#'yes sir that's the only kind we sell.'

[sugarphoenixlovesfanfic]

△ . smiles . △

synopsis: You're a dashing citizen of the Xianzhou, and a frequent customer at Jiaoqiu's noodle stall. Although you're used to spice, you aren't prepared for how heated things get when a certain blue-haired con man enters the scene. Alternatively: Jiaoqiu and Sampo fight over you. tags: fem!reader, jiaoqiu/reader, sampo/reader, jing yuan/reader but he comes at the very end, no smut, 2k words a/n: teehee, they have such similar smiles. dangerous men with disarming smiles. comments and reblogs are appreciated!

ao3 link here!

You watch as the pink-haired Foxian in front of you stirs his ramen pot, his movements graceful and practiced. Jiaoqiu ladles the broth into a deep bowl, then collects some cold rice noodles from another bowl to the side. He stirs the noodles into the bowl gently, letting the broth heat up and cook the noodles, then slides the bowl of noodles across the counter to you.

 "Just as you usually enjoy it, m'lady." He bows, smiling charmingly at you as he does.

"Thank you, Jiao," you say, pulling the bowl towards yourself. The steam of the broth wafts up to you, hot and heavy, giving you a taste of what’s to come. Just as you raise a clump of noodles to your lips with your chopsticks, someone slides into the seat besides yours. Someone dangerously familiar.

"Well, well, well. Look who we have here!"

"If it isn't Sampo Koski," you say, lowering your chopsticks.

 "The one and only! You know it, baby." Sampo grins. "And don't you look absolutely ravishing today, miss." He picks your hand up and kisses the back of it, earning himself a giggle from you. "How has this beautiful lady been?"

You shrug, giving him the usual answer. Fine, good, nothing much has happened in your life. And Sampo isn't the type you'd share juicy gossip with anyway. He’s prone to selling that kind of information off if it suits him.

"I didn't expect to see you here in the Xianzhou," you say.

"My business takes me places. You know how it is." He winks.

Just as you’re about to mention how thick he’s laying it on, a loud crack startles you both. Jiaoqiu has slapped his hand fan on the counter.

 "And will you be ordering, sir?"

 "Oh, yes, of course. You wouldn't catch old Sampo Koski loitering around, bringing bad business."

The two men grin at each other, charming smiles all around, although you can feel a charge in the air. Their smiles are a little colder than you've seen them before.

 "I'll have what she's having," Sampo says, pointing to you.

 "Oh, be careful Sampo," you say, "his noodles are really spicy."

"Oh don't you worry your pretty little head," Sampo chuckles. "I'm a man, I can handle a little spice."

"And besides," he continues, leaning in and whispering, "this guy doesn't scare me one bit. He might be all bark but I doubt he's got a lot of bite, even in his food."

The two of you chuckle, but you watch Jiaoqiu's ears flick in annoyance. Sampo’s digging himself a deep hole.

In fact, one could call it a grave.

"Here you go, sir," Jiaoqiu says, passing a bowl of noodles to Sampo. "Please enjoy as much as you can."

 "We'll take a bite together then," Sampo says to you, as the two of you raise your noodles from your bowls. "Three, two, one."

You slurp up your noodles, and let out a small moan. Heavenly. You expected nothing less from Jiaoqiu, of course, but the taste of his noodles never got boring. It’s rich, sweet, and deep, with a tingle of spice, as you always prefer. Jiaoqiu only kept his noodle stall open for a few hours a day but you made sure to mark the times and get yourself a helping whenever you felt like it. You smile up at him.

"Amazing as always, Jiao."

"You flatter me too much," Jiaoqiu says, fanning himself.

You hear sudden coughing at your side, and you turn to find Sampo hacking away, his face red.

"Sampo! Are you okay?" you ask.

 "I-I'm fine, miss," he wheezes. "It's just a little...spicy is all."

"Oh—" you turn to look at Jiaoqiu, who’s hiding the lower half of his face behind his handfan, watching Sampo flounder with slitted pupils. You look back at Sampo, making no remark.

"This—" Sampo coughs again, "—this is a lot of spice."

"Only as much as hers," Jiaoqiu says, gesturing to your own bowl. "You asked for what she had and I gave it to you."

You slurp up your own noodles, and Sampo watches as you swallow with no reaction.

"If you're as much of a man as you claim to be, I think you should be able to handle what she's eating with no problem," Jiaoqiu continues.

 "I can, yeah. This is nothing." Sampo grins at you, although you can see his eyebrows furrowing together. You only nod at him, then glance at Jiaoqiu as if to say how could you? Jiaoqiu only winks at you as Sampo musters up the courage to take another bite.

The rest of lunch you enjoy in silence, as Sampo is too busy wrestling with the spice he was given to make any further conversation, and Jiaoqiu isn't one for small talk. To Sampo's credit, he manages to finish the bowl, and by the end of it he looks as though he’s been through war. The two of you leave the stall together as Jiaoqiu closes up, and you notice Sampo giving the Foxian a dirty look.

△ △ △

It was only a few days later you found yourself in Aurum Alley, perusing the wares. A flash of soft pink catches your eye, and you turn to find Jiaoqiu wandering towards you, fan in hand.

"Fancy seeing you here," he purrs.

"Jiaoqiu? I thought you'd be managing your stall," you say. It isn’t yet the time for him to close.

"I would be, yes." Jiaoqiu flaps his handfan rapidly in front of his face, a sign of irritation.

 "Apparently my supplier for the peppers I use in my cooking ran into a bit of an issue. They made a… ‘bad trade.’ All of their peppers are inedible. Therefore, I have nothing to make my noodles with."

"I see," you muse. The situation he described rings a bell, yet you can’t place your finger on it. "That's unfortunate."

"They'll have a new shipment by the next week. I trust they won't make the same mistake again." Jiaoqiu stares off into the distance, anger bubbling under his lidded gaze. But the show of annoyance is shrugged off almost as fast as it came, and he turns to you with his trademark smile.

"Anyway, I won't bother you with unpleasant details." He offers his elbow to you. "Shall we take a stroll?"

You hook your arm in it, smiling at him.

 "Where are you going?" A voice comes from behind you, and both of you turn to find Sampo standing as though he'd been there the whole time, hands behind his back. 

"Sampo!" you exclaim. Out of the corner of your eye you notice Jiaoqiu flatten his ears.

"Sorry if I scared you," Sampo smiles apologetically. "I was just too excited to see you."

"And look!" He brandishes a bouquet of flowers from behind his back, handing them to you. "I got these for you~"

"Oh, you shouldn't have," you say, taking them. Behind you, Jiaoqiu's tail thrashes from side to side.

"Oh, but who could resist giving such a lovely lady as yourself equally lovely flowers?" Sampo bows, then straightens.

"I see your companion has yet to give you anything.” Sampo turns towards Jiaoqiu. "Not very thoughtful of you, I must say.”

"I was about to take her on a stroll when you so rudely interrupted us." Jiaoqiu glares—glares—at Sampo.

"Really? That reminds me, aren't you supposed to be managing your stall right about now? Run into any... mishaps?" Sampo leans in, a challenging look in his eyes that is at odds with his placid expression.

"It's none of your business." The way Jiaoqiu waves his fan makes you worried he might break his wrist.

Sampo puts his arms up in mock surrender, then turns to you.

“Well, since I got you the flowers, you wanna go out on a walk with me?”

“I asked her first! And she accepted,” Jiaoqiu protests.

“But clearly I have more merit behind my offer,” Sampo argues.

“How about the two of you go out on a walk with me,” you say, getting in between them.

The two men look slightly miserable as they walk you down Aurum Alley. Of course, they don’t want to both be walking you but they can’t say no to your face, so here you all are. Being sandwiched between two attractive men, however, you can’t complain.

“Oh!” you gasp, breaking away from them to look at a food stall. “I’m really craving some skewers right now.”

“Consider them bought,” Jiaoqiu smiles. As he moves forward, Sampo stands in his way.

“I’ll buy you two,” Sampo offers you.

“I’ll buy you as much as you want, m’lady,” Jiaoqiu says, but it feels like he isn’t talking to you directly. The two of them are locked in a death stare with each other.

“Err… you can buy them for me Jiaoqiu,” you say. “I’ll make good on your offer later, Sampo.”

Jiaoqiu smirks at Sampo as he moves past him, but thankfully Sampo seems placated enough by your words to let him pass. You keep a laugh to yourself. Out of all the things, you didn’t think you’d ever have to stop Sampo from spending money on you.

Jiaoqiu comes back with the skewers, and you eat them quietly, savoring their sweet taste. The three of you keep walking down Aurum Alley, with you trying to keep the peace between the two men at your sides. They’re proving to be a lot more trouble than you had bargained for.

As the three of you come to the end of Aurum Alley, Jiaoqiu produces a small box from his pocket.

“You know, I don’t want us to continue on bad terms, Mr. Sampo. Accept this as a peace offering from me.”

Sampo raises an eyebrow at him, scrutinizing the box in his hands. Carefully, he decides to open it.

“You don’t trust me? I’m heartbroken,” Jiaoqiu puts a hand over his heart in mock shock.

“I’m sure you can forgive me for my suspicion,” Sampo says, pulling a small bottle out of the box.

“It’s only perfume. A gentleman of your caliber must be interested in such things.”

“Of course,” Sampo says, pocketing the bottle. “I appreciate your act of goodwill. Consider our slate cleaned.”

They smile at each other, and you’re certain that they’re now amicable.

△ △ △

The next day, however, you hear a knock on your door. You open it to find Sampo. You aren’t sure how he knows where you live, but your immediate concern is less on what he knows and more on how his eyes are red and tearing, and the expression on his face of deep anger.

“Where is that fox?” he asks.

You shake your head, letting him through. He splashes water on his face, and on his neck.

“What happened to you?” you ask.

“It’s that damn ‘perfume’ he gave me. Or rather, pepper spray.” He splashes water on his face again. “Peace offering, my ass.”

You move your hand up to your face in shock. After a lot of washing and rubbing, he removes enough of the spray, and stands up. You hand him a towel to dry off with.

“Now, darling, if you’d be so kind to tell me where he lives.”

“I honestly have no clue,” you say, and you’re speaking the truth. You only ever see Jiaoqiu either at his stall, or throughout the Xianzhou. With him being unable to sell ramen for the next few days, you don’t know of a place where you’d be able to find him reliably.

“That’s okay, I’ll find him myself. You wouldn’t want to watch us anyway. It’s going to get real nasty.”

Sampo smiles at you, and then walks out of the house, the door clicking shut behind him. You groan, putting a palm on your forehead.

△ △ △

For the next few days, neither man interacts with you. Whenever one gets close enough, the other would immediately sabotage him, leaving you to witness a fight out of the corner of your eye. For two non-confrontational men, it surprises you. You didn’t expect them to behave this way.

Regardless, you go on about your day, ignoring them. You aren’t one for ungentlemanly behavior.

One day, you receive a knock at your door. You open it to find both Sampo and Jiaoqiu standing behind it.

“Miss, we need you to decide,” Sampo says.

“Which one of us would you go out with?” Jiaoqiu finishes.

You look between them.

“Well, you see—” you start.

“The young lady is already spoken for tonight,” a deep voice rumbles behind them.

Sampo and Jiaoqiu turn around to find Jing Yuan. Immediately they straighten.

“Oh, I see.” Jiaoqiu says, fixing a peaceful smile on his face and bowing. “My apologies, general.” Sampo, not to be outdone, bows as well.

When the two stand back up, the general nods to each of them, smiling politely.

You observe all three men with deceptively gentle smiles on their faces, and realize that you have a very strong type. With a sigh, you step out the door and take the general’s hand, and the two of you walk into the night.

dividers by @cafekitsune !

images by daily sampo, daily jiaoqiu, and daily jing yuan

comments are appreciated! <3

[shirefantasies]

Hi!

Once you feel up to it, could you please write a oneshot of Fílí meeting a hobbit girl on his way to the Bag End and falling helplessly in love with her?

I have always imagined that Fílí and Kílí had arrived to Hobbiton a whole day early and spent it walking around - that, given how lost their uncle always was, Dís had sent them on the road earlier than necessary to ensure that they arrived in time.

So when they arrive to Hobbiton, the brothers are left to explore the market - and that’s when the coup de foudre happens - Fílí sees a hobbit (with strawberry blonde hair, please, if you don’t want to do reader-insert) selling all kinds of flour and has very short conversation with her. To his utter disappointment and annoyance, Kílí is responsible enough to talk him out of buying the huge bag of flour.

And, to be honest, that’s the reason behind Kílí’s grin and Fílí’s smirk we see when Bilbo opens the door.

Thank you soo much!

Please, take your time and care!

🪻🌸🪻🌸🪻

‘Cuz’ of Death- Fili x F!Hobbit!Reader

This is so long in the making 😅 but yay, brain finally brained! Enjoy some Fili fluff 🥰

Warnings: one suggestive comment

Hobbiton’s rolling hills are green as ever as you struggle to pull the wheelbarrow along the path to the market. Your wares are your charge, of course, but that does not stop you in the slightest from wishing you had someone to share in your burdens. And your victories. Not that some great many victories are won in the illustrious world of flour salesmanship, but the thought still stood.

Thoughts. Such are yours for the remaining duration of the trip, flitting about your mind in fancy until you enter the bustle of tents being raised and tables being lain with all manner of honeys, meats, fishers' catches, freshly baked bread, and so many more colorful and tantalizing offerings of your great land. A smile fills your face at the sight. For some, they are overwhelming. For you? Your livelihood. Livelihood and the secret charm of possibility that you might meet someone you do not know, someone from some far reaches of the Shire. Or beyond.

Snorting at that particular notion, you heft bags of flour onto the table your neighbor was kind enough to set up for you, sorting them once all of them are up there for a moment of muscle rest. You hang your sign, a wooden piece carved for you by your father, and take up your helm of sale.

~

Sunlight has fallen such that it casts into your eyes; cursing your short form, you shade yourself with an arm as two shapes enter your line of vision. Tall shapes. Men? Dwarves? Dwarves, judging by their garb, which appears to be that of mountain folk. Heavy tunics, fur linings, heavy boots and beaded braids. They also are not so towering as the men you’d met on a trip to Bree once.

The blonde one's eyes slide between your wares and you, alternating until you break into a smile.

"Could I interest you in any of these fine flours, sirs?"

"Sirs," the black-haired one snickers, though completely without malice, only humor.

"What's this one?" Pushing his neighbor aside, Blonde points at a medium-sized sack.

“Buckwheat flour,” you answer with a smile, “Good way to make your cookies tender if you don’t use too much. That is, if you make cookies much. I’m not sure what you like.”

“I have been wanting to get into baking.”

“What are you doing?” Black Hair hisses, a whisper just loud enough for you to hear. “We’ve got the party!”

“Yes,” Blonde agrees jovially, glancing back to you, “It is prudent to bring a gift, isn’t it? What about a nice bag of-”

“We’ve got a while yet! I’m not carrying that around for an hour! Are you?”

“Well-”

“Come on, Brother.”

“Brother?” You burst out before you could stop yourself. The pair doesn't look so much alike- perhaps they each look like one parent.

“Oh, my apologies, madam,” Blonde whips around and gives a bow, spinning his hand as he folds, “Fili, at your service, alongside my little brother here.”

Giving your name, you accept Fili’s proffered hand and giggle as he presses a kiss to the back of yours.

"Kili," the little brother pushes in, offering his hand, too, "And we were just leaving."

"What about the buckwheat?" Fili turns from Kili back to you, leaning on your table. "I'm quite interested in the...tender cookies? What on earth does that mean? Does that make them firmer or less firm? Or more...chewy?"

"You don't bake." Kili again, this time with less urgency and a great deal more amusement.

Fili must have made some disastrous attempts, you think, unable to stop the amusement that begins creeping across your lips. You picture him hunched with a look of dramatized defeat over a pan of crumbled, blackened cookies with smoke spiraling off them.

"I could learn," the elder retorts in a surprisingly determined tone.

Something about it moves your heart, loosens it further, speeds it even. These dwarves are nothing like you expected- not in appearance, manner, or of course location there at your table traveling some humble Shire market.

"I could teach you," you tell him, running a hand through your hair.

"I'd like that," he replies, "We aren't here much longer, but this place is very beautiful. I think we'll be back."

Kili looks between you two, jiggling his eyebrows up and down as Fili suddenly kneels to the ground, rising again with a little pink flower pinched gingerly between his thumb and index finger.

"At least I will be for those baking lessons. Speaking of which..." He chuckles to himself. "A flower for a flour?"

