#And I’m not saying you can’t find jokes in poor taste

[rooolt]

personal fandom pet peeve is when people read really hard into jokes, but specifically only to make bad faith arguments or paint a character as the worst person ever. Character people don’t like for arbitrary reasons, who is generally characterized as being a sarcastic, dry person, will make one joke/the show will include them in a single comedy beat and suddenly no one knows how to laugh anymore

[anastasiabowe]

𝘾𝙃𝘼 𝘾𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂! — Your husbands who just can’t say no to your cute little face, but sometimes that comes with a cost you will have to pay.

note: This one came to me in a DREAM. I want a man like this, so why not make my man like this?🤷🏽‍♀️

Content warnings: overstim, piv, punishment, rich husband, spanking, tough love, swearing, anything else 17+

★ — 𝗡𝗔𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗜

Nanami loved when you were happy. It wasn’t even a happy wife happy life situation, it was a I love seeing her smile situation. He never denied you of any expensive item you wanted. I mean how could he say no to you? He watched as you practically skipped around the mall with his black card, showcasing it if anyone who glanced at you.

He smirked seeing you happy, but yet he felt a little disappointed by your lack of self control. He knew what he was getting into when he pulled out that million dollar ring. His strong arms were lined with black bags and name brands, your hands only holding his card and one small bag. He didn’t mind though, as long as you were happy!

But don’t think he lets you get away with everything! If you have an attitude after this shopping spree, which you do, he will punish you, and that’s because he loves you! It was an agreement, if you can spend his cash, he can use you, or what he likes to say, “enjoy you.”

“Nanamin!” You whined as your new set of black nails tried to push his stomach away.

“Yes?” His deep, yet professional voice oh so casually responded, despite his deep thrusts.

“P-please slow down! I can’t t-take it!” He chuckled at you, you were too cute to ignore, but this is what you deserve! You spent thousands of dollars today, and when he simply asked “are you almost done?” You give an attitude? Oh no, no, no. You weren’t going to get away with that.

“I’m sorry baby, just wanna show you who’s paying for everything you bought today. Just wanna show you who you were giving an attitude to.” He started to speed up, and you cried from the amount of orgasms you’ve had.

“Just one more, then you can have a break.” He kissed your head, and readjusted his position, you both know it won’t be one more.

★ — 𝗧𝗢𝗝𝗜

Toji hated when you spent his money. And what I mean by hate, I mean he will hand you his card and regret it later. You’re actually a modest shopper. You have a bit of an expensive taste, but you have respect for Toji enough to not go crazy. But when Toji had handed you his card at the mall and gave you and said something back handed, you went a little wild.

You bought new heels, expensive jeans, expensive make up, expensive bags. You swiped his card until your hand had a rectangular shape from how hard you gripped it while you tapped it to the card reader.

When Toji later that night checked all of the receipts (which you purposely got so he could see how mad you were) he nearly blew a fuse. $10,000 worth of items you bought. Even though that is nearly nothing compared to how much is in his bank account, it was the principle of it.

“I give you my fucking card only for you to use it like a fucking piece of plastic.” His hand smacked your left ass cheek, making you dig your nails into his thigh.

“I-I’m sorry!” You cried. He rubbed his hand over the deep red mark, and tsked.

“I bet you are.” He landed two more hits to your left and right cheek. You let out a whimper and he ripped both of your cheeks again.

“$10,000, y/n. What were you shopping for, a house?” He chuckled at his own joke, but you didn’t find this funny. He landed another smack. “What made you think that was ok?”

You sniffled from crying and the rage you felt earlier burned through your body again. “Maybe if you didn’t call me a gold digger, yo I wouldn’t be $10,000 poorer!”

The word “poor” irked something in him he hasn’t felt in a while. He grabbed your hair and pulled your head up.

“I’d watch your fucking mouth, I’m the one who fucking pays for your shit.” He spat, you frown, and your bottom lip slowly popped out. He knew what you were doing, but it wasn’t going to work.

“Nah, don’t pull that shit.” He smirked, but the longer he looked at your face the more guilty he felt.

“Y/n.” He warned. You continued to look at him with that face, and he sighed. “You spoiled brat.” He let go of your hair, and moved you to straddle him.

“Just don’t be spending my money all crazy ‘n shit.” You nodded, and he rolled his eyes.

You always fucking win.

[metalomagnetic]

Any chance you can share an excerpt of the Harry/Sirius fic you have planned? 🥺

“That’s teenage years for you, kid; you’re always angry.”

Harry frowns. “You think that’s all there is to it?”

“Sure. I was that way, too.”

“Was?” Harry asks, and he’s finally smiling. A tiny thing, frail, but it’s a smile. “Seems like you’re still going through your teenage years, then.”

“Cheeky bastard.” Sirius swats him over the head, playfully.

The frail smile turns into a grin. There’s a mischievous side to Harry, buried deep under the trauma, the burden of being the Boy Who Lived.

Harry reaches for the bottle again. “Gross,” he shudders, making a face after he swallows. “Does it get better? The taste?”

“Eventually,” Sirius says, opening a second bottle, now that he relinquished the first to Harry. “You get used to it.”

He got Regulus drunk in this very room some twenty years before.

His mother sighs in his head. She sounds resigned.

“How about those?” Harry nods at the pack of cigarettes Mundungus snuggled in for Sirius. “Will you teach me?”

“Not much to teach,” Sirius says, giving Harry a fag, taking one for himself.

He lights them with his wand and tells Harry to breathe the smoke in.

Predictably, he chokes.

“Being a bad boy isn’t easy, Harry,” Sirius mocks.

“It’s disgusting,” Harry wheezes, still choking, but when he calms he tries again, to the same result.

By the time he finishes, Harry grows even paler, says he’s a bit dizzy.

How innocent he is; how young. Sirius remembers the first time he smoked, that dizziness Harry speaks of.

He was thirteen, and life was good, even if it didn’t feel like it. Now he wishes he could go back to those times.

Would you abandon us again? If you could go back, would you still betray us? the voices demand.

“I’ll teach you to ride a bike,” Sirius promises. “Next summer. I’ll buy one. Miss riding, anyway.”

“Drinking, smoking, riding bikes, moping around in corners, being angry- what else is on the requirement list for being a bad boy?”

“I don’t mope around,” Sirius argues. “And never in corners. I brood in full view of everyone.”

Harry laughs. It might be the whiskey, but there’s some colour returning to his face. He almost looks alive.

He’ll die, eventually. Everyone around you dies, brother.

Regulus was always a spoilsport.

“Alright, alright. Brooding, then. What else?”

“Fucking,” Sirius says, just to embarrass him, and it works like a charm. Harry goes red, instantly. “Can’t be a bad boy if you don’t fuck around.”

Harry looks away. He runs his fingers through his hair again, making it stick out more than usual. It still doesn’t remind him of James.

When James did it, there was intention behind it. He liked his hair like that, and he knew some girls liked it, too.

When Harry does it, there’s nothing intentional about it. It screams of insecurity, something that wasn’t in James’ vocabulary.

“Well,” Harry says, so red he’s turning purple. “You’ll have to teach me how to do that, too.”

A warning rings in Sirius’ head.

Don’t poke at it, his mother advises him. Leave it be, Sirius.

Sirius never listened to her, so he won’t start now.

“You know girls that won’t mind your godfather joining you for a bit of fun?” Sirius teases. “Why, Harry, you’re already running with a bad crowd in that case.” Harry snorts, gulps more whiskey. “I barely know any girls at all,” he mumbles. “But I’m sure no girl would say no to you; it’s more likely they’ll protest to me, really.”

“First lesson,” Sirius says. “No self-depreciating jokes. No poor-me attitude. No one finds that attractive.”

“Well, that’s who I am,” Harry snaps, that temper of his rearing its head for a second.

“Even so, you hide that shit if you want to pull birds. Pretend you’re confident, even when you aren’t.”

“That’s wrong, though. Misleading someone, lying-”

“Bad boys lie all the time.”

Harry huffs. He slumps back into the couch. “Forget it. I can’t be a bad boy.”

“It’s not for everyone,” Sirius agrees. “Plus, if you want to be really bad, you’d need to do some prison time. Not worth it, I assure you.”

“Being locked up in a cupboard doesn’t count?” Harry asks. “Did about ten years of that.”

[daydreamtofiction]

The Feature XXI // Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

Series Overview | Previous Part | First Part

Chapter Summary: (Female Reader) While on assignment at another glamorous event, Quinn takes the opportunity to have some fun. Though it doesn't quite go the way she'd hoped.

Chapter Word Count: 8K

Chapter Warnings: Morally-grey reader, strong language, adult and sexual themes, tones of jealousy and possessiveness, fake event, op-ed excerpts contain graphic imagery. Quinn back at it again with her nightmarish antics. Readers must be 18+

Join the Tag List Here*

Julia would bounce her knee when she sat at her desk; one leg crossed over the other, the heel of her Louboutin slingback clinking against the table leg with an irritating rhythm. You were sitting across from her as she read your final draft, your gaze focused on the blood red sole of her shoe, the remnants of the discount sticker she hadn’t fully peeled off. 

She placed the papers on the desk and cleared her throat. You looked up at her, only then realising you’d been making a face; eyes narrowed, lip curled disdainfully. It wasn’t intentional, your face just settled that way sometimes. So you softened your edges, rounding your eyes and relaxing your jaw as you waited for her to speak.

“Quinn…” she sighed.

Your thorns quickly returned; lids turning heavy with indignation as you rolled your shoulders and pressed your back into the chair.

“You know what I’m going to say,” she continued with a patronising smile. “It’s well written, there’s no denying that, but it’s not going in the mag.”

“Why not?” you asked bluntly. 

She picked up the papers and licked her thumb, using it to flick to the second page where she began to read aloud. “I just wanted those men to stop looking at me. I wanted to erase myself, piece by piece, I imagined my face sloughing away, then my arms, my breasts, until there was nothing left but a pool of flesh and marrow where I’d once stood. But then, I thought, would they even care? Or would they still find pleasure in my remains; dig their hands into the slurry and let it slip between their fingers. And that scared me more than disappearing altogether...”

You blinked at her, waiting for her to explain the problem. But the way she was looking at you made it seem like you should have already known. 

“It’s quite graphic,” she said.

“It’s a metaphor.” 

“Yes, obviously I understand that. But it’s not the most pleasant of visuals, is it? Really, the topic of the op ed on a whole, it’s- It’s dark, heavy-”

“It’s about gender, sex, inequality, how I’ve learned to navigate society as a woman, it’s not meant to be all bubblegum and rainbows. And it’s not like the magazine hasn’t shed light on these kinds of topics before.” You shrugged.

“Yes but not this… Brutally.” 

You furrowed your brow. 

She sighed, flicking to another page. “I thought sex was supposed to make me human, make me whole. But in the end, he was just a prop, an object. They all were. I could always tell they wanted me to love them, and they thought I might if they gave me everything. But nothing ever seemed worth taking.” She looked at me. “You can’t seriously think Draft would publish this?”

“It’s an op ed,” you said, your tone growing snippy. “It’s supposed to be personal, subjective, opinionated-”

“But there’s a fine line, Quinn, between sharing your views and experiences on important topics and oversharing to the point where it becomes disturbing and completely indigestible for readers.”

“Disturbing?” You breathed out a laugh. “So this, a woman’s real, lived experience of men and sexuality and emotional connection is ‘disturbing’, but the piece we let that dick head comedian write back in August where he said Hitler ‘wasn’t such a bad guy’ was okay?” 

“It was a joke he made in poor taste and a retraction was published almost immediately.”

“Still made it to print though.” 

She pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly. “Look, I’m not saying this isn’t a good piece of writing. Because it is. I know you’ve been working on it for months and it shows. It’s important and it’s relevant, I get that. But we have to give readers balance; some escapism, y’know. And that’s the job of our staff writers, to uplift the magazine with stories about celebrities and fashion and lifestyle and-” She sighed. “We have the hard hitting stuff covered. What we need from you is-”

“Fluff.” You inhaled sharply through your nose and crossed your arms over your chest. “I just thought after the Benedict Cumberbatch interview and how well it was received I might finally get to write something with more… substance.” 

She let out a single, clipped laugh, shaking her head at you condescendingly. “Quinn, one feature on a big name celeb doesn’t fast track you to serious journalism. You wrote about his films, his love life, what he does in his spare time. It wasn’t exactly an exposé.” 

You bit back a retort, crossing one leg over the other and glancing out at the office through the glass wall. “What did Ellen Ford say about it? The op ed.”

“I haven’t shown her. And I’m not going to.”

“Julia-”

“I’m not having this conversation anymore, Quinn. I was given this position permanently because I know what I’m doing. Ellen trusts my judgement and my judgement is that this piece is a no go. If you want to write something for the next issue then you can cover the London Arts and Culture Gala tonight. Kate was supposed to be going but she just called to say she’s sick.”

You groaned, pressing your fingers into your eyes. “Why do you keep sending me to fucking galas?” 

She tutted sarcastically, pushing out her bottom lip. “Getting dressed up to have free food and drink while rubbing shoulders with celebrities all night, how evil of me.” 

You glared at her. 

“I hear Benedict Cumberbatch is on the guest list,” she said, a slight snarkiness in her tone. “Maybe you can cosy up to him, get yourself a follow up interview. Not exactly Pullitzer material but hey, it’s another step towards those doors you’re so desperate to open.” 

You already knew Ben was going to be there. You wanted to tell her that you knew; that he’d told you about it as you lay together in bed last night - still not having sex, to your utter dismay - and that you’d scoffed when he asked if you were covering it for the magazine. You wanted to punch her for suggesting you cosy up to him, as though he was nothing more than a rung in the ladder of your career. 

“The last editorial assistant that suggested I get ‘cosy’ for a story ended up escorted out of here by security,” you said with a cold, flat smile.

She held your gaze, her foot bouncing more quickly now. “I know you like to think the world’s against you, Quinn. But I actually think you’re a good journalist. Hence why I keep sending you to fucking galas…” 

You paused a moment before finally giving in and standing up with a huff. “Can I get another dress?” 

 “I’m sure you have something at the back of your wardrobe you could wear.” 

You rolled your eyes, leaning over and snatching your papers off the desk before turning to leave her office. 

The back of your wardrobe had provided you two options: the first was a short, bright chartreuse dress with a boned bodice and sparkly straps. It was awful. So awful that you grimaced when you pulled it out, wondering what kind of fugue state you’d been in when you bought it. But then you noticed the tag was still attached, realising you must have come to your senses and decided to never let it touch your body or see the light of day again. 

The second option was plain, black, high neck and sleeveless. It hugged your figure like a second skin, skimming just above your ankles as you stood on your tiptoes in front of the mirror. You wondered why you’d never worn it before. Then you remembered you’d bought it for a funeral, only to get it home and realise your dead uncle’s family probably wouldn’t appreciate being able to see the outline of your arse at his wake. 

You put your hair up and did your makeup, feeling pangs of excitement in your stomach at the thought of seeing Ben’s face when you arrived. You hadn’t told him you were coming, much preferring the idea of him spotting you from across a crowded room, having to hide his surprise and keep his cool, to pretend he barely remembered your name. You slipped into a pair of heels, stuffing your ticket and press pass into your bag alongside a notepad and pen, your fully charged phone and the perfume he always complimented. 

When you arrived at the Claridge’s hotel, you stepped out of the cab to a mob of flashing cameras lining the carpeted entrance. There was something humbling about being unimportant, being able to weave through a sea of celebrities and influential figures like a ghost as paparazzi screamed for them to stop and pose for photos. It was comforting, almost, to be overlooked. 

