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pangolin-404 · 2 days ago

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The Don Thacker QnA

Continuation of this post; tldr: I emailed Don Thacker and he was kind enough to answer some questions about Jazzpunk's live action trailers. :) everyone say thank you don thacker

This includes his words about working with Necrophone Games, the production of Project Pigeon and Project Switchhook, and their scripts. Here's the full thing (it's quite long!):

How did you start working with Necrophone Games, and what was it like? Did you work more with Luis Hernandez or Jess Brouse more?

Jazzpunk was originally brought to Imagos through Adult Swim Games. We had done several live action spots for ASG and I think the Necrophone Games guys may have seen something they liked? Most publishers we work with regularly basically lay out a marketing strategy and we're on the menu. "Do you want something from these guys," kind of thing.

At the time, we were an agency of record for ASG, and they put us together. To ASG's credit, they mostly stepped out of it once NG and Imagos were working together, though. It was an incredibly cool deal from them.

All of our work with ASG was like that; they would come to us with a project or a nugget of an idea and say, "go wild!" and we would, of course, go our particular brand of wild.

The Jazzpunk IP moved away from ASG, or at least the marketing side of it did, between the first spot, "Johnny," and the the second spot, "300-1200 Baud Buyman."

To both ASG's credit and NG's credit, the process was prettuch the same both times: awesome.

Did you work with Hernandez to compose the soundtracks?

Not at all. All in-game music was done without any influence from Imagos, and Imagos commanded the entirety of the music side for live action. Obviously, NG had notes/ input, but the two worlds remained mostly separate.

This is actually intentional most of the time that Imagos does a live action spot. We need to keep the game proper and the hyper-splatter of crazy images in the marketing close enough to be causally related, but distant enough to neither give away the experience you would get from playing a game or try to express in 90 seconds what a game takes 90hrs to say.

How much free reign did you have over the creative direction?

This is an awesome question for this project in particular. NG was the most hands-off absolute dictatorship we have ever worked with IN THE VERY BEST POSSIBLE WAY.

Essentially, they hit us with a hundred thousand little details and asked us to go ham and cheese on them. They were open to almost every one of my wild pitches, but the details were fine tuned by them to an incredible degree.

Imagos's process, when asked to pitch a story for a spot, is to put together a deck of several ideas that we feel would best serve the project and present them as a menu from which a client can choose ideas from; even mix and match elements from all of the presented ides (which happens). We do this to limit the infinity of choice. It helps with clients who don't know exactly what they want, but know things they DO want, and know very clearly what they don't want.

The NG pitch wasn't like this at all. I had a few lightning strikes and we hopped onto a video conference and I just ranted a bunch at them about my weird concepts and they rolled with them almost immediately. It was in the details that they really pushed hard to make sure what we were doing was going to live in the world of Jazzpunk.

Looking into our archives, I see the notes we came up with during those meetings. Here they are, pasted:

Pitch 1

Noir detective enters office/closet

Pulls out briefcase

Gun, parabolic mic, bluebox

Banana, lobster, blender, ping pong ball

Dumps a pile of cardboard hands

"I'll be there in 10 minutes."

Pitch 2

Keanu reeves enters facility

"I've got to check my email"

puts on helmet, gloves, puts bit into his mouth

"hit me"

seizure

cut into: checking email, facebook, etc

Pitch 3

[Look Around You - but 1960s]

1960s style educational video

"the computer, invented in 1932 by James Bromely--"

"robots are used in many homes for--"

As you can see, we used a lot of bits from those. As I've said, this is 0% how we usually ptch. Usually there's a whole proposal with notes on tones and imagery and stuff.

Do you still have the storyboards?

We didn't board Johnny - we listed. The time and money didn't really allow for it.

I worked with the same Cinematographer on both Johnny and 300/1200 Baud Buyman, one with whom I had collaborated on several commercial projects as well as a feature film before this point, so we had a bit of a shorthand going. We made shotlists and went into the day with a clear vision once we saw the set.

The set took seven days from concept to film ready. It was built in front of a greenscreen cyclorama, so the outer windows could show through to the city, TOKYO DUO. It was an incredible endeavor from a production designer I had worked with on some other ASG spots (and more), and it benefited heavily from his understanding of the Imagos look. It was entirely built, with wild walls (we could move any wall at any point) and an incredible level of set dec.

Once the DP and I stepped in, we knew the lists would work and we just went wild.

For 300/1200 Baud Buyman, we used a practical location (the interior of a grocery store) and boarded some of the action for clarity. Not as much as we'd board normally, but, again, the budgets for both of those spots was limited, and the timelines so short, that boards were a luxury we didn't get to play with widely.

Here is a set from 300/1200 Baud Buyman:

Was there anything planned that didn't make the final cut?

For Johnny, only one beat; a comedy beat where the agent gets all geared up to CYBERJACK INTO THE NETRIX and then we hit a cold drop. He's forgotten to push the button. Then he pushes the button and it's ON LIKE TRON.

I think we cut this beat as redundant. Once we got to filming, it felt a lot like cyberjacking into the netrix was going to be enough. Watching him unwrap the thing and follow all but one instruction felt like it might be dead space.

That, or we just ran out of time. That's always an option in production.

Otherwise, it was all 1:1 the script.

For 300/1200 Baud Buyman, nope. Nothing. We shot what we wrote :) Well, we didn't do the tongue quarter gag.

Interesting note for 300/1200 Baud Buyman: The split-screen section, with The Director talking to the Cashier in one frame, was entirely a practical, in-camera effect!

What happened to the props and spoof items used?

For Johnny:

The CRANIAL REFRACTION HELMET was destroyed. Several of the parts that made it into that beast were either rental bits or owned by one of the crew/creatives. The rest was auto butyl and bits of rubber and piping and stuff.

The set was struck and, as with the helmet, the bits went to their respective owners or the trash. Even the wall flats.

The stuff in the attache' case:

The prop pistol was returned to the armorer.

The POLYBLANK POINTING HANDS hands

The parabolic microphone lives in a storage unit with select props from other projects.

Sadly, the pigeon is likely dead. It was a well taken care of racing bird, fully trained and treated like royalty, but they don't live very long and it's been more than a decade :/

The 2600htz whistle was kindly donated to the project by an unnamed source whose possession of it I will neither confirm nor deny. If you wonder what this means, look up 2600hz cap'n crunch whistle on the intertron.

We're especially curious about the fate of the Director prop(s).

For 300/1200 Baud Buyman, The Director was made out of foam board, and, unfortunately, didn't survive the transition into present time.

The rest of the set dress and props are, as well, all disposed of. Except for a giant cereal box front, that lives in storage.

I'm also curious about any remnants of old PAX East 2014 props and merchandise, but that might've been more in Necrophone Games' hands than Imagos Films'.

All of that is with NG. The only thing we had to do with their presence at PAX was a few pictures of us stopping by their booth and bumming around with them.

The 2014 trailer is called Project Pigeon in the Flickr album documenting the set. In the 2016 trailer's behind-the-scenes video, the composer Ryan Ike refers to it as Project Switchhook. Who named them and how were the names chosen?

Imagos has a tiered naming structure for commercial projects:

CLIENT -> PRODUCT -> PROJECT -> TITLE

CLIENT = Client (obviously) PRODUCT = Thing the spot is about PROJECT = The specific spot. We may do several spots for one product, so this is how we differentiate. TITLE = The actual spot title.

For the FIRST Jazzpunk spot, the breakdown is like this:

CLIENT = Adult Swim Games / Necrophone Games PRODUCT = Jazzpunk PROJECT = #projectpigeon TITLE = Johnny

For the SECOND Jazzpunk spot:

CLIENT = Necrophone Games PRODUCT = Jazzpunk PROJECT = #projectswitchhook TITLE = 300/1200 Baud Buyman

Who named them and how were the names chosen?

Anything you see with a "#project" prefix is the PROJECT name. These project names tend to be silly or abstract. This is mostly because some of our projects need to be secret as we shoot them.

I write all of our work, and, as such, name the projects. Much to the confusion and frustration of my business partners :)

In the 2016 trailer's behind-the-scenes video, the composer Ryan Ike refers to it as Project Switchhook.

A switchhook is an old phone term. It was a physical switch set into a hook for hanging your receiver on. It was an analogue electrical circuit, and could be manipulated by phone phreaks to, you know, DO TEH HACKINGZ.

Similarly, where did the other title for the 2016 trailer, "300-1200 Baud Buyman," come from?

A baud rate is the rate at which a modem transfers data. Analogue modems used to use these baud rates as indicators of speed or bandwidth, in marketing, much as modern broadband connections use megabit or gigabit ratings.

Without getting too technical, analogue modems transfer data as 1s and 0s by flipping signal frequencies to represent state changes. This is the dumbest way to say this, but a baud rate of 300 means that 300 signal changes can take place per second of connected time. 1200 baud is 1200 signal changes per second.

A top of the line phone modem in the late 80s/early 90s could band between 300 and 1200 baud. Kingmakers and 1337 h4x0rz might have been able to convince their parents to get into a 1440 baud modem. If they were lucky.

This is all pre-millenium phone phreak/hacker stuff. I was exactly the right age, in exactly the right place to have been swept up into all of that as my form of teenage rebellion.

The Jazzpunk world is a cyberpunk inspired pre-digital hackerverse, and I grew up in the height of that, and leaned on those things for the scripts.

The Director is jumping though time, buying goods at a low price and selling them at a high price in the future. In the spot's narrative, that's how the entire endeavor is being funded. He is, however, causing massive inflation in the process.

And he's using a 300/1200 baud modem to transfer himself back into the past, because that is the technology that existed.

#projectpigeon is named such because the pigeon. In the spot. The spot has a pigeon in it.

The 2016 trailer's IMDB page lists someone named Chris Morson as the voice actor for the Director. Is this true? Additionally, do you happen to know who voiced the Editor in the game, or any other voice actors?

Chris is an INCREDIBLE actor. I've worked with him several times, and every one of them has been incredible. Yes, he plays the voice of The Director in the spot, but has nothing to do with the game.

As well, I also have/had nothing to do with the VO in the game. A shame, because I would be super proud if I had!

Did you/Imagos Films make anything else for Jazzpunk?

Unfortunately, no. I would love to, of course. That series of spots is truly a wonderful time.

I have attached the script for both Johnny and 300/1200 Baud Buyman as a little gift. Enjoy.

#jazzpunk #don thacker #imagos films #thoughts #jazzpunk posting #to say I'm euphoric about this would be an Understatement #and if thacker by some miracle ever returns to tumblr and dusts off skinnytie: hi this was really cool thank you again

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gingerrhd · 1 month ago

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Inktober 2024 day 6

Not so much rare pair but definitely falling into rare media to see these days

#Battleborn #Battleborn alani #Battleborn pendles #Pendakka Lakonna #Battleborn fanart #Inktober #Inktober 2024 #Doodles #Lined #Somewhat I think I'm doing okay? Doing one day full next day lines is helping #Though I did struggle today and yesterday cuz I had stuff on both days plus work #And the next 5 days is kinda similar :(#Wednesday is gonna be haarrddd #I have work till 4 and teach in the evening #Plus work is short staffed again this week so I might get hauled in early for a few of these days :(((((#Rambles aside it's so hard to find battleborn stuff now #Like I get it the game is dead dead but jesus I swear there's most stuff to be found online in longer dead fandom that had #Smaller content pools to draw from #That aside part 2 #I like the idea of these two getting to swim #Pens arm is on dry land somewhere #I'm not being lazy I Litterally draw mecha type hands yesterday #It just makes sense Yknow for the water

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nerosdayinanime · 6 months ago

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beautiful that we get a nice wet beast wednesday to start off mermay, no?

gay little fish but i made him look like a blue sea dragon

#tomioka giyuu #giyuu #loserboy giyuu posting #merfolk #mermaid au #neros art tag #wet beast wednesday #i was drawing the v1 au sabito but his pectoral & dorsal fins are SUCH a pain in the fucking ass (i havent drawn them)#and i cant look at other ppls mermaids bc nO ONE GIVES THEM FUCKING F I N S. THEY CANT FUCKING SWIM. LIKE THEYRE EELS INSTEAD OF FISH #i also dont think im gonna get to draw today bc my shoulder is being fucky for no reason >:( but i WILL to mermay shit on time this year #and not. september lmao #he big ol eyes....#oh yeah originally i didnt think much of it for v5 but now im thinking sakonji's head researcher and makomo & sabito are his two top team #also cute idea i might do for v5 on sbgy sunday is sabito gently moving giyuu around to get a good look at his patterning #then giyuu turning around to look @ him. oooo wait giyuu names him sunspeck but then sabito takes off his shirt and he gets to see #how he's speckled like that all over not just his face<3 hehehe i cant wait to draw that lpease i need to #oh yeah i didnt give sab freckles in that older pic. loser shit #??? giyuus neck looks weird long. ignore that

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softquietsteadylove · 3 months ago

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I know you said you don’t love writing thenamesh as actual biological parents (totally respect that and agree, I especially agree that Thena probably wouldn’t be the most willing mother (although I live and die for TMTL AU)) ANYWAY! would you possibly be interesting in writing something where Thenamesh accidentally stumble into parenthood without meaning to?? Maybe a little orphan child in ancient times won’t leave them alone and they end up raising them? (probably begrudgingly on Thena’s part to begin with but she’s a secret softie especially when Gil is smitten and we all know it). No worries if you don’t wanna write something like that, just something I was thinking about!

Thena sighed, "I know you're there."

She didn't receive a reply, and she knew she wouldn't. She stood from where she had been - entirely against her wishes but at Ajak's behest - reviewing some of the senate's requests. The various war orders and border reports were draining her.

She stepped down towards the door of the room, the skirts of her white toga trailing behind her. She spoke again, "orphan."

He responded to more than that, of course. Sersi thought it was cruel of her to address a child that way, but he responded to it. A small head of blonde peeked out from behind one of the larger vases.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him with an expectant tone. She raised her chin to further look down upon the boy, "you know better than to enter the temple of Athena without permission."

Usually, she was loath to bring up the title of Athena in any way. But if she need be stuck with it, she could make use of it.

The boy shuffled out, his hands clasped in front of the brown burlap of his tunic. "I was looking for Gilgamesh."

The boy was positively enchanted by her Champion. Plenty were, of course, but this boy idolised Gilgamesh and the very ground upon which he walked. And Gil was equally charmed by the small child. She thought he entertained his obsession entirely too much.

But the boy enjoyed trailing behind Gilgamesh when he was walking between the forge and the acropolis, or watching him train fighters in the arenas, or even when he was in the orchards gathering fruit.

"Why do you think he is here?" Thena fixed her eyes on the boy. Most grown men would be sensible enough to cower, but the child stepped even closer to her.

He glanced behind him a few times.

Thena let out another breath. She was not a caretaker, she had no business with the boy steps away from clinging to her. But she unfolded her arms and knelt down to see him better. Children's heads were so small. "Speak."

"The guards," the child twisted his lips. "They tell me not to bother the gods."

They also were no gods of old, at least not how Athens imagined them to be. But Thena had no qualms letting them think that if it meant them keeping their distance, either.

"And if they are correct to tell you these things?" she raised her eyebrows. But the boy shuffled even closer to her. She sighed, "what did you do?"

This child was no angel, just like they were no gods. He liked getting into trouble, challenging those twice his size, proclaiming that he would be a fierce warrior someday. And sometimes that 'challenge' was him running up to someone and whacking them with his only possession: a toy sword, fashioned from wood (clumsily, by his own hand).

"They were being cruel," he spoke in defense of himself. His hands left his tunic to clench into tiny little righteous fists. "They were laughing at old man Socrates! One even threw his apple at him!"

Thena felt her hackles raise. She had no business policing humans; they were of no concern to her. But what did bother her was senseless cruelty to those more vulnerable than the strong. "And you decided to do something about this."

The boy's small shoulders fell again, though. "I told them I challenged them to a duel."

Thena tilted her head. His tunic was still fastened above his trousers with a rope, but there was no toy sword. "Where is-"

He sniffled, trying not to let his tears fall, "they took it and broke it in half."

That was why he had run to her. Well, he had been seeking Gilgamesh's comfort, foremost. But he had also known that if the authorities of Athens were the ones committing an injustice, only the gods would correct them.

Thena frowned at the child's tears dropping onto the stone floor. He wasn't her child; he was no one's. He was, like many others, a result of the many wars Athens had waged before, and were attempting to continue waging. It was exactly that which she was opposing, despite her title as their figurehead for war.

Footsteps approached, heavily and loudly. The boy nearly leapt in fear and scurried to hide himself behind her, even tugging at her dress like a tapestry to hide his feet.

She glanced somewhat over her shoulder in the direction of the little head of blonde hair, getting tears and snot all over her pure white robes.

"Goddess Athena!" the guards greeted her before all else. Their heavy armour and leather skirts made sound with every breath they took. "Forgive our intrusion."

