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ceruleanchillin · 1 year ago

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But is she really yours? (141 x Reader)

Note(s) -

It's long, so be warned.

The guys are doing a little of what we like to call Dirty Mackin, and yes, I think this is something they’d all do in their own way.

Still working on getting those accents to come through, while not stepping into cringe/wrong territory.

I apologize, this is a very messy format (borderline stream of consciousness), and I’m trying to figure out a cleaner way to do this. I hope it doesn’t hurt the reading experience.

And I am the only one who kinda wants to see the reverse scenario, where Reader tries to get the guys away from their trash gfs? 👀Thanks to @bunnyreaper for the idea, it wrote itself as I read that.

Simon:

Annoying. That was the first thing Simon thought of you. So of course you had to work at the only cafe near his flat that made tea the way he liked.

You were always on your phone, arguing with someone (he guessed a boyfriend), and he hated getting stuck at your register. The calls clearly distressed you, and he didn’t know why you kept taking them. Especially on the job.

You’d gotten his order wrong more times than he could count, and you were always having to turn around and ask him to repeat the things he wanted. It got to the point where he waited until the other barista’s line was open.

Unfortunately, other customers had done the same, and it was causing a backup.

Then there was the day. His day started as it always did on his off time. The three S’s, and then he was at the gym to get his time in when he knew it was mostly empty. Then finally, his black tea.

He sighed, mentally preparing himself for the wait before he entered. As expected, there was a line.

You were there, and you appeared to be deeply engaged in conversation with the only person at your counter.

He was surprised to see you had a customer. ‘Must not be a regular.’

As he got closer to the counter, he could overhear the whispered argument. The man wasn’t a customer at all, he presumed he was the boyfriend from the phone calls. Based on the things the two of you were saying, that made the most sense.

‘Great. Getting the live version today.’ Simon had to wonder how you kept this job. Were you the boss's daughter? Did you own a share? Could he steal enough of the signature black tea blend and go into hiding until he had to ship out again?

You looked exasperated, and your co-worker stepped over to your side, coming to your aid.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Simon groaned, realizing the wait would be longer.

He stepped outside for a cigarette, making the mental decision that if by the time he was done with it there was still a line, he would forgo his drink that day.

He chose the alley on the side of the shop, not liking the openness of the sidewalk, and staked out against the opposite building’s wall.

He was halfway past the tip of his cigarette when the side door he’d been eyeing warily opened, and out came you.

You looked frustrated, anxious, and maybe a little embarrassed. He didn’t think you noticed him, instead, walking over to the dumpster and kicking it, hard. It sent a loud, tinny groan echoing through the alley. He narrowed his eyes, feeling that itch of frustration under his skin.

You noticed him finally, and stopped angrily muttering to yourself. Instead, you started talking to him. It was mostly an uninterrupted stream of dialogue for two minutes straight (he timed it), before he could finally understand you.

“Mandatory break! That’s the second one this week, can you believe that?”

He started to say yes, and that he hoped the third one won you a prize: getting fired. He kept his mouth shut though.

“It’s not even me, it’s my boyfriend. He means well, but he just…I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.” You were searching for something in your apron, but he couldn’t tell what, out of the corner of his eye.

Simon flexed his fingers, eyes narrowing until the shop’s logo mural was a blur. You found it, and walked closer to him until he turned both eyes to you.

“Can I get a light?” You gestured with the unlit cigarette between your fingers to the one burning between his lips.

“Bloody. Fuckin’. Hell, Bird! S’not enough you keep half the fuckin’ place backed up on a good day, but then you prance your arse out here to annoy me some fuckin’ more? Fuck off.” He jabbed his pointer finger at the door you’d come out of.

The alley echoed his baritone, and somehow made his outburst sharper.

You stared at him like he’d taken his head off, instead of having bitten off yours. Eyes wide, bottom lip trembling, he thought you might cry, and he began to feel guilt grow in the pit of his stomach. He’d forgotten, in the midst of you stirring up similar agitation, that he wasn’t on base talking to some recruit dumped on him.

You did cry, but once you started talking, he suspected it was more due to anger. “Fuck you! You fuck off, I work here!”

He ignored the small voice telling him ‘stop’, and fired back. “Work?” He snorted. “Real fuckin’ rich that is. Don’t confuse work with your million mandatory breaks.”

You clenched your fists, eyes wild with adrenaline and voice shrill with anger. “Go to hell. You’re just some freak in an alley who can’t remember when Halloween is. You don’t know me.”

You angrily wiped at your tears to no avail, as more quickly took their place, and then you started sobbing.

Simon sighed, feeling like shit and wishing he’d held it together just a little more. “Alright. Alright. ‘Nuff of that now.”

“I’m not crying *hic* because of you…” you huffed, trying to get your voice under control. “Just go back to your cigarette. I hope you suck it up and *hic* choke!”

He chuckled, you were the first person in a while who’d lashed back out at his harsh disposition. At least to his face. “Was uglier than I should’ve been, but won’t pretend there wasn’t some truth to it.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“You’re a shit barista, wanna form a band?” His lips quirked into a smirk around his near-stub cigarette.

For a beat there was silence, until the two of you burst into laughter. Yours a raucous peal of giggles, and his, raspy chuckles.

“Well, you earned that light. Got more balls then a lot of soldiers I know.”

The two of you stayed in that alley for thirty minutes just riffing off different topics. It ended with Simon giving you the friendly (read: rough) advice to not let your boyfriend cost you your job.

That’s not how he saw his day going. Having the most interesting conversation he’d had in a while with the woman who annoyed the piss out of him for the better part of his leave.

You were no longer annoying, you’d been upgraded to interesting, and that was the second thing Simon thought about you.

After your talk in the alley, Simon was pleasantly surprised to find that you’d taken his advice and stepped your skills up. It turned out, you were distracted by your boyfriend, but Simon had come to see why. He was obsessed with knowing where you were, and if you were thinking of him, and wondering if he should drop by.

Simon felt more guilt for being so impatient, and he decided no matter what, he would pick your line. That was the only reason too. It certainly wasn’t because he couldn’t stop thinking about you after your last conversation.

Sometimes you would take your breaks with him now, exhibiting that same forward nature from the alley, but it no longer annoyed him. He’d tease you about whether or not that break was mandatory, but he looked forward to it all the same.

You talked about anything and everything, from where you were from, to Simon having to explain the delicate ins and outs of football to you. (He was pretty sure you were pushing him to have a heart attack by pretending you forgot a different detail every time you talked).

It was an unstated, but mutually understood, thing that your time together fulfilled something missing for both of you. For him it was cutting into his habit of cutting off socialization until he was back on base or a mission, and for you, it was a break from your relationship.

He liked to think that you looked forward to your talks as much as he did, if your expression every time you saw him was an indicator.

Unlike him, you were an open book, so you did most of the talking. Simon soaked up everything you told him, filing it away. You were funny, and fascinating.

On his end, he was careful about some of what he shared, and nervous about other things. He had more dark or restricted anecdotes than humourous or endearing ones, and he didn’t want to bring you down. After all, you had more than enough of that to deal with.

The boyfriend. He was a nightmare of obsession and insecurity. It was perhaps your fourth break-hangout that Simon saw it completely for himself. He’d all but dragged you out of your seat, which made Simon rise from his so quickly, it almost toppled over behind him. He wasn’t unaware of his size, nor was he afraid to use it on the shorter man, but you assured him it was fine until he sat down.

Your boyfriend was panicking, wondering why you were keeping someone like him company. He wanted to know what it meant for the two of you, and Simon hated seeing you in an endless loop of begging the pathetic prick to believe you loved him. All of your humor and your cute little habits disappeared as he forced you to become a helicopter girlfriend, concerned only with his fears.

Simon decided then he would sway you away from him. He didn’t deserve you, and Simon may not have known you long, but he couldn’t stand to see you withering under him and his emotional blackmail. No one ever accused Simon of being sane.

You would be his, and that was the third thing Simon thought about you.

If he said so himself, he was slick about it. He’d forgotten about the amount of energy it took to pursue a relationship with someone, and why he limited his romantic interactions to hookups with women he found interesting.

You weren’t just interesting, he was fully infatuated with you by the time he started to actively move towards getting you away from that neurotic dumpster. You were worth the effort.

It started with seeing you outside of the cafe in a way that seemed natural. He thought about it for a while, before he settled on inviting you to a football game. He couldn’t believe he’d worried that you’d say no, your ‘yes’ came out before he was even done asking.

You were impressed with his timing, confessing that the night before, your boyfriend had thoroughly embarrassed you at a party, and you needed a fun day.

Simon had smiled tightly all through your hurried explanation that everything was fine, and that he had apologized once you got home with him.

The day of the game, you were absolutely adorable when he picked you up. Giddily introducing him to your roommate. She eyed him with approval, and even congratulated you for trading up.

Before you could correct her, he slipped in his answer. “That remains to be seen. Depends on if she embarrasses me at the game.”

You snorted, launching into that now familiar peal of giggles. “I promise I won’t. Now, which of these soccer teams is yours again? The Manfordshire Mermaids?”

“You wanna ride there on the roof?”

The trip was a better investment than he thought. You were enthralled with what was going on, the hype of the crowd, the skill of the players, and just being there in person. However, you had to rely on him to translate this new world to you, and that left you literally clinging to him in interest. Simon was your whole world in that stadium, and he locked that feeling down tightly for motivation.

Step one had gone off without a hitch, and now it was on to step two.

Outings with you became a series. Simon encouraged as many as possible in order to trigger the response he wanted.

He knew it wouldn’t be long until your boyfriend started getting antsy, and insecure again. You were going out twice as much as you had before you started hanging out with Simon outside of the cafe.

To push the matter, Simon told you his work schedule was getting hectic. It was a half truth, the training period before the announcement of a deployment had commenced, and Simon planned on having a girlfriend to come home to this time. Namely you.

He used the excuse to create later meetups. Dinners, movies, wandering the street and stumbling into things to do. All the while getting you hooked on his touch. Simon wasn’t a touchy-feely person by nature, and this was something everyone who knew him picked up on quickly. You picked up on it too, but he wanted to touch you. He didn’t though, at least not often.

Starting off with little touches that could be confused as an accident, he increased the pressure but kept the frequency low so you became addicted to his rare touches. He wanted you to feel special that someone like him indulged you in that way, so that you’d seek out more, even though HE was the one who felt blessed every time he felt your skin on his.

When you were together, he made sure things were about you. He didn’t imagine your boyfriend left much room for that with his paranoia, but he wanted to show you what you were in for once you were together.

One night, Simon kept you out later than usual. He’d stayed away from you for two weeks, which wasn’t hard, work was starting to pick up. He could’ve carved out a day or two though, but he wanted to make you crave his time like he did yours.

It worked. He scheduled a late dinner at an upscale restaurant, letting you fill him in on all that he missed. Namely, you missed being with him. You weren’t the type to keep your feelings to yourself, and you’d inevitably vented to your boyfriend about missing your friend. He didn’t like that label at all, but he liked what would come from your actions.

Periodically throughout the dinner, your phone rang, increasing in frequency as the night wore on.

You had to excuse yourself multiple times, and Simon pretended to be annoyed. In reality, he anticipated that. Each time the phone rang, you cringed and looked at him apologetically.

On what had to be the tenth time, Simon said. “Go on then, run off to pamper the pathetic bastard. Powder his arse too this time.”

Your face screwed up in objection to his barbed words. “He’s just worried…”

He shrugged. “Don’t owe me an explanation lovie. S’just a mystery why you’re in such a rush to be a nursemaid.”

Rolling your eyes, you stood up from the table. “I’m in a rush to be a good girlfriend thank you. Stop being an ass, I’ll be back in a minute.”

“S’go,” he downed the last of his bourbon before he pulled his wallet from his pocket. “I’ll pay the tab and take you home.”

“What? We’re supposed to have dessert, and then maybe a movie.”

Simon watched your distressed body language and expression with mild amusement, and he was proud of being able to hide it, even though he’d forgone his mask that night. “You’ve gotta tuck in your kid. S’not on me you won’t date a man.”

You pouted and sat back down. “If I put my phone away, you put your wallet away. You promised me dessert.”

He smirked, refusing to hide it now. This was the first time, since he’d met you, that you’d ignored your boyfriend, and it said a lot.

You did it once, so Simon was able to turn it into a habit. Your boyfriend looked increasingly unhinged as Simon made sure you starved him of your attention.

The ugly voicemails and text messages began soon after. He didn’t like that at all, and he had to remind himself the time to deal with your boyfriend would come, but he did appreciate that you were becoming less tolerant of him.

Every time you returned to Simon after having to soothe your boyfriend’s ego, and stop his tantrums, Simon made your life easier. He worshiped you in subtle ways, reminding you of what a man was, compared to a child.

There was guilt on your part, but it felt so good to be taken care of for once. To not have to worry about Simon bursting into a fit of insecurity that made you completely responsible for his feelings, and left little to no room for anything else.

When he touched you, it lit your nerve endings on fire. You knew that the touches were bordering on inappropriate, since you were still taken, but you also knew that your brain went numb with good vibrations with even just a brush of his fingertips.

Simon still kept it light, almost questionable as to whether it even happened, and you finally began to seek it out. Wearing backless tops so that his fingertips would brush your bare skin, sitting next to him in diner booths so a thick thigh was always brushing your own, going for things in high places so he’d steady you by your waist.

He never seemed to miss a beat on when and where to touch you, but it wasn’t enough.

The breaking point came when he invited you to a dinner Price was holding as a goodbye to civilian life until next leave. The verbal invitation was the most valuable thing to you in a while. Not only because you were increasingly becoming addicted to him, but because for someone like Simon to invite you into that part of his life, it meant that he was in deep with you too.

All of Simon’s friends were funny, inviting, and very taken by you. They were so polite to you, complimenting you, and telling you as much as they could about their work, trying to impress you.

You were having fun trying to keep up, but you got the impression that Simon inviting a woman he was seeing to meet them was a new thing, and they didn’t know the protocol.

You were surprised to find he went by Ghost in his field, and they were unused to hearing Simon. You shared how the two of you met, and how polite he wasn’t in your first conversation, and they weren’t surprised.

You were enjoying your time with them, the conversation never stopped, and you would venture to say Simon looked fond at times. Though, as each man became more flirtatious, his expression would change. It became an unspoken game between you and his team to try and make him speak up about it. He didn’t take the bait.

Then came the topic of your boyfriend.

“Come now love, you’re a smart girl. Why do you wanna waste your time with that bellend?” - Price

“I don’t ken what the situation here is, but if Ghost and the other one don’t appreciate you, I promise I will.” Soap

“I had a girl once, who used to follow me in her friend’s car, sit outside my apartment, and call me from different phones to test me. You’re fit as hell love, dump him.” - Gaz

It was a little embarrassing, and you were slightly annoyed that Simon had told them, but your mind kept shortening it to ‘he talked about me to his team.’

During dinner, you excused yourself to the bathroom. While you were washing your hands, Simon slipped into the room, making you jump.

Your eyes met in the mirror, where Simon just glared.

“Have fun with the boys, bird?”

“Have fun broadcasting my business?” You raised an eyebrow, but your tone held no anger to it.

Simon chuckled, locking the door. “S’not my business is it?”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head slowly.

He trapped you between the sink and himself, hands locking onto the counter on either side of you.

“Let’s fix that.” His lips pressed to the pulse point on the side of your neck, speaking his command against it. “Get rid of him lovie, and come home where you belong.”

You tried to do just that, but for the first time that you could recall, your boyfriend wasn’t taking your calls.

Simon watched you while he packed, tucked beneath his sheets where you belonged, bare. It’d been a week since you took that next step in his captain’s guest bathroom, and you’d been trying to inform your ex he was now in fact, your ex.

You gingerly rolled over to face him, mindful of all the reminders that he loved you he left your body. “Si, he’s still not picking up. I don’t want to do it over the phone, but…”

“Don’t get worked up. Maybe he got the message already...”

Kyle:

He’d re-visited Chicago on his downtime, and met you in a club. Unknown to him at the time, your boyfriend had stood you up for the third time that month, and you decided not to waste the night. It’d made you so free and enthralling to watch, he couldn’t look away.

Gaz spent the entire night with you, glad he’d ignored the jet lag, even when you took him to all the best after-hours spots.

The only problem was your boyfriend, Keith, who Gaz personally believed formed in the bottom of a toilet, and sought life elsewhere. His team thought he was delusional, and/or giving you too much thought.

“You hitting the States again then? Don’t get in the kind of trouble that you can’t get out of because you’re jealous.” - Price

“Garrick! Get your fuckin’ head off your cock, and on the exercise, before I shove my boot down your throat!” - Ghost (after he fumbled a training exercise twice)

Except for Soap, Soap backed his delusions %1,000. “She let you charge your phone when hers needed it more? That’s wedding bells lad, and I wanna be best man.”

Then there was the relentless teasing every time he spent his leave with you, but Gaz didn’t care. He couldn’t bother being embarrassed when you were waiting for him. Your grin was for him, your excited laughter was for him, and your hug was for him. The one he always held longer than friends do, his heart racing when you relaxed in his hold. Smirking when he felt your nose brush over chest quickly. You were sheepish when he grinned down at you, realizing what you were doing.

You’d gotten him cologne on his first (date) daytime hangout with you. You’d been strolling through the mall, Gaz trying to make you forget about the ugly scene he’d walked into between you and your boyfriend when he arrived at your place.

You’d been so sad, and it didn’t suit you at all. He just wanted to take you out of that environment, and let your real-self blossom again.

His hand brushed with yours, pinkies locking and unlocking so he could feel his stomach dip again and again.

He was able to slowly bring you back, into a little world of inside jokes and friendly culture clashes. Gaz fully had you back by the time he stopped in front of an expensive looking fragrance shop and said:

“You know what? I need a new aftershave, but I’m clueless about shopping for that stuff.”

��Uh, aftershave?” you’d looked puzzled, peering into the store window. “Do they even sell that here?”

He let out a confused laugh, pointing at the bottles on the glass shelf. “We’re looking at it, so I’d guess yes.”

“You mean cologne?” you gave him your first real smile since you’d gotten there, and Gaz forgave yet another correction in favor of it.

“Get in here, and help me find an aftershave.”

He proposed that you guys find the perfect scent for the other and buy it as a gift. The two of you spent the better part of thirty minutes teasing and sniffing each other. Every time Gaz lifted a part of your arm or wrist to his nose, he let his lips brush across your skin accidentally.

“Kyyylee..” you whined every time, making him stir in the right places at the wrong time.

Eventually you both settled on something for the other, but Kyle slyly placed himself in the position of paying for both. The thought of you paying never having been a real thing in his mind.

“You’ll get it next time, love.”

He treasured that scent, you’d specifically picked it out for him, and he’d savored the look you gave him when you’d finally found it. Now he was in front of you again.

“Yeah, it’s the one you bought me. Did me a good turn with that. I get compliments like they get paid to give ‘em.”

“Who’s complimenting you?” you asked, your wince revealing it’d probably come out sharper than you meant for it to.

Gaz didn’t mind, he liked you as jealous as he was.

He chuckled, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “Just..other girls with good taste.”

Your pout and sharp head turn went right on display in the mental gallery he had of you. He couldn’t resist teasing you again.

“Are you wearing the one I picked.” he leaned down hovering just over your neck where he knew you could feel the soft puffs of breath on your neck. He heard your breath hitch when he hummed, confirming that you were.

“I am, and don’t worry about who’s complimenting it, since you have sooo many of your own.”

Gaz laughed as you yanked him after you with a huff. If he was delusional, you weren’t helping.

This visit was going how he imagined it, and he intended to end it exactly that way too. Finally getting that bastard out of a picture he should’ve never been a part of.

When clubbing, Kyle kept you close. You both loved to dance, and every song that came on seemed out to prove that your bodies were built to fit together like a puzzle.

He took an interest in your life, wanting to see what you got up to when he wasn’t there. You’d resisted, thinking it’d bore him. It did not.

He enjoyed meeting your co-workers, and eating at the cafe you loved a block from your job. You even took him to spend an afternoon with your family. Every time he scored a point with them, you gave him this dreamy expression he was determined to see for the rest of his life.

When he suggested making plans with your friends, so they didn’t feel like you were ignoring them while he was there, you were thrilled at how considerate he was, and he got the pleasure of overhearing you hype him up to your friends while you invited them out to do something.

It was you blocking your girlfriends every time one of them tried to push the flirtation with him too far, that let him know it was time.

He decided he would make his move when the two of you were having a movie night at your place. It wasn’t ideal, because that piece of shit was lingering around the place. Kyle hated that you lived together, but wouldn’t let that interfere. He had work to do.

“Kyyyleee.” you giggled, dragging his name out the way he loved when he ran a finger down your cheek to your neck, complimenting your skin.

“Just admiring your skin routine. You’ve gotta share.”

Or, when he shivered, and you instinctively extended your blanket to him. He took it without question, trying not to think about all of the things you could do under a shared blanket. Although, your boyfriend walking in and out of the room, pretending he had things to get out of the kitchen, made the thought more enticing.

You’d invited him to watch in earnest, and he’d just cut you down in a way that made Kyle quickly remind him he was in your apartment, because he’d lost his job, and had nowhere else to go. That you’d sweetly taken him in, and that he should remember that.

He enjoyed kicking him down while raising you up.

Your boyfriend finally just sat at the kitchen table in the dark, fuming. The living room was visible to him from there, but Kyle was glad to have him as an audience to him reminding you of your worth.

You two exchanged snacks and commentary, easily ignoring the unwanted third party.

“No offense love, but beer here is straight piss.”

You laughed, stealing one of the cookies left on his plate. “Beer tastes like that in general.”

“How would you know? You’ve never been anywhere.” your boyfriend snapped at you nastily, from where he’d been glaring at the two of you for an hour. “And why don't you go back to jolly old England if you hate it so much?”

Gaz lazily rolled his head in his direction, body language shouting how much he didn’t respect him. “Mate, you’re being a right prick right now. It’s not like you bought the beer, or anything else you’ve been shoving in that hole.”

Your boyfriend leapt to his feet, fast enough to knock over the chair. “Come over here and repeat that teacup.”

“Blud, that’s not what you want.”

“Kyle don’t, he’s just drunk and embarrassed. Ignore him when he’s like this.” you quickly passed a hand over the back of his, but he just gave you a soft smile instead.

“That’s his problem, he embarrassed himself. Why don’t you go in the back and find something to do.” He was so effortlessly dismissive, that your boyfriend mistook this for being unprepared to fight.

Kyle’s one rule for his plan was that he wouldn’t physically handle your boyfriend unless he got physical with you. He’d planned to show you how you should be loved, and let a smart girl like you do the rest. That went out the window.

He kept it clean, the other man was stocky, but didn’t stand a chance against his training. If you hadn’t been there, he might’ve taken it further, grinding his hatred of him into harsher blows. Instead, he gave him quick, almost surgically effective, blows to put him down. He was too intoxicated and unskilled to retaliate.

“See, he just needed a nap.” Gaz tried to lighten the mood.

“I’m so embarrassed,” you whispered. “I don’t know why he’s always like this now. He didn’t use to be. I just want this to stop.”

Kyle shushed you, crossing the room to pull you into his arms. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. You’ve been dealing with this for too long.”

“I’m so tired.” you admitted, clutching his soft shirt, and inhaling his scent (your scent, that you gave him) that made your eyes roll back in your head. He was so solid, warm, and a darker word popped into your mind, ‘mine.’

