#hides all the disclosures | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lixzey · 6 months

Text

forever yours.

one two

Timothée Chalamet, cheating on Kylie Jenner? The Wonka actor was spotted kissing an unknown woman in Los Angeles!

You stared at the article on your phone, your hands shaking. You knew you shouldn't think about it; after all, you and Timothée have been dating for four years, and he loves you—only you. But nobody knew that, though. He was a world-famous actor, and you were someone who just so happened to have his heart. You two had decided to keep the relationship low-key and private, away from the chaotic world of Hollywood. Nobody outside of both of your families and friends knew who you were or what you looked like.

You sighed, plopping down on the bed in your boyfriend's apartment. You have been living with him for the last two years, and you loved every bit of it. Timothée was the sweetest boyfriend; he loved to spoil you. He gives you everything that you deserve and more—his words, not yours. You couldn't ask for anything more; you were happily content with the love of your life.

But you still can't brush off the fact that in this story, you were the bad guy.

It all started in December 2022, when Timothée was forced to date Kylie Jenner. His management thought that it would be beneficial for him, seeing that Kylie was Forbes' youngest self-made billionaire and had tons of fans, maybe more than Timothée had. At first, your boyfriend was reluctant. He didn't want to date anyone else other than you. You two argued, but in the end, you convinced him that it would be good for his career.

Timothée signed the contract, and he was obligated to date the youngest daughter of Kris Jenner.

It started with little appearances like Kylie showing up at your home, and you had to leave or hide because there were paparazzis all over the perimeter of your house. Your boyfriend was absolutely apologetic that you had to pretend that you were not his, and it broke his heart to see you smile from the sidelines.

You assured him that everything's alright. You were okay with everything, as long as, at the end of the day, he came back home to you.

Some Timothée's fans were hopelessly praying that it was all some sort of PR stunt—which it actually was, but you signed a non-disclosure agreement. You had no choice but to keep it to yourself. Their 'relationship' went on and on, giving the people the benefit of the doubt.

Until early September, when the PR team decided that it was time to make it public.

You were a little bit heartbroken when you saw it on social media. It was at Beyoncé's birthday concert, a celebrity-studded event, which made it the perfect opportunity to show off their relationship. The way Kylie Jenner had her hands all over your man made your blood boil. Timothée looked uncomfortable, but he didn't have any other choice. You wanted to go and just punch that plastic woman for having her claws all over your boyfriend, but you couldn't do anything. You hated it, but you couldn't bring yourself to admit it. Because if you did, Timothée would drop it before you could even say no.

The way your boyfriend has his arms wrapped around that plastic bitch made you want to slap her and tear off all the plastic she had in her fake body. The way she kissed your man made you want to feed her to the sharks in the Atlantic Ocean. The way your boyfriend had his hand over her ass made you want to go and make a deal with the devil to rid the world of that woman, and maybe chop off your boyfriend's hands while you're at it. But again, you couldn't do a thing. You were left to watch while another woman pawed at your man.

Timothée did everything to make it up to you. He would always assure you that it was all for show and nothing more. He loved you, only you, and he would never dream of hurting you. You knew that, of course, but you can't help getting annoyed by it—you won't tell him that though, because you couldn't.

But now you were a homewrecker, a slut.

Apparently, someone saw you and your boyfriend kissing. It was your fourth anniversary. Timothée had brought you to your favorite restaurant in Los Angeles and was enjoying the night, celebrating four years of love. After a bit of wine, he kissed you, like he always did—momentarily forgetting his 'girlfriend'.

The next day, the photo of you and your boyfriend kissing was all over the internet. People were calling you a homewrecker, a slut, a whore, and more. You practically had death threats filling up semi-trucks. People were telling you who you are, and you didn't have a choice, all because you loved Timothée.

All of this for what? Celebrating four years with the man you love?

You buried your face in your hands, trying to muffle your sobs. You felt like the whole world was against you, like you were the villain in some twisted fairytale. What did you do to even deserve any of this? You just wanted to be with your man, but the world had other plans.

“Mon amour? Are you here?” A voice echoed from downstairs. You wiped away the tears from your eyes, putting on another fake smile as you walked down.

“Hey, love. Are you hungry?” You asked, voice breaking. Timothée looked at you, and you knew he knew something was wrong. You mentally kicked yourself for being so utterly stupid.

“What's wrong, mon amour?” Timothée asked, stepping forward and wrapping you in his arms.

“Nothing, it's alright.” You lied. You were getting pretty good at lying, not that you were proud of it.

Timothée sighed, his arms wrapping you tighter against his body. “Y/n, please, baby. I know something's wrong; you've been crying.” You could hear his heartbeat, the loud thumping in his chest calming you. You sighed loudly, burying your face into his chest, the smell of his cologne invading your nostrils. You pulled away abruptly, and the look of confusion on his face made your heart wrench inside your chest.

“I'm okay, don't worry.”

Timothée cupped your face in his hands, your eyes meeting his. “Y/n, please, mon amour. Just tell me, I just want to help.”

You took a deep breath. It was now or never. “Have you seen the tabloids?”

Timothée sighed, knowing it was about his fake relationship again. “Can you tell me what it is, baby? I'm sorry I haven't checked out the news.”

“It's just....it's silly, honestly.”

“It's not silly if it's bothering you, my love.”

“Someone saw us kissing yesterday, and it's all over the tabloids.” you mumbled, your eyes glued to the floor.

“Oh, baby,” Timothée whispered. “I'm so sorry; I dragged you into this. It's all my fault.” he muttered.

Your heart broke when he said it was his fault. It wasn't; it was the people who were quick to judge. “It isn't your fault, Tim.”

“It is, baby. I shouldn't have agreed to that PR stunt. I should've just turned it down and spent all of my time with you instead-” You cut him off with your lips crashing with his. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him as he deepened the kiss. You felt all of your worries evaporate into thin air, and all that mattered was him. The man you have spent four years with, the man you see a future with.

You pulled away, making him growl as the feeling of your lips left his. You chuckled, kissing him on the cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you more, baby. But….”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “But what, baby?” You asked worriedly.

“Can I see what the article says? And anything else related to it?”

Your eyes widened slightly. It was one thing for you to read all of those horrid things people have written about you, but Timothée? He would break at the words people have said about you, and you couldn't live with him thinking his fans were horrible to the woman he loves.

“Baby….”

“Please, mon amour? You don't deserve to get all the hate.”

You playfully raised an eyebrow, trying to diffuse the tension. “Who said I was getting hate?”

Timothée chuckled. “I know Hollywood.”

You let out a deep sigh as you rubbed your temples. “It's horrible, mon amour.”

“I don't care; I still love you no matter what.”

“You really want to read it?”

“Yes, I do.”

You opened your phone and showed him one of the videos on TikTok about the articles.

timmyfan1: omg timmy cheated on kylie with her? yuck, homewrecker.

kyliestan_: such a slut, going after someone else's boyfriend.

timotheestan: die bitch

– timobaby: yeah, go die in a ditch you slut.

– kyjennerbaby: not timothée's fans wanting the girl to die 😭

timotheechalamalabingbong: not timothée throwing away his relationship and career for this girl 😭

kyliebaby: poor kylie, got her heart broken by this douchebag

jennersisters: anyone want to help me find that girl and slap the shit outta her?

– user1: count me in!

– user2: me too! i'm gonna drag that little bitch down

“I'm so sorry, mon amour,” Timothée whispered as he turned the phone off. “You don't deserve any of this.”

You smiled sadly at him. “I know, but this is nothing.”

“No, it's not nothing. They want you to die, and that's not okay…”

“I don't have any plans on dying, Timmy.” You chuckled.

"But…but...”

"No buts. I know it hurts, but we have to live with it. I have to live with it. You'll just have to focus on your career, okay?”

Timothée sighed in defeat. “You're the most precious person in this world; you don't deserve this.”

“And you know it.” You smiled, grabbing his hand in yours. “I don't care about their words anymore, as long as I have you.”

“I don't deserve you.”

“You do; you deserve me and more.” You chuckled, kissing his knuckles. “I love you, no matter what.”

“I love you, Y/n, I love you so fucking much.” Timothée planted a soft kiss on your lips before pulling you again to his chest. “I'm yours, forever yours.”

You sighed contentedly, melting at his touch, feeling comfort and love in your boyfriend's arms. The only thing that mattered in that moment was you and him; no one could ever take away your happiness.

Your boyfriend, your Timothée, yours.

@helens3amstuff @gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @lovemelikecrazyiloveyoucrazy @tchalamss @tchalamss @ashlynnmalfoy @crazycat-ladys-blog @michakune @mxltifxnd0m @spencerr3idd @dangelnleif @sthkate @ferrjulie @imnotoverlyobsessive @mel-vaz @elsagreeer @lovely-maryj @meowmeowmau @bobthe-turmpetman29 @saintcosette

5K notes · View notes

capslocked · 4 months

Text

HONNE, TATAMAE & THE OTHER ONE

male reader x shin yuna

9k words

Yuna shuffles into your office with the same sneaky smile, the same easy slouch, and she settles into one of the chairs across the table. There is, apparently, more to talk about.

It's a matter of image, of perception, is what she knows.

You know every good lie starts with the truth.

So you swallow. You pause. Some other part of you understands Yuna can't ignore who she really is, and you’re not sure you can either.

Look - Shin Yuna is the kind of woman that turns heads, even with the best of intentions. A long, lithe silhouette; an easy, rosy sort of youthfulness clinging to the swell of her cheekbones, the curve of her waist. Take a dress that's cut to show a little thigh, or a hairstyle pushed back on one side - earrings, or heels, or just the subtle swipe of red over her lip - it doesn't take much for men (or anyone else) to figure that out. A girl who, more times than not, really ought to have a boy's hand planted on her ass, in possession.

So the opportunity to capture such a form perfected - all toned and graceful and flush for curves, her legs never seeming to end, the slithering fit of the dresses - these were the things they wanted. Package it, put a logo on it - better yet, a ribbon or a bow - and ship it straight to the consumer.

Somebody everyone wants, somebody no one can ever have.

“So,” Yuna asks from the other side of your desk, lips slanting halfway coy. “Are you going to treat me like an adult?"

Her fingers play idly with the hem of her skirt, and she lets a long, slender leg slowly slide out from beneath her.

“In what way,” you answer, half paying attention.

"The photos." She doesn't have the slightest qualms about lifting it higher. The soft creak of leather, and a deepening smile. "Am I not allowed to be a little racy?"

"That's certainly... one way of looking at it."

You glance away from where her stockings wrap around the soft curve of her thighs to flip back through the photos in your lap, one after the other, each a little different from the last. The beach, the sun, a flimsy white slip of a bikini top that hides exactly nothing, her muscles wet and glistening and perfect. Beyond suggestive, it's considerably inappropriate.

But then to a lot of people, Yuna is a lot of things.

She’s more clever than anyone gives her credit for. And she’s fucking gorgeous, sure. That’s definitely not up for debate, but god is she young - she's barely twenty. And here’s some rather uninteresting food for thought: you couldn't even technically take her for a drink without faking an ID or breaking some law or another, like a real one. So go ahead, chew that down. Girls her age are typically studying, or working a retail job and getting wasted on the weekends. And they aren't typically making six, seven figures turning their head to the camera and asking how much more skin?

You have some thoughts.

Prudently, you’re her publicist, and it’s your job to make sure that the public gets a good look at her and sees exactly what you want them to see. It's unfair. She wields sex like a weapon. She's got the face, the body; it's an easy sell, commodified and commercialized down to the finest detail, the softest curve, the slightest arch of her brow. The idea's to not let anyone look too long, should they catch something you haven't approved yet, or the fact that she's quite possibly a real person with a real life and real feelings, which could easily fuck up her brand, so unfortunately, that's a bit of a no-go.

Sign of the times maybe, no ethical consumption under another something, yadda yadda - it's a shitty business, really, and the whole thing usually leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

(And just to be upfront, as an important disclosure: you are fucking her brains out on the side, which is a different kind of ethical dilemma, with a different kind of flavor to it.

You’re supposed to be something of a role model - and she’s gone and fucked up bad by falling for you. From her perspective, it probably makes sense. Girl gets boy, bespoke song, credits roll and it's fine. No sin to atone, no 'after'.

It was supposed to be a one time thing. It’s metastasizing into something you’re not even going to attempt to put into words. It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen, you know that. And you know the girl has daddy issues, but then you've never had a problem whatsoever playing into it. The possessiveness, the control - she gets off on it. You're pretty sure that she'd do just about anything if you asked her, and you'll admit that the thought alone makes your stomach stir, your mouth run dry.)

Yuna taps her knuckles on the wood of your desk. “What’s the verdict?”

"Well, professionally," you say, caveat in hand, and you give the photos one last flip through. "I'd say they're fine.”

"Oh?" Yuna cocks her head to the side. Her long, blonde hair curtains over her shoulder, and the smile that shadows in at the corner of her mouth is almost wicked. She leans forward, chin propped on a palm, and you see that her expression is bright, glittering with interest. "And unprofessionally?"

Sure. It's a fair question.

Though she's wearing her stage face, the one that looks all big eyes and doe lashes, a hint of a pout on her plush bottom lip, and she's staring at you expectantly, the way she might look at a man she's just asked for the time.

You've seen her look a million other ways. You've seen her with her knees spread, her cheeks flushed, on all fours, straddling your lap, face pressed into the sliding glass door of your shower, her eyes screwed shut as she chokes out your name. And god, doesn’t she look good in all of them.

Your fingers tap against the photos.

“Unprofessionally," you tell her, and the smile on your face is tight - unknowable. "I think they’re a little… gaudy."

Yuna frowns, and it's just a flash before her expression is carefully blank again, the stage face back in full swing. She's been doing this since she was a teenager, so the mask is impeccable, but you know her, and you know that she's thinking: about the photo shoot, the way the photographer was looking at her, and the way you had looked at her later, too.

She knows what you've seen. She's wondering if that's why.

"Really," she asks, a note of disappointment in her voice.

"Really," you confirm with a small sigh, though you're still smiling. It's a small, private sort of smile, like you're remembering a joke. You don't miss the way she glances down at your mouth either. "Let me be clear, you have a shot at real success. I mean, you have a chance at a career. A real, sustainable career.”

She's sitting there with her legs crossed, her foot tapping restlessly, and when she's silent for a moment too long, the way her eyes narrow just a smidge, her head tipped slightly, you realize how it sounds. Patronizing.

"Look," you amend. You're not the best at apologies, but you try. "I just mean - I think that you could be doing something that you actually enjoy."

"Who says I don't enjoy this," she says, and there's a bite in her tone, a challenge. She's leaning back in her seat now, arms crossed.

"What, taking your clothes off for the camera?" You laugh, a quick bark. Isn’t that a cruel question, and you can see it in the way her eyes flash. "You could do a lot more than that, I'm just saying."

"Right," she says, and she doesn't blink, doesn't even move. Her gaze is fixed, unwavering. "Because I'm not pretty enough."

