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| cw: mdni 18+, nsfw, sensual (this got a bit erotic and nasty..), AFAB READER, power imbalance, obsession, d/s themes, worshiping, devotion, oral (reader receiving), piv sex, teasing, confident reader, proofread
| a/n: so I’ve been so busy, and I literally could not open Tumblr because every time I saw a notif saying someone liked a post, I felt worse about not updating. But I did write this and decided to make it longer than my normal fics because I know some people were really waiting for this one (@hisokamywaifu , this is for you ;p). It really did get a little off the rails at some point. I plan to post a few other fics before the month ends (I swear I mean it), and next month, I will post some of the days that I haven’t posted yet. Thank you to everyone who’s reached out. I appreciate it and love all the kind words about my work. Hopefully, before the year ends, I can release some other fics that you've requested!
| wc: 5.9k
You always knew when he was near.
The air shifted, warmer and denser, as though it remembered how his presence tasted.
It wasn’t fear that made your pulse climb; it was the certainty that he was somewhere just behind you, watching. Always watching.
He left traces when he wanted you to notice him: a playing card balanced on your windowsill, a drop of cherry-red wax on your doorstep, laughter drifting like perfume through the alleyways you cut through at dusk.
You stopped wondering why he did it. Hisoka never wanted to hide; he wanted you to feel him long before he arrived.
Tonight, you felt him before you saw him.
Your key scraped the lock, and the door pushed open to reveal him already inside, cross-legged on the floor like a devout believer at prayer. Candlelight clung to him, slicking across the curve of his cheekbone. His head tilted toward you, the ghost of a grin playing at his mouth.
“You knew I’d find you eventually,” he said.
You leaned against the doorframe, studying him. “You don’t find me, Hisoka. You follow me.”
His grin faltered, turning into something softer, hungrier. The color in his eyes deepened until it looked like he’d bled his own desire into them.
“You feel it too,” he murmured. “That pull. You’ve ruined me—everything tastes like you now.”
The words were too smooth to be a confession, too deliberate to be a lie. You stepped closer, but he didn’t move. Even the air between you seemed to still, caught in the gravity of his fixation.
When you touched his hair, a tremor ran through him, and then he went very quiet.
Your thumb brushed the corner of his mouth. His eyes half-closed, lashes trembling.
“You think I belong to you?” you asked.
A beat passed. Then, softly:
“No. I belong to you.”
It came out like worship. Not the kind meant for gods, but for ruin, something a man builds his madness around. Hisoka always obeyed without hesitation, that ever-proud smile gone, replaced by an almost shocking stillness.
The gesture said everything: all that restless power held in check, all that danger tamed by the hand he craved most.
Your thumb found itself hooked onto his bottom lip before they parted. Pink and soft, with his tongue following behind, slowly poking out. Pulling his chin down, inching your thumb further onto his tongue as his eyes found yours.
“Can’t get enough of me, huh?”
Your thumb pressed gently against his tongue, feeling the subtle warmth of his breath as it fluttered against your palm.
Hisoka nodded—barely. Just enough for you to feel it rather than see it. An uncharacteristically quiet admission from a man who normally treated silence like it was boring. His lashes lowered slightly, his gaze molten and fixed entirely on you like he was being fed something divine.
A shiver of eager restraint moved through his frame, a tremor he didn’t bother hiding. For once, he wasn’t performing. He wasn't taunting or teasing or dancing around you with that gleeful madness.
He was offering himself. Not unheard of when it came to Hisoka; when he wanted something, he was going to get it. You pulled your thumb from between his lips before leaning close.
“Hmm, why are you teasing me, love?” The sultriness of his voice bounced off the walls of your apartment, completely rivaling the frown on his face.
You tilted his chin up again, watching how quickly he melted under the touch as if the slightest bit of pressure from you meant purpose.
His breath hitched, hot and shaky. Even now, he didn’t grab you. His hands stayed at his sides, gripping restlessly against his own thighs. It almost looked painful for him not to touch you.
Because he couldn’t. Not without you allowing it.
“I don’t think I’ve done anything to deserve your mercy yet…” he murmured, voice dropping lower, nearly reverent. His pupils were blown wide, like every inch of him was begging you to hurt him sweetly, praise him cruelly, devour him whole. “But I want it anyway.”
He leaned forward just enough for his breath to ghost against your lips, but didn’t dare move closer unless you did first. “You make me…hungry,” he admitted, raw and honest in a way that was rare for him. “Starved.”
His chest rose faster now, excitement coiling tight under his skin, as if simply being this close to you was enough to put him on the edge of a high. His voice slipped quieter, almost shaking with the thrill of submission. “Every time you touch me, I think I’ll finally get my fill,” he said, smiling faintly—unhinged, undone. “But I never do. You just make me want more.”
His breath grew uneven as he shifted slightly, hips pressing into nothing—seeking friction that wasn’t there, needy. “Look at me,” he breathed, almost pleading now. “I’ve begged in my own head for you to use me.”
He licked his lips, shameless and breathless. “Isn’t it obvious, love?” His voice cracked with a laugh, drunk on you. “I’m addicted.”
You closed the small distance between you, brushing your lips against his with a softness that almost felt cruel.
His breath hitched.
The first kiss was slow, almost hesitant, like you were giving him something sweet just to watch how desperately he’d savor it. His lips moved eagerly, pliant under yours, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment longer than he’d ever admit. He let out a soft, broken sound into your mouth, strangled, like he was trying not to fall apart too soon.
Then you deepened the kiss.
Your hand slid behind his neck, guiding him closer—not asking, directing. Hisoka followed eagerly, his lips parting for you the moment you licked into it, tongue brushing yours in a way that felt too sweet for a man with blood on his hands and madness in his grin. His fingers twitched at his sides again, his restraint becoming increasingly obvious and oh so delicious.
“You’re being so good for me,” you murmured against his mouth before shifting.
You trailed your lips down to his jaw, then lower, grazing along that vulnerable pale stretch of his neck. He smelled faintly like sugar and danger, tasted like sin waiting to happen. Hisoka tilted his head without hesitation, baring himself completely to your mouth as though it were natural.
“Please…” he mumbled, voice breathy, fingers digging into his own thighs to cope.
You sucked hard.
His hips jerked slightly where he kneeled, needy and barely restrained. You bit down just enough to hear a curse tumble out of him, low and unfiltered.
“Fuck…” His voice came out rougher than usual, like it had been dragged across hot coals. “God…have it.”
You did. You sucked until a dark, blooming bruise appeared like a cursed flower against his pale skin, deep violet—a perfect match to his aesthetic.
When you pulled back to admire your work, Hisoka’s breathing was ragged, eyes heavy-lidded, cheeks faintly flushed with bliss and obsession.
His digits rose to brush the mark almost reverently, a crazed smile curling onto his lips as he spoke, voice hoarse with proud delight.
“Now people will know you’re mine.”
You stared at him for a beat.
Then a laugh slipped out. “That’s not—Hisoka. I think it looks like I’m the one claiming you.”
He grinned wider, wild and ecstatic. “Oh, I’ll tell them,” he purred, leaning in, tone practically shaking with excitement. “Every time they look at it.”
His fingers brushed your wrist this time—not grabbing, just begging for real contact. “More,” he whispered, pupils blown. “Please… more, love. I’ve wanted this for too long…”
You brushed a hand through his hair as you moved past him. “Come.”
He rose instantly.
He followed quietly, close but not touching unless invited, steps soundless as a shadow while you led him down the hallway. When you entered your bedroom, you paused just inside and turned to face him. Hisoka stopped at the foot of your bed, almost like he knew where you wanted him before you said a word.
“Sit.”
He obeyed, sinking onto the mattress with an eager kind of grace, legs spreading slightly as though to take up the perfect amount of space you’d allow him. His breathing grew more excited the moment you stepped into the space between his knees.
You reached out, brushing your fingers through his hair again, slower this time. His eyes closed briefly, something like a shudder rolling through him. When he opened them again, he was fully, hungrily focused.
You slipped your hand to the hem of your top and began to lift it inch by tantalizing inch.
Hisoka didn’t blink.
Didn’t breathe properly.
His chest heaved slightly, tongue darting out just to wet his lips as though to remind himself of the taste you gave him earlier.
When the top dropped to the floor, you stepped closer, close enough for him to see each detail of your body in the low light. Close enough that his mouth parted in silent worship.
You placed your hand against his chest, fingers splaying over his racing heartbeat, and leaned forward just a fraction.
“Eyes on me.”
“As if I could look anywhere else,” he whispered, voice wrecked and honest.
His eyes drifted down your body and back up with no shame, and with a grin curling that was far too sinful for someone obediently sitting still, he murmured, voice molten and playful, *“*Mmm… are you going to make me beg… or will I start begging before you ask?”
You slid your hand into his hair, and his head tilted forward just enough for your fingers to thread through scarlet strands. He let out a soft, breathy “Nnn…” the sound edged with pleasure, and his grin only widened, hungry, like you were his favorite game and now he was deep in the thrill of it.
Your hand moved.
From his hair, slowly over his jaw, trailing down the line of his neck, passing by the bruise you’d marked him with.
His breath visibly stuttered when your hands brushed over his chest, his shoulders twitched, a ripple of sensation traveling through him, letting out a hushed laugh, soft and dangerous. “You have no idea what I’m imagining right now…” His gaze darkened, reverent and crazed all at once. Then his lips curved. “Or maybe you do.”
Your touch lingered against his sternum, and with a gentle but possessive push, you guided him backward onto the bed. He let you move him without resistance, shifting until he was sitting against your pillows, legs relaxed… open.
You followed, climbing into his lap as if you owned the space, as if you owned him*.* His breath hitched, hands flexing uselessly at his sides as you straddled him, your weight settling over his hips. His body reacted instantly, a subtle grind upward that he quickly stilled, jaw tight as he tried to behave.
Your fingers skimmed his cheek before returning to his chest, feeling the wild thump of his heart beneath your palm.
“Good boy,” you murmured.
It was soft. Intentional. Rewarding.
He shuddered.
You felt the tremor travel through him.
“Oh, you’re… you’re so cruel,” he laughed breathlessly, though the grin he wore was wrecked and grateful. “Call me that again and I’ll start praying to you.”
You shifted your hips just slightly in his lap, enough to make his breath catch. His eyes flicked down and back up, pupils blown wide.
He swallowed hard.
You tilted his chin just a little with your fingers. “Want something, pretty boy?”
His lips parted. For a moment, he tried to grin through it, but his composure wavered under your weight and your tone. His throat worked as he breathed out:
“I want…” He swallowed again, the words fighting their way through the heat in his chest. His voice was lower when he continued. Honest. Raw. “I want your hands on me. Please touch me like I’m yours. I want—” His breath shivered. “—I want you to keep calling me that while you ruin me.”
A slow smile curved your lips.
Your hands moved down his chest faster than you could register. Every word that came from his lips was unexpected and hit harder than you thought they could.
Trailing closer to the loose pants he picked just for you to touch and feel him through.
You paused there just before giving him what he begged for, looking up at him.
His eyes were already half-lidded, chest flushed, waiting.
Your palm cupped him through the fabric.
He gasped*.* Head tipping back, lips parting around a curse he barely caught, his hips jerked up instinctively toward your hand. “Fuck.”
Your thumb dragged slowly along the outline of him, and the shiver that tore through his body looked more like surrender than surprise.
“Mine, huh?” you murmured, fingers tightening just enough to make him twitch beneath your touch.
“Yes,” he hissed, breathless, needy. “Yours. Call me good again, please—”
You obliged with a whisper that traced along his jaw like heat. “Good boy.”
He let out a sound you had never heard from him before, a raw, broken, grateful moan that bled into a soft laugh, like he couldn’t decide whether he was unraveling or enjoying every second of it too much to care.
Your hand moved again, slow and deep enough to have him biting his lip, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide how hard he already was for you.
He looked ruined just from this, with hair falling onto his face, eyes glazed, mouth hanging open like his body had stopped pretending to hold back.
“Already falling apart,” you teased as your hand squeezed him once more, “and I’ve barely touched you.”
His fingers softly grabbed at the sheets, desperate not to grab you without permission. “That’s because it’s you,” he said with a wild grin, voice thick with delight. “You love, make me feel—God…everything.”
Your hand tightened just a second longer before slipping away from the outside of his pants, only to trail teasingly along the waistband.
His whole body went still except for the heavy rise and fall of his chest. The tension coiling inside him was visible, like every nerve waited for your next move.
Slowly, deliberately, your fingers slipped under the elastic.
He let out the faintest whimper—barely a sound, more breath than voice, but everything about him reacted. His hips jolted, then froze just as quickly when he caught himself, trembling with restraint.
You hummed, pleased. “Still behaving…”
“Trying,” he breathed, voice cracking on the word.
Your fingertips brushed hot skin, dragging lower until they curled around him fully.
His reaction was instant, a fractured moan with his head thrown back into your pillows. Throat exposed and vulnerable like a devotee at your altar. His hand flew to your thigh, not gripping, just grounding himself so he didn’t lose control.
“Fuck—” His breath stuttered. “Your hand… feels—”
You stroked him slowly, steadily, and unhurriedly. Like you had all the time in the world to unravel him inch by inch.
He trembled beneath you, every exhale shaky. “Thank you,” he rasped without thinking, like your touch was a gift and not something he begged for moments ago.
When your thumb dragged along the tip, he almost arched off the bed. You held him down with your free hand pressed to his chest.
“Ah…hah, please—” His eyes flew open, wild and glassy as they locked onto yours, searching for mercy he didn’t genuinely want. “Don’t stop. Fuck…feels so—too good,”
You smirked, leaning closer so your lips nearly brushed his ear, your hand tightening in just the right rhythm.