She said nothing.

"We were pursuing a street urchin, and we fear he may have run in here." The captain of their group stepped forward, the adornment on his helmet distinguishing him from the others. "We wish not to disturb you. But we cannot let a stray mutt wander into the hall of gods."

Thena looked at each of them. She owed them no words, and they had no right to ask them. Her lips twitched. "You have a splinter."

The guard seemed embarrassed, rubbing at his arm. "Forgive me, O-Warrior. I was struck with a splintering old board."

A child's toy, now no doubt sitting broken in the streets. Thena looked at the others. "Which of you ate the apple?"

They looked between themselves, confused. "My Lady?"

"One of you was eating an apple," she continued, raising her empty palm. They knew what that meant, stepping back. "And threw it at a harmless old philosopher."

Their faces went pale. It brought some joy to her, but she kept her face even. Their fear was the best part of her day. Rather than deny the wisdom of the Goddess of War, they knelt. "We beg your forgiveness, great Athena."

She drew back, her blade in her hand in a second. She took a harmless swipe over their heads, although the tops of their helmets fell unceremoniously to her floor like feathers from a startled bird.

The men trembled.

Satisfied that her message was received, she retracted her powers like a cat closing its paws. "Be gone from my sight."

The men obeyed, scurrying away, abandoning the remains of their rank, leaving them to explain what had happened to their uniform. If she ever did see them again, she would not be so kind as to let them go with their dignity.

"They will not bother you again," she said more quietly. The boy was strong; he had stopped trembling. And he had, at the very least, the wisdom to let her face his multiple foes.

He sniffled one last time before stepping away from her protection. "They always do, eventually."

Then next time, she would have them begging her for their lives. She kept her eyes looking out the door as she patted the boy's head. She wouldn't have been able to read the expression on his face regardless. "Gilgamesh should be done in the forge by now. He may even take you to the great hall. I believe they are making the baklava today."

The child's eyes lit at the promise of sweets. "Can I have some?"

She did her best not to smile, lest she encourage his youthful impertinence. But she may not have been entirely capable of suppressing it. "Tell them Athena herself demands it."

The boy didn't even look twice at her, running towards the door and nearly slipping in his old, worn sandals.

"Heracles," she called after him. He turned at the sound of his name. "Return with Gilgamesh. We will show you how to strike someone properly."

The boy beamed. His cheeks were ruddy and his teeth were small and uneven, and yet they fit his cherubic face. "Yes, Thena!"

He had heard Gil address her casually too often. If he called her that, what if others thought it acceptable? But she couldn't bring herself to be angry with the boy. It was far too difficult to hold a grudge against something so sweet and innocent.

Technically, the senate decrees still needed seeing to. But she had more important things to think about. And before young Heracles returned with Gilgamesh in hand, she had some whittling to do. She wasn't Phastos, or Sersi, by any means, but even she could carve a sword out of some spare wood.

#Thenamesh Heracles AU #thank you so much for the ask!#I appreciate your thoughts and I do think this is a very sweet idea #I thought of the story of Hercules #I know he's a demigod and raised by humans #but what if the other way around??#anyway Thena secretly adores this kid but hates the idea of being called out on it #Gil knows though #he's been a great father figure to young Heracles #sneaking him fresh fruits and teaching him how to punch so he won't hurt his itty bitty human hand #and he knows Heracles loves Thena #because even though she's scary he runs to her all the time #he thinks she's funny and cool and even though she calls him Orphan she's also nice to him #his own words #they return and she presents Heracles with his new sword which he treasures forever and ever #they have a little family bonding time learning to sword fight #Gil thinks it's so cute watching Thena teach this young boy how to stab properly #if they had cameras he would be such an ipad dad #Sersi and Phastos are like what the hell is wrong with you two?#but Heracles is like this is my family we crave violence #Thena: I am not your mother #also Thena: don't run in the streets there are horses and carts!#Thena: I don't care about this human child #also Thena: have you eaten it's getting dark finish your vegetables you just ate no you can't go swimming #history will remember the feats of Hercules the demigod #but Thena and Gil will remember Heracles the feral little child who liked hitting people with a stick

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genderqueerpond · 5 months ago

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finally watching two's era in order completionist style and uh

uh--

they've stolen him away. they've literally stolen him away. they are the fae to him and they've pulled him into another world and told him he can never go home

#this is so fucking IMMORAL i love it #i had no idea it was like this #two's is the only era i hadn't seen in full when my initial dw SpIn lapsed last decade #rectifying that now #.....and it wasn't even the doctor that did it this time it was POLLY #sweet kind loving almost SAINTLY POLLY WRIGHT of all people #and SHE has KIDNAPPED JAMIE #to what?! to keep him as a pet?! it really really does feel like that #like i said. the fae. literally the fae #and now they've taken him to the seaside. he can't swim #this is INSANE!!!!!!!!!!!#cdw #dw #lavender thoughts #classic who liveblog #the underwater menace #this recon doesnt seem to have any captions I'm swiftly getting confused about what's happening #I'd look for another but honestly? it's adding to the fae feeling.... setting a perfect tone of bewildering enchantment #feels like a dream #which is how jamie must be feeling.#and! when he's returned is he returned back to when they plucked him out -- mysteriously older with no memory of why ---#or has he lost years- having been placed in alignment with his own timestream?#either way. EITHER WAY. that's a faerie abduction right there #jamie mccrimmon #jamie mccrimmon appreciation life #a flicker of memory of where he's been for years and years of his life and then it's gone

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confused-spood · 3 months ago

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Where else am I gonna rant if not to a group of random strangers that barely know me, right? So ofc I'm gonna rant here cuz these people have no idea who tf I am.

....turns out I have no words to explain how I'm feeling right now so I offer this emoji instead: 😔

#so i went to this 18th birthday aka debut of my friend and tbh its the first debut ive ever been to and i was rly looking forward to it #plan was to enjoy with my friends and all and i was also planning to get some ideas for my own debut whoch is two weeks after hers #tbh my debut is the bday that ive been looking forward to for basically my whole life cuz the other important ages i did absolutely nothing #for my first bday i was literally in the hospital so nothing there. in my seventh bday i cant even remember what happened. we went swimming?#so the 18th is what i always dreamt of. ive already told my moms this a couple hundred times and ive already thought out how i want it to go #then at the party i observed everything and i realized a lot of things. firstly that shit is expensive. while we used to have the money #no we dont and thats all just in the past now. second thing which i find the most disturbing is the amount of people #the debutante invites the special people in their life and while yes i do have those i dont think they can even reach the proper number #and also i rly cant see myself in that position yknow? being the center of atteaction with people telling you nice stuff abt how they like u #so thats made me quite sad that the bday ive always wanted is never gonna be mine. my biggest TOTGA...#at this point i just wanna spend my whole 18th wallowing in self pity and sadness. while i know my friends love me i dont rly think they #love me to the point of throwing me a lil party of our own like we did earlier this year to ine of our friends. im the spare friend i guess #and plus when i got home my paretns arent even talking to me or looking my way if not scolding me or getting mad at me #well IM SORRY i also didnt want to get stuck in the fckin road for A WHOLE HOUR while waiting for a ride home #and IM SORRY that im just wearing jeans to a debut. this is my frist fucking time going to a debut so how tf would i know???#plus a lot of people were just wearing casual so wtf 😒#all in all im sad and i want to go die

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stevebabey · 2 years ago

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another one! 📽 📽

imagine it’s summer and it’s hot and the sun is so toasty on your skin and steve feels restless and spontaneous so he suggests you go on a drive so you pack some driving snacks and hit the road. it somehow ends with you and steve at lovers lake (or a less traumatic lake for him poor lad lol) and y’all go for a dip, in your underwear or maybe, ya know, a lil skinny dipping shenanigans are in your future 😉 *in the summertime by mungo jerry plays*

okay ily ruby have fun and again congrats girl!!! xoxo

mmmmm we all deserve summertime steve for fuckin real obsessed with the vibes you have created in the studio today maddie ur brain so delicio 🌊 yet again, i cannot shut up for the life of me <3 i want to go swchimming w him so bad fr he’s such a summer bf

it’ll have been one of those sweltering nights where even the sheets feel too much and come morning, not one ounce of you wants to stay in bed and cuddle like you normally do because it’s stinkin’ hot and you’re fairly certain steve is already sweating lightly just pressed next to you— you tell him as much when he tries to sleepily cuddle you in closer, giving him a pout and a “s’too warm, stevie :(“ and steve can’t even disagree, he’s burning up in the heat of the sun through your windows - but there’s also a glimpse of blue blue sky stretching out endlessly, which means opportunity !

so he flops back, relents the space and stares at the ceiling while u stare at him, just observing him lovingly, counting every mole <3 he takes a minute of quiet contemplation, during which your back manages to get completely heated, pressed against the mattress, and you’re bout to complain bout it again when he blows a raspberry and turns his head to face you. “d’ya wanna go for a drive? :) nd maybe a swim?” and god, if that doesn’t sound like heaven- you’re nodding along before you even open your mouth but also, u gotta check in with him “you sure ya wanna swim, stevie?” and his eyes search your face for a moment, thinking about it properly, before he nods, a grateful smile pulling at his lips, “yeah, honey, we’ll drive outta hawkins to find a good spot- sound okay?”

overtop your swimsuit, you pick a nice pair of daisy-dukes that definitely catch steve’s eye for an extra second and you grin, having to shoo him into getting ready— and you meet him down in his car, rolling the windows down to combat the sun that’s letting out blistering hot heatwaves, making u long for a popsicle or anything icy really. steve’s out a couple minutes later, two towels over his shoulders and a— you sit up a bit straighter, spotting the picnic basket in his hands!!! he calls forward as he opens the trunk to put stuff in, “i thought we could have some snacks! make a lil picnic date of it!” and you chest bursts with warmth and love for him and you literally can’t say anything except, “you’re sorta incredible, steve harrington” and it’s just the thing to say to get that flushed colour on his cheeks that has nothing to do with the heat and all to do with what you do to him.

driving along, you desperately wish you had a camera if only to capture the image of steve beside you, windows down, the breeze ruffling his hair and the collar of his shirt which is unbuttoned dangerously low. you can see the thatch of chest hair against his tan chest, his collarbones that are honestly begging for a lovebite or maybe ten, those classic cool glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. you’re fairly certain you could look at him like this for hours- and he seems to return the sentiment fully, spending the drive torn between glancing at you in the passenger seat — one hand curled over your thigh, fingers drumming, and a happy grin on his face — and his eyes on the open road that takes you out of hawkins. the warm wind whips in through the windows and blankets you both in the glow of summer :)

steve ends up finding a nice swimming hole, 20 minutes out of hawkins, that’s part of one big river winding through the countryside. it’s busy, people swarming around the water like ants to honey, but that’s to be expected in the the heat of summer. you nd steve both instinctively steer clear of the crowd, wandering further up stream to see if you can find a sweet lil bay for just the two of you— and you manage to find another sweet lil spot that’s empty besides from you two and steve declares himself king of the beach, planting the picnic basket like a flag.

the heat is infinitely worse out of the car, without any wind to cool you off, and the trickling sounds of the river might be your greatest temptation, besides your boyfriend who’s wasted no time in tugging his shirt up and over his head. the sight of him in just those small swimming shorts, tan hairy thighs on display, might just rival the river for your attention. the water in the river moves about sluggishly, swirling around itself in a syrupy motion, and you know it’s about to be the best cool off of your life- you follow steve’s motions and shed off your shorts and shirt in record speed

steve’s already waiting for you in the shallows, water sloshing around his ankles noisily, and looking back at you he can’t resist the urge to let a little whistle when you drop your shorts — it earns him an endeared eye-roll that only makes his grin a little wider, his hand planting on his hips, “just enjoying the view, don’t mind me” so you take that as your cue to take off, feet splashing in the shallow water and you’re diving in without a moments hesitation— it’s freezing and the sensation of it zings every nerve til you’re unable to do anything but grin and curse when you come up because fuck, it’s cold. it’s fantastically cold.

steve’s still waiting in the shallows, that familiar smitten expression on his face as he watches you gasp at the temperature change and push back your soaked hair from your face, spin to look for him and grin wider when he comes into view. you paddle back in his direction, shaking off the droplets that collect at your chin. your feet find the bottom of the riverbed and you stand, against the push of the river, and hold out your hands for him, trying to coax him in to join you in the deeper parts of the river. because you know, it’s always a bit hard after everything, entering water again — you can still see the twisted up skin that stretches up his sides, faded with time, but a memory etched into his skin all the same.

steve takes a step out towards you, then another, then pauses and his eyes scour the water all around you— his expression already falling away to concern. you can sense his mothering sense rising up and try to quell it before he can voice any anxieties, “eyes on me, stevie” you say, with a wry grin and make grabby hands at him, encouraging him more- you can see the quick inhale he does before he pushes forward, eyes focused on you, your loving grin, your inviting hands, and he doesn’t stop til he can grab them with his own. you’re pushing off the riverbed instantly, legs up and around his waist and shifting so your hands circle around his neck, sweet murmurs about how you’re proud of him til steve is warm enough in the face that he simply has to dunk to both of you, his mischievous grin giving you warning just a second too late

you’re gasping, coughing just a bit when he pulls you both back up and you smack him in the chest— “you bastard! you- i can’t believe you—“ and when he sinks his knees a little deeper, you change your tone quick, clambering closer to him, “don’t you dare, steve, i swear, if you want remain in a loving relationship you will—” “gimme a kiss,” he interrupts and your head snaps from watching the cool water swirl around you to his face and he’s grinning, completely serious, his hands on your waist pulling you closer til he’s nosing along the damp plane of your neck, mumbling into it “kiss or get dunked. that’s the deal, sweetheart,” and then he presses a hot kiss under your jaw and pulls back to wait for you to make a decision. you sigh real heavy like it’s a chore, hanging your head back as you pretend to think about it with a loud “hmmmm” til you’re about sure he’s gonna dunk you again. your thighs tighten and you pull yourself up with your grip around his neck and give him exactly what he asked for :) then u guys eat ur picnic and it’s the perfect lil summertime date :) this is too long my god

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afterartist · 1 year ago

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Me: I like all TotK NPCs

This waste of data:

#words cannot describe how much I hate Sasan #him and his stupid boat and stupid rocks #‘oh no! i can’t swim!! I’m going to drown!!’#THERES LITERALLY GROUND RIGHT NEXT TO YOU #THATS WHAT YOU BOAT IS STUCK ON #I’ve beaten half the bosses in this game without dying once but it’s taken me over 27 tries to get this idiot across a cave??!#why are you living in the Zoro domain if you can’t swim?? that’s like- a really bad idea-#can you tell I haven’t slept in two days and have instead been playing Zelda #totk npc hate is my new ✨passion✨#totk npcs

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lemonlurkrr · 10 months ago

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lemonlurkrr i saw the new uniqlo and metal gear collab and thought of you. have you seen it what are ur thoughts

COOL 👍 don't think I'll be getting any for myself but 👍👍👍👍👍👍 if I did i'd probably get the msx textbox one, or the one with Two Guys in boxes

#lemonreplyrr #i like moreeee subtle designs #and i have no idea who the two guys in the boxes are #the suit vaguely looks like a screenshot i saw of mgs4 snake but i cannot find it for the life of me lmaoo #but n e ways cool to see official mgs merch swimming around #i feel like im starving when it comes to mgs merch for some reason and seeing those get rereleased or whatever is :)))))))

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hoshigray · 3 months ago

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˙⋆✮ FIRST PERSON SQUIRTER.ᐣ.ᐟ ✮⋆˙ | jjk men

꩜ᯅ꩜ choso, nanami, gojo, geto, sukuna & toji × how they deal with a squirter!?

contents: JJK men x afab/fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - size differences (true form! kuna) - kissing/making out - thigh-riding - [anal] fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! + m! receiving) - sqůirtǐng (ofc) - facesitting - Daddy kink - 69 + doggy style + full nelson positions - overstimulation - clitoral play (grinding + swiping + pinching) - praising - cervix fucking - pet names (angel, baby, cutiepie, good girl, little thing, etc.) - degradation + humiliation - mention of blood and drool/spit.

word count: 5.3k

a. note: goin on a trip next week, so i leave y'all with this until the next one ☆ enjoy !!

ᯓ꩜ Chōsō Kamo

You giggled. “You ready, baby?”

He smiles back. “Bring it on, sweetheart.”

Having a partner willing to try new things with you is undoubtedly a blessing. Wouldn’t you want to try anything and everything with your partner—learning new things and sharing experiences with the person you love and cherish the most in this globe?

It adds to your trust in one another – an exchange enhances the companionship…even if it’s in the bedroom!

“Okay, Choso, get ready.”

Your boyfriend nods from below you, watching from between your thighs as you descend your lower half where his face is, and the two of you moan once the lips of your labia land on his awaiting tongue.