You open your mouth. Close it.

It's not a question. It's a statement.

"That's not what I'm saying-"

"Do you know what makes me different from the IT-girl-of-the-month? The Jang Wonyoungs, the Bae Irenes, the Kim Jisoos of the world?" Yuna cuts in.

"Yuna, this isn't-"

"You should know. " She laughs. "It's your job, knowing things, isn't it?"

The silence stretches thin between you. She's not wrong. There’s the quintessential beauty, the timeless classic, the fantasy-wrapped-up-as-a-daydream - oh, it's all sexual, but the product there is palatable (read: marketable). An idea the general public wants to take home to their mother, not take to bed. A beauty so docile and innocent, you feel guilty harboring those untoward thoughts it makes you have.

Yuna is somewhere possibly, someway probably the opposite. You’ve sold her as such, as fantasy in sheep's clothing. She's neither afraid to put the images to words, nor speak her desires aloud. It's her own brand of sensuality, and it's what the public wants - has always truly wanted, since the dawn of man and of popstars fucking their publicists - what the public wants but turns itself in knots just to pretend they don't. The only way it’ll end up in anyones’ parents' home is under the guise that it will be smuggled upstairs and held down into the springs of a mattress. Hand over her mouth, or maybe around her throat, just so she'll shut up.

She's not a nice girl, or the girl-next-door, a bride-in-a-box, but you'd known that before. The line between fact and fiction is fine indeed.

"You're different," you tell her, finally.

"When I first came in here, you had no qualms, no issue to raise, and now all of a sudden, everything is too much," she says, and she's not smiling, her tone flat. "If it was a problem from the jump, you would've said so."

“I just think a little subtlety would be a nice change of pace. It could go a long way, I mean, I could show you the data- "

"So you're going soft on me, is that it?"

You blink, and the realization hits.

"Just where was this noble version of you when we first started out? You had no problem then, remember? Put a sixteen-year-old in front of a camera, in this industry, and all of a sudden-"

"Don't."

“And suddenly it's all 'oh no, that's a little too much, we need to dial it back'." She sighs, a single sharp burst. "Why is that? Is it because you think that now you own me? I fuck you, swallow your cum and call you daddy, and now these are your decisions? Is that it?"

She’s standing now, her chair shoved back so fast it nearly clatters to the floor. There's a storm on her face, almost a rage. This now become a familiar story. The one where the girl's too pretty for her own good. Too much, too soon.

"I'm not a child," she tells you, her tone measured, a sharp contrast to the fire in her eyes. "I know what I want. I know how to get it. You're not telling me anything I don't already know. I'm different. You're right."

She's different, but the girl's clever, too. And she's stubborn. It's a dangerous combination.

You breathe slow. "Then why don’t you act like it."

“If they’re going to call me a slut,” she hisses, and she's walking forward. Her palms land on your desk, hard, and you glance down at her clenched fists, at her neatly kept nails, "you know, after we leak them all those steamy photos online-"

Your mind clicks. You reach to slam the cover of the photo book shut. She's caught your hand, though, in hers, holding it firmly to the desk.

Yuna glances at the photos over again, at the tight fit of the swimwear, or how the ties slip in an invisible breeze. And she's biting her lip, trying not to smile, you can tell. "You know it might be worth it for once," she says, slipping a finger between the buttons of her shirt.

There's a long, tense moment, and before you can register it, Yuna has rounded your desk; she’s closing the distance, fast.

And she’s lowering her eyes. Putting her lips on yours.

It knocks the wind from your sail, for just the instant. You're speechless.

Because her fingers. Her mouth. Her hair. Yuna's everywhere, and she's warm. It's utterly selfish, you understand: you want her to be yours. You want her to be yours and no one else's.

She’s realizing she might be.

You feel her grabbing for more of you. Wanting. She tilts her head, her breath hot, and you kiss her back, her mouth slick against your own, and the kiss is a fast, deliberate kind of messy. Your teeth catch her bottom lip, and her tongue slips past yours, licking into your mouth, her hands clutching at the collar of your shirt. It's not like it is when you're fucking, which is slow and hot, and she's on her back, legs around your waist, her nails biting into your skin, or when she's bent over the arm of the sofa, her ass in the air and her back arched, her breathless moans a chorus of yes, yes, please. This kiss is more battle, more heat, less gentle and less finesse. It's the kind of kiss that's just short of an argument.

"You're an asshole," she breathes into your mouth, and it's not a compliment.

You smile against her.

"So are you," you murmur, and her lips are parted, her eyelids fluttering shut, her breath coming quick and hot.

"Then maybe you should just fuck me," she says. She's not asking. “Yeah.” You press your words right into her neck, her collarbone. “Maybe I should.”

Your hands are on her hips faster than you can realize what it is they’re doing, palms pressing into her, and then you're walking her backwards, shuffling a few steps until the small of her back collides with the edge of your desk, and you're lifting her up onto the surface, the photographs falling to the floor, scattering.

"I thought we weren't supposed to do this here," she murmurs, pulling away for just a moment, her mouth swollen and wet, her eyes dark. She knows exactly what it does to you: the goading, the taunting - the looks of faux-innocence later over a bare shoulder, her ass in the air. How it can get you to fuck her within an inch of her life. What it’ll get her, the return on investment.

"And I thought we agreed to longer skirts."

Her thighs are smooth, silky, and they part, the lace of her underwear stark against her skin. You slide a hand beneath the elastic band, sinking down, and down, until she inhales sharply.

"The fuck do you end up doing going up the stairs?" you add, and your fingers are tracing the swell of her hip, and you can feel the goosebumps on her skin.

She bites her lip. You sink down to press a kiss to her thigh, and then the other.

"Nothing," she tells you, and her eyes are wide. "I guess it all just hangs out."

She simply smirks right back into you, throws her arms over your shoulders. You’re snared, caught - she’ll always be able to fuck what she wants right out of you.

"Jesus, Yuna." Your hand curls around her wrist, thumb pressed to her pulse, and her shoulders roll back.

You push her down, and she's sprawled across the desk, legs stretching wide, her head tilted back and her chest heaving. “God, you’re so fucking wet, and I've barely touched you. That turns you on? Being a brat?"

She sucks air past her teeth, and you can measure each rise and fall of her chest. The lace under her hips is soaked, her pussy swollen and pink. Like if she doesn’t get your hot, open mouth on her clit this instant, you’re both going to have a problem.

You slip two fingers into her instead, and Yuna keens.

"I know it does," you say, and your voice comes out lower, drier than you expect. She's hot, so wet around you, her pussy fluttering. "It fucking turns me on, too."

"Please," and “god,” is what all you receive back in half whispers, while her legs are spread, her heels now really dug into the square of your back, and she's got a fistful of your hair like she owns it. Her voice is high, her eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t be such a fucking tease."

You're not going to make it easy. She's not going to make this quick.

"What, and you aren’t?"

You curl your fingers inside her, and the noise that leaves her is positively obscene. She's grinding against your palm, her hips bucking, and her lips are parted, her eyelashes dark and thick, fanning her cheeks. She's panting, her thighs trembling.

"No," she breathes. If she’s shaking her head, you can’t tell. "I'm exactly what you tell them I am."

Your hand stills, and it takes a moment for her to realize that the pressure inside her is gone. Her eyes snap open, her mouth twisted.

"Fuck you," she spits. "Put them back."

You're already sinking down to your knees, and you've got her skirt shoved up, the lace panties pulled aside, her hips canted, her pussy glistening. The stockings can stay, fuck, the heels, too. She's so fucking hot, her legs spread apart and her lips red. Her palm shoved into her brow, and her breath just barely more than a ragged huff of air. You can feel her body wound tight and ready, her eyes on the ceiling.

You put your tongue against her, flat and slow. Inaccurate, indiscriminate, licking up her wet cunt. And her whole body arches off the desk, a cry leaving her mouth with her head thrown back. Her thighs are shaking, and her heel presses into your shoulder, and god, she tastes incredible.

"Please." It comes like music, really, a song of desperation. You can hear it. She's singing it for you now. "Oh god, please, fuck-"

So you do her one better. You put your whole mouth over her, and she fucking shivers. You don’t even try to ease into it - you're devouring, ravishing her, working your lips and tongue all over her pussy, lapping the length of her in broad, hot strokes, and she's almost shrieking, her body going taut. You suck on her lips, pressing your tongue into her clit, and when you pull off her, your hand takes over the place where your tongue can't quite reach, her wetness slick around your fingers. Yuna's close - you can see that she is, you can hear that she is, and it's her gasp that lets you know.

"I'm -" she says, her voice reaching higher, her nails digging into the flesh of your shoulders, the wood of your desk. The sound she makes is wretched and beautiful. "God, I'm cumming, I'm cumming - fuck!"

The licking, the lapping, the fucking fingering. You can feel her slicked cunt pulse and throb in a satisfied, anticipatory kind of way. Even if she wasn’t audibly wet around your knuckles, you’d read Yuna like a map.

Your thumb taps across her clit, once - twice, thrice, and it’s just that.

She arches off your desk, thighs trembling as your tongue works her over, This hard, hungry kiss, and she tastes as sweet as she looks - as filthy as she acts, too. Her pussy is slick, her hips rolling, her body trembling, and she's making soft, little ah, ah, ah, sounds into the wet seal of your mouth. She's trying to keep it quiet, because she knows as well as you, everyone in the damn office does, probably - it's one thing to play at being a slut. A complete other to really fuck like one.

Your finger slips in and out of her pussy, and then another. They fill her up. The knuckles bending and pushing deeper. Yuna's fucking ruined - your desk is ruined.

But then there you are, complicit, and perhaps a little evil: licking and licking and licking right into her, making her grip twist in your hair and her thighs clench around your face. You can feel it in how her breathing is coming fast, faster, her whole body growing taut, and it was never going to take long, you figure, the way her hips were rolling the moment you got your hands on her. You can tell. She's close, and she's so pretty, all flushed and writhing, her skirt hiked up, her ass perched on the edge of your desk, and when her mouth falls open and her breath catches in her throat, you pull yourself up to watch her, the heel of your hand pressed against her clit, and she's shaking.

"Look at me,” you tell her, a kiss trailing unsatisfyingly into the crease of her thigh, your voice running coarse.

She does, her gaze glassy, and the sound that leaves her mouth is a sob. That’s all it really takes.

“Show me. What face you make when you cum on my fingers sweetheart, show me what a slut you actually are-"

You can watch it all in real time, the panting, the heaving. The sculpted lines of her pretty face screw up, real tight, and she lets out another moan, breathier this time, her mouth hanging open. She does it again when you press down. And Yuna fucking shakes, her hands balled, white-knuckling, and the desk rattling beneath her.

It's all a matter of slight degradation, you’ve learned, the barest humiliation. Like the paradoxical freedom she knows she can find in a hand clenched tight around her throat or her hair pulled and twisted into a fist or the sharp sting of a smack across her ass. Her pretty face. She likes a little something that burns. Something sinewy, visceral, raw: you call her a whore, a filthy fucking cumslut and it makes her body curl like she has hot metal pressing into her skin. Makes her breathless, like she wants you to own her.

Sometimes it's better than being fucked.

(Sometimes.)

Because just look at her: she’s in the middle of coming apart, mouth fallen slack, brow furrowed - and she gets real quiet when she cums, the absolute opposite of the journey she’d taken to get there, all those loud little, uh-uh-ah, fucking please god, her moans, her whimpers - her orgasm ripping right through the middle of her, the hourglass of her entire body stiffening on borrowed time as it washes across her features.

You let out a loud sigh, something she can moor herself to that isn’t your fingers, the desk, or your hair at the roots. Yuna can be every bit as uncomplicated as she can be complex, but god, you love her most like this: an unrehearsed, beautiful mess.

"Baby," you tell her, because it's easier to just call her that, and because you don't know how else to end the statement, because you know if you ask, she'll let you - hell, she'll beg for more, and that’s got your brain feeling rather mushily incoherent at present.

"Daddy," she responds - because of course she fucking does; she’s gasping, and her cheeks are still so pink, her body sated, and your heart leaps into your throat.

It's a problem; you've been trying to work it out for a good few months now, and by this, you mean the little moment you have right after you're done, where your eyes meet, and you smile at her. A problem, too, her lips. A problem, because she kisses you, soft, and slow, and easy. A problem, because her heart's probably already yours.

If anyone were to ask, you would have said there's no greater pleasure than knowing a girl that's almost died to take your cock, but maybe that's the point: it's just supposed to feel a bit better if you're a little head over heels, a little stupid about it too.

"I'm going to use this perfect pussy now," you warn her - just simple formality - because you're already rolling her down onto her back, your cock hard and aching against your trousers.

You've got your hands on her stockings, tugging them down to her ankles, the lace of her panties around her thighs, the neat garter of her garter belt wrapped around her hips, her cunt bare beneath it. You unzip, too slow. You tug yourself out.

“I’ll be good,” she says to you, a promise.

“Yeah,” you return to her, “I know.”

And you slip your cock into her cunt, just barely - maybe an inch, maybe more - and you hear a little noise leave her throat, low. Broken.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, and god, you just can't help it, it's easy; you sink deeper, nice, slow, everything smooth inside her, until another broken sort of gasp spills off her lips.

And then another: "oh my fucking god."

You snap your hips back in, bottoming out this time in the wet heat of her perfect cunt, and she just fucking collapses. Yuna looks like an absolute dream in this state of half-dress, half-distress: black suede around the ankles, stilettos, with just the perfect heel. There are worse things, you can imagine, and she looks perfect sprawled out against your notes and portfolios, all this hot, aching want. As gorgeous as she is fucked. You tear into her stockings, a little. You’ll tear more.

You already know you're going to hell. Or at least that’s where you should already be, but you hips crash into hers again, fucking her legs wider apart, spreading her open across your desk for you, getting her slick all over the photos, her career - it’s all so perfectly unfair.

"You have no idea, the things I want to do to you right now," you breathe, your tone hushed, and you're talking again, like you often do. There goes your mouth - but your hips drag back, and then again, her pussy clenching, vice tight and impossibly wet.

It's a long, torturous, lazy sort of a pull, that draws these pretty thin moans from the very center of her.

And the way that feels, your cock buried deep in her cunt: better than good - heaven, if you care enough about labels for it, or the names of things. You haven’t any real way to tell; the gates haven't opened or anything, so all you're working from here is an educated guess. From the fact that Yuna’s eyes have slid closed, her lips parted, and her whole body starting now to tremble gently with it.

"Jesus, this perfect, tight pussy grips me so good, god - such a good girl, always so fucking wet for me," and your mouth is pressed to the arch of her ear, whispering every last thing you know will make her cum again, like a dream.

And she is, she does.

She's twisting up to grip at your hips, her head falling to one side. When you drag your cock through her cunt, slowly, you watch her lips purse and the way the flush moves all the way down the column of her neck, past her collarbone, her shirt half undone and her tits heaving against the white, sheer fabric. You fuck her for a little, and then you roll your hips slow, so slow.

