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elysiansparadise · 7 months ago

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Ruler of the 10th house in the houses

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Here we find natives with a strong presence that is difficult to ignore, they easily achieve the respect and admiration of others. They can give the impression of being powerful, independent and very ambitious. They are very demanding people with themselves and can give off the vibe of being that way with other people. They have charisma and can become very popular, recognized and famous. Responsible, a great work ethic and people who never settle for the minimum. They aspire for great things and are not intimidated by anyone. There is something about their aura that makes them seem like authority figures or truly experts in the fields in which they operate. They can connect more easily with bosses or people with power, and throughout their lives they can meet or surround themselves with many of them, whether on a large or small scale. It bothers them that their efforts are not recognized. These people take their reputation seriously, seek to be respected and will never tolerate rudeness or misconduct towards them. They will not hesitate to defend themselves if they see that their reputation or everything they have worked hard to achieve is being compromised by someone. While they have no problem respecting authority, they will not hesitate to question it in case something seems off.

They are very frank and direct people, especially where their work and ambitions are concerned. These natives have an impressive drive and will always make sure to put all their time, heart and energy into something that excites them or feels worthwhile. Regardless of the relationship with the father, there may be very pronounced differences between them, either in personality or priorities. Despite this, it is likely that they have a similar temperament. They work very well on their own and can achieve greater recognition if they act independently, however when it comes to working as a team, they will always be responsible and productive. They are people with a great capacity to captivate the public and attract their attention, inspiring and motivating them. They constantly feel that they have to make themselves proud, so they can sometimes have strong self-criticism. They usually have jobs that allow them to make important decisions, where they are in charge or something that presents them with a constant challenge. In their work they can be in high demand, respected and needed.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟐𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

These natives usually give the impression of being calm people, who are easy to interact with and who have a subtle and elegant charm about them. Your aesthetic and appearance can stand out a lot among people. These natives feel better about themselves when they achieve achievements, when they are able to carry out their plans successfully and when people recognize their efforts. They greatly value their status and reputation, and if the ruler is distressed, other people's opinions are likely to have a great weight on them. These people can enjoy a stable and positive reputation in which they constantly gain people in their favor. They are persevering people who do not give up easily when things are slow or tense.Throughout their lives they can form stable and helpful connections with authority figures, who can provide them with stability in one or more ways. They are polite and kind to people, although they maintain a certain degree of reserve about sensitive or private topics in their lives. People often see these natives as people that have a lot of potential, skills or gifts that can help them achieve success on a large scale.

They give the impression of being people who are in control of their lives, people see them as reliable, trustworthy, and they can come to believe that the natives have their lives in order or resolved. This overlay promises that those who have this will be able to have a job that provides them with economic and emotional stability. These people never compromise their personal values or principles for a job, because ethics and being consistent with what they consider correct is more important, which is precisely why they are usually seen as admirable and trustworthy people. Sometimes they fall into the belief that they have to do or achieve things to be worthy. There is a strong desire to build for themselves a life in which they do not lack anything or experience lacks or unsteadiness similar to those of the past. Some of the branches in which they could work are those related to administration, business, finance or any field that manages material resources. It should be added that they can also work wonderfully in any branch of art, as they are people with great ability for detail, design and harmony. They can achieve recognition and/or popularity for the gifts they have related to the planet that rules the 10th house.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

One of the things that stands out a lot about these natives is their intelligence, and they can be seen as people with a lot of knowledge, skill and mental acuity. People see them as people with a certain charisma and a lot of duality, since they are people very capable of adapting to their environments and the people they surround themselves with, making different impressions on people. With a restless mind, these people are constantly focused on their own goals, ambitions and creating plans to get where they want. A perfect mix of spontaneity, strategy and rationality. There are people who prefer to leave important decisions to their mind rather than to their heart, going so far as to overthink things a lot. They have a natural charm for getting along with other people and throughout their lives they can create important connections that can help with their professional life. This overlay usually portends that the natives may have many jobs throughout their lives and even work in many different fields. They are influential communicators and their words usually carry a lot of weight with the people around them, often being the voice of reason or the one whom many turn to for advice.

These people constantly aspire to acquire more and more knowledge in everything that catches their attention, they may have the feeling that they never finish learning. This is precisely why they tend to look for jobs that allow them to continue learning or that at least are intellectually stimulating. They can stand out for having an amazing, very capable mind and may even be admired for their knowledge or skills in various subjects. That interest they have in different fields makes them somewhat indecisive when deciding which area to work in. Despite being people with whom it is easy to establish communication, there is something in the way they communicate that evokes authority and makes those who listen to them remain silent or take them seriously. They can work in areas that allow them to create or improve connections, in which they use their communication skills, such as teaching, writing or something that involves getting a message out there. And we can even add those works in which they are allowed to exploit their creativity and duality, such as art or cinema.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟒𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

When encountering this overlay, we can see natives who give the impression of being people who do not share much of themselves, there is reserve and caution in them, however, there is also a certain warmth in them, something that makes them give a feeling of security to those around them, the vibe that they are reliable, attentive and polite. These people know perfectly well which sides of themselves they want to be seen and which sides they don't, and they usually succeed with it. They are people who place high standards or highly prioritize what they call family, there is a strong devotion and dedication to everyone to whom they assign that title, they seek to give them security, love and support. They can be very protective of the people they love. They may feel that one of their parents had to fill in for the other and play both or that one of the parents was absent for much of their life, either physically or emotionally. Natives with this overlay are people with great emotional and affective responsibility, they know how to recognize their mistakes and introspect if necessary. They are responsible and very focused on their emotional ties and do their best to always be there for those they love, providing support and comfort.

These people opt to choose jobs that give them true emotional satisfaction, rather than just doing something for money, they prioritize their peace and emotional well-being and will not risk it for some money. This aspect favors a positive, warm and pleasant relationship with authority figures, people with whom there is a long age difference and even with bosses. Their reputation is important to them and they will not do anything that risks or compromises it. At work they can become highly appreciated and admired by others, it is very possible that they find that feeling of home in the work environment, with co-workers and bosses. They tend to balance their work and family, sometimes pushing themselves too hard to give the same dedication to their role as workers as their role as parent/son/sister. They don't like feeling like they don't do enough to stand out or do a good job in class, nor do they like feeling like they don't do enough to make their special people feel their love. They may have jobs related to real estate, dealing with the emotions or needs of other people, or in general jobs in which they have to take care of something or someone.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟓𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

There is something captivating in the way these people show themselves, they have a charisma and charm that is easily noticeable by people. They tend to attract attention and recognition quickly, likewise, these natives can be greatly adored by people. They have a strong stage presence and can stand out a lot in their hobbies, managing to gain fame, popularity or recognition through their talents. People perceive them as empowered, imposing, confident and as a person who recognizes their value. They are considered very attractive people and have the possibility of attracting the person they want. They have the ability to attract the attention of people with power, influence or high status. They are people who have high standards in romance, they will never settle for little and they need to be able to feel proud and admire their partner. It should be added that they may prefer people who have more experience than them.

One or both of their parents may have placed many expectations and demands on them, and as they grew up, they maintained that attitude, becoming perfectionists or even overly critical, especially when doing activities that they are genuinely passionate about. These natives are endowed with a lot of ambition, a strong desire to show their worth, to have everything they ever wanted and to be able to enjoy their life without worrying too much. They have a strong self-love and throughout their lives they will try to build it and work on themselves, they learned to have themselves as a priority and not let anyone question their value or feel that it could affect them. These natives compete with themselves, but never back down from a challenge. These people look for jobs in which they are allowed to express themselves freely, and will opt to choose jobs that they are genuinely passionate about and bring them joy. They are not afraid of being in the spotlight so they can also be successful in positions of power or important positions. They can turn their hobbies into profitable work, they can easily stand out regardless of the branch they dedicate themselves to. The career they choose is likely to make them more in touch with their inner child. They shine easily and are capable of changing the mood of the room they arrive in for the better.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟔𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

These people can occupy a very good position at work and will easily earn the recognition, appreciation and support of their co-workers, even their bosses. They are usually seen as very capable people, their intelligence is something they stand out for, as well as their skills. They are people with an aura of someone you don't mess with, they are people who won't hesitate to call you out if they need it, there is something about them that naturally evokes authority and professionalism. It usually portends the appreciation and admiration of co-workers who work in lower positions than you, who may want to be like you in some way. They are people who stand out for their great work ethic. It is very likely that from a very young age they have felt that they have to assume great responsibilities or do the work of others, which leads them to become quite frustrated. Likewise, they were able to experience their parents' tendency to demand too much from them and, depending on what the regent does, even ignoring their needs in order to achieve or achieve things. They are somewhat nervous people who have a great need for achievement, believe in hard work and do not like to feel unproductive or have that feeling that they are not doing much. They set very high standards for themselves, and although they do not rationally seek perfection, they do things that seem like they do.

Strong self-criticism, they may be too harsh on themselves and feel that they aren't doing enough. These naives are very disciplined and dedicated people in what they give importance to. They can be excellent leaders, as they balance this search for results, that their workers explore and use their potential, but they also understand the limits of others and do not seek to exploit them or push them to the limit. Despite this self-oriented and success-oriented personality, they are people who people see as trustworthy, whom they can rely on or ask for advice, but above all, people who do not lose their humility and humanity even if they work in high positions or if they achieve great things. They can choose jobs in which they need to do some type of analysis, in which they focus on the well-being of people or other living beings, or in which they can maintain control or monitoring. It can cause fear or anxiety to feel that they do not achieve great things or on their own.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Without trying too hard, these people can project a natural charm, one that makes them be surrounded by people and transmit good feelings to others very easily. They tend to have a great reputation, people see them as nice people, who are easy to like and easy to interact with or connect with, likewise, people see them as people with a strong sense of justice, someone who He treats people kindly and knows how to be diplomatic without compromising his independence. They can attract people, from admirers, people who want to be like them or even people who are somewhat envious of them. In the native there is this mixture of empathy and orientation towards others, with a strong personal power, which can make them fascinating to the people who know them. Many of these natives can get along naturally with people with higher positions or status, becoming liked and respected by them. In fact, it is very likely that the person they are going to marry will be someone who is very successful, great professionals and very importantly, someone whom the native really admires and respects.

Marriage and its relationships can bring recognition and/or popularity to the native. These people aspire to a marriage, or in general relationships of any kind that are long, lasting and with people who not only show their support with words, but with actions. They will attract people who are older than them, whether in experience, age or wisdom and, as expected, this overlay also causes the future couple to be someone focused on work, achieving their goals and being very successful. Returning to the topic of their work life, these natives can choose to work in positions that allow them to interact with people, unite people or mediate between them. Laws and organization can play a very important role in your jobs. They can gain the support, affection and admiration of the public very easily and it may even be the case that, in cases of having clients, they are very loyal to the native no matter what. It not only applies to clients, but they can attract work partners, colleagues or long-term partners who are compliant and consistent with them.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟖𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

These people usually project an enigmatic or intense image. They can be perceived as reserved people, but with a strong personal magnetism that intrigues others and makes them feel attracted to them. Even if they are not overtly dominant, others often notice that they have an imposing or influential presence. They can generate respect or even intimidation, even if it is unintentional. It is easy for them to awaken complex, strong and intense emotions in others, often even just by their presence. These people are often seen as influential figures, although they do not necessarily seek fame. Your reputation may revolve around your ability to solve complex problems, handle delicate situations, or be there for others in times of crisis. Status, success and power is very attractive to them and they are likely to feel drawn to people who exude these characteristics. These natives can be very focused on constantly wanting to achieve and achieve things, so much so that sometimes it is difficult for them to relax and take a break, feeling that they can do more and that they should do more. They look for projects or plans with depth that can transform their lives or those of others, avoiding spending their time on superficial or ephemeral things.

Their work tends to be directed toward fields that involve power, shared resources, or transformation. Likewise, it is possible that they choose to take the path of a career where the environment is tense or very busy. An important motivation may be the need to have control over their life and circumstances, especially as it relates to their ability to defend and provide for themselves, their career, and public status. People with this position do not usually show their ambitions directly. They prefer to plan carefully, moving behind the scenes and making sure each step is aligned with their personal goals. Throughout their lives they work on their resilience and can stand out a lot thanks to it. They face many major changes that make them reconsider many times where they want to go and what they truly aspire to in their lives, but no matter the crisis they face, they will always emerge stronger. These people take their time to evaluate whether people or a situation are worth it, although once they set their mind to something, they give themselves completely, devoting all their energy to it.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟗𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

These people usually give the impression of being intellectual, open to learning and with a broad approach to life. There is something about their vibe that makes people see them as wise, very experienced and reliable, which makes many people feel at ease with them. There is a mix of energies, between that spirit that seeks to give a deep meaning to life, that which aspires and dreams and this more relaxed vibe that many easily trust or turn to when they need a light on a path of uncertainty. These people have goals aligned with personal and professional growth. They are not satisfied with material achievements; they want to understand the world, expand their minds and contribute to collective progress. They constantly focus on continuing to evolve as people, they have the vibe of old souls but still appear modest, because they feel that there is still much to learn and do. Natives with this overlay tend to be attracted to professions that allow them to grow, travel, continue learning or share ideas. Likewise, these natives can work in areas that allow them to interact with people from other cultures and even travel to other countries constantly. It is possible for them to inspire others by the way they carry themselves, the message they impart or the way in which they relate to them.

Their connection to knowledge and ideas gives them a prestige that is not necessarily linked to material power, but to their wisdom and intellectual achievements. Sometimes they may feel scattered or confused about which path to take, thanks to their wide diversity of interests and abilities. It is very common for them to dream about carrying out plans and have difficulties either starting or finishing them. They can achieve a lot of recognition or fame internationally, sometimes having more appreciation and recognition in countries far from their own. These people have rather internal goals, they are not people who seek to have excesses of money or power, rather to be able to live a life in which they feel full, satisfied and happy, to be able to simply live without stress, without questioning, without fears or doubts, just... live. Connect deeply with people, influence positively and continue to grow, learning about themselves and what is beyond the mundane.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

They give the impression of being responsible, disciplined and reliable people, which makes them stand out in situations where commitment is required and not only that, but also being very well seen and appreciated by authority figures. Even without intending it, they are perceived as authority figures or leaders since there is something in their presence that conveys competence and respect. They are seen as highly focused and having a clear purpose in life. They radiate professionalism, confidence and self-assurance. These people tend to be clear early on what they want to achieve in their professional life, and they work hard to build a solid and respected career. These people aspire to be recognized for their achievements and want to build a legacy that positions them as independent figures who were able to shape their destiny in their own way. Natives with this overlay often achieve high status thanks to their ability to lead and constantly work towards their goals. It is possible for them to build a solid career that provides them not only prestige but also long-term stability. They like to be constant in everything that matters to them, they are not people who make excuses, if something does not matter to them they will make it clear, very clear actually.

These people take the commitments they make very seriously, and it deeply bothers them when people make them and end up not doing their part properly, both in the workplace and in anything that involves not keeping their word. Their strong ambition and focus with their career can make the fear of not meeting expectations paralyzing. They can place very high expectations on themselves and demand too much of themselves, and if they fail or make a mistake, they can be very harsh on themselves. They don't mind being the center of attention or feeling people's eyes on them; on the contrary, they can easily get along with the public. They can become very recognized in their life and even achieve a large amount of popularity. There is something about them that can easily intimidate people, from the power they exude to their attitude, despite that, they can be seen as people with a certain charm behind their professionalism and that confident way of carrying themselves, traits that made them catch the attention and interest of others with ease.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟏𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Natives with this overlay usually give a first impression of being approachable, friendly, and oriented toward others. They are seen as someone who knows how to relate and who has a wide or valuable network of contacts. Their intelligence is remarkable and people quickly perceive how knowledgeable they are in their field. They are people with great ideas and goals, who not only seek personal success, but also aspire to contribute to the collective good, so they may prefer to opt for jobs in which they can help other people or contribute something positive to society. Not only do they have ambitions related to their status, but their goals are often aligned with a greater purpose. They stand out a lot for this ability to see the big picture, for realizing what others don't and this contemplative & non-judgmental attitude. It can be very easy for them to empathize with people and, through this, connect meaningfully with them, making them feel seen, understood and appreciated. This overlay also indicates the ease of gaining popularity and/or fame. It is very likely that at some point in their lives these people felt that they had to sacrifice their own desires to meet the expectations of the group or community; This overlay invites you to help others without losing yourself or forgetting what makes you happy along the way.

They can create a strong network of contacts and attract powerful figures as friends or allies. Likewise, these natives can bring friends who support and encourage them a lot in terms of their professional goals, giving them that push of luck when they need it most. And, in return, they seek to provide stability and constancy in their friendships. They highly value friendship and, once they find someone with whom they connect and with whom they form a bond of mutual support, they can be very loyal people. They may project the image of being natural leaders within groups or communities, although in a more collaborative than authoritarian manner, as this is how they pursue leadership. They do not seek to control and impose, they seek to unite and work harmoniously and together, which at the end of the day makes them admirable bosses. They can be successful in jobs related to social media, innovation and technology.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟐𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

These natives have the particularity that although they read others very easily, their emotions and the masks others put for the public, people find it very difficult to decipher who these natives really are. Here we find ambiverts who are more inclined towards introversion, they are people with an aura of mystery, mysticism but who usually attract the interest and attention of others easily, even without meaning to. These people fear failure, they fear that this feeling of wandering aimlessly is permanent and that they feel like they have no purpose. They may have faced a lot of criticism during their youth, which made them close off and not let anyone see their true self. They aspire for things beyond the material, a motive, a reason, healing and even a state of peace and tranquility. Their spiritual growth is of great importance to them, and they have this constant search for ways to continue evolving as souls or human beings. In their work they are cooperative people, who easily understand others and seek to help them in order to do the job as best as possible. They are people who can work on something where they are behind the scenes, a job that allows them to function without exposing too much to the public. Despite this, they are people who can attract a lot of attention and, if they are public figures, many of them will give great importance to their privacy.

They don't like to expose everything about themselves and they don't like people trying to get into their lives. Many people tend to project themselves onto them, and sometimes people can idealize them. It is likely that being in the spotlight for a long period of time is uncomfortable for them, as they need time alone to recharge. Likewise, these people want to contribute positively to society or make great and positive changes through their work. They have a strong empathic and altruistic spirit, since they truly enjoy helping other people. There is something about these natives that captivates people, they are able to inspire and move others, perhaps with their way of thinking, their history or how they contribute to the lives of others. Many of them tend to attract envy throughout their lives, especially from authority figures or people older than them. These people can find refuge in their work, focusing their energy and distracting their attention, focusing it on fulfilling their duty instead of dwelling on their mood.

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fushitoru · 8 months ago

Text

trouble a gojo satoru fic

pairing ⸺ bully!satoru gojo x reader

summary ⸺ an unexpected tutoring session with your bully satoru gojo leads to somewhere...unexpected

warnings ⸺ SMUT (MDNI), fluff, slight angst, college au, porn with really mid plot, bullying, humiliation, PANTY INSPECTION, p i v sex, unprotected sex, aftercare, creampie, he whimpers a lot but also degrades you a lot, gojo satoru king of dirty talk it might not make sense lolz, this is not edited in the slightest, didn't even do it a once over, implied that reader is a virgin but not really art by the goat 3-aem

a/n sorry for being so ia. will be answering asks after the ao3 author ahh events that went on this past week T-T as a result this is kind of mid, might delete later, based on this req

general masterlist

This could not be happening to you. NO, no, no. You must be dreaming, right?

Because Satoru Gojo was sitting right across from you in your math professor’s office, looking akin to a kicked puppy, ears drooping as your professor continued ranting about his late assignments, his efforts to cover his grades up, lost potential, laziness, how he should learn from you—but you were only dreading the aftermath of this conversation, when you were left alone with Gojo.

Because he was your college bully.

It didn’t get as violent as in those Asian dramas, but you were often left humiliated from the nuisance he was. For example, take the instance when you both first met.

Head deep in the textbooks you just bought, you were scanning the formulas in an effort to get ahead; after all, for someone like you—dependent on a scholarship to attend university—slacking off was not an option. Only for the nepo trust fund babies—which you were not. There, in the prestigious university you had fought tooth and nail to get into, you were at peace.

But it all went out the window as someone moved to tap you on your shoulder, making you turn your head towards possibly the most handsomest boy you’ve ever seen but undeniably a spoiled kid. Because what came out of his words were definitely grounds for sexual harassment.

“Are Asian people your type? Because I’m China get in your japanties.”

If crickets could make their way into the study room you were sitting in, their chirps would be LOUD. You blinked, heat creeping up your face as he leaned closer to your face, eyes flirtingly honing in on yours and your lips. Abruptly—-flustered—you stood up, gathering your belongings and apologizing profusely. “I”m so—sorry—I don’t—-you might be talking to the wrong per—” because there was no way in hell he was addressing you. From what you could see, he looked like a rich kid, the kind with a lot of money—something that could land you in trouble. You booked it the hell out of there, ignoring the confused look on his face and missing the disappointment flicker across it as he saw your retreating figure leave his sight.

And thus, your love story with Satoru Gojo—who you soon found out was the most popular boy on campus—started.

Small encounters with Gojo kept plaguing your first semester. They would be chance encounters, where Gojo would catch your eye in the middle of a crowd and make his way towards you, a snarky grin creeping up his face as he cornered you into a hallway with less traffic. Sometimes even in a closet.

It wouldn’t be anything grave, to say. All he would ask is how your day was, all sweet nothings and cute smiles made to woo you. And they definitely did—but you couldn’t let it show, couldn’t let him woo you.

“What’s your next class, baby?” The both of you were in a janitor’s closet, him having cornered you in the room and locked the door. You kept biting your lip nervously, the edge of it red and swollen as you peered at him somewhat nervously.

“Uh—I don’t know,” you whispered, darting your eyes somewhere on the floor, so he wouldn’t see the avoidant look on your face.

Let’s get the record straight: you weren’t scared of Gojo. Sure, at 6’ 3’’ with piercing, glow-in-the-dark sapphire eyes, he made you nervous, but you knew you could pine for him at best. Because god knows what would happen if you ever cross him or his dozens of fan girls, some with considerably more power than you on campus. Putting a target on your back while you were trying to graduate wasn’t one of your goals, but trying to pass your math classes with honors was.

And you hated the fact Gojo could read you like a book. Because in the cramped, dark space, his eyes were almost..soft as he put his forearm across the wall on top of your head, effectively caging you in as he steps toward you. You hug your big and heavy books closer to your chest, the squish of your breasts over your top not lost to Gojo who eyes them with lidded eyes. Then, they make their way to meet yours, and it’s like he can see the pining in your eyes. The fact that he’s a carrot dangled in front of your head, something you want but if you ran, you would never have him. A perpetual race to make him yours.

He smiles, gives a soft chuckle. “You don’t know?” he teases you and your blatant lie. “C’mon, let me walk you there.”

But you blurt out an immediate “No!” and then regret it, because hurt flashes across his face. “I mean–” you falter, “please don’t. You’ll be seen publicly with me.”

A quizzical look, one that is so innocent that it makes you want to cry, because how could Gojo ever understand your problems? “What’s the problem?” And then he pouts. “You embarrassed of me?”

“No–no—” you shake your head, squirming slightly from where you were both standing. “It won’t be good for you, for me.” Then, you swallowed, waiting and screening for his reaction.

Praying to whatever gods that were listening to you that he would understand, it seemed that they were answered because an emotion you couldn’t place etched its way on his face until he nodded. A resolute one, yet something that made you a bit…uneasy was in his eyes. Because it meant nothing but trouble.

Then on went your days. Seven days, in fact, because it only took a week for you to be walking across the hallway, daydreaming about a boy without a face cuddling you in the winter, eating cookies in Christmas. You hated being single and hated the fact you were confined to your academic responsibilities; quickly, your professors caught onto your potential, assigning you to tutor your peers during recitations. You preened at the attention and validation but felt lonely because it occupied all your time to catch up on others’ expectations. In your rumination of your upcoming responsibilities, you didn’t notice the hand shoot out and firmly grab your arm until you were in a janitor’s closet. Yet again.

Shocked, you resisted the unknown person who had led you in here, instincts flaring up until said person turned on the light.

Gojo.

“Gojo, what are you—” You didn’t get a chance to finish your sentence, as Gojo had covered your mouth with his arm, one to avoid causing too much commotion before you were discovered there.

“You said no one could see us, right?” A mischievous—yet yearning—look flashed across his face and it was then you realized his play. “So this is okay?”

No, this stubborn man wasn’t going to let you go—he was going to torment you. In secret.

The only response you could conjure your brain was a whimper because a tentative hand was creeping its way up your thigh, softy caressing the insides of it. All you could feel was pleasure and how it was so right despite it being so wrong that Satoru Gojo, the campus sweetheart, had cornered you into the janitor’s closet to give you the most dizzying touches, some you couldn’t deny.

So when he moved his other hand that was at your mouth to grab at your pink skirt, he lifted the hem with both his hands and then paused. Looked at you with darkened eyes. “Let me do this.”

You could only close your eyes in your flustered state, pinching them shut as you gave him a slight nod. It only took him a millisecond to move, using both of his hands to uncover what was between your thighs, eyes focused and widening as he inspected your panties.

“Pink with hearts, huh?” You could hear the chuckle in his voice, the cockiness basically oozing out and you could only continue to heat up deeper. “I like it, baby.” Jumping as you felt his hands roam and trace the edges of your panties, he hooked his finger in the crotch, your thighs tightening slightly as his index just oh so grazed your bare folds as he pulled and pulled, until he let go of the tension and it snapped back in its place. “Look at me.”

As per his instruction, you opened your eyes, only to be taken aback by the intensity in his. Then, his lips moved. “Be my girlfriend.”

The moment broke as clarity hit you. This shouldn’t have happened. “I’m sorry, Gojo, but—”

“Don’t call me that,” he groaned, stepping back and raking an arm through his hair. “What’s even your problem? Did I do something wrong?”

Incredulous, you utter out a “Something wro—you don’t think you did something wrong?”

He looked at you for a bit, made to say something, but you cut him off. “You know what Gojo? Get this through your head. We can’t do this. I don’t know how many girls fall for this, but I can’t. I’m sorry.” With that, you made to move, but he quickly reached out, pleading for you to stay. You wrenched his hand out of your grip and said, in the most serious voice you could muster, “Don’t ever talk to me again.” And you walked out, pretending you weren’t scared of what would happen after you retaliated against the Satoru Gojo.

Surprising, all went well for the rest of the semester. You did get some whispers and stares because of the stray rumor or two passing around about you and the mysterious instances when the campus king stared at your figure for a flicker too long. But it wasn’t nothing but passing because you didn’t share any classes with Gojo, and he respected your wishes. You didn’t miss the bitterness in his stare when you passed by his friend group in the hallway, speeding up to shake off the weight of his eyes on you.

So, you were at peace. Until second semester’s Calc III.

You soon realize that with gradients and vectors comes an additional burden, one specifically sporting white hair. Because as you’re pulled into your math professor’s office and see him, you oh so desperately want to book it.

“And this, Satoru,” your professor pauses and looks at him sternly while gesturing towards you, “is your ticket out of failing. Miss Y/N here,” he gives you a comforting smile, one that does nothing to ease the stiffness flooding your body at the thought of Gojo right next to you, “has the highest grade in the class. She’s a seasoned teaching assistant too, helping a lot of people in her classes next year.” You silently curse, your smile growing more strained as you realize Gojo’s looking at you. “I trust that you’ll be in good care.”

Once the professor finally dismissed you both, you braced yourself, shoving your notebook back into your bag with far more force than necessary. The prospect of *actually* tutoring Satoru Gojo—the one person who seemed hell-bent on making college a gauntlet for you—was absurd.

You didn't look up as you pushed past him, but Gojo kept pace, following you out of the office and down the hall with that easy, unbothered stride of his. "So," he drawled, “how's this tutoring thing going to work? Are you coming to my place, or am I coming to yours?”

You stopped, turning to face him. "My place," you said firmly. The thought of seeing him lounging in some flashy, high-end apartment was insufferable. Besides, at least in your dorm, you could set some ground rules.

He blinked, looking surprised. "Your place? Bold move, Miss Perfect," he teased, that trademark smirk flickering onto his face. “Didn’t think you’d be so eager to have me over.”

"Trust me, Gojo, I'm only doing this because I have to. And there will be rules," you said, crossing your arms. "No messing around, no games—just math."

“*Just math,*" he repeated, his tone playful as his eyes glinted with mischief. “Got it.”

You swallowed, hoping he meant it. "Fine," you said briskly. "I’ll see you tomorrow at six. Don’t be late."

“Oh, wouldn’t miss it,” he replied, and with a little salute, he strolled off, leaving you with a sense of impending doom.

The knock came precisely at six.

You opened the door, and there stood Satoru Gojo, surprisingly punctual, hands shoved into his pockets and a playful grin on his face. You gestured to the small study area you’d set up by your desk, filled with neatly organized notes and textbooks.

“Take a seat,” you said shortly. “We’ll start with the basics.”

He slid into the chair, his gaze flitting from the textbooks to you, an amused glint in his eye. “You weren’t kidding about tutoring. You’re all set up like a professional.”

You ignored the remark and opened the textbook to the chapter on derivatives. “Alright. Let’s go through this. If you understand derivatives, the rest of Calc III will start making sense.”

For a while, he seemed to actually pay attention. He followed along, asking a few questions, which you answered as patiently as possible. But as the explanations went on, his attention started to drift. After one too many halfhearted nods, you frowned, putting your pencil down.

“You’re not even trying, are you?”

He leaned back in his chair, that smirk resurfacing. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to spend time with you.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting off the blush creeping up your cheeks. “You needed my help. I didn’t force you to come here. If you don’t want to do this, then—”

He held up a hand, the teasing gone from his face. “Alright, alright. I’ll focus.” He paused, then added, “In fact, to show you I mean it, I’ll do you a favor. Whatever you want. My way of saying thanks.”

You eyed him warily. “A favor?”

“Anything,” he said, leaning in with a grin that spelled trouble. “What’ll it be? An escort to class? Carrying your books around? Name it.”

“I’ll let you know when I think of something.” You’re dismissive, knowing he’s not that serious about this, playful about this like he is everything else.

He chuckled, nodding. “Looking forward to it.”

And with that, he finally settled into his chair, this time with genuine focus, leaving you both in the kind of quiet that held a new, unspoken promise—a favor, an IOU hanging in the air between you.

You don’t know how you ended up under Gojo on your bed.

Satoru sat close—closer than you’d expected. His knee brushed yours as he leaned forward to study your notes, and every few minutes, his arm would brush against your hand as he reached for the pencil you were using to write equations. Each little touch sent a jolt through you, and judging by the lingering glances he kept giving you, he didn’t mind it either.

“Okay, so the derivative here is...?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady as you pointed at the next problem.

Satoru leaned even closer, squinting at your notebook. “I think I get it,” he murmured, his face inches from yours, his breath warm as it brushed your cheek. But instead of looking at the math, his eyes flicked to yours, lingering just a second too long.

Your heart hammered as you forced yourself to focus. “Right. So you should get… uh… that answer,” you managed, feeling his gaze still trained on you.

“Uh-huh,” he replied, not breaking eye contact. His hand shifted on the table, the back of his fingers grazing yours.

You didn’t move. Neither did he. Your fingers stayed where they were, brushing against each other, the soft, deliberate touch making the silence between you feel louder. Finally, you broke the tension by clearing your throat, quickly pulling your hand away to grab a different textbook.

“So—um, yeah, you’re almost there,” you stammered. “But you missed a step here.” You pointed to another section, hoping he wouldn’t notice the slight shake in your voice.

He noticed, of course. You could see his smirk in the corner of your eye.

“Is that all I missed?” he asked, leaning so close that his shoulder pressed against yours. His voice was lower now, more intimate.

You nodded, trying to focus on the page but finding it impossible with him so close. “Yeah. Just… that,” you said softly.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice dropping even more as he shifted his hand, his knuckles brushing against your knee now. It wasn’t intentional—at least, you thought it wasn’t—but neither of you moved. You felt frozen, caught in a quiet, charged moment, where all you could hear was your own heartbeat.

You swallowed, forcing your gaze back to the problem on the page. “Maybe, um… maybe we should take a break?” you suggested, needing a second to breathe.

He tilted his head, an amused, knowing, intense glint in his eye. “A break sounds nice.”

Your breath caught as he looked at you like that, his hand still warm where it lingered just a little too close. And in that brief moment, you wondered just what kind of favor you’d end up asking of him—or what he might ask of you in return.

And it seemed like he knew what you were thinking. “Hey,” he said oh so breathlessly, in the way that made you want to throw yourself at him yet simultaneously bludgeon his head in, “wanna fuck?”

You reeled back, incredulous, but he quickly grabbed your head with both his hands, gently drawing you in. “What?”

“I mean,” and he giggled, “what better use of a favor for than me to rid you of your virginity?”

You gasp, struggling in his hold to no avail. “Why would you assume I’m a virgin? I have plenty of experience, thank you very much—”

All the man does is snigger, despite your glare at him and looks at you, peering at you through his eyelashes with an oh-so-adoring smile. “It was clear how much you soaked through your panties that last time you’re a virgin, baby.” And you can’t help but whimper, reduced to a melting mess because of his sweet words.

He laughs meanly. “If you’re not a virgin, you better not be soaked right now, baby. I’m kind of excited to see what panties you’re wearing this time” He moves his hand between your thighs, and you pliantly spread your legs for him, clenching as his hands rove over your panties in between your skirt. And he’s right, because it’s almost like you’ve wet your panties with the way your slick was flooding out of you because of your proximity with Satoru. “Look at that,” he coos and he pulls his hand away, much to your dismay, to examine his fingers. They glisten vulgarly in the fairy lights in your dorm, and Satoru turns his head to look at you. “So you gonna let me fuck you?”

And that, dear reader, is how you find yourself face down in your plushies on your dorm room bed, clutching them for dear life as Satoru spews dirty talk as if he was born doing it. “Satoru, faster!” you sob, having gone past the initial discomfort of having something in your pussy.

“Satoru, faster,” he mocks you, grabbing your hips and drilling into your heat, groaning at how you’re just so tight. The tears flowing down your face make you even more beautiful as you succumb to your pleasure, one that no one other than Satoru has ever made you feel. “Isn’t this what you wanted? For me to fuck you?” You don’t answer past your moaning, and that annoys the fuck out of Gojo. He slaps your ass consecutively and can’t help but be more aroused looking at the red handprints he leaves. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” you moaned, anything to stop his assault on your ass, “I wanted this is sooo bad.” At that—rather than being satiated—Satoru sped up, hitting your spot with the accuracy of a sharpshooter.

“Yea, baby?” He laughs, meanly, leaning down to grab you by the chin, forcing you to look at him. His fingers squished your cheeks, thereby pursuing your lips as he tried not to cum from the sight of your eyes rolling back with each stroke into you. From the way you were clenching and pulsing more regularly around him, he could tell you were close. “Gonna cum?”

You whined, nodding while sobbing into his hands, trying to focus on the feeling of orgasming. It was so close, you could feel it coiling in your belly—

Just for him to rip out of your cavern, leaving you in shambles due to the emptiness you were feeling. “What—”

He tutted, his hand now slowly stroking his cock while he was sitting on his knees, looking down at you. “I’m only letting you come if you agree to be my girlfriend.”

“Gojo, what—”

“It’s Satoru,” his eyes flared, looking at you with an intensity you hadn’t noticed before. “And say it. Say you’ll be mine.”

For a moment, you searched his eyes for any signs. Signs of insincerity, of humor. But all you could find was desperation and yearning. Ever since you kept having your chance encounters with Gojo, you couldn’t help but deny the fluttering in your heart; the way his eyes unconsciously looked for you, a mere stranger he had taken interest in, in every crowd made you feel seen in a world where you were otherwise invisible.

And you couldn’t help but want to continue being in that world, in his world.

“Fine,” you whispered. “I’ll be your girlfr—”

Before you could finish, he smashed his lips into yours, joining them in a messy, wet embrace. His tongue explored your mouth in a way that made you leak even more while he aggressively laid back down on the mattress, effortlessly lifting you onto his crotch and onto his dick. As he thrusted into you, desperately, he couldn’t help but continue blabbing sweet nothings.