This was all your idea, by the way: you’re the one who pulled on Choso’s shirt as you two watched the television from his bed, his caramel eyes drifting to you after grabbing his attention. It was difficult to ask at first, stumbling with your words as this embarrassing request isn’t something you make regularly. Once you got your words out, it wasn’t surprising to see your boyfriend a little flustered as you were.

However, that didn’t stop him from accepting it – albeit bashfully – confidently, igniting a colossal quirk of happiness to affect the glow of his bedroom. So, here you two are, putting this new experience to the test.

“Mmmm, oh God,” you purr with chewed lips, fighting the urge to swing your hips as Choso mouths you.

Choso has his hips on your waist to keep you steady as he does his work, using his lips and tongue to please you in this new position. His tongue swims around your inner labia, the folds coated with your wetness mixed with his saliva. You exhale through your nostrils, your thighs sluggishly move to have your man attend to the surface, and you mewl at the flick of your clitoris. Oh shiiit…!

Having you on top of him like this was not something the brunet expected, thinking this would be a lazy day to hang out with his cute companion on this slow Friday. However, to have easy access to taste your fluids within his vicinity in this erotic position...he’s starting to like it a little too much.

“Ohhh, my God, Choso,” you shrill with a gasp. “You’re so good…Feel so good.”

“Yeah, baby?” He questions below your waist, poking your clit with his tongue. “You like riding my face?”

He can’t see it, but you nod impetuously. “Yessss! Yees—Shhaaah! Fuck, your tongue…!” You lick your lips and bite as you bring your waist lower, his nose bumping on your clit. “More, give me moreee…!”

“Heh, sure thing,” he titters at your enthusiasm as his hands curl to your buttocks, bringing you further down to his level. You whimper as he sucks on your vulva with purpose, lapping his tongue around to tease your entrance before he pushes it in. Here is where Choso changes the atmosphere, fucking you with his tongue and collecting more of your essence to drink. All you can do is wail and swing your hips faster, and your boyfriend quickly catches the rhythm. Shit, tastes so good…!

“Uhhgg, feels so fucking good—Mmmaa!” Holy hell, this was too much! There’s so much going on underneath you outside your control, only having the command of your waist to influence. Your thighs jiggle as you resort to bouncing on your boyfriend’s face, and your hands ball on the comforter the two of you lay on.

Choso’s tongue goes frantic, wiggling the wet muscle around your insides and pulling you in to sink more into your overwhelming taste and smell. The more you bounce on his face, the more his nose hits your clitoris, your bud sending shocks up to your head to enlighten the exhilaration! Faster and faster you go, the same for the tongue lapping all over your vulva and sucking on you purposely.

“Choso..!! Cho—shiiiit—Chosooo!!” You cry out with trenched brows and closed eyes, electric shocks spiraling all over your body with all the growing pressure.

Your body then gives in, and you let your essence out of your system. Your fluids shower all over Choso’s face as you come on his tongue; your boyfriend is not swayed by the liquid hitting his face, just focused on slurping your wetness covering your cunt. Quivers force your thighs to jolt, jerking your whole frame as you let the waves of your orgasm hit until everything relaxes.

And when it does, you sigh heavily and lift your ass. Choso watches the sight before him, his spit blended with your come all within your inner thighs. The heat from his face spreads to his ears — oh, he hopes he doesn’t get addicted to this.

“Oh my God, Choso,” your boyfriend snaps to your call. “Your face, it’s all wet!”

“Hm? Oh!” It takes a second to realize that he is utterly drenched with your satisfaction, scoffing with a smile. “Guess we both got a bit too excited.”

You chuckle as you leave to grab a hand towel from his bathroom. “I’m sorry about that!”

“It’s okay,” Choso takes off his shirt, which was damp on his collar, and accepts the towel you give him. “As long as you’re feeling good up there, I don’t mind drowning a bit for you, sweetie.”

You shake your head with a smile. “You’re not funny.”

ᯓ꩜ Nanami Kento

Nothing puts the cherry on top of a hard day at work for Nanami than coming home and being pulled into your arms.

“Nnnmm, Kento, you feel so good…”

…And loving on him more affectionately.

You practically dragged your man into the living room, peppering him with smooches in your glee that he had returned home safe and sound, and he chortles as you beckon him to sit on the couch with you. The two of you winding down while watching the television, Nanami relaxing with a nice cold beer and taking off his necktie and blazer.

However, he’s unaware of you glimpsing through your peripheral, looking intently, sliding his tie off his collar and unbuttoning his shirt. You notice the sneak of his exposed collarbone, drifting your gaze to something else only for it to land on his pants. Lips flatten at the sight of his thighs; his hand patting on it makes you stare longer than intended, swallowing thickly to quench a dry throat.

He was taking a swig of his beer, watching the motion of his Adam’s apple with intent. Your fingers fiddling with the bottom of your sundress can’t jurisdiction your thoughts anymore, wanton desires stacking up and soon to fall like dominoes.

And when it does fall, you silently stand and walk in front of Nanami, the blonde noticing you come around to obstruct his view of the TV. “My love?” You don’t answer. “Something’s wrong?” No words yet…but you lift your dress, mocha eyes pinpointing to the cute design of your cotton thong. “Sweetheart…” you move to sit again, but not back on the couch—nope—instead, his pant-clad thigh, straddling the firm muscles, and your arms come around to cup his cheeks.

“Kento,” you finally speak, whispering for only his words to pick up. “I missed you.”

If there was one thing that could pull Nanami’s heartstrings, it was you – his pretty wife. So, when you express your love for him, of course, he has to reciprocate tenfold.

“Ooooo, yesss, Ken…please, go faster…Mmmph.”

You stay atop Nanami’s thigh, grinding your labia on his pants to the point that a damp spot is prominent in the tan color. The blonde doesn’t seem to mind, though, as he’s the one who slid your thong for his fore and middle finger to swipe on your clitoris. The touch is pleasant, fueling your waist to keep moving. With your back to his chest, he kisses you passionately from behind. Your sweet tongue meets his, influenced by the taste of alcohol, a strange combination that surprisingly gets the kiss steamier.

Nanami chews on your bottom lip, having you whimper so sublimely that shivers crawl his spine, sucking on your tongue as your hips go faster. Jesus Christ, the friction from grinding on the material of his pants feels so good, nestling in between your folds nicely and faintly bumping on your clit. However, that is for your husband’s fingers, tweaking the bud you perk to your tippy toes. Hahhh, so good!

“Mmmm, shit,” the golden-haired man curses under his breath before taking your lips into his again. “Come here, angel.” He slams his lips to yours, and you don’t plan to leave his taste as you throw your head back. One arm lifts your legs by the knees, the free hand having more access for him to stick his middle finger into your wetness.

You moan into his mouth, allowing your husband to please you with his fingers rubbing your inner texture. It starts slow until he adds the ring finger, dialing the pace for his fingertips to scratch onto places you could never reach. A hand finds his hair, his neat locks now getting disheveled because of you.

“Puhaah, ohhh, shit!” You shrill with puffy lips while Nanami kisses your cheek and chin, all the while his digits are brushing up on the upper wall of your vagina — you almost lose balance. “I’m close…!”

The magic words let Nanami know to keep doing what he’s doing, sucking the skin of your neck while shoving his fingers until his very knuckles. The clamp of your walls is sensational, addicting to the point that he doesn’t want to get his digits out yet — not until your high comes to an end.

And that doesn’t sound impossible; you scream as if you don’t have neighbors between your apartment, a watery liquid ejecting out of your glands and showering all around. Sprinkles of your clear juices hit the palm of Nanami’s hand and thigh, adding more stains to his pants to worry about.

Your heaving body slowly relaxes as your orgasm rattles your bones, Nanami laying more pecs on your beautiful skin as he permits your quaking legs to touch the floor again. Yet, you jerk when your toes feel something wet, snapping out of your daze and realizing what a show you made.

“O-Oh, my—“ you try to stand, but Nanami’s quick to catch you as your body is still under the shocks of your crescendo. “Ugh, I’m sorry, Kento, I messed up your work clothes.”

“No worries, I need to do laundry tomorrow anyway.” The blonde chuckles to your ear and kisses you again, massaging your waist.

“In that case…would you mind if I dirty your clothes some more?” Your butt presses up on the tent of his groin — which has been getting firmer and firmer once the man stuffed his fingers in you. “I’m sure you’d get some fun out of it.”

He raises a sandy brow with a smile. “Would I, or would you, since you’re the one who came onto me?”

“…A bit of both.” You both share a laugh as Nanami carries you bridally to the bedroom.

“Then I don’t mind at all.”

ᯓ꩜ Gojō Satoru

“Mmmm, can never get over this view~.”

“Can you stop commenting about it?!”

“Whaaat? I can’t say I admire my cutie’s beautiful ass in front of me?”

“You’re so annoying…” you grumble as you sigh and begin to lick the tip of his cock.

It’s been a while since you and Gojo had a good 69 session. He is busy being the strongest sorcerer of the modern era and being a full-time teacher, and you go through your day-to-day life swarmed up with work and routine. Lack of time to spend together is an onerous task to execute outside of sleeping and snoring in your shared bed.

But alas, when you two are finally resting and enjoying each other’s company this weekend, it’s a no-brainer that you two will end up skin-to-skin action sometime today.

You straddled atop Gojo, your ass facing him while his lower half was to your front, your hand stroking his length cock, following the curve up to the pink tippy top. The sight of precum starting to pool and spill over down your fingertips makes your cheeks hot, and the heat between your legs causes a twitch.

Gojo, however, grins before he kisses your labia, welcoming his tongue that invades the space between your folds. You moan as you stuff your mouth with his cockhead, treating him with peppered licks and sucks as you keep jerking him off. Fucking hell, his dick is just so lengthy, hitting the back of your throat with ease that you have to remind yourself to relax to not gag.

Lazy licks are dawned on your wet chasm, lapping from the clit up to the other end. He notices the subtle quakes of your thighs as he tongues you down and has him chuckle as he pushes his face into your frame more, his hands curling to cup your ass so he can fondle the flesh.

You mumble on his dick after he flicks your clit. “Mmmph…! Hmmmm…” Sucking on his shaft, you bob your head up and down to get accustomed to the limb. Climbing back up to the tip where you suck on it roughly with hallowed cheeks after drizzling it with saliva.

“Oh shiiit,” the white-haired man’s head hits the headboard of his bed, moaning at the attention you’re giving his cock. “So good at this, angel,” he coos as his hands curl to the front to massage and lightly pat your asscheeks like drums. “Missed this.”

“Mmmm, mmmahh…!” The tip leaves your lips, and you’re quick to keep stroking him as you lick around his crown. “Fuck, so big…”

“Well, thank you, baby,” he knows you’re probably rolling your eyes at that comment, chortling to himself. “Means a lot hearing that from someone who keeps winking at me over here.”

“Pfft, you’re so gross,” you top his cockhead to the flat of your tongue, blowing on it to make your tall partner shiver under you. “So full of yourself.”

“Mmmm, maybe so,” you whine as Gojo blows and sucks on your inner labia. “But you can’t blame me for that, right?”

“What…ever,” your feet come around and pulls his face back to your ass. “Just shut up and use that tongue—since you’re so confident.”

“Heh, so pushy.” But the thing is, Gojo is confident – narcissistically so. You saying that only probed him to flip a switch, and you’re unfortunately on the receiving end of his wrath.

Gojo’s tongue goes erratic, swishing around your vulva as if you can’t keep up with one lap after the other. Your waist goes to lift your ass away — fat chance, as his hands return behind your butt to keep you on him the entire time. The vibrations of his humorful laugh are felt in the very nerves of your folds.

You whimper aloud, the hand jerking his cock, straying off its rhythm as your body submits to the pleasure going around your lower half. He inserts his tongue into your opening, fucking your slit with pushes and pulls. He sucks your wetness with his mouth, and the hands placed on your ass grip on the flesh that has you standing on your very palms.

“—Khhh..! W-Wait, Satoruu, stop!” You cry, but the tall man only smacks your ass mischievously, having you clamping on his tongue without your conscience. “I-I said waaait!!” No signs of waiting as he stuffs his face further between your thighs; noises of him slurping your vulva sound so wrong!

Oh, my fucking God! Your legs tremble, a sign that you’re trying everything you can to alleviate. However, Gojo’s grip on you doesn’t make it an easy battle, latching onto you with vigor. No, wait, wait, stop i—“Ahaa—ahhhnn!!”

It’s no use; the fluid you release slips past your control, spraying out of the urethra and showering all over your thighs and Gojo’s lower jaw and neck. Your body yields, losing balance and slumping your whole body on top of your boyfriend as you come on his tongue and drizzle all around the space of your lower half. Shocks and quivers travel up your spine to your head to pound, leaving Gojo to keep lapping and swishing on your wet slit in victory.

“Mmmm, aahhhshit, so good…!” He blinks with hooded eyes as he licks his lips and spits on your vagina to lick slowly. “Taste so good…”

“Hahhh, ahhh, I..I told you to,” you stand on your elbows and look behind. “To…wait, dummy!”

“You told me to shut and use my tongue!” He backfires, not relenting even after sending your half-lidded glare. You groan and turn back to suck on his pink tip in defeat. “Fuck, love it when you’re all wet like this…and lucky me for being in the splash zone as you—Oww!”

You smack on his nuts. “You’re so annoying!”

ᯓ꩜ Getō Suguru

“Suguruuu…! Don’t do th–Ahhht!”

“Ahhhh, you sound so cute, baby.”

Geto plows you from behind, watching you grip the armrest of the couch as your butt is propped up and your face buried to hide yourself…Quite a futile attempt, if he says so himself, but adorable nonetheless.

Fucking in the living room wasn’t part of the daily routine today, yet here you two are. His hands grab hold of your waist as he conceals his girthy cock inside your tight cunt, stuffing every inch of him till the very hilt meets the lips of your outer lips.

Your breath is shaky as Geto’s hips move to and fro, sighing at the sensation of your tensed walls around him. You always felt way too fucking good, biting his lip to fight the urge to let his waist fly and piston himself right into you. And he enjoys the way you act as he teases you, the position giving him ideas on how to torment you idly.

Like now, as he skims a thumb around your asshole. The action of having you contract on him even more. “Nnnn! Nnooooh, don’t play with my ass…!”

“You sure? It’s been winking at me for a minute.” He chimes with a sly smile, licking his finger and switching his thumb to lather your hole with his saliva. Holy shit, the way you’re twitching around him is driving him nuts, as he hasn’t even put anything in yet.

“Do-Don’t say it like that!” You peer over your shoulder with furrowed brows, meeting the purple eyes that catch you. His hips go excruciatingly slow, your vagina feeling like a void as he pulls for absence before fulling you back as he pushes. “It’s em…barrassin—Ghhhh!”

He pushes the thumb inside while you’re distracted, and both your holes pucker in haste. “Awww, don’t be like that, my love,” his mellow voice doesn’t match the crudeness of his actions, throwing unpredictable snaps of his hips to throw you off. “Nothing about your body is embarrassing….God, your ass looks so sexy from the back—“

Another twitch of your slit—God, you’re too fucking cute. “What are you—Don’t say stuff like that…!” Your flustered reaction didn’t make it any better as Geto pushed his thumb inside until the dent and knuckle, wiggling it inside and pushing and pulling to toy with your rear. Your teeth clench onto the couch pillow while he increases the cadence of his ruts. “Mmmmm, ohmyGod…Suguu, please—“

“Hmm, you want me to stop?” He asks and observes for a cue to stop what he’s doing. You don’t say anything, though, just your hips swaying. It makes Geto scoff, “I get the feeling you don’t want me to; look at you moving your hips on your own, pumpkin. Your body’s so honest for me.”

“Haaahh, you’re soo…mean, Sugu…”

“Only when I know it makes you feel good,” he moves his bangs out for a bit. “Which is why,” then Geto slithers that same hand down to where your chasm is linked to his wet cock, and his fingers go erratically fast on your clit. “I wanna tease this a bit, too.”

Eyes widen as you shriek at the touch, moaning aloud once he removes his thumb from your ass to keep your butt onto him as he jackhammers his cock into you. Your frame is propelled with every push, the pokes on of your cervix knock you out like the wind, and the hard rubs on your clit have you seeing stars.

“—Ohhooo, oh–hoooo!! Sug’ruuu, waaiitt!!” It’s useless; he doesn’t stop, and more hits to your womb have you wailing uncontrollably. The fingers on your clit don’t let you rest, having you unable to speak a proper sentence and resort to letting your boyfriend pound into you. A few more pinches have your legs jerking, and you can’t help but let the wave smash onto you.

As your orgasm claims over your body, you squirt out, liquids falling onto the couch beneath you, point blank. Your eyes are sewn shut as your slit flutters on Geto’s penis, your substance leaking out of your glans and dirtying your thighs and legs. Oh God, no!!

Geto hisses at the feeling of you spasming on him, tilting his head to see what you’ve done. “Oh my, would’ya look at that~.”

