#which figures of authority often do
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Kids instinctively test their boundaries and challenge authority; not to be annoying and cause trouble on purpose, but because they need to know where the boundaries are, what are the consequences for breaking them, and who actually is the real authority that can bring forth the consequences. This is normal and healthy human behaviour; if they donât try it, how will they ever find out? It's curiosity, courage, need to know exactly where they stand, how much freedom can they get, what they can get away with, it's something we all have to test in life at one point or another, and childhood should be the safest, most protected place to test this out.
Based on how well they manage to establish their own place, their own rules and figure out what will and won't have consequences, they'll continue to develop this knowledge in the adulthood; they'll fight for their needs in their friendships and relationships, they'll stand up to their teachers and exploitative bosses, they'll follow their sense of justice and sometimes defy authority in order to do what is right. And if they learned something is a hard limit in childhood, they'll be careful not to cross that limit where it would come back to harm them. And those limits should be along the lines of causing physical harm to others, hurting smaller, more vulnerable people, using their power for cruelty.
In abusive households, children are not allowed this test of limits. Abusive parents insist on complete authority, punish something as small as 'talking back', and thus take away the child's ability to explore boundaries. In abuse the boundaries are usually uncertain, undefined, so the child can never know what could be taken as an offense, as a provocation or excuse to harm them. Abusers prefer keeping children not knowing where they stand, so they would assume anything could be taken as disobedience, even lack of action could be punished. This enables abusers to change the rules at will and to punish child who hasn't done anything wrong â they can retroactively decide something offended them and take their anger out on a child. The child learns that even if someone just perceives a transgression, that didn't even happen, they will be punished for it. They learn to live in absolute fear, analyzing their every action, anxiously trying to figure out how everyone around them is feeling and reacting to them, trying desperately not to give anyone a reason for offense.
So how will this child deal with an unfair teacher, one they get in that situation? How will they handle an exploitative boss? How can they fight back a bully, navigate an abusive friendship or a relationship, how can they stand up to anyone? They've learned that even doing nothing can have devastating consequences, and doing everything sometimes isn't enough either. All they know how to do is to try to please everyone, desperately overthink everything, accept blame and punishment even when it wasn't their fault, even when they're being exploited and harmed. Their needs get forgotten and neglected completely, in their endless quest to protect themselves from harm, by trying to avoid it with their every action and word. They've been taught, by pain and torture, that other people's authority over them is final, that refusing to please others means pain. So they'll accept being exploited, neglected and violated, because to refuse would mean even worse type of pain. And the abusive boss, partner, teacher, friend, will revel in realization that this person is afraid, that anything can be done to them, that rules can be changed on the fly, exploitation can be endless because this person won't ever test what's been said to them; they'll assume other's authority is right, and that to fight back would mean severe consequences.
That is what authoritarian parenting teaches, that's what forceful, demanding, aggressive and punishment-eager parents do to their kid's lives. They lie every time they say it's to make the kid strong, or to prepare them for 'the real life', it's anything but. It's creating a person who cannot fight for themselves or stand up for themselves because they've been tortured for their first attempts to test the boundaries.
Let your kids try stupid shit. If they can't figure out boundaries by testing them out with you, they won't be able to figure it out any other way. Adults do it all the time, because they've learned as children that this testing can bring them benefits, certainty, fairness and needs fulfilled. As it should be, children should try and see what happens if they ask, if they demand, if they try to get their way, if they protest, if they fight back. They need to know that sometimes in life it's worth it. That sometimes it's necessary. They need to know life won't end if they try it. They need to know it's okay to try. They need to believe they have every right to.
#testing boundaries#child abuse#abusive parents#abusive household#uncertain boundaries#changing rules#teaching children that questioning any authority is dangerous#and will have painful consequences#so that any figure of authority will explot them forever#which figures of authority often do
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Ok but thinking back to how I was in elementary and middle school: I had such disdain for other kids who broke the rules, that I irrationally hated a whole bunch of kids â kids I would have made good friends with â all because I couldnât stand the fact that they engaged in conflicts with, and affronts to authority figures or standards.
It even went as far as internally mocking a kid my age â calling him âMamaâs Boyâ in my head â over the fact that his mother whispered comments into his ear, which he mumbled unintelligibly into the mic, and then would fall asleep as if dead on her arm. I perceived his inability to give comments on his own, and his sleeping, as moral failings of both mother and child; because I wasnât raised like that. And maybe, those feelings also came from jealousy. I was expected to fight off sleep all the time because I could read at a college level in third grade, and could theoretically understand the material presented at the meetings despite it still being inappropriate for my age group.
I was so far deep into the âbad associations spoil useful habitsâ mindset that it made me hate my fellow neurodivergents â kids I would have been friends with â who maybe couldnât hide it as well as I could. That is beyond fucked up. Now, I work with those very kids I disliked so much as a child, and guess what? They are my absolute favorite people to be around; and many of them remind me of myself.
#exjw#ableism tw#Iâm also just very uptight about rules anyway; so the whole cult thing did not help that part of me At All#I often find myself more concerned with doing things âcorrectlyâ than I am with doing the right thing in non-serious scenarios#and itâs kind of scary because like⌠how much of a sheep am I?#Would I torture someone if an authority figure I trusted ordered me to because itâs what Iâm âsupposedâ to do?#Most of it comes from a desire for consistency: If [x] happens; then do [y]. So every time [x] happens; [y] is the correct response#and this â like the laws of physics â Cannot Change#Except of course the real world is vague and variable and there is a lot of grey area to work with in coming up with solutions#so doing [y] when [x] happens may make things worse than if you do [z] instead#This makes a lot more sense when you consider I was taught how to play chess at a very young age by my father#who bragged about being a âchess playerâ with regard to real world problems#Yes chess is strategy; but youâre also playing on a grid and your movements are entirely restricted by the rules of gameplay#My father canât leave the cult that traumatized him because he loves Jehovah#he canât go to the meetings to serve the god he loves because it triggers his trauma#he canât talk to a therapist about his religious trauma to get over it because he would be defaming Jehovah#If life is a game of chess then heâs checkmated#But hereâs the thing: the game is imaginary and the rules are made up#Viewing real life as a chess board is extremely unhealthy for your free will#Which is why in this essay about Nineteen Eighty Four I willâ
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i need all future comics writers of frank (and anyone on DDBA) to stop trying to write him as a guy who had a normal childhood and was always just kinda Like That. or that he was simply destined to become the punisher, but thatâs kind of a separate topic.
people who go into the military at 18 rarely have normal childhoods, they are often raised in abusive environments that are normalized. the urge to go into the military typically does not come from people who arenât used to some form of abuse, because why would you willingly want to go into that? unless you are susceptible to indoctrination toward having faith in a system from a young age and arenât able to discern the red flags? the military system preys on poor young men in particular by scouting them and offering all these bells and whistles (free college, healthcare, community) and feelings of importance, but then just forgets about them afterward.
