#word is he has a contract with the boss to get a thousand of the fuckers but its more than our infrastructure can handle rn

[shittywriterbrain]

yeah no sorry there's no room in this hell... yeah i think there's also no room in the next :/ sorry

[nyankochan]

Golden Hour

synopsis: want to risk playing a game with the mob boss? if you win, whatever you want is yours. money. power. you name it. but are you willing to risk the stakes in you lose?

Pairing: Geto Suguru x casino dealer!reader

Content: afab!reader, Gojo being a menace, mean dom! Geto, dirty talk, Oral (f. Receiving), rough sex, penetrative sex (protection is used), after care, over stimulation, multiple orgasms, pet names, Geto has tattoos, size kink, I hope I didn’t miss anything but I apologize if I did

Word Count: 8.4K ಠ_ಠ

A/n: I actually have no idea how to play poker

After working as a card dealer for Club Tengoku in the heart of Shibuya for seven years now, you’ve met your fair share of assholes and idiots. It honestly came with the job description you willing still took at just barely eighteen years old. It provided good money. Don’t get it wrong. It didn’t bring in nearly as much money as your clientele exhausted on a daily, but it still covered your meager bills and expenses.

The hardest part of the job honestly wasn’t even the few douchebags that cussed you out for “stealing their money” when they lost or the drunkards that openly flirted with you. No, it was maintaining a sense of professionalism and boundaries. No matter how bad you wanted to, you could never react the way you wanted. Screaming. Crying. Punching someone’s teeth out when they piss you off. No. You have to keep your composure, smile, and ask “would you like to play again?”

And the one time you broke that rule was because of him.

“Ughhh I hate this shitty job!” Your coworker and closest friend, Utahime, shouts exasperatedly slamming the locker door shut. “If one more creepy old bastard tries to hit on me then I may actually gouge his eyes out!”

“Please don’t get blood on the black jack tables,” you sigh, buttoning up the shirt to your dealer’s uniform. A simple black dress shirt and slacks. A gold trimmed vest with a black tie completes the look, identifying you as one of the dealers in Club Tengoku. “It was a pain in the ass to clean after that last fight you instigated.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” Utahime huffs under her breath, haphazardly throwing on her tie. You have to straighten it up for her. “Some idiot accused me of rigging the game when he lost 60 thousand yen.”

“One of these days you’ll get fired before you can quit.”

Utahime had worked at the Club as long, if not longer, then you. She had a short temper and less patience for assholes than you. Though she’s been written up a number of times for her behavior, you think the manager of the club keeps her on to keep plenty of pretty faces on staff to draw customers in.

That, and almost everyone on staff cannot quit until their debt is fully paid.

Likely if you work for Club Tengoku, then you either dumb or desperate. Sometimes both. Whatever reasons originally bring you to the Club, work, sex, pleasure, love, money, etc. you’re property of the owner, Zen’in Naoya, until he either gets sick of you or you pay your debts back. Either with your labor or with your body.

You aren’t quite sure how much Utahime owes but her contact with Naoya cited 12 years of employment. Yours thankfully was almost complete. 8 years. 8 years of work a the Club in exchange for covering the debts you gathered when your shitty ex scammed you and left you with his debts he gathered from a Host Club in Roppongi.

Apparently, the particular club had ties to the yakuza (not that you knew that at the time) and your punk of an ex skipped town after leaving you at the club by yourself. You being young and dumb, only 18, didn’t know what to do except to accept Naoya’s assistance as he happened to be there that night. In return, you had to work with him for 8 years to pay off the 100 million yen debt your ex accumulated. You’d be done in three months, finally.

You weren’t quite sure what to do after your contracted ended. You had enough money saved to move from Tokyo if you desired, but go where? You had no other friends or family outside of Utahime and your coworkers. Naoya wasn’t the worst but he had his moments. Since you behaved and kept to yourself most of the time, you never got put on his radar (not like you had any options at the time).

Maybe he’d let you stay a couple extra months to let you get back on your feet until you found another job. You didn’t really want to leave Utahime on her own either, but for the time being, you’d been searching for other opportunities.

At nine, your shift starts. You and Utahime enter the upper level where the casino is, met by the overstimulating noise of slots, coins dispensing and laughter. The scent of booze is nauseating, and gives you a headache along with the bright neon flashing lights of all the machines. Utahime is on the black jack table. Tonight, you’re at poker.

After rotating out the prior dealer, you take your spot behind the table. As usual, you take out a new deck of cards, freshly out of the package, and shuffle them, waiting for players to join your table. Two gentlemen eventually join, one of them with a woman hanging off his arm like an accessory.

“Welcome,” you say, perfectly rehearsed. “All games at Tengoku have a starting bet of 10 thousand yen. Are you ready to play?”

The first few hours honestly pass by in a blur. The first game concludes with the gentleman with the date wining 30 thousand to turn around and lose half of it the next round. Someone plays three of a kind. Another folds just to lose it all in the end.

It is long. Tedious. Full of mixed emotions from the clientele ranging from anger to grief. Nothing out of the ordinary as you quietly and discreetly manipulate the game from behind the scenes.

See, part of the dealer’s role at Tengoku was to make it interesting. So that Naoya doesn’t lose too much money, the dealers are all given special contacts or glasses that allow them to see through the cards. A slight difference in the shuffle can make a game quite interesting, to say the least.

“My, maybe this is just my lucky night, but how often do I get to see a pretty dealer at the casino?” A deep, yet suave, voice says. You fight the urge to roll your eyes as two gentlemen sit at your table. The white haired man, dressed impeccably in a three piece suit and sunglasses though indoors, leans in too close into your personal space. “Say, what do I have to do to win you as a prize?”

You fight the urge to make a face, and continue with your usual elevator speech. “Welcome. Games at Tengoku have a starting bet of 10 thousand yen. Are you ready to play?”

“Why not make it interesting?” The man smiles a charming smile. “Let’s raise and start off with 100 thousand, yeah?” Minus the gentleman that sat with him, the other three individuals at the table looked nervous. You however continue to do your job as expected.

“Understood, the starting bet for this round is 100 thousand yen.”

You shuffle the cards meticulously, discreetly folding the aces into separate parts of the deck so that when you deal them out to everyone, the white haired man is ensured not to have any high cards. When he looks at the hand he’s been dealt, you notice his eyebrows furrow, seemingly in both shock and perhaps annoyance, yet his poker face is rather good, so he doesn’t let off too much that he has a bad hand.

“Each chip is worth 10 thousand yen at this Club,” you say. “We will go clockwise starting from the dealer’s left.” Nodding towards the timid looking gentleman who sat at the end of the table to start, the game begins.

“C-check,” the man stammers, choosing not to add to the exuberant bid already.

“Raise,” said the black haired man that originally sat with his cocky-white haired companion. He slides five chips across the table, raising the bet amount to 150 thousand. He has a rather cool demeanor. You can’t tell from his composure what he’s thinking, but he seems somewhat bored, if you had to guess.

You can also tell that the man has serious money, him and his companion both. His sleek three-piece black suit fits perfectly tailored against his broad shoulders. A shiny watch glistens on his wrist as he absentmindedly rolls one of the chips across the table, only for it to fall a few inches away. And his hair, pulled back into a somewhat messy bun is the only “imperfection” to his otherwise perfect appearance.

The man notices your stare and smiles. You turn away, face warming at being caught.

“I’ll call,” the white haired man says confidently despite his bad hand, placing five chips of his own down. The last two players call, matching the current bet.

You flip over three cards: a three of spades, the six of diamonds, and the jack of hearts.

The game proceeds slowly, or at least, it seems that way, because the entire time, you can feel the black haired male’s gaze burning holes through your head. You have a rather strong poker face, and try not to let his stare intimidate you, but for some reason, it feels as if he’s reading you like an open book. I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work…you can almost hear him say.

Your eyes begin feeling dry from the contacts, so you want to wrap the game up as quickly as possible. But by the end of the game, he wins with a full house: two fours and three eights.

“Damn you Suguru,” the white haired man groans, throwing his hand on the table. He had an ace, a five, a seven, a nine, the jack of clubs, and a four. None of the suits matched up except for the ace and the jack. “Why are you so good at this game?”

The man, Suguru, smiles as you slide the stack of chips totaling 270 thousand across the table. Naoya will have your head knowing you lost that much, is all you can think of, so you don’t almost catch Suguru’s words that make your blood run cold.

“I just know the best way to counter a cheat, is all.” Suguru’s charming smile contorts to a chilling smirk, and you keep your gaze down, trying not to let your fear show.

“What? So one of you bastards was trying to cheat, huh?” His companion mistakenly assumes, looking between the other players at the table.

Suguru then slides the chips right back across the table. You try your best to regain your composure and hide your unease. “I’d like to play again, Little Dealer, and this will be my starting bet.”

Luckily, at that moment, your coworker comes to relieve you from your post. You quickly skitter away, like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, weaving through the crowd of the casino and disappearing just like that, missing completely the way Suguru frowns in dissatisfaction.

“Awe, I wanted to redeem myself in front of the cute dealer,” Gojo complains, rocking back in his seat so that the two front legs come off of the ground. “I had a shitty hand.” Geto stands from his seat and begins heading the direction you left. “Hey, where are you going? You left your chips.”

“You can have them,” Geto replies coldly. “I’m going to get a drink.”

“Bring me back a gin and tonic!”

Geto saunters around the casino, eyes scanning the scene. It’s far too noisy for his liking, and everything blends together, so he can’t pick out your small stature from the crowd, much to his annoyance. A headache gnaws at his temple, and a passing waitress comes at an all too perfect time with a tray of champagne, which he snags.

He knows you rigged the game. He knew from the moment you shuffled the cards. But he doesn’t know how you did it, and he was a curious yet greedy fellow. He had to know how you did it. And by a stroke of luck, he spots you coming out from a door labeled employees only, while rubbing your eyes.

“Those contacts seriously burn,” you think to yourself. Once relieved from your station, you rushed back to the employee locker rooms to take out the contacts. Though they appeared clear, no different from any standard contact, the chemicals they had in them to allow you to see through the cards irritated your retinas. If possible, Naoya preferred everyone who didn’t already wear glasses normally to wear the contacts to garner less suspicion from the guests. But after a few hours, the shits became unbearable to wear. And you couldn’t mess with your eyes without running the risk of another client, particularly Geto, catching on.

Something about that man unsettled you. He was nothing like the man he sat with, who was loud, prideful, and quite obnoxious. No, he was quiet and observed his surroundings like a predator surveying its territory before figuring out when and how to strike. You couldn’t be too sure if he caught on how you rigged the game. After all, you only intended to make winning difficult for his friend, because he got on your nerves. But even still, your sleight of hand should’ve been so slight that no one would have noticed. You’ve done it for almost eight years in a row without no one catching your little trick.

“So we meet again, Little Dealer.” You don’t have to turn around to know who the suave voice belongs to. As you’ve been trained over and over, your facial expression blanks before you turn around to face Geto after correcting your posture.

“Hello again, Sir. Is there something I can assist you with?” You say politely. Geto looks unamused. His gaze is even more intimidating up close. He downs the last bit of his drink and sets it on a nearby table.

“I want to play another round,” Geto says.

“Certainly,” you nod. “If you go to any of the tables, another dealer can-”

Geto’s grin widens and he leans in close to your ear, just barely a whisper against the deafening slot machines. “I want to play again with you, little cheater.” The crucial error on your part is when your expression wavers, and much to Geto’s surprise, you look terrified. Nonetheless, he knows he has you in the palm of his hand. You take a step to turn and book it, but Geto’s quicker, grabbing your wrist before you get too far.

You try and fail to wrench your hand free. “P-please don’t tell,” you muster up a whimper.

Geto’s smile falters briefly, a strange shiver running down his spine. It was strange to see the seemingly cool headed and composed dealer look suddenly so…helpless?

“My, my, is there a problem here that I should be aware of?”

Your eyes widen, and you quickly and this time, more forcefully, snatch your arm away from Geto. You turn and bow towards Naoya, who seemed to appear out of nowhere. His usual “secretary” stands at his side (though you and Utahime are 99% sure they’re fucking), and he wears a sickeningly fake smile that you can’t stand. You know he’s pissed, but is just trying to put on a facade to keep up appearances.

Geto is startled by the man’s sudden appearance. He came up right behind him, yet Geto didn’t detect his presence at all. And for you to suddenly submit so willingly…

“There are no issues, Mr. Zen’in,” you say, trying to hide the quiver in your voice. “I-I was just returning from my break, when this gentleman here approached me, inquiring about playing one of our games.”

Naoya’s eyes narrowed slightly. You feel your chest constrict as the sound of your heartbeat resonates within your ears. You hold your breath and try not to cry. If he found out you, inadvertently or not, revealed one of the club’s greatest secrets, you were as good as dead. Forget leaving the Club in three months. You would be Naoya’s until the day you die.

“Y/n, look at me,” Naoya demands. You slowly raise your head only to be met face to face with his sharp brown eyes. “Are you lying to me?” He hisses, quiet and low.

“N-no sir, never.”

“I had stopped to ask about another poker table,” Geto spoke up. “The one I was playing at got a little too rowdy, as some of the other guests likely had too much to drink. I had stopped her to see if there was another table I could play at.”

Naoya puts back on his fake smile, but he leans away from you, allowing you to finally breathe, to face Geto. “Of course,” the charismatic businessman says. “I apologize for the inconvenience Mr….”

“Geto. Suguru Geto.”

“Ah, of course.” Brief recognition flashes across Naoya’s face, before his attention is turned back to you. “Mr. Geto here is a V.I.P. guest of ours, so make sure you tend to his needs with utmost respect, got it?”

You nod, bowing your head. “Yes, Mr. Zen’in.”

“And Mr. Geto, please have a bottle of wine, of your choosing, on the house, if my employee here has caused you any problems.” Naoya walks off, his secretary in tow, who gives you a sympathetic look.

Though he’s gone, your heart doesn’t stop racing. For the 7 years you’ve been employed, you’ve managed to stay off of Naoya’s radar and complete your job without incident. Why did now, of all times, did you have to piss him off? Though on the outside, he didn’t seem like it, Naoya was terrifying, heir to the powerful Zen’in family whose connections were so deeply interwoven throughout Tokyo that pissing him off almost guarantees you’d never work anywhere in the city again. He controlled your fate. Geto surely knows the influence Naoya has to be considered a V.I.P. So why did he stick up for you?

Your hands tremble still as you bow in apology to Geto. “I’m sorry for any trouble I caused you tonight.”

“Are you really sorry if you can’t elaborate on what you did wrong?” Geto nonchalantly asks, making you flinch.

“I-”

“Hey! Suguru! I’ve been looking for you!” A loud voice makes Geto sigh and roll his eyes; the many distractions were starting to irritate him. With a pretty girl wrapped around his arm, the white haired man from earlier approaches his friend.

“What do you want, Satoru?”

“You never came back with my drink,” Satoru complains. “I thought maybe you would be at least getting head somewhere, not standing in the middle of the aisle looking stuck on stupid.” He pushes up his sunglasses with a goofy grin that only widens when he sees you. “Ah! It’s the dealer! Hey, I wanna rematch. That first round was a fluke. I need to redeem myself.”

“I-I’m sorry?”

“She’s done for the evening,” Geto cuts in. “Her shift just ended, right?” You dumbly nod along. Though, it was only a little past eleven, and your shift didn’t end until one.

“Too bad,” Satoru huffs. “Another time then! I won’t lose that badly again. My pride as a member of the Gojo family won’t allow it.” Then he’s gone, pulling the woman along with him. She giggles and snuggles up against his arm.

“I must be returning back to my shift then,” you say, putting back on your polite persona. “Have a good rest of your evening Mr. Geto.”

“Not so fast.” Geto catches you by the arm. “I said your shift just ended, did I not?”

“B-but I-”

“Let’s play a game,” he interrupts. “I don’t think you know who I am, but if you want me to keep my mouth shut about your little trick, then you’ll do as I say, got it?” You meekly nod, unable to pry your arm nor gaze away from the dark haired man. “Good. Now, go grab a deck of cards and meet me in the hall.”

His commanding voice, something about it was so attractive that you felt your face heating up as you scurried away to grab a deck of cards from one of the tables not in use. Your heart…you could feel it racing, but instead of the erratic pace it beat before Naoya, it was a somewhat fluttering feeling. And it made you nauseous.

As expected, Geto waits in the somewhat dim hallway just outside the casino. He leans against the wall, flipping what looks like to be a poker chip in the palm of his hand. Now that you get a better look at him, without all the fluorescent lighting and distractions, he’s pretty damn handsome. Tall. Well built. And dashing in a suit and tie. Your heart continues to flutter, annoyingly so. Once you approach, Geto straightens up, pocketing the poker chip.

“You’re quite obedient, aren’t you,” Geto muses. “Come, I’ve requested a private room where our game won’t be disturbed.”

You say nothing as you follow the man down the hall to the elevator. He holds the door open for you to enter, before pressing the button to take you up to the twelfth floor.

Club Tengoku doubles as a hotel, but the average cost of a room for one night is more than what you make in a year. It’s in the heart of Shibuya, so Naoya can charge whatever he wants, you supposed. The first three levels are all kinds of gambling rooms and bars. The first level of the basement is one of the Clubs. The B2 level…you’ve been there once and it’s not your scene.

“You look quite young to work at a place like this,” Geto comments, watching the number slowly climb higher.

“I just turned twenty five,” you mumble.

“Like I said, quite young.” The elevator opens. Geto exits first and you dutifully follow along, eyeing your surroundings with apprehension and curiosity, as your job never takes you anywhere besides the casino, and occasionally, the club. Everything looks expensive, even more so when Geto unlocks room 1205 to reveal an impressive suite so big it looks like a miniature apartment instead of a hotel room.

A large kitchenette connects to the living room where glass windows overlook Shibuya Scramble, which looks dazzling and dreamlike in the dark of night, still bustling as the name implies. It seems like there are at least two other rooms, but you don’t want to appear nosy and stand awkwardly by the door.

“Take a seat and make yourself comfortable,” Geto says, shedding his jacket. He takes two wine glasses out from the cabinet. “Do you want red or white wine?”

“I-I’m not allowed to drink on the job,” you reply, sitting on the edge of the leather couch.