“You’ve been so good to everyone, too good. Let me take care of you.” he whispered, hands roaming from your lower back to cup your ass.

He heard the hybrid of a whimper-moan, and it had him at attention before you were done.

“I’d be just like him…” you trailed off weakly.

“That’s not possible.” He lowered his lips to yours, giving you the first kiss from him that couldn’t possibly be mistaken as platonic. You kissed back without any hesitation, not even willing to pull away when he started to lead you to the back. To your room.

Hate him as he did, Gaz noted somewhere in his mind how dark the scenario was. The location, and situation, in which he was about to fulfill the second-to-last step of his plan was kind of fucked.

He cupped your jaw in both hands,“Babe…we can go back to my room at the hotel.”

He didn’t want to. He wanted to erase any trace of him here, starting in your room. He wanted you everywhere he could have you in the apartment, and he wanted him to come to just enough to hear it.

“Makes no sense. Too far. Here.” you murmured, pupils blown wide.

Gaz didn’t need to be told twice. You were barely able to string a sentence together, and it was top three one of the hottest things he’d ever heard.

“Yes ma'am.”

Kyle didn’t doubt you’d complete the final step in the morning, and officially dump the forgotten man on the floor.

Johnny:

You and Johnny met through social media. He thought you were gorgeous and, being John “Soap” MacTavish, couldn’t leave your profile without letting you know. Though he threw in some playful critique.

You responded with a thanks, and a challenge for him to do the picture better. It resulted in a months-long photo battle that quickly became a real friendship.

Late phone calls, video calls, and constant strings of texting built a whole world between the two of you.

You were the highlight of his day sometimes, especially when he’d been gone awhile. You helped him reconnect with the world after shutting it out to defend it.

The only problem was your boyfriend. Johnny prided himself on being able to get along with all kinds of people. It was just in his nature. Hate was so rarely felt by him, that he always had trouble identifying it when he felt it.

He felt hate for your boyfriend, and it didn’t take him long to figure that out. He thought he didn’t deserve you. He was always talking to you reckless, like he didn’t have the most beautiful woman in the world in his life. Johnny wouldn’t talk to you like that, he wouldn’t have time to even consider it for all the worshiping of you he’d be doing.

He’d cheated, only to make you feel like that was on you, and you took him back.

When Johnny heard your pained sobs for the first time, he’d been halfway through texting Simon to ask for help with a dark favor before he was able to talk himself down.

It was then Johnny realized how much you’d come to mean to him, and that only made him hate your boyfriend more.

Your conversations ranged from anything to everything, but they always ended with you venting, and Johnny comforting. He didn’t mind it, in fact, most times he initiated it.

He realized, he must mean a good deal to you too, because you got all your comfort from him. Johnny’s thoughts mattered to you, and you sought his advice all the time. He hated what for, but he loved that you did.

“He didn’t even like the dress Johnny. I told him you thought of it, and he accused me of wanting to wear it for you.” your screen shook violently as you stomped into your bedroom, sending said garment sailing through the air.

“M’sorry to hear that. I meant what I said when you showed it to me in the shop. Any guy that doesn’t lose it to you in that dress deserves to be committed.”

You sniffed, choking out a humorless chuckle. “I’m glad you liked it at least.”

“Oh, you don’t ken how much sweetheart. In fact, put it on for me again.”

Six months into the friendship, he convinced you to come visit him in Scotland. You’d been having more trouble with your boyfriend than usual, living with him didn’t exactly give you a lot of places to take a breather.

Once Johnny confirmed he hadn’t hurt you physically, he’d switched to coaxing you into coming to see him for a couple of weeks.

“C’mon bonnie, I’ve been stateside more times than I can count. You haven’t been here once.” He watched you do your bedtime routine, as the sun came up in the windows behind him.

He loved how despite being countries away, the moment felt as intimate as if you were with him. In his home, getting ready to come to bed with him. Except if you were, he’d tell you not to bother brushing your hair. You’d just have to do it again later.

You laughed as you ran a comb through your hair. “It’s not like you came here for me Johnny. We didn’t even know each other the last time you were here.”

“So…you’ll return the favor later. Be my pretty tour guide.”

You wound up in Scotland barely a week later. A suitcase full of clothes haphazardly thrown into it.

“I don’t even know what I packed, it's a mess!”

Cue Johnny, who can’t quit hugging you, and they feel less and less platonic. “Don’t worry ‘bout it bon. I’ll find somewhere for it all to go.”

Somewhere turns out to be designated drawers and shelves, that he’d cleared in advance, for your clothes and bath products. Johnny putting them away himself like the simp for you he is. All the while distracting you from stating how you wouldn’t be there long, and you don’t need all that space.

“We’ll see.”

Johnny had been coaxing less and less innocent behaviors out of you all week, and just worshiping you when he wasn’t. You were a worked up hybrid of desperation, and restored self-confidence. It was addictive, and you started to lean into Johnny’s touches and kisses. You pretended you didn’t hear his murmured dirty statements so he’d have to try again and again.

It came to a head when you finally accepted a video call from your pathetic boyfriend.

You were in Johnny’s living room, wearing his favorite football jersey, with him behind you, absolutely refusing to make himself scarce. You didn’t want to take the call anyway, but Johnny convinced you it’d be good for closure.

Your boyfriend started going off, yelling about how you didn’t respect him or your relationship, and demanding that ‘you bring your ass home’.

“The thing of it is lad, there’s not really anything about this relationship to respect.” Johnny slipped around to your side, tilting your head up to press his lips to yours.

You hummed in surprise, but all of his gentle touches and sweet kisses over the week had you pliant. You immediately responded, squeezing his arm when he slipped his tongue into your mouth as a tease.

He pulled away, looking way too smug, and looking all the more impossibly-handsome for it. “Say bye to your ex-boyfriend then bon. The rest of this isn’t for him.”

You gurgled something like goodbye as you slammed the lid on your laptop, attention still fully on Johnny.

John Price:

Price thought your fiance should crawl in a fire and stay there. Yeah. He wasn’t ashamed.

The man was garbage, and hardly worth you giving him a glance, let alone this much sacrifice. You’d moved countries for him, happy to make your home with him because of his job. He treated it as though that should’ve been a given.

That’s how Price had gotten to know you. You lived in the apartment across the hall from him, and the first moment you smiled at him, John was a goner.

You introduced yourself with a smile, your pretty little hand extended out towards him. He’d stood there, wishing he hadn’t worn his ratty sweatshirt with his old football team logo in fading letters. You looked gorgeous, hair framing your face, slightly out of breath from lugging in your things.

He’d stumbled in his mind until he finally remembered proper social protocol. “Price…Captain John.” He cleared his throat. “Captain John Price.”

Your mouth formed an ‘o’, you were visibly intrigued.“Captain? You’re in the military.”

“Yes.”

“Well…thank you for your service.”

Normally, John didn’t react to that line as expected. He’d heard it enough times to wish he had a pound for every time, but that was about it. He didn’t do his job for thanks, and sometimes felt they shouldn’t be for him anyways.

Coming from you however, it was different. He had the reaction he knew most people wanted. He knew from the heat in his cheeks and the tips of his ears, they were red.

Your fiancé, who’d appeared in the doorway behind you, stole his chance to answer.

“Yeah, thanks or whatever. (Y/N), come in here and figure out where you want your hair crap to go. I’m just going to toss it anywhere in a moment.”

“Oh, you could’ve just put it under the sink.”

“You should be getting ready anyways, we have a dinner engagement.” He adjusted his shirt cuffs, eyeing John like he was picturing ways he could kill him.

John wanted to see him try just one.

“Bye John,” you gave a wave, a soft smile on your lips. “I’ll see you.”

You disappeared inside, leaving the two men in a stare down. There was a silent conversation at play, what your fiancé wanted to say was stated without a word. How much John cared about that was conveyed in the same manner.

Your fiancé broke first, slamming the door behind him.

“We’ll see if I’ll stay away.” He muttered, going into his own place.

Over that first month, you two got to know each other well. Your fiance was often at work, and you turned to John with your questions as you tried to settle into your new home. You had no one else there, and even though John had planned to decompress in complete isolation, he couldn’t do that to you. Didn’t have a part of his being that wanted to.

However, as John got to know you, he got to know your fiance too. Enough to know if he was ever going to murder someone outside of work, it’d be him.

It started with small things like what takeout you should go for, or which grocery store did he use? It seemed your fiance was useless.

One day, you needed help putting together your beauty table. You’d come to John, clearly embarrassed, and something told him you’d debated on asking him for a while. Your fiance refused, because you hadn’t paid attention when you were checking out, and didn’t select the construction help option.

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me love. You mean to tell me that he never made a mistake?” John was already coming out of his apartment, ready to help.

“It’s stupid, but I don’t feel like arguing with him over it. We’re in an ok place right now.” you laughed awkwardly, leading him inside.

“Ok probably isn’t a place you want to be when you’re headed for the church.” it came out of his mouth before he could think about how it wasn’t his place.

He was so used to being blunt, and dealing out cold, hard facts or opinions. It always took him a minute to readjust to what was appropriate, but by then he was back on duty.

You looked stunned, clearly not expecting that from him. Your arms crossed defensively, giving him a side glance while you mulled over responding.

He meant what he said, but he never would’ve delivered it to you that way, or at all, if he had thought two seconds more.

“‘M sorry. It’s really not my place is it?” he gestured to the back of the apartment. “Where do you need me?”

There were many more opportunities to spend time with you, and with them, opportunities to point out the toxicity he was seeing. It wasn’t in John’s nature to ignore obvious problems, he got paid to do the opposite. He had to resign himself every time so he didn’t upset you.

With every time he gave you directions, or answered a local cultural difference that confused you, you two lingered in each other’s presence a little longer. He wasn’t going to spoil that.

Your requests started to leave the territory of furniture building and directions, and started to cross more into trying a new recipe, and how you could do better at fitting into your new home. Your conversations started to get deeper, more information about each other being shared.

There were times where you dropped off food, having made too much, or your fiance didn’t want what you cooked. John loved your cooking as it was, he normally lived off whatever he could grab and nuke, but he threw in extra enthusiasm for spite and your pretty smile.

Sometimes John found reasons to come over to your place.

“Share a cake love? Don’t get excited, I picked it up at the shops.” “Just bringing back your bowl.” “I can take a look at that window if maintenance is still laying about.”

And without fail, you made him stay every time. You got lonely, and you still knew very few people in the area outside of him. Your fiance didn’t seem to care, he felt he’d set you up with plenty of friends in his circle. John called them posh knobheads, and you couldn’t agree more. You had nothing in common with them, and you always wound up back with John to vent.

He found it easier to talk to you than he had anybody else, and from the never ending conversation between you two, he guessed you felt the same. The topic of the nature of your relationship was verboten, but that was fine by him. By that point, he was more interested in making you forget you even had a fiance. He really hadn’t even made an effort to do it, it just tilted that way, and he leaned into it.

You weren’t exactly stopping his flirtatious comments, in fact, you seemed to light up in ways he hadn’t seen until then.

Then came the outings. As your fiance got more negligent, you got bolder. It started with you taking a chance to invite John to a movie when you two bumped into each other in the mailroom. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to the cinema, and he couldn’t say what was playing if someone held a gun to his head, but ‘don’t see why not’ fell out of his mouth with no resistance.

Then it was shopping together, or you dragging him to a museum and him bullshitting his art knowledge to make you laugh. He didn’t normally spend his time off being this active socially. He decompressed, and prepared for the next assignment. Maybe he’d meet a woman at a pub and bang out some release before getting back into formation.

He’d wondered if he would regret doing things differently on his next deployment, but that stopped the first time someone mistook the two of you for a couple. That alone would’ve been enough for him to keep his delusions (that he definitely did not have) going, but it was the fact that you didn’t correct them. It happened again, and if he thought he imagined things, he hadn’t. You never corrected the person, just gave a coy smile and accepted the compliment.

Well if you didn’t, he certainly wasn’t going to.

The final time that John could say he only found you attractive, instead of wanting you completely, you’d come to him to ask him if he could drive you to a little farmer’s market outside of the city. Things hadn’t been going well with you and your fiance.

You didn’t have to tell John, he could attest to that himself. He’d heard your arguments in his place, and between the noise level, and trying to make sure it didn't go to a place where you weren’t safe, he wasn’t getting much sleep.

Your plan was to cook your fiance a favorite meal from his childhood, using nothing but farm fresh ingredients. You figured that all you needed to get things on track was a quiet night in, focused on reminding each other why you were engaged. John nearly bit through his tongue to keep himself from bringing up the fact that it seemed the workload on maintaining the relationship fell solely on your shoulders.

Instead, he shoved his bucket hat on his head, and lied about needing to head out that way anyways.

The car ride started out quiet on his part, with you filling in the conversation. Price may have flexed his fingertips in jealousy more times than he could count, but you were so goddamn beautiful when you were excited. It almost hurt to look at you head on, so he gave you side glances to show he was listening.

At the market, your excitement didn’t die down. In fact, it turned into infectious playfulness. You two teased each other, engaged in playful scams to get more samples, and dared each other to come up with crazier and crazier stories about yourselves for the owner of each stall you visited.

Price would die twice before he admitted that he imagined you were on a date a couple times during the day. You never brought your fiance up, and he had to remind you to check your grocery list more than once.

It was late afternoon when you returned to the car, laden with goodies and constructing inside jokes. John was enjoying his time with you so much, he almost forgot he had to tell you he was shipping out the following week. He didn’t know if you’d care so much as to need an announcement in advance, but he felt he should.

He was worried about you, and he would think of you wherever he was bound to wind up, hoping you’d come to your senses and leave the garbage behind. Of course, he’d miss you…and he certainly wasn’t under any delusion that when you’d taken out the trash, maybe you’d consider him.

“Why’re you so quiet?” you’d squeezed his bicep to get his attention, and he instinctively pushed his arm into your hands, encouraging the touch.

It was quiet for a moment, before you slowly uncurled your fingertips, and placed your hands in your lap. His face flooded with embarrassed warmth.

Had he gone too far by leaning into the physical?

Price white-knuckle-gripped the steering wheel, swallowing down what he thought was a rejection he had no right to be hurt about, and cleared his throat. “Right. I’m heading out next week, and it won’t be short. Just thought you should know.”

Whatever reaction he expected from you, it wasn’t the one you gave.

“What?” You placed a hand on your chest, and then rolled your eyes. “Well that’s great.”

John gave you a bewildered expression, and it must've shown, because you quickly straightened up and faced forward.

“I don’t know about great, but it is my job. The one I was quite clear about when we first met.”

“Pull over.” you said so quickly, he wasn’t even sure you’d heard his response.

“What? Why? Are you feeling il-”

“No..just..please.” you gestured to the side of the road.

He obliged, brows drawn tight and carrying all of his questions. “Your boy is going to be home soon, and we still have a bit of a drive ahead of us. What-”

“I wanted to come here because of you.” you breathed out, still facing forward, your posture almost impossibly rigid.

“Me? You’re not making much sense (Y/N).”

You huffed, and when you turned to him, your expression took his breath away. In that moment he could read every thought you were thinking, and it would’ve bowled him over if he wasn’t sitting.

He felt electricity beneath his skin, the feeling he got any time he was about to do something drastic and dangerous.

It was the little hidden thing in your eyes that he couldn’t place that gave him pause.

“I came here, because I wanted to get away with you for today. I needed to.” you turned your whole body to him. “I don’t give a fuck about fresh ingredients for him, he probably won’t eat it anyways.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “We agreed to start over. And I’m going to try, I really am, but…I still can’t stop feeling need.”

In the looming silence, all John could do was scratch his beard, and try not to look as stupid as he was sure he did. He knew what you were saying, what you were toeing at, but surely you were just venting. You couldn’t-

“S’not right love.” Now it was his turn to look ahead. “Not for him, fuck him. For you. You’re upset and you’re scared, and you're raw.”

“And I need this.” you breathed. “If you’re trying to protect me, stop. If you don’t want me in that way..ok, I’m a big gi-”

“Oooh,” his voice came from deep in his chest, baritone thrumming through the car. “That’s not it. I promise you, that’s.not.it.”

Your fingertips gently pulled his face in your direction. “You’re leaving me…and when you get back things are going to have to be different.”

There it was. John swallowed, hard.

“I’m being selfish, but..I thought I’d have a little more time with you before..” Your eyes watered. “It’d be one thing if you really were just my friend, but that’s not right is it?”

John wiped at your eyes with his thumb before cupping his cheek in his hand. “No, it’s not.”

“Just one time.”

It was a struggle to say no to you, and that didn’t stop now. He pulled your mouth to his, hands gripping your shoulders in a subconscious effort to prove this was happening. You were in front of him, kissing him back as hard as he was kissing you.

He unbuckled you, and pulled you into his lap, sliding the seat back.

“I’m gonna miss you.” you were crying now, and neither one of you did anything about the tears.

His hands cupped the back of your head, fingers gently threading through your hair. “Oh, sweet girl. Why didn’t you meet me sooner?”

What transpired after was the most bittersweet moment he could recall. He had heartbreaks and troubled relationships before, but he’d never had to have a breakup with a woman he wasn’t sure he’d been seeing in the first place, but knew that he loved.

He took you twice in his car, before finally, the two of you could no longer ignore the setting sun and had to return home.

John remembered why he preferred to take a girl somewhere quickly, and then spend the rest of his leave in solitude, occasionally seeing a trusted friend. It wasn’t as fulfilling as what he had with you, but it didn’t hurt this deeply either.

He sat in his apartment for hours after he watched you disappear into your own. He didn’t even bother turning on a light when it got too dark, he just sat there, continuing to contemplate how things had gotten to be such a mess. How could he continue to pride himself on being the logical leader he thought he was, when he’d made such a mess of himself so quickly?

How was he supposed to forget you? How was he supposed to forget that he loved you, and that you loved him with another man’s ring on your finger?

The thought of seeing you, carrying your fiance’s child, and looking miserable during what should’ve been one of the happiest times of your life made Price leap from the couch. That familiar electricity raising every hair on his person to a point.

He didn’t know what he was doing, or what he was going to say, but he was moving like he’d planned it for months.

When he stepped into the hall, he paused.

You were sitting on the plush hall couch, eyes puffy, with a death grip on a pyrex dish. Your hair was perfectly styled, and you were wearing a low-cut silken dress that made him want to fall to his knees now that he knew what lay beneath. Your eyes widened at the sight of him, trying to curb your sniffles.

“I was right, he wouldn’t eat it. He got mad and left.”

“You should’ve made him wear it instead.” John’s fist clenched at his side, itching to do what he wanted from the moment he first saw him get short with you.

You shook your head, rising to your feet. “I don’t blame him this time. I didn’t make it for him, anymore than I shopped for it with him in mind, and I told him so.”

You held up the dish, and John saw it was his favorite. His idea of a perfect Sunday roast in one pot. Your meaning was clear.

“I just kept thinking, it shouldn’t be this hard. I mean, it shouldn’t be, right?” you stepped forward.

“No, it shouldn’t be.” He also took a step forward.

“It’s not that way with you.” Another step.

“I would hope not.” he also took another step

You stopped when all that separated the two of you was the dish.

“So this belongs to me then?” he was staring at the dish, but his hands gently grasped your wrists.

You, however, were looking directly at him when you breathed out. “Yes.”

#141 x reader #cod #call of duty #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick #john price #reader insert #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #Soap #soap x reader #tf 141 x reader #fem reader

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another-random-paradise · 5 months ago

Note

hello! if you're up to it i've had this one idea in my head for a long time that i just need to see written out

basically maybe short drabbles/hcs about leona, jamil, and vil with a reader who, on days where they're tired, is super affectionate physically as in they might see him pass by in the hall and take his hand for a moment/just search for him to get a hug from him, or comes up to him randomly and puts their head on his shoulder — maybe even in a few classes if they're REALLY exhausted, tldr reader just needs some affection when they're tired and loves receiving physical affection </3

~ ☆

Thank you for this lovely request!! I’m the same haha, nothing like a good hug when your tired <3 also I am so so sorry you had to wait this long, I’ve had a lot going on lately,, I really hope I did the request justice <3

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

Reader whose affectionate when tired

Characters: Leona, Jamil, Vil

Format: Headcanons

Warnings: None that I can think of

Leona

-Leona is in heaven

-or at least he thought he was at first

-After all, you being affectionate when tired, means more naps with you!

-except that, thanks to these naps, you aren't tired anymore, and don't seek his affection as often anymore. And the lazy lion has already gotten so used to it, that he finds it annoying to sleep without it now.

-He'd much prefer you'd just constantly had the urge to nap, like him

-You'll find him grumbling to himself, whenever you don't feel as affectionate, just as you'll find him with a smug grin whenever you cuddle into him while he lazes around the botanical gardens

-Jack once overheard Leona grumbling, with his tail swishing around angrily, and Jack was confused to say the least, seeing as how the lion was just grinning at you a few seconds ago

-turns out you just weren't all that tired that day, and, in Leonas opinion, didn't give him enough affection before running of - not that he'd ever admit that

-overall he really loves your affectionate side and wouldn't mind seeing it more often

Jamil

-conflicted, to say the least

-he genuinely loves you and your affection, he really does, but he's got a lot of work and a kalim who he needs to keep alive-

-He has fallen into a sort of routine when you feel sleepy, which is to get you comfortably to sleep as soon as possible

-If your at Scarabia, he'll bring you to a more secluded couch (you cannot tell me that those couches aren't as comfortable as can be), lay you down, maybe with some hot tea, and stay with you till you very quickly fall asleep

-if you're at school, he always has some sort of coffee at hand to wake you up, or something sugary if you don't drink coffee! he'll make sure it's still somewhat healthy though

-should you fall asleep on him in class, he'll take notes and asks questions for you. Occasionally just looks at you for a few moments, his grades need to be worse than Kalims anyway, so he can't completely partake in the class anyway

-If you get caught by a professor though, he'll just chuckle a bit.

-You can get mad at him for not waking you up, but he doesn't regret anything, he'll treasure in any time spend with you, where he doesn't have to worry about Kalim.

-on the very VERY rare chance that he has a day off, he basks in your affection! He'll most likely need to catch up on all the sleep he lost to Kalims shenanigans, so you two will most likely be cuddling in his bed, or on one of the couches in an otherwise empty lounge

-Or, maybe, to make sure Kalim doesn't barge in and ruin the moment, the two of you are at ramshackle, after sending Grim to heartslabyul!

-on rare occasions Grim does join you two, curling up next to you, while muttering something about Jamil stealing his henchmen. You three almost look like a family <3

Vil

-At first, Vil was confused as to why you'd sometimes be so much more affectionate than normally, but very quickly figured out the pattern; The more tired you are, the more affection he gets.

-He'd be lying if he said he doesn't enjoy the affection, it feels nice to be wanted by someone he genuinely cares for, who genuinely cares for him.

-BUT he doesn't like you not getting enough sleep, what kind of lover would he be if he just lets you miss your needed beauty sleep?!

-Also, he is a busy person with a reputation to uphold; he can't exactly film a movie or brew a potion with your arms wrapped around him, no matter how cute you may look..

-He does Indulge you, letting you cling to him when he isn't as busy, or in between classes, but never without a light scold about the importance of proper sleep!

-If you're clingy for a longer period of time, for example a whole week, he'll try to find out why, and then help you; If you stressed because of a test, he'll help you study, if something is worrying you, he'll pull out all the tricks to help you relax, ect.

