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owliellder · 9 months

Text

The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x Painter f! Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Author Note: You know how each president of the U.S. gets a painting at the end of their term? I'm thinking like that. Plus, my favorite hobby is recreating renaissance art, so I figured this was a good fit (hopefully).

Cross posted onto AO3

Session 1: The Sketches

It was late at night when Leon made his decision to retire fully.

He had gotten home over an hour ago from reviewing mountains of paperwork, most of which pertained to missions that other agents have gone on or will be going on.

Younger agents. More energized agents.

The fact that he hadn't gone on a full mission since San Francisco was driving him up the wall. But that's what he wanted. He requested to hang back the last two years.

Both Chris and Claire had fully retired themselves right after San Fran, Claire being the first to retire to focus on her growing family with Chris following suit only a few months later. Jill was still around, but she was doing similar work that Leon was, only she was in a completely different department which was states away.

Of course Leon still talked with them all as regularly as possible, he'd go insane if he didn't, especially with Claire having a couple kids now. He wasn't the greatest with children, but it was refreshing seeing his friends achieve such normalcy. He wanted them to have the best life they could away from everything.

Having turned 40 a few some months ago, Leon was having a bit of a mid-life crisis. The mission to San Francisco a couple years ago had made him realize just how much toll the job itself had taken on his body. After being assessed and allowed home a few nights after returning from the mission, his body ached; joints creaking, back nearly thrown, just... tired.

Don't get him wrong, he was always tired after missions, but this was different. This wasn't just the regular aches and pains he dealt with after being tossed around like a rag doll, this was age.

Deep in his mind, Leon was still that 21 year old boy in Raccoon City. He never got the chance to properly grieve and move on, his mind forever changed by that event. Mentally, he was stuck there and had been this entire time.

It had taken the man this long to truly recognize the fact that he's older now. He's not that boy from Raccoon City anymore. He hadn't been in a long time.

What was he do to now? Leon had wanted so badly to serve and protect the people, but not like this. Not like he has for the past 29 years.

He spent his most formative years fighting unimaginable horrors, watching people suffer, watching people die. You don't just come back from something like that.

And unlike the friends he's managed to keep close, Leon didn't have someone he trusted. Hell, he barely trusted himself most days.

So now here he was, sitting drunk in his shower with his legs pulled up to his chest, his arms resting atop his knees while the water pelted down on him, silently mulling over everything he's ever seen and done during his time as an agent.

The water had grown cold at this point, Leon having quickly lost track of how long he was sitting spaced out like that for. Thankfully, he'd already cleaned himself before he ended up sitting down, so the hardest part now was just standing back up to get himself back out.

It took him a couple more minutes before he finally hoisted himself up with a tired groan, both his knees popping from being stuck in position for such a lengthy amount of time.

Once out of the shower, towel loosely wrapped around his waist, Leon stared at himself in the mirror; busy studying the crow's feet on both outer corners of his eyes as well as the prominent bags sitting under them, the smile line around his mouth, his now brown hair, the stubble on his face and neck that's he's neglected to shave, and just how exhausted he looked.

How has he never noticed any of this before? Why's he look so different now?

Settling into bed after this brutal realization was a tough task. The man followed his nightly routine of taking four Tylenol and two of his prescription sleep meds before setting his a/c 65 degrees Fahrenheit. He learned quickly many years ago that tossing and turning at night would make him overheat and sweat.

But tonight, nothing Leon did could ease that sinking feeling in his chest, that feeling of unfulfillmemt and shame weighing on him more than ever before.

The poor man barely slept at all last night, hangover evident by the way he was still slightly uneven on his feet as he leaned over the center island in his kitchen, head between his forearms while his hands sat clasped together.

Leon knew what he had to do. He's been feeling it ever since Chris and Claire made their departure, but it was so easy to deny. How was he suppose to give up the one thing that made him important? Sure the stress of his work was heavily tasking on the mind and body, but it's what gave him purpose. He felt useful doing what he did.

The man showed up for work late that day, barely having managed to dress himself. He didn't know exactly who to go to in this scenario, but everyone seemed surprised that the Leon Kennedy would show up for work in some ratty t-shirt and grey sweatpants. The stares were making him incredibly uncomfortable and he was quickly regretting showing up at all.

After sitting in his own office for awhile to avoid the looks and whispers, Leon eventually sauntered over to his superior's office, an almost solemn look on his face as he let himself in after knocking.

Needless to say, Leon was relieved his superior knew this was coming. Slightly offended, but relieved nonetheless.

It had been a long time coming, and it was only a matter of time before Leon threw in the towel, especially since he was now just working behind the scenes instead of on the frontline.

He was allowed to return home for the rest of the day if he wanted to, which Leon quickly took. He really didn't want to be in that building for much longer.

As soon as he returned home he went right back to drinking. And as ashamed as he is to admit, he even cried a little, half empty whiskey bottle in one hand while the other was clenched tightly into a fist as he gripped the pant leg of his sweats.

There wasn't anyone Leon could talk to about this. Chris and Claire had their own respective partners to come home to after retirement, but Leon? Leon had nothing besides a dingy and cold two bedroom house with only the basics inside, including his alcohol cabinet.

The man didn't even give himself time to date, only the occasional one night stand with randoms from the bar. He was too afraid that he would endanger anyone he allowed into his life like that, not to mention he'd been betrayed one too many times to trust in someone that way again. It was his way of keeping himself and everyone else safe.

The therapists he was assigned throughout the years all had the same concern regarding his love life, and deep down Leon was just as concerned, but he rationalized it with that hero complex he developed.

But he just couldn't rationalize it anymore. Leon was alone. He was alone, sad, and afraid.

About a month after Leon's retirement was processed and announced, word spread quickly throughout numerous government branches. There was a celebration set up at the White House to honor his service as a field agent.

The President had separated him and Leon from the party to slowly walk through the many hallways in the building. The old man could tell just how bothered the now ex-agent was by his retirement, so he figured now would be the best time to talk to him about his final task.

"You know," The President spoke up after a couple minutes of the two walking in silence, prompting Leon to slowly turn his head to listen. "I'm sure you've heard it so many times tonight, but you truly were one of the best agents I've ever seen."

Leon chuckled quietly, shaking his head a bit at the compliment. He had heard it a lot tonight, but obviously it was different coming from him.

"I'm serious. This county, probably the entire world, would've been in shambles if not for your hours spent." The President continued, slowing his walking to a stop.

"It means more than you know." Leon responded simply, voice a bit gravelly from the few drinks he's had. He took a couple steps more before stopping as well, turning around to face the prominent old man.

The President sighed, giving him a sympathetic smile while nodding. They stood in silence for a brief moment before the old man spoke up again, pointing lazily down the hall. "Follow me, I've got something I want to show you."

From there, the two wandered further down the halls until eventually reaching one hall that had lights more centered towards the walls, highlighting the picture frames that sat evenly spaced out amongst them.

Leon seemed a tad confused until he was able to focus on the first painting they walked by. He knew each president got a portrait painted after their full term was served, but the man in this painting wasn't a past president.

He stopped walking to stand in front of the painting, admiring the details it had before glancing down at the bottom of the elegant frame, a placard reading a name he didn't recognize. What he did recognize, though, was the word Agent that sat in front of the man's name.

While zoned into the placard, Leon didn't register the gentle hand that had been clasped on his shoulder, the President's voice breaking through his trance. "For as long as there's been bioweapons, we've had agents fighting to stop them. But only a few agents have truly outdone themselves. Agents like you."

Leon blinked a couple times before turning his head to look at the hand on his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. He wasn't quite understanding what he was saying.

The President took his silence as a cue to continue, his sympathetic smile turning into a happier one as he gently tugged Leon's shoulder to get him to start walking again. "The D.S.O. has produced some of the greatest agents since Benford created it back in 2011. You were amazing before, but you've outdone yourself time and time again."

Leon still wasn't quite understanding, really only half listening as he kept his eyes trained to the numerous portraits of agents as he slowly passed them.

The two stopped in front of the last painting in the hallway, only a few spots away from leading into another hallway. It was Chris and Claire in this painting. Chris was sitting down in a chair while Claire stood next to him, hand resting on back of it, both of them smiling.

He studied the painting for a minute longer before whipping his head around to face the President, who was still smiling, as the realization slowly settling in.

"I-" Leon struggling to speak, glancing back at the painting before quickly looking back at the old man standing next to him.

The President simply nodded his head, smile widening with a gentle laugh. "Right. The painting process takes a bit of time, but I think you've more than earned this."

The ex-agent had so many questions. Firstly, why hadn't Chris or Claire mentioned this? But more importantly, he gets to have his own portrait painted?

"The painter knows all about you. She's excited to meet you." The President started down the hall again, Leon not far behind, still stuttering out nonsense as he attempted to form even a sentence. "I'll give you the information you need to get started with her. I have it written down back in my office."

A painting?

A painting. A painting for him. A painting to honor him. What?

Leon was once again sat on his couch, blankly staring at the small business card with a date and time written on it in pen. He'd read the info on the card so many times already, wanting to make sure he got absolutely nothing wrong.

Apparently he didn't have to call and confirm, all he had to do was show up to this random address at a specific date and time, which was soon. In a couple days kind of soon. Also, he thought he was reading the time wrong, but no, it was four in the morning, not four in the afternoon. What an odd and rather inconvenient time.

Even after memorizing the business card front to back, Leon would be lying if he said he didn't forget about meeting up with this mystery painter. He'd been rather aloof the past couple months, it was hard to pull himself out of that funk. He'd been staying up late and sleeping in even later, so hitting snooze on his alarm a good few times was just muscle memory at this point.

It was almost 5am when he realized where he was suppose to be, eyes shooting open as he yanked himself out of bed, desperately trying to clean himself up enough to be at least presentable.

The man was mentally chastising himself the entire drive. It was a short drive, which he was surprised by, and the building seemed quaint; red brick with large windows that sat on what looked like either a second or third floor.

He parked his bike right near what he assumed was the main door, pulling off his motorcycle helmet before knocking and waiting.

The last thing Leon was expecting was you to unlock and open that door; young and pretty, so pretty...

"Mr. Kennedy?" You asked, eyebrows raised slightly with a small smile. He nodded, just barely noticeable, reaching a gloved hand up to wipe at his eyes as he caught himself staring.

Your smile only widened at his nod, stepping aside to allow him into walk in. It took him a minute to realize you were still talking, shaking his head out to refocus himself.

"-again, really, no need to worry about being late. I was trying to work with your schedule but I should've known it's changed up a bit by now, right?" You lead him up a set of narrow stairs, though he was mostly following the smell of your perfume. It was such a light smell but he definitely picked up on it.

You opened a door immediately to the left of the stairs, letting Leon follow you inside. The sun was just starting to rise, shining through the large windows in the open room.

The place was cluttered, yet organized. Crowded, but that just made it all the cozier to Leon. His house was bare and lacked any sort of personality, but this... this place was covered in you.

"I'm glad you like it in here." You said in a quiet voice, looking up at him as he took in your workspace. He was smiling ever so slightly, which you mimicked with a smile of your own. "I try to make it welcoming in here, my apartment is the same way.."

Your voice trailed off as you walked over to a mostly put together set up near the back of the room where the only wall without windows sat. There was a chair sitting close to the wall, the same chair Chris was sitting in for his portrait with Claire, along with your easel sitting empty a few feet away.

Leon stood frozen, only moving his head around as he took everything in. He followed you with his eyes as you fumbled around with something, eventually producing a blank 24" x 36" canvas that was still wrapped in thin plastic.

His mouth made an 'o' shape as he pulled himself from his small trance once again, beginning to slowly make his way over to the set up you've made. He placed his helmet down on the floor beside the chair.

After placing the canvas on the easel, you walked back over to where you'd gotten the canvas from before grabbing a heavily used sketchbook. It was a large one, the paper a light brown instead of white.

Leon had only just realized that there was a faint sound of some form of classical music playing from somewhere in the room, glancing around for speakers before looking back over at you.

"I'm not getting started today, we're a couple steps away from that, so don't worry about appearance just yet." You said softly with a breathy laugh, quickly making your way back over to where he stood next to the plush chair in your setup, his hand feeling over the worn maroon fabric.

Leon nodded silently, moving to sit down once you requested he did, furrowing his eyebrows as he watched you drag over a small table. You worked fast, that's for sure.

Eventually, you'd set up a little tabletop easel to sit on the table you'd dragged in front of him, grabbing your swivel chair to sit in as you placed your sketchbook on the easel, open to a blank page.

"I just need to get some basic ideas of your facial structure since that's most important when it comes to these kinds of paintings. You're gonna be wearing a nice tuxedo when I do the second- no, third sketch for the final painting, but this is just for me to get a feel for you and vise versa." You rambled quickly, pulling out a pencil from one of your pockets before fully sitting down on the chair, bringing your legs up to sit criss cross.

"Uh.. Alright..." Leon responded, clearing his throat a bit. He didn't really understand what you'd said, you spoke a little too fast for his tired brain to keep up, but it seemed like whatever you were doing was necessary so he just rolled with it.

He was left a little speechless again at how you just began sketching, glancing up to his face and down to the page you were working on over and over. "...do you need me to, I don't know, pose or something?"

The way you kept looking at him was making feel a little uneasy. Granted he's never been in this sort of situation before, this whole process was very unfamiliar to him.

"No, no. You can move your head around and stuff. Get comfortable." You waved off, eyes wrinkling as you smiled at him. Leon nodded again, deciding to take the opportunity to look around your workspace again.

It really was a cozy space. Full of color and life, even the curtains you had lining the windows offered so much pattern and detail to the room. The back of the room where the two of you sat was more cluttered with less decor, but the front of the room was a whole different story with those massive floor pillows, blankets of all sorts strewn about, that big fluffy looking area rug, it was all so... homey. It was even inspiring him to decorate his own house a bit.

The sound of your pencil scribbling on paper and the faint sound of the classical music playing was all Leon could hear for awhile, eventually letting out an anxious sigh before beginning to talk. "So... a painter, huh..?"

"Oh yeah, I've been doing this since I was little. Obviously I wasn't that good back then, but I really improved after high school." You immediately responded, voice a little louder than his. Clearly the topic excites you. "If you want, I can hand you one of my other sketchbooks to look at while I do my thing over here?"

Leon patted his hands against the arms of the chair before nodding to the side, pursing his lips slightly. "Mm, sure. Let's see what ya got.."

As soon as he agreed, you stood up and shuffled over to the corner of the room where some desks sat arranged in a makeshift cubicle. You opened a drawer and pulled out a couple sketchbooks, still as raggedy as the one you were using now.

Walking back over, you carefully handed them to him, which he slowly took after meeting your eyes for a brief moment.

Once you made your way back to your chair, he placed both sketchbooks into his lap, opening up the one on top first. The man flipped through them silently as you began to sketch him out again.

You'd zoned into your work, adding just a bit of shading to your sketches to help emphasis some features when Leon cleared his throat again. You leaned to the side to look at him, your smile quickly returning when you saw his baffled expression.

"These are... wow, okay, how old are you?" Leon asked, head jerking upwards to meet your gaze once more. You just giggled in response, using the pencil as a fidget before returning to sketching.

"Sorry-uh, I don't mean to come off as rude or anything, but to be honest, I was expecting you to be some old lady when I saw the portraits you've done." Leon was quick to try and explain, probably misinterpreting your lack of response for unease.

Your giggle turned to a small laugh, leaning to the side once more to look at the man. "Well, I'm glad I could surprise you a bit. Hopefully I don't look old."

Leon groaned and wiped his hand down his face. "Again, sorry. Didn't mean to imply." He shook his head and looked back down at the two sketchbooks sitting in his lap, continuing to flip through them.

It was only a couple hours until you decided you got a good enough feel for drawing his face. Grabbing the sketchbook, you stood up, pencil still in hand, looking down at the sketches you made as you slowly walked over to him.

The man noticed you standing up, quickly moving to close the sketchbooks you'd given him in favor of seeing your new sketches.

"I... I think this'll be enough today. I don't want to keep you too long." You said, handing him the sketchbook. Leon took it from you, careful not to smudge anything as he finally got to see what you've been doing for the past two hours.

He furrowed his eyebrows as he studied the sketches you'd made of his face, seeing all the different angles, even the smile, how'd you get his smile?

You seemed to grow nervous the longer he stared at your sketchbook in silence, his intense look making it seem as if he didn't really like them. "Are they... Are they okay?"

Leon jostled the sketchbook a bit in his hands before standing up, now towering over you as he kept his eyes on the paper. "Just okay? These are beyond amazing."

You let out a small breath you didn't notice you were holding, heat rushing to your cheeks as you smiled at his compliment. "Oh, thank you.. I'm sorry, normally sketches don't take this long but it was stressed to me that your portrait was very important so I wanted to get everything as perfect as I could.."

"Seriously, you're a mad woman if you think these wouldn't be good." Leon chuckled, handing the sketchbook back to you. He kept his eyes trained on you, even after you turned to look down and close the sketchbook. Only a fool would miss that blush on your cheeks, it looked good on you.

"Anyways, when should I come back for the next.. uh..." Leon paused, crossing his arms loosely as he struggled to think of the word.

Luckily, you finished the sentence for him. "Session. Again, this painting's importance was stressed to me a lot, so probably the next time you're available?" You talked while you shifted the small table back to where it had originally sat under one of the numerous windows, tossing the sketchbook down on the chair cushion.

"Alright, since it's importance has now been stressed to me as well, I can probably clear up some stuff in my schedule. How's tomorrow sound?" Obviously, Leon had a completely free schedule, but you didn't need to know that.

"Tomorrow works great! The sooner the better!" You laughed, placing a gentle hand on his bicep as you walked past him to grab a sticky note. "I'll give you my personal number, just let me know when you're thinking of coming over and I'll meet you here, okay?"

Leon looked at your number before pocketing the note, nodding his head with a smile of his own. "Sounds good. Same way out?" He pointed to the door that you brought him in through, bending down to pick up his motorcycle helmet right after.

You confirmed with a thumbs up, now drinking water from your water bottle as you'd forgotten too while focused on drawing. You felt bad for not offering him any water while he was here, but you won't forget next time.

The man gave you a curt wave before leaving the room, quietly shutting the door behind himself.

You had to admit, you've worked with a very small handful of agents since it takes a lot for them to earn their own portrait, but Leon Kennedy had to be the one of the most handsome men you've ever worked with. Maybe even one of the most handsome men you've ever seen.

Lucky you pay attention to detail, cause you definitely didn't see a ring on his finger.

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sethvzekiel · 9 months

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141 + könig x cold! squadmate

gn! reader. lowkey inspired by widowmaker from overwatch, mostly platonic unless you squint. reader is very close to laswell in a platonic way + set backstory.

reader x price, gaz, ghost, soap, and 141! konig bc bias. messed with the timeline a little in post-mwii but they’re still 141 and recruited konig. 3k words.

part 2 here.

warnings: canon-typical violence mention. strong language.

callsign is azrael but only mentioned once or twice.

price

Azrael. Angel of death. What the hell did you do to get a callsign like that? Price was almost afraid to ask — if it’s anything like Ghost’s callsign, it can’t be a happy story.

Your file was almost entirely blacked out, but the scant few that he could read was impressive, if not bloody. Laswell always called on you for her most delicate tasks, plenty of it related to human trafficking and stealth operations. You’re not tied to a single company, more a solo merc than a soldier among many, but you’ve served alongside enough armies that your lack of a badge doesn’t matter.

And there’s that feeling again in Price. The dulled rush of anticipation, of knowing that he’s got a good one in his hands, bursting with potential. Laswell recognized it the moment she saw him reading your file for the first time.

“Don’t poach all my good men, Price,” she sighed, but gave him your contact details, regardless.

He wasn’t surprised that you turned him down. Your file was rather explicit in telling him that you’re more a lone wolf than a mainstay. But by the fifth rejected call, he had to play the ‘Laswell’s Christmas drinking buddy’ card and get her to convince you.

It was then that he'd seen you in person for the first time, in the cold light of one of Laswell's safehouses, and it'd be a cold day in hell before Price lets himself get intimidated by anyone, but hell was feeling a little chilly that night.

Still, he'd recruited Ghost. He'd recruited König. Surely, he knew how to handle you.

…right.

Your problem, which Laswell already warned him about, was that while you followed his orders in a professional sense, there was a difference between obedience and genuine respect, the second of which you’d only reserved for Laswell.