“That’s not what I asked. Red or white.” Geto’s firm voice has your knees feeling weak, and you mumble white. Geto pours each of you a glass, setting the drink before you on the small table beside the couch. He sits directly across from you, swirling the wine within its cup.

You don’t quite know where to start, drumming your fingers against your legs while keeping your head down to avoid eye contact. Naoya would kill you knowing that you’re in a client’s private room. Not that some of your coworkers didn’t have intimate relations with some of their clients. It was quite common in fact. But that behavior was saved for the private rooms of the club. The hotel was off limits.

“Do you have a preference for what game we play?” Geto finally asks, after spending a few seconds just examining you, taking in all your features and nervous ticks, from the way you play with your fingers nervously or how your ears redden with embarrassment. Quite cute if you asked him to be honest (which he hardly was).

“N-no, Sir,” was your reply.

“Then how about Go Fish?” A simple game like that? Seemed rather mundane. “But let’s make it interesting,” Geto adds. “Any time someone gets a book, they get to ask the other any question they want to know, and they must answer honestly. The winner gets to make any request of the loser.”

“Why should I agree to your terms?”

Geto sips his wine, then sets the glass on the table. “I’ll tell your little boss that you let slip a company secret if you don’t. Wouldn’t want that, would you?” He takes your silence as compliance. “Shuffle the deck. No fancy tricks.”

You shakily take the deck out the box. You carefully shuffle, trying not to do anything that would raise suspicion. Once. Thrice. Four and you’re dealing them out. Geto goes first, but you’re the first to get a set of the eights.

“Who are you?” You ask.

“Geto Suguru, or was that not made clear before?”

“No, what is it that you do?” You clarify. “Why are you considered a V.I.P?”

Geto smiles. “You need another set to ask another question, sweetheart.”

Unfortunately, he obtains the next set. The twos.

“How did you cheat earlier at the poker table?”

You knew the question was coming. There was no point in lying. “Mr. Zen’in has special contacts imported from Macau’s black market that allow us to see through the cards.” Geto stares at you, waiting for you to elaborate more to which you remain silent. He then chuckles.

“This game is going to be quite interesting.” Next, he gets all the queens. “Why did you intentionally deal Satoru a bad hand instead of all the players?”

“He was annoying. That’s all.” Luckily, you have the next set. “What kind of job do you have, Mr. Geto, that makes you a V.I.P. here?”

Geto shrugs. “I dabble in a lot of different things. It’s better to have your hand in several different pots instead of putting all your eggs in one basket, no?” That doesn’t answer the question in the way you were hoping, but you let it slide. And the next question is yours to ask.

“What brought you to the casino? Forgive me, but you don’t seem like the type of man to indulge in gambling.”

“Oh?” Geto leans back slightly. “What type of man do you think I am?”

Your face warms as you realize the implications of your words. After clearing your throat, you add, “it’s not your turn to ask a question.”

“Fair, fair,” Geto laughs. “Let’s just say, I’m very greedy, and I enjoy the casino’s opportunity for more.” He places down the four twos. “Now, why do you work here?” The man then places down all four sevens. “And what’s your relationship with that Zen’in guy?”

Him placing back to back sets throws you off. It not only puts you in the awkward spot of having two questions to answer, but it also places Geto in the lead. And your current shitty hand doesn’t have a potential match in sight.

“I…inquired some debts when I was 18,” you answer after a brief moment to collect your thoughts. Geto patiently waits for you to continue. “Mr. Naoya Zen’in covered them under the condition that I worked for him for eight years…” you pause, biting your lip, but your opponent shows no emotion towards your response and the game continues.

In the end, you hardly learn anything about Geto and he pries out much of your life story, additionally sealing his own victory when the game concludes. “Looks like victory is mine,” he says the obvious part out loud. He’s a little disappointed by how soon the game ended, not because he enjoyed it (well partially), but he didn’t quite find out all he wanted to know about you, yet. You were vague but honest when answering questions about your debts, but Geto still couldn’t understand why someone like Naoya would do anyone a favor. Let alone why you worked under him in the first place.

With the kind of work Geto did on a daily basis, he was quite familiar with the Zen’in family and often did business in other areas, but he always remained cautious to not become too intertwined with the web of a trap that was Naoya Zen’in. If Geto considered himself to be greedy, then Naoya would be insatiable, utilizing any means necessary to secure more power for himself. You were hiding something about your relationship with him, which was fine with Geto. He’d find out sooner or later.

“Now, for my prize,” Geto ponders for a moment and during the time, your breath hitches. The next moment, he’s in your face, so close that hints of his cologne tickle your nose. He’s so close that the slightest miscalculation in movement could make your lips touch. Antisly, you press your thighs together, heat burning between them, and you hope that he can’t hear how loud your heart beats. Geto grins, then backs away. “I will cash it out on another day.”

Your mouth falls agape, but no words leave your lips. Owing a debt to Geto Suguru? What game did you just become a part of?

He doesn’t tell you when he plans to claim his reward for winning the game, nor does he give you a way to contact him to inquire about it. After he escorts you to your car, because by that point it was pushing three in the morning, Geto leaves in a black Cadillac, and for the next few days, you don’t see him at the casino.

As the days roll by, work still mundane and Utahime still complaining about her clients, you grow increasingly anxious. On top of that, Naoya calls you into his office once to reprimand you about not causing any issues. You’re sure he doesn’t believe Geto’s white lie, but he doesn’t question nor bring up the contacts. For now, you’re safe, unless Geto goes back on his word and spills what he knows.

Geto’s white haired friend, Gojo, if you remember correctly, does come back every night without fail, spending upwards of a hundred thousand every time as if it were monopoly money. Must be nice to be able to waste money like it worthed nothing.

He kind of grows on you after you look past his cocky and annoying persona, keeping you company when you are not dealing for any games or cleaning up tables. You badly want to ask him about Geto, but opt out too in fear of it being misinterpreted. Luckily though, Gojo is not as tight-lipped as his companion, and often reveals too much information without you asking, especially if he’s had a few drinks.

“I can’t believe that Suguru didn’t fuck you the other night given how much he won’t shut up about you,” Gojo says out the blue, his speech somewhat slurred as he takes a sip from his third glass of whiskey. “I’ve never heard him bitch about wanting somebody so much.”

“G-Geto talks about me?” You try your best to hold your composure, but you can feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck. If that was the case, then why did he avoid the casino? Or was he just avoiding you?

“Does he? That’s all I’ve literally been forced to hear about all week,” Gojo huffs in annoyance. “We were at the club the other day and he showed no reaction whatsoever to any of the dancers while I had such a bad fucking hard on I couldn’t think straight!” He rests his cheek against his fist, nearly drunkenly falling off the poker table. Hints of striking blue irises peek over the rims of his dark sunglasses. “Hmm, I guess you got a cute face. Can’t see much of a body from the uniform though. You sure you didn’t get freaky with him? No strip tease or anything?”

You recall the scent of Geto’s cologne. The subtle flex and tensing of his muscles through his shirt with each movement. How his presence alone commanded authority, yet the taunting glint in his eye would suggest something else. Something more alluring and mischievous.

When you realize you’ve yet to give Gojo an answer, who by now was looking at you with a knowing look, you quickly try to deny the accusations. “You don’t have to explain yourself,” the white haired man teases. “He’s an asshole, but an attractive one at that. Any woman would drop their panties for him. Well, probably guys too, but that’s besides my point.”

By a stroke of luck or a cruel twist of fate the devil himself appears, this time wearing a navy blue suit and a rather unamused expression at hearing his best friend’s drunken rambles. Though he only caught the end of the conversation, knowing Satoru, anything that came out of his mouth was likely sexual, inappropriate, or some combination of both.

“Don’t you have to go be annoying somewhere else?” Geto sneers.

“Not until four,” Gojo replies, trying to look down at his watch but is wasted enough that he looks at the wrong wrist.

Geto frowns, trying to swallow back the strange irritation that tugs at his chest. “Let’s play another round of cards, Little Dealer,” he turns his attention toward you.

“Ohh is that your hidden code word for fucking each other?”

Ignoring the man, Geto merely flips him off, guiding you away, a gentle hand on the small of your back, after you procured a deck of cards. As the two of you head for the elevator, you pass Utahime and another one of your coworkers. Utahime’s eyes widen and you mouth to her, “don’t tell Naoya.” Your friend merely responds with a thumbs up and an oddly proud look.

Like before, the ride up is uncomfortably quiet. Geto doesn’t even look in your direction, his jaw set and eyebrows furrowed in clear annoyance. Was he possibly…jealous that you were with Gojo?

“Um…where were you these last couple days?” You try to break the silence. Geto still doesn’t look your way, watching the number of the elevator climb to ten.

“Busy with work,” is all he says before the doors slide open.

You find yourself in a similarly designed room as the other night, back to the same set up as before: sitting across from each other with a deck of cards on the table between you two. Geto takes off his suit jacket. You try not to stare, but the action was just so damn attractive to watch.

“Shall we play another game of Go Fish?” Geto speaks once he’s comfortable. “Same rules as before.”

“But you didn’t cash out your request from the previous night, so how is that fair?” You ask.

“Hmm…then how about this. If you win, I’ll fulfill any request of yours. If I win, you’re mine once your contract ends with Zen’in.”

You freeze, blood running cold. You never told him that your contact would be up soon. You made sure to dance around the question, so how did this man find out?

“Just who are you?”

Geto grins. “Play the game to find out.”

You shuffle the cards. Geto deals them out. You look at the hand you’ve been dealt and off the bat it doesn’t look the best. No surprise when Geto gets the first set, but his question throws you off.

“What do you want to do once your contract ends with Zen’in?”

You blink in confusion, but answer honestly. “I haven’t really thought about it. I don’t know who I am outside of this job.”

The next set and question is yours. “What is your real job?”

“I guess the proper term would be Boss,” Geto hums. “But Head of the Geto Family Syndicate works just as well.”

Your heart tightens. “You’re yakuza…”

“If that’s what you want to call it.”

Just your shitty luck. Why does fate hate you so? No matter what you do, you can’t seem to get away from the mob, even though you aren’t intentionally seeking them out. Even worse, you’ve been dancing right in the palm of the boss’s hand all while ogling him while he wasn’t looking. And to make matters worse, if you lose, you will be leaving one contract just to walk straight into another.

No. You won’t let that happen. Not again.

“Why do you want me to work for you?” You ask next after securing another set.

“I never said work for me,” Geto corrects. “I said you would be mine.”

“What does that entail?”

The man grins. “You can’t ask two questions, but to answer your first, I want you because I’m greedy like that. If I find something interesting or worthwhile, why would I not try to keep it?”

His stare is intense, daunting yet enticing. Why did he have to be so tempting? You should have never agreed to play along, because you were spiraling faster than you could control.

“What are you thinking about right now?” Geto asks, placing down another set.

Before you stop yourself, you respond, “that I want you, but I can’t.”

“Says who?” Geto prods. When did he get so close? One moment he’s on the opposite side of the couch, and the next, he’s inches away from your face. His familiar cologne fills your nose in a comforting touch.

“You’re dangerous.”

“You’re surrounded by danger already from working for Zen’in. What’s stopping you now?”

Your eyes meet his dark ones, serious but oddly soft. “I’m scared that I will enjoy it more than I should.”

“Sweetheart, you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

And his lips were on yours. You aren’t quite sure who leaned in first, not that it mattered. He tastes faintly of liquor, but is otherwise gentle. However, he doesn’t linger long, much to your dismay, pulling away after a few seconds too soon to admire your flustered face.

“Let’s call the game here,” Geto says, slightly out of breath. “You were in the lead, so what is it that you want from me?” He cups your chin, forcing you to maintain eye contact as you ask.

“Can you kiss me again?”

Geto does without complaint, this time with more urgency. His scent is suffocating. Your head feels hazy, scrambled thoughts only on the man before you and the way his gentle touch electrifies your skin. A soft moan leaves your lips as Geto kisses across your jawline.

“Is a kiss truly all you want?” he teases all while loosening the tie around his neck. “You could stand to be a little more greedy, you know?” He pops one button of your vest open. Then the second. Then the last, sliding the material down your shoulders. “If you want something from me, you need to use your Big Girl words, or else I can’t help you.”

“I…” The words are stuck in your throat. What did you want? Was it okay for you to want something? “I don’t wanna…” a small whimper leaves your lips as Geto’s teeth grazes the side of your neck after unbuttoning your shirt’s collar. “Don’t wanna be selfish.”

“And I’m telling you to be. Now what do you want, sweetheart?”

“I want you, Suguru.”

The sound of his name on your lips is heavenly, and Geto forgets about teasing you any longer. He pins you to the couch with ease, using one hand to grip your wrists while the other pulls at your shirt, the buttons popping off one by one, all while his lips are on yours again, sucking on them until they’re swollen. His hands tickle your sides as he explores your body, stopping only to unclasp your bra. The cool air makes you shiver.

Kissing you was sweet and addicting, and he wanted…no, needed, to know what you tasted like elsewhere. Swiftly, Geto picks you up, the couch not spacious enough. He clumsily stumbles to one of the bedrooms, his mouth attaching to one of your bare breasts. You whimper as he bites at your sensitive nipple.

“Suguru,” you moan, tugging at his hair, pressing your chest closer making Geto grunt. You end up pulling his hair out of its bun, his black locs cascading down his shoulders. As you both tumble into the king sized bed, it tickles your nose.

“Before we go any further,” Geto suddenly pulls away, walking around to the nightstand. He rummaged through one of the drawers before finding a box of condoms. “Do you have any hard boundaries?” At the shake of your head, he nods. “Still, give me a safe word just in case I’m too much.”

You think for a moment before answering, “gold.”

“Good,” Geto says. He undoes the first few buttons of his dress shirt, tattoos peeking across his collarbone. “Cause if you need me to stop, you’re going to have to scream it, because I’m going to keep going until I have my fill of you.”

Geto grabs you by your waist, dragging you to the edge of the bed while pulling your slacks down to your ankles. He settles between your legs, bending down to give a slow lick up up your clothed pussy, tasting your wetness that’s seeped through the fabric. You gasp, back arching off the bed. Groaning at your sweet taste, Geto could feel his cock stir within his pants.

“Fuck…I’m going to savor this.” He pulls your panties down with his teeth. His hot breath on your cunt has you dripping with need. Your pretty lips are already glistening.

“Suguru, please,” you whimper.

“Whatever you want.” Pressing his tongue, he takes a long slow lick up your folds. The sensation is electrifying, high pitched moans leaving your lips which you try to cover with your hand.

Geto spreads your legs open wider, pressing his mouth as close as he can get to your cunt. He is aggressive, messily slurping up all you offer. His tongue weaves through your folds, and his harsh sucks against your clit makes you cry out, fingers gripping at his long hair.

“Gods you’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” Geto groans, the pain of you tugging at his scalp turning him on just as much as the taste of your arousal on his tongue. “Fuck, baby, pull my hair more.”

“Fuck! Suguru I’m gonna cum.”

“Then cum.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you pull at Geto’s hair roughly, making a throaty groan leave his lips. The built up pressure in your abdomen snaps, and euphoria rocks your body as your orgasm hits you hard. Your release coats Geto’s tongue, and he’s greedy, continuing to drink you up until your legs are trembling from overstimulation.

“T-too much! W-wait-“ you whimper, writhing away. Geto’s grip on your thighs tightens. He delivers one last hard suck against your clit before pressing a parting kiss against your sloppy lips.

“Don’t try to leave me now, sweetheart,” Geto says. He unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, sliding it down his broad shoulders. Two intricate tattoo sleeves cover his arms from his collarbone down to his wrists. They’re dark yet beautifully done, adding to his handsome appeal. Who knew tattoos could be so sexy.

“I said I’m going to have my way with you until I have my fucking fill, and merely having your taste on my tongue won’t satisfy me.” Geto loosens his belt, already feeling some sort of relief from the way his aching cock pressed against his pants. Fuck. The way he needed you was maddening. His body was hot and just begging to be inside you, to feel your walls clench around him, to have you close and crying out his name.

“Come’ere,” Geto instructs. “Crawl.”

You shakily get on to your hands and knees, crawling to the edge of the bed where he stood. Your face feeling hot from embarrassment but your body betraying you in the way you could feel your needy pussy throb in anticipation. Geto almost loses what little composure he has left when you stare up at him through your lashes, innocent and cute.

“I don’t think I need to spell it out for you. Help me out, will ya?” Geto watches while you loosen his pants so that they fall to the floor. You’re slightly nervous looking at the size of the bulge pressing against his boxers, and your suspicions are confirmed when you pull his erection free. He’s big, thick and stiff against his abdomen, twitching ever so slightly as the cool air teases him. The tip’s an angry red, leaking pre cum already, and you’re dying for a taste.

Geto himself could almost sigh in relief. Any longer and he thought he’d burst. He tears open a condom and gives it to you. “Put it on for me?” You do, rolling it over his length, teasingly slow. Geto shivers at your touch. “Such a damn minx.” He flips you on your backside, aligning himself at your entrance and kissing your jaw. “Tell me your safe word again.”

“Gold,” you reply.

“Good fucking girl.” Geto bottoms out in a single thrust, ripping a moan from your lips. “Fuckkk,” he groans. “Fucking knew you’d fit around me perfectly.”

He experimentally moves his hips, the stretch of his cock filling you deliciously all the way and kissing the deepest parts of your spongy walls. Geto curses again, folds your legs over his shoulders, and rams into you until you’re seeing stars.

“A-h f-fuck S-suguru-“ You babble incoherently. Your mind blank and the air knocked out of your lungs as his cock kisses your cervix again. And again. And again until seconds later you’re creaming around him.

“Such a messy cunt,” Geto chuckles, admiring the ring of your arousal that coats his length as he bullies into your weepy hole, not stopping just because you came. “Just listen to the sound of her sucking me in. She doesn’t want to let me go. Fuck. Gripping me so tightly I could fucking burst. Greedy. Greedy. Just fucking greedy.”

“Fuck-Suguru, s’too much!” You felt lightheaded. He’s too rough, chasing his own high. And with the position he has you in, his cock presses so deep. His face sheens with sweat causing his hair to stick to his face, and his eyes glossed over, solely focused on bringing you over the edge.

“Awe, it’s too much?” Geto taunts, dragging his cock back out slowly, allowing you to feel every inch before slamming back in. “I never said I’d be nice. Go on, give me another orgasm then maybe I’ll consider slowing down.”