“That’s it,” you purred. “Fall apart for me.”
He would. He already was.
He was unraveling under your touch, his hips twitching despite his best efforts to stay still. His nails dug into your thigh now, gently, to beg wordlessly for permission to fall apart.
You tightened your grip enough to make him gasp and bite out a low moan from the back of his throat. His head tipped back again, but this time you caught his jaw with your free hand, guiding his gaze up, back to you.
“Look at me,” you muttered.
He obeyed instantly.
The desperation in his stare hit hotter than anything physical. Wild. Wide. Completely yours.
His voice broke around a whimper. “You can’t stop now, love—please, I’m so close,”
“I know,” you said softly, thumb brushing slowly over his cheek as your other hand kept that deliberate rhythm below. “That’s the point.”
A low, unsteady gasp left him, air trembling in his chest as he tried to pace himself, but his body betrayed him. His thighs tensed under you, his jaw hanging, letting out a soundless moan. He looked dizzy with satisfaction, like the world was blurring around everything but your touch.
“You feel that?” you murmured, leaning closer so your words brushed hot over his lips. “How close I’ve got you with just my hand?”
He nodded shakily, swallowing against the tightness in his throat. “Y-yeah—god—feels like I’m—”
“Breaking?”
His eyes fluttered, then locked back onto yours as though the word alone nearly sent him over. “Mm-hm, please let me-”
A single sharp squeeze had him gasping, spine arching as if chasing more.
But you didn’t speed up. You didn’t slow down either. You held him exactly there, right on that unbearable line between bliss and denial.
You watched the realization bloom in his eyes that you were holding him hostage inside his own pleasure.
You tilted your head, amused. “You said you wanted me to ruin you, didn’t you?”
He nodded frantically, voice fractured. “Fuck yes, I meant it…just—”
“Then tell me,” you breathed, bringing your lips close enough that he could feel your words but not taste them. “What does it feel like right now?”
His voice came out like a confession. “Like I’m yours,” he whispered. “Like nothing else exists. Like I can’t breathe without your hands on me.”
Your lips curled in approval. “Cute.”
He trembled beneath you, tension coiling tight, ready to snap… waiting for whether you’d allow it.
His breathing was spiraling out of control, every muscle tight, every exhale trembling like he was already free-falling and all he needed was a single word from you.
One tiny mercy.
But your hand slowed.
Just enough for him to notice*.*
He froze, eyes wide and confused for a heartbeat; then terrified.
“Ah-you can’t do this now,” he gasped, hips jerking up in panic as if he could chase the high himself. You held him down with your palm on his chest, stopping him dead.
His voice broke. “Don’t take it away—please, I’m right there,”
You gave him a slow, merciless smile as your fingers slipped free from under his waistband.
His whole body jolted.
He choked on a sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a laugh of disbelief.
You shifted deliberately near his lap, reminding him of your weight over him, the fact that he still hasn’t touched you once.
He looked wrecked, hair sticking to his forehead, chest flushed, pupils blown wide as he stared at you like you’d just pulled the sun out of the sky.
“Why..” His voice cracked as he swallowed, struggling to breathe around the emptiness where your touch had been. His hips twitched helplessly. “Why did you—”
You caught his chin again, forcing him to meet your gaze.
“Because,” you said softly, tone dripping with quiet possession, “you don’t get to fall apart before I’ve even started using you, Hisoka.”
His breath stuttered at the word using, like it physically hit him.
You leaned forward, your lips barely ghosting over his ear.
“But, I’m not done yet,” you murmured.
A shaky, broken noise escaped him, like surrender.
The moment your knees bracket his hips, Hisoka’s smirk tilts sharply, but softens at the edges, like a blade left too close to flame.
“Do it,” he breathes, voice velvet scraped raw. “Ruin the trick. Make it real.”
His gold eyes stay locked on yours, pupils blown wide enough to swallow the swagger whole. The cocky curve of his mouth is still there, but it’s trembling—held up by sheer will and the promise that you’ll break that will before the night ends.
You reach behind your back, unhook the bra with a snap. The straps glide down your arms; his gaze follows every inch of lace until the garment drops onto his chest. He exhales—slow, shaky like the air itself has teeth.
“You can touch,” you allow.
His hands rise instantly, but you catch both wrists mid-air, pinning them beside his head. The motion presses your bare breasts to his own; the thin fabric of his shirt suddenly feels obscene. He groans, low and guttural, hips lifting simply to feel the friction.
“No hands,” a grin makes its way to your face. “Only your mouth.”
He swallows, throat working. “Yes.”
You shift higher, knees sliding to cage his ribs. One nipple brushes his lower lip; he opens without being told, tongue flicking in a wet, desperate stripe. A chill runs through him—pure surrender disguised as hunger. He laves, sucks, and grazes teeth exactly hard enough to earn a warning pinch to his jaw. He whimpers, softens, and keeps worshipping.
When you pull away, his mouth chases blindly until the strain in his shoulders forces a hiss of pain. You slide back down his body, dragging your underwear off in a single motion. The lace skims his shirt, stomach, and the straining tent of his trousers. Every inch of contact draws a ragged breath.
You pull his pants down slowly, watching his cock spring free again. A single bead gathers at the slit; you catch it with your thumb, spread it down the underside until his hips jerk like marionette strings.
“Stay still,” you murmur.
He nods, jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumps. His hands remain interlaced above his head, knuckles white. You rise on your knees, position him at your entrance, and sink inch by torturous inch. The heat of you wraps around him; his head falls back, mouth open on a silent cry.
You sit fully, grind once. His entire body locks, thighs trembling under yours. You feel the throb inside you, urgent and helpless.
“Feel that?” you whisper against his ear. “That’s you—begging without a word.”
A broken sound escapes him, a sob like a growl. He tries to rock up, but you pin his hips with your weight, denying even that small rebellion. His breath stutters, eyes squeezed shut like the sight of you is too much to bear open.
You ride him with slow, deep, deliberate strokes that drag over every sensitive nerve. Each time you rise to the tip, you pause, clench, watch his mouth shape your name without sound.
Sweat beads along his hairline; his chest rises in sharp, shallow jerks.
You stay seated deep, walls fluttering once around him like a warning heartbeat. Hisoka’s pupils are blown wide gold, breath shallow but steady—he’s nowhere near broken yet just hungry for more.
“Hands,” you order quietly.
He lifts them at once. You guide his palms up your ribs, over the soft swell of your breasts. His thumbs brush the undersides, reverent, then circle closer to your nipples while your hips slow to a lazy grind.
“Is this what you’ve been hoping for?” you murmur.
He exhales through his teeth, cock pulsing inside you in answer. You let him explore—cup, squeeze, roll the hardened peaks until each light pinch draws a matching clench from your core. His hips try to lift, chasing deeper friction; you press your weight down, pinning him still.
His fingers trace slow spirals, learning every shiver he can coax. You roll your pelvis in tiny, deliberate circles that rub the head of him against your front wall—slow, slick, relentless—while his touch stays gentle, almost polite, as if afraid the privilege will be revoked.
As you increase your tempo—hips rising and falling in a deep, deliberate rhythm—Hisoka’s eyes flutter, his mouth parting in a soundless gasp.
His hands, still gentle, slide down from your chest, tracing the curve of your waist before coming to rest on your hips. Fingers dig in, a delicate balance between guiding your movements and simply holding on.
The moment your walls start to clench and release around him in time with your strokes, his control begins to fray. A low, throaty groan rumbles out of him, the sound vibrating through every muscle in his body.
Head tilting back, eyes rolling up toward the ceiling as if the sensation is too much to bear while looking at you.
“God—yes, like…that,” he exhales, the words tumbling out in a ragged whisper. His hands on your hips tighten, thumbs tracing small, eager circles on your skin.
The touch is possessive, claiming, yet there’s an undercurrent of reverence, as if he’s handling something infinitely precious and infinitely fragile.
As you pick up the pace, your breathing quickens, the sound intertwining with Hisoka’s labored gasps. The room fills with the scent of sweat and sex, heavy and overpowering, each stroke and clench building toward a crescendo.
His words devolve into incoherent murmurs and sighs, his body arcing up to meet yours with increasing urgency.
In this moment, there’s no pretense, no performance. It’s just the raw, unadulterated sensation of two bodies moving in perfect, torturous sync, each trying to wring every last drop of pleasure from the other.
As your pace quickens, Hisoka's groans grow louder, more desperate, his body straining beneath yours like a bowstring pulled to its limit. His hands on your hips are the only points of contact, his fingers digging deep into your skin as if he's trying to anchor himself to the sensation of you riding him.
"Fuck—more," he begs, his voice a low, husky whisper that sends shivers down your spine. "I need it—"
You give him what he asks for, your hips snapping down in sharp, brutal strokes that make his eyes roll back in his head. His mouth opens in a silent plea, his body arcing up to meet yours with an almost palpable desperation.
The sound of skin meeting skin is like a drumbeat, pounding out a primal rhythm. Hisoka's hands on your hips are the only thing keeping him grounded, his fingers flexing convulsively as he tries to process the sensation of being ridden so hard, so fast.
And still, you don't let up, your body moving in perfect sync with his, each stroke and clench building toward a crescendo that's both exhilarating and terrifying.
Hisoka's endurance is unmatched, but even he can't hide the signs of his impending unraveling—his breathing is ragged, his muscles tense, his eyes fixed on yours with a hungry, pleading gaze.
"You’re so perfect," he gasps, his voice barely audible over the sound of your bodies moving together. "I'm so close."
You lean forward, your mouth inches from his ear, your breath hot against his skin. "Not yet," you whisper, your voice a low, husky purr. "I'm not done with you."
Hisoka's body jerks beneath yours, his hips snapping up in a desperate bid for release. But you're not ready to let him go, not yet.
You slow your pace, your strokes becoming longer, more deliberate, drawing out the sensation of being inside him, of being wrapped around him like a vice.
You lean back in, mouth crashing down on Hisoka’s, devouring every sound he tries to make. Your tongue’s aggressive against his, claiming every inch of his mouth as your own. Swallowing his gasps and groans like they’re the only sustenance you need.
As you break away for air, your lips tracing the sharp line of his jaw, Hisoka’s eyes flash open, pupils blown wide with desire. You can see the desperation there, the need, and it only fuels your own hunger. Your mouth trails down to the bruise on his neck, the hickey you left earlier, and you can’t help but feel a surge of possessiveness.
Your teeth graze the sensitive spot, and Hisoka’s body jerks beneath you, his hips snapping up for more. You squeeze him tightly, holding him back, drawing out the torture. He’s so pent up, so ready to cum, and you can feel it in the way his muscles tense, the way his cock throbs inside you.
You whisper sweet words in his ear, telling him how good he is for letting you use him. How much you adore the way he responds to your every touch.
Hisoka’s hands are back on your hips, fingers digging deep into your skin as he tries to pull you closer, to get you to move faster, to make you take him over the edge.
As you feel Hisoka's body begin to tense, his muscles locking up as he prepares to cum, he looks up at you with a desperate, pleading gaze.
"Love," he gasps, his voice barely audible over the sound of your bodies slamming together. "Please... may I?"
He's asking for permission to cum, for you to tell him it's okay to let go. His eyes are wild, his pupils blown wide with desire, and his voice is shaking with need.
You can feel the pressure building inside him, the desperation growing with every passing moment. You lean forward, your mouth inches from his ear, and whisper, "Not yet, pretty," you tell him. "Hold on just a little longer, okay?"
Hisoka's face contorts in a mixture of pleasure and pain as he nods. His body straining beneath you as he fights to keep his orgasm at bay. You can feel his cock throbbing inside you, his muscles clenched, desperate to hold on. But you're not ready to let him cum yet.
You want to draw it out, to make him suffer just a little bit longer. You slow your pace, your hips rising and falling in a slow, torturous rhythm that has Hisoka's eyes rolling back in his head.
"O-oh," he gasps, his voice barely audible. "I need to cum."
You lean forward, your mouth brushing against his ear.
"If I don't cum," you whisper, "I'll use your mouth to finish myself, got it?"
Hisoka's body jerks beneath you as he nods. His hips snapped up in a frantic bid for release. He's so close, so ready to cum, and you know it.
You can feel it in the way his muscles are clenched, the way his cock is throbbing inside you.
And then, finally, you give in. "You can cum for me," that sweet tone you used with him, like honey dripping straight from your lips.
Hisoka's body quivers as his cock lets out a frenzy of cum. You've taken him to the edge and pushed him over. You can feel his cum dripping out of you as you lean forward, your mouth brushing against his ear.
"Now you can clean me up, pretty," you whisper, your voice husky with desire. "Use your mouth for something good."
Hisoka's face lights up with a fierce, possessive grin. His hands slide up your thighs, gently easing you off his cock as he positions you over his chest. You hover above his face, your folds inches from his lips, and he gazes up at you with an adoring, worshipful expression.
He kisses your thighs, slow and gentle, his lips tracing the curves of your skin with reverence. You feel his hot breath on your folds, and then his tongue is there, lapping up the cum that's mixed with your own.
He's meticulous, thorough, and adoring, making sure to clean every inch of your skin. Every kiss, every lick, gets a "thank you" from his lips, as if he's grateful for the privilege of worshiping you like this.
As he works, he maintains eye contact with you, his gaze locked on yours with an almost palpable intensity. You see the adoration in his eyes, the worship, and the gratitude. Happy to be of service, happy to put his mouth to use, he's savoring every moment of it.
When he feels like he’s gotten it all, he lies back, his chest heaving with exertion, and gazes up at you with a contented, peaceful expression.