“Shooop, don’t loook…!!” A hand moves to the side to “try” and stop him, but he catches it with his palm, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Don’t look at iiiit…”

“But you did so well!” Geto kisses your hand. “Maybe I should play with your ass more—“

“Suguru, stop!”

“Kidding~,” he was not.

ᯓ꩜ Ryōmen Sukuna

Sukuna relishes the feeling of you like this — your back to his front, your legs held up by his solid upper arms while the lower hands hold your buttocks, and your holes accommodating to his two girthy cocks — like the good pet you are.

He entirely suspends you, your entire frame contorted for your arms to grip the futon sheets below. Sweat and warmth are exchanged by bare skin, the glow of the candles highlights the unioned figures within Sukuna’s quarters, and your anus and vagina are full of nothing but the two cocks stretching you and rubbing your insides.

Sukuna bucks his hips with might, and his every push makes you dizzy. Toes curl as your ass is pulled up and down to meet his hefty balls, his dicks venturing further to torture your insides with satisfaction. Your vision gets a bit hazy as the heat gets to your head, and your head begins to pound.

“What’s wrong, little thing,” your lips flatten to hinder the moan wanting to escape as he speaks behind you, feeling his breath brush the hairs of your back. “You’re silent this time around.”

“Haaaah, my Lord…” The tongue of his stomach licks your lower back with a lazy kiss. “Y-You’re…too biiig.”

He hits you with a sudden rut and purrs at the clench of your entrances. “You say that, yet your lewd body seems to accustom pretty well.” Another hit of his hips causes the tips of his cock to brush up against your sweet spots effortlessly, and you finally unclench your lips to let a wail escape. “Your body only good for taking cocks like a real good whore, huh?”

“I’m so—Mmmph…! S-Shooo fuuuull…”

“No, you’re not,” he snickers as his lower left-hand sneaks around to cusp your clitoris, your precious pearl engulfed by the sheer thickness of his digits. “Not until I fill you with my seed like a sow in heat.”

The salmon-haired man picks up the pace to drill his cocks, churning your vagina and rear like toys. Your cries fly out quickly at the point, puffy lips losing ground to stay locked. Hands balled into fists as you’re threatened by the sheer mass of Sukuna, unable to fight out of this—forced to submit to him and his persistence.

Your slit and butt are so busy with his cocks, the length of your vagina grazing your G-spot by its underside, the walls fluttering involuntarily around him. The dick inside your butt feels so utterly good; the size of him is never something you can get fully habituated to. And the hand on your clit doesn’t stop playing with it, roughly pushing and grinding on it to the point of babbling and choking on spit.

“—Hnnngh, fuck. So tight,” Sukuna licks your back and nibbles on your skin, teasing to tear your skin to taste just a hint of blood. “Feel so good…”

“Ahahhh, I caaan’t…!” Your eyes begin to water as you shut them close, lack of vision enhancing the sense of touch where it has your nerves overly stimulated. Everything is happening all at once, and you can sense the climb once the tip hits your womb. “I can’t do iiit! You’re gonna break meee!!”

“Keheh, wouldn’t be the first time.” It’s probably for the best because you can’t see the smug-ass grin on his oddly comely face. More kisses are placed on your back. “Shut up and take it, dove,” he commands you, not leaving you any room to retaliate as his thrusts increase without warning.

Your mouth is agape, and your cries are unwillingly bouncing around the shoji-paneled walls. A bit of spit comes down your lips, your hands only finding Sukuna’s waist for your nails to dig into. The grumble of his stomach traversing to your core to rumble with the vibrations. Oh, God, noo!! You can feel it – the worse of the worse. Just when you thought your humiliation wasn’t enough at this moment, it was about to skyrocket in three…two…one.

Feverish ruts to your ass, have the reins slip out of your hold, all the restraint in your body withering with every harsh push and pull. Your head pounds like crazy, nothing but a blur can be seen in your eyes, and the clear substance expels out of your urethra, leaving out of your system along with your dignity.

And Sukuna doesn’t have to see it to believe it, grinning from ear to ear as he playfully smacks on your vulva to create more of a mess. The watered-down liquid sprayed out to his thighs and the futon sheets and sticking to your inner thighs and sliding down the crack of your ass. Tiny pinches to your clit help you jerk out more to ruin yourself, your body losing strength entirely and letting the cursed man keep you in your distorted position.

“Hmph, what a bad little toy,” he criticizes you like always, the tears beckoning to leave your watery eyes. “Look at you causing a mess on my bedding; who told you to do that?”

“I’m sorry, Lord Sukuna,” your expression borderline fucked out, yet the embarrassment keeps you humble. “Forgive me…my Lord.”

Sukuna slaps onto your clit with his palm; you pucker onto his girths immediately. “You dare ask for forgiveness after the fact—I should just throw you out in the cold with these wet sheets you’ve caused.”

“N-Nooo! I’m so sorry!!” Fuck, he loves it when you plead, so desperate for his word, his submissive and breakable dove. “Pleaseee, fill me up with your seed, and I will clean it up…! I-I won’t do it again…”

“Says who?” He finally lets your legs go briefly before he spreads them over with his lower arms. His upper hands find your chest to grope. “You’ve stained my sheets with your essence; you aren’t sleeping anywhere else tonight except here with me in this exact puddle you made for yourself, you dirty pet. Am I clear?”

His final words have your skin crawl as he nibbles on your nape, and you nod.

“Good.”

ᯓ꩜ Fushiguro Tōji

“Gahhh!! Ahhhhh!!”

“Yeah, baby, that’s it; keep clenchin’.”

Toji’s fingers are stuffed inside you, stretching your poor hole with pushes and pulls that take your breath away with ease—quite literally as your arms come around his neck to keep him close.

His bedroom is filled with nothing but you: your shorts and panties decorating his bedroom floor, the smell of your lotion on your now-sweaty skin intoxicating his senses, and your damp towel laid underneath you as you lie on your back.

Toji sits right beside you, near as you keep him from leaving. Not that he planned to — of course not. When he has his ring and middle finger shoved inside your vagina and grazing your inner skin with a mediocre pace, there’s no way the older man would want to stop now. Fuck, he loved how tight your cunt was, so snug to the touch and tender to his fingertips. It drove him crazy, just like you always make him. He can never get tired of you, honestly.

“Hahhhh, Tojiii, ahhaaa…” Your whimpers get louder and louder by the second, and your back jerks to the blunt of his fingertips, poking deep inside your chasm. “Gooohh, ohhhshit…!”

“Yeah, sweetie?” His forehead touches yours, skin-on-skin increasing intimacy. “Ya like it when I fuck you wit’ my fingers, huh?” You answer with a whine as he slows his digits down, teasing the walls of your entrance while pressing on your clit with his thumb. He scoffs, “So nice and tight fr’ me, huh…”

“Ahhhh..! Bu–But I just…finished taking a showerrr!!” You wail with pleading hooded eyes that are instantly locked with intense viridian ones. “You’re making me—mmm!—dirty again…!”

He raises a brow. “That doesn’t mean anythin’ to me,” more push to your clitoris causes your body to jolt closer to Toji, and he sneers. “Getting all ready and clean fr’ me, what a good girl…all the more fun fr’ Daddy to make ya all dirty and cryin’ all over again.”

A hand grips his shoulder, exposed by his black wife-beater. “Pleasee, Daddy, it’s too—Aghahh!” He sneaks his fingers back inside knuckle-deep; the deep chuckle you hear from him causes your ears to melt.

“C’mon, mama, I know you have it in ya,” he coos with a kiss to your forehead that has you dissolve under his scarred lips. “Wring my fingers up, make a mess fr’ me.”

Another kiss to your forehead makes you whine, the gentle atmosphere only lasting for mere seconds before the pace of his hand returns to a rhythm that has you screaming instantly. Jesus Christ, those thick fingers are no joke, the stretch enough to overwhelm your senses, along with how deep they reach inside.

Every push to your cunt has you breathless, and every dig is knuckles-deep and too fast to catch up with one after the other. “Ohoooo, D-Daddyyy, n-nooo!” Yet there’s no point in begging now—once Toji is deadset on something, it’s challenging to swade him off. Especially when it comes to you, his little sweet thing… “I’m gonna—ohfuuck!—I’m so clooose…!”

Your words only egg Toji on to keep fingering you as much as he can, ravaging your delicate insides with his hand alone. He purchases his face to your neck, sighing deeply at the alluring whiff of your lotion. He licks your skin before a kiss, and the pace between your legs becomes unforgivingly faster.

Eyes roll up to the ceiling as your body shuts down without your knowledge, completely taken aback by the climax that clenches around the thickness of Toji’s fingers. Also, the water liquid is excreting projectively from the continuous knock-kneed-worthy pleasure. You let loose with a howl, your back arching with every subtle buck of your hips.

Toji looks down with a salacious grin, taking in the sight of you spraying all over his bed. The towel is doing nothing but getting damper because of you, and he can only chortle at the sight and, lowkey, thank his intuition for wearing a wife-beater so you can coat his forearm. Dazed with euphoria, your body slumps down to the sheets, sweaty and sticky from the excretions and panting heavily. So much for a shower, huh?

Toji whistles and courses his free hand atop your head while besmearing your vulva with your juices. “Good girl, mama, good fuckin’ girl.”

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werecreature-addicted · 6 months ago

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Could you do a headcannon where a merman keeps begging to hold his human mate and use them like a cocksleve as he swims around? Because I imagine a merman who isn’t ready for his human to go to shore yet and just wants to fill them with pups and kiss them until they can’t remember anything

"it's getting dark, the water is going to be too cold for me soon, I need to go," you protest, the mermaid that has you trapped just chitters happily and squeezes you tightly. You float in the middle of the ocean on top of his chest as he swims in lazy circles, you hadn't realized how far away from shore you'd drifted. you'd need him to swim you back there's no way you could get back to land by yourself. and it's clear he isn't ready to let you go, especially because he's not so subtly grinding his sheathed cock against your hip.

"how about you take me to shore-" this earns you an unhappy growl "and fuck me against the rocks, give me a nice clutch," you purr, this seems like a much better idea to him. he nudges your hip again and looks at you with pleading eyes.

"fine you can keep it in me while we swim over there," you agree, and shift your swimsuit to the side and reach between your two bodies, you feel the place where his skin goes from human flesh to sleek scales, you feel the bulge where his cock lies, slowly you rub your fingers over his slit, coaxing his long tentacle-like cock free. he whines as his hips buck trying pitifully to fuck himself into you, his dick writing with a mind of its own. you grasp his length and guide it to you. he purrs happily as he sinks inside of you, he grips you with his hands pushing your ass down to grind against his hips. your breath catches as his prick writhes inside of you, he's so deep inside of you that it almost hurts.

"swim," you remind him. he nuzzles your neck nipping at your skin with his sharp teeth, almost like he is trying to tempt you to stay out a little longer. you push his shoulder. "We have a deal swim to the shore and fuck me there," you insist. Slowly he turns you toward the shore and starts lazily swimming, taking his time getting there, just enjoying the feel of you wrapped around his dick.

The sun is completely set by the time you reach the sandy beach, it's just the two of you as he pushes you out of the surf onto the wet beach, pinning you down beneath his body. in the moonlight, he seems to glow silver, and his scales glitter iridescent. He nuzzles your neck again bitting your shoulder, and this time you let him, his hips roll against you as he fucks you, filling you with his thin twisted cock filling you up with his brood.

#monster imagine #monster fucker #monster #monster boyfriend #teratophillia #mermaid x human #mermaid x reader #mermaid #mermaid smut

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softquietsteadylove · 2 years ago

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I don’t know wich AU it would fit so I just make a prompt and you decide :)

Thenamesh decides to go to the beach for a day. They both get quite the attention but Thena is the one who is a bit possessive and tiny bit jealous (she would never admit) when 4 woman decide to flirt with him and get too close to him :D would be funny

All she wanted was to take a brief little trip to the Paldea region to find a Ceruledge (or a Charcadet, rather). It was a pokemon with swords for hands--it was like it was destined to be on her team!

But the trip to Paldea was coming at a heavy cost, Thena was discovering.

"Wow, so you're a pokemon ranger?"

"We don't have those here!"

"So, what is it that you do?"

Thena tugged at the wide brim of her sunhat, which was currently shielding both her and Teddiursa from the unforgiving - oddly strong for the winter - sun. She was sitting on her beach towel, laid out next to Gil's.

Gil had excitedly gone exploring on the beach, observing all the different pokemon they had yet to encounter back home. Between the species dimorphism and the ecological differences and the generally pleasant weather, he was in bliss.

"You're so strong, Mister Ranger," a swimmer giggled in a faintly accented voice, her shoulders bouncing as she did. It really served to emphasize the expensive looking pink bikini she had on. "Is it a very demanding job?"

"I guess the hours are kinda long," Gil shrugged (not picking up on the woman's blatant flirting). He was in the middle of making some notes for his own observation and research. The four women flocked around him were simply present.

Thena knew this--she knew that in Gil's mind they were just strangers sharing the beach space with them. But from her vantage, it was definitely four female trainers, all very obviously hitting on Gilgamesh.

Her Gilgamesh.

"Teddiursa?" the little cub turned in Thena's arms and looked up at her curiously. He had squirmed all through Thena applying sunblock to the inside of his ears and paw pads, but then she had gone mysteriously quiet instead of playing with him.

Thena continued to watch the interaction like a Braviary, "we'll play in just a minute, sweetheart."

Teddiursa pouted at the denial to his request.

"There are swimming competitions, Mister Ranger," another of the women, this one with long, dark hair and a black one-piece on tilted her head at him. "For people and pokemon--surely you could win."

Gil just blinked at them, "oh, I don't have any pokemon with me like that. Rangers don't actually keep pokemon. We have kind of an open door policy with them, I guess."

"Ah!" the shortest of the women gasped with a hand held up to her bright red lips, "no pokemon! Mister Ranger, what if you find yourself in trouble?"

"I'm sure he'd be fine," the fourth and tallest one cooed, even leaning against Gil's arm - visibly against his will - as she said it, "look at these muscles."

"Teddi," Thena muttered, somewhat spooking the cub in her arms. "Why don't you go over there and tell Papa that it's playtime."

Teddiursa obeyed, happy to have the time to play, no matter how oddly his Mama had asked him to do so. He ran on all fours, letting his puff ball tail wiggle around as he trotted over the slippery sands.

"Ursa!"

"Papa?" all four women turned and startled back a few paces at the strange pokemon. Obviously he was young, but he was still a pokemon they had never seen before.

"Hey, buddy!" Gil greeted the cub with a beaming smile, picking him up and holding him on his shoulder. "You ready for some fun?"

"Teddi!" the bear laughed, happily holding onto Gil's head as he stood. "Ted?"

"Yeah, I'm all done my research, we can go and play," Gil patted the little pokemon's head.

"I thought you said you didn't have any pokemon with you."

"Well," Gil shrugged the shoulder without precious cargo on it, "he's not just mine, is the thing."

"Well, who-"

"There you are!"

All four women backed up another few paces as Thena walked over, having left her hat and unbraided her hair. It picked up in the ocean breeze, rustling around her shoulders. "I see."

"Were you good about getting your sunscreen put on?" Gil asked Teddi, who nodded so hard his ears flapped a little.

"He was a little squirmy," Thena corrected, tapping their little bear on the nose, "but yes, he was very good."

"Hasta luego, Mister Ranger," the swimming trainers waved to him as they dragged themselves away from the family unit. "Your Maushold is very lovely."

"Maushold," Gil mumbled, trying to recall what pokemon that was. He would have to look it up in the Paldean pokemon guidebook later.

"Did you discover all the scientific things you were hoping for?" Thena asked with clear humour in her voice.

"As a matter of fact, I did," Gil grinned, waving around his little notebook before zipping it and his pen into the waterproof compartment of his rented swim trunks. "I can't wait to tell Dragonite all about it."

Dragonite had flown them, but declined the beach day in favour of touring the food offerings of Porto Marinada. He had found that being a free walking pokemon didn't deter businesses from serving him so long as he had cash. He had already consumed an ice cream stand out of its entire stock for the weekend.

Thena tilted her head at the green trunks, which Gil had chosen specifically for the waterproof pocket. "Are you going to take more notes if you go swimming and find some cave?"

"Hey, what's this 'you' business?" he grinned, braiding her hair back again for her, "you're coming with us."

"No, I--Gil?"

"Ey, Hot Stuff!" two passing men whistled and shouted to them, waving at Thena. "Care to join us? We could be great Flamigos, no?"

"She's not interested!" Gil barked at them, pulling Thena flush against him with her chest pressed into his, hiding as much of her - and her rented white bikini - as possible.

"Teddi!" Teddiursa added, mostly to mimic Gil and not necessarily in any understanding of what was going on.

Thena blinked, her hands pressed to Gil's chest as he held her, even wrapping his other arm around her waist while his hand grasped her bare shoulder. She had never seen him like this.

