#the ultimate dance collection

[pulcheriebalhoud]

Club Sounds 21 CD2

[ueslangeais]

Club Sounds Vol.15 - CD2 The Bumpin' Cuts

[linawritesocs]

my ocs' glorious masquerade voicelines!

YES I KNOW THIS EVENT IS OVER BUT. WELL I'M STILL NOT OVER IT SO YEAH I'M WRITING MY SONS' VOICELINES FOR THIS EVENT.

also yes, even though seth is my mc, he has his card and his voicelines as well because. um. i wanted to write his voicelines. THAT'S IT THAT'S THE REASON DHDJKSSKSK. i'm not sure if i actually see him as "playable", but i think it would be nice if his and minnie's cards could be used as "support cards" for battles and exams, basically like a buddy bonus. also you could use their cards for lessons too!! it would be so cute to see them studying with nrc students 🥺🥺

i added their "card descriptions" as well, because i won't be able to draw all of their cards, but i still want to think about what they would look like!

seth's masquerade ssr voicelines.

card description: he's talking to rollo while they walk together and grim looks tired of him and he's thinking of running away from his owner. as for the groovified version, you can see seth smiling and dancing with someone and it seems to be rollo. he's also not wearing his hat, his mask and his cape and his hair looks more messy than usual, however, he's having fun. for the first two items, he lost them while the whole magic user genocide thing's been happening and for his cape.. he just took it off to make rollo and malleus pay attention to him. and it worked because of his shoulders being open. yeah, scandalous.

summon: "this city is, like, so cool! i honestly wouldn't mind living here- hey, grim-chan, wait for me!"

groovy: "hehe, you thought i'll just stand there and let you dance with that guy? sorry, but i've been waiting too long for this moment."

set home: "i guess this cape isn't that bad, but.."

home idle 1: "i wish minnie-chan could come with us. imagine if she saw sebek-chan right now! oh, maybe i should send her a pic or two? he's way too distracted because of malleus-chan anyway."

home idle 2: "i don't get why rollo-chan made me wear this cape, to be honest. i think it had something to do with my outfit being "too revealing"? what would he think about my halloween outfit then?? wait, i think i have some photos of it saved.. hey, rollo-chan, i have something to show you!"

home idle 3: "i don't get it. how did they manage to make these outfits? they fit us so well and they even added things like azul-chan's glasses and roland-chan's eyepatch.. where did they get that info? though i probably shouldn't be surprised, i can easily guess anyone's measurements right when i see that person, haha."

home idle groovy: "malleus-chan really thought he can just steal him away from me like that.. he's way too popular anyway, so he should let me have fun as well. maybe he did it because i refused to dance with him earlier? ugh, he's even more childish than i am.."

home tap 1: "some kids said that i look really pretty and asked if they could put flowers in my hair. i said that they should ask merrill-chan because his hair is longer, but for some reason they still wanted to do it with my hair.. they did such a great job though!"

home tap 2: "wow, ivy-chan is right, that assistant guy looks so cool! of course she would get such a huge crush on him!.. i feel kinda weird when i look at him though. if it wasn't for me changing my appearance, i would probably look just like him. so yeah, it's like meeting my own twin in some way."

home tap 3: "so epel-chan was okay with riddle-chan and deuce-chan saying that he looks cute, but when i said it, he looked at me like i just insulted his entire family??" *sobs* "why is he so mean to me.. i'm just trying to be a supportive senpai, that's all.."

home tap groovy: "i had so much fun today despite everything, i don't wanna go back to nrc! can we stay for at least one day- oh. wait, we were supposed to spend three days here, right? SO I CAN STILL TRY TO ASK ROLLO-CHAN OUT?? LET'S GO!"

hayden's masquerade ssr voicelines.

card description: he seems to be stalking seth and rollo and he has stars in his eyes and he's smiling like a fanboy that he is. meanwhile the groovified version of his card has him wearing his mask, blushing and refusing to dance with others. he looks a lot like a tsundere too, haha.

summon: "ehehe.. i can't believe i finally found someone who's related to the other seven! this is my chance, my family will be so proud of me!"

groovy: "oh, sorry, i don't really like to dance. why don't you go and dance with rollo-sama- ahem, rollo-san instead? i thought you were more interested in him anyway."

set home: "why the chameleon mask.."

home idle 1: "this school really is amazing, don't you think so, prefect-san? and the righteous judge's statue.. i've never thought that i will actually see it.. i-i'm not crying, i just got a bit emotional, haha."

home idle 2: "of course they would go with team names like that.. nrc students never change, do they? they're always so arrogant, so full of themselves, they're just so- well, i mean, it's normal to find other students annoying sometimes, right?"

home idle 3: "allen is here too? ugh, he really is following me everywhere- oh, i'm sorry, do you want to take a walk somewhere together? i would love to learn more about this city and i'm sure it would be even more fun if i do it with you. i just hope allen won't see us.."

home idle groovy: "stop looking at me like that, i told you i'm fine with you dancing with him. i'm sure rollo-san wants to dance with you as well. but promise me that you won't disappoint him. though i doubt that he would get bored with someone like you around."

home tap 1: "i just want to get a break from azul already.. why did it have to be him? honestly, i would be okay with the leech twins going with us, he's just that annoying! hm.. what if i text floyd and tell him that azul really did cheat and that's why he and jade weren't able to go? i wonder how he would react.."

home tap 2: "elpys would totally love this place. i can see her jumping around and going "hay-hay, look at this! isn't it so cool?", haha. i kinda want to see her wearing a masquerade outfit too.. prefect-san, you know it's rude to eavesdrop, right?"

home tap 3: "there are so many rsa students, but it looks like angel didn't come with them. and blythe too.. to be honest, it's a bit boring without them. and it looks like the speculum students feel lost without them as well. that catboy is doing just fine though, i'm not surprised."

home tap groovy: "no, i'm not sorry for "breaking allen's heart" or anything like that. it's something that i should have done a long time ago. you know what i mean, right? he had a crush on you too, after all. i wonder how long it's gonna take for that nemis girl to get tired of him."

merrill's masquerade sr voicelines.

card description: he's looking at his outfit and has this confused face expression, almost like he's going ".. i have to wear THIS?" and in his groovified card he seems to be looking at his phone and laughing. it looks very cute too, because you can tell that he's genuinely happy :) he's not dancing with others and it's fine, he's still having fun.

summon: "i look beautiful as always, right? haha, i know that. i just wish that guy would let me keep the first outfit, i looked even better in it."

groovy: "if i'm not dancing with you all, it doesn't mean i'm lonely or anything. i'm just talking to my cousin, what's wrong with that?"

set home: "i have to spend three days here.. i sure hope it's not gonna be boring."

home idle 1: "i'm glad you think i look good in this outfit, but.. you've seen the first one, didn't you? so you agree that i looked better in it! ah, of course you would say that, you had to go through the same thing.. i'm so sorry, prefect-chan, we will take revenge on their student council president."

home idle 2: "it really hurts me to see onyx-chan pining over my cousin like this.. okay, yeah, it hurts me because he looks pathetic and not because i feel sad or anything. but hey, that's why i should try and help him. he doesn't have to worry about anything at all~"

home idle 3: "of course, idia is also here.. and why did he ask me to be in the same team as him? is he obsessed with me or something? but i like that our outfits look different, even though we're from the same dorm. it's like i really am not his servant anymore and i have more freedom."

home idle groovy: "haha, austin-chan would lose his mind if he saw me wearing this. hey, can you take a picture for me? sure, i could take a selfie, but i trust you and i think you will take an even better photo. okay, let me think of a pose.."

home tap 1: "hey, sorry, but i think hayden-chan is thinking of stealing your man from you. do you want me to do anything about it? what, i don't mind helping you as well, you're not so good at hiding your crush on rollo-chan. you don't have to worry about it though, i doubt that he's interested in your rival."

home tap 2: "wow, those kids really have done a great job. and the colors of these flowers fit your hair so well! if your hair was longer, you would look even better.. hm? is everything okay, prefect-chan? you look so pale.."

home tap 3: "hehe, so you and grim-chan are wearing matching outfits? how cute. didn't you two do it for halloween as well? you sure get along well.. okay, why is your cat screaming and trying to run away? are you hiding something from me, prefect-chan?"

home tap groovy: "i didn't think that i'd end up saying this, but today wasn't so bad. sure, idia was here and also some of us could lose their powers forever, but it got solved more quickly than i thought. well, idia is still here, but.. hey, did you talk to their vice president yet? he's a cool guy, you're totally gonna love him. i talked to him before and i already know that i will miss him."

allen's masquerade sr voicelines.

card description: he's holding a really cool sword and looking at it with this :O face expression, like he's never seen something like this before. as for the groovified version, the card looks much darker than everyone else's cards and it has this red lighting which makes allen look more scary and intimidating. he still has a smile on his face and he seems to be holding out his hand to someone, asking them to dance.

