#he believes he is wrecked by sin

[mrslittletall]

Me, staring at antis in the Binding of Isaac fandom. "Did you... did you even play the game...?!"

[hoseoksluna]

LADY BEETLE | knj

pairing: non-idol!namjoon x oc

genre: situationship au ; sex playhouse ; glory hole  / smut, fluff

word count: 10.4k

summary: when you came to seoul's hidden sex playhouse to forget about namjoon, you didn't think the anonymous mr. kim would actually be namjoon.  

pin: lady beetle / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: sex club setting, oc struggles with her feelings towards namjoon, glory hole but with hoseoksluna twist, engaging in sexual practices with a person you don't know, commitment issues, heated conversations, dirty talk, patience game, counting down (for my neva play girlies), oral sex (f. & m. receiving), deepthroat, face fucking, nipple play, unprotected and rough sex, teacher namjoon, spanking, praise kink, size kink, choking on fingers, rough treatment in general, aftercare, oc and namjoonie smoke together.

note: i daresay this is my best work. :D fuck my life, guys. i need this namjoon like i need air to breathe. if i see any of you wearing panties... TAKE EM OFF NOW. sldjflskdjfsl jk, jk. THE SUPRISE IS REVEALED. GLORY FAWKING HOLE. my babies, enjoy this filth. stream neva play. imagine that deep voice of his.... yeah. yeah....... faaawwkwkjsdlfjsdlfjsdfjslfjsls. ENJOYYYYY. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK. MY ASK BOX IS OPEENNNNNNN.

The building looked ordinary from the outside view. Like any other building in this part of the city. Long and tall, coalescing with the evening heavens and with its freckles of stars—very much like those upon your skin. McDonald’s was just down the road, a to-go coffee stand perfumed the whole street with its coffee beans, and a bookstore stood right next to this peculiar piece of urban architecture, unaware of all the sins that lurked behind its walls. 

It may pretend to be pure, with its grand hall, its sophisticated reception and even graceful employees—dressed in the finest of fabrics that glinted beneath the opulent chandelier—but it was just that. 

An act. 

They smiled at you, but in their heart they knew what you were here for. 

In this seemingly normal, ordinary building all your sexual fantasies flare out. In the simplest of words, you come here to get fucked out of the norm that is considered vanilla. You fill out an online application, set the date, the time—and depending on your desire, you even get to see who your dream fulfiller is. 

In your case, you were going into this blind. 

And so was he, your dream fulfiller. 

While you opted to stay anonymous, the only detail you knew about the man was that he was from the cursed Kim clan. Another male that bore the last name like the one who wrecked your nerves to the point that you had to bite the bullet and try this out as nothing else was working. It was a newfound obsession of your best friend, who gifted you a voucher to this place on your birthday. And you weren’t sure if Kim Namjoon had the sixth sense and somehow knew about this, although you’d believe he was very much capable of possessing one, just to piss you off even more. 

You have been crushing on this man since the day you met him at your mom’s small ramyeon restaurant you are working in for her. Since the moment, in fact, you glimpsed at his vintage black Cartier watch with a matching singular bracelet adorning his wrist that he kept calmly on the table while he was on a work call, growling and snapping into the phone. Your mom curled her lips, swatted her eyelashes as she grew hot in the cheeks, chopping green onions for him from her cooking station while you were watching over the noodles. It was her who noticed him at first—and it was her who told you to do your best and seduce him. 

And when you lifted your eyes, saw that thick mane of his cloudy hair, the cleft of his cheek as he gritted his jaw and then that picturesque hand of his, you sensed that unfamiliar, magnetic pull towards him that made you blush. And you never looked more like her than in that moment. 

For some reason you knew better than to not listen to her and do as she says. You felt it was the right decision, the right move and so you fixed your hair, swiped your flower clip through a half of it while your face-framing wisps fell naturally in front of your pink face. Your mom tossed you her lip gloss from the pocket of her apron and you brought him the ramyon she cooked for him. 

Smiled at him. Batted your eyelashes at him like your mother taught you throughout your girlhood and it worked. 

Namjoon told you were a breath of fresh air when you sashayed towards him after such an important, yet aggravating phone call, apologized for the inconvenience, bowed slightly. Balanced, most delightfully, respect and flirting. Leaned more towards the latter when he would steal glances at you and smile at you at every opportunity that your gaze would connect to his. 

Your heart hammered once he came to you to pay for his meal. Your mother stopped whatever it was that she was doing just to beam at him and he personally gave her a huge tip in cash—right into her right hand that he held. Turned to you and asked you if you’d like to have dinner with him sometime. 

And you agreed—without knowing he would get on your nerves in the long run. 

Namjoon was not a serious man, not as he appeared to be. Although he showed you the side of Seoul you would otherwise never have the option to see and feel with your entire being by taking you to luxurious dinners, cafés, art exhibitions and work events—the things he would say and the things he would do did not reflect those settings by any chance. 

He took you from rags to riches and you paid for it by being a victim of his odd form of cute aggression. 

The man would get you tangled up in your sentences because he simply enjoyed the view of you getting flustered. He found pleasure in revving you up enough for you to curse at him and growl at him, be it by bugging you with tickles, pokes or be it by making fun of you until you yourself laughed. 

There was nothing sexual about your relationship, if you could call it that. He didn’t hold your hand, he didn’t regard you hungrily as so many men do in his place, but he did look at you with the rawest form of purity. At your freckles—ones that made him give you the adorable nickname Lady Beetle—at your butterfly tattoo on your ankle that your dress would always expose from its natural criss-crossed position. The things he would say did not contain any hints of this leading into the bed. And he never kissed you, even though there were many occasions, where he looked like he was about to do it. 

He always held back. And while it, and everything else, made you pristinely fall for him, it also angered you so much that there was nothing else you wanted to do but to grab his head and kiss him madly. 

And the other day, you did. 

Leaned in after the heft of your shared tension grew too big for you to hide it in your hands—only for him to turn his head, slightly, and let you merely kiss his cheek. 

That was the final straw. And so you stopped agreeing to his “date” invitations until you stopped replying to his messages altogether. You thought he wasn’t going to have any part of you if he wasn’t willing to properly date you. 

And in your anger, you dwelled in the hole he left behind. The hole that was asking for his fatherly attention that caused you so much extraordinary joy. Your mother must’ve sensed it with her motherly instincts that he would occupy that place in your life, which your father didn’t. Your body missed laughing with him until your tummy hurt—and you missed him. And the more you did, the more your anger blazed. 

You couldn’t get rid of it. 

You tried exercising. You tried running around the block, only to never do it again because you couldn’t catch your breath and you thought you had almost died that day. You smoked a pack after pack, and that didn’t help either. 

Neither did abusing your cunt until you couldn’t go on anymore. Your anger burned down your bedroom and once you groaned and whined, punched the pillows and kicked your legs, your eyes fell upon the voucher you had pinned on your corkboard  

Your remedy was in front of you, and in the worst of your anger—you gave it a go. 

You filled out that application in the middle of the night, one that made you even hornier. And because you didn’t want to see any other man but Namjoon while you were getting your brain fucked out of your head, you chose the only option there was for that case. 

Glory hole. 

And the idea of it made your anger falter ever so slightly. You could imagine it was him pounding you through the barrier. The wall would only help your imagination.

Friday. Seven PM. You had to come two hours early because it was a necessity for you to shower at the place after you signed the contract. You also had to quickly think of a safe word, it was the only thing you foolishly forgot to fill out that day, as lost as you were within your flight of fancy. And because the employee standing in front of you made you anxious, you wrote down the first thing you thought of. 

Beetle. 

Your heart pounded, and when you let go of the pen, the gravity of the moment hit you. You truly were about to swim in a pool of sin only because the man you desperately wanted didn’t want you back. At least not in the way you wanted him to. 

The employee led you into the room, where your own personal sin would uncoil. A grandiose, large space, plucked out of a French chateau, with dark antique furniture, an easel with a painting you were quick to skip to in order to ogle at it. Your kitten heels clicked on the old, parquet floors that creaked, scuffed against the carpet that cost more than your yearly salary. It was a room that Namjoon would like—and it was a room that took your breath away. 

And the painting paused your blood flow. 

The Unequal Marriage by Vasili Pukirev.  

A painting of you, essentially, because you can’t have the man you yearn for. 

Your heart shrinks, painful pinpricks digging deeply into the flesh. You lift a finger and trace the despondent face of the bride, acknowledge yourself with that secret, yet vivid piece of your agony eternalized within the thickness of the brushstrokes. Her silver flower crown, the gossamer fabric of her veil, and finally her delicate hand. And in your soul, you hold it. 

You peek at the elderly groom and disgust seizes you. Because of the poor girl’s fate, because of your own. It feels as though you’re about to sin with that very man and you regret ever coming here. 

An emotion that you hurriedly shake off because your best friend paid a huge amount of money for you to experience a good time. Like she did. 

Your hand slaps back to your side. Your emotions, too. You will them to hide their starlight just for this one night. Hide their love for the man they can’t have. 

You turn around and glimpse upon a table with bottles of both champagne and wine. Think you need one at this moment; think your dream fulfiller would appreciate it if you poured him one, too. But having one sip of that dark liquid, you say fuck it and finish his glass as well. 

Undress. Take a shower. Weep under the stream. 

And the same employee waits for you when you emerge out of the bathroom in your robe. With manicured hands folded over her stomach, her eyes have softened a little bit, and abruptly, you realize how glad you are that a woman is accompanying you on this strange journey. If a man stood in her place, you would’ve already walked out and wasted your best friend’s money. 

“Mr. Kim wishes for you to be naked,” she says, her voice light, but firm. Your skin prickles with goosebumps—you bought a lacy red lingerie for the occasion, to help your imagination do its job to the fullest. A certain wisp of sadness clutches you that you won’t be able to wear it. 

Or… 

“What happens if I disobey?” you ask, gripping the thick lining of your bathrobe at your chest for mental support. The seriousness of the situation inches nearer and nearer and your stomach knots. 

She inhales, straightening up, as if she was about to leave this room. “Mr. Kim is not a regular, so I don’t know anything about this temper, but I would suggest respecting his wishes.” 

And she does, making space for your thoughts to whirl, and your eyes trace the flowers on the red Persian rug underneath your slipper-shod feet. 

He’s not a regular, so that means he’s not anything like the disgusting groom in the painting. He may be an ordinary person just like you, trying your luck in an unusual setting. Perhaps young, perhaps older—but normal. Not a lecher about to feast on your purity. 

Your stomach relaxes as do your muscles and you walk over to the bed to grab your make-up bag. Set yourself into the doll version of you that enjoys a male company with your eyeliner and glitter. Finish the process with a red tendril of lipstick over your mouth—just to leave behind a pleasant trace if the man ever decides to up the fun a little bit. 

Will it be fun? Or will you regret every second? 

An unanswerable question for your doll brain. You shake it off. Sit down at the edge of the bed and wait. 

Wait for him to fuck not just your anger, but your feelings out of your body. 

The woman emerges out of the bright light of the hall as if she was a housekeeper coming in to clean the hotel room. To a naked eye, it is not far from reality. This time, her softness has deepened so much that she bears a smile on her face. One, that you’re unsure of what it means. And one that relaxes your system to its finality. 

She raises a hand towards the double doors, in the direction of the easel with the painting, and nods, her smile unwavering. 

“You may proceed, miss, through this door. You can take off your robe now and get on the bed through the back of the cubicle. Mr. Kim will join you in five minutes.” 

Your breath shivers as you exhale. You thank her and she clicks the door shut behind her. Scurrying onto your feet, you gather as much bravery as you can. Your bathrobe plops down onto the bed. You give one last look to the unhappy bride in the painting before you open the door. 

You sense her encouraging you to go on—to live a life full of emancipation that she never got to grasp with her fist. And that, you find, is your bravery. 

The dimmed room, in size, mirrors the one you just walked out of. And it stares at you head-on. 

The cubicle the employee spoke of faces you to the right. A black-painted wooden little structure  with a hole in the middle, covered in leather that is cut into long fringes. The lower half of your body will stick out of it and you reckon it depends on Mr. Kim himself what he does with your legs—whether he pins them up using the restrains on the wood or if he holds them. 

The unknown lengthens and for the first time during this night, a small ribbon of excitement begins to swathe your chest. 

Next to the cubicle, in the far corner of the room, is a dresser. You believe the drawers are filled with toys, but the top is lined with dark bottles of alcohol that you recognize. European—Jack Daniel’s, Jim Beam. Suits the play house’s style, you guess. 

And on the left, a monumental bed that takes up the rest of the room. And it’s hung up from the ceiling.

You don’t have time to ogle it as time ticks, but while you run to the back of the cubicle like you were advised, you do notice that there are no paintings embellishing the walls. No person from the old age of time to witness the unfolding of your so-called dream. Sinful, sinful dream. 

Maybe that was done on purpose. Maybe you’re supposed to live this dream with the anonymous Mr. Kim in some way. 

The mattress inside the cubicle is made out of leather, but it is the strong scent of fresh wood that hits your nostrils. It is decorated with twinkle lights all around, giving it a comforting feel. One pair of restraints is installed into the walls as well, but you think it’s more for leverage than for the wishes of the dream fulfiller. Milky and silken, they stand out from the dark tones of it all, and you gaze at them for some kind of comfort as you strengthen your legs through the hole, the cold tassels drifting along your bare body sending sparks of strange delight up your stomach. You bite your lip at the sensation, scooching up to an awkward, almost sitting position so your legs don’t dangle out, but the backs of your knees press against the edge of the mat. 

You cross your ankles. 

And you wait, all over again. 

Wonder if you should touch yourself or if you should give the honors to Mr. Kim to make you ready for him, but the tassels, the sight of your hip bone tattoo that says angel… your nipples perk up on their own and maybe you’ve come to like the act of waiting for him. Or maybe you like the view of your nakedness at a peculiar place such as this. Of your angelic form bare and about to be taken back to heaven. 

Your stomach swarms with anxious morsels at that thought and you take a deep breath. At your exhale, you hear the door creak open and close with a certain tenderness that you immediately know it was used in order not to startle you. 

One point up for Mr. Kim. 

Maybe the Kim clan has good manners and thoughtfulness engraved in their DNA, but they’re men and disappointment always awaits you eventually—

His footsteps lead towards you, carrying that same tenderness. The sound of the muted thuds grow more and more distinct, no ounce of hurriedness lodged in them. A small fire begins to burn in you due to his evident patience, awakening your body, and you’re so, so surprised to detect such gentle arousal just from the energy he’s brought in. 

That, alone, causes you to curl in your coyness, but when you hear him huff out a gentle laughter, you instinctively squeeze your thighs first before you bury your face in your hands, your cheeks hot to the touch. 

Why is he laughing—

He places a large, warm palm on your knee. You flinch and his touch becomes heavier as if he was telling you not to be scared, its warmth begins to descend down your shin—and then lips. His breath wafts over your skin and he presses his lips against it as a way of greeting. 

It is the rule of this sexual practice—no speaking between the partners. And now that it’s unfolding in action, you find yourself absolutely enthralled by it.

You flutter all over, the apex of your inner thighs slick with the liquid expression of your arousal. Your heart pounds, touched by that unusual but kind gesture, and you’re curious for more. 

He rubs the place he kissed with his thumb and then… coldness. He must have withdrawn, straightened his posture, and a great oddity begins to take form in you. 

Your knees tremble, sensitive from his benevolence. 