You made your way inside, the grand hall warmly lit with ornate chandeliers, large round tables covered in pristine tablecloths and floral centrepieces. The room buzzed with the sound of clinking glasses and reserved conversation, servers weaving between guests with trays of champagne and dainty canapés. You took a glass from a waiter with the most dazzling smile you’d ever seen, unable to resist a glance at his backside as he walked away. 

The press table was at the other end of the hall. You took a large swig of champagne and began the long walk, meandering through tables and crowds of famous faces you never got used to seeing in person. Olivia Colman was at a table to your left, close enough for you to reach out and touch her - and you thought about it, just for a moment - but you resisted. 

You hadn’t been watching where you were going, an elbow almost knocking the drink from your hand as you walked right into it. You looked up to see an actor you recognised but couldn’t remember the name of, his surprise softening to a friendly laugh as he placed his hands on your arms to steady you.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Sorry,” you said. “I was distracted by Olivia Colman.” 

“Ah, we’ve all been there,” he replied. 

He was tall, smartly dressed, with a crooked smile and reddish hair. He’d been in a TV show you watched. Or was it a movie? God, what the hell was his name? 

You gave an awkward laugh. “Sorry again.” 

He waved his hand, as if telling you not to worry. You smiled appreciatively and turned to walk away, but his voice suddenly made you halt.

“Benedict! How’ve you been, man?” 

You glanced back over your shoulder to see him pulling another tall, suited man into a hug, the pair smacking each other hard on the back in that weird way only men ever seemed to do. The corner of your mouth curled, threatening a smirk when you saw the side of Ben’s face.

You tilted your head, waiting for him to notice you. And when he did, it was as delicious as you’d imagined it would be. It began with a flicker of recognition, followed by the slow widening of realisation, his expression changing so subtly that only someone who knew him as well as you did would notice.

He composed himself quickly, giving the man he’d been hugging a final, firm pat on the back before stepping away with a slight smile. You kept your face neutral as you stood in his eyeline, as if seeing him was no big deal, as if you hadn’t spent the majority of your evening fantasising about this very moment; the way his eyes travelled down your body, his jaw clenching as he lingered on your curves. You brought the glass to your lips, taking a slow sip of champagne, never looking away from him as he tried to engage in polite conversation. 

It didn’t take long for him to excuse himself, squeezing the man’s shoulder as he stepped around him and made his way towards you, his long strides closing the distance far too quickly. You’d wanted to make the moment last, to savour it, make him sweat a little while longer.

“Quinn,” he said, his voice low and warm as he came to a stop in front of you. 

“Benedict,” you replied coolly, giving a slight nod.

He glanced around before returning his gaze to you. “You said you weren’t coming.”

You smiled, giving a casual shrug. “Didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

He gave you a look, one that told you he wasn’t buying it. Then his eyes flitted down again, taking you in once more. “You…” He trailed off, his gaze returning to your face, and for a second you thought he might lose his composure. “You look… Nice.”

“Nice?” you repeated, feigning offence. 

His mouth twitched, his voice darkening. “Very nice.”

You could feel his restraint, the effort it was taking for him not to touch you, to close the distance between you.

“So.” He cleared his throat. “I take it you’re here for the magazine?” 

You rolled your eyes dramatically, taking another sip of champagne. “Mhm. Julia, the editorial assistant, completely shat all over my piece, decided I was more useful rubbing shoulders than writing anything of actual substance.” 

His brows came together for a moment with a sympathetic smile. “Well clearly she’s an idiot.”

“Tell her that.” 

He leaned in slightly. “I’ll tell her, if you want.” 

You laughed and rolled your eyes again. “Yeah, that’ll go down well; getting the guy I’m fucking- sorry, not fucking, to pull strings for me at work.” 

He smirked, dropping his head and fixing the cuff of his blazer. “Just say the word.”

“Stop it,” you laughed, holding back the urge to push him playfully in the chest. 

“Well I suppose there’s worse assignments you could’ve ended up with.” 

“Yeah.” You looked around at the glitzy hall, the man he’d been talking to finding his seat at a table. “Oh my god, what’s his name by the way? It’s been driving me mad.” 

He looked over to where you’d pointed before turning back and opening his mouth to speak. But before he could, a sudden presence appeared at his side. 

“Benedict, good to see you again!”

You recognised Leo McGrath immediately. He was a documentary filmmaker, award winner, known philanthropist. Yet it was his recent appearance at the Oscars that had shot him to sudden, unexpected internet fame. You wondered what it must feel like, to be so unbelievably attractive that just standing there on a red carpet could send the whole world into a frenzy. To have millions of people suddenly know you, not because of your work, but because they fancied you. 

It was true, he was undeniably stunning; green eyes framed by masses of dark lashes, full lips and thick wavy hair long enough to tuck behind his ears. When he smiled, his cheeks dimpled, his imperfect teeth giving him a charm that made it hard not to swoon, even just for a second. 

“Ah, Leo,” said Ben as he shook his hand. “It’s good to see you too. How’ve you been?” 

“Good, yeah, it’s been… intense.” He breathed out a laugh, running a hand through his hair. 

“I can imagine.” 

“Well I suppose you don’t need to imagine, you’ve been there too. What did they call you? The Internet’s Boyfriend?” 

Ben rolled his eyes, nodding with a laugh.

Leo’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes lighting up as if he hadn’t noticed you until now. “Sorry, I’m so rude!” he said, reaching out to shake your hand.

“Oh, of course, sorry. Leo, this is Quinn Armitage. She’s a writer for Draft.” 

“Pleasure to meet you, Quinn,” he said, looking you up and down, far less subtly than Ben had.

You shook his hand with a smile, catching a fleck of irritation on Ben’s face. “Likewise. And congratulations on your Oscar win.” 

“Ah, thank you very much.” He took a step back, his eyes bouncing between the two of you. “So are you here together, or?” 

“No,” Ben replied, and you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the speed of his response. “Quinn wrote a piece on me at the end of last year. We were just catching up.”  

“Oh right.” He seemed pleased to learn you were there alone, his interest in you piquing, attention lingering on your face. “So you’re here for work then?”

You nodded, watching Ben’s jaw tighten from the corner of your eye, like he was grinding his teeth. You held back a grin; the sight of him ruffled was a rarity, and you couldn’t help but take some pleasure in it.

“Well you should join me at my table,” said Leo. “It’s near the front, a much better spot for you to get some good material.” 

You glanced up at Ben, the slight flush in his cheeks, how hard he was having to work to stay calm. He was jealous. You liked it. 

“Yeah,” you said with a smile. “That sounds good, I’ll take you up on that offer.”

He gestured for you to follow him, and you did, meeting Ben’s gaze as you stepped aside and began to walk away. You couldn’t hold back the smirk as you watched his eyes darken, a silent warning etched on his stony, unamused face. 

You followed Leo to his table, the weight of Ben’s eyes heavy on the back of your neck. You couldn’t help but feel excited, perhaps even satisfied; Leo’s sudden interest in you was undeniably flattering, and Ben’s barely contained jealousy made it all the more enjoyable.

He pulled out a chair for you and you thanked him as you sat down. The view was indeed better from here; the stage only feet away, every guest visible with the turn of your head. He took a seat beside you, getting comfortable as he chatted casually to the other people around the table. 

Then he turned to you, snatching you out of a daze.

 “So is this what you do for Draft then?” he asked. “Report on parties and events and stuff?” 

“Well I’m a staff writer, so I pretty much just do what I’m told,” you said, your voice laced with cynicism. 

He smiled. “I sense some… unrest.” 

“You could say that.” You drank down the dregs of your champagne, twirling the stem of the flute between your fingers.

He leaned back in his chair, cocking his head as he looked at you with narrowed eyes, an amused smirk creating a deep dimple in his cheek. “Let me guess, you’re trying to work your way into serious journalism, but all they’re giving you is celebrity gossip and… listicles.” 

You pressed your lips together, exhaling a laugh through your nose. “I wrote this piece - it’s my best work to date - put it forward for an op ed but they weren’t interested. Sent me here instead.”

“Y’know, this industry is… brutal. You fight to be heard, to have your work taken seriously, amplified, given the platform you know it deserves. Then you finally get recognised for that work after years and years of graft, and yet somehow it still ends up overshadowed by how fuckable women on the internet think you are.”

“You are quite fuckable though, to be fair,” you replied bluntly.

He dropped his head to disguise a laugh, before composing himself again, lifting his head to meet your gaze. He stretched his arm along the back of your chair to lean in closer, speaking quietly. “What I’m saying is that no one in this industry gets anything without going over heads and stepping on toes. It’s a fight. And even when you get to the top, you have to claw at it if you want to stay there. It’s like… the Hunger Games but for losers who watched the news too much as kids.”

You gave a slight smile, allowing a quick glance over your shoulder to Ben’s table where he sat fidgeting with his hands, watching you beneath a heavy brow. You looked down at Leo’s arm draped behind you, your smile quickly turning into a smirk. 

You leaned in closer to Leo, mirroring the intensity of his gaze. “So you’re saying the only way I’m going to transition to serious journalism is if I… play dirty?” 

“Exactly,” he replied in a low, husky voice.

“How do you suggest I do that?” 

He thought for a moment, running his tongue across his top teeth. “When I first started making docs, I got turned down by every production company, every channel and network. No one would give me a penny, wouldn’t even agree to broadcast. So I said fuck it, went out there with my camera, whatever money I had in my account and I made them anyway. Then when these companies saw that people actually gave a shit about the things I was documenting, they came running to me.”

“So you’re saying I just go rogue?”

“Potentially.” 

“Hm. There’s just one problem with that; there’s this thing called rent, and erm… needing to eat…” you said sarcastically.

He laughed. “I’m not saying you go and quit Draft and start a fucking blog or something. I’m saying… check out. Quietly quit, as they say. Attend the fancy events, write the fluffy articles, do whatever you need to do to keep your affiliation with the magazine and use it to your advantage.” He reached up and took your chin between his finger and thumb, turning your head towards the sea of tables behind you. “See all of these people? Actors, producers, investors. You have direct access to them all right now. You could charm and persuade and get numbers in your phone and your name on people’s radars. And all you have to do in exchange is write a silly little article about their clothes and how they spend their evening.” 

You turned your head back to him slowly; his insight like an epiphany, turning the banality of your surroundings to an abundance of possibility. Ten minutes ago this man was a stranger, yet now here he was with his face inches from yours, giving you the best advice you’d ever heard.

“Let me interview you,” you said.

He leaned back, brow furrowed in curiosity. 

“What? I’ve made a connection and I’m using it to my advantage.” You shrugged. “Isn’t that what you told me to do?” 

The corner of his mouth curved into a smile. “Fair play. Though, an interview… with Draft…” He scrunched his nose with scepticism.

“I won’t write anything about your looks. Won’t ask a single question about anything other than your work.” 

“It’s tempting,” he replied with a hum. 

The lights of the hall dimmed as a single, bright spotlight illuminated the stage. A woman stepped up to the microphone holding a stack of cue cards and clearing her throat. Leo turned away from you to listen, and you felt your chest heave with a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding. He was intense. Beguiling, even. 

“Welcome everybody,” said the woman, her voice creating a screech of feedback through the speaker. She took a step away from the mic with an embarrassed laugh. “Thank you so much for coming…” 

Your phone buzzed inside the clutch bag on your lap as the woman continued to speak. You dug it out and opened the message waiting on the screen. 

I know what you’re doing. 

You subtly turned your head, giving Ben a mischievous wink from across the dark hall. 

What am I doing? you replied. 

Flirting. Stop it. Now. 

Your stomach fluttered as you pictured the tension in his fingers as he typed each word, the firmness of his jaw as he grit his teeth.

Flirting??? 

Quinn. I’m serious.

Not my fault he fancies me. I’m actually quite enjoying the attention. 

As if on cue, Leo turned his attention back to you, leaning in to speak directly into your ear. “What’s so interesting on your phone?” His breath was warm against your skin, his hushed tone filled with playful curiosity. 

You looked over at Ben again, smiling as you put the phone face down on the table, turning your attention back to Leo. “Nothing.” 

“Good. I’d hate to think I was losing your attention so soon.”

The woman on stage continued her speech, her words fading to a muffled hum as you lost yourself in the game you couldn’t resist playing. 

“You haven’t lost my attention,” you said, keeping your voice low. “I still want that interview.”

He chuckled. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.” He leaned in again, his lips almost brushing your ear. “But I don’t think a formal interview is what you really want from me…”

Your heart began to race, his proximity sending shivers down your spine. You could sense the shift in his demeanour, the hunger in his eyes. If this had been a year earlier, you were sure you’d have ended up in Leo’s bed by the end of the night. But instead, you found yourself more thrilled by the idea of Ben watching you; the power you wielded to make his blood boil from across a crowded room.   

“What else could I possibly want?” you murmured, tilting your head slightly towards Leo, your lips nearly grazing his cheek. 

He let out a low, throaty laugh, his hand sliding from the back of your chair to your thigh. You wondered how far you could take things before your actions became indefensible, before the flirting verged beyond a game and evolved into something less playful.

“I have a feeling there’s a lot of things you want.” His touch was soft yet bold, his fingers tracing swirls that tickled, even through the material of your dress. “Some I might be able to… help you with.” 

You bit your lip, unable to hold back a smirk, before leaning in close. “And here I was, thinking you invited me to sit at your table because you wanted to do a good deed for a struggling journalist.” You pressed your lips to his ear. “Turns out you just wanted to fuck me.” 

He turned his head to look at you, his face so close you could feel his breath. “Can I not want both?” 

“You can,” you replied simply. “Doesn’t mean you’re going to get it though.” 

The room erupted with applause, quelling the tension between you as you turned your attention to the stage. A young woman made her way to the microphone with a guitar in hand. She smiled shyly as she waited for the clapping to fade, before pressing her fingers to the strings and beginning to play. 

Your palms were beginning to itch; every speech and performance receiving a lengthier round of applause than the last. You had no choice but to join in with it, no matter how boring or mediocre you thought it was, putting down your little notebook and pen with a quiet groan to bring your hands together in feigned appreciation.    

You’d been nursing your second glass of champagne for most of the evening, knowing it was your last and taking small sips to savour it. Julia warned you not to get drunk, and you’d taken offence to the insinuation that you couldn’t be trusted to stay professional. But when you realised Leo’s arm was still draped along the back of your chair, you thought perhaps she’d had a point.

The last wave of applause rippled across the room as the host made her way offstage; the spotlight dimming, chandeliers regaining their warm glow as the atmosphere began to relax, the hum of conversation drifting through the air like a sigh of relief. You skimmed over the pages in your book, trying to decipher the chaotic notes you’d scrawled in the dark when Leo turned to look at you. 

“Get everything you need?” he asked, nodding to your notebook.

“Eh, I’ll probably have to employ some creative writing here and there,” you replied as you looked up at him. 

He smirked. “You weren’t paying attention to any of it, were you.”  

“More than I would have if I were back there at the press table.” 

“Well it’s a good job I had a spare seat.”

“Mm.” You allowed your gaze to flit from his eyes to his lips and back again, just enough to keep him interested. “I better do a few rounds, get some quotes from people before they start to leave.” 

Mingling had never been your thing, the idea of approaching strangers or interrupting conversations creating a pit of dread in your stomach that made your skin clammy and your mouth dry. Usually you came with someone else; dragged Nick along or found yourself on assignment with another writer who would do most of the talking. This time, you had no choice. . 

You moved around the hall, weaving through a maze of tables as you searched for targets. And with each interaction, it became easier. You took quotes from a table of theatre directors, had surreal conversations with celebrities, and when you finally plucked up the courage to speak to Olivia Colman, the only thing you managed to write down was ‘aaahhhh’. 

You took a moment to breathe, scanning the room to see Ben still at his table, deep in conversation with another actor you vaguely recognised. You watched him for a moment, noticing how his usually easy smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, how he kept brushing the tips of his fingers over his bottom lip. To anyone else, he seemed happy, comfortable. But to you, it was clear he wasn’t nearly as composed as he appeared.

