing well,” Shinsou says, a frown on his face. He pushes your door open, and before you can protest, pro-hero MindJack has crowded into your disgusting apartment. You’re pretty sure it’s only because his poker face is so good that he doesn’t grimace at the mess, just stares at you, a crease in between his eyebrows. Humiliation burns in your chest. Now he knows you’re a gross waste of space, and he’ll probably tell everyone at work that you can’t even manage to keep your apartment clean. 

“Oh, little one,” he sighs. You pray for a black hole to spontaneously appear and swallow you up, but don’t get any such mercy. “You need tea,” he says firmly. “Tea, and then you’re going to tell me what’s making you depressed.”

Shinsou heads towards your kitchen with a strange amount of confidence for someone who’s never been in your apartment before, ignoring the dirty dishes piled in the sink in favor of the kettle.

Part of you knows you should protest, but you can't bring yourself to care, scraping the bottom of the well and coming up empty. You shove the pile of clothes strewn on your couch to the floor and sink into the cushions, your eyes on the hero in your kitchen. Maybe you’re just having a really weird dream.

All of your mugs are dirty, so Shinsou washes your favorite, plucking it out of the stack. You wonder if it's a part of his quirk to pick up on things like that. He even remembers how you take your tea, cradling the mug gently in both hands and plopping down beside you, sinking into your couch, his long legs sprawling out in front of him. Your fingers brush against his own, thin and unnaturally warm from the heat of the drink as he hands it to you. You're reminded of the last time you saw him. 

You've got two full trays of coffee balanced precariously in both hands, fighting a losing battle against flimsy cardboard and gravity. Your face is furrowed in concentration, your eyes fixed on your full hands when someone plucks the trays out of your grasp with nimble fingers. Your head shoots up, and you're about to protest when you see a pair of familiar purple eyes on yours. They’re beautiful up close, blue flecks making them seem almost periwinkle in the fluorescent office lights. Bashfulness hits you like a tsunami, and you try to tamp it down.

“Seems you've got your hands full,” Shinsou comments dryly. You smile and shrug, flustered by his proximity. 

“All in a day's work.” You bite your lip, feeling awkward. “I um, I got you one too, even though I wasn't sure if you'd be in today. You drink it black right? Dark roast?” Deftly, you pluck his out of one of the trays, then hold your other hand out expectantly. “Trade you?”

Shinsou stares at you intently, his expression unreadable. An odd shiver runs down your spine, like cold water dripping through your veins, and there’s a beat of silence before he finally responds, like he had to reboot. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs softly. He hands you one of the trays and accepts the warm cup from your hands, fingers brushing against yours. Despite your protests, Shinsou insists on helping you with your errand, trailing behind you to the meeting room you’re headed to. 

You pass out the drinks quickly, ignoring the odd stares that come with having a purple haired shadow lingering behind you, obediently holding the tray as though it’s the most important part of his day. 

Shinsou doesn’t speak until you're both out in the hallway. 

“You didn't get yourself anything.” There's a slight crease in between his eyes. It's adorable, the singular sign of concern in his placid expression. You’d like to reach out and smooth it out with your thumb. 

“They ran out of the tea I like,” you say, trying and failing to not sound like you’re pouting. Shinsou hums in acknowledgement. He’s suddenly distracted, his mind obviously elsewhere as he shoots you a vague goodbye before abruptly turning on his heel and heading in the opposite direction. You smile to yourself. Sometimes the heroes were so odd.

After your lunch break, a cup of tea appears on your desk. You don’t see Shinsou again, but you can’t keep the smile off your face for the rest of the day.  

You’ve sat in silence for at least twenty minutes, unsure of what to say. You wish Shinsou would just leave, but you’re not brave enough to say so. You just want to be left alone. The idea of talking about your pathetic problems with someone who has real responsibilities is mortifying. Shinsou seems content to remain unnervingly quiet beside you, relaxing on your secondhand couch.

“I’m not even sad, really. I’m just bad at being a person,” you finally say. “I fuck up everything and I'm going nowhere.” Your head thunks back against the couch cushions. Shinsou is staring at you, and you wish you could just disappear, but the floodgates have been opened, everything that’s been weighing you down spilling out.

 “It’s so exhausting to even just be alive. I feel so overwhelmed and stressed constantly about the most miniscule things. I wish someone would tell me what to do because I seem to be incapable of making decisions, even with little things like what to eat and how to organize my closet. Every choice I make is the wrong one.”  You sniffle, desperately fighting back the threat of tears. 

There’s a quick change in the placid expression on Shinsou’s face, a ripple in the still waters of a pond. 

“I could help.” His voice is hesitant but his gaze is sharp, lilac eyes pinning you down. You run a hand through your greasy hair absentmindedly, confused.

 “How?”

He stares at you with a deadpan expression until you realize what he’s implying. Duh. 

“I could… make some decisions for you. Help you be productive.”

You've never seen a mind altering quirk in action. Your curiosity sparks, and you push yourself to sit up.

“Can you just tell me to… not? Be depressed?” you ask.

Shinsou tilts his head, a small frown on his face. “It doesn’t work like that, unfortunately. But I might be able to make you feel better. At least temporarily.”

The silence while you mull over his offer is tense. You don't want him to use his powers superfluously. You're not sure if his quirk has limitations, but you don't want to exhaust it for a stupid reason like this. 

“I can't ask you to do that.” You say.

“You're not asking,” he replies firmly. “I'm offering because I want to help. It'll–” he hesitates, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I've heard that it's not bad, the sensation of it.”

You stare at him, absentmindedly chewing on your lip. Nothing can make you feel worse than you do right now, you reason. Maybe you can get him to make you clean. Or fill out bills. 

“How do we start?”

Shinsou looks surprised, then pleased, his eyes warm. He shifts closer to you, and you catch the scent of cologne, light and clean. Your heart gives an odd stutter.

“Are you going to be good for me?” His voice is barely a whisper. Heat rises to your face at the question, warmth kindling low in your stomach. You ignore your own reaction, focusing on his question.

“Yes Shinsou,” you reply. His mouth curves up, his demeanor changing instantly, slipping on intensity like a glove. A long arm drapes across the back of your sofa, boxing you in, closing the gap between you. He's bigger than you realized, so close like this, wiry muscle covering his slim form. His eyes are dark and deeper than you've ever seen them, like a twilight sky. You can't look away, a rabbit caught in the hypnotic gaze of a snake.

“Relax,” he orders, his voice silky smooth but impossibly firm. The words have an immediate effect, melting into you, tugging at your brainstem. A shiver runs down your spine, and you feel the tension in your body unfurl, like you’re slipping into a warm bath.

There’s a part of you that’s panicking, a jerk of animal instinct that fights against the downy sensation that’s settling into your mind. You try to quiet the protest. You want to be good for Shinsou, want him to think that you're good. He sees the conflict in your expression and leans impossibly closer, a gentle hand reaching up to tip your chin towards him. Your eyes drop down to his mouth, and his breath catches.

“You’re doing so well,” he says quietly. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but I’d never hurt you.” He cocks his head, voice slipping back into a more authoritarian tone. “Now, go take a shower and brush your teeth.” 

The words have an instant effect on you, pulling an invisible string. You jerk to your feet, unsteadily beelining towards the bathroom, his little marionette doll. Shinsou rises as well, heading towards your bedroom. 

The first time you meet Shinsou is in one of the many break rooms of the agency you work at. He strolls in, and you have to make a concentrated effort from keeping your jaw from dropping. He's tall and handsome, his surprisingly delicate features thrown off by the dark circles under his eyes. The coffee you're pouring overflows onto your hand in your distraction, and you curse quietly under your breath, spinning around to grab some paper towel to clean your mess. 

“Careful, the coffee's hot,” a dry voice speaks from behind you. It's low in an unexpected way, appealing despite his lack of inflection. You let out a scoff at his comment. You go over a mental list of the heroes at your agency, trying to pinpoint who he is.

“You're MindJack, right?” you finally ask, turning back to face him, your curiosity getting the best of you. He looks surprised. 

“You know who I am?” 

“Yeah, I guess. I’ve seen what you can do, read your file and stuff.” You're desperately trying to come off as nonchalant, throwing your shoulders up in an exaggerated shrug. Hopefully he doesn’t think you’re a stalker or anything. You clear your throat. “You’ve got a pretty interesting quirk.” 

“Interesting is a kind way to put it, I believe.” His tone is light, but there’s an edge to it. You read the sudden tension in his shoulders, the way his lips thin. “Most people think it’s a villainous quirk to have.” 

You roll your eyes. Morons. 

“People are just shitty about it because they’d probably be evil if they had your power,” You say, trying to sound matter of fact. “If anything, it just proves you’re a better hero, you resisted the pull because you’ve got strong morals.”

 You smile at him, and he returns it, a quick crescent moon flash of teeth that has you ducking your head.