And you wonder if he’s watching his creation, taking his time as he is for the next move. You long for it, timid, unsure of what to do with your hands. You flex them and unflex them on the leather, your lower limbs gaining momentum, and you feel your wetness trickling down onto the mat. You do well to stifle the mewls gathering in your throat and you yearn for those considerate hands of his to touch you everywhere—

He yanks you forward and, remarkably, the yelp that is flung out of you is hushed, not heard by his ears. At least you hope so—you don’t want to get in trouble, turn that kindness of his around. You’d regret that, and you’d regret that very much. 

Mr. Kim spreads your legs apart, but your femininity is concealed by those suspended tassels that tease your core, your clit, and your hip bones, the most sensitive and vulnerable parts of you. A great dose of pleasure surges through you from it and from the way those fingers of his glide upon the inner of your thigh. He reaches as far as where your shiny stain is. A low, deep breath is exuded from his chest when he feels it and he smears it along your pelvic bone and a little bit on one of your folds. 

He heightens your tremor by doing that. 

You feel bad for reacting like that, but you can’t help it—neither can you stop it. You try to keep your body still and through the opening you can see him propping his hand on your thigh, watching you do so, as if he won’t continue until he knows you’ve regained your composure. And something about that, in its own way, helps you, and it helps you tremendously. 

With his palm flat, he caresses your flesh in a circular motion to praise you for it, lifting his hand upwards and beyond your sight. Your stomach undulates and it is now that you notice the navy blue of his dress pants, the growing tent that takes shape in the middle, and owing to the calmness and the sense of safety he’s installed within you, you do the boldest thing you’ve ever done, save for leaning in to kiss Namjoon nearly two weeks ago. 

Turned on from the sight of his arousal, you grab a hold of the tassel and you begin to provoke him, deciding that you want his manhood to grow. Because of the way he treats you, you deem he deserves it. 

You move, smooth, the leather strip along your cunt, collecting your slick. You shift your hips in circles, the fabric cool and sensual in a way you never thought it would be. Your breaths come out whiny the longer you do it and when you change the direction and move up and down, you can hear his breaths, too. And maybe the blackness of the walls are messing with your mind, but you could’ve sworn, his secret noises have become whiny just the same once you pressed the tassel against your swollen clit. 

And it isn’t until you naturally feel the back of his leg with the ball of your foot that he lets you see how much your little show advanced his arousal. The print of is cock is prominent, thick in the tightness of his pants, and you want it. 

You no longer want Namjoon’s. You want his. 

The plan worked. 

And with a smile of a winner gracing your features, to celebrate you start to make yourself feel delightful. You rub your clit, still with the strip, biting your lips in order to suppress your moans, the pleasure more vivacious this time around. He’s not palming himself, he’s not doing anything at all but watching you, his hands by his sides, and perhaps to reward him—you let go of the tassel. 

You let him see your pussy. 

Shiny, swollen and needy, asking for a man you haven’t seen and won’t even see. 

How sinful, how titillating. You can’t wait to have a cigarette after this. 

His cock twitches and it beguiles you, the way your hand, without your conscious knowing, extends out and reaches for it through the hole. Your femininity, your sexuality—brazen and alive, unafraid and illimitably splendid. 

And in this situation, it is a thing of absolute sublimity, the act of him inching forward and letting you touch him, feel your own creation the way he felt his. You want his number, you want to make him come. You want him to take you out and you want to show it off on your Instagram story, hiding everyone else from seeing it except for Namjoon. A devilish laughter pricks at your throat, desperate to be heard. You sense how heavy his cock must be, how strong, how hard. It’s impossible for you to suck it as he’s not allowed to see your face, but you know the idea of it will haunt your daydreams—

He grasps a hold of your wrist, silencing your thoughts, and you hold your breath. He slides his grip down to your hand and he makes you squeeze him, his length, his balls. Your hole clenches, even your features scrunch up in need, and with your other hand you begin to help yourself, but he stops you. 

Pins your hands down on the leather. Maneuvers to firmly grapple both of your wrists on top of your tummy and uses his free hand to push you forward a little bit. Your legs dangle out, uncomfortably, and he’s so attuned to you that he notices. Leads your leg to wrap around him, the other one two, and if it weren’t for the mattress jutting out, you and him would be flush to each other. 

Body to body. 

He sucks in a breath at the first contact of his thumb and your clit. He must feel how swollen it is and he dips down to your hole, circling it there, gathering your arousal before he returns to that needy flesh, continuing his circles there. Slow, slow circles that make you writhe on the mat, the leather creaking. You lament that he can’t attach his mouth to it, regret that you chose this option because of your foolish feelings, and despite the fact you thought your plan worked and Mr. Kim alleviated your anger, the emotion bursts within you. 

Your muscles tense, your lips flatten in a tight line, your fists in his hold clench, and you’re angry. Angry, angry, angry. Hateful of your life, hateful of your body, of your heart. And in the middle of the explosion, you make a mistake. 

You growl. 

He stops his circles. 

Time beats two times before you’re yanked out of the hole, your feet landing on the parquet floors with that familiar gentleness the man bears. 

And the man… 

The man is no other but Kim Namjoon himself. The source, the epitome of your anger. 

And you feel nothing. Your shock evens out through every fraction of your nerve endings, paralyzing you. Time ceases its beats here—while you stare up at him and he stares down at you. Namjoon isn’t seized by the shock like you are, though. He begins to laugh, darkly, hushedly, humorlessly. Slides his hands into the pockets of his pants and takes a step back. 

Embeds life into time. 

“I fucking knew it was you,” he rasps, that laughter melting into nothingness until the gravity of this situation spreads across this sinful room. Heavy, heavy energy. You should feel ashamed at this very moment, you should cover yourself up, but you don’t. You don’t do anything. “I read your safe word. I thought it was a coincidence, life making fun of me. And then, I saw your butterfly tattoo, but tattoos can lie to me and it was too good to be true. But that growl… that growl of yours can’t lie to me. I know it like I know myself.”

Your growl was your response to his never-dying teasing. If he tickled you, nudged you, bugged you, the only way you would make it stop was by letting out that vexed noise of yours—and it would work. He’d laugh to himself and withdraw his hands. 

You part your mouth, but you can’t say anything. Your shock rises in you like a tidal wave that submerges in you and you drown. 

Then, a perplexing song of a mockingbird breezing through the wind outside sounds out within the room, saying things your body is unable to. 

Namjoon blinks, taken aback by your lack of retort. No words, no growls. Merely the song crooning along the spaciousness of the atmosphere. He licks his lips. 

“Why did you stop replying to my messages?” he asks, and you find it obscene that he’s inquiring about this when you’re all bare, trembling, and with your arousal dripping down your inner thighs. If anything, he should be asking you what you’re doing here, but it’s like the fact isn’t news to him. 

And what you don’t know is that he pours life into you with his bizarreness. 

Your first reaction is to scoff. Your second is to bash your fists against his chest, pushing him a step back. And Namjoon… he smirks. As if he succeeded in his plan—pulling you out of your state of shock into a blooming garden of your emotions, where you can run, where you can scream and where you can inflict violence. 

Where you can speak. 

“Why did I stop replying to your messages?” you throw it back at him, your voice rising in volume, and Namjoon straightens, delightfully watches you be full of life. “You think you can share your life with me, take me on dates, pay for me and leave it at that? Turn your head when I try to kiss you? Do you think I’m some kind of lady companion—”

“No,” he interrupts, tilting his chin up, his dominance on full display with the deepness of his voice, the width of his shoulders and his powerful stance. You drip for him, but you’re as powerful as he is. You’re equal—equally tangled up in the same sin. “You’re my Lady Beetle, aren’t you?” 

Your breath hitches, your nipples hardening, and your wetness is so, so uncomfortable, trickling down your flesh. And he provokes the pressure of your arousal in your core by that nickname, even more so when he lifts a finger and traces the freckles upon your right shoulder, the meaning behind that term of endearment, from his distance. Even more so when he sinks his fingers into the hair on the nape of your neck, uttering his following words. 

“Get back inside the cubicle.” 

But you’re not obeying. You don’t know his temper either, but you are getting yourself into trouble. And you’re not getting fucked until you know that he reciprocates your feelings. 

And you know what to do. 

“Kiss me,” you murmur, crossing the distance, inching towards his face. Namjoon tilts his head down, his lips nearly brushing against yours, and that’s all he does, nudging your anger. “Kiss me, Namjoon, or I’m walking out of this room.” 

He lets the tension simmer, unblinking, consuming your eyes from this close proximity. And when he opens his mouth, you think he’s about to kiss you, but you’re mistaken. Deadly, deadly mistaken. 

“Did you come here to forget about me?” he whispers, inching even closer until your nipples graze against the soft material of his sweater, hums in question when you don’t answer. Lifts your chin to make you look at him when your eyes stray away, your anger bubbling in you. He perceives the real you, always has, and you don’t have to say a word. Only a person intertwined with your soul could be able to do this; why won’t he act on it? 

“Did you come here to look for me?” you whisper back, pressing your torso against him until your breasts squish against his hard chest. His still hard manhood pokes you in your tummy, harder than it was when you touched him earlier, and wrap your arms around him, your hands traveling all across the width of his back until they wander down his loins, even lower to his buttocks. 

He pants, but his voice is not affected by the whirlwind of his emotions. Delicious, delicious whirlwind.

“Yes,” he says, firmly, flattening his lips and growling when you squeeze his butt. You enjoy those selfish touches so much that your grin illuminates the room, a ball of light amidst all this darkness. Your anger watches on, stunned. “What do you think? If I wanted to move on, I wouldn’t have chosen a fucking glory hole out of all the options. I’m not like you. I don’t give up. I’m patient.” 

“Patient…” You taste those words on your tongue, dwelling on them. They’re bittersweet, and you stand in the middle of your decision whether you like them or not. “What are you waiting for?” 

He sighs, lifting his hands and digging his fingertips into your ribs, holding you to him. You mirror his movements, and you let out that strained breath of yours when he bends his head and places a singular, wet kiss onto the side of your neck. 

You had asked him to kiss you, even though you didn’t specify where, but you didn’t expect your body to tingle this much and grow boneless in his unfailing hold. You cling to him with all your might—there’s nothing left for you to do. 

You’re his. Have been his since the moment you saw his watch. 

And you can’t believe you haven’t noticed that Cartier adornment when you were ogling his manhood. 

He brushes away a wispy strand of your hand before returning it back to its rightful place. “You deserve the world and I’m not there yet to give it to you. And you’re not gonna look for it elsewhere, I’m not letting that happen. I’m gonna give it to you.” 

Honesty is here at last, the explanation to his distance. You hide the fluttering joy that opens in your chest, but you do let him see the smile that begins to curve your lips. He likes you; you can live at peace now. No more anger, no more daydreams. 

“Kim Namjoon,” you breathe out, moving your hands to his sides. “Is that a promise I hear?” 

He nods, tilting his head to the side as his pupils grow large. “Yes, that’s a promise. The last relationship I was in fucked me up, but I’m gonna get right, and I want you to hold onto that promise.” 

You hum. “What does that mean for us right now?” 

He smirks, that cheek cleft enchanting you all over again. “If you want kisses, then kisses is what you’re gonna get.” 

Your smile lengthens until your cheeks hurt, heated. “I want kisses. Lots of kisses. On different places of my body, too.” 

Namjoon retreats back to your neck, peppering kisses along that column. You whimper, hands hurrying to undo the button of his pants, desperate and arbitrary. But with a disapproving noise, Namjoon stops your hasty movements. Pins your hands behind your back.

“Patience,” he whispers, gliding his lips across the kisses he left behind. Your skin prickles with goosebumps against him, your nipples so stiffened that they ache, and, most unfortunately, you moan softly in impatience. “You’re gonna learn what true patience is, little beetle.” 

Color heats your cheeks and as you grin, you bite your bottom lip. “Be my teacher, Namjoon.” 

He chokes out a groan, dizzied by the idea, one that fades into your yelp when he unexpectedly turns you around and pushes your back against his chest, your arms long and criss-crossed behind you, hands flat against his cock. 

Something tells you this lesson will be one of great difficulty for you. And of great pleasure. 

Namjoon cups your jaw, swivels your head to face him a little. “Where do you want those kisses?” 

Your quivering breath fans out across his big hand. “On my nipples.” 

At your quick answer, he makes a sound of approval and with a feathery-light touch he sails his knuckles down the right side of your chest, from your collarbone down to the beginning of your supple breast, where he stops his voyage to study your reaction. As much as you’d die for his fingers to go a little lower, you keep your tremors in tact. Even your fingers remain obedient, relaxed in their position and not tempting his temper. You close your eyes, try your bestest to hold it while you wait it out, and your slick by now creates a pool between your feet. Namjoon’s cock twitches at your goodness and he sighs a little praise into your ear, just for you to hear. It roots deeply in your gut, where it stirs the butterflies that are painted in the color of his eyes. 

His knuckles descend lower and lower, stop at the apex of your nipple, and the nearness is enough for you to stoop in your desperation. 

Something you shouldn’t have done.

Namjoon slaps that pointy flesh, coaxing such a filthy moan out of you that it reverberates through the room. The harshness, intertwined with the swift stimulation of your nipples spreads a buzzing sensation down your body, settling in your aching clit, and the loud noise you let out echoes in small whimpers, wordless pleas for more. He becomes harder in your hands, as if he could translate them, and the temptation croons at you again, telling you to squeeze him. This time, you can’t really hold back. This time, you want him to do it again.

On the other breast. 

You squeeze him, the weight of his cock an inexplicable experience that drives you to a point of carnal madness. You slide your palms along that thick length and the way he’s quiet, unspeaking, unbreathing, puzzles you and alarms you simultaneously. 

You look behind you. Catch his features screwed up in such pleasure that you whimper again, announcing that you’ve seen him in his weakest. And Namjoon is brought back into his teacher mode. He allowed himself that fraction of time for his own pleasure, perhaps for yours, too, and you’ve never discovered something so imposing. 

Your sexuality and his, interwoven, a thing of glory more magnificent than this playhouse itself. 

“Little beetle, you’re just so naughty, aren’t you?” he rasps into your ear, pressing you against him with both of his arms wrapped around your chest, nuzzling his face into your neck. He kneads your breasts hard before he slaps them, both at the same time, and you make such a mess. “So impatient, so desperate to touch and be touched. What am I gonna do with you? Can you even learn, hm?” 

Knead. Slap. Namjoon tweaks your nipples, circles them with his fingers, filling your body with such pleasure that your knees nearly give out on you. And he holds you to him by your neck, a firm grip that conveys to you that from now on, he won’t be very nice. 

And you don’t really mind. 

“Get back inside the cubicle so I can deal with you accordingly,” he mutters his order, tracing the shell of your ear with his puffy lips before he latches onto your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth briefly, making you cry out. “Do you know what happens to girls who can’t be helped?” 

Your voice is strained, impossible to use. “No.” 

“They get spanked and fucked so hard that they forget who they are,” he reveals, sailing his hands back down your body, flicking your nipples on the way, before his palms anchor at the V-shape of your private parts. He plays with your folds, stimulating your clit in that way without touching it. You grind your hips into his movements, seeking more, but he slaps your pussy for it, halting you. “That’s the only way they get salvaged.” 

And then he lets go of you. And the look he gives you is so lecherous, so dirty that your legs are jelly as you scurry to the end of the glory hole cubicle, thinking that this entire moment is speckled with glory that will haunt you for the rest of your days. 