side note: itâs actually such a disservice to many veterans to forget about how the military is an abusive system. it literally strips you of everything with no help in reintegrating back into society (other than by members of the same community). i get TPS1 tried to do something with this but dropped the ball. it feels like many writers just use his marine background as some sort of fun fact that only comes into play with certain things, but it very much shapes who you are and changes your identity. itâs a very cult-like system.
many people who want to serve are related to others who have prior. many people (especially men) who want to serve at that age have an underlying need that they think can be met. many people are brainwashed by military propaganda and believe it is the right thing to do. especially when it comes to religion, thereâs this idea of men using their bodies to protect the innocent that goes back hundreds of years, and this idea of serving god, which we see young francis try to do in two ways. (side note: why do they keep removing his religious background? i liked the nod to it in the nmcu but it seems modern comics writers (looking at you jason aaron) just forget this?) besides, the functions of religion for people are very similar to the functions of the military as far as members go, namely community and a sense of greater purpose.
to me, as a reader/watcher, threads of probable abuse history are present in frankâs character, and i wish we had a writer brave enough to write about it. why else would he care so much about innocents and victims? why else would he become suicidal and guilt stricken when he hurts an innocent? it makes you think: was there no one who protected him or someone else he knew?
and this may not mean anything but idk i think heâs so much more tragic and juicy if you look at him like someone who is not the perfect victim (and maybe doesnât even recognize their abuse) but someone who instead of healing and becoming soft, becomes angry and violent afterward. trauma, especially repeated trauma, does not effect people all the same way and i really wish they would just be bold enough to work with that. i get trying to piss off the alt right but completely changing the character to fit the same stereotype of a âpsychopathâ (which is an outdated term) as they do in horror movies about killer children is just poor writing. again, talking about punisher 2022, but this was kinda in nmcu too. and sure yeah theyâve retired his character (but not the punisherâŚ.? ok) in the comics, but for when he inevitably does come back, yeah.
#and iâm not a huge fan of ennis but i think tyger was fairly well written but thatâs MAX so itâs separate#especially since itâs saying he was a child in the 1960s which would be different than growing up in the 80s as in NMCU#and same thing for comics like they could do a miniseries on his real childhood in order to retcon what happened in 2022#but i think him witnessing a traumatic event or having multiple traumas in childhood fits his character#especially when it comes to the whole âno authority figures did anything so he took matters into his own handsâ#the types of people who go into cults have prior indicators in childhood#mfer went it seminary and still sometimes seeks out his rosary⌠something something fathers and masters#something something guiding force#also âthe military is a very culty system and so is catholicism so it's interesting nobody has done anything with that#but the idea that he was searching for community and brotherhood to some degree is not that far fetched#which is why he latched so hard onto his family and became utterly unable to attach himself to others out of fear#a person with good attachment wouldnât react like this and yeah heâs unhealthy but that rarely comes from just being Like That#so i am begging once again for people to stop retconning his past#i also think reading him as an autistic child helps bc autistic children are often taught to ignore their needs and wants#which is something we see with his character later on thatâs so prevalent#anyway this is just a blurb that iâve been thinking about#frank castle#the punisher#comics inspired#ddba#nmcu the punisher#character analysis#bun.txt
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getting an iced pumpkin chai in the morning and then my personal goal is to spend the whole day writing and i hope i can come back to this post tomorrow and rb w how much progress iâve made!!!
#i have a love/hate relationship w this fic and iâm gonna rant to myself bc hehe itâs almost midnight so why not :>#okay SO. i for some reason just didnât create any proper outline for this story and i think thatâs why itâs taken me so long to write it#because i donât necessarily have a why/a REASON for this story or plot⌠like even thinking abt doing the dialogue and trying to find flow +#cohesion is making me so đ and also honestly⌠iâm terrible at doing drafts in the first place#i donât write linearly i jump all over the place while writing and SOMETIMES i can connect things but this time i could NOT#and i would focus on one tiny part for SO long and make no progress anywhere else like GIRLâŚâŚâŚ ENOUGH#but hmmmm yeah i also for some reason feel like esp w my writing itâs super robotic and doesnât have emotion#like iâm not writing w suguruâs voice and instead iâm writing as the author and itâs kinda irking me#if that makes sense⌠hmmmmâŚâŚâŚ.. also i might be doing dual pov so hopefully it doesnât look too wonky#but yeah đ i need to work on scene setting & describing things effectively + doing show not tell#like i just made a mini outline rn and wow . itâs Not it at all đđđ thereâs no WHY to the story and itâs making it hard to write#okay not necessarily a âwhyâ but like . Whatâs The Point of the story#sigh. i need to figure that out#also thereâs so much stuff i want to add but i feel like itâll be clunky + itâll move fast or be weird#but my goal for tomorrow is truly and honestly write the meat and bones of it and then i can edit ruthlessly later on#i was thinking of getting it out this week but i forgot election week/donât have anything really written either đ#but hopefully next week if i try hard enough! the goal is before december bc i want this to be a november fic#but yeah thatâs my mini vent @ me iâm glad to just talk abt in the tags#feels like for this story specifically itâs been a lot of looking at my docs instead of writing which is WHACK đ¤¨#also i donât like my writing style + i want to write better in GENERAL#thatâll come w practice & doing it often though đ#ALSO . SIDENOTE but why does tumblr not let me link things anymore like NDNDNDND SO STUPID#OOOOH AND . i need to start/finish selfship moodboards & also create wip lists for geto/gojo/toji but for REAL#as in wipe iâll actually plan to write next not just ones i like the sound of đ#ANYWAYS IâM SO SLEEBYâŚâŚâŚ honk shoo mimimi cult leader geto please pat my head to sleep and be kind to me#GIRL THIS IS LONG AS HELL OMFG . silence @ me 𤍠what a YAPPER#personal
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i made an oc thats at least nicknamed "Stupid" and im constantly thinking about what a power move that is tbh
#toy txt post#i miss it i should play w her more often but it was going to be for a dnd thing that ive all but abandonded bc i feel like#i cant. do that but it sucks bc i had some cool fun concepts and characters but it was hard enough back then when i was just insecure and#knew nothing about dnd and was intimidated by the mechanics but wanted to try dming for some reason but now i just straight up dont know#what to do but i really enjoy those characters. i should just unlock the secret channelsand scrap the dnd game idea for now and keep the#concepts and im sure i could come up w something if i ever actually learned anything about that shit#anyway. my point being. im obsessed w my character i made up and you should be too cos its good shit#toxic anarchist half dragon demigod with authority issues whos an alloaro clown named Stupid Cupid.#i think her pronouns were whatever but also it/she? when i say toxic i mean it did have a bit of a Clown Cult.