He's happy, truly happy, with how the night ended, and he knows that he's broken, completely and utterly, and that he's yours, body and soul.
In this moment, he can only hold you there, hovering above his face, and bask in the afterglow of your intense, passionate connection.
He feels your warmth, your heat, and your scent, and he's filled with a sense of wonder and awe at the depth of his own submission.
As he gazes up at you, he can see the faint sheen of sweat on your skin, the flush of pleasure on your cheeks, and the soft, satiated smile on your lips. He knows that he's given you everything, that he's surrendered completely to your desires, and that he's been utterly and completely used.
And yet, even in this state of total submission, he feels a sense of freedom, a sense of release, and a sense of joy. He knows that he's found his true place, his true purpose, and that he's exactly where he's meant to be.
| a/n: so… I have no excuses, but I do have the next few days already written (swear on my life), I’ve just been so busy and haven’t even opened Tumblr
| wc: 1.5k
You hear the taxi door slam before the yelling starts.
“Ah, I’m home, babyyy!”
You sigh, setting your phone down just in time for Denki to stumble through the front door. He looks like the definition of Halloween aftermath—cheap vampire cape half-on, hair fried from humidity, eyeliner smudged like he tried and failed to fix it in the cab mirror.
“Great,” you call from the couch. “Did you have fun, Denks?”
He grins, all teeth and chaos. “So much fun. But—” he wobbles closer, pointing at you, “—I missed you the most.”
“Oh, I bet.”
He collapses beside you, half on your lap, before you can stop him. “You would’ve loved it,” he slurs, head falling onto your shoulder.
“Kiri was dressed as a pirate. Mina kept making people do shots every time someone said ‘boo.’ Sero…” he trails off, giggling, “Sero told me something crazy, actually.”
You hum, running your fingers through his hair to keep him from face-planting. “Yeah? What’d Sero tell you?”
“He said,” Denki starts, trying to sound mysterious but failing, “he said his girlfriend made him ride her thigh.”
You blink, amusement creeping into your tone. “Oh? What’d you say to that?”
He sits up a little, cheeks pink. “I told him that’s, like, weirdly hot. And then he said—” his voice drops conspiratorially, “—uh, he said I should try it.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Should you now?”
Denki grins sheepishly, eyes flicking down to your lap and back up again. “Maybe.”
You can’t help laughing. “You’re such a lightweight.”
“I’m not drunk,” he argues, pouting. “Just—brave enough to ask.”
“Brave enough?” you tease, sliding a hand under his chin. “That's what you call it?”
He nods, swallowing hard when your thumb brushes the corner of his mouth. “Mhm. So… can I?”
You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Are you asking to ride my thigh, baby?”
The nickname makes him blush all over again. “Yeah,” he admits softly. “Wanna feel the sensation, y’know?”
He sometimes seemed so calm when he was needy, leaning forward, you catch his mouth in a kiss that shuts him up and melts him at the same time.
He gasps against you, his hands gripping your shirt as you push him gently back into the couch.
The kiss deepens—slow, teasing, a little wet from how eager he is. His lips obsessively melt against yours with every whimper from between them.
Tongues grazing each other with a taste reminiscent of alcohol. When you finally pull away, his eyes are glassy and desperate.
“You’re a mess,” you murmur. “You know that?”
“Y—yeah,” he breathes, dazed. “But I’m your mess.”
You smile at that. “That you are.”
He leans in again, chasing your mouth, but you stop him with a hand against his chest. “Patience.”
“C’mon,” he whines, voice cracking on the last syllable.
You shift, spreading your legs just slightly. “C’mere.”
He obeys immediately, sliding between your knees until he’s kneeling in front of you. You grab his wrist and guide him up—just enough to sit him on one of your thighs.
“Right here,” you say, voice low. “Don’t move yet.”
He bites his lip, already trembling from anticipation. Your hands trail up his sides, under the hem of his shirt, nails dragging lightly across his skin until he shivers.
You lean in close, your breath hot against his ear. “You really wanna see what Sero meant?”
Denki nods, his voice barely a whisper. “Okay.”
You grab his hips and press him down—slow, steady—until his clothed cock drags against the muscle of your thigh. The sound that leaves him is raw, a hint of disbelief.
“Oh my—fuck,” he stammers, clutching your shoulders for balance.
You smile, grip tightening over his waist. “There you go. Good job, Denks!”
His body reacts to the praise as he starts to grind, hesitant at first before the friction builds. Every drag of his hips makes his breath catch, the little noises spilling out of him unfiltered.
Denki starts to lose his rhythm, hips dragging in desperate little circles against you, chasing friction like he can’t get close enough.
The heat between you builds, every grind leaving him softer, smaller—just breath and sound and need. You flex your thigh once, deliberate and slow, and he shudders, a moan catching in his throat.
Rutting now, shameless and needy on your thigh, slumped with the effort of it. Every drag makes his voice crack, his body jerking as he tries to keep rhythm.
You tighten your grip on his waist, guiding him through it, whispering things that make him twitch and moan louder. He’s panting, babbling, half-coherent—just riding your thigh like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.
“Mmh, th-thank you…fuck,” his voice trails to a whisper as he moves to bury his head in your neck.
“Uh-uh, Denki,” you move his face slightly, “I wanna see your pretty face.”
He shakes his head, eyes glossy, lips parted, hips rolling with new urgency—every movement messy and honest, his need spilling out in whimpers and groans.
You always did that to him; you had him look you in the eyes while his were already glossy. Little whimpers slipped out from his lips every time you made him do this.
“Eyes on me, Denks,” you murmur, cupping his jaw.
He tries—he really does—but his gaze keeps flickering between your mouth and the place where his hips meet your thigh. “C-can’t,” he breathes, voice cracking. “Feels too good.”
You watch him unravel, the sight almost too sweet—his golden hair falling into his face, lips parted, eyes fluttering every time he ruts down a little harder. Tilting your head, as your thumb brushes the corner of his mouth.
“You can. Don’t make me remind you.”
He swallows hard, forcing himself to look at you. It makes his next moan come out softer, more desperate, his whole body trembling from the effort of staying focused while pleasure builds.
“That’s it,” you whisper. “Good boy.”
He lets out a broken sound, pressing down harder like your praise alone pulled him forward. His fingers twitch on your shoulders, searching for something to hold. You guide his hands to your waist.
“There,” you say, breath warm against his ear. “Hold on to something, yeah?”
He nods, clinging to you as he moves—slow, shaky rolls that have his breath hitching every few seconds. “You—” he starts, panting, “make me feel so—fuck—”
“I make you feel what?” you tease, dragging your thigh up just slightly.
He gasps, voice dissolving into a whine. “So good. You make me feel so good.”
“Really?” you question, knowing his answer, your tone low and coaxing.
He nods without thinking, hips rutting harder, rhythm dissolving into need.
You watch him unravel, the sight almost too sweet—his golden hair falling into his face, lips parted, eyes fluttering every time he ruts down a little harder.
“Sweet boy,” you whisper. “You’re doing so well.”
He whines, voice shaking. “Feels s-so, fuck, please—”
“Please what?”
“Please, can I—can I cum?”
You pull him close until your lips brush his ear. “You can cum when I tell you to.”
He groans, the sound desperate. You guide his hips with your hands, forcing him to keep pace, your thigh flexing beneath him with every drag.
“Now,” you murmur, voice soft but firm. “Go on. Cum for me.”
He breaks—body trembling, a groan tearing from his throat as he falls apart against you. His forehead drops to your own, his breath coming to yours as you lean in.
Running your fingers through his hair, he melts against your lips. A lot slower than before, and most of his need is gone from exhaustion. Denki moves slightly to avoid any more friction as your lips slowly part from his.
When the tremors finally fade, he laughs weakly. “...Okay, Sero was right.”
You chuckle, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You gonna tell him that?”
He shakes his head quickly. “No way. That’s just for us.”
You gave him a look, nodding before giggling, “Yeah, I’ll believe whatever you say.”
He smiles, still flushed, clinging to you. “You think you’ll let me do that again?”
a/n: I have been fighting for my life with canva and tumblr all day to make the header pretty and it's a blurry mess sooo here we are. Anyway, my friend wanted you to know that this series was almost titled 'exhaust pipe you down' and that it was her idea
Say No to This
A Knight!Tenya Ida x Princess!Reader Series
series m.list next
Prologue
Contains: female reader, goofy setup, love at first sight, quirkless au, royal au, tw mineta, tw sort of sa, the later chapters will be better i promise, no beta we die like whoever dies in mha i forget.
This is an utter failure.
There are the only words you can think as you stare around the crowded ballroom.
You planned this ball with high hopes of finding a suitor, the perfect prince to whisk you off your feet. Looking around now, all the possible suitors seem either not interested in you, or too cowardly to approach. You hoped it was the latter.
Sighing, you wander to the table along the far wall laden with drinks and hors d'oeuvres. At least you can eat to your heart's content at this disappointment of an event.
"My lady." You hear the one voice you didn't want addressing you. And you really don't want to turn around.
"Lord Mineta." Barely holding back from grimacing, you bow as little as you could while still showing enough courtesy. That's what's expected of the princess, after all.
He's just as oily and perverted as you remember. "You look simply… ravishing in that dress, princess."
"Oh, thank you." You grit out through what you hope is a polite smile. Another hour or two and you can retreat to your room. He's disgusting, but he is right about the dress. It's a deep green, the tulle and lacy creating a gentle cascade to the floor.
Mineta begins to prattle on about his newest successful business venture, which you promptly tune out. Until he begins touching your dress, that is.
You tense as you feel his hand rest on your shoulder, messing with the lace of your sleeve. As you have been taught from an early age, you shift away at an almost imperceptible pace, attempting not to make a scene.
"And then, I told Lord Sero that to invest in his stock would be suicide! A rather smart move, if I do say so myself." He seems to move even closer, looking at you intently. Well, at some of you.
"Indeed." You try to pull away more firmly this time. But still, he draws closer.
Suddenly taking your hand in his clammy ones, he murmurs, "Care to take this conversation a little more… private, princess? I'm sure the party won't miss us."
You shake your head, attempting to pull your hand away. For such a man of small stature, he had a worryingly strong grip. "Lord Mineta, I don't think—"
"Is this man bothering you, princess?" A firm but concerned voice asks. In your shaky state and out of the corner of your eye, you notice it is one of the knights present at the ball. Typically they stay along the walls unless they need to interfere.
Blinking, you try to pull yourself together. You nod shakily.
Without another word, the knight grabbed Lord Mineta and began hauling him out of the room, despite his protests.
After a couple minutes and a few deep breaths later, the knight returns.
And your composure leaves you again.
Due to the nature of the situation, you hadn't really gotten a good look at him before. Now, you do. You really get a good look at him.
He's big, not particularly in height, but in bulk. Even in the heavy metal over his chest, you could tell he was muscular. His silky black hair shone almost blue in the light, and his glasses gave his serious but kind face an endearing quality.
In short, maybe the evening wasn't as much of a failure as you thought.
"Thank you." You say breathlessly, looking up at him.
He bows, back stiff. "Of course. Are you alright, princess?" His tone is overly formal, and you delight to see that he is feeling nervous as well.
Gods, it's been less than a minute and you're already attached. He's gorgeous.
You look up at him through your eyelashes with a smile. "Yes, thanks to you."
A blush blooms across his face. "Well- well I'm glad to hear that." He bows again. It seems like the only thing he's sure he's doing right at the moment.
Your eyes widen as he turns to leave. "Wait! I haven't gotten your name yet."
"My name?" His eyebrows scrunch. The princess, the beautiful woman standing before him, wants to know his name? "Ida. Tenya Ida."
You curtsy with a smile, allowing him to leave. He quickly scurries back to his post along the wall by the doorway.
You float through the rest of the evening, in a considerably better mood.
You're determined to see him again. No matter what it takes.
And if he found that he couldn't take his eyes off you for the rest of the night, no he didn't.
~
a/n: im really excited about this but it'll probably flop. I'll try to get the first chapter out asap but im kinda busy
ˏˋ°•*🕸 CONTENT ♰ mdni! sub!megumi, dom!gn!reader, nipple play, cumming untouched, bratty!megumi, established relationship, use of pet names on him (kitty, baby, love), slightly mean!reader, some mouth stuff i got a lil carried away (megumi sucks on your fingers & gags a bit), dacryphilia, megumi is sensitive (and embarrassed ab it),
ˏˋ°•*🕸 KINKTOBER MASTERLIST
ˏˋ°•*🕸 A/N ♰ yum! i love megumi! i love nipples! long(ish) buildup sorry i like a little plot w my p0rn :p looks like i'm gonna be 3 days behind on all of kinktober, my bad, enjoy.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚.
“C’mon, Megumiiii~” you whine, prodding at his shoulder for emphasis, “you’re being such a little grump.”
“I’m not–I–what? I’m not a grump,” Megumi glares at you, not helping to disprove your statement. “I’m just telling you it’s not gonna work, so there’s no point in trying.”
The two of you are currently sprawled out on the couch in the living room of your shared apartment. It’s a lazy Sunday, it’s early September, and it’s still hot out – meaning you’re in nothing but a tank top and sleep shorts, and Megumi is in nothing but a pair of dark plaid boxers. His whole chest is out, and you haven’t been able to stop staring.
Megumi is lean but somewhat toned, his muscles only subtly visible under his pale skin when he’s relaxed. He’s beautiful all over, but the one thing really holding your attention captive is his nipples. They’re so pretty and pink, just sitting there on the gentle swell of his pecs – and you don’t think he’s ever let you touch them.
About five minutes ago, you interrupted the show you two were watching with the out-of-pocket comment, “did you know that some guys can cum from just their nipples?”