summon: "all of this sounds so romantic! could it be.. i'll finally get a chance to dance with hayden? hehe, i can't wait!"

groovy: "now, would you like to dance with me? don't worry, as long as i'm with you, nobody can hurt you, even hayden. him being a cheater is one thing, but that loser can't even dance properly!"

set home: "i'm so excited for the festival! hey, hey, are you excited too?"

home idle 1: "for some reason, hayden isn't paying any attention to me?? it's almost like he's avoiding me for some reason.. i don't get it, why is he following that rollo guy everywhere? hey, can you do something about it, prefect-chan?"

home idle 2: "nemis-chan looks so pretty in that outfit.. u-uh, what, i'm not staring or anything! anyway, where's hayden? i should go and find him- oh, i almost tripped."

home idle 3: "you want to know why i have a sword with me? oh, i just thought it would look good with what i'm wearing, that's all. i mean, you can agree with that, right? i have no idea how to use a sword though, but whatever, i'll figure it out. where did i find it?.. oh no, their student council president is coming, distract him for me."

home idle groovy: "hey, it's not like i miss you or anything, but just so you know, i could've danced with you instead of nemis-chan today! if only you accepted my confession back then.. it's fine, you really are not the best person for me- what do you mean, we can still dance together as friends??"

home tap 1: "of course, everybody wants to dance with neige-kun.. i-i'm not jealous of him! and i've expected that, he's so popular after all, it's just.." *sighs* "i wish i was just as popular as him. i bet people would be just as excited about dancing with riley too."

home tap 2: "whoa, i didn't expect roland-senpai to reveal his other eye today. it honestly doesn't even look that creepy, i don't understand why most students got so scared of it. maybe i should go and comfort him? ah, i just remembered that he still hates me.. well, who cares about that, i'm gonna do it anyway."

home tap 3: "um, can you ask your boyfriend to stop staring at me like that? i feel like he wants to kill me or something like that and that's pretty rude of him. calm down, why is your face so red? wait, he's not your boyfriend?? i thought that you were on a date when i saw you two hanging out. haha, prefect-chan is still single!.. oh no, you have the same face expression as him."

home tap groovy: "i'm glad that jay-kun is already feeling better. i really thought he was gonna die because he's literally made of magic.. hey, can i ask you something? are you and the student council president really that close? like.. would you cry if something bad happened to him? like, something really, REALLY bad?"

roland's masquerade r voicelines.

card description: he's trying to put his mask on and he's still covering his damaged eye. he's smiling, almost like he's trying to calm everyone down and telling them not to worry about his vision.

summon: "i think i should wear a mask instead of an eyepatch because it would fit this festival's theme better. i just hope others won't find my eye too scary.."

groovy: "haha, being a fae in this situation is so.. inconvenient. i'll still try to help others though. that's what a reliable upperclassman should do."

set home: "thank you for saying that i still look good. i really appreciate it."

home idle 1: "did allen really steal that sword?" *sighs* "of course he would do that, why am i even asking. i'll go and apologize for him. it's not like i'm worried about allen, i just don't want other rsa students to look bad."

home idle 2: "why did neige-kun ask me to dance with him? he has so many fans and admirers, why would he find me more interesting? i don't get it.. maybe he just felt bad for me because everyone's been avoiding me this whole time? this is so embarrassing.."

home idle 3: "hehe.. oh, don't mind me, i just noticed something and i thought it was funny. um, don't you think my name is quite similar to rollo-kun's name?" *laughs* "sorry, i thought about it again. i should listen to the other students and stop saying dumb things- you think it's funny too? i'm glad to hear it."

home tap 1: "i'm not used to wearing something like this.. hm? what do i usually wear? ah, when i was younger, i was in my.. ahem, "emo phase", so i mostly wore everything black. i looked kinda scary back then, haha. i think my fashion taste is much better now, though it doesn't seem like avery-kun agrees with me."

home tap 2: "it looks like you and other nrc students are having fun. oh, did that sound weird? i just.. yeah, as you can see, i don't really feel like i belong with other rsa students. sometimes i wonder how my life would go if i never had to transfer to this school.. no, i shouldn't think about it like that, i have avery-kun and other gardening club members after all!"

home tap 3: "don't you think it's strange that even though it's called "the city of flowers", we haven't seen any flowers yet? i'm very curious about this city's "special" flowers as someone who's a gardening club leader.. it's a shame that avery-kun couldn't come with us, i can imagine him asking rollo-kun about them until he agrees to show them."

fake!jay's masquerade r voicelines.

card description: he looks like a poor innocent child who has no idea where he is hjdjdksdks. basically he's just standing there, looking lost and kinda nervous with a drop of sweat on his face.

summon: "d-do i look weird? how do i move in something like- oh no, i'm so sorry, i didn't mean to fall like this! w-what should i do, everyone is looking at us.."

groovy: "imagine if my creator found out about this.. what would his reaction be? would he be worried about me or would he be happy because he doesn't have to think about his creation being more loved and talented than him? never mind, i'm just thinking out loud."

set home: "um, well, i guess i like my mask.."

home idle 1: "i wish i could learn more about this city with everyone else, but.. allen-senpai. i have to make sure he doesn't do anything weird or even illegal. i'm jealous of one of those nrc students, jamil-senpai, was it? he doesn't have to worry about anything like that right now.."

home idle 2: "i don't think my creator would like this place, it's too noisy for someone like him. maybe it's because of the festival, but i can't imagine him enjoying this trip. what about me? uh.. i guess i don't mind it that much? no, actually, i like it a lot. it makes me feel like i'm a real person with a fun and exciting school life."

home idle 3: "maybe it's for the best that angel-senpai didn't come with us. i still respect them even though they're just as unique as allen-senpai, but i wouldn't want them to cause problems for the nbc students. and we have chenya-senpai here, so that's.. that's already too much."

home tap 1: "h-hey, i'm sorry for asking this, but.. would grim-san be okay with me giving him some headpats? again, i'm so sorry, he just looks so cute today, i can't help it! h-he's fine with it? are you sure about that?.. what do you mean, he will regret saying no to me?"

home tap 2: "why did i have to dance with chenya-senpai out of all people.. no, seriously, why did he choose me? i'm one of the most "ordinary" students here, i'm too boring for him! you think i tend to attract chaotic people because of my personality? what's that supposed to mean??"

home tap 3: "i've actually done a lot of research before going here with everyone else. i won't deny it, i got really excited when i heard that i'm one of the students who were chosen. as for allen-senpai.. he just went "oh, hayden is going to be there? okay, i'm coming then!" he really thought that he had a choice too.."

[g4zdtechtv]

Cinematech Reborn: Nocturnal Emissions #4 - Let Me Be Direct

You saw the title, and you know what we covering on this episode of Cinematech Reborn NE, as we give you highlights from the recent Nintendo Direct, plus more, including the famous Gangsta Mario, and a chocobo.

I mean, an ostrich. Same difference, really.

(watch on 4GTV!)

[yieldtotemptation]

CRASH ft. Wonyoung

wonyoung x male reader smut

11k words

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

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

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

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

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

-

“Sorry boys, my ride’s here!”

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

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

It’s a view, that’s for sure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Wonyoung.

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

It doesn’t even begin to cover it.

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

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

You know exactly how much it’s worth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glare at her. The gall on this woman.

“What are you waiting for? Drive.”

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

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

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

“You’re an asshole.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn’t smell bad at all.

In fact, it smells sweet. Too sweet.

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

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

“Let it go, Wonyoung.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s probably why you do it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I never said that.”

“Wony—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was she even good?”

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

And you know the answer: How could anyone be?

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

“Everything’s a competition.”

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

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

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

And then she does it again.

And again.

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

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

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

What drives you fucking wild.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you drive faster.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t own me, Wonyoung.”

To that, Wonyoung raises a carefully sculpted eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe she should be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

“Not a fucking chance.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now who’s a bad liar.”

“Go fuck your—”

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

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

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

Turns out, she’s right.

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

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

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

And it makes her smile around your cock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swerve again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And she takes it, takes all of it.

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

Wonyoung takes and takes and takes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it’s hard. So fucking hard.

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

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

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

You’re not going to last much longer.

Neither is she.

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

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

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

You’re almost there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wonyoung laughs.

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

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

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

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

It’s just the way she is.

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

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

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

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

“What makes you think you have a choice?”  

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

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

“Wait, wait—fuck—”

And then you slam into her.

“Daddy!”

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

You’d do anything to hear it again.

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

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

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

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

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

“Then say it.”

“Fuck you, daddy.”

“That’s fucking right.”

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

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

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

And fuck, she’s tight.

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

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

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

You laugh, “I fucking hate you too.”

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

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

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

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

But you’ll try.

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

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

(It’s never that simple.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you get an idea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Smile for the camera, Wony.”