After you accept the flower, Fili reaches for your sack of buckwheat flower yet again, only for Kili to knock his hand away, initiating a comical skirmish of slaps that finally cements in your eyes that these two are undoubtedly brothers. Your gaze bounces between each volley as you twirl your baby bloom, heart leaping at the feeling of it, at the imprint of Fili's mischievous smile and gleaming blue eyes upon the back of your brain.

"Ignore him," Kili finally says, breaking you from your flower-induced, pollen-dusted golden reverie, "He's looking for an entirely different set of goodies."

The confusion you feel at that last comment as you watch the younger dwarf physically drag his brother away from your flour assortment lasts all the way through the rest of the market, all your actual purchases, and even up to your trip to your cousin's house to deliver a loaf of bread your mother had made him.

The hearth is warm and the kitchen scented of the herbs he's preparing for supper and calming tea. He welcomes your steaming parcel of sourdough with open arms and puts a second fish and helping of vegetables on to roast while you chat about your day. Your unusual day.

A tale of your dwarf-filled day...interrupted by a dwarf. This one exactly what you've always pictured, even taller than the brothers and more imposing, complete with a long beard, tattoos, and an intimidating stare. He is quite blunt about the fact that he isn't familiar with you or Bilbo, but gracious as your cousin is he shoots you a look of sympathy and quickly slides you his other helping. His look quickly melts into frustration the more the dwarf goes on and takes from him and rearranges, sharing with you an exasperated glare that has you giggling.

"Dwarves," he shakes his head before opening the door to another, older one, "What is it with today and dwarves?"

"I don't know," you reply quietly, reaching up to gently caress Fili's flower, which you have tucked behind your ear.

The second dwarf, Balin, is surprised to see you there, but then, so are you to see him. He chuckles at that and asks you for direction, which you shyly give; when he asks about chairs, you lead him around the corner into Bag End's larger dining room, where the long table rests under a chandelier's cozy yellow light. Bilbo follows soon behind, peering skeptically at your little congregation with furrowed brows and muttered questions. The sound of the bell ringing yet again, however, distracts you from the hearty laughter of this new set of dwarf brothers. Tapping across Bag End's hardwood floor, you cross your cousin's home once more, slowly opening the great round door. Voices sound behind it, voices that increase in volume as Bag End opens wider to welcome them.

"I can't stop thinking about her. I tell you, Kee, she's going to be the death of me-"

"Ah!"

Perking up with a wide smile that quickly melts into more of a smirk and gets directed at his brother, there stands Kili before you.

“Well now, brother, look who it is!” Kili exclaims your name, still looking right at his elder sibling as he sticks a hand out your way. “Can you believe our good fortune?”

“No,” Fili answers with a smile, blue eyes never falling upon his brother from their gaze into yours, “I cannot.”

His eyes trace over from yours, catch sight of his flower still tucked up by your tresses, and he stumbles into your cousin’s home with parted, wordless lips. He stands so close to you you’d collide with a single step from either of you, finally darting his eyes away and surveying the warm light of Bag End.

“So this is the fabled hobbits’ home?”

“It is,” you agree.

“I love it,” he breathes, a glow of awe coloring his expression, “It suits you just like that flower. It’s cozy. Sweet. I can definitely foresee myself upon many a return visit here.”

“So are you Mister Boggins’s wife?” Kili interrupts, tone bordering on urgent.

“No,” you shake your head, “He’s my cousin. I’ve come to deliver him a loaf of bread, but what of travelers like yourselves? Why have you come to a party Bilbo was not even aware of hosting?”

Inching a wee bit closer, just a tad, Fili extends his hand just like before. Just like before you take it. Instead of pressing a kiss to it, though, this time he holds it fast, his grip strong and warm and sure. The hearth’s warmth feels much closer despite you standing at a door open to the night on the end farthest from it you could be.

“Could I interest you,” Fili asks, leaning so close as to almost whisper in your ear, “In an adventure?”

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[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#381

“Wakey wakey.  Time to wake up….  Don’t try to move around too much.  As you are realizing, you are in a predicament.  You are lying in my basement, buck naked, tied up, gagged, collared, with a fuck pillow under your pelvis.  You ain’t going anywhere, anytime soon….

“We’ve never met, but we know each other.  We both do the same thing for work, but we are nothing alike.  This is what’s happening.  I am part of a nameless organization that takes faggots, trains them to be slaves, and sells them to buyers from around the world.  From what I’ve been told over the years, the faggots delivered to me want to drop off the grid and sold into slavery.  They turn themselves in to a collector, who then has them delivered to me.  I don’t know if that’s true as I don’t let any of the faggots talk other than to say, ‘Yes Sir!’ 

“Now for you, I was told your backstory.  It seems that you are a collector for a different kind of group.  I train fags who offer themselves up for the taking.  You seem to prefer the non-consensual abductions of twelve- to fifteen-year-old girls.  I don’t care that you prefer pussy over dicks, but I do draw the line with their age.

“As I said, I was told what you are.  That never happens.  Ever.  But it appears that you approached the ten-year-old niece of one of higher ups in the organization, and he recognized what and who you were.  That stupid move brought you here. 

“I have no idea who the higher up is nor do I care.  Hell, we don’t know any of the men that are in the other parts of my organization, let alone hear from them.  So I found it surprising to get a call from a higher up—who I haven’t heard from in a few years—that I am to train you personally.  You better fucking believe that I’m going to train the fuck out of you.

“I have been training faggots for nearly forty years.  This is my farm you are on.  Twelve hundred acres.  Twelve hundred acres with some of the most advanced surveillance and anti-escape deterrents.  I know of every person who steps foot on my property, and I know if a slave is ten feet away from where it is supposed to be.  The ankle cuffs, wrist cuffs, and collar have tracking devices in them.  The collar can deliver a shock to keep you in line at a moment’s notice.  And the ankle cuffs are set up that if you go beyond a certain perimeter, a numbing agent is injected causing your legs to go numb and become useless.  Escape is not possible.  In my twenty years at this location, I have only had one slave make it off property, but it was collected within three minutes of doing so.  That slave was brought back and tortured in front of all the other slaves as a deterrent.  And that was before all the tracking technology was put in.  So keep that in mind if you decide to do something stupid.

“Now,… for the past five minutes, I have been telling you the predicament you find yourself in.  I have been watching your reaction.  Being gagged, you can’t say anything, but your body language says it all.  You seem too calm and not surprised at the description of my organization.  No reaction really.  That tells me that you are familiar with an operation like this.  When I tell you that you were collected for stalking that niece, you don’t look shocked by that accusation.  That pretty much confirms what I was told,… not that it matters otherwise. 

“No, the only reaction I saw was when I tell you that I am going to do your training.  You looked panicked.  Your eyes went right to my bulge.  Oh yeah.  I noticed.  You are straight indeed.  I should say, ‘were straight.’  From this moment on, you will never go back to that life.  The only cunt in your future is the one I’m about to make out of this hole between your legs.

“You have a great ass, so flawlessly smooth.  On any other slave, this ass would be a huge selling feature.  But for you, it’s a source of pain.  I need to put out my cigarette somewhere.  Your asscheek is the best place to do it….  Scream motherfucker scream.  Your perfect ass is going to go through some changes, from being daily whipped to being used as an ashtray.  You are going to be scarred up for sure.

“For the next part, I need to take off my boots and get out of these overalls.  You are going to get acquainted with Otto.  That’s what some of the fag slaves and some of the trainers call my dick.  Otto, it means ‘eight’ in Italian.  I’m actually closer to nine inches, but nine in Italian is ‘Nove’ which doesn’t sound right.  It doesn’t roll over the tongue as nicely as Otto.  Hehe.

“Look up at me.  Look shithead!  Here’s Otto.  Look at the cock that is going to own your life.  Half hard, it’s bigger than yours.  Keep staring at my foreskin.  Otto needs to piss.  You will be trained on drinking piss.  That’s all the liquid you will be given.  And if you are wondering if that means that you will be trained on becoming a full toilet, let me say we stopped training our slaves on that a while back.  It was too time consuming, and the buyers weren’t interested in that feature.  But for you, the higher ups want you trained.  But that will have to wait.

“Are you…  you are…!  You’re crying!  About time!  Hold still.  Let me wash away those tears for you.  Piss is the best antidote to tears.  There’s no feeling in the world like starting to tear down a once proud man by simply pissing on his face.  It’s getting me hard.  Otto likes what he’s doing to you.  But he wants action.

“Normally, you would be sucking the last few drops out of my foreskin.  But I ain’t ungagging you yet.  Besides, Otto needs to turn a virgin ass into a gaping cunt. 

“Your hole is perfectly displayed, like it’s ready to be destroyed thanks to that fuck pillow and how wide your legs were spread and secured.  Oh look.  Your cock and balls are just hanging there,… exposed,…

“…Damn! Even with my bare feet, I can deliver one hell of a ball kick.  Ha! Ha!  Your screams mean everything to me.  You know, each and every one of my personal slaves are kicked in the balls every morning.  They need to be reminded of their place on a daily basis. 

“Now, you will be spared that daily torture.  And that’s not because I would never have you as my personal slave, and don’t worry I wouldn’t own such trash.  No, I’m going to castrate you, in one of the most painful ways.  I haven’t decided how yet.  I do know that I will leave your empty sack intact.  We have a urologist that will make changes to your dick so that you lose all ability to get hard and with a few snips to the nerves in the area, all physical sensation will be gone.  Essentially your dick will constantly just hang there and be utterly useless… other than to piss out of.  Every time you reach down there, you will only feel the shell of what you used to be.

“Awww you’ve done full on sob.  Here let me collect some of your tears.  Tears of cunts are the best lube. 

“Do you feel Otto at your hole?  Feel his weight in your crack?  He’s ready to go.  Can you feel his leak.  Lucky for you, you really got me leaking.  Feel that wetness?  That’s all you.  Virgin cunt meets wine bottle thick dick.

“Don’t fucking start resisting.  Your cherry is going to be popped.  Here goes. 

“Don’t fucking fight me.  It’s only going to be more painful for you.  You are making my dick even harder.

“LET ME IN!  I’m coming in.  Oh, you got my head.  You are really starting to piss me off.

“Urg!  There.  Normally I would let a cunt relax before I begin, but you don’t fucking deserve that.  Right to the… goddamned… root!  Fuck, you’re tight.  By the end of tonight, you will be a gaping mess. 

“Not only have I been lucky to have such a big dick, but I can cum multiple times a night.  My first load is always quick, but the second one goes on for hours.  Then I have a gang bang lined up for this cunt. 

“I’ll let someone else pop the cherry in your throat.  There’s no way I’m going to let Otto near your mouth, at least not while you still have a mouthful of teeth.  Oh yeah, those will be coming out as part of your transformation.

“Keep crying.  Oh man.  Oh fuck.  I’m getting close.  You ready to be bred?  You ready to make your transformation to cunt complete?  Here it cums.  Here it goddamned cums!  Ahh! Ahh! Fuuuuck!

“Holy shit!  That was… fuck. 

“Your cunt has one of my biggest loads in it.  That should help lubricate you up a bit for round two….  Don’t try to push me out.  Otto will come out when he wants to.  Right now, he just wants a minute to catch his breath.

“Cunt, you have nothing but hell ahead of you.  There will be no let up.  Today is about breaking you in.  Tomorrow will begin your life of pain.  We have a shitload planned for you.  I don’t know how long it will be for you to with us, but each day we will strip away what made you a man, a human. 

“You know, when we put a slave up for auction, we have transformed the fag into the best slave it could be.  We don’t do it for its wellbeing.  No, we want top dollar.  And we get top dollar.  That’s our reputation.

“But for you, I was given the instruction that your transformation should be so extreme that when you are put up for auction, without a reserve price, that you are so repulsively distorted that you are sold for the lowest amount we ever had for a slave.  That shouldn’t be a problem with all the branding, scarification, tattooing, deteething, and so on.  Your previous profession will be shared with your new owners so that they can keep up your hell. “Oh fuck.  All this talk of your pathetic life is getting me hard again.  I’m ready to begin round two.  This should last a few hours.”

[xoxotaylynn]

gangster kind of lover

warnings: dom!chris, sub!reader, drugdealer!chris, druguser!reader, y/n, abusive!chris, oral sex, unprotected sex, let names

summary- a look into y/n's and Chris's relationship and how his actions affect her life and her drug addiction

i need a gansta to love me better

since i was a little girl i’ve always wanted a disney prince boy, as i got older i learned those boys will only fuck you over and gangsters will love you better.

to always forgive me

a gangster boyfriend will always forgive you with some sex.

ride or die with me

a gangster boyfriend would kill for you.

that’s just what gangsters do after all

i’m fucked up, i’m black and blue

i’m getting ready to go out clubbing with a few girlfriends i’m applying some make up on my bruises that my boyfriend? left i don’t know what we are. i want to be his girlfriend but he “doesn’t commit” little does he know i’m built for it, all the abuse

i’ve got secrets that nobody knows

“omg girl what’s on you’re leg that’s a nasty bruise!!” my friend halle says worried

“oh nothing i just ran into a table REALLY hard and hurt myself it’s fine tho!” i lie i tried to cover that up but my lower body ones are harder to cover.

i’m good on that pussy shit

“nah give me the hard stuff weed is for pussys bitch” i laugh as my hookup is making a line for me currently

i don’t want what i can get

“hey girl you look good tonight” this random dude flirts

“yea no thanks i’m alright” i laugh

“girl you need to get out there stop rejecting guys and live a little

“trust me girl i’m getting out there and living a lot!!” i laugh

“i’ll believe it when i see it!” she laughs

“okay girlll”

i want someone with secrets

“we gotta hurry up my friends don’t know we’re together” my hookup says while sucking in my neck

“do they also know that you sell drugs?” i breathe out

“someone’s got an attitude tonight but no they don’t and they won’t find out” he demands the last part

“are you tryna seduce me even more?” i laugh “next thing i know you’re gonna tell me to call you daddy” i’m PANTING at this point

my freakness is on the loose

we kissing as we walk into his bedroom and he shuts to door with his foot as he leads me to bed, he lays me on the bed and he doesn’t waste any time he strips me if my clothes

“hurry up and fuck me chris” i complain as i throw my head back

“be patient or you won’t cum” he taunts

“yes sir” i smirk

he grabs my jaw and makes me look at him “ill fuck this little attitude right out of you don’t even”

“fine next time i’ll call you daddy” i bite my lower lip and smile

“keep the fucking attitude up and we won’t fuck” he warns

“fine” i huff and he starts kissing down my stomach and to my uncovered pussy.

he starts to pepe’s kisses all over my sensitive cunt and i start to moan already “of fuck chris please give me more”

“patient sweetheart” he says sending vibrations up my pussy. he starts to eat me out and i’m a moaning mess the second he starts i know this is gonna go to his ego

“oh mother fucker don’t stop” i moan he adds three fingers no warning and i’m not going to last much longer now “please chris i’m gonna cum!!!” i whine

“whenever you’re ready baby” he says in my cunt but just like that i’m LEAKING with my juices all over his face “mmm taste so good for me” he says as he finishes swallowing

“just fuck me chris please” i beg

“well sense you said please” he teases and takes his pants off

“no condom i’m on the pill i just want you to cum inside of me” i ask

“just this once” he tells me as he grabs my hips, he then slides me over to him and he aligns his dick up to my wet sensitive cunt

he goes in and with no time to adjust he rams into me.

“OH FUCK!” i yell the second he starts fucking me

he’s ramming into me with no cares making me yell his name out, and i hear slight moans from him, i feel my pussy walls tighten around his dick and it’s twitches inside me

“oh fuck chris i’m so close” i moan

“me to baby cum with me” he basically moans

and then on cue we both cum together with our juices mixing inside me. he lets his cock sit inside me for a minute while we catch our breath.