You made your way over, navigating the scattered chairs and waiters topping up champagne until you were close enough to hear their voices. 

“...and everyone I’ve spoken to about it has said I should do it,” the other man was saying. “But it’s just such a big commitment.”

Ben nodded, his eyes flickering in your direction for just a moment. “It is a lot. But you’ve just got to weigh up the pros and cons…” 

He trailed off as you finally made it to their table, turning his attention to you as though he hadn’t known you were coming. 

“Sorry for interrupting,” you said as you cleared your throat and held up your notebook. “My name’s Quinn, I’m a writer for Draft Magazine. I was hoping I could steal you for a second to ask a few questions?”

His eyes stayed on you for a moment before returning to the actor beside him. “Sorry.” 

“Ah no worries, duty calls.”  

“But if you want my honest opinion, I think you should go for it.” 

The man smiled appreciatively as he rose to his feet, raising his glass in a mock salute before walking away.

You quickly sat in his place; the seat was still warm, turned towards Ben at an awkward angle. You shifted it further to face him, leaning back with the notebook in your lap. 

“Hi,” you finally said, holding back a smile.

“Hi,” he replied, his face calm, tone unreadable.

“So, the question I have for you is…” you flicked to another page. “Do you have any thoughts on how we as a society, and as individuals, can foster the arts in ways that don’t involve funding or monetary-”  

“What the fuck was that?” he interrupted quietly, gesturing subtly towards Leo’s table across the hall. 

“What was what?” you replied casually, defiantly.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead he mirrored your posture, leaning back in his chair and lowering his chin slightly, his eyes darkening beneath the shadow of his brow. “His hands were all over you…” 

“So?”

“So you knew exactly what you were doing.”

Your stomach fluttered with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. You cocked your head, widening your eyes to feign innocence. “What was I doing?” 

“Trying to piss me off.” 

You pushed out your bottom lip. “Are you jealous?” 

“Jealous-?” He exhaled a laugh through his nose. But there was no amusement in it. Then he lowered his voice. “I was jealous when I saw him eyeing you up. I was jealous when he invited you to sit at his table. But now? I’m not jealous, I’m furious.” 

You regarded him for a moment, taking undeniable pleasure in his silent rage. But when you finally opened your mouth to speak, a hand on your shoulder made you still. 

You looked up to see Leo standing at your side, glancing down at both of you with a charming smile.

“Sorry for interrupting,” he said. “Quinn, my team and I are heading to an afterparty at the Edition. I wondered if you wanted to join me?” 

“Oh, I…” you looked at Ben, then back up to Leo. “Thanks, but I can’t. I’m still working.”

“Your boss doesn’t have to know…” 

You breathed out a laugh. “No really, I think I’m going to be good for once and actually do my job.” 

“Or you could come with me to the afterparty and start being good tomorrow…” 

“She said no,” Ben interjected firmly. 

It caught you off guard, raising the hairs on your arms and sending a shiver down your spine. It was his unexpected harshness paired with a friendly smile, the restraint it was clearly taking him to keep his cool. 

Leo seemed taken aback too, turning to him with raised brows and parted lips, like he wanted to speak but had no idea what to say. He eventually gave up with an understanding nod, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a business card. 

“Give me a call some time,” he said as he handed it to you. “If you want, of course.” 

You took it with a smile, waiting for him to walk away before turning your attention back to Ben. 

“That was rude of you,” you said.

“Sorry… Rude of me?”  

You rolled your eyes and slid the card between the pages of your notebook. 

“Are you really keeping that?” Ben asked. 

“He’s a documentary maker, I’m a journalist. It might come in handy.” 

He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the other as he continued to glare at you. 

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Wow, you weren’t joking when you said you were furious…” 

 “No. I wasn’t. I told you the mind games and manipulation wouldn’t fly with me. I told you that.” 

“You are taking this way too seriously.”  

He leaned forward suddenly, his movement sharp, teeth clenched. “Too-” But he stopped himself, pressing his lips together and looking around the bustling hall as he slowly reclined again. “We’re leaving.” 

You furrowed your brow as you watched him stand up. “Did you not hear what I just said? I’m working, I can’t leave yet.”  

“I said we’re going.” 

You hadn’t seen him like this since the first night you met. You’d almost forgotten he was capable of it; the hard angles and stern tone, the dominance of his demand sending a flutter through your core. The thrill of it was undeniable, but his anger was palpable, making you stutter as you tried to speak. 

“Ben, I’m- I’m not-”

“Now.” 

You yielded with a sigh, shoving everything into your bag and tucking it under your arm as you rose to your feet. Your heart was pounding as you began to follow him, almost tripping over the leg of your chair as you went. He didn’t speak as he made his way to the exit of the hall, his fist opening and closing at his side in a steady rhythm, face brightening with a polite smile whenever someone greeted him as he passed. 

He gripped your wrist as you neared the exit, leading you out into the large, echoing foyer. The indelicacy of his touch surprised you, flooding you with a fleeting rush of panic, like a child preparing to be scolded once their parents got them home. 

Your heels clicked against the marble floor, your quick, uneven footsteps struggling to keep up with his long strides as he walked you towards a quiet, hidden corner.

“Don’t you need to tell people you’re leaving?” you asked. “Like your publicist or whoever you came with?” 

“I came alone,” he replied, stopping once you were out of sight.

“Really? Why?” 

“Because I drove here.” He glanced over his shoulder, assessing the paparazzi as they waited outside. “You’re going to go and wait for me by the car. I’ll follow in a couple of minutes.” 

You did as you were told, emerging into the mild spring night and slipping through the chaos with ease. When you got to Ben’s car, you waited with your arms folded over your chest, watching from a distance as an explosion of camera flashes illuminated the darkness like fireworks. 

You pressed your lips into a straight lined smile when he finally reached you, hurrying around to the driver’s side without a word. He unlocked the door and pulled it open, glancing around to make sure he hadn’t been followed. You raised onto your tiptoes to look at him over the top of the car, breathing out a laugh when he almost scowled back. 

“Are you seriously still annoyed with me?” you asked. 

“Of course I am,” he replied. “I can barely look at you right now.” 

He slipped into the car and pulled the door closed. You paused for a moment before deciding to climb into the back seat instead.

He looked at you in the rearview mirror, brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing?” 

“You said you didn’t want to look at me,” you replied brattishly. “You don’t have to if I’m back here.” 

He rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated breath. “Get in the front.” 

You thought about defying his demand, but you quickly gave in; choosing to clamber arduously over the centre console instead of getting out, purely to annoy him that little bit more. You settled into the front passenger seat, turning to look at him as you dragged the seatbelt across your chest. 

He drove in silence at first, the journey ebbing and flowing between heavy traffic and dark, deserted streets. You’d been waiting for him to speak, but with each silent wait at a red light, you found yourself growing impatient. He turned his head towards you, and you glanced back at him hopefully, only to realise he was looking past you, checking the road was clear before driving across it. 

You huffed. “Fine, you win, I apologise for flirting with the sexy man, alright? Can you stop acting like I slapped your mum now?” 

“You really don’t get why I’m pissed off, do you.” 

“He was just giving me career advice-”

“Career advice? What career advice requires him to touch you like that? To whisper in your ear, run his hand up your thigh?” 

You couldn’t resist; the old Quinn taking over with a shrug and a surly glare. “I was just having a bit of fun-”

A deep growl rumbled in his throat, his grip tightening around the steering wheel. “Nothing about that was fun.” 

“Maybe not for you…” 

“Quinn. I swear to god.”

 You threw your head back and let out a groan. “It was flirting, Ben. He clearly fancied me and I took the opportunity to tease you, wind you up-”

“Oh yeah, and I’m sure you got no pleasure out of it whatsoever,” he quipped cynically. 

“Oh I’m so sorry,” you said sarcastically. “Y’know, it’s almost like I haven’t gone the past four months without sex because the man I’m seeing refuses to touch me anywhere below the fucking neck. I mean, Jesus, I’ve been masturbating so much I could give a teenage boy a run for his money; forgive me for indulging in a bit of physical affection for one night.” 

“So you did like him then...”  

“No, Ben-” You stopped yourself, pinching the bridge of your nose and letting out an exasperated breath. But when you composed yourself again, your brows came together in sudden realisation. “Actually, what if I did?” 

He took his eyes off the road for a second, glancing at you in confusion.

“What right would you have to tell me I couldn’t flirt with him? Couldn’t let him touch me?” You sat up straighter, turning your body towards him. “What if I wanted him to do that? What if I enjoyed sitting with him and decided I wanted to go to that afterparty? What authority would you have to tell me I couldn’t?”  

He rolled his eyes.

“What if I went with him? Danced, drank, let him take me home, undress me, kiss me…” 

Your words were getting to him; crawling under his skin, making him roll his shoulders like he was trying to shrug the image away. 

“I mean, you said it yourself to whatshisface back at the gala; I’m just Quinn, the journalist you met once back in November. Why would you care who else I fuck?” 

He turned the wheel sharply, pulling the car into a layby with a sudden stop. It was dark, void of streetlights, thick trees lining both sides of the road. You jerked forward as he broke, the seatbelt pressing firmly against your chest. 

“Jesus Christ, Ben.” 

He shut off the engine and turned in his seat to face you. “You know full well that neither of us want people to know about this. You don’t get to use it against me to justify flirting with someone else.” 

“I flirted with him to annoy you. Clearly it worked… A bit too well.” 

“But why? Why would you think I’d find that amusing?” His voice was raised, his hands moving in time with his words.

“I didn’t. I thought I’d find it amusing.” 

He growled, letting out a hot angry breath through his nose. “You are the most infuriating fucking person.” 

“Then why have you stuck around for this long?” 

“Why have you? If taking it slow and doing things right has been such a fucking chore for you then why are you still bothering?” 

You opened your mouth to argue, but he didn’t give you the chance, unclipping his seatbelt to lean in closer.

“I’ll tell you why. It’s because you know I’m the only man who’s ever been able to handle you. Who sees you for who you really are and likes it.” 

Your heart began to race, your back pressing against the passenger door. He was right, and you hated it. 

“Because even though I haven’t touched you in four months, you still aren’t bored of me.” His voice was dangerously soft now, his eyes fixed on yours. “Because even as another man threw himself at you tonight, you still found yourself looking for me.”

“So if that’s what you think, why do you care that I let him touch me?” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. 

“Because I don’t like watching someone else touch what’s mine.” 

You swallowed hard, your defiance faltering as his words sank in. He was so close now, one arm outstretched along the back of your seat, the other holding back the urge to reach out and touch you. 

Your eyes flitted from his face to his crotch then back again. “You want to fuck me right now, don’t you…”

His gaze flickered with something dark, primal. He exhaled slowly, the angles of his face sharp with anger, partly with you, but mostly with himself. 

A rush of excitement flooded through you as he reached out to cup your face, pulling you into a sudden, intense kiss. You could feel his possessiveness; the way his lips moved with a firm pressure, tongue sweeping impatiently into your mouth. 

You fumbled for your seatbelt, unfastening it quickly and letting it snap back against the door, your hands immediately snaking around the back of his neck, pulling yourself into him. His hand dropped to your side, his touch rough, almost painful as he pressed and squeezed his fingertips into your waist. You felt him pulling you closer, his body radiating a heat that almost made it hard to breathe. His hand travelled lower, pushing up the material of your dress and allowing his fingers to graze the bare skin of your thighs. He ran his palm over the place Leo had touched, as though he was cleansing you of it, wiping it away and replacing it with his own. 

You’d been starved for so long that even his hand on your thigh made you tremble, a soft moan escaping your parted lips as he kissed you. The sound stirred something in him, and in moments you found yourself straddling his lap in the driver’s seat. 

He was hard. You could feel it straining beneath his trousers, pressing against your centre as you tangled your fingers in his hair, your breaths hot and heavy, anger and lust fogging the windows like steam. You rolled your hips, the steering wheel letting out a short, loud beep as your backside knocked against it. But neither of you paid it any attention, giving in to the fevered, passionate release you’d been denying yourselves for so long. 

His hands settled on your hips, gripping you firmly as he pushed himself against you, the friction drawing a satisfied groan from his throat. You’d missed those sounds, the way it felt to have him desperate to fill you. But you knew he was losing himself, intoxicated by his own frustration. You were in a car, parked on the side of a quiet, winding road. This wasn’t how he wanted it to be, and you weren’t sure it was how you wanted it to be either.

You broke away, letting your head fall back as he began traipsing hot, hungry kisses down your neck. “Ben,” you whispered breathlessly. “If we go any further I won’t be able to stop.” 

You felt him pause, his lips still, breath tickling your skin. 

“This isn’t how you wanted it to be,” you said softly, masking your disappointment. “We need to stop.” 

He lowered his forehead to rest on your collarbone, letting out a quiet sigh. “Fuck,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, thick with lust. 

He pulled away from you, his hand lingering on your waist for a second longer before finally letting go. He sat back, his head tilting against the headrest as he closed his eyes, trying to compose himself. 

You slid off his lap, climbing back into the passenger seat and fixing your dress. You looked over at him, watching him in silence, fearful of what awaited you when he finally opened his eyes. You’d spent four months wanting nothing more than to see him break, to give in to you, and if it were anyone else, you would have taken full advantage of this lapse in judgement. But you couldn’t. 

The silence was awkward, moonlight casting a soft glow through the steamy windows, your slowing breaths providing the only sound. When he finally looked at you, there was a clarity in his expression; his jaw softening, eyes rounding. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

There was something about the way he said it, like your restraint had renewed his faith in you, shifted something inside him.

You nodded slightly, reaching behind you for your seatbelt.

He nodded back, his gaze lingering on your face for a moment longer before finally starting the car again. The engine rumbled and he leaned forward to wipe the windshield, using his sleeve to clear it. 

The tension remained as he drove, but it was different now. He was no longer angry, and you no longer cared to push his buttons. After a while, you gathered he was taking you to his house, and it filled you with a sense of relief you couldn’t quite explain. 

The road was empty, quiet, yet still the traffic light turned red. He slowed to a stop, resting his hand on the gearstick as he waited for it to change. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. “About Leo. I really was just teasing you. I never would have-”

He reached out and took your hand in his without a word, giving it a gentle squeeze. You relaxed back into your seat, looking down at your intertwined fingers as they rested in your lap.

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[antennaed-shidou]

Talkitive

✦ Toge Inumaki x f! reader

✦ Warning: not prof-read,

✦ Misc: Word Count: 1.8k+ words. My sweet Inumaki <333

✦ In which Toge can’t say anything besides rice ball ingredients so {Y/n} talks for him.

Inumaki Toge, a second-year student at Tokyo Jujutsu High, is a grade 2 sorcerer. He can only speak in rice ball ingredients due to his curse technique. That also means he keeps his talking to a minimum and only does it when he wants to add something. Inumaki mostly hangs around his other second year, the first year at times, along with the third years when they are around.

{L/n} {Y/n} a third-year student at Tokyo Jujutsu High, she is a grade 1 sorcerer. {Y/n} is the only 3rd year who hasn’t gotten suspended, since the other two are out of school she hung out with the facility most of the time. She did hang out with the first and second years when she could. {Y/n} would still contact the other two 3-years and tell them how she was doing and what she had been up to and everyone else, plus vice versa. 

Between Toge and {Y/n}, those two would hang out every day. Out of everyone at the whole school and faculty, {Y/n} understood Inumaki the best, even better than Yuta. Between Yuta and {Y/n}, they would often joke with each other, but from an outside point of view it would look like they were fighting and arguing. All was just fun and games. 