#Cupid i think is possibly its given name and Stupid was her clown ass addition and yes i do know of the song and yes it is on its playlist#obsessed w all the stupid overpowered characters i made in that universe. they were such good concepts. gulliver obviously. charybdis#silas (cupids father + previous (now deceased) god of chaos)#cupids mother who i dont think i had a name for yet but she was supposed to be kind of a neutral lawful (in a rules lawyering way)#moon paladin who hatefucked the god of chaos after failing to kill him which she was trying to do out of devotion to the moon#and she supposed to have what i can only describe as chainsaw powers? and she destroyed every gun in existence and killed anyone who knew#how to make them until there were no guns left bc silas kept being annoying w guns and was trying to use them on the moon. for reasons#so she really pissed him off and impressed him before she finally got to him and tried to kill him. and if she was even a minor god instead#of a 'mortal' it wouldve worked and thats the only reason he didnt die from her. and then her child. stupid cupid the clown#grew up and had issues and started a clown cult and wandered around usurping warlords and dictators before putting her aim on silas#and trying to kill him. but failing not bc she was mortal but bc he outsmarted it. but he couldbt bring himself to kill it so he had her#put to sleep for a thousand yrs until someone else killed him(he pissed off a stupid seagull druid who lured him into the path of Charybdis#who he'd ALSO pissed off and Charybdis mega killed him and then the gull druid was made the new god of chaos just to have someone fill the#roll but then they kind of suck at it? they did not want that much responsibility altho the immortality is nice. when they took over they#released cupid whos a bit of a legend but then the vibes are super weird bc cupid Definitely wants to usurp and take on the mantle of#chaos deity and gulliver idolizes her but doesnt feel great about just handing that over to it? and cupid has to grapple with not being the#one to kill silas. almost everyone she knew is dead. her mom isnt. the world has changed a lot. she finds out her cult is still going and#gets excited? but they have Changed. it disgusts her now. they are not the radical clowns she intended. the vibes are weird. she denounces#that and tries out piracy. she manages to get the moon paladin living chainsaw power?#despite not being aligned w their ideology at all. wow nepotism. then it was going to spiral into some fucking meta galactic shit and have#well. ran out of tags. anyway i miss this character i should figure out what im doing w this universe cos theres no way im dming rn đ
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#lina talks#nas#a little bit of bragging (?) to follow so scroll past perhaps? I just wanted to say it somewhere#............................................................................................................................................#reading a new fic from my favorite ao3 author set in my favorite series by him#and realized that his style has very very much influenced mine - at least what it currently is#and from the moment I finished reading the first story in the series I kinda knew I wanted to write like him#bc the way he writes is so beautiful and it flows just like poetry#but didn't realize the extent of it I guess until now when I'm reading his style againm#just a week or so after I heavily edited my writing workshop submissions to turn in as my final project for the class#kinda just hit me that I can see the influences he had on my writing and that I can also see the improvement I've made in my own style#which is nice :) bc I often do feel frustrated when I can't word things properly or when something sounds weird but I can't figure out why#but that's also a sign of improvement I think#idk I've learned a lot unconsciously and consciously about writing over the past few years and it's just nice to see#thank you for coming to my ted talk skndjgh
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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 professorâs 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 youâbut you were only dreading the aftermath of this conversation, when you were left alone with Gojo.Â
Because he was your college bully.
It didnât 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.Â
Head deep in the textbooks you just bought, you were scanning the formulas in an effort to get ahead; after all, for someone like youâdependent on a scholarship to attend universityâslacking off was not an option. Only for the nepo trust fund babiesâwhich you were not. There, in the prestigious university you had fought tooth and nail to get into, you were at peace.Â
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 youâve ever seen but undeniably a spoiled kid. Because what came out of his words were definitely grounds for sexual harassment.
âAre Asian people your type? Because Iâm China get in your japanties.â
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. Abruptlyâ-flusteredâyou stood up, gathering your belongings and apologizing profusely. âIâm soâsorryâI donâtâ-you might be talking to the wrong perââ 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 moneyâsomething 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 Gojoâwho you soon found out was the most popular boy on campusâstarted.Â
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 wouldnât 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 didâbut you couldnât let it show, couldnât let him woo you.
âWhatâs your next class, baby?â The both of you were in a janitorâs 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.
âUhâI donât know,â you whispered, darting your eyes somewhere on the floor, so he wouldnât see the avoidant look on your face.
Letâs get the record straight: you werenât scared of Gojo. Sure, at 6â 3ââ 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 wasnât 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 itâs like he can see the pining in your eyes. The fact that heâs 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. âYou donât know?â he teases you and your blatant lie. âCâmon, let me walk you there.â
But you blurt out an immediate âNo!â and then regret it, because hurt flashes across his face. âI meanââ you falter, âplease donât. Youâll be seen publicly with me.â
A quizzical look, one that is so innocent that it makes you want to cry, because how could Gojo ever understand your problems? âWhatâs the problem?â And then he pouts. âYou embarrassed of me?â
âNoânoââ you shake your head, squirming slightly from where you were both standing. âIt wonât be good for you, for me.â 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 couldnât place etched its way on his face until he nodded. A resolute one, yet something that made you a bitâŚuneasy 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 othersâ expectations. In your rumination of your upcoming responsibilities, you didnât notice the hand shoot out and firmly grab your arm until you were in a janitorâs 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.Â
Gojo.
âGojo, what are youââ You didnât 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.
âYou said no one could see us, right?â A mischievousâyet yearningâlook flashed across his face and it was then you realized his play. âSo this is okay?â
No, this stubborn man wasnât going to let you goâhe 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 janitorâs closet to give you the most dizzying touches, some you couldnât 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. âLet me do this.â
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.
âPink with hearts, huh?â You could hear the chuckle in his voice, the cockiness basically oozing out and you could only continue to heat up deeper. âI like it, baby.â 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. âLook at me.â
As per his instruction, you opened your eyes, only to be taken aback by the intensity in his. Then, his lips moved. âBe my girlfriend.â
The moment broke as clarity hit you. This shouldnât have happened. âIâm sorry, Gojo, butââ
âDonât call me that,â he groaned, stepping back and raking an arm through his hair. âWhatâs even your problem? Did I do something wrong?â
Incredulous, you utter out a âSomething wroâyou donât think you did something wrong?â
He looked at you for a bit, made to say something, but you cut him off. âYou know what Gojo? Get this through your head. We canât do this. I donât know how many girls fall for this, but I canât. Iâm sorry.â 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, âDonât ever talk to me again.â And you walked out, pretending you werenât 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 wasnât nothing but passing because you didnât share any classes with Gojo, and he respected your wishes. You didnât 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 semesterâs Calc III.
You soon realize that with gradients and vectors comes an additional burden, one specifically sporting white hair. Because as youâre pulled into your math professorâs office and see him, you oh so desperately want to book it.Â
âAnd this, Satoru,â your professor pauses and looks at him sternly while gesturing towards you, âis your ticket out of failing. Miss Y/N here,â 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, âhas the highest grade in the class. Sheâs a seasoned teaching assistant too, helping a lot of people in her classes next year.â You silently curse, your smile growing more strained as you realize Gojoâs looking at you. âI trust that youâll be in good care.â
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 Gojoâthe one person who seemed hell-bent on making college a gauntlet for youâwas 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, âhow's this tutoring thing going to work? Are you coming to my place, or am I coming to yours?â
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. âDidnât think youâd be so eager to have me over.â
"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 gamesâjust math."
â*Just math,*" he repeated, his tone playful as his eyes glinted with mischief. âGot it.â
You swallowed, hoping he meant it. "Fine," you said briskly. "Iâll see you tomorrow at six. Donât be late."