Price wasn’t particular about demanding respect from anyone and everyone, but he also had the urge to help you open up, to untangle that knot of bitterness and cold that kept you silent. Yet the distance between your ranks was too wide, with a wall of ice damn near impenetrable for Price. Not that he was the type to give up when faced with such challenges.

If you smoked, he’d easily offer a cigar, but if you didn’t, he’d do most of the talking as you silently stood by him during his smoke breaks just by his office window.

You reminded him a little of Ghost that way, ever the silent shadow with haunted eyes and an icy composure. You also insisted on calling him Captain, which wouldn’t have been an issue if not for how robotic you sounded, even in small talk.

When it got around that Gaz managed to get you to warm up, Price felt half relieved, and half like he'd just been upstaged. That was his job as captain, damn it. He watched you grow from the sidelines, slowly defrosting as you spent more time with the others.

The day after your first leave together out to the pub, he wanted to shut Soap up because of how much he bragged about you taking care of him. Something about you giving him hangover cures and making him food. But he couldn’t have been prouder when he told Laswell the same story.

During your smoke break chats by the window, Price always gave you advice through his stories and musings.

It was only on the last day of your contract that you said anything yourself.

“Kate trusts you.” You spoke suddenly, under the moon of a quiet night.

Price didn’t respond immediately, afraid to break the sudden fragile atmosphere between you two, and silently urged you to continue.

“...she was captured on your watch.” The accusatory sting in your tone was like a knife in the dark.

Price dipped his head low. “And we fought like hell to get her back. We don’t leave our men behind.”

“I know.”

A long silence followed. You were assessing him. Mulling over whether this task force was worth your time or Laswell’s trust. Price could see it in your eyes, and as much as he’d want to convince you to stay right there, that olive branch was already extended a long time ago by Gaz, Soap, Ghost, and even König. As captain, it was his duty to keep you in line. As Price, he wanted to earn your trust. To trust you himself to make that decision.

When his last cigar for the night burned low, the sliver of smoke joining the creeping sunrise, you hummed.

“See you later, Price.”

You retreated back into his office, and from behind him, Price heard the rustle of paper. You left without another word.

He might have rushed to his desk to see what you’d done to his paperwork, and a low, rough chuckle bubbled from within his chest.

You signed his offer.

ghost

‘Laswell’s attack dog.’ That was the cruel summary of your file.

Ghost was the first person Price consulted with on getting you in the team. From how Price and Laswell described you, it slowly dawned on Ghost just how much Laswell trusted you.

If the 141 fails, Laswell will send you.

Naturally, that made Ghost a little wary of you. He trusted Price, he trusted Laswell, but he didn't trust this outlier. You're another sniper, too. Just what he needed after König joined up. Wonderful.

He wasn’t subtle in his caution against you, but it wasn’t supposed to be subtle. It was a warning.

You didn’t cause trouble. Quite the opposite, in fact: you were quiet. Too quiet. Always tending your gear or spending hours at the range, seeming to only have the next battle in mind. He had to check the security feed to make sure that you were going to your room at night and getting food instead of living at the range 24/7.

By that point he’d decided to go to the range and see you for himself.

“Where’d you learn?”

He couldn’t help but ask as you perfected a whole round of targets. You weren’t startled by his presence, already having heard his quiet steps long before he saw you.

“Picked it up as a habit,” was your frosty reply. “Then did it for money.”

“How old were you?”

“Ask Kate.”

There it was. He had his suspicions about how you came to be so attached to Laswell. If you’d served in enough missions, or if there was something deeper than that, with how you would kill for her without question or how Laswell trusted your strength, yet still discreetly asked Price to keep an eye on your well-being.

“Suppose I won’t,” he said, and that was enough for your to pause and turn back to him.

“Thought you were grilling me for info, LT.”

“I know when not to pry. You better not bring old enemies to us.”

“The dead can’t walk.”

Were you cold? Distant? A bit mean? Yes, yes, and yes. But Ghost was patient. So long as you weren’t a threat or nuisance to the team, you could stay. You were even one of the more obedient ones, so he wasn’t complaining.

That changed when he partnered with you on the field for the first time. It was also your first mission with the others, as you were usually the sniper from the far back instead of charging in with them.

Amid the sands and gunpowder, you were a machine. No enemy slipped past your combined strength, and you complemented each other’s combat styles perfectly. He goes in with the heavy fire while you shot down snipers like you already knew exactly where they were.

“Fuckin’ splendid, soldier,” he said on the way back, when everyone else was asleep.

“I try, sir.”

He looked forward to training with you from then on, silently one-upping each other’s skills from shooting to sparring in an endless chase to the top. The competition grew notorious enough that other soldiers began approaching you for advice on how to improve themselves or to compliment your skills, garnering a reaction from you that only Ghost could tell was embarrassment.

Despite not being as close to you as the rest, your standoffishness and frigid personality were things that Ghost was familiar enough with that he could see right through you.

“Aw no, another Ghost?” Soap once complained when Price sent them your file. Ghost had only scoffed then at the ridiculous notion.

Now, though, as you silently fussed over your teammates while insisting that you weren’t at all concerned, it made him feel a little warm inside.

Nothing wrong with a second Ghost if it meant more people looking out for his comrades.

And with how you seemed to have König wrapped around your little finger, Ghost could at least trust you with keeping him in line.

gaz

He can’t explain why, but there’s something about you that reminded him of his old anger; the frustration he had with how much injustice the world let slip between the cracks, the helplessness he’d felt before he met Price.

Your relationship with Laswell… it’s a little like his own with Price, but in the place of brotherhood or mentorship is something quiet and mournful, the kind of loyalty forged out of a dark place. It’s clear that you view Laswell as a kind of savior, the type you’d owe your life to. It’s the only way to explain why you only come back to her.

Gaz kept his distance, unlike Soap. He could tell when you needed space and respected it — unlike Soap. Or Price. Or — he couldn’t believe it — Ghost. It’s just Gaz being respectful, definitely not related to feelings of intimidation or fear. Maybe.

Funnily enough, it’s that wordless consideration of your alone time that made Gaz the first person you warmed up to. It was only a brief chat about when the next resupply for ammo comes in. You’d been running low for a while and your kit is rather specialized, but Gaz was the first you’d spoken to without hostility or work in mind.

With that ice broken, the next conversations were slow-going, but easier. Shared watch duty where Gaz babbled mindlessly about everything he'd been thinking about, just to keep himself awake, while you listened silently, but intently.

Gaz didn't know that you were actually paying attention until you started setting out his favorite tea in the morning without a word or clearing your throat before entering a room because he hated getting startled. Those were things he'd only told you at night, when he thought you were barely tolerating him.

Instead of a terrifying shadow, he started to see the human side of you. The considerate side that you tried to hide with a bitter scowl when he brought it up. Dare he say it, it was a little endearing, like the grumpy stray cat he used to feed as a kid.

When the rest of the 141 noticed, he'd automatically been designated as your unofficial 'translator.' He could decode any of your blank (and sometimes terrifying) expressions to the letter.

"Quit it, Soap, they need a nap."

"Captain, you're bumping into their injured shoulder, sir."

"LT, might want to hide your tea stash, think they saw your cup."

"König, come back! We just wanted to compare gear!... Eh, sorry mate, he's gone."

"What d'you want, black coffee or... latte? Huh. Two lattes, please."

Usually, when you'd be paired up with Gaz, you're the sniper supporting him from far away. Your quiet murmur over the comms, even in a firefight, instantly calmed him down and Gaz swore that he worked better when he knew you were watching him.

Post-mission naps on your shoulder didn’t sound too bad, either. That was a privilege he wasn’t going to give up to anyone. No matter how annoying about it Soap got.

soap

We know Ghost's attitude didn't stop Soap from getting all buddy-buddy with him.

But even then, your demeanor, as sharp as a coldsnap and twice as biting, gave him pause. He's spoiled with reactions from other people to his presence, whether it's reciprocated friendliness or annoyance at his energetic personality. Total apathy, with a tinge of hostility, only came from Ghost and you. And Ghost warmed up to the guy already, so your silence bothered him a little.

Not that he hated you, but it stirred a competitive urge to challenge your coldness and finally get you to crack.

Mercifully, he somehow didn't end up getting killed in the process of fighting for your attention. He's not subtle about it, though: other people on base always referred to him as your 'pet dog' when he's looking for you.

"Hey, your Scottish Terrier came by, was yowling for your attention."

"Put your dog on a leash, would you? He won't stop interrupting R&D to ask where you are."

"Feed your pup, sergeant, he looks pitiful from over here."

But you didn’t look down on him the way others do. You didn’t see some kid trying to play hero, who got lucky because Price took a shine to him and had no other skills to speak of. You looked down on him the same way you did at everyone else: a detached gaze from your metaphorical ice castle, nothing more. And in a twisted way, it’s refreshing.

When he found out that you'd gotten close with Gaz before anyone else, he was ready to whine. Ghost certainly got the worse end of his complaints. Since then, he'd butt into yours and Gaz's conversations, especially when you started joining the boys for lunch instead of eating alone.

It was only on your first leave together, your first civilian outing, that Soap realized that you were closer than he'd thought.

While he was drinking at the pub, you carefully watched him, silently looking out for signs of him getting too drunk, at which point you'd begun secretly ordering watered-down versions of his drink until it was practically juice.

Even with how wasted he was, he saw through your trick, but all was forgiven by the next morning when you'd cared for him through his hangover in your own, grumpy way. You even cooked breakfast for him, but he wouldn’t tell you that it was practically tasteless and mostly hangover cures. The thought counts, right?

And wow, he would not stop rubbing the fact that you took care of him all over 141’s faces.

“Watch your back, Gaz. I’ll be takin’ your spot soon!”

“Johnny, it’s two in the fucking morning.”

“You can’t be their favorite and Price’s at the same time. Pick one!”

“No. Besides, think König is second to me, not you.”

“The fuck?”

könig

You reminded him of the deep winters of his deployments in the north. Cold, cruel, yet beautiful. Sorrowful. Lonely. Silent. Calming.

Make no mistake, the first few months with you around, König was sure he was going to have a breakdown. Your lightless stare bored holes into him, no matter how hard he tried to hide from your field of view. It took enough of his energy to resist the urge to hide behind any of his new 141 teammates. Seriously, how did he get along better with Ghost than with you when you didn't even have a mask?

It didn't matter if you’re built like Ghost or the scrappiest operator around: your chilling aura always left König with his hands clammy and breaths a little short.

If Gaz pre-friendship was giving you space, König was running from you at first sight.

But when König watched you grow close with the rest of the 141, his sharp eyes catching that lightning-fast flicker of tenderness on your face, it was over for him. He had to see it again, like sunlight glancing off fresh ice.

Cue the big guy trailing after you helplessly, like a fidgety shadow, that the other 141 members politely pretended to ignore. Not that he's any good at hiding.

König may have done a good job at absolutely shattering his terrifying image with his actions at base, but when you're on the field, he's an entirely different person.

A beast. A hunter. A king of the battlefield. He's covered in blood from head to toe, glee rushing through his veins as he bludgeoned two men with his bare hands. For a moment, he wondered if you would be impressed with his kill count. You must be. Then he thought for another moment. Then another.

And he remembered that you were his partner for this mission, and that no, this was not a good look for him.

Slowly, horrified, he turned back to you. You looked over the aftermath: a warehouse filled with bodies, not all of them slain with bullets, and broken weapons. König barely heard you convey your victory to Captain Price over the comms, even if you were right in front of him.

It was only when you clapped him on the arm that he snapped to attention: both from your touch and the miniscule smirk on your lips.

"Don't forget to watch your six."

"You... are not... afraid?"

"Just glad I'm not on your bad side. Let's go."

On the next missions, König would restrain his bloodlust a little, if only to see you in action himself. You moved smoothly and quietly, just like a shadow leaving death in your wake. He watched you snuff out an entire enemy safehouse without anyone noticing.

You truly were the Angel of Death, going from door to door, taking lives like it was divine decree. There was never a more beautiful sight.

König was... stuck to you like glue, to say the least. He'd slowly begun joining you at target practice, or sparring, or running into you around the base and coincidentally offering his help with the reports you meant to file.

Whether you noticed or not, he didn’t care. Actually, he wouldn’t mind if you noticed how helpful he’d been. The more you saw him as reliable, the more you’d be willing to be his buddy on the field, yes? And the more he’d get to see you in action, no?

Now, if only the others would stop hogging you for a second… he could interrupt that conversation you were having with Ghost… if Ghost wasn’t looking… any time now…

#cod x reader #141 x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #konig x reader #cod fanfic

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gatitties · 1 year

Note

Yandere!Bonten x black widow assassin!reader?

Just something that popped into my head, just imagine them in a club. One of them being a target of assassination but your target is the one who tryin to kill them. One second they are surrounded by gurls doing whatever. The next a ceiling from the floor above caves in and you have your target in a hopeless position. You leave with the target apologizing for the mishap!

─Yandere!Bonten x assassin!reader

─Summary: you were just doing your job, you don't need any more trouble chasing you in life

─Warnings: use of weapons, unwarranted obsession, toxic behaviors, yandere stuff

I apologize because I don't know how to describe fight scenes 😩🤚

Part Two / Part Three

You adjusted the belt around your waist, checking the chambers of your ebony and ivory pistols, full ammunition, checking that you had your concealed knives in place, along with the small spray cans and gas mask, you didn't used to have to use these last ones things, but you never know when you need a little help.

You take out your cell phone checking the message from the anonymous person who had hired you this time, one last look at the information you needed to know, you just had to make sure that another assassin did not kill your client's shareholders, although it did not expressly say that you should kill her, but if it was necessary to secure the lives of these men, was something you were going to do. Not for nothing were you quite well known in the underground world where contracts were agreed upon, you did your job quietly, leaving no clues and quite quickly, you offered good service and that's how you earned your living after your parents kicked you out of the house for being a nonsense in your studies, at least, you found a way to earn a living, more or less moral depending on who looks at it.

Usually you would take a more defensive position with a long-range sniper, but today you needed to blend in with the girls in a brothel, so you had to bring out another part of your arsenal, fancy clothes and accessories to your liking to look like someone rich.

It was not difficult to infiltrate as one of the workers, since they did not have a uniform as such, you located the round table of the men you had to protect, observing from afar how they interacted with the different girls who approached like bees to honey, wishing try something from them. You stood next to a guy at another table, following his dirty talk in a careless way while your attention was focused on another girl, you saw how her dress became baggier in certain areas of her body, areas that you recognized well to hide a weapon small caliber, luckily she excused herself to go to the bathroom, immediately forgetting your companion to follow her.

You waited in the restrooms, pretending to touch up your lipstick, you looked sideways when she came out of one of the bathrooms, noticing how the dress adjusted, revealing a knife attached to her thigh, you both exchanged glances, a small silence of tension and out of nowhere the two of you were fighting knife against knife.

"I knew that some whore was going to try to take my job today, those men are mine, I'll be the one to kill them."

She cut you on the cheek and you immediately kicked her, her defensive posture wavered for a few moments but she recovered, the fight reached the second floor where there was no one, since there only had furniture or old things from decor.

"You're wrong, they are not my targets."

You cut her forearm causing her to move back, anticipating her movements you hid behind a sofa, she now pointed her pistol towards your position without being able to hit you, you threw your knife as a distraction to be able to aim with your guns, but the girl reacted quickly at the stimulus, you groaned internally as a bullet grazed your arm but you began to move quickly between the different pieces of furniture.

It was like that for a while, playing tense cat and mouse, you managed to hurt her enough to make her movements much slower, but you needed to make your dominance clear, you took cover behind a pile of stacked boxes, your eyes caught a small crack in the floor, you looked up seeing some old wooden beams, that was it.

You forced the girl out of her hiding place, continuing the fight physically, again wielding bladed weapons, you lured her to the center of the room, managing to kick her to drop her weapons, before she could draw another one, you shot into the rafters and everything fell on top of both of you, the floor collapsed, consequently falling to the first floor, right in front of the table where Bonten observed how two female figures were on top of all that rubble.

The chaos had made the vast majority of people flee, they took their hands to their guns in case something unforeseen happened, however they watched in silence the interaction.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I give up, I'll quit the job, but don't kill me! I just needed the money to get my family up, please! Please…!"

Your finger brushed the trigger of your pistol that was pointed directly at her forehead, you looked at her in silence for a few seconds before slowly lowering the gun, her eyes began to water, and immediately she pushed you to run.

"My mission wasn't to kill you anyway… oh shit!" you brushed off the rubble and dust, looking around as a couple of waitresses looked at you horrified, your breathing calmed once you saw the Bonten executives safe and sound, you didn't think very well that destroying the ceiling could have crushed them, but luckily nothing fell on their table "Ok, job done… sorry for the mess."

As if you had known them all your life, you apologized for a little nonsense, and you were going to leave immediately because you needed a rest and your money, but apparently someone did not have the same thoughts.

"Who the hell are you?"

Sanzu gripped your wrist tightly, glancing at the pistols that were now visible because your clothing had been torn in places, a small smile tugging at his lips at seeing your unfazed gaze.

"It's none of your business."

You tugged at his grip to break free of it, but he tightened it causing a wince on your face, the others slowly approached to your side, Mikey watching silently as your wince turned into one of impatience and disgust.

"It is our business, you have destroyed our brothel."

"And you intend to leave like that as if nothing had happened? It's disrespectful lady."

The Haitani brothers stepped forward, Ran pointing out all the damage from the collapse while Rin crossed his arms, inspecting your face and every detail of it.

"I'm not a lady..." they all began to look at each other, giving you glances from time to time, observing your body and arguing in silence "or am I?"

You raised your leg hitting Sanzu's abdomen, he stepped back as did you, although Kakucho blocked your next attack he couldn't catch you again because he had to dodge one of your hidden blades.

"Catch her!"

"I'm sorry! I have places to be, I hope we don't meet again, maybe it means bad news."

You sprayed them with a shit-eating smile when you saw how they rubbed their eyes trying to hold back the tears from the burning, when they wanted to realize you were already a long way from there, looking for the place where they had hidden the money for the completed order.

"Have you seen her movements, damn, I think I've-"

"Cut it Sanzu, we don't want to know about your sexual fantasies."

"Always so boring Kokonoi."

"Who was her anyway?"

Mochizuki, finished wiping his eyes once they stopped watering, Takeomi answered even though his eyes kept looking at the exit through which you fled.

"She was a contract killer, apparently a good one."

"I want her."

"Huh?"

They all looked at his leader, his gaze of emptiness had a slight glimmer of desire, as if he were a child who had found a better toy than he already had, a new toy to play with and smash. You were good at your job, weren't you? He needed to get rid of a few useless ones, and he wanted you to be the one to do that job.

You unintentionally triggered an obsession in the leader of one of the worst mafias in Tokyo, no matter how slippery you are, no matter how many times you change your identity, nothing matters because now you are something he wants and Mikey always gets what he wants. His obsession with you at first was something that happened as a 'boss whim', however, the more difficult the search for you became, the others also began to become obsessed for no reason.

A long game of cat and mouse awaits you, because now these guys need to know more about you, they need to see you, they need to have you, even though they barely shared a measly moment with you, it was enough to obsess over an image of you that they held within their minds. Do you think you can escape? don't be silly.

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wh0re43van · 5 months

Text

Boyfriend pt 3 (Warren Lipka X Reader)

Word Count: 3k

Summary: You wake up at Warrens house, then finally indirectly break up with your boyfriend.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of Warrens wounds from the fight, mentions of weed

A/n: Okay y’all, i think this might be the last part. I could probably continue this for another part or two if i really wanted to. (i have a couple rough ideas) but I’m probably gonna focus on other fics.

Pt 1, Pt 2

As I open my eyes, I’m startled for a split second, not recognizing the bed I’m in or the ceiling I’m looking at, but the familiar scent of weed and the sound of a bong bubbling while a Green Day CD plays in the background reminds me that I’m at Warrens house. I sit up in his bed, the t-shirt of his that I’m wearing hangs off me, still smelling of his cologne.

“Well good morning sleeping beauty,” Warren says between coughs, I sit up in the bed yawning.

“Why’d you leave me,” I frown, looking at the cold spot next to me where Warren fell asleep last night.

“Well, I waited for you to wake up for like an hour, I got bored,” he laughs, standing from the couch then walking to the bed, bong in hand. I smile at the boy in front of me. His disheveled brown hair that’s falling into his bruised face, the white tank top that hugs his torso snug and his grey sweatpants that don’t leave much to the imagination. “Does this make up for it?” He hands me the glass and the lighter.