{Y/n} and Inumaki were out shopping. Rather {Y/n} made Inumaki come along so she wouldn’t be alone. He didn’t mind anyway, this was a way for him to get out of the school and be able to express himself with someone. She even got money from Gojo himself, she did have to beg a little to get the money, but it was worth it.

“We have ¥100,000 to spend, Toge! Let’s not put it to waste!” She cheered holding the cash in her hand and spreading it out. {Y/n} took Inumaki’s hand as they walked to the first store.

{Y/n} wasn’t known to have expensive taste, nor was Inumaki, but when {Y/n} had money she knew how to spend it right, and Inumaki would be with her in spending the money as well. They walked into the first shop… A lingerie clothing store. Inumaki held tighter as they walked through the store, she seemed to have never noticed. 

“Sorry, Toge. I need some new bras here,” She smiled slightly at him in apology for taking him here. They walked to the bra section together and he stood there waiting for her. She took her hand from Toge to look at the bras and said to him, “I promise the next stop can be just for you, Toge-chan.” She looked through the bra section to find her size and a nice design which is comfy. The poor guy stood there watching her as he couldn’t do anything.

A worker walked over to the two asking if they needed any help. {Y/n} said that they were fine and the worker smiled and walked away. Just a few minutes later the female found a few new bras, she looked over to see Toge on his phone waiting for her. She grabbed his hand from his phone again and walked to the front counter to check out. 

“Will this be all for today?” The cashier asked as {Y/n} set down her five items on the counter. 

“Yes, this is all,” She smiles taking out the cash from her purse ready to pay when she hears the total.

“Couples can get half off today if he buys an item,” The cashier points to the sign behind her as she finishes scanning the items.

Toge’s cheeks got red and flushed, and he shook his head left and right, “Okaka,” He rushed out his word.

“He’s right. We aren’t a couple,” She says calm and collected quite the opposite reaction of her friend. 

The cashier felt embarrassed and she got back to scanning the items in a panic, “I’m sorry, I guess I just assumed…” She paused finishing scanning the items. “Your total is 6,000 yen.”

{Y/n} paid for the item and Inumaki grabs the bags on the table. They leave the store and head to the next store that Inumaki wants to go to. Inumaki had the bags in one hand and the other held her hands as they walked. To them, it was normal for them to hold as friends. As they were walking {Y/n} was talking about what happened in the store. She talked like it happened every day while Toge was a little flustered when the cashier thought they were dating.

They made it to the next store chosen by Toge himself since he entered a store with {Y/n} by surprise. The store they went to was called Lifewear. It was a clothing store, but Toge wanted to go there. All their clothes were nice and comfortable. 

The two walked around the store with a cart grabbing clothes and putting them in. They went around the store once and then made it to check out. They laid their items on the table but bought them separately. In the end {Y/n} bought more items than Inumaki for a store that he picked out. 

“Hello..” The cashier looked up at the two as they put their items on the table, Inumaki’s items behind her’s. “Is this all for you today?” He says looking up at the female his eyes in awe for the slip second she nods her head. 

“Yes,” {Y/n} noticed the change in the cashier deminer. She did her best to shut him down without directly saying it to his face. 

The cashier scanned her items as the cost got higher and higher for each item. He only scanned her items even though Toge’s items were just behind hers. “Your total is 9,384 yen.” He smiled at her waiting for her to pay like there weren’t more items even if they weren’t her’s.

“Um,” She huffs looking at the items still on the table. “You still have more to scan.” She points at the rest of Toge’s items. 

An irk was on the cashier's face, “Oh, right.” He finished scanning the items and the total only jumped up a little. “Your new total is 12,034 yen.”

A smile of satisfaction was on her face as she paid for the items with Gojo’s money. They both grab the bags off the table and {Y/n} holds Inumaki's hand before they walk out of the store. Even if she had a bag full in one hand. 

“Are you hungry?” {Y/n} ask as they walk near a food court. 

He nodded his head in agreement, “Shake.” They took a turn into the food court to find a place to eat. 

They found a place and stood in line. They were looking at the menu on the back wall. {Y/n} didn’t know what to order as she kept asking Inumaki what he wanted. Inumaki would tell {Y/n} what he wanted with words instead of pointing it out to other people. 

This was one reason why Toge liked to be around {Y/n}, he could use his words. This was because of her cure technique. She was a grade-1 sorcerer for a reason. The reason her technique could nullify other techniques making her has the upper hand. 

They made it to the front of the line and {Y/n} ordered for both of them and paid with the money she still had. Toge was finding a seat as she ordered. He found a nice seat by the window. The female grabbed the number and went to find Toge at the table. 

“Today has been an eventful day. Hasn’t it Toge.” She sparked up a conversation while looking out the window with her chin in her hand looking at the people walking by. 

“It has,” He spoke with words agreeing with what he said. It caught her off guard but she was happy to know he trusted her enough and not mess up. Even if it was a small word.

She looks back at her best friend with her head still on her chin. “I think it’s funny, Toge.” He looks at her with a confused look on his face. “Why you choose to speak in rice ball ingredients? Out of everything rice ball ingredients shook you enough to use it.”

Inumaki looked at her a little confused about why she asked such a question now than at any other time. It has never been brought up before by anyone too much. When they first hear him talk they just ask why he doesn't speak like a normal human language. It was weird for anyone to address it cause it was just normal. 

“You don’t have to answer.” She heard their number being called. She got up and picked up the food on the tray. “Let’s eat,” she prayed her hand together. 

They ate their lunch in silence for a while but {Y/N} couldn’t bear the silence. She just started talking about random topics while Inumaki listened to her occasionally putting in his opinion with his rice ball ingredients. 

They are done eating and throw away the trash then go to the next store of the shopping spree. The two of them went to more stores and at some point stopped spending money and just walked around nice stores and talked with each other. This time he was using more of his words with {Y/n} since she had demonstrated through years that he could trust her ability.

—

The sky had turned black about an hour ago and {Y/n} and Toge just got back to Tokyo Jujutsu High. The female told her friend to go to her dorm and she would give the leftover money back to Gojo. 

She went through the whole of the school and couldn’t find Gojo. She gave up on trying to find him and went to his room. When her search was over she finally found Gojo walking into his room. She yelled at him as she waved the money in the air. 

“Oh, you can keep the rest,” Gojo says with a grin on his face.

Her shoulder fell passed her. She tried so hard to find him and gave him the rest of the money. “You're kidding, right?” 

“Nope.”

She walked off with the money still in hand. She walked to her dorm and Toge was lying down on her bed. All the bags were in her room. The reason she had Toge go into her room was because it was closer and she wanted to spend more time with him than she already has. 

If you were a bystander watching them interact you would already think they were a couple. Maybe they never asked each other cause they could easily die being a sorcerer. Or they are too afraid of what would happen if one denied the other cause they only see the other as a friend. Whatever the reason it was like they were more like a couple already, at least that’s what everyone thought.

a/n: had it written on paper but took me forever to write it down. We as a society need more Toge application

[wrathofrats]

WRATH PLEASEE WE NEED A FULL FIC OF NEWLY SUMMONED SWISS!! ALL TALK NO BITE FLUSTERED AND SEXUALLY FRUSTRATED MAN

Or the alternate idea of the virgin Swiss fic where he’s a cocky shithead and mountain makes him put his money where his mouth is.

Humiliation, degro, Swiss is a shithead but mountains worse, exactly what it says on the tin

-

“Aether was right, you do look a lot better on your knees”

Swiss perched himself on one of the workbenches in the greenhouse while mountain busied himself with trimming some of the plants that lay below it.

“Is that so?” Mountain straightened his back to look up at the multi ghoul. He had a cocky smile on his face, one leg perched on the wood lazily while the other hung off the edge. Swiss used the toe of his foot to lift mountains chin higher, more of a power move than to make him look him in the eye.

“Mhm, told me your lips get a pretty shade of pink when you’ve been sucking on something”

“Oh and that’s something you’d like to find out isn’t it?” Mountain swatted Swiss’ shoe away to stand up, moving to bracket him against the table immediately earning a surprised look.

“I- um, yeah, wanna see you sucking on something” Swiss scrambles once mountain is looming over him. He looks powerful like this. Enough to make Swiss sweat a bit, staring up at him wide eyed.

“I'm sure you do starlight” mountain grabs his chin lightly, chuckling at his panic before smiling and walking away.

It’s funny to him, the way Swiss talks a big game, always the first one to make a comment but can never back himself up when one of the ghouls threatens to make right on his words. Always backs down, gets flustered and runs off.

It’s cute to him, poor things never had sex topside and insists on continuing to try and talk himself up like he knows anything.

Mountain decides to take it upon himself to teach Swiss a lesson.

-

“Bet you taste a lot better”

Mountain rolled his eyes, snatching the spoon back from Swiss’ hands after letting him have a bite of his ice cream after dinner.

“If you’re so confident about that, why don’t you find out?” Mountain crowds him against the counter. It’s his favorite move to pull, knowing Swiss has a thing for how much bigger mountain is than him and with the way he speaks it’s really not his fault that he uses it against him so often. He can make him stutter just from looking down at him, can feel him chub up in his pants. Hes a bit too easy.

“I’m- I was just about to go to bed actually. Maybe next time” Swiss tries to wiggle out of mountains way. Mountain grabs him by the wrist before he can get too far. Swiss immediately looking at him scared.

“You talk a big fucking game sweetheart, how about you put your money where your mouth is?” Mountain pulls him back closer, leaning over to be eye level with him.

“I’m tired, long day ya know-“ swiss squeaks

“Shame, can’t back up the dirty shit you say?”

“I can”

“Then prove it, based on how often you run off I was starting to think you didn’t know how to do any of the stuff you talked about, honestly thought you were a virgin”

Mountain doesn’t give him anytime to respond, just pulls him along up to his bedroom while he stutters out half assed protests and tries to pull away.

He doesn’t even say anything when he opens the door, simply lets go of Swiss’ wrist and sits down in his chair across from the bed.

“Wha-“

“Go on. Said you wanted to taste me didn’t you?”

Swiss carefully drops to his knees in front of him. He studies his face for any sign he may be joking but he looks deadly serious, lazily laid back in his chair, waiting for Swiss to make the first move.

And he really doesn’t know what the first move is. Doesnt know where to start or what to do and he’s sure mountain can see how confused and scared he is and he’s sure he finds it more amusing than he should.

The belt is slightly tricky much to his embarrassment, Swiss reaches up to undo it, fumbling around until he able to get the leather undone from the metal, and even then he doesn’t know what to do after that.

“Awe there you go, proud of you for getting my belt off darling” mountains voice is condescending. It burns a small fire in Swiss’ stomach to hear mountain speak to him like he’s an idiot, something about knowing he should know how to do this but doesn’t, and is being treated like he’s stupid for not understanding.

The zipper comes next. Swiss pulls it down while looking at mountain for his approval. The only look he gets is one of amusement, making Swiss feel more shame by the second. He finally takes a deep breath before reaching to pull mountain out of his boxers, half hard and

Fuck

He’s huge, a lot larger than Swiss has seen and it’s the eighth time he’s realized he’s absolutely in over his head though his ego would never let him admit that.

Swiss looks like a deer in headlights, breathing heavy and just staring at mountains cock in his hands. He gives an experimental stroke, again waiting for mountain to say something.

“Come on baby, gotta get me fully hard first, you know how to do that right?” He smiles

“Shut the fuck up” Swiss blushes in response still gawking. He strokes him again, tells himself it’s just like what you do when you’re alone and it really doesn’t help when he can feel mountain laugh at him a bit.

“Let me help you-“

He puts his hand over Swiss’, guiding him through the motions. Swiss can only look at how mountains hand engulfs his, while Swiss can barely fit his over his cock, it’s intimidating, wonders if it’ll be too much.

“Gonna put me in your pretty little mouth? You seem to be so good with it right?” Mountain mocks

“I am” swiss grumbles, batting mountains hand away from his. He opens and closes his mouth a couple times, unsure of where to start. Clumsily puts his mouth on the tip, licking delicately before attempting to swallow him down.

Barely half fits in his mouth, the tip hitting the back of his throat. Swiss gags, pulls away and coughs, looking back up at mountain with tears in his eyes from the sensation.

“You poor thing. Gonna let me show you? I should feel honored being the first one to show you what having a good cock in your mouth is like”

A bright red blush forms on Swiss’ cheeks, letting mountain open his mouth and guide himself inside. It’s embarrassing, he’s hard and needy and can’t even fucking give mountain a proper blow job and he thinks if something doesn’t happen soon he may start humping the chair out of instinct.

Mountain doesn’t push as far this time, letting Swiss just hold him in a comfortable position and get used to the feeling. A bit of drool runs down his chin from his mouth being held open. His jaw aches a bit but fuck mountain tastes good, exactly like he thought he would. Salty, musky, Swiss could probably sit like this forever if he weren’t so pent up already.

A leg presses slightly against him in this position, making him whine around mountain.

“That needy? Oh honey, have you even ever been touched like this? Do I get to be your first?” Swiss prays mountain loses the condescending tone or he may actually cum in his pants from embarrassment. He pulls out, leaving Swiss panting and drooling all over himself.

“Please- mountain just need something I don’t care please”

“Admit it first. If you want to always act like such a whore admit that I’m your first”

Swiss whines at the words, can’t bring himself to do it. Can’t tell mountain what he already knows.

“Please just give me something I need it, Please”

“Then go on. If you’re not so inexperienced I shouldn’t have to give you anything should I?”

“Fine- please I’m a virgin I’ve never done anything you’re my first just please touch me, wanna cum, wanna cum because of you”

Mountain can’t help but coo at the pathetic thing at his feet.

“Good boy”

[sprinkler-ashes]

king of my heart // aaron hotchner x reader

king of my heart

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

words: 1.9k

warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption, sexual implication

description: in which emily prentiss finally puts the pieces together one night. inspired by king of my heart by taylor swift and that one scene in tsitp (“it’s too sweet” and “i thought cocoa was your speciality”)

a/n: writing this from emily’s pov was so much fun!! this is a simple and fun fic, but i loved writing it. expect lots of fics coming from me in the next couple days/weeks because i literally can’t stop writing. much love and happy reading <3

up on the roof with a school girl crush

drinking beer out of plastic cups

say you fancy me, not fancy stuff

baby, all at once, this is enough

Emily Prentiss liked to think of herself as your best friend.

The two of you had instantly hit it off from the moment you started working with the BAU only six short months ago. She took you under her wing, showed you around, and helped you get acquainted with a new work environment. From the first day you started, the friendship began and the rest was history.

In addition to thinking that you and her were best friends, she also liked to think very highly of herself in terms of being a profiler. She saw things. She could read body language. She knew things just from observations.

However, as she sat back into her seat at the bar, her eyes fluttering from one team member to another, Emily couldn’t help but feel like she was missing something when it came to you – specifically relationship-wise. She didn’t like to call herself a nosy person, but she definitely was.

It was a Saturday night, and the team had decided to go out for drinks in celebration of finally catching an unsub that was particularly difficult. The team was currently separated at the moment with you, Emily, JJ, and Garcia talking on your own at the table, Derek was on the floor trying to hook Spencer up with a girl, and Rossi and Hotch were chatting by the bar while waiting for their drinks.

Emily wasn’t sure how many drinks you’d had. You weren’t stumbling drunk, but it was evident you were under the influence.

“Emily, you have to try this,” you told her after you tried the drink in your hand. “It’s so good. I would marry this drink if I could.”

“I’m good, but thanks,” she replied to you. “That looks… interesting.”

Emily could always get down with a cute and fun drink, but she was so confused as to what you were drinking. It was pink with specks of blue, and the rim of the glass was covered in what looked like some kind of blue sugar with a small umbrella for decoration.

You laughed. “I have no idea what it is, but it’s so good. It’s called the Boozy Bee.”

Emily cocked an eyebrow. “The Boozy Bee?”