Until your pace is fucking punishing, deep, and so hard. You can’t help it.

Because it's unbelievable - she's so perfect, so tight around you. Fit snug like a glove, like she was made to take your cock, to whimper and mewl at your mercy. Her lips part further and she keens, her brows twisting in similar disbelief as you pound your length into her. The heat pooled in your belly, the way she looks under your desk: fuck, she's so beautiful like this, properly fucked.

You'd let her ruin you for life - it's that simple.

"Yuna, you - fuck," you barely say, and you sound more than slightly stunned, so she’s filling in the gaps, elaborating in the spaces you cannot - that she loves it, that you’re so good for her, and so is that, and that, and that - the way it hits, right there, keep fucking her just like that, because right there, right there, right there, right there - the way she props herself up on her elbows to tell you, "you're fucking me so deep, oh my god - yes, oh my god, fuck."

By the time Yuna shudders through another orgasm, a silent ghost of a wail leaving her pretty frozen mouth, her lashes are batting against her cheeks, and she's biting her lip, so hard you're certain she's going to break the skin, her back strung like a bow. It's the look on her face, that soft sort of reverence, and how her lips are swollen and spit-slick, the pretty hollow of her throat. Your thrusts become faster, shorter - your own moan thick in your throat, your jaw hanging slack.

“Here,” you say, and she’s just putty between your fingers, on your cock.

You’re flipping her around, onto a different angle. You know she likes it, the way her tits are pressed against your desk, and it's hot the way her ass tilts right into your hips, arched. Proffering. "Be good for me, and spread yourself open."

She's already so meek when she complies. "Anything, sir. Stretch me out; I want you to make me yours."

God, she's practically purring when she talks like this. She knows exactly what that fucking does to you. Knows that when her eyes draw back, big and watery and full, you're a goner - if your cock wasn't deep in her pussy, fucking her open and raw, the view would nearly be enough. And all of this, the pretense, the pantomime, she knows how to bend the line of your body to her own, because when she turns, and presses her red mouth to the crest of her shoulder, you are hers.

You could probably cum, right now, deep down into the molten hot of her cunt: if your hips keep up their ruthless pace, if her ass was sticking up the slightest bit more - the sound that would come from her.

"Take that perfect cock - and fuck my pussy up," Yuna mewls, her voice saccharine and slurring, a touch whiny. She rolls her hips. Your cock grinds, still, though it stutters now - shallow and quick.

"All this pussy, for daddy's cock," and you're sure that the entire office can hear her now, the moans that escape from her mouth - but you can't even find it in you to care. You're caught, all of her a net you've willingly been ensnared by, and here you figure that's the slightest bit appropriate; you're so fucked, and it's funny, too. Funny enough to laugh about, later. "Nobody fucks this tight little pussy the way you do, sir."

It's a smile she hears in your voice when you say, "is that right? Go on then, let’s hear all the things you'd have me do to your slutty little cunt."

The line's crossed again, in some indecipherable direction. Where, again, exactly, does it matter? There are lines and lines, and none of them quite mark the beginning, the end, the periphery. This time you don't pull back; you dig deep, and it makes Yuna cry out like you’re killing her. Which, in a way - you already have.

So your hips stutter forward again, once more, and you lean into the slant, so fucking deep it's practically impaled. There’s nothing quite like holding this girl’s hips and pounding her from behind. Her pussy alone is fucking incredible. And the sound her ass makes against the flat of your stomach, the crease of your thighs - it's unimaginable, the way Yuna makes these little squeaks of a noise, like half-broken moans, when you fuck deep, deep, deeper into her. The way her arms splay wide and search frantic across your desk. And as you grab her slim, dainty wrist, pin it back and pull her tight - fixing her upright until you have her head lolling back against your chest - you simply fucking pound away.

Fucking all these little curses and sounds of appreciation out of her throat. Your cock forcing out each syllable, "yes," and "fuck," and "god, oh my fucking god - I cannot believe," now on repeat, how her tone grows tighter. How she moans - a lot, like something's being worked loose.

"Uh-uh," and you're holding her steady now, with one broad, strong hand at the back of her neck. "Keep telling me, and maybe I'll let you cum."

Your free hand finds purchase in her hair. Yuna's groan coming out pathetic and wanting, her mouth half open. You wrap her silky golden locks around your fist, her hair thread neatly through your fingers, and then give the slightest of yanks.

Christ, her pussy just fucking soaks onto you. Greedy. Needy.

"Shit," and Yuna gasps when she can, where she's allowed to.

"Oh, is my little girl into getting her hair pulled?" and you can see the signs of affirmation: the muscles inside her flexing, grasping you as you roll in, a small, soft nod, and the way she sighs your name, like a prayer on her lips.

Listen, she can barely speak, the way you're fucking her apart. Yuna's body is wound like a bow, like string and taught wire. Bent into the side of the desk and open for you, her pussy pulsing tight around you with every stroke.

"Sir, I'll do - whatever you need, just - just - let me have your cum, please -" and there, she's begging now, and her voice is tinny, breaking, breathless and airless.

Then it’s her fucking hair. You pull so much on it harder this time, with another measured thrust inside her, your body flush against her ass. Fingerprints searing down onto where her hips flare and taper, impossibly narrow.

You’re probably hurting her. You’re probably ruining her for anyone else - nothing will ever satiate her more than the way she sobs as your fingers twist tighter through her hair. Around her fucking miracle of a waist. It's an obscene sound that echoes down to your cock, as deep, hot and fucking filthy as her cries when she cums for the third, fourth?

"Just," Yuna barely makes, her eyelids heavy, her gaze flitting somewhere behind her. "Just look at you, fucking me so hard, filling up my tight little pussy, making me take everything your cock has to give. God, you love wrecking my perfect little hole, don't you?"

No, or yes, or probably. You’ll figure out the details later.

"God, I love it when you get real messy, when I get you like this-" your words run seamlessly into the searing heat between your bodies, like punctuation, like the end of days -

"Use me." She doesn't just say it. "Take me, and cum in me, wherever you want. Daddy, you can have my mouth, or, or, you can - you can finish inside me."

And god, you could, you really could: just the timbre of her voice does things to you, the way that it curls around the words daddy, and sir, and you're fucking me so goddamn good. She's saying them now, her whimpers breaking into outright moans and all: shit, please, please - you're gonna make me cum - oh - oh fuck! And when she's wound that tight, a quivering, sopping mess of a girl, you put your fingers against her clit, circling and pressing in tempo to the thrust of your cock.

The cruel metronome that makes. Hell, it fucking sends her.

She’s begging you to finish inside her. It's fucked up - and she knows it. She wraps her heels around the square of your back, and the tension rises, and rises, the coiled spring tight and waiting - just a push away, so you slam into her once, then twice more, the push of a hand splayed between her tits and your fingers digging into the muscle of her thigh. She wants you to cum in her pussy, fill her right up; she tells you that, again, that she wants it, and her voice is raspy, high. That she wants you now, as if she didn't before, and how does this compare, because she needs it now.

You hold out for just a little. You’re holding your breath. Just a little, just until Yuna’s eyelashes flutter open over her shoulder and she says your name, so sweetly, and says, "please, just, inside."

You shouldn't.

You can't.

So here, barely able to think at all, you end up doing the unthinkable - thinking all the while of pumping her right to the finish and draining your balls straight into the deepest reach of her cunt, how fucking tempting it may be - you muster an ounce of good judgment still adrift in a sea of lust. Your throbbing cock draws out of that wet, inviting heat and into your fist, and watch how that makes her begin to unspool: the way she tries to press her knees shut. She's sobbing for it, pleading, her lashes dark with tears. "No, no, fuck me, please, I'm begging you. Please, I'm going to be so good - god, please -"

You tug her back, look her in the eye, and let out a loud, shaky exhale. "Knees, princess."

She's too wracked with need to do anything other than comply. Her jaw drops. “But-”

"Mouth," you cut in, sharp enough that her gaze lifts, and you're right there - on the precipice, so close, watching her tongue dart out of her mouth to run across the swell of her bottom lip.

Watching her knees fold into the carpet, her stockings down loose around her thighs, her underwear hanging off an ankle. The rise and fall of her chest like rolling waves, and you can see her hands fisting on her knees, and her face: you watch the emotion flash over, like water on glass, and a moment is all it takes. She leans her face forward to your hand, as you wind her hair into your fist, her lips parted and her gaze lowered. She's obedient, taking the weight of your cock with her pretty pink mouth like the fucked-up-little-fantasy that she is, opening so nice and wide.

Her eyes flit up to yours, her mascara-ringed lashes fanned against the pink of her cheeks.

"My face," she tells you, or something close to it, "fuck my face. Go ahead, use it - cum all over me."

Your cock slides halfway home, her cheeks hollowing, and when it presses to the back of her throat, she gags. You curse and tip your head back, the wood of your desk digging into the flesh of your palm.

"What did you say," you half groan out. "Baby," you add, just for good measure, just to play along, "c'mon."

The tip of Yuna's tongue sweeps and swirls just beneath your cockhead, and she moans her answer around your length, lapping at a leak of precum. "I said," she's repeating now, her cheek brushing across your shaft, and you shudder. "Fuck, what I said was I want you to cum all over my face.

Jesus.

You bury your cock into her mouth once, twice. Let it sit there. Let her really struggle for it, the angle just a tad awkward from above. Let her lips stretch wide, and her shoulders shake a little - tears start to gather, pricking her eyes, her lipstick a mess, the way your cock fits, plugging up her throat so full. You hold her like that for just a second, a little less - until Yuna's moaning, the vibration low in her mouth, and her eyes flutter open, closed.

"Fuck," you spit out, and "perfect," and your voice is shot, your whole face warm, and you're going to cum on her - everywhere on her. Yuna, who’s been staring up at you in wide-eyed submission, gives you a little nod, like she means it.

Like she’s earned it.

And maybe she has: it only takes one last look to seal it - her hand curled around your cock, her cheek matted with her own spit and lipstick, the bright smudge of her own cum from the point of her chin to the cleft of her cupid's bow, and her eyes are locked on yours, eager and hot. Maybe she hasn't - and maybe you should make her beg, fuck her mouth some more - it's almost cruel, how she looks. A perfectly pretty picture, poised and pliant and waiting, and she's right there, beneath you, and fuck - this is so wrong, and you'll ruin her, you'll mark her up like this. She'll be painted like a work of art.

Your pulse thickens. Stands right up in your veins.

Then, your control, snapping: her pretty lashes flutter, her mouth gone slack, her jaw still tilted up like she expects a gift, an offering, her palm wrapped so nice and snug around the base of your cock, her expression dazed, and so easy, and perfect, so eager. You tilt your hips just a fraction further, and she fucking swallows, her tongue tracing the underside where you throb harder, heavier - her body lilting up as you press in so deep.

“God,” you breathe in, out. It hits hard. It hits fast. “Yuna-”

A tensing of your stomach coils up through like smoke, and your grip tightens on the edge of your desk, the other in her hair, a helpless, desperate thrusting, and there - it's a wonderful, brilliant sort of explosion, like light, the white-hot burn of a fever breaking. You cum all over her face and into her hair, spilling out streaks of hot, filthy white onto her sculpted features and the sweet line of her throat, and god, there's so much, she's taking it so easily, all her breathing hot and heavy and loud.

Her skin alabaster and porcelain; cotton and canvas; she lets you fucking paint her, all messy and ruined.

In fact she’s even smiling like she’s holding in a laugh, all gooey-soft with satisfaction, and you're jerking your cock slow through her slender fingers, even after there's nothing else left to give and every inch of her face is marked - the way she wears your cum like new skin. You feel the shockwave tear your nerves open, and then the calm, right on its heels, spreading out from your core to your fingertips, out through the roots of your hair.

"Ah," you exhale, a tight gasp. Yuna takes the entirety of you into her mouth, sucking down your length - harder - as she swallows back a final, sticky load, her own hair sweat-slick to her face.

Just look at the damage: that’s a story not even you’d be able to spin. There's cum on her nose, dribbling past her cheek. On her jaw and on her cheek. Filthy white streaked all over her parted lips, her neck. Down her shoulder blades, and soiling her hair, and leaking down past her collarbones.

(Christ, was this better or worse? You can't even tell. Every version of her that's been served on a plate for you has seen fit to make you sweat.)

When the dust begins to settle, you’re left panting and spent. Yuna, the collateral on this fine, whiny, disaster of a deal. A collection of photos, and some thoughts and ideas, that now sit disheveled on the ground. There's a scathing voice inside your head that's demanding to be heard, reminding you all-too-casually that this is not any way to manage a client. She could snap her fingers, call out to that sycophant at the top floor, and your career would be over - she could do anything she should ever desire.

You know, on a baser level, this, and worse: the duality of the thought. Her tight cunt on your desk, you on your knees; the sharp gasp you can steal from the top of her throat, perhaps when she feels the gentle pressure of teeth around one rosy nipple. The pinch of your thumb and index finger around the other. Her nails down your back in ten angry lines, and the throb in her throat, while you slide the whole width of a hand, rough, over the flesh of her ass.

Maybe the desk, like everything else, can just join the pile on the floor.

"Yuna," you say, the vowels pitching like a sigh.

Her palms find the sharp crease in your pants and slide upward. She's gazing up at you, bright, her face sticky with you.

"You can't send me out like this," she tells you, matter-of-factly, letting a smile cross the lines of her lips - or a smirk. A wordless extension of the previous sentence - of a few.

You pull out and away from her: a white and gray dotted tie hanging loose, unknotted; a button still fastened somewhere mid-center, your trousers pulled off and loose down just below your knees, the fly gaping open. She's in a similar state, the cups of her bra slipping loose, her mouth flushed, lips swollen and red, the outline of how she’d let you use her in a smeary, runny stain across her cheek.

"Maybe let your manager know," you tell her, pulling your belt in place, and you think you catch her eye rolling. "That you're going to be late."

Yuna doesn't hesitate.

"Tell her yourself," she responds, "I'm sure she'll be relieved to hear I'm not actually dead - just having gotten fucked stupid on my PR person's cock."

"I might forget to include a couple details."

"You shouldn’t." Her eyebrows jump. And she's chewing, lazily, on the full curve of her lower lip, her teeth glinting like razors. "Here, before you throw all this to the sharks -"

So, so very dramatic, and with this: her thumbnail pressed beneath your chin. It draws your gaze up - up, and down: from the splay of her legs and the gleam of wetness between them, a brief rest along the arcs of her chest - the room's a total fucking wreck. Your necktie, her skirt, her blouse, her pantyhose. The papers and books all spread, bent, broken, the stack knocked clean onto its side. The skirt's probably still pulled too far up her hips for decency, her breasts shoved up to her neck and the collarbone, and then there's her face - her chin streaked with cum. Yuna smiles then, the corner of her mouth pulled upward.