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

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

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

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

You’ve got her, and she knows it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jang Wonyoung—always the performer.

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

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

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

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

“The feeling’s mutual.”

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

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

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

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

“And do what?”

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

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

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

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

And then waking up and doing it all again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I fucking hate you—”

“Hate you too—”

“Hate how good your cunt feels—”

“Hate how big your cock is—”

“Hate how perfect you are—”

“Hate how much I want your fucking cum—”

“Fucking slut—"

“Daddy—”

“I’m going to—"

"Please!"

And that’s it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”)

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

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

[tomasweetheart]

FAVORITE ࿔*:･ﾟ

꒰ m. osamu x gn!reader ꒱

° sypnosis: what's osamu's favorite food?

° warning: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI!!, post-timeskip, it's gender neutral but reader has a vagina, cursing, osamu calls reader: sweet thing, pretty & baby, oral (reader receiving), munch!osamu, cunnilingus, slight overstim at the end

° notes: DON'T LOOK AT MEEEEE!!!!!

Osamu swears up and down that he does not have a favorite food.

They are all equally delicious to him, every bite of every dish he tastes dances on his tongue with a new partner each time. Whether it be an elegant waltz from the caviar served at his brother's wedding, a playful jig from a bite from the plastic dish of dippin’ dots he got for nostalgia’s sake or the quick-paced two-step from the baked mac ‘nd cheese his Ma makes for every family picnic. It’s baffling that anyone would ever expect him to pick a favorite.

This is the socially acceptable answer. This is what he tells Atsumu when he asks for reference. This is what he tells his customers if they even suggest that onigiri is his favorite. This is his go to, but the truth?

Osamu’s favorite food is the one buried deep between the apex of your thighs. 

Just like every good dish, this one has to be prepared with love and care. It starts off tender, it always does with him. Slow, messy, desperate kisses with gentle nips at your bottom lip. His hands graze up and down your sides, before ultimately landing on your hips with a soft squeeze. Your skin feels so warm, so plush and right against the skin of his own hands. Rough from volleyball, fights with Tsumu and endless days molding his rice into perfect triangles. 

His lips move down, pressing messy open-mouth kisses against your jaw. Stopping at the junction that connects your jaw to your neck, sucking a deep hickey before continuing his journey. His hands travel up your shirt, but that’s as far as they go. He’s not wasting time, not tonight. That’s not what he’s hungry for. 

He’ll nip, and suck, and bite, and kiss until you’re writhing beneath him. Not even undressed yet, but somehow you can feel him on every inch of your bare skin. He’s got you right where he wants you. 

Your skin feels so hot, you’re pulsing, throbbing with need. Your whines only spur him further as he lets out a low chuckle and a quick: “Patience sweet thing, I’m gettin’ there.” 

He fumbles with your jeans, he’s too eager now. Too impatient, he won’t wait for his food to cool down. He pulls them off with one swift movement, your underwear catching on the denim and sliding down with them. 

“You smell so fuckin’ good baby,” he purrs, his now swollen lips making quick with the way they kiss along your thighs, “Ma always told me to blow on my food if it was too hot though…” he smirks up at you, “...and I don’t wanna burn my tongue.”

He stops just short of your heat, his hand reaching out tentatively. With two fingers, he collects your slick before spreading apart your lips, putting you on full display for him. He’s practically drooling now, blowing a stream of hot air directly on your throbbing cunt, chuckling at the way you squirm from his action.

You’re cooled down enough.

Eagerly, almost animalistically, he flattens his tongue against your slit. Careful to avoid the bundle of nerves that begs for his attention so desperately. He’ll get there. He laps every inch of your folds, relishing in the way his head burns from how tightly you’re gripping his dark brown locks. His hands hold your thighs firmly in place, fingernails digging in the supple fat while he continues to eat you like a starved man.

The noises he makes are absolutely sinful. Audible slurps fill the room, his own drool coating your cunt while you plead for him to at least ghost over your clit with his mouth. But he has other plans.

He catches the bundle of nerves between his lips, and he moans, fucking moans in sync with you from your taste alone. He sucks, laps, slurps, fucking devours you whole like you’re his last meal and he’s a man on death row.

His pace doesn’t relent, he’s moaning into your pussy, he’s not even focused on himself. He’s lost, you have him hooked. He feels your thighs clamp down against his head, his tongue moves quicker inside of your tight hole before he retracts it and licks another long strip the whole way to your clit, sending you over the edge.

He gives you a moment, only a moment for you to catch your breath before he dives back in again. Laughing hoarsely against your core as you whine and try to push his head away from the overstimulation, but he won’t budge.

“Now pretty, quit squirmin’,” he groans, “I’m tryin’ ta get seconds of my favorite food.”

[sundays-lover]

a leisurely morning

husband!neuvillette x gn!reader — fluff

synopsis: neuvillette is your otterly clingy and sleepy husband.

content warnings: none (lmk if i should add anything !)

notes: will proofread in the morning <3 i don't think my grammar is good </3 ; this was inspired by his leisurely sea beast ladle and the fact that otters hold hands when they sleep so they don't drift apart 🥹 ; ALSO not important nor explicitly stated but i wrote this while imagining neuvi in the honk shoo mimimi pajamas

you did always think your husband resembled the sea otters you catch sightings of during your seashore strolls. when you began to take note of how similar his usual outfit’s palette is to the critters’ coats, you wondered if it was deliberate.

after sharing your musings with your lovely iudex over dinner, he claimed it to be a mere coincidence. he went on to establish that despite that, he did not mind that he mirrored their appearance. in fact, he has a deep fondness for color schemes that remind him of bodies of water. his rambles on the beauty of water continue for a while, and you simply watched and listened with pure fondness.

since then, you started associating the leisurely otters with your leisurely husband. while these observations began with his appearance, they eventually progressed to his mannerisms, especially with how regularly he gifts you seashells, each donning a different and more intricate design than the previous one (“to add to your collection, dear,” he tells you, but you are no longer certain whether it is your collection or his), but it is especially evident in the predicament you currently find yourself in—

your husband is deep asleep as you lie with your head on his chest. your hands are as entwined as your heartstrings are with his, resting upon his steadily beating heart. his other arm is wrapped around you, holding you tightly to him.

you would have thought that waking up to this feeling of warmth and security was extremely romantic if it weren't for the fact that he would not budge at all…!

having made an agreement-turned-tradition that the first to wake up would be in charge of cooking breakfast, you were more than ready to get out of bed and prepare your husband a hearty meal before he leaves for work, only to be met with the obstacles that are his unmoving arm and hand. had he not tightened his embrace in the middle of your efforts to pull away, you would have considered checking if he was still alive and breathing.

ultimately, you stop fighting against his iron hold and resign yourself to your fate. ‘perhaps living out the rest of my life trapped in his arms doesn't sound so bad…’ you ponder, ‘but shouldn't “tenacity” be an attribute particular to the geo archon?’

perhaps he senses an anomaly in the atmosphere, but he finally begins to show signs of consciousness once you finish that thought.

you feel his grip on you finally loosen before you see him open his eyes. oh, his eyes… he blinks once, then twice, adjusting his vision to the sunlight peeking through the curtains before his pupils meet yours. you have long been a firm believer that looking into his eyes are the visual equivalent of holding a conch shell to your ear and hearing the waves of the ocean.

you're brought back to the present when you hear his sweet voice. “good morning, my dear…”

“good morning, my love~” you sit up and pull the blanket off you when you realize you've regained freedom of movement, “now that you're awake, i can go and make breakfa—”

you're cut off as you're pulled back into bed and again into the pair of arms you've become familiar with this morning. they wrap around your midsection as you feel his body perfectly curl around yours.

“stay a bit longer,” you feel him rest his head atop yours, locking you in his embrace just like earlier, albeit now fully awake and aware.

“but neuvi— breakfast—”

“i have no trials to oversee until this afternoon,” he whispers into the crown of your head while his fingers dance along your arm in search of yours. “there is no rush… we can make brunch… together…”

his words drift off along with his mind into another slumber. you cannot see his face in your current position, but you soon feel his breath even out.

you don't recall ever seeing him sleep in like this before, and consider that he may be exhausted from yesterday's trials.

sleep reaches you as you think of ways to make today brighter for him, and your intertwined hands anchor you as you follow him into the sea of dreams.

note: h hi, this is the first work i'm posting on this blog, i'm so down to be friends but only yk only if you wanna 👉👈 (pls read my pinned first!) & send feedback if you can pleathe...

