#mc pov

[feachindeepspace]

KINKTOBER / DEEPSPACEKINK - 2025

Title: For Days

Prompt: Overstimulation

Pairing: Xavier/MC

Summary: She was only gone for a few hours. What a mess he made...

Tags: Established Relationship, Sensory Deprivation, Sexual Overstimulation, Aftercare, Trust, Shower Scene, Domestic Intimacy, Vulnerability Kink, Toys and Machines, Soft Erotica, Minor D/s Dynamics

Song Inspiration: For Days by Rini

⭐⛓️⭐⛓️⭐⛓️⭐⛓️⭐⛓️⭐⛓️⭐⛓️⭐⛓️⭐⛓️⭐

The lock clicked softly as she turned the key.

A wash of evening air followed her inside—cool, fragrant with the street’s rain, mixing with the richer smell rising from the paper bag she carried.  Fried chicken with french fries and pickled vegetables; he’d asked for that just before she’d gone out.

“I’m home,” she said, voice light, unhurried.

No reply came. Just the hum of her refrigerator and the quiet hiss of the city outside the window.

She set the bag down on the table, the paper crinkling in her hands.  Oil blotches spread slowly through it, dark and warm against her fingertips.  The domestic rhythm took over—shoes lined up by the door, coat hung neatly, sink faucet turned on.  Warm water ran over her fingers as she washed away the faint sheen of grease and rain.

Nothing felt out of place.  Yet, beneath the quiet, something pulsed.

A faint vibration, like the throb of distant bass through a wall, more felt than heard.

She stilled.

It was subtle enough that anyone else might have dismissed it, but her senses were tuned to the smallest change.  The rhythm repeated—steady, low, followed by a distinctly human sob.

A smile ghosted across her lips.

So he’d held out this long.

She took her time drying her hands, straightening the food containers, letting the ordinary linger just a little longer.  The air felt heavy now, humming against her skin.  When she moved toward the hallway, the vibration deepened—softer now, threaded with uneven, breathlike sounds.

Her steps slowed.  The warmth of the lamp pooled along the floorboards, guiding her toward the half-closed bedroom door.

The noise was unmistakable now: labored breath, small catches of sound wrapped in rhythm.  Not quite pain, not completely distress—something closer to surrender.

Her heartbeat quickened in answer.  She rested her hand against the doorframe, savoring the sight before her.

“I’m home,” she murmured again, though she knew he couldn’t hear her.

The door gave under her touch, opening a few inches.  Light spilled across the room, glinting off something metallic, something trembling just beyond sight.  The faintest shift of air answered her, a shudder through the silence that told her he’d felt her there—without eyes, without ears, still attuned only to her.

Her sweet partner kneels in the closet, trembling and slick with sweat, every breath betraying how completely undone he’s become. 

Xavier’s hands are suspended, tied to the rail for hanging clothes. Over his ears are noise cancelling headphones, his eyes blind folded, keeping him attuned to only sensation. His face is streaked with sweat and tears.

The machine pumping the sleeve over his cock was still going at an even pace, the setting was left on medium for an extra special challenge for him. Judging from the cum overflowing from the edges of the toy, he’s already climaxed quite a few times. 

She knows he must know she’s there, but he hasn't greeted her or acknowledged her. He’s too busy teetering on the edge of another ceaseless orgasm. His breath is coming out in a staccato rhythm, hips trying their hardest to lean away from the onslaught of sensation, only for it to heighten. 

She suddenly remembers she gave him the prostate toy too before she left.

Every little shift of his hips brings him higher and higher. The pretty noises he was making alone would be enough to get her wet, but combined with the sorry sight of him, she was completely smitten.

She presses a finger to the hollow of his sternum. He jerks, a sharp breath. Another gasp follows, quick and broken. Each movement pulls a new sound from him, causing him to gasp and flinch at the touch. Every inch of him is damp, covered in sweat. He’ll need a bath and a nice long nap when this is all said and done. But for now…

She drags her finger up his chest, feeling his labored breathing, the way he seems to lean into that simple touch. His breaths become gasping moans. Wet, desperate sounds. She trails her finger all the way up his neck, then chin, finally resting on his lips. 

On instinct, he takes her finger into his mouth, lips and tongue working over it feverishly. The wet heat of him is enough to make her keen. She plays with his tongue a while longer before  she pulls her finger from his lips. 

