#＿|￣|o His little frustrated sigh is so hot especially paired with how smug he feels over predicting correctly what Ceaser would do.

[enigma-im]

Third Day of Christmas...

Trope: Enemies to Lovers (NSFW) Relationship: Minotaur x Human Word Count: 4,025

It all started with a note on the door.

Imani didn't expect to find a letter taped to her door that morning, or any morning for that matter. For a good couple of seconds she feared it was from her landlord, an eviction notice of some kind. That went right out the window as she read the chicken scratched handwriting.

Dear apartment 23 resident,

I'd appreciate it if you would keep the noises to a minimum after 10 pm. The singing has kept me up well past midnight. The stomping at all hours has been less than appreciated. Also, I hate to point out that your dog hasn't been a saint either, barking every morning at 7 am. So if you would please, muzzle the dog and stop the late-night parties.

                                 Signed, apartment 15 resident.

Imani is confused for a moment, walking back into her apartment while rereading the letter. All of it is not true, starting with the singing. She does not sing, especially that late in the day. The neighbor on the other hand has a daughter who doesn't understand her own volume, blaring out BTS songs at odd hours. The stomping is a ridiculous accusation, almost typical in these situations. The only time she can admit that her walking would be loud is when she first gets home and hasn't gotten to removing her shoes. Besides then, she is as quiet as a church mouse. An hour after she gets home she spends most of her time lounging in the living room. so how can she be making noises if she isn't moving?

The woman drops the note onto her kitchen table, put off by the audacity. She looks over to her little dog, shaking her head as she thinks back on the next line. Her dog doesn't bark! He is as silent as can be, never even growling. The most this 'resident' can accuse her pooch over is his nails scratching at the floor. Even then that shouldn't even register through the floors.

With the morning turned sour, Imani quickly organizes her things and heads out for work. The whole day is spent thinking hard on her letter, thinking about what needs to be done. Should she ignore it? Pretend she never got it and go on with her life? That would be the easy approach, even kinder one, but she ain't that kind of bitch.

When she got home late that day she storms into the kitchen, making sure to stop with her shoes still on, and grabs a notebook. She jots down a little message for 'resident 15' with as much passive aggression as she can put into words.

Dear resident 15,

The bold claims you have taped to my door have been read. I'd like to take the time to inform you of your misguided claims. I, for one, am not the local American Idol star. That award goes to Tiny Tina in apartment 22. I don't know why you have such an issue with her music, BTS songs are a bop.

Next on the list is my 'stomping'. Excuse me for correcting you again, but I do not 'stomp' around my apartment. The minute I get home from work I am sitting on my ass watching television till it's time for bed. So I ask you, how can I be stomping around if my feet do not move off the couch?

Finally, my dog. My dog is a saint, for your information, he is the quietest animal I have ever owned. I haven't heard so much as a peep from him since he was a puppy. Maybe check around for other noisy pooches because mine isn't the problem.

With this all said, I hope you find a solution to your problem because bugging me was not it.

                                       Sincerely, resident 23

Signed, sealed, and ready to be delivered. The next morning on the way to work she tapes the little note to the numbers on unit 15. smug, she walks out of there with her head held high.

Feeling proud of herself even further into the day she isn't ready for the speedy reply taped to her door, along with a missing doormat. With a huff, she snatches the note and heads inside. She unfolds the sheet, reading:

Dear 23,

I am not mistaken, and I'm taking your welcome mat until you know how to be a proper upstairs neighbor.

                                         -15

She gawks at the letter, put off by the blatant admission of theft. Are they a child, taking away things as a punishment? This is completely idiotic! She should march downstairs and confront the fool who thinks this is a proper course of action. Well, she would if she didn't also want to get back at them.

Throwing the paper onto the coffee table she flops down on the couch to think. What is the best way to get back at them?

A floor below rests Church the Minotaur. He is getting ready to go on a run, sliding on his sneakers as he opens the door. Glance to the side he catches sight of a gaudy plethora of stickers and glitter, his door dressed to the 9s with rainbows. He is taken aback, looking at the decorations with ire. Above it all sits a folded up piece of paper taped to the door. He quickly snatches it, reading it.

15,

Return the doormat and I'll clean your door.

                                    -23

Church chuffs, grinding his teeth as he looks to the door again. He didn't think he was being unfair when he first gave them a letter. It was a polite way to ask them to shut up. He just wanted some sleep, was that too much to ask? He looks to the door again, apparently, it was.

Imani opens the door fully expecting the letter. With a bit of a pep in her step, she grabs it, reading it as she walks to her car. She snorts, crumpling the paper and tossing it in the trash.

23,

This means war

                           -15

The next few weeks are filled with pranks of varying variety. The two start small, Imani stomping around upstairs with her heaviest pairs of boots, Church banging his hand against the ceiling during the quiet hours of the night. Next with more glitter courtesy of Church, a well-timed package that exploded in Imani's kitchen. He swears he could hear her surprised scream from below. Imani gets him back with a similar package, one with a jump scare card.

It's a back forth of one-upping the other. Church orders Imani eight pizzas, forcing her to reluctantly pay for it when seeing the nervous kid trying to deal with the mix-up. Imani manages to hook her phone to his Bluetooth speakers, playing random screams at all hours of the night. Church gets her back by attaching an alarm to her door so when walked out that morning she was startled by a firetruck worthy honk.