âOh, wouldnât miss it,â 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 youâd set up by your desk, filled with neatly organized notes and textbooks.
âTake a seat,â you said shortly. âWeâll start with the basics.â
He slid into the chair, his gaze flitting from the textbooks to you, an amused glint in his eye. âYou werenât kidding about tutoring. Youâre all set up like a professional.â
You ignored the remark and opened the textbook to the chapter on derivatives. âAlright. Letâs go through this. If you understand derivatives, the rest of Calc III will start making sense.â
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.
âYouâre not even trying, are you?â
He leaned back in his chair, that smirk resurfacing. âMaybe I just wanted an excuse to spend time with you.â
You rolled your eyes, fighting off the blush creeping up your cheeks. âYou needed my help. I didnât force you to come here. If you donât want to do this, thenââ
He held up a hand, the teasing gone from his face. âAlright, alright. Iâll focus.â He paused, then added, âIn fact, to show you I mean it, Iâll do you a favor. Whatever you want. My way of saying thanks.â
You eyed him warily. âA favor?â
âAnything,â he said, leaning in with a grin that spelled trouble. âWhatâll it be? An escort to class? Carrying your books around? Name it.â
 âIâll let you know when I think of something.â Youâre dismissive, knowing heâs not that serious about this, playful about this like he is everything else.Â
He chuckled, nodding. âLooking forward to it.â
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 promiseâa favor, an IOU hanging in the air between you.
You donât know how you ended up under Gojo on your bed.Â
Satoru sat closeâcloser than youâd 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 didnât mind it either.
âOkay, so the derivative here is...?â you asked, trying to keep your voice steady as you pointed at the next problem.
Satoru leaned even closer, squinting at your notebook. âI think I get it,â 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. âRight. So you should get⌠uh⌠that answer,â you managed, feeling his gaze still trained on you.
âUh-huh,â he replied, not breaking eye contact. His hand shifted on the table, the back of his fingers grazing yours.
You didnât 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.
âSoâum, yeah, youâre almost there,â you stammered. âBut you missed a step here.â You pointed to another section, hoping he wouldnât notice the slight shake in your voice.
He noticed, of course. You could see his smirk in the corner of your eye.
âIs that all I missed?â 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. âYeah. Just⌠that,â you said softly.
âThanks,â he murmured, his voice dropping even more as he shifted his hand, his knuckles brushing against your knee now. It wasnât intentionalâat least, you thought it wasnâtâbut 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. âMaybe, um⌠maybe we should take a break?â you suggested, needing a second to breathe.
He tilted his head, an amused, knowing, intense glint in his eye. âA break sounds nice.âÂ
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 youâd end up asking of himâor what he might ask of you in return.
And it seemed like he knew what you were thinking. âHey,â he said oh so breathlessly, in the way that made you want to throw yourself at him yet simultaneously bludgeon his head in, âwanna fuck?â
You reeled back, incredulous, but he quickly grabbed your head with both his hands, gently drawing you in. âWhat?â Â
âI mean,â and he giggled, âwhat better use of a favor for than me to rid you of your virginity?â
You gasp, struggling in his hold to no avail. âWhy would you assume Iâm a virgin? I have plenty of experience, thank you very muchââ
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. âIt was clear how much you soaked through your panties that last time youâre a virgin, baby.â And you canât help but whimper, reduced to a melting mess because of his sweet words.Â
He laughs meanly. âIf youâre not a virgin, you better not be soaked right now, baby. Iâm kind of excited to see what panties youâre wearing this timeâ 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 heâs right, because itâs almost like youâve wet your panties with the way your slick was flooding out of you because of your proximity with Satoru. âLook at that,â 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. âSo you gonna let me fuck you?â
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. âSatoru, faster!â you sob, having gone past the initial discomfort of having something in your pussy.Â
âSatoru, faster,â he mocks you, grabbing your hips and drilling into your heat, groaning at how youâre 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. âIsnât this what you wanted? For me to fuck you?â You donât answer past your moaning, and that annoys the fuck out of Gojo. He slaps your ass consecutively and canât help but be more aroused looking at the red handprints he leaves. âAnswer me.â
âYes,â you moaned, anything to stop his assault on your ass, âI wanted this is sooo bad.â At thatârather than being satiatedâSatoru sped up, hitting your spot with the accuracy of a sharpshooter.
âYea, baby?â 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. âGonna cum?â
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 bellyâ
Just for him to rip out of your cavern, leaving you in shambles due to the emptiness you were feeling. âWhatââ
He tutted, his hand now slowly stroking his cock while he was sitting on his knees, looking down at you. âIâm only letting you come if you agree to be my girlfriend.â
âGojo, whatââ
âItâs Satoru,â his eyes flared, looking at you with an intensity you hadnât noticed before. âAnd say it. Say youâll be mine.â
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 couldnât 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 couldnât help but want to continue being in that world, in his world.
âFine,â you whispered. âIâll be your girlfrââ
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 couldnât help but continue blabbing sweet nothings.
âIâll treat you so wellâhaahâtake you out on dates,â 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. âFuck you well every night, show you off to the world.â
You could only sob Satoru as you looked at his face through your tears, him doing all the talking for you. âEvery day,â he groaned, his cock pulsing and twitching in your walls, âIâll love you like youâre my wife and fuck you like youâre my slut. Soââ 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, âso proud of you, baby. Gonna take care of you.â 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 youâre not going to last long. âPull youâhaahâpull you aside and see what panties you wore for me that day. Coming insideâcoming inside and making you walk around with my cum leakinâ out of your panties.â
And then he whimpers as he loses control. âGonnaââ he utters in between short breaths, âgonna come baby. Come with me.â
âI will, Satoru,â you whine. âPlease, I wannaâI wanna kiss!â Thatâs when Satoru canât 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.Â
As youâre both settling down from your orgasm, he pulls you offâthe both of you wincing at the sudden emptinessâas 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 canât help but giggle at his antics, and he takes his face out of your cleavage to give you a boyish grin. âWhatâre you laughing at?â âNothing,â you shake your head. âJust the fact Iâm chained to you now.â
âHey!â he pouts, moving his arms so heâs embracing you tightly, effectively trapping you in. âSay that again and Iâm going to sleep on top of you and never leave.â
âCanât believe Iâm chained to yââ
Satoru plops on top of you, making a show of tickling your ribs and stomach as you gasp and laugh in surprise. âSatoru!â He doesnât relent, until you feel a familiar liquid ooze and leak out of your pussy.