“Only if you go get me some water,” I smile sweetly, accepting the bong.

“Anything for you,” he winks, making my heart flutter as he turns to walk up the steps. I take a small hit from the bong before laying back down on the bed, watching the smoke I blow out cloud above my head and dissipate into the yellow light in the ceiling.

‘How did I get here?’ I think to myself. Just last month I had a routine. I was comfortable- albeit bored. I knew what every day was going to consist of, there were no surprises. I woke up, smoked, then either went to work or went to Dakota’s house. If I went to my job at the library, I had a set task list; the exact same every day. If I went to Dakotas, we either went on deliveries or argued because he’d been cheating on me again. Sad, I know, but that’s how it was, and I was fine with it. Everything’s different now, not in a bad way though. Warren invaded my thoughts and my heart as soon as we reunited, and I don’t think he intends on leaving anytime soon. I’m grateful for him. He’s made me see that life can be exciting-and messy. I’ll never be able to think of sex the same for the rest of my life, regardless of what happens with us.

‘Us,’ I think to myself. ‘What are we?’ Are we friends with benefits? Is he seeing other girls? He wants me to break up with my boyfriend, but I don’t even know where he and I stand. I’m going to break up with Dakota- for many reasons- but, do I really want to jump straight into a relationship again? Is that what Warren wants? Will he lose interest once I’m single? Regardless, I don’t want whatever me and him have to end; That’s the only thing I know for sure.

“Here you go, beautiful,” Warren interrupts my thoughts, his voice bringing a smile to my face as he hands me the glass of water.

“You’re so chivalrous,” I giggle before taking a sip of the cold water. Warren crawls over top of me and flops down on the bed, laying on his back with his toned arms crossed above his head. He smiles and sighs, turning his battered face to look at me with heavy eyes.

“What?” I giggle, unsure of why he’s staring. His grin stays plastered on him as he shakes his head.

“Nothing… It’s just if you had told 13 year old me about this past month, I would have never believed you. How did I manage to get the most beautiful girl in Fayette County in my bed, wearing my shirt…only my shirt?” he says in a dreamy tone as he props himself up on a bruised arm. I can’t help but blush at his words. He knows exactly how to flatter a woman.

“Oh stop,” I giggle. “You’re quite the looker yourself,” I smirk as crawl on top him, sitting on his stomach. “You look really good in this wifebeater with your busted lip,” I run my hand up his chest and to his face, brushing my thumb over his healing abrasion. He brings his strong arms to my hips, leaning into my hand on his face. “You look dangerous,” I wiggle my eyebrows, smirking. He laughs as he flips me over so that he’s hovering above me, he slips his hand under the t-shirt I’m wearing, ghosting over my bare core.

“You have no idea,” he whispers lowly in my ear before nibbling on my neck, sending electric shoot through my entire body.

“I don’t think that I thanked you properly for defending my honor,” I smile, before pulling the shirt up and over my body, leaving me completely bare underneath him. His eyes scan my body as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.

“This view right here is thanks enough,” his sultry tone resonates in my ears as he runs his busted knuckles over my curves, leaving goosebumps on every inch of skin that he touches.

“I have a little bit more to offer,” I smirk as I sit up, shoving him on to his back. He watches in anticipation as I settle between his legs. “I gotta say,” I purr slowly as my hand ghosts over his crotch. “You looked really hot fighting for me,” I smile through my lashes as I slide my fingers under the top his waistband.

“And I’d do it again, especially if you’re my reward,” he brings a rough hand to my cheek, pushing my hair out of my face as he stares bullets into my soul. I’ve always adored his dark eyes, the color of freshly brewed coffee; bitter yet comforting. A single glance from the man below me is enough to make my core ache.

“You know Warren,” I begin as I slowly pull his sweats down, holding his gaze. “When you look at me like that, you could get me to do absolutely anything you want,” I say before biting my lip in anticipation as I slide his boxers down to reveal his semi hard cock awaiting my attention.

“Mmm, I could say the same thing about you, darlin’,” he groans out, his deep voice sending chills down my spine straight to my core. I spit into my hand before grabbing his cock, pumping it a few times to fully wake it up. He hums at the contact, his body relaxes as he lays flat on his back, laying his arms above his head. I cup his balls in one hand and his base in the other as I slowly sink my mouth down on him until he hits my throat, earning a low moan from the back of his throat.

“You always treat me so well, baby,” Warren groans, squeezing his eyes shut in pleasure. I begin to bob my head up and down on him, hollowing out my cheeks. “Mmm, atta’ girl. Just like that, beautiful,” he sits up to watch me gag on him; a feeling that I’ve grown to love. Every ounce of praise he gives my goes straight to my stomach, fueling the butterflies that are erupting. His eyes, dark with lust, gaze down at me. I lose myself in the moment. His moans and words of praise fill the room as he repeatedly thrusts against the back of my throat. My jaw starts to go numb, but I ignore it; The site of Warrens face contorted in pleasure and the compliments falling from his blushed lips is worth every ounce of pain.

I see his hand go the night stand, picking up my vibrating phone. I pull away from him, catching my breath as he puts the phone to his ear.

“What do you want?” he asks with a sly grin before gently guiding my head back to his erection. I’m confused, but I obey and slip him back into my mouth. “She’s right here, but she’s a little busy at the moment,” he smirks into the phone.

‘Oh god. It’s got to be Dakota’ I think to myself as I kitten lick around his tip. I hear him raise his voice on the other end of the line.

‘Yep. It’s Dakota,’ I think I hear him ask warren to put me on the phone, followed by some curses. Warren laughs as he thrusts deep into my throat, making me audibly gag.

“She can’t talk right now man, her mouths a little preoccupied,” he winks at me, my cheeks burn red. I can tell Warren is enjoying this- maybe a little too much and I hate to admit that I also find this situation extremely hot, so I play along. I take his entire length into my throat, past my gag reflex until my nose is nestled against the small patch of brown hair decorating his skin.

“Fuck! Just like that baby,” he moans loudly, chuckling into the receiver. He begins to thrust deep into my throat, groaning in pleasure. “What’s she doing?” He laughs breathlessly as his free hand uses my hair to hold my head in place as he violates my mouth. “Mmm, I’ll spare you the details, dude,” he says, his stupid grin not leaving his face. I can hear Dakota cussing Warren out. His eyes focus on me as thick strings of spit drip from my mouth around him as he fucks my throat, my gagging filling the room. Warren uses my hair to pull my head back, spit rolling down my face as I gasp for air. He holds the small phone up to my mouth. “Do you like gagging on me y/n?” he asks I nod my head still trying catch my breath. “Use your words beautiful,” he says with the biggest shit eating grin, using his eyes to motion to the phone.

“I fucking love it,” I say breathlessly, a smirk falling across my own face as my knees becoming weak from how aroused I am. With that, he shoves his cock back into my mouth.

“Holy fucking shit,” he growls in a way I’ve never heard before as he drops the phone on his chest, Dakotas small voice still shouting on the other end of the line. Warren grabs either side of my head guiding me up and down his cock a couple more times.

“Fuck, just like that, baby. I’m cumming,” Warren groans as he releases deep into my throat and onto my tongue, I lap up every last drop, pulling away gasping again. “Did you swallow all of it, darlin’?” he asks, panting as he wipes a tear from my cheek. Dakotas frantic voice still chirping through the small plastic brick.

“Yes sir,” I giggle opening my mouth, sticking my tongue. Warren smirks, grabbing my ass to scootch me up to him. “Good girl,” he says against my lips.

“Warren!” I hear Dakotas infuriated voice boom from the phone. Warren laughs holding it up to his ear again. Dakota bellows every slur, insult, and curse word I’ve ever heard through the cell until Warren cuts him off.

“Yeah that’s why I fucked your girl,” he laughs loudly, his shit eating grin plastered proudly on his battered face. “Bitchass cuck!” he shouts before ending the call, tossing the phone to the side.

“Warren, what was all that about,” I giggle as he attacks my bare skin with kisses and love bites.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.” He pants against my skin. “Turn over, beautiful, I’m not done yet,” he slaps my ass, standing to remove his tank top, his dick still hard as ever. My stomach flips as I get on my hands and knees on his bed. He comes up behind me, pulling me to the edge of the bed, using his hands to spread me open. Wasting no time, he licks a long strip across my core, earning a whimper from me. “You taste so sweet baby,” he coos before inserting a finger inside of me. I whine at the contact. He begins pumping his finger inside of me. “You really liked that, hm? You’re soaked,” I can hear the smirk in his voice, all I can do is nod my head as he curls exactly where I need him most.

“Fuck Warren,” I whimper, desperate for more of his touch.

“You’re so fucking stunning,” he runs his hand down my back and over my ass, admiring my body while he slips another finger inside of me, I whine in response. It’s strange the kind of affect he has on me; With one touch from his hand, I’m soaked. I’m so pathetically attracted to this man, I’m almost ashamed. He fuels a lust deep inside of me that I never even knew was there. No drug is any match for the way that Warren can make me feel.

“Fuck me, Warren,” I whimper out as his fingers pump into me. “Please, I can’t stand it, I need you Warren, please,” I plead in a way that I’d never imagined I would beg a man.

“Anything for my girl,’’ he coos, pulling his fingers out to lean down and place wet kiss on my lower back, nibbling at the skin, sure to leave a mark.

‘His girl’ the phrase fills my heart with joy.

Soon, I feel Warren slowly pushing into me. His hand reaches up, snaking gently around my throat as he pushes deeper and deeper into my sopping wet cunt. I let out the unholiest of sounds as he stretches me out.

“Fuck,” my voice comes out shaky and desperate as he begins to thrust into me.

“Holy shit, you’re so fucking perfect,” he groans, his grip on my throat tightening as he pounds into me. He slaps my ass, making me gasp loudly. He rubs his hand gently over the stinging skin. “This is mine,” he growls lowly, then he wraps his other hand around my torso, pulling me up to so that my back is flush against his chest as I rest my knees on the bed. This new angle allows him to hit even deeper inside of me, making me see stars. I lean my head back on his shoulder, my eyes rolling back in their sockets. He grabs my face and ducks his head down to pull me into an intense kiss. His tongue explores my mouth as he pounds my pussy into oblivion.

“You’re all mine,” he growls against my lips, his grip tightening on my throat a bit. My knees go so weak that his arms are the only thing holding me up, keeping our sweaty skin pressed together.

“Fuck Warren,” I pant out, barely audible. The rubber band that has been tightly winding in my stomach snaps, sending ecstasy to every cell of my body. My walls convulse around him while he continues to thrust into me mercilessly. “That’s my girl,” he groans lowly in my ear, reaching down to rub my clit to encourage my orgasm. I come completely undone around him, my body begins to shake as I scream out his name, the pleasure almost to much when he reaches his own release. He pumps me full of his cum, fucking it deep into me as I clench around him. His warm seed drips out of my cunt around his cock as he rides out his orgasm, surely leaving bruises underneath every fingertip gripping my neck. He finally slows down, pulling out of me before picking me up with shaky arms to lay me gently on the bed. I lay with my eyes closed trying to catch my breath, a sweaty puddle on the disheveled bed. Warren lays down beside me. “I’m sorry, was that too much?” he asks sincerely, placing a loving hand on my stomach. I open my eyes, turning to look at him.

“Are you kidding,” I giggle weakly. His worried expression quickly matches my own. “Warren that was amazing,” I crawl up to lay on his sweaty chest, his quick heartbeat is comforting as it rings through my ears.

“You can always tell me if I do something you don’t like,” he says honestly as he traces circles on my back, using his other hand to run his fingers through my hair.

“Warren Lipka, you know that you can do no wrong,” I giggle as I snuggle further into him. He laughs lightly, the room is filled with a comfortable silence.

“Hey, how ‘bout we get cleaned up and I take you to that new cafe that opened up in town?” He offers. I sit up to meet his gaze, he has a serious expression on his bruised face.

“What? Like… like a date?” I smile a bit sheepishly. He smiles right back.

“I’d sure like it to be,” he says hopefully. My grin stretches from ear to ear as I stand from the bed, tugging on his arm.

“Well, come on then. I don’t want to go on our first date with your cum dripping down my leg,” I laugh as I pull him into the bathroom.

“Hm, I don’t know. Sounds kinda hot to me,” he chuckles as he closes the bathroom door behind us, pulling me into a deep kiss before he turns the shower head on.

#evan peters #evan peters smut #ahs cult #ahs hotel #jimmy darling smut #kai anderson #kit walker smut #ahs asylum #ahs fandom #ahs murder house #warren lipka smut #warren lipka #kai anderson smut #kit walker x reader #evan peters x reader #peter maximoff smut #peter maximoff #tate langdon smut #tate langdon

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hrwinter · 8 months

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Question: if you were one of the Supergirl writers and had been tasked with explaining how or why Lena didn’t know Kara was Supergirl (given how generally obvious it would be when Lena— the world’s smartest woman— has interacted with both Kara and SG) would you have written something fundamentally different than what the show decided to go with?

i couldn’t sleep this morning, suddenly remembered this ask, and decided i desperately needed to answer it.

so my absolute favorite explanation for this was in "The Love of Forgetting" by KL Morgan. i know it would've been extremely difficult to execute on film, but i would've really liked if the explanation had been that kara used cloaking tech or the "image inducer" and that it slightly changed her face. i thought this was SO smart in the fanfic, and one of the few explanations i could actually buy; that lena doesn't recognize kara because they LITERALLY don't look the same. just both blonde, fit, and beautiful, but not the same faces. it would've been amazing if they'd just used her stunt double, but then you wouldn't have your star actress in the dramatic scenes, so. i get it.

the only other explanation i liked was for superman. i'd think i'd seen a post on here about it, but it was the idea that no one THOUGHT superman had an alter ego. no one imagined that he would pretend to be human in his downtime and hold down a job and have friends. no one was looking for superman in the real world, so no one saw the similarities between he and clark kent. that might get us to lena not recognizing kara, but my god... the evidence was abundant and insurmountable on the show which leads us to fanfic's most popular explanation...

denial. i think this one treads water a bit because we know lena's had a highly traumatic, dysfunctional upbringing. they even show us that her one other friend CANONICALLY GIVEN, andrea, lied to her and betrayed her. she just doesn't want to see it. we also see her, quite regularly, show a form of disappointment with this highly idealized concept of supergirl. she moved to national city for her. does quite a lot to get her attention and impress her. and then still believes that supergirl doesn't trust her, that she can't move past her last name. "never meet your heroes." i think maybe denial might stop her from thinking her only friend in national city and second in her life (maybe third if you cound sam) would be SO duplicitous for four years, even if lena did see all the signs (the most egregious of which to me was Supergirl SAYING HER NAME WAS KARA!) it's just extremely difficult for me to believe that a smart woman like cat grant would figure it out but not lena, so it really leaves the only explanation is emotional for lena, which sort of tracks (but not really.)

we know the show dragged it out for years because it was the most important (and only) emotional element to the show, which to me is a critique of how little they managed to build for kara than anything reasonable about lena being unable to see it. lena "finding out" was always going to be a seasonal arc, but they kept pushing it off while failing to make us care about anything else in the plot. then it's this massive amount of time that's passed but a genius hasn't guessed, but EVERYONE ON THE SHOW INCLUDING CHILDREN, have guessed kara is supergirl. it was never going to make sense. what i would've fundamentally done differently is known how to write a la ali adler in season 1 and given us real conflict, stakes, character development, etc. for kara that didn't weight her conflict with lena SO heavily that it had to be drawn out until the show was literally ending.

#hr's askhole #supercorp #that said i did enjoy the 100th episode #but what a joke that it took 100 episodes for kara to acknowledge what a lying ass the writers made her for that whole time #and melissa and katie acted the shit out of the reveal #it just made NO SENSE to wait that long #i love fics too that have lena be like 'yeah i knew already'#because she would

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hero-israel · 7 months

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There's a lot more like this.

I think we can take some pride in the fact that, even on a steadfastly very very pro-Jewish and pro-Israel site, readers are NOT galloping towards revenge and butchery, they are showing basic humane care for Palestinians. It is much better than you see aimed at Jews from our enemies.

So much of the popular understanding around Gaza has been twisted by propaganda and weasel-words. People can be astounded - or accuse you of lying - if you point out the normalcy, even luxury, in the sectors where the favored and well-connected live, or that the widespread accusations of "starvation" are a pure hoax, that so much of the "humanitarian aid" meant for them are just photo ops. The obviousness of how much the outside world doesn't care about Gaza is matched only by the obviousness of how we are expected to forget the hysteria and moral panics of each successive "report".

When the same people who claimed Gaza was a starving ghetto that would spontaneously Rapture into total emptiness four years ago now make more accusations against Israel's conduct, how are we supposed to believe them?

As a Jew, I cannot respect any notion of "genocide" that is NOT both deliberately aimed at cutting down / destroying a racial / ethnic population and also at least somewhat successful at it. The Palestinian population has never shrunk, has more than quadrupled since 1967, and in Gaza has more than doubled in the last 20 years. If that was like the Holocaust, like Warsaw, where do I sign up? There are people who recommend different definitions of "genocide," but before I take them seriously I would first ask them whether they apply the same term to the Oct. 7 massacre, or if they are purely bullshitting together ad-hoc terminology, like how Amnesty International made up a new definition of "apartheid" that is explicitly not supposed to resemble South Africa at all so any differences between Israel and South Africa are irrelevant neener neener no backsies.

My position is that there is a difference between genocide and killing civilians while bombing military targets. But I also recognize that beyond a certain number of dead civilians, that difference might be moot. I am still very worried that we might see a true cataclysm in Gaza. That that there could be a civilian death toll one or two orders of magnitude greater than any previous round. It never used to be true and I really, really do not want it to actually come true now. As my previous post said, I spent a year hoping the Israeli government would be less a gang of talentless fuckups than they seemed to be, they dashed those hopes, and now they're the same ones supposed to be managing the counterattack. They have to know the risks. It is their job to know and plan around those risks.

David Schraub does a decent job of capturing the "what comes next?" part. There needs to be SOME vision of breaking this cycle. The best scenario I let myself imagine would be that Israeli raids are able to truly wipe out Hamas' command capabilities, weapons, and infrastructure, and Munich-style track down and kill all the perpetrators of Oct. 7. The most respectable and talented leaders in the Palestinian Authority (*crickets*) will have to be physically airlifted into Gaza to assume command, maybe with some plucky UN peacekeepers, then Israel and regional partners (assuming it still has any) work on humanitarian aid and rebuilding so the locals feel like there is some option for a future that doesn't involve suicide belts. I have no hope for live hostage rescue.

#israel #palestine #gaza #jumblr

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literary-illuminati · 4 months

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2024 Book Review #2 – He Who Drowned the World by Shelley Parker-Chan

I’ve had this sitting on my bookshelf since it came out but, as so often happens, having it just laying around meant it faded to the background whenever I was deciding what to read next. Not the worst case of that (there’s a lovely of Cyteen that’s been sitting on my dresser and shaming me for at least a year now), but certainly long enough for me to regret it.

The story is a direct sequel to She Who Became The Sun, a low fantasy retelling of the fall of the Yuan Dynasty and the ascension of Zhu Yuanzhang to the imperial throne – though in this universe the ‘real’ Zhu Yuanzhang died a starving peasant child, and his sister assumed his identity and his destiny of greatness, willing to do anything and everything it takes to force the world into alignment with it. The book starts with her having lost her right hand, and only gets more emphatic about making her prove it from there.

Aside from Zhu, the narration’s split between several different points of view that fill out the struggle for the future of China. The book honestly does a better job with multiple POVs than the vast majority of epic fantasy I’ve read – every one is a thematic mirror of Zhu on one level or another, and every one has an arc dedicated to the book’s twin fascinations of what it means to be willing to do anything to achieve what you want on one hand, and gender nonconformity and queerness in an intensely patriarchal traditional society on the other.