[wandasaura]

GODDAMN BLAZE IN THE DARK

summary — when the ultimate arises of being allowed to orgasm or being allowed to relieve your bladder, the only thing you can do is hope to god that you can be the good girl she expects you to be

warning(s) — established relationship, dom/sub dynamics, alcohol consumption, piss kink, holding/control kink, fingering, teasing, begging, orgasm delay, degradation, praise kink, eventual orgasm, condescending tones/elements, domestic banter, men/minors dni

kinktober

The weather was finally beginning to turn as October earned its keep in the festive beach town you resided within the borders of, no longer blisteringly hot, but rather soft and quaint as a breeze ruffled leaves and blew discarded litter down the streets of Westview. The aesthetic of the world had begun to shift with the incoming breeze of cool air as well, replacing vibrant pinks and muted blues with burnt orange shades and deep charcoal hues. Wanda herself had fallen into the fall frenzy, adding decorative pillows to the couch and styrofoam pumpkins to the mantle despite her mentality that decorating for single day holidays was pointless and a waste of hard earned money. You knew she adored the whimsical magic of Halloween, even if she rolled her eyes each time you suggested watching a film inspired by the spookiest month of the year. That’s just how she was. Pointedly difficult merely to get a rise out of you, and it worked each time you begged to watch Hocus Pocus only to receive an eye roll and an exaggerated huff of faux exasperation. She always caved, always cuddled up on the couch or in bed, but it was never easy to get her there, nor was it easy to keep her interest as her hands began to wander down your tantalizing body and mark its claim on your most sensitive areas. 

Tonight, as you cuddled up close, beneath a thin throw blanket printed with jack-o-lanterns and the silhouettes of cartoon bats, it had been painfully easy. She hadn’t protested when you suggested a movie night, hadn’t rolled her eyes when you turned on a film from your childhood that was admittedly horrible at best and downright insulting at worst, and she hadn’t even huffed in overdramatic defeat when you’d turned the subtitles on because that made any viewing experience ten times better. In fact, she’d been nothing but pleasant and willing. She’d collected your drinks from the kitchen, gathered your chosen snacks from the pantry, and lit a candle on the coffee table that had the entire house smelling like sweet notes of subtle maple and addictive vanilla. 

Cautiously, you peaked over your shoulder at her side profile illuminated by flickering auburn light from the three wick candle providing a gentle ambience of mood lighting around you, the dancing flame with the slightest twinges of blue and yellow embedded within its fiery existence reflected off of her emerald stare so peacefully that you nearly accepted the gentle nature of the night ahead of you without question, but you knew better. You’d been with Wanda for years, seen her through some of the most trying and difficult periods of her life, and subsequently some of the best and softest. You knew that whenever something was easy with her, then there was something else up her sleeve just waiting to be pulled. She kept things interesting, always had and always would, but you’d become rather perceptive to her motives after such a long game of cat and mouse. 

She had you pinned against her chest as you lounged on the couch she’d affectionately decorated with throw blankets and decorative pillows, one arm looped around your waist while the other held onto her glass of chilled white wine, the stem carefully weaved between her fingers in intricate delicacy that you hadn’t quite mastered no matter the years you spent attempting to copy her mannerisms. She dripped with class and exquisite wealth, despite being brought up in a country suffering with poverty. There was an intoxicating energy to her, one that compelled even her most passionate haters to surrender to her spell and seek to know her personally. You’d never quite gotten over that alluring charm about her, but she’d made it painfully obvious that you were the only one she wanted to bring home and into bed each time you left the house, so you didn’t dwell much on the simple fact that Wanda Maximoff could have any man or woman she desired without so much as lifting a finger to flirtatiously wave. 

As you reached for your glass of wine that had been thoughtlessly left abandoned on the coffee table besides the slowly burning candle, her arm pressed against your bladder just enough to make an uncomfortable feeling travel through your nerves. Willing to ignore it for a while longer, not wanting to leave her soothing company or risk your film being turning off due to her unrelenting boredom, you stayed against her chest, now gripping your own glass with delicacy, although you didn’t quite have the placement of your fingers right enough to have replicated her eloquence. You’d thought that Wanda was unaware of your subtle wince, however, she’d so easily detected the shift in your body language and the way you maneuvered within her hold to alleviate some of the pressure she was intentionally pressing into your bladder. 

When her hand fell to your thigh, her wine glass set to the side as she had only a couple of sips left and didn’t particularly enjoy being drunk without your lighthearted energy to match her pace, you shivered with anticipation, knowing all too well where her soft touch would lead if you played your cards right. Well, you had thought you knew all the moves she was going to make, but when she dug her fingertips into the crevice of your thigh without warning or prior teasing, tickling the sensitive skin that she knew was a no-go zone on your best day, let alone your worst, you truly began to realize what you were in for. A soft whine slipped off of your lips as you wriggled against her, but all she did was tighten her hold on you and coax your whines with sweet kisses against the shell of your ear, her fingers still teasing and tickling your sensitive skin with passion. 

“Wanda.” You gasped when one hand splayed firmly against your sensitive belly, and the other moved beneath your soft gingham print sleep shorts to cup your core beneath the frilly underwear you’d picked out that morning. Your attire was nothing special, nothing sexy nor new, but that’s what Wanda preferred. There were times when lingerie worked, where it brought a level of excitement and newness to your already exhilarating sexcapades, but Wanda was sweet, she preferred you as you were, with no reason to constantly be trying to change your comfortability and appearance. Her boldness had always been a turn on, and as you sat trapped between her chest and her possessive arms, you felt merely like a toy at her disposal. 

“What’s wrong, my angel?” She cooed against your earlobe, teeth taking claim over that sensitive inch of skin that always provoked your desire to rise to uncontrollable levels. She knows what’s wrong though, it’s not the first time you’ve walked into this trap, but it’s been months since she’s laid it out, months since she’s been so cruel and condescending that you don’t know whether to plead for leniency or for her fingers to claim the sweetest softest spaces of your intimacy. “Hm, be a good girl and tell me.”

“I have to pee.” The words burned your pride as they slipped into the air, your cheeks twinging a flush shade of pink more aligned for the pallet of summertime than fresh autumn. You wriggled in her grasp, attempting to set yourself free, but all you accomplished was adding more pressure against your already sensitive bladder, intensifying the sensation of urgency within your nerves. “Wands, I have to pee.” 

Your desperation did nothing to quell her cruelty, rather it feebly landed in the near silent room apart from the voices slipping out of the speakers in the ceiling. “Well that’s too bad, sweetheart. I like having you here. Surely you can wait a little while longer, can’t you? I’m not ready to let you go just yet.” 

Her fingers slid through your folds, collecting warm, sticky arousal that pooled at your entrance. You whimpered in need, desperate need that turned your nerves cold with pleasure but warmed your skin deliciously to the touch. You writhed in her lap, torn between staying still, ignoring the pressure being applied to your belly, and squirming against her hold until you could sink onto those tantalizing digits and claim your pleasure. You didn’t have the luxury of choosing, she was already deciding your fate before you could strategize a game plan to secure dominance. You never won when you attempted to overpower her, but it was fun to have those unrefined moments of vicious pleasure while they lasted. 

You gasped a broken whine of pleasure when her fingers dug themselves into your core with one finite movement, buried to the hilt if the chill of her rings laying heavily against your pulsating clit pebbled with anticipation was any indication. The pads of her fingers pressed against the softest section of your walls, sparkling sharp sparks of pleasure to shoot up your spine and reverberate off the lining of your sensitive bladder. You gasped again, a breathy, whiney sound that was entirely pathetic but lewdly sweet, as Wanda prodded and pressed against that spongy spot continuously, her fingers curling and scissoring apart within your slick velvety walls. 

You writhed in intense pleasure, squirming against her tight, near clinical hold as she kept you confined and at her mercy, only able to take whatever she gave you when she felt like it. The sensations sparking to life in your bladder and core were unimaginable fireworks of pleasure that drowned you in their intensity, covering you in pleasure derived from her; her touch, her words, her eloquently dominant energy. She covered you in her effortlessly, and you surrendered to the flames of passion without hesitation. 

“I can’t hold it! I can’t hold it! Wanda! I have to pee! Please let me cum!” As torn as your body was between remaining still and writhing in passionate movements, your mind was an even playing field of indecision. You had to pee, that was undeniable, it was steadily beneath the surface of pleasure, tethered to your orgasm in a terrifying way, but you need to cum, as her fingers scissors your pussy apart, massaged that spongy area within your walls, as her rings nudged and thumped against your clit, you were being driven closer and closer to that beautiful edge of vulnerability and pleasure. 

“One or the other.” Wanda’s voice was level, calculated. She wasn’t bothered by your desperation, nor was she feeling generous. Your bones grew cold with anticipation as you shook your head, but it did nothing to win you sympathy. Her fingers that had already been hammering into you at an unforgiving pace took an even harsher approach, and the squelching sounds of pleasure and arousal filled the room and joined the existing symphony of a crackling flame and animated characters. “You can either cum on my fingers like a good girl, or you can go pee and not receive anything. And, I know this slutty cunt never misses an opportunity to cum, so stop acting like you can’t handle what I decide to do to your body, and sit still.” 