This time, your shriek of Satoruâs name doesnât go unnoticed. At the murderous look on your faceâas well as the sheer messiness in between your thighsâhe gets up. Smiles sweetly. âShould just leave you like this, leaking my cum. Itâs only fair for how you ignored me!â
At that, he gets a pillow to his face, reminiscent of a kicked puppy as he trudges to your bathroom to clean you up.Â
general masterlist
comment and reblog your thots! <3
#divider by cafekitsune#aashi writes#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo satoru smut#gojo x you#jjk smut#jjk x reader#Gojo fanfic#jjk x you#jjk#gojo#gojo Satoru#satoru gojo#satoru#gojo fluff#jjk fluff#gojo oneshot#gojo satoru fluff#gojo satoru oneshot#jjk oneshot#jujutsu Kaisen#jjk oneshot fluff#gojo oneshot smut#smut and fluff#divider by cafekitsune!#tw bullying#anime#anime smut
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How to make your writing sound less stiff
Just a few suggestions. You shouldnât 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 canât help but read this in a robotic voice. Itâs very flat and undynamic. No matter what the words are, it will be boring. Itâs boring because you donât think in stiff sentences. Comedians donât tell jokes in stiff sentences. We donât 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 âromanceâ written just like this. It was stiff, janky, and very unpoetic. Which is fine, the author didnât 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, âthis is a pre-dialogue tag.â
âThis,â Lancer said, âis a mid-dialogue tag.â
âThis is a post-dialogue tag,â 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 donât start every paragraph with either the same character name, the same pronouns, or the same â 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 youâre 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 doesnât look, itâs not there. If she doesnât look, itâs 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. Itâs 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 theyâre notecards to be read on a stage is higher than I expected. Donât forget that though you may know exactly how your dialogue sounds in your head, your readers donât. 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 youâve written a block of text (usually exposition or backstory stuff) thatâs 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 narratorâs feelings on what theyâre saying and whoever theyâre speaking toâs reaction to the words being said. Otherwise itâs meaningless.
â
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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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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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 referenceâ
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
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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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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 â 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" â 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 Unicornâs 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 downâ Thatâs 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 Unicornâs 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 heâd 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 â Lord Dunsany by way of Jim Henson â 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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DIE AUTOBOTS!!!
Thank you, @thanook, unlike some of my other warriors, you never fail me!
#yippie peace through tyranny!!#till all are one.#funnily enough it was probably that line that got me to start looking into the Decepticons as a faction beyond âThe Evil Guysâ#(I was probably going to anyway but this line probably accelerated it quite a bit)#I've always leaned towards them for aesthetic reasons and also I just thought they were funnier and cooler than autobots more often.#And I just figured the name was relatively meaningless which... Is usually the case for most transformers series hehe!!#(I'd of course still try to figure out a coherent headcanon to at least explain why things were happening or called certain things etc etc)#I was shown the Bumblebee movie as I was just starting to get into Transformers and only really cared about the big robots and not humans#(This still hasn't changed btw. I will defend any transformers series that ignores humans/earth TO THE GRAVE)#But that line really stuck with me because... Like... Yeah not only do they advertise themselves as Decepticons but#it also WORKS! Not only for the humans in the show but for ME!! I heard the name and went âThat's cool.â in the first place already!!#And then my wife (The sympathetic Autobot fool) told me that they're called that because it means the whole âYou are being Deceivedâ thing#Hence Decepticon! And I naturally connected some dots about certain hidden-in-plain-sight subterfuge tactics... I looked into the origins..#Had a whole *thing* learning how to write/play good deceptive characters... Tried to figure out *exactly* why the Decepticons were Evil...#And came out the other end even more strongly attached to them than ever before with a short book's worth of reasons why.#Which is funny because it was also my foolish Autobot/Prime sycophant wife trying to point out why they're bad that made me more convinced#AND because the two Decepticons sent weren't that well known so there isn't as much personal history behind them for the audience#(Besides them obviously being Decepticons and having killed Cliffjumper in the beginning of the movie. Fair move tbh)#AND because they took a much more direct appeal-to-authority approach understanding that the humans would try to deceive them#And of course the fact that the post's line itself further pushed me towards sympathizing with the Decepticons.#There's just all these little tidbits that make this line much more funny than it ever should have been to me.#Anyway there's a lot more on exactly why him noticing but no one caring is actually an excellent example of effective deception#and how he's playing right into the Decepticon's hands in more than one way.#So called âNumb. 1 Optimus Prime Fanâ should know *all* about that anyway.#But that's just my fair share of Decepticon propaganda for this post at least haha!
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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.Â
Would you believe that such a place exists?Â
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.Â
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 âMerusea Villageâ.Â
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.Â
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.Â
Stopping a finger on a spine, he decided on the novel to pass the ever-plenty time bestowed upon him. Heâs 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.Â
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.Â
Lilac eyes browse through the pages, refreshing himself on the tale held within its faded covers.Â
----------
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 wouldnât welcome her back if rain fell from the sky. She was sent off in a white gown.Â
Down below a flooded loch, the princess was offered to the weeping dragon. Looking up the princess saw the sorrowful pools in the beastâs eyes.Â
âHydro Dragon, oh Hydro Dragon, why do you cry?â She asked.
Intrigued by the bravery of the young princess, the dragon answered: âBecause I am lonely, I have no brethren left.â
Feeling pity the princess responded: âHydro Dragon, oh Hydro Dragon, donât cry. I will be lonely with you.âÂ
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.Â
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.Â
âBeloved princess, why do you cry so bitterly?â He implored.Â
âI long to go home, I miss my kingdom,â she revealed.Â
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.Â
âIf you speak my name, my true name, then I can grant you one wish. But be careful, for there can only be one wish.â The dragon whispered.Â
âDo you wish to return to your kingdom, beloved princess?â He asked.Â
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.Â
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.Â
âI wish for you to become my prince, so we can return to the kingdom together, that way you wonât ever be lonely again.â
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.Â
And they lived happily ever after.Â
----------
Ah, so it was that tale.Â
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.Â
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 heroineâs feats sung and written throughout the narrative of time, passing from one generationâs lips to anotherâs ears.Â
However, he supposes this is expected of humans. Itâs 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.Â
Patching over the holes with flowery words to distract readers from inaccuracies that were only compounded upon from the last.Â
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 couldnât set foot upon his own land. Or did they forget why he couldnât?Â
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 âhappily ever afterâ 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.Â
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.Â
âMonsieur Neuvillette! Come quickly! A human! A human appeared!â A group of Melusines tugs on the fabric of his slacks while pointing toward the phenomenon.Â
A mortal in this domain? A cavern hidden deep under the land and waters where the warmth of the sun couldnât grace. How did such a being find their way into this sanctum? Itâd be best that he alleviates their worries.Â
âPlease lead the way.â Neuvillette closes the novel, returning it to the confines of its shelf.Â
His swift movements in time with the melusinesâ frantic patter as they made their way out from his estate.
Soon the tops of the Melusinesâ cozy homes of Merusea Village came into view, as did the murmuring of a distraught crowd.Â
âExcuse me.â His steps made their presence known, their heads perked up to look at him before parting a path for Neuvillette.Â
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 mortalâs face.Â
âWe found her while gathering offerings from the waters ⌠Is sheâŚâ The anxious murmuring quiets to await his verdict.Â
âShe has a pulse,â he reveals, fingertips detecting wisps of warmth along cold skin.Â
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.Â
To leave a mortal in such a state would be too cruel of a fate.Â
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.
