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g0dlyunsub · 6 months ago

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on your own. | part one

part one | part two

a stalker forces you to abandon the bau and leaves you in the streets strapped to an explosive. when spencer finds you, you’re left with a bitter decision to try and save him.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: general cm themes, mentions/depictions of stalking, kidnapping, needles, blood, explosives, and death, lots of angst

word count :: 3k

author’s note :: this is literally the prelude to pure angst. poor reader has been through too much :(

accompanying song :: exit music (for a film) by radiohead

one year ago

you never said goodbye to spencer reid.

the first set of warnings came in the form of a letter enveloped in frail parchment paper. you found it on your desk after you returned with the rest of the team from a case. the tiredness washed over you as you slumped in your chair, and you lazily reached for the envelope to detach the sealed flap from the wax.

it’s at that moment, when you read the first sentence, that you wished you never unfolded the letter.

but your eyes betrayed you, and they shifted left and right as you proceeded to read through the spouts of hatred and animosity.

you already know the story. you will die. everyone you love will also die. you will lose them forever. you will be sad and angry. you will weep. you will bargain. you will make demands. you will beg. you will pray. it will make no difference. nothing you can do will bring them back. you know this. your knowing changes nothing.

i will make you understand this unfathomable truth again and again, as if for the very first time.

you missed the person you were five minutes ago.

after re-reading the letter four times, you realized the uncanny similarity of the message to the iliad, maybe book 21. it was most likely someone trying to spew out a hollow threat against you and the team, using a contemporary translation to sound modish and intimidating. you made a mental note to ask spencer who the translator was once he returned with his coffee.

it wasn’t entirely uncommon for you to receive death threats, especially after working at the bau for five years. while you’ve managed to lock up some of those who had enacted the worst possible actions against humanity, you also became part of the receiving end – a channel for all of the violence to funnel through.

before you placed the letter back into its envelope, you noticed a small card tucked in the corner of the sleeve. you cautiously took it out, a glossy sticker of a red eye on the face of the card glaring into your own irises.

you turned it over.

this one instantly drowned the color from your face. it knocked out all of your emotion, sealed it in a box, and shipped it away on a freighter that was already set out on a doomed path.

tell him about me, go on. tell doctor spencer reid about me. i bet he would enjoy choosing who to save: aaron hotchner or david rossi.

you heard someone clear their throat from behind you, and you swore you heard your own heart beat against the walls of your own skin, thudding like a drum with its sunken chambers. you straightened your posture and shoved the letter to the side. you prayed it wasn’t spencer standing behind you.

you sighed in relief when you turned to face anderson.

“ma’am, a letter for you.” he handed you another letter, this time a charcoal-gray envelope with no mailing address inscribed on it. just your name. after he was a considerable distance away from your desk, you teared the flap with shaky fingers and peered inside.

it was a set of photographs, the film papers bundled together with a single rubber band. you lifted the envelope, letting gravity do the work as the stash of photos fell to your lap.

your throat ran dry. your worst fear was sitting on your lap, and you could do nothing but stare back at it with panic-stricken eyes.

your cheeks suffused with a color of pale blue and a trigger blew off in your head.

each photo depicted you with a bau member. and you recognized every moment.

you were grabbing prentiss’ arm as you laughed at the nonsensical joke one of her date partners had tried on her.

you were hugging rossi at his doorstep after being invited to vent personal troubles over some scotch and wine.

you were giving jack a high-five after babysitting him as hotch thanked you for covering him when he went to new york to visit beth.

you were sitting at the dinner table with jj and will, happily eating from a plate of steak and fries as you discussed your future plans to go travel abroad.

you were with garcia, carrying multiple shopping bags as you stopped to point at the beautiful dress showcased in the vintage store across the street.

you were deeply engaged in conversation with morgan, sitting on a park bench and watching the children run around as though not a single worry clouded over their heads.

and you were with spencer, legs crossed as you took a sip out of your hot coffee and exchanged novels to read. a red ‘x’ marked over both of your faces.

tell doctor spencer reid about me.

the tears fell one by one, staining the tanned paper and leaving the inked words to bleed across the wet spots.

you will die.

if ending credits ever existed in a movie as tragic as yours, they would roll right now – and you would be as good as a deceased character, your name marked in white against a black screen.

i will make you understand this unfathomable truth again and again, as if for the very first time.

you drew in a shaky breath and folded the letter with trembling fingers. the creases retracted the notebook-sized sheet into a flattened square. each turn of the paper felt like you were shattering your own bones, irreversibly folding them into an inhuman form.

two weeks. that was how much time you gave yourself to leave the bau. and to fray the twine between you and your beloved doctor.

you received the second warning a week before your departure.

this one was a direct threat, a ruthless sign that he wasn’t giving you extra time to think about your options. in fact, he made it clear that you didn’t have an option.

your stalker had taken jack for twelve hours, during which your team – hotch especially – searched relentlessly. no one paused for a coffee break, and every single one of you was going to devote every waking hour to bring jack home safe. the last thing your team needed was a foyet wannabe, and everyone was on edge for reports, sightings, anything.

but the clues trickled to you. he dropped hints for you directly, even one at your cell number. while you relayed everything to your team, no one asked the questions until later. why did he leave you with the hints, trying to lead you to jack’s trail when it should’ve been hotch?

the inquiries dropped like flies when jack was brought to the steps of the fbi office by a “mysterious presence”, according to a messenger who passed hotch a card.

when the card was shown to you, a bone-chilling shiver propagated down your spine and your pupils dilated.

you already know the story, it read.

no one else knew what it meant except for you. typed in courier and printed on the all-too-familiar brown letter paper, the words bore into your soul and etched onto your heart with a searing pain.

you were angry. so, so angry. not at the fact that you couldn’t even get three hours of sleep ever since the week before, not at the fact that you had a stalker vexing you with taunts, but at the fact that he was targeting everyone but you.

to you, he was a coward. if it was rancor he harbored against you, he should’ve confronted you directly. tear a ligament, make you swim in your own blood, leave you for roadkill, you didn’t care. if he was so inclined to get at you, then you’d let him. but never – never – could you forgive anyone who let others in your own mess.

you reached out to hotch first. you told him you had found a new job in upstate new york, where you were going to work as a lecturer at a local university. to make it sound convincing, you told him that a family member of yours had fallen sick and was currently residing there, and you needed to seek solace in their presence.

he understood, just as you expected. he always did, without question. he’d pay visits at your new place and at the university, and catch up with you once in a while. jack would love to see you there, he said.

rossi, too, accepted it without much hesitation. he gave you one of his heartwarming smiles, wrinkled eyes reassuring you for any hesitation you had trying to tell him before. come by any time, we’ll always welcome you with open arms, he spoke with genuine kindness.

prentiss and jj, more reluctantly so. they gave you a tougher time, practically interrogating you – asking you where the address of your new place was, since when you had planned on leaving the bau, and if you needed help clearing out your current place.

you’ve – i mean we all have, a little, but you seem to be… disturbed lately. especially after… jack was abducted, prentiss told you. prentiss and her watchful eye. it’s why you specifically planned to tell her with jj in the room, so she’d reserve the harsher questions for another time when it’d be just the two of you, but by then you’d find a way to avoid the conversation altogether.

morgan didn’t say much. you had expected that though, considering the fact that you would often go to him to consult worries, plans, and theorize about each other’s future. he was silent when you delivered the news, but then he pulled you in as if to shield you from all of your lingering worries.

promise me, l/n. promise me you’ll come visit.

you broke like a brittle twig in his grasp. you wanted to give up so badly.

i promise, you whispered back. the masterful lie rolled off of your tongue before you could withhold yourself, and it lay suspended in the air with heavy guilt and ill-fated dishonesty.

garcia never accepted departure well. you could only watch in pity and remorse as the mascara stained her cheeks and the tears landed at her keyboard. her arms shook as she tried to embrace you, and you didn’t even have it in you to return the hug.

you wanted garcia to be the last to see you. you wanted to save your goodbye with her for the very last, a fluorescent presence in your otherwise gloomy life. her bubbly spirit met your silence with indescribable serenity, and you monumentalized your last moment in the bau with her. she made your life worth living.

you were trying. you were trying to spare the safety of your dearest friends at the expense of your own. you were trying to reclaim the blood that rushed to your face. you were begging for one chance. who could blame you?

spencer did.

you didn’t leave a single note for spencer. you never even told him a thing. to him, your departure was indigestible torment. he usually doesn’t wish the worst upon anyone, but with you, he wondered if he had to make an exception.

you ended up leaving the office a day before your said departure date, because you didn’t want to risk spencer finding out any earlier. you had meticulously planned everything out, asking every team member not to tell another. to your knowledge, no one knew that anyone else knew, save for prentiss and jj.

the day after you left, you received a text from spencer.

can we please talk?

his message lit up your screen, a lone star in the night sky that was drowned of its usual vibrancy.

you were too far into this to take a step back.

after looking up to the sky one last time, taking in the sight of the polluted air clouding the atmosphere with your bloodshot eyes, you dropped your cell into a garbage bin.

you knew he’d be mad.

you wanted him to stay mad. it would make all of this — the pain of moving on — easier.

some day, he’d understand. you hoped. you hoped and you hoped.

your bitter end was inevitable.

for three weeks, spencer was all alone.

he drew no effort to talk to anyone about it, because you robbed him of his mental clarity.

since the first day you joined the bau, you held him spellbound. you listened to his ramblings, exchanged book recommendations with him, and sat next to him in the darkness as he lay gasping for air after another one of his horrendous nightmares.

you were there for him, until you weren’t.

your absence was his worst torment, a form of loneliness he couldn’t sleep away.

there were times when he’d pour twice the water needed in his kettle, only to realize after that he set down a single coffee cup.

there were times when he’d intentionally wear his tie crooked, only to realize you were never going to be in the office to point it out for him.

there were times when you’d appear in his dreams, when he’d awake and see nothing but a pile of books before him.

you turned into a dull ache in his chest.

you became the sadness so deep in his chest that he couldn’t even cry about it.

he wondered how it felt now that you left him behind. he put all of his cards on the table, exposing to you his most vulnerable moments and emotions. if only you showed your hand.

he wanted it to haunt you.

he wanted to hate you.

you were impossible longing, impossible infatuation. he thought you were unloveable.

who could blame him?

present day

you never left virginia.

in fact, you were stuck making ends meet as a writer for a local news journal under the pseudonym lynne davis.

the truth is, it was impractical for you to find a new job and relocate within the mere span of two weeks. quitting your job at the bau was a given, but that also meant that your compensation would drop significantly. considering that you couldn’t work in law enforcement anymore, you had to start over from scratch.

so you tirelessly worked to scour earnings by typing away, writing editorial pieces on sports and personal health.

your night job, you worked as a cashier at a seven-eleven. because you couldn’t work remotely for your shifts, you took up a disguise. you dyed and cut your hair, exclusively wore long-sleeved articles of clothing, and kept a baseball cap on, making sure it snugged tightly against your forehead and hid your eyes.

yet in hindsight, nothing could have prepared you for the worst. the issue with all of this was that you were too consistent. had you changed up your routine from time to time, perhaps you wouldn’t have been caught while commuting to your night shift. but you were too predictable for him.

it happens when you get off of the bus.

when the man bumps into you, he murmurs apologies that you can’t ignore.