He actually whimpers from frustration. 

She presses a quick consoling peck to his lips. He must not have been expecting it, because he stills at the contact. His lips chased her as she pulled away. 

His lips pull into a grimace.

Her partner was so cute, it made her want to be mean.

She lifts one side of his headphones off his ear, and he makes a noise of relief. She gives him a few seconds of pause.

“You know, I've been home for a few minutes now. Why haven't you greeted me?”

He ducks his head low, biting his lip. A muffled sound slips free despite his effort. The machine’s rhythm doesn’t slow, and she can see he’s near his edge. It isn’t kind to tease him, but her partner is nothing if not stubborn.

He lifts his head, blindfolded eyes tilting toward her voice. “W…welcome—” The rest catches in his throat. “Home.”

“It’s good to be home.” She lets her tone soften. “You’re hungry, aren’t you?”

“Hun…gry.” The word breaks, a ghost of sound more than speech.

“I brought what you asked for. You can eat,” she murmurs, “if you give me another show.”

Even through the blindfold she senses his hesitation, a flicker of panic. She remembers how composed he’d been on missions—how he never let his voice shake even in battle. The memory twists something tender inside her.

He swallows, the sound raw. “C…close,” he manages. “Can’t…hold.”

“I know, baby.” She threads her fingers through his hair, steady and deliberate. “I’ll help you.” She settles the headphones back over his ears, sealing him in silence and sensation.

Every muscle in his body tightens, breath shallow, waiting.

For a heartbeat she hesitates, her breath catching as she takes him in—the rise and fall of his chest, the trembling strain of control slipping away. It is rare to see him like this, and something inside her tightens with affection as much as desire.

She draws a steadying breath, heart thudding with both anticipation and care. After a moment’s pause, she moves. Her hand finds the base of the machine. A quiet click follows. Then the rhythm surges.

Xavier’s reaction is instant: a broken sound, half cry, half gasp. The calm, unshakable man she knows dissolves into shuddering fragments of breath. Each syllable that escapes him is half-formed, pleading without words. She watches, transfixed, as the proud Hunter yields completely, undone and trembling beneath her touch.

Then she moves, gentle and grounding, placing a hand on his shoulder. Her thumb traces slow circles through the sheen of sweat there. His body quivers under the touch, breath ragged and uneven. The sharpness in the air softens, his breathing finding a steadier rhythm.

Her voice drops to a whisper he cannot hear, a soft promise meant only for him. “I'm here now, I’ve got you. You can let go. Just for me.”

The tension breaks. He gasps once, sharp and unsteady, then exhales slower, like a tide retreating. Relief ripples through him in waves, from shoulders to fingertips, until his whole frame slackens. The silence that follows feels sacred, broken only by the soft hum of the machine winding down.

She waits until his body stills before switching it off. Her movements are careful, deliberate. When she removes the headphones and blindfold, dim light spills over his face. He blinks, unfocused at first, then exhales a low, shaky sigh that sounds like gratitude.

She brushes damp strands of silver hair from his forehead. His glassy eyes find her and hold. For a moment, he seems afraid to breathe, as though any motion might break the fragile peace. Then he lets out a faint, breathless laugh caught between disbelief and relief.

“That was mean,” he rasps, corners of his mouth twitching upwards despite his words.

“Maybe,” she murmurs, leaning close until her forehead nearly touches his. “But you know I take good care of you.” Her hand lingers on his cheek, thumb sweeping gently across warm skin. He tilts slightly into the touch, chasing it like someone starved for light.

For a breath she simply holds him, struck by how completely he trusts her. The weight of his surrender feels fragile and precious in her arms. She can almost hear his heartbeat slowing against her chest, a quiet rhythm of safety and need.

The closeness steadies him—the scent of her, the rhythm of her breathing, the reassurance that he isn’t alone. After hours in darkness and silence, every small sound and touch feels like air returning to his lungs.

“Want a bath,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, the faintest trace of humor flickering through.

She huffs a quiet laugh, half amusement, half tenderness. “No baths right now. Not after last time.”

He makes a puzzled sound, eyes narrowing faintly. “Didn’t drown.”

“You nearly did,” she reminds him, guiding him to his feet. “You’ll fall asleep again. Shower first. Bath later, after you eat and rest.”

