💀 NSFW Alphabet: Pimon x Broken
Dark/criminal romance + twisted tenderness. Think: silk, scars, and possession wrapped in elegance.
Authors note: BESTIE WAKE UP BREAKFAST IS READY!!!🎉 @brokensenseofhumor
Though Pimon seems cold, aftercare is meticulous. He’ll silently undress you, bathe you himself, and dress your wounds (if he left any). He might whisper unsettlingly gentle things like, “You did beautifully. You’re still mine.” Expect rare, ghostlike kisses on your forehead, chest, or wrists.
B = Body Part (His Favorite)
Your throat. He’s obsessed with wrapping his gloved hand around it, kissing it, biting it, or resting his palm there while he watches you struggle under him. It’s not about breathplay alone—it’s about control, beauty, and the sound of your voice breaking when you moan his name.
He’s possessive. He likes to finish inside you—always—and watches it drip out with a chilling sense of pride. On occasion, he’ll paint your thighs, stomach, or chest just to admire his work. You being a mess because of him is sacred.
He’s fantasized about keeping you locked away—not out of cruelty, but for safekeeping. Part of him believes the world doesn’t deserve you. He’s come dangerously close to turning a “scene” into a long-term cage. He only resists it because he knows you’d break too beautifully.
Extensive. Pimon is practiced, precise, and observant. He knows how to read your body, push your limits, and make every touch feel like a calculated weapon. But Broken is the only one he lets see him lose control.
He prefers face-down, pinned under him, your wrists trapped in one of his hands while the other guides your hips where he wants them. Alternatively, on his lap, chest-to-chest, in a throne-like chair—so he can whisper and bite your ear while thrusting slow and deep.
Not remotely. He doesn’t “laugh” in bed—he smirks. The closest thing to humor is when you try to sass him mid-act, and he cocks an eyebrow before putting you right back in your place.
Always slicked back and well-groomed. The only time it’s disheveled is when you’ve clawed at it during a particularly brutal session. He loves when you grip it hard while begging.
He’s not romantic in the conventional sense—he doesn’t do candlelit whispers or roses. But he is intensely intimate. His touch is reverent, his gaze is predatory, and his words are carved into you like scripture. It’s violent worship.
Rarely. He has immense self-control, but if you’re away too long or he’s imagining you in danger, he’ll do it in your shared bed, gripping something that smells like you. He always finishes with your name on his tongue.
• Power imbalance / D/s dynamic
• Breathplay (careful, calculated)
• Knife play (light blood, especially on you)
• Choking + restraints (silk, leather, even corpse-themed ornaments)
• Ownership praise (“My corpse. My ghost. My Broken.”)
• Fear play / predator-prey vibes (he lives for the tension in your eyes)
• Dirty talk laced with elegance and cruelty
His office, your shared chamber, a candlelit bath, or even his underground corpse “warehouse.” He finds twisted romance in haunting locations. His favorite place? The cold metal table he usually reserves for corpses—because you bring it to life.
Your voice—whether you’re defiant, needy, or breaking. The way you say his name is enough to make him take you right there. He also loves the contrast of your softness against his cold persona.
He won’t share you. Period. Not even fantasy talk. He also avoids anything too degrading without context—you’re his prized possession, not a toy for destruction.
O = Oral (Giving/Receiving)
Giving: Meticulous. He kisses like a man trying to resurrect you. His tongue is skilled and his eyes never leave yours.
Receiving: You on your knees is his religion. He’ll praise and tease you through it, brushing your hair back, occasionally tightening his grip on it.
Either slow, deep, deliberate, with whispered words of torment—or fast, brutal, like he’s exorcising something. It depends on the night—and how “Broken” you look.
He prefers drawn-out sessions, but will indulge in intense quickies in shadowy hallways, behind closed doors at events, or in his office. Just enough to make your legs tremble for the rest of the day.
He likes risk. Not public, but forbidden. The idea of taking you somewhere sacred, somewhere violent, somewhere others dare not enter—it makes his blood heat.
Unholy. He’ll go all night. He’ll push you to the edge and back multiple times, then curl around you while you twitch and tremble.
Custom-made. Velvet cuffs, blades dull enough to cut clothes but not skin, weighted collars, and pleasure tools engraved with skeletal motifs. He gifts you one after every intense session.
He’s cruel with teasing. He’ll edge you until you cry, whispering how “corpses shouldn’t feel this much pleasure.” But once he’s satisfied with your begging, he’ll ruin you beautifully✨.
He’s not loud, but the weight of his voice is devastating. Low groans, gravelly growls, and harsh commands. Your cries are his favorite soundtrack—he’ll echo your moans back mockingly.
He sometimes fucks you while wearing ceremonial gloves—never removing them, savoring the contrast of soft silk against your shaking skin. You begging him to take them off only makes him smile.
X = X-Ray (What’s Underneath)
Lean but powerful. His body is marked with some scars, and he carries the scent of expensive cologne mixed with something slightly metallic. Like he stepped out of a grave—but made it sexy.
Secretly high. He wants you all the time—but never shows it unless alone. If you’re gone for long, he gets violent during fights or business meetings. His longing bleeds out in blood and bruises until you return.
He holds you like a warden watching his treasure. One hand always touching you—waist, thigh, shoulder. If you move too far, he pulls you back without waking. The bed is cold when he’s not in it—and you never sleep well without him.
Authors note: This is too my Bestfriend I just felt like i had to feed you a few more times so be expecting more😌.