Maybe the beach wasn't such a bad idea.

#Thenamesh Pokemon AU #you did say to pick the au #and I don't know if this is what you had in mind #but I couldn't get the idea out of my mind #of Thena telling Teddi to be like okay run over there and make it clear that Papa is a married man okay sweetie #and Teddiursa is like I don't know what's happening but okay!#Thena rents the bikini #and immediately Gil is focused on the sand texture and how it might affect the rock types in the area #and she's like well that was a waste of money #but she does go swimming with them for the record #They rented Teddi a little floatie ring and everything #Gil does take more notes about all the plant life that can grow straight up on the sides of cliffs #Dragonite comes to fly them back to the hotel and finds them all curled up together on Thena's towel with Gil's around her shoulders #Maushold is a pokemon that's literally just two mice who have children #the whole family unit is a pokemon #Tandemaus is a pokemon that is two mice holding hands #and then they evolve and have kids #that's it and it's adorable #Flamigo is exactly what it sounds like #it's a flamingo pokemon

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monstersflashlight · 1 month ago

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Day 4. Monster-kinktober: Deep Sea + Bitemarks/Ice Play

A/N: I took liberties about the deep sea part, hope y’all don’t mind. It ended up being a lot more plot and a lot more fluffy than anticipated, bon apetite!

Orca-hybrid x fem!reader || marking, temperature play, soulmates

When they offer you to travel to the North Pole to do some research on the orca-hybrids up there, you are all over the moon. You’ve been obsessed with them since you had enough brain to think, you even studied marine biology and specialized in sea hybrids so you could study them more (very neurodivergent of you).

You spend the whole trip there being jittery and excited, to the point everyone starts teasing you about your love for orca-hybrids. You blush and don’t say nothing, they don’t even know half of it. You are obsessed with them in every way possible. Which means there’s a big chance you have a bit more than interest in them… more of a sexual interest. But who could blame you? They are tall and exotic, could walk on two feet but also swim incredibly well… They are the best of both worlds and you are about to see them for the first time, to talk to them for the first time. You could barely contain a squeal when the helicopter landed on the base and you saw the orca village not far from there. They were so close!

And things only get better from there.

The first day you approach the village to do some interviews and asks about their habits and culture, they welcome you like a friend, and you are all over the moon all over again. They are so interesting and so different from humans that your brain is going a thousand times per minute at every new piece of information they give you.

And when the son’s leader appears and you see him for the first time, your breath catches in your throat. Your eyes meet for the first time in front of everyone in the village, and you feel how your pulse accelerates as he approaches. He kneels on the floor in front of you, much to your surprise and everyone else around you. You know that it means he respects you over himself, which is a huge deal in orca-hybrid culture. You don’t even know what to say when he introduces himself and asks about your name. You stutter for a bit until you finally get the words out as everyone else just stares at you two.

You leave that day with a red face and a new friend.

All of your colleagues ask you about it for hours, how did you do it, how did you get that amount of respect as easy and fast. But you don’t know, you don’t understand it either. But the next day when you go outside to grab your motorbike and get to the village, he’s already waiting outside the door.

“Good morning,” he lets out in a deep voice. Your whole body shivers and you try to convince yourself that it’s because of the cold and not because his presence makes you weak in the knees.

“Good morning,” you respond, casually vowing in front of him. He looks surprised at your gesture, but repeats it with a big smile that shows all his teeth. It should be creepy or scary, considering how giant his mouth and teeth are, but you find it weirdly cute. You blush again, it feels like every time you are in his presence you can’t stop blushing.

You give him a ride to the village, and he holds your much smaller body against his like you are the most precious thing in the world, making you feel all kinds of flirty. And that’s how it goes. He walks up to the base, he accompanies you everywhere, he spends more and more time with you. You two talk and talk, and discover more and more about him and his people. Every time you are in the village, he’s not far away, his eyes always on you. And you… you are falling for him. And you have no idea if he feels the same way, you don’t even know if orca-hybrids like humans in that way.

But everything changes after a month. He rides with you to the village, but this time, once you are there, he takes your hand and walks away with you, your colleagues long forgotten as some other orca-hybrids lead them in another direction.

“Where are we going?” You ask when you are a few meters away.

He looks down at you and smiles. “I’m taking you to the cave.”

You try not to be too excited, you know about the cave, but it’s not possible he’s leading you to their sacred cave, the one no outsiders can step into, right? There’s no way. “What cave?” You ask, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“The sacred cave, I need to show something to you there,” he says, cryptically. But you don’t even pay attention to his tone or his words after he says the word sacred. He’s leading you to the most special place in his culture, and you are going to be the first human to see it.

Oh. My. God.

When you arrive, you are mesmerized. Everything is covered in a soft layer of ice and some kind of plant you’ve never seen before. It looks like normal grass, but when you touch it, it moves, like tiny tentacles undulating at the rhythm of unknown forces. Your orca-hybrid crush stares at you with a smile on his face until you have touched and probed and oh-ed and ah-ed everything around you.

You stare at him, your eyes shiny with tears because of the emotion of being there. “Why did you take me here?” You finally whisper, not wanting to disturb the pace of such a place.

“You are my mate,” he announces, and your breath gets caught in your throat. You know what that means, you’ve been studying them long enough to know. Orcas mate for life. Oh, goddess. He looks at you with uncertainty in his eyes. “Don’t you feel it? The pull?”

“I- I do. But it’s not the same for humans. How can you be sure of it?”

“You smell so good that I want to taste you, that’s how. Nobody else smells as good as you do, my mate,” his words sound like a reverence, and you are about to collapse from all the feelings running around in your body. You look at him with your mouth hanging open, not fully processing his words. “I know you are the one. The one who completes your soul. The one who would form a family with you and protect you from every danger in the world. The companionship that will make your life whole and your heart beats for somebody else.” You feel a tear running down your cheek at the same time he leans down and engulfs you in a crushing hug. “Do you accept being my mate? Say yes,” he pleads.

You push his chest a bit and look at his eyes trying to decipher whatever is happening inside of you. But the only thought that comes to mind is how right he feels, how amazing it’s been to be with him all those days… He feels right. “Yes,” you murmur, grabbing his big head and pulling him down in a crushing kiss.

“How does it work?” You ask.

“I will mark you and we will be joined for life,” he explains. You feel almost vertigo at the thought of being with him forever, but at the same time you feel warmth and heat, and a conviction so big it leaves you breathless. It is what you should do, you know that. “Ready?” He asks when he lowers his mouth to your neck. You nod and he bites down, you arch your back and cry out at the sensation.

What you thought was going to be painful is so pleasurable your brain stops working for a second, your whole body reacting to it, heat running down your spine until you are desperate. You whine when he pulls out his teeth, kissing softly around it until your knees are weak and you are so wet it’s insane.

It’s exhilarating, and when he undresses you completely and lays you down on the weird undulating grass, you can feel it caressing your skin. You realize then you can’t feel the cold, something inside of you changing and adapting to your new mate. He takes an icicle from the closest wall, smirking down at you and running it over your body, over all your sensitive places until you are a mess under him, until you are even wetter and more desperate. You need him like you need air.

“Make love to me,” you plead. He smiles at you and kisses you again, his mouth still tasting like blood, but also something indescribable.

“Whatever you want, my mate.” He doesn’t discard the icicle, rubbing it around your nipples and making you moan like a whore as you feel the tip of his huge cock in your entrance. He made sure to make you so wet it slides right in, your body accommodating him instantly. You groan and he shushes you, “don’t worry, my mate, the bite took root and you are perfect for me now, we fit like two puzzle pieces.”

He keeps pushing until he’s fully inside of you, until your brain is blank and your body is shivering with the need to explode. He rubs the icicle over your clit at the same time he thrusts his scalding member inside of you, the combination of temperatures is so extreme that you start shivering, your pussy contracting around him and making him moan over you. He keeps praising you and your body and your pussy and everything that has to do with you, to the point you are blushing and your heart feels too big inside your body.

You are about to tell him you love him when flashes appear behind your closed eyes and your body explodes in the most intense orgasm of your life, his body going rigid over yours as you feel his shaft getting slightly bigger as he starts to come. You scream his name as you scratch his back, and he kisses the marks on your neck until your body stops trembling under him.

“I love you, my mate,” he whispers.

“I love you, too,” you whisper back, almost asleep.

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slttygeto · 25 days ago

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I'd love to see me from your pov — GOJO S.

synopsis: Gojo Satoru seems to struggle with the idea of love and doesn't quite know where to stand. Luckily for him, you're there to soothe his worries every time.

word count: 2,1k

content warning: a tiny bit of angst, but you know me and my love for this man.

note: hi hello there :)! it's October which means it's the 4th year anniversary since the release of ariana's album positions! I adore that album with all of my being, and what better way to show my love than to dedicate some of my favorite songs to my favorite anime men? enjoy reading!

Satoru has never known what love is. His parents’ marriage was an arranged one, his mother’s good looks and her status along with his father’s powerful technique is what brought them together. And nine months later, the wielder of the six eyes was born. Raised in an environment where his father was barely around, the only warmth he’s ever felt was his mother’s hand holding his smaller one as she walks him around the Gojo estate, showing off the boy whose birth altered the balance of the world.

Then she was off to do her duties as Madame Gojo.

Satoru remembers his childhood as being extremely dull. He was forbidden from social interactions, was told that they are useless unless the person was of any benefit to him or his powers—which at the time, six year old Satoru didn’t understand but he had no choice but to comply with his father’s words.

Bright pair of blue eyes would then follow his father’s figure as he made his way towards the sliding paper door, but before he could leave, the tall man turned towards his wife whose eyes remained glued to her lap before announcing.

“I’ll be off.” Whether that meant for hours, days or weeks, Satoru never knew.

Logically, that led to the creation of his image on love and marriage. He avoided the two concepts like the plague. Love was always meant to find others before it could even glance his way, and Satoru was okay with that.

He was okay with spending the rest of his time alone, maybe he would buy a house on the top of a hill and own a nice border collie dog. Perhaps, that dog would show him a little bit of loyalty and love because Satoru feeds it and takes it on walks, but when the sun goes down and the dog goes to sleep, it would be just Satoru and his thoughts. Dying alone sounded scary, but it was better than ending up like his parents.

“Are you okay?” The tall man feels a gentle squeeze on his large hand. Suddenly, he’s pulled back into the present.

The smell of fresh roses and the cold breeze overwhelm his senses. He blinks and realizes that he must’ve taken off his blindfold somewhere—Satoru can’t remember where, or why he got so lost in his thoughts.

“Satoru?” That voice. That sweet, warm and honeyed voice, barely above a whisper as it calls out his name and he gets another whiff of something—perfume.

Your perfume.

You’re standing next to him, smaller frame and smaller hand squeezing his own and he remembers why he was pulled back into his childhood.

You had squeezed his hand the same way his mother did. Except this time, you don’t pull away like she does. In fact, you haven't pulled away in years.

When Suguru left, Satoru was trying to piece himself back together within the confines of his own place. Quiet, cold and unwelcoming. He despised the feeling, it made him feel like shit and Satoru was usually the type to ignore his feelings—so when they come crashing against him in strong waves, the strongest can’t duck down and avoid them, he can’t swim away and find refuge. He chooses to believe that he is his own refuge, even if he’s messy and selfish and quite literally just a jerk. The strongest was unable to save his own best friend from a fate that is so horrible, one that could’ve easily been avoided had he looked harder.

Had he not been raised that way.

“Satoru?”

On a cold October night in 2007, you show up at Satoru’s apartment with food and homemade sweets. You’re sweaty, clearly having climbed up the stairs since you had no access to the elevator. He sees you, he cannot process the reason for your sudden visit until he sees your lip quiver and your eyes fill with tears.

“I’m sorry.” You say with so much emotion that the teenager can only try to stop himself from digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands.

Although he only realizes it years later, the only person who had shown Satoru that he was worth a bit of love was Suguru. He had been your classmate too, your friend. You’re grieving his absence too, but you choose to stay with Satoru that night. He doesn’t say much, you don’t press him about it.

He doesn’t understand why.

A couple of months pass, your visits become more regular. He buys you a mattress and even suggests you move in with him in the guest room of his apartment. And after much consideration, you agree and the two of you become roommates.

What had once been a cold, uncomfortable apartment slowly turns into a refuge for Satoru, a place he looks forward to coming back to after a long day of missions. Was it because of the smell of food that fills the hallway as he approaches the door, or the thought of finding you in there when he inserts the key? Satoru isn’t sure yet.

He’s still a bit confused as to why you want to be around him.

Months turn into years, your presence remains a constant in his and Megumi’s lives when he takes him in. You have your own room that you choose to share with Tsumiki and you treat the two children like your own. The strongest believes that your heart is as big as the oceans combined.

For someone whose youth was stolen away by the Jujutsu society, Satoru tries to make sure that his students don’t meet the same fate. So he takes on countless missions, protects students like they’re his own children and promises them a bright future. Even if it’s at the expense of his own.

You hate that, and you make it clear to him the day he takes in Yuuta.

“That’s such bullshit.”

“Hey, watch it.”

“No, you listen to me!” This is the most emotion you’ve shown since that one night you came to visit him. Satoru looks up from his phone where he’s sitting, and is a bit taken aback when he sees your eyes fill up with tears. “Do you realize how dangerous it is to be going around and doing shit like that?”

“What–saving them?”

“Ruining your future!” You raise your hands in the air.

“I don’t have a future.”

The room falls silent. Suddenly, you’re glad that Megumi and Tsumiki weren’t home. Your eyes meet his, and the white haired male watches as your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. There’s a thousand expressions on your face—betrayal? Hurt? Worry? He can’t decipher them.

He is overwhelmed. His six eyes are screaming at him that your cursed energy was elevating, your body temperature was rising and he can see that your chest is heaving.

He still doesn’t realize what he had just said.

To him, it was the truth. There was nothing morbid about his words. If he couldn’t see himself marrying or falling in love, then Satoru simply did not have a future. Those children do, and that’s what he should prioritize.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t–”

“Satoru–” you lose your breath as you utter his name, broken and weak. You gulp harshly, heart pounding loudly in your ears. “You can’t say that.”

It’s selfish, you’re aware of that, but it can’t be helped. You watch as the light of the man you had been clinging onto like a lifeline for years starts to dim, and you scramble to find the source of the problem.

And while Satoru’s six eyes are screaming at him to walk away, his heart pins him to the ground of his living room. Overwhelmed and emotional, it reminds him of that one lonely night. He can’t tell you how he feels, he can’t pinpoint to you that it’s because of his parents that his heart refuses to let him accept the idea of love. He sees the waves coming, large and tall and ready to destroy him years later—as he scrambles to find refuge, his heart finally feels at ease.

Your arms wrap tightly around his middle, chin resting on his shoulder and your hands digging into his shoulders in an attempt to soothe him. You want to stop your chest from stuttering, but your quivering lip gives away your strong emotions.

“I’ll stay.”

Why would you stay?

His arms feel heavy as he lifts them up and finally rests them on your warm body, pulling you so close to him you feel yourself suffocate. It doesn’t matter. Satoru hugs you so tightly that you hear your heart break.

You don’t comment on the wet feeling on your shoulder, or the way his hands tremble as they grip the back of your shirt. You let him cling onto you as though you were the air he needed to breathe, the warmth he sought in the middle of the coldest nights.

—

“Thank you.”

“Hm?” You look to your side, a bit confused. The white haired man thinks you look very adorable when you’re clueless, trying to understand his words.

“Thank you? What for?” Satoru isn’t one to get nervous, but your stare has him feeling a little hot. He hopes he isn’t blushing, it doesn’t suit his brand.

“For saying yes.” This time, he is the one who squeezes your hand and you hold back a chuckle at how he avoids eye contact. You squeeze his hand back and lean your head against his shoulder.

“I would be crazy not to marry you.”

“But you know… given my line of work, and Suguru—”

“Satoru,” you stop the man before he can carry on with his small ramble. You appreciate how vocal he is, it is one of the major changes to his personality ever since the two of you made it official. “I am a sorcerer as well. I understand.”

“You hate the missions I take.”

“I hate the way the higher ups view you, not the missions you take.”

Silence engulfs the two of you.

You fidget with your hands, feeling as though you might’ve crossed a line your husband wasn’t ready to let you cross yet—

“And you?”

“Huh?”

“How do you view me?” He asks, voice low and small. He still doesn’t look at you, nor does he look anywhere really. Despite being 28 years old, Satoru feels the same way he felt at 6 years old. Vulnerable, worthless and in need of a reminder of what he brought to this world other than his powers–

“You’re handsome.” You break his chain of thoughts with a lot of ease, and he looks up at you with wide eyes. “A handsome, caring young man with a big,” a finger traces his heart over his shirt, “big heart. You have a child-like spirit, and a boy-ish smile that could make anyone fall for you very easily. I don’t want to focus too much on your looks, but they’re unfortunately a huge part of who you are,”

“You’re selfless.” You lean against the balcony railings, staring down at the city. “People take you for granted and either you don’t seem to notice, or you try not to.”

