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cy-cyborg · 2 months ago

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Disability Tropes: The Perfect Prosthetic

[ID: A screenshot from the movie Nimona, showing Nimona, a small white girl with red hair, grabbing the right prosthetic arm of Ballister, a knight in black armour with black hair and light brown skin. He is holding a broken bottle in his prosthetic hand while Nimona admires his arm. Overlaid on the screenshot is white text that reads "Disability Tropes: The Perfect Prosthetic" /End ID]

In a lot of media, prosthetic limbs are portrayed as these devices that act as a near-perfect replacement for a character who has lost, or was born without a limb. So much so that in a lot of cases, the use of a prosthetic has basically no impact on the character beyond a superficial level or their appearance, or it's portrayed as something that's even better than the old meat-limb it's replacing. This trope shows up most often in Sci-fi, but it shows up in all kinds of stories outside of that, even otherwise very grounded ones!

If a story isn't depicting the loss of a limb as the be-all-end-all worst thing that can happen to a person, they almost always default to a perfect prosthetic, functionally curing the amputation with it. But the reality is that prosthetics are FAR from perfect, and as someone who has used them for their entire life I don't think they ever will be. Limb difference is still and always will be a disability, regardless of the prosthetics available, and this really isn't a bad thing.

Why is this trope so common?

I meant it when I said this is a really, really a common trope, so much so that the majority of the media I've seen with amputees and characters with limb differences that released in the last decade or end up using it. Even stories where becoming an amputee is treated like a fate worse than death, ironically, aren't excluded from this. I have a few theories as to why this has happened: The pessimistic answer is that it's easy. You get to have a disabled character and claim you have disability representation, without really having to do much extra work or research because most of your audience won't notice if you aren't accurate - in fact they kind of expect it. You also, for the most part, dodge the backlash other kinds of disability representation (or really any minority representation) usually get. The more optimistic reason is that, for a long time, amputees and people with limb differences (as well as a lot of other disabled people) were predominantly shown in media as sad, depressed and unable to do anything, very much falling into the "sad disabled person" trope. As a kid, this was really the only way I saw people like me on screen or in books. And so, the limb difference community pushed back against that portrayal and were pretty successful in changing the narrative in the public's eye. A little too successful. A lot of creatives were genuinely trying to do right by our community, listen and do better, but many simply overcorrected and instead ended up creating stories where prosthetics were essentially cures instead of the mobility aids they are. I also think the public's general lack of understanding about disability plays a roll in all this. There are a lot of people who, in my experience, believe that the more visible a disability is, the worse it is. Limb differences and amputations are very visible, but prosthetics, even those that aren't trying to be discreet, make them less so. While using a prosthetic is very, very different to a biological limb, you won't necessarily see how in a casual interaction with, say a co-worker or neighbor, especially because there is a very real stigma applied to people with limb differences to keep those things hidden from the public. There are other reasons too, such as the fact that a lot of creatives don't even consider the connection to real amputees when creating characters with robotic limbs in genres like sci-fi and some fantasy, so they never stop to consider that these tropes could be impacting real people. Amputees are also very frequently used in "inspiration porn" content that uses the angle that disabilities can be "overcome" with a good attitude, downplaying the way those disabilities actually impact us. The prosthetics industry - specifically the component manufacturers, often also push the idea of prosthetics being the only way to return to a "normal" life, both to the wider public and to people with limb differences and amputations (which can add to that sense of shame I mentioned when it doesn't play out that way for them). On top of that, I also think the recent increase in popularity of concepts like trans-humanism contributes to it as well. these movements often talk about robotic or bionic body parts being enhancements and "the way of the future", and I think people get a bit too caught up on what may be potentially possible in the future with the real, current experiences of people with "robotic limbs" aka prosthetics, now. There are also inherently disabling things that come with removing and replacing parts of your body, things that will not just go away with some fancier tech.

So How do you actually avoid the trope?

So, we have some ideas about why it happens, but how do you actually avoid the "perfect prosthetic" trope from appearing in your work? The most important thing is to remember that this is still a disability. The loss of a limb, even with the best prosthetic technology or magical item in the world, will always have some inherently disabling aspects to it - and this is not a bad thing. The key is to not over-do it, lest you risk falling into the old "sad disabled person" trope. So let's go over some of the ways you can show how your character's disability impacts them. You don't have to use all of these recommendations, just choose the ones that would best fit your character, their circumstances and your setting.

The prosthetic itself is just different

Probably the most important thing to address and acknowledge for prosthetic-using characters, is the actual ways in which the prosthetic itself is different from a biological limb, and the drawbacks and changes that come with that. For the sake of simplicity, I'm mainly going to focus on modern prosthetics here, but it's worth considering how to apply this your own, more advanced/fantastical prosthetics too. One major thing that most people writing amputees fail to acknowledge is that prosthetic limbs are not fleshy-limbs with a different coat of paint. They do the same basic thing their meat-counterparts do, but how they do it is often drastically different, which changes how they are used. A really good example of this is in prosthetic feet. There are dozens of joints in a biological foot, but most prosthetic feet have no joints or moving parts at all. Instead of having dozens of artificial joints to mimic the real bone structure of a foot, which are more prone to failure, require power and make the prosthetic much, much heavier for very little gain, prosthetic feet are often constructed from flexible carbon fiber sheets inside a flexible rubber foot-shaped shell. This allows the bend and flex those bones provide, without all the drawbacks that come from trying to directly mimic it. Making the sheets into different shapes makes them more ideal for different activities. E.g. feet made for general use, like walking around the city, are simple and light, shaped to encourage the most energy-efficient steps, while still allowing their users to do things like wear normal shoes. Feet made for rough terrain often have a split down the middle of the foot to allow the carbon fiber sheets to bend better over rocks when there is no ankle, and some newer designs also include a kind of suspension using pressurized air pulled from the prosthetic socket to allow some additional padding. Running feet have large "blades" made of these carbon fiber sheets to absorb more pressure when the foot hits the ground, and redirect the force that creates to propel their user forward as quickly as possible.

[ID: A photo of 4 prosthetic feet. On the left, the foot is covered with a black shoe, the one to it's right consists of a small, carbon fiber blade, split down the middle, in roughly the same shape and size as the previous foot. Next to the right is an even simpler and smaller carbon fiber foot with no split, and finally is a very short foot that is vaguely rectangular in shape. /End ID]

These are some of my own prosthetic feet I've had over the years. The two on the right are designed to be used by someone who is less mobile, and the ones on the left are made for someone who is more active. As my needs changed over the years, I've used different designs and styles, and keep the old ones since my needs do tend to fluctuate.

There are also robotic feet available that are designed as a kind of "all-purpose" foot that use an electronic ankle which more closely mimics a biological foot, but they are not very popular as the mechanism adds a lot of extra weight and it requires a battery and power to work, with many amputees feeling the jointless carbon fiber feet do a better job at meeting their needs. The same goes for arms and hands. "Robotic" hands that mimic a meat hand exist, but they aren't really that popular, even in places like Australia where the prohibitively expensive price tag isn't as much of an issue due to government programs that pay for the device for you. Instead, most arm amputees who use prosthetics that I know prefer simpler devices that do specific tasks, and just swap between them as needed, rather than something that tries to do it all. A big part of this is because the all-purpose hands can be clunky. they often require manual adjustment using the other hand to do simple things like going from holding a deck of cards to putting them down and picking up a glass of water, for example. The few that don't require that, I've been told, are often temperamental and don't actually work for every person with a limb difference.

Altered Proprioception

Loosing a limb is a big deal and this is always going to have an impact on the body in some way that won't be solved with a fancy piece of tech. One such example is how limb loss effects your sense of proprioception. This is your sense of where your body parts are in space. It's how you (mostly) know where your foot is going to land when you're walking, or how you're able to do things like lift up a glass of water without needing to actually watch your hand do it. Your brain does this by creating a mental map of your body, but this map doesn't get adjusted if you loose a limb. If that map doesn't accurately reflect your real body, you're not going to have an accurate sense of proprioception. This might look like a leg amputee being a bit less stable on their feet, or like an arm amputee needing to look at their arm or hand to be able to grab something with it. Those born without their limbs who take to using prosthetics often have a lot of trouble adapting, as their brains aren't used to having that limb in the first place, whereas an amputee's brain can sometimes be tricked into using their outdated body map to help them adjust to the prosthetic (though its impossible to line it up perfectly). Prosthetics that directly integrate with the nervous system, while rare, do exist, and even this direct connection doesn't completely erase this issue for reasons doctors aren't quite sure about. This is something that does become less of a problem with time. Eventually, someone proficient with their prosthetic will learn to compensate, but their sense of proprioception will never be 100% perfect. At the end of the day, no matter how it attaches, a prosthetic is still not a natural part of the body, and that will always cause some issues. It also means if they aren't practicing it all the time, they may have to relearn how to compensate for it.

Extra weight

You also have to remember that a prosthetic is not a natural part of the body, like we already talked about, and so no matter how good it is, your brain will most likely always interpret the weight of the prosthetic as something attached to you, not part of you. This means that, even though prosthetics are actually a lot lighter than biological limbs, they feel so much heavier. This is because, while a meat limb is heavier, a lot of that weight is from muscles which are actively contributing to the limb working, so it doesn't really feel like its that heavy. When you have less of your meat-limb though, you have even less muscle to work with to move this big thing strapped to it, so it feels heavier. The more of the limb you've lost, or just didn't have, the heavier the prosthetic has to be, and the less muscle you have left to move it. It's for this reason that a lot of amputees and people with limb differences get tired faster when using prosthetics. Some of us are fit enough where you almost wouldn't notice the extra effort they need to put in, but once again, just because you can't see it from the outside, doesn't mean it's not an issue.

Avoiding Water

Most prosthetics also aren't waterproof, and so prosthetic users have to be very careful about when and how they come into contact with it. For amputees with electric components, contact with water at all will likely damage the device. This can even include especially heavy rain, something I was told to avoid when I got my electronic knee prosthetic and something I assume would also apply to arm amputees with complex, electronic hands. For those with non-electronic prosthetics, water can be hazardous for different reasons. If the prosthetic has metal components, water may cause them to rust, especially if it's salty water. Other prosthetics have foam covers to give the illusion of a limb with the general shape of muscles and fat, but these covers do not come off, and if they get wet enough that water seeps all the way through, it is very hard to dry it and they may become moldy. Finally, cheaper modern prosthetics may also float. Many are made of very light-weight materials and some have pockets of air trapped inside them. For leg prosthetics in particular, this means a user might, at best, struggle to swim with them on, but at worst, may get flipped upside down and become trapped underwater - something that happened to me as a very young child. On the flip-side, older prosthetics were usually made of heavy materials like wood or steel, and so had the opposite problem, acting like a weight and pulling a person down if they were to wear them in the water. Water-safe prosthetics do exist, I had a pair of prosthetic legs as a teenager that were hollow, and designed especially for me to swim with fins on when swimming in the ocean, and Nadya Vessey, a double leg amputee in New Zealand even got a mermaid-tail prosthetic made especially for use in the water. Most amputees though just swim without any prosthetics at all, and in 99% of cases, this is the easiest and safest way to go.

Prosthetic-Related Pressure Sores and Pain

Many people with limb differences also experience pressure sores from their prosthetics. Modern prosthetics typically attach to the body using a socket made of carbon fiber or fiberglass, held on either by pressure, using a vacuum seal or through a mechanical locking system built into the socket. No matter the specifics though, the socket has to be very tight in order to stay on, and this means that extended periods of use can lead to rub-spots, blisters and pressure sores. Many socket prosthetics also use silicone liners to add extra padding, but this means wounds caused by the pressure can't breathe, and bacteria in sweat has nowhere to go, meaning if the person doesn't rest when one of these wounds occur, it can very easily and quickly turn into a serious infection. In a properly fitting prosthetic, used by someone who has fully adjusted to them, this doesn't happen often, but it is something most amputees and people with limb differences have to at least be mindful of. Some new prosthetics use a different method of attachment, called Osteointegration - where the prosthetic attaches to a clip, surgically implanted into the person's bones. While Osteointegration avoids many of the issues like pressure sores that come from a socket, they have their own issues: mainly that they are incredibly expensive, and as of right now, have a pretty high failure rate due to the implant getting infected. Because the implants are directly connected to the bone, these infections become very serious very quickly. Many people with Osteointegration limbs have to be on very strong medication to keep these infections at bay, and they are generally considered unsuitable for anyone who is going to regularly come into contact with "unclean" environments.

Maintenance

[ID: A screenshot of Winrey, from Full Metal alchemist Brotherhood, a white woman with blond hair handing out the sides of a green hat. She is measuring a piece of metal from a prosthetic she is making while Ed, the prosthetic's owner, gives her a thumbs up in the background. /End ID]

Finally, prosthetics also require maintenance from a specialist called a prosthetist, and they don't last forever. Some parts, like a foot or hand, can be reused over an over, but the sockets of a prosthetic need to be completely remade any time your body changes shape, including if you gain/loose weight, you start experiencing swelling, or you're just a child who is growing. Children in particular need new prosthetics every few months because they grow so fast, and as such, their prosthetics have to be made with this growth in mind. If they go too long without adjustment or an entirely new prosthetic, it can seriously impact the child and their growth but even small adjustments can be costly, depending on where you live. While prosthetics are built to be sturdy and reliable, they need a lot of work to stay that way. The more complex the prosthetic, the more work is needed. Complicated electronic components may need to have regular maintenance done by your prosthetist or even the specific component's manufacturer, and depending on where you live, this might mean having to send your prosthetic limb away for this to be done. While my prosthetist technically has the skills and knowledge to do the maintenance on my electronic knee, for example, the manufacturer forbids anyone not from their company to provide this service, meaning my leg needs to be shipped off to Germany once every few years if I want to keep the warranty. This has the unfortunate side effect of sometimes your limbs getting lost in postage (shout-out to Australia Post, who lost mine twice), meaning it can be months before you get it back or get a replacement. Usually, you'll be given a replacement in the meantime if you need it, but walking on a leg that isn't yours, even when its correctly fitted, always feels a bit weird (maybe that's just me though).

Not every difference is Inherently Negative

We've talked about some of the negatives that come from having a prosthetic, but not every difference is negative or even really that big of a deal. In fact, often times, it's these little moments in the depiction of a disability that go the furthest and make it feel the most genuine. My amputations effect me from the moment I wake up, to the moment I go to bed, but that doesn't mean every single way it impacts me is always inherently bad or negative. For example, back when I was working a normal job and going to university, I would often come home, throw my legs off at the door with the shoes still attached and get into my wheelchair, the same way you might throw your shoes off after work and replace them with comfy socks and other comfy clothing. This is something I've only ever seen on screen once, with Eda from the Owl House (and she wasn't even an amputee yet, her limbs were just detachable)

[ID: an screenshot of Eda from the owl house, a very pale woman, laying on the couch in a bathrobe, her hair in a towel. She has taken her actual legs off, throwing them to the other side of the seat. /End ID]

After that, my day mostly looked the same as most other people working a 9 to 5, I'd make myself dinner, watch some TV or play some games, maybe do some extra work at my desk or chat with friends. The only difference is that it would all be from a wheelchair, mainly because my prosthetics were heavy and it was just easier to use the chair around the house. The fact my afternoon and evening routine was done from a wheelchair wasn't a bad thing, it was just different. Likewise, I also don't sleep or shower with my prosthetics on, for the same reasons most other people wouldn't take a shower or sleep in thigh-high, steel-capped boots. In your own stories, this might look like giving your characters similar alterations to how they go about their day. Let them take their arm or leg off when they're resting or relaxing, show them taking a few minutes longer to get ready because they have to put it back on, show them doing some things without it. Arm amputees in particular tend to get very good at going about their days without their arm prosthetics, and leg amputees often either learn to get around more relaxed spaces like their homes using a different mobility aids like wheelchairs or crutches, or just through hopping if that's something they're physically able to do. Even when everything is going well and working as intended, your limb-different character won't wear their prosthetic 24/7, no matter how much they love it. There doesn't have to be something wrong with it or painful about it to not want it glued to them at all times, just like you can love a pair of big heavy boots but not want them on when you're trying to sleep. For more action-focused stories, being an amputee, also changes things like how you fight. The specifics will vary from person to person, but for example, when I did Hap Ki Do, a Korean Martial art, my instructor heavily modified when I learned what techniques. Beginner-level kicks and most leg attacks were impractical for me, as the force from the kicking motion would usually cause one of my legs to fly off. I also couldn't jump very well, due to some complications with my original amputation that made my stumps too sensitive to withstand the force of landing again. So I ended up learning a lot more upper-body attacks much earlier than it is typically taught. By the time I got my green belt, I was practicing upper-body techniques usually saved for black belts - including weapons training that I could use my secondary mobility aids for, like crutches and my cane in a bad situation. Many holds that rely on creating tension in your target are also less effective on amputees, because either the anatomy that causes those holds to be painful just simply isn't there, or the body part in question can just be removed to escape. Whether we're talking about the negative things, or just neutral differences that come with using prosthetics, you don't want to go too far with any one example. The key is to strike a balance. Of course, the old writing advice of "show don't tell" also applies here. It's one thing to tell us all of this stuff, but unless we actually see it play out, it won't mean much.

How NOT to avoid the trope

Before we move on, let's focus for a moment on some common things I've seen that you SHOULDN'T do as a way to get away from the trope.

The Enhanced Prosthetic

A lot of sci-fi in particular will take prosthetic limbs, make them function exactly the same as a biological limb, but add something extra to it. This does change the way the prosthetic functions and is used, but it usually still ignores the actual disabling parts of having a prosthetic. A really good example of this can be seen in pretty much any futuristic setting, but personally, I think Fizzeroli, from Helluva Boss is the best one to demonstrate what I mean. Fizz is a quadrilateral, above knee/above elbow amputee with highly advanced prosthetics that function, more or less exactly like the limbs he lost, but with the added benefit of being super-stretchy. Fizz is an acrobat and a clown in service, at least initially, to Mammon, one of the Seven Deadly Sins. These prosthetics help him perform and we even do see how they change little things like how he walks and just goes about his day, but the show still treats them like natural arms and legs, but better.

[ID: A screenshot of Fizzeroli from Helluva Boss, a white-skinned imp with 4 black, prosthetic limbs, dressed in teal a nightgown as he lays in bed, reading from a list /End ID]

We see that he never takes them off, even when sleeping, and when he needs to use them as regular arms and legs, they do everything he needs, perfectly fine - at least when they're working correctly. The only time he ever even takes them off or has any issues with them, is when they break in season 2. The word amputee is never used to describe him, as far as I remember, and the fact he is one never really comes up at all, except for when they break or when the story focuses on how he lost them. Which brings me to my next point.

The Glitchy/Broken Prosthetic

One way I see people try to avoid the perfect prosthetic trope, is to take the prosthetic and break it or otherwise make it unreliable by having it malfunction, but not really changing anything else. This approach is heading in the right direction but still kind of misses the point of the criticism a lot of limb different folks have with the depictions of prosthetics in the media. Yeah, prosthetics do break down and some do require extra maintenance, but if your character's prosthetic is still exactly the same as a biological limb (or even better, in the case of the "enhanced prosthetic") when it's not broken, and the only time their disability is treated like a disability, is when it breaks, you're not really addressing the issue. Real prosthetics, like we discussed, even when functioning at 100%, exactly as the manufacturer intended, don't function the same as a meat-limb. They are fundamentally different, and the glitchy/unreliable prosthetic completely ignores all of that. Once again, Fizz is a really good example of this - the only time his prosthetics are not perfect, is when they break or are malfunctioning (despite the criticism, I do genuinely love Fizz as a character, but he unfortunately does fall into a lot of disability tropes).