Megumi had instantly stiffened up, turning to look at you with an eyebrow raised. “Okay? Where did that come from?”
“I don’t know, I just thought it was interesting.” You shrugged innocently. “Did you know that?”
Megumi had looked at you skeptically for a moment longer before turning back towards the TV.
“No,” he grumbled.
“Gosh, Megumi, you already sound annoyed! I didn’t even suggest anything.”
“No, but you’re gonna, aren’t you? You never just think something’s interesting. Just go ahead, say it.”
You laughed at him, pushing at his shoulder for his attitude. “Well, you’re a guy…and you have nipples.”
There it is, Megumi thought.
“No.”
Megumi shook his head. You considered leaving the subject alone with how quick his answer was, but the noticeable blush that had crept onto his cheeks made you want to keep pushing a bit.
“No? You don’t have nipples? Or you’re not a guy?”
“No, I do–I am. But I’m not…” Megumi flushed harder, clearing his throat. “...Not gonna try whatever you’re implying.”
After a few minutes of back-and-forth, you had managed to convince Megumi to watch a video from your Twitter feed of a girl making a guy cum from his nipples, Megumi’s curiosity winning over his resistance.
He watched the entire thing with a skeptical, almost judgemental look on his face, but you didn’t miss the way it made him squirm in his seat, or the way his cheeks got noticeably redder.
However, even after the video proved you right, Megumi still didn’t seem any more willing to let you touch his nipples.
This is what led to your current conversation that’s got Megumi’s feathers so ruffled.
“Okay, but how do you know it won’t work if you’ve never tried it?” You tilt your head at him, smirking playfully.
“Because. I just…I know. It won’t work. It's not really gonna feel like anything, and you'll be disappointed."
“Okay, fine, how about this,” you decide to try a new approach, “you don’t even have to think about cumming from it. Forget that idea. I just wanna touch them.”
Megumi whines, his hands covering his face before he pushes them upwards to run through his hair, looking stressed. “Why do you wanna touch them so badly? They’re just nipples.”
“Because they’re so cute! Plus I think they’re the only part of you that I’ve never touched, and that’s kind of evil if you think about it.”
Megumi covers his face again at this, mumbling something unintelligible.
You drop your head on his shoulder dramatically. “Ahhh, you’re so mean, Megumiii~ I let you touch my boobs all the time… you hate meee…”
“What? Come on, I love you, I just–” Megumi pauses as he processes your implication. “They’re not boobs.”
“Close enough,” you mumble, deciding again to redirect your approach.
Turning your body into Megumi’s, still leaning on his shoulder, you throw your left leg over his thigh and place your left hand on his tummy, starting to draw gentle circles into his skin. Megumi sucks in a sharp breath, and you lean into his neck, placing a kiss right under his ear.
Megumi stiffens up, but he doesn’t protest as your hand slowly makes its way up to his chest. You’re close enough to him that you can hear his breathing picking up. You can feel his pulse quickening as you gently press kisses into the side of his neck.
Megumi lets out a soft whine as you suck gently on his pulse point, shifting his hips uncomfortably. He whispers your name almost anxiously, his left hand grabbing at your thigh to ground himself.
“C’mon, they’re right there,” you whisper to him, tracing your middle finger in a circle around his nipple, deliberately avoiding touching it. “Can I touch them just a little? Please?”
You can feel his resolve crumbling. As soon as he whispers out a shaky “okay,” Megumi can feel your sly smile growing against his neck.
You press another kiss below his ear, whispering “that’s my good boy,” and dragging the pad of your finger over his left nipple, gently rubbing it in a circle.
You don’t know exactly what level of reaction you were expecting, but your hopes certainly weren’t this high.
Megumi jerks, letting out a sharp whine, his fingers digging into your thigh. You pull your head out of his neck in surprise, watching as his dick twitches visibly in his boxers. You look at him, an eyebrow raised in pleasant astonishment, and he can only meet your eyes for a second before he drops his head against the backboard of the sofa with a shaky moan, his eyes fluttering shut.
“My god, Megs…” you mumble, eyes lit up in excitement as you sit up straighter, hand drifting over to his other nipple. Again, he jerks sharply, whining, his right hand gripping the blanket on the sofa. As the soft pad of your finger circles this one, Megumi starts to push his hips up against the air, his cock now straining against the fabric of his boxers.
“Ugh, I–fuck-” Megumi curses under his breath, trying to stop himself from squirming.
Feeling elated from his positive reaction, you bring yourself to straddle him, purposely sitting far enough down on his thighs that you aren’t making contact with his dick.
“Hey,” You bring your right hand to gently tap at his cheek, prompting him to open his eyes. “Look at me,” you whisper. Megumi feels dizzy from the way your other hand is still circling his nipple, sending sparks through his body, but he forces himself to raise his head up. “Did you know they were this sensitive?”
Megumi lowers his head, feeling his cheeks flush impossibly warmer. “Maybe,” he mutters.
“How is this the first time I’m finding out?” You don’t sound mad. More like you’re in awe and genuine confusion. Megumi lowers his eyes, unable to meet yours with the way you’re looking at him so hungrily, like you just found a new toy, and you’re planning to play with it until it breaks.
But he can’t stop himself from pushing his hips up, wishing that you would scooch a couple inches higher so your weight would be on his dick. Ignoring your question, Megumi decides to lift his knees so you fall further forward onto him. Realizing what he’s trying to do, you stabilize yourself on his chest, before pinching his nipple hard. “Stop that. Answer me.”
Megumi whines loudly at the feeling, his whole body tensing up, and a strong shiver runs down his spine. He drops his knees, but his hips continue to rock upwards involuntarily. “Fuck–please, I…it’s too much,”
You stop pinching his nipple, rubbing it gently in apology, and Megumi lets out a shaky breath punctuated by a soft whimpery noise that you don’t think you’ve ever heard come out of him. The corner of your mouth turns upwards as you let your eyes settle on his cock, now fully hard in his underwear, the whole outline clearly visible, twitching painfully every few seconds. You stare at it until Megumi squirms, pushing his hips up at you again, before you raise your eyes back up to meet his. “Answer my question.”
Megumi drops his head in shame, his chest rising and falling as he pants. “Don’t know. I was embarrassed.”
“Aww. Why were you embarrassed, ‘Gumi?” You take his face in your hands, and he looks up at you, cheeks burning, still with a bit of reluctance on his face. But you see how his eyes are starting to glaze over, how he’s looking at you like he wants you to take control; to rip away his last remnants of inhibition, so he doesn’t have to think about how embarrassed he is, so he’s just yours.
“‘Cause it makes me act like this,” he mumbles.
“Awh,” You gently rub his cheek with your thumb before pushing it softly against his lip. Megumi makes a soft noise, pushing his hips up again as you caress his bottom lip with your thumb. “Open,” you whisper, and his mouth falls open without a second thought, his eyes fluttering shut. “Thaat’s it,” you coo at him, pressing down against his tongue.
Megumi lets out a filthy moan around your finger, his mouth closing around it as he starts to suck. “Pwease,” he whines around your finger, watery eyes meeting yours.
“Please what, baby?” You coo, slipping a second finger in. As soon as Megumi tries to answer, you push your fingers back into his throat, making him gag. He looks at you with wide eyes, moaning again around your fingers, trying again to answer but it’s unintelligible.
Taking pity on him, you pull your fingers out of his mouth, causing drool to spill out around them. “Please touch me,” he gasps as soon as your fingers have passed his lips on the way out.
“Okay love,” you rub the wetness from his mouth between your fingers on each hand before you bring them down to his nipples again, rubbing over both of them at the same time.
“Nghh–” Megumi jolts, arching his chest up into your fingers. “N-not there–” he pants, unsure whether to squirm away from your fingers or up into them. They’re so sensitive, he can’t even tell if it feels good or if it’s too much.
“So pretty,” you marvel, completely enamoured by his reactions, never having seen him this squirmy and sensitive before.
“Fuck, it’s too much–” he grits out, pushing his hips up harder as you alternate between pinching and circling his sensitive nipples. “Please!”
“Please what? I’m touching you, Megs. What’re you whining about?”
Megumi drops his head again, whining harder, feeling overwhelmed, unused to having so much stimulation there. He knew his nipples were sensitive because he feels it whenever he takes his shirt on or off. He’s tried touching them once or twice while jerking off, too, but quickly decided it was too much and stopped. He’s never experienced anything like the way you’re touching them now, and at this point, he doesn’t even have the ability to process whether it’s too much or not because his cock is so hard.
“N-not there,” he whines again, registering the embarrassment of his request in the back of his mind but feeling too desperate to pay it any mind, knowing exactly what you want him to say. “Please...can you touch my cock?”
Normally, asking nicely works perfectly for Megumi, as you have trouble denying him anything when he’s like this. But this time, you just smirk at him, making his blood run cold.
“Aw, but you’re doing so good for me, ‘Gumi! Don’t you wanna see if you can cum like this?”
Megumi shakes his head frantically, continuing to push his hips up against the air.
“No, no…Please, I can’t. It’s not enough!”
“But you just said it was too much?” You tilt your head at him innocently, flicking his nipples faster under your thumbs. “Which one is it, ‘Gumi?”
“I–I–shit…ngh…” Megumi fumbles around for something to grab onto, settling on your thighs. You giggle at him, letting him white-knuckle your thighs, seemingly unaffected by this whole display.
“Look, Megs, you’re leaking so much,” you take one hand off his nipple, bringing it down to hover over his cock, smiling at the sizable wet spot that’s formed, emphasizing where his tip is straining against the fabric. Thinking you’re finally going to touch him, Megumi’s head shoots up, eyes wide and frantic.
“Please, please. Please.”
“Shhhhh,” you ghost the backs of your index and middle fingers over the wet spot in his boxers, petting it softly like you would with a scared animal, trying to coax it into trusting you. Megumi almost chokes on the moan that rips from his throat, his cock jumping up to meet your fingers. “Relax, ‘Gumi. Relax.”
Megumi tries to be good, to keep his hips down, but he can’t stop his cock from twitching, nor can he stop himself from squirming under your other hand.
“C-Can’t–ngh,” he squirms harder, “Please!”
You pout at him, pulling your fingers away from his cock slowly, a small string of precum following them for the first inch before breaking. Megumi lets out a humiliated sob as the tiny bit of stimulation you gave him is ripped away, while you sink your teeth into your own lip, swallowing a moan at how wet he is.
“Megs, you can cum from this. You definitely can.”
“N-No,” he cries, shaking his head. “Can’t.”
“Are you close?”
Megumi sniffles harder, feeling his eyes burn with tears, wiping at his eyes in frustration before they even fall. “Y-Yeah,” he huffs, “b-but it’s not enough.”
You pout at him again, planting a soft kiss on his lips in pity, before kissing down his neck to his chest.
“Wait, no, I can’t–”
Megumi squeezes his eyes shut as you wrap your lips around his left nipple, still rubbing his right one under your finger. His brain freezes for a second before he lets out a debauched moan, hands flying to tangle in your hair without a second thought.
“Fuck!” he gasps for air, practically writhing underneath you, feeling the intense tingling from his nipples start to spread into his tummy. He’s rocking his hips up rhythmically into the small space between him and your stomach, stopping each thrust just when the fabric of his boxers ghosts against the fabric of your tank top.
You lower your other hand to rest on his waist, gently stroking the skin there, not minding that fact that he’s practically bucking you around like a mechanical bull given that he’s not actually grinding on anything. You alternate between lapping against his nipple with your tongue and sucking it between your lips, while you gently flick his right one under your finger.
Megumi feels the knot start to tighten in his lower stomach, subconsciously mirroring it in the way his hands tighten in your hair. He moans your name, sounding panicked. “Shit, shit. Feels weird. I needa cum–please–”
You hum against his nipple, pulling away for a moment to whisper “Go ahead, Megs, you can cum.”
“Ca-an’t,” he cries, thrashing under you, “not enough, ahh–n-need more–”
“Okay, then don’t,” You smirk against him, not stopping your ministrations.
“Please,” Megumi has given up on trying to stop himself from fully crying at this point. “Please, I–need to cum so bad,”
“Then do it,” you whisper again.
Megumi groans, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to focus on the feeling building in his stomach. He feels his muscles starting to tense, and his balls starting to tighten. He gasps as his hips stutter into the air, pulling you closer against his chest. “Shit shit–I’m gonna–”
“C’mon, kitty, you can do it,” you whisper, before biting his nipple between your teeth.
Megumi’s whole body goes taught, his toes curling, and for a moment, he’s completely silent, sound caught in his throat. Then he lets out a delicious moan, cock jumping as he shoots white ropes into his boxers.
“O-Ohmygod,” Megumi pants, feeling his vision go spotty as he successfully cums untouched, holding your head against his chest like a lifeline as he curls in on himself.
After about thirty seconds, Megumi lets out a harsh breath, and you feel him go slack underneath you, slumping against the couch. You plant one last kiss against his overstimulated nipple before pulling your head away from his chest to get a good look at him. You feel yourself throb at the sight.
Megumi is sprawled against the back of the couch, head tilted back, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows harshly between ragged breaths. His hair is slightly matted with sweat, and his entire body is dewy and flushed. His cock is still twitching periodically, along with his stomach and chest muscles, from the aftershocks of his orgasm – especially from how intensely he had to tighten them to cum untouched. The wet spot on his boxers has tripled in size, some of his cum having gone through the fabric completely, the thick, white substance contrasting the dark, wet fabric of his boxers, only serving to further emphasize the picture of his fucked out state.