Your body couldn’t help but oblige by her demand, and with muffled whimpers, your body stopped fighting against her hold. She laughed tauntingly, pressing harder against your bladder. You knew the moment you leaked even the slightest bit against her fingers, her touch would be withdrawn, whether you were in the middle of a blissful orgasm or just on the cusp of falling over the edge. She wouldn’t care. She wouldn’t show you even the slightest bit of moisture. She had made her ultimatum clear, there would be nothing that could change that. 

“I’m close! I’m close!” As your orgasm built, so did that pressure in your bladder that was slowly becoming unbearable. You could only will your body to allow you control, but before you could slip off the edge, fall into a sea of butterflies and pleasure, her fingers were slowing down, her palm pressing harder against your bladder in return for the loss of pleasure. 

“Hold it.” She demanded cruelly, voice level and dominating, only luring you further beneath her captivating spell that had you submitting unregretfully. You did as best as you could, your eyes pinched shut as you fought to fight off your orgasm, but eventually it all caught up to you, and your mindless babbling became indistinguishable pleas and desperate begging. “So pretty when you squirm for me.” 

“I-I can’t! Please! Please! I need to cum! I need to pee! Let me cum! Please, Wanda! Please!” Finally forcing the words off of your tongue, you only hoped they were enough to convince her to be kind. Minutes passed until they became a blur of sensations that ripped you apart from the inside, and when you thought you were going to break, just as you were on the cusp of deteriorating, everything started up again and instead of being denied, instead of loitering on the edge of bliss, Wanda granted you permission. You came with a high pitched moan, squirming and writhing against her hold and the second she worked you down from that blissful edge, you were bolting toward the bathroom, followed by her footsteps and taunting laughter. “Three glasses of wine and you decide to pull this shit! Wanda, I am going to kill you one day!” 

“That’s how you repay someone who just gave you the best orgasm of your life?! You threaten them?!” Wanda laughed menacingly, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom as she watched you attempt to relieve your bladder, although that was slightly difficult in your post-orgasm state, which only made your frustration double. 

“Second best! Nothing will beat last Christmas.” You threw her a nasty glare, finally able to pee as your muscles began to loosen and return to normal, although every nerve in your body was still alight with blissful pleasure. 

“You’re only making me want to compete with myself here, darling.” She smirked, licking her fingers clean of your arousal in a tantalizing power move that had your cheeks flushing but your eyes rolling. 

“You’re impossible.”

[zara-renata]

Hi, I write fanfiction about Love and Deepspace. Currently Sylus-dominant (heh), although I love and appreciate most of the LIs. Full summaries and tags are in each link.

The Sylus series

Part 1 Alike and cornered beast, Sylus's POV | ao3

I was desperate for Sylus's point of view during the first time that MC meets him in the Alike and Cornered Beast chapters of Long-Awaited Revelry. I wanted to know why he touches MC so reverently but also quite brutally, so I spent a lot of time thinking about possibilities and this is the result.

Part 2 Roleplay, undercurrents, and rising curtain, Sylus's POV | ao3

MC has PTSD from chapter 4 (you know the one), and no one can convince me otherwise, so I re-wrote the auction bits from Sylus's POV to fix this grievous oversight, because I am also firmly convinced he is a champ at handling MC's trauma.

Part 3 No way out, revised | ao3

I thought that MC was too mean to Sylus in his 4 star No Way Out card, and I didn't like it, so I fixed it. I mean, I rewrote how it went like a proper rabid fan.

Part 4 Datura tea, or how all you want is to get some sleep | ao3

You're suffering from insomnia due to untreated PTSD (probably, I don't know, I'm not a doctor or a therapist) from your family getting, well, exploded, and the longer this goes on, the sloppier you become in combat and just existing, and a bad idea is born.

Part 5 Sylus gets a headache | ao3

Sylus has secured the promise from you that he can use your place as a safe house if he's in the area and needs it. Sylus's definition of "need", it turns out, might be different than your own, as illustrated by the first time he shows up unannounced at your door.

Part 6 Wine time with Sylus | ao3

Sylus invites himself over, helps himself to your first aid kit and your kitchen, manipulates you into tasting wine with him, discusses his latest business venture, and gifts you more than one present before he's good and ready to finally leave.

Part 7 Sylus's guide to hiring, or Wine time with Sylus: his POV | ao3

Sylus mulls over all the data he has managed to collect regarding his sweet little hunter so far, and spends some time considering mistakes he's made and his plans for the future. He also hires a new employee and is required to teach the twins to mind their manners in front of guests he's trying to intimidate.

Part 8 Not my type | ao3

Sylus pesters you on your day off while you're at the arcade until you agree to "lend your talents" to him for the evening. So of course you show up at the designated location only to discover it's a nightclub, and you're dressed for a murder, but not on the dance floor.

Part 9 Sylus makes a deal | ao3

Sylus answers some questions, receives dating advice from a dubious source, makes a deal you can't refuse, receives a birthday invitation, and plans to take you home for the night.

Part 10 Even the rocks on the roadside in the N109 Zone could tell | ao3

Sylus makes one final miscalculation. You wake up from a nightmare in a place you weren't ready to revisit. Sylus has to reckon with the inevitable consequences of how he treated you when you first met him, but you're paying the higher price.

Part 11 Even the rocks on the roadside - Sylus's POV | ao3

Sylus tries to get some paperwork done in his office while you sleep. He receives a call that turns his night upside down and makes him regret some strategic choices he's made up until this point in conquering your heart.

Part 12 Q&A with Sylus Qin | ao3

Sylus cares for your injuries and feeds you a meal. After he shows you a part of his home that you didn't know existed, you finally ask him why he was so cruel to you when you first met him. Sylus does his best to answer with as much honesty as he can right now.

Part 13 How you learned to stop worrying and embrace Sylus Qin | ao3

Sylus reveals his latest little plot and makes you an offer that you ultimately can't refuse. More lying around talking in different beds with Sylus Qin.

Part 14 The dream, the tie, the tour, the dream | ao3

You have a good dream, get a guided tour of Onychinus's base by the chaos twins, talk yourself into being sad again, and then have another good dream

Part 15 The right hand, the left hand, the heart of Sylus Qin | ao3

Sylus meets with his legal counsel while the twins give you a tour of the base, you wake up from a dream, Sylus wastes some eggs, you attempt to get to know Sylus better, and you have your first 'date' with Sylus Qin.

Part 16 The pool | ao3

You dream, you do some art, you go for a swim, Sylus destroys part of his office, you discover the hot tub, you're close to catching a clue. A 'morning' in the life at Onychinus HQ.

Part 17 And everything that is now already existed then | ao3

Sylus shows you his favorite parts of his house, you are haunted by a strange feeling of familiarity, you spend some time with the twins and Noah, you learn about the bet they had going.

Part 18 Before you came, things were as they should be | ao3

You spend a lot of time wrestling with questions of morality, there's more poetry because the author has no self control, you may or may not burn out Mephisto's eye optics with your antics trying to provoke Sylus, Noah and the twins drag you to the club.

Sylus standalones

Control: a Sylus series interlude | ao3

You are feeling a bit depressed after completing a mission that didn't go 100% the way you wanted. Mephisto, and then Sylus, pay you a visit to cheer you up.

Creature Feature with Sylus Qin | ao3

You and Sylus dress up for a Halloween gala. This is a short little Sylus series interlude, occurring after these idiots finally get together.

Goodcat code, or how you learned to care for your catboy | ao3

Your crimelord boyfriend disappears for a week, you make yourself sad listening to breakup songs, you learn that he got turned into a catboy, you get assigned a mission on the worst cruise ship ever, undercover shenanigans ensue.

Would you love me if I were a worm drabble

Xavier

Sleepy time with Xavier | ao3

You suffer from chronic fatigue and worry that Xavier is only placating you when he says it's fine on the occasions you're too exhausted to follow through on plans together. On one such bad day, he reassures you in a way that you can no longer doubt.

[zoofzoofxx]

Cuddling sounds so good right now

Pairing - Joost Klein x Fem!Reader

Summary - After enjoying some drinks at a girls' night out, you made a silly joke thru the phone, and Joost ended up picking you up. He helped you get ready for bed. Right before going to sleep, you demanded a cuddle session.

Genre - pure fluff

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

While seated at the table with my girlies, enjoying drinks consequence-free, the alcohol intake began to resemble "prank calling my boyfriend." My closest friend sat beside me, not as intoxicated. Leaning towards her, I quietly disclosed the entire scheme. Despite her laughter and disapproving nod, I proceeded. I reached for my phone, scrolled through the contacts to find my boyfriend's name, and tapped to call him.

“Hey schat. (Hey babe.)” My boyfriend’s voice came through my speaker.

"Hello, this is Y/n L/n speaking. Are you interested in purchasing a fridge?" I inquired, then muted myself while erupting into laughter with my girls. It was a silly and bland joke, but the drinks made it appear amusing.