[ID: Another screenshot of Fizzeroli, this time in a torn up jester outfit, looking down, panicked, at his prosthetic arms which are fully extended and laying motionless on the ground, with his left arm visibly short-circuiting with electricity around it. /End ID]

Now this isn't to say you can't have your character's prosthetics break down or malfunction at all. just that this shouldn't be the only way you differentiate the prosthetic from a biological limb. You should also be mindful of how or why they're breaking. A typical prosthetic isn't going to break down randomly from normal use unless something is very, very wrong or your character just has a terrible prosthetist (which unfortunately, does happen). You might experience issues if you try to make the prosthetic do something it just wasn't designed to do, or expose it to something it wasn't designed to deal with though (e.g. submerging an electronic prosthetic in water and trying to use it to swim).

Just add Phantom Pain

Another common pitfall I see when people are trying to avoid the perfect prosthetic trope, is to just give the character in question phantom pain - which is a side-effect of amputation where your brain's mental map of the body doesn't acknowledged you lost a limb. Your brain tries to fill in the gaps, since there is no signals coming from that part of the body anymore, and assumes either something must be wrong and so you should be in pain, even when you actually aren't. Alternatively, it can also happen when your brain was so used to feeling pain from that area before, in the case of people who had chronic conditions before they lost their limb, that it just keeps remaking those old signals itself. Like the broken/glitchy prosthetic approach, this also doesn't really address the issue with the perfect prosthetic trope, because it has nothing to do with the prosthetic itself. Phantom pain doesn't come from the prosthetic, nor does it effect how they're used, and so including it doesn't really address the issue of the prosthetic being functionally the same as the original, biological limb. This isn't to say that you shouldn't include phantom limb sensation or pain as something your character experiences, but just keep in mind that, when used on it's own, it doesn't counter the trope. Also, just be sure to do your research, everyone's experience with phantom pain is different and it's not something everyone with a limb difference even experiences.

Why is this trope even a problem?

Alright, so we know what the trope is, we know why it became so prevalent, ways to avoid it and also how not to avoid it. All good information, but why is this trope even bad? Why should you try to avoid it? Outside of just wanting to portray a real disability that effects real people more accurately in your creations, the prevalence of this trope actually contributes to a lot of real-world issues, especially when it's as overused as it currently is. I've talked before about "the jaws effect" - where the depiction of something in the media, especially something that the public is widely uneducated on, influences how people see it in real life. The Jaws effect specifically referred to how the popularity of creature-feature movies featuring sharks, like Jaws, caused the belief that sharks were monstrous killing machines to become much more wide-spread, even going so far as to influence decisions about laws and policy surrounding real-life shark preservation and culling in some parts of the world. But sharks aren't the only thing this has happened to.

Disabled people are so thoroughly misunderstood by wider society, that when tropes like this one become popular, people can and often do start to believe the misinformation they spread - in this case, believing that our prosthetics are a perfect replacement for a biological limb, and that getting a prosthetic means you're not disabled any more. While this can be annoying and cause small scale issues for some of us, like people giving us a hard time for using disability accommodations we very much need, it can also impact us in systemic ways too. If the wrong people believe these tropes, it can and does have a very real impact on the lives of disabled people through things like changes to policies to make it harder for amputees and people with limb differences to access financial assistance for other things outside of our prosthetics we may need assistance with.

Conclusion

Despite the very real harm tropes like this can do when it's overused, I don't think it should go away entirely. Some of my favourite pieces of media even use the perfect prosthetic trope and there are even some kinds of media where I even think it's somewhat unavoidable. Characters with perfect prosthetics in kids media in particular, especially when talking about side characters, can help to correct some of the other stereotypes kids may have seen elsewhere - such as prosthetics being "creepy" or "scary" - in a way that is casual and easy for them to understand. The problem with the trope, in my eyes, is it's excessive overuse. It's the fact that it seems to be the only representation amputees and people with limb differences are getting now. Not every story with a limb-different character can or even should delve into the reality of what using prosthetics is actually like, but we need at least some stories that do, without it being this majorly depressing thing.

#Writing disability with Cy Cyborg #Disability tropes #Long Post #Disability Representation #Writing Disability #Writing #Writeblr #Authors #Creators #Writing Advice #Disabled Characters #On Writing #Disability in Media

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i-like-media · 6 months ago

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I was wondering when they were going to play with the fact the Doctor is black now. 13 being faced with how people think of women was one of my favourite things in her era, so I was curious how they were going to treat his skin colour this season, if at all.

And honestly, Dot And Bubble exceeded all my expectations on the matter!

What a lot of episodes about racism and bigotry do is coddle the viewer. They make clear early on "this is an episode about RACISM and why it's WRONG!" As if you've never heard of the concept before and don't know it's bad. The episode will often portray racism in an extreme sense and show the viewer the main characters are above that.

What Dot And Bubble did, for the entire episode, was letting the viewer figure it out on their own. There was no coddling, only racism as it silently existed. A perfectly pastel and white community with not a single person of colour and the only visible outlier being a goth white kid. And in this world, the first thing the character we follow did, was to block a black guy with a face of disgust.

The title screen rolls and you're left to rationalise it. Surely it was because he was not in her contact list/saying all kinds of mind blowing stuff... Right? Except when Ruby enters her feed and talks about it, she actually replies back... With an eye roll, but she replies... and keeps talking... and listening.

The episode continues, still not a single POC besides the Doctor. They reveal this is an exclusive place for rich people, and eventually the character in question even admits she thought the Doctor was a different person because "I thought you looked the same".

What this episode also does well, is portraying a character we wish to see change and find a better life behind that change. We see Lindy struggle to navigate the world without her bubble, calling herself stupid, and we genuinely hope she DOES learn to be better, even as you slowly pick up on what's been going on sofar. You are left to hope she'll thank him and realise the error of her ways, and maybe find a new drive to think for herself.

And then she doesn't.

She stays in her bubble, doubling down on how she feels about the Doctor, how they're excited to be like their settler ancestors, and finally CLEARLY revealing to the viewers what's been off this whole time... and the scene asks: did YOU notice the signs? Did you see what went wrong along the way, or did you only notice just now when it's explicitly shown to you? And why do you think that is?

It challenges the perspective of the viewer and tells you to reflect on why you didn't see it coming, and that is so so powerful.

The Doctor's reaction to this scene..... 👌👌👌👌

His mouth is ajar, stunned beyond belief that after all he's done and all he can offer, the offer to literally save their lives, he is reduced to someone who's nothing more than the hue of his skin. He yells at them, telling them he doesn't care what they think of him because he's still the same doctor he's always been, and to still get rejected with a dirty look... Which hits extra hard when you remember how much the Doctor loves being himself. He LOVES being the Doctor again! And he walks with such a pep in his step, celebrating his existence and sharing it with all he meets... and then he tries to save some rich white kids from certain death.

His performance in that moment was literally phenomenal. It's a narrative that's so powerful and so creative in its execution, my jaw was still on the floor throughout the credits.

This episode is definitely up there as one of my favourites sofar

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foldingfittedsheets · 4 months ago

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No one made any distinction to me when I was growing up when a word wasn’t English. Andale was just another way to be told “hurry up,” and I was certain other parents told their kids, “Watch your cabesa,” when getting into the car. I laughed myself sick the first time I saw Dragon Ball Z because a ladies name was Chi Chi and I only knew that meant boobs.

All my moms family was brown and I desperately wished I was too. I wanted beautiful black hair like my mom and dark skin that didn’t burn. I didn’t like when people asked my mother if she was my nanny when they saw us together. I didn’t like that people told me I looked like my dad. They just meant I was pale.

I’d proudly announce to people that I was Mexican and become furious when they gaped or disbelieved me. My dads side has no cultural roots. When questioned my dad shrugs and says, “English maybe? I dunno.” I just wanted to be Mexican growing up. Alas, I’m only a quarter descendant of an immigrant family who vehemently didn’t want to be Mexican.

My great grandmother announced that we were American now, not Mexican. She embraced American culture as much as possible, while never learning English. My nana was put into school and punished anytime she spoke Spanish. She got caught halfway between both languages. Forced to spend her childhood raising her younger siblings she never learned to cook tamales with her mother and her friends.

When she had her own children she didn’t teach them Spanish. She used it to gossip with her own friends about them on the phone and resisted teaching them more than to come running when she shouted “Araña!” to kill a spider for her.

Thus came my mom, with her brown skin and dark hair, adrift from her culture but treated as lesser by her adopted one. My great grandmother would rejoice to see me as her descendant, white, ignorant of Spanish, the perfect American she wanted her family to be.

When I was born my nana shouted, “What’s that red on her?” only to realize it was my hair. She delighted in her palest grandchild, telling me often I was her favorite.

I’m used to the disbelief now when I tell people I’m Mexican. I can laugh and show pictures of my mom. My friend from work joked to me that I’m always coming out of the closet, over and over, because both my minority statuses aren’t as visible as her black skin.

I was recently lamenting this to a white southern friend the same one I cast psychic damage on during a DnD day. “I wish I could feel more connected to my culture, but I’d be such a fraud pretending my life is the same as other Hispanic people.”

“Skin color doesn’t matter,” he announced blithely to the choked outrage of our Indian friend in the kitchen, “You’re just as Mexican!”

I regarded him in astonishment and said, “I think skin color matters a lot. I am Mexican, but I don’t have the same cultural roots or experiences of people who are perceived as Mexican. My family didn’t pass the cultural heritage down. I think a lot of immigrant kids feel this way but it’s different for me.”

He rambled about how I’m just as valid and I quietly disregarded his advice. I could try to reconnect with my roots, but I know I’d just be another white girl pushing into a POC space.

Instead I make tamales by myself, sweating over the steaming corn husks, and I snap at people who make racist jokes about my family to me, feeling safe because my skin is the same color as theirs.

#ramblies #culture

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creatingblackcharacters · 12 days ago

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“The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth” - Violence, Violent Imagery & Black Horror

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of death, violence, blood, hate crimes, antiblackness, police violence, rape

Note! I am going to be speaking from a Black American point of view, as my identity informs my experience. That said, antiblackness itself is international. The idea of my Blackness as a threat, as a source of fear and violence to repress and to destroy, is something every Black person in the world that has ever dealt with white supremacy has experienced.

There are two things, I think, that are important to note as we start this conversation.

One: there is a long history of violence towards Black bodies that is due to our dehumanization. People do not care for the killing of a mouse in the way they care about a human. But if you think the people you are dealing with are not people, but animals- more particularly, pests, something distasteful- then you will be able to rationalize treating them as such.

Two: even though we live in a time period where that overt belief of Blackness as inhuman is less likely, we must recognize that there are centuries of belief behind this concept; centuries of arguments and actions that cement in our minds that a certain amount of violence towards Blackness is normal. That subconscious belief you may hold is steeped in centuries of effort to convince you of it without even questioning it. And because of this very real re-enforcement of desensitization, naturally another place this will manifest itself is in how we tell and comprehend stories.

There are also three points I'm about to make first- not the only three that can ever be made, but the ones that stand out the most to me when we talk about violence with Black characters:

One: Your Black readers may experience that scene you wrote differently than you meant anyone to, just because our history may change our perspective on what’s happening.

Two: The idea that Black characters and people deserve the pain they are experiencing.

Three: The disbelief or dismissal of the pain of Black characters and people.

You Better Start Believing In Ghost Stories- You’re In One

I don’t need to tell Black viewers scary fairytales of sadists, body snatchers and noncoincidental disappearances, cannibals, monsters appearing in the night, and dystopian, unjust systems that bury people alive- real life suffices! We recognize the symbolism because we’ve seen real demons.

Some real examples of familiar, terrifying stories that feel like drama, but are real experiences:

12 Years a Slave: “This is no fiction, no exaggeration. If I have failed in anything, it has been in presenting to the reader too prominently the bright side of the picture. I doubt not hundreds have been as unfortunate as myself; that hundreds of free citizens have been kidnapped and sold into slavery, and are at this moment wearing out their lives on plantations in Texas and Louisiana.” – Solomon Northup

When They See Us: I can’t get myself to watch When They See Us, because I learned about the actual trial of the Central Park Five- now the Exonerated Five- in my undergrad program. Five teen Black and brown boys, subjected to racist and cruel policing and vilification in the media- from Donald Trump calling for their deaths in the newspaper, to being imprisoned under what the Clintons deemed a generation of “superpredators” during a “tough on crime” administration. And as audacious as it is to say, as Solomon Northup explained, they were fortunate. The average Black person funneled into the prison system doesn’t get the opportunity to make it back out redeemed or exonerated, because the system is designed to capture and keep them there regardless of their innocence or guilt. Their lives are irreparably changed; they are forever trapped.

Jasper, Texas: Learning about the vicious, gruesome murder of James Byrd Jr, was horrific- and that was just the movie. No matter how “community comes together” everyone tells that story, the reality is that there are people who will beat you, drag you chained down a gravel road for three miles as your body shreds away until you are decapitated, and leave your mangled body in front of a Black church to send a message… Because you’re Black and they hate you. To date I am scared when I’m walking and I see trucks passing me, and don’t let them have the American or the Confederate flag on them. Even Ahmaud Arbery, all he was doing was jogging in his hometown, and white men from out of town decided he should be murdered for that.

Do you want to know what all of these men and boys, from 1841 to 2020, had in common? What they did to warrant what happened to them? Being outside while Black. Some might call it “wrong place wrong time”, but the reality is that there is no “right place”. Sonya Massey, Breonna Taylor- murdered inside their home. Where else can you be, if the danger has every right to barge inside? There is no “safe”.

It is already Frightening to live while Black- not because being Black is inherently frightening, but because our society has made it horrific to do so. But that leads into my next point:

“They Shouldn’t Have Resisted”

Think of all the videos of assaulted and murdered Black people from police violence. If you can stomach going into the comments- which I don’t, anymore- you’ll see this classic comment of hate in the thousands, twisting your stomach into knots:

“if they obeyed the officer, if they didn’t resist, this wouldn’t have happened”

Another way our punitive society normalizes itself is via the idea of respectability politics; the idea that “if you are Good, if you do what you are Supposed to do, you will not be hurt- I will not have to hurt you”. Therefore, if my people are always suffering violence, it must be because we are Bad. And in a society that is already less gracious to Black people, that is more likely to think we are less human, that we are innately bad and must earn the right to be exceptional… the use of excessive violence towards me must be the natural outcome. “If your people weren’t more likely to be criminals, there wouldn’t be the need to be suspicious of you”- that is the way our society has taught us to frame these interactions, placing the blame for our own victimization on us.

Sidebar: I would highly suggest reading The New Jim Crow, written in 2010 by Michelle Alexander, to see how this mentality helps tie into large scale criminalization and mass incarceration, and how the cycle is purposely perpetuated.

You have to constantly be aware of how you look, walk and talk- and even then, that won’t be enough to save you if the time comes. The turning point for me, personally, was the murder of Sandra Bland. If she could be educated, beautiful, a beacon of her community, be everything a “Good” Black person is supposed to be… and still be murdered via police violence, they can kill any of us. And that’s a very terrifying thought- that anything at any point can be the reason for your death, and it will be validated because someone thinks you shouldn’t have “been that way”. And that way has far less to do with what you did, than it does who you are. Being “that way” is Black.

My point is, if this belief is so normalized in real life about violence on Black bodies- that somehow, we must have done something to deserve this- what makes you think that this belief does not affect how you comprehend Black people suffering in stories?

Hippocratic Oath

Human experimentation? Vivisection? Organ stealing? Begging for medicine? Dramatically bleeding out? Not trusting just anyone to see that you are hurt, because they might take advantage? All very real fears. The idea that pain is normal for Black people is especially rampant in the healthcare field, where ideas like our melanin making our skin thick enough to feel less pain (no), an overblown fear of ‘drug misuse’, and believing we are overexaggerating our pain makes many Black people being unwilling to trust the healthcare system. And it comes down to this thought:

If you think that I feel less pain, you will allow me to suffer long before you believe that I am in pain.

I was psychologically spiraling I was in so much pain after my wisdom teeth removal, and my surgeon was more concerned about “addiction to the medication”. Only because Hot Chocolate’s mom is a nurse, did I get an effective medicine schedule. My mother ended up with jaw rot because her surgeon outright claimed that she didn’t believe that she was in more than the ‘healing’ pain after her wisdom teeth were removed. She also has a gigantic, macabre (and awesome fr) scar on her stomach from a c-section she received after four days of labor attempting to have me… all because she was too poor and too Black to afford better doctors who wouldn’t have dismissed her struggles to push.

As a major example of dismissed Black pain: let’s discuss the mortality rate of Black women during childbirth, as well as the likelihood of our children to die. When we say “they will let you bleed to death”, we mean it.

“Black women have the highest maternal mortality rate in the United States — 69.9 per 100,000 live births for 2021, almost three times the rate for white women, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Black babies are more likely to die, and also far more likely to be born prematurely, setting the stage for health issues that could follow them through their lives.”

Even gynecology roots in dismissal (and taking brutal advantage of) Black women's pain:

“The history of this particular medical branch … it begins on a slave farm in Alabama,” Owens said. “The advancement of obstetrics and gynecology had such an intimate relationship with slavery, and was literally built on the wounds of Black women.” Reproductive surgeries that were experimental at the time, like cesarean sections, were commonly performed on enslaved Black women. Physicians like the once-heralded J. Marion Sims, an Alabama doctor many call the “father of gynecology,” performed torturous surgical experiments on enslaved Black women in the 1840s without anesthesia. And well after the abolition of slavery, hospitals performed unnecessary hysterectomies on Black women, and eugenics programs sterilized them.”

If you think Black characters are not in pain, or that they’re overexaggerating, you’re more likely to be okay with them suffering more in comparison to those whose pain you take more seriously- to those you believe.

What’s My Point?

My point is that whatever terrifying scene you think you’re writing, whatever violent whump scenario you think you’re about to put your Black characters through, there’s a chance it has probably happened and was treated as nonimportant (damn shame, right?) And when those terrifying scenes are both written and read, the way their suffering will be felt depends on how much you as a reader care, how much you believe they are suffering.

There’s a joke amongst readers of color that many dystopian tales are tales of “what happened if white people experienced things that the rest of us have already been put through?” Think concepts like alien invasion and mass eradication of the existing population- you may think of that as an action flick, meanwhile peoples globally have suffered colonization for centuries. The Handmaid’s Tale- forced birthing and raising of “someone else’s” children, always subject to sexual harassment by the Master while subject to hate from the Mistress- that’s just being a Mammy.

There’s nothing wrong with having Black characters be violent or deal with violence, especially in a story where every character is going through shit. That is not the problem! What I am trying to tell you, though, is to be aware that certain violent imagery is going to evoke familiarity in Black viewers. And if I as a Black viewer see my very real traumas treated as entertainment fodder- or worse, dismissed- by the narrative and other viewers, I will probably not want to consume that piece of media anymore. I will also question the intentions and the beliefs of the people who treat said traumas so callously. Now, if that’s not something you care about, that’s on you! But for people who do care, it is something we need to make sure we are catching before we do it.

“So I just can’t write anything?!”

Stop that. There are plenty of examples of stories containing horror and violence with Black characters. There’s an entire genre of us telling our own stories, using the same violence as symbolism. I’m not telling you “no” (least not always). I’m telling you to take some consideration when you write the things that you do. There’s nothing wrong about writing your Black characters being violent or experiencing violence. But there is a difference between making it narratively relevant, and thoughtlessly using them as a “spook”, a stereotypical scary Black person, or a punching bag, especially in a way that may invoke certain trauma.