Finally, your gaze makes its way up to his eyes, which are glassed over, staring at the ceiling, looking like not a single thought is behind them. You gently trace the backs of your fingers over Megumi’s tummy, watching his abs tense and relax at your touch, before gently cupping his cheek again. You rise to your knees, still straddling him, hanging your head over his to look at him.
“Hey,” you whisper, kissing the tip of his nose. “You doin’ okay?”
You watch as Megumi’s eyes lose their haze and focus on yours, and for a second, you’re unable to read his expression. Then, he lets out a breathy laugh, shutting his eyes again.
“My god,” he groans. “I can’t believe that worked. Why did I let you do that to me?”
You giggle, relieved that he's doing okay, and press a kiss against his lips, which he returns eagerly, bringing his arms up to wrap around your waist.
“Because you love me," you grin at him.
“Yeah, I do, yet look how you treat me” he whispers against your lips, still smiling. “You’re evil.”
“Oh come on, Megs, you’re such a baby. You did such a good job! Didn’t I tell you you could do it? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Megumi blushes, rubbing his face against yours like a cat. “Yeah, easy for you to say. I’m gonna be flinching when I take my shirt off for the next week.”
You smile against his face before pinching his nipple one more time, making him yelp.
“That’s what you get for keeping this secret from me for so long~”
| a/n: so the days in between today’s and day one are honestly gonna have to get posted at another time because I honestly don’t know what’s going on with them. still, I never finished and they suck, and I’m literally ab to crash out, so have fun reading !!!!
| wc: 1.4k
kinktober list - check this out for new updates (hopefully daily :/)
Geto doesn’t even warn you properly. Just a rushed, “I’ve got a business trip. Back Sunday,” while he’s halfway out the door.
You stare at the text, jaw tight. Sunday? You’d made plans—dinner, a movie, maybe more. But instead, he’s gone, leaving you irritated and unsatisfied for three whole days.
So, naturally, you decide he’s going to pay for it.
When he finally returns that night, suitcase in hand, he barely gets through the door before you’re on him.
“Missed me?” he teases softly, but the look you give him is dangerous—slow, deliberate, with a glint that makes his throat dry.
You take his chin between your fingers. “You literally left without telling me until you were halfway gone. You really think I missed you?”
Geto’s grin falters, but you don’t give him time to respond. You kiss him—long, heavy, until he forgets how to breathe. It’s desperate and messy, teeth catching his lip, your hands already tugging at his coat, unbuttoning his shirt.
By the time his suitcase hits the floor, you’re dragging him toward the bedroom.
He barely has time to mumble, “I love when you’re like this…” before you push him down onto the bed.
“Good,” you murmur, climbing onto him. “Then don’t move.”
You reach for the tie you’d laid out earlier—silky, black, perfect. His eyes widen as you grab his wrists and bind them behind his back. He could resist, of course, but he doesn’t. He never does with you.
“You really mad at me or something?” he breathes, smiling weakly.
“Oh, not mad,” you reply, straddling his chest. “Just showing you a little something.”
You reach for the silk tie you’d set aside earlier. The corner of his mouth twitches when he sees it.
“Baby, that’s my—”
“Not anymore.” You flip him gently, pressing his wrists together above his head. The fabric slides over his skin with a whisper, snug but not harsh. He tests the restraint once, then exhales, already sinking into it.
He peers up at you like you’ve hung the moon, pupils blown wide. You tilt his chin up with a finger, forcing him to meet your gaze.
“Do you really think you can just not say anything until you’re leaving?”
“Didn’t think you’d mind,” he admits, voice soft.
You smirk. “And to think I was going to be nice to you.”
You shift backward, slow enough for him to take in the view.
His breath catches, the faintest tremor running through him as you trail your fingers over and between your thighs.
“Fuck…” he mutters, straining against the tie.
“Quiet,” you warn, but the smile playing on your lips betrays you. You drag your hand down, letting two fingers glide over your folds before holding them above his mouth. “You missed this, didn’t you?”
He nods quickly, eager.
“Use your words, baby.”
“Yes,” he whispers, tongue darting out to taste you. “Missed you so much.”
You hum, pleased, then slide down between his legs. The sound of his belt unbuckling is sharp in the quiet room. You tug his pants low enough to free him—already hard, already leaking.
“Pathetic,” you murmur, stroking him once, slow and steady. His hips jerk, the restraint biting lightly into his wrists.
“Don’t move.”
He stills, eyes glassy.
But you never said he had to be quiet—not in this moment at least. You do it again, a little faster this time, watching the way his breathing stutters, the way his thighs tremble.
“Mmph-fuck,” he may not have told you, but you knew that Geto didn’t touch himself while on his trip. He never did, because according to him, it “wasn’t the same”.
Which really just meant he was always so sensitive when you touched him after a while. Hand not so carefully stroking him, using your other hand to play with his tip.
And just when he’s about to spill over the edge, you stop.
“What—please!?”
You tilt your head, amused. “Not yet.”
You smile when he groans, muscles tightening under your hands. “You really thought I was gonna let you finish that easily?”
He shakes his head, biting his lip, but the sound that slips out when you drag your thumb over his tip betrays him.
“Mm. You did,” you say quietly, teasing him with slow, lazy strokes that make his breath hitch. “You always do.”
His hips twitch helplessly; the tie strains around his wrists. You shift your weight forward, watching his chest rise and fall, his voice breaking on soft little gasps.
“Look at you,” you murmur. “All that control gone the second I touched you.”
“I—I can’t help it,” he pants, eyes glossy.
“I know,” you coo, leaning down to kiss him just long enough to make him whimper. “That’s why I have to help you remember who decides when you get to come.”
You sit back again, grip tightening around him, strokes deliberate and unhurried. His body arches off the bed; he’s so close it’s painful.
And when he starts to tremble, you stop, again—pulling your hand away completely.
He lets out a broken sound, something between a sigh and a sob.
You edge him until he’s trembling, until every muscle in his body is strung tight. He begs, voice straining, breath shallow, every denial unraveling him further. Each time you stop, his eyes dart up to you, confused and desperate, searching for mercy.
You lean down, lips ghosting his ear. “Next time you want to leave without telling me, you’ll think about this, won’t you?”
“Yes,” he gasps. “I swear, I’ll tell you,”
You kiss him once, slow and tender. “One more. You can come when I say.”
You start again, hand slick and merciless, twisting just enough to make him shake.
“Please, please, I can’t—”
“You can wait a few more seconds—gosh, so needy,” you whisper.
He almost breaks apart instantly, your voice so silky and somehow still so evil. His hands twitch against the restraint, daring to break free just so he can touch you, but you hold him there, wrist-deep in control.
Geto’s somewhere else when you call his name again. You give him a little tap on the thigh, enough to pull him back down to earth.
“Is it too much for you, sweetheart?” you ask softly. You mean it this time—genuinely trying to check on him, thinking maybe he’s had enough.
But Geto only groans, his body tensing under your hand. You can feel him twitch, desperate and close.
“D-don’t be so condescending,” he pants, trying to squirm away—but he’s so close he doesn’t actually want to leave your grip.
You hum, tilting your head. “Oh? You still have something left in you?”
Your thumb circles the head of his cock, slow and cruel. “Then ask for it properly.”
He swallows hard, voice breaking. “Please… please, can I come?”
You lean in, your tone almost kind again. “Go ahead, baby. Come for me.”
The permission hits him like a spark. He shudders violently, a sound tearing from his throat—raw, needy, almost grateful—as he finally unravels. You keep stroking him through it, slow and steady, until his breathing evens out and his body goes slack beneath you.
When it’s over, you untie his wrists. He immediately pulls you close, face buried against your chest like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
You stroke his hair, voice soft. “Think you’ll try disappearing again?”
He shakes his head weakly. “Never.”
“Good boy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his temple.
| an: I did enjoy writing this, actually, and I don't usually read for Geto, so this was new (apologies if I didn't portray him right).
kinktober list
dividers by @dollywons (and I think someone else but I think they changed their @)
college student sub! shinsou x flirty bsf dom! reader
| cw: dom! Reader x sub! Shinsou, NSFW 18+, MDNI, friends to? begging, slight foreplay, slight humiliation, teasing, praise, handjob, made a little mess, aftercare (slight)
| a/n: Sorry, this is being posted two days late. I’ve been literally so sick, I think I had strep. It's been horrible. I never finished editing this, so I didn't queue it. Now, I’m behind, but I promise I’m here and prepared! (I might get backed up again, though, because my months are gonna be busy…)
| wc: 1.2k
kinktober list
The door clicks open before you even remember calling for him. Shinsou doesn’t knock anymore, not when he’s had a spare key for months.
“Hey,” you greet without looking up, arranging cheese and crackers onto a board. “I’m just putting some snacks together.”
He shuts the door quietly, shoulders loosening at the sight of you barefoot in the kitchen. Tank top loose enough to show the straps of your bra, shorts riding indecently high. House clothes for you; torture for him.
He sets his bag down by the couch. “Smells good,” he offers, voice rough.
“It’s literally crackers and cheese, Shin. Don’t gas me up.”
“I’m serious. You always make it look… nice.”
You laugh, tossing a grape at him. He catches it without thinking, and you beam like it’s a victory. This is supposed to be normal. It is normal. Movie nights, game nights, hanging around because you hate being bored. But Shinsou can’t stop cataloguing every detail of being alone with you.
By the time you flop onto the couch, he’s still lost in his head. Your legs immediately find their way into his lap, and he goes rigid under the casual weight. You don’t even seem to notice.
“So,” you stretch, “do you think this new set’s cute?”
“Set?” His eyes flick down to your tank top and shorts. “You’ve had those for a while, no?”
You smirk. “Not this set.”
You tug the strap of your tank top down, just enough to show the matching red lace beneath. Bright, deliberate. His brain whites out. “…oh.”
“Like them? I think red’s really my color.”
He swallows hard, dragging his gaze away. “…y-yeah,” he manages, the word tumbling out unevenly. “Red’s… uh… good. Looks… good on you.”
Inside, he’s spiraling. You showed him your bra. You’re still draped across his lap. He’s cataloguing every detail—lace, the exact shade of crimson, the way you said “new set.” He’ll remember this for years. But he nods, biting his cheek, pretending it’s normal.
Your fingers slip into his hair, raking lazily at the nape of his neck. He stiffens, eyes wide, pulse racing under your touch.
“Comfortable?” you ask, light as ever.
“…y-yeah. Normal,” he lies.
And then you swing a leg over, settling across his lap. His breath hitches. Hands hover at your hips but don’t dare touch.
“Is it really that hard to figure out what I’m trying to do, Shin?” Your voice is low, teasing.
“I—I don’t…” he stammers. “You’re—fuck—you’re messing with me, right?”
“Shin.” You lean in, lips brushing his jaw. “I don’t play around unless I mean it.”
His composure cracks. Hands finally grip your hips, holding you like you might disappear. “Please,” he blurts, voice low and cracked. “Don’t tease me like this unless you want me. I can’t take it.”
“How needy.” You smile slow, fingertips dragging up the side of his throat. “You want me to stop?”
“N-no,” he blurts instantly, too desperate. “Please don’t. Please don’t stop.”
“Then what do you want me to do?” you press your thumb against his bottom lip. “Say it.”
“I want you. I want—fuck—I want everything. Please. Please, I’ll do anything you tell me.”
You lean down, lips barely brushing his. He shudders, chasing the contact. Instead of kissing him, you roll your hips slow and deliberate. The sound he makes is pathetic, and it shoots straight through you.
“God, you’re needy,” you laugh softly. “Been sitting here all this time, daydreaming about me, haven’t you?”
“Y-yes—yes, I think about you all the time. You drive me insane.”
“Cute.” You finally give him the lightest kiss, just a brush of lips that makes him whine. “Beg a little more for me, Shin. Let me hear how desperate you’ve been.”
He moans into your mouth, sloppy and unpracticed, clutching at your waist like you’ll slide apart if he lets go. You press a finger to his lips, smiling. “Slow down. You’ve got all night.”
You tug your tank top over your head. His breath stutters when the red lace comes fully into view, and his thighs twitch under you. “Holy shit,” he whispers, almost reverent.
You grind down again and his head thumps back, a choked sound tearing from his throat. He’s hard under you, straining against denim.
“Ever been touched like this, Hito?” you ask.
“N-no,” he admits instantly, eyes squeezed shut. “Never. I—fuck, I only ever thought about it. About you.”
“Sad little thing,” you murmur at his ear. “Getting off just thinking about me all this time.”
His hips buck helplessly, a broken plea falling from his lips.
You pop the button on his jeans, dragging the zipper down slowly. He watches with wide, desperate eyes, chest heaving.
“Relax,” you purr, slipping your hand inside to palm him over his boxers. He jerks under your touch, a sound too close to a sob leaving him. “You’re gonna let me take care of you.”
“Please,” he gasps, hands gripping your thighs hard enough to mark. “Please, I—don’t stop.”
You slide your hand beneath the fabric, wrapping your fingers around him properly. He nearly cries, head falling forward against your shoulder, hot breath spilling over your skin.
“Aw, sweet boy,” you whisper, stroking him slowly, savoring every whimper, every pathetic rut of his hips into your palm. “This is what you wanted, yeah? How much have you needed it?”
He chokes on the words, but they spill out anyway—rushed, raw. “I’ve wanted you…please—please use me—” His voice breaks, ragged and pleading. “Please make me yours.”
You lean down, teeth grazing his ear. “Good.”
Your thumb works the sensitive underside while your palm pumps. He tilts his head back, lashes trembling, groans mixing with your name. The warmth of your hand could never leave from his body or he’d lose all his senses.
When he finally spills over your hand, it’s with a broken cry and your name on his lips, trembling under you as everything he’s been holding back comes undone.