He grumbles but doesn’t resist, letting her lead him down the hall. The bedroom light fades behind them, replaced by the steady glow of the bathroom. She turns on the water, tests it with her wrist, then helps him beneath the spray.

Steam curls between them, carrying away the weight of the night. She stays close, one hand steady on his back as he leans against the wall, eyes closed. When the tremors fade and his breathing evens, she smiles and brushes his damp hair aside.

“Come on,” she whispers. “Let’s get you clean. Then we’ll eat fried chicken, just like you asked.”

He opens his eyes long enough to meet hers, a faint, drowsy smile ghosting over his lips. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

He exhales, content. The quiet that follows feels softer than before, no longer empty but filled with warmth and the faint soothing hums of his lover's voice. The steady rush of water wraps around them, washing away everything sharp and restless. For the first time in hours, his face is unguarded—his usual composure dissolved into something open and human.

She stays close, patient and proud, her hand still resting against his heart. With slow, steady care, she helps him ease the small toy from his body, her movements gentle and deliberate. He flinches at first, then relaxes with a low relieved sigh. She doesn’t care that her clothes are getting soaked as she rinses him clean, the warmth of the water running over both of them like a balm.

Together they linger in the hush, the sound of the shower mingling with their breath until peace, pure and steady, is all that remains.

⭐⛓️⭐⛓️⭐⛓️⭐⛓️⭐⛓️⭐⛓️⭐⛓️⭐⛓️⭐⛓️⭐

Caleb's Kinkfic | Sylus's Kinkfic | Zayne's Kinkfic | Rafayel's Kinkfic

[luciosfanpage]

[calebxia-143]

MC's POV: Caleb fixing the house in Linkon

What was that pipsqueak?! I can't hear ya over the saw!

[glamphantasm]

OMxWhumptober Day 4 - Magic, Hallucinations, Sensory Deprivation

I dare not claim with any certainty what is real anymore, though my fingers tremble as they trace the cold stones of the tower floor. My mind is a shattered thing, a fragmented mirror reflecting a darkness too deep to understand, and somewhere within that fractured reality, the shape of Solomon lingers, the one whose name I fear to whisper even in my most fleeting thoughts.

This tower, this suffocating prison, has no end and no beginning; it is a labyrinth, not of walls and rooms, but of the mind, a place where time does not move, where memory disintegrates like ash scattered by an unseen wind. I kneel now in the dark, my body shaking with every breath, but I cannot tell whether the trembling is born of the cold air or the madness that has wormed its way into my very soul.

"You’re still alive in my head," I murmur to the void, my voice weak and foreign in my own ears. But who am I addressing? Solomon, or some ghost of my former self that lingers in the corners of my consciousness, a shadow of what I once was?

I am, or was, his apprentice. There was a time when the arcane was not a nightmare, when I sought knowledge beneath his tutelage with the earnest fervor of youth. I say this, as though it were decades ago, instead of months. I remember the stars then, their pale, indifferent light filtering through the high windows of the tower, back when I could still look upon them without trembling. Back when reality held firm beneath my feet.

Now, I cannot even recall the shape of the stars.

Solomon has consumed my world, if there is indeed a world left to be consumed. I speak of him as though he is a man — a sorcerer, yes, but still a creature bound by flesh and blood. But that is the trick, isn’t it? The first of his many illusions. Solomon is not a man. Not as we understand men. He is a eidolon given form, a force whose essence stretches far beyond the realms of understanding. It took time to learn this, to feel the truth creeping in through the cracks in my mind. The more I learned of his magic, the more I realized the depths of his cruelty — not just in the torment he inflicted on my body, but in the way he unraveled my sanity, thread by thread, until nothing of myself remained.

The void where I kneel now was once a room. A simple chamber, where we practiced the conjuring of spirits, the weaving of ancient runes. But it has since become something else, something unrecognizable. The edges of reality blur here, warping and twisting in ways I cannot comprehend. I see walls that pulse as if alive, their surfaces shifting like the flesh of some unnameable beast. Shadows writhe in the corners, their movements too fluid to belong to anything mortal. When I blink, they vanish, only to return when I am too exhausted to fight the visions any longer.

Solomon’s voice slithers into my mind, as it always does, a low murmur that echoes through the very marrow of my bones. "You are nothing without me," he whispers. "You are merely an echo of what I allow you to be."