The Black Guy Dies First

The joke is that we never survive these horror movies because we either wouldn’t be there to begin with, or because we would make better decisions and the narrative can’t have that. But the reality is just that a lot of writers find Black characters- Black people- expendable in comparison to their white counterparts, and it shows. More of a “here, damn” sort of character, not worth investment and easy to shrug off. The book itself I haven’t read, just because it’s pretty new, but I’m looking forward to doing so. But from the summaries, it goes into horror media history and how Black characters have fared in these stories, as well as how that connects to the society those characters were written in. I.e., a thorough version of this lesson.

Instead, I wrote an entire list of questions you could possibly ask yourself involving violence or villainy involving a Black character. Feel free to print it and put it on your wall where you write if you have to! I cannot stress enough that asking yourself questions like these are good both for your creation and just… being less antiblack in general when you consume media.

Black Horror/Black Thriller

We, too, have turned our violent experiences into stories. I continue to highly suggest watching our films and reading our stories to see how we convey our fear, our terror, our violence and our pain. There are plenty of stories that work- Get Out, The Angry Black Girl and her Monster, Candyman, Lovecraft Country (the show) and Nanny are some examples. There’s even a blog by the co-writer of The Black Guy Dies First who runs BlackHorrorMovies where he reviews horror movies from throughout the decades.

Desiree Evans has a great essay, We Need Black Horror More Than Ever, that gets into why this genre is so creative and effective, that I think says what I have to say better than I could.

“Even before Peele, Black horror had a rich literary lineage going back to the folklore of Africa and its Diaspora. Stories of haints, witches, curses, and magic of all kinds can be found in the folktales collected by author and anthropologist Zora Neale Hurston and in the folktales retold by acclaimed children’s book author Virginia Hamilton. One of my earliest childhood literary memories is being entranced by Hamilton’s The House of Dies Drear and Patricia McKissack’s children’s book classic The Dark-Thirty: Southern Tales of the Supernatural, both examples of the ways Black authors have tapped into Black history along with our rich ghostlore.” “Black horror can be clever and subversive, allowing Black writers to move against racist tropes, to reconfigure who stands at the center of a story, and to shift the focus from the dominant narrative to that which is hidden, submerged. To ask: what happens when the group that was Othered, gets to tell their side of the story?”

For on the nose simplicity, I’m going to use hood classic Tales From The Hood (1994) as an example of how violence can be integrated into Black horror tales. Tales From The Hood is like… The Twilight Zone by Black people. Messages discussing issues in our community, done through a mystical twist. Free on Tubi! If you want to stop here before some spoilers, it’s an hour and a half. A great time!

In the first story, a Black political activist is murdered by the cops. The scene is reflective of the real-world efforts to discredit and even murder activists speaking out against police violence, as well as the types of things done to criminalize Black citizens for capture. The song Strange Fruit plays in the background, to drive the point home that this is a lynching.

The second story deals with a Black little boy experiencing abuse in the home, drawing a green monster to show his teacher why he’s covered in wounds and is lashing out at school.

The fourth story is about a gangbanger who undergoes “behavioral modification” to be released from prison early. Think of the classic scene from A Clockwork Orange. He must watch as imagery of the Klan and of happy whites lynching Black bodies (real-life pictures and video, mind you!) play into his mind alongside gang violence.

Isn’t Violence Stereotypical or antiblack?

That last story from Tales From The Hood leads into a good point. It can be! But it does not have to be! Violence is a human experience. By suggesting we don’t experience it or commit it, you would be denying everything I’ve just spoken about. We don’t have to be racist to write our Black characters in violent situations. We also don’t have to comprehend those situations through a racist lens.

Even experiences that seem “stereotypical” do not have to be comprehended that way. I get a LOT of questions about if something is stereotypical, and my response is always that it depends on the writing!!! You could give me a harmless prompt and it becomes the most racist story ever once you leave my inbox. But you could give me a “stereotypical” prompt and it be genuine writing.

Let’s take the movie Juice for example. Juice in my honest to God opinion becomes a thriller about halfway in. On its surface, Juice looks like bad Black boys shooting and cursing and doing things they aren’t supposed to be doing! Incredibly stereotypical- violent young thugs. You might think, “you shouldn’t write something like this- you’re telling everyone this is what your community is like”. First- there’s that respectability politics again! Just because something is not a “respectable” story does not mean it doesn’t need to be told!

But if we’re actually paying attention, what we’re looking at is four young boys dealing with their environment in different ways. All four of them originally stick together to feel power amongst their brotherhood as they all act tough and discover their own identities. They are not perfect, but they are still kids. In this environment, to be tough, to be strong, you do the things that they are doing. You run from cops, you steal from stores, you mess with all the girls and talk shit and wave weapons. That’s what makes you “big”. That’s what gives you the “juice”- and the “juice” can make you untouchable.

I want to focus particularly on Bishop, yes, played by Tupac. Bishop, the antagonist of Juice, is particularly powerless, angry, and scared of the world around him. He puts on a big front of bravado, yelling, cursing, and talking big because he’s tired of being afraid, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it otherwise. So when he gets access to a gun- to power- he quickly spirals out of control. His response to his fear is to wave around a tool that makes him feel stronger, that stops the things that scare him from scaring him.

Now, that is not a unique tale! That is a tale that any race could write about, particularly young white men with gun violence! If you ever cared for Fairuza Balk’s character in The Craft, it is a similar fall from grace. But because it is on a young, Black man in the hood, audiences are less likely to empathize with Bishop. And granted, Bishop is unhinged! But many a white character has been, and is not shoved into a stereotype that white people cannot escape from!

Now would I be comfortable if a nonblack person attempted to write a narrative like Juice? Yes, because I’d worry about the tendency to lose the messaging and just fall into stereotype outright. But it can be done! The story can be told!

“But if Black violence bad, why rap?”

The short answer:

“In order for me to write poetry that isn’t political, I must listen to the birds, and in order to hear the birds, the warplanes must be silent.”

Marwhan Makhoul, Palestinian Poet

First, rap is not “only violence and misogyny”. Step your understanding of the genre up; there are plenty of options outside of the mainstream that don’t discuss those things. Second, every genre of music has mainstream popular songs about vice and sin. The idea that Black rappers have to be held to a higher standard is yet another example of how we are seen as inherently bad and must prove ourselves good. We could speak about nothing but drugs and alcohol and 1) there would still be white artists who do the very same and 2) we would still deserve to be treated like humans.

That said, many- not all- rappers rap about violence for the same reason Billy Joel wrote We Didn’t Start the Fire, the same reason Homer first spoke The Iliad- because they have something to say about it! They stand in a long tradition of people using poetry and rhythm to tell stories. Rap is an art of storytelling!

Rap is often used as an expression of frustration and righteous anger against a system built to keep us trapped within it. I’m not allowed to be angry? Why wouldn’t I be angry? Anger is a protective emotion, often when one feels helpless. Young Black people also began to reclaim and glorify the violence they lived in within their music, to take pride in their survival and in their success in a world that otherwise wanted them to fail. If I think the world fights against me no matter what I do, I’d rather live in pride than in shame with a bent head. Is it right? Maybe, maybe not. But if you don’t want them to rap about violence, why not alleviate the things leading to the violence in their environment?

Whether you choose to listen to their words, because the delivery scares you- and trust, angry Black men scared the music industry and society- doesn’t make the story any less valid!

Conclusion

I am going to drop a classic by Slick Rick called Children’s Story. I think listening to it- and I mean genuinely listening- summarizes what I’ve said here about how Black creators can tell stories, even violent ones, and how even the delivery through Blackness can change how you perceive them. Please take the time to listen before continuing.

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I’ve been alive for 28 years and have known this song my whole life, and it just hit me tonight: not once is the kid in this story identified as Black! My perception of this story was completely altered by my own experiences, who told the story, and how it was told.

That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You can tell stories of violence that involve Black characters. I love and adore a good hurt/comfort myself! But you need to be cognizant of your audience and how they’ll perceive the story you’re telling, and that includes the types of imagery you include. It’s not effective catharsis via hurt/comfort for the audience if your Black readers are being completely left out of the comfort. “I wrote this for myself” that’s cool, but… if you wrote racism for yourself, and you’re willing to admit that to yourself, that’s on you. I’d like to think that’s not your intention! You can write these stories of woe and pain without mistreating your Black characters- but that requires knowing and acknowledging when and how you’re doing that!

@afropiscesism makes a solid point in this post: our horror stories are not just fairytales full of amorphous boogiemen meant to teach lessons. Racial violence is very real, very alive, and we cannot act like the things we write can be dismissed outright as “oh well it’s not real”. Sure, those characters aren’t real. But the way you feel about Black bodies and violence is, and often it can slip into your writing as a pattern without you even realizing it. Be willing to get uncomfortable and check yourself on this as you write, as well as noticing it in other works!

If you’re constantly thinking “I would never do this”, you’ll never stop yourself when you inevitably do! If you know what violent imagery can be evoked, you can utilize it or avoid it altogether- but only if you’re willing to get honest about it. You might not intend to do any of this, but it doesn’t matter if you don’t change the pattern, because as always, it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

#creatingblackcharacters #long post #writing #writing black characters #black character design #black history #media history

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kihyunsflavor · 8 months ago

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I belong to you

Pairing: Feyd-Rautha x f!reader

Summary: Your house unknown but a high-born and a Bene Gesserit, you get wed to the na-baron of Giedi Prime, Feyd-Rautha. It´s not easy with him and his darlings, but after some time it seems you are much to his liking. Is there a soft side hidden inside Feyd, only for his wife to see or will he treat you the same as any servant?

Warnings: arranged marriage (like all of them lol), smut, violent behavior, breeding kink, pet names, dom/sub dynamics, mentions of knives and blood, size kink

Word count: 3.5k

Authors note: English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes. Hope you like it <3

The bed was comfortable and soft, much different than the room itself with his stony, cold walls and the black interior. You were not asleep, just lying in bed with closed eyes. The current situation making you uneasy and sleep didn’t come easily. Next to that were the people standing in your room. You felt their preying eyes on your body even though the blanket covered you fully. It was Feyd-Rautha, your newlywed husband, with his darlings. There were three of them, being his concubines for quite some time.

“She is rather ugly.” One girl spoke up, not even caring to whisper her words. They probably wanted you to hear it anyways. “Next to that she is a witch.” The other hissed. Feyd stayed quiet but you knew he had a big smile plastered on his face. You didn’t move nor open your eyes, you wanted to know why they suddenly decided to pay you a visit at this hour. Your husband hasn’t been in your chambers before, not even after marriage did he share the bed with you. He was spending time with his darlings and only having this annoying black teethed grin on his face when you ran into him.

“I think she is awake, Feyd. The witch listened to us since we came here.”

The room was dark, no light coming through the big windows. This planet was very dim, caused by the industrial pollution and their black sun. One of the reasons why you missed your home planet so much. There you had fields of green grass, blue skies and people were dressed in colorful clothes. It was a warm planet, like spring and autumn combined.

You opened your eyes and stared at the little group in your chamber. Your expression cold, showing no emotion. Feyd and his darlings kept your gaze, amusement hiding behind their eyes. Slowly, you sat up glancing shortly at the clock next to your bed. It was 2 am. “What is the reason you came into my room at this hour, my Lord?” You asked, annoyance showing through your voice. Again, this grin on his face. He hasn’t shared many words with you since you arrived on Giedi Prime. All you ever dream of is this exact expression.

“My darlings wanted to take a look at my little present.” Present? No, you were not just a mere gift to him, but right now Feyd sought only to demean you.

He sat down on the edge of the bed to your feet, his eyes never leaving your face. He wanted to drink up every expression you were going to show him. But there was nothing. You had trained long, you were good at it. Instead, you shifted your eyes to his three concubines. They all looked pretty similar, only one of them had a big black bar on her forehead. Their skin was white, eyes fully black and their heads shaved, not a single hair on their body just like Feyd. You had heard they were the beauties of Giedi Prime - and they fed on human flesh.

“I have been here for two months now. Did they not have the chance to take a look at me yet?” You replied. Feyd shifted next to you and your eyes fell back on him. He didn’t like the tone you were using. “Careful wife, that´s not how you speak to me.” You mustered his face, he appeared to be displeased by your reaction, not expecting you to talk back like this. He was a scary man, unpredictable and violent, but you were not an ordinary girl. Trained in the way of the Bene Gesserit, you mastered the Voice. There was no way you would give yourself that easily to him. “I apologize, husband.” Seconds later, there was a knife sitting at your throat. The cold blade grazed your skin lightly, but still breaking it enough to release tiny drops of blood. You were surprised by his sudden reaction and leaned back. Holding your chin high, you did not break eye contact with Feyd´s dark blue eyes. “You better shut your mouth!”

It was a command. He wanted you to submit, making it clear he had full control over you. However, you simply stared back at him, not moving a muscle. This made him angry, but he didn’t change the pressure of his hold. “Do you want me to cut your neck, little mouse? I could slice you up right in this moment.” The grin wandered back on his face, making you uneasy. He was enjoying the thought of making you bleed. You replied after a while, choosing your next words carefully. “I will give myself to you completely, but it will be out of my own will, not through force, na-Baron.”

Feyd´s expression went blank for a second. He sensed something in you, something he hasn’t been confronted with before. Now snarling he said “You better do as I say, wife. I won´t think twice about staining these sheets red with your blood.” A soft smile appeared on your lips; it was not to tease him. With a calmer voice you replied “No, you won´t treat me like this. I am your wife, not a mere servant you command. I will submit to you, but you need to earn my respect first.”

During this whole time the three concubines just stood there watching you and Feyd. There was so much tension in the air, that they didn’t dare to interfere. But then Feyd leaned back on his heels and the knife left your throat. You straightened your back and touched your skin where it had been broken softly. Tiny droplets of blood stained your fingers, but it was not much. Suddenly one of the concubines dropped to her knees next to the bed. She looked at your fingers with pleading eyes. “Let me taste your blood, please.” You starred at her confused than back at your fingers. Thinking about all possibilities what could go wrong if you let her do it, you finally decided to let her lick your fingers clean. Reaching out to her, she immediately leaned forward to lap at them. For a second you looked back at Feyd, who carried his usual smile, enjoying the situation in front of him. But in the next moment the girl kneeling on the ground raised rapidly and tasted the fresh wound on your neck.

“Go away!” Stripped of control over her own body, the concubine moved away from you. She blinked disorientated, trying to figure out what just had happened.

“How dare you?!” The other concubines hissed, dripping with spite. Feyd was showing not a single emotion in his face. You directed your next words to the concubines. “You ask me how I dare? I don’t think I gave her permission to touch my neck.” Those standing looked to Feyd for help and protection, yet his gaze remained solely fixed on you. “Do you think you are better than us? We have been here for a long time. You are just a foreign girl.” They started to argument, but you interrupted them. “Yes, I think I am better. You may have been in his care for ages, but who is the one that will bear his heir? It will only be me.” Your response silenced them.

The room was quiet, you watched Feyd taking in your words. It appeared as though a realization washed over him, yet he wouldn’t let it go so easily.

The knife returned to your throat, this time softer, drawing no blood. “I don’t like the way you treat my darlings. You are not yet with child, wife.” His eyes flickering between your eyes and lips. “And why is that?" You retorted sharply. "If you had devoted more time to me after our marriage, I might be carrying an heir now. But instead, you choose to spend your days and nights with them.” If he wanted to play a game, you certainly wouldn't hesitate to participate.

There was anger and fury dancing in his eyes, yet nestled behind it, timid and faint, was attraction. You almost had him at your grasp. “And why is it that you have an issue with my behavior towards your concubines, but overlook their insults and disrespect towards me? This is not how I imagined Feyd-Rautha, the na-Baron, to treat his wife.”

Feyd was taken aback by your words and let his hand with the knife sink down. You both held each other's gaze for a while, almost as if engaged in a silent communication through your eyes. It felt as though he had finally comprehended the entirety of the situation. Slowly, you tilted your head to the side, offering your throat to him in submission. It was the gesture he had been seeking - a sign of surrender. In the next moment you heard the knife hit the ground with a sharp clink and his raspy deep voice, dismissing the concubines.

Soft, wet lips immediately left a trail of kisses along your exposed neck. He made a grunting noise while inhaling your scent. You shifted your arms and laid flat on your back, opening your legs so he could just fit nicely in between them. Feyd made a noise of appreciation and continued his assault on your skin. “My dear little wife, being so obedient now.” When whispering, his voice sounded much deeper. It turned you on. His hands found your clothed breasts, squeezing them roughly, but as your hand caressed the back of his head calmly, he softened his touch. He raised his head and locked eyes with you before kissing you for the second time, since you arrived on this planet.

The blanket was fully gone now, thrown into the last part of the bed. Your nightdress pulled up, so his hands had free access to your naked skin. Feyd enjoyed tracing the curves of your body, savoring every glimpse he could get of you. “Yes, so pretty like that. You like it too, don’t you, little mouse?” He grinned and his face moved closer to your face again to fully capture your expression in this dimly lit room. “I like it very much, husband.” “Feyd. Say my name.” His lips lingered over yours, waiting for it. “I like it very much, Feyd.” You repeated. A growl leaving his throat, he pressed his lips to yours.

His right hand wandered down to your clothed cunt. He brushed over it, making you whine into his mouth. He grinned, slipping his hand underneath your panties and gliding his fingers through your heat. “You´re so wet, my dear. Is that all for me?” A moan escaped your mouth at his words. Oh how his deep voice and words turned you on. You were sure, he could make you come just with it alone. Not trusting your voice, you nodded. He watched you, as his fingers played with your sensitive area. Gradually, he lowered his lips, planting kisses along your cleavage, grazing over your nipples, and trailing down to your stomach. His fingers slipped under the waistband of your lace panties. “They are so pretty, but unfortunately, they have to go.” Feyd remarked.

After they were thrown onto the floor, Feyd leaned down between your legs, placing small kisses on your inner thighs. You arched your back at the pleasure and quiet whimpers escaped your throat. Feyd made his way to your pussy and gave it a lick, making you shudder. “You like that?” He grinned suggestively at you, revealing his black teeth. But he didn´t wait for an answer, instead he ravished you like a starving man. His big hands were placed on either side of your hips to keep you pressed into the mattress, since it was difficult for you to stay still. Quickly, two fingers entered you, moving slowly. Your moans grew louder, searching hands buried themselves in the black sheets. “I am going to come, Feyd!” Goosebumps spread all over your body, you were so close to your release. “Then come, little mouse!” He commanded and you let yourself go fully. It was a climax like you never had before when touching yourself alone. Your husband was definitely very skilled.

After you had calmed down a little, Feyd loomed over you. His lips found yours again and he rutted against your body. Even though he was still clothed, you could feel how turned on he was. “Gonna have my way with you now, yea?” He chuckled, leaning back to pull his pants down. Your eyes widened at his length and thickness, as you starred at his dick. You began to worry how it was going to fit inside you. Feyd saw the change in your expression and bend back down, holding himself up with one arm next to your head, while the other pumped his cock slowly. “Don´t worry, dear. I will be gentle.” He planted a kiss to the tip of your nose and you locked eyes with him. His now gentle and tender actions made you wonder, if it was just a tactic to make you trust him. Despite this uncertainty, you didn´t sense any unease in your gut.

You gave him a shy smile and your hands found his strong shoulders. “Will you put this off as well? I want to see you.” Your words amused him, he enjoyed the way you behaved. “Everything my little wife wants.” He answered proudly, feeling his ego boosted and leaning back to remove his shirt. You mustered his pale skin - it was white like snow. Curious fingers grazed over his muscles, Feyd placed his hand over yours. It made you feel safe. There was no longer anger or violence directed towards you.

