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dollsuguru · 2 months

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Hello! You can totally ignore if this isn’t up your alley but you could write something about suguru watching reader from afar while they grieve him for leaving? Either it’s super sad or twisted cause he feels happy that you love him enough to grieve him

I also could send in nsfw requests if you want those too

“the choiceless grief that drove him underground.”

contents: f!reader, mentions of guilt, stalking, & mass murder. both characters express grief in different ways. bit of callous/twisted suguru, a nod to his dacryphilia as well. mainly angsty but i guess at the core of it… it’s sweet? w.c: ~ 1.4k

a/n: rem, i owe you my life & then some! :’) thank you SO much for the concept idea! <3 i love delving into the twisted/not-so pretty parts of suguru so i hope you enjoy! :D

the premise of the situation is quite… haunting.

to mourn a friend, (‘a lover’ — his voice gently admonishes from the back of your mind), who isn’t dead.

he still roams around the aether — akin to a ghost. and here you are, grieving a corporeal phantom of your past.

both you and suguru have a penchant for nostalgia, him moreso than you. it’s why he’s here now at the foothills of mount mushiro, camouflaging himself into the shadows of the night, depleting his own cursed energy so there’s not a single trace of him left. he stands there in a vantage point hidden behind massive japanese oak trees, a lonely specter peering wistfully at his dearly beloved.

ex-beloved, rather, he should say.

it was of his own volition anyways.

your lack of cursed energy leaves a bitter taste in his mouth when he remembers why he despises you so. the healed x-shaped scar on his chest burns and he wants to give you a matching one on your heart, as a reminder. you’re worse than a curse, he forces himself to seethe. heavenly restriction, huh? nothing heavenly about you…

a sick part of suguru wants to finally see you shatter — to watch someone as powerful as you break down and wail with such unbridled anguish, to hear your sorrowful screams pierce through the night sky like a gunshot wound to the head. something about imagining the way your tears would stick to your lashes makes his heart beat unbearably fast from within his ribcage. from sadness or intrigue, he doesn’t quite know…

he just selfishly craves to be the cause of it. to have you drown in tears of melancholy & be sundered by it like a tsunami of eerie desolation — to be plagued with devotion and corruption. just like him.

he wants you to get on your hands and knees and prostrate yourself to him — to lower yourself at his feet.

beneath him.

where you should be.

to apologize for being you. to apologize for coming into his life. to apologize for making him fall in love. to apologize for being his greatest curse. his greatest regret.

(regret for loving you or regret for leaving you… he’s not sure, yet. he’ll decide when he’s of more sound mind.)

yet all he gets is… just you… sitting there. expressionless.

suguru huffs quietly, his low-lidded gaze is heavy with fatigue and slight boredom. his soft exhales turn into smoky vapor in front of him, evaporating within seconds. he tediously redirects his amber irises back at you, observing you like a science experiment, scrutinizing your every move… only if you had done something, of course.

he notes that your stony face betrays no emotions, your body is rigid as if in living rigor-mortis. he surmises that the only thing that differentiates you from the zen statues around you is the gentle wisps of your hair across your face courtesy of the cold wind, crisp due to the night air.

before he realizes it, suguru’s fingers involuntarily twitch.

muscle memory.

(the same fingers have brushed against the plush of your cheek, caressed your hair & gently moved the strands away from your face. soft finger-pads outlined your lips gently, the shape of your cupid’s bow committed to memory. suguru figured the name was quite apt… he found himself wholly enraptured & in love.

hit by eros’ arrow the very moment he laid eyes on you — his lighthouse. his demise.)

a slight sniffle breaks suguru out of his reverie. he snaps his head back up at you, pierced brows furrowed and bright ochre eyes wide. he ignores the pang in his chest, his shock overtaking his senses leaving him paralyzed.

are you…?

your reddened eyes flit towards the foliage where suguru hides behind, and you softly rasp out a tired sigh. your lack of words are far more frigid than the midnight air, causing an ice cold shiver to run through suguru’s spine.

forcing the constriction in his throat back down, he exhales shakily, in a state of utter shock.

right.

heightened senses. superhuman physical capabilities. you always knew where suguru was before he ever knew where you were. a relationship of mutual indulgence — you pretend you don’t see him, and he pretends that you don’t know where he is at all times. as if you haven’t memorized his scent, his mannerisms, his soul. as if you couldn’t recognize him through physical vibrations alone.

just pretend you don’t see me now… indulge me one last time… please.

muscle memory.

you look away.

you focus your gaze towards the skyline of bountiful forest green trees, impeccable eyesight zeroing in on a tree with a heart carved around both his and your initials upon the espresso bark. the same tree where you had rested your head on suguru’s lap while he read his favorite books to you. the same tree where you had both shared your first kiss. the same tree where you had found out from a dear friend that suguru had murdered a whole village — some bullshit about him wanting to create a world with no curses. no non-sorcerers. no you.

you once playfully joked to suguru that you loved him more than he loved you. you remember the way his fists clenched at his sides, the furrow in his brow coupled with the immediate narrowing of his eyes, along with the slight snarl in his lip and voice pierced your soul as he resolutely scolded you — no one could ever love as deeply, as passionately, as genuinely as he loves you.

loved, rather, you should say.

what a fuckin’ liar.

…

in a blink of an eye, you disappear.

like a ghost.

you leave suguru alone to his own futile devices. he figures it’s fair, to indulge you one last time too, allowing you the ‘last laugh’, though he knows there’s no victors in this sick game that’s being played. he’s walked away from you before, it’s only fitting you do the same to him now.

his feet drag him to where you were hunched over before, his brain unable to catch up to what his body is doing. something glints in the moonlight, there in your stead, atop the plush green grass.

he crouches down, picking up the small photograph. the faded polaroid feels far heavier in his hand than he would think. a delicious shiver runs down suguru’s spine when he realizes his fingertips are touching where yours have touched. the bitterness that found its way in his mouth in the beginning washes away, leaving only a sickly sweet flavor that surrounds his mouth like pillowy cotton candy.

it’s one he hasn’t seen. you must’ve kept this with you all this time, he muses.

a photo, a candid, of him.

the pink sakura petals offered up a beautiful backdrop after a mission you two took in kyoto. back then, his smile was genuine & unbelievably wide — pearly whites on display, his pierced cherry red lips matched the camellia red blush that painted his cheeks — no doubt from your flirtatious comments of his beauty. his eyes were squinted, a photo you took of him while mid-laugh. he pushed his bangs aside while speaking to you, wanting to give you his full attention. the promise ring on his finger glinted in the sunlight along with the silver hairpin you gifted him moments before you took the photo, its amethyst gem dangling above his bun. a beacon of light.

a sign of devotion, of unending love. a promise.

suguru’s heart feels a bit heavier than he would like it to, yet the soft smile that graces his features is the most genuine form of adoration he’s exhibited since his defection. inundated with grief, you still held on to him.

an anchor of your past. a plague of your present. a welcoming calamity of your future.

“you still love me too, huh?” he softly whispers into the night, a sad smile on his face.

he gazes up at the moon. it looks quite beautiful tonight. he silently hopes you’re staring at it too.

thinking of him the same way he’s thinking of you.

#geto suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #if it’s in a jjk au TRUST my readers will ALWAYS have heavenly restriction… it’s just so delicious coupled w suguru’s character arc #my writings #personal

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riise-my-anngel · 1 year

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Listen, comparing Zen to Asmo is funny but Asmo is the slutty avatar of Lust, meanwhile Zen not only hasn't had a girlfriend in 5 years by the start of Mysme, but he barley recognizes if someone hits on him because hes so busy, and he canonically only has eyes for the main character in all the routes.

Asmo would fuck Zen, but Zen would not fuck Asmo. Zen wouldn't fuck or even flirt with anyone who isn't you, I'm sorry.