“oh fuck you did so good today angel” he compliments laying beside me now

“thank you! you did good to i don’t think i can walk anymore” i laugh

“good you don’t need to be walking anyways who are you tryna go see with those legs anyways” he always does this

“no one just you but now i can’t get to you” i respond making him mad

“well you won’t be leaving then” he gets up

“wait what that’s not fair i have a life besides fucking you” i argue

“well to fucking bad” he yells

“no! you can’t keep me here” i yell back

“FUCKING WATCH ME” he screams and yanks me off the bed, he throws me onto the floor and then slaps my face leaving a bright red hand mark

“OW WHAT THE FUCK CHRIS” i yell still on the floor holding my cheek

“STOP BEING A FUCKING SLUT AND LISTEN TO ME AND I WOULDNT FUCKING DO THAT” he yells

“get the FUCK away from me” i grab my clothes hurriedly put them on and run out of his house “whatever we have is DONE” i yell outside

you got me hooked up on a feeling

“fuck i have NOTHING” i scold myself. i try to call my new dealer but he won’t answer “fuck it we’re calling chris

“chris can you get my my usual i’m out.” i say over the phone

“i was waiting for this call you know you love my cock to much” he laughs

“go to hell you know that’s not true you’re not even that big i’ve seen bigger and better dicks” i attack him

“ouch that’s not what you said in bed” he argues

“chris just get over here and get me my shit i’ll have money” he deamand

“if you wanna see me so bad just ask but sure i’ll be right over” he grunts

“great” i hang up

5 minutes later he’s knocking at my door

“hi chris come in” i say coldly

“hi ma” he flirts

“chris is told you i’m done with you” i tell him

“then why am i here” he asks

“for DRUGS” i empathize the last word

“you know we’re gonna end up fucking” he says factually

“whatever you have my shit” i ask

“right here” he pulls a baggy out of his jacket pocket

“here’s some money” i say grabbing it off my coffee table in the living room

“no thanks ill give this one to ya” he declines my money

“oh my fucking god just come here” i say annoyed cause he only does this when he wants to fuck and i’ve learned to just suck it up cause he won’t take the money

“that’s a good girl” he praises and i connect our lips and we start making out.

you got me hooked up from the ceiling

“chris come over i’m hornyyyy” i whine over the phone

“i’ll be right there” he groans and i can here him pick up his car keys this makes me smirk

“see you soon” i moan into the phone knowing that will make him hard

“goodbye ma” he hangs up the phone

got me so high, i’m barely breathing

“are you feeling it” chris asks

“hell yea i think i can hold my breath for ever i like don’t end have to breathe right now” i say laughing

“baby breathe please” he softens his tone

“yea okay i will” i say taking a deep breath

i need a gansta to love me better

chris will always love me better than little disney prince boy, my gangster boyfriend will do what we it takes to make sure i’m his no matter what.

[satoruswifeyyyy]

taking whiny toge to the dentist

masterlist

taking toge inumaki to the dentist was the emotional equivalent of babysitting a hyperactive cat that had just discovered lasers. he was clinging to the armrest of the waiting room chair like it was his last tether to this mortal realm, wailing about betrayal.

“this is a betrayal of the highest order,” toge whined.“i thought you loved me. i thought we were a team. but no, you’ve joined the enemy. you have aligned yourself with the oppressors!"

you just rolled your eyes as he continued whining,"what’s next? are you gonna sell my secrets to the government? are you even my girlfriend anymore, or are you just an undercover dental spy?”

you stared at him, unimpressed. “your ‘secrets’ are that you ate two whole cheesecakes for breakfast and cried watching a hamster video. you’re not exactly national security material.”

“i was vulnerable!” he shot back, pointing dramatically at you. “and you’re supposed to protect me in my time of need, not sell me out to the tooth tyrants! what kind of a girlfriend are you?”

“the kind who makes sure her boyfriend doesn’t get gum disease,” you quipped. “now stop being dramatic. you’ll survive a cleaning.”

he groaned, tossing his head back dramatically like he was auditioning for a soap opera. “i don’t need a dentist. my teeth are fine. i’m built different. i’m an alpha wolf!”

“alpha wolves don’t cry at 3 a.m. because their molars are ‘planning a coup,’” you pointed out.

“they betrayed me first!” he shot back, jabbing a finger toward his mouth. “i was eating a cinnamon roll, minding my business, and my tooth said, ‘nah fam, not today.’”

“and yet, here we are,” you said, gesturing to the waiting room of smiley pearly dental care, questioning every life choice that had led you to this moment.

he narrowed his eyes, leaning closer. “would you still love me if i had no teeth?”

“yes, toge, but only because your gums would match your brain: smooth.”

he paused, comprehending what you said but he couldn't. so he just ignored your insult and wept dramatically, "you all are conspiring against me! this is a conspiracy!"

“a conspiracy to clean your teeth and save you from cavities?” you deadpanned. “yeah, sounds real sinister.”

before he could reply, the hygienist called his name. toge froze, his grip on the chair tightening. “nope. no. not happening. this is where i draw the line. you can’t make me go in there.”

you just glared at him and mouthed a "go". he gulped, "don't you care about me? what if i don’t come back, tell my story. make sure the world knows i went out bravely.”

“sure, toge. i’ll make you sound like a hero,” you said, rolling your eyes but smiling despite yourself.

"kitty cat nooooo! please i will wear the maid outfit with the kitty ears, please no!"

you raised an eyebrow, leaning down so your face was inches from his. “do you want me to carry you in bridal style? because i will.”

“you wouldn’t dare.”

five minutes later, you were hauling a squirming toge through the dentist’s door, his legs kicking wildly as he whined like a toddler being dragged away from a candy aisle.

“this is ABUSE!” he yelled, clinging to the doorframe like it was the edge of a cliff. “i’ll sue you! i’ll sue everyone! i’ll call my lawyer!”

toge flopped down with all the grace of a dead fish, arms crossed, glaring at you like you’d just sold his nintendo switch. “you’re lucky you’re hot, or i’d break up with you on the spot.”

“noted,” you said dryly, waving at the hygienist before heading back to the waiting room.

as you sat scrolling through your phone, muffled yelling drifted out from the exam room.

“OW! MY SOUL!”

“sir, i’m just applying the fluoride.”

“MY SPIRITUAL ESSENCE! STOP ATTACKING ME!”

you buried your face in your hands, shoulders shaking with laughter. this boy was impossible.

twenty minutes later, toge stumbled out of the room, looking like a lost puppy who’d seen too much. he had a tissue in his mouth, a blank expression, and a shiny sticker that said, i was a brave patient!

“they touched me without my consent, it was a gangbang. infinite backshots,” he muttered, his voice muffled by the gauze.

“they cleaned your teeth,” you corrected, standing up.

“same thing,” he said, holding up the sticker like it was evidence of his suffering. “and they gave me this. it’s a bribe. they’re trying to silence me.”

“you’re impossible,” you said, laughing as you grabbed his hand and started leading him out. “i’ll never recover from this. i’m emotionally scarred.”

you stood on your tip-toe, patting his shoulder sympathetically. “there, there. let’s go home so you can eat some nice, soft soup.”

he looked up at you, eyes wide. “...can i have ice cream instead?”

“not a chance.”

he groaned so loudly that an elderly man in the waiting room gave him a concerned look, but you just rolled your eyes, tugging him toward the car.

“one day,” he muttered, “you’ll miss me when i’m gone.”

“yeah, gone to the dentist again,” you teased.

you, then, grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the office, laughing.

and despite his grumbling, you couldn’t help but smile. this boy was ridiculous, dramatic, and downright exhausting—but he was yours. and honestly? you wouldn’t trade him for the world.

[vampirejuno]

Remember that discworld dream I had the other day? Well, lads.... I wrote it. At the encouragement of @catstrophysics, @lilenariinpink and @theygotlost, I present to you...

Something Fishy

His Grace, His Excellency, Sir Samuel Vimes the Duke of Ankh, Blackboard Monitor, sighed emphatically and tried to shoulder his way through the throng. Sator Square was packed with people. Never before in his life, he reflected, had he ever seen such a crowd turn up at six in the bloody morning to watch what was, essentially, a man tossing a dead fish onto the ground. Is this what passes for entertainment these days? he thought bitterly. We used to be a great city when it came to entertainment. After some further consideration of past greatness, he stopped, shook his head, and silently offered praise to whatever god was responsible for making sure it stayed in the past.

It had been a little over a month since the Fish Craze, and already Vimes wished he could permanently ban the import of all seafood into the city. Nobody remembered what had started it, but the fad had spread faster than wildfire, with no fashion-brigade to stop the madness. Everyone had taken it up. Even perfectly reasonable people, the kind that sneered at their grannies for fretting over a broken mirror, would, in all sincerity, say things like, “Thank goodness for another Right Day, I could use the luck”, or, more frequently, “No wonder it all went tits up, it was a Left Day”.

Vimes failed to see the appeal. The whole process consisted of taking a fish (preferably a sardine, though most made do with herring or, in desperate times, even anchovies), tossing it in the air, and checking which side up it landed. At first, everyone did it individually. This had led to much disagreement and, eventually, an event that would go down in history as “Most Organic Weapons Riot”. The watchmen who’d been on duty that night were given two days off to try and wash the smell out of their uniforms.

The following day, the Patrician had announced the instatement of an Official Fish Thrower, which soon turned into “the Offishal Tosser”, or simply “the Tosser”, and whose entire job it was to go into Sator Square every morning, toss a sardine for the city, and announce to the enraptured masses what sort of day they were going to have. It was rumored that the Tosser was a retired magician who had specialized in sleight of hand, and that he ensured the fish always landed precisely according to the Patrician’s specifications. Knowing Vetinari, Vimes thought, the man probably has a spreadsheet planned out for a month in advance.

His musings were interrupted by a current of movement in the crowd, which parted hastily to reveal a figure with a tray.

“Right Fish! Get your Right Fish! Guaranteed Day goes Right! Turn your day ‘round with just one toss!”

Vimes sighed. Only one man would try to sell you fish at the Offishal Tossing.

“Morning, Throat,” he said distantly. There was a commotion at the front of the crowd as people tried to dislodge someone from the Tosser’s podium. It looked like an Omnian preacher had taken advantage of the audience to spread the good word to the unenlightened masses, whether they liked it or not.

“A good morning to you, Commander! Can I interest you in some nice sardines? Three for tuppence, and that’s cutting my own throat!”

Vimes risked a glance at the tray as Ankh-Morpork’s least successful merchant approached him in a hopeful sidle. It was laden with row upon row of little strangely misshapen fish. Picking one up and turning it over in his fingers, Vimes saw the reason for this. Someone had taken some pains to cut them in two lengthwise, discarded all the left halves, and rejoined the things by gluing two right halves together with some mysterious sticky substance. He put it back down and inconspicuously wiped his hand on his trousers. Like many of Dibbler’s products, it was precisely what you paid for.

“Sardine? Seems more like smelt to me.”

“Yes, very fragrant, indeed,” said the merchant without missing a beat. “Perhaps some fish’n’chips, then, Commander? Only ten pence for our brave lads in the Watch!”

I don’t think I’m that brave, Vimes thought. Aloud, he said, “Is that where the left halves go, then?”

“I don’t know what you mean, sir. Ah, hello, miss, you look like you could do with a nice nourishing breakfast! Some delicious fish’n’chips to start the day off right, how about it?”

The crowd was so packed now – hah, like sardines in a can – that Vimes gave up all hopes of pushing through it. Most of these people had turned up early to get a good spot and were now whiling the minutes away until the much-awaited Tossing. There was a conversation taking place just behind him, where an argument of Morporkians was standing around, doing what it did best. The current object of ire appeared to be a young man’s drawling voice, which was questioning Tradition.

“-don’t see why we couldn’t put a new spin on it. This is…too restrictive, like.”

“How’s that, then?”

“It’s just awfully specific, is all I’m saying.”

“What are you babbling about, Harold?” responded a higher, slightly irritated voice that instantly filed itself away as “unhappy wife” in Vimes’s copper brain.

“I mean, why’s it got to be a sardine? Why not a, uh,” the young man cast around for seafood-related ideas, “a crab, or something?”

“Come now, that’d never work,” a stout little man next to him laughed good-naturedly. He was smoking a pipe and had the look of someone who used words like “indubitably” and “perfunctory” despite only having a very approximate idea of what they meant. “Crabs are not remotely suitable for the task.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“Well-known fact,” nodded the crustacean connoisseur. “Divination is congenitally tied to the noble art of fishing, you know. It’s called forecasting, after all.”

There were more nods and approving laughs. The man puffed on his pipe with a chuckle, clearly satisfied with the pun. Vimes managed not to punch him.

“Y’know, that sounds about right. Never ‘eard of someone telling the future with a crab,” an old woman nodded wisely. “You never know where you are with crabs. Now, fish, that’s reliable.”

The group pondered this.

“Look at it this way. We’ve had, what, twenty-three Left Days so far – not counting Floppy Friday* – and every single time, somethin’ bad happened.”

The others murmured their agreement. There were several thoughtful comments recounting various misfortunes that the participants had suffered on past Left Days. Vimes pinched the bridge of his nose.

“This is Ankh-Morpork, something bad is always happening.”

“Right, that’s what I’m saying,” nodded the young man, who hadn’t been saying that. “Besides, plenty of perfectly good fortune tellers in the city. A man tossing a sardine on the cobbles is not a valid method of divination, in my humble opinion.”

“Harold, you are embarrassing me.”

“Oh, come off it, Mathilda, you got by just fine without any of this business for thirty years of your life. Now it’s all Sardines this, Herring that, Why don’t we get an ornamental trout lake-”

At that moment, the Offishal Tosser stepped onto his little podium, and the couple was shushed into outraged silence. 

* * *

“Come on, before ol’ Stoneface gets here. You know he doesn’t approve of this sort of thing.”

The Pseudopolis Yard watch house was buzzing with excitement uncharacteristic for six in the morning on a Wednesday. Most of the night shift had signed off and the day guard were trickling one by one into the main room. An ever-growing group was clustered in a vague circle, in the center of which Corporal Nobbs could just be made out (if that was your idea of a good time). The men all had the vague air of middle school students asking their teacher about his dog in order to delay math class by another five minutes.

“Might that have anything to do with the fact that, last time, it took three hours and a bucket of armour polish to get the smell out of the floorboards?” Angua smiled. It was a very friendly smile.

“Right, sarge, but… We-ell, you’re…”

“Yes?” The smile widened.

Constable Fernsby shifted uncomfortably. There were a few sniggers. It was true that werewolves had considerably sharper senses than humans and would therefore be able to smell a fish long after it had departed the material plane, but, the sniggers seemed to indicate from a safe distance, you didn’t go around pointing this out to them. Fortunately for the boy, he was saved from any further smiles by a very timely interruption in the form of the Captain.

“Good morning! Everyone had a nice rest, I hope? Ready for another day of work?”

Carrot strutted in, wearing his usual genuine smile and gleaming armor. There was a not-so-subtle change in the atmosphere; a sudden nonchalantness enveloped the room. All around him, the squad commenced their very best impression of the Walls And Ceiling Inspection Division. One or two of the simpler lads even clasped their hands behind their backs and started to whistle**. Carrot sighed.

“Alright, what did you do?... And don’t look at me like that, I can see something smells fishy here.”

This was greeted with one or two coughs and a sudden interest in last night’s heaps of paperwork. Only Lance-Constable Whippet, who had joined three days ago and was, therefore, not yet acquainted with the minutiae of his commanding officers’ tempers, and sergeant Detritus, who could be a little slow on the uptake, met the captain’s inquisitive gaze. Finally, he looked to Angua for help. She shrugged meaningfully.

“Well… er,” said Sergeant Colon, who felt obliged to make some sort of contribution on behalf of his insubordinates, “we was just…engaging in some…cultural activities, captain. To boost morale for the day, like. Er.”

Carrot sniffed at the air – never a very good idea in a watch house, where, at any given point in time, half the men had just returned from patrolling and the other half were emerging from the locker room – and understanding began to dawn.

“Ah, I see. And I expect, Sergeant, that such…team-building activities are best carried out without the involvement or presence of, say, senior officers?”

“Could be, sir. I’m sure you’d know best, sir.” Colon’s big round face was a picture of cherubic innocence.

“Well, in that case, I believe Sergeant Angua and I have a case to attend to. Corporal Thighbiter up at Dolly Sisters needed some help with that Money Trap Lane break-in...”

“Actually, he just sent word the other day – it turned out Mister Mason had got drunk and lost his key again and crashed through the oomph-” Constable Ping bent over slightly from several democratic elbows in the ribs. With a true officer’s tact, Carrot feigned temporary deafness. He held the door for Angua, who detached herself from the wall with one last pleasant smile that could’ve cut steel, and the two stepped out briskly into the safety of fresh air***.

After they had gone, the squad waited a few moments and then turned back to the center of the room, where someone had dragged a mysteriously stained stool from the canteen when the kitchen lady wasn’t looking. Corporal Nobbs was shuffled towards it with extreme care.

The little man**** dusted himself off and scrambled onto the rickety stool. As the other watchmen leaned in closer, he reached into the unspeakable depths of his inner pockets and, with a certain air of ceremony, produced…

“A sardine!”

“Cor, is that real?”

“Dat a very small fish.”

“Where did you get it, corp?”

Nobby basked in the approving murmurs of his colleagues. It had, indeed, been a challenge to find – sardines were very rare these days, outside of the occasional coveted freak shower – but he was nothing if not resourceful.

“We-ell, it weren’t easy, that’s true,” he rolled a dog-end from one corner of the mouth to the other, savoring the moment. He rarely commanded so much attention without attracting a variety of insults and the occasional ballistic eel. “Pays to know the right people, o’course. I have connections, me. Contacts. Ties, even.”