She might kiss her if you'd let her.

Cum on her lips be damned, she's beautiful like that, like she isn't even trying. And in fact, she never really had to - this girl, she'd do it alone. The idea that someone could be as universally loved as she, is enough, a marvel even, but here she is in front of you, every atom and curve a siren, a study in perfection and composition. Like she’s not just all your mistakes laid out to bear.

"Take a second to take a proper look, hm? Get all the memories in, while they're fresh."

"Because?"

"You can remember I'm only the person you say I am, for you."

"You can remember I'm only who you say I am, for you."

"Oh, of course," and the laugh that leaves your throat sounds dry, cracked open. The band of her skirt stretches, snaps back, so neatly that it leaves a pale line on her flesh. And now there are your hands, fitting around her hipbones, a sigh: a short, sudden motion, tugging her up. Yuna gasps: something surprised, delighted. She's all grins and teeth, all clean, bright incisors.

"Mine," you're breathing, the flat of her stomach underneath the fingers you've placed upon it. "This is mine - you. Yours - you're all mine."

It’s possessive, but, you’re not all incorrect.

"Yeah," she more than agrees.

There's a ribbon-taut quality in the way it leaves her mouth, the tension in her body coiled up through to the bones. She makes it sound like the beginning of a promise, the beginning of something much larger.

And by the way." She’s still buttoning her shirt. Putting herself together. You’ve seen the triage, the damage control. This is the Yuna you get.

So, she needs the second - a respite to lick a stray stripe of slick and cum off her wrist - blotting her cheeks with a ball of wet tissue, until all that's left is the smeared lipstick, her stockings splayed around the floor. The pattern you've worn, where your fingerprints would've shown, gets covered up under her skirt and her coat, wrapped up in a scarf.

The smug satisfaction in her tone pulls your focus, just in time, her hair's falling in waves down her shoulders - perfect, but not flawless: there's a creased line, a hint of her throat, just beneath the collar. There's a slight wisp out of place. The buttons aren't arranged all the way from her collar to her sternum.

"I'm going to go with that photoset, with the white top, in the sand - gonna post 'em online and generate some buzz. You even said it yourself: they're fine. " She pauses, pushing away a strand of hair. "Professionally, of course."

"Professionalism." You smile. "Of course."

She walks out carrying the stilettos: pumps in either hand.

"Always. Catch you soon," she promises, and you do catch a last flash of her expression, lips parted, the lower curving into a satisfied smile, right as she flicks the lock on the door open and your office goes back to quiet.

For a split second, it's unbearable: the silence.

And you think again.

She can have anything, get any boy, girl, whoever, any designer, photographer, make-up artist in the world; there's something so unmistakably intoxicating about the fact that the thing she's decided she wants, is you.

#yuna smut #itzy smut #itzy yuna smut #male reader smut #kpop fanfic

2K notes · View notes

dcxdpdabbles · 4 months

Note

Nice how about to give you one of my old DC DP crossover prompts

Danny is a big fanfic writer for Batman, most of the time doing Tim joins the bat family early and Alternate attack on Titan's Tower. After his accident he decides to write a Jason Todd is a halfa straight out of the grave fic. Just to get his emotions out there and to vent and it gets incredibly popular.

As Time evolves the fic itself evolves from a vent fic to a under the table way to reanalyze his ghost fights and do better by transplanting his ghosts into the fic for Jason to fight. This happens generally okay until Penelope Spectra of unlike the other ghosts she was known by the rest of the world and was actually tracked by Reddit. Making the fans realize hey this is actual going on maybe not by Jason Todd but someone is using this to reanalyze their fights under the veneer of being fiction.

Danny starts to get famous for his fanfictions when he introduces the idea of halfas for the second Robin. He's not sure what happened to the second Robbin, but there are rumors he didn't die; he just retired, and the fans all accept that as the truth.

At first, Danny writes the second Robin struggling with his double life, as alive and dead, forced to hide his existence from Batman as a secret helper at night. He uses the second Robin to freely speak about his struggles with his powers in the early days, using fiction to cover his venting.

He even gave Robin a secret identity- with a disclosure that it was all made up and he did not know anything about the Bats because fans can be crazy- with the name Noir.

He made Noir a loser in school- consistently bullied, his grades were low without Batman's help, and he even had Noir live on the streets for a while before getting flung into the Ghost Zone.

Danny didn't realize it, but his writing made Noir a loveable character to his fans, who all loved "how flawed but kind-hearted" Noir, the halfa Robin. One of Danny's best commenters always claimed that Danny captured the second Robin's character.

He quickly develops Noir into someone who grows comfortable in his role after defeating the old Ghost King and getting discovered by Batman. He made the series with Noir, focusing more on the threats of the other ghosts that came to challenge the Ghost King.

Each ghost was based on his own rouges- all fighting the same way but with different names. Danny switched his main focus from Noir being confused by his powers to Noir getting stronger and stronger through all his fights.

Instead of venting on what life had done to him, Danny used his fanfiction to analyze his fights. He often wrote about what he could have done better, only after writing the actual scene and using that in a fight later on.

He even threw in there some questions that Noir started having about boys- which in high sight he should have known Jazz would have quickly picked up on because she took him to Pride "just to experience new things, Danny!"

He confirmed Noir was bi two updates later and sat back with a smirk when all the comments started rolling in.

Noir's Double Life was his pride and joy. He thought people had to search for his fic, and no one besides his sister would ever read it. Then he made the mistake of writing in a new ghost- Penny Spectra- using her exact powers, thinking no one would recognize her.

What he forgot was that back before Danny kicked her ass into the ghost zone, was that she was a well-known school counselor. A miracle worker, they called her.

Because she always found the teenagers about to fall apart and "saved" them. She had made her way clear across the country, bringing to light issues parents and guardians had no idea their children were going through and getting them the help they needed.

Mr. Lancer had been proud of getting her to come to the school for good reason.

Most adults also didn't know that teenagers talk to each other or, like Danny, post online to vent. Her past victims- for they were victims as some had not been able to pull themselves from the darkness she plunged them into- had started a riddle trend about her.

People began to piece together that whenever she went young people became more and more depressed. They had no proof of course, so she became an urban legend, a demon that appeared as a woman in schools.

Like when a celebrity is turned into a meme for being a secret serial killer, no one takes it seriously, but they think about it in the back of their minds.

Danny just wrote about her with a far too honest retelling of what she had done and how he had found out she was a ghost. He hadn't realized that one of his readers would be one of the original responders for the old Reddit thread about the fact he was a past victim.

That same reader would later link his work for the thread- especially the chapter where she appeared- and everyone would agree that the real Penelope Spectra was a ghost.

And that would be read by Tim Drake, a young member of Riddit who always took mysteries to heart and knew what was real and what wasn't.

This sane Tim Drake would later present Jason to the fanfiction in an effort to tease him about someone adoring him so much they wrote a fic about it and Jason would surprise him with claiming to have already been following the story. \

Their bickering would grab the attention of Bruce, Zatanna, and Constantine, who were in the room next door talking about protection against the dead.

John will be alarmed to see how accurate the fanfiction writer's description of ghosts and King Phantom is, then even more alarmed to find that the writer knows about halfas.

Two days after he posted the newest chapter, Danny is hunted down by Batman to find the human with an insane amount of knowledge about the Infinite Realms and his second son's condition.

Danny would be busy trying to decide if he should give in to the idea of giving Noir a ship and who it should be with while his friendlier ghosts beta-read his work.

"Honestly, I'm a little flatter about how hot you made me sound. Noir definitely has a crush on James the ghost biker." Johnny says flouting to read over Danny's shoulder.

Kitty nods eagerly from where she is lounging on the couch. "I agree, James and Noir are meant to be Danny!"

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Danny's Online persona #Danny is a fanfic writter #and epople find out he not making shit up #His ghost rouges sometimes show up with notes #Jason died but didn't go crazy on Tim #so they argue like normal brotthers

1K notes · View notes

cottonconnielvr · 10 months

Note

Miguel Ohara who has a City girl girlfriend! who LOVES going out with her bestfriends but she be testing him with the outfits she be wearing I’m talkin bout titties popping, ass out, outfits and like one night she goes too far, and like he fucks her..

Yeah. 🤷🏾‍♀️

PAIRINGS ✩ — miguel o’hara x black!hyperfem!reader

WARNINGS ✩ — drunk!reader, tummy bulge,edging, smut stuffff, didn’t proofread so excuse mistakes xx

THE sound of the City Girls blared from Miguel’s phone. His thumb pressed down on the phone, pausing your story. Your 24 inch black straight hair laid down your back. Your boobs were on the verge of falling out of your dress, your cuban link chain glistened under the light of the flash. He lifted his thumb up, allowing the video to continue playing. He watched as your friends shows your body all off to the camera, your ass cheeks hanging out and all. He can see the tattoo of his last name on the underside of your ass cheek, followed by the scar of where he first ever bit you.

He asked for you to not go out tonight, not in the mood to be defending the city at night and worried about his girlfriend who couldn’t stay away from a good time.

He clicked and clicked through videos, you chugging a drink down with your bestfriend, some random guy doing the worm to Poundtown, tons of angles of you singing R&B songs.

The next video was what set him off – you needed to come home now. You were drunk and giggling, bent over a stool as your best-friend took a jell-o shot off of your ass. A few college boys were recording as well, horny as hell.

Miguel was already fed up with you, your outfit being way too revealing.

You could wear whatever you wanted of course but, showing others what’s his..? Nah. Not gonna slide. He finds it amusing, he’s paralyzed you so many times with his dick, you’d think you’d be able to respect his wishes. But you just had to disobey him.

He spammed your phone with multiple calls that went to voicemail, many replies to your story, and many imessages.

Meanwhile, you just pulled up to another club with a bigger group than you arrived with. At this point you were fucked up, shaking your ass anytime you bent over. You were feeling a bit horny tho, missing your strong man so much.

“Ughhhh I miss my mannn” You dramatically throw your head back.

“Um speaking of your man he’s been blowing your phone up for like 30 mins” You best friend laughs as she nodded her head to the muffled music playing from outside the club.

“Oh oh oh! Where is my phone” You frantically looked around you, turning the flash on your phone to see the dark…. wait the flash on your phone?You looked up at your right hand, giggling at the coincidence. You were holding your phone the hold entire time.

“Man am I wasted!?” You asked out loud, walking into the club cheering with a random burst of energy. You immediately walked to the bar, Latch by Disclosure playing loudly. Your phone vibrated once again as you sat at the bar.

BIG DICK🧛🏽

11:35 PM

Bring your ass home.

Right now Y/N i’m not playing.

11:43 PM

Answer your phone.

I told you not to go out.

Answer.

12:31 PM

Okay Y/N.

Omw.

READ 12:56 AM

Oh fuck.

He was on his way like right now. You scrambled to check his location, it took a couple seconds to reload. Just then it refreshed, his contact picture right on top of your best-friends location.

“Let’s go” A deep voice rumbled into your ear.

“Mig-” Your whines were cut off when your arm was snatched up by Miguel. “Wait” You followed behind as he dragged you out of the club.

“Ba-by wait..” You tried to come up with an excuse. You thought Miguel had a mission for the night and you meant to hide him from your story.

“Get in the car and shut up Y/N” Miguel opened the passenger door. You shut your mouth, knowing that if you just listen, you’re punishment wouldn’t be as harsh.

Miguel walked to the other side of the car, opening his door but his movements halted when you whispered out something inaudible.

“What?” Miguel looked over at you with anger. “I left my .. purse with B/N (bestfriend name)… and it’s like designer… can you get it?” You looked over at him with teary eyes. Miguel just started at you for a moment, you’re gonna kill him.

He sucks in a deep breath before getting out of the car, closing the door to go get your purse.

He soon came back to you sleeping in the passenger seat, shaking his head.

Thirty minutes later, you’re getting carried bridal style. Miguel carried your heels,purse, and the house key in one hand. His other hand firmly holding your weight.

He swung the penthouse door closed with his foot, taking you to the bedroom. “Mig?” Your pouty whiney voice called out. “Go ahead and rest mama, you’ll be up allll night tomorrow”

“Mhmmph” You muffled out into Miguel’s shoulder as he pounded his lower half into you. “F-fuck! Fucking gripping me” Miguel hissed as you clenched against him. “Harder” You pant out, body getting squished into the mattress.

“Harder baby? Yeah?” He smiled down at you, such a fucking whore.

This was originally supposed to be punishment for last nights actions but, knowing Miguel he can’t resist you.

“Yeah” You smile back at him before your eyes rolled back as he delivered a punch to your cervix. “Ahh..shitt” Miguel moaned out as he could feel himself so deep in you. He looks down to the bulge that appears everytime he thrusts inside you. “Feel me ma? I’m right here s-shit” Miguel presses his hand on the bulge.

“I’m cummingg” You tapped his arm, clenching around his hard length. “Not yet pretty” He slid out of you. “You were bad remember” He sickly smiled down at you.

“Nooo” You whine out in frustration, “M’sorryyy I told you this!”

“Prove it to me that you deserve it then” Miguel say up against the headboard, dragging you on top of him. Your hand stroked up and down his cock before you slid down onto him.

“Fuck” You whimpered in unison. You placed your hands on his shoulders, breathing heavily. “C-can’t move”

“Yes you can pretty girl. You can take it cariño” He placed a kiss on your chin before slowly moving you up and down. You followed his guidance, throwing your head back in pleasure. “Just like that mama,” He lets go of your waist and slapped your ass before growling out, “Good girl”

“Make us cum and maybe i’ll forgive you”

#miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel x you #miguel o’hara x black reader #miguel o’hara spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099

1K notes · View notes

mrskokushibo · 1 year

Text

A Prayer for the Damned

Yoriichi x Fem!Reader one shot

NSFW I 18+ I MDNI I

Synopsis: Yoriichi is your best friend, but will your friendship survive the night? This is a story about transformations: of seasons, life and feelings. And Yoriichi is about to show you a side of him you never knew before.... Are you ready to worship the sun?

Warnings: Smut. Anal. Oral. Vaginal sex. Analingus. Fingering. Cockwarming. Slight size kink. MANGA SPOILER

Word count: 3908

Masterlist

Image source: wallpaperflare.com

This story was written as per the following request from the wonderful and talented ❤❤❤ @muzanswaifu:

Can I get a yorrichi smut bestie with a fem! reader?

And i really liked the tension from your last fic where koku was mad at reader so for this fic can you flip it and make reader mad at yorrichi for doing something negligent to her and hurting her feelings?

It doesnt have to be that prompt tho, any yorrichi smut will satisfy me ❤️❤️❤️ love u

As he was walking toward his friend’s house on the outskirts of town, Yoriichi could not help but contemplate the change in the air that his favourite season was slowly bringing about. There was always something special about autumn, something that resonated with his calm and thoughtful personality. Vegetation burst into fiery reds and warm oranges and yellows, all the shades of flame, as if to mark its inevitable transition into death and winter. An affirmation that there was no life without death, no rebirth into spring without going through the natural process. Just like the human soul. And tonight, the air was finally cool enough to absorb both the smell of withering nature as well as the fires carried from human dwellings, all blending into an intoxicating scent.