It seems it’s the last straw for Church when he receives his own glitter bomb of confetti cocks. It gets caught on the carpet, sneaking into the couch cushions, and sticking to his clothes. Quickly dusting himself off he charges upstairs, reaching her door and banging on it. He taps his foot frustrated and angry.

The door clicks open, Church already ready with his rant. Imani is equally prepared, excited with the chance to chew him a new one. When the two see each other they stumble on the words, looking one another over with confusion. Neither of them expected the other to be anything but some angry middle-aged person looking for a fight. They hardly assumed that the other would be so…attractive.

"I, uh," church shakes his head," You! A damn dick bomb? Do you understand how ingrained they are into my carpet? I sent you a cheap one, something you can easily clean up but you couldn't even consider that!"

"What," Imani comes back to her own," those craft herpes were not easy to clean, I'm sure it's still in the kitchen now and staining my clothes. So don't you dare come at me with 'woe is me' look like you had any consideration at all for my floors."

"Well excuse me, I didn't hack into your speakers to play Halloween screams all through the night. I damn near had a heart attack at 2 in the morning because of you," he points to her, debating on jabbing her in the chest. She slaps his hand away before he gets the chance, scoffing.

"At least I didn't make you spend money on eight pizzas! Do you know how much eight pizzas cost? It was like seventy bucks. I'm just glad you didn't splurge on something more than a single topping pizza. But fuck you for making them all pineapple you monster," she bites back.

The two ramble on long enough for the neighbors to peek their heads out. Embarrassed, they close out their argument with a huff and a door slam. Church heads off to his apartment, falling onto the couch while grumbling to himself. Imani growls and mumbles in her bed. They both can't help the thought that ruins all their anger:

God, they were hot.

The pranks don't stop in their frequency. The two continue, using their frustrations at their traitorous thoughts to fuel their revenge.

Imani still plays with his speakers, using screamo songs to annoy him in the afternoons. Church booby traps her door again with more glitter, his preferred weapon as of lately. She takes up tap dancing, he pays the kid next door to blare BTS near the shared wall of her apartment. She puts a fake ticket on his car, he puts vulgar stickers on her's. the childish game goes on and on.

Imani sits in her room one night, frustrated beyond belief with the sexy minotaur. She can't get his face out of her head. Why did he have to be cute? It's not like it makes the little game they have going harder to do. No, it just makes it seem more than it is. She has to constantly catch herself praising his wit in some of the stunts he pulls. Scolding herself nonstop for wanting to stop by his place and yell at him some, just to see him. It's stupid, wanting to actually get to know him.

Church relaxes in bed, feeling more bothered than Imani. He has hit a bit of a dry spell in his sexual life, or his solo sexual life. He can't jerk off without picturing the little hellspawn upstairs. It would be easy to give in and just think of her but it would be too much. She is an enemy, not a potential interest. So what if she is one of the sexiest humans he has ever seen? Who cares if her ability to keep up with him in this little war is kind of turning him on? It doesn't matter, right?

He sighs in defeat, "I don't think I can believe that even if I tried," he grunts as he clenches his shaft.

Imani is at home setting up her next plan when someone knocks on the door. She looks to the clock surprised at someone visiting this hour. Confused, and cautious, she gets out of bed and walks to the door. Looking through the peephole she rolls her eyes at who she sees.

Imani opens the door," if this is about the folk music I'll tell you now I'm not changing it back."

"No," he growls," this is about the tap shoes. Metal on wood makes for some very undesirable sounds."

"Well, excuse me for trying to take up a new hobby. What about you paying off the kid next door to play her music next to my wall? I swear that little demon doesn't sleep," Imani scolds.

"Speaking of little demons, can you for the love of god shut your dog up. Every morning I hear his damn barking and I'm seriously debating calling someone," he takes a step into her space, scowling at the dog behind her.

"He doesn't bark," she pokes at his chest," I have never heard him even make a yelp since he was a puppy so I suggest you come up with a better lie than that."

"A lie," he shouts," your fucking dog barks, stop thinking he is some sort of mute."

"He does not," she shouts back.

"Does too," he steps closer.

"Does not," she raises her chin.

"Does too," he grabs her hips.

"Does not," she tugs at his shirt.

"Does too," he says, lowering closer to her. Before she can get her turn he quiets her with a rather harsh kiss, mashing his lips to hers. They grapple one another, pulling the other closer as they stumble into her apartment.

Church kicks the door shut as he fumbles with her shirt. She helps, parting from him long enough to cast the clothing aside. He tugs her back in for a sloppy kiss, delving his tongue into her mouth as she unbuttons his top. Thrusting his shirt down his arms while they bump into the sofa. Church beings unclasping her bra, uncoordinated as she sucks on his tongue.

The two fall to the couch, church not wasting any time with her freshly revealed tits. Imani gasps, petting down his chest to his pants. As he suckles on a nipple as she pulls him from his pants, holding his cock in her hand. He stutters in his attentions, panting heavily against her chest as she jerks him off.

"Oh, fuck," he groans.

"Like that big boy," she steals his attention, him looking at her cocky smile.

"Shut up," he reaches down to her pants, palming her through her jeans. She bucks into his hand, rolling her eyes at his smirk. He quickly discards her bottoms, tossing them away without a care. He watches her as he pets at her pussy, delving between her lips to feel how soaked she is for him.

"Am I wrong to assume this is all for me," he pushes a finger in. she clenches her jaw, groaning from the intrusion. He chuckles, feeling rather confident as she rides his hand. Not caring for his large ego she reaches for his cock once more, feeling him throb in her grip.