-If you're just lonely, well.. he supposes you can sleep over ever so often, as long as he still gets his much needed beauty rest

-The first time this happens, he realises how much better he sleeps with you next to him, how much better the both of you sleep!

-It very quickly becomes routine; that way you'll get your affection when you're tired in the evenings, but the two can still follow your normal routine during the day!

-...though he does miss, the way you'd hug him from behind in the hallway, or the way you'd lay your head on his shoulder when Professor Trein was being particularly boring.. maybe letting you stay up longer when neither of you have anything important the next day would'nt be all that bad..

Once again, just so very sorry it took this long, I promise I didn’t make you wait on purpose, I’m always trying to reply and write as fast as possible <3

Feedback is welcome, just be nice please! Hope you have a wonderful night/day

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muzansfangs · 2 years ago

Text

Coitus interrupted.

Starring: Kokushibo x f!reader; Muzan x f!reader (separetely).

Warnings: nsfw, modern au, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (reader receiving), language, breeding kink, mention to pregnacy (Muzan’s part), dirty talk, hair pulling, creampie

Format: short imagines.

Plot: you and your boyfriend were having a steamy make out session, but one thing leads to another and you found yourselves moaning each others name. Everything was great, until someone interrupted you. Will it kill the mood, or ignite a devious spark within them?

Author note: Dear anon, I have lost your message, but here we are! I hope you’re going to enjoy this! And, honestly, if something like that ever happened to me, I’d die of embarrassment. Oh, wait, it kind of happened once -.-“

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Muzan Kibutsuji.

Nights like this, when he came back from his business trips and his hunger for you had skyrocketed throughout the week, mind fuzzy for the hours spent in yearning for your touch, were the best ones. You knew he did not hold back.

Eyes clouded over in lust, he had discarded his briefcase carelessly on the couch and marched towards you, who were staring at him in adoration just a few feet away from him. You did not have time to greet him properly, his lips harshly captured yours in a fervent kiss. His hand slided behind your neck, tilting your head to the side for granting him a better access to your mouth.

After a couple of minutes, he pulled back to catch his breath and pressed his forehead against yours “Yes, I have missed you. – he breathed out, pushing you against the wall, careful to shield your nape from the impact by securing his hand on the back of your head – I am sorry, love, but I can’t wait” he purred, burying his mouth onto the crook of your neck and nibbling at the tender flesh in search for your sweet spot.

A series of throaty moans left your parted lips, your fingers tangling into his dark locks, as you hoisted your leg over his hip to pull him closer to you “Someone’s hungry, I see” you whispered, biting your lower lip as one of his hand slipped between you two to work on unbluckling his belt. Muzan grinned, his plum red eyes boring into yours as he finally got to unzip his trousers.

“I am so sorry for your cunt, darlin’, but my cock is begging me to let it ruin you – he uttered, hiking your skirt up to expose your clothed core and hastily pushing your panties to the side – Scream for me” he said, a devious smirk crossing his face as he freed his bulge from his tight boxer and dragged it up and down your wet folds.

Your hands gripped his firm biceps as you nodded your head at him, eager to finally welcome his shaft back between your warm walls. He did not need anything else, the pleading look in your eyes was enough to make him understand how badly you wanted it. With a quick, deep thrust he entered you. You cupped his smooth cheeks between your hands and moaned into his mouth, as he bottomed out.

“Fuck— All those years of fucking and you’re still as tight as the first time I fucked your little cunt” he hissed, his hips snapping up with deep and harsh thrust.

You moaned again, mind already fuzzy as your half-lidded eyes stared at an indefinite point behind his back. It was right in the middle of your steamy reaunion, lost into your ecstasy, that you thought you were allucinating, when you spotted a tall figure on the threshold. You squinted and you finally recognized him.

“Fuck, Kokushibo!” you squeaked out panicking, only to make Muzan freeze solid. What the hell did you just say? Were you screaming another man’s name, while climaxing around him? Did you cheat on him?

His blood ran cold as his hand grasped your jaw roughly and his plum red pinned you on the spot “What the fuck did you say, love? What’s with Kokushibo? Did he f—” he started, his voice dropping of a few octaves in a threatening tone.

“Kokushibo’s here, Muzan! Turn around!” you cut him off, cheeks flushing up in embarrassment as your husband processed what you had just said. He whipped his head to the side, glancing over his shoulder, and he saw his coworker staring at his feet uncomfortably.

Muzan sighed, his irritation fading away instantly as he nodded his head at tall man who had interrupted your reunion “What’s the matter?” he flatly asked, as you hid your face onto his chest in shame. You wanted to disappear, let the floor swallow you, but it was impossible and you were forced to stay still and witness to your worst nightmare.

Kokushibo cleared his throat, showing a phone to Muzan, before settling it on the nearest coffee table “Y-You had forgotten your phone in my car, I… See you tomorrow” the poor man stammered, blushing and stumbling towards the front door to make his getaway from the crime scene.

“Wanna stay for the show? Have you heard how delightful her moans are? – Muzan teased you and his coworker, giving you a hursh thrust to make you squeal out in pleasure – Damn, I’mma fuck a baby into you tonight” he hoarsely said, turning his head back towards you and ignoring the fact that Kokushibo had not wasted any more precious time to leave your house.

“M-Muzan, please…” you whined, staring up at him bashfully.

He chortled, picking you up and walking towards the couch, dropping you onto it and helping you to get on all four “Beg all you want, darling. I am a little bit upset you know? For a second, I had thought you had cheated on him with him. – he said through gritted teeth, grabbing a fist of your hair and forcing you to arch your back for him – Consider this my payback” he added, before shoving his length into you again.

And, dear God, he lasted for hours and, maybe, he really got you pregnant that night.

Kokushibo.

You were sitting on Kokushibo’s lap, wearing nothing but your panties and one of his oversized t-shirts, as you watched a movie at this place. The summer heat was too intense to go out and you had thought that, staying over and cuddling with the help of the cool the air-conditioner, was a good idea. Additionally, Yoriichi would have not come back until later in the evening and it was your chance to finally have some privacy with your boyfriend.

You were fidgeting with your bracelet absent-mindedly, when it slipped your fingers and landed underneath the coffee table at your feet.

You were still focused on the screen, not really paying much attention to your boyfriend, when you climbed down from his lap and bent to the floor to reach it. Unfortunately, you had to stretch your arm a little more to get it and you were forced to slither down until your chest grazed the carpet and your ass was held up by the pose you had struck, exposing it at the vicious maroon eyes of the Tsugikuni twin.

You had finally grasped your silvery bracelet, when you yelped out in surprise at the sudden smack on your arse. You blushed, glancing over your shoulder to shoot an interrogative look at your boyfriend “What was that?” you asked him, arching an eyebrow up as you slowly stood up.

He did not reply at first, he sighed and simply grabbed the remote, turning off the tv. You knew something was on his mind by the way he was taking his time in pondering what to do. You cocked your head to the side, sitting down beside him and planting a kiss on his cheek.

“What’s wrong, babe?” you whispered, resting your chin on the top of his shoulder as you waited for him to open up and speak his thoughts.

“Sit on my face… – he blurted down then, placing his large hand on your thigh and giving it a firm squeeze – Please” he added shortly, sending shivers down your spine. His tone was serious, his eyes sparkling with a malicious glint that only revealed what he had in store for you. You blushed as his hand travelled up your leg, until he reached the hem of your panties. You knew exactly what you had to do. Kokushibo praised you day and night and was not a selfish man seeking only his ultimate pleasure. However, when it came down to giving head, he was definitely prone to be a receiver, not a giver and you would have been damned, if you were going to lose your chance to enjoy a good oral session.

Therefore, you stood up, watching your boyfriend laying on his back, moistening his lips in anticipation. You did not waste time in getting rid of your panties and, with Kokushibo’s help, you straddled his face. Once your heat was right above his mouth, you felt his tongue licking a stripe down your folds, eliciting a soft moan from you. His hands gripped your legs, caging you into this position, enjoying the way you squirmed above him with every flick of his tongue.

“Koku— Argh, please, don’t stop” you cried out, lolling your head back in ecstasy as he sucked on your throbbing clitoris.

You were so lost into the realm of pleasure, eyes closed as you neared your climax, that you had not noticed your brother-in-law staring at you riding his brother’s face. You moaned, arching your back as your orgasm engulfed your stomach, causing the shy twin to drop his packets in shock.

Your eyes snapped open, shrieking in fear, as you quickly tried to pull the shirt down to cover your pussy from the other twin’s eyes “Yoriichi! Gosh! Don’t stand here!” you yelled, hopping down from the couch and from of your boyfriend’s face. Kokushibo was absolutely shocked, face beet red as he wiped away your juices coating his chin with the back of his hand.

“I think I’ve forgotten to… buy something” Yoriichi commented, leaving the living room in a nick of time.

Your boyfriend, naturally, did not recover from the traumatic event he had just experienced. He would have never forgotten Yoriichi’s face staring at you two judgementally. From that day on, you two only made love in your house, safe from Yoriichi’s eyes.

Dt: @doumaslotus @doumadono @tired-writer04 @astrasolitaris @koyuki-the-flower my lovely icons❤️

#muzan x reader #kokushibo x reader #muzan kibutsuji x reader #muzan x you #muzan x y/n #kokushibo x you #kokushibo x y/n #michikatsu tsugikuni #michikatsu x reader #demon slayer smut #muzan smut #kokushibo smut #kibutsuji muzan x reader

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nicksolemnlyswears · 1 year ago

Note

DUDDDDE!!

I am in LOVE with your writing. I have been craving some good Han Lue works and you're filling the hole!

Everywhere is extremely lacking in quality Han Lue content bro 😭😭

But any whosies.

I was wondering if it were at all possible to request a Han work from you (from what I've seen you still have requests open so if you don't im sorry)

Specifically something about a reader who's fucking amazing at driving, and has been crushing on Han for a while, and the two decode to race (set in Tokyo) and whoever wins gets the loser to do what they want. Y'know classic setup.

You could choose where this leads to. Idc if we win or loose. All I want is a little bit of fluff sprinkled amongst some smut mayhaps. You could do this in headcannon format btw don't feel obligated to write the whole thing.

I'm just thirsting for any thing I can take 💀🙏🏼

Take your time! <3

pairing: han lue x racer!reader

words: 11.4k

warnings: some cursing and smut (pls wrap it before you tap it) don't judge my smut too much, it's been a while since i've written one

notes: hi anon! thank you for all your sweet, sweet words 🥺 i hope this is somewhere along the lines of what you were thinking of. as soon as i saw your request i was ✨inspired✨ it's been a long time since i've been so hooked by a oneshot. i have worked on it almost everyday since i received it so thank you! i changed the request just a little bit, i hope you don't mind.

trust me i know there is a ridiculous lack in han content! it's the reason i'm here writing over this man! there is not enough content for the speed i consume it, lol. i've read my own headcanons like 10 times already, excluding the times i was working on it.

anyways! might have gotten a little carried away but i enjoyed writing it so much! here you go! enjoy!

i really really hope you like it!!

Tokyo was the city where you learned how to street race. Weaving through the cars on the highway became second nature the harder you pressed the gas pedal. The neon lights turned into blurs as you sped down traffic, whether it was in search of a prize or a thrill.

You were meant to meet Han Lue. His presence became known as soon as he stepped foot in the parking complexes that serve as makeshift race tracks. He quickly became popular with the crowd, especially when he joined DK's crew.

His races were seen as exclusive, known to happen once in a blue moon. He was totally opposite to you. You took the opportunity to race any moment you could. It's what lead you to become a good racer. Practice makes perfect, after all.

'Good racer' is a bit of an understatement. You're one of the best right after DK. There's a debate about whether the second best is you or Han. Each person can take their pick. Many have suggested the idea for the both of you to race, but Han has shot down each and every one. He doesn't need to prove himself to anyone. Besides, he hasn't had anything to gain from racing you.

People like to call you 'Angel' because when you started participating in the races, you looked like an absolute angel, but soon after, they discovered you raced like the devil. You fool everyone around you, even with the way you drive. Whenever someone has to go against you, they think they have your strategy down, yet you switch it up every time.

The distinctive revving of your car alerts Han of your presence. He glances to his left, where you've parked right beside him. As you open the door and step out of your car, he opens a bag of chips, depositing one into his mouth.

You walk over to him, leaning against his car like he is. The bare skin of your back arching slightly as it touches the cool metal. "Have I missed anything?"

Han shakes his head cooly, watching his surroundings. He spares you a glance, taking in what you're wearing. A short, shimmery dress with an open back and high heels. Seems like you don't plan on racing tonight. You refuse to race in high heels. You've tried before and failed. You didn't lose, but you did break off both heels.

You feel his eyes trailing over your body, and you don't mind it. You like that you can catch his attention that way. Having a crush on a guy like Han takes work. He has every woman's attention in the racing underground. They often cling to his arms and bat their eyelashes his way, and he has gladly taken a few of them home.

"You done judging my outfit?" You say, looking at him.

"Not judging, admiring," he promptly replies with a small shrug.

That right there is what feeds into your silly little crush. Han isn't afraid of your comments or banter. If you look good, he'll say it. It's the way he says it that irks you, though. He is so nonchalant and aloof like he's commenting on the weather.

It doesn't help that he's never truly made a move on you. He considers you his friend and acts that way (most of the time, at least). You hate every moment because being his friend is the last thing you want.

"I take it you're not gonna race tonight?" He asks, already knowing the answer. He just needed an excuse to talk to you. Digging into his bag of chips, he grabbed another one to pop into his mouth.

"Not unless it's against you," you respond cheekily.

Han chuckles, "Not you too."

"Are you afraid of losing, Han?" You ask him, keeping your eyes on the race about to start. Why else would he avoid racing you?

Han props one arm on the roof of his car, facing you and saying, "If you're into racing, you can't be afraid to lose, Angel."

"Then why don't you spoil me a little and race me?" You hum, turning your head to face him. He's much closer than you anticipated, but you resist the urge to pull back despite the reddening of your cheeks. You want Han to know you like him even if you refuse to say it out loud.

"Maybe one day when I have something to race for," he responds simply, kissing your cheek and turning back to watch the race.

You release a shaky sigh and try to calm your pounding heart. Extending a hand, you dip your fingers into Han's nearly empty bag of chips and steal one for yourself. Han doesn't mind lowering the bag to make it easier for you. There's a smirk on his face as he fully well knows what he did. It's fun to make you flustered.

Han is out on the streets of Tokyo doing business or collecting his money from the greedy hands of wanna be gangsters. It's entertaining, to say the least, although sometimes it gets tedious. It's only fun when they get rowdy and want to intimidate him. They should know better than to judge Han by his calm exterior.

He's walking by the busy streets of Shibuya, the shopping district of Tokyo, minding his business. Han avoids the masses of people until he looks into a store and sees you. You're by the checkout desk, ringing out a client.

Han can't help it; he's drawn to you. Forgetting the wad money he has to collect, he enters the store. The bell on top of it chimes, prompting you to greet the customer in an abnormally cheery tone.

"Hello, welcome to-Han?" You stutter over the greeting, seeing his slightly mocking grin.

Han walks over to you and leans on the counter, there was barely anyone in the store now. Perfect timing. He assesses you and your overly pink clothes, bedazzled name tag, and glossy pink lips. It's unlike you to be so pink. He recalls you telling him you hate the wretched color.

"So this is where you work, Angel," he hums, toying with the trinkets on the checkout counter.

"Not everyone can survive with racing and sketchy side deals," You mutter. One hand on your tilted hip as you shoot him an annoyed look.

If racing made you enough money, you certainly would not be working in a store that makes you wear pink on every single shift. You could get more involved in the sketchy part of racing, but things are alright for now.

"True," Han stifles a laugh. He grabs a lollipop from the big jar filled with sweets for the paying customers and pops it into his mouth.

You extend a hand to throw away the colorful wrapping, and he places it gently on your hand, fingertips grazing your palm. You're not a teenager to be reacting over such minuscule actions, yet you do.

"What are you doing here, Han?" Han adores it when you say his name that way, pretending to be annoyed by his presence when in reality, you love having him around.

"Wanted to visit my favorite girl," he responds aloofly, carefully gauging your reaction. As he expected, your cheeks redden, and you try to hide it.

"Did you know lying makes your nose grow long," you scoff, rolling your eyes.

"Could be useful," Han says cheekily, causing your blush to deepen.

"If you're not going to buy anything, you can't be here," you shoot with a pout.

You weren't prepared to face Han this afternoon. You didn't get to repeat your affirmation as you do every night you encounter him. His constant playfulness throws you off, not giving you the opportunity to compose yourself.

"Oh no, consumerism got its claws on you," he jokes sarcastically. You glare at him and cross your arms over your chest, which only emphasizes the size of your chest. "Fine, help me find a new jacket?"

You round the counter and motion for Han to follow you toward the men's section. Your coworker will have no problem taking over the checkout counter.

You shoot Han question after question in search of the perfect jacket for him: colors, textures, durability, versatility, sizing, and so on. He responds just as quickly, propping an arm up and leaning against a rack of clothes as he watches you storm all over the store in search of the item that screams Han. He had no intentions of buying anything today but seeing how invested you got it leaves him no choice.

"I quite like this one," you beam, standing Han in front of a full-length mirror. You slide off the jacket he's wearing and replace it with the nice black leather jacket you found for him. Dusting him off, you look into the mirror seeing how perfectly it fits his broad shoulders.

"Why do I feel like you're giving me the most expensive one?" Han asks, looking at himself in the mirror.

He had to admit you picked well. He looks great in the black leather jacket. It didn't have too many buckles to make him uncomfortable, and it wasn't too warm either. The material felt nice and luxurious hence his comment.

"You asked for my help," you shrug, "It's not my fault I have expensive taste. Besides, you look hot in it." You wink at Han through the mirror.

Han tries to hide the smile forming on his lips. You were getting bolder and bolder. He knows about your crush on him; you're terrible at hiding it. Truthfully, he's felt the same from the moment he saw you race. You're oblivious, though, so he likes to tease you.

"I'll take it," Han sighs, refusing to look at the price tag. "Might even wear it on a date."

"Oh, you've got a date?" Your smile falters, quickly regretting picking such a nice outfit that makes him look so handsome. You'd definitely put out if a man wore that to a date and was as lovely as Han. All of your hard work just for another girl to enjoy it. If you catch one of Han's little friends wrapped around the jacket...you will burn it.

"Not yet," he says mysteriously, taking off the jacket and returning to the checkout counter. Han has to get going. He does have to collect his money. Especially now that you've convinced him to buy the expensive leather jacket. 'It's an investment,' he tells himself.

"She'll be one lucky girl," you huff, scanning the tag, carefully folding it, and placing it on a bag. "Don't worry, I'll apply the friends and family discount."

You watch Han go through the display window and hope he was just fucking with you on the whole date thing. You can live with your crush and have him as just a friend, but if he gets a girlfriend, you will not be able to manage it. You scold yourself silently for acting like a lovesick teenager. You're better than that. Right?

Taking the party to Han's club after a race is a must, especially after winning six thousand dollars. You won't have to worry about rent for at least six months, which is something to celebrate.

You park next to Han's car, and he waits for you to enter the plain-looking building. People greet him left and right as they go through the door that pours music and lights each time it's opened.

"You sure are popular," you tease him, leisurely walking towards him.

"Comes with the territory," Han responds without missing a beat. "Ready?" He asks, motioning for you to walk ahead of him.

"Always," you chirp. You purposefully accentuate the sway of your hips, giving Han something to look at.

Being a Friday night, the inside is filled to the brim, there isn't any space for more drunken people. Using your short height to your advantage, you easily find a way to the connecting hallway between this part of the club and the more exclusive one.

Han isn't as lucky constantly losing you from his sight. He's conscious that you are a grown woman capable of making your own decisions and caring for yourself, but he'd feel better being with you.

When he catches up to you at a point, he grabs your hips, pressing you against him, preventing you from getting lost again. You look back, startled, expecting to see a stranger rubbing against you. Noticing this, Han quickly calms you, "It's just me, Angel."

'It's just Han,' you repeat to yourself. You grab onto one of his hands, holding onto your hip, taking full advantage of the situation. Having Han wrapped around you feels like being on cloud nine. If this wasn't his club, you'd be going in circles, so he never pulls away.

With Han holding onto you, the way to the 'not-so-secret' hallway takes longer than usual. Not that you're complaining, though! Han's firm grip makes you fall harder for him. It fuels your imagination on how it would feel in other situations.

Han enjoys this position just as much as you do. He can pretend it's a safety thing as he steers you away from the sweaty bodies of drunks dancing, but it's for his selfish gain.

Having your body close to him reminds him of what he's missing and desperately desires. It started as a little innocent game for Han, knowing you had a crush on him, but then it turned into something more. He likes that you have feelings for him and wants it to stay that way. Han wants your attention on him all the time. His games are over; he wants you.

To your surprise, Han doesn't let go of your waist when you enter the hallway. Instead, he slings one arm around it as he walks beside you. "Maybe we should've taken the other entrance," he smirks.

"And miss the show?" You chuckle, finding a couple making out in the deserted hallway. Neither is willing to admit it's not about the show but about Han's proximity.

Unlike all the other times in the past you've partied with Han, he doesn't let go of you for more than two minutes. You dance all night together, just the two of you, no girls coming up to Han and no guys coming up to you. There simply wasn't a window of opportunity.

"You enjoying yourself?" He says in your ear over the loud music. Your back is against his front as your sway and roll your body to the beat. One of his hands is nursing a drink, and the other is right where it should be, on you.

"I won 6k and have a cute guy buying me drinks and dancing with me. What do you think?" You giggle, turning in his arms to face him instead. The drinks stop you from overthinking and let you wrap your arms around his neck. Faces close. You want to kiss him so bad you're not drunk enough, though, and it's not the way you'd like to do it, either.

"Just making sure," he smiles down at you, hand on your lower back.

The night is long, yet with Han, it goes by so fast. Sooner than you'd prefer, he walks you to your car, no longer holding onto your waist but your hand. There are only a few stragglers left behind who refuse to acknowledge the night is over. You and Han are two of them.

Reaching your white and red, modified skyline Han opens the door for you. With one arm propped against the open door and the other extended onto the roof, Han cages you against your car. Before you get in, you turn to face him, finding the bravery to do something you've been thinking about all night.

"Thanks for tonight, Han. I had fun," you say softly, suddenly feeling shy.

"Anytime, Angel," he responds smoothly, brushing his fingers on your naked shoulder. The jacket you wore earlier was discarded somewhere in the bar. An excuse for Han to see you outside the races.

"Well, goodnight." Gathering every particle of bravery, you stand on your toes and peck his lips softly.

It's only a tiny, innocent kiss, yet it makes Han close his eyes. It happens too quickly for his liking. You have been growing bolder, bold enough to kiss him. He needs to step up his game.

Taking advantage of his distracted state, you close your car door and rev the engine. On the drive to your apartment, you squeal in excitement. Fingers ghost over your lips, replaying the small kiss over and over again.

Another chance at a race becomes available only days after your win. Men love to challenge women, especially those who are winning, much like you are.

They hate seeing you be successful, but it doesn't bother you in the least. It's another opportunity to win cash or a car, which you can use for parts and sell what you don't need.

As you roll up to the starting line, Han approaches your window, leaning down to duck his head in.

"Come to give me a good luck kiss?" You speak playfully, lips turned up into a smile.

You two haven't talked about what happened at the club and have continued to act as you usually do. He's been more touchy with you, though, often trying to find a way to be close to you. Being the lovestruck fool you are, you've encouraged it, finding those ways to let him be close.