You felt your stomach tightening, tears brimming your eyelashes. “S-so mean,” you whimper.

Geto grins. “Mean? I’m just a greedy fucking bastard who wants more than what he needs. I won’t be satisfied unless I have you cumming around my cock over and over until you don’t remember anything else but the way my cock molds your pussy into its shape and the name of the man who fucks you silly.”

He grips your chin, kissing into you with urgency. Your moans muffled into small whines as you arch off the bed, raising your hips to meet his that still when his orgasm hits. Geto groans, biting your lip. He releases into the condom feeling his abdomen constrict and heavy balls tighten to the point of breaking. His body rocks, his face burying into the crook of your neck as the hard orgasm hits him with intensity.

“Ugh…fuck fuck…” Geto captures your lips again, this time more gentle. “Damn I’ve never cum that hard.” He checks to make sure you’re ok, wiping the stray tears that rolled down your cheek. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“Mhm…just…blissful…” you mutter sleepily, completely fucked out to the point of exhaustion. Geto laughs.

“Wait one second.” He slowly pulls out, tying the condom up carefully not to spill anything. He disappears into the bathroom only to return a moment later with a wet, warm towel. As he wipes you down, Geto secretly admires his handy work, the hickies and marks already starting to darken purple.

“What are you doing?” You ask, wincing when you try to sit up. Your hips were on fire and your legs felt like jello.

“Taking care of you?” Geto responds as if it were obvious.

“Why?”

“Why?” He scoffs. “I can be a gentleman too, you know.” His eyes soften seeing your slight discomfort. “You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“No, it’s okay,” you answer honestly. “I liked it.”

“Good.” Geto presses a kiss to your temple, settling beside you. “Cause I intend for this not to be the last time.”

Your gentle smile turns into a frown. Sure…it was great now. But in 3 months time, who knew where you’d be at? Your contract will end with Naoya, if he doesn’t find out what you’ve done beforehand and fires you or extends your time with him. Plus, it wasn’t like you could have a relationship with Geto, or a normal one at that. With his line of work, it would be impossible. And did you truly want to get involved knowing it was how you ended up in your current situation in the first place?

“What are you thinking about in that pretty head of yours?” Geto questions. Though meant to be lighthearted, there’s underlying concern in his voice.

“There can’t be a next time,” you say. “In three months, I’m free from Naoya and can leave. So we should just say our farewells now before we get too attached.”

Geto stares at you blankly for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. “You’re so cute, trying to act all serious and considerate.” He pinches your cheek making your pout.

“Stop, I’m serious.”

“And so was I,” Geto counters. When you avoid eye contact, he turns your cheek to face him. “In fact, you actually still owe me from our first game of Go Fish. I don’t quite remember cashing in my request. So I’m using it now: in three months, when your contract ends, you are to come stay with me.”

“But I-“

“I can arrange for you to work or do whatever hobbies you want. That is not a problem. I won’t let anyone or anything hurt you, so just stay by my side. Can you fulfill this one selfish request of mine?”

His words are sincere. His touch is gentle, and you find yourself leaning into his embrace despite your better judgment. You’re surprised by how hard his heart’s racing. “Okay,” you finally answer. “I’ll go with you.”

Geto visibly relaxed. His arms wrap themselves around you. “Good…I promise. I’ll protect you.”

You’re foolish. You’re playing a dangerous game that could end up with you getting hurt instead.

But Geto Suguru is a greedy man.

What he wants, he gets.

And he always takes precious care of what is his.

[quaykey]

Thoughts on Writing Anxiety, aka I hate my plot

For the last week or two I've had this anxious dread in my bones. I can't shake it. It's kind of like when you know something is off, but you can't quite put your finger on it. Some might call it a gut feeling, and I suppose it is. It's worse, though, because it's in my chest.

Something about my writing isn't working.

In this post you'll be able to join me as I process this anxiety and dread that's been killing me at work.

We know that anxiety is future based. When you're anxious, it always has something to do with an expectation of the future. Fight or flight (or freeze, or fawn). It's a mode of preperation.

What is it about my anxiety that relates to my writing? How does it relate to the future?

The plot. The outline. It's the thing that tells me in twenty thousand words:

I should be at roughly chapter seventeen, assuming I'm averaging a 4000 word count per chapter.

My characters need to be at this point in the overall journey.

Each character is at their own specific point in their own character arc.

Subplot B and D need to be paid off.

Subplot F needs to be setup.

I'd be surprised if someone didn't get anxiety over such a daunting challenge. I, however, am but a mere mortal.

Image: Takai Art

If you've ever played dungeons or dragons (or any kind of tabletop roleplaying game), you'll know there's a game master or a dungeon master who effectively narrates and crafts the tale.

It's the dungeon masters job to tell the epic story that the group of roleplayers are travelling through. They have to set the scenes, play all of the NPCs in realtime, and offer hooks, conflicts and payoffs to the party surrounding them.

I suppose a DM (dungeon master) has to balance a lot going on. They will most likely have a sketch of what they want to happen in mind. They'll know there's a mountain through a valley where a dragon lives, and the shady man within the inn offers them a contract to go and kill the dragon. The DM will have a few different ideas for combat or conflicts along the journey to the mountain. Maybe a 'puzzle scene', maybe a 'fight with orcs' scene. But the DM will keep the details light.

The DM can't prepare too specifically, because that will force the players to travel down a predetermined path that the DM has created. The whole idea of Dungeons and Dragons is that the players are in an open world! They can go wherever they want to go, and do anything they want to do.

When a DM forces players down a storyline, it's called Railroading.

Huh.

You're smart, so you've already seen the metaphor I'm drawing. As a writer, to outline is to railroad my characters along a single path. If I treat my characters like players - agents of their own story - then they can make an infinite number of decisions! I can present them with a situation or scenario, and see how they react as I write.

This is the best description of railroading I could find.

railroading: - telling a player he can't do something because it would break your story (a good scenario is robust to weird player choices) - continually spawning more monsters until they kidnap an NPC because it's necessary for your story (negating their strategies for protecting him) - putting a plot-centric event or creature in the PCs' path no matter which way they go (AKA quantum ogre, negating the players' choice of path. this will blow up in your face if the players - start scouting ahead or using divination) - fudging rolls to enforce failure (negating the player's luck because it would damage your storyline) - fudging rolls to enforce success (see above) - making the enemies beat your players in a race to a location because they have to get there first for the story to work (negating any clever transportation solutions the players come up with) - having a BBEG (ugh) that serves as a final boss that no amount of player ingenuity will defeat before you want him defeated (self-explanatory i hope) not railroading: - telling a player he can't do something because it's impossible (negating player choice, not to enforce a specific outcome) the villain redirects his orc raiders to try the kidnapping again, rather than continuing to rob travelers (difference: logical NPC behavior, the players have impacted his plans and changed the situation) - having a creature seek the players out actively (again, NPC decisions in response to player choices, with ripple effects on other parts of the situation) - player fails a check (negates decision, not to enforce outcome) player succeeds a check (see above) - the enemies beat the players to a location because the players decided to save money and walk (logical consequences of player decisions) - having villains that evolve (mostly into corpses, honestly) and develop relationships naturally through player interactions

Original Post

Dramatic Superposition is a fantasitc term made by someone who commented. Nothing exists until it's observed.

Really, truly, I should ask my characters what they would do, and I should respect their desire. From there, I can sprinkle in my sketched plot, or I can give them free passage. I could introduce new challenges or characters, or not.

So all this chatting. What's the point?

Well, you see - my attention is no longer stuck in the future. It's not thinking about the seventeenth chapter, and how many words should be there, and what plot that hasn't even been started needs to be finished.

My attention will be in the present, assessing and living through the characters on the page. What they want, I write. And if they want something stupid, I'll rewind, go back in time, edit or add things, and make that option stupid so they don't want it anymore.

Now I'll be in the present, and when I'm in the present, my anxiety dies.

[awisetoad]

bruh one thing that's abundantly clear: the average Tumblr user/reddit/internet armchair critic has absolutely no idea how media gets made. not one single clue. ESPECIALLY regarding who is responsible for decisions they didn't like, but really just all of it

like, art made by one person? straightforward, understandable process. one single person to blame. easy.

something made by a team of maybe three people? okay maybe, still easy to blame when things go wrong. who wore what hat, or they collectively made a stupid decision.

something at the scale of a commercial production? absolutely incomprehensible. might as well be wizardry. (ofc when in doubt blame either the writers, director, or ceo bc those are the only people who …make decisions? could be at fault? do anything????? out of a crew of a zillion people? have you ever sat thru credits before? jfc)

there's so much shit that goes on:

between regular workplace drama,

normal human mistakes,

people getting fired and hired and replaced and quietly ghosted or let go,

people taking over roles they have no business taking over because there straight-up is no one else,

people who are good at managing people but utterly lack the creative vision getting stuck in charge of making the final decision,

people with incredible creative vision that are absolute nightmares to work with making the work environment an utter hellscape

teams of people whose job it is to say no because money

contracts

scheduling issues

trying to get 15 people in a meeting to agree on anything,

badly wording a company memo and starting a fuckin' fire,

HR,

technical issues,

OSHA

budget cuts

creative problem solving,

deadlines

shifting goalposts,

corporate reprioritization,

corporate restructuring,

delays,

the fucking weather,

the ad said you get no more takes,

scheduling again,

regular workplace communication issues,

you aren't done but ran out of time and are forced to ship anyway,

the schedule/budget doesn't have room for a reshoot so you are forced to use sub-par Take A because Take B is unusable

the schedule/budget has room for a reshoot but no to reshoot that because there are way more important problems to fix

contractors who were not correctly looped in,

contractors or entire other internal departments or key stakeholders who have a fundamentally different picture of the vision despite using the exact same language as everyone else,

shit changing wildly between pre- and post- production,

you have spent 38472947832493 hours and still cannot fix the bug

your boss was fired and he was the only one who attended all the high-level meetings and their replacement is Behind™

or there is no replacement and now the creative team reports to purchasing because they still need a manager to approve their pto and timecards

you fucked up and have to rollback and now no longer have time/resources/money/braincells to complete the bottom 87 tasks of the to do list

scheduling again again

when we're deep in post and there's not a single person from pre left working on it because they've moved on or were fired or replaced so there's no one left to ask and you just have to wing it,

the fact that we're usually not making art for art's sake but delivering on a profit-driven investment,

you realize in editing someone done fucked up several months and a couple hundred thousand dollars ago and it is Too Late Now™,

the existence of marketing,

the existence of merchandising,

aging target demographic

a suddenly-brand-new social or political landscape that means something is very not cool anymore and you have to delete 43847239 hours of work which is literally like lighting a billion dollars on fire

the team is forced to downsize and now it is not physically possible to complete the same scope is before because it is not yet possible to generate more hours in the day or physically be in eight places at once

the people in charge cannot agree on the creative direction

the people working on this thing have vastly different life experiences than each other and from you

the diversity and sensitivity focus groups gave it a green light even though it is controversial

your downstream team misinterprets your upstream decisions and maybe don't realize it until post

there was a whole third act that made shit in act one made sense, but it got cut because it was bad and/or overscoped and not because of some machiavellian scheme to fail to "complete" the work

reshoots

someone said something they shouldn't have in public and it caused problems for production (leaks, spoilers, expectations, whatever)

the lead actor now has a domestic abuse charge and oops the 3 years you spent in pre carefully planning where the next several billion dollars investment will be allocated goes up in smoke and you have maybe 6 months to fix it and contracts have already been signed glhf

…the system is fucking massive and it's a literal miracle anything gets made

so like. it's absolutely fine to have an opinion. no one says you have to like all media. hate something if you want. I could care less. on the flip side, be at peace and enjoy media even if its is just kind of mid. have fun or don't, I don't care. even learn to critique something if you want and examine something's faults (which is fundamentally different than sharing an opinion, let alone grasping different schools of critique, I swear I get doyalist vs watsonian and death of the author and all that but that is not a dissertation I will be sharing today, no sir)

but, fam. really. calm down with the roasting of creative professionals with your righteous indignation over your blorbo. you clearly have not one single fucking clue. you are less flavorful than clue-flavored la Croix.

I promise the truth behind "why" you didn't like X is found in the sphaghetti-land production hellscape illustrated above and not because you somehow understand the blorbo better than the zillion people who brought it to life

christ almighty, it's fuckin' arrogant.

and then after illustrating utter cluelessness in the rudest way possible, folks have the AUDACITY to shriek about how it's a shame the director/studio/writers/office dog skippy doesn't care about its fans and/or the end product when the damn thing only happened bc of the blood, sweat, and tears of a hundred underpaid staff members who are torn between quitting for their mental health and putting in unpaid overtime because they care far more than they should

like

what the fuck

[billconrad]

Company Fires 60 Strong Writing Team

I came across this news article:

The article stated that a company developed a seasoned writing team to promote their product by writing blog posts. All was good until they laid the writers in favor of an AI generator (like ChatGPT). The only people left were editors who had to tidy up the blog entries, so they looked like a human had written them.

    Should I be angry? Hey! They fired a bunch of fellow writers! Not cool! The truth is that this story did not surprise me at all, and I felt no emotion. Why?

    A friend (who is not a computer expert) developed ChatGPT scripts to do his entire job. He takes the company’s latest reports and writes blog posts, emails, and tweets. Plus, he spots issues and recommends improvements. ChatGPT allows him to do a day’s work in minutes. And the result? His bosses are very pleased, but he would get fired in a heartbeat if they knew what was going on.

    ChatGPT is the perfect program to do what those 60 people were doing. Take boring company junk and turn it into enticing blog posts. The people reading the blog will see the latest company news in an easy-to-read format.

    What about those who got fired? I am sure they were creative and talented people who were proud of their words. They had families dependent on their income, and I know these writers were angry for being laid off. Yet, this is not the first time a new technology has led to job loss.

    I recall a story by my former coworker who passed away in the mid-90s. She was an incredibly talented database programmer hired to upgrade a large retail store chain’s inventory/ordering/payroll/accounting system. This contract job replaced giant mainframes with smaller but more powerful modern software and hardware. She developed a relational database and Windows program that allows quick interaction. Her system replaced a vastly outdated text file database and thousands of dumb terminals.

    This effort took six months, and the results were fantastic for the employees, customers, and company profit. Yet, before the upgrade, the company had a four-story building with 120 employees, several mainframes, and one entire floor dedicated to nine-track tapes. (Remember those “high tech” computer scenes in old movies where the two tapes spun back and forth? They are nine-tracks.) Imagine the size of their electricity bill.

    The entire building was replaced with a single programmer (to maintain the system and add features) and a single modern server. I am sure those 120 people were spitting nails upset at losing their jobs. This speech from the excellent movie “Other People’s Money” sums up their situation:

    Could these employees see layoffs coming? The 2015 documentary “All Things Must Pass” described the downfall of Tower Records. Nobody at Tower saw a future where people could download music, yet the millions of people downloading music certainly saw the future.

    If the Tower Records employees or management had applied any effort, they could have predicted their job loss. “Hey, look at this. People can download music. Time to update my resume.”

    Well, what about me? Programs like ChatGPT are getting more powerful every day. You know my book, Interviewing Immortality? (Please download a copy!) I bet if you gave ChatGPT the summary, it could write a story just as well. Girrr. I must admit, this is a true statement.

    Want proof? I have read several books that were clearly written with ChatGPT, and here are two examples:

    ChatGPT for Writers by Saif Hussaini

    AI Mastery Trilogy by Andrew Hinton

    What ticked me off was that in the book summary/blurb, the author made no mention that ChatGPT wrote their creation. I have seen enough ChatGPT-generated content to recognize its writing style and have a spoiler alert. You will soon have the same magical ability. Want proof?

    Way back when books were not printed, scribes copied them. Then, the printing press was invented. The result was unflattering because printed letters were square and not created by humans. Boo! Try harder. Then, the typewriter was invented. If you received a letter, it was clear that it was not printed; a typewriter made it. Boo! I want the neatness of a printing press.

    Then, the computer was invented, and people wrote letters using a word processor and printer. Boo! Look right here. The font changed. I want to read a letter created on a typewriter.

    ChatGPT has already invaded our lives. Are you talking/emailing/chatting with a real person? ChatGPT or some other AI is taking your fast-food orders, calling you on the phone, answering your technical questions, providing limitless entertainment, or conning you out of your hard-earned money.

    Yet, I remind you that this is just the beginning. Remember the invention of the IBM PC in the late 70s? Yes, there were many issues, but with some developments, we now have today’s astounding smartphones, gaming PCs, internet service providers, and thousands of AI computers chugging away.

    We figured out the IBM PC and will figure out ChatGPT. This means that, like in the 20s, when people figured out they were reading a typed letter, people will learn to recognize when they are not interacting with a human.

    Will those 60 people be hired back? Probably not, but the arm will swing the other way. The company that fired those 60 people will soon have upset customers. “This blog is pure AI. I’m not shopping here.”

    What does it all mean? If you see a future where AI will take your job, it might be time to update your resume. Also, it is now essential to recognize AI-generated content. Fortunately, I will be here to provide you with AI-free content.

    PS, I got a spam message today for a service that uses AI to generate blogs. “100% original content” It made me laugh.

    You’re the best -Bill

    July 17, 2024

  Hey, book lovers, I published four. Please check them out:

  Interviewing Immortality. A dramatic first-person psychological thriller that weaves a tale of intrigue, suspense, and self-confrontation.

  Pushed to the Edge of Survival. A drama, romance, and science fiction story about two unlikely people surviving a shipwreck and living with the consequences.

  Cable Ties. A slow-burn political thriller that reflects the realities of modern intelligence, law enforcement, department cooperation, and international politics.

  Saving Immortality. Continuing in the first-person psychological thriller genre, James Kimble searches for his former captor to answer his life’s questions.

  These books are available in softcover on Amazon and in eBook format everywhere.

[the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes]

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒟𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝒯𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐸𝓎𝑒𝓈 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 26

Eye Time A Lesson is Taught, Impossible Since He’s Coned

Pairing: Alastor x F!OC (Theia, The Demon of a Thousand Eyes)

Chapter Summary: You and Charlie confront Valentino and you succeed in intimidating him. Unfortunately, no matter what tactics you may use on him, his contract stipulates that the studio is the place he has all the power, and you know this is a battle you will not win, even when you do win the war some time from now.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Valentino, knife, kinky undertones, blood

Standing just outside of the door to Tino’s studio, you ask Charlie if she’d like to know what she’s going into first, but she waves you off, saying, “Honestly, Theia, it can’t be that bad. It’s just sex, right? I’m familiar enough with that.”