âDo not fret, she only requires some rest and a change of clothing, Iâll take her to my abode. Could you gather some cloth to dry down her body?â Neuvilletteâs 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.Â
The dampness of the heavy fabric seeps into his own attire as Neuvillette turns the knob to grant him entry into his abode.Â
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.Â
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.Â
Gingerly, he takes one ankle into his grasp to better observe the shackles.
This time he couldnât 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.Â
Soon the unforgiving metal crashes down to the floor, he soothes the freed skin with his thumb while checking for any other possible wounds.Â
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.Â
How uncomfortable it must be to have a cold piece of fabric to cover oneâs 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.Â
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.Â
Within those mortal tales, thereâs a wide variety of beasts and fearsome creatures. Dragons were depicted as such omnipotent beasts. But thereâs a monster all other beast falls secondary to, the devil.Â
They didnât possess the sharpest talons nor the largest fangs. No, what made them so horrifying is that they dawned the most enchanting faces.Â
Heâs staring at it right now. The face of the devil who deceived him.Â
Those gods must be laughing at him right now. Those false idols, with their capricious fate and whims, who once mustâve shook hands with you to carry out their schemes all those years ago.Â
The scheme which imprisons him here in this humiliating form of the mortal creatures those false idols loved so much.Â
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.Â
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.Â
Itâd 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.Â
A second cruel rendition unfolding once more in the narrative of time. Â
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.Â
Heavy lashes still shut just as they were the day your drenched figure was pulled from the tides by merciful hands.Â
The journey to wisdom is lined with mistakes, mistakes providing teachings one must ingrain into their very being if they donât wish to repeat such blunders again.
Just as how a burn seared into skin is a forever reminder that fire indeed burns indiscriminately.Â
A scar ingrained deep within him cries out for Neuvillette to withdraw from the fire which scorned him so long ago.Â
Alas, itâs duty which has sat him down beside your sleeping form. Youâre the first guest this cove has seen in a long time, thus bringing you under the responsibility of the host, Neuvillette himself.Â
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.Â
âAh, I see youâve awoken.â Neuvillette observes.Â
Your muscles momentarily forget their fatigue as your head snaps toward the owner of the deep voice. Eyes now wide and alert.Â
âMy apologies, it wasnât my intention to startle you.â He casts a glance toward the steaming bowl on the nightstand.Â
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 âyouâ remember the dragon you fooled?Â
âW-who are you?...â 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 shouldâve expected this much.
This you is nothing more than a stranger who shares the face of a devil.Â
âWhere am I?â Another question leaves those lips in the absence of a response.Â
Just give him a moment, allow him to pacify the surging torrent within so their bitterness doesnât seep into his words.Â
âYouâre in our village!â A cheery voice joins the conversation.Â
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.Â
âW-what⌠are you?â Instinct commanding your body to retract deeper into the sheets.Â
A sharp cough halts your actions, drawing your attention back to the man as he lowers his hand down from his lips.Â
âSheâs a Melusine, they prefer to be addressed using she/her pronouns,â he elucidates, an ever so subtle chastise in his tone.Â
âOhâŚâ You advert your gaze again, shame creeping onto your cheeks from your unintentional discourtesy.Â
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.Â
âWe, Melusines, helped you change out of that wet dress. Big sister Sedene said youâd get sick if we left you in that.âÂ
It looks like your diverted gaze wasnât as subtle as you originally thought. Sheepishly you extend your gratitude.Â
âThank youâŚâ Your words draw out, a brow quirked as your stare remained on her short form.Â
âKiara!â She points to herself with a mitten hand.Â
âThank you, Kiara.â You finish.Â
Her mittened hand then gestures to the towering man beside her.Â
âThis is Monsieur Neuvillette! Heâs the one who carried you here,â she announces.Â
âT-thank you, Monsieur Neuvillette.â You could only gather the courage to glance at the wall behind him.Â
âJust Neuvillette is fine,â his tone melodic and calm. âAre you able to sit up?â
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.Â
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.Â
âThis should be kind on your stomach while providing you with some much-needed hydration and nutrients.â He holds out the soup.Â
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.Â
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.Â
âPlease forgive this inconvenience, but itâs best that you eat something to regain your strength.â The spoon remains unmoving in his hand.Â
Thereâs 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.Â
âIf you donât eat you wonât get better.â Kiaraâs eyes are riddled with concern as she observes your sealed lips.Â
That was his rebuttal to that snarl.
The Melusines simply donât wish to see a human in such a pitiful state. Blissful in their ignorance of events that conspired long before their birth.Â
 Dignity overpowered by the guilt of seeing such pure eyes marred with worry.Â
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 âgood hostâ, bringing another sip to your delicate lips.
Â
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.Â
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, youâre the creature from those fairytales heâs read them.Â
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.Â
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 wouldnât be enamored with you and humanity.Â
Or maybe itâs 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?Â
From your image to your bewitching mannerisms, and alluring voice, theyâre all identical replicas. You and the âdevilâ from that tale.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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 youâve encountered back on the surface?Â
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.Â
But gauging from the glimmer reflecting off your eyes, it seems the Melusines attempt was satisfactory at least.Â
Todayâs 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.Â
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?
Itâs 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.Â
âMonsieur Neuvillette?â You began todayâs attempt at a conversation.Â
âYes?â He hums in acknowledgment.Â
He keeps sentences brief, but informative. Counters to your attempts at conversation.Â
âIâm aware this might sound strange, but is there a dragon down here?â 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.Â
âW-well you see, Fontaine has been having awful weather for years now. Saltwater ruining crops and persistent heavy rain, itâs because the Hydro Dragon is crying from his loneliness. I was selected and offered as his bride, to stop the rain, thatâs what The Oratrice instructed,â you babble out.Â
âSoâŚdo you know where he is?â Sheepishly you glance up.Â
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.
âSo humans are still telling that local legendâŚâ He sighs.Â
He has to rein it back. The torrent which threatens to brew within him. Deep breaths to remind himself about the nature of mortals.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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 thatâs why those false idols uprooted the land that belonged to dragons.Â
âI wonder just how far that fable has spread by now,â 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. Thereâs no use in keeping his identity from you any longer.Â
âDo I seem lonely in your eyes?â Baritone voice steady and low.Â
No sounds fall from your agape lips as your eyes reexamine his features, this time shamelessly ogling the peculiar details youâve brushed off previously.