The actual plot of the story is almost episodic – Zhu encounters some new obstacle on her way to victoriously marching to the Mongol capital at Dadu that can’t be defeated with the blunt force she has available, and she and some collection of the supporting cast goes on an insane adventure to snatch victory regardless. Then every so often there’s a cutaway to Wang Baoxiang (who, among all the other POVs, is easily the one that comes closest to deuteragonist status) scheming his way through imperial court politics in Dadu in his incredibly operatic and self-degrading scheme for revenge on his dead brother. The plots start affecting each other quite early, but I’m pretty sure it’s only in the last twenty pages or so that the two of them actually meet face to face (it is in fact a minor plot point that Wang can’t recognize Zhu when he sees her). It all manages to feel like it’s capturing a whole swathe of political intrigue beyond any one person’s understanding and feel fairly well plotted and cohesive as it comes together. Not that there aren’t plenty of points where you have to just run with it and not push back at what the book’s telling you but nowhere where it’s serious or blatant enough to actually be an issue.

I’m not sure it’s a complaint per se, but one thing that did take some adjusting to is just how, melodramatic I suppose? All the POVs in the book feel very profoundly and effusively, and also have absolutely zero awareness or understanding of their own emotions. This is particularly acute with Wang and Madame Zhang, but in every case there’s just a lot of characters being driven by emotions too large to be contained within them. It kind of feels like a musical, in that respect (but absolutely no other, to be clear).

Anyways, this is a book with absolutely massive amounts of Gender in it. With like, literally one exception, every POV is to some great extent defined by struggling against their position in the gender system of medieval China, and all the issues doing so their entire lives has left them with (Zhu is far and away the most healthy and well-adjusted about this.) Importantly, being oppressed and marginalized for being a woman/effeminate man/eunuch is in no way edifying or ennobling – it’s mostly left everyone involved deeply damaged and full of coping mechanisms that serve them poorly and everyone around them far worse. There’s basically no mention of even the idea of solidarity among the oppressed here – Madame Zhang tortures, mutilates and kills her own maids and her husbands’ consorts whenever necessary, Wang operatic revenge plot involves befriending and seducing a queer prince knowing it will get him killed in the end, Ouyang hates how effeminate his body is and deals with this by becoming a pathological misogynist – even Zhu doesn’t spare much to think about the cause of woman’s liberation beyond herself and her wife.Given the state of a lot of modern genre lit I honestly found this rather refreshing.

As both cause and consequence of the choice of POVs, the book has a rather interesting relationship with normative masculinity. There’s, as far as I can tell, exactly two examples of successful heroic/virtuous normative masculinity in the book – General Zhang and the Grand Councillor of the Yuan – and despite both being really incredibly competent and fearsome on the battlefield and legitimately selfless and honorable, both end up condemned as traitors to their respective lieges (both indolent, vicious, and generally contemptible men without anything in the way of redeeming features, themselves) and dying unpleasantly after being outmanoeuvred in court intrigue. Victory in the end goes not to those who are cherished by their society but the ones who are overlooked and brutalized by it but are willing and able to do whatever it takes and use anything and everything they can to claw their way to the top despite it.

Speaking of – the overriding throughline of the story is what it means to be willing to do anything to achieve your life’s ambition. Being willing to endure pain and suffering goes without saying, and while the book does put its leads through the physical ringer, that’s not really what it’s interested in. Are you willing to spend the lives of those who trust and rely upon you? Sacrifice those you love, or ask them to die for you? Betray those who have only ever shown you kindness? Are you willing to degrade and humiliate yourself, or lie and betray your own hard-won and precarious identity? And once you’ve done all that, and finally achieved your heart’s desire – well, are you really sure it was all worth it? Three cases out of four in the book, at least, ended up regretting it in the end.

This is a book that’s very concerned with sex and sexuality but, like, very nearly exclusively in offputting or unpleasant ways. There’s something like a dozen sex scenes (okay, ‘scenes with sex in them’ is probably the less misleading description. If you come looking for porn you’ll be disappointed) in the book and of them I believe exactly one that you could characterize as enthusiastically consensual and mutually enjoyable. Maybe three, if you count the incredibly toxic relationship which boils down to asking for help dong self-harm and it turns into a sadomasochist thing. Which never becomes/is never understood as sexual by the people engaging in it but describing it is definitely the closest the book gets to erotica. In any event, just somewhat surprising to see so much sex paired with so little romance, relative to most modern stuff I’ve read. Ties into how alienated literally everyone is from their bodies, I suppose.

Also I really don’t know enough about the historical memory of the early Ming dynasty to know whether all the stuff about how Zhu knows what it’s like to be nothing and how she’ll reorder the world to care for everyone is supposed to read as really darkly ironic or not.

#he who drowned the world #shelley parker chan #lesbian space atrocities #sff #tht #map fantasy #book review

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fatepierson · 3 months

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Hey there! Thanks for following my page.

You can call me, Fate, 29 (he/they).

My life as a gay queer black man has been defined by overthinking and self-limiting my desires, ambitions, & opinions. At the tail end of 2023, I made the pledge to actualize my most authentic self before my 30th birthday. That means fully embracing my sexuality and my gainer identity.

I’ve known I was into fatter men and bigger bellies since I was a kid. From drawing crayon sketches of Santa Clause to scouring the internet in the mid 2000’s for any type of belly related media, I’ve always been enamored with larger bodies and the confidence that it takes to stomp through the world and unapologetically take up space.

During the summer of 2020, I acknowledged my gainer identity for the first time and went from an extremely fit 145lbs to 237lbs in less than a year. The following summer I learned the difference between “acknowledgement” and “acceptance” as I panic dropped the weight, going from 237lbs down to 198lbs.

I’ve gained, lost, regained, gotten wildly ill, lost again and repeat. All the while barely learning anything about the ‘whys’ behind my impulses or who I wanted to be at the “end of my weight gain goals”.

I worked a shit job with a long commute, I was struggling to successfully manage my finances & personal relationships, and none of my creative projects had any momentum. I felt aimless, empty and turned to gaining as the only aspect of my life I could control. The pressure I was placing on weight negatively impacted my physical and mental health and pushed me further towards a place of anxiety and depression.

Last fall I got a new job closer to home with higher pay and I was finally able to start mapping out what I wanted my life to look like, something I hadn’t been able to do since graduating college. I was able to recognize the toxic relationship I had with gaining and started fasting. I wasn’t fasting to lose weight, but rather to explore the avenues of my life outside of gaining. In three months, I feel like I’ve become a completely different person. My creative projects have direction, my personal relationships are healthier and my work-life balance has never been better.

Which brings us to now: Losing weight through fasting allowed me to finally understand what about being fat makes me so happy.

I love taking up space. I love being soft and round. I love having supple love handles that give to the slightest pressure. I love talking about being fat and writing about why it makes me happy. Being fat brings me happiness. But I want to support a healthy lifestyle as much as possible; I want to be strong and capable, and find balance in the girth and strength.

In 2024 I vowed to become my most authentic self. Sharing my journey, my thoughts and my progress is honoring my authentic gainer identity.

So thank you, reader for taking the time to read through this. For my 30th birthday I’m going to become the most realized version of myself, and I’m grateful to be able to share this journey with you.

If you’d like to explore my journey further, here’s my linktree: https://linktr.ee/fatepierson

#Fatesramblings #gay gainer

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wildfernflower · 1 year

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Who are Sam and Cait in Hollywood-c list-to have the narrative that lasts 8 years !!

Marilyn Monroe married a playwright Arthur Miller !

Why doesn't Caitriona Balfe marry a musician Tony McGill ?!

Anon, sorry for late reply. I see you’re making rounds. I’ve recognized you, you sent an ask to @sleepwakerepeat3 just yesterday absurdly suggesting there’s a parallel between the marriage of M. Monroe and A. Miller, and that of Cait and T. I have read that post:

and it has motivated me to finally reply to your ask, although I’m quite busy.

I’ll express my opinion about T’s occupation. To begin with, he’s not a musician, his official job is music producer. This information appears repeatedly in all media and press, is being rewritten by the journalists from old articles to the new ones, yet no source exists that provides current or even old but reliable data about his job. That’s the first red flag – why literally no single solid information about his job can be found anywhere? As a supposed music producer, he is totally anonymous. A person working in the music/entertainment industry these days is expected to have a professional website and/or IG account and a public, well documented and officially available career pathway: education background (list of schools/high schools they graduated from), list of their skills, and work experience including professional achievements, projects they have successfully managed, list of musicians/bands they worked with, etc. A music producer strives to be known and recognizable in the industry, wants to be perceived as a professional and makes his/her qualifications and achievements public in order to gain the trust of future clients and develop his/her career. None of the above is known about T. Just have a look at his Linkedin account:

It's empty, it doesn’t mention even he’s managing The Fratellis. The website of his company Numb Music doesn't exist.

Let’s compare the content of T's account to that of Nigel Brown, tour manager of The Fratellis:

The difference is striking, isn’t it? You can clearly see by yourself, these public records don’t lie.

Doesn’t it look suspicious to you, Anon? Is that really what one should expect from the professional music producer and his career nowadays? No single word about his education, skills, projects, cooperations, accomplishments. No website, no IG account. Would you like to cooperate with a man with the unknown skills and experience, and entrust him managing your band or coordinating your music career? Me personally would consider him a scammer if I were a musician and saw his account.

Does T hide his skills and achievement? That would be unreasonable and simply harmful for his career. Or perhaps he doesn’t have any?

One can speculate what T’s truly doing for a living (and you surely know what these speculations are about if you have come here) but I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts he’s not and never has been a music producer and doesn’t have any real job or own career. Music producer is a feigned occupation that has been invented for the fans and media/journalists in case they ask and have to include the respective data in the articles. If something is repeated and passed on many times, it becomes true, because no one bothers to verify its authenticity; that’s what the people who created the myth of T being a music producer counted on, and they’ve achieved their goal. Of course there must be very specific purpose(s) why this fictional occupation has been pushed so hard. Don’t you think it’s a cover to divert from what T is really doing?

In the post I’m referring to in the beginning, blogger @mariaae compiled a list of A. Miller's achievements. He was famous already during his lifetime, was a recognized playwright, an intellectual. He surely could impress and attract women. I guess, Marylin considered his personality interesting and challenging.

Ask yourself Anon, do you see any parallels between A. Miller and T, or between the two said relationships?

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hazel-of-sodor · 8 months

Text

Day 4-Return and Regrets

Traintober 2023

Other Chapters

Day 4-Devious

Return and Regrets

Diesel had been aware the engines of Sodor would not welcome his return. He had turned them against one of their own and no matter how strongly he had felt it justice at the time, Sodor engines will always stick together in the end. So he had been less than pleased when management had informed him he would be returning. Nonetheless, for all his other faults, Diesel would always attempt the work given him, an honest attempt at that.

Perhaps that was why he hadn't been scrapped along with the first wave of his classmates...or perhaps it had nothing to do with him at all.

He knew from hushed conversations from the workers in the yard that British Rail had told the NWR he was the only engine they could spare, despite the fact they were efficiently scrapping so many of his contemporaries. The men believed he was the one sent to punish the rebellious North Western, to cause trouble with his mere presence...he couldn't disagree. It would not surprise Diesel in the slightest if he had only been kept around for such a purpose.

The past few weeks had been...trying. He had been wheeshed, bumped, and whistled awake at every opportunity...all accidentally at that. Surprisingly the Great Western Pannier 'Montague' was the kindest, in that he ignored him, only speaking curtly to him when required by their jobs.

He...was tiring. The days without sleep were getting to him, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he snapped and was sent away. He knew that he would not be returning to a shed, but a scrapyard. He wasn't sure how he felt about his fate, to be honest. For all he had been told he would be revolutionary, his life had been...dull, insignificant,... And one of solitude. The closest he'd come to friends was his first visit to the island before he had unknowingly thrown it away. There was very little he would not have given to have postponed his trip to the island, to have arrived when he was old enough to have realized the difference between the cutthroat politics of the BR Diesels and the ultimately harmless pranks by steam engines.

His musings were interrupted by the sound of approaching steam engines. He plastered on a smile, even as his teeth grit against each other. Was he to be given no rest?

No.3 Henry reversed back onto the siding to his right, blasting him with steam as he passed, while Montague pulled to his left.

Before he could ask what the two needed a third engine arrived.

He had never met the engine that pulled in front of him before, but that did not prevent him from recognizing the blue engine. Even without the gold number ones lined in red on his tanks, Thomas the tank engine rivaled the likes of engines such as Flying Scotsman for fame and popularity.

The world's most famous tank engine surveyed Diesel for a long moment. "Hello Diesel, that is what you prefer to be called, correct?"

"Yes, my dear Thomas, it is a pleasu..."

"Stow it!" Henry barked, "We have no patience fo..."

"Henry," Thomas said firmly.

The black five glared at Thomas, "No. Thomas, I will not be quiet about this! I am not James, I realize not all diesels are like the stories from the mainland but this one is!"

That...was surprisingly hurtful. While he had certainly maligned Henry, he had never had anyone sent for scrap like some other engines had.

"You weren't there." Henry continued, "You don't know what he's like. He's manipulative, deceitful, despicable! Hes..."

"...been perfectly well mannered the entire time." Montague interrupted quietly.

"That we've seen," Henry said.

Montague rolled his eyes, "He hasn't so much as moved an axle without one of us watching him. If he had any schemes, we would know about it."

"You know what he did last time." Henry fumed.

The great western glared at the tender engine, "Perfectly well as I was the one it was done to."

Oh. Diesel had thought that long patched up, no wonder he was still so reviled if the subject was so painful.

The black 5 had the grace to look abashed. "Indeed."

Thomas spoke up, "I was not there the first time. My overhaul finished mere days before Duck's repairs, but I do know you all massively misjudged Diesel's character at the time."

"Which we cannot allow to happen again!" Henry interrupted.

The tank engine frowned at the massive green locomotive, "and what makes you think your view of him is any more accurate this time?"

Montague chuckled while Henry huffed.

Thomas sighed, "No matter, it has become clear even from my branchline this isn't working. While Diesel is doing an admirable job as a shunter, his presence is distracting all of you from your work."

Thomas looked towards Diesel again, "With the Fat Controller's permission, I'd like to offer you the chance to work on my branchline."

"You must be joking!" Henry swore.

Thomas looked irritably at him, "It is either that or send him back to the mainland where he'll be scrapped.."

"Then let him!"

Thomas's eyes flashed with anger, shining a burning gold. "You overstep by far." He said coldly.

Henry winced, "That I did. I'm sorry Caomhnóir, and more importantly, I'm sorry Diesel. That remark was out of line. No engine deserves the scrapyard."

Diesel hesitantly answered, "It is fine. I likely deserved worse than that."

Henry sighed and shook his head, "No, you didn't. No matter what, you're a fellow engine. Unless you've been getting other engines scrapped, I have no right to say such things."

Diesel shifted uncomfortably, "I can honestly say I have not. In any case, it is no worse than anything my siblings have said."

Somehow the large engine only looked more guilty upon hearing that.

"As I was saying before, "The Toryreck quarry is sending their shunter to take over pilot duties here," Thomas said, "if you agree, you'll be taking over their duties on my line. You will be shunting the quarry's trucks and running them down to the junction. Sometimes when we are busy you will take them to Knapford Harbor. Do you accept?"

A second chance on Sodor? On a line where no one knew him?

"Please."

#ttte fanfic #rws fanfic #fanfic #Ptompt-Devious #ttte thomas #ttte duck #ttte henry #ttte diesel #Traintober #Traintober23 #Traintober 2023

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lok-repository · 5 months

Text

The Avatar Wiki newsletter has published the final portion of their earlier Q & A last year with Janet Varney, Korra's VA .

Questions after the cut.

What is your favorite Korra battle scene and the change that it brought to the world? Oh you know I can never pick just one favorite! But if I have to pick one for now, I think for sheer intensity, I might have to pick the big Zaheer scene, which I’m not even really thinking about the world impact more than even just the impact on Korra and where it takes us all… the journey afterwards… the PTS… Toph… clarifying her feelings for Asami…

If you weren't Korra’s VA, which character(s) in the show would you want to voice instead? It’s funny, it’s like even though we all know you aren’t asking me to take someone else’s job, the knee-jerk response is to be like “Nooooo! I couldn’t replace anyone! I love everyone too much!” But in a multiverse where we’re all just… maybe swapping roles? I might grab Bolin or Varrick!

Who would you pick as Korra’s VA if it wasn’t you? Thank goodness this would never be up to me in real life- I could never choose between all of the phenomenal VAs out there! That said, I’m kind of obsessed with all the ladies on one of my all-time favorite shows, “Reservation Dogs…”

What is something you have come to appreciate more about the original series while rewatching it for the podcast? Great question! Just when you thought you couldn’t appreciate something more… you watch it one more time, and every “one more time” you love it even more. I think an easy answer would be how much Dante and I appreciate “The Great Divide.” Especially after a recent conversation we had with a certain author about a certain history in that episode that may have influenced a certain book or two…

How are you feeling about talking about Korra on Braving the Elements? Does it feel different than talking about ATLA? Honestly? So far, it doesn’t feel like it will be that different, because anytime I watch Korra, I get so immersed in the story, I basically forget I was in it. But how much Dante might get to tease me about little things like I tease him about Zuko? Now THAT could change things. LOL!

What is the process of planning and recording episodes like? It’s pretty involved, tbh! For a recap ep, I rewatch the episode in question at least three times. You know I like to see what Avatar Wiki has to say! I consult the art book and all the dvd commentary (luckily Nickelodeon made all the commentary/bts stuff available to me, which is great!). I think about the themes of the episode and what kind of guest would be really fun and why. And writing the outline really cements the episode for me in new and interesting ways. And then Dante and our guests STILL manage to blow my mind with their own insights!

Did you know about the spiritual arc that Korra was going to have in Season 4, or when and how did you learn about her bisexuality during production? I knew some broad strokes, but Bryke/the whole amazing team did a good job of keeping us in the moment, episode-by-episode. I can’t remember exactly when Bryke told Seychelle and me about Korrasami, but it was definitely one of the things we knew before it actually happened. And we were both so, so happy!

How do you think Korra grew from her relationship with Mako and the lessons she learned that contributed to a healthy relationship with Asami? Good old Mako. This was a relationship I recognized so well from my own teenage years, and my friends.’ So combine that it was in some ways a very classic teenage relationship with the Avatar circumstances on top of that, and it’s kind of hard to see how it would succeed. But at the same time— who’s to say what “succeeding” or “success” means? What if that relationship was a complete success in that it lasted exactly as long as it was supposed to, and helped Korra and Mako both see what they would really be looking for in a relationship going forward? Plus, it was a success in that she and Mako were ultimately able to love and support each other as dear friends, and that’s a beautiful outcome.

Do you miss and enjoy voicing Korra for as long as you have? Here’s the thing- I don’t know what my answer would be if I *didn’t* get to keep talking about both series (and all the other media in the Avatarverse!) at conventions with fellow fans and with Dante and everyone on the podcast. But because I get to live in the Avatarverse through those things, I honestly haven’t thought about “missing” doing the actual show. Please, everyone, just let me keep nerding out on Avatar forever, and I’ll be happy! ;)

#interview #lok #legend of korra #tlok #the legend of korra

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fionajames · 6 months

Note

Hey!!! How’s the concussion? Hope it’s almost healed. How are you since the last time I’ve asked?

Requesting time: may I pretty please with a cherry on top have a story about an AU where the wars over and all our fav clones have been recognized as citizens and all have their dream jobs (what do you think they would be) please?

If that’s too hard, may I substitute it with a little story about Xi (I believe that’s his name?) the clone who got sick from one of my other requests and has a little crush on General Skywalker?

Thank you so much, hope you’re well, have a great day! -Sha 🫡

HI SHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <3

I MIGHT DO UR SECOND IDEA LATER, BUT RN IM DEAD

ok so guys, originally i was also gonna do headcanons for all my clone ocs and i wrote a few but gave up cause its been hours.

also, yes, normal dogs and cats and their various breeds exist in this.

have some headcanons:

(writing below the cut)

Overall

The Clones get like, idk imma just say money but basically they get a bunch of money to make up for not getting paid but especially to make sure they’re not gonna end up homeless.

Most Clones live in groups as it feels unnatural for them not too. (i feel like im doing a david attenborough documentary rn, read: ‘most clones live in groups’ in david’s voice, go check him out if you dunno him)

The Clones are then all ‘employed’ by the GAR (they’re not rlly given a chance, as the senate wouldnt fully permit them to just become civvies, padme, chuchi and bail as well as some others managed to negotiate this, which was the best why could do). This means they can have other jobs and are only called upon if there is a problem that requires them. Sorta like how the Jedi were before that, but different.