“Aye, but that floral one you nicked last week really don’t suit you very well.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Stronginthearm. All your accessories are made of chainmail! Everyone knows jewel tones are for winter, anyway.”

Colon raised a placating hand. “All right, all right, lads, no need to get all up in arms just ‘cos some folks are a little…stylistically challenged.”

“Thanks, sarge.”

“I meant you, Nobby.”

The corporal threw up his arms. “I go to all this trouble,” he wailed, “I talk to people, I find a contraband seafood shipment from Klatch, I explain matters to the fishmonger – on my day off, too, might I add – I procure a real, genuine, only-slightly-nibbled actual sardine, and this is the thanks I get?”

The watchmen watched, transfixed, as he flourished the fabled fish in their faces. It had, indeed, already been chewed on; the tail was sticking out rigidly and the whole thing smelled as if it was a few weeks beyond consumption, but it was a sardine nonetheless. Most of the lads, coming from humble (and sometimes humbling) backgrounds, felt slightly awed at the idea of Tossing a fish that these days was available only to the very richest observers of the fad. It was, they felt, unbecoming to wave it around like a paper flag at a parade. The damn things tended to be slippery. Probably would be bad luck, they figured, if it was flung down by accident; who knew what sort of fortune that would foretell?

“Where’s the appreciation, I ask you?” Nobby continued in woeful tones. “Every time I’ve Tossed a fish for you lot, it’s landed Right! Now, how many of you can say that, eh?”

The watchmen exchanged doubtful glances.

“Er… Well, you never let anyone else do it, corp,” Ping reasoned. “You just nicks the fish and eats it afterwards.”

“Oh, now, that does it! I won’t stand here and be slandered at!”

“Woah there, Nobby, watch that sardine-”

“If you’re gonna be like that, then I’m not doing it. And good luck finding someone who’ll do it as well as me!”

“Careful with that-”

“And I’m taking the sardine.”

“-not the tail-”

 “You can beg, but I won’t change my mind, and that’s that!” Nobby flung out his hand in a grandiose gesture. Unfortunately, it was the wrong hand.

Time slowed to a crawl. Every head in the room swiveled as one, following the trajectory of the airborne fish. It sailed head first towards the front door, which was creaking, doorknob turning, and slowly, slowly opening…

* * *

The Offishal Tosser tossed the fish, which landed damply. There was a satisfying splat. The crowd held its breath as the first few rows near the podium craned to see.

“Today is the fourth of April in the year of the Significant Woodlouse, and it is a… Left Wednesday!” the man proclaimed.

A disappointed groan spread through the crowd. Slowly, people started dispersing with occasional complaints, casting sour looks at the offending fish. Here and there, members of the Gamblers’ Guild were exchanging coins.

Vimes shook his head again as the grumbling current carried him through the square, into the Plaza of Broken Moons, and out to the Patrician’s palace. At last he disengaged himself from the throng and elbowed his way towards the Brass Bridge. It wasn’t far to the watch house from here, but he still picked up the pace. Despite not having official working hours, Vimes liked to get there early in the morning, just as the day shift was coming in, to get a headstart on ignoring his paperwork.

As he walked, his copper mind took over and he mentally leafed through the agenda of the day. Let’s see, what was there… He had that audience with Vetinari at eleven, probably concerning last night’s diplomatic dinner – not that it was Vimes’s fault that he saw the unlicensed thief and that the Klatchian ambassador happened to be standing there, and anyway who drinks red wine while wearing a white robe… Then the interview with the Times at noon… Then briefing the lads on the unsolved contraband seafood case… Then he’d have to do something about the river division, they can’t just keep sinking the damn boat, this is getting ridiculous…

A distant glint caught Vimes’ eye as he stepped off the bridge. Carrot’s shiny breastplate could be seen from a mile away on a clear day, and the captain was, indeed, proceeding along the river with Angua in tow. 

What the hell are they doing out? They’re not on patrol today…

Briefly, he considered catching up to them, but then dismissed the idea. They were only a couple streets away from the watch house, and Carrot seemed relaxed enough, stopping to chat with every other passer-by in his usual manner. No emergency, then. On the other hand, they had a batch of new recruits at the main office, the gods alone knew what those yahoos would be getting up to without a senior officer present. And under Colon’s command…

A few minutes later, Vimes was rounding the corner of Lower Broadway and trotting up the steps of Pseudopolis Yard. There seemed to be quite a commotion going on inside; he’d heard the shouting from half a block away. With his hand on the doorknob, mentally preparing his best Not Yelling Voice, he pushed the door open…

…and very briefly saw something shiny flying full speed at his head. Before he could react, the thing clanked off his helmet, bounced on a nearby desk and, finally, lodged itself between the floorboards with a sproinnnng.

Silence fell like a gavel. A dozen horrified watchmen gaped at their Commander, the life quickly draining out of their eyes*****. Sergeant Colon’s face, pale as the moon and just as round, tried unsuccessfully to hide behind his high collar.

Wordlessly, Vimes approached the thing stuck between the floorboards. He crouched down. He examined it. He gave it a tentative flick. It made a noise not unlike a ruler twanging off the side of a table, or a very thin sheet of metal being shaken vigorously. After a moment’s contemplation, he felt moved to speak.

“Well, lads, I don’t think Left and Right suffices anymore. Seems we ought to add a third Day to the list.”

Ahhh. Relief rose off the squad like morning mist. Their laughter had the strained quality that came with trying very hard to pretend that whatever was happening was entirely intentional. At this point, they’d have laughed at anything, as long as it meant Ol’ Stoneface was Not Yelling At Them. Whatever they may think to themselves, the one motivation that all coppers in all the worlds have in common is to Not Get Yelled At.

“Bottom Day, sir?” someone suggested. There was another bout of slightly forceful sniggers.

“Er… Perhaps not.” Vimes gave the fish a few fruitless tugs and gave up. “Alright, someone get this damn thing out of there and, uh…”

“Throw it away, sir?”

“No, good gods, you could hurt someone… Look, just get rid of the…fish and we’ll say no more about it. Fred, a word upstairs?”

With the watch house returning slowly to its normal daily bustle, Vimes went up to his office and sat down wearily at his desk, which was hidden underneath an impressive pile of paper. He’d signed a few dozen forms and…dealt with half a fireplace’s worth of complaint letters last night, but the stacks looked suspiciously bigger this morning. They entirely refused to melt away under his glare.

“Alright, what is this bloody nonsense? I thought I’d made it clear I don’t want any Tossing in the watch house,” he said to Colon, once the man had huffed and puffed his way up the stairs.

“Well, Mister Vimes, I just thought I’d indulge the lads this once. Raise their spirits with some good ol’ cultural team building. For tradition’s sake and all.”

“Tradition? It’s not been two months, Fred!”

“We-ell, they’ve taken to it, sir. Besides, you can’t deny we’ve had crimes happen on every single Left Day since the Offishal Tossings started.”

“Good grief, you could say that about every bloody day since the founding of the city! I thought you weren’t a superstitious man, Fred.”

“No, sir, but the fish don’t lie,” said Colon fervently.

“Ugh. Next thing you know, the bloody Times will be printing it alongside the bloody date in their bloody papers.”

There was a guilty silence.

Vimes stared at the sergeant’s carefully blank face. A single droplet of sweat was slowly making its way down the man’s forehead. The beady little eyes flickered momentarily to a relatively unoccupied corner of the desk.

With a sinking dread, Vimes followed his gaze and beheld a newspaper lying there on top of the forlorn paperwork, all neatly rolled and still crisp from the press. Belatedly, he noticed the smell of fresh ink. At the top of the front page, a small print line proclaimed today’s date to be April 4th, Left Wednesday.

Five minutes later, sergeant Colon walked down the stairs and into a perfectly silent room full of watchmen. His face had the distant look of someone who had just seen a ghost, and was fairly sure everybody else had, too, but would be damned if he’d mention it first.

With nothing else to do, he cleared his throat. This seemed to break the spell; all at once, the room regained its normal level of noise as the coppers went back to their coppery activities. Only Nobby sidled closer and offered up a slightly bent cigar.

“What’s up with ol’ Stoneface today, sarge?”

“Dunno what’s gotten into him.” Colon took the cigar gratefully and lit it, trying not to think too hard about where it came from. “It’s this job, I expect. All this responsibility is wearing on his nerves.”

“Ah, right.”

“I mean, what’s so wrong with a little tradition once in a while, eh?”

“Beats me, sarge.”

“Doesn’t hurt no one, having some mores and values ‘round the place.”

“You never said a truer thing.”

“Ah, anyway, Mister Vimes is just overworked. Not his fault he’s got a bit of a cultural blind spot when he’s cranky,” Colon concluded magnanimously. “Maybe he could do with a coffee and a nice meal. I know I could… Say, Nobby, what’ve we got for breakfast in the cantine today?”

“Fish’n’chips, I think. Er… You alright there, sarge? …Sarge?”

* An unfortunate misunderstanding at the fishmonger’s that had led to the Offishal Tosser being handed a very live fish, foreboding a day of extreme mood swings for the populace.

** This is the social cue equivalent of climbing onto the roof at three in the morning and setting off a barrage of fireworks while waving an enormous fluorescent red flag. Not even a 6’6’’ dwarf could remain oblivious.

*** Only comparatively. This was Ankh-Morpork, after all.

**** Allegedly.

***** Except for Corporal Shoe, for whom it was a little late******.

****** heh.

[sukunasdirtylaugh]

tags: yakuza!kento x f!reader, money problems with family on the reader's side, reader's employer is a major w here, she works as a nanny, mentions of arranged marriage, mentions jokingly of 'losing a few pounds' by walking, and a hopeful ending

arranged marriage au with yakuza!boss kento. your former employer, a contact of kento's had referred you to him as a sweet, kind, and fitting candidate for the yakuza boss to marry. working as a nanny for the associate, you were already someone your employer knew his colleague could benefit from.

but you didn't want anything to do with this lifestyle.

"it's your uncle again," the worry and embarrassment of your mother's tone sank to the bottom of your stomach, followed by a heaviness. "I... I feel terrible for asking you, you know this, but you're the one-"

"-with a high paying job," you bite the inside of your cheek and sigh, "I know. what does he want now?"

"he..." your mother sighs, "he needs $1,200 within three days." you bite the inside of your cheek again. it always worked this way. it started with him and worked its way up towards your mother and now you, but what could you do? leave your mother to stress?

"okay," you exhale, looking at the fresh check your boss had given you this week: $1,250. you could definitely survive off of $50, right? it was just another week. you had some savings, but then you thought about rent, thought about other factors that let you consider your words for a minute. it was just a week, so you could do this, right?

"I'll send the money tomorrow. don't worry mom."

$50. you needed to survive your week with $50. perhaps, you thought, maybe you could sell that old coffee table in your apartment? if you tidy it up, you might get $60 for it, maybe $80. you also made some accommodations such as not using the bus. it was only an hour and twenty seven minutes to your employer's mansion, what could go wrong?

a sprained ankle.

luckily, you don't really feel pain until after your shift. your right ankle throbs, and you're forced to clutch onto it, keeping any noise from escaping your lips as you're leaving the children's rooms after putting them to sleep. "what... happened to your ankle?" your boss asks.

"I just hurt a ligament," you nerviusly chuckle, "I'll be fine-"

"-do you normally take the bus?" he asks, making you shake your head. "I..." embarrased, you say, "I thought I'd take up walking instead. loose a few pounds, heh-"

"let me take you in my car. I can't have the nanny to my children struggle like that." and who were you to protest? as you're being helped inside his black mercedes, your employer drives you to your home. taking note of several things he's seen throughout the week.

"so..." he says, "I might have a question that you may find alarming but... do I pay you well?" he asks, worry laced towards the end of his tone. "if so-"

"-yes," you answer, flushed and embarrassed, "I-I'm okay, the p-pay is okay sir, I just... I had some surprise payments to take care of." as he drives, he raises a brow.

"would you care to share that with me?"

"i-it's my family," you say, fidgeting with your hands as if you're a child. truth was, you didn't know why you were saying so much. whether it was the stress from these past few days, or the accumulation of stress solely from today had your eyes teary eyed as you looked away, wiping your tears hoping he wouldn't notice.

but he did.

that night, your boss drops you off your apartment. "take the week off," he suggests, voice softer. "there's been a sudden change to my plans so... my kids, I need to have them visit some family members for a bit. and..." he trails, voice careful, "I wouldn't want to throw away the food we already have, so... can I have it dropped off to you tomorrow morning?" he asks.

"I know this is very sudden, but I plan to compensate you for the last minute changes," he says, pulling out a checkbook, "will $3,000 be okay?"

"s-sir," you say, flushed and embarrsed. it's as if you've been granted another opportunity by an angel, "that's... more than enough-"

"-then please accept it," he says, handing you the check before you can even register what just happened. "I'll send the remaining food tomorrow, and in the meantime, you can rest for the week. maybe two. I need you to be in your best health beccause in 16 days, I need you to come with me and the children to visit an old friend, okay?"

you nod your head gratefully, "yes sir."

he smiles.

[whoisneo404]

Reader and nick are on there first date while matt and chris are wearing disguises at another table Trying to make sure their brother is okay

Surprise.

I can only imagine Chris and Matt wearing a top hat, with fake mustaches and beards on, also Matt probably has fake glasses on. And Chris did the goofy ‘holes on the newspaper’ thing like on the cartoons.

Summary: you and Nick go out for a casual dinner date at a local restaurant, without knowing that the table next to you was booked by a couple of weird guys.

Chris pov.

‘’This won’t work.’’ Matt says.

‘’It WILL. Look at you Matt, I don’t recognize you, you are Mister Bernard right there.’’ I look at myself in the mirror and I take a couple of pictures. ‘’Come on, it will be fun. Plus, we are watching over our Nick.’’

‘’But he doesn’t seem like a bad guy, plus, I’m sure Nick can beat him up.’’

‘’It’s not about beating him up Matt, it’s about feelings, you can’t beat up someone with a broken heart.’’

‘’I’d say you’d be more likely to beat them up harder with a broken heart, but whatever.’’

We drive to the restaurant we dropped Nick at, we reserved a table placed strategically NEXT to them. The perfect spot to spy… I mean, watch over Nick.

‘’This is silly.’’ Matt mutters.

‘’The reservation to what name is places?’’ the waiter looks at us.

‘’Bernard.’’ I smile widely.

‘’You have to be kidding me.’’ Matt whispers.

‘’All right. Sir Bernard, is placed outside, follow me, I’ll show you your table.’’ We go to our table, right next to them. I sit and pull out my newspaper and put it into the table. Looking over at Nick and then to Matt, trying my best to not laugh.

Nicks pov

‘’Are you serious?’’ I say under my breath as I see Chris and Matt walk in the restaurant with the silliest, wort disguise in human history. They look straight out of an asylum.

‘’Everything okay?’’ my crush, the boy I like, the boy I am in love with, sitting right in front of me, on this amazing date that we have been planning for weeks, doesn’t know about the presence of my two stupid brother right beside us.

‘’Yeah, all good. Do you like the place I choose?’’ I smile at him, trying to ignore Chris’ annoying voice.

‘’Yes, it’s very pretty. I love the string lights they have here.’’ God, he’s so cute. Why do they hate to ruin my night? They’ll never hear the end of this.

‘’Yes, that’s one of the reasons I chose it, it has an amazing decoration. Do you want some desert, I heard the sweets here are amazing, or if you like, we can go have ice cream at another place.’’ He smiles widely.

‘’Yeah, I’d love that, there’s a store a few blocks from here that sells ice cream and you can add like 3 to 5 topping, depending on how much you pay.’’

‘’That sounds amazing. I can’t wait to go there.’’ I can’t wait to get out of here, I don’t want to be near Chris and Matt.

‘’I really liked the food here, again, thanks for the invitation.’’

‘’It’s nothing, since I asked you out, I just thought it would make sense that dinner was on me.’’

‘’I thought it would make sense that dinner was on me, what a dork.’’ I hear from the table besides us and I clench my jaw.

‘’Haha, still, thanks Nick. Next date it’s on me.’’

‘’Next date?’’

‘’Shh Matt, you are talking to loud.’’

‘’Whatever, Mr. quiet.’’

I let out a sigh, grabbing the change and de receipt from the check-holder. ‘’Ready to go to eat ice cream.’’

‘’Yes, I’m so excited. You are gonna love the place. It has this animal plushies on shelves and the music is so relaxing.’’ He says smiling as he stands up and slides his chair into the table.

‘’Oh, excuse me young man.’’ Chris says to him in a bad faked southern accent. ‘’can you please take a photo of me and my pal here?’’