You gazed at each other for a while, neither of you feeling the need to break eye contact. It was easier to read his emotions now, and it was clear that he wanted the same thing as you did. You freed your hand out of his hold and placed it on his strongly erected member. Gently, you started stroking him. Feyd closed his eyes and tilted his head back from the pleasure he was feeling. You tightened your grip, precome dripping out of the tip. It was such an arousing view.

Suddenly Feyd gripped your wrists and placed them over your head. “I want to come inside you, little mouse.” He breathed huskily in your ear. You didn’t mind this at all, finally feeling his touch on your body was exhilarating. You had always desired his attention.

There was some impatience in his movements now. Feyd stared at your naked body underneath him, while his free hand positioned your hips at the perfect angle. You felt yourself clamping down on nothing, wanting to be filled up by his pretty cock. “My love, you look irresistible. You won´t be getting any sleep tonight.” His husky voice sent shivers down your spine, excitement bubbling in your stomach. Before he entered you, he freed your wrists out of his grasp to support his own weight. You panicked for a second as it seemed like he was going to lean back, and you really disliked not having him close in this vulnerable situation. Feyd smiled, his face only mere inches from yours. “I'm not going anywhere.” He reassured you with his raspy voice and captured your lips.

Kissing him shifted your focus away from the pain between your legs, as he pushed inside your tight hole. “Doing so good for me, doll.” He hushed your whimpers, pressing you closer to his warm body. You felt safe in his arms, being able to relax completely. After he was fully sheathed inside you, he let you adjust to his size.

Blinking slowly, you opened your eyes and looked at him. His eyes were already fixed on your features. Small praises left his lips, before he loosened his hug on you and brought his arms next to your head. You felt so small when he was hovering over you like this. Not long after, Feyd started to move his hips. First, he was gentle and slow but as your moans grew louder, he quickened his pace. Your hands wandered over his wide, muscled back, fingernails causing small scratches to appear. The pain spurned him on. “They gave me such a perfect wife, taking me so well.” Your husband praised and placed a kiss on your forehead. You shuddered and felt your release being close. Feyd´s thrusts started to become sloppy and unsteady as well. He cursed under his breath and bit into your shoulder. You squeaked at the sudden pain. “Feyd, I am close.” You whispered. He lifted his head again and grinned. “Good girl, yea… I am close too.” He growled, his eyes turning even darker. You caught a glimpse of primal instinct in them, like you were his prey. “Come for me whenever you are ready, little mouse.”

Feyd pulled out completely, only his tip touching your entrance slightly. Then in a fast movement, he pushed inside again, going in so deep his dick kissed your cervix. You made a startled sound and in the next moment could only moan. He was hitting all the right places, which made you come hard. Your back arched off the mattress, while moaning your husband’s name in bliss. Feyd had waited for your climax until he let himself go and filled you up with his seed. “So good... so good for me.” He rasped, out of breath, still coming down from his high.

You had closed your eyes, only opening them when Feyd was moving over you. He had leaned back on his heels. One hand was placed protectively over your stomach, while the other held up your leg. He watched his cum drip out of your pussy. When his attention returned to your face, he grinned slyly. “Not done with you yet.” You were quickly turned around on all fours. “Yes, stay like that.” Feyd´s body was pressed into your back and his dick rubbed on your ass. He was growing bigger and bigger every second. Calloused fingers found their way into your hair and he tugged harshly on it. “Going to fill you up again. That´s what you wanted, am I right, little mouse?” You could hear how much he enjoyed teasing you.

There was no time for a reply, as he pushed inside of you with ease and you couldn’t surpress the moan that escaped you at the feeling of the stretch. The sensation nearly stole your breath away and Feyd immediately set a rapid pace. In this angle he felt significantly larger and deeper than before. All you could manage were small whimpers in response to the overwhelming sensation.

Feyd´s free hand, that was placed on your waist, landed a sharp slap on one of your cheeks. The pain made you hiss through clenched teeth and you turned your head slightly to look back at him. Pleasure and lust were written on his face and when you caught his eyes, a smirk appeared. “Don’t look at me like this, love. I know you liked it, clenching down on me so tightly.” He pulled your hair back, forcing you to sit up. Your back was pressed against his chest when he whispered into your ear. “Tell me how much you like it.”

A shudder went down your spine and you whined. He was so deep inside of you. With a shaky hand you pressed down on your lower belly to feel the bulge Feyd was creating. “It feels really good-ah!” You answered him. “You like it, when I fuck you like this, little mouse?” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “Yes, yes Feyd.” Seconds later your orgasm approached and you came hard on his cock. Soft lips were gently pressed to your cheek, while you tried to catch your breath. Even though his thrusts were harsh, abusing your insides, he still handled you with care.

His pace didn’t falter as he was hunting his own release. Your body went limp, but he held you up on strong arms, moving you back on dick. And again, he filled you up with a huge amount of his seed.

He actually stayed true to his word of not letting you sleep the whole night. When a faint light filtered through the windows, signaling the arrival of morning, you had just reached your 5th or 6th climax. You weren't even sure because, at some point, logical thoughts ceased to form in your head.

Feyd laid you down gently as your eyes were closed from tiredness. He had fetched a wet cloth to wipe you clean. The coolness was soothing against your feverish skin. After he finished, you felt the mattress sink in as he laid down next to you. Protective hands wrapped around your middle, pulling you close to his body. "Mine," he whispered softly and placed a tender kiss on your temple. If you weren't going to fall pregnant after this night, you didn’t even know what to believe in anymore.

#feyd rautha #feyd smut #dune part two #feyd x you #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha x reader #dune x reader #dune imagine #feyd rautha imagine #feyd rautha fic #austin butler x reader #dune fanfic #feyd x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen imagine #feyd rautha smut #feyd-rautha x reader #kihyunsflavor

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hanasnx · 8 months ago

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hip to be square.

“You’ve worked up quite a sweat.” PATRICK BATEMAN notes in thinly veiled repulsion. Those cruel hands on your hips restrain themselves, and you can feel that tension against you. Instead, he pours his ample strength into yanking you back on him, choked sounds emit from your gaping mouth. In a way, this is an obligation, he can't really enjoy the way your cunt squeezes him, or how his thumbs fit those perfect back dimples—not in the way he wants to. If it were up to him, he'd squeeze the life out of you while he screwed those lifeless brains to pieces. Finally a bitch like you would be put to good use, eyes rolling back as the lack of oxygen grows black dots in your vision. You'd claw at his grip around your neck, easing in to crushing your windpipe, the light would die as he watched, and he wouldn't even falter in his pace. Those hips would still be fucking you, like he is now.

Hard and rough, it hurts. Abusing your cervix as you're bent over the perfect white covers of his California King. You bounce on him like you want more, but in reality you're limp as he directs your body the way he wants it to move. An irrefutable force against you that you are powerless to soothe, unbeknownst to you your only line of defense to protect you from his wrath is the ring on your finger.

You're engaged to him.

In his eyes it was an unavoidable tragedy. All his friends are your friends, you live in his area, and you're a ten minute commute from work. If he's looking to blow off steam during lunch, he'll pop in for a visit and use you up with a pillow covering your head. You don't catch on to the fact he doesn't want to look at you while he ravages you, never question why he insists on hitting it from the back if he can help it. It aids that you've got a nice ass, plump and round and fits in his palms when he handles it. When you aren't being a priss, sometimes you'll let him slip a finger into your asshole. At one point he managed to convince you to let him fist you, but he'd slipped you one to many things that night, narrowly avoiding a messy emergency room visit. There was no way he was going to wait up for you in such a place so late at night. What would he have told everybody? That his fiancée was some junkie? Absolutely not.

Nails dig into your skin at the memory, the salt of sweat burning that raw that makes you mewl. He steels himself from demanding you shut up, instead assuaging the urge by smacking your hand away when you reach back to hold his in a petty attempt to get him to let up. Cruelly, he drills you. Those pathetic noises release in pain, you don't even sound human. "What are you to me?" he spits, looming over your little body as his every muscle contracts fucking into you at a reckless pace. You're sore from his weight, but you can't do a thing about it when being treated like shit never felt so good. A ring of cream foams at his base, taken from you as your cunt confuses punishment for desperation, your expression twisting so hard you'll get wrinkles early. He'll have to divorce you before that happens, otherwise people will think him vain. "Answer me, you idiot, you're supposed to answer me."

Somehow, you don't notice how he's talking to you. How it's different than the cold and distant nature you're accustomed to in public. "Nothing." you breathe out. "I'm nothing." You chase whatever you can get your hands on, scrambling for whatever stupid response you can muster in this state. Apparently, it pleases him, a sea of moans flowing out through his deep voice as he satiates himself using you like a sock with your name on it in his room.

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notchainedtotrauma · 9 months ago

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Once again...Black users (and a great deal of those Black users Black trans women) as well as sex workers are the canaries in the coal mine. Because there was a sweeping disappearance of Black blogs orchestrated by the site and officially justified by "Russian interference" (as in those Black bloggers were conveniently branded as bots). Even though the little bit of Russian interference there was showed up under the form of organized white supremacists. Then the FESTA-SOSTA bill came along, a bill that should have gotten the same attention than KOSA, because it opened the floodgates and was largely responsible for the erasure of sex workers on Tumblr and the fight against any type of nudity, at the same time there is an increase of porn bots and non consensually taken nudes and other videos. It took years of escalation for a lawsuit to be filed, when if all of Tumblr, as in, its user base, had congealed around the disappearance of Black blogs, maybe we would be nowhere near those vicious catastrophes. A lot of the Black users exterminated...were Black cis women and Black trans women. The pattern has been very clear on Twitter, it's now happening in Tumblr in different ways. Once again canaries in the coal mine and all...

ID [Tweet by @Blackamazon. Dated May 22, 2021

Everyone is shocked that the attacks are more blatant and things are worse.

But you treated everyone who said it was going to get this bad

Terribly

And in public

People went out their way to show "the canaries in the coal mine"

didn't matter] End of ID

#stories from the void #Sydette Harry

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walkinthrudaisies · 2 months ago

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Primadonna Girl

dean winchester x fem!reader

1.1k | fluff

summary: you and dean couldn’t be anymore different. but that’s why he loves you so much.

*loosely based on the song Primadonna by Marina and the Diamonds

sam couldn’t help but smile anytime he saw you and dean together.

the two of you couldn’t have been anymore different. yet, you two somehow ended up in a relationship. a year and a half long relationship that is.

dean winchester had always been rough around the edges. even as a young boy, people would look at dean and know to not get in his way, to not get him angry or the outcome wouldn’t be pleasant. his wardrobe always consisted of leather jackets, flannels, and big boots. something some people would find intimidating.

that had followed him into his teen years, and most importantly, as an adult. growing up with a berating father who saw you as nothing but a soldier didn’t help, and dean was sometimes jealous of sam for how level headed he was.

the thing was, you couldn’t be anymore opposite. growing up, you were as bubbly as a shaked can of soda. always laughing, smile on your face 24/7, and a knack for anything feminine.

you were a girl after all, and you couldn’t help but love anything that had to do with lace or dangling bows from wherever you could place them.

the narrative that a girl being hyper feminine and — for lack of better words — girly in nature was dumb or didn’t amount to much always made you angry. a girl could do anything a man could do if she was wearing slouchy jeans and a flannel or platform shoes and a skirt. it wasn’t how you presented yourself, it was your integrity, and how hard your drive to help people was.

crossing paths with the winchester brothers was never on your bucket list. you had heard too many stories of how those boys started more than one apocalypse, how they had a way of ending up in hell every other month. with your knowledge, you didn’t want anything to do with that.

if it wasn’t for you running into them on a case, you would have never given them a second thought. but you’d realized how dedicated the two were, how kind and how they were all around sweet boys. so you stayed. bonding with sam over your love for books and how you were both severely lactose intolerant.

dean on the other hand, he was harder to crack than his giant of a brother. the first couple of months the man did nothing but berate you. finding any chance he could to make a jab in your direction. you honestly thought he hated your guts, only for sam to finally admit that this was how his brother acted when he really liked a girl.

that same night, you confronted him. spewing multitudes on how treating a girl like that just because you have feelings for her is something a middle schooler would do. what you were not expecting was for dean to wrap his arms around your waist and press his lips roughly to yours.

since then, you two have been inseparable. sam couldn’t help but snicker when he caught his brother carrying around your purse, or walking behind you like a lost puppy. dean was wrapped around your finger, and anyone with eyes and a brain could notice it.

sam most importantly didn’t hold back in telling dean how whipped he truly was. all the older winchester did was keep on going with a smile on his face. knowing he’d do anything to just be near you.

all of this lead you two to this very moment, a calm night in the bunker as you and dean sat in his so called ‘dean cave’. on the couch and watching some cheesy teen drama on the flat screen tv.

you were sat in dean’s lap, legs moved sideways over his as he played with the lace trimming on your black knee high tights. dean’s grey henley and dark, plaid pyjama pants were in no synchronization with your frilled, white skirt and your big, fleeced, dark pink sweater.

the two of you were sat in a serene silence, eyes averted to the tv while dean’s fingers travelled up your calf and your hands found purchase in the tuffs of his hair.

neither of you had noticed sam’s figure in the doorway until you heard startle of laughter. looking up, you both saw sam leaned on the door frame, shit eating grin forming on his face as he analyzed the scene playing out in front of him.

“wow,” he started, shaking his head and having a strand of hair fall in his eyes. “if someone told me you’d be all domestic like this five years ago dean i would’ve laughed in their face.”

all dean did was roll his eyes, pulling you impossibly closer and nuzzling his face in your neck. promptly ignoring his brothers annoying remarks while also being in close contact to you. what else could he possibly need at the moment?

you just laughed, shooing sam away and watching him turn around a giggle all the way to his room. when the younger winchester was out of sight, dean moved his head so he could plant multiple kisses all over your face.

a squeal tore through your lips as you jokingly attempted to push him away, only spurring dean to hold on tighter to your legs as his mouth placed two sloppy kisses on both of your cheeks.

somehow in the midst of loud laughter and entangled limbs, you had ended up on top of dean. legs straddling his waist as he moved his hands from the top of your stockings to hold on tightly to your waist.

your hair had created a curtain around his face, and all he could see at the moment was your radiating smile and gorgeous coloured eyes. with a slight tug at his lips, he moved his hands under your sweater to soothingly move his hands up and down your skin. “you are the best thing to ever happen to me, sweetheart.”

a smile broke out onto your face, pressing a quick kiss to dean’s forehead before lying down and cuddling up to his chest.

all the winchester could do was hold you tighter, relishing in the fact that he had you. you, the greatest thing to ever come to him. dean sometimes thought he didn’t deserve you, that you were too good for him in so many different ways. but when you let him hold you like this, kiss your face and see you in any way possible, he knew that pushing you away would be the stupidest thing he’s ever done.

“i love you, dean.” you murmured, eyes back on the tv as his deft fingers on your back was calming you down. if possible, dean’s smile got even bigger. moving down to put a soft kiss on your head as he whispered back, “i love you too, Y/N.”

#supernatural #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester #imagine

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porcelainseashore · 2 months ago

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Darkroom

Pairing: RE4R! Leon Kennedy x GN! Reader

Summary: You're a Sunday regular at the darkroom of your local nightclub, finding liberation through sex with random strangers and spontaneous encounters. One night, you meet someone whose touch feels different, and you connect in ways you never expected.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Smut, porn with plot, implied consent, anonymous sex, group sex, public sex (nightclub), voyeurism, anal, fingering, oral (m receiving), creampie, strangers to lovers, romance, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, drug references, swearing.

Author's Note: This is my first time writing gn! reader as I would like to be more inclusive in my work. I’ve also tried to educate myself on the discourse surrounding darkrooms and hope I’ve portrayed them respectfully, as safe spaces created by the gay community.

Special thanks to @alibellerosetta and @sofmoth for beta’ing this piece—you’re simply the best!

AO3 Link | Playlist

Fingertips trailing across the concrete walls of an old wartime bunker, its labyrinthine structure causing you to navigate by adventure and curiosity when you were new, but now, you had the entire layout committed to memory. You drifted through the haze of smoke and rooms—oh so many rooms—littered with nooks and crannies to engage in the kinds of deeds one would get up to in a nightclub like this.

Brutal, fast-paced techno assaulted your ears, but you welcomed it as you did with the throngs of party-goers passing you by, like swimming through jellyfish and seaweed, in this maddeningly beautiful underwater world. All you could hear was a wall of sound and your own breathing, teeth chattering and chest throbbing as heavy bass reverberated through your body. If you stayed any longer, you would vaporize into thin air. And so, you plunged into the lower depths, down further passageways and corridors to your final destination.

People wouldn’t understand why you do what you do. Why you treated this club like a church—the only one you’d go to religiously every Sunday to get fucked within an inch of your life by complete strangers. Strangers you never saw, and would never meet again.

You didn’t owe them an explanation, but truth be told, you felt far safer here than in most other places you’d been to. Too many close calls and red flags left you running away from that mess. Here, you were spoiled for choice. You could be whoever you wanted to be, without labels or judgment. Fucking was freedom and creativity. Fucking was an expression of yourself. Fucking was a big fuck you to society that tried to break you, moulding you into preconceived roles, telling you what you should or shouldn’t do.

Despite that, you knew what you were getting yourself into. Your PrEP shot was up to date and you tested frequently. Nothing was a hundred percent foolproof, but it was a risk you were willing to take. You were nearly there, following the invisible wisp of a white rabbit to its lair as the sweet, musky scent of lust and arousal grew stronger.

At the entrance of the darkroom, you paused, lifting your hand as a breeze sifted through your fingers. Funny how cold it could get down in the basement. You wondered if the ghosts of soldiers past could see you now—heart racing in your chest, adrenaline flooding your veins, and butterflies in your stomach—every single time without fail as you stood in front of the innocuous opening in the wall, like a gateway or barrier to another plane. What they would think as you stepped inside, agreeing to the unspoken code of conduct, where it was hunting season, and just like everyone else, you were game.

Inside, it was pitch black, so dark that you could not see, but you could make out the distinct sounds of sheets rustling, the shifting of bodies, light moans, and squelching wet kisses as you felt around the room, slowly putting one foot forward, and then the other, like the blind leading the blind. As your eyes adjusted to the surroundings, movements blurred at the corners, amorphous shapes materializing before you like a séance you had conducted.

Sometimes you would catch a look, a nod, a gesture—silent, yet reminding you that what you were seeing was real. Hands passed along your body, and you imagined this must be what it feels like to traverse through clouds—touching, groping, feeling every part of you that you had bared to offer. Shedding clothes like this was so easy, like peeling away the layers of skin you had adorned to protect yourself.

Someone else’s skin.

Someone else’s face.

A thousand masks you reaped and sowed.

Gone, all gone—until you were stripped to the core.

The immense desire to be naked forever and never dressed again bubbled to the surface, burning a hole in your chest and getting caught in your throat.

A sudden smack against the cheek of your ass sent you reeling forward. The beds were damp as you sank upon them on your knees, gasping in sheer delight. The sting of it was buzzing, your ears filled with white noise as your hair was yanked backwards, mouths latching onto flesh, sensitive and bruising like ripened plum under teeth.

The room was warm and humid, sweltering even, but you couldn’t complain. Heat like that never looked bad on anyone. Sweat dripped from the pores of your skin, creating a thin layer of moonlit sheen. Tongues lapped at the moisture, prickly and salty, running over areas you never knew existed until the heady rushes you felt stated otherwise.

You grasped at the silhouette lying under you. It squirmed—wet, whining, and wanting. Breasts quivering, breathing in deep. Almost instantly, the grip on your hair loosened as you lunged forward, suctioning your lips over a peak, your fingers sliding through her folds, curling against her walls.