You wince. “I mean this isn’t making love, Charlie. You guys went to that BDSM club, right? It’s gonna be more like that, probably. Tino tends to make some rough stuff. He prefers it, likes to make Angel hurt. I’m warning you, even if I don’t look, that what we see in there probably won’t be pretty.”

She waves you off, “It can’t be that bad, or Angel wouldn’t keep coming, would he?”

You don’t have an answer you feel comfortable giving, so instead you let her open the door.

You both step inside. You hear Angel call out, “What are you gonna do to me…” In a fake sultry voice, but as he sees the both of you, his voice cracks out, “Charlie?!”

The demon on top of him says his name is Rocky at the same time that Angel shoves him off and walks towards the both of you. “Theia?”

Charlie is too caught up in all the strange sights around her to hear him. “Oh, so this is where the magic happens.” She nearly bumps into a female Hellhound as she’s taking off her bra. Charlie blushes and shuffles back awkwardly from almost running into her. “Oh wow, that is—” She gasps and her blush disappears as she sees a male bull sinner being covered in mud. “That is a lot.”

Angel takes Charlie’s hand with his uppermost right one and brings her back over to where you stand, still just in the doorway. “What the ever-loving fuck are you two doing here?”

Charlie puts on a forced acting air that is far less practiced than Angel’s. “I am the Princess of Hell, Angel. And I go where I please.” She spins dramatically, then drops her voice to a whisper. “I'm here to get you some time off for the hotel. Now, where's your boss?”

He looks at you, then, and you shrug. “She insisted on coming. Vaggie was gonna let her come alone. I wasn’t going to let her show up here and talk to Tino by herself. That could only ever go poorly.”

“Well at least one a yah has some sense. Now can yah both please leave before Val sees yah?”

As if summoning a demon by mention alone, Tino bitches, “Angel! What’s the fucking hold up?”

“I’m coming!’ Angel calls back, irritated but trying not to show it.

“Not off camera you’re not!” He warns, his voice laced with rage.

“Please, please, just wait, wait until I'm done working and we will talk about this, I promise. But first, you've gotta go.” Angel begs. You shrug. You’d be fine with that. You’d be sad, of course, but both you and Angel know there’s nothing you can do.

Unfortunately, before you can convince Charlie to leave with you, Valentino decides to come see what has been distracting Angel Dust. First, he sees her. “Aaah, Your Majesty.” He pushes Angel behind him and you wince. “Welcome to my humble sex dungeon. “What can I do for such a—” The blind-ass moth finally recognizes you, and his expression falls from a lecherous grin to a cranky scowl. “Ugh, Ojitas. To what displeasure do I owe your arrival? Not too busy on Alastor’s leash are we?”

You pointedly ignore his attempt at a barb with his second question. “The princess was worried about Angel and insisted she show up at your disingenuous place of business to request some time off from work for him. I’m just here so you remember to play nice, Tino.” You grin toothily.

“Or what, Ojitas? You’ll kill me? You’ve run out of comebacks, prude.” Tino blows smoke in your direction. You blink it away.

“You know your stupid poison doesn’t work on me, just as Vox’s hypnosis fails as well. As for being a prude,” You smirk as you stalk closer to him. He’s always been taller than you but you’ve never found that problematic. He’s no threat, not without his aphrodisiac. Not to you anyway. “I assure you that’s not what my beloved Al said just this morning.” You cackle. “You’re just pissy I never fucked you.” You smirk harder. “And yes, if you’d have been a good enough boy for Maestra, I might have fucked you oh so well, stupid boy. Now? Now you get nothing, and if you even think about touching the princess in any manner other than what I deem appropriate, I will pluck your eyes from your skull and leave you here on this floor. I don’t see how it would be much of a hindrance. You’re practically blind anyway.”

“Ojitas has some sass in her today, hmm?” One of his lower arms reaches for your chin and you pluck your knife from your hilt and hold it to his neck. His hand lowers and he visibly gulps.

“Try and touch me and I will not just pluck and eat those eyeballs like ripe grapes. I will tear your limbs and wings off you, leave you to bleed out on Vox’s console for him to clean up the mess. He should know better than to let you off your leash, puta.” He shivers and drools a bit. It takes you a moment, but then you realize something. “This turns you on? You’re pathetic. You can be desperate for Maestra all you want, you stupid little moth, but I’m afraid that’s a lesson you’ll never learn, a tutor you will never be able to afford.” You let the blade press into his skin and he hisses, swallows thickly. “I could kill you with this knife right here. You’d bleed out on this floor and no one would even come to your rescue. No one would care.”

Charlie feels the need to intervene. She steps forward and puts a hand on your shoulder. “Theia, you promised you wouldn’t kill him.”

“Oh that’s right. I forgot.” You let the blade knick him slightly anyway, just to hear him hiss, “I got so excited. I love to deliver justice to those who need it swiftly, and those who work here against their will deserve the satisfaction of watching their abuser bleed out at their feet.” You give him a saucy, knowing look. “Your poison may arouse, Tino, but it will never make them feel true love. It is a corruption, a coercion. You will never get anything real, anything genuine, except my knife digging further into your neck. You can thank our dear princess for the reason you live today, for the reason I haven’t gutted you just so I can watch your blood leave your body and the light in your eyes die.” You pause for a moment, then when he says nothing in response, you dig the blade harder into his flesh. He hisses. “Well go on then, Tino. Thank her.”

“Th-thank you, your majesty.” He hisses out with a whimper.

“Not good enough.” You sneer. “You can do better than that. The princess has just saved your life, after all. You should be more than grateful.”

“Th-thank you, princessa, for sparing my life.” He gulps again.

“Theia, I think he’s had enough.” Charlie says with worry.

“Hmm, I suppose, if you think so, Princess.” You keep the knife in place, however, as you say, “You will be civil with the princess, or I will be forced to seek retribution for your behavior. Have I made myself clear?”

“Y-yes, Ojitas.” He nods.

You dig the knife into his neck harder. A drop of red glistens on the blade. “I have a knife to your throat and you think you get to call me that?” You tsk. “I should strip your other antenna for that alone. Be a good little pupil and address me properly.”

He gulps. “Y-yes, Maestra.”

“Good. Now, what have we learned today?” You croon as you slide the blade up his neck.

“T-to keep my hands to myself.” He gulps again.

You remove the blade. “Alright, Charlie, I think he’s ready for you, but I’d still keep your distance from him, even if he knows that I’ll be watching.”

You step to the side and lick his blood off the knife. “Mm,” You shrug. “I’ve had better.”

Charlie takes a step forward. “I’m here to request that Angel get more time off to spend in the hotel.”

Tino focuses his gaze on Charlie to avoid having to look towards your warning glare. He takes a drag of his cigarette and this poisonous smoke billows into the room. Charlie is coughing and annoyed but unpoisoned, unaffected, as he replies, “Angel Dust is behind on shoots as it is, princessa. I can’t just give my star away because of your whims, no matter who you are. It’s not as if anyone respects your crown anyway, with your papi gone after all these years.”

You cross your arms and raise an eyebrow at him, point the blade in his direction.

He swallows. “Perhaps an arrangement can be made.”

Charlie smiles. “I propose that he get weekends off, and afternoons.”

Angel raises an eyebrow. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

You nod. “Angel has a point, Charlie. It’s his time you’re negotiating for, after all.”

Charlie looks at Angel then, with hope in her eyes. “What time off would you like, Angel?”

His gaze goes from Charlie to you to Tino and back again a few times in quick succession. You’re worried he’s going to get dizzy. “I–” He stutters out, “I—” He stutters out again, and Tino’s gaze darkens as he watches him.

“Angel, can I see you in your dressing room for a moment?” He hisses out, and he narrows his diabolical gaze at you. He knows he’s won. Your face twitches slightly. You can’t do anything if he brings Angel into this. You knew this would happen. No matter how much you threaten him, he owns Angel’s soul, and while in the studio can do with him what he pleases.

Angel looks terrified as he’s manhandled into his dressing room by Tino. You don’t need to open your eyes in Angel’s dressing room to know what’s going on in there. The roaring and wailing are enough for that.

Charlie turns to you. “Why didn’t you stop him?”

“I can’t.” You tell her honestly. “There’s nothing I can do, once he gets Angel involved, at least not here. I told you this might happen.”

“There’s more you’re not telling me.” She grabs your hands. “I’m just trying to help him, Theia. Tell me what I need to know to do that.”

“It’s not my call, Charlie. I can’t betray Angel’s trust like that. I’m sorry.” You sigh.

“How am I supposed to help him if I don’t know the truth?!” She pleads harder, her face contorting and her hands wringing. “Did he make a deal with Valentino?”

Just then, the door to Angel’s dressing room bursts open and Tino is dragging Angel out by the arm again and throwing him on the bed. “Alright! Get your asses back on set, and we are taking this from the top!” You wince at the sight of the marks on Angel’s neck.

Charlie’s eyes glow red and her hair floats, her true power threatening to escape. She roars, “What makes you think you can treat him like that?!”

Valentino stands there smug, his upper arms crossed and his lower hands on his hips. She starts to lunge at him, but Angel jumps between them.

“Charlie!” He exclaims, and she halts. “Just stop!”

“Angel, what are you talking ab—-” Charlie begins, but Angel cuts her off.

“Charlie, leave!” Angel yells. He turns on you too, and it hurts. “You too, Theia!”

“But—” Charlie starts again, but Angel cuts her off a second time.

“I didn't want you to come here. I already asked you to leave and you didn't listen. You made things worse.” He says as he pulls her away toward the door, an effective sidebar. You trail after them. Part of your gaze is fixated on the smug look on Tino’s face. You want to pluck his eyeballs from his sockets and flay him alive. Tino should have groveled more. You think to yourself. As soon as he leaves the studio I’m going to flay him alive for what he’s done.

“I just wanted to help you.” Charlie pleads with him desperately.

“Well, you ain't! You actually want to help me? Get the fuck out of here! Right now, and let me finish my work.” He points to the door, then turns his eyes on you. “Don’t forget I mean you too, Theia. Yah just had to let her come here, didn’t yah.”

As Charlie sobs, you tell him, “I didn’t let her do anything, Angel. She was going to come here on her own. You and I both know it would have been so much worse if she had. I knew coming here was only going to make it worse. I’m sorry. We’ll leave now.”

You take Charlie’s hand and give Valentino one last glare as you resheath your knife. “Maestra will come for you later. She punishes the worst ones first.” The first chance I get I’m going to tear him apart and leave him to respawn so I can tear him apart again, the second time even slower.

‘I’ll be looking forward to it, Ojitas!” He takes a drag of his smoke and blows it in your direction as you use the eyes in the studio and the eyes in the lobby to manifest back home.

After the morning you’ve had, explaining to Al about the new eye on your chest doesn’t seem so bad anymore.

A/N: Tino is such a bitch. Theia is going to love tearing him apart later.

Chapter 27 is exploring Boring Closet Stuff, finally.

First || Chapter 25 || Chapter 27

[alldogsarecomrades]

Strike Against the Reich

We have seen and heard the war-like attitudes of Amerikan capital. For generations they've infected every layer of society with the “if you don't like it, go work somewhere else” ethic. A sitting Senator is being charged by UAW with making threats against strikers, although the NLRB is not a serious regulatory agency and predictably saves all real repercussions for workers and their representatives. And contrary to the cosmetic changes that have been trumpeted by labor officialdom, the Board will do nothing but protect capital when the inevitable class war counteroffensive begins. It's not a matter of “if” but “when” another air traffic controllers strike happens, and both organized labor and the left must be prepared.

I don't know which is more likely: that capital is so hellbent on returning to the days of the Pinkertons, or if they have enough forward-thinking minds in the room to know that labor cannot be controlled with blunt force alone. If the former is the case, a capital strike will occur just before the election in order to torpedo the re-election of Biden in favor of a Republican that will swiftly use jail, fines and state violence to put down the ensuing labor unrest. If it's the latter, mass layoffs and plant closures will proliferate no later than December 2024 in response to the current labor renewal we are experiencing and a Biden win is secured.

This leads us to the question of which strategy we will end up using to respond to either Biden's or Trump's responses. A Republican administration will reliably use heavy-handed Reaganite tactics. Biden is also a Reaganite, and let's be honest, Reaganism is the dominant ideology of American fascism, just as Hitlerism was to the Third Reich. But Reaganism is also chiefly interested in maintaining the status quo, by hook or crook. In this case, the hook may be wielded by a man who needs to do any and every thing possible to regain the confidence of the elites if he's going to avoid dying in prison. The crook, we all know, is the accomplice in office who has allowed the military and police state to seize virtually all public assets, and granted them broad discretion to re-establish order. But even now, after 3 years of the Biden counterinsurgency, labor has entered the chat and we have some words.

Before I arrive at my fucking point, let's establish one thing: I believe working class people are the only class of people that contribute any godamn thing of any actual value to society. White collar, unemployed, disabled, caregivers, industrial proles, the precariat, you name it, we do it. Anyone that's not a boss, a landlord, a politician, a lawyer, a bureaucrat, a social worker, you get the idea. As a member of the only class that matters, I don't mind telling you that we are capable of absolutely anything. And more to the point, no one can seriously argue that even a badly-run society of self-managed stateless communes could somehow be worse than how things are being run right now. If we wait much longer we may never see it.

But this polemic isn't about 'after the revolution.' I told you that so I can tell you this: we can run entire industries—now, today—better than the ruling class does. In fact, the only thing that is currently keeping our society afloat is the fact that working people bring skill and planning everyday to every workplace in the Fourth Reich of Amerika. We already run this shit, we're just not paid like it.

When push comes to shove, the time will come when broad multitudes by the thousands of working people will find themselves with a renewed purpose and vision for the organizations they've spent the last few years building and revitalizing. Starbucks would rather close every last store in Amerika if they expected (reasonably) that the federal government would bail them out, if it means not having to tolerate a union contract in the temple of customer worship. Corporate is currently testing the NLRB to see how far they'll go to enforce the law, and so far General Counsel Jennifer Abruzzo has said or done nothing to suggest that she will ever escalate to anything that might approach a serious confrontation with capital. Starbucks has racked-up record numbers of sustained ULP complaints, and yet the company is still free to ignore their legal duty to bargain under the most pro-union president in history. Starbucks knows firsthand that only the working class can emancipate itself, and they are preparing to liquidate our nascent capacity to carry out that task.

Under Biden in 2024, the federal government will undoubtedly launch a counterinsurgency program akin to Defund the Police that will use the carrot of redirecting labor militants down blind alleyways of the state bureaucracy long enough for the insurgency to fizzle. This will be coupled with the stick of violent scabs with badges, in the same manner as what was done to the movement against police violence in 2020, and what the Sanders campaign did to the elements of Occupy Wall Street that survived Democrat-led police assaults nationally. That is the essence of Amerika.

In 2023, labor is the vanguard, just as the Floyd rebellion was the vanguard in 2020. A riot and a strike are two means with the same ends. Capital knows this, and (just like the knowledge that the task of our emancipation is ours alone) so should we. If we don't we will fail to anticipate once again the shape of counterinsurgency.

Here's the main point: a capital strike can be defeated, but only if labor and the left are prepared. Like the UE union members at the Republic Windows and Doors factory occupation of 2008 declined to wait for the incoming Obama administration to rescue them, today's working class must seize the moment and up the ante. The Republic workers were prepared because they were members of a democratic rank-and-file-led union, one of the few at the time who could credibly claim that mantle. As syndicalists have always demonstrated, rank-and-file democracy is the new world in the shell of the old. If we run our labor organizations without bosses, so too will we run our industries in the service of society and the Earth.

Don't get me wrong: I have no illusions that we're on the cusp of social revolution. Indeed, we've never been closer to losing that possibility forever. We are, however, very much at a stage where power vacuums will be filled and it is critical that working class organizations are the ones to fill them.

Another example (aside from occupying shuttered businesses, expropriating them and administrating them under workers' control) would be the likely scenario in which the 2024 election will once again be contested aggressively by both sides. Elsewhere I've written about the likelihood of civil war and how it will likely be a showdown between, what I'll call, “status quo Reaganism” versus “insurgent Reaganism.” Or how about this: Reagan as he apparead on Amerikan television, versus the Contras. That's basically where the Overton window is at in the Fourth Reich.

Anyway, the terrain as I see it tells me there has been a very slowly awakening giant in the federal government since January 6th. It took two years but the sectors of the security state that remained neutral on that day for fear of committing too quickly to one side or the other have finally decided to try and muster some semblance of a challenge to the Neo-Contras. Indictments have piled up, the mainstream is at least pretending to deny Trump ballot access (ha), and most interestingly, Fulton[?] County made a very loud political declaration. Perhaps the first loud anything in the history of status quo Reaganism. In one breath the DA declared war on both the far-right and the far-left.

Not since the Johnson administration has centrism managed to get off the can long enough to say something about the Klan, and we must be clear that in 2023 and 1963 alike, every inch of breathing room we find ourselves with is due without exception to our efforts as militants. The strategy was always to turn the ruling class's strategy in on itself by pitting one faction of the state against another. In the near future, our many years of battle may finally yield an opening while the rank-and-file-far-right of the security state slugs it out with the federal bureaucracy. I think there's an outside chance that Starbucks might be on its own for this fight, and even if not we should act as though they will. The truth is we can only win if we believe we'll win.

[peterman-spideyparker]

Mr. Russo (Bonus Bit!) (Billy Russo x Reader)

Author’s Note: Heyo! So the first part of this fic got mad love!!! Thank you to everyone who has read! Since you guys enjoyed it so much, I've decided to post the thousand-ish words I cut from the original to serve as a little bonus. Enjoy! :)

Summary: Having given into your feelings for Billy, you two have fallen into a very comfortable relationship that you have decided to keep on the down-low.

Warnings: Fluff, soft!Billy having heart eyes, smut (P in V, crazy office sex, dirty talk, Billy being a dom?--am I using that right?), cursing

Other Characters: Frank Castle

Word Count: 1,022

“Paul Meadows sent over the contract all signed,” you say as you open the file folder, getting the paper to where he needs to sign.