Most Clones move to planet Nay-Mets (an anagram of amnesty, i think this is funny because the definition of amnesty is ‘an official pardon for people who have been convicted of political offences’ which is kinda what the anti-clone people would think about them, so its like the clones r saying ‘we dont care what you think’ and owning it) - which I have made up. Nay-Mets is a planet of earthy terrain, with lakes and rivers running through it. Its beautiful, and had a sparse and small population until the clones arrived. The clones are careful with what they do to the land and care for it dearly. The Non-Clone civvies are very welcoming and help the Clones build homes and other things. They moved into a town that had been uninhabited for a year or so for no real reason. Only a month after the end of the war, Nay-Mets is busy and buzzing, with Clones and Non-Clones.

Bail Organa has become Chancellor and is pushing everything for Clone rights. Between him, Chuchi and Padme - plus some other senators - they’ve gotten good and better rights for the Clones.

Anakin lives with Padme on Naboo. When the war ended, he ended up telling Obi-Wan about his marriage who happily informed him the Council was changing the code to allow such things.

Anakin is off-world when Luke and Leia are born, but feels it through the Force. He rushes home (Obi-Wan orders him to, claiming he can finish the battle by himself) and cries upon meeting his children.

Obi-Wan visits Naboo before returning to Coruscant and immediately feels the tug towards Luke, who’s Force is a blanket of warmth and sunlight. Ahsoka comes as soon as Anakin comms her (which is pretty quickly, and rather excitedly) and upon meeting Leia, she can’t help but hear the raindrops and feel the moonlight she emits to her. Luke has a special bond with Obi-Wan, just as Leia has a bond with Ahsoka.

Even though Palpatine is dead, the events of the other seasons take place, but slightly differently. The battles that do take place (no way im specifying, i dont have the patience for that) are run by Dooku. He’s keeping the war going, but without Palpatine, it’s hard. He’s captured by Anakin, then Grievous is killed by Obi-Wan. Dooku goes to jail.

Ahsoka still gets the message from Bo-Katan and frees Mandalore. She captures Maul who is taken to trial and he is the reason that the trial against Fox finally proved him not-guilty (well, guilty but fairly).

Order 66 never happens (no shit) and the Kaminoans are ordered to de-chip every single Clone. They are taken to jail immediately afterwards. Some Clones remain on Kamino to raise the youngers, and Shaak Ti ends up taking control of the whole place.

During this time period, after the Kaminoans were arrested, the Bad Batch stumble upon a certain blonde girl hiding in a lab. Hunter - seeing no reason not to - immediately ‘adopts’ her.

Some cadets and baby Clones leave Kamino, but these are only ones who have an older Clone who has managed to snag legal custody over them. These guys aren’t very common, as they didn’t have much exposure to older Clones, but it’s not so bad.

Shaak Ti begins to make the Clones’ training intertwined with schooling, and also give them excursions off-planet. The young Clones no longer hate Kamino like so many of their elders did.

Alongside the de-chipping process, Clones are all given a vaccine that returns their ageing to normal, meaning they get to live normal, long lives.

Oh and Ahsoka is paid for helping Mandalore, so she’s no longer broke.

Rex

As soon as the war is over, Rex goes and visits Cut.

He isn’t really sure what to do at first, as he’s put his heart and soul into the GAR, and now he doesn’t have to.

He follows Ahsoka around like a lost puppy because she’s got more experience with civilian life, and frankly, he’s missed his sister. He does help Fives whilst he’s recovering from his trauma and as a result, it's Fives and Rex bunking at Ahsoka’s place for a bit (she pretends to be annoyed but she really isn’t).

Eventually she convinces him to take Fives and Jesse (who’s been crashing on her couch and making ramen at 3am for a few weeks) and go get a house. This is because the Clones are given… like, money, because they didn’t get paid during the war.

So Rex, Jesse and Fives get a place next door to the Bad Batch (including Echo and Omega) and end up knocking down the fence separating the two houses and building a hallway between them so it’s like one big, slightly separated house.

Rex slowly begins to relax as a civilian, but still is a bit too rigid. He’s the third person to meet Luke and Leia (aside from Anakin and Padme, ofc) - first being Obi-Wan and second Ahsoka. He’s utterly honoured but immediately uneasy, as he hasn’t had much exposure to children.

But Luke, with his mighty force connection, sees Rex and is instantly puppy-eyed, and won’t stop crying until his uncle holds him. This boosts Rex’s confidence a lot, and he finds himself visiting a lot.

Rex wears mostly hoodies and baggy/cargo pants. The first time he put a hoodie on, he did that thing where you pull it over your knees and curl up. He didn’t move for hours. Ahsoka went out the next day and put him a ton, mostly blue ofc.

His favourite hoodie is the custom one Fives got for him (although he’ll never admit it aloud). It’s blue and white - the 501st’s colours, ofc - with his jaig eyes on the front. On the back is his CT number, but with a line through it and below, his name. Fives says he wants everyone to know that they’re not numbers, they’re people. Rex cried when he heard.

Rex doesn’t get a job at first, and instead helps Fives, Jesse and Echo out in their cafe when needed. Eventually, he turns his farming hobby (something he’d picked up to use his time) into profit and attends the farmers’ market to sell products.

Echo

Echo didn’t really know when the war ended, until the Bad Batch came and rescued him.

Even after being sweetly reunited by Fives, he struggles mentally and physically, unused to being a cyborg.

He finds himself staying with the Bad Batch the most, because of his newly found troubles. When it comes to house-arrangements, he has a talk with Fives, and they agree to live separately, but everyone knows you can often find them in the other’s house anyways.

He ends up running a cafe with Jesse and Fives that becomes popular very quickly. His favourite thing to have is a hot chocolate with a choc-chip cookie, which he often does whilst reading a book at the counter.

Speaking of books, Echo is finally exposed to books, like, fictional books. Although others were shocked, Echo prefers fiction over non-fiction, as he likes the made-up stuff. He wishes desperately he had it growing up and with that thought, he and Shaak Ti teamed up to get the cadets and baby Clones on Kamino books.

Echo cries when he gets his custom hoodie. It’s like the rest of the Bad Batch’s with the grey, black, red and white pattern and ofc his crossed out CT number and name on the back, but there’s also a blue hand print where it was on his armour.

He wears his hoodie everywhere, much like Rex.

Other than his hoodie, Echo mostly wears baggy long-sleeved stuff in an attempt to cover his robotic screwdriver-thing hand. Anakin offered to get someone to remove it and replace it with a prosthetic hand like his own but Echo denied it. He's proud of it, but a little self-conscious.

Echo’s a lil more shy than he was before, but still his sarcastic goofy self. He buys a bike (bicycle) when he arrives on Nay Mets, and rides it everywhere. Its not uncommon to see him riding his bike through the hills at 6am.

Fives

Because of the whole ‘Tup’ incident, Fives’ mental health has deteriorated drastically. Rex is his biggest help, alongside Echo and as well as Jesse and Ahsoka.

Because of this, he goes with Rex when he moves into Ahsoka’s apartment temporarily. They basically get two mattresses and chuck them in an empty room, sleeping on the floor (on the mattresses tho) with blankets, but its so much comfier than their bunks.

Fives starts becoming his usual self a bit quicker than expected, especially when he arrives on Nay Mets.

He ofc runs the cafe with Jesse and Echo, and is the main drink maker. He makes the best milkshakes.

After a bit, Fives ends up assembling a group of Jedi and Clones to help him get hoodies for almost all the Clones. It takes a few months but with him learning to sew, dozens of others doing the same and various people across the galaxy being paid to make them, the hoodies are distributed everywhere.

He designs his last, and its pretty simple with the blue and white markings and his crossed out CT number and name.

Like most Clones, he prefers comfy and baggy clothes, wearing mostly hoodies and baggy pants. He develops a love for beanies.

Fives takes up electric guitar as his hobby, and thoroughly enjoys it.

When he first meets Padme, she hugs him and comforts him without a second’s hesitation. He cracks immediately and cries. She spends the entire day calming him and comforting him, and she’s self-employed herself as his unpaid therapist.

He returns to Naboo to visit Padme regularly, and his General, ofc.

To everyones’ delight, when Leia is toddlerish age and her rebellious side is evident, Fives becomes more like himself as he assists her in getting into trouble.

Anakin and Padme don’t mind having to clean off the noticeably washable marker from the walls when Fives starts laughing again. They’re grateful he’s getting better, and that he chooses to use materials easy to clean up.

Jesse

Jesse spends the first few weeks of his civvie life going absolutely nuts in trying to experience stuff.

He quickly realises that he has no home and ends up crashing on Ahsoka’s couch. She pretends to get annoyed at him when he constantly gets up at unholy hours to make ramen but she frankly is glad he’s doing well.

He’s the one to organise a house for him, Rex and Fives on Nay Mets.

He ofc runs the cafe with Echo and Fives, and he’s the cooking expert. He’s well known in the town for his delicious foods and alongside Fives’ excellent drinks, its what gets the cafe popular quickly.

His hoodie is the same as Fives’, but with his number and name, ofc.

It’s only been six weeks since the War ended when Jesse arrives home with a sheepish grin and a box that moves. He giddily reveals a black and blue merle mudi dog (such a cute breed, go google it, you wont regret) that he names Tundra. Tundra is rather quiet for his breed (never had this breed but during researching, it says the bark a lot, sorry if thats not true) but filled with energy and affection.

Jesse and Tundra are rarely separated. When Jesse has work, he brings Tundra. He either sleeps on the floor whilst watching or will go out to the fenced-in area through the dog door they installed in the cafe.

Jesse adapts rather quickly to civvie life and really enjoys it.

Kix

Kix has pretty mixed-feelings post-war.

He loves being a civvie but can’t help but find himself up late at night, waiting to attend to a wound of sorts.

At first, Kix is really anxious and uncomfortable with being aware from the battlefield. Jesse tries to get through to him but ultimately fails, as Kix needs alone time.

Anakin sees his medic in distress and tells Padme. She immediately agrees to let Kix live with them on Naboo until he can regain his footing, no matter how long that takes.

Kix spends his almost-three months on Naboo recollecting himself and then turns to Jesse, who immediately agrees to let him move in with him, Fives and Rex.

Kix ends up taking a job at the hospital, and instantly finds himself better footing. Its much easier for him after he takes up the job.

His hoodie is the usual but with his red medic symbol on the shoulder. He wears it as much as possibly, and thanks Fives almost daily for the gift.

When they were de-chipping, after he got his removed, Kix worked tirelessly to remove the other Clones’ chips. He was thrown a ‘thank you’ party afterwards by all the Clones he helped.

Cody

Cody’s immediate reaction is relief.

He’s just grateful the war is over.

The first few weeks he spends living with Obi-Wan (idc if you see this as a ship or platonic, basically the embodiment of the ‘and they were roommates vine’ tbh) as he doesn’t really have any where else to go.

Eventually, he moves to Nay Mets like many others, and takes Meerrt and Vick with him. They have a room for Obi-Wan which is used a lot more than expected, but they love having their Jedi over.

Cody’s hoodie is the usual, in yellow of course.

He spends most of his first few months reading and experiencing life as a civilian (alongside making the best cinnamon scrolls you’ll ever taste) but eventually gets a job at a kindergarten, of all the places.

Unexpectedly, Cody works really well with kids, and it really shows. He becomes an idol to a lot of little kids on Nay Mets.

Upon meeting Luke and Leia, he takes up a job as unofficial babysitter when Padme and Anakin need a break.

Cody wears mostly sweaters and cargo pants - like so many other Clones - and a golden bracelet with a sun charm attached. He doesn’t take it off.

He also starts learning violin, and really enjoys that too.

He’s one of the first to get de-chipped, and waits until his battalion have also been de-chipped to even leave Kamino. This is mostly because Obi-Wan got annoyed when he found out Cody wasn’t sleeping out of worry.

Wolffe

Wolffe’s immediate reaction was also relief, but in a sarcastic way. Like, ‘oh we’re finally done?!’ But deep down, he is super glad.

He stays with Plo and several others from his battalion before finding a place on Nay Mets with them. Plo lives more on Nay Mets than Coruscant, just like many other Jedi do too.

When he gets his hoodie - the usual but in grey with a small wolf symbol on the front - he breaks and grins, giving Fives a huge hug. But he then blackmails him into not telling anyone he did.

Wolffe wears his hoodie everywhere, rarely takes it off. He likes the ‘not a number’ statement that comes with it.

He also wears like thick, fluffy winter coats and cargo pants a lot, with the occasional bad-ass leather jacket.

He attempts to get a job somewhere, but can’t really find one that works, so he stays unemployed.

After a little while, Wolffe adopts a grey, male tamaskan dog (also beautiful, check it out, they look like wolves) he names Fang. Everyone thinks its hysterical he got a dog that looks like wolf.

Wolffe and Fang are also inseparable.

Wolffe finds himself enjoying hiking and does it almost daily, with Fang joining him. He finds it peaceful and enjoyable.

Fox

Fox is ofc the one who basically ended the war, or at least he majorly turned the tables.

He’s so relieved when its finally over.

He’s one of the first Clones to move to Nay Mets, and ofc Dhole, Vector, Menace, Dice and Bloodshot tag along. They live in one great big house.

Almost immediately, Fox impulsively adopts a ginger tabby she-cat he names Pumpkin. She’s a beautiful, silly cat and Fox has zero regrets in getting her.

He lets her be a very free cat as he feels bad for being any other way.

His hoodie is red and white with the usual and a fox symbol on the front. He loves sweaters.

He wasn’t really looking for a job at first, and eventually decided to stay unemployed.

Fox picks up piano as a way to calm himself, and grows to become a great pianist. He practises practically all day with Pumpkin sitting on his lap.

He regularly goes for long walks and takes Pumpkin, cause she’s that kinda cat.

Once there was an incident in town when a guy lost it and started shooting or smth and Fox just calmly tackled him (that's an oxymoron lol) and got someone to arrest him. He was really quiet afterwards.

When he got his chip removed, Fox became a lot more quiet for a little. This was because he could finally hear properly. When he had the chip, he always heard a little voice in his head, something he now knew was Palpatine.

OK IM DONE

MIGHT POST PT 2 LATER (A FEW DAYS)

PLEASE REQUEST THINGS PEOPLE, CHECK THE PINNED POST ON MY BLOG FOR INFO.

REQUEST ONE SHOTS OF THIS AU

REQUEST

PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

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art-blogge · 6 months

Text

Dante P1, Dante P2, Dante Red Coat, Dante Blue Coat

["It's impossible! I quit!"] shouted one of the Managers, throwing their hands up in frustration. Behind them, the other Manager suppressed laughter.

<"It's not that bad, P2!"> giggled the red Dante, not at all helping.

["It's awful!"] the blue Dante honked, nearly throwing the entire laptop as they swung around to face the other. ["It makes me want to give up and never look back!"]

<"You say that, but you'll be back next week.">

["Ugh."]

This was a normal debate between the two Managers and the Sinners were used to it. Sometimes the positions swapped, but the stream of complaints were normal.

Not even Faust was sure why there were two of them. There was only meant to be one Dante. One red, one blue, both with their own preferences, tactics, and "voices". Who they listened to, who they spoke to, who they preferred, who bullied them- It was different between them both. Only one person was capable of controlling them both at once.

"Will you two keep it down?"

<"Sorry Vergie!"> P1 ticked, bowing their head to the Color Fixer while definitely not hiding a heating up faceplate.

["Hehe, Vergil talked to us.."] P2 quietly tocked before they both fist-bumped. Disasters, the both of them. Vergil, for what it was worth, understood none of this and left before his being there could be more of a distraction. If he Knew or not was beyond the Sinners, not that P1 or P2 had ever been subtle.

--------

<"BULLSHIT!"> P1 blared as P2 directed their own fight against pallid LCCB Agents. P2 waited until Twinhooks Gregor had finished off their last enemy to check on their twin, and it was a good thing they did. Most of P1's team had been massacred by a rampaging N-Sinclair because his Sanity had dropped just a tiny bit too much.

<"Let me borrow Gregor!!">

Twinhooks Gregor, for what it was worth, didn't need to be requested and gladly crossed into P1's fight to finish the job.

["I'm grounding you until you consider your actions!"] P2 irritably tick-tocked at Sinclair, even after he dropped out of the Identity.

<"Leave Sinclair alone!"> P1 blared back, stomping on the ground, <"He doesn't control how clashes go!">

["It's not that! It's him souping all over the place!"] P2 car-honked, holding up some of their very-soup-covered jacket, ["It's not my fault Nclair is a loser!!"]

<"Sorry, Sinclair,"> P1 apologized, hugging Sinclair despite their also-soup-covered coat, <"It was my fault your Sanity got so low. We'll try a different ID tomorrow.">

Sinclair thankfully knew neither of them blamed him for this and was only marginally bothered by the aforementioned Souping Everywhere.

<"Anyway last one to the bus has to revive everyone!!!"> P1 suddenly dinged before taking off like a shot, completely ditching P2 and the mostly-dead Sinners. The only thing stopping them from dumping their entire job on P2 was the annoyed Vergilius grabbing them by the collar as they attempted to pass. P1 recognized defeat instantly and slumped in his grip.

Reviving the Sinners was a Both-Managers effort and neither was ever spared from the pain.

--------

<"I know you love Hong Lu, so look at this!"> P1 announced after returning from a dungeon. They handed P2- Who had been playing a game by themselves until this point- A battle damage calculation they'd printed out just to show off. In the top three? Hook Hong Lu, having done 6068 damage, landing him in the top three for Damage. Beating him were Reindeer Ishmael with 7713 and Spice Yi Sang with 7869.

["STRONG!"] was P2's entire reply, seemingly stunned by one of their favs being that valuable.

<"He is so fucking good,"> P1 agreed, wiping who-knew-what off of their coat.

<"Anyway, have fun with that dungeon. I'll help you from here, but I'm not going in there again. It should be easier for you than it was for me. I hope you like reading.">

Before P1 could vanish into the Corridors, P2 yelled back ["I hate reading! I shouldn't have to read a novel!"]

<"Sucks, dude!,"> P1 chimed, <"Get positively fucked! If I could do it so can you! I hope you like Faust's EGOs!">

P2 proceeded to put off dealing with their own dungeon run by doing literally anything else. P1 would have sighed if they could, but they understood it. Of course they did. They were both Dante(s) scared of difficult combat.

--------

<"This sucks major ass!"> P1 radio'd over to P2, ten seconds from quitting a Railway exploration. <"How are you doing that? I'm giving up on Cycle 3. Turn counts aren't real.">

["If I get the Sinner order right and Spice Yi Sang has his blue, I can three turn this fight. I just need to get the Poise right after and the right set of effects on turn one."]

As far as P1 cared, P2 was speaking in Enchantment Table or Latin or Faustese or Bullshit. They understood all of it on it's own, but together? Incoherent.

P2 was attempting to get a "record" run of the Railway, getting five Cycles under a specific amount of "turns". P1 never even tried to accomplish it. They just wanted the prizes and then they were leaving.

About thirty minutes later, P1 radio'd P2 again.

<"The Flowers boss is easy. It sucks, but it's easy. I'm out. I'm done. I get to have Vergil to myself! Sending my Sinners over to your track!">

["Hey wait!"] P2 complained, but too late.

Twenty hours later, P2 finally made it back to the Mephistopheles, where P1 had planted themselves next to Vergilius and were clearly not moving away.

P1 made heart hands at P2. P2 fumed. Vergilius just shook his head and wondered when he'd get out of this hell.

#writing tag #limbus company #dante lcb #this is a joke fic i wrote in half an hour based on real shit we've said

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sanguineterrain · 2 years

Note

Helllooo, I had a thought about your No Such Thing universe... after Bucky and Reader get together, is there any run-ins with mean sorority girls? Maybe Bucky is picking her up after the newspaper meeting?

*throws glass* another! i was quite inspired by this one anon, so here ya go <33 smidge of angst but 98% fluff.

(brief mention of anxiety)

****

"So that's pretty much it for today," Jamie decided, closing her famous Book of Assignments. "Any questions?"

Gina Marcelino's hand shot up, bracelet glittering as she waved her fingers. Jamie's face remained neutral, a self-control you'd never quite managed when facing hellspawn, and she patiently called on her.

"What's up, Gina?"

"Ummm," Gina began, drawing out the syllable, "I was just wondering who'd be assigned the sports column this time, since Y/N can't do it."

"Who said I can't?" you retorted. "I did such a bang up job the last time, Gina. No plagiarism necessary."

To your surprise, she smiled, flipping her hair behind her shoulder.