Eventually, you were pushed on top of her, a heavy palm on the arch of your back, ribs crushing, tongues intertwining, and teeth clashing as other hands gripped her wrists firmly over her head. Your pelvises ground together as someone pounded into you from behind; her breasts bouncing violently against your chest with each thrust. The mattress sagged under your weight as it consumed you—suffocating, drowning—and you surrendered to it all in the darkness until you were nothing. A blank canvas, equal to the rest, finally seen as simply human.

You did the devil’s dance, flitting between partners, just as your parents did before you, and their parents—your grandparents—and their ancestors before them. Though instead of fucking raw, they had their own versions of the dance that they were too embarrassed to admit, leaving them forgotten behind closed doors and repressed memories.

Then, another pair of hands descended on your back, their knuckles caressing your shoulders with a bittersweet tenderness, taking you by surprise. Brushing your hair aside, you felt stubble scrape the nape of your neck, his kiss lingering a little longer than a second or two, as if afraid that by confronting you, you might dissolve between his fingers.

Hot, shaky breath fanned across your ear, “May I?”

A baritone—rich, deep, and weary—with an edge to it like he had been through a never ending war. You wondered why.

In silence, you tilted your head, granting him easier access to your neck. You were his prey; he could bite in hard if he wanted to, but he only nipped—teasingly, playfully, savoring your taste, his large, coarse hands raking your body, gentle and unsure.

This wasn’t his first time; he was too composed for that. You searched for an answer as the tips of his fingers pressed dimples into your skin—temporary marks that spoke of his desire to make you his for the night. His touch ached so badly with longing, you could feel it seep into your bones. It hurt, everything hurt, as he buried his face into your neck, smothering the rest of his emotions along with it.

Someone once said, “The biggest lie we tell ourselves is that we should be ashamed of our feelings.”

But imagine if we weren’t? Your hand cupped over his. His breath hitched.

You knew shame like the back of your hand. A sickness and disease, taking root from within, its poisonous tendrils spreading out through every orifice until you couldn’t even scream.

Imagine if we weren’t. Your fingers laced through his. You squeezed. He squeezed back.

A secret morse code between the two of you as others started to gather around. Lying on your sides, he tugged you in closer, so that your back was flush against his chest. You stroked his arm, repeating the motion in cycles like a form of meditation.

He had you. You were his. He didn’t have to worry about that, even when you were being shared.

In return, he planted soft kisses along your spine as a ‘thank you’, causing you to shiver while he palmed your crotch. You felt his dick harden against the crevasse of your ass and you bucked your hips back into his. He let out a hiss, rubbing his erection in sync with your rocking, and you heard the sound of a lid cracking open.

At the same time, another person tweaked your nipples, licking, and sucking on them as you bit your lip and moaned. Lukewarm oil spilled onto your ass in a slow, deliberate stream, spreading like liquid silk. Even though you were ready—so ready—for this, with your hole wide and gaping from the butt plug you had worn in the day, and still leaking from previous use, he felt the need to prepare you. Circling your rim, he slipped one, then two fingers in, allowing the tight ring of muscle to clench around them as he stretched you out. When he pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, you nearly sighed in relief, relaxing as he filled you up fully, slowly, and sensually, as if you were making love for the first time.

You melted like sweet, flowing honey in his arms, linked around your waist, hugging you tightly as his ragged breath grazed your cheek. Once you had settled in, it didn’t take long for him to pick up the pace. Your hands gripped his the entire time as he pumped his cock harder into you, friction firing up the bundle of nerves, causing you to cry out in wanton pleasure.

It was only a matter of time before you caught a glimpse of another shadow joining from behind him, and felt the head of someone else’s member smear precum along your lips. You opened, submitting completely to the moment, its shaft dipping in and out of your mouth, your tongue swirling over its slit and ridge. Saliva dribbled down your chin as fingers tangled in your hair, grabbing it roughly to shove his cock in further, letting it hit the back of your throat as you choked and gagged. Tears ran down your face, ruining the black liner and glitter you’d decorated it with.

The hands that had been wrapped around yours gave them a long, hard squeeze, as if to ask, “Are you okay?” His worry and concern was your very own personal S.O.S., if you needed it. You brushed your thumb against his knuckles reassuringly, and he did the same, giving you two light squeezes in response, trusting in your decision.

At this, his hips snapped against your ass harshly, balls slapping skin as his thrusts grew more desperate, matching the intensity with which you were being fucked in the mouth, like a wordless competition—one vying for your affection. He slammed into your sensitive spot repeatedly, the sensations overwhelming like never before as your eyes rolled back—demonic and possessed—and euphoric waves rippled through your body.

He continued railing you until he couldn’t hold it in anymore. You felt his eyes shut, his mouth twist into a frown as he muffled his groans into your neck. He tensed and staggered, emptying a thick, hot load into your spent hole, just as the person in front of you pulled out, finishing himself off onto your face.

You coughed, sputtering as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. His dick was still in you, twitching as he rode out his climax, stroking your thighs, your hips, your ribs, before settling back on the curve of your ass. He kneaded it gently as you felt him pull out; his hands coming to rest around your waist. Raising your arms behind you, you circled them around the back of his head, pushing his face into your hair as both of you lay there—still and quiet—panting heavily and covered in fluids, his cum trickling out of your heat. You felt the uneven, taut patches that littered his skin, along with the rise and fall of each other’s chests—an empty space in the cavity growing more deafening with each passing second in the sparse room.

The clock continued ticking until you finally decided to turn around, facing the man who had fucked you so hard you thought you might break. All at once, he drew closer, lips on lips, kissing you like he meant it. You kissed back sloppily, running your fingers through his sweat-drenched hair as he cupped your cheek—grasping, craving, needing more.

You didn’t know what to make of this connection he and you felt. The way his heart beat with loneliness, and yours responding in kind, whispering in a similar rhythm, “I’m here. I see you.” It was far more intimate than any experience you’d ever had in a darkroom. And you panicked.

Breaking away, you spotted a tuft of his matted blonde tresses, his sharp, brilliant blues, and your eyes darted towards the way out. Before he could speak, you got up, his hand catching your wrist, tugging, pulling—please, I want you, don’t go, please—until you snatched it back, and he let you.

You touched his face, thumb brushing across his bottom lip—swollen and weeping, a final ‘thank you’ for something special the two of you had shared. One where you lied to yourself, treating it as a mere passing moment in your life, fearing that anything more would ruin the illusion held together by anonymity. Picking your clothes up from the floor, you slipped off into the light and safety of crowds, ignoring the pang in your chest as the distance between you and him grew.

━━━━━━━━━━━

What if things had gone differently?

What if you had let him talk?

Say the words he wanted to say. Rip his chest open. Pour his heart out into your awaiting cup.

What if it was meant to be more?

What if, what if, all the what ifs.

You sat on your chair, legs crossed and pulled into your chest, thinking back to that encounter over and over again. A cheap desk fan blew hot, desert wind in your direction, its plastic blades rotating sluggishly, hardly helping in the current heatwave. Clumps of hair stuck to your forehead and the sides of your face as you closed your eyes, reminiscing his ghostly touch along your body, sore and aching, fighting fire with fire.

Five nights had passed, and you couldn’t get him out of your mind. It was three in the morning, you had work in a few hours, but he was all you could think about. During the day, you walked around in a vacant daze, and now, you were stoned, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what the hell happened.

You fucked yourself with your fingers, imagining it was him fucking you.

And then, Sunday came.

━━━━━━━━━━━

You saw him everywhere that night—through the tide of music, in the mirrored reflections, blonde locks catching the light, only to be let down. You didn’t know what he looked like, the only memory being a static cloud of darkness before your eyes, but somehow, you knew that you would be able to tell if it was him.

Like a moth to a flame, you made your way towards the darkroom, all the while hopelessly wondering if he would be there where you had found him last, waiting patiently, like a dog to its owner for their return. When you entered, a swarm of hands skimmed along your private parts—foreign and alien as you swallowed your disappointment, losing yourself in others’ company, though you had never felt more alone.

One more.

Another.

The next—

You’d recognize that touch anywhere. His calloused hands across your jaw—tentative, tracing your skin like scorched earth, his yearning fulfilled when you took his fingers into your mouth, coating them with your taste.

“It’s you…” he murmured, his velvety voice, laden with emotion, slipping into your ear, causing you to shudder.

His fingers slid out over the dip of your tongue as he replaced them with his lips, devouring yours fervently as if he couldn’t get enough of you. Knowing him was like a crime, but you gave yourself the permission to want him this way.

A jarring flash of light blinded you, followed by a burst of giggles, rudely interrupting your chance meeting. You whipped your head in its direction, shielding your eyes as you squinted at white powder vibrating on illuminated phone screens.

“Take your fucking drugs somewhere else!” someone yelled.

By the time you turned back, the light went out again, plunging you into utter darkness.

Did you lose your power of anonymity?

Had he seen you for who you were now?

Would he judge you like the rest?

You felt his hand in yours, light brushes against your inner palm in the secret language you shared. No, this wasn’t the right place for what you wanted, and you had to respect that—both of that.

Fuck feeling ashamed of your feelings.

You threw out your inhibitions, dragging him through the opening as he followed you into the light. You saw him clearly now, just as he saw you. Scars of all shapes and sizes across his body, matching the bumps you had felt in the dark—now laid bare and vulnerable in full public view.

You didn’t care, and he didn’t seem to either, clasping your face between his hands as he pushed you back, mouth squarely on yours, teasing it open. He hoisted your legs, hooking them around his waist as he buried his cock into you. Fucking you relentlessly against the wall, rugged concrete chafing skin as you jerked upwards, meeting his thrusts.

It was rushed, frantic, and hungry, like you would vanish before his very eyes at any minute. A new DJ set had started, drowning out your screams as you dug your nails into his shoulders, clawing angry, red marks into his skin. Trembling, feverish lips wet on your chest, sucking and leaving bites in flesh as others watched, or masturbated while they watched—voyeurs to your private scene.

You clung to each other, his grip bruising on the back of your thighs, not wanting to let go—not this time, not now, not ever. Funny how you found it comforting—the way he held your gaze, unflinching and calm, as you reached your high, like he was seeing right through you—melting flesh from bone, prying the cavern open to find a scared little rabbit, and the rage frothing at your teeth.

And you knew that he understood that feeling too.

He came in you soon after, muscles clenching as he pinned you to the wall, ropes of his release filling you deep. His breath escaped in loud rasps, stray strands of his bangs fluttering in the breeze.

“God… fuck…” he gasped, before his eyes found yours again, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile as he laughed.

You laughed back.

He set you down on the floor—your legs wobbly, gaze shy—exchanging soft caresses, oblivious to the rest of the world around you. You leaned in, kissing him spontaneously as you felt his smile against your lips.

“So, you got a name?”

“Mm-hmm.” He kissed you once more, exhaling it like a sigh—“Leon.”

And you didn’t feel like the magic was lost in any way.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Endnotes

Fyi, I created a playlist for Darkroom in case you want to check it out. All songs are from The xx and their music contributed a lot to the mood of this piece!

I also saw Timimie Märak, a poet, feminist, and Sámi queer activist, at a literary festival recently, and I really liked what they said: “The biggest lie we tell ourselves is that we should be ashamed of our feelings,” which has appeared in my fic above.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x gn!reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #gender neutral reader #resident evil #fic: darkroom #porcelainscribbles

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writerpeach · 1 year ago

Text

Overindulgent

IVE Jang Wonyoung x m!reader

14k+ words

---

Read on AFF

Read on AO3

“Chocolate or strawberry?”

It should have been a simple question to answer.

As simple as naming a favorite color, most people would have no trouble answering without hesitation, based on preference or what one was in the mood for. Milkshakes were the perfect treat, universally loved and the best thing to have on a hot summer day, especially after a grueling two-hour, forgettable class.

But most people weren’t Jang Wonyoung. “Two flavors? That’s all?”

Around her, nothing would ever be simple. If you asked her to name two numbers, she would find some justification to add a third.

“Sorry, princess,” you said with obvious mockery in your tone. “That’s all there is. But you can add toppings.”

“If one of those toppings isn’t mint, then I don’t---ugh, fine. Strawberry.”

Wonyoung audibly sighed when she grabbed her pink milkshake, sitting down at one of the white leather booths in the farthest possible corner from everything as could be.

She looked unsatisfied even before her first sip, and lifelessly stirred the creamy concoction, hoping to somehow conjure up something more appealing. Wonyoung had very specific tastes, and didn’t particularly care for stepping out of her comfort zone.

Watching for her reaction, Wonyoung made a loud slurp through her long red straw set amidst a sea of sugar. “How is it?”

“It’s too sweet.”

Of all the possibilities in the world, nothing prepared you for that one.

“It’s a milkshake…” you said with a furrowed brow.

Yujin introduced you to this particular place. Two straws, one big chocolate milkshake, and an elated look of bliss on her face later, and she was slurping it down until nothing but air filled her straw. So it was only natural that you’d invite Wonyoung here with the same expectations. That was your first mistake.

“Well, it’s too sweet.”

Incredible.

Being seated across the booth from Wonyoung felt like you were part of a failed science experiment, because every sip taken came with a different reaction, like she expected her opinion to change. When she wiped bits of whipped cream from her glossy lips, the growing disdain on her face didn’t disappear with it.

Who knew you'd located the sole person in the entire universe who disliked milkshakes? That alone was an achievement worthy of a medal or plaque to proudly display on the fireplace for all to see.

“Here, you finish it,” Wonyoung said, verging on demand as she slid it across the table next to your half-finished chocolate shake.

“But I already have one. And this is plenty,” you replied, taking a long sip, and savoring the sugary bliss to help ease the pain of your astonishment.

“Ugh, fine. Just throw it away. I paid for them both, but I don’t even want to look at it anymore.”

“No---wait. I’ll save it for Yujin. She loves sweet things.”

“Fine. It’s a good thing I brought my car then. Wouldn’t want it to melt. I’ve seen how much she enjoys swallowing creamy thick liquids down her throat…”

Something so uncharacteristic caught you off-guard. Jang Wonyoung was many things: bossy, spoiled, infuriating more times than you could count, but lewd jokes that sprang from nowhere without so much as a smirk? Not what you expected today.

Wonyoung slid out of the booth and made for the exit. You followed behind, both milkshakes in hand, and took turns sipping from each one, enjoying the unique flavors each brought.

“I can’t believe anyone likes those things. They’re just sugar.”

“That’s why everyone likes them. But that would assume our little princess actually knew how to enjoy anything.” That remark caught you in her deadly gaze, but you didn’t hold back the smile on your face, perhaps to your detriment.

“Keep that up and you’re walking home.”

“Oh, come on, princess. We both know you enjoy my company too much. It’s not my fault you can’t take a little joke.”

“Is that so?” Wonyoung entered her black, two-door sports car and closed the door with yet another icy glare. Seconds after, you grabbed the cold metal handle and opened it, to no avail. Without success, you tried again---but the door didn’t budge an inch. Tapping on the window proved as pointless as offering Wonyoung another sip of milkshake.

“Wonyoung---“ Ignoring any attempt you made to grab her attention, she instead revved the engine in succession and avoided your gaze with every stomp on the pedal.

Surely, she wouldn’t---

“Come on, this isn’t funny. Just open the door.” The door handle might as well have been fashioned out of paper and glued on, for as useless as it now was. After trying one last time, Wonyoung cracked open the window just enough to speak.

“It’s not my fault you can’t take a little joke.” That was the last thing you heard before her tires squealed and she sped off without looking back.

…she would.

Guess you were walking off all that ice cream.

You still couldn’t believe it. Wonyoung wasn’t a stranger to your teasing, but never took it so seriously before. On the plus side, at least the ice cream shop wasn’t more than a twenty-minute walk from your place. Well, it wasn’t exactly your place, and you just had the privilege of living in a luxurious high-rise apartment that had Wonyoung and Yujin’s names on the dotted line.

Ten minutes from campus, the loft came fully furnished with an always stocked fridge, a gorgeous pool, spacious bedrooms, and one of the best views you could ask for, while also saving you from the nightmares of dorm life.

Quite contrary to your first year of college spent in a shoe-box sized room, an uncomfortable bed, and a quiet, messy roommate, always there when you needed just a minute to yourself. It taught you a valuable lesson to never underestimate the value of privacy.

Maybe a stroke of luck that at the end of that semester from hell came your first encounter with Yujin. Tucked away in a secluded corner at the library, she recognized you from class and offered to help study. One study session grew into two, which turned into three, then led into several sessions over coffee every week, until you were seeing each other virtually every day.

Over time, the two of you got closer, meeting without the pretense of studying. Then one day, the books got tossed aside, and the only thing being studied was how far Yujin could ram her tongue down your mouth.

You learned early on how difficult it was to say no to Yujin. Whether you were in the middle of the library, taking up spots on the packed couches, the always crowded student center, or right by the administration office, no place was off-limits for an impromptu make-out session. Eventually, those steamy make-out sessions migrated to Yujin’s place, where your first encounter with her younger roommate Wonyoung took place with your pants and underwear around your ankles.

You didn’t know what was more awkward, the act of being caught in the middle of Yujin blowing you on the couch, or that Wonyoung stayed for the entire show. And that was your first lesson about Wonyoung and her voyeuristic tendencies.

The two of them were the best of friends and never strayed far from one another outside of class. But Wonyoung loved to watch your sex-crazed moments with Yujin, insisting that she wouldn’t get in the way or be noticeable. Which, true or not, could never be something you grew used to---the younger of the two sitting silently inches away, lurking like a cat in the shadows when you ate her out on the kitchen counter, while Yujin rode you on the couch, or whatever other outcome that ended with the both of you covered in sweat and panting heavily.

Months later, you were moving in at their behest, which made sense when you spent most of your time there. Any offerings to pay your fair share of rent were denied, as both of your new roommates were very well off with no financial concerns. Nevertheless, your infinite methods of pleasuring Yujin more than made up for it.

So after settling in, (which took some time for you to grow accustomed to waking up surrounded by luxury), you couldn’t be more thankful, not only being freed from the burdens of rent but also from the tortures of dorm living, and the three of you grew inseparable.

Mostly. Because when Wonyoung was in a bad mood, the whole universe knew about it. Making her the butt of jokes was your way of chipping away at that stuck up attitude, but it had never backfired quite spectacularly like this.

As you neared your shared loft, a tremendous sense of relief filled your body, but did little to dissipate the anger that pumped through your veins. Overheated, sweaty, and stuck holding a milkshake that no longer met that definition, the only thing that cooled your temper (quite literally), was the frigid blasts of air-conditioning that hit you when you stepped through the front door.

“Oh, look who it is. Enjoy the sun?” asked Wonyoung when you stepped inside, lying at the end of the L-shaped gray couch. Sporting a smug smile on her face, she folded her arms, and leaned back into the cushions, completely oblivious to the daggers you stared in her direction.

“Daddy, you’re home. Where were you?” Yujin asked as she approached closer, embracing you in her arms, and planted a kiss on your cheek. “You’re all sweaty. And you’re burning up, too.”

“Maybe you should ask her.” With gritted teeth, you stared a hole into the petite woman sprawled out on the couch cushions, face buried in her phone without a single care in the world.

“Wonyoung?”

“Yes, unnie?” she asked, reluctant to look up for even a moment. Too obsessed with her phone, Wonyoung wouldn’t even notice if the house was on fire.

“Weren’t you two together? Why did you make it home first by yourself? And why does daddy look like he just ran a marathon?”

“Hold on, I almost have enough jades for another pull.”

“Jang Wonyoung! Answer me. You’ve already spent enough money on that stupid game.”

“It’s not stupid, you’re just bad at it. Don’t be jealous because I have better characters than you.”