He is right. I have no illusions left about who I am — or what I have become. The days of defiance are long gone, ground to dust beneath the weight of his will. There is no escape from him, no end to the horrors he inflicts. His magic twists my senses, bending the very fabric of existence until I can no longer tell what is real and what is a hallucination.

There were others once, weren’t there? I remember — or think I remember — figures who moved through my life with warmth and kindness. They may have been friends. They may have been my family. But the memories are like fog, distant and elusive, slipping away the moment I try to grasp them. Sometimes I hear their voices, faint whispers in the back of my mind, calling my name, offering me salvation. But I cannot trust those voices. They are too distant, too unreal. I wonder if they ever existed at all.

I am alone in this place. Alone with Solomon.

The deprivation chambers are the worst, though it is difficult to say why they terrify me more than the rest of the tower. Solomon places me in them often — dark, silent rooms where I float in nothingness, where my body feels weightless and numb, and where the boundaries of my mind slowly unravel. It is there that I am most lost, drifting in an eternal, cosmic abyss that stretches far beyond the confines of the tower.

In those moments, I am certain that I touch something vast, something incomprehensible. It whispers to me in a language older than time, its voice an eldritch hum that vibrates through the void. And I — broken, shattered thing that I am — listen. I understand. The universe is not what we think it is. There are forces beyond the stars, beyond reality, forces that laugh at the fragile minds of men.

Solomon knows this. He has touched those forces. He is their conduit, their emissary in this world, and I — I am his vessel.

“You cannot be saved,” his voice echoes in the abyss. “There is no one here, no powers that will come for you. There is only me. Only my will. You will know nothing else.”

My mind slips further with every passing moment. His magic has spread its roots deep into my psyche, warping my thoughts, my perceptions. There is no difference between hallucination and reality anymore. Solomon speaks, but his words are everywhere, filling the dark spaces, pressing into me until I feel my consciousness unraveling. How long have I been in this room? Hours? Days? Years? I do not know.

And then I see the stars again.

They shimmer faintly above me, their cold light piercing through the suffocating blackness of the chamber. But they are not the stars I remember. No — these stars are wrong, alien, their patterns twisted into impossible geometries. My heart races, but my body is too weak, too broken to respond. These stars speak, their voices low and hungry, resonating with Solomon’s power. I hear their promises — promises of freedom, of release from this torment. But their promises are lies. They offer only oblivion, a descent into the nameless void from which there is no return.

The hallucinations blur together. Faces from a past I can no longer trust appear before me — specters of those who once loved me, perhaps. They reach for me, their eyes wide with terror, but when I try to touch them, they vanish into mist. They are no more real than I am.

"You belong to me," Solomon’s voice calls again, and I know it is the only truth left. He is more than my master. He is the gatekeeper to something far worse than death, and I — I am already lost.

I see now that there is no end to this madness. The tower, the void, the stars — they are all parts of the same cosmic nightmare, a reality twisted beyond reason, where time and space mean nothing, where my very soul has been claimed by forces I cannot name. Solomon has broken me, utterly and completely.

And in my brokenness, I see the truth: I am nothing.

I kneel before him, and I weep, but there is no comfort in my tears. Only the cold, eternal gaze of a sorcerer who is not a man, but a reflection of the madness that lies at the heart of the universe.

There are no gods here. Only Solomon.

And I am his, forever.

[purpleyoonn]

the Little Fox Ch. 16 Preview

“The idea of being free was a foreign concept. Being free meant having choices, having opportunities. Being a hybrid meant never being free.”

Summary: Just as you escaped the Little Fox, a bidding house, you find yourself at war with your thoughts, not wanting to go to another shelter. You didn’t expect yourself to find a home anywhere, especially not with the men who found you, and their pack.

Pairing: eventual polyBTS x hybrid reader

Genre: hybrid au!, fluff, angst, poly, mentions of abo, slowburn, eventual smut

Status: Ongoing

Warnings: insecurities, anxiety, past abuse, past sexual abuse, mentions of rape/noncon, some violence, mentions of violence. 

Some warnings may be added to the beginning of individual chapters.

Masterlist

————————————————-

Coming Saturday, January 15th: 5pm PST

The scent of cigars reaches your nose, making you alert and terrified, your heartbeat quickening. You try hard to remember what happened, flashes of teeth and fists moving throughout your vision; the sight of Jimin’s scared form running to the door, Jungkook knocked out on the floor with bruises forming on his face. 