“Took him long enough,” Billy sighs, scribbling his signature on the line.

“Well, it might have helped that I sent an email gently reminding him that Anvil reserves the right to end a business relationship with a party if we do not here back within a timely fashion—even if they’ve put down a significant deposit. Oh, and they we can charge extra for their negligence of a proposed agreement due to the sensitive nature of the cases and other organizations that seek us out.”

Billy looks up at you astonished.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve had to send an email like that, and you know it,” you chuckle.

“I know, but I love how ruthless you can be sometimes.”

“Just the life of a kick-ass secretary,” you sigh with a smile as you collect the folder to put with the active files.

“Want to grab some dinner tonight?” he asks as you finger through the file cabinet. “Italian, maybe? We could do Fratello’s.”

“Mm, that sounds delicious.” You close the file cabinet and lean against the cool metal. “But you see, I have plans.”

“Plans?” he repeats.

“Not fancy plans, but plans that are gonna keep me here for a while.”

“Tell me what they are so I can talk some sense into your boss. I know he can be a hard-ass, but a proper one-on-one will let me tell him that your man needs you tonight.” There’s humor and teasing in his voice, but a sensual darkness grows in his onyx eyes, making you blush.

“It’s Boss’s Day today,” you elaborate, knowing that any sort of lying and deflection won’t be any use to you this time. “I was gonna stay late tonight to get even more done so you don’t have to worry about them during the day.”

“Is that why my coffee was waiting on my desk this morning with my favorite kind of bagel, and like, half the work there should be?”

“There’s a chance,” you hum with a soft smile and slight tilt of your head.

“Tell you what,” he says as he gets up, leaving little space between your bodies. “You give me some files back, I’ll make us a reservation for around 8, and I stay late to help you. What kind of boss would I be if I let the best secretary do more work that she should? You should know I’m a giver.”

“Just trying to give a little back, that’s all.”

“You already do plenty of that,” he says, taking your hand in his and gently rubbing the back with his thumb. “Can we call it a date?”

“Yeah,” you say with a small smile. “It’s a date.”

Billy moves in to kiss you, but you duck your head to the side just as he stops himself.

“Later,” you whisper.

“Later,” he agrees.

You moan a deep, primal sound as Billy kisses your neck, deeply rocking into you in the empty office. You don’t have much you can grasp onto, but Billy makes sure that you are secure between him and the wall. This is the third location in his office that you’ve worked on—from his chair, then his desk, and now finally the wall, the bricks lightly scratching your bare back.

“I like stayin’ late,” he grunts, placing a hungry kiss on your lips, one hand carefully moving up your side to your breast while the other holds onto your waist with a bruising grip.

You laugh as you run your fingers through your hair. “This is more fun than what I usually do,” you sigh, nipping at his earlobe.

“I’m gonna make it better,” he breathes, putting a finger between your bodies and quickly rubbing you, making you see stars as your brain and any coherent train of though begins to quickly melt into nothingness.

“Billy . . .”

“Fuck, babygirl,” he moans as you squeeze him for everything he’s worth. “You feel so good around me like that. Your pussy’s so sensitive, huh? So sensitive from havin’ me fuck you all over my office and makin’ you cum so hard, huh? Isn’t that right, baby? You cum so good for me. Fuck.”

You have no idea how Billy is forming coherent sentences right now. Billy’s thrusts become more erratic and you scrunch his crisp white shirt that hangs wide open as he finally gets closer to his end after holding back for so long. As he works to fuck the hot ropes of his cum deep inside of you, someone kicks his door open.

“Freeze! Hands where I can see them!” a gruff voice calls, shining a light in your faces. You both halt your movements to look over, and the man puts the flashlight and gun down, looking away from your compromising position.

“Bill?” the voice asks. It’s Frank.

“Hey, man,” he responds, clearing his throat. Billy doesn’t embarrass easily, but you can tell in the dimly lit office that a little flush of embarrassment graces his cheeks.

“Hi, Frank,” you add.

“(Y/N),” he acknowledges.

“What are you doing here?” Billy asks.

“You must have accidentally called me,” he says, still not looking at you as the two of you adjust yourselves into a more presentable manner. “I picked up my phone and it sounded like you were in trouble. Now it’s clear that it very much wasn’t the case.”

“Sorry to make you rush down here like that,” Billy says.

“Don’t worry about it, brother,” he says, holstering his weapon. “So, uh, how long has this been a thing?”

“A while,” Billy says, wrapping his arm around your waist.

“Well, mazel tov,” Frank says, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “I’ll see you both later.”

Billy and you laugh after Frank leaves the office, and Billy holds your head in his hands, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I guess that’s our cue to go to dinner,” he smiles.

“I guess so,” you say, pecking his lips.

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[kuroowo]

Gentle, tender, soft

- Atsumu x GN!Reader

Summary - Why Atsumu promises to be better for you.

Genre - Hurt & comfort (post fighting + established relationship)

Note - Post time-skip + Atsumu centered! Also I’m a real sucker for kinda soft bf post hurt tsumu so 🥲🤘🏼

WC - 791

Masterlist

It’s no secret that Miya Atsumu’s personality isn’t fit for a lot of the people he comes across. The off-handed comments, the condescending provocations, the defensive lying, the aggressive brashness — it serves as a deterrent to the countless suitors at his feet and fuel for disdain to many others scorned. So, it’s not really far fetched to say that those who have stayed and stuck by him in his life are not exactly... gentle, tender, soft when it comes to dealing with him and his, as Osamu calls it, tyrannical shit dumpster of a disposition.

It’s just the way it has to be. There’s just a certain type of rough and tough one needs to possess in order to deal with Atsumu, and he himself knows this. He knows this extremely well because a lot of the people he holds dear in his heart are the same in the way they treat and handle him — brutally blunt, stubborn, and just a little mean sometimes. Which is one of the reasons why he likes being around Hinata so much because the little tangerine shaded ball of sunshine tries to be tender with him (key word tries because sometimes it comes off as a jab, but he knows Shōyo-kun doesn’t really intend for that). The same reason why no matter how loud or overly energised Bokuto can be sometimes, Atsumu still thinks of the outside hitter as one of his good friends because Bokuto isn’t exactly Atsumu’s definition of rough. The owl-like man’s sentiments tend to be delivered tactlessly at times, but he’s still sweet and caring at his core.

Most of all, it’s the very reason why he’s so wholly enamoured of you because despite every single jagged edge and sharpened point he presents, you’re still gentle, tender, soft with him (undeservingly so, many thinks).

“‘Tsum...”, he hears you sigh. A part of him is relieved that you’re still using the cute little nickname you’ve given him, but the larger part of him knows that that doesn’t mean all of the shit he’s said to you is forgiven. He knows it doesn’t matter that he was (and still is, even more so now than before) stressed and exhausted from a harsh practice, and that you were half an hour late in picking him up from because your own boss had held you up. It wasn’t right to have taken it out on you for something you weren’t involved in and for another you had no control over (and warned him beforehand on too), and it definitely didn’t justify all the mean comments he’s thrown at you without caution.

“I know.”, he does. “M’sorry.”, he really is. “I didn’t mean it, I swear.”, not a single word. “Stay.”, Atsumu clutches at the hem of your shirt, a sort of means to ground himself and to convince you because he knows, has learned, that there’s nothing tangible or situational tying you down to him. You’re not his twin. You’re not on the starting string of the same team. You’re not bound by a legal contract. Nothing, and he’s so... scared. He’s scared of losing you. Your welcome home kisses. Your arms around him. Your hands on his. Your laughter in his ears. Your gentle, tender, softness. Your love. You. Everything — over poorly directed pent up stress.

“I’m not gonna leave, but what you said was... hurtful, ‘Tsum.”, and he’s painfully aware it is, of the damage he’s brought upon you. There’s a slight hesitance, a distance, in the way you speak so carefully right now, and he hates it. But he gets it. He gets why. He would’ve done the same too, and then infinitely worse more if he were in your shoes. But he’s not — you are, and with all the love you have for him, you take his hand into yours a few moments later and Atsumu’s own heart feels as if it’s wailing a thousand pitiful cries in his chest. His feels his eyes start to sting and his lips begin to wobble because how? How could you, even when you’ve been hurt by him, still try to reassure him?

Atsumu tries his best to hold back his tears as he closes in for a long overdue embrace — slow and steady, careful and grateful, and utterly relieved when you let him.

“I’m gonna be better.”, he mumbles into your shoulder. He feels your hands clutch at the back of his shirt and shaky breaths warming his collarbones, and he decides to resolute himself with this because you’re gentle and tender and so, so soft with him. Him, of all people. So, he’ll make sure, even if it’s one of the last things he’d do, that you won’t ever regret it.

“Promise.”

[rcksmith]

Sun — Kaz Brekker

Resume: Feelings are destabilizing things.

A/N: This story is not set in the books of Six Crows, I also changed the age of the characters to twenty-something because the idea of ​​writing something about a child makes me uncomfortable. All my stories, of any characters, are with them being of up age. Just like many fanfics out there in the teen series.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Couple: Kaz Brekker/ Fem!Reader.

Warnings: Mention of fight, swearing, mention of post-traumatic stress, angst, mention of kiss, mention of desire, desire, mention of death, but so fucking fluff.

Word count: 3k.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

— — — —

There were few things in life that he was absolutely sure of. Things that were immutable, solid, unshakable. That even the strongest of winds would not be able to shake the structure. A life built on the basis of an equation of chaos, suffering, death and despair generated a result where it was necessary to be sure of something. And one of those certainties was the ability of himself, of his instincts, of his intelligence, the notion that he himself was a person capable of resolving any type of situation with iron fists. The second was the certainty of the loyalty of his crows, of the two people who, he knew, would never turn their backs on him.

And the third... the third was that when Kaz Brekker first laid eyes on you, he was sure that you would divide his life between a before and an after.

It was a lepid, ferocious feeling that swept the body of The Bastard of the Barrel from the top of his head to the tip of his polished boots. The heat immediately gave way to a cold sweat, a shiver as if receiving a midnight sigh at the back of the neck. There was a quick sensation of burning in the heat of an icy fire, but his composure did not flinch a single millimeter. He had learned to keep it in all situations, trained with steel fists.

Kaz looked at you deeply, from the top of your hair to the tip of your feet, trying to find answers as to why you had triggered such disturbing sensations with a simple and ridiculous exchange of looks. But he found no answers. He found neither after a day, nor after a week, damn it, he did not find nor after a month!

You had joined the infamous trio because they needed a fighting expert, someone who could defeat a good number of men on her own without needing backup, which would make their bigger and more complex robberies much easier. And when they found you, a girl who had been the subject for a experiment to create super soldiers, your ability to fight, physical endurance, and your sense of loyalty, made you perfect for the job.

But none of that explained why, whenever the stormy blue eyes met yours, he felt like he was ricochet by living eels. It was exasperating, frustrating on so many levels that it was difficult to put into words. Kaz could not expose this misfortune to his two closest people, first because his pride in admitting a disturbance in his subtly balanced world was too great, and second that... even if he considered said that, he would not know how to name those feelings for express what he were feeling.

How would Jesper and Inej understand something that even he did not understand?

Kaz Brekker had a firm and calm demeanor, an implacably logical mind and a way of narrowing his eyes that ensured that his orders were carried out with great efficiency, all according to the moment he wished. Then, just as he did to get rid of any disturbance, he buried those sensations so deeply until, like his overwhelming pains and traumas, they stopped tormenting him.

He thought that, like his flawless and cunning plans, it would have the same effect. That his nerves could get back to normal and he wouldn't have to deal with the feeling that feel hiself whit cold and hot at the same time whenever he laid eyes on you.

But, if it was true that the practice makes perfect, this rule has not been applied in this situation.

The deeper he buried those beginnings of thats sensations, more of them began to flourish, roaring harder, as a constant reminder that he was not that rock of stoicity and absence of feelings that he liked to think he was. It seemed that, just as light existed to exorcise the darkness, you existed to show that he still had a beating heart. Hot blood still coursing through the veins.

It has not helped anything in his cause that, over time, Inej and Jesper have become attache to you. Jesper even more. But if Kaz put aside his frustration and irritation for a second, he would know that he couldn't to blame them. In fact, there was no way to blame every person who approached you, delighted.

Jesper once described you as "the soul of the party", and Inej said that you had fire in your soul. Kaz would not have been able to think of better definitions to put into words what you were. There was thing about the way you laughed, the way you talked, the way your tilting your head and your so easy smile. There was a thing about you. That transformed you into the solar system and people orbited in your gravity like planets.

You had a way with people, Kaz really thought it was a gift, a talent. You were always laughing, smiling, playing with people and making them so comfortable in your presence that, once, Kaz saw a trader, who are in a the middle of a refused to close a contract with Kaz, just melt and give up because of the smile you gave to him.

Nothing from you has been forced, malicious, shrewd or cunning. You really smiled, you really laughed, as if you were...happy. Purely happy. And, in a second of insanity, Kaz wondered if that happiness was possible. If it was possible for him to feel something like this.

But, just as Brekker took his soul close from you as much as he could to avoid any emotion, Jesper did the exact opposite. Very quickly, just like Kaz and Inej are, the two of you became a pair of inseparable friends. Were always together.

Perhaps it was because you two were overwhelmingly alike: Always in the eye of danger, addicted to adrenaline, purely outgoing and liked a good fun. Or maybe it was because, like everyone around you, Jesper felt drawn closer to your warm, joyful and comforting aura.

But whatever it was, the timbre of your laughter followed by Jesper's became a sound as natural as the whistling of the wind. And it didn't take long for you two to become partners in thefts and plans.

However, it didn't take long too for the reactions Kaz had about the influence of your presence to become...louder.

If Kaz Brekker closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment, he could still remember and feel that night perfectly as if it were yesterday:

The plan was succinct: They would have to go through guards, high walls and locks to enter a merchant's residence, open the safe, pick up the jewels and leave. Twenty minutes was the time limit to complete that sequence.

Everyone was assigned to one thing: Kaz would turn off a fabricated security system from a Grisha, Inej would sneak into the shadows to the safe and pick up the jewels, and Jesper and you would be responsible for dealing with the various guards. Everyone would have to meet in the corridor that led to the back exit.

Kaz did not think that that so ridiculous and simple plan it could go wrong. Or that someone could make a slip. To him, it seemed as easy as sneaking into a yacht boat. However, there he was, next to Inej who carried the jewelery bag in her hand, both of them standing in that dimly lit corridor, waiting for you and Jesper to appear.

"It's been three minutes!" Inej pointed, as if Kaz didn't already know that.

Her intonation was concerned, apprehensive, with a certain fear. Kaz thought about saying something, but as soon as his mouth opened to say anything, he heard...

Steps. Hurried steps of two people. No, actually, the two people were running.

Suddenly, you and Jesper burst into the corridor, running as if their lives depended on it. Inej and Kaz would have been worried if it weren't for the bastard and peraltas smiles that stretched across faces of you two, stretching their cheeks.

Then Kaz noticed the reason for the delay. You two carried a giant picture under your left arms. Jesper carried the front end and you the back end, like two children who made a mischief and was running from their mother. True accomplices.

Kaz's jaw opened, his eyes widened slightly and roamed the frame with agitated iris, while Inej was totally baffled.

"C'mon, C'mon!" You exclaimed with laughter in your voice, Jesper and you never stopped running.

As soon all left and took shelter in the safety and peace of the Crow Club closed in that night, Jesper and you fell on the couch, laughing and panting.

"What was that?!” But Kaz was exasperated "Do you both know how much risked the plan?!"

"It was only three minutes, Boss." Jesper defended himself.

"It..." That's when Kaz looked at the painting responsible for all the commotion and fuss.

It was a painting, a landscape by Ravka. The fold. In oil on parchment. A DeKappel. That was worth at least ten thousand Kruges.

“You commented that you needed a new painting for your office.” Your voice took Kaz out of the admiration on the painting, and Jesper and Inej looked at you as if they had discovered that now too.

Jesper and Inej thought it was just for the money...

Kaz looked up into your eyes, and the cold, warm shiver spreading across his chest and snaking to his bones. As it always did the moment yours eyes meeting.

He remembered commenting in passing, in a very vague and obtuse way, that he wanted a new painting in the office. Until that moment, Brekker didn't think you paying attention to what he had to say. Not when it wasn't about a job or plan.

But there you were, proving that you had heard. And that you cared.

His breath caught for a second, the icy chill turned to something warmer, like the first sparks of fire in a fireplace. The first flames that precede the fire.

After that, Kaz began to pay more attention, unconsciously, to what you said. And, consequently, he started paying more attention to you. It had been gradual, sneaky as a snake, imperceptible so he wouldn't be able to root it out. As if the universe, destiny or divines, introduced, grain by grain, a small summer in a landscape frozen by winter.

It all started with your comment about liking it sweeter than salty, that dry wine left you with a headache and that you preferred rum. He evolved to notice how your tone of voice got sweeter when you talked to children or animals, and more serious when it came to the safety of the three crows. And suddenly, as if Kaz already knew this as he knew the sky was blue, he knew how to say how your eyes sparkled when you felt the warmth of the sun on your skin.

In that second, looking at you from the other side of the agitated club that turned into a celebration with dance and music, the world became suspended for a moment. The music became just an echoing, blurry noise, the images turned to slow motion and the air seemed to change in pitch. You, who laughed and speen round in Jesper's arms amid so many people who did the same thing, were the only one who starred as the main attraction.

In that minute, when the breath was slow and lyrical, and the air had a beauty tone, Kaz's eyes caught the exact moment when a beam of sunlight hit your face, shining on your skin as if you were one pirate tropical treasure. In a burst, a second of insanity, like a violin string that burst at the apice of the song, he felt that there was nothing else in the world worth seeing that was not you.

It was a scary, terrifying discovery. Something that made him freeze from head to toe, and all the speed in the world came back so fast that Kaz felt dizzy. He pressed his covered hand to the crow's beak of his cane, as if he needed a reminder of reality. Something that would wake him up from those hellish sensations.

- -

The months passed after that fateful afternoon. Kaz avoided staying close to you any longer than necessary and would strongly and vigorously scold every change of tone within himself whenever he saw you.

He didn't know what those sensations meant, but he also didn't want to find out. He liked challenges and responsibilities, but being around you was proving to be more than he could take. Your presence ignited him in a cold and warm fire, promising a future full of unfulfilled infinite wills. From pain, impotence and doomed to failure. Any feeling for you would be more of a punishment than anything else. The only solution was to get it out of your head.

Of course, he had been trying to do just that since he met you.

But again, the universe did not seem to want to give up from he. Not so easily.

Kaz had to take you along to make a deal with a merchant who was more impassable than a rock. Kaz had tried to negotiate with him before (since he couldn't take the strength or rob what he wanted) and all his efforts were in vain. So, he appealed for the last weapon. The person who always had a natural gift whit other people and always had a real smile that made anybody feel like... as if happiness really existed.

You.

"I'm glad it's hot" You commented, while walking next to Kaz "I don’t like the cold."

How did he know that you would say just that? That was so you. Warm, sweet and cozy things were the embodiment of what you were. It was logical that you preferred the heat. So different from him that, instead of you, enjoyed the cold. Liked the rains and storms, relaxed with the moonlight and felt less tense with the midnight winter breeze.

Kaz understood your personality as he understood the very lines of his hands. You were wild, bordering on reckless, you acted before thinking and you always loved anything that aroused adrenaline. You ran like no one else, jumped from one horse's cell to another, decided to catch the largest number of targets just because you wanted the thrill of fighting five against one. Anything calm, serene and peaceful stirred your restless personality. And Kaz knew exactly your level of restlessness from the way your leg was constantly jumping when you had to sit still for more than a few minutes.

You were a free spirit, forged in the heart of the sun and in the heat of summer. While he was limited by his own body and built in the heart of winter and frozen by the cold of the sea. Anything between you was doomed to fail even before you two met. Kaz Brekker knew this very well.

“He is late.” You grunted, your leg was already starting to jumping when you two spent a measly ten minutes waiting for the man.

You looked back and seemed to find it interesting, because Kaz saw your eyes shine.

"Let's go there?" You pointed, and Kaz had to turn around to see that you were referring to a coffee shop.

Crowded with sweets in the window for a change. Why was he not surprised?

“No.” He turned forward again, both hands on the cane.

"So I go over there and come back quickly."

“Y/n" he just said in a warning tone, giving you a scolding look.

You mumbled something he didn't identify, turned around again and did your best to be quiet. Five minutes passed before that merchant arrived, and Kaz can perfectly follow the change in his posture, change in the man eyes when you greeted him with that summer voice and sunny smile.

It was so vibrant, so vivid that, for a second, Kaz found himself slightly swayed by all the brilliance you emanated. Pulled towards your like an animal needing the warmth of the sun.

It didn't take much for the man to sign and agree with everything Kaz said and imposed. In fact, he suspected that if he had asked him to give him his bank password, the man would have been happy to do so.

"Can we go in the coffee shop now?” You commented as soon as the man left, still turning around to look at you as much as possible.

Kaz restrained the glaring urge to roll his eyes, but he had just landed a very lucrative business just and exclusively because you agreed to help. Even though you didn't gain anything from it. So, if he had to go with you to a goddamn coffee shop so he wouldn't feel like a petty profiteer, he would go to the goddamn coffee shop.

Kaz just walked towards the place, and the wide, summery smile you gave may have he missed a few heartbeats.

Stop it!

Once inside the damn store, you scanned the menu that hung on the wall.

“I never took this one.” You commented, pointing to what appeared to be a very sweet mix of drink. Something that involved ice cream and chocolate with something else.

It was not the kind of comment that had an answer, and Kaz was still engaged in the mission to stay away from you. But he thought that statement was just the reason why you wouldn't order that drink. But, just as you always threw any worldview Kaz had in the latrine, you asked for just that. His eyes were bloodshot with astonishment.

“Why are you going to order something you don't know if you like it?” He asked as soon as you got the drink and paid for it.

"How am I supposed to know if something is good if I never try it?” You said casually, both of you going out of the store. “Wanna try out?”

You held out for he the plastic cup that was covered by a lid that had a hole in the middle, where a fat, transparent straw came out. Kaz looked at you as if you had created a second head.

“Come on, you'll never know if you like it if you don't taste it.” The two of you stopped, you still holding the glass gently towards his mouth.

“No.” Kaz shook his head.

“Come ooon.” You insisted, a petulant and amusing smile plastered on your face.

"No."

You shook the glass, holding it out once more. This time, Kaz gave you a slightly annoyed look.

"You're not going to stop insisting until I take this thing, are you?"

You laughed, with a triumphant and friendly smile “I'm glad you know me so well”

Kaz rolled his eyes, snatching the glass from your hand and bringing the hellish straw to his mouth. Hell, he felt so stupid pulling that stupid drink through that straw. As soon as the sweet liquid invaded his tongue, an explosion of flavors flooded his palate, causing him to remain unresponsive for a moment.

"You liked it!" But just as he unveiled all of your lookes, you knew how to unveil all of his.

Kaz handed you the glass. “Absurdly sweet."

"You liked that I know."

You joked and, for a second, you had aroused he a desire to smile. A succinct curve in lips. With your sunny smiles and summer expressions, you looked like you were out of an enchanted forest inhabited by mystical creatures. Sun nymphs. Maybe Kaz would even have let himself go lightly if, when you took the glass back, your lips had not wrapped around the tip of the straw.

Exactly where his mouth was a second ago.

He pulse quickened so fast that it made the blood burn in his veins. It was impossible not to look down at delicate mouth, the subtle but destabilizing curvature in the center of your lower lip. Suddenly, he was out of breath, his body numb and his heart stopped beating for a second before accelerating to an alarming level.

Everything became hot, stuffy. The world spun away, out of focus, out of existence, leading he on a waltz unlike anything Kaz had ever felt before.

Kaz Brekker was the Bastard of the Barrel. Dirty hands and scammer. Someone trapped by his own body and traumas, unable to allow himself to enjoy human contact. But, hell, he was still a man. And in that moment, in that insane moment, he wanted to pretend, even for a few seconds, that what he wanted was within his reach.

Kaz thought he understood the desire: an attraction. He thought he knew what lust was: a wish that people felt. He had seen countless examples on his bar counter, drunk and chattering about what it was like to want a woman, to long for her. He thought he understood.

And he found that he didn't understand anything.

The desire was a hot and feverish whirlwind that shivered he from head to toe, with dizzying speed, and dragged everything towards perdition, below any intellect, any rationality. Rationally, he shouldn't have thought you were even more beautiful. But he did. He shouldn't feel his breath catch, but he did.

He felt as if he were walking on a narrow suspended board. One misstep and it would be the end of it. Hiding his disturbing thoughts, Kaz looked away from you.

He was ruined for the rest of his life.

[unloved-cadillac]

May I request a scenario where Levi & y/n are sleeping together. At a dinner someone asks Levi about his love life & he mentions he’s in a relationship. Y/n thinks he’s talking about someone else, so when they’re in private she decides to end whatever is going on between them bc she doesn’t want Levi to cheat. So Levi has to spell it out that he was talking about her. (:

C/n: I like this. I like it a lot. Thanks for requesting and I hope that you enjoy🤍

——————————————————————————

A Secret Love. (Levi x Reader)

Soft lips pampered your neck with kisses as you straddled Levi’s lap. Your hands scratched his undercut, softly moaning at the feeling of his lips, and he moved away from your collarbone to view his artwork.

“You need to buy me more concealer if you’re gonna keep on doing that.” You chuckle and he looks at you. Your flushed cheeks and soft pants made him want to have you then and there. But he had a meeting in a few minutes and he called you in his office for a few seconds of shenanigans.

“Who said I want you to cover it up?” He shoots you a smirk and you roll your eyes. You plant a kiss on his lips and get up from his lap. You go to a mirror and fix your shirt before looking back at him. “Your meeting starts in five. I suggest you go before it starts.” You say and he gets up. “See you later?” He asks before he leaves and you nod.

You would think that you and him were together but that was so not the case. Levi and you had a strict contract about your relationship being only sex. The whole arrangement was just about relieving stress from the corporate business and trying to find some release. At first, everything was fine. Levi would call you to his apartment, spend a few hours there and you would leave. Then you started to stay over. And that turned into just hanging out.

Being his secretary, you always knew where he was and what he was doing. So if he called you into his office, 9 times out of ten, it’s for a quickie. That was it.

Until you started to catch feelings for him.

Each kiss he gave you made your heart jump and the way his hands roamed your body with more sincerity made you fall for him. He genuinely cared about pleasing you, something you weren’t accustom to since most of the jerks you dated last three thrusts and pulled out leaving you unsatisfied and annoyed.

You sat by your desk as Levi went for his meeting, waiting for him to come back. The day was slow and the only thing that he had planned was this big meeting.

Two hours later, Levi comes back to his office with his colleague, Erwin. Erwin was Levi’s childhood friend and now that he was in a similar business position as Levi, they started to see each other at meetings.

“Ms L/n. How lovely to see you again.” Erwin greets and shakes your hand. “Mr Smith. Likewise.” You smile and glance at Levi. “Say, tomorrow night there’s going to be a dinner with many business people. I’m going, Levi’s going and I will love it if you joined.” Erwin says with a smile and you look at Levi. As much as you two had a secret “affair”, he was still your boss. “Uh, I’m going to have to check with my boss first.” You chuckle and Erwin looks at Levi. “Oh, Levi isn’t going to be a pain and not let you come. It’s at the Rose House Restaurant down on Main Street.”

Your eyes widen at the name of it. That was one of the biggest, most expensive restaurants in the city. You would have to book a reservation at least four months prior.

Erwin laughs at your reaction. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing you there, Y/n. See you, Levi.” He waves at Levi. “Later, Eyebrows.” Erwin disappears into the elevator and as soon as it descends you feel lips on your neck and arms around your waist. “If you wanted to go that shitty restaurant, you could’ve just asked.” He mumbles and you giggle. You turn in his arms and he lifts you onto your desk, settling in between your legs. “Do you want to go? Honestly I’m contemplating on going but if you want to, we’ll go.” He whispers and you nod. “If it’s not a problem?” He scoffs and kisses you as his hands start to roam. “You’ll never be a problem.” See, it was things like that that made you fall hopelessly in love with him. It sucked because you knew it wasn’t true.

~~~~

The next night, you checked your dress and make up for the umpteenth time and finally decided that you were ready. A simple long black dress with a slit up until your upper thigh with thin straps that crossed against your back made you look like a million bucks.

Your phone dinged and you saw that Levi was outside. You quickly grabbed your purse, checked your lipstick and left the apartment. You walked down the stairs and Levi’s eyes widened. You saw the change in his demeanor and you bit your lip as you twirled around, making him see everything. “What do you think? Not bad for a last minute.” You chuckle and he presses his lips against your hand, like a prince.

“You..look beautiful, Y/n.” He whispers and you don’t know if it’s the car lights or your imagination, but you thought Levi was blushing. You smiled and he opened the door for you and you jumped in. Levi sat in the drivers seat and buckled up. He started the car and a few moments later, laid a hand on your thigh.

It made your heart skip.

~~~~

The restaurant was as beautiful as you imagined. Maybe even better. Levi caught sight of the table and escorted you to it.

“Levi! You made it! Oh, Y/n. Looking amazing.” Hange exclaimed and you laughed. You weren’t expecting to see her here. “Hange?!” You say and she hugs you. “Surprised? Got back yesterday and decided to spend the day with my husband. Moblit says hi by the way.” You let go of Levi’s arm and sit next to her as Levi sat next to Erwin and his father. There were many other business men and woman there and although you were nervous, they were all lovely to talk to and Hange made you loosen up.

The night progressed from business talk to family to relationships. A very sketchy topic for you since you didn’t like to talk about it. There was one woman who was by Levi the whole night and you really tried not to be jealous. He wasn’t yours. So why did you feel the angry, green dragon of jealousy wash over you?

“Damn if I had you on my arm, I’ll never complain about anything ever again.” The woman slurs as she sipped her wine. Levi’s buttons were undone and everyone was relatively drunk so you were waiting for Levi to say “yeah. So let’s get outta here.” or something. Instead, something worse was said.

“Too bad I’m in a relationship.” He says and drinks the rest of his whiskey. Erwin, Hange and Erwin’s father snapped to him. “What?! With who?! Why didn’t you tell us?!” Erwin and Hange ask him and Erwin’s father pats him on his shoulder.

“What’s she like?” Hange asks and Levi groans. “As if I’d tell you.” His eyes glance to you. “Come on Levi! Tell us one thing, at least.”

Levi puts his glass down and clears his throat. “She’s beautiful. Witty and clever. She puts up with my shit and she’s special. Very special.” He says and Erwin smiles. You put your head down, staring at the liquid in your glass as if it held all the answers to the universe.

Levi was in a relationship? And he didn’t tell you? That means, this entire time, he was cheating. The thought made you sick to your stomach because as much as you loved Levi, you respected his unknown girlfriend as well and she didn’t deserve to know that her boyfriend had been banging his secretary for the past months.

“She sounds great, son.” Erwin’s father say and he nods. “She is.” She must really have made a special mark on his heart if he’s talking so much about her. You bite your lip trying to not cry. It hurt. It hurt like someone has stabbed your a thousand time and then proceeded to rip your heart out.

When it was time to leave, you kissed Hange and Erwin goodbye as waved goodbye to all of the people. Levi draped his coat over your shoulders and you froze. “Can only imagine how cold you must be.” He says and you nod. Weird. You always joked about everything and was so carefree so what was the change?

You and Levi walked to his car and before he could open the door for you, you opened it for yourself and sat inside. Levi pulled his eyebrows in, confused at your actions but he didn’t say anything. Rather he just went into the car and drove you home.

The entire ride home, you didn’t utter a single word. Not about the restaurant, not about the food, hell not even about him. Your mind was just trying to find a way to break this off in the calmest way possible.

When Levi parked outside your apartment, he turned the car off and looked at you. “You’ve been quiet all night, what’s wrong?” He asks and you breath in a big breath. “I think...we need to stop whatever this is.” You motion between the two of you and Levi’s heart stops. “What? Why?”

“Levi,” you look at him, dejected and tired, “you’re in a relationship and you didn’t tell me. It’s one thing to be doing this but she doesn’t deserve to be cheated on. She sounds like a great girl, by the way. I hope you and her have a good life together.”

Before he could even get a word in, you take off his jacket and jump out the car. You walked up three steps before your arm was caught by a hand, turning you. You almost fell but Levi caught you. “You really are an idiot.” He whispers and you pull away from his shoulder.

“What?”

“I said that you’re an idiot. How can you say that you’re such a great girl and then leave without me agreeing with you?”

Your lips part and before you could say “what?” Levi pulls you in for a kiss. “It’s you, dummy. I was talking about you,” he murmurs against your lips, “you’re witty and clever. You’re the one who can piss me off and turn me on at the same time. You’re the one who can put up with my shit. You’re the one, Y/n.”

You look deep into his gunmetal eyes, flabbergasted and touched. “Wh-Why didn’t you say anything back at the restaurant then?” Levi scoffs.

“I wasn’t going to officially ask you to be mine in front of a bunch of unknown people. What if you rejected me?” He jokes and you kiss him. Again and again.

“Never. I’ll never reject you.” You softly say as he hums against your lips. “Be mine, Y/n.” “I was already yours.”

You stay enveloped in his arms for a while but then he lifts you up and carries you bridal style to your apartment.

“Now can I show you what you being in that dress did to me the whole night?”

——————————————————————————

“It’s only you who loves me like you do.”

🖤🤍Thanks for reading🤍🖤

-Caddy.

[abugeatbugworld]

Cold

LISTEN say what you want about it but I unironically love the movie Avatar (yes like the blue people one) and I once saw a crossover trailer that mashed audio from Avatar with scenes from A Bug's Life and well it got me thinking so

here you go tehe

Flik doesn’t remember life before the grasshoppers. All he knows is that Hopper took him under his wing when no one else saw value in a crippled ant, and since then he’s done everything he can to repay the captain for his kindness.

So when Hopper invites him on the gang’s yearly visit to Ant Island, Flik is thrilled to go. This time, Hopper has a special mission for him: he wants Flik to get to know the islanders, to learn more about their culture and gain their trust so he can persuade them to migrate from their home tree, which sits atop the largest known fluorescent mushroom mine in the bug world.

At first, blending in with the ants proves to be more difficult than Flik anticipated. However, as he gets to know the island — and its future queen, Atta — he finds himself beginning to feel more and more like a part of the colony. He also finds himself questioning his reason for being there, wondering if there’s more to life than profit and power…

…and who the enemy really is.

“Haven’t got lost in the woods yet, have you?”

Flik glanced up from the mug of hot nectar he’d just poured himself. Hopper’s face was twisted into a smug smile, his upper arms outstretched in a playful shrug as he strode towards his soldier. His lower arms were hidden behind his back.

Flik gave Hopper his best attempt at a grin in spite of the sinking in his gut. He’d been dreading this conversation all morning — all week, really — but he couldn’t put it off any longer. It wasn’t fair to his captain or to the rest of the gang for him to keep playing this game.

Hopper reached the table where Flik was sitting and stopped, scraping his claws along the bark’s gritty surface. Flik’s antennae twitched at the sound. He squinted, trying to remember the words he’d rehearsed alone in his room until almost three that morning.

“Look, Hopper…” he began, averting his gaze from the captain’s. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while now about…about the mission.”

Hopper cocked his head, his antennae suddenly rigid. “Oh?”

Flik nodded, daring to look up and lock eyes with his boss. No matter how many times he saw that scar, it never failed to unnerve him. Someone who could survive an attack as brutal as the one that had left that mark wasn’t someone whose bad side Flik wanted to find himself on.

“You see, I’ve been spending time with the ants. A lot of time. And…and I’ve really gotten to know them, and how their colony works, and because of that I’ve realized just how important Home Tree is to them. It’s more than a tree. It’s more than their home, even. It’s like…it connects them, somehow. All of them. I know, because…because I can feel it, too, now that I’m one of them, and—”

“One of them?” Hopper repeated, his voice sharp as the blade sheathed beneath his waist.

Flik gulped. “Yes, they consider me one of them. Well, they will, after my Mushroom Lighting ceremony tonight, which is the final step in the process of becoming part of the Colony, and—”

Hopper’s palm was a millimeter from his mouth. Flik shut up, the last part of his sentence fading from his tongue. And the first step toward marrying the princess.