“And last, you’re too good for this world.”

Your eyes sparkle as you describe every small detail about the man. You pour all of your emotions into your tiny monologue, so you fail to notice that Satoru had removed his hands off the railings. Until you feel something warm on your sides and something heavy on your shoulder.

“Satoru?”

“I’m fine,” his broken voice would beg to differ, but you don’t push him. You rest your hands on top of his and let him pull you back against his chest in a warm, tight hug.

He had always wanted to see himself through your eyes, filled with so much adoration and trust that it made his heart burst in his chest. He was riddled with confusion and something he couldn’t quite decipher anytime you had told him ‘of course it was you’ when he would do something nice, or ‘you’re not like that’ when you heard Nanami mumble something about Satoru’s playful behavior.

You wish you could give him your eyes, take away some of that overwhelming feeling of being the wielder of the six eyes and allow him to rest—see himself as the selfless, kind-hearted man that he was to you.

Since that was physically impossible, you’ll stick to loving him as though he held the universe between his palms.

You make loving him seem as easy as breathing, and the inner child living deep within him is forever grateful for that.

2024 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

#moon's works #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #Gojo Satoru x reader #gojo angst #gojo satoru x reader angst #gojo x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk gojo #jjk gojo satoru #gojo x yn #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n

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yieldtotemptation · 2 months ago

Text

CRASH ft. Wonyoung

wonyoung x male reader smut

11k words

When she wanted to be (and it was often), Jang Wonyoung could be a real fucking bitch.

If you were to ask her, she’d probably say the same about you.

And yet, that doesn’t stop her from calling you in the middle of the night, slurring about some shit with her manager, telling (not asking) you to come pick her up.

You’re inclined to recommend that she fuck off and find her own way home.

But of course, you don’t. (You never do).

“Sorry boys, my ride’s here!”

There’s a collective groan of disappointment that ripples through the crowd that’s formed up behind Wonyoung; each face falling one after another as they realise that ultimately none of them get to be the lucky suitor that takes her home.

Moths around a flame, unable to do anything but watch as she sashays through the neon haze towards your car. Hips sway with a drunken grace, a dangerously short skirt dances around her thighs, high heels strapped to her feet make her legs seem endless.

It’s a view, that’s for sure.

It probably makes the pain of rejection a little more bearable, makes them forget that they’re being abandoned on the sidewalk with all the rest of the has-beens and ‘who the fuck were you again?’

Her ‘co-workers’, technically. Some you recognise, most you don’t. But they’re all basically the same insecure douchebag in a different shade of overpriced streetwear.

You’d probably be doing the world a public service if you were to steer your car onto the pavement and run them all down.

It’s an idea you entertain a little. Doing it would really ruin her night.

That’d almost make it worth the dent it would put in your brand-new car.

Still, you can’t completely blame the gaggle of potential casualties, not really.

It’s Wonyoung.

Girls like her are the reason they invented the word ��idol’ in the first place, because calling her ’pretty’ or ’hot’ is like calling the Mona Lisa ‘a nice portrait’.

It doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Like the starlet she is, Wonyoung waits until she’s at your car to make her grand exit. A turn to her adorers and a final goodbye: a casual flick of her wrist, a sweet, flirty smile and a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it wink that’ll have them deep in their group chats ranting about how they definitely had a moment with the Jang Wonyoung.

You just roll your eyes. You’ve seen that wink a hundred times.

You know exactly how much it’s worth.

After all, it’s your car that she’s climbing into, slamming the door behind her like it’s her name on the registration; leaving behind her new fan club with nothing but their dicks in their hands and their heads swimming with fantasies of what totally could have happened.

You’re no better though, are you? The second she slides into the passenger seat, you’re judging the shortness of her skirt, eyes greedily tracing the length of her thighs, all the way up to a hint of lace that’s destined to be ruined later.

You’re not subtle. And in that outfit, she’s not either.

“What took you so long? I swear to God I’m going to punch the next guy that asks me ‘how much of a baddie I really am’.”

No thank yous, no pleasantries, not even a look in your direction.

To think that you used to be impressed by how quickly she could drop the act: gone is the sugary sweetness that she’d fooled those simps with back at the club; the pretty, airheaded, ‘lucky Vicky’. As fake and useless as the glasses resting on the bridge of her perfectly shaped nose.

Next to you is the real Wonyoung, the one that you’ve become intimately familiar with: intimidatingly smart, unfathomably hot, and all too aware of how dangerous a woman those two traits made her.

“Why is this car black? I thought I told you to get the red?”

You glare at her. The gall on this woman.

“What are you waiting for? Drive.”

Barely a minute in and she’s setting a personal best record for time taken to piss you off; impatiently kicking off her heels, tossing them over her shoulder and into the back seat (of again: your car, not hers).

You can be just as childish: you slam your foot down, pedal to the floor, wheels screeching, and you peel off into the night. The acceleration forces Wonyoung back into her seat, scrambling for her seat belt, yelling, “What the fuck?”

Now she’s looking at you. You’re casual, offering, “Oh, sorry, did I scare the passenger princess?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, and you’re welcome,” you grumble, slowing to a more reasonable (legal) speed as you turn onto the highway. “Remind me, when was it that I started operating a taxi service for wasted idols?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She rolls her eyes, puts her hands together, bows her head down low. Rich, coming from someone who’s never had to genuinely apologise for anything in her life. “Didn’t realise washed-up trainees had such precious schedules.”

It’s a low blow, her go-to insult for you. Nothing you’re not used to; it’s been years of this, after all.

Years of Wonyoung, the living reminder of your biggest failure, making your life her personal pet project. Years of her smugness, of her flaunting her success in your face, of her demanding more from you, demanding better.

Years of you pushing back, pushing her, and somehow always ending up in the same place, the same bed, the same tangled mess of sweat and spite.

To think it all started when you saw her across that shitty practice room and one of you (you forget who, though it was probably her) said the wrong thing at the wrong time, and it was pure hate at first sight.

“Couldn’t get literally anyone else? Don’t you have friends?” You throw the question out there, keeping your eyes on the road, and not down at her legs, crossing and uncrossing, teasing and taunting. It’s a herculean task—she’s practically ninety percent leg anyway; so fucking easy to admire, so right wrapped around your waist.

“Trust me, I tried. None of the girls have their license, I definitely can’t call someone from the company, and the last time I tried to get a taxi the fucker recognised me and threatened to leak my address. So that leaves me with you,” Wonyoung sighs. “The last resort.”

“Wow, what an honour,” is your reply. You’re still not looking—not sneaking glances at her stomach, as she stretches in your passenger seat.

As an exercise, you pretend she doesn’t exist. Pretend that the hem of her shirt isn’t rising up, peeling back to grace you with a glimpse of her midriff, that waist, her abs tight and exerted after a night spent out on a dance floor.

It nearly works—for a second, you forget you’re supposed to be annoyed at her.

Right until Wonyoung laughs. Not that fake, high-pitched giggle that she knows you find so grating. No, this has an edge to it, a bite that she reserves just for you. “Don’t pretend like you weren’t waiting for me to call. Or were you in the middle of jerking it to my fancams again?”

There’s the memory, the one loss in territory you haven’t quite recovered from. (A reminder: be less blasé about what you choose to name your saved playlists.)

You fire back with, “Yujin’s actually, but nice try.”

“Whatever, pervert.” Your attempt at a riposte doesn’t work, it’s dismissed, leaving Wonyoung satisfied that she’s won this exchange.

As for her prize, she does what she always does—gets touchy with your property.

She busies herself, fiddling with the touchscreen on your dashboard—’What the fuck is this playlist?’ and 'Why do you listen to this group? You know all those girls are absolute bitches, right?’.

“Stop that.” You reach over to slap her wrist before she starts getting too ambitious and messes with the temperature controls again.

"Hey!” Wonyoung yelps, recoiling, and then pauses. You turn to her, see her annoyingly flawless features scrunch up in disgust as she asks, “What’s that smell?”

You curse under your breath as you realise what’s coming. Wonyoung’s frustratingly sensitive when it comes to scents; she’s got a nose like a bloodhound—and a penchant for sticking it in the parts of your life she doesn’t belong.

She’s gone as far as 'gifting’ you every perfume you’ve owned, every body wash, every shampoo, even your fucking laundry detergent.

Just another way she’s tried to take over your life.

You give your own car a whiff, if only to see if this is just another case of Wonyoung being a brat.

It doesn’t smell bad at all.

In fact, it smells sweet. Too sweet.

“Ew, seriously, what is that? Is that you?”

You’re too slow—she’s got your forearm now. For someone that looks so delicate she’s got a grip like a vice. She brings your wrist up to her nose, sniffing, making her way higher up your arm.

“Let it go, Wonyoung.”

She’s not listening at all, unbuckling her seat belt, leaning over the console, pulling herself closer to you, pushing her body against yours. Whatever little respect Wonyoung had for your personal space is gone; her nose is on your neck, her breath hot against your skin.

“It smells like…” She pauses, getting even closer, taking a deep inhale as she tries to place the fragrance. “Why do you smell like a whore?”

Her voice is low, coloured with a barely noticeable slur. You can feel it: the powder keg about to explode, Wonyoung getting ready to go from zero to a hundred. So, you deflect, “Sure you’re not smelling yourself?”

“Fuck you, I don’t use that cheap shit,” she snaps. “You fucked someone tonight, didn’t you?”

You don’t reply. It’s not like you owe her one, anyway—she’s not your girlfriend, you’re not her boyfriend, you two are…

Rivals, mortal enemies, fuck-buddies, friends-with-benefits (except without the whole friendship part).

(Take your pick, call it whatever you want, or in Wonyoung’s case: don’t call it anything at all.)

“Who—who was it this time?” Wonyoung’s fingers tighten around your arm, and there’s that spark in her eyes.

Every chance she gets, she’ll insist she gives so few fucks about your personal life, but one mention of another woman and she’s diving right in the mud, for once not hiding the fact that she may actually give a shit about you.

It’s probably why you do it.

“Who’s the slut dumb enough to spread her legs for you?��

Now it’s your turn to avoid her gaze, to pretend that having her this close isn’t doing wild things to your heartrate. You make an unforced error: “None of your business.”

“So you did fuck someone.” Her hand moves down your arm, dragging her fake acrylics across your skin until they find purchase in your thigh, digging in hard enough to make you flinch. “You fucked someone I know didn’t you. Who…” She’s reading you, trying to find the answer somewhere in the stress lines of your face. “Hyewon. Yena. Yuri. I swear if it was fucking Eunbi, I’m going to—”

“Going to what?” You challenge. You know this game. You’ve played it before—every damn time she gets like this (and you know where it leads). “Going to lie to me about your own personal survival show back there?”

Wonyoung scoffs. It’s a throaty sound that seems almost foreign coming from her—too impolite, too uncouth for the elegant, refined image she’s painstakingly cultivated. But she makes it anyway, because she’s had a few too many drinks and you’re the only one who’s around to see her like this—raw, unfiltered. “Those losers? I’m not like you, bringing home every pair of tits that strokes your ego.”

“Good to know that I’m special then,” you smirk, but she’s not smiling back.

No, she’s just looking at you, in that annoying, Wonyoung way. It’s those big, doe eyes of hers that you’ve seen do so much damage before—make men bend over backwards, light themselves on fire just to get her to look their way. “You wish.”

You push on, push her just a little bit. “Drop the act, Wony. I wasn’t your last resort—I’m the only one you even considered. You needed your daddy—isn’t that what you were calling me before?”

“I never said that.”

“Wony—”

“And if I did, I’ll never say it again,” she declares, before emphasising. “Never. Again.”

But you know her better than that. You know her lies just as well as she knows yours; it’s in the quickness of her response, the defensiveness—the vulnerability.

“I doubt that,” you say, making the most of the tiny crack in Wonyoung’s armour. “I remember you screaming it. Had you cumming like a fountain—ruined a perfectly good set of sheets, you know?”

“You’re disgusting,” she hisses, but she’s got the same memories in her head—that same night, so similar to this one (so similar to every night before).

The fighting, the fucking, the endless cycle of pushing each other’s button until one of you snaps.

“And what about you? You got here awfully quick for two in the morning,” she says. Her hand’s still on your thigh, less nails, more fingertips now, tracing patterns through the denim of your jeans. “Couldn’t bear the thought of me with someone else, could you? Lie to me—tell me that you weren’t waiting to get your hands on me again.”

Your denial dies before it even makes it past your lips—your own body turns traitor on you, provoked by her hand rising higher. There’s a smile as Wonyoung finds what she was looking for, the proof in the stretching of your jeans, the outline of your cock begging for more of her attention.

“At least this part of you is honest,” she muses, fingers dancing around your growing stiffness.

You grit your teeth, doing your best to keep the car steady, managing to grind out, “Please. It’s like you said, any decent pair of tits does it for me. Even your tiny ones get the job done.”

Her hand freezes on your thigh—you’ve hit a nerve, hit that dark part of her that’s so desperate for validation. “You think you can replace me? Find someone else to fill your sad, lonely nights?”

She’s closer now, her breath against your neck, her fingers drumming a beat right over where the head of your cock is. It’s a heady feeling, one that you hate and crave all at once.

“Was she even good?”

You know what she’s really asking: Was she better than me?

And you know the answer: How could anyone be?

But you don’t say that. You don’t need to. Instead, you reply, “It’s not a competition.”

“Everything’s a competition.”

Wonyoung’s hand relaxes, nails retreating from your thigh, leaving you flustered and fighting against the constraints of your own jeans. She settles back into her seat, having done her damage.

And for a moment, silence reigns inside your car, allowing you to actually focus on the road. Not that it really matters, you know the route to her apartment by heart—you could drive it blindfolded if need be. It’s just a welcome distraction to avoid dealing with the state she’s left you in.

The quiet survives a beat, two, and then Wonyoung’s squirming, shifting in the passenger seat.

And then she does it again.

And again.

You should keep your eyes ahead—you need to keep your eyes ahead.

You know exactly what you’re going to find if you look over at her.

That’s the problem with you and Wonyoung. You know each other too well. Your likes, your dislikes. What gets you off. What makes you mad.

What drives you fucking wild.

And yet, because you’re a sucker for punishment, you still risk a glance, and see Wonyoung, leaning back in her seat, her hand sliding up her own thigh, so casually drifting up her soft, bare skin, higher and higher.

The skirt rises, inch by torturous inch, and it’s those panties—the same set that was around her ankles the last time you had her bent over your couch, swearing she’d hate you forever. The same set that’s probably already soaked, just waiting for you to rip them off again.

You have to tell her to stop, to keep her hands to herself, to not do this to you, not now. Not while you’re trying to keep you both on the fucking road. But your mouth is dry, and all you can manage is a choked, “Wonyoung—”

Her fingers have slid past the hem of her skirt, now playing with the lace that’s the only barrier between her and open air. She’s biting into the plumpness of her bottom lip, staring at you, expecting your full attention, even now. There’s no subtlety with her, there never is, it’s one of the few things Wonyoung’s bad at.

You swallow hard, finding your voice. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Making myself comfortable,” she says, a little breathy now, as her fingers slip under the lace. “You got a problem with it?”

There’s the flash of skin, a gasp as her fingers find purchase between her folds. She’s so wet that you can hear it—the slickness of her arousal, the quiet sound of fabric sliding against her skin.

You’re straining, gripping the steering wheel so hard it’s a miracle it doesn’t snap in two. Her hand’s dipping lower, her finger sliding inside herself; not deep, not yet, just teasing. Enough to make you want to pull over, to grab her and throw her on the hood of your car, to show her exactly why you’re the only she thinks about when she’s lonely and desperate.

But you don’t, despite the way your body is begging for you to do something, anything, to ease the ache in your cock.

Because if you stop, it’s over. You know how this ends—or rather, you know how she’ll want it to end. She’ll want you to apologise for even being in the proximity of another woman, she’ll want you to beg for her forgiveness so that she might bestow upon you the privilege of touching her again.

If you’re lucky, she just might let you. But only if you play her games.

So you drive faster.

You push the speed limit, weaving through the mostly empty streets. You’re racing to a finish line, except all that’s waiting at the end of it is the taste of Wonyoung on your tongue, the feeling of her wrapped around you, the sweet victory of making her scream.

It’s hell—ignoring the sound of her pleasure, the wetness of her fingers working in and out of herself. There’s glimpses of her in the corner of your eye, she’s still watching you. She’s enjoying this, loving every second of it.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, oh-so-innocently, even though she doesn’t expect an answer—she just likes to hear her own voice. “Getting distracted? It’s a long, long way back to my place. No one can blame you if you need to give up and pull over.”