"Well, aren't you dating the running back now? It would be a conflict of interest. Unless, of course, it's not a serious thing."

"It is a serious thing," you replied and Gina shrugged.

"Okay. See, Jamie?"

"Gina, I appreciate your concern, but football season is a long ways away, and we've already got someone covering the soccer and volleyball teams. Alright, is there anything else?"

When no one else spoke, Jamie dismissed you all. You packed up your things, slinging the bag strap over your shoulder. Your phone dinged, Mr. President popping up on your screen. Hey, I'm outside. Feel like takeout? :)

"Congrats on your relationship, Y/N."

Gina stood in front of you, the only obstacle between you and the door. She was flanked by another friend of hers, one you didn't recognize, but judging by the way she was looking you up and down, that was probably a good thing.

"Uh... what?"

Gina scoffed. "It's a big deal. Like, nobody thought Bucky Barnes would settle. But you were different. Somehow."

"Are you, like, super rich or something?" her friend asked.

"No... I'm exactly the way I've always been. No secret fortunes or long-lost royal relatives."

"See? I told you," Gina said to her friend. "Y/N's totally regular. Nothing special."

"Get to the point, Gina," you sighed, hand on your hip.

"Shayla was just curious about who you are," she explained, voice unusually cheery. "Her sister is totally in love with Bucky and they're heirs to the mustard dynasty."

"Mustard?"

"Like the thing you put on sandwiches," Shayla said, as if you were five years old. "Our great grandfather was one of the first to package it."

"Oh. Cool, I guess."

"Yeah," she echoed, sneering. "Cool."

A pit in your stomach began to form. You squared your shoulders, going around them.

"I need to go. Gina. Princess Mustard."

"Bye, Y/N!" Gina chirped after you.

You closed the door, jogging down the steps to outside. It was finally properly warm, warm enough for you to pull out the tank tops and t-shirts. Bucky beamed at you from across the path, jogging up to you. You smiled back, cheeks feeling a little gummy.

"How was newspapering? Did you awe everyone with your amazing writing skills?"

"Um, it was fine. Normal, regular. Nothing special."

"Okay," Bucky nodded, smile no less bright. He kissed you sweetly—Bucky's kisses were always sweet, and always pulled you in. "Didja get my text? Sam said there's this new Thai place that just opened that he and Tasha really liked."

"Oh. Yeah, sorry, I was talking to someone upstairs. Um, Thai sounds good."

You glanced down at the Star Wars shirt you'd borrowed from Bucky’s drawer the first month into your relationship.

"Should I... should I change?"

Bucky tilted his head, like perhaps he'd misheard you.

"What for?"

"To look nicer. Since we're going out."

"Are you saying my New Hope shirt isn't fine fashion?"

"No, it's cute... I mean, you know I love it."

"Hey, I'm only joking," Bucky cut in gently, smiling confusedly. "What's going on, doll? Something happen?"

"No. No, it's fine. Sorry, that was a stupid question." You tittered, taking his hand. "Let's go."

Bucky called in the order after you looked up their menu. You were quiet for the whole drive, Bucky keeping up most of the conversation. You chewed on a cuticle, leg bouncing until he rested a hand on your knee.

"Sure you're okay, Y/N?"

Bucky had parked. You hadn't even realized.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay." You tried to smile reassuringly.

"Okay. C’mon, order should be ready. Sam said they work fast."

You didn't make a move to unfasten your seatbelt. "Do a lot of students come here?"

"Uh, probably. Since it's so close. Why?"

"No reason. Just... wondering who we might run into."

"Well, I doubt there'd be a ton of people since it's a weekday,” he reasoned. “And the place is small."

"Oh. Right."

"Do you want me to go in and you can stay here?" Bucky asked. "I know you interacted a lot today."

You'd explained it to him, once, after declining an invitation to a birthday party. Your social battery drained much faster than his. Too much stimulation ratcheted up your anxiety. Bucky had sympathized, explaining Steve was similar, and had been so for their whole lives.

He didn't know that wasn't the reason for your hesitation today. Bucky was simply being kind and thoughtful, like always. The pit in your stomach grew.

"Okay," you agreed weakly. "Sorry."

"No need for apologies, honey. Be back in a bit."

He pecked your cheek, and then you were alone.

You'd never actually discussed the future of this relationship, technically. It'd never occurred to you to do so. You'd assumed Bucky was in it for the long haul, like you. Perhaps the way you'd gotten together was unconventional, but that didn't mean the foundation was rocky.

You chewed at another cuticle. What if you were just another girl Bucky was getting out of his system? An urge to quell before he graduated and actually had to think about settling down.

You blinked. Whoa. That was a heavy thought. Settling down? Why were you even thinking about that? You could barely make a doctor's appointment without your heart rate picking up. It was way too early to be thinking about anything more committed than that.

The door unlocked, and the smell of food suddenly filled the car.

"Back! Sam was right; they're working like Fury's running the kitchen."

Bucky gave you the bag and you accepted it, on autopilot. You fell silent again, picking at a loose thread on your shirt.

“Y/N?”

You jumped at a hand on your cheek. Bucky immediately retracted, fully concerned. He set the food on the dashboard, leaning forward.

“Okay. You’re unusually quiet. You didn’t even comment on my terrible dad joke, which you always have something to say on. What’s goin’ on?”

“You’re a good guy, Bucky,” you blurted.

He blinked, concern morphing into tender bewilderment.

“I... thank you. You’re the best, but you know that,” he smiled.

“And you grew up well,” you continued. “Steve said you lived in a nice house.”

Bucky’s smile began to slip. “Well, I guess so. We ain’t the Rockefellers, though. Sweetheart, where’s this going?”

“I mean, what if you meet a mustard heiress? And you’re with me? Maybe your mom would prefer you go with her, be the next mustard king, which would be understandable, but—”

“Whoa, whoa. I need you to start over, honey. What are you talking about?”

You crossed your arms, looking away.

“Remember Talia?”

“Yeah. I do.” You didn’t need to look at him to hear the grimace.

“She comes from a nice neighborhood too. An even nicer one. I don’t.”

Bucky sighed. “Y/N, she and I didn’t click. Like, at all. You know that. But more importantly: d’you really think I’m so shallow?”

You winced at how hurt he sounded, meeting his gaze. Bucky spent a lot of time being taken at a first glance. You knew that, had figured it out the first time you’d met.

“No. No, I don’t, honestly. Bucky, I don’t think that of you. I—this is so dumb. I shouldn’t have let Gina and her friend get in my head, but they said I’m ordinary and... I am, you know? I am ordinary, and I started thinking maybe one day, you’d want more than that, and I’m thinking too far ahead, like, we’re not even seniors yet, but I just—”

“Y/N.” He angled his body to you. “Sweetheart. Okay if I talk now?”

You nodded. Bucky’s expression softened into the fondness he reserved only for you, the look that always warmed you to your toes.

“First of all, you’re anything but ordinary. I think we’ve got a pretty extensive history to prove that. Now, I’m no fancy English major, so I can’t wax poetry, but the way you make me feel is how I always want to feel. Being with you is incredible. God, I mean,” he laughed, disbelieving, “how many people would give me a play-by-play of the game? With notes!”

“Oh, God,” you groaned, covering your face. “I can’t believe you didn’t kick me out.”

“Are you kidding? That was one of the cutest things ever, honey. And even if it wasn’t, I’d never kick you out.” Bucky gathered your hands in his.

“You are such a cornball.”

“What can I say? You bring it out in me.”

“Sorry I doubted this. Doubted you. Pretty silly of me," you sighed.

He bumped your foreheads together, the tips of your noses touching.

"I know this, you and me, is still new, and I know the reputation I carried, and what kinda impression that gives," Bucky started. "But I promise I'm not going anywhere. And I hope you can trust me on that, Y/N."

You nodded, putting your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. Bucky returned it the best he could over the console, kissing under your ear. You squirmed like always, that spot ticklish, and he chuckled, rubbing your back.

“It’s not silly. I mean, your fears aren’t going to come true, but that doesn’t mean they’re not valid. We can feel things that aren’t grounded in truth. Brains are powerful.”

“Okay, where did you learn that? You sound like Wanda. Have you been secretly sitting in on psych lectures?”

“Yep. They unlock the windows before class and I scale the wall like a super spy.”

“What happened to being able to get in anywhere, hotshot?”

“Can’t go around flaunting my privileges, darlin’. I have a strict rule about that. Only break it for impressing people I’m in love with.”

“Yeah?” you asked, unable to help your grin. “You’re in love with me?”

“Sure am. What’re you gonna do about it, L/N?”

“Hm. Well. Suppose I’ve no choice but to love you back, Barnes.”

“Together for the foreseeable future, are we?”

“Mmhm,” you agreed. “No ketchup royalty here. Just me.”

Bucky tutted, cupping your cheek. “It’s never just you, Y/N. And I’m glad. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

#inbox #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #no such thing #*flails arms* this is the first thing my brain has let me finish in MONTHS so. not ignoring my other stuff i swear peeps

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kjmsupremacist · 2 years

Text

pink (like the holes in your heart) (ryujin/yeji)

Yeji leads a completely ordinary life—she works in a cafe by day, and dances at a club by night. She has friends, and her life is good. For the most part, she’s content. But one night, she meets a hot older woman, and opens a new world full of new dangers and new delights.

Chapter 2 | prev next mlist

Characters: Yeji, Ryujin, the rest of itzy

Genre: romance, fluff, angst, smut, age gap, stripper!au

Pairing: Ryujin/Yeji

Warnings: AGE GAP (older ryujin, younger yeji), d/s themes, mommy kink, bdsm and general rough treatment, alcohol mentions, sex work (nothing wild)

Rating: Explicit

Length: 9.9k

I put this disclaimer on all my age gaps - I don’t condone large age gaps in real life as these relationships tend to have an imbalanced power dynamic. However, because this is fiction, I can warp the world to my liking and guarantee everything is the way I want. Also, it’s fiction, and we’re all just here to have fun. If you don’t think you’re going to have fun, you can leave the way you came. I promise it’ll be fine.

listen to the official playlist here!

The haze lasts through the following morning, but dissipates by the afternoon. Yeji takes Yuna and Chaeryeong out to a fancy dinner, paying with a couple of the hundred dollar bills that the woman tipped her with. They all giggle when the waiter’s eyes nearly pop out of his head at the sight of them.

The next afternoon sees Yeji and Yuna at their cafe, Yuna on the register and Yeji at the bar making drinks. It’s the middle of the week, so not horribly busy, which means they can gossip between waves of customers. Yuna tells her about the professor who’s being investigated for a multitude of Title IX violations, each worse than the last. Yeji makes faces and offers snide commentary as she cleans their tools off.

They’re getting near the end of their shift when the bell on the door rings. Yeji doesn’t look up at first, intent on getting a stain out of a mug.

“Welcome in, how can I help you today?” Yuna chirps.

“Could I get a medium latte, please? To go.” The voice is familiar, and Yeji snaps her head up.

It’s the woman from that night. She’s in professional wear this time, a stylish grey pantsuit with a crisp white button-down underneath. She has a sleek black shoulder bag and a silver watch; it flashes in the light as she taps her card to the reader. Yeji didn’t even realize she’d completed the transaction. Her ears are full of ringing.

Yeji ducks her head, heart racing, accepting the cup from Yuna and getting started on the espresso shots. Maybe she doesn’t recognize me, Yeji thinks wildly. I’ll just pretend I don’t know her. It was dark in the club, anyway, and I was wearing lots of makeup.

And not much of anything else, a different voice in her head supplies unhelpfully.

She turns the cup over in her hands. Ryujin. Her name is Ryujin. It sticks in Yeji’s brain without her even trying, but she repeats it anyway. Ryujin. She steams the milk, taps the pitcher on the counter, then pours it carefully into the cup. She considers a heart for the latte art, but decides that’s a little too forward and goes with a swan instead.

“Latte for Ryujin,” Yeji calls, setting the drink on the pickup counter and hoping her voice doesn’t shake.

Ryujin strolls up, and it takes Yeji one look to know she’s completely busted. She’s smirking, and her gaze pins Yeji to the spot. She reaches for her drink but doesn’t pick it up. “Hi,” she says softly.

“Hi,” Yeji manages.

“Now the club I could understand, but what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a cafe?” Ryujin picks up the latte, studying the art; Yeji thinks she sees amusement flash across her face. “You’re far too talented to spend your life making coffee.” She takes a sip and nods. “As good as your coffee is.”

Yeji doesn’t know what to say. Thank you? Or sorry my job isn’t prestigious enough for you, some of us are poor? “We really shouldn’t be talking to each other,” she says instead. “Privacy is important.”

“Indeed.” Ryujin reaches into her pocket and produces a business card. “Well, since I know about your day job, it’s only fair that you know about mine.” She slides it across the counter to Yeji. “Mutually assured destruction, hm?”

Yeji takes it, unsure. “You really want to give this to me?”

“You don’t seem malicious,” Ryujin says with a smile. “Working tonight?”

“Ah, no,” Yeji says, truthfully. “Later this week, though.”

“Then I’ll see you around.” Ryujin’s eyes linger on her; there’s nothing too intense about it, but Yeji gets the distinct feeling that she’s being carefully observed. “Yeji.”

And with that, she’s gone, leaving behind the faint scent of cologne.

Yeji looks down at the business card. It’s a matte black with gold lettering. Shin Ryujin. A & R Director. All In Entertainment. There’s an address, an email, and a list of phone numbers. Yeji zeroes in on the one labeled “c.” Is this her way of giving me her number?

“Was that her?” Yuna’s speaking just above a whisper, even though they’re alone in the shop.

“Hm?” Yeji looks up and sees Yuna looking back at her intently.

“Your sugar mommy from the club,” Yuna says, and Yeji groans.

“She’s not my—yes, that was the woman from a couple days ago.” She holds up the business card. “She gave me this.”

“Ooh, lemme see!”

“No.” Yeji pockets it. “It would be bad practice to give out my client’s personal information.”

“You’re no fun,” Yuna complains.

“I don’t want to get fired,” Yeji says, giving her an exasperated look.

“I know.” Yuna blinks. “So are you gonna call her?”

“What, on her work cell? Or the front desk?” Yeji shakes her head, cringing at the thought. “What would I even say? No, if she wants to see me again, she can come back to the club. She knows where to find me.”

* * *

Yeji heads to Chaeryeong’s place for dinner that night. She decides to leave the business card at home—what she said to Yuna was true, and it should go double for someone else who works at Crown, even if that someone is her best friend.

“You said you had news,” Chaeryeong says when she opens the door.

“Hello to you too,” Yeji says, slipping inside.

“Yes, hello.” To her credit, Chaeryeong does give her a hug and usher her into her living room. “Sorry, I’m just nosy! Sit. Do you want something to drink?”

“I’ll drink after I eat,” Yeji says, settling on the couch and opening a pair of chopsticks.

Chaeryeong sits too, untying the takeout bags. “Okay, so what happened?”

“The woman from the other night,” Yeji says. “She stopped by the cafe.”

Chaeryeong freezes. “What the fuck? How did she know you were there?”

“I don’t think she did,” Yeji defends. “We are near the business district, I think she just popped by for a coffee. It sounded like she’d been there before, she knew exactly what she was ordering.”

“Yeah, and you’ve been working there for how long?” Chaeryeong argues. “You’ve never seen her before.”

“I usually don’t work afternoons,” Yeji points out, which is true. “Maybe it’s her afternoon stop.”

“Right.” Chaeryeong sounds entirely unconvinced. “So what did she say?”

“Something about how my talent is wasted in a cafe,” Yeji begins. Chaeryeong makes a noise of protest. “No, I know. I don’t think she meant it to be so condescending, though.”

“Why are you giving her so much benefit of the doubt?” Chaeryeong asks. “Just because she’s hot? You don’t even like women.”

Yeji chews on her lower lip. “I dunno, maybe I do,” she says slowly. Chaeryeong raises her eyebrows. “The dance I gave her—there was something there! I’m usually really prudent with my customers, you know that. But…” She shakes her head. “There was something about her. I think… I’d like to chase that, find out what it was, exactly.”

Chaeryeong’s eyes soften. “That’s fair,” she agrees.

“Anyway,” Yeji says, deciding not to have a sexuality crisis in Chaeryeong’s living room, “she gave me her business card, saying, like, if she knows my day job then it’s only fair I know hers so we both have blackmail material?”

“Where does she work?” Chaeryeong asks immediately.

“You know I can’t tell you that,” Yeji replies. “Crown’s all about discretion. Mom would have kittens.”

“I know, but just this once?” Chaeryeong pouts at her, but Yeji knows she’s joking.

“No,” Yeji says, swatting her anyway. “What I will tell you is that she’s a director at some big, fancy company.”

“You better be careful,” Chaeryeong says, sobering and pointing her chopsticks at her. “Those exec types are not to be messed with.”

“I’m not messing! I told her I was working later this week, and she said she’d see me around. That’s all.” Yeji shoves a piece of broccoli into her mouth decisively.

“Well,” Chaeryeong says, ��just remember that it’s best to milk her of all the money you can get, and then leave it at that. Don’t get involved, and definitely don’t let her do you any favors. Because then you’ll belong to her, and that’s too dangerous.”

“I just don’t think she’s like that,” Yeji says.

“Well, there has to be something in it for her,” Chaeryeong points out. “For her to be giving you this kind of attention.”

Yeji rolls her eyes. “Yeah, that I’m young and hot, duh.”

Chaeryeong shoves her, and Yeji laughs.

Yeji knows Chaeryeong’s right, but she can’t help but think about Ryujin throughout the week. She likes the way she feels when Ryujin’s eyes are on her. It’s scary, but it’s also exhilarating, and Yeji doesn’t know what to do with that.

Thursday and Friday pass. Yeji works a full shift both nights, and though she keeps an eye out, she doesn’t catch a single glimpse of Ryujin. Either she’s really good at hiding, or she’s just busy. Yeji has a feeling it’s the latter—it might be self-centered of her, but she has to imagine that if Ryujin were there, she would seek Yeji out. Still, she can’t help but feel a little disappointed. She doesn’t know what to do with that, either.

Saturday night comes, and Yeji has another solo dance scheduled. She leafs through her wardrobe carefully. Her hope that Ryujin will be there has started to dwindle, but she wants to look extra nice just in case. After a lot of contemplating, she settles on a gold set with black detailing—a pretty bra with black lacing up the center and the straps, and a matching thong that has cutouts in the waistband. The bottom half of the waistband she lets settle naturally; the elastic strings on the top she hooks on her waist above her hip bones. She twists in the mirror, adds a lacy black thigh garter with some gold jewelry, and plucks up a pair of flashy gold pumps. If Ryujin is there tonight, she won’t be able to miss her.

“Oh wow, Lucy,” a girl named Winter gushes when Yeji steps out of her cargo pants backstage. “I love that set! It’s so pretty on you.”

“Thank you,” Yeji replies, smoothing the straps of the waistband. “I wanted to stand out tonight.”

“You look like C-3PO,” Chaeryeong says, but she bends down to kiss the top of Yeji’s head, grinning. “Kidding. I love the way that bra makes your tits look. Everybody’s gonna want you.”

“You think?” Yeji asks.

“Yes,” Chaeryeong says quietly. “Even her, if she ever shows up.”

“It’s not for her,” Yeji lies. “It’s for me.”

“Okay,” Chaeryeong says mildly.

Yeji finishes getting ready early, says hi to Mom, and then goes to wait in the wings so she can watch the other girls perform. She smiles, watching Karina and Winter’s duet. Maybe she and Chaeryeong should do something like that; though Yeji can’t see the audience, she hears cheers go up. They seem quite popular. She files it away to pitch to Chaeryeong later.

Karina and Winter are waving to the crowd. Yeji stands, whispering, “Great job!” when they pass her in the wings. Karina squeezes her arm and mouths thank you in response.

The lights change, and Yeji straightens her back and strolls out onto the stage, offering the crowd a smirk and a wave, taking her position in the center of the stage. It’s a choreography she’s practiced for a while, so it comes easily, her limbs already familiar with the moves.

She tells herself not to search through the audience, but she finds her eyes flitting from face to face as she dances. There’s something to be said for eye contact—it makes the dance feel more personal—but that’s not Yeji’s end goal.

And then she lands on a familiar face, and nearly freezes.