“Kid,” Hopper sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Immediately Flik felt like a child who’d shouted out the wrong answer to his teacher’s question in front of the class. He waited for the lecture he knew was coming, about how all the soldiers had signed a contract saying that they would maintain strict professional boundaries between themselves and the inhabitants of Ant Island. They were here for one thing and one thing only, and that thing was the fluorescent mushrooms lining the tunnels beneath Home Tree like thousands of glowing gems. That was why they needed the ants to move, and it was Flik’s job to convince them to do it without raising their weapons. And instead he was taking their side, which was a clear breach of contract.

Finally, the captain spoke.

“It’s great that you’ve been getting along so well with the ants,” he said. “Really. Clearly they trust you, which was the whole point of sending you to the island in the first place. So in my eyes, your mission has been fulfilled. In fact, I’m ready to send you back to the sombrero now, so you can finally get those legs of yours fixed while we move ahead with the operation. You’ve earned it.”

Flik felt his jaw drop before he could stop it. Hopper withdrew his hand and took a step backwards, smiling down at him like a proud father. Waiting for the ant to babble his thanks and accept his gracious offer.

Flik’s eyes found his legs, the ones that ended in dull blue stubs just below the kneecaps. He’d dreamed for years of being able to use those legs again. To dance to the mosquito’s terrible mariachi music back home. To go water skiing through the puddle outside the sombrero with Molt. To finally be able to keep up with the rest of the gang.

But his time exploring the island with the ants — with Atta — had stirred up a new dream, one that had nothing to do with him or any of the grasshoppers. One that was better than working legs.

Flik took a deep breath, then looked into that scarred eye again.

“I appreciate that more than I can express, sir, but I don’t want to go back. And I think we should leave Home Tree alone.”

The shift happened as soon as the words left his mouth. Hopper’s expression didn’t change, but it was as though the air around him had dropped ten degrees. He was a statue of ice, and Flik was terrified that any sudden movement would make him shatter.

But instead of shattering, it melted. There was a fire in the room he hadn’t even noticed.

Flik saw movement from the corner of his eye. He shifted his gaze to see Hopper’s lower arms emerge from behind his back, then felt his heart plummet.

Dangling from the captain’s left hand was a tiny purple ant, her eyes scrunched tight with fear.

“Dot,” Flik breathed.

Atta’s little sister was the first friend he’d made on the island, the only one who’d been kind to him when other ants wouldn’t even look his way. She’d show up at his workshop and sit for hours while he tinkered with his inventions, asking questions about where he came from and why he lived with grasshoppers instead of ants even though he was an ant and did he ever feel sad about his legs. She talked about how she couldn’t wait to fly someday and how if she could she would make wings so he could fly, too.

She was the one who’d convinced the Queen to finally let him inside the Anthill. She was the reason he’d fallen in love with the island. Falling in love with her older sister was an unexpected bonus, but Dot was the reason he’d decided to stay.

And somehow, Hopper knew. He may have only suspected it, but Flik’s expression had given him away as soon as the little ant entered the picture.

His captain had the upper hand now.

Hopper swung Dot upward so her toes nearly grazed Flik’s forehead. The princess whimpered, her lower lip wobbling and her hands kneading together the way they did when she was afraid.

“Did you forget what team you’re playing for?” Hopper asked. A threat posed as a question.

I didn’t forget. I just switched.

The words were on the tip of Flik’s tongue, the truth begging to be released. He didn’t want to pretend he supported the grasshoppers’ greed-driven mission any longer. He didn’t want to disclose any more of his research findings to Hopper, knowing that every sacred piece of information he shared about the ants was one more weapon for the gang to add to their arsenal.

I’m done was what he wanted to say.

But then his eyes flickered to Dot, his sweet and fragile friend whose wings were just starting to grow in. He saw how Hopper’s hand eclipsed the girl’s head, and he knew all it would take was the right amount of pressure on his part — and the wrong words on Flik’s — for the captain to do irreparable harm. Judging by the fear in Dot’s eyes, she understood this, too.

So instead Flik bowed his head and lowered his eyes, curling his hands around his mug. It was cold now.

“No, sir,” Flik whispered. “I only play for one team, and you’re the captain.”

Hopper’s sneer was audible when he spoke. “Glad to hear it, son.”

Atta’s trusting eyes flashed before Flik, her irises the color of the island sky at twilight. His gut twisted as he offered her a silent apology. Maybe knowing her little sister’s life was on the line would make her more sympathetic to his choice.

A loud plunk startled Flik from his thoughts. He looked up from his mug to see Dot sitting at Hopper’s feet, attempting to regain the breath knocked from her lungs by the fall.

Flik lunged forward and Dot scrambled into his arms, locking her arms around his neck like a tiny vise. He could feel every part of her trembling against him as he held her close, one hand cupping the back of her head and the other rubbing circles between her shoulder blades.

“It’s alright, Dot. You’re safe now,” he murmured into her antennae, knowing as he said it that even she knew it wasn’t true anymore.

Hopper clasped two of his hands together as though touched by the scene before him.

“How precious,” he said, reaching another hand towards them.

Flik flinched away, instinctively curving himself around the girl in his arms like he could protect her from the insect who was twice his size and had triple the amount of functioning limbs.

Hopper chuckled as he flexed his fingers in midair. “Relax,” he said, reaching down to pick up the mug of cold nectar. “I was just going to finish this for you.”

He tossed it back in one gulp, then slammed the mug down so hard it shattered. Flik jumped at the sound and felt Dot bury her face in the crook of his neck.

Hopper wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then nodded towards Dot.

“You might want to get the princess home soon, soldier,” he said. “Her family is probably starting to worry.”

Then he turned and strolled from the room, whistling as he went.

[cyberwulf]

A Frosty Reception!

For @sugar-stories

Inspired by their work-in-progress, Here Comes the Bribe (which you should all read here ).

Summary: After the events of Here Comes the Bribe, Giovanni wants a word with our TRio and their continued wasting of company money.

Jessie glowered at the expensive carpet beneath her knees. Whenever she thought things couldn’t get any worse, they somehow did.They’d just been getting back to normal after their disastrous wedding trap and James’ subsequent abduction by that – that creature, and then a Delibird had shown up. The credit card statement in its wretched beak was the same one Giovanni was now reading aloud dispassionately while the three of them grovelled in front of his preposterously huge desk.

James’ audible whimpering only served to fuel Jessie’s fury. It wasn’t bad enough that everything had gone utterly sideways as usual, or that the only wedding she was ever likely to have had been completely ruined. Now the Boss and the Accounts Department would know what an absolute loser she was for concocting such a pathetic scheme, which meant that pretty soon everyone would know. Especially that Human Resources cow, Wendy, who’d smirked at them as they trudged reluctantly into the Boss’s office.

“Meowth, what were you thinking, charging everything to the company credit card?!” she hissed.

“You got any idea what a phony wedding costs?” Meowth hissed back. “It was supposed to be a big score!”

“…and this is my favourite part,” Giovanni finished with a mirthless chuckle. “All of this,” he tossed the statement on his desk, “resulted in zero Pokémon captured.”

“But Boss, it wasn’t our fault,” Meowth protested. “You see there were these pirates, and James’s crazy ex-fiancée –”

“Shut. Up.” Meowth wilted under Giovanni’s glower. “I know six Pokémon scientists who would pay top dollar to study a talking Meowth.”

Meowth pressed the tips of his paws together. “…Are they nice scientists?” he asked hopefully.

Giovanni’s mouth briefly twitched upwards into a cruel smirk. “No.”

Meowth cringed.

“Your incompetence has cost this company thousands with nothing to show for it,” their boss growled. He rose and the trio cowered, trying to make themselves as small as possible. “If you two idiots had actually gotten married, at least we’d pay less taxes.”

His words took all three of them by surprise.

“He… he ain’t sayin…?” Meowth murmured.

As neither of her teammates were about to speak up, and feeling a sudden, intense desire for clarity, Jessie asked, “What do you mean, sir?”

Giovanni turned to gaze out his office window (which conveniently overlooked a yard where several lithe muscular Grunts were exercising in very tight clothes). His Persian murred and rubbed its head against his leg.

“Merely observing,” he remarked, “that if you two financial black holes did want to enter a binding legal contract which would reduce the company’s overall tax burden… I’m the Viridian City gym leader. I could facilitate such an arrangement right now.”

He didn’t turn around. Giving us time to talk it over, Jessie realised distantly. The Boss couldn’t be serious. Did gym leaders even have that power? Did taxes even work that way? Not to mention –

“Ya know, James, if you was married to someone else then that crazy clam could never marry you,” Meowth declared.

That had never occurred to her, Jessie realised. She gazed vacantly at the desk in front of her. When she’d been tracking down that whip-wielding witch and those presumptuous pirates she’d felt something terrible, something almost masked by her fury but not quite, that sent icicles through her stomach and threatened to choke her. If they were married, nobody could ever lay claim to him again. Nobody could ever drag him away in the arrogant belief that he was their plaything to mould and abuse.

“…whaddya mean, you don’t know?! The Boss is giving us a way outta trouble! All you gotta do is sign a marriage licence! You get to be free from your crazy ex and I don’t get sold to not-nice scientists to pay off our debts!”

Meowth’s desperate shout-whispering snapped Jessie’s attention back to her two team-mates. The Scratch-Cat had fisted his paws in James’s shirt, anger and panic warring on his face. And James…

James looked green.

“Stop it, Meowth!” Jessie snarled, threatening the Pokemon with a backhand. Meowth released his hold on James and retreated away from her. Jessie lowered her hand and looked away, trying to ignore the sudden pang in her heart as she muttered, “James doesn’t want to get married.”

“And Jessie doesn’t want this either,” James whispered sharply.

“Don’t tell me what I don’t want!”

It came out louder than she meant it to. In fact, she hadn’t meant for it to come out at all. Jessie looked away quickly, folding her arms as her face burned.

“…Jessie?”

She heard James shuffling closer, felt him rest a hand on her shoulder.

“You don’t… you don’t really want to marry me… do you?”

Jessie looked at him then, at his worried frown and his big, stupid, beautiful green eyes. He was on his knees. He’d… he’d asked her.

“…I’ll sign a marriage licence to keep you out of that harpy’s claws,” she answered softly. She felt herself blush again, for an entirely different reason this time, and glanced away self-consciously. “It’s just a piece of paper.”

“Oh, Jessie.”

She found herself enveloped in a warm hug, and instinctively curled her arms around James’ back. So it wasn’t the proposal she’d always dreamed of. So it wasn’t the wedding she’d always envisioned. But she’d never been more certain that she was making the right decision.

All too soon, James pulled away, scooting forward slightly.

“Sir? We don’t want to get married.”

Jessie was almost sure she heard the sound of glass breaking.

Giovanni shrugged in response. “Merely a suggestion.” He turned from the window and sat back in his chair. “Wendy has details of your new assignment… along with the terms of your continued employment here.” He waved them off dismissively. “Get out.”

Jessie stood up slowly, her legs protesting after kneeling for so long. She felt as though she was at the bottom of a very deep well.

“You ain’t selling me then, Boss? …You’re too kind! You’re a gentleman, you know that? Is there anything I can get you or do for you-”

She barely heard Persian’s growl or Meowth’s scream as he charged past her like his tail was on fire. Everything else was fading out except the thump of her heartbeat and an overwhelming feeling of humiliation.

***

Perched on the top bunk of their new quarters, Jessie dragged a brush through her still-damp hair and decided it would have to do. This rotten day had had one silver lining, at least. Though that HR wench Wendy had smirked gleefully as she explained they’d be working twelve-hour shifts as janitors for room and board only until the Boss decided otherwise, she had no idea that their “punishment” was nowhere near as severe as she thought. Three meals a day, a bed to sleep in and (cold) running water was luxury compared to the months of rough living they’d endured in Johto and Hoenn.

She did her best to get comfortable on the narrow top bunk, just about wide enough for one person. The bottom bunk was bigger, able to (uncomfortably) sleep two, and if she was feeling more like herself she might have made a fuss about claiming it, but the truth was she didn’t feel like speaking to either of her team-mates right now. Meowth was the architect of all this, and as for James – making her think – and then pulling the rug out from under her – ooh, she could kill him for making a fool of her like that, in front of Meowth and the Boss –

“Jessie?”

And there he was, hovering next to her bunk in his shirt and boxers, with a fleck of toothpaste still on the corner of his mouth. She should slap him in the face right now. Except…

“Is something wrong?”

Great, he wanted to talk about it. Jessie sat up and pulled the thin blanket around herself. “Nothing’s wrong.”

James put a hand on his hip and lifted an eyebrow. “Jessie, I may not know much about women, but I know when a woman says that nothing’s wrong, it means there’s something wrong.”

Jessie growled in annoyance and lay down, turning to face the wall. “I’m just tired.”

“That’s what a man says when something’s wrong.”

“Forget it, Jimmy, she’s been mad all day,” Meowth’s voice drifted up from below. “I notice nobody’s asking how I’m doing. You know, the guy who almost got mauled this afternoon? At least I didn’t get sold, no thanks to you two!”

With an acceptable target for her wrath, Jessie whirled around and leaned out of the bunk to yell. “Well if it wasn’t for you we wouldn’t be in this mess, now would we?!”

“Me?!” Meowth unsheathed his claws, prepared for trouble. “The whole wedding stunt was your stinking idea! What was going through your so-called mind, huh?”

“Enough!” James yelled, startling both of them. “Meowth, wait for me in bed.”

“…Fine,” Meowth spat after a moment, putting his claws away. “I’m rubbing my butt all over your pillow. Enjoy.”

He clambered into the bottom bunk and disappeared from Jessie’s view, muttering about “two nutjobs” and “worst friends ever”. That left James still gazing at her with a question on his face. Jessie turned away from him quickly, huddling under her blanket. She closed her eyes, hoping he’d get the hint.

After what seemed like an eternity, she heard him sigh.

“Goodnight, Jessie,” he murmured.

“I wouldn’t have made you do anything,” she blurted out, because maybe that was why, and she couldn’t stand the idea that he thought being married to her would be worse than being married to her. “It’s just a piece of paper.”

“But Jessie, that’s why I couldn’t do it.”

At that, she rolled over to face him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the big wedding,” James explained in a hushed voice, mindful that furry ears were listening. “The beautiful white dress. Happy ever after.” He took her hand. “I wouldn’t be a very good friend if I let you give up your dreams for me.”

Jessie felt tears pricking at the corner of her eyes and she blinked them away, pulling her fingers out of James’s grasp.

“It’s a stupid dream for little girls,” she answered roughly. “Besides, those fake wedding vows you wrote are the nicest thing anybody will ever say to or about me.”

“Don’t say that, Jess,” James pleaded. He took both her hands this time, pulling her closer. “One day you’re going to meet an absolute hunk who’s in awe of your terrifying glory and who worships you like a goddess, and when you do you’ll be so glad you didn’t marry me in the Boss’s office, because you’ll be able to marry him! And you’ll have your dream wedding and I’ll do your hair and wear the ugliest bridesmaid’s dress anyone’s ever seen so you’ll look even more stunning by comparison!”

Oh. For a moment Jessie thought she really would cry. She gazed at him, blinking rapidly. He wasn’t just telling her what she wanted to hear – he really believed in her silly, wishful fantasy. She swallowed hard.

“…Do you promise to wear an ugly bridesmaid’s dress?” she murmured.

James nodded. “It’ll be hideous.”

That drew a chuckle from her, in spite of everything. Jessie gazed down at their hands, idly stroking her thumb against James’ finger. She’d been honest with him before, despite her natural instincts. Maybe she could risk being partly honest again.

“Meowth was right, you know,” she remarked quietly. James looked at her quizzically and she explained. “The wedding was my idea. You ended up in her clutches because of me. And… I felt bad. I… wanted to keep that from ever happening again.”

“If it does, I’ll get away from her again,” James assured her. He smiled. “As long as you’re there to rescue me.”

Jessie gazed at him, opening her mouth to tell him that of course she’d be there, now and always, when abruptly the light snapped off, plunging the room into darkness. Jessie huffed in exasperation – another little clause in their new contracts stipulated that they only got so many units of electricity per day.

“Bedtime,” James sighed. He let go of Jessie’s hands. “Goodnight, Jessie.”

“Goodnight, James,” she murmured in return.

She huddled under her too-thin blanket, unable to stop a smile. So they were on the outs with the Boss, forced to do menial tasks, and earning no money for the foreseeable future – what else was new? Nothing had changed – at least, nothing between them. That meant there was time, time to pin down how she felt and decide what she wanted to do with those feelings.

And now that the air was clear between her and James, there was just one other person she had to talk to. Wrapping her blanket around herself, Jessie slid out of her bunk.

“Meowth?”

“…Yeah, what?” he hissed from the far side of the mattress.

“You know we’d never let the Boss sell you,” Jessie declared. “Especially to not-nice scientists.”

“That’s right!” James joined in. “We’d snatch you and go on the run! To the ends of the earth if we had to!”

“…You mean it?” Meowth replied, still unsure.

“Of course!” Jessie assured him, straining to see him in the dark. “We’d be lost without the brains of our outfit.”

“And our furry hot water bottle,” James added.

“And I know you only spent all that money to make the wedding look as convincing as possible,” Jessie continued. She paused for a moment, letting herself actually think about the first half of the ceremony for the first time in days. “…It really was a beautiful wedding.”

“Did you see the tall twerp crying?” James giggled. “He was totally fooled!”

“That’s all down to you, Meowth,” Jessie finished softly.

There was a sniffle from the darkness.

“…Move over, Jimmy.” Meowth leaped over James as the latter scooted towards the wall, and came into the sliver of moonlight illuminating the room. Tears shone in his eyes. “Get in here, Jess!”

With a smile, Jessie grabbed her pillow from her bunk and squeezed in next to James, Meowth settling in between them. Two blankets and their combined body heat made it warm enough to actually get some sleep. Not to mention that it was just nice to share a bed with both her boys. Jessie sighed and closed her eyes.

Tomorrow was a new day.

[holykillercake]

FRIED EGGS

KOBY x Pirate!Reader

word count: 2k

summary: Being infiltrated as a Marine and keeping your feelings under control was easy until you were assigned to work with Marine Captain Koby. How you wished he was a jerk.

highlight: ¨I am kissing you... but I am angry, Y/N-san...¨

warnings: read under the risk of developing diabetes.

notes: Hey, guys! This was a lovely request from @pure-kirarin! <3 I had to stop other projects to make this one because Koby threw me out of my comfort zone hahaha I really hope you like!! ALSO 1) Happy Birthday Sabo-kun! ALSO 2) In order to add more dept to the story, the main character is part of a Yonkos´crew, but I wrote in a way that all fit, so choose your favorite! ALSO 3) ART ALERT!

Leave comments, hearts and love!

¨You have been doing a remarkable job in such little time, Commander L/N. We all have great expectations regarding your transference to our Marine Headquarters.¨ 

The words of the Rear Admiral barely scratched your mind as you discreetly observed the pink-haired boy´s reflection on the crystal clear window. 

He maintained a similar posture to yours: chin up, chest out, shoulders back, and stomach in. However, while your fingers remained paralleled to your trousers, you took a glimpse of his clenched fist, thumb fidgeting the side of his index finger. 

¨Vice Admiral Tsuru was reluctant to sign your transfer. She said you remind her of herself in the past, which is always an excellent compliment to hear.¨ you nodded, acknowledging his words  ¨We´re glad we convinced her.¨

Your heart warmed with his words, and you almost felt bad because you knew the disappointing outcome O-Tsuru-san would have at the end of this. She trained you with the iron face of a merciless soldier, and the elegance that resembled the animal of her name.

It has been three years since you received the green card from your captain to part ways in a long-term solo mission. A journey to excavate the putrid secrets of the so-called defenders of the law. You learned after a short time that justice is not so black and white.

Not that you planned to reveal the dirt, no. That intel your captain could sell to the Revolutionary Army and keep the capital running. You were interested in the arms race, the corrupt diplomacy, and more importantly, the dark pipes where traitors flowed.

Someone from inside the Yonkos was feeding the Marines with crucial information about the Emperors´ activities. And in such a close fight, you could not take those risks.

All other Emperors must have their own undercover agents within the Marines, but even that was a dispute. You could point some names to your boss, who confirmed what was suspected. Those would usually be the best of the best, extravagant and loud.

But not you. You didn't have to make that much noise. You slid between the floors of New Marineford like a snake swimming with the current. Earning the respect of your superiors and being promoted without ringing any bells. You accepted each medal with a firm salutation and relentless performance. 

¨The trip must have been displeasing. Submerging ten thousand meters underwater and rising to these fiendish waters require a good rest. Our Marine Captain Koby will escort you to your quarters, Commander Y/N. The remaining instructions shall be presented tomorrow.¨

You saluted the Rear Admiral in front of you and turned to the exit, passing by Koby, who waited for you to leave first.  When your paths crossed, the pace of your heartbeats quickened, pumping more blood through your body and leaving a burning sensation on your cheeks. 

The involuntary response was instantly interpreted as alertness to danger, which needed to be handled with caution. 

Can´t let my guard down around this one, you thought.

In fact, you planned to keep as much distance as you could from him. An officer let slip that he has been gaining incredible control over his Observation Haki since the Paramount War. 

But the wind seemed to change direction, and you began to swim against the current. When the morning came, you were assigned to be his partner for an undetermined time, and he would act as your superior. The idea of being bossed around by a younger marine got your temper sparked. 

Only he was not like the others, treating you in a patronizing and condescending way. He spoke to you with the same cordiality and politeness he addressed everybody else. 

Slowly, your concrete cold expression began to soothe. You would still remind yourself how annoying his good manners were, though. So annoying, seriously!

¨Good morning, Y/N-san!¨ he greeted as you joined him for breakfast. 

¨Good morning, Koby.¨ 

¨Our Border Force correspondent sent his report early in the morning with information about possible Yonkos´ alliances in the Wano Country. We are arranging a meeting as soon as possible.¨ 

You didn´t like to handle work so early, but this subject, in particular, raised your spirits. ¨Good. It was about time.¨

You noticed that he wore a different headband. ¨What happened?¨ 

¨Hm?¨ he brought the soup bowl close to his mouth. 

¨The bandana. Green, with the fried eggs.¨ he choked on the miso soup, coughing like he had swallowed poison. 

You reached for a paper tissue and handed it to him. ¨K-Koby, are you ok?¨

¨Y-Y/N... Y/N-san...¨ he coughed some more ¨They´re not... fried eggs...¨

¨Oh...¨ your brows raised slightly ¨What are they?¨

A depressive aura grew around him ¨They are flowers, YN-san...¨

The edge of your lips contorted as you tried to hide a smile. You haven´t felt like smiling genuinely for years. Annoying boy!

From that moment on, ignoring him became more difficult. He started to ask you to train with him or invite you to spend some time with him and Helmeppo whenever you had free time. Eventually, he began to ask you how he looked before an important meeting. 

Most of the time, you would reply something like ¨ok¨. But sometimes, the mouth was quicker than the brain, and you would let an ¨impeccable¨ slip out, followed by an awkward throat clearing and blushed cheeks. 

From both sides.

•

¨Oh my-¨ you stopped yourself from finishing the sentence. 

You were chosen to complete this mission due to your excellent skills in hiding emotions and acting calm under stressful situations. No one could break you. 

Within the Marines, no joke could make you crack a smile, and no torture could make you spill secrets. 

Why did you want to ask if he was ok?

Koby had entered his office with bumps and bloody bruises over his face. His always neat uniform was blotchy, and he carried a first aid kit. 

¨Garp-san paid a visit.¨ He sat on the couch and opened the white box, throwing everything on the coffee table. ¨I bet it wasn't like this with Tsuru-san.¨ he chuckled. 

¨No. She would beat me up, wash me and hang me up to dry.¨ 

You shot from the chair, moving towards the clumsy pinkette, who struggled to attend to his injuries. He tried to hold the mirror with one hand and suture his gash with the other. 

¨Thank yo-¨

¨Shh. Don´t move.¨

You leaned closer to have a better look, giving Koby the same chance. Your delicate perfume smelled like it was tailor-made for you. Your breathing was slightly irregular, and your lip twitched with every given stitch. Your fingers felt like feathers on his skin, so much that he didn´t even feel a sting. 

The job was fast and efficient, making Koby wish Garp had put more effort into his Love Fist. Grabbing a piece of wet cotton, you cleaned the dried blood.  

¨Alright...¨ you whispered.

¨Alright...¨ he whispered back.

You were inches apart from his face, your eyes traveling across the scar on his forehead, the pink locks, and kind features. Your mind traced back all the way to the Paramount War. You had very little knowledge about him, but the words he spoke that day have always made your heart pound like cannonballs. 

You will make an excellent Admiral one day, Koby. 

I hope you don´t hate me. 

¨Y-Y/N-san...¨

¨Hm?¨

¨Your smile is beautiful.¨

¨What?¨ The stupid scene of yours was interrupted like a DJ stopping the record player. 

With cheeks getting pinker than his hair, you shot up and marched back to the chair and your newspaper. ¨You clean this up.¨ 

He left a low chuckle out and began gathering the mess. 

Oh, no, Y/N. You have got to be kidding me. 

He is a freaking marine. Breathe. 

There were a vast number of reasons why you couldn´t like him: from him being a Marine Captain and you being a pirate to the fact that your mission was coming to a conclusion.

Meaning that your journey as his partner would be very soon reaching its end. The meeting with this mysterious correspondent regarding the Yonkos´ operations in the New World would be the last move in this chess game. You would be going home. Mission completed. Everything perfect, right? 

Right, perfect. Impeccable! Ugh!

•

¨... confirm secure line.¨

¨This is Border Officer code 404890. Secure line confirmed.¨ you spoke with a low but clear voice through the nail transponder. 

¨What´s the status on our birdie?¨

¨Positive. The birdie is located at 03:24:01.¨ you gave your boss a coordinate to the name of the Marine informant. The answer you took three years to find out remained on file number one, third page, suspect number twenty-four. 

An amused laugh echoed on your end, and you buried the speaker on your jacket to muffled the sound. 

¨At least he is not one of ours.¨ a chuckle ¨Great job, Y/N.¨

¨Thank you, boss.¨

¨I know this mustn't have been easy, but you were impeccable as always.¨

Yeah, impeccable. 

¨You know the protocol now. We´ll see each other in a few days. You´ll have a party waiting for you, kid.¨

¨Aye, aye, boss. But I want the good booze.¨  Both of you laughed. 

You finished the call, and the smile on your lips died as the image of a pink-haired boy invaded your mind. You wished he was a jerk like everybody else. 

It would have been so easy. 

¨Who were you talking to?¨ your chest contracted, pushing the air out of your lungs and sending extra blood supply to your muscles. 

You hid the transponder into your jacket and turned, facing your Marine Captain. 

¨Eavesdropping, Koby?¨

What should I do?

¨Y/N-san, who were you talking to?¨ he repeated himself, offering the benefit of the doubt. You sighed.

¨My captain.¨ 

Why the need to be honest with him?

¨Y/N-san, please don´t tell me-¨

¨I´m sorry, Koby. I wish I didn´t have to do this.¨ you couldn´t bring yourself to face him.

¨A-Are you a pirate? Why?¨

You chuckled ¨Why am I a pirate?¨

¨Why did you do this?¨ his face was pale, making your guts twitch in guilt.

¨I´m on a mission. But I´ll leave soon.¨

¨You are like... Vergo-san.¨ he sounded disappointed.

¨I am nothing like Vergo. You know this.¨ or at least you hoped he did. 

He closed the door slowly, eyes fixed on your figure. The bright light from the window made him look like an ethereal painting.

While you tried to predict his next move, whether he was going to interrogate you or kick your ass, Koby acted calm and collected, not hesitating. He trusted his Observation Haki to guide his next move. Or maybe his heart.

You saw a pink blur closing distance like a missile, and before you could dodge, his hands pulled you by the waist, connecting your bodies and lips. 

He forced your back to meet the thick window with a gasp that was muffled by the kiss. His touch was rough upon the fabric of your uniform, but his mouth felt soft against yours.

Your hands moved to his hair, removing the round pair of glasses and the green bandana so you could get lost in his locks. His grip was harsh under the fabric of your uniform, but his hair felt soft on your fingertips. 

A moan escaped your lips when he parted the kiss with a loud snap and struck the glass with both hands, keeping you trapped in the middle. You let go of his hair and grabbed him by the collar, not letting him go away.

¨I am kissing you... but I am angry, Y/N-san...¨ his breath was heavy and carried with a myriad of emotions. 

¨I know... I am sorry.¨

¨Why?¨

¨Because I like you, Koby. A lot.¨ he paused for a second, fighting the urge to admit the same.

¨What was your mission?¨

This is the last lie, I promise, Koby. ¨The Marines possessed vital information about something my boss wants. I needed to get it.¨

¨Now that I know that you´re a pirate and that you stole Marine´s assets, I´m gonna have to hunt you down.¨

¨I´ll be waiting for you.¨ 

You stared him in the eyes, and he kissed you to stop himself from saying what he really wanted. 

I love you, Y/N-san.

Diary of Koby-Meppo: The Fried Egg Life Crisis.

💕 @vemuabhi

[writing-in-lesbian]

You wanted to sleep with a goddess but had to settle for a priestess Pt.4

Chapter 4 - Burn Pairing: Yelena Belova / Female reader Tags: angst, cursing words. Synopsis: Natasha has a heart to heart with you. A/N: I guess I decided to split the chapter in two parts so it could make more sense! Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3

Wednesday 05:30 am

Your alarm sounds but you don’t attempt to stop it. You don’t need it, sleep has been evasive, your mind plaguing you with thousands of scenarios that don’t give you any kind of calm. You see Bucky asleep on the other couch. He’s really a trooper, holding you until probably 3:00 a.m when you calmed enough to attempt to sleep.

But dreamland was cruel to you, feeding you nightmare after nightmare, all of them ending with Yelena leaving your side. You couldn’t sleep after the 5th time you woke up. You extend your arm to snooze the offending sound trying really hard no to check it for any missed calls or texts from Yelena. Deep down you know there’s nothing, you have your phone at the maximum sound level.

Stretching, you take a trip to the bathroom. You have to go home and change, you can go to work exactly looking like a crying mess. You really don’t want to. A few minutes later you leave Bucky’s house, after writing him a thank you note on the coffee table. You take a walk to your place, opting to leave your car at his place. In your current mental state, nothing good would come out of it.

You get home. No ones there.

// //

You ignore your phone all day as much as you can, especially after checking the group chat and seeing “Lena 💕 has left the group” and since you have a specific tone for Yelena’s calls and texts it became easier.

Work has done nothing to distract you, but you push harder to concentrate and do the best you can. You dive into some old contracts you need it reviewed, the only thing boring enough at the moment to numb your thoughts.

Your boss (he’s a nice and decent human being) sensed something was odd with you and asked you to lunch, you quickly denied it. You’re not hungry and the mere thought of food sends your stomach into panic mode. So you keep working until almost 10 pm.

Your cellphone shows several texts and missed calls. None from Yelena.

Bucky dropped your car around 9ish at night telling you with a regretful face that neither he nor Wanda hadn’t heard anything from Yelena.

Finally, you go home. Still dark. You kinda figure it that. What you didn’t expect was seeing Natasha’s bike outside your building entryway. Once you park the car, you take 5 minutes to compose yourself before facing her.

“For a moment I thought you wouldn’t come back” her voice is serious.

“The thought crossed my mind”

Neither of you moves. You know is silly, you have to enter your apartment. Sighing you pass her and into your place leaving the door open. She doesn’t disappoint and follows you, closing the door quietly.

You go straight to the kitchen, your stomach is angry at you for not feeding it but you can’t take much food so you opt for a tea silently asking Natasha if she wants one. Once she agrees you get to prepare everything. Seriously, making tea ain’t that hard but you’re not in the mood to talk or listen yet.

You feel her eyes following every move and it makes you nervous.

“How are you?” her voice is more tender this time. Because you know her you detect her worry.

You chuckle, dark and humorless.

“Been better” your voice cracks but you try as hard to calm. Natasha doesn’t say anything.

You’re dying to ask her about Yelena but you contain yourself, still not knowing what she’s doing here. She’s your best friend but she’s also your sister in law and you don’t blame her if she took her sister's side, although it does hurt you a little.

The kettle goes off, you take your time preparing the tea and finally place a cup of the steaming liquid in front of her. You take the seat across it, not drinking your tea just taking the hot cup, letting it warm you even for a few minutes.

“She’s not doing okey you know? You hurt her y/l/n, you know how she felt about you and Carol’s friendship so hearing you confessing that yesterday, all her insecurities and doubts came flooding, she’s angry, confused and sad”

You are silent, what else can you say? You were clearly not thinking straight that night all those years ago. Yes, you were feeling lonely and you only wanted someone to make you feel good for a night, nothing else. So Carol was the safest option, your FWB arrangement worked perfectly even if neither of you hadn’t got together in a long time. You never planned on falling in love that night. Nevertheless with Yelena. Even if you had always had a soft spot for her, you never saw her as an available option for you. She was always in a relationship and you clearly weren’t cut for that, since the longest stable girlfriend you had only lasted for 5 months before she cheated on you.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“What do you want me to say, Tasha? I fucked up, I hurt her even if I never meant to” You push your almost full cup away from you. An action that does not go unnoticed by Natasha.

“I know that and I know you love her and I’m here for you”

“Are you?”

“You know I am”

You want so much to believe those words, but you're tired and your mind is foggy and confused, the lack of food in almost 24 hours is starting to take a toll on you.

“Did you came all the way here just to say that? ‘cause you could have said it on the phone you know?”

“Would you have answered?”

Your silence is answer enough.

“Is it all you came to do?”

Natasha sighs and shakes her head. Somehow the action causes a hole in your stomach.

“No. She needs time Y/N, she doesn’t want to see you right now so I came to collect some clothes and things for her and Fanny”

It is only now that you realize the dog is nowhere around.

“You could have used her keys, why did you wait for me?”

“I wanted to check on you”

You offer her nothing. You’re hurting inside, but you won’t crumble. You clench your jaw holding all your tears at bay. You motion for her to go and pack whatever she is here to pack. Before she does, she takes a look at you but you refuse to meet her eyes, you grab your cup again and force yourself to drink your now lukewarm tea.

After a few minutes, she comes back with a duffel bag. True to her word she just picked up some clothes, leaving the rest of Yelena’s stuff there. She sits again in front of you.

“Y/N…” her voice is soft and barely above a whisper

Natasha stays silent then, which is strange. You look up at her and notice the ring in her hand. You feel your stomach drop at the sight, your heart starts beating faster, your eyes get blurry. Your eyebrows frown

She leaves it at the kitchen table and goes to take your hand. You take it away.

“Take it back” you whisper.

“Y/N, like I said, she needs time, she wants to think everything before taking any decision she could regret”

“Take. it. back. please” you say each word, teeth clenched, you’re pretty sure your anxiety is skyrocketing so you try to control your breathing but is getting hard. Natasha sees it too. After many years of watching you having those anxiety attacks, she can recognize your signs easily. She tries to get closer to you but you flinch at her touch. She backs away.

“I don’t think that’s the best-”

“TAKE THE FUCKING RING BACK NATASHA” your tears are freely falling from your face and you don’t know what feels worse, you can’t control your breathing, your heart is beating like crazy, your stomach hurts. All you can think is Yelena regretted the decision. You feel the walls starting to close on you.

You can’t breathe.

You need to leave.

You start walking towards the door.

“Y/N” is Natasha’s voice far away, or that’s how it feels but in reality is closer to you.

You fumble with the door not being able to open it, your hands shaking.

“I’m going to touch you now” her voice is closer but you paid no mind to it. You just need to leave.

Suddenly you feel a pair of arms circling you from behind and anchoring back. You don’t reject her this time.

“I got you, kid, I got you” you finally let everything go collapsing into her arms.

Natasha has always been stronger than she looks so when you let your body fall into hers, she easily slides down to the floor with you. You hold on to her and cry, letting everything out. She just holds you tighter, reassuring sweet nothings into your ear.

The reality of everything finally catches up with you and as your world burns… you allow yourself to burn with it.

Tag list

@ritamatta2003 // @sapphic-girl

[kittenofdoomage]

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