“sorry- are you okay?” he asks.

you look up briefly to meet his eye before forcing a small smile with upturned lips.

“yeah, um, don’t worry about it. i’m all good.” you tell him rushingly with the wave of your hand, before turning to walk to the store.

but he doesn’t leave you. his heavy steps mimic yours, treading quickly along the asphalt. after taking a few staggering steps, you stop. you annoyedly turn around, deciding to tell him off.

“hey, i don’t know what you’re doing-”

you never get to finish your sentence. when you look at him, he’s already face to face with you, one hand grasping the side of your shoulders while the other presses a needle against your arm.

your entire time at the bau, you took pride in your acute awareness of your surroundings, never letting your guard down even around those you trusted. so this was the price you had to pay for your lack of practice – everything folded into a blurry stream as you looked down to see your legs dissipate in the ground, almost like you were falling in quicksand.

when you wake up, you’re on the ground in a narrow alleyway. you don’t know how much time has passed, but it’s hot and the air’s fetid and there’s an itch spreading throughout your entire body-

you look down. your hands are stained with a horrific shade of red, and there’s a crumpled note in your palm. you unfold it.

it will make no difference.

he had you. you scowl at the thought of him subduing you, strangling you with ropes and leashing you to a chair.

you freeze. he’s also made you wear a black leather jacket, bundling you up in the thick layer of suffocating heat.

you unzip the jacket, and the walls in your head cave in instantly. to your dismay, you’re wearing an explosive vest, armed with a detonator and all. a timer lies near your ribcage, and your heart sinks. it hasn’t started yet.

a shaky exhale leaves your lips as you try to assess your situation.

you wish death would’ve consumed you already, but you have to stand up on your feet and run, away from the buildings and the people, as fast as your weary legs can carry you.

you stand and start to run in the opposite direction from the main road, the sounds of traffic bleeding into your ears as your feet slam against the ridged ground.

parched with unquenched thirst and begrimed with dust from the asphalt, you come to a stop when you reach a fork in the road.

as you frantically try to think of which route to take, you hear it.

“y/n?”

it’s too familiar. the voice ridden with a slight rasp, carrying an air of inquisitiveness and soothing tenderness.

it sounds like clarity amidst all of the chaos.

you pray it’s not him.

you turn to meet the sight of the wrinkled shirt, waistcoat, and converses smudged with dirt. the brown disheveled hair, doe eyes, and moistened lips pursing with concern.

spencer fucking reid.

#spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfic #matthew gray gubler #dr spencer reid #bau!reader

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capslocked · 11 months ago

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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 believes.

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 you 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."

"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

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cenvast · 3 months ago

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Kabru/Toshiro: A DunMeshi Ship Analysis

Kabshiro has been gaining more traction recently, so I'd like to dive into their canon dynamic and how a relationship between them could progress and benefit them both in the long run!

In my opinion, the main draws of this ship are:

Communication: Kabru's ability and willingness to identify and engage with Toshiro's true feelings and motives, Toshiro's consequential willingness to express himself to Kabru, and vice versa

Trust: The almost immediate trust they place in each other, despite their reservations

Canon Friendship: How naturally yet rapidly their canonical friendship develops, especially considering their characters (read as: their intimacy issues)

Growth: The potential for a) Toshiro to grow as a person by trying to be more expressive and caring towards someone who cares for him and b) Kabru to experience reciprocal effort and care from someone else when he's used to caring for everyone else

Bonus: I love to see queer men of color in love <3

1. Communication

Kabru is the character with the fastest and most accurate read on Toshiro's feelings and motives. This means little on its own, considering Kabru's skill is assessing people and giving them what they want as a means to his own ends. Initially, Kabru engages with Toshiro essentially to reach Laios. He hears Toshiro's retainers discuss Toshiro's love for "that girl from the North" and recognizes that if he offers to help Toshiro rescue Falin, he can get to Laios. As he does with most people, Kabru identifies Toshiro's goals and uses this knowledge to propel himself towards his own goals.

During Laios and Toshiro's conflict over ancient magic, Kabru again steps in. He de-escalates a situation where Toshiro quite literally has his tachi against Laios' neck by acknowledging Toshiro's concerns regarding ancient magic and reminding him of his actual priority: Falin. While his dialogue sounds harsh, Kabru still validates Toshiro's worries. His acknowledgement and engagement with Toshiro's actual feelings isn't something that Toshiro often experiences. In part, this is because Toshiro doesn't express himself, but we'll get into this more later.

From Kabru's perspective, reading and responding to Toshiro effectively is reflective of his usual habits and strengths. But their respective reactions to Kabru's de-escalation exchange remain notable. Toshiro tells Kabru to not finish his statement — the first glimmer we receive into Toshiro openly expressing himself to Kabru at a greater level than he does with other characters. Kabru immediately switches to looking relieved and sympathetic. He apologizes to and comforts Toshiro, establishing a foundation of genuine care and consideration between them.

2. Trust

After they leave the Dungeon following the first Faligon fight, Toshiro asks Kabru to go with him to the governor's house. Despite their only recent acquaintance, Toshiro expresses a need he has to Kabru, even if it's not a very personal one, and he trusts Kabru enough to rely on him in a high-stakes situation. (As a sidenote, Kabru telling Toshiro to "Please get some rest" is a sweet moment, considering both of their fraught relationships with self-care.)

Kabru trusts Toshiro in return. We as the readers don't learn about Kabru's backstory and how it drives his actions because he tells his own party or Laios. We learn about his past because he tells Toshiro.

Kabru addresses Toshiro by name before he recounts the death of his family and his haunting questions surrounding it. When he turns back to face Toshiro, he looks visibly determined and quietly enraged at the injustices he's experienced in his life for the first time during the narrative. Kabru does share his story to convince Toshiro of his position, but his straightforward, vulnerable delivery of his story and the emotions he has surrounding it speaks volumes towards the trust he has in Toshiro. He believes Toshiro will see him and stand by him.

Also, prior to Kabru sharing his backstory, Toshiro questions his motives multiple times. While Toshiro also questions Laios' actions, Toshiro feels comfortable enough to communicate with Kabru even when they might disagree and he isn't under duress.

Within the first few days of knowing each other, Kabru has witnessed Toshiro at some of his lowest points: passing out due to hunger and sleep deprivation and fighting Laios. Because Kabru has already seen him at his lowest and hasn't treated him worse because of it, Toshiro seems more comfortable engaging with Kabru than with many other characters. Toshiro's attempt to throw the companion bell away is a funny moment, but it also demonstrates how he's fine with acting impulsively in front of Kabru; he doesn't hold back as much as usual. He's likely also realized that Kabru can see past his reserved front.

After they speak to the Canaries, Kabru asks Toshiro to help him seal the Dungeon. Although Toshiro had originally planned to go back to Wa, he agrees to help Kabru. Compared to their initial meeting where Kabru was only using Toshiro to get to Laios, Kabru seems to genuinely want Toshiro and Namari on his side, telling them, "I'm counting on you." Both his request for Toshiro's help and his easy agreement demonstrate a surprising level of trust for how long they've known each other.

3. Canon Friendship

Neither Kabru nor Toshiro regularly open up to the people in their lives. We get the heart-to-heart between Toshiro and Laios after their fight, but other than that, Kabru and Toshiro are not very emotionally open even with people they've known since childhood like Rin and Hien. Kabru maintains his charismatic facade around Rin, and Toshiro has distanced himself from Hien in their adulthood. Because both of them struggle with being vulnerable, their friendship becomes close interestingly fast.

Beyond feeling comfortable around each other for the previously stated reasons, I'd suggest that the ease they feel around each other partially arises from their shared identity as Asian men and immigrants to the Island (Note: I read Kabru as South Asian). As a queer Asian man myself, there's sometimes an immediate sense of ease between people whose identities and experiences overlap.

Before they ever meet, Kabru explains Toshiro's background to his party. He opens with Toshiro's outsider status, drawing the reader's attention to the parallel between Toshiro being an outsider in his household and Kabru being an outsider as a tallman who was raised by elves. In this scene, Toshiro is also the only member of the Touden party whose motives Kabru ponders aloud. With Laios and Falin, Kabru simply declares them "not good people." Considering Kabru is intrigued by people he doesn't immediately understand, it's not difficult to assume that though Kabru approached Toshiro because of Laios, he was also interested in Toshiro as an individual.

After they join forces, Kabru and Toshiro frequently appear together in the story. The evolution of their dynamic can be seen through the mangacaps below. Initially, despite their trust in each other, they're still a little suspicious of each other. As time progresses, they develop a language of silent glances and casual touch. We often see them standing beside each other and exchanging looks after Laios speaks. Considering how Toshiro doesn't often voice his negative opinions and Kabru makes an effort to curtail his negative reactions around Laios, the fact that they've both taken to expressing silent concern for Laios to each other shows that they've reached a significant level of intimacy in just a week or two.

Since they're both men of color and Kabru is one of the only characters who doesn't call Toshiro "Shuro," they've likely discussed Laios' microaggressions towards Toshiro and bonded over how they find his sillier behavior of eating monsters disturbing. They also both care for him as a friend, so Laios remains another point of connection for them.

At the banquet, they sit beside each other, and when Falin revives, Kabru comforts Toshiro via a hand on his shoulder. The canonical affection between them is easy to track and consistent by the story's close.

4. Growth

As stated by @malaierba in their platonic kabshiro post, Kabru and Toshiro share narrative parallels like being raised by surrogate mothers, over-analyzing social situations, attempting to act in others' best interests at the cost of their own, and being terrible at basic self-care (I'm also realizing we both touched on the de-escalation and Kabru backstory scenes, lol). Both characters are actually extremely similar in the way they conceptualize themselves.

Kabru and Toshiro both avoid offending others by suppressing their discomfort. This behavior is deeply rooted in their backstories and their identities as people of color and immigrants. When you're the outsider, you don't have the luxury of acting as you please. Society expects you to keep your head down and not "cause a fuss."

They both fear selfishness. Kabru is the archetypal sacrificial hero; his goal is equality between the races and minimizing mass death no matter the personal cost to himself. On a much smaller scale, Toshiro tries not to burden others. They both forgo intimate relationships and falsify parts of themselves to accommodate others. Their willingness to minimize themselves for others' sake leads to them to not even canonically care for themselves and becomes a form of passive self-harm.