“Yes,” you said, pausing to take a sip of your drink. “Created by the bartender whose name I learned is Beatrice. You can’t even taste the alcohol, Em.”

She laughed. “That’s the most dangerous kind. Take it easy, Boozy.”

“Let her get her booze on, Emily.” Derek Morgan had sauntered over, a signature grin on his face. “If you will all turn your attention over to the left, look what I did.”

Emily turned her head to find resident genius Spencer Reid, who looked to be in an uncomfortable situation, talking to a very pretty girl. She had to laugh. Spencer was a great guy. Any girl would be lucky to be with him, but the poor guy didn’t know that.

“How long until he pulls out his magic tricks?” Emily joked.

You nudged her, your lips sucking on the black straw that was in your drink before putting it down. “Spencer is a total sweetheart. And magic is hot – don’t diss it.”

Derek raised his eyebrows. “Got a thing for pretty boy, do you?”

You shook your head. “He’s cute, but I like my men older.”

Emily turned to you, a slight frown on her face. You never really talked about anything pertaining to relationships, love, or even casual crushes. Emily had tried to get you to open up about it before, but you never mentioned anything – not even your preferences, so she dropped it. Until now. Apparently alcohol would make you talk.

“What did we miss?” David Rossi asked, him and Hotch finally coming back to the table, both nursing glasses of amber-colored drinks. “They took forever getting our drinks at the bar.”

“Derek set Spence up with a girl, and he now looks like he’s going to either run or vomit. Y/N likes older guys and is drinking a Boozy Bee,” JJ told Rossi.

If Emily wasn’t paying attention, she would’ve missed the way your eyes fluttered up to Hotch, back to your drink, then back to him again before sitting up straight in your seat after JJ mentioned older guys. She furrowed her brow, discreetly glancing between both you and Hotch. However, Hotch didn’t give anything away as his eyes were focused on JJ who was talking.

“Boozy Bee?” Rossi questioned, watching you take yet another sip of the drink.

“It’s so good, Rossi. Do you want to try it?” You asked in your tipsy state, holding the half-empty drink up to him with a smile.

He chuckled. “I’m good, kid. I’m going to go see if Reid needs saving. He looks like he’s uncomfortable.”

You frowned as Rossi walked away. “Why will no one try my drink? Derek, how about you?”

Derek shrugged. “Sure.”

Emily watched as Derek bent down, his lips closing around the straw in the glass you were holding. He drank a small sip of the colorful drink.

Taking another sip of her own drink, Emily just happened to look in her boss’s direction who was standing across from her and beside Derek who was beside you. She hid behind her glass, eyes analyzing Hotch who didn’t look happy standing there in his blue button-up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

He watched Derek drink from the same straw your lips had been on all night. Emily made a mental note of the way Hotch immediately looked away with a small huff of breath that no one else noticed. It was almost as if Emily detected… jealousy?

No, she thought to herself. She decided it must have been the alcohol in her system – despite the fact she was still on her first drink – that put the idea that Hotch was jealous in her head. 

Emily felt weird overanalyzing her friends, especially since there was a general rule among them to not profile each other, even though they often broke that rule either unintentionally or with full intention.

However, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the interaction in front of her. She glanced over to JJ and Penelope who were watching with amusement as Derek tried the drink. They hadn’t picked up on Hotch’s behavior in the current situation.

After what felt like ages to Emily and presumably Hotch, Derek finally stood back up.

“What’s the verdict?” Penelope asked from the end of the table.

Derek had a look of surprise embedded in his features. “It wasn’t bad at all. A little sugary.”

The straw was back in your mouth as you took another sip. The drink was a little under half-way full. “Going once, going twice, does anyone else want to try the best drink ever created before I finish it off?”

“Hotch, you should try the drink,” Emily said while trying to act nonchalant.

She didn’t want it to be obvious that she was attempting to figure out what was going on with him, and she hoped he hadn’t noticed her watching him only a minute prior.

Hotch didn’t say anything because words were rolling out of your mouth before he could even open his mouth to form a response. “Hotch isn’t a fan of anything sweet, and this drink is pretty sweet.”

Before anyone could say anything, Hotch was leaning over Derek, using one hand to sit down his own drink before laying it flat on the table to steady himself while his other hand wrapped around yours that held the glass, bringing the straw to his lips.

Emily was glad she didn’t have anything in her mouth because if she did, she would’ve spit it out in shock. The whole thing was strangely intimate. She frantically looked around at everyone, but no one was paying attention as they cheered on Aaron Hotchner, of all people, as he drank the entirety of what was left of the pink and blue drink that you swore he wouldn’t enjoy.

She was surprised to find that no one else was seeing this in the way that she was. A table full of profilers and no one just profiled that behavior?

Aaron finished the drink off. “I don’t hate everything sweet.” He moved his hand off of yours before anyone could notice the way his hand lingered – Emily already did – and moved back to where he was standing before making his way back to the bar. “I’ll buy you another drink.”

Derek, JJ, and Penelope were laughing and talking about what had just happened. Penelope had even taken a picture zoomed in of Hotch holding the drink, claiming they could always use that picture against him. Derek had moved down to the section of the table with JJ and Penelope to look at the photo, leaving you and Emily.

“Holy shit,” you muttered to no one in particular before locking eyes with Emily, still holding the empty glass in your hand. “Did you see that?”

“Older men, huh?” Emily asked nonchalantly.

You looked at her like a deer caught in headlights and narrowed your eyes. “Emily, I swear if you tell anyone-”

“Tell what?” She grinned. Emily then lowered her voice, moving in closer to talk to you. “So this is why you refuse to talk about anything to do with guys? I knew there was something. He was totally jealous of Derek.”

“What? No way,” you scoffed. “He’s not into me like that.”

Emily resisted the urge to roll her eyes at you. Based on the last five minutes alone, everyone at the table should have known what was going on. Unfortunately, no one was paying enough attention.

“From what I noticed, I’m just saying you could get dicked down on this table right now if you just bat your eyelashes at him when he comes back.”

“Emily!” You whisper-screamed. “You can’t say stuff like that when we’re-”

Before you could finish your sentence, Emily noticed Hotch coming back with another drink for you. She motioned for you to stop talking before he got to the table.

He sat your drink down in front of you, another Boozy Bee, before stealing the seat across from you that Spencer had originally occupied earlier before Derek took him out on the floor.

“Thank you,” you managed to say without giving away what you and Emily had just been talking about.

He nodded at you before returning back to his drink. When Emily was sure he wasn’t looking as he turned to speak with Penelope who was further down the table, she looked at you, mockingly batting her eyelashes.

Your eyes went wide as you shook your head before whispering, “I will kill you and make it look like an accident.”

Emily said nothing as she grinned for what felt like the hundredth time of the night. Her eyes flickered from Hotch and then back to you, enthusiastic that she had pieced something this exciting together.

In addition to thinking of herself as your best friend, she liked to also think of herself as the best matchmaker of the BAU.

Emily couldn’t wait for the upcoming week at work.

[writingwrongwjc]

Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: While out drinking with the boys one night following a hunt the reader drinks a little more than she anticipated, going shot for shot with Dean. Sloppily blurring the lines between her and Sam’s relationship.

AN: Unedited Drabble; sorry if this one has any grammer errors I wrote it quickly to pass some time on a road trip!

“One more round for the two of us sweetheart! Oh, and this one’s on her,” Dean smirked at the bartender while side-eyeing you.

“It is not you jerk. I’m not paying for these! But I will happily take another! ” You spit out all at once, stumbling into your excitement as you find a secure crutch on the stool in front of you, snatching the small glass off of the counter top. Some cheap silver tequila, you wouldn’t bother to remember the name of if even you could.

Dean clinks the small glass against yours, before smacking it down against the wooden bar top, and then tilting his head back to choke down the liquor. You watch him for a second before you do the same. This time not wincing at the taste. In fact you could hardly feel it anymore, instead overwhelmed by an entirely different feeling. Your body embraced with a rush of heat as you drift into your thoughts for a moment. Deepened by a familiar warm scent behind you. Woody florals with a spicy twist.

“Okay guys, last one. I’m serious.” His familar voice spoke sternly, startling you away from the stool you had been leaning into. Whiping around you quickly realized it was Sam and your gaze softened cocking your head up at him with a smile creeping across your face.

“You said that an hour ago!”

“And I meant it then, you just didn’t listen.” His eyebrows twisted and his jaw tightened as he looked at you.

“Oh come on don’t be a crankapotamus! And don’t blame me, blame beavus over here! He keeps buying them... I simply don’t want to be wasteful,” you tease.

“Or is he butthead?”

“Y/n…” he tried to remain serious but cracked when he looked into your eyes. “He’s beavus, you’re butthead.”

Dean would have much prefered to be compared to any other duo; Mulder and Scully, Shaggy and Scooby, Bonnie and Clyde even. Although Sam was right to turn your own joke against you. When the two of you got togther it was always chaos. Dean though, could not protest his involment in a chaotic duo as he slipped away conviently when Sam approahed the two of you.

You let out a giggle at his unexpected retort. Driving your weight shoulder first into his abdomen to push him, his figure unmoving as you sway backwards. He reaches out gingerly, placing a hand mere inches from your back to make sure he can grab you if you fall but not yet touching you to ensure your comfort.

“Woah, careful I’m your ride home, you wouldn’t wanna hurt me,” he let out a chuckle at his own joke.

“Oh no you poor baby I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think of my own strength, I could have killed you with my large stature and broad shoulders.” You stitched your brows together pouting your lips up at him.

Lettting silence linger for no more than a second before an idea bombarted your thoughts. Your eyes darkening up at him.

“I could kiss it better for you Sammy.” You say, tracing from his chest up to his shoulder until you are practically draped around him.

His face stiffens, eyes wide as he inhales sharply. Taking your hands off of his shoulders down into his own gently. He looks into your eyes with a bitter sweetness, with an emotion you can’t quite predict. Your heart pounds in your chest awaiting what he’ll say next.

“Why don’t we wait until morning hm? You can kiss it better… and then some… if you still want to.” He tilts his head ever so slightly with a warm cheeky smile.

[green-eyedfirework]

Wintergreen blinked at the request.

He usually spent time listening to the pulse of the underworld, monitoring contracts on various forums and sites, talking to his sources, managing the web of contacts he had to find the kind of jobs that Slade would take.  He was meticulous about it—Slade was attached to his reputation, and Wintergreen still had to hear his bitching about the one and only job he ever left unfinished, even though completing it would’ve meant killing Jericho.

Often, Wintergreen was approached directly.  Several people wanted Deathstroke the Terminator’s services in particular, and most were smart enough to use him as an intermediary, rather than be faced with Slade’s uncertain mood.  Wintergreen filtered through those as well, though most were Slade’s usual style and paycheck.  There was a certain responsibility in essentially being a pseudo handler, a responsibility Wintergreen had accepted years and years ago, and he made sure to bury any contract that would destroy more of Slade than was already gone.

This particular contract...well.  Wintergreen didn’t know what to do with it.

It was from a verified source—it was from Nightwing, so the morality of the job wasn’t in question, but Nightwing had never put out contracts before.  Strange in and of itself.

The pay was generous, but then again, Dick Grayson was newly in control of the entire Wayne fortune, so that made sense.

The job was...unusual.

Wintergreen reread the contract, hoping it would make a little more sense this time.

Stand-in for Batman.  Mission parameters strictly non-lethal, and minimum collateral damage.  Mission includes patrolling Gotham City and assisting with containment of Gotham Rogues.  Suit and gear will be provided.  Particulars available upon acceptance. 

Batman was dead.  The whole world knew it, even if the Bats and the Waynes attempted to cover it up by sticking someone else in the suit and hiring a lookalike to play Bruce Wayne.  Anyone with half a brain could tell that the Bats were fracturing—though in all fairness, they’d been fracturing for a while, Batman was just enough of a terrifying specter to cover it up.

And now Nightwing wanted to bring that specter back.

Well.

Wintergreen thought through the logistics—Slade was certainly capable of it, and the job wasn’t unreasonable—and then the implications—Dick Grayson must be truly desperate, if he was going to these lengths—as he considered the contract.

He finally came to a decision.

If nothing else, at least he’d get to see the look on Slade’s face.

~#~

“You’re going to need to repeat that again,” Slade said flatly.

“If you haven’t heard it the first twelve times I told you, Slade, I’m not sure what one more is going to do,” Wintergreen said.  The bastard was amused, Slade could hear it.

“You’re telling me,” Slade growled, “that the goody two-shoes Robin is asking me to play Batman.”

“He’s Nightwing now, and yes, that is what I’m saying.  I’m glad your listening comprehension isn’t failing.”

Slade made an inarticulate snarl.

“Are you accepting the job or not, Slade?  It’s a yes or a no question,” Wintergreen hummed, looking away from the screen and down at his keyboard.

“You can’t be serious.”  It wasn’t April 1st, and Wintergreen wasn’t in the habit of playing jokes, but if one of the kids had gotten to him—“Whose idea is it?  Joey?  Rose?  Given that the man is dead, it’s in poor taste.”

“It’s not a joke,” Wintergreen replied.  “Confirmed with Nightwing himself.  It’s real, and yes, they’re really asking for you.”

“Why?” Slade asked, honestly bewildered.  “I thought someone else was filling the suit.  And even if they aren’t, why not get one of the other heroes to do it?”

“Nightwing was doing it, but he sprained an ankle, and the situation is too precarious in Gotham for him to take a break.  No one else was available.  Or so he says,” Wintergreen added, looking up.

“And you think this is a legitimate contract.”

There was a long, stretched silence.  “Yes,” Wintergreen said finally, quiet, “I think it’s legitimate.  They need someone with the skills, the control, and discretion, you fit all three.”

Aside from the fact that he was a mercenary, he’d fought them all once before, and now they were willing to trust him with the keys to the empire?

“I saw him.  Nightwing,” Wintergreen clarified.  “He looked exhausted.  I doubt he had the energy to come up with an elaborate lie.”

“The kid’s a good actor,” Slade said automatically, and ground his teeth.  “It’s most likely a trap.”

“You’re Deathstroke.  Nothing they try is going to keep you down—”

“Just going to jinx it, are you—”

“And besides, Slade—aren’t you the slightest bit curious?”

Damn him.  Damn him to the deepest pits of hell.

Slade always loved a challenge.  If Nightwing was attempting a double-cross, Slade would enjoy shredding his plan to pieces and exacting retribution.  And if he wasn’t...playing a hero?  One of the first heroes, the infamous Dark Knight?

His blood was singing already.

“Fine.  Get me a plane to Gotham.”

~#~

The meeting location was a rooftop in Gotham, which was typical.  What wasn’t typical was Dick Grayson stumbling out of the rooftop access door on crutches, dressed in dark clothes and a domino mask in an attempt at secrecy.

Slade had thoughtfully foregone the Deathstroke armor, given the particulars of this request, but Grayson didn’t look armored or even armed.  “Slade,” Grayson said, with something approaching relief.  “You made it.”

“You have a job for me?” Slade said archly, watching as Grayson hobbled over.  Sprained ankle, his ass.  Something was at least cracked there, or Grayson would’ve foregone the crutches entirely.

“Yes,” Grayson wavered on one foot to run an absent hand through his hair.  In Slade’s professional opinion, the kid looked like shit.  “I’m assuming Wintergreen told you—”

“I’m not sure I can believe what Wintergreen told me,” Slade raised an eyebrow.  “Seemed a little too fantastical to be true.  You sure you want me for this job, kid?”

“You’re the best, aren’t you?” Grayson smiled, and it was a shadow of Nightwing’s charming grin.  No wonder the kid had broken something, if he looked this close to passing out.  He’d probably worn himself straight into the ground.  “But if you’re accepting, we can take this downstairs.”