"We both know you don't need luck. You've got this in the bag, Angel." Han speaks encouragingly, "Tell you what, though. You win, and it's yours."

"Making me earn it, I see," you laugh, shaking your head. "Alright, you've got a deal. See you on the other side."

Han is confident you'll win. With a last reassuring tap on your door, he steps back, finding his place in the crowd.

Your opponent finally drives up to the starting line, sending you an unnecessary nasty look you laugh at. The flag girl stands between the two cars, her dress leaving nothing to the imagination. You respect it. They are a lot more confident than you are in that department.

You are off when the word 'go' falls from her lips. You knew this track by heart, having raced it so many times. You knew exactly when to hit the gas and when to press the brake to get the car to swerve. Han's full attention is on your race, and when your car disappears to another level, he takes the elevator up to the top floor, where the finish line is. Watching you race is interesting. You always come up with ways to confuse your opponents.

With a bag of chips, he anxiously waits for your victory. Regardless of your ability to race and win, your races make him nervous. He cares about you, and so many things can go wrong.

The noisy crowd gets louder as the sound of tires screeching gets closer. In seconds, your car swerves onto the top floor, again marking you as the victor. There's not a scratch or bump in your car. Your opponent arrives shortly after with dents and long scratches in his paint.

The crowd cheers loudly for you, coming up to you to congratulate you and tell you how cool you looked. Your opponent comes up to you and hands you his keys with a scowl. You shrug it off. A deal is a deal.

Winning leaves you on a high, a feeling of invincibility wrapping around you. You've learned to control it because that feeling caused a big loss years ago. You get distracted by the people around you and forget Han's promise. It's funny because it was the only thing running through your head while you raced.

"Good job out there," Han says, catching up to you later in the night once the hype died down.

"Why, thank you!" You chirp, closing the hood of your car and leaning back to sit on it.

"I believe I made a promise," Han mentions, stepping close to you until you're face to face, only a few inches between the two of you. "You did," you nod, biting your lip.

Han notices this, bringing a hand up to cup your face, his thumb tugging your lip loose from the tight hold of your teeth. The other wraps around your waist, pulling you close. You slide on the warm metal of your car, placing a hand on his chest to brace yourself as Han settles between your legs.

"I'm a man of my word," he whispers, finally leaning down to press his eager lips against yours. Han is greedy for many things, and your lips are one of them. Ever since that night at the club, he's wanted to smash his lips against yours, to feel you close, taste you.

Your eyes instantly flutter close, fisting Han's shirt in your hand as if afraid he'll pull away too quickly. The kiss starts slowly as you both test the waters, but it soon becomes not enough. Han tilts his head, deepening the kiss.

It's an electric shock that consumes him and doesn't let him go. This is the result of Han holding himself back, and you made it worse when you gave him a taste the other night.

Han slips a hand under your shirt, feeling the warmth of your skin. You gasp against his lips, arching your back as his cold fingers catch you by surprise. It serves as an opportunity for Han, his tongue pushing past your pouty lips, savoring the moment.

You gave into him, offering everything you have in exchange for this moment. His warmth wraps around you, burning you from the inside out. The need to breathe makes itself present too soon and becomes far more demanding than the need for each other's lips.

Han pulls away, your bottom lip between his teeth. You're breathless, as if you ran a marathon. You feel lightheaded, intoxicated by Han, who continues to peck your lips softly. He might be addicted already. The tips of his fingers draw soothing circles on your lower back, grounding you in the moment.

"So this is what winning feels like," you breathe out, smoothing Han's shirt with your palms. A futile way to hide their shakiness.

Han laughs, pressing his face against your neck and leaving a fleeting kiss behind. "Appears so, Angel."

A perk of being Han's friend is using his garage whenever you want. The days of paying for a spot to fix your car in a stranger's garage are far in the past. At the moment, you've spent the most part of the afternoon upgrading your car. The car you won on your last race sits beside yours with the hood popped open as you switched around pieces. He had quality parts, and his driving still sucked.

Twinkie, Earl, and the others are scattered around the large garage, working on different things and chattering. You had purposefully picked a spot away from them so you wouldn't get distracted. With work, your time is limited.

Han is on the second floor, leaning against the railing and pretending to watch the first floor and what they are doing. In reality, he is watching you closely.

You're bent over the hood of the car, working on unscrewing a tight bolt, cursing at the man who installed it initially. It's a sight straight out of his dreams. Your Nike sweatpants hung low on your hips, framing your ass perfectly. If he focused, he'd see the dimples on your lower back. His mind ran wild at the thought of pressing his thumbs against them while taking you from behind.

It's been a while since he's slept around. He cut himself off when he realized his feelings for you. What was the point of sleeping around if he wouldn't be satisfied? Those girls weren't you. They were temporary relief. Now, his pants tighten at anything you do. It's like he's seventeen again and unable to keep it in his pants.

He followed the curve of your ass to your arched back and the cropped shirt you wore. The matching crew neck sweater you arrived in is discarded in your car due to the heat. The revealing shirt rose with each of your movements, revealing the band of your baby blue bra. You tug on it for the millionth time today, annoyed.

The strands of hair you curled to frame your face stick uncomfortably to your sweaty forehead. You regret not putting them back into the two braids that fell over your shoulders.

Han needed to rip his eyes away from you before the others noticed. He's been staring for too long, fantasizing about everything he could do to you. To Han, you looked even more beautiful than you did that night with your sparkly dress and makeup. A woman who knows her way around a car is instantly a hundred times more attractive in his eyes.

As he accidentally visualizes you taking his cock from that same exact position, car included, you groan and straighten up. "I need help," you whine to no one in particular. The bolt is not budging, no matter how hard you try.

Han snaps out of his fantasy and springs into action, quickly appearing by your side. You've bent over again, wrench in hand, to give it one more try before giving up. He leans beside you, a hand on your lower back for faux support.

"What's the matter, Angel?" He says softly, one hand propping him up as he looks at the machinery under the hood. It's better if he helps you. He can't continue listening to your whines and groans.

"I need to unscrew those," you point at the bolts giving you a hard time.

Han asks for the wrench in your hands, and you place it in his hand, annoyed. You don't need the help of a man to do this, but it's Han, so you'll take it. You watch him as he places the wrench around the bolt, his arm tenses, emphasizing his muscles hidden by the short-sleeved button-up he wore over a white wife-beater tank.

His hair fell around his eyes as he successfully unscrewed the bolts. Feminism died as you lustfully took in Han, biting your lip. 'What a man,' you thought. You would've instantly refused the help if he had been any other guy.

"There you go," Han says, handing you the wrench. When he spares you a glance, he laughs softly. Good to know he has the same effect you have on him.

"Whatever would I do without you," you purr, shooting him a mischievous smile, "You deserve a reward." That's what it has come to, silly excuses to kiss Han because you're just friends. Nothing more.

Han looks at your lips briefly before snapping back to your eyes. You grin at him, leaning closer to kiss him for his 'hard work.' You know that he's been watching you all this time; you saw it from the reflective surface of the toolbox. Seeing his quickness to help you makes you believe he enjoyed the show.

Your lips brush teasingly against his, and just before Han can grab the back of your neck to stop the teasing, a loud bang tears through the room. Both you and Han pull away to see where the sound comes from, but Han bangs his head on the car's hood in the process.

"What the hell was that?" Han yells, rubbing the back of his head. He's annoyed that he's been interrupted.

"Sorry! The motor I was working on fell!" Earl exclaims from the other side of the garage, unaware of the daggers Han is throwing him.

"Best I get back to work," you quietly say with a chuckle, taking the piece you needed out of the car to bring it to yours.

"Yeah," Han says simply, reluctantly leaving to do his own thing.

Each and everyone that's in Han's garage returns to their business after the noisy interruption. Twinkie turns on a radio, blasting music to drown out the silence and clanking of tools. You work without interruption for the next three hours, giving your car all the love it deserves.

You clean your hands free of the motor oil and grease and search for Han. Your work for today was done. Now that you took anything valuable from the car you won, you had to sell it. You figured Han could do that for you.

"Hey, are you busy?" You ask him, seeing him working on a part by his desk.

"Nah, what's up, Angel?" He questions, dropping the screwdriver in his hand to focus all his attention on you.

Leaning on the desk casually, you begin speaking, "After I replace the bumper and give it a new paint job, can you sell that car for me?"

"Shouldn't be a problem," glancing at the car, Han agrees. It's a popular car in the racing world, and as soon as he gets the word out he's selling it, many offers will pop up.

"You're the best, Han!" You beam at him, pushing yourself off the desk to return downstairs.

"Angel, wait," he calls after you. Being your friend has been fun, yet he needs more. You shouldn't have to come up with excuses to kiss him; you should be able to do it freely whenever you want.

"Yes, Han," you ask softly, tilting your head in question.

Standing up from the rolling chair, he approaches you, "Do you want to go on a date?"

A grin sneaks past your lips before you even process what he said. Instantly, you nod your head, "I'd love to." You could combust at that moment. Finally, after months of pining, Han asked you out.

"Let's go," he smiles, grabbing your hand and guiding you to his car.

"Wait, now?" You furrow your eyebrows.

"Yes, unless you have something more important," he asks, teasing you.

"Nothing is more important, but I'm a mess," you shake your head hesitantly. You spent your afternoon working on cars, sweating, and getting covered in grease. You didn't think it would be in sweatpants when you pictured going on a date. Not to mention the state of your hair.

"No, you're not. If you must know, you've had me distracted all day," Han whispers the last part in your ear, trying to convince you even if it means giving himself away.

"Am I supposed to apologize?" You question, the corner of your lip curving into a sultry smile. You had been right all along.

"No, just agree to the date. Be spontaneous," Han bounces his eyebrows cutely.

"Let's do it," you sigh, hoping you won't regret it.

"Atta girl," Han smiles victoriously.

Han tries to remember the last time he had a proper date. Even with his ex, they just sort of happened. No date ever officially branded as such. It's why rather than asking you and waiting for the day to arrive, he decided to do it spontaneously. It leaves him no time to be nervous or to overthink things.

You slide your sweatshirt back on on the way out to shield yourself from the chilly Japanese night. Han opens the door to his car for you, shutting the door when you slip in. The drive is short as he takes you to a small family-owned sushi place he swears by.

"I'm surprised you eat more than chips and crackers," you joke with him as the food arrives, and he takes a bite.

"I definitely eat more than that," Han replies nonchalantly, referring to something else entirely. It's something you don't catch despite your dirty mind.

A discussion develops when you discover Han always orders the same thing in the restaurant. He's in Japan. He needs to throw himself into the culture and try new things.

Starting easy, you grab a piece of sushi from your plate, "You need to try this."

"I don't know," Han grimaces as he looks at the sushi held in your chopsticks.

"That's not an answer. Open your mouth," you groan, gently placing the sushi roll in his mouth.

You watch him chew slowly, getting a feel for the new food. "It's good," he agrees, liking whatever you had ordered. It was delicious, actually.

"Better than yours, right?" You ask him, knowingly, pointing your chopsticks at him.

"Yes," he rolls his eyes, refusing to give you the satisfaction.

"Told you," you sing, grabbing both plates and placing them in the middle of the table. Now you could each grab from both and share your meals.

The date goes smoothly. It's a wonder why the two of you hadn't gone to dinner before today. You already know Han is attentive and funny but his wisdom surprises you. He's already lived through so much, more than an average person. Despite being a couple years older than you, he retains his youth. That may be why he appeals to a younger crowd as well.

"What was your life like growing up?" You ask him, taking a drink from your Coke. Han ordered another plate of sushi to share, the one you chose earlier.

"My upbringing wasn't the best," he shrugs, remembering his life in California as a teen. "I was always in trouble."

"Why does something tell me that you were the one causing the trouble," you say, narrowing your eyes.

"I definitely was," he chuckles, "But in the end, it brought me here, and I'm happy."

Han believes in the timing of life. He's been after Tokyo for so long. Before stepping foot in Tokyo, he had to go through the Dominican Republic, Rio, Germany, Shanghai, London, and many more places. It was supposed to happen that way, or he wouldn't have met you.

"I knew it," you sigh dramatically, "I've always been into bad boys."

"What about you, Angel?" He returns the question, curious about your past.

"I grew up in a normal Japanese family. My dad's a mechanic, my mom a nurse, and my sister a pain in the ass. I went to school for engineering and graduated with top honors," you tell him, reminiscing on your not-as-impressive past.

"You say that as if it's easy to graduate with top honors," Han chides you, to which you roll your eyes. "Why work retail? Doesn't engineering make you a lot more money?"

"Don't laugh, okay?" You point at Han. When he agrees not to laugh, you continue, "I wanted to be a Formula 1 racer when I was younger. My dad signed me up to participate in smaller competitions, and I was pretty damn good. My mom was totally against it and forced my dad and me to quit.

Fast forward, I'm in college, and engineering seemed like the way to go. Learned about street racing and figured that could be a way back into my dream. It's a foolish thought. The professionals spend years in proper circuits practicing and competing. No one comes with a background of illegal racing."

Han wasn't expecting that answer. He assumed you hated engineering and did it to appease your parents. He wonders why you thought he would laugh. Your dream is nothing to laugh at. Having witnessed your racing, you undoubtedly had the innate talent. "So retail?" He prompts, realizing you didn't answer the first question.

Snapping your fingers, you say, "Right! I figured I'd always have my degree. I'd rather spend my time having fun now; when the time comes, I'll return to that. I do like it, but I'm not ready to commit to a life of 9 to 5's. I prefer spending my time in the wee hours of the night racing. Since I can't be a Formula 1 racer, I'll be a street racer. Much cooler, anyways."

"That takes guts," Han tells you, "I'm glad you're doing it."

You give him a little shrug and a smile because you were too. Despite your childish dream dying when your mom forced you to quit, you're still happy with your life. Especially if you end up with a guy like Han.

Han, being a gentleman, pays for dinner. Before returning to the car, you stop by a convenience store for dessert. Han follows you buying snacks for himself. In search of something sweet, you find a shelf filled with Pocky. You grab the chocolate-covered ones with a plan in mind.

You and Han sit at a table outside the convenience store. It was getting late, so only a few people were around. You open the packet of Pocky, taking out a chocolate-covered stick.

"Have you ever played the Pocky game?" You ask, taking a bite of the treat.

"No. What is it?" Han looks at you curiously.

"Essentially, you grab one end of the Pocky stick, and I grab the other. We have to eat it, but if one of us pulls away, they lose," you respond simply, hiding the game's purpose.

"That sounds awfully like Lady and the Tramp," Han mentions, catching onto your intentions.

Offering him a stick, you say, "Want to play?"

Han smiles at you and grabs the Pocky stick placing the biscuit end between his teeth. You hold the chocolate-covered end and tap his hand to start. You both take it slow, Han opting to stay still as you near his lips. You tilt your head when you're close to his lips, giving him the perfect opportunity to kiss you when only a small piece is left.

You smile into the chocolate-flavored kiss. If you wanted to kiss Han, you could've done it without so many sneaky plans or excuses, but it wouldn't be as fun.

"So, who won?" Han asks when you pull away.

"Does it matter?" You cheekily say, pulling him back in for another kiss.

There's no flaw in your reasoning. Han pulls you close, lifting your legs to lie in his lap. You spend more time than you care to admit making out outside the convenience store.

Han offers to drive you to your apartment since your car needs to be finished. Throughout the drive, his hand is laced with yours in your lap. Small talk flows between you as you continue to learn about each other.

Smoke coming from your apartment building cuts that conversation short. Firefighters stand outside the building, spraying water into the source of the fire. Han steps out of the car with you to ask anyone what is going on.

Noticing the building manager across the street, you approach him. He quickly blurts out all the information he knows. You're one of many of the tenants to approach him. "There's a fire on the sixth floor. We don't know the damage yet. I understand this is your residence, but you need somewhere else to say for the next few days while we asses the damage and inspect the building."

"What am I going to do?" You groan, covering your face with your hands. You worry about where you'll stay and your stuff in your apartment. You have important documents in there.

"You can stay with me," Han offers without a hint of hesitation.

"Are you sure? I don't want to impose." It's nice of Han to offer you a place to stay, but would it be too much at this stage of their situationship. Last thing you want is to push boundaries.

"You're not imposing. Let me help you," Han insists, grabbing your hand to rub soothing circles in it. It's a given he has feelings for you, but before that, you are his friend, and he's not going to leave you out on the streets or sleeping in your car.

Han offers you calming words on the way to his apartment. Your apartment is on the twelfth floor and the other side of the fire. Chances are that your stuff will probably be fine. Whether the building will close for renovations is another matter entirely.

His apartment is just another level to the building he owns. Its entrance is on a more private side. Inside, it's very clean and organized, a surprise since you expect most guys to be messy. Picture frames and knick knacks are scattered throughout the space, giving you more of a glimpse into Han's life.

It's quiet between the two of you but comfortable. Han is giving you time to process what you saw in your building. He offers you his shower if you'd like, and when you brought up you didn't have any clothes, he searched for a clean t-shirt and sweatpants you could borrow from him.

A shower is just what you need as you let the water cascade down your body. Fire aside, it has been a great day, even before Han asked you on a date. Hope fills your being at the prospect of soon beginning a relationship with Han. So far, everything points out it can happen. There haven't been any red flags or hesitation from him.

You change into the oversized t-shirt Han picked out for you and the spare pair of underwear you always carry in your bag. Smart girls know to carry a spare in case of emergencies. You debate about wearing the sweatpants he left for you but choose against it. The t-shirt covers enough.

You shyly make your way out of the bathroom in search of Han. You find him in the bedroom, grabbing an extra pillow and blanket. "The bed is yours," he mentions, eyes briefly trailing your naked legs.

"Where will you sleep?" You ask, furrowing your eyebrows. If anyone has to sleep on the couch, it should be you.

"I'll take the couch," he responds, as you expected.

"Han, stop being a gentleman and get in bed with me," you say, taking the pillow from his grasp and placing it back on the top of the bed.

He offers you an 'Are you sure?' look, and you nod confidently. He doesn't need to be told twice. Han steps out of the bedroom for a few minutes and grabs a shower. Taking that time, you get on the bed to get comfortable, it's soft, and you sink into it.

You're snoozing off when he returns to the room. Han carefully peels back the sheets and gets under them. Feeling the bed dip, you turn to the side to face him.

Your sleepy mood makes you cuddle up to him without much thought. The smell of his soap invades your senses. Han naturally accepts it, throwing an arm around your waist and hugging you closer, legs intertwined. He kisses the top of your head, finding comfort in the position.

Thankful doesn't begin to cover how you feel. There's this overwhelming sense of security that comes with Han. There is something about him that makes you trust him. Deep down, you know he wouldn't intentionally hurt you.

"How are you feeling?" Han checks up on you before you fall asleep.

"I'm okay. I hope none of my things got damaged," you mumble into his chest, pressing a kiss into it afterward. "Thank you for everything, Han. Your help with the car, the date, letting me invade your bed," you finish with a soft laugh.

"Anytime, Angel," he responds truthfully. If he can help you in any way, he will. Sleep consumes both quickly after, and it becomes the best night you've both had in a while.

The following day you're the first to wake. Han's arms are around your waist, and you feel his breath tickle the back of your neck. He's warm, and you just want to sink into it even more. Your need to pee pries you out of his embrace, though.

As carefully as possible, you slip out of his loose grasp and head to the bathroom. Han had picked out a toothbrush for you the night before, which you're thankful for. Shuffling out of the bathroom, you cook breakfast for Han as a 'thank you' for his hospitality.

You pick the ingredients you need from his fridge, careful not to make too much noise. Your progress is slower than you prefer as you get used to the kitchen layout and localize everything you might need.

Soon enough, you drop pancake batter into the pan, and while that cooks, you scramble eggs with veggies. Since it's his kitchen, you assume he'll like what you make. It's his ingredients, after all.

Just after finishing the last batch of pancakes, you hear the patter of Han's feet entering the kitchen. You turn to glance at him quickly and greet him, "Good morning! I made you breakfast, sit!"

"You didn't have to do that," Han says, coming up behind you. He traps you between his body and the stove as if having you close last night wasn't enough.

"Yes, I did! You let me stay here, borrow clothes, sleep in your bed," you flip the pancakes as you count all the nice things he's done in less than 24 hours.

Humming, unconvinced, Han kisses your cheek and thanks you. It sends a tingle between your legs as his voice is raspy and deep from sleep. Your cheeks flare up, betraying you as always.

Han follows your orders and sits by the kitchen table, waiting till you're done to begin eating. With that time in his hands, he observes you. You're wearing the t-shirt he loaned you, which swallowed your frame. Each time you flipped a pancake, it rose slightly to reveal the light green fabric of your panties. Han soaked the sight in and wondered if this was what waited for him in the near future.

His eyes continue trailing down to your thick thighs. He wouldn't mind being trapped between them. Lower and lower, his gaze went from your pretty legs to your varnished toes. Back up, it went as you turned off the stove and approached the table. You weren't wearing a bra under the t-shirt, as your nipples poked through the thin fabric.

Han's glad he didn't notice these things last night, or he wouldn't have been able to sleep a wink. Spreading his legs, he tried to hide the hard-on he was sporting. None the wiser, you sit on the empty chair near him and tell him to eat up.

Shooing the dirty thoughts from his mind, Han thanks you one more time and digs in. It's a lovely morning, with light chatter bouncing between you. Han praises your cooking every chance he gets and even finishes the pancakes you left over but not before drenching them in more syrup. When both of you are done, you clear the plates and place them in the sink to wash.

"Angel, come 'ere," Han calls from behind you.

Mindlessly you walk over to him, wondering what he wants. Han grabs your waist, pulling you to his lap. "Han, what are you doing? I have to do the dishes!" You squeal, holding onto him, afraid he'd let you fall.

"No, you don't," he speaks softly, one hand cupping your cheek.

"I don't?" you prompt, leaning into his touch.

"Let me properly thank you," he offers, lips chasing yours. Han can't contain himself any longer. You've done a number on him, strutting around his kitchen in your underwear. He wants you. He needs you.

You lean into the kiss as you always do, pouring everything you have into it. Tasting the coffee on his tongue, you bring your hand around the back of his neck, softly tugging the long strands of hair. Han groans into the kiss, having missed that sensation.

Repositioning yourself, you straddle Han in the rickety kitchen chair. You feel his hands all over your body, trailing down your back to grasp your ass in his palms. Every so often, you'd resurface to breathe but dip down again and again to continue kissing him.

Han feels himself harden as you rub your center against him deliciously. It's clear as day you want him just as much as he wants you.

"Want to spoil me and fuck me?" You breathe heavily, kissing Han's neck.

"So bold," Han chuckles, his hands wandering under the t-shirt to feel your warm skin, his nails faintly scratching your back, sending shivers down your spine. "Six months ago, you would've been too scared to ask me that."

Six months ago, you would've been too scared to kiss him on the cheek, but you've come a long way. As time passes, you realize your feelings are not one-sided because Han means every word he speaks to you despite his taunting nature. Each and every complement is honest.

"I got tired of waiting around for you," you bite back, nipping his neck and sucking a pretty bruise on it.

Han hisses at the momentary sting, "I thought I was just a friend?"

You laugh sarcastically, picking your head up to stare at him, "I don't let friends kiss me or grope my ass."

"What does that make me then?" Han raises an eyebrow, cheekily squeezing your ass as a smirk forms on his lips.

"Special," you shrug, lips pouty and swollen.

"Because?" He wants to hear you say that you feel something for him. It's a last hurrah on giving you a hard time for fun.

You realize it's time to be honest and come out with it. You stopped hiding your feelings a while ago. Hell, you even asked Han to fuck you. All that's left is to admit your feeling out loud. "Because I have feelings for you, Han Lue," you whisper, brushing the hair that threatens to fall over his eyes.

"That's all you had to say," Han murmurs, catching your lips in a passionate kiss.

The heat rises with each passing moment. Your feelings have now come to a boil and bubbled over. Han picks you up easily and sits you on the kitchen table. He leaves his touch on your naked back to trace the outside of your thighs. It's time to give you precisely what you asked for and what he has been fantasizing about for far too long.

Grabbing the elastic band of your panties, Han slides them down the curve of your ass and your thighs until they are off. He throws them somewhere in the room, the information unimportant for now.

"Han, please," you whine, spreading your legs wider and giving him access to your most private part. You beg between kisses to feel his touch where you need it most.

"So impatient, Angel." Han jabs lightly as his right-hand touches the inside of your thigh. The pads of his fingers brush over your thighs repeatedly, nearing the apex more and more with each stroke.

You gasp as he finally dips a finger into your folds, gathering the slick that formed to spread it around your bundle of nerves. You gasp, breaking the kiss and throwing your head back.

Han sucks on your neck and collarbones as you moan into the air. Slipping a finger into your tight walls, he groans, thinking about how they'll feel around his hard cock.

"Fuck, Han, feels so good," you sigh when Han adds another digit into your soaking core and presses on your clit with his thumb.

"I didn't realize I made you this wet," he says into your neck as you grind your hips into his hand. You must've been wanting this for as long as he has.

"Liar," you respond, staring at him with hooded eyes. The nights you've touched yourself while thinking about him are many. The real thing is a million times better.

Han watches you intently, catching every little reaction you have to his touch. The moans and whines echo through the room and are music to his ears. Without a doubt, there's a wet patch in his boxers as his tip leaks precum from the erotic sight in front of him.

Your walls clenching around him alert him you're close, and promptly after you make it known as you beg him not to stop, except he doesn't listen and stops just as you're about to cum.

"Why did you stop?" You complain, eyes wide in desperate need.

"Want you to cum on my tongue," he responds, stealing a quick kiss before he kneels on the floor. Wrapping his strong arms around your thighs, he scoots you closer to the edge.

His words shoot another current down your legs, no doubt making more of a mess. You wait with bated breath as Han kisses the inside of your thighs, making eye contact with you as he delves into your pussy.

He licks up from your hole up to your clit. You grasp his hair with one hand, pulling the t-shirt up with the other to better look at him going down on you. Your eyes roll involuntarily when Han wraps his lips around your clit, sucking and flicking it with his tongue. His long fingers find your opening once more, sliding in effortlessly.

You try to maintain eye contact with Han through it all. If his hair fell on his eyes, you'd quickly brush it back, not wanting to miss his lustful gaze. It spurred Han on to see you crumbling over him, biting your lip as you tried to hide the pretty cries that wanted to fall from your lips.

Han stops licking your clit and slows his thrusting fingers each time you near your orgasm. Time and time again, he repeats this when you're near the edge. Only when your arousal coats his hand he keeps his pace, and as you whine out, 'gonna cum, don't stop,' he slips his tongue into your pussy, tasting your cum directly from the source.

He makes a great example of what his nose can do as it brushes over your clit while he tongue fucks you. You trap Han between your legs as your pussy clenches, your orgasm coming in waves. As you relax back onto the kitchen table, Han continues to lick your puffy center, being careful with your sensitive nub.

When he stands, you fist his t-shirt, smashing your lips together, tasting your essence. "Let's take this to the bedroom," Han pants. You nod eagerly and squeal when he picks you up, your legs wrapped around his waist.

You leave a trail of kisses on his neck as he makes his way to the bedroom. Once there, you both fall on the bed, Han hovering over you. He tugs on your t-shirt, "As much as I love seeing you in my clothes, this has to come off."

Without the shirt, he can admire your naked body. A lone finger slides down from your neck to your sternum. It slides to your side near the curve of your left breast, where a small sakura flower is tattooed.

"This is my new favorite thing about you," Han softly says, noticing you staring at him.

The tattoo was an impulsive thing to do. You had wanted a tattoo for years but never knew what to get. After your last breakup two years ago, you got the little flower instead of getting bangs and dying your hair. It has no real meaning to you. It's just a cute flower.

"You're the first to see it since I got it done," you tell him, a laugh bubbling from your lips as his touch on your ribs tickles.

"And I hope it stays that way," he responds. It's an unspoken promise. He wants you all to himself for the foreseeable future.

His finger continues the trajectory down your tummy, lightly going over your belly button before it traces over your mound and dips to touch your clit.

You gasp at the surge of pleasure as your clit remains sensitive from his previous actions. "Gotta say it's not fair that I'm the only one naked," you moan when Han continues to circle your nub.

"What are you gonna do about it?" Han incites you to see what you'll do.

Any remaining shyness you had is long gone as lust replaces it. You kneel in front of Han, who leans back to watch you. Your chest is close to his face, so when you lean closer to grab the hem of his shirt, he sucks one of your nipples.

"Han," you whine, arching your back," "Stop distracting me."

Ignoring his mouth on you, you grab his shirt and pull it off. Successfully making him stop his attack on your breasts. You peck his lips and kiss down his jaw.

You take your time kissing his toned chest and stomach. You wish to memorize every part of him. "You're so handsome, Han," you purr, glancing up at him.

Those simple words that spilled from your mouth made his heart flutter. Han is used to being the one to dish out compliments and praise the women he's with. To have you say that is like a breath of fresh air, and he can't wait to have more.

"Fuck, Angel," he groans, grasping your chin. You kiss his palm with a smile that's equally angelic and devilish.

You want to peel two more layers off Han's body and decide to do it all at once. Grasping the band of his pants and boxers, you slowly pull them down, building anticipation.

His cock springs out of its confines, landing on Han's abdomen. You don't hide your curious gaze as you take in his cock. It's so big it makes you bite your lip in anticipation. The tip is a dark pink as it drips with precum.

After you remove his pants entirely, you grasp his cock, feeling the warmth and weight of it. Han breathes out through his nose, a futile attempt to keep his cool. A string of saliva drips from your lips, coating his hard length. Each stroke you made caused a bead of pre to spill from him.

You take it as an invitation to taste him, wrapping your lips around his head your tongue licks the beads of white.

Han does the impossible not to push your head down to take all of him. The thought is present, though. You've barely teased him compared to how he teased you, but Han can no longer resist.

"I need you," Han groans, calling out your name, not the nickname you've been donned for the past three years.

You don't take it for granted. Hearing your name sends you into overdrive. Han pulls you up to kiss you and lies you down on the top of the bed. He comfortably gets between your legs that hug his waist to bring him closer. His cock brushes your wet pussy, and you both hiss at the sensation. Your pussy clenches around nothing at the thought of having Han fill you entirely.

"You ready, Angel?" Han asks you. One arm holding him up and the other wrapped around your thigh, giving you a comforting squeeze. Time stops ticking at that moment. It's just you and Han wrapped in each other.

"I've been ready for the past month, Han. Fuck me, please," you plead quietly, your fingertips running up and down his back.

"Just because you said, please." Han lines his cock up to your entrance and pushes past your lips into your warm center. Relief floods through the both of you, but it soon dissipates, and it's replaced by waves of unfiltered lust.

Han starts fucking into you deep, at the perfect pace. Your eyes involuntarily close as you feel Han's cock stretching you open and filling you like never before. Han kisses your temple and releases sexy moans into your ear with words of encouragement.

'Such a tight pussy just for me.'

'Taking me so good, Angel.'

'Can't get enough of you.'

You echo his words, encouraging him to keep fucking you. Your nails dig into his back as you try to hold on to anything, and your heels dig into his lower back. The closeness between you is intoxicating, your scents mixing and becoming one, his hair ticking your face, his warm skin heating up yours.

Han slows the pace momentarily, leaning back on his knees to see your pretty cunt taking his cock. He wants to commit to memory how your pussy spreads to make way for his cock, a white ring on the base of his cock, and how your little clit is exposed and vulnerable to his touch.

The other girls he's slept with only got part of his attention and dedication. He didn't mean to make a huge impression. He only did his job, often choosing to lie back and let them do as they pleased with him.

With you, it's different. He wants to give you his all and leave a great impression. He'll do all the work; you can just take it if that's what you want. That's the difference between you and the other girls. He lived to spoil you.

Meanwhile, you fall apart under him, moaning incoherent phrases he can barely make out. He loves hearing them, though. You reach for Han's hand as he increases his pace and grips it tightly.

Han slips his cock out of you, wanting to make his fantasy a reality. You shudder at the empty feeling and whine, "No, don't stop."

"Come on, Angel. Get on your knees," Han coo's at you, kissing your pouty lips. "Promise you'll cum soon."

Han positions you on your knees, your back arched as your tits rub against the bed sheets. You huff through it all, desperate to have him pounding into you again. He smacks your ass when you wiggle it to get him to do what you want.

Han enters you in one smooth motion, this position amplifying your pleasure as he hits the spongy spot inside of you more directly.

"Han!" You cry out, fisting the sheets underneath you.

"I'm right here, Angel," Han breathes, snapping his hips rhythmically.

Just as he visualized, he grabs your hips in his large hands and digs his thumbs into the dimples on your back. With a tight hold, he thrusts into you unrelentingly, and you push back onto him just as eagerly. Your cries are muffled by the pillow you're hugging to your face.

Your pussy swallows him with each thrust, even as it clenches to prepare for orgasm. He can't hold back any longer as his balls clench with each faltering thrust, and your walls squeeze him tighter than ever.

" 'm cumming," you squeal, your legs tense up and shake. Your walls contract and release in a rhythmic motion that sends Han over the edge, your name on the tip of his tongue.

Han pulls out of you, helping you get back onto a comfortable position, and lies beside you, catching his breath. He turns to look at you, and you do the same. You can't hold his gaze long as you furiously blush.

Han laughs, grabbing your hand to lace your fingers together. "You can't get shy now!"

"I can't control it!" You exclaim, hiding your face with the same pillow as earlier.

The rest of the day is spent in bed. Han ignores his daily responsibilities and stays in, getting lost in your touch and making promises he hopes to keep.

One Year and a Half Later...

You drive up to the empty parking complex. It's similar to the one you spend your nights on. Driving up the floors, you find Han where he told you he'd be. He leans against the familiar orange car, a bag of chips in his hands. A nice lather jacket covers his arms, making you smile when you remember how he got it in the first place.

"Hey, you wanted to meet me here?" You question, getting out of your car.

Approaching him, you kiss his salty lips and wait for an explanation regarding the random meet-up spot. In the entire year and a half of you dating, he's never asked you such a weird request.

"You feeling up to race?" Han asks you, holding your hand in his.

It's been years since the two of you met, and for the same amount of time, people have been pining you two to race. He denied every request, including the ones you threw every once in a while.

"It's about time," you exclaim, excitement filling your body. "What's at stake?"

There is something up Han's sleeve. You know that much. There is something he wants from you if he suddenly wants to race you. He could just ask. You'll give him everything he desires. You play along, though.

"Winner gets the other's car," he offers, pushing himself off the car to wrap his arms around you to hug you, his thumb soothingly brushing over the spot where your tattoo is. He last saw you when you left for your new engineering job early in the morning.

"You're willing to sacrifice your car?" You chuckle, implying you are going to win.

"It's only fair," he shrugs, kissing your cheek.

With one last peck, he lets you go and gets in his car. You follow his lead, lining up your car to the imaginary starting line. Han sets up a timer, and once it went off, both cars lurched forward at high speeds.

You focus on the race, forgetting it's Han you're competing with. You've been dying to go against him for so long, desperate to find out who was the better racer between the two.

As expected, Han makes it hard for you. The race is neck and neck as you drift up the floors of the building. Whenever Han takes the lead, you find a way to get ahead. You see the end near, and Han threatens to surpass you, but with one last boost, you keep your position, winning the race.

You leap out of your car, feeling the high of the race. No one has kept you on your toes for so long. It's a satisfying win. Han walks out of his car more calmly, smiling, happy to see you celebrate. It didn't matter to him that you were better. You deserved it.

"I can't believe I won," you exclaim, jumping into his arms as he spins you around.

"I can, and I'm so proud," Han says, kissing all over your face.

The race's prize is forgotten as you celebrate, but Han reminds you by handing you his keys, "A deal is a deal." You take the keys from him as a mere formality. You're not taking Han's precious car. Racing him is enough for you.

The weight of the keys is strange to you. They tend to be much heavier. Opening your palm to inspect them, you see that his keychains and spare keys are missing. In their place is a diamond ring.

"Han, what-" you stutter, whipping up to look at him.

"My car is yours. I figured I could be yours too. Will you marry me?" Han takes the keys from you, getting down on one knee and removing the ring from the holder.

From all the possible scenarios you had in mind from this clandestine meeting, Han's proposal was not one of them. Nevertheless, you have your answer instantly.

"Yes," you nod, choking back a sob.

Han grabs your hand and slides the ring onto your fourth finger. It's a perfect fit, just like Han. You drop down in front of Han, ignoring the dirty floor, to kiss and hug him.

Han kisses away your tears, a smile permanently etched on his face. He never thought he'd see the day he would settle down, but this past year has been near perfection with you, and he doesn't see himself with anyone else.

"Did you let me win to set this up?" You ask him later that night. His arms are wrapped tightly around you as you lie on his chest.

"No," he answers simply, kissing your head.

"You let me win," you then say assertively.

"No, I did not, Angel," he answers again, hiding his smile in your hair.

"I don't believe you. We have to race again," you tell him, lifting your head to glance at him.

"I don't have a reason to. I've got everything I want right here. Take the win, Angel," Han tells you sweetly, his fingers playing with your ring.

"For now," you huff, settling back down and cuddling up to him.

Fin.

thank you for reading! i didn't mean for it to be this long although i'm sure you guys are not complaining!

this was so much fun to write. guys like i am in love with han lue, i've spent hours on tiktok watching han lue and sung kang edits. i need help! tell me i'm not the only one like this!

requests are still open ❤️

#request #han lue imagine #fanfiction #fast and furious fanfiction #fast and furious #han lue fanfiction #han seoul oh #han lue x reader #han lue request #han lue #han lue imagines #han x reader #han x you #han lue smut #smut

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iliadicjasontodd · 2 months ago

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Do you have any Jason AO3 fic recommendations? Or just DC AO3 fic recommendations in general?

Hello! Hi, yes I do.

So, of course, anything by yutro @boyfridged, first of all, such as paint it over, black out days, & leave no trace, but genuinely all of their work is incredible. They understand Jason on a fundamental level- though to say he understands only Jason that deeply would do him and his writing which is so, so skilled, a disservice :))

the clay steals the clay by zipadeea is beautiful.

I'm sure you're familiar with it, but PLUTO. by orpheusaki @damianbugs is, imo, a classic. It recalls some of the feeling of some of the best parts of Countdown for me, for obvious reasons.

all of ceramicheart's (who I'm not certain would want me linking his tumblr blog!) work also- in particular redshift, but all of that series and, like I said, I love all of her work. ultimate Kyle Rayner understander & beautiful writer.

What the Living Do, Anonymous, is one of my favourite fics, esp as someone trying to give Jason Cotard's Delusion at every possible occasion.

last word WISDOM better get some even too late by Esmenet is one of my favourite fics point-blank. the Anne Carson of it all...

Get Used to Dying, by papered_king is one I always associate with the above, stylistically also! Love the meta of this, love theatre as horror.

a second darkness by vlnlr @batphobique. This absolutely blew me away, and the script format was, personally, a major bonus. I will probably be reading this over and over again.

mushrooms at sunrise by bleepbloopskoodlebop & Amble On (and your friends will surely find you) by Nightsrk both feature Jason dealing with schizophrenia, and I am very, very fond of both.

the Emergency Line series by crucifixinhell

i am what i am by luuma.

dirt by sunspikes. It's horror to me.

Time Loop fic! Ad Infinitum; Modified by familiarities (twistsandturns)

The Cold Like Coming Home by cabezas_de_vaca.

Smashing Tail Lights by CunningCrow @redactedcrow. I have read this about 5 times. I am still (very patiently) waiting for part two. It was, I think, the fic I read directly after reading Lost Days for the first time.

Apollo by sparkypants. the horror of never letting go!!! the horror of bruce wayne specifically never letting anything go!!!

Incomplete, but which came first (the robin or the grave) by figofswords @figofswords. Two years on I'm still hoping for more but it's very good as is as well!

do you listen to the girl in red, white, and blue? by ThatSpicySeaFlapFlap. Stephanie Brown girl of all time Stephanie Brown

Trapped by lurkinglurkerwholurks. I must have read it about 15 times whenever I'm feeling anxious. Because something is wrong with me.

Song of the Insensible by Jade_green.

The Whale by chucklesbuckles if you want some very terrifying Jason, & Get Joker by them (featuring maybe one of the only Harley Quinn depictions in a fanfic I've found compelling, not that I know her well) also!

Your reflection, your bitter deception & dust in my mind by KangaRou.

Bloodstains Won't Make It Matter by skylarkblue.

This is orphaned, but The Last Laugh.

Enough by Lunette3002.

Batman Kills the Joker by DragonflyxParodies & Palimpsest by cabezas_de_vaca both take interesting metatextual approaches to killing that stupid clown.

You're No Hero to this Story, Just Another Wretched Pawn by EventualToast. The way this is written is so genuinely unmooring and perturbing; it feels very authentically like derealisation and the true experience of profound horror despite most of that being magic.

To My Brother by a_silly_gander, I’d feel less like St. Sebastian if you’d stop searching for another arrow by worthy_willow, i know (do you know?) by cuephrase, imperfections can be nice by mikkal, Where You Perfectly Stand by cherrysour, what's in your head? by sinistercacophany @sinistercacophony (also has very good aftg fics, as an andrew enjoyer I come back to their work often), . I am at heart just sentimental about Dick & Jason.

the prophetic spring by yellow_caballero @yellowocaballero. I need you to understand I barely ever approve of Reverse Robin AUs. It's a thing. I talked about it extensively. I don't even care about or actively dislike a lot of the characters this au focuses on but it doesn't even matter here, seeing as I've been a fan of this author's writing for ages. So much tragicomedy. If you, or anyone reading this ask happen to be a fan of TMA do yourselves a favour and go read their TMA work also.

Late Night Langoustining by whaleofatime. I rarely read fluff but I'm very fond of this one.

Stage Directions by confusedrambler.

I mention sparingly but arkham!jason was my first foray into DC at all- and so naturally Ill Weeds Grow Apace by LananiA3O is something I've come back to, mostly for nostalgia nowadays. And trauma of course.

So if you want to absolutely ruin your entire day and possibly week and possibly several months, Of Broken, Blazing Wings by FrEShAVocaNoob. It absolutely wrecked me, I felt genuinely unwell after, but it was worth it.

Clearly Calm and Keeping Terrorised by Batbirdies & the Make a Little Birdhouse in Your Soul series by bacondoughnut are others I think everyone knows, but I thought I'd mention them anyway.

Anyway, I'm sure it shows that I've got a bit of one-track mind when it comes to characters I read fic about, but I hope this is a good collection for you. It took me two hours in one sitting but for some reason I can't write an essay for my master's degree? Fascinating.

#asks #fic #noa.txt

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siddyyyyyyyy · 3 months ago

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Only Friends

Tim Drake x Reader

wc: 0.8 K summary: You both get flustered in an interview warnings: none, no y/n used a/n: got this silly idea while daydreaming (once more) even though i have three fics going on rn. (also, it would be better if you know the concept of 'World's most searched questions' from Wired) enjoy!

It was like every other day, just getting ready for an interview, taking the interview before doing the other stuff you have to do by yourself. It's simple, not too stressful or overwhelming. And you are actually quite excited considering it's not an usual interview. It's actually on the 'The Web's Most Searched Questions', it feeling a little exciting to be in such a format for the first time. For preparation, you watched some interviews of other actors or different celebrities to make sure you got the concept, also making sure you got the times and location right with your co-star, Tim Drake. He's in most interviews with you because of the latest movie you both acted in together. This time, being enemies in the movie. Other movies or shows, you had either neutral or romantic relationships together. But in reality, you were nothing more but friends and colleagues. You considered yourself lucky with such a nice and funny colleague, having known him for a few years already. Besides the more romantic and heated scenes, you both remained close friends throughout your career.

Once you both are ready to take the interview, having the mics set and camera pointed at you, it's time to begin. The staff explained to you one last time of how it all works, having your big card of questions first. You both inteoduce yourselves to the audience, well, camera, and slide off the first tape to the first question. It reads your name, followed up with a question, if you played in a show from six years ago. Of course, you answer it truthfully, it going well for now, explaining briefly when that show aired and how it was playing that part. Moving on, the next question is just as normal as the other. A simple question about one of the films you once starred in, answering honestly again. The next one is a little bizzare, even to you. It reads your name, followed up with a rather random and personal question. "... am I, what? Do I gossip on set?" You read aloud, being mostly confuses on why that's the third most searched question on Google about you. Where did people get that idea from. You turn to Tim beside you, still confused. "Did you start that rumour?" He can barely contain a straight face at you, shaking his head while cracking up. "I think it's about the secret pictures of us 'gossiping'." Tim answers, putting air-cotation-marks with his hands at the last word. There were a few pictures the paparazzi took of you both whispering things to each other, but you never really thought too much about it. And you definitely were gossiping, it was just rude to be truthful about it. "Ah, right. These pictures still haunt me at night, but no. I do not gossip on set. I wait until I get home." You joke lightly as you look back to the camera, continuing with the next question on the board in your hands. The last four questions go on without any weird one's popping up, until you uncover the last one. "... and Tim Drake couple?" You read aloud again, your brain short circuiting at the question. You and him, a couple? Seriously? You knew people like gossip, but was that actually serious? Tim blushes slightly beside you, glancing over to you to see your reaction. You seem just as taken aback as him. There's not much to say, really. Finally, you shake your head and look back at the camera, trying to make it as casual as possible. Ignore the five seconds of silence before your answer. "Nope. Never been together." Tim nods in agreement, keeping his wyes anywhere but you. You really haven't expected this to go awkward, considering interviews bever get awkward. There's always someone talking, either the interviewer, you, or the staff. But this is genuinely awkward. Embarrassing even. You are sure you will get nightmares about this exact incident years later. Clearing your throat, you hand your board back to the staff, Tim getting his own now.

His first question is just as light as yours, the mood getting quickly back to the one before. It's light, fun and easy. You talk a little too and poke fun at Tim as he answers his question, eventually getting to the third one.

"Tim and Drake couple with..." He trails off, seeing your name at the end. This time, it's rather annoying than embarrassing. He sighs out and look towards you briefly before frowning at the camera. "Guys, we just had that question. It's embarrassing, really. We're not together, even if our roles say otherwise in some movies." Tim explains slightly annoyed, noticing how embarrassed you are at the question. You shouldn't be, considering it's definitely not your fault and people just like some gossip. However, you also feel some different kind of emotion stir up in you. The idea of being with someone, of people knowing you are together with someone is new and sounds way better than denying it all the time. Of course you won't say that on an interview, let alone to Tim, your long-time best friend of a couple years. You both know it won't get to something more than that, both being strict about that in your friendship. You've crosses the line of friendship in roles, qs actors, before but it never felt as good as actually being with someone.

Ignoring your thoughts as best as possible, you move on with Tim. His questions are rather more funny than yours, him messing around with his answers a little as well. There's a sloght difference you noticed, and it's that people seem to take you more seriously. Probably because of the roles you play, maybe because of the personality you put on for the media. Either way, it creates an interestjng dynamic between you and Tim overall. Fans seem to like it, and it seems to work great as usual on interviews. But you never thought they could think of you both in that way. The video is finished and you both return to your own cars, hugging goodbye as usual.

◐

A few days have gone by after that interview, and you decide to check it out. The video has about four million views by now, considering the video got published about three days after you filmed it. You start to watch it, skipping through it a little before the weird question. You seem indeed confused and flustered bt the question, them having edited your moment in a funny way. A computer buffering sound on the background, zoomed in into your face with a loading icon at your forehead. It's actually funny, even if it wasn't funny when you were answering it at the moment. Tim seems just as confused for a moment, you both denying the question as politely and smart as possible, to avoid useless scandals or rumours. Okay, wasn't so bad. Tim's part was less humerus, actually nore straight to the point with hoe annoyed he answered the question. The video ends after you say your goodbyes to the camera, getting to the comment section. You read the first few one's, them being supportive and sweet. The longer you scroll down, the more you start to lose hope in your fans. They genuinely seem to ship you. It would've been funny, but now that you think of it... it doesn't sound too bad. You make your way to some fanfic websites you still know from your earlier teenage years, searching up your name with Tim. Indeed, thousands of suggestions pop up, not having expected more than hundreds of thousand people wrote some kind of romantic content between the two of you. You are really sure Tim would hate you for it, but you go ahead and read some of it. Most were just some silly short stories about the two of you being in love on set, but some were the most heart and gut-wrenching fluff you've ever read. You didn't touch the angst tag, being too scared of getting hurt over fictional problems.

You take a break from everything, deciding it's best to never touch anything like that ever again and ignore it overall. You and him were just friends. Nothing more, nothing less. You would sacrifice everything for him and make sure he stays happy, but never cross the line between friendship and partners, in fear of ruining anything. He would most definitely do the same, if not more for you, but there's no way you'll ever be more than what you are now. Drying off your few tears, it's time to get to the next set of filming, staying friends with Tim.

←MASTERLIST

a/n: also, sorry for being dead in the last few days or weeks, idk, but there's a few things going on and i won't be able to reply or post as quickly as before, but I'll try!! hope you enjoyed it

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unofficial-underfell · 10 months ago

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Hey guys, I've been thinking about making this post for a long time and I think its finally time I do so. After realizing that some of my last work was done over a year ago, I don't think I can really ignore it anymore. While I haven't quite thrown in the towel on this quite yet, it's pretty evident to me and I'm sure to everyone who still follows this blog that my fervor for the project has drastically decreased. And has been kind of dead for a while. The comic has not been a priority to me, or posting online much at all actually. I did some soul searching and found that I'd started relying on outside approval for my art instead of doing art for the sake of wanting to tell a story and express myself throughout my work. I have limited energy and depression and sometimes it feels like i get such little progress done even though it takes all of my energy. While I'm trying to go to the gym more and build better habits my energy levels and mood still have a lot to be desired, and I'd rather use the limited energy I have to work on something I'm more passionate about.

I've been trying to grow my skills and absorb more stories and I've moved around a lot and started to listen to what I really felt, and I found that a lot of the art I want to focus on deals with heavier and more mature topics. I do love this story, and all of the characters and I feel like I could make a really clever subversion of what is expected from an Underfell comic. But I feel like in these uncertain times with the world and with all of the stuff going on right now, I'd like to use my energy to work on stories that hit closer to the things that I feel are important. So that's why I've not been posting much.

I'm working on a book, and I've actually got quite a lot of progress done on it, but because of all the horror stories online about people stealing author's original works, I'm kind of holding off on publishing any chapters before I can copyright the first draft of the novel. So my online activity will still be pretty scarce for a bit, though I'll still post occasionally on my @cosmicpixel01 account. I'll try better to not be so radio silent though lol. Even if that means I'll post something boring about my dog or books I'm reading just so everyone knows I'm still alive.

I don't want to call it quits on the story. But I also feel like you guys have been kept waiting to see what happens for a really long time, and that makes me feel so guilty. I will try to finish up the pages I have in the works, and I'm probably going to switch to a different format that is some drawings, some writing to finish the story. I'm sorry that I wasn't able to finish it the way I intended for you guys, even with all of the support and kind words and even the fanart that I've kept in a folder on my desktop. I am letting a lot of you down, but I feel like the radio silence is probably more irresponsible than just going out and saying something. And I'm sorry I've kept you all waiting for a not-so-happy update on the blog.

I hope that some of you will continue to follow me for some of my other exploits and see whatever other things I have going on, but I understand that you all followed me for Undertale so I don't want you to feel any sort of guilt if you decide not to. I'm just happy you all supported me for so long.

I'll try to work on this blog again soon, and if anyone has any questions, my asks are open, though I'll probably keep the asks private. Until then I hope everyone stays safe out there. And from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

-Avery

#not pages #unofficial-underfell #this was so hard to write i dont want to be a quitter but I'm tired #avery speaks

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starryevermore · 11 months ago

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the house of snow (5) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his.

chapter summary: snow does not like the idea of others playing with his toy.

word count: 2,665

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: jealous!coryo, pet name (petal), not proofread

“How does it feel to be Mrs. Snow?” Clemensia Dovecote asked as one of the maids poured you a cup of tea.

You watched the maid glance at you, curiosity evident in her eyes. Though you trusted your own lady’s maid with much of your thoughts and feelings you thought best to keep hidden from everyone else, you knew that maids in general liked to talk. Or, rather, people liked to talk. You had little doubt that your concerns in marrying Snow had spread throughout the working class. Had it been a mistake to even discuss your feelings, or lack thereof, for Snow with her? Perhaps. But you couldn’t keep silent about it. You had to talk to someone.

“I am hardly Mrs. Snow yet. I am only engaged, Clemmie,” you said.

Livia Cardew reached for your left hand. You allowed her to take it. She examined the ring Snow had placed on your finger with much scrutiny. It was a silver band with leaves snaking up to the center, where the silver was molded into rose petals. At the center of the flower sat a large, glittering diamond. Livia loved jewelry and all the finer things in life. She could appreciate a nice ring more than you could. “With a ring like that? The King is making a statement.”

“That I am his?” you clarified. It took everything in you to not roll your eyes. If Livia thought that you were not pleased with your engagement, it would spread through Panem faster than maids’ gossip. Who knew what Snow would do if that happened. Livia nodded. “I was already well aware of his interest, as was the rest of the ton.”

“Perhaps you should remind Lord Plinth of that, then?” Livia said.

Your brows pinched together. Had she someone found out about how you once argued that you would rather marry Sejanus? Had word somehow spread? You knew Snow would say nary a word about it. At least, you would assume so from how he acted when you only mentioned Sejanus’s name. You tried to think back. Were there any maids or butlers around when you talked to Snow about this? When you talked to your parents? None came to mind, but the mark of a good servant is to not be noticed. (Or so your mother says.) It could be possible that you simply missed them?

You decided to feign ignorance. “Lord Plinth? What do you mean?”

Clemensia laughed. “We all saw how he looked at you while you danced at his mother’s ball! That man looked at you like you were made of diamonds.”

Livia crinkled her nose. “You may as well be, at least compared to him. I can still hardly believe the Former King Ravinstill ever granted that family a title. A dukedom at that! It just wasn’t right.”

You decided to ignore Livia’s ramblings. It was true that the Plinth family did not have the same sort of respect the rest of the ton, who had been born into their titles for generations and generations stretching all the way back to the formation of Panem. It was why your parents were so adamant that you not marry Sejanus. But he was a good, and kind, and gentle man. “No, that cannot be. Lord Plinth is only a friend. He was the one who told me that…” You stumbled on the word. It felt foreign in your mouth. “…my fiancé was interested in courting me. Why would he do that if he would want to marry me himself?”

“Oh, you poor, naïve thing. It’s a wonder you even got this far in your courtship,” Livia teased. “He was hoping that you would swear off the King and marry him. An act of true love, or whatever the fairy tales say.”

Could that be true? Could that be why Snow was so irate at you speaking of Sejanus? But why would Sejanus ever reveal that to Snow? Snow was so possessive. He would hardly let such a slight go by unpunished. And, yet, Sejanus still lived and breathed. Maybe, then, Snow had deduced this all his own, just as Livia and Clemensia had done.

“Well, it hardly matters now. I am engaged now.”

“If the King is as smart as he was at the Academy, he would marry you soon. To dissuade Lord Plinth from arriving with any last minute confessions that might steal you away,” Livia mused.

You looked out the window, where Coriolanus the Cat perched. In the distance, you could see the Royal Carriage being pulled down the road. It was nearly time for your daily luncheon with Snow. Though you would always dine at the palace, he insisted on picking you up from your home. To anyone who knew of the routine, it seemed like such a romantic ordeal. A man so desperate to spend time with his love that he would do the silliest things. To you, it was merely another way for him to attempt to control you.

“That would hardly change anything,” you said. The carriage stopped outside of your home. The coachmen stepped down, then opened the door. Snow stepped out, his eyes immediately seeking yours as he looked up at the window. Despite the distance, you could see the smirk on his face. It made you feel ill.

“Because you are in love?” Clemensia asked.

You wondered if Snow could read lips from so far away as you repeated, “Because I am in love.”

Livia looked out the window as Snow walked up to your home. “Do you think he knows about Lord Plinth?”

You blinked. You were wondering the same yourself. However, you knew that this was a question you would probably never get answered. You hardly could even figure out how to talk to Livia and Clemensia about this. How could you ever bring it up to Snow, with his quick temper? “It has never come up.”

“And why would it? I’m sure they have much more…exciting conversations,” Clemensia said with a grin.

Your heart thumped at the implication. Truthfully, you did not know what happened when a couple were married. Your mother only ever told you that, after the ceremony, the union ended in consummation and that that was where children came from. She always said she would tell you more when you were older, but that day had not yet come. “We…talk about our future together,” you said.

Clemensia’s grin grew, but before she could tease you further on matters you didn’t have a full grasp on, Snow entered the room. “Good morning, Miss Cardew, Miss Dovecote. Good morning, petal,” he said with a charming smile. “What are we talking about today?”

You opened your mouth to answer, ready to say you were discussing your impending nuptials. You knew that would please him enough to put him in a good mood. But Livia beat you to it.

“Lord Plinth’s infatuation with your fiancé.”

Snow’s jaw ticked. For a moment, you wondered if his mask would fall. But he recovered quickly and said in a teasing voice, “Should I be worried?”

“No, they have deluded themselves into thinking he is interested,” you said, careful to not even refer to Sejanus by his last name. “I told them that it would not have mattered even if he was interested because—”

“Because she’s in love,” Clemensia interrupted, elongating the word “love,” making it sing-songy.

A more genuine smile settled on Snow’s face. His eyes flitted to you. “Is that so?”

But, for as much as you were attempting to placate him, you had to have your fun, too. So, you smiled, and said, “Oh? We were talking about you? My mistake, I thought we were talking about Coriolanus.”

You picked the kitten from his perch on the windowsill, pressing kisses around his face. He purred, curling up in your arms. For a moment, you thought you saw Coriolanus the Cat look smugly at Snow. But, even if he hadn’t, the annoyed look on Snow’s face was joy enough.

“She teases me too much with that cat—”

“—our son—”

“—our son,” Snow corrected. “I almost regret giving her the little thing.”

Clemensia laughed and nudged Livia. “They already argue like they’re married.”

“Well, as lovely as this was, we do have a luncheon to attend,” Snow said, holding his hand out for you to take. You moved to cradle Coriolanus the Cat in one arm and slipped your hand into Snow’s. He helped you to your feet, then flashed another smile at Livia and Clemensia. “And do let me know if you have anymore theories about Lord Plinth’s affections. I have to ensure I do not have any competition, don’t I?”

“Oh, stop being silly,” you protested as Livia and Clemensia nodded.

At that, your mother, who sat quietly in the corner of the room with her sewing, rose from her seat and followed you and Snow out of the home. Since the engagement, she had hardly spoken a word when he was around. A part of you wondered if that was because she no longer felt the need to quiet you since Snow put a ring on your finger. Another part of you wondered if Snow had included her silence in the terms of the engagement. You would, after all, need a chaperone with you until you were actually married, but that did not mean that Snow would want to listen to her protest over every thing you did.

When you reached the carriage outside, Snow helped you climb in. For a second, you wondered if he was going to ignore your mother. But then he held a hand out for her to take as she lifted herself inside, taking the seat across from you. She had learned after the first luncheon that the spot beside you was to always be occupied by Snow.

Once Snow took his seat, the carriage began its trek to the palace. You tried to distract yourself, looking out the window and petting Coriolanus the Cat, who was curled up on your lap. But then Snow reached for your hand, which you allowed him to take. From the corner of your eye, you saw your mother wrinkle her nose. You weren’t sure it was inappropriate for him to hold your hand, but perhaps she knew so archaic social rule you were unaware of. Or perhaps she was regretting her scheming, you mused.

“I do not want you to spend any more time with Sejanus,” Snow said.

This got your attention.

You turned to look at him, your brows pinched together. “Because of what was said this morning? Lord…he is a friend.”

“I believe Miss Cardew and Miss Dovecote were correct in their assessment. I do not wish for you to be around him.” At your frown, he added, “At least not until after the wedding. It will only be a month. Give me this.”

“I have given you so much already.”

Snow squeezed your hand, tight. You tried to pull away, but he refused to loosen his grip. He leaned in to you, his breath fanning over your face. You did not like how close he was to you. “I cannot tell if his intentions are pure. I do not wish for you to be harmed.”

“Sejanus would never,” left your lips before you could think of what you were saying.

Snow’s face turned red. “What did I tell you about—”

“He is a friend, Snow. He. Is. A. Friend. You cannot isolate me from my friends—”

“—not your friends. Only him.”

“—just because you have concocted this delusion he is trying to take me from you. Sejanus may act impulsively from time to time, yes. He may not always think matters through. But he is your friend, and he is mine. Do you understand? As far as he is concerned, we are in love. Even if he had been interested in courting me, he would not do anything to hurt either of us. He is not like you.”

“Not like…You are toeing the line, petal.”

“I am not going to stop talking to a friend, even if it is only until we are married, because you are insecure. Snow, have I given you any reason to think that I would not follow our agreement?”

“No.”

“Have I done anything, save for admitting that I once considered marrying Sejanus, that would indicate I have feelings for him?”

“You have not.”

“Then why are you acting like a petulant child whose favorite toy has been stolen away?”

You watched as Snow’s jaw clenched and unclenched. But before he could say any more, the carriage came to a halt and the door was opened. Your mother was helped out first, then you, and finally Snow. He said not a single word as the three of you were led into the palace toward the dining room. Not until you had passed Coriolanus the Cat off to the butler.

“Join me in the library for a moment, petal,” he said.

You caught your mother’s eye. Oh, how you wished for her to say something. But instead, she took her seat at the table and said not a word. Sucking in a breath, you nodded. Snow smiled and took your hand, placing it around his bicep. You had half a mind to dig your nails into his arm, hoping that it might hurt him. You were already walking on thin ice, and you could not imagine such an act would go over well with Snow.

When you entered the library, Snow shut the large, oak doors behind you. Your blood ran cold. He had not done that the last time you visited the library. Had you crossed the line? Had you gone too far? You were not sure if Snow was a violent man. He had spent some months after leaving the Academy as a Peacekeeper. He was certainly capable of violence. But would he inflict it? On you?

“Snow, I did not mean to—” you began to apologize, hoping that it might placate him.

If you thought Snow had been too close to you before, it hardly compared to him grabbing you, one hand on your waist, the other on your face, his lips pressed against yours. You gasped, trying to pull away. This was not right. This was not…You were not even sure if married couples kissed this way. You had only ever seen chaste kisses, never something so…animalistic. You weren’t sure if Snow was kissing you more than he was trying to eat you alive. When his tongue darted out, swiping against your lips, you finally managed to push him away.

“What the hell was that!?” you shouted. “You cannot just, just kiss someone! We are not married, Snow! You promised that you would not ruin me!”

“Did I? I only recall saying your reputation would never be harmed.” Snow reached for you again. You could not find it in you to push him away, not when he had such a crazed look in his eye. “And it will not be, I will promise you that. If I wish, however, to kiss my fiancée in private, I shall do so.”

“You only did this so I would feel guilty if I tried to leave you for Sejanus, which I have already told I would not do!”

“No,” Snow said. “I did this because you drive me mad.”

“Then lock yourself in an asylum. Do not kiss me.”

One of Snow’s hands left your waist. He reached up, caressing your face. When you did jerk away, he pinched your chin between his fingers. “You are to be my wife. You are to be the wife of a king. I shall treat you however I see fit. Do you understand?”

When you said nothing, he pinched harder. “Do you understand?”

“Only if you understand that I will hate you until the day I die.”

#the house of snow: a royal coryo au #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x female reader #coriolanus snow x y/n #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fan fiction #coriolanus snow fan fic #coriolanus snow fanfic #coriolanus snow fic #starrywrites #starryevermore

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peachetteprice · 3 months ago

Note

heya, can I please request hc’s of how 141 boys would react to their s/o finding out they(141) cheated on their s/o (reader) . im in need of some angst 😭

Oh, boy.

Long disclaimer: this has been in my ask box since July, and I am well aware that it's unlikely you're still in need for angst. I quickly came to the realisation after working on it for a few days that I misread the entire prompt and had written for Price and Soap with YOU being the one to cheat on THEM (141). In my perfectionist state, I abandoned the whole thing, choosing to forgo the whole prompt even if it meant denying someone who was clearly interested in my work something that they'd asked for that I could (reasonably) provide. Nobody should have to wait this long for their ask to be answered, and I'm incredibly apologetic that I was so selfish as to leave it go stale in my inbox. Anon, sweetheart, I highly recommend that you search for another writer to fulfill this, because I'm sure they would gladly dive into the idea that the 141 are cheating on YOU, and not the other way around like I misunderstood. It is entirely uncouth for me to make someone wait this long for a simple ask – don't even get me started that it isn't even in HC format – and I can only apologise that even when it is 'out', now, it is not what you asked for and is my initial interpretation of your ask. I did not do it justice. You deserve better, anon. I sincerely aplogise.

Some of the Boys with Cheating S/Os

TW: General angst, adultery, mild aggression, mention of arson (mild)...

Captain John Price

Anyone knew it wasn't easy being married to a man such as John Price, himself included. He would have traded the life he had if he could, but he couldn't, nor wouldn't, because that wasn't the man he knew himself to be. Sure, in some perverted timeline, a thousand light years away wherein he didn't feel a sense of pride, responsibility, or accountability over the people with whom he shared his country, might he have taken that job as head of accounting he would have been promised, had he gone to university, or simply devoted his life to the blues and twos of the constabulary. None of it would have been harder work that he currently undertook, but it was honest work. And that was the sort of man he was: honest, dependable, and loyal.

That being said, much like the aforementioned, neither of those exclusive three things were easy to achieve. Nor adhere to. But when he stood at that altar in his pin-striped suit, pink and red corsage on chest, and spoke his vows to love you in sickness and in health - and, Christ, he didn't take them lightly - and you returned them, he hoped that you meant it.

And that wasn't to imply that you didn't. You did. Most ardently.

But the nights were long, cold, and unbearable without John. When he was back, he was often distant for a week or two, reeling from whatever madness he saw in the field. If he did make it back into his own mind, he was unlike the man who left beforehand. In fact, he would only return a few days prior to leaving, and then the cycle spun again. And again. And again.

He never spoke about it – the field. Never took a moment to cry in front of you – you heard him, of course you did, in the shower, when he thought you were doing the laundry – and if you did press him on the matter, he simply washed it away with a dismissive hand and a non-committal 'I'm fine, love'.

That might have been when it started. The distance. When the nights become longer, colder, and so unbearable that you needed something to warm the space beside you when he was away. That was all it was ever supposed to be.

John found the men's razor in the bin in the bathroom. It was your colleague, Mark's. He'd come over one evening to comfort you when John was away. It was supposed to be a bottle of wine and a walk home for him, but he woke up in your bed, and there was no stopping what had started, then.

There was no moment of doubt in John.

He knew it immediately; you had another man by your side.

He most expected it. That might have been the most devastating part of all. That, in sickness, he knew you might have longed for the warmth of a man to the point of committing adultery, even if you professed that your heart still lay with him. Even if he knew, himself, that it still did.

You knew he knew it, too, when he sidled into the kitchen with a hand palming his beard, and he placed the razor beside the pot of bolognese you were monitoring as it bubbled away.

"Got something to say?" He asked.

For some god-forsaken reason, there was no malice in his tone. He should have been near-boiling over the thought of another man with his hands on you – the body that he had sworn to cherish and to hold until the day he died.

But, as was the case when he took his vows, he did not take them lightly.

And though you sobbed, pitifully, and asked him to be quick with the divorce papers, so that you might quit your job and move somewhere else - somewhere less suffocating from the lies and the deception – John did not give up.

He threw the razor back into the bin. He sat you at the dining room table. He asked you to explain. Everything. From the very beginning – not since Mark, not since that bloody bottle of red wine, not since the gentle hand he placed on your knee when he should have been out the door – the complete, unabashed beginning when you first lost a modicum of care for him.

When you did finish speaking, the sun had come up. It must have been seven in the morning, but your eyes were so bloated, your words had torn such a scratch into your throat that you couldn't ask what time it was, nor even be able to see the clock on your kitchen wall.

It wasn’t pretty, the things you both spoke about, of the late nights spent texting John, asking if he was doing alright – to utter radio silence on the other end – as another man lay between your legs, suckling against your sopping cunt, and dragging every droplet of cum and sinful moan your voice had to offer, of the dissolved shared affection and broken trust that lined every sentence, of the nervousness as you walked into the pharmacy to ask for a morning-after pill, just to quell the shame you felt about having another man's uncloaked cock in your cunt, even though you were up-to-date on birth control that month.

But if anything permeated throughout the entire conversation, that cemented the idea that, if he hadn't asked you to be his wife, that someone else would have surely filled the role better than you – it was that he was not going to give up on you.

He'd given those vows as a promise, not as a suggestion. In sickness and in health. Till death do you both part. And you could have – and had – moped about how terrible a wife you were, how he should leave at the soonest possible moment and never look back, but that wasn't going to happen, so long as John Price was your husband.

Because if there was one thing he would do, in every facet of life, perverted timeline or not, it was try.

For John Price would never give up on his lawfully-wedded wife.

John "Soap" MacTavish

There's a pair of underwear in the wash that doesn't fit him. He knows because he tried them on. They're initial-ed in sharpie on the inside label. JR. They're not his initials, that’s for certain. They're not his favoured design. They're not in the shade he wears. They're a lot of things that they aren’t and shouldn't be, like in the wash at all, beside your panties, one of your special weekend bras, and old bedsheets.

James Robinson, your pilates instructor.

It takes him too long to rack his brain before he happens upon the name, arriving at it after consulting your calendar magnet-ed to the fridge, spending the rest of the time thinking with them on the kitchen counter. He nurses a glass of milk as he does. It isn't right for alcohol at the time. It's only five in the morning, though if it were five in the afternoon he would have already taken the next bus to the White Rabbit pub and burnt them in the trash out in the alleyway, just to send a message to you to never give them back to the man who took you from him, when they better suited being strapped to one of his homemade explosives and thrown through the bastard’s office window.

The cereal you munch as he stares at you that same morning tastes sour. Seems like it’s gone off, but Johnny's drinking a glass – his third that morning – so you surmise it’s just about ready to turn. His eyes won't leave you. They often never did, particularly in the mornings, but not like this. Not with such intensity that your stomach draws bile from your liver.

The boxers are in the knife drawer.

You don’t know that the boxers are in the knife drawer, and if you did, you might have even fessed up before he had the opportunity to confront you about it. You’re a coward. You know it. He knows it, too. That’s why he’s waiting for the right time.

And when it is – the right time, that is – he digs them out from between the cutlery and throws them in your lap. It’s silly, really, the thought that takes the place of confusion in your brain. It’s stupid. Naive. Idiotic. Perverted.

"What was that for?" You chuckle, holding them up. Sure, if he wants that now, you're quite ready for it–

"–They're not mine."

All prior concern is embellished with fear. A gall builds in your stomach – you’re about to throw up, and a dry heave makes it to the base of your throat, a quick gulp forcing anything bitter back down. It’s simply foolish, how easily it makes complete sense. The nervous drinking all morning, the gaze that wouldn’t leave yours, the smell of cigarette ash on his fingers when he handed you the carton of milk for your cereal. And you think, oh-so naively, that there may be a chance to refuse his insinuation.

“They're not yours? Who else could these belong to, Johnny? They fit you, don't they?"

"Really? Seriously?" He bites back a disgusted scowl, you see it in his cupid’s bow, hunched up towards his nostrils exactly how it manifests in his nightmares, the scent of rotting bodies, dirty blood, unfinished business. "J.R."

You go blank. There’s nothing at all. You’ve never thought about nothing at all before. It’s a desolate place, the emptiness of your mind. It ruminates in your soul like footprints in a field at night. Who they belong to, why they’re there, why they’re no longer. There’s nothing to be seen, nothing to be heard, nothing to be felt – the trees are too far drawn into the night to be real; tangible.

"Johnny–" it spills out suddenly.

"–Don't you go sayin' my name with those dirty fuckin' lips!” He growls.

"We can – we'll talk about it.” Some things are coming to mind. Not many. Self-preservation related, mostly. “Sit down.” You wave your hands wildly. “I can explain everything, I promise–”

"–Oh," there was almost amusement in his voice, edging on the maniacal, certainly psychotic, "You take me for a fuckin' bampot, don't ye?"

"Johnny, please!"

He nears. He’s animalistic, right now, the way he's stalking you like a tiger who can’t pounce because you haven’t yet turned your back to him, and it wouldn’t be fun until you did. You've never seen that look on him. You never want to again, if he can help it, though you’re not sure he can. It's better suited to the field, staring down an enemy from close range, just before he sets a bullet straight through his head. A sharp fear rises behind the upset. It’s cold. It lingers like a needle beneath skin. It hurts.

"Get out of my house."

"What? Johnny?"

"I said, get out of my fuckin' house!" He swells with an uncanny rage.

Only when you do leave, retreating into the hallway wearing your pyjamas only, does he heave a breath or two that turn solidly into anguished pants, choked sobs and lonely wails. It isn’t supposed to turn out like this, sitting before the lift of your apartment complex, covering the guilt with the ruse of having lost your keys if anyone stops to ask if everything is okay, though everything is most certainly not okay.

James was a nice man. Johnny was a nicer one. But the quell in your throbbing, begging cunt from months of being apart from Johnny was even nicer when James indulged, tongue lapping over your folds like a dog wishing to please its owner. You told him you enjoyed it, even left him with a kiss on his cheek, and he left as soon as it ended, though you hid from him the fact that you threw up in the toilet as soon as you locked the door, sobbing into the same sheets he had you dribble your cum, wishing you could reverse time.

Johnny will never forgive you. That much is true. No matter how much you plead at his doorstep for him to reconsider the relationship – his mind is not so weak, and he finds it endearing that you seem to be convinced otherwise. Though, he does regret one thing – not taking your things, too, along with James’, to the empty lot behind the correctional youth centre and paying the kids there to watch it burn.

BONUS: Phillip Graves

Totally not because I feel bad about letting down anon... no way...

It's three weeks after the fact of your adultery that a text pops up on your phone, unattended, that reads something to the effect of feeling guilty about your time spent with a man for the benefit of revenge, suspecting that Graves, too, has been cheating, as you delicately lament to your best friend, Emily.

Naturally, he confronts you, and you know better than to lie to a man with an arsenal of juggernauts at his disposal, so you confirm his suspicions, and explain that it was by no fault but your own that you slept with Adam.

He’s furious, ardently so – justly so – and you explain that it was undeserved on both sides, to which he seems inexplicably confused, until landing on the understanding that you thought a woman you saw at a hotel with Adam was his lover. And you realise… he wasn’t cheating on you.

And the confusion compounds in your mind, realising his naivité of your illicit relationship was fueled only by the fact that you’d been attending book club at such ridiculous times in the night. He’s pacing, gasping for air as you rightfully say;

“I can’t believe you thought I was going to book club this whole time.”

And he stills, like a lamb, crouches against the dresser, and exclaims with such anguish that you wish you’d never said anything about it at all:

“There’s no book club?!”

| Masterlist |

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mostlysignssomeportents · 21 days ago

Text

A year in illustration (2024), Part one

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/07/great-kepplers-ghost/art-adjacent

As I go into my fifth year of writing Pluralistic (!), I find myself increasingly reflecting on the unexpected pleasures of creating the collages that head each post. I am by no means a visual artist – my drawing skills are sub-stick-figure, and my spatial sense overall is remarkable terrible. I can't solve jigsaws, I get lost in hotel corridors, and I can't find things that are right under my nose.

But addressing the challenge of illustrating extremely abstract ideas related to tech policy, corruption, monopoly and other hard-to-visualize ideas has awakened some kind of latent, heretofore unsuspected interest in visual communications in me. Relying exclusively on Creative Commons, public domain, and extremely solid fair use claims in selecting my source materials adds a spicy challenge that makes the whole thing even more engrossing.

I've written about my process in finding and preparing these sources before. Here's 2023's notes and highlights:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/21/collages-r-us/#ki-bosch

And here's 2022:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/25/a-year-in-illustration/

This year saw some new, exciting discovering and challenges. First and foremost is my switch to kagi.com as my preferred search-engine, which is like having access to a time machine that's connected to pre-enshittificated Google:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

Kagi's image search is amazing, far better than Google's, and it has great copyright-based filters. When combined with tineye.com (for finding high-rez versions of images that might not be correctly tagged for rights status), it's even better. Even so, often Kagi will surface thumbnails of images Tineye can only find as high-rez on proprietary stock art sites like Alamy, covered in gross watermarks. These images are still in the public domain, watermarks or no, but erasing the watermarks is a lot of work. However, Alamy is a pretty good source of bibliographic information about the original sources of these images, for example, which issue of a 19th century boxing magazine they came out of, and then Kagi can find me high-rez scans of these sources, at the Internet Archive and/or the Library of Congress. I snag those PDFs and import them into the GIMP (which I use for editing) and pull, clean and crop a new high-rez version of those images for my own use. This year, I got much better at saving and organizing all that work on my laptop, but next year I'm hoping to get into a rhythm of uploading my high-rezzes to Wikimedia Commons so everyone can use 'em.

Getting better at collaging isn't merely getting better at using search tools, of course. Knowing what to search for is even more important, especially given the constraints of only using public domain/CC sources. The Library of Congress is a wellspring of visual material, but its own search tool is sadly lacking; however, Kagi's image search comes to the rescue again, thanks to the "site:loc.gov" flag, which restricts results to the LoC.

It was through these searches that I realized how many of the source images I was pulling down were the work of Joseph Keppler (1872-1956), an American political cartoonist who worked extensively for Punch:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_Keppler

Keppler was called upon to illustrate many, many political issues that have parallels with the modern competition, corruption and geopolitical stories. A scant few of these remain in the periphery of the public's imagination today, most notably "The Bosses of the Senate," quite possibly the most significant antitrust cartoon of all time:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Bosses_of_the_Senate

But Keppler is a wellspring of great public domain images, and I've been drawing on them heavily. It gives me great pleasure to do so, not just because they're so well-suited to the stories I write, but also because his posterity deserves it. He should be in the American illustrator pantheon alongside the likes of Norman Rockwell!

Besides my search engine and my sources, 2024 saw one other gigantic change in my collage-making: I had cataracts removed from both my eyes in September, and my ophthalmologist implanted lenses that corrected my severe astigmatism and permanently focused one of my eyes at 23" and the other at 25' (this is called monovision). My new eyeballs are still bedding in, and there are days when my vision is severely subpar, but I'm experiencing continuous improvement, and I think this will be a game-changer for 2025.

2025 will also see the long-awaited Version 3.0 release of The GIMP, the free/open image editor I exclusively use. GIMP (Generic Image Manipulation Program) was first released a quarter-century ago, and it's been in version 2.x for twenty years, so this is a big milestone. I can't wait!

https://lwn.net/SubscriberLink/998793/6c8d00bd1b2a7948/

Well, enough forematter. Let's get into this year's best illustrations. If you want high-rezzes of these (or any of my other collages), you can get them at full rez from my Flickr gallery of Pluralistic collages:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/doctorow/albums/72177720316719208

Someday, we'll all take comfort in the internet's "dark corners"

This one combines three sources: a public domain image of the Las Vegas sign, a CC 0 image of a western ghost-town, and a fair use gank of Mark Zuckerberg's metaverse avatar. I spent a lot of time hand-cropping the blades of grass around the sign's footing to create the illusion that it was planted in the ground. I'm also pretty happy with the dirt effect I managed on the sign.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/23/evacuate-the-platforms/#let-the-platforms-burn

Vice surrenders

I got these cover images from a gallery of old Dutch government workplace safety poster; they're delightfully gory in a way that rests comfortably in the cannon of Dutch bluntness. I did a lot of futzing with the Perspective tool to get the alignments right, atop the actual magazine covers (I believe they were Italian fashion magazines).

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/24/anti-posse/#when-you-absolutely-positively-dont-give-a-solitary-single-fuck

How America's oligarchs lull us with the be-your-own-boss fairy tale

Man, I wish this one had a higher-rez original. The 19th century painting of a kid being read a bedtime story by her kindly granny was perfect, except it was only 804 pixels wide! The grinning Uncle Sam is from Keppler (Keppler's Uncle Sams are many, varied, and great). The grinning kid is from a 19th century collection of photos of child laborers, and I love his expression (he's a newsie). I think I did a really good job blending the US $100 (works of federal authorship are all public domain) with the bed curtains. I was disappointed with how the gold brick that granny's foot rests upon game out. I even followed my friend Alistair Milne's tip of cropping the brick, desaturating it, and putting it atop the gold texture in overlay mode and tweaking the curves. It just wouldn't pop the way it did in my mind's eye.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/16/narrative-capitalism/#sell-job

How I got scammed

This one uses some public domains stock art of a hacker in a hoodie, an online make-a-custom-credit-card generator, and two of my favorite visual tropes. The first is the 'code waterfall' effect from the credit sequences of the Wachowskis' 'Matrix' movies, which I use whenever I'm trying to illustrate something with a nexus with the digital world. I have a folder full of these, generated with this code waterfall generator:

https://github.com/Rezmason/matrix

The other element, of course, is the eye of HAL 9000 from Kubrick's '2001: A Space Odyssey'; there's an SVG of this on Wikimedia Commons by a user called 'Cryteria,' licensed CC BY 3.0, which I use whenever I want to illustrate a harm caused by computers:

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/05/cyber-dunning-kruger/#swiss-cheese-security

(Image: Cryteria, CC BY 3.0, modified)

Solar is a market for (financial) lemons

I often write about scammers and hucksters, casting about for good visual representation. It wasn't until late January 2024 that I thought to look for an image of a carny barker and turned up this picture of WC Fields in full flight. He makes a lot of appearance after this point!

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/27/here-comes-the-sun-king/#sign-here

(Image: Future Atlas/http://www.futureatlas.com/blog, CC BY 2.0; J Doll, CC BY 3.0; modified)

Boeing, Spirit and Jetblue, a monopoly horror-story

I was really determined to get the right aircraft for this story about Boeing 737s, but that meant cropping out the plane from Vitaly Druchenok's photo and then painstakingly recreating the Spirit Airlines livery. In the original version of the image, the airplane was sticking out of the roof of the Supreme Court, but my wife (wisely) vetoed that as suggesting a terrorist attack on the court (I wanted to imply that the court had caused the airline to crash).

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/22/anything-that-cant-go-on-forever/#will-eventually-stop

(Image: Vitaly Druchenok, CC BY-SA 4.0; Joe Ravi, CC BY-SA 3.0; modified)

Tech workers and gig workers need each other

I cropped out these two women strikers from an early 20th century photo of a picket line and superimposed them on a photo of a massive union rally from the same era at (I think?) Madison Square Gardens. I am really chuffed with how nicely the (public domain) hacker/hoodie stock image and livery of a gig bike-delivery rider (fair use, ganked from a gig company's promo materials) blended with the strikers.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/13/solidarity-forever/#tech-unions

This one is in the running to be my favorite illo of the year. I knew it was going to slay the minute I found the image of the U Illinois campus secret society (spears! fezzes!). There's a really good public domain SVG recreation of the "Think Different" wordmark on Wikimedia Commons that I used here, spending some time getting the overlays and textures right:

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Apple_logo_Think_Different_vectorized.svg

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/12/youre-holding-it-wrong/#if-dishwashers-were-iphones

End of the line for corporate sovereignty

I use this ogrish rich-guy-in-a-top-hat image all the time to represent the thuggish application of wealth; he comes from a delightful Soviet editorial cartoon called "Capital Controls the Government":

https://craphound.com/images/ussr-capital.jpg

Putting him behind the podium in a UN plenary room with a UN crest in his hand worked really well, though in hindsight, the cropped version I used for the post's hero image is even better:

https://craphound.com/images/27Mar2024.jpg

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/27/korporate-kangaroo-kourts/#corporate-sovereignty

(Image: ChrisErbach, CC BY-SA 3.0, modified)

Conspiratorialism and the epistemological crisis

Another "thing at the front of a big room" image; this one works better that the UN one, I think.

Both of the sources for this have weird CC characteristics. The hearing room image comes from the Nuclear Regulatory Commission, a federal agency, and I am 99% certain that makes it public domain; however, whoever managed the NRC's Flickr account in 2014 applied a CC BY license to it, so I did the whole attribution for it, even though I think it wasn't needed.

The crumbled cardboard box image comes from a British company that sells cardboard boxes; they upload product shots to Flickr under CC BY 2.0 and require that the attribution string include their store's URL (not necessarily the URL of the image), presumably to get SEO backlinks. This is fine, but the CC BY 2.0 licenses have a serious defect in that a failure to correctly attribute them can give rise to serious ($150K!) copyright liability, something that a group of "copyleft trolls" have brutally exploited:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/02/commafuckers-versus-the-commons/

Which makes this kind of funky attribution a minefield. I try to touch all the bases by attributing to both the store's URL and the URL of the image. The real solution to this is for Flickr to finally update its CC licensing to push all its images up to CC 4.0 and push a notice to all users with CC images telling them they either have to consent to upgrading to the latest licenses, or have the licensing on their images reverted to "All Rights Reserved" (maybe with an asterisk explaining that they still have irrevocable but dangerous CC 2.0 licenses attached to them).

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/25/black-boxes/#when-you-know-you-know

(Image: Nuclear Regulatory Commission, https://meanwell-packaging.co.uk, CC BY 2.0)

Your car spies on you and rats you out to insurance companies

I had so much fun with this one! Check out all those gracenotes! Munch's (public domain) "Scream" reflected in the mirrors, the windscreen, and the dashboard. The 'You Wouldn't Download a Car' parody reflected in the blade of the giant knife sticking out of the steering wheel!

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/12/market-failure/#car-wars

(Image: Cryteria, CC BY 3.0, modified)

Wellness surveillance makes workers unwell

I love how this one turned out. The labcoated figure is actually a dentist from a gallery of images from the National Museum of Health and Medicine. The little flying guy in the back kills me.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/15/wellness-taylorism/#sick-of-spying

(Image: Cryteria, CC BY 3.0, modified)

Amazon's financial shell game let it create an "impossible" monopoly

I love this one. First of all, Hieronymus Bosch's 'The Conjurer' is a great visual representation of a slickster pulling a fast one on gawping yokels. But once I added Doc Searls' great shot of Jeff Bezos in mid-crazy-laugh to it (from a 2010 Techonomy Summit) it became perfectly trenchant. This was part of a short series of images that I added extra fingers and pupils to after someone scolded me online because they (incorrectly) believed I'd generated a collage with an AI image generator. Thankfully, that kind of absurd witch-hunting seems to have waned in popularity. What a ridiculous waste of everyone's time!

(Image: Doc Searls, CC BY 2.0, modified)

Part two

Part three

Part four

#art #collages #public domain #creative commons #cc #fair use #copyfight #visual communications #illustration #pluralistic illustrations 2024

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copperbadge · 8 months ago

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Amateur Translation Programs

So I had a lot of imaginative and informative responses to my post about looking for an amateur translation program -- something where I could load in a foreign language and it would insert a box where I could add a translation every-other-line. The idea was that this way I could practice translation with more advanced texts, and texts I chose, and thus move away from Duolingo, which at this point is good for drilling and daily practice but not for more advanced learning.

I didn't find precisely what was needed but I did get some inspiration for further explanation, and I also learned that adding the term "glossing" (thank you @thewalrus-said) into my searches helped a great deal in terms of weeding out programs that were either "Let this AI translate for you" or just endless promotional links for Babbel and Duolingo and such. I thought I'd collect up the suggestions and post them here; at the end I'm including my best swing at designing what I wanted, and why it doesn't work yet.

Suggestion one, from many people, was various ways to generate a page that is simply fixed Italian text with space underneath each line to add in a translation. This is pretty simple as a process and there are sites that will do it for you, such as this one that @ame-kage suggested. However, most of these don't allow for movement in the Italian text, and many produce a PDF which you would need to print out in order to write on unless you're willing to open it in Acrobat (and deal with Acrobat). A good solution for some but not what I'm looking for purely because I'm trying to make this super frictionless so that (knowing myself as I do) I will actually do it.

I did find this version interesting, suggested by @drivemetogeek: Have one word doc saved as your "template" doc and set the line spacing as 2.0 or higher. Select your text from source and paste it into the template doc as text-only. Ctrl a, ctrl c to select all and copy, then open a new document and "paste special" as picture. Right click and set the "wrap text" as behind text. Now you have a document where you can, basically, type over the existing text because it's the background of the page. This seems like the most frictionless version, because you could set up a bunch of them ahead of time. If you wanted to move between desktop and mobile, however, you'd need to ensure that the pasted image was fairly narrow so that you don't have to sideways-scroll.

Relatedly, people suggested generating a document that is simply the Italian text with empty space beneath it for typing in of the translation. This can be done either semi-automated, using a macro or a language like Python, or find-and-replace on, say, the stops at the ends of sentences. It basically outputs the same as above but with a more digitally accessible format, without any more effort than above. If you were to do this in Google Sheets you could also fix the column width so that it didn't do anything weird when you opened it on your phone. But it is still very friction-y, and does not allow for easy shifting of the Italian as needed. There's high probability of the translation breaking weirdly across the page. Still a top option in terms of simplicity and access.

@smokeandholograms suggested another variation illustrated here where essentially you're converting the text to a series of tables, with each paragraph a row, and an empty cell next to it for the translation. I might play around more with this one eventually, since I think I could possibly make it a three-column and put the Italian in one, the translation in the next, and the auto-translate to let me know where I might be slipping in the third. (Not that I trust auto-translate but comparing a hand translation to an auto translation can be useful in terms of working out when I've messed up the way a tense or mood is read. I tend to read indirect verbs as automatically imperative because I'm a weirdo.)

@wynjara linked to an add-in for Word specifically designed for translators, known as TransTools; this appears to employ a macro to do the same thing, though it does have a format where you can place the translation next to each sentence directly rather than in a separate cell. The full suite of tools is only $45 which is reasonable for my budget, but for what I need I think I could also just create the macro.

Using LaTeX as a tool specially designed for glossing was an option on offer, but I don't know enough about LaTeX to figure out the pros of this one, which is in itself the major con -- there's a learning curve that I think varies widely by person but for me is unfortunately a wall. It came out of a discussion on Reddit about trying to find something like what I want; also in that discussion is a link to a code generator that allows you to…do something…to the initial language, but it's not entirely clear to me (I'm sure it's clear to people who understand coding) what you would then do with it that would allow it to be output in the way I'm hoping for. Like, I could turn a paragraph of text into HTML, I understand that far, but any Italian I find is already on a website.

Moving more into apps that might work, Redditors on the LaTeX discussion suggested SIL Fieldworks, which is a professional language tech tool. Fieldworks isn't a program I'd previously encountered but much as with the ones I had, it looks like the learning curve is fairly steep and it is definitely overkill generally for what I need, though it might also harbor within it the thing I want. It is free, so I may download and play around with it.

@brightwanderer suggested using note-taking or "whiteboard" apps such as Freeform or Nebo; these are generally a kind of "infinite canvas" in which you can drop objects, text boxes, or handwriting. I don't know that Freeform would be measurably different to just using Word and a macro, since I'd still have to input/format all the text and then be stuck with the same "fixed text" setup -- and it's also iOS only -- but for some folks it might be more helpful. Nebo is a similar infinite-canvas with unfortunately the same issues, though on the plus it's available for Android, which is where most of my mobile property resides.

@bloodbright suggested that I was looking for a CAT tool, a professional translation tool mainly used by translators working in the field. This was a concept I'd encountered, but I hadn't found a good starting place. They suggested Smartcat and OmegaT. Smartcat bills itself as an AI translation platform and is HARD pushing the "don't translate it yourself, hire a translator or let AI do it" angle, so it's difficult to tell what it offers in terms of actual tools for translators, and it's also cagey about pricing, so I can't really evaluate it. OmegaT is free and gives off big "some weirdo homebrewed this in their basement" vibe (which I am here for) but I also recognized it from screengrabs that were the reason I veered away from professional-grade software: it looked too complex. Realistically, the major downside of OmegaT is that I don't think I can put it on my phone. One thing I did find interesting is that once you translate a portion of the text, the original language goes away, though I assume you can turn that off if needed. I do kind of like that because it means my distractable brain is looking at Less Stuff.

So where did I end up?

Well, it looked like I was going to have to try a homebrew myself. I had the idea of trying some of the initial suggestions but in reverse -- designing a document where every other line was a single-cell table fixed to the page. You could paste in the Italian, which would wrap around the cells, and then enter the English in the cells.

You can fix a table in place in Google Docs -- you click on the table, then under Table > Style select Wrap Text, Both Sides, and Fix On Page. Getting the whole page set up is a little labor intensive but once you did that, you could just save it as a template and make a duplicate of it each time. And this actually works….on desktop.

Unfortunately, if you open it in the mobile Docs app, the app can't handle the fixed tables and automatically moves them all to after the text that's been pasted in. I tried redesigning it so that it's a table within a table -- one for the Italian, then within that a series of them for the English -- but when you nest a table in Google Docs, it doesn't let you fix the second table in place. And you are also still dealing with the wrap issue, although you can resize the page and add a large right-hand margin as a kludge of a fix for that.