Toshiro doesn't eat or sleep during his rescue of Falin in what seems like a self-inflicted punishment for failing to protect her and save her. He seems to believe that he's only useful for what he can do and in particular, do for others. He seems to struggle to define himself outside of how he's overshadowed and overlooked by his charismatic father. Toshiro's arc is about learning to identify his own needs and wants, pursue those things, and express himself.

Because of how charismatic Kabru is, Kabru appears to have a secure sense of self, but I'd argue that he falls into the same trap as Toshiro. When Laios becomes the Dungeon Lord and seems to be ending the world, Kabru blames himself, saying, "What purpose does my surviving Utaya's tragedy have?" and "Please just kill me right now." Kabru hasn't ever established what he wants for himself outside of what he can do for others, just like Toshiro. While Kabru is far more active than Toshiro and his goals are more heroic, his arc is similarly about identifying his own needs and wants and expressing them as demonstrated by his confession that he wants to be Laios' friend.

Like Toshiro, Kabru is disconnected from his desires because he doesn't see himself as worth prioritizing over the greater good. He fails to regularly eat and clean his living space.

Kabru and Toshiro's friendship challenges both their negative habits of self-perception. Unlike with Laios, Toshiro wasn't quite as pivotal to Kabru's goal, so their relationship develops without as much pressure. Because of the extreme circumstances of their first meeting and their compatibility, they express their true feelings towards each other nearly from the onset, and by the banquet, they seem to hang around each other just for the joy of the other's company. When their friendship extends into a romantic/sexual relationship, they get to knock down yet another barrier to pursuing what and who they want simply because they want to.

In addition, because Kabru is the first person to care about Toshiro in a way that doesn't infringe on his boundaries, Toshiro would hopefully be motivated to become an active participant in their relationship. His efforts to be more emotionally open in order to support and care for Kabru would help him overcome his fatal flaws of passivity, especially in interpersonal communication, and walling himself off from others. But most importantly, Kabru would receive the same amount of care he invests in learning about and accommodating other people from someone else.

Toshiro is also an observant person. He's good at mapping out social situations to avoid conflict, and he is empathetic. With a little encouragement, he could easily turn skills he's used to pouring into his defense mechanisms towards actually reading his loved ones and engaging with their emotions and needs. If Toshiro was consistently clocking Kabru's actual reactions to things and trying to address his desires, Kabru would realize that he doesn't have to play a part all the time. He would learn to be more authentic and vulnerable in his relationships.

Notably, Rin does support Kabru, but he doesn't really accept her love or act vulnerable around her for a multitude of reasons. This is probably a good time to note that Kabru and Toshiro are both sexist. I want to believe that a healthy relationship between them would encourage them to mature without demanding emotional labor from the women in their lives, and by proxy, improve their relationships with Rin, Hien, and the other female characters. Personally, I really enjoy the idea of Kabru, Toshiro, Rin, and Namari getting close and bonding over being Asian.

5. Bonus

Because their identities as Asian men and immigrants impact their characters, their relationship has a unique type of intimacy. On a societal level, there isn't a lot of media about two characters of color in love. It's even rarer to see two queer characters of color in love in Western media (or Asian media like DunMeshi with an ethnically diverse cast) as oftentimes, the West falsely equates queerness to whiteness. I consider Kabshiro to be my personal contribution to making queer Asian characters kiss and decentering that white man /hj. I'd love to see more Kabshiro content!

Overall, I just think it's beautiful that these two characters who've resigned themselves to loneliness in completely opposite ways can overcome their intimacy issues to trust and care about each other. I like that being together is easy for them in many ways, but unlearning their habits of constantly putting on a front and rejecting vulnerability or not putting effort into relationships out of preemptive fear of failure still takes work. I like that their relationship is an intentional one where love takes effort, but the effort is part of the love.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

If you read this entire meta, thank you so much, and please feel free to reblog and/or send me an ask with your Kabshiro thoughts! As a shameless plug, you might enjoy my canon-compliant Kabshiro fanfiction that spans from the banquet to a few months post-canon. There's both an explicit version and a version with fade-to-black sex scenes. You can expect:

Kabru and Toshiro's silly friends-with-benefits era

A resolution for Toshiro's feelings for Falin, lol

Toshiro's difficult relationship with food

Kabru trying to 5D-chess everything, and Toshiro overthinking and catastrophizing <3

Kabru, Toshiro, and Laios being friends! They are silly and well-meaning and do their best to support each other

Kabru and Toshiro unpacking Laios' racism

Extremely homosexual moments of tenderness

Kabru, Rin, and Toshiro trio and Namari and Toshiro duo friendship tidbits

Kabru and Marcille becoming friends and bonding over gossip

Angst with a happy ending and more!

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penkura · 7 months ago

Text

found you! [1/3]

Summary: Twice Penguin found you. The third time you found him.

Note: It's Penguin’s birthday. Why not make this my first post, aye? Nothing really special or to warn about this one, except references to sex, that's it. Fem!reader because that's all I know how to write, sorry. They're all adults here (pretty sure they are in the canon anyway but). Shachi and Ikkaku are in an on again off again relationship because I said so. Penguin calls the Reader by petnames to cut down on using [y/n] and the like.

I don't have the next two parts written yet, but I will be working on them this next week.

Rolling over in your bed, you pull your pillow and stick your head under it, praying you can drown out the whispered shouting of Shachi and Ikkaku, though you know it’s pretty useless when those two get riled up. It's always in the middle of the night, nearly always at 1:30am, and happens at least twice a week, always in the room you share with Ikkaku. You hear her shush Shachi again, saying you’re sleeping and to keep it down, but he argues with her that she wanted privacy while they fought spoke and this was the best place considering the others still awake through the ship.

Please, please just shut up.

They don’t, still fighting about something stupid, probably Shachi flirting with some girl in front of Ikkaku, that sounds about right you realize as you pull your pillow tighter over your head.

You’d think they’d be a bit more considerate since you’ve been sick with a cold the last few days, but unlucky for you, this is one of the best places for them to fight about their non-relationship. They think they’re so slick, that no one else knows about their hook ups and quiet dates that Ikkaku swears to you aren’t dates, but everyone on the Polar Tang can see they’re both just lying to themselves. There’s been a betting pool on when the two will just commit, Law is even taking part because he’s just as sick of this as everyone else is.

For several more minutes all you hear is hushed, angry whispering, to the point you finally sit up in your bed, wrapping your blanket around you, and going to leave.

“Oh! [Y/N], I’m so—”

“Don’t be. Just don’t have sex in my bed okay? I just washed my bedding.”

Ikkaku turns bright red and she throws her pillow at the door when you close it as you leave, making you giggle just a bit. You know better than anyone how their fights end, you don’t want to come back to your room tonight at all.

Instead, you start to make your way towards your captain’s office, knowing Law is still wide awake, probably working on a plan or just revising a medical book. Having known him nearly as long as Penguin, Bepo, and Shachi, you’re not surprised when you finally get there and knock on his door, trying to push back a cough when you hear a soft ‘come in’ and open the door.

Law barely looks up at you, giving you a slight glance with a raised eyebrow while you walk over to the couch in his office.

“Can I help you?”

“Lovers spat in my room.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose but not looking from his book. “Again?”

“Again.”

“How do they fight all the time but you and Penguin don’t?”

“Perks of having been together almost a decade. We know everything about each other and are too committed to screw it up at this point.”

As you lay down, pulling your blanket around you more, Law watches you before speaking again.

“That’s my napping spot, you human cat.”

“Shh,” glancing over your shoulder, you put a finger to your lips, before snuggling further into the couch, “I sleep. I’m still sick.”

“Then go find your boyfriend.”

“He’s still on night watch. He’ll come find me.”

Law doesn’t get another word in before you fall right to sleep, he rolls his eyes in response, turning back to his desk.

He knows Penguin will come find you, he just kind of wishes you’d keep your sickness to your own room or the infirmary.

+!+

Penguin does come looking for you once his night watch shift is over an hour later. He first goes by your shared room with Ikkaku, but the sounds he hears make him blush bright red before he quickly turns and goes towards the men’s bunks. If that’s going on in there, you’ve definitely left to sleep elsewhere. You’ve probably snuck into his bunk bed to get away from the non-couple on the ship, it makes his heart clench a bit at the through, you having to leave your room still under the weather and needing some peace an quiet.

Not like the men’s bunks are that much quieter, but at least there’s not active sex happening in there right now (at least, he hopes there isn’t). He’s already starting to unzip his boiler suit before he’s even fully in the men’s bunks, just wanting to crawl into bed with you and sleep finally, even though morning would be soon, he can at least get about four more hours before it’s time for breakfast.

Perfect plan, and tomorrow’s our day off~

Unfortunately, you aren’t even in his bed, causing his excitement to disappear and his shoulders to slump, before Penguin looks over to Clione and Hakugan nearby.

“Have either of you seen [Y/N]?”

Clione shrugs while Hakugan shakes his head, both responses making Penguin pout a bit while he slips off his boiler suit to just his tank top and boxers to sleep in.

“She’s not in her room?”

“No, well,” his face turns red again and the other two men are quick to realize that Shachi isn’t around and what that must mean, “I sure hope she isn’t…”

“Ugh, those two again?”

“Do they forget there’s a designated room for that?”

He shrugs, starting to prep his bed to bring you to it once he finds you, remembering the day Law awkwardly told everyone there was now a room only for extracurricular activities, and sex anywhere else wouldn’t be tolerated if it was found out. Sometimes people slipped and brought someone back to the wrong room, or Ikkaku and Shachi argued in your shared room and it escalated once they worked things out, like tonight. You and Penguin were at least smart enough to either use the designated room or, if you were docked on an island, rent a hotel room away from everyone else just for that night.

As soon as his bed is ready, Penguin takes off to find where you’ve gone for some peace and quiet. There’s very few places on the Polar Tang that aren’t bustling with people doing various things, whether playing cards, having animated discussions, or performing maintenance where needed. The current, most obvious places for you to sleep would be the designated room, Law’s office, or the nearly empty infirmary. He does make a stop by your room but continues on as he still hears sounds he doesn’t want to, moving quickly towards the infirmary first to see if you’d dragged yourself there. You hate sleeping in there unless it’s your only or last option, but even when he gets there and pokes his head in, Penguin doesn’t see you on one of the beds at all, only catching sight of Uni who you’d somehow given your cold to. Knowing you practically never go to the designated room, not without him at least, the only other place you could possibly be is Law’s office, so he starts to make his way towards the captain’s room.