‘’Ah, yeah. Of course.’’ He smiles at them, he’s too kind for his own good. He takes the phone from Chris’ hands and takes pictures of them. ‘’There you go sir.’’ He hands the phone back after a few pictures.

‘’All right, let’s go, before it gets late and the ice cream shop closes.’’

‘’Right, right. Well, bye Chris, bye Matt, see you guys later.’’

‘’What? I don’t know ho you are talking about. We are Mr. Bernard and Mr… Pepso. Yes, Mr. Pepso from Alabama.’’ Chris tries to hold his laugh in, but fails and burst out laughing.

‘’How did you know?’’ I look at him. God, this is so embarrassing, I cover my face with one hand. ‘’I’m so sorry, I didn’t know they were doing this.’’

‘’It’s all right, it was funny seeing them dressed like this.’’ He laughs a bit. ‘’You guys need to work on your southern accent. Anyways, enjoy your meal. Will Mr. Bernard and Mr. Pepso from Alabama join us for dessert?’’

‘’God, don’t indulge these kids more.’’

‘’We’ll catch up with you. Plus, I’m the one driving Nick home. So, yeah, we’ll see you at the ice cream shop.’’ Matt says drinking what appears to be lemonade.

‘’All right. See you later guys.’’ He waves at them and walks smiling out of the restaurant.

‘’You better come up with a good explanation by the time we arrive home, or you’ll fucking regret this.’’ I threaten them in a low voice.

‘’Come on, he was having fun.’’

‘’MY date. Stay out kids.’’ I glare at them, walking outside the restaurant with him.

‘’So… Mr. Pepso and Bernard…’’

‘’Don’t… please, let’s just have fun the two of us.’’ He smiles warmly at me, grabbing my hand we start walking to the ice cream shop while talking about nothing and everything.

[baizhoobies]

𝐎𝐧𝐢 𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐀𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐲…?

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓

Synopsis: f!Reader somehow finds herself trapped in the spirit realm. Whoops. She entrusts the help of a Yokai Detective Agency to get her back to the mortal realm where she belongs. Wait? A detective agency? In the spirit realm? And the only way of escape is to work with a disgruntled and hot headed Oni who is somehow spiritually bound to her? Sheesh.

A multichapter, Kamisama Kiss inspired story with your favourite Bungo man. Or at least, my favourite~

Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, violence, swearing, blood mention, monsterfucking, knotting, ruts, omegaverse vibes, breeding

A/N: Oh we are so back! The perks of having time off work ill means I can just write and write and write. I felt like writing a domestic chapter - I wanted, I delivered. Reader is having fun using her spirit bond powers and Kunikida is obviously thrilled that she seems to be having fun with it. Enjoy!

Chapter Warnings: none really, maybe abuse of power(?), domesticity to its fullest

Masterlist

It had been a few of days since you fell into the spirit realm, everything still seemed so surreal and yet, you somehow felt like you fit right in. As the only known human in this world, you were a foreigner, a target, and yet since eating the spirit realm’s food, your distinct human scent had almost faded completely; and with it, you had a new found freedom. You no longer felt the weight of curious or hostile stares whenever you walked through the Agency or passed nearby Oni. It wasn’t perfect - some might still catch a whiff of something unusual if they got too close, but it was enough for Kunikida to declare you “fit for low-risk outings”, though his tone had been reluctant, as if he already regretted agreeing to bring you along.

Now, as you stepped into the bustling streets of the spirit realm’s version of Yokohama, you could only stare in awe.

It was an uncanny blend of the familiar, traditional and the fantastical. Neon signs flickered alongside talismans strung from lantern posts. Stalls lined the streets, their vendors selling everything from traditional Oni-crafted kimonos to intricately carved charms pulsing faintly with spiritual energy. Spirit foxes darted through the crowds, their ethereal forms slipping in and out of sight, while customers haggled in a mishmash of languages both human and otherwise.

“Wow,” you breathed, turning in a slow circle. “This is... kind of amazing. It’s like Yokohama, but-”

“Better?” Kunikida interjected as he walked beside you, his tone somewhat of a tease.

“I was going to say ‘weirder,’ but sure” you replied, grinning.

“Focus,” he said, adjusting the strap of the satchel slung across his shoulder. “We’re here for supplies, not sightseeing. Don’t wander off.”

“Yes, sir” you said, rolling your eyes as you fell into step beside him. Something about the way you said ‘sir’ had him spiral for a moment before distracting himself with the matter at hand. You glanced at the long list he held in one hand, the meticulously written characters lined up with military precision. “What’s on the list?”

“Essential supplies for the Agency,” Kunikida replied, barely sparing you a glance. “Spiritual ink for talismans, powdered silver for protective barriers, enchanted paper for contracts…” He continued rattling off items, his tone serious and efficient.

You stifled a laugh. “You really are a Boy Scout, aren’t you? Let me guess, you colour-code the list too?”

“It’s organized by priority and location” he said without missing a beat.

You could only snicker to yourself before whispering under your breath. “Of course it is.”

As you wandered deeper into the market, you found yourself gazing at the harmonious coexistence of traditional and modern elements. One stall sold what looked like enchanted scrolls, while the next offered a variety of groceries that glowed softly, must be some spirit realm exclusive food. Across the street, a bustling café displayed a menu of spiritual teas alongside what appeared to be a standard coffee machine.

Your curiosity got the better of you as you stopped at a stall displaying small figurines. They were delicately carved, each one a miniature representation of different Yokai. You picked up a tiny, snarling Oni and held it up to Kunikida.

“This one looks like you,” you teased.

Kunikida glanced at the figure, unimpressed. “That one’s smiling.”

“It’s snarling,” you corrected, laughing. “But sure, if that’s your idea of a smile…”

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Stop wasting time and put it back. We have work to do.”

You returned the figure with a dramatic flourish, but your grin lingered as you trailed after him. You found yourself enjoying more and more of your gentle teasing, watching the way his brows furrow and an exacerbated breath leaves his lips. Your favourite is when Dazai is around, so you could team up and really grind his gears. For whatever reason, just winding him up and watching him explode in frustration was a satisfaction to you; especially when you catch him off guard and you could swear you could see a faint smile on his face - oh yeah, those reactions are your favourite.

Walking from one stand to another, you reached a stall selling the powdered silver Kunikida needed, and while he haggled with the vendor - your mind drifted at the thought that he, of all Oni’s was an Alpha. You watched him haggle with a diplomatic, yet dominant presence, somehow making the negotiation strangely intimidating.

You couldn’t shake the thought of what Yosano and Dazai had said a few days ago about the Spirit Realm’s mating system. The fact that Kunikida was an Alpha was still... a lot to process. Every time you looked at him now, you couldn’t help but wonder how much of his personality was tied to those instincts.

His protective nature, his drive for perfection, his constant hovering over your safety—was it all because of the bond you now shared, or was it just Kunikida being Kunikida?

“Why are you staring at me?” Kunikida’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“I’m not” you lied, averting your gaze and pretending to admire a nearby display of spiritual talismans.

“Yes, you are,” he said, his tone flat. “If you have something to say, say it.”

“I was just... thinking,” you admitted, not wanting to elaborate. “It’s nothing.”

“You? Thinking? Extremely dangerous” Kunikida gave you a skeptical, yet teasing look, but didn’t press the matter further. Instead, he handed the vendor a neatly tied pouch of coins and picked up the powdered silver, adding it to his bag.

As you moved on to the next stall, you decided to lighten the tension. “So, do you always do the Agency’s shopping, or are you just the only one organized enough to handle it?”

“I volunteered,” he said simply. “Someone has to ensure everything is accounted for and properly acquired. If it were left to Dazai, he’d probably barter our budget away for some ridiculous prank.”

You laughed. “Okay, yeah, that tracks.”

You continued in light conversation, often bickering like a married couple as you worked your way through the list, though the tension between you was noticeably softer than usual. You couldn’t help but enjoy the glimpses of Kunikida’s personality you got to see when he wasn’t being his usual grumpy, rule-bound self.

At one point, you stopped to buy a small bag of what looked like spirit candy, despite Kunikida’s protests that you didn’t have time for frivolous purchases. You popped one in your mouth, savoring the burst of sweetness, and offered one to him.

He hesitated, eyeing the candy suspiciously.

“It’s not poisoned” you said, a genuinely sweet smile at your lips as you rotated the hard candy between your fore and index fingers in front of his face.

“I know its not-” he stopped himself mid sentence, instead of protesting, he takes the piece of candy in defeat and popped it into his mouth. His expression didn’t change, but you could swear you saw the tiniest twitch of approval in his brow, an expression that made your heart flutter ever so slightly.

By the time you finished your errands, the satchel was nearly bursting with supplies, and your feet were beginning to ache from all the walking. But as you made your way back to Kunikida’s dorm, you realized you didn’t mind the exhaustion. You simply enjoyed a domestic outing, and heck, you even enjoyed the fact that this 7ft Oni was by your side, never failing to notice the way he would get closer to you if a Yokai stared at you too long, as if claiming territory.

As much as he grumbled and was a stickler for perfectionism, you had found the trip surprisingly enjoyable - though you would never admit that out loud.

Kunikida, for his part, kept a careful distance as you walked, his thoughts equally conflicted. He told himself it was just the bond compelling him to stay close, but every now and then, he’d glance at you out of the corner of his eye and feel an unfamiliar warmth he couldn’t quite explain.

-

Back at the dorm, you stretched your arms over your head, letting out a content sigh. The shopping trip had been exhausting but rewarding in its own way. Kunikida had placed the items purchased at the stalls on one side of the room, whilst the bags of groceries sat neatly arranged on Kunikida’s kitchen counter; a mix of fresh herbs, dried noodles, and glowing spices you could barely name.

“Not bad” you murmured to yourself, eyeing the neatly organized spread.

“Hands off,” Kunikida warned as he noticed you looking too closely at the ingredients. “I’ll handle dinner. The last thing I need is you setting this place on fire.”

You turned to face him with an incredulous expression. “Excuse me? You think I can’t cook?”

“I know you can’t,” Kunikida replied firmly, crossing his arms. “You don’t exactly strike me as the domestic type.”

“That’s rich, coming from someone who alphabetized his groceries” you shot back with a scoff, hands finding their way on your hips. Kunikida’s eyes linger down for a brief moment to your hips, sucking in some air before looking back to your face.

Kunikida sighed deeply, the kind of sigh that spoke volumes about how much patience he believed he was wasting. “Look, just let me handle it. I have a system.”

“Your system can take a night off,” you countered. “I want to cook for once. You’ve been making every meal since I got here. It’s my turn.”

“No” Kunikida said flatly, his expression leaving no room for argument.

But you weren’t one to back down. “No?” You echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s right. No” Kunikida replied, turning back toward the counter to begin his meal preparations.

You smirked, crossing your arms and leaning against the counter. “Well, too bad. Because I might just order you to sit down and let me cook.”

Kunikida froze, his back stiffening. Slowly, he turned to glare at you. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, try me” you said smugly, your grin widening. “Kunikida, I order you to sit down and let me make you dinner”

The bond between you flared to life, a subtle but undeniable tug that made Kunikida’s shoulders sag in defeat. His jaw clenched, and his grip tightened on the ladle he’d been holding, but ultimately, he had no choice. As if his body was robotic, he left the kitchen counter and sat down nearby, like a good Oni.

“Fine” he grunted out, his expression looked akin to a wet cat, pouting and crossing his arms as he looked away from you. “But if you so much as scorch the stove, you’ll regret it.”

“I gotcha” you said breezily, stepping into the kitchen with an extra spring in your step.

As you started pulling ingredients together, Kunikida watched from his seat, his irritation palpable. Yet, as the minutes ticked by, his annoyance began to fade, replaced by a strange sense of… comfort.

You, for all your bluster, looked remarkably at ease in the kitchen. You hummed softly under your breath, occasionally muttering to yourself as you tasted the broth or adjusted the flame. The sight of you moving so naturally in his space - your space - stirred something unfamiliar in him. This isn’t the first time he had experienced such a feeling since you moved in.

He wouldn’t say it out loud, but he found it oddly nice. The kitchen felt warmer with you in it, the quiet hum of domestic activity soothing in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Stop staring” you said without looking up, breaking him from his thoughts.

“I’m not staring” Kunikida snapped, immediately defensive.

“Sure you aren’t,” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “I can feel your eyes burning holes in the back of my head.”

Kunikida scoffed but didn’t bother denying it further. Instead, he kept his arms crossed and muttered something about improper cooking techniques.

After a short while, you placed two bowls of steaming ramen soup on the table, complete with finely sliced scallions, a perfectly boiled egg, and a fragrant broth that smelled surprisingly delicious. It was a simple dish, but something you felt proud of whenever you made it.

“Well?” You said, gesturing for him to dig in. “Moment of truth. Try it.”

Kunikida eyed the bowl suspiciously, as if it might spontaneously explode at any moment. Slowly, he picked up his chopsticks and took a tentative bite.

The flavour immediately hit his tongue, and his eyes widened just a fraction before he quickly masked his reaction. “It’s… passable” he said, though the faint pink dusting his cheeks gave him away.

“Passable?” You echoed, narrowing your eyes. “That’s it? I slaved over a hot stove for you, and all I get is passable?”

“Slaved? A bit dramatic considering you demanded to cook but…” Kunikida cleared his throat, refusing to meet your gaze. “It’s good” he admitted begrudgingly, stabbing at his noodles with his chopsticks. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic” you replied, grinning triumphantly before sucking down some noodles from your chopsticks; always the messy eater.

The two of you ate in relative peace after that, the occasional bickering muted by the quiet satisfaction of a shared meal.

As you finished, you leaned back, a smug look on your face. “See? Told you I could cook.”

Kunikida rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “Don’t get used to it” he scoffed.

“Oh, I won’t,” you said airily. “Wouldn’t want to infringe on your precious system.”

You locked eyes for a moment, and despite the usual teasing, there was something softer there—a quiet acknowledgment of your growing understanding.

But, true to form, neither of you were willing to admit it.

“Well, I hope you’re ready to clean up your mess” Kunikida said, breaking the moment.

“Excuse me?” you glared at him. “I cooked! You clean!”

“Not a chance,” Kunikida shot back, already gathering his chopsticks.

“Uhhh well okay then. Kunikida, I order you to clean up” you spat with a smirk.

And just like that, Kunikida immediately stood up and began cleaning, cursing to himself as he did. A lot of ‘insolent brat’ and ‘impertinent woman’ coming from the Oni’s lips. Though he did what he was told, and you could only lean against the low table with a satisfied smirk.

He stood at the sink, meticulously scrubbing each bowl and utensil with a focus that was so him, it made you smile. It was strange how easily you had begun to predict his movements, his habits. When he wasn’t talking - especially when he wasn’t cursing you to the heavens, his presence was surprisingly soothing.

You leaned back on your hands, glancing toward the window. Beyond it, the Spirit Realm stretched out in its eternal twilight. The city lights twinkled faintly, a reflection of the mortal Yokohama you knew so well, yet entirely its own world.

Could you see yourself staying here? As much as you missed the sunlight, it had grown on you.

The thought crept in uninvited, and you frowned, wrestling with it. At first, the Spirit Realm had been terrifying. The yokai, the rules, the strange customs - it was overwhelming. But now, after nine days, the chaos was starting to feel… normal.

You thought about the market stalls glowing under the ever-dark sky, the comforting rhythm of life that existed here despite the strange circumstances. You thought about the Armed Detective Agency, their quirks and camaraderie, how they had accepted your presence without much question.

And then, inevitably, you thought about him.

Kunikida’s back was turned to you as he rinsed the last dish. His posture was rigid, his movements precise, but there was an unconscious grace to the way he moved. You hadn’t expected to feel at ease around him, of all people, yet there you were.

You had twenty-one days left until the new moon, when you could return to the mortal realm. Twenty-one days to decide if that’s what you really wanted.

Your family would miss you, of course. That was the undeniable weight tipping the scales. You imagined your parents wondering where you’d gone, your friends growing worried as the days passed without a word.

But here… you felt a strange freedom. There were no expectations to meet, no deadlines to chase, no pressure to be anyone but yourself - on top of that, you didn’t need to pay no bills. It was an intoxicating thought.

Still, you couldn’t imagine giving up the warmth of the sun, the laughter of your loved ones, or the familiarity of your world.

Then again… he was here.

Your gaze drifted back to Kunikida. His brows furrowed slightly as he dried the bowls, and you realized you were smiling. You quickly wiped it away, annoyed at yourself.

Were you really considering staying because of him? The obnoxious perfectionist who couldn’t go two sentences without lecturing you? The one who insisted on sticking to a rigid schedule but still made sure you were safe and comfortable in a world that wasn’t yours?

