#I’ll return to the spice eventually

[standinginthedawn]

after I finally finish writing this spicy au hak x yona confession fic, I think I wanna delve into a fluffy dark dragon and the happy hungry bunch adventure series of fics

the gang just traveling around, helping folks, having fun, getting into shenanigans

something episodic and wholesome

[charliemwrites]

it is my borfday. I am now 20 whole years. So I ask: 1fur1 reaction to readers borfday? I have 1fur1 thoughts but they aren't ready yet... They're still cooking

Happy Borfday!!!!! Two decades 🎉🎉

Okay just for you, bean - I’ll make it a full part too, even. This is very fluffy up until the end when it gets just a hint of spice.

(No human boys in this one, sorry!)

You haven’t said a word about it all week - and why would you? You live alone with three dogs. It’s not like they care that it’s your birthday; or even understand what time is, really. (Except for dinner time of course.)

But the day of your birthday dawns, a little rainy. You let yourself sleep in a bit, mumbling five more minutes three times in a row when Ghost nudges impatiently at your cheek.

Eventually you do get up though, giving each of your boys a crooning “good morning” and laying kisses on their precious heads. You stumble to the kitchen to start your coffee, even pull out the fancy beans you reserve for special occasions. While it’s brewing, you start gearing up the boys for their morning potty. The precipitation is mostly mist right now, but you’d rather them not smell like wet dog.

You’re trying to belt a wiggly, impatient Johnny in when your phone rings. Huffing, you tap at the speaker icon and try to wrestle the stupid hood over his big-ass ears.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart!” your mom trills through the phone.

At the noise, Johnny thankfully goes still. You finish securing his raincoat and turn to Konig. Thankfully, he’s much more cooperative about getting dressed - even if he takes every opportunity to lick your face.

“Uh, thanks,” you answer. Honestly, you were hoping she’d forget.

“What are you doing today to celebrate? Going out with friends? Maybe a date…?”

You roll your eyes as you finish adjusting Konig’s (custom) raincoat.

“Definitely not. I was just gonna stay in, order some food, drink some wine…”

You haven’t even finished before your mother is protesting.

“No, no, no, you need to do something special! Not every day is your birthday.”

And thank fuck for that, you think, shaking your head.

“It’s not that big a deal,” you insist. The boys crowd as you lead the way to the back door and prop it open. They seem oddly reluctant to leave your side. You assume it’s the rain and shoo them off, your mother still on speaker.

“Well if you won’t do anything, I will.”

“Ma, you really don’t need to—“

“Dinner will be at 6:30. Don’t be late!”

And she hangs up. You groan, run a hand down your face. Well. At least it’s only dinner. You can still do the rest of your plans.

“Boys!” you call, noting that they’re mostly just congregating at the edge of the yard. They instantly return to your side, even Johnny - who has a tendency to make you chase him in the rain.

They each file inside, sit and behave while you remove their raincoats and hang them to dry. As usual, they follow and crowd while you make up your coffee. Add a bit of whiskey just for fun; you won’t need to drive for a while.

The boys climb onto the couch with you, happily arranging themselves in a warm circle. Konig at your back like a living pillow. Johnny on your right, head in your lap. Ghost just in front, pressed against your shins and warming your feet.

You settle in with a contented sigh and sip your coffee. Even put on a show you’ve been meaning to get to.

Midway through the episode, Ghost slips off the couch and slinks off. You notice in the back of your mind, but he tends to be the moodiest of your boys and figure he just wants some alone time.

When he comes back, you hum at him, kissing his muzzle as he takes your other side. As the next episode is loading, Johnny hops down.

“Biiiiig stretch,” you coo, grinning as his back legs extend. He wags, licks your hand in parting, and trots off. You hear the doggy door clatter, figure he didn’t do all his business after all.

About an hour later, the doorbell chimes. You jump, but… the boys are oddly quiet. Usually they’d be rioting that someone dares come to the door. This time, though alert, not so much as a growl.

Put off, you pad to the door and check the peephole. Just a delivery man with a… frankly monstrous bouquet.

You open the door, prepared to tell him that he’s made a mistake. But he says your name and address and tells you happy birthday, gently handing it over.

You blink as he saunters back to the truck, almost don’t notice Ghost standing sentinel right beside you.

“Huh,” you muse, finding him watching you. “Who d’you think ordered me flowers?”

He makes a little “ruff” noise. You snort and close the door. It’s a beautiful arrangement, you must admit. All your favorites. It even came in a vase!

You inhale the sweet scent and sigh, unable to keep from smiling. Usually you think flower arrangements are a bit silly, so expensive for something that will last so little time. But it’s been ages since you last got one and someone clearly put thought into it.

You offer each of the pups a sniff, laughing when Konig sneezes a bit. You set the vase on the kitchen counter where it won’t become a casualty of any enthusiastic tails and you’ll get to look at it regularly. Try to look for a card but there isn’t one.

Hopefully, whoever sent it will reveal themselves by asking if you like it.

You settle on the couch again with a lingering smile, scratching at Ghost’s ears when he presses his face against your shoulder.

Another hour passes in peace when there’s another knock at the door. Again, the dogs stay eerily quiet. This time, you’re greeted with a huge bag of items.

You unpack it on the couch, Johnny sitting by your knee. A new plush blanket, a pretty mug, a video game you’ve heard good things about, the next book on your reading list, your favorite candies, and even an expensive new pair of headphones (since Johnny ruined your last ones).

You let him sniff curiously at each item, amused by his involvement in your gift unwrapping.

“Wow,” you breathe, staring at your pile of gifts. “This is more than I’ve gotten in years. I don’t even know what to do with it all.”

You start by eating some of the candies. Johnny’s tail wags furiously the entire time, even when you remind him that candy is Not For Him.

At some point in all the craziness, Konig’s scurried off somewhere. Not surprising, you figure. All the guests must have made him shy. He’s not a fan of really anyone but you.

Eventually he returns, though, and you’re sure to welcome him back with praises and kisses before he climbs into his spot. You happily return to your show, scratching absently at your snuggly pack.

Just around noon, there’s one last knock at the door. Your favorite takeout place, including a box of the really good German pastries that you never let yourself get more than once every other week. Fresh baked too!

You hum happily as you eat, wishing you knew who to thank for it.

“I feel utterly spoiled,” you laugh as you save the rest of the pastries for later. “I definitely don’t deserve all this.”

A deep bark nearly startles you. Konig. He hardly ever makes a peep!

“Listen to you, baby!” you coo, wiggling your fingers to entice him closer. He comes to your side instantly, chin on your stomach, staring up at you with big mismatched eyes. “Such a lovely voice. Ich liebe dich, Herr Konig.”

He wags happily at you, a big, silly canine grin on his face. When you duck down to hug him, he leaves kisses all over your face and neck.

By evening, you’re in a good enough mood that you’re not completely dreading the visit to your parents’ house. You get dressed, kiss each of your boys goodbye, and leave.

It’s not… bad per se. Sure, your mom makes your sister’s favorite meal, and your dad doesn’t even realize why you’re there at first. Your sister’s husband also keeps making weird comments about you being single and your biological “clock” but—

Well, you’re just there for dinner. At least your mom made homemade cookies; a classic you’ve always enjoyed. But not even that is enough to make you stay longer than absolutely necessary, making your excuses that Konig still gets separation anxiety.

The drive home is long and you feel exhausted from putting on the “grateful daughter” song and dance. When you pull up to the house, though, you perk up when you see another package.

It’s a… basket? You carry it inside, too dark to see what it is on the porch. Immediately greeted by the boys, you don’t get a chance to look at it at first. But once you do…

It’s a self care basket, you think. A ridiculously nice bottle of wine, a bath bomb, body cream, sugar scrub… a bottle of the lube you always use. New lingerie. A toy. Not just any toy either. One you’ve been putting off buying because it’s close to a hundred pounds and you’ve got three big boys to feed.

At first you think it’s your ex but…. No. No, everything in this basket is things you’d pick for yourself. Things he never knew you well enough to buy. And he’s too cheap besides - and too much of a stuck up dick to ever dream of patronizing adult toys.

You hesitate over it. But….. well, you’ve already brought it inside. Doesn’t matter if you use any of it or not; and it’s stupid to let it go to waste.

So you feed the dogs and wander to your room.

And it. Is. Decadent.

You linger in the bathtub for way too long, giggling at the sparkles in the water, sipping wine and nibbling on German pastries. Even sacrificed one of the roses from the bouquet to let the petals float in the water. Start the first couple chapters of your birthday book, sigh and talk nonsense to your boys, all of them lingering in the doorway but behaving.

And when you finally get to bed, you run the battery out achieving your “birthday orgasms”. (Remain shockingly uninterrupted by any of the boys.)

Sometime before midnight your dream of gentle hands cleaning you up, pressing kisses everywhere. Voices whispering “love you” and “happy birthday”.

It’s the best one to date.

(Again, happy borfday!! I love you and I hope this was a good gift 💕)

Main Story | Konig pt.2 | Price pt.1

Masterlist

[navybrat817]

Do Stud and Smartie do a nice Thanksgiving or do they just have a relaxing day?

It would be low-key if they celebrated, nonnie!

So Thankful

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You share some laughs with Bucky while you cook together.

Word Count: Over 1.1k

Warnings: Puns (so many puns), fluff, being thankful, inner monologue, established relationship, feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Short and sweet for Stud and Smartie. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It was Bucky’s idea to start cooking early so you could eat sooner and relax later. You were more than okay with that. While today reminded you of the blessings to count and memories to cherish, neither of you wanted to go overboard. A nice, simple meal to show that two of you were thankful for the good things in your life and each other was more than enough.

No traveling. No stress. Just each other.

I’ll always be thankful for you, Stud.

You glanced over at Bucky as he checked on the food in the oven before you went back to your task at hand. The kitchen was a safe haven in your apartment and making meals together was something you looked forward to no matter what the occasion. Though the space could be hectic at times with the banging pots and sizzling sounds, it was also an area to relax and have fun with your creations.

The impromptu dance breaks brought an extra layer of warmth in between cooking.

Bucky looked over your shoulder as he came up behind you with a small hum. “Looks good,” he commented as you added a pinch of spice to one of the side dishes.

You angled your head to brush your lips along his jaw and took a moment to breathe him in. He wrapped an arm around your waist in return and he pulled you close. “You look even better.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” you smiled.

“I'm a mess,” he mumbled, giving your jaw a kiss. “Don't even have a shirt on.”

“And I'm thankful for that,” you sighed dreamily. He said earlier that he’d put a shirt on once you finished cooking, but you would've been happy if he stayed in his sinfully sexy gray sweatpants only. “So, so thankful.”

“I don't think our families would appreciate me video chatting with them without my shirt on,” he joked.

You snorted as you tried to picture the look on your mom and dad’s faces. As much as you missed not seeing them today, the video chat would help. If Bucky really didn't wear a shirt, they would make light of it.

And nothing would top the hickey discussion, your cheeks hot from the memory alone.

“Becca would never let you hear the end of that,” you said, leaning back against him. “And you may have to put a shirt on, but you'll have to eventually get out of those pants.”

He chuckled deeply, your eyes fluttering shut when his mouth touched your ear. “Will you help me with that?”

“You know I will,” you replied, smiling to yourself. “And I hope this dinner won’t be the only thing filling me up tonight.”

Bucky pulled away from your ear before he burst out laughing, the happy sound reverberating in the room as his chest moved against your back. It was like he was sharing his laughter with you. “Well, I’d love to stuff your turkey,” he said once he caught his breath.

“Yeah?” You smirked, turning in his arms to face him. “You wanna butter my biscuits?”

What’s a day like this without puns?

His eyes crinkled like he was going to laugh again. “Oh, yeah. I’ll butter your biscuits real good,” he rasped. It wasn't fair that his puns sounded sexy while yours sounded ridiculous. “Maybe I'll candy your yams, too.”

“Oh, my God,” you giggled when he pushed his body against yours and pressed your back into the counter.

“I’m not God. I'm just Bucky,” he grinned, leaning in close enough that his lips touched yours. “But maybe I can show you my meat thermometer and you can drop to your knees like you’ll pray for me to put it in your mouth.”

I mean, yes.

“Okay, seriously. What the hell have you done with my Stud?” You demanded, trying to shove him back even as heat shot through your body. Your beefy man didn't even have the gall to budge.

“Just let me check your temperature,” he pleaded with an innocent stare, a great contrast to what he was offering. “Make sure you’re hot and ready.”

“How did you say that with a straight face? How?!”

“This is me. This is who you're marrying,” he said proudly, your cheeks warm at the reminder that the gorgeous man in your personal space was going to be your husband. The heat rose more when his gaze swept over your body. “And I can't decide what I want first. Thighs or breasts. Both are juicy and delicious.”

You sharply inhaled as his eyes darkened a shade. “I don't know if I want you to stop or continue, but I’m telling everyone at Friendsgiving this weekend what you said.”

He tilted his head as if he was contemplating the options. “I think you want me to continue, especially since the turkey isn't the only thing that needs basting.”

I’ve created a monster.

You giggled all over again, your side almost aching. “St-Stop,” you wheezed.

He framed your face and kissed the tip of your nose, his touch almost drawing a whimper from you as you calmed down. “I'm sorry,” he said sincerely before he smirked again. “Why don't I give you something to gobble on until we eat? It might help.”

I must stop this man.

“You think you’re so ‘punny’,” you said, resting your hands over his. And he was. He would always find a way to make you laugh.

The charming smile he gave you was almost hot enough to melt your panties. “I like to think I'm adorkable.”

Yes. Yes, you are.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “This is what I have to look forward to, huh? A lifetime of this?”

Bucky’s eyes went soft before he closed them, pulling you in for a deep kiss. He kissed you like it was as easy as breathing, open, steady, and natural. It was like the floor beneath your feet vanished. You floated, but his lips and tongue tethered you to him. It reminded you how loved you were.

And you would always be thankful that he gave you that gift.

“As long as you're by my side, it’ll be the best life I live,” he whispered, giving you another soft kiss. “And I’m very much looking forward to it.”

You had to swallow the tears in your throat. Who wouldn't choke up at that? “I’m looking forward to it, too,” you whispered, your heart racing at the fond look in his eyes. “And Stud?”

“Yeah, Smartie?”

You smiled, having to get one last pun in. “You’re welcome to mash my potatoes anytime.”

Oh, these two. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[daistea]

Hey sweetpea! You are the absolute queen of Mithrun content!

Can you please write a mithrun x femreader where they are in a relationship and attending a boring ball at the palace, but something goes wrong and the situation becomes dangerous. So Mithrun with his hand on her waist, teleports reader to safety without notice, but he doesnt join her (so like he is just sending her off to safety while staying himself) and reader is just there at the safeplace walking in a circle and getting super frustrated at him because she cant know if he is safe or hurt

And when he comes to get her he is like "i didnt want you to get hurt" like it was nothing

And so like fluffy scolding ❤️❤️

haiii! <3 I kept it short and sweet !

Word count: 2,600-ish

Mithrun x FemReader

It was one thing to wonder, another to experience. Countless novels depicted balls and galas within the Northern Continent’s Elven court as glamorous. You recalled one book you read where the young protagonist danced with her enemy, and they touched hands, and ripping their eyes from each other quickly became impossible. You imagined gentle hands on backs, whispers as you danced in more ways than one, and good food. The good food was possibly the most intriguing part of every depiction. 

 Yet, you no longer had to wonder. You had experienced an Elven ball, and the food was not good. 

 “I don’t know what else I expected,” you lied, because you certainly knew what else you expected. In fact, you had an entire list of expectations. That list was slowly dwindling as each moment beneath the chandeliers passed. 

 The candles attached to the chandeliers were not lit with simple fire, but rather magic maintained by the palace servants. As a result, mana lingered in the already stuffy ballroom like an invisible gas. The magic nipped at your arms as if trying to get your attention, to remind you of the sheer power of the Elven court mages. The crowd’s mostly white dresses and tunics reminded you of sea foam. The floors, a shined and tan marble, were the sands the foam stretched across. And it was just as loud, though the sound of laughter and gossip was far less calming than water. 

 Mithrun didn’t even bother asking for an explanation of your words. He knew all too well that you had expectations, since you’d extrapolated each and every one before arriving. Another thing he didn’t bother to do was warn you. 

 “I warned you,” he said. 

 You held a half-eaten cracker between your thumb and index finger. It tasted like mustard and a sad attempt at spice. You were mainly looking for a place to subtly throw it away when Mithrun responded. 

 “You’re a lying liar who lies,” you told him. You had half a mind to give him the task of throwing away the cracker— though he’d most likely just toss it in the corner and cause a mess for an innocent servant to clean up. 

 Mithrun gave you a slow, flat look, “I did, though. You were saying that the food must be good since it’s made by the palace chef. I told you ‘remember the nut cake’ and you insisted that there would be no nut cake at the party.”

 Right. Nut cake was for Elven commoners and hospitality, not elegant galas. Yet, just ten feet away was a table with precisely three nut cakes on fancy stands.

 “That was not a warning,” you informed him. 

 “Then what was it?”

 “A reminder.”

 “A reminder,” he echoed and he glanced at the crowd swaying in the middle of the ballroom. It was an intricate knot. Couples were like strands of yarn weaving between each other until everything would eventually become too tight. Mithrun then looked back at you. Despite the light overhead casting a shine on his hair— freshly brushed, your own handiwork— his eyes still reflected nothing. 

 You returned the look, “What?”

 “Just throw it in the corner,” he shrugged, then continued, “the cracker.”

 “I might try it again, just to see if it’s still bad,” you sniffed. 

 “It’ll still be bad.”

 You chose to ignore him, “Maybe I’ll try that honey candy in the shape of a squirrel over there. You can’t mess up honey, can you? Not even the Elves can mess up a honey flavor.”

 They could, actually. Somehow. You were lying to yourself again. 

 “Or, you could dance,” Mithrun murmured. You looked back at him to find that he’d shifted closer, his head tilted in your direction so you’d be the sole recipient of his voice. Locks of silver curls fell forward and brushed against his cheek and jawline in the exact spots you most enjoyed touching. 

 “I could dance?” You asked, “I suppose I could, but should I? I might just embarrass myself. And I can barely hear the music. And my clothes are a bit tight. And I still have this cracker.”

 “You’re making excuses.”

 You were. 

 “I simply expected more…” you paused as you tried to locate the correct words. “More excitement. Everybody’s just standing around and talking, or dancing in the stiffest and least romantic ways possible.”

 There was a young couple nearby who wouldn’t dare loosen their shoulders. The woman stared beyond his shoulder while he avoided her eyes. Next to them was a couple of vastly differing ages, and the woman was artfully avoiding the too-personal questions lodged at her like spears. Everyone else you could see danced as if the two-step was a business transaction. 

 Mithrun nodded, though the lack of facial expression betrayed that he didn’t share your woes. “These events are mainly political. The nobility use them to make connections and gather information. Himea only throws these events when she wants to know something specific about someone. Or get something done.”

 While Mithrun didn’t mean to, his explanation implied intrigue and drama. An elegant party thrown simply for information, connections, and espionage. If only the nobility were better at being interesting. 

 “Then why were you and Pattadol invited?” You asked. Pattadol had disappeared around an hour ago after spotting someone who, apparently, invented her favorite printing press font. 

 The question was partly a challenge. You knew why the higher-ups in the Canaries were invited, but how they factored into the pursuit of information and power remained a mystery. If Mithrun cared enough, he could serve Queen Himea well with his powers of observation and deduction. Unfortunately, Mithrun did not care enough. His presence seemed to only be a formality. 

 “It’s a formality,” he said. 

 Right. You set the cracker on a passing waiter’s plate, resisted the urge to wipe your fingers on your nice clothes, and instead settled for the edge of a tablecloth. 

 He cared enough to use his skills of observation on you, though, and shifted closer. His shoulder pressed against yours. “You’re disappointed.”

 “It’s just not very fun,” you murmured. 

 “Then let’s dance. Or you can go make friends and gossip.”

 “I don’t know many of these people,” you looked up at him. His good eye was half lidded, almost, and dark as it flickered across your face in search of something. A stretching, pulling, delightful warmth crawled up from your chest and threatened to enter your throat, but you swallowed it down as you continued, “And we’ve never danced in front of other people, especially a crowd like this. We might look odd.”

 He only stared. A further argument sat on the tip of your tongue, yet Mithrun’s good eye flickered up and over your shoulder. His hand went to your waist, and while he wasn’t looking at you, that one touch was enough to shift your mind in a new direction.

 “I mean, it might actually be sweet, us dancing together here,” you mused. 

 When you and Mithrun danced, it was always in the dim— midnights in the kitchen, when he couldn’t sleep and you stayed awake to keep him company. He always buried his face in your hair and held you close as you both swayed. There didn’t need to be music. As with most things, Mithrun danced with all the enthusiasm reserved for painting a fence. Still, he held you, and he enveloped himself in you, and he always had to be talked into letting go when your yawns became too difficult to ignore. Perhaps it would look odd to the Elven court, but perhaps the Elven court needed something odd. 

 “Alright, let's do it,” you continued. You slid your hand onto his arm, the other moving to rest on his shoulder. Yet, he still wasn’t looking at you. His good eye narrowed at something behind you, and his brows furrowed as the corner of his lips twitched into displeasure. The warmth in your chest instantly cooled. “What is it–”

 A scream as sharp as a knife sliced through the air. The laughter and gossip halted. Surprised, a violinist played a wrong note only seconds before the body hit the ground. 

 Your heart wrenched with sickness. Yet, before you could turn around to see what happened, the pressure of Mithrun’s hand on your waist increased and he slid it to the small of your back, yanking you towards him. A split second view of his expression revealed that he was glaring. Someone screamed. Then, another scream followed the first. It became a chorus, with the guard’s heavy footsteps serving as the bass. Someone important commanded the room, but it went ignored in the blooming chaos. 

 For a fourth of a second, you registered the recalibration of your atoms, and a flicker of anger passed through your mana-filled form. Yet, there was no time to scold Mithrun. He never allowed you any time for scolding. 

 The blink of your eyes was over and dim firelight surrounded you. Gone was the expansive ballroom, the chandeliers, and the crowd. The screams were muffled by layers of wall from where Mithrun had teleported you. 

 “Dammit!” You smacked the wall— whose wall it was, you had no clue. It looked like a random guest room on the other end of the palace. That meant it was far from the ballroom. That meant it was far from the chaos. And far from Mithrun, who was probably neck deep in said chaos by then. 

 You made a line to the intricately carved wooden door and grabbed the handle, then turned. Nothing. You tugged. Nothing. You pushed and turned and cursed all at once, but the lock didn’t dare budge. Did Mithrun mean to send you to a room locked from the outside? If so, it was a bit impressive that he could teleport a whole person that far and that specifically, but you’d figure out whether to praise him or not later. For the moment, no amount of cursing or whining would open the door. 

 With a huff and heavy heart, you looked around the room. While the furniture was neat and expensive, there was no clutter. The closet door was open, and the inside was empty. The bed was so perfectly made, with no wrinkles on the blankets, that you wondered if anyone had ever dared sleep in it. 

 At least Mithrun had sent you to an apparently unused guest room. You could hardly stomach the thought of a panicked noble retreating to his room and finding you there. In the hallway, rushed footsteps passed. Guests rambled and theorized while they tried to find suitable hiding places. No amount of eavesdropping revealed exactly what had happened, though. 

 Worry-tinged nausea began to weigh you down. You dared to sit on the edge of the perfectly made bed, and the mattress lightly creaked beneath your weight. Shadows from oil lamps and mage-lights stretched across the floor through the crack beneath the door. Mithrun was not among them, you knew. He wouldn’t run. He would fight the intruder until the end simply because that was what he did. And as much faith as you had in his abilities, sickness still crawled up your throat and weakened your knees. 

 You paced. You laid on the floor. You bonked your head against the wall. You paced some more. The sounds of passing nobility and servants died down, becoming few and far between. While there was no more distant panic from the ballroom, tension still had its cold fingers wrapped around your neck. 

 Anger that you couldn’t— wouldn’t— deny made its home at the forefront of your mind. Mithrun knew you’d be worried, yet he teleported you away despite that. Mithrun knew you could defend yourself, yet he didn’t trust you to stay by his side. Scripts of the imminent reunion began to play. When he returned, you would tell him how stupid it was to teleport you away. You would inform him of your worry and anger. He would most likely say something frustrating without meaning to. Each and every lecture that you structured ended with the mental-image of your lover responding in possibly the most infuriating manner. Even in fake arguments, he won. 

 Hours of that passed. Hours. You were convinced that it was hours. It was hours. Probably. Hours of waiting, fuming, burning like the fires of—

 The door opened and you instantly shot up from your spot on the bed. You’d laid down at some point, by the eighth hour or so, spread out across the now wrinkled covers and most likely burning a hole into the mattress from your heat. 

 Your heart clenched as you registered the familiar figure in the doorway. Usually, you would’ve run into his arms— knocked him down and laid on the floor as you kissed his face and he simply accepted it. 

 Instead, you glared. Mithrun blinked at the sight, his hand sliding down from the doorknob and landing at his side. He was so…

 Every line of your prepared argument melted away. Your body moved without your consent, and you gracelessly scrambled to get off the bed and storm towards him. Mithrun stepped into the room and shut the door. The lock clicked the very moment that you gripped the front of his tunic, “What the hell were you doing?”

 Mithrun looked down at you with his brows only slightly furrowed, as if he was confused why you were even asking that question. “Fighting the assassin.”

  “Assassin?” You gasped. 

 “It happens every year.”

 “Every year?” You clutched his tunic tighter, “There’s an assassin every year?”

 “Did I not mention that?”

 “You didn’t! You certainly did not mention that!”

 “Oh, sorry.”

 He didn’t seem very sorry. 

 “And you—” your tongue tangled as you took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. “You sent me away. You sent me to this room and made me wait for hours—”

 “It’s only been thirty minutes.” Neutral, Mithrun looked up at the clock on the wall. 

 You decided to ignore him. “It felt like hours! Why was there an assassin? What happened?”

 He sighed and closed his eyes, then gently took both of your hands and unlatched your fingers from his clothes. “Someone always gets assassinated at the annual ball. It’s just what happens. The guards cleared the guests out of the room, while Flamela and I searched the area for the attacker. We found him, I kicked him off a balcony—”

 “You kicked a man off a balcony?”

 He opened his eyes and looked at you, “Yes. Anyway, I sent you here to keep you safe. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

 Mithrun gave the explanation with the same tone one would use for a grocery list. Yet, he leaned in slightly, still holding both your hands, watching you as if looking for something only you were able to give. It was no surprise that he wanted to keep you safe. Yet each time he prioritized you and your safety, your heart threatened to jump out of your chest. 

 “Okay,” was all you could manage to say. 

 “You’re mad,” he observed.

 “Somewhat,” you lied. The urge to grab his face and kiss him was screaming in your ears. 

 “But you’re safe,” he reasoned with a little nod as his hands released yours. “So I’m satisfied. I wasn’t willing to risk anything.”

 You knew. And the expectation coloring his expression betrayed his utter lack of sympathy for your concern. You were safe. When Mithrun wanted something, he tended to get it. 

 “We never got to dance,” you grumbled. 

 He sighed, it was almost a groan, but his arms wrapped around your waist nonetheless. You snaked your arms over his neck and pulled him close. Without music, without a crowd, without the lights and glamor and intrigue, you let the rest of the world melt away. 

[projectbluearcadia]

Hush, Darling, Hush

NSFW Lucifer x GN!MC Spice Rating: 4/4 ; BDSM Rating: 3/3

[ Scenario: Lucifer, horny and missing you, gets into the mood to rail you over and over again, sweetly reassuring you that you can still take a little more. Just a little more. ]

I DID IT. Writing gender-neutral sex. Yay me (I don't think I got the quality down, but I guess I should leave that for readers to decide). Anyway, context is more important in this one, and I do hope it carries its weight.

CW: Overstimulation; creampie; rough sex; restraint (threats); some humiliation ; and just in case, some dubcon because I'd rather y'all be safe than sorry.

Wordcount: 2078

smutty notes (consult if you haven’t read my smut before.)

Most everyone in the House of Lamentation, save for the party in question, likes to make jokes about Lucifer’s libido. Only Satan and Belphie have ever been bold enough to do it while he was present, usually receiving a clout on the ear in exchange. It’s not because he’s offended; he just doesn’t want them doing it during quiet family time. 

Quite frankly, no, he cannot wait patiently when he’s horny. 

And, no, he cannot stop pacing just because you’ll be back soon.

“I am not an ‘anxious puppy’,” he would say, though the description would have fit him quite well. Separation anxiety, jealousy, concern, annoyance and unbearable arousal all flutter inside his brain as he paces, waiting for you to return from the supermarket. 

He knew he was working at the time, but couldn’t you have waited to go and asked him to come with? So what if Beel would have destroyed the kitchen in the meantime? Better yet, why did you even go at all, instead of telling one of his brothers to go do it? No, no, the fights were irrelevant. They’d get it done just fine is the truth of the matter. 

Lucifer glances at his D.D.D. 5:19 P.M. Why aren’t you home yet? Dinner should be on the table in an hour, and that’s pushing it. He opens his texts with you, unable to resist. You’ve only been gone for about 46 minutes and 17 seconds, but surely this is a good excuse reason to text you? 

This whole ordeal just makes him feel more irritated. There wouldn’t be a problem if you just went out with him. Simple. He would have gone with you even if he was working, he decided, raking his hand through his hair as he stares at the last message he sent you. “I know you can take care of yourself, but avoid the alleyways and stay safe.” Which you reacted to with a pretty red heart. So cute. 

Lucifer eventually decides to just call you. 

“Lucifer?” Oh, just the sound of your voice nearly makes the poor man cry. That’s a joke, of course. “What’s up? Do we need something special?” 

“Just you, dear,” he mumbles, not quite loud enough for you to hear. 

“Sorry?” 

“Some spriggan bone meal would be nice,” he says, recovering. Ah, what the hell. It was getting a little pricey lately, but he’d earned it anyway. For being so patient and not-anxious. 

“You just wanted to hear my voice, didn’t you?” Lucifer flinches a little, but he can’t help but smile in his defeat.

“...yes. You know me too well,” he admits. “Are you coming home soon?” 

“I’ll be back in 10. With the bone meal.” The last part is definitely cheeky, but it’s so adorable that Lucifer can’t even bring himself to be mildly annoyed. It does make his arousal a lot more painful though.

“I’ll see you soon. Oh… and when you come home, let Levi take the groceries, then come straight to my bedroom. I love you.” 

“W-Wait, Lucifer? Mammon needs to be supervised…” 

“Someone else can do it,” he purrs into his D.D.D., already deciding who would do it. “If you don’t come to my room, I’ll drag you by your ankles, okay? See you soon.” And Lucifer simpers as he hangs up, leaving you sputtering at your phone, fuming with embarrassment and sincerely glad he hadn’t been on speaker. 

—

The moment you walk into Lucifer’s room, it’s with some surprise that you see he’s not undressed, but he does spring up the moment he sees you. Which would be really sweet, if he wasn’t currently speed walking towards you with a rope in his hand. 

“L-Lucifer?”

“I have a very nice plan for tonight…” he says as his presence towers above yours, before he leans his head against your ear, gently licking the shell before he starts to whisper, his scalding breath delightfully spreading against your skin. “We’re going to make love until dinner is ready. I’ll give you a break to eat—in here, of course. I’ll even let you digest it for half an hour while we cuddle in front of the fire. And, after that, I’m going to fuck you on every piece of furniture in this room in every position I can put you in.” 

Your body, your legs in particular, is already starting to ache, but your entire reproductive tract is on fire with a delirious enthusiasm that doesn’t remember anything resembling soreness. 

“What’s the rope for?” you ask finally. 

“If you try to run away,” he replies sweetly, stretching it in his hands for emphasis. 

“I wouldn’t,” you reply, foolishly. “Bring it on.” 

(You never do learn, do you?)

All of this was said about three hours ago. The first hour was taxing, but it was overall pleasant and left you feeling a little too confident when you stopped for food. You were looking forward to Hour Two. 

Three quarters through was around the time you finally realized Lucifer’s stamina was not in any way, shape, or form a joke. Well, re-realized. You always knew that, but somehow it seemed to have slipped your mind that a demon like him saying, “we’re going to have sex until morning” was not just his fantasy but a genuine promise. Provided, of course, you didn’t pass out first. 

And there you lay on the cusp of Hour Three, spooned in his arms with his cock thrusting slowly but deeply inside you, coaxing you to calm down while tears dribble down your face, soft cries leaving your mouth. Your drool ebbs off the corner of your mouth, into his sheets as you screw your eyes shut.

“Shh, shh,” he hushes from behind you, rubbing your side gently as he kisses your temple. “You’re doing so good for me, MC. I know you can keep taking it.” You moan with exhaustion sprinkled on top of a cooling mix of pain and pleasure as he takes his time, kissing your neck. “You still have at least a few more hours, darling… I’m sorry, but I can’t give you a break.” 

“Mmmnngh…” you groan, making him chuckle against the back of your ear. 

“Was that a little ‘no’?” he purrs, biting your earlobe and making you flinch in the process. Your entire body feels sensitive from numerous orgasms, and Lucifer doesn’t seem affected in the least. Or rather, he is, but being overly sensitive isn’t going to stop, and hasn’t ever stopped, him from railing you. 

“Can’t… impossible,” you complain, and Lucifer rewards you with a few harder, faster thrusts that make you gasp and see stars. 

“But your pretty hole says otherwise,” he whispers, rubbing your wrists in his hands. “The rope is still on the floor… I can always tie you up. Spread your legs nice and wide so that you’re always ready…” You can feel Lucifer’s grin as he speeds up his pace, jerking the sense out of you. It hurts, and you’re exhausted, but son of a bitch, it still feels amazing. “But I don’t want to do that, you know… I want you to accept every ounce of my love for you.” His teeth tug on your ear. “And by love, I mean my cum.” 

Your brain is already fogging over again, and you’re half-debating, not for the first time, about telling him to wrap you up in that rope he’d abandoned. Half of you honestly craves to bolt before you can’t even move your legs tomorrow, but your thoughts are too hazy. The other half just wants to do everything he wants without complaint. 

Lucifer makes you climax again, and it sends fresh tears to your eyes from the extreme sensations pouring from your loins. It’s too much, and, fuck, maybe you should stop…

“Ugh…” Lucifer groans against your neck, burying himself deep. You’re past the point of being “full,” so when he ejaculates, you can feel it dripping against your shaking legs and into his sheets. You’re whimpering by the time he finishes, and he’s pulling your legs off the bed, his fingers greedily consuming your thighs. “You’re making such a mess, darling…” 

“L-Lucifer… sir… please…” you beg softly to his lustful face, but he’s already pushing right back into you, making you sob as more drool spills out of your mouth like you weren’t embarrassed enough. 

“I know, honey, I know,” he murmurs, rubbing your cheek with his thumb as you gasp. “Shh, just a little more.” His cock is busily squirting lewd sounds out of your hole, your legs spread wide as he gradually pulls you upwards by your hips from his bed, half your lower back now raised in the air. 

“Luci… hgn… please just a little slower…” you sniffle, but to no avail as Lucifer digs his nails into the hips he’s already lightly scratched and bruised. His only response is to pull you higher, your blood starting to rush to your head a little as he stands tall instead of hunching over. “Lucif—! GAH, AGH!” Zero mercy, and before you can say anything else, your overstimulated nerves send you right back over the edge. 

Lucifer lets you flop back down to the bed with a bounce as you finish most of your twitching, chuckling as you gasp and cry. You’re so overstimulated and so exhausted, and you just want a break, but that’s not on the table tonight. Tonight is one of those nights that forces him to take care of your every need and want the next day. Maybe even the day after that. 

“Don’t close your legs, darling,” Lucifer whispers, even as he turns you onto your stomach, his lips dragging down your spine. “Come on. Three seconds to get up onto your hands and knees.” Do you seriously think I can even make my legs function properly anymore?! you yell internally, yet you’re still trying to obey the order. Because it feels heavenly to get so sloppy from your expression down to your body, and he’s so happy to see it, isn’t he? You can almost hear his voice in your head. Does it hurt, baby? I’m sorry; just a little more, and I’ll make sure you won’t feel it. You just barely manage to raise yourself, and Lucifer gifts you with his member pumping right back inside. 

The moment he does, you collapse like a house of cards, but Lucifer doesn’t seem to mind as he crawls over you, pressing you into his bed as he ruts his hips against your ass, littering the back of your throat with kisses. Such gentleness is a godsend, really, but you wish he’d just please slow down. But this is his pleasure that’s important right now. And his greatest pleasure is seeing you turning into this pathetic mess of a person that can barely speak, your tongue caught between pleas for him to stop and pleas for him to never stop. 

“Hush,” he whispers kindly, bringing a hand forward to brush the tears from your eyes. “It’s okay. Just another hour, I promise.” His tender tone makes you break down harder than ever, gripping his pillow for dear life. “You can cum for me a dozen more times, honey; I know you can.”  I think I might die of… of something if I orgasm a dozen more times…

“Lucifer,” you whine between gasps, your eyes fluttering.

“Yes, darling?” he whispers as he shoves himself in as deep as he can go, making you completely lose your train of thought. It wasn’t a difficult train of thought, but your mind can’t hold onto anything anymore. “Do you even remember your safeword?” 

“I…I know it…” you gasp out, and he chuckles, stopping for just a moment as he rubs your shoulders. He had asked you that question about five times tonight, the cute bastard. Waving relief in front of you, full well-knowing that you’re going to keep indulging him. 

“Do you want to use it?” his lips ask against your ear, his hands uncurling your tightened fists. You groan as you push your head into the pillow, the odor of sex flooding up your nose instead of trickling into it. You shake your head. 

“No,” you whisper, and Lucifer bites you, licking up your neck.

“Wonderful… you know you can take more,” he rumbles, the vibrations of his voice seeming to seep into your bones. “Then let’s see just how much more.”

[syrupfog]

Infiltrating the Marines is honestly pretty par for the course, at this point. Penguin might even say it’s a bit BORING. 

Actually, there’s no “might” about it. It’s INCREDIBLY boring, and tedious, and Penguin is pretty sure that even if he had started as a marine, he would’ve defected to piracy by now. 

Like, gods above, Law’s only directed them to be here for three weeks, but three days in and Penguin is considering causing some trouble just to feel ALIVE. 

It doesn’t help that Shachi ended up filtered into a department on the far end of the base.

So here Penguin is, bored out of his mind and serving SLOP in the canteen. SLOP. Like, this is a downgrade from gruel. Have Marines never heard of spices? 

“Cadet,” a very boring Commander says, turning to Penguin as Penguin hurries to put down his ladle and salute.

“You’ll be delivering meals to the brig today,” the Commander says. 

Penguin’s eyes—hidden under his cap, of course—light up. “Yes sir,” he says. He has no idea where the brig is. 

Laden with a full cart of slop, he then proceeds to get hopelessly lost. The place is labyrinthine.

When he locates the brig, the Junior Lieutenant at the door keys him in, and Penguin finds him in a significantly dimmer hall of cells. 

He hands bowls of slop through the bars of a number of sad looking prisoners that he can only imagine are hapless unlucky pirates.

But at the very end of the hall, in the last cell— well now, this is a surprise. 

“Oh,” says Penguin brightly. “You’re the Massacre Soldier.” 

The Massacre Soldier has several more chains on him than most of the hapless pirates. He’s still got his mask on, at least.

“How… are you going to eat this?” Penguin asks. 

The Soldier, who had been doing a decent job pretending Penguin isn’t there, turns toward him. “Like a fucking dog, I suppose,” he rumbles in a deliciously low voice. 

“Well that’s no good,” Penguin says. “I’ll find a straw.”

He wanders off to find a straw. 

It takes a while. The marine base has apparently become “eco conscious” so there are no plastic ones, but he eventually comes upon a metal one. Well. Possibly it’s a small metal pipe, but close enough. 

The lieutenant doesn’t question it when he returns. Dang, these guys really need to work on their security. 

“Here you are!” Penguin says, sticking the straw in the slop and sliding it forcefully in his direction. 

“…Thanks,” The Massacre Soldier says, sounding somewhat confused. As Penguin is leaving, he hears the Soldier say, “I’ll kill you last.” 

That’s nice, Penguin thinks. Very kind of him. 

Penguin ends up taking meals to the brig on the regular. It’s a nice change of pace, and he learns to hide straws in his uniform. USUALLY The Solider gives them back, but a few are missing.

It’s two and a half weeks into his three week stay when Penguin’s very boring routine is interrupted by explosions. 

Ah, Penguin thinks, finally some excitement. 

Unfortunately that excitement comes with a little more chaos than expected, and he gets caught up in a crowd of

panicked cadets running every which way. Penguin has to work against the flow because he’s pretty sure the most dangerous place right now is going to be wherever the marines are exiting. 

And the most interesting will be the Brig.

He’s almost down there— the halls here are much more deserted— when another explosion sounds and the walls around him crumble. Penguin lets out a muffled shout as he’s brought down by a pillar collapsing directly on top of him. 

Shit. 

That fucking hurts.

He can’t move, can’t lift it from where it’s crushing his abdomen. There’s definitely some cracked ribs. 

Ah Shit. Law’s gonna kill him if he dies. 

Suddenly, his attention is taken up by the sound of heavy footsteps coming toward him. 

The Massacre Soldier and Eustass Fucking Kid

“I’ve got the twerp,” Kid says. 

“Wait,” The Soldier shouts, putting his hand out. 

He points at Penguin. “Straw Guy,” He says. 

Well. 

“That’s me,” Penguin groans. 

The Soldier, still at a run, fucking KICKS the pillar to pieces and grabs Penguin around the middle, hoisting him under his armpit. 

“Demeaning,” Penguin wheezes. 

“Hello??” Kid screeches. 

“Straw Guy,” The Soldier says to Kid, pointing with his free hand at Penguin. 

His free hand which, it turns out, is covered in blood and has four metal straws between the fingers. A makeshift weapon.

“You can’t just bring a pet marine home, Killer” Kid yells as they run. 

“Mine,” Killer says. He’s POUTING. 

“If it helps,” Penguin speaks up, “I’m actually a pirate.” 

They stop briefly to kill some loose marines. 

“That doesn’t help,” Kid says.

“Yes it does,” Killer argues. He pats Penguin’s hat with his bloody hand. 

Kid screeches in frustration. “Fine!” He yells. “Take home your fucking pet pirate.” 

“Thank you,” Killer singsongs. They have to stop to murder some more marines and Penguin sees his straws at work.

Its gruesome. 

Finally they emerge into sunlight at the top of the base, Kid’s ship looming over them. Penguin wonders if Shachi’s waiting for him. Hopefully not. He’s indisposed. 

Killer carries him onto the ship and, only stopping briefly to dispose of the straws, goes straight down into the depths of it. 

Penguin finds himself shortly thrown on a messy, unmade bed. 

“You get your own room?” He asks. 

“First mate privilege,” Killer says, and then he’s on top of him, one LARGE hand covering Penguin’s eyes. There’s a thunk, and then lips meeting his own. 

It’s an odd experience to be passionately kissed with your eyes forcefully covered. Penguin’s not against it, though. 

When Killer breaks the kiss, Penguin says, “Could’ve just gone for a blindfold.” 

“Haven’t done laundry, Straw Boy,” Killer says. “And maybe I like the feel of your lashes.” 

Ohhhhh that’s. Penguin blushes. “I’ve got a name,” he says after the next time Killer’s mouth disconnects from his. 

Killer hums in response, chasing his lips. 

“It’s Penguin,” Penguin gets out.

Killer pauses. 

He sits back. 

He inadvertently puts pressure on Penguin’s face, pushing him against the bed, and Penguin groans in protest. 

“The heart pirates?” Killer asks. 

“You’ve HEARD OF ME?” Penguin squeaks. 

“…that’s a yes,” Killer says. Then he’s kissing Penguin again.

Then he’s moving down, sucking a bruise into Penguin’s neck, and only disconnecting long enough to say, “Kid’s going to kill me when he finds out.” 

“As long as he doesn’t— kill ME,” Penguin complains, writhing under Killer’s teeth. 

He feels Killer grin against his neck.

“I’ll let your uptight captain know where to find you in the morning,” Killer says. 

“He’s not uptight,” Penguin argues (lies). But then Killer’s working hickies into his neck again and Penguin decides he’s just going to embrace being Straw Boy. Until morning, at least.

[gingernut1314]

Oh my god. Four words. Jealous Polnareff one-shot.

Imagining you and Pol (before part 3) are out shopping or maybe at a celebration. Then Polnareff needs to go try on clothes (if shopping) or grab drinks (if at a celebration); and for whatever reason, you refuse to come with him because you insist on needing to watch over your guy’s cart or bags. After some whining Pol will eventually go and retrieve what he needs to, promising to be back soon. While he’s out, you may or may not run into someone and start talking. This person could be a friend or a family member, but Polnareff being Polnareff started jumping to conclusions. Later, he pulls you away being dramatic and pouting.

This could either turn fluffy as you comfort him or maybe even nsfw if Pol wants to show you that you’re his and he’s yours.

Jealous

Polnareff x GN!Reader

Summary: After Polnareff returns from getting you both more refreshments, he finds you kissing the cheeks of another man.

Warnings: jealous polnareff, takes place before JJBA part 3, french and Italian pet names, Italian reader

Word Count: 1.5K

Song: Jealous Spotify | Youtube

A/N: I got three words for you: Eating this up. Jealous Polnareff?? YES PLEASE!!!! Jealous Polnareff at a celebration and getting Jealous over a family member?? CACKLING ITS SO GOOD!!!!!! Also.......i am so sorry this took so long, it's been a struggle out here 💀 I hope you enjoy!!! I didn't add any spice cause I'm not really motivated to write for that right now buuuut when I do in the future I will keep this request in mind and give you a little part 2!!!!!

Taglist: @cinnbar-bun @lostfirefly

↞ to Jjba Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠

The streets of Naples, Italy were packed with people waiting to watch the fireworks bloom across the sky as soon as the sun fell away. It was a festival you had grown up as a kid loving and one you had wished to come back home for to show your partner, Polnareff. 

He had been more than excited to come, wishing to know more of you and your home. Though, he had not been all that excited when you had posed the idea of him going to grab you two some more drinks and snacks before the sun disappeared. 

“And leave you here on your own? No. We can go together.” He had insisted, taking your hand in his with a gentle squeeze. 

“But we will lose our spot and I’m telling you this is the only spot you want.” You said, gesturing towards the spot you had elbowed and argued with to get. A spot that overlooked the blue waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea and was high enough that one could all but touch the fireworks as they shot off from the boats below. “You’ll be gone for only two minutes. I’ll be okay.” 

Polnareff had hesitated for a moment longer. A hesitation you eased with a gentle grab of the back of his neck to pull him down so that you could place a sweet kiss to his lips. So that you could murmur loving words against them that had him folding to your whims with a grumbling fine before heading off. 

You watched him go with a pleased smile before a man knocking into your shoulder, turning your attention back to your very important job of keeping your spot. 

Polnareff grumbled when he was met with long line after long line, the sun setting lower and lower the longer he stood. At this rate, it would be dark before he made it back to you…but you had wanted this so he was going to make sure you had all the snacks and drinks you could need. His main goal was to make you happy, and he would be damned if he wouldn’t make you the happiest person alive. 

Seeing you happy made him hap--

Polnareff froze when he finally spotted you after what felt like hours of being away. Spotted you placing a soft kiss to the cheek of another man. 

It wasn’t an uncommon practice. As a Frenchman, Polnareff was sure to greet those he knew and loved with la bise. A simple kiss to either cheek starting from the left and going to the right. And he knew you were accustomed to doing them as well, seeing as you were born and raised in Italy where such kisses were very common. 

But something about how you looked up at this man. How you held his upper arm oh so gently. 

No…no he was just being jealous. Looking too much into the situation and--

You moved to place yet another kiss to this man's cheeks.

Polnareff knew thanks to you that the number of kisses meant something. That one was reserved for quick hellos and goodbyes. For friends and acquaintances you might not be the closest to. For strangers and yet here you were--placing a second kiss.

So you knew him well. A friend you might have known from childhood or--

A third kiss. 

You were gifting this man a third kiss. 

Very close.

You were very close to this man. 

Maybe--maybe a past lover? 

It had to be. Who else would you grace your glorious affections to? 

Yet, just as Polnareff went to storm over there and demand answers, a large group of travelers walked before him. Travelers he pegged as Americans by the bit of conversation he overheard in their passing. He huffed and hurried to push through them despite their barks of protest but, upon making it to the other side, found the man gone. 

You looked his way and smiled happily as if you hadn’t just been with another man. As if you hadn’t just met up with a past lover. 

Polnareff almost let his rising jealousy and slight hurt fall away upon gazing upon your smile again, but they were too big to drop. 

“Amore, come quickly!” You waved quickly over. “The fireworks will be set off in a few--” Polnareff was crossing the way and standing in front of you before you could even finish your sentence.

“Who was he?” You blinked up at him, slight confusion furrowing your brow. 

“Who--what?” You said. “Why do you look so upset?” You continued, raising a hand to feel over the warm skin of his cheek but Polnareff, despite himself, moved from your touch. Your own hurt shot through your chest like a dagger. “Amore--” You started, that hurt pouring into your voice.

“Who was that man you were just with? You--You kissed him. Three times. Three times means you know him well. Very well. You--you must love him, yes? Who is he?” Polnareff rambled out, making your hurt soften and concussion turn to amusement. Amsuemnet you couldn’t help but show with a small chuckle. “You find this funny?” Polanreff huffed.  

“Yes.” You snatched one of the drinks from his hand and took a sip that you dragged on just to see Polnareff stress about who you had just been with for a short while longer. 

“Amour--” Polnareff all but whined at your all but disinterest in the seriousness of the situation. 

“You think I would show that much love for just any man?” You turned your gaze away from Polnareff to look over the darkening sea. Polnareff huffed, moving so that he could keep his gaze trained on your face. The man beside him hissed his annoyance but Polnareff hardly cared.

“No--no of course not. That is why he must be very dear to you. A--a past lover? A first love.” Oh god--the thoughts just kept tearing at his heart. A first love--how could he compete with that? With a love that had been so new and innocent and un--you were laughing again. 

“Darling--sweetheart, that was my brother.” Polnareff blinked as he slowly registered the words coming out of your mouth. Brother. That had been--that was your brother. You pointed over the railing at another person in the crowd below. 

“And that is his partner, just there see?” Your brother's partner looked around as if searching for someone. Their search had their eyes turning upward, finding you there. A happy smile pulled to their lips as they waved furiously to you and you were very quick to return the greeting. “He saw me and wanted to get a heads start in welcoming me back home before we went to go meet them all. No secret lovers or past lovers….though that would have been something huh?” You joked, turning back to him fully, that bright smile back on your face. 

“I-I-amour, I am sorry. I just--” You shrugged, reaching back up to place your hand on his cheek. He let you gratefully, leaning into the touch that was always so gentle and comforting. 

“It is alright, amore. I am glad to know you love me so much you would fall apart at such a scene. It makes me feel very special.” Polnareff nodded, leaning down closer so that he could breathe in the scented mist you had put on before leaving the hotel. A scent that he just could never get enough. 

You can’t help the content sigh that puffed from your nose as you leaned forward and pressed a delicately soft kiss to his lips. This kiss was one you had not thought of sharing with any other since the moment Polnareff had swept you off your feet. 

The sudden pop and whistling wizz that sounded through the dark air had you whipping around to watch the first fireworks bloom in the sky. It cast a pink glow over the dark sea and gathered crowds--crowds who Oooed and Aaahed at the beauty before them. 

Just as the second round of fireworks were shot off, Polnareff grabbed hold of your chin and guided your attention back onto him. His lips were set in an easy smile and his eyes, which were now illuminated by the green of the firework overhead, bore such unyielding love and affection in them that it stole the very air from your lungs. Such a look that had you forgetting about the fireworks because they could never beat the beauty of the man before you. 

“You are very special to me.” Your lips parted on a shaking intake of breath, your heart fluttering at his words. It was a slight movement Polnareff’s loving eyes shifted quickly to watch. “And you are mine and for that, I am truly blessed. Forgive me but…I will do anything to protect such a blessing.” 

The boom of yet another firework sounded as you threw yourself forward, nearly knocking the man you loved backward in your rush to fit his lips against yours once more.

[theaawalker]

a christmas memory ❆ susan pevensie.

Pairing: Susan Pevensie x fem!oc Song Inspo: Graveyard by Halsey Word Count: 2,162 Summary: a Christmas dinner promises snow, reminiscing, s'mores, cuddles, hot chocolate, and a life-changing phone call. Warnings: mentions of death Masterlist: see fandoms (pc-friendly)

The heavy snow had been falling for hours, carpeting the streets and rooftops of London in a thick, white blanket. Inside a cozy townhouse tucked away on a quiet street, warmth radiated from a crackling fire in the living room fireplace. The scent of roasted vegetables and spices lingered in the air, mixing with the sweetness of hot chocolate and the crackle of the fire. Susan Pevensie stood in the kitchen, her hands busy chopping vegetables for the Christmas dinner she had been planning for weeks. Her movements were purposeful, but there was a gentleness to them — a love for the moment she was about to share with her family, the people who meant the world to her.

On the couch across the room, you sat nestled into a thick, knitted blanket, sipping from a mug of hot chocolate. You were absorbed in your book, Count Luna by Alexander Lernet-Holenia, a gothic, WWII novel that Susan had initially thought too dark for her taste but had come to appreciate for its complexity. The dim light of the room flickered off the pages of the book as you turned them, the snow outside casting a soft glow through the window.

"It's going to be perfect, Susan," you said, looking up from her book and catching Susan's eye with a soft smile. "The dinner, I mean. Everything's ready for your siblings. They’ll love it."

Susan smiled back, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she leaned against the doorway, feeling the warmth of the moment.

"It’s important to me," she admitted, her voice soft. "Christmas means so much to them, to all of us. And this dinner... it's a chance for us to be together, after everything we've been through." Her gaze softened. "I want them to feel at home, to feel loved. They don’t visit often enough."

You nodded, a knowing look in your eyes. "I get it. I’ll make sure it’s all perfect. The rooms are all set up for them. They’ll be comfortable, and after dinner, we can all relax with some s’mores by the fire."

Susan chuckled, the warmth of the moment filling her heart. "You really do think of everything."

Your lips quirked upward. "It’s what I do."

The conversation drifted as Susan resumed her work in the kitchen, her hands moving as though on their own accord. You returned to your mystery book, but the atmosphere was peaceful, a shared understanding between the two of you.

Eventually, the conversation returned to the book.

"I think Count Luna is a bit like a reflection of the past," Susan said thoughtfully, breaking the silence. "It's about escaping reality, about running from the things we can’t change."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What do you mean?"

Susan hesitated, her mind drifting back to a time long ago, to the days when she was just a child, before everything had changed.

"When I was younger," she said slowly, "I was running from something, too. From a life that was too complicated. From a war that made no sense. My siblings and I were sent away to the professor’s house during the war, to be safe. But I can hardly remember how we passed the time there... it's all a blur."

A flashback unfolded in her mind.

[ Flashback: The Train to the Professor’s House ]

The sound of the train was a constant hum beneath Susan’s feet, the rhythmic clacking of wheels on the track almost lulling her into a trance. She was just eleven years old, her mind still struggling to grasp the magnitude of what had happened. The war. The evacuations. Her parents’ sudden disappearance. She sat in a corner seat of the train, her siblings clustered around her: Peter, ever the protector, Edmund, looking sullen, and Lucy, wide-eyed and uncertain. They had been sent away to live with a professor in the countryside, far from the bombings and the chaos.

Susan couldn’t remember much about the journey itself—just the way the world seemed to blur through the train window, and the hushed voices of her siblings, trying to reassure each other. The journey was long, silent, as if the train itself held its breath.

"Do you think we’ll be safe, Susan?" Lucy asked in a small voice, her tiny hands clutching her sister’s sleeve.

Susan smiled softly, though she wasn’t entirely sure. "We’ll be fine, Lucy," she replied, though she wasn’t convinced herself. She looked at Peter, who gave her a nod of reassurance, but there was fear in his eyes, too.

Edmund broke the silence, his voice full of bitter edge. "I don’t even know why we’re going," he muttered, "It’s not like we’re any safer in the countryside."

Peter glared at him. "Stop being difficult, Ed. We don’t have a choice."

But Susan didn’t intervene. She only gazed out the window, watching the world rush by in a blur of grey and green, wondering what the future would hold.

[ Flashforward: Susan and Yours Townhouse ]

Susan snapped back to the present with a deep breath, trying to shake the memories loose. Looking from the living room and sensing Susan’s shift in mood, you put your book down and stood, moving toward the kitchen.

"That sounds like such a difficult time," you said softly, your arms wrapping Susan from behind in a comforting embrace.

Susan leaned into the embrace, savoring the warmth.

"It was. I can’t even remember how we passed the time at the professor’s house. It’s all a haze — just bits and pieces. But I know it was when I started to realize how much I wanted to protect them, to keep them safe." Her voice dropped. "I promised them that I would."

You kissed the top of her head. "I can see that. You’ve always been their protector, Susan."

Susan smiled faintly, then pulled away, her thoughts drifting. "I think about that time sometimes. How we came from a place of so much fear. But when I think about it, I remember how we all stuck together. Even Edmund."

Your eyes softened. "The bond of family. That’s what matters most."

Susan nodded, her heart heavy with the weight of all those memories. "I think that’s why it’s so important, this dinner. To remember those bonds. To keep them strong."

You smiled and kissed Susan’s cheek. "We’ll make it perfect. And we’ll make new memories, too."

The conversation shifted then, to lighter matters.

"How did we even meet, I wonder?" Susan said, her tone playful. "I remember you were so… irritable."

You laughed softly. "I was not!" she protested.

"You were," Susan said with a smirk. "You bumped into me at the train station and gave me such a look."

You grinned, recalling the memory. "It wasn’t my fault you were standing in my way."

Susan shook her head, grinning.

[ Flashback: The Train Station ]

The bustling train station was a cacophony of hurried footsteps, clattering suitcases, and the distant screech of arriving trains. Susan Pevensie stood in line at the ticket counter, her mind preoccupied with the journey ahead. She was on her way to Doncaster, a trip she had decided on a whim, hoping for a change of scenery. The cold winter air nipped at her skin as she adjusted her scarf, the December chill biting at her exposed cheeks.

She was lost in thought when she heard a voice behind her.

"Excuse me, but I think you're standing on my foot."

Susan turned sharply, a mixture of surprise and irritation crossing her face. Behind her stood a woman, clearly annoyed, with a raised brow and arms crossed. Her dark hair was pulled back by a furry headband, and her sharp eyes were fixed on Susan with a mixture of impatience and amusement.

"Sorry," Susan muttered, stepping back. She was not in the mood for a confrontation. "I didn't notice."

You tilted your head, eyeing Susan for a moment before a wry smile crept across her lips.

"You’re one of those people, aren't you?" You said, tone laced with sarcasm.

Susan raised an eyebrow. "One of what people?"

"The type who don’t notice anything outside their own little bubble," you said with a shrug, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

Susan blinked, momentarily taken aback. "I’m sorry, but I don’t think—"

But before she could finish her sentence, the announcement over the PA system blared to life, drowning out the rest of their conversation. You sighed, clearly frustrated by the interruption.

"Great," you muttered under your breath. "I’ve already missed my train, and now I’m stuck with this."

"Maybe you should watch where you're going next time," Susan retorted, not ready to back down from a challenge.

You gave her a look of incredulity. "Oh, I’m sorry, am I ruining your perfect day?"

For a moment, the two exchanged sharp glares, their personalities clashing like two magnets with opposing poles. But then, without another word, you turned and walked toward the train platforms, leaving Susan fuming behind you.

[ Jump to: The Train to Doncaster ]

As fate would have it, both women found themselves on the same train to Doncaster. The train car was crowded, the scent of coffee and stale newspaper filling the air. Susan had already claimed a window seat and was about to settle her luggage when she heard the unmistakable sound of heels clicking on the floor.

The woman from the station approached with purpose. Your eyes met Susan’s, and a flicker of recognition passed between them. Susan frowned, her annoyance from the earlier encounter creeping back.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" you asked, her voice more resigned than polite.

Susan hesitated for a moment.

"I'd rather you not," she said, not willing to back down so easily. The last thing she wanted was to share space with someone who had already rubbed her the wrong way.

Your expression hardened. "Listen. I’m not asking for much. There’s no room anywhere else."

Susan could feel the irritation rising in her chest, but before she could reply, a man appeared, sliding into the seat of hers with a smug look on his face. He glanced at both women and then focused entirely on Susan.

"Excuse me," she said, "I believe this seat is taken."

"I'm afraid not anymore." The man said, his voice grating. His gaze flicked briefly to you, the woman next to Susan, a sneer crossing his lips. He looked back to Susan, wearing a façade of a sweet smile. "Yes. You, sweetheart. You’ll have to find another place."

Susan and you exchanged a brief, wary look. Then, in unison, you both turned to him, glaring at the man who had taken what was Susan's.

"This is my seat," Susan said, her voice low and firm, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

You stepped forward as well, her eyes blazing with defiance. "And this is my seat," she added, her voice sharp with irritation.

The man smirked, clearly thinking he could intimidate them.

"I’m not interested in what you think," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Without warning, the you reached out and grabbed the man by the arm, feigning a horrible sneeze. He wiped his glasses and gaped in shock.

"Apologies, I have- have..." You sneezed again. "Terrible allergies. It's the leather of the train seats, it-" you sneezed once more, taking him aback.

The man wiped his glasses again and gave Susan a look of bewilderment.

"You heard her," she said coldly. "Best not to catch something in this season."

The man stumbled, clearly taken aback, and after a few moments of hesitation, he backed down, muttering curses under his breath. He stomped out to the aisle and off to the other side of the train car, leaving both women standing in the aisle, victorious.

Susan couldn’t help but laugh, the tension that had built between them suddenly evaporating. "Well, that was... something," she said, glancing at you.

You grinned, arms crossed as you gave a small, satisfied shrug. "I do hate being underestimated. And it’s always nice to watch someone get put in their place."

Susan raised an eyebrow, still uncertain but intrigued.

"I didn’t think you had it in you," she teased, stepping back to let you sit.

"Oh, I can be surprisingly stubborn," you replied with a smirk, settling into the seat beside Susan. "You wouldn’t believe the number of people who’ve underestimated me." Your gaze softened. "And you? You’re not so bad yourself."

The remark caught Susan off guard, and for a moment, she was at a loss for words. She hadn’t expected any kind of warmth after their heated exchange. But something in your eyes told her there was more to you than met the eye.

As the train pulled out of the station, the cityscape of London fading into the distance, Susan found herself feeling oddly comfortable in your presence. The cold, tense atmosphere between them had dissolved, and in its place was something else — something unexpected.

You two spent the rest of the journey talking, your earlier tension giving way to easy conversation. You discovered you were both headed to Doncaster for different reasons, but both had a certain openness to the unknown, a curiosity that drew them together. By the time the train neared its destination, Susan realized that the woman sitting beside her was no longer a stranger. In fact, she wasn’t sure when the animosity had faded into something else entirely.

[ Flashforward: Susan and Yours Townhouse ]

Susan chuckled. "It was the start of something good."

The memory filled her with warmth, the way you two had both defended each other, slowly becoming friends, then more. It was a story she would always hold dear.

You leaned in and kissed her, a tender kiss that lingered for a moment.

"I love you," you whispered. "This evening will be perfect."

Susan smiled, feeling the warmth of the kiss linger. "I love you too."

"Now, what do you say we finish those s’mores before your family arrives?" You quipped.

Susan nodded.

"Yes, let's. They’ll be here in," she checked her watch, "ooh! Twenty minutes! I have to get the casserole out and--" But before she could finish, the phone rang in the hall. "That must be them. I'll get that. Would you get the casserole and begin setting the table? Remember, Edmund likes sweets, so put his furthest from the centerfold cake."

"I will. I will." You rubbed her arms and nodded, seeing her off to the ringing telephone. Susan hurried to answer it, her mind distracted by the thought of her siblings arriving.

She answered. "Hello, Peter? How far are you?"

The voice on the other end was cold, official. "Is this Susan Pevensie?" Susan knit her brows. "Speaking. Who is this?"

"Merry Christmas, ma'am. This is the London Police Department. I'm sorry to report there’s been an accident on the Bradley Manor train. A crash, you see." "Oh, God." Susan grabbed the phone with both hands. "Are they alright? My siblings. Peter, Edmund, and Lucy. W-what hospital are were they sent to?

"Ms. Pevensie. Your family... your brothers and sister, they... they didn’t make it."

The words hit Susan like a physical blow. She stood frozen for a moment, unable to comprehend what she had just heard. Then, slowly, she hung up the phone and turned back toward the kitchen, her face pale.

You, in the process of cooling off the casserole, looked at the kitchen counter with a smile. "The casserole came out great, my love. Oh! Lucy's going to love it. You said it was her favorite dish, yes? Did you tell them merry christmas for me, Susan?" There was a pause. "Susan?"

As soon as you turned around and saw the expression on Susan’s face, your smile faltered. "Susan?"

Susan stood motionless, the weight of the news sinking in. Your voice trembled as you approached and asked, "What did they say on the phone?"

Susan swallowed hard, her cracked voice gutting out but a whisper. "They’re not coming home."

The world seemed to stop as the reality of those words settled between them. The fireplace crackled softly, the s’mores and casserole forgotten, as the snow outside continued to fall, blanketing the world in an endless white.

[vodika-vibes]

Hello! I have returned! My heart belongs to Prudii!

Can I request a Prudii x female reader with either him confessing with a dash of smut or him holding his newborn child for the first time!

Thank you ahead of time!

-G

My Heart Is Yours

Summary: You and Prudii have been friends for, what feels like, years. You can’t imagine your life without him in it. You’re a woman in love, and it’s okay if he doesn’t feel the same way, your friendship is too important.

Pairing: Prudii Skirata x F!Reader

Word Count: 1554

Warnings: Some spice near the end

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: Hihi! I love writing Prudii and, as it happens, I already have a Prudii fic where he meets and holds his child for the first time. It's called First Meeting, and I'm more than happy to let you have the link! Anyway, I tried to make this smutty, but for some reason, it felt awkwardly placed in the story.

“Well now, look who it is,” You look up from where you’re stretched out on a bench in front of the building where Prudii works when he’s not deployed, and you favor the man with a bright smile, “Of all of the military bases in all of the world—” He teases as he drops onto the bench next to you.

“Welcome back,” You lean forward to look him in the face, “Kal shot me a message saying that you guys got back early.”

Prudii tilts his head, curious, “You gossip with my buir, sunshine?”

“Well, he does have the best gossip,” You counter with a grin, though it falters slightly.

“What’s wrong?”

“He said that you were shot—” You offer hesitantly.

Prudii closes his eyes for a moment, “And that’s why I don’t want him gossipping with you,” He mutters, “I was grazed, sunshine. Didn’t even leave a scar.”

You twist your lips, “...you’re sure?”

“Absolutely positive.”

Your anxiety fades at his comment, and you lean back on the bench as your smile returns. “Well, good. I’m glad you’re not hurt.”

Prudii turns on the bench to look at you, “How long have you been waiting here?”

“Oh…not long,” You lie.

“So if I check the security cameras, I’ll only see you waiting for, what? 15 minutes? 20?”

“Well, a little longer than that?”

“Sunshine, how long have you been waiting?”

“Just…a couple of hours.”

He leans back, sighing, “How many is a couple?”

“Well, mathematically speaking, it’s two.”

“Uh-huh, have you been waiting for me for two hours?”

“I wasn’t really keeping track,” You lie again, “It’s a nice day, and I had a new book to read.”

“Uh-huh,” Quickly, Prudii reaches into your purse and pulls out your comm. You pout at him as he unlocks it, goes to your messages, and opens the message from Kal, “Sunshine, buir told you about my injury six hours ago, you haven’t been sitting here for six hours, have you?”

“...no.”

“Oh, sweetheart.”

“Don’t you ‘oh, sweetheart’ me, Prudii Skirata! I was worried!”

He points at you with your comm, “No more messaging my buir.”

“I’ll message who I like, thank you. You’re not my mother.” He opens his mouth to say something, but you continue before he can interrupt you, “Anyway! I have a stew in the crockpot if you want to come over for dinner?”

Prudii narrows his eyes at you, then he drops your comm back into your purse, “I like the idea of that, but this conversation isn’t over.”

“Yeah, it is,”

“Ah, sunshine. I’m just as stubborn as you are,” He smoothly gets to his feet and offers you his hand. You take his hand without a second thought, and then laugh as he tugs you against his side and drapes his arm over your shoulders, “Anyway, how have you been? Last time I talked to you, you said that you were having some problems with one of your coworkers?”

You grab your purse and sling it over your shoulder, before allowing him to guide you down the street, easy conversation flowing between you. Honestly, you don’t know what you’d do without him in your life.

As luck would have it, your apartment is only twenty minutes away from the base where Prudii lives. And the walk is only that long because you tend to stroll, rather than speed-walk.

Eventually, you reach your apartment door, and Prudii drops his arm to his side as you key in the door code. He follows you into your apartment, stopping just inside the door to remove his armor, while you kick your boots into the closet.

The house smells amazing, the scent of the stew fills your home, and Prudii lets out a hum of delight as he inhales deeply, “Smells amazing.”

“I’m glad,” You counter with a bright smile, “It’s been cooking since early this morning, hopefully it’ll be nice and tender when it’s finished in a few hours.”

“Hours, huh?”

“What, don’t want to spend time with me?”

He chuckles, “If I knew that we were going to have hours, I would have brought some movies.”

“I have movies,” You remind him as you gesture to your holo, “A bunch of them.”

“I know, I know.” He heads into the living room, with you on his heels. “I’m sure we can find something to watch.”

You don’t answer him, in fact, you’re not even really listening. Instead, you’re watching him with your hands pressed over your chest, and you’re anxiously biting your lower lips.

“Sunshine?” Prudii walks over to you and places his hands on your shoulders, “What’s wrong?”

“...are you sure you’re okay?”

A look of surprise slides across his face, then it changes into something soft, and he moves his hands to lightly cup your face, “I promise.”

You lean your head into his touch, “When Kal said that you were shot, I thought…I thought that—” You trail off, unable to finish your thought.

“Hey,” Prudii tilts your head slightly so that you’re looking him in the eye, “There is nothing that will keep me from coming back to you, okay? Especially not something as insignificant as a blaster round.”

You frown at him, “They’re not insignificant, Prudii.”

“Here, see for yourself,” He releases you, takes a step back, and smoothly peels the top of his blacks off.

You can’t help but drop your gaze to his chest.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes when you see the scars crossing his chest, “Oh, Prudii—” Your gaze lingers on a starburst-looking scar on his lower stomach. Without thinking, you reach out and your fingers brush against the scar.

And then, several things happen at the same time.

The muscles in Prudii’s stomach jump at your touch, he inhales sharply, and you jerk your hand away from him as if burned, an apology already on the tip of your tongue. But before the first syllable passes your lips, he catches your lips with his own and pulls your hands to rest against his chest, encouraging you to touch him.

Quickly, very quickly, the kiss goes from, almost, innocent to something very heated. Your hands slide across his chest, absently tracing muscles, and then over his shoulders so you’re able to wrap your arms tightly around his neck.

Prudii’s hands settle low on your hips, low enough to be considered improper, but they don’t stay there. One of his hands drifts down to roughly grope your ass, squeezing and massaging you through the thin material of your leggings, while the other hand slides under the hem of your shirt and drifts up under he’s tracing the lace material of your bra.

You break the kiss, gasping for air, but Prudii quickly dives back in, his teeth catching your lower lip.

“Pru—” You’re not even able to finish saying his name before he pulls a ragged moan from your lips as he tugs the cups of your bra down and his rough fingers find your nipples, pinching and rolling them with surprising skill. “Kriff, Prudii—” You gasp, your back arching slightly.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?” He mumbles as his lips move from yours, to drag down your throat, “Wanted you?”

One of your hands moves to tangle in his hair, “T-tell me,” You gasp out.

“Your birthday,” He pulls away long enough to rip your shirt off, and properly removes your bra, before his lips find purchase against your throat again, “You were wearing that short skirt and the tight crop top,” Prudii mumbles before biting down on your neck, “Wanted to bend you over right there.”

“That long?” You whine as his lips move to a different spot on your neck, and he bites down again.

“That long,” He agrees, dragging his lips to your collar and leaving another mark on the thin skin there, “I’ve loved you since the day you offered to share your name day with me,”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Prudii’s lips catch yours again, and he ducks slightly to hook his arms under your thighs, lifting you, “Hook your legs—”

He doesn’t have to finish his instruction, as you immediately wrap your legs around him and roll your hips against the obvious erection pressed, deliciously, against you.

Prudii groans, “oh, good girl.”

You shiver at his words, pleasure shooting through you, “You love me?” You managed to maintain enough of your thought process to ask that, important, question.

“So much. More than anything.” Prudii murmurs as he grinds you against him. “Need you, sunshine. Let me have you,”

You bury your hands in his curls, “You have me.” You whisper against his ear, “Always, forever.”

Prudii pauses for a moment and takes a deep breath before he pulls you into a deep kiss. You eagerly kiss him back as he carries you through your home, and nudges open the bedroom door.

“Changed my mind,” He mumbles, as he kicks the door shut behind him, “If it leads to this, you can talk to my buir as much as you like.”

A startled laugh falls from you, a laugh that turns into a gasping moan as he pins you under him on the bed and roughly bites down on your shoulder. 

And you can’t help but think that this is a perfect homecoming.

[siennafrxst]

↳ cassiopeia 𖤐𓈒࣪₊˚

pairing: loki laufeyson x female reader

universe: mcu

cw: anticlimactic angst, eventual fluff

word count: 1.5k words

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

“Okay, let’s get out of here.”

Loki and Y/N swiftly exit the gathering, leaving behind no evidence of the havoc they had just wreaked.

Even though everyone (especially Thor, Odin, and Frigga) knew the particular duo that would be insane enough to execute an equally insane plan, that never stopped them from continuing to do so. Even after the multiple times they’ve been thrown and locked away into cages like wild animals, it was worth it. Wrecking formal gatherings were practically Loki and Y/N’s most beloved tradition. And whenever they did, the mess they’d cause would always work to give them enough time to get away from the boring event. Besides, you can’t deny that it never fails to spice things up.

Chuckling to themselves, the two Asgardians continue to disappear from the crime scene and eventually head out into the quiet night.

“That never gets old,” Y/N confesses with a grin plastered on her face.

Loki returns a similar smile, nodding in agreement. “I don’t quite think I’ll ever get tired of doing that.”

“Of course you won’t, you’re the God of Mischief. It’s what makes you—well, you.”

He chuckles softly once more at her statement, staring into her eyes for a brief moment before examining the bewitching, starry night.

“The sky has quite a lot of stars to offer us tonight.”

Y/N follows his gaze and looks up, the many balls of light shining luminously unto them.

“What constellations can you spot?”

“I see… Cassiopeia, right over there.”

He points a finger towards the formation of stars as she nods, discerning the said constellation.

“Do you know the myth behind it?” she questions in curiosity.

Loki gives her a knowing look, raising his eyebrows. “Of course I do — what do you think of me?”

She rolls her eyes at his arrogance. “Enough with the cocky act and just answer the question. I know you want to.”

He lets out a scoff, momentarily gazing back into the mesmerizing constellation before telling the story. “Cassiopeia was a stunning yet boastful queen who claimed that she and her daughter, Andromeda, were the most beautiful creatures to exist, which includes the Nereids. They were insulted by her assertion, and so they made Poseidon punish her for it. But, the only way to prevent him from doing so was if she gave up her own daughter to a sea monster. Cassiopeia selfishly agreed, however, she would later on make a deal with a man named Perseus, promising to rescue Andromeda in return for her hand in marriage. Unfortunately, when he managed to rescue her, Cassiopeia attempted to break her promise with him. But, Andromeda and Perseus fought for their love, so on the day of their wedding, Cassiopeia ordered Agneron and his army to stop them. In the end, Perseus managed to use Medusa’s beheaded skull and turn everyone to stone. And so, the happy couple got their happy ending. The end.”

A soft smile forms on Y/N’s face, noticing the glimmer of excitement hiding behind his emerald green eyes. Loki was never one to show much interest in — well — anything, so seeing him enthusiastic in a certain topic (other than pulling pranks on Thor) was a nice change. It was a side of him that she rarely got to see, but when she did, she loved every second of it.

“You know, if all else fails, you would be an excellent astrology professor.”

Loki rolls his eyes at her sarcastic remark. “Hilarious,” he replies in a deadpan tone.

Y/N chuckles softly, her face perking up promptly as she recalls something. “Hey, isn’t there a nebula within Cassiopeia?”

Loki nods. “Right, the Heart Nebula. Which, you can tell by its name, represents…”

Loki held back, reluctant to say the word he never believed could be real. A feeling that he was sure he would never experience again.

Until he met her.

“Love,” she finishes in a soft tone, her eyes immediately finding his.

They both may have been almost a thousand years old, but they were still completely oblivious when it came to that one, cliche emotion. That one emotion that was arguably the most powerful one, though neither of them knew it at that time. That one emotion that drew the two Asgardians closer, clueless to the reason behind it. Despite almost being complete opposites, like fire and ice, something made them fight for what they had. Something bigger than they realized.

They were just too naive to know what it was. Until one of them would eventually crack the code.

“Loki… there’s something I need to confess.”

He sharply inhales, already having an inane idea on where this may lead. But for some reason… he didn’t want to stop her.

“Go on.”

She sighs. “Well, I’m grateful for our unlikely friendship. Despite our years of constant fighting and petty rivalry, we managed to get over that and become… whatever it is we are, exactly.”

He hums softly, signaling for her to continue.

“But… I can’t ignore this feeling that I’ve been feeling for the past few years. This feeling that I’ve never felt in my entire existence, but… I think I have a solid idea on what it might be — as cliche as that may sound. I don’t know how to put it in words, I just — it’s just this feeling I get whenever I’m with you, and I like it.” She sighs once more, seemingly expaserated. “Look, I’ve never done this before, but, what I’m trying to say is…”

Her mouth was left agape, but no words fell out of it. She could only stare desperately into his eyes, begging for him to interupt her at any moment. But to no avail. Loki simply stood before her, completely dumbfounded with what she was telling him. And yet she couldn’t read his face. She couldn’t tell if he felt the same way, or if he was utterly disgusted, or if he had even understood the words coming out of her mouth. Truth be told, she didn’t quite understand the nonsense she was spewing out either. But it was better than having to keep her mouth shut about what she was feeling. Because she knew that one way or another, she had to let him know. Let him know his effect on her. Let him know the way he was making her feel. Let him know how much he means to her.

But in this very moment — his silence, the void state on his face — it made her want to take all her words back. She’s never been more vulnerable to anyone else before. Maybe she was just making a fool out of herself, opening herself up to the literal God of Mischief. Maybe that was a mistake on her part. But this feeling she’s been feeling for the past few years… it was no mistake. She knew that it meant something. It had to.

Muttering up the strength again, she finally broke the silence.

“Are you really just going to stand there and make me have to finish my sentence?” she questions, almost scoffing.

And to her surprise, he nodded.

“Yes. Yes, I will. Because I want to hear the exact words come out of your mouth. And I want to hear you mean it.”

Loki stepped closer towards her as she was left astonished, not expecting that kind of response from him. But, even if he hadn’t, she knew that she needed to say it.

“Fine. Then…”

She momentarily closes her eyes — having him watch her like this was driving her insane. But when she opened her eyes once more, she was met with the same, desperate eyes she was wearing just a few seconds ago. As though he was longing for her to say it. As though he had been waiting for as long as she did to act upon their feelings. And that was all the courage she needed to keep going.

“…I think I’m in love with you.”

In an instant, Loki brought their faces together and kissed her lips, not wasting another second with her.

And for a moment there, time seemed to have stopped. All sense of meaning and logic just disappeared when their lips touched. The two grasped and held onto each other, scared to let go of one another only to realize that it was all just a dream.

When the two finally pulled apart breathlessly, they stay in that singular moment of silence — the rustling of the wind, the muffled chatter from a far distance, the soft yet comforting breathing coming from them both. Their foreheads still connected, they stay in each other’s presence, processing what had just happened. Processing their emotions, the decisions they made tonight. Everything that led to right now.

Until they finally opened their eyes, gazing into one another for one more second before Loki broke the silence.

“I think I’m in love with you, too.”

And just like that, the stars in the night sky weren’t the brightest thing in the universe anymore. It was the smiles that formed on their faces in this very moment.

after more than 3 months, I finally got the motivation to write something for loki. very timely as well since the loki series 2 trailer just came out. I miss him so much why’d they have to kill him off.

likes and reblogs are vv appreciated.

[kaspenhoward]

In The Queens Home, Their First Dinner Together:

[Uncomfortable silence as everyone stares at the table]

Anna about to eat: Catalina and Jane, thank you for making this-

Catalina: Lady Anna. We will say grace first.

Anna: Sorry.

[After an equally uncomfortable grace, everyone starts slowly eating, minus Anne]

Jane: Is something wrong Anne?

[Everyone looks at Anne who is intensely staring at the food with suspicion]

Anne: [Inspecting it with suspicion]

Anne: Is it poisoned?

Catalina: Anne just eat it.

Anne, anxious but covering it up with anger: Oh! Why should I? Did you put something in there that would make you eager for me to eat it??

Catalina: No we didn’t poison it. We have nothing to gain from another pointless death. Can you just eat it? The food will soon get cold and I will not tolerate you wasting it.

Kat, anxious from the yelling and wanting the tense debating to end: Oh goodness! How about this? Anne, I’ll taste something from your plate and if I’m fine you’ll eat it as well, alright?

Anne: Hm, I guess that is adequate. You have my thanks Cousin Katherine.

Kat: [Smiles at Anne but is a bit uncomfortable at the use of her full name]

Anna: Goodness why are you all so formal? We fixed the Anne problem can we just eat now.

[Everyone agrees and goes to eating in silence]

Cathy, looking up from her book: I agree with Anna. Can we all just please be on a first name basis with one another? Using such formalities will keep our environment icy for longer.

[No one particularly acknowledges this, everyone still attempting not to make eye contact, clearly very uncomfortable]

Jane, her curious side appearing, whispering to Cathy who is seated beside her: Are you implying you think we all could get along eventually?

Cathy, whispering back: I mean we already created progress, we’re all sharing a meal. My godmother and Anne are not shouting at one another and Kat of all people managed to get them to stop. And I suppose, we all live together, we’re going to eventually be friendly with one another, one way or another.

Jane, seemingly a bit hopeful: I guess so..

Anne still slightly suspicious, noticing something: Ladies.

Catalina, slightly annoyed: Yes, Lady Anne?

Anne: Why are all our glasses filled with water? Are you seriously trying to kill us??

Anna: Take a moment to chill Frenchie, water is safe to drink now!

Anne, perpetually shocked: MODERN WATER IS SAFE?!

Kat: It is, it’s actually really good for you.

Cathy looking up from her book again: If we’re spurring facts, spices are also cheap and easily accessible now.

Catalina: Cathy, do not play with me that’s not funny.

Cathy: It’s true.

Anne super pale: [Eye twitch]

Jane nervously speaking up: You guys? I think we.. broke Anne.

Anna: We can see that Jane, what on earth is wrong with her?

Kat shyly: Anne? [Hesitantly waves her hand in front of Anne’s face]

Anne: [Starts crying silently]

[Chaos erupts]

Anna: I’m not good with this! You help her Jane!

Jane: Why me?! She HATES me! Kat can you do it?

Kat: I’m the youngest on here! And I don’t know her! I’ll probably make her cry more! Cathy you try!

Cathy: [Looks up from her book, raises an eyebrow at Kat as to say “are you stupid?” and returns to reading]

Catalina: [Stands up suddenly]

Everyone else minus Anne: [Freezes, worried for the worst]

Catalina: [Walks up to Anne]

Everyone else minus Anne: [Nervous sweating]

Catalina: [Pats Anne’s shoulder and Anne hugs her in response]

Everyone else minus Anne: [Stunned silence]

Catalina: Was that so hard?

Everyone else minus Anne: [Nods their heads yes]

Catalina still holding Anne: Oh God have mercy on me.

[chronic-ghost]

Chapter 5 of Recovery Road

chapter rating: E (18+)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 7483

chapter summary: Chloe comes home to him, just in time to face you again at the movie’s wrap party. But it seems nothing can stop the inevitable.  

chapter warnings/tags: SMUT (finally), officially infidelity, cheating, accusations of drug use, insecurity

a/n: this is what I imagined Dieter and reader wearing to the party.

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For the first time in a very, very, very long time, one of Dieter’s projects ends on time and within budget. No psychopathic directors, no nitpicking changes to the script, no reshoots because the studio had a stick up its ass.

And – he can proudly say – no trouble-filled, cocaine-fueled hysterical breakdowns from the talent. He’s on the other side, uncomfortable with the silence– the peace – and waits for the other shoe to drop. It never comes. Scott even gives him a specific call out on the last day of shooting for being (and this is a direct quote) “a upstanding leader and insightful character actor, whose commitment to the craft ensured the success of this film.” 

Scott also gave you a glowing review as well, but whatever. 

On top of all that, Chloe comes home two days later. 

She smells like sharp, warm spices, he remembers when he buries his nose in her hair. She walks through the door and she’s in his arms, close to his chest, against that burning knot he can’t seem to shake. He carries her – her suitcases still by the front door – all the way up to their bedroom and, delicately at first, proceeds to ravage her. This body is familiar, he thinks, as he doesn’t even take off her underwear before thrusting his fingers inside of her. He watches her eyes roll back with deep, deep satisfaction and he closes his eyes, committing the sound of her cries to memory, if they weren’t already there. He needed them to paper the inside walls of his brain so he could pluck them down whenever he wanted. His brain needed a renovation. 

“Dieter, slow down, baby,” she mewls, pushing on his shoulder only to tighten her grip on him, twisting his shirt. He wants to beg her to do that to his hair. “I still smell like airport. Lemme take a shower first.”

To prove her wrong, he yanks off her underwear – a little lace thing that he wants to put in his pocket – and dives, tongue-first, in between her legs. He moans as her talons latch onto the crown of his head and he laps at her clit. 

“I don’t give a shit, baby. You taste so fucking good. I need you.” 

And he did. Despite where his fingers and his tongue and eventually his cock went, she made him whole. She smoothed out his rough edges, stroking down this frantic energy he had been carrying for days like wired hair on the back of his neck. He poured so much of him into her that when he came inside of her, this immeasurable weight was gone. 

“What the fuck was that, Dieter?” Chloe pants when they were done. They are both dripping in sweat, skin blisteringly hot, and gasping for painful breaths. “I’m not complaining exactly, but my God, where did that come from?”

He looks up at her, his head on her chest. She’s absently playing with his sweat-streaked hair so he thinks she might not be really mad. He shrugs, his heart still pounding as if it were inside of a drum, and presses a kiss on her shoulder.

“I just fucking missed you.” 

“Yeah, I got that . . .” 

He feels like he loves too strong sometimes. Too much. He squeezes his eyes shut in shame. 

“Did I hurt you? I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“Honestly, Dee, just a little. I just got a seven hour flight and you come in like a horny tornado–,”

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to – I just –,”

“Dieter, stop. It’s fine.” She kisses him and his anxiety falters.

“Let me make you dinner, while you take a shower. I’ll rub your feet later, if you want.”

She laughs and he feels things shift, return to normal. “Okay, baby, okay. And, you know, I missed you too.”

He shifts onto his elbows, trapping her below him before she can shimmy off the bed. Her eyes are bright and she’s smiling at him. 

Why would I risk this? Why would I risk her for you?

She strokes a damp curl behind his ear. “What? What are you so smile-y about?”

“You mean the world to me, you know that, right?” He kisses her gently, quickly because there’s more he has to say. “I don’t know who I am without you. I want to be the person you want me to be.”

“Dieter–,”

“I’m serious.” He swallows, shaking his head, suddenly fearful of what he almost lost. “I can’t do any of this without you.” 

It’s late evening and the shadows are long and he thinks he sees one pass over her face for a moment, but then she’s smiling again. 

“Of course, baby. I love you too.”

   The following morning, an invitation for a cast-and-crew screening of the film at Scott Manley’s home comes through the mail. It’s on nice cardstock and everything. With the press circuit coming soon that would take them on the road for weeks, Dieter is inclined to throw the damn thing in the garbage. But Chloe insists. 

“Oh, c’mon, Dieter, don’t be like that,” she says as she rifles through the mail while they wait for coffee to finish brewing. “I wanna meet your co-stars. And from what you’ve said about the director, I think it’ll be lots of fun.”

He crowds behind her with one hand on the island, the other wrapping around her waist, his pinkie digging beneath the fantastic green leggings she’s got on. 

“I can think of something that would be even more fun.” He noses the back of her ear. 

“Dieter, stop. You know I don’t like sex before yoga.”

The coffee pot beeps and she slides out of his arms. 

“Wait, yoga? Now? It’s eight in the morning.”

“I go every Tuesday with Marlene. This isn’t anything new.” She pours in MUD and the smell reminds him of fertilizer. 

He swallows. “But you just got back. I thought we could spend the day together. There’s a new art exhibit that I thought you’d like to –,”

“Dieter, I’ve just spent three months deeply entrenched in the art world.” She glances at him as she pours the sludge-y mix into a travel mug. “I think I’d rather do literally anything else.”

“Okay, then you pick. We can do whatever you want, but I’d–,”

She puts a hand on his chest and kisses his cheek. “We’ll talk when I get back. And we’re going to that party, okay? It’ll be good for us.”

He nods vaguely as she picks up her keys, yoga mat, and coffee and heads out the door without another word. 

Us. Okay. That’s good news. 

Thirty minutes later, he’s out running Griffith park until his knees buckled, sweat soaking the front and back of his shirt, and he’s overworked himself so much he thinks he might puke. 

God, he fucking hates running. 

She does come back, as promised, and they go see a movie. It’s dark and he holds her hand. 

He gets her door for her before the valet can, but his eyes are scanning the grounds, unsure what he’s looking for, but highly aware of an encroaching something. Maybe it was the storm above. If there was any luck, Scott planned for the viewing to be outside and with bad weather, he’ll have to cancel the whole thing. Frowning darkly, he takes Chloe by the hand, tossing the keys to the Jaguar to the boy in a red vest, and starts up the steps of the Tudor-style home two at a time. 

Fuck, he forgot he hates this shirt. The orange color is all wrong and the collar always itches the skin on his neck and–

“Dieter, honey, slow down!” Chloe demands. He freezes and she’s still two steps down, trying to balance up the stairs in heels and a chiffon, plated dress. “You’re running like something’s on fire.”

Immediately, he relents. He helps her up the stairs and rubs her elbow. 

“Sorry, sorry, I think I’m just nervous.”

“Oh, sweetie, why?” She tucks up a fly-away curl across his forehead and he kisses her knuckles, still frowning. “You used to love these.”

Above the slate-gray sky grumbles and the wind rushes the trees surrounding the property. 

“I dunno. I just feel like there’s going to be too much . . .”

He trails off and swallows. There’s not enough words to manifest exactly what he’s so afraid of.

“There’ll be too much temptation, right?” 

His eyes snap to hers. 

She’s frowning sympathetically. “There’s all kinds of alcohol at things like this. And God knows what other shit people are bringing. It brings back bad memories, right?”

It feels like he’s choking. He can only nod. 

“I know, baby. But you’ll get through this. You got through that party at that hotel, right? We’ll just do it again.”

He suddenly wishes she isn’t touching him, isn’t so close with her hand on his cheek. She kisses him on the lips but he doesn’t react. 

“C’mon. We won’t even go near the drinks.” 

He lets her pull him up the stairs. He catches one more glance at the rolling sky. He doesn’t like the tense smell of ozone that’s building. There is too much electricity in the air.

There is a brief moment of reprieve when he sees the inside of Scott’s home for the first time. The tall, cream walls hover in fixed arches over the doorways. The wainscotting is crisp, fine, matching the black edgings and black and white tiled floors in all but color. The furniture and tables are held up by beautiful copper pipes, made soft by wood accents in the knick-knacks and artwork. Splashes of green plants highlight the corners and shadows. The windows are wide and striking, coaxing in every thread of light. The house opens to a long foyer that disappears into the bowels of the house, with a thick stack of white stairs on the right that shrink up to another level. To the immediate left is an immaculate black-and-cream dining set of tables and chairs, and further down the hall, faint music and laughter creeps over the dark hardwood floor.

This is the house of a real, big-time, actual adult. Not exactly his first impression of Scott Manley. 

“Dieter, you were so mean when you talked about this man,” Chloe hisses as she shuts the door behind them. “This place is gorgeous. There’s no Star Wars anywhere. Does his wife work?”

Dieter shrugs, awestruck. He cranes his neck up to try and see where the second floor disappeared to. 

“I have no idea. I never even heard him mention his wife.” 

“He must be a pretty successful director to have a place like this in LA.”

“We’re on the outskirts, sweetheart, don’t sound so impressed.” 

Chloe opens her mouth to respond, when someone down the hall calls his name. “Dieter!”

It’s Scott. Dressed exactly like he did during the entirety of production, with the exception of a black blazer. That is new. He’s a bit pink-faced and there’s a glass of something amber in his hand. He’s smiling and it makes Dieter weirdly uncomfortable. 

“So glad you could make it! These things always go over better when you’ve got your stars!”

He turns to Chloe, but Dieter jumps first. “Natalie’s here?”

Scott’s wet mouth opens and closes. “Erm, well, yes. Why wouldn’t she be?”

He forcefully unclenches his face. “Why does she do anything?” 

Chloe and Scott watch him with uncertainty for a moment, then Scott beams at her. 

“And you must be Mrs. Bravo!”

“Chloe works just fine,” she laughs sweetly and lets him take her hand. 

“I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but Dieter here talked about you so much I feel like I know you like a close friend.” 

He relaxes when her hand slides over his forearm. She stares up at him with her big eyes, her pink mouth grinning. She feels solid next to him, more solid than he is. 

“Did he now?”

So what if you are here? Chloe is here instead and she’s here to stay. He smirks at her and presses a kiss to the arc of her cheek.

“Of course, baby, all good things.” He glances at Scott again, who shifts back and forth on his feet, unflappably uncomfortable with displays of human affection. “Is Heidi here yet?”

“Oh, they didn’t tell you? She can’t come. Production on her other shoot got extended by three weeks.”

“Oh.”

It stings more than he thought it would. Her last email, because that has been the only way to get in touch with her lately, said she’d probably be able to make the wrap party.

“Well, if you’d like to see it,” Scott says, swaying on his feet, “the party is back here.”

And that’s how he enters the wrap party of his most successful project to date. With a beautiful woman at his side and a confidence that oozes. Scott leads them out to a square courtyard, with a single lemon tree in the center. There’s a relaxed beat playing from somewhere in the bushes. The night is cool and there’s a breeze. Everything’s glowing warm. People laugh and drink, peacefully. The waiters slide around offering canapes and champagne. In the garden beyond, there’s a screen and chairs. 

This is it. This is the moment he’s back. Back on top. Everything is right in the world. Everything is exactly as it’s supposed to be. He is where he is supposed to be. 

And then he sees you. 

And you’re still not wearing any fucking pants.

 “Dieter, honey, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

He blinks, his brain not connected to any part of his body. He feels hollow. Smooth on the inside. 

“Dieter. Dieter!”

Her nails dig into his chin as Chloe yanks his focus down to her. There’s something cloudy about the way she looks at him.

“Dieter, what are you looking at?” She doesn’t quite laugh but she tries.

“Nothing, baby, nothing.” He rubs his thumb over her shoulder. He can feel the tension in her neck. “It’s nothing. Just surprised to see this many people. It’s no big deal.”

She frowns, no longer committing to the charade. 

“I’ve never seen you make that face before. It was . . . I don’t know. It . . . scared me. I’ve never seen you look like that.” She repeats. 

He makes sure he’s not trembling when he runs his fingers from her shoulder down to her elbow. “Like I said, I’m nervous about being here, baby. It’s nothing.”

“That’s not–,”

“Dieter Bravo, as I fuckin’ live and breathe!” 

Mark Bronson in a crisp white shirt and black slacks climbs the stairs to the pavilion, his beard tinged with gray and braided down the center. He’s grinning when he yanks Dieter into a hug. He smells faintly like cheap vodka and cigars, but it’s not unpleasant.

A woman follows up behind him, with hair redder than the sunset and a matching red flush. The waitress, who’s name is . . .

“Molly, hey, how are you?” He leans forward and kisses her on the cheek. “It’s been too long.” 

“Hey, you said, you were gonna bring your wife to this,” Mark said, frowning with his hands on his hips. And then he takes Chloe’s hand and spins her. “Now, I know this beautiful creature cannot be your wife. She’s way outta your league...”

“Don’t I know it?” Dieter chuckles as Chloe laughs. Molly hands them both a drink as Mark bows in front of her. His is ice water. 

“Chloe Bravo, you are magnificent.”

“Chloe, this is Mark and his wife, Molly. Mark and I met a few years ago. I’ve only had the pleasure of meeting Molly once.”

Mark snorts as his wife winds her short arms around his long slender waist. “A few years ago? Dieter, it’s been a bit longer than that.” 

“Okay, well, who have you known longer? Me or Molly?” 

Chloe tucks her arms up into his chest and lays her head on his collarbone. He wraps his arms over her back. His grin teases Mark.

“Hey, man, what are you trying to do to me? Get me in trouble?”

“How long have you two been married?” Chloe asks sweetly. She smells like peach tea and, in his pants, his cock twitches. 

“Oh, ‘bout fifteen years.” Mark glances down to Molly. “Is that right, darling?”

“Fifteen this April.”

“Wow! So you must have been through it all. All the crazy celebrity gigs, right?”

Molly smiles and Mark kisses the top of her forehead. 

“Oh, yeah. All the press circuits, red carpets, premieres. I thought the worst was over and then Instagram came along.”

“The studio makes me have an account, darling, I’m helpless to stop them,” Mark laments pitifully and the rest laugh.

“Well, you might have to give this one here some pointers,” Dieter nods to Chloe in his arms, “she’s coming with us on the circuit for Recovery.” 

“What? No, I’m not.” Chloe lifts her head from his collarbone, her arms suddenly like weights against his chest. 

“What’d you mean? Of course you are. That was the plan.” 

“No, it wasn’t.” She pulls out of his grip and crosses her arms. “I told you months ago that my father has a gallery opening this month.”

“A gallery opening? The thing your dad always has going on?”

Chloe swallows as several on-lookers turn as his voice raises. “Dieter, let’s not do this right now.”

“We never talked about this. When did this happen? Were you going to say anything or just leave?” 

The crowd around them goes silent. She glances around, shame thinning her mouth. 

He doesn’t care. He’s not so much angry as he is . . . petrified. He was telling the truth earlier; he can’t do this without her. 

“Dieter, calm down, you’re making a scene.” 

“No! When were you going to tell me?” 

He’s not going to grab her – he’s not his father – but his stomach squeezes like a fist. His heartbeat is somewhere in his wrist and his head and his knees. The wind is suddenly too loud, the chatter is too loud. What is that smell? There are pennies in his mouth, rattling against his teeth. 

“Chloe, can’t you just do this one thing for me?”

“Jesus Christ,” she hisses suddenly with real malice, “everything I do is for you.” 

Her mouth snaps shut when she realizes just how many people were staring. 

The lightning is thick in the air, a spark running in circles against a tinder. 

“Oh, yeah? Then where the fuck have you been the last three months?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. And lower your voice.”

“Is this what it takes for you to have a conversation with me? For you to actually look at me for five fucking seconds? I can barely get you on the phone for more than a minute, if at all!”

“Dieter, you’re being irrational.” Chloe’s eyes are scorching, fierce. She’s threatening him. She’s going to use her most powerful weapon against him. He knows exactly what she’s going to say a second before it comes out of her mouth. “Are you using again?”

Inside of him something breaks. 

He can feel the bend, the crack, the bleed. It wavers in agony.

Whether or not she actually means it is beyond the point. Beyond the pale. He’s trying – he’s been trying – so hard – so fucking hard – and it doesn’t fucking matter to her. His weakest point is her party trick. 

It comes in a rushing wave, overtakes him, drowns him. This is how the spiral hurts. 

He shoves Mark aside, going back towards the house. Back into the heart of this living thing that’s trying to eat him alive. Behind him, he thinks he hears your laugh. High and loud. 

He comes to the first door he finds on the second floor and nearly kicks it open. 

It’s up to his eyes. He can’t see straight. There’s pain over his eyebrow, in his shoulder, his fingers. It concentrates in his chest – he unbuttons his collar all the way down – he’s shaking – he’s shaking so badly — 

Count down from ten, the nice lady at the rehab center told him. 

You’re having a panic attack, darling. Don’t worry. It’ll pass. Count down and focus on what you can see, hear, touch, taste, and smell. Ground yourself in the space.

10. 9. 8 – 

He gulps down air, hand on his chest to keep his heart from bursting out through his ribs.

7. 6. 5 –

It’s an office, he realizes, when the room stops spinning. The walls are dark, much darker than the rest of the house. This is where the moss has grown, away from the ivory. 

Here, there is no noise from the party. He can still taste copper in his mouth. It smells like tobacco and mint here.

4. 3. 2 — 

The settee is a dark teal and the short, squat lamps on the oak desk hum orange. Walnut brown bookcases line the walls. 

And there in the corner, behind the desk and leather-backed chair, is a cabinet. Low to the ground. With gold tumblers and a mirror on top. 

On shaky legs, he goes and opens the square doors. 

His mouth goes wet with wanting. 

Whisky.

Rum.

Vodka.

All of it. 

Just one. He needs only one. 

The bottle is cool, smooth. He takes out the corked lid and the aroma fogs up his brain like condensation on glass.

Are you using again?

No. But he could be. The door opens behind him.

“Dieter, what the hell are you doing in here?” 

Of course.

Of course, it was you. 

Maybe it always was. 

“What? Did your wife put you in time out?” You smirk when he doesn’t answer and you shut the door behind you. “Or was it Scott? The night’s still young, Dee, so many other things to fuck up and –,”

“Natalie.” His voice is rough. It rumbles out of his chest on his last breath. “Don’t. Please . . . just, don’t. Not tonight.” 

His hand shaking, he puts back the bottle of whisky. You narrow your eyes at him.

“Shit, what the hell happened to you? You look terrible.” You say, frowning as though confused, as if this is some convoluted plot to fuck with you. “I saw you run off and I thought, this would be a great time to remind him what a piece of shit he is . . . but you look like someone beat me to it.”

You stay firmly planted in front of the door, arms crossed, as he comes to the front of the desk and leans back against it. He feels cold sweat stick to his lower back.

“Seriously, Dieter, are you sick?” 

He shakes his head. His stomach always feels hollow after one of those episodes. “No, just a bad night.”

“Like bad crabs or found out your aunt died bad?”

“Natalie—,”

“Just tell me. What happened?”

He lifts his gaze to you. It’s hard to believe that less than a month ago, he felt like he could tell you anything. In that golden house on the hill. When you were different people. You look genuinely concerned.

“Dieter, I’m going to go get a doctor unless you—,”

“Look, I have these . . . episodes, alright? My head gets all foggy and I can’t stop shaking and I can’t breathe right. I just need some space.” He adds pointedly because the expression on your face has changed. 

“You get panic attacks?” You take a step forward, hand reaching forward before you let it drop, as if remembering you can’t touch. “I, uh, I know what that’s like. I . . . I have them too.”

“C’mon, don’t do that. Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not — I’m serious!” Your brow furrows as your eyes flash hotly with anger. “They started after I moved away from my mom. And now, I just . . . manage the symptoms.”

“Yeah, how?”

You give him a look and he frowns.

“You know what’s not good for panic attacks?” He playfully glances to the ceiling as he lists them off on his fingers. “Bennys. Cocaine. LSD. I could keep going.” 

You put your hands on your hips, scowling. “Fine but waiting to get fucked raw by life isn’t the way to handle it either.”  

He bites his cheek, crossing his arms across his chest. “So, then we’ll just wait it out and see who survives the longest. Then we’ll know who’s right.”

Another dare in your eyes. He meets the challenge. But this time, you swerve first.

You drop his gaze.

“It’s a coin flip, right? Only a matter of time . . . before we both fucking lose it.” 

He doesn’t like how that truth sits in the back of his mouth. As usual, you’ve rattled in him something he didn’t know was loose.

“So, then go for it.” He opens his arms wide. “Say whatever has been stewing away in your head for weeks now. I’m an easy target.”

Your mouth rolls, pouting like an eight year old. You narrow your eyes at him. “Nah, you’re too pathetic right now. When I tell you what’s been on my mind, I want you to burst into tears. It’s no fun if you’re already like this . . . what happened?”

It didn’t feel like pity coming from you, even if he knew you had been picturing his balls in a vice grip since filming wrapped. 

He sighs, and picks at the skin on his left thumb. 

“You’ll be thrilled to know I just made an ass of myself in front of half our colleagues and coworkers. And then my wife asked, very publicly, if I was using again . . . I feel like I can’t fucking win.”

“Well, you’re not, right? Using?” In those knee-high black suede heels, you stretch across the room and take the place next to him. Just like you had at the pool. You crossed your arms too. A concession— another white flag amongst the bitterness.

He shakes his head. 

“So then fuck that. And fuck her for doubting you. Why did she ask that?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I thought — hoped — she was coming on the press tour for Recovery.” He rolls his jaw from side to side. “I’m getting sick and tired of spending my nights in a hotel room by myself.”

He catches the corner of your eye and his neck warms. 

“Not like that . . . I mean, fuck, maybe a bit like that. I don’t know. I’m trying everything I can to keep this marriage alive and she just feels . . . ambivalent.” He swallows. “Last time, I gave her an out. After the arrest and before rehab. I told her I’d sign the divorce papers, whatever she wanted. She could have my money, my house, my car. I just didn’t want her to have to live with the embarrassment of being married to me. And, instead, she told me, ‘the money isn’t important to me’. I was so grateful at the time, I didn’t question it. But now . . . I sometimes wonder if this is how she punishes me. She didn’t want a divorce until she broke my heart first.”

You’re uncharacteristically silent. The white ruffles around your wrists flutter as you put your hands on the other side of your hips, fingertips drumming the desk. 

“Did you ever think maybe the problem isn’t you? Or her for that matter?”

“What do you mean?”

You sigh, an exasperated smile on your face. “Take a look at where we are, Dee. Normal people don’t live like this. Normal people don’t do what we do. No one else will take us so we congregate amongst ourselves to establish a new baseline of crazy.”

“And, what? Anyone who enters our orbit is doomed to be fucked in the head?”

“We’re all fucked in the head, Dieter. You. Me. Scott. Hell, even your pretty little wife out there.” You glance at him. “This whole place is a fucking breeding ground. A breeding ground for the worst parts of ourselves. It’s nasty and terrible but we don’t have to be nasty and terrible and alone. So, if she made you think that you’re the fucked one, that you’re the unlovable one, then . . . she’s wrong. She’s so fucking wrong.” 

Outside, thunder rumbles and the orange lamps flicker, casting shadows like heartbeats, but neither of you care. 

Your lips are a dark purple tonight, matched by mauve smears over your eyelids. You look . . . ethereal. 

He doesn’t know he’s falling, tipping forward into the plush cup of your mouth until he feels your breath rush against his lips. 

Purple, like bruises, he thinks as he watches your eyelids flutter shut. He wants to keep his open, to watch the moment your mouths finally connect, but you overwhelm him. He’s not strong enough to fight back anymore, to pretend like he doesn’t feel anything for you.And, oh, he does feel something. He feels it so strong— wants it so badly— it feels like a physical weight in his chest. 

He wants you. God, he wants this and he’s wanted it for so long. 

Just this one thing. This one thing. 

The throbbing of the broken thing inside of him is quiet. 

His hand winds up into your hair as he finally takes you by the neck and open-mouth kisses you. You shudder as if surprised, as if this wasn’t an inevitable conclusion. His other hand presses against your jaw to steady you, steady him. 

The kisses aren’t light. They don’t hesitate. They are wet, and they bite, and it’s a little bit of teeth and tongue and spit. He licks the corner of your mouth and your tongue batters into his. His tongue rides the valleys of your mouth tasting like sweet champagne. That talented, fucking legendary Dieter tongue —

Both of his hands grip you by your jaw as yours burrow into the fabric of his shirt just below his ribs. He pulls back slightly to nip your bottom lip and he tastes that familiar caustic burn of whiskey. The first sip of alcohol he’s had in years and he smears it off your wet mouth.

“Fuck, baby—,” Mouth still sealed to yours again, he slips his hands down your sides as he glides to his feet. The rings on his fingers make indentations in that maddening bare patch of thigh. He goes further and swipes his pinkies under the backs of your knees as he grips your thigh from underneath. “C’mere—,”

You bite his lip in retaliation when he swings you both into a clear spot of wall. The nearby paintings shudder in the resounding thud but, short of God stopping by, there’s nothing that would pry him off you now.

Now that he has those hips under his palms. He balances you on his thigh, the wall at your back, giving his hands and mouth the freedom to explore. He wants to kiss you so hard you vibrate through the wall. 

He can feel his lips swell from the force of your kissing. They sting and ache but fuck if it wasn’t a brand new vice he could torture himself over. He is so lost in the relief of it — this is what you taste like, what you smell like so close, this is what you sound like — this is what awaited him for days in New Mexico, if he had just taken it — that he leaves his waistband very open. 

His fingers around the sides of your neck, he nearly barks out when you slide your hand down to his crotch and stroke. The angle isn’t right to give you full access, but your half-lidded, blurry desert eyes are begging him for more. 

“Fuck me,” you gasp into his teeth. “Fuck me, Dieter, please. That’s all I want. Please, fuck me.”

He’s too taken by the wet patch, dragged up and down his thigh, to argue. You roll your hips, eyes never leaving his, and he groans, deep and anguished. 

Your cunt is already warm. 

He pulls away from you against the wall and nearly stumbles back to the desk. He doesn’t know exactly what he shoves to the floor but there is sound, perhaps glass breaking, before he lunges forward, snags you by the hand, and pulls you into his chest. The force of his tug draws you up into his arms, knees digging into his sides, his mouth again inches from yours. 

Broken open, he finally opens his mouth to the stream of filth that has been rotting his brain for months. 

“I want you on that desk. I’m gonna fuck you on it every way I want to and then when you’re so cock-drunk you can’t see straight, I’ll ask you how you want it. You want it on top?” He grabs the hinges of your thighs, and grinds his hips against the front seam of your shorts, right into your clit. You sway against him, eyes fluttering, mouth open. “Or will you let me fuck you from behind? So I can watch this perfect fucking ass bounce.” 

“Whatever — whichever way— you want,” you say breathlessly, your tongue thick, as you lean your weight forward and he stumbles back onto the desk. 

The desk groans when his back smacks against the wood, your tongue and teeth fighting back against his. You’re straddling him, knees on both sides of his slim hips, and you’re chasing that crackle, that spark in your crotch. You rub yourself against him and air is expelled from his nose.

“Ngh— Shit—,” he pulls back to look at you. Your hair is a knot spawned from pulling and jerking. The purple eyeshadow still glows in the dark but the lipstick — oh fuck — is smeared across your mouth as though you had tried to take it off with your forearm. Because he’s fucked up, his already hard cock twitches. 

Panting to let oxygen return to your brains, he takes his time trailing his hand down from the dip where your shoulder meets your neck, down to the first button of that ridiculous, flowy blouse. The vest seemed like an accessory and he was grateful he didn’t have to pick that apart too. You watch his deft fingers open the first button, and then the second, and the third, all the way down to the end. 

He groans when he waves back the curtain of fabric around your torso and exposes the soft curves of your tits. You are surprisingly still and annoyingly quiet as he drags a finger, featherlight over the rise of your lilac lace bra. He dips his finger across your other breast and sighs.

“Wanna take my time with you,” he slurs. His thighs flex and you bite your lip. “Wanna open you up, bit by bit, so I can just slide right into your pussy. Want it to soak my pants.”

“I want that too. I want that so much.” You lean forward, letting your warm cunt settle over where he’s rock solid. He moans against your lips and you grin. When you open your eyes, he’s glancing at the door. It’s unlocked. 

“Anybody could walk in at any second.” You don’t want to give him ideas as to who specifically could, lest he be overcome with stupid guilt. If you didn’t rail Dieter Bravo tonight, houses were going to be burnt down. “We’d better make this quick.” 

Quicker is better, he agrees as he slides you off him and begins unbuckling his belt. You undo your own shorts and somehow manage to wriggle them off your legs while still in those heels. He can see the dampness on your inner thigh and he works faster. 

He shucks his pants down just off his hips. Quicker is better, he agrees as he positions you back on the desk, those audacious black boots hugging his waist. 

Quicker is better, he thinks when he looks into your eyes, your hand cups the back of his neck and your back arches to give him better access. Your other hand is around his cock, as he balances one hand on your hip and the other flat on the desk. 

Quicker is better. 

Because those feelings you both share, those soft gentle feelings that want to make love and not just fuck — are wiped clean from existence when he slides into you. Your face crumples from the first stretch of pain, roasted with pleasure.

“Oh, goddamn it, Dieter. You’re so big.” 

“I know, baby, just— breathe.” He kneads your hip in his hand, huffing and struggling to fight firing back with his hips, and lets you adjust. He’s only got a bit more than the tip in and sweat cracks your brow line. 

You swallow and shift your hips forward. Your pussy swallows up more of him and you both groan.

“You’re doing so well, t-taking me like this. When I haven’t gotten you ready.” He kisses your jaw. Your skin is fire hot. You inch your hips closer to the edge of the desk. 

“C‘mon, baby, just a bit more.”

He pushes the last bit of the way, his pelvic bone pressed up against your clit, and you wail, your head dropping back. The front of his lap is soaking.

He smirks at you, a wildfire cooking every sensation, every thought, every autonomous function that wasn’t required for fucking clean out of his body. He puts a wide hand up to your cheek and kisses your skin between his knuckles. 

Your voice is breathless in his ears, and it gives him pause for a minute. Your cheeks are flushed, mouth puffy and kissed-out. You need a hickey on your neck, or several, he muses to himself. This thing he’s been holding onto since he walked onto the studio lot months ago is rusting, creaking, and for once, he doesn’t want to push it onto someone else. He doesn’t want you to have it because he knows you already do. His affection is corrosive sometimes, but you’re just alkaline; salty, burning, acrid. He wants to melt into you. His eyes half-lidded to watch your face, his hand cradling your head, he pulls out an inch only to thrust right back in. 

“You’re ruining my life, you know that?” 

Flint flashes in your eyes as you nearly snarl, your hair fisting into his hair and tightening. It makes his neck arch back and the moan gets caught in the back of his throat. 

“You wanted your life ruined. You’re just using me as an excuse.”

Hissing, his hold around the back of your neck roughens and he pulls you into his mouth. You’re met with teeth and tongue and a press of his hips that stretches you out completely. With your teeth around his bottom lip, you whimper just like you did on the couch and he can’t hold back any more. 

He starts fucking you in earnest. 

Every brutal stroke is rewarded with a high, sharp cry — he makes himself go deeper, the nails at his shoulder dig deeper into his skin, and it sparks pleasure down his back. 

His hand at your face slides down to your waist to hold you as his hips thrust and pump and scorch the inside of your pussy with his cock. He brushes something devastating inside of you and you naturally arch, naturally bend to take even more of him. 

“Oh, fuck, Dieter— Jesus Christ, Dieter—,”

“Keep talking, baby,” he huffs, “you’re grabbing me so tight I think I’m seeing spots.” He reaches between the open materials of your shirt to mold and shape and squeeze your breasts. His thumb brushes over your clothed nipple, and you hum. The thought of his mouth on them drags his eyes shut. 

He pounds you, he chases that pressure behind his eyes, in his gut, he wants you to always remember who you make these sounds for. You wail again and his cock pulsates. 

He ducks his head and catches your mouth as he lifts up. It’s sloppy and messy and neither of you can stay locked like that with the way your bodies wobble. He aims and drops a kiss on the corner of your mouth. The hand on his bicep trails up to the back of his neck and digs into his hair. You hold him close, and your foreheads naturally fall together. 

He jerks you closer, grinding into you instead of thrusting, just to watch you shake.

“Dieter, please—,”

“Hush, baby, I’m gonna take care of you. Such good care of you and this pussy. Squeezing me so tight. This pretty pussy needed someone to take care of her.” 

“You’re filthy.” 

“Yeah, and you like to listen to it.” He’ll keep running his mouth as long as it takes to clear out the mess in his heart, in his head. He’ll probably never apologize for what happened in New Mexico and neither will you. 

He mouths your ear before rocking back, building back up to his earlier pace, the sound of the wet slap of his hips into your thighs implanting itself into his memory. The desk where he dragged you shines and he half-wants to stop and lick the wood grain. He shudders at the idea your cunt would taste like your mouth – whiskey-soaked and salty. 

You’re drowning in the taste of his hot breath. Sweat grows on his spine and under your breasts. A look passed between you and him that can only be given when fucking wants to give way to something more — when there’s a crescendo of feeling building just by looking into someone’s eyes as they enter you again and again. It’s intoxicating. You feel drunk.

He kisses your mouth again briefly before arching up, moaning. His hips stutter — less focused, but harsh in their need. Your cunt flutters around him and he drives in that much faster, rougher. He can feel your skin break out in goose bumps under the palm of his hand.  

“G’ –n’ think I’m gonna come,” he grunts, his breathing uneven and ragged. His eyes are squeezed shut and he knows if he looks at you again, if you give him that look of naked vulnerability, he’s going to cream for at least ten minutes. 

You nod frantically, pleasure bobbing up from the pit of your stomach to your aching clit. Words are near impossible now.

“Put your thumb — there! Ah!”

He watches you almost recoil in the electric jolt you experience as he brushes your bundle of nerves with this thumb — anything harder would be too much —  the pace only slightly faster than the pounding of his hips.

“That’s it, Dieter, you’re so good– you feel so good.” His knees buckle at the praise, at the strain in your voice. 

“Tell me, baby, I need to hear it–,”

You lean closer to him, breath mixing with his, and you press up against where his fingers press into your clit. “You fill me up so well— I’m—I’m so full— of you. You’re so thick.”

He pinches you and in seconds, your cunt is smothering him.

“Ah — oh God — Dieter!”

You’re milking him and he clenches your thigh as you finally tumble over the edge with a shout. The instant his restraint to make sure you came first is lifted, he comes, coating your pussy and emptying his balls completely of his spend.

His shoulders slump, the aftershocks of his orgasm making his spine tingle.

He’s got his head buried in the curve of your neck, a pleasant hum everywhere in his body. Your cheek rests against his damp temple. 

He’s not going to think about his cum leaking out of you and staining what is presumably his director’s desk. 

You laugh, almost deliriously, fighting to catch your breath. His chest heaves as his lungs gasp for air. 

“Fuck. I mean– wow– fuck– I– wow.”

He grins at that. He kisses your collarbone.

“Now, what to do about the crowd outside the door . . .”

He glances at you, questioning. You huff, trying weakly to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, still struggling for a normal breath. 

“There’s no way every person in this house didn’t hear that. Fuck, I bet the audio is on YouTube already.”

He chuckles and finally has enough feeling in his legs to stand up straight. He noses your cheek.

“Look out the window.”

You do and are met with a torrential downpour. White lighting clashing, thunder roaring, rain slapping the glass. You hadn’t even noticed it started raining.

“No one heard a thing. And no one’s going to notice two people gone from a party of dozens of people.” He cups the back of your head and kisses you soundly. “They don’t know a fucking thing. We’re safe.”

You take his word for it and wrap your arms over his shoulders. You kiss him back.

You kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.

[ohbeyewise]

Two Sociopaths of High Intelligence

People- when I heard Feyd-Rautha described as a sociopath of high intelligence, I was reminded of my favorite high functioning sociopath and a version of reality when these two cold-eyed men met came into being.

Don't ask me how- it's not important. Probably the Doctor since Sherlock is taking me back to 2014.

I thought it would be really interesting to explore a little bit of a world where Sherlock spent a few of his formative years on Ghedi Prime as a companion/servant of the young Na-Baron. In such a dynamic Sherlock would be a very intelligent but sensitive soul compared to his peers and that would explain his impatience and threshold for violence back in London.

Sherlock exposed to the spice or with Mentat training? Too powerful a combination! It puts his drug addiction in a whole new light.

Though familiar with both the Dune and Sherlock Fandoms, this is making no effort to follow cannon. (clearly) and is entirely unbeta'd.

Also, because it's so popular I have included the assumption that this Feyd has married an Atraides wife and is wildly devoted to her and his children. Please enjoy!

“Sherlock! We need you at the yard!”

Sherlock had no patience for Sally Donovan on any given day, but this time there was a catch in her voice that stood out to him. She was unnerved. She had practically flew up the stairs to the flat in her effort to get to him quickly. This was the first time she hadn’t hesitated at his doorstep. There were only a few things that could unnerve Sally, as irritating as she was, and of those things there were even fewer that would result in him being asked to come to the police station. 

“Is it interesting?” He asked languidly, waiting for her fear to confirm his suspicions. She huffed. As always, irritated by Sherlock's blaise attitude. He was always feeling the exact wrong thing. 

“Someone’s asking for you, a bald freak. He says you know him.” 

Sherlock hummed. Feigning disinterest even as he glanced around to determine where John was. At work judging by the coat rack. 

“Well who is he?” He demanded impatiently after waiting for a moment for Sergeant Donovan to elaborate. Bald would always put him in mind of Ghedi Prime, where he had spent a few years working for the Baron’s family but that was hardly a help to him here in London. How many times did he have to say he was a detective and not a mind reader?

“We don’t know!” She barked back, her unease coming through once more as she shifted in place. “Now are you coming or not?” 

“I’ll follow in a cab.” Sherlock eventually agreed with another roll of his eyes. Her fear wouldn’t be out of place if there was a Harkonnen ambassador waiting for him at the police station. Idly, Sherlock wondered what he would do if there was such a person. In some ways it would be a relief to return to the life he’d once had. The intrigue, the whispers, the plans within plans and plots within plots… he'd never been bored. Only Moriarty had ever been able to scratch the itch that his former life had left in him. 

The yard was unusually silent while they all waited anxiously for Sherlock to arrive. Sergeant Donovan had texted Inspector Lestrade that she had collected him and was on her way back only a few minutes ago, but each moment dragged dangerously on. 

The. . . guests, Lestrade supposed he could call them waited patiently, completely still. Apparently unbothered by the surrounding police officers. 

If their stillness wasn’t strange enough Lestrade was put off by the way they looked. Rarely had he been faced with such a …. monochromatic group of people. 

They all looked alarmingly similar; pale, hairless, and dressed in layers of black. 

Lestrade would have pegged them for some kind of new age high fashion group of some kind, the sort of people who had come into the world with money and had run out of ideas about how to use it but that didn’t quite suit them. They were too, well… militaristic for lack of a better word. 

The whole group of them, five altogether had filed into the station, nearly an hour ago. 

They walked with a sharpness and regularity that took years of practice and had filed off the street and up the stairs and the the doors with a smooth, almost water-like steps. There had been no hesitation. No pausing to read the signs about where to que, they marched right to the front desk, and asked for Sherlock Holmes. 

Lestrade had been called down from his office by the very flustered secretary because a group of scary men looking for Sherlock was unfortunately his division. He had guided the group into an empty conference room, deciding against putting them under arrest and in an interrogation room until he actually learned something. 

However, despite his best efforts, Sherlock’s name was the only thing he was able to get out of them. He wasn’t convinced, after fifteen minutes of fruitless questions that they even spoke English. The one who spoke, one of the shorter men stood out from the others because of a strange rectangular black tattoo over his lip bottom lip and down his chin.

“Come off it, why do you want to see Sherlock?” He asked again, exasperated by the silence he was being met with. 

“Sherlock Holmes.” The man said again, his pronunciation careful and deliberate, like he was reading a cue card. 

His voice had a smooth, silibus quality that stretched the S in Sherlock’s name just a touch farther then they should have been, and snapped down on the K with unusual force. It made Lestrade wonder if their native language, as he was getting to be more and more convinced that they had, was mostly made of harsh sounds, deep in the throat. 

Lestrade had asked, begged and demand they give him some more information, to no avail. He hadn’t convinced any of the others to speak. Most didn’t even look him in the eye, instead fixating their gazes just past him. 

He had forensics looking through surveillance footage, to see if they could get anything they could use to identify them, but so far nothing. 

It was ridiculous, big conspicuous group like this? They should have left a trial a mile wide behind them. 

“It’s got to be some kind of elaborate prank. It’s the only explanation.” Anderson said, glaring out at the group from behind the glass door. Lestrade had taken a break, he was sick of meeting their cold staring eyes and knew he needed to take a step back. 

“Well if it is, I don’t get the punchline.” Lestrade said watching them through the conference room window from his place beside Anderson, holding his mug of long cold coffee tightly. 

“It’s got to be something the freak’s set up. Bunch of freaks come in here looking for another freak? They know each other somehow. He’s pulling one over on us.” Anderson scoffed as he spoke, if he was a less nosey man he might even have left it alone and walked away. 

“Well I hope he does. Maybe then he can explain what they want and why they felt like they had to come to the police station to get it.” 

The longer Lestrade watched them the more he thought he had pegged the leader. It wasn’t the spokesman. He was sure. 

Instead, he thought it was a man in the middle, flanked on all sides with his back to the wall. There was something about the way that the others surrounded him, each with their backs to him, creating nearly a kind of staggered circle around him. 

He was slightly taller than average, and slighter of figure than the bulkier men who stood around him, but there was something about the way he watched the room. Almost… predatory. Lestrade felt silly even thinking it but the longer he stood in the man's presence, the truer it seemed to be. 

Unlike the others, he made no effort to avoid eye contact, instead almost forcing it, looking intently at Lestrade when he spoke.

There was a hint of a smile on his face, but it was far from a friendly expression, instead dangerous and – Lestrade was uncomfortable just drawing the comparison- just like Sherlock’s most cheshire grins. There was something about the cold expression in the eyes that kept Lestrade from looking at them too long. They were almost. . . snake like. 

Even holding still with his hands clasped in front of him the man radiated an animal intensity that Lestrade could feel from across the room. 

Finally giving in to the silence, Lestrade poked his head back inside, making eye contact with the yet unnamed man. “He’s on his way.”

There was a flicker of something, too fast for Lestrade to catch it across the man’s face but the hair on the back of Lestrade’s neck stood up and started trying to pull him away. Not for the first time, Lestrade hoped he wasn’t putting Sherlock in danger by having him come over here. 

Donavan must have had her lights on because she slammed the door open in record time. The banging of the door against the wall was loud against the stillness that the strange man’s cold eyes had brought and made Lestrade jump his heart pounding after such a long tense silence. 

Sherlock swished in after Donavan, his coat flowing behind him and his usual sneer of indifference on his face. It shuddered away as soon as he caught sight of who was waiting for him in the conference room. 

Sherlock came to an abrupt halt, almost rearing backwards in surprise. 

Lestrade strained forward to try and make out Sherlocks expression, his hand on his gun just in case but to his surprise there was an almost… warmth to his expression. 

A… fondness that Lestrade had only ever seen directed at John or, on occasion, Mrs. Hudson. It was gone as soon as Lestrade registered it, hidden behind a careful professionalism as Sherlock stepped to the side away from Donovan into the room and to Lestrade’s everlasting shock - dipped into a deep sincere bow, nothing like the mocking ones Lestrade had seen from the man on occasion. 

Lestrade struggled to follow Sherlock, the room was getting tight with all seven of them, and despite his slight stature Sherlock couldn’t help but take up the space of two men. 

“Na-Baron.” Sherlock’s voice held a careful reverence and respect that Lestrade had never heard from him before. He couldn’t help himself from taking another look to make sure it was Sherlock who was speaking. 

The man that Lestrade had picked out, the one with the snake eyes and dangerous, sharp expression stepped forward away from his compatriots. The way he moved was just as smooth as his stare. He held himself with the ease of a man who was used to being obeyed. There was no hesitation, impatience or uncertainty in his movements, or expression. Lestrade knew instinctively that the man, the “Na-Barron” As Sherlock had identified him was a trained fighter, as capable of a burst of deadly speed as the snake he so resembled. 

Even his few steps forward were economical, there was no movement wasted, no glance without a purpose. Lestrade didn’t know if he had ever seen a man with a more sure hold on the ground beneath his feet. 

“William.” Lestrade would have been caught off guard by the address, but he was too busy being surprised at the sound of the Na-Barons voice. 

It wasn’t what Lestrade was expecting. It was a dark, raspy sound, almost sensual in how it slipped out of his mouth. The strange accent that his companion had spoken with was almost entirely absent, but there was a harshness to his voice that Lestrade normally associated with smokers.

“It’s Baron, now.” It was said softly, Lestrade would have called if casually except for the danger that was so clearly present. 

Sherlock stood back up, his motion smooth and practiced. As if he’d made that bow a hundred times. 

“My apologies my lord, and my condolences.” 

The Baron’s chilling smirk, widened to something more like a grin and Lestrade was appalled to see that the man’s teeth were black. Not the black of decay but a glossy, prepared black. One that contracted with his almost colorless skin and added a terrible otherworldliness to his expression. 

“Yes. My Uncle's death was unexpected.” 

There was nothing close to remorse in the words. The moment he said them Lestrade felt sure that this man had killed his uncle. There was something so insidious, so deliberately casual in their delivery, it put all of his teeth on edge. 

Lestrade watched Sherlock closely, waiting for a clue of some kind as to what kind of man this so-called Baron was. 

Sherlocks expression was unreadable, he was looking over the Baron carefully, using his skills to draw conclusions from the Baron’s appearance that was beyond Lestrade’s ability. 

“You’ve come a long way from Ghedi Prime my Lord. Is it to do with your Uncles unfortunate passing?” 

The dreadful dark grin on the Baron’s face continued as he chastised. 

“It was unexpected. Not a mystery.” 

Sherlock hesitated, even as he bowed his head in acceptance of the clarification, watching the man closely, from beneath his curls and Lestrade wondered if he dared to interrupt. There was clearly more they were saying to each other then he was able to discern. 

The Baron stepped forward again, coming closer to Sherlock with a clean, hunters gait, his arms loose at his sides, ready to strike.

He stood right in front of Sherlock, in his personal space, meeting his eyes directly. 

“No. There is something else I need you for. Something… more important.” His voice was quiet. Deliberate. If there had been any other noise in the station Lestrade wouldn’t have been able to pick out the low, intimate rasp. 

Lestrade took a step forward, hands on his hips, ready to interpret but stopped at Sherlocks extending hand holding him back. 

He frowned but waited, trusting Sherlock for now. 

“And what service can I offer the great Barron Feyd-Rautha?” Sherlock’s voice was low, subservient and flattering, without a hint of mockery. 

Lestrade cringed to hear it, and he knew without looking that his crew was doing the same from where they were pressed against the doors and walls to listen. It was unnatural to see Sherlock of all people trying to be ingratiating. Worse to see it be successful. 

“You,” the man, Feyd-Rautha Lestrade supposed was his name, took a step around Sherlock, starting to circle him. Sherlock turned his head to keep an eye on him but didn’t spin around, allowing the man at his back. 

Lestrade was forced to step away to stay clear of the Barrons stride, nearly out of the room entirely.

“Are going to help me find something. Or rather someone.” As he spoke the room seemed to get colder. Chilled by the ice in his raspy voice. Lestrade could feel the cold rage leaking off him. 

“Someone that belongs to me.” There was a darkness in that. Lestrade, trapped, watched as Sherlock carefully worked to learn his new task without waking the waiting bloodlust coursing through the Barons body, building a tension that would only break with blood. 

“One of of your’s my lord?” There was a deceptive casualness to his tone. 

How Sherlock remained calm when the Baron turned and hissed at him, black teeth flashing against pale skin Lestrade didn’t know.

“Things have changed since I last procured your services.” 

“Your ascendancy my lord.” 

“My progenitorship.” He rolled the word over his tongue, passing it gently, lovingly to Sherlock from where he stood, nearly pressed to the shorter mans back.

“You will help recover what has been taken from me.” Feyd-Rautha didn’t need to say or else, or promise suffering or even death to the perpetrators. The guarantee was in the air. 

Lestrade didn’t know if he was more afraid for whoever had dared to steal from this man or the person they had taken. 

Sherlock’s head tilted, and Lestrade didn’t have to see him to know what expression was on his face, like a hunting dog picking up an scent. The thick tense atmosphere did nothing to stop Sherlock coming alight at what was clearly an exciting challenge. The hunt, as he was apt to say, was on. 

Sherlock could feel the stakes mount over him. He turned to face his old companion, eyes bright with affront. 

“Someone has taken your heir?” The careful handling that had been in his every motion, every word was abruptly gone, instead replaced with something almost like awe, or that’s what Lestrade would have thought if he’d ever considered Sherlock capable of something as human as awe. 

His dropping of whatever strange role he had been taking before was met by Feyd-Rautha who once more snarled in a rage that was only just reigned in. Lestrade noticed that his men flinched at the sound. Each one watching Feyd with a care that spoke of long practice avoiding his wrath. 

“My youngest. I will have her back.” 

“Alright- that’s enough of that.” 

Sherlock, who had been tilted to face the “Baron” (which wasn’t making any sense to Lestrade, last he checked none of the lords of the land looked like Voldemort with a nose) Snapped his head up and faced him, his eyes alight with an expression that made Lestrade doubly uneasy. 

“Listen Sherlock- come here.” He would have reached out and tried to pull Sherlock back towards him, but the Baron's expression- he seemed entirely too pleased at the idea of Lestrade putting himself within his grasp- stopped him from finishing the action. 

“Come here.” Lestrade repeated with more force when it didn’t look like Sherlock was going to obey him. He wondered what he would do if Sherlock didn’t come. Did he dare to let them leave? Would he risk trying to make them stay? 

The Baron, seemed almost surprised when Sherlock decided to follow Lestrade command, but he did not stop him. 

Sherlock made an aborted kind of bow to the man and stepped past Lestrade, swiftly moving past him and leaving the conference room. 

Lestrade followed him out and shut the door. 

Sherlock spun and faced him, tension clear on his face. “Listen to me detective. It is vitally important that you and the yard stay away from this. Far away. Do you understand?”

Lestrade swore. “The hell I do. What’s going on? Who are these people?” 

Sherlock stepped froward till he was nose to nose with Lestrade, breath mixing between them. Lestrade leaned back in surprise. 

“I will explain as much as I can as soon as I can but right now you need to let me take Feyd-Rautha and-” 

“Feyd- what?” Lestrade interrupted only to be steamrolled by Sherlock.

“And leave right now.” There was a tension, a tightly controlled fear in Sherlock’s voice that Lestrade very uneasy.

“I-” Lestrade opened his mouth to protest but Sherlock, after glancing right over his shoulder continued 

“Greg. Please.” 

Lestrade almost fell over. Never before had Sherlock said his name correctly. 

“This is the only way.”

Lestrade hesitated, Sherlock’s carefully controlled fear working over him. 

“Okay. Alright.”

As soon as his consent was out of his mouth Sherlock opened the door swung out, his steps long and easily measured. Careful. The fear he had pleaded with was completely absent now, Lestrade wondered which Sherlock was a mask, the one who spoke to him, or the one who spoke to the Baron. 

“I am at your service Baron.” 

Lestrade watched, filled with trepidation as the Baron gestured for Sherlock to lead the way out of the station. 

“I knew you would be.” Lestrade resisted the duel urge to run after Sherlock, and to run away when the Baron looked over and grinned triumphantly with devil black teeth and a steady vipers eye. Instead he stood rooted to the spot as the consulting detective he had started to consider a friend guided who he felt was a trained killer out of the police station. When had it come to this? When had he started to trust Sherlock over his own instincts?

[mikaela-granger]

The Long Wait (Season 5) Chapter 15

Into the Schwarwald Part 1

Fandom: Grimm

Pairing: Sean Renard/OFC

The Long Wait Masterlist

A/N: As the ladies wait to hear from Monroe and Nick, a blast from the past comes to see Rosalee with interesting results.

***Lorelei’s POV***

The next day when Lorelei noticed that Adalind seemed extremely anxious about Nick, she suggested they both get out of the house and go visit Rosalee at the spice shop. Without any of the kids. Adalind had seemed a little unsure, but after some encouraging words from Angela, had agreed. As Adalind was driving them to the spice shop, Lorelei pointed out that this would probably benefit Rosalee as well, seeing Monroe had left for Germany with Nick. Lorelei was also extremely eager to get a look at the new books.

Rosalee greeted them happily. They shared a cup of tea in between customers. Eventually, however, Rosalee seemed to pick up on Lorelei’s eagerness to see the new books and sent her off down to the basement. Leaving the older women alone, Lorelei slowly descended the stairs to the basement. Her gaze immediately fell on the trunk. Grabbing a chair, she dragged it over to sit in front of the trunk. Thankfully, the trunk hadn’t been locked, allowing Lorelei to easily gain access. So many books, she felt like a kid in a candy store.

***Adalind’s POV***

As Lorelei immersed herself in the Grimm books downstairs, Adalind was helping Rosalee out in the shop. It felt good to do something useful, to try and keep her mind of Nick.

“I’ll call you when the cinchona arrives?” Rosalee was speaking with someone on the phone. “Uh huh. Ok, you’re welcome.”

Adalind approached Rosalee, jar in hand, as she hung up the phone. “Maybe I should check on Lorelei. She’s been down there a while.” Adalind told her. Although the younger women had emerged a couple of times, to use the bathroom, it had been well over an hour since they had last seen her.

Rosalee looked at her. “I’m sure she’s fine. She can get lost in books for hours.” Rosalee assured her. “But you don’t have to do any more. You’ve done plenty today.”

Adalind nodded slowly, before deciding to voice her concerns about their men in Germany. “Don’t you think we should have heard from ‘em by now?” She asked Rosalee.

The smile slowly left Rosalee’s face. “Yeah. Maybe.” She sighed. “I’m trying not to think about it.”

Adalind bit her lip. “Maybe they’re out of cell service.” She suggested, sounding unsure.

Rosalee nodded. “Yeah, that’s one of the things I keep telling myself.” She admitted. “I’ll try to come up with a few more for you.”

Adalind couldn’t help returning her smile. She sighed. “I might still go check on Lorelei though. Because that is someone, I can reassure myself is fine.”

Rosalee nodded understandingly as Adalind left the main shop room. Descending the stairs, Adalind found the pregnant Grimm sitting at a table, surrounded by books and completely engrossed in them. Adalind gently called out her name a couple of times before Lorelei finally looked up. “Sorry, just checking on you.” Adalind told her. “Hadn’t seen you in a while.”

“Oh yeah, sorry. It’s just these books are so fascinating.” Lorelei said, a large smile on her face. “There are so many different types of wesen in these books. I didn’t realise there were so many.”

Adalind couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. “I never realised just how many types there were either.” Adalind admitted glancing down at the books before returning her gaze to Lorelei. “Do you need anything? Water? Food?”

Lorelei shook her head. “Nah., I came prepared. I know how I get so there were quite a few bottles of water and snacks in my bag.” She said nodding towards the bag sitting on another chair. Lorelei looked up at her. “Oh. I’m sorry. Are you waiting for me to be done so you can go home?”

“It’s fine. It’s been nice getting out of the house. And getting my mind off everything…Well, mostly.” Adalind assured her. “Take as long as you want. But maybe you should choose a different seat, that one can’t be good for your back.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right.” Lorelei admitted. “I might put these away and bring a couple upstairs. Relax on the bed in the side room.”

Adalind nodded. “Alright. I’ll see you up there.”

Leaving the younger woman, Adalind headed back upstairs. She could hear Rosalee with a customer, so she decided to make some tea for the three of them. As Adalind was finishing up, Rosalee sounded like she was finishing up with the customer as well. “I can’t believe it.” Adalind heard Rosalee say.

“Ugh. Well, I have to go. You take care Rosalee.” The customer said and a few seconds later Adalind heard the door open and close.

Adalind turned to face Rosalee as she entered the side room, an unreadable expression on her face. “What happened?” Adalind asked in concern.

“Somebody killed Andrew Dixon.”

Adalind’s eyes widened. “The guy running for Mayor?”

Rosalee nodded. “Yes. He was shot at a rally just a couple of hours ago.” Rosalee said looking shocked.

“Oh my god!” Adalind said, just as shocked as Rosalee. Portland wasn’t exactly a place where politicians were assassinated. “Did they get who did it?”

Rosalee shrugged as the bell above the door rang again. “I don’t know. A customer just told me. She didn’t know anymore than that.” She said as the someone rang the bell at the counter. Rosalee sighed, putting on her customer service face before returning to the main shop. “Can I help you?” Adalind heard Rosalee say. Adalind frowned as she saw Rosalee freeze just outside the door. “Tony?”

“Why didn’t you answer my letters?” Adalind heard a male voice say.  “I know you got ‘em. I checked the address outside.  I sent ‘em here.”

“No Tony. I’ve moved on with my life and I don’t think we need –.“

The man Adalind couldn’t see cut her off. “I need your help.”

Rosalee let out a sigh of frustration and Adalind saw her back disappear from the doorway. Adalind quietly crept closer to the door, still staying out of sight. “The kind of help you need, I – I can’t give you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t want to get into this.” Rosalee told the man.

“You owe me.”

“I don’t owe you anything.” Rosalee said angrily.

Adalind glanced in the direction where the stairs to the basement were, praying that Lorelei had become absorbed in the books again and wouldn’t be coming up anytime soon. Although Adalind was sure that, even pregnant, Lorelei could take this guy, she shouldn’t have to.

“I went to jail for you.”

“You didn’t go to jail for me Tony.”

“I robbed those people ‘cause you were crashing.”

“You robbed those people so you and Carlos could get high.” Rosalee said loudly.

“Well, Carlos is dead now. J.J’s in Boise, and Burt’s in jail. I got no one left to turn to.” Tony said, his tone dropping. “I need five grand. You can come up with five grand. I mean, look at this place. Probably make that in a day.”

“You need to leave, now.” Rosalee told him.

Adalind jumped as she heard a crash and the sound of glass breaking. “So, you get your little ass straight. And think you’re better than everyone. You know me, Rosy, and you should know better than to piss me off.”

More sounds of glass shattering. Adalind peered around the corner to see this Tony shoving jars off the shelves. Rosalee grabbed him arm. “Get out.” Rosalee shouted.

Tony turned around and backhanded Rosalee so hard she fell to the ground. “You owe me, bitch!”

Adalind couldn’t stay silent anymore. She stepped into view. “Stop it!” She yelled at him. “Leave her alone.”

Tony turned his attention to Adalind.  “How much money you got?” He asked in threatening tone as he started to approach her.

“I’m calling the police.” Adalind said, trying to keep her tone strong, not allowing him to see her fear.

“The hell you are.” Tony growled as he woged. A kackenkopf, although Adalind wasn’t a hundred percent sure about that.  Adalind’s eyes widened and she took a stepped back as he approached her menacingly.

Adalind winced as she suddenly felt a pain in her stomach. “Ah.” She cried out hunching over as the pain increased.

Tony woged back when he reached her, a smirk on his face. “Still want to call the cops?” He asked mockingly.

Adalind straightened up as the pain started to ease up. “Tony, no!” Rosalee yelled at him as Tony grabbed Adalind by the shoulders, one hand swinging back, no doubt with the intention to hit Adalind.

Adalind winced glancing at the hand as it started to move towards her face. Adalind felt a familiar ripple across her face as Tony’s hand froze before it reached her face. Tony looked at his hand in surprise, as did Adalind. Adalind’s surprise turned to horror as Tony screamed out in pain as the fingers on his hand bent backwards with a sickening crunch. One by one. With a terrified look between Adalind and Rosalee, he retreated out the door.

Adalind looked at Rosalee, the horror she felt reflected on Rosalee’s face. Rosalee seemed to come out of the horror faster than Adalind, as she ran to the door, closing it and locking it before she turned back to Adalind. She was breathing heavily, trying to catch her breath, her expression a mix of surprise and relief.

Adalind didn’t feel that way. No. It couldn’t be back. Not now. “Oh my god. Oh my god.” Adalind cried, feeling the panic rise inside her.  “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” Rosalee slowly approaching Adalind. “Oh my god. It can’t be back. It can’t be back.” Adalind said as Rosalee gently took her by the shoulder and led her into the side room. “I don’t want it back.”

“Maybe…Maybe it’s just temporary.” Rosalee said as she sat them both down on the bed.

Adalind shook her head frantically. “No, no, no. I can’t have it back.” Adalind cried. “I never want it back. Don’t – please, you – you can’t tell Nick. Please!” She begged Rosalee, struggling to get the words out. “Please promise me that you won’t tell him. He’ll get rid of us. Please, you can’t tell him.”

“I won’t tell him.” Rosalee promised, her tone calm. “But you can’t keep it from him if it – if it happens again. It would be so much worse if he found out, and you hadn’t told him.”

Adalind bit her quivering lip. “I can’t go back to being that.” Adalind told her tearfully.

Rosalee gently rubbed her shoulder. “You are so different now. Maybe it would be different even if it came back.”

“You don’t understand what its like being a hexenbiest.” Adalind told her. “What it does to you, the way it makes you think and feel. It’s not good.”

Rosalee let out a sigh. “Maybe we can find a way to…boost the suppressant.” She said, giving Adalind a nod before getting up and walking off to cheek her books.

“Rosalee! Adalind!” Lorelei shouted from the main shop.

“In here.” Rosalee called back.

A few seconds later, Lorelei was in the doorway, gun in hand. “What the hell happened? I heard someone screaming.” She asked looking panicked.

“You can put the gun away. The danger is gone.” Rosalee assured her.

Lorelei glanced between them, looking concerned as she tucked the gun into the back of her jeans. “I’m sorry I didn’t get up here faster, but you know, only so fast I can move.” Lorelei said before coming to sit beside Adalind. Adalind bit her lip to keep herself from crying. Lorelei gently placed her hand on Adalind’s cheek. “What’s going on?” Adalind shook her head before throwing her arms around the woman. She felt Lorelei’s arms wrap tightly around her, her hands rubbing her back soothingly.

Adalind heard Rosalee sigh. “An old…acquittance of mine showed up here. Someone I knew in Seattle.” Rosalee explained to Lorelei. “He wanted money. I wasn’t going to give it to him. Things…escalated and he finally left.” Rosalee paused. “Adalind, can I tell Lorelei?”

Adalind nodded; her face still buried in Lorelei’s neck. She could feel herself starting to calm down. “Yes.”

Adalind stayed where she was as Rosalee explained what had occurred to Lorelei. Lorelei’s grip on her tightened slightly upon hearing what Adalind had accidentally done to Tony. Adalind felt a sense of relief that Lorelei didn’t seem disgusted when faced with the knowledge that she was holding a hexenbiest who was getting her powers back.

“If you want to find something that could help boost the suppressant than I am happy to help look through the books.” Lorelei told Adalind.

Adalind sat back, wiping her tears away. “You really should be resting. You’ve been bent over books for hours.”

Lorelei smiled at her. “I’ll lay on the bed while I do it. I want to help, and researching is something I can do.”

***Lorelei’s POV***

Sitting reclined back on the bed Rosalee had in the side room of the shop, Lorelei continued looking through the book she had selected. It was the third she was working through. As much as Lorelei wanted to try and ease Adalind’s distress, she wasn’t very hopeful that they would be able to find anything. Still, she continued to look. Anything to try and help her friend.

Lorelei did find her mind wandering though. Rosalee had advised her of the news she’d heard from a customer. About Andrew Dixon’s assassination. Why the hell did someone decide to kill a city mayoral candidate? Andrew was just your regular, run of the mill, small time politician. Between books, Lorelei had jumped online to see what the media was reporting. There were of course speculations, but Lorelei doubted any were true. Lorelei did find out the assassination had occurred at the rally Andrew had been holding, his shooting caught on camera. Lorelei had been unable to bring herself to watch the footage. Andrew was a good man; she got along well with him. And his wife. Oh god, her heart went out to that poor woman and her young children. Not to mention Sean. He had been present at the rally. Figuring he would be busy trying to track the shooter down, Lorelei had sent him a message to check in on him. He was understandably upset about the whole thing.

Lorelei was brought out of her thoughts by Adalind. “We should be getting home.”

Lorelei glanced up. Adalind was looking between her and Rosalee, who was sitting nears the shelves lining the side wall. She was probably right. It was getting late. They needed to get the kids fed and bathed, and in to bed. Placing the book down, Lorelei sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

Rosalee nodded as she stood up, looking at Adalind. “His name is Tony. He was part of a group I used to crash with for a while in Seattle.” She explained. “Sort of a low point in my life.” She sighed. “No money, bad relationship, experimenting with…to many things. Wish I could just bury that entire part of my life. You ever do anything like that? When you were young, that, you regret?”

Lorelei slowly stood up as Adalind sighed. “Not really. I was kind of a nerd student. Kind of like Lorelei.” She said, throwing a teasing smile towards Lorelei. “I guess I wanted to prove to my mother that I was nothing like her, so, I became a lawyer.”

“Oh.” Rosalee said, looking a little surprised. Her expression shifted to some of empathy. “How are you feeling?”

“About the same.” Adalind admitted. She hadn’t really handled the news that her powers were coming back well.

Rosalee sighed as she looked back at the books she was pouring over. “I haven’t found anything that could help.” She said sadly.

“You won’t. A dead hexenbiest isn’t easy to come by.”

“I’m sorry.” Rosalee told her as the phone rang. Rosalee stood up to answer it. “Spice and Tea –.” She seemed to be cut off. However, Lorelei saw a look of relief cross her face. “Monroe?”

Rosalee looked at Adalind and Lorelei, who both approached her quickly. She returned her attention to Monroe. “Where are you?” There was a moment of silence on their end. “Did you find anything?....She is.” Rosalee looked at Adalind, offering her the phone. “It’s Nick.”

As Adalind spoke to Nick, Lorelei felt a sense of relief was over her. They were ok. After her brief conversation with Nick, the phone was handed back to Rosalee who after a moment speaking with Monroe, hung up the phone. Lorelei could see the relief on their faces but could also tell that Rosalee was wondering why Adalind didn’t tell Nick about her powers returning. Lorelei could understand why, it wasn’t exactly something you told someone over the phone.

“Did they say when they’d be home?” Lorelei asked Rosalee.

Rosalee nodded. “They’re on their way to the airport. Their flight gets in around ten tomorrow morning.”

“Did they say if the found anything?”

Rosalee shook her head. “No.” She said shortly.

Although Adalind seemed to accept that, Lorelei had a feeling that Rosalee was lying. However, Lorelei accepted that the guys may have asked her to do that. They’d be home tomorrow; Lorelei would ask Nick then.

Next Part

Taglist: @zoexme, @nu1freakshow, @star-yawnznn, @bella250

Banner by @cafekitsune

[scarebats]

WIP Wednesday

Full Cups - icemav

this one isn’t that long because my attention has been more on the top gun discord servers recently rather than writing💔 very sorry!

In Ice’s opinion, he very casually asks the question. “So… this is a hypothetical question, but, if Mav were a woman, what size of bra do you think he’d wear?”

Carole really gives him the wrong picture as answer to his question. “Oh, if he was a female, I think his boobs would be huge—”

“No. I mean…” Ice rubs the back of his neck and his cheeks flush in embarrassment. “like if he were to look exactly the same, but needed a bra, you know?” He smiles nervously at her, and he gets a raised eyebrows in return.

“Lookin’ to spice things up in the bedroom, are we, Kazansky?” She says with an amused expression and a smirk. Ice reluctantly nods and looks down at the kitchen floor. “I’ll leave you to find out for yourself.”

“What?”

~~

Now, Ice is in a lingerie store, hoping that it looks like he’s buying something for a girl. All of the pretty sets that surround him make his cheeks bloom pink. Ice strictly stares at the floor, only lifting his gaze to turn corners. Eventually, he finds the bras, and takes in the wide selection with a shock. There’s so many?

(still no smut guys but it’s getting there!!)

[stepswowdsen]

【KagePro】 KuroEne AU: Kuroha pretends to join the Mekakushi Dan + Mary and Ene team up against Kuroha (Summary)

Intro

KuroEne AU Route: Main Ideas

KuroEne’s First Meeting

The Mekakushi Dan welcome Kuroha

Shintaro finds out about KuroEne’s relationship

Kano gets suspicious about Kuroha

Shintaro gets suspicious about Kuroha and confronts Ene

Shintaro confronts Kuroha

Kuroha eases the others’ suspicions with his act

Shintaro asks Seto to use Stealing Eyes on Kuroha, and Kuroha spites them by thinking about his “games” (intimacy) with Ene

Shintaro realizes Kuroha’s resemblance to Haruka

Ene talks about her worries to Kuroha

Kuroha kills the Mekakushi Dan on August 15th

It's probably the longest Route I've written yet.

I wrote a LOT for it, including dialogue scripts, but they're still WIPs, and really unorganized, so I won't post them for now. It's REALLY long, so I'll just summarize it.

I'm copy pasting only SOME rambles cuz the whole thing would be WAY too much to put into one post. I wrote this summary a few weeks ago

If you want the full context on my KuroEne AU, you can read my old posts (which I linked at the very end), but I'll still cover the basics of it here. I thought it'd be a really fun idea for a KuroEne AU Route.

I didn’t get to summarize the parts where Mary and Ene team up against him after he kills the others. I’ll put that in another post cuz this post is already getting long enough.

In my KuroEne Routes, Kuroha/Saeru approaches Ene with the proposal to make an android body that she can transfer her consciousness to, so she can move around in the real world.

I imagined that the android body would have self-healing skin, similar to IRL scientists' advancements of robots with self-healing skin, just way more technically advanced, since he's the embodiment of knowledge.

I imagine that the body is battery charged, and as the Routes go on, he gets better and faster at making the android body, so he improves the battery life each time. For the sake of convenience for this Route’s writing, the battery charge of her body lasts a whole day.

In my KuroEne AU Routes, usually, KuroEne hang out alone together in a secluded real estate just to themselves (one of Kenjirou's spare homes that he has access to, due to his resources)

In this Route, the Mekakushi Dan doesn’t get the chance to meet Konoha because Saeru possesses his body much earlier. Saeru pretends to be an Eye Ability user and joins the Mekakushi Dan to spice up the game and make things fun.

Now, I have a KuroEne AU Route where the enemy lounges around the MekaDan’s hideout.

Ene usually meets Shintaro 1 year prior to the start of canon, so KuroEne spend 1 - 2 years together (depending on when Saeru decides to possess Konoha’s body and meet her)

If Kuroha meets her before she meets Shintaro, then Ene would live with him and probably meet Shintaro whenever she’d return to her cyber body and surf the web.

Ene doesn’t live in Shintaro’s computer, but she does get to know him. As usual, she messes around him, and eventually becomes his and Momo’s friend.

Whenever Ene goes back to the place she’s staying with Saeru, she would tell him (Saeru) about how her day went, and all the adventures she had while she was out.

The Mekakushi Dan welcome Kuroha

Kuroha and Ene Trump Card Set by Fujimori

Edit: Me

I thought that it would be interesting if the Mekakushi Dan doesn't get the chance to meet Konoha, but Kuroha pretends to be an Eye Ability user and "joins" them just out of curiosity.

The MekaDan think they've invited a new member, in reality they have the enemy in their hideout. The irony isn't lost on him. He's good at playing pretend.

I think he can pull this off since he's an Eye Ability Snake, so he can make his eyes glow red and pretend his Eye Ability is Awakening Eyes.

Saeru takes advantage of the Mekakushi Dan's kindness and good will, in his indulgence in the game of his own making.

The other Mekakushi Dan members accept him like, "Welcome to the Mekakushi Dan!" (:D)

And upon getting this warm greeting from everyone, he goes from (...) and slowly smirks like, "Thank you for having me."

Kuroha/Saeru pretends to be apart of the Mekakushi Dan and be "one of them" to find new ways to spice up the game and make things fun. It's something new and different, cuz he's usually used to playing the game alone with Ene, but now they have "spectators" around them.

Though, obviously they'll be alone for their intimacy.

KuroEne’s First Meeting

Kagerou Daze: Ch. 38 - Ene tells Momo to chase after Konoha

Feila was wondering on whose device did Kuroha talk to Ene with when they first met.

I feel like it would go something like this, where Ene asks Momo to follow Konoha.

I imagine he visited the general vicinity she was in, and Ene, who was probably going through public spaces' cyber worlds sees him, and ends up jumping from electronic devices to chase after him in the city. Because he looks like Konoha, and she can't have the opportunity escape her.

As intended, Kuroha sets up a meeting with Ene on purpose, by letting Ene follow him to a secluded place where they can talk. Iirc, Ene can hop onto any device that has a Wi-Fi connection.

Feila thought I was just gonna have him steal Shintaro’s phone, which would work too! Like Shintaro could accidentally drop his phone, and Kuroha swipes it when he does. Once he's done meeting with Ene, he gives it back to the owner.

Though I went with my own ideas to arrange a meeting between them. I didn’t get the chance to write out the dialogue scripts for their first meeting yet, but here’s a bit of it for now.

If Ene hasn't met Shintaro though, that'd work perfectly for him tbh. Ene would be looking for a place to stay, and he can offer one to her.

Kuroha: (......The year that I spent preparing for this all seems worth it now.)

Kuroha: So... You're living in there, yes? Or maybe, it'd be more accurate to say that you're trapped.

Ene: ...Y-yeah. That's right. But how do you know that...?

Ene: (I...... never told anyone...)

Ene: Hold up... Wait... You want to make me an entire body to move around in... And you're doing all of this FOR FREE!? Are you trying to extort me for money? You’re not some kind of loan shark or something, are you!? You have come to the wrong cyber girl! I don't have any money, I swear!

Kuroha: ...Money? Is that the first thing you thought of? No, no. I'm after something else. I don't have any need for money. I'm well off as is. What I want, isn't something trivial like that.

Ene: What DO you want, then?

Kuroha: I've been experimenting with tech... Robotics, in particular. It's one of my hobbies, you could say. And after hearing about your predicament... how you're trapped in the cyber world... I want to help you.

Kuroha: I'm sure our exchange will benefit both parties. I will give you the body you need, and you can come live with me. Doesn't that sound great? (^-^)

Ene: (Who is he? And why does he look so much like...)

Ene: (I wanna know what his deal is.)

Ene: (I can't let the opportunity escape...!)

Ene: Fine! I'll come with you! It better be a nice place! I'm leaving the moment I think something's fishy!

Ene: What's your name? I need something to call you, right? Especially if we're gonna be living together...

Kuroha: My name? You may call me Black Konoha. (^-^)

Kuroha: By the time we get to know each other, lots of things will have changed.

Kagerou Daze: Ch. 40 - Kano talks to Ene

Kuroha takes the form of her lover's "ideal self" and offers her a free body and a free place to stay. What a tempting offer...

He knows that Ene would be curious about him and his backstory, and that she would be tempted by his offer.

But it's definitely ironic. Ene has a pseudo immortal digital body where she's trapped in the cyber world because of his own actions (since he orchestrated Haruka and Takane's deaths in the first place)

Kuroha can manipulate humans who work for him to give him as much money/resources as he needs while having access to Kenjirou's resources, to get what he needs to make Ene's body.

I also imagine that Kuroha can use Awakening Eyes to help him make Ene's body, and to shapeshift into other people, but I'll put that in another post.

...

Ene knows he's different from Haruka, but still feels a certain fondness for him.

In this Route, I imagine that Saeru gained access to resources and amassed money and power through Kenjirou, and when Kenjirou dies after he leaves the body to possess Konoha, Kuroha probably has all his resources forwarded to him.

Saeru can use Awakening Eyes to change his appearance so he can just change into Kenjirou's appearance even after his death, since he leaves Kenjirou’s body earlier in my KuroEne AU. He can make as many fake identities as he wants to avoid drawing suspicion.

Shintaro finds out about KuroEne’s relationship

It's so funny to imagine Shintaro accidentally catching glimpses of their intimacy, but I'll leave that for another post

The other MekaDan members are not really concerned about Kuroha's background. If they find out about KuroEne's relationship, then they would be confused but supportive, meanwhile Shintaro would feel like a roof dropped on him

Kuroha: You can't fix me, but I can make you worse :)

(I'll make you just like me → I'll dye you in my colour)

Let's just say that Kuroha seducing/enticing Ene and generally encouraging her to let go of her inhibitions/restraints, causes them to indulge in their pleasures together.

While they play the game together, Kuroha decides to play nice… for now. He knows he's just being kept at bay/finding something to entertain himself with before he moves ahead with his real plans.

Saeru fulfills his purpose as the "being that grants wishes" to an extent... He grants Ene's wishes and desires and pleasures. But he never completely grants his owner's wish. Ene isn't his owner though, so he can play along with her whims to appease her.

Kano gets suspicious of Kuroha

Kagerou Daze: Ch. 21 - 22

Saeru literally means “Clearing” and Kano knows about the existence of the Clearing Snake, so he obviously wouldn’t want to give himself away. So the whole time, he’d introduce himself both to Ene and the MekaDan by the nickname that Ene gave to him in previous Routes - Kuroha (Black Konoha). He goes by “Kuroha” to everyone while he’s pretending to be one of them, and only reveals his true identity at the very end.

When Kuroha and Ene first arrive to the Mekakushi Dan’s base, he recognizes Kano as the Deceiver that he manipulated 2 years ago, and makes a mental note to himself that Kano would be the most suspicious of him. Kuroha figures he could do their errands and favours for them to get on the good side of the MekaDan and ease their suspicions.

(Note: Anything related to MCA is super hazy to me since I haven't watched it in full in years. But Feila told me that Kano would be aware)

Since Kano was suspicious of Konoha in MR2, he would definitely be suspicious and wary around Saeru. Since Kano used to use Deceiving Eyes to pretend to be Ayano during her absences at school 2 years ago, he'd eventually realize that Takane is Ene, and that Kuroha looks like Haruka (which explains why Ene is fond of him). His face, hairstyle, and voice, are strikingly similar to Haruka’s.

Kano would be on the look out for the “Clearing Snake,” the one mentioned in Mary’s book (*)

And Saeru knows that Kano is on the lookout for other Eye Ability users to invite into the MekaDan, while searching for more information on the Clearing Snake and the Kagerou Daze. Kano eventually tells Kuroha that he’s the one he’s most suspicious of, and wants to know his Eye Ability, whole history, and who he really is. (**)

Note: Kagerou Daze: Ch. 21, Kano mentions that Momo’s “Captivating/Drawing Eyes” was mentioned in Mary’s book, so he’d be aware of all the Eye Abilities.

Note: Kagerou Daze: Ch. 22, Kano tells Konoha that he’s the one he’s got the most questions about.

Kuroha figures that he could spin up some believable lies by telling them that he’s the holder of Awakening Eyes (lol…) who came from a wealthy family. It’s pretty easy enough to prove that he’s an Eye Ability user when his eyes glow red when he uses his Eye Abilities. If needed, he should be able to back up his stories through the fake identities that he created.

Once the MekaDan has warmed up more to him, they consider him (Saeru) a friend.

Shintaro gets suspicious of Kuroha and confronts Ene

Kagerou Daze: Ch. 9

When Shintaro sees the way Kuroha interacts with and teases Ene while they’re together at the MekaDan’s base, at first, he almost feels relieved to see someone like Kuroha who can tease Ene and make her so easily flustered. It's like getting payback (sweet revenge) for Ene always teasing him.

But then, Shintaro starts to get suspicious when he talks with Ene alone, and Ene tells him that, after getting to know him for a bit and telling him about her predicament, he made a whole android body for her, for free. The body that he made her, far surpasses current modern technologies.

Shintaro starts to wonder why's he doing all of this, like, what's in it for him? He supposes that Kuroha could just be a genius, or just nice... But something doesn't feel right.

Shintaro gets worried for Ene's sake as a friend, and tries asking her about him (because Kuroha is unnerving/intimidating to approach)

Ene deflects his questions because she obviously doesn't want to tell Shintaro about their relationship and tells her not to pry into her secrets and past.

Ene doesn't want to tell Shintaro that he resembles Haruka (and Konoha, Haruka's game avatar) in appearance, since she wants to keep her past to himself and avoid reminding Shintaro of the past.

He just tells him that he is a mysterious stranger that came and proposed that he could give her a body after hearing about her current predicament of being trapped inside the cyber world.

Ene tells him he's probably just being a worryart since he's been really nice to her. He takes her places to go and sightsee, gives her gifts like new clothes, and plays video games with her, unlike a certain someone who stays cooped up in his room all day.

Shintaro: What's your deal with that guy!? Well, look, look, I know it's not my business, but—!

Shintaro: See! That sounds even more suspicious when you put it like that! I mean—! What kind of guy would do this all for free!? You can't tell me he's doing all this out of the GOODNESS of his heart!

Shintaro: What if you get into trouble and something happens? That guy just looks like he's up to no good!

Ene: Awww~ Is Master worried about me?

Shintaro: Not!!! (→ He totally is)

Ene: But don't worry! He's been really nice to me! He always does what I ask~ Whenever I want something, he always finds a way to give it to me!

Ene: He takes me places to go and sightsee, like the Amusement Park~ He gives me gifts, such as new clothes to wear~ Video games~ Unlike a certain someone who just stays cooped up in his room all day~

Shintaro: Heyyy! 💢

Shintaro: But isn't that suspicious?

Shintaro: (Why the sudden favouritism, though? He has a thing for her and wants to impress her, or something?)

Ene: I think you're just being a worryart, Master~

Shintaro confronts Kuroha

Kuroha and Ene Rubber Strap Charms by Hobby Stock

After realizing he's not getting any answers from Ene, Shintaro realizes he's stuck with the worst possible option - he has to confront Kuroha himself.

Shintaro then confronts Kuroha alone, telling him there’s something he wants to discuss with him. He admits that he's suspicious of him because he suddenly showed up one day and gave Ene a fully functioning android body, specifically for her, and all for free.

Not only that, but his invention surpasses current scientists’ developments. He asks him what he's up to and what his motives are for getting close to her, since, sometimes they disappear for days on end. He’s not going to let it slide if he’s getting her wrapped up in dangerous stuff.

Kuroha and Ene (when confronted by Shintaro alone), counter Shintaro's questions as much as possible. Saeru knows exactly what to say to him, since he's good at twisting words, and spins some reasonable sounding answers (lies) to get away with it.

When Shintaro confronts Kuroha, he just tells him (lies) that he gained the inheritance from his wealthy family.

Shintaro: (Great...... Worst option. Ene wouldn't tell me anything when I tried asking, so now it looks like the only option is to ask HIM... He's frigging scary, though!)

Shintaro: (God, this is the worst kind of situation...! I mean, what am I doing? I know it's not my business, but… What the hell is this?)

Shintaro: (I mean, no matter how you look at it, it's just strange… He managed to accomplish something like transferring someone's consciousness to a robot...)

Shintaro: (Shintaro approaches Kuroha from behind and places a hand on his shoulder.)

Shintaro: Hey, hold it...!

Kuroha: (Kuroha raises an eyebrow with an amused smirk on his face when he turns around to face him.)

Kuroha: Hm? Oh, Shintaro? What is it?

Shintaro: I need to talk to you. In private.

Kuroha: Well? What did you want to talk to me about?

Shintaro: Ene said that you showed up one day and told her you could make a body for her. And all for free? It doesn't make sense! What's in it for you? You can't say you're doing this out of the KINDNESS of your heart.

Shintaro: Sometimes you guys disappear for days on end, too!

Shintaro: What are you up to, huh??? Why would you suddenly create a fully functioning Android Body specifically for her? You're not gonna hurt her, are you?

Shintaro: …Look. I don't trust you.

Kuroha: Oh? Are you really that suspicious of me?

Shintaro asks Seto to use Stealing Eyes on Kuroha

Shintaro and Seto Rubber Strap Charms by Hobby Stock

(Discussion rambles with Feila)

I’m just gonna copy paste these rambles unsummarized cuz it’s gold imo LMAO. Summarizing it doesn't do it justice

F: Wait. Within the context of your KuroEne AU. The Route where Kuroha pretends to join the Mekakushi Dan and act like he's one of them and Shintaro gets suspicious of him. What if Shintaro requested Seto to use his Eye Ability on Kuroha??

(Seto's Eye Ability is Stealing Eyes, the Eye Ability to read peoples' thoughts)

Me: Ohhhh that's interesting... Like when Shintaro's getting suspicious of him (because he's Ene's friend and worried for her sake)

F: Since he's suspicious and stuff about him. And Seto did say that he doesn't want to use it for evil

Me: I wonder what'd happen too tbh. Plus, Kuroha/Saeru wouldn't want to get caught THIS early

F: This is why the act of Kuroha being fake-nice could answer a lot of our questions

F: And he is aware that Seto holds Stealing Eyes. So he would try to think of something else

Me: Kuroha just thinks he should think about his sex with Ene instead when he tries using it /lh

F: KSHEKEHSJ??@?@@

Seto: (.) 🧍😨😱

WHAT IF HE REPORTS BACK TO SHIN LIKE

"He's thinking about intercourse"

"What"

Me: Shintaro gets suspicious of Kuroha and tries to get Seto to use Stealing Eyes on him and Kuroha just thinks to himself, "Ok, just think about sex"

(If he's being nice then he'll just think about kissing Ene)

Me: I'M SCREAMING

But jokes aside, it wouldn't be hard for the guy who possesses knowledge of the entire world from the start of civilization to come up with something to counter this imo

F: Just think of something else basically

Me: Yeah that'd be easy for him to do

F: Can he (Kuroha) deflect Momo's Captivating/Drawing Eyes?

Me: I'm actually not sure. Cuz I know Mary uses Captivating on him after Momo's death in MR2 and it does work on him because he doesn’t expect it, but that's the only instance

F: I'm curious. Momo's ability is really good for distractions

But with Saeru... not sure. And that's about it. He can deflect most of this omfg

Me: RIGHT??? Like some of the MekaDan members' Eye Abilities are just straight up useless against Kuroha/Saeru

F: How Jin felt after writing an OP villain: (.) 🧍

Kuroha's so fucking OP I love it. Dude is smart as hell

Me: He’s so OP it’s funny. Like how he can deflect other Eye Abilities. Including Mary's Locking Eyes (paralyzing or turning to stone when strengthened by more snakes) and Combining Eyes (Queen Snake that can rewind time and control the Kagerou Daze)

F: Can't deflect the Snake of Pleasuring Eyes tho /j

(No such snake exists, it's just a joke)

Me:

Shintaro: I just wanna see what that guy's up to, that's all! Since he and Ene go out for hours on end, sometimes...

Seto: But that's not really our business, is it?

F: Seto doesn't like mis-using his Eye Ability, he wouldn't even dare to do it. Unless Shintaro has like proof for his suspicion

Me:

Kuroha: (.....................)

Kuroha: (…Is the big brother catching onto me?)

Seto doesn't like using his Eye Ability on other people, so I think Shintaro tries to convince Seto to use it after telling him that he worries that Kuroha/Saeru is possibly getting Ene caught up in something dangerous. But Kuroha figures he can quell the others' suspicions by acting nice.

F: He's probably thinking about how to improve Ene's battery at the time being so eh

Me: Oh yeah like he probably just thinks of other stuff to deal with it. So it'd be pretty easy for him to think of something else, even with Seto's Eye Ability

F: He can sense Seto's sudden presence so he'll quickly switch to thinking about something else

Me: Yeppp like shown in MR2, he can also smell people well too. He sniffs the air in MR2 to try and find the MekaDan when searching for them. Especially in this KuroEne AU Route, he'd hang around the MekaDan's base often. He'd recognize each of them by their unique scents

F: The idea of him switching up to thinking about sex to spite them is pretty funny

Me: HADHSHDH IKR

Like "Gotcha" moment

F: "Wdym I plan on killing y'all?? Nah I just wanna fuck Shintaro's computer malware, don't worry!!"

Me: I'M WHEEZING 😭😂 HELP MEEEEEEEEE

Me:

Seto: Well... It's not for me to say! We shouldn't intrude on their private moment! (//>~<//) (→ Has a blush on his face)

Shintaro: I DIDN'T NEED TO KNOW THAT!!! WHAT THE HELL!!!

F: This is probably the best shitpost we've come up with

Me: AGREED LMAO

Me: Seto's Ability basically gave him intrusive thoughts and auditory sensory overload as side effects

Kuroha eases the others’ suspicions with his act

Kuroha figures he can act nice to quell the others' suspicions, so he helps with the household chores and takes Ene to the Amusement Park and goes on Dates with her. The two would come back to the MekaDan’s hideout carrying plushies and stuff. This starts to ease Shintaro's suspicions, who starts to wonder if he was getting worried for nothing.

Shintaro catches glimpses of Kuroha acting nice to the MekaDan - Kuroha getting led to the kitchen by a MekaDan member that encourages him to help out, Kuroha helping the other members cook, and Kuroha and Ene coming back from the amusement park holding gifts/plushies after going on an Amusement Park date with her.

Shintaro starts to doubt himself after seeing him be caring with Ene, and how happy Ene looks, and just thinks to himself, “What if I was just getting worried for nothing?”

F: He cooks for the Dan, does the laundry for the Dan, takes Ene to the amusement part, cuddles with Ene at night. AND THEN HE KILLS THEM. He did enough nice things ✌️

Shintaro realizes Kuroha’s resemblance to Haruka

Concept Arts by Sidu

Scan: (@/ayara-resara)

Edit: Me

Eventually, sometime nearing the end of the Route, Shintaro starts to realize who Kuroha looks like. Haruka. And because of that, he also remembers the classmate that was always around Haruka. Takane. Takane looks just like Ene.

Shintaro starts relapsing when he makes the connection, and his memories of being together with the Yuukei Quartet start flooding back to him in waves.

Shintaro decides to confront Ene about her true identity, and Ene gets surprised and admits that she didn’t tell him anything about her past because she wanted to avoid reminding Shintaro of the past. She decides to open up to him and be more honest with him, now that the truth is out.

Ene tells him that he (Kuroha) may not be Haruka, but that she cherishes him as her companion and still wants to stick close to him because she can’t affording letting him disappear from her sights again.

Reminded of the trauma of losing his friends and his regrets of not paying enough attention or appreciating them enough, Shintaro accepts her answer and tells her he understands how she feels, since he gets how hard it is to let go and move on. They might’ve bickered all the time 2 years ago, back when Ene was Takane), but he’s glad to see she’s doing ok, and appreciates Ene as his friend.

Ene talks about her worries to Kuroha

Kagerou Daze: Ch. 23

While approaching the date of August 15th, Ene tells Kuroha that things have gotten hectic in the past few days. She tells him that hopefully this doesn’t turn into something too dangerous or freaky… She wants to continue her happy days with everyone for as long as possible.

Kuroha tells her not to worry. Their days together will never ever end...

(He smiles to himself, knowing that, after all, they will be meeting again in another Route, and when that happens, they can play the game all over again…)

Kuroha kills the Mekakushi Dan on August 15th

Kuroha Outer Science Illust in Sidu's artbook .dsd/V (Can Badge)

Shintaro and Kano’s worries/suspicions had initially been subsided by Kuroha’s actions (him pretending to act nice to the Mekakushi Dan). Shintaro’s worries had been alleviated by the talk he had with Ene, before.

Saeru’s patient enough with acting fake nice, and knows he can play the role well enough. Prior to August 15th, he fakes being nice with the MekaDan while spending time with them. Kuroha figures he just has to fake being nice for a while, then easily take them out while they’re separated, then make up lies to make their disappearance more believeable. Easy enough for him. He then takes them all out slowly, one by one, on August 15th.

Saeru probably manipulates them to split off into groups of 2 (so Mary and Ene are together as a duo searching), then picks them off and targets them one by one. Saeru basically sends the rest of the MekaDan on a wild goose chase to search for missing members across the city, then singles them out and targets them.

I didn’t decide the order in which he kills them, yet. I suppose it wouldn’t matter too much to him, but logically, it’d make sense to get rid of the MekaDan members that have the most inconvenient Eye Abilities, first. That means, the ones that are actually capable of being used against him, either for distractions, etc.

Captivating (Momo), Concealing (Kido), Focusing (Hibiya), Deceiving (Kano)

When the MekaDan asks him (Kuroha) to scout to try and find the others, he pretends to search for missing members... Kuroha plays into his act of playing pretend and goes like, “This is bad… It looks like the Clearing Snake might’ve already gotten into the city..."

While searching on his own, Shintaro thinks to himself that something feels horribly wrong. There’s been no trace of the others since he started searching…

Shintaro and Kano eventually start to catch on and start to suspect Kuroha as the other members start to disappear one by one.

Something doesn’t feel right. The Clearing Eyes Snake must already be in the city. And if so, then it must’ve already picked a host to reside in.

Kano realizes that the Clearing Snake might’ve tricked them by hiding amongst them all this time, and figures out Kuroha’s real identity.

He is most likely the Clearing Snake in the Awakening host’s body, who used Awakening Eyes to change his form into something that wouldn’t draw suspicion. If so, they’ve all been tricked from the start…

At some point, after a few of the members have already been killed, Saeru confronts Kano, and while still acting, says that he has been searching for the missing members, to no avail. He tells Kano that “he worries if the Clearing Snake had already gotten into the city and started targeting the others.”

Kano tells him that the one responsible for this might’ve been amongst their group all along. And then he says, “Isn’t that right, Snake of Clearing Eyes?”

Kuroha then congratulates Kano for catching onto him and figuring out his true identity.

Kuroha: I'm impressed, Deceiver! You finally figured it out.

Kuroha: Still, though... You're far too late.

Kuroha: You're all hopelessly naive. Your instincts are dull.

Kuroha: It’s checkmate. My victory is all but guaranteed.

Kuroha: Don't worry, just sit tight right there... Your friends will join you soon, in any case.

Kuroha: Your fates have been set in stone from the very beginning. There’s no avoiding the inevitable.

Kuroha: This Route is coming to an end. Now, let the curtain fall on the final act...

And then he takes out the gun and shoots Kano in the head, killing him. As he’s leaving the vicinity, Kuroha smiles and tells Kano to sit tight, because the rest of his friends will be joining him soon.

Kagerou Daze: Ch. 18

When I was telling Feila about this, they were like, "This guy has the coolest lines as a villain ngl"

Ikr? He's my fave KagePro chara (and my fave to draw and write for). Writing antagonist/villain charas is soooo fun and cathartic for me. Saeru is right up my alley in terms of my fave chara tastes

And while “searching” and jumping across buildings, he takes the opportunity to take out the other members. You know. Just to be ultra evil.

Dude, his plot is so evil, but so roundabout, elaborate, and convoluted LMAO. He can pull it off though, I have faith in him. 😊

God, he must be trying his hardest to keep in his laughter the whole time. Dude must be LAUGHING to himself internally

F: OOOOH DAMN

He'd be laughing hard when it's only Mary and Ene left. Maybe he'd also carry Seto's corpse at the end, to give Mary a salt to the wound

F: I'm guessing the Dan is smart enough to separate into teams of 2 but I bet Kuroha manipulated all of them to team up with the people that cannot stand each other (Momo and Hibiya as an example) so that he can set up Mary to search around with Ene

Me: Kuroha picks off the rest of the Mekakushi Dan. Just as he planned, Mary and Ene are together, and now the last ones left.

OOO that's a good point. Honestly splitting off is such a bad idea in retrospect cuz the killer is more likely to strike when they're alone/in groups. But then again, in MR1, he picks off all of them at once after they leave the Amusement Park. But yeah Mr. XXX, do your master manipulation so the best girls can be together!

I'll include the rest in a future post

Old Posts

This Route is based on these old posts of mine.

I added the parts I didn’t get to post in full yet publically on my socials, in this current post.