Normally all this would make him at ease, but tonight he was unable to enjoy any of it. His thoughts were occupied by something he never thought possible, a tragedy so unimaginable that one would think could only happen in tales told to children on dark winter nights. His beloved brother turned into a demon. His heart was full of sorrow and regret, he was on the verge of hating himself. There were ways of preventing what happened, so many choices- his choices, that led to this. He could have been firmer, but also more understanding with Michikatsu, not be foolish to trust that somehow, he didn't really harbour such jealousy toward Yoriichi after all. But how can you defy sibling love; because he loved his brother and he chose to believe that Michikatsu, somewhere deep under the layers of bitterness and spite, loved him too. Twins share a special bond after all.

He finally reached his destination, but before entering the house, he stopped and looked up at the sky. The moon was a bright crescent, with thin veils of smoke and clouds obscuring parts of it and giving it a reddish hue. The sky was shifting purple, the same purple that adorned Michikatsu’s clothes and that also was the colour of his eyes. Staring at the moon, Yoriichi could not help but think of the ancient legend of Tsukuyomi and Amaterasu, the gods of Sun and Moon, that were tied up in an endless battle.

'Is this what is going to become of us, brother?’

*****

Only a few candles illuminated the otherwise dark room, incense smoke, and cooking vapour swirled intertwined through the air as if performing an intricate dance. A small figure knelt in front of a shrine at the far end of the room.

You held your face in your hands, dried-up tears stinging your eyes and skin.

‘Ancestors, I pray to you, wherever he is, please look after him, look after his soul.’

You knew that he was now bound for hell…. if anyone ever managed to kill him. Michikatsu has always been the one you were attracted to, in contrast to his stoic brother, he was more open and livelier, his eyes always lit by a spark, a subtle disclosure of a fire hiding beneath the tamed and friendly surface. He smiled more than Yoriichi too. But the two of you were not friends, neither did you want friendship only…When he left his wife and children to join the corps, you explained his behaviour by him being forced into a loveless, arranged marriage. By the way, the family he left behind was well looked after, with the entire estate being written over to them, thus securing their and even their prospective descendants’ future. All these excuses for his misdeeds were now coming back at you with full force.

There was one other you blamed even more than yourself: Yoriichi. His lack of resolve and action, his indolence, was what led to this. You were convincing yourself of it. Your feelings were connected by a pendulum swinging between anger and grief. And how do you even grieve someone who is not dead, who is … undead…

Your thoughts were interrupted by shoji door sliding softly. It was Yoriichi. He slid the door closed just as gently as he opened it and walked towards you with floorboards creaking under the weight of his tall body. He stopped a few steps away from you so as not to disturb you in your prayers. It was Wednesday, the day of your weekly dinner together. You were close friends since childhood and he was one of the most reliable people you have ever met. Always patient and with a soft manner. But now, your fury was blinding you, almost undoing the bond the two of you shared. You slowly stood up and turned around to face him, using all your willpower to restrain yourself from lashing out at him.

‘Are you all right (y/n)?’ he asked in his deep hushed voice.

‘I do not know, I really don’t know, Yori. Are you?’

He looked away without answering. The flickering of candlelight reflected in his nearly expressionless maroon eyes. You walked around him toward the firepit to check on the food that was simmering gently over the comforting heat.

‘I am sorry, but dinner will be very simple tonight. I just did not have the energy to make anything elaborate.’

‘That is perfectly fine (y/n). You know I am not fussy, and besides, you were very busy recently.’

*Very busy recently* what the hell *why is he dancing around the topic like this? * you thought, your aggression going up a notch.

In silence, you started plating the food. You passed him the plates and cutlery and he placed them on the table.

‘Would you like something stronger to drink? I know I do’ you asked.

He nodded in approval and sat down on the tatami in front of his plate. You grabbed the bottle of rice wine, and two cups and followed suit. You both ate in silence while you kept on filling up your cups with the strong drink. Due to his sheer size and muscle mass, the alcohol had very little effect on him, but you were getting drunk. Well, not the type of losing all control drunk, but drunk enough to no longer care to have restraint.

After dinner, he insisted to clean up while you sat with the drink in your hand. The alcohol was making your brain fog up. You even caught yourself watching him in a way you normally would not watch a friend. He was a man after all, and a gorgeous one at that, with the same perfectly symmetrical facial features and the tall and muscular body as Michi. And yet so different. Despite his stoic behaviour and calm eyes, his aura was like fire, the red mark on his face, maroon eyes and black hair with flame-red highlights, and his clothes to match. A warmth started to spread down your belly. You had to suppress this, it was so wrong to lust for a friend, and for someone that you now were so cross with. The mixture of embarrassment and anger was explosive enough to make you leap up to him suddenly.

‘How can you be so unmoved by it all? Are you not human? It is your fault he turned into a demon. You could have prevented this from happening, but of course, you did not. It would disturb your sacred peace, Gods forbid’. You were now beyond caring and were ready to say anything that came to your mind.

‘(Y/n), please stop. Not tonight. I am just as moved by this as you are. Believe me, but I think we should sleep on it and talk tomorrow when you are more, well, reasonable.’

He was now just about to walk away, presenting you with the silent treatment that you by now were familiar with being his irritating way of handling or rather avoiding conflict and confrontation.

This was the last drop you needed to push you over the edge. You lunged forward to slap him in the face, but you did not even manage to swing halfway when his reflexes kicked in and he caught your hand, firmly but gently. You lost your balance and fell forward, the stopping point being Yoriichi. You literally fell into his chest and instead of pulling away, you stayed there, as if paralysed. This was the first time you ever had such close physical contact with him. Due to his reserved manner you never even exchanged so much as a hug. Being this close now made you realise the enormous size difference between you two. His stature was imposing, solid with broad shoulders and strong hips. You could not help but imagine what it would feel like to have him doing things to you…

The intoxication was making you weak, you really could not move away now, or maybe subconsciously, you simply didn’t want to. Being so close to him, his warmth and smell started to bring memories of Michi and you just wanted to stay like this a while longer imagining it was him instead. Yoriichi’s hips were on the level of your belly, the bulge in his hakama growing from the close contact. And that is where you snapped. Why be so decent and proper when you were pent up with anger, an unfulfilled desire for Michi, and whatever else that was driving you crazy? All these emotions went straight to your sex. You started rubbing his hardening cock through the fabric of his hakama and went down on your knees to start taking it off him, yanking unkindly on the belts holding it up.

All that time Yoriichi was completely still, shocked at your willingness to change things so recklessly between you, what he thought was a beautiful friendship. When you went down on your knees, he could not help himself anymore. He grabbed your head between his hands and tilted it so that he could look you in the eye.

‘Stop! This is not the way I want to fu…´He whispered embarrassed with what he was just about to say.

Yes, he desired you for a while now, but he respected you too much to ever entertain the idea. Tonight though, your anger, the alcohol, and the oppressive atmosphere of this autumn night created a chain reaction impossible to stop. He helped you up and took your hand, the look in his eyes changed.

‘Come’ he said quietly, his deep soft voice sounding with a promise of something you never imagined would happen. You followed him to the bedroom.

Well in the bedroom he stopped just next to the futon and leaned down to you and slowly started kissing you. He was gentle, the kisses like a flutter of butterfly wings, continuing down your neck and chest, he was now on his knees opening your kimono and continuing to kiss down your breasts and then your belly. He did not even touch your erect nipples or aching groin yet, but you were already overflowing with need. Your clothes fell to the ground while he resorted to sitting down to get comfortable access between your legs. He kissed your folds while caressing your back and buttocks. And that is when he suddenly parted the soft flesh of your labia and started licking you between them. Simultaneously, he reached up to your breasts and started to slowly roll one of your nipples between his fingers. A loud moan left your lips, your pussy leaking onto his tongue.

You started tugging at his kimono, desperate to see his naked torso. He complied and soon you were able to finally admire him in the privacy of your own home. And it was a sight for sore eyes… You were sliding your hands across his torso, feeling the broad neck and the hard triangle of his shoulders, his bulky biceps, toned pecs and abs, and the perfect triangle running down to his groin. Your insatiable hunger for his magnificent body was growing by the minute and you craved to see what was hiding in his hakama. You had an idea from when you stumbled into him, but still. You needed to see it, touch it, feel it inside you.

Sitting in front of you like this was not the most comfortable of positions, so he directed you slowly to the futon until you were laying down with his head between your legs. He was rubbing you up and down your inner thighs and pushing your legs toward your torso to grant himself better access to you, until he was comfortably positioned to focus on diving into your sex. Tongue tracing up and down, lapping up our slick. He alternated licking with sucking on your clit, just lightly at first to get you used to it, but eventually harder and harder as your arousal intensified. It was as if he could read your body, and most likely he could, possessing extraordinary senses and access to the transparent world. Your moans pointed him in the direction of the most efficient moves. You could feel his warm breath on your cunt and you were slowly losing yourself.

You started bucking your hips to rub yourself on his mouth, but strong hands stopped you and pushed your hips down, instead, he started copying your movement by using his tongue. He was licking in circles around your clit, faster and faster and faster, with increasing pressure on the swollen nerve bundle. His fingers were deep in your pussy, rubbing firmly on your g-spot. And then you felt the indescribable pleasure of a finger tracing around your asshole. A throaty moan left your mouth, this was so dirty. He rubbed harder around your rear entrance while thrusting his fingers into your sopping pussy and running circles with his tongue around your clit. All through this he was basically completely silent, only releasing a heavy sigh now and then. Occasionally, he would lift his gaze to meet yours.

With every lick of his tongue around your sensitive bud, the knot in your belly was being wound up tighter and tighter. All of a sudden, he inserted a finger into your asshole, adding to your already intense pleasure. You were now losing all control of yourself. The knot finally burst and you squirted your juices all over his face in the most intense orgasm you have ever experienced. Your legs were shaking from the overstimulation as he kept on tracing circles around your clit. Eventually, he took mercy on you and stopped, wiping your cum from his face with his forearm. His narrowed eyes looked up at you and in the faint light of the candle, the red pupils had almost an intensity of a demonic gaze.

Without losing eye contact, he started removing his hakama. You swallowed when his cock sprang out freely. It was huge, long, and thick, with a slight curve, pale on the shaft with a bright red tip, and it looked like it had some weight to it, not surprisingly since he was so tall and solid. In the hazy state, you were in, the words that left your mouth came out almost automatically.

‘Yori, fuck my ass...’

You knew this would hurt, but right now, physical pain was all you wanted, all you needed to numb the inner fury that was ravaging you. He did not say anything in response. His eyes narrowed a little, but he knew you well enough to see when you meant business, and he was about to respect your wish.

So just like that, he got up and said ‘I will only be a second.’ And quickly left the room.

You could hear him rummage through the pantry and a few moments later he was back with a bottle of oil. Your pelvic muscles contracted in renewed arousal. So, he was up for it… You turned around and lay down on your stomach. He climbed on the bed and placed himself between your legs. His hands massaging your ass and spreading your buttocks, you could hear him open the bottle and soon oil was running down your lower back and onto your soft cheeks. With determined movement, he was spreading the oil all over your ass, fingers circling closer and closer to your asshole, his mouth kissing and tongue licking around the sensitive opening. Oiled finger started to claim entry to your puckering hole, first one, then two, then three, and finally you could feel the tip of his cock starting to push against the opening. He was going slowly, with excessive amounts of oil as a lubricant, sliding in his cock into you, for what it felt like a very long time. You were squirming in pleasure at the new sensation.

When he finally bottomed out, he stopped.

‘Are you ready?’

You nodded in reply. He then began to pump his cock inside you. The pace was extremely slow at the start, but once he felt you relaxed, he started to pump harder and faster. His movements were steady and precise.

‘Come inside me’ your voice almost commanding.

You wanted to be sore, you wanted the rush of this. He shifted to hover straight over the top of you, his whole body in plank position, supported on his powerful arms, hammering his cock from straight above you. You could hear his breath speed up and sweat drops now falling on your back. His hips hitting your soft butt cheeks emitted a quiet slapping sound. A strong thrust later and he emptied the content of his balls into your ass. His after spasm made his whole body shake and he pulled out gently out of you.

‘Wait here, I need to clean myself up, I will bring some towels for you too.’ When he was ready, he came back with a damp hot towel and cleaned your still pulsing hole.

He then slumped on his back next to you. You turned around to your side to face him. You could not stop feasting your eyes on the sight that was in front of you. The smooth skin stretched so perfectly over his strong muscles, now all covered with small droplets of sweat, his long mane spread out around him. You were getting addicted to this, you understood now why women behaved so awkwardly around him, giving him hungry looks that he never reciprocated. Were you blind all that time? Well, I guess back then you foolishly convinced yourself that Michi was the one for you, and well, they were so alike, being twins. But now, you were realising that appearance alone was not all that made Yoriichi so intoxicating to you. His inner fire, so well hidden away, was hotter than anything that Michi ever possessed.

You were growing wild, cautiously you crept closer to him and cuddled up to his side, slowly embracing his chest with your arm. You then started to massage his chest, your hand slowly sliding down toward his groin. You were now massaging his large hips, avoiding his cock for now, teasing, mostly yourself as all you wanted was to grab hold of his delicious cock. He closed his eyes, enjoying the treatment you were gifting him. You ran out of patience with yourself and started stroking his cock. You grabbed it, pumping up and down the entire thick length. You then got up on all four and started to lick his veiny shaft. You could finally taste him and the salty precum was making you delirious, heat spreading in your stomach, increasing the ache you felt deep in your cunt.

As your arousal was getting stronger again, you were faced with a dilemma. On one hand, you really wanted him to come in your mouth, but at the same time, you were desperate for your own release. You sensed that one more orgasm could make him drained, as emotionally exhausted as he must have been after the week’s events. What if his rebound time got too long or he was not even willing to go again? No, you decided to fulfill your own needs, the first orgasm coming from your clit only, you needed a deeper sensation, you needed to be shaken out of the haze, and clear your thoughts.

You sucked his cock for a little while longer, swallowing it all the way to the hilt, your tongue drawing small circles on the sensitive tip. Yoriichi was moaning quietly, with his deep voice turning hoarse every time you sunk your head on his length. With a last lewd lick to the veiny underside, you shifted yourself and straddled him. Hovering your ass over his groin, you grabbed hold of his erect cock and started slowly lowering yourself on him, savouring the sensation of his generous member stretching every crevice and fold of your insides, making you feel fuller than you could ever imagine possible. He was now all the way to the balls in your throbbing pussy.

The look in his eyes was pure lust, the maroon now so dark under half-closed lids, that it almost made his pupils look black. You started riding him, your breasts bouncing, making him fixate his intense gaze on your soft mounds. His hands were now resting on your waist and soon he started to slide them all over you, feeling your back, and ass, and finally grabbed both of your breasts, squeezing them roughly, so they formed perfect circles with a delightful cleavage in between. You started to slowly reach the peaks of your ecstasy, you were slamming yourself harder and harder on his groin. As your movements intensified, he began pinching your nipples and that turned you into overdrive. Your walls clamping on him, his hands pinching both nipples, the relentless pace of your own hips, faster, harder, you were so close now.

Your climax came from deep inside your spasming cunt and you screamed. The sensation lasted long enough to make you almost pass out, trembling with aftershocks of the extreme pleasure you just experienced. The sheets under you were now soaked, you must have squirted all over him. While you were slumped on top of Yoriichi, he started working toward his own release. His strong hips were now bucking up into you, thrusting his cock deep into your slick-filled insides. Obscene, wet, and sloppy sounds of flesh pounding flesh, your moans and his heavy breathing were filling the room. You felt his cock swell inside you and you were soon filled with the warmth of his semen coating your clenching walls. Exhausted, covered with sweat and cum, his cock still inside you, you both fell asleep in each other’s arms.

*****

The first rays of the morning sun peeking through the window shine on the two lovers still sleeping in the same embrace they slumped into from the peaks of their climax. As the day wipes away the dark of night and the Sun outshines the Moon, so does love conquer fear and grief. This was heaven, him, the man you knew for so long and yet never knew well enough until last night. All thoughts of Michikatsu washed away now, it was only Yoriichi that mattered. If the two of you were forced to leave this place, then so be it. You were his if he wanted you to be. You understood that bathing in the rays of his warm aura and worshipping his body in return for the light, was something you could do for the rest of your days. You knew he was to become your everything. He was…

…. your Sun.

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

As always, a big thank you to my peeps for providing daily inspiration:

@muzanswaifu @doumadono @muzansfangs @koku-shibou @kokusfluffyhair @dudeandduchess @ask-the-upper-moons @paintoreos @yoriichiitsugikuni @koyuki-the-flower @fuckkyourlife @nakimex @dahliamalfoy97 @chibi-koku @sunsblaze @angelltheninth @xxsabitoxx @ask-yoriichi @doumaslotus

Reblogs and feedback are welcome!!

2K notes · View notes

easy-there-leftovers · 7 months

Text

I See You, Darling (2)

[Astarion x reader] Due to surprisingly overwhelming demand, the previous fic, along with this one and many more to follow, will now be part of a series!! It was honestly very difficult trying to come up with what happens next, but here we are. The idea came to me during a fever!! |Word count: 2.5k.| Based off of this post I made.

Part 1 here!!

Next part here!!

The reader believes they are in a dream. It wouldn’t be the first time their fantasies conjured up such an obscure, yet somehow realistic scene. And so they’ve elected to treat the experience with as much realism as one would observe in a dream; little to none.

Alternatively;An ex-art-student-now-traveler accustoms themselves to the party.

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

“Shadowheart. Shadow…heart. Hm.” His gaze bounced between you and her.

“I’m sure her parents meant well, but the name is rather ominous, isn’t it?” He leaned over to your side, not bothering to hide his blatant distrust. Lowering his voice dramatically, if anything.

“Unless she chose it herself. Which is even more worrying, honestly.” He chuckled out.

It had been no more than two bells after mornbright when you met Astarion. Since then, you’ve come to realize how…different your presence has changed the course of the story. Though more subtle than you expected.

It would seem as if you had met the elven vampire before the party was formed, which was strange as your last save point was far later than that and the forest had been quite a long way from the beach.

When you finally stumbled upon Shadowheart, he was quick to share his inner thoughts that you haven’t heard from the game before.

As they continued with their quest to find a cure for the Illithid problem, expanding their party as they did so, you had tried to make yourself useful by doing the dirty work for them. Looting and opening crates filled with camp supplies, armor, and potentially useful weapons and artifacts could always come in handy for trade or for “artifact consumption,” as per Gale’s need. Sorting them for your group’s convenience.

And while you did not have more direct and immediate practical use for your course of study in the modern world, the research you’ve created and reviewed for character creation and world building was doing wonders for your survival.

Or as much as it can for a magicless, not so athletic human.

The “runes” of the medieval ages that have been carved into stone, along with the basic history and background of the common races and deities of the fantastical world that tabletop RPG has offered puts you at quite an advantage.

Not to mention your experience with the areas of the game giving you the same effect.

But this library of information had also aroused something akin to suspicion and concern. It would be understandable if you were a simple traveler just like them, or perhaps even an artisan from the guild, but you were not as astute as either background.

So how could you have access to this much knowledge yet be unaware of more practical matters? It’s as if you had simply read about it from somewhere.

Astarion had been quick to give an explanation before you could form one of your own that could poorly convince your companions. Although, perhaps his suggestion was more outlandish than anything you could have come up with.

“They came with me. Property and all the formality that comes with it. A family pet, if you will.” A perfect excuse to justify your constant proximity to him, and a likely explanation to being well read, but not well experienced.

You thought nothing of the title, your apathy to the non-hazardous labels of this world apparent.

The same couldn’t have been said about your associates who had a few comments about this disclosure.

“I am unfamiliar with the–well, I shall not say ‘culture.’ ‘Customs’, perhaps. I did not think your kind to house such breed of cattle. Perhaps they could be useful.” Was Lae’zel’s.

“I assure you, they typically don’t. Humans aren’t naturally subservient to Elves, at least in this manner. This setup sounds more akin to slavery. Blink twice if you need help.” Was Gale’s response.

“It seems like Astarion's from the upper city, given the embroidery on his armor. I wouldn’t put it past them to have servants that follow them around.” Shadowheart’s nose crinkled at the thought.

The party already had such an interesting rapport. Not entirely comfortable with one another to divulge everything, but loose enough to have semi-pleasant conversation with.

You thought this as you sorted out the fruits of your collective labor into neat pouches and bags, keeping items similar to one another factioned into their respective holding space. The chest being closer to Withers more than you’d like, but it was nice to hear the ramblings of an…undead person? Hearing someone continuously talking allows you to be more productive.

You’ll admit, handling enchanted armor and crystals does make you a tad nervous but you’re comforted by the thought that it will not be you who wields it in battle.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gale approaching your direction. Possibly to ask for his share of the camp supplies just a little earlier to sate himself as you had an abundance of it for now. You regard him with your back turned and he stops for a bit.

“I will say that I don’t have the lightest of feet, but I figured myself better at sneaking around.” It’s not his fault that he got caught, but the bright purple robe and the smell of the oils you’ve been crafting for them are particularly noticeable.

“You are, but I’ll assume you're not exactly in the best shape after dealing with a few goblins.” You hold up a bottle of a healing potion, swinging it a bit with your fingers to indicate that the smell had warned you of his arrival.

“You’ve got a keen nose on you. Must be from all of Astarion’s training but, speaking of which,” He nears himself to your crouched form, going in to lean against a very old and empty crate.

“Gale, wait–” Right as your warning leaves you, they seem to evade him as falls right through the wood. A comical layer of dust and lichen pluming out from the force. He tries to quickly recover from both the physical and emotional damage as he brushes himself off to make himself presentable once more.

“Ahem, as I was saying,” He again makes his way over to you, settling for just standing close as his attempts to look unbothered temporarily cost him his ego.

“I was serious about what I said before. While I don’t know what to make of our pallid friend just yet, as enigmatic as he is, what he said before is quite confusing. Best make haste away from here if you want your freedom while we’re distracted with this worm problem.” His tone suggests a genuine concern which confuses you.

You’d be lying to yourself if the label of the set up didn’t sound odd, but you’ve never expressed discomfort as there was nothing all too worrying about it on your end. It was mostly for show, and you had as much independence as Tav would have in your game.

You endeavor to quickly dispel his worries.

“You don’t have to worry, I’m very satisfied with my servitude under Astarion. He’s very lenient and reliable, and I’m better off with him than on my own." You return to your task of sifting through your materials but pause and look back up at him to continue.

"I do thank you for turning my way though. Your concern is much appreciated but unnecessary.” You lowered your head a bit to show your thanks.

“Well if someone as generous as yourself says to trust you on this, then I have no choice but to concede! I’ll keep a watchful eye and offer guidance, should you need it. Also, do we happen to have something for—” As he asks you for some sort of salve, just a few ways off, your eccentric “handler,” of sorts, watches the two of you interact.

Don’t get him wrong, such matters don’t really catch his attention, but being an elf does curse him with the ability to have extensive hearing. Something that he thinks Gale knew, and something you forgot. That would explain the lack of distance between you two.

He thinks it’s amusing how the wizard is trying to make conversation with you as if you were some foreign creature. His usual eloquence nowhere to be seen, and you seemed as unbothered as ever. Like how he usually saw you when you conversed with someone through a crystal.

It was a phone, not that he knew that though.

“They’re a real nice one, aren’t they?” Karlach says from her side of the camp which was nearer towards his tent and yours.

“Hm, yes. While that may be an admirable trait, it’s hardly going to get them anywhere if they keep this up.” Astarion huffed out, not very keen on your altruistic playstyle so far.

He doesn’t know much about what you do and don’t know, all he knows is that you do know of the events to unfold and could be the key to defeating his master.

All he needs is to keep you at his side. So he’ll allow you this much freedom.

“Oh come on, you. You can’t seriously think that after everything. Our camp’s pretty well maintained because of ‘em, not to mention the connections we’ve been able to get!” She fortifies her statement by knocking on her chest, the engine humming within feels lighter and newer since you’ve informed her of the tiefling blacksmith at the grove.

He hums in response, returning to reading his book as he thinks about his growing hunger. He’ll have to hunt soon enough. While your positive reputation occasionally reflects on him by proxy, it can also reflect negatively due to the alleged nature of your relationship. If he wants the journey to a way of understanding the tadpoles to be a more comfortable one, he has to at least prevent their trust in him from diminishing.

Night falls later than he’d have liked, having waited for everyone to be asleep so that he may prowl the forest for sustenance.

The rest were sound asleep in their bedroll as the skirmish from earlier on in the day had proven to be sufficiently tiring. The crackling fire surely brings a lulling warmth that he supposes he’ll have to miss out on for a while.

As he begins to slink off into the darkness, he looks back to gauge his surroundings and catches your form from across the settlement. It seems you were tallying away the items in the shared chest and double-checking to see that everything is checked and balanced with your records.

Your shoulders jump at his suddenly standing form, but try to understand his intentions. You mouth, “where?” with a very confused face, to which he responds with a simple shushing motion and waits for your acknowledgement.

You nod slowly, and he holds your gaze before sneaking off once again.

‘He’s coming back, right?’ You wondered. The progression of your experience now in comparison to the game was vastly different, and you didn’t know if all scenes, or only some, would present themselves in this world. You assume he planned to hunt, and while you trust his abilities, you want to make sure he’s attended to properly should he be harmed in any way.

So after retrieving a few potions, a journal, and a pencil, you stashed them in a satchel and positioned yourself at the base of the tree in the direction he left in. You weren’t particularly sleepy tonight, and planned to pass the time in wait of your companion.

There wasn’t much to do in this century to keep yourself entertained. The only things you’ve found so far were a few instruments and all manners of journals and inks.

The inkpot that you picked up appeared to be red this time. The game of, “which ink dye will I get this time?” will have to be the most of your entertainment for now. Not all too different from home, you suppose. And while writing keeps your mind at bay, illustrating all manners of wildlife have proven to be quite the fun exercise.

You’ve made a few notes on creatures that you and your company have encountered. The visual elements of a drawing allowed you and the others to keep track of materials that could be salvaged from them, and their resistances to certain attacks.

Though as much as you liked depicting such lifeforms in paper, you’ve come to be very interested in portraying your vampire friend.

Evidence of your interest present in the pages filled with his likeness as you search for an unmarked page. You’ve made a few of the others, yes, but anyone who would gain access to your journal would surely see which member of the group you favor more.

You continued to draw, and occasionally write, on the parchment as you waited for Astarion to come back. All sense of time evading you as you focus on the task at hand.

A perfect opportunity for a tired rogue to surprise an unsuspecting human.

“And what are you still doing up, little one?” He appears from behind the very tree you rested against, causing you to spill a bit of ink on your thumb.

You clicked your tongue, not at all annoyed by the character but by your absentmindedness and now stained appendage.

“Sorry, I was just waiting for you.” You sealed the inkpot, and gathered your materials. Effectively, but unknowingly, hiding your work from peering eyes that were the same deep red as your finger.

“I’m very flattered, darling. But couldn’t you wait until morning? I'm sure this couldn’t have been all too important, yes?” He gestures to your satchel, referring to your journal, but you misinterpreted it as him asking for your medical supplies.

“Oh, that depends. Are you hurt, by any chance? I stayed awake in case you might've needed help tending to yourself.” You opened the pouch to reveal its contents to him, your stained thumb in full view.

The sight makes him sigh out, but is thankful for your offered service.

“I’m alright, nothing of interest happened while I was away.” He considers telling you about the nature of his little…'escapade.' He's unaware if you are of his condition, and he doesn’t wish to out himself if not necessary to avoid possible conflict. So he settles for advising you to rest.

“We need you well rested, my dear. You sleep. I’ll keep watch.” The dialogue is familiar, and you can’t stop yourself from letting a small laugh out as you responded with an equally familiar line

“Thank you. I’ll sleep better for that.” You lower your head as you usually do in gratitude.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He mirrors your gesture, albeit in a way that is most appropriate for someone of his character. “Sweet dreams.”

You walked back to the chest. Returning the potions and ink you’ve plucked from the supply, but keeping the rest of the pouch’s materials with you as you turn in for the night. Awaiting the promise of further study that a new day typically makes.

As Astarion is left with his own thoughts, a sour taste still in his mouth from his earlier meal, he thinks about the man in the journal you kept. He did not see much, only a vague outline of the figure. He thinks about who, or what, it could have been but dismisses the thought rather quickly.

He has no time for a mysterious person with hair less perfect than his own, touching his untainted locks as he does.

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

Thank you everyone for your interest in the series!! As per the request of some, I'll now be adding a taglist!

Thank you to @rey26, @shyminnie07, @lynnloveshobi, @iggee-rose, @automnepoet, and @tiannamortis for asking to be tagged!!

#astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion x mc #baldur's gate 3 x reader #bg3 x reader isekai(?)#aware!astarion #though I guess not so aware--#lol

1K notes · View notes

chi-the-idiot · 4 months

Text

For a while now I've wanted to draw my interpretation of the voices, until I realized how EXCRUCIATINGLY DIFFICULT drawing anthropomorphic birds actually was (my most sincere respects go to the artists who were able to put foward their visions).

But then I thought "wait, they don't have physical bodies, they are voices inside the protagonist's head".

SO BOOM, THE VOICES ARE SHADOWY SHILOUETTES BABYYY (part 1, probably)

The Cold was the first design I made, so he doesn't really have much thought process behind him except "make him creepy".