You keep your strokes slow until he goes slack beneath you. When you finally let go, you brush a thumb over his flushed cheek, grounding him.
“That’s it,” you murmur, voice soft now. “You did so good for me.”
Shinsou sags back against the couch, glassy-eyed and trembling, still holding your hips like a lifeline. “Thank you,” he whispers, barely audible. “For… for not stopping.”
You press a kiss to his temple, letting him melt against you. “Told you all you had to do was beg.”
Once again, sorry for the delay in posting. I will try to get back on track for the next few days. At some point, I'll post two in one day. Thank you for reading! (Also sorry if it was short, I was so done.)
currently cooking up a royal au with princess!reader x knight!tenya ida.... it's gonna be a series (don't know how many chapters yet) and i'll start posting chapters when a friend of mine finishes the banner art 🥰
in the meantime...
poll!
here are some options for various possible drabbles / short fics that i've been thinking about
since i haven't updated in a bit i'm letting you guys pick which ones you most want to see
though eventually i'll likely end up posting them all
What would you most like to see?
CEO Reader x Office free use! Denki Kaminari
Virgin!Izuku avoids you after finding your femdom acc
Sanji gets jealous over you and Zoro so you make Zoro watch the two of you
Finish that Robin thing you mentioned a while ago man
Just for me to click keep your grubby mitts to yourself
need more sapphic vampires in media. need more sapphic vampires in media. need more sapphic vampires in media. need more sapphic vampires in media. need more sapphic vampires in media.
𖤐 welcome to fa1rydr3am's haunted dollhouse kinktober 25' ─ reminder, the entirety of this prompt challenge is nsfw, so this is 18+ mdni
𖤐 31 days of depravity ─ following different short story lines focused on the dom! reader take of kinktober ─ every post will be tagged with triggers and will have disclaimers before the fic begins
fandoms
𖤐 demon slayer, death note, hunter x hunter, jujutsu kaisen, justice league, my hero academia, obey me, one piece, supernatural
𖤐 DISCLAIMER ─ all characters are over 18, every piece of writing has a little story behind it, there will be no one under age being discussed; eg, college au! or corporate au!
WEEK 1
━╋ 1 OCTOBER - BEGGING | shinsou hitoshi
━╋ 2 OCTOBER - OVERSTIMULATION | gojo satoru
━╋ 3 OCTOBER - TBD | illumi zoldyck
━╋ 4 OCTOBER - BRAT TAMING | dean winchester
WEEK 2
━╋ 5 OCTOBER - EDGING | suguru geto
━╋ 6 OCTOBER - COLLARING | jason todd
━╋ 7 OCTOBER - PEGGING | choso
━╋ 8 OCTOBER - SENSORY DEPRIVATION | bruce wayne
━╋ 9 OCTOBER - THIGH RIDING | denki kaminari
━╋ 10 OCTOBER - COCKWARMING | mammon hitoshi
━╋ 11 OCTOBER - PRAISE | douma
WEEK 3
━╋ 12 OCTOBER - LINGERE | shoto todoroki
━╋ 13 OCTOBER - SIZE KINK | roronoa zoro
━╋ 14 OCTOBER - POWER PLAY | shouta aizawa
━╋ 15 OCTOBER - VOYEURISM | L lawlight
━╋ 16 OCTOBER - MIRROR SEX | nanami kento
━╋ 17 OCTOBER - PET PLAY | bakugou katsuki
━╋ 18 OCTOBER - PUBLIC TEASING | clark kent
WEEK 4
━╋ 19 OCTOBER - OBSESSION | hisoka marrow
━╋ 20 OCTOBER - BODY WORSHIP | tengen uzui
━╋ 21 OCTOBER - FREE USE | sanji
━╋ 22 OCTOBER - VOICE KINK | touya todoroki
━╋ 23 OCTOBER - FILMING | art donaldson
━╋ 24 OCTOBER - CORRUPTION | izuku midoriya
━╋ 25 OCTOBER - SOMNOPHILIA | belphagor
WEEK 5
━╋ 26 OCTOBER - ORAL FIXATION | asmodeous
━╋ 27 OCTOBER - SERVICE KINK | satan
━╋ 28 OCTOBER - SHIBARI | toji fushiguro
━╋ 29 OCTOBER - BREATH PLAY | tbd
━╋ 30 OCTOBER - THREESOME | mirio togata and tamaki amajiki
━╋ 31 OCTOBER - AFTERCARE-FOCUSED | tbd
𖤐 all reader and extra character information will be on the actual post - there will be a divider if you just want to peek
𖤐 certain prompts have a tbd because I'm not sure who to write for, so if you want, send a request to fill those in!
dividers on this post and all posts for kinktober were made by @dollywons and @toastray , or found on pinterest
God I'm a sucker for characters who are so utterly loyal to someone that they're completely unhinged. Characters who have no moral compass except their overwhelming devotion to whoever they've chosen to listen to. That's the good shit
Time for Belphie! This one is a bit outside of my comfort zone. I hope you enjoy. In all honesty, if I was more confident, this would be in eroguro territory... Sadly, I chickened out.
Warnings/notes: undernegotiated kink, dealing with lesson 16, overstim, denial, ignoring as a punishment (unsure what that's actually called), pain play, punishment kink.
Summary: You try to prepare for your last exams at RAD. Unfortunately, a certain sleepy demon keeps distracting you. You decide to take care of unfinished business instead.
***
Belphie has parked himself at your feet.
He seems to have decided that constant exposure is the best way for the two of you to bond. Out of love for Beel, you have only firmly nudged him with your foot to keep him from touching you.
You're completing your homework, because despite everything you're still attending RAD and expected to be a good student. You're not entirely sure what lie the student council came up with to justify your absence. It doesn't really matter. No one's willing to question you on it. Your untimely death got you exactly a week off, some catch-up work, and a few looks of sympathy from the kinder demons at RAD. Nothing more.
Nothing more than another demon at your beck and call, anyway.
You made the pact with Belphie - who you must nudge away again, because he keeps trying to use the fluffy slippers Asmo got you as a pillow. Of course you did. Your neck still tingles, even as you try and focus on Devildom's bloody history. You can call him to heel whenever you need, should he try again.
He hasn't tried again, though. Nor has he shown any interest in trying again.
Mammon and Satan are the most understanding of your reticence around Belphie, and no one's outright questioned you, but you can tell most of your demons don't quite get it. It has been centuries since anyone could call any of them helpless. They don't know what it's like to be completely unable to fight back. To not even have a chance of facing death with defiance.
So they don't get why you're still uncomfortable with Belphie. A grudge they could understand, resentment, hate. But ongoing fear of their baby brother?
Their baby brother, who is currently drooling on your carpet?
You slam the textbook shut. Belphie wakes - a small jolt followed by feigned stillness, some instinct from long ago, or perhaps just a habit to avoid getting in trouble with Lucifer. You're not getting any work done. Might as well do something else productive.
"What do you want, Belphegor?" You don't look at him as you ask, staring instead at your desk.
He could be doing something else if he was going to hide under your desk while you studied. The thought comes whether you like it or not. Your pacts had tended to include one thing so far, and that thing often involves one of your demons on their knees.
You hear quiet shuffling sounds from under your desk. Belphie pokes his head out next to your knee, alert enough to keep some distance between you.
"I want to spend time with you... There's no hidden motive," he says, purple eyes half-hidden by his hair. He's been saying that a lot, lately. Assuring you he's not hiding anything. You suppose it's his way of trying to comfort you after all the lies he told you in the attic. It would almost be sweet, if your skin didn't crawl at the sight of him.
"You made a pretty quick turnaround," you mutter, pushing your chair away from the desk. You can see him properly now, sitting all curled up with his head propped up on his pillow.
The problem is that you liked Belphegor. You knew he was full of shit - you aren't, despite some opinions, a total idiot - but he was funny, and cute, and Lucifer locking his own brother in the attic while Beel suffered his absence downstairs made your blood boil with rage. You figured the two of you understood each other, at least a little. So you let him out of the attic.
And then he'd broken your ribs, your back, squeezed the air out of your lungs, and tossed you down the stairs. Laughing as Mammon screamed and the rest of his brothers cried.
Belphie wilts. His tired eyes, so similar to Beel's, look at the ground. The problem with Belphie - one of them, anyway - is that he really is pretty cute. Some part of you wants to hold him. More of you wants to break him.
"I just want you to know... that nothing will ever happen again," he says. You want to call him out, tell him that counts as a hidden motive, but it feels petty. Belphie clutches his pillow to him, squeezing it like a soft toy. Or like a soft, breakable human. "I want you to know I'm safe."
"Demons aren't safe, Belphie," you counter, resting your chin on your hands. "You gave me a good reminder of that."
Neither of you tend to talk about it. Not directly. The others don't either. It's clear no one's forgotten. They've only just started leaving you and Belphie alone together. But talking about it is too much for them.
"You, um..." Belphie hesitates. Eyes flick to you and away again. You nod, giving him permission. Might as well hear what he has to say. "You shouldn't be mad... at the others. Or scared of them. Because of me."
You laugh, and the bitterness in surprises you both. "Your brothers did quite a bit to get me to fear them before you got out, Belphegor."
Belphie frowns. He's heard some of it from you, in the attic, but Beel - Beel was your third pact, early on, and the twins' connection may have led him to a more rosy idea of your relationships. Didn't stop him from trying to rip you away from them. Maybe he was afraid of what happened to Lilith happening again.
"You're not scared of them anymore, though. Or you weren't." Belphie isn't quite arguing, but there's a stubborn furrow between his eyebrows. "You... I mean, you..."
His cheeks colour lightly. You tilt your head to the side.
"I what, Belphegor?"
"I mean... you slept with all of them." He pauses. "Except Lucifer. Good."
Not wanting to unpack that last statement for now, you sigh. "I did sleep with them. But only after they'd proven their feelings beyond a shadow of a doubt."
"So... I need to prove my feelings?" Belphie murmurs, nodding to himself. He slides out from under your desk and stands, heading for the door. He walks with purpose.
You have a bad feeling. But if you call after him, he won't leave.
You get back to your work.
***
There is a pile of bodies at your feet.
Belphie looks awfully proud of himself. Smug, if you were feeling less generous. You count at least six heads, though with some body parts missing it’s hard to tell exactly how many demons might have met their end. You recognise precisely none of them. They don't make for a particularly tasteful addition to the House's garden. Satan might be pleased if the meat attracts stray cats, though.
“Who are they?” you ask.
“They were against the exchange program, especially having humans here.” Belphie puffs out his chest. “They were making some plans. I stopped them. Even reported it to Lucifer, so he wouldn’t complain.”
That last part is said bitterly, but it doesn’t dampen his mood for long. He approaches you with a grin that only subsides when you hold out a hand in the universal gesture for stop.
“Did you have fun?” You step forward and rest that same hand against his chest, feeling his elevated heart rate - for him, anyway. Your gaze travels further down and you catch a bump in his slacks - not fully hard, but clearly excited.
The problem is so are you. Even as Belphie demurs, shrugs at your question, you know he’s a sadistic killer who would’ve enjoyed it. Hell, you’ve heard stories from the others about their early days in the Devildom. What they'd done to blow off steam.
But your demons have had an effect on you, as much as you'd had an effect on them. And one of those effects is getting wet at the sight of dismembered demons. They’ve Pavlov’d you.
You look at Belphie again, searching. His eyes have always been so pretty - a dead giveaway of his nature, being so like Beel’s. He looks proud, yes, but also hopeful.
“You would’ve enjoyed killing them anyway,” you say. Belphie sways backwards, hurt. You grip the fabric of his shirt and he freezes. “I have another way for you to prove yourself. Go clean up and and change. Meet me in the attic in half an hour.”
He nods eagerly and runs off. Well, running for him, which seems more like a halfhearted jog, but he’s trying to put the speed on. Trying to put in effort for you.
He’s going to have to, with what you’ve got planned for him.
***
You sneak up to the attic with your supplies. You’d rather avoid all the brothers, but particularly Asmo - if he sees what you’re carrying, he will try to follow you, and you’d feel awful about his pout when you sent him back downstairs.
Lucifer catches a glimpse of you from his room, and promptly closes the door.
When you get there, Belphie is already shirtless. Optimistic of him. Not a bad guess though. You dump what you’re carrying on the table.
“Here’s the thing, Belphie,” you begin. You’re not trying to be seductive, but Belphie seems into it anyway, a flush creeping down his pale chest. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate you taking those demons out, but let’s face it, it wasn’t exactly hard for you, was it?”
Belphie shrugs. “It’s hard to find tough enough opponents for us. Unless you want me to fight one of my brothers, but I figured you wouldn’t be happy if I did that.”
“I’m glad you know that much.” Belphie has clearly thought about this. His overtures weren't always obvious. Feelings didn’t always come across clearly from him. But he is trying to take your thoughts and feelings into account. It is sweet, annoyingly, and if it weren't for your history, you would simply find it endearing. “I also know you’re a sadistic asshole, so I don’t think it was difficult or upsetting for you to do. And to prove yourself, I want to see you push beyond your comfort zone a bit.”
Belphie eyes the things you've brought up to the attic. He looks wary and excited. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you say, and then your voice hardens. “This will be the only order I give you tonight. Safe word if you need to. Green if you’re fine. Yellow for slow down or pause, red for an immediate stop.”
Belphie gulps as the order settles in, the pact flaring between you. It’s rare for you to call on his power. You’re both still getting used to it.
“I think I’ll like the kind of games you want to play, but got it, Master.” He says the title with an almost manic glee in his eyes. You wonder how long it will last.