“I’ll treat you so well—haah—take you out on dates,” he heaved, eyes watering as he thrusted slowly into you in long, deep strokes. His eyes never left you as he made love to you, his face going up to nuzzle in between your breasts, peering at you through lidded eyes lovingly. “Fuck you well every night, show you off to the world.”

You could only sob Satoru as you looked at his face through your tears, him doing all the talking for you. “Every day,” he groaned, his cock pulsing and twitching in your walls, “I’ll love you like you’re my wife and fuck you like you’re my slut. So—” and he took a sharp intake of breath, one that you could interpret as him getting close with the way his hips were continually getting more and more sloppy, “so proud of you, baby. Gonna take care of you.” Then, he meets his eyes with yours as he starts to speed up, hand moving to gently rub at your clit in circles, with such prowess that you know you’re not going to last long. “Pull you—haah—pull you aside and see what panties you wore for me that day. Coming inside—coming inside and making you walk around with my cum leakin’ out of your panties.”

And then he whimpers as he loses control. “Gonna—” he utters in between short breaths, “gonna come baby. Come with me.”

“I will, Satoru,” you whine. “Please, I wanna—I wanna kiss!” That’s when Satoru can’t hold himself back anymore, his cum shooting in ropes inside of you at the innocent gesture you wanted him to do while he was doing such filthy things to you. You come alongside with him, everything so overwhelming as you ride out your orgasm on top of him.

As you’re both settling down from your orgasm, he pulls you off—the both of you wincing at the sudden emptiness—as he lays you down next to him. Without a word, he nuzzles in between your breasts, giving a content sigh as he literally melts like a cat, relaxed in your embrace. You can’t help but giggle at his antics, and he takes his face out of your cleavage to give you a boyish grin. “What’re you laughing at?” “Nothing,” you shake your head. “Just the fact I’m chained to you now.”

“Hey!” he pouts, moving his arms so he’s embracing you tightly, effectively trapping you in. “Say that again and I’m going to sleep on top of you and never leave.”

“Can’t believe I’m chained to y—”

Satoru plops on top of you, making a show of tickling your ribs and stomach as you gasp and laugh in surprise. “Satoru!” He doesn’t relent, until you feel a familiar liquid ooze and leak out of your pussy.

This time, your shriek of Satoru’s name doesn’t go unnoticed. At the murderous look on your face–as well as the sheer messiness in between your thighs—he gets up. Smiles sweetly. “Should just leave you like this, leaking my cum. It’s only fair for how you ignored me!”

At that, he gets a pillow to his face, reminiscent of a kicked puppy as he trudges to your bathroom to clean you up.

general masterlist

comment and reblog your thots! <3

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physalian · 1 year ago

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How to make your writing sound less stiff

Just a few suggestions. You shouldn’t have to compromise your writing style and voice with any of these, and some situations and scenes might demand some stiff or jerky writing to better convey emotion and immersion. I am not the first to come up with these, just circulating them again.

1. Vary sentence structure.

This is an example paragraph. You might see this generated from AI. I can’t help but read this in a robotic voice. It’s very flat and undynamic. No matter what the words are, it will be boring. It’s boring because you don’t think in stiff sentences. Comedians don’t tell jokes in stiff sentences. We don’t tell campfire stories in stiff sentences. These often lack flow between points, too.

So funnily enough, I had to sit through 87k words of a “romance” written just like this. It was stiff, janky, and very unpoetic. Which is fine, the author didn’t tell me it was erotica. It just felt like an old lady narrator, like Old Rose from Titanic telling the audience decades after the fact instead of living it right in the moment. It was in first person pov, too, which just made it worse. To be able to write something so explicit and yet so un-titillating was a talent. Like, beginner fanfic smut writers at least do it with enthusiasm.

2. Vary dialogue tag placement

You got three options, pre-, mid-, and post-tags.

Leader said, “this is a pre-dialogue tag.”

“This,” Lancer said, “is a mid-dialogue tag.”

“This is a post-dialogue tag,” Heart said.

Pre and Post have about the same effect but mid-tags do a lot of heavy lifting.

They help break up long paragraphs of dialogue that are jank to look at

They give you pauses for ~dramatic effect~

They prompt you to provide some other action, introspection, or scene descriptor with the tag. *don't forget that if you're continuing the sentence as if the tag wasn't there, not to capitalize the first word after the tag. Capitalize if the tag breaks up two complete sentences, not if it interrupts a single sentence.

It also looks better along the lefthand margin when you don’t start every paragraph with either the same character name, the same pronouns, or the same “ as it reads more natural and organic.

3. When the scene demands, get dynamic

General rule of thumb is that action scenes demand quick exchanges, short paragraphs, and very lean descriptors. Action scenes are where you put your juicy verbs to use and cut as many adverbs as you can. But regardless of if you’re in first person, second person, or third person limited, you can let the mood of the narrator bleed out into their narration.

Like, in horror, you can use a lot of onomatopoeia.

Drip Drip Drip

Or let the narration become jerky and unfocused and less strict in punctuation and maybe even a couple run-on sentences as your character struggles to think or catch their breath and is getting very overwhelmed.

You can toss out some grammar rules, too and get more poetic.

Warm breath tickles the back of her neck. It rattles, a quiet, soggy, rasp. She shivers. If she doesn’t look, it’s not there. If she doesn’t look, it’s not there. Sweat beads at her temple. Her heart thunders in her chest. Ba-bump-ba-bump-ba-bump-ba- It moves on, leaving a void of cold behind. She uncurls her fists, fingers achy and palms stinging from her nails. It’s gone.

4. Remember to balance dialogue, monologue, introspection, action, and descriptors.

The amount of times I have been faced with giant blocks of dialogue with zero tags, zero emotions, just speech on a page like they’re notecards to be read on a stage is higher than I expected. Don’t forget that though you may know exactly how your dialogue sounds in your head, your readers don’t. They need dialogue tags to pick up on things like tone, specifically for sarcasm and sincerity, whether a character is joking or hurt or happy.

If you’ve written a block of text (usually exposition or backstory stuff) that’s longer than 50 words, figure out a way to trim it. No matter what, break it up into multiple sections and fill in those breaks with important narrative that reflects the narrator’s feelings on what they’re saying and whoever they’re speaking to’s reaction to the words being said. Otherwise it’s meaningless.

—

Hope this helps anyone struggling! Now get writing.

#writing #writing advice #writing resources #writing a book #writing tools #writing tips #writeblr #for beginners #refresher #sentence structure #book formatting

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sunderwight · 1 year ago

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Modern AU where Shen Yuan accidentally sugar-daddies everyone.

So for the purposes of this, Shen Yuan's family is basically $10 Bananas levels of cluelessly rich. Shen Yuan has almost never had to look at the prices of anything he wants. He and his siblings all get an allowance from the family's main account, which increases when they reach adulthood, and in the interest of fairness his parents made it all the same size. So Shen Yuan gets the same amount of money for his daily living expenses as his older brothers with their penthouse apartments and vacation homes and private jets, at least from the family account (since he doesn't work, he doesn't actually make as much as them in total because they earn more on top of their allowances).

And the thing is, Shen Yuan genuinely just lives a lot more humbly. He likes people but what would he do with a vacation house? Anything really nice would probably require him to fly to get out there, and he gets sick as hell on planes. Living in the central city is also not great for him, because the air pollution is so bad. Having a whole house to himself would also be ridiculous. So he has a reasonable apartment, in a reasonable area, and he splurges every so often on purchases that make him happy and take-out food that he likes, and of course he pays a cleaning service to come in twice a week. Most people assume he's comfortably middle class and has some tech job he does from home, but he's been getting a lot more than he's been spending in his monthly allowances for years now, and the figures are big.

Enter into this environment author Airplane and his trash novels. Novels, multiple, because in this AU there's no PIDW, and instead after some alternate PIDW prototype got popular in the harem genre, Airplane decided to churn out a series of copy-paste shorter stories rather than recycling the same subplots in one massively long epic.

Shen Yuan of course discovers Airplane's writing and becomes as obsessed with it as ever, except this time he notices that if there are delays between new stories, they seem to clear up faster whenever he throws some cash at the problem. And also that the drops in Airplane's writing quality coincide with times when Shen Yuan was having health issues and not keeping up with his VIP purchases. So, he works out that Airplane's probably doing the writing for the money, and that when Peerless Cucumber isn't paying the most for it, Airplane starts listening to the other buffoons in the comment section more to try and entice them to pay his bills instead.

Peerless Cucumber leaves a comment on one of Airplane's latest stories that kicks off the two of them actually chatting, and Shen Yuan eventually gets to the point of offering to fund all Airplane's writing, in exchange for Airplane not doing his crap sellout stuff to appeal to other readers anymore. Airplane thinks he's joking or maybe mocking him. Shen Yuan asks how much it would cost. Airplane fires off a ridiculous number. Shen Yuan doesn't even blink and wires him the first payment. Then he gets annoyed because Airplane leaves him on read for a while, but that's because Airplane is staring at his account balance in shock.

Of course, it's Airplane who starts referring to Peerless Cucumber as his sugar daddy. Shen Yuan is just like "based on your sex scenes I don't think anyone would pay you for that" and Airplane's all "but you WOULD pay for my sex scenes ^_~" and Shen Yuan's like "technically I am actually paying you not to write that shit" and so on. Usual banter. The quality of Airplane's writing improves dramatically, a lot of his readership drops off but he does get new readers and gradually builds up an even bigger fanbase than before, and so on, it all goes pretty well. He eventually writes a few things that take off to the point of getting physical publications and international translations. Technically Airplane no longer needs Shen Yuan to pay all of his bills by that point but he's not going to tell Shen Yuan that! The contract's still good as long as he keeps writing!

Then one of Airplane's online acquaintances runs into some financial trouble and asks for help.

Liu Mingyan used to beta read for Airplane back when he wrote fanfiction (she was like thirteen, Airplane was unaware because internet and hey free beta), and it seems her family has hit a rough patch. She wants tips on how to go pro, but Airplane explains that it was extremely difficult and he mostly lucked out by finding a single wealthy backer. Mingyan wonders if the same guy would be interested in her writing, Airplane sadly thinks not because Mingyan exclusively writes kinky danmei erotica and Peerless Cucumber seems pretty firmly in the closet still and also generally prefers plotty and world-building heavy stuff.

But like, Airplane has definitely gotten a vibe off of Cucumber-bro, and Mingyan's gorgeous older brother does video streams of himself doing cool martial arts and swordsmanship stuff. So he asks her permission and when she gives it, he recommends Liu Qingge's videos to Shen Yuan, being sure to mention that the guy in question can't really afford to keep up with his hobbies and oh what a shame it would be if he had to stop making art like that.

Haha, Airplane, you're not subtle.

Even so, Shen Yuan watches the videos and immediately agrees that Liu Qingge is beauty in motion, and that it would be criminal to deprive the world of more videos of his sword. Swordsmanship! That is the, the art of, martial arts! Definitely. He clicks the donate button, reasoning out that he'll just send a donation about the size of his usual monthly payments to Airplane and call it his good deed for the day.

Liu Qingge is very confused by this new follower from nowhere who suddenly dumped a little over a month's rent into his account. One thing leads to another, with Mingyan and Airplane conspiring to try and get Shen Yuan as a permanent patron, and then Liu Qingge being let in on it. Except that Airplane keeps referring to Shen Yuan as his sugar daddy, and well... it's not like Liu Qingge doesn't ever get 'those' kinds of comments on his videos. At first he's embarrassed, then offended, then mortified that his own younger sister is apparently setting him up to make premium private videos for what he assumes is some old pervert who is going to want him to do untoward things.

However, their options are pretty bleak at the moment, and Liu Qingge worries that if he doesn't do this then Mingyan might. She even mentions something to the effect of having planned to offer herself, and only didn't because she wasn't this "sugar daddy" guy's type!

Teeth clenched, Liu Qingge asks Airplane stiltedly for advice on how to... appeal, to this wealthy benefactor.

In the end though it's not nearly as bad as Liu Qingge feared. He winds up doing more videos in costumes and cosplay, which ought to have been an untenable expense, but Peerless Cucumber always ends up covering the cost of whatever he invests in plus extra. Sometimes he sends Liu Qingge stuff with a request to wear it, but so far it's just been like, badass warrior-themed or historical costumes. Nothing overtly pervy. He does some LARPing, he makes enough to start doing horseback archery again, convinces some of his good-looking peers from various clubs to spar with him, and ultimately the most risque videos he ends up doing are the ones where he demonstrates how to put on certain kinds of gear. He still locks those ones behind paid subscribers only, mostly because he feels like he's doing something illicit now, even if he used to show more skin on his older videos any time he took his shirt off.

Peerless Cucumber doesn't leave creepy comments, either. In fact he seems genuinely nice and supportive, it's hard not to like him, and so even once his situation levels out Liu Qingge decides there's not really much need to stop making videos for him. (He maybe even gets a little giddy thrill over... well, sometimes he finds it all a bit... just when he thinks about Peerless Cucumber watching him demonstrate his physical prowess and finding that alone worth... ANYWAY--)

So that goes on for a while, before Yue Qi enters the scene.

Yue Qi is the childhood friend of one of Shen Yuan's older brothers (Shen bros!) and Shen Jiu owes him a big favor for something that he won't talk about. At least he won't talk to Shen Yuan about it. But Yue Qi is also not the type to ask for help, and Shen Jiu is very bad at offering it, so when Shen Jiu gets word that Yue Qi is having some difficulties making ends meet, he tells Shen Yuan to act as the middle man. Go offer Qi-ge money, he knows you're nice he'll just accept it, and then Shen Jiu will pay the actual bill.

Well it turns out that Yue Qi doesn't just accept it, of course he sees right through it, and gently but firmly tells Shen Yuan that he's not interested in burdening Shen Jiu further than he already has. Etc, etc, stoic stiff upper lips and no proper communication all around. Shen Yuan panics because it's not working and he's also genuinely worried about Yue Qi by now, so he tries to figure out how to make it compelling and basically blurts that, well, see, the thing is that sometimes he pays men to entertain him. You know. To like. Do things, for him. So. He could also pay Yue Qi? To do something for him?

Yue Qi gets the wrong idea entirely, and at first is like, oh, no, A'Yuan, you shouldn't be paying people for that! These things should just happen organically! But Shen Yuan is very adamant that he believes in compensating people for what they do for him, it's not like he can't afford to, and it gets awkward but Yue Qi is like well he does have health problems. It's perhaps difficult for him to meet people. So then he starts worrying about Shen Yuan and all these strange men he's apparently paying for "entertainment". Does his brother know about this?

No of course Shen Jiu doesn't know! He'd hate it, and Shen Yuan doesn't want to hear about how he's doing everything wrong with his life again!

Then Shen Yuan mentions that his prior house cleaning service up and quit on him (they didn't), and if Yue Qi would like to earn fair compensation he could just come over sometimes to help instead, and Shen Yuan would pay him just to tidy up and hang out for a few hours! Which Yue Qi thinks is a fantastic idea, actually, even if Shen Yuan is only doing this because of his brother, this will give Yue Qi a chance to keep an eye on him and his so-called entertainers. Even if he sort of... ends up also being one?

Shen Yuan keeps everything above board, though his apartment always seems perfectly clean and he overpays way too much (Shen Jiu is still footing this bill after all), and Yue Qi starts to think maybe he actually is being paid for intimacy. Of a sort that they're maybe still working up to? Shen Yuan usually has a very thin face after all. He's kind of got two minds about this prospect. On the one hand, he's got his situationship with Shen Jiu, so dating his brother would be absurd. But on the other hand, it's not actually dating, and he does like Shen Yuan, and maybe if they can be good company for each other then Yue Qi won't feel so depressed and Shen Yuan won't need to hire strange men so often.

Meanwhile it's come to Shen Yuan's attention, perhaps through an offhand comment he read online somewhere, that people who are struggling financially often also struggle to "treat themselves". Because even when they have enough money to be comfortable there's often the looming specter of deprivation, and etc, so he figures he should start buying some of his dependents more treats and things. Since they might not buy them for themselves? And also he's enjoying doing this but shhh no he isn't, it's a huge hassle, he's only doing it out of basic moral decency, etc.

So like, Airplane starts getting little things that he'd put on some public wish lists, clearly sent by Peerless Cucumber. And he tells Mingyan to make a list for Liu Qingge too, and sure enough, Liu Qingge (bewildered, slightly flustered) tries to figure out what he's supposed to do with an album from a band he likes and some high-end leather polish. Ultimately settles on playing the music and wearing his nicest leather in his next video. Yue Qi starts arriving at Shen Yuan's place to be plied with his favorite coffees and to have scented candles awkwardly foisted onto him (Shen Yuan does not know what Yue Qi likes in gifts) (he buys these presents himself they're not out of Shen Jiu's pocket).

So finally Shen Yuan's parents start to notice that he's been spending a lot more than usual, and start to worry that he's either been taken in by a scam artist or is secretly dating a gold digger or has developed a drug addiction or something. But asking things directly like normal people is basically illegal in the Shen family, so they decide to hire a private investigator.

Enter Luo Binghe, a young man of humble background who is struggling to make ends meet after the untimely death of his adoptive mother, and is using his P.I. job and his online cooking videos to help pay his way through school (scholarship student). Usually his cases are more like, cyberstalking someone to find out if they're cheating on their spouse, or helping someone planning a lawsuit accumulate evidence on their corrupt employer, or other things like that. When he gets the Shen Yuan case, the idea that the Shen family's son is paying for "company" is well within his list of probable answers.

Though this one is a little... peculiar?

Mostly because Binghe can't find evidence of Shen Yuan actually getting what he would, presumably, be paying for. At first Luo Binghe just goes through the online paper trails, using the info that the Shen parents give him to figure out that Shen Yuan is paying Airplane and Swordmaster Liu (*cough*) what seem to be exorbitant prices just for trashy fiction and cosplay videos. He assumes this is a cover, that someone's actually delivering drugs or going over for "private meetings" or at least actually sending dirty videos as well, but even when he pays for Liu Qingge's VIP access it's just tutorials and such. Neither of these guys are even on any of the sites that are more lenient towards hosting explicit content. Luo Binghe's aware that kinks aren't always obviously sexual, but people don't usually pay through the nose for the kind of content they can easily find for free all over the place, either.

He digs a little more but keeps coming up empty on evidence to clarify which of the many vices the Shen family's son is actually indulging in. Which is a problem because that's the information they're paying him to find out. Plus his curiosity kind of piques as he reads Shen Yuan's seemingly quite invested comments on Airplane's writing and Liu Qingge's videos, looking to see if there's any kind of clandestine code or pattern. But near as he can tell, whatever else Shen Yuan might be getting out of these arrangements, he does genuinely like the stories and videos too? Well. Sometimes. Sometimes he's actually scathingly vitriolic towards Airplane's writing.

Luo Binghe decides that surveilling Shen Yuan himself is probably the way to go. That gets more complicated in court cases, but since the Shen parents just wants to know what's going on and aren't planning on prosecuting their son for anything, it doesn't matter as much if Luo Binghe gets information in sneaky or underhanded ways.

So, Binghe uses the account he created to access Liu Qingge's videos to chat with Shen Yuan a few times, and then recommends his own cooking channel. Shen Yuan doesn't seem too interested in cooking, so Luo Binghe makes sure to include a video that has an image of himself in his recommendation, and then films a few new videos of himself cooking with his shirtsleeves rolled up to three quarters and a few more buttons than usual unbuttoned, adopting a more flirty persona than he typically does for his shows. He takes his cues from some of Liu Qingge's more popular videos for how to be enticing bait.

It takes a few videos, but eventually Shen Yuan comments. Luo Binghe latches onto the chance to start talking to him, playing up a persona of a vulnerable young man with little means who is trying hard to make it through school, etc, and sure enough Shen Yuan seems interested. Well, most predatory people like vulnerable targets, don't they?

However... Shen Yuan just sends him a chunk of money.

Luo Binghe is confused.

Isn't he supposed to ask for something or create some kind of expectation of repayment first? But, maybe this is his approach to handling new targets. Maybe he's just trying to lull Binghe into a false sense of complacency, before he starts indicating what he wants from all of this. Luo Binghe makes sure to move the money Shen Yuan sends him into a separate account, so that if the Shen parents get angry about it then he can return it as a gesture of good faith.

But Shen Yuan just keeps sending supportive comments and donations. Eventually he leaves a comment that alludes to how badly he'd like to taste Binghe's cooking, and Binghe is like finally, but when he implies that they could perhaps meet in person and Luo Binghe could thank him for his support by making him something, Shen Yuan backs off.

Things eventually progress to the point where Luo Binghe, who is a totally normal person treating this like a totally normal job still thank you very much, is basically camping out in the bushes in front of Shen Yuan's apartment building. At some point he conscripts the aid of his weird cousin (finding his birth family was how he got into this business initially), and then almost immediately regrets it because Shen Yuan helps get Zhuzhi Lang a job doing landscaping for his building.

Why would he want Zhuzhi Lang close but not Binghe? Binghe is much handsomer! He'd make an excellent target for seduction! >:(

Anyway eventually Yue Qi catches Luo Binghe lurking around like a creeper and is like, finally, I have caught one of these suspicious men, whilst Binghe is like oh so he does have a lover, well this guy sucks and is clearly not good enough for him, and they both try and chase one another off and Shen Yuan comes home to a heated passive-aggressive-politeness war being waged in front of his apartment. Eventually he realizes the misunderstanding and calls everyone together (zoom conference? in-person meet-up?) to clarify that he is not paying any of them for "special favors", that was just Airplane being deranged about his sense of humor, and then he has no idea what to do when the prevailing response seems to be disappointment.

#svsss #scum villain's self saving system #shen yuan #bingqiu #cumplane #liushen #do shen yuan and yue qingyuan have a ship name?#idk #scum villain #shen yuan: fandom bicycle #lbh eventually comes clean about being hired by sy's parents #sy doesn't blame him he just sighs about his unhinged family

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bejeweledinterludes · 3 months ago

Text

still got the blues.

OR on one quiet night spent in the bunker, you discover that the notorious, god-fearing, big, bad ‘n scary, six-foot badass hunter that is dean friggin’ winchester (aka one of your closest friends) isn’t as tough as he seems.

well.

in bed, at least.

my masterlist

「 pairing 」 : sub ! dean x fem ! reader

「 word count 」 : 8.8 k. (FAITH BE NORMAL OVER DEAN WINCHESTER CHALLENGE LEVEL: IMPOSSIBLE)

「 content / warnings 」 : MINORS 🤺🤺🤺 GET BACK! AWAY!later seasons sub dean winchester x fem reader (yes i have a problem, no i don’t care thank you!). masterbating, handjob, unprotected sex. yeah this may be the horniest thing i’ve ever written in my life.

you have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

HELLOOOOO THE LONG-AWAITED SUB!DEAN SMUT IS FINALLY HERE 🙂‍↕️🙏‼️ shoutout and thank you to @supernotnatural2005’s drabble / oneshot for the inspo on this one <3 because i think we all want to catch dean like this— which is why i wrote about it!

ALSO @figthoughts’ post from the other day too… yeah idk guys we’re just horny and ovulating connected or something when it comes to mr. jensen ackles and his characters. love you figgy pudding!

𖤐 ─────────────────────────

being on the road with sam and dean for god knows how long now, you’d gotten used to all the sounds each idiot knucklehead brother would make in their sleeping state as you passed their rooms— so much so that it was basically white noise at this point, and you just tuned it out.

yeah, tonight was different, though. sam had left much earlier— he and elieen were finally going on a real, live, actual date, much to your joy.

which meant you and dean were alone in the bunker together. that doesn’t happen often, but when it does, you usually stay up watching 80s movies and arguing over niche things like whether or not they used real flames in the end of back to the future (they didn’t).

that was yet another reason why tonight was different: you hadn’t seen dean all day, much less tonight. he’d been out during the evening doing god knows what— and you barely even heard him come back a few hours ago.

but you didn’t push. actually, you didn’t dare to set foot past dean’s door— taking the long way down the hall to get to the kitchen or the library throughout the evening, secretly hoping he wouldn’t come out of his room or even acknowledge your existence.

because… honestly?

living with two other men?

who the hell were you kidding.

you could use a night to yourself.

and not to your knowledge or anything, but so could dean.

no disrespect though, because dean really was wishing you were there— or, rather, he was imagining you with him, which was the only acceptable option at the moment.

…but this was definitely a new low. even for him.

see, while you were actually attempting to be productive with your night, dean was not.

like, at all.

while you were doing your laundry, putting clothes away in your room, watching a show on your laptop with your airpods in— thank god, otherwise this whole thing would blow up in dean’s face…

…for the most part, figuratively.

because dean— and how does one say this without sounding like a complete and total creep?

well, dean was jerkin’ it in his own room.

fappin’.

beatin’ da meat.

whatever the male version was of flickin’ the bean.

oh, and the (best) grossest part?

he was thinking about you while doing it.

yeah, yeah, it’s sick, it’s definitely wrong on so many levels— and it sure as hell feels downright illegal and a sin to be doing it while you’re in the fucking bunker.

it’s the lowest of the low. weird. pathetic.

but then again, dean’s always been a little… pathetic when it comes to you.

don’t let anyone know you know that, though.

so, back to dean being pathetic and horny. he’d been at the bar in town for hours earlier tonight, trying to find someone to satisfy the strain on his pants— and that someone needed to look a whole lot like you to get the job done.

how hard could it be?

well, apparently, in lebanon, kansas, finding a look-alike clone of your best friend so you could fuck them silly?

it’s really goddamn hard.

and so was dean.

so here he was—did i say pathetic already?— jerking off in his bedroom like some horny teenager. he’s on his fourth, maybe fifth time cumming to the thought of purely just you.

that’s right, no porn, no nudie mags, not even a goddamn picture in his free hand— because dean was wound up so freakin’ tight, he didn’t need anything. just his hand and his filthy imagination.

it’s humiliating. dean’s literally bucking his hips up into his hand as of right now, imagining it’s yours and not his— all while letting out these little noises that do not sound like they’d be coming from a six-foot, tough as nails hunter. but they are.

and they’re all for you.

dean winchester does not whimper. hell, no. but the broken sound that rips from his throat, tossing his head back on his pillow after he tugs a little too hard on himself was anything but.

and maybe dean should be making less noise— but he knew you so well, too well— you’d have your airpods on noise canceling, anyway. and he can’t even think about if you didn’t. he’s too wrapped up in a haze right now. he’s so distracted. by-god intoxicated.

because dean’s imagining you after that one hunt in virginia. yeah. the moon had been out that night, and god, the way it hit you— a combination of this deep blue and silver and it just lit up your skin, illuminating you like you were one of those ancient goddesses, like the ones he’s only read about in old myths and legends when he’d been so bored he actually did research in the library.

dean’s imagining you, just you, right there with him, and it was your hand, not his. imagining you pulling those sounds from his throat while he’s breathing so heavy, his chest heaving up and down. and the sheets covering only his bottom half were shifting with him as he was moving what seemed like his entire bed along with him as of now.

dean was trying to be quiet.

but his body was not letting him.

and poor you— oh, sweet, innocent you. because as far as dean knew, you were completely oblivious to what was currently occurring in his bedroom at the moment.

but what dean didn’t know was that your airpods had died over an hour ago.

and you’d made the mistake of not taking the long way back to your room this time, thinking that dean had gone to bed due to the late hour.

you had stopped in your tracks in the hall coming back from the kitchen— because you heard dean. heard his little broken groans, damn close to whimpers.

and you genuinely believed that dean was just having a nightmare at first— because hell, with the shit you guys encountered on the daily, it wasn’t uncommon for any of y’all to make a goddamn racket in your sleep.

drawing that conclusion— because it was the only one that was realistic, you start towards your room again, already starting to tune out dean’s weird-as-hell noises.

but before you even take two more steps past dean’s room, you hear something else— a little muffled through the door, but clear as day. because it sends a jolt straight through you.

your name.

he’s having a nightmare, you remind yourself. he could be just calling out to you in that sense, because that would be logical. but then he says your name again. and again.

and it’s just your name.

not sam’s.

not cas’.

just. yours.

and dean sounds like a man possessed at this point. his eyes are squeezed shut, as if he’s trying to banish the image of you from his mind.

but he can’t. and he never would.

he just can’t do it. can’t keep himself in check anymore.

so that’s why dean groans your name at the next motion of his hand on his dick— saying it for the fourth time since you’ve been stopped outside his door.

and it wasn’t a ‘i’m-in-so-much-pain-and-scared’ groan, the kind when someone has a nightmare— no, dean’s groan sounded like a ‘oh-that-feels-so-fuckin-good’ groan, like the kind someone makes when…

oh.

and dean knows he sounds pretty close to, if not completely pathetic. not at all like the good ol’ badass hunter of lore, not that you’d believed him to be. you’d think he’d sound more in control, or at least not whimpering.

dean’s battled both heaven and hell. purgatory. angels, demons, monsters, even sometimes, just people, you name it— he’s fought it and kicked its freakin’ ass, even god himself.

and his one fault? his only weakness?

you.

it’s always been just you. your stupid pretty face. the way you laughed at his jokes, even when they weren’t that funny. the way you stood by him and his brother’s side— and in the hunting world, associating with the winchesters meant a death sentence. you didn’t care, though. you never did. it was in the way you were always there, especially when it counted.

and here he was.

jerking off and thinking about you.

this had to be rock bottom. right? if not that, purely a whole new level of scumbag. even if you couldn’t hear him.

oh, but you could. and you’re lingering outside dean’s door— because you didn’t even have to put your ear on it to hear the noises he was making, clear as day.

dean feels like he’s drunk, delirious. this always happened whenever he fantasized about you. a pathetic, groaning and whimpering mess. hell, in this state, he’d damn well beg.

and oh, he was.

“fuckin’— please— god, i need you, please—”

damn, you could almost see it— dean’s hand, hidden by the dark of his room, but the way the sheets move makes it obvious just where his hand is. and it’s a blur.

yeah. there was no more holding out, no more being strong. not now.

because dean feels like he’s on the edge of his own personal hell.

and you? you’re stuck.

dean was… well, fucking doing that. and you’re just… stuck. you would have just kept walking past his door, putting your pillow between your ears and teasing him about it tomorrow morning.

because instead crying or groaning out the name of some random girl or even farah fawcett— dean was currently begging.

for you.

and you’re still stuck. dean feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind. he’s gonna cum again, he knows it. he also knows he should be quiet, but the words and your name just keep spilling out of his mouth, and he’s too far gone to stop them.

“ah— fuck. please. please, please, goddamn it, i need you, i need you, i need you…”

yeah, dean’s brain’s not in charge anymore. honestly? it hasn’t been since he met you all those years ago— with your stupid pretty hair, and your stupid pretty mouth, and the stupid soft sounds you make in your sleep that drove him insane whenever you used to share a motel room.

dean needs you.

and you needed a fucking cold-ass shower.

because the way dean was sounding right now? he only sounded like that in your dreams. your deepest, darkest fantasies. it was making your knees buckle.

yeah. there’s absolutely no way any of this was real. this was straight out of a porno. this had to be the trickster’s doing, or something.

because the real dean didn’t act like this. and yet, here he was. and here you were, your stomach flipping each time a sound leaves dean’s mouth and bounces off the wooden door that was still splitting you two apart.

and right then and there, you wished you had the balls to just open it.

because you wanted to be right there next to dean, pulling those noises out of him yourself.

“need you—need you right there, need you, right, right, oh, god, there—”

even in dean’s own fantasies, the ones that drove him to insanity like right now, he’d always thought about this. you actually being there, him actually saying all this to you.

dean would’ve given anything, then. anything. just to have you right next to him in his bed.

yeah, well, you’re still just stuck.

because what the fuck do you do.

do you walk back to your room? pretend you didn’t notice? pretend it never happened? not listen to the sounds dean was making?

or, do you open the door? go in his room and just show dean how you’d really felt about him— for years now?

and lately, it seemed like you all you could think and dream about was being in the same bed with dean, touching every part of him.

because if you were in there right now, you’d touch dean’s skin that you yourself had deemed forbidden, because it’d be seen as crossing a line, breaking a boundary.

hello? reality check, anyone?

come on. dean was your friend.

but the noises he was making in your name— because of you? that was anything but.

yeah. if you were in there, you’d start with your hands on dean’s chest, going lower, and lower, until he started making the sounds he was making now, gasping and begging right in your ear for you, not stopping until he completely just—

yeah, that was it.

you knew your answer.

and dean needs exactly what you’re about to do. because god, he’s thought about it. in the dead of night, when he was alone, or when you’d been just out of reach sitting next to him in a dive bar, he’s wanted this. wanted you.

dean wanted to know the way your hands would feel against his skin, how your body would feel against his own. he’s thought about it. hell, he’d dreamed about it. fantasized— just like he was doing now.

and dean was still fantasizing when you throw away every single rational thought you had at the moment and manage to open his door without making a noise— thank you, hunter skills.

this was crazy. right?

eh. you’ve done crazier.

no. not like this.

and not with dean.

but still, you managed to cross the threshold of dean’s room— and you even sit down on the edge of his bed.

okay, the more you thought about it…was this awkward?

maybe.

oh, but dean doesn’t even notice you— his eyes were screwed tightly shut, mouth parted and huffing out pants and broken noises as one of his hands continues to move fervently. his hips are wild, bucking into his hand— and his body is shaking his entire bed frame.

dean’s too far gone to notice anything, lost in a fantasy that’s been haunting him for longer than he’s willing to admit out loud. the only thing that could even remotely stop him would be—

hold on.

dean’s hit by a familiar scent— the one he’d been imagining this whole time. but that really does smell like— and its now so close, so real, it practically envelopes him. and his eyes open to—

you.

right there. in his bed. within reach. looking at him like he’s always wanted you to look at him.

and there’s no disgust or anger on your face as you look down at dean, still frozen in place. no, just a hint of amusement, mixed with something else—

something dangerously close to pure want.

you don’t say anything, even though you know you should by now. because now dean knew that you knew exactly what he’d just been doing— more importantly, you were now aware of who the focus of it all was.

and goddamn if the look on your face doesn’t have dean pausing, too. he’s never seen it on your face before. and it’s too dark in his room for him to really make it out, but he thinks he sees—

you weren’t disgusted. you weren’t grossed out, or even angry.

you’re just… looking at him like the fantasy he’s been chasing isn’t a goddamn fantasy anymore— but instead something he could reach out and touch. feel.

dean has to swallow whatever excuse he could come up with to talk himself out of what you’d just walked in on. what you’d just heard. and his mouth is dry.

a part of you wants to pounce onto dean right now. to kiss him silly, touch him everywhere and make him gasp your name again— only with you being the sole instigator this time.

but the annoying other part of you halted that urge.

and why?

because of your stupid morals.

your goddamned feelings.

and you had to ask dean, had to know— even if the answer hurt you.

“how long?”

dean’s brain almost completely flatlines for a long moment. though, he knows what you’re insinuating, of course.

how long dean has been thinking about you in that way? how long and hard had he fantasized about his hands on your body, his mouth on your skin, and his dick buried so deep inside you, he gets hand cramps almost every night he’s alone?

yeah. it scares him, just how goddamn long it’s been.

“…years.”

that was all you needed. in reality, you don’t actually pounce or anything, but you do move closer to dean on his bed, tossing one leg over both of his to straddle his lap before meeting his gaze again.

“you have no idea,” your voice is barely above a whisper to dean as you keep his gaze, making yourself comfortable in his lap. “how much i wanted to hear that.”

and dean can’t help the groan he lets out, at feeling your weight, your body, straddling his lap. he’s spent too many nights dreaming of exactly this. his hands automatically go to your hips, as if they’re on autopilot.

because he’s not in charge anymore.

and honestly?

he doesn’t think he ever was when it came to you.

and a small smile tugs on your lips when you feel dean’s hands on your hips— your own fingers start to trail from his wrists and up his arms, your pace slow, but deliberate.

because you were going to memorize every inch of dean that you could.

oh, dean’s just barely managing to keep his hips still, to not buck up underneath you. he can feel you, now that you’re straddling him, the heat there, where he’d wanted to feel you for so, so long.

and when your fingers trail up his arms, dean shudders. because it’s so gentle, tender. he can’t remember the last time anyone touched him this way, if at all.

your hands eventually reach dean’s face. oh, his gorgeous face. you cup both sides, taking in everything: those green eyes of his, the freckles you could see only if you were up close dusting on his nose and cheeks—his features were illuminated only by the dim light of his desk lamp, but you could see so much because of how close you both were now.

the slight smile is still on your lips as you look at dean— because you were still a little sure you were going to wake up at some point.

but this wasn’t a dream, you had to remind myself. dean was under you. he wanted you, in the same way you’d wanted him for as long as you can remember.

and dean feels like he can’t breathe properly. he’s been slapped, punched, cut, beaten, tortured, everything violent under the sun done to his face— but no one’s had their hands on it like this.

he feels too exposed, too vulnerable, but he doesn’t move.

because it’s you. it could only ever be you.

dean keeps his gaze locked to yours, even as he has to stop himself from just completely melting into the palms of your hands on his face. he wants to look at you for forever, keep you just like this— and his expression is so open, so bare.

your thumbs gently graze across both of dean’s cheeks as you hold his face in your hands.

and you can’t look away.

so you don’t.

but you do lean a fraction closer to dean in his lap, breaking the silence in a hushed whisper— because there goes your stupid doubts and feelings, again.