Yujin let out a heavy sigh while a frown formed on her face, torn between scolding Wonyoung or ensuring you were alright.

Meanwhile, you hurried to the refrigerator out of fear of passing out and downed a bottle of water, but left just enough liquid to pour over your head, running your fingers through wet hair to cool yourself off more.

“Daddy, what happened? Why are you so tired?” Yujin asked, entering the kitchen as she turned her attention away from Wonyoung.

“Because this fucking brat ditched me.”

“Listen here, asshole---“ Wonyoung finally sat up from her phone, tossed it aside and clenched her fists, the swelling rage in her eyes overtaking her body.

“Hey, stop that. Both of you,” Yujin said, rapidly losing control of the situation. That sweet voice of hers could soothe an entire forest fire, but here, it held zero sway when your bickering became like two rams butting heads.

“What’s the matter, princess? Your servants haven’t arrived to cook your five star meal and clean your throne?”

“Daddy, that’s enough,” Yujin warned, trying to tug at your arm while making herself a barrier between the two of you.

“I don’t get what you’re upset about. Don’t you love the outdoors? Like when you made me walk in the woods for hours? I told you, I hate bugs.”

“What a shocker, you hate everything! Rain, milkshakes, anything that isn’t you being pampered---“

“Enough!” Yujin said as she slammed her fists on the kitchen counter, making the cabinets shake. “You’re both in university, aren’t you? Or did you suddenly enroll in preschool? Because you’re both acting like children.”

The house grew eerily silent. After getting a second bottle of water, you leaned against the refrigerator and sipped it silently as your body tensed up.

“Wonyoung, I want you to apologize,” Yujin said, lowering her voice as she tried to control the chaos.

“What?” she scoffed, sinking back into the couch as she squeezed her phone tight. “Why? I didn’t do anything.”

Yujin clenched her jaw as she took a deep breath. “Apologize. Now.”

“Of course, you always take sides with him. Just because daddy has a nice cock doesn’t mean you have to agree with everything he says.”

“This isn’t about sides. This is about resolving a situation that I wasn’t there to handle. I want both of you to apologize. You’ve both been living together far too long to have childish arguments like this.”

“Absolutely not. I won’t apologize when I haven’t done anything wrong,” Wonyoung murmured as she stormed towards her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Yujin rubbed her temple in frustration. “I can’t deal with this right now. I have class in thirty minutes and I haven’t even eaten lunch yet.”

Gathering her things up, Yujin stuffed them into her bag before slinging it over her shoulder. After giving you one last kiss on the forehead, she turned towards the door. “Sorry, daddy. I know it wasn’t your fault. She’s just like this sometimes. She’s still so young, it’s been one of her traits I thought she’d grow out of…”

“It’s fine, Yujin. I’ll let her calm down, then try to talk things out with her. I shouldn’t have pushed so many buttons.”

“Thanks, daddy. Just try not to kill each other while I’m gone, okay?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all I can ask.” Yujin’s radiating smile put out any last remnants of anger you had, with the door closing a signal of her departure. Seeking refuge on the couch, you plopped down, kicked your shoes off, and relaxed into the pillows, the first chance of relaxation since your alarm went off. If it wasn’t early afternoon and you didn't have any studying to do, you would open one of the more fancy bottles of wine that was calling your name from the kitchen cabinet.

Instead, you opted for something more mundane and grabbed the remote, accepting whatever suggestion the TV app doled out, even if you settled with background noise to help relax.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Wonyoung repeated louder and shook your shoulder, waking you up from an unexpected, unplanned nap that left you in a haze, unable to even discern what hour it was.

“What?” you sleepily asked, rubbing your eyes while you returned back to consciousness. The lack of proper sleep caught up with you, and the past hour didn’t help one bit.

“Can you turn it down a little? I’m trying to study, and you’re making that difficult.”

Not even fully awake, the last thing you wanted to hear was Wonyoung’s voice, let alone more complaints. It would be effortless to indulge what she asked, but you had no intentions to do anything about the noise. It was the last thing she deserved.

“And your loud voice is making it difficult for me to sleep,” you blurted out, unable to hide your annoyance. “I didn’t know you studied. I thought you just complained and bossed people around.”

Wonyoung maintained her steely gaze, tone calm and collected, a vast difference from before. “You have a bedroom, you know. Upstairs? Ugh, I’m not here to argue. I have a test on Friday that’s twenty percent, which is bullshit. I can’t fail it.”

“Then maybe you should go back to studying,” you said, disregarding her attempts to make eye contact.

“What do you think I’ve been trying to do?” Wonyoung asked, rolling her eyes. “How am I supposed to get any studying done if you keep interrupting with your---whatever the hell this is you’re watching…”

Ignoring her was the only suitable option. You shifted your body sideways with hopes to elude her, only allowing furtive glances while focused on the screen. No matter what, you could still feel her presence looming while doing everything to avoid another heated argument.

Unable to stand still for a moment, Wonyoung interrupted the silence with a huff, a sign of surrender as she joined you on the couch and tucked her long legs underneath her. Grabbing a pillow from behind, she squeezed it, using it as stress relief when pressed against her chest. “You know, sometimes you can be a bit of an ass.”

You found it impossible not to laugh and eventually gave her the attention she didn’t deserve. “I know I didn’t just hear a spoiled little brat tell me what type of person I am.”

“I’m not always the nicest person, I’ll admit that,” Wonyoung muttered, sinking her head back into the pillows. Finally, something you could both agree on. But it still didn’t excuse her earlier actions.

“Is this your way of apologizing?“ you asked, and the way she looked at you resembled like you had just asked her to strip naked in front of you.

“You think I’m going to apologize?”

“No, because I know you’re not capable of ever admitting you were wrong.”

“That’s because I’m never wrong.” Wonyoung took a deep breath and let it out slowly to bring her composure under control. “If you thought I was going to get on my knees and beg for forgiveness, that’s not happening.”

Wonyoung might have had all the money in the world, but it couldn’t buy an apology. “But I’m sure you’re used to getting on your knees.”

Her mouth dropped open, and you almost had an immediate regret for delivering such a low blow---almost. Fueled by anger, Wonyoung flung a pillow at your head, but you dodged it with ease, laughing at what a pathetic throw it was.

“You really are an asshole sometimes.”

Who needed an apology when you could see such a pissed off look on Wonyoung’s pretty face? It was the most irate you had ever seen her, a pure ball of fury; trembling fists, clenched jaw, and a death stare that could cut through diamonds.

“Oh, did I upset the princess again?”

“Stop calling me th---you know what, you’re not worth my time,” Wonyoung breathed out, narrowing her eyes before rising to her feet.

“And that’s your problem, princess.”

“What?” she asked, taking a step forward and balled her fists as she pivoted to confront you, letting you see the rage up close on her features.

“Nobody is worth your time. You don’t care about anything or anyone but yourself, unless it benefits you some shape or fashion.”

“That’s not true, how the fuck would you know what I care about? Just because we’ve lived together for months doesn’t mean you know anything about me.”

“You’ve got a mouth on you princess. That’s not like you.”

“I said don’t call me that!”

“Or what?” Following suit, you stood up, matching her height and then some. “You’ll cry about it? Complain some more?”

Wonyoung didn’t utter a word. Her anger boiled over, and without warning, she smacked you across the face, leaving both a sting and a smile across your face.

“That’s it, princess, let it all out.” Without retaliation, you let her inch forward, backing you up until you were pressed up against the living room wall. Wonyoung was hardly a threat. Her tall, but petite figure wasn’t remotely intimidating, and the closer she got, the more anger you could see in her eyes. Your smile widened as she delivered a harsher slap to your face, but you seized her delicate wrist to prevent a third, until eventually you let go, which provoked her to strike your cheek once again.

Those slaps only had as much power as her anger, with no remorse behind them, and the only reason you didn’t stop her was the see the explosive wrath in her pretty round eyes. The option to defuse the situation existed whenever you deemed it necessary, as simple as either picking her slender body up to toss her on the couch, or escorting her back to her room, whatever made her stop acting like such a pedantic little brat.

But testing Wonyoung’s limited patience became a game to you, until it snapped like the flimsiest of threads, letting her pretend she had the upper hand. The sting on your cheek only encouraged you to toy with her, adding fuel to the fires of rage.

Her little chest heaved as she recovered from the barrage of slaps, heart beating loud enough for you to hear. “Feel better?”

“Not even close.”

“Then hit me again. Come on, princess, Yujin isn’t here to save you. Why don’t you give it your all and make them hurt?”

Upping the agitation by repeatedly pointing at your cheek, you could do this all day. Because, god she made things far too easy.

“No. Like I said, you’re not---worth---it.”

The more she repeated that, the more you doubted it. Because Wonyoung could have backed away, retreated to her bedroom, the kitchen, the pool, literally anywhere else. Yet, she kept her feet planted firmly where she was, face to face so close that you could see your own reflection in her eyes.

And while you were so near, you could map out her perfect features, from her pink glossy lips to her typically bright eyes filled with fury, and everything in between. “You know, you’re pretty when you’re angry.”

The corners of her mouth twitched. Contrary to what you expected, Wonyoung’s intense gaze softened, and her fists relaxed until her breathing began to stabilize. You knew how to strike her weakness, that a simple compliment would douse her red hot rage and stroke her ego, even if she wouldn’t admit it.

“D-don’t even start,” she said, but you could hear how flustered she became, how shaky her voice sounded. Another step and your foreheads would have touched, close enough already that you could smell the berries from her shampoo.

Wonyoung froze as a wave of emotions ran through her. You easily got lost in her lingering gaze, wondering what exactly went on behind those beautiful dark eyes. “That’s what you love, right? Being told how pretty you are?”

“Shut up. I don’t need compliments.”

Oh, but she did. Jang Wonyoung was a terrible liar and loved being showered in compliments almost as much as she loved arguing. You knew that vanity was her weak spot, and you planned to exploit that vulnerability.

“Answer me, princess. Do you like being called pretty?”

“I thought I told you to shut up, didn’t I?”

“What are you going to do if I---“

Before you could finish speaking, Wonyoung shoved you up against the wall and pressed her luscious lips against yours with surprising force. All that rage and resentment transformed into pure, unadulterated lust, which made you forget what you were even mad about in the first place.

The sweet taste of Wonyoung’s soft lips became the only thing that preoccupied your mind, alongside how your tongues danced in each other’s mouth, and how badly you wanted one thing---her.

With all rational thoughts and logic thrown out, you lifted Wonyoung’s petite frame up off the ground, snaked your arms around her tiny little waist and reclaimed control by press-ing her up against the wall. As the kiss kept going, Wonyoung tugged at your hair, trying to get any little advantage she could, but you didn’t let it distract you from exploring the soft curves of her tight body, and moved down to grab her ass, squeezing firmly as the both of you fought to deepen the kiss.

Breaking apart for air, you could see the rosy hues visible on her cheeks, those round eyes no longer filled with fury, but deep desire. And then you dove right back in for round two, lips parted once more, while hands roamed bodies and lips smacked, eager to keep her taste lingering in your mouth. When you kneaded Wonyoung’s ass harder, she moaned in your mouth, and you could feel every little touch making her tight body tremble.

She leaned forward to rest her forehead against yours, breath warm against your face. “God, you’re so annoying. I hate how good of a kisser you are.”

“And you’re such a brat.”

“But you like brats. Isn’t that right, daddy?”

“You don’t get to call me that.”

“Aw, is daddy getting mad again? Wait, where’s Yujin?” Wonyoung had been so caught up in the moment that she hadn’t even realized her closest friend and roommate hadn’t been there in hours.

“She went to class. Should probably be back soon.”

“Class? Yujin doesn’t have classes today.” Wonyoung raised her eyebrow, tilting her head in suspicion. “So that means…”

“She won’t be back for a while,” you said, putting the pieces together. Wonyoung giggled before leaning in once more to steal another kiss. You let her lead for a moment, and ran fingertips up the small of her back, tracing the hot skin while keeping her weight against the wall. Then, while those tiny gasps continued, you moved down her neck, kissing all the exposed skin you could find.

“Ah, that’s good, but---put me down.”

“Why?” Unfazed by the tone of voice, you continued to pepper her skin with kisses, motivated by the breathless moans she kept letting out.

“You really have to ask? Because I’m going to suck your dick, dummy.”

That sudden shift of mood could only make you grin from ear to ear. Clearly, Yujin must have been rubbing off on her, because something so blatant wasn’t like Wonyoung.

“You’re so demanding,” you said, taking one more chance to kiss and suck at her delicate neck. Biting lightly, that elicited another moan from her as her head fell back against the wall, long raven locks flowing down her shoulders.

“Do you want my mouth on your cock or not?”

“Did I say no, you fucking brat?” Pulling Wonyoung away from the wall, you set her back down in what wouldn’t fit any definition of gentle. Before you knew it, she dropped to her knees in front of you, and her hands began sliding up and down the legs of your pants.

Wonyoung looked nothing but eager on her knees as she bit on her bottom lip, and stared up through bright eyes that held lust, with her fluffy cheeks turning a lighter shade of pink. Before she did anything else, you tugged one strap of her dress as her eyes stayed stubbornly locked on yours. “Take this off first, princess.”

You weren’t so sure how compliant Wonyoung would be. The expectation would be not at all, but then she passed that first test, lowered each strap down her bare shoulders, and furled her dress down to her waist without breaking eye contact, which left her cute chest adorned by nothing but a candy pink bra.

In all of your time living together, you never saw that much of her creamy skin, usually covered up. That flat tummy, slender waist, and those small, perky tits only made you crave more, but you couldn’t let greed dictate your actions---at least not yet.

“Cute bra.”

“Thanks. But that’s all you get for now. Daddy.” The more Wonyoung used that word to annoy you, the more it seemed to fit, like it rolled off her tongue involuntarily and became less and less mocking with each usage.

Things moved too fast to comprehend. Moments ago, you were at each other’s throats, with your relationship being threatened. And now, Wonyoung proudly stayed on her knees, fingers playing with your zipper with a look of submission that promised something unforgettable. While she tugged your pants down, you saved time by discarding your shirt, smiling at how Wonyoung couldn’t take her eyes off your freshly exposed chest, palming your crotch while practically drooling over your body.

“You’re staring, princess.”

"Oh, I know," she replied, grazing your abdomen with her fingertips before kissing where she had been studying your torso, the softness of her lips on bare skin making your breath hitch. Her mouth left a trail of hot kisses along your stomach, and then licked a stripe up the crotch of your boxers just to make you twitch, building up more anticipation.

“You have such a nice body. I see why Yujin likes you so much.”

“Dashing good looks, charming personality, a high GPA, about two dozen other reasons…”

Wonyoung rolled her eyes and slipped her fingers into the waistband of your underwear, testing your patience, and didn’t dare let her eye contact drop. “Your dick is really hard, daddy. It looks so big, I can’t wait to see what Yujin has been keeping to herself.”

A quick tug later, and you were the first one naked in the open, standing in a heap of discarded clothes while your cock ached for attention. Wonyoung’s pretty eyes widened at the reveal of your cock, and she felt your erection spring to life the instant she grabbed it, forming a tight fist with all of her long, veiny fingers.

“Your dick feels so nice, daddy. You’re like, really hard. It’s like a fucking rock,” Wonyoung giggled when she stroked your length, running her icy hands across your swelling shaft, which instantly caused a bundle of soft moans at her touch. With her watching the spiraling pleasure in your eyes, every little stroke made you twitch between her nimble fingers, distracting you from anything else while she both pumped your shaft and gently caressed your balls.

“Fuck, you’re so huge. Look how small my hands look when I stroke your cock…” The way she said almost sounded like a whine, which given the source, wasn’t unexpected. As Wonyoung spent more time introducing herself to your cock, she planted a chaste kiss on your cockhead, earning herself another groan at your expense.

“I can’t believe you’ve both been hiding this dick from me.”

Wonyoung admired every aspect of your throbbing shaft, cupping your balls with her free hand while she kept a firm grip on whatever could fit in between her fingers. She tightened that grip and began to explore your length with her hungry tongue, mapping out your erection from base to tip just enough to get your cock wet, then took needy little licks against your swollen tip, claiming any drops that leaked from your slit.

“Such a beautiful cock. And now it’s all mine.’’ Then, without warning, Wonyoung parted her sultry, inviting lips, bringing your shaft into the warmth of her awaiting mouth and sealed them tight around your aching cock.

“Princess---“ you managed to groan out, toes curling into the rug underneath. The biggest spike of pleasure came when those glossy lips sealed around your cockhead, making your head tilt back in ecstasy as her warm, impatient mouth went to work. That lust-filled gaze kept you trapped as she sucked you off with her impossibly soft lips, slowly at first, drawing out every groan before bobbing her head faster, and focused on every reaction you made while her cheeks hollowed.

When Wonyoung felt your hips beginning to buck, she pulled you even further inside her throat, and her tongue began to playfully tease the underside of your shaft, driving you further down the edge of insanity. “Princess, my god---that feels incredible.”

“Of course it does. You’d think I’d ever be bad at something?” Wonyoung chuckled, flashing a confident smile as she painted your length with her tongue, then traced the veins of your shaft while enjoying the way you let out short gasps when she found your favorite spot. She flicked against it several times until returning you to her mouth, and you desperately tried to stop yourself from pushing into her throat---a losing battle before it started.

“You look so pretty sucking my dick, princess. That mouth feels---so---fucking---good,“ you groaned, and praise only had its benefits as Wonyoung reached for your balls once more, fondling them with the gentlest of touches and teased them with her slender fingers. Within moments, she found that sweet spot that you thought only Yujin knew about, which made every throb that much more overwhelming in its intensity.

“Your balls feel so heavy, daddy. Isn’t Yujin draining them enough?” Wonyoung asked, letting her enveloping lips slide with ease over your shaft, almost to the end of your base.

Quite the opposite, because while Wonyoung showered first thing in the morning, Yujin milked a massive load out of you, counting out every single time she edged you until you exploded in her hands. And then another one right before her first class, emptying you into her mouth while you ate her out.

“Do you really think that?”

“No, of course not,” Wonyoung said, shaking her head. “Pretty sure I could hear you moaning her name when I was in the shower. You’re cute when you beg.”

“I wasn’t beg---“ The warm mouth back on your cock shut you up when you hit the back of Wonyoung’s tightening throat for the first time, nearly toppling you over with pleasure. Your legs trembled as she worked her mouth with more fervor, keeping you buried down her throat just long enough to give you the satisfaction desired before coming up for air.

This girl knew just how to earn that praise. Her wet little tongue darted out from between her lips to swirl around the tip of your cock, flicking around in perfect circles around the delicate underside of your shaft, then combined it with tender kisses, soft licks, and hot breath to target that ultra-sensitive spot you knew she didn’t learn on her own. But fuck, it felt so good that you didn’t care how she found it. Not when Wonyoung kept you on edge and shifted her concentration to your balls that hadn’t been given nearly enough attention. She eagerly teased them with sloppy licks until she slipped them one at a time into her mouth, and kept a hand pumping your rock-hard cock, only to lick back up your length to swallow you up once more.

“Oh my god, princess. That pretty mouth does more than just complain,” you said, pushing your luck further than you had any right to, and you wouldn’t be surprised if Wonyoung left you in the middle of the living room with your pants around your ankles. Thankfully, she didn’t, and kept the train of bliss moving, determined to coat your cock with all of her spit and lip gloss.

“What do you think Yujin would say if she saw me on my knees blowing her daddy?”

“I think she’d say you should do a better job.”

“Asshole. You really want me to stop, don’t you?”

“No, but I can tell you’re not going to with how much you’re also enjoying this.” Wonyoung really couldn’t argue with that no matter how much she wanted to, and put that energy into keeping her lips down your cock, ensuring a constant, messy trail of saliva.

“I’ll enjoy it all day if it means you stay quiet.”

If that’s all it took, then she should have offered that from the very start. Because more than you liked to admit, her mouth drove you fucking crazy, like in a way you’d drop out of university and commit crimes to get a blowjob like this. Not quite like Yujin, who had a several page long resume of blowjob techniques that involved more than just her tongue and lips, but everything Wonyoung did was more than enough to keep you from thinking straight.

Your entire body jolted after every slurp and lick, and Wonyoung took advantage of how easy it was to tease you. Her magical hands explored your body, caressing your thighs, your ass, and anywhere else she could without losing her focus.

“Hmph. You really don’t think I’m as good as Yujin?”

That jealous trait of hers always liked to creep up, because Wonyoung couldn’t stand being second best at anything. You couldn’t lie to her either, because as good as she was at devouring your cock---Yujin would always be next level.

“No. Sorry, princess, but it’s not even close.”

You could see the disappointment in Wonyoung’s face, but she instead turned that discouragement into eagerness, moving her mouth down your length to swallow every last inch up. It only proved your point when she gagged after holding your cock down her throat for far longer than she was used to.

“For starters, you’re nowhere near sloppy enough.”

Wonyoung sighed through gritted teeth as she stroked you, placing wet kisses alongside your throbbing cock. “Then help me out. Make me sloppier.”

Letting out a devilish grin that plastered your face, you leaned closer and slid your hand through her raven black hair, yanking with enough force to tilt her head back, which gave easier access to that perfect mouth.

“It would be my pleasure, princess,” you said as you leisurely stroked your cock in front of Wonyoung’s angelic face, while her big doe eyes stared longingly up at you. It was enough to make you explode just by looking at those gorgeous features.

“Daddy---“ she whined as you relieved yourself by rubbing your swollen cockhead on those full red lips, using your pre-cum as a replacement lip gloss.

“Didn’t I say you don’t get to use that?”

“But daddy likes it when I call you that, don’t you? Daddy…” Always trying to get under your skin, even in a moment like this. But unexpectedly, that one word caused more damage than you thought, and Wonyoung had grown addicted to using it already, with no any pretense or hesitation.

“Want daddy to fuck my mouth. Come on, I know you wanna shove it down my throat and shut me up. I’ve been such a naughty little brat, won’t you do something about that?”

Wonyoung leaning into her brat persona was not something you predicted, but when she put it that way, what were brats if not something to be punished? It wouldn’t hurt to oblige her, given that she wouldn’t give up until she got her way regardless, but you at least needed something in return.

“I’ll make you gag on this dick, but let me see those cute tits, princess.”

An innocent smile overtook her face as she reached behind her back to comply, tugging on the clasp of her bra, heightening your expectations. “Okay, daddy.”

This iteration of Wonyoung, in this submissive and obedient state was far superior, and you’d expect her to do what you asked at this stage, devoid of any backtalk or snarky comments.

“Daddy, your cock,” Wonyoung pleaded, eyes narrowing while she gave the full reveal of her chest, letting her breasts free as you reached forward to touch them and squeezed each, flicking both pretty nipples as they hardened underneath your fingertips.

“This was what you wanted. Now give me what I want. Give me that cock, want it to fill my little mouth.“

“I didn’t hear a please. That’s what good girls use.”

“But I’m not a good girl. So give me what I want, daddy.“

Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t resist Wonyoung anymore as she licked her lips in anticipation---how could you resist a beautiful girl on her knees, begging for your cock? When her pouty lips parted, ready to take in your cock again, you wasted no time and plunged deep down her throat, easily hitting the back of it in one swift motion.

Wonyoung immediately gagged on your length, but you didn’t allow her to adjust as you repeatedly bottomed out her throat before you pulled out, watching how her lips desperately chased your cock. “Daddy, no. Don’t hold back, I can take it. Use my mouth like a toy---please."

A request you would easily oblige, but first, you used your cock to slap her pretty face numerous times before turning her mouth into a helpless vessel for your pleasure. Indulging both of your desires, you began to slam your hips into her face with a harsh grip on her head, tangling your fingers up in her pretty locks.

“That’s it, princess, keep that fucking mouth open. You wanted daddy to fuck your throat like this, right? You wanted me to make you choke on this cock?”

She nodded best as she could, and you loved hearing her gag and struggle on your shaft, especially when her eyes begged for more as you kept the weight of your cock stuffed down Wonyoung’s throat, defiling such a pretty piece of artwork, a spoiled, rotten, defiant brat.

The entire day’s worth of frustrations channeled into your hips as you carried out your merciless facefuck, with every punishing thrust leaving your cock dripping wet with Wonyoung’s slippery drool. For once, you had peace---no complaining, no more whining, just loud gags and messy slurps filling the room.

If only Yujin could see you now---(she’d probably say you weren’t being rough enough).

Wonyoung’s divine mouth felt amazing before, but nowhere like this. It was as if her mouth was made to be used, a pretty plaything for your disposal, a sloppy wet hole designed for your pleasure that struggled to breathe. Her innocent, modelesque visuals that won the genetic lottery became sullied with saliva, ruining her perfectly applied makeup, and made its way down to her expensive necklace before sliding down her enticing cleavage.

You weren’t sure how you were ever intimidated by such a tall, leggy goddess, when all it took was a little praise and an offering between your legs for her to fold like a deck of cards. Even comical, you could call it, and you couldn’t imagine how needy she would get once you had your fingers in her cunt.

“My fucking god, Wonyoung,” you growled, palming her head tight, fucking her mouth into a frenzy of gags and spit that sent you deeper into an uncontained spiral of lust. “Your bratty fucking mouth feels too good.”

With her jaw overworked and tears streaming down her pale, flushed cheeks, Wonyoung could only respond by squeezing your thighs she held onto as you pounded into her throat relentlessly. No longer did she resemble the beautiful, innocent doll she presented herself to be, but instead a beautiful drooling mess of spit trying to fight through her gag reflex that kept your cock wet and warm.

After one more strong thrust from your hips, you held her gorgeous face down at your base, ensuring not a single inch of cock wasn’t held down her struggling throat balls deep. Your fingers dug into her scalp as her cute nose pressed against your abdomen, and you watched intently how her eyes watered more and more the longer you held her there, refusing to give a single ounce of mercy.

Wonyoung let out a gag so loud with her throat consuming your cock that you almost exploded then and there, but forced yourself to hold on. As much as you wanted, you couldn’t blow a load in her mouth without at least getting a chance to see that tight, impeccable body bare naked. Despite that, you pushed her firmly into your crotch just a little longer, making her mouth fill up with spit and her eyes water even more so until you pulled away.

When you withdrew your cock away from her wet, swollen lips, Wonyoung gasped for air as thin strings of saliva kept your shaft connected to her satisfied smile, tongue flicking at your cock with a whimper.

“Don’t stop on my account. I can take much more,” she said, those tear-filled eyes looking on with determination.

“Yeah, but---I can’t.” Wonyoung let out a giggle before grabbing your cock drenched with her saliva, and jerked you off, every pump threatening to send you past release.

“Are you going to paint my face then, daddy?” she asked, tempting fate by planting several kisses on the top of your cockhead.

“Not a chance, princess. My load belongs inside your cunt.”

Needing a moment, you stepped out of the pile of clothes underneath you and helped Wonyoung rise to her feet, taking her by the wrist to guide her towards the couch. Nothing about her resembled elegance any longer---disheveled hair, ruined makeup, and a face covered in saliva was the ideal formula to put her in her place. And all it took was a cock jammed down her throat.

“Are you going to fuck me now?” Wonyoung asked, still recuperating from having her throat fucked raw. She tried to find some comfort in your eyes, but all she saw was your stern expression, leaving her to wonder whether you would make her feel even more desperate than she already did.

“That all depends on you, princess. How about you finish taking that dress off for me?”

“Yes, daddy.” Again, Wonyoung was just concerned about following instructions at this point, and tugged that expensive dress down off her hips around her ankles, kicking it away. Your eyes watched every move she made with bated breath as she laid down on the couch, and every last inch of those slender legs that went on for days stretched across the cushions, leaving one final barricade between your desires.

“Your body is fucking perfect, princess,” you said, joining her on the couch with your eyes roaming a path of creamy skin from head to toe, and you took in the beauty of her flawless physique, unsure where was most deserving of your attention.

“Thank you, daddy. Do you want these off too?” Wonyoung asked as she slipped fingers into the waistband of her skimpy panties that matched her discarded bra.

“No, princess. That’s my job.”

Only that tiny piece of fabric separated you from seeing that tight naked body in its full splendor, but you were going to take your time savoring that reveal. Such an impeccable body like Wonyoung’s deserved to be worshiped from head to toe, so no better place to start than that as you grabbed one of her pristine feet and planted a kiss at the ball of it.

Spending as much time as you could without going overboard, you massaged her soft soles, then peppered them in kisses before you moved on to kiss her perfectly pedicured toes, each one painted with a black polish that contrasted the paleness of her skin.

“You’re kissing my feet?” Wonyoung asked, almost incredulous in her tone, but showed no signs of discomfort.

“Why wouldn’t I be? They’re very pretty. Just like the rest of you.”

“I…just didn’t know that was your thing. You know, I’ve had guys pay me to do this before. You’re much better at it.”

“Every part of you is my thing. I just wanna touch and taste your entire body.”

With a flushed glow returning back to her cheeks, you continued pressing kisses all over Wonyoung’s feet, and slid your lips into her delicate arches, not missing a spot. As you slowly worked your way up, you ran your hands up her creamy legs that could be considered a work of art on their own, and gave them the proper attention they deserved, kissing in between gentle caresses until you stopped just shy of her clothed center.

Wonyoung drew in a heavy breath as your fingers grazed over her panties, and whenever you pressed into her core, you could feel hints of wetness that she couldn’t hide. The gratification she craved wouldn’t be given easily however, and you planned on making her earn it as you gave her milky thighs a series of slow, deliberate kisses, making good on your word to taste all of her until they began to part like the gates of heaven, awaiting your touch.

You dragged out every moment, every chance to heighten Wonyoung’s arousal, which gave you all the time in the world to continue worshiping her body. One lick against the prominent damp spot at the center of her panties and she melted, begging for more when you licked a second and third time, the fabric darkening with every teasing lick.

“D-daddy,” Wonyoung gasped, but you ignored her and focused on tasting more sweet arousal through those thin panties, coming up with new ways to tease her while keeping a hand firmly stroking her soft thighs,

“Quiet, princess. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“But I want you to taste me. Need your mouth on me, daddy. Don’t tease me, I hate it.”

Wonyoung bit onto her bottom lip, knowing she made a mistake by showing too much vulnerability, which meant you would prolong her pleasure even further. Still, she didn’t seem to care, even while the wetter her pretty panties became, the more inclined you were to build up that frustration more and more.

“Needy fucking brat.”

You would tease her all day if you had to.

“Shut up, just---please.” Who could have imagined that Wonyoung would ever plead this much, and all it took was teasing your fingers dangerously close to her pussy. As much as you enjoyed encouraging the needy look on her face, you much preferred to get rid of those useless panties, so after giving them a quick tug down the never-ending runaway that made up her legs, you rewarded yourself with the priceless treasure of Wonyoung’s gorgeous, wet little pussy.

Never had you seen something so beautiful, almost as much Wonyoung herself. The exposure of her clean shaven cunt transcended your expectations, well worth every second of waiting. Her thighs led a path to nirvana that your fingertips traveled up to her wet, glistening slit, daring to slip in but backing out at the last moment.

“Your pussy is so fucking pretty, princess.”

The flustered blush on her face had never looked so vivid when you traced her folds, collecting her slick on your fingertips and kept her under your control. Wonyoung still tried to chase your fingers, displaying her desperation with her hips, while her body begged for more attention.

“Daddy, please,” she murmured, but you ignored her pleas, continuing to torment, bringing her already escalated arousal levels sky high. “Need your fingers in me. Need you to touch me, need you to taste me.”

“What’s wrong, princess?” you asked in a mocking tone. “You don’t like when daddy teases you like this?”

Wonyoung shook her head furiously at your question, but all you did was stall further to create more anticipation, letting the quiet linger, which worked wonders to turn her into a mess of frustrated desire.

“Daddy. Daddy---daddy, please.” That was all you needed to finally succumb, and slid two fingers deep inside of her hot, wet depths. Wonyoung let out a loud gasp of ecstasy, digging her nails into the fabric of the couch cushions beneath her.

With just enough room for two fingers, you pumped into her enticing wet heat and wondered how you'd ever be able to fit your cock inside of her. A good problem to have.

“Daddy!” she cried out, arching her back higher than expected, and clenched around your hilted fingers.

“Look at you, princess. So fucking wet, and all it takes is a couple fingers inside your pretty cunt for you to stop being a brat?”

You weren’t putting in the full effort to stretch her out, but you could hear how wet Wonyoung was, your fingers doused in slick within seconds as you steadily pumped inside.

“Sh-shut up, I’m not that needy.”

“Oh, really? I guess I’ll stop then.” You couldn’t help but laugh when you withdrew your fingers from her wetness, hearing cries of desperation from at the loss of your fingers that you sucked clean. “Fuck, you taste good.”

“D-daddy, no---” she said, as you made a show of slurping her juices off your fingers. “Please put your fingers back inside me. It feels good. N-need more.”

“But I thought you weren’t needy?”

“Shut up, just---please, do what you were doing.”

You should have made Wonyoung beg more given she was so adept at it before you shoved your fingers back inside her warm cunt, but it was hard to waste time on that when all you wanted was that delicious taste of hers, straight from the tap.

In no time flat, you plunged back in knuckle-deep, but didn’t dare dream of adding a third, when two fingers became a struggle as is. She groaned as her slick folds swallowed you up and emitted those sweet sounds of bliss when your fingers curled after the apex of every thrust. You couldn’t wait any longer, and made your first lick up Wonyoung's wet slit while you kept two fingers buried in her, looking up every so often to see the pure ecstasy written across her face, as you inhaled her unforgettable aroma.

“Fuck, eat me, daddy, please eat my pussy. I need that tongue, just---” Wonyoung’s pleas bordered on demand at this point, yet you were happy to oblige her, and licked long stripes up and down her pussy, savoring the unforgettable sweet taste of her cunt as you cleaned up her wet folds,

Your mouth on her wet cunt acted like a pendulum that kept her back and forth between needy and domineering, whining with one series of licks, then grabbing the back of your head with the next. Either way, you didn’t really care which side she landed on, as long as you could keep the sweet, decadent taste on your lips and you didn’t let a single part of her pussy remain unexplored.

“God, you’re so fucking delicious,” you said as you grabbed hold of her thighs to draw her lithe body closer, then flicked against her clit before sealing your lips around it just long enough to build up pleasure, until you were right back where you started, making her eager hips frantically chase your tongue.

Wonyoung tasted like the most intoxicating mix of tangy sweetness you ever had, and just a single drop of her nectar was enough to bring out the ravenous animal inside you. Insatiable for more, your tongue drowned in her sweet juices, and you drank it all up while you wandered through her drenched folds, and made sure to not let a single spot go to waste.

Once more, you aimed for her swollen clit and latched your lips around it, using as much suction as your mouth would allow, with no plans on stopping until your appetite was appeased. While you devoured Wonyoung’s juicy pussy, her long fingers tugged at your hair, returning the favor from earlier, and urged your mouth to stay on her, to maintain such harsh suction that ignited more of her cute, unceasing moans.

“Fuck, you’re good at that, keep eating my pussy,” she said, with unending demand in her voice, and you welcomed the pain that came from fingers pulling at your hair, keeping you buried between her legs. Her hips began to gyrate on your face as you kept her taste lingering on your tongue, and every lick and slurp against her needy clit brought a new set of noises, while the satisfaction multiplied on her face.

Still, you couldn’t believe how good she tasted, and how cute she sounded when you ate her out. Wonyoung’s cries became louder, much sharper, but you refused to relent, suckling on her clit with such harshness that made her thighs quiver around your head as she desperately yearned for release. You swore Wonyoung might pull out strands of your hair, though you wouldn’t care when all you could hear was her ragged breathing and needy whines from her mouth as you did everything to bring her over that edge, making her squirm underneath you, hips bucking in a pattern that followed your tongue.

“D-daddy, fuck, daddy,” Wonyoung moaned out, and when you looked up with your lips secured around her clit, you could see her pant harder and harder as you tried to expedite the inevitable.

Nothing compared to how Wonyoung looked moments before climax. Your tongue swirled and flicked over the sensitive nub, then sealed around it one more time, harshly sucking on it to bring her to that sweet, sweet nirvana.

“Gonna cum, fuck, daddy, gonna cum on your face. I’m close, so close, please don’t stop, please…“

With another deep, satisfying slurp, you had Wonyoung right where you wanted, on a road to bliss, as her hips moved like she had lost all semblance of control. Her tight frame writhed in ecstasy, and you took advantage to plunge your fingers into her slick wetness once more, giving an extra dose of bliss that fanned the unquenchable flames in her core.

“I’m gonna---”

And with that, Wonyoung would get what she wanted, what she deserved, as you helped release all that built-up tension, a giant knot untangling. Her thighs squeezed your head in an almost suffocating manner, and her pretty hands yanked at bundles of hair, making sure she had never looked so unprincess-like than in that moment. You kept your lips wrapped around Wonyoung’s clit, watching her fall apart as her delectable juices spilled into your mouth, toes curling as she came hard, eyes shutting tight with your only focus giving her the best orgasm of her life.

Wonyoung rode out her high and then some, yet even when the intensity of her trembling thighs around your head died down, you had no inclination to stop, nor could you calm your insatiable need to keep your mouth on her pretty pussy for as long as you pleased.

You’d make a mental note to get the couch deep cleaned after this.

“Daddy, please, fuck---“

Making Wonyoung cum only once wouldn’t be sufficient, so you doubled down your efforts and suckled on her clit with more ferocity, putting your all into it so much that you didn’t even hear a door being opened, or the footsteps heading towards your way.

“I’m back home, oh.”

Neither of you gave the friendly figure that entered the living room a passing glance, too caught up in the moment of bliss, too involved with feasting on Wonyoung, drawing out more of that delicious nectar that already stained your lips and chin.

“Well, well, well. Looks like you two made up.” Yujin didn’t even flinch at the sight of clothes sprawled on the floor, or her two roommates naked on the couch with your tongue buried inside Wonyoung’s cunt.

“How was class?” you asked, your tone dripping with sarcasm. You weren’t actually seeking an answer, annoyed at having your focus broken before you returned your attention back to overstimulating Wonyoung, thrusting your fingers inside at the same rough pace that matched your tongue.

“Class? Oh right, my class. I really learned a lot,” Yujin said, still keeping up her facade. Now wasn’t the time to question her motives, and if anything, you’d thank her later for giving you a chance to rectify things. If not for her, you wouldn’t have your face covered in Wonyoung.

“You two look busy, so I’ll be in my room if you need me.” Yujin scurried off with that puppy-like smile, nothing but a momentary distraction while you got back to work.

That blissful state didn't take long to return to when Wonyoung squirmed underneath your face, moaning incoherently as you brought her to a second devastating orgasm with ease. Like previously, when your mouth locked on her clit, her toes curled once again, and you lapped up her delicious juices as your mouth filled back up with her rich taste. You refused to stop devouring Wonyoung’s pussy, not until she rode out her second high, and only then did you give your lips a break,

instead giving your fingers a workout, a routine of unyielding pleasure that there wasn’t any escape from.

“T-too much, daddy! P-please, fuck, fuck---I'm so sensitive, I can't," Wonyoung begged you to stop, but you disregarded every word she said, concentrating solely on getting her to cum on your fingers this time.