“Everything else that happens tonight will be on your own willpower.” You lift up a yoga mat and a towel. “Bed or floor. I suggest floor. You’ll be less tempted to sleep, and it’ll be easy to stay balanced.”
Belphie scrambles off the bed in a rare show of speed. He's confused, but taking your suggestion. He can be a good listener when he wants to be.
You lay out the mat and the towel on the carpet for him, because fucking his knees up is not on your agenda for tonight. The rest of him is fair game.
“Next, pants off.”
Belphie grins, taking it slow. You wonder if he got advice from Asmo. In clumsy, unpracticed movements, he inches his pyjama pants down, revealing more and more of his stomach. It’s sort of cute, and you suppress a smile. You don’t want to give him too much encouragement.
“Hands and knees.”
You don’t take much time to appreciate his body. It’s nice. Soft. You settle behind him, carrying with you lube and a box full of options. You're not sure how experienced Belphie is - he's lazy, but he's also thousands of years old. You're trying to push him in very specific ways, and tearing his ass apart is not one of them. Tonight, anyway.
You still don't bother warming the lube up before shoving a finger in his ass. You're not being that nice. The choked sound Belphie makes sends a thrill down your spine.
After the initial shock of the cold and intrusion, Belphie quickly settles on his elbows, relaxing into your touch. When you lean over you see the soft, dreamy smile on his face. He makes soft, quiet little noises. He's clearly enjoying it, so you work up to two, then three fingers. His muscles seem naturally relaxed which helps, possibly due to his Sloth. You decide against any of the smaller toys.
You take your time, working your fingers until he's a puddle on the floor except for his ass, which he's still holding up for you. He groans in protest when you remove your fingers. He tries to push himself back, chase you, but you spank him, hard.
He jolts, a smaller reaction than a human would've had with the amount of force you put into it. You remind yourself you're dealing with a demon, so there's little need to hold back.
You smack him again until he reluctantly sits up.
"Here's the deal, Belphegor," you tell him, setting up the base upright on the mat for him, and selecting a good, mid-sized dildo to mount on it. "I want you to work to prove yourself. You're going to enjoy this for a while. But you don't get to stop when you cum. You're going to keep going until I say stop."
Belphie glances between you and the dildo. "That seems more like a reward."
You smile. It draws a shudder out of him. "We'll see how long you think that." You wave your DDD around. "Every so often a chime will go off, and I'll add something to the experience. Sometimes it might help you. Probably it won't. If you get through it all, I'll know how you feel. If you safe word out, we can change things up and try again. If you just give up though, we're done. And I will know the difference."
Belphie swallows. Nods.
"Great! I need to get some homework done for the first part, so you get comfortable, okay?"
You stand up before he has the chance to protest. As you head to wash your hands before touching your homework - you don't hate your Devildom History teacher that much - Belphie calls after you.
"You're still fully clothed." He's pouting at you, reproachful. You can see why his older brothers indulge him so much.
"You're not in a position to make requests right now," you reply.
You settle in. It's going to be a long night.
***
You chose right. Belphie groans and grits his teeth while he sinks onto the plastic cock. But he's not in obvious pain, his cock remains standing upright, and he begins rolling his hips soon after.
You glance between him, your timer, and your homework. Belphie is clever. He knows you're planning on leaving him like this for a while, so he paces himself. Doesn't chase his orgasm, doesn't bounce up and down, instead goes slow and steady, rolling his hips. One of his hands rests on the bed for balance, the other on his knee.
You're wet. Your body, now very used to regular sex, is ready to go. You find yourself hoping Belphie does well tonight, so you can both have what you want.
Because you do want Belphie, despite everything. You know he's no threat to you anymore. You know his body would feel sweet against yours. You imagine him making that flushed, breathless face over you, or under you, or in the mirror while you fuck him from behind.
You have to be careful how your pen moves on the paper, because you do not want to explain any doodles to your teacher.
It's probably a sign that something inside you over the course of the exchange program has been fundamentally altered. That there's even a possibility for the two of you after what he did. That your body could react not with fear, but desire. Is this the cultural exchange Diavolo had been looking for? You doubt it.
Belphie's still going strong after five, ten, fifteen minutes - he's biting his lip, cheeks red, eyes watery, determined. He hasn't come, but his cock is heavy between his legs. His hands white-knuckled, digging indents into the skin on his thigh, pulling the blanket half-off the bed. His pillow lays far away, out of the splash zone.
"You can cum as often as you want," you remind him.
He groans and glares at you. Instead of intimidating, it looks adorably pathetic. Verbal complaints are apparently beyond him. It startles a laugh out of you, which makes him smile for a moment before the first chime goes off at twenty minutes.
You turn it off - and turn down the volume of your DDD. You'd rather the other brothers don't show up, though they're usually good at giving you your privacy.
"Stay there," you order without using the pact. Putting your homework to the side, you walk behind him to find your box of tricks. "I've found the others have a high pain tolerance. I wonder how you'll go, as the seventh-born?"
"I'm -ngh- I'm still an Avatar," he moans. He's shaking. Eyes slipping closed. Now, twenty minutes in, he's starting to waver. He's lasted for longer than you thought, but his sin is creeping back in. Time for you to help him out. Wake him up.
"Back straight," is all the warning you give him.
You crack the whip against his back.
He folds over himself. It's a mistake - instantly, the toy is forced deeper, striking all new angles, and he cums. painting the towel in white. A red welt rises on his back - you've learned a lot about how to wield this thing right.
You give him a moment. "Back up, Belphegor."
He struggles to pull himself upright once more. You can't see his face, but you can see the tension in his muscles, and you can just spy his still hard cock, barely softened.
The whip splits the air again, meeting his skin with a sharp crack.
He responds better, only a small jump. Belphie chokes down his noises at first, but he quickly gives this up after a few more. You draw a latticework of red raised lines on his back, watching his muscles twitch, his shoulders heave, his ass bounce. You don't bother to count. That's not what this is about.
You keep going until your arm is sore, and then keep going after that. You go until Belphie cums again, with a hoarse cry, and you wait until he manages to push himself back up before striking him more.
You can't remember ever letting yourself be this vicious. Not holding back your anger, your strength, your desire to hurt. It makes you want to do worse.
You keep going until you're both breathing hard, until you physically cannot hold the whip anymore. You drop it to the floor, watch as Belphie flinches at the sound.
"Colour," you say between heavy breaths.
"G-g-" Belphie takes a deep breath, curled in on himself. It must hurt too much to sit up straight. "Green."
You walk by him back to your desk, ruffling his hair as you pass. "I hope," you breathe, "that woke you up a bit."
"F-f..." You raise an eyebrow, and Belphie trails off.
"I didn't say stop."
Belphie's hips stutter into motion again. His movements are jerky, painful, and it takes him another few minutes until he gets into stride again. You start your reading, unable to hold a pen until your arm recovers from the workout you just gave it. Your view now gives you no hint of the mess you left on his back - only a hint of redness around his shoulders, and cum splattered on the towel in front of him.
"I'm going to be good," Belphie mutters, and you're not sure if he's talking to you or himself.
***
You let him go slow for the next ten minutes. Demons heal fast, which is part of the reason you were willing to go so far - further than you ever could've gone with a human. That, and the satisfaction of seeing those marks on him and knowing you put them there.
"I've learned a lot about myself here," you muse, putting your textbook to the side. Kinks you'd have never had the opportunity to try. Experiences you never would've had. Survived things you never imagined you could've - including, as it turned out, your own death.
"Like that you're a sadist?" Belphie asks dryly. His hips stutter, still sensitive, but he does seem more aware. It seems he's recovered enough to talk back.
"Not hearing that from you," you say shortly, "and besides, I'm surrounded by masochists."
Belphie snorts. He doesn't argue because you both know he doesn't have a leg to stand on. It's quiet for a while.
Then, "How long h-has it been?"
His hips drop mid-sentence, a gasp interrupting his words. He struggles up again.
You glance at the time. It's been almost an hour, counting the whipping, but you have no desire to tell him that. You do, however, stand and grab a couple of pillows off the bed.
"Up," you tell him. Belphie stares at you blankly for a second before raising his hips, hissing through his teeth. You notice, as you kneel in front of him, that he hasn't fully lifted off the toy. The effort is making his legs shake.
"I'm not trying to trick you, Belphegor," you say. You tap one of his knees. "Lift."
He raises one knee. You shove a pillow beneath it. You repeat the process on the other side.
"...I don't get it," Belphie says. He settles down, sighing as the toy enters him fully again. With the pillows he can lower himself down both more comfortably and further without much effort - when his hips start to move, they roll with a new smooth motion that flows up his stomach, to his chest, his arms steadying him against the ground.
"This isn't about hurting you, Belphie." You stand over him. You wonder how you looked to him when he threw you down the stairs. When he dropped you after crushing your ribs. "This is about you proving yourself."
Belphie doesn't look like he believes you. Fair enough - you did whip his back into a maze of red lines, even though they've faded by now. Demonic healing strikes again.
"I can be good," he says. He arches his back, as if that will show you how sincere he is. Belphie's nipples are painfully hard, begging for you to play with them. You don't. Not yet.
You lean over him, one hand cupping his cheek. "It's not about taming you, either, Belphegor." You press your thumb into his mouth to shut him up, and to see if he'll bite. He doesn't, starts to suck instead - a mistake on your part, maybe, because his eyes instantly go half-lidded, sleepy.
You pull your thumb away, wipe Belphie's spit on his cheek. He scowls at you and wipes it off.
"This may be surprising, but even though you were full of shit, I did like you back then."
Belphie freezes. You nudge his knee with your foot. You didn't tell him to stop.
"You're funny, even though I don't think you mean to be half the time. You're cute, too, though part of that is definitely you playing it up." Belphie stares at you, eyes no longer in danger of slipping shut. They look shiny all of a sudden, wet. His cock twitches.
"I even liked that you were sort of a jerk. If that was a hard no, I wouldn't have fucked most of your brothers."
"You..." Belphie groans. He's close again. His hair is starting to stick to his forehead.
"Are you cold?" you ask, watching sweat cool on his skin.
"I don't get you," Belphie groans, shakes his head. His movements take on a faster, more frantic pace. "If this isn't a punishment, then..."
"I said this wasn't about hurting you." Belphie hasn't earned you touching his cock yet - not even by stepping on it - but you can't resist pinching a nipple meanly, your other hand fisting into his hair and forcing him to meet your eyes. "I didn't say it wasn't a punishment."
Belphie cums again with a gasp, looking straight into your eyes. He's pretty. Soft lips inviting you to stick your fingers in again, make him choke. Sunset eyes pleading with you for more touch.
"You might want to pace yourself, Belphie," you say, releasing him. You turn back to your desk. "We could be here for a while."
"You..." He catches his breath. "You called me Belphie again."
You don't reply, and you don't look back.
***
Belphie is starting to get a glassy look in his eyes.
Sometimes he looks more like he's dozing, only habit driving his hips forward. At some point in the last thirty minutes he came again, cum now dribbling down his thighs. He has made no attempt to wipe it off.
Sometimes, though. Sometimes he gets that distant look that tells you he is here, but not quite here. So focused on obedience that he's forgotten about anything else - including his pleasure. including himself.
Belphie returns to himself with a gasp when your phone chimes again.
You stare into your box of toys. You put one thing to the side for later, but keep it out of Belphie's view.
"How are you feeling, Belphie?" you ask him. He looks at you, no longer wary, just curious.
"Good," he says quickly, then thinks about it longer. He wipes drool from his chin and clears his throat. "My knees hurt less, but my hips hurt real bad. And I'm getting sleepy again. I don't want to fall asleep, though."
You are honestly impressed he can be so articulate after bouncing on a plastic cock for so long. The pleasure must have become secondary to discomfort by now. You're not sure how coherent you would be after almost 90 minutes.
You take his words into account when choosing your next move. You decide on two things now. Your patience might be an issue here - denying Belphie while keeping an eye on him means denying yourself, too, because he hasn't earned watching you get off. Belphie is working on it, though. He hasn't complained much.
"You're a good boy for being honest, Belphie," you tell him. He can't properly see what's in your hands, but he tenses nonetheless as you approach. "If you need to stand up and stretch, you can."
Belphie thinks about it but shakes his head. "Still a demon. Not doing any damage yet. Have to tell you if it would."
You accept his judgement, because he's right. But just to check, you ask, "Colour?"
"...Green," Belphie replies, but there's some hesitation.
You kneel to his level, nudging the towel to fold over so you're not just sitting in dried cum. Belphie sways forward, towards you, but stops himself.
"I want to help you stay awake," you tell him. Belphie is smart enough to tense a bit. The look in his eyes isn't fear. "If I make something else hurt, would that push you to yellow or red?"
"No." His answer is so quick and sincere you laugh, and he smiles again. "Pain isn't a problem."
"If you keep being such a masochistic brat, I'm going to have to think about more creative punishments," you tease, but Belphie's eyes widen.
"You mean we can do this again?" Belphie asks, all faux innocent hope.
You lean forward. Smile gently. "We'll see."
You let the clamp bite down on his nipple.
Belphie cries out, chokes, throws his head so far back you think he might topple over. A small dribble escapes his mouth as he tries to catch his breath.
You've never used them before, although Asmo had mentioned them a few times. In truth, the angry-looking steel teeth had you wincing in sympathy pain. It seems even a demon's higher tolerance wasn't enough to ignore hard steel biting into delicate, sensitive flesh.
Belphie gasps again as you touch him, one arm wrapping around his back to keep him in place. He is disbelieving, unable to comprehend what you're about to do even as he watches you begin to do it.
Your mouth latches on to his other nipple. He bucks, moans, presses his chest forward, into your body, into your mouth. You suck and lick and nip until it's wet and hard and-
And he cums, weakly, into your lap. You're pretty sure the pants you're currently wearing were originally Levi's, so probably not the first time they've been cum-stained. You can't really blame Belphie for it. You put yourself in the line of fire, after all.
It still feels like a punishment to him when your mouth leaves his nipple with a pop and the second clamp comes in to replace it.
He screams, curses, voice hoarse as his cock bounces in the air, his body spasming. You keep your hand on his hip, steadying him, grounding him, making sure he doesn't collapse to the floor.
You look into his eyes as he takes quick breaths through his mouth. His breathing slows, deepens, as he adjusts to the pain in his chest. You can feel the pounding of his heart. You're not sure if it's through the bond or through your hand. His breath hitches in time with each beat.
You do not understand the look he gives you. It's not one you ever saw in the attic.
"Is that better? Are you more awake, Belphie?" you ask.
"Yes, Master." You've never heard his voice sound like that, either. The way his mouth curls around the title makes your heart beat fast. Makes you want to push him down right now and enjoy yourself.
You deny the both of you for a little longer though.
"Good boy," you say, and that face you recognise - not on Belphie, but from all your other demons, the hazy look they get when you praise them. "You said your hips hurt too, right? I'll help you a little bit, but you'll still have to sit up."
You take the remote you hid in your pocket and switch it on.
The base vibrates to life.
Belphie's reaction is... everything.
He bucks, tries to arch his back, but that tugs on the clamps. He tries to hunch over, relieve the pressure on his chest, but that forces him further down on the toy that is now vibrating along with the base. Belphie twitches, hands gripping the sheets of the bed next to him, looking for a position that's less pain, less pleasure, less feeling.
He doesn't find one.
"There. Now you won't have to ride it. You can relax a little. Does that help, Belphie?"
"Y-y-y-" He chokes, bouncing involuntarily - hips up to try and escape the pleasure, collapsing back down in exhaustion. "Yes, Master! Thank you, Master!"
"...Colour?" you ask him.
He hesitates. You feel the pact flare lightly, and you reach for the remote the same time the word is forced out of him: "Yellow."
You turn the vibrations off. "What's going too far?"
"Strong." Belphie blinks, trying to force the feelings he experienced into coherent thoughts. "The vibrations were strong, and they went through the clamps, and it was too much."
You nod. "I am going to turn them on weaker. Let me know if that helps, or if it's still too much."
You pause with your finger over the button. Belphie is blatantly staring at you, brows drawn together in confusions.
"Yes?" you prompt.
To your horror, Belphie's eyes go shiny and wet. His body is shaking from exertion. You've pushed him tonight - pushed him beyond anything you've tried before - and for the first time you're faced with the possibility you may have pushed one of your demons too far.
"Why?" Belphie snaps. Hunched over, naked, he looks like a cornered animal.
"Why are we doing this?"
"Why are you being nice?" he snarls, and then his shoulders hunch further, shying away from you. "I'm sorry, Master. I don't mean to talk back, Master."
"Belphie," you prompt, gently. "Normally I would punish talking back. But right now, I need to know what's going on. Why do you think this is me being nice?"
Tears start to spill over, making tracks down his already red cheeks. "I don't understand. You said this wasn't revenge but what else could you want? Anyone - demon, human, whatever - would want revenge after what I did to you. I said sorry but what the hell is that worth?" You don't disagree with him. He's got a point, after all. "I thought if I let you do what you want you might feel like you've gotten even, but I have to follow your order and tell you when it's too much, which means you can't take everything out on me! I don't know what you want from me!"
You reach out, and Belphie holds very still as your hand covers his cheek, wiping away tears. "You're right, Belphie. Sorry wasn't enough."
He tries to pull away but you grip his chin.
"What you did was unforgivable. Beyond cruel. But I'm not looking for revenge, because revenge would be exhausting. Revenge would be hard work for me and painful for Beel and I don't think it would actually make you feel better. I don't think it would even make me feel better."
It's not like you hadn't thought about it. Hurting Belphie had been a fantasy for a while. But with how tough demons were you'd have to cross a lot of lines to hurt him half as much as he'd hurt you. Or involve his brothers, which you never wanted to do.
"So instead, we're going to try and start fresh." Finally, Belphie looks back at you. His eyes are still wet, still confused, but he's smart, your demon. He's starting to get it. "In the attic, I was your lifeline to the outside world, and you were a manipulative bastard. Now, on the outside, you're my demon, and I'm your master. Tonight is about making those roles clear."
"You're my master," Belphie repeats, nodding. You raise an eyebrow, waiting. "And I'm... your demon?"
You pick up his cow-print pillow, left on the bed. "You don't rip apart your things, do you? Not the important ones, anyway. I'm going to play with you, because you're my demon. I'm going to use you, because you're my demon. I'm going to hurt you, because we both enjoy it."
Belphie snorts.
"But I'm not going to break you, Belphie," you say, voice soft, caressing his cheek, brushing back his hair.
"Not unless you give me another reason to."
Silence falls in the attic.
After a time, Belphie whispers, "I want to keep going."
***
When your phone goes off next, you decide it's the final time.
You gave Belphie permission to fully lean against the bed, his arms pillowed against the mattress. He is awake, but his body is mostly relaxed. Only his shoulders are tense, upper back rounding to avoid the clamps from brushing against anything.
"Belphie," you begin gently, "I think this is going to feel very odd."
You pinch open one clamp, prompting a shudder and a groan. His nipple is puffy, red, angry, painful. You blow on it lightly and he hisses.
The other one comes off and Belphie collapses fully against the mattress, a gasp of pain when his sensitive nipples hit the fabric. He quickly straightens up enough to lean away.
You turn the vibrations off. "On the bed, Belphie," you order, keeping your voice gentle. You know he'll be a good boy and listen. "Do you want to keep your toy in for now?"
He shakes his head.
You help him up on shaky legs, let him flop onto the bed. He crawls up onto the pillows, propping himself up even as his whole body melts into the mattress. Including, unfortunately for you, his cock. Next time you try something like this, you'll have to keep that in mind in case you want to ride him later.
For now, you pick up one of the clean toys still in your box, throw off your pants, and settle on his stomach. You're so wet - and the toy so within your limits - that you don't worry about lube. You use Belphie as a pillow, supporting your hips as you ride the toy against him, feeling his muscles tense beneath you.
Belphie grumbles. "You could've ordered me hard again."
"I told you there would only be one order today," you remind him. Your breath only hitches lightly - you're in no rush, aiming for a slow, sweet orgasm rather than moving your hips at a desperate pace. "Don't worry, Belphie. You'll have plenty of chances to fuck me later."
He fumbles with the buttons on your shirt - you didn't bother taking it off, and he can't be bothered to reach up further, so he just rests his hands on your bare stomach, fingers brushing across your skin.
"Love you, Master," Belphie says, all quiet, as if someone might overhear you. "Love being yours."
You tip over the edge with a sigh. Your orgasm rolls through you slowly. You'd been waiting on it most of the night, but it still doesn't feel as good as whipping Belphie did.
There is still a bit of work to do. You get wet wipes for yourself and Belphie. Mostly Belphie, whose thighs are streaked with cum, and whose stomach is covered in your wetness. You're pretty proud about your ability to think ahead and pack wipes as well. You like to think you're getting good at this.
You prompt Belphie to sit up a bit, check his back. The angry red lines have faded into a pale pink, and he doesn't wince when you press against them. You force his pyjama pants back on him, because you have RAD tomorrow, and you don't want to risk temptation making you late in the morning.
Now, you rearrange yourself and Belphie under the covers, cuddle up nice and warm. Almost immediately Belphie attaches himself to your chest, mouthing at your nipple. It seems the twins share an oral fixation.
Exams are soon. The year is coming to an end. You'll have to return to your humdrum human life in barely over a month. And a much less active sex life.
Still, you've long since accepted the relationships you've made here will be for the long haul. Not just because of the pacts, either. Mammon, Levi, Beel, Asmo, Satan, and now Belphie - all have shown you a level of devotion you can't imagine from a human partner. That would be undesirable, repulsive in a human partner. They're yours, and you're theirs - their human, and their master.
For six of the seven brothers, anyway. As Belphie's warmth draws you into sleep, you think about the final brother. And you think about revenge.
bestfriend!megumi who absolutely adores you, his love is platonic of course– why wouldn’t it be? you're only the most perfect woman he's laid his eyes on. but if anyone asked him about it he would say; “no. we aren’t dating. i don’t know why you would even think that.”
bestfriend!megumi who learned how to do your hair the way you liked, then your nails. they left much to be desired at first, but now you're rocking sets straight off of pinterest. he claimed that it was to save your money, "why go to some salon that would overcharge you rather than have me do them for free?" he said.
bestfriend!megumi who never let you pay when the two of you went out. in fact, you don’t even get to see the bill. you’ve tried telling him that you don’t mind paying once in a while and he just shakes his head.
bestfriend!megumi who stays up with you and does everything in his power to help if you aren’t feeling well. the second you mention having a headache? he's knocking on your door with ibuprofen and snacks. he has you snug as a bug in your bed, your favorite show is going, and he’s in your kitchen preparing a glass of water and a fruit cup. and he's not leaving until he knows you feel better.
bestfriend!megumi who usually doesn’t care for gossip, but when you drop that “it’s just so crazy to me how-” you best believe he's sat. sometimes what y'all talk about is funny, other times it’s mean. but it makes you happy and that’s all that matters to him.
bestfriend!megumi who you have pinned on every app. he's used to your spam, whether it’s cute cat videos or videos that say he’ll go straight to hell if he dares to crack a smile. it can be a lot after a rough day, but honestly? he’s just happy you seem to think of him as much as he thinks of you.
bestfriend!megumi whose arms you'll run into whenever something bad happens. it doesn't matter if it was your fault or entirely out of your control. it's always a judgement free zone with him. you went to him when your ex-boyfriend cheated on you, you went to him when your parents were fighting, you always went to him. and he said the right things every time.
bestfriend!megumi who really.. wishes he was more than just your bestfriend.
Hai, I didn’t see where it was written if your request were opened or closed but only if they are opened may I request sub Feitan nsfw headcannons, if they are closed pls ignore this!!
⊹FEITAN PORTOR SUB!HEADCANONS⊹ — HUNTER X HUNTER
cw: dom!reader, gender neutral i guess, sub feitan, brat behavior, masochism, impact play, breath, bondage, orgasm denial, knife play, public risk, overstimulation, cockwarming, size kink, toys, cum play, humiliation, aftercare, explicit language
a/n: sorry for taking so long to write this.
feitan is not gonna make it easy for you. he’s never gonna come to bed saying “i want you to fuck me.” instead, he mocks, provokes, makes sarcastic comments—his way of pushing you into dominating him. he’s a textbook brat, proud even when he’s on his knees.
a full-on masochist. he enjoys pain almost as much as pleasure; honestly, he needs you to mix the two. spanking, biting, scratching him raw, burning his skin with rough touches… his body reacts instantly to punishment.
breath control drives him insane. your hand on his throat, squeezing just enough so he feels your dominance, watching him tremble with his face flushed red—it’s the fastest way to shatter his façade.
he hates to admit it, but he loves being tied up. cuffs, ropes, anything. he’ll say “i can get out whenever i want,” but deep down, that helplessness humiliates and excites him like nothing else.
you call him “puppy” or “bratty whore” just to provoke him, and he’ll grit his teeth denying it… but his cock always gives him away.
orgasm control is brutal on him: feitan resists, fights back, insults you… until after the third denial he’s crying, begging in a torn-up voice he would never let the rest of the troupe hear.
the knife is always there. he might even hand it to you himself, with that twisted smile, like saying “go ahead, dare you.” dragging the cold blade over his skin makes him tremble, vulnerable.
semi-public sex: feitan has a fixation with risk. the idea of someone in the troupe overhearing (or worse, walking in) turns him on. he’ll insult you if you suggest it, but still shoves himself into dark corners or leans against the wall like he’s daring you to use him right there.
heavy overstimulation: his pride won’t let him be the first to break, so even when he’s trembling and leaking, he won’t say “enough.” he holds out until he’s wrecked, and honestly, that’s exactly what he wants.
cockwarming wrecks him. he’ll say it’s “a waste of time,” but sitting on your cock, forced to stay still, makes him twitchy and desperate. and the way his body squeezes down unconsciously always gives him away.
huge size kink. feeling smaller, weaker in your hands makes him dizzy. he’s fast and deadly in a fight, but in bed he loves that contrast—being tossed around, manhandled like he weighs nothing. he hates admitting it, but it drives him crazy.
sharp tongue, filthy mouth. even when he’s begging, he won’t stop insulting you. “slow,” “useless,” “you’re boring”—every insult is just a mask for what he really feels. gag him and his body speaks instead: trembling, desperate grinding, quick messy orgasms.
toys and objects break him. at first he laughs when you pull something out, but plugs, vibrators, clamps… they ruin him. he hates the lack of control, but secretly he craves it more than anything.
he won’t say it, but he loves when you finish on him—on his face, chest, marking him. he’ll wipe it off fast with fake annoyance, but in the dark he’ll touch the mess like he wants to remember.
before he cums, he fights, insults, resists. after… he’s different. quiet, pliant, eyes downcast in a way that seems impossible for him. it’s the only time he’ll ever whisper “do whatever you want” without sarcasm.
rough aftercare is a must. he can’t stand soft words, but he needs the contact. hug him tight, pin him to your chest, clean him up a little rough. he needs to snap back into normal fast, but until then he’ll cling to you with his fingers hidden in your clothes.
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