“I guess I’ve never thought of it that way,” he murmurs thoughtfully.

Shinsou found your stash of clean sheets and is making your bed when you walk into your bedroom after your shower, squeaky clean and wrapped in a towel. He turns to you, and you see his cheeks go pink, his eyes trailing down your form before shooting back up to your face with a guilty expression. Shame rushes through you, disturbing the detached serenity you feel. You should've told him you needed to change, instead of barging in practically naked. He's being so nice, and you’re ruining things like always. You can feel the corners of your mouth turning down, anxiety fighting against the artificial calm Shinsou has coached your mind into.

He clicks his tongue, matching your frown with one of his own. “I’m sorry, I lost focus. You’re alright, relax for me.”

It’s an odd sensation, a roller coaster drop and then you’re back to tranquility. He smiles at you with that half crescent flash of teeth. Your knees feel weak. 

“I’ll go start the dishes while you put on some fresh clothes and start some laundry. Sounds good?”

The sun's dipping low in the sky, the shadows growing long as you and Shinsou fold the mounds of laundry you've finished. Time feels strange, chores that normally take hours slipping by in moments, the sound of Shinsou's voice filling the silence and echoing in your head. He tells you about becoming a hero, about training and about work. You like the way his voice sounds, the lack of inflection giving way to little tells, peaks and valleys in his speech pattern that you’ve never picked up on before.

He's propped himself against your bed, making quick work of the pile of socks he’s folding, a crease appearing between his eyebrows as he concentrates. You're struck with the soft domesticity of it all, the compassion of Shinsou taking so much time to help try to pull you out of the hole you’ve found yourself in. Gratitude overwhelms you, your chest tight with it. 

You don't realize there are tears running down your cheeks until Shinsou looks up at you, and lets out a soft gasp, abandoning the pile of socks.

“Are you alright?” he asks, concern lacing his tone. “Did I push you too much today? Did we do anything you didn’t want?” He’s so close to you, hands hovering hesitant around your face, desperate to comfort but afraid to close the gap. You shoot him a watery smile, wiping your eyes before you pull him into a tight hug. He freezes at the contact, a heartbeat of surprise before melting against you, long arms wrapping around your body.

“You're just so nice,” you say, voice muffled against his chest. You feel his lips brush against the top of your head softly. You don't feel better, necessarily, the empty hole in your chest still present, but you feel less heavy. Your apartment looks great, and your to do list is down to an almost manageable level. He’s done so much more for you than you can express, so you just hug him tighter, burying your face into his neck. 

You want to stay like this forever, huddled on your bedroom floor, cradled in each other’s arms. The warmth of the moment is shattered by the ring of his phone. 

Being a hero is a ceaseless calling. He answers, and you try to convince yourself that the curt note in his voice is disappointment at the interruption. You pull back and pretend not to eavesdrop, schooling your face into a neutral expression for when he hangs up, regret coloring his features.

“I have to go,” he says, and you muster a smile.

“I’ll walk you out.” 

MindJack stands in your doorway for the second time tonight, lingering in the warmth of your apartment. You’re back to feeling stressed, hyper aware of the vulnerability he’s seen today. You hope he doesn’t say anything to anyone. You hope he still likes you after all of this. His next sentence catches you completely off guard, your own self doubt totally off base. 

“I'll stop by to pick you up for work tomorrow morning,” he says, his voice almost casual. There's a soft pink to his cheeks, and you feel an answering heat rise to your own. “Unless you’re planning on calling in sick again.” 

“You really don’t have to do that.” You feel like you’ve put him out enough tonight already.

“I’d like to.” Those purple eyes have you pinned again, and you feel yourself nodding without thinking. Before you can blink, he leans into your space, wrapping a long arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him and pressing his lips to yours in a fierce kiss. His mouth is warm and soft. He nips at your bottom lip and you quietly gasp. He takes advantage, deepening the kiss, pulling you impossibly closer, his tongue sweeping against yours. You reach your hands up, weaving your fingers through his hair, and he lets out an appreciative groan when you tug him closer. His phone buzzes again and he pulls away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he says breathlessly. You don’t know how to tell him what a difference he’s made for you. You’ve got so much you’d like to say to him, but you know he has to go. He’s stayed longer than he should already.

“Thank you,” you say simply. You hope he understands the true weight of your appreciation. You gaze tenderly at each other for a moment before he reaches a hand out, fingers ghosting against your cheek, then slips out of your apartment.