Slade should’ve said no.  Should’ve walked away.  Gotham was a sinking ship without its protector to hold it afloat, and best case scenario was that the place wiped itself off the map.  He could even consider it a civic duty.

But the lines of exhaustion on Grayson’s face stopped him, the lines of exhaustion for a face that young, and besides—what was life without a little risk?

‘Downstairs’ apparently meant the basement, because of course the Waynes had a penthouse apartment with rooftop access and an elevator down to a secret bunker below the building.  Wayne had really gone overboard with his bases, how many toys did the man need?

No, Slade was not jealous, and besides, there wasn’t a single gun down here.  Not a single blade either, except for the one a twelve-year-old was currently menacing him with.

“So this is who you obtained to play theater for a week,” the kid sneered, and he sounded just like his parents.  Both of them.  “A trained pet who sees the world through a scope.”

It might’ve been insulting, if the kid wasn’t twelve.  “Al Ghul,” Slade greeted, walking past him like the katana wasn’t even there.

“Wilson,” the kid spat, and those prickles were all Talia.  The scowl was definitely Wayne’s.

“Is he going to be part of this too?” Slade asked, because he was demanding a raise if that was the case.  The kid was a biter, and Slade wasn’t a babysitter.

“No,” Grayson replied just a little too quickly, his eyes going wide for a fraction of a second.  “No,” he repeated, calmer.  “Robin will be staying off patrol until I recover.”

“Tt,” the kid sneered, “I shouldn’t be handicapped by your mistakes, and I already told you that I’m more than capable of patrolling—”

“We already discussed this, Dami,” Grayson said, his light tone at odds with his pinched expression.  “And my answer hasn’t changed.”

Slade could practically feel the kid’s seething glare, and mentally marked down a note to watch him.  Twelve or not, the kid had been raised an assassin.

“Now, Alfred will be down soon to make sure the suit and gear all fits properly, and I’ll teach you how to throw batarangs in a bit, but first we’re going to go over the rules,” Grayson said, easing himself into a chair in front of a large computer setup.  “First rule.  No killing.”

Slade took a deep breath, “I’m well aware of your moral code, kid—”

“No killing,” Grayson repeated, blue eyes sharp.  “Not for any reason.  Not if you think it’s the only option left.  There’s another way, there will always be another way, and you’re smart and fast enough to find one.  Batman doesn’t kill, and if you’re going to wear the cape and cowl, I need to know you can stick to that.”

Grayson was acting like this was the first non-lethal mission Slade had ever taken.  “No killing,” he repeated mildly, and Grayson deflated slightly.

“Great.  Rule number two…”

[ozarkthedog]

Ozzie, hi again!💗 for your celebration I also bring you a thot -💀 with pre-outbreak dark!Tommy Miller. Dub con 🍸 Reader is Joel’s gf. After getting drunk on a girls’ night out she calls Joel to pick her up but he can’t leave Sarah and asks Tommy to do it. Tommy’s been craving his bro’s girl for some time so he goes to get her, starts flirting, makes advances and reader falls for his charms .. in his truck😏

𝐢'𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 ����𝐨𝐮

warnings: -> 18+ only · mdni <- pre-outbreak dark!Tommy Miller x Joel's GF!Reader. dub con -> non con. Tommy takes advantage of buzzed reader. cheating. sex in a truck. unwanted cream pie. poor Joel has no idea. no beta.

word count: 1.5k

author's note: i apologize for taking so long to fill this dark request but oh my heart loved writing it!! thank you for sending this in!

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 · 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

“You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Tommy says as you haphazardly climb into the front seat of his truck. Joel asked if he could pick you up from girl’s night since his truck had a flat and he couldn’t fix it until the morning and Tommy was more than happy to help.

“Oh little ol’ me?” You laugh at the younger Miller as you fumble with your seatbelt, drunkenly stabbing at the buckle. Tommy chuckles at your futile attempts. “Let me, Sugar.”

His musk hits your nose when he takes the seatbelt from your grasp and you outwardly groan at the delicious smell. He quirks a brow and smirks before starting the engine and pulling onto the road.

“Thanks for picking me up. Can’t believe my boyfriend bailed on me. What a jerk.” You joke before breaking out into a fit of drunken giggles. 

“Yeah, he’s a real ass. If I was him, there ain’t no way I’d leave you to fend for yourself.”

“I’m a big girl, Tommy. I can take care of myself.” You playfully stick your nose in the air before sticking you’re tongue out at him.

His laugh makes your belly flip. “Oh, I know, Sugar but you deserve a real man.”

“Oh yeah? Where would I find one of those real men.” Your fingers draw quotation marks in the air as Tommy pulls up in front of the Miller house. Bright lights flicker in the living room from whatever Joel and Sarah are watching. Probably one of those cringe Kung Fu movies he loves so much.

“Me.”

Your wide eyes flit to his. Nerves tumble from your lips making you awkwardly laugh as you try to diffuse the situation. “Tommy, you’re a sweet guy-” You begin but trail off when you see the tent in his jeans. His cock is straining against the material. You could’ve sworn you saw it pulse. 

“Sorry, I can’t help it when a beautiful woman is in my presence.” Tommy croons with that million watt smile.

You can’t tear your eyes away. It’s not like Joel doesn’t satisfy you. The older Miller always made sure you were taken care of and then some. 

Tommy tips your chin to get your attention and you realize you never responded. “See somethin’ you like, Sugar? Why don’t you have a taste?”

“No, Tommy. We can’t.” You argue despite the throbbing nestled between your legs and your drunken inhibitions.

“Joel won’t have to know. It’ll be our little secret.” He unbuckles his belt and pulls out his cock before you could say otherwise. “Come on, Sugar. Just hop on and get your rocks off.” 

His head falls against the headrest as he strokes himself from base to weeping tip. “Guess I’ll just get myself off without you then. Such a shame. Always wanted to know what you felt like. What you taste…” He groans at his own words and the sound hits your square in the cunt.

You scramble over to his side of the truck without a second thought. Cautiously, you kneel over his lap and he meets your eyes with a grin. “Thatta’ girl.” 

Tommy hooks a finger into your sticky panties and pulls the damp material to the side. He taps his bulbous tip against your searing folds making you whimper. “Shh. No need to think. Let me feel that sweet pussy.”

You slowly sink down his length with a satisfied moan. His hands weave around your hips and keep you steady as you begin to bounce on his cock.

Tommy’s grip slides upward as he palms your covered breasts with a searing touch before yanking the cloth down and exposing you completely to him. He buries his face into your chest and laves between your salty breasts. His tongue sears your skin as he drags the muscle across your pert nips before sucking one into his mouth. 

Your fingers weave through his hair as the truck windows begin to fog. Tommy groans against your flesh as he greedily sucks and caresses your breasts.

“If only Joel knew how wet you are for me.” He grunts. His hot breath fans across your clavicle and his hands find purchase on your hips one more, cupping your curves as he grinds his length deep between your slick folds. 

Joel. Your heart sinks. What were you doing? He was waiting at home for you and here you were fucking his younger brother in the front seat like some horny teenager.

Your movements stall. Hips stopping mid-bounce as your thoughts race and regret burns a hole in your belly. You glance at Tommy with sorrowful eyes but he’s shaking his head.

“No, none of that.” He grasps your jaw and gives it a shake. “You wanted this, Sugar and now you got me.” 

You’re quick to argue but Tommy smacks your ass with a hard swat. “Move.”

You swallow down the lump in your throat and lift your hips. A wicked groan tears from your throat as the blunt head of his cock grazes your cervix. “There you go. Let me do the thinkin’. No need to worry that dumb little brain.” He flashes his pearly whites when you whimper.

His brows lock tight as your hips drive down, bouncing rapidly on his length as pleasure begins to stir deep in your core. 

“You look so fuckin’ good ridin’ me. Just like I pictured.” he grunts, wrapping his hands around your hips. His nails mark your flesh as he grips you tight. 

His confession makes your already woozy mind spin. Your cunt convulses and drools heavily around his cock. “Yeah, that’s right,” He groans. “I’ve wanted to fuck my cum into you ever since we first met.”   

Liquid heat races up your spine as your orgasm suddenly crests and drowns you in its wake. “Shit, that’s it, Sugar. Feel so fuckin’ good.” Tommy groans. The vibrations from deep in his chest rattle your palms as your hips begin to slow. “Gonna fill this sweet cunt up real good.” 

Your heart drops into your belly.

You start to struggle as nausea bubbles in your throat. “No, Tommy you can’t.” You fight, pushing against his shoulders and shifting your weight but it was no use. 

He unabashedly thrusts up into your heat, making you take every inch despite your pleading. He’s like a man possessed. No matter how much you begged he didn’t listen.

Warmth spills into your core as he comes, grunting through clenched teeth and grabbing your hips so tight they ache. A pained, shocked whimper falls from your lips as you look down at him.   

“Told you I’d be good to you.” He says, casually as you scramble off his lap. You slump into the passenger seat and fix your underwear while fighting back tears.

“I can’t believe we just did that.” You mutter to yourself, sobering up. 

“Oh, but we did, Sugar.” He preens, tucking himself away before lighting a cigarette.

“I don’t want this.” You argue, drawing an imaginary line between your bodies. “This will never happen again. I want Joel. I love Joel. I want to be with Joel!”

He sucks in a harsh breath and holds the smoke in his lungs, letting it burn as he holds your glare. “Sure. Whatever you say, Sugar.”

“Don’t call me that anymore.” You climb out of the truck and almost break an ankle as you rush to get as far away from him as possible. 

Tommy wraps an arm around your waist and carefully walks to you to the front door despite your attempts at shaking him off. Your mind spins and you’re close to vomiting from what just took place.

“Don’t worry, Sugar. I’ll take care of you if the time comes.” He murmurs and wipes a salty tear from your cheek before walking into the Miller household.

“Here she is! All safe and sound.” Tommy announces as you push away from him and race up the stairs not stopping to look at Joel or Sarah.

Joel calls after you but Tommy stops him. “She was a bit of a mess on the ride home. Talking about how much she loves you and wants you. Probably just needs to sleep it off.” 

The older brother nods and rubs a hand along his jaw. “Yeah, I’ll bring her some water and aspirin.” He says with a sigh. “Thanks for gettin’ her.” Joel yanks Tommy into a bear hug and clasps him on the back. 

Tommy smirks. “It was my pleasure.”   

“Hey, sweetheart.” Joel whispers as in slides into the bed behind you. “How’re you feeling?” 

Your body burns as he spoons himself against you. “I’m alright. Just had a bit too much fun is all.” 

Joel smiles. “There’s some water and aspirin on the nightstand.” He peppers kisses up your neck as you force yourself to melt in his embrace. “Thank you, babe.”

His hands find your hips and curve around the shape of you before snaking beneath your underwear. He curses when he finds you soaked. If he only knew why. 

“Tommy said you were wantin’ me. Guess he wasn’t lyin’.” 

Joel lifts your leg and slides his thick cock between your sensitive, swollen folds. The heady mixture of your arousal and Tommy’s cum makes Joel’s cock glide easily into your core. “Always nice and warm for me. Ain’t that right?”

[nyoomfruits]

Ohhh what’s give me a taste (of what it's like to be next to you) ? I love all your story’s by the way😍

ITS THE POPSTAR LANDO FAKE DATING AU which i will definitely get to at some point because like. it really is quite fun. anyway here's a little snip of lando/oscar banter :)

Lando, thankfully, is still down, which is how Oscar finds himself in his own living room three days later, pacing in front of the couch currently occupied by the man of the hour himself. 

“Do you have downstairs neighbors?” Lando asks. He’s fully sprawled over Oscar’s couch, feet tucked under one of the cushions and head pillowed on the arm rest. At least he’s had the decency to take off his shoes.

“Hm?” Oscar says, a little absentmindedly as he makes his way from the bookcase holding some of his helmets back to the fireplace he literally never uses.

“Downstairs neighbors,” Lando repeats. When Oscar gives him a blank look, Lando continues, “I just think it would be funny, if you wore down the floor enough and you fell through it, to imagine you ending up on some poor guy’s dinner table.”

Oscar glares at him. “You’re not taking this seriously,” he chastises.

“Or,” Lando says, pointing at him. “Consider; you’re taking this too seriously.”

“This is our future, Lando,” Oscar bites. “I’m pretty sure I’m taking this just seriously enough.”

Lando shrugs. “What’s the worst that can happen? We break up? That’s the intended plan eventually anyway, isn’t it? We just go on a few fake dates, act madly in love, easy peasy lemon easy.”

“That’s not how the saying goes,” Oscar points out. “Plus, I don’t. I’ve never done this before, okay?”

“A PR relationship? Me neither, mate. Can’t say it’s that common, really. Unless you’re a Kardashian, maybe.” Lando’s fiddling with his bracelets again.

“I mean date,” Oscar says, finally giving up his mini marathon through the living room and falling down on the couch next to Lando.

Lando’s head shoots up. “Wait, really? Never?”

Oscar shakes his head. “I was in the closet, so. No. Didn’t want to risk it.”

“Oh,” Lando says, “Yeah, no of course.”

“Have you?” Oscar asks, hearing a voice suspiciously like his mum’s whispering to him he has to at least try now that he’s committed to making this work.

“Been in a relationship?” Lando snorts. “I mean, yeah. Enough to write like five albums about.”

Five. Oscar vows to himself that after this meeting is over to listen to at least one of them, maybe. For research purposes. It’s going to look a little awkward maybe, if they do start dating and Oscar can’t name a single song by his supposed boyfriend.

“Well, okay, you be the expert on the dating part, then,” Oscar says, letting his head fall back against the backrest of the couch. “For the fake part, we need rules.”

Lando snorts. “Romance,” he says, doing little jazz hands.  

Oscar glares at him. “No kissing,” he says. That’s what’s got him into this fucking mess in the first place, and there’s no reason to. It’ll be easier, he thinks, if he keeps a little distance between him and Lando. A nice safe barrier so Oscar can just pretend they’re, like, coworkers. Or something.

“Boring,” Lando says. “But fine. What about hand holding?”

“Hand holding is fine.”

“Hugging?”

“Sure.”

“Cuddling?”

“In what scenario would we cuddle in public?”

“Covering all our bases, Oscar.”

“Fine. Sure, cuddling is okay.”

“Linking our pinkies together.”

“That’s. Isn’t that just holding hands?” Oscar frowns at Lando.

Lando smiles serenely at him. “Like I said, covering all our bases.”

Oscar squints. “See, now I feel like you’re just making fun of me.”

“I would never,” Lando says, widening his eyes at Oscar in what Oscar is pretty sure is an attempt at puppy eyes. “It’s just, that’s a lot of rules. Next you’re going to tell me we need a safe word.”

Oscar considers this. “That’s. That’s not a terrible idea actually. For if either if us feels uncomfortable.”

“I was joking,” Lando says.

“Sure,” Oscar says, shrugs. But you’re right, so. “How do you feel about fish?”

“Gross, disgusting, why do you hate me,” Lando says.

Oscar snorts. “As a safe word, Lando,�� he says.

Lando, seemingly resigned to the fact that they’re going to have to come up with a safe word, considers this. “I don’t think it would work, it comes up too much in casual conversation, I think. It has to be something weird, something completely out of left field.”

Oscar glances around the living room, his eyes falling on the stack of shoes near the door. “What about thongs?”

Lando’s eyebrows shoot up. “I mean. Kinky.”

Oscar groans, buries his face in his hands, curses the differences between British English and Australian English. “The shoes, Lando. The shoes. In Australia you call flipflops thongs.”

“Why,” Lando says. “That makes no sense. But sure, fine, whatever you want. Our safe word can be shoe thongs.”

“That’s not-“ Oscar starts, but cuts himself off, shakes his head. “Yeah, no sure. Let’s go with that. Shoe thongs.”