You may not have known Law as long as Penguin, Shachi, and Bepo, but the two of you have become close ever since you joined. Your home life having gone from comfortable to hell, leading you to beg the small group of Pirates that landed on your island for help ended up being the best thing to happen to you. It wasn’t Law you ended up clinging to and begging for help, not even Penguin. It was Shachi who had been checking out the island with Penguin, the two teens at the time bringing you to the small group of about seven people, Law agreeing to hear your story before he offered you to join them after you’d made known you were a decent cook and seamstress. Stereotypical hobbies for a young woman, but with how your family was, it was all you could do to make money for you and your mother at the time. You’ve since learned how to fight, martial arts and a metal baton being your choice of weapons. You’d moved from being a dual chef and seamstress to being more help in the mechanical aspects of the ship, while still working on the crews clothes when needed.

While Penguin did find you attractive as soon as he met you, it was still another two years before he said anything, eventually confessing to you with your favorite flowers in hand, his face bright red which made you grin before you kissed him as a response.

You’ve been together ever since, Penguin doesn’t think he could ever be happier than he is now.

Finding Law’s office door cracked open leads Penguin to briefly knock on the doorway before stepping in, not waiting for a response from his captain and friend.

“Hey, Cap! Have you seen—”

“On the couch.” Law nods his head back towards where you’re sleeping, not bothering to look up from his book once again.

Once he sees you, Penguin smiles just a bit before thanking Law, walking over quietly and giving you a small kiss on your temple which wakes you enough to crack open an eye, the slightest smile as you realize who just woke you.

“Hey there, pretty girl, I found you,” he gives you a soft smile before starting to help you up, making you wrap your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his waist as he lifts you up, “Got kicked out of your room?”

“No…I left cause they were arguing.”

“Ahh that explains it. Let’s get you to my bed then.”

You hum as a response while Penguin grabs your blanket, you briefly looking over to Law who just watches the two of you, making you smirk.

“Told you he’d find me.”

Your captain rolls his eyes before bidding you both goodnight as Penguin starts to leave and head back to the men’s bunks, you greet your other crewmates with a slight wave once you’re there. Penguin leans forward enough for you to release him and lay on his bed, scooting towards the edge to give him space to join you once he’s laid your blanket out over you again. He joins you as soon as he’s gotten enough of the others to quiet down, letting you wrap your arms around his middle while he does the sane to your shoulders, kissing your forehead and tucking your head under his chin.

“Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Of course~” Penguin sighs contently while you bury your face in his chest, you really do just make him so happy, “I’ll always come find you.”

“Love you, Peng.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

You’re asleep quickly, Penguin stays awake and watches you for a few moments, while more lights are shut off in the room and a few of the other men snicker over how whipped they believe their older comrade is for you. He doesn’t pay them any mind really, he just loves you enough to take care of you however you need. For a second, he looks to his nightstand and remembers the small box he picked up a few days ago, smiling to himself at the thought of finally, finally, asking you to marry him once he talks to Law about it, but that’s for another day as he starts to drift to sleep.

Definitely gonna marry you soon.

+!+

“You’re finally going to ask her??”

Penguin nods with a shy smile while Shachi and Ikkaku both grin, her letting go of his arm to give their older crewmate a tight hug.

“That’s so wonderful, Penguin! She’s definitely going to say yes!”

“You think so��?”

“Dude,” Shachi pats his friend’s shoulder roughly, making Penguin look at him, “She’s been with you for almost ten years now, right? There’s no way she’ll say no.”

Ikkaku nods in response, still grinning brightly at the thought of you and Penguin getting married at last. She’s the one that’s heard your wishes for a small wedding with him, if he ever wanted it, you were waiting for Penguin to make the move and ask. You told her you were content just dating him, but actually tying the knot had been on your mind more recently.

“She’ll for sure say yes. She’s told me how much she wants to marry you!”

That causes Penguin to blush slightly, still smiling as he scratches at his cheek before pulling the small box in his pocket out to show your two friends the ring he’d already picked out for you. Ikkaku snatches the box and opens it, swooning a little over the simple ring he'd picked out. A thin silver band with your birthstone fixed on it, exactly what you’d told her was one of your options for a ring, Penguin must’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it since Ikkaku hadn’t told him a thing about your wants. Either that or he’d seen in a magazine or maybe even asked Law about it, considering how close you were to your captain.

“When are you going to ask her?”

“Our tenth anniversary is in a few weeks,” Penguin nods while he takes the ring box back from Ikkaku, quickly slipping it back into his pocket and checking to make sure you haven’t snuck in, “So, I’m going to ask Captain if we can dock at an island then. I’ll find a place to take her to dinner and ask her after that.”

Ikkaku nearly swoons again, instead sighing dreamily and leaning on Shachi’s shoulder.

“That’s so romantic…why aren’t you like that?”

“I’m sorry, am I your boyfriend? I thought we just friends with benefits.”

“Excuse me?!”

Penguin sighs, still with a smile, as Shachi and Ikkaku start to argue. He’s beyond thankful the two of you don’t have such issues after being together so long. If you two fought like that, there’s probably no way he’d even consider marrying you, he thinks. He loves you too much to screw around with other women, to argue with you about it too. No one else compares and he’s sure some would say he’s crazy for having settled on you at just nineteen-years-old, but he doesn’t care.

“Hey, Peng~” he’s not even a little surprised at you coming up behind him, slipping your arms around his middle and making him smile as he looks over his shoulder and down at you, “What’re they arguing about now?”

“Ah…just if they’re a couple or just friends with benefits.”

“Hmm…” You watch the other allegedly lovely couple of the Heart Pirates, before shrugging. “Would be easier if they’d just settle down with each other already, yeah? Like you and me.”

He can’t wait to finally make you his bride.

Nodding, Penguin keeps the smile on his face, setting one of his hands on yours, and realizing how excited he really is to ask you to marry him in a few weeks. How glad he is that he and Shachi found you on your home island twelve years ago, and helped you convince Law to let you join. How happy it makes him to think about his long past confession and your reciprocation of his feelings.

“Yeah. Like you and me, sweetheart.”

He can’t wait to finally make you his bride.

#one piece #penguin x reader #penguin op #op penguin #op penguin x reader #x reader #reader insert #one piece x reader #its been so long since I've posted a fanfic here #I'm scared haha #fem!reader #found you!

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stellari-s · 2 years ago

Note

We have seen how Ithaqua fell in love with a Survivor Reader, but I raise this fluffy request!

He fell in love with the Hunter Reader during a Duo Match with them 👀

That's okay if you decline! Have a good day/evening/night/morning!

🌨️

oh, nice reverse, anon! hope you enjoy 🥺🙏 i'm gonna link the surv version too, hehe.

request; yes, and they're open. so send them in!

wc; 931.

tags; gn! hunter! reader, some romance, ithaqua comforts you, survivors bully hunters in duos (lots of flare guns-)

summary; you are partnered with ithaqua to be a hunter in today's duos match. after getting stunned, ithaqua may or may not show another side of himself...

you honestly don’t want to do duos today.

normally, you don’t mind doing duos. in fact, the general chaos of the entire match keeps your mind occupied until the end, barring you from any negative thoughts.

but these days things don’t seem to be going your way. biting your lips, you try burying yourself more into the soft cushions of one of the red velvet chairs, situated behind a dark curtain that is intended to hide you from the eight survivors, whom you see chatting and whispering.

you can’t go against the manor owner though.

glancing next to you, you see a familiar navy-clad figure. his mask covers his face so you can’t see his expression, but you imagine he is either dozing off or lost in thought, what with his chin resting on his closed gloved fist.

you look outside the curtain’s opening to find eight people sitting behind a wide table, lathered with plates and cutlery. most of them are good at stunning: norton campbell, martha behamfil, and qi shiyi, to name a few.

“you seem nervous.”

you almost jump in your seat when you hear your partner, ithaqua’s voice.

“how did you know?”

i didn’t think he was looking at me…

ithaqua shrugs, keeping his tone nonchalant for the most part. “you’re not exactly the best at hiding what you’re feeling.” he lets out a small sigh, muffled by his mask. “it makes me worried.”

you widen your eyes ever so slightly. it’s the only indication of your surprise outside of you clenching your fists until your knuckles start losing their color.

averting your eyes, you respond softly, “you don’t have to worry. i’ve just been going through some things recently, and it just ended up piling up.”

ithaqua lets out a small hum upon hearing your words, but he doesn’t question you further. it is probably out of consideration, but a part of you also wishes he had pushed you to talk a little bit more.

instead, you two stay silent until a bell echoes throughout the room. “the match will now begin. all chosen parties will now be taken to lakeside village.”

this part is always the strangest - it’s as though some drug knocks you out, turning everything black, but then a couple minutes later, you regain consciousness only to find yourself in a completely different place, remote from the manor.

looking on your wrist, you find a watch with a blinking dot at the center. eventually another dot shows up in the eastward direction. it must be showing ithaqua’s location.

you wander around the village to different cipher machines, trying to follow the sounds of typing, shocks, and the tall shaking poles as decoding progresses.

eventually, a figure catches your eye - martha.

she seems to be the only one around the area near the empty pier next to the lake, but having done enough matches in the past, you have a feeling some of her teammates are on the top of the ship wreck nearby.

giving ithaqua a ping, you start chasing martha, who starts to grip the flare gun on her side. she is probably waiting when you get too near before using it, since she only gets one per match.

but then she leads you to some of her other teammates, and when her teammates see you, they aim flare guns at you - they must have bought them from the telephone stand.

everyone shoots at once, and while you are able to dodge a couple, several hit you, leaving you stunned in a thick pink smokescreen.

“damn it…” you mutter in between coughs, waving your hand to disperse the smoke. by the time it completely dissipates, none of the survivors are seen in the vicinity.

you are alone not even standing, still wallowing in the aftereffects of having been hit so many times. why did this have to happen today, of all days?

tears want to spill, but you refuse to cry. not in a match. instead, you can only look down at the ground, the grass shaded an almost teal color by the overcast skies.

“(y/n).”

when you hear your name, you whip your head around to find a white mask before you.

“ithaqua, sorry, i let my guard down…”

“why are you apologizing? weren’t they the ones who stunned you?” he extends a hand to you: a silent encouragement to not give up and keep going.

just as he does, though, a loud siren rings through the venue: the survivors had managed to decode seven machines to open the exit gates.

“should we just surrender?” you slowly stand back up on your feet as you look up at the sky, a bleak gray that looks as though it’s about to downpour rain at any moment now. “they’ve already decoded seven ciphers, and not one is eliminated.”

ithaqua seems to think about your words as he lowers his hand. you think he is about to leave you, but much to your surprise, he leans in and gently presses his forehead on yours. you can feel some strands of his soft hair on your forehead, and he is close enough that you can clearly hear his breathing.