You get back into position, your legs dangling out, and Namjoon repeats his voyage. Sails, sails down your tummy before anchoring at the mound of your cunt, but this time he doesn’t gratify you with any delight. He continues down your wet thighs and, abruptly, he turns you over, pushing you forward so your bum shows fully, your tippy toes touching the floor.

The tassels are warm and saturated with the dew of your arousal, tickling the small of your back. 

“Now listen to me,” he says, his fingers wandering all around your flesh, but not where you want him the most. “I’m not Namjoon at this moment. I’m not your teacher. In your mind, you’re gonna go back to who you thought I was before I showed myself to you. Mr. Kim. And you’re gonna address me as so, do you understand?” 

Your brows furrow and you curve your body to the side in question, not understanding this sudden change of the play. You may have wanted this fictional Mr. Kim more than you wanted Namjoon but that was before you found out that he felt the same way as you. 

“Why?” 

He massages the round, graceful cheeks of your bum, propelling you to rest your torso flat on the mat, comfortably. “Because you deserve it. Because your Namjoon isn’t where he’s supposed to be yet. So I’m not fucking you as Namjoon, I’m fucking you as Mr. Kim. This is the only time you’re getting fucked before I get right, so I suggest you enjoy every second.”

You gasp at his words, but your hole reacts first before you do, opening and closing all for his eyes to see—and they do. And he likes the view so much that he takes his thumb and perseverates the brief motion, your center coating his digit in sopping wetness. Your hips follow him and this time, he lets you. He gives you a moment to comprehend your future full of pure possibilities and kisses and you detect in your soul no disapproval. Because you’re rewarded with his heart in the end, it’s worth it. 

His heart is one of gold, one that won’t perish. 

You’ve seen it in the way he treated your mother, in the way he would stop his teasing when you had enough. In the respect he has towards you because he isn’t ready for a relationship. In the promise he gave you, even though that gold is scratched. 

You love him, and because of that you shall play his game. 

“Yes, Mr. Kim.” 

He kisses the fleshiest part of your bum, wetly, humming into your skin—another reward. 

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, nibbling the place he gave love to. “Try staying one.” 

You mewl, grinding into his face, desirous for a release. “Yes, sir.” 

He draws back and chuckles. “Look at you, so good all of a sudden when you’re all spread for me. You’re still getting spanked, little girl.” 

You whine, pretending that you don’t like what awaits you, when in reality you can’t wait. “Can I get another kisses after?” 

His laughter roars through the room. “Where do you want them?” 

“On my pussy, Mr. Kim.” 

He growls, swearing, his hands nowhere to be found on your body. “You’ll get lots of kisses on your pussy if you take these spanks well. Can you count them down for me?” 

You nod, but you quickly realize that he can’t see you. Your dusky world pirouettes and you’ve tumbled into a state of haziness, needing his firm hand, his dependable stability. “Yeah, I can.” 

Namjoon coos, his palm back on your bum, fondling it. “Good. Do you remember your safe word? You’re still getting those kisses if you use it, darling.” 

You dissolve into the leather, your body limp, but you do remember the magic word of utmost adoration. “Beetle.” 

A kiss on your flesh. “That’s it. Perfect. Does someone you know call you by that nickname?” he asks and you giggle, the comfort and the safety of the moment almost lulling you to sleep. “From ten, little beetle.” 

And he rouses you from your sleepiness by landing a sharp spank on the cheek that he made so tender. The pain is so acute, so good that you almost forget to utter out the number, swimming in the sensation as you are, but Mr. Kim isn’t upset by it. No, he helps you. 

“What number was that?” 

“Ten.” 

“Ten, that’s right. You’re doing so good.” 

Mr. Kim’s kindness enters you all over again, liquifies between your legs, and you moan out. The following sting of his palm is greater than the previous one and your chest arches off the leather, but you like it. Even though he doesn’t alleviate the spank, lets only the air make it better, you still like it���so much that you don’t make a mistake and count it down. 

“Nine.” 

And he repeats it after you, spanking you again and again until the skin of your left cheek is inflamed, burning red, and the perception of the pricks is too much for you to handle. But taking after him, you don’t give up. Grit your jaw, flex your fists, scream out the numbers until you reach one and that side of your bum feels numb. 

And Mr. Kim praises you for it so lasciviously that you can only whine in response, your little noises muffled by the leather. 

“Good girl. You took your punishment so well. Your ass is so prettily red, oh my God. You’re gonna get those kisses now. So, so many of them until you come all over my tongue. Spread your legs even more for me.”

You do as he says, mind blank, and you hear the thud of his knees hitting the floor. That alone makes you drool, the sound of his submission, let alone his satisfied groan when he attaches his mouth to your pussy lips.

And you can’t voice out the surplus of your emotions, the unrestrained joy that you feel because you’re being eaten out by a man that you love, but because of their boisterous nature, they come out nonetheless. Out of your tear ducts, out of the corner of your mouth in the form of drool and little muted noises that are impossible for anyone to hear but you. And you fail him. You can’t imagine a fictional person sucking on your clit like that, that feels as though your soul is being yanked out of you like you were so many times upon this night. No, only Namjoon can do this to you—and so, privately, you bask in it. In Namjoon’s tongue swirling circles on your clit; in Namjoon’s lips sucking them so hard that you lose track of time, surroundings and your own being. In Namjoon’s hands shaking your bum in his face; in his fingers rubbing rapid side-to-side motions on your wet clit from the front when he fucks you with his tongue from the back. 

You’re transported to a place that is neither heaven nor paradise. A place he, himself, must have brought into existence by the energy of his utter devotion for you. And you make it real when you come—sprinkle him with the fountain of your essence that contains the molecules of the universe he created for you. And you float, you float, you float. And he seizes the gravity by praising you for squirting for him, for coming so well and making the best of your so-deserved kisses. 

And then his pants flop to the floor, his sweater—until the only things he’s wearing are his watch, his bracelet and his affection for you. You turn your body halfway so you can see him, the wholeness of his manliness that is aching for you, dripping for you like you’re dripping for him, and his cock is so hard that it points up to his abdomen. You’ve never seen anything like this before and you grow so savagely hungry for it that you begin to suck on your index finger.

Purposefully loudly, smacking your mouth. 

Namjoon chuckles, darkly, and the warmth of that expression of his pulsates in you. “Oh, you’ll be sucking on this cock, too, don’t you worry, my beetle. I just need to feel your pussy around me.” 

Oh, the slip-up. He feels this on the same wavelength as you—no Mr. Kim, no anonymity. Only Namjoon and you. If you were unsure of his feelings before, you can’t be unsure now. The universe he created palpitates around you and you’re so drunk on all of this new knowledge that when he buries himself inside your heat, you can’t let him in. Your walls are compressing so tightly with your still-yet growing arousal that you clamp down on him, but at the sound of his torturous moans, you suck him in. 

And he doesn’t go easy on you. 

With his hard, hard, and long shaft he begins to fuck you, violently. He rams into you without any mercy, lifting your leg onto the mat and entering you more deeply, curling his hips to kiss and kiss your cervix again and again. His strokes are reverberated throughout your whole body—your nipples rub against the leather, your head rocks against it in a way that turns you feral, you gag on your finger, your clit is teased with those relentless pounds. You’re helpless, but also boundless, being fucked like that, and you realize, with your dumb, blank and empty brain, that you’re extensively getting your best friend’s money’s worth. 

And Namjoon elevates your experience. 

He reaches through the hole and roughly captures your hair in his fist, popping your finger out of your mouth. Decides it’s not enough, decides you’ve had enough of the hole time and he pulls you out, all while still being inside of you. Straightens you against him, grasps your jaw while his other hand slips down to your clit. 

And the side-to-side motions are brutal. Mean. So dominant in the way he keeps the contact light, barely stimulating you, but stimulating you, regardless. 

“You think you can gag on your little finger and that it does nothing to me?” he scolds, pinching your clit, and your growl is scratchy, raspy, so fucked out. He’s reprimanding you, but his words don’t reflect his actions. Namjoon kisses you everywhere he can reach. Ear, cheek, jaw, neck. So frantically, so impatiently. “Have you learned nothing?” 

You pant, your orgasm so awfully close from being bound but unbound at the same time, fucked slowly and torturously as Namjoon begins to move, grinding against you. But he has to stop—because if he doesn’t, you’re gonna come all over his cock, right in the center of this room. He’s teasing your build-up, just like you imagined he would, letting it rise and letting it fall in short intervals. 

But he has pity on you, stemming from his affection. A cold, cold pity that you need for the heat rippling through you. 

“Get on the bed. On your knees.” 

He pulls himself out of you and urges you forward—towards the hanging bed. And you don’t care to ponder if it will move under your weight. All you can think about is his dick as you crawl onto that bed that does not wobble at all, but remains perfectly offset. You sit back on your folded legs and wait for him—watch him take those leisurely, effortless steps like he did at the start of this evening. Only this time, you get to see it with your eyes. His tall height, his swaying shoulders, flat abdomen and that hard cock, glistening with your slick. Carmine, aching. 

You lick your lips. Prop yourself on your knuckles in front of you, back arched. Realize he kissed you everywhere, but on your mouth. And so you pout—and you make puppy eyes at him. 

He smooths down a flyaway on your sweaty hairline, endeared. “What’s wrong?” 

“You haven’t kissed me on the lips.” 

Namjoon smiles down at you, dejectedly. Curls your hair behind your ear, grabs you by the back of your neck, calls to attention all the butterflies in your tummy. “I’m sorry.” 

And he captures your mouth. As Namjoon, as a golden-hearted man that longs to give you the world, and you can vividly feel it. Mr. Kim doesn’t exist anymore and Namjoon seals that fact in when he prods his tongue inside, toying with yours before retreating back, moaning into the kiss. 

A kiss that was more than a kiss. 

And you have to kiss him again when he takes a moment to breathe. You have to devour him, clasp your hand around his wet cock as you do so—and Namjoon has to push your head down, fucking your mouth until your tears freely escape from all directions. He grips your hair tight, holds you to him from the side, plunging in and out of your throat however he pleases, your gagging noises encouraging him to possess every inch of you. Your mascara zigzags down your face in clumps—and once Namjoon’s pity flickers in him all over again, he lifts you and kisses you so nastily that you fade into nothingness. 

Then, you’re on your back and he pounds that nothingness. Uses your thighs as leverage as you’re just laying there, a hole and nothing else. Perhaps the cubicle changed your life to such an extent that you’ve become it. You shall never forget it—even now it is scattered all across your vision as you’re fucked into oblivion, the skin-slapping sounds and your pussy squelching around him accompanying your memory of the dark wood, the fairy lights, the restraints you never used.

The sex was too personal, too intimate for you to do so. Even before you discovered that Mr. Kim was Namjoon. Your body recognized his, your mind too blind, too preoccupied with your anger that is now healed. 

As if Namjoon could read your thoughts, he pumps into you with a hard thrust, eternalizing it. 

“Focus on me,” he growls and you squeak, hiccuping into every movement. It feels as though he’s blocking your throat with how deeply he’s ravaging you and you can only nod. 

You can only moan his name. 

“Namjoon. Yes, yes, yes—oh, Namjoon.” 

He laughs, that articulation of his joy abating in your mouth as he bends to kiss you, fully buried in you. And then he pulls out, presses his heavy cock on your cunt, lifts your head by grabbing your hair, consuming your mouth as if you were everything he ever lacked in his life. 

“Grind your pussy on it, it’s yours, my little beetle.” 

You whine, pucker your mouth against his, spinning your hips in circles, his cock so wet and so sticky from your happy juices. 

“Joonie, Joonie bug.” 

He closes his eyes, moaning all in your face, the principle of you softening and connecting his persona to yours absolutely ruining him. He tightens his grip on your hair, sinks himself inside you with his other hand and then sticks those soaked fingers inside your mouth. All four of them, gagging you. 

“Little beetle and big Joonie bug, hm. How do we taste?” His tone is so low that it penetrates your skin, paralyzing your senses until only one remains. Until all you know is the bitter-sweetness of his precum and the tanginess of your slick. And he doesn’t draw his fingers back, he continues to control your gags until he paints your face in another set of pretty black tears. “Tell me. How do we taste?” 

You growl around him, the sound he knows, and he pounds you for it, a thrust that hurts but feels good at the same time. You suck on his fingers, a trail of your drool trickling down from your connection, and Namjoon grunts. Slides his fingers out of your mouth and places them right on your clit. 

Rapid, rapid rubs. And equally rapid strokes. 

“Come,” he orders, and it’s like he flicked his fingers and made your body come. You didn’t have to do a thing. “Good. Finally. It feels so good, doesn’t it? Coming around my cock after all this time. Joonie bug is right there with you. Just a little bit more.” 

He’s given life to your orgasm by his words. A storm erupts, clearing out everything negative that was ever seeped throughout your soul. Your body quakes, submitted to him through and through, at his disposal to make himself come—until your orgasm is so milky that you can’t see. Your vision is dotted with white, with tiny glazing stars that must be hung up in the sky just like this bed. And Namjoon brings you to him, lips to lips, needing you as he fucks you through your mutual release, and those stars splotch him with their dust. 

You squirt all over him, for the second time around. And you don’t stop, the twitching of his cock, the warmth of his cum as he keeps stuffing you full of it, the unfaltering hardness of his thick shaft roll in your tiny orgasms, those little fountains of boundless pleasure that drench him, give him the likeness of those stars. He’s turned on your squirting ability and there’s no way back. No, no way back. 

Namjoon is exhausted as he pulls out—and you already feel so empty, so lonely. His cum streams out of you, staining the bed, and it saddens you so much that you reach into your heat to collect it, plunging your fingers into your mouth, eating him. And you moan, at his male taste, for the last time. 

“Fuck, don’t do that. I can’t go again.” He wipes down his face, a gleaming man that has your entire identity woven into his veins that run all across his arms, and you love him. You love him so drastically that you can’t get on your feet on your own, can’t make a decision of your own, can’t live without him. 

He fucked you so well that he attached you to himself. 

A wave of strange emotions engulf you. 

“Namjoon,” you whimper, tears burning each corner of your eyes, and you don’t know what to do, you don’t know what is happening. He lifts his head, round eyes blinking, and he’s so quick to cradle you into his arms, letting you cling to him, letting you wrap your legs around his torso like a baby. And that’s precisely how you feel—like a baby. 

“Talk to me,” he encourages, caressing your back in circles, and you moor your face in his neck, inhaling his individual bodily scent. So masculine, so heady, so intoxicating. You sob, running your fingers through his misty, blond-streaked hair, needing to be even closer to him than is physically possible. 

Namjoon shushes you, kissing your shoulder, giving you the strength to speak, giving you the identification of what you’re feeling. 

“This was so intense,” you croak out and Namjoon hums, halting his touch to focus on you wholly. “Emotionally. I feel much closer to you. Too close.” 

And he’s not running out of things to give you. He gives you kisses on your neck that bear no sexual context—romantic, reassuring kisses that ease up your muscles, that part the raging thunder of your emotions. And he gives you such comfort that you feel as though you’re floating upon an open body of water, as free as a human being can be. 

“What we did was intense but it was right. What you’re feeling is normal. I’m feeling it, too. We’ve been hiding our feelings for so long and we let them out just now, so it’s overwhelming. It’s okay. You’re good. Such a good girl, my good little lady beetle, tiniest girl beetle in the whole universe. I will protect you from the other bugs. Let’s get this make-up off, hm?” 

