valentineslockers | 2019 Locker for Lira

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2019 Locker for Lira

Name: Lira

Friending Meme Post: here is my meme from 2017, which is a TL;DR but still quite applicable

Fandoms: Hypnosis Mic, Prince of Tennis, Hikaru no Go, The Umbrella Academy, Yakuza

Characters/Pairings/Moresomes:

Hypnosis Mic: Jyuto is my favorite and I love him shipped with literally everyone; Jyuto/Samatoki, Jyuto/Riou, Jyuto/Riou/Samatoki, and Jyuto/Jirou are my favorite ships. Jakurai/Doppo, Jakurai/Samatoki, Ramuda/Dice, Riou/Dice, Riou/Saburou, Ichijiku/Jyuto, Jyuto/Ichirou/Samatoki(/Riou), I especially love MTC and Buster Bros shipped together in every conceivable combination (this includes Ichirou/Jirou and Ichirou/Saburou, sorry), and I like things about TDD during ~the good old days~ before everything goes wrong. There genuinely isn't a single ship between these characters that I do not like, show me whatever weird and seemingly-improbable rarepair your heart desires!

Prince of Tennis: Seigaku and Rikkai are my primary homes; Shiraishi/Yukimura, Yukimura/Yanagi, Yukimura/Sanada, Yukimura/Yanagi/Sanada, Yukimura/Akaya, Yukimura/Niou, Yukimura/Yagyuu, really just Yukimura and any combination of his teammates because Everyone Loves Buchou, Fuji/Taka, Shiraishi/Yukimura/Fuji, Shiraishi/Kite, Fuji/Kite, Fuji/Mizuki, Mizuki/Yuuta, Yanagi/Niou, Yagyuu/Niou, Tezuka/Ryoma, Shiraishi/Kintarou, Shiraishi/Sanada; I love weird rarepairs and plant trio especially, I love most anything about them. (please no tezufuji in even so much as a mention.)

Hikaru no Go: Akira/Hikaru is the ship of my heart, the OTP I have died by for more than a decade. But I also love Ogata/Akira; an illicit relationship with your mentor's son is incredibly my brand. (Bonus points for Akira surpassing Ogata at Go and Ogata's weird, complicated, bittersweet feelings about his younger boyfriend who is miles more talented than him.)

The Umbrella Academy: I'm sorry in advance for my taste; all I want to see is either weird, fraught, bittersweet Diego/Grace (you know, his robot mom) or anything about Five and Delores, I love that Five literally has a mannequin girlfriend. Alternatively: please cry with me about any aspect of this show.

Yakuza: Majima/Daigo is my OTP and Daigo is my favorite character, I also love Kiryu/Majima and Nishitani/Majima. I'm most familiar with Y0, Y3, and kiwami but am not fussed about spoilers for other games.

Likes: an exhaustive post of my likes and dislikes in fandom can be found here. For a more cliff notes version, I love soft domesticity and niche kinky porn; the duality of me. Quiet moments, character pieces, sci-fi, fantasy, and crime AUs are all beloved. I love knight/lord and handler/disaster dynamics and all forms of power dynamic or examination of give and take and trust in relationships.

Dislikes: things I absolutely do not want to see include gratuitous angst for angst's sake, rape, abuse, physical assault, terminal or mental illnesses, homophobia as a plot device, jealousy as a plot device, pregnancy or child-rearing, and foot fetishes. Beyond that, follow your heart!

Anything else: I would like to state for the record that the fictional content I enjoy includes incest ships, adult/minor age gap ships, dubious consent, and unhealthy power imbalances. I prefer my fucked up content to be presented as being fucked up because the nastiness and discomfort is what I want to see examined in the comparatively-safe bubble that is fiction. If knowing this means you do not want to leave me a gift, so be it. I respect that decision! On the other hand, if you like similarly dark or messy fiction and want to create something to that effect, I would love to see it!

But I also genuinely do love soft plotless mind-numbingly sweet fluff, I'll eat that shit up too. Once again: the duality of (man) me.

Also, Jyuto fucks. He is exactly as kinky and out there as that smarmy face makes him out to be, I will accept none of this "Ramuda does all the kinky stuff Jyuto wishes he could do" propaganda, Jyuto is an elegant pervert and I will swear by this.

Thank you for your time. ♥

Reminder that NOTES are welcome too - just a nice little comment (either plain, or you can even type it up on a nice little graphic/image etc.) for the recipient.

(Comments are going to screened until the reveal on Mar 15. Lockers will be open until the end of March.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There’s a cat sitting on his chest.

When Juto opens his eyes it’s to the mildly disorienting amalgam of sounds Izanami apparently makes when he snores.