“if anything happens,” he reassures, “i will protect you.” his voice is soft and gentle, much like the snow on a still night. “so trust me, okay?”

with him so close, it’s easy to forget about your previous suggestion.

right now, there is only you and him.

for a brief moment, this quiet world is all you know, and that alone is enough for you.

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somerandomcockroach · 26 days ago

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Okay-okay-okay, I really need to put out some silly thoughts from "Autocracy" IDW and sleep peacefully Of course I liked it ha-ha, it is filled with revolution, double revolution, triple revolution Autocracy spoilers, I guess?

• They call each other old-timers if they are older pffht • Firstly, help, Soundwave's kids are CRAZY, I mean I saw them fighting good against autobots but when Soundwave was running away, he was just "Go, my pokemon", and his kids were absolutely destroying everyone on his tail • OH I ABSOLUTELY LOVED all dialogues between Megatron and Orion Pax, from future I got that they were friends, so they know each other, but somehow Megatron is much better at guessing how Orion will act. Megatron thinks as a real tactician, using bots as his weapon, having a backup plan even if it required lifes of other bots. Orion, even from his origin, never seemed a person of "plan b", he improvise but he relies a lot on his comrades, they are a strong team, they are his plan b, and while this whole corruption situation was irritating him more and more, he became more violent and less considerable about proper plans, it goes as it goes. I guess that's why Megatron was underestimating him plus added the fact of how much power he got. Yeeeet~ Orion is using what Megatron did write, quotes it, and I'm sure he meant it in the right way, while Megatron's way is violent. "Criminal posing as a revolutionary and revolutionary posing as a cop" is my fav ship. He is using Orion in his plans in pretty curly and good ways ○ OKAY, a little note, but Megatron finds Starscream as very useful and trustful liege, it started amazing me from Megatron's origin where they were coming up with plans on spot without discussing. Then Sterscream really is good with his talking, responsible for many-many things and achieves them successfully. It is so surprising for me after all the jokes about them pfffht

(Megatron in his happy dreams happily holding hands with Orion and destroying autocracy together, but then he wakes up because remembers he will have to kill him then)

I'm cackling again. "Protect autobots at all cost!". Decepticons "Huh, how worthy these bots must b- "*sees Orion* "Ah, no more questions"

When you want to get your beloved you must push to the very end pfffffht

• I KNOW RODIMUS. I know him from future series and AHAHHAH OH MY EMOTIONS WHEN I SAW THAT HE WAS THE BOMBER, and played a big part in this story, the absolute opposite side of his character! I remember reading fic by @/lush-specimen where Hot Rod was helping EVERY bot in need, decepticons or autobots, taking everyone in need. AND NOW I SO MUCH SEE IT. He was another kind of revolutionary, he was the middle, oppressed kind of bots. He is a pretty young one, he lived in golden era, in alive city, now bots are dying on his eyes yet he protects and stands for them. He DIDN'T join decepticons yet he was fighting against cops. BUT he saw that maybe Orion can help since he was against government. He helped decepticons to show the truth to the ones who could change something, because he saw that it can help them, not decepticons. He isn't that funny ha-ha boy I saw in mtmte and ll. He had to burst his own "family" so that they will not become the fuel for Zeta Prime's destruction tools. Their deaths were on him. He became the leader to get out his people and did bear their deaths on his shoulders. No wonder he became a good even if silly leader in the future, he knows the price of life.

Writers: "Let's leave a hint about him being the new ruler. BUT LITTLE DID THEY KNOW WHAT HIS CHARAcTER WILL BE AHAHHAHA"

• "Till all are one". The matrix. THIS IS WHAT KEPT ME IN CHOKEHOLD AHAH. This phrase come from here, the change of Orion come from here, it all is in here. LISTEN. THA MATRIX LET THE HOLDER FEEL SPARKS. HE FELT SPARKS OUTSIDE THE PLANET. I wonder if he feels when someone's spark fades/dies, does he feel something about it or he got so used to it. I was wondering how exactly and from what point Orion changed to his serious Prime. He could NOT NOT change. The matrix gave him an ability to feel everyone, gave him an understanding of the concept of what unity of bots is. He could never become his past again because he bears this burden of lifes that he will never be able to get rid of now. But what made me sad is that Metroplex recognised him as his "old friend". He didn't call him by name of that friend. I guess it is because he had decades of such friends. They all have pretty similar ideas and characters. They get matrix and the same idea gets in their head. They become someone who already was there, real side of you erasers even if not completely. PFhegfheg. Even the name he got. He himself can't get used to it, meaning he has to get used to it like he is forced to his new self

• Prowl ~ There are earlier times and I don't see that great tactician that I used to read about him. He is a good soldier, who follows orders, he trusts Orion, he follows his orders, he isn't the one coming up with plans. He still is more groundly on the "rule" side, but he understands what is bad for bots, he listens to Orion more, he is the one who gives final orders. He ends up going against government, siding with these dissidents, even siding with decepticons to get rid of what could have destroyed them all. It's just a bit unusual for me to see him be "in team", follow, don't have his own side plan, don't be beaten up wheeeeze

• That's a bit.... sad to see them like this, knowing who Shockwave was before. And now it is this.

• Oh, they yap at each other, shipped

• Don't look, kid, parents are fighting

Okay, ahaha, I feel like I've wrote something too messy to understand or too silly to be real, my only thoughts left are described by tsche-chu-chu-che-tsche

#Autocracy idw #autocracy spoilers #I REALLY LIKED THIS PART #ALL THE SIDES #CHARACTERS #INTERACTIONS DURING BAD TIMES #Yeah it's not much about their character as everyday #But it gave so much plot to me to fill up parts in my head that were with holes #And seeing characters younger #Seeing characters in their first appearance #OH YES #Gah #I'mma pass out a bit #blabbery #tf #transformers #tf idw #transformers idw

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majimasleftasscheek · 1 year ago

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I was wondering if you had any nsfw headcanons re: tigerfish? mostly asking cause i was thinking about the idea of nishiki doing his little hair-slick-back thing whenever he’s feeling Spicy (more dominant, regardless of position) so if/when he does that when they’re making out or whatever saejima knows what’s coming hehe

hope this isn’t too uncomfy to ask or anything! thanks for making me a fan of this tiny little ship lmao <3

not uncomfy at all! I'm always happy to talk about nsfw 😏

*as usual, even tho I talk about em as cis dudes, yall are welcome to imagine them however 😌

so prolly an uncommon take but Saejima's always sorta sat on the ace spectrum for me personally like he's into people but not in a way that's like something he'd go out and seek nor really need to be happy. not into being touchy feely with people he's just met and needs a bit of emotional bonding to let that happen *insert some joke about him making everyone he meets his kyoudai lol*. so when it comes to Nishiki, he feels a lot more comfy being openly intimate since they've gotten plenty of time to know each other in jail. Nishiki on the other hand, gives me casual guy™ vibes so he's into slapping the salmon whenever however but not in a wildin' type of way. he's into trying new things but also enjoys comfortable patterns that don't necessarily have to change anything up.

so when they're first shooting the shit about getting their freak on, I can see Nishiki being kinda surprised at first by Saejima's preferences but totally gets it too. he's used to Kiryu being a loner type who isn't exactly going out of his way for the ultimate boner experience. where they differ tho is Saejima is experienced while Kiryu just sorta bumbles through it. Saejima on the other hand, sees Nishiki who was a prominent crime boss and conventionally very pretty so he's thinking oh yeah Nishiki's prolly some kind of sex pest but is pleasantly surprised when Nishiki's more than considerate and patient.

now, Nishiki's been with people of all sorts so he knows his shit while Saejima is more like yeah I know my stuff but I ain't into it enough to really know if I'm performing up to the standards for my partner. he has a good bit of anxiety about that sorta thing and Nishiki didn't really believe him at first cuz like, just look at him. Saejima doesn't look like he'd have anxieties about anything so that's a hurdle they'd have to cross. Nishiki ends up being the lead in most cases, if anything to show the types of things he likes and to give Saejima confidence that he's doing a good job.

when Nishiki leads, he's either topping or power bottoming which defo pumps up the fish ego. but when tiger tops, it's more of a service top thing - he wants to see Nishiki pass the FUCK out lol. he wants to see toes CURL, he wants that ex patriarch to BEG for more. it makes him happy, knowing he can bring Nishiki down a peg for all the pride he's got in him. for Nishiki, it's a nice balance of leaving the work to Saejima while still being in control, even more so when he's going evil mode and gets a mad kick out of having such an imposing man at his beck and call hohohehe.

Saejima's very much not horny ever so Nishiki's gotta be the one to get him in the mood which is perfectly fine for the two of em. it's part of their foreplay, lots of talking and touching and even if it doesn't pan out to anything, they still enjoy just being around each other.

when Nishiki tops he's real sweet about it, very handsy and slick, doing everything you'd expect out of a well choreographed movie tbh. it's a very ideal time and Saejima just sorta gets lost in it, unused to being treated well and gentle. he's definitely prone to being a bit more emotional during these times and not afraid to show it which shocked Nishiki for a time until he got used to it and has come to really enjoy bringing such feelings out of him.

EVIL MODE so there's occasions where Nishiki's into the rougher stuff *insert whatever your heart desires here* and it's a lil bit embarrassing for him cuz there's been occasions with past partners where it's not exactly been the most enjoyable experience for either party, due to inexperience or going too far, etc. he's a lil too eager and too aggressive for his own good, especially back then cuz he had some aha issues to work out and ended up unintentionally taking it out on others.

so insert Saejima who proposes hey let's try out whatever the hell that maybe other people couldn't handle and Nishiki's hesitant, thinking, oh nah you already have anxieties and I can't do that to you but it's in the back of his mind like I want to tho. a big component of nsfw tigerfish to me is that they have a theme of taking time to get to things with a certain gentleness unlike my kazumaji hcs where they have a very intense, impulsiveness to them. so it takes a hot minute for Nishiki to open up this more aggressive side of him that for a long time he's suppressed cuz he felt that there's no place for it even tho it's very much a part of him.

so when Nishiki does eventually start to tip toe into his more perverse kinks, Saejima gives him comfort in that nothing really shocks him about what he wants and he's more than ready to handle it physically. with Nishiki leading, it's a good time for the two of em; Saejima can be of service while Nishiki can feel freer to explore this part of himself without judgment or so much worry.

after all that, aftercare! very important. it's usually Saejima who takes care of Nishiki, wrapping him up and massaging out the jitters. sometimes, one or both of them can experience some mixed emotions from a variety of things, performance worries, trauma, etc so they spend a lotta time just talking to each other. there's a lot of reassurances but also just a lot of wanting someone to listen.

random shit

Saejima loves some good head and body worship. he knows he's got a fine bod so complimenting him is the good shit 👌

Nishiki's all about smooches whether they be deep ones or just lil pecks here and there. ever since post y1, he's been one for enjoying simpler affections, especially when he knows his partner means it.