“you want this?”

even though he almost wants to, dean can’t laugh. not when he knows you’re being serious. it kills him, a little— that you’re still doubting it.

because how could he not want this? you?

“god, yes.” dean’s not even sure if he says that out loud, or just thinks it— but he’s nodding regardless, and with the movement bringing his face even closer to yours.

and your gaze softens almost completely when dean says that— but there’s one doubt that sticks, even when his words wash all the others away from your mind. the one that’s been there almost the entire time you’ve known him.

“de, i…” you don’t take your hands off of dean’s face when you try to speak again— but the words die in your throat. you swallow a little, averting your gaze.

and god, when dean hears you hesitate, he’s already on edge.

dean doesn’t know what you’re about to say,— all he’s aware of is that you’re now looking away from him. and he can’t have that, so he brings his hand (non-jerking, of course) to your chin, gently but firmly, forcing you to look at him again.

he tries to keep his voice even, but he can’t.

“tell me.”

you’re forced to keep dean’s gaze when his hand touches your face— and his fingers are so warm, you almost lose your train of thought completely.

you’ve wanted dean for so long— but you had to make sure he fully felt the same way you did.

not just lust. not something to walk past awkwardly the next day.

“i— i can’t do this… just for tonight,” you swallow hard again, your voice barely above a whisper as your eyes flick between dean’s. “but i… i think you know that.”

even with the worry that had been coursing through his veins, dean couldn’t help but be impressed at the fact you think there’s a chance in hell he’d be able to have you once and just… let you go afterwards. his hand on your chin drops a fraction, resting on the side of your throat instead. he swallows, then finds his voice.

“i know.”

your gaze softens a little— and it’s a little embarrassing how much weight felt completely lifted off your chest when dean says that.

you had denied your feelings for dean for years now. and now knowing that he felt the same way, it was getting harder and harder to control the urge to just do what you wanted.

“well, good,” you bring your hands to tilt dean’s head up more to you as you’re in his lap, eyes flicking down to his lips— because you so needed to know what they felt like. “that’s— that’s good.”

and damn, if dean isn’t already struggling. nothing’s even happened yet, and he’s trying his best just to keep still, to resist all his natural impulses and desires to just grab you and never, ever let you go. when your eyes flick down to his lips, his follow suit almost instantly. his voice is almost a damn croak when he responds.

“yeah?”

all your senses were filled with just dean. and you needed more. you’d denied your feelings for far too long— years now, in fear of him not reciprocating. but you couldn’t deny your feelings or your urges anymore.

“yeah,” you echo back in an exhale, your thumbs grazing on dean’s cheeks. your gaze is still on his lips, but you look back up at him. “you— you’re all i’ve ever wanted.”

hot damn.

dean feels like he’s going to wake up at any second at those words that just came out of your mouth. because he never dared to let himself hope that you could feel the same way he did. and it’s been so, so goddamn long of wanting you with every fiber of his being, wanting to touch you and hold you and never, ever let you go.

oh, he’s too far gone to even feel sheepish about how he’s almost shaking now, hands trembling and breath coming fast as he’s barely keeping the reins on his self-control.

dean’s trembling sends a shiver down your spine. even after you just said all that, he still wanted this.

you might die.

or you were already in some version of heaven that jack made up.

because dean wanted you.

“just lemme kiss you,” dean would be embarrassed of how desperate and out of breath he sounded if he could give two damns. he says your name again: “please—”

dean can’t even think straight anymore. yet, never could when it came to you. his hands go to your thighs, gripping tight like it’s all he can do to resist the urge to just flip you over right that moment.

you can’t hold back anymore.

neither can he.

so you don’t.

you close the final distance between you both, taking his mouth in a kiss that’s hard, desperate and full of years’ worth of emotion.

and dean’s lips felt like home. and that’s a weird thing to say, but it was true. you’d never kissed him before this, but it really was him that you’d been missing all this time.

your hands on dean’s face trail into his hair, and you could feel yourself completely melting into him when you pull myself closer to him in his lap, hips fully slotting with his own— and you both groan a little at the feeling.

dean kisses you like a goddamn starving man, his hands gripping at your thighs so hard he’s afraid he’s leaving marks. but he can’t bring himself to care, because he’s finally kissing you. finally having you in the way he’s only dreamt of.

dean hasn’t been touched— kissed like this, ever.

like he’s something precious. to be loved. it makes him feel weak. but he can’t really bring himself to care about that, either.

all you could think about was how good dean smelled. and as his lips danced with yours, he even tasted good. like whiskey and something you couldn’t place— but it sure as hell was definitely dean.

and god, it’s perfect. dean’s trying to swallow the little noises his mouth is threatening to make again as you kiss him back, kissing him like you feel the same— he thinks he’s losing his mind for what felt like the millionth time tonight.

dean’s grip on your thighs tightens even more. he couldn’t help it anymore— he rocks you against his lap, his hips bucking up against yours in an involuntary but much needed movement. and a little sound pretty close to a whimper does escape him this time, hitting your lips as you grind your own hips down onto him.

you had to break your lips from dean’s to get stupid air, but your forehead rests against his as one of your hands unlatches itself from his hair, trailing downward on the fabric of his henley as you’re in his lap.

and you’d tease him about the noises he’s making— if it wasn’t leaving your underwear a complete and sopping mess because of it.

dean’s mind is hazy, lost in the feel of you against him and in his lap, his mind trying to keep up with all the things happening.

he’s a hunter, goddamn it.

he needs to get a freakin’ grip.

but he can’t.

because of the way your kiss felt like a drug. the way you’re so close he can feel your breathing, and the way you’re grinding up against him like you mean it—

and then dean feels your hand on his shirt, sliding further down past his stomach, and he feels like he’s about to go insane. he’s hallucinating, under some sort of spell that shows you what you’ve always desired. that’s the only plausible explanation.

but this was real. oh, so real.

dean’s hands were still holding on for dear life on your thighs, but your own was still going farther and farther down the fabric of the henley he was wearing, stopping at the hem and tugging on it, talking against his lips—

“put your arms up f’me, dean.”

goddamn, if that doesn’t make him literally shiver when you say his name like that, all breathless and pretty.

and dean follows the instruction, raising his arms and letting you pull the shirt over his head, revealing his the skin underneath.

he’s not even embarrassed of his scars, the marks on his body from over the years. not with you. the uneven skin told their own tales he wouldn’t dare open his mouth about, even after three whiskeys deep.

you discard dean’s shirt somewhere in his room without another thought when he lifts his arms up.

you’ve actually only seen dean shirtless twice— once after a hunt, and if you count that one time when that motel room with shitty air conditioning that got too hot last summer. you kept your eyes glued to the lore in front of you then, not daring to look.

this time, however, you couldn’t look away.

not even if you tried.

your lips are parted in what could only be described as pure awe while your eyes and fingers rake over every inch of new skin revealed while still in dean’s lap. first trailing a path up his exposed arms as your eyes continue to drink in all the details of him you’d never thought you’d see.

dean has never, ever been looked at the way you’re looking at him right now.

your fingers continue to trail up dean’s arms, fingertips grazing on the scars you could see in the dim light of his room. you actually knew some of them— having been there when he sustained the wound that made the scar, but a lot were new to you.

and you wanted to memorize it all.

it’s almost embarrassing how he feels like something to be worshipped under your touch. like someone to be taken care of. to be cherished.

as your fingers trail up his arms, he has to bite down on a whine in the back of his throat— forcing himself to keep still under your gaze as you rake your gaze over him. his voice is rough and hoarse when he manages to speak, but all he could get out was your name.

your hands found themselves resting dean’s shoulders while you take in the breathtaking view that is him under you, meeting his gaze when he says your name, voice just as quiet as his.

“yeah, de?”

your touch feels like dean took the jumper cables he had in the back of baby and put it against his skin. but it’s so soft, so gentle. it’s also making his whole body ache, yet he just wants more. and he can’t keep his eyes off you, either. the way you’re looking at him, at his scars like they’re nothing to be ashamed about… it’s almost safe.

dean swallows, hands coming to rest on your waist now that he’s topless. his voice sounds wrecked, broken.

because he’s begging.

“touch me.”

dean’s hands on your waist were making your heart beat all out of rhythm— and you almost completely lose your train of thought looking into his green eyes, wide and blown out.

for you.

you just nod at dean’s words— and your fingers continue their journey downward from dean’s shoulders, trailing over his skin until you eventually reach the waistband of his boxers, and you keep your hands there on the fabric when you look back up at him.

because you still needed to know:

“can i take these off?”

oh, for the love of—

dean nods rapidly before you’re even done asking, because he’d do anything, anything, to have you touch him like he had been not just a few minutes earlier— in fact, he’s already lifting his hips off the bed to make it easier for you, because he’s not about to hesitate. he needs you. he’s needed you for too goddamn long.

and when you manage to pull off dean’s boxers, discarding them in one fell swoop after he confirms and lifts his hips for you, your eyes widen at the sight of him completely exposed beneath you on his bed— and a quiet ‘jesus christ’ escapes from your lips before you can stop it.

and your reaction makes dean’s breath hitch. because it’s not a disgusted one— it’s the exact opposite. he feels vulnerable like this, exposed to you in a way he’s never been to anyone else. he should feel embarrassed. but he doesn’t, oddly enough.

his voice is so goddamn quiet when he bites down on another whine.

“please.”

and you just nod again. then both your hands find dean’s chest once more— and you start trailing a path down his lower torso with your fingers.

dean can’t help the way he lets out a strangled moan at your touch against his bare skin. with no clothing in the way to block it, he’s so much more sensitive. every single touch makes his breath hitch, his head spinning with how perfect it feels.

it’s too much.

and yet, he needs more.

dean’s hands find your hips again, gripping, trying to get you even an inch closer to him.

and as your fingers get lower and lower on dean’s stomach, you hesitate your hands. not because you weren’t sure— but it felt… well, wrong not to at least ask him for permission first.

so you look back up and meet dean’s gaze, eyes searching his again as you whisper, shifting closer to him in his lap.

“can i go lower?”

and at your question, a sharp shiver wracks through dean’s whole body— he’s half convinced he’s going to to just cum right there, even if you don’t end up touching him.

dean’s practically trembling under you now, hands gripping tighter on your hips. he tries to speak again, to say something— but his voice comes out in a strangled moan.

all he can do is nod against his headboard.

a soft exhale escapes you when dean confirms. you nod— and don’t hesitate again.

not when he was like this.

you take all of him in one of your hands— but you don’t even try to look away from his face while you do so. because you had to see his face for this.

and dean feels like the air’s getting ripped from his lungs at how good your touch feels. he’s never felt anything like this before. it could be the fact that he hasn’t had actual sex in a while (apparently, he’s considered old now), or purely just because of you.

yeah, but dean’s never been touched like this before. so goddamn gentle. but it’s still perfect. his eyes are still locked to yours, and his expression looks pained. it’s all too much, after wanting this for so long.

and all he can do is whisper your name before your hand starts to move.

you start starts slow— not too slow, though, because dean had already fucked his palm tonight more times tonight than he’d like to admit.

dean’s eyes actually flutter shut for a moment when your hand starts to move, a moan catching in the back of his throat. because it’s barely even started, and it’s so good. too good.

dean’s hands on your waist are close to shaking now, but he has to speak— even as it comes out in a hoarse croak.

because he needs—

“more. jesus, i need—”

you don’t even entertain the thought to tease dean or not do as he asked— because the sounds he was desperately trying to keep in were making you want to keep going, to not stop.

so you don’t stop. your hand speeds up, going back and forth on dean’s dick— and your gaze still doesn’t leave his while in his lap, touching him in the way you’ve always wanted to for so long.

and when you pick up the pace, dean’s breath hitches even more— god, it’s so good, but he still needs more. his hands are shaking as they grip tight on your waist, and his eyes somehow keep your gaze, even as his head feels like it’s spinning right into his headboard.

dean manages to get out his next request, in a begging whisper of a breath. he’d be ashamed if he wasn’t so desperate.

“please— please, i need—”

“its alright,” you nod before he can finish this time, leaning your head and pressing a kiss on his cheek. “i gotcha, de.”

and that’s it. you say those words and dean feels like he could cum right there. he’s already so close, just from your touch, the way your hand’s moving so beautifully up and down on his dick. the way you’re looking at him. he tries to keep his eyes open, too— to keep looking at you, but everything you’re giving him is starting to overwhelm him, he can hardly even breathe anymore.

dean glances down at your hand between both of you— big mistake, because the sight of your fingers around his dick and covered in him makes him let out strangled whimper. he bites down on his lip hard, his head falling back against the headboard and his eyes screwing shut. because it’s embarrassing how close he is to cumming in your hand.

you notice, of course— your hand doesn’t let up, but your other hand on dean’s shoulder goes to the side of his face, thumb grazing on his cheek. it’s a stark contrast to what you’re doing to his dick.

“de, its okay,” you reassure dean as his breaths become more and more unsteady, eyes flicking over his face. “you can let go if you wanna.”

and that’s it. that’s all it takes.

as soon you give him permission, dean’s gone.

his body suddenly goes rigid, then he’s bucking his hips into your hand so erratically and sloppily you would’ve been knocked from your position on dean’s lap if he hadn’t buried his face in your still clothed chest, tightened his arms fully around you and pulled you closer to him. he cums loud and hard, a mixture of soft groans, whimpers, swears and pants of your name spilling into the fabric of your shirt.

you’d never heard him like this before, ever.

but dean winchester— the man, the myth, the hunter god, was whimpering as you’re in his lap.

for you.

because of you.

and because it’s all too damn much— the way your hand feels, the touch of your thumb against his face, the look in your eyes when you said that it’s okay for him to let go of the tight rein he’s been holding onto for so long.

dean can feel himself shaking and still coming apart under you as you guide him through it, his face buried in your shoulder as you pull every last bit of pleasure out of him that he has with your fingers. he’s never felt so goddamn free before. he’s never come apart, not like this— not completely exposed like this.

dean’s hands are still shaking as they rest your waist, his entire body almost trembling with it being still so overwhelming. but it was perfect. and he needs to say that, to tell you that it was everything he’d ever wanted—

“please— please, just kiss me.”

and that comes out of dean’s mouth instead. you’d barely started to wipe your hand when the words spill out in a plea— a beg into your shirt. you’re a little surprised that was the first thing he said post-orgasm.

but still, you lean back just enough after dean says that, bringing your free hand to the side of his face while still in his lap, your gaze flicking between his in the dark of his room for just a moment before you lean back in, pressing your lips onto his again.

dean doesn’t hold back now. he doesn’t care about the mess he just made, the way he sounded, or the fact that he begged you to kiss him after you just made him cum.

he kisses you like a starved man, like the air he was breathing needed to come from your mouth and not any other source. his hands move to the back of your hips, gripping your shirt tight and pulling you even closer to him on his lap, now that your hand wasn’t between you both anymore.

dean tears his lips off of yours— and he is still just barely coming back to himself. his brain still hazy from pleasure, from you, but he tries to get out words because he needs to tell you how much he still wants, needs you. his hands grip tight on your hips, like he’s afraid you’ll just get up and leave if he lets go. his voice is still wrecked when he only manages to whisper your name again.

you don’t move out from dean’s lap, though. you stay pressed against him, his skin so warm and flushed against your own. neither of you had to say anything to know how intimate this all was. dean should be attempting to at least do something besides burying his face back in your shirt.

but you don’t let dean stay like that for too long. your hands go to the sides of his face, holding his head as you tilt it back to look up at you, searching his gaze as you continue to straddle him. and your own voice is a whisper, too.

“y’okay?”

and god, dean feels like his entire body’s just come apart again at that single word, because how do you answer a question like that.

dean has to take a breath, because he still feels the aftermath of it. everywhere. he nods, once— because he’s better than even alright. then again, because he has to tell you that, too.

“yeah,” he manages to get that out, and it’s still so damn wrecked, so out of breath. “more than okay.”

“okay, good,” your gaze softens and you nod when dean confirms that he was okay— and your other now-clean hand finds the side of his face when he looks up at you. a small smile tugs on your lips as your thumbs graze on his cheek. “just checkin’.”

dean’s blown-out eyes are still locked to yours as you brush your thumb against his skin, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of feeling you touch him like this.

it’s so tender. so soft.

and dean’s just… lost. in you.

but dean does finally manage to speak again, his voice still hoarse as his hands release from your hips start to trail down, calloused fingers rubbing gently on your exposed thighs and saying your name like a prayer. “god, i need—”

you keep dean’s gaze still— but not before glancing down to see his hands on your bare thighs in his dimly-lit bedroom as you straddle him.

dean’s hands looked like they belonged on you.

felt like it, too.

one of your own hands reaches down from dean’s face to his on your thigh, grasping on his fingers with yours.

“tell me what you need,” your voice is still a hush of a whisper, but remains completely and utterly genuine as you search dean’s gaze. “de, tell me what you need me to do, and i’ll do it.”

holy goddamn.

dean’s breath actually stutters a little at that, because you sound so ready, so willing— he can’t help but let those last three years of pining, of wanting you, of hoping show as he looks up at you.

“ride me. please.”

the words come out in a half-choked plea. dean’s so damn desperate for you, he’d beg. hell, he was begging in the darkness.

and you weren’t about to say no.

your hands take themselves off of dean’s face and hand, lifting your leg to discard your sleep shorts, then your (soaked) undies— then going to the shirt that you’d still been wearing, grabbing the hem of it and tearing it off, discarding it somewhere in his room before reaching behind you to unclasp your bra.

and when that finally comes off, too, dean’s entire damn body tenses. because he felt like the air had just been ripped from his lungs.

again.

he’s seeing you more exposed to him, for him than he’s ever seen you before— and the sight of you like this is goddamn perfect. you’re so perfect.

dean’s hands tighten on your thighs, his eyes taking in the view of you like a man starved.

“holy—”

there’s a thousand words he has for you right now. things like beautiful, perfect, mine. but he can’t get them out yet. because his brain is still trying to catch up from the fact that you’re actually here and naked in his lap.

both of dean’s hands reach for your hips as he’s still staring up at you in awe, his fingers gently but almost greedily gripping on you— because he wants to touch you so bad that he wants to let out a goddamn sob. because no one has ever felt like this for him.

because no one has ever come close to the way he craved you.

your eyes meet back up to dean’s green ones once again. you didn’t have to tell him anything or even say something else.

so that’s why you just nod, then reach down between you both once more, starting to fully sink yourself on dean’s dick— all while still keeping his gaze while you let your hands rest on his shoulders, a exhale escaping you both.

you not even halfway on his dick, and dean thinks he might bust again right then and there. his fingers dig into your hip, all while a groan escapes his parted lips: “ah, shit—”

and oh, he’s big. it takes you a second, but you sink down completely on top of him, your pussy sucking him all up— dean feels like he can’t breathe. again. the sight of you like this is gonna fuel his jerk off sessions for the rest of his goddamn life.

dean’s not sure if it’s possible, but he uses his hands on your hips to gently just pull you even closer against him— which ended up being a mistake, because you involuntarily clench around him. his head drops in between your tits at the action.

and.

he.

whines.

“f— fuck—”

yeah. dean just whined at the feeling of being inside of you, eyes screwed shut and everything as he buries his face deeper between your breasts— you can feel the pant of air and his lips on your skin.

dean’s fingers lace together with yours fully, holding your hand tightly while his other is still gripping tight on the meat of your hip, finally taking his face off of you to look up at you above him.

and oh. you’re a goddess, at least. not something heavenly though, because angels are dicks— but you look unreal as you look back down at dean, your mouth just a little parted from feeling him.

dean twitches a little inside you as he tries to find words, just a few, to tell you how much he wants this— or at least to tell you to move.

all he can get out, though?

“p— please.”

you don’t have to ask for clarification.

you know what dean’s asking for.

so you give it to him.

you grind your hips—and dean whines a little again at that— down onto his just once, testing the waters before you find a rhythm.

and dean feels his entire brain just go on complete and total motherfucking overdrive. because this is it. he’s finally getting the most intimate part of you, the part he’s been wanting for so damn long— he literally can’t see straight anymore. that’s how good it feels. how good you feel.

dean’s head goes in between your tits again, still holding your hand as you move your hips on top on him, grinding down on his dick. his other arm goes around your waist, pressing himself against you and gripping you tight in an attempt to steady himself— but it barely helps. his eyes screw shut again, and he’s letting out another whimper before he can stop it.

“fff— oh, fuck—”

a moan drops from your mouth, too, but it’s nothing compared to the sounds dean’s making, gasping and groaning into your skin as he fucks up into you, meeting your movements. his dick is brushing on that spot that makes you groan— and kickstarts your urge to go faster.

so you do.

dean can’t control anything right now. his hips are bucking up into you erratically, the movements only being stunted a little due to how strong your thighs were around him as you straddle him.

your hand not holding dean’s goes into his hair as you’re both pressed together for a better grip— and dean almost sees stars. he groans a little again, his breaths coming in hard pants on the skin between your breasts.

and the praise falls from your lips onto dean’s ear before you can stop it—

“you’re doin’ so good, de.”

dean feels like he’s gonna cry. just from how perfectly good you feel on top of him— and he’s making the most delicious noises that sound like words but it’s just broken moans mixed with whimpers. his hand on your hip tightens to the point it’s almost painful, but you don’t mind all that much.

“ah, don’ worry, i gotcha,” you whisper against dean’s ear again, your hand tightening on his as you let out a rough exhale, chest heaving rapidly against his as your movements don’t falter once. “you’re doing so good f’me, dean.”

dean’s not in control of the sounds that come out his damn mouth anymore— the praise goes straight to his dick, straight to the familiar burning building low in his tummy. it’s just all swearing, sounds of your name and incoherent begging being said into your skin.

“ah— shit, fuckin’— please—”

dean’s not even trying to stop the words from rushing out of his mouth right now, even if he sounds pathetic. because it all feels so goddamn good, and he’s being so good— for you.

and dean can feel nothing but you right now, in every sense possible. everything else has been long gone, and he’s been so goddamn wrapped up in how good your pussy feels around his dick.

dean gasps for air, because wants to tell you that you’ve ruined every living thing for him in the entire goddamn universe forever.

he wants to tell you that he’s about to cum— again.

“jesusfuckin’christ— oh, please—” is what comes out of him instead.

the words are barely intelligible, and dean’s whole body is starting to tense underneath you as he manages to choke out a ragged cry of your name. your hand is still gripping hard onto his own, the other burying itself deeper his hair. you needed to hold onto him right now. shit, you needed a sec.

because dean winchester was begging to cum inside of you.

you almost stop grinding down on him for a second— the keyword being almost.

you just nod against dean’s head still buried in your tits, holding him against you as you talk into his ear again.

“go ahead, baby.”

dean almost sobs again when you say that. he lets go completely just as before, his hands’ grips becoming painful on you as his whole body shakes and convulses against yours, the movements of his hips becoming so erratic once more as he’s painting your walls with his… sixth? seventh? load of the night— only this time, it’s inside of you. and he’s making every sound in the book: whimpers, groans, a whine here and there, too.

you came, too— but honestly, if you didn’t, you would’ve been fine either way. seeing and hearing dean come apart like this was enough to last you a lifetime.

you don’t know how long dean and you stay like that, pressed into each other and panting, fluids mixed together, spilling out and sticking all over your thighs— but even as you pull back just enough to look down at him, dean’s still trembling under you, long after both your orgasms had surpassed their high, melting into a thick haze between you two.

dean can’t look at you— or won’t, but either way, your hand in his hair trails to the side of his face, and you gently force him to look up at you.

dean swallows hard, and his face flushes. the embarrassment was finally, finally starting to set in now that he’d fucked you and himself out. he braces himself for the teasing, the jokes— and the look on your face.

but you weren’t looking down at dean like he was pathetic, or weak. you never did— and you sure as hell weren’t about to start now, after he’d just shown you every side you’d wanted to see of him.

no, you just smile a little, eyes flicking between dean’s as your thumb grazes on his cheek. he can’t help but lean his head into your palm as you exhale your next words out in a breath—

“that was really fuckin’ hot.”

───────────────────────── 𖤐

you now have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

heyyyyyyy guys… soooo how we doin’? LMFAOOOOOOOO this has got to be the longest i’ve ever spent on a fic (only for dean wbk!)

and i know i said this last time, but on a real note: if you have stayed to the very end— first, THANK YOU FOR READING! and second, if you enjoyed, please consider SHOWING ME THAT ( reblogs / comments / etc ) because this took me FOREVER to write (again). i would love to know if my efforts are worthwhile!

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somanyideassolittletime · 2 months ago

Text

Hints.

Pairings: Jack Abbot x Fem!Attending!Reader

Summary : 4 Times Shen Hinted to Jack about you, only for you to beat him to it .

Warnings: fluff, Jack is yearning hard, slow-ish burn, language, grammar inaccuracies (maybe? idk), Shen being a lil shit. Not beta read.

Author’s note: this is my first time writing a fic, sooooo might be shitty, but I can’t stop thinking of this trope so I decided to take matters into my own hands.

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Jack has always noticed you. He notices that you always spend just a little bit more time with peds patients, he notices that you always indulge in small talks from your coworkers, he notices which nurses you are closest with, he notices almost everything about you.

He was well aware of how close you and Shen are—from seeing both of you for the first time ever, seeing the two of you whispering, thinking “these two are either way too stupid or just way too capable,” which he later proved was indeed the latter. Both you and Shen have the honor of being nicknamed ‘dumb and dumber’ due to how much you bicker with each other. It came with the territory of being best friends since med school.

He was glad to have you both under his guidance; the two of you seemed to be able to work autonomously, and his weight has been lighter ever since ‘dumb and dumber’ started working with him.

He knows that you always carpool with him every time you both are on the same schedule, knows that you are the one who introduced Shen to his current girlfriend, and knows that you and Shen tell each other about everything. He also knows that the care you two have for each other is nothing more than a sibling bond.

What Jack doesn't notice about you? How much you are actually in love with him.

What Jack doesn't know? Shen is so tired of seeing both of you pining for each other.

Both of you always held the same admiration for each other, and the caring nature you both have somehow multiplied when either one of you is on the receiving end of said nature. But Jack, being Jack, brushed it off as you being in your usual caring nature. Which was true, to some extent, you have always been caring for others. And you, being you, always brushed it off as Jack being a good senior.

For others, though, it was as plain as day that you both are in love with each other, and since Shen was basically your body double, he often gets asked about the two of you which pisses him off to no end.

(‘You can’t put a bet when you know what’s going on,’ Perlah once argued with him. Earning a nod of approval from others.

‘I know nothing, all I know is that she’s got a big crush on someone. I don’t even know if it’s Abbot,” Shen reasons.

‘The moment she tells you anything, anything at all, you be a man and back off from this.’ Princess points at him.

‘Yeah, yeah, you guys know I’m a good sport.’ )

| one

After finishing up a GSW case on a police officer, Jack walked out of the room, eyes scanning for you—a habit he realized he's been doing way too much of.

When his eyes found your figure, he watched as you were talking to an officer, friends of the patient he just finished up on, no doubt.

Now he knew that you had been asked out many times before this, but he had only heard it in passing, on gossip, on jokes that usually involve you cutting in with a laugh and a mocking tone of “yeah right as if”. Now that he has had the chance to see it in action, he doesn't know how to feel.

The officer you were talking to was smiling, with his hands on his vest, a straight posture, and chest slightly puffed. He could easily pass as the poster boy of the force, like he just came out of a police TV show you and Shen liked so much. He knew it because he once overheard you and Shen talking about it, and he arrived home, searched all of his subscriptions to watch one of the episodes.

He tried to tear his gaze away. Really tried. But he couldn't, he was curious about what that boy could possibly be talking about with you.

Even from afar, without hearing what you two were talking about, he can confirm that the officer was definitely asking you out, with how much machismo he's exuding while offering his name card.

But he knows you better, he can see that you look awkward, like you just indulge him in a conversation out of respect and common courtesy, not out of interest.

Deciding that he could not see another minute of this, he decided to approach you but not even a step later that Shen stepped beside him and snorted.

“Jesus, she could probably make a yellow page by now if she doesn't throw those cards away.”

“What?”

“He's too young for her. She's too smart for him.” He commented as if it were obvious.

“He probably is the same age as you, man, and he seems…nice,” Jack argued, though he did find a slight comfort in Shen’s comment.

“Trust me. The moment he stepped away, she’ll throw that card.”

“And how are you so sure?”

“You.” He said it casually.

“What?” He croaked out.

Shen sighed, patted his shoulder, and walked away from him.

wanting to search for some truth in Shen’s words, he stayed in his spot, still looking at you.

True to Shen’s word, the moment the officer stepped away far enough from you, you walked over to the nearest trash bin and smoothly threw the card away.

He's not sure what he's supposed to be feeling now. Happy that you declined that guy's offer? Or sad that you didn't get a good night out with a guy that seemed nice.

But somehow his mind kept repeating what Shen told him. Looking for any reason—one that didn't give him any hope.

He must've zoned out for a while because you suddenly appeared in front of him, “Jack. Hey. Are you good?” Waving your hand in front of his face.

He's gotten you to call him Jack when it's just the two of you. Courtesy to one time you were looking for him on the rooftop, and you jokingly said, “Do I get to call you Jack now that I just walked an ungodly amount of stairs just to search you? Because I really just used the stairs.” Upon hearing his name uttered by you, he said yes, to please call him Jack.

He shook his head and searched for your eyes. “Yeah. No, I'm good. He seemed nice,” he pointed his chin towards the officer from earlier. Now standing in the ambulance bay, looking at his phone.

“Not my type,” you replied with ease. Because it was the truth, you never wanted to put anyone you decided to go on a date with, only for you to spend the entire time wishing it was Jack.

“You never seem to be hit on by your type, huh?” He commented. Because that’s what’s been bothering him, why is it that you never even got interested in the slightest with anyone who came across interested with you?

You smirked at that. “What would you know about my type now?”

“What is it then?”

Before you could reply, your name got called away, and you stepped away from him before saying, “Just wait and see, Dr. Abbot.”

| two

It was unusually cold tonight in the ER, and the city was raining for the entire day. Hell, the weather even got everyone who always swore by iced coffee switching it up to hot ones now.

Jack was glad for the weather, it meant that fewer people would come to the ER unless it was something like life-threatening injuries or one requiring immediate treatment.

A small part of him deep down also likes nights like this because it usually meant he got to spend more small moments with you. Not that he would ever admit it out loud sober.

Tonight, it seems fate has a different plan. It's been two hours into the shift, and he hasn't even said hi to you. He noticed that you keep moving around, busying yourself with everything.

Jack was charting on his station, looking up once in a while, looking at you talking to patients, when Shen approached him. Seeing this as his moment to ask about you, he cut to the chase.

“What's going on with her?” He nodded to your figure.

“Was gonna talk to you about it.”

Hearing that, Jack straightened up and looked at Shen, urging him to continue.

“This cold bothers you?” Shen started.

“You came to me to ask ‘bout the fuckin weather?”

“2 hours no contact and it’s grumpy Abbot today, huh?”

“No. And no.” He answered, not liking what Shen was trying to insinuate at him.

“You got a jacket lying around?”

“In my locker. What for?”

“She won't admit it, but she's cold as hell. Been moving around like she got the fuckin zoomies to manage it” he explained.

“Where's her jacket?” Jack asked, since he knew you always brought your jacket every day.

“We ran late today. Was gonna give me my jacket, but why should I when you're here,”

“What do you mean?” Jack knew what he meant, but he'd have to be held at gunpoint to admit it.

“Jacket. Give. To. Her. Okay?.” Shen mockingly said, emphasizing every word he said, miming an act of giving a Jacket and pointing to your figure.

“Yeah, okay.” He mutters under his breath just loud enough.

Before he left his station, he called for Shen again.

“Thanks for telling me.”

Shen laughed at him and waved his hand dismissively.

Jack decided to walk over to you and intervene before you even move to another bed again.

“Come with me.” He touched your exposed elbow to gain your attention, now finally close enough to see goosebumps from the cold.

“Okay. Yeah.” You nodded at him

He leads both of you to the lockers, you following him on his side.

He stopped in front of his locker, pressing his code on the keypad, and opened the door.

You were dead curious about what stuff he had in his locker, that you forgot to ask yourself why he brought you here. So you tiptoed to get a good look inside his locker over his shoulder.

Realizing this, Jack chuckled and stepped away from his locker and let you get a good look inside. “Hope you're not expecting anything.”

His locker is filled with things you could expect: a toiletries pouch, a black t-shirt, a cargo, and a jacket. All neatly placed inside. Seeing that you already got a good look inside, he reached over his locker, extended his arm in front of you, and snatched his jacket.

You looked at him curiously, wondering where this going, why is Jack bringing you here, is he just flaunting that he got a jacket??

He handed his jacket over to you. “Wear it. Before you replaced the Iceman in X-Men” you smiled at his reference and took his jacket in your hand, softly saying thanks out of habit to him, undoing the zipper.

“You finally watched it?” You said as you started to put your arms in the sleeves.

“I liked cyclops,” he shrugged, taking in your figure in his jacket. The jacket fit perfectly. Like it was meant to be worn by you only. His stomach churned because that Jacket was, in all seriousness, his favorite jacket, and seeing you in it might just made his entire day.

“’ Course you liked the simp,” you commented, receiving a ‘hey’ from him.

You snuggled into his jacket and frowned. “Smells like Tide Pods”

“You know I do wash my clothes, right?”

“You got your cologne there?” You asked him, pointing at his locker with your chin.

“That pouch,” he nodded and pointed at his toiletries pouch.

He was going to ask a follow-up question when you reached inside his locker and took out his pouch, unzipped it, and rummaged through it. So he decided that watching you was better than asking you.

You seemed to have found his cologne when you pushed the pouch into his hand, urging him to hold on to it, and sprayed his cologne on his jacket.

Thank god I wasn't lured by those apple watches. Would've given me notifications on irregular heartbeat by now.

You took the pouch, put his cologne inside, zipped it, put it back inside his locker, and rubbed your nose on the jacket to smell it again.

Jack couldn't form a proper sentence—the best he can do is croak out a “why?”

You shrugged as if it was no big deal—it was, you were just good at schooling your expressions.

“You smelled nice. I don't want to wear your jacket if it doesn't smell like you.”

Fuck

“5578? You should've closed your hand over the keypad before punching it in. Now I’m gonna steal your cologne when you're not looking,” you thought that your earlier statement was too bold. So you tried to change the topic.

“Be my guest.” He challenged.

You walked past him, saying, “I will, Jack, I will,” and muttered a thank you once again, but fell on deaf ears as his tactile, visual, and olfactory senses were overwhelmed by you in his jacket, smelling like him, patting at his shoulder.

| three

Jack arrived in ED 15 minutes before his shift change that night. He did the usual— putting his bag down, greeting Dana, and asking her where he could find Robby. Dana answered that he was in the break room, with Shen last time she saw Robby.

He entered the room, finding eye contact with Robby, who was sitting at the table with Shen, eating donuts. Both of them muffled a ‘hey’ to him, pushing the leftover donut in the box to him.

He muttered a ‘no thanks’ and went to the coffee machine to nurse himself a glass before perching himself on the edge of the counter.

Shen spoke up first. “It's her day off”.

Jack, who was sipping on his coffee, stopped mid-motion and searched for Robby’s eyes, who, as it turns out, is smiling smugly at him.

“So?” He replied coyly.