It’s Ryujin, alone in the crowd. She’s wearing an oversized black suit jacket and what looks like a cropped leather tank top. Her nails are a glossy black; Yeji can see them against the vibrant blue of the drink she’s holding in one hand. Their eyes meet, and Ryujin raises the martini glass to her lips, holding Yeji’s gaze over the rim.

Yeji tears her eyes away, refocusing on her performance, but it would be a lie to say she doesn’t think of Ryujin with every move she makes. Yes, she’s in front of an audience, but this dance has become for Ryujin, and Ryujin alone. She knows Ryujin knows it, can feel her eyes following her even though she doesn’t look back once.

At last, her song is over. She blows a few kisses and hurries backstage to do a couple of touch-ups. Chaeryeong is there, fighting with one of the straps on her bra.

“Lemme help,” Yeji says, coming up behind her. She adjusts it carefully, then looks up over Chaeryeong’s shoulder and catches her eye in the mirror. “She’s here,” she says softly. “She saw me.”

Chaeryeong smiles, turning around and brushing a strand of Yeji’s hair out of her face. “Good. Go get the fattest paycheck of your life,” she says.

Yeji swallows. “What if I don’t want her to pay me?” she whispers. “What if I just want her?”

Chaeryeong sighs, but she doesn’t lose her smile. “Then go get her,” she says softly. Yeji blinks in surprise. “Look,” she says. “I’m not saying it’s smart. But this is bigger than money, and bigger than her. You think you like her? You think you can learn something about yourself in the process?” Yeji nods. “Then just be safe. That’s all I can ask.” She squeezes Yeji’s hand.

Yeji squeezes back. “Thanks,” she manages.

“You look hot,” Chaeryeong continues. “She’ll be stupid to say no.” She nudges Yeji. “Go,” she says. “I need to fix my makeup.”

“Okay.” Yeji lets go of her hand and walks out the door and onto the floor. She weaves between people, nodding hello to a few regulars, but not pausing as she heads to where she saw Ryujin when she was onstage.

She’s still there, waiting for her. Her black slacks are carefully tailored; they fit perfectly around her waist, and Yeji tries not to stare at the curve of her hips, her thighs. Ryujin smiles when she sees her, purple lipstick in stark contrast against her perfect white teeth, and everything around Yeji seems to fall away. Even the music seems faint. All Yeji can hear is the pounding of her heart. The lights strobe overhead, and Yeji has to watch Ryujin’s mouth to make out what she says.

“Hey, babygirl.”

Yeji tries not to melt. She gets closer, so they can actually hear each other, and then says, “Where’s your girlfriend? Or did you not bring her this time?”

Ryujin blinks, startled, but then understanding dawns and she laughs. “Getting jealous already?” she teases. “But all I did was give you my number.”

“You gave me your business card,” Yeji retorts. “What was I supposed to do, call and leave a message with your secretary as ‘Lucy from the club’?”

Ryujin laughs again. “I guess that’s fair,” she says. “No, the woman with me last time isn’t my girlfriend. She’s a good friend of mine, that’s all.”

“Noted,” Yeji says, somewhat placated.

“I meant what I said, though,” Ryujin continues. “Your talent is wasted at that cafe. And—it’s wasted here.”

Yeji bristles. The coffee shop is one thing—making lattes has nothing to do with dancing. Her job here, though, is another matter. “Being a stripper is a perfectly valid profession, and the only reason society considers it indecent is because of puritanical culture and sexism, and it’s really rich of you to look down on my job when you’re literally a customer h—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Ryujin cuts in gently. “I meant you could go professional. Today. If you wanted. You’re not just good at shaking your ass, you can actually, really dance. You know what I do for a living. I would know.” Yeji quiets, surprised. “I have a great deal of respect for dancers and sex workers, but it’s just a different kind of work. And you have the skill to be a performer on an international stage. You’re right, it would be hypocritical of me to have something against your job here. But I don’t.”

Yeji feels clumsy as she tries to find the words to respond. “Oh. Thank you, then. But…” She thinks about all her dance lessons as a kid, all her big dreams, her crushed hopes. She’d wanted to be a singer once upon a time, hadn’t she? And she’d failed. “If I was that good, I would already have a job somewhere else,” she says. “And besides, I have friends here now. And the money’s good. I don’t want to abandon this.”

Ryujin nods. “I can understand that,” she agrees. “Then—do you have time for another dance? For me?”

Yeji presses her lips together. Then go get her, Chaeryeong’s voice echoes in her brain. Yeji wants more. Yeji wants her. It feels wrong for Ryujin to pay her for a dance when they could be doing something else instead.

She shakes her head, looking up at Ryujin, and sees disappointment flicker across her face. “I don’t want to dance for you,” she says. “I think I want—I want something else.” The disappointment clears, replaced by sharp interest. “And I don’t want you to pay me for it. Be-because I want it.”

Ryujin’s lips stretch into a lazy smile. Yeji almost feels like a mouse in the jaws of a cat—caught, death imminent and inevitable. But where there should be fear, there’s something else. Oh. Desire.

“I see,” Ryujin says slowly. “That sounds good, too.”

“Can you wait until the end of my shift?” Yeji asks, feeling a little stupid. “It’ll be around three, I know it’s late.”

“Not a problem, baby,” Ryujin says, and Yeji has to suppress a shiver. “It’s a Saturday, I can stay up late.” She turns, points at a booth near the bar. “Make lots of money, okay? I’ll be right there, watching you. Come get me when you’re done.”

“Okay,” Yeji agrees dizzily.

The rest of the night passes slow and excruciating. Yeji tries to keep her focus, but she knows her customers can tell she’s a little distracted. She feels Ryujin’s eyes on her wherever she goes, can picture her expression even when she’s not looking—eyes half-lidded, but gaze clear and full of intent. Whenever she checks to see if Ryujin really is still there, she finds her staring back, same as always.

Finally, Yeji’s shift ends and she waves to Ryujin to let her know she’ll be out in a minute. Ryujin nods, and Yeji ducks into the dressing room. The club stays open until five on the weekends, but Yeji rarely works the latest shift—Mom doesn’t like the younger girls to be out super late.

Chaeryeong’s taking her makeup off the mirror, and her eyes snap to Yeji as soon as she enters.

“I think I’m going home with her,” Yeji whispers when she sits down.

“Keep your location on,” Chaeryeong replies. “Women can be murderers too.”

“That’s it? You’re not going to tell me not to?” Yeji asks as she unclasps her bra. “Thank god. I forgot how itchy the glitter is.” She puts on a simple, comfy bra instead. Ryujin’s already seen her dressed up. She doesn’t need to keep the lingerie.

“I know there’s no stopping you,” Chaeryeong says. “And if something happens, I’ll just ask Yuna for the CCTV footage from the cafe.”

“You listen to too much true crime,” Yeji replies, stepping into a clean pair of plain cotton undies and then shimmying her cargo pants up. “I’ll be fine. I won’t get murdered. I promise.”

“You better not.” Chaeryeong waits for Yeji to finish pulling her shirt on, then reaches out for a hug. “Text me when you get there, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Yeji salutes, then zips up her bag and slings it over her shoulder, bending to adjust her shoes. “Okay, I’m off. Have a good night. Get home safe.”

“Thank you,” Chaeryeong says.

Yeji stops by Mom’s office to punch out and hear her total. Less than usual for a Saturday night, but Yeji’s about to go meet the reason why, so she thanks Mom with a smile and a wave, and heads back out to the bar.

Ryujin is exactly where she left her, and she stands when she sees her approaching, tapping away at her phone. She looks up when Yeji reaches her table. “Ordered us an Uber,” she says. “All set?”

Yeji nods. “I think so.”

“Then c’mon. It’ll be here in a few minutes.” Ryujin sets down a few bills next to her empty glass and leads them to the door.

It’s a little chilly out, but not unbearable, so Yeji doesn’t bother trying to find her jacket. Ryujin takes them to the curb, leaning up against a signpost. She seems content with not talking, staring out at the street. Yeji follows her gaze and sees nothing in particular—just neon lights and the occasional car. It’s late, nearing four at this point, and the city is quieting.

“I have a confession,” Yeji blurts.

“Yeah?” Ryujin gazes back at her, calm and a little amused.

“You’re going to be the first woman I’ve ever been with,” Yeji says, heart hammering. “I mean, you’re the first woman I’ve ever been interested in.”

Ryujin smiles. “I could tell,” she says gently. “I don’t mind. I don’t care about your history, as long as you’re sure you’re interested in me.”

Yeji nods emphatically. It’s confusing, and she can unpack what it all means and figure out exactly how she feels later, but what is crystal clear in her head is that she likes Ryujin. A lot. “I’m sure,” she says.

“That’s good, then.” Ryujin’s phone buzzes in her hand, and she peels herself off the pole. A sleek black car pulls up to the curb. “This is us.”

Yeji tries her hardest not to look surprised. The driver gets out and opens the door for them, taking Yeji’s bag and placing it in the trunk. It must be the luxury service, Yeji thinks to herself as she ducks into the car. She’d heard of it, but considering she can barely afford a regular Uber, she doesn’t even know the name. She glances sideways at Ryujin, who’s clicking her seatbelt into place. She knew she was rich, but somehow it hadn’t really hit her until right now. I wonder what her place looks like.

“Are you hungry?” Ryujin asks softly once they pull away and head down the street.

“A little,” Yeji admits.

“Good, me too,” Ryujin replies. “I have some leftovers we can heat up when we get home.”

“Sounds good,” Yeji agrees. When we get home. Suddenly, Yeji’s life seems small and lonely. Imagine if she had someone she could come home to every night after work! Sure, she has her friends, but they’re all their own people, and though they love each other very much, and spend what is probably an inordinate amount of time together, there’s still plenty of time leftover where it’s just Yeji, by herself.

And it’s not that she can’t stand her own company. She doesn’t mind being alone; solitude is good, necessary. But… She watches Ryujin out of the corner of her eye. The idea that tomorrow, and for many, many more days of her life, she’ll be going back to her empty apartment feels a little miserable.

But that’s not tonight. Yeji gives herself a little shake. Tonight she has an entirely separate set of problems to worry about, and they start and end with the woman sitting next to her. Though Ryujin told her not to worry, Yeji can’t help but be a little anxious. She’s not a virgin, but sex with a woman has to be different, right? She’d never really considered it before, so she’d never even thought about what the rules were, what she needed to keep in mind, what she didn’t need to worry about.

It’s almost like Ryujin can feel her building herself up into a panic. She reaches out and places a hand on Yeji’s knee, rubbing her thumb back and forth, gentle and comforting. Yeji looks up at her, and Ryujin smiles. It’s okay, baby, she mouths, and Yeji finds herself relaxing into the seat.

Ryujin keeps her hand on Yeji’s knee until the car rolls to a stop outside a very tall and very fancy-looking apartment building. They step out of the car, retrieve Yeji’s bag, thank the driver. Ryujin offers Yeji her arm again, and Yeji takes it, feeling a thrill of excitement run through her whole body.

They head into the elevator, and Ryujin punches the 13 button. “You’re not superstitious, are you?” she asks, grinning at Yeji.

Yeji giggles and shakes her head. “Not at all.”

“I always thought it was so silly, skipping certain numbers and pretending that does anything,” Ryujin says, still grinning. “I mean, you skip thirteen and go straight to fourteen, there’s still a thirteenth floor, it just has a different name. It bothered me a lot as a kid because it didn’t make any sense.” She shrugs one shoulder. “Though I suppose I’ve always been one for staring a problem right in the teeth instead of dressing it up.”

Yeji smiles. “I’m the same way,” she agrees. The elevator dings and the doors slide open. “But I think there’s room for harmless make-believe. Skipping the thirteenth floor is harmless, right?”

Ryujin nods as she leads Yeji down the hall to the only door on this side of the building, keys jingling in her hand. “That’s true, too.” She pushes the door open and enters, holding it for Yeji. “Shoes off, if you would.”

Yeji is already bending down to unzip her boots, and makes a face. “Please, I’m not an animal,” she says, and Ryujin laughs. Yeji savors the sound. It’s sweet and melodic and surprisingly bright. “At least, not about things like this.”

Ryujin laughs again as she closes the door, locking it and toeing her white sneakers off, nudging them into line against the wall. “Good,” she says simply. “Here, put your bag by the stairs, we can take it up later.”

Yeji does as she’s told and then follows Ryujin around the corner and into her kitchen. Ryujin turns on some lights and then pulls open her fridge. “We can heat up some tteokbokki, if that’s ok?”

“Yes please,” Yeji says, hovering by the counter.

Ryujin sets a container on the counter and then sticks her head back in the fridge. “Anything to drink?”

“Just water, please,” Yeji replies.

Ryujin emerges with a yuja tea bottle, grinning. “So polite,” she teases. She uncovers the container and sticks it in the microwave, then gets a glass and fills it with water for Yeji, strolling up and handing it to her. “Cheers,” she says, clinking her unopened bottle of tea against the glass.

“Cheers,” Yeji giggles back, charmed, and takes a sip.

Ryujin sets her bottle down, and then shrugs off her suit jacket, draping it over the back of one of the chairs at the breakfast bar. She holds out her hand. “Dance with me.”

Yeji sets her glass down too, a little flustered but pleased, accepting Ryujin’s hand and letting her pull her closer. Ryujin wraps her other arm around her waist, bracing her hand against the small of Yeji’s back, and Yeji lets her other hand settle on Ryujin’s shoulder. Ryujin leads them in a little two-step sway around the kitchen, smiling at Yeji, and Yeji finds herself grinning back, unable to school her expression at all.

“Ready, and twirl,” Ryujin says, extending her arm. Yeji laughs, twirling a little clumsily. Ryujin dips her, and then brings her back up, much closer than before. “You’re a natural,” she says, and Yeji giggles again, breathless.

“Mm, it’s almost like I dance for a living,” she says.

Ryujin’s smile grows wider. “Hm,” she hums in agreement. “Good thing, too. Or we would’ve never met.”

Yeji’s heart rate jumps. “Yeah,” she replies. “Good thing.”

Ryujin tilts her head, still swaying them. “I wanted to kiss you that night. Last week. You’re so pretty, baby.”

“You could kiss me now,” Yeji blurts.

“Oh, could I?” Ryujin’s tone is teasing and playful; she leans closer still.

Yeji’s pretty sure she’s shaking, but she holds her ground. “Mm-hm,” she says, and Ryujin leans in and kisses her.

Her lips are soft and warm against Yeji’s. She’s gentle but firm, and Yeji kisses back almost hungrily, pressing closer. Heat floods her whole body, and any reservations she might have had dissipate instantly. Yeji wants. She’s never wanted like this before, and she’s dizzy with it now, head spinning—

And then the microwave beeps, and she almost screams. Ryujin pulls away, laughing. Her lipstick is just a little messy, but it almost makes her more beautiful. Yeji gasps softly, trying to slow her heart, trying to come back down to earth.

“That scared me so bad,” she admits, and Ryujin laughs even harder as she opens the microwave and extracts the leftovers.

“Sorry,” she says, setting the container now and kissing Yeji’s temple before going to find some chopsticks. “Sit, baby.”

Yeji sits, accepting the chopsticks that Ryujin passes to her and picking up a rice cake, blowing on it so she doesn’t scorch her mouth. Ryujin does the same, watching Yeji take her first bite.

“Oh my god, it’s so good,” Yeji gasps.

Ryujin grins. “It’s my friend’s restaurant,” she says. “She’s one of the best cooks I know.” She takes a bite. “Maybe we can go sometime. She’ll get us a private room if you’re worried.”

“I’d like that,” Yeji manages. “If it’s this good reheated, I can’t imagine what her food is like fresh.”

They finish eating quickly with minimal chitchat, both clearly more interested in what comes next. Ryujin throws their chopsticks in the sink, rinsing out the takeout container and throwing it in the recycling. Yeji sips at her water as she waits, feeling a little useless.

Finally, Ryujin dries off her hands and turns to Yeji with a smile. “Alright, baby. Come with me.”

Yeji retrieves her bag and follows Ryujin up the stairs to her room. It’s only now that she really takes in her surroundings. Ryujin’s apartment is huge, and gorgeous. There are beautiful windows that look out over the city in almost every room. The floors are sleek hardwood, the walls painted a pristine white, the doorknobs all a flawless metal. Ryujin opens her bedroom door, turning on a lamp, and Yeji’s eyes grow wide.

She has a huge, beautiful black dresser along one wall, next to a small door that Yeji assumes leads to her closet. There’s a big jewelry organizer on top of the dresser, and a bunch of skincare products filed neatly in a box on the other side. Behind the dresser is a big, circular mirror with a brushed gold frame. Ryujin’s bed is simple, but sturdy. It looks like it’s made of bamboo, with a set of sheets in varying shades of muted blue. There’s a big window here, too; Ryujin goes to it and taps a panel on the wall, and blinds whir into place, giving them privacy from the neighbors across the street. There’s another door on the other side of the bed that’s been left ajar, and Yeji can make out pristine marble counters in the dark—it must be her bathroom.

“This place is stunning,” Yeji says softly, and Ryujin smiles.

“Thank you,” she says. “It helps that I don’t have kids. More money to spend on myself, you know. Go ahead and put your bag down by my dresser.”

Yeji drops her bag on the floor, still gazing around. There’s a huge art piece on the wall opposite the window, some pretty abstract painting in blues and golds. She startles when she feels a hand on her wrist.

“I’m going to take my makeup off,” Ryujin says. “Would you like to as well? You’re probably gonna get messy.”

Yeji almost shivers, snapping her eyes back to Ryujin. “Oh! Yes, please.” Maybe with a man she would’ve been nervous to reveal her bare face so quickly, but Ryujin will have to reveal hers, too. Besides, Yeji has a feeling Ryujin won’t think any differently of her, makeup or no makeup.

They head into the bathroom; Ryujin flicks on a light over the vanity. She has a gorgeous recessed tub in one corner, and a huge standing shower in the other. The tub is made of the same black marble as her counters; the floor is some kind of white tile, and it goes all the way up the walls of the shower, too. Ryujin pops open a container and pulls out a couple of cotton pads, pumping them on top of some kind of micellar water, and then handing a couple to Yeji.

Together, they take their makeup off, side by side and silent in front of the mirror. There’s something so sweet and intimate about it—two women, carefully wiping away the faces they show the public and letting each other see what’s underneath. Yeji rinses her face off and then straightens to find Ryujin already offering her a soft hand towel to pat her skin dry.

“Moisturizer,” Ryujin murmurs, holding out a bottle and squeezing a pump out onto Yeji’s palm. Yeji smiles as she warms it between her hands and then taps it into her skin. There’s a comfort in this, an understanding Yeji has never had with any other partner.

“Thanks,” she says belatedly.

“Lemme see you, pretty girl,” Ryujin murmurs, and Yeji turns.

Ryujin looks less severe now, gentler and more subtle, but still just as attractive. The fine lines on her face are a little more prominent, but Yeji finds that she likes them, likes that Ryujin looks a little more mature. It makes her feel safe.

“You have a freckle on the tip of your nose,” Ryujin whispers, smiling.

Yeji touches it, giggling. “Yeah,” she says. “Have had it since I was a kid.”

Ryujin leans forward, coaxing Yeji’s hand out of the way with a finger, and places a soft kiss on the spot. Yeji giggles. “It’s cute,” she says. “Okay, c’mon.” She takes one of Yeji’s hands, pulling her back out into the bedroom and turning the bathroom light off as she goes. “Get comfy,” she says, dropping Yeji’s hand and nodding her towards the bed.

Yeji sits, pulling her socks off and tossing them underhand into the corner while Ryujin goes to the lamp she turned on when they first came in and dims it. Satisfied, she returns to the bed, pausing to slip her socks off as well, one hand braced on the mattress, before climbing up to join Yeji.

“Hi, baby,” she says softly, crawling up next to her and giving her a kiss.

“Hi, mommy,” Yeji whispers back, and Ryujin’s smile turns a little darker.

“Now that you mention it, we should probably talk about that,” Ryujin says.

“What?” Yeji asks, surprised.

“We’ve already established that we both like when you call me mommy,” Ryujin says. “So what else? What do you like, baby?”

Yeji considers it, thinking back to her past relationships. Her sex life has always been rather vanilla, she supposes. It’s not that she’s unaware of the options, it’s just that she never really knew how to bring it up. But now Ryujin is here, asking, and…

“I’m not sure,” Yeji admits softly. “I’ve never really—explored like that before.”

Ryujin remains unfazed. “But you want to,” she says.

Yeji’s breath hitches in her throat. “Yes.”