"Y/n?-" is the last thing I heard before hanging up. After a while, I received a text saying: 'I'll come pick you up in 30.' I showed the messages to my best friend, and she suggested taking advantage of those 30 minutes to grab more drinks.

We celebrated, sipped, danced , and simply relished the moment until one of friends approached me to inform me that my boyfriend was waiting outside for me. I collected my belongings and attempted to walk steadily and appear clear-headed, but ultimately I stumbled and tumbled right into my boyfriend's embrace.

"Haha, you're so strong," I slurred while reaching out to his biceps. He chuckled and kindly took my bag from me, assisting me to his car.

"Babe, I adore youuu…" I murmur while playing with his hair as he secures my seatbelt. Then plants a kiss on my forehead and shuts the car door. He then settles into the driver's seat and starts the car. I was chatting the whole journey with Joost, and he didn't seem bothered. He simply listened and conversed with me as if I were clear-headed. After a while, we reached our residence. He turned to me, assisted in unfastening the seatbelt, and stepped out of the car. Guiding me out of it, he lifts me up in a bridal style carry as we enter our home. He places me gently by a nearby chair, removes my shoes. I let out a yawn, resting my head on the kitchen table, nearly dozing off. I heard the water running in the bathroom, assuming Joost was showering, but he emerged, lifted me, and escorted me to the bathroom.

"Are you able to bathe independently?" He inquires. And I simply nodded in response.

"Sure thing, just give a shout if you need a hand, I'll be waiting outside," he assured me, planting a kiss on top of my nose. I hugged him from behind as he was leaving. We stood there quietly for a moment until I let go, and he walked out. After relaxing in the bath, I wrapped myself in towels and left the bathroom.

"I'm so hungry, babe..." I tell him as he smiles at me. He looks really cute at this moment. His hair is all messy, falling over his eyes. I go up on my toes to kiss him quickly on the lips. He kisses me back, and I don't want it to end. He holds me by my waist, kissing me until he lifts me up and takes me to the bathroom, placing me on the edge of the bathtub.

"What are you up to?" I ask as he starts to open the cupboard, removing all my skincare items.

"You'll appreciate it tomorrow, darling," he mentions as he crouches down to begin my skincare routine. I couldn't help but admire how adorable he looked and occasionally run my fingers through his hair while he finished.

He took my hand and guided me to our bedroom, gently placing me on the bed before heading to the wardrobe. Returning with fresh pajamas, he assisted me in changing. After laying me down, he mentioned he'd be back shortly. Moments later, he emerged from the shower, finding me gazing out the window. He approached, embracing me from behind.

“Gaan we al slapen schat? (Are we going to sleep darling?)” He inquired while planting a peck on my cheek, and I simply acknowledged. I reclined beside him. Subsequently, a hush fell between us.

"Joost," I initiate, and I could perceive him pivoting.

"Yeah, princess?" He inquires, and I simply grin at the endearing nickname.

"Can we cuddle, pretty please?" I inquire, drawing nearer to him as a gesture.

I sensed his hand encircling my waist, followed by a kiss on my shoulder. A content smile graced my lips as I drifted into slumber, comforted by the presence of my exceptional partner beside me. I consider myself truly fortunate.

A/n - HI BABES!!!! Sorry that this one shot was so short 💔 I have a bunch of assignments to tackle tomorrow, so I might not be able to share anything. However, I have a one shot request about Baby Lasagna, so I'll likely dedicate some time to it tomorrow, and you can anticipate the one-shot to be up on Friday! I've also got an idea for the third part of my tale involving Joost. So stay tuned for updates! 🩷🩷🩷🩷

[seoulzie]

through thick & thin

WHEREIN: beomgyu & reader discover their unspoken love ultimately realizing they have always been each other's true love.

彡 pairing: beomgyu x reader 彡 genre: fluff, lil angst 彡 warnings: jealous gyu & p1h's jiung makes a cameo ㅋㅋ

₊˚ ✩ 🌊 read the whole collection here!

you and beomgyu were practically born into each other's lives. your parents were best friends, and as a result, the two of you were more like siblings than mere friends. from your first steps to your first words, beomgyu was always there, his presence as natural as breathing.

beomgyu’s house was practically a second home to you, and vice versa. childhood was a whirlwind of shared toys, impromptu sleepovers, and adventures in your backyards.

in elementary school, your bond became a spectacle for teachers and students alike. beomgyu would leave his pencils at your table after breaks, and you would often forget your toys at his. you were inseparable. teachers would find you leaning on each other during nap times, sharing snacks at recess, and laughing the loudest in class.

high school brought subtle changes. the awkwardness of puberty and the chaos of teenage years couldn’t shake your bond. you still spent countless hours on the phone, your conversations flowing seamlessly into the night until one of them fell asleep mid-sentence. on weekends, you visited your childhood playgrounds even if that means you’re the oldest ones there, reliving memories and swinging on the old swings that now seemed smaller. 

one rainy afternoon, you found yourselves in beomgyu’s attic, rummaging through boxes of childhood memorabilia. you unearthed a dusty board game you used to play.

“remember how competitive we used to get?” you laughed, brushing off the dust.

beomgyu grinned. “used to? i’m still the reigning champion.”

you rolled her eyes playfully. “oh, please. the only reason you ever won was because you cheated.”

“cheated?!” beomgyu scoffed, feigning offense. “i won fair and square. you were just a sore loser.”

you smirked, leaning closer. “how about a rematch then? i bet you can’t handle my skills now.”

beomgyu chuckled, his spirit igniting. “you’re on. prepare to lose.”

you set up the game on the attic floor, the rain tapping a gentle rhythm on the roof. the game started with playful banter and exaggerated expressions of concentration.

“are you sure you want to move there?” beomgyu asked, his eyes narrowing.

“absolutely,” you replied confidently. “it’s called strategy, something you might want to learn.”

beomgyu laughed, shaking his head. “we’ll see about that.”

the game ended in a tie as you collapsed onto the floor, laughing until your stomachs hurt

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

as you were walking down the bustling hallway of your high school, you casually mentioned something that made beomgyu's heart stop.

“can you believe jiung asked me out? i didn’t see that one coming,” you said, your voice light and amused.

beomgyu stopped in his tracks, a frown tugging at his lips. “jiung’s a prat. you can do better than him; i’m really questioning your taste here.”

you rolled your eyes and nudged him playfully. “oh, come on. he’s not that bad. i said yes already.”

“you can—what?” beomgyu's eyes widened in shock, his mind reeling. “you actually said yes to going out with him?”

you shrugged, a hint of mischief dancing in your eyes. “yeah, i did. how come you’re so surprised?”

beomgyu struggled to find the right words, his emotions bubbling just beneath the surface. “i just... i don’t get it. you could do so much better than him.”

you chuckled, teasingly. “what? someone better like you?”

beomgyu felt his heart skip a beat at your words, a rush of hope flooding through him. but he quickly played it aside with a nervous laugh. “oh, come on, you. you know what i mean.”

you raised an eyebrow, your teasing demeanor softening. “do i?”

beomgyu’s heart ached at your words, but he forced himself to smile, the expression not reaching his eyes. “whatever, it’s nothing. i’ve got to get to my next class.”

before you could respond, beomgyu turned on his heel and walked away, his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and pain. 

the tension between beomgyu and you in the following days was palpable, each interaction tinged with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. you tried to give beomgyu space, but every passing moment felt like an eternity.

you saw him in the hallways, your eyes meeting briefly before he looked away. he responded politely when you greeted him, but there was a distance in his voice that echoed, it hurt to see him like this, to know that something had shifted between you and you didn't know why.

in those days, you gradually got closer to jiung, finding comfort in his company as you bonded, his easy-going nature and infectious laughter were a welcome distraction from the growing tension with beomgyu. 

however, despite enjoying your time, everything he did almost reminded you of beomgyu. his laugh, his smile, even the way he listened with genuine interest all brought beomgyu to mind. though you were with jiung physically, your mind constantly drifted back to beomgyu, the ache in your heart growing with each passing day.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

it was a cool evening, the playground bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights. you walked slowly, lost in thought after your date with jiung. passing by the playground was a shortcut to your house, a place that held countless memories with beomgyu.

as you approached, you noticed a figure sitting on one of the swings, head bowed, lost in contemplation. it was beomgyu, his silhouette familiar yet different in the dim light. you hesitated for a moment, debating whether to approach him or continue on your way.

beomgyu sensed your presence and looked up, surprise flickering across his face before he quickly masked it with a forced smile. “hey,” he greeted softly, his voice tinged with a hint of melancholy.

you stopped in front of him, your expression cautious. “hey. what are you doing here?”

beomgyu shrugged, avoiding your gaze. “just thinking.”

you stood in silence for a moment, the rustling leaves and distant sounds of the city filling the space between you. you took a deep breath, about to address the tension that had been building,

"we need to talk," you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you.

beomgyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. "i know."

you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever was about to come. "beomgyu, why have you been avoiding me?"

beomgyu shifted on the swing, his gaze fixed on the ground as he struggled to find the right words. "it's... it's nothing about you," he began, his voice slightly strained. "i'm fine, really."

you frowned, not buying his attempt to brush it off. "beomgyu, you've barely talked to me in days. we used to talk about everything. what do you mean it's nothing?"

beomgyu sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "i guess... i guess i just needed some time to sort things out in my head," he admitted reluctantly. 

you waited, sensing there was more he wasn't saying. the silence stretched between them until beomgyu finally spoke again, his voice hesitant. "seeing you with him... it's been difficult for me."

your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "difficult how?" you asked, your tone cautious.

beomgyu looked up, meeting your gaze with a mix of regret and longing. "i... i don't like seeing you with someone else," he confessed quietly. "especially when it's someone like jiung."

you's eyes widened in surprise, and then narrowed slightly in frustration. "what do you mean, 'someone like jiung?" you asked, your voice tinged with irritation.

beomgyu's expression darkened, and he couldn't hold back anymore. "i hate how he has everything i have, yet you choose him," he spat out, his voice seething with jealousy.

you shook your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. “why does it even matter to you? you’re not dating me!”