Do you notice it now? How his ears were a bit too pointed, or those two particular cerulean strands of âhairâ poking out from his snowy locks.Â
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.Â
âYouâre the Hydro Dragon,â you deduce.Â
He nods in confirmation. Only causing your eyes to scan over him again as your mind reels back from this revelation.Â
In those stories youâve read back on the surface, how did they depict him? As a towering scaled beast with fangs and claws? Are you wondering why heâs not matching that description?Â
âIâm aware that my current shape might not convey such a presence, â he answers your unspoken question.Â
He fights for his lips to remain stoic, not allowing the weight of a frown to pull them down. You donât know, you donât need to know, he reminds himself.Â
A detail excluded from the pages of that tale, the âprincessâ would only ever look at him, would only ever smile at him when a dragon took on this shape. A form which mirrors humans.Â
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.Â
Neuvillette takes another deep breath, quelling the stir once more. You look like you had more questions.Â
âSo⌠does that mean the need for a bride is fictitious?â You clutch your hands tighter.Â
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.Â
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?Â
After that âhappily ever afterâ, a dragon cursed his devil just as she cursed him.Â
No, such expositions would be an unfair burden upon your shoulders.Â
âItâs not fictitious.â Turning to gaze out at the depths of the underground realm, he takes a breath before continuing.Â
âThe land which your nation, Fontaine, resides on is stolen land,â he reveals. âMore accurately all of what you know as âTeyvatâ was stolen from the dragons, my fellow brethren.âÂ
The furrow in your brows deepens as you listen on.Â
âMy brethren were banished to the depths for the sake of humanity. A dragonâs rage isnât something that can be easily quelled.â He glances back at you.Â
âA 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 dragonâs rage,â he concludes.Â
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.Â
âSo⌠has the rain stopped?â Your hands almost clasped together in prayer.Â
He nods, the shine growing ever so luminous in those blameless irises, one he couldnât resist the enchantment of. That all too familiar look in your eyes.Â
âThatâs good.â 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 wasnât relief, nor was it salvation. It's duty. He takes a slow and deep inhale.Â
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.Â
Thereâs 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.Â
No reason for him to remain by your side throughout the day, and no reason for you to shadow him.Â
Neuvillette and you keeping mostly to oneâs self. It was just the natural progression of things. After all, the ritual had been completed and the tides had receded. Youâve served your duty once more.Â
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.Â
âOh? Monsieur!â Rhemia notices his presence.Â
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.Â
âHello, Monsieur Neuvillette.â Your smile greets him.Â
Ah, heâs 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.Â
âI hope you donât mind my use of the kitchen, I wanted something other thanâŚConsomme Purete.â Wiping your hands with a rag.Â
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.Â
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 theyâve never seen before.Â
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 heâs 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 Melusineâs height, feeding them a bite of the fragrant dish. The wags of their tails increase in cadence as they chew.Â
âThis is Tasses Ragout, tasty isnât it?â The corners of your lips curl as you watch their little heads nod eagerly.Â
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.Â
Soon your eyes connect and he straightens his posture. Brushing away the nonsensical musing, lilac hue advert away momentarily to recompose themselves before returning.Â
âWould you like a taste?â A fork offered in his direction, beckoning closer to take a bite.Â
Thereâs a myth heâs 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.Â
âThank you for the offer, however, Iâve already had my lunch.â He refrains.Â
A bite from that forbidden fruit was the genesis of disgrace and banishment. A betrayal of commandments once promised. Neuvillette wonât be deceived again.Â
--------------------------------------------------------------
âMonsieur! Monsieur! Come look!âÂ
Mittened hands grasping upon his coat and gloved hands as a circle of Melusines guides him through the winding halls, anticipation amping their voices.Â
Thereâs 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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
A few Melusines fussing about the silk train, ever so curious of humanity, they mustâve 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.Â
âHow do you like it?â You ask your audience, twirling about in front of a mirror.Â
Itâs different from those hardier dresses for when you wandered about the village and estate, in comparison this dress was much less practical.Â
âItâs beautiful, Madame!â Their round eyes were enamored.
âIâm glad, who knew you had such an aesthetic eye.â Your expression softens.Â
Bending down to Caroleâs height, you scooped her up. Cradling her as your forehead touches her horns gently.
âThank you for such a lovely dress.â Placing tender pats along her head, careful to not disturb her horns and hair.Â
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.Â
âOh, hello Neuvillette,â you greet him with a smile he doesnât 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.
âMonsieur! Isnât Madame pretty? Look!â Cheery and oblivious voices chime returning the warmth to the air.Â
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.Â
âA fine effort indeed.â A gloved hand extends to rest atop their heads.Â
Patting their heads tenderly as they closed their eyes in contentmentÂ
A warmth in those lilac hues, endearment no word could ever encapsulate fully.Â
âAre they your daughters?â 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 didnât seem to reach your eyes.Â
Gloved hand ceasing all movement, his concentration now elsewhere. That expression ghosting your face, what does it mean?Â
âMy apologies, was it too impudent of a question?â Your gaze adverts away, searching for reprieve in this heavy hush.
A deep breath as he formulates his response.Â
âI donât share blood with them if thatâs what youâre inquiring. However, they are the successors of my brethren.âÂ
âOh, I see,â you hum.Â
 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.Â
An audience of bright eyes switches between the Monsieur and Madame.Â
--------------------------------------------------------------
âBring these to her, you should greet the Madame!â Tiny hands push against Neuvilletteâs back.Â
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.Â
Just in time to catch the tall figure of Neuvillette emerging into the library at the behest of the Melusines.Â
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.Â
âThe Melusines found these when retrieving some offerings from the water, I believe youâll enjoy them.â He presents their trinket.Â
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.Â
âThank you.â You accept the bouquet from his hand.Â
Admiring the rustic arrangement and the saccharine aroma as the Melusines sat around you leaned in closer to catch a whiff too.Â
âThese are called Pluie Lotus up on the surface, they smell nice right?â Giggling lightly as you held the bouquet closer to their noses.Â
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.Â
Thereâs subtle slack in his posture, a budding smile just about to unfold just as your head peers back up. Every fiber in Neuvilletteâs being tenses, goosebumps slithering up his nape.Â
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.Â
Donât. Donât say the words he knows are hanging off the tip of that honeyed tongue.Â
âThey are the same lovely color as your eyes, Neuvillette.â You beam at him, the corners of your eyes crinkling from the stretch of your lips.Â
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.Â
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?Â
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.Â
âDo excuse me, please return to your reading session,â he utters his parting.Â
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 shouldâve been. Much to the pouts of a disappointed audience.Â
However, he didnât 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.Â
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. Â
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.Â
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, heâs wrong.Â
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. Itâs insulting.Â
Because this was all he ever wanted. This was all he had ever wanted.Â
The lonesome dragon only ever yearned for a maidenâs endearment. He once believed she adored him back just the same.Â
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.Â
A glimmer he once believed was love. Â
The tale written along the parchment implied that the âprincessâ loved the dragon. However, that was inaccurate. She never did.Â
For if she loved him, then she wouldnât have deceived him.
She wouldnât have ever whispered his secret to the townâs folk. Those foul creatures who then used his secret, which was once reserved solely for âyouâ.
Why? That simple question taunted him for decades as he rotted in this mocking solitude.
Why did âyouâ 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?Â
Or was it because blood and water, no matter how much they intertwine and mix, could never produce wine?Â
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.Â
 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 couldnât resist bending to her whims. Spilling the secret hidden deep within him into her ear.Â
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.Â
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:
âFor the rest of oneâs life, one shall never leave this cave deep beneath the tidesâ.Â
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 mustâve been enlisted by the god themselves.Â
 That day when he was chained by that loch, you didnât 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.Â
Neuvillette had finally comprehended the truth, he had made peace with the disgrace he brought upon himself.Â
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?Â
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.Â
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.Â
 Emotions donât 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.Â
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.Â
The lanterns outside the Melusineâs 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.Â
His steps flatten the grass underneath as they accompany his strides with their rustling.