You let out a small whine once you feel the heavy weight against your wrists and ankles. Small tears fall down your cheeks as you wince, the memories coming back. The feeling of being tied up bringing you back to the many nights you spent in room 62.

“I want you out of here. I need to be the first person she sees when she wakes up. I did too much to get her back to me and I will not have you or anyone else ruining it.” You can hear Red speak, his voice leveled, his impatience and anger coming though. 

Heavy footsteps move quickly, then a door opens and closes as the sound of your freedom quickly becomes silenced.

“Foxxyyyy, it’s time to open your eyes…I know you’re awake, darling.” You squeeze your eyes shut even more, refusing to open your eyes and see the monster from your dreams up close.

“I don’t know why you thought you could escape from me that easily, my love.” You feel his clammy hand rub your cheek, down to your jaw. 

Just as quickly as he moved against you, he was gripping your jaw hard, his thumbs bruising your skin as he turns your head to face him. The shock from his grip forcing your eyes open. His hands trail over your body before moving to grip your neck. 

“You should have known better than to let that mangy cat mate with you. You are mine. You are mine to mark. Mine to mate. Mine to touch however I wish.” 

Time Adjustments Below:

[paradisiac64]

Let’s Film An Adult Video! (Fanfiction)

Aha, here is another story from me.  This is super dumb and lighthearted an features a lot of Simeon, which is yay, I think.  Anyway, again, this is a silly, cringy thing that I was bored and wrote.  Also, it is on AO3.  Sorry for posting so much, I promise I’ll tone it down soon if that bothers anyone! >.<

Title:

Let’s Film An Adult Video!

Summary:

When Simeon believes he's asked by Asmo to film an adult video, MC decides to help him, only to find out that sex is not the only thing on the Avatar of Lust's mind.

Genre:

Slice of Life/Humor

Rating:

T

Word Count:

2012

Additional Note:

All the dialogue between the MC and Simeon that are in italics means that it’s not verbally expressed, but is rather mouthed between you.  And yes, you can understand each other because you’ve magically developed the talent of impeccable lip-reading.

-

You yawn slightly as you exit your Introduction to the History of Demonology 1001 classroom and shift the straps of your backpack.  You groan at the weight of all the homework your obnoxious teacher assigned to you for the day. 

Your eyes feeling heavy—you had stayed up with Levi all night yesterday playing one of his newly-released games—you stumble forward, nearly tripping on the velvet hallway runner that lines R.A.D’s tiled corridor.

You manage to regain your footing, but again, your ungraceful stroll is impeded by something else—that something being a tall, brown-skinned angel, who leans against the wall with furrowed brows.

You brighten instantly.  “Hey, Simeon.” You notice the frown on his face.  “Is something wrong?”

Simeon shakes his head.  “I have to admit, yes, but it’s nothing for you to worry about, MC.”

You cock your head.  “Are you sure? I’d like to help.”

“Well,” Simeon replies, smiling at your earnestness.  “I don’t know if you can help.  In fact, I’m the one who got myself into this mess, so I suppose I’m the only one who can get myself out.”

You have to wonder what kind of conundrum a pious creature like Simeon could have gotten himself into, so you say, “Just tell me what happened; maybe I can offer some insight.”

He nods.  “Okay, then.  I guess there’s no harm in telling you.”  He sits down, leaning his back against a row of lockers, and motions for you to do the same.  “Ah, see. You know, up in the Celestial Realm, we don’t use D.D.Ds. We have our own type of communication devices, sure, but we’ve never really had the need to use anything as complicated as what’s used in the Devildom.”

“Yeah, I remember Solomon telling me that you and Luke were super intrigued when Diavolo gave you guys your D.D.Ds,” you reminisce, as you pull out your own device.

“Yes, they’re really quite complex.  We had trouble getting used to them at first.”  Simeon laughs cheerfully. “I especially am fond of sending stickers and such, although I have trouble typing actual messages, though.”  He pauses. “Anyway, I wanted to get better at navigating my D.D.D, so I enlisted the help of Levi earlier this week since he’s so good with technology.”

You stop him there.  “Impossible—Levi’s favorite game just got a new installment on Sunday, so he’s been playing it all week.  He’s been at it pretty much 24/7. Actually, I helped him yesterday.”