“you think i don’t know that?” beomgyu shot back, his voice rising slightly. 

“so then, whats your problem!?” 

beomgyu gathered his thoughts, “my problem is that i’m in love with you!” he blurted out, his voice cracking with emotion. 

“but I’m a coward, and you’re oblivious,” beomgyu continued, “watching you go out with jiung made me realize that i’d be spending the rest of my life watching you date, marry, and have a family with someone else. it tore me apart inside, knowing that i was losing you without ever really having the chance to tell you how i feel.”

beomgyu’s voice wavered, the pain and desperation clear in his words. “i can’t keep pretending that i’m okay with just being your friend when i want so much more. i want to be the one who makes you laugh, who holds you when you cry, who shares every moment of your life. but i’m terrified that if i tell you the truth, i’ll lose you completely.”

for a moment, you stood there, absorbing his words, your heart pounding in your chest. the air was thick with unspoken emotions, and you could feel the weight of his confession pressing down on you. without saying a word, you stepped closer to him, your eyes locked onto his. slowly, you reached up and cupped his face in your hands, your touch gentle and reassuring.

then, before either of you could second-guess the moment, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. the kiss was soft and tentative at first, a question more than a statement, but it quickly deepened as beomgyu responded, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer. the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that perfect, timeless moment.

when you finally pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, both of you breathing heavily. beomgyu’s eyes were wide with surprise and a glimmer of hope.

"beomgyu..." you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "i think I’ve always known too," you admitted softly. "i just didn’t know how to say it."

you smiled through your tears. "it’s always been you, beomgyu."

the realization hit beomgyu, and his face lit up with pure joy. he pulled you into another kiss, this one filled with passion and relief. as the kiss broke, he couldn't contain his excitement and spun you around, just like in the movies. you both laughed, the tension and heartache melting away, replaced by the warmth of newfound love.

in that moment, everything felt right.the playground, once a place of childhood memories, had now become the backdrop for the beginning of your love story.

⋆˚࿔ taglist!  @flowzel , @izzyy-stuff , @inkigayocamman , @vicurious28

© 2024 seoulzie 

[pulcheriebalhoud]

Club Sounds Vol.15 - CD2 The Bumpin' Cuts

[innerfare]

Zoro Relationship Headcanons 

Summary: A collection of headcanons about being in a relationship with Roronoa Zoro

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

———

A ton of initial attraction, sparks between the two of you, but he doesn’t make a move, and neither do you because he doesn’t actually seem open to it. Zoro doesn’t appear available, so you try to put it from your mind, a difficult task considering he always seems to be in your way, interjecting himself into your conversations, arguing with you about the littlest things, taking off his shirt to lift weights while you watch. 

Has a bit of an existential crisis when he realizes it’s not just respect, friendship, and even regular attraction (of course he’s noticed you’re attractive he’s not blind) between the two of you but deeper affection, deeper than he’s felt in his entire life. Lays awake at night worrying he’ll put it all on the line for you, contemplating what it means to love someone when you’re as insular and goal driven as he is. Is there even space for you in his life? There’s going to have to be because the thought of not napping beside you makes him feel like he’s falling into a bottomless abyss.

Gets extra crabby, especially with you, after realizing his affection for you, still doesn’t make a move. It actually comes down to Robin engineering several situations where you two are left alone together and finally just locking you two in the library together when nothing else has worked. You confront Zoro about his attitude and he snaps, pushing you into the wall and kissing you. And that’s that. 

If you don’t know how to fight, he’ll be teaching you. And if you do know how, he’ll be sparring with you to make sure your skills are up to par. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing at first until it hits him one day: he’s taking care of you. He knows he won’t always be there to protect you and wants to make sure you’re safe. 

Doesn’t give you gifts often, but on the rare occasions he does, they’re thoughtful. Has most definitely given you a sword and at least two knives, though a part of you dreads unwrapping these things because you know you’re going to spend countless hours learning how to use them, though you’re ultimately grateful he values your safety so much. 

“Damn it, woman.” Be prepared to hear this multiple times a day. If you move his things, if you mess up his hair, if you give him an erection. If you’re bad at something, slow at something, or simply not doing something the way he would do it, he’ll try to take over, and then he’ll bicker with you when you don’t let him; if you’re the type to let him, you’re probably not his type. Old married couple vibes 100%. 

If you’re sick, “what’s your problem?” If you’re sad, “what’s with you?” Doesn’t mean to be rude, just not exactly high in emotional intelligence. 

You’ll spend the morning bickering, parting ways as he goes to work out and you do your own thing, and then you get together in the evening to go out drinking and you’re best friends, laughing and dancing together. It raises some eyebrows on the crew but they just roll with it (they are the Straw Hats after all).

Definitely wears your robe, even if its a satin kimono with flowers on it. This man doesn’t give a single fuck. If you get mad at him for it, he’ll pretend he didn’t know it was yours. “How was I supposed to know?” “It’s pink with flowers on it!” Will also use your toothbrush, body wash, etc. Would wear your clothes if they fit. What’s yours is his. 

Secretly such a gentleman. Doesn’t like to be thanked for it, though. He’ll brush it off, at times even acting annoyed at you for saying anything. 

Also secretly loves it when you’re sweet to him- cute pet names, kisses on the cheek, etc., but pretends not to. 

Never carries you bridal style. If he carries you, he’s throwing you over his shoulder, and if you complain, he’ll smack your ass and grumble, “quiet, woman.” Might smack your ass again because he likes the feel of it; also likes how you squeal in response, though he would rather die than admit it.  

If you roll away from him in the night, he drags you right back over to him. And if you try to get out of bed in the morning before him or even leave in the middle of the night to get water or go to the bathroom, he won’t be allowing it. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[mercurianchild]

🦇spooky season astro observations part 2🦇

🕸️Mars in the 8th house signals a strong connection to the occult, death, and transformation. People with Mars in the 8th may have an intense drive to uncover hidden truths, and they may be drawn to witchcraft or other forms of shadow work. Their energy can be magnetically dark, with a fearless approach to taboo topics.

🕸️Moon in the 6th house deals with health and routines, and the Moon here can bring a strong connection to emotional healing through ritual. Individuals with this placement may be drawn to herbalism, crystal healing, or other forms of spiritual wellness. Their intuition is heightened when caring for others.

🕸️Scorpio inner planets placements is the ultimate placement for those drawn to the darker, transformative side of life. Sun in Scorpio individuals are often fascinated by death, magic, and the unseen world. They thrive on digging deep into life’s mysteries and may have a natural gift for divination or witchcraft.

🕸️With Capricorn Venus love feels like a haunting echo from the past, bound by ancient karma. You’re drawn to the eerie beauty of time-worn places, old cemeteries, or crumbling ruins. Relationships may feel fated, almost as if you’ve been tied to your lover through lifetimes of karmic debt. There’s a cold, gothic romance in your heart, where love and death are intertwined.

🕸️ Saturn in Aquarius can be a sign of the occult scientist—someone who wants to apply a structured, rational approach to magical or esoteric studies. These individuals might be drawn to astrology, tarot, or numerology, using logic and systems to uncover deeper truths about the universe.

🕸️With Pluto Square Ascendant you radiate a dark, haunting energy that others find unsettling. There’s an aura of death and rebirth around you, as if you’re always walking with ghosts. People sense something powerful and dangerous lurking beneath the surface. It’s as though you’ve been touched by the underworld, and those around you feel compelled—yet afraid—to dive into your depths.