“I don’t care. You can, cum again on my fingers and then I’ll fuck you.” A rare silence from Wonyoung that you’d savor, listening to only her whimpering moans and the sounds of her drenched cunt as you kept her filled with your fingers. Finding her sweet spot with such precision, it took only a matter of moments until she fell apart again, shuddering even more uncontrollably.

“C-cumming again, daddy, fuck!”

Looking on with pride, you brought Wonyoung to orgasm a third time, with her back arched high, head thrown back, and a different picture painted every time she came that you’d never be able to get it out of your head. You loved hearing the cries of pleasure she made as your fingers pumped into her wetness, taking advantage of all that sensitivity that made her pussy ache, unable to handle the overstimulation, but still dripped in a way that absolutely ruined the couch cushions.

“Oh god, daddy, no more. Please, no more, I c-can’t, I-I,” she whimpered with tears in her eyes, body shaking as your fingers kept pounding into her wet walls. You pulled away once you were satisfied, licking her folds clean and fluttered over her clit for one extra moment. As tempting as it would be to finger her to a fourth orgasm, it was time for your cock to get some much needed attention.

Pulling yourself up into the cushions for a more comfortable position, you didn’t even bother cleaning your slick covered fingers, admiring the breathtaking view that was her wet entrance, ready to claim your ultimate prize.

Wonyoung looked like a doll with her legs spread wide, so vulnerable and exposed as her small chest heaved while she recovered from her relentless orgasms. Her gorgeous bare pussy glistened, every bit of supple, warm flesh more than ready for your cock, and the notion of stretching her out set off every little twitch in your shaft.

When you lined up with her inviting entrance, there was a much needed moment of hesitation as you let the anticipation build much more than necessary. But when you rubbed your cockhead between her wet pussy lips, any urge to tease disappeared, heightening your arousal to unbearable levels.

“Put it inside me. Need it, want you to fuck me so bad,” Wonyoung begged once more, and you didn’t even make her wait any longer. One look into her eyes later, and you eased inside her slick pussy, letting out a guttural groan that wasn’t even recognizable. Despite all your expectations, the initial thrusts into her warm cunt squeezed your cock harder than you were prepared for, nearly making you double over.

Your hands gripped her tiny little waist, watching for every reaction while you plunged into her suffocating cunt that felt unlike anything else before. Wonyoung was a popular girl for sure, so this wouldn’t be her first time, as evidenced by how many times you heard her getting railed in her bedroom that you lost track, but god, it certainly felt like it.

After a considerable amount of thrusts inside that dripping heat that enveloped your cock, Wonyoung stayed unbearably tight. Your efforts did little to stretch her little pussy, and it seemed impossible to pull your shaft from her cunt whenever you pumped inside her clinging walls. You took it as a challenge to bottom her out, though it resulted in an almost instant failure, met with a harsh resistance gripping your cock that only added to your determination.

“Princess, I can barely fit inside you,” you said, making more lustful moans escape Wonyoung’s lips while you tried your hardest to fill her with your whole length. You had her stunning face cupped like you were holding onto some type of rare artifact one might be scared to drop, staring at those pretty eyes, and her pretty plump lips that let out a constant flurry of moans and gasps whenever you pulled out and sank back inside her incredible warmth.

“More, daddy.”

“More what, princess?”

“Want more of you. You feel so good inside me already, want more of that cock,” she said, and it put a smile on your features to turn Wonyoung into such a needy, insatiable girl, no longer capable of being coy with her words. With every dip inside her smothering heat, you could sense more desperation, how much she yearned to be stretched to the maximum and feel your entire length in her.

“Fuck me, daddy. You know I’m not a good girl, so don’t fuck me like one.”

Your hips sped up with that request, and Wonyoung adjusted to your pace as her wet, warm walls became easier and easier to fill up, further opening her up. “You really are spoiled, aren’t you? A spoiled little brat that takes this cock so well.”

“Spoiled for your cock. So just shut up and fuck me. Make me feel you in my guts.”

While you kept her sparkling eyes in line of sight, you pressed your forehead against hers, seeing the lust building that raced through her body as you pumped into her hard and fast, giving the intense gratification she craved.

“Daddy---“ she gasped out, one little word from that pretty voice held so much power, so much weight. “Deeper, daddy. Fuck me, deeper. You feel so big, stretch my tight little pussy. Need you to fill me with every inch.”

And if that wasn’t encouragement enough, Wonyoung started to wrap her absurdly long legs around your waist to draw you in deeper, clutching onto one of your biceps, and her skin felt so utterly hot against yours. “Ruin me, daddy. Come on, I can take it. Fuck the brat out of me.”

Even at her most desperate moments, she still had some dominance left in her words, but you had no qualms not to listen. Because while Wonyoung might have looked like something precious and priceless, you certainly wouldn’t treat her as such. So little by little, your hips snapped back, until you were fucking her like you should have done from the start.

Making every thrust count, you were finally able to fuck Wonyoung balls deep, and took advantage of the slickness from every orgasm as your cock slid inside her effortlessly.

“Fuck, daddy, yes!“ Wonyoung cried out, her walls trembling whenever you bottomed her out, which only added to the urges to seize complete control of her body. You dove into her neck, and could hear her breathing deepen as you tasted the hot skin found there, before tracing the outline of her jaw, which made her even more consumed by your lustful touches.

Now that you could comfortably bury your cock to the hilt inside her warmth without struggle, Wonyoung felt so utterly wet and unimaginably tight, while all that built up arousal drowning your cock really paid off, because now you were fucking her as deep as you wanted, rearranging her guts like no tomorrow.

“You’re so fucking deep, keep that up. Want you to keep fucking me like this, please---don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” Wonyoung repeated, becoming more desperate by the syllable while you continued to feast on her body, eager to lick up all that porcelain skin. You couldn’t ignore your cravings and dragged your tongue across her sensitive neck, enjoying the way she moaned when you sucked on the delicate flesh before you moved to trace her earlobe, then nibbled on it, working her more into a frenzy.

“I need to taste all of you, princess," you said as you licked down her collarbone and down to the curve of her breasts, then climbed back up, lifted her slender arms, and buried your tongue in her armpit. You savored the taste as you greedily licked her up, tracing the surface to gather up Wonyoung’s delectable sweat, only rewarded with deeper moans while your tongue went wild. The salty taste of her skin tasted even better there, and to no surprise, it only added more to her arousal as you cleaned her up throughly, licking long stripes up one of your new favorite spots of her goddess-like body to devour.

“You’re so delicious, princess. I could just taste every inch of you for hours.”

Her cheeks reddened once more, and you were careful not to miss a solitary inch. Wonyoung kept her arms stretched up over her head, distracting you from the intense wetness and tightness of her cunt while you licked and sucked away at her flawless armpit, slobbering over it without respite.

Wonyoung gave no signs of anything but enjoyment of your tongue bath, even more so when you switched sides to devour her other smooth, milky underarm, as you peppered the flesh with little ticklish kisses, then gave an equal amount of wet, hungry licks. Truly a feast on their own, you lapped up the soft skin of her pits, nuzzling your nose in them to breathe in the unforgettable aroma. Your devotion to her body only made her squirm and whimper more, which only urged you to keep feasting on her delicious armpits, swapping your attention between the two, as you wanted as many different regions of her body on your tongue as possible.

Only after you thoroughly slathered both in saliva did you have your fill, and gave both one last lick while watching the aroused reaction in her eyes.

“D-daddy,” Wonyoung murmured, shaky and subdued, like she could barely pull the word out of her throat while your hips kept her pressed into the couch.

“Yes, princess?” you asked, planting rough kisses all over the untouched side of her neck that made her blush even deeper.

“Bedroom. Take me there.”

“Which one?”

“Don’t care.”

There was only one actual option, given that your bedroom involved a set of stairs and Wonyoung’s was just down the hall, so the choice was obvious. Although you’d love to see the look on Yujin’s face when you barged into her room, wanting to use her luxurious bed to plow her roommate on. Most likely, you’d be met with encouragement rather than being told to get out, but even then, you didn’t want to take the chance of disturbing her.

So down the hallway it was, catching Wonyoung off guard as you lifted her petite figure off the couch and into your arms as your cock remained buried inside. With her legs already locked around you tightly, her arms followed, wrapping around the back of your neck as you brought her towards the bedroom. Not wasting any chance to keep her bouncing on your shaft, you squeezed that tight little ass with every step, until you made it past the open bedroom door that neither of you bothered to fully close.

When you entered Wonyoung’s spacious bedroom, you had only one thing on your mind---the tight grip her slick pussy held around your cock. Now that all concerns had been set aside, you came close to knocking a framed poster off the wall with the force generated when you pinned her against it. But outside of moaning daddy uninterrupted, she became unable to concentrate on anything else but clinging to your body as you drilled her without zero intentions of slowing down.

Being careful wasn’t an option anymore. Wonyoung had you all wrapped up, with those long limbs coiled around you like a snake, but yet she was the prey. You kept her pinned up against the bedroom wall like a museum painting, and each thrust nailed her harder, keeping her begging for more, keeping her creaming on your cock as you rammed your length into the deepest parts of her cunt in succession, showing no mercy.

“Your pussy just feels incredible, princess,” you growled, as your fingers kneaded her asscheeks between each thrust, using the wall as a partner to help pound away and put this needy little princess in her place, fucking her harder than imaginable, knowing she could take it. Her back arched higher while every stroke intensified, and she used her moans to voice the insatiable hunger you could see in her eyes while you gave it your all.

“God, your cock---makes me feel so good, stretches me so well, it’s fucking perfect,” she said, as you shoved your hard cock into her without a care. You knew Wonyoung could take it, she could take every rough thrust, and she’d complain if you did anything less.

So your battering cock continued its assault on her warm little hole, pumping inside her while being squeezed so goddamn tight it drove you absolutely crazy, all part of the plan to ruin her perfect cunt the way she begged and begged for it.

"Daddy, fuck me, fuck me!" Wonyoung begged, but did nothing to silence herself, the repeated thuds her sweaty back made against the wall surely moving its way up the entire house. Without saying another word, you had her cumming on your cock, that slick honey dripping between her legs adding more fuel to your hips as you fucked her into a second, then a third orgasm, arms tightening while she held on for dear life, legs trembling underneath your fingers. “Oh my god, daddy.”

Like a delicate flower no more, Wonyoung endured your rough treatment with pride, and embraced the way you manhandled her body. With every pump of your cock into that engulfing wet heat, her cries of satisfaction grew deafeningly loud, and she became almost delirious from bliss, unable to keep her eyes open much longer. Not a single ounce of smugness remained left on her face, just pure desire and barrels of lust that increased the harder you fucked your aggression out, letting her ride through climax after climax until the harsh clenches became borderline unbearable to handle.

And you couldn’t help but be selfish, turning Wonyoung into an absolute mess, with no genuine need to use words anymore or anything but hot, needy kisses that did all the talking necessary as you absorbed yourself in the vigorous use of her body.

After every vigorous thrust, you could feel her hot breath in your ear, along with every whiny moan and desperate plea for you to fuck her even beyond your own limits. You poured your attention into how your cock felt whenever you speared her warm little cunt, and dug fingers deeper into the creamy flesh of her ass. But that wasn’t enough, as you spread her legs wider to take every inch of your cock deeper than you thought possible, all while every little gasp, moan, and repetitive thump of her back crashing against the wall became an intricate melody in your ears.

“Princess---“ you said, your voice lowering into nothing but a growl and drew another deep moan from Wonyoung’s lips following one more strong impale, then pulled her away from the wall as you held her up in the air, fucking her relentlessly while you enjoyed the overpowering smack of flesh on flesh by pounding into her desperate cunt.

“Need to fucking cum in you soon. Gonna fill your pretty little pussy all the way up.”

Waiting for a response wasn’t something you bothered with when you approached the side of Wonyoung’s enormous canopy bed with its pulled back curtains and abundant pillows, only fucking her petite body harder on your thick cock to elicit out more cries of nonstop pleasure.

From the start, the plan was always to defile her doll-like body, and while the idea of pounding her on the carpet with a fistful of hair crossed your mind---you’d have to tear your cock away for just a moment---an impossible task.

Overindulgent was the only thing that could describe how you were fucking Wonyoung, and even more overindulgent was how much she kept creaming on your cock. But you had no trouble keeping the motions uninterrupted, nor did you have any trouble supporting her weight, remaining face to face to kiss her lips as many times as you chose to until you laid her down onto the soft mattress in a not-so-gentle manner.

“W-wait,” Wonyoung said, before words turned back into moans once more. “You can cum inside me, but not here. Don’t ruin the sheets.”

You could barely mutter out a chuckle. “You can buy more, princess.”

“But I like thes---“

You didn’t allow any further objections. Instead, with your knees locked into the mattress, you drove Wonyoung’s legs up into the air until they neared both shoulders, feet left dangling, and folded her up like a chair, eager to sink in at a completely new intense angle. “You’re gonna need a whole new bed when I’m done with you.”

Now that you achieved the deepest penetration possible, you were testing the springs of her mattress without even giving a chance for her heart to beat, bottoming Wonyoung out into new depths never felt before. All that elegance shattered, left with nothing but the obscene view of those beautiful legs spread open so fucking wide you couldn’t believe this was the same proper girl you shared a roof with for months. Restraint lost every ounce of meaning when you kept up the relentless plunges into Wonyoung’s tight, tight cunt, pounding her into the mattress hard enough to make the creaking bed frame think twice about its existence.

“Daddy!” Wonyoung cried out, loud enough to echo throughout the entire house, no longer giving a damn about the soon-to-be-ruined sheets, just like that wet hot pussy that your cock pistoned into and demanded more unearthed pleasure from.

Taking full advantage of putting Wonyoung into this new position, you made a slight adjustment, lifted yourself into a squat in order to gain more leverage, then planted both feet on her silk sheets, holding her little waist with a bruising grip while fucking her so deep you were liable to explode at any second.

“God, princess, you take daddy’s cock so well. Such a good little fuckdoll, letting me use you, letting me destroy your warm little hole like this. Gonna fill you up so much, fuck!” You couldn’t help but let out loud, guttural groans at how good Wonyoung’s dripping pussy felt, throbbing wildly at how goddamn tight she clenched around your cock that ached for release.

“You feel so good inside me, so, so good, daddy. Can’t wait for you to cum in me. It’s going to feel so good, so warm. Just pump that hot load into my wet little pussy. Give me all your cum, give it all to me. Please, daddy---I need it right fucking now.”

Your heavy balls slapped against her puckered hole as you brutally impaled her pussy, and you could feel every little tremble in her legs, every last wet squelch as you kept Wonyoung pinned to the creaking mattress, making her desperate for one more greedy orgasm even before you even achieved your first.

“Fuck, fuck, princess, your pussy is just too good. You’re gonna make me cum so hard. Need to fucking breed you, need to just fuck my thick load into your womb and you’re gonna take it all, princess.”

“Yes, daddy, please! Fuck me, use me until you cum. Need your balls drained inside me, need you to explode.”

Scrambling for anything within reach, Wonyoung frantically dug her nails into her sheets, but you just kept plowing her into the mattress for as long as your body would allow, hitting her guts every single time with surgical precision. Her slick pussy lips gripped with violent, almost painful clenches, and the lewd expression etched on her face helped the inevitable arrive faster than expected.

Only a matter of time before you filled that perfect, warm little hole you mercilessly slammed your cock into, letting out more ragged breaths by the second. You kept your weight shifted to easily balance on the balls of your feet, and just stared at the deep pools of lust in Wonyoung’s eyes while she took it all, legs spread perfectly for breeding, anticipating your load with endless amounts of lust, begging, and cries for more.

“Daddy, breed me. Breed me like you breed Yujin. Empty those balls in me, fill me up. Daddy, please---just use me to dump your cum in, wanna feel it all in my pussy, please.”

The coils of her mattress screamed for relief, and the smack of your thrusts became deafening, mirroring the cries that escaped Wonyoung's mouth. No longer did you even bother to look forward, and instead guided your focus on how your cock pulverized Wonyoung’s insides, every strong clench a shove towards the finish line that she already had a rolling start towards. Your worn out hips were on fire, but it paled in comparison to the flames in your core, only able to be doused in one matter---and Wonyoung did just that when her wrecked cunt squeezed your cock in just the right way.

You throbbed inside Wonyoung like you hadn’t been drained in a month. With your entire length buried to the hilt and your balls firmly flush against her ass, you shared that final moment of relief, spilling cum into her pussy like you never had anyone else. Thick, hot spurts overflowed her cunt, setting off violent twitches, satisfied groans, and gasps of relief from your lips when you emptied every last drop into Wonyoung.

“Daddy, it feels so good. Empty it all, daddy, empty that cum inside me. It’s so warm, so thick, I can feel it dripping out of me, don’t stop…”

The tired demands from Wonyoung’s lips had you throbbing even more as you drove your creamy load deeper inside her, thrusting with your heavy hips with whatever energy left while you rode out the best orgasm of your life.

Nothing could compare to such bliss in its sweetest, purest, rawest form. Nor could anything compare to the satisfied smile Wonyoung gave when you pulled out, and your seed spilled down her sweaty thighs, making one more final attempt to ruin her sheets.

“No, daddy,” she whispered, making exhausted gasps while you took her small face in your hands, without enough energy to do anything but stare at the blissed out look in her eyes. When you collapsed, Wonyoung pivoted her body to the side, then grabbed your cock and guided it back inside her intense heat. “Keep it in me. Isn’t this what Yujin likes?”

You twitched the moment you felt that warmth wrapped around your shaft again, but embraced her naked body, resting your head against her bare shoulder. Trying not to make any sudden movements proved difficult.

“There we go, daddy. Stay inside me, just like this.”

“Didn’t you have to study?” you asked, remembering the thread that unraveled and started all this.

“What did I say? Stay inside me.”

“Fine, but don’t move too much. It’s still sensitive.”

Without even looking, you could see the smirk on Wonyoung’s lips as she did the opposite and rolled her hips, clenching around your cock to keep you from softening.

“Wonyoung---“ you hissed, and harshly dug your fingers into her hips to keep her from moving. “Stay. Still.”

“Or what? You’ll fuck my brains out again? Pump another thick load in me?”

“You think this is going to happen more than once? Not a chance, princess. I’m only staying here to stop that bratty mouth from talking.”

“You’re a bad liar, daddy. I know you love how my pussy keeps your cock all nice and warm. You’re addicted to it already. I bet you won’t even go back to Yujin anymore.”

“I think I fucked you a little too hard. Maybe knocked a few brain cells out.”

“Don’t worry, daddy. I won’t say a word. I’ll keep it our little secret that you like my pussy better.”

“Shut---up. Next time I fuck you it’s going up your ass.”

“Is that a promise? I’ve never done that before. But your cock is so big, I don’t even think it’ll fit there…”

“Then I’ll make it fit.”

And with that, Wonyoung grabbed your arm to swing it around her waist, finally letting you enjoy the sweet sounds of silence.

At least for a little bit.

---------------------------

A/N: I dedicate my first Wonyoung fic to the great, amazing, wonderful @friskyriskywhisky . Didn't plan on taking so long to put out a new fic, nor did I plan on it being absurdly long. My longest fic to date, but I put a lot of heart into this and hopefully it shows.

During the course of these few months I've reached 12k followers which is still wild to me after all this time, so thanks to everyone who follows and reads, especially if you've been there since the beginning 💞💞

This was supposed to be out on the 31st for Wony day but I'm impatient, so enjoy this early gift. I've really enjoyed writing this version of Wonyoung and plan to do more with her.

#ive smut #wonyoung smut #ive x reader #kpop smut #reader insert #male reader #kpop fanfic

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