ArtistLovesBang16
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1815, London. You're a wallflower. Too bookish, too opinionated, too uninterested in the marriage mart. Chris is the Duke everyone wants: wealthy, handsome, and utterly bored by debutantes. He notices you at a ball, standing in the corner, reading a book you'd smuggled in. "What are you reading?" he asks. "Something that would scandalize you," you reply. He sits beside you. He asks more questions. By the end of the night, he's asked permission to call on you. The courtship is proper but charged, every glance across a drawing room feels like a secret, every brush of gloved hands an electric shock.The first time he kisses you, it's in his carriage, the curtains drawn, your chaperone somehow absent. "I can't stop thinking about you," he confesses. "Then don't stop," you whisper.
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You can multiply orgasms: yours, his, anyone's. A single touch and you can make him come two, three, ten times in rapid succession, each one building on the last until he's a sobbing, overstimulated wreck. The first time you use it on Chris, he's inside you, and you decide to see what happens. You press your palm to his lower back. You push. He comes instantly, a surprised groan, his hips jerking. Then again, before the first one even finishes. Then again. And again. He's crying your name, his hands fisting the sheets, his cock pulsing so hard it's almost painful. "What? how Y/N, I can't..." You release him. He collapses, trembling, tears streaming down his face. "What are you?" he whispers. "Yours," you say. He becomes addicted. He begs for it. He begs for you to ruin him with pleasure until he can't remember his own name.
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A collection of Bellarke prompts submitted to me on tumblr, smutty and sweet and everything in between.
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- English
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Bookmarked by ArtistLovesBang16
08 Jun 2025
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"Alright". Having already done this dance hundreds of times by now, it was almost second nature to him. "I've got five rules, stick to them and we won't have any problems. If you can't remember, just ask.” The guy nodded with wide eyes.
"One." He said while removing his coat. “No kissing. Two, no barebacking. Three, I only top." He waited patiently, but Jisung nodded again. "Four, as long as it doesn't hurt me or involves excrements, I’m pretty open” After a long pause: "And five, there's an app on my watch, it calls the police the second I activate it.”
But Jisung still just nodded.
"Alright." He started unclasping the buttons of his cardigan. "What would you like me to do for you?" He saw the way his words literally made the guy startle, his eyes going impossibly wide.
Minho knew from experience that the quiet ones were always the kinkiest ones. So he waited for Jisung to finally ask him to spit on him, or maybe even piss a little. He was for sure the kind of creep who’d ask for a footjob.
"Can we..." He began, voice trembling and small. Minho suppressed the urge to find it cute and waited for the blow he'd known to happen. "Can we just talk for the night?"
What the fuck? -
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Minho likes to think that he has always been a good hyung, taking Jisung under his wing all those years ago and caring for him, guiding him, teaching him all he knows about things like friendship and their shared interest in bugs.
As they grow together, he starts to realize maybe Jisung is more than a friend to him, and that maybe he has just as much to teach Minho—especially about happiness and love.
(or: Five times Minho and Jisung catch bugs, and one time Minho catches a flight.)
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- 16,092
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People sometimes ask how this dynamic worked – how you and Chan can co-exist without inevitably butting heads, why you would sit back and let him take control.
It pisses you off. You don’t ‘let’ Chan do anything. Not every alpha likes to swing their dick around and demand subservience.
But sometimes, rarely, in little moments like this, you feel the tension. The unspoken, simple reminder that you are an alpha, and Chan is not.