4:26 AM.

Juto rolls over, all smooth grace honed from years of sneaking around on the force, and lifts the cat with one hand, lowering it to the ground as gently as possible.

The cat looks at him reproachfully, opens its mouth, and yells.

Juto freezes, but Izanami doesn’t so much as shift his breathing.

Good.

After he retrieves his clothing from the bedroom floor and reassembles it onto his body, he slips out the door and follows the cat down the hallway.

The kitchen light is on. Perhaps the safest course of action would be to make a break for the exit, but cop or not, Juto has never put much stock in safety.

Besides, he’s a morning person.

Kannonzaka is absently stirring a mug of instant coffee at the kitchen table. He looks up when the cat comes in, and frowns slightly when Juto follows it. “Oh,” he says, “you’re still here.”

“Not for too much longer,” Juto says, “could I trouble you for some coffee?”

Kannonzaka sighs, eyes closing. The cat jumps onto his lap and he moves reflexively to pet it, sniffling and brushing his nose with his other arm. “Well, I can’t exactly get up, now.”

There’s something about Kannonzaka’s lack of deference to him that’s oddly charming. “Are you allergic?”

“What? Oh. Kinda. The cats are all Hifumi’s.”

“Cats, plural?”

Kannonzaka laughs, a sound detached from any real mirth. “He has five.”

“Five?”

The cat on Kannonzaka’s lap leaps onto the table and casually swats his cup of coffee onto the floor. “God damn it, Mariah Carey!”

Juto grabs a dishcloth from the stove and squats down, just as Kannonzaka is dropping to his knees, his profile carving out space centimeters from Juto’s own.

They had never gotten this close, three years ago, a cold metal table between them.

The handle of the mug has broken off and is lying in a pool of rapidly cooling coffee. Juto’s hand brushes against Kannozaka’s as they both reach for it, and Juto hears the other’s breath hitch.

Kannonzaka’s eyes are narrowed with the kind of soul-tiredness found only in the faces of overworked salarymen, the blue of his irises guarded and aloof, but his mouth soft with something like surprise.

Then, he lets go of the handle and looks away, and Juto’s pulse rate drops back within the normal range. “Mariah Carey, huh,” Juto says.

Kannonzaka chuckles, quiet and restrained. “Would you believe me if I told you I didn’t realize he was gay until we were in our mid twenties?”

TBC :D

（〃・ω・〃）busy matenrou clan taking a break between dispatches... jakurai will make them rest one way or another

LIRA <333 i adore u. im so glad to have u on twit however less time u spend on there now, and i always appreciate our convos outside of it even if i suck at replying sometimes ; its been such a nice couple years of knowing esch other, you always pay such kind attention to what im into and i only hope i can echo ur kindness back at u even a fraction as good. i love reading ur onions and thoughts and id be so glad to chill and watch fz w u soon ;; ily, talk more pls <3

lira!!!!! I just want to say I love how much you love the things u do, it's always amusing seeing you tweet about being into, as the younguns would call it, a problematic ship, bad enjoying the hell out of it, go you

ALSO I DIDNT KNOW U WERE INTO UMBRELLA ACADEMY!!!!!!! pls talk to me about I loved it so much

also. also. very important but I must say I wish I could shake hands with u profusely about your love for juto, yes he fucks, good for him and good for me to watch

Happy vlockers, Lira! At long, long last. Have Shiraishi, Yukimura, and dubious adventures with ginger.
(for anyone else reading, warnings for figging, sounding, and undernegotiated kink that is probably neither entirely safe nor sane since this is Yukimura we're talking about)

Shiraishi hummed to himself as he brushed off another ginger root and added it to his growing pile. It had been a larger hoard earlier before Fuji had walked off with nearly half of it for dinner, but even now, it was more than he had expected. He had never tried growing ginger himself before, and he had been unprepared for just how well it would grow in the greenhouse, and just how large a single root could be. Fuji was thrilled, as expected, and Shiraishi resigned himself to meals that would be guaranteed to clear his sinuses (and possibly his sense of taste) any time Fuji was in the kitchen for at least the next month.

"These grew nicely, Kuranosuke."

Shiraishi jumped despite himself. He hadn't even heard Yukimura approach. "The greenhouse seems to have maintained a perfect climate for them," he replied.

"I saw Shuusuke on his way to the kitchen earlier; he says he'll take care of dinner tonight. He had that look in his eye."

Shiraishi winced. "At least it's not ghost peppers this time," he said. He had grown the plants exactly once. Their dark leaves and pale fruits were beautiful, but...never again.

"What are you going to do with all of these?"

"It'll last awhile. I'm sure we'll find something to do with all of it by then."

"May I?" Yukimura asked, gesturing to a large root.

Shiraishi shrugged. "Go ahead."

Yukimura took a pruning knife from a nearby table and began whittling away at the root. No further explanation seemed forthcoming, so Shiraishi turned back to his plants. It was already warm in the greenhouse, and it would only get warmer as the day progressed.

He loved it. The heat and humidity invigorated him. Maybe he'd do some impromptu greenhouse yoga once he finished with the gardening. Yoga was always enjoyable, but yoga when his body was as pliable as putty from the heat was truly heaven. Maybe he'd see if he could rope anyone else into joining him. Yoga among friends when the atmosphere was already so hot and heavy was even more heavenly. His breath quickened just at the thought of it. He definitely needed to add yoga to the day's schedule.

A shadow fell across his back, startling him. He hadn't even heard Yukimura move.

"Ginger's supposed to be good for digestion," Yukimura said mildly, "but I'm sure you already know that."

Shiraishi nodded. "It's been used in various forms for centuries too--"

Yukimura cut him off with a finger pressed to his lips. "This root was wetter than any ginger I've ever seen in a store. Given its uses, it seems a shame to let it go to waste."

Shiraishi smiled and tried to lick at the finger making his lips tingle, but Yukimura withdrew it just out of his reach. He wanted to play then? Well, Shiraishi would play along. He was curious to see exactly what Yukimura had in mind.

He leaned farther forward, just catching the tip of Yukimura's finger between his teeth. His tongue immediately tingled with the burn of the juice.

"Beautiful," Yukimura said. He pulled his hand back, forcing Shiraishi to rise to his knees to follow.

"Such a beautiful, obedient boy. Such obedience should be rewarded, don't you think?" A second finger pressed to Shiraishi's lips, and he opened his mouth greedily, licking at the juice dripping from Yukimura's hand.

He opened them again when Yukimura pulled him back by the hair.

"You enjoy that, don't you?" Yukimura said. "It's plenty hot in here. Let's see just how much you're enjoying this. No, don't stand, stay on your knees," he ordered as Shiraishi started to rise.

Shiraishi always went for comfort when spending time in the garden, and it would have been a simple matter to discard his pants, but he was never one to let an opportunity pass him by. He made a show of untying the drawstring and pushing down the waistband, arching his back ever so slightly to thrust his hips forward as his erection sprung free. He didn't take his eyes off of Yukimura as he carefully crawled forward, leaving his pants behind.

"You never cease to amaze me, boy," Yukimura said. "It seems a shame to keep any part of this beautiful body of yours hidden, don't you think?"

Before Shiraishi could move, Yukimura had grabbed the edge of his shirt and was pulling it up over his head. He seemed to consider for a minute, and Shiraishi tried to control his breathing. It wouldn't do to be this worked up this early in Yukimura's game.

"A pleasing sight, but I don't think that will be necessary today," Yukimura said, freeing the shirt and tossing it aside. "You love greenhouse yoga, do you not? Why don't you do some now? I think child's pose would do nicely to start."

Intrigued, Shiraishi lowered himself to the ground, stretching his arms in front of him and resting his forehead against the warm dirt. Yukimura's hand pressed briefly against his shoulder, but then it was gone, leaving Shiraishi with only the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears for company.

Yukimura returned as silently as he had gone; the first mark of his presence was fingertips dragging down Shiraishi's lower back and making him shiver. Then, without warning, fingers spread his cheeks and something warm and wet pressed between them. Yukimura's tongue, Shiraishi thought at first, and he pushed back against it, eager for more.

It stretched more than he anticipated as it slid inside him. Then, a few second later, the burning started.

"Turn over so that I can see you," Yukimura ordered.

Shiraishi moved carefully, trying not to jostle the ginger now firmly lodged in his ass any more than necessary.

"That should do for now. Continuing with the yoga you love so much, why don't you do a nice bridge and show off your assets to the world."

As usual, Yukimura was far more compelling than he had any right to be, and so Shiraishi pressed up into his best bridge. It wasn't until too late that he realized the trap as his muscles tensing around the ginger plug redoubled the burning. He nearly fell out of the pose, except Yukimura had already taken his cock in a cruel grip. He froze, pinned where he was. Come down, and his cock would be stretched in ways it was never meant to. Press higher to ease the pull from Yukimura's hand, and the tension in the pose would squeeze the ginger that much more. It was a cruel trick, and Shiraishi would have expected nothing less brilliant from Yukimura.

"Did you know they used to do this to racehorses?" Yukimura asked, as calm as if they simply chatting over a cup of tea.

Shiraishi tried to answer, but he couldn't find the breath to spare.

"Ginger burns horses the way it does humans, and it encourages them to step higher in their prized gait. It's outlawed now, of course, but that doesn't stop some owners from trying to get away with it anyway. It wasn't originally just for horses though; it started out as a punishment for unruly slaves, especially female ones. You can imagine how it might burn inserted into a vagina as well. It's a pity you don't have one to experiment with, but that's okay, that's not the only other orifice they used."

As he spoke, Yukimura held up a tiny sliver of ginger. It couldn't have been larger than a matchstick, save for the rounded nub still on the end, and yet it filled Shiraishi with a deep sense of foreboding. He didn't have the brainpower to spare to string together a coherent thought, but whatever Yukimura was planning, it would undoubtedly test even him.

"It's such a tiny thing, isn't it?" Yukimura said. "And yet I've been assured that it causes quite the reaction. Hold still now, beautiful boy, or you'll just make this more difficult."

It wasn't until the tip of the ginger sliver touched his slit that all of the pieces clicked together in Shiraishi's mind, but by then, it was too late. He squirmed, but that only redoubled the burning. He froze, panting, as Yukimura slowly eased the root into his penis.

The burning was instantaneous and all-consuming. Such a small object, and yet it burned a hundred times stronger than the other. It was a heat like nothing he had experienced before. He thrust against Yukimura's hand, arching higher into the white hot fire. He closed his eyes and gave himself over to the sensations, hot, heavy air, passion, the dry scrape of Yukimura's hand, fiery ginger, the burn of muscles cramping. In one word, ecstasy.

He lost track of how long he rode the wave before it finally ebbed, and he opened his eyes to Yukimura smiling down on him.

"Truly a sight to behold," Yukimura said, stroking Shiraishi's stomach as he eased the sliver of ginger back out of Shiraishi's now-flaccid cock. "You know, they often didn't use figging alone; they combined it with caning to intensify the experience. You don't deserve that after such a performance, but some gentle stretching might do you good. You must be stiff after holding that position for so long."

"Mmmmm, yes," Shiraishi agreed. Then, Yukimura eased his legs straight, and he had to bite back a cry as his hamstrings protested.

"Tight?" Yukimura asked. "Turn over so I can massage them."

Shiraishi shifted slowly, turning over until he was pressed up on his hands with his legs straight behind him. He hadn't intended to stay there, but Yukimura had other ideas.

"Very nice," Yukimura said. "That should do nicely. Just stay there for me."

Shiraishi did, even though his arms trembled. Or at least he tried to, but when Yukimura's hands dug into the muscles of his backside and pressed them into the ginger root, his arms gave out. He would have landed face first in the dirt if familiar arms hadn't caught him.

"Genichirou, perfect timing. Help Kuranosuke stretch before he stiffens up too much more."

"It's fine. I'll stretch later," Shiraishi tried to say, but the words died in his throat as Sanada lifted his shoulders and Yukimura pressed down on his hips, grinding his oversensitive cock into the dirt. His world narrowed to the aching burn and stretch of abused muscles, and just when he thought he couldn't stand it any longer, the pressure eased as Yukimura dragged his hips back over his heels, and Sanada released his shoulders to the ground, letting him rest with his face pressed to the cool soil.

He breathed in the familiar, calming scent and willed his heartbeat to slow. Long before he was ready, he was lifted back up into the cruel arch. He cried out as what felt like elbows dug into the knots in his hamstrings.

When the next respite finally came, Shiraishi gasped for air, as if he could somehow pull in enough of the earthy scent to sustain him. All he wanted was to lie in the dirt and let it ground him. He struggled as he was lifted up again, but strong arms held him, pinning him between earth and sky. After what felt like an eternity, he was released again, but before he could even draw a breath, hands were tugging at his ass until, with one last burning stretch, the ginger root came free.

He collapsed into Sanada's lap and hung on with what little strength he could summon, not caring that he was leaving salty patches on Sanada's knees. He thought he heard Yukimura speaking, but it was all just background noise. For now, there was only the earth below him and Sanada before him cradling him until he was ready to come back.

Happy vlockers, part two! In which Fuji invites Taka to movie night =D

Taka could barely contain himself as he locked his bike and walked up the path to Fuji’s house. He would have skipped, except he didn’t want to drop the tray he carried. Fuji has invited him to a private movie night! He loved movie nights with Fuji (even if Fuji’s taste in entertainment was sometimes suspect by Taka’s measure).

The door opened the second Taka rang the bell. Fuji must have been waiting for him.

"You came!"

"Of course I did. I brought sushi. Extra spicy just for you."

"Thank you!" Fuji barely let the door close before kissing him in the entryway. The heat of it made Taka’s mouth tingle.

"You already taste of ginger," Taka said playfully. "Are you cheating on me?"

Fuji stepped closer, wrapping an arm around Taka’s waist as he looked up with wide, innocent eyes that Taka didn’t believe for a second.

"Depends on how you define 'cheating',” Fuji replied. "Shiraishi tried his hand at growing ginger this year. Turns out the greenhouse is a perfect climate for it. I’ve never seen such large roots before! Potent too. I stole some to add to dinner, and my tongue’s still tingling just from a little taste."

"Then I guess I'll just have to work harder to best it," Taka laughed.

"Come in. I have an extra surprise for you over dinner tonight," Fuji said, barely waiting for Taka to take off his shoes before pulling him not toward the kitchen but toward the small theater they had only recently installed. "You're the first person who gets to see this," he said as he set out trays and drinks on the two center seats, "and for the first time, your special preview showing is on the big screen."

As the lights dimmed, Taka leaned over to steal one more kiss from Fuji while he still tasted of ginger instead of ghost pepper and wasabi. He let the moment draw out for as long as possible, not pulling away until the opening credits began rolling across the screen.

[1/2]
Fuji/Kite Prohibition AU. CW: kidnapping, blackmail/extortion, gags, violence

Chocolate brown. Kite would normally have used the term to describe his target's hair, but today it applied to his entire wardrobe as well from the band on the hat sitting by him right down to his perfectly polished shoes. Every piece of clothing had clearly been custom made and tailored to a perfect fit, though Kite doubted if the owner of said clothing was aware of the stunning craftsmanship draped around his person.

In fact, Kite wondered if the boy was aware of much anything at all. He didn't seem to notice anything beyond the newspaper he held before him--not the patron who bumped into the back of his chair on her way to an empty table, nor the extra pair of eyes watching the scene from across the street. The only change when the boy finally left the cafe was a shift in his focus from the newspaper to the cobblestones at his feet.

It was almost laughable how easy he was making Kite's job.

Kite took another drag on his cigarette while he waited. The kid clearly wasn't in any sort of hurry, not that Kite would have expected anything else from a spoiled corporate brat. Tension hummed in Kite's veins as the boy drew nearer, but he forced himself to remain casual, leaning against the wall as if he had no interest in anything beyond stealing a smoke in the shadows of a recessed doorway.

He held the illusion until the second the boy passed. Then, in one smooth motion, he grabbed the boy's shoulder and spun him into the corner he had just vacated, pinning him to the wall and clamping a hand over his mouth. He still held his lit cigarette between his fingers. Smoke drifted up from the burning embers into the boy's eyes, stinging and disorienting him further as he struggled to break free or at least turn to see who had assaulted him.

Kite pressed his gun to the boy's lower back, jamming the metal into his target hard enough to be felt even through the thick layers of cloth. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned.

The boy stilled, or at least stilled as much as one could when shaking like a leaf. Kite wouldn't have been surprised at all if the boy had pissed himself. He eased up on the hand covering the boy's mouth.

"You don't want to cause trouble with me," the boy began, wasting no time launching into what was clearly a well-rehearsed litany. "You'll want to release me this instant. Do you have any idea who my father is?"

Kite choked back a laugh. Ah yes, the elder Fuji, head of one of the largest and most successful corporations in the city, and directly responsibly for his son's current circumstances. He was was either arrogant or naive enough to refuse to pay even a single cent of the protection money demanded of him, no matter how dire the consequences of such contempt were said to be. His arrogance was so great in fact that he had also refused to order any sort of protection for his wife and the heir to their fortune.

"If you want there to be anything left for your father to rescue, then you'll follow me, and don't even think of screaming or trying to run, Fuji heir."

The boy started at the unexpected use of his name, but when no further reaction seemed forthcoming, Kite loosened his grip just enough to allow Fuji to move. A quick glance out into the street confirmed no one was watching, so Kite herded Fuji the short distance from the doorway to the neighboring alley.

"Take care of him," Kite ordered his two waiting associates, shoving Fuji in their direction.

The kid began struggling in earnest when one of the men pressed a chloroform-soaked rag to his face while the other held him fast, but to no avail. It wasn't long before Fuji went limp in their arms, and Kite made quick work of binding his wrists and ankles with the strongest knots he knew. He wasn't the sort who would have an entire plan go south due to shoddy knotwork; he wouldn't have made it to where he was now that way.

His associates helped bundle his target into a waiting crate. Emblazoned as it was with the name of the adjacent art gallery, it wouldn't draw more than a passing glance on the street. After all, to a casual observer, they would look like nothing more than a couple of hired hands moving a piece of art under the watchful eye of a curator.

The casual observer wouldn't be that far from the truth, Kite thought absently. There was a certain elegance to the crisp tailored lines of his wardrobe that bled into the smooth curves of his face, a contrast that was heightened by the power of unconsciousness.

Kite brushed a stray hair away from Fuji's face before stuffing a scrap of rag into his mouth. He didn't expect the brat to regain consciousness for some time yet, but he was a firm believer that safe was better than sorry.

He let his gaze linger for just a little longer before he closed the lid. The kid couldn't have been more than a year or two younger than him, but what a difference experience made. The boy had probably never wanted for anything in his life, and it showed in the innocent, childish face looking up at him. He had been raised on the streets, any innocence burned away years ago. He had been learning to tell fine designers apart not by the names embroidered inside of collars and waistbands but by the prices they could fetch in back-alley markets and the ease of picking their pockets.

He let his gaze linger for just a little longer before he closed the lid. "Lead on, gentlemen," he said to his associates, waving to the mouth of the alley.

[2/2]

The trip to their destination was both short and uneventful, and Kite was ensconced in his favorite chair with his favorite scotch when the corporate heir, now tied securely to a plain, sturdy chair, finally stirred.

Kite could have left one of his associates standing guard. Perhaps that would have been the wiser choice since he had other plans requiring his attention this night, but he had always enjoyed laying out the ground rules in person. Coming to face-to-face with the smooth-talking mob boss himself seemed to strike fear into people's hearts in a way that waking up facing simple muscle did not. Kite knew how powerful a motivator fear could be.

"Finally decided to come back to us, did you?" Kite drawled.

Fuji looked up with eyes still heavy from the lingering effects of the drug and mumbled something unintelligible through the cloth that was still in his mouth.

"What was that, kid? You're gonna' have to speak up to get what you want around here."

Fuji said something more loudly, but no more clear, and tugged against the ropes holding him to the chair.

"Don't do that," Kite ordered. "You break the chair, you pay, and trust me, you don't want that." He stood as he spoke and stalked closer to his captive. His commands seemed to fall on deaf ears as fear won out and Fuji screamed and yanked against his bonds, eyes wide with fear as Kite loomed over him.

"I said QUIET," Kite snapped, raising a gloved hand and slapping Fuji hard across the cheek.

The crack of leather against skin was loud in the sudden silence. Fuji's head snapped to the side, and when he looked back, it was with eyes glittering with tears and rage.

"That's better," Kite said. "Now, are you ready to listen?"

Fuji nodded.

Kite reached for the cloth knotted behind Fuji's head. "Any funny business and this goes right back where it was," he warned as he untied the knot.

Fuji coughed as Kite yanked the cloth free and tossed it aside. "I hate you," he said quietly as tried to work the ache out of his jaw.

"You'd do better to be scared of me," Kite said. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"Of course I do. My father won't stand for this you know. He'll get me back, and then he'll make you regret ever laying a hand on me."

"Do you really believe that?" Kite asked. "Do you really think the corporate mastermind who climbed his way to the top on the corpses of his competitors will spare more than a passing thought for whatever demand we send his way?"

Kite paused, taking his switchblade out of his pocket and toying with it as if in thought. "Then again, maybe a little encouragement would be just the kick he needs. What do you think?" he asked, angling the blade so that it danced in the flickering light. "Would a finger be enough? Or would it take more than that? Two fingers maybe? Or an ear? Would he give in if I sent him your nose? Or would he try to outlast me as I sent him another part of you every day? Would he ever give in? Or would he still be as stubborn as ever the day your head arrived on his doorstep in a box?"

"You wouldn't," Fuji whispered, trembling as he tried to inch away from the blade hovering by his face.

"I would," Kite replied. "You know me, which means you know I'm not bluffing. If you were anyone else, I wouldn't be so kind, but you've been well-behaved, more-or-less, so I'll give your father one chance to pay up before you start losing fingers. It seems like a more than fair trade, doesn't it? After all, if he'd paid for his protection the first time, none of this would have had to happen. A full day of leniency on top of all the days he's stalled so far seems more than generous. It's definitely more than he'd give if our positions were reversed."

"You're a monster," Fuji said. "Scum like you deserve to be hanged."

"Now now, don't make me change my mind," Kite warned, dragging the tip of the blade ever so lightly down Fuji's throat.

Fuji froze.

"That's better. I have some things to attend to tonight, but a few of my men will stay here to keep an eye on you. Don't even think about trying anything; they're a lot less kind than I am, and I'd hate for anything to happen to you. We'll talk more later."

Before he left, Kite tied the cloth back around Fuji's mouth, pulling just a little too tight for comfort. He didn't want to mark the kid permanently, not yet at least, but it didn't hurt to remind him who was in charge, though hopefully the red handprint on his cheek would remind him of that as well. If the kid was smart, he'd stay quiet and not give any of Kite's hired thugs a reason to remember he was there, but if not, well, that was his own fault. Kite didn't worry overly much about leaving them though, they all feared him enough not to cross certain lines, but he'd hired them for their muscle, not their brains. It was why he'd bothered gagging Fuji again at all when the boy was so pretty when he raged uselessly against his cage. Kite wouldn't be swayed by pretty words, but he didn't trust the others not to be.

He double-checked his gun at his back and his knife in his pocket before he passed through the common area of the building with a quick greeting to the hired muscle and walked out into the street. There was very little foot traffic this time of night; it was too late for workers heading home, and there was no nightlife to be found nearby. The only people he saw were a couple of his subordinates; not that he would have expected anything else when he owned both the building he had come out of and the apartments on either side.

Normally he appreciated the peace and security of the setup (and the fact he didn't have to worry about any nosy neighbors overhearing the occasional screaming of stubborn captive), but tonight he found himself wanting a little more of a challenge. Anything to help him put aside thoughts of the beautiful corporate brat he had left behind. He'd come back to that angle in the morning, but first, he had one more message he had to send to set the stage.

The glow of the streetlights and the click of his boots against the cobblestones kept him company until the side streets finally met with one of the city throughways. There were more people here, despite the hour--a mix of businessmen still in their suits hurrying home after a long day, night fishermen rushing to the docks before their boats left, and the haggard souls drunk on moonshine and bootleg liquor stumbling down the road. Kite wove through the bustle with the ease of someone who was as at home with the city as he was with the clothes on his back, and it wasn't too long before he made it to his destination.

Normally, the offices of the largest corporation in the city would be lit at all hours, with at least a few windows illuminated with flickering gas lamps or candelight as their inhabitants worked through the night on a new takeover. Tonight, the building was dark save for the gas lamps that framed the front doors and the weary security guard in front of them. Tonight, the entire company was at a party across town hosted by their former competitor and newest acquisition. In theory it was a friendly gathering and introduction, but in a show of force and intimidation, this CEO had ordered every one of his employees to make an appearance.

That only made Kite's life easier (as did the man being too cheap to hire more than the bare minimum of security). He would have had no trouble taking out the lone security guard, but it was even easier to slip into the alley that ran alongside the building and find the service door. It was closed with a solid padlock, but the door itself was old and in poor repair, and a solid shoulder was all it took to tear the half-rotted wood free from the metal.

Kite brushed a stray splinter from his shoulder and stepped inside. He hadn't seen signs of anyone else in the building, but he still moved quietly and carefully in the dark as he picked his way to his destination.

Unlike the door outside, the door to the president's office was new and solid, not something that would break easily. Kite opened his cigarette case and pried a set of lockpicks free from the bottom. Then, he struck a match for just long enough to get a good look at the locks on the door. He smiled to himself. As he had predicted, the CEO had recently replaced his locks with one of the newest, most secure models. Most likely in response to series of break ins in buildings nearby. Kite had practiced picking these locks hundreds of times until he could do it in his sleep. He had also ordered the hits on the other buildings.

He extinguished the match before it could burn down and singe his fingers, then went to work on the lock. He felt the pins slide and catch until the whole tumbler turned, and in mere seconds, the door was opening smoothly in front of him.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The windows on this side of the building overlooked only the company's shipyard and the river, and the windows in this office were covered by heavy curtains. Kite risked lighting a single lamp.

The crowded bookshelves lining the walls seemed to eat the light before it could fully penetrate the corners of the room, but Kite wasn't interested in them. He was interested in the massive oak desk in the center of the room, and more specifically, in the framed photograph that was sitting in the corner of said desk just as he had been told. The head of the Fuji company was not known for his sentimentality, but that hadn't stopped him from keeping a family portrait in his office.

Kite studied it for just long enough to note the obvious family resemblance between father and son and to wrinkle his nose in distaste at the obvious hand-me-downs on the youngest son that hung in an unshapely mess around his still-too-small frame. It was a pity such terrible fashion could not be the subject of the message he was about to send.

He spared one last glance at the photograph before he covered it with his handkerchief and brought the butt of his gun down on the glass. When he removed the cloth to survey the damage, he give himself a silent congratulations for striking true--a perfect starbust radiated out from Fuji's face, all-but obscuring him from the photo.

He left the frame lying on the blotter on the large desk. When the elder Fuji walked into his office in the morning, it would be the first thing he saw. Hopefully it would help drive home the intended message, and make him more receptive to the message Kite's men would deliver soon after that.

Kite walked around to the other side of the desk to survey the view as it would be seen by someone walking into the office from outside. Pleased, he smiled to himself. He was prepared to leave when one of the bookshelves caught his eye. At the very bottom, tucked between account books and financial reports, was a safe. That a company executive would have a save in his office wasn't unusual, but that the door would be slightly ajar certainly was.

Kite crouched down next to it, examining it closely for any traps. He didn't see a tripwire across the opening, and when he carefully swung the door a few millimeters, nothing felt out of place. Ready to flee if need be, he eased the door open the rest of the way and took out the stack of papers inside.

He began to read, and less than two pages in, his heart was pounding. These were a treasure trove! They'd be worth a fortune on the black market, and the president cared enough about his bottom line and his corporate reputation that he would likely be willing to pay a healthy ransom for their return, something that couldn't be said about the ransom of his son.

Kite folded the papers, tucking them into the front of his vest. He'd read the rest later once he was safely back in his own office.

A razor-sharp blade suddenly pressed against his throat without warning.

He reached for his gun before remembering it was still sitting on the desk next to the broken picture frame.

"I told you you should have let me go," a familiar voice said.

Kite swallowed hard, and the blade scraped against his throat. He hadn't even heard someone enter the room, nevermind sneak up so close to him.

"Stand up slowly now," Fuji ordered, "and turn to face me. Try anything, and you will regret it.

Kite complied, moving slowly until he was looking down on the boy currently pointing an ornate letter opener at his throat. Physically, he could have overpowered the boy in a heartbeat, but something told him even thinking about doing so was probably a very bad idea.

"Come with me," Fuji said. "No, don't turn around, just back up."

They crossed the office together until Kite bumped into the desk. He stopped, but the blade poked into his skin.

"Keep going. You wanted to make a display out of the desk, right? Well, now you get to be the display."

Kite leaned back until his body was nearly parallel with the desk, his muscles already protesting the effort. He started to move his feet to a better position, but a knee pressing into the front of his pants stopped him.

"Did I say you could move?" Fuji asked. Then, he moved his leg, and in one smooth motion, he lunged forward so that his booted foot pressed into Kite's crotch instead.

At the last second, Kite remembered the knife point at his throat and stopped himself from sitting up to relieve the pressure on his groin. He was trapped, pinned between book and knife, and trying to escape one only served to augment the other.

From this angle, Fuji loomed over him like some sort of avenging angel, and for the first time, Kite noticed that his eyes were a piercing blue, not the brown he would have expected.

"Are you ready to do as I say now?"

"Yes," Kite said.

"Yes what?" Another smile, seemingly so soft and angelic, but with knife blades hidden under the sweetness.

"Yes...young master."

whispers writing machine broke so i didn't get around to actually writing this, but, i would still like to leave you with the image anyway:

please consider Jyuto paying a visit to Hifumi's host club, both bc he's curious and, just to be a general menace. Hifumi approaches his table. the customer who requested him this time isn't a kitten, but a rabbit. he's like ?? usually they only ever interact when Doppo is around and, clearly Doppo isn't here for him to pester, so what does he want...?

he sweeps over and greets him with his typical host-ly charm. if it has a bit of a smarmy, sarcastic edge to it, that's fine, Jyuto is the only one who can pick up on it. why are you here, Jyuto~? oh, does he need a specific reason to be here, can't he just drop in on an acquaintance? ...really he's here bc he wants to slide his hand up Hifumi's thigh and sneak a kiss amidst the lights and noise of the club, wants to see how well his host club persona holds. (it holds pretty damn well. try to fluster him all you want, he'll just flirt right back with the full strength of his talents~)

i didn't quite get to "what sort of host club patron would Jyuto be" but, god.

also, i did a bit of research about host clubs and like, apparently a patron is entertained by a table of 3-5 hosts -- which makes sense tbh bc it is a club environment, why would it be a 1 to 1 thing -- but each table is headed by a "director" (who is the host you request), and you can ask the director to like, tell the others to do stuff. i gotta admit this setup intrigues me bc it's like? a command? chain?? ??? but also Jyuto and Hifumi trying to needle each other with a bunch of Hifumi's colleagues being rowdy around them is also kind of hilarious, lol.

anyway! leaves my dead bird gift at ur doorstep :p

Edited 2019-04-01 09:53 (UTC)

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2019 Locker for Lira

Juto/Doppo/Hifumi shenanigans

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love from kukkii

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