“Yes, the fact that Levi is busy this week made it so that despite our arrangement, I couldn’t rely on him.”  The angel shook his head sadly. “However, Levi did recommend that I talk to Asmodeus if I wanted help with my D.D.D considering Asmo spends a lot of time on it browsing and posting on Devilgram and DevilTube.”

You nod.  “Makes sense.”

Simeon goes on, “The thing is, Asmodeus said that if he taught me the ins-and-outs of my D.D.D, he wanted something in return; I said that that was alright.”  He looks down, and you can’t help but notice the slight blush on his face as he continues, “Today he let me know what he wants me to do.” He takes a deep breath.  “He wants me to film a video in his bedroom … a video featuring him and his … lady friends .  He said he’d do it himself, but he’d be pretty … occupied during the video.  He also said he’d have a script and everything.”

“What?”   You can feel your eyes bulge out of your head, making the connection between the Avatar of Lust and … scripted bedroom videos.  “He wants you to film a porno with him starring in it?!”

Simeon nods furiously.  “You realize it too, don’t you, MC?  I’m sure that’s what he wants, right?”

“Right.  He really must be a demon if he wants an angel to film him having sex …”  You sigh. “Maybe tell him you don’t want to do it?”

He shakes his head.   “No, I can’t do that—I can’t break a promise I made to him.”  He sighs. “I’m just going to have to buckle down and do what he asks.”

You feel as if you should’ve known that as an angel, he wouldn’t go back on his word.  You decide to alleviate him, considering he looked miserable. “If you want, I’ll help you.”

“I can’t ask you to do that, MC!” Simeon gasps.  “You’re not the one who promised this to Asmo!”

“I’m doing it,” you affirm.  “I told you I’d try to help, so I’m gonna.  With me there, we can take turns controlling the video camera, so you don’t have to see as much … stuff.”

The angel seemed to sense that there was no way that you were budging from your stance, so he groans.  “I guess there’s no stopping you, then. Let’s go to Asmo’s room and film an adult video!”

“Huh,” you comment, peering through the threshold to Asmodeus’ open bedroom.  “He’s not here.”

“Yes, he said we could come in beforehand to get all the equipment set up before he brings in his female … companions.”  Simeon blushes at the last two words. “Although, I’m not sure we’re going to need all that much recording stuff.” He pulls out his D.D.D.  “I mean, Asmo showed me how to work the video camera on this so I think we can use that to film.”

You nod.  “That sounds fine.  The video quality might not be that great, but since we don’t have anything else, I guess we can just use that.”

Before you can see anything else, you notice that Simeon has begun to wander through Asmodeus’ room.  He turns to you, clutching a small, pink, egg-shaped object. His eyes widen in suspicion. “What do you think this is, MC?  Some kind of weird sex toy?  Do you think they’ll use it in the video?  Because if so, I’d like to film that part, to see what hole it goes up in.”

It’s your turn to blush.  “I—I believe that’s called a BeautyBlender, Simeon.  It’s a sponge for makeup.”

“Ah, I see.”  He places it back on Asmo’s vanity and notices that a pale powder has rubbed off the beauty sponge and onto his fingers.  He looks curiously at you.

“Foundation,” you explain. “You can wipe it off.”

He nods and reaches toward what looks like a slick metal hand sanitizer dispenser placed on the vanity.  But, before he can press the actuator down, Asmodeus prances into his room.

“Hello, everyone!” Asmo sings.  “Oh, lovely! MC, you’re here, too!  I’ll do you after I’m done with these two.” 

He gestures at the two female demons that had followed him into the room; both are surprisingly, unconventionally beautiful, with strikingly attractive features that didn’t seem to follow any beauty standards.  He saunters toward his bed, pausing when he notices Simeon’s hand poised on the ‘hand sanitizer dispenser.’ “Ooooh, are we interrupting something?” He glances at you and then Simeon, grinning. “If we were, don’t mind us, and do go on!  I’ll join in if I notice a lull!”

You cock your head.  “… What?”

Asmodeus shrugged.  “Well, I can only assume what was about to go on, considering Simeon’s hand is poised on my lube dispenser.”

Simeon whips his hand away from the metal canister, his face bright red.  “I—I thought it was hand sanitizer!”

“No, no, that’s lube—good quality stuff, too!”  Asmo beckons toward the two other demons, and they walk further into the room.  “Lailah, Feota, come, sit on the bed, darlings.”