🕸️Neptune sextile Pluto aspect pulls you into the depths of the collective unconscious, where the boundaries between life and death dissolve. Neptune’s ethereal influence combines with Pluto’s underworldly energy, making you a natural channel for spirits or ancestral energies. The occult comes to you not as a study, but as a calling from the depths of the unknown. Here, magic isn’t a practice—it’s a descent into a labyrinth of shadows, where the answers you seek may come from voices long forgotten.

🕸️Moon sextile Pluto is a restless spirit, constantly seeking the unknown. Strange dreams haunt your sleep, filled with symbols and omens. There’s a wildness to your emotional world—Uranus shakes things loose, making room for paranormal experiences and unpredictable psychic flashes. It’s as if your soul is tuned to the frequency of the strange and the uncanny, always ready to hear the whispers from beyond.

🕸️With Venus trine Neptune love becomes a ghostly whisper, something otherworldly and untouchable. Venus trine Neptune connects you to love that feels eternal, as if your heart beats in tune with the spirits of long-lost lovers. You might fall in love with the idea of someone rather than their flesh and blood, forever chasing shadows in the mist. There is beauty here, but it’s veiled, as if you’re dancing with phantoms in a moonlit graveyard.

🕸️ Lilith in the 4th house brings forth ancestral shadows and hidden traumas, making you deeply aware of family secrets and the haunting legacy of those who came before. There’s a sense that your roots are tangled in dark magic, and the walls of your home may hold the spirits of your lineage, forever seeking to communicate their untold stories.

🕸️ With Lilith in the 7th house, relationships become a cauldron of dark magic and transformative energy. Here, individuals may attract partners who challenge them to confront their shadow selves, revealing deep truths and hidden desires. This dynamic often feels like a mystical dance between power and vulnerability.

That’s it for part two. Take what resonates and leave the rest.

Much love🥀 -mercurianchild

[revelboo]

That Thundercracker blip was pretty good, I think I detect a new seeker to add to my collection 👀

I see TC as the most affectionate of the Seekers, mostly based on the IDW comics where he adopted a dog and takes shockingly good care of it, being the ultimate doting pet parent. This mech needs someone to take care of, but instead of Buster, he latches onto you. I feel like he’d be just a hopeless romantic, and try way too hard. Go overboard.

Better Open the Door Pt 3

Thundercracker x Reader

• It’s stuck in his processor all day, that dance between the main characters as they grew closer from your movie. It’s a curious thing. Caught in each other’s gravity, struggling against each other, then coming together. Meant to be. He thinks of you, too. Curled against him, entrusting yourself to him. You’re so small after all compared to a Cybertronian. Fragile. You need him to protect you, you just don’t know it yet.

• He’s there waiting for you before you can even set up the little screen and projector the next Friday, just melting out of the woods with such little sound for something so huge. It’s the bush he has in his fist that you notice first though, he’s yanked up someone’s rose bush roots and all apparently. And he just grins down at you, kneeling to hold it out to you while you smile weakly, because what are you supposed to do now? He just looks so proud. “Hey, thanks,” You manage, rocking back to avoid the thorns. “Roses.”

• “For you,” he says, sounding pleased even as he realizes you can’t or won’t take the bush from him and finally sets it down. “You like roses, right?” He glances from the bush to you and back, that smile faltering somewhat.

• “They’re lovely,” you assure him because he looks so crestfallen. Someone is probably going to have a fit when they wake up to find their rose bush just gone, but he means well. When’s the last time a guy’s brought you flowers? Even if the guy is a giant alien. It’s kind of sweet and his smile brightens again. “I have a couple of different movies this time,” you begin, but he’s crouching, a huge finger sliding against the inside of your arm until it presses against your palm.

• Pleased at the feel of your hand on his, he has to resist the urge to scoop you up. It’s like holding hands, your little palm not quite in his. “Anything is fine.” Because as fun as the movies are, he wants to discuss them with you more, get your opinion. Hear you talk. And usually he pays attention to the movie, but as you get it started and wrap yourself in your blanket, he offers you a hand. And all of his attention. You hesitate only a minute, peering up at his face before settling yourself in his palm. It’s not even halfway over before you’re out. So tired. He’s not sure what you do during the day, but it’s clearly too much. Adjusting your warmth against his frame, he vents. You need rest. Someone to look after you. Keep you safe and happy. As he transforms oh so carefully around you to trap you in his canopy, he knows he’s doing the right thing. You need him, you just don’t know it yet.

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[hanbinics]

✧.* BINNIE'S BOO FEST | DAY 12.

HALLOWEEN '24 [based off these prompts]

!fratboy chris x !crybaby reader

you absolutely adore the fair. everything from the bright lights and rides, the snacks—it all has you buzzing with excitement much to chris’s mild annoyance. except it’s not so much your happiness that annoys him, it’s just this place. he thinks it’s fuckin’ stupid and a quick way to waste your cash, but he still lets you tug him around the fair grounds, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie as you pull on his arm until you find yourselves standing a few feet away from some sort of carnival game going on.

immediately, your eyes light up, and you tilt your head up towards chris. “can we play that? please?” you plead, gaze taking on that puppy dog look you constantly swear you don’t use on him in times like this.

the brunette takes one glance at the booth and the older man running it before snorting. “shit’s not meant for you to win, y’know that right?” he asks, looking down at you to find your brows creasing in the middle of your forehead. he exhales, already sensing the tantrum you’re about to throw. “if i play this shit, y’gotta promise me you won’t throw a fit if y’lose,” he insists, a stern look to his blue eyes. he doesn’t move from his spot until you’re throwing your head back with a whine, tugging on his arm.

“okay, i promise!” you exclaim, exasperated, but you’re quick to recover once chris actually starts to move, allowing you to pull him over to the booth.

the game is simple, really, and maybe a little childish, but you don’t care. as soon as you spot the fuzzy pink bunny hanging amongst the other prizes on the shelves, you’re determined to walk away with the plushie in your arms. so you’re careful in the way you line yourself up, eyes sharp and focused on the balloons you have to pop with the three darts the employee had given you. somewhere just behind you, chris watches with his arms crossed over his chest, amusement dancing in his gaze, but you don’t let it distract you—and it pays off.

as soon as your last dart pops one of the purple balloons lining the wall, you’re pausing for a split-second, and then ultimately breaking out into a grin as you turn around to face chris. he’s looking at the spot where the purple balloon had just been with his head drawn back slightly, eyebrows raised in complete surprise before he finally looks down at you with the corners of his mouth stretching across his face.

“look at that, kid. got a fuckin’ arm on you, i guess,” he jokes, but there’s a hint of something prideful lingering just beneath his tone, and you’re beaming as you lean up on the tips of your toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek—a blatant display of affection that he doesn’t often partake in.

when you turn to face the man working the booth again, your smile doesn’t fade. “i um—i want that one,” you tell him a bit shyly, pointing with one finger to the pink bunny you’d spotted earlier. you don’t realize the way he’s looking at you until you hear him chuckle.

“’fraid not, sweetheart. you hit the wrong balloon—supposed to hit a blue one,” he informs you, barely blinking an eye at the way he’s just crushed your spirit entirely.

your face begins to fall, the light in your eyes fading and your shoulders beginning to slump as you try to process what he’s saying. you’re confused, but you’ve never been good at confrontation, so instead of arguing with him, you find yourself pressing your lips together and blinking rapidly to keep away any tears beginning to collect at the corners of your sad eyes.

“oh,” you breathe out, foot dragging across the half-frozen ground as you begin to turn away, but you stop when you’re faced with chris, his faced screwed up in irritation and confusion as he sets his sights on the man that’s just turned you down so dismissively.

“fuck do you mean blue?” he all but scoffs, his hands now free from his pockets as he takes a step around you. “you said she needed to hit a fuckin’ purple at the beginning,” he insists, but the stranger barely looks up at chris as he counts the money the brunette had handed over for you to even participate to begin with.

he shakes his head. “always been blue—don’t know how y’all got it mixed up, but she didn’t win. sorry,” he offers, not sounding sincere in the slightest.

you watch as chris looks at him in disbelief, the realization that he’s being fucking serious sinking in slowly. he breathes out a scoff, running his tongue along his teeth as he seems to debate with himself about what to do next. you see the gentle flex of his fingers at his sides, your heart beginning to race in your chest as you watch him step forward so that he’s pressed right up against booth, leaning in close to the employee whose attention he’s now gained as he grips the edge of the counter so tight his knuckles turn white.

“nah—see, i don’t think you’re understandin’ me: she did win accordin’ to your stupid fuckin’ rules. so uh—why don’t ya just let her pick out her little prize, and i won’t have to rock your shit for makin’ the kid upset,” he suggests, a smile spreading across his mouth as he speaks that lacks any sort of warmth or kindness.

when you finally leave together, you do so with a fuzzy pink plushie clutched tight to your chest and a big smile on your face.

©hanbinics

: ̗̀➛ tag list: @blahbel668, @zayluvss, @whicked-hazlatwhore, @leviosatothestars.

: ̗̀➛ divider by @/strangergraphics