Your stomach fluttered annoyingly, and you pressed a hand to it as if that would stop the feeling.

Kunikida glanced over his shoulder, catching you staring. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, his voice curious but tinged with that familiar gruffness.

“Nothing” you lied quickly, sitting up straighter.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but didn’t push. Turning back to the sink, he muttered, “As long as it’s not any reckless plans to set the kitchen on fire.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile lingered.

If nothing else, you had twenty-one more days to figure things out. For now, just being here, with him nearby, was enough.

-

After everything was tidied up, it was nearing bedtime. You remained on your side of the curtain, reading some ancient texts about spirits; which even included a brief history of the mating system. About how Alphas and Omegas exist as a partnership, and not something you read from Tumblr back in your teen years.

As the night rolled on, you pulled your blanket around yourself on the spacious futon, sinking into it like a balm to the soul. You had gotten very used to this futon, very quickly. Kunikida had spared no expense in getting the most comfortable futon (and a very large one at that). Though a thought crossed your mind as you peeked through the gap between the curtain that divided the room. Beyond it, Kunikida sat cross-legged on his yoga mat, his eyes closed in meditation.

The sight of him, a towering 7-foot Oni attempting to fold himself into serenity on what was essentially a glorified floor cushion—stirred an uncomfortable pang of guilt in your chest. You tugged the blanket tighter, trying to shake the thought. ‘He’s fine. He chose to sleep there’

But the more you watched him, the harder it was to ignore the situation. Sure, Kunikida could be annoyingly stubborn, insufferably by-the-book, and the very embodiment of a grouchy Alpha, but... he was still a person. Or, well, an Oni. And it couldn’t be pleasant, spending every night on that thin mat just because of you.

“Hey” you called softly, leaning over to peer fully through the curtain.

Kunikida’s eyes opened, sharp and alert, though his expression remained neutral. “What is it?”

You hesitated, then gestured to the large futon. “You should sleep here tonight. The bed’s big enough for both of us. I mean, look at you, you’re practically folded in half over there.”

Kunikida’s brows furrowed in a mix of confusion and indignation. “Absolutely not.”

You sighed, already anticipating his response. “Kunikida-”

“No” he interrupted firmly. “It’s inappropriate. And unnecessary. I’m perfectly fine where I am.”

“You’re not fine,” you shot back. “That mat looks awful. And you’re huge! You probably wake up sore every morning.”

“I said no” he repeated, his tone brooking no argument.

You crossed your arms, a pout on your lips until a devilish thought came into mind. Although you didn’t want to abuse your power, it couldn’t be helped. There was a mischievous glint in your eye as you leaned closer. “Okay. Well, I wasn’t going to do this, but…” you cleared your throat dramatically. “I order you, Kunikida Doppo, to sleep on this bed tonight.”

Kunikida’s jaw visibly clenched, his hazel eyes narrowing as he stiffened. “You can’t-”

“Yes, I can,” you said, cutting him off with a triumphant grin. “I’m your master, remember? You have to listen to me.”

‘Master’ he echoed in his mind.

He glared at you, clearly wrestling with his pride, before letting out a long, slow exhale. “Fine. But we maintain proper distance.”

“Deal” you said, scooting over to the far side of the futon.

With an air of resignation, Kunikida rose to his full height and stepped over to the bed. He moved with his usual precision, pulling back the blanket on the opposite side and lying down stiffly, as if the mere act of sharing the futon with you was a monumental compromise.

You couldn’t help but smile as you lay back down, keeping your promise and staying as far away as possible. Despite his grumbling, there was something weirdly satisfying about his presence nearby.

Minutes passed, the room falling into a quiet stillness, you stared at the ceiling, with your thoughts drifting back to the longing feeling of staying in the spirit realm. The ache in your chest deepened, thinking about family, friend, life in your normal world.

Kunikida sensed your tension, at first thinking it was the fact you were sharing a futon, but when his eyes sleepily opened to see your furrowed brow, he lets out a gentle sigh.

“You are thinking too much. Sleep. Think more tomorrow, though its a wonder that you think at all in that empty head of yours” He spoke, even with an insult, his tone was gentle and dare say kind.

“You’re right. The thinking part. Not the head empty part” you chuckle and laid on your side then, finding the new position comfortable. For a moment you caught this hazel eyes in the darkness, admiring the way they looked so…you couldn’t quite find the words for it, but it was a comfort nonetheless.

After a few minutes, the Oni next to you, tall and lumbering, had fallen asleep, whilst you carried on battling your thoughts. You tried distracting yourself, cricketing your legs under the blanket, rubbing the fabric between your fingers or even just sniffing the futon. It wasn’t until you turned your gaze towards Kunikida, whose face was relaxed in sleep, his golden hair had been set free, and his long locks sprawled out over his pillow. You could tell he was enjoying being back in his bed.

He looked so peaceful, so warm and even vulnerable. You hated to admit it but it was nice just seeing him in this state. No insults, no bickering, just peace.

The thought struck you again, a strange, yearning thought you hadn’t expected before today.

You didn’t want to leave.

You shook your head, turning back to face the ceiling. ‘Get a grip, Y/N. Thirty days. That’s all this is.’

Eventually, your thoughts quieted, and you drifted off to a blissful sleep.

-

Kunikida woke a little while later, his gaze fell on you, who was fast asleep on the other side of the futon. Your breathing was soft and even, your expression free of the worry and fear that so often clouded your features during the day. Except of course today, the way you weaved in and out of the crowd so carefree and happy, it blossomed something within Kunikida.

He let out a quiet sigh, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

There was something unsettlingly right about this. Sharing the same space. Protecting you. It didn’t help that being in such a close proximity to you, he could smell your scent. Although your human scent had faded, another soon came into being; it was your real scent, how you normally smell along with something he could only recognise in Omegas. He edges closer, smelling more of that sweeter tone, intoxicating and inviting. He recalled when he nuzzled against your arm, leaving a trail of kisses along your wrist. He found himself wanting to do it again.

He tried to dismiss the feeling as nothing more than the effects of the spirit bond. He was obligated to keep you safe, to stay close. That was all. It didn’t mean anything.

And yet, as he watched you, a small, quiet part of him, a part he didn’t dare acknowledge - wished it did mean something.

Kunikida shook his head, forcing himself to look away. He closed his eyes, trying to will himself back to sleep. But the image of your peaceful face lingered, and for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to feel the faintest hint of longing.

• Next Chapter ->

[bluecollarmcandtf]

The Cop I Own part 2

Officer De Luca settled nicely into the role I gave him. Every night after work, he quietly slips through the back and stands patiently at my side until I address him. I always have the guy begin the night by scrubbing the dishes I've tossed in the sink during the day.

It's always nice to see the sink empty again, once he's toweled them off and carefully put them away. He knows where they go better than I do at this point. The cop has been routinely cleaning and organizing my kitchen for me.

"So how was ur day, De Luca?" I call as he scrubs stale food from my plate.

"It was actually pretty long, sir," he sighed, "I was on traffic duty today. It always kills my feet to stand for so long."

I come up behind and give his full rear a smack. He frowns but knows he's supposed to accept it when I touch him.

"Well, I like seeing you on your feet," I sing in his ear, "You aren't trying to say you want to relax, are you?"

"Of course not, sir," he replies tersely, splashing the dish into the soapy water.

"Good. Go ahead and take the trash out when your done."

"Yes, sir."

I watched while my policeman carried the trash to the curb, nodding a polite hello to my neighbor across the street. Officer De Luca had caught stares from just about everybody in our edition.

Suddenly having a cop around piqued everyone's interest. I caught a few of them staring in confusion as he did all the housework while I watched from the porch. I imagine they think we are just a strange gay couple. They probably assume I nag at my partner to do the chores the minute he gets home. I guess their assumptions aren't that far off.

Ultimately, they only gossip about our arrangement. I'm sure they honestly appreciate the presence of having my policeman around. He's kind of like the ultimate guard dog.

"Alright, De Luca," I say as he gets back in the house, "Go ahead and clean the house from top to bottom. I'm calling it a night."

I watched him get started with the windows.

This was at least the third time he'd wiped them down this week. I've never lived in a house with such routine cleaning, but I've come to expect certain things from him the second I wake up. If my shower doesn't have that lingering smell of cleaning chemicals or the floor isn't shining with polish, officer De Luca has to redo it before reporting in at the police station.

He'd already been an hour late once before when he forgot to have my clothes ironed and laid out for the day.

It kind of takes him a long time at night to get all these things done. I have no idea how late he stays up, but he always downs a few cups of coffee before hopping in his cruiser.

I don't feel guilty about the long hours. I made him sell his house a couple weeks ago and invited him to sleep in my basement. I'd only allowed him to keep the necessities when he moved in. He carried all his weight sets down and hung his uniforms in the storage closet.

I had him sell the clothes he didn't need for work. I like seeing my cop in uniform, so that's the only thing he really wears anymore.

Laying in my bed, I can here the distant hum of a vacuum, lulling me to sleep. I already couldn't wait for him to gently wake me up with breakfast in bed...

[hythlodaeus-mynewoldfriend]

Day 2: Horizon no warnings. word count 913

Her lungs burn as she looks over her shoulder once more, Still no guard. I might just be able to make it this time. Still Siberite sprints onward, the port town of Thavnair, Yedlihmad, within her sights, beginning to gleam with the small line of daylight over the ocean. She says a prayer to the Sisters that she find someone leaving right away and far from her home, for should she fail and her parents catch her there will never be another chance to leave. 

She puts her hands on her knees when she stops on the edge of Yedlihmad, letting her two stuffed bags fall before her. Panting she takes in the muddied silver heels and hem of her blue silk skirt in an attempt to even her breathing. So far, so good, She thinks as she stands once more adjusting her bags, finding them heavier now than when she initially left home, Let’s just find someone willing to take me on. 

The wooden pier is already bustling with sailors loading up the last bits of cargo, passengers from who knows where taking in the new sights of their destination, and sellers bargaining with suppliers. Siberite scans looking for anyone that’s almost done loading, finding only a burly hyur, with long dark hair and dressed in a simple linen white shirt and black pants, that stretches out his back when the last crate is loaded onto a rowboat. She pushes past the others on the pier, calling out, “Sir! Uh, excuse me sir!” The man looks up at her and then on either side before pointing at himself. Siberite nods, “Yes you! I must ask you something.”

The man shrugs, “Just make it quick. I got places to be.”

She smiles, “So does that mean you are getting ready to depart?”

“Soon as I get this last load on board,” he points his thumb back to a larger wooden ship with a statue depiction on the bow that she thinks is a goddess of Eorzea.

“Could you tell me where you are headed?”

The man tilts his head, “Final stop is Limsa Lominsa, but got a few others along the way.” He looks her up and down, raising a brow at her lightly bejeweled silk attire and her silver statement jewelry, “You’re not lookin’ to sail outta here by any chance?” Siberite nods, “Look, miss, I can’t just-.”

“I can pay you.” She interjects, rifling through the small purse on her hip. She pulls out a platinum diamond and pink beryl necklace, letting it shine in the first rays of light. The man’s eyes go wide as he takes it in, Siberite giving a smirk, “I take it you know how much you can sell this for?”

The man shakes his head clear, grumbling out, “Well sure, but not nearly-.”

She flips it around, showing off the exclusive Thavnarian designer’s signature, “There’s a matching pair of earrings too.”

“You ain’t playin’ around, lady. You that desperate?” He glances between Siberite and the necklace, teeth grinding as she lets it dance in front of him. With a huff he crosses his arms, “You won’t have much in the way of private accommodation, can’t guarantee safe travel or decent food, but I can get you to your destination if you can handle the rough living situation.”

Part of her recoils at the thought of not having some kind of luxury, be it private sleeping quarters or edible food, but what did she expect? Looking at his ship it seems decent enough size to hopefully allow for sleeping in a storage room, and his tapping foot gives tell to the hasty departure she delays with every second they stand there. A quick glance over her shoulder makes it all the more imperative as two of the Radiant Host question people in the town holding up a piece of paper with her face on it no doubt. Fuck it, “I’ll give you the earrings when I depart, but we have a deal.”

He steps aside and helps her into the rowboat, before jumping in himself. He sits himself in front of her, blocking anyone else from seeing her, giving her a wink. Once safely on the ship, Siberite hands over the necklace, seating herself at the front of the boat out of the sailors’ way, checking for any damage on her sore feet, Note to self these heels are not made for sprinting in the jungle. Finally, she hears one of the men yell to weigh anchor, and the snap of the sails catching the wind, feeling the boat begin to move along the sea. 

Her heart races with each malm she puts between her and Thavnair. Lungs reinvigorated with the splash and smell of salty sea as the ship moves fast enough to let her hair fly among the wind. She laughs, her shaking hands gripping the edge of the ship looking down at the creatures she only ever read about swimming alongside them. “I-. I did it….” Siberite looks back to where she came, seeing Thavnair, her home and her prison, become no more than a speck of dust along the horizon. “I actually did it! I’m free!” She laughs and yells out among the crashing waves, hands in the air, looking west towards her new start. Siberite beams letting the ambient sounds fill her hears, making out the faintest of whispers among the wind:

….May we meet soon, my brave little spark….

[mirx-xko-offical]

Doughnuts!

Ruggie Bucchi x GN!Reader

TWs: None! This is complete fluff<3

INFO~

Coming back from having zero motivation to finally make this part 2- linking part one later or you can just look at my page😪

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey! Give it back!"

"Shyeheehee! Never!~"

"Oh You little-"

"Oof!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Ruggie~" [Name] leaned into the hyena's room, humming his name as they spotted him. "Ruggie I wanna go out."

They ran after him, hugging him from behind as they begged for his attention. "Ruggie~ Darling answer meEe." They whined, squeezing him tightly as he finally caved in and looked over to his partner.

"I would, but Leona lost his card so I don't have any money." He sighed, relieved when he finally was free from their squeeze.

“I can pay! I just got paid not to long ago.” They said as they jumped up and down, silently begging for him to say yes.

He sighed, smirking at the idea of free food. “Fine. But only because you’re paying.” That was the words they were looking for. They didn’t waste a second before dragging Ruggie along.

“Where are we going again?” He said as they slowed down, not only holding his hand as they walked outside campus.

“Well I heard some students talk about a new coffee shop so I wanted to see it!” They said as they looked out in front of them, seeing the town. “Just thought you’d like it. Plus they sell donuts~”

Now THAT caught his attention. His tail started to wag from side to side as he happily looked down to them. “You could’ve started with that y’know.” He hummed as he smiled at the thought.

“I would’ve told you sooner if you would’ve been more stubborn.” They shrugged, finally seeing the small building. “Come on!” That said as they staged him to the entrance.

Upon entering, there was the faint yet comforting smell of freshly brewed coffee and newly baked sweets. “I wonder what kind of sweets they have here…” They mumbled, walking over to the display case.

“I don’t care what they have as long as they still have some good old donuts.” He said as he waited for them to finish looking, his arms behind his head.

“Hello you two!” A small waitress came up, her ears twitched as she hurriedly went behind the counter and grabbed a stool. “I hope I didn’t make you wait for long.”

“Nope you’re fine!” They smiled as they finally decided what to get. They waited for the smaller one to get their stuff arranged before ordering. “I’ll take a cup of [Drink choice] and a [Sweet/Food choice].”

She quickly wrote that down as she also placed it into the cash register. “Okay and you sir?” He looked over at her before humming. “I’ll have a chocolate milk and some glazed donuts.”

“Okay! That’ll be [money amount]! Feel free to sit wherever.” She said as she took the money from their hands, putting it in the cash register before running to the kitchen.

[Name] looked over to Ruggie, seeing him awkwardly glancing around. [Name] sighed before dragging the male to a table, about shoving him into his seat before going to her own.

[Name] and Ruggie chatted for a bit (school drama and stuff), pausing their conversation as their food arrived before continuing. “And so basically I had caught some student and a RSA kid making out behind the locker rooms.” [Name] spoke as they stuffed their face with food.

“Called it.” Ruggie simply said as he took a bite out of the donut, humming is satisfaction. They fell into a comfortable silence before Ruggie randomly took a piece of [Name]’s [Sweet/Food choice], making [Name] gasp in shock.

“Hey! Ruggie give it back!” They jumped out of their seat to reach the male, desperately trying to get the piece back.

“Shyeheehee! How about Never?~” Ruggie playfully replied, doing his signature laugh as he held it away from [Name]. “You little-“ They said before launching themself onto the male, Ruggie surprisingly not falling out of his seat in the process.

“Oof! Owch.” Ruggie said as [Name] got back the piece, shoving it in their mouth before the same worker came back.

“You guys need to calm down or else you might get kicked out you know.” The waitress huffed before walking off.