You nod, sob and laugh softly at that solace. Namjoon carries you into the shower. Lets the cold water streak down on you while you shield yourself from it, nearly slipping off his grasp. Namjoon chuckles, hoisting you higher, taking a step back to wash you completely clean. You scream and his chuckle deepens, getting you away from the iciness by pressing you against the tiles. 

He truly won’t stop teasing you. 

The water turns warm by the time he fetches the make-up remover. Pouring some on a large cotton pad, he cleanses the remnant of your sex tears, the physical memory of how good he fucked you and how he bound your soul to his. He’s careful around your eyes, focusing so intently that his lip is caged between his teeth. Once he’s finished, he kisses you—with Mr. Kim’s gentleness. 

Washes you clean, especially thoroughly between your legs. Embraces you in the shower and lets you feel—creates a safe space for your feelings. 

And then he’s dressing you in the clothes you came here in. A dark green dress that ends at your ankles. He makes sure to kiss your butterfly tattoo as he smooths down the skirt and you think you’re ready to marry him. 

You want to meet his mother. Not now, not after what you’ve done together. But someday soon. And you want your mother to meet his. 

“I need a cigarette,” you comment as he’s scrunching your hair with a towel. He himself has changed into a pair of clean black dress pants and a plain white shirt, almost oversized. An outfit that made your mouth water. “Like right now. And at least two.” 

He huffs out a laugh. “You can smoke on the balcony. I’ll have one with you. Do you want a drink?” 

Your eyes light up. Your whole body, too. 

Placing a bathrobe around your shoulder, he gently slaps your butt and guides you forward to the balcony. He grabs that bottle of red wine you had opened and joins you.

Two chairs, one small round table in the middle. The view of the entire Seoul city and a fucking statue in the corner of the balcony. 

A beautiful girl, half dressed. The fabric of her forever garment falls off her chest and you’ve never seen a more spectacular sculpture in your life. You enkindle your cigarette and touch her cool face, feel yourself immersed in her seductive beauty. One day you shall be just like her—once Namjoon comes to collect you. Not a doll, but a girl. 

“Take a picture of me,” you say, getting into position, only to realize that Namjoon has been snapping pictures of you while you were acknowledging yourself with the statue. With a cigarette hanging limply in the corner of his mouth. 

You can’t love him any deeper. 

You pose with her. Mirror her body language, even shake off your bathrobe and let your straps fall off your body like her. Private pictures just for him and for you—a reminder for what awaits you. 

A future full of pure possibilities. And sex, lots of and lots of sex. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild , @jjk7k , @parkinglot-nights , @bethvar , @Sexytholland , @yoongibaybee , @crystaleah ,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan , @euphoricmyth , @jungkoock , @cinmmongirl , @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk .

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist

[iisasarcasticlittleshite]

Heyy bbg 😩

How was ur dayyy, mine was ok i went shopping 😘

Whats ur favorite colorrr, i like blue 😝

How would the boyz react to breaking the bedframe during sum rough... activities 😉😏😩😳

Dont forgor to drink water and get atleast 6 hrs of sleep pls 🥺

Heyyy! I am so sorry this took me so long to start on, I went a little MIA there, lol. So of course my first post of 2024 is OM smut lol Happy 2024 everyone! Now, on to the hcs! Mature content below the cut. Warnings for Levi's section, implied monster f*ck*ng, very slight.

Lucifer

This bastard makes no secret of how proud he is to make a mess of MC.

His reaction depends on the position, if the bedframe cracks while he is on top, then he makes sure MC's safe before continuing elsewhere.

MC's barely had time to comprehend that the bedframe gave way underneath them before Lucifer is scooping them up and resuming their activities on his desk or against the wall.

"Lucifer, did we-?"

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it, my darling. Now, sing for me~"

But. If that bed breaks while MC's on top? That is a very different story.

"Look at you, taking me so well even the bed can't take it~"

"Go on, love, do it again."

Demon does not give a shit, clasps MC's thighs and holds them up while he thrusts up to meet their hips.

He may act mildly displeased at having to buy a new bed, but that aura of pure pride rolling off him the next day is fooling no one.

Mammon

Let's face it, he's so sex-drunk he probably didn't notice. He's too busy overstimming himself to the point of tears, pretty noises pouring from his kiss-bitten lips with shameless abandon.

He's the Avatar of Greed after all, and here is his greatest treasure, all naked and pretty for the taking, giving him everything he could ever want. Why in nine circles of hell would he stop?

He'll fuck until the mattress hits the ground, or until MC tells him to stop, because he always retains enough of himself to keep them safe.

Once they're done and laying on a skewed wreck of a bed, sweat colling on their skin, that's when Mammon finally notices.

"Hey...what happened to the bed?"

MC chuckled, pressing a kiss to his brow. "You happened, baby."

His cheeks turned pink and he hid his face in their neck as though he could hide the blush from them. MC felt him grinning against their skin, until the reality struck him.

"How the fuck am I gonna explain this to Lucifer?"

Leviathan

He also wouldn't notice, but not for the reason you might think.

Usually, Levi is a very sweet lover, tends toward the submissive side and lets MC set the pace.

However...

For their lovemaking to get to the point of breaking anything, it's because Levi has gone absolutely feral.

I'm talking more demon than anything else, growling and snarling instead of whimpered, sweet moans tumbling from his lips.

You'd better believe he'll break the bed, the only thing that will stop him is MC, and if they choose not to...

He'll break a lot more than the bed.

Satan

Believe it or not, I don't actually see this happening with Satan.

He's so cautious of his wrath around MC in the bedroom that I'm no so sure he'd even be comfortable playing rough.

The most that happens with him is toppling a pile of books or something. Once, he accidently knocked into a shelf and used himself as a meat shield for MC as the avalanche came down.

That made for an awkward evening when poor Beel come to the rescue.

Asmodeus

Let's face it, if he did it, it was on purpose.

Asmodeus knows exactly what he's doing when it comes to MC's pleasure, knows exactly how to make them writhe just so that it was actually the human who let magic slip in their daze and cracked the bedpost.

The Avatar of Lust chuckled against their sex, his head buried between their thighs and his eyes alight with pure sin. "What else can I make you break, lovie?"

"S-sorry..."

"Oh no sweetheart, don't apologise. Let me see how much more I can make you sing for me~"

[cybsoo2]

yandere bts profile

╰┈➤ synopsis — Stories of seven men living their yandere lives.

╰┈➤ pairing — yandere!bts x reader

╰┈➤ word count — 4.3k

╰┈➤ content warning — murder, yandere behavior, stalker behavior, manipulative behavior, graphic depictions of violence, kidnapping, suicide, self-harm, vomiting, invasion of privacy, talk of religion

—Kim Seokjin

yandere type — manipulative and overprotective

watch out for! — overprotection, isolating, self-imposing, monitoring, spy cams, invasion of privacy

Seokjin speaks sweet lies

He’s such a good liar that he’s even begun to deceive himself

He’ll tell himself these selfish sins are for the greater good

Misleading you and manipulating others is one of his many skills

Although he holds no affection for anyone else and is inclined to ruin their lives through manipulation, he doesn’t dare try it on you

Although the fate of your friends and foes is different, He’d never hurt you, wouldn’t lay a finger on you unless you asked

He doesn’t want your love to be a lie, to become warped and wrecked into images unknown

Instead, he leads you astray when you step too close to his sinful secrets

When a coworker with a crush comes too close for his liking, he’ll whisper the words, “He’s not good enough for you sweetheart.”

Your friends offer an invitation to get drunk one dark night, “It’s too dangerous to drink this late at night, stay inside with me instead.”

And maybe one morning, a slithering suspicion sits still in your mind

You ask him why he’s so protective, so passionate, so possessive, and he’ll tell you, “I love you like no other.”

Jin cares about your safety

He wishes you’d be healthy and happy all the time

Although, his methods of achieving this dream can have some consequences

He’ll worm his way into your life

He looms over you with a loving presence

But if he’s not careful enough, his ‘love’ can be suffocating

He monitors your actions, not stalking, but spying on you through other methods

He’ll set up cameras to make sure you don’t get hurt

Of course a fragile fawn like you needs him in order to survive

He takes the truth from your friends to figure out how you’ve been doing

He’ll read your messages to find the deviant souls that might harm you

He gives biased advice (Though you don't know it) in order to keep you close to him

Misleading your crushes by telling them that you’re already taken

He keeps you away from everyone else, so much so that some friends become distant and disturbed at the sight of him

Jin is willing to be whatever you what so long as he can stay by your side

He’ll be your friend, a brother, a lover

He’s perfect for you, if it weren’t from the looming sense of danger that falls in his shadow

—Min Yoongi

yandere type — obsessive and possessive

watch out for! — murder, codependency, self-containment

Yoongi hides his true nature behind longing looks and a distant friendship

He keeps calm underneath a cold exterior

Yoongi stays to himself and watches you from afar

He may murder any pests that cross your path, but he wouldn’t dream of hurting you

You’d never assume he mutilates men and women while you sleep

He brings you glory through each slash and stab of scarlet

Yoongi just might be a cruel killer, but the worst types of killers are those who’ve become self aware

He holds a court of immoral justice in his head 

Killing based off bias, yet he can’t find himself to care

You’ve made him into a merciless man, which is why he can’t stop once he’s set his mind on something

He’ll put on a plaster face, he’ll be kind, and quiet, and normal 

Yet even if his body stays at shore, a selfish need sings him out to sea

Yoongi believes in codependency, you need him and he needs you

He may put himself in a position that demands him to be close to you

He could be a coworker, a classmate, or perhaps a neighbour

But you can bet that you’ve met him before

Yoongi is too dependent on the normality you two have to act on his obsession

He understands his sick self and knows the consequences if he confesses

Yoongi knows that he won’t be able to hide the horrors of who he truly is, so he doesn’t even take the chance

He believes in a loyal love and couldn’t lie to you if you had a real romance

He’ll take what he can get and make sure no one else can get in the way

His obsession is closed away in the corner of his heart (But that’s not exactly true since his whole heart belongs to you)

His passion is put on the shelf to collect dust in the dark

A distant dream that had no hope of really happening

It rots away in his ribcage, tearing him apart from the inside out

His sickness is a symptom of this strange fixation

He throws up three times a day

The bile burns through his throat and now drops of blood join the rest of his lost lunch

A running list of other side-effects include: sleep loss, hypersomnia, depression, loss of appetite, etc.

Yoongi is always wanting the dream that waits

Sometimes, he sees a sliver of it in his sleep

A feverish fantasy where you embrace like lovers and kiss without consequences

But then he wakes up to reality and wishes this illness had never infected him

Your love is like a leech, bleeding him to the bone and testing his tenacity

But then tomorrow arrives and he sees the smile he’s so lost in love with

His inertia is eternal and he’ll never give up what he has for his unlikely odds

Your life remains pretty much the same except for the missing men and women that hurt you many months ago

You would never suspect that the sweet, yet shy Yoongi has his heart in your hold

—Jung Hoseok

yandere type — clingy, obsessive, and delusional

watch out for! — self-harm, suicide, dependency, delusion, mixing fantasy with reality, insecurity

Despite how intense his love can be, he never acts as more than desperate and delusional when it involves you

There’s no need to worry about mysterious murders when it comes to Hoseok

He doesn’t have the patience, planning, or guts to kill anyone 

He’d rather reap his worries and run away from the issue

He’s comes crying to you at the slightest inconvenience

You’re the savior of his soul who soothes all his sorrows

Such a saint you are, putting up with someone as pathetic and plain as this broken boy

Even when the roles are reversed and your upset under a burden of blue, Hobi will be your crying companion

He can’t help it, seeing you so sad evokes excruciating emotions

Someone as sweet as yourself doesn’t deserve to be depressed, which is why he’ll do anything it takes to be your sunshine in the storm

Hoseok is someone that clings close to you

Always following you around wherever you go and sticking by your side

Hoseok desperately depends on you, he may be your sunshine but you’re his hope

You’re the reason he’s like this after all

You gave him a glimpse of happiness, a unique thing in this large universe

He sees you as his angel, always right and a savior to the lovesick

Your kindness and compassion are what immediately intrigued him

But what made him unable to shake this obsession is how special you made him feel

You look into his eyes and you see him as an individual

You see his soul for all it’s crimson colours and still accept him

That’s when his delusion begins to distort the realm of reality

He truly believes you love him like he loves you

Why else would you take pity on a poor soul like him

His insecurities suffocate him, telling him he isn’t good enough for you

Yet you still stay, never once have you thought of the boy as a burden

This twisted love ties into his dreams

He dreams of the distant future: tangled in each others embrace, whispering your carmine confessions, and living out the rest of your lives as lovers

These fantasies feel so real that sometimes Hoseok swears they actually happened

That kiss you shared in the shadows last week? Totally real!

You falling asleep in his arms after crying out your confessions? Definitely happened according to Hoseok!

But when these fairy tales fizzle out, Hobi is left with lost dreams and a broken heart

Falling down from heaven, he’s struck by the hard-hitting truth

You don’t love him and even if you did he wouldn’t deserve it

He cries and tries to cut himself clean

Emptying out the red as it runs down the drain

He lets out the pain on his pinkening flesh

One day he may fall too far

Running the red blade over his arteries until all he can see is black blood

But he’s hopeful for now, this imaginary event would only happen if you turned to hate him

Screaming that he’s a psycho and a sinner

Crying cause you can never be alone, him always at your side

Telling him how much you hate him

Saying you wish to never see him again

It would take a lot for Hoseok to fully lose his heart

And the loss of your love is the one thing that would sink his sorrows

Without your light to guide him, it would send him overboard into the black abyss

—Kim Namjoon

yandere type — manipulative and devotee

watch out for! — collector, murder, manipulation, worship, extreme obsession

Namjoon worships the water you walk on 

Yet this twisted type of religion isn’t right, it isn’t even real

In his mind, you’re an angel of purity and perfection 

You’re the cause of every good event that happens to him

You single handedly uplift his life and give him guidance 

And he’s just happy to be the devotee to his one and only divine

As aforementioned, Namjoon is a collector

His entire home is a museum of memories

Tiny trinkets are stacked on shelves, and useless objects are crowded into of the corners of his room

But every piece has a purpose, each and every object leads back to you

Outsiders may say he’s a hoarder, but Namjoon remembers why so many red bottles are shoved under his bed

You endorsed a beauty brand and he bought out the entire stock

Now every time he does his nightly routine, he can sense the faint feeling of your skin on his

Shoved in his drawers is the jewelry you just wore

Replicas of bronze bracelets or ruby rings

He wears noir necklaces like a noose around his neck

Chained up under your control, you decide his destiny

When he wears copies of your clothes, sometimes he feels slightly closer to you

Like he can hear you whispering right from wrong in his ear

Telling him what to do and how to do it

Namjoon doesn’t think for himself

His emotions are almost artificial, only responding with empathy when it relates to you

He’s lost interest in the social scene, but still goes out to keep connections

He talks to people only to take their trust and ask for favours in the future

It’s common knowledge to anyone that Namjoon is easily infatuated with you

He doesn’t try to hide it and uses peoples intrigue to gain intelligence

But the occasional onlooker will sometimes sense that this isn’t just a common crush

They might’ve found out about his stash of souvenirs stuffed up in his attic

Perhaps it was how obviously anxious Namjoon gets when you’re not near

Or maybe they noticed the lovesick looks he wishes your way

But when Namjoon finds out he’s got a follower, he knows what he has to do

He’s not big fan of murder, it takes up too much time and it’s a mess to keep hidden, he’d rather it be fast and efficient