“Lucky for you, I have plenty of experience,” Ryujin says, corners of her lips curling up dangerously. “We can try things out, see what you like. The important thing is you make sure to tell me if something feels good or bad. Okay?” Yeji nods. “If something is bad, I want you to say red. Like stop. Even if I don’t ask you, okay?”

“Okay,” Yeji agrees.

“I’ll check in from time to time, though, just in case. If everything is good, then you can say green,” Ryujin continues. “Yellow is somewhere in the middle—just that you’re not sure, that you want to slow down, maybe change something and then keep going, or maybe stop.”

“Like a traffic light,” Yeji giggles.

“Yes,�� Ryujin says. “Now, is there anything you’ve been curious about?”

A thousand dirty things pop into Yeji’s head at once. She thinks Ryujin could do just about anything to her and she’d like it, but she should probably start small. “I like calling you mommy because I like—I think I like giving up control. I like the idea of you doing whatever you want with me.”

“Mm, that’s good,” Ryujin says, tone almost blithe. “That’s what I want, too.” Her hands have found their way to Yeji’s waist, touches light and teasing. Yeji realizes she’s leaned back against the headboard, has let Ryujin corner her. “You want to give yourself over to me, baby?”

“Yes,” Yeji breathes. She imagines it, imagines lying pliant, on her back or on her knees, following Ryujin’s every word. She imagines Ryujin sticking a couple of fingers in her mouth and making her gag on them, not letting her speak even when tears gather in her eyes. She imagines Ryujin making her come again and again, with her fingers or her tongue or a toy, or making her ride her thigh and not letting her stop, even when she gets tired and her legs shake. She imagines Ryujin tying her up and grabbing her hair and holding Yeji’s face against her pussy, and—

“What are you thinking about, babygirl?” Ryujin asks, pinching her waist and making her squeak. “You gotta tell me, or we won’t be able to make it happen.”

“I, I—” Yeji’s head already feels a little foggy. She doesn’t know the words to say what she wants. “I don’t know how to explain,” she says finally, sending Ryujin a helpless look.

Ryujin, luckily, shows mercy. “That’s okay, baby,” she soothes. “How about I suggest a few things, and you can tell me yes or no?”

“Okay,” Yeji agrees, settling.

“You liked it when I pinched you,” Ryujin says. “Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Yeji says.

“You think you like pain?” Ryujin asks. Her hands have traveled down to the button of Yeji’s pants. “Can I?” She taps the button.

“Yes,” Yeji agrees. Suddenly, she wants nothing more than for both of them to be completely naked. Their clothes are just in the way, and she wants to see everything, to show Ryujin everything. “And—yes to pain.”

“Want mommy to spank you?” Ryujin is focused on getting Yeji out of her pants, but her voice is still measured and attentive.

“Yes,” Yeji agrees, lifting her hips so Ryujin can pull her pants down. She does it easily, unhooking the fabric from Yeji’s ankles and dropping her pants somewhere on the floor.

Ryujin bends down and kisses the soft skin of her inner thigh. For all the rough intent of her words, her touch is still gentle. Another kiss, higher this time, close to where Yeji can feel heat and wetness building, close to where Yeji wants so badly for Ryujin to touch her. Another kiss, over the tendon there that’s pulled taut. And then Ryujin raises her head, self-satisfied smirk only growing when Yeji whines.

“And you like that I’m older than you,” Ryujin says softly. “Yes or no?”

Yeji swallows. “Yes,” she whispers. “I like it a lot.”

“Mm.” Ryujin comes back up to Yeji, gives her a quick kiss on the point of her jaw. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Yeji says truthfully. There’s just something about it—maybe it’s the same sort of thing that makes her want to submit. Ryujin has all the power, all the control, and Yeji likes that. “I want—” The words are in her brain before she can even think of where they came from, but they’re true. “I want you to take advantage of me, mommy.”

Ryujin kisses the hollow of her throat with a low hum. “Does it make me a bad person if that’s what I want, too?” she murmurs.

Yeji shakes her head. “I don’t think so,” she says. “I’ve come to you willingly, haven’t I?”

“That’s true,” Ryujin says, her voice gaining a hard sort of edge to it. “Practically threw yourself at me tonight, what was I supposed to do?”

“Couldn’t help it,” Yeji says, truthful once again. “Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

“What a coincidence.” Ryujin’s voice is soft and dangerous. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, either.” She toys with the hem of Yeji’s shirt. “We can talk about the rest later,” she says decisively. “Let’s get the rest of your clothes off so I can eat you out.”

Yeji nods, almost frantically. “Yes, please.”

Ryujin smiles and helps her out of her shirt, then goes to work on her pants while Yeji unclasps her bra. Ryujin’s tiny tank top goes next, and Yeji watches, rapt, as her bra falls away, too, and they’re both left in just their underwear.

Yeji’s seen plenty of tits before—she works in a club, she’s seen it all—but it's never really occurred to her that she likes tits, until now. Ryujin leans in, pressing a kiss to Yeji’s sternum, and Yeji brings a hand up to cup one of them, running her thumb over Ryujin’s nipple and nearly giggling when a tremor passes through her body.

“What was that about never being with a woman before?” Ryujin says, half amusement, half something else. “You seem to know exactly what you’re doing.”

Yeji does it again, flicks her thumb back and forth a couple times. “I’m just doing what I know I like,” she says softly, and Ryujin closes her mouth around one of Yeji’s nipples in response, tongue quick and skilled and so good. Yeji gasps, pleasure flooding her body. She can’t wait to find out how that’s going to feel against her clit.

It seems like Ryujin is thinking the same thing. After a few seconds, she pulls off, sitting back on her heels and out of Yeji’s reach. “More time for that later,” she says when Yeji pouts. “I want to eat you out first.”

“Okay,” Yeji agrees breathlessly. “Yeah, okay.”

“Scoot down a little,” Ryujin says. “Get comfortable.”

Yeji slides down the bed just enough that she ends up half-reclined against Ryujin’s pillows. Ryujin gets situated between her legs, running her hands down the tops of her thighs and leaving goosebumps scattering across Yeji’s skin in their wake. And then she reaches out and finally touches Yeji, palm overturned and fingers gentle, brushing over the fabric of Yeji’s panties.

“You’re so wet already, babygirl,” Ryujin comments, almost offhand. “Already soaked through your panties.”

“Your fault,” Yeji accuses, and Ryujin just laughs.

“Let’s call it a team effort, hm?” She doesn’t need an answer; she hooks her index fingers on the waistband of Yeji’s underwear and pulls them down. Yeji extracts her legs, giggling when Ryujin chucks them over her shoulder. “That’s better. Ready?” She looks up, finds Yeji’s eyes. Yeji nods.

Ryujin slings one of Yeji’s thighs over her shoulder and bends over. Yeji has about a half a second to admire the contours of her back before she can’t think at all, because Ryujin’s tongue is against her clit. She moves it in circles, almost teasing, and then goes in with rough back-and-forth movements. She hardly gives Yeji a chance to adjust, picking up the pace, pressing her face closer.

Yeji’s mouth has dropped open into a silent scream. She shakes, hands whispering across the sheets, trying and failing to find purchase there, something to anchor her. “Mommy,” she gasps, and Ryujin only hums.

Yeji has been eaten out before. But never this well, this quickly. Maybe it’s Ryujin’s age, or maybe it’s that she’s a woman, too, but there’s hardly a learning curve for her. Yeji almost feels embarrassed. She knows she won’t be nearly as good, and she considers apologizing right now. But she can’t, because she can hardly form words. Ryujin slips a finger in her—easy now that she’s practically dripping onto her sheets—and Yeji moans, letting her head loll to the side.

“Mommy,” she whimpers. “More.”

Ryujin doesn’t respond, just adds a second finger and works them in and out of Yeji tirelessly, curling them up as she pulls them out to press against the spot inside her that makes her legs shake. Yeji alternates between rolling her hips up to meet her and trying to squirm away. It’s almost too much, but she wants more, and she realizes that it’s because she’s close already.

She can feel the heat of Ryujin’s breath against her entrance. It’s almost reassuring—at least it’s hard work for Ryujin to make her feel like this. If it were easy, Yeji thinks she’d probably die of embarrassment.

But only after she comes, because everything feels so fucking good, and in the back of her mind, she finds herself almost remorseful. Why had she let herself suffer without sex this good for so many years? The answer, she knows, is just that she didn’t know it was possible to feel like this. It’s not that her past partners had left her unsatisfied, but she has a feeling that this is going to all but ruin her for everyone else.

“Feels so good,” she stutters. “Oh, fuck, Ryujin, mommy, I-I’m close.”

Ryujin raises her head as she adds a third finger. Her lips and chin are slick, glistening with Yeji, and her eyes are bright and happy. “Good, baby?” she asks. Yeji hardly hears her, thinks maybe she manages a nod. The next thing she feels is pain, sharp enough to make her gasp. Ryujin has struck the back of one of her thighs. “I asked you a question.”

Yeji moans, high and broken. “Y-yes, it’s good,” she says. Ryujin doesn’t slow her fingers once; actually, Yeji’s pretty sure she’s sped up.

“Feeling okay?” Ryujin’s voice is the same, but Yeji registers something softer underneath. “Can you give me a color?”

“Green,” Yeji replies immediately. “Please, mommy, hit me again.” There’s a small part of her that balks at the words—she never imagined she’d beg to be hurt. But, then again, it’s different with women. She can trust Ryujin. She’s safe here. “Make me come.”

“Of course, baby,” Ryujin says, tone almost indulgent. She dips her head again, and it takes everything in Yeji not to buck her hips up to meet Ryujin’s mouth. Ryujin hollows her cheeks a little, sucking as she swipes her tongue, back and forth and then around and around, fingers still pumping, other Han soothing over the spot where she struck here, where the tingles of pain are rapidly fading.

Yeji barely realizes Ryujin’s raised her hand before she strikes her again, the pain blooming hot and sweet across her skin. Yeji lets out a shaky moan, and Ryujin hums against her clit and then Yeji is coming, one hand flying to the back of Ryujin’s head, holding her in place as her whole body goes tight. She convulses around Ryujin’s fingers, gasping out whimpers that sound something like mommy, mommy please, and Ryujin doesn’t stop. Yeji’s heart is pounding, her head; pleasure sweeps her whole body in staggering wave after staggering wave. She feels it washing down her legs to her fucking toes, her fingertips, followed by near numbness as Ryujin finally relents, pulling away and crawling up the bed to lavish Yeji with attention.

She feels lips brushing her own and kisses back blindly. Ryujin pushes her tongue past Yeji’s teeth, and Yeji can taste herself. Another tremor runs through her body, and even though she’s still going through the aftershocks of her orgasm, she thinks she could maybe come again. Ryujin hums softly into her mouth, clean hand coming up to stroke her cheek as she pulls back.

“Look at me, baby,” Ryujin whispers. Yeji blinks her eyes open shyly, and finds Ryujin staring back. “Did so good for me,” she murmurs and Yeji preens, fluttering her eyelashes and letting out a soft giggle.

“I don’t think I’ve come that hard in my life,” she admits, and Ryujin chuckles.

“Good,” she says. “Can’t have anybody else making you feel like I do.” She raises her other hand, fingers glistening in the low light. “Help me clean up?”

Yeji leans forward, parting her lips and letting her tongue poke out a little in response. Ryujin smiles, offering her her ring and pinky fingers, dipping her head to take her index and middle fingers herself. Yeji pushes her tongue between the two fingers, licking them clean. Her forehead brushes against Ryujin’s, and when they both pull off, they’re laughing softly. Yeji follows Ryujin with her eyes, rapt, tracing over her smile lines, as Ryujin wipes their spit off on her thigh.

Ryujin brushes some of Yeji’s hair off her forehead with her other hand. “I like when you look at me like that,” she says.

Yeji leans into the touch, not breaking eye contact. “Like what?” she asks.

“Like you have stars in your eyes,” Ryujin says, smiling.

Yeji smiles, too. “I can’t help it,” she says truthfully. She sits up a little straighter, leaning into Ryujin’s space to steal another kiss. “Okay,” she says. “Your turn now. But you’re gonna have to help me.”

Ryujin exhales soft laughter. “Okay,” she replies. “What do you want, baby? You wanna eat me out too?” She tips her head just a little. “You don’t have to.”

Yeji rolls her eyes. “Are you nuts?” she asks. “Yes, I wanna eat you out.”

“Okay, let me see something,” Ryujin says. “Stick your tongue out.” Yeji obeys. “You can go around in circles, right?” Yeji nods, demonstrating, feeling a pleased flush rise to her cheeks when Ryujin’s eyes darken. “Good girl. How ‘bout side to side?” Ryujin demonstrates, sticking her own tongue out and wiggling it back and forth in a perfect line. Yeji hesitates, then tries it too, going slow at first but picking up speed once she gets the hang of it. Ryujin grins. “So talented,” she teases, and Yeji giggles. “Try it like that, like I did with you. Switch it up a little. I’ll tell you if you need to change anything.”

They switch places carefully. There’s something so purposeful about it; one action doesn’t naturally flow into the next, and Yeji used to think that might be kind of unsexy. But she appreciates now that they’re taking it slow, that Ryujin is giving her time to set herself up. Besides, there’s something to be said about being deliberate, about choosing.

Ryujin lies back against her pillows, letting her legs drop open. “Let’s see what you can do, pretty girl,” she murmurs, and Yeji feels something flare in her, a drive to be good, a drive to prove herself.

She bends over Ryujin’s body, pausing to kiss her stomach, first between her ribs and then at the seat of it, the pretty curved line where her belly meets her hips, then lower. She hesitates for a split second, then pushes on. The last thing she sees before she gets too close is pink and pink and pink, dusky and pretty and enticing. Yeji’s nerves slip away. She knows what to do, mostly, and where she doesn’t, Ryujin will help her.

Yeji can smell her, the wet heat of it. It’s earthy and a little sharp, different from Yeji, different from anything she knows. It might be a little gross of her, but it smells good. The short hairs tickle against Yeji’s nose and upper lip as she opens her mouth and presses her tongue against Ryujin’s clit. She takes Ryujin’s hips in her hands to hold herself upright, then circles her tongue around her clit, long, slow movements, building up to an easy rhythm and giving herself a chance to adjust. There’s not much to adjust to, though. She’s not choking on anything, and she doesn’t have to be so careful with her teeth. Sucking dick has its merits to be sure, but this—Yeji pushes her face closer, switching to the side-to-side movements Ryujin just taught her, and is rewarded with a breathy moan.

She raises her gaze and finds Ryujin watching through half-lidded eyes, head lolled to the side. “That’s it, baby,” Ryujin says when she sees Yeji looking. “So good. You’re a natural.” There’s a hint of humor nestled there in the desire, and Yeji smiles against Ryujin’s pussy, swiping her tongue faster. She tastes mild, a little salty, a little bitter, and Yeji makes a mental note to ask Ryujin if she can tongue-fuck her next time so she can have more.

One of Ryujin’s hands comes down to cup the base of her skull. Yeji hums softly, delighted to find it sends shivers through Ryujin’s whole body.

“Don’t even need me to help you,” Ryujin says lowly. “Doing so good. You can go a little slower. Think you can give me one of your fingers, baby? Want you inside.”

Yeji scrambles to obey, planting one hand on the mattress to stabilize herself and fitting her other arm under her body so she can work a finger into Ryujin. This, too, comes easy; she knows what feels good, what doesn’t. Ryujin is so wet, dripping down her knuckles as she begins to move her finger in and out, slow and stuttering as she tries to keep up with her tongue, too. It takes a few minutes of awkward, jerky movements, but Ryujin is patient, murmuring praise. Yeji doesn’t back down, determined to find the right rhythm, and eventually she does, tongue pushed flat and wiggling side to side against Ryujin’’s swollen clit as she pumps her finger in and out. She’s glad she’s not wearing nails, that she clipped them just yesterday and filed them down to let them recover, glad there’s nothing stopping her from giving Ryujin everything.

As Ryujin gets louder, Yeji gets bolder, scraping gently with her teeth to see what will happen. Ryujin moans, nails digging into Yeji’s scalp. “Who taught you that, baby?” Ryujin asks. “Fuck, do it again for me.” Yeji obeys, staying gentle, warmth settling over her body and gathering in her belly when Ryujin shakes.

She adds a second finger, and she’s able to get deeper like this, curling her fingers up and moaning again Ryujin’s clit when Ryujin rolls her hips up to meet her, when she groans low and gravelly in the back of her throat and says, “There, right there, baby.” Yeji’s tongue is getting sore, her lips puffy and probably bruised, her chin covered with seat and spit and Ryujin, her fingers tiring, but she keeps going because Ryujin sounds so good, tastes so good, feels so good. She thinks she could do this forever, maybe, face buried between Ryujin’s thighs, Ryujin’s moans filling the air, Ryujin clenching tight around her fingers, pulling her in.

“Fuck, oh fuck,” Ryujin gasps, and then Yeji feels her pulsing around her fingers as she arches off the bed, bumping Yeji’s nose almost painfully. Yeji doesn’t care, does her best to move with her, keeps circling her tongue and moving her fingers as best she can as Ryujin comes with a moan. Yeji thinks dizzily that maybe it’s the best thing she’s ever heard. She thinks she’s gonna remember it forever, the sound playing and replaying in her mind whenever she gets off next.

After a little while, Ryujin stills and pushes her away, gentle but firm. “Okay, okay,” she gasps and Yeji raises her head, drawing in a huge breath. She realizes now how tired she is, how her body aches, how tight her lungs.

“Was it good, mommy?” she asks breathlessly, crawling to the side and then scooting up towards the pillows.

Ryujin nods, giving her a lazy, satisfied smile. “Yes, baby,” she says, and her voice is all sugar. “You did very good. C’mere.” She holds out her arms and Yeji goes happily, nestling close. “Kiss me.” And Yeji does, pressing her lips to Ryujin’s, kissing her softly, letting her eyes fall shut, letting Ryujin wrap her up in her arms until she’s surrounded, until the whole world is just Ryujin and her lips and her taste and her soft, soft skin.

They break apart after a few moments and just lay there, breathing. Yeji rests her head on Ryujin’s shoulder. She wonders what time it is. Maybe the sun is already on the rise. Maybe it’s been hours. She’s not sure, but she doesn’t care. She could stay here forever, she thinks. She would stay, if Ryujin asked.

“Doing okay?” Ryujin asks finally.

Yeji giggles a little deliriously. It feels like such a silly question. “God, yeah,” she says. “I had fun. Is that weird? I had so much fun, I didn’t know it could be so fun.”

Ryujin laughs, too, the delight rich and clear. “Good,” she says. “I’m glad. I had fun, too.”

They lay together a few minutes more, pressing soft kisses to each other’s palms and letting their laughter ebb away. At last, Ryujin drags them both from the bed. Together they pull the sheets off, throwing them in a heap with their clothes, and then head to the bathroom for a shower. Ryujin has earthy-scented body wash, and Yeji tries to hide how pleased she is to share, happy that the smell will linger on her skin tomorrow, a secret reminder.

Yeji has a few spare pairs of clean underwear in her bag, so she pulls on a pair once they’re both dry, then goes to Ryujin for a shirt. Ryujin has her top drawer open, picking out a pair for herself, and Yeji’s eyes land on a row of dildos in the back, along with a harness.

“You own a strap?” she gasps, swatting Ryujin’s arm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t want to scare you,” Ryujin replies, plucking up a pair of underwear and pushing the drawer shut.

“Next time?” Yeji all but demands, pouting. “Want you to fuck me, mommy.”

“God, you’re insatiable,” Ryujin accuses, but she’s grinning. She leans in and kisses Yeji’s forehead. “Yes,” she adds. “Next time.”

They get sleep shirts, then put on fresh sheets together, fluffing the pillows, and climb into bed. Yeji yawns widely, and Ryujin covers her mouth for her, laughing as they both settle down against the pillows.

Yeji curls closer, slotting one of her legs between Ryujin’s. Ryujin runs a hand down her back, touch warm and reassuring, eyes on Yeji, watching her. Yeji blinks back, some joyous feeling bubbling up in her chest. She’s never felt so wanted. She’s never felt so safe.

“G’night,” she whispers.

“It’s already seven a.m.,” Ryujin whispers back.

“Oops,” Yeji says softly, closing her eyes, and Ryujin laughs. The sound washes her into sleep, Ryujin’s hand is still warm on Yeji’s back.

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