As the two girls quietly make their way to the bed, Simeon mouths to you from across the room (you magically have insanely good lip-reading skills and can understand him perfectly), “Holy Father, MC, he has two ‘lady friends!’  We’re gonna be filming a threesome!   How scandalous!” 

You nod furiously and point to Asmodeus, who had sauntered over to his closet and is now returning with a massive pink box that is covered with glitter.  He plops it down on his bed next to Lailah and Feota.

“I got my bag of tricks!” Asmo explains, pointing to the box. He taps his fingers gleefully.  “This is going to be so much fun!”

“Bag of tricks?” you mouth to Simeon.  You have a sneaking suspicion that in regards to the genre of this video, that could only mean one thing.

He turns to the both of you, saying, “I just need to grab a few more things for the video, so if you guys could just hold off on the filming for a few minutes, that would be fabulous.” You and Simeon watch as Asmodeus turns toward his vanity, opens the drawer, and pulls out a curling iron, which confuses you because … where did a curling iron fit into sex?

“Vibrator!” Simeon mouths, gesturing toward it, his eyebrows raising.

“Curling iron!” you mouth back to him.

Asmo yanks out an eyelash curler and puts it on the vanity.

“Nipple clamps!”

“Eyelash curler!”

Next, the fifthborn demon pulls out an assortment of pointy makeup brushes.  As you notice the number of beauty supplies accumulating on his vanity, you begin to reconsider the exact nature of the video you and Simeon are to film …

“Butt plugs!”

“Literally brushes, Simeon!”  You begin to wonder exactly how dirty the angel’s mind is.

Suddenly, Asmodeus produces a pair of fluffy red handcuffs from his drawer, before cheerfully blushing and shoving them back inside.  “Whoopsie! Heehee, those aren’t for right now!” He walks back over to his bed, grabs the pink box, and sets it onto the vanity.  

He turns toward you.  “MC, be a doll and pull that ball chair up over here toward my vanity.  I only have one seat here and both Lailah and Feota should be in front of the mirror.”

“So whoever’s not participating in the sexy times at the moment can watch!” Simeon, his eyes bugging out of his head, mouths to you, again.  

You facepalm in exasperation and not even bothering to respond to his previous statement, you mouth, “I’m not sure we’re filming porn, Simeon.”

The angel looks at you in shock.  “How can you be so sure?”

Just then, Asmo opens his ‘box of tricks,’ hauling out dozens of tubes of liquid lipstick and eyeliner, at least ninety-three different eyeshadow palettes, and several different small cases of foundation in every skin tone, as well as various other products.

You raise an eyebrow at Simeon.  “Because everything he’s gotten ready so far is a bunch of makeup products.”

“Maybe he wants to look good for the shoot!” Simeon counters.

You shake your head.  “I don’t think so.”

Finally noticing your and Simeon’s silent exchange, Asmodeus turns to you and nods.  “Ohh, I bet you guys are wondering about the script.” Before you can correct him on the fact that that is not what you two were pondering, Asmo pulls out a sheet of paper from his vanity drawer and hands it to you. “The script is just something I wrote so that you guys know which angles to film me and the girls from so that we look our best and the audience gets the most out of the video since you guys are just amateur videographers.”

Simeon meanders to your side and reads aloud from the sheet.  “‘For the most part, focus on either Lailah or Feota’s face—whoever’s makeup I’m doing at the moment.  Normally I’d tell you to put the camera mostly on me, since really, why look at anything else?—but because this is a makeup tutorial and these two are my models, I guess it’s smarter to focus on them.’”  Simeon raises an eyebrow and looks at Asmodeus.  “ … Wait, so we’re really just making a makeup tutorial video?”

The Avatar of Lust nods enthusiastically.  “Yes! For my wildly popular DevilTube channel!” He pauses.  “What else would we be filming?”

You and Simeon exchange a look and sigh.

THE END

[feather-x-crown]

I don’t want to live a life without waking up with you beside me every morning.


[Viewing in full is reccommended]

[edit: I’m so sorry Tumblr has killed the Gif quality (absolutely quality death)..... I’ll rue-load to discord tonight]

——————

Some more Mood and Lighting and Otome First Person POV gif making.

Hadrian is from The Golden Rose by @anathemafiction

[luciosfanpage]