That's why he has that very prim and handsome smile almost none of his other companions have. Come on, zoom in on it, I know you want to feel its warmth radiate through the screen.

What I also did was leave him wing-less. Full disclosure, this idea originally came from another user here on tumblr who posted their designs for the voices, but I tried to search for the post again and couldn't find it (if anyone remembers the username or the post I'm talking about, please send it to me so I may tag them accordingly, i will continue to look for it in my liked posts). Although I do not remember why they chose to leave him wing-less, this did spark the idea of all of the voices having their wings damaged or fractured in some shape or form, either due to their own nature or due to their separation. This is also why he has those scars in his back, chest and face.

The Paranoid was next, and I already had a much clearer idea of what I wanted to do. His wings are not damaged because of the separation, but rather his own anxious nature led him to pull out most of his feathers, and making him even more of a shivering mess.

His scars are my favourite ones, as again they don't only stem from the fracture. Rather, they come from his encounter with the nightmare. Remember that she seems to have some sort of electric power, so I decided to make his scars originate from her touch, and leave marks similar to those a lightning ray would make.

I have to say that The Hunted is my favourite tho. I made him more corvid instead of humanoid, to really pinpoint his more animalistic nature. His fracture is more similar to that of a mirror, and with that I wanted to make a connection with the Narrator as well, sort of hiding their relation to one another in the design. Im still not sure if that one was caused by the beast or the fracturing, but I really like him.

Finally, a scale, for you to witness how absolutely minimal the hunted is, because I love that about him. Birb boy.

Anygays, thats me for tonight, byebye

#slay the princess #stp #slay the princess voices #stp voices #voice of the paranoid #voice of the cold #voice of the hunted #character design

326 notes · View notes

aroceu · 9 months

Text

what's been happening at the otw?

so it seems that on twitter and possibly tumblr, people have been hearing things about the otw board/election stuff without really knowing what's going on. a lot of the different issues get conflated and confused with each other, and things that aren't related get connected while things that are related don't. i'm making this post to make things clear, since i've been following some of it (primarily the otw board stuff) from the outside so that people know exactly what is going on, and to reduce the spread of misinformation.

a lot of this information comes from this dreamwidth journal, which has been documenting many testimonies and receipts, for full context.

an earlier timeline of the csem and insensitive treatment of policy and abuse committee volunteers is documented at @221loislane, on this post.

the election season

every year — for anyone out of touch with how the organization of transformative works (otw) politics go, yes this occurs every year as seats can be held for 3 years maximum but resignations happen, leading to staggering — the org has an election season for the main board of directors. they oversee all of the otw's fan projects, including ao3 and fanlore. there are 7 seats, one of whom is the president (kari dayton).

if a chair resigns, then their seat may remain empty to the end of the term or to the next election season, depending on when they resign. if they resign early, a runner-up from the previous election may take their seat.

elections generally take place every summer, but the actual changing of hands occurs in in the fall. board directors are known by their real life name; this has always been the policy. prior to this year, when candidacies were announced, it was with their full name. however, due to the csem attack emails that were targeting volunteers last may, it seems that they added a layer of protection for the candidates this year, and initially announced them with their first name and last initial.

this election season, there were originally 4 chairs that were going to be vacant and needed to be filled. there were also originally 7 candidates, some of whom applied for candidacy last minute. one of the candidates withdrew early (mid june), so this came down to 6.

in order to vote in an election, you must donate a minimum $10usd prior to a certain date in june (this year being june 30) and tick the box that says you want to become a member.

the republican candidate

on july 24, people started spreading the fact that one of the otw board candidates, audrey richards, is a republican. this is true: she ran for a republican seat for the us house of reps in 2022 (and prior to that, as an independent in 2020.) this can be seen on her ballotpedia. we know that she is the same audrey richards, because her ballotpedia page also connects her with the otw.

let me be clear: this is still in line with org policy, in terms of her real name getting released. their full names were going to be released to the public at some point, and as far as i know the org did not state that they would hide their full names until after the election.

many people, especially americans on the ao3 (full disclosure: i am one of the americans on ao3) were very wary about this, because the republican party has been endorsing increasingly dangerous laws and policies along the lines of fascism and transphobia. audrey running as a republican does not necessarily mean that she agrees with these values; however, because she, as a white woman, felt comfortable enough to align herself with a party that does, many lgbt people and people of color had every right to have reservations about her. her statements about ukraine (disagreeing with biden sending arms) and her involvement with "children and screens" was also brought under scrutiny: see this post by discluded. (i am not endorsing discluded's post; it simply cites some concerns with audrey)

due to claims of harassment (i am also not saying whether or not they occurred), she resigned from candidacy and from the org as a whole on july 25, declaring "congrats on the witch hunt." (x)

the otw then released a statement dissuading people from harassing board candidates. this was not taken well, as they were completely silent last year regarding unsubstantiated rumors about tiffany g, a previous election candidate who's chinese, with views that many were not comfortable with, to the point of saying that she might be a spy for the chinese government. this was spread by chinese- and english-speaking users alike. the otw was silent about this. however, this year, many volunteers internally have said that the otw's silence towards harassment is damning, and in any case, even in audrey's, they should speak up against it, resulting in their public statement.

reprimanding a volunteer of color

also on july 24, coincidentally enough, a volunteer of color made a post about receiving a letter about constructive corrective action procedure (ccap) from the tag wrangling team, due to making volunteers uncomfortable by speaking up about racism in the org.

the tl;dr of why they received the letter boiled down to:

talking about the org's racism in a ~certain way~ in public channels where volunteers could not leave made some vols uncomfortable

sharing internal chatlogs and correspondences to the public. EXCEPT THE THINGS SHE SHARED WERE HER OWN MESSAGES. and before july 25, the only OTHER thing she had shared to the public was the otw's direction on how volunteers should approach getting csem, from the spam attack last year, on a comment in a news post - which is an email that ALL VOLUNTEERS GOT. because none of that was public! no one knew what the org's approach to the spam attack in order to protect the volunteers was! she disclosed it so randoms who are not volunteers would know!

"outing" a volunteer, except she DIDN'T, because the volunteer had outed THEMSELVES in the chat program previously and repeatedly, then changed their icon at some point to indicate they didn't want to link the identities anymore. but there had never been a formal announcement or request not to link the identities, and who was supposed to take an icon change as an indicator of that, so IN THE CHAT PROGRAM (not in public!) kutti made a reference to something that person (under their real name) said in public (under their fannish handle/icon) and got reprimanded for it

emyn a has since made a post about how kutti's general behavior in the chat has made him uncomfortable and was one of the reasons why he withdrew his candidacy, and that he supported the fact that she received the ccap. he stated that alex tischer's abrasiveness (see below) was probably because of where alex is from, in europe. he also said that kutti outed a withdrawn candidate (probably audrey) in the chat program, which was not public information prior to his post. the rest of his claims are presently not substantiated, and most of what i have read about his accusations boil down to tone policing.

EDIT: kutti clarified that emyn got her mixed up with another volunteer of color in one of these claims. she says that she has never talked about audrey either internally nor externally, and does not know what other handles she would link audrey to. she also specified that emyn's accusation of her using "provocative descriptors, such as 'disgusting'" was in context of her criticizing the org's handling of azarias — a volunteer who handled many csem tickets last year, then got their account suspended without warning, and then got implicated for distribution in an org-wide letter, which, yeah, is pretty fucking disgusting!

the alex problem

i mentioned the ccap above because kutti references it in her post about alex tischer here, and when i linked to it on twitter people were confused as to what ccap meant and why it was significant. and i don't think kutti's treatment should go ignored either, because i think it signifies a larger problem that the org has.

and one of these very glaring problems is alex tischer. alex tischer was on the board this year, being their last year of their current term. they were on the board previously too, from 2015-2018. tischer has been called a "missing stair" by multiple volunteers, and a huge problem in the org's function.

more specifically, and as confirmed by a former volunteer i talked to on an ao3 post (wherein they corrected me for conflating two incidents), some incidents that occurred with tischer were:

in 2020, when mainland chinese vols were encouraged to do more recruitment for volunteers on weibo (a mainland china site), the otw had added two new language tags on ao3: tai-gi (taiwanese) and cantonese. the vols were also encouraged to endorse this — not specifically by alex — on weibo. china and taiwan have VERY high geopolitical tensions, and the vols endorsing the addition of the taiwanese language on a mainland chinese site could potentially put them in danger. when they expressed this, alex had told them to "not appease a shitty government," or something along those lines — indicating alex did not care for their safety in a heavily censored country, over sticking it to the man or whatever. (alex is white/german and lives in the uk.)

in 2023, separate from this issue, the otw had decided to shut down the transformative works weibo page without consulting the chinese volunteers. the chinese vols were very pissed and protested, first in english. and then, when their concerns weren't being heard, they started in protesting in chinese. this prompted alex to reply to them, in german, "We can throw all sorts of things at each other, but if we don't agree on a lingua franca, we won't achieve much" (Wir können uns gegenseitig alle möglichen Dinge an den Kopf werfen aber wenn wir uns nicht auf eine Lingua Franca einigen erreichen wir nicht viel.) which, in my opinion, is pretty fucking irrelevant to chinese volunteers not getting their voices heard for something that they had every right to get their voice heard on, and basically told them to "speak english" when they had been speaking english previously and getting ignored!!!

a discussion from the otw slack in 2020 was leaked, wherein a black volunteer asked a question and expressed interest in knowing the diversity of the board of directors. not the diversity of all volunteers. they immediately got dogpiled on by multiple volunteers, alex included, saying that asking for such a thing could endanger the safety of volunteers (which is pretty fucking ironic considering alex's treatment of the chinese vols), the black volunteer should've backread a day's worth of chatlogs, saying that asking about diversity was chilling, etc. i cannot summarize in full how furious this chatlog makes me, so if you are capable i do recommend you to read it to see how utterly defensive everyone got at a simple question about diversity.

these things are relevant because on july 25, kutti made a post about alex — because other volunteers had been asking in the otw slack about kutti's situation, and a volunteer compared how kutti was treated, for speaking up about racism, to how alex was treated, who was consistently xenophobic and as far as anyone knew, did not receive a reprimand for it. alex then doubled down on their previous comments.

this prompted kutti's post, both to publicize this incident and to call for alex's immediate suspension.

board directors resign

there were, at the time, five chairs on board, due to the fact that two had resigned previously (heather in may 2023, jess in nov 2022; neither were replaced). after this incident, volunteers were furious and backed kutti up and also called for alex to resign, or for the other chairs to kick alex out.

two chairs in particular, antonius and natalia, were already on hiatus. they were also pressured to kick alex out, due to the fact that they were only standing chairs, not active, so volunteers wanted them to either come off hiatus and start the process to get alex out, or if they could not do their chair duties, resign. i believe the board needs a 2/3rds vote to kick someone off as a chair, which is why they were brought into the conversation — 2/5 chairs would not be enough.

on july 26, natalia did reprimand alex's behavior in the chat according to some sources. an anonymous source said that both natalia and antonius had started their resignation process prior to the alex-kutti incident; they made this public and official after/during this conversation.

on july 27, alex also said that they had resigned "yesterday." it is unclear if they only resigned from the board, or the org as a whole, considering they were still the webs chair, a tag wrangler, and on the translation and support committees.

all three board resignations were made public in an official announcement on july 27; natalia and antonius's were made first, with alex's as an add-on shortly afterward. however, as alex and antonius's spots were already outgoing, this has only opened up ONE slot for the election: a fifth one. and there are five candidates.

what happens next?

with five vacant seats and five candidates, this means that the election is uncontested. however, two of the five candidates will serve partial terms (the ones who get less votes; 2 years each), while three of the five candidates will serve full terms (3 years each.) if you've donated at least $10 to the otw in the past year, you're eligible to vote. a comprehensive schedule can be found here.

all candidate platforms/q&as can be found here in individual posts, and here as a spreadsheet.

by the way, this is not the first time most of, if not a full board has resigned almost all at once. this occurred previously in 2015, due to some of the following incidents (these may not be all of the reasons for the mass resignation, but definitely for many of them):

insanely incompetent financial handling wherein they had donations up to six figures held in paypal accounts

the removal of sanders, a candidate during that election season, because she had resigned from her role as treasurer recently, thus supposedly making her ineligible to run (candidates must have served as a volunteer in any position for 2 years), even though she was still on the dev committee. she did not resign from the candidacy herself. the election committee had objected to this but was overridden by the board. sanders is black.

a board chair had gone under a sockpuppet account during multiple candidate chats asking questions "as a concerned member," even though she was board chair, indicating a conflict of interest.

during the open board meeting in november (after the election), without warning the board decided to appoint andrea, the candidate who got the least number of votes that election year, to a spot that was vacated a whole year before. it was hard for me to find context around this situation but from what i've gathered, andrea was already friends with the present board and the newly appointed board had not yet settled in. when this was met with appropriate backlash and accusations of power grabbing, this is when the entire board at the time — minus the new elects — resigned.

i bring this up to show that the otw has never been a perfect organization — rather, it has always had its problems. i did not pay much attention to these incidents previously, but considering how the current election season has become more and more prominent on my social media, i feel that it's important for me to be in the know now, and to spread this information to others.

i am not a volunteer (although i used to be a tag wrangler for a brief time.) i am not speaking on behalf of anyone mentioned or linked in this post except for myself. i strongly believe in making an organization's policies public and for as much information to be accessible as possible, for a site that i'm an active member on and love to use. i believe in ensuring the safety, comfort, and consideration of volunteers of color. i am making this post because i believe the otw deserves to be transparent like any other organization. please feel free to share and discuss as you see fit; and if any of this information is incorrect, please let me know asap!

edit: follow-up incidents

this post by @fandomantiracism writes a detailed timeline of the mishandling of chinese volunteers (including the below incidents), and explains exactly why the environment in which otw volunteers in china must be handled with a modicum of more care than they do currently. please read it to fully understand the cvols' situation! (disclaimer: i am not affiliated with this blog.)

during the candidate chats, a chinese candidate got an extremely inappropriate question from a present chair/former or present board member, breaching on org privacy (even though kutti got a ccap for less), a clear attempt to attack the candidate by making them appear unsafe and immature, and with a lie that put their ACTUAL SAFETY at risk. see this post, and this thread on twitter

an aforementioned former volunteer detailed another incident where the treatment of chinese volunteers was severely mishandled; see here

#otw #organization of transformative works #ao3 #otw board #otw elections #an aroceu original

619 notes · View notes

cupid-styles · 6 months

Note

Need💳💥that💳💥 jealousy 💥💳 part💥💳 now💥💳(with love)

(with love) ur so cute gjerktej I couldn't resist writing it and I hope you like it ! :)

part of the ymls universe ! read the original here

word count: 862

content warnings: pregnant y/n, baby talk, harry being a himbo idiot

. . .

Y/N isn't quite sure how she ended up in this position.