The absence of light had never bothered him, itâs within his nature to detest it. Any beast would withdraw away from the mere image of fire.Â
The rustle of the grass halts, a wispy aroma of smoke wafts towards him. It doesnât 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.Â
The flameâs 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.Â
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.Â
An unspoken gospel revealed to draconic pupils.Â
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.Â
Youâre 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.Â
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.Â
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. Â
However, lilac eyes pan back towards the orange glow illuminating your melancholic face. Warm hues contrast against the wet trails down your cheeks. Thereâs an ache more agonizing than a festering wound.Â
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.Â
 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.Â
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.Â
Or maybe, a foolish dragon feels some responsibility for being the one to curse you to this fate.Â
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.
Itâs said that love is heavy, a weight greater than the density of water. A heaviness which could sink anything and everyone under salty tides.Â
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.Â
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.
Itâs his fault that the tides stole you from the sunlight.Â
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? Thereâs no point in punishing one for a sin that had been cleansed by the tides of time.
You didnât 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.
Itâs much too severe of a sentence for you, someone who didnât deserve to repent for a sin that wasnât truly yours.Â
Is it okay for his hands to wipe away your tears when this cursed dragon was the cause of your agony?
Even if itâs wrong, Neuvillette holds you closer. Even if he didnât 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.Â
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 couldnât embrace the tides. Two cursed beings whoâve been trapped in repeated play.Â
âIt seems youâre bound to this prison as well.â He scorns those gods and ancient grudges, but he scorns himself the most.
Confined behind a human face and a human body, a traitor whoâs lost his birthright over the waters who couldnât 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.Â
âFontainians still tell a tale about a princess who wished a dragon to become a prince, yes?â He begins.Â
After a pause filled with hiccups and shaky breaths, you nod your head as an answer.Â
âIt was when she spoke the dragonâs true name that he granted her one wish,â he recounts the tale, feeling the trembles of your shoulders.Â
âThat part of the story isnât fictitious,â 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.Â
However, he obeys no edict from the heavens or origins. Not when an unjust punishment caused such heart-wrenching sobs.Â
âNames hold great significance to dragons. So much so, to whoever learns their true name, a wish can be granted.âÂ
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.Â
âIs⌠your name not âNeuvilletteâ?â You inquire.Â
âItâs a surname bestowed upon me by the mortals of the land.âÂ
âThen⌠What is your name?â A glimmer of optimism ever so subtly debuts in your eyes.Â
He could not tell you. No matter how beautifully that light shines, this was one ordinance he couldnât ignore. All he could do was glance away as he shakes his head. Unable to bear the sight of that light extinguishing.Â
âThat is what you must find for yourself.âÂ
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.Â
The silent audience of fate watching on with bemusement to where this rendition will lead.Â
âOh?â
âOh?â
What a peculiar occurrence, Neuvillette was just about to exit his study when he found himself just a breathâs width away from you. Instinctively, he takes a step back behind the threshold of the doorway.
Passive eyes studying your form, you mustâve 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.Â
âIs there something you need assistance with?â He continues to study you.Â
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.Â
âIs your name Guillaume?â You peer up.Â
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.Â
He responds with a shake of his head, expression stiffening as he watches the corners of your lips drop ever so slightly.Â
âOhâŚâ
It seems his existence brings nothing but a frown upon those soft lips, Neuvillette felt itâs best to retreat from your sight.Â
This attempt was evidence of your determination to return to the embrace of a warm star.
It wouldnât be right for him to interfere, despite those vile voice whispers murmuring from the depth of his mind. It wouldnât be fair to you.Â
Itâs best to maintain this distance between his hand and yours, for your sake and his.Â
Which begs the question, why were you still standing here in front of him?Â
âIs that all you wished to inquire?â Neuvillette hopes the Melusines will lift your spirits after he withdraws.Â
âActuallyâŚâ You began. âI made some soup and if you havenât had lunch yet, would you like to try some?âÂ
Although his stoic face might not reflect it, heâs positively baffled. Were âyouâ always this enthusiastic about food?
The devil he knew before would view the freshest catches and clearest waters offered by a dragon with blasĂŠ reactions.Â
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.Â
Then again the kitchen back then was much more barren than the present, cabinets now decorated with bottles of fragrant spices and herbs.Â
Was it just a difference in palate? To reject such an invitation would be to squander a precious opportunity for investigation.Â
âThe pleasure would be all mine.â He matches your strides as the two of you traverse toward the kitchen.Â
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.Â
âItâs Fontainian Onion Soup.â You hand a spoon over.Â
âThank you.â 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.Â
This dish certainly expresses the flavor preferences of humans⌠but could such a thick broth really be considered soup?Â
âDo you like it?â Your head tilts to the side as he feels your inquisitiveness.Â
Dabbing a napkin over his lips, he clears his throat.Â
âA fine dish indeed. Although increasing the liquid content and reducing the amount of fat could improve it,â he advises.Â
A hush falls over the kitchen, nothing but the occasional crackle of a fire filling the space.Â
âOh⌠Iâll keep that in mind.â Your voice was restraining something.Â
As you turn away, Neuvillette catches the subtle shakes of your shoulders.Â
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 oneâs pride.Â
You had taken time out of your day to prepare a bowl for him, and he gave senseless comments in return.Â
âAh, but itâs delicious regardless, thank you.â He has to remedy this situation.Â
The shakes of your shoulders increase, as a hand covers your lips.Â
âThank you, Monsieur.â Your lips seem to be trying to stifle something.Â
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.Â
In that moment, Neuvillette vows to himself that even if you were to hand him a piece of charcoal heâll swallow it without a single complaint.Â
--------------------------------------------------------------
âIs your name Ădouard?âÂ
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 couldnât run away from the shore for long. Steadfast and constant attempts to unravel the secrets held by the ebbs and flows.Â
Alas, he shakes his head again today, steeling his nerves as he catches the slight drop in your shoulders. Louis, Ătienne, ThĂŠodore, and all those previous guesses, are names of heroes in Fontainian tales and epics.Â
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.Â
Your disheartened gaze couldnât meet his, choosing to stare into the space beside him. He couldnât 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.
Heâs not sure how much longer he can endure being the origin of your melancholy.
âThereâs a tear in your coatâŚâÂ
Your voice brings him out of his thoughts, he glances at the spot your eyes were honed on and spots the aforementioned tear.Â
âAh, I see. My apologies for being in such an unsightly state, â he sighs. Lilac eyes ran along the jagged seams.Â
He should go find a replacement from his wardrobe, but you still looked like you had something to say.Â
âI can fix it if youâd like,â you offer.Â
Itâs just a garment, a piece of cloth that fell off some merchantâs 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.Â
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.Â
Regrettably, Neuvillette admits heâs not the best host. Heâs 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.Â
âThank you, Iâd be grateful if you do.âÂ
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.
âIâll take your coat.â Holding out your hands.Â
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.Â
âIt wonât take long, please have a seat.â Gesturing toward the other chair.Â
Lilac eyes scanