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calilili · 10 months

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"The working class artist is 'canary in the coal mine' of culture. She represents the free-spirit in everyone. Going forward, I believe, we will all find out, that the shortest distance between the artist + her audience, will save mother earth, because the artist holds together the fabrics of culture, society, humanity + civilization. My work seeks to nourish + strengthen our 'cultural immune system' against threats to democracy + freedom. Please Support My Team. "©calilili™

” The working class artist is ‘canary in the coal mine’ of culture. She represents the free-spirit in everyone. Today’s increasingly authoritarian, indentured servitude economies where even ‘the arts’ enable 1-Percenters in earning obscene profits, leaving working class artists out in the cold of newly de-professionalized systems with shredded standards, was preceded by the gutting of the…

” The working class artist is ‘canary in the coal mine’ of culture.

She represents the free-spirit in everyone.

Today’s increasingly authoritarian, indentured servitude economies where even ‘the arts’ enable 1-Percenters in earning obscene profits, leaving working class artists out in the cold of newly de-professionalized systems with shredded standards, was preceded by the gutting of the indie artist.

My work seeks to nourish + strengthen our ‘cultural immune system’ against threats to democracy + freedom.

However – it’s up to each and every one of us – to “vote for ourselves” in all of this.

The parallels with actual “voting” for public service – are quite palpable. Each vote for a public servant, is a vote for or against ourselves.

It’s up to us – to choose humanity. To Choose to support artists, instead of corporations posing as such.

Going forward, I believe, we will all find out, that the shortest distance between the artist + her audience, will save mother earth, because the artist holds together the fabrics of culture, society, humanity + civilization.

“

Excerpts by © Cali Lili

“Makin’ a Livin’ Not a Killin’ ™

My Oscars 2020 Contender Indie Film and Original Soundtrack

“eVe N’god this female is not yet rated ™ ”

from my Sustainable, Green, Upcycled Tiny feMt0™studi0

“Imagine being a poor kid who’s core joy in life, is the creation of something beautiful and then finding out that the rich kids can show up to steal your creations and claim them as their own ? “

Before the Covid-19 pandemic I wrote much of the text-collage below as a “compilation” of excerpts from my writings.

Upon re-reading it – I am viscerally struck by many eerily prescient statements, including my mention of the “cultural immune system” – which is not an unusual reference for me, but it’s got special resonance now.

Imagine – being a poor kid who’s core joy in life, is the creation of something beautiful and then finding out that the rich kids can show up to steal your creations and claim them as their own ?

I’m a numbers challenged poor-kid artist who worked to get an “A” in my College Economy class, yet – never expected ‘economics’ would become so key to the art and sustainable humanities – work I was born to do.

Now, it seems almost fitting that “economics” in the context of art-making should become a focus. True artists are ‘not in it for the money,’ we are driven by an other-worldly ‘calling’ yet we DO have to survive + we do face commercial and other ” vampires.” So much ego, jealousy and competition obstructs the work, especially in the era of “corporate art” and also – “amateur art” – in which “everybody is a celebrity and therefore nobody is authentic.” Time and focus become even more precious and reaching the audience, becomes more challenging in the context of so many distractions.

I want to make clear that I’m not just slamming big budget productions or corporations — they employ many people and are a very important part of the “economic landscape” – the “economic eco-system.”

But like all eco-systems – balance is key.

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Just as the “big fish” get to swim big in the big ocean … – so too, must my tiny productions be nurtured, supported by the industry, the economy ( the big ocean ) and diverse audiences, just as my work as an artist – should be nurtured by elders, producers, directors, fellow artists through quality acting jobs in the larger economic arena – without being mutually exclusive, or – damn near impossible without “the right connections.”

Where we have arrived in the current imbalance of the economic eco-system of the entertainment industry – is, like the imbalances leading to climate-crisis, endanger species – so too, does the imbalance in our industry ( and I dare-say many other big money driven industries ) threaten the artist as an endangered species.

Things don’t have to stay the same.

There are ironies evident during the current pandemic. One of the ironies we recently noticed, involves several entertainment venues that were cold, indifferent, callous, arrogant – and even cruel – to young artists like myself, just starting out with fresh projects – who are now actually begging US to write to OUR government representatives – asking US to ask that OUR tax-dollars go toward bailing THEM out!

Some of these venues – even go so far as to “pose” as “mom and pop” operations, which for me is a huge irony as I have been advocating the return of the “mom and pop ” economy with my “MomNPopUpShopZ™ ” moniker but I CERTAINLY would not call these “outfits” anywhere NEAR the kind of “AuthenticIndie™” that takes place at my studio.

Really now, the height of hypocrisy – to write to artists whose dreams you tried to crush – asking for a bailout ?

But that’s actually the environment our culture has enabled, via the “Gentrified Economy ” we’ve been enduring – that led to the literal “gentrification” of our very “culture” – which in its purest form is the physical expression, embodiment of the “soul” of the people.

Like those who “vote against themselves” by voting for politicians that work for the 1% richest echelon of their district, while getting the 99% to believe they deserve poverty – there has been an apathetic acceptance by too many of us – that those who literally absconded with our resources are somehow “endowed” with forms of “entitlement” based upon the size of their bank accounts – even if those numbers were not quite ethically attained.

It’s a “Stockholm Syndrome” of some sort.

If we don’t free ourselves from this unhealthy cycle, we will continue to enable the very abuses of power that got us here in the first place – massive inequality with the 1 Percenters getting bailed out even as they continue to suck every ounce of resources from the rest of us.

Witness the Covid-19 Circumstances : most renters are not able to leave the house to work … and yet … many of the larger landlords just got bailed out in various ways … but the renters STILL OWE THE RENT.

How does that make sense ?

It just doesn’t.

I believe the “economic eco-system” in the “arts and culture” professions, too often intertwined in a symbiotic fashion with what’s known as “the entertainment industry” – which dangerously includes ” news ” now … – CAN be nurtured back to health – if we can find enough consensus among the wide range of artists from the fat-cats – to the tiny fish like me.

I DO believe that if the George Clooneys / Tom Hanks’s / Amy Adams’s / Meryl Streeps – types – now including the “star news anchors” – and “star pundits” – could someday consider what I am proposing – we could create a far more humane – healthy – AND ethically lucrative industry.

For one thing, true actors, musicians, artists and technicians alike – could communicate directly with potential future collaborators – directors / producers etc … – without the excruciating and humiliating obstructions currently in place. There could be some continuity such as that which I describe in my “HighSchoolMeetsOldSchool™” concept – where people at every stage of their careers and lives – move forward without being tossed into the trash. If we continue to support “disposable culture” – we will continue to be treated as “disposable people.”

It’s literally an insane system right now – the height of gentrification – and unapologetically so – with pecking orders reminiscent of high-school cliques that never had to grow up because they were enabled into becoming their own industry clique.

We are supposed to just “accept” the hierarchy – people whose films or music are just – not that great, didn’t even earn much at the box office – but were “in the club” so they were therefore – “better” than actual working class artists putting out quality projects … ? People were silent – nobody could speak out in this environment or – that age-old threat : “you’ll never work in this town again became a reality.”

How SICK is that ? Very. It’s literally, a virus – one that reflects the larger gentrified economy but is magnified by its rare surroundings.

Covid-19 is exposing all kinds of realities.

‘Why is backing my working-class-artist – work – a worthy / valuable investment ?’

That’s the question I posited for one of my upcoming books.

It was also supposed to be included in IndieGoGo / Patreon campaigns, but we found platforms like those, to be somewhat antithetical to the main purpose of this essay and the undertaking as a whole. I hope as you read on, you might see why.

Having said that – we need and appreciate your support.

We are expressing this outside of forums such as “IndieGoGo” ” GoFundMe” or “Patreon” for a variety of reasons, including those mentioned, but also because this work is done on a professional basis – and it is only by virtue of an “illness” in the industry – that we are forced to communicate outside the norms of the industry – directly to you – our partner in the sharing of culture AND in what I am outlining as a future for an ” INTEGRATED” and “INTERDEPENDENT” awareness for culture and economy.

Like athletes, we train – and train – and train – and we get injured, take losses, have to recover – and there are a billion different adjustments and daily practices that must take place before a performance of excellence is accomplished.

Also like athletes, we inspire and uplift.

But there is an added – urgency – to supporting work like mine. My films, music and writings, have not blithely worn blinders in the name of “entertainment” at the expense of culture. My work takes responsibility for recognizing – that what we release into the “bloodstream” of our culture, our society, the minds of our sisters and brothers – will impact our globe and precious wildlife. sealife – the very water and air – in some small or large way.

We haven’t taken the easy route, just napping our way into the public arena to collect profits and ego strokes.

We care.

I care.

I REALLY care, sometimes to the detriment of my own peace of mind and wellness. But I work on that too – and I also have a wellness project in the works that I look forward to sharing with you.

I guess what I am saying is – while I don’t believe in “tribalism” ( see my professional bio ) I DO believe in the power of our collective “global village.” That’s who I am working for – that’s “my tribe” – US.

Below are excerpts from my ‘meditations,’ stream of consciousness attempts at a response :

The artist is ‘canary in the coal mine’ of culture. She represents the free-spirit in everyone. Today’s increasingly authoritarian, indentured servitude economies where even ‘the arts’ enable 1-Percenters in earning obscene profits, leaving working class artists out in the cold of newly de-professionalized systems with shredded standards, was preceded by the gutting of the indie artist. My work seeks to nourish + strengthen our ‘cultural immune system’ against threats to democracy + freedom.

Please join my movement : ‘SupportTheARTSustainTheARTIST™’ ©

Here’s why :

My concerns for global culture were quite intense before this pandemic … but of course, like everything else – we are at full throttle now – high gear – but hopefully, not so high that we “throttle” ourselves :

” I am experiencing the 21st Century – intensely –

While daunting, sometimes harrowing, always challenging – I believe – it’s an opportunity for us to : “Make Up A Better World.”

I’m an actress/director + singer/songwriter so I work with “ stories,” employing design, rhythm and shape as building blocks.

The expression “making up a better world” unfolds into a multitude of meanings. “Making Up” can mean – hand-made – fabricating stories as I do at my green sustainable studio, it can mean wearing literal “make-up” and – it can also mean – resolving an argument … “mending a tear in the fibers of a culture.”

That’s what I aim to do with my projects – to nourish and “mend” as I contribute to the “woven” fabric of a culture showing some “wear and tear.”

As an authentically independent : “TruliIndie™” artist, I’ve come to realize that maintaining an authentically “indie” status holds the same challenges that we as “individuals” face in an increasingly “corporate” world dominated by a “ Cultural Industrial Complex.” That’s a phrase I’m paraphrasing from the well-known expression “ Military Industrial Complex “ – illustrating how the same form of “corporate takeover” can be applied to culture. That’s dangerous and it renders the “Indie Artist” working outside of Corporate Media – and “Endangered Species.” It now occurs to me, that there is also a “Medical Industrial Complex” – that does not put patient safety above public relations or profits.

But here’s the thing – the reason I think you might consider caring about my work :

Just as the non-corporate tethered artist “works without a net” – going forward into the 21st Century : every free-thinking individual – daring to decline, oppose, disagree with, not become dependent upon a corporate entity – they too will increasingly become an “Endangered Species.”

The fallacy in assuming that only one group gets targeted by corporate domination – becomes evident daily as authoritarianism rises parallel with increasing reliance on Artificial Intelligence and continued indifference towards sustainable technologies to save our planet as “new planets” are sought for “expansion” of an old patriarchal model that is damn near destroying our “mother earth.” ( Re-reading this after covid-19 is shocking – because surely our economy will lean more toward AI as “non-contact” business seems to be a trend.)

My view is – just as we find ourselves at a time of great opportunity to reverse and amend the harmful advance of “climate change” – we also live in a time of great opportunity to assert the freedoms taken for granted by so many, who enjoy the democracy died for by so many and – to this day – longed for – by so many more.

A culture’s freedoms – the freedoms for everybody – are measured, expressed ( or suppressed ) in their purest form, upon examination of the “health” of it’s arts.

I’m going to repeat opening statements as they are beginning to feel like necessary “mantras” :

“Imagine being a poor kid who’s core joy in life, is the creation of something beautiful and then finding out that the rich kids can show up to steal your creations and claim them as their own ?

The artist is ‘canary in the coal mine’ of culture.

She represents the free-spirit in everyone.

My work seeks to nourish + strengthen our ‘cultural immune system’ against threats to democracy + freedom.”

With your support, I can continue to prove that my Authentically Indie Movies, Albums and Books from my green, sustainable, non-corporate, studio – can remain “organic,” sustainable AND authentically free from corporate-speak, corporate-culture, corporate-cultural propaganda which so often include age-old biases such as misogyny, racism, homophobia and climate/nature denial.

If only the 1 Percent among us – make movies, write books and music that ever get “distributed” to the nation and the world … then – our very thoughts, dreams, hopes, wishes – our very brains become shaped forever by that group’s agenda.

We literally become ( or continue to be ) “indentured servants” of the 1 Percenter class in a profound way : our very imaginations, our language, the rhythm of our hearts beat – to the beat – of the drum, paid for by those who can afford to make the commercials and publish the glossy photos in Vogue, Teen Vogue, Esquire, The New York Times etc …

By some form of “Economic Eugenics” paid for by – we – ourselves, we will be contributing to the “natural selection “ of any truly quality ideas – literally stolen from ourselves – from Twitter, Pinterest and other mediums that working class artists and thinkers can afford to use to express ourselves, which are “spied upon” by the “interns” or publicists hired by the wealthy – who then appropriate those ideas into their mega-rich megaphones – claiming the genius as their own, even as the geniuses are left to die penniless, as they have often done throughout history.

If we continue to support / consume mostly corporate-media born from money worship, there will continue to be only two classes of artist – the Uber rich and the Uber poor and it will continue to spread to other fields of study, other corners of civilization.

But if we shift our economic values, make a concentrated, conscious effort to avoid “consuming” corporate media and an effort to “consume” more “ArtisanMadeMedia™ + Arts like mine – on a personal basis, supporting arts that are created by an individual artist in need of our support – and if we all – support EACH OTHER’S SMALL BUSINESSES – in a sort of “revival” of the “mom and pop“ businesses – what I call “Mom N’ Pop-Up ShopZ™ Economy” – then we can create a healthier “economic environment” – in the same way we can save our own “environment” from the harmful effects of consuming all the oil, gas and other products upon which the 1 percent grow fat – as the planet grows sick.

ReadTheIndieLabel™ WhatsInYourIndie™ :

Not all indies are created equal.

Many movies, albums, other projects and products have long ago appropriated the word “ Indie “ because it’s “cool.”

But often these are big budget, corporate – backed – deals.

That’s part of “what happened” to movies and music – they became all about the deals, not the movies, not the music, not the artists, or the audiences. They became about – the money – but those deals wanted it both ways. They wanted to appear “indie” – while still raking in obscene profits. There’s a reason these entities wanted to study our “tastes” a an audience via big tech.

Recently studios have cultivated a hobby – they slander American actors, claiming we don’t have the “skills” or discipline of actors from other countries.

Now – please know, I am in love with so many cultures. I am not speaking from some xenophobic point of view. I LOVE actors from all cultures. It’s the goddamn slander from studios that I am taking exception to.

If you’ll notice there are quite a few actors from other countries playing Americans. That might be fine, but I can assure you this has nothing to do with our skills or discipline. American actors are, becoming an endangered species. Why ? Money. Power. Money. This is the “money-ball” of movies and music.

Excerpt from Cali Lili’s opening statement in 2013 :

“ In Bob Fosse’s Film “Cabaret,” the Song “Money” (by Kander & Ebb)

chants … incants …

Something we might catch

running on the hamster-wheel

in our own heads …

“Money Makes the World Go Round

The World Go Round

Money – Money – Money …”

… the song goes round …

“Money” … is what it takes to do many things …

DUH.

Especially … Making Films …

Double DUH.

But “Money” doesn’t “MAKE” … Anything.

And FILMS are MADE … by Hand(s) …

Albums too …” © Cali Lili 2013

Excerpted from my essay originally published in 2013 during the Cannes Film Festival – here’s the full essay :

MoneySez™ Movies4The99Percent™

https://calililiindies.com/2014/02/12/moneysez-…

My “client” is :

The Individual In EveryOne™

and

“KidsOfAllAges™

If we continue to support “Disposable Culture” then we will continue to be treated by our politicians and legislators like “Disposable Humans.”

I’m really worried about this and I have been, ever since I considered law as a career.

I decided that I could do more for the “global village” with my work as an artist and culture- “maker.”

I am “weaving” and “simmering” what I hope, could be “cures” to some of our ills – with my secret-sauces, based in love, kindness and respect.

I believe in making projects that help us “preserve” our “innocence” as though we are living in the “Summer” of our humanity’s harvest and we must make sure that every flavor is preserved in both seed form and in a cultural – “jar of preserves” – for the Winter. That Cultural Winter seems colder during Climate Change. ( Re-Reading this, post Covid 19 – is chilling ).

In 2012 when we first announced and advertised / listed the hiring of diverse inclusive team members on Craigs’ List – we saw many hate-filled, vicious, comments from racists, misogynists and homophobes who detested the fact that we asked for more “women, persons of color, LGBTQ community members to apply for the team positions.”

It was a shocking introduction into the kinds of cruelty we witness today.

It is with great pride, that we have released a project intended to heal, mend, balm and inspire us – in spite of such unkindness in the world.

One of the many mottos at my tiny studio is :

“The Chain of HumanKindness Is Stronger Than Our Weakest Links ™” ©

The projects I will introduce here are “HandMadeToMakeADifference™” ©

We work – with my methodology, stemming from a lifestyle philosophy rooted in yoga, zen and dance – which flows not only into my works of film, music, poetry but into the “works,” the workings – the “how” we can support each other instead of corporations.

Mind you, I don’t hate corporations, if they are pro-human. Humanity First.

This methodology born from experience is always on our minds and in our hearts. I hire teams of high quality crafts-persons, technicians and artisans to make each of these projects as a collectors’ item, not disposable fast-culture nor the plasticized packaging of a meme.

There is pain that accompanies the basic needs of an artist.

These are agonies most people aren’t aware of because most of our references, when we hear the word “artist” – is the slanderous examples of either the “crazy rich” or the “just plain crazy.”

In fact the life of an artist is both for more amazing and far more mundane than we might imagine – but still requires every ounce of dedication.

It’s not just a job, it’s a “calling” and that sounds romantic but truth be told – not everybody would even want to be “called” because it can be exhausting and it’s not really a choice.

If one is born this way – one must create.

But : “ imagine being a poor kid who’s core joy in life, is the creation of something beautiful and then finding out that the rich kids can show up to steal your creations and claim them as their own ? “

Media, tv, movies, social media are today’s public square, playground, and printing press.

They do “inform” us – but they also “shape” us.

Since there are no “ingredients labels” on the media we consume, we are literally “consuming” ideas, biases, and content ( which may be stolen from artists ) at our own risk, at the risk of the very fabric of our culture and civilization.

If we aren’t able to “sample” the more “whole foods,” artisanal, farm-to-table, versions of media, such as that which I make at my studio and which receive contributions from people like my local farmers, who contributed produce to my film set, then – we are abdicating our “food-for-thought-sourcing” and just “trusting” that “big media” knows what we should “consume.”

Every radio station, tv channel, including much of the “on demand” and streaming now – are backed by the very same big media who controlled three networks in years gone by. Same old same old.

If we don’t broaden our own “tastes” in arts and culture, as we did with “foodie” culture – where we discovered “sourdough” bread and artisanal cheeses, heirloom veggies and – VITAMINS … – we will be depriving our emotional, intellectual, spiritual and even physical well-being – of wellness opportunities as a culture.

We might be depriving ourselves of the innate “healing capacity” of our “Cultural Immune System” – the capacity to come together as a “Global Village” and solve problems like economic inequality, gun violence, health care, education, and environmental injustice / climate change.

If we deprive ourselves of our innate healing capacity to “think for our-selves” as individuals free from the shackles of corporate-think often laden with internalized bias, misogyny, racism, homophobia and science-denial – then we will have abdicated control over the “levers” of our minds, the minds of our children, the minds of future “leaders.”

Inevitably this abdication of “free will” – shapes, defines and controls Culture, collective and individual fears and hopes – channels our education – which in turn shapes future policies, laws – medicine – health , housing , food safety, personal safety … ( again, I’m re-reading this … in post-Covid-19 times – I’m quite amazed this was written before Covid)

We don’t have an ingredients label on our media – by that, I’m not referring to the ratings / reviews of content determined by the “Corporate cultural industrial complex” policing itself. What I mean by “ingredients list” is – asking questions with our newly found critical thinking / think-for-myself skills – asking questions like : “ who made it, how was it made, when I stream this movie / music am I supporting an indie artist not signed by a corporate fat-cat-copy-cat ? “

When my movie was complete, we sought to find “distribution” with a movie distributor known for “indie films.” We realized – after reading their policy which stated in public “ if we haven’t worked with you before, we won’t work with you now” – that every movie they distributed was “packaged” by one of the 1Percenter largest “Agencies” who cast only their own “1Percenters” and – in some cases, the Agencies were co-producing the movies with the 1Percenter studios / mini-majors.

Money Money Money.

SO MANY great actors, artists – were cast aside by such policies. If you are a cinephile, you know how many brilliant directors, actors, singers – artists were cast aside by those who bought the power to – “greenlight” or stop projects that might have employed some of the greatest artists.

I make ArtisanMadeMedia™ – just like home-made cookies fresh from the oven or organic fresh-picked vine-ripened fruit – my projects are “Organic” – we are not infused with a list of chemical ingredients one might find in a “store-bought” cookie – or chemical-sprayed Agribusiness GMO franken-fruit.

Here is one example : for actors, the “Breakdowns” mean everything.

In fact, the “Breakdowns” might actually represent the “breakdown” of actors’ abilities to seek quality, paying acting work without a high profile agency — and there-fore — they might represent – how the entertainment industry destroyed the American Actor.

The “Breakdowns” is a list of all the acting jobs available at any given time — paying projects, projects that represent the highest possible goals a working actor might attempt to achieve on any given day.

But most actors – cannot see them.

They are ONLY provided to agents.

How do you get an agent ? Get work that shows you are good at what you do.

How do you get work as an actor ? Get an agent – with access to the “Breakdowns.”

It’s an insane Catch 22

Is it legal ? Who knows. Who asks ?

If you ask – will you be barred from “ working in this town “ ?

Who knows. Who asks ?

Some of the industry avenues to whom I sent my indie movie “ eVe N’god this female is not yet rated “ ™© in my early attempts to find distribution. I was told that my movie was “too experimental”

Now my team and I witness the programming on those channels – which parallels every single theme addressed in my movie. Mainstream content is a double-edged sword to me + any other indie artist who “pitches” them a project. Big Media now appropriates the voice of the female creator, the person of color creator, the LGBTQ creator, the science-based creator … just as some charities of late have begun to appropriate the voices of small charities working for years to support their causes.

A large distributor recently produced a project with elements similar to mine – so somewhere in the dialogue of this century – I’ve got to ask : what did they do with my voice – when I pitched them my project — and when they told me it was “too experimental.” Well – one look at current programming — shows that my project would have fit perfectly with their current slate. It’s clear to us – that we didn’t know the right people, have the right agents, or contacts.

Seriously ?

Is THIS how we are going to continue to allow our “cultural story” to be written ? Are we going to continue to allow this culture to be run via insider trading and cliques ?

Will we allow ourselves to stay in high school forever ?

At what point – do “We The Creators” and “We The Audience” — collectively “ We The Global Village “ — get to communicate directly with each other — without the “middle-men” and “middle-women” — the gate-keepers — running interference ? At what point – do we simply : connect ?

I’d like that point to be – RIGHT NOW — and I invite you to please, join me and my team.

I’m a poet, so I appreciate complexity of emotion contained within the boundaries of simple structure.

Campaigns and business don’t always capture an “poetic essence” for any given venture.

But I’m going to try … because poetry is at the core of everything I do.

I hope the information included, provides some insight about me … –

But, I want to cut to the chase, before I include more links …

Enough about me, let’s talk about you.

I need your help.

Ever since I began my project, I knocked on the doors of 1 % ers in Hollywood – seeking support for the kinds of innovation I wanted to deliver to a Hollywood dinosaur environment that was weighed down by years of misogyny, sexism and many other ” isms ” – especially the “isms” that deal with cold-hard-cash.

After throwing myself wholeheartedly and quite humbly on the “mercy” of the establishment, I realized ( and was warned by some of the good guys ) that there my types of innovation were not wanted by a status quo environment working hard at keeping the profits steadily rolling in to the same people in power.

Aside from raising the money to make my movie and album – I needed to secure distribution – in order to create awareness of the project.

This was crucial, because this film and album were especially focused on helping those “coming out” in the global LGBTQ community – and offering emotional support, solace, sister-hood in the Womens’ Rights, Human Rights, Interracial Love and Climate Change / Ocean Conservancy communities world-wide –

It’s a project “For the People” but the establishment in the entertainment industry was barring us from any forms of distribution – it was literally what I call a ” Gentrification of Culture ™©” – to the extent that our “culture” is dictated by the 1% who barely experience the reality of – what it’s like to “make a living” and live in the making of – our culture !

I see now that I was a bit naive – distribution is THE HARDEST part of movie-making now that almost anybody can make a movie. I was outlining my work as combining what I call “ToyBoxTech™” with very highly skilled, high quality projects – so my work falls into a unique category.

We weren’t “high finance” enough for the big distributions – but we were not amateurs, we are pros – so there was no thought of simply dumping the project onto YouTube for free – that wasn’t the point.

The idea was to be TruliIndie™ without corporate over-lords.

The idea was about the “working class” in the entertainment world speaking to the “working class” in the audience’s world. After all – we really ARE experiencing the world together.

We don’t live in mansions, but we are hollywood professionals.

As I blogged during the making of this project, I realized that the TruliIndie™ artist / artisan ( especially in the entertainment world) was, like much of our wildlife, and like the independent thinker – an “Endangered Species.”

We are all : “Makin’ a Livin’ Not a Killin'” ™©

I refused to give up on my TinyMultiMedia™ and I forged ahead with making them as AquaCultureZ™ : like pearls, they would be formed slowly with tender loving care, as though they were grown in a ” pearl farm .”

Flash Forward :

The movie and album are complete, the graphic novel is on the way, and the next album and movie are in pre-production !

We invite audiences to “Sip TheOysterZ SavorThePearlZ™ “ © :

This first of many “FarmToTableFables™” was made with up-cycled wardrobe and film sets – in fact, several farmers, including female farmers from the farmers market, contributed produce and flowers for the film’s “Garden Of eVe ™ ” set dressing along with crew lunches !

So why am I bothering you with all this ?

Now that I made an authentically indie feature motion picture completely OUTSIDE ” the system ” – along with the Soundtrack / Debut Album – also as a rebel / renegade indie artist –

Now that we did get a tiny theatrical release in Downtown Los Angeles at the Downtown Independent Cinema

Now that the movie can be seen on Apple TV / iTunes, Google Play, and Vimeo World-Wide … and the Album / Soundtrack can be heard on Apple / iTunes and EVERYWHERE ELSE music is streamed / downloaded –

and now that our baby steps have somehow brought this little girl into the arena as an Oscars 2020 Contender – “though she may be little, she is fierce” – running with the Goliaths –

We need YOU

and YOU

and YOU –

and YOU TOO PLEASE …

How can you support us without us submitting to a somewhat “corporate” model at IndieGoGo and Patreon ?

Here’s How :

In addition to adding my album/soundtrack and singles – to all your playlists, whether it be Apple 🍎 or Spotify, YouTube or GooglePlay, Boomplay – Everywhere music streams –

🍎 iTunes / Apple TV Movie : https://itunes.apple.com/us/movie/eve-n-god-thi…

🍎 iTunes Soundtrack Apple Music

https://itunes.apple.com/us/artist/cali-lili/14…

After viewing and listening, please consider leaving us positive ratings / reviews – this is not only a supportive action toward our NEXT movie and album – it’s ALSO a push-back against sexist, homophobic, racist and climate-denying trolls who go out of their way to leave negative comments.

On Apple TV 🍎 🎬 iTunes 🎬 🍎

https://tv.apple.com/us/movie/eve-n-god-this-female-is-not-yet/umc.cmc.2yxdyr5yqcmhr1y1hn195e3sm

And Also at

YouTube Movies 🎬 and Music 🎶 :

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mxgf1AeeWw4&list=PLOo3oJVjWZYTKa092ES4_ncFupWbjCKnt&index=3&t=0s

Google Play Movies and Music 🎬 🎶

https://play.google.com/store/movies/details/Eve_N_God_This_Female_is_Not_Yet_Rated?id=Mxgf1AeeWw4&hl=en_US

and

Vimeo WorldWide 🎬

Shopping our tee-shirts and swag at the store link 👕👚🧢

https://shop.spreadshirt.com/CaliLiliCiti/

And :

You can ALSO : add any TIPS 💸 you can afford —

to our virtual “tip jar” at my Bandcamp page –

🎶 💸 🎶 https://calililiindies.bandcamp.com/

The Bandcamp page is where you can “pay more” for each track available there ( we are adding more tracks there ! my schedule was full before Covid-19 and – it’s been overwhelming, as you already know from your own life ) –

The “tips” added at Bandcamp go directly to my studio and – they go toward my next social justice / environmental justice themed projects – all of which lean towards women’s rights, lgbtq rights, black lives matter, and – ocean conservancy / sea-life.

Those “tips” are the very same one might add toward any service for a job well done – but they are also “wrighting a wrong” done to artists by a culture that favors “corporate art” over the same kind of art one might find in a painters’ private studio.

SEE the movie – if you enjoy it – please leave a heart-felt and descriptive positive review – then share it with ten or more people

HEAR the Soundtrack / Album – if you enjoyed it – please add to your playlists everywhere – leave a positive descriptive review – share it with ten or more –

We Need YOU –

to Help Us Get this project out there – to DISTRIBUTE IT – without those power broker distributors who literally boast about never working with anybody not recommended by cronies –

Aside from aspiring to entertain and inspire with this piece – my aim was to “nourish” – it really was made from the heart – in order to share ideas and solace with those who may need to hear the message of love, acceptance, diversity, inclusivity, interracial unity, kindness, and hope …

Culture should not be “gentrified” – exclusive by the 1 % – or it will turn sour and harm the very people consuming it.

Culture must be made “of the people, by the people, for the people.”

That is what this movie and album are literally “made from.”

If we can get this movie and album OUT THERE with your help :

” For the People” – “distributed” not by means of hollywood dominance but in the same grassroots manner in which it was : “ Hand-Made-To-Make-A-Difference™ “ – by the people – for the people – of the people.

and WE HAVE SWAG !

Band Tees / Movie Tees featuring lyrics from the songs and mottos / themes from the studio are also available in high quality, fairly made ( some are organic ) SWAG !

Please Join My Movement :

Dream Big Tiny FootPrintZ™ ©

SupportTheARTSustainTheARTIST™ ©

Some “Bits About Me” :

QUOTE :

“I’m still that teenage runaway with a scholarship … I earned a Masters’ Degree from NYU, but no high school diploma … “

It’s true ! I got skipped several grades and – then scholarships, so I found myself as a kid – in Graduate School with fellow “peers” / “students” who were already university professors in other countries, studying at NYU ! Surreal !

I survived an abusive childhood mainly because I ADORE the ARTS … all I ever wanted to do – was create beauty in order to make the world a better place.

My teachers were angels and I am eternally grateful. I am not sure I was quite “conscious” of all the “grade-skipping” … I just knew that I needed to arrive – here and NOW.

I “caught a wave” for Cali – because I figured my name was a good hint and having been born on the water – I needed to be – water. My “temple” is my daily time surfing the Pacific before going to work at my tiny, hand-built, sustainable, biodegradable, green studio.

A note about my studio :

I designed this eco-structure in high-school, never really knowing if it would ever get built. I was lucky to have connected with my partner and long story short – it was built and i was up and running – on my “half a shoestring budget” from my baby-sitting money, yoga-teacher earnings and actress earnings. I found my first few team members, and went to work.

I’m enclosing a bit of my formal professional bio below, since it’s the most comprehensive way I could think of, to introduce myself :

2019 Interview https://medium.com/@mondofilm/interview-with-ca…

2017 Interview http://www.wearemovingstories.com/we-are-moving…

Twitter https://twitter.com/CaliLiliIndies

Official Website CaliLiliIndies.com https://calililiindies.com/

iTunes / Apple TV Movie : https://itunes.apple.com/us/movie/eve-n-god-thi…

iTunes Soundtrack

https://itunes.apple.com/us/artist/cali-lili/14…

IG https://www.instagram.com/calililiindies/

Facebook Movie page https://www.facebook.com/EVEnGodThisFemaleIsNot…

Facebook Band page

https://www.facebook.com/calililiband/

Cali Lili :

Professional Biography by GTA Management :

” Actress-Director / Singer-Songwriter Cali Lili skipped several grades (having been tested as reading at college level in grade school) took her first college course in the entire works of Shakespeare, at age 13, never graduated high-school, never even went to a prom, was swooped up, landing at NYU, then completed her Masters’ Degree on full scholarship with awards / stellar reviews for early works.

The Cali Lili ™ Band recorded a completely original stand-alone “Urban / World / Rock © ” styled Singer-Songwriter Debut Album which forms the core of the soundtrack for her debut feature film :

‘eVe N’god(TM) this female is not yet rated ™’

She made the feature length narrative motion picture with an ALL FEMALE production team.

‘eVe N’god this female is not yet rated ™ ‘ is perhaps, the first ( or one of the first ) production of it’s kind : a theatrical feature length motion picture, in which the technical production roles employed only women during principal photography.

Born of multi-cultural heritage, Cali is keenly aware and concerned with what she sees as a form of “tribalism” too often employed as “nationalism.” Cali writes about these issues and acts accordingly when it comes to her public image.

Cali adores being an actor and takes that craft very seriously, but found herself turning down 3 acting offers, that she felt were disempowering to women especially in the MeToo environment, in order to “turn up” what she calls fempower™ by scraping together “half a shoestring budget” to build her “green” “off-grid,” upcycled “floating” “surfshack” feMt0™ studi0 at the Venice Beach Canals in Los Angeles, California where she makes “Signature” Sustainable, Green Auteur Artisanal Motion Pictures, Albums and Books, “HandMade2MakeADifference™”

Cali’s degree included extensive studies in anthropology as well as performance techniques from all over the globe. She holds an added background of intense New York studies in dance / choreography.

Cali is proud to share her deep connection with “Mother Africa” + “Mother Ocean.” She is greatly inspired by African culture, the cultures of Oceania, and that of her other diverse intercultural studies.

Cali’s quote :

“We all originate from one mother in Africa, the Ocean is our collective unconscious, so let us honor each other, our mutual mother, our waters, and our blue mothership, earth. In doing so, we save ourselves “©

Cali’s films are inclusive of lgbtq characters and the authentic real lives of these characters. She also delves into the reality of “being female” and a “multi-cultural blend” who “appears to be white,” in a biased “MeToo” world.

Cali’s career in movies began as a teenager, flying back and forth from NY to LA, while working as an “au pair.”

As a kid, she “raised herself” in spite of an abusive childhood

With legendary ‘Edward G. Robinson (I)’ (qv) as one of the distinguished members of her ancestry, Cali dedicates herself to honoring a tradition of excellence and earning her “place” as an up-and-coming young artist.

She has been granted the rights to the favorite novel of legendary ‘Zane Grey (I)’ (qv) by Grey’s son Loren Grey ( writer and educator) for a film adaptation in which she will co-star.

Zane Grey was a very outspoken novelist – who cared deeply about wildlife and culture. Cali has much in common with Mr. Grey’s concerns for our planet, which is why she is aligned with this project.

Cali works with her proprietary methodologies as described in her book “The Declaration of IndiePenDance”™

In the past, Cali previously worked in a collaboration agreement deal with Academy Award winning Dutch producer, ‘Hans de Weers’ (qv) (Antonia’s Line) which ended when Cali realized it was time to build her own tiny studio, in order to make projects that empower Women, LGBTQIA , Civil Rights and Climate Science communities.

Her wish is to continue sharing her heart with the hearts of the beautiful fans she hears from, daily.

We here at GTA Management, hope you will take some time to support her works.

( GTA Management Biographies )

***

Cali’s band page statement :

“Inventing new worlds with my art, saved my childhood.

Dancin’ pavement on NYC streets, I learned my craft comforted by the shelter of my Pictures, Words Music In Motion™

I’m a Multi-Cultural “Island Child Wild ™ In The City ” so I caught a wave 4 Cali.

My music?

It’s eclectic, island child wild™

@CaliLiliCiti™

SurF Tribe, Indigenous City RockVibe™

VenusBeach™

Cutting Edge Of The Pacific™”

***

The Cali Lili Indies™ Brand is a “Destination” ;

Aspiring to Inspire + Empower™

‘ The Sexy Part of Smart™© “

***

Cali Lili Indies™™

Pictures

Words

Music

In Motion ™

femt0™studi0‍♀️

VenusBeach™

c.lili.IslandGirlZCulturePearlZ™ CuttingEdgeOfThePacific™

IslandChildWild™

INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY WARNING :

These Intellectual Properties / MultiMedia / Written Documents are Signature © Copyright Trademark Proprietary Intellectual Properties belonging to © Cali Lili™ and Cali Lili Indies ™ Pictures Words Music In Motion™ feMt0™studi0 etc All Rights Reserved Artist Rights and Intellectual Properties are Rigorously Documented and Rabidly Enforced by Representatives of Cali Lili™

Truli*CaliLili™

Cali Lili Indies™

Pictures

Words

Music

Motion™

feMt0™studi0

VenusBeach™

Cutting Edge Of the Pacific™

View On WordPress

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yusuke-of-valla · 4 months

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WE LIVE IN A HELL WORLD

Snippets from the article by Karissa Bell:

SAG-AFTRA, the union representing thousands of performers, has struck a deal with an AI voice acting platform aimed at making it easier for actors to license their voice for use in video games. ...

the agreements cover the creation of so-called “digital voice replicas” and how they can be used by game studios and other companies. The deal has provisions for minimum rates, safe storage and transparency requirements, as well as “limitations on the amount of time that a performance replica can be employed without further payment and consent.”

Notably, the agreement does not cover whether actors’ replicas can be used to train large language models (LLMs), though Replica Studios CEO Shreyas Nivas said the company was interested in pursuing such an arrangement. “We have been talking to so many of the large AAA studios about this use case,” Nivas said. He added that LLMs are “out-of-scope of this agreement” but “they will hopefully [be] things that we will continue to work on and partner on.”

...Even so, some well-known voice actors were immediately skeptical of the news, as the BBC reports. In a press release, SAG-AFTRA said the agreement had been approved by "affected members of the union’s voiceover performer community." But on X, voice actors said they had not been given advance notice. "How has this agreement passed without notice or vote," wrote Veronica Taylor, who voiced Ash in Pokémon. "Encouraging/allowing AI replacement is a slippery slope downward." Roger Clark, who voiced Arthur Morgan in Red Dead Redemption 2, also suggested he was not notified about the deal. "If I can pay for permission to have an AI rendering of an ‘A-list’ voice actor’s performance for a fraction of their rate I have next to no incentive to employ 90% of the lesser known ‘working’ actors that make up the majority of the industry," Clark wrote.

SAG-AFTRA’s deal with Replica only covers a sliver of the game industry. Separately, the union is also negotiating with several of the major game studios after authorizing a strike last fall. “I certainly hope that the video game companies will take this as an inspiration to help us move forward in that negotiation,” Crabtree said.

And here are some various reactions I've found about things people in/adjacent to this can do

And in OTHER AI games news, Valve is updating it's TOS to allow AI generated content on steam so long as devs promise they have the rights to use it, which you can read more about on Aftermath in this article by Luke Plunkett

#video games #voice acting #voice actors #sag aftra #ai #ai news #ai voice acting #video game news #Destiel meme #industry bullshit

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davidaugust · 6 months

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I was asked how the compounding for background acting work base pay raises adds up and here’s my insomnia fueled calculation. (Thanks Linda for asking me.)

I am tired and may be making a mistake with this so check the comments for anyone’s ideas/corrections.

Also, these percentages and dates are not pulled from the tentative agreement itself (as I do not yet have direct access) but from initial reports of what it may be. Don’t count on or plan for these numbers yet. Also, I’m not your accountant nor your agent (but I hope we work together soon as actors).

Here goes:

I believe you might get (through simple compounding of the background acting rate increase percentages) the following with a 11% raise this month (November 2023), 4% raise July 1, 2024 and 3.5% raise July 1, 2025. I will call these “periods of time” because I they don’t work out exactly to whole years:

1st period of time of new contract: 11% more than pre strike

2nd period of time of new contract: 15.44% more than pre strike

3rd period of time of the new contract: 19.18% more than pre strike

So the final period of time you are making more than the 18%+ number that the _entire combined_ 3 years results in because in 1st period and the 2nd period you have not yet had all 3 raises. Compounding does that.

To put it another way, using fictional dates of work:

Let’s say you got paid $100 before the strike for work on January 1, 2023 (this $100 is a dummy number just to show the math, a placeholder and not a value I am taking from anything the tentative agreement has; it is purely a dollar amount that is useful to illustrate the compounding).

For a similar day of work on December 15, 2023 (after the 1st pay increase of 11%) you’d get paid $111.

Then (after the second pay increase of 4%) for a similar day on August, 15 2024 you’d get paid $115.44.

And (after the 3rd pay increase of 3.5%) you’d get paid $119.48.

Compounding feels like magic, and not just with pay raises (your savings account and investments can compound). Compounding means every later percentage increase kinda also increases all the previous percentage increases too.

Compounding is nice to have, and confusing to do the math on sometimes. At least if it is oh dark hundred in the morning. 😝

Glad to see the pay increases for background work may be substantial in the SAG-AFTRA film/tv/streaming tentative agreement.

Strikes work, collective bargaining works, solidarity works.

#ActorsStrike #SAGAFTRAStrike #SAGAFTRAstrong #UnionStrong #u1 #background #BackgroundActing #acting #compounding

#actors strike #sag aftra strike #sag aftra strong #sag aftra solidarity #union #union strong #background #background actor #background acting #pay #pay rate #compounding #pay raises #insomnia #math

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girlssearchphone60 · 7 months

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And what for Katy Rose?

Similarly tempting is the school leather paddle sitting on Miss Blakes desk. PROCEED...

#Radio station manager Gary Connors threatens to fire all the disc jockeys who work for his station #KNUT #after a major advertiser says they will remove all of their ads unless the sagging ratings improve by the end of the week.

0 notes

lucybianchi · 8 months

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why do so many productions have no fucking clue what a reasonable pay for an editor is

#seriously wft #i'm so tired of half the listings being something ridiculous like a flat fee of $1000 for 20+ days of work #the fuck????#ya'll really think that nearly a months worth of work is worth only $1000 #fuck off #a low hourly rate is around $30/hr #that means at my rate (which is normally higher than that but i'm willing to compromise because i need work) i would exceed their budget #before a week was up #like do they understand the work that editors do??????#i'm so tired #ya'll really gonna confidently post that shit with the sag-aftra strikes going on #the fuck #don't mind me just screaming into the void #sophia talks too much

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dreaming-medium · 3 months

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Watch Your Six

Stray Kids Kinktober Masterlist

Sensory Deprivation - Han Jisung

Pairing: Han Jisung x Reader

Word Count: 14.8k

Summary: After training for years, you finally become a full fledged agent for KDOI, the Korean Division of Intelligence. Over time, each and every agent becomes something like a family member, including the high-tech nerd who has managed to put a smile on your face since day one. What happens when he's sent with you on his first field mission?

Warnings: Violence, smut (18+) MDNI

A/N: Kinktober is a state of mind. I know its January idc lol I will finish the list of prompts even if it kills me

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

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

The sound your sneakers make on the treadmill reverberates through the gym. The expensive, high tech plastic mask strapped to your face fogs up with each exhale and clears with each inhale.

To your right, a man holds a clipboard, glasses covered eyes watching your vitals displayed on the monitor hooked up to the mask and other various wires clipped to your body.

You’ve been running for about an hour straight, but your breathing is still even; and just by glancing down at the screen, your heart rate looks the same.

For months, you’ve been training with the federal agency to be one of their field agents. Countless nights were spent pushing yourself to the limit, physically and mentally.

Today was your final evaluation before becoming a full-fledged agent. You were selected out of the hundreds of trainees to test to move on.

It was a great honor, all your hard work was finally paying off.

Maybe you’ll get your first mission after this!

If you pass.

A small bead of sweat drops down the side of your face.

Bored, your eyes wander over to the man studying your every heartbeat.

The thick rimmed glasses that sat on his face have slid down his nose a bit. His lips seem to sit in a constant pout thanks to those pudgy cheeks of his.

Choppy, fluffy brown hair sits on his head like a mop. You can tell he’s run his fingers through it more than a handful of times to get it out of his eyes.

A crisp white lab coat rests over a hoodie and khaki pants. A few different pens and instruments sit in the pocket under an embroidered ‘J’ .

You’ve seen him around the trainees once or twice in the years you’ve been here. From what you’ve gathered, he was one of the technical experts, providing countless gadgets and gizmos for the field agents to use.

The guy that would give the secret agent a lipstick taser before embarking on their world class espionage mission.

He’s pretty and smart— what a lethal combination.

When the man looks back up at the treadmill, your eyes flick back to dead ahead of you.

Reaching forward, he hits the stop button on the treadmill and jots down a few notes on his clipboard, a tiny smile pulls at his handsome face.

The treadmill comes to a gradual stop and so do your legs. One hour exactly sits on the clock.

Nervously, you look down at the screens, to his monitor, looking at anything you can.

“You did extremely well, 586.” There’s a happy tilt to his tone while he scribbles down some more notes, flipping the page, then writing some more. “You can take the mask off now.”

Nodding, you gently take the mask off your face and drape it over the top of the treadmill.

“I have one more examination for you.” He clicks a few buttons on the computer to the side.

Patiently, you stand there waiting for instruction.

He looks up at you with amusement glinting in his big, brown eyes. “You don’t need to be so stiff with me, 586, that’s not part of the tests.”

Your shoulders relax and sag forward a bit. “Sorry, I’m just a bit nervous.”

“Understandable.” He grabs a hold of the cart with the machines on it and rolls it to the side. “Most, if not all, trainees are during their examination. I can’t remember a trainee that wasn’t nervous— well, maybe M, but he’s a special case.”

“Are you J?” you ask, looking down at his lab coat.

“I am,” he answers and steps closer to the treadmill.

He reaches forward and unsnaps the wires hooked onto the leads on your chest. The sticker part stays on, but the wires are removed. Which means you’ll probably be hooked up to another machine soon.

“I’ve seen you around before,” you say to him, studying his face up close.

“I’m always around everywhere,” he jokes, unhooking more wires. “I don’t think there’s a square inch of this agency I haven’t seen.”

“Are you a field agent?”

He scoffs. “No, not me. I could never handle that.”

“But you’re an agent.”

He moves his head side to side. “Of sorts, yeah. B needed a tech guy, so technically I’m an agent. But if you were to send me on a mission, I might cry. I leave those sorts of things up to C or S, or any one of the other agents. Just not me.”

You nod with a small smile of your own.

“Follow me.”

Following his orders, you step off the treadmill and follow after him out of the gym.

“Is there only one of each letter?” you ask.

J laughs. “Actually, yeah.” He leads you towards a side room, it looks like an interrogation room with a large contraption on the center of the table. “It’s easier that way.”

He motions for you to take a seat across the table.

“And unless you fail this psych evaluation, I believe we’re going to be back to 26 again.” J starts fiddling with the machine, pulling wires and leads off the top.

A happy pang goes through your heart. Thank god he hasn’t hooked up the heart monitor yet, he would’ve seen it skyrocket.

“You think?” Nervously, you shift around in the chair.

J chuckles. “I do. I haven’t seen a perfect exam like this in a while. Plus, we saw all the extra training you were putting in.”

Your mouth opens a bit in shock. J looks over at you, holding the wires ready to snap to the leads on your chest.

“We have eyes everywhere, 586. Did you really think we didn’t see that?”

An embarrassed flush crawls on your neck and turns your ears red. “Of course, I know that.”

Again, he chuckles and snaps all the wires to the leads. His fingers are warm in contrast with the cold air of the exam room. Each time his knuckles brush against your skin the feeling lingers.

He places a strap around your head that has two metal leads pressing into your forehead. Even more wires from that strap lead down to the detector.

J looks down at the wires and then turns on the machine. It whirrs to life and a needle starts scribbling out your heart rate on the top.

It’s a lie detector. Of sorts. It looks like more than that.

You’re not going to pretend to understand anything, though. That’s his job.

His eyes watch the needle, he then reaches forward and clips a small cuff on your finger— a steady beeping follows it.

“There we go,” he mutters to himself and takes a seat across from you.

J shuffles papers around on the clipboard to rearrange them.

A large mirror sat on the wall behind him. There’s no way that’s not one way glass. Is there anyone on the other side watching your evaluation? Or is it just the two of you? Is there another higherup keeping track of your answers? Maybe it’s B? Or maybe other agents are spectating to see how you are.

You would be working closely with them, after all. If the roles were reversed, you’re sure you would watch.

“Ready?” J’s voice interrupts your thoughts.

Your eyes snap to him and you nod.

“Is your name Y/N L/N?” he asks, looking down at the clipboard.

It’s been so long since you’ve heard your real name. Two years? Yeah, two years. You’ve only been referred to as 586 since you joined.

“Yes.”

J looks at the contraption for a few seconds, taking note of the way it moves. He makes a small tick on the paper.

“Can you verify your date of birth for me?”

You do as he says, saying it like second nature. Again, he repeats the same motion of watching your heart rate and making a small tick.

The questions start out simple. Where were you born? What are your parent’s names? Do you have any siblings? All questions that you would make a security question for your bank.

“Now, let’s get to the real questions. Just answer honestly and you have nothing to worry about, okay, 586?” J’s voice is calm and smooth.

Something about this guy makes you want to tell him everything regardless of if you’re hooked up to several machines.

“Have you ever been contacted by an external government agency prior to enlisting in KDOI?”

KDOI: The Korean Division of Intelligence. Your dream job since you were a young girl.

“No.”

After your answer, J watches your heart rate for even longer than before. He makes a tick on the clipboard.

“Have you ever been contacted by an external government agency after enlisting in KDOI?”

“No.”

Another tick.

“Have you ever participated in an organized event that openly opposed KDOI?”

“No.”

Tick.

“Have you ever had malicious thoughts about KDOI or the agents working within it?”

“No, quite the opposite. I admire KDOI.” You add the last part with a sheepish smile.

J grins when he makes the next tick on the paper.

“Next section…” he murmurs. “Have you recently had thoughts of suicide?”

“No.”

Tick.

Question after question comes from his mouth. You answer honestly to each of them, not even hesitating to let the reply leave your lips.

“Did you have thoughts of suicide prior to enlisting in KDOI?”

“No.”

Tick.

“Do you ever have thoughts of harming others?”

“No.”

Tick.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“N- what?” Your eyes widen and you stare at him incredulously. There’s no way that’s on the evaluation.

J feigns ignorance and points down to the clipboard. In exaggerated movements, he motions down to it and shrugs, puffing air in his cheeks and just making a meal out of this fake performance.

“I can’t believe it either but there it is. ‘Do you have a boyfriend?’”

You tongue your cheek and smirk a bit. “No, J, I do not.”

J nods and scribbles down more than just a tick while looking at the heart monitor. “Interesting…”

He makes a few last notes before his eyes widen and he looks up at you, pointing his pen in your direction. “No girlfriend either, right?”

You roll your eyes, “No, no girlfriend either.”

Isn’t this an official evaluation? For a government official secret organization that grants people a license to kill?

He asked you if you were single immediately after asking if you’ve had thoughts of suicide. Is this guy for real?

You slow blink at him while he finishes up the form on his end.

“Well!” he exclaims happily, hitting the clipboard on the metal table. You don’t even flinch. “I believe we’re all finished here.”

Your heart squeezes with nerves.

J stands up from the table and rounds the table towards you.

So badly you want to ask for the results of your exam. Are you in? Did you pass? Are you an agent?

“B needs to sign off on all the paperwork,” J trails off, his hands reaching forward to unhook all the wires from the leads stuck to your skin. “But… I don’t think there’s any issue with me welcoming you to the agency. Officially.”

Since the heart monitor was still hooked up, you can hear the needle suddenly spike and scribble large peaks on the paper.

J turns his head to look at it. An amused smirk crosses his face and a chuckle huffs through his chest. “Funny,” he says to himself and then turns back to you.

Sheepishly, you look away from him.

“That’s what gets your heart rate to spike?” J sits on the corner of the table and folds his arms across his chest.

You bite your cheek and avoid his eyes. “Well, this has been my dream job since I was a young girl; so, yes, you alluding to me becoming an official agent would raise my heart rate.”

J scoffs. His warm fingers suddenly grab your face, thumb on one cheek and his middle and pointer finger on the other. He turns your head to face him.

When your gaze snaps to his face, you see that there’s a cocky smirk on his face but his eyes are focused down on the heart monitor. The needle stays steady much to his obvious distaste.

He sucks teeth in disbelief. “Really?”

“Is this another test?” your voice comes out muffled due to him holding your cheeks.

J rolls his eyes with a frown. “Yeah, let’s go with that.” He releases your face and slides the strap off your head.

The leads on your chest are soon to come off after that. J is careful not to rip the sticky pads off your skin too fast so that it doesn’t sting. He rubs the site with a bit of rubbing alcohol afterwards to get rid of the residue.

“How long have you been at the agency?” you ask. You’re curious about him.

He defeats all the ‘Secret Agent’ stereotypes. He’s personable and warm— and a bit flirtatious. He’s not at all the cold, all-business type you were used to. That’s how more than half the trainees were.

It’s not that you were cold, no. You just kept to yourself and worked hard.

And you made sure your personality didn’t fade during that time either.

J’s nose crinkles up while he thinks. His hands slow down in the process. “Hmm,” he hums. “Maybe four years now? Yeah, sounds about right.”

Your eyes widen. “Four years? How old are you?”

He smirks. “Don’t you know never to ask a young man his age.”

“I guess if you’re not going to tell me…” you trail off. “I’ll just say twenty eight then.”

“Twenty ei—!” he stammers and takes the last lead off your chest. “I’m twenty two!”

“Wasn’t so hard was it?”

J grumbles and turns around to finish putting the machine away. But there’s an amused tilt to the corner of his puffy lips and a playful glint in his eye.

“So you started when you were eighteen?”

“Yep.”

“Child prodigy?”

“Taken right from high school.”

“Impressive.”

J laughs under his breath. “Everyone seems to think so.”

“You don’t?”

“Eh.” He shrugs. “Everyone here is a prodigy of some sort. It’s easy to blend in and somehow appear mediocre when surrounded by Korea’s most elite minds and bodies.”

“I don’t think you’re mediocre.”

“You haven’t met everyone else yet.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to answer again. J grabs your clipboard and takes the papers off it, handing them to you.

“Bring these to B, he has to sign off on the final enlistment.” You take the stack from him. “The guard outside the door will bring you up to his office.”

You look down at the papers, your heart rate picking up faster and faster the more you think about it.

J puts his hand on your lower back and ushers you towards the door. It tingles at the base of your spine. He reaches in front of you and opens the door, motioning for you to exit first. The hand on your lower back twitches and it feels like he almost scratches it twice before urging you forward and dropping it.

It’s weirdly comforting.

It doesn’t feel weird at all.

You turn back to look at him, “Thank you, J.”

He smiles. Those round cheeks get even bigger when it happens.

“Welcome to KDOI, X .”

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

Two years goes by in the blink of an eye when working with a government agency. Especially when a majority of your assignments can take anywhere from a week to two months at a time.

The agents you work with are the only constant in your life. Other faces flitter in and out of your life like leaves falling off trees. You don’t grow attached to anyone outside of this organization, you can’t afford to.

You’re not complaining, not at all. You love the life you have now. It’s everything you ever wanted.

Everyone at KDOI is a family, you’re all each other has. It’s an unspoken, special bond.

When you first started, you were welcomed in with open arms. Obviously, some agents were warmer than others at first— or maybe it’s just that some were better at first impressions than others.

Maybe other people would have been upset with M’s standoffishness when you first introduced yourself. But, after a hot coffee appeared on your desk not even five minutes after complaining about being cold to him and only him, you knew he wasn’t detached and icy at all.

Other agents, like F, have been nothing but a ball of sunshine. He was the one you ate lunch with every single day while you were at the agency. Whilst sitting by yourself in the cafeteria on day one, he took it upon himself to plop himself in the seat right across from you.

H is your favorite agent to go on long assignments with. He never fails to be a constant source of entertainment and intelligent conversation— with the occasional stupid ass comment that makes you question where the man you were just talking to went.

Slowly but surely, you’ve also started learning their real names. Learning someone’s real name was apparently the equivalent of leaving you in their will around here.

There was a time and place to refer to them as their real name. It was a line you tiptoed constantly.

Surprisingly, it was M who told you his name first: Minho. It was completely unprompted too. It was in the jet returning from a three week mission where you had saved him from at least five different gunshot wounds by tackling him to the ground.

The others trickled in afterwards.

Y, or Jeongin, was shocked when you didn’t know his name. And immediately told you afterwards with a cute, wide smile on his face.

Even though every single agent has become a part of you, one particular agent seems to have captured a larger part of your soul than the others.

“J,” you say casually, slipping behind him to stand on the other side of his cluttered workbench.

Jisung. He had told you his name when you had lingered in his workshop late one night, not wanting to go back to your dorm quite yet.

“Hello, X,” he grins without looking up at you. The glasses on his nose have fallen forward.

His laptop is his primary focus, several wires are running from the computer to a tiny little gadget that looks no bigger than a cell phone. It has a small LED screen with different colored pixels bouncing around it.

Jisung’s workshop was one of your favorite places in the agency. There was always music playing, a computer always had some sort of TV on silent with the subtitles on, and there were always snacks everywhere.

You consider it a second dorm, really. As soon as you’re done training for the day, you usually find yourself here.

“When did you get back?” he asks, clicking a few keys and looking over at the gadget, then back to his computer.

“Maybe two hours ago?”

“And it took you this long to come say hi?”

“I had to shower.”

“ And you didn’t invite me?” his cheeky smile gets bigger.

You smack the back of his head, the glasses fall even more. You’re surprised they don’t tumble off his face.

If one thing has remained constant since your exam day, it’s the relentless flirting. The guy can’t go more than five minutes without saying some sort of teasing comment.

It should bother you.

But it doesn’t.

At this point, you’ve gotten quite used to it. If he ever stopped, then you might be a bit concerned. You might even miss it.

But you would never tell him that.

Jisung makes a tiny ‘gah’ noise and rubs the back of his head in fake pain. He pushes his glasses up his nose and looks over at you.

“I missed you so much and the first thing you do is hurt me,” he whines.

“I wasn’t gone that long.”

“Two long months without my girlfriend.”

“ Not your girlfriend.”

He clutched his chest through his baggy black hoodie. “Another wound.”

You cross your arms and giggle a bit. “Well get used to me not being here. B is sending me on another assignment tomorrow.”

Jisung frowns. “I know, he asked me to be at your debrief tomorrow morning.” He lets out a whine. “You just got back! Usually you’re around for at least two weeks in between missions.”

Shrugging, you look around the room. The digital clock on the wall read 10:29 PM. He’s usually the only one in here past 5:30, he tends to lose track of time easily when working on projects.

“It’s part of the job,” you say casually.

Jisung grumbles again, looking down at his laptop once more. “Yeah, well it sucks. Everyone’s always coming and going. Meanwhile I’m stuck here all day every day.”

“I thought you didn’t do field work.”

“I don’t . I just also hate that I’m trapped here while everyone gets to travel with one another.”

You narrow your eyes. “You do know we’re not sightseeing, right?”

Jisung balks. “Of course I know that.” He pauses. “But I did see that picture that you and Changbin took at Buckingham Palace.”

You bite your lip to stop the smile. “Not my fault it just so happened to be by our hotel.”

“Bang said if we had a Christmas card he would use that picture.”

The smile you’re fighting gets even bigger. You hesitate before speaking up again. “It’s a good picture.”

Jisung’s head drops and he places both of his hands on the table. “See what I mean?” he groans.

“Just tell Bang that you want field work.”

Jisung’s head shoots up and he stares at you with wide eyes. “I would die in the field!”

“You would not. One of us would be there to save your hide. You really think Minho would let you die?”

“I think he would load the gun himself.”

A laugh bubbles up in your chest. Uncrossing your arms, you turn around and lean against the table.

“Ji, we would make sure you were safe if you were to come out in the field with us. It’s our job.”

“Your job is to carry out the mission.”

“I wouldn’t give a damn about the mission if your life was on the line.”

Jisung’s mouth snaps shut. His eyebrows fly up his forehead.

The two of you stare at each other for a long moment. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his knuckles turn white from gripping the counter so hard.

His Adam’s Apple bobs with a gulp.

You shouldn’t have said something like that, shouldn’t you? Your job is to carry out government missions. Personal feelings should never be put first, you know that.

So why did you say that?

Fuck, you shouldn’t have said that.

The shock on Jisung’s face quickly morphs into a cocky smirk. It’s a mask. You can see in his eyes he’s still a bit shocked.

“I knew you were in love with me.”

Groaning, you roll your eyes and push off the table. “I’m going back to my dorm to sleep. Goodnight, J.”

Your hand slides to his lower back and you scratch twice over his lab coat and hoodie.

Ever since your exam day, the two of you do this small gesture to each other all the time. It could be when he passes behind you in the cafe line or comes up behind you in the training room. It’s such a tiny, personal gesture.

Sometimes on the coldest nights in the field, you’ll find yourself aching for that small touch.

“You’re so head over heels in love with me, X!” he calls after you, again, clutching at his heart and overacting like he’s swooning.

“I’m leaving!”

“You just got here!” he whines.

“Bye.”

“I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you walk away, X!”

“Night!” you repeat, letting the door shut after you.

You walk down the hallway of the agency with a goofy smile on your face.

“Idiot,” you mumble to yourself.

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

B’s office was at the very top of the large building, the windows overlooked the entirety of Seoul. Everything inside the office exuded money and power. The wood of the bookshelves was black and sleek and always dust free.

Inside the office was so large there was an entire sitting area with two sofas and two loveseats around a coffee table.

There was always a bergamot candle burning on a side table there.

It was just about 10 AM when you stepped inside.

“Ah, X, thank you so much for coming in.” B stands up from his large desk chair to welcome you in.

Bang Chan, the leader of KDOI, and the most unassuming man you’ve ever met. When you brought him your final exam paperwork that fateful day you thought you were in the wrong office.

This whole time you were expecting a wrinkly old man, not a twenty-something with dimples.

But, at this point, you’ve learned to not be surprised by anything anymore.

Maybe you were surprised at the fact that the other man in the room made no move to even look at you.

Jisung sat in the other chair in front of the desk, his face sheet white. Both of his hands are gripped in tight fists on top of his pants.

Your warm smile fades from your face as you take in his ghastly expression.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

Chan’s lips form a tight line as he motions to the chair for you to sit in. “I was going over your next assignment with J before you got here.”

“Apologies, am I late?”

“No, not at all. I had J come in a little early to talk to him one on one.”

You glance over at Jisung who looks like he hasn’t even blinked. Alarm bells are going off inside your head. Not even a nod in your direction?

“What’s this assignment about, B?” You look back to your boss.

He slides a manilla envelope across the desk to you, you take it without a second thought. Chan picks up a tiny remote off his desk and presses a button. Shades slowly come down over the window, bathing the room in darkness. Another beep on the remote and a holographic screen projects from the floor next to the desk.

Both you and Chan turn your chairs to go over the debrief, Jisung stays still. Part of you wants to snap your fingers in front of his face to see if he’s still alive or not.

Instead, you focus on your job.

“I know you’re used to more recoup time, but I’m afraid this assignment is pretty urgent.” Chan clicks the remote. A grainy CCTV picture is displayed on the screen. “The international gang you’ve been dealing with lately, the Ice Crows, have shown their face again.”

Chan zooms in on the image. Several higher ups of the gang are getting out of a black SUV. They’re all dressed in fancy suits smoking cigars.

The last time you dealt with them was about five months ago when their trail had gone cold over in Canada.

“When and where was this taken?” you ask.

“Yesterday. Paris. Where you and J will be headed after this.”

Your head snaps over to look at Chan.

With Jisung? No wonder the guy looked like he was eight inches from death!

Your eyes slide to the engineer, he’s still staring forward. A cold sweat on his brow.

“J is coming with me?”

Chan points your attention back to the debrief. “Allow me to continue.”

You spare one last look Jisung. The poor guy is shaking in his boots. Your hands itch to reach out and comfort him, but you have to remain professional.

That’s for after the debrief.

“There’s an auction being held at the Palais des Congrès. Several large and important pieces are being shown there. Including…” Bang switches the slides and displays an expensive painting. “The Refuge, which was stolen no more than two months ago by the Ice Crows. They’re putting it up for auction when it belongs back in Korea.”

Your eyes narrow. “This seems like a pretty rookie cut and dry assignment, B. You need me to get the painting back. I don’t understand why J has to come with me, he doesn’t do field work.”

The conversation the two of you had the previous night echoes in your mind.

B nods. “I know. Let me get there, X.” He switches the slide to display the floor plan of the museum. “This convention center is rather high tech, as you can see. It’s equipped with blockers that don’t allow any outside waves to make it past their walls. Any and all technical communication has to come within the building.”

“So, you’re sending J with me because he’s the only one that can operate field equipment? S can operate simple transmitters and trackers.”

“It’s more than that, X. The painting will be behind several different firewalls and security systems that not even S can hack through. J needs to be with you and he needs to be in that building.”

You take a deep breath and look over at Jisung. His hundred yard stare has moved from the window and is now focused down on his lap.

“He’ll be in your hotel room the entire time. You’ll be doing the recon and walking through the convention center to get where you need to be.”

Jisung pulls his lips between his teeth. His body finally came back to life. “I won’t need to leave the room?” His voice is hoarse.

“No,” Chan answers quickly. “Not until you’re leaving to come back home.”

Jisung shifts on his chair, unfurling his fists and swallowing thickly.

“I understand your apprehension, J, I do. But I need you on this.”

Jisung watches him closely and then offers a weak nod. He glanced over at you.

“I wouldn’t put you with X unless I was sure that she would watch your six.”

You nod and steel your expression. “I won’t let anything happen to you, J.”

Color returns to J’s cheeks at your words. He gulps and takes a deep breath, his shoulders rolling back and remaining stiff.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Okay, I’ll do it.” He’s more confident the second time.

“Good.” Chan clasps his hands together. “Stay safe, agents. Amusez vouis bien!”

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

You and Jisung were the only ones inside the cabin of the agency’s private jet. It took off the runway only about four minutes ago.

The brunette sat across from you, his eyes focused out the window at the clouds below. His posture is anything but relaxed. He’s sitting ramrod straight in the large cushioned chair.

You don’t think his muscles have released since you both were in Chan’s office. Even through the thick layers of his comfortable traveling clothes you can clearly read his uneasy body language.

“You okay?” you ask gently.

“No,” he mutters back. Duh.

You bite the inside of your cheek, completely unsure of what to do or say. This was never a part of your training. Maybe you should’ve picked up a copy of ‘ Comforting Friends for Dummies ’ when you had the chance.

Killing targets? Easy!

Provide detailed surveillance on a suspicious person? Done!

Soothe an anxious friend? Not so simple.

Jisung’s cheeks seem even puffier than usual, lips pursed in a pout. There’s no sparkle to his eyes like you’re used to.

Taking a deep breath, you lean back in your seat and look around the plane. You crack your knuckles, displaying your own nerves.

“Do you know the best part of staying at hotels during missions?” you ask him to break the silence.

Jisung hums in acknowledgement, he continues to watch the clouds below.

“You get to order all the room service you want— it comes out of the agency’s card.” You smirk.

He shifts around in his seat. His hands that were tightly gripping the armrests relax a bit.

“Last assignment I was on with Hyunjin, we were in a seaport town, the hotel made these bacon wrapped scallops… man… I ate so many I thought I was going to explode.” You pat your stomach.

Jisung finally looks at you. “Bacon wrapped scallops?”

You nod and smile at him. “You’ll be in the room the entire time. Think of all the room service you’ll get to order.”

“I’ve never had bacon wrapped scallops.”

“It’s Paris, who knows what they’ll offer there. And it all goes on Bang’s card.”

Jisung finally smiles. It wavers for a second, like he’s sheepish to do it. It’s paired with a breathy chuckle. He looks down at his lap and lets his body fall forward a bit, elbows resting on his knees.

His knee bounces anxiously and the exhales he lets out are shaky.

“God, Y/N,” he sighs, rubbing his face. “I can’t help but freak out.”

“Understandable.”

“It’s my first time out in the field.”

“I know.”

“What if something happens?”

You roll your eyes. “I would be more surprised if something didn’t happen, Jisung.”

His head shoots up. The color drains from his face. His pouty lips part a few times like he’s trying to find the right words to say.

“But I’m prepared for it, Jisung.” You lean forward, mirroring his posture and take his hands between yours. “I’m prepared to take care of whatever pops up to keep you safe, okay?”

His jaw clenches and he stares deeply into his eyes. The hands in yours are so warm in stark contrast to your always-cold ones.

“And if anything terrible happens then I’ll do whatever it takes to get you out of it. Trust in me, okay? I have to take care of KDOI’s resident nerd, after all.”

“Resident nerd…” he scoffs.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Did I ever tell you what happened on my first mission with Minho?”

Jisung shakes his head.

“It was supposed to be easy! The intel that KDOI had gotten was that there was going to be a large drug exchange somewhere in the States, Minho was sent with me. And my lord, our intel was off.”

Thinking about the memory makes you giggle to this day.

“It was an international, high profile cartel that Bang has been trying to nail down for years. Well, during a small scout, I got my ass captured. I wasn’t watching my six like I should’ve.”

Jisung’s eyes widen. Obviously, he wasn’t told about this. It’s not like you enjoy flaunting the story around.

“I had a gun to the back of my head, the leader of the cartel was screaming for Minho to come out from where he was hiding or he’d kill me. God, I’ve never been so afraid in my life. My first assignment and I already had a gun to my skull.

“Minho, being the amazing agent he is, found the right vantage point and took the guy out. I was able to evade the crossfire after that, but honestly those bullets weren’t what scared me, it was the idea that Minho was disappointed in me.”

He was the agent you looked up to the most after all. He was the one that all these great stories and tales were all about. Minho was the harrowing hero of KDOI who was able to ace every mission handed to him.

“But he didn’t even say anything about it. Even when I apologized over and over again, he just shrugged and said it was part of the job. And I get it now. It is just part of the job. So don’t worry, okay?”

Jisung swallows once, chin dipping down with a stiff nod. He turns his hands around in yours to grasp your fingers.

A playful smirk creeps up on his face. “I can’t believe it…”

Your head cocks to the side and you watch him closely. He’s studying your manicured nails, his thumbs swipe over the digits softly. It’s a tender movement.

“What?” you ask.

“I can’t believe how in love with me you are.”

You rip your hands out of his and swat forward just as fast.

With a barking laugh, he moves out of the way of your slap. You swing again and again, each time his laughter gets louder and louder.

“First last night, now this? Are you going to propose to me next?”

You know this is just his way of evading thinking about how scared he is, but if that’s what it takes to make him feel better, you’ll allow it. If a distraction is what he needs, then you’ll give it to him.

“Love hurts!” he cries out when you land a solid smack on his arm. “They were right!”

“It’s going to kill you, that’s what it’s going to do.”

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

By the time you and Jisung get to the convention center and check into the hotel it’s nearing seven at night. The gala isn’t being held until tomorrow, so you both have some time to relax and settle in.

It leaves Jisung plenty of time to set up everything he needs inside your hotel room.

You both checked in without a hitch, getting your keys and practically falling into the room. Jet Lag is pulling your eyelids shut and weighing down on your chest like an elephant.

Flicking the lights on, you blink your bleary eyes a few times, staring down at the large bed sitting in the middle of your hotel room.

One king sized bed.

You’d love to say this hasn’t happened before but you never know what to expect on missions. There have been places where there’s been one bed, two beds, bunk beds , and even separate bedrooms once or twice.

On one occasion Hyunjin slept on the floor since you were only given one twin sized bed and you were not about to share that tiny space with the man who likes to spread out all of his limbs and hog the blanket at the same time.

So, at this point, you don’t even care if there’s only one bed.

You shrug it off and plop your bag next to the dresser and let your body fall back onto the plush mattress with an ‘oof!’

Jisung, on the other hand, hovers around the doorway, both hands still gripping the two rolling suitcases full of his equipment. “I can sleep on the pull out couch,” he says thickly.

“Ji, it’s fine, we can share a bed, we’re both adults here,” you tease him. “As long as you don’t put your cold feet on me, I don’t care.”

“I don’t have cold feet,” he grumbles and wheels his suitcases towards the small table on the other side of the room.

You let your eyes slide shut on the bed. The gentle hum of the air conditioner already lulling your brain to sleep. With how exhausted you are, it wouldn’t take much for you to give into the pull anyway.

Jisung opens up the suitcases and starts unloading every piece of technology that he has brought with him. Various wires and computer parts thud against the wood of the table.

He stops for a second.

“And how would you know if I did have cold feet?”

A laugh is punched from your chest at the abrupt question. It’s a deep belly laugh. “Let’s just say there is a loose lipped agent among us.”

Jisung pauses. “Minho said he wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“He wasn’t going to until I started teasing him about his purchase of fuzzy socks.”

“You were with him when he bought those?”

“I helped him choose between two different pairs.” You crack one eye open to look at him. “The purple pair was my idea.”

Jisung groans and slides his laptop open, the typing on his keys is a lot more aggressive. You giggle again at his outward display of frustration.

You let your eyes close again, listening to him shuffle his things around the wooden table muttering in between movements about how his feet aren’t that cold, they’re just colder than the rest of his body.

An easy smile finds its way on your face and you listen to his quiet ramblings until sleep finally washes over your tired mind.

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

“You were right,” Jisungs voice says in your earpiece. “Room service is fucking awesome.”

A waiter with a tray full of champagne flutes passes by, you grab one as he strides by your side.

“I told you,” you say quietly while bringing the glass up to your lips to take a sip. “What did you order?”

“I think the better question is what didn’t I order.” His mouth sounds full when he answers you.

He’s up on the 14th floor of the convention hall while you’re downstairs at the gala in a sleek, red silk dress. Your hair and makeup done exquisitely well, beautiful silver heels match the diamond jewelry adorning your skin.

You blend right in to everyone around you.

“I heard that their oysters are fantastic.”

“I think that’s part of what I ordered.” You can hear several dishes being pushed around. “Yep, right here. Although, they don’t look as appetizing as I thought.”

“They’re not really a lounge snack.”

“For rich people they are.”

The mission started about an hour ago when you made your way into the main event hall. The auction for the painting is going to begin in about another hour.

Your first task of the night is to locate the painting before the auction and place a minuscule tracking device on it to locate later once it’s sold.

There was only one way you knew to get close enough to The Refuge.

“Oh. Three tables back to your 8 is your first target of the night, X.”

Paternino ‘Pink Panther’ Cardi. One of the Ice Crows inner circle members. He can’t resist swiping whatever paintings he can get his grimy fingers on; but, he also can’t resist bragging to an attractive woman.

You turn nonchalantly to find him already eyeing you up with dark eyes.

He’s your typical mafia member. In fact, if you had to draw a cartoon of a mobster, it would look like Paternino.

You hold his searing eye contact while taking another sip from your champagne. The mobster lowers his chin and lets his tongue dart out to lick his lips.

At first, seduction wasn’t a part of the job you particularly excelled at. But after doing it for so long, it comes naturally.

Batting your lashes, you smirk at him and then turn to walk towards his table, your hips swaying in the process. Maybe you exaggerate your movements a bit, but it has the exact effect you need on Paternino.

He’s sitting at a large round booth all by himself, legs spread wide in a show-of-power manner. A large swig of whiskey is taken out of his glass before you get to him.

“Don’t you know that a beautiful woman such as yourself deserves a better drink than the venue provided champagne?” He motions to the booth seat next to him.

You place your glass on the table and slide gracefully next to him. The effort you put into this is going to need to be quick, you don’t have long to locate the painting.

“And I suppose a handsome man like yourself knows just what to order a woman like me?” Your voice is coy and seductively low.

In your ear, you hear Jisung take a tiny, shaky breath. Does he know the intercom is still activated on his end?

Paternino slides towards you a bit more so now you can smell the expensive cologne wafting off him. It’s almost too overpowering.

“A woman like you, hm?” He rests his arm on the booth behind your shoulders, lifting one hand to signal a waiter to come by. “Look into my eyes, let me see if I can guess your drink of choice.”

You rest your chin on top of your folded hands, your elbows resting on the table. His eye contact is intense and vivid, it makes your skin crawl.

Paternino hums again. “A sapphire martini.”

“Nope,” Jisung says with a chuckle.

You give a tiny, fake gasp. “How did you know?”

“I know a woman with taste when I see her.” He takes another swig of his whiskey while staring at you. “A sapphire martini for the lady.”

There must have been a waiter next to the table. You fight the urge to turn and look, instead opting to look at Paternino through your lashes.

“Your turn, Beautiful. Why don’t you make an assumption about me?”

“I assume you’re an asshole with a tiny dick.”

Humming, you scoot even closer to Paternino, your fingers come up and walk up his chest to come around his tie.

“I think,” you whisper lowly, coming closer to his own face, forcing your eyes to look down at his lips for a split second then back up at his eyes. “That you’re a powerful man around here, and that you don’t take no for an answer.”

His lips curl up in a cocky smirk. The arm that was previously on the booth, comes around your shoulders. His fingers feel clammy on your exposed skin.

“Very observant, my lady. Anything else?”

The sound of a glass being delicately placed reaches your ears. You reach out and grab the martini glass without looking, bringing it closer to you.

“No, no, it’s your turn.”

He smiles. You’re so close to his face you can hear his exhales, smell the whiskey on his breath.

You sip your own martini. God, it’s awful. You hate martinis.

Paternino slides a finger underneath the spaghetti strap of your dress. “I think you would look gorgeous without this in the way.” He tugs on the strap.

“Zero out of ten. Horrible pick up line. Try again.”

Jisung’s snarky words in your ear are oddly calming to your racing heart. He keeps bringing you down to Earth.

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about your clothes.” You tug his tie. “The auction doesn’t start for some time. How about you show me somewhere private we can go and we can see if both of us are right.”

“Uuuuggghhhhhhh…”

“I like that idea, I know just the place, Beautiful.” Paternino slides out of the booth and holds out his hand, which you grab a hold of gingerly to stand up and be led away from the main gala floor.

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

It takes five minutes for Paternino to lead you to the room where The Refuge is being stored. It only takes you ten seconds to knock him out cold with one solid hit to the back of the head.

His body hits the ground like a sack of potatoes in the dark storage room.

“Fucking finally,” Jisung groans in your ear.

“Sorry, it was the only way I knew to get back here.”

“That was torture, X. I’m never doing this again.”

You roll your eyes and pick up Paternino’s ragdolling body under the arms, dragging him across the room and stuffing him inside a storage closet with his arms and legs tied together and duct tape over his mouth.

“Now, which one is The Refuge?” you mutter looking around at all the art around the room. There’s sculptures, painting, glass blown pieces, everything you would see in a museum.

“I wonder if The Refuge is the only stolen thing in here?”

Sighing, you walk around the room, trying to recognize anything. “Probably not. But it’s the only one we know about.”

You find the painting eventually sitting at the very back of the room covered by a large sheet. When you walk up to it, you take your earring out of your ear and slide the back off— which is where you were keeping the tracker.

You tuck the tracker in the back of the painting between the canvas in the wood. It wouldn’t slip out nor would anyone notice.

“Perfect.”

“I can see it on the map still, you’re all good. Now get out of there.”

“Anyone coming on the cams?”

“No, you’re clear.”

You take your other earring out and throw it in the garbage can by the door. They were fake anyway and you don’t feel like looking like a freak with one in.

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

When you returned to the event hall, people were taking their seats for the auction, so you followed suit. Grabbing another drink from the bar before you sat down.

“Vodka tonic?”

“Always,” you say under your breath.

You watch the bartender make your drink with close eyes.

Now you just needed to wait until the auction was over to get the painting back. Your job was half over.

Through the earpiece, you can hear knocks on Jisung’s hotel room door.

“More room service?”

“I… I didn’t order anything.”

Alarm bells go off in your mind. “Don’t answer it.”

Jisung stays silent for a few moments. You’re no longer watching the bartender, you’re focusing intently on what you can hear in your ear.

“J.” You state, trying to get an update from him.

“I think they’re gone.”

Before you can even think about being relaxed there’s a loud bang on the other side of the intercom and Jisung shrieks from surprise.

“X! X, they’re in the room! X!” His voice shouts into your ear.

You’re already running out of the event hall, your dress hiked up in your hands.

“J, there’s a gun strapped to the bottom of the table, use it!”

You can hear gruff voices screaming at Jisung not to move, that they’d kill him if he even twitched a muscle.

“X, there’s five of them.” He whispers quietly.

“J, listen to me, stay calm, I’ll be there in five minutes.” You burst through the stairwell and start climbing two at a time, even in your heels. The elevator would’ve taken too long. “Do what you need to stay alive, fuck the assignment. Stay alive.”

“X.” It’s a whimper and it stabs you through the heart. The yelling gets louder and louder.

Jisung begs for mercy. You can hear the desperation in his voice, it pushes your legs to move faster and faster up the stairs.

“Si—“

The earpiece goes dead after a gunshot.

Your knees wobble and you lose your momentum.

Oh my god, no, fuck, please.

Reaching out, you grab the railing to keep your balance on one of the landings.

“J?” you scream. “J, can you hear me?”

Nothing. Not a single voice comes through. Not even static.

Maybe they just shot the equipment. That has to be it. They didn’t shoot him. They wouldn’t. Right?

You steel your nerves and launch yourself up the remaining steps. By the time you reach the 14th floor, you’re not even winded.

The long hallway is colder than the stairwell. You take off sprinting towards your room, sharply rounding the few corners that you come across. Right before your own stretch of hallway, you slow down to a walk. It kills you but you have to do it.

In the distance, right in front of your room, you see two large men in black suits standing guard. They take notice of you immediately.

“What are you doing up here, ma’am?” One asks as you walk closer.

“My room is up here, honey.”

He looks to his partner and then back at you. “Turn around and walk the other way.”

“Why?” you ask, only about ten feet away.

“Just do it, sweet cheeks.”

Your eyebrow cocks and before he can react, you walk up and throw a sharp right hook into his jaw. The bone in his face cracks and he stumbles down onto the ground.

His partner yells in surprise and starts fumbling for his gun. When his hand raises to shoot you, you grab his arm and aim his weapon down so when he discharges it, it shoots right into his partner.

Then, you pull his arm so he falls forward into you. You swing the heel of your palm upwards right into his nose. With your free hand, you reach down and grab the tiny pistol that was strapped to your thigh.

Before the second goon could recover, you shoot him right in the head.

The sound of gunshots obviously alerted the remaining three gang members in the room. Two of them come barreling out into the hallway with their weapons drawn.

Immediately, you shoot the first one in the head, he hits the ground before he even knows what hit him. The other gang member yelps in shock before you shoot him too.

Within two minutes there are four bodies in the hallway.

Carefully, you walk into your hotel room, keeping your back against the wall and your gun cocked.

“Shut the fuck up,” a gruff voice says roughly.

Jisung said there were five of them. The fifth must be the one holding him hostage.

Quietly, you inch closer and closer to the corner of the wall. Once you turn around, he’ll be right in front of you.

You gulp and take one deep breath before coming around the corner, gun pointed forward.

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” That same deep voice calls out.

Your heart drops.

Another typical looking crook is pointing his gun at the closed wardrobe doors in the corner of the room.

Where is Jisung? Where is he? Is he in the wardrobe? He has to be inside the wardrobe.

“Why don’t you drop the gun, sweetie.” The mobster says darkly.

You stay still with the gun pointed at him despite his words. The trigger seems to burn your finger. It's aching to be pulled.

Is Jisung in the wardrobe? Is he in there and you can’t see him?

Or is this guy trying to pull a fast one on you to get you to drop your weapon?

Fuck, is Jisung in the wardrobe?

“I said drop the fucking gun.” He moves to pull the hammer back of his own pistol and you don’t hesitate even for a second.

You pull your own trigger.

He drops to the ground with a bullet wound directly in his head.

You sprint across the room and rip open the wardrobe doors.

Empty.

It’s empty.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you repeat under your breath frantically. You blink your eyes over and over again hoping that he would suddenly appear.

You even go so far as to open and close the wardrobe door three more times, each time more frantic.

“Fuck!”

Where the fuck is he if he’s not inside this room?

The equipment on the table has a bullet hole through Jisung’s main laptop but no blood anywhere near it. But his glasses are. They’re lying on the floor with a crack through one of the lenses.

Did they move him to another location? He doesn’t have a tracker on him like you do.

With a yell of anguish, you turn and kick the dead mobster at your feet. His limp body rolls over and his jacket pocket falls open.

A hotel room key tucked inside the pocket catches your attention. You crouch down and pick it up.

‘1833’ is written on the back of the key.

It’s not a great lead, but your legs are running out of your hotel room before you even think twice. Obviously they moved him somewhere else to lead you into their trap and it didn’t work. Not with how well you were trained.

You burst through the door leading to the 18th floor, heeled shoes sprinting down the hallway towards where room 1833 would be.

As soon as you’re in front of the door, you click the hammer back of your gun and hold it out in front of you, swiping the key in the handle with your free hand.

The lock clicks open and you push the handle down slowly, trying to cause the least amount of noise as possible. All of the lights are off inside of the hotel room, save for one lamp. The yellow glow radiates on the wall.

There’s no noise.

Everything is completely silent save for the quiet hum of the air conditioning pumping through the room.

Until you hear a sniffle, a huff, and then another sniffle.

Inching across the floor, you slide your back against the wall like you did previously, listening for any more key sounds that would alert you that there are more people inside the room.

Taking one last deep breath, you round the corner and point your gun forward.

Even in the dark you know exactly what you’re seeing.

In the middle of the room stood Han Jisung; his hands tied together with a rope coming from the ceiling, a blindfold around his eyes and earplugs shoved into his ears. From here you can see the wetness from his tears being absorbed by the blindfold. There’s a gag tied around his mouth muffling tiny sobs.

You don’t allow yourself to fall victim to false security, you look around the room closely, making sure no one else is lying in wait for you to fall into yet another trap.

No other soul is inside this hotel room with you.

Dropping the gun onto the bed, you cross the room towards Jisung as quickly as possible.

He must sense another presence in front of him, his entire body stiffens and another louder sob is swallowed by the gag. He backs up away from you as much as his restraints allowed– which was next to nothing.

“Jisung,” you say in relief. “Oh god.”

Without thinking twice about it, you reach around and brush your hand on his lower back, scratching twice.

Jisung’s chest heaves with another sob, even through the gag in his mouth, you can hear him whimper your name. His entire body relaxes and he falls towards you, the ties on his hands tugging even more.

You reach up and yank the gag out of his mouth.

“X,” he rasps with a dry tongue. “Oh my god please say it’s you. I-I can’t hear anything— fuck, Jesus. Thank god you’re alive, oh god.”

You scratch his lower back again, looking at the restraints. How the fuck were you going to untie that knot?

Jisung’s tongue darts out to lick at his dry lips. His weight leans into you as much as he can. It must’ve been horrifying to be tied up like this, he couldn't hear or see or scream for help.

Gingerly, you reach up and cup both of his cheeks so as not to startle him. Even with how gentle you were, he still jumps in shock.

“Everything happened so fast,” he rambled. “They shot out the laptop so the communicator was fried. Next thing I knew I had a bag over my head and I was being tied up.”

Using your fingers, you push the blindfold up his face to rest around his forehead.

Jisung’s big, brown eyes blink and squint a bit before focusing on you. He searches all over your face, taking in every detail as if you’re a glass of water and he’s been crawling through the desert.

His eyebrows pinch together and he gulps.

“God, I’m always glad to see you, but now I’m really glad.”

You laugh under your breath, the stress from just the last thirty minutes alone lifting off your shoulders.

He’s okay.

Jisung is okay.

Using your hands, you wipe the tear tracks off his puffy cheeks. God, he must’ve been horrified.

He’s probably never going to go out into the field again. You look up at the restraints, analyzing the knot closely. You’re going to have to cut him down, there’s no way you’re untying that. He’s secured to a pipe that runs across the entirety of the ceiling.

“You know,” Jisung starts. His voice already has that teasing tilt to it. “If you wanted me tied up this badly, all you had to do was ask, baby.”

Your eyebrows twitches. Mr. Humor-Is-My-Coping-Mechanism decides to show his face now of all times, huh?

Slowly, you look down from his restrained wrists to his dark eyes. A smirk is already plastered on his face, his lips still wet from licking them.

“You must want me so bad, hm?”

With your own crooked smile, you tongue your cheek and make a ‘huh’ noise, it puffs through your chest. That’s how he wants to be, huh?

He can stay tied up for a little longer then. It’s not like anyone’s coming into this room nor do you have anything to do until after the auction.

Really, you have nothing but time to kill!

You take a step backwards away from him and cross your arms over your chest.

His eyes widen when you distance yourself from him. “Wh…” His cheeks puff a bit as his lips purse in confusion. Jisung tugs on the rope still around his wrists.

You cock your head to the side and stare at him with one lifted brow.

The bed behind you dips down under your weight as you sit down on the edge. It gives you a perfect vantage point to watch Jisung grow more and more confused as to why you’re not cutting him down yet.

Slowly, his ears start turning red, the flush crawls across his face and down his neck, disappearing into his black hoodie.

“X,” he says hoarsely. “Aren’t you going to cut me down?”

You shrug, knowing no matter what you say, he’s not going to hear you. If he wants to tease you, you can tease right back.

The gun on the bed beside you is picked up in your hand. You nonchalantly click the safety on and toss it to the side again.

He tugs even harder, the ropes chafing his wrists a bit. You watch as JIsung’s Adam’s Apple bobs with a gulp. The blindfold is pushing his bangs up in wild directions.

The helpless look on his face shouldn’t be making your blood pump this way. Excitement shouldn’t be tingling at the base of your spine from the power trip you’re getting from this. This is only teasing between two best friends, nothing more.

It’s just teasing, right?

Right?

You cross one leg over the other, leaning back on your hands. The plush blanket underneath your fingertips feels cool and soft. It’s a complete contrast to the way your skin is heating up under Jisung’s desperate gaze.

“Aren’t you going to…” he trails off. Several times his eyes flick from yours down to your exposed leg. When you had crossed them, due to the slit up your dress, the entirety of your leg was exposed to the cool hotel room air.

“Going to what?” you ask him, exaggerating the movements of your mouth for him to understand.

Jisung gulps again while watching your lips. He squints his eyes closed and tries to take a steadying breath in through his nose, his chin tilts back a bit.

You allow your gaze to wander down his body a bit. He’s always in relaxed clothing, including now. An oversized black hoodie draped over his shoulders with gray sweatpants on his bottom half.

Gray sweatpants that you now notice seem a little… tight .

Oh.

It seems as though you’re not the only one whose thoughts seem to be a bit… derailed.

When you look back up at Jisung, he’s staring at you with slightly glassy eyes and a heaving chest. Nervously, his tongue comes out to lick his drying lips again.

A tight band of tension stretches between the two of you; you can practically feel it connecting your bodies together. The hair on the back of your neck stands up.

Is he thinking the same thing you are? Is he allowing his mind to wander the way that yours is?

Slowly, you uncross your legs and stand up from the edge of the bed.

Big brown eyes flick down to watch the movement absentmindedly, his lips part and a shaky exhale leaves them.

Your hips sway from side to side with each slow step you take towards Jisung.

The eye contact he makes with you is sharp; his thoughts being conveyed through them. He wants you, and he wants you bad. It’s like he’s practically begging for it with those brown puppy dog eyes.

And you’ll be damned because you want it just as bad.

There’s only so much of his teasing that you can take. Only so much desire the dam within your heart can take before it bursts. And right now, with how high your adrenaline has spiked, nothing is stopping you.

The last two years of nonstop flirting is taking its toll on your self control.

Licking your own lips, you look up at Jisung, a shaky breath coming out afterwards.

Your fingers come up and grab the blindfold that’s still around his forehead and tug it back down over his eyes.

“ Fuck, ” Jisung murmurs. Your face is so close to his you can physically feel the words splay out onto your own lips.

With the gentleness of a butterfly landing on a flower, you brush your lips against his. Jisung immediately brings his face closer to yours, smashing your mouths together even more.

A sensation you can’t quite describe washes over you. It has the same level of completeness that you had felt when you became a full-fledged agent; like you just did something that the universe has been waiting for you to do.

His pouty lips start moving against yours faster and faster with more urgency, like he can’t get enough of you, like he’s experiencing the same emotions that you are. Were you the piece he always needed too?

Both of your hands begin to explore. You cup his cheek with one while the other grabs at the front of his hoodie. He’s leaning into you so much that the ropes holding his wrists squeak as they tighten and rub.

With a teasing smirk against his mouth, you take a tiny step back. This way he wasn’t able to reach your lips but could still feel the heat from your body in front of him.

A tiny whine leaves his throat as soon as you pull away. You watch as his lips chase after you just to be stopped by the ropes.

“Y/N,” he whispers, pleading. You lightly tap his cheek twice.

Pulling the collar of his hoodie to the side, you let your mouth hover over his neck.

Since he doesn’t have sight or hearing, all of his other senses are on high alert. Jisung feels your warm exhales so close to his skin and squirms around, little noises leaving the back of his throat.

You tease him more and more by letting your deep breaths fan over his flushed skin but never actually letting your lips actually meet with his neck.

Jisung pulls and pulls on the restraints, each exhale driving him insane.

When your lips finally meet his neck, a long mewl exits his own wet mouth. His head tilts to the side to give you more access. Greedily, you let your mouth explore his soft skin.

His hips buck forward into yours, his hard length grinding into your hip to bring himself some relief. Jisung whines again at the sensation.

At the same time, you open your mouth and suck down where his shoulder meets his neck. His body tenses up and his head tilts back in pleasure.

“Jesus, fuck,” he curses, grinding into your hip once again. “Oh, god. Shit– please, fuck, Y/N.” His incoherent babbling only increases in pitch and frequency the more you run your tongue up and down his neck, never going lower than the collar of his hoodie would pull or higher than his jawline.

You let your free hand travel up to thread in his soft, chocolate brown locks of hair. You scratch at his scalp a few times, letting your nails drag along his head. A low moan emanates deep within Jisung’s chest, it almost sounds like a purr. His head leans back into your touch.

“Oh my god,” he murmurs. Every noise that comes out of his mouth is louder than you expect thanks to the earplugs. “Y/N, please– oh fuck , kiss me again, please, oh my god, please, Y/N.”

Pulling away from his neck, you capture his lips in the middle of his babbling. The rest of his words are swallowed by your own mouth. His tongue darts out from his mouth to lick at your lips and coax yours forward.

Your own moans slip between kisses, Jisung can feel the vibrations against his mouth and they drive him absolutely wild. His hands ball up into fists; he wants to touch you so bad.

“Y/N,” he says your name in between kisses. “Please, c-cut me down.” Your kisses travel down to his jawline. “I want to– Fu-huh-huck! ” You bite down on his neck harshly, sucking a bright purple hickey underneath it.

Jisung rolls his hips into yours. You can feel how absolutely rock hard his cock is through his sweats.

“N-Need to touch you. Hah! I’m going insane, Y/N.”

Begs sound so good coming from his lips.

You run your hands down his chest to tease at the hem of his hoodie before sliding them underneath the fabric and up his bare chest. The muscle that greets you underneath it is a pleasant surprise.

The hard lines of his abs and chest run along the pads of your fingertips. He flexes and tenses under your touch.

Jisung throws his head back with a groan, his weight shifts around on his feet. It feels so fucking good . Every single touch to his body is heaven sent.

At the top of his chest, you curl your fingers and rake your nails down his skin.

The wail that tears from his throat makes your heart rate pick up ten fold. It sends a lightning bolt of pleasure through your body.

“Oh my god, please do that again! ” Jisung begs, his mouth hanging open as he pants over and over again. It seems like he can’t catch his breath.

Who were you to deny him?

With a featherlight touch, you let your fingers trail up, up, up his body. The closer you got to the top, the faster Jisung’s breathing picks up.

Right before you curled your fingers again, you smash your lips together in another searing kiss. When you claw down his quickly reddening skin, his cry is swallowed up by your own mouth.

You don’t stop your fingers on their downward descent, you tease the waistband of his sweats, letting your fingers curl around the top of the band and touching the taut skin underneath.

“Ah, hah.” Jisung pants into your mouth. He leans forward and sucks on your bottom lip, pulling it back for it to snap against your teeth. “I want to touch you so bad, Y/N, please .”

“Be patient,” you say against his lips. He doesn’t hear it, but he feels it. A pathetic whine responds to your words.

You kiss his lips a few more times before dropping down to your knees in front of him.

“Holy shit,” he breathes out. “Oh god, oh my god.”

You grab his legs with both of your hands starting at the knees and run them up his thighs, taking your time on your ascent.

“Fuck, fuck , this is really happening.” Jisung gulps. He pulls harder and harder on the ropes.

When your hands reach the top of his thighs, you run one closer and palm his erection over the top of his sweats. A deep, guttural moan is Jisung’s only response. Even through his sweats you can feel how his cock twitches in your grasp.

His hips buck into your hand when you squeeze him. “F-Fuck, I– Oh god– This is really happening and I can’t even fucking see it .”

You smirk. Maybe you should show him a small bit of mercy. Just a small amount.

Leaning forward, you kiss his cock over his sweatpants. Jisung gasps and twitches again.

You stand up quickly, coming nose to nose with him. Your hands come up to cup his cheeks, they’re so warm from his flushed face.

“Y-Y/N,” he gasps. You peck his lips, letting them linger on his while your hands come up to his ears to take the plugs out. “Y/N,” he repeats on your lips.

“Hi, Jisung,” you breathe against his mouth before kissing him again, letting the earplugs drop to the ground.

You don’t linger for too long, you kiss down his face, down his neck, and then you fall to your knees once more.

“Jesus, Y/N.”

You don’t tease him too much this time, you grab the waistband of his pants and tug them down, his rock hard cock finally coming out. His tip is red and angry. God, how can a dick look so pretty?

Just as quickly as you got his cock out of his pants, you wrap your hand around him, pumping your hand up and down slowly.

“Ohhhh my goood,” Jisung mewls. His thighs tense up and flex each time you stroke up and down. “Fuck yeah, Y/N. God, your hands are so fucking soft.”

You tighten your grip and Jisung whines.

“Yeah? Does that feel good, baby?”

His cock twitches in your hand at the nickname at the same time a tiny whine escapes his throat.

“Does it?”

“Y-Yes,” he answers shyly.

“Louder, Jisung.”

“Yes, it feels good!”

“Good boy.” Without warning, you lean forward and take the entirety of him inside your mouth.

You can feel his knees buckle and if it wasn’t for the restraints keeping him suspended from the ceiling, he probably would’ve fallen to the ground.

“Oh, oh m-my, f-fuck, Y/N!”

You’re relentless. You bob your head back and forth on his dick, letting your tongue swirl around the tip when you come up just to go back down and swallow him completely. Jisung’s hands are balled into such tight fists that his knuckles are turning white.

So many different pitches of whines, moans, and groans fall so easily from his lips. Compliments come out in between each one.

“So good,” he cries. “I can’t fucking– holy shit.”

In some part of your mind, you always knew he would be vocal during sex– but never this vocal. He hasn’t shut up once. Not that you’re complaining, quite the opposite really. You fucking love every single noise that he makes. Each one sends a shock down between your legs.

Too often you’ve been with partners that conceal how you’re making them feel, but not anymore. Jisung is making sure you know exactly how well you’re doing.

“Such a perfect mouth, oh god. So fucking warm.”

You let your hand travel up his hoodie again, his abs are clenching and releasing over and over again with how hard he’s panting, you can feel each one under your hands.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he pants as your hand goes up. “Fucking hurt me, yeah, please, scratch me, Y/N.”

God, the way he’s talking to you is fucking sinful. It’s perfect .

You scratch down his chest just as harshly as you did twice previously.

Again, Jisung lets out a wail, his hips bucking and fucking his cock down your throat. You gag around him but keep him down your throat regardless.

“I-I-I’m gunna, holy shit, Y/N, I’m g’na– g’na—”

Now, you can’t have that yet, can you?

Quickly, you pull off his cock, letting yourself take a gulp of air.

Jisung cries out from his ruined orgasm. “No! Shit! Fuck! Why?”

You look around the room while he throws his mini temper tantrum. There’s a small kitchen off to the side of the suite.

As if you have nothing better to do, you meander over to it, looking around.

“Y/N?” Jisung asks, hearing you walk away.

“Hm?” you respond.

“W-Where did you go?”

“Still here, baby, why?”

He shifts around, pulling on the ropes. The red color on his ears is getting deeper and deeper. “Just um– Why did you leave?”

You giggle. “Looking for something.”

You open one of the drawers, close it, then open another until you find what you’re looking for. It glints and catches your eye in the third drawer you check. You pick up the knife that was inside the drawer.

You’re walking back in his direction with the knife in your hand.

“D-Did you find what you needed?”

“Yep.”

With frightening grace, you reach up and slice the ropes holding his wrists in the air.

He almost drops to the ground, but you grab a hold of him before he has a chance to fall into the carpet.

Jisung wastes no time, he grabs at your waist with both of his hands. Through the silk fabric of your dress, you feel the heat of his touch. It scorches into your skin and you wish he would brand his very handprints there.

His lips are already on yours again, feverishly kissing you as if you would disappear if he stopped even for a moment. He takes one second to rip the blindfold off his eyes and then he’s back on your mouth.

The hands on your waist don’t stay there long. They run all along your figure, up in your hair, over your neck, grabbing your ass, gripping your hips, he’s everywhere.

You back up a bit, pulling Jisung with you until the back of your legs are about to hit the bed. Quickly, you spin the two of you around, pushing his chest so that he falls back onto the bed.

When Jisung finally blinks the confusion from his eyes, his breath catches in his throat at the sight of you at the foot of the bed.

You’re looking at him like you’re about to devour his very soul. Your hair is frizzy and tousled, the straps of your dress falling off your shoulders, your lipstick smudged over your puffy, kiss swollen lips.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he murmurs. His fingers curl into the blanket.

You straddle his legs and crawl onto the bed, hiking the skirt of your dress up enough for Jisung to see the strong muscle of your thighs.

“There’s no way I’m awake right now,” he whispers, hands grabbing at your bare legs and running them up to push your dress further up your body. “I must have been shot. I’m in Heaven right now.”

With a sultry chuckle, you cup his cheek and let your thumb swipe over his lips. “I’m real, baby.”

“Oh my god.”

You reach down and take a hold of his cock, pumping him up and down a few more times. Jisung moans and fights for his eyes to stay open, he can’t get enough of the sight of your hand wrapped around him.

With your other hand, you reach down and pull your panties to the side, revealing your dripping cunt.

“Holy fuck, you’re so wet,” Jisung whines. His fingers run up your folds, collecting your wetness on his digits and bringing them up to his mouth. He moans around his own fingers at your taste, his eyes rolling back in his skull. “Please, I need to–”

You cut him off by squeezing his cock. “Next time. I need you now .”

“Yes, ma’am,” he squeaks out.

As if he would ever complain.

You line his cock up with your entrance, Jisung grabs your hips with both of his hands, his thumbs pressing against the bone so hard. His breathing is getting faster and faster with each passing second.

Slowly, you sink down on his cock.

Both of you moan out in unison. The stretch feels fucking marvelous inside of you. Jisung’s eyes roll back in his head once more.

His moans dissolve into silence as his mouth stretches open in an ‘O’. He throbs inside you right before you lift your hips just to drop them again.

“Oh god,” you moan. “Jisung, you feel so fucking good.”

“Move, please ,” he begs and you bounce up and down again and again. Each time you drop down, it shoots pleasure down through your thighs and into your toes.

You grab his face and smash his lips with yours once more. His tongue immediately finds yours.

Jisung’s hands wander from your hips all the way around your body to grip your ass while you ride him, his fingers dig into the flesh, kneading it with each bounce.

“Fuck, fuck,” he murmurs into your mouth. “Pussy so fucking tight.”

“Just for you.”

“O-Oh, fuck yeah . Just like that, baby.”

Jisung pulls away from your lips to kiss down your neck the way you did to him earlier. He takes his hands off your ass to pull the straps of your dress down your arms for your breasts to fall out of the top.

“Shit, baby,” he whines before taking a nipple in his mouth.

Moaning, you pull his hair tighter, keeping his face buried in your chest– not that he seems to mind. His eyebrows pinch together, moans vibrating against your chest as he licks and sucks at your nipple.

His other hand comes up to pinch and pull at the other. Each tweak and flick of his tongue makes your walls clamp down on his cock.

“Your cock feels so good, Jisung,” you moan, clenching on him again. “Stretching me so good, so fucking big.”

He moans, sucking a hickey on the underside of one of your tits.

The pitch of both of your moans begin to get higher and higher the closer you get to your peaks. Jisung’s heels dig into the carpet and he starts fucking up into you.

“Fuck!” you cry out, holding him tighter. His thrusts are so much wilder than your bounces were. Each one fucks right into your g-spot. “Ji– Jisung, oh god!”

“Yeah?” He pulls away from your chest and looks up at you with half lidded eyes. “Does that feel good? Am I making you feel good?”

“Yes, yes! Keep going, Ji!”

Every single thrust is driving you wild. Everything about him makes you feel crazy, everything down to the sweat beading on his forehead.

He reaches down and presses his thumb against your clit, making you cry out. He rubs circles in the same tempo as his thrusts.

Closer and closer you approach your own climax, his touch feels too good.

Jisung looks down, watching where his cock disappears inside you over and over again. The very sight of it makes his mouth go dry.

He groans and falls into your chest.

“Say it for me, Y/N, say it,” he pants into your neck. “Say you’re close. I-I’m going to fucking bust, say you’re close, I need you to cum on my cock. Need it s-so bad.”

“I am, I am,” you repeat like a mantra. Your own pleasure is making you feel inside, his cock is abusing your walls just right, his thumb on your clit adding an extra level of insanity.

You pull more at his hair.

Close, close, close. It’s all you can think of. Jisung is enveloping all of your senses. He’s everything in your mind and body and even your soul.

“Gunna cum!” you cry out. “Cumming, cu– cumming!”

With just three more thrusts, your walls clamp down on Jisung’s cock, triggering his own release.

“Jisung, fuck!”

He bites down on your neck, crying out and grabbing you tightly with his free hand. He clings onto you like he would die if he let go.

Hot, sticky cum drips over your walls, leaking out around his cock.

Both of you are panting heavily, unable to move and detangle yourselves from one another.

Slowly, you release your death grip on his hair, letting your nails drag along his scalp like you did earlier. He hums against your neck, his hands finding your hips again, thumbs massaging you over your dress.

The gentleness of his touch makes you clench around him, your cunt still going through the aftershock of your orgasm.

“Jeeesus…” Jisung moans out, a bit overstimulated. You giggle and pull back to look down at your best friend. He looks up at you with a delighted smile across his face.

You giggle and continue to comb through his hair.

His eyes fall closed happily and he leans into your touch.

This should feel awkward. You should be having some sort of ‘post-nut clarity’ where you freak out for sleeping with your best friend, but you’re not.

Right here, right now, you feel safe and content. And your relationship with Jisung feels the same– if not better.

“I knew it,” he hums.

You cock your head to the side. “Knew what?”

“You’re obsessed with me.”

Laughing, you lean forward and press a long kiss to his lips. “Yeah.” You kiss him again. “Maybe I am.”

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

“So J was captured and tied up in another room in the convention center?” Chan asks.

You and Jisung had safely returned to Korea with The Refuge about two hours ago. And, per protocol, you both immediately went to Chan’s office for a debrief.

“Affirmative,” you answer.

“And you got him back, obviously. No problems after that?”

“No, sir.”

Jisung shifts on his chair next to you.

“Uneventful beyond that one hiccup?”

You tongue your cheek. “Yes, sir.”

Chan eyes the two of you curiously from the other side of his desk. But, the mission was complete and everything was done. There was nothing he needed to be wary of. For now.

“Understood. I’ll read about the mission more in your reports. You’re both dismissed.”

The two of you are leaving Chan’s office with thinly veiled smirks on your faces. Just as you’re about to close the door behind you, he calls out.

“Might want to cover the hickeys next time!”

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #han jisung x reader #han x reader #jisung x reader #stray kids x y/n #skz x y/n #han jisung smut #jisung smut #han smut #han jisung x you #han x you #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #stray kids kinktober

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fans4wga · 9 months

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'Why creatives are seeking residuals' - thread by Stefanie Williams

[Tweet thread by Stefanie Williams @/StefWilliams25

TRANSCRIPT:

Why creatives are seeking residuals vs. "do you pay the mattress maker every time you sleep on a mattress?" A thread. I keep hearing over and over again that writers/actors/creatives don't deserve residuals for the work they create. "If I build a bathroom in a house, I don't get paid every time someone uses the toilet."

TRUE! However, your bathroom build has a set market value. Art does not. No one knows what makes one TV show an overnight success, and another a flop. No one knows what makes one song a hit, and the other a dud. If they did, trust me when I say record companies would be churning out Taylor Swifts over and over again. Studios would be making nothing but Stranger Things.

But that isn't the case. No one could predict Stranger Things would be a massive, billion dollar hit. No one could predict Taylor Swift was going to be a world wide phenomenon who literally could record herself reading Aesop's Fables and make millions of dollars. Which is why residuals are important. The pay structure protects both the creators and the publishers/distributors.

The easiest way to explain it is by referencing an author writing a book. Sure, an author might get a very modest up front fee, but the author is banking on royalties to really make money on the book — for every book sold, the author gets a piece of the pie. This protects both the author and the publisher—because if the book is a flop, the publisher doesn't go broke on a financial promise they made to the author that didn't pan out, and if the book is a mega-hit, the author didn't give away a massive, million-dollar book for 20k.

It's a sliding scale that is required for a product that has no set market value. What makes an actor's work on a hit show more valuable than an actor's work on a show that gets canned after five episodes? The market value for art almost always comes after the fact, so residuals account for that reality. They make sure the creator get compensated at a fair market rate. A person who builds a bathroom knows, upfront, what the market rate for a bathroom is. That bathroom won't suddenly be worth 1000 times more than you built it for in six months. It doesn't have the potential to be built for 20k and generate 20 million.

Residuals are a pay structure that simply account for an unsure market value. Trust me, we all wish we could quantify art in terms of dollars. But art is unpredictable. So studios and streamers -- which literally REQUIRE content to stay viable -- have to account for that unpredictability. And for studios (or record labels, or book publishers) it's always trial and error. The only way to get a hit, is to go through a few flops.

For every Whitney Houston, there was a singer you never heard of. For every Sopranos, there was a show that got scrapped mid season. For every Titanic, there was a movie that bombed. For every Twilight, there was a book about vampires that went nowhere. Residuals are kind of a reverse market valuation. They pay a fair wage for a product than can only have a set value once it's been created and effectively consumed.

And even then, shit changes. Anyone think Kate Bush would spend weeks on the top of the charts in 2022? Residuals account for unpredictable markets. And in order to have accurate residuals, streamers and studios need to be transparent and open about their data, which is one of the MANY things the WGA and SAG are both fighting for.

#sag-aftra strike #sag strike #actors strike #union solidarity #support unions #fans4wga #described #wga strike #writers strike

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rate-a-spam-bot · 8 months

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#sagging-in #rate a spam bot

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deepmochi · 7 months

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Astrology notes: synastry edition 🪐💋

Read here ⚠️

Note: take what resonates. This may not apply to everyone if these notes don't resonate, just scroll. This post applies to romantic and platonic relationships.

🦋 Moon conjuct sun make people see what the other person has in themselves. Both understand the other but also judge them.

🪼 Venus in the 12th house has a veil under them. This in a synastry give "dating vibes" even for platonic friends/ relationships. For romantic ones, gives, they are secretly dating vibes "friends with benefits".

🦋 Mercury and Sun aspects in the same signs make them a very competitive couple lowkey. The sun has masculine energy that the mercurian finds "interesting" or useful.

🪼 North nodes- sun people aspects aren't for long term relationships. The north node person signifies someone who comes and goes; they don't stay too long. This is perfect for "people come and people go" D.O's line in love shot.

🪼 Asc-Venus aspects in synastry always like to compliment the other apperance. They appreciate those "that skirt looks good on you" comments. They got a self-esteem boost and a reminder that the person cares for them.

🪼 Men with their sun sign in your 1st house are perceived by you as hot. This could lead to a night stand or intense chemistry.

🧊 Venus opposition Venus gives very subtle vibes to each other like. There's is always one who is more oblivious to the other. If other aspects interfere, mind games are possible.

🪼 The same element in a placement produces a very similar reaction. You may feel very drawn to that person. For example, A Leo Mars woman will feel attracted to fire sun or venus (aries or sag) men. They have similar fiery traits. This applies to men for their Venus signs. A man with a Libra Venus will find airy personalities very attractive and (bonus points) with an airy rising even more.

🦋 Mars is about motivation, drive, your temper and temperature. Yes, First house goes checked your blood pressure and heart rate. Whenever you get mad, you should listen to your heart 👀, please.

🦋 Don't trust tik tok astrology notes. I just heard someone saying Mars in the 1st likes to work under pressure like for daily work Girl...I'm Mars in the 1st and NO. My heart cannot resist that.

💙 Also, first house mars synastry can be a feisty couple. In public or private 😗, the "I hate you" type, and then they kiss each other.

🦋 12th house-Venus synastry can be very pretty if they decide to go with the flow. Without judging the other, or forcing to be like others (society roles).

🦋 Their venus is in your 12th house, it indicates that they feel loved by you in ways they cannot describe. This sometimes also mean blurry lines. If they don't know your relationships status, communication is useful. Don't let your mind read signs.

🐦 Venus in the 2nd, guess? People likes to buy you things. If someone has their sign in your 2nd house, they will buy you things easily. Also, they can prefer to eat together or show physical love (hugs or hold hands) even for friends. Taurus rules the 2nd house.

🦋 Insecure men with your lilith sign in their Venus (conjuction) will not asking you out. THEY'RE SCARE OF YOU. They believe you will break their heart. If they do ask you out, they are ready to fight the world for you.

🦋 Love doesn't equals obssesion. Pluto in the 8th synastry repeat after me: Love isn't obssesion!

🐦 Men with your Venus sign in their Sun sign will be easy to read. If they will like you, you will see it. They cannot play mind games.

🐳 Dating your 12th house sign especially in the sun or moon, it's something I don't recommend at all. They will make you feel "confused", even if they don't try it.

🪼 Women with Mars in the 1st house make fragile men feel inadequate. You can see those men feeling threatened by these women.

🦋 If he has his Mars in your 1st house, he thinks you're hot . Girl, don't even doubt it.

📫 The venus sign in a man chart depicts his ideal type. However, what he needs could be found in the moon. Good aspects between Moon-Venus: a long-term commitment.

🦋 People in your 5th house feels very flirty with you. So, the tension is there, yes, but don't be too delusional. Flirting doesn't mean a serious deal, just be aware of respect if you are in a relationship.

🪼 🔞 If people have their sun or moon in your 8th house, you will see them as more attractive in a romantic/sexual way. It's highly posible to have sex, even if they're not your type.

🐳 🔞 Water in the 8th house in a person's chart indicates "emotions + pleasure". Usually women like to be dominated. Men prefer to dominate. Both prefer dynamic partners with a good aftercare.

🦋 🔞Men with water in the 8th house like to have sex in beaches, in the bathroom and when things gets emotional. Angry sex too.

🦋 Conjuntion and trines have good things, but we cannot ignore the bad things. For example, moon conjunct moon; good things, you understand each other; bad things, you may become twins (for good or bad), too comfortable in the relationship, forgetting romance and passion.

🦋 Sun signs are important to considered if they don't match your Jupiter sign. It could indicate possible obstacles in your marriage.

🪼 Friendly reminder, a perfect synastry doesn't equal a perfect relationship. Please, if the person doesn't respect you, leave them. Not matter how perfect is the synastry in paper.

Take care, lovelies 💚😘.

Credit: @deepmochi

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rrrrinmaru · 2 months

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you can talk between my legs (raf x mc, nsfw)

wc: 3200 rating: E warning: hand job, teasing, orgasm denial

“I could’ve sworn–” he mumbles, long eyelashes fluttering shut as he nuzzles into the curve of your palm. His lips are parted, two soft crescents pressing against your skin. He exhales, a rough, pained sound—you lean forward, trying to catch his gaze.

His eyes don’t seem bloodshot. His pupils are dilated, but not severely enough that you suspect he’s been drugged. Then he takes in another long, straggling breath with the tip of his nose skimming up the sensitive inner length of your wrist, and you start wondering if perhaps he is high after all.

“Could’ve sworn I’ve smelled this before,” Rafayel murmurs to himself. It’s as if you’re nothing more than a lifeless doll with what appears to be a devastatingly enticing scent. He fits the jut of your wrist bone between his lips—you flush, wondering if he can taste the desperate quickening of your heart rate or if that’s just all in your head—and he practically sags into your palm.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Rafayel pays your words no mind. He closes his eyes, a delighted little sigh leaving his mouth. “You smell delicious,” he moans, a low, throaty sound that threatens to make your knees buckle.

That is—horribly unfair, you think to yourself, cheeks flushed all the way to high heaven. How can Rafayel stand there without a care in the world, making such sounds that should be enough to constitute public indecency. Isn’t he ashamed? Does he have no propriety?

You conveniently ignore how you’re not exactly putting up much resistance against this behaviour. It’s not your fault if Rafayel wants to act like a slut in his own house. If anything, you’re the victim here, so blatantly being used as a prop.

“Miss,” he groans, rubbing your palm against his cheek, as if he’s a cat that wants to be marked by your scent. “Can I—please, I need to—”

While he speaks, you reach out your other hand to cup his face. Whether you do this as a form of support or as another form of teasing (because you know damn well the bottle spilled on both your hands), that’s between you and God.

On his end, Rafayel cuts himself off before he finishes his sentence. He whines softly, reaching up to grab your wrist with his free hand. “You smell so fucking good,” he curses, and practically buries his face in your palms.

“We have places to be,” you say. Your mouth says one thing, but your fingers are cupping Rafayel’s cheeks, thumbs stroking over the smooth skin below his eyes as he mumbles nonsense into your hands. “It’s your party.”

Rafayel mutters something. The way his lips scratch against the sensitive surface of your palms is distracting; you drag your hand along his cheek and tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

“What did you say?”

“I said—” Rafayel says in a low, rolling voice—he looks up, eyes half-lidded and eyelashes sweeping over the breadth of his cheekbones. He knows how he looks when he looks up at you like this. You know he knows, because his lips spread in that slow, satisfied smile that reeks of a cat getting the cream, and his eyes are like two crystals glittering in the low light.

For a moment, you stare a little too long. The way the light catches on his eyelashes, the way it dips between shades in his eyes—were his pupils always so dilated?

“I said, fuck the party,” Rafayel rasps. His eyes are trained intently on you like a hunter locking onto its prey; he groans, a rough, too-loud sound as he presses his lips to the base of your palm.

You definitely don’t hallucinate the sudden sensation of wetness swiping over your wrist.

“Rafayel!” You jerk back from shock, eyes widening at the slip of tongue darting out of his mouth for another taste. Before you can wrench your hands out of his grip, he’s moving far faster than you ever thought him capable—

One hand drops one of your wrists. The other pulls back, forcing you forward—you stumble, too unbalanced far too quickly, and that free hand comes to wrap around the small of your waist to yank you fully into his embrace, shoulder to hip all lined up with a delicious, dizzying pressure.

Like a fisherman reeling in a catch. Snapped up in a second. You didn’t even know there was a reel line to begin with, but now Rafayel is rocking his hips insistently against you and your legs spread, of course they do, and you find his thigh in between yours, pressing up into the growing wetness there.

“Please,” Rafayel murmurs, burying his face in your neck. It’s—you don’t have the words to describe the way your head is filling up with hot air, the way your cheeks are rapidly turning red as you try to squirm out of his grasp. He’s never—you didn’t know he was this strong.

You’re not really trying to get out of the position you’re currently in, but you’re putting up enough resistance that it would have sent a normal civilian to his feet. Rafayel is… holding his own. Holding you to him as he makes these little desperate sounds, teeth scraping against your neck as he grinds his length on your thigh.

“Please, what?” You whisper. You don’t know why you’re whispering. The two of you are the only occupants in this gigantic house of his, and it isn’t like anyone will overhear. It isn’t like anyone will see.

But your voice is as quiet as a whisper, a soft exhalation of air from your taut lungs.

Your free hand is clinging uselessly to the front of Rafayel’s dress shirt. It’s a nice shirt. You find yourself trying to focus on the way the material feels, the way it slips between your fingers as you scrabble for some kind of hold that won’t crumple the shirt up beyond belief; better to think about how the silk feels against your skin rather than the growing hardness rubbing insistently against you—

He’s so desperate, you can’t help but think to yourself. Rafayel huffs, fingers tightening around your waist to bring you back down to earth.

“Stop drifting away,” he whines. His back is a long, curved line, like a drawn bow. “Help me.”

You—it’s not like you don’t know what he’s asking for, but you think you might pass out from embarrassment before you actually get your hands on him. It’s not everyday you get a criminally attractive man begging for your hands on him. In fact, today is day one. It’s never happened before.

You know what to do, but only in theory. In practice, it’s so disarming to have Rafayel hunched over you, sucking bruises into your neck that you know you’ll have to cover up before heading into work tomorrow.

As if sensing your hesitation, Rafayel jerks his hips against your thigh—once, twice, sliding along the groove of your leg with such intent that it makes your core clench.

“Be patient,” you say instinctively, all too familiar with a demanding Rafayel.

“Can’t,” he replies. His soft fringe brushes against your neck as he dips his head lower, his tongue lapping against your clavicle. The wet muscle drags across your collarbones, a feather-light, teasing touch that makes you shiver.

The whole world narrows down to this one point, you think dazedly. Rafayel’s hands on you: one hand occupied with squeezing your waist—as if insistently reminding himself that you can’t run away—the other has fingers entangled with yours, and you swear you can feel his fluttering heartbeat through his skin.

His lips on your neck, wandering lower with every pass of his tongue. All of a sudden, you recall what you’re wearing. A little slip of a dress, a long pool of cerulean silk, and the most daring plunge cut you’ve ever tried.

Rafayel didn’t buy this dress for you. But when the two of you had gone out the other day—for very above ground purposes, such as escorting him to a new gallery showcase—you had passed by a boutique and you had seen his eyes linger on this dress on the mannequin.

It had only been for a moment, but he had his eyes on the dress and you had your eyes on him.

And when you showed up today, fingers drenched with that weird perfume, you saw the way Rafayel’s lips parted with shock, eyes running over your figure with such greed that it made you want to press your thighs together to stave off the heat that suddenly flared up.

Then he tilted his head to the side, scented the air, and here you are.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” Rafayel mumbles in a daze to himself. He doesn’t look up at you for a response—it’s as if that statement was just a noncommittal comment and not something meant for you to hear—and continues to trace a thin line down your chest with his tongue.

Your hand unconsciously follows the path he takes. As he inches lower to that sliver of space between your tits, your fingers trace a similar route down the front of his chest, pressing through the fabric to feel the hard planes of his muscles.

When your fingers catch on his belt, you hear the way his breath audibly hitches.

“Ask nicely,” you murmur. You feel like your entire body’s been soaking for too long in an onsen. Your head is boiling up and you feel—you feel possessed.

Instead of asking nicely, Rafayel laughs against your skin and reaches for the belt himself. Before he touches the leather, you close your fingers around his wrist in a tight grip.

“Not very nice to be restrained, is it?” You ask teasingly. “Ask nicely for what you want, Raf.”

“I’ve been nothing but nice this whole time,” Rafayel groans, but obediently lets you lead his palm back to cupping your waist. “I’ve been saying please. I’ve been nice.”

“One more time,” you coax, squeezing his palm.

Rafayel grumbles, eyes flicking up to peer at you. But despite the petulance hanging from his lips, his eyes are dark with fervor.

“Please,” he murmurs, the word breathed out against your skin, the space where the dress slips a little too far down and reveals too much of your cleavage. “I’ve been so good.”

A lot of things happen in quick succession. He lets his tongue dart out, dipping down between your tits and licking a long line up your chest. Your fingers catch on his buckle and flick it open. He leans in closer, clearly intent on leaving a bruise the shape of his mouth right above your heart, marking you for the next few days.

You grab the belt by the silver buckle and yank.

Rafayel’s breath snaps in two. He glances up, lips parted in surprise as the belt falls to the ground with a clatter. “Miss—”

“What?” You ask breathlessly, fingers already fiddling with the button of his slacks. “You asked nicely.”

“I—” Suddenly, it’s as if the roles are reversed. You’re the hunter in the dark, your shadow stretching out so far it’s like a gaping maw that swallows everything in the evening light. Rafayel is the prey floundering for driftwood in the wide open sea.

Right before you undo his zipper, you pause. The tips of your fingers linger against the hardness straining through the fabric. You can feel it—there’s a heft to it you can’t ignore. It’s a dizzying thing, feeling the physical weight of someone’s arousal for you.

It feels scalding through his slacks. You swallow, wondering if you’re parched or your mouth just craves something to suck on.

Rafayel slants his hips into your fingers. He grinds along the flat of your palm—a long, insistent movement—and his voice comes out as a groan when he speaks.

“Please,” he begs. His fingers spasm around your waist and your hand, as if he doesn’t know what to do with himself. All he knows how to do is to rock along your hand, feeling the bite of the metal through the fabric of his briefs—he must crave it, you think, and it’s that thought that stays in the forefront of your mind as you finally drag the zipper down.

“You’ve stained the front,” you say dazedly, touching the tip of your index finger to the wet spot.

Immediately, Rafayel’s hips snap forward, chasing your touch. He makes this sound—as if he’s been wounded—and you feel—

“Don’t just touch it,” he pants, forehead pressed against your chest. He’s still bent over, as if your touch was enough to reduce him to shaky knees and he needs your body to hold himself upright.

You think he’s really in no position to be giving you orders, but you want to see the way his eyelashes flutter and his eyes roll back into his head, so you skate your fingers along the throbbing length of it.

“Harder,” Rafayel gasps, hips rolling into your grip. “Hard—ngh, hold it tighter—”

You can’t help it. Your fingers curl around the length cutting a visible outline in his briefs, but your thumb finds its way back to that wet spot. It’s damp with precum and the muscle there feels softer. You gently dig your thumbnail into that spot, and Rafayel stutters on his next sentence.

“Fu—ck,” he groans out, his breaths coming out in hot pants against your tits. He’s so out of it, eyes closed with bliss written all over his face as he ruts into your hand.

But even though he’s not sucking marks into your skin, even though he’s not feeling you up or dipping fingers into your drenched underwear—

This is really doing it for you, you realize. You’re rocking slowly along Rafayel’s thigh, instinctively chasing the friction against your stiff clit as you rub the pad of your thumb against the head of his dripping cock through his briefs.

“Fuck,” Rafayel exhales lowly. “That’s—mm, fuck, that’s good—harder, Miss, harder—”

“Can you cum like this?” You ask, pupils blown as you watch the way your sentence sends him into a full body shudder. You can feel the stickiness through his briefs, the jump of his cock when you tighten your grip—

Rafayel makes a broken sound. “You can’t just ask that!”

The laugh escapes your mouth before you can reel it back in. “You can, can’t you?”

Fuck, you think to yourself, lips curving up. He’s so cute. He’s so weak like this, whining as he ruts his hips into your palm, chasing the pleasure your fingers can give him.

He doesn’t deign that with a reply. Instead, he digs his fingers into your waist, hard enough to sting, hard enough to leave bruises that you know you’ll stare at in the mirror for the next few days. He drags you closer, higher on his thigh, and your breath catches when this small movement presses your clit even tighter against his leg.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice,” Rafayel murmurs. “You’re soaked.”

“You’re one to talk,” you reply, rubbing your thumb against the underside of his cockhead and relishing in the hitched groan you draw from his mouth. “Harder?”

“Mm…” Rafayel nods, exhaling roughly into your chest when you slow your pace, dragging your fingers against his cock. “Feels—‘m close, feels—nngh, fuck, fuck—”

“Go on.” You hold him a little tighter, feeling the muscle twitch in your grip. His fingers spasm against your waist, tightening and loosening in random bursts as if he’s just kneading at your hips, trying to find purchase while he shivers through the heat slipping through him. “You gonna cum for me?”

“Don’t s—ay it like that,” Rafayel protests, voice cracking in the middle.

You squeeze your thighs around Rafayel’s leg, riding out the heat that flares up in your core whenever he says something in that whiny, pathetic voice of his. The fire in your abdomen grows, like embers catching at drywood and spreading throughout your body.

“I want to see it,” you say, swiping your thumb over the dampest part of his briefs, pressing down into the drooling slit at the head of his cock. “I want to see you cum.”

Your words must be the catalyst. He shudders, shoulders trembling as his hips jerk forward once, twice—he bites down, right above your heart, and you let out a quiet gasp at the sting.

Beneath your palm, beneath your fingers, you can feel the fabric grow even wetter than it already is. His cock twitches in your grip, pulsing frantically as Rafayel pants weakly, hips rolling of their own accord to drag out his pleasure.

“Miss—!” he groans in between kisses to your chest, tongue laving over the bruise he’s sucked into your skin. “Fuck, so fucking good, nngh…”

He goes back to being non-verbal as you stroke him off, fingers pulling at his cock to coax out every last drop of cum. It’s stickier than you expected, but it makes the slide smoother and Rafayel lets out this breathless, choked noise with every downward stroke.

And then, because you’re feeling a little brave after you just jerked him off through his briefs, you skate your fingers up and pull at the rim, trying to reach below the fabric.

A hand snaps to your wrist before you can get your fingers under.

“If you touch me again, we are definitely not turning up for the party,” Rafayel mutters.

You hum, twisting your wrist in a playful attempt to escape his grip. You try to stretch your fingers out, the nail of your middle finger scraping against something hot, and Rafayel’s hold on you tightens so abruptly that you almost burst into laughter. “I thought you didn’t care about the party?”

He gives you a considering look, then rolls his shoulders in a careless shrug. “True. I have more important things on my plate.”

Rafayel pauses. He straightens, leveraging the height he has over you as he looms, and then pointedly drops his gaze to where you’re practically seated on his flexed thigh, skirt tossed to the side as you unconsciously rock your hips along the muscle there.

You flush crimson. Before you can try to slide off and adjust yourself to a more presentable appearance, Rafayel ducks down.

He’s close. So close that you can still see the flecks of pink in his dilated eyes, the redness in his cheeks from his climax. So close that when he speaks, you can feel his breath against your lips.

“I owe you an orgasm,” he murmurs. “Hands, mouth, or something else?”

You can’t help the way you clench your thighs. What other reaction are you supposed to have?

“… All?” You say tentatively, and Rafayel’s eyes light up.

“That’s the right answer,” he proclaims excitedly. “We’ll start with my mouth. I’ve been dying to get between your legs.”

Before you can reply to that shocking sentence, he sweeps you up and over his shoulder like you weigh nothing at all.

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