Saejima's a handsy drunk with people he's close to, but it's all cuddles and kissing and then passing the fuck out.

as a material girl in a material world, Nishiki gets off to gift giving lol. definitely has a praise kink but you gotta be a bit careful. be too dick sucky and he starts to feel like you're just patronizing him.

both of em are into overstimulation for different reasons: Saejima likes the intenseness and Nishiki likes inflicting it (receiving it ain't so bad either). Nishiki doesn't exactly have Saejima's stamina so they got a lotta toys just for the occasion 👀 there's been many a time where Saejima gets into it more than Nishiki can handle and he's then down for the count.

Nishiki tends to keep his prosthetic arm on and doesn't particularly like bringing attention to his disfigurement in general so when he's being intimate, he wants to be treated as if his body is like anyone else's. in that way, he's not into body worship at all, as he sort of warps it into pity he doesn't want.

Nishiki's possessive - not to the same extent Majima is @ Kiryu but it's there in the sense of like, look at this guy, he's mine.

bonus monster AU stuff 👀

as a literal tiger man, Saejima's got a lot of cat characteristics including loving pets and pats. Nishiki's learned very quickly which spots are best to get Saejima riled up and fiesty ;)

that being said, he's got a spikey dick lol. the spines aren't harmful, they more or less lock his partner to him which can end up being inconvenient if they're in a hurry.

big claws = lots of big scratches all up Nishiki's back. Saejima gets nervous he's hurting him but Nishiki think it's pretty hot to be marked up.

#I'm defo projecting my aceness onto saejima lmao so it's very much my own personal view of sex and intimacy in general #so I hope yall can enjoy my take on him #nsft #saejima taiga #nishikiyama akira #tigerfish #yakuza #my art #my hcs #ryu ga gotoku

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dojae-huh · 1 month ago

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Inkigayo in Tokyo

(date of the event: 121024)

A long post. The best JaeDo moments happen in Saitama.

Part 1: Doyoung

It's a beautiful life...

Doyoung was one of the 3 MCs, he was introduced as a Crown Prince of k-pop. Kick It. Fanchant. He preformed with 127 and as a soloist.

And the star was born - the solo segment.

Truly, I'm glad Do didn't get his album several years ago. He used to be not confident in his own voice. And he needed that daesang for 127, and for neos to do well on their own to be mentally free.

Doyoung was focused and tense during this Inkigayo show, he was the leader on top of his MC duties. He felt the responsibility. And yet, look at how he carried his own solo-section. Alone with his band and a stadium full of not just his fans, and not even just NCTzens.

7:56 - Notice how Do changed from his normal voice to a ligher tone.

9:30 - Frankly, I didn't like Oh-ya-yo in DLF on the album (I generally don't like the use of children choirs), but I see Doyoung's genius plan now. He intended for the crowd to sing along during live shows. And it is a good chant for a concert (easy to follow). People feel united, a part of a whole, uplifted (the measured breathing), when they sing and chant together. It's the oldest type of music.

I will point out that not all NCTzens in the audience were Do-biased. Despite that, everyone waved their neobongs and most sang alone and did the chant. Believe your eyes and see how the core fandom actually receives him.

Sidenote: I'm angry at Do's Japanese teacher for not correcting his pronunciation. He developed a habit of butcherring a few consonants, which gives him a noticeable accent. It's cute in speech, but not during singing.

Jaehyun, I'm ready to ship Do with his piano-boy, be aware, heh.

The pianist was impressive during the Japanese song. I bet it was Do's idea to strip down the performance and leave only the keys and his voice. It was a very powerful move. He created a magical moment. Japanese in general are very grateful to anyone who talks/sings in Japanese, and Do even made a connection, explained how there is a Korean tv-series remake, that the drama and the OST song are loved in SK as well.

As I said earlier, Do was in his leader mode, so he didn't yeld to other neos. As such, you can observe the real power dynamic.

Stuttering Jungwoo and slightly teasing him Doyoung.

Do with MarkHyuk. Do catching Mark near the end of the stage. Do catching co-MC Yunah from ILLIT. Bringin water for 127.

This JohnDo moment during the ment was interesting (all members said nice words to each other). Jaehyun really went a long way and matured considerably. He is very secure as the number 1 now. Notice how both Johnny and Doyoung looked at him several times. How Jae pretended to shield his eyes from JohnDo and was the first to clap (to mark the end to the fanservice bit). How Do didn't let the joking go too far (usually he is more lenient).

Do gathering 127 for a bow, manhandling everyone he could get his hands on.

Do and confetti. Video.

Part 2: Jaehyun

Despite going to the military soon and a busy schedule, Jaehyun lives every day happily. He is very open these days, very giving.

Fact Check Jae. Sunny road Jae. Giving five to fans. Jaehyun-hyung with Wish.

Jae and Yuta. Posting this to show that Jae doesn't have a habit of looking at someone's eyes non-stop.

Another classic from Jaehyunie: "Singers sing, and actors act". I like Hyuk's adlibs. Silly Jae and Mark his other half. Jae and Sakuya.

Jae's turn after Tae.

Part 3: JaeDo

That long-ass approach to the target.

Yes, Jaehyun didn't expect the hug. That smile with canines, that inhale.

I will add more fuel to your shipper fire and point out how both Doyoung and Jaehyun clung to each other despite Yuta trying to separate them (which I'm really questioning).

Do tapped Jae's butt. The booty is his. Woo and others should remember.

Jae was firmly keeping his hand for some time on Do's shoulder despite Yuta practically hanging off his arm. And at the end he tapped Do's arm with his fingers (after patting Yuta on the back). Reconnected with Do for a brief moment.

Here you can see how Do kept his hand on Jae's shoulder despite Yuta jumping on both and pushing with his weight. Also, a good view at the speed Jae grabbed Do's shoulder when Do hugged him. Aaand how instantly Doyoung put his hand on Jae's back when the bae approached him. We haven't seen such behaviour for years. It's a miracle.

Did you notice Do's small smile?

I guess home looks like this.

Part 4: NCT 127

Walk and the whole half an hour performance segment with ments.

( Kick It+2 Baddies+Fact Check

Sunny Road )

The crowd chanting. 127 tribal dance.

Part 5: NCT Wish

(can't find the full performance)

A bit of Steady.

Sakuya is injured, so he sat again. Riku dancing. Jaehee dancing. Sion and Haechan-hyung. Ryo and Yushi. Chant.

Part 6: NCT

Sion didn't learn yet that everyone should follow Taeyong or Doyoung's directions during big stages, and gather together as NCT. Do had to run after departing Wishies to add them to the NCT line up for the final bow. It was Jaehee who took Do's hand (no consideration for Ryo). Tap-tap-tap.

Bonus: Tongue lick.

#127 in nippon #i'll be your morning star #JHDY2024 #he likes the night view #glee club conductor #the even unit #chain reaction

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jihyocentric · 2 years ago

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don’t usually write poly ships with this many members but i was brainrotting

the setting wasn't the most ideal — staying on her fours for the easy access was only really working because tzuyu held her hips in place.

jihyo’s body was barely holding up. after hours on stage, all of them were sweaty and sore and undeniably tired, but some of them needed something else. something like jihyo, to use and blow off some steam.

her cheeks were already painted from the ones who left earlier. jihyo can only wail meekly when nayeon teases her about it, entirely surrendered, a mess of tears, cum and sweat, searing on her skin.

“if you keep this pace we’ll never leave,” sana grunts, cock buried in jihyo’s mouth, far from pitying her leader, despite knowing she had quite a lot of members to take care of.

dahyun helped jihyo, holding the leader's hand in place, jihyo squeezing her shaft tight as she fucked into it. dahyun’s cock throbs, feeling the residual load from the members who had already left on her palm.

nayeon was mesmerized, unable to keep her mouth shut as jihyo jerked her off. although she’d already came once, she had to stay and take care of jihyo once everyone had gotten their turns.

“d-don’t treat her like this,” tzuyu calls out, between her moans. she was by far the most gentle out of them, a relief really — she was considerably bigger than them.

jihyo felt at her limit, tzuyu’s tip hitting constantly deep and making her cry out, a raw sound that could definitely be heard by whoever was passing by the hall outside.

being the leader came with a lot of responsibilities. taking care of her members after the concerts was also part her duty, and jihyo was more than happy to help them.

no matter how many times they’ve done that, however, it would always feel like too much, her thighs still dripping with mina’s load and she felt dirty, but that didn't stop her from still wanting their loads.

“unnie!” dahyun whines, all but begging for jihyo’s attention, she’d spent too long sucking sana off and forgotten about her and nayeon. it truly wasn’t jihyo’s fault, as sana had been holding her ponytail and forcing her down on her cock selfishly.

jihyo takes a deep breath when sana releases her, not having much time to breathe when dahyun takes her place, sliding her wet shaft past jihyo’s lips snugly, certainly not as harsh as sana had been.

jihyo’s throat aches, jaw hurting after using her mouth on them for what felt like hours, moaning when she feels a certain warmth filling her up. tzuyu comes with a sharp cry, hilting as she spills her load, hips thrumming against jihyo’s as she makes sure her load will stay inside.

nayeon soon takes tzuyu’s place, sana huffing when nayeon takes jihyo a second time, but nayeon’s argument was that she was older, and so she deserved it. tzuyu leaves right after coming, not even trying to say a goodbye, they were all too busy for such formalities.

“look so pretty on your hands and knees, offering yourself to us,” nayeon coos, smacking the plump skin of jihyo’s ass before nudging the tip against her used entrance. “such a good leader, hyo.”

jihyo moans in response, nayeon’s hands firm on her hips, her eyes watering when dahyun goes a little too deep in her throat.

she does her best to get the younger to come, whining whenever sana would say she was too slow, even if dahyun was clearly enjoying it at that pace. she still ends up with dahyun’s load on the other side of her cheek, the one where the members hadn’t painted.

“fuck,” dahyun moans softly, jihyo’s tongue swirling around her tip, trying to get a taste of her cum. most of them had wasted their loads on her thighs, back and cheeks, and jihyo longed for her mouth to be truly filled for once. “too m-much, unnie,” dahyun pulls away.

jihyo sighs as she watches dahyun getting dressed. knowing sana would probably take her place back, jihyo fears what comes next.

“oh, now we can start with the fun,” sana laughs, provocative, grabbing jihyo by her ponytail yet again, lifting her torso up.

“s-sana…” jihyo mutters, shakily, her voice barely coming out.

sana smiles, coyly. “that’s my name.”

it doesn’t take nayeon too long to understand what sana wanted. she pulls out, sana finds place under jihyo on the couch and makes the younger sit on her lap, sliding her own shaft inside jihyo, and nayeon presses her the tip against jihyo’s ass.