"Am I wrong to assume this is all for me," she mimics back smugly. He throws her an annoyed look, removing his fingers and slapping her hand away. Dropping a hand beside her head he leans down, looking between them as he prods his cock to her pussy. They both flinch, eager above all else. They both watch as his head parts her lips, poking at her clit with short nudges.

"You think I can make you scream like those damn Halloween recordings," he jokes as he grinds into her.

"No, I don't think you have the stamina," she jabs back, trying to stop the urge to buck against him. Church leans down and nuzzles against her neck, pressing a sweet kiss under her jaw.

"I guess we will just have to see," he grins, feeling less confident than his words suggest. His cock is damn near ready to burst with just his tip being coated in her sweet juices.

Church reaches between them, pressing his cock to her entrance. He guides his tip in, stretching his arm up to rest it beside her head. The only warning he gives her is a sultry smile before he shoves forward, both crying out at the suddenness.

"Oh, shit," Church whimpers beside her ear. Imani grabs at his arms, feeling utterly stuffed. He pulls back, thrusting forward quickly. Imani appreciates him not wasting time just pistoning into her. The need has been building up all week, the denial adding a new level of appeal to this want.

He rams into her, listening to her try to hide her cries of pleasure. He feels her body tell him what he needs to know, feels her walls pulling him in with every buck of his hips. She wants him as badly as he wanted her. It's satisfying to church to know this. To know that she needs this as much as he does. Not wanting to miss a thing he sits up, grabbing her hips as he does.

"Look at you," he groans," trying to hold back those little moans and whimpers. Don't fight it, babe, I wanna hear you." Imani startles herself with a cry, arching her back as his words add kindle to the fire. She wants to pretend this isn't happening, that she isn't getting fucked by her apartment enemy. But damn, does it feel fantastic.

Church watches her writhe on the couch, his stomach clenching as he tries to fight off cumming at the sight. Her tits bounce with each clap of their hips and it's driving him wild. Reluctantly he shuts his eyes, thinking about anything else to prolong this blissful torture.

Imani wails and whimpers as her insides are set aflame. As her orgasm comes rushing to the forefront she locks her legs around his waist, grinding like a madwoman into his thrust. She cries out her pleasure, utterly wrecked as she falls apart.

Church chokes on his breath as she clenches around him. He can barely think as she holds him in a vice grip. His hips go wild as he finds himself coming to an end. It's only half a thought that he undoes her legs and pulls out, grinding against her as he cums on her stomach. Imani watches in rapture as he tosses his head back and moans, the sound going straight to her already throbbing clit. She watches him spray out over her and she can't look away for even a second.

Church falls onto his hands, panting as he holds himself over her. He can't believe it. He got to fuck the cute hellspawn that has been tormenting him all month. At this moment he couldn't even think about the countless hours of sleep missed because of her little pranks. Right now all he can think of is holding her close and taking a much-needed nap. As he attempts the action he looks to her stomach.

Imani is bone-deep satisfied. Her body is relaxed against the couch and she feels like she's on cloud nine. She hardly notices when Church climbs off her, his footsteps fading away. When she does notice, it stabs at her heart a little. She watches him button up his pants, reaching to the floor to grab his shirt. I guess he's leaving, she thinks.

Church grabs his shirt from the floor, bunching it up as he turns back to her. She looks surprised when he crouches beside her and mops up the mess on her stomach with his top. He wants to laugh at the shocked expression but bites his cheek against it. With her all clean he tosses the shirt away and crawls in beside her. The couch is rather small so he lifts her onto his chest, lounging on his back. He cradles her against his front, ready to take a well-deserved nap.

Imani is rather confused as she watches him fall asleep. She fully figured he would dip after everything, she surely didn't expect anything from this. They were still in a war. A truce was never called but she can't help but think this changes something.

Shrugging, she snuggles up to him, enjoying his soft fur against her cheek. This is a problem she will deal with in the morning.

Imani wakes up alone in her bed. She is nearly tempted to figure the night with Church was all a dream till she feels the subtle ache in her legs. Ride a bull, you should expect some soreness. She chuckles to herself as she dresses. Walking into the kitchen she prepares for a lazy day indoors while she figures out how to deal with Church and her's relationship. As she gets ready to feed her pup does she realize the lack of said pooch.

"uh, Giovani," she calls out. No answer. She calls out again, searching around her apartment frantically. Did he get out while the door was open last night? Surely she would have noticed if he managed to sneak past. She rounds the apartment again just in case before she runs to the door, throwing it open in a rush. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots something hanging on her peephole. She tenses at the sight, snatching it.

Imani I have your dog Church

Imani scoffs, crumpling the letter as she marches downstairs. She can't believe she let herself think that things would change between them. That this little prank war can be swapped out for an actual relationship, friendship or otherwise. Above all, she can't believe he stole her dog.

Rounding the corner and stopping at door 15 she pounds her fist against the wood. She continues pounding till the door opens, revealing a smirking Church.

"Hello, babe, what brings you here so early," he asks, leaning against the frame.

"You stole my fucking dog, I want him back," she snaps, no ounce of playfulness available. Church nearly stutters on his act, a little worried about her protectiveness over her dog.

"Now, I stole him for his own good," he explains," with his separation anxiety I figured it is best if he got used to my apartment since I'm going to take up training him."

Imani scoffs," Excuse me? My dog doesn't have separation anxiety nor does he need to be trained by some dog snatching idiot with horns."

Church deadpans," idiot with horns?"

"It's early, they can't all be gold," she rolls her eyes," doesn't matter, give me my dog back."

Church shakes his head, frustrated at her denial. Instead of answering her, he calls for the pup, leaning down to pet him when he comes trotting over. With the dog properly excited he takes a step into the hallway with Imani and shuts the door. Imani looks from him then back to the door.

"What are you doing," she asks.

"Just wait," he holds up a finger. They both stand silently, nothing happening. Imani opens her mouth to acknowledge the ridiculous of waiting in front of a door when her dog begins whining, yelping loudly from inside the apartment. Church looks over to her with a smug grin, "Told you he barks."

Imani flusters, gawking at the door and listening to her dog cry out. Church opens the door, the pup running out and jumping at Imani. Still embarrassed, she pets at her dog before picking him up and walking away. Church watches her turn the corner, not saying a word as she departs. He sighs.

It's a good day of nothing that picks at Church. Surely he didn’t push too far, he didn't really intend to keep her dog so it wasn't that mean. He just wanted to prove that her dog did bark, finishing the month-long war on a hopeful note. It wasn't meant as another attack against her. He really did intend to help by offering to train her dog.

Throughout the day he debates going up there and apologizing, to offer an olive branch of some kind so he can actually get to know her. Last night for Church was…amazing. It was something he wants to do again, to explore further. That may be a pipe dream now.

Late into the afternoon church gets a knock on his door. He jumps up, feeling rather stupid as he quickly answers the door. Expecting Imani he is left disappointed as no one is there. No one could have left that fast. He looks down the hall, left to right. Nothing. With a defeated sigh he begins to close the door. He stops when a fluttering piece of paper catches his eye. Excited, he snaps it off the door unfolding it swiftly.

Church,

Dinner at my place, 8 pm

                               -Imani

Church smiles to himself, refolding the paper and heading back inside to get ready.

[trimaplenut]

Title: The Language of Flowers

Pairing: Naegiri

Words: 2222

Rating: T

Based on this prompt

i dont know shit about police stuff or law dont quote me on any of it

“How do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flower?”

Makoto’s mouth hangs open, unable to reply immediately. He’s had troublesome customers and some odd requests before, but he’s never had someone storm into his family’s flower shop, slam twenty bucks on the counter, and ask something with as much barely-contained frustration as this woman has.

He’s also never had someone come into his shop that immediately makes him think please go out with me.

The woman, who looks to be the same age as him—great!—lifts a hand to her head and threads her fingers through her locks. Her hair, long and straight and colored a soft, light lavender, slips through the gaps of her gloved hand, cascading down her shoulders and back. It mesmerizes him as she repeats the action over and over again, and his fingers twitch as he wonders what it would feel like. In contrast to the tinge of annoyance in her voice, her facial expression is a cold, hard wall that betrays none of her thoughts or feelings. But rather than pushing him away, it just makes Makoto more curious—what emotions are hiding behind that iron mask of hers, why keep them secret from the world?

And her eyes—dear lord, the things he could say about them. If her hair was soft and light then her eyes are harsh and bright, a vivid sea of amethysts shining and twinkling in the sunlight from the windows, staring straight at him as if they could see every inch of his soul, slowly filling with… confusion…?

Makoto blinks.

Right, he’s in the shop. She asked him a question. He’s supposed to be doing his job.

How long has he been staring? He’s pretty glad the place is empty right now.

“U-Um,” Makoto stammers as his brain is harshly pulled back to reality. What was the question again? Something about swearing with flowers. His eyes dart around the shop’s shelves and survey the different species of plants they have on display. “There’s not really any one flower that means… that, specifically…” He’s sure he can think of something for her, though. He skirts around the edge of the counter—

Ouch, his hip! Gah, that table edge is a lot sharper than he thought!

Suck it up, don’t embarrass yourself in front of her!

He bites the inside of his lip to keep the pain out of his expression and scampers about for the different flowers he needs.

After several minutes, he now has numerous pots spread out across the counter, each containing flowers of differing species and a slightly varying color from the others. “But if you had a bouquet of these flowers,” Makoto continues, “I think that would work.”

She doesn’t reply immediately. Instead she inspects each pot of flowers, one by one, before finally turning to the florist standing beside her. “In all honesty, I hadn’t expected you’d be able to fulfill such a request,” she finally admits.

Makoto scratches his cheek. “Aha… I’m a bit of a dork when it comes to flowers.”

He freezes the instant the words leave his mouth. Idiot, why would you admit that to a stranger? A really, really pretty stranger?

“O-Or, well, that’s what my sister says,” he adds on quickly. “Or said. When we were… When we were younger…” His face flushes a little in embarrassment. Great recovery. Absolutely flawless. From now on, his mouth requires permission from his brain before he speaks a single word.

Her lips curve upwards and Makoto’s heart nearly skips a beat. “I’m thankful for it, regardless,” she replies. She tucks some of her hair behind her ear and lets out a sigh. “The previous three flower shops I visited weren’t able to help me.”

The smile drops from her face and it fills Makoto with unexplainable dismay. “W-Well, I’m sure they did the best they could,” he stammers. “I only know a useless thing like flower language because I was bored one night.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say such a skill is useless,” the woman argues, folding her arms across her chest. “You never know when that knowledge could benefit you in life. For a florist like you, if you know the meaning behind flowers and can explain it to your customers, it can add more impact to a bouquet or arrangement.” The small smile returns to her face. “And it certainly isn’t useless to someone who desires a certain meaning over color or appearance, such as myself.”

Makoto stares for a moment and then laughs. “I guess you’re right! Honestly, yours is the first time I’ve taken a request where the meaning isn’t a generic one of love or friendship.” He looks down at the ground to try and hide his flushing face. “I’m pretty lucky to know what I do, otherwise I wouldn’t really know where to start.”

She reaches out with a gloved hand and gently strokes one of the flowers’ petals. “So what do each of these mean?”

“Those are geraniums,” he answers promptly, “which mean stupidity. Foxgloves mean insincerity, meadowsweet is uselessness, yellow carnations mean ‘you have disappointed me’, and orange lilies are for hatred.” Makoto shrugs self-consciously at his knowledge. “It’s a pretty striking bouquet—full of color and loathing.”

He doesn’t think his face has cooled down yet, but he can’t avoid looking at her forever. Not to mention it would be pretty rude of him. He raises his head to see the woman smile with satisfaction. “Perfect. I’ll take it.”

“Can I ask who’s it for?” Makoto says, a minute or so later, as he hands over her purchase in exchange for the money. “It’s… quite a strong message.”

For a few seconds, her expression remains blank and he thinks he isn’t going to get an answer. But then her lips curl into a smirk and she gazes down at the flowers as if picturing something amusing in her head. “Someone who deserves it.”

Makoto lets out a small chuckle. “I’ll remember not to get on your bad side.”

The woman eyes him for a brief second before letting out a noncommittal hum. “Mmm.”

Was that the wrong thing to say? She clammed up all of a sudden but her response doesn’t give him a good idea of where he went wrong. He averts his eyes for a moment before meeting her gaze again. “Have a nice day.” As she reaches the door, Makoto suddenly gains confidence and waves at her. “Please come again!”

She doesn’t reply as she walks out the door. Makoto watches her through the store’s windows until she disappears from sight. He relaxes his weight onto his elbows and lets out a happy sigh. A dorky smile stretches across his face.

He really hopes she comes again.

“I would think that a detective like you would exhibit more attentiveness, especially after I made the effort to come all this way to this peasant hole.”

Kyoko bites the inside of her cheek, takes a deep but quiet breath in through her nose, and then breathes out. “I would think it’d be clear to you that—”

I have better things to do than satisfy your infuriatingly massive, attention-demanding ego.

“—I currently have a lot of paperwork that needs to be completed, and I would like to get home sometime before next Sunday,” she instead finishes. She just needs to keep up an act of civility. It’ll be worth it in the end.

“Do you think that excuses the delay? You are wasting my time. Unless those papers are related to the retrieval of my property, your prioritizing leaves much to be desired.”

But boy, does he make it difficult.

He being Byakuya Togami, one of the witnesses in her recently closed murder case. Originally, he was only involved as the employer of one of their suspects. Then it turned out that their original crime scene was a setup and the true scene of the murder was in an office building owned by Byakuya, committed by said employee. She managed to speak with him a maximum of three times during the case, and each time wondered what she was doing back in the same room as the insufferable smug bastard.

If she had her way around here, somebody else would’ve already given him back access to the office and she’d never have to see him again, but since he’s the heir to the Togami Conglomerate, one of the biggest and most influential businesses in the area, her boss had made it clear to Kyoko and her coworkers that he would be treated with the utmost respect—lest the police department suddenly find themselves short several thousand dollars of funding.

And that means leaving him in the company of the most competent detective in the precinct. Who is still immensely busy and no longer has the patience to deal with him.

And despite it, she still turns to him with a calm expression. “I’ve already organized to have the appropriate documents processed. I’m afraid all there is to do now is wait.”

Byakuya’s demeanor hardly improves, but he does recognize that continuing to belittle her won’t speed anything up, so he clicks his tongue and glares at a spot on the wall. An unfortunate officer walks in his line of sight and receives the full force of his fury. The officer stumbles for a moment, looks around to try and determine why she’s getting glared at, and then nervously walks away in a hurry.

Kyoko glances up, catching sight of the interaction as she reaches for her mug of coffee, before turning her attention to her drink. She takes several gulps of the hot beverage before returning to the paperwork.

“What sort of punishment will that plebeian scum receive?”

Or trying to return to the paperwork. Kyoko doesn’t look up as she replies, “It’s out of my hands as to what sentence they’ll give him. But he’s been charged with second-degree murder—I imagine he’s getting life with no parole for at least ten years.”

Byakuya’s lips twist into a sneer. “Let it be a lesson to him, and to anyone else who dares think of sullying the Togami name in such a manner.”

She can tell that most of the detectives within earshot are irked by his comment, questioning how he can put his family’s reputation over the fact someone was murdered. Kyoko’s personal opinion is slightly different—that the fact the truth was reached was more important than some flimsy sense of justice or status—but that’s neither here nor there. Not when the conversation topic offers her an opening.

“But, speaking of the case…” Kyoko reaches under her desk and pulls out a bouquet of flowers she’d purchased earlier. “Here.”

Byakuya raises an eyebrow. “What are those?”

Oh, the urge to respond with the obvious smartass answer is strong, but she can restrain herself on this one occasion, all things considered. “They’re as thanks. Your assistance was quite helpful, perhaps even vital to solving the case.”

He was helpful in that it saved her waiting for a court order to investigate his office building, but she would’ve gotten her way regardless of his level of cooperation.

They’re both distracted momentarily when another detective approaches Kyoko’s desk—he’s somewhat new but she can’t say she remembers his name immediately. He angles the folder in his hands towards her and says, “I’ve got the papers for Mr Togami, Detective Kirigi—”

Before he can even finish, Byakuya stands up from his chair and snatches the folder out of his hands. And then, just when she thinks she spent twenty dollars on a failed opportunity, the bouquet disappears from her grasp.

Case officially closed.

Kyoko turns to the detective and inclines her head. “Thank you for the papers, Detective.” The man flushes a little from the praise and tilts his hat down to hide his face. She turns her head as he leaves and focuses on Byakuya as he heads for the elevator. Only when the elevator doors obscure him from view does Kyoko’s expression transform into something smugger.

One of her coworkers, Yui Samidare, levels her with a look of confusion. “Kyoko, did you just give the asshole flowers?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” she asks incredulously.

Kyoko smirks. “To let him know exactly how I feel about his attitude.”

She returns to her work as Yui starts yammering and blurting out whatever comes to mind—first of which is an accusation of attraction towards Byakuya, which thankfully doesn’t take long at all for Yui to change her mind about. Then she just demands to know exactly what Kyoko was up to with the flower gift—because if anyone has an ulterior motive to everything they do, it’s Kyoko Kirigiri.

Said schemer completely ignores what her fellow detective is saying. Her pen flies across the paper in front of her, but in all honesty, she’s not focusing on that either. Kyoko’s thoughts are solely occupied by the florist she met.

She wouldn’t have been able to carry through with her plan of subtle revenge had it not been for him. She’ll have to thank him for his assistance. Kyoko’s eyes wander across her desk until they rest on her mug. Perhaps she could ask him out for coffee one day. He was pretty cute, too.

[loveandlucky]

Flying Colors: Chapter 2

Chapter 1 

Fairy Tail AU: High School Marching Band

Rating: T for some language

Pairings: Mainly Nalu; Hints of Gruvia, Jerza, Gale, Chendy, Fraxus

Word Count: 1k

Chapter 2: Trusting a Trumpet

“Mind if I join you?”

Lucy jumped at the sound of his voice, and did a terrible job at hiding it. She snapped her eyes to the smiling face above her. “O-Oh, you’re Natsu, right?”

He reached out a friendly hand to help her stand. “Yep! Surprised you know my name, since I moved here a few weeks ago. I’ve heard your name. Luigi, right?” 

“It’s Lucy...And Mr. Dreyar calls you out on the field a lot,” she laughed, taking his hand. “You seem to have the ego of your trumpet.” 

Natsu put on a show of being taken aback, even putting his hand over his heart as if he’d been fatally wounded. “Me?! You don’t even know me!” 

Lucy crossed her arms, and threw him a curious look. “Anyway. You said you wanted to join me? Like, for dinner? Don’t you have your other ‘brass buddies’ to hang out with?” She formed her fingers into air quotes when mentioning his friends.

“Guess they couldn’t wait to get to Taco Bell or some shit. You’re the last one here so, I guess your’e my backup plan for dinner.” Lucy gave him the evil eye when he decided to flair up his dull statement with finger guns.

“How flattering. But I’m afraid I usually eat alone, and that’s the way I like it.” She picked up her bag and started for the exit of the guard room. Natsu quickly stepped in front of her, an idea singing across his face.

He noticed her bag, covered in keychains, some of them being little kittens. “If you eat dinner with me just this once, I will let you meet my cat!” 

Lucy’s face brightened, but soon returned to a look of frustration. “Jeez, how desperate are you?” The words came out slightly harsher than she intended, and she silently reprimanded herself.

Surprisingly, the boy was not hurt at all by the question. “I don’t like eating alone! I do it too often, anyway. That’s why I like being in band. Gives me people to eat with.” His cafard words did not match his bright tone.

Lucy pondered for a small moment. I do like cats. And I kind of feel bad for him. There’s no reason not to, anyway. She lightly slapped his shoulder and called, “Alright, let’s go! I’m expecting kitty love after this.”

Natsu followed her, his eyes and mind still trying to size her up. “Where are we going?” He expected some kind of cafe or fast food restaurant, especially after a long day. He could have definitely gone for a spicy chicken sandwich.

“Baskin Robbins of course!” 

Natsu nearly stopped dead in his tracks. “Ice cream?! After a hot and stressful day in the sun? Are you looking forward to throwing up?”

“I don’t have a weak stomach. I eat there every day after band.” Lucy sometimes forgot that it wasn’t the brightest to eat dairy products before and after camp. But she stopped caring after last year.

“I hope I throw up all over you.” He mocked her moderately aggressive tone from before.

“Point that talkative mouth of yours away from me, or face my wrath,” she threatened him, while continuing her walk through the common area.  

“Ha! I could take you in a heartbeat!” Natsu said proudly.

“I’ve spent countless hours over the last six years of my life flinging a giant flag several feet into the air. I wouldn’t be so sure,” she replied with a smug grin, and a slight flex of her upper arm.

The realization from her words struck the fear of god into Natsu’s eyes. He held up his hands in a silent surrender. “Good thing we are walking.”

“Hey! I could have a car!” she retorted at the insinuation. 

“We are almost to the parking lot and you haven’t gotten keys out yet. Don’t take it so hard! I hate riding in cars anyway.” He sighed, and started messing with his phone as a distraction.

“If it makes you feel better, I hate cars, too.” Lucy looked down where they walked, studying the hot asphalt changing from grey to black. Natsu looked in her direction for a moment before darting his eyes away. 

Neither of them questioned each other, and they decided to walk in silence, leaving only the roar of the hated cars as they whizzed by.

Lucy found it difficult to keep from laughing at Natsu. He was obviously one of those people who couldn’t help but gulp their ice cream, with no concern about the mess it may leave. She felt the need to wipe away the ice cream in his fluffy hair, but restrained herself.

“I can’t believe they don’t have jalapeños on hand here,” he said in a grieving tone. 

“I can’t believe we didn’t have to call 911 after you ate vanilla ice cream topped with twelve squirts of fire sauce,” Lucy was surprised they even had sauce that spicy. She was sure that she would die if she ever tasted it. Her tongue tightened in her mouth at the mere thought of it. The confectioner definitely agreed with her, after their shared look of mental pain.

“Obviously the cream negates most of the sauce, Lucy. It’s basic science,” he swigged the cup of complementary water.

“Your brain is basic science,” she responded while chewing on the last part of her sweet waffle cone. The sugary taste started to turn bitter as she processed more of her surroundings. She nervously checked the time on her phone and panicked. “I gotta go! My dad has been waiting for me for ten minutes.”

“Wait! Are we friends now?” he called after the disappearing blonde, undisguised curiosity in his voice.

Lucy continued walking, but smiled warmly to herself. “I have to meet your cat first!” The door closed swiftly behind her, leaving Natsu to himself.

I’m hoping to post a new chapter every few days, and they’ll hopefully get longer as I get used to writing again~

[anoldwound]

This One Time, In the Desert... - Claude/Bennet [Heroes]

Title: This One Time, In the Desert… Characters/Pairings: Claude/Bennet Rating: R Receipient/Prompts:veetvoojagig/Getting drunk together, confessions, lurid fantasies. Warnings: Complete stupidity. And dirty talk. Word Count: 1565 Summary: “Things work when you hit them, Bennet. Everyone knows that. Kick your telly, cable comes back on. Slap the dashboard, sound on your radio is crystal clear. Hit your transmitter with a hammer, and all of a sudden you’re able to call the Company to come pick you up in the middle of the desert.” A/N: Written for Morally Grey November at brave_new_slash. Written at the last minute because I suck. Enjoy! “The transmitter isn’t working.” “Dammit, I know, rookie.” “You can stop calling me rookie, you know; we’ve been partners for almost four years now.” “You’re still a rookie. Especially when you state the blatantly obvious, you git.” “Am I a git or am I a rookie?” A smirk curled up his cheek. “You’re a hybrid. A rookie-git. Now bugger off and let me fix the bloody transmitter.” “Fine.” Bennet sat back and watched with amusement as Claude pulled a screwdriver out of the glove compartment and began lightly tapping the box. “Sure you know what you’re doing?” “Yes, I know what I’m doing. I thought I told you to bugger off?” Bennet put his hands up in surrender and didn’t say anything else, although he still had that smug smirk on his face. After several more minutes of useless tapping, Claude sighed heavily and turned the transmitter over in his hands. He scrutinized it closely and, after what seemed like careful deliberation and consideration, took out a hammer and promptly began beating the crap out of it. “CLAUDE! What’re you doing?” Bennet shot out of his seat and grabbed Claude’s arm before he could further destroy the transmitter. “I’m hitting it,” Claude said, sounding politely confused. “You’re breaking it!” Bennet held the transmitter in his hands. It was dented severely and had several wires poking out of the sides. “You did break it. Why did you start hitting it with a hammer?!” “Things work when you hit them, Bennet. Everyone knows that. Kick your telly, cable comes back on. Slap the dashboard, sound on your radio is crystal clear. Hit your transmitter with a hammer, and all of a sudden you’re able to call the Company to come pick you up in the middle of the desert.” Bennet stared at him wordlessly for a minute or so, then shook his head and tossed the wrecked transmitter into the backseat. “Now what?” Claude rubbed his neck and glanced towards the trunk. “Well, we got enough food to last us a couple days. They should send someone after us by tomorrow…or maybe the next day…definitely by next week, at the absolute latest…” “…Do we have any liquor?” “Yeah, reckon so.” “I think we’re gonna need it.” *** “If there’s something strange…in your neighborhood…who ya gonna call?!” “GHOSTBUSTERS!” Bennet wildly flung his arms and the bottle of rum went flying into the air. “Hahaha, woops!” “ROOKIE, YOU ARE RUINING THE SONG.” He laughed again. “M’sorry! Where was we…ah! I ain’t ‘fraid a no ghost! This is the part where Nakamura comes in, right?” “Nakamoora!” Claude slapped his knee and started laughing hysterically. “Moo! Like a cow. Nakamura is a cow; I knew it!” “Those’re, those must be the files they wouldn’t let us look at!” Claude collapsed onto the sand with laughter, hugging himself around the middle. “That must be it! Rookie, you could be on t’somethin’!” “There is a conspiracy to hide Nakamura’s true identity as a cow!” he cried triumphantly, and fell onto the sand next to Claude. “Should we expose the truth to the Company?” “No one would believe us, Bennet,” said Claude in between fits of convulsive laughter. “They’d put us in one of those rooms that they put people in.” “You mean the special people?” Bennet’s fingers climbed lazily over Claude’s chest. Claude suddenly stopped laughing. “Or some other people? Like maybe Nakamura’s political opponents?” “Since when does Nakamura have political opponents?” “His political opponents in Cow World. He’s the president of Cow World, you know.” Claude chortled, and Bennet’s hand rested on his stomach. “What’re you doin’, rookie?” Bennet blinked up at him innocently. “Nothin’.” “You’re doing somethin’.” “Am not.” “Are so.” “Am not.” “Are s - oh, bloody forget it.” He sighed and let Bennet keep his hand there. It wasn’t like he minded, really. They laid there in silence for a while, then Bennet said, “D’you ever think about stuff?” “Yeah. It’s a bad habit of mine. I should stop. Have any tips on how I could quit?” “No, I mean about stuff.” “What kind of stuff?” Bennet was really annoying when he was drunk. Even more annoying than he usually was. Not that he should be complaining; he was rather drunk himself. “Morally grey stuff.” “Goddammit, rookie, you and that catchphrase…you should put it on your license plate or somethin’. ‘MRLYGRY’.” “That’s a good plan, but it has too many letters. Anyway, what I meant was…was morally grey in a…” his voice went down to a whisper, “…in a sexual way.” Although he suddenly felt ridiculously hot for some reason, Claude shrugged it off and said, “Why the bloody hell’re you whisperin’, mate? Ain’t no one else around.” “It’s top secret informations. They could be hiding behind the sand grains, listening in on us with spy equipment.” Claude stared at him incredulously. “You’ve gone off the bloody deep end.” “I have not. And anyway, you didn’t answer my question.” His finger traced circles around Claude’s belly-button. Claude’s fists clenched. “I don’t see how that’s any of your damn business, rookie,” he said, biting his lip so hard his teeth were practically tearing through. “It was just a question.” “A…a fucking personal question, was what it was.” He held back a gasp as Bennet’s finger dipped a tad lower than was appropriate. “Well, since you won’t tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine.” Bennet cleared his throat. “I’ve always secretly wanted to do stuff with food.” “…Food?” “Yeah.” “I can’t believe I’m asking this, but…what with food?” “You know. I’ve wanted to get lewd with some food. Do I need to explain it more?” “Y-yes.” God, he was setting himself up. “Well…” Bennet’s hand was practically burning a hole through him as he splayed his fingers. “Sometimes, y’know, I’d imagine you and me getting rude with some food. I’m naked, you’re naked, and we’re standing in front of the fridge, and then you grab some whipped cream and I grab some pomegranates and you’d smear the whipped cream on me and then I’d eat the pomegranate and then you’d lick the whipped cream off of me and then I’d eat another pomegranate, and then I’d rub myself against you and - ” “O-kay, you can stop now. Sharing is not always caring.” He could feel himself getting hard and, try as he might, he could not get the thing to lie down. “What? You’re not into that sort of thing?” Bennet looked up at him sadly, with those damn puppy dog eyes. “I..er…” Bennet looked down at the vulnerable place, and a wide grin broke out across his face. “You are! You are into that sort of thing! I knew it. You wanna do it now?” “What - no I do not want to rub whipped cream on you and lick it off!” he lied. “Well, it doesn’t have to be whipped cream. We can improvise.” “I don’t want to - ” “How about some gravy sauce?” “No - ” “Maybe olive oil.” “Do not want - !” “Wine would be an excellent choice too, of course. Do we even have any liquorous substances left, though? I think we drank it all.” “Rookie, I don’t want to use food as a sex toy with you, okay?!” “Sex toy? I didn’t even think of that! You’re a genius, Claude. Do we have any zucchini?” Indescribably hard at this point, Claude groaned and quickly crawled away for some alone time. “Hey! Claude! Where’re you going? We don’t have any zucchini, but I think pickles’ll be just fine! Hello? Claude? You there? Hello? You’re not leaving me all alone in the desert, are you, Claude? What’re you doing behind that rock? Can I see?” “ROOKIE WOULD YOU GET OUT OF HERE????” “Why are you masturbating behind a rock?” “Why the bloody hell do you think? Now get out of here!” “Let me provide assistance!” Bennet cried heroically, and leaned his head down. “Oh - shite - ” Claude leaned his head against the rock and moaned. *** A little while later, the two of them lay panting and naked in the sand, various food products littered around them. “Great. Now what’re we supposed to eat?” Claude said, picking up an empty jar of pickles. “I can’t believe there were only two pickles left.” “I might’ve used a few,” said Bennet nonchalantly. He didn’t sound all that drunk anymore. “You used…?! Never mind. I don’t want to know. Christ, this sand itches like a bitch.” “It’s unfortunate, but it was the only spot where we could be alone.” Claude looked at him warily. “What do you mean?” “I planned this whole thing.” “You WHAT?!” “Yes. I broke the transmitter while you were at the rest stop, knowing that when it was time for us to check in it wouldn’t work, and you would get frustrated and destroy it. I packed some non-alcoholic drinks and put them in rum bottles so as to trick you into thinking I was getting drunk. I was entirely lucid this whole time.” Claude could not seem to speak. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Bennet smirked proudly. “You’re welcome.” Claude started to protest, but sighed and closed his mouth. There would be time to commit Bennet to a mental institution later. For now… “Claude, didn’t we just - oh, God…” He had plans of his own.