So he sends his sins out to sea

He has no time for torture and no desire to drag this out

Namjoon ties up his victim in twine ropes 

The ropes wrap around the writhing fool

Tether twisting around their throat and cutting off their cries

The rope scratches scarlet off the skin, leaving long lines that bruise purple and pink

Namjoon ties a brick to their ankles, bringing them back down to the dark

It’s the murder of a man who knew too much, sinking out in the open ocean with all their knowledge never to be known

The weight of Namjoon’s actions never wrestles with his heart

Uncaring and callous, he never stops to consider that these heinous acts hurt his humanity

Because in his brown eyes, this is all your doing

You told him to get rid of the fool that fell too close to your godly grace

You can do no wrong so this must be the new morality

Namjoon will protect your perfection by never letting any noble men come too close

Your sweet love must be kept a secret, no other weakling worthy enough for it but him

And even though dark doubts still taint his thoughts, Namjoon will spend the rest of his worship proving he’s your lovesick slave

—Park Jimin

yandere type — clingy and psychotic

watch out for! — isolating, self-harm, murder, suicide, dependency, jealousy, hysteria, insecurity, kidnapping

The gods gave Jimin a gift

A double wielded sword weighted with the opposite ends of emotion

His feelings are feverish and burn with a bright intensity

It’s all a sliding scale for him, switching out his soul for whatever worth

All-consuming emotions are what drives him

Day by day, Jimin is mostly described as empathetic and enthusiastic

And while Jimin is an awestruck soul, he also hides his more dark desires

Your love sets him alight

Melting away his walls to reveal the real monster

Violent thoughts flow thoughts his veins

It’s like a venom, monopolizing his mind and evoking his red wrath

Jimin isn’t an apathetic man, he cares too much about the things that make him tick and the love he lusts after

He’s incapable of indifference, always so engrossed in his emotions and their outcomes

Loving him would be like locking yourself in with a lion

Jimin worships you like you no other and makes you feel like you’re alone in ardent

But the burning candle that controls his heart will always end up blinding you

He’s too dependant, always running after you and following like a poor puppy

He’s too jealous, scared you’ll be stolen away by any other man

He’s overly enthusiastic, lovesickness so suffocating you have to beg to break free from his hugs

Jimin takes you two to solitude, liking to rest in your warmth without any else’s eyes on you

While the long list of turmoil may taunt you, it’ll only get worse when he’s upset 

Jimin has widespread worries that you’ll leave him like everyone else

Insecurities lay intimate in his mind and he’ll only ever speak them to his soulmate

He’ll spend countless days crying and trying to seek your sweet reassurance

When these dark doubts are ripe and rip his heart apart, you better not set him off or else the consequences are grave

When he’s like this, clinging to you and crying his heart out, it’s best to shush his sorrows and hold him to your heart

He’ll bawl his eyes out into your blue sweatshirt, white knuckles wrapped around the familiar fabric

He’ll try to hide the hiccups in the crook of your neck, slightly embarrassed for his emotional outburst

Jimin lies limply in your lap, tired out from all the tears but too vulnerable to let go

He chases away the cold in your warm embrace

You speak lovely lies of how you love him 

If this is all insanity and you truly don’t love him, then this outcome would be very different

Was it a rash rejection? Or careless cruelty too much for his heart to handle?

Either way Jimin would explode in a case of confusing emotions

He’d swipe the silver blade down to the bone, bleeding out all over the bathroom tile and trying to tell you how much he loves you

“I’m nothing without you and I won’t let you leave.”

“I’d kill to keep you, I’d die if you don’t love me.”

The universe is always against your relationship and if a situation where to arise where he can’t keep you, he may just kidnap you instead

A much more morbid scenario might even involve suicide

You escape and Jimin must now spend eternity alone

He’d wake up at death’s door with pills pouring out his mouth

A terrible taste lays on his lips and his stomach is swimming in poison

A life without his love is a life not worth living

—Kim Taehyung

yandere type — devotee and stalker

watch out for! — murder, stalking, invasion of privacy, voyeurism, collector, murder-suicide, insecurity, monitoring , worship

Taehyung is a cruel romantic

His thirst for your entirety is insatiable

This growing greed is what makes him so bold

He takes risks none of the other boys would dare to dream of

Of course, he didn’t always act so impatient

This restlessness for your red romance had started small before it spiraled into disarray 

Subtle acts of stalking or stealing is how it all began

He just wanted to feel close to you, whether that be through physicality or by objects tainted with your touch

Taehyung is a collector of lost possessions and missing moral

But it didn’t take much time before he grew tired of absent objects and started stealing glances of you instead

He watches as you wander under the moonlight

Your features burning like fire in his brain

You’re so memorable under the moon that he can’t help himself  from painting 10,000 pictures of your perfection

Taehyung sees himself as an artist and you his muse

His drawings dictate your every move, illustrate your emotions, and reflect your beauty

The days spent drawing last from dusk to dawn, and although he could never be bored of staring at your face and flesh, an emptiness begins to claw at his chest

It creeps in from the corners of the room, a cold wind that washes over him and makes him shiver

It takes hold of your image in his mind, making each brushstroke dull and distorted

Your pretty portraits lack your warmth, as does our poor Tae

He’s persistent in his pursuit of lifelong love, and he won’t stop waiting until your his to take

If Taehyung were to actually take part in your life, you’d live an endless eternity of claustrophobia and catastrophe

It may take some time, but you’ll begin to see the signs of your impending downfall before you can stop it

Taehyung’s love is tender and touching

It’s make anyone awe at the sight, but they don’t understand what goes on in the shadows

You’re an inspiration for his art, so much so that your home starts to look like a house of mirrors

Every element of your eternity must be captured, from the bare bones down to trailing patterns at your fingertips

He studies you like a statue

Staring at you all day, swearing at himself whenever he has to blink

Taehyung believes that your bare beauty is an eternal enigma

Your one in a billion and must be treated as such

He tries to show you his distorted devotion everyday, and this may be the only amount of pure peace you get

He makes you feel special, a divine entity the deserves everything you ask for

You were crafted by the gods themselves just for his sweet satisfaction

You were made for each other and nothing can change that… until it does

Taehyung’s always had a hunch that men and women all over the earth were jealous of your relationship

They try to tear you apart, saying your tainted by his toxic touch

He’s running out of time, slipping through the sands of the hourglass

Lost in their lies, he takes you to the one place where no one can separate your souls, heaven

Taehyung likes to think it’s romantic even, like star-crossed lovers born to be destroyed

He doesn’t flinch in the face of death

He’s so lost in his sick sense of delusion that he honestly believes you two are tied between the stars

Tangled up in each other, meant to meet in every timeline and be lovers once again

Both your sad sorrow would soak the bed he holds you in

He calms your cries with a hand held up to your trembling lips

The shivering steel of the gun touches your temple

He says that death will not be dark with him to guide you

You won’t feel the Reapers cold caress when he’s here to hold you

Taehyung gives your lips one last quiet kiss

Breaking apart only to breathe and whisper the words, 

“I love you in every universe.”

“Till’ we meet again my dearest divine.”

His last moment with you is a memory of red redemption

With his thumb triggering the gunshot, he blows your brains out on the back wall

You’re head snaps back from the force and lays limply on your shoulder

Blood bleeds down and begins to soak the sheets

Taehyung chokes back his cries with his hand still holding the steel

He takes your cold corpse in his tender embrace and readies himself for a restful end

He lays down dark kisses to the bullet wound that tore open your temple

He weeps away his heinous actions and with you still held close to his heart, he puts the last bullet in his brain

—Jeon Jungkook

yandere type — impulsive and delusional

watch out for! — murder, suicide, dependency, kidnapping, delusion, hysteria, impulsion

Jungkook is just a boy with a broken heart

Still learning the differences between desire and devotion

He twists the two into one, his passion is painful and his innocent intentions begin to wither away

That fiery fondness that once burned so bright now sends smoke signals of death and destruction

But what really matters is what moment of massacre you met him

Was it when he was still a shy soul? Susceptible to sin but also ready for redemption

Or was it when he was a man? Matured into murder and wrapped up in wrath

If you arrived early in the timeline of terror, then you’d probably be childhood friends

Playing pretend in a world without worries

Lost in a little kids imagination, you play house, yourself as the wife and him as the husband

This is when his kindergarten crush would begin to grow

As a child you’d call yourselves soulmates, but an adult eye would sense that someone was seriously wrong

Jungkook would throw tantrums whenever you left to leave, and when he didn’t get what he wanted, he’d turn to violence

He’d begin to grow dependant on his only friend

Playdates would pursue sleepovers which would then turn to him refusing to ever leave your side

Scared that you’d be snatched away if his attention fell too far

And as you grew up, got to know more about the horrors and hormones of the future, you’d eventually find yourselves as high-school sweethearts

Jungkook just like his old self, only better at hiding the bloodshed

The obsession would only grow as you get older

More things threaten your relationship and his anger and anxiety amplify 

But your impression of the innocent boy still stays the same

Sure he may be more dependant and delusional then most men, but he’s still your sweet boy

If an artist were to paint a portrayal of a lost lover, it would be Jungkook

Every day is a dream, you drink in his devotion and bathe in bliss

He washes away all your worries and takes on all life's labours

Your life would look pretty normal only because Jungkook’s good at burying all the bodies and biting back his paranoia

But when you bottle up your emotions for years on end, it’ll eventually explode in your face

Jungkook has always been impulsive, acting on his anger and making irrational decisions

His rage causes him to run on a rampage, killing anyone that could come too close

His fear tells him to hide you in the house and cut ties with the outside world

Jungkook is determined to obtain the life and love he obsesses over

Which is why when things don’t go his way, his has a fit of hysteria 

His tempers turns up to 100 and he may try to kidnap you

He’s abandoned all rationality and is recklessly driving your relationship off a cliff

His thoughts are so stubborn and he won’t stop once he’s set on a solution

No planning or preparation is taken in advance

He’s in a fit of frantic fear and reality is slowly slipping

Illusion is in his lungs, he can’t understand that he’s undoing all his progress thus far

So set on the end goal, he can’t see the death and decay until he holds it in his arms

It’s a sudden slaughter and he’s doesn’t processes your passing until you’re pale and purple

After a rainy night spent sobbing and still clutching your cold corpse, he comes to a conclusion

He can’t live with his actions, he’s a monster in a man’s body

He feels sick in his skin, he tries to scratch it off

Peeling off the pink to reveal the red undertones

His hands are still sore from the force he gripped your throat with, he tries to take those off too

He’s disturbed by what he’s just done

Jungkook gathers your blue body in his arms and takes you to the bathtub

He dies by your side, drowning in devastation

most to least dangerous — jungkook, taehyung, jimin, hoseok, namjoon, jin, yoongi

© cybsoo2 2024, all rights reserved ‎

[thera-daydreams]

SCARLET & SHADOW

ᱬ The Darkling x Scarlet Witch!Reader ᱬ

[aleksander morozova x wanda maximoff!reader]

Warning: This will be very canon-divergent, considering that it will be a fix-it fic for the Darkling's story. Will contain elements of violence, manipulation, and gore present in the series. Plus, mentions of depression, trauma, regret (as W. Maximoff) and the inclusion of possible adult themes in the later chapters.

Majority of this will also be based on the Netflix show since I haven't read the entire books yet. There may be inaccuracies and a whole lot of changes. You have been warned!

Otherwise, proceed and enjoy! ♟️🌹

(Sidenote: So... okay. I'm deciding to write this and make it a formal fanfic—as per previous post one and post two—because I seriously cannot sleep with the overwhelming inspiration I'm getting from shipping these two characters. Aleksander and Wanda are practically the same person in different fonts. They both did shitty, selfish things but I need to give them a happy ending. Together. Somehow. And hate it or love it, I firmly believe this idea should be shared to the world. If you know my other JJK fic, you'll know Wanda is an obsession of mine. Also, also, also! Please bear with me if updates are scarce. I'm juggling my academic review, work, another unfinished fic, and my daily fangirling. 🥹)

1. once upon a dream

Aleksander had dreams of you long before he even knew you. Maybe it was the stress of this neverending war. Either way, you weren't real anyway... were you?

(3.9k words)

2. coincidence

The Black General finds himself magnetized by the seemingly inconspicuous gardener in the Little Palace. He gets to know you, contemplating life. Just when he thought you were just a strangely wise, young otkazat'sya woman, he finds out why exactly you decided to work in the Little Palace.

(2.5k words)

3. reflection

You are confronted by a certain Shadow Summoner about your motives in bringing the kids to the Little Palace. He realizes that you've loved and lost so deeply, eerily the same as he had. Perhaps that's the reason why he was so drawn to you; he could see his reflection in your eyes. But the more answers the Darkling got, the more questions he had. Unfortunately for you, Aleksander was a patient and persistent man who would stop at nothing to get what he wants.

(4.8k words)

4. haunted

You were no powerless otkazat’sya, Aleksander finds out the hard way. He’s pushed you too far, and he’s left to deal with the aftermath of the new knowledge he half-regrets he gained. On the other hand, you see something bad about this new world that wished you had never seen.

(6.0k words)

5. ?

(tba)

... more chapters?

Synopsis:

"No more magic." You swore to yourself after the madness that you'd spiraled into; the chaos you'd wrecked upon the Multiverse under the influence of the Darkhold. Now, you had destroyed the Darkhold in every universe.

The last universe that had a Darkhold? Safe. Book of the Damned, gone. It was a land with no heroes, gods, or sorcerers... just... normal people and... Grisha? Either way, it was time for your atonement. Your repentance for your mortal sins.

But when you save and bring three orphaned Grisha children to the Little Palace, working as an otkazat'sya gardener to secretly keep an eye on them, it turns out that a certain Shadow Summoner begins to have his eye on you, instead.

taglist: @idohknow @robertthehoover @the-desilittle-bird @pearlstiare

[doumadono]

Sinful Sunday thought!

I believe that Geto Suguru is exactly the type of guy that, by the time you tell him ‘I love you’, starts fucking you harder. I don’t know🫣

I need to agree with you, Nonnie, I strongly belive it would make him going feral!

SINFUL SUNDAY

Geto's anything but gentle

Whenever you fuck, it's rough and hard. It's the kind of sex involving hair-pulling, skin-biting, and fast-paced fucking

You’ll fuck basically anywhere, on any surface, up against any wall

It's a relentless thrusting that doesn't let up until you're a whimpering wreck beneath him

Geto's possessive - he marks you with love bites, making sure everyone is aware that you belong to him. He doesn't mind who witnesses it - he's determined to proclaim to the world that you are exclusively his

He has a very high sex drive and can go for multiple rounds

He loves having a hand around your throat as he fucks you, he loves to feel the blood rushing under his hand

But what truly arouses him is when you express your love for him verbally, which never fails to excite him immensely

"I love you," you whimper softly as he thrusts into you during a very slow, passionate sex

He pauses, gazes down at you, and a mischievous grin slowly spreads across his lips

“I’m gonna pound ya so good, ya hear me? I want you to tell me how much you want it, how much you want me.”

Geto lifts up your thigh for better access to thrust deeper into you, digging his fingers into your plushy flesh, thrusting hard and fast, the bed starts swaying back and forth with his thrusts

“I’m going to fill you to the brim, doll."