Wonyoung’s getting bolder now, pulling her skirt up to her waist, parting her legs for you, so you can see her hand moving faster, her hips rising to meet her own touch. So you can hear her, hear the fucking sound of each stroke of her fingers inside her, punctuated each time by a wet slap of her palm against her cunt, reverberating through the car, taunting you.

“You want it, don’t you?” She throws the question out so casually, like of course it’s only natural for her to be fingering herself in your car, of course she should be doing everything in her power to make you want to drive into a fucking wall. “I can tell, you’re so desperate to touch me. Definitely going to die if you don’t fuck me soon. Maybe even right here, right now?”

Your foot slips and the car swerves a little—it’s not much, but it’s enough to let her know that you’re losing focus, that she’s winning.

“Careful,” she laughs. “You wouldn’t want to crash before we get to the fun part.”

“You can’t wait until we get back to your place?” You finally ask, the question burning in your throat.

“No. You need to be reminded that you’re-ah-mine,” comes Wonyoung’s answer. “You’re going to fuck me anyway, so why not-mmph-why not save us both the trouble and get started on my own?”

“You don’t own me, Wonyoung.”

To that, Wonyoung raises a carefully sculpted eyebrow.

It’s not even worth a proper reply. Without a word, Wonyoung reclines back into her seat and snaps open the buttons of her shirt, nonchalantly revealing the swell of her breasts, the darkened peaks of her nipples.

No bra—they’re just there. Right there, in your face—those tiny, round, perky tits that you’ve had in your hands, that you’ve had between your teeth, that you’ve covered with your cum more times than you can count.

She’s not shy about it—never has been—arching her back, pushing her breasts out even further. It’s the confidence from knowing every other idol (hell, every other woman in the world) would sell their soul to have a body like hers. So why the fuck not flaunt it?

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s true,” she says, reaching up to her chest. A palm finds her tits, pinching and rolling the sensitive nubs, making them nice and red and swollen for you.

She’s moving faster now, grinding down on her own hand, teeth sinking down into her bottom lip so deep you’re surprised she hasn’t drawn blood. Her breaths are getting shorter and shorter, she’s so close, she’s so fucking turned on, she’s so hot it hurts.

Her eyes remain fixed on you; seeing you struggle only makes her hotter, spurs her to circle her clit faster. She’s drinking you in—the tightness of your jaw, the way your eyes can’t decide whether to keep on the road or on her, the way you swallow, trying (and failing) to keep it together.

The worst part of it all is this wicked smile that’s settled on her lips; thoughts of wiping it off her face with your cock flash through your mind. She’s just so fucking smug about it, so sure of herself.

And maybe she should be.

��Admit it,” Wonyoung purrs. “Admit that you need me.”

“Why would I? You’re just a convenient hole to fill.” It’s not true, of course. You’ve never believed it; none of the hundred times you’ve said it to her before—and she’s never once been fooled.

Wonyoung is back in your ear, “You’re a bad liar.”

Her hand’s returned to your thigh, teasing closer and closer to where you really want it to be. You grunt a weak, “Wonyoung, if you think that’s going to work—”

But she doesn’t listen (she never does).

She reaches for the bulge in your pants, far too quick for you to stop her from wrapping her fingers around you, from taking a hold of you and squeezing.

“See?” She whispers, thick with satisfaction, feeling you throb in her grip. “You’re already about to burst. You can’t resist me. No one can.”

You’re not backing down. You’ve got your own pride to think of, after all. “Save it for your fan club.”

Wonyoung’s never been one to take no for an answer. Her hand moves with purpose, sliding over your zipper and giving it a forceful tug. The sound rings through the car, and it’s an out of body experience; it’s all in slow motion as she pulls out your hard, aching cock.

Fuck.

“Last chance to pull over.” Wonyoung takes a hold of you, fingers curling around your cock with a firm grip that leaves no room for doubt—she’s not letting go until she gets what she wants. “Who knows what will happen if you keep driving like this. Wouldn’t want to ruin these expensive leather seats with your cum, now would we?”

“Not a fucking chance.”

“Your funeral,” she answers, her smile widening into a full-blown grin as she starts to move, stroking you, her hand gliding up and down your shaft with familiar ease. “Or ours, I guess.”

She’s not making it easy—there’s the slow, deliberate pumps, her thumb circling the head, her fingers teasing the sensitive skin. It’s so natural for her, so goddamn good.

“Are you sure you can handle this?” Wonyoung’s question hangs in the air, joining the sound of her fist pumping your cock, the squish of her own fingers plunging in and out of her cunt. It’s a taunting metronome, the more you try to ignore her, the tighter she squeezes, the fastest she strokes you, the louder she moans in your ear. “Are you sure you can handle me?”

“I’ve done it before and I can do it again,” you grit out. “You’re going to be the one begging for it in the end. Like always.”

She huffs, and you’ve found your mark. “Oh, really? You think you’re so much better than me? You think you can just ignore me like that?”

“Better than you? Easily,” you answer. “You’re just a pretty face and a pair of legs that can’t keep itself shut.”

That makes her stroke you harder, tighter now, firmer, she’s trying to make this hurt. “Is that what you tell yourself?”

“What gives you the impression I even think about you at all?”

“Oh, I know it keeps you up at night—thinking about me, wondering if I’m thinking about you, wondering if any other slut can make you feel the way I do,” Wonyoung’s leaning on you, chin propped up on your shoulder, a devil in your ear. “You hate it, don’t you? You hate that it’s my cunt that you can’t get out of your head, that it’s my pretty lips that you need so badly around your cock.”

"Are you sure you’re not just projecting, Wony?” You ask, glancing down to her hand between her legs, her fingers deep in her folds, her cunt dripping with juices and making a small puddle beneath her. “Look at how wet you are at just the thought of having my cock back between your pretty lips again.”

“Fuck you.” Wonyoung’s panting, short harsh breaths. There’s no conviction in her voice, no denial to be found—this dance of spite and lust has her so fucking heated. All of it—the hate, the competition, the push and pull: it’s all just foreplay. “You’re nothing to me. Nothing but a back-up plan, a toy I play with when I’m bored.”

“Now who’s a bad liar.”

“Go fuck your—”

You don’t let her finish her insult. You’re tired of the back and forth, the games, the fucking power plays. You take your hand off the steering wheel, grabbing her by the hair, wrenching her head up to meet your eyes.

“What the fuck do you think you’re—” Wonyoung’s mistake is opening her mouth in protest—you push her face down onto your cock; not giving her a chance to argue, not giving her a chance to do anything but suck you dry like the skinny little slut she is.

She chokes, hacks a cough as you plunge your cock down her throat, her nose meeting your waist, and it nearly has you emptying into her mouth then and there.

Turns out, she’s right.

You do need this. Need to feel her perfect, pouty lips on you again, her teeth grazing against your skin, her tongue giving in and worshipping you like she’s never done with anyone else.

You keep a hand wrapped up in a fistful of her hair, but you don’t even need to hold her down—she doesn’t fight you, doesn’t even make the slightest noise of protest. No, she just takes it; never mind how much her eyes water, her mouth drools.

“Fuck,” you’re moaning before you can think better of it, and just like that, you’re conceding the smallest victory to her.

And it makes her smile around your cock.

You grunt in response; buck your hips, feed her your cock, make her gag (make her regret it).

You don’t ease up, because if there’s one thing you know about Wonyoung (one thing you know about fucking Wonyoung), it’s that the most insulting thing you can do to her is to take it easy on her.

Just fuck her face and behold the sight of Wonyoung taking your cock. God, her pretty lips wrapped around you, her throat bulging at your length, her teary eyes staring up at you with a mix of defiance and something that’s eerily close to adoration.

It almost makes you forget that you’re supposed to be driving, and it takes a honk from a car behind you and a smile and a curt nod from Wonyoung to remind you of the world rushing by outside.

You pull your eyes back to the road, both hands on the steering wheel to right the car back on track, barely escaping death by deepthroat.

Wonyoung laughs around your cock, a muffled sound that sends vibrations up your shaft. You try to ignore it, but she’s already seizing the opportunity, taking full advantage of the distraction to push down on her own accord, to take you deep—to start properly sucking.

You swerve again.

Her mouth is absolute heaven, pure and simple—she’s a fucking master at this. Your cock’s been in her mouth so many times before that she could probably write an instruction manual on exactly how to make you come unglued.

Too much all at once—you’re groaning now, unable to help it. She’s not even trying that hard; just taking your cock between her lips, sliding it all the way down her throat, a few gentle licks here, a swirl of her tongue there, but it’s more than enough. It’s what keeps you coming back. No one else feels like this—no one else has mapped out your cock like she has—every inch, every vein.

It’s the rhythm that she’s got down to a science: how fast to take you, how much pressure to apply, when to break from her pace to keep you teetering on the edge.

You can feel her eyes on you, scanning you for any sign of weakness—this is precisely where she wants to be. Like this was her decision—like everything leading up to this was part of some messed up strategy to provoke you, to make sure that your cock ended up in her mouth.

You don’t get a chance to dwell on that thought, not when Wonyoung’s teeth is at the base of your cock, her cheeks hollowed out, her tongue doing these little flicks that make your toes curl.

And there’s the question in her eyes: ’is that all you got?’.

Fuck it—risk taking your hand off the steering wheel, it belongs in her silky, dark hair. Make her eyes widen, make her take you deeper, kiss the back of her throat with the tip of your cock, force these divine fucking sounds.

The noises when she gags around you, when the spit is hacked up and drooled down your cock; she’s so sloppy, so filthy.

And she takes it, takes all of it.

Push her down before pulling her up by the hair, choke her, gag her, have her slobber all over your cock, make her feel you.

Wonyoung takes and takes and takes.

It’s fucked up how you’re treating her (how she’s letting you treat her); she’s an idol for fucks sake. But that’s the last concern you have on your mind—all you can focus on is how fucking good it feels to do this to her, to have her fighting for air around your cock, fighting to keep her eyes on you as you fill them with tears.

Wonyoung’s not giving up though—she’s timing it, timing you. When to relax her throat to take you deep. When to suction her lips. Where to dart her tongue to find that sensitive spot along your shaft.

She’s battling back, in her own way, just as determined as you are to not lose this war of wills. But in the end, you’re the one in the driver’s seat.

“Mmmph,” she’s the one moaning now, moaning around your cock. Shivering in your lap, body jerking and trembling; you can tell her fingers are still buried in her cunt, playing with herself.

She’s so fucking shameless, so fucking pretty, even like this—cheeks flushed, makeup smeared, eyes watering.

You want to kiss her, but that would mean separating her lips from your cock. You want to tell her how much you hate her, but the words won’t come out—they’re stuck in your throat, lodged between your grinding teeth.

“Wait—fuck.” You realise you’ve missed your turn, a split second too late. You jerk the steering wheel, needing both hands as you pull a sharp U-turn. The tires squeal as you try to correct your error, Wonyoung’s mouth around your dick scrambling your brains.

She pulls her lips off from your cock with a hollow ‘pop’. “I thought you could handle me?”

You try to reply—try to form a single coherent thought—but the chance slips by as Wonyoung’s back on the offense, back throating your cock so quickly that your vision swims.

A deep breath is what you need to keep it together. You’re barely thinking straight, holding onto the steering wheel for dear life, doing everything you can to keep yourself from giving up (giving in to Wonyoung’s mouth).

But it’s hard. So fucking hard.

You’ve blown far past any normal speed limit, trying to keep from spinning out with every one of her enthusiastic bobs—it’s by some divine benevolence the car hasn’t completely flipped over by now.

Wonyoung’s relentless, her mouth’s a fucking black hole, sucking you in, stealing every thought from your mind until there’s nothing rattling around your skull but the feel of her wet, warm lips on your cock, and the obscene sounds of her fingers sawing in and out of her pussy, fucking herself.

You’re almost there, and Wonyoung knows it. You can feel it in the suction of her lips, in how hard she’s working you over. It’s the sweetest kind of torture—knowing that she’s got you right where she wants you, that she’s got you on the edge and you can’t do anything about it.

You’re not going to last much longer.

Neither is she.

So you drive. You drive like your life depends on it, because maybe it does. Maybe the only thing keeping you sane is the promise of your eventual release, of filling her mouth with her cum, of pulling her onto your lap and fucking her cunt raw until she screams your name.

“Come on, you can do it,” she’s taunting you now, lathering your cock with just her tongue, dragging it along your length, licking you all the way from your balls to your head. She’s giggling as she steals the pre-cum from your tip, the fucking bitch—like she’s got all the power in the world.

You can see her apartment building in the distance, a beacon of light in the darkness.

You’re almost there.

You reach for the garage remote, mashing the button as you get closer and closer (you’re going to break it). The gate sluggishly opens, and you make a sharp turn to swerve into the dimly lit building, not bothering to slow down.

You can’t, not when Wonyoung’s balancing your cock on her tongue, her hand now squeezing at your base, stroking so fast, so erratic, determined to have you cum in her mouth as soon as fucking possible.

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you?” she asks, expectantly. “Cover me in it, give me what I deserve—show me how much you need me.”

The car’s screeching to the closest parking space, the sound echoing through the garage, as you skid between parallel white lines.

You’re cumming before the car’s even completely stopped.

It’s explosive; a white-hot heat searing through your veins, a roar in your ears as you shower Wonyoung’s perfect face with ropes of cum. She’s still jerking you off with her hand, her mouth hovering around the head of your cock, slurping up every drop she can get.

“All mine,” she chants, greedy for it. You pulse in her hand, your cum spurting over her cheekbones, across her nose, painting over that tiny dark freckle above the corner of her mouth.

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink; she’s a statue, a goddess demanding her sacrifice. Her grip is ironclad, stroking you through your orgasm, not stopping until you’re drained, until your cock is twitching in her hand and there’s nothing left but a sticky mess plastered across her big, wide grin.

You feel the last of your orgasm pulse out of you, dripping down her dainty fingers. She licks her lips, smearing your cum across her cheek with her thumb before she sits up straight, basking in her victory.

“Fuck, Wonyoung,” you manage to get out, your chest heaving, your hand finally loosening its grip on the steering wheel.

“Mm-hmm,” she nods, not looking away from you, not breaking the eye contact that’s holding you in place. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

She’s not done yet—she still has to take her victory lap.

Wonyoung pulls herself off you, giving the tip of your cock a parting kiss as she sits back in her seat. She lifts her legs up—those endless stretches of porcelain skin—one after another, slow, dramatic, placing her bare feet on the dashboard.

Her skirt rides up, and with a stretch she drags her panties up her thighs, along her calves, and off her feet; the lace is soaked with her juices, leaving a trail of stickiness as she reveals herself to you.

The panties disappear somewhere into the backseat of your car, another spoil of war, and she spreads her legs wide, so wide, making sure you have a perfect view of her gleaming cunt. You can see her clit, peeking out from between her folds, and it’s all you can do to keep your hand from reaching over and taking over.

But this is her show, isn’t it? This is all for her, all about her getting off. And she’s fucking drowning in it—fingers in her cunt again almost immediately, so wet, so hot, so shameless in your car, so confident in her ability to get what she wants from you.

Her hips rock up and down, she’s fucking herself in front of you—for you. She’s daring you to look away, challenging you to deny how fucking hot she is.

You can’t.

“I’m going to cum now.” It’s a low hush, confident. “Watch me. Don’t move. Just fucking watch me.”

Wonyoung’s eyes are crystal clear, staring deep into you with the look of a girl who’s gotten everything she’s ever wanted in life. It’s that look she gets right before she shatters, and you know she’s there—right fucking there.

Her other hand reaches up, cradling your cheek, needing some connection, needing you to be with her. It’s not enough to just simply cum, she needs you to see it, to be a part of it in some twisted way.

“Just look at you,” Wonyoung says, like she’s not the one that’s covered in your cum, that’s not bucking her hips into her hand, working herself into a frenzy, like she’s trying to tear herself apart. “You can’t keep your eyes off me, can you?”

And she’s right—you hate her, you love her, you want to fuck her, you want to strangle her—it’s all a jumble of emotions in your head.

“That’s it—keep looking at me—don’t fucking take your eyes off me—fuck—yes—I’m going to—”

The only warning you get is a strangled gasp as Wonyoung cums, feeling it through her entire body, forcing her to keel over by just the force of it, making her fall into you.

Her hand on your cheek drags down to wrap around your neck, anchoring herself to you, pulling herself closer so she can smash her mouth against yours.

She’s kissing you, really kissing you, mouth open and hungry, all teeth and tongue, sloppy and wet. She’s marking her territory now, claiming you as she cums, and fuck, you can still taste yourself on her lips—salty and bitter.

Wonyoung’s hand is still working her clit, prolonging her bliss, and then she’s climbing on top of you, straddling you, grinding down on your half-hard cock as she rides out the last of her orgasm.

Her thighs are sticky with her juices, her skirt riding up so high that you can see the bare, plump skin of her ass, and you’re fighting the urge to just push it aside and plunge your cock inside her—

But she’s not giving you that satisfaction—not yet.