Jumin is more of an apt comparison, because he does in fact flirt and seduce women constantly in order to manipulate them into making good deals with his company. He doesn't fuck them, but he actually does purposley flirt with people whereas Zen's like "if your names not mc dont even look at me"

#obey me #mystic messenger #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #mysme #obey me asmo #asmo obey me #mysme zen #zen mysme

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quinloki · 1 year

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More One Piece Kinks

Dubcon, Bondage, and Knifeplay, with

Zoro, Shanks, and Law

Oh. Oh man - okay, I'm going to break these down by kink instead of by character - so anyone who wants to skip dubon can just stop before they get to the end of the post. (there's plenty of warning notes preceding it.)

Bondage:

Zoro - This man is made for Shibari more than the more functional less decorative bondage, and the zen vibe and focus of shibari is something he enjoys too. I feel like bondage tends to turn more shibari for Zoro in any capacity. But the process is meditative and he really gets into it, like with sword forms, the basics are to be mastered first, and his knot-work is as refined as his swordplay. Bondage - Yes // Shibari - Oh god you don't even know.

Shanks - Giving or receiving, Shanks is a solid Yes for bondage. He can be a little reckless in receiving, but he'll happily guide/correct someone through the process. It's not that he has a passion for it, but he does have experience. His recklessness stems from the man's insane haki skills - if things go wrong Shanks can get out of anything with minimal effort, but he's very much 100% Safety Steps when tying someone else up.

Law - A rather not for receiving, and a Oh god you don't even know for giving. Law likes to be in control, and bondage provides that quite efficiently. That preference to be in control is mostly why he's not keen on being the one bound, but you might be able to convince him once or twice. Mostly though, if you're into it - and this is 100% fully functional no frills bondage - he's going to be all for it more than knot. Safety scissors nearby, but with his devil fruit power it's not much risk even pushing the riskier sides of the kink.

Knifeplay:

Zoro - Giving - yes, receiving, No. Zoro's control of blades is, well, legendary. So this is a niche right up his alley. Even with all his practice and skills, he's in between Sure and Yes, more toward yes. He's definitely got the kind of control that can keep you on edge (hehe), without things getting dangerous.

Shanks - Giving - Sure, receiving, Sure. There's not much Shanks won't do, or try. But again, in this case, it's really his control of his own skills that allow him to be comfortable with something like this. He knows he won't hurt you with his skills, and he's a strong guy, so even if there's a slip at worst he has a new scar. As far as foreplay or kinks though, there's more effective options when it comes to Shanks xD

Law - Giving Sure, Receiving - No. There is no enthusiasm in this with the good surgeon, but he's not against it. Law's more apt to want to try kinky things using his devil fruit to take you apart - not actually risking or purposefully cutting you. I imagine the whole fact that his sword is considered cursed, and he's not big on unnecessary harm, lend themselves toward this. The good news is, even if there isn't enthusiasm, if there's an accident, you're already in the hands of the best surgeon on the Grand Line, so there's a lot less risk.

Dubcon* (Giving Only):

*dubcon outside of fanfic is kind of a hard one to nail down, but I did my best. xD (I was like, how to do I talk about consent in a specifically dubious consent situation?)

One final note: If this isn't your kink, and you wouldn't ask it of your partner, then the next section just isn't for you <3 Skip it. Don't cry/bitch/whine to me ^_^

Zoro - This is a big No for Zoro. He's not an idiot, he's not incapable of nuance, but I feel like it's something that just sits a little raw in his craw. You can set up safe words with him, and beg him to stop and he'll manage to keep going, but that's clear consent within a set session and not quite the same thing.

Shanks - This is a Sure-to-Yes for Shanks. He's big on personal freedom and autonomy, but as long as you two sit down and talk through all the details, and come up with a safeword specific to those situations, he'll work with it. It certainly adds an interesting spice to your day to day life, being unsure of if, when, where, and how he'll initiate things. A few times he even leaves you unsatisfied, and it's hard to describe how hot it is.

Law - He starts as I dunno, but as time passes between you, and the relationship and trust grows, and you have a time or two where you really sit down and talk it out, he hits Sure. It's a "special occasions" sort of deal at that point, and you can probably count on your hands the number of times it's happened. There's always proper and thorough after care afterward.

Kinky One Piece Head Canon

#kinky one piece head canon #roronoa zoro #one piece shanks #trafalgar d law #x reader #trafalgar law x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #shanks x reader

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lilithsaintcrow · 2 months

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"In its eighty minutes, Herbert reflects on everything from corporations to hippies, the tarot to Zen, and Lawrence of Arabia to John F. Kennedy."

#frank herbert #dune

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trulybetty · 9 months

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Chiffon | Chapter Three, Anger & Bargaining

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC (no age gap) Warnings: therapy, angst, food, well-meaning friends that sometimes think they know better, and gratuitous use of Canva for things that amuse me because I'm going to have fun with this Word Count: 5,898 Summary: It's the present day and Dieter is attending therapy while Bryony embarks on new adventures with an old friend. AO3: Linked

x.chiffon masterlist.

Chiffon | Chapter 3 Anger & Bargaining

Present Day.

The warm LA sun shone through the wall-to-ceiling windows. From the third floor, Dieter could see over the expansive city. The traffic was in gridlock below, barely moving. Likely a chorus of horns, radios and frustrations. But behind the glass up and away the sounds were hidden.

Readjusting himself on the large modern leather couch, Dieter looked out of place in his casual attire. Looking more like he’d just rolled out of bed, with his well-worn t-shirt and sweatpants, than attending a therapy session.

The room was full of warm tones of beige and earth hues intersected with soft pastel landscapes of what looked like Wyoming sunsets. He made a mental note to check the name of the artist later. His gaze bounced between his therapist and the Zen rock garden on the coffee table between them.

“So," Sunita, or Sunny as she preferred to be called, a name quite apt given her warm disposition, prompted Dieter.

Her tone was calm yet insistent, her dark eyes shimmering with professional curiosity. "How did it make you feel?”

Dieter let out a laugh, short and mirthless, “That’s such a cliche of a question.” His fingers played with the hem of his t-shirt, a subconscious act of diversion.

Sunny’s lips quirked up in an amiable smirk, “It’s a cliche to deflect a question with a statement such as that.” She rested her notepad on her lap, leaning back in her chair as she met his gaze head-on.

Her comment drew a wry smile from Dieter, his fingers migrating from his shirt to his chin, rubbing the rough stubble that lined his jaw thoughtfully. This was not his first rodeo with therapy, but it was the first time he felt heard, felt understood.

Dieter's first experience with therapy was shaped by an austere older man, a therapist hand-picked by Pierce when Dieter remained disinterested in the process. The sterile environment of the man's office—cold, devoid of artwork, furnished with rigid chairs—created a frigid ambiance rather than the warmth of a healing sanctuary. Despite his initial reluctance, Dieter had yielded to Pierce's insistence, attending the session in order to keep Pierce making an effort for booking his troubled client.

However, the therapist was quick to reveal his preconceived assumptions about Dieter. No sooner had the session begun, the man delved into a Freudian analysis, linking Dieter's behavior to deeply embedded psychological constructs. The premature conclusion, devoid of any personal understanding of Dieter, felt like a violation. The therapy session, which had barely lasted twenty minutes, left Dieter feeling more exposed and judged than healed.

Emotionally bruised, Dieter chose self-isolation over therapy, descending into a two-week long binge of alcohol and drugs. This self-destructive path cost him a leading role in a B-list horror movie, but at that time, he didn't care. The therapy had stoked fears rather than healing them, and Dieter had rejected the idea of therapy entirely until he made a serious attempt at healing.