His words become more jumbled as his flesh continues to vehemently smack against yours, your pussy tightening against his rapidly moving dick as your orgasm washes over you, his following not long after

[anantaru]

i think summer is the worst season for any sexy activity with thoma (also considering his pyro vision), yet slow lazy sex might be the solution? just laying on your sides, facing each other, his cock squeezed between your walls, as you share lazy kisses and slowly grind on each other till reaching the orgasm?

cw. sweaty s3x, wet n messy, fem! reader

everything around you feels distant, to a certain degree frangible, like you’re suddenly disconnected from gravity, but the dense, humid air was heavy at the same time.

you can barely breathe by this, the summer in inazuma was on its highest point by now and simply walking outside had been a quite difficult task to accomplish, considering the enormous heat wave which was making it tough for most people.

do consider this, but your boyfriend thoma wasn't a great fan of it either, keeping in mind that he was a wielder of the pyro element. yet he'd never pass up on an opportunity to be intimate with you, not even this bothersome weather would make him rethink his craving.

his cock was also trying to get your attention, and you slowly slither your hand down south to take it in your palm, it's achingly hard, almost sore, and wet with his pre cum. thoma helps you instantly, wrapping one hand around your leg so he could part them without trouble before lining you up with him.

you’re wetter than usual, your slick mixed with prospering sweat that made it all the more easier to have him slip inside of you, his warm, heavy erection sticking on your walls to a more intense degree, soaking in your liquids, sliding up so fucking strongly when he fucks into you right away— shallow, small thrusts penetrating your insides, his lower belly hitting your clit, his happy trail gathering your slick.

such a mess, but you like it, bite back a moan too when he smirks into your lips before suckling on your tongue.

both of you are shining, and suddenly the warm weather didn't appear as a meaningful problem anymore when he holds your legs apart while you smother your digits down, twisting your fingers over your tits, putting on a show for him, the crevice and outlines of your chest luminescent with your sweat. and thoma closes the distance of your frames, it’s not difficult when you soak into him, rubbing your clit and aching to cum already— you’re a lot more sensitive now and just know it’s because of the heat.

yet he’s so skilled at fucking your little pussy into his girth when he wrecks your cunt, out of breath, his heaves and small whines aflame, eyes aglow.

he’s into it now, wait— scrap that, he always was, your used hole, soaked in that particular way, it's so wet and messy, pheromones and sinful words of praises charging up the stifling bedroom, a swirl of sweltering air happening next.

maybe, only maybe, the weather in inazuma wasn’t as bad as some might believe.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[hwajin]

#! — [ talk ] yang jeongin

— fem!reader // nsfw // oral (f receiving), this is honestly so rushed and barely proofread i'm sorry 😭 req!

Jeongin had never seen you like this. Face flushed in utter darkness, colour continuing down to paint at your neck, your hands aching to hide yourself behind them – only because he had been curious of your wishes.

Admittedly, the both of you were new to being intimate with the other. It had clicked well the first time, surely, yet there were things unspoken and hidden behind secret thoughts and shy fantasies. Thoughts and fantasies you were eager to explore when the time was right, though that didn’t make the matter all the less nerve-wrecking – it was embarrassing admitting to ones likings and most sinful dreams, even with a close loved one, with a person as trustable as Jeongin.

He had been littering you in kisses, trails of wet on cheeks, shoulders and nape, on the expanse of your chest, the curves and dips of waist to hip. And if he was told it took one sentence merely to seemingly ruin you, to take any form of boldness out your body he would have not believed it. He would have laughed as the disbelief had set in his body, watching you with aghast eyes as you grew a stuttering mess.

“Tell me what you want, baby.”

One sentence only, barely spoken loud enough to register, hushed against the flesh of your stomach. By that time there hadn’t been an inch unkissed, Jeongin’s lips reddened, your body littered in flower shaped bites. You had tensed up, looked down at the man between your thighs in utter loss for words – wanting to tell him that you wanted everything, any and all if it was from him, yet not finding the words to. Wanting to tell him that if it came to him there was nothing you didn’t want, that your wishes could run beyond sane imagination – though you said nothing at all. Merely looked and blinked until he had found your eyes, questioning look within them, utterly surprised to see you like this.

Ever since Jeongin had met you he’d admired your confidence. Your boldness to speak your truth when needed, to stand up for yourself without a helping hand. You’d been the one who approached him first, turning him into a state of flusterness nine times out of ten, and he’d always loved it. Though if someone was to ask him now – he might answer to like this side just as much. Was so new to seeing you like this, especially when it came to him, that it got him chuckling in his place which only caused you to run redder, darker. To convert his eyes off him, groaning in flooding embarrassment.

“I don't know you like this at all... it's cute.”

Teasing tone lacing his voice, and you whined out in frustration. The spreading timidity wasn’t in your control, and you’d liked it much better off, would like it much better if you could simply speak your mind. If you could blurt out all the anarchic thoughts that coursed your head, or if Jeongin, at least, didn’t take notice of your state. Though it was much to late for that.

“C'mon baby...”, continuing his way down your body, kissing in between his words – your body grew hotter in anticipation or in embarrassment, you weren’t all too sure by now, "...I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”, locking eyes with you from beneath, his darkened on your flickering ones, and you urged to shut them. Urged to convert your gaze anywhere that wasn’t him – because truly, he was at fault. Jeongin’s hands, warm and grasping at your body, his wettened lips on most sensitive spots – it all drove you to a place of wordlessness, of embarrassing shyness and insanity. He was the reason you were unable to express a single word and yet he was the one wanting to hear all of them.

“Tell me.”

Voice so tantalising heat shot right to your core, and you closed your eyes after all – it was easier to utter words that way, surely.

“Eat me out.”

Voice so silent Jeongin nearly overheard it – yet he smiled to himself in mischief, watching your ever darkening grimace of shame, the way your eyes wouldn’t open still. Not too big of a wish if both of you were honest, and if it came to Jeongin he'd be ready and on your knees for you whenever you'd ask him to, doing whatever you asked him to. Yet it was something new for you altogether – that was nothing but a valid reason for your state. Though Jeongin was compassionate with you. It didn’t take him long to settle between your legs, parting them in the process, earning easy access to your wettening core. A sight new for him and it needed Jeongin a pair of seconds to recollect himself, to collect his fallen jaw and widened eyes before he lowered himself core level, slowly. Taking in your scent, feeling your body tensing up. Connecting tongue to slit, experimentally first, surer then when your hips grinded against him softly. And it didn’t require him much explaining – attentive eyes on you entirely, watching your every move as he tongued and sucked at your clit, left butterfly kisses around areas most sensitive, groped at your thighs to keep you down, or closer to him. It didn’t require him much explaining because with every of his antics your voice grew in volume, with ever of his kitten licks your face turned into one of contortion, with every inserting finger he added to drive you closer to release your body tensed and tightened, trembled against the mattress until you saw white, until Jeongin’s tongue and fingers, his touch grew sheer painful to bear, until oversensitivity got a hold of your body and weakened limbs, minds.

@etherealeeknow @linoskitty @unexceptional-h @rseanne @es-kay-zee @urcracksisx @jeyelleohe @yunkiwii @etheralsung @nyrasneedy @seochhj @spidercomics @chans-starlight @angelwonie @lix-ables @yvniek4ng @ppiri-bahng @sstarryreads @svintsandghosts @bokjaz @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @minniesvenus

[spirit-jello]

ZB1's kinks

Forgive me for I have sinned- probably gonna do it again though ngl. Was inspired by another post where they did top three kinks! Go follow them: @melobin

Kim Jiwoong→ Ddlg(Not literally) kink. He absolutely loves pampering you and taking care of you, and when you’re having sex he makes sure you’re comfy and having a good time being fucked dumb. But when you’re bad, he does the traditional daddy discipline- spanking. God does he love spanking you. He adores seeing his hand print on your ass.

“You gonna be a good girl for me now? Or does daddy need to spank your little clit too?”

ZhangHao→ Dacryphilia kink. There’s two ways this could happen, either dom Hao or sub Hao, there cannot be in between😭. Dom Hao loves seeing you cry, whether it’s from his words or his cock fucking into your tight pussy with no mercy. Just imagine you humping him naked while he’s fully clothed begging for his touch.

“Aw~ is my slut getting worked up already? I told you, you have to get off yourself before you can get my cock. Unless you want me to punish you? I’ll even let you choose; edging or overstimulation.”

Sub Hao, though, cries at the littlest things. Just you giving kitten licks to his tip makes him whimper. You love teasing him, palming him through his boxers as he bites his lip trying not to cry, but tears start to spring to his eyes as you suck him off. Then he starts whining and lets out sobs as you refuse to give him a break after he already came. Guess you have no room for mercy either.

Hanbin→ Edging kink. Goes both ways, but either way he’s the dom. He’s obsessed with ruining your release, hearing you beg for him. He isn’t going to budge until you’re wrecked, almost in tears from frustration. Only then does he fuck you roughly and give you permission.

“So good to me hm~? Ok baby, cum.” 

Right after he gives you the go ahead, you release on his cock.

But he also edges himself in a way; as he’s putting all his focus on you, he holds off on touching himself no matter how hard he is. But it just makes it all the more satisfying when he feels his cock pushing into your pussy.

Matthew→ Muscle/Size kink.  He loves you no matter what body type you have, but either way he works out often to be able to pick you up easily, fucking you hard all the while holding you up. He absolutely adores your flushed face when he shows off his muscles, relishing the way you look at his abs as he takes off his shirt. 

“Like what you see baby?”

He would tease you, but you both know he enjoys it just as much. 

Taerae→ Humiliation kink. Now he doesn’t do it on purpose, but for some reason he always has an urge to give you hickies where it’s clearly visible, right before you two go out somewhere. Not to mention he loves slapping your ass in public, teasing you nonstop.

“Are you needy, cutie~? Do you need my help?” 

He would say embarrassing(sexual) things about you to his friends, knowing how you secretly like it as well. Not just public but verbal humiliation as well. Believe it or not, he adores your flushed face as he degrades you.

“Such a messy slut hm? Imagine the others seeing you like this; a cockhungry whore.”

But don’t be fooled, as he always apologizes profusely afterwards; he never thought of treating you that way before, til you brought it up to him. At first he wasn’t sure he’d be into it, but quickly learned he liked it a bit too much. 

Ricky-> Bondage. He fucking loves having you blindfolded and tied up just for him. He'll find even the stupidest excuses to 'punish you'.

"Baby~ You know I hate when you disobey.. It hurts me just as much as it hurts you."

Thats a fucking lie; you both know he absolutely loves having you tied up all pretty like a present, having a vibrator on your clit and nipples on the highest setting.

"Acting so good for me; too bad you disobeyed my rules."

After edging or overstimulating you multiple times, only then does he fuck you hard as a reward. And of course the aftercare is always him overly pampering you.

Gyuvin→ Fuckin Sadist. Whether he means to or not, the man tends to mix pain with pleasure. When it’s on purpose, he loves to spank you, both on the ass and pussy. Loves using nipple clamps on you, or bonus- you got nipple piercings as a surprise, him liking it way more than you thought he would, which was already a lot. 

“All for me baby? Fuck~ you’re just begging for me to ruin you.”

When it’s unintentional, it’s usually because he grips your hips leaving bruises, or continuing to fuck you hard after you’ve already had three orgasms. And yet, he doesn’t notice because he’s like a dumb puppy, needy for his girlfriend nonstop.

“Haah~ So fucking good~ Fuck yes-”

Either way though, you get a good fucking, even though sometimes you may pass out. Best aftercare ever though.

Hope you enjoyed horny Zerose~

[theoryofthemultiverse]

I know this is probably out of character for him, but... Imagine Dr. Ratio being flustered about having a crush, but only when no one is looking. Bonking his head on his desk, writing poetry only to hide it under various books, getting snappy and mean with others because he's so confused over his own feelings. Like, yeah, he knows what it is, but *why*? There's no conclusive data to tell why he feels this way! His crush is just like any regular person, surely there must be some pattern or combination of factors that can explain this!

Ladies and gentlemen, this right here…

YES! JUST YES!

Honestly I had a thing in my drafts and I wanted to pin point it too so thank you for getting that stone rolling. I don’t actually believe it would be so much out of character for him!

Veritas Ratio would be agitated. A crush? On a normal person? It cannot be. He was set on dying alone, toxically thinking no one could ever match his intellect, so he would surely never fall for anyone would he?

Oh he was so wrong. When he met his crush he instantly viewed his crush as an ordinary person. A person that wouldn’t play a big part in his life’s strategy. Well you can give him 0 points for that because that mindset was gonna be obsolete when he finds out this person possesses an ability that he finds fascinating, utterly fascinating.

Like his crush f.e. being extremely good with emotions, just being very kind, or having any other personality trait that makes them special, that makes them themselves. Also preferably a trait that he doesn’t have, at least not this strongly.

For example, he might be creative to some point, but if he met his crush who had their own imaginative view of the world, that probes him to change his perspective from time to time. Also with a person that is not a genius there would maybe come a certain simplicity to said perspectives which he could find fascinating either.

But nevertheless the reason, because as we all know, love just strikes at the most coincidental moments with the most different of people:

He would still be confused. Himself a man of pure focus that is really never wavering suddenly finds himself to be staring inside his book and committing a (at least to him) sin, by only reading superficially. All while he also then catches himself to suddenly just let his eyes run over the paragraphs, thinking he is reading but in the meantime his thoughts run back towards his crush.

Poor man read enough books about it to know what it is for sure so at first he’d be the kind to gaslight himself out of it.

„No you are not in love, they are just a nice person, this is it. You are thinking about what they did that made you think about them, not them personally.“

Save to say that doesn’t work long and then, like this dear anon said he would hit that head on the tabletop, or sink under the water of the bathtub. Because he realizes he has no chance in fighting this.

And Veritas, a man of reason, would search for said one. He would do a complete psycho analysis first of himself and then of his crush to find out what about them makes him go oh ever so crazy.

Because he simply couldn’t continue to work this distracted. He feels like a fish out of water. Also we know he is not the kind of person that would leave this untouched. He might be embarrassed but he knew if he couldn’t continue his work productively soon then he might get an existential crisis.

So he copes with it, not sure if with poetry (if so he would do it in Latin to make sure no one accidentally reads it ;) or also, and he really really thinks 10 times about it before giving in to his love wrecked brain’s desires, sculpting his crush.

His students would be confused with him as well because they might just find him to be a pinch too less strict. So when he is distracted with thoughts of his crush he might let one or two mistakes slide. But everyone knows to better not ask him about it, or he is going to snap.

All in all he is going to try to get closer to his crush then, to find out more about what they did to him. And while he might also do that to desperately find flaws in his crush, it would just make him fall harder…

[purple-obsidian]

I'm back in your inbox again. Hello 👋

Been thinking about your ak jason todd and you've mentioned that his men know about her. They're intimidated by him and for good reason. But, hear me out, is Jason still working with scarecrow in your story?

Maybe Scarecrow is looking for the weakness in what seems like the arkham knights flawless armor. Maybe one of Jason's men isn't so loyal, or maybe scarecrow uses fear gas to get it out of them.