“Just a heads up, though I don’t recall John saying a name,” Robby replied.

Shen muttered something under his breath—just enough to be heard. “He's gonna be insufferable tonight.”

Robby laughed, “Best of luck to you, John.”

“Aren’t you two sweet now?” Jack grumbled to nobody in the room.

Deciding that it was time to torture Jack further, Robby asked Shen in a tone Jack knew all too well. “How’s your girl?”

Shen smiled at him, even from behind, Jack could see him breathing out a sigh of contentment every time someone brought his girl up.

“She’s doing great, kept asking me to find Y/n a guy so we can double date, I mean it’s not even my problem, whoever she’s got her eyes on doesn’t have the balls. She got me a girl for God's sake, why can’t she find herself a guy?” He shrugged and twisted his head to look at Jack. “Abbot, you gonna eat this or can I claim it?”.

Jack hated where this conversation was going – not that he was actively joining, he was already mulling over the idea of surviving this shift without having something to look forward to. Though he couldn’t ignore the pang of fear when Shen looked over at him, he felt like a kid getting caught stealing by their parents at that moment.

“Go ahead,” hearing thi,s Shen muttered a ‘nice’ and reached over, taking another donut which was probably rationed for Jack.

He was munching on his donut when he started again, eyes looking back at Robby. “You know I asked her out after 3 months liking her, one hint from Y/n and I was like, you know what? Fuck it. Thank god she was right.”

“3 months? Didn’t peg you for someone to wait that long.” Robby mused back.

“Exactly, man, I was miserable for three months. Can’t imagine pining for someone for 4 years and not making a move. Owe it to y/n though, if she didn’t make that hint, I would’ve been still single and miserable.” Shen was fucking with him. He was sure of it. Because he realized it long time ago that Shen has been hinting at him about you. From always giving a heads up on where you are, to giving hints about you that he didn’t ask for himself. And he was glad, in a sense, he could know more about you, but now that Shen has sussed him out that he is indeed screwed over, he kept on hinting to him.

And Robby? He laughed, knowing where this was headed. He looked over to Jack, who stood still, perched on the edge, unmoving, pretending to enjoy his cup of coffee – but he knew Jack, Jack was listening intently to Shen, and that the coffee was not so good that you could enjoy it. So he decided to join in more.

“Hey, maybe some guys just like playing the long game.”

“Yeah, way too long of a game, more like. What if the girl’s starting to lose hope and decides that you’re not worth it anymore, huh?” Shen was so fed up with whatever is going on with Jack and you that he was dropping hints like flies.

The thing was, you never explicitly told him who it was, but Shen knew you too well – he knew what your type was, knew when you were serious about someone you’d dated or not, and he knew that a certain Jack Abbot was checking every box in your mental list.

Shen was reminiscing about a certain memory now, both of you were 4 years younger, fresh out of med school, stepping for the very first time on this exact floor. He remembered you talking his ear off in the car, worrying about your attending. Scared that your attending will be a close-minded drill sergeant. Your words, not his.

He remembered the two of you introducing yourselves to Robby and hearing happy squeals from you because “thank god he's nice,” only for Robby to say that he is not your attending. But when the two of you finally got introduced to your attending, Shen elbows you and leaned over, whispering “oh you’re definitely fucked now, Wishing on that drill sergeant now huh”. He would’ve continued teasing you if it weren’t for Abbot’s “you two hear me now, kid?” cutting the joke train he’s been holding on forever.

“Well, I'm going to pee now.” He said, pushing his chair while standing up from the chair. He turned his back, pointing at Jack with his finger. “Hope that didn’t go over your head.” he walked away, leaving two men – one smirking his ass off and one suddenly interested in contemplating his life choices.

Robby was going to say something when Jack cut him off. “What the hell did you say to Shen man?” He was irritated now. Robby lifts his hands in a mock surrender at him.

“Didn’t say anything, man. You do realize that your girl’s close with him, right?” he tried to reason.

“I only confide in you man, now Shen’s as bad as you in fuckin with me over it”

“Well, if it's any consolation, maybe she talked to Shen about you?” Robby was trying to get his point across now. “And listen to Shen, he just told you that she’s starting to believe that you don’t feel the same.”

“How do you even know that she’s talking about me, huh?”

“Jack, as much as I love you brother, I gotta say this, you’re fucking stupid in this case for your own good.” Robby stands up, walking closer to Jack, pointing his finger at his shoulder, and says, “Just tell her. For everyone’s sake here, okay?” and that big betting money I put on you to say it to her first. Robby would’ve said.

He left the room, leaving Jack still perched as the last 5 minutes, unmoving, and deep in thought.

| four

Jack was on his way to see the improvement of the kid currently held in Trauma 2 when his stride was stopped by Jeremy, the new intern. “Hey, Dr. Abbot, can I have a minute?”

“Yeah, what is it?” he said curtly.

“Got multiple lacerations and a fracture. I was supposed to be with Dr. Ellis, but she is currently overseeing other patients, so if you can assist me, maybe. If you got a minute, of course.” Jeremy, like any other person who worked under Jack for the first time, is always timid every time he talks to him. Something Jack is not proud of, actually, he’s a gruff man, sure, but scary? One conversation with him and everyone would realize that he is a yapper himself.

“I gotta go check the drowning case earlier for a sec, you can ask Dr. L/n or Dr. Shen, I saw them charting earlier,” he explained to him.

Jeremy nods, “Oh okay, I’ll ask one of them. Thank you, Dr. Abbot.” Before he can move, however, Shen walks over to Jack and asks him about the seizing patient he was assigned to. Jack sighs, looks over to Jeremy, and says, “Guess Dr. L/n is with you,” before he walks with Shen to Trauma 1.

After a few trips in between cases with Shen, Jack finds himself and Shen in front of the nurse's station, telling Bridget that some of the beds are okay to be discharged when Shen asks. “Hey, Bridget, who’s in South 12?”. Jack steps a few steps backwards to search the board, his eyes scanning over it.

South 10

South 11

South 12, - multiple lacerations, fracture.

“Y/n is. With the new kid.” Jack answered him. “Holy shit.” realizing that Jack and Bridget are looking at him waiting he continues “sorry, it’s just I know the guy, Aaron, he’s her ex.”

“Damn, he’s cute,” Bridget says pointedly. Though she was telling the truth, she also wanted to see how Jack would react.

Jack felt weird in his stomach. For the first time in forever, he felt green. Like something was eating him alive. he was your man for some times in your life. He gets to spend mornings with you. He got to date you. He gets to call you- his thought was cut off by Shen saying that he’s going to go over there to say hi.

“Between you and me, that kid got no chance of ever getting her back,” Bridget says. Jack huffs and says that he’s going to go see who can move to free up some beds, looking more sour as the second passes.

Jack promised himself that he wouldn’t care about what’s going on behind the South 12 curtain, but somehow his feet have a mind of their own because now, he finds himself in South 11, not necessarily doing anything, and he was suddenly interested in the sleeping form of the patient occupying the bed though his ears were trained on the next curtain.

“Okay, you’re done for now. Just gotta wait for ortho to be cleared so you can go upstairs,” he hears your voice, characteristically soft. Followed by Jeremy’s voice saying goodbye, and a curtain being opened.

“Thanks, seriously, didn’t know you both worked here,” he hears an unfamiliar voice.

“No problem, man. Thanks for letting that kid work on you.” Shen replied then with a familiarity.

“Nah, with y/n watching him like a hawk, I’ll trust him with my life.” Aaron, albeit high from the pain meds registered to him still talked with a lilt to his voice.

Realizing that you’re done with Aaron, you excused yourself, “Well, I’m going now. Shen, you wanna-” your voice was cut off by Aaron’s hand shooting up, catching your wrist, “Actually, can we talk for a bit?”

Jack clenched his jaw, he didn’t like where this was going.

“Ookay, I’ll leave you both to it,” Shen speaks up, opening the curtain. Earning a glare from you.

“What is it now?” you start, your eyes darting everywhere, only to find Jack’s familiar boots in the next bed, giving you comfort you didn’t know you needed.

“I’m sorry, okay? All these years, I kept on wondering where we went wrong.” You sigh, “Aaron, what went wrong was… everything, and between you and me, parting ways was the best. We've got to focus on ourselves, and it worked. Besides, we were young back then, we didn’t know any better.”

“You could’ve replied to my texts. You owe me that, at least.”

“Last I recall, we have nothing going on anymore-” Aaron cuts you to it. “You’ve found someone. That’s why you’ve been ignoring my texts, why you can pretend that what we had back then was nothing.”

“Being together was a mistake, Aar, we both know that.” You try to reason with him. Not wanting to give his opinion as an answer, because honestly, you didn’t even know whether you had a chance with the man who has your heart or not.

Jack realized that he wasn’t supposed to hear any further, he felt like shit now that he’s heard something very personal. So he decided to leave.

You look at Jack’s boot leaving and suddenly feel less comfortable now that you are alone with your ex.

Jack finds himself in the ambulance bay, his feelings brewing in his stomach as firm as ever. He was feeling everything all at once now – guilt, jealousy, and most prominently, yearning.

“He made a mistake, a big one, she’s been holding off dating because she knows no one is ever gonna replace you, sure as hell not gonna come back to him.” He doesn’t realize that Shen was behind him until his words sink in.

“I don’t even know what to say to her, how are you even so sure that she feels what I feel?” For once, Jack listened to his heart and asked Shen the big question he’s been itching to know for the longest time.

“Look, I know her, okay? I know she never explicitly told me that it was you, but I know that whatever it is you’re feeling, she feels the same.” Shen never speaks to him in such a manner; he realizes it was almost comforting to him.

Jack doesn’t have an answer to that, so he stayed silent. Hoping an ambulance would come in – just to take his mind off of things he’s been thinking. Shen understands him, he doesn’t expect an answer from Jack, so they both stay silent.

Jack woke up on his day off with a call from you, not that he knew it was you who called him that morning. He was awake on the second ring, annoyed but still reaching for his phone on the nightstand to check the caller ID. Upon realizing that it was you who called, he shot up from his position and mentally prepared himself for your voice.

“Jack, are u up?”

He knows that you have seen better days— your voice is strained, tired, and almost giving up.

“Hey, yeah, I’m up now. What's wrong?”

He hears your chuckles and he realizes that this is a good way to wake up.

“Nothing’s wrong, listen- do you wanna maybe get some breakfast with me? Oh wait, you just woke up, never mind, I’ll-”

“I would love to. where are you thinking? I’ll come and get you from the hospital” He cuts you off. Scared that you've decided that he shouldn't go out.

“The diner near your place, I’m walking there currently. I’ll order your usual.”

The diner was a one-time occurrence, after both of you worked the day shift, and with two cans of beer in his system, you offered to drive him with a waffle as a bribe on the way home.

Before he can ask why you were walking alone in the cold, you cut off the call, leaving him practically jumping from his bed to brush his teeth and change his clothes.

Jack was walking to the front door of the diner when he saw you from the glass window, sitting in one booth, head tilted backward, and arms crossed with two coffee mugs and a plate of waffles on the table. His heart stopped the moment he realized that you were wearing his jacket—the one you keep on telling him you were planning to give back, but it never seemed to land on his locker ever again.

He walked to the booth, muttering your name, and he must have looked like he just woke up because you smiled— that loopy smile that always leaves him frozen. “Good morning. You definitely raised the standards for ‘I just woke up’ look”.

“Well, aren’t you cozy in that jacket?” He jested, “Always wear this one if you’re not working.” You replied with a small smile, looking at his eye.

He smiled bashfully and was going to sit across from you when you held his hand and said, “Sit beside me, please,” and he obeyed. He sits beside you, shoulder almost touching, when you put your head on his shoulder. He went stiff for a while, before slightly leaning his position backward so you could be more comfortable.

“I'll give you this jacket back,” you speak first, your voice slightly muffled by his shoulder. he laughed, and moving his head slightly to the left to press a kiss on your hairline. You took it as a chance to put your arms around his waist, snuggling into him further as he put his arm around you, rubbing it in a soothing motion.

“Keep it.” You kissed his shoulder, the intimacy of this moment isn't lost on him, to ground himself, he decided to lift his mug and carefully take a sip of his coffee with his free hand.

“You want to talk about it?” He started, earning a simple nod against his arm and listening attentively on you talking about the shitty shift you just had—one where you lost a boy, and having to talk to his girlfriend who cried on you saying how she never got the chance to tell him she love him was just too much for you. So you made up your mind that moment to tell Jack as soon as you can.

“Jack.” You called out to him, and he hummed at you, hands still moving up and down your back. You continued. “You know I love you, right?.” His hand stopped at that, and you straightened up, hands falling on his thigh, looking at his eyes now.

He couldn't say anything— his heart beating too hard for his liking, his mind went blank, he was sure he'd never felt peace and adrenaline at the same time.

So he looked down, seeing your hands on his thigh, taking it on his own and lifting it to his lips to press a kiss on it.

He breathed deeply. “Fuck. I love you so much, I don't think it's healthy.” His voice was still breathy, from the adrenaline or the fact that he just woke up 10 minutes ago, he never knew.

“Good. 'Means I got custody of this jacket and its owner now” going back to the same comfortable position you were in earlier, and he laughed softly, with a crooked smile, he whispers, “You already have my heart, You can have any of my jackets, honey.”

“But you have to eat first, and after that you can raid my closet and take anything you want, okay?”

“Will you kiss me now?”

He leaned in and kissed you softly—not a hurried kiss, not even a hungry one, it was a genuine soft kiss with years of yearning over each other, pining over one another with nothing but pure love. He kissed you like he meant it, like how you are meant to be kissed—with nothing but love.

The next day, you weren’t even walking together to the ER, but somehow, everybody knew. Robby was talking with Shen, Dana with Bridget, when you joined in to greet everyone, followed by Jack, who put his bag on his station, not even acknowledging the gossip circle.

You were going to say something when Shen beats you to it, “shhhhh before you say anything, who said it first?” Now this caught Jack's attention, who joined in with a smirk on his face.

“She did,” Jack said with a smile. Looking at you now. Dana and Bridget were high-fiving with a ‘yes’. While Robby and Shen quietly muttered a ‘fuck’.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck, I was so close to that 300,” Shen said exasperatedly. Rubbing his face.

“What the fuck, you bet on me John?” you asked him.

“Eh, we all did. Though I technically bet against you.”

You turned to Robby, “You?” he shakes his head and juts his chin out to Jack beside you.

“Before you ask, we both bet that you would be the first to say it,” Dana said cheerfully, thinking of ways she’s going to spend the money.

Shen looks over to Jack before saying, “what the fuck, man. I even gave you hints.” Jack only shrugged his shoulders, “Sorry, man, I wasn’t even expecting it.”

“That’s what you get for playing dirty, John.” Dana shoved his shoulder.

“Told you the girl’s fierce. Never underestimate a woman in love.” Bridget commented on Shen and Robby.

Jack nudged your shoulder, looking at you, smiling fondly before saying, “Yeah, my girl’s fierce.”

Your face turned red at that comment. “Though, you deserve to lose that you got so little faith in me you fucker.” You pointed at Shen. who replied with a “whatever”.

Shen walked over to Jack and put his hand on his shoulder, “Thank you for lightening my burden, now she’s your burden.” you mock hurt at the comment, though the smile on your face says otherwise.

“Gladly. Though you gotta walk me step by step later.” Jack nudged your shoulder once more, you shoved him back as retaliation, “Hey! I’m not the one eavesdropping when I’m talking to my ex.”

Jack was frozen, his ears burning red, when everybody laughed at him.

“While Jack could’ve given me the win, I’m happy for you both, truly,” Robby said earnestly.

Jack leans down, whispering to you, “You should tell Shen he’s not gonna get free coffee anymore now that you’re driving with me.” You whispered back to him, “Nah, he’s a big boy, he’ll understand.”

Your whispers were responded to with sighs and grunts from the others, who decided to leave both of you alone. With Dana walking away, smiling hard, and says, “Keep it PG now, you two.”

You both smiled at each other before parting ways. You turned over to look at him from a distance and mouthed ‘I love you,’ and Jack, who meets your eyes with his stare – now softer than ever – mouthed back ‘love you more.’.

And that was enough, for now.

#jack abbot x reader #the pitt #jack abbot

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bluzebub19 · 6 months ago

Note

I have a request for how the Arcane characters (Viktor, Jayce, Jinx, Vi, Heimerdinger, Ekko) look so that the reader can access their cuteness. Maybe they are doing or saying something to the reader and the reader suddenly starts hugging and petting them, calling them cute. How would they react to this?

Note: So... I'm the only one who thinks Heimerdinger is really cute. Why aren't there fanfics with him? Mysteries of life..

Arcane characters being called cute by their s/o while they're working

Writer's note: Thanks for requesting! It took longer than I expected because I kept deleting some of the dialogue from how cheesy and cringe it sounded lmao. Heimerdinger is not on my list of characters I write for, but I figured I'll write him this one time. I hope you don't mind that I also added Mylo, cuz why not?

Request/s: Open!

Warning/s: Get a dentist. This is some tooth-rotting fluff. Not proofread and english isn't my native language.

Character/s: Viktor, Jayce, Jinx, Vi, Ekko, Heimerdinger and Mylo

● Viktor tends to get lost in his work, mumbling equations or sketching out blueprints for his projects. You find this incredibly endearing, but not when he gets so absorbed that he forgets to eat or sleep.

● If you suddenly hug him or call him cute, he’ll freeze in shock at first. He blinks up at you as if you just said something in a language he doesn’t understand. Then, his cheeks will flush a light pink, and he’ll chuckles softly. “Cute is... not a term I hear often. But thank you."

● Over time, he grows more comfortable and secretly enjoys the affection. He may even lean into it, but he’ll never outright admit it. Instead, he might deflect with a shy smile and, “You should focus on more important matters."

● Yeah no, that's a sign for you to keep doing it.

● Jayce is the golden boy—confident, charming, and ridiculously handsome. He likes to appear professional and put-together, but you know him well enough to see through that exterior to the dorky, hardworking man beneath.

● When you hug him out of nowhere while he cooks and call him cute, he blinks for a second but chuckles as he turns to look at you. “Cute? Babe, I’m going for ruggedly handsome and sweet here. But I'll take it."

● Still, he's flattered and loves the affection you give him. And unlike Viktor, he's not afraid or shy to show you he wants more of it. He might pull you closer and say, "You're one to talk." He's a romantic and albeit cheesy guy.

● Now, you probably might be thinking about why and how is he cooking, but that's for another headcanon! (I just realized how I'm not even sure whose side am I on. Can he cook?? Cuz I feel like he can. But I also see him burning food-)

● Jinx, as we all know, is pure chaos, always working on something explosive or messing around. She has a habit of humming and singing off-key to herself while she works, which makes you think she’s oddly cute in her own... quirky way. To be honest, it’s hard not to find her enthusiasm contagious, even if it’s a little dangerous.

● One day, you catch her doing exactly that while painting her trademark designs on one of her grenades. The sight just makes you smile as you walk up and wrap your arms around her, telling her, “You’re so cute when you’re focused like this,” or something of the sort.

● She’ll throw her hands up and turn to look at you, trying to play off your compliment as a joke. “Woah, you might be crazier than me!" She grins and laughs softly, before making her voice sound more gruff, "Ya buttering up the author nightmares with your mooshy stuff!”

● But after her initial over-the-top reaction, she’ll soften. “Fine, soak it all in.” She shrugs and continues working. But deep down, she really loves the affection and she's getting more and more attached to you. You're giving her the kind of love that she thinks she never deserved in her life, so she really appreciates these little things you do. She might even snuggle up to you later, claiming it’s to “soak in all this ‘cute’ energy.”

● Oh, by the way, she'll make this happen a lot more often. By how, you ask? Well, by doing the same thing to you, of course! It becomes a little challenge betweem the two of you who calls the other one cute first and catching them off guard with it.

● Vi is all tough love and sass, but there’s a soft side she shows only to the people she really cares about. You notice this when she’s being protective or just in those peaceful moments when you're both alone together.

● If you call her cute, she’ll raise an eyebrow and smirk. “Cute? Babe, I think you’ve got the wrong person.”

● Later, she’ll definitely tease you about it, saying something like, “So, how’s it feel dating the cutest person in Zaun?” or "Am I still cute?" with a playful grin. She'll be teasing you and making you smile with that while she's half naked and flexing her biceps (she knows you love them), or when she just got done with a fight and is still holding her gauntlets.

● She loves it, don't let that teasing fool you.

● Heimerdinger is an adorable bundle of wisdom and fluff. You often catch him rambling about science with such enthusiasm that you can’t help but smile. Look at him! He's just adorable!

● One day, as he’s showing you a tiny contraption he just finished, you can’t help but reach out and pet his fluffy head, saying, “You’re the most cutest genius ever.”

● Heimerdinger chuckles, his mustache twitching with amusement. “Ah, well, I suppose I do have a certain charm about me, don’t I?”

● He pretends to be unaffected, but you notice the way his tail swishes slightly when you hug him. “I must say, your affection is quite... energizing! Perhaps I should study its effects further.”

● From then on, he might start subtly seeking out your affection—like casually leaning into your hand when you pet him or “accidentally” bumping into you while working.

● Ekko is talking to you about his plans for the Firelights while sketching upgrades for their hoverboards.

● You were quietly admiring him, the way his eyes light up and the focused furrow of his brows, when you suddenly blurt out, “You’re so cute when you’re focused.”

● He freezes for a second, then looks at you with a mixture of surprise and amusement. “Cute? Me?” He grins, a soft laugh escaping. “You sure you’re not talking about yourself there?”

● He rubs the back of his neck, trying to act nonchalant, but the smile gives him away.

● “You’re not getting away with saying that,” he teases, leaning in to nudge you lightly with his shoulder. He goes back to doing his work before playfully adding, “But if you keep looking at me like that, I might just start believing it.”

● It's these little things that matters. These moments, even if simple, it gives him hope and motivation to make the world a better place. The way his eyes soften when you look at him in that moment, and how he lets his guard down just enough to show you he cares — it’s clear that, while he teases, he loves the attention, and he loves you even more for it.

● Dude's got lines fr fr

● Mylo has always been the type of guy who had a sarcastic, sassy remark ready. We all know that from how he treated Powder.

● When you suddenly hug him and call him cute, he freezes for a second, unsure of how to react. “Cute? Me?” He scoffs, trying to play it cool, but it's very obvious he's a bit flustered by it. “Out of all the compliments you could’ve picked, you went with cute? I’m more like... cool, and handsome.” He throws a dramatic, exaggerated pose, trying to hide his nervousness.

● Despite his teasing, there's a small, pleased grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tries to act nonchalant, but the way he keeps glancing at you shows how much he’s secretly enjoying it.

● “Seriously, though. I’m cool, alright?” he continues, trying to regain his confidence. “I don’t do cute. But, uh... thanks. I guess.” He says softly as he shrugs, clearing his throat.

● Later on, when no one’s watching, you might catch him glancing at you from the corner of his eye, a small smile on his face, clearly still flattered.

Can you guys guess which is my favorite based on how long their headcanons are

1K notes · View notes

edenesth · 8 months ago

Text

ATEEZ as Hogwarts Students

Pairing(s): hogwarts student!ateez x hogwarts student!reader

Word Count: 9.8k

A/N: Oh my gosh, thank you all so much for helping me reach 2.3k followers! To celebrate this, I'm back again with another one of these! Once again, special thanks to my one and only, my pookie, @itstheghostofmypast, for helping me confirm which houses some of the members should be in💘

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Hongjoong ↠ Gryffindor

The Poor Prefect That Nobody Takes Seriously

"I swear to god, if I see another damn chocolate frog loose in the dorm, I'll—" Before Hongjoong could even finish, a cheeky first-year passing by stuck his tongue out at him. "What are you gonna do? Run off to cry to Professor McGonagall again?"

The seventh-year's jaw dropped, his blood pressure spiking, but the kid was gone before he could even scold him. Two years—he'd been a prefect for almost two years now, and still, no one ever took him seriously. Thinking back to his early days as an optimistic prefect, eager to bring order and discipline to his rowdy housemates, he knew now how impossible that dream was.

But was he going to stop trying?

Not a damn chance.

Hongjoong had chosen to become a prefect the very moment he was eligible in his fifth year. Professors had always praised him as reliable, a natural-born leader, and he'd believed that wholeheartedly. He'd pictured himself bringing order to his dormitory, respected by his housemates for his efforts to keep things in line. But the reality? Gryffindors, as he was learning, could be a lot harder to control than he ever expected.

Unfortunately, his "small but mighty" reputation didn't exactly translate into authority. He'd start off with a firm tone, reminding them of the rules, only to watch them twist his words into a rallying cry for their next scheme. His attempts at seriousness somehow only fueled their chaotic Gryffindor spirits, making him seem more like a mascot for daring antics than a figure of discipline.

While the academic staff continued to commend his commitment, his classmates saw him as the "cool" prefect—the one who'd cover for them more often than not, a little too forgiving to actually be feared. Some nights, he'd even find himself dragged into the very pranks he was supposed to be preventing, swept up by the contagious energy of his friends.

Despite everything, Hongjoong couldn't bring himself to truly give up. Every morning, he'd tell himself that today was the day he'd put his foot down, that he'd be the prefect his professors always said he could be. He knew the odds weren't in his favour, but in true Gryffindor fashion, he wasn't about to back down from the challenge.

Today's the day—I can feel it in my bones.

Letting out a determined breath, Hongjoong's gaze fixed on the notice board, now littered with doodles, silly notes, and questionable "decorations." With a purposeful nod, he crossed his arms and cleared his throat, catching the attention of the Gryffindors lounging around the common room. "Forget the frogs then. How many times have I told you all not to vandalise the notice board with your nonsense? It's used solely for—"

"For important announcements. Yes, we get it," piped up a cheeky third-year, eyes glinting with mischief. "But there are no announcements at the moment, so is it really so bad if we, y'know, decorate a little?"

And there it was again—the quick responses that left him speechless every time. Hongjoong tried to keep his expression stern, but a tiny part of him could almost see their point. Was it so bad to have a bit of fun? No, he reminded himself, that's not the point. But as he felt his resolve waver, he knew a miracle wasn't going to happen today. Why couldn't he be both firm and likeable, just like—

"Oh, so you want to test if it's bad?" your voice cut through, sharp but calm, as you stepped down from the spiral staircase. You'd been listening long enough to hear their usual defiance, and you were not about to let them undermine your boyfriend's authority. "How about we invite the professors to take a look at your 'artwork' and see how much they'd appreciate it, hm?"

Like you.

Hongjoong released a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, grateful for your support. You, with your knack for balancing authority and approachability, were everything he wished he could be as a prefect. If he could just learn how to be firm, like you, maybe Gryffindor's antics would finally come under control.

"You heard her," he added, finding a bit of confidence again as he nodded in agreement. "Clean it up. Now."

The students exchanged glances, sighing as they reluctantly began peeling off the doodles. He couldn't help but grin a little as he glanced your way.

"Thanks, babe," he mouthed.

You shook your head, smiling as you nodded toward the remaining Gryffindors lounging around. "I'm heading to the Great Hall first. I'll leave it to you to get everyone to breakfast on time, Joong. Think you can handle it?"

Hongjoong nodded enthusiastically, eager to make you proud. "You bet. They're going to see a whole new Prefect Kim this year," he declared confidently.

You laughed, both amused and a bit sceptical. He'd nearly caved to their antics just moments ago, but that was part of his charm. You loved how different he was from you—how he helped you loosen up when you were too serious, just as you helped him stay firm when he got a little too lenient. Together, you two were like yin and yang, balanced and perfectly matched, as everyone in the house always teased.

Squeezing his hand, you gave him a playful smile. "Show 'em, tiger," you winked before turning to leave, catching a glimpse of his cheeks turning pink.

The moment you were out of sight, the common room burst into whistles and smirks around him. Snapping out of his trance, your boyfriend rolled his eyes, trying to keep his composure.

"Alright, folks," he called out, clapping his hands. "You heard my girl. Let's cooperate for once and head to the Great Hall on time—don't make me disappoint her!"

The Gryffindors grinned, shuffling toward the door without a fuss, eager to play along. He smirked, pleased with their obedience whenever you were mentioned. Maybe he'd always need your presence to keep this difficult crowd in line, but he didn't mind at all. He knew they didn't have to fear him for him to be a good prefect. Deep down, he knew they all adored him, and he was pretty sure that, rule-breaking aside, they wouldn't truly make things difficult for him. They just loved teasing him—because, honestly, he might just be their favourite prefect.

Seonghwa ↠ Hufflepuff

The Goody Two Shoes and Teacher's Pet

"Oh, Seonghwa, my boy! What brings you here on a weekend? Shouldn't you be off enjoying Hogsmeade with your girlfriend?" Professor Sprout asked, pleasantly surprised as her star student stepped into the greenhouse, notebook in hand. The seventh-year smiled brightly, giving her a respectful nod before approaching.

"Good afternoon, Professor! I just came by to check on my mandrake—I'm determined to cultivate one to maturity for my latest Restorative Draught. And, uh… my girlfriend, she'll be here to join me soon," he added, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks turning pink at the mention of you.

Professor Sprout's expression softened, a smile touching her lips. "You're too hard working for your own good, both of you," she gently chided, pride swelling as she glanced at the Hufflepuff sigil pinned proudly on his denim jacket. Even on a day when house representation wasn't required, Park Seonghwa wore his Hufflepuff loyalty openly, reminding everyone where his heart belonged. She knew he had a bright future ahead, and if she were to ever consider early retirement, he would be her top choice to take over as the next Herbology professor.

As if on cue, you pushed open the greenhouse doors and stepped inside. "Hwa, are you here already?" you called, glancing around before your eyes landed on your boyfriend and Professor Sprout.

Seonghwa, who'd been focused on his mandrake, looked up at the sound of your voice, a soft smile lighting up his face. In the presence of authority, he resisted the urge to rush over and hug you, his restraint both endearing and unmistakable. You bit back a laugh, amused by his adorable attempt at composure.

"Oh! Good afternoon, Professor!" you greeted, nodding respectfully. "Are we disturbing you? We can come another day if you need the greenhouse for your work."

She smiled warmly, waving off your concern. "Not at all, dearie. I was just on my way out. You two enjoy your little date," she added with a knowing wink. "And if you're in the mood for a treat, there are some extra Every Flavour Beans on the top shelf—please help yourselves."

"Thank you, Professor!" you and Seonghwa chimed in unison, exchanging a look of warmth and shared gratitude. As the elderly woman left, he gently took your hand, pulling you close enough to place a soft kiss on your forehead. You leaned into him with a contented sigh. "How embarrassing—now she's certain we're dating," you murmured, unable to hide your own smile.

He chuckled, his eyes dancing with affection. "Is that such a terrible thing, love? Maybe it's time the whole world knows you're mine."

You gasped in mock scandal, playfully nudging his shoulder. "How improper," you laughed, but a blush crept into your cheeks. Though you'd never formally announced your relationship, it was hardly a secret—everyone must have guessed by now with all the time you spent together. But for the sake of his reputation as the model student, you'd both kept things understated, not feeling the need to broadcast your love. Now, though, there was a new spark in his eyes, a hint of the Slytherin heritage running through his veins, as if he suddenly wanted the world to see what his heart had always known.

Seonghwa, after all, was the first Hufflepuff in a long line of Ravenclaws and Slytherins—a surprise his family hadn't quite anticipated. But their surprise had never bothered him. Instead, it had only strengthened his resolve to prove that Hufflepuff was as noble and worthy as any other house. Consistently at the top of his class in Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, he'd gained the admiration of professors for his quiet dedication and high moral standards. Always the first to lend a hand to new students or submit his assignments, he was as dependable as they came.

Yet as much as he wanted to honour his house and his achievements, his heart now longed for something deeper. For the first time, he wanted his family—and everyone else—to see you, the one who had believed in him through every challenge and celebrated every victory, who had loved him exactly as he was. He knew that letting you into his life so openly would be the proudest badge he could ever wear.

"So," he began, biting his lip as he shifted his focus from the mandrake to you, who was busily jotting down notes about its latest growth. "Should we spend some time in Hogsmeade after this?" His voice was soft, almost hesitant, and your eyes widened slightly, your actions faltering as you locked gazes with him.

"You're joking, right? All our friends are there—" you started, but he shook his head, his expression earnest. "I'm serious, love."

The weight of his words sank in, and you realised he wasn't joking at all. A rush of emotions washed over you. "I... I don't know why it took me so long, but I don't want to hide my feelings for you anymore. I want to openly show my affection and be like every other couple in school. It's already our seventh year, and we haven't even been on a proper date. Can we make this the first of many more? Would you like to... go on a date with me?"

Placing your pen down, you blinked, your heart racing at his sincere proposal. This was a big step. Once the truth was out in the open, there would be no turning back—everyone, including his family, would know about you two. But as you looked into his eyes, you felt a rush of warmth. If he was ready for it, then so were you. You knew he would always protect you, no matter what.

With a shy smile, you nodded, feeling butterflies fluttering in your stomach. "Thought you'd never ask."

His face broke into a radiant grin, and the world around you seemed to melt away. Seonghwa stepped closer, allowing your head to rest against his shoulder, enveloped in the warmth of his presence like a cosy blanket. "I can't wait," he murmured softly.

"Me too," you replied, a wave of excitement bubbling in your chest.

In that greenhouse, surrounded by vibrant plants and warm sunlight, you both felt the first tender blooms of something beautiful—a love that was finally ready to thrive in the open, with all the joy and light that came with it.

Yunho ↠ Hufflepuff

The Popular Triwizard Champion

"Well? Have you managed to figure out the next task, golden boy?"

Yunho's head snapped around at the sound of your voice, his wide eyes betraying his surprise. Before he could respond, a few stray water droplets from his damp hair splashed onto you, drawing a squeal from your lips.

"Oh no! Angel, I'm so sorry!" he stammered, hastily brushing at your sleeve, his genuine concern making you laugh. He held the golden egg tightly, now safely shut after his latest round of inspections. "But seriously, what are you doing here? You'll be in trouble if anyone finds you sneaking into the prefect's bathroom!"

You snorted, though your heart melted at the way his brows knitted with worry. "Well, I could say the same for you, Yuyu. You're not a prefect either," you quipped with a grin.

He chuckled, the sound echoing in the steamy room as he swam closer to where you sat at the edge of the bath, your legs lazily dangling in the water. Gently, he set the golden egg beside you, then rested his arms on your thighs, gazing up at you with a playful smirk.

"The difference is, I'm a Triwizard Champion," he teased, his grin widening, "and you're not."

Rolling your eyes, you booped his nose with a finger, earning a soft laugh from him. "True, I'm not," you replied, sticking your tongue out cheekily. "But I am your girlfriend, so that grants me a special privilege, doesn't it?"

Yunho's gaze softened as he beamed up at you, water glistening on his face like tiny jewels. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice warm and affectionate. "It definitely does."

With a tender smile, you reached out to brush the water from his face, gently pushing his damp hair back from his eyes. Your heart skipped a beat when he instinctively leaned into your touch, his warmth grounding you despite the growing tension in your chest.

"You haven't answered me yet," you reminded him softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Have you figured out the answer to the second task?"

He nodded, his hand lifting to cover yours on his cheek, holding it in place as though it anchored him. He gave your fingers a soft, reassuring squeeze. "I have," he murmured, his gaze meeting yours with a quiet intensity. "But... I don't want you to freak out. Everything's going to be okay, I promise."

Despite his comforting tone, the knot in your stomach tightened. You tried to mask it with a cheeky smile, nudging him lightly with your foot in the water. "Suuure, Yuyu. I totally believe you when you say these tasks will get easier. I mean, it's not like the first one involved dragons or anything."

Your boyfriend sighed, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. You knew he was thinking about the moment his name had been announced as the Hogwarts champion—the wave of fear that had gripped you as the Great Hall erupted in cheers.

He had submitted his name on a whim, more as a joke than anything. He hadn't thought for a second he'd actually be chosen. But of course, you should've known better. He was Jung Yunho—the school's golden boy. Everyone adored him, from his endless optimism to his natural charm. He could light up any room he walked into and never turned away anyone in need. His wild card selection had shocked everyone, but he had embraced it with the same unshakable enthusiasm he brought to everything in life.

For him, the Triwizard Tournament was an adventure, a chance to make memories and new friends. For you, it was a constant worry. You knew the dangers far too well, and it terrified you. Still, when he had emerged victorious after the first task, his joy had been contagious, and you told yourself you had to let your fear go. You couldn't hold him back from greatness. He needed your support, and you were determined to be the girlfriend he deserved.

Leaning forward, you pressed a quick kiss to his lips, hoping it would reassure him as much as it did you. "Alright," you whispered, brushing your thumb along his jaw. "So tell me. What's the second task?"

Before you could pull away, he held onto you, wrapping an arm around your waist and resting his forehead against yours. His voice softened, steady but laced with a vulnerability he rarely showed.

"The Black Lake," he said quietly. "I... I have a feeling I'm going to need you to get through this task."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but the conviction in his eyes made you hold your ground. Whatever this task demanded, you knew one thing for sure: you'd face it together.

And his predictions couldn't have been more accurate—he and the champions from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had an hour to retrieve something that had been stolen from them from the merpeople's village beneath the Black Lake.

The lake was eerily silent, its surface shimmering under the overcast sky as Yunho broke through the water, gasping for air. His strong arms cradled you protectively, his chest rising and falling in rapid bursts. The tension that had gripped him since the start of the task finally began to ease now that you were safe in his embrace.

You coughed violently, expelling the icy water from your lungs, your breaths coming in sharp, shallow bursts. The fragments of what had happened began piecing themselves together in your mind—the haunting stillness of the underwater village, the muffled echo of water all around, and your boyfriend's words from the prefect's bathroom resurfacing with a jarring clarity: "I have a feeling I'm going to need you to get through this task."

He had been right.

The task wasn't just about retrieving an object of value—it was about recovering the most precious thing stolen from them.

For Yunho, that had been you.

"Oh thank god, you're alright," he murmured, his voice thick with relief as he guided you onto the shore. The cheers and applause from the crowd were a distant hum in the background, drowned out by the pounding of his heart. Grabbing a towel, he draped it over your shoulders, enveloping you in its warmth before pulling you close. His arms wrapped around you securely, as though anchoring you back to him and shielding you from the chill that clung to the air.

You pressed your forehead against his shoulder, his familiar scent grounding you amidst the chaos of the moment. Despite the lingering cold, a soft smile crept onto your lips. Your voice, though weak, carried an unwavering sincerity. "How could I not be? You'll always save me… my hero."

His grip on you tightened at your words, his heart swelling with emotion as he buried his face in your hair. "Always," he whispered, his voice steady but laced with the weight of his promise. "Now I understand how hard it is for you to worry about me. I promise I'll make it out alive, every time—for you."

The announcement of his second-place finish barely registered. Everything seemed insignificant in the face of what truly mattered. All that filled his mind was the undeniable fact that you were safe, right here in his arms—the one person he cared for most.

Yeosang ↠ Ravenclaw

The Annoying Ace

"Hey, Kang! What'd you get for Potions? There's no way you aced it this time—it was brutal, and you barely studied before the test," a fellow Ravenclaw called out, pulling Yeosang from his thoughts. He glanced up, a small, nonchalant smile gracing his lips as he held up his graded paper. "You're right, it was tough. I only got an A- this time."

The room fell silent. His classmates stared at him, their jaws nearly hitting the floor. Was he serious? Most of the class had barely scraped by, even after endless hours of revision. Seventh-year Potions was no joke, filled with the most complex and challenging formulas known to the wizarding world.

"Only an A-? Are you kidding me? Did you bribe the professor or something?" someone blurted out, their voice tinged with disbelief.

You, seated next to your boyfriend, shot them a sharp glare. "Say that again in front of Professor Slughorn. I dare you," you retorted, crossing your arms.

The student huffed indignantly, muttering under their breath. "Whatever. You probably cheated with Felix Felicis or something."

Before you could unleash another scathing comeback, Yeosang gently placed a hand on your shoulder, his calm demeanour soothing your rising temper. His ever-composed smile didn't waver as he addressed the accusation. "Well," he began, his voice light but laced with quiet confidence, "if we were skilled enough to brew the Liquid Luck flawlessly and effectively, wouldn't that alone prove we deserve our grades?"

The remark landed with perfect precision, leaving everyone speechless. They knew he had a point. Brewing the luck potion wasn't just difficult—it was borderline impossible for most, requiring six months of meticulous preparation and risking catastrophic failure if done even slightly wrong.

The room buzzed with unspoken thoughts. If you and Yeosang could pull off such a feat, would the Potions exam have been challenging for either of you?

Your lips quirked into a satisfied smile as you exchanged a glance with your boyfriend. That was just like him—always shutting down his doubters with quiet brilliance, never needing to raise his voice to prove his worth.

"Man, I really need to learn how to be as effortlessly cool as you," you teased, giving his shoulder a playful nudge as he led you by the hand out of the classroom and toward the courtyard for some fresh air.

He glanced at you, his usual relaxed grin softening into something fonder. "You're already the coolest person to me," he replied casually as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Your cheeks warmed instantly, and you lightly smacked his arm, looking away as you bit your lip to hide the spreading blush. Even now, you could hardly believe he had accepted your confession back then—and that he was now your boyfriend. To you, he had always seemed so distant, so untouchable, like a star out of reach.

That was, until the day he noticed you struggling with a potion after class and offered to help. You hadn't known it at the time, but that small moment of kindness would lead to something far greater.

Yeosang is that Ravenclaw—the one who always seems lost in his thoughts yet somehow aces every test with ease, charming every professor in the process. He's the envy of his classmates, who burn the midnight oil studying while he effortlessly secures perfect scores. His calm, almost ethereal demeanour only adds to the intrigue, making him a bit of a mystery to everyone around him.

No one can figure out how he manages to zone out during Potions lessons and still brew flawless draughts, but they're too in awe (and slightly frustrated) to ask. It's just him—an enigma wrapped in quiet confidence, and somehow, he was yours.

"But seriously, Yeo, have you actually managed to perfect your luck potion? Don't think I didn't notice Professor Slughorn sneaking glances your way. He really did trust you to brew some for him, didn't he?" you asked, leaning your head against his shoulder, fingers gently squeezing his where they were intertwined with yours.

He hummed softly, the sound vibrating against you as he rested his head atop yours. With a flick of his wand, he cast a subtle charm to deflect a stray prank from a group of cheeky Gryffindors playing with products from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The spell stopped the flying object just before it could land anywhere near you. Your heart fluttered at his nonchalant protectiveness, and you couldn't help but notice the envious sighs from a few girls nearby.

"I'll answer that," he murmured, his tone teasing, "when you tell me how you managed to brew such a flawless Amortentia draught."

You blinked, lifting your head to meet his gaze. "The love potion? What are you talking about? I've never even tried to make one."

A small smile tugged at his lips, and he reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Are you sure about that?"

You furrowed your brows, your confusion deepening. "Yes, I'm sure," you replied, your tone laced with scepticism. But before you could press him further, he leaned in and stole a quick kiss, leaving you gasping softly in surprise. Your hand flew to your lips, cheeks aflame as you tried to process what just happened.

Yeosang chuckled at your flustered reaction, his arm slipping securely around your back as he guided you to keep walking. "Then explain how you managed to make me so hopelessly enamoured with you," he said, his voice low but teasing. "It's the only logical explanation for how smitten I am."

"Oh, obviously. That's the only logical explanation," you burst out laughing, playfully trying to push him away, but he held firm, his grip steady yet gentle.

He chuckled along with you, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. "Exactly, my love. You've clearly bewitched me, and I have no intention of breaking free."

"The feeling's mutual, my darling genius."

San ↠ Slytherin

The Intimidating Head Boy Who's Secretly a Softie

"Oh, come on, Pumpkin! When will you learn to leave the Monster Book of Monsters alone?!" San groaned in exasperation, his eyes following his mischievous cat as it darted around, narrowly avoiding the snapping Care of Magical Creatures textbook that was now chasing it across the yard. The naughty feline had somehow managed to unclasp the book—again. "Come here, you stubborn little thing!" he called, swooping in to scoop up the cat.

With practised ease, he approached the wild book, stroking its spine gently until it calmed and locked itself shut, just as Hagrid had taught. Of course, San was probably the only one who had actually paid attention to that particular lesson.

A dramatic gasp caught his attention, and he turned to find you standing nearby, a teasing grin plastered across your face.

"Well well, who would've thought? The scary and intimidating Choi San names his cat Pumpkin? And a cat, no less? I always pictured you with an owl or a crow. Guess you're a softie after all. Wait till the rest of the house finds out."

He rolled his eyes but smirked, settling back into his seat behind Hagrid's hut. "Go ahead and tell them, sweetheart. It's not like I asked anyone to see me as the 'mean and cold Slytherin.' If they want to believe that, then that's on them."

You chuckled and took a seat beside him, watching as he cooed at his cat and peppered it with kisses. "So, what's a big bad boy like you doing out here, hm?"

"Detention, obviously," he deadpanned, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Fits my reputation, doesn't it?"

You shook your head knowingly, the corner of your lips curling upward. "If that's what you're calling it, sure. But Hagrid told me you were out here for some extra lessons on Hippogriffs when I passed him earlier."

He feigned a pout, resting his chin on Pumpkin's head. "Damn, you caught me. There goes my big bad boy image. Boohoo."

You burst out laughing, unable to hold it in.

San had always been an enigma to those around him. With his sharp, commanding presence and role as Head Boy, he had a reputation for being unapproachable. First-years practically scrambled out of his way in the corridors. But those who dared get to know him soon discovered that beneath the piercing gaze and confident swagger was a playful, caring soul who adored magical creatures.

And you? You were supposedly his rival—his female counterpart, according to your peers. With your equally composed demeanour and role as Head Girl, it wasn't uncommon for people to pit the two of you against each other. But those who looked closer would've seen the truth: you were far from rivals. If anything, you were two halves of the same warm, hidden flame, especially when it came to each other.

"Well, I hope you don't mind me joining you on your little detention, Choi," you teased, leaning your head against his shoulder.

He hummed thoughtfully, nuzzling his head against yours. "On one condition."

"And what's that?" you glanced up at him.

He bit his lip, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Let me take you to Hogsmeade this weekend, Head Girl."

"Alright, alright. None of that in my class," Hagrid's booming voice cut through the moment, startling both of you as you quickly pulled apart, clearing your throats in unison.

San shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck while you tried—and failed—to suppress a laugh.

Hagrid folded his massive arms across his chest, his bushy eyebrows raised knowingly. "We're only doing this if you're both serious, okay? This isn't some fun little date idea."

You nodded earnestly, though the corners of your lips twitched with amusement. "Of course, Professor. We're serious about this."

But Hagrid wasn't done.

Turning his attention to the Head Boy, he added, "But please, do take her to Hogsmeade, lad. I've heard more than enough from you about how much you like her."

San's eyes widened, his cheeks instantly flushing a deep crimson. "H-Hagrid!" he stammered, his voice a pitch higher than usual.

You couldn't hold it in anymore, bursting into laughter as he glared at you half-heartedly. "Oh, you're never living this down," you teased, nudging his arm.

"I—uh—yes, sir," he mumbled, his voice barely audible as he stared down at the ground, clearly flustered.

The professor chuckled, giving a hearty clap to the young man's shoulder that nearly made him stumble. "That's what I like to hear, Choi. Now, back to work, both of you. Those Hippogriffs aren't going to train themselves."

As Hagrid lumbered away, you leaned closer to San, grinning. "So, how much do you like me, Choi San?"

He groaned, his hands covering his face. "Can we just focus on the Hippogriffs?"

"Not a chance," you replied smugly, your laughter ringing out as his ears turned an even brighter shade of red.

The journey back to the common room was filled with quiet comfort, but as you both stepped through the entrance, his demeanour shifted instantly. Gone was the flustered boy from earlier; in his place stood the stoic and commanding Head Boy, his sharp gaze sweeping over the lounging students.

"Keep it down," he said curtly to a group of rowdy second-years, his tone leaving no room for argument. They immediately quieted, murmuring apologies.

You bit back a smile, watching his transformation with newfound amusement. After seeing the playful, gentle side of him during the lesson with Hagrid, this intimidating persona of his now seemed more endearing than imposing. It was his way of keeping the chaos in check, and you couldn't help but admire how effortlessly he switched between the two sides of himself.

As you trailed behind him, snippets of hushed whispers reached your ears.

"Did they come back together?"

"Isn't that the Head Girl?"

"Are they… you know?"

You glanced at San and caught the slight gulp he tried to conceal, his stiff posture giving away his unease despite his poker face.

When you both reached the point where the dorms split, you turned to him, raising an eyebrow. He stood tall, keeping his expression neutral, though you could see the faintest flicker of nervousness in his eyes. The room fell silent, the curious gazes of your housemates fixed on the two of you.

You smirked, breaking the tension. "So, Hogsmeade this weekend, right?"

His eyes widened, and a soft gasp rippled through the common room. He cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure as he met your gaze. "You… accept?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, though the playful glint in your eyes betrayed your amusement. "Well, you did say I could only join you earlier if I agreed to this. Seeing as we've already finished the lesson, that clearly means I've accepted, no?"

For a moment, his carefully constructed mask faltered, replaced by a grin so wide and boyish that it made your heart skip a beat. He didn't care about the whispers anymore as he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to give yours a gentle squeeze.

"It's a date then, Head Girl."

You smiled back, your voice light but teasing as you replied, "Sounds good, Head Boy."

The room erupted into murmurs and low cheers as you turned and walked toward your dorm, feeling his gaze follow you until you disappeared from sight. If San had been worried about his reputation before, it was clear now that he didn't care.

Not when it came to you.

Mingi ↠ Ravenclaw

The Son of a Famous Wizard Scientist

"Going somewhere, Song?"

Mingi cursed under his breath, reluctantly pulling the invisibility cloak off his frame to face you. You sat casually in one of the Ravenclaw common room chairs, a book in hand and an amused smirk playing on your lips. He looked thoroughly defeated. "How do you always figure me out?"

You chuckled, closing your book and setting it aside as you straightened up. "It's not that hard with your lack of stealth. I feel the breeze every time you pass by. Honestly, the real mystery is how Filch hasn't caught you yet."

He crossed his arms with a huff, a pout forming on his lips. "Ugh, what's it gonna take for you to pretend you didn't see me? My dad cannot find out. Name your price."

You tapped your chin, standing to your full height and eyeing the Marauder's Map in his hands. "I want in on whatever you're up to."

His brows shot up in surprise. "You? But aren't you like... the model Ravenclaw? Goody two shoes, follows every rule, reads for fun? Why would you risk your squeaky-clean image for something like this?"

You shrugged, a mischievous glint in your eye. "Let's just say I'm curious about what the great wizard scientist's son is always sneaking off to do instead of, I don't know, living up to everyone's—and your father's—expectations."

He sighed in defeat, lifting his left arm to gesture for you to join him under the cloak. "Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you. Just make sure you can keep up. And for Merlin's sake, please tell me your stealth skills are better than mine. You really don't want to run into Mrs. Norris."

"Trust me, I wouldn't dream of it," you replied, ducking under the cloak with him, your heart racing at the prospect of finally joining him on one of his adventures.

And so, that night marked the beginning of an unlikely yet thrilling partnership: you and Song Mingi, partners-in-crime navigating Hogwarts past curfew.

For someone as studious and rule-abiding as you, it was a surprising twist to find yourself sneaking through hidden passageways, clutching an invisibility cloak, and dodging prefects alongside someone like Mingi. But there was something irresistibly intriguing about him—the way he effortlessly balanced his rebellious streak with a sharp intellect, and how his lighthearted demeanour contrasted with the heavy expectations placed upon him.

You see, unlike your ordinary self, his life was all about finding his own path despite the pressures of his family name. As the son of a renowned wizarding scientist, expectations for him to follow in those illustrious footsteps were high. But Mingi? He wasn't interested in being defined by anyone else's legacy.

Sure, he had the smarts for it—his insights into magical theories often surprised you, even when they were thrown in casually during one of your late-night escapades. But instead of shouldering the weight of those expectations, he found joy in simply being himself. He explored magic for the sake of curiosity, not obligation.

Of course, it was hard for someone like him to truly fly under the radar. With his tall frame and infectious laugh, he had a knack for drawing attention no matter how much he tried to avoid it. He'd always play it off with an easy grin, though—effortlessly charming his way out of trouble (well, most of the time).

And now, here you were, walking beside him in the dead of night, laughing softly at his whispered commentary about the portraits on the walls. It was a side of him most people didn't see—carefree, thoughtful, and incredibly warm.

"Alright, where to next, partner?" you asked, barely containing your grin as you reached a fork in the corridor.

He glanced at the map, his finger tracing a path. "A secret stash of sweets hidden near the kitchens. Wanna check it out?"

"Only if you're willing to share," you teased, bumping his shoulder lightly.

He smirked, holding the cloak open as you ducked beneath it again. "Deal. But only because I need you to distract the house elves if we get caught."

With that, the two of you disappeared into the night, laughter echoing softly down the empty hallways. It was the start of a friendship, and perhaps something more that, against all odds, just worked.

On one of the slower days at school, the two of you lounged in the Great Hall, a wizard's chessboard between you. The usual hum of scattered conversations and the clinking of goblets provided a quiet backdrop as Mingi hunched over the board, his tall frame bent in concentration. His eyes darted between pieces, plotting his next move with a focus that made you smirk.

"I've got an idea," you said, leaning back with a teasing grin. "Whoever loses has to take on a dare during tonight's adventure."

His head shot up, a glimmer of intrigue lighting up his eyes. He grinned, his expression a mix of mischief and admiration for the rebellious streak you seemed to save just for him. "Oh, it's on."

The match stretched out with calculated moves and sly counters, both of you pouring focus into claiming victory. But when your queen finally cornered his king, you leaned back with a triumphant grin. "Checkmate," you declared, watching the realisation dawn on his face.

He groaned theatrically, throwing his head back. "Noooo!"

You laughed, folding your arms smugly. "Now, about that dare..."

He straightened in his seat, narrowing his eyes as he tried to guess your plan. "Alright, hit me with your worst."

A mischievous gleam danced in your eyes as you leaned forward and whispered, "Tonight, when we sneak out, you have to charm Moaning Myrtle with your best pickup lines."

His jaw dropped, his ears turning an amusing shade of red. "You want me to flirt with a ghost?!"

"That's the dare," you said, grinning wider.

He blinked at you in disbelief, then let out a booming laugh, shaking his head. "You're insane. But fine—a deal's a deal."

As the two of you packed up, you noticed a flicker of something softer in his gaze. He clearly enjoyed this side of you, the playful daring you didn't often let others see.

The night was quiet as you snuck through the dark hallways, huddled beneath the invisibility cloak. The close proximity made it impossible to ignore the way your shoulders brushed, or how you could feel his breath softly against your ear as he whispered directions. You tried to focus, but the warmth radiating from him and the faint smell of his cologne made it difficult.

He wasn't faring any better. His movements felt unusually cautious, his arm brushing against yours more often than necessary, his voice a little lower than usual when he whispered, "Careful where you step."

Ironically, it was his warning that broke your concentration. Your foot landed on something uneven, and before you could stop yourself, you tripped, sending a potted plant toppling from its perch.

The crash echoed loudly through the corridor. "What was that?!" Filch's voice screeched in the distance, sending panic shooting through you both.

"Move!" Mingi hissed, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the nearest room. The door creaked shut just as the school caretaker's hurried footsteps grew louder.

You realised, to your dismay, that the "room" was a cramped broom cupboard. The two of you were squished together in the small space, the invisibility cloak still draped awkwardly over your heads. Your breathing was ragged from the sudden sprint, and you both struggled to keep quiet as Filch's grumbling grew nearer.

"Stupid kids sneaking around… I'll catch them sooner or later," he muttered as his footsteps faded in the opposite direction.

Only when the sound of his boots disappeared entirely did you dare to speak. "We're safe now," you whispered.

"Yeah," Mingi murmured back, his voice quieter than usual.

That's when you noticed just how close you were. Your heart stuttered as you looked up, your nose grazing his. His dark eyes locked onto yours, and you could feel his breath, warm and shallow, mingling with your own. Neither of you moved, the air between you was charged and heavy.

He swallowed hard, his hand slowly brushing against yours beneath the cloak. "I know I lost the game," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "But... is it alright if I flirt with someone else tonight?"

Your breath caught, your thoughts spinning as he leaned in closer, his lips barely brushing yours.

"That depends on who it is," you whispered back, your voice shaky.

He smiled softly, his eyes flicking between yours and your lips. "You."

Your heart skipped a beat. Without thinking, your hand slid up to grip the collar of his shirt as you murmured, "Fine."

Then, closing the final distance, you pressed your lips to his. When you finally pulled away, the world felt different as you stayed close, foreheads touching. He let out a soft chuckle, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "Best dare I've ever lost."

You smiled. "Guess I'll have to keep challenging you then, Song."

"Guess you will," he whispered, leaning in for another kiss.

Wooyoung ↠ Gryffindor

The Talented Quidditch Beater

"Woo, you got it! That's my boy!"

The sound of your voice rang out across the pitch, instantly catching Wooyoung's attention. A grin lit up his face as he turned mid-flight on his Nimbus 2000, his eyes sparkling as they met yours.

"I'll make you proud, babe!" he called back, his tone brimming with confidence.

"Not if you can't keep your eyes on the game," his teammate—another Beater—shouted, swooping in just in time to deflect a bludger barreling toward him.

His eyes widened at the close call before a sheepish, boyish grin spread across his face. "Thanks, mate. That was a little too close!"

He turned his attention back to you, throwing you a playful wink and blowing a kiss in your direction. "Love you," he mouthed with a quick smirk, clearly revelling in the way your worried gaze softened into a smile.

And then, just like that, he was off again, zooming across the pitch like the fearless champ he was, ready to win not just for his team, but for the person cheering him on from the stands.

Pride swelled in your chest like a warm, unrelenting tide as you watched your boyfriend play. It was almost surreal to think about how far the two of you had come—especially since there was a time when you couldn't stand him.

Back then, Jung Wooyoung was everything you couldn't tolerate: loud, attention-seeking, and constantly wreaking havoc with his pranks. He was the popular Gryffindor Quidditch star with a magnetic grin, always surrounded by friends and admirers. Meanwhile, you were his polar opposite—a shy, studious student with no interest in shenanigans, focused solely on excelling in your studies and making your parents proud.

It all started when one of his pranks nearly ruined your Transfiguration assignment. Furious, you'd confronted him in front of half the common room, calling him reckless and immature. Wooyoung, never one to back down, had retaliated with a smirk, calling you boring and stiff. That marked the beginning of your rivalry—petty remarks, pointed glares, and intentionally getting on each other's nerves became routine.

But everything changed the day he overheard a group of Slytherins mocking you. Their cruel taunts about your Muggle heritage—and the word "Mudblood" slicing through the air—left you reeling. Before you could even muster a response, he stepped in, his usual playful demeanour replaced by something sharp and unyielding.

"What did you just say?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. The bullies faltered under his glare, and though they tried to brush it off, he didn't let them escape unscathed. He stood firm, defending you with a conviction that left you stunned.

From that day on, the dynamic between you shifted. He made it clear that no one was to mess with you—not even his own friends, who had occasionally targeted you with harmless pranks. In return, you stopped berating him for his antics, accepting that his mischief was simply part of who he was. Over time, you found yourself laughing at his jokes, and he discovered a softer side to you that few others had ever seen.

Years passed, and that fragile truce evolved into friendship. Somewhere along the way, the friendship blossomed into something deeper, something neither of you could ignore. And now, here you were, standing in the Gryffindor stands, cheering him on with every fibre of your being.

Only after being with him did you truly understand why so many adored him for his talent. On the pitch, he was in his element. As a Beater, he thrived on adrenaline, his bat swinging with precision as he sent a bludger hurtling toward the opposing team. He was a natural showman, hyping up the crowd with daring plays and cheeky winks. Though his mischievous nature was ever-present, he became fiercely competitive during matches, his focus unshakable when it came to leading his house to victory.

You smiled as he executed a flawless manoeuvre, his laughter echoing across the pitch when the crowd erupted into cheers. He was so different from the boy you had once disliked, yet so quintessentially the same. His charm, his energy, his ability to make everyone around him feel alive—it was impossible not to love him for it.

"Watch this, babe!" he called as he rocketed past the stands, his grin wide and unrestrained. He was a whirlwind of passion and joy, and he was yours. And somehow, you wouldn't have it any other way.

"Aaaand Gryffindor wins!"

The roar of the crowd filled the stadium as the Gryffindor Seeker triumphantly held up the golden snitch, the tiny wings glinting under the bright sun. Cheers echoed through the stands, Gryffindor flags waving wildly in celebration. You cheered, knowing that much of this victory was thanks to your boyfriend, who had spent the game clearing the path for his teammate with skilful swings of his bat.

Amid the chaos, Wooyoung's sharp eyes immediately sought you out. Despite the throng of screaming fans and his own teammates clamouring to celebrate, all he could see was you. Without hesitation, he veered his broom in your direction, ignoring the unmistakable warning glare from Professor McGonagall.

Hovering in front of you, he flashed his signature grin, his chest rising and falling from the adrenaline of the match. Before you could say a word, he leaned in and kissed you, his lips warm and slightly chapped from the cold wind. The crowd's cheers seemed to fade as you felt his smile against your own, your cheeks heating with the realisation of how public this display was.

When you pulled away, your voice was barely above a whisper. "That's enough, Woo. You don't want detention now, do you?"

He laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I wouldn't mind it if you were there too." With a wink, he flew off to join his team, leaving you blinking sheepishly under Professor McGonagall's sharp gaze.

You cleared your throat, attempting to smooth down your robes as you mumbled, "Sorry, Professor."

To your surprise, her expression softened, and she gestured for you to walk with her as the stands began to empty. "Don't be," she said, her voice measured but kind. "You're a good motivator for him. We appreciate it. I won't lie and say our victories haven't increased since you came into the picture."

Her words left you blushing furiously as you followed her down the steps. Did that mean even she shipped you and Wooyoung? The very thought had you hiding a bashful smile behind your scarf, the cheers of the Gryffindor team still ringing in your ears.

Jongho ↠ Slytherin

The Scary Prefect Who Commands Respect

"There he is! Shhh, keep it down!"

Your friends scrambled to settle into their seats, hastily lowering their voices and pretending to focus on the books in front of them. You followed their lead, keeping your head down as the most intimidating prefect of Slytherin entered the library. Choi Jongho's very name was enough to make most students sit up straight, and his imposing presence only amplified that effect. His silence carried more weight than words ever could, commanding obedience and respect effortlessly.

You swallowed hard, trying to concentrate on the text in front of you, but your focus wavered the moment his footsteps stopped—right beside you. Your heart raced as you eyed his polished shoes, unsure if you'd done something wrong. Too nervous to meet his gaze, you froze in place, waiting for whatever came next.

"Here. I think you dropped this," he said, his voice low yet unexpectedly warm.

Your eyes widened at the gentle tone, and you glanced up to see him holding out your late father's pocket watch. The faintest trace of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips—so fleeting you wondered if you'd imagined it.

"O-oh, thank you," you stammered, taking the cherished item from him. A spark shot through you when your fingers brushed against his, leaving your heart fluttering in a way you hadn't anticipated.

"You're welcome," he replied simply, his voice kind yet measured, before continuing on his patrol.

As you watched him walk away, a realisation settled in your mind—perhaps he wasn't as fearsome as everyone claimed.

Jongho's reputation was well-earned. As a Slytherin prefect, he didn't need to raise his voice to maintain order. A single stern look was enough to make any student think twice about misbehaving, and his word was as final as it was rare. Yet, those who truly knew him understood there was more to him than his intimidating exterior. Beneath the cool, composed demeanour was a steadfast friend with a laugh that could shatter his usual seriousness in an instant.

And soon, you would become one of the few to witness that softer side of him—though, for now, you had no idea what lay ahead.

It was on a particularly eerie evening that you would come to learn the truth. The air hung heavy with an unsettling stillness as you wandered along the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, seeking solitude to clear your mind after a gruelling week. The low-hanging clouds cloaked the forest in shadows, and the quiet seemed almost too oppressive.

But peace was the last thing you found.

A low, menacing growl rippled through the trees, stopping you dead in your tracks. Your breath caught as you turned, your wand trembling in your hand, to face a pair of glowing eyes cutting through the darkness.

A werewolf.

Your heart pounded wildly as the creature advanced, its snarling lips curling back to reveal rows of sharp teeth. Panic seized you. You tried to cast a spell, but fear made your movements clumsy, and the incantation faltered on your tongue. The werewolf snarled again, its deadly intent unmistakable.

You were sure you were doomed.

Suddenly, a thunderous roar shattered the tense silence, startling both you and the beast. From the shadows emerged a massive bear, its fur bristling and eyes blazing with an otherworldly fury. The bear wasted no time, charging at the werewolf with raw power and unmatched ferocity.

Their clash was brutal and swift, the werewolf no match for the bear's strength and determination. Before long, the defeated creature limped off into the safety of the forest, leaving you frozen in place, trembling from head to toe.

The bear turned its attention to you, its intelligent gaze locking onto yours. Despite your fear, there was something strangely familiar in the way it looked at you—almost protective.

And then, to your utter disbelief, the bear began to shift. Its enormous form shrank, fur receding as its features morphed into something distinctly human. In a matter of moments, you found yourself staring at Choi Jongho, his sharp eyes unwavering as they met yours.

"You…" The word barely escaped your lips, your voice a mere whisper. "You're an animagus?"

His jaw tightened briefly before he nodded. "Yes," he admitted, his tone steady but quiet.

You blinked, your mind racing to process what you had just witnessed. It wasn't just the transformation that left you reeling—it was the way he had risked himself to save you. "Why didn't you tell anyone?" you finally managed.

He let out a soft sigh, running a hand through his hair. For the first time, you saw the stoic facade crack, revealing something raw beneath. "People already think I'm intimidating enough," he said, his voice laced with vulnerability. "If they knew I could turn into a bear, they'd see me as a monster. Even if I chose this form to protect, not harm."

Your chest tightened at his words, at the loneliness he must have carried. His stern demeanour suddenly made sense—it was a shield, a way to keep others from seeing the parts of himself he feared they wouldn't understand.

"But it's not a bad thing," you said softly, taking a step closer. "You became an animagus for a noble reason. That says more about who you are than anything else."

His gaze softened, the hard lines of his face easing just slightly. "I appreciate that," he murmured. "But not everyone would see it the same way. People fear what they don't understand."

For the first time, you saw through the intimidating exterior everyone else feared. Beneath it all, he was just someone who cared deeply, someone who bore the weight of his secrets quietly for the sake of those around him.

"Thank you for saving me," you said earnestly, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you. "Your secret's safe with me. I promise."

He nodded, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "It's my pleasure," he replied, his tone warm yet reserved. "Now, you should get back. It's not safe out here."

"And you?"

"I'll make sure the forest is clear," he assured you, his protective instincts shining through. "Go. I'll be right behind you."

As you made your way back to the castle, your mind was consumed with thoughts of Jongho. The boy who had just saved your life was so much more than the fearsome prefect everyone believed him to be. And now, you carried a piece of his truth, a secret that revealed a depth to him you never would have imagined.

From then on, something shifted.

You became one of the few who dared to hold his gaze, the rare recipient of his fleeting smiles. Where others saw the intimidating Slytherin prefect, you saw the quiet strength and vulnerability he kept hidden beneath the surface. And nothing shocked people more than seeing him sit next to you at breakfast in the Great Hall.

Whispers rippled through the tables, curious and incredulous alike. Choi Jongho, the stoic and fearsome prefect, sitting with someone? A girl? The novelty was enough to turn heads, but what truly caught people's attention was the way he looked at you.

There was something unmistakable in his eyes—a quiet affection, soft and unguarded, as if your presence unravelled the walls he so carefully maintained.

He glanced over at you as you finished your meal, his expression relaxed yet tinged with curiosity. "Where are you headed after this?" he asked, his tone casual but attentive.

You wiped your hands with a napkin, smiling up at him. "The Duelling Club."

His eyebrows rose in mild surprise. "The Duelling Club? But why?"

You bit back a laugh at his incredulity, placing your fork down with an amused shake of your head. "Because someone with a very admirable trait has inspired me," you said, your voice warm with sincerity. "To be stronger, to protect those around me too."

The words caught him off guard, and you watched as his usual composure faltered. He blinked, a faint flush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. The sight was endearing, a rare glimpse of boyishness in the otherwise composed prefect.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, reaching for his goblet of pumpkin juice and taking a long sip as if it might steady him. Setting it down, he muttered softly, "You don't have to." His eyes flickered to yours, vulnerable but earnest. "You'll always have me."

Your chest warmed at his words, his quiet promise resonating deeply. He might have been the boy feared by many, but to you, he was simply someone who cared more deeply than he let on.

You leaned forward slightly, a teasing smile playing on your lips. "I know," you said, your voice gentle but firm. "But it doesn't hurt to know how to hold my own, does it?"

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, the corner of his lips curving upward in a rare but genuine smile. "Fair enough," he conceded, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer before turning back to his plate. "But I'm coming with."

Any fellow Potterheads here? Humour this poor author and tell me about your Hogwarts house, your favourite Harry Potter book/movie as well as your favourite character! Most importantly, let me know if you agree with the houses I've sorted the members into!

Hope you enjoyed this! As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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@bangtannie7 @vtyb23 @khjoongie98 @scuzmunkie @anxiousskylar |

@bunny4yungi @zl-world

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an-ruraiocht · 10 months ago

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90% of the time when i see reviews and posts saying "this book needed editing" i don't think the reader have any idea what editing actually entails. usually this is actually code for one of several "problems" with the book:

it's too long, or it's slower paced than this reader's preference. they believe "editing" would mean making it shorter

it has a heavily descriptive style, which the reader doesn't like. they believe "editing" means paring every sentence down to hemingway-style prose with no adverbs

it doesn't follow the very rigid "save the cat" style 3-act story structure, disrupting the reader's sense of narrative tension. an editor, they believe, would've made sure it did

there were a few typos or formatting errors, and they believe it's the editor's job to catch these (it's not, it's typically the proofreader and the typesetter who have responsibility for that kind of thing)

and finally, most often:

the author had different narrative priorities than the reader, who thinks an editor would have made the author change their priorities.

the thing is, there are actually issues with editors in trad publishing being overworked to the point where things aren't getting the thorough, thoughtful editing that they need to be the best version of themselves. there are plenty of badly-structured, poorly-researched, and clumsily written books out there. moreover copyediting is typically freelance and perhaps because of that, this is the area where i see the largest number of issues: continuity issues, grammar issues, factual errors etc that someone should've spotted and didn't.

but this is not typically what people's "this needed an editor" reviews are focusing on. most often it just means they didn't like the book and they've decided editing is an all-powerful force that would have transformed it into a book they liked. but that's not how it works. and disproportionately what this comment means is that the book doesn't match what current fashions have decided is The Correct Style to write in

"this book needed an editor" if it's traditionally published, it had one. like. by definition. it was an editor who bought the book. that doesn't mean the editor did a great job but they definitely existed. there were probably at least two (acquiring editor who does the dev edits; copyeditor who does copyedits), and the proofreader, and a bunch of other people besides.

also i think people think editors are the ones who like. implement the changes. but they don't. they give comments and recommendations and ask questions and the author is the one to act on them. the editor will not rewrite the book. they will not fix the problems themselves, they will highlight the problem and the author will figure out a fix for it, or they will decide they don't agree that it's a problem and leave it as it. and a lot of the sentence-level style stuff is entirely on the author so if they don't have an ear for the rhythm then nobody's going to fix that for them. editors do a lot less than people seem to imagine they do, tbh

anyway

for reference—

structural/developmental edits: is this chapter in the right place and does the plot make sense and is the characterisation consistent and effective

line edits: is this sentence in the right place and is it as stylish as it could be

copy edits: is this sentence grammatically correct and consistent/factually correct within the story/its world and do the spellings follow the publisher's stylesheet

proofreading: are there any typos in this sentence and was the formatting preserved correctly when it was typeset

#leabhair

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akajustmerry · 1 year ago

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I think the nice thing about the Doctor and Rogue that is SHOCKINGLY NEW in terms of romance in the show is that there's no power imbalance. When you think of past romances between Doctors and companions, and even River and the Doctor to a certain extent, whoever the love interest is has usually been deferential in some way to the Doctor as an authority figure (which, yes, is very difficult not to do when the show often positions the Doctor as an ultimate authority). However, Rogue isn't dependent on the Doctor. The Doctor isn't a point of reference for him, a leader, a guide, or even a ride home to him. So to me, what makes that romance so sweet and so startlingly fresh even for something in 2024 is not really that it's gay, but that it's a more egalitarian/equal courtship than literally any romance on the show before. I fucking love that honestly.

#doctor who #doctor x rogue #what river/Doctor coulda been if steven moffat didn't hate women so goddamn much #/

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prokopetz · 1 year ago

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Something I love about The Far Roofs is how much of a swerve its premise is if you're coming to it uninitiated.

Okay, so there's these talking rats with a culture of swashbuckling heroism – basic Redwall/Reepicheep stuff.

Also, there's a magical realm called the Far Roofs which exists above every human community, and that's where the rats go adventuring; a little weird, but you can see the precedents in popular fiction. It's like wainscot fantasy taken to its logical-yet-absurd conclusion.

By default, the game wants you to play as a fictionalised version of your (presumably human!) self and go up onto the Far Roofs to have adventures with the rats. All right, now it's coming together: it's like isekai fantasy meets The Muppet Show, with you as the obligatory human character, right?

Then we get to the nature of those adventures: the rats have this whole culture built around questing against beings they call "the Mysteries" – beasties with names like Harpy and Goblin and Unicorn. So basically it's a bunch of muppety rats on the roofs fighting Dungeons & Dragons monsters, and you go up and help them do it. Great.

And then you get to what the Mysteries are actually like, and... well, I'm going to let the following excerpt carry the weight here. (This particular bit of text also appears in a previously published work by the same author, so I'm not giving anything away that's still under wraps.)

Unicorn, which is named Numinous, dwells three steps away and beyond the world, but most often in the Farthest Roofs, where the Steppes of the Sky come down to touch the Vast and Earthen Court. There it is stepping upwards from the world, as it has always been stepping upwards from the world, caught in a moment of transcendent glory that does not complete. It simply is. Melanthios heard the footsteps of Unicorn. Melanthios heard the ringing of Unicorn’s bells. So Melanthios chased Unicorn off to the Farthest Roofs, and Melanthios did not return. Anton and Karel, who were his sons, were wiser than their father. They heard the bells but they did not follow. Instead, they memorized the scent. They gathered swords, and ropes, and nets, and they went out. They brought food and water and all manner of gear. They clung to the roofs with all four feet wheresoever after Unicorn they went. It proved no good. Anton looked up, and Karel to his brother. The world came down— That’s what Karel said. He had time to look away. He had time to bury his head in his paws. He did not see the fullness of Unicorn’s presence. He only saw Anton his brother become unreal. In the light of the moment of the Unicorn, Anton became as a paper figure in the fire. His reality burned out. His shadow seared into the roofs behind him. Where he’d stood, for just a moment, the Steppes of the Sky came down to touch the Vast and Earthen Court; and Anton was gone away. So Karel ran and Karel ran and Karel ran from the Unicorn; and all his life, he envied but was more fortunate than his brother.

These are gods. You're going up there to kill God.

Like, it's still silly wainscot fantasy with funny talking rats, but there's that tension. It's like if Fraggle Rock occasionally took a hard turn to serious cosmic horror – Lord Dunsany by way of Jim Henson – and that tonal juxtaposition was treated as something unremarkable.

Basically what I'm saying is go back The Far Roofs.

#gaming #tabletop roleplaying #tabletop rpgs #the far roofs #dr. jenna moran #crowdfunding #kickstarter #violence mention #death mention

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vivalabunbun · 1 year ago

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An Encore of Betrayal

Summary: The devil with no sin nor memory and he who has held them all for centuries.

Word Count: 21.8k (get cozy)

Tags: Neuvillette x Fem!Reader, Slow burn, Slow fic, SMUT, NSFW, Historical AU, Fantasy AU?, Reincarnation AU, cursed!neuvillette, dragon!neuvillette, reincarnated!Reader, human!reader, Fluff, a lot of fluff, Melusines doing their best to play cupid, ex-lovers to lovers, slight enemies to lovers? ANGST, he's trying his best, dragon x human dynamics, Monsterfucking (two... I have no defense), cunnilingus(long tongue), marking, size kink? breeding kink, heat, overstimulation, hate sex? kinda?, slightly unhealthy dynamics (past life), dubcon, trust issues, immortal x mortal, slightly possessive!neuvillette, slightly yandere!neuvillette, TW: mild mention of blood, TW: descriptions of drowning, sin, and sacrifice. TW: Trauma from betrayal, themes of resentment, Infertility.

Author's Note: Wanted to try out a historical fantasy from Neuvillette's pov. I struggle with fantastical settings, so overlook any world-building confusion. Mihoyo won't give me his real name, and it's eating away at my sanity. Enjoy!

Somewhere deep beneath the waves, away from the omnipotent watch of false divinity, lies a village. A bustling home carved into an outcast cove nestled under the cover of suppressive tides.

One littered with tiny houses surrounding an impressive estate modeled much like the ones seen in those novels abandoned from capsized ships.

Would you believe that such a place exists?

Decorated with curious trinkets which sunk beneath the surface which had forsaken them, kept in this cove for so long that it was challenging to remember the azure hues.

Ornaments decorating the expanse of this once lonesome cave, almost enough to conceal its true origin: A prison.

A fool sentenced to this penitentiary masquerading as a home, now affectionately named ‘Merusea Village’.

Within that attentively built estate, a looming figure stood in front of a wall lined with neatly organized novels, lilac eyes running along the titles printed along each spine.

A collection saved from watery abandonment after falling overboard by the curious hands of Melusines. Amassed throughout the years until the shelves of this humble library were without vacancy.

Stopping a finger on a spine, he decided on the novel to pass the ever-plenty time bestowed upon him. He’s aware that each book amongst these shelves has been thumbed through by him.

But with enough years, the recollection of the contents contained within each one tends to become foggy.

It's fate that the novel selected in his hands just so happens to be a collection of tales.

Humans have many strange behaviors, one might even call them traditions. One particular tradition mortals seem to indulge in often is that of storytelling.

Lilac eyes browse through the pages, refreshing himself on the tale held within its faded covers.

----------

There once was a lovely kingdom amidst lush pastures and fertile lands where the townspeople sang and danced under the bright sunlight.

But one day the sun disappeared, concealed behind ashen clouds that cried a lonesome hymn, plaguing the unfortunate kingdom with rain.

The origin of the rain stemmed from the lonesomeness of a great dragon of water.

Thus, to stop the rain, the king sent out a princess to the dragon, declaring that the kingdom gates wouldn’t welcome her back if rain fell from the sky. She was sent off in a white gown.

Down below a flooded loch, the princess was offered to the weeping dragon. Looking up the princess saw the sorrowful pools in the beast’s eyes.

‘Hydro Dragon, oh Hydro Dragon, why do you cry?’ She asked.

Intrigued by the bravery of the young princess, the dragon answered: ‘Because I am lonely, I have no brethren left.’

Feeling pity the princess responded: ‘Hydro Dragon, oh Hydro Dragon, don’t cry. I will be lonely with you.’

So the princess befriended a lonesome dragon under the hymn of softening rain, with his loneliness soothed, the sun peeked back out from ashen clouds. But one day, pitiful tears fell from her eyes and the princess wept so bitterly.

The dragon could not bear seeing those tears stain her cheeks. He offered her pearls, jewels, and gold. Yet those bitter tears still fell, tainting the pristine water.

‘Beloved princess, why do you cry so bitterly?’ He implored.

‘I long to go home, I miss my kingdom,’ she revealed.

But she could not go home, for if she stepped foot away from the riverside the lonesome rain would start again. The colossal dragon could not leave the loch, but he could not bear seeing those bitter tears.

So he relented, telling the princess a secret. A secret all dragons buried deep within: His true name.

‘If you speak my name, my true name, then I can grant you one wish. But be careful, for there can only be one wish.’ The dragon whispered.

‘Do you wish to return to your kingdom, beloved princess?’ He asked.

The princess was silent for a long while, weighing the choices in her hand. She longed to return home, but she also longed to be by the side of her kind dragon.

Confident in her decision, she beckons the great dragon closer, until her lips could reach the side of his large head where his ear lay. After whispering his name, she tells the beast her wish.

‘I wish for you to become my prince, so we can return to the kingdom together, that way you won’t ever be lonely again.’

A clever wish he grants with a nod. Scales and claws shedding away until a handsome prince stood in front of her. Thus, hand in hand they returned from the loch to the warm welcome of the kingdom.

And they lived happily ever after.

----------

Ah, so it was that tale.

Judging from the age of the novel, he guesses it must be a rendition of a rendition.

Words and events twisted, embellished, and simplified. Until it became nothing more than a mere fable told to entertain the wandering minds of children.

A beloved tale of a maiden who got a dragon to give up his grand authority, stopping the flood of vengeance from drowning Fontaine.

This is what the origin of his damnation has turned into. The tales of the heroine’s feats sung and written throughout the narrative of time, passing from one generation’s lips to another’s ears.

However, he supposes this is expected of humans. It’s their tradition of storytelling, after all, mending a fallacy into a tale palatable to their conscious.

Or perhaps, these embellishments were added to compensate for the hollows caused by the frailty of mortal memory.

Patching over the holes with flowery words to distract readers from inaccuracies that were only compounded upon from the last.

Fontainians who came to believe in it, must not have known the dragon all that well, considering that they thought the proud dragon would bow to the whims of a meek human.

Placing a secret so simply in her hands at the mere sight of tears.

Did Fontainians not realize that the land they reside on once belonged solely to dragons? How preposterous it is that a sovereign couldn’t set foot upon his own land. Or did they forget why he couldn’t?

What a naive ending, did mortals truly believe that blood and water could dwell together without consequences? That simply wishing the dragon to become a human could resolve all troubles?

To overwrite everything with a ‘happily ever after’ which never happened?

Regardless of his reservations toward such fables, the Melusines always seem eager to gather around for such stories. The towering figure lacked the conviction to deny such requests.

From down the hall approaching closer came the pitter-patter of steps, he turned his tall frame toward the direction of the sound just as a few familiar faces revealed themselves from the library entrance.

“Monsieur Neuvillette! Come quickly! A human! A human appeared!” A group of Melusines tugs on the fabric of his slacks while pointing toward the phenomenon.

A mortal in this domain? A cavern hidden deep under the land and waters where the warmth of the sun couldn’t grace. How did such a being find their way into this sanctum? It’d be best that he alleviates their worries.

“Please lead the way.” Neuvillette closes the novel, returning it to the confines of its shelf.

His swift movements in time with the melusines’ frantic patter as they made their way out from his estate.

Soon the tops of the Melusines’ cozy homes of Merusea Village came into view, as did the murmuring of a distraught crowd.

“Excuse me.” His steps made their presence known, their heads perked up to look at him before parting a path for Neuvillette.

Upon the maroon pasture of Merusea Village was a blanket of silk and woven lace, snowy fabric surrounding the still figure of a human.

Treading closer Neuvillette kneels down while reaching out a hand, weaving his fingers under the fabric which obscures the mortal’s face.

“We found her while gathering offerings from the waters … Is she…” The anxious murmuring quiets to await his verdict.

“She has a pulse,” he reveals, fingertips detecting wisps of warmth along cold skin.

It was faint, but his attentive eyes caught onto the slow movement of her chest. The snowy fabric had greedily drunk up the essence of the sea. Cursing her to sink deeper below the tides.

To leave a mortal in such a state would be too cruel of a fate.

Neuvillette moves his hand to support her covered head as his other arm gathers the damp fabric under her legs.

Carefully, he stands back to his full height, cradling her limp body in his hold. An audience of fretful gazes follow his motions.

“Do not fret, she only requires some rest and a change of clothing, I’ll take her to my abode. Could you gather some cloth to dry down her body?” Neuvillette’s melodic voice just barely above a whisper, so as not to stir the figure in his arms.

His expression softens to offer the compassionate creatures some reassurance. With firm nods the Melusines scatter, determination alight in their bright irises as they sought the necessary items to care for their newfound guest.

The dampness of the heavy fabric seeps into his own attire as Neuvillette turns the knob to grant him entry into his abode.

Quietly ambling through the spacious halls, the master bedroom came into view. Neuvillette lays the limp form upon his sheets, ensuring that her head rests slowly upon the soft pillows.

Just as her figure sinks into the mattress, a chorus of metallic clinks catches his attention. Glancing down her body his lilac eyes discover the origin.

A pair of silver shackles encased around her ankles, the unforgiving metal digging into defenseless flesh.

Gingerly, he takes one ankle into his grasp to better observe the shackles.

This time he couldn’t fight against the deep frown as it debuted upon his lips. His eyes hone on how tightly those heavy chains were bound along the flesh.

Soon the unforgiving metal crashes down to the floor, he soothes the freed skin with his thumb while checking for any other possible wounds.

Lilac eyes travel up to her face for any sign of discomfort, only to be reminded that her face was concealed behind a shroud of lace.

How uncomfortable it must be to have a cold piece of fabric to cover one’s face. Neuvillette places her ankle back onto the bed.

His large hands took hold of the damp veil to lift it from her resting frame, revealing to his draconic eyes for the first time their face.

The veil stays suspended in the air as his hands cease all motion. Hardened gaze tracing over her features, the curve of her cheeks, the slope of her nose, and the structure of her face.

Repeated details he had long seared into his consciousness.

Within those mortal tales, there’s a wide variety of beasts and fearsome creatures. Dragons were depicted as such omnipotent beasts. But there’s a monster all other beast falls secondary to, the devil.

They didn’t possess the sharpest talons nor the largest fangs. No, what made them so horrifying is that they dawned the most enchanting faces.

He’s staring at it right now. The face of the devil who deceived him.

Those gods must be laughing at him right now. Those false idols, with their capricious fate and whims, who once must’ve shook hands with you to carry out their schemes all those years ago.

The scheme which imprisons him here in this humiliating form of the mortal creatures those false idols loved so much.

Yes, a devil, that must be what you are. For how did a meek mortal trick a dragon who once held the full authority of the tides?

His chest expands with a deep breath before a long exhale leaves him. Ah, yes that must be why this white gown has appeared before him again. He removes the senseless scrap of lace, checking once more for signs of discomfort before he turns his body away.

Finding himself outside the threshold of his bedroom as he closes the door behind him. He should wait here for the Melusines to arrive with a change of clothes and towels.

It’d buy him enough time to steadily return the tempestuous loch to a subdued ripple in a pond. His chest expands once more with a deep inhale.

A second cruel rendition unfolding once more in the narrative of time.

The crisp turn of a page resounds through the room. Lilac eyes glanced up from the text every so often to watch the steady rises and falls of your chest from his vantage point of a wooden chair pulled up to the bedside.

Heavy lashes still shut just as they were the day your drenched figure was pulled from the tides by merciful hands.

The journey to wisdom is lined with mistakes, mistakes providing teachings one must ingrain into their very being if they don’t wish to repeat such blunders again.

Just as how a burn seared into skin is a forever reminder that fire indeed burns indiscriminately.

A scar ingrained deep within him cries out for Neuvillette to withdraw from the fire which scorned him so long ago.

Alas, it’s duty which has sat him down beside your sleeping form. You’re the first guest this cove has seen in a long time, thus bringing you under the responsibility of the host, Neuvillette himself.

A stir brings his stoic gaze back away from his thoughts. Your chest rises with a long inhale as leaden lashes flutter open.

The cadence of your breaths begins to rise as more of your senses return to you. Fatigue evident in each slow drag of breath.

“Ah, I see you’ve awoken.” Neuvillette observes.

Your muscles momentarily forget their fatigue as your head snaps toward the owner of the deep voice. Eyes now wide and alert.

“My apologies, it wasn’t my intention to startle you.” He casts a glance toward the steaming bowl on the nightstand.

He could feel the weight of your stare travels up his figure. Do you perhaps remember him? Can you recall his lush snowy locks streaked with azure? Irises that held an all too familiar hue, a multitude of lilac shades much like a field of lavenders.

Does this ‘you’ remember the dragon you fooled?

“W-who are you?...” Your gaze was too cowardly to meet his.

Ah, have the cycle of death and rebirth washed those sins and memories?

The tonality of your trembling voice filled with puzzlement instead of recognition. He should’ve expected this much.

This you is nothing more than a stranger who shares the face of a devil.

“Where am I?” Another question leaves those lips in the absence of a response.

Just give him a moment, allow him to pacify the surging torrent within so their bitterness doesn’t seep into his words.

“You’re in our village!” A cheery voice joins the conversation.

Two pairs of eyes land upon a short figure with a pair of pastel horns. You blink once, then twice, then slowly thrice. Inquisitive eyes stared right back at you.

“W-what… are you?” Instinct commanding your body to retract deeper into the sheets.

A sharp cough halts your actions, drawing your attention back to the man as he lowers his hand down from his lips.

“She’s a Melusine, they prefer to be addressed using she/her pronouns,” he elucidates, an ever so subtle chastise in his tone.

“Oh…” You advert your gaze again, shame creeping onto your cheeks from your unintentional discourtesy.

A few breaths of silence follow, he observes you studying everything but the two figures just beside the bed.

Your fingers soothing over the soft cotton nightgown against your skin, a change from that restrictive and ornate dress.

“We, Melusines, helped you change out of that wet dress. Big sister Sedene said you’d get sick if we left you in that.”

It looks like your diverted gaze wasn’t as subtle as you originally thought. Sheepishly you extend your gratitude.

“Thank you…” Your words draw out, a brow quirked as your stare remained on her short form.

“Kiara!” She points to herself with a mitten hand.

“Thank you, Kiara.” You finish.

Her mittened hand then gestures to the towering man beside her.

“This is Monsieur Neuvillette! He’s the one who carried you here,” she announces.

“T-thank you, Monsieur Neuvillette.” You could only gather the courage to glance at the wall behind him.

“Just Neuvillette is fine,” his tone melodic and calm. “Are you able to sit up?”

Nodding your head, you attempt to fight through the fatigue of your muscles. Neuvillette and Kirara offer their assistance, his firm hands guiding your body up as Kirara adjusts the pillows to support your back.

Once you were situated, he reached for the bowl placed down earlier. A light clink sounds out from a spoon clattering about the porcelain dish. You glance at the contents, noting the clear amber broth.

“This should be kind on your stomach while providing you with some much-needed hydration and nutrients.” He holds out the soup.

A quivering hand attempts to reach up for the bowl, only for muscles to lose to fatigue as your arm limply falls back down to your side. Your strength has yet to return.

Another clink from the spoon resounds in the room as it gets taken into the grasp of an attentive hand. He holds out a spoonful of the warm soup, but your lips remain shut as a skeptical gaze meets his.

“Please forgive this inconvenience, but it’s best that you eat something to regain your strength.” The spoon remains unmoving in his hand.

There’s a rumbling stir within him. A voice snarls into his ear, interrogating him as to why his hand is feeding the very devil who once bit it.

“If you don’t eat you won’t get better.” Kiara’s eyes are riddled with concern as she observes your sealed lips.

That was his rebuttal to that snarl.

The Melusines simply don’t wish to see a human in such a pitiful state. Blissful in their ignorance of events that conspired long before their birth.

Dignity overpowered by the guilt of seeing such pure eyes marred with worry.

Soon your lips part, accepting the spoonful of broth delicately offered by him. After he observes you swallowing the first sip, Neuvillette holds out another spoonful. You part your lips again.

Neuvillette overrides the clamorous warnings of his instincts with the duty of being a ‘good host’, bringing another sip to your delicate lips.

With a regular diet of warm broth with servings of Bulle Fruit on the side, you were soon able to pick up the spoon yourself. The fatigue that plagued your bones finally leaves, allowing you to support your body off the mattress which had your shape imprinted into it.

The Melusines, seemingly born infatuated with humanity, would often gather about your bed.

They were curious about you just as you were about them. To them, you’re the creature from those fairytales he’s read them.

In exchange for your recollections of warm Summer days and descriptions of lush lilac fields swaying in a gentle breeze, they reveal more about this village.

About how the estate you were currently residing in was refurbished by their own-mittened hands, taking inspiration from the various books depicting what human abodes looked like.

The beds, drapes, and even rugs are all arranged by them to create a lovely abode. A drastic change to the worn and rampaged shell it once was before their meddling.

Perhaps if he never filled their naive minds with those tales, they wouldn’t be enamored with you and humanity.

Or maybe it’s the vibrance of your smile that drew their naive souls closer. A warmth like a flickering candlelight beckoning a moth closer.

What are the odds that the hands of fate stayed so faithful to the details of a heroine from so long ago?

From your image to your bewitching mannerisms, and alluring voice, they’re all identical replicas. You and the ‘devil’ from that tale.

Wisdom from a lesson learned long ago, he must not repeat the same mistake. He must not be enchanted by the same flame which scorned him. He must ensure a breadth between you and him, just as those tiresome voices call for.

However, Neuvillette understands he has a responsibility as a host. Thus, he regularly checked on your condition, then when you were well enough to stretch your legs he accompanied you on strolls. Maintaining a respectable distance away.

He guided you through the marble halls of the estate, showing the library and bath which were yours to access whenever you wanted.

Rooms illuminated with the muted glow of luminescence gems and pearls. Water sourced from a hidden freshwater spring.

Impassive eyes observe yours as you look in awe at the facilities and commendations hidden deep under the tides. Were they comparable to the ones you’ve encountered back on the surface?

This estate, these wide stone halls, those pearls and jewels once scattered about, were all made just to please the bitter tears of a mortal. Perhaps his first attempt was too subpar to quell the longing to return to the sunlight.

But gauging from the glimmer reflecting off your eyes, it seems the Melusines attempt was satisfactory at least.

Today’s stroll took you outside of the estate, Neuvillette accompanying you about a routine walk, watching from behind as your eyes scan the dim realm.

The lanterns lining the path of Melusine's home grace the maroon pastures and rocky walls in place of the faint wisps of sunlight offered by the depths of the sea.

Very much expected for a village beneath the waves and earth. Were you reminiscing about the warm grace of the sun you felt up there?

It’s not fair to compare the vast sky of the surface to their cavern hidden away from the eyes of the mortals, perhaps even the divine themselves.

“Monsieur Neuvillette?” You began today’s attempt at a conversation.

“Yes?” He hums in acknowledgment.

He keeps sentences brief, but informative. Counters to your attempts at conversation.

“I’m aware this might sound strange, but is there a dragon down here?” Turning back to face him.

His strides stop as a lull of silence falls over the both of you. The weight of his unshaken gaze upon your shoulders caused them to tense up.

Your hands find each other for comfort under his oppressive stare as he awaits the reason behind this odd inquiry.

“W-well you see, Fontaine has been having awful weather for years now. Saltwater ruining crops and persistent heavy rain, it’s because the Hydro Dragon is crying from his loneliness. I was selected and offered as his bride, to stop the rain, that’s what The Oratrice instructed,” you babble out.

“So…do you know where he is?” Sheepishly you glance up.

The lilac hues of his eyes connect with yours as his lips remain unmoving. Staring into your eyes as he contemplates what you have just revealed to him. Your hands fumble together as you await his response.

“So humans are still telling that local legend…” He sighs.

He has to rein it back. The torrent which threatens to brew within him. Deep breaths to remind himself about the nature of mortals.

Humans are fickle and meek creatures who constantly yearn for something divine to worship, a figurehead to guide them in the turbulence of life.

When faced with hardship and destitution, they believe such concepts to be punishment from above.

Thus, they invent traditions to appease those false idols. Going to great lengths in attempts to pacify those unseen forces, even if it meant sacrificing one of their own.

Perhaps this was the trait of mortals that made them so favored by the usurpers, their naive devotion feeding into the greed of selfish gods.

Maybe that’s why those false idols uprooted the land that belonged to dragons.

“I wonder just how far that fable has spread by now,” he sighs again.

His lashes flutter shut in exasperation as a huff leaves him. It was a moment before they flutter back open to hone in on you. There’s no use in keeping his identity from you any longer.

“Do I seem lonely in your eyes?” Baritone voice steady and low.

No sounds fall from your agape lips as your eyes reexamine his features, this time shamelessly ogling the peculiar details you’ve brushed off previously.

Do you notice it now? How his ears were a bit too pointed, or those two particular cerulean strands of ‘hair’ poking out from his snowy locks.

As you study the specifics of his eyes, do you now comprehend the sharp dark pupils that cut through the multitude of lilac shades? Much like a shadow cutting through a field of lavenders.

“You’re the Hydro Dragon,” you deduce.

He nods in confirmation. Only causing your eyes to scan over him again as your mind reels back from this revelation.

In those stories you’ve read back on the surface, how did they depict him? As a towering scaled beast with fangs and claws? Are you wondering why he’s not matching that description?

“I’m aware that my current shape might not convey such a presence, ” he answers your unspoken question.

He fights for his lips to remain stoic, not allowing the weight of a frown to pull them down. You don’t know, you don’t need to know, he reminds himself.

A detail excluded from the pages of that tale, the ‘princess’ would only ever look at him, would only ever smile at him when a dragon took on this shape. A form which mirrors humans.

In fact, she was so fond of this human shell of his that she cursed him to dwell within it for the rest of eternity.

Neuvillette takes another deep breath, quelling the stir once more. You look like you had more questions.

“So… does that mean the need for a bride is fictitious?” You clutch your hands tighter.

Some years ago, the Melusines were born from spilled blood. A new generation of successors of the brethren he once forsaken. Making this prison much less lonesome, voiding the accuracy of the sentence in that tale.

If that was the case, then why did the waters still rage? Why did the pittering of rain drown out all bird songs and tumults of perplexed citizens? Is there a way he could simplify the details missed by storytellers for generations?

After that ‘happily ever after’, a dragon cursed his devil just as she cursed him.

No, such expositions would be an unfair burden upon your shoulders.

“It’s not fictitious.” Turning to gaze out at the depths of the underground realm, he takes a breath before continuing.

“The land which your nation, Fontaine, resides on is stolen land,” he reveals. “More accurately all of what you know as ‘Teyvat’ was stolen from the dragons, my fellow brethren.”

The furrow in your brows deepens as you listen on.

“My brethren were banished to the depths for the sake of humanity. A dragon’s rage isn’t something that can be easily quelled.” He glances back at you.

“A union between a dragon and a human, a show of peace between the two species. Even if the origins of this ritual have been embellished heavily, it serves the same purpose to pacify the ancient dragon’s rage,” he concludes.

Neuvillette wonders if this tale was enough to satisfy your inquiry, if his attempt at the human practice was enough to simplify the events muddled and twisted by time.

Impassive eyes scan over your expression, not missing the glimmer ever so bright within.

“So… has the rain stopped?” Your hands almost clasped together in prayer.

He nods, the shine growing ever so luminous in those blameless irises, one he couldn’t resist the enchantment of. That all too familiar look in your eyes.

“That’s good.” A slow smile made its appearance upon plush lips.

Ah. He remembers what that look was called, voices of recollection pulling him away from the edge. Just before he fell into bewitchment once more.

That look wasn’t relief, nor was it salvation. It's duty. He takes a slow and deep inhale.

Just as it was all those years ago, the narrative of this tale did not stray away from the plot. He must be more careful.

There’s been a still lull engulfing the atmosphere down in a hidden cavern. So still in fact that walks amongst maroon patches of grass have stopped. Your body was well enough to explore the corners of the state without assistance.

No reason for him to remain by your side throughout the day, and no reason for you to shadow him.

Neuvillette and you keeping mostly to one’s self. It was just the natural progression of things. After all, the ritual had been completed and the tides had receded. You’ve served your duty once more.

A foreign aroma was wafting through the estate, strange enough for Neuvillette to leave the library to investigate the origins of this aroma.

Steps slowing as the clacker of pots and pans becomes more distinct. The entrance of the estate kitchen comes into view, and he peers in to see a few familiar faces.

“Oh? Monsieur!” Rhemia notices his presence.

An assortment of vegetables, spices, and even some meats from fresh catches were spread about the table as a pan sizzling over a crackling fire.

Ingredients gathered from offering dropped down below the tides. The recent influx could be attributed to how the hymn of the rain has ceased.

“Hello, Monsieur Neuvillette.” Your smile greets him.

Ah, he’s found the explanation behind the foreign aroma and why the variety spread of ingredients was being utilized in a kitchen that was once mainly created just to match those diagrams drawn in novels.

“I hope you don’t mind my use of the kitchen, I wanted something other than…Consomme Purete.” Wiping your hands with a rag.

Yes, Consomme Purete.

It was the dish served when you had first woken up, a light but nutritious soup that was kind on your stomach. It had the right amount of hydration balanced with nutrients to sustain oneself, a perfect dish.

The only dish cooked in this kitchen, that was until today.

Removing a pan from the heat, you carefully transfer the contents onto a plate then place the pan back on the wood stove.

The rich aroma caused an audience of bright-eyed stares from the Melusines to center upon the steaming plate. Their tails make their excitement clear as they gaze upon a dish they’ve never seen before.

Was this a new passion of this life?... Or was it just one he never got the chance to witness?

Was this the devil before the role of a bride was forced upon her? A devil he’s never known, for all he saw was her performance to stop the deafening rain all those years ago.

His attention was brought back as the chime of cutlery against porcelain was heard, cooked veggies stabbed between the teeth of a fork.

Cupping a hand under the fork, your body leans down to the Melusine’s height, feeding them a bite of the fragrant dish. The wags of their tails increase in cadence as they chew.

“This is Tasses Ragout, tasty isn’t it?” The corners of your lips curl as you watch their little heads nod eagerly.

The suspicion melts from his gaze as he observes to the delight in their expressions, a few mitten hands tugging at the skirt of your gown for a bite. A giggle bubbles from your throat.

A scene mirroring that of a mother trying to appease the appetites of her ravenous young.

Soon your eyes connect and he straightens his posture. Brushing away the nonsensical musing, lilac hue advert away momentarily to recompose themselves before returning.

“Would you like a taste?” A fork offered in his direction, beckoning closer to take a bite.

There’s a myth he’s read about, of a forbidden apple held out by the tempter of all tempters, an apple so red and lustrous it made any mouth salivate.

“Thank you for the offer, however, I’ve already had my lunch.” He refrains.

A bite from that forbidden fruit was the genesis of disgrace and banishment. A betrayal of commandments once promised. Neuvillette won’t be deceived again.

--------------------------------------------------------------

“Monsieur! Monsieur! Come look!”

Mittened hands grasping upon his coat and gloved hands as a circle of Melusines guides him through the winding halls, anticipation amping their voices.

There’s a chorus of giggles resounding through the halls, a joyous clamor of pattering steps against the marble floors.

The estate has been lively ever since your arrival in that white dress, a liveness which reaches his pointed ears even from behind closed doors.

Regardless, he allows himself to be towed by their skipping steps. Leading him to a room he recognizes as a space where many fabrics and gowns were collected and stored.

Garments made with the intent to be sold to Fontainians, but their crates were capsized over by the ravenous tides. Saved from watery abandonment by curious hands.

While this form of his could wear a few of those garments, the Melusines had statures much too short for pools of fabric to not drag along the ground. Thus, that collection of fabrics found themselves collecting dust.

Their steps abruptly stop just at the threshold of the door, mittened hands pressed up against their lips signaling for him to remain silent.

Soon their sights glance into the room as he follows, lilac eyes opening ever so slightly wider as they process the scene in front of him.

Evening gowns crafted by skilled tailors to be sold to Fontanian ladies, you had the right frame for those garments as well.

A trail of lustrous sapphire silk gathered behind your figure. The artistic stitching and pleating draping the silk around each curve of your body as if you were the only person meant to wear it.

A few Melusines fussing about the silk train, ever so curious of humanity, they must’ve requested for you to dawn the gown.

Just as they often had requested for him to dawn those fickle suits and coats for their enjoyment.

It seems you bent to their childish whims just as he does.

“How do you like it?” You ask your audience, twirling about in front of a mirror.

It’s different from those hardier dresses for when you wandered about the village and estate, in comparison this dress was much less practical.

“It’s beautiful, Madame!” Their round eyes were enamored.

“I’m glad, who knew you had such an aesthetic eye.” Your expression softens.

Bending down to Carole’s height, you scooped her up. Cradling her as your forehead touches her horns gently.

“Thank you for such a lovely dress.” Placing tender pats along her head, careful to not disturb her horns and hair.

Carole leans into your touch as your smile widens. Twirling once more with her in your arms, giggles ringing throughout the room.

Until your head peeked up, finally aware of the silent spectator just behind the door frame.

“Oh, hello Neuvillette,” you greet him with a smile he doesn’t return.

A tense lull creeps in, and a chill begins to mix with the quiet atmosphere. Lilac eyes pass over your form as Carole remains sat in your arms.

“Monsieur! Isn’t Madame pretty? Look!” Cheery and oblivious voices chime returning the warmth to the air.

Mitten hands release your skirt as they skitter toward his towering figure. Pride shines in their beaming smiles, awaiting validation of their handy work.

Steadfast eyes lowering themselves to the level of their short statures until the sharp edges gradually dissipate.

“A fine effort indeed.” A gloved hand extends to rest atop their heads.

Patting their heads tenderly as they closed their eyes in contentment

A warmth in those lilac hues, endearment no word could ever encapsulate fully.

“Are they your daughters?” Your head slants to the side.

His body stills, strictness reinstated in those violet irises just as they met yours. Studying that look within your polite smile, one which didn’t seem to reach your eyes.

Gloved hand ceasing all movement, his concentration now elsewhere. That expression ghosting your face, what does it mean?

“My apologies, was it too impudent of a question?” Your gaze adverts away, searching for reprieve in this heavy hush.

A deep breath as he formulates his response.

“I don’t share blood with them if that’s what you’re inquiring. However, they are the successors of my brethren.”

“Oh, I see,” you hum.

Neuvillette returns to patting their heads, while you readjust your hold on Carole. Subtly bouncing her, while turning back to face the standing mirror.

Casting a glance, he could discern the softness returning to that polite smile. Yet, the dragon has yet to unravel that luster in your irises.

An audience of bright eyes switches between the Monsieur and Madame.

--------------------------------------------------------------

“Bring these to her, you should greet the Madame!” Tiny hands push against Neuvillette’s back.

The traitorous clicks of his shoes against marble expose his approach.

Your head peers up from the book resting upon your lap, in the midst of reading a tale aloud to an audience.

Just in time to catch the tall figure of Neuvillette emerging into the library at the behest of the Melusines.

Lilac eyes meet yours ever so briefly before his gaze averts elsewhere. Gloved hand adjusting a bundle hidden a broad back, brings the other hand up to clear his throat.

“The Melusines found these when retrieving some offerings from the water, I believe you’ll enjoy them.” He presents their trinket.

A simple collection of dainty petals clustered together, pastel hues contrast against vivid virescent leaves. A quaint ribbon tied around the stems holding the bunch together held out in front of your face.

The recipient stares in round-eyed astonishment at the fragrant blooms before a smile melts into your lips.

“Thank you.” You accept the bouquet from his hand.

Admiring the rustic arrangement and the saccharine aroma as the Melusines sat around you leaned in closer to catch a whiff too.

“These are called Pluie Lotus up on the surface, they smell nice right?” Giggling lightly as you held the bouquet closer to their noses.

Grin ever present upon your lips as your soft eyes watch their marvel of such simple weeds. A bloom foreign to this realm abandoned by the sunlight.

There’s subtle slack in his posture, a budding smile just about to unfold just as your head peers back up. Every fiber in Neuvillette’s being tenses, goosebumps slithering up his nape.

Frozen there only able to witness your eyes study back and forth the hues of his irises and the periwinkle color tinting the fragile petals.

He watches an epiphany light up in your widened eyes as the bouquet was lifted higher, turning back to face him.

Don’t. Don’t say the words he knows are hanging off the tip of that honeyed tongue.

“They are the same lovely color as your eyes, Neuvillette.” You beam at him, the corners of your eyes crinkling from the stretch of your lips.

His posture returns to its rigid and upright state, a hand hidden from view balls up into a fist.

A sharpness threatening to break through leather confines and into his palm, as if they were attempting to grapple the surging torrent stirred up within himself.

Why? Why was this line from a script being recited word for every damn word? All said with that saccharine smile plastered over those wicked lips?

Indecipherable eyes narrow ever so slightly before he catches himself. Reining in the torrent just before it seethed out.

He clears his throat again to swallow back the bitterness.

“Do excuse me, please return to your reading session,” he utters his parting.

Promptly turning to return to his secludedness, stepping past the Melusines gathered by his side.

Swift strides through the empty halls leaving you to your peace and him to his peace, just as it should’ve been. Much to the pouts of a disappointed audience.

However, he didn’t have the mind to contemplate their discontent. Not when these rabid bellows drown out every other thought in their rancor.

Like a sea starved for vengeance, ravenous to settle a debt against those vile gods and their beloved creations.

A brass knob was abruptly twisted, hinges squealing in surprise as at the force as Neuvillette shuts it behind himself.

Ragged breathes resounding through the reprieve of his bedroom. Away from innocent bystanders and the devil who showed her face again after all these centuries for an encore.

Has he not been humiliated enough? He tugs at his cravat, freeing himself from the fickle decoration constricted about his neck in this already imprisoning body.

A form which binded him no matter how violently talons and fangs clawed and chewed, unable to leave a singular dent upon this damn curse.

This was humiliating enough, bound to this cove that separated him from the sea which cries for their sovereign.

He once believed this penitentiary was obscured away from the peeking eyes of capricious gods. Perhaps, he’s wrong.

Why is this fantasy being played out right in front of his eyes now after all these years?

To have you by his side, to have you reside in the home he craved out and inlaid pearls into, to see you smile and cradle young against your bodice. It’s insulting.

Because this was all he ever wanted. This was all he had ever wanted.

The lonesome dragon only ever yearned for a maiden’s endearment. He once believed she adored him back just the same.

Because while she lay within his arms under silken covers, her bare skin pressed against his mortal shape, her enchanting eyes always regarded him with such tenderness as her delicate hand stroked his cheek.

A glimmer he once believed was love.

The tale written along the parchment implied that the ‘princess’ loved the dragon. However, that was inaccurate. She never did.

For if she loved him, then she wouldn’t have deceived him.

She wouldn’t have ever whispered his secret to the town’s folk. Those foul creatures who then used his secret, which was once reserved solely for ‘you’.

Why? That simple question taunted him for decades as he rotted in this mocking solitude.

Why did ‘you’ yearn for the sun more than him? Was his love not enough to replace the warmth of a star? Was the home he made not enough when compared to the extravagance of humanity?

Or was it because blood and water, no matter how much they intertwine and mix, could never produce wine?

If… if the Melusines had been born just a few centuries earlier, then would you have been satisfied by his side? An answer he could already discern.

Because after his decades of solitude within these deridingly hushed walls, he finally accepted the truth.

She loved her people, they took up all the space of her heart, leaving no room for a prideful leviathan.

What a clever plan it all was, to distract a sovereign from his duty, cleansing stolen land with a flood of vengeance, by sending a maiden.

A woman so bewitching, so enchanting, and so lovely, that a proud dragon couldn’t resist bending to her whims. Spilling the secret hidden deep within him into her ear.

Abandoning his true form to be confined in the shape she favored the most. Then lured up to the surface, suspicions obstructed by the dazzlement of a false welcome from the nation of Fontaine.

Unaware until the scorching knife was already lodged in his back. Using the secret he had only ever told you, those meek creatures of the usurpers wished:

‘For the rest of one’s life, one shall never leave this cave deep beneath the tides’.

What a clever ploy, a masterly crafted master plan. Did that Oratrice bestow it upon mortals? Or was it your own little scheme? A devil in human skin who must’ve been enlisted by the god themselves.

That day when he was chained by that loch, you didn’t even bother to grace him with your presence.

You cruel, cruel devil whose heart only had room for her fellow citizens of Fontaine, whose eyes only ever glimmered with duty.

Neuvillette had finally comprehended the truth, he had made peace with the disgrace he brought upon himself.

So why did those vile false gods dangle you back in his face? They had already taken fragments of his authority.

Was his torment entertaining to them?

Lungs shaking with unsteady breaths, he could feel the pricks of scales dotted along his skin only for this body to swiftly reject it. A turmoil of draconic influence constrained by a mortal curse.

Like a beast kept in a cage much too small for it. If Neuvillette wishes for this agitation to cease, he must cease the stirred emotions.

Emotions don’t settle quickly once agitated like sand attempting to settle at the bottom of violent tides. He paces his shuddery inhales, biding in the solitude of his room until the storm dissipates.

To avoid the placid lake within him from thrashing violently to the woes from the throb of a wound which has yet to scar over, Neuvillette found it best to avoid your presence.

The lanterns outside the Melusine’s homes had long gone out as they followed their routine bedtime.

The expanse of the cavern dimmed to near blackness, the small creatures all tucked away soundly in their beds. A hushed ambiance provides a suitable environment for reflection.

His steps flatten the grass underneath as they accompany his strides with their rustling.

The absence of light had never bothered him, it’s within his nature to detest it. Any beast would withdraw away from the mere image of fire.

The rustle of the grass halts, a wispy aroma of smoke wafts towards him. It doesn’t take long to identify the origin. Only a small flicker broke through the shadows, candlewick fostering only a weak flame.

But it was enough to fend the shadows away from your frame.

The flame’s light caught on each subtle ripple of the pond you were kneeling over.

The seemingly unremarkable pool served as the sole entrance and exit to Merusea Village. Where the Melusines traveled through to gather food, fresh water, and trinkets swallowed up by the waves.

Cold waters catch the bitter droplets of your pained eyes in the reflection of the ripples upon the surface, the distorted silhouette of a weeping devil.

An unspoken gospel revealed to draconic pupils.

Under the rich aromas wafting from the kitchen, behind the diligently tailored gowns, and hidden in the cadence of your voice as you read tales aloud, laid the yearning for the rays of a bright star.

You’re human, a creature fleeting and meek by nature. Blood yearns to be with blood just as every drop of rain yearns to return to a cloud.

A sharp rustle of grass under a heavy step jolts your hunched-over posture straight, head whipping around to face the uninvited audience.

Once those weeping eyes recognize the brooding figure in front of them, your face adverts away from his direction. Shame evident upon your expression.

A concerned hand reaches out only to retract away, contrition marring his shut lips as Neuvillette diverts his eyes too.

Fire burns indiscriminately, even the dancing flame of a candle can sear its mark upon skin. Neuvillette knows this all too well, for the lesion he received from embracing that flame once still festers even after all these years.

However, lilac eyes pan back towards the orange glow illuminating your melancholic face. Warm hues contrast against the wet trails down your cheeks. There’s an ache more agonizing than a festering wound.

His steps advanced closer until he was knelt down by your slump frame. A benevolent touch lands upon your shoulder. Guiding you away from the taunting waters and into his arms, hiding your face in his broad shoulder.

Offering you a semblance of warmth in a coven shunned from the grace of gentle sunlight.

With your face away from his gaze, the cacophony of your sobs returns, digging your fingers into the folds of his dress shirt.

Echoed back mockingly by the cold cavern walls.

Perhaps a foolish dragon has yet to learn his lesson, still lured in that the brilliant light of a flame.

A gentle hand traces up along your back, softly brushing your hair away to reveal the skin of your nape to his sharp pupils.

Honed in upon untainted skin, the courts of rebirth may have removed the proof of your damnation, but not the hex itself.

Or maybe, a foolish dragon feels some responsibility for being the one to curse you to this fate.

A mark once imprinted upon your nape by a lonesome dragon, a heavy oath sworn to you engrained into the very fabric of your soul amidst the first rendition.

One which then became the cursed chains that sunk you under the unforgiving waters.

It’s said that love is heavy, a weight greater than the density of water. A heaviness which could sink anything and everyone under salty tides.

A heaviness originating from this accursed prison where a disgraced being resided.

Even as the earth above welcomed new generations as they said goodbye to bygone times.

The solitude of a fool turning into ravenous waves which seeped into soil until its appetite was satiated by the return of its beloved treasure.

It’s his fault that the tides stole you from the sunlight.

The courts of rebirth had already forgiven you of this burden, not a single memory remaining of that tale.

What right does he have to place it back upon you? There’s no point in punishing one for a sin that had been cleansed by the tides of time.

You didn’t deserve to be held away from the warmth of a benevolent sun.

To have been dragged down below to these depths. To have been stolen away from the warmth of the sun by the command of fickles gods and ancient grudges.

It’s much too severe of a sentence for you, someone who didn’t deserve to repent for a sin that wasn’t truly yours.

Is it okay for his hands to wipe away your tears when this cursed dragon was the cause of your agony?

Even if it’s wrong, Neuvillette holds you closer. Even if he didn’t have the right, he pressed your face in his shoulder. Allowing the vehemence of your tears to scorch his skin as you buried your cries into him.

Glancing at the pool you had been leaning over, he watches as the ripples of the surface taunt you and him the same.

Two beings whose bodies couldn’t embrace the tides. Two cursed beings who’ve been trapped in repeated play.

“It seems you’re bound to this prison as well.” He scorns those gods and ancient grudges, but he scorns himself the most.

Confined behind a human face and a human body, a traitor who’s lost his birthright over the waters who couldn’t welcome him.

How can a cursed dragon quell those choking sobs of yours? How can he atone for his selfish sin?

Neuvillette takes a deep breath just your tears continue to soak his skin. Steeling his resolve, he meditates on the one resolution he can offer you.

“Fontainians still tell a tale about a princess who wished a dragon to become a prince, yes?” He begins.

After a pause filled with hiccups and shaky breaths, you nod your head as an answer.

“It was when she spoke the dragon’s true name that he granted her one wish,” he recounts the tale, feeling the trembles of your shoulders.

“That part of the story isn’t fictitious,” he reveals.

Voices from the depths of his rationality whisper for him to stop, to expand no more upon this secret of his brethren. Clamorous warnings to a traitor to not repeat his past transgressions.

However, he obeys no edict from the heavens or origins. Not when an unjust punishment caused such heart-wrenching sobs.

“Names hold great significance to dragons. So much so, to whoever learns their true name, a wish can be granted.”

Slowly, your tear-stained face pulls away from his crinkled dress shirt. Finally meeting his lilac gaze. He notes the bewilderment which surrounds his reflection in your eyes.

“Is… your name not ‘Neuvillette’?” You inquire.

“It’s a surname bestowed upon me by the mortals of the land.”

“Then… What is your name?” A glimmer of optimism ever so subtly debuts in your eyes.

He could not tell you. No matter how beautifully that light shines, this was one ordinance he couldn’t ignore. All he could do was glance away as he shakes his head. Unable to bear the sight of that light extinguishing.

“That is what you must find for yourself.”

Perhaps this is his defiance of the plot which has been unraveling for so long. His attempt to step off that circular path, searching for a different end.

The silent audience of fate watching on with bemusement to where this rendition will lead.

“Oh?”

What a peculiar occurrence, Neuvillette was just about to exit his study when he found himself just a breath’s width away from you. Instinctively, he takes a step back behind the threshold of the doorway.

Passive eyes studying your form, you must’ve been standing there for a while. A hand held up intending to knock on the oak door returns to your side as you stare at the floor.

“Is there something you need assistance with?” He continues to study you.

Lilac eyes observe as your fingers clasp together, a common habit of mortals when nervous, if he recalls the contents of a book correctly. Another minute passes before you take a deep breath.

“Is your name Guillaume?” You peer up.

Ah, so this is what you wished to inquire about.

The secret revealed to you that day beside an exit neither he nor you could cross. Guillaume, a name befitting of nobility. But unfortunately, not for a dragon.

He responds with a shake of his head, expression stiffening as he watches the corners of your lips drop ever so slightly.

“Oh…”

It seems his existence brings nothing but a frown upon those soft lips, Neuvillette felt it’s best to retreat from your sight.

This attempt was evidence of your determination to return to the embrace of a warm star.

It wouldn’t be right for him to interfere, despite those vile voice whispers murmuring from the depth of his mind. It wouldn’t be fair to you.

It’s best to maintain this distance between his hand and yours, for your sake and his.

Which begs the question, why were you still standing here in front of him?

“Is that all you wished to inquire?” Neuvillette hopes the Melusines will lift your spirits after he withdraws.

“Actually…” You began. “I made some soup and if you haven’t had lunch yet, would you like to try some?”

Although his stoic face might not reflect it, he’s positively baffled. Were ‘you’ always this enthusiastic about food?

The devil he knew before would view the freshest catches and clearest waters offered by a dragon with blasé reactions.

You used to recoil away from the fishes and meats he held out to you, they were only ever touched once he charred them over a fire.

Then again the kitchen back then was much more barren than the present, cabinets now decorated with bottles of fragrant spices and herbs.

Was it just a difference in palate? To reject such an invitation would be to squander a precious opportunity for investigation.

“The pleasure would be all mine.” He matches your strides as the two of you traverse toward the kitchen.

Settling down in a chair at a wooden table, Neuvillette watches as you ladle some soup into a bowl. Following your form as you set the bowl down in front of him. A pleasant aroma accompanies the steam emitting from the bowl.

“It’s Fontainian Onion Soup.” You hand a spoon over.

“Thank you.” He takes the utensil and scoops a hearty serving of the rich soup.

A distinct flavor of caramelized onions and the creaminess of cheese. The broth had been thickened with a bit of flour and the cheese added to the heavy mouth feel.

This dish certainly expresses the flavor preferences of humans… but could such a thick broth really be considered soup?

“Do you like it?” Your head tilts to the side as he feels your inquisitiveness.

Dabbing a napkin over his lips, he clears his throat.

“A fine dish indeed. Although increasing the liquid content and reducing the amount of fat could improve it,” he advises.

A hush falls over the kitchen, nothing but the occasional crackle of a fire filling the space.

“Oh… I’ll keep that in mind.” Your voice was restraining something.

As you turn away, Neuvillette catches the subtle shakes of your shoulders.

Ah, has he caused offense? He recalls how cooking and food preferences amongst humans tend to be a sore spot for most, some books going as far as to claim critics as attacks on one’s pride.

You had taken time out of your day to prepare a bowl for him, and he gave senseless comments in return.

“Ah, but it’s delicious regardless, thank you.” He has to remedy this situation.

The shakes of your shoulders increase, as a hand covers your lips.

“Thank you, Monsieur.” Your lips seem to be trying to stifle something.

After finishing your sentence, your lips pressed tighter together. He could see the corners twitching as they tried their best to remain neutral.

Before he could get another word in, you excused yourself. Leaving him in front of the warm soup.

In that moment, Neuvillette vows to himself that even if you were to hand him a piece of charcoal he’ll swallow it without a single complaint.

--------------------------------------------------------------

“Is your name Édouard?”

Your voice causes him to turn his attention away from the pages of a book this quiet evening.

You stood just off to the side of the bookshelf where he was browsing, a candle illuminating the curiosity held in your eyes. Presenting a name likely discovered from those very same shelves.

Dirges ring from the corners of his mind, warning him not to allow the light to approach so close.

However, where is a shadow supposed to withdraw to when the light seeks him?

Just as how the tide couldn’t run away from the shore for long. Steadfast and constant attempts to unravel the secrets held by the ebbs and flows.

Alas, he shakes his head again today, steeling his nerves as he catches the slight drop in your shoulders. Louis, Étienne, Théodore, and all those previous guesses, are names of heroes in Fontainian tales and epics.

Popularized to the point many boys were named after them, but no parent would ever want to name their child after a dragon, a beast.

He doubts the pages of history have ever recorded his name.

Your disheartened gaze couldn’t meet his, choosing to stare into the space beside him. He couldn’t fault you for that.

All your efforts of combing through old novels to search for obscured monikers just to be undone by a shake of a head.

He’s not sure how much longer he can endure being the origin of your melancholy.

“There’s a tear in your coat…”

Your voice brings him out of his thoughts, he glances at the spot your eyes were honed on and spots the aforementioned tear.

“Ah, I see. My apologies for being in such an unsightly state, ” he sighs. Lilac eyes ran along the jagged seams.

He should go find a replacement from his wardrobe, but you still looked like you had something to say.

“I can fix it if you’d like,” you offer.

It’s just a garment, a piece of cloth that fell off some merchant’s ship and found itself in the walls of a cove. There were plenty of other garments that suffered the same fate, picked up by pairs of curious mittened hands.

To replace this robe would be simple, but he notes the concealed eagerness in the fidget of your fingers. It must be rather dull for you down here for the past year, to the point you resorted to repairing old fabrics for enrichment.

Regrettably, Neuvillette admits he’s not the best host. He’s got no talent for small talk nor does he know how to entertain you, thus he left it up to the Melusines. However, he could at least do this much as a host.

“Thank you, I’d be grateful if you do.”

His steps in time with yours through the halls as an old storage room comes into view. Still filled with collections of folded gowns and coats.

As he observes the room, you guide him to a pair of wooden chairs, a box filled with needles and threads beside one. You place the candle down on a nearby table.

“I’ll take your coat.” Holding out your hands.

Following your request, he slips the robe off his shoulders, leaving him in a dress shirt and slacks.

Attentively you take the garment, settling down in a seat as your hand searches through the box. After your rummaging stopped, you glance back at him.

“It won’t take long, please have a seat.” Gesturing toward the other chair.

Lilac eyes scanned the aged seat, the door was just beyond it, it wouldn’t take much of an excuse for him to walk past the wooden threshold.

However, he pans back to your anticipatory gaze still awaiting. It wouldn’t be polite to deny such a simple gesture.

Thus, he heeds your request, ambling toward the empty seat, he begins to settle down just as a rip resonates through the air.

His body halts all movement just as yours did, toward pairs of eyes trained on the sleeve that had been caught on the edge of a wooden table.

The fibers of his shirt entangled with the jagged edges causing his sleeve to rip. Neuvillette truly has yet to acclimate to such fickle inconveniences.

“Pfft!-” Quickly your hand covers your mouth.

Lips pressed together as they tried their best to stifle the sounds threatening to leak out. Your shoulders shaking from the effort, just as they did that day in the kitchen.

Although his expression remains the same, he’s quite dumbfounded.

Unable to contain the sounds any longer, you erupt into a fit of giggles as he continues to stare. The bright chimes of your laughter fill the room, a melodic tune he had longed to hear for so long.

“S-sorry, I just didn’t expect you to… be so clumsy.” Giggles fragment your sentence along with a brief pause to collect yourself.

Clumsy. Yes, he remembers that word, an adjective you used to describe a dragon whenever he took on the shape you favored so much.

Of course, even a great beast like a dragon would totter and stumble when in such a foreign body.

Although he has been in this body for many, many years now, yet, Neuvillette hasn’t acclimated to these fickle mortal attires.

If these garments weren’t pushed into his hands by the Melusines and their bright-eyed stares, he’d prefer to not dawn them.

Neuvillette shuts his eyes. His lungs intake a deep breath, stifling the sway of these trivial inconveniences before they cause any ripples.

Once he’s certain there was no jagged edge to his stare, lilac hues peek back upon your figure.

By now those fits of giggles had faded into a tranquil lull, your content face focused on the stitches. Body relaxed against the back of the chair, weaving the needle through the sides of the tear.

Subconsciously, his frame begins to mimic yours, rigid muscles melting against the wooden support.

Lavender hues follow the disappearance of a sliver point, then catch its emergence from the fabric.

The torn and frayed edges draw closer and closer together by the coaxes of the thread, each stitch attentively placed by your graceful hands.

“Neuvillette?” Your serene voice interlaces with the placid interlude.

He hums an answer.

“That night by the entrance… you said ‘You're bound to this cove as well’.” The pace of the needle slows.

“Why did you say that?” You finish your question.

Observant, a characteristic of yours he’s always deemed quite commendable. Ever so keen on the nuances of his sentences.

The piercing stare of draconic eyes weighs on your shoulders, despite that the cadence of the needle didn’t falter. A ripple makes its appearance within a placid pool.

“Do you really wish to know?” He warns.

You hum resolutely. A bitter taste creeps its way up his tongue, the recollection of the string of words which damned him here.

Instinct advises him to swallow them back, to conceal his shame from your awaiting ears. However, answering the call of your curiosity should be enough of a repayment for repairing a coat.

“For the rest of one’s life, one shall never leave this cave deep beneath the tides. That is the curse set upon this body,” he reveals.

The needle stops.

“A curse?…” you stammer out.

Under your breath, Neuvillette hears you recount the disclosed secret. Repeating it to yourself as if to decipher the syntax, to find some answers to his condemnation.

The answer was sitting just in front of him.

“…For the rest of one’s life… well, how long do dragons live?”

To mortals, it’s time who is the reaper of their existence. From the moment a newborn sounds their first cry to the final draw of air on their deathbeds, it was the hands of a clock who ruled over them.

But such hands could not touch a being such as him.

“The life of a dragon begins and ends in the Fontemer Sea, born from it, made from it, and shall return to it to be born again.” He wonders if mortals could grasp such a concept.

“Oh…” Your tone grew more somber.

Judging from your tonality, you must’ve pieced the allusions together.

To be contained within these stone walls with only a pool of seawater he could not touch as the opening, is to bestow upon him immortality he never asked for.

For the Hydro Dragon could not return to the Fontemer Sea.

Even if dragons had long lives, it didn’t mean the humiliation of immortality. The true cruelty of this seemingly kind curse.

“Why?” Your voice just barely above a whisper.

Why was he cursed? Why is he in this sham of a mortal body? Why did he reveal the secrets of his brethren? All of this at the trifling sight of bitter tears.

“Because the people of Fontaine found my name and they wished for it.”

Why did he give you his name? And why did you then give it away? There are many questions left unanswered by that tale.

Why did a proud dragon bow to the whims of a mere mortal in that fairytale?

A creature as potent as a dragon should never bow, not to the ordinances of false gods, not to the turbulence of fate, and not to a mere mortal.

Why did a maiden wish for a dragon to become a human like them? Water is an adaptable element, able to take on any shape it pleases. However, it yearns to always return to its natural shape.

Perhaps, his ‘natural’ form appalled the devil too much. So much so, she used that one wish to confine him in the form she favored most.

More confoundingly, why did Neuvillette allow such a request? A creature favored by the usurpers dared to wish a dragon to abandon his heritage, to cross over the threshold of humanity just for their sake.

Why would a dragon ever bow to a mortal’s request?

The commandments of a false god and the howling thrashes of wind can’t make a proud dragon bow, but the weight of love might be enough for a prideful beast to lower his head towards a mortal.

A traitor to his own fallen brethren is much too dignified of a title for Neuvillette. No, it’d be better to call him for what he is: A Fool.

What a spectacle it was that day, even those fickle gods peered down just to watch. A fool who lost his form and authority was imprisoned beneath the tides.

A stir shakes that pool, whirling and writhing, the billows of bitterness mounting.

“… could it be wished away?” Your voice beckons his thoughts to return to the present.

Unlike how it was written in those tales, a curse can’t be ‘broken’. Not by a kiss, and not by clasping one’s hands together in prayer.

“Not even a miracle could make a curse vanish, a curse only ever goes away once its clauses have been fulfilled.”

Until the stars burn out, until the sky caves in on itself, or until the oceans of this uprooted world dry up, he shall remain here. The retribution a traitor deserves.

He shall remain in this sham of a body, unable to become the form he desired the most in the next life he’ll never reach.

Not a human, not a dragon, just an atrocity somewhere in-between. This must be what humans call ‘purgatory’.

“I see…” Your attention never leaves the half-stitched garment sprawled upon your lap.

A heavy silence fills the space between you and him once more. To conclude a conversation on such a doleful note would be a disgrace.

However, what is he to say? What words can salvage this situation? Neuvillette has no talent for small talk, he doesn’t have the same mortal heart as yours to provide you with any solstice.

Amidst his contemplation, a soft hum resounds through the quietude, and the melodic rhythm of a lullaby begins. It seems that you took matters into your own hands, ending the doleful silence at your own discretion.

Once more his back reclines into the wooden chair, pointed ears indulge themselves in a nostalgic tune.

It’s strange, that rippling pool is swaying back to equilibrium. The surface returns to its placid rest as tension melts from his muscles.

Unaware of the hushed pitter-patter of a curious audience, drawn in by the gentle song as their bright eyes peer ever from the cover of the door frame.

--------------------------------------------------------------

“Madame! Look I got more Pluie Lotuses!” Kiara’s little steps rush across the marble floor.

Getting up on the tips of her feet to show the bundle of fresh blooms, salty water still dripping from their petals, as her bangs stick flush to her face still damp from the sea. Her pink tail swaying behind her.

Your body turns in her direction just in time with Neuvillette.

“Kiara…” A subtle layer of disapproval emerges from lilac hues.

“Remember to dry off before entering the estate, the floors can become quite dangerous when wet.”

“But…” the flowers lower. “I wanted to show Madame the lotuses…”

There’s a drop in her tail and horns and a sharp sting to his chest. Her sisters were gathered around in a circle, a story having just concluded, he could feel their stares upon him. Adding to the sharpness of guilt.

“My apologies, Kiara, I only meant to warn you.”

She nods her head silently, tail still dragging on the floor. Ah, just what should he do? A frown begins to weigh down his face.

“Thank you, they’re wonderful, Kiara.” Your gentle chime breaks through the stalemate.

You take the bouquet from her mittened hands, placing them atop a counter, in exchange you offer her a towel.

“But Neuvillette is right, it’s not good to run through the halls right after you returned from the waters. It’s dangerous, okay?” Your voice as gentle as the towel rubbed over her hair and horns.

A content smile returns to her round cheeks as she diligently nods, promising that she’ll be more careful next time. Tail lifting up from the floor as the fluffy towel wipes away the ocean droplets.

Once fully dried, she joins her sisters. The Melusines cast shifting glances toward one another until one finally steps out from the crowd.

“Madame…” Carole calls out softly, tugging a few times the hem of your long dress.

“Hm?” Giving her your full attention, a towel set aside.

“I overheard you inquiring about names with Monsieur in the library once, could you be…” Her eyes downcasted.

Oh. This time it was Neuvillette and you who exchanged glances, eyes both reflecting the same dread.

They weren’t supposed to know. They weren’t supposed to hear those slapdash guesses.

He never meant for them to find out. Always careful to never discuss such matters in their earshot.

For how could he bear to tell them that their cozy village was actually a prison?

His mind was unable to conjure up an excuse, tongue unwilling to speak it. They weren’t supposed to find out. Oh, what shall he do now?

“Could you be expecting?”

Huh?

Two pairs of eyes widened with bewilderment, mind stunned into silence and lips just as confused.

Somehow they’ve huddled even closer than before, encircling you and him with their bright eyes and tails swaying with anticipation.

“Will there be a new addition to the village?”

“How long do we have to wait?”

“Are we getting a brother or sister?”

Their chatter and probes homogenized into a jumbled symphony his flustered conscious just couldn’t distinguish. Trying to reel his senses back from this unexpected turn of events. Neuvillette clears his throat.

“No,” he coughs out.

A collective ‘aw’ resounds through the air, their tails and horns drooping down at the announcement. Guilt pierced its nail through his chest once more. However, he couldn’t lie to their bright eyes.

“N-not, yet.” You add to his statement.

A wave of inquisitive‘oh’ ripples through the crowd. Tails picked up from the ground as the glimmer in their eyes returned.

A sweet lie sprinkled over the truth neither of you dare tell, that blood and water can’t make wine.

“Then, do you want a little prince or little princess?” Carole chirps.

You remain silent, only gazing down at their faces as they stare back.

A lilac stare was also focused upon you, his curiosity awakening at this question as well. He watches you take a slow breath before leaning down.

“I’d like to have a daughter, sweet and kind like all of you.” Your hand strokes her soft trestles.

Her head nuzzles into your palm as giggles fill the air. Only draconic eyes study the small smile upon your lips, dipped in bittersweetness.

Did you have a lover back on the surface in this life? Perhaps someone who was promised to you. A real prince this time.

Did you have dreams of basking in the grace of the sun, cradling a bundle as a pair of tiny fingers encase around your own?

Was this the hard-earned happy ending you yearned for?

“Monsieur…” Mamaere tugs on his slacks.

Neuvillette reigns his thoughts back from their escapade, he angles his head down.

“Where does a baby come from?”

The smile on your lips stiffen just as Neuvillette’s body does.

If there’s a god who’s peering into this cavern deep below the land and sea, must they send such dilemmas his way?

How does one navigate through this treacherous domain?

“Oh dear! I just remembered.” Your hands clap together.

“There’s a few ribbons and clips in the fabric room, do you girls mind getting them? So we can braid Monsieur’s hair?”

At once the Melusines stand at attention, focus diverted over their excitement at the prospect of decorating snowy locks.

The patters of their little steps trample down the hall, allowing you and Neuvillette a well-deserved moment of reprieve.

“Thank you.” His posture drops slightly as a hefty sigh leaves him, lids shut for a moment of rest.

“Of course, Sébastien.”

His eyes crack open, casting you a glance with a raised brow. The ghost of a grin barely contained by delicate lips. By this time, Neuvillette couldn’t recall all the past attempts.

“Regrettably, that is not my name.”

“Was it at least a decent attempt?”

He could hear the pout in your voice, one that didn’t last long before a light-hearted laugh follows it.

Closing his eyes once more as he indulges in those chimes, he nods ever so slightly. It was a good attempt, for it brought out those sounds he enjoyed.

His lashes flutter open at the sensation of his hair getting gathered in your tender hold. Passing the carved wooden teeth of a comb through his snowy locks.

Careful to not pull or tug on them as you coaxed the tangles out of their knots. The heaviness upon his shoulders leaves with a deep exhale which left his body, indulging in your attentive touches.

Subconsciously, his gaze trails up at the bundle of flowers resting along the wooden table. It wasn’t the periwinkle blush of the delicate petals that commanded his attention.

No, it was that salty, oceanic wisp mingled with the flora aroma. A fleeting essence of the sea.

“Do you miss the sea?”

Ah, it seems that his stare wasn’t as subtle as he had hoped. Neuvillette turns away from the flowers as if he had been caught amidst a scheme.

Facing in front of him, your paused hands signal your wait for his response.

“I suppose it’s only natural for me to long for it.”

After all these years, Neuvillette believes he has finally grasped it, an answer to that void filled with ‘whys’. As if he had seized the reflection of a star from the bottom of a deep lake.

Neuvillette thinks he understands why you and the devil yearned for the sunlight.

Perhaps the one similarity between proud dragons and arrogant humans. They both ache to return to where they came from.

One yearns for the sea. One yearns for land.

For there and only there, could their sins and grudges be purged. To gain the most restful sleep before the hands of fate shape them anew from the element.

“Hmm,” you hum in acknowledgment.

Fingers gentle and slow as they brushed through his hair. You hum a lullaby to accompany each pass of the comb. Melodies that made his ears yearn for more, craving for more sounds to leave your plush lips.

His hair had always been an inconvenience, capricious strands that were seemly curious of everything in his environment.

Snowy tresses find themselves gravitating towards door hinges, door knobs, and even the minuscule gaps in ornate furniture.

However, your patience hands untangled those unruly stands.

When a knot proves to be particularly stubborn, you tend to lend closer to hone in on the troublesome tangle.

It just so happens that a stubborn knot appeared, causing you to decrease the proximity between your bodies.

The heat radiating from your frame sends delightful pickles along his skin, a delicate warmth making his flesh grow feverish.

A hunger deep within begins to grumble and wallow, a greed that wishes to dig past those frivolous fragrances to get to the true taste he craves.

An ugly gluttony pleading to delve into your soft flesh. Ah, he recognizes the cause of this turbulence now…

Neuvillette clears his throat.

“I believe I’m beginning to feel unwell, so please refrain from venturing into the cellar for the next few weeks. I should quarantine myself.” Too ashamed to turn back and face you.

“Oh?...” The comb stops.

At this distance, he was well aware of your scent. A fine fragrance no water or bloom could hope to imitate. Concealed under a layer of lavish soaps and oils dropped from the surface was an aroma that was wholly yours and yours alone.

A gloved hand reaches up to cover his nostrils, seeking some barrier between that tantalizing whiff.

“Please, excuse me…” He pulls away swiftly.

The sudden action must’ve jostled his hair too much, for the sultry sensation of your fingertips was felt along azure ‘strands’.

Just a minor touch against his horns, yet shudders rack up his nape. His teeth sink into the flesh of his bottom lip, sharper than they’re supposed to be, anchoring those ravenous voices at bay momentarily.

He needs to leave now. For your sake.

Rushed strides stow a distance between his body and that delectable warmth of yours. His back turned to you as he couldn’t bear to see the expression upon that saccharine face.

Just what expression were you making as a dragon retreated?

The cellar of this estate was always cold, its stones never having once touched the sunlight before, thus they only brood in their frigidity. A somberness fitting to quell a heat which yearned to burn.

The fever has consumed his body wholly, each pant leaving trails of foggy wisps. Neuvillette burrows deeper into the hoard of sheets, pillows, and blankets. The brush of the soft fabrics prickles his skin.

How strange it is that despite the fever of heat igniting each corner of his flesh, despite the numerous thick covers twisting and burying his bare form, he’s still shivering.

A chill ingrained so deep it’s in his very bones, skin alight but bones frozen over, just what is this purgatory?

Annually it happens, a period where primal instincts exude past the rigid confines of a mortal form. Making its influence in the resurgence of draconic features over the mortal flesh that traps him.

No matter how raw his true form claws to be released, the mortal prison doesn’t relent. A curse he’s brought upon himself.

Laceratations of gluttony and cardinal sin sink deeper with each provocation. The creeks of the floorboards above and the sweet voice which leaked through the woods, the morsels of you that stirred the waters of instinct.

From the depths of the torrent, he’s so desperately suppressing came the unquenchable thirst to lure you in. Beckon you down to this shadowy cellar so that the ugly and primal waters could swallow you wholly.

But he mustn’t. Those soft touches and smiles had just been bestowed upon him, the twine of trust still delicate. How could he ever squander such privileges? For those lovely eyes of yours to look at him filled with nothing but fear and disgust, he’d rather be chained down here for the rest of eternity.

He must endure it for a bit longer, he knows it’ll be over soon. The gale which sweeps through him is slowly lessening its blows.

Even if the waters of primitive instincts howled and stormed, Neuvillette refused to leave this tangle of blankets and pillows. An unwavering grip refusing to submit to those demands. Thus nature had to find its own way to subsist off a drought.

The heat hazed over his mind, conjuring up fantasies to appease the ever-unsettled water from its vapid reality.

“Neuvillette?” A soft voice calls out.

Just like now. Desire fogs up his senses to create a delusion, mimicking the way your warm voice beckons him. It’s nothing but a figment of his depraved lust.

“Neuvillette?”

He buries his ears further into the down covers to block the alluring mirages. Tickling him to submit to the temptation. But he mustn’t. Nothing more than a manifestation of lust.

The phantom donning your sweet voice calls out for him, and gentle touches send shivers through his nerves. Ah, he must vanquish this mirage before the fraying line of his self-restraint splinters apart.

Nothing but smoke and mirrors conjured by desire, a rigid arm expels out from the covers to dissipate the siren’s lure.

However, it wraps around something warm, a heat which his fever wails for. Intrinsically his shivering body covets that warmth, to be buried flush against the source so that this chill may finally stop its torment.

So like any greedy dragon, his claws enclose around temptation and drag it into his decrepit cave of blankets and sheets.

A satisfied purr judders through his stalwart body, a warmth which could finally reach his very bones. Thus, he burrows his face deeper into the shoulder of this phantom, a lovely aroma beckoning him to pull their soft body closer.

“Neuvillette?…”

His eyes snap open, realization flooding through him just as the chill that had been ingrained into his bones. This wasn’t an illusion. You weren’t an illusion.

He tears himself away, just as a moth does once they realize a hypnotic flame had set their wings alight. Trembly arms firmly planted on either side of your body, snowy locks falling onto your face.

“Are you alright?...” The sapphire luminance of his elongated horns shines across those sinless eyes.

The strap of a nightgown halfway down your shoulder from when he snatched you beneath his savage form.

“You… you shouldn’t be here,” he breathes, voice unsteady and taut.

“You’ve been away for an awfully long time… I-” Your eyes were blown wide and lips pressed together, aghast gaze not daring to glance down at the raging rigidness pressed against the silk of your nightgown.

Frenzied shivers of pleasure jostles through his veins, tremors racking his body all the way to the tips of his horns. In desperation his rigidnesses pleaded to feel you, throbbing so painfully a hiss leaves his lips.

“You need to leave, quickly please.” Leave before he traps you again.

Before this pathetic excuse of a sovereign loses against himself, before he makes a fool of himself. Neuvillette tries to pull away, against the weeping wishes of his erections. Face too ashamed to even look at you, but a pair of tender hands guides his cheeks back.

“...But I missed you…” You whisper.

Why are your hands embracing his face in this unsightly state? Are they not appalled by the patches of scales littered across them? Like a flame reaching out towards a moth.

“Leave, please.” Don’t tempt him like this.

“... Don’t you miss me?...” Your hold doesn’t budge.

Why do you look at him like that? Irises filled with warmth as his image is reflected in the flickering candlelight. Gazing wholly up at him. A cerulean glow tinting your hair and supple body.

“Don’t…” He reasons, the last of his sensibility crying a warning of a sinful fruit.

“Please, Neuvillette… won’t you hold me for just a bit? I missed you so much….” The shift of your shoulder causes the nightgown to slip further off your shoulder.

Don’t call out to him like that. No, not as your bewitching body was so close to his. The glow of a candle illuminating the curve of your cheeks, disheveled hair framing your wide eyes.

Don’t show him such a sight, for he’ll salivate to devour you until his teeth rot.

“Please?...” Coaxing his head down so that his forehead rests against yours.

Your warmth, your soft touches, and your delectable aroma, they parch his throat so much it pained him. Just as painful as attempting to swallow down sand from a hellish desert, it aches and lacerates his throat.

And here you were offering a lustrous fruit, so juicy and filled of sin, in front of his famished eyes. A cruel, cruel mercy.

“... May…May I?” It’s unbearable, this parchedness in his throat, would you be so kind to quench it?

Your sweet hum grants him permission. Eyes closed just as you turn a blind eye to his ravenousness, still stroking his tender cheeks. Neuvillette couldn’t deny himself any more of the warmth he’s coveted for oh so long.

Thus, he delves head-first into the glimmer of that enchanting flame. Burying his nose into the crook of your neck, so vulnerable and complacent, to hoard your bewitching fragrance all for himself. His skin flushed against yours as his bones delight in your heat.

The reigns of self-respect slip out from his hands as they let go in favor of running along your curves and edges. Each feature, your shoulders, and hips, aligns with details he’s long ingrained into his memory.

His fervor touches pushing down the silk fabric which dare disturb his worship. Nevuillette cants his head up momentarily, puffs of smothering breaths clouding the frosty air.

Lilac eyes drink up how the chilly air made your delectable breast perky, trailing down the goosebumps lining your torso, and landing on your exposed thighs.

A dryness itches in his throat as callused hands bite into the tender skin and he parts those placid legs away.

Oh, how could one ever take their eyes off that shiny, succulent fruit held out so openly in the hands of the tempter of all tempters?

They reveal to him the oasis he’d been hallucinating these grueling weeks. The tip of a serpentine tongue slips across his parched lips.

Since you so brazenly offered your body up to him, you wouldn’t have any objects against him finally getting a taste, right?

His foreboding figure traverses downwards until his delirious face is right between the cusp of his salvation and demise.

Dilated pupils peering up at you for approval, an invocation for clemency from this drought. A merciful hand graces his cheeks once more, granting him his salvation and demise.

His tongue escapes past his parched lips, as lengthy as it was insatiable, it licks a slow and passionate strip up your slit. A taste he once would only recount in the depths of his recollections.

Does this new body of yours still have the same weaknesses? Will you still writhe in madness if he sucks on that delectable little nub? Or how about those hidden points concealed deep within?

Could this tongue of his bring you past the brink of insanity in this life as well?

There was only one way for Neuvillette to grasp the answers he sought. A long tongue slips past the entrance of your satin walls, welcomed with a lewd squelch.

Grip parting your legs from his path further. Those quivering calls of ‘Neuvillette’and the pawing of your small hands against his head beckon him deeper.

Ah, redemption, it’s far too late for him now. For Nevillette has taken a bite out from that forbidden fruit, the evidence of it was dripping down his chin.

Ah, these slick velvety walls, he missed them. They clamp down with such ferocity along this beastly tongue, extensive enough to reach the deepest cavern of you.

A divine nectar begins to pool, Neuvillette retracts his tongue just enough for the heavenly taste to slide down his throat. Your sweet musk sends his olfactory system into chaos, rampant tongue returning to ravish you.

Not one drop of restraint left within him. It’s beastly how he’s devouring you. His tongue craves more of the delicacy he’s denied himself these past years, a thirst no water could quench. Wet muscles sliding up the whole length of your slit in a meticulous long lap, his nose bumping into your clit.

Your mewls and sobs echo off the walls when he flicks his tongue over that sensitive nub. Your body jolts violently as the length of his tongue ventures into the honeypot, toes curling in the air, but his iron-clad grip doesn’t allow any room for escape.

Delicate fingers now entangled into his tussled locks, grasping onto illuminated horns. You were likely trying to find something to ground your dissipating sanity, how unfortunate that your actions only flamed the fires.

A guttural growl echoed. Tongue now plunging further, slithering back and forth along your walls. For being such a sweet sacrifice for him, he’ll give a reward. Slithering tongue making sure to drag against that spot he’s memorized.

Judging from how your feet were arching off the sheets, it seems this sinful detail of yours was repeated as well.

Your body writhes, no longer docile under the white searing pleasure frying the ends of every nerve within your being. Unrelenting rhythm slipping in and out of your convulsing walls, your body twitching and flailing in reaction.

Trying to find some way to handle this surcharge of sensations. Legs instinctively wanting to shut together as if to cease this turbulent sensation, unfortunately, your pitiful strength gave no resistance against his rigid hold.

He could feel your muscles begin to seize up, slick walls clamping harder on his writhing tongue. Was this foreign sensation too much for you already?

His long tongue explores every last crevice, tastebuds lapping against those weak spots deep within as his nose bumps and grinds against that lewd clit. This unsightly side of you.

There’s more fervor in the lashes of his tongue, slurping up the nectar trickling out your greed, mixing with his spit dripping down his chin.

Your legs trashing but unable to go anywhere in his unrelenting hold, only able to pull on his silky locks for dear life as sobs tumble out. A flood of arousal adds to the mess on his chin. One he gladly laps up.

Oh’s and ah’s were the only choked sounds your lips could make as your eyes rolled to the back of your scrambled mind.

Neuvillette still relishing in the elixir he’s denied himself for too long, not even the purest water could compare. Reveling in the taste until every last drip ran down his parched throat.

Pulling away, a trail connects his lips with your quivering folds. Callous hands dig further into your legs, making room for his body. Watching as the movements of your chest slowed, his brute figure engulfed your frame.

The ache was unbearable now, each impatient throb reprimanding him for delaying their greed. Neuvillette couldn’t deny their request any longer.

Back sitting up straight, his cocks thrumming against his abdomen, precum exuding out from their swollen heads.

The cool air did little to calm the throbs of his fervors, the girthy shaft standing tall as its engorged tip weeped precum, its twin weeping just the same.

They hover over the softness of your belly, sharp pupils trail up the shadow they cast, heralding to where they crave to be buried.

The heat of his body was suffocating, the burn in his throat greater than ever before. But why? He had drank from that forbidden oasis, it’s dripping down his chin, yet why has his thirst grown greater than before?

Neuvillette was so… so close. If he had only endured it for another day or two, the gale within him would’ve relented and retreated away in defeat. But oh how viciously it’s gloating in its victory. Getting a dragon to bow his head to its cardinal blows.

“Do you… feel better now, Neuvillette?” Slow pants leave your curled lips as your hands reach up to caress his taut face.

This brazenness, this shamelessness, this insolence. Ah, these characteristics have followed you through the grave and into this life as well. You weren’t skilled enough this time around to hide your desire glazed across your pupils.

Did you do this in hopes of making him indebted to you? Offer your sweet body in return for stealing his name from his locked lips? Was this why you traversed down to this dark cellar so late in such flimsy silks?

That gleam in those deceptive eyes, the audacity to believe you could tame the sea with just a flick of your finger. You devious temptress.

“Better?… you’ve only fanned the flames, you devious woman.” A snarl from the depths of him.

Before another word could leave your lips one torrid hand pins your wrist to the sheets. Nails much too sharp to be human dig into those fickle and troublesome fabrics hiding your skin from his touch.

An all too satisfying rip resounding through the air along with your yelp. Scraps join the tangle of sheets.

Did his mortal prison deceive you too much? Did his mild mannerisms trick you into believing that he’s a merciful soul? Or did you always ignore the warnings?

A monster with a human face is still a monster. To believe that one’s patience is endless, only a human could be this impertinent.

His other vascular hand slides down the curves of your body, settling on your hip as your legs hook behind his firm thighs. The ridges of his lower cock drag against your slick folds, wetting his girth from its leaking tip sliding down against your swollen clit.

Precum mixes with the concoction as the glossiness spreads about his length. A pair of shaky breaths mingle as Neuvillette positions his engorged tip at your dripping entrance.

The sensation must’ve cleared the daze from your mind, your head cants downwards to stare at the two oddities.

“A-are both of them going to…” Your grip tightens on the sheets, a subconscious search for comfort.

Ah, now you remember danger. Now you realize your insolence to believe that a mere human could ever tame a proud dragon.

“There won’t be any point in breaking you so quickly,” he snarls. Not missing the flutter of your hole as the weeping head dragged over it. It wouldn’t be good to break you so quickly. His sweet little sacrifice.

Taking the erection which hung lower, he rubs its flushed tip along your slit. Each flinch and tremble sparked gratification through his veins.

The lashes of his tongue had aided in the preparation of these sinful walls, but the girth of his beastly tongue could not compare to the thickness pressed against these leaking folds.

The ghost of his breath flutters over your prickling skin. Neuvillette takes deeper breaths as the weight pressed against your core grew, the bulbous tip inching past the puckering entrance.

The stretch was maddening despite the restrained pace. Your walls fluctuate in a surging dance between clamping down and trying to remain relaxed.

As Neuvillette sinks his girth in bit by bit, its envious twin slithers against your aching clit. The sensitive bundle of nerves drags against each ridge and vein, sending jolts of searing pleasure through him and causing your satin walls to flutter.

A velvety sack kisses against your slick folds, signaling that his length has reached its end. The fat tip of its twin resting just above your naval indicated just how deeply he was buried, trapped between your soft flesh and his sculpted body.

It’s crowded inside you, girth parting and stretching these satin walls while the length is pressed against the deepest most intimate part of you.

Forcing delectable little whimpers and gasps from your haughty lips. Quivering legs now locking ankles behind his back, like a pitiable attempt to hamper him.

That arrogance disgraced to nothing but obscenity upon a wanton face. To see the devil so helpless and lewd under the manipulation of a dragon. What a wonderful sight.

Surely your body remembers his. If not, then he’ll ensure it does now, he’ll engrain it into you for the next life.

One cock slid against the satin ridges of your walls, the other indulging along your searing skin and grinding against your clit. He can’t deny how addictive your body always has been.

Dragging as far back as your locked legs would allow him, the flushed head of one dick kisses your twitching clit, and he sinks back in.

Grunts and purrs reverberate through his throat, teeth clenching as your heat engulfs him again. Reaching deeper into your welcoming core as your lips fall open.

His pace is methodical and controlled to his liking. Drawing out his cock inch by thick inch, sloppy trails of arousal caught on each ridge.

Each time making your core empty and yearning to clench around his girth. Just as a whine would leave your drooling lips, his hips would return to you what your core longed for.

Pushing each tantalizing inch to stroke your starved walls until his skin claps against yours with a wet kiss. Back and forth, back and forth the resounding slaps echoed. Mingling with his low groans and your pitched gasps, creating a sacrilegious yet divine hymn.

Your hand rakes deeper into his toned back possessed by desperation.

A few snowy strands are trapped between your writhing fingers. Pulling him closer to your smoldering skin, causing your clit to grind intensely against his swollen cock, as its twin twitches within your velvety folds.

Those babbles falling from your fed lips, were they pleas for him to bestow upon you leniency or begging him to speed up?

“Do you wish to climax?” A polite façade purrs into your ear.

Lilac eyes were not ignorant to how a devil keens under his body, her gaze drunk off a feverish potion of lust and desire. He could feel it, these velvet walls aching for more, for his girth to jostle your core more, to extinguish this all-consuming ache within you.

“That’s too bad.”

His hips remain steady contrasting against the unevenness of your own pants, unaffected by your desperate mewls. You’ve been selfish enough, you’ve been greedy enough. If he were to grant you a taste of ecstasy, then it’ll be on his terms.

He hasn’t gotten his fill yet, no, he wants to pound his shape forever into these lewd walls. The way they contract and squeeze around his girth with each drive of his hips, they’re practically begging him to.

Thus, he accelerates just a bit more, then a bit more, then a bit more again. Nearly folding you with how flushed he was against you.

The heavy scent of lust, the smothering heat, his unrelenting and unshakable thrusts amalgamating into a spark. One which set the both of you ablaze. Your nails digging into his skin and eyes reaching the back of your head. Sobs and incoherent prattles resound through the room.

Your devious walls clamped around his length with maddening convulsions, gummy muscles suckling to guide his throbbing head to your deepest greed. It was too much.

Neuvillette was powerless as his body pressed yours deeper into the damp sheets, trying to grasp onto any fleeting wisps of control as euphoria overtook him.

Sinking his ravenous teeth into the tangle of the sheets beside your neck, he stifles the admission of his defeat.

A heftiness is spilled within your walls and paints the expanse of your skin in an all-consuming wave. Thick release coating every corner of your core, to finally quell that ravaging heat.

Each subsequent twitch pours more into your crowded cavity and stains your skin. The filthiness of it all seemingly prolongs your sinful depravity.

Chest expanding with pants, pressing your erected nipples against his taut chest. Neuvillette remains buried against you, brutish arms holding your body flush against his.

As if to anchor you, to not allow the turbulent waves of madness to sweep you far from him, or him from you. Keeping your quiver body safe against his.

In the darkness behind his shut lashes, he felt it. Your soft caresses his silky tresses and heaving body. Even as your body heaves and quivers in exhaustion, why must you touch him so tenderly?

Why must you be so cruel? If your hands keep caressing his clammy skin, stroking his peeking scales, he’ll misunderstand.

He’ll believe the delusion that you love him.

Him and not the swaying flower fields of the sunkissed surface.

Whispers cut through the haze of lust and passion, warnings crying for Neuvillette to escape. So he pulls his face from the tangle of sheets, lungs huffing as his eyes find yours.

Exhaustion muddles the hues of your gaze, but not enough to completely smother that glimmer still present. Ah, he knows that that glimmer was.

Even in his heat-induced daze, he’s not naive enough to believe the sincerity presented in your eyes was anything other than duty.

He doesn’t want to be reminded that those hands, which cup his face with such tenderness, are bound by a sense of duty.

A reminder that he’s merely just a stepping stone on the path of your true desire.

He doesn’t want to see it.

The head of his cock parting with a deafening squelch. A darkened gaze follows the pool forming between your splayed legs. Disgruntlement muddles lilac hues.

But such discontent couldn’t last long when the twitch of a neglected length protests. Its bulbous tip longed for its turn within those sticky walls. A primal ordinance he couldn’t resist.

What to call this sensation, to scorn yet desire you just as much.

It wasn’t long before your hips were maneuvered up, your plush ass now up in the air as your quivering arms and face pressed into the sullied sheets.

As one hand supports your unsteady hips. Sharp eyes surveying the puffiness of your cunt, glistening with temptation and dripping with sin.

Hooked fingers slides up the weeping slit, collecting the sacrilegious mixture. Earning an addictive whimper from you when his digits pulled away. Spreading them in front of his gaze, tracing over the stringy nectar stretched between them.

How strange, those lying lips of yours whimper for ‘rest’ and a ‘moment to catch your breath’. Yet your body is still so eagerly exposing itself to his eyes, agape cunt so eagerly twitching and slick.

You don’t even try to writhe yourself away from his hold, not even a single attempt to hide yourself from his hunger.

How skilled you are at fanning the flames, perhaps it's a talent inherent to devils like you. The tempter of all tempters.

You’ve always been like this since the very first rendition.

If only you weren’t so strong-willed. If only you weren’t so clever to trick him. If only you weren’t so enchanting.

Then he wouldn’t have bent to your whims, the sea would’ve cleansed out the mortal filth from stolen land. Then he wouldn’t be trapped in this disgrace of a body. Then he wouldn’t be in love with you.

The betrayal, the disgrace, and this punishment would’ve never happened if only a fool didn’t surrender everything for a mere, fleeting creature.

Why must you make him repeat the same mistake again?

There it was again, that surging torrent within him making its voice known in the echoes of his mind. Whispering the hint on how a dragon would defeat the flame that had scorched him those years ago.

Smother the flame with the tides of depravity and vulgarity. Taint your arrogance with shame.

There wasn’t an ounce of gentleness remaining within his eyes, a beastly hunger taking its place.

Yes, you must pay the debt of reducing him to such a humiliating state.

His neglected cock prods against that greedy cunt of yours. Unmerciful hands bruising the plushness of your hips.

The sinful concoction from the previous sessions allowed his tormented length into your walls without resistance.

The neglected cock finally indulging in the spasms of your abused walls, it’s its turn to bully those weak spots with its thick head.

Sobs sung in broken chokes leave your drooling lips. Trembling fingers enmeshed into the fabric as if to find some ground for your senses to land after their fall from euphoria.

He won’t allow you reprieve. No, not even for a moment. He’ll shatter your sanity and arrogance once and for all.

Nothing interrupted the pistoning of his hips as he fucked you through overstimulation, heavy balls slamming against your swollen lips.

The previous twin cock was now experiencing the hard nub of your engorged clit running along its veins and ridges.

There’s no room for an exchange of words. No, the two of you have long been pasted that point.

No sandy ground beneath as the two of you sank under the ravenous tides of primal instincts and pleasure.

Cacophonous growls, whimpers, and sobs filling the absence along with the thwacks of skin against skin echoed back from the cellar walls.

You keen under the ram of his hips, jostled head writhing against the soiled sheets. The motion allows your hair to fall over your shoulders.

Exposing an untainted patch of skin. Sharp pupils watching how beads of sweat trailing down your nape reflect the azure glow of his body.

An itch assailing his fangs even has his hips continue their barrage against your soft ass. Those lovely vulgar moans wane out from his hearing as his senses could only obsess over the untarnished expanse.

Ah, what if there’s a way for him to pin you here until the stars themselves burn out? You were given to him as his bride.

An offering made to him.

So why can’t he forever confine you within his clutches? Just as you were the original sin which damned him to this cove.

Long tongue dragging along the fresh skin, feeling the jolts of your body.

He’s done it once before, he’s cursed you before. Imprinting a curse upon your very soul, one which followed you through the hands of death and even when the hands of life reformed your body from the earth.

Why not renew it?

Neuvillette pins your upper body further into the tangled bedding, one hand abandoning your hips in favor of raveling in the mess of fabric.

Your heated skin felt against his exhilarated fangs, hungry to sink into your nape.

‘Till death do us part’, that’s not enough.

Such fleeting mortal oaths are much too meek for dragons.

No, those atrocious murmurs in his thoughts command him to curse you in the next life. And the next one, and the one after that as well.

It’s not like your muddled head would understand, nothing but mindless prattles and mewls from the suffocating pleasure only he could ever give you.

But that’s fine, just drown nicely in lust and desire. He’ll always be waiting there at the bottom to drag you down deeper.

Just as the tips of his pointed teeth broke through quivering skin, delicate fingers grasp upon a burly hand.

Intertwining their grasp together upon rumpled linen, a subconscious search for comfort.

An action that remits an iota of reason back to his foggy mind, hazy eyes moving toward the sight of your hand clutched around his.

Even as he’s ravishing your weeping walls, flooding your body with his filthy essence which trickles down your thighs and ass, and chasing his own carnal needs… you still reach for him.

Shamelessly pulling his touch closer, even when the throes of rapture banished all thought from your jostled mind.

A whisper resurfaces amidst the fog and clamor of instinct and rage.

However, it’s a whisper which made his incisors dare not budge another inch. The inkling of truth which he thought he had silenced within the depths of his heart.

The accuracy that this wasn’t love. No, what his instincts craved was not love, it was obsession.

For love was not this sadistic possession, not to curse you just to ease his own damnation.

No, love is supposed to be much like the warmth of your palm flushed against his knuckles.

He remembers now, the lesson you taught him all those years ago. A demonstration witnessed with his own eyes.

Love was sacrifice, just as how you offered yourself to the tides, quelling the rage of a vengeful dragon. Because you loved your village too much to allow them to drown.

Retreating away from the transgression almost committed, fangs repressed behind closed lips. Neuvillette presses a sweet kiss against the shallow wound.

To love you isn’t to steal you away from the embrace of the star who’s forsaken him. It’s to hoist you up to that beloved sunlight. Just where you belonged.

Oh, how could he not love you?

The bride offered to a dragon in a white dress who once dared to command the great beast to stand still as she braided flowers into his hair.

A brazenness contrasted with the gentleness of her smile.

The voices of heart and cruelty rang out in vociferous battle in his mind, Neuvillette buries his face into your shoulder. Pursuing the savor of your skin, pinning you deeper into the tangle of bedding.

Providing more simulation for the pulsing cock wedged against your swollen clit and messy sheets. The neediness of his movements exposed just how close his undoing was.

The hand on your abdomen pulled you impossibly close, adding pressure to the bulging outline of his cock.

Amplifying the ecstasy coursing through your veins, abused walls clamping down on each ridge and each vein of his heft girth. The shape engrained into your wanton core, marvelous sobs and mewls echoing off the empty walls.

Soon those moans become shattered in your throat, eyes rolling back further with each heavy thrust and slap of his balls. Lungs cease all function as rapture unravels you wholly and exhilaration becomes your undoing.

Sloppy contractions mix the repercussions of multitudinous ruination, dripping out your convulsing cunt. Just before a hot surge replenishes the brood that oozed out on the sullied sheets.

Grunts vibrate against your back reminding your body to breathe.

Thick ropes paint your belly and sheets, making an absolute mess. Contracting walls trying but failing to contain the aftershocks from his cock buried deep within, already stretched to their limits, capacity long exceeded. Shudders rack your body and his the same.

With hands still entangled, he coaxes your body around. Granting him a mesmerizing view of your debauched face.

The face he’s so enamored with that he bows his down closer, bodies still connected as he wishes to echt every last detail of you into his being. So that eternity may remember you.

Softness resurfaces in his bones, a tender kiss pressed upon your fingers. Soothing those tremors as he guides your consciousness back to reality.

He holds you, remaining inside as to contain his greed spilled deep inside. The heftiness of his cock prods against your shuddering walls. Every last fiber of your being overstimulated with pulsing pleasure.

Yet, your hand refused to let go. Still holding him toward your exhausted figure in the dying light of the candle.

Whimpers and coos exchanging in a duet of devotion, a hymn so placate it quells the vapid torrents ever so slightly.

Placid fingers drawing circles into your sore back. A gentle lilac gaze keeping watch as your teary eyes retire behind heavy lashes.

Blood and water no matter how much they’re mixed, won’t produce wine.

However, just for tonight in a realm heavy with lust, passion, and phantasm, they’ll craft a wine of delusion. One filled with nothing but wishful fantasy.

This wine of delusion shall be enough to quench the thirst of lascivious compulsions and vengeance.

The gentle caresses of steam ghost past your leaden lashes, lukewarm ripples lap against your skin. Your sore body propped up against the porcelain, as Neuvillette drags a dampened towel along your skin.

A pang of guilt stung him each time the cloth passed over a discolored imprint. No amount of diligent rubs would purify your skin of those bruises in the shape of his fingers.

A stir from muscle gradually awakening from slumber reflected in the wavelets of the bath. The sensation of a damp towel must’ve further jolted your senses back to alertness.

A cerulean glow glistens off the polished surface as your vision finally centers on the figure rising warm water over your limp body.

Attentive eyes immediately connect with yours as he scans your expression for discomfort.

“Are you hurting anywhere?” Neuvillette halts the towel.

You respond with a slow shake, your throat must be too sore to answer. Despite how he tries to conceal them behind a robe, blotches of azure painted along his fair skin.

Proof that draconic influence was still in rebellion of his body. All the while he’s very much aware of your eye’s every move. What an appalling sight it must be for you.

“If I make you uncomfortable I’ll leave promptly, this was just the only solution I could find to bathe-”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind.” Voice hoarse as your frame melts closer to his, delicate fingers intertwining with between the spaces of his own scaly fingers.

Allowing your breaths to minge in tandem in the steam-damped tiles of the tranquil bathroom.

“Does it hurt?” A warm thumb traces soft circles along the rough scales along his hand.

Did you catch the subtle twitches and jolts of his muscles? A mortal body rejecting draconic influences, draconic influences revolting against a mortal cage. Still, he shakes his head. Lilac gaze watching your eyes trail between the scales and his eyes with skepticism.

“I’m not quite sure as to why I’m still in this… state.” Neuvillette gives a preemptive answer to the question he assumes to be hanging off your tongue.

“Do you… miss the sea?” However, it seems you had another inquiry hidden in your ever perplexing mind.

A deep sigh resonates through the tranquil air. He stares at the tips of his fingers dipped into the warm water, a taunting substitute for the sea that called for him.

“I suppose it’s natural that I yearn for it…”

A hum was your only response, eyes hidden behind closed lashes. Neuvillette just couldn’t decipher that smile of yours, curled lips reflected over the rippling surface of the steaming water.

--------------------------------------------------------------

“Your body is still delicate, please let us return back to the estate-”

“I might actually grow roots into that bed if I’m to rest there any longer.” A pout was evident in your voice.

Taking a few greater strides, your body pulls in front of Neuvillette’s pace. It was only momentary of course, for he swiftly rejoins your side.

Observant eyes not missing the subtle wobble in your steps along the pastures of the village.

“Please just don’t stray too far.” He relents, offering up his arm for support.

With a gracious smile, your arm curls around his, interlocking your fingers with his as two pairs of steps ambled along the grass.

Soon a familiar pool of water came into view, enticing two pairs of eyes with its glimmering ripples.

What it strange sight those waters showed, a cursed dragon who yearned for his place and a cursed mortal who longed for the sun, two cursed beings holding hands in the reflection along the pristine surface.

“I believe this is far enough. ” His arm pulls your frame closer, a subtle hesitance tainting his tone.

However, your body didn’t budge. Resolute stance not moving even one bit watching your reflection warp and contort in the water. A deep breath echoes off the wall.

“Neuvillette… do you miss the sea?” Your stare parts with the water, now peering straight into his lilac hues.

‘Do you miss the sea?’ You’ve asked him this question many times. He's always given a composite response, but maybe his flowery words diluted the meaning too much to your ears.

“Yes, I do miss the sea.” His candid yearning.

There was a question his lips didn’t dare ask, ‘Do you miss the sun?’, Neuvillette wanted to riposte your questions with this question of his.

But he knew it would be pointless, for he already knew the answer. Wordlessly written all over your melancholic stare into the pond, the longing to return to the sun, to be with blood and not water.

To love you, would be to hoist you up to where you longed to be, in the embrace of the warm sun. Neuvillette had thought he made up his resolve long ago.

However, would it be too selfish of him to wish to turn back?

To convince you to back into the tranquil estate where the Melusines await your return with those dishes you taught them how to cook.

Or maybe would at least try on those gowns still untouched? Could you wait until all those books in the library were read through by your sweet voice?

Would you be oh so kind enough to hold his hand just for a moment longer? At the very least, would you allow him to memorize your warmth?

His grip on your hands tightens ever so briefly, a shaky breath trembles in his chest before he releases it along with the tension in his fingers.

No, it wouldn’t be fair to stall any longer, you deserve your happy ending.

Calmly, the dragon bows his head closer to yours. Ignoring the aggrieved voices that cried for him to swallow back to secret just about to spill from his tongue.

The ending of this tale won’t ever change, for a dragon is just as foolish as he was before.

“My true name is-!” His voice was stunned as a pair of soft lips silenced him.

Your lips pressed against his own, forcing back the secret. His bewildered eyes hone in upon your face, but your lashes were shut as your hands pull his face closer. The resolve wanes from his bones as he sinks into your embrace.

As your lips pull away, gasping for breath. He places his hands atop yours, searching your face for an answer. All he got was that indecipherable smile.

Pulling his face down closer to yours again, your lips find themselves right next to his pointed ears. Under a faint breath which left your parted lips came the secret he kept locked away.

Since when? When did you find his name? Or… did you know this whole time?

Neuvillette reels back in the embrace of your cruel hands. Lilac eyes stare deep into yours, peering through the cracks in that enchanting façade of yours.

Ah, this whole time, did he not discover the false innocence in the irises of the deceptor of all deceptors?

A foolish moth fell for the deception of a devil once again, flying to the flicker of a candle until his wings were charred off into ash.

Those sentences written upon parchment weren’t lies, all other monsters fall secondary to the devil. Even a dragon.

“Why?” Was all he could muster, oh cruel devil why did you play him a fool once more?

“Because I wanted to see you again… but I knew you wouldn’t quite share the same sentiment since the moment I heard your voice… so I lied,” Those audacious eyes of yours never looked away.

Ah, how could he forget how crafty and observant a devil is with her schemes? The charming enchantment as she performs her deceptions. Speaking shameless lies with those bewitching lips.

“If you wanted to see me… then that day at the loch… why weren’t you there?” The stir of the torrent within put a snarl into his throat.

Why must you keep lying to him?

Ah, from the start, Neuvillette should’ve listened to the clamorous cries of his instincts. To withdraw away from the flame, to extinguish the hell fires before they left another lesson learned upon his skin.

Yet, he’s still within the embrace of your cruel hands. His body just wouldn’t pull away.

Just what is this level of stupidity called? For a moth to still crave the warmth of the flame which charred its wings into ash. Just what is this lunacy called?

“The nobles locked me away after those tyrants stole your name from my tongue, they locked me away.” Torment brewing in those irises which reflected him.

A chill staggers the surge of the torrent, an icy sting which stupefied the rampaging currents.

For generations upon generations of scribes and poets never penned this detail down in any rendition of a classically beloved tale.

“I begged them, I banged against the bars of the cell, even clawed at the stone walls until my fingers were raw, but they left me there to rot in the cold… I just wanted to see you one last time, just once more.” Those bitter pools formed in your penitent eyes spill over.

This wasn’t how the tale was supposed to end. The maiden, who deceived a dragon for her people, was supposed to be hailed a hero. You were supposed to have a happy ending, so why didn't you get that?

“All I ever wanted was for you and me to walk amongst humanity… look where that got us…” Tears descend from your cheeks and onto the grass below, a humorless chuckle.

Was this another lie falling from those saccharine lips of yours? Sugar dusted on the shell of a vile trick? Neuvillette wasn’t sure anymore.

“That foolish wish of mine… it must’ve been so painful. I’m so sorry.” Your thumb traces over the scales dotted over his cheek, evidence of a draconic rebellion against a mortal condemnation.

Does your touch scorn or soothe him? Neuvillette wasn’t sure anymore.

“I’m sorry. I’ll say sorry one thousand times if you wish.” A tremor in your voice.

The surge within him couldn’t sustain itself, faltering and receding back to a placid, pathetic ripple. Perhaps… It's tired.

Tired of holding onto this futile grudge. Not when the bitter answers its tides were ravenous for had finally sunk in.

He takes a deep breath, collecting his resolve.

“...what… what do you wish for?” Just how will this rendition end? Neuvillette doesn’t know.

But he knows his hands should hold onto yours, desperately etching the details of your tender touch into its memory. Rations to sustain him for the rest of a solitary eternity.

He hears your slow inhale, preparing your throat to speak your selfish desires.

“I wish for your curses to become mine alone to bear.” You reveal your selfish wish, pressing the voucher of freedom into his hands.

He had that look on his face again. Disbelief stupefied each muscle of his dashing face, wide eyes peering into yours trying to find the hint of a jest. Your gaze doesn’t waiver as your finger tightens around his.

“Grant me my wish… please.” Lips stretching with a reassuring smile.

His lips press into a thin line, face returning to its place between your warm hands, he takes a deep breath. Perhaps it’s just his sense of responsibility and fairness that compelled him to fulfill this wish.

Or maybe, the dragon just couldn’t help but submit to the whims of his beloved, a statement that remained no matter what rendition of the tale it was.

Releasing the breath he held, the shift in the air was palpable, a lightness in his chest. The pond off to the side billows momentarily, drawing focus toward its excited ripples.

Releasing his hold, feet leading him to the side of the saltwater before his mind could process his own actions.

He could hear it again, the hymns of the water singing the end of his exile. Reaching out a hand, it sinks past the cool surface, the tides welcoming back their prince with mellow kisses.

The ocean calls for him, so why is he still staring back at you? The one who’ll never embrace the sea again for the rest of her life, nor ever feel the sway of Summer days in a field full of Pluie Lotus. His eyes conveyed a question his lips couldn’t bear to ask. Thus, you give the answer he seeks.

“Think of it as my reparations to you, an overdue apology for my mistake, for making you to suffer so much.” That glimmer in your eyes, one he understands now.

Moving the hex to a body whose true master was the mistress of time, a body blessed with mortality. If a miracle isn’t enough to make a curse break, then perhaps the tides of time could.

Taking a piece of the curse with each tick of a clock, just like how the waves take with it grains of sand from warm beaches.

Once a withered mortal body is called back to the earth, the clauses will be fulfilled after many centuries. Unsettled grudges eroded away like those sandy banks.

Until the pull of the ground makes its visible influence on your skin. Until your locks come to resemble the snowy shade you’ve lovingly run your fingers through. Until the sweet earth hums for you to embrace it once more, you shall remain here.

What a clever scheme it all is, a masterful plan which could only ever be conjured by you. You devil, oh so devious, devil.

“You can hate me, I won't hold it against you,” you whisper. “May this tale end in your happiness, let me do this much for you.”

A bitter bile festers at those lies of yours. How could such lies fall from your lips so easily when they always left such a vile taste upon his tongue?

Gaze honed in upon your frame, watching the gentle smile hold back the slight quiver of your shoulders. He stands back up, slow strides returning him to your side. Taking your hands into his larger ones, placing your soft touch back along his cheeks.

“Silence… I won’t hear such deceit.” Snowy locks brushing against your fingertips.

“But I wasn’t lying…” Confusion furrows your brow, but your hands remain cupping his face.

Moving away, he studies the rivulets of regret and anguish that leave bitter trails down your cheeks. He swallows back the objections clawing up his throat, such vile words don’t belong on your tongue.

“How could I hate you?” he confesses.

Neuvillette has finally come to a realization. All those renditions, all those differing retellings of a classic tale. He had read them all wrong, basis clouding his interpretation.

For the princess did love her dragon. Just as he loved her, all this time.

Together in the depths of a cave away from the prying eyes of the divine. Breaths in time with one another as they stand in the embrace of one another, until the dragon bows his head back down.

Touching his forehead to hers, so that maybe Neuvillette could get a glimpse into that ever mystical mind of yours.

“How can I ever hate what I’ve coveted for so long?” He asks.

That ever-stirring torrent, that spiteful surge, where did it go? Those clamorous voices with their vengeful snarls and cynical bellows, why weren’t they intrepid enough to direct those foul words toward you?

Not you, never you. How could they ever hate you, the heroine of a Fontainian fairytale they’ve pitifully yearned for so long?

“Am… am I loved then?” Your lashes were squeezed shut as if death was rapping upon them. Too cowardly to face the verdict.

“Yes… yes, you devious devil…” Neuvillette couldn’t help but chuckle at such an endearing sight.

He feels your fingers tense around his skin, astonishment in the features of your face. It soon melts away into those welling pools as a smile pushes against the corners of your eyes.

Pressing your forehead to his, a warm droplet rolls down your cheek and over the curve of your lips. He simply rests his head against yours.

Only now in the last sentence of this retelling of a tale which has been twisted, distorted, and embellished away from the initial narrative did an unwritten truth emerge.

A clever maiden was just as foolish as a proud dragon. The weight of their foolishness was so great it dragged them beneath the waves and kept them in a cove deep away from the prying eyes of gods.

However, if this idiotic dragon could intertwine his fingers with yours. If he could be by your side until the hands of time call you back to the earth in this final rendition.

If he could be the happy ending you deserved, then he wouldn’t mind in the slightest.

Fin~

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