Sunny on the other hand, Sunny he respected. She saw through his bullshit and was certainly not shy about calling him out on it. She was also closer to his age, she’d mentioned a forty-something birthday on the horizon in a previous session. Because of this the dynamic didn’t feel parental, something that bristled Dieter, he didn’t handle the idea of being spoken down to well. Some days with Sunny, he could almost convince himself it wasn’t therapy, just two people talking.

He sighed. His fingers gently traced the dark ink of the filled-in triangle on the inside of his right forearm.

It’s presence there, a stark contrast against his tanned skin, a mirror to the matching, yet distinctly different, empty triangle etched on his left arm. Their opposing directions lending to their symbolic value. When Bryony had asked about them, he’d explained their meaning, one filled, one empty - represented his journey, his growth, his evolution. The duality and balance they held resonated with Bryony, leading to a late-night decision to have a similar tattoo inked behind her ear over a forgettable takeout on top of a moving box the night before they had made the permanent move together to a tiny townhouse in Santa Monica.

To discover that Bryony still had her matching tattoo, despite telling him that she'd had it removed, stirred countless emotions within him.

"Surprised... confused..." He paused, his gaze falling on the Zen garden. The tiny, uneven paths in the sand reflected his tumultuous feelings. "A part of me felt... I don’t know... betrayed."

Sunny noted his response, her gaze flickering between Dieter and her notepad, “Betrayed? Can you elaborate on that?”

He ran his hand through his hair, his gaze distant, "She told me she had them removed. So finding out she didn't... it's like she lied to me, or at least that's how it feels. And, I guess... it also made me wonder why she kept it."

Sunny nodded, pen scribbling on her notepad, “And why do you think she might have kept it?”

Dieter shrugged, a helpless smile crossing his features, "Hell if I know, Sunny." He leaned back on the couch, arms folded over his chest, "Maybe she forgot, or maybe it didn't matter enough to her to have them removed. Or maybe…” there was trepidation in his voice, “she still feels connected to me, in some way."

The room fell silent for a moment, the hum of the air conditioner filling the gap in conversation. Sunny watched him, her gaze thoughtful as she considered her next question, “And how do you feel about that possibility, Dieter? The possibility that she might still feel connected to you?”

Dieter glanced at her, his dark brown eyes clouded with emotion, a sigh escaped his lips before he finally admitted, “I don’t know, Sunny... I really don’t know."

Sunny’s expression remained thoughtful as she watched Dieter. His admission of the uncertainty surrounding his feelings for Bryony had left an echo of vulnerability hanging in the air. She gave him a moment, allowing the silence to settle before she pressed on, “You bring Bryony up a lot in our sessions, Dieter. How long ago did you break up?”

Dieter’s eyebrows knitted together in a slightly defensive frown, a hint of curiosity flickered in his eyes. He had a feeling Sunny was navigating towards a specific point, and it put him slightly on edge. “Almost four years ago,” he answered evenly, maintaining eye contact with her.

“Four years... That’s a considerable amount of time, Dieter,” Sunny began, noting his reaction. Her voice held a gentle firmness, providing an anchor in the complex tides of emotions they were wading through. “And yet, she still seems to be a significant part of your life, wouldn't you say?”

Dieter sighed, folding his arms defensively across his chest, “Isn’t that why I’m here? To talk about things that affect me? She’s a part of my past...”

“Indeed, she is,” Sunny replied, not missing a beat. She tapped her pen against her notepad, “But it appears that she might still be a part of your present too. Would you agree?”

Dieter paused, considering her words. His gaze wandered from Sunny back to the painted landscape on the wall, “I... suppose. Yes, she's part of my present. We’re still in the same industry, we share friends... it's hard to avoid her.”

Sunny nodded, penning down his answer, “And how do you feel about that? Does it bother you, this unavoidable presence of her in your life?”

“It’s... complicated,” Dieter admitted after a thoughtful pause. He leaned back against the couch, running his hand through his messy hair. The stubble on his chin prickled against his palm as he considered the question, “Sometimes it does bother me, but other times it doesn’t. Sometimes it feels good to have that... familiar connection. I don’t know if it’s healthy or not, though.”

“I think that’s a fair assessment,” Sunny responded, noting his conflicted feelings. “Often, when we have unresolved feelings towards someone from our past, their continued presence in our lives can be both comforting and troubling. Do you think you have unresolved feelings towards Bryony?”

Dieter’s eyes met hers, a flash of surprise and vulnerability in his gaze. He seemed to wrestle with the question, the silence in the room growing more profound as the seconds ticked by. His voice was barely a whisper when he finally admitted, “I guess… I guess I do.”

Sunny smiled, a soft, understanding expression that put Dieter at ease. “That’s a brave admission, Dieter. It's okay to have unresolved feelings. Acknowledging them is the first step towards addressing them. Remember, therapy isn't about finding quick solutions. It’s a journey towards understanding and healing. You’re doing great.”

Dieter exhaled a sigh of relief, feeling an unexpected weight lifted off his chest. “Thank you, Sunny. This… this isn’t easy.”

“I know, Dieter,” she reassured him, “But remember, the toughest battles often lead to the greatest victories. Perhaps let’s continue to explore these feelings?”

Dieter drew a shaky breath, his fists clenching unconsciously as he acknowledged her words. "I do– I feel a lot of guilt, a lot of shame... I hate that I hurt her. I hate that I became that person. I never want to be that man again.”

"Sometimes, the weight of guilt can push us to make necessary changes, Dieter," Sunny stated, her voice a calming anchor amidst the swirling sea of his emotions. "The steps you've taken, actively seeking help, opening up about your inner turmoil - these are all substantial strides on the path of recovery."

Caught in the sincerity of her gaze, Dieter allowed his vulnerability to shine through. "Do you really believe that?"

"Absolutely," Sunny affirmed with unwavering certainty. "How long have you been attending our sessions now?"

"Four months," he admitted, the number feeling more significant as he voiced it out loud.

"Exactly. And before that? One therapy session that didn't end well, if I remember correctly. Yet, here you are, four months in, dedicated to this journey. Isn't that a testament to your commitment? To your recovery?"

At her words, he gave a reluctant nod. "I guess."

"Dieter," Sunny encouraged, her tone gentle yet firm, "You need to start giving yourself the credit you deserve."

"But where's the fun in that?" he retorted, a familiar glint of jest in his eyes. "I probably wouldn't be here if I started doing that."

Her knowing gaze landed on him, recognizing his deflection, his resort to humor and self-deprecation. "Why don't we get back to the matter at hand?"

"But I thought I was the matter at hand? Especially since I'm the one in therapy," he countered, his usual shield of humor up once again.

"Yes, we could change the topic, but Bryony does seem to come up quite often," Sunny observed carefully, "And when she does, you often resort to deflecting. Perhaps," she suggested, pausing for a moment to gauge his reaction, "it's time we address that head-on?"

A silence fell over the room, the air heavy with remorse and regret. Dieter's gaze fell, his hands nervously playing with the edge of his shirt. It was as if he had transported himself back to that moment, reliving the painful memories.

"Since that night, our paths haven't truly crossed," Dieter admitted, a hollow chuckle slipping past his lips. "Sure, we've been in the same spaces - at work, at social events... But we've never really engaged, not in a substantial conversation. And, well," he paused, a wry twist on his lips, "on the rare occasion that we did share more than just a glance or a casual greeting, it led to...other things." The implication hung in the air. "I guess I've been playing the coward," he finished, bitterness tingeing his confession.

Sunny remained silent for a moment, letting his words sink in. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft yet firm, "Dieter, acknowledging our mistakes is a crucial step towards self-improvement. It's evident that you feel remorse for your actions, and that's a good start. But it's also important not to dwell too much on the past. We can't change what's already happened. What we can do, though, is learn from our mistakes and strive to do better in the future."

Dieter heaved a deep sigh, his chest rising and falling dramatically as he sucked in the air. “I was pretty an asshole to her at the end of our relationship.” He confessed, looking towards Sunny, her face maintaining its professional composure, encouraging him to continue. “I think I made her life miserable more than anything.”

He looked away, his gaze finding solace in the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the bustling city. He seemed lost in thought as he recounted, “I took advantage that she'd always be there – because she always was, no matter how much I fucked up, how high I got or hungover...she'd find me, she'd always pick me up.”

He took a moment, swallowing hard before he continued, “I haven't told you about the night we broke up, have I?”

Silence hung in the room for a moment as Dieter seemed to grapple with the magnitude of his confession. He stared blankly at the opposite wall as if he could still see the scene play out.

Sunny watched him with empathetic eyes, giving him the space he needed. "You haven't," she confirmed softly, signalling him to go on.

Dieter’s face hardened, a visible lump forming in his throat as he forced the words out. "It was our anniversary, I'd forgotten about it completely, of course. Instead, I'd gone on a bender for three days and turned up home only to change my clothes. I hadn’t expected her to be home. I thought she was still in New York, but she'd flown home early."

The words hung heavy in the room, a painful reminder of his past transgressions. The regret in his voice was palpable. Sunny listened, her gaze soft but attentive, allowing Dieter to recount his memories without interruption.

"I walked in, high as a kite, still wearing the clothes I'd had on for God knows how many days." Dieter continued, his voice quieter now, "She was there, all dressed up, a...a surprised look on her face that quickly soured into disappointment."

He paused, his jaw clenched as he tried to hold back the emotions threatening to spill over. Sunny could see the physical struggle he was going through and could feel the weight of the guilt and regret he was carrying. Sunny remained silent, her eyes never leaving his face.

"She picked up on it immediately."

"Picked up on what?" Sunny probed gently, her eyes soft and nonjudgmental.

"That I was high. No matter how well I thought I had it under wraps, Bryony could always tell," Dieter admitted with a heavy sigh. His hand absentmindedly traced over the edge of the couch cushion, his thoughts wandering back to those difficult times.

"And how did that make you feel, knowing you couldn't hide your state from her?" Sunny queried, carefully treading the delicate waters of his past.

A bitter laugh escaped Dieter's lips. "Like the most important person in the world, that's how. To have someone care about me enough to see through my bullshit... to see the real me, despite all the mess. But on the flip side..." He swallowed hard, the corners of his mouth turning down as he grappled with the next part of the truth. "I hated the feeling of vulnerability. Of being so transparent."

Sunny made a note on her legal pad, her eyes flicking to Dieter briefly before she continued her scribbling. There was something there, in that dual sensation of being cherished and yet exposed, that they would need to unpack in a future session.

"And then what happened, Dieter?" she asked, leaning back in her chair, ready to listen.

Dieter's gaze drifted to the window, his eyes following the steady path of a plane soaring high above the city. The room was quiet, save for the distant hum of city life outside, but Dieter's mind was far from silent, echoing with the sharp sting of regret and faded memories.

“She flushed my stash," he said suddenly, the words breaking the silence like glass shattering on concrete. "The one I thought she didn’t know about. She took my phone, and deleted all my dealer contacts."

His voice was bitter, filled with self-loathing. "I raged at her, I lost control. She remained so calm, so composed… It was eerie. I hit a record low when I threw a whiskey bottle, not looking where it would land… It just missed her head."

Sunny’s eyes widened slightly, the only break in her professional demeanor "She told me to leave. And I… I just left."

The confession seemed to drain the energy from him. He slumped back into his chair, looking years older than he was.

"We ran into each other constantly after that. Work, parties, random encounters. It felt like the universe was playing a sick joke on us." His voice was almost a whisper now, heavy with regret.

Sunny broke the silence gently. "Did you ever apologize to her, Dieter?"

His eyes met hers, filled with an odd mix of guilt and fear. "No. I didn't. I was too scared of what she might say."

Sunny maintained her composure, her voice soft yet firm. "Acknowledging our mistakes is a vital part of healing, Dieter. And it's clear you feel remorse for your actions, which is a positive start. But harbouring these feelings of guilt and fear won't help you move forward. Perhaps apologizing, even if it's late, can provide closure for both of you."

"I'm not sure I deserve it, to be honest," Dieter admitted, stretching out his legs and wincing as his joints popped in protest. Age was an adversary he was beginning to acknowledge more and more. "She sacrificed so much for me, you know. I mean, it was her hard work that got me that Oscar."

Sunny raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued, "Is that so? I didn't know she acted as your double?"

A rich, hearty laugh rumbled through Dieter's chest, his response light with amusement. "No, not quite. She sourced the script, you see. She practically shoved it into the execs' hands. She transformed it from this rough, patchwork script into a polished, award-winning production. She got my name out there. She opened doors for me."

Sunny's brow furrowed slightly as she processed his words. "Didn't you once mention that Hollywood had been beckoning you for years before Bryony came along? That you'd been turning down offers left and right?"

Dieter blinked in surprise. He had indeed shared that tidbit in a previous session. He wondered, not for the first time if a superhuman memory was a prerequisite for therapists. "Yeah, I did," he confirmed, "I turned down quite a few offers."

The therapist leaned back, her gaze probing. "So, why was Bryony any different? It's clear you had more talent than you realized because they wanted you, whether or not you had Bryony's assistance."

Dieter's lips curved into a thoughtful frown. He stared at a spot on the wall, his mind filling with memories, including the one of the post it note Bryony had left him one morning while filming Hunger Strike, a note on his performance the day before, he still carried it in his wallet.

"Bryony...Bryony was persistent. She saw something in me I hadn't, and she wouldn't let me quit. She was always there, cheering me on. And I won't lie, she had this aura... this energy that was impossible to resist. She made me want to believe in myself."

His voice dropped to a whisper, his emotions baring themselves in his words. "Bryony made me feel...worthy. It wasn't about the Hollywood offers or the limelight. It was about... it was about feeling seen, feeling valued for who I truly was. And for the first time, I felt that with her."

Sunny was silent for a moment, absorbing his heartfelt confession. She finally spoke, her voice soft but determined, "Dieter, recognizing someone else's impact on your life and acknowledging their sacrifices is part of healing. But remember, your achievements are your own too. Bryony might have helped you, but you're the one who took the opportunities and made something of them. It's time to give yourself some credit too."

Dieter's eyes roamed the room as the silence stretched between them. He was lost in his thoughts, grappling with Sunny's words. Her insistence on his self-worth was something that rang foreign to him, but there was a seed of hope planted.

"Speaking of influences," Sunny broke the silence, her voice taking on a slightly sterner tone, "we've been skirting around the topic of your parents for a while. I think it's about time we addressed that."

Dieter's gaze snapped back to Sunny at the mention of his parents. His expression hardened, and a glimmer of resistance sparked in his eyes. It was a subject he had expertly danced around during their sessions. He didn't need to delve into the part of his past that still haunted him. "Why does it matter?" he asked, more gruff than he intended.

Sunny's gaze was steady and understanding. "Because our relationships with our parents shape us. They're a part of our story, for better or worse. Your reactions when we've mentioned them suggest it's a significant aspect of your life we've yet to explore."

She glanced at the clock hanging on the wall behind him. "I realize this is a lot to ask of you at the end of our session, Dieter. We'll pick it up from here next time. But I'd like you to think about this in the meantime."

Dieter was silent, his face a mask of restraint. Sunny's words hung in the air, heavy and pregnant with implication. His parents. The mere thought of discussing them filled him with unease. They were a part of his life he preferred to keep buried, and here Sunny was, wanting him to unearth it all.

The shrill beep of the timer brought him back to reality, and he glanced at the clock. Their session was over. Yet, as he rose from the couch, he felt a weight clinging to him. Sunny's words echoed in his head, nudging him to confront a part of his past he had conveniently shelved away.

He gave her a curt nod, acknowledging her words. She watched him leave, a thoughtful look in her eyes.

Dieter stepped outside, the bright sun a stark contrast to the shadow his past cast on him.

—-

“Bryn, babes!” Gina’s petite figure broke through the crowded restaurant, leaning down to sweep Bryony in a hug where she sat at their table. “I’ve missed you.” She continued as she took a seat opposite Bryony. “They really know how to pack people in here don’t they?”

Sabor Asiático was indeed buzzing, every table was occupied and wait staff milled back and forth nonstop. It was hard to believe this was all just for a Wednesday afternoon.

Bryony smiled widely as she lowered the menu she’d be reading over waiting for Gina’s arrival, “I’ve missed you too, how long has it been since we actually talked face to face?”

“Jesus,” Gina’s affluent English accent made Bryony feel a little homely in the sea of mostly North American accents. “Way too fucking long babes.”

Gina had mentored Bryony years ago when Bryony had first arrived in London, the industry then not as favourable to women and with few opportunities, would be pitted against one another. So Gina had taken her under her wing - their relationship quickly turned into a firm friendship as the years passed.

Food served, the women launched into an easy conversation catching one another up on goings on since they last talked. Then, without fail, the topic of Dieter came up - as it always did, because inevitably there was always something involving Bryony and Dieter to discuss.

“That prick Bravo, still skirting around?”

Bryony took a moment, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “Not quite, I ran into him a couple of weeks ago at an industry thing.”

“Did you get a chance to fling a canapé at his head?”

Bryony chuckled, the sound almost drowned by the bustling chatter around them. “Not quite.”

Gina gave her a probing look, her gaze scrutinizing. “You didn’t go and get into bed with him, did you?”

“God no,” Bryony responded quickly, since Gina knew her past with Dieter, it wasn't exactly an unreasonable question, since it had happened once… or twice. “We had a brief catch-up if you could call it that? That's all. He seemed to be doing, well, good.”

Gina raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a wry smile, “Good, as in ‘I want to shag him silly?’ Or the rumours are possibly true that he finally completed rehab good?”

Bryony raised an eyebrow, it seemed the news of Dieter’s supposed upturn had reached New York, “Rehab,” she emphasised, “I don’t know much, but yeah, from what I hear he actually went. He looked healthy, even looked like he’d seen the inside of a gym.”

With a heavy sigh, Gina pointed her chopsticks at Bryony. “Bryony.”

Bryony pushed at the food on her plate, “Hmm?”

“You're not fooling anyone, least of all me.”

“What are you talking about?” Bryony asked, her brows furrowed at her friend’s suggestion.

Gina’s eyes met hers, stern yet empathetic. “Don’t feign innocence, Bry. You know exactly what I'm getting at.”

Bryony looked down at her plate, the patterns of the porcelain suddenly becoming incredibly interesting. “He just looked… he looked like Dieter again. The Dieter I knew before everything spiralled.”

Gina studied Bryony’s face, the flicker of sadness that flashed across her eyes. Leaning back in her chair, she gently dabbed her mouth with a napkin, her eyes never leaving Bryony.

“You know, Bryony, I feel I should remind you of something," she began, her tone taking on a serious note, one Bryony recognised from the old days in London when Gina was still her mentor. "Dieter Bravo might have had a successful stint in rehab, but at the end of the day, he's still Dieter Bravo.”

Bryony bristled at the comment, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that people don't change overnight, Bry,” Gina replied, holding Bryony's gaze. "A fancy suit and a couple of yoga classes don’t erase past transgressions.”

Bryony felt a lump forming in her throat. It was a hard truth, one she wasn't ready to admit to herself yet. But Gina wasn’t one to mince words, especially not when it concerned the people she cared for.

“He was a mess, Bryony. He was lost, spiralling down a self-destructive path. He hurt you, badly.” Gina’s words hung heavily between them, an uncomfortable reminder of the past.

Bryony looked down, her fingers picking at the napkin on her lap. She knew Gina was right, but it didn't make the pill any easier to swallow.

“I don’t need a reminder, Gina. I was there, remember? I lived it,” she finally said.

“Yes, you did,” Gina acknowledged, her voice softening. “And you're stronger for it. You've moved on, and built a life for yourself that isn’t centred around Dieter Bravo. You have a thriving career, a life here in LA that you’ve built from scratch. Don’t let one encounter, one glammed-up industry event, make you forget all that.”

Bryony's eyes welled up, not with sadness, but with gratitude. Gina had always been her sounding board, her moral compass when Bryony lost sight of her bearings.

“You’re right,” Bryony admitted, wiping her eyes discreetly. “It’s just...seeing him like that, it just...it caught me off guard.”

Gina reached across the table, giving Bryony’s hand a comforting squeeze. “It's understandable, Bry. He was a big part of your life. But you have to remember, you fell in love with a version of Dieter that no longer exists.”

Bryony frowned at the idea of Dieter, her Dieter, gone.

Gina merely shook her head, her sharp blonde bob swaying with the motion. "You might want to dismiss what I'm saying, but you know as well as I do that I'm right."

Bryony forced a smile, her eyes betraying a hint of amusement. "And here I was thinking we were having a catch-up lunch, not a therapy session."

"Always the dramatic one," Gina teased, her smile softening. "But seriously Bryony, I've known you for a long time. I've seen you at your highest and at your lowest. And I know what that man did to you."

Bryony's smile waned at this, her fingers unconsciously tracing the rim of her wine glass. Gina watched her silently, her heart aching for her friend.

“I know that,” she murmured, the statement more to herself than to Gina.

Gina let out a sigh of relief, her stern expression softening. “Good. That’s all I wanted to hear. Remember, Bryony, you're stronger than you think. And you deserve someone who appreciates you for the amazing woman you are, not someone who realizes your worth too late.”

Bryony smiled, grateful for her friend's understanding. "I've missed you, Gina.”

"I've missed you too, Bry," Gina replied warmly, her thumb tracing circles on Bryony's hand. "And I'm always here for you, you know that."

Bryony nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I know. Thank you, Gina."

Gina blotted her eyes with the napkin she’d had on her lap, “Jesus, one of these days we’re going to get together without the tears.”

“There’s hope yet.” Bryony laughed.

“So, moving on.” Gina announced as she took a large sip of her drink, “Any projects lined up for awards season?”

Bryony shook her head, “No, I think I reached my peak with Hunger Strike.”

“Nonsense, the right project is out there.”

“Maybe.”

Gina paused, taking a deep breath as if experiencing the cinematic feat for the first time again, “As much as that man infuriates me, god was he ever a great actor. That movie was mindblowing, still is.”

“I know.”

“Such a wasted talent,” Bryony nodded, and sensing Bryony’s discomfort, Gina decided it was time to change the subject. “Enough about Bravo,” she said, waving her hand dismissively, “Let’s talk about why we’re here, shall we?”

Bryony perked up, relieved for the change in topic. This was something she had been looking forward to discussing with Gina. “Right,” she said, taking a sip of her drink before starting, “So, I have this idea...”

Gina leaned back in her chair, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. She knew Bryony was capable of great things. She had seen the woman grow from an unsure junior to a confident and highly regarded name in the industry. It was this growth that had sparked the idea of partnering with her former protégé.

Bryony continued, her words flowing with an excitement she hadn't felt in a while. She spoke of her vision of a production company that would create compelling stories that mattered. Stories that brought light to societal issues, that challenged norms, and that inspired change.

As she talked, Bryony’s eyes lit up, her hands moved animatedly, and her voice rose with fervor. This was her passion, her dream. And she wanted Gina to be a part of it.

Gina listened attentively, her eyes never leaving Bryony. It was a bold idea, but if anyone could make it happen, it was Bryony Morgan. She'd seen the woman in action, her knack for spotting potential in a script, her ability to bring together the right team for a project, and her undeniable talent for turning ideas into realities.

“Wow, Bry,” Gina finally said once Bryony finished, her eyes full of admiration. “This sounds like an incredible venture. But why me? You could have anyone in this industry.”

Bryony looked at her, a smile tugging at her lips. “Because, Gina, you were the one who believed in me when I was starting out. You guided me, taught me everything I know. You’re the best in the business and I trust you. And frankly, I can’t think of anyone else I’d want to do this with.”

Gina couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. She was touched by Bryony’s words. She had always seen potential in the younger woman, but hearing her speak with such passion and conviction, she felt a swell of pride.

“Well then, how can I refuse such an offer?” Gina said, raising her glass. “To new beginnings and exciting ventures.”

Bryony raised her glass as well, her heart swelling with hope and anticipation. “To new beginnings,” she echoed. They clinked their glasses together, a sound that signalled the start of their exciting new journey.

—

Bryony flicked through the TV channels, it was more of an activity in procrastination that afternoon than entertainment.

Suddenly, her phone beeped, its muffled sound coming from somewhere beneath the sofa cushions. After a quick search, she pulled the device up to her face. The screen lit up, revealing a text message from her older brother, Rhys. She quickly calculated the time difference in her head, reminding herself that he was some hours ahead. Given it was past ten in the evening his time, she opened the message with a mixture of curiosity and mild concern.

SHE SAID YESSS!!! 💍🍾

Bryony laughed out loud, Rhys Morgan, the eternal bachelor and self-proclaimed silver fox, after admitting defeat in his battle against the invasion of grey into his dark hair, was engaged. Not that it wasn’t obvious to anyone who saw how the muscular ex-professional rugby player turned corporate lawyer dissolved into a puddle at the mere mention of his girlfriend – now fiancée – Juliana's name.

Quickly, Bryony fired off a reply filled with congratulatory words and an abundance of emojis, followed by a promise to arrange a Facetime call at a more reasonable hour for the full scoop on the proposal.

As she waited for Rhys's reply, her screen displayed the familiar bubbles that signalled an incoming message. A moment later, a photo appeared. It was Rhys and Juliana, locked in a joyous embrace, clearly taken just moments after the proposal. Bryony's heart twinged with a pang of homesickness as she recognised the background – the Pierhead building in Cardiff Bay, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun and nearby street lamps.

Setting her phone down, Bryony couldn't help but smile at the thought of her older brother finding love in his fifties. If Rhys could do it, there was certainly hope for her yet.

Just as she was about to return to her mindless channel surfing, her phone beeped again. This time, it was a notification from her Apple News summary. She was about to dismiss it when a particular headline caught her attention: Troubled Hollywood Scoundrel Dieter Bravo Inks Eight Episode Drama

Her heart stuttered, all thoughts of Rhys's engagement momentarily forgotten. The words hung in her mind, a brief sense of unease but also igniting a spark of curiosity. As much as she tried to focus back on the TV, the headline kept repeating in her head. She picked up her phone again, her finger hovering over the news alert. With a resigned sigh, she tapped on the notification, there was no way of getting away from Dieter Bravo.

Bonus: Dieter's New Project

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x oc #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #the bubble

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kisaraslover · 3 months

Note

Do you think Kisara has any hobbies besides sitting in Kaiba's lap?

Well i like to look at established Kisara to draw out more traits so first things first is the dragonic nature. I think Kisara deeply enjoys nature and solitude and sitting in the sun. I dont mean this like camping either, from ancient Egypt we see Kisara already has unusual resistance to exposure to elements, with something godly in her veins so i think she might be really zen watching birds to flowers to the sky and basking her place in all this. We all have a passing moments of "everything IS everywhere all at once, all is one, one is all" but i think it would be a constant presence in her. she swings between "oblivious to life weird ass woman" and "enlightened higher being" VIOLENTLY. Meditating would be grounding to her, in the opposite way to all other people meditating.

and then music. dragons are a kind of bird <3 dont look that up. i think Kisara has an uncanny aptness when it comes to music. one of those people who can pick up any instrument and play a simple tune on it. i dont think she has a remarkable singing voice at all though. embodies "people sing because they want to not because they are good at it" hums gently music she likes. if she tries to seriously sing along to a difficult song her voice cracks loserly. she laughs and continues yknow? its still Seto's favorite and if he catches sound of her humming before entering a room, he waits outside to listen for a couple secs. its his secret no one needs to know shhhh. ALSO the fic Paper Roses has piano player Kisara and the romance is served so well by Kisara giggling while placing Seto's hands on the right keys so.

making things with your hand is a very grounding practice for anyone struggling to stay in the moment and stay present and i just cant move past these very artistic but expensive looking hobbies from youtube shorts -tries not to cry about capitalism locking the public out of arts- so after getting that Kaiba Money she'd just go "i always wanted to try glass art btw" and seto goes "?????. thats. alright ok. go for it"

im really conflicted on many "hobbies" and what makes them hobbies but if we work with the basis "how you spend your day is how you spend your life" i think she'd really be the least online person. the activies above WOULD be very frequent but i think Kisara spends her most days, ironically enough, socializing. she'd be talking to employees (important business) or talking to employees (just chatting lol) out with friends of all kinds and trades, Mokuba and his friends or Seto and HIS friends, or most surreal one, Seto and HER friends. shes the kind of awkward person who listens more than they speak, with her own charms and difficulties, thankfully when you try enough you can find people you can get along with. very endearing on the line of strange, bringing out peoples protective sides which is why she would gather Mom Friends and Bossy Bitches and Protective Eldest Siblings faster than you can say her name. while i characterize both Kisara and Seto as kind of introverted, i think Kisara would be charged with a thirst to know and understand humanity (both result of godly roots and alienated youth) so if her luck turned around after meeting Seto i think she'd build quite the social circle, not even realizing how many people shes getting close to at first. Seto's socializing would be more acknowledging part of healing means creating support systems, opening up to people -to whatever extent he can- surrounding himself with people who he cares about and who care about him in return, and definitely less easier than her collecting friends.

SO YEAH! sorry for the LONG ASS reply, i think Kisara is adopted by many Extroverts and on the time off she goes into her workshop does fuck all (DEF made a wooden dildo to see Seto's reaction. mokuba laughed his ass off thinking it would perplex him. he took one look at it and said its a pathetic cock and he could nude model for her. no ones laughing now.....)

#is this ask so lowkey shady? lmao i was tripping over myself answering like NOOOO MY QUEEN HAS MANY HOBBIES SHES FUN SHES INTERESTING #LISTEN TO ME DOCTOR HAN SHES INTERESTING #lmaooo #yugioh #ygo #kisara #not art #ask tag #her lowkey gift with instruments is quietly ignored by all of them. kisara plays an instrument shes seeing for the first time #all of them go 😑 i do not see anything strange. great job kisara youre so talented and its soo normal you can play everything.#so normal. you just got a strong ear. and strong understanding of what sounds come out with what movements on instruments #its normal its normal. no hocus pocus magic tricks here no sirrrrr

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kingofdinosaurs · 4 months

Text

(p4 is The Bonds Game btw which is why it matters so much that through their connection zen gets his yellow accent colour)

(also p3 is blue and that's really really apt for zen considering his uh. role.)

anyway i really like this format I'm doing it more to communicate my thoughts on a subject as opposed to the good ol' Wall Of Text

#persona #zen persona q #rei persona q #I'm not tagging the rest of the fuckers they're mostly here to be a point of comparison #THAT BEING SAID sho's shoes are my favourite instance of spinoff warrior yellow accent they're so cute and slightly incongruous #infographic #charge original

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sabraeal · 1 year

Text

Come to Heel, Chapter 1

[Read on AO3]

Written for @obiyuki-beebs! When I asked just what she would want for her birthday choice this year, Hayley deliberated mightily between an Izananyuki ABO fic or another chapter of The Lone Wolf Survives, and ultimately decided...that she was very afraid of the potentially knotting in TLWS, and could I write the Izanayuki fic from my rare pair poll last year 🤣

On the training grounds his captains stand tall amongst their men, barking out orders with all the confidence of an alpha in their den. But when they stand in his-- a study is what they call it now, in these more civil times-- those proud shoulders droop, heads bowed and necks bared; a show of deference, the way base instinct demands. It is an enlightened age they live in, yes, one of carriages and etiquette and mobility between both station and inclination, and yet--

Yet, the animal is always there, lurking beneath the surface. The same play of dominance and submission acted out over a hundred thousand years, simply lacquered with the veneer of politeness. These men might play alpha amongst their petty kingdoms, might even be inclined to be so, but in here...

Well, all men are betas beneath their king.

At least, that’s how it is supposed to be. Things never quite go as planned with Shidnote. “Are you serious?”

His father might have taught him that a king says more by his silence than by his speeches, but it was his mother who educated him on the precise pitch of brow required for regal skepticism. “Do you think me a man given toward making such a jest, Sir Zakura?”

“No.” Most of his captains stand in his presence, no matter if Izana offers them a seat or not, but Shidnote hardly needs an invitation, sprawling in the chair as if it were his own. “But you would if you thought it’d get your brother’s dander up. Which this will, by the way.”

Long limbs creep across the carpet, boots settling just shy of his desk, and-- ah, the man might be beta by inclination, but he spent far too long as the leader of his merry band to fit easily back in that box. Even buried beneath the balsam and clove, the musk lingers in his scent, faded but never forgotten.

It might threaten another alpha, a weaker one, more prone to paranoia and less apt at inspiring submission. But under a king’s hand--

Well, there are few banes that cannot become boons in time. Even if this one takes particular joy in making himself a nuisance. “That’s hardly my concern.”

“Of course.” His aide’s scent is made all the sweeter by submission, but there’s not a drop of sincerity in it. “That Prince Zen will froth at the mouth at this whole business is simply a bonus.”

A defense would be tantamount to a confession; one Izana does not deign to give. “I prefer to think of it as character building.”

“Frothing at the mouth?” Shidnote shifts in his seat, too big for the chair to comfortably contain. One of the two in his employ that have such an issue, though Lowen bears it with infinitely more grace. “Or--?”

“My brother lacks the decisiveness required of his position,” he drawls, ignoring the grin that greets him across the carpet. “And the ambition. This will give him and opportunity to develop both.”

Shidnote’s brows do not so much lift as saunter up his forehead. “And here I thought that’s what you liked about him.”

“A second prince must know his place.” Which history has shown that his brother did not, at least when it came to certain young women working under their auspice. “But the left hand must be able to act independently of the right. I must know I can trust him even when he is not under my watchful eye.”

Zakura snorts, indelicate as ever. “I don’t know who’s going to make an alpha out of him first, you or that little beta he keeps chasing around.”

To frown would only inspire his aide to new heights of aggravation. Izana offers him his most beatific smile instead; a saint given form and seated behind a desk.

There is a certain satisfaction in earning Shidnote’s scowl, even if it hardly survives longer than a breath. “You know, this is going have her shitting in all your dinners too.”

His smile stretches to a grin, quite unbidden. “Will it?” he wonders airily. “I hadn’t even considered.”

A beta’s shift in scents is subtle, muted, but Zakura’s annoyance rolls over him likes a wave, alpha in strength if not in smell. “Just when do you plan to tell her? I’d like to be in a different country, if I can manage it.”

“Oh...” He makes a show of glancing at the clock at the wall. “An hour ago.”

“An...?” Zakura’s broad hand scrubs over his scar, a groan scraping out from beneath it. “She’s going to strangle you with the curtains before you even get through the door.”

“I must admit,” he drawls, rising from his seat. “I might like to see her try.”

When the door to the parlor swings open, his brother’s beta is right where she ought to be: perched upon the plush cushions of the sofa, ankles crossed and fingers knotted so tightly she might well be a gift. A what a present she makes with that scowl, the sweet fruit of her scent already gone sour, frustration fermenting it to bitterness long ago. He breathes it in the way his father used to drink wine, savoring the first coating across his tongue before downing the rest of the glass.

“Mistress Shirayuki.” Her brows draw tighter over that button nose, spiking her scent with only the finest annoyance. “I see you’ve arrived.”

“I did,” she says with the sort of restraint his brother has never learned to show. “Punctually.”

Butter would hardly melt in his mouth as he circles her, enjoying the way she stiffens. She does not turn her head the way an omega would, nervous and eager to please, but her gaze does track him, sharp as any hunter. “How kind of you not to keep me waiting.”

Her anger blooms between them, as sweet as citrus; it is a struggle not to savor the fruits of his labor. A beta may not be alert to the subtleties of her own scent, but an ill-timed sniff on his part would give up the game far too soon.

“You must be hungry.” There would have been no reason to arrange this meeting over the dinner hour other than to assure such a state. “Let me call for a light--”

“Was there something you needed from me?”

Izana’s steps stuttering beneath her steady stare. “Excuse me?”

“I assume you called me here for a reason.” The infuriating thing puts her back to him, both feet flat on the floor as she rises with all the authority she does not possess. “If not, then I won’t waste your time--”

His fingers close over the delicate cap of her shoulder, gently-- firmly guiding her back down to the cushion. His brother’s little beta has never shown the deference a girl in her position should, either for his title or his inclination, but truly, this was beyond the pale. “I didn’t ask that you look after my schedule, Mistress Shirayuki. I asked if you were hungry.”

She huffs, cheeks rounded like prey. “I appreciate your concern, but if there really is nothing, then--”

“I could go for something,” her shadow pipes from his corner, doing a poor job of playing invisible, as always. “If you’re offering, alpha.”

His musk might be drowned beneath that citrus and sugar, more dessert than omega, but it’s still a feat how that man has them all fooled. Even if the pitch and smoke didn’t wear through at the same as the evening hours, his irreverence gives him away, those cold, coin-quick eyes meeting his with all the challenge that lanky frame can summon.

But the man can keep his secrets for now. If only for the way it makes his mistress cave, the stern line of her shoulders softening even as her slender little fingers claw into the cloth at her knees.

“All right,” she relents, her sigh as good as her submission. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have a little something.

It would be nothing for him to call for a full dinner with all its courses, the dishes catered to the particular tastes of the two meant to partake, but Izana knows better than to flaunt excess before his brother’s little beta. It might be a feast that’s laid before them, but a humble one, made of sliced means and creamy cheeses and bread still warm from the ovens. And a half dozen other things besides, simple dishes that hardly required cutlery, the sort of delicacies one might be at ease holding between their fingers even before a king.

Not that such an idea would ever slow Shirayuki down. Oh no, by the time it’s all laid before them, she’s already reaching out, fingers brushing at the serving ware before he can get a word in edgewise. As if they were in some public commissary, rather than his own private parlor.

His hand snaps out, seizing that small wrist before she can wreak anymore havoc. “I haven’t taken from that yet.”

A protest clearly perches upon those pouted lips, but she subsides, albeit poorly. Not waiting for him to release her as she should, she slips her wrist from his grip, letting her offending hand flop down onto her lap. She keeps it there, fingers knitted tight while he reaches to fill his own plate.

It’s amusing to watch her play at civility, to pretend she does not devour the meal with her hungry eyes first. Courtesy’s shiny veneer wears as he picks at the platters on the table, careful to avoid the one she’d reached for first. For all her professions of humble origin, the girl has expensive tastes; the wafer-thin slices of beef would be a luxury in any household, especially in the craggy northern hinterlands.