[Name] and Ruggie sat there before laughing to themselves.

——————————————————————————————

Imma just end it here bc I have no other motivation and my writers block is existing real hard rn 🤧

I also wrote most of this at like 1am to like 4am so it might not be all that great but hey, I tried-

Anyways I hope you enjoyed! Remember to not copy/steal my writing! Reblogs are appreciated 🫶

[goodnightmemes]

YELLOWJACKETS SEASON ONE SENTECE STARTERS

❛ So what do you think really happened out there? ❜

❛ All I know is that what happened was a tragedy. ❜

❛ Is this really how you thought your life was gonna turn out? ❜

❛ I don't give a shit what you meant, you smug little bitch. You don't know a fucking thing about my life. ❜

❛ Want a quickie in the bathroom? ❜

❛ I'm pretty sure it's exactly as bad as it looks. ❜

❛ I liked the saints. They were all so tragic. ❜

❛ You're the only one who's always been there for me. ❜

❛ You're the best friend I've ever had. You know that, right? ❜

❛ We agreed. Say no more than we have to, stay out of the public eye. ❜

❛ We're gonna need to change the bandages soon. And then hourly after that. ❜

❛ Are you trying to be adorable with me? Does that usually work for you? ❜

❛ You are so mad. And yet so wrong. ❜

❛ You crazy fucking bitch. ❜

❛ If you maybe want to maybe get a drink another 20 years from now, you'll know how to reach me. ❜

❛ They'll be here to rescue us by morning. ❜

❛ If poison ivy's what kills me out here, then I deserve to die. ❜

❛ We think we know what we're doing, but really we have no clue. ❜

❛ Wolves can kill anything if the pack's big enough. ❜

❛ If you want me busting kneecaps, it's gonna cost extra. ❜

❛ You know, you can learn so much about a person by going through their personal refuse. ❜

❛ You two are the worst for each other, and I don't want to pull you out of that toxic shit again. ❜

❛ It's so easy for you to judge others with your perfect life, right? ❜

❛ We might be stuck in the middle of nowhere, but, hey, at least there's porn. ❜

❛ You're beautiful when you're honest. ❜

❛ Well, mainly, I've just been trying to channel you, so I've been being dark and deadpan. ❜

❛ Oh, please don't be mad. It's a really long drive home, and uncomfortable silences make me uncomfortable. ❜

❛ The worst is behind us, okay? We're gonna be fine. ❜

❛ Are you kidding me right now? "A bad feeling"? I don't believe in that shit, and you're not going to either. ❜

❛ I don't know what you're so scared of. You've already got blood on your hands. ❜

❛ I think bad things happened here. ❜

❛ I think we should get together and strategize. You know, pop a few pins on the old corkboard. ❜

❛ Look, you can follow me or not, just don't slow me down. ❜

❛ Is this some kind of sex thing? ❜

❛ I can already smell the ghosts of hangovers past. ❜

❛ Has anyone ever told you your obsession with biographical minutia is the opposite of a turn-on? ❜

❛ I know when you look at me, you don't see someone you should be afraid of, but, you're wrong. ❜

❛ Okay. Yes, ma'am/sir. I'll perfectly calibrate my tone as I tell you to go fuck yourself. ❜

❛ You had to know I was, like, totally in love with you, right? ❜

❛ It doesn't matter how shitty of parents they are. It still fucks you up when they're gone. ❜

❛ I don't understand why I'm the only one in this family who thinks that actions should have consequences. ❜

❛ Well, you've never been good at being anything other than yourself. Honestly, it's your superpower. ❜

❛ You can't keep not pitching in. People are noticing. ❜

❛ I don't belong here, and I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this. ❜

❛ Wait, is this a pep talk? Wow, that is so not your style. ❜

❛ Cheering people up is your thing. ❜

❛ You make people feel like things are gonna be okay just by showing up and...being your dumb, hot, awesome self. At least you always did that for me. ❜

❛ I feel like I just look like I fell off a Fifty Shades of Grey bus tour. ❜

❛ I just had a brainstorm. We should have a seance. ❜

❛ You're so not fine. Do you think I can't see that? ❜

❛ You poisoned me. Why? ❜

❛ Why can't you accept the possibility that there are things in this world we don't understand? ❜

❛ Please. Promise me you won't do anything stupid. ❜

❛ I'd sell my firstborn for a cheesesteak right now. ❜

❛ I am beyond upset. I don't even know who the hell you are right now. ❜

❛ It's not your fault. What happened. ❜

❛ I can't imagine how exhausting it must've been, always comparing yourself to someone so beautiful and smart. ❜

❛ You know, for someone who went through some shit of their own, it never ceases to amaze me how shut off you are to help. ❜

❛ I have no regrets. None. And I want you to know that. ❜

❛ I think I'm seeing things. In the Bible, people had visions, right? Like prophets and stuff? ❜

❛ I don't want to die! ❜

❛ The '50 s called, they want your dumbass attitude back. ❜

❛ Goodnight. Sleep tight. Don't let the fact that you're a terrible person keep you up tonight. ❜

❛ You're not gonna talk me out of this. ❜

❛ And who knows? With you as our fearless fucking leader, we might actually make it. ❜

❛ I know that this makes me, like, this totally selfish asshole, but I don't want you to go, okay? ❜

❛ You're obviously hiding something from me, and it's making me feel crazy. ❜

❛ What did I do? When did you stop wanting me to be your best friend? ❜

❛ I'm just saying, you know, if this was a horror movie, she'd be the villain, right? ❜

❛ Not the first time I've been held hostage. ❜

❛ You see, that is what we call leverage in my line of work. Let me go, and I'll tell you everything I know. ❜

❛ You only have leverage if I am not willing to make you talk, which, in this case, means that you have no leverage at all. ❜

❛ You guys are just as fucked-up as I am. You're just better at lying to yourselves. You're not healthy. You're not stable. You're living on the brink, just like me. ❜

❛ Every single cell in your body wants to blow things up and see what happens. That's who you are. ❜

❛ You know what? I really thought that we had something. Okay? And I thought this was… ❜

❛ I hate to break it to you, but we were just fucking. And your whole high school crush on me was really cute, but now it's just pathetic. ❜

❛ If this is an anniversary present, you are three months and my entire personality off. ❜

❛ Relationships are bullshit anyway. Trust me. Whatever you did, she'll get over it. ❜

❛ I'm pretty much the best friend you have right now. And that's not much of a competition, is it? ❜

❛ If I'm being honest, not a single one of those things felt...real. ❜

❛ I'm the reason she went. And I'm the reason she got hurt. ❜

❛ It's like if someone made me feel "it" ... it wasn't gonna be good for anybody, you know? ❜

❛ There is no "safe" anymore. ❜

❛ I wish I'd never fucking met you. ❜

❛ You don't understand. I'm afraid I'm going to hurt you... Please. I am begging you. Please. Please, just go. ❜

❛ Hey. Look, nothing has happened yet. We can still fix this. Just need you to put down the knife. And we can talk this through. ❜

❛ We'll drink rotten berries and celebrate our impending death. ❜

❛ You were never supposed to get involved in this. It just... It got out of control. ❜

❛ What do you mean, you killed someone? Like you murdered someone? ❜

❛ I can't believe you thought I was going to book club this whole time. ❜

❛ When did we become these people who lie and cheat and do awful things and just stay together because…'cause why? ❜

❛ We've always been these people. Secrets have always been a part of us. ❜

❛ You could've talked to me about that, you know. For a long time, I thought maybe you might, but… ❜

❛ Friendship doesn't matter. Love doesn't matter. They're just things that we use to pretend we aren't gonna end up like dead cabin guy; like rotted-out husks in some bullshit attic. ❜

❛ Don't you understand? You don't matter anymore. ❜

❛ That's enough of your weird fucking bullshit. Haven't you done enough? ❜

❛ 12% of all killers are caught buying cleaning supplies. Also, regular bleach leaves behind hemoglobin for the luminol tests. ❜

❛ I think what you mean to say is, "Hi, [name]. It's so great to see you after all this time. Thanks for swinging by and helping us cover up a murder." ❜

❛ You know, gardening, PTA, dismembering my lover's corpse. ❜

❛ I saw something. After...it happened. I don't think I was dead. But I wasn't really alive, either. I think I was, like...In-between. ❜

❛ I know what I saw. I don't know what it meant. But I know I saw something. Something was out there with us. ❜

❛ We just howl at the moon now and have fucking orgies? ❜

❛ You're so obsessed with yourself, I'm surprised you're aware other people even exist. ❜

❛ I'm not jealous of you. I feel sorry for you. Because you're weak. And I think that deep down, you know it. ❜

❛ I'd say it was soul-crushing, if I remembered what it felt like to have one. ❜

❛ So glad you're joining us. We've been waiting for you. ❜

[matcheadz]

HOS/ Host Of Seraphim Update!

Chapter 19 is called, "A Father's Presence."

TW for mention of alcoholism and death by it in the beginning. Mention of torture, but nothing explicit.

Here's a little spoiler-free snippet!:

“Looks like you got your hands full there Ms. Rheese. Eager to sign the adoption papers this early or are we putting them up for auction?” She snorted loudly, pressing her scarf back to her face in embarrassment as she walked up the steps. Dirty ice and vestiges of the light snowfall from the night fell off her boots with each step. “No, no, they’re not mine. Just a field trip. Don’t tempt me though, I might think about it.” She waved her hand sweetly, cupping her gloved hand against the glass and peering in through the front door. Her breath accumulated on the glass as she squinted. Her long, dirty blond hair curled around her ears like natural earmuffs, her hazel eyes jumping between the trio of them and the movement inside. She gave them a smile of intrigue, her hand still resting against the glass. “Popsicles in this weather? You must have a sweet tooth.” Vergil looked down at his popsicle and blinked, but Dante only snickered. “The real question is why the open-air market down the road still sells them.” “Ah, yes, well. The age-old question. No one really knows. I think there might be an old Innocenti out there who takes pity on the young orphans out here. I know I would.” The blond woman rubbed her mittened hands against her arms, calling over her shoulder to what Vergil presumed to be her assistant for the children. The glass door opened just enough for the woman to place her body in between it and the frame. Her face broke into a soft smile, whispering something low and kind to the person behind the door. Dante brushed himself of and made to stand up, but the woman leveled him an apologetic smile and shook her head. “Sorry sir, the schools have early access to government facilities to make sure the students are in order before they open to the public on. Sorry to cut in line, it might be a little while longer.” Dante waved a hand dismissively at her, “No worries missy, my brother here’s got a woman on the inside, apparently. She’ll pick up the degenerate street trash eventually.” Vergil blinked up at her, handing his half-finished popsicle to Dante as he stood up. “I believe she may currently be inside—” The door swung open, and the woman behind the door revealed herself in all her grinning glory. The blonde woman startled back as Allessandra opened her arms to him. “Amico?! I was starting to think you had left without saying goodbye!” Vergil did not get to open his mouth before he was forced into an embrace. Both his shoulders and his hands came up in defense and froze there, a protest dying on his lips. Mortified, he forced himself to pat at her shoulder once or twice, avoiding the suddenly calculating gaze of his new acquaintance and the burning stare at his back. Allessandra pushed away from his stiff form, hands on his shoulders as she grinned. “Oh, you said you’d be sticking around but I didn’t see you for such a long time and—oh! Mi dispiace!” She withdrew her hands, wincing at his strung-out expression and turning back to the blonde woman. The woman herself was now very stiff, her brow furrowed and crossing her arms. Allessandra gripped one of her elbows and stood up on the ends of her toes to give her a small peck on the cheek. The woman’s eyes flicked briefly down to the crowd of approaching children, but otherwise did not stop glaring at him. Vergil suddenly wanted to drown, ignoring his brother as he snorted. “Rheese, this is Vergil! You remember, I told you about him, no? Found him again last week with his son!”

[jor-elsemissary]

Can’t Stop Loving You p4

The Press Room was stifling. There were too many people and it was far too bright for his liking. The majority of people in the room were men and women who would gladly tear him to pieces with their questions and scathing column pieces if it would sell papers and get them a pulitzer. Though, out of all of those present, at least he can trust Lois Lane to be honest with her inquiries even if they were hard questions to answer.

“Mister Luthor,” piped up said reporter from The Daily Planet, legal notepad in hand and pen tapping at her lips as she finished formulating the question in her mind. “Some people are saying that the only reason you are leading the recovery and rebuilding efforts in Metropolis is because of the government subsidies and lucrative contracts that LuthorCorp will be entrusted with for the next ten years. It is estimated that your company will gain a profit in several billion dollars. What do you have to say in response to such speculation?”

Leave it to Lois Lane to question his reasons for restoring their city. Right now he wished he was anywhere else than here. Preferably on the way toward Martha’s townhouse to pick her up for dinner. Thinking about the red-haired senator had his mind wandering before he realized it was wandering. It took him a few moments to regather his thoughts and focus on the press conference. His fallacy in composure hadn’t gone unnoticed by the others and he heard Lois call to him again. He only hoped that it was perceived as hesitancy to answer rather than losing focus.

Lionel cleared his throat and put on a smile, “As you are aware, Miss Lane, no venture—whether it is charitable or business—comes without some kind of profit made or lost. LuthorCorp would prefer to gain rather than lose, but any profits we do obtain from this is merely an added bonus. I and my company have the resources and familiarity to help Metropolis regain its splendor and glory, and it only makes sense that we lead the rebuild efforts. Metropolis is my city. I grew up and lived there my entire life, and it pains me to see the death and destruction brought to it by these alien invaders. If I can help in any way, then I will.”

“Is it also true then, that Senator Kent asked you to help?” Lois threw out there before any other reporter could ask their question next. The cameras in the back started snapping at a faster pace and Lionel tried to blink away the multiple flashes. He wanted to say yes, that Martha had called him up to discuss about helping the city and her people, but he would be lying. He hadn’t spoken to Martha since she had broken up with him months ago, no explanation as to why or if he had been at fault. The pain of their break up must have bled into his expression for he could hear concern in Lois’ voice as she pressed him, “Mister Luthor?”

“Whether Senator Kent asked Mister Luthor for his aid is irrelevant,” Rebecca came to his rescue, gently guiding him away from the podium so he could make a discreet escape. “The fact remains that Lionel Luthor and LuthorCorp are helping the city at a great cost to the company’s reserves. LuthorCorp intends to see the reconstruction and rescue efforts through to the end.” He subtly checked his watch and noted the time. It was rush hour and he would be lucky if he made it on time to Martha’s place.

With one last glance toward his personal aide, thanking whatever higher power there was for her, Lionel quietly left the press conference and headed out of the East Wing of the White House. It took him only a matter of minutes to reach where his limousine was waiting and be on his way toward Martha’s townhouse. He glanced at his watch again and noted how much time he had and muttered a curse under his breath.

“Ron?” he called to his driver.

“Sir?”

“Is it possible for us to avoid the congestions and reach Martha’s place on time?” Lionel asked of the man. Ever since he had hired him after losing Alex, Ron had proven to be quite reliable, a fighter and very loyal. It was hard to come by employees with that kind of work ethic, especially toward wealthier clientele.

Ron was silent for a moment while he messed with the nav-screen. After a moment more, he nodded in answer, “Yes, sir. I believe I can get you to the Senator’s place in time.”

Pleased at the answer, Lionel leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes as he tried to relax after a long day. He tried to think about anything else but Metropolis and even Martha, but his thoughts eventually wandered back to her and the dinner that they were about to have.

He wondered how she has been since she broke up with him, one of many questions he knew he would ask of her once they met again. He also wondered why she had in the first place. He had thought long and hard over the following days and weeks as to what he might have done or said to have her break things off, but he could not come up with anything that would have warranted that kind of reaction from her.

So he started digging instead.

He had his personal detective look into her activities, hoping beyond hope that it wasn’t something extreme as blackmail that forced her to leave him. But the man had found nothing out of the extraordinary other than Martha being appointed to a committee that oversaw the country’s various black operations. It was possible she had learned something LuthorCorp was involved in that she didn’t approve or maybe a threat to his or Clark’s wellbeing, but again it wouldn’t be enough to make her leave him.

Martha would have worked things out with him if that had been the case.

Lionel glanced out the window of his limousine and stared aimlessly at the buildings and people outside as they passed them by. The vehicle slowed to a stop at a traffic light and his attention was drawn to a shop filled with various flowers. He realized that he needed something to give to Martha to help break any ice that was between them and he knows a gift of flowers always works with women.

“Ron, stop here!” he told the man and immediately opened the door before the driver could respond to his demand. Lionel stepped out of the limo and stared across at the flower shop. He heard the car move, Ron having no choice but to continue with the flow of traffic. Lionel was confident that he’ll loop around and be back in time to pick him up.

Until then, he had to pick out a bouquet that Martha would like.

He headed into the shop, pushing the door open with a jingle of bells to announce his presence to the owner. Immediately his senses were assaulted with the fragrances of the various blooms and he was grateful that he was not allergic to pollen or the perfumes they gave off. But he was overwhelmed by how many bouquet arrangements there were.

Lionel found himself rubbing at his right hand, pressing into the tendons of his palm more out of a nervous habit than pain these days. He had no clue as to what to get her and how she would take them. He knows she once had a garden at the farmhouse and she planted all sorts of flowers but he couldn’t remember for the life of him which ones she had picked to decorate her home with.

A clerk soon came from the back with a smile on her face. A dark skinned woman with a thick mane of hair done up in a braided bun. She wore a flowery shirt and simple blue jeans underneath a green stained, apron that had the name Mal tagged to it. She was taking off a pair of gardeners gloves by the time she reached him. “Hello! Welcome to Malory’s Flower Bouquet. What can I do for you?”

He found her customer service to be a little overbearing, perhaps the fake smile she wore unnerved him more than the greeting. But he didn’t let it bother him or judge her for it too much. It was her job to be friendly even when she didn’t feel like it. “I am looking to purchase a bouquet for someone. I… uh, have no idea what she likes but I want it to be meaningful.”

“For a wife or girlfriend?” she inquired and he was a little perplexed that she didn’t recognize him or maybe she did and she was just being polite.

“Girlfriend,” he supplied and then quickly added, “Former. She, uh, accepted a dinner invitation and I am hoping to reconcile.”

“I see,” the woman said and turned toward her arrangements, disappearing among them. “Are you at fault?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Did she break up with you because of something you had done and you want to apologize?” Malory elaborates from behind several roses of various colors.

“That’s the thing… I don’t know if its something I did. She never said.” Why was he telling her this? All he wanted was a bouquet to give to Martha. “Why do you ask?”

“Well if you want to be meaningful, you need to understand why you are doing it and what you want to say to her with them,” she explained. “What do you want to say?”

“I…,” Lionel paused to consider the question. What did he want the flowers to mean? He knows roses are about love and desire, he’s given plenty of those. He certainly loved Martha still and he did desire her, but he didn’t want her thinking that’s all she was to him. “I don’t know. I love her. I want her back and… and whatever it is that upset her I’m willing to work things through if she’ll let me.”

After a minute Malory emerged from the arrangements and she had in her hands a bundle of various colored tulips. “Tulips are romantic, Mister Luthor.” So she did recognize him then. It surprised him that someone was being nice and didn’t want to insult him. “The red symbolizes love and pink is affection.”

She brought the bundle over to her desk and laid them atop of a stack of brown paper. “White tells her you wish for forgiveness and worthiness, that you wish to reconcile with her.”

“I… was not aware that tulips were that symbolic,” he confessed as he watched her wrap the flowers into a simple bouquet arrangement that he can easily carry.

“Not many are,” Mal tells him and brings the flowers over to the till to check him out. “Unless your girlfriend is familiar, what I told you is more for your sake than for her. She’s not likely to know what they mean unless you tell her.”

Lionel gave a small laugh, “Oh I’m sure she knows. One of her close friends back home was a florist too.” He knew Martha and Nel were close friends, something he had learned many years ago when he had been unfaithful to Lillian and had a brief affair with Lana Lang’s aunt. He was confident that Martha knew her flowers through her and from gardening.

He accepted the flowers after paying for them in cash. They looked appealing and smelled nice, their fragrance wasn’t as overpowering as some of the plants there. He hoped Martha would like them and understand his intentions for tonight. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. If you need any more arrangements, please consider us for business.” He nods to the owner and then makes his way back out onto the street.

As predicted, Ron was patiently waiting with the limousine and with the passenger door open for him. He ducked into the car and carefully set the bouquet down beside him. Ron closed the door behind him and resumed driving his boss to the Senator’s place.

Lionel would occasionally glance at the flowers and ponder the meaning of them. He deeply loved Martha and admired her a great deal. Although the break up had come out of no where for him, blind siding him even, he couldn’t let her go. He had tried and all his efforts did was lose a good secretary and end up with one that reminded him every day of what he was missing.

He had been an idiot to think he could replace Martha with a facsimile. His vindictiveness only ended up hurting himself and put a good woman in an awkward position.

He hoped the florist was right and that Martha would understand the meaning of them. He wanted this to work out.

He wanted Martha.

Lionel leaned against the window of his door, resting his head against it as he let his thoughts drift to the good times he had with her.

———

The limousine soon pulled up to a line of old, brick townhouses with oak trees in front of them, their branches providing shade over the sidewalk and the street. The homes had black, wrought iron fencing that protected what little yard they had in the front and the small walkway leading up to the doors. Some of the homes had decorative, garden flags, and most had at least the American flag gently swaying in the small, winter breeze. Snow had yet to fall and blanket the place in its wintery embrace, but Lionel could see icicles having formed on the gutters, tiny pinpricks of droplets caught frozen in time until they broke off or spring came first.

Ron stopped the car in front of one of the houses, a white brick home nestled in between two others. He doubted a sheet of paper could fit in between the walls separating the townhouse. He could see a little bit of Martha on the outside of the home, the small garden she planted beneath the windows had a little bit of Kansas in them, hardy blooms that could withstand the cold. They weren’t blooming yet, their buds still closed but he suspected they would show their beauty soon enough.

In a way he felt that was how their relationship was. Closed but waiting to blossom again when the conditions were just right to do so.

His door opened when Ron stepped up and Lionel sat in his seat for a moment longer as he tried to gather his nerves. How long had it really been since they had parted, since they had last spoken to each other? Despite what had been said at the press conference and in the newspapers, they hadn’t spoken since the breakup. Rebecca had been the intermediary between them the few times he wanted to talk to her or Martha wanted his help on rebuilding the city.

A small smile creeped onto his face when he realized that was how Rebecca knew he needed Martha still. He should give her a raise for the trouble he had probably put her through these last few months since he hired her. The poor woman was probably fed up with him pinning over Martha by now.

Lionel reached over for the bouquet of flowers and stepped out of his car. “Hopefully we won’t be long, Ron,” he tells his driver and the man nodded in reply. He started for the small gate that barred unwanted visitors from entering the small property, found it was not locked and lifted the latch with a gloved hand while he held the flowers in his other arm.

The few steps to the door felt like an endless trek and when he finally stood in front of the mahogany door, he suddenly found himself fighting a nervousness he hadn’t felt since they first started seeing each other well over a year ago. He took a moment to take several deep breaths to force his anxiety to the back of his mind and take control of the moment.

He was a Luthor. He had more nerve wracking business deals than this. He can handle meeting a woman he cared about and was deeply in love with.

He can do this.

Before he allowed his insecurities and anxieties get the better of him, Lionel reached out and pressed the brass plated doorbell and waited. He stood waiting outside and swallowed back the nervousness as he caught sight of a shadow beyond the frosted glass pane beside the door. A moment later the door was opened and the woman who has haunted his dreams for the last several months finally stood before him in all the beauty and allure he remembered.

He wanted to stare in awe at her, remembering the first time he had seen her dressed up and how amazed he was by her beauty. They had been friends back then, but he had known then that he would do anything for her. It didn’t matter if she returned his feelings or not. This was a woman he had wanted and the usual lust he would have felt for any other woman was only a passing thought in the back of his mind.

Lionel smiled happily at seeing her. So thrilled was he at seeing her he hadn’t quite caught on to her expression until she forced herself to smile. He felt a pang of insecurity and disappointment creep up his spine and knew his own smile had faltered a little. He realized that she wasn’t all too happy to see him like he was with her. Had he been any other man, he would have given her the flowers and apologized before walking away.

But he wasn’t any other man and he wasn’t going to let her go so easily. He made the mistake of doing so the last time and he was not going to this time. Either they got back together or she made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with him anymore. He won’t lie to himself that it won’t hurt, but even he wasn’t so foolishly in love to continue something that couldn’t be.

“Hi, Lionel” Martha had quickly greeted him and stepped back to invite him into her home.

The fact she hadn’t barred him from entering was promising and gave him hope as he stepped inside and he nervously held out the bouquet of flowers to her. “Hello, Martha,” he greeted but the smile he wore began to fade when she hesitated to take the flowers. Perhaps he was wrong into believing he could win her over after all if she wasn’t very receptive to his presence and gift.

He wasn’t going to lie and say he wasn’t hurt. He very much felt like he was being stabbed in the heart by her reluctance. He tried to tell himself that whatever it was that had her break up with him in the first place must still be fresh for her and that was the only reason for her reactions toward him.

Lionel just wished he knew what it had been so he could help her and so he could understand.

Martha finally accepted the flowers, out of politeness he knew, and brought them over to the kitchen. “You looked well at the press conference,” she offered small talk and he gladly accepted the distraction from the growing tension between them.

“Hardly,” he answered and watched her as she put the flowers in a vase. Lionel kept his distance from her, choosing to give her space rather than be in it himself like he wanted to. He wanted to touch her then and there, just to feel her warmth under his hand and take in the comfort of her presence near him. He wanted to smell the fragrance that was uniquely her’s and he wondered if she still wore the same perfume, the very bottle he had given her as a gift in the early days of their relationship.

The desire to be next to her was overwhelming and it took everything he had to respect her decisions and choices about their relationship, and start things all over again. He didn’t like it and he knew it was in part stubbornness from them both. He loved her too much to invade her personal space and she, he wanted to believe, she was just being stubborn about the truth of their breakup.

“Between rebuilding Metropolis and handling stubborn politicians,” he continued and did his best to keep his bitterness out of his voice. “I am exhausted. Its a wonder I haven’t collapsed from the stress.”

“You’re a businessman,” Martha reminded him and turned to face him once she had the flowers nestled beautifully on the kitchen island. “You thrive best in stressful situations.” Except when breaking up with the woman he loved. Except when facing her again months later wanting to know why and hoping she would take him back.

He was, internally, a nervous wreck right now and it probably showed on his face. “Yes.” So he cast his gaze downward and clasped his hands behind his back to control his emotions and give him some semblance of a grounding. When he looked back up again and saw a genuine, warm smile, Lionel couldn’t help but smile back and felt that hope he had from moments ago be renewed.

“Shall we?” I’m sure you’re quite hungry, I know I am.” He held out his hand to her and was pleased when she didn’t hesitate this time to accept and let him tuck her arm under his. Lionel led her out of her home and waited for her to lock the door before leading her down the small path, through the gate and to the waiting limousine where Ron stood with the passenger door open.

His driver smiled warmly at the Senator, no doubt pleased to see her and Lionel had to wonder if all his staff was conspiring to get them back together somehow. If they were, it would be a story to tell should their efforts pay off. He found he couldn’t be angry or upset that people were conspiring against him on this.

Lionel stepped aside and let Martha enter the car first before he followed behind her. She settled across from him much to his disappointment, but he had to remind himself that they were not intimate with each other right now and this was, essentially, a first date all over again.

Once Ron had the limousine pulled back out onto the suburban street, Lionel tried to start up a conversation with her, “So, how have you been?” He doubted she would tell him the truth or give any clue as to why she had left. A part of him did not want to know, afraid that it had been him as to the reason why she had left; but a part of him did want to know so he could fix things.

The uncertainty was a cloud that was hanging over them, threatening to downpour and ruin things forever between them. He didn’t want that and he needed to decide now whether he wanted to know or not.

“I have been well.” He watched her carefully and knew it was a lie. He could see the stress of work creased around her eyes and at the corners of her lips. But there was something else that was bothering her and he suspected he was the reason for it. His sudden appearance in her life must have reminded her what had troubled her back then. “So this restaurant you’re taking me to, tell me more about it?”

The question was a distraction meant to keep him from prying into her life. He debated on whether he should ignore the question and press her for more. To do so would cause her to close up and he knew from experience that she would keep things close to her until she was well and ready to tell him. He needed to coax her into being ready sooner without making him look like he was prying too hard.

So he’ll answer her question and wait. He was patient. He had waited years for her to be ready to explore who they were to each other, he could wait a little longer to find the truth and get her back. “Its a small Italian hole in the wall I found a few years back when I was lobbying Senator Burke over some environmental issue involving LuthorCorp. It was surprisingly good and the ambience was welcoming, and dare I say it, romantic the few times I brought someone with me.”

“One of the many women you charmed into your arms?” It was a simple, innocent observation of what she knew about his life, but it sounded accusatory and disapproving to his ears. He knows Martha would not judge him for his past lifestyle, so why did it leave him feeling unsettled and needing to be mindful of what he said to her? “I noticed you have a new personal assistant.”

Lionel blinked at how quickly the subject turned and he wondered where this was going. He was quiet while he studied Martha, noting how she nervously knotted her gloved fingers and how she would not look at him. He frowned a little as it dawned on him what was meant by her statements and he wanted to laugh. But he refrained from doing so, knowing it would only be demeaning and further cement her assumptions.

“Rebecca?” he mentioned with a tender, reassuring smile. “She’s a good secretary. Reminds me of you, actually.”

“I’m sure she does.”

“Is that jealousy I hear?” he couldn’t help but say and that got her attention. Martha snapped her gaze to him and he felt the scornful glare, but he ignored it. “You needn’t worry about her, Martha. She’s engaged to another woman.”

“Another woman?” Martha looked a little confused but it gave way to a calmness that secretly signified she was relieved. He wondered what she thought he had been doing with the woman? Granted, he had foolishly, and a bit spitefully, chose Rebecca because of how much she looked like Martha and had tried to seduce her—failing spectacularly at that too—but once it became clear she would never be interested, he saw her only as an employee.

“A lesbian,” she commented and then the smile that he so adored found its way past an insecurity he hadn’t been aware Martha had, had. It gave him some insight into what she thought of him and was feeling. If she could feel upset at being replaced, she still felt something for him. That she still wanted him but whatever it was that made her leave was a barrier between them.

“Yes,” he chuckled softly. “Imagine my surprise when she told me about her engagement.” He returned her amused smile with his own, pleased that he could still get her to smile. “It certainly put a damper on any thoughts of seduction.”

Martha rolled her eyes at him, “But that is what you were trying to do when you hired her? What happened to Janet?”

Lionel sighed at the question, “I… didn’t take our separation well and drove her into quitting. It’s the same reason I hired Rebecca. Martha, why? You never told me, only that it wasn’t working out. What had I done?”

He hadn’t planned on asking her now before dinner but the conversation had led to this and he really wanted to know. “Please let me fix things.”

“You can’t fix this Lionel,” he heard the hitch catch in her breath. He furrowed his brow when her hands covered her stomach. His eyes widened as he realized what had happened.

“Martha…”

“I had been.”

[valleymyristica]

[FOP] What it takes To WORK. [Intermission]

Dale should work. A little look into how Dale is doing after the founders festival

[ Masterpost ]

Words: 367

You can also read in below

It’s the day after the Founder’s Day Festival.

Things had gone great! His sales were through the roof. Just how he liked it, that’s why he has such a high roof after all. Should get a higher roof then it seems. Having put so much work and effort into the festival, it was only right that he got awarded for it.

Dev, as well, had been a valuable asset. The products with him had been the best selling ones. Speaking of, where is that kid? 

“O-Pairs, locate my son.”

Work.

Right, can’t focus on Dev now, he has work to do.

Schedule.

Indeed, he should go back, he has no time to rest. Time is money after all, and we all need money. That’s how we’re safe. Always work.

Work.

Yes, he has to get back to work.

Schedule.

Can’t get sidetracked. He has to get back to his schedule.

“Sir, your son, he-” an O-Pair by Dale’s side starts, having completed its objective.

“Ah, yes, don’t worry, inform him that he’s allowed to buy something, his contribution has been satisfactory. Make sure he doesn’t disturb me. If there is a problem, just solve it.” Dale responds, walking away, he has to get back to work. 

Work and Money. Those are the important things in life.

Work and Money. That’s all he needs.

Work and Money. What a lovely distraction.

From what?

NOTHING!

He just likes to work, that is all, everyone needs to work, everyone wants money, that’s just how things are. Simple. It’s normal. He’s a well adjusted member of society. Well, he’s a little bit better than everyone else, of course, he is a Dimmadome after all. His name is synonymous with success. He’s in the top 1%, of course he’s better.

He’s better than everyone. They just need to learn how to work harder, better, smarter. Just like he did. He’s worked so hard for this. 

He won’t stop now.

He can’t stop.

Work.

He has work to do. Important work. 

What kind of work? What are you? A spy? Why should he have to tell you anything? It’s work, it’s important, that’s all you need to know. That’s all he’ll ever tell.