Her climax dies right on top of you—her hips rolling on her fingers, her body living and dying on the last embers of pleasure.

Finally, Wonyoung stops, collapsing against your chest, and you let out a deep sigh, feeling the weight of her body pressing down on you. She’s a mess, a fucking disaster, and you hold her tight, your arms around her impossibly tiny waist, your cock coming back to life between her thighs.

It’s intimate, almost kind of romantic in a way that’s entirely fucked up, considering, well everything. You’re both a mess of cum and sweat, panting against each other, intertwined together in the driver’s seat of your car, the garage lights flickering overhead like some kind of sick mood lighting.

Wonyoung laughs.

“You’re all sticky.” She leans back, taking her finger and swiping it across your cheek, coming away with a glistening strand of your own cum, a rope that must have strayed from her face and onto yours.

There’s a glint in her eyes, a dirty little idea, and before you can even react, she’s leaning in again, her tongue tracing the line of your jaw, collecting the rogue drops of you.

She rolls her hips down and over you as she does it, stirring your cock back to attention, because apparently she’s not done with you yet.

“You’re a fucking bitch, Wonyoung,” you reply, but there’s no venom behind it. You’re just stating a fact: the sky is blue, the sun rises in the east, and Wonyoung is a bitch.

It’s just the way she is.

You can feel her smirking against your neck, you can picture the look on her face—like she’s already won. It’s infuriating, really, and you’ve got to even the score.

“What are you going to do, take me upstairs and punish me?”

“No,” you say, the word sticking in your throat like it’s made of honey. “Not upstairs.”

“Here?” Wonyoung looks around your car, doing a terrible job of feigning shock (as if she doesn’t know what you’re about to do to her). Yes, she’s a horrendous actress, but it would take an Oscar worthy performance to mask the heat radiating from her thighs, her cunt dripping down onto your lap. “What makes you think I’d let you?”

“What makes you think you have a choice?”

A press of a button has your seat sliding back, giving you just enough room to lift Wonyoung up, hoisting her above you like she’s a trophy you just won. Congratulations, here’s your Grand Prize—Wonyoung’s tight body, yours for the night (yours for every night).

She can’t do anything but be held by you, have her hips positioned, her cunt aligned with your cock—in your hands, at your mercy, under your control.

“Wait, wait—fuck—”

And then you slam into her.

“Daddy!”

That word. That filthy, devastating word is fucked out of her mouth, a gasping scream as you bury yourself deep into her.

You’d do anything to hear it again.

You don’t bother with gentleness or foreplay—this isn’t a romantic reunion after a long day apart. It’s your hands on her narrow hips; hers doing its best to brace herself on the roof of the car, the window, anywhere she can get a grip.

“Say it again,” you grunt, pulling her back down on you, so hard that she bounces back up, only to be met by another thrust.

“Fuck you,” she spits out, but she’s moaning with every thrust, tightening around you each time, her body betraying her words.

“Fuck you, who?” You’re laughing now, the sound thick and low in your throat as you watch her squirm in your grasp. “You’re going to need to be more specific than that, baby.”

“You know who,” she says, her eyes flying open, glaring at you as she catches her breath. “You always know who.”

“Then say it.”

“Fuck you, daddy.”

“That’s fucking right.”

Her legs are trembling around your waist as you drive into her, her nails digging into the threads of your shirt. She’s begging you for more—harder, faster, deeper—because that’s what she wants from you, that’s what she needs from you. It’s always been like this—no soft embraces, no tender kisses. Just more, more, more.

You wrap your hand around her throat, not enough to cut off her air, just enough to remind her who’s in charge, who’s giving it to her. You lean in, so close her eyes cross, and whisper in her ear, “This is all you’re good for, you know that?”

Wonyoung’s response is to tense her muscles, clench her cunt around you, buck her hips to slap her ass against your thighs. Another battleground in your endless fight for dominance. Fighting for control, trying to dictate the pace, to set the rhythm, to be the one doing the fucking and not the one getting fucked.

And fuck, she’s tight.

Her cunt, her waist, her body. God, it’s like she was built for this.

Designed to fit perfectly in the palm of your hand, to be filled by your cock, to have her skirt hiked up to her waist like a flag of surrender. You’ve got her right where you want her, where she’s always been, where she always will be.

“I fucking hate how good you are at this,” she gasps, the confession spilling from her lips.

You laugh, “I fucking hate you too.”

She’s kissing you again, fingers in your hair now, scraping the back of your scalp, as she rises and falls on your cock. Reflex has your hand tightening around her throat, feeling her pulse quicken beneath your thumb, making her choke out another ‘daddy’.

You’re fucking her like you hate her, like you’re trying to punish her for every sharp word and cold shoulder she’s ever thrown your way. And she’s taking it like she loves it, like she’s been waiting for this all night, all year, all her fucking life.

Wonyoung looks so fucking good, so perfect riding you like this, it’s starting to piss you off. Her hair’s framing her face in perfect waves, not a single strand out of place, even though you’ve had your hands all through it, your fingers tangled in it. Her makeup’s smudged—you can see the tracks of your cum on her cheek—but she wears it like a fucking badge of honour—and like all things, it looks good on her.

It’s like the universe took one look at her and said, ‘nah, she’s too pretty to let any of that shit ruin her.’

But you’ll try.

Keep going—keep fucking; each moan into your mouth, each push of her tongue against your own, each graze of her teeth against your skin—tells you you’re getting there.

Like you’re trying to fuck out all the spite and anger that’s been building up between you, like you can somehow purge it from your systems and just be left with the good parts.

(It’s never that simple.)

“Wonyoung—” you start, but she cuts you off.

“If I could just have your cock without the rest of you—without your stupid mouth, without that fucking look on your face—fuck yes, just like that—without all the bullshit and fighting—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

You don’t believe her, of course—you’re not just a cock to her, the same as she’s not just a pussy to you. But you let her have her fantasy, let her keep pretending she’s just using you for a good time.

“You’re such a bitch,” you murmur, making her chuckle in your ear, her teeth finding the sensitive skin of your lobe, biting down and making you hiss.

Wonyoung’s confession: “Only because it—gah—makes you fuck me harder.”

And it does—it makes you want to show her, prove yourself to her, make her feel it the next day and every day after. Fuck her until she’s nothing but a trembling, whimpering mess, until she’s begging for you to stop. Until she’s begging for you to never stop.

You’re both getting sloppier now, Wonyoung’s hips stuttering as you pound that spot deep inside her, the one that makes her see stars and scream your name, the car shaking with the force of your fucking.

It’s a badly-kept secret you’re keeping from the world outside—the car’s rocking, the lights inside are on, making no efforts to hide what the two of you are doing (doing to each other).

If anyone looks closely enough, if the security cameras in the garage get curious and zoom in, they’ll see your silhouettes; her body arching back, your hips thrusting up and into her.

They’ll see Jang Wonyoung, the princess of the industry, getting fucked in the front seat of a car like some common whore.

And she’s loving it. The danger, the thrill of being seen, the risk that anyone could walk by and hear her moan your name, her voice strained by your hand on her throat. It’s the fact that she’s letting you do this to her, that she’s letting you fuck her like this, even when she’s telling you she fucking hates it.

This moment—Wonyoung—right here, is what you live for.

You want to save it, to bottle it up and keep it with you forever. You want to remember how she feels, how she tastes, the fucking sounds she makes when she’s just about to cum. You want to replay this in your head every time you’re alone, every time you’re with someone else—because even though there might be someone else, they’ll never come fucking close to her.

And then you get an idea.

It’s a terrible idea, one that’ll surely end in disaster—like all the best ideas.

You hold down on Wonyoung’s hips, stopping her mid-thrust, and she’s whining, letting slip just how good you’re making her feel.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she snaps, taking short, sharp inhales, replenishing all the oxygen you’ve fucked out of her.

You ignore her, reaching for the dashboard camera that’s been silently facing outside, towards the wall of the garage. It’s been switched on the entire time, waiting to record the car crash inside—you and Wonyoung tearing each other apart.

Wonyoung’s scared. “Oh no, don’t you fucking—”

But she can’t stop you. You’re already spinning it around, pointing it directly at her cum-covered face, her sweat-drenched body.

“Smile for the camera, Wony.”

Her mouth opens, but she can’t muster the words. You’re fucking her again, the camera watching everything, capturing every moan, every slight quiver of her body. It’s a side of her nobody gets to see—the side you’re most familiar with.

Wonyoung at her most honest, when she’s undeniably yours.

Just her—getting used (using you)—and fuck, there’s nothing more worthy to be captured and preserved for all eternity.

Her eyes dart to the camera, then back to you, her mind racing a mile a minute. You can see the gears turning—she’s trying to figure out how to get out of this, how to win back some ground, but she’s lost.

You’ve got her, and she knows it.

You’re fucking her, and she has no choice but to follow—whether she likes it or not.

“Fine,” she says, the admission torn from her throat as you push back into her. “But if this leaks—if you ever show this to anyone, I’ll fucking kill you.”

You just laugh. “You really think so little of me? Like anyone would believe it anyway.”

And you mean it. You’re not that stupid. But the thought of having a permanent record of this moment, of Wonyoung, begging in high definition—it has you hooked.

You can’t help but add, “But we’ll always know it’s there, won’t we? Forever.”

Wonyoung narrows her brows at you, but she doesn’t protest anymore. Instead, she does the opposite. She starts to lean into it.

She tips her head back, arching her spine so that her tits are pushed up, giving the camera a picture-perfect shot of her body, her chest, the stiffness of her nipples—everything.

Jang Wonyoung—always the performer.

A free hand runs through her hair, flinging it back over her shoulder, and she starts to roll her whole body; fucking herself on you in a way that’s so deliberate, so fucking pornographic.

“God, I fucking hate this.” Wonyoung puts it on public record, eyes never leave yours as she performs for the camera—or for you, it’s hard to tell.

“What’s that, baby?” You tease. "You hate how good this feels?”

“I hate that it’s you,” she says, the words forced out between gasps. “I hate how fucking hot you are.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

You’ll never understand it. How someone you despise so much, with every fibre of your being, can fit so perfectly around you, feel so downright incredible on top of you. It’s a cruel joke that the universe decided to play on you both.

But you play along, let her ride you like it’s her fucking birthright, lock you in some petty staring contest, keep your mind filled with nothing but the tightness of her cunt.

You’re both panting now, sweat slicking your skin, making it easier for her to slide up and down on your cock. Her small tits bounce with every movement, and you can’t help but reach out to grab one, pinch it hard, making her wince, making her gasp.

“Fuck—you should quit whatever the fuck you’re doing,” she says, trying her best to form complete sentences through the pain, the bliss. “Work for me.”

“And do what?”

“I don’t know.” Wonyoung looks down at you and you can see it on her face: the fucking slut is dead serious. “Manager, bodyguard, assistant. Whatever I can do to keep you close so you can fuck me like this whenever I want. If Yujin can have her drummer boy, it’s only fair that I get you.”

“Why the fuck would I want to spend all day waiting on you?”

She corrects you: “Spend all day inside of me.”

There’s your fantasy—mornings fucking Wonyoung in some hotel room, drinking all the juices from her pussy in the car on the way to work, having her suck your cock backstage at some concert, making her scream your name every night before going to sleep.

And then waking up and doing it all again.

There’s no hiding the smirk on your face. “Go fuck yourself, Wonyoung.”

Wonyoung mirrors your grin, that wild, cock-drunk look in her eyes. “Why would I do that when I have you?”

“No.” You’re pulling her close, holding her body tight to you, making her feel it. “You’re mine.”

That word again—'daddy’ on her lips, turning into a desperate cry as her thighs tense on either side of you, her hands locking behind your neck. She’s holding on tight, because you’re not giving her a choice, you’re not giving her anything but what she’s begging for.

You watch her face in the reflection of the car window—the way her mouth hangs open, the way her eyes flutter shut and then open again, searching for something, anything to keep her grounded.

"Fuck me like I’m yours,” Wonyoung pleads. “You own me? Then fucking treat me like you do. Treat me like I’m your fucking whore, daddy.”

It’s too much, all of it. Wonyoung: her face—those lips, her body—those fucking legs, her voice—the way she says your name, how she calls you daddy, like it’s a fucking curse. You’re so close to the edge now, so close to cumming again, cumming inside her. You can feel the beginnings of it, the tension coiling in your balls, the white creeping into your vision.

But she’s still talking—and so are you, you realise.

One of you cries out—holy shit—answered with a—so fucking good—followed by an exchange of—fuck yous—and—I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

It keeps going, this fucking, this using, this hating—whatever this is.

“I fucking hate you—”

“Hate you too—”

“Hate how good your cunt feels—”

“Hate how big your cock is—”

“Hate how perfect you are—”

“Hate how much I want your fucking cum—”

“Fucking slut—"

“Daddy—”

“I’m going to—"

"Please!"

And that’s it.

It’s over—your cock pulsing deep inside her, Wonyoung’s cunt clamping down around you, and you’re cumming—together—tightening and writhing and calling each other every name under the sun, except maybe the one that actually matters.

Wonyoung’s head falls back, losing control of her own body, the camera catching every glorious moment as she cums, her orgasm ripping through her in a scream that you feel in every inch of your body.

You kiss her—her tits, her neck, her jaw, her lips—claiming her, making sure she feels every drop of you. You hate her, you love her, you hate that you love her, you love that she needs you, you hate that you need her.

And all the while the camera keeps rolling, capturing your sweaty, heaving chests; capturing you filling her, spilling out of her, giving her the cum she so desperately pleaded for. It’s so much more intimate than any kiss, any love confession, any of that romantic shit she sings about.

But it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

It’s every twitch, every shiver, every little pulse of your release flooding her. How she tenses and clenches around you, soaks you with her wetness, drowns you in her tight, drenched heat.

And she keeps calling you it—whispering it—‘daddy’—over and over again, even as she’s coming down from the high, even as she’s gasping for air, even as she’s forcing her tongue into your mouth.

Wonyoung slumps against you, your cum dripping out of her and down your cock, staining the leather of your car seats. You can feel the stickiness of it, the mess you’ve made together. It makes you want to do it all over again.

To make her say it again, to make her scream it again.

“You’re so fucking mine,” you murmur against her neck, kissing her collarbone, tasting the salt of her sweat.

Wonyoung just nods, too exhausted to argue, too satisfied to care. Her hand finds yours, weaves your fingers together, and you hold onto her, tight. It’s sickeningly sweet, and yet, despite your best efforts, the insult, the quip to break the spell doesn’t come.

Because in the end, you don’t want to kill the moment—not when it’s so perfect.

You don’t want to ruin it with talk of the real world, with the harshness of the light that’ll be waiting outside the car door.

You stay there, parked in the garage of her apartment building, the headlights dimming down to black. The air is thick with the smell of sex and sweat, the taste of it lingering on your tongues. It’s a bubble you’re both loath to burst—because once it does, once it pops, you’re just Wonyoung and some guy she fucking hates again.

“Thank you, daddy.” Wonyoung’s breathing slows, her grip on you loosens. She’s drifting off, the stress of the night and the alcohol finally claiming her.

You don’t know how long you sit there, the two of you tangled together. It’s quiet except for the occasional hum from her, a cute little sound that she’s probably unaware she makes. It’s soothing, almost sweet.

But reality has a way of crashing in, doesn’t it?

You know you can’t stay here forever. You know you’ve got to get her upstairs before someone sees, before the cameras (the dangerous ones, the ones you don’t own) spot you. Before the rest of the world catches up.

You ease her off your cock, she whines, her eyes struggling open. “Take me home,” she mumbles, still not fully coherent.

“Already am, baby,” you reply, gently untangling her body from yours.

With a bit of effort, you manage to get her into an almost presentable state—straightening her skirt, buttoning her shirt, dabbing the cum that’s pooled between her thighs. She watches you as you do it, through a hazy gaze, still recovering from being fucked into oblivion.

It’s an act. Partly at least. A way to save face—pretend that it’s only the exhaustion, that she doesn’t really need you, doesn’t really want to be taken care of like this. Doesn’t want to nuzzle her head into your shoulder, or hug you tight, or have you kiss her on the forehead and tell her that you’ve got her.

Tomorrow she’ll yell at you for it, probably call you an overbearing asshole for treating her like a delicate flower. Make fun of you for going soft, for totally falling under her spell.

(And sometime even later, in a moment when she’s all quiet and feeling vulnerable, right after you’ve fucked each other and hated each other and ended up holding each other for the millionth time, Wonyoung will say:

“You’re the only one who can keep up with me.”

You’ll know what she means right away; you’ll kiss her again and you’ll answer:

“I know.”)

Because despite the fact that when she wanted to be (and it was often), Jang Wonyoung could be a real fucking bitch, you’re also kind of in love with her.

And, if you were to ask her, she’d probably the same about you.

#kpop smut #wonyoung smut #ive smut #male reader

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