But I'm thinking how badly Jason would react if the reader was even in the slightest bit of danger or even vaugley threatened by scarecrow, even in passing. (Or slade, or even one of his men.) I think there'd be a bullet involved before the sentence is even over. Cause no matter how he treats her, she's still his person.

hello my friend! <3

in my little au, my fics 'say it back' and 'let go' happen just after the events of arkham knight, so jason is no longer working with scarecrow. i imagine that gotham is still a wreck, and jason hasn't yet transitioned to being red hood. so he's 'found' himself enough to have helped bruce in the end, but he's still harbors a crap ton of resentment and anger towards him and the others, and is still not above using lethal violence against those he thinks deserve it.

in my mind, this time period here is extremely tumultuous for him as he struggles to redefine and analyze what his goals and plans are now. like, if you're familiar with ATLA, i liken it to prince zuko getting physically ill after letting appa free. a sort of crisis of his self image. joker spent so much time convincing jason over and over how batman left him, abandoned him, telling him that bats was the enemy. and jason believed it, but when push came to shove, jason didn't exact his revenge. this turmoil inside of him, along with the unprocessed trauma of jokers multitude of atrocities, is what fuels a lot of his anger and unpredictability. his hired men are left over from his militia, he kept a handful of his most trusted guys on his payroll to help solidify his authority in gothams underworld. however, in my version of events, jason and reader were reunited back when he and scarecrow were still working together.

so, back to the original question. if earlier on, scarecrow had found out about reader, [and you're right, he had to trust some of his men to help keep her safe, so they could of had the info squeezed out of them. or maybe they were loose-lipped and talking shit, who knows.] no way crane could've resisted the temptation.

i think we can all agree that jason would use lethal force to protect reader. his own sins against her be damned, just because he's treated her like shit doesn't mean he will allow anyone else to threaten her or even touch her.

if it were dr. crane trying to use his fear gas on reader, jason would kill him on sight. no questions asked.

if it were someone less dangerous, like one of his militia getting too comfortable with reader, i see a possibility of him taking his time. we saw in 'let go' that he has some dark urges inside of him to hurt others the way he's been hurt. don't know if he'd actually have it in him to brutally torture someone, but if reader was injured, assaulted, or seriously harmed, who knows.

an important thing, though, is that i think jason would feel guilty after. not for killing them, not if they hurt his person. he'll be able to live with that just fine. but anything that prolongs their suffering i think he would feel remorse for, later on, when he's had more time to heal. more than anything, it will scare him to look back on it and know he's capable of such evil.

there would be a rare moment of vulnerability between jason and reader after he's eliminated the threat and can check and make sure readers okay.

if reader were suffering from fear gas, he would take her somewhere private and hold her close, not letting go until the toxin is out of her system, even if it's hours. most likely blaming himself the whole time and triggering him to spiral further down his path of self-hatred.

in the case of his militia men, they would be knocked out, and jason would get reader to safety asap. if reader has severe injuries, he may chance setting foot in a hospital, even though it reminds him of arkham. if the injuries are less severe, he would probably lock her up somewhere safe while he 'takes care' of the perpetrator, later returning to reader with bloody hands and eyes full of fear.

no matter the outcome, poor jay would be extra protective over reader for a while, second guessing who he trusts to leave her with and who is vetted enough to guard his safehouse when she's inside.

gahhhhh you're making me want to replay the games to brush up on the lore. its so tragic, jasons story. my heart hurts for him.

i would apologize for such a long-winded, unorganized response to a simple question, but i know you're just as obsessed as i am 😈

xoxo sid

[giantmushyfriend]

One of the many fan theories that will absolutely wreck me any day of the week is the theory that when Aziraphale sees Crowley in Rome for the first time since the resurrection, he asks Crowley if he's still a demon because Aziraphale wants to believe that Crowley may have been Risen. Because in Aziraphale's eyes, he knows deep down that Crowley is good, even if Aziraphale knows that, based on what he has been told, Crowley shouldn't be. He knows Crowley doesn't belong in hell and doesn't belong working for Satan, but because of this divided thinking he's been imprinted with, it means that Crowley automatically belongs in heaven. And if the resurrection was meant to forgive everyone of their sins, anyone who asked for forgiveness, then why was Crowley still on earth as a demon?

I can't help but yearn for a line in a fic that goes something like, "If all sins were forgiven with the death of Jesus, why was Crowley still here? Why had he, who was inherently good, been left? Why had the person who had deserved forgiveness the most been left behind? Aziraphale, in that small tavern nestled within the streets of Rome, glances towards the ceiling and the creator he's fought not to question this entire time, 'Why not him? Why didn't he die for the forgiveness of of all your creations?'"

We've seen this paradox of Aziraphale, an angel of the Almighty herself, losing his faith and a demon who still has his. And I need it so biblically for it to be explored more.

It would kill me, but I would devour it.

[fizzigigsimmer]

That spring, Steve’s mom finally gets tired of getting cheated on and files for divorce. His dad is a dick about it and hires a bunch of lawyers to ensure that she basically leaves with nothing. Worse, he fights her for custody of Steve and taunts her with the fact she’ll never see him again - because why would any teenager want to give up everything, just to rough it out with their train-wreck of a mother? But jokes on him cause the judge basically leaves it up to Steve, and Steve would rather stomp on his own balls than get stuck with that asshole. Even if it means having to leave the big house and his car and starting over in a new place where nobody knows him.

Steve never met his mother’s side of the family in California. All he really knows is that the family disapproved of her marriage. There’s a story about his aunt coming to visit once on his birthday when he was like five, but she got in a fight with mom and she’s never been back. So Steve doesn’t even think about them when he tries to imagine what he and his mom are going to do on their own. He imagines her selling her car and the other gifts dad put in her name over the years to rent a decent apartment somewhere, maybe in Indianapolis or Chicago.

He’s really shocked one night when she announces that she’s been in touch with her family, and she she asks him about how he feels about moving to California to some sleepy little town called Moonwood. She tries to enthuse him about it by going on about how beautiful it is there, right at the edge of the national forest, but Steve’s more concerned with the fact that they’ll be living with people who hate them - and in the sticks too! Its two hours to the nearest mall! How’s he gonna find a job in this place? And what about school?

But Steve looks around at the hotel they’ve been staying in and the paper thin smile she fixes on her face to try and hide her broken heart from him and how fucked everything is, and he just wants her to be okay.

They move to California, and the one bright side is the relatives turn out to be not all that hateful. There’s awkward tension and a shit load of history there for sure, but from the minute they pull up to his grandparents house the door is thrown open and they’re welcomed with open arms. His grandpa seems a little stiff at first, but Steve gets the impression its because he doesn’t know what to do with himself as Steve’s mom and his grandma hug each other and cry. The weirdest part is when they start speaking in a language Steve’s never heard his mother use before.

Later his aunt tells him it’s lythan, but she just laughs when Steve asks if that means they’re from Lithuania. Apparently lythan is a very old language that started in romania and is only spoken today in two places. Here, and some village in romania that an ancestor immigrated from.

None of this is making sense to him but he’s just happy his mother seems happier and that he has help taking care of her, since she’s still pretty broken up about the divorce. She’s always been a passionate woman his mom. The kind of person who believes in soulmates and love at first sight. She’s always told him that when he meets the one for him he’ll know it in an instant and that he should hang on to that person with his whole heart. Which sounded great and all when he was a kid, but honestly just makes him sad now when he looks at how things turned out with her and his dad.

The first week after they get there, Steve cant sleep and catches his mother, his grandmother and his aunt talking in the kitchen late one night. He overhears her say that she knew it was a risk being with his dad, but that she’d have regretted it more if she didn’t follow her heart. Even if she wasn’t the one for Steve’s dad the way he was for her, she’d always be grateful because she has Steve. But she doesn’t want him to grow up feeling like he has to change who he is and like he always has to be the one giving to someone else just to be loved.

For the first time since the divorce Steve is almost mad at her - wants to shout it’s too late mom! - but the feeling passes as quickly as it comes. He’s just sad, for them both. But he hopes things will be okay here and that this can be a new start. It could be worse right? At least he gets a room to himself. Yeah it’s kinda weird that his aunt still lives at home and nobody seems to have a problem with that, or is talking about what his moms plans are like they expect that she’ll just be there forever now. But he figures they’re all just focused on making up for lost time right now.

And his grandma says that people in Moonwood stay close to home anway, and that most of them spend their whole lives there without leaving. It shocks him to learn that she’s never been further outside of town than to the edge of the national forest.

His second worry, about finding a job, gets resolved by his his grandfather - who runs a soda shop on the beach. There’s not much traffic durring the off season, but in summertime the redwoods draw a fair number of tourists. Steve’s kept very busy scooping up ice cream and making root beer floats while he flirts with the gap year girls who come through in groups, to backpack through the forest. He’s just turned eighteen and he’s never had much of a problem picking up girls so he has a few flings. He gets invited to parties on the beach and ends up doing a lot of hiking that summer in his downtime. But then fall rolls around and with fewer and fewer groups of tourists passing through Steve finds himself at loose ends.

School starts up again and he realizes that maybe it was a mistake not to put more of an effort into meeting local kids and making a few connections beforehand. Schiller High is over in the next district, and Moonwood is so far out the kids have to be bussed in. Steve’s a little nervous about starting a new school in his senior year but he tells himself it’s just one year. One year and then he has no idea what to do with himself after that, but at least he won’t be forced to attend school anymore. Still, he begs his mom to let him take their car to school the first day so that he doesn’t have to be the oldest kid on the bus. He’s pretty sure that’s a social constant even out here in the middle of nowhere.

Schiller seems pretty normal at first. It’s about the same size as his school back in Hawkins was. The school receptionist calls in some guy named Tim to show him around his first day and make sure he gets to all his classes. Tim’s alright, but Steve can see the neon nerd sign blinking above his head and plays it cool. He’s not an asshole or anything, he just doesn’t want to close any doors before getting the lay of the land. Steve just wants an easy year and he’s not gonna get that if he’s hanging out with a bully magnet - sorry Tim. Plus, Steve’s not exactly thrilled about the way Tim talks about ‘moonies’ - which is apparently what other people call people from Moonwood, instead of hicks or whatever. Steve doesn’t bother telling Tim that he’s technically a moonie now too.

His aspirations to plant himself firmly in the middle of the student social hierarchy and go unnoticed for the next ten months involve finding a group - or a pack as his grandfather weirdly put it when he assured Steve he’d find his in no time and start to feel more at home once school started. He asks Tim about the school’s athletic teams because being on a team with a bunch of other guys will basically do the work for him. There’s a swim team that Steve is definitely going to try out for. He’s not sure about basketball. He only got started back in Hawkins because his dad thought it was manlier than ‘playing’ in the pool. But he likes it okay, and Tim says the Schiller team has actually won a few regional titles.

Even though it’s his last year Steve figures it can’t hurt his college applications to be on a winning team for once. He probably won’t to start or anything but he thinks he has a good shot of seeing some playing time.

“I would stick with swimming if I were you. There’s no way you’re getting on the team.” Tim laughs. “The head coach is a moonie and he only ever picks guys from Moonwood.”

That doesn’t seem very legal, but that’s not Steve’s problem. He figures Tim is probably exaggerating anyway, just salty that the coach is giving a little extra focus to the guys from the less privileged side of the tracks.

Until Steve actually sees Billy and some of the other guys from the team.

It’s just before lunch when Steve and Tim have stopped by Steve’s locker. A blond kid in a red and white letterman jacket appears at the mouth of the hall, flanked by two other guys. It’s like something out of a movie the way the hallway clears for them and the other students gaze at them with awe filled expressions as if they’re watching a parade of olympians pass through.

“That’s Billy Hargrove. He’s captain of the basketball team.” Tim answers the unspoken question in Steve’s glance. “Don’t get on his bad side. He’s pretty much the top dog around here.”

Steve doesn’t need Tim to tell him Billy runs things around here. The guy is built like the terminator. Like someone who has ascended above mere mortals and wouldn’t be out of place among the gods. He’s built like a man, Steve finally settles on with an prickle of embarrassment hot in his chest. Steve’s a guy and he doesn’t go out of his way to look at other guys a lot, but he appreciates the things about them that are enviable.

Only envy is the furthest thing from Steve’s mind when he first sees Billy. It’s like time slows for Steve. His mouth gets dry, and he thinks to himself that Billy Hargrove is beautiful, and he wonders what that’s like. Steve knows he’s good looking. This isn’t some self depreciation bullshit, it’s just inexplicably different somehow the way he looks at Billy and thinks he finally understands what real beauty is. The way he instantly wants to get closer to him, reach out and touch. Billy has none of the unfinished awkwardness of a teenager. He’s a poster child for physical perfection that Steve is convinced walked off of a poster taped up on somebody’s wall, and has no business walking down the halls of an American high school. Seriously. How is this guy real?

He spares a quick glance for the other two guys with Billy - Dave & Chet - just long enough to confirm that he’s fucked. If these are the kinds of guys they’ve got on the team, Steve has no chance of seeing anything but a bench all year.

Billy and the other two stop at a locker not far from Steve’s on the other side of the hall, but not before Billy’s gaze does a casual sweep around the hall - very much a king surveying his kingdom. Steve fully expects that gaze to pass right over him just as unimpressed as it does everyone else, but to his surprise Billy’s gaze locks with his and sticks.

A little tingle dances up Steve’s spine and he sucks in a breath. He can’t tell what color Billy’s eyes are from this distance - at first he thinks they are something light, like a blue or grey, but then the corner of Billy’s mouth tilts up in a smirk and the light hits them a certain way and they look almost gold as he runs his tongue over some very white fangy teeth. Jesus the guy has some chompers on him.

Steve’s not afraid of a fight but it’s profoundly unsettling to have some dude literally licking his chops at him like he can’t wait to take a bite of the fresh meat. He’s pretty sure he just landed himself on Billy Hargrove’s shit list and he has no idea why. Fuck his life.

But he figures there’s nothing he can do about it but ignore it and hope that Billy decides he’s not worth the trouble. Steve turns to shut his locker, sending the message with his back that he doesn’t care about the dude giving him the crazy eyes and that Billy doesn’t intimidate him. His sweaty palms tell a different story, but that’s for Steve and only Steve to know.

As he leaves, he can feel Billy’s eyes burning into his back like lasers.

So much for going unnoticed for the year.

Now with Part 2

[theysaidhush]

Sinner

➝ Felix x Reader

➝ If loving him makes you a sinner you are willing to spend eternity in Hell.

➝ smut

➝ wc. 502w

"It hurts…"

"Hurts so good doesn’t it?"

"Felix!"

It was a little game between you two. One that some would call weird. It was all about endurance. And at this point it was just about stubbornness. Like thousands of clouds obscuring the sky, your mind was foggy and your brain mushy. You couldn’t tell when it started, but you did want it to stop. No matter how wrecked you were feeling or how painful the ache between your legs was begging you to end it all.

You were usually so in tune with your body. You knew each and every inches of your own skin, where it tickles, when you’re about to get sick. But for him you were willing to sacrifice yourself, to put this gut wrenching pain under layers of pleasure. Too much pleasure.

"You’re the one who wanted to play."

Felix made sure to remind you that you chose this for yourself. That he wasn’t towering over your body because he wanted to. You caused this for yourself. Sweet talking your way towards your own bed, giggling and kicking the sheets as he was throwing himself at you.

It was playful at first. You just wanted to be intimate with him, there was nothing wrong with being intimate with your boyfriend - soon to be husband because life is short. You ignored his warnings, closed your eyes when he mumbled how he could not stop once he started and acted like you were ready. Huh, you thought.

He praised you with his deep voice and brought heaven to you as you felt him move his fingers inside of you; it was the first. He devoured you, tongue warm on your fold and saliva dripping like honey; it was your second. He whispered sweet nothings as he pounded into you, cupped your face with his hand as he smiled sweetly.

"You’re doing so good…"

"Being so nice and tight for me…"

It was your third. Then your fourth. And maybe your fifth. But certainly not your last.

He gasped and whimpered, closing his eyes as your shaking fingers reached for his freckles, tracing constellations on his skin.

He filled you up until you were feeling full and satiated, and even after.

Slow and loving thrusts turned into fast, rough and needy one. For the first time you saw him high. High on you as his fingers marked your skin and his sweat dripped down your chest. He was relentless, moaning, chasing his own pleasure.

You wouldn’t believe someone who would say that Felix can be like that. He is your angel, your fairy, your galaxy. But now he’s nothing more than a devil, a nymph, a black hole. He sucked you in with his looks and now you might as well not get enough of him. Never ever.

As if being under his body was a curse - it was a sin, and you were willing to be a sinner, if only to get to touch him one more time.

[creativewaygrace]

Bible Verses About Witchcraft

1 Chronicles 10:13- Saul died for his unfaithfulness to the Lord because he did not keep the Lord's word He even consulted a medium for guidance.

1 Samuel 15:23- For rebellion is like the sin of divination, and defiance is like wickedness and idolatry. Because you have rejected the word of the Lord, he has rejected you as king.

1 Samuel 22:23- Stay with me. Don't be afraid, for the one who wants to take my life wants to take your life. You will be safe with me.

2 Chronicles 33:6- He passed his sons through the fire in Ben Hinnom Valley. He practiced witchcraft, divination, and sorcery, and consulted mediums and spiritists. He did a huge amount of evil in the Lord's sight, angering him.

Leviticus 19:31- Do not turn to mediums, or consult spiritists, or you will be defiled by them, I am the Lord your God.

Leviticus 20:6- Whoever turns to mediums or spiritists and prostitutes' himself with them, I will turn against that person and cut him off from his people.

Leviticus 20:27- A man or a woman who is a medium or a spiritists must be put to death. They are to be stoned; their death is their own fault.

Revelation 18:23- The light of a lamp will never shine in you again and the voice of a groom and bride will never be heard in you again. All this will happen because your merchants were the nobility of the earth, because all the nations were deceived by your sorcery.

Revelation 21:8- But the cowards, faithless, detestable, murderers, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their share will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.

Galatians 5:19-20- Now the works of the flesh are obvious: sexual immorality, moral impurity, promiscuity, idolatry, sorcery, hatreds, strife, jealousy, outbursts of anger, selfish ambitions, dissensions, factions.

Galatians 5:19-21- Now the works of the flesh are obvious: sexual immorality, moral impurity, promiscuity, idolatry, sorcery, hatreds, strife, jealousy, outbursts of anger, selfish ambitions, dissensions, factions, envy, drunkenness, carousing and anything similar. I am warning you about these things, as I warned you before, that those who practice such things will not inherit the kingdom of God.

Micha 5:10-12- In that day, this is the Lord's declaration, I will remove your horses from you and wreck your chariots. I will remove the cities of your land and tear down all your fortresses. I will remove sorceries from your hands, and you will not have any more fortune tellers.

Acts 19:17-20- When this became known to everyone who lived in Ephesus, both Jews and Greeks, they became afraid, and the name of the Lord Jesus was held in high esteem. And many who had become believers came confessing and disclosing their practices, while many of those who had practiced magic collected their books and burned them in front of everyone. So they calculated their value and found it to be fifty thousand pieces of silver, in this way the word of the Lord flourished and prevailed.

Isaiah 8:19-22- When they say to you, "Inquire of the mediums and the spiritists who chirp and mutter, shouldn't a people inquire of their God? Should they inquire of the dead, on behalf of the living? Go to God's instruction and testimony! If they do not speak according to this word, there will be no dawn for them. They will wander through the land, dejected and hungry. When they are famished, they will become enraged, and looking upward, will curse their king and their God. They will look toward the earth and see only distress, darkness, and the gloom of affliction, and they will be driven into thick darkness.

Isaiah 19: 1-4- A pronouncement concerning Egypt: Look, the Lord rides on a swift cloud and is coming to Egypt. Egypt's idols will tremble before him, and Egypt will loose heart. I will provoke Egyptians against Egyptians, each will fight against his brother and each against his friend, city against city, kingdom against kingdom. Egypt's spirit will be disturbed within it, and I will frustrate it's plans. Then they will inquire of idols, ghosts, and spiritists. I will hand over Egypt to harsh masters, and a strong king will rule it. This is the declaration of the Lord of Armies.

Acts 8:9-13- A man named Simon had previously practiced sorcery in that city and amazed the Samaritan people, while calming to be somebody great. They all paid attention to him, from the least to the greatest and they said, "This man is called the Great Power of God". They were attentive to him because he had amazed them with his sorceries for a long time, but when they believed Philip, as he proclaimed

Deuteronomy 18:10-14- No one among you is to sacrifice his son or daughter in the fire, practice divination, tell fortunes, interpret omens, practice sorcery, cast spells, consult a medium or spiritists, or inquire of the dead. Everyone who does these acts is detestable to the Lord, and the Lord your God is driving out the nations before you because of these detestable acts. You must be blameless before the Lord your God. Though these nations you are about to drive out listen to fortune-tellers and diviners, the Lord your God has not permitted you to do this.

Isaiah 47: 8-14- So now hear this, lover of luxury, who sits securely, who says to herself, I am, and there is no one else. I will never be a widow or know the loss of children. These two things will happen to you suddenly, in one day, loss of children and widowhood. They will happen to you in their entirety, in spite of your many sorceries and potency of your spells. You were secure in your wickedness, you said No one sees me. Your wisdom and knowledge led astray. You said it yourself, I am, and there is no one else. But disaster will happen to you, you will not know how to avert it. And it will fall on you, but you will be unable to ward it off . Devastation will happen to you suddenly and unexpectedly. So take your stand with your spells and your many sorceries, which you have wearied yourself with from your youth. Perhaps you will be able to succeed, perhaps you will inspire terror! You are worn out with your many consultations. So let the astrologers stand and save you, those who observe the stars, those predict monthly what will happen to you. Look, they are like stubble, fire burns them. They cannot rescue themselves from the power of the flame. This is not a coal for warming themselves, or a fire to sit beside!

[bitethedustfools]

New sagau idea? Part 2

Decide to make part 2 because i have bunch of ideas that probably might inspire you and i do feel these kind of stuffs need to be explored more. Fyi, I don't play genshin but i do know some from watching people gaming. Apologizing once more of these kind of idea/au exist as well.

Decide to make part 2 because i have so many ideas.

1) A violent and heartless player

You play Genshin Impact to pass time and are also a very violent and aggressive player where you'll always yell and throw items to vent or throw insults under your breath, and then back to gaming. In short, It's like a Call of Duty toxic player went into Genshin Impact.

Falling to death or drowning angered you to the point of banging your head and cursing. Not to mention, walking in the game angered you too because the characters were too slow!

You suck at first; impulsive action is not the best choice when you're angry, but you are in some way adaptable. You decide that your anger will be the source of your motivation to go through everything, so everything works out in the end.

Insulting is your mother tongue, so that means the characters and even the NPC are not spared as well. Most of your vicious, colorful insults and hurtful comments went toward people whom you hated and annoyed the most.

You remember the time when you laughed at Timmie's dumb dead birds and wished you had an option to push him off the bridge. His dad probably sensed he was a little b*tch back when he was a baby and went out to get some milk and never come back.

You sometimes intentionally let them die in a fight or or do something all in the name of experiment. You would even build a prison for them in the serenitea pot and just do the f*cked-up stuff that's possible in this game.

So one day, you broke your gaming setup due to your outburst, and somehow you woke up in Teyvat.

You didn't believe it was reality, and you still treated them as characters. Besides, they looked stupid with those stupid clothes on. They would stood out like a sore dumba$$ if they walked around in your world like that.

Anyway, killing Hilichurl or other small enemies is no problem for you. Committing a crime doesn't bother you. You probably don't bat an eye on killing people as well. Besides, all of this is just a game to you.

They're not real to you.

Their death is their fault for picking a fight with you. Should have just looked away instead of approaching you. Not your fault their feelings hurt.

Archons wanted to smite you, and somehow you managed to escape them and deal a few harmless blows. Not that it matters; you will be the one to seek them out and fight them when their backs are on you, and the cycle will repeat.

How you're still alive using a measly weapon because you don't know how to use claymore, polearms, and etc. is beyond you. But hey, anything is a weapon as long as it deals damage and even if it don't, you are still satisfied from letting all your anger out.

Nevertheless, all of the nations are in turmoil, and the culprit is none other than you.

The characters will definitely hate you, or maybe they feel ashamed and insecure about themselves because they want to fix themselves. Some acolytes and the people who believe in justice and peace had 'kill on sight' pinned on your back. They don't even believe that you are a god. God don't act like this.

The Wanderer 4th betrayal definitely happened, and Dottore clones definitely got hunted for sport because they annoyed you Does the Fatui wants to recruit you? You don't know, depends. Do they believe you are the god they worshipped? Also, don't know. Not like you care though.

No one can wreck havoc and commit more sins than you. You, a single person, broke Teyvat's peace and order effortlessly than the fatui with just impulsive anger and chaotic energy.

And if one day you realize that you actually have blood on your hands, you'll probably shrug it off and say it doesn't matter.

If you go back to your own world, no one knows what you have done. Who's going to tell the police? The dead people you stabbed out of annoyance? Those fiction characters that had animosity toward you?

No, will there even be someone alive in Teyvat if you were to return?

2) Streamer and gamer player.

In which you are transported into Teyvat along with some game skills, menus, and anything relevant to a game. That includes the chat box.

You learned that you were still streaming when you got sent to Teyvat, and everyone in the chat can see you. Cool, so it's not a dream; it's real, and instead of playing, you are the player! Where's Aether/Lumine? Why are you here? "AIYO!?? We got to see DAT CAKE!"

You are not aware that you looked like an idiot talking to yourself unless pointed out by the chat. It seems that the chat sees you as part of the game, which means that they can see the characters and NPC thoughts and words while you see them as a normal person.

Cool. Now you have to have the chat got your back, or else you're doomed. Dead. Unable to be revived. You're not sure if you can do that, but you're not willing to try.

Another problem that arises is that the chat tends to troll you or bombard you with loud sounds. It makes it harder to trust them or focus on what the characters are saying when they did this.

Sometimes you beg the chat, like they are some sort of sadistic god looking down at you from above the clouds with their chins high and a sneer.

All because you want some goddamn money because apparently, if they donate money, it instantly becomes moras and you're broke as fuck like cmon, help a fricking clown out.

Strangely, despite everything looked real, you have the physics of a game. The things you find in the game work if you try hard enough. For example, glitching under the Mondstadt's land. With these kinds of things, you don't need to walk when you can just glitch and get sent flying across the nation. Just making use of this bug makes your life easier.

Oh, how did you get stuck on this cliff while you were trying to use another entrance to Sumeru? That's right, it's an experiment to see if it works.

"Don't laugh, chat; I'm doing this out of curiosity and for you. Youre the one whos suggesting this."

The characters in Teyvat thought you were a rather peculiar person, talking to yourself at random times, and you seemed to know too much even though you didn't do any research, merely fighting hilichurls and robbing back the bandits–

–Oh Great Archons! You can fly!? No? It's a glitch? Well, they don't understand enough to understand you, but hey, that's so you. Keep up being weird, player.

Maybe the things you do are… unique and can be considered divine in their eyes. After all, who could walk on air like you do? Or bringing people back to life and knowing so much? No one could do that, so you must be a god!

As a matter of fact, you remind them of a certain figure. That's right! The creator! The creator acted like you too. Always talking to this thing called "chat"

"Um, no, I'm a gamer and chat is chat."

You fail to take into consideration that while everything looks like a game in your eyes, the people are definitely real, and this is what they thought of you.

3) Killer player

You don't play Genshin Impact, but you are quite resourceful, cunning, and deviously smart. You know this game is quite famous, and coincidentally, the prey you aimed to take life is playing it too.

In order to get closer to your prey, you must be fluent in their language. You listened to all that your prey blabbered and what they showed with an interested smile. You even question them once in a while to get them going all for the sake of learning the prey's personality and schedule and how you want to unalive them.

When you did kill your prey and accidentally broke their computer/laptop in the process, you got transported to Teyvat. In a way, you had stolen your prey's fate instead.

(The characters had mistaken you for their creator before but dismissed it because you lacked a certain presence. However, you do feel familiar with them because you sometimes watch over the game when your prey has played before.)

Now, you heard interesting things about this game, and you grew more interested when the characters interacted with you. How amusing! The characters had no idea you were a very sinister and cunning person behind a weak and polite persona.

In terms of healthcare, they are leaning toward supernatural stuff, and the medicine using materials found in this world is also effective. However, they seem to be lacking in a certain area that needs surgery.

Most deaths were common due to hilichurls and bandits, or those whom they called the Fatui, so they wouldn't be examined too closely. You doubt that they even have something that closely resembles fingerprint identification, judging by the lack of technology..m

…Which means hiding and killing is much easier than in your previous world.

Teyvat is such a nice place to have entertainment. It didn't take too long for you to settle here and get comfortable.

Monstadt is a city known for freedom and peace; however, once you arrive here, every night, no doubt a single person will go missing or be found dead. You are normally a silent killer, but you couldn't resist letting them know. Their expression thrilled you.

All those knight roaming around at night, and they couldn't even save a single person. What a pity.

In Liyue, the funeral parlor became rich all thanks to these crimes you were committing. Does a certain acolyte know what you're doing? Maybe not, afterall, there are more ways to kill a person than just a sword and poison.

Accidents could happen, you know? falling off a cliff, in the wrong place at the wrong time, being mauled by animals where people conveniently are not near, or dealing with the wrong person.

Inazuma is much more easier; their deaths could be pinned on one person who is also the source of the nation's tense atmosphere. Hatred, anger and fear rose with each crime you committed, but there is no evidence that you did it. After all, what could a weak and polite person who looked like they couldn't wield a sword do?

Plenty actually. Not that they know.

Sumeru is quite nice. Full of gifted scholars and intelligent individuals. You thought it will be a challenge seeing as you have similar minds and yet, most disappointed you.

All these smart people, and they couldn't string the murder together. Maybe you don't kill the right one which mean the don't care. Oh? Then should you kill the one with that grey hair? He seems to be someone of importance.

You made Akademiya your target. You must admit that you learned quite a lot of precious knowledge in this place. While youre here, might as well pretend to be one and use this time to gather infos.

They did not know and realized how you got into the Akademiya or how you had disguised yourself as one of the scholars. They don't know how you got through security or how one by one are slowly not attending the class or the expedition.

They said that acting confidently like you belong there and becoming part of the background like a plain NPC is always the key to infiltration.

And oh, even if they get suspicious and point that out to you, you know what to do. Lying, speaking half the truth, and gaslighting are also languages you are quite good at.

And Fontaine, oh, Fontaine. A nation that is known for justice when, in fact, it's not always about justice but entertainment. It is a nation that indirectly challenge you as well. Entertainment? Why, you know what kind of entertainment you shall give! It will be something that everyone remembers for the rest of their life.

You are like Jack the Ripper, never caught and never punished. Did the Archons ever suspect you? Who knows. Maybe they did, maybe they didn't.

All you know is that you have an alibi to back you up and a likeable and underestimated personality.