“Great,” Lando says, clapping his hands. “Now we’ve got that sorted, what are you doing tomorrow?”

[thygoddessouijathicc]

Bishop Edibility Tierlist; A very deeply serious essay about which bishop would taste the best if you had to eat one of them for any reason

Aight, 88% of you voted in favour of this being released, so this is on you. This blood is on YOUR hands. Just remember that as you read this.

So you all remember that essay I did about how the bishops all had some kinda trauma or different reactions to purgatory and shit and how that was such a serious thing analyzing dialogue and reactions and stuff-?

Well there are TWO wolves inside of me, and one of them writes serious researched essays, it’s time you meet the other.

To preface this, this essay is entirely a joke please don’t take any word of this seriously.

To start with, technically anything is edible if you try hard enough, sometimes only once but I digress, however some things are more appetizing than others.

For this essay we will be taking evidence from canon in some cases on things you can eat, but assuming that this only means these things are more appetizing in this world, not that anything you can’t feast upon very specifically in the game is somehow inedible. Meat is meat.

Also Narinder will be referred to as a bishop because he was one.

Ok let’s start our list.

At the absolute bottom of the edibility tierlist is Narinder. Narinder is a cat. While technically cats are indeed edible by the laws of meat is meat, cats hold a special place in the hearts of many including myself.

But to be honest the real reason that Narinder holds this spot is meat quantity and quality of him specifically. Narinder, holds very little meat. Sure he has a head, but his arms are skeletal and it’s safe to assume possibly a lot of the rest of his body tis also but frail bone. Possibly what is not could also be rotten if he’s that kind of god of death that qualifies as a corpse. And while meat is meat, Narinder not only has very little, but what he does have may be poor quality. This cements him in the shameful bottom spot.

He’s also a-

Moving on, next, quite regrettably, is Leshy. Leshy is a major jump in quality from Narinder.

We don’t know much about bushworms or their anatomy but what we do know, is Leshy is dummy thicc, this means he has a large quantity of meat.

Unfortunately Leshy is also a worm which isn’t exactly the most appetizing creature to put in your gaping maw so that docks him a few points.

However the true reason he cannot be higher is that depending on your read of his anatomy, Leshy could qualify as a salad, and EWWWWW VEGITALS!!! 🤢🤮🤮

Moving on to the “would eat again category” we start with Heket.

Now it should not be news to anyone that frogs are edible, especially to French people. But I don’t believe in French people, they aren’t real. Anyway as I’m saying, you can eat frogs to your hearts content!

There are sanitation issues with Anura apparently being super gross which docks some points but overall, Heket is a solid option.

Now we’ve reached “ok hear me out” territory with Shamura.

Spiders are a major food source in cult of the lamb. Which is a bit questionable for a few reasons, including that there are multiple spider characters and Webber exists but also small spiders on the ground which seem to be a separate species which raises a lot of questions possibly best gone unanswered.

What really matters is what you can do with the small spiders you find around, you can chase them down and when you catch them, they drop meat. My friends have told me that this means I’m just taking meat they are holding, after all you can get berries if the spider has taken them.

What I say to this is: but the idea of lamb running around at night and picking up whole large spiders off the ground and feeding them to their followers is fucking hilarious, and also they always drop the same meat and never berries unless they have picked them up. You’d think if I’m just taking what they have and they will eat berries as well as meat, that I’d get berries more often. Nay, only when picked up from my farms.

This leads to the only possible conclusion being that people in the cult of the lamb universe feed often on spiders, that’s right, Helob eating followers is VENGEANCE.

So, we have established spiders are very edible in cult of the lamb, and you know what Shamura is? A giant fucking spider. They are edible, I rest my case.

Now let’s move on to first place oh boy who is it, probably who you should have expected, Kallamar.

His name sounds like Calamari to start with and not only can you eat squids in real life, you can in the game (similar weird separate species thing with spiders only in this case it’s more definitive that you can very much eat the squids themselves.)

Kallamar would also likely cry if you proclaimed your desire to consume him, misery not only makes meat better but his tears could be seasoning!

Not even to mention the fact that after beating him, it would be a moment of victoriousness and pure vindictive nature, to proceed to eat Kallamar, and vindictive nature is something I most definitely do not lack as I cuss out bishops every time I see the statues after I beat them.

Squids also don’t have many bones so unlike the others who you’d have to spend an extensive time processing before eating, Kallamar would be easy and his bones make up very little of his composition.

In conclusion, why did you read this whole essay it’s not even that funny.

And those of you who voted to have this released. Are you happy?

Are you not entertained!?

[witchersmistress]

The road to Hell

Hello my darlings!! this man almost, ended back in the punishment room!

Trigger warnings: age gasp, foul language sassy FMC, forced marriage

Word Count: 2.7 K

Amelia’s POV

Your wedding day is supposed to be one of the most exciting days of your life. Just like my mother, I’m about to marry a man I didn’t choose and who I don’t love. I actually despise him and everything he represents—money, greed, and power are just a few of them. My mother hates my father, but there was nothing either one of them could do. Their fate was decided, their destiny sealed. Same as mine. Same as my children’s. And my grandchildren’s. We are bred for the sole purpose of power. Control in numbers. Fuck that!

Women in my world—the secret society of the Ravens—should not reproduce. I don’t want children. The cycle will end with me. It has to.  The Ravens will only find a way to use its members. They marry us off to ensure we add to their army. The next generation of Ravens and Ravenia will help them take over the world.  Phil though he was so smart and allowed me to see a  Raven approved Drs only, well the joke was on him, that particular doc, i saw his wife instead who was a fellow Ravenia and a Nurse practitioner. By the end of my first appointment, I had an IUD and that idiot was none the wiser. I’ll be damned if I allow them to have any say over a son or daughter I'll never have.

 I stand in the middle of the room, overlooking the white dress in the mirrored wall, running my hand down the mulberry silk—some of the finest silk available in the world. I take in a deep breath. It cost a whopping two million. Two million dollars for a fucking dress? My soon-to-be husband had it custom-made by a designer in France. I know this because my mother reminds me every chance she gets. Why would I get to pick out something so important in my life? That’s insane, right? Give that money to charity, or he'll let me loose in a bookstore, not that i could spend two million dollars but i'll try like hell.

 To think I should have any say in what I wear on the day I give my life to another. It’s as if she thinks his wealth will impress me. It’s blood money. I know this because it’s the same fortune I grew up with. I never did want the finer things in life. I know a poor person would roll their eyes at that statement, but it’s true. Give me a beer, a cheap hoodie, and a hat to hide my three-day old mop of bleach-blond hair, and I’m happy. But no. That’s unacceptable. The one percent aren’t allowed to look anything less than perfect. Not in public anyway. I’m surprised they even let us speak. We as women might as well walk around with duct tape over our mouths dressed in nothing but chains. A Raven needs a Ravenia but not because of the reasons you may think. It’s a way to hide who he really is. He’ll have fucks all over the world, but we’re expected to cook, clean, and spread our legs for him when he’s home. Worship him like he’s God himself and birth his children. I’ve never been religious, and I’m not going to fall to my knees and start worshiping a man now.  

My brother comes up behind me, his eyes scanning over my dress in the mirror. “At least he has good taste.” I roll my eyes. “As if that matters.” “Just pop out some kids and get fat.” He shrugs. “Then he’ll screw anyone but you. Oh! Hire a hot, much younger nanny.” He nods to himself. “Let me try her out first, though. Make sure she’s good enough.” His words just prove that all Ravens are the same. He’s been a Raven for years but has yet to marry. He has the privilege of fucking his way around the world while I’m forced to sign my life away. A cell rings, and he pulls it out of his tuxedo jacket to answer. “Hello?” Sighing, I pick up the dress and walk over to the stained glass window. You can’t see shit out of it. This place is ancient. The Cathedral is to a Raven as a church is to a religion—their sanctum. It holds a hundred years of secrets like a sarcophagus encloses a mummy. 

It was handed down to them years ago—a place to perform their sick and twisted rituals. There’s nothing fancy or special about it, if you ask me. I could be walking down the aisle in blue jeans and a T-shirt or lingerie. Doesn’t matter. Not all Ravens and Ravenia are required to wed here. But it’s where my future husband picked. Our parents wanted it to be as traditional as possible. It’s a bullshit reason. They just want to make a spectacle of handing me over to him. We might as well be standing in a courtroom with a judge sentencing me to life in prison without the chance of parole for a crime I didn’t commit. I place my hand on the cold glass, listening to the rain fall. It’s been storming for the past two days. It's like the world knows I've been destined for a lifetime of servitude to a man I'd rather kill than kneel and suck his dick. 

I blame my mother. She raised me to be strong-willed and determined. But now, I’m just supposed to turn it off and believe that I'm to devote my life to a man that will neglect me during the day but demand I spread my legs at night. I won’t accept that. I deserve more. I want more. My brother ends his call, getting my attention, and looks at me. “We have a problem,” he states. My whole life is a fucking problem. “What?” “Phil is missing.” I snort. “Don’t toy with me like that.” That’s not a problem; that’s a prayer answered. “I’m serious.” He swallows, looking around the large room nervously as if Phil’s going to appear out of thin air. “He’s not here. He never arrived. He’s also not at his house. He’s missing. No one has seen him.” “I’m not sure why that’s a problem.” I don’t want to marry the sick bastard. Phil Buxton is the highest-ranking Raven you can come by, which just makes this even worse. Ravens are like anything else in this world. You have some at the bottom, and others at the top. There are different tiers. 

But honestly, it doesn’t matter; they’re all sick fucking bastards who will kill anyone to get to where they are. Even the bottom feeders will destroy anything to get a chance at serving. He steps over to me. “Amelia …” The door opens, and my father enters with my mother. I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m guessing this good fortune has nothing to do with you two?” My mother’s injected lips seem to thin a tad at my comment. She’s told me a million times that this is just the life we live. That it’s a “tradition” and I just have to accept it. That as far as Raven and Ravenia goes, we’re royalty. Bull-fucking-shit. I’d rather be someone’s bitch than a Raven’s Ravenia. My father, however, stares at the floor while running a hand through his dark hair. “Daddy?” I step over to him, holding my dress in my hands so I don’t step on the hem. “What’s going on?” His throat works, swallowing before his eyes find mine. There’s a look of regret in them, and hope fills my chest. Maybe he’s realized that I don’t want this life. He clears his throat. “I just received a call …” “Please tell me you did this—called off my wedding?” I rush out, my words hopeful. “I’m sorry, Amelia, but the wedding is still on.” He sighs. And what little hope I had is now smothered. “But Dylan said Phil’s missing.” I point at my brother. Had my father received the same phone call that my brother did? Or was it someone else? “You are no longer to wed Phil.” He yanks on the collar of his tux. Picking up the dress so I don’t trip over it in my six-inch hooker heels—that my soon-to-be husband also picked out—I take a step back, my heart picking up speed. This is good news. Why does he look so concerned? “I don’t understand. If he’s not here—” “A new Raven has chosen you,” he interrupts me. My mother places her hand over her mouth, trying to quiet a sob. “No,” I argue. “That can’t be.” It was decided that Phil would be my husband when I was eighteen—three years ago. 

Things like this aren’t just changed at the last minute. I’ve lived the past few years preparing for this day. To be his wife. What he wanted. A Raven can’t choose to marry me, not when I’m already promised to another. “Who?” my brother demands. “Who in the hell would make this change?” He fists his hands at his sides. I reach up and grab the pearls my mother gave me. She thought they would give me some kind of comfort, and I laughed, but now I hold on to them as if they’re an anchor to a lifeline. “I—” The door swings open once again, this time hitting the interior wall and making me jump. A set of baby-blue eyes meet mine, and my stomach drops. The wind knocked out of me. I haven’t seen them in years, but they’ve haunted my dreams ever since.

Three years ago

 “Where is she?” my mother demands, entering the hospital. She received a phone call that my sister was brought in tonight, but no other information was given. “Ma’am—” “Where is my daughter?” she screams at the nurse, pounding on the check-in desk. I turn around to see my sister’s boyfriend walking toward us. His white T-shirt and jeans are covered in blood, and my chest tightens to the point it restricts my air. My mom’s legs give out when she sees him. “N-o,” she chokes, placing her shaking hand over her mouth. Walter catches her and holds her body to his, but his baby-blue eyes meet mine, sending a chill down my spine so cold, it’s paralyzing. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “She’s gone.” 

“Walter,” my brother growls, shoving me to the side and pulling me out of that memory, and steps in front of me.

[journey-to-the-attic]

3rd anni req 4: [RPG AU] solomon / past life

ao3 link

note: i really enjoyed writing this one! i've been meaning to do more for this au for ages, it's just such a fun concept to work with, but i just never get around to it

brief context if needed: fantasy rpg au setting, solomon is a reincarnation of the evil sorcerer solomon who was trying to evade persecution, and in his new life he is best friends and travelling companions with young hero ik, and here he finds out the truth about himself

∎ ∎ ∎ ∎ ∎

This place feels more like a mausoleum than a house.

The reports say that the owner died decades ago, and that the house has lain undisturbed ever since - up until recently. That isn’t the story Solomon’s seeing here, though.

It’s dusty, but it doesn’t feel like a place that’s been abandoned for eighty years. Try five, maybe.

He brushes a finger through a thick layer of dust on a shelf. These odd contraptions littered around the place - cogs and glassware with no rhyme or reason - aren’t ancient by any stretch of the imagination. He picks up something that resembles a wind-up toy and turns the key. The wheels still spin smoothly.

Welcome home.

He jumps. “...IK?”

No response. He listens hard - he can hear footsteps coming from upstairs. But that voice came from just behind him - surely she can’t move that quickly?

“That wasn’t funny,” He calls, attempting bravado.

Really? I thought it was hilarious.

He manages not to jump this time. He swings around and presses his back to the wall, hand falling to the knife at his hip.

Hey, there’s no need for that, says the strange voice, amused. I’m a friend.

“A friend,” He repeats warily.

Quite an intimate friend, agrees the voice, and he hears the groan of wood from just around the corner. Come with me. I have something to show you.

Don’t bother, it adds as he makes for the hallway, to call IK down to join him. There’s nothing here worth the little girl’s attention.

“Don’t call her that,” He grunts with a spark of indignation. “And—”

I daresay what you’ll find would only hurt the youngster, adds the voice, and at this he pauses.

“...fine.” His mouth feels dry - he hears the irregular pattern of his own breathing as if from miles away. “What do you want to show me?”

Follow me, croons the voice, and something shimmers at him from around the corner.

Let me show you something remarkable, it tells him. The brightest mind in any generation. The most prolific mass murderer this land has ever seen. There’s plenty to learn.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” He growls. “But I don’t want any part in it.”

And yet he finds himself following the voice anyway.

Aren’t you just a little curious?

Wouldn’t you like to just take a little peek?

So close now. What a shame it would be to miss out.

And what a shame it would be to not know more. How close-minded!

Sharp pain lances through his temples - he stumbles, catching himself on a red velvet curtain, gripping the side of his head with a groan. “What— what are you playing at?!”

Side effects. Don’t mind those.

“I…” He can hear colours, taste sounds - feel as he’s never felt before, like millions of icy needles drawing fire from his skin. “...this…”

Why don’t you take a look behind the curtain? The voice whispers.

His mind feels in free-fall - he shakes his head blindly, but he finds himself reaching forward. He seizes a fistful of cold velvet and pulls.

Everything around him seems to shrink to a point. His own pale face stares back at him through the mirror.

“Is this some sort of joke?” He mutters.

His reflection grins back at him. “Welcome home, Solomon. It took you long enough.”

“What…” He tries to step back, but his feet feel anchored to the ground. “...I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t! Poor, gullible human that you are.” Mirror-Him laughs. “How cute. Did you have fun living with the mundane, at least?”

He tries to find words, but the reflection doesn’t wait for an answer. “I suppose I don’t need you to tell me. I’ll know soon enough. Now, come here. It’ll all make sense in a moment.”

He doesn’t move. His reflection frowns at him.

“Slow on the uptake, aren’t you?” Mirror-Solomon presses a hand against the glass. “It’s me - I’m you. I’m the part of us that had to die so that you could walk free. Me and you - two pieces of a glorious arcane puzzle.”

He feels his own hand moving to meet his reflection, and fights to keep it still. “That’s ridiculous. I’m not—”

“Not a sorcerer?” Mirror-Him sighs. “I’ve got news for you, cupcake. You wouldn’t be able to see me if you did.”

His head thumps. He says again, lost, “I don’t understand.”

His reflection’s expression softens a little. “I told you, didn’t you? We are the brightest mind any generation has ever seen. Before I died, you prised secrets of life straight from time’s mouth. We unlocked it together - in death, you would be reborn.”

“And when we reunite, I will be whole,” He recites, then claps a hand to his mouth. He doesn’t know where the words have resurfaced from.

His reflection grins at him. “Now you’re getting it. Come on, Solomon. Set us free.”

I know you.

I’ve felt the weight of your sins everywhere I’ve gone. Every place you’ve touched, people have died. Every time I bring your face somewhere new, it’s as if the land itself remembers what you’ve done. I hated it.

Now I understand. I feel it now - your hatred. My anger.

IK is upstairs. I can’t let you hurt her.

“Worried, are you?” His reflection leans closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I’ve got a secret to tell you. Once you remember everything, you won’t care.”

That’s exactly what I’m afraid of, he thinks, and the pain in his head suddenly intensifies. It’s all he can do to keep himself from crying out.

“You’ve been waiting for me - you just didn’t know it.” Mirror-Him doesn’t sound surprised by his disobedience. Perhaps that’s the worst part.

A thought, a foreign memory - he’d known this would happen, and that he wouldn’t be able to resist it. He’s a weak-willed mortal, after all.

He moves before he can stop himself. His hand meets the reflection - the cold of the glass cuts into him, and in one silent instant, everything ends. And everything begins.

He feels his legs collapse beneath him - he lands against the wall with a cough, heaving for air as if he hasn’t tasted it in years. Indeed, half his soul has starved in that mirror for the past five years.

Solomon stares down at his hands and sees blood. His fingertips buzz - warm sparks dance across his palms, as if the magic itself rejoices to be reunited with his mortal body. He feels himself smile.

He stands up. His reflection moves with him now. To be honest, part of him had been worried the mirror wouldn’t hold up for long enough - but he hadn’t exactly had time to seek a crystal looking-glass. Oh, that’s new. I remember…

“Oh, how I’ve missed you,” He says to himself.

He imagines this is how the man in the desert must feel - who finally finds water after hours in the scorching heat. How clever he is - a lesser being wouldn’t be able to cope with even a fraction of this operation.

His two sets of memories melt into each other easily. Like simply adding water to a jug. And—

“Solomon? I think we should get out of here.”

He whips around, and immediately knows he’s made a mistake. IK blinks at him from the end of the hallway, clearly unnerved by how quickly he reacted.

“...I think we’re dealing with magic scraps here,” She says after a moment, still eyeing him warily. “Some kind of crazy wizard or something. We need to get someone who knows about that kind of thing to look at it.”

“Crazy wizard?” He repeats almost incredulously. He’s blinded fools for lesser insults.

“I’ve never seen some of the stuff upstairs.” She grimaces. “The shadows were all moving - I swear one of them had teeth.”

Her left arm is dangling uselessly at her side, and he suddenly registers the dark red stains on her sleeves. He feels a familiar rush of worry, and hurries forward without thinking.

“You got bitten?” He reaches forward to inspect the wound, then thinks better of touching it just yet. “Are you alright? How do you feel?”

“Just stings like hell. I’ll probably live.” She attempts to make a thumbs up with the injured arm, then sucks in a breath and shakes her head. “...I’ll ask Luke to look at it later. We should really get going - I don’t think it’s safe here.”

He thinks about telling her that this house is under his control - that the shadows she saw were likely the remnants of failed experiments, that they’re some botched form of life that didn’t know how else to play. He thinks about telling her that that bite might well have been venomous, and that only he knows how to prevent the toxins from rotting her arm from the inside out.

He thinks about telling her that it’s all been for nothing - all the times she’s had to defend him from mobs, everyone from royal guards to fruit vendors, who’d seen him for what he was and rightfully spat at his feet. He thinks of telling her that there’s no need to shield him like this as they leave the house.

He thinks about telling that he knows fifty ways to kill her right there without leaving a trace, and hundreds more that would leave some far worse than a corpse.

But he doesn’t. He lets IK take his hand and lead him down the hill.

He can’t seem to smile now. His hands are clean, and yet he tastes iron each time he tries to speak.

What happened? What happened, Solomon? How did your master plan go wrong?

There was one contingency he didn’t plan for. He’d known he wouldn’t have the power to reject his old self - but somehow missed that, equally, he couldn’t simply abandon his new life, either.

Solomon realises now that his plan had been spoiled from the moment IK helped him out of that pit. The sorcerer, in all his wisdom, had failed to consider this - that he could love and be loved in that next life.

It feels as if the earth should swallow him whole, and yet nothing seems to have changed. The local lord greets him cheerfully when he rides past on a hunting expedition. He remembers poisoning that boy’s father.

New knowledge supplanted by the old, and memories from both past and future in tandem. What could he possibly do now?

[blingblong55]

The Red Means I Love You- Simon 'Ghost' Riley

F!Reader.

They say strange fascination, infatuation A lunatic Call me what suits your taste, I just wanna taste And I've always heard it's what's inside that counts

His face was covered in blood, not his or yours. But the man that looked your way at the bar. “Hey it’s okay, let’s just go home.” You know he could hurt a man for just smiling at you. You gave him a small smile. He escorted you to his car, “I forgot my wallet, wait in the car.” You nod and he goes back inside.

After 10 minutes, you start to worry. You get out of the car and as you make your way to the bar, you hear some noise by the alley. When you walked there, you saw two men. One was beating the other, and the poor man's body was slowly giving up. “Don’t you dare look at her, she’s mine and no one else’s” a man spoke.

“I just looked her way! Swear I didn’t even know I was looking at her.” “Bullshit.” The poor man fell to the floor. Soon we were met with the tall man. His eyes grew darker by the second. “H-honey?” But it wasn’t him, it was like a demon took his body. You ran towards the car. And drove off. You ran inside the bathroom of your shared home. He walked up to the door.

“I was meant to be yours, r/n can’t you see that? I would do anything to keep you by my side.” But you didn’t open the door.

“R/N!” his bloody hands reached for the handle.

“Open the, open the door please” he begged. You were never this afraid of your husband. He told you about the missions he took part in, but this? This wasn’t who he said he was.

“R/n, open the door” You didn’t respond, your breathing becoming heavy.

“R/n, don’t be afraid please” You looked around the room, trying to find a place to hide in.

“Can we go back to normal?” His voice tempted you.

“R/n, sure, you’re scared, I’ve been there” Was he? He probably killed that man! And for what? Just for staring in your direction.

“I can help, I’m here to keep you safe love.” He warned you he could be very possessive, but you always thought it was just a joke.

“R/n, don’t make me come in there!” Now you started to panic, again.

“S-Simon please go away” you finally answered. You stepped away from the door. He kicked it open. His eyes immediately softened when he met your small frame. “Love, I would never hurt you. M’just afraid you’d hate me.” Your hands shook as you reached for his bloody face. “Why?” You asked, his eyes never leaving yours. “I don’t know,” he answered melting to your touch.

You grabbed a towel and damped it in some water. “I need to know why.” You tried to sound calm, but considering the events, how could you be this calm. “I was afraid that…well, maybe you’d see how bad of a man I am and leave me for him.” He whispered as your hands started to scrub him clean.

“Never. Just please don’t harm others.” You wanted to run, but you know what he is capable of.

He looks at you, his eyes so big and beautiful. “Please don��t leave, I know what I did was wrong.” His arms snaked around your waist. Does he know I want to run away? You thought. “Please r/n, you are my only one.”

You try your luck and push him off. You run down the hallway. Some glass was laid on the floor. You fall tripping on the carpet and getting back up. But he starts to catch up. He starts to whistle. Blood starts to drip down your now injured leg.

Unfortunate They say such a shame, I turned out this way A maniac Well, yeah I get manic when I cause a panic And of course I'm excited when I see you around

You run to the kitchen and get a knife. You run back into the living room. “Stay away!” More blood starts to drip.

You fall once more, a sinister smirk is plastered on his lips. “Simon? Stay away.”

“I’m not afraid to use this!” The knife not slowly poking your stomach. His eyes widen. “Don’t you dare” his voice still cold.

You’re on your knees, pleading with your eyes as he starts getting closer. Could’ve done a better escape, you thought.

And the red on my face Is matching you And goodness you're bleeding What a wonderful feeling You're down and you're pleading My head is just reeling

You get back up, getting closer to the door. You leave a trail of blood on the floor. He keeps whistling and smiling. “The red on my hands means I love you, darling.”

You leave me high and dry A rush comes to my mind At the drops Of blood you leave behind Run as you might, my love will never, ever Stop

His voice is calm, too calm. He runs to you, taking the knife away from you and throwing it far from you both. His hands travel down to your bleeding leg, in his hands he now has your blood. He licks his finger, “Tasting your blood means I love you, my sweet sweet girl.” He whispers against your ear.

“No, no, no” you plead and cry. What was a good night turned into a nightmare. “Let go of me!” “Never.” He kisses your neck and carries you to your shared bedroom. “What are you going to do to me?”

“My wildest fantasies!” He smiles. “Simon please don’t!”

“You really think I’m a monster r/n?” He chuckles and shakes his head. “I’m just going to clean your wound and put you to bed.”

“What?”

“To bed.”

“What does that mean?”

“Honey I’m taking you to our bed.” His voice is now soft.

Your eyes open, your husband still in his mask, he looked very tired, but a faint smile appeared on his lips. “Fell asleep on the couch again?” He asked as he walked you both to your bedroom. “What happened?” You were more than confused.

He looks down at you in his arms. “Came from work and you kept saying some weird stuff, had a nightmare. M’sure.” He kissed your forehead. “So you didn’t hurt him?”

He is now more confused. “Who’s ‘him’? R/n, it was all a dream, my love. Nothing happened.” He rested you against your pillow and kissed your forehead.

He went to take a quick shower. You looked down to the leg you swore was hurt, but nothing. Your clothes were different. Your hand rested on your swollen belly. You sighed in relief. “It was all a dream.” You said to yourself. Your baby kicked. “Calm down baby.” You rubbed your stomach and closed your eyes again. Simon walked into the room. He gently laid on his side of the bed and turned to you.

“I love you.” He caressed your cheek with his thumb and kissed your lips. “Goodnight.” You’re turned, you’re back now to him. He knew it was your favourite way to sleep, considering you’re pregnant and all.

“Goodnight honey.” He turned the TV on, and lowered the volume. Right before you started to drift to sleep, the news spokesperson started to speak.

“Last night, police officers in Manchester discovered a murder scene. The victim is 34-year-old Jonathan, a resident of Chester. There are no witnesses so if you have any information. Police are now looking for any suspects.”

Your eyes opened wide, but you remained calm. You pretend to sleep, and his hand reach to your back. He rubbed it and before he turned the TV off, he kissed the back of your head.

“Love you so so much.”

A/N: I found this in my drafts, and thought you deserved to read it. Btw, thank you all for being understanding. Give me a while and I promise I’ll fully be back. Bye now!

[tuzesdays]

18) deciding what takeout to order <333

cherry hiii hi cherry! going for one of the less popular ones because you knew id write it for you anyway, for shame.

hope you enjoy, ur fav is here

WORDCOUNT: 790 | Domestic | No warnings

He leans back on the couch, doing his best frown-equivalent at the ceiling. “Remind us again why we can’t cook?”

“Sunny, the avocado’s not ripe,” you remind him. “It’s solidly in the pre-ripe bitter stages. You can still make the stuff without the avocado.”

Clearly that’s not the answer he’s looking for. Drama queen. “It’s not complete without the avocado slices! We did not go through all those stores looking for sushi-grade tuna to stop just short of the perfect dish! It was going to be so pretty!”

“I could just order sushi.”

“Don’t you dare.” He pouts at you as you chuckle, offended that you’d even joke about undermining his dinner plans when you know he’d rather you have a different meal every day. Poor Sun, he’s been aching to use that tatami roller for nearly two months now; everything else is ready to go, but he couldn’t plan for the most unreliable thing of all: the whims of mother nature. “We could still make something over rice…”

“The only vegetables we have is green onion and cucumber,” you sing smugly at him, doing your worst impression of his voice as you continue, “not a balanced meal! Not at all!”

He makes a flustered, upset sound. “Grocery day is tomorrow!”

“Relax, Sunny.” You send him a smile. “Takeout isn’t that bad. We can even have it delivered, no need to get all dolled up for a drive.”

Sun just mutters at you. “Not that bad. Not that bad!”

You hold yourself back from rolling your eyes. “Poppy. Is this a problem? Are you mad?”

“No,” he says, still pouting. “Upset that something as silly as an unripe avocado would ruin the taste. How long do avocados take to soften? We’ve had it for a week, surely that should have been enough time.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

A sigh. “… Takeout?”

You hum an affirmative. “If I get enough, it could practically be a full meal plan for the next two, three days? I used to be able to make that much food stretch a full week, but—” he narrows his eyes at you. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Three meals a day.”

The assurance sates him. For now. “What are you getting, then?”

“… I don’t know.” When’s the last time you’ve needed to order takeout? When’s the last time you ordered takeout in general? It couldn’t have been recently, Sun’s been managing the meal plan down to the amount of ingredients and this is the first time – oh, that might explain why he’s so upset – the first time he’s fallen short on it.

When’s the last time you’ve so much as visited a fast food chain? Three months? … Four? Do you even know what restaurants offer delivery around here anymore?

You don’t. “I’ll have to look at some menus, it’s been a bit. Want to help?”

“Yes.”

“There might be a Chinese place around. That’s a decent go-to.” You pull out your phone and sit at his side, the two of you instinctually leaning into the shared space to look at the screen.

(Having another cuddle bug room with you has been a highlight of your current housing situation – one of many.)

You hum at the nearest options, the ones you wouldn’t mind driving to. “Fast food’s okay. Cheap.”

“Not balanced.”

“I can eat some cucumber just for you, Poppy.”

He pokes your shoulder for the sass and giggles when you act like he’s mortally wounded you. “Anything else?”

“Ex-nay on the sushi place,” you say, looking around that area on a map, “and I’m guessing you don’t approve of a burger.”

“Nope!”

“Figures.” You guess you did have burgers recently anyway. “Italian? I could go for some pasta.”

“What’s that?”

One metallic finger hovers above a point on the map – you angle the screen to see below it. “Ooh, a Pho place! That’s Vietnamese, like a soup with a bunch of toppings. Haven’t had some of that in forever.”

His rays spin at the enthusiasm for his find. “What kind of toppings?”

“A bunch of sauces, um… some bean sprouts and green onions, cilantro… maybe some lime? Oh, and siracha. Here, why don’t you figure out what I’m ordering?”

And just like that, his bad mood is completely forgotten in favor of this new and exciting kind of food. You let him have at it, doing whatever he does when deciding what types of tastes you like – he’s never really been wrong – while you go to get dressed. By the time you come back to the living room, Sunny’s on his feet in the kitchen and has his little recipe book opened on the counter.

You sigh fondly and hope you don’t get tired of soup anytime soon.