“unnies!” jihyo lets out as she feels the both of them sheathed inside her. they get in easily, jihyo absolutely wet. she still feels incredibly tight, especially when they could feel each other inside her.

“shh, not gonna take long,” sana promises, bucking her hips, jihyo sobbing out messy words, babbling as they fucked her, finishing what had started not longer than an hour ago.

as if sana playing with her ponytail wasn’t enough, nayeon grabs it this time, holding jihyo in place as they pound into her, a pace that made jihyo break, blissfully riding them back, despite not having the proper strength for it.

all it takes is sana’s fingers tweaking her nipples, making her whine and tremble, along with nayeon roughly pulling at her hair, and then jihyo is coming around them, utterly pleased with the intense stretch, blinded by the pleasure.

sana comes right after her, ruining tzuyu’s work of making her cum stay inside, cock pulsing as she watches jihyo gush around her, leaking with their combined essence.

nayeon curses, letting jihyo fall on top of sana carefully, and then she pulls off, finishing herself all over jihyo’s ass. when she manages to gather her senses back, she taps sana’s shoulder.

“you can go if you want, i’ll get us cleaned up and take her back to the hotel later,” she tells sana, jihyo passed out on her lap.

“i’ll help,” sana mumbles, still hard inside jihyo. “just give me a second.”

as nayeon cleans herself and gets dressed, she can hear jihyo’s whimpers and sana’s grunts hitting softly on her ears — she definitely pretends she’s not hard again.

#drabble #nayeon #sana #jihyo #dahyun #tzuyu #nahyo #sahyo #dahyo #jitzu #g!p #non rq

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skellymom · 1 year ago

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"Vagabonds" Chapter 7 "Escape from Ord Mantell" - Part 1

Ongoing fanfic Hunter x Reader/Fem Reader/OC

Hunter meets a smuggler Nomaadi Star Woman with a powerful force sensitive teen who changes the trajectory of CF-99's lives...as they ALL try to escape from The Empire together.

To read Chapter 6:

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/733835736590303232/vagabonds-chapter-6?source=share

ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ 18+ ᴅɴɪ

Word Count: 1.3K

Background: The poop really hits the fan this chapter! EVERYONE runs for the hills!!!

Warning: Star Wars swears, Earth swears, fear, physical pain, fainting, smell of blood, blood, blaster weapons firing at people, canon-typical violence.

(Credit: Cool moving star dividers by @4ngelic-wh1spers )

Recap Chapter 6: Sil fired up the ‘Dame and kept it running. He used the thrusters to turn its nose towards the city. Smoke and fire came into view through the cockpit windows. Ships around them were taking off and leaving in a hurry, more than usual. Something big and emergent was happening.

“What the kriff is going on???”

“Escape From Ord Mantell - Part 1”

Back at the Marauder Tech and Echo settled in after their trip to the part’s dealer.

“I am quite surprised how inexpensive that field generator was. An antique part such as this is difficult to find.” Tech studied the metal object in his hand.

“The Beldame hasn’t been top-of-the-line for quite a few cycles. Probably long before we were decanted.” Chuckled Echo. “It’s a golden oldie.”

“Remind me to return Love the credits they advanced us. This purchase is...how they say, “on the house?”

Echo pulled out the locally bottled brews he picked up on the way back to the Marauder and handed one to Tech. They were just ready to crack them open and kick back but were interrupted.

Omega's mortified voice chirped out from the Marauder’s comm. “Echo, Tech, Wrecker, something bad has happened. Hunter and I are leaving Ord Mantell on the Beldame!”

Tech and Echo perked up. Why wasn’t Hunter contacting them? Was he hurt??? Where was Wrecker?

Another message immediately came in “Ey, on my way over! Hunter told me to contact ya, he’s...”

“Leaving Ord Mantell with Omega on the ‘Dame!” Tech interjected.

“GEEZ! Was it fairly OBVIOUS???” snarked Wrecker. “I’m being SHOT AT here!!!”

“Wrecker, get here ASAP!” Instructed Echo.

“I’M TRYIN’!!!

Wrecker escaped down a random narrow side street. There were piles of garbage, refuse containers...and a dead end. He was stuck, with his pursuers and their blaster fire approaching. Wrecker spun around and faced the opening of the street; weapon raised and pulled a thermal detonator from his belt. He was ready to go out in a blaze of glory if needed.

“Sssspt...hey...ssspt...” a raspy voice called out from the garbage.

Wrecker swung around to see a bearded, dirty, skinny man wearing a trash receptacle lid as a hat. It was surreal.

“Whaaa???”

“You!”

“Me???”

“Of course, silly! Come and hide before they see you!!!”

Wrecker didn’t have a lot of options and figured this skinny man was no match for his considerable strength. Running up to him, Wrecker noticed there was a dark open hole leading to who knows where. Wrecker stopped and looked at the man with growing skepticism.

“Hop in! Hurry, we haven’t much time!!!”

A blaster bolt shot over Wrecker’s head, and he dived headfirst into the hole. The skinny man jumped in after feet first. His receptacle lid hat expertly detached from his head as it met with the sides of the can. Fitting snugly and locking in place with nobody knowing the wiser that this was a hideout entrance.

“AAAaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!” Wrecker screamed in abject fear, sliding along at top speed in the dark.

“Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” Slid the man gleefully cackling manically behind Wrecker.

Wrecker came to a stop at the end of the slide splashing into a large pool of rancid water. The man followed closely behind.

“Ugh!” Wrecker retched. “Where ARE WE? It smells HORRIBLE!!!”

“We’re in the sewers below Ord Mantell.” The man proclaimed proudly. “Nobody likes to come down here. Perfect hiding spot!”

“Oooh...GAH!” Wrecker retched again. What the kriff was he covered in? He shuddered to even consider.

“Been watching you and your friends. You’re runnin’ from the ‘Bounties and the Empire!” The man goggled eyed and smiled like he was shy a shred of sanity.

Wrecker backed up, “Uhh, I don’t' want no trouble.” The man’s statement was high on the creepy scale. How was he able to watch them?

“No trouble vod, don’t you recognize me?” The man’s expression changed to disappointment.

Wrecker removed his helmet and let his eyes adjust to the gloom of the sewer. Through the dirt, beard, and bits of trash sticking to the man he recognized the features. This man was a clone. A rogue Reg.

“Name’s Riffraff. Deserted my post during Order 66.” Haunted expression, gritted teeth. “I couldn’t do what they ordered...just couldn’t...” He looked close to tears.

“Wrecker. Clone Force 99. We all deserted...except for one brother.” He felt bad for this Reg. At least Wrecker had his brothers. This clone had to survive all alone. No wonder he looked aged and unrecognizable.

“So relieved to find another brother...who didn’t agree with the Empire’s Jedi ‘Solution’.” A small wan smile appeared on the man’s face. “I have vantage points all over the city that connect with the sewer networks throughout Ord Mantell. Saw your vod and his girlfriend escape towards the ‘Dame. Can take you to the Marauder so the rest of you can flee.”

“The place must be swarming with unfriendlies now. Can’t get back unnoticed.”

“Stick with me, Wrecker, we’ll just follow the underground tunnels to the transport lot. You can pop up right under your ship.” Riffraff playfully slapped his knee. The crazed smile came back.

“Right, yeah...the ship’s sewer line port.” Wrecker envisioned himself crawling up through the excrement that was flushed from the Marauder when they docked. Shouldn’t have eaten all that Mantell Mix. Wrecker shivered and gagged again.

“Get you there in no time! Let's go!!!” Riffraff excitedly took off splashing through the sewer.

Wrecker put his helmet back on to keep the poodoo water off his face and followed.

Mad and Hunter burst out from the side streets of Ord Mantell and ran across the docking tarmac. Beldame’s gangplank was down, and Love was waiting for them.

Mad’s step faltered, she dropped the cooler, and held her side. “Ughh” going down on one knee.

Hunter grabbed the cooler by the strap and slid it over his shoulder. He tried to pull Mad back onto her feet, “C’mon. You can do this!”

“No...no I can’t.” She looked pale and very unwell. Hunter faintly smelled blood, but unsure where it came from. They were running out of time. He stooped down and carefully put Mad over his shoulder. The coppery smell of blood suddenly became stronger, but Hunter put it out of his mind. He stood, turned, and ran the rest of the way to the ‘Dame.

Troopers emerged from the city shooting at them. The probability of a blaster shot hitting either one of them became a terrifying reality. Hunter couldn’t even pull his sidearm to shoot defensively. His one sole mission right now was holding onto Mad and whatever was in the cooler and getting to safety.

Laser blasts whizzed past Hunter as he ran. Ahead he saw Love’s eyes meet his. In his head he heard a voice, “I’ve got you covered, keep running!” Love raised their hands and Hunter felt an invisible wave emanate from the teen. They were blocking the blaster fire.

Hunter ran up the gang plank and caught a glimpse of Love’s hands rear back and push out with the Force. The squadron of troopers were thrown back like toys. The gap in blaster fire might just allow them time to escape the planet. He proceeded onto the ship. Hunter was relieved to see Omega safe and strapped in. From her expression she was just as relieved to see him, but still fearful. Omega had Tiggy in a total death grip of a hug.

“Set me in the pilot’s seat” instructed Mad.

“You’re not in any condition to fly”

“I need you as rear gunner. Nobody else on the ship can pilot”

“Sil?”

“Not arguing. He’s copilot. Love is the shield.”

“SHIT! You still don’t have a shield???”

With no other options, Hunter dutifully approached the pilot’s chair. Sil moved over to copilot and buckled in. Hunter carefully set Mad down, strapped her in and ran to the gunner's seat. The gangplank closed, and Mad engaged the Beldame to take off.

Sil opened with laser fire at the bow while Hunter did the same at the stern. Several stray shots from the enemy hit the ship. The ‘Dame sparked and shook.

Omega watched from her seat as Love levitated above the decking, raising up both arms, eyes closed in full concentration to Force Shield the ship. Clearly this was not Love’s first time. Hunter felt something and momentarily turned in his seat while firing away. With his enhanced senses he could see the air around Love distort and occasionally shimmer. It permeated the whole ship and seeped outside of it. From Hunter’s vantage point, the distortion covered the entirety of the Beldame.

Echo and Tech watched the last of the ships on the docking tarmac escape off world. Everyone and their brother were getting away from Ord Mantell in one hell of a hurry.

The Marauder started taking heavy hits from blaster fire. Apparently, whomever was pursuing Hunter and Mad must have gotten intel that the rest of the Batchers were involved and identified their ship...

PLEASE like, comment, and/or REBLOG!