You can build this same kind of document in Word, so I tried building one in Word and then uploading it to Drive, but when you open the Word file in Docs (or in Microsoft Word for Android), it still strips the fixed positioning -- there's just some functionality missing from both apps that doesn't allow them to handle fixed-position tables.

So, the design is sound, just not the final execution. If I could program an app, I could probably remedy the issues with it -- it's simply a series of text boxes nested inside one another with different formatting. I would imagine that's relatively basic to set up, although given that neither Docs nor Word can handle fixed tables in mobile, perhaps I've stumbled on a much bigger problem that everyone is ignoring because nobody actually needs or wants fixed tables in mobile. :D

Experimentation is ongoing, anyway. I might simply have to resign myself to the fact that my translation study is going to have to be in front of a computer, which might be for the best anyway when I inevitably want to compare my translation to an auto-translate to see where I might have read something wrong.

#language learning #translation #sam learns italian

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duckprintspress · 9 months ago

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Fandom 101: Getting Started on Fanlore.org

Not long ago, we at Duck Prints Press decided that we’d like the Press to have a page on Fanlore. To accomplish that, Press contributor Shea Sullivan made an account and figured out the nuts and bolts on how to add pages to Fanlore. Turns out, it’s not very hard, and now in this guest blog post, Shea will teach y’all how to do it too!

Making Your First Fanlore Page!

Hello! I am an editor on Fanlore as of a few days ago. Before that, I’d worked with mediawiki (the open source platform Fanlore uses) for unrelated projects, so I had a general understanding of how things worked, but no idea how Fanlore preferred their pages to be formatted or organized or linked.

This is how I got started!

First: What is Fanlore and Why Should You Care?

Fanlore is a wiki specifically dedicated to the fandom experience. It’s not for canon info about a specific fandom; rather, it’s for information about how fans interact with media and each other. Fanlore is run by the OTW, the same organization that brings us our beloved AO3. This context helped me in understanding the focus of Fanlore. It’s about fandom: the ups, the downs, the trends, the drama…all the things that can get lost forever when sites disappear or there’s a purge. And that said…well, you may still not care. But if you do, read on!

Second: You Care. Now What?

(read more)

Get an account. Right now. It’s worth getting the account, because you won’t be able to create new pages for a few hours. So, get the account first, figure out what to do with it later.

Go to fanlore.org and click on “Create Account” in the upper right-hand corner:

Third: You Have the Power (Soon)!

Read up! No need to invent the wheel in this post – they’ve got some great resources for getting started already written on their webpage.

Fanlore Getting Started Page

General Help Pages on Fanlore

Four hours after you create your account, you can create pages! Congrats! There are a ton of help pages out there, but the questions I had initially were:

How do I make sure this page doesn’t exist already?

Search. Search for the page. Search for key phrases associated with the page. A page name is a fiddly thing, so search for significant phrases in a few different ways before you determine it doesn’t exist. Always make sure you check before you set out to create page!

How do I add this page?

If it’s not there, you’ll see it come up in red when you search. Type the page name you want to create in the search bar. Click “Search” to get all the results, and then click on that red link.

How do I format this page?

You now have an empty page. When I was getting started, my big question was: what should my page look like? Well, Fanlore has templates that can help with that! The templates are in a markup language, but do not fear! Copy and paste the template (everything in the blue box on the template page, typically starting with curly braces), make some updates, and click “Preview.” You can repeat those steps indefinitely until you get the hang of the markup. There’s also a ton of information on the Fanlore.org cheatsheet. (If you’re still confused, keep reading, there’s more specifics under the infobox section.)

Once you have the page created and published, you can edit it without the markup language if you prefer – there’s “Edit,” which gives you a non-code-based option, and an “Edit Source” button, which gives you the code-based option.

If your proposed page topic doesn’t have an official template created for that topic, you can look up similar pages and see how they’re structured. If you’re not sure how they managed to make something look a certain way, click the “Edit Source” button and look at the code there to get a sense of what they did. Be sure to cancel out of the edit when you’re done so you don’t make unintentional changes to someone else’s page! Some pages are locked down (like the template pages) so you can’t make edits, but most “normal” pages will have those links at the top so you can dig in and see what’s there and how the people who wrote that page made it look the way it does.

How do I add an infobox?

Those infoboxes on the right of a lot of pages give a quick overview of important information. These are templates, and you can find a list of available infobox templates here.

The templates, when you click into them, have a heading and some info that you can fill in. You can’t remove items from the template without making a new template, which I don’t recommend trying when you’re getting started. Use the template, fill in the information, and mark “N/A” if you don’t have information to insert in a specific field. A sample template for an infobox looks like this, and you fill in information after each “equals” sign. You can add a list, and you can add links to these after the equals sign using the markup for internal and external links on the Cheatsheet.

{{FanProfile |name= |alias(es)= |type= |fandoms= |communities= |other= |url= }}

If you’re still confused, let’s go to Astolat’s fan page and click “Edit Source” and see how the infobox looks behind the scenes:

See how everything that was in the original template is still there, there’s just a list of information after the equals sign?

And here’s how it looks formatted:

How do I categorize this page?

Categories are important because they help Fanlore’s back-end coding group pages together so people can find the page you’ve created and so the page is in the right place in the site map. If you can’t figure it out, though, don’t worry, there are people who will find it and take care of it!

If you have an infobox from a template, this is taken care of.

If you didn’t use an infobox template, you can add a Category to index the page.

Finding a Category can be a little overwhelming. If you have an example page (another page that contains the same type of content as yours), you can scroll to the bottom of that page and see what Category has been assigned to it. You can add that Category to your page by editing the source and adding that category into your page at the bottom with 2 square brackets, like this: [[Category:YourCategory]]

Use “Preview” to make sure you set it up correctly before saving the page.

If you need to find a category and can’t find a good example page, I recommend going to the sitemap, finding what fits your article the best, and clicking into it. Categories are set up in hierarchies, so click through until you find the Category and Subcategory that fits best.

Add it at the very bottom of the page, and it should show up when you preview, at the very bottom of the page.

How do I add those nifty citation references[1]?

Review theFanlore page on citation formatting for details. The basics are:

Add a blank References heading at the bottom of the page.

Add tags and include the source information.

What is the difference between a citation and an external link? Good question! I don’t know for sure, but the way I’ve been using it, if I make a statement about a thing and I want to direct you to the “proof” (article, webpage, etc), I will use a citation. If there is a thing I’m linking to because it is relevant but not as proof of what I’m saying on the wiki, I will add it as an external link.

Fourth: Don’t Worry

You’ll find there are a lot of instances when you might not be sure what the “right” way is to do whatever it is you’re trying to do. Don’t let that stop you! Do a little research, do your best, and be okay with a learning curve.

The thing about wiki editing in general, and this includes Fanlore, is that it’s a community project, and everyone is doing their best. It’s worthwhile to think about trying to make your pages consistent with other pages where you can, because it will help people who are trying to find what you’re providing. So, poke around similar pages first and look for common trends in how they’re organized, and mimic that for your own page.

All that said, there is very little hierarchy in editors and few rules set in stone. It’s a community site put together by volunteers. You may find that you’ve labeled, referenced, cited, categorized, etc, a page incorrectly, or that you added a page that was already there under another name, or you may have put in a canon page when that’s really not what Fanlore is for. No problem! A page can be reverted to a previous version. It can be removed by a “Gardener” (higher-level editor), or edited by someone else who is more familiar with the inner wiki workings, or you can even tweak it yourself when you learn a better ways to code the page.

There is always a path forward, so get in there and get started!

Happy creating, happy fandom, and welcome!

GO VISIT FANLORE NOW!

#duck prints press #resources #tutorials #otw #ao3 #fanlore #fanlore.org #how to #fandom #fandom wiki

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silvergreenseraphim · 11 months ago

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The First Soldier: Chapter Six

Japanese highlights + analysis

Hi guys! Okay, let’s look right into this chapter-

Opening with Team Glenn, we learn some small details. The Shinra dig will start soon, and Glenn marvels at how fast everything is moving. Matt credits Shinra power, Glenn credits their hard work as a team, and Lucia credits Sephiroth, who did most of the work. Glenn, being more humble now, admits that he cannot deny it, and remembers that he must tell Sephiroth about the payment.

However, he notes that Sephiroth does not seem interested in money. This is one of the first hints throughout this chapter that Team Glenn still do not fully understand what Sephiroth is to Shinra. It is a subtle but reoccurring pattern, particularly when the notion of “being fired” comes into play later on.

The English in this scene was good. No major changes.

The chief engineer calls the team over and reprimands them for being too relaxed, saying that they need to do their jobs and clear out the monsters near the living quarters. Glenn awkwardly agrees to get back to patrolling, but first he asks,

“Hey, have you seen our squad leader?”

The engineer responds,

“If you mean that kid, isn’t he still out looking through the bodies? It’s disgusting. Please make him stop.“

Glenn is surprised and says, “Sephiroth is rummaging through the corpses?”

Matt notes that Sephiroth does often disappear/go off on his own, and Lucia says to look for him on their patrol.

(Seeing how the other Shinra employees behave and speak helped me see why Sephiroth had no luck asking around about his mother. They are only there to do their jobs, and don’t understand the child SOLDIER at all. It is very much an indifferent workforce).

Next is the scene where we learn about the materia fragments that were shattered over time. This scene adds greater weight to the mako spring discussion in the Nibelheim flashback, where Sephiroth comments that the condensed formation must have taken ages. It takes a very long time for even small bits to form, and even then they can shatter.

There is the silly bit of banter between the team about using diversion pebbles/materia fragments, but I must note again that Glenn seems calmer and less cocky even in his jesting.

Then Lucia becomes visibly concerned and says,

“Looking through corpses…I wonder if he’s really doing that…”

Glenn responds,

“The chief engineer is just joking around right? There’s no way he (Sephiroth) would do something like that.”

Matt agrees that there would be no need for it, and the team moves forward.

(It is very wholesome to see them believe only the best of Sephiroth despite what others think, and they are more perceptive and accurate about him anyway. This story constantly leads the audience to worry that Sephiroth always held darker traits before immediately disproving these concerns or at least showing that his reasons were always understandable. Team Glenn speaks for the more optimistic viewers at this point).

Of course little Sephiroth is caught undeniably searching a body, and Glenn questions him in surprise. Sephiroth is confused at first, but then acknowledges that it does look wrong. Lucia asks him if he is looking for something. Sephiroth says,

“I lost the pendant with my mother's photo in it.. . . . . .I was looking for it. I was checking to see if someone might have picked it up and had it on them…”

(So, a small translation nuance; it is clear in Japanese that Sephiroth dropped it and believed that someone could have picked it up. He is not just looking under bodies, he is going through their pockets and all to see if anyone has it with them.)

Sephiroth chuckles and admits,

“Haha, I suppose I am a corpse-scavenger…“

(This is another case of Sephiroth’s childlike innocence mingling with his very dark reality. He lost his most precious possession like a normal child would, but now has to search for it among the dead that he himself laid to waste).

When the others understand, Glenn says,

“Alright, let’s look for it while we kill monsters.”

And Sephiroth replies,

“Thank you very much…that helps…“

The team moves on to kill monsters and search.

Glenn notes the lesser number of bodies and Sephiroth points out that it was because of the monsters. Glenn shudders to think of dying in the area, but Sephiroth takes the opportunity to beseech them to not let their guard down. He says,

“You all seem to be feeling a little relaxed. You can never be too careful. You must protect yourself. If you don't apply this basic rule...”

Right then a monster swoops in and Sephiroth kills it, stunning the others. He concludes with, “…then even I can’t protect you.”

Glenn asks, “So, you’re protecting us?”

Sephiroth walks up to him and responds,

“It’s because you’re my team.”

They are interrupted by more monsters, but when the fighting ends, Matt repeats what Sephiroth said.

“I’ll protect you because you’re my team…”

Matt glares at Glenn and says,

“I’d like to hear that from a team-leader I know who previously threatened to hit one of his own squad members…”

Lucia chimes in with the comment about that same team-leader making them be near his gross socks.

(They are both referencing the first chapter of the game, where Glenn’s outburst on the helicopter made it appear as though he were going to punch Matt, and when Glenn made a joke about his socks being so bad that they would pull Lucia out of shell-shock).

Sephiroth looks up at Glenn while shaking his head and laughs, saying,

“Ha…that’s the worst.”

Glenn remarks,

“But it’s “memorable,” isn’t it?”

Sephiroth thinks for a moment and says,

“Yes, I see. So, that team-leader fears being forgotten…”

This observation strikes Matt and even Glenn. They appear to rethink Glenn’s leadership style. Glenn does not protest the observation, but he ponders it.

(I found it sweet that Sephiroth did not judge Glenn, but pointed out what is likely a true insecurity of Glenn’s, but in a very mild and childlike way. Part of me even wonders if Sephiroth understood the fear because he too had struggled with it. After all, adult Sephiroth refused to be a memory even post-insanity.)

(Also, it is hard to fully explain, but reading this text in Japanese—it becomes easier to see how it is not just Glenn that influences Sephiroth, but also the other way around. It’s strange but…it feels as though Glenn has become…softer? Even when alone with his team, he is not disrespecting them so much or being so brash. It was his meeting with Rosen that helped him to develop sympathy for the “enemy” and it was Sephiroth that helped Glenn become kinder to his team. Even the way he speaks seems gentler.

In the last chapter, Glenn was so harsh towards Seph at the beginning, but learned remorse and how to apologize when Sephiroth’s vulnerability was showcased. In this chapter, Sephiroth is the one to understand that Glenn might have been such a brash leader because he feared being forgotten, which was a very perceptive and empathetic observation, causing even Matt to reconsider. It was a very heart-warming scene).

(The next sequence is devastating and I believe it caused some minor controversy with fans because of how Glenn speaks, but I can affirm that the tone in Japanese seems to aim for sympathetic character development. As I mentioned before, Glenn is different to the character we first met, and his arc is becoming more clear as we move forward.)

As the squad looks through the bodies, Glenn notices that there were not many Rhadoran remnants left, and Matt suspects it was because of their living conditions and the endless battle with monsters. Glenn remarks that it must have been a hard lifestyle. He then says,

“...I don't really understand why Rhadore hated the Mako reactors…I mean, there's no such thing as convenient (as the reactors), right?”

They are swiftly interrupted again by monsters, causing Sephiroth to say that they seem more interested than usual.

“The monsters seem more interested than usual.”

“They’re excited about live bait!” Glenn says.

“If you want to be bait, I won't stop you, but as a SOLDIER, please fight first.” Sephiroth urges.

When they clear out the area again, Matt considers the similarities between the Rhadoran believes and “Planetology” or the “study of the star.”

“When a person dies, their life returns to the planet with their consciousness and heart and intersects with the energy of life circulating around the planet. The idea is that a new life will eventually be born from it. The life around this planet is what they call “qi” (mana). The “qi” going around the planet enriches people and nature and the planet itself. It would be unthinkable for Rhadore to consume such an irreplaceable energy.”

Glenn is still confused, and then Sephiroth interjects with,

“Dr. Hojo talked to me about this…

“No matter how rationally and logically we explain things, there are people we will not be able to share understanding with. That is because they see the world differently.””

Glenn argues that such things won’t matter if someone dies, and that it would just be better to accept an easy life instead of fighting so hard against it. He points out that Rosen is the only one left, and says that if the Rhadoran beliefs are true, what will become of the last Rhadoran boy when he dies? When he is gone, no one will be left, and people will forget Rhadore.

Sephiroth sadly shakes his head and turns away, saying that,

“The planet remembers…I am certain that is what the people of Rhadore believe…”

Glenn receives his epiphany, and understands that the Rhadorans resisted the consumption of mana/mako because it would erase all memories of life. He is suddenly overcome with sadness and turns to kneel and honor the fallen soldiers. The others do the same.

(This scene was, in my opinion, intended to deliver a strong message, but was maybe limited by the story-telling style. Some people were shocked by Glenn’s questioning why the Rhadorans all died for their beliefs when he is with the very company that wiped them out. But I think it does help to remember that this war between Shinra and Wutai was something that soldiers like Glenn and his team only had seen one side of until this point. They were a survey team working for money after all, not the ones directly sent to kill the Rhadorans until Sephiroth arrived, who did most of the work anyway, and even shocked the others with his conditioned ruthlessness in the previous chapter.

Shinra is a propaganda monster, and undoubtedly played off the war as something the Wutaians started and were responsible for, as well as the Rhadorans. It does sound like Glenn is genuinely confused here, especially as someone who was probably used to Shinra being the default government for everything.

“Why would these people willingly die and fight Shinra for trying to make their lives easier?”

But that is the simple darkness of imperialism. Shinra was going to erase something very important to the Rhadorans for the sake of “convenience.”

Glenn only sees this after Sephiroth himself acknowledges the Rhadoran faith. This is where a change of heart occurs. The Rhadorans were fighting for a genuine reason. Of course they were.

I actually felt this was a very meaningful sequence after translating it. Very good attempt at addressing imperialist destruction.)

Afterwards, they keep up the search and Matt asks if Sephiroth is sure he dropped the necklace in the building they are in. He says he had it before the ruins, so he is sure it must have been in the building. Lucia explains that it might be difficult to find if they haven’t already. Sephiroth tiredly shakes his head and says,

“It’s okay. Thanks to everyone for looking together, I think I’m about ready to give it up.”

He is saying that since everyone looked at the same time, he is ready to accept that he has to let the photo go. If they can’t find it together, then it is truly lost. The others become downcast on his behalf, and then Glenn moves over to one of the dead soldiers. He suggests they bury them as a way to say sorry, though he is not sure if that is their custom. Either way, Sephiroth immediately says that he will help, and Glenn is grateful.

The next scene was clearly translated into English. As they bury the bodies, the dig begins and Sephiroth explains that they will need to evacuate to the sky in thirty minutes, thanks to a possible mako eruption or “torrent of qi” caused by Shinra’s explosives. Glenn remembers Rosen’s words, and Sephiroth says they need to hurry.

The following sequence is endearing as Sephiroth makes shortcuts for the team. He reveals a unique power that allows him to create great bursts of energy from simple materia fragments. The others are stunned. Glenn, in particular, cannot believe it even after Sephiroth explains. He says,

“No, it’s impossible! Sephiroth, you’re amazing!!”

In the next scene, Glenn is initially ready to chop down a tree to form a bridge across a river, but Sephiroth steps in and says his way will be quicker. Where before, Glenn would have been eager to lead the way, he kindly steps aside and lets Sephiroth take over. Glenn is once again verbally supportive, and says,

“Ha! As expected.”

Sephiroth says,

“As expected of a modified human (cyborg), right?”

Glenn says wasn’t going to say that, nor was he thinking it. Sephiroth says,

“Really?….I’m a little disappointed…”

Glenn is confused and Sephiroth shakes his head,

“I don’t really understand it myself…”

Bringing his head low and his hand to his heart again, he guesses,

“It’s just…nothing you guys say makes me feel bad, so I want you to be able to say anything…”

(The English got the point across as well, but Seph is sincerely saying that he trusts them because they don’t say things that hurt him, so he doesn’t want them to feel as if they need to hold back their thoughts. He is pointing out that he has grown to feel safe with them because they are not malicious with their words. It feels like he discovers the idea of trust in relationships right here).

Glenn perks up and says,

“Alright then, I’ll tell you what I think!! I’m counting on you, squad-leader! Now, let’s go!”

Sephiroth enthusiastically responds with “Yes!” and they move on.

The waterfall scene is largely the same. Glenn fully goes to Sephiroth to lead this time and hands him the materia fragment. He asks if Sephiroth can use it like before, and in Japanese, Sephiroth endearingly says he doesn’t want to “make things go boom” but that he has an idea. He freezes the waterfall and Glenn voices his praise again.

When they finally draw close, Glenn stops to think of Rosen, but Sephiroth urges him to hurry. When they get to the overlook, it becomes clear that Glenn and the others are struggling with remorse over the Rhadorans and Rosen being in danger. They exchange glances and Glenn almost says something to Sephiroth, but stops himself.

Sephiroth himself is far more concerned about them, his team, and their safety. The divide is obvious, and a choice will have to be made.

They arrive as the last ones to the Shinra helicopter and the engineer is ready for them to evacuate, but Glenn begs the man to delay the dig so that he can go and warn Rosen, thus setting his plans in motion without forewarning Sephiroth. The engineer refuses despite Glenn’s pleas and brings up the amount of money Shinra has put into the program. Glenn shouts,

“This isn’t about the money!”

And punches the engineer, much to Matt and Lucia’s exasperation.

The engineer says,

“I'll report you to headquarters! I can even have you fired.”

Glenn does not care. It is the first time we have seen him willingly dismiss money and fight for something else. He tells the engineer to get on the other helicopter, and Matt tells Lucia to make her decision. She apologizes to Sephiroth and hi-jacks the copter. Sephiroth simply turns his back quietly.

The final Stamp battle occurs afterwards as an interruption, and the team finishes the job, with more remorse from Glenn about messing with Stamp’s island. Then the engineer flies overhead and drops down the ladder, offering one more chance. Lucia says,

“Will Sephiroth also be disposed of?”

Matt reminds her,

“It’s okay, we’re the only ones at fault. There are witness too.”

With this, the team says goodbye to their leader, and Glenn tells him,

”Sephiroth, take care! Don’t overdo it/push yourself too much!”

They run off, leaving Sephiroth to evacuate, but he hesitates. The engineer shouts,

“Hurry up and get on, hero!”

But our hero can’t leave his friends just yet!

He runs up to them and Glenn is surprised. He says,

“You came…….are you sure? If you get on this helicopter, you could get fired, right?”

And the chapter ends with Sephiroth’s simple reply,

“I’m special.”

Glenn just laughs.

—

This appears to be a direct reference to Sephiroth’s future statement about always knowing he was special or different since he was a child.

The word is the same.

“Exceptional, unique, beyond ordinary…”

But this line from Sephiroth is actually more upsetting to me than funny or cocky, because yes, there is indeed a chance he is merely being proud about being able to get away with his current actions due to his status as Shinra’s hero, but…

There is also the chance he knows he cannot be fired or disposed of because Shinra would never let him leave. They have control over him. He is different or special in that sense too. He is a prized possession, unlike the others.

I have yet to see, but I wonder if Sephiroth knows that he is risking severe punishment for his actions by helping his team and will not be met with a simple lay-off, but since this is his last chance to help and be with his team, he is ready to pay the price. If they are fired, he may not see them again. Now is his chance.

His hesitation at the helicopter is sincere. He clasps at his heart and everything. I don’t believe he is being light-hearted when he tells Glenn he is different. In the English, it came off more prideful, as though Seph were daring Shinra to come after him. In Japanese, I get the feeling he is making a sacrifice.

Sephiroth also believes it is his job to protect his team. If Shinra tries to harm them, he will have to face that. I fear that for now, Sephiroth has not learned that Shinra will not just punish him, but they can also kill people he considers friends.

I also think this chapter was full of foreshadowing.

Even the scenes with Glenn praising Sephiroth and making an effort to do it honestly and constantly felt as though it were meant to be a contrast for what could be shown later if the Shinra higher-ups appear and catch Sephiroth in the act of treason.

I am very proud of him, but I am very concerned for him now.

(I have more thoughts on Sephiroth’s relationship with Team Glenn after this chapter, but I will save it for another post! Hope you guys enjoy this one in the mean time!)

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