“You’re going to ask me to do something, aren’t you?” she asks, ever impatient. “Something I won’t like. You might as well--”

“Pleasure first,” he informs her, heaping her plate high with the table’s bounty. “Business later.”

That sweet mouth of hers flattens, conveying just how much pleasure she takes in this little parley. But she picks up her knife all the same, dipping it in the dollop of cheese upon her plate and spreading it thick across a slice of bread. He waits until it just brushes her mouth to say, “Alphas eat first, Mistress Shirayuki.”

Her eyes widen, outrage shining clear. “But you...?”

Izana smiles, good humor and sharp teeth in equal measure. His brother’s beta might play the innocent, but she does not miss either meaning, setting her silverware back down on the table, knuckle blanched to bone where she grips them. Where his ears not as sharp as his nose, he would not have heard the soft growl hidden in her throat as he takes his first bite, a challenge made soft.

It is a struggle to keep his mouth from widening. A girl like that would make a good alpha if his brother had it in him to make her one. Not that Izana would allow it, even if he could. Alpha or no, a pharmacist would hardly make an acceptable princess. A diplomat, perhaps, but for what he will need her for...

Well, maybe one day that shadow of hers will oblige and do the job for him. The way the scent of smoke suffuses the room when his mistress does as little as brush his hand, it won’t be much of a hardship. Or a wait.

Izana smothers a smirk. Might as well help things along on that front. “Ah, but if you have forgotten your manners, you must be starving. Here.”

Pinched between the seam of his fingers, a ribbon of beef unfurls, glistening in the lamplight. The little beta does the same at the sight of it, her mouth half opened when he urges, “Eat up.”

Ah, now that brings her up short. “Excuse me?”

“Go on.” It’s only natural, his posture implies, a beta eating from the hand of her alpha. “You have my permission.”

Her spine stiffens, like prey backed into a corner. But there is no sting of fear from her, only the profound odor of offense, a little anger giving spice to her mild scent.

“That’s quite all right,” she manages, hardly any of the words grit between her teeth. “I’ll wait for you to finish.”

His own tease at that slender ribbon, nibbling at the thin filaments until slivers shear off against his tongue. It’s amusing how she watches him, jaw working in sympathy as his chews, the scent anger and hunger linger in the air in equal measure. How simple it would be if only she would give way, if she would only give him the obedience he was due as her alpha.

But, he must admit, it is more fun this way.

“There is no need.” His smile does not bare teeth, but her hackles raise as if it does. “You’ve been so patient, Mistress Shirayuki. Let us eat together.”

It is a compliment, a magnanimous show of generosity that his father would have died before giving, even to his own son, let alone a beta whose only claim is a disgraced bloodline and a questionable friendship with Tanbarun’s most useless prince.

And yet still she wrinkles her nose, fork chasing potatoes about her plate with about as much attention as his brother affords his paperwork.

“Obi.” Her shadow straightens, attuned to the barest change in her tone. Obedient and attentive, the way an omega should be for his alpha. A pity neither of them are. “You must be hungry too.” Her slender little fingers pluck up that roast, ribbons overflowing her grip. “Have some.”

It’s with caution that her shadow edges out from his corner, detaching from the wall with all the deference of a hound at the table. He even darts a glance at Izana, the perfect approximation of a humble omega, if only it weren’t so clear there was no question there, no plea for permission-- oh no, the man’s coiled for confrontation as he approaches, ready to reach for those knives if there’s even a flinch from his position.

Izana simply sits stock still, pretending as if he’s allowing it to happen, that her defiance depends on his indulgence. But when the alpha dips his head, taking the offerings straight from her fingers, dining straight from this beta’s plate as if she were--

Well, it seems as if there’s more work to be done. He had left it to his brother to tame his little pharmacist, but it’s clear that a beta cannot be depended upon to do an alpha’s job.

“I had a chat with your acquaintance,” he says, pitched just too loud for the space between them, startling her attention away from the alpha at her shoulder. “It was quite...enlightening.”

“Kageya?” Her fork drops to the table, forgotten, all her attention hanging on his words. A heady sensation, for its rarity. “You mean she was helpful?”

Hope burns bright in the forest of her eyes, a spark that so easily sets others ablaze, but he knows better than to feed it. Sweet as this little beta is, her wishes always come at too high a cost. “That remains to be seen.”

Her mouth rumples like parchment, his word a draft she would like to relegate to the bin. “What do you mean by that?”

“Lady Kageya informed us of a pharmacy run out of Hyatess. It is apparently where Toka Bergatt sourced many of her supplies. At least, the ones she couldn’t readily come by.” He glances at her, wary, as he adds, “If this information is true, then--”

Ah, when her eyes flare like that, it’s terrible how tempted he is to catch fire himself. “Then you’ll let her go?”

“No.” Her brow furrows tight over the freckled expanse of her nose, mouth opening with all the intent to argue, but Izana holds up a hand, quelling her quarrels. “With her willingness to help us, Elys has bought her life, but her freedom...there is much that woman knows, and in the wrong hands she could once again threaten the safety of Clarines’ people. But if this pharmacy has indeed thrown in with a traitor, and their connection leads us to him, perhaps I could consider...”

He allows her heart to fill in what his words cannot promise.

“Then can’t you just investigate that?” Ah, it is easy to see why his brother is so enamored with this little beta; she is just as impatient as he. “You’d know she was telling the truth if you only just--”

“Should we go up the Hyatess and simply ask if they have been committing treason?” She flushes beneath the weight of his raised brows. “An investigation will take time. And trusted agents. Ones that can blend in among the pharmacist there. Ones that are adept at earning trust quickly.”

“Ah...” If there is one thing the pharmacist is that his brother is not, it’s clever. “So this is what you wanted me for. But wouldn’t they not want to...er...with a...um...?”

“Trust a pharmacist so closely associated with the crown?” His mouth quirks at a corner. “Perhaps if I sent Garak, or even her assistant, that might be the case. But it seems, Mistress Shirayuki, that you have done quite well at establishing yourself as a person of note in the North.”

She blinks. “Me?”

“You.” It’s impossible to keep his grin from curling at the corners. “You might carry the distinction of royal pharmacist, but it seems that your reputation as a scholar of Lilias precedes you. And in the North, your closest known tie to the throne is...”

He glances pointedly to the alpha at her shoulder. She has the grace to flush. “That’s quite flattering, but still, I’m sure there’s someone who would be better...”

“There is no one better than you, Shirayuki.” He doesn’t mean to say the words, not with the earnesty he does, but the roundness of her eyes demands that he own it now that he has. “Your background is the best fit for this mission. Besides, it’s not as if you will be alone.”

Her brows raise. “I won’t? Who else could you send? Suzu? Ryu?”

Izana dismisses the names with a wave of his hand. “Hardly. They are both on projects Clarines considers high priority. No--” his mouth twitches, a warning he does not mean to give-- “I thought you might prefer an assistant instead of a partner.”

It is worth the wait for the words to catch up with her, for when they do-- “No.”

“No? Come now, Mistress Shirayuki.” Izana is not one to cajole, but it is worth it to see her scowl; if they were beasts in truth, her ears would lay flat along her head. “Wouldn’t you enjoy having me at your beck and call again?”

“Beck...?” She blinks at him owlishly. “You hardly listen to a thing I said!”

“I had other concerns at the time.” Trying to secure an alliance with Arleon’s younger sister, for one. “But this time, I promise...”

His lips unfurl into a lazy grin. “...You will have my full attention.”

#izanayuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #ABO au #Come to Heel #ans #it was a pain figuring where to cut this first chapter #but I think this ended up being as good a place as any #far enough into the conversation that it's clear Pharmacist Lowen is about to make an appearance #but not far enough for shirayuki to have put up a whole ass fuss #because lemme tell you. she IS

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