To read Chapter 8:

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/735297232933453824/vagabonds-chapter-8?source=share

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still-not-over-transformers · 1 year ago

Text

“When Sparks Fly”: A TFP Fanfic - Part 1:

(Bumblebee x Cybertronian OC)

Takes Place Mid-Season 2 of Transformers Prime shortly after Episode 18.

Side Note: Italics = A character’s inner thoughts.

In the vast expanse of space, everything was dark, except for the small twinkling lights produced from the surrounding stars. Cruising through the never ending galaxy was a small metal pod, an ion trail produced from small thrusters. Inside this small vessel was a lone Cybertronian femme. She had been in stasis for who knows how long and just now, the lights inside the pod began to turn on, illuminating her ruby-colored frame. She had a petite build for a Cybertronian, leaving plenty of room around her in the pod. A soft hissing could be heard as the life support systems brought her out of stasis. Her optics slowly fluttered open, revealing their pastel blue color. As she came to, everything around was hazy and she couldn’t make out her surroundings. Just as things started to come into focus, bright lights suddenly began flashing around her. As she continued to acclimate, her audio receptors began to hear a deafening alarm blare through the speakers. Primus it’s so loud in here. —wait.. The small femme shot up suddenly realizing the obnoxiously loud sound was an emergency alarm. Her optics looked around at the screens which flashed text: POD STABILITY COMPROMISED. ENTERING PLANETARY ATMOSPHERE. Memories quickly flooded back as she remembered that she was in an escape pod, one she had commandeered from scavengers whom had plucked you from your heavily damaged ship prior.

Oh scrap, I’m going to crash! She quickly strapped herself into the safety restraints as the text on the screens changed to numbers. Numbers which started counting down. TIME UNTIL COLLISION: 10… 9… 8… The moments flew by swiftly, terror gripping the small femme. The countdown continued to its end: 3… 2… 1…… Shutting her optics tightly, she prayed to Primus for safety before her pod made impact with the planet’s surface. Everything went dark.

Inside the Autobot Base…

By all accounts it was an average day at the base. School was out, and Miko and Raph were racing each other on the video game console, while Bumblebee and Smokescreen cheered them on. While Jack was helping Arcee adjust a few specs. The rest of the Autobots were for the most part, just hanging out. Ratchet as usual, the constant busybody on the monitor. The peace would soon be disrupted by an alert on the monitor, quickly garnering the attention of everyone. Optimus stoically approached the monitor to get a closer look, “Ratchet, what is wrong?” Raph turned his attention away from the video game, “Is it another relic?!” The Autobot medic shook his helm as he studied the data on the screen. “It appears that a foreign object of considerable size has entered our atmosphere. ….By the signal I would say it’s… cybertronian in origin. But I don’t see any markers determining if it is Autobot… or Decepticon,” Ratchet narrows his gaze.

Optimus stepped forward and addressed the others, “Despite the risk, we should investigate in case there is an Autobot in need.” Ratchet plugged in the coordinates and opened the groundbridge accordingly, “I will be ready in case medical assistance is needed. Be careful everyone.” The Autobots entered the groundbridge without a moment to waste. As they exited the groundbridge, the Autobots found themselves in the middle of an open Savannah. As they moved around the area, the sound of blaster fire could be heard in the distance, triggering the group to quickly move towards it. As they made their way over an incline, they could see a ravine below with an escape pod that had crash landed. There was a large cloud of dust as blaster fire was exchanged from two sides. The usual Decepticon grunts versus one lone bot whom was using the battered escape pod as cover.

“I can’t make out who the other bot is, Optimus,” Arcee muttered as she struggled to see the bot the Decepticons were targeting. “Well guess we should get a closer look!” Smokescreen leapt into the ravine, much to the dismay but not surprise of the others. Arcee and Bulkhead exchanged glances “Rookie,” before begrudgingly diving into the ravine along with Optimus and Bumblebee. The dust and smoke kicked up from the scuffle made it hard to see, but it was easy to pick out the blazing red blaster fire coming from Decepticon weapons. All Autobots engaged the Decepticon vehicons, taking them by surprise.

*Just a few moments earlier*

….

There was a deep trench carved into the ground that stretched for half a mile. At the head of this trench was the remains of the small escape pod of the Cybertronian femme. It was a miracle it was still in one piece, the results of quality Cybertronian engineering and craftsmanship. The hatch at the top of the pod began to wiggle, before loud pounding resulted in the hatch flying open. The crimson femme slowly climbed out of the battered vessel, looking around to evaluate her surroundings. She had crashed in a Savannah covered in tall grass and spindled trees with broad canopies dotted the expansive area. Where in the slag am I? In an attempt to get a better view of her surroundings, she moved to stand but a sudden pain in her side made her lose balance. She fell off the metal pod, her frame slamming into the earth below. As the femme pushed herself off of the ground and ran a servo over the crest on her forehelm. Her digits running over the Autobot insignia centered on her helm. Another flash of pain hit her, emanating from the side of her torso. The young Autobot looked to the silver armor now coated with the vibrant blue of energon. Her energon.

She was able to manage getting back on her pedes, however she had no idea how she would patch herself up on this foreign world. Suddenly, the femme felt the familiar static and thrum that preceded a groundbridge. Someone from Cybertron is here? A flash of bright green, blue and purple energy swirled as it appeared a couple yards from where she stood. As the nanoseconds clicked by, multiple silhouettes emerged from the portal. The femme stared at the multitude of Cybertronians before her, decked out in purple and black armor with Decepticon insignias branded on their chests. Decepticons?! Here?! Panic flooded her frame as she heard the dreaded sound of blasters powering up. She bolted for cover as she had little ability to defend herself in this state.

As the squadron of Vehicons began firing at the young Autobot, she managed to take cover behind the remains of her escape pod. “How did they find me so quickly? Is this entire planet swarming with cons?” She muttered to herself as she was able to draw the blaster on her left arm, which of course had to be your least-dominate. Despite this disadvantage, she began unloading shot after shot at the oncoming Vehicons. They were quickly closing in on the femme’s location, before the sound of opposing blaster fire and clashing was heard. The small femme dared to peak out from her hiding spot, only to see flashes of brightly colored-armor in-between the dust and smoke which had enveloped the Decepticon grunts. Despite this new development, she was hesitant to leave her cover. As she peaked out to watch the chaos, the gut-wrenching whirring of a blaster and pressure to her temple made her freeze.

Standing above her was one of the Vehicons, his blaster pressed to her temple and about to discharge. Before a single idea could think cross her processor, the Vehicon was sent flying off into the distance. Still in shock from the attack, the femme raised her one good blaster at the bot in front of her, her optics wide with fear. To her surprise, the mech in front of her raised his servos yieldingly, “Whoa! Don’t shoot! I’m on your side!” The mech was young, not too different from the femme’s. She noticed his white and silver paint job, with a scarlet Autobot insignia on his blue chest. “Oh thank Primus, you’re an Autobot…” She sighed in relief, lowering her weapon, “How did you know where to find me? What unit are you with?”

The young mech took a quick scan of the femme’s frame, noticing her injury, “Best to talk about that after we’re back at base. Name’s Smokescreen by the way.” She gave him a polite smile as Smokescreen began to help her up “I’m Firefly.” Firefly huh? It’s nice to meet y—-“ Smokescreen grunted in pain as he was knocked back by a blaster bolt to the chest. A Vehicon appeared from around the wreckage and continued firing. Firefly might have been down but she wasn’t out. Focusing what was left of her energy, Firefly’s frame whisked behind the Decepticon in a blur of red and yellow, moving faster than the human or Cybertronian eye could track. As the Vehicon turned around in brief confusion, two canon bolts hit the mech’s chest, taking him out of commission.

As the dust and smoke began to clear, Firefly was unsure of what exactly had happened. The sound of groaning to her right caught her attention, spotting Smokescreen as he stumbled back, clearly sore from the Vehicon’s blasts. “That… that was a cheap shot. Normally I don’t get shot” Smokescreen stated, trying to save his pride. The young femme heard other footsteps approaching, of varying sizes. Through the battlefield littered with deceased Vehicons, four bots approached. Firefly’s periwinkle optics widened as she spotted a tall familiar red and blue mech standing before her. Optimus Prime stood in front of Firefly, taking note of her injuries and the Autobot insignia on the crest of her ruby-colored helm. “You appear injured young Autobot. Might I ask your name?” Optimus said with a softened tone. She tried to compose yourself in front of the esteemed last Prime and leader of the Autobots, “…Yes Sir. Firefly, scout of the 107th Squadron. Sir.” Optimus smiles gently at the petite femme before him, “It is a pleasure to meet you. I think it is best we get you to safety before more Decepticons arrive.”

Firefly nodded quickly, limping over to her new comrades. Suddenly an extremely loud BEEEEEEEEEEPPPP caught everyone’s attention. Curious to see who or what made that sound, Firefly turned around to see a familiar bright yellow scout, “Bee?! Is that you!?” The young femme’s optics were wide as they locked with Bumblebee’s. Bumblebee looked as if he had seen a ghost, frozen for but a moment before he quickly rushed over to Firefly, picking her up in a hug. Arcee and the others stared in utter confusion. “…Did I miss something?” Arcee said turning towards Bulkhead and Smokescreen. Firefly couldn’t help but chuckle as she was embraced by Bumblebee, “Primus I can’t believe it’s actually you!” She winced in pain from her damaged arm, “But I would like to keep my arm if possible, Bee.” Bumblebee swiftly, but gently set Firefly down with an apologetic whir, albeit unable to have his gaze leave her optics. “I believe we should continue this reunion once back at base,” Optimus chimed in as a groundbridge opened up.

Bulkhead playfully elbowed Arcee to get her attention, “I didn’t know Bumblebee had a girlfriend.” Arcee quickly shushed him before following the others into the groundbridge. Bumblebee’s thoughts were… a mess. He was in absolute shock to see Firefly again, someone he thought would remain a distant memory of a friend long past. He extended his arm to the smaller femme and helped walk her through the groundbridge. Firefly accepted his assistance and stumbled through the portal alongside him. As the tunnel of swirling colors came to and end, Firefly and the others entered the Autobot base. It was quaint, by Cybertronian standards, but Firefly was just grateful to be in a safe environment. It was difficult for her to fully process exactly what had happened due to exhaustion. But she knew she was amongst friends now.

And for that, she was grateful….

To anyone who goes out of their way to read this, I thank you! Any support means the world to me. Keep an optic out for part 2!

#transformers #tfp #transformers one shots #transformers prime #transformersprime #transformers fanfiction #transformers oneshot #transformers original character #tfp bumblebee #tfp optimus prime #decepticons #autobots #bumblebee #optimus prime #miragerotb #transformers rotb #mirage transformers #mirage

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