One minute, the cute barista at her local coffee shop asked her out on a date and slipped her his number. (It was a sweet move, she has to admit, and it made her stomach do a flip in a way that she hasn't felt in awhile... not since she and Harry slept together two months ago or so, but she would never willingly admit that.) The next minute, they're on the date, grabbing dinner at a quaint Italian spot in his part of the city, and it's going... terribly.

It turns out he's some poor excuse for an indie wannabe, only talks about himself, and even tried to get her to have a glass of wine despite Y/N's disclosure that she's pregnant. It's all entirely too uncomfortable, and she can feel her phone vibrating in her pocket nearly every five minutes — the first and second times she checked it with an apology to... whatever his name was, concerned that a friend or family member needed something, only to find that it was just Harry blowing up her phone.

are you there? where did he take you?

if im thinking of the same guy, he's not even that cute, you deserve better

also he better not drink and drive, there's precious cargo to take care of

lmk if you need me to bail you out early

She tries ignoring his constant texts, even considers putting her phone on do not disturb, but she can't tell which is worse — the man sitting across from her that's making painful attempts at conversation, or the father of her baby who is clearly on a jealousy kick right now.

When her date is four glasses of wine in and asks how they'll be splitting the bill, Y/N unofficially decides that Harry isn't the worst part of the night.

With a grimace, she throws some cash down on the table and heads to the bathroom without a goodbye. When she's safely alone in a stall, she takes a deep breath and presses Harry's contact, only for him to pick up after one ring.

"Hey," she greets, trying to hide the way her voice wobbles, "I need you to come pick me up."

"Why? Is everything okay? Is the baby alright?"

She sighs, lifting her hand to run it through her hair. "Yeah, the baby is fine. I just need a ride."

She can hear some shuffling in the background and assumes he's getting ready to leave his place. "Why? Didn't he drive you there?"

"No, I took an Uber and I don't want to spend more money on this poor excuse of a date," she mutters grumpily, "Save your celebrations, I'm not in the mood."

A beat. And then, "I would never celebrate something making you upset, Y/N."

She shrugs, even though she knows he can't see it.

"Whatever. You're right, he wasn't that cute, and he made me split the bill with him and tried to get me to drink."

"What?"

"It's fine, I'm okay," she quickly backtracks with a shake of her head, "Just come get me. Please."

. . .

Harry runs two red lights, cuts off four cars, and imagines multiple different ways he wants to hurt the guy Y/N went out with.

(Realistically, he could never fight anyone, but he does contemplate filing an anonymous complaint with his boss at the coffee shop.)

A 25 minute drive is slimmed down to a 17 minute one thanks to the traffic laws he breaks, and he's prepared to march into the restaurant to find Y/N, but she's already sitting outside. He sighs at the sight of her on the bench, cradling her small bump with her jacket wrapped tightly around her form.

"Why didn't you wait inside for me?" he asks when she opens the passenger side door.

"I just started my second trimester, let me have some independence while I can." she grumbles, slamming the door and buckling herself in.

He's silent at that, putting the car back in drive. He hates that she had a bad night, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't somewhat happy things didn't go well. The jealousy threatening to crawl out of him makes him embarrassed, and he knows Y/N would only yell at him if she figured out how he really felt.

The rest of the drive is quiet. He glances over occasionally to make sure she's doing alright, but every time he looks, she's staring out the window and slowly rubbing her bump.

As Harry pulls into a spot outside of her house, she clears her throat.

"Do you... do you wanna come in?" she asks, staring down into her lap, "Not for anything weird but, like... to hang out, or whatever."

He nods, his heart warming slightly. "Yeah. Actually, when you called, I was reading one of those parenting books I got and it said it would be helpful to start singing and talking to the baby so they recognize my voice."

She laughs lightly and resists the urge to tease him. "Okay," she says with a small smile, unbuckling her seatbelt, "You can come in and... sing to my stomach."

He presses his lips together so she doesn't see the grin threatening to appear.

"Thanks, Y/N."

#writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles #ymls concept

330 notes · View notes

skz317cb97 · 11 months

Text

Helping Hand

Han Jisung x Female reader

Word count: 2k

Synopsis: When Jisung gets hurt he figures out he needs a hand with more than he realized.

A/N: 18+ ONLY! Thank you all for your patience as I slowly get back into the rhythm of things. I hope you enjoyed today's posts! If you like this one give it a reblog, like, comment or jump in my asks! As always warnings and smut below the cut! (I feel like it's been forever since I've written that!)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI! Cursing/ strong language, oral (m&f receiving), deep throating, cum eating, protected piv sex, I think that's it. I'm easing back into things guys sorry!

Jisung sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the cast that went around his hand and up to his elbow. He was a clutz and fell during practice. Somehow, he managed to not only fracture his wrist but his arm as well. He would be on restricted duty now until it was better and since it was his dominant side it also restricted him from other things, like tying his shoes, using chopsticks, fastening his belt, or say, jerking off.

That was the one that was currently bothering Jisung. He was home alone and all he wanted to do was jack off and he couldn’t. It was beyond frustrating. He groaned out loudly and fell back on his bed staring up at the ceiling, his hard dick straining against his shorts.

“Everything okay Jisungie?” He shot up and almost jumped out of his skin when he heard your voice. He didn’t know you were home, he thought you’d gone to dinner with the rest of the guys but you didn’t. You had decided to stay behind with Jisung since he was hurt. When you heard his loud groan you knew he needed something. You hadn’t intended to startle him like that.

“Sorry Sungie, I just heard you and thought you might need help.” He took a deep breath and removed his hand from his chest.

“Oh. Uh. No I’m okay.” He was tense and acting weird.

“Are.... you sure? You don’t seem okay?” His ears were turning red.

“No! I’m fine!” He tried to strategically place his arms in his lap to hide the fact he was sporting wood but the damn cast made it pretty much impossible. When you saw him fidgeting you looked down and that was when you realized what the problem was.

“Oh.” Jisung pushed his fingers into his eyes completely embarrassed.

“Yea uh... sorry it’s just... it will go away.”

“Well it’s nothing to be ashamed of Jisung.” You took another step into his room. You weren’t sure what exactly came over you but Jisung was hot and hard. Your brain went on auto pilot.

“Do you want me to help make it go away?” His head shot up and he looked at your face to see if you were fucking with him or if you really meant it. You were biting your bottom lip flushed. You absolutely meant it.

“You want to?” You walked the rest of the way into the room and shut the door.

“Yes.” Jisung looked a little apprehensive still.

“I’d love that, I mean... if you’re sure.” You walked over and stood between Jisung’s legs. You pushed his hair out of his face and he closed his eyes relishing your touch.

“I’m sure Sungie.” Hearing you call him that made his cock throb. His good hand came up and rested on your hip, his thumb rubbing circles on the sliver of skin exposed to him.

“I really like it when you call me that. I’ll be happy to return the favor if you’d like.” You chewed at your lip again and nodded eagerly. You started to sink down to your knees and about midway Jisung stopped you, cupping your face and kissing your lips. Your hands rested on either side of his legs as he held you in place and deepened the kiss.

“Full disclosure...” Jisung whispered against your lips.

“I’m kind of crazy about you.” You giggled and kissed his plump lips.

“Me too.” Jisung kissed you one more time and you knelt the rest of the way down in front of him. You ran your hands from his knees up his thighs and felt him tense under your touch.

“Nervous?” You asked.

“Excited.” Jisung chuckled answering. He pushed stray hair away from your face with his good hand as he looked into your eyes.

“You’re so pretty.” Your eyes got big and sparkled as you smiled.

“You’re pretty too Sungie, so pretty.” You leaned up as you pulled him down and kissed him again before grabbing his shorts and boxers and pulling at both. Jisung got the hint and lifted his hips off the bed allowing you to strip him from the waist down, leaving him in only his tank top. You tossed both articles of clothing aside and when you turned and saw Jisung’s throbbing cock your mouth watered. You licked your palm and wrapped your fingers around his shaft.

“It’s so BIG Ji!” He closed his eyes, biting his lip and started blushing at your compliment.

“Heh, thank you.” You giggled.

“I feel like I should be thanking you.” That made Jisung laugh with his whole body.

“Just touching me is thank you enough I think.” You smirked.

“Oh I’m definitely doing more than just touching Sungie.” Before he could think of a single word to say back to that, you leaned forward and took the tip of his cock into your warm wet mouth and started to suck and bob up and down.

“Oh god!” Jisung gripped your hair with his good hand and helped set a rhythm. When the tip hit the back of your throat he hissed.

“SSSssshit that’s good jagi, can you gag on it again?” You could do anything Jisung asked if he called you jagi when asking. You started to deep throat his dick and Jisung was impressed you could take so much.

“Fuck you’re sucking me so well beautiful.” The squelching sound Jisung’s dick made as it entered your throat over and over was wet and loud. Your lips formed a seal and you hummed and Jisung thought he was gonna blow his load right then.

“Ohhh like that do that!” You hummed as you bottomed out on his cock again. Up and down humming louder, louder, louder. Jisung’s grip on your hair tightened and you felt the sweet sting of pins and needles.

“I’m g-gonna cum, you gonna swallow for me jagi?” Jagi. Fuck. You nodded as you continued to suck him off and hum on his cock. The sweet moan that left Jisung right before he flooded your mouth made you reach down and touch yourself over your pants.

“Ohhh fuck yesyes god feels so good, you’re such a good girl. So pretty with a cock in your mouth, so so pretty.” You swallowed the last of Jisung’s cum and popped off him sitting back on your heels feeling a little shy once he had post nut clarity.

“Wow that was... whew...” Jisung’s cheeks, ears and neck were all blushing from his orgasm.

“You taste so good Sungie.” He looked down at you and smiled.

“Bet not half as good as you taste jagiya. Come, climb up on the bed and lay down for me.” He took your hand and helped you off your knees and onto his bed. He watched the shape of your body as you crawled across and then laid back on his pillows.

“Beautiful. It’s okay if I touch you?” You shook your head yes.

“Please. Need you Ji.” He didn’t make you wait. He stripped off his tank top and then as he removed your pants while you worked your shirt and bra off. Once you were naked on his bed Jisung got a little light headed at the sight of you.

“Sorry if I’m staring it's just... this is like a dream come true for me. I never thought I’d have you in my bed, let alone wet and ready for me. Can I taste?”

“Mhmm.” Jisung’s head dipped between your legs and he drug his tongue through your folds.

“Ffffuck!” Jisung hummed in delight.

“I knew you’d taste amazing.” He started to drink you in. Running his tongue from your hole to your clit and back again, gathering as much of your arousal as possible before latching onto your clit and sucking gently.

“JiJiJiJi!! Fuck that, right there yes!” He decided to give you a taste of your own medicine and hummed against your pussy as he continued to devour you. Your legs started to shake and you were trying to clamp them around his head but he was holding them open while he ravaged your cunt. He licked another stripe and his face came away an inch.

“So fucking good damn baby. Cum for me beautiful.” He started going down on you again, his efforts doubled and you went speeding towards your climax.

“Ji... Ji... I’m gonna cum! Gonna cum! Fuck Sungie!” You shook, your orgasm intense and prolonged as Jisung slowly, gently, worked you through it. Once you relaxed into the bed, Jisung propped himself up over you on his one good arm and kissed you softly.

“Can I fuck you?” He whispered his question against your lips. You smiled and nodded, taking a deep content breath.

“God please! Please fuck me Jisung.” He quickly grabbed a condom from his nightstand, ripped it open, and rolled it down his cock. You sat up and pushed at his firm chest making him sit back against his head board.

“Mind if I’m on top?” Jisung motioned towards his lap.

“Go right ahead.” You both laughed and you thought you had never had so much fun having sex. You climbed on his lap and Jisung’s laugh turned to a chuckle and when you lined his cock up with your glistening hole he wasn’t laughing at all anymore. No he was chewing on his lip praying he didn’t blow too fast. The moan he let out when you sank down on him was sinful.

“Fuuuuuck jagiya... just a second. Don’t move yet or this is gonna be over before it’s started.” You bit your lip and nodded, waiting for a signal that it was okay to move. After just a minute Jisung gripped your hip gently and nodded.

“Okay we’re out of the danger zone.” You were giggling again. You loved that he could always make you laugh. You leaned down and kissed him as you started to move your hips slowly.

“Mmmm feels good Ji, so big, fills me up so well.” He bit your lip gently.

“Can you take it?” He smirked at you. Oh okay, you thought to yourself. You pecked his lips once more and then braced yourself palms down on his pecs. The look you gave him said he was absolutely fucked in every sense of the word and then you put it down on him. You rolled your hips and bounced up and down on his cock.

“FUCK!” The smirk was effectively wiped from Jisung’s face now his teeth were sank into his own lip. You took him whole and started grinding.

“If you keep going like this I’m gonna cum baby.” You smiled and kept up your brutal pace, your own orgasm approaching quickly with the added stimulation to your clit rubbing against the firm muscle above his pelvis.

“Cum for me Jisung.” You rolled your hips again and your walls started to flutter around Jisung’s cock as you came hard.

“Fffuck! Mmmm Jisung!” He gripped your hip with his good hand and started fucking into you from below.

“FUCKFUCKFUCK! YESYES OH MY FUCKING GOD!” The best orgasm of your life is how you would describe your climax.

“I’m gonna cum jagi fuck! I’m gonna...” He let out another loud moan when he filled the condom inside you and Jisung’s moans were the prettiest sounds you had ever heard. He sat up wrapping his arms around you, his cast making it difficult, and buried his face in your chest, breathing you in as he came down. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and toyed with the long hair covering his nape, longer than usual for him. Your head resting on top of his.

“You good?” You asked as he sat there trembling a little.

“So good. Fuck. You?” You smiled when he pulled away and looked up at you.

“Perfect.”

“Good. You know if I’d have known breaking my arm would get you to fuck me I’d have broken it ages ago.” You laughed and smacked his shoulder and he acted as though you broke his other arm before tackling you onto the bed and assaulting you with kisses.

Please do not repost or translate any of my works. My blog and stories are NSFW and 18+ ONLY! Minors, ageless, and blank blogs will be blocked!

@acciocriativity @caroline-ds-world @chansynie @ughbehavior @jquellen27 @jisuperboard @fixation-dump @lachinitaaaaa @rinrinndou @bangchans-angel @laylasbunbunny @owo-manii-uwu @armystay89 @b00dyguts @purplenimsicle @caticorn61 @lauraneuuh @channieandhisgoonsquad @minnysproutgriffinteddy @svintsandghosts @the-sweetest-rose @alice630 @3rachasninja @m0ri-apeuda @eastleighsblog @linoification @mlink64 @smally97 @fun-fanfics @chansducky10 @starfire21 @cessixja @siewoon @berryberrytan @binnies-minsung-fanclub @lethallyprotected

#stray kids smut #skz smut #han jisung smut #jisung smut #skz317cb97 #cal 🖤

415 notes · View notes