#your queue is in another castle | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thisgirlnamedblusy · 2 days ago

Note

Hiya Blusy! Could you write something where the reader is Donna’s maid and over the years, they’ve developed a close working relationship. Eventually Donna starts doing things like holding reader’s hand, calling her pet names etc, but never anything explicitly romantic like kisses. Reader has been in love with Donna for a while now, and she just thinks Donna’s being affectionate because they’re close, so she accepts and returns the gestures. And then at the lords meetings, visits to castle Dimitrescu, and on the phone, Donna sometimes tells the other lords how wonderful her girlfriend is. Reader is confused and jealous that Donna apparently has a girlfriend that she doesn’t know about… not realizing that Donna is actually talking about her! Eventually she figures it out, like “what do you mean we’re already dating?”

I really enjoy reading all your stories, Blusy! You are doing amazing work at keeping Donna fans fed. Keep it up, but don’t forget to take breaks!

Yesss!!! Sorry about the delay, and thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes too!!! :)))))))

What do you mean by "girlfriends"?

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, maid! Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Donna being Donna

Word count: 8,663

Summary: Why was she doing that? What was on her mind?

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! THANK YOU FOR YOUR LOVING MESSAGES, I'M VERY HAPPY TO BE BACK!!!

“That's it... you here...” you murmured as you arranged a pile of books on a shelf. “Perfect.”

Sighing, you looked at the result of your effort, finding a comforting pleasure in a well-done job.

You didn't really understand why those damn books always appeared in disarray, but you did have slight suspicions about who the culprit was.

“Angie...” you hissed, narrowing your eyes, too accustomed to the doll's pranks. “You'll never change.”

After three years working in that house, chores became mere pastimes. You were always a happy, hard-working girl, confident in what you did, well, almost always.

If you thought about how you had ended up like that, you were still surprised by yourself. You wanted a future, some way to get a job that didn't involve serving an impossibly tall woman and her daughters.

In that village, the options were few, and none were particularly pleasant. At the foot of the castle there was always a line of beautiful girls determined to serve Lord Alcina Dimitrescu as maids.

The decision was between join that queue of aspiring handmaidens, or find a different place to earn a living. You weren’t that brave, and, despite everything, you walked through the snowy forest, crossed a sinister path and a dangerously unstable bridge to make a very risky move.

With the lady of the castle surrounded by maids, your options were considerably reduced. You would have to look for another place, perhaps another Lord to serve.

Lord Heisenberg, perhaps? No, he wasn’t the kind of man that needed to be served or to look for someone who was… alive. Mother Miranda? Gods, you didn’t even consider it. You didn’t want to end up like one of the poor creatures who hunted at night.

What about Moreau? Oh, no, definitely not.

There was still one option left for you, one you hadn't considered in the first place, one you didn't want to consider. There was one Lord left, the youngest, the most unknown, the woman in mourning who lived beyond the forest, in the old mansion by the waterfall, the doll maker, Donna Beneviento.

The little knowledge you had about her was an advantage, but also a drawback. Knowing what you could face reassured you, but in this case, it wasn’t possible. To tell the truth, no one knew much about young Beneviento, at least, nothing good.

But things were really bad in your old cabin, and you were sure that you wouldn’t endure the cold of winter another year.

Forgetting about the rumors about the mysterious Lady Beneviento, you decided to try your luck. If you had known what awaited you, you would have done it sooner, much sooner.

The shrill voice of the lady's living doll kicked you out of the place as soon as she saw you, saying that you weren’t needed, that you should leave immediately. With failure already in your eyes and a treacherous trembling in your legs, you decided to give up, and pray to the Black Gods that you could return alive.

There were no visions, no nightmares and no evil power that made you hallucinate as you had heard from the people of the village. You could only hear the sound of footsteps in the snow, your own.

One step, two, three, and finally an impertinent cry from Angie, calling you not to go too far away.

You didn't know why the lady had changed her mind, and you didn't want to know, but she did and hired you as her maid.

You couldn't deny that that ghostly air and the black veil that covered her face intimidated you, especially the first days, but you soon got used to it.

Donna Beneviento was just as the rumors said. She was a sick woman, who didn't even speak to you, locked in her old workshop for hours, with the only company of her inert dolls. You could even say that she had an irrational aversion to people, to you… but… then, why were you still alive? Why didn't your reality distort and force you to throw yourself off the cliff?

The mystery stopped being dark and sinister and became a complex but entertaining riddle.

Perhaps without the presence of that rebellious puppet you would have gone crazy. It's not that you were a girl who loved conversations, but your mistress's eternal silence was heavy, uncomfortable, terrifying.

The days, the weeks, the months passed without any change. You did your chores, bowed slightly to your mistress and rested, a routine only broken by the games of the Angie doll, in which you, usually, were the protagonist.

But everything changed that day, the day you realized how hurt Beneviento's mind was. It was an unexpected crisis, in the middle of a dinner that seemed calm. The woman in black began to scream, to move, to try to hurt herself. Luckily, you were there to prevent it.

Her madness was so great that it even made that black veil disappear, thus unveiling her face to you involuntarily. You were too busy to notice her. You didn't want her to hurt herself, you couldn't stand to see her suffer like that. She didn't deserve it, she had never shown you that she deserved such punishment from the Gods.

She got worse before she got better, going from rage to tears quickly and finally finding comfort in your arms, in your chest and in your soft, reassuring words. When Donna calmed down completely, she came back to reality, aware of what she had done, of what you were seeing: her face, one that no one should ever see.

You thought that the crisis would return, that her madness would attack her again, and perhaps you would be the target of her anger, but it wasn't like that.

The lady slowly stood up grabbing the veil she had thrown away, looking down at the ground, blinking erratically with her one eye. In the middle of that unpleasant situation, she did it; she finally talked to you by herself:

“Thank you”

Her hoarse, but melodic and seductive voice reached your ears while your eyes were still processing her beauty. You couldn't say you didn't know what she looked like, since the portrait on the stairs was a good reference, but seeing it in person, seeing the beautiful woman you worked for with your own eyes... Something definitely changed that day.

Not only her voice became frequent, but the veil disappeared. Surely she realized that you didn't act as if you had seen a monster, that you weren't disgusted by the scar that deformed her face. Yes, she may have realized that your eyes saw a woman and not a deformed being that torments children in their nightmares.

Time only improved that great change, making the shy and hermit ventriloquist find in you something resembling a friend. The truth was that you two shared tastes, interests. Contrary to what you initially believed, you had many things in common.

Donna was a strange woman, of course, but sweet in some way, intelligent, elegant... in short: she was the opposite of what was said in the village.

You, who thought you would find a job with which to survive, found more than that, you found a friend, a good friend.

The sound of the door distracted you from your memories, causing you to turn on your heels and shake the dust that covered your apron as you walked, also taking the opportunity to arrange your hair correctly.

“Donna, you're back,” you said kindly, welcoming the woman in black and her doll at the entrance.

“Of course we're back! Don't you see us, silly maid?” Angie said, moving in her owner's arms as Donna lowered her to the floor. “Did you have fun, silly?”

“Yes, I actually had a really great time tidying the shelves,” you said with a mocking smile, putting your hands on your hips. “How funny, someone was kind enough to mess up all the books to keep me busy.”

“You're welcome, silly, that way you wouldn't get bored,” the doll replied, laughing evilly and passing by you with disinterest.

“Yes, thank you very much,” you said through clenched teeth, shaking your head and looking back at the lady in black, who was bringing one of her hands to her veil, slowly removing it. “How was the meeting?”

“Mm, not good,” the brunette whispered, looking away from you with an air of nervousness and sadness as she folded her veil carefully, leaving it on a nearby table.

“Oh, um, did something happen?” you asked pleasantly.

She shook her head, sighing and walking slowly towards the dining room, letting herself fall into one of the chairs. Slowly, you approached her, putting a hand on her shoulder, ready for a comforting talk that poor Donna was unwillingly asking for.

“Donna, what's wrong?” you asked quietly. “Gods, you're freezing.”

“Mm, nevermind, (Y/N),” she answered, sighing again.

“Donna,” you said, sitting in a chair front of her. “Tell me what worries you… Well, as long as it doesn't have anything to do with Mother Miranda's evil plans or something similar,” you joked, getting her lips to form a shy smile.

“No, it's just that… I was looking forward to going home,” Donna explained, with a sweet, sincere voice. “These meetings are torture for me, I, I just want to be with my dolls and…”

“Oh, Donna, I know,” you interrupted calmly. “Don't worry. You're at home now, mm?”

“Yes…” she sighed, smiling again. “I'm at home… Sorry, (Y/N), I'm… I'm not having a good day…”

“I know,” you said in a soft, understanding tone. “I’m not surprised. With this cold it's hard to be cheerful.”

“Mm,” the lady murmured, looking out the window wistfully.

“Do you know what you need?” you said in a louder voice, clapping your hands, which comically scared your mistress, who shook the head with her eye wide open. “I'm going to prepare a relaxing bath for you, it will help you warm up, what do you think?”

“It's… it's… yes, I think it's a good idea, grazie, (Y/N),” she answered, with an innocent smile.

“Great, I'll let you know when it's ready,” you said enthusiastically, glancing sideways at Angie, who was climbing up the bookshelf, threatening to mess it up again. “Hey, I'm watching you!”

“Don't look at me, silly!” the doll answered squeakily. “I'm checking your work.”

“Ugh,” you growled annoyed. “No, no, no! Hey, I just tidied it up!” you shouted as you saw how the puppet slowly took out one of the books. “Angie!”

“Angie, basta! Lasciala estare!” Donna said, coming to your defense, as usual.

“You’re an annoying killjoy,” Angie protested, getting down from the bookshelf, shaking her head haughtily and leaving the dining room.

“Angie...” the lady hissed, putting two fingers on her temples. “This is the last time I...”

“It's okay, Donna. You already know her,” you said, downplaying it. “I'm used to it. Just relax, the bath will be ready soon.”

With those words and a soft caress on her back, you went down the elevator, ready to make the lady in black feel better. Of course, you knew that meetings with her siblings weren’t to her liking. She never asked to be a Lord, she was forced to be one; she was forced to stay away from a solitude she didn’t choose, but that she enjoyed somehow.

As you filled the bathtub, you remembered all the moments you spent with her, the laughs you sometimes shared, the moments of silent reading, the dinners in the sole company of your eyes…

Fine, you had to admit it once and for all. Saying that Donna was your friend was an understatement, it was almost rude to your feelings. Over time, you began to see the lady in black not only as an interesting and attractive woman, but as something more… Something you still didn’t admit.

The looks, the kind and gentle words, the unthinkable kindness coming from someone like her, her beauty, which she denied so much…

You had been in that house for three years, one of them completely in love with Donna.

You knew that love was something completely unknown for her, fictitious, but still you allowed yourself to fantasize at night about what your life would be like with her, what it would be like to love her. Of course, these were completely fanciful feelings, ones you didn't think you could make real, ones you felt you had to hide from her.

After all, you were still her maid even if you melted for her, even if she looked at you like that, even if your heart raced with every smile.

“Donna? Can I come in?” you asked after letting the lady relax in the tub. You hoped that at least that sadness you saw in her eye had disappeared.

“Yes, of course,” she said, opening the door while putting on an elegant black silk robe, which made your eyes travel unintentionally to one of her legs, that was uncovered with the movement.

Not now, (Y/N)

“How was the bath? Did it feel good?” you asked kindly, blinking to force yourself to stop looking at the pale skin the black fabric was revealing.

“Yes, thank you, (Y/N),” Donna whispered, sitting on a stool next to the sink.

You approached with a smile, knowing the meaning of that innocent gesture.

“Let's see…” you murmured, taking a brush and starting to run it through her black hair, a soft and mysteriously delicate hair. “Mm, maybe you want to try a new hairstyle, don't you?”

“No,” the lady said dryly, letting your hands enjoy the caresses on her hair while you noticed each white hair that broke the harmony of the darkness, like a field of stars in the night sky.

“Fine,” you whispered kindly, starting to comb her hair carefully. “Well, so…” you said after a few seconds of silence, making her eye look at you through the mirror. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“What do you mean?” Donna asked, frowning.

“The meeting, you said it didn't go well,” you commented in a calm voice while you passed the brush with a slow, calm movement.

“The meeting went well,” she said, making you stop and arch your eyebrows with a tender smile, enjoying her clumsy way of communicating. “As good as it could go, I guess…”

“Mm,” you murmured, nodding, handling the brush gracefully while shaping her usual bun.

“Alcina wanted to talk to me,” the lady commented, ruffling her hair in a childish way to give the hairstyle her personal touch, a messy and adorable touch you loved.

“What did she say to you?” you asked, observing the result in the mirror.

Donna seemed somewhat nervous, slowly turning to look directly at you while biting her lower lip, as if she was embarrassed by something.

“You don't have to tell me, forget that I asked you,” you said after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. “I don't want to get into your business.”

“It's just that... she... she's worried about me,” the lady finally explained, without looking you in the eyes, nervously playing with her hands.

“Worried about you?” you asked in a low tone, without making her more nervous, as you learned to do a long time ago.

She nodded slowly, sighing and raising her gaze to you briefly.

“She says that... that I'm alone and... and that I should have someone by my side...” she commented with difficulty, making clear to you that she was embarrassed by this type of conversation, although at first, you didn't understand why. “She thinks that being alone isn't good and that I would be much happier if I wasn't and...”

“Oh,” you sighed, leaving the brush on the sink and listening to her attentively. “Well, actually, you're not alone, Donna.”

“Angie is irrelevant,” the lady grumbled, crossing her arms, breathing more and more agitated, which put you on alert. “Am I really alone? You...? You think she's right?”

“Shh, hey, Donna,” you whispered, resting your hands on her shoulders, waiting for her gaze to meet yours. “The truth is that she's somewhat right, but, she's wrong about one thing,” you said with a serious tone, staring at her. “You're not alone, Donna.”

“I’m not?” she asked, shaking her head, with a suspicious look.

“Of course not,” you affirmed with a smile, rubbing her shoulders reassuringly. “I'm here, with you.”

The lady in black opened her eye wide, as if she had run out of words. You didn't think you had said something so shocking, but seeing a spark of joy on her face motivated you to smile sincerely, maybe too sincerely.

“Y-You mean that I... that you... that you're with me?” she asked, narrowing her eye, as if she didn't trust your words.

“Of course I'm with you, don't you see?” you joked, making her smile again. “Donna, it's been a long time since you aren’t just my boss or my lady. To me, you are something more, something much more... special,” you said, stumbling over your words when you noticed that you were about to say something stupid.

“You are also much more than a maid to me, (Y/N), you are also... special,” she said, with a bright smile on her face. “N-Now I'm not alone because I'm with you, right? I-I won't be alone anymore...”

“Yes,” you said amused, surprised by her changing behavior, but accustomed to it. “I won't abandon you, Donna.”

“I... I won't either...” she said, radiating a strange happiness, one that clashed directly with her melancholic mood, one that seemed to suddenly disappear.

Suddenly, you felt warmth in your hand. The softness of her skin brushed against yours as she gently grabbed it with hers, still looking at you, still smiling.

Your heart was beating very fast, and your mind was starting to draw kisses, a declaration of love from her lips, a fantasy that seemed closer and closer.

With a happy sigh, Donna pulled your hand to her lips, kissing it in a way that made you stagger. It was a quick kiss, too quick, too… empty. Of course, it wasn't what you expected, but you were sure you would dream of that feeling. For the first time in a year, you thought that longed-for moment was closer than ever.

“Grazie,” the lady said, closing her eye and slowly releasing your hand, leaving an unbearable cold on your skin and a clear disappointment in your gaze. “Thank you for being with me, (Y/N).”

“You're welcome,” you whispered sighing too, glad to have made her happy, sad because a kiss of love hadn’t been the end of that conversation. It was just a simple: thank you

“Anyway...” you sighed, wanting to scream, to say that you loved her, but without being able to do it. “I should make dinner,” you said before turning around, ready to leave the bathroom and regret what had happened, or rather, what hadn’t happened.

“Un attimo, (Y/N),” Donna stopped you, getting up hastily from the stool, with that nervous expression again. “Let me help you.”

“Mm?” you murmured about to walk out the door, excited by the idea, but knowing that above all, her well-being was your job. “Oh, no, it's not necessary... you must rest, you've had a bad day and...”

“No!” she squealed, making an exaggerated movement with her hands, making you blink in confusion. “I-I mean that I don't feel sad anymore and… I would really like to cook with you.”

“Oh, well… in that case… okay,” you said with a knowing smile, letting your feelings repress themselves again, leaving the regrets and anger at your cowardice for another time. “Um… Donna,” you whispered amused when the lady also approached the door. “Maybe you should get dressed first, huh?”

“Cosa? Oh, certo, certo…” she said, looking at herself and blushing. “You'll wait for me, right?”

“Of course.”

It wasn't the first time you cooked together, but you couldn't help but have a strange feeling, as if something had changed. After all, you didn't care too much. Spending time with Donna had long been your favorite hobby, and it was even better when she smiled, free of her demons.

You couldn't help but think that her mood swing had been largely due to your encouraging words, but in a dark corner of your mind, there was still that terrible possibility, the possibility that her behavior was just part of her damaged mind, that her unexpected joy would disappear and lead to a terrible crisis.

Unfortunately, it wasn't the first time that this had happened either, and those bitter experiences made you not enjoy that time together enough.

Dinner was silent, as always, but something different was still in the air, a different smile on the lady in black, one that didn’t lead to an episode of madness.

Ignoring the cries of your heart begging you to confess your love, you enjoyed dinner calmly and cautiously, talking about how your day was, about Angie's pranks... about nothing out of the ordinary.

That routine conversation brought you closer to the thought that the change of mood had been a coincidence, and you were about to be devoured by disappointment. But something happened, something that would change everything from that moment on.

After dinner, the best moment of the day arrived, a moment of silent reading with Donna. She read her book, apparently distracted, and you pretended to read yours, glancing sideways at the woman you loved in silence, that woman who was so close to you, but who at the same time was unreachable.

Suddenly, you noticed something moving beside you. Donna wasn't holding the book with both hands, and her free one was sliding slowly across the sofa, searching, reaching for yours. Your breath froze and you glanced at the lady out of the corner of your eye, but she seemed completely oblivious to her own actions.

Your fingers intertwined automatically, without an order from your brain, knowing what you wanted, and how you wanted it. Your heart was beating thunderously, in a way you thought she would be able to hear, while you felt subtle caresses, the softness of her skin brushing against yours.

You thought about reacting, making a noise, clearing your throat, asking for an explanation for this unusual act, but the pleasure you felt when you noticed her caresses, the warmth of her hand on yours, prevented you from doing so. You decided to play along, forcing your hand to move, to stop being cold and motionless and make your fingers caress hers too.

Donna seemed focused on her book. It seemed like she didn't realize what was happening, or she simply didn't give it any importance, something that caused contradictory feelings inside you.

Time passed slowly and your body began to feel heavy, leaning towards hers, as if something invisible was pulling it. Her hand moved away from yours and the lady moved closer, wrapping her arm around you, making your head rest on her shoulder.

You were completely frozen, with your eyes wide open and your breathing accelerated. She didn't look at you, she didn't move, she just ran her hand through your hair gently, settling you comfortably on her body.

The feeling was warm, strange but welcomed. You had many things to ask, many things to say, but you couldn't do it. The comfort you felt on her shoulder, the softness and delicacy of her caresses on your hair forced you to take advantage of the moment, to enjoy it before it was over.

Neither of you said anything about it, and with a not extraordinary farewell, you both went to sleep. Of course, you didn't sleep much that night.

Your head was going round and round about what had happened, about those caresses, about those strange gestures on her part, gestures that had no explanation and at the same time you didn't know if you wanted them to have one.

You only managed to sleep when you convinced yourself that it would be an isolated event, that the conversation in the bathroom and that moment on the sofa were something unique, and of course, unrepeatable.

It wasn't, not at all.

The caresses on your hands became common. They became another part of the routine. It could happen in any circumstance, without warning, leaving you petrified, but relaxed, comfortable. The attitude of the lady in black didn't change too much despite everything.

It was true that her mood was curiously different, she seemed... happy.

The days passed and those strange acts continued, adding more caresses, more glances, adding more hope in your heart, the hope that somehow, you were close to knowing what it felt like to love Donna, what it felt like to be loved in return.

Your name ceased to exist. She no longer addressed you as usual, but in different ways: tesoro, darling, dolcezza… It seemed like simple kindness, as if over time, without you realizing it, your bond continued to strengthen, as if that closeness you already had was increasing little by little.

Of course, that's how the dark and pessimistic part of your mind saw it, a simple coincidence, a trust earned with effort, but that didn't go beyond friendship. Little by little you began to act, checking what would happen if you were the one who initiated those caresses, those unexpected gestures.

Her reaction wasn’t something remarkable, but neither was it ordinary. She simply let herself go, just as you did. It was pretty obvious that something had changed for her, and after a whole month of seemingly meaningless caresses and nice words, you could see a clearer joy on her face.

She even finally agreed to go visit her sister from time to time, something she always refused to do.

Thoughts were eating you up; feelings were burning you from within. It seemed like everything was fine, that you were the situation you wanted to be, but not exactly the way you would like.

You knew it was dangerous, risky, you knew you couldn't do it, but you started to get an idea in your head that you couldn't stop thinking about.

You knew Donna. You knew how afraid she was of people, of relationships, at least with someone other than you or her sister. Did you really think she was going to confess her love to you?

If she really felt something for you... why didn't she dare to tell you and instead caress you, kiss your hands, your cheek or call you affectionately? It was a contradiction, but Donna was herself a contradiction, you couldn't think it was something strange.

So, without the expectation that those three words would come out of her mouth, the only thing left to do was to act, swallow your pride, your fear, stop being a coward to finally be brave and confess to her.

“I know it's going to sound silly, but I think... I think... no, I'm in love with you and...” you said, looking into her eyes, trying to keep your voice from shaking. “Donna, I'm crazy about you and... I... Ugh, no, no, no, no!” you squealed nervously, hitting the porcelain doll you were talking to.

The doll fell to the floor and with a grunt you put it back on the table in your room, pacing impatiently from one side to the other, thinking intensely.

“Let's try this: Donna, I love you and I love when you caress me and call me dolcezza and... Pathetic,” you sighed, letting yourself fall on the bed, looking resentfully at that poor doll. “Gods, why is it so difficult? Focus (Y/N), you know that if you don't tell her she will never do it and...”

“If you don't tell her what?”

“Yiaaah!” you screamed scared when you saw Angie appear through the door, giving you a scare. “Damn it, Angie! What did I tell you about entering my room without warning?”

“I don't know, I have a very poor memory,” the doll answered while you narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms. “What are you doing to this poor doll?”

“Nothing, it's none of your business,” you answered, unable to prevent the doll from getting on your bed.

“Did you want to tell my Donna something?” asked the doll, with a malevolent tone that made you tense up.

“Um, no, I...”

“Donna, Donna! The silly maid wants to talk to you!” Angie shrieked, making your blood boil as you tried to cover the puppet's mouth.

“What are you doing!? Shut up!” you protested, struggling with her, unfortunately hearing familiar heels from downstairs.

Angie broke free from your grip laughing and cowardly running away, leaving you red in embarrassment, forcing you to look over the wooden railing to see Donna, who was looking at you curiously.

“Did you call me, tesoro?” the lady asked, with that sweet tone that drove you crazy, with those pet names that drove you crazy.

“Um, um, um, I…” you stammered, finally mustering up your courage and deciding to take advantage of the moment. “Yes, I… wanted to talk to you.”

“Va bene,” she answered with a kind smile as she watched you walk down the stairs.

Everything you had rehearsed became a mess in your head. It would be a mess, for sure.

“Um, um… Donna…” you murmured in an almost inaudible voice as she looked at you expectantly. “I wanted to talk to you… about… about something…”

“Mm, go ahead,” she urged you, cooling her smile a little. “(Y/N), you're shaking, what's wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing, it's just that... I wanted, I wanted to tell you that... that...” you said awkwardly, in the worst possible way, making her to frown in confusion.

A shrill sound interrupted what was undoubtedly going to be a pathetic confession. The phone rang unpleasantly, but Donna didn't take her eye off you, increasingly worried.

“Oh, I... don't worry, pick it up,” you said, seeing that call as a salvation, an opportunity to think better about your words. “Come on, Donna, maybe it's important.”

The lady nodded slowly, walking towards the dining room while you hid against a wall, growling discreetly.

“Shit, idiot, idiot, idiot…” you lamented in a low voice, pretending to pull your hair. “Damn, one day I'm going to commit dollicide… Gods, this is a disaster…”

“Pronto,” you heard the lady say when she picked up the phone. “Alcina, is something wrong?”

You rubbed your eyes, trying to concentrate, but you couldn't help but feel the strange need to spy, or rather, to accidentally listen to that conversation.

“Oh, you mean this afternoon? Yes, I know, but… I don't know, I, I’d like to spend the afternoon with my girlfriend and…”

You stopped thinking, your vision became blurry and your senses seemed to shut down. You hadn't heard wrong, she had said “my girlfriend”. Everything began to spin around you, you felt dizzy and terribly confused.

It couldn't be, it simply couldn't be true. Did Donna have a girlfriend? No, no, no, no, it couldn't be possible, it couldn't be, right?

You turned pale, making sure you had heard correctly, regretting doing so. You wanted to forget it, you wanted to not acknowledge the fact that seemed impossible, but your mind was already working on tying up the loose ends.

Yes, that could explain a lot of things: Donna's outings, that change in her mood, that increase in confidence... Finally, you understood.

With great regret, you remembered the conversation that day in the bathroom, how you cheered her up, how you agreed with Alcina saying that being alone wasn’t good. You thought she was happy to know that you were by her side, but in reality, that wasn’t the case.

That confidence that you unintentionally gave her surely eliminated the barriers that Beneviento put between her and others. Yes, yes, she surely gained enough self-confidence to dare to meet someone, to find love, to find it in someone, who, of course, was not you.

Everything in your world fell apart with an invisible noise that reverberated throughout your body. You thought about running away, going up to your room and crying until you fell asleep, but you didn't have time to react, you were in shock and Donna ended the call.

“(Y/N),” she said, bringing you out of that trance, feeling how you hadn't even noticed that her hand was on your shoulder. “(Y/N), are you okay?”

“Me? Y-Y-Yes…” you stammered, not really knowing how you could pronounce a single word.

“Okay…” Donna whispered, distrustful, with an air of concern in her eye. “Well, what was it that you wanted to tell me?” she asked, walking with you back to the dining room.

Your body was almost paralyzed, acting by inertia and your eyes were struggling not to cry. You had to be fast, pretend, lie, deny everything you were going to say, deny everything you felt.

“Um, um yes, it's just that… it's just that…” you said, looking around, looking for a way out that didn't exist. “Oh, yes, there are no apples left.”

“Mele,” Donna repeated, frowning and looking at a corner, where a basket overflowing with that sweet fruit was, just to embarrass you.

“Yes, oh, wow! there they were… I… how stupid I am…” you said, red as blood, looking for a window from which to throw yourself into the snow and run away.

“(Y/N), tesoro, are you sure you're okay?” she asked, of course, not believing your pathetic words.

“Yes, great, great, um… yes, I'm very well, how are you?”

“Well… I’m fine,” she whispered, with a smile that pierced your heart. “Oh, I almost forgot, you better not wait for me this afternoon to have tea. I have to go to…”

Another stab in the chest. You knew exactly where I was going, who I was going with.

“Yes, okay, um... no problem, of course,” you said quickly, trying to recover from that open wound.

“Va bene,” the lady murmured, still distrustful. “Relax, I'll be here for dinner.”

“Yes, of course, come whenever you want, it's your house, and... well, and... hurry, hurry up or you'll be late,” you said, pushing the woman from behind.

“Yes, yes, of course,” she said, when you closed the elevator door.

You spent a good part of the afternoon crying. If at any time you thought she had feelings for you, you were terribly wrong. You cried inconsolably and angrily, jealous, trying not to imagine those caresses, those kisses on the cheek, those nice words directed at another woman, at someone who wasn't you.

You still found it incredible that Donna had met someone, she barely left the house, she didn't know how to communicate with others, only with you, damn it, only with you! What kind of treacherous witch had won her heart?

A maid from the castle? No, that wasn't possible since she apparently refused to go with Alcina that afternoon. A villager? It could be... but who? Damn, who?

No matter how much you thought about it, you couldn't find an answer, and you didn't want to look for one.

It was inevitable. Your coldness when she returned was beyond your control. Your heart burned with rage and your eyes, red with tears, refused to look at her, not after what could have happened, what she could have done to someone who wasn't you.

“It looks delicious,” the lady said, rubbing her hands together before dinner, while you played with your food in silence.

“Mm,” you murmured with disinterest, pouring yourself a glass of wine, the third that night.

“Tesoro,” she said, frowning, burning your soul with that word, with that beautiful way of calling you. Liar. “Isn't that too much wine?”

“No, no, no,” you said with a spiteful tone. “It's not.”

Donna looked at you strangely and then continued eating, raising her head from time to time, only to find indifference in your eyes.

“The pasta is perfect, you're a wonderful cook,” the lady commented, with a kind gesture, but one that betrayed a bit of nervousness.

“I know,” you said arrogantly, finishing the glass in one gulp, leaving the brunette confused. “You taught me how to prepare it, Donna.”

“Yes, certo, ma…” she stammered, shaking her head, with a nervous laugh.

“The wine, pass me the wine,” you said coldly.

She obeyed cautiously, swallowing and deciding that it was better to be quiet.

“Well...” you sighed, noticing how the alcohol was beginning to affect your words, how the wine was increasing your jealousy and anger. “Did you have a good time this afternoon?”

“Mm, well, better than I expected,” she answered sincerely, wiping herself with the napkin. “Next time I'd like you to come with me and...”

“No, thanks,” you denied immediately, without letting her finish the sentence. “I have a lot of work.”

“But, (Y/N), I...” Donna said, looking away. “I'd like you to meet her and...”

“Really, Donna? Do you want me to meet her?”

I was talking about her, about that damn mysterious girl, you were convinced.

“It's important to me,” the lady in black explained, extending her hand towards yours, which you pushed away in a quick gesture, knocking over the wine glass.

“Shit,” you protested with a grunt, getting up to go find something to clean up the mess with.

“No, leave it, I'll do it,” she said, putting a hand on your shoulder innocently.

“I have to do it, it's my duty, I'm your maid, remember? Or have you forgotten?” you said, letting out the hatred, the rage that was building up inside you, a hot, intoxicated rage.

“But, (Y/N) what...?” she sighed, with a sad expression. “Tesoro, I think...”

“You think what? Look, it doesn't matter. I'm too drunk to listen to you, why don't you go with your stupid dolls? Or better yet, why don't you go to bed, I'm sure you're exhausted after that visit, right?”

“But, but, what have I done wrong?” she asked, grabbing your wrists, getting dangerously close to you.

You thought about stopping breathing, avoiding smelling the scent of another woman mixed with the lavender of Donna’s perfume. You were unhinged, drunk, and angry, you weren't thinking straight, and you had to do something before you did or said anything stupid.

“Nothing, Donna, you didn't do anything wrong, okay? I…” you sobbed, pulling away from her touch, moving away little by little, something she stopped by gently grabbing your hands.

“Please, let me go…” you hissed, pulling them away to take their warmth from yours, turning around and running to your room, leaving Donna paralyzed, not knowing the reason for your behavior.

Your heart ached as you did so, but the next few days the distance you put between you grew dangerously. Sometimes you gave in, you let her hands caress you, giving you the false illusion that nothing had changed, that nothing else existed apart from you, that she didn't exist.

Frustration and jealousy took their toll on your body and mind, but you still loved her, you still wanted her, you had to continue being her maid, you couldn't lose her, even if you had. Sometimes you cried for no reason, other times you let your body fall on her lap, falling asleep on her, letting her hands soothe your pain, while knowing you would never be hers increased it.

It was a horrible two weeks, really horrible.

“Angie, I'm not in the mood for your nonsense!” you yelled at the doll as you cleaned the shelves, trying to keep the doll from destroying your work, something that normally didn't seem so horrible to you.

“Ugh, you're unbearable, silly,” the doll snorted.

“You are unbearable, do you hear me? You are unbearable!” you growled angrily.

The doll let out a gasp of false surprise, pointing at herself in indignation.

“I'll tell Donna, you silly maid, and she'll be angry with you...” Angie sang.

“Do whatever you want, but she's in her workshop and you know she hates being disturbed,” you said, trying to calm down.

You actually liked Angie, she didn't deserve for you to pay all your pain with her.

“Bah, I can wait,” the puppet sighed, letting herself fall on a sofa, pretending to read a magazine.

Did she even know how to read?

You shook your head and continued with your task without desire, without motivation, just looking for the time to sit down to read, and for Donna, your Donna, to give you the affection she had left for you, the only one you would have.

“Damn it,” you protested when you heard the screeching sound of the phone, something that, of course, amused the doll.

“Silly,” she said laughing. “Come on, pick it up, maid.”

You groaned, but took a deep breath before approaching the phone.

“Beneviento estate,” you said pretending that everything was fine. After all, you could be talking to Mother Miranda.

“Oh, wow, it seems I'm not talking to Donna…” a deep, sensual voice spoke from the other end. Your jealousy was activated briefly, until your memory recognized that voice, the voice of the oldest lord, Alcina Dimitrescu. “(Y/N), my dear…”

“Oh, yes, um, Lady Dimitrescu, I'll let Donna know right away and…” you said hurriedly, as politely as possible.

“Why the rush? I was looking forward to meeting you…” she said in a honeyed voice, making you frown and blink in confusion.

“Me?” you asked carelessly.

A terribly sexy laugh came from the phone.

“Yes, dear, you,” said the lady in white. “It's funny, Donna talks about you so much that it's almost as if I really knew you.”

“Donna? About me? I-I don't understand,” you said, noticing a clear difficulty in pronouncing the words.

“Don't be modest, if you've won the heart of my sad and dark sister you have a lot of merit, there's no point in downplaying it,” Alcina answered, leaving you even more confused, more and more.

“Oh, and since I'm here, talking to you, I'd like you to reconsider your position and grant me the pleasure of meeting you in person. It would be an honor for me to meet Donna's very famous girlfriend.”

“G-G-G-Girl…” you stammered, thinking that the phone had broken, that she wasn't saying what she was saying. “G-G-G-girlfriend?”

“Mm,” the vampire murmured, exhaling what sounded like cigarette smoke. “The lycan got your tongue, dear?”

“I-I-I… I… I’ll, I’ll tell Donna to call you later,” you said, hanging up quickly, a cold sweat running down your back.

Donna’s girlfriend? You? Really? Was it a dream? Or a nightmare? You didn’t understand anything, everything seemed overwhelming.

“Um… Angie, come here,”you said almost without a voice, indicating to the doll to come closer.

“What do you want?” she asked unpleasantly while you meditated on everything that had happened.

“Tell me…” you whispered carefully, bending down to be at her height. “Does Donna…? Does Donna have a girlfriend?”

“What? Are you laughing at me, stupid?” the puppet protested, moving away from you with distrust.

“No, I'm not laughing at you,” you said, containing your impatience. “Please, answer.”

“What a weird fool... really? You're her girlfriend, you stupid maid!” Angie shrieked, making you fall to the floor in shock.

“What? What do you mean?” you asked, wiping the sweat from your forehead as you stood up and rubbed your back. “Gods, what?”

“Have you been poisoned? Did you hit your head?” Angie asked ironically as you walked away thoughtfully, trying to put your mind in order, something impossible given the situation.

A nervous smile appeared on your face as you walked towards the elevator, denying everything you had heard and everything that had happened.

When did you become her girlfriend? Why didn't you know? Had she ask you in Italian and you didn't understand? What had you missed?

You didn't know, but for once your heart was beating strongly in your chest, with a mixture of relief, love, and bewilderment. You weren't sure what you were to her, but you did know what you were going to do: you had to talk to her.

You quickly went down to the basement, ignoring the darkness and humidity of the place and walking determinedly towards the closed doors of the workshop. Your smile was no longer nervous, but amused, incredulous and hopeful.

“Donna!” you shrieked as you abruptly entered the workshop, making the lady jump out of her chair and ruin the porcelain head she was painting.

“Cazzo!” the lady shouted, juggling with that porcelain piece, which now had a peculiar makeup. “Oddio... la testa... (Y/N)! What are you doing? Don't you know how to knock on the door?”

“Shut up, Donna,” you said in a mocking tone, approaching her chair and grabbing her face with your hands, making her eye widen in astonishment. “Shut up and listen to me, will you?”

She, trapped, nodded slowly, creating a scene that could be comical.

“Alcina just called. She told me she wants to meet me,” you said, taking a breath and closing your eyes. “She says she wants to meet Donna's girlfriend, can you explain it to me? What does she mean by your girlfriend? Me? Does she really think we're dating?”

“Mm? Of course we are. We're dating, what's that question about?” she answered, annoyedly breaking away from your grip.

You, ignoring the answer, breathed in relief, rubbing your eyes.

“Oh, okay, fine, thank goodness that… What!?” you said when you analyzed her words, catching her in your hands again. “Donna, but, but…”

“What's wrong with you?” the lady protested, her voice distorted by your grip.

“Am I your girlfriend? Are we girlfriends? But, Donna, since when?” you asked nervously, letting her go and resting your hands on your hips.

“Yes, you, you're my girlfriend,” she repeated, scared by your attitude. “What is it…?”

“Let's see… Donna, honey, what makes you think that we are dating?” you asked, starting to lose patience.

“Well… well…” the brunette stammered, leaving the ruined head on the table. “I love you.”

Of course, you didn't expect that. You didn't expect such a direct, calm confession. You didn't expect those three words to come out of her mouth so naturally, as if you, somehow, should already know.

“You love me…” you repeated with wide eyes, shaking your head.

“Yes, I love you, (Y/N),” she said, moving her hand to grab yours. “What's wrong? Per favore, don't leave me, don't you love me anymore?”

“Whaaaat…?” you said, mouth agape, not understanding anything, almost as if you had a terrible amnesia. “Oh, no, no… You're serious, right?”

“You don't love me anymore!?” Donna shrieked, moving erratically.

“Donna, listen to me, I… I love you, I love you so much.”

You definitely didn't expect to confess it that way. You didn't expect that, just like her, it would come out so naturally.

“So? What's the problem?” the lady asked, following your advices to calm herself down. “Y-You told me you were with me, you told me that day, (Y/N).”

“That day? Oh, Gods…” you sighed, letting yourself fall into a nearby chair, starting to understand what it was all about.

“You told me that with you I wouldn't be alone, that you would be with me and…” Donna said, on the verge of tears. Surely the poor ventriloquist was as lost and confused as you.

“Wait, you…? Donna, did you think that meant we were together? Together… in a relationship, is that it? Did you think that?”

“Well… I did…” she said in a low voice, taking her hand away from yours, lowering her gaze. “(Y/N), if you want to leave me, at least give me a chance to…”

“Donna, I don't want to leave you,” you said, putting your hands on your shoulders. “I mean, damn it,” you said, noticing your own confusion. “Donna, I didn’t even know we were dating…”

“How could you not know?” she asked, with an accusatory, almost childish look. “I do nothing but give you affection.”

“Affection? You mean…?”

Suddenly, everything started to make sense in your head: the reaction she had that night, the change of mood, the unexplained joy, the caresses, the innocent kisses on the cheek, the affectionate nicknames.

During all that time, there was no one else, just you and her. You were her girlfriend; you were the one who owned her heart. But you didn’t know it. You had no way of knowing it.

You almost wanted to throw yourself on the floor and laugh out loud, in fact, you did, but Donna seemed confused and worried, and that was the most important thing.

“D-Don't laugh, you're making me nervous,” the brunette protested, shrinking in her chair. “Why are you laughing?”

You calmed down a little, approaching her, affectionately caressing her cheek and fixing your gaze on hers.

“Donna… My precious Donna,” you sighed with a tender look. “Do you know how jealous I was thinking that there was another woman in your life?”

“What nonsense, there is no one else in my life, there is only you, I only love you, why did you think that…?”

“It doesn't matter,” you said, not wanting to continue with the subject, relaxing, without stopping caressing her skin while she looked at you expectantly.

“Donna, I didn't expect you to interpret my words like that. Actually I… well, I'm in love with you but… I didn't say those things to ask you to be girlfriends or something like that…Damn, I didn't even think you could feel the same way about me…”

“I do, I love you,” the lady in black said hastily, grabbing your wrist. “Ti amo.”

“Me too,” you said, losing yourself in her gaze, in the sincerity of her words, and yours. “I can't believe you thought we were girlfriends…”

“Aren’t we?” Donna asked, frightened, hardening her expression.

“We are,” you answered briefly, expressing a wish that you didn't know had already been fulfilled. “But just for you to know… being girlfriends means much more than holding hands and you calling me tesoro or dolseza…”

“Dolcezza,” the woman corrected, with a cold, confused tone.

“Whatever,” you said amused, winking at her. “Donna, being girlfriends means much more than that…”

“It means not being alone, right?” she asked, pleading, praying that everything she thought she had lived, wouldn’t become a memory.

“Yes, of course, that too,” you whispered, making the lady smile tenderly again. “But, hey, how do you want me to know if you haven't even kissed me on the lips?”

“Oh, well…” she said quickly, looking away, blushing. “I didn't want to do it until you were ready, I didn't want to go too fast and…”

You didn't let her finish the sentence, as your lips slowly approached hers, resting on them, kissing them for the first time, noticing for the first time the softness of her mouth on yours.

“Mm, that's why I love you, you know?” you whispered, still very close to her lips, while she looked at you surprised. “You're such a sweetheart, Donna. You're a very special woman, and a very beautiful one, by the way…”

She smiled, cupping your face in her hands, pulling you in for a second kiss, that time deeper.

“Forgive me, (Y/N),” she said after a few passionate seconds, ones you'd been waiting for so long. “I'm stupid.”

“No, don't say that,” you said, comforting her.

“I… I have no idea about love, how to love you like I'm supposed to. I'm so clumsy that you didn't even know how I felt about you, or that we were dating.”

“Shh…” you hissed stealing another one of her addictive kisses. “It doesn't matter anymore… I don't care that I was your girlfriend without knowing it. It doesn't matter that you think you don't know how to love… Now, we're together, Donna, I love you, you love me. We'll learn to love together, what do you say?”

“Please…”

#donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #re8 donna #re8 village #oneshot #requests

61 notes · View notes

fluentmoviequoter · 9 months ago

Text

Two of Them

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!reader

Summary: When Hondo asks you to help catch a car thief, you meet Jim Street. As you get to know one another, you learn that you have a lot in common, but balance each other out perfectly.

Warnings: r loves cars/owns an auto shop & is sarcastic and makes jokes (very similar to Street), mentions of robbery and murder, fluff, softie Street

Word Count: 4.7k+ words

A/N: There's so many things I love about this request and a ton of (personal) references! I hope you all enjoy!🤍

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

Someone wolf whistles as the garage door opens, and you walk faster to see what is worthy of such attention. When you step into the garage if your auto restoration shop, your jaw drops.

“Is that a ’59 Impala?” you ask breathlessly.

“Sure is,” Joel, your righthand man and drivetrain expert, answers. “She’s here for a tune-up. I know you’re busy, boss, so I can handle this one.”

“Yeah, right!” you exclaim. “All of my childhood dreams are under that hood.”

“You dreamt about reconstructed motors as a kid?”

“Do you talk to your wife like this, Joel? Because she’s never going to let you buy a C-10 with that attitude.”

He chuckles before he waves toward the office. “Impala owner is in there. Wants to talk to you.”

“Thanks, Joel. Don’t start without me!” you call over your shoulder.

As you enter the lobby, you put on your best customer service smile and straighten your shirt.

“Good afternoon,” you greet. “You must be the owner of that beautiful Impala.”

“Yes, ma’am. My friend Rick Castle told me that you were the person to see. I had the car restored by a guy in Texas, a ground-up rebuild, but it’s not riding as smoothly as it was before. The passenger side – sorry, I’m not very good at explaining these things – it almost feels like it’s bouncing while I drive,” he explains.

“Okay, that’s really helpful. It sounds like it’s probably an alignment issue. We can look at it today and give you a call when we find the issue,” you suggest.

“That would be great. Thank you.”

You review the paperwork he completed with Joel quickly before telling him bye. After putting his contact information into your computer system, you rush back to the garage.

“Let’s find out what’s causing the involuntary hydraulics,” you tell Joel.

“Hondo, get 20 squad in here!” Hicks calls.

As they gather in the situation room, Lieutenant Lynch queues a video pulled from a security camera. Street recognizes the location as the building they raided a few days earlier but remains quiet as she begins speaking.

“This is, of course, the building you raided. If you’ll recall, we hoped to locate an unidentified subject tied to several car robberies, assaults, and more recently, carjacking with deadly force. He killed a driver during a carjacking gone wrong and has continued to get more violent with each crime. We still haven’t identified the perp, courtesy of his never-ending vehicle supply and seeming knowledge of traffic cams. He didn’t seem to think about the security camera across the street from the parking garage before the raid, however.”

She presses a button on the tablet in her hand, and the video begins to play. Several cars come and go, but there’s nothing unusual. Hicks raises his hand to point to the time stamp, and the guys watch, waiting for some smoking gun or clear picture of the guy running from the cops. All that happens, though, is a man leaving in a convertible. Lynch pauses the video again and looks up expectantly.

“Was that a Triumph?” Luca asks excitedly. “Those are still rare in the states, even decades after they stopped manufacturing them.”

“It’s not stock,” Street adds with a shake of his head. “That’s not standard suspension, and the paint is too new to be original. Whoever brought that over had a lot of work done to it.”

“Which is great, makes it easier to find,” Hicks agrees. “Except there’s no plates, no registration, and no one has reported it missing. There’s not even a T3 in that color registered to anyone through the California DMV. We have something to look for, but no more information on who we’re looking for.”

“I know someone who can help,” Hondo says. “Classic cars, new paint, rebuilds…”

“You have a car guy?” Deacon asks. “Why?”

“Of course, I have a car guy,” Hondo scoffs. “My dad may have introduced me.”

“That makes more sense,” Luca says, nodding with Deacon.

“Hold on, guys,” Lynch calls. “The tech team thinks they may have found another lead. Consensus is this video is the same driver.”

She plays a new video, this one taken from a gas station camera. Another newer sports car pulls in, but no one exits the car. It sits for nearly three minutes, then pulls out.

“I’m not as versed as these guys, but that looks like a Lamborghini,” Tan comments. “Can’t be too hard to trace those in Los Angeles.”

“It is when they don’t have the original drivetrain. The back tires spun out way too far in that turn. It’s been modified, too,” Luca points out.

“He’s either got a thing for modified sports cars or he’s someone who’s flipping them to be completely different cars after he steals them,” Street hypothesizes.

“Your car guy gonna be able to help with that?” Hicks asks Hondo.

“Oh, yeah,” he answers. “This case’ll be closed in a week.”

“Then get out of here. You’ve got a rare car to track down.”

“One more thing,” Lynch says. “Really, I promise this is the last thing. None of those cars have been seen again. Seems like he drives them once and then ditches them.”

“He has to have his own garage, then,” Street says. “One that I wish I had.”

“Then it’s a bigger target,” Hondo declares. “Let’s roll.”

The chime connected to the front door of your shop rings loudly and you tell Joel to go check on the customer. You are under a 1977 Chevrolet Nova and elbow-deep in the engine bay. Even if you’d wanted to be the first face they saw, given that it is your business, you wouldn’t be able to get out from under the car before they assumed no one was here.

“Ah ha,” you murmur.

You pull the broken mounting bracket down past the ballast. It falls to the floor with a loud ting before you roll out from under the car. As you sit up and wipe your grease-covered hands on your coveralls, you see Hondo looking at you with his brows raised.

“Hello,” you greet.

“You got a little something right… everywhere,” he jokes.

“Funny,” you reply as you stand. “If your eyesight is that good, it’s no wonder you made SWAT.”

Someone laughs behind him, and you lean to the side. His entire squad waits in the lobby, and you wave before returning your attention to Hondo.

“I take it you’re not here about your dad’s car then,” you muse.

“Not today. We need some help with a case, if you have the time,” he explains.

“Sure. I’ll have Joel take you to my office. Let me clean up and I’ll meet you – all of you, I guess – in there in a minute.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

“You owe me an entire car at this point, Hondo,” you call as you walk out of the garage.

Once you’re out of your stained overalls and have washed all of the grease and car-related grime off of your skin, you return to your office. Hondo and three other men wait beside your desk, and you invite them to sit. Hondo introduces you to Tan, Luca, and Street, and you shake each of their hands before you sit across from them. Hondo rolls his eyes when you smile at Street, but you’re not sure why.

“So, what exactly does Metro SWAT need from an auto shop?” you ask.

“Long story short, there’s a guy stealing sports cars; classics, fresh off the floor, and everything in between. Then he’s customizing them, driving them once, and ditching them for a new illegally obtained ride,” Hondo answers.

You nod as you think, then lean on your elbows on your desk. “Why customize them?”

“To make them untraceable, we think,” Luca answers. “You can’t report a car missing if it doesn’t exist anymore.”

“That tracks,” you agree. “But then the question becomes, how do you ditch them? You can’t leave something like that at a chop shop, the parts would bring more issues.”

“Private garage,” Street says. “Or maybe he’s selling them out of the county. Lots of possibilities.”

“It takes an incredibly rich, incredibly dumb person to treat cars like that,” you comment.

“We deal with criminals,” Hondo interrupts. “Rich and dumb is kind of our thing.”

“No, Hondo, cars aren’t like people. They fight back, they don’t just disappear without a trace.”

“She’s right,” Street adds. “These cars are more than property to be stolen.”

“What are you saying?” Hondo asks.

“Ever read Christine?” you joke.

“Or heard of Decepticons?” Street adds.

You smile at him again, and he nods before he winks quickly.

“So, can you help us or not?” Hondo inquires.

“Yeah, of course. What do you need me to do?”

“We’ve got some security cam footage of the cars he’s altered. We need to know where he’s getting the work done, or info on where a private garage big enough for a collection like this would be.”

“I’d be happy to look. I can’t promise anything, though. My clientele is more of the rebuild this classic or fix this issue not the I want to make a rare sports car even more unique off the books.”

“That’s why we’re here.” Hondo looks at his phone quickly and huffs. “Uh, Street, you stay and go over the videos with her. Deac said he and Chris need backup.”

“You got it,” Street answers.

Hondo thanks you quickly before he, Luca, and Tan leave. You’re left alone in your office with Street and aren’t sure how to start a conversation after joking together while Hondo filled you in on the case.

“Uh, here’s the videos. There’s only a few on this, but it should be enough to get an idea of what he’s doing,” Street says as he passes you a memory stick.

You take it from him and insert it into your computer. As the videos begin playing, you rewind it, pause it, and take a few notes. The cars in it don’t have anything in common, other than the fact that they’re stolen and modified.

“Well, I can say for sure that my guys didn’t do this work. Nobody I work with did, either. I’ll ask around and see what I can find,” you tell Street.

“I appreciate that,” he replies. “You know, when Hondo said he had a car guy, I was expecting…”

“A guy?” you guess.

“I mean, yeah. Middle-aged, beer belly, his name on the sign. The usual.”

“Sounds like my shapewear is doing its job if you don’t see a beer belly,” you joke.

“Please, you know how pretty you are,” Street replies.

“Seems like you think so.”

You lean forward and smile as you return the video drive to Street. He returns your smile and opens his mouth, likely to make another joke, before Joel knocks on the door.

“We’ve got another customer, boss. With a ’73 Corolla,” he informs.

“Excellent timing,” you mumble.

Street stands as you do and says, “Call Hondo, or me, whoever, if you find anything. Thanks for helping.”

“I will. Thanks, Street.”

He leaves through the lobby, and you take a deep breath. Joel smiles as he watches you, but you tell him to get back to work before he can comment.

“On what?” he yells behind you.

“Hondo, we’re not even doing anything,” Street groans in HQ the following morning. “Just let me go make sure she doesn’t need help or anything!”

“She knows more about cars than you do,” Hondo answers.

“That’s not what I mean. C’mon, man, she has an auto shop. Are you really going to make me sit here when I could be solving a case in my dream garage?”

“Hondo!” Deacon calls. “We’ve got another video. New car this time, but it doesn’t look modified.”

Street looks toward Hondo expectantly, and nearly cheers when Hondo sighs and tells him to go. He accepts the video and rushes to his motorcycle. Work will be more fun with you, he thinks.

“You’re back,” you say when Street walks into the garage.

“And you’re working on a 1960s Mustang,” he says dreamily.

“1964,” you tell him. “Want to take a look?”

“I’m supposed to be working. We have a new video with a different car.”

“Surely it can wait a few seconds, so you can look at the new 289 sitting pretty under the hood.”

“Yeah, we can wait,” Street agrees as he follows you to the hood of the car.

After Street takes a few minutes to admire the work you’ve done on the Mustang, you lead him to your office and bring up the new video.

“I haven’t seen it, but the people in the lab didn’t think it had been modified,” Street explains.

“Okay. Let’s see,” you say, turning the screen toward him.

Your shoulder presses against his arm as you watch, but you’re both too interested in the sports car on the screen to notice that you’re in shared space.

“I don’t see anything,” Street says.

You drag the video slowly and pause it when the wheels turn.

“That car shouldn’t be all-wheel drive. It’s a minor conversion compared to the other work you’ve shown me.”

“Who makes a Datsun 240z all-wheel drive?” Street murmurs.

“Who steals a Datsun 240z?” you counter. “They stopped making them for a reason. Short of a complete overhaul, they weren’t worth their weight in metal.”

“As right as you are, that doesn’t bring us any closer to finding this guy.”

“No,” you agree. “And none of my friends have heard anything. We’re getting the word out, though, so as soon as it reaches the right person, I’ll have more information for you. It’d be great if he decided to switch garages and was my next customer.”

“It would be easier.” Street leans back in the seat and looks at the pictures on your wall. “Best and worst customer to date, go,” he asks.

“Ooh, okay,” you say excitedly. “Best? A writer who lives up in the hills has brought me over 20 different rare classics to restore from the ground up. The worst was last week. Kid came in with a brand new, stock Lambo Huracan and wanted the double-clutch tranny switched out for a 4-speed automatic.”

“In a Huracan?” Street repeats incredulously. “I… I feel like I just aged twenty years.”

“Tell me about it. I asked him if he could drive it the way it was and never got an answer.”

“Did you do it?”

“Are you kidding? No! I’m in this business for the cars, and that’s just sacrilegious.”

Hondo knocks on your open door, and he’s leaning against it with his brows raised when you look up.

“There’s two of them!” he exclaims dramatically as he looks back at the rest of the guys. “I thought you and Street were bad enough separately, but this isn’t fair.”

“Can I help you Hondo?” you ask, ignoring his comment. Although, you don’t hate him viewing this as you and Street, together, as one.

“I just came to see if anything came of that video,” Hondo says.

“Nothing inherently helpful. Your smoking gun is still lost.”

“Keep looking,” Hondo requests, tapping his knuckles against the doorframe before he leads 20 squad away.

Street watches him leave, shakes his head, and turns back to you to ask, “How’d you get into cars?”

“My, uh, my home life wasn’t great growing up. Cars were my escape. From the time I was old enough to realize that walking out into the driveway to mess with the cars got me away from the fighting, I was out there constantly. Then it became a love for cars and everything they mean to people. This isn’t just my job, it’s my passion.”

“I lived in foster homes for too long,” Street says. “When I met my brother, Noah, he got me into motorcycles, which led to cars. We dreamed about getting a Ducati someday.”

“See? Cars mean something, they’re more than electronics and gas to get you from A to B. They’re life itself for some of us.”

“And you treat them like that. When I get that Ducati, I’ll bring it to you.”

“For what? Those are perfect as is.”

“Maybe it’ll just be an excuse to see you.”

You smile and shake your head, but you know that you’d welcome him in, anytime, with or without a Ducati.

“… And then after the toe, caster, and camber are matched up on both sides, we can move on to complete the diagnostics,” you finish.

“Okay,” the young girl says. “I need to call my dad really fast. Can I come back in and let you know after that?”

“Of course. Take your time.”

As she walks out, you notice Street standing in the doorway to the garage.

“That happen often?” he asks, gesturing toward the girl standing outside.

“Occasionally. Mostly with younger customers,” you answer. “Must be nice to have a parental relationship like that.”

“Tell me about it.”

“So, what can I do for you, Officer Street?”

“Are you ever going to call me Jim?” he asks.

“I like cars, so Street is more fun,” you reply with a shrug.

“I actually came to give you a break. Hondo said you’ve been sending him updates day and night. You have to step back from it all before you burn out,” Street explains.

“I can’t. I have cars to finish, and some of my contacts have leads that seem promising, but they have to go through a chain of different garages, and…”

Street steps to you and lays his hands on your shoulders. He waits until you look into his eyes and relax to say, “You need a break. Trust me.”

“I need to finish with her,” you whisper. “Five minutes?”

“Five minutes,” he agrees. “And then I’m dragging you out of here if you won’t go willingly.”

Five minutes later, you follow Street into the small customer parking area outside the lobby. He walks to a motorcycle, and you eye it in admiration.

“This is your bike? It’s gorgeous, Street,” you say, running your fingers over the smooth metal body.

“It’s fast too,” he replies.

You accept a helmet and put it on as he climbs onto the bike. The Cardo logo on the side of the helmet catches your attention, but as you sit behind him and wrap your arms around him, you’re more than happy to ride in silence and decompress.

When you get back to the garage, you climb off the bike and hug Street before he can swing his leg over.

“Thank you,” you say softly. “I did need that.”

“I’m not just a pretty face, you know,” he jokes as he returns your hug.

“Neither am I. And you shift into fourth too soon. That’s why it revs harder.”

“I knew coming to see you would embarrass me eventually,” Street laments. “But at least you’re pretty and really close to me.”

“I can move,” you say against his shoulder.

“No, thanks. Not until I have to go back to work.”

His phone rings in his pocket and you laugh as he grumbles, “Hondo always has to ruin the moment.”

The phone on your desk rings again as you lower the new L1 engine into a C-10. You roll your eyes at the sound but refuse to answer it.

“Somebody else answer the phone!” you call. “I can’t answer another stupid question today!”

Joel salutes you as he walks through your open door. He returns a moment later with the cordless phone in his hand and smiles.

“It’s Street. Would you like me to pass along your message?”

You extend your cleaner hand and tuck the phone between your ear and shoulder to say, “Hey, Street.”

“Can you remove the hemi from my Charger?” he asks. “It’s too loud when I drive.”

“I will hang up on you,” you threaten.

The line beeps and you pull the phone from your ear with pinched brows.

“Not if I hang up on you first,” Street says from the doorway. “Which is rude, by the way.”

“Have more videos for me to watch?” you ask loudly as you lean into the engine bay of the truck.

“No, just wanted to drop by. Nice body… the truck, I mean.”

“Sure, you did.”

You grunt as you stand and pass a screwdriver to Street.

“I don’t work here.”

“Yet you’re here every day,” Joel says from inside the cab of the truck.

“Not my fault your boss freelances for my boss,” Street replies.

“I told Hondo this morning that I hadn’t heard anything,” you interrupt as you wipe your hands on a rag.

“I know. I just wanted to drop by. I got off early, so, here I am.”

“Hmm. I was hoping you’d say you were undercover or something.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to believe this is how you dress when you’re not in uniform,” you joke.

“You’re covered in-“

“I’m at work,” you defend. “Hazards of the job. And don’t bring up the fact that my laundry room smells like motor oil because you can’t prove that.”

Your phone buzzes on the workbench behind you, and you apologize as you walk past Street to get it. He watches your eyes widen as you press the screen a few times.

“Call Hondo,” you demand.

“But-“

“I know who your car thief is. He’s on his way here right now with the Triumph T3.”

“How? Why?” Street questions.

“The guy he hired to do the work thought they were really his cars. Apparently, my name came up and with the message about him going through the automotive grapevine, his former mechanic recommended me for a modification tune-up,” you explain quickly.

Hondo arrives less than ten minutes later with the rest of 20 Squad. He asks what is so urgent as he looks between you and Street, though there isn’t much room between you.

“He isn’t ditching the cars. He’s still driving the cars because the Triumph slid last night and now he’s bringing it here to be repaired,” you tell Hondo.

“Okay, it slid and he’s bringing in one stolen car. What does that mean for me? And no automotive speak,” Hondo replies.

“Could I interest you in the Cybertronian translation?”

“Tell me what my bad guy did.”

“If I can convince him to list every car he may want me to work on in the future, could you get a warrant? I’ll try to get an address and a name for him, though they may not be legitimate.”

“We can certainly try,” Deacon agrees. “But he doesn’t seem like the type that will answer questions.”

“I have a way of getting people to talk. Especially car people. Guys like him like to brag, so if I one him up, he won’t have a choice but to tell me what you need to know.”

“Just be careful,” Street says. “Don’t let him get so cocky he thinks he has to prove himself in any way except talking about cars.”

“I won’t. But you guys need to get out of sight. He’ll want to see the garage and get a feel for the security.”

“We can pretend to be security,” Street argues.

“Nah, you got a cop face, man,” Joel says from inside the truck.

“Joel, I’m going to marry your boss and ask her to fire you,” Street shoots back.

“I want to hear more about that later,” you interrupt. “But seriously, get out of sight.”

A few minutes later, a Triumph T3 stops outside of the lobby entrance. The man who enters looks like the driver in the security videos, but you have to get more information before anything else can happen.

“Hi,” you greet. “You must be the gentleman Josh told me about. He said you had a classic, but I was not expecting a ‘50s Triumph. That’s a gorgeous car, sir.”

“I appreciate it. She’s my baby, but the steering is a bit off since I hit a wet patch last night and the back end slid.”

“That sounds like a simple enough fix. If you can just fill out some information-“

“Josh said you’d do this off the books for me, like he has. Cash upfront.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you agree. “Go ahead and pull her into the garage.”

He nods and exits the front door. You sigh and move into the garage, planning how to get him to talk about the other cars he has stolen and where he keeps them.

“Nice facility,” he compliments as he enters your garage. “Yeah, well, I’ve got a couple incredibly rare classics that I work on often, and those customers deserve the best.”

“Rarer than a 1953 Triumph T3?” the man asks, defensive and growing insulted.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve had a Model T in here, several European cars, including a T2, plus modern sports cars.”

“I’ve got a garage full of classics that make those seem like Hot Wheels.”

“I don’t know,” you murmur as you lift the hood of the Triumph. “I’ve had my hands in a 1931 Bugatti Type 41. I don’t think it gets much better.”

“My collection is worth a dozen of those outdated bugs!” he exclaims. “The Triumph, a Lamborghini Aventador with custom drivetrains, and I’d bet this car that you haven’t seen a Datsun 240z in mint condition with all-wheel drive. If your little dump of a garage could handle even that! My 25,000 square foot garage has cars you’ve never even heard of.”

“LAPD SWAT!” Hondo calls as he and his team enter the garage. “You’re under arrest for grand theft auto, carjacking, assault and battery, murder, and about fifteen more charges that I don’t have the patience to list. Now, when an arrest warrant goes through without a name, you know that’s a bad person.”

“Do not push him up against this car!” you demand as Hondo grabs his shoulder. “Toolbox, wall, anything other than a pristine T3.”

“Thanks for the help,” Hondo calls over his shoulder as he leads the thief out of the garage.

“It’s a shame such a pretty car has to go into evidence before it returns to its owner,” you tell Street.

“Yeah. Listen-“

“You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?” you ask.

“Do you want to go out with me?” he asks.

You smile as you answer, “I’d love to.”

“Trust me, you’re gonna love this place,” you promise as you take Street’s hand. “All of the food is served in trays that look like classic cars.”

Street laughs as you bounce excitedly and uses your joined hands to pull you close.

“If you could buy one classic car, what would it be?” he asks.

You answer without hesitation before asking him the same question.

“Car? Probably an Aston Martin or a ‘60s Impala. Something sleek, classic, dangerously fast,” he answers. “Motorcycle is still a Ducati.”

“You’d suit an Aston Martin or an Impala,” you agree. “Or you can just ride shotgun in mine.”

“I was born to drive,” Street says dramatically.

You laugh at him as you slide into a booth in the restaurant. Street follows, setting the tray of food before you as he sits beside you.

“Are all of our dates going to be car-themed?” Street asks.

“You’re the one who already planned our wedding, and I’ll go ahead and tell you now that I’m not firing Joel, so you tell me.”

“I don’t care what we do as long as you’re there,” Street decides.

You smile as you turn toward him, and when you raise your chin, Street kisses you quickly. You momentarily forget about the car-themed trays holding your food, too distracted by his affection to care about which model you got. But then he tells you he got the better one and you push him away from you to check. Street laughs as he pulls you close again, and you’ve never been happier to have so much in common with one person. Maybe there are two of you, but the balance and love Street brings is perfect.

#jim street x fem!reader #jim street x reader #jim street fluff #jim street fic #jim street imagine #jim street #swat x reader #swat cbs #fem!reader #requests #hanna writes✯

243 notes · View notes

kingbcwser · 1 month ago

Text

Magical paintings were something quite normal to Bowser, a quick way to travel from his homeplace to wherever his heart could think of! Obviously he’d keep a few of those paintings around his castle, after all, it was a quick way to go to any place in the world with zero costs — not to mention how pretty they were, too! Even though Kamek was against the idea, the monarch still decided to keep at least a few around in full exposure.

Even though he knew the main concept behind them, there was a few things foreign to him. How far can these portable portals really go? Is there a limit? Is there a way to connect between this reality and any other possible? Those were way too many questions for him, deciding to ignore them the best he could.

... Until he saw a stranger sitting in one of his corridors, that is.

“Hey, you there.” The monarch approached with a puff of smoke, making a signal for his guards to not attack just yet. His plan wasn’t to be hostile... at least, not for now. “Who are you? And how did you get in my castle?”

Closed starter for @kingbcwser

Dungeons where mysterious things, either ancient ruins, or naturally occurring. One thing that was always to be expected, was the magic and monsters found within. Eliyra had always been fascinated with the concepts of living paintings, technically a monster but better described as a living illusion spell, containing an interactable word of inside of its frame when sucked withing, and the death of many adventurers who wandered to close. The fairy had heard once, about a dungeon delver gone mad, ranting about having been transported to another land of fantastical elements, of tiny mushroom people who inhabited the land, and she, like many others, thought him crazy. But as she sat on the cold stone floors, blinking in surprise as she took in the unusual architecture of the large castle hall around her, she thought for a moment that maybe that adventurer wasn't as crazy as she thought. The air tasted vaguely stale, lacking the taste of magic she had gotten so familiar too during her search of the dungeon, meaning wherever she had ended up, it was in fact, very real.

❝ What is this place? ❞

#magiicxs #👑 | planning another mischief / ic #👑 | get ready for your own doom / threads #👑 | this is my prideful kingdom / main verse #👑 | your king is in another castle / queue #[ HI hope this is good!! ]

2 notes · View notes

joybabyjune · 1 year ago

Text

Unexpected Snow

Pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader

Summery: When you try to hide from a heavy snowstorm in a motel, you find out that all the rooms are taken. Frank offers you his room, but you can’t let him sleep in his truck. You get him into your room and into your bed 👀

Warnings: explicit (minors dni!!!), big age gap (reader is 21, Frank in in his late 40’s), pet names (Sweetheart, sweet girl, good girl, pretty girl), no use of y/n, alcohol consumption, harassment (not from Frank), smut, oral (m & f receiving), unprotected piv (be smart friendsss), little bit of praise kink, little bit of degradation kink, dirty talk, creampie.

Author’s note: alright I really wanted to participate in the Beardthalbash thing. So I wrote this. I hope you guys like it. If you do, please let me know with a note and if you really like it, please reblog. You’ll make my day and it’s completely freeee.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language + I kind of wrote this pretty quickly because of the Beardthalbash deadline. Don’t hate me for any mistakes ✌🏼

Masterlist

“Why?!” You yell out angrily, slamming your steering wheel and accidentally pressing the horn. “Oh shit..” You sink lower into your seat and wave a little apology at the car beside you. The lady on the radio continues talking. She goes on about the upcoming snowstorm and you really start to realize that you won’t make it to your destination. “Why today..” You whine to yourself.

After living with your alcoholic mother, and all the different men she brought in your life over the years, you finally decided that it was time for you to leave. You packed your bags, got into your car, closed your eyes and pointed your finger somewhere on your map to pick a location for you to start a new life.

You’ve been driving for a few hours now and the weather is getting worse and worse. You can feel your car struggling against the wind and the road surface slowly turns white with the snow that’s falling. Your wipers are working overtime and the windows fog over. “Fucking hell.” You mutter and turn off the radio, you’re done with the slight tone of panic in the weather reporter’s voice.

A few miles ago you saw a sign that said there was a motel nearby and you sigh in relieve when you see the exit towards it. “Lets just hope this only lasts ‘till the morning..” You say as you drive onto the parking lot. It is fully packed, but you find a spot. It’s not exactly near the entrance, but you take it. You get out of the car and are immediately hit by a gust of snowy wind. You run over to the reception and quickly get inside.

There’s a line of people, all trying to get a room and you quietly join the queue. It doesn’t take long before it’s your turn and you reach into your bag for your money. “One single room please..” You say while you look.

“I’m sorry ma’am but we’re fully booked for the night.” The lady behind the counter tells you. “There’s another motel a couple of miles away. If you want, I can call them to see if they still have a room?”

“W-what?” You ask frowning. You look out of the window, the weather has gotten even worse and there’s no way you can safely drive any further. “You have nothing?” You ask, slightly panicking.

“I’m afraid so..” She answers.

“Can stay with me, pretty thing..” You hear a voice drawl behind you. You turn around and see a man smirking at you. You take in his appearance and your stomach turns at the idea of having to sleep with him to have a place to stay. He must be in his sixties, his blonde-grayish hair sticks to his forehead and his mustache turned yellow under his nose due to years of smoking. There’s stains on the flannel that’s way to tight around his beer belly. “Got room for you in my bed, I mean..” He adds as his watery eyes glide over your body.

“N-no thank you.” You say nervously, deciding that it’s not worth it.

“Oh come on, Princess, can’t go out in weather like that..” He says nodding towards the window. He walks closer to you and you’re overwhelmed by the smell of sweat, stale beer and ashtray. It brings you back to all the times your mother’s boyfriends would try to get handsy with you. “Promise I’m not a serial killer.” He says laughing and displaying his yellow teeth.

“N-no, I’m good, really..” You say again and he reaches out to touch your face but you back away.

“She said no, asshole.” A voice behind you barks. You turn around and see a big, attractive looking man. Dark hair, dark eyes, well groomed beard. He radiates danger, but for some reason he makes you feel safe. “Leave her alone.”

“And who the fuck are you?” The creep asks him. “Who are you to decide what I should do. Keep it to yourself and let me have my fun with this one.” He adds and tries to reach out for your waist this time.

Your savior grabs his wrist and turns it, making him cry out in pain. “Go to your room and leave the girl alone.” He says, his voice a whispered growl.

“Ah ah ah, okey okey!” He says trying to free his arm. Once he succeeds he holds up his hands. “Alright. She’s all yours man. Not worth the fucking trouble.” He says, looking you up and down as he walks away.

You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling dirty with how looked at you and spoke about you. “Thanks..” You say looking at the floor.

“Here. Take my room.” He says and hands you a key.

You frown. “W-what? But where are you gonna-“

“Slept in worse conditions. I’ll be fine.” He says. “Take the keys, kid.”

“I’m not a kid.” You say looking up at him. Not really sure why it bothers you.

He huffs a laugh and smirks a little at your stubbornness. “Just take the keys and be safe, okey?”

“We can-“ You start. “We can share the room.” You say taking in his appearance and not minding his company.. “I’m not comfortable with letting you drive in this weather either.”

“I’m not driving, I’ll just crash in my truck.” He says. “I’ll be okey ki-, sweetheart. Trust me.”

You smile a little at how he caught himself when he was gonna call you kid again. “But-“

“Go.” He presses. “Get your stuff before the weather gets even worse and I’m not even gonna let you get back to your car.” He smirks teasingly.

“O-okey, thanks a lot, ehh..”

“Frank.”

“Thanks a lot, Frank.” You smile and take the keys from him, quickly shoving a fifty dollar bill in his hand for the costs of the room.

“You don’t need t-“ He starts, looking at the money.

“You will take it.” You cut him off and you quickly walk away before he can say something else.

You hold your hands above your head to shield you from the snow while you run to your car. It does absolutely nothing to protect you, but there’s not really a better option available at the moment.

Luckily you fit al your belongings in a single suitcase and a backpack, so you don’t have to haul a lot of luggage. You grab your stuff and run as best as you can towards the rooms. The wheels on your cheap suitcase have trouble with the speed and the think layer of snow that has formed on the floor. You quickly look at the worn leather tag that’s attached to the key. “23..” You mutter the room number. The room in front of you has a big 18 on the door. You follow the wall to your left. “19.. 20.. 21..” You mutter to yourself as you pass the doors. The sound of a car door slamming closed catches your attention and you look over to the parking lot. It’s the guy who gave you his room. Frank. You squint your eyes to look inside his truck and see how he’s wrapped himself in a blanket. You bite your lip, feeling guilty and hold up your hand in a mixture of greeting, thanking and apologizing. He waves back and juts his chin in the direction of your room, telling you without words, to go inside.

You rush inside and look around. It’s a bit dated with the terrible green and orange wallpaper and worn out wooden furniture, but it’s nice and warm which is the only important thing for the night. You look around, but there’s not much to see. A bed, a tv, a desk with a chair and thank god, a minibar. You open the door to the bathroom, and peer inside. “Fucking hell..” You laugh through your nose when you see the puke green shower cabin. “Who would choose that..?”

You decide that going to bed early will make it feel like the time goes faster so that you can hopefully be on your way again before you know it. You fish some clean underwear and a big t-shirt from your suitcase to sleep in and head into the bathroom for a shower.

The hot water feels good on your skin and it’s the first time today that you relax a little bit. Your mind drifts to Frank in his truck and you really feel guilty. He helped you out big time and now he’s out there in the cold. You figure you could at least invite him in for a beer or something. If he really doesn’t want to share the room, he can always go back to his truck after that. You turn off the shower and quickly dry and dress yourself.

You peek through the curtains and see that he’s still awake, reading some book. You bite your lip and wave to get his attention, but he doesn’t notice you. “Fuck..” You mutter to yourself and move to open the door. “Frank!” You yell, shivering from the cold. Goosebumps forming on your bare legs. “Frank!”

He looks up and his eyes widen. He rolls down his window. “What the hell are you doing?!” He yells. “Go inside!”

“Come in here!” You yell back. “Warm up a bit, h-have a beer, take a sh-shower, whatever.. Y-you can go back to sleep in your truck after, j-just come in for a while.” You say shivering. “W-won’t take no f-for an answer.”

“Fucking hell..” He curses, wiping a hand over his face in annoyance and quickly gets from the car. “Alright, alright. Just go inside!” He says while he grabs a duffel bag from the backseat.

You smile to yourself, happy to get what you want and you quickly get inside, leaving the door open for him.

“What’s wrong with you.” He growls when he gets inside and quickly closes the door behind him.

“Felt guilty.” You answer shrugging as you sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Gotta be more careful with people if you’re gonna be traveling alone, little girl.” He says and drops his bag on the floor. “Don’t even know me.”

You pout a little, knowing that he’s right. “You gave me your room instead of offering to share like that creep.” You justify your actions. “Guess that makes you a good man, right?”

He huffs as if he doesn’t really agree with you.

“So…” You say skeptically. “Are you like.. Gonna kill me or something?”

He laughs quietly. “No, Sweetheart, you’re good.”

“Good. And I won’t kill you, so that’s settled then.” You say. “And I’m not a little girl by the way, I’m 21.”

He laughs. “Alright, I’m sorry.” He says holding up his hands in a mock excuse.

“There’s towels in the bathroom.” You say while you get up to look in the mini fridge. “The water is nice. And here..” You say when you open the fridge. “Here we have some beers, some nuts and some chocolates.”

“You don’t have to do this.” He says. “I’m fine in my truck.”

“Stop it. I’m not letting you stay out there.” You say, leaving no room for discussion.

“Alright.” He says, rubbing his neck. He grabs his bag and takes some clothes out to bring into the bathroom.

You grab yourself a beer and lie down on the lumpy bed. “Let’s see what the weather is gonna do..” You mutter to yourself while turning on the tv.

“Conditions are getting worse and worse outside and it does not look like this storm is going to settle anytime soon. Specialists are calling it the worst snow storm in years. You’re advised to stay inside and-“ The weather lady gets cut off by a shirtless Frank who opens the bathroom door.

Your mouth drops open at the sight of his ripped body, he slicks his wet hair back and water drips from his beard onto his chest. You rasp your throat and look away. “‘M sorry, didn’t think to bring one to the bathroom.” He says as he grabs a tank top and pulls it over his head.

You’re suddenly very aware of your lack of pants. Sure the t-shirt you’re wearing is big enough to be called a dress, but it still only reaches your mid thigh. “I can, eh, I can put on pants if you-“

“Don’t worry about it.” He says while taking a beer from the fridge. He grabs the chair, sitting down on it with his legs spread. “‘S your room, should wear what you want, right.”

You nod towards the tv, changing the subject of your clothing, or the lack thereof, to the weather reporter. “Says it might be the worst storm in like.. Ever..” You say. “Well, maybe not ever.. But in years.”

“-cold temperatures like this can be deadly, so please be careful and stay inside if possible.” The weather lady continues on the tv.

“See. It’s dangerous out there. Think it would be considered murder if I let you sleep out there in your truck and you die tonight?”

“Nahh..” Frank says smirking. “Sooo.. What’s the deal with you? You running from something or towards something?” He asks waving a hand at your luggage.

“Who says I’m running?” You ask biting your lip.

Frank raises his eyebrows and tilts his head, telling you it’s pretty obvious without words.

You sigh and look away. “From something I guess.. I don’t know, just.. Just need a fresh start, you know?”

“Hmm.” He nods in understanding. “Get that..”

“What about y-“ You start but you’re interrupted by a loud knocking on the door. “The fuck..” You mumble nervously and you pull your legs up to your chest.

There’s another loud knock and you see Frank grabbing a gun from his bag. “Wha-? W-why do you have that?” You whisper yell.

Frank places his finger against his lips to tell you to shut up and he walks to the door. “Hey Princes!” You hear the slurred voice of the creep from before and another loud knock on the door. Frank’s body visibly relaxes, he places the gun in his waistband on his back and he yanks open the door.

“The fuck did I tell you, huh?” He growls.

“Y-you?” He asks confused. He sounds very drunk. “Saw the -hic- saw the girl go in here..”

“Get the fuck out of here.” Frank says angrily. “Now.”

Seeing Frank protect you like that kind of turns you on. And the way the muscles of his shoulders and back flex as he tenses in anger when the guy doesn’t leave straight away. Fuck.. The beer and that fact that you haven’t gotten any action in a while also don’t help.

“If you wanna live, you go to your room now and you don’t come out till the morning.” Frank rasps in a low voice.

You should be scared of this stranger with a gun, threatening someone’s life, but you’re not.

“Alright.. Jesus..” You hear the guy slur and you’re guessing he walks away.

“Yeah, that’s right..” Frank rasps before closing the door, placing the gun on the desk and sitting down again. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he takes a sip of his beer and you squeeze your thighs together.

“T-thanks. Don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.” You say. “Good thing I got you in here, huh?” You add, smiling and winking playfully. Maybe even flirtatiously.

“Yeah yeah..” He huffs a laugh.

“First you save me by giving me your room and then you help me get a creep away from that room..” You say getting on your knees on the edge of the bed and looking up at him through your lashes. You’re pretty sure your nipples are showing through your shirt. “How can I ever repay you..?”

“How can ya-?” He looks off to the side, licks his lips and looks back at you. “Listen, Sweetheart.. You don’t have to do this. ‘S not why I helped you.”

“I know I don’t have to..” You say and you bite your lip, looking at his crotch. You think the bulge has grown a little already.

“Y-you already gave me money for the room and let me use your shower..” You can tell he’s getting a little nervous.

“Huh.. That’s right..” You say smirking at the realization. “Maybe.. Maybe you should thanks me then..” You’ve never been this forward in your life, but you kind of like it. There’s no going back now and you lift your t-shirt over your head.

“Fuck..” Frank growls softly as he takes in your appearance. The only thing covering you is a tiny black thong. “Sweetheart..” He pleads a little, but he gets up and walks your way. He places two fingers under your chin and pushes your head back, making sure you look up at him. “You sure?”

“Please..” You say panting.

He growls a little and moves his hands to your bare tits. “These are perfect..” He says as he squeezes them a little before rolling the hard nipples between his fingers.

You moan softly and arch your back, pushing against his hands. “F-feels good.”

“Yeah?” He asks as he leans forward and sucks one hard little peak into his mouth.

“Yesss..” You moan louder as you feel his warm tongue slide over your skin. He bites gently and your eyes roll back in your head. “Fuckkk..” His beard scratches against your skin, but it only adds to the pleasure.

“Like that, little girl?” He asks.

“Not a little-“

“Yeah y’are.. A bad little girl.. Seducing men over twice her age..” He mumbles against your skin as he kisses his way to your other nipple. Giving it the same attention as the first one.

“Oh fuck..” You whine, your belly clenching at his words. “Don’t usually.. I.. I’m a good girl..” You pant.

He gets up and pulls the tank top over his head. “Good girl, huh? That right?”

You nod, looking up at him through your lashes.

He slowly undoes the strings of his shorts. “Gonna show me how good of a girl y’are, hm?”

You swallow thickly. “Y-yes..” You say nervously and move back on the bed so you can lean forward on your elbows, your face level with his crotch. “P-please..”

He growls and pushes the shorts down together with his boxers. A big, rock hard cock springs free. It’s thick and veiny with a nice, large, pre cum leaking head. Your mouth waters and you moan loudly. “So big..” You whine and take him in your hand. “Fuck..” You swallow thickly as your feel that he’s too big to wrap your finger around the shaft.

“You can handle it though, right, Sweetheart?” He teases and gently lays his hand on the back of your head tangling his fingers in your hair.

“Gonna try..” You say while you start stroking him. You look up at him while you stick out your tongue and lick the pre cum from his tip, lightly tonguing the little slit before swirling your tongue all around the head.

“F-fuck..” He hisses.

You contemplate if you should tease a little more, but you’re too inpatient. You smile up at him and slowly let him slide into your mouth. Your lips stretch tightly around his girth and you moan.

“That’s it.. That’s a good girl..” He groans as you take him as deep as you can, until he pushes against your throat.

You moan and your eyes roll back in your head at his words. You’ve never been with anyone who talked to you like this and you really like it.

You start sucking him slow and deep, letting your saliva drip down his shaft. You stroke the part that doesn’t fit in your mouth with one hand and gently fondle his balls with the other. The muscles in his stomach clench and his hips buck forward. The movement pushes his cock against your throat and you gag. “Fuck ‘m sorry.. Been a while..”

You smile around him and moan. “Oh you like that, huh?” He asks and he thrusts deep into your mouth. You gag again. Your eyes roll back and you moan. You love the way he takes control, the way he uses your mouth, your throat, for his pleasure. “Yeahh.. See, just a dirty, bad little girl.. Want me to fuck your face, hm?”

You try to say yes with his cock in your mouth, but all that comes out is some gurgles, so you nod. He growls and starts thrusting. “That’s it.. Take that fucking cock..”

You gag and choke. Your eyes are watery as you look up at him and you’ve never been more turned on in your life. Never been this wet.

“Gonna make me cum like that..” He groans. His hand tightens in your hair and he pulls out.

“Hmmmm.” You protest and you try to keep him in, but let go with a pop.

You pout and he chuckles. “I was supposed to be thanking you, remember?” He asks, gently stroking himself.

“Y’are..” You say, your voice a bit hoarse. “Think I’m doing this for you?” You tease smirking. “No.. This is for me.. And now I want my treat..” You add and open your mouth, sticking out your tongue.

He laughs through his nose and shakes his head in disbelieve. “Gonna take a minute before I can go again if I do that. ‘M not 18 anymore, Sweetheart.”

“Don’t care..” You say. “Please..” You add before sucking him back in your mouth hungrily.

Frank growls loudly. Rambling while you determinedly suck him off, stroking what you can’t fit in your mouth. “Fuck.. You want it, Sweetheart? Want my cum? Such a good girl.. Yeah, don’t stop.. Sweet girl.. Fuckkkk!”

Thick, hot cum coats your tongue and squirts against the back of your throat. You moan and swallow everything. Fuck that was hot.. You slowly and gently suck a little more, trying to get every last drop without overstimulating him. “F-fucking hell..” He groans softly. You let his softening member slide from your mouth and smile up at him proudly. He smiles back at you lazily, showing the crow’s feet next to his eyes, and caresses your cheek. “That was amazing..” He pants. He immediately looks more light and relaxed.

“Yeah?” You tease, biting your lip and getting up, sitting back on your heels.

“Yeah..” He says and he almost sounds a little shy. “Your turn now..” He says as he gets on the bed and guides you on your back with him on top of you. He gently grabs your jaw and leans in to kiss you. The scratching of his beard against your chin and cheeks is pleasant in contrast with his soft lips. His tongue darts out and flicks over your bottom lip, silently asking to let him in. You open your mouth and your tongues dance together in a passionate kiss. His free hand moves between your bodies to your dripping center and he growls. “Oh, Sweetheart.. You’re soaking..” He mutters against your lips

You buck your hips into his hand. “P-please..” You pant. You need more.. A lot more..

“Did sucking me off make you this wet, Sweetheart?” He teases a little.

You don’t answer, just moan.

“Can I take these off?” He asks playing with the hem of your panties.

“Please..” You say. You’re the shy one now. l

He sits up, hooks his thumbs in the lacy fabric and you lift your hips, so he can slide them down your legs. He throws them on the floor. “Open up, pretty girl..” He says and he slides his hand from your knees to the insides of your thighs spreading you open for him. He growls loudly. “Such a pretty pussy.. Wanna taste you, Sweetheart.. You want that? Want my tongue, sweet girl?”

“Y-yes, Frank.. Please.. Need it so badddd..” The last word is dragged out as he slowly slides his flat tongue through the full length of your slit. “Holy shit..” You moan.

He growls loudly. “Hmmmm.. You taste so good..” He slides his tongue through your lips a few more times, pushing it inside of you a couple of times, before swirling it around your clit. His tongue soft, warm and wet against your sensitive skin.

“Ooh, Frank! Fuck! Y-your good at that!” Your hips buck and he holds you down, growling. He slowly pushes two fingers inside you and sucks your clit into his mouth. “Holy.. Fuck!” He hooks his fingers inside you, massaging the spongy skin at your front wall while sucking and licking on your clit. You see stars. “Frank I’m gonna.. Please don’t stop! I’m gonna..” You fist your hand in his hair, holding on for dear life.

“Do it..” He hums against your skin. “Cum on my tongue..”

You cry out loudly as you explode. “Yessss!! Oh fuck!”

“Hmmm..” He growls as he laps up your juices. “Good girl.. Good girl.. Fuck I need to be inside you..”

“Yess.. Need you.. Please..” You pant and you try to pull him up at his shoulders. He moves over you, forearms on either side of your head, caging you in and kisses you again, hungrily. You taste yourself in his mouth and the hairs from his beard are wet with your slick.

He’s hard again and you can feel him against your groin. He moves his hand between your body’s and aligns himself with your opening. “Ready, Sweetheart?” He asks looking into your eyes.

“Yes.. Give it to me..” You pant.

“Eyes on me.” He says and slowly but surely sinks inside of you. “Fuck..” He hisses. “So tight..”

Your mouth falls open. “Oh Frank..” You moan. “So big.. So good..”

He slowly starts fucking you. His jaw is slack and he looks at you like he’s in awe. “Please, kiss me..” You moan and he happily obliges. It’s amazing and it feels like the two of you have known each other since forever.

“You feel so good..” He growls against your lips and speeds up his thrusts, making you cry out a little. “This okey?” He asks between kisses and he moves his hand between your bodies to rub your clit.

“M-more.. Harder, please..” You moan.

“Yeah?” He asks, lifting up his head to look you in the eyes. You nod and he nods back before speeding up his thrusts even more, properly pounding you now. You can feel him slamming against your cervix and it feels absolutely amazing.

“Oh F-Frank! Fuck!” You cry out loudly. You can feel yourself nearing another orgasm. “Please don’t stop! Don’t stop!”

He growls. “Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum on my cock?!” He asks never slowing his pace.

“Yes!! Oh Frank!!!” You squeeze your thighs around him tightly and lose yourself in your orgasm. “Yessss!!”

“Fuck! Wh-where d’you want it?” He pants, his voice sounds strained.

“I-Inside! Please! I’m on birth control.. Please I want it inside me! Please Frank, please cum for me!” You beg, moaning.

His breath hitches in his throat. “Oh you’re perfect.. S-so perfect.. Fucking fill you up.. T-take it!” He pushes inside of you as deep as he can and stills as he cums, growling loudly. “Yessss!!”

He collapses on top of you and you just lie there, both panting. “Can’t breathe.” You say after a while. He chuckles and rolls next to you, pulling you into his arms.

“That was..” He mutters.

“Yeah it was.” You say.

“‘M not going back to my truck.” He says looking at you, smirking.

You laugh. “I’m glad.” You say and you cuddle into his chest.

You don’t know what tomorrow will bring and if the snow will be gone, but you don’t want to think about that now. Right now, you just want to enjoy the warmth and safety from this amazing man.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle smut #beardthalbash #beardthalbash2023 #the punisher #the punisher x you #the punisher x reader #the punisher smut #fanfic

886 notes · View notes

muffinsin · 1 year ago

Note

Ok, please dont pressure yourself too much! Please delete my requests if there, well, shit.

Anyway, readers been dating one of the sisters for a while n for some reason or another rs mother visits. But rs mother isnt exactly the greatest mother to r and to summarise abuses them, emotionally or physically up to you tbh. Holding them up to ridiculous standards and tells them she wished she had aborted them, generally just being a bit of a dick- making fun of how the reader looks and thinking they have ownership of the reader and her body bc shes their mother. Lady Dimitrescu is not tolerating this in her castle and as much as she wants to ignore it she cares for reader bc her daughter loves them (idk if that makes sense) so she comforts reader like a mother should, praising reader when their mother has just shouted at them or something.

Queue to the sister finding Lady Dimitrescu reading to reader whilst there curled up on her lap with a blanket. (Motherly)

Idk if any of this makes sense, feel free to completely change parts of this.

With fruitiness,

Deluded anon

A rare Alcina post here! Because the prompt was just too adorable and I love this tall murderous woman as a mother figure🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ this one’s quite Alcina centered for once :)

Keeping this Bela/Cassandra/Daniela neutral for once! :)

Masterlists

You know, today is the day your mother is coming over. You know, it was bound to happen, too

The moment she picked up on you living in a grand castle, she suddenly acted interested and invited herself

A declination of her “request” is not possible. Aside from this, your lover is most keen on meeting her

You haven’t yet had the courage to tell her about your mother, nor about the woman she truly is

How can you, when your lover’s mother is just perfect?

Alcina is kind, and caring. She’s strict, but out of love. She shows affection, and she practically showers all three of her daughters in praise. She never fails to comfort them or point out that she is proud of them no matter what

Neither of the Dimitrescu family members notice your yearning look when you watch your girlfriend hug her mother and receive a kiss on the cheek or forehead in return

It’s breakfast time- your favorite time. In general, mealtimes are your favorite. It’s the times of days when all sisters and their mother are together

Alcina never misses it. She always pauses her work, even on busy days, to spend this time with her daughters and you. It feels almost like a privilege to sit among them, sometimes

However, now all you feel is dread, and yet: still hope

Perhaps your mother will be influenced by Alcina, positively

Still, you feel dread knowing she will be here shortly

A few hours later, you stand in the main hall and fiddle with your girlfriend’s dress as you wait for your mother. You know, she won’t be much longer

You almost flinch when the heavy doors open, yet can’t help the involuntary smile when you see the woman that has birthed you step inside

Your smile falters when she immediately begins to complain about the cold and the frustrating path it took to get here. Your girlfriend chuckles nervously, as though unsure what to say, and you can only join in

Then, your expression turns to a hurt one when she begins to criticize things and you already

Starting with the state of your clothes- a little rough looking from your roughhousing with Daniela earlier today

You blush in embarrassment and shame as you’re scolded, your hand squeezing your girlfriend’s tightly

Next, your posture is criticized. You stand straight again, tears welling in your eyes at your mother’s words

Unworthy. Filthy. Ragged. A waste

You’re quick to greet her and ask her how she is doing when she scolds you for this, too

But it seems even that can’t be done right, for she simply starts scolding you for not checking in more often

After all, how is it she only learns months later that you are dating one of the “monsters” of the castle?

Her displeasure makes it quite clear, even if it has been already: she intended for you to work there and earn her money until your demise

You flinch when she steps closer to you, as though to examine you

You spare your girlfriend a pitiful look as she attempts to interrupt, yet is cut off by your mother’s tsks again

She comments on your clothing. One of your favorite outfits, made to ruin by her. The colours, the fabric, the style is all criticized

Then, your body

You flinch when a finger sharply pokes your stomach

“And I thought they would feed you less, here”

The comment stings, and has both, you and your girlfriend, tense up. Her, in anger. You seem to only shrink into yourself

You know, she’s looking for a way to keep back your mother without causing offense. She is still your mother, after all

You hold back your tears when you’re criticized again, your hair, your face, your arms and hands

“I love them and how they look”, your girlfriend protests when your look as a whole is criticized

This makes you jump in surprise, and whimper when it causes your mother to finally turn to your partner

She examines her, as if determining her worth

She scowls at the tattoo on her forehead, yet her features soften at beautiful hair, a regal-looking face, a smooth neck sporting a necklace with a very obviously expensive gemstone

Smooth skin and a seductive figure, a beautiful, if gothic, dress clinging to her and hugging her body and curves perfectly

Your mother laughs for a moment

And it stings when she points out: you’re not at all worth your girlfriend’s time

Of course, your lover immediately corrects this. She assures: you’re her everything

And yet it is only met with a scowl

Your eyes snap back to your mother when she calls your name, her own eyes icy cold

Upon being asked how much money you make, you fall silent

Living at the castle and being in this relationship, you don’t make any. You work, yet not for money, but to support the staff and ultimately Alcina. You don’t get paid, simply work to keep busy and support

After all, why would you be in need of money? Your girlfriend’s money is yours, now. And hers is Alcina’s. Being paid for your work would only come from your own pocket, ultimately

You don’t dare tell your mother about this. You refuse to risk her taking any of the money that belongs to the Dimitrescu family. A warm flutter spreads in your chest momentarily as you realize: it includes you now

Yet, this doesn’t satisfy at all, and you flinch as she throws up her hands and yells

After all, she sent you to this place to earn money for her! And here you are, empty handed and happy? She’s fuming

She screams, calls you a mistake, a waste

When your lover steps in front of you, arms crossed and yelling back at last no matter the consequence, you take it as an opportunity to slip out the room

You run, tears blurring your vision as you sob so violently, your body trembles

You aren’t even sure where you’re running off to, or for how long you have been running

You’re ashamed as the staff sees you sob and run last them. You just want to get out of sight

You’re running fast, and before you know it, push through several doors until you burst into a room

Only when Alcina gasps in surprise at the intrusion do you notice you’ve stumbled, seemingly automatically, into her office

Her eyes are wide, and for a moment she looks ready to strike

Then, her eyes soften. She knows the little human that has stumbled into her study. You are no mere staff member- you are the that has wooed her daughter

She frowns in concern at your state. Your heart beats so fast, unnaturally so. You’re distressed

Your expression is pained, and tears stick to your cheeks and jawline

She can’t help but care for you. You are important to her precious daughter- as such you have grown into the countess quite a lot

You sob quietly as she gets off her chair and moves towards you. A door is closed, and a large hand sets on your backside

It’s guiding you, you realize, towards the large chair in the corner

To your surprise though, she sits down before you can. To your even grander surprise, you’re lifted on her lap

Ignoring the blush of embarrassment on your cheeks, you can’t help but reach out to feel the fabric of her dress

For a moment, Alcina watches you as you fiddle with it. It seems to help you, even as you still cry a little

You feel her large hand on your back, the other set over your knee, covering it whole. Her thighs are large and steady, but comfortable, and there is a warmth naturally radiating from her body that the sisters seem to lack

You feel grounded, with her here. It makes you feel better, even as you sit in silence

You find three loose strands on the dress, and she watches curiously as your fingers immediately move to it

Her hand hovers, ready to stop should you pull like her two youngest daughters like to do

You aren’t, though. Alcina watches in confusion as you begin braiding the little strings between your small fingers

You work gently, and meticulously

When you finish, you trace the tiny braid

“What meticulous grace you possess, little one”, she praises, her eyebrow raised curiously as she traces the tiny thing with her index fingertip

You can’t help but feel a light, happy feeling in your chest at her words, and feel it settle there among the darkness caused by your mother’s words

Your tears have dried, and yet new ones roll down your cheeks at the mere memory of her words just before

You aren’t quite sure you’re ready to share her words yet, but thankfully, there is no need

You feel her move about, until you find yourself pulled close to her, with your head comfortably resting against her chest. It’s rare you feel this at ease, even as sobs wretch your body. You feel warm when her arm slings around you, as though protecting you from the evil of this world

You see now, how the sisters are so devoted to their mother. You couldn’t quite understand from your own experience, but it’s clear: Alcina is different from your mother in every way

You sob quietly as you turn, your body tucked into hers. Due to her height, you fit perfectly against her stomach and chest

You cringe a little as you notice your tears wet her expensive dress, yet as you attempt to pull away, a hand comes up to the back of your head

Not strong, or forceful. Not even threatening. Reassuring, rather. She wants to keep you there

“Don’t mind them, little one. Tell me what happened”, she demands gently

You feel yourself relaxing against her, your hand coming up to hold onto her dress

When you open your mouth, it takes a few second for words to spill out. Then, you can’t stop yourself

You cry as you talk, slurring and stuttering, whimpering and trembling. But her piercing, golden eyes are warm and stay on you, and her arms do not untangle from around you. She does not interrupt you either, and yet it feels like she understands every little of your broken words

Her brows furrow in anger quickly at the words spilling from your lips

How dare someone treat you this way? Alcina thinks a lot of you. Obviously, or else she would not allow her daughter to be with you. She would not have a fool for her precious darlings, after all

Lucky for you, Alcina approves of you. And as such, she is enraged by your mother’s words

“Unworthy?!”, she gasps, utterly shocked upon hearing your mother said such a thing

“I am yet to deem people unworthy”, she protests. A silent, but honest phrase. You catch the meaning: you are worthy, according to all whose opinion matters

You feel yourself calming down a little again as she talks, praise after praise of your qualities falling from her lips

You’re quite surprised she has paid you much mind, really, but feel content in her arms

Eventually, as she talks, you feel yourself calming down

Your head is tilted upwards against her chest, and you feel your eyes slipping shut as she traces your features with her fingertip

Alcina watches curiously as she does this, first tracing your brow and nose, then your cheek

She remembers doing this the first time, with her eldest daughter back when she was a child and experienced distress the first time. Seeing as it calmed her down greatly, it’s now her go-to

And it seems to calm you, too

You don’t notice you’re hugging her and pushed up against her until she shifts her arms and you find yourself curled up in her spacious lap

Through heavy eyes you see her pick up a book, and with a tired smile on your lips, you cuddle closer as she begins to read

You don’t recall the last time you felt this relaxed with anyone that wasn’t your lover

As her words turn muffled the more sleep takes over you, your eyes feel heavier and heavier

Your mother’s words no longer linger on your mind, instead all you focus on is the comfort and love you feel in the moment, the happiness and acceptance

You don’t notice when your eyes slip shut, but with a smile, you fall asleep at last

An hour later or so, Alcina jumps when her door is slammed open again

This time, her daughter is the one entering the room, her fist clenched and a scowl on her face

“Mother, I’m going to kill someone!”

She laughs fondly at the remark, the book clasping close as she rests it on the small, unoccupied space left on her lap

Just as her daughter attempts to sit down there too, she shrieks in surprise and swarms backwards upon finding the space occupied by- you

Alcina smiles at the adorable expression on her face

She pulls you a little closer, then extends her arm and gently pulls her confused daughter closer

“Come here, my little fly”, she coos, sensing the woman’s anger at your mother. As expected, she purrs and eagerly leans into the countess’s touch

Alcina smiles lovingly as she, at last, too climbs into her lap, settling comfortably and purring contentedly

Even in your sleep, you feel your lover pull you closer, and even as you sleep; a small smile shows on your lips

#alcina dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #deluded anon #Mommy issues #-maybe!

114 notes · View notes

freyito · 1 year ago

Note

Can you write something where the Smoke's s/o talked him into going to Smoke's hometown together?

yall got me doing so much research for this man, and i love it!!! turns out his hometown is Prague, which i dont know why but i didnt expect. but hey, beautiful city to fit a beautiful man. man now i really wanna go to prague, yall got me ON SOMETHING. update yall when i do lmfaooo

cw: fluff, thats really all, sweet ol' tomas, gn reader, proofread

-𝙎𝙈𝙊𝙆𝙀 𝙍𝙀𝙏𝙐𝙍𝙉𝙎 𝙏𝙊 𝙋𝙍𝘼𝙂𝙐𝙀

At first, Tomas was apprehensive about returning to Prague. It had been a while since he had seen the city. Truth be told, he was a little afraid of change.

But he gives in, especially to you. He figures if he's stayed connected to his Czechian culture, it'd be a wasted opportunity to not go back to Prague.

He admits, his Czech isn't on par with locals anymore, either. Yes, he's studied it and has made it a point to use it, but especially with the Lin Kuei, his English and Chinese out-weigh his Czech. Lucky for you two, about 50% of the population in Prague speaks English, especially waiters. And Tomas is able to cover for the remaining 50%.

Bonus points, if you speak Russian, you get to roughly understand 74% of that 50% of Czech. If you speak Polish, however, you'll only be able to roughly understand about 36%.

Tomas loves the idea of you learning Czech, too. He'll absolutely help, he thinks that it is a really good bonding experience, and it definitely brings you two closer.

Some of the things Tomas is interested in doing when you two end up in Prague is going to the Lobkowicz Palace, an art museum. He definitely wants to explore every little place, but out of the popular tourist attractions, that's the first that caught his eye. He'd also love to see the castle, just out of fascination.

He also takes you to Old Town at night, simply because he thinks it's beautiful. And it shows just a little bit of what he remembered. He isn't much of a pub crawler, but he will follow you if you wish. And if you just want to go to a club to dance, he's down too.

Speaking of clubs, Tomas seems particularly interested in going to the Jazz Dock, as surprising as it may be. He looooves dancing with you, even surrounded by strangers.

To be honest, he just really enjoys the night scene. Not surprising, really. But he loves how the city lights offer a subtle glow against your figure, he thinks it compliments you as a whole.

Tomas will always treat you to dinner, too. He'll take you to some of the more popular, tourist spots if you so wish, but he prefers the smaller local cafés and diners. His favorite has to be the Bella Vida café, while not small or local by any means, he loves the river view and just the coziness of the café.

Another bonus, if you go down there during St Wenceslas Day (Today, actually, September 28th, as I'm writing), Tomas won't mind participating. More of, he'll observe, since he likes to be in-tune with his Czech history, especially since this day is about Czechian history.

#⁺◟freyito #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat 1 x reader #smoke x reader #tomas vrbada x reader

232 notes · View notes

windwheeler-aster · 2 years ago

Text

caught in the act

summary: you and your secret lover, whom you’re sworn to protect, are discovered in the middle of a scandalous position

masterlist

pairings (separate): capitano, arlecchino, and dottore x reader

reader info: uses gender neutral pronouns (they/them), is a soldier for the characters mentioned, and reader is not traveler

word count: 1281 words~ per section (4 mins~ per section)

genre: romance, Royal AU, forbidden romance, suggestive

format: headcanons and blurbs

warnings: unbalanced power dynamics (ruler x soldier), suggestive themes and dialogue, arlecchino threatening some guards, and being caught in the middle of something spicy

a/n: tbh idk where this came from (i do. it is my capitano brain worm and royal AU brain worm’s combined efforts to make my life misrable). i really enjoyed writing some suggestive stuff, but it’s been a long while so i apologize if it’s rusty and stuff. i hope you enjoy it, regardless :)

capitano is more than capable of defending himself, but he still insists on keeping you as his personal bodyguard

it’s not at all because of his blatant favoritism for a soldier who had steadily risen throughout the ranks over the course of their career in the name of his protection. no, not at all

and it’s certainly not because the rooms of the castle feel less cold and lonely with you by his side

or how by entrusting you to be by his side for his every waking moment, capitano ensures that you’re safe. no, not at all

and in the eyes of the public, capitano and his bodyguard barely speak a word to each other. the relationship between the two is strictly professional, nothing more and nothing less

but behind closed doors? an entirely different story

he murmurs sweet nothings into your ears as he embraces you, his chest rumbling from deep within as he chuckles at your whines and gentle protests

capitano is a gentle and sweet lover, who admires you more with each passing day and would do anything for you

and those moments behind closed doors or scheduled hallways are always special to you both, memories that you’ll always treasure

until one of capitano’s servants walks in on you and him in a... compromising position

You held Capitano’s strong, capable gloved hands in yours, caressing his muscular knuckles gently. You peered up into the helm of darkness that hid his eyes from your view. But deep within your heart, you knew they shared the same sparkle of desire as yours. So, you smiled up at him and slowly fell back onto the bed that was behind you two, bringing him with you.

His bed bounced as you two found settled into the mattress, but it continued to jiggle as Capitano discarded his helmet and began to remove some of his clothing. You followed suit, tossing aside some layers as you pushed your lips up to meet his. He grinned into the kiss, taking it as a queue to hurry and disrobe himself fully.

But just as he took off his tight shirt, there was a swift knock at his door. You both froze, inches apart from each other, half naked, and staring at the two grand doors to Capitano’s chambers. Your heart beat continued to beat faster, but more so from fear than from the excitement before. Capitano and you waited for a beat, nearly forgetting to breathe. Then another moment passed, and then another. You both exhaled, thankful that whomever was at the door had left.

Or that’s what you thought before the doors were pushed open, and the head of a measly servant poked into the chambers. They stared down at their clipboard, pushing up their speckles as they did so, scanning the list of items they had before them.

“My lord, pardon the intrusion but I was just—” they looked up and gasped. “Dear heavens! M-my lord, p-please forgive me for—”

“Get out,” Capitano snarled, blocking his body to protect yours from the servant’s sight.

“Yes, right away, lord Capitano!”

And with that, they scurried out of the room, shutting the doors behind them just as quickly. You both heard the servant’s heavy breaths from outside the door, and then their footsteps as they made their way down the hallway.

Capitano glared at the door for another moment before turning to you, his gaze instantly softening. “Are you alright?”

You blinked, your throat tight and your skin feeling like it was set ablaze. Nothing about what just happened was alright. You and Capitano were in the middle of an intimate moment, one between the Lord of the castle and his lover, his bodyguard. You were mortified and anxious beyond means about what was next.

“No,” you told him. “N-no, I’m not alright.”

Capitano bent down and pressed a kiss to your temple. He then wrapped his big, strong arms around you to cradle you against his chest. One of his hands, now ungloved, made its way up and down your back, very slowly.

“It’s going to be alright,” he promised. “I’ll talk with them, alright? No one will find out about this, and we can—”

“B-but… but I don’t want to hide us anymore.”

Capitano paused and looked at you, his brows raised dramatically. “Really?”

You nodded. “It’s painful, love, to see you being flirted with every day in court. Or to hear the nasty rumors about us as we patrol the halls together. Rumors of us being nothing more than just two depraved and shameless individuals who unspeakable things behind closed doors. ” You shuddered. “It makes me feel bad.”

“But they’re true, aren’t they?” he chuckled, placing a quick in the space between where your jawline begins and your ear lobe ends.

You scowled at him. “That’s not the point.”

“Sorry, I couldn't resist teasing you,” Capitano snickered into your skin. “But I understand what you mean, dear. It’s quite… tiring to listen to those rumors and suffer through those attempts at flirtations,” he sighed. But then he turned to you and smiled, softly. “So I am more than content with being truthful about our relationship, love. Our love for each other will never be a secret, starting today.”

You kissed him, happiness effectively consuming you. But once you broke away, you frowned. “It’s a shame that the way our relationship was discovered was… well, like that. I wish it were more romantic.”

Capitano chuckled and kissed you again. “Well, if you ask me, darling, every time we make love is quite romantic.” He looked at you and smirked. “Though, I’m more than willing to… ‘let go’, if you will, and make it more carnally driven. Would you like that, darling?”

arlecchino is more than able to defend herself

in the past, she’s refused any and all offers of a personal bodyguard from her royal court

until you came along, just a new recruit when it came to the life inside the castle, guarding the lady arlecchino

the moment she spotted you, arlecchino knew she couldn’t have you out of her sights. what if something happened to her precious soldier? or worse, someone snatched you up and put a pretty ring on your finger before she could

she just could not stand the possibility of that happening, not one bit

so, she put the idea of you as a personal bodyguard into the court’s heads. and, soon enough, your name and file was presented to her when the court offered more candidates for her protection

a while after your promotion, the lines between professional and unprofessional blurs as you began your secret courtship with the lady

and a secret it is! arlecchino goes above and beyond to ensure your relationship isn’t known

well, that is until one evening where you were escorting arlecchino from a feast. which, directly after leaving, she pinned you into a nearby corner after

which is exactly the position two patrolling guards found you two in, with gaped mouths as they saw arlechino’s lips on your neck, glaring daggers at them

One moment, you were saying goodbye to Arlecchino’s guests on her behalf as you escorted her out of the chamber. Her arm was slung around your shoulder, and the lady of the castle was bold enough to lean into you. Luckily, everyone seemed too cup-shotten to bat an eye at the sight. Still, you waved goodbye and shuffled along with Lady Arlecchino on your shoulder.

And then just as the doors to the main hall are closed, Arlecchino snaps out of her drowsy state. She grabs you by the wrist and leads you around the corner, quickly pinning you to the wall. Your breath hitches as you look into her eyes, the red ‘x’ shape in each boring into you. Her lips were pressed into a tight line, and her breathing deepened as a blush spread over her lovely face.

“Want you,” she slurred out, her eyes tracing the outline of your lips. “I want you so bad, dove.”

“Arlecchino, we’re out in the open,” you hissed, craning your neck to look over Arlecchino’s shoulders.

“That didn’t stop us before,” she chuckled into your skin, now pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline. But they were more like pecks than kisses, leaving you with the desire for more.

“Anyone can see us.”

“So?” Arlecchino lips pulled back into a mischievous grin. “Maybe I want them to see.”

You looked into her eyes once more, your cheeks set ablaze. Your whole body felt hot, and you felt a wave of excitement— or maybe arousal— course through you. Finally, you relaxed under Arlecchino’s eyes and let her descend upon your neck.

She nibbled on your neck and you gasped. “Arlecchino!”

She cooed at you in response, kissing over the harsh mark she bit into your neck. “Need to show them all you’re mine, darling. Please, keep quiet.”

“No, Arlecchino—”

She pulled up from your neck and frowned. “What is it, darling? Do you wish to stop?”

“No,” you breathed out. But then you caught something in the corner of your eye and said, “But—”

“Hm, good,” the lady practically purred. “Now, where were we, my love?”

Something clattered to the ground behind you two, which made Arlecchino snap around and put her back to your chest. Both her chest and yours heaved and swelled as you took in the surroundings, preparing for some clumsy attack.

But instead, your eyes find a pair of guards on patrol. Their mouths were agape, and one of them had very clearly dropped their shield to the ground in surprise.

“L-lady Arlecchino,” one stuttered. “What are you—”

“Can’t you see we’re a little bit busy?” Arlecchino nearly snarled, lifting herself up to her full height, easily towering over the two guards. You couldn’t help but nearly moan at the intimidating sight.

The two guards looked at Lady Arlecchino, then at you, and then at themselves. A silent conversation seemed to pass between them both, as they both gave her a stuttered nod.

“Sorry ma’am,” one murmured as they bent down to pick up their shield.

Their partner grabbed them by the elbow and dragged them further down the corridor. “Have a nice evening, Lady Arlecchino.”

You both waited a moment, listening intently to the bickering voices that drifted down the hall. Once they had gone far enough, Arlecchino’s shoulders came back down and she heaved a heavy sigh.

“These are the people I’m hiring?” she asked herself. Then, Arlecchino looked over her shoulder and smiled warmly at you. “Sorry you had to see that, my dear.”

You couldn’t help but smile back at her. “It’s fine, love. Though, aren’t you a bit worried that those guards will go blabber about seeing us make out in the hallway?”

Arlecchino shrugged. “It was going to get out sooner or later, so I don’t think it really matters. But are you worried, darling?” she took your hands into hers. “Because if you are, I can call those idiots back here and—”

“No, that’s not necessary,” you say quickly.

“Ah, alright then,” she smiled. “Now, would you like to continue this or…?”

You answered Arlecchino’s question by initiating a passionate kiss, your hands and hers breaking apart to roam around each other.

“Hm, very good, darling,” she mumbled against your lips. “Now, let’s carry this to my chambers before someone catches us doing more than just making out.”

dottore didn’t hire you for his protection

although he’ll never admit it, the real reason he hired you was because he was lonely

being cooped up in a lab all day with clones drives dottore mad, so it’s only fair that he at least gets someone new to look at

though, you serve as dottore’s lab assistant more than his bodyguard

which is fine to dottore. to be honest, he though you served up your usefulness on the first day

but he was glad to be proven wrong, thankfully

and dottore won’t lie that seeing your face all day brings a comfort to him

but between all the accidental touches and longing stares, something was bound to finally happened between you two

so it shouldn’t be so surprising that you and dottore have abandoned a professional relationship and moved on to romance and passion

what is surprising is the fact that you two had managed to keep a secret for so long

but of course, just when you and dottore had thrown caution out the window and indulged in one another, dottore’s physician decides to finally check in on his lord

which leads to the physician discovering you and dottore in a very scandalous position

but to be honest, dottore only gets mad because your time together was interrupted. he couldn’t really care if the physician saw you two together

dottore is more than relieved that he no longer has to pretend there isn’t something between you two... it would jus tbe nice if his physician picked up his jaw and left already

“My dear assistant,” he murmured from beside you. “Can you look at me for a moment?”

You smiled. “Of course, my love. Though, I would prefer it if you addressed me by—” you stopped, the breath sucked out of you when you noticed just how close Dottore was to you.

You stood before Dottore as he analyzed your face. His eyes darted from one spot to the next, memorizing each detail he couldn’t see before. But his eyes paused on your lips, over and over, and he can’t help but part his own.

He smirked. “Just as I thought.”

“What?” you asked, snapping out of your fluster.

“I had my suspicions for a while,” Dottore began, “but after a brief examination, I’m afraid that it’s true.”

“And what’s that?” you challenged.

“Oh, just that you’re completely enamored by me,” Dottore said, a cocky grin pulling his lips to the side. “And, luckily for you, I have just the cure.”

And before you knew it, Dottore had coaxed you onto his table. He had brushed everything to the side, ignoring the sounds of the stacks of papers falling and glass breaking. Dottore’s lips chased yours as he kissed you over and over, his hands roaming your thighs as he sandwiches his pelvis between them. He was desperate for you, and you couldn��t help but be just as desperate.

Your hands made their way into his blue hair and Dottore hips stuttered, pulling out a soft gasp from you. One glance down and you were greeted with a familiar sight, which earned a chuckle from you. But before you could tease him, he grabbed your hips and slowly guided you towards him. Your breath hitched as your pelvis grazed over his and Dottore laughed at your reaction.

“Oh, look at you,” he cooed. “Already so desperate for me, hm? You’re practically drooling, dear.”

Your cheeks burned, but you managed to snap back at him. “You act like you’re not as desperate, Dottore.”

His chest rumbled with a deep chuckle from within. “My, you’re already talking back to me?” He smiled and leaned close to you. “Isn’t it a little early for you to be so bratty?”

But before you could reply with a carefully crafted retort, the familiar creak of the lab’s door interrupted you.

You whipped your head over and saw Dottore’s physician by the door. You froze, while Dottore simply looked over his shoulder, very much annoyed.

His mouth hung open as he took in the sight of you and Dottore. He dropped his pen and clipboard in his shock, and made no move to pick them up. For a minute, you worried that the old man was experiencing a heart attack from the shock.

“I-I heard some glass breaking and came to check on y-you, Lord Dottore,” the physician’s eyes filtered over to you. Instinctively, you leaned away from his sight so you hid behind Dottore, slightly. “Are you alright, my Lord?”

“Well, if you couldn’t see already, we’re perfectly alright,” he replied.

“Are you sure, my—”

Dottore nearly snarled. “Yes, I’m very sure. Now, please, leave.”

With that, the physician picked up his things, shut the door, and scurried down the hall.

Dottore sighed, “Idiots. I work with idiots,” he caught your eye and smiled. “But not you. Now, where were we?”

“But are you not… bothered, at all? The physician just saw us together and… well, you know,” you said, embarrassment coursing through you.

Dottore frowned. “Darling, if you’re worried about my reputation; don’t be. I consider it a great honor to be your lover, and I could care less about what others think,” he looked at you again, and smiled warmly. “Now, would you like to continue what we started?”

You nodded.

“Words, love.”

“Yes.”

“Excellent,” Dottore leaned over and resumed pressing kissed into your neck. “And my dear, don’t worry about being quiet. The whole castle will know about us by the time I’m done with you anyway, so there’s no reason to hide your pleasure.”

thank you for reading 💖 all forms of interaction to my posts are appreciated 💖

969 notes · View notes

couldtheycatchkira · 1 year ago

Text

FAQ

Is this about Kira Yoshikage? This is about the international serial killer "Kira" who kills through an indetectable, contactless, remote method. He might be in Japan, though.

Can you put a "Don't know this character/See Results" option? No. This is an active global serial murder investigation and time is of the essence. If you truly don't know who they are, either: look them up, ot just go by what I'm told are called "vibes". Do not default to "Could Not, Would Die" or "Could Catch, Would Survive" simply because you don't know who the character is.

What is the current wait time? About a year, maybe, and counting.

I thought this was for detectives only? We're desperate. Why do you think this is a suicide squad?

How many submissions can I send in one ask? Six. If you go to seven I am deleting the submission without review. Don't even think about attempting eight.

Do submissions need pictures? Not necessarily, but if you want to, make sure it's at the least an OFFICIAL RENDER. I don't like using fanart! (Nothing against fanartists, I just don't want to search something like "Kermit" and get images of strangely muscular frogs (you can imagine the hell I went trying to avoid AI images for Ramona Flowers)). IF YOU ARE SUBMITTING SOMEONE'S FANART FOR A CANONICALLY-UNSEEN CHARACTER (such as, for example, Adolin Kholin), LINK THEIR TUMBLR BLOG SO THAT I MAY CONTACT THEM FOR EXPLICIT PERMISSION.

If a character was already submitted as a standalone/part of a group, can I submit them as part of a group/a standalone? Yes, however you need to wait the full seven days after their poll goes up. In the event that both are submitted in a short amount of time from one another, I shall personally space them out in the queue so that there are at least seven days between them. This is to prevent a situation where, say, Princess Zelda is submitted in quick succession to "The Triforce Wielders" as a group, and you have two polls with Zelda running at once.

Can I submit a real human? No. Pets aren't allowed because they'd sweep, but do not send me video essayists or the like. I will not put them on the blog unless they, themself, send in their name on an official Tumblr account. I fully doubt this will happen, obviously, so simply do not do this.

Can I submit [ANYONE ELSE]? Baby life is short when you're dealing with a guy who can kill from a distance at any time. You should do whatever you like. Submit a guy who can't separate his darks from his lights. Move to a new city. Find a 200 sqft apartment. Get five roommates. Ghost all of them. Start a company that sells leg warmers for dogs. Declare bankruptcy. Move to a different new city. Enter a torrid romance with a guy who calls himself "The Creature". Cheat on him with a different guy who calls himself "Monsieur Beast", a legally distinct entity unaffiliated with MrBeast. Start an electro-flamenco band with both of your exes. Get trapped in a stupid and gay little maze. Fight your way to the castle beyond the Goblin City and take back what has been stolen from you. Eat a lettuce wrap. Move back to your hometown and tell no one.

#Announcement #FAQ

110 notes · View notes

thestraggletag · 2 months ago

Text

Kin, Part 2 of 3

Prompt: Dragon, Transform, Capture, Marriage, Nest

Giftee: @minnl70

Summary: Chosen by the Blue Fairy to slay the last dragon, Belle defies her fate and strikes a deal with the beast, Rumplestiltskin. As they search for a way to break the enchantment, an unexpected bond begins to form, but magic is never without a price—and never quite straightforward.

Rating: M

A/N: Surprise, @minnl70, it's me, your Secret Santa! I'm away on holidays right now but I made sure to properly queue this up for you. If all goes well all chapters of this fic will be posted today, but I'll try to check to make sure they are (and, if possible, also upload the fic to AO3, which I know makes it easier to read). Enjoy and Happy Holidays!

He had arrived at the clearing a good deal before he had revealed himself. He had been half-convinced the summons was a trap, a newfound way the Blue Fairy had concocted to try and trap him. He wasn’t the last living dragon for nothing. He hadn’t outlived his kin by coincidence. While other dragons had hoarded riches he had accumulated power and knowledge, and had honed his understanding of magic and mastery of himself till he had become all but untouchable. No fairy could trespass on his territory, or surprise him. Their usual tricks and wiles did not work on him, and he had stamped down his weaknesses till there were none they could exploit. Until he could feel safe. And he was damned if he let that little slip of a girl threaten that.

She was like all the other ones, he reasoned, only with a little bit more sense, which worked in his favour. Enough to distrust the Blue Fairy, and make a choice to try and save herself, if only temporarily. He couldn’t kill her yet, but couldn’t risk her being used a second time against him. So he would find a way to dissolve whatever connection the Blue Fairy had concocted between them, which bound him to her mortality, and then he’d dispose of her. At least she would die knowing her people were safe, which is more than he could say for himself.

In the meantime, there was no reason why he couldn’t have a little fun watching her struggle, watching her try and survive in his castle, away from her servants and creature comforts. With that in mind he went early in the morning to check on his little maid, eager to see what a miserable night of sleeping in the damp, dusty floor had done to her posh look and gentle manners. Her brave facade was unlikely to have survived the night, surely.

The first thing he thought when he opened the creaky door to her cell was that it looked cleaner than he had imagined it. The strewn straw that had covered the floor before had been gathered into two piles, one of straw that was wet or mouldy and another of cleaner straw, where the chit had no doubt slept. The cobwebs had been cleared too, and the mouse holes covered with mud. The girl herself sat huddled in a corner, looking as prim as possible, though her hair was a mess and her face and arms were very dirty. Her eyes looked puffy, and her long lashes were still wet. Tear tracks were evident along her cheeks, which gave him a modicum of delight. It wasn’t quite the amount of suffering he’d envisioned, though, which displeased him.

He left her alone until she went out looking for him, and derived only a small amount of pleasure from pointing her towards the kitchen and its meager array of food, imagining the way the apples and the bread would turn her stomach, the way she would have to battle between her hunger and her disgust. He would have walked her to the kitchens himself, but he had other pressing matters. There were magical artifacts and ingredients to collect, and deals to make, after all, so he flew out just after his interaction with the little chit, content on imagining rather than seeing her unhappiness as she got to know her new home. There was no shortage of blood and gore around the castle, especially in the rooms dedicated to his studies. As a dragon he was, by nature, a hoarder. And though most of his kind tended to beautiful things- and it was in his nature too, to seek out what was pleasing to the eye- he had always focused on power. Power in the form of ancient magical items, rare ingredients and potions and knowledge and mastery of spells and incantations.

His line of enquiry required him to cut open a lot of animals, from common vermin to oxes and the like, either in search of ingredients or to gauge the result of an experiment. Getting someone to clean up the aftermath had always been a chore, given the unpalatable nature of his work, so he never bothered, choosing only to keep clean those rooms that required it for his experiments. There were entire wings of his castle where the air was thick with the smell of rot and death. In time the little maid could, perhaps, get used to the smell. And the mould. He doubted she would ever get used to the maggots or the flies, though.

The day proved fruitful enough, with the acquisition of two tricky ingredients he had been having trouble getting his hands on and two favours, no conditions attached, to be used at a later date of his choosing. It always amazed him how careless people were, how narrow-minded their view of a favour was, especially with no specifications. Inevitably when he came to collect and named his price someone would say something along the lines of “You can have anything but that!”, as if they had thought to put conditions to their promised favour when they carelessly gave it away.

He kept his visits to the denizens of the Enchanted Forest short but memorable, remaining unseen when it was convenient to him and growing in size and ferocity when he needed to make an impression. Too much exposure and he’d lose some of the reverential terror he had striven hard to cultivate. Not enough and people would grow complacent and forgetful of the monster in their midst. It was a fine balancing act to remain halfway between myth and reality, but he had perfected it over the years.

When he arrived home he felt the change almost immediately. Though the little chit was nowhere in immediate sight he could feel her presence about, the definite knowledge that he wasn’t alone. It was a strange sensation, which made him twitchy. He went looking for her, finding her making use of an old bucket, a sliver of lye soap and a coarse brush, down on all fours cleaning the kitchen floor. He could see, even in the dim light provided by the few sputtering torches, that it was slow going, since he had sometimes used the kitchen to open up the animals he needed parts from, and over time a layer of crusted blood and dried entrails had accumulated on the floor, and in splatters on the walls. But now the room looked almost like nothing that violently died there, which was quite a feat.

She was looking the worse for it, though, her dress dirty, the robin’s egg blue looking more like murky grey, her hair beginning to lose its shine, hanging more limply around her shoulders. Her eyes, however, remained stubbornly luminous and defiant.

“I thought you were a maiden, not a maid.”

He giggled at the way she jumped, clambering to her feet, eager to be in a less vulnerable position in front of a predator such as himself. He saw her glance him over- the novelty of his more human form, he was sure, which tended to be more unsettling for humans, in many ways, than his traditional dragon form- before taking a deep breath and attempting a semblance of a smile.

“I’m just making things a bit more pleasant, that’s all. No reason why my stay here cannot be productive and enjoyable.”

He snorted, plumes of smoke coming out of his nostrils and his mouth, and he watched as she followed the smoke around, fascinated.

“At this rate, dearie, you won’t get past the kitchens.”

And she’d be lucky too. He knew what his castle looked like. A noble lady was unlikely to have the stomach to tackle more than a room or two. And it would be to her benefit, since he was hardly the only danger the castle housed. Several of his treasured magical items were deeply cursed, with magic darker than even his own, and would leave his little maid with at least a missing hand, if not something worse. He told her so, cautioning to never enter a room the little wisp he had conjured for her would not dare go into, delighting in the little flickers of fear that swept through her eyes.

She was a silly little thing, that he unfortunately had to keep alive, but more tenacious than he had given her credit for, as he found out after several weeks of uneasy cohabitation. He almost never showed himself to her, but he spied on her when the mood struck him, mostly to make sure she was alive and in one piece, since he had yet to make any advances on how to break their mutual enchantment. She’d struggled with the food at first, until she’d learned to dip the stale bread in water to soften it, and to distinguish between a bruised fruit or vegetable and a rotten one. She made daily use of the well just outside the kitchens, carrying buckets of water, using an ancient wheelbarrow she had uncovered in the barn, every morning. It was freezing cold, however, which made every bathing experience an excruciating one, he was sure. The kitchen hearth was clogged and there was not readily available wood to build a fire, so she made do with what she had.

He could have easily made things easier, but he didn’t. The complaints he so sought, however, never came. The girl cried sometimes, in the relative solitude of her room, and looked quietly miserable most of the time, but she never voiced an objection towards her treatment, or expressed any outward sign of displeasure.

The little chit was resourceful, too. With only the barest of tools and surely the barest of knowledge she managed to find innovative ways of doing everything he set her mind to, from cleaning the castle windows inside out to removing impossible stains or even, one time, scraping congealed blood off the rafters of his laboratory, up in the tallest tower. That had been up there for decades, he had no idea how she had managed to wash it away. He barely remembered how it had gotten there in the first place.

She would not give up on a task until it was finished, pausing only to eat or when she retreated to her dungeon for the night. He found it all deeply… unsatisfying. He had wanted to feast in her misery, to delight in the sight of a human wretched by enduring even a little of the misery humans had foisted on his kind. He had thought it would be grand to see a plushy human suffer as they did, but things were not going according to plan. Blasted girl and her blasted iron pride. He understood, as the weeks dragged on and she remained respectful in her treatment of him whenever she saw him but quietly defiant, that his efforts were for naught. The girl suffered, but in silence, giving him no amount of satisfaction.

As time dragged on he found himself displeased with how his little human wilted. How her hands reddened and her hair grew matted, the cold water doing little to truly rid it of the filth and the sweat that she accumulated while cleaning. She had brought a couple of dresses with her, but both were looking worse for wear, and neither was particularly made for the cold temperatures of the castle, meaning that she spent very little time outside, which made her look pale and sickly.

He frowned. As a dragon, he was naturally inclined towards beautiful things. Things that looked sparkling and valuable. His maid no longer looked like a treasure, and it bothered his creature sensibilities. Besides, he needed her healthy. There was no telling how her declining health would affect him, given their magical bond. So he instructed his little wisp to direct her to rooms in the castle where he knew there was clothing that would fit her. He had looted his fair share of castles over the century and had accumulated all manner of odds and ends. He had a predilection for fine fabrics, having been brought up by a couple of spinsters as a wee hatchling, so he had taken a fair share of gowns here and there, when a particular colour or texture caught his fancy, all of which he had stored in proper trunks, with all the care he had been taught as a child. There were a few things her size, including some that would be more practical for the wintry weather.

He unearthed a big copper tub from one of the storage rooms, setting it in a corner of the kitchen beneath a pile of discarded linens, as if he had forgotten it there long ago, along with a pile of wood, properly cut and ready to be made into a fire. Then he cornered her just as she was mopping the entrance hall, instructing her to bathe herself properly, telling her the smell offended even his base sensibilities. She opened her mouth, as if to counteract his insult, but thought better of it and closed it instead.

Later that night he snuck into the kitchens, eager to see if the little chit had stumbled into his carefully-placed gifts and had followed his advice. It was immediately apparent to him that she had, since the kitchen was more luminous than usual, a healthy fire roaring in the hearth and the air damp and smelling of vanilla. He saw her curled up inside the copper tub, steam rising from the fragrant warm water- she had found the bar of vanilla-scented soap he had left deep inside one of the cleaning cupboards, along with a bottle of oil for her hair and a pot of cream for her roughened skin, her soapy hair looking almost red in the light of the low candles. Truly a beautiful human, even with dark circles under her eyes and dirt under her fingernails that would take more than a bath to remove. Fragile little thing too, naked and relaxed, not glaring daggers at him or holding her head up high in silent defiance. He made sure to make a lot of noise before retiring to bed, lest the damnable chit fall asleep in the bath and wake up pruned and chilled.

He began to bring more food from his incursions outside the castle, sacks of flour and oats, fresh milk and butter that the castle’s larder would keep fresh, sugar and salt and spices. He opened up the castle’s orchards, enchanted into a state of eternal summer, so she could get fruits and vegetables and some much-needed sun and instructed the little wisp to guide her there. It was fascinating to him to see her growing healthy again just from a few small concessions, colour blooming in her cheeks and her demeanor brightened.

It was with a perhaps unusual bit of pride that he came to the conclusion that his little maid was a treasure indeed, beautiful in a way that few maidens stolen by dragons had been. He began to feel possessive of her, like he did of everything else he guarded in his castle. His castle reflected his newfound attachment, losing some of its gloominess in favour of letting in sunlight in the rooms she favoured and keeping dust away from places that the girl would usually spend hours cleaning. He let it happen, reminding himself that her presence in the castle was fleeting, and a few temporary disruptions to his routine were not much concern.

And it wasn’t like he was growing fond of humans in general. His frequent incursions into the outside world kept his dislike for them fresh. Greedy little things who thought the world belonged to them alone, who cut down magical forests and chased creatures away from their homes to raze the land to the ground. When he had been a wee hatchling he had been terrified of them, small and defenceless as he had been, with no kin to protect him or guide him. Over time, as he began to grow in power, he started to see humans as petty vermin beneath his notice, except when one was desperate enough to be manipulated into surrendering something he wanted.

But every now and then, very rarely, a human got the best of him. Surprised him in some way he had not been able to foresee. Very few things could even hurt him anymore, but someone had learned that squid ink was one of them, and had seen fit to catch him with a crossbow on his way back to his castle, having previously tipped the arrow in squid ink. Thankfully it hadn’t done any real damage to the wing, the membrane remaining mostly intact, but it burned like hell and rendered his magic useless till the effects wore off.

He managed to keep himself in the air long enough to make it home, shifting to his more human form with enough energy left to drag himself in front of the fireplace of his trophy room, one plume of smoke igniting it just as he yanked the arrow out, feeling chilled and sluggish as he curled up on the stone floor, feeling the squid ink spread inside him like ice-cold water pouring over him.

He shrugged it off. It would pass. Squid ink did not last forever, particularly on someone as powerful as him. He’d recover in a few days, would get enough magic back under his control to knit the skin back together and move. He was safe in his home and if the girl chanced upon him he trusted she was smart enough to leave him be.

He woke up what felt like days later, and took a moment to take stock of his condition. He felt as lethargic and sluggish as he had anticipated, his magic responding slowly and weakly to his call, but there was no pain, and no discomfort. The overwhelming cold that had taken over him right before he had passed out was gone, and he could feel something soft and heavy draped over him, keeping him toasty warm.

The next thing he noticed was that someone was bathing his face, a soft cloth with warm water passing across his forehead, over his eyelids and down his neck, soothing the slight ache he could feel there, the remains of a fever recently broken. There was a pleasant smell too, like burnt caramel and vanilla, that seemed to engulf him. He turned his head to the side, his nose chasing after the scent, and realised his head was pillowed on something soft. Something that moved.

“Shh, try not to move.”

The cloth was removed, but before he could protest there was a hand carding through his matted hair, nails scraping just so against his scalp, soothing and not at the same time.

“What can I do to help, Rumplestiltskin?”

“L-little maid?”

He struggled to get out from under the fog he seemed to be trapped in, feeling weak and vulnerable, exposed.

“Yes, it’s me. I found you like this a day ago. You had a fever, but it’s finally broken. Is there anything else I can do for you? You’re still bleeding, and I can’t make it stop.”

“Get the wisp.”

A dragon’s flame had sentience of its own if a dragon saw fit to grant it, so his little wisp existed independently of his magic, unaffected by the squid ink, so with a flick of his wrist he set it out to guide the maid into his main laboratory, where he stored, in a small, murky bottle, antidote for the ink. He had told her often, during their few encounters around the castle, to stay out of his laboratories. Had gone into details about all the horrible things that could happen to her if she ventured in there. So he expected her to make a valiant attempt at following the wisp only to cower at the last minute, when common sense prevailed over her sickly-sweet disposition. Didn’t matter, though, the squid ink would fade on its own, it would just take a little longer.

He closed his eyes, intending to rest them for a minute, but when he opened them up again he knew immediately a long time had passed. The next thing he noticed was that there was a complete absence of pain, even the faint headache he had had before was gone, and when he pulled at his magic it answered back readily. He knew before he moved his shoulder that the arrow wound was gone, his muscle and skin having knit themselves together while he slept. He turned towards the fire, noticing a small amber vial next to him, its contents long gone. He recognised it immediately as the bottle where he kept his squid ink counter potion.

So focused was he on that little amber bottle that he almost jumped off the floor when his little maid came into his field of vision, holding one of her ever-present books with one hand and a glass of water with the other.

“Oh, good, you’re awake. I brought you some water.”

“Go away.”

He burrowed deeper into the quilt she had draped around him, trying not to dislodge the pillow she had placed under his head. He thought about teleporting himself to his nest, but he knew his magic was unreliable at best at the moment and it would be foolish to spend himself so when he was just recovering.

“This is the only fire roaring in the entire castle, and I’m too tired to light the hearth in the kitchen.”

“The wisp can light it for you.”

He knew he was sounding petulant and ungrateful but he didn’t much care. Whatever it would take to get rid of the little chit so he could have some peace and quiet.

“Flicker has done more than enough. He deserves some rest.”

“You named it?!”

He watched as the little wisp came running, as if called, and danced around the maid’s fingers, as if enjoying a caress.

“Some more sleep would do you good, I think. And maybe some food, when you’re up for it.”

He continued to go in and out of sleep, still too weak to feel comfortable using magic but not enough to complacently acquiesce to his little maid’s coddling. Eager for some solitude he tried to scare her away with his temper, conjuring up even a few plumes of fire and more than a bit of smoke, once managing to singe a bit of the hemline of her dress and the spine of one of her precious books. The latter seemed to be the only thing that truly bothered her, causing her to disappear from his side for an entire afternoon. He told himself he was happy about that, but he couldn’t deny the little twinge of relief when she finally came back, carrying a plate with shredded meat and some more water.

“Maybe you’ll be nicer after eating a bit.”

She was fearless, more so than he had previously given her credit for, refusing to shy away no matter what he did to try and spook her. She was, indeed, a most prized treasure, unique amongst humans, which would explain why the Blue Fairy had failed so spectacularly at making her a dragon’s last sacrifice.

Too good to kill, he decided as he devoured the meat. Once he figured out how to undo what that little gnat had done to them, he would give her some of his gold and let her walk away and explore the world to her heart’s content.

#minnl70 #rumbelle secret santa #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #thestraggletag fanfiction

14 notes · View notes

mcytblr-archive · 11 months ago

Text

Early MCYTblr Interviews: conarcoin

today's interviewee is conarcoin, runner in the 2020 MCYTblr elections, founder of gay castle, mod on the mcytblr-confessions blog, and MCYTblr veteran! below is a transcript of the questions and answers.

Q: You’ve been in MCYTblr for a long time, and participated in a lot of MCYTblr events, so let’s work our way through them. Can you tell me a bit about what 2020-2021 MCYTblr was like for you, or anything that immediately comes to mind when you think of it?

A: 2020-2021 MCYTblr was a shithole, but it was a shithole I made some really good friends in and I don't regret that period at all. I regret some stupid posts I made, sure, but overall? Nah. 2020 MCYTblr was always filled with drama as it was a transitional period - it was primarily made up of what we now call "truthers" and the scattered remnants of SMPblr, and that sort of caused a culture clash. I'm immediately reminded of the time I got into a huge drama for having the url "transtubbo" in 2020, which one ex-SMPblr user was not fond of. Also a lot of posts made by straight up weirdos like that one infamous "sex god whore" post.

(the url "transtubbo" was not a truthing thing, but a DSMP thing, but this was a time when truthers were still everywhere in MCYTblr and the divide between RP and real life wasn't as clear, which is how I ended up in hot water)

Q: I understand that you started and ran the “gay castle” discord server. Why was it created? What was your experience running it?

A: Gay Castle's still alive and well after 3 years. Me and a friend made the server in September 2020 due to being tired of the drama in another server we were in called Sleepyheads. It's a personal friend server, so we just invited people we thought were chill to hang out and have some laughs. I honestly would call Gay Castle my internet family, they're a wild bunch and we've had so many great times over the past 3 years.

Q: What was it like running the mcytblr-confessions blog? Do any confessions stand out to you from memory?

A: mcytblr-confessions is the child of me and like 10 or so other members of Gay Castle. The experience is mostly mundane, just queueing and deleting asks. We do get a lot of asks that get deleted due to breaking the rules and such, but it hasn't been particularly drama-filled or anything. There's way too many confessions that stand out to me, but personal favorites of mine will always include the Foolish peas anon, the Highcraft church anon, and the one about AustinShow calling anon Greg instead of their actual name.

Q: If my memory serves, you ran in the October 2020 MCYTblr elections. Who did you run as? What was your experience being a part of it?

A: I did, alongside a friend at the time who went by Fakenoblade. I don't remember too many details from that period of time. We ran as "Potato2020" and didn't get very far but we had fun. Cecilia (bless her heart, we're still mutuals even though we don't talk often) can do a really good Technoblade impression, so in call we had her say some funny lines that we edited into a promotional campaign video. Fun stuff.

Q: Are there any other events that stand out to you?

A: The day a bunch of content creators joined in 2021, mostly smaller ones. That was around the same time I became friends with Erin (@itselectralive), who is still one of my closest friends to this day and an absolute sweetheart. She got me onto a SMP she helped run called Balls SMP, which crashed and burned, but I had fun and met some cool people.

Q: Do you remember any of the main discourses/dramas that went through the community?

A: Apologist discourse, obviously. I didn't engage with it - I honestly didn't care for either c!Tommy or c!Dream - but it's hard to avoid it. Shipping discourse and boundary discourse. Honestly, I can't remember anything more specific besides the more general dramas.

Q: What do you remember most fondly from that time?

A: Honestly? Just early Gay Castle and also liveblogging the L'Manberg Election. That night was so much fun, one of the most vivid memories of that time period I have.

Q: Is there anything else you’d like to add?

A: You guys should watch SMPLive. Not really, it's aged like piss and several creators ended up being freaks but it's still got a lot of funny jokes and interesting lore (believe it or not). From what I have seen, its fandom is the root of a lot of MCYT fandom's most obnoxious behaviors, but the people who are left and still care about it are really cool. It turned 5 this month!

#early mcytblr interviews #Volume 8 #conarcoin

45 notes · View notes

vraisetzen · 2 months ago

Note

V! Hi!! I hope you’re doing well!! ☺️ Personally, I’d love to read your thoughts on ‘Kimetsu Academy’ Muzan 😀

𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝑾𝒂𝒚 — 𝑨 𝑲𝒊𝒎𝒆𝑮𝒂𝒌𝒖!𝑴𝒖𝒛𝒂𝒏 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆

Tags: KimeGaku!Muzan, and whatever shady politics he brings with him

Author's Note: Thank you for the lovely ask, and for waiting for me to complete this! I initially planned this to be a snippet or headcanon post, but I got so carried away and decided to abridge everything into a faux-news article on KimeGaku!Muzan. Enjoy!

At the turn of the 20th century, the theatre of politics shifted from the dour old halls of debate chambers to the street. On one hand, there were salt of the earth charmers who touted their blue collar origins, regaling working class folks with rousing campfire anecdotes of struggling through adversity and emerging as a champion of the underclasses. On the other, those with silk stockings on their feet and silver spoons in their mouths sculpted an image of mythological statesmanship — dazzling and distant as the stars who would bestow their light on those that walked beneath their radiance.

With his paisley ties, velvet-lined waistcoat, and artfully tousled hair, Kibutsuji Muzan seems an exceptional specimen — a trilby in a sea of receding hairlines, his rockstar allure has been the subject of much controversy ever since he was sworn to the House of Representatives, from his proposals to reduce education spending in favour of tax cuts for nighttime entertainment businesses to his remarks concerning climate change and environmental conservation.

And yet, the man has found tremendous popularity across all boundaries, from c-suites in their sharply pressed suits to construction workers in their hard hats and afternoon chūhai.

But what lies beneath the glitz and glamour? What truly went down behind the scenes of such a man whose image leaned closer to Ziggy Stardust than Harold Wilson?

Kibutsuji Muzan's office is located in the downtown area of W------- City, away from the bustling hive of the townsquare and the cordial cheer of the uptown residential district. It is sandwiched between a pharmacy and a bookstore, sitting atop a real estate company and accessed through a dark flight of stairs from the backdoor; and it is here that I will conduct a special profile of the man — the first since his re-election.

As I navigated through the cobwebs and dust, feeling very much like Jonathan Harker stalking the halls of Castle Dracula, I wondered if this was yet another attempt to cultivate his star-studded image.

During his campaign trail, Kibutsuji was known for organising handshake events and distributing paper towels printed with his likeness — in a matter of minutes, the streets were flooded with young, female voters, queueing in neat lines as if waiting for Johnny's idol fanmeet. It was a tactic marked with great success; ask any young, twenty-something woman dithering along the streets of Azabudai who they would vote for, and find only one name on their lips:

Why, Muzan-sama, of course!

At the door, I am greeted by Kibutsuji's secretary — a skyscraper of a man with tinted shades, bookcase shoulders and cascading hair. Fans of Kibutsuji have nicknamed him "The Dark Moon" for his steely glacial demeanour; though I knew better than to refer to him as such. Introducing himself Kokushibo — and I am reminded of 80s pop prima-donnas who referred to themselves in the singular — he led me into the office.

I spied hardworking interns and staffers with their heads buried in paperwork, typing away at their desks; in the corner, right next to the pantry well stocked with Umaibo (in mentaiko and chocolate flavours) and Nespresso pods, I notice a robotic arm.

"That's the Delta pick-and-place robot," pipes a staffer with noticeable scars on his cheeks. "We use it for, uh, pick and placing — thing, not people, that is."

"Get back to your work," Kokushibo orders, before turning to me. "Would you like coffee or tea?"

Tea, with a stick of Creap and two sugars, would have been my usual order; but there is a saturnine tension in the office, and I am hesitant. It seems as if I had walked onto a hidden camera set, where the ceiling lights were too hot and too bright, and the actors' lines were to be fed and spat out precisely on cue.

In the end, I settle for anything Kokushibo gave me, and he prepares a thin Americano from an instant coffee sachet instead of the Nespresso pods.

Kibutsuji Muzan sweeps into the office in a waft of Eau Sauvage at precisely the hour he promised. His steps are confident as he approaches, his tailored coat swishing around his shoulder as he extends his arm in a handshake. Up close, he is fair and feline, hair tumbling in a parted fringe of waves that he tucks behind his ear like a knowing schoolgirl.

His grip, however, is anything but — his hands are cold, he told me, from spending the afternoon at a construction site, where he oversaw the building of a new community centre for W------- City.

Our interview begins cordially enough, with Kibutsuji Muzan sharing, unprompted, his thoughts on re-election and returning to the community that voted for him — he is honoured at the opportunity to serve the city, as he did for the past four years. He speaks of his approval ratings (the highest of any representative in the House) with a casual air, unfettered by the support he has been given as he extolls his commitment to doing more for the people.

It is all rehearsed hogwash, something which I know that he knew, from the glint in his bright red eyes. Kibutsuji leans back on his armchair as he finishes, crossing his legs and placing his hands on his lap. His relaxed pose comes as a challenge to me, and I do not hesitate a second longer to take him head on.

Back and forth, we parried; Kibutsuji's media training was flawless, with well-rehearsed responses for the warm-up questions I directed towards him. His politics skews conservative, with just a touch of Big Tent to draw in the younger, liberal demographic. His speech, though formal, is warm and comforting enough in tone to not draw too much of a distance between him and unconvinced voters — or in this case, a skeptical journalist adamant to find the chink in his armour.

But I was not to be deterred. As I scale down the list of questions I had prepared, I send a curveball in his direction: his office, and his staff. Instantly Kokushibo was by my side — I jumped at his sudden appearance, concerned that I might be asked to leave as a bouncer would an unruly socialite at a nightclub, but he was merely bringing me a small snack: the single umaibō on a large porcelain dish feels strangely threatening, but I take a bite out of it anyway.

Kibutsuji smiles, and with a wave of his wrist at his staff, says: "I am very fortunate to have my staff through the entire campaign trail, and I am fortunate still to have them with me, at this present moment. We sieve through feedback and complaints from the people, we prioritise their concerns, and we address them together, as a team and family."

I glance backward at his team; far from the eager, doe-eyed political science graduates and volunteers which I was accustomed to seeing at rallies and other offices, they seem like iterations of the Artful Dodger, watchful and shifty.

Kokushibo, who glares daggers over the top of my head, is the subject of much rumour from online denizens, as they speculate if he had been a member of the JSDF Special Forces.

And what about his supposed ties to the yakuza? Or the lavish business parties caught on tape by a Weekly Bunshun? Bottles of Moet rippling over a pyramid of crystal champagne flutes, scorches of cabaret hostesses flanked by drunk business leaders who could scarcely tell the difference between a hefty tip and a political bribe.

Kibutsuji remarks: "Whether the people admit it or not, Japan's postwar economic miracle was made between the legs of cabaret hostesses; you cannot deny the role that these establishments have played in reviving our country. It is the heartbeat of our nation. I was there."

I press him on what he meant by the last statement, and he waves it off. "Let's just say that I've worn many hats."

Little is known of Kibutsuji Muzan's life and career before he dove headfirst into the world of politics; there are rumours that he was distantly related to the Ubuyashiki family, whose philanthrophic work towards education and healthcare could not be further from Kibutsuji's plan to cut spending and encouraging privatisation in both of these sectors. Indeed, some eagle-eyed Internet sleuths have noted a similarity between the politician and Ubuyashiki Kagaya, the conglomerate's director.

It is worth noting that seven years ago, Ubuyashiki was the victim of a chemical attack that disfigured the upper half of his face, leaving him with horrific scars and partial visual impairement that forced him to cede his role as principal of Kimetsu Academy to his wife, Amane. Some have wondered if his similarity to Kibutsuji Muzan was behind this horrifying attack, but Ubuyashiki has declined to comment on this incident and his relationship with the politician:

"Kimetsu Academy has always been devoted to educating society's next generation of brilliant leaders, ensuring the brilliant, fairer future where all can flourish and succeed."

As I showed Kibutsuji the official response, I notices the flash of a vein rippling across his temple — the rare hint of irritation, perhaps, beyond the calculated courtesy — before he smooths his expression into a cordial, if wry, grin. Handling the tablet back to me, he opines: "I guess this is what they mean by the blind leading the blind."

When I inform him how his words may be poorly received by the disability groups, he shrugged.

"I simply call things out as they are. There is nothing I dislike more than misplaced optimism and cheap, feel-good platitudes. My job is to help the underprivileged and the disenfranchised; to give a voice to the weak."

As the man delved into a rhetoric of his policies and accomplishments once more, a thought occurs to me that Kibutsuji's brand is very much a reflection of what he proclaimed to be distasteful — a vague, shapeless form appealing to the widest and lowest common denominator: to the nightclub hostesses, the dark, seedy underbelly of this country, he was their spokesman; to the high-powered executives, an advocate; and to the hoi polloi, toiling against a flagging economy, Kibutsuji was an idol.

But was this not what a rockstar was? An operation of contrasts, a dazzling spectacle taking precendence over its sordid truth — the dirt beneath the glitter, the fizzy sparkle of champagne too heavy on the saccharides. Kibutsuji Muzan was a talented orator, no doubt, a charismatic chameleon that could fill rallies and concert halls; but words were words, and this glamourous lustre to me is merely another means of distraction and intimidation.

As I leave Kibutsuji Muzan's office with the taste of bad coffee and cheap snacks lingering in the back of my mouth, I wonder what his goals were, and just how far he will go to achieve them. The premiership, perhaps? Or something darker than that?

Work is underway at the Kibutsuji campaign office for the next election despite it being three years away. He prefers an early head start — not merely for the sake of his supporters and countless Roppongi girls waiting for his handshakes, but also to bring surpass last election's result.

Because for Kibutsuji Muzan, winning the most votes and receiving the loudest cheers was only one small part to his firebrand of chart-topping, billboard-dazzling success — and he will stop at nothing until he reaches the zenith of political stardom.

---

The newspaper rustled in Kibutsuji Muzan's hands as he folded the pages and tossed them onto his desk.

"What do you think, Kokushibo?" he asked, fishing for his packet of Seven Stars and slipping a cigarette between his lips. With a flick of his Dupont, he watched as the end caught an amber glow and sizzled with the sharp scent of tobacco.

"It is certainly troublesome, sir," Kokushibo answered from where he stood two paces away from Muzan's desk. He had a tablet in his arms, its screen small in his long fingers as he swiped to where he had found the reporter's profile. You had joined the newspaper two months ago, having transferred from major crimes to the general affairs department.

Your supervisors had agreed that the transition was a much needed change of pace — the stress of questioning the authorities and law and order, coupled with your tendency to get to the root of things however difficult, had also threatened the paper's reputation.

Still, it was not so much your journalistic integrity which roused Muzan's suspicion; a curious footnote in your records suggested that you once spent a summer interning for Ubuyashiki Kagaya.

"She seems interested in a second interview," informed Kokushibo, as his inbox piped with a new message. "But this will have to wait until we are done negotiating with the Inagawa-kai next month."

"No matter," Muzan remarked, puffing sharply and watching the cigarette smoke rise into the darkwood ceiling. He needed time to read his fortunes — playing his cards wrong could mean a disgraceful tumble from where he was perched on the political ladder; but Kibutsuji Muzan had a gifted hand for turning spades into aces; however damning and acerbic your article may be, he was adamant to turned it into his favour.

And Kibutsuji Muzan always had his way.

Thank you for reading!

For my longer writings, please visit my AO3 here:

#vraisetzen #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kibutsuji muzan headcanons #kimetsu gakuen muzan headcanons #kibutsuji muzan #kimetsu gakuen headcanons #kimetsu gakuen muzan #kibutsuji muzan x you #kibutsuji muzan x reader #kibutsuji muzan x y/n #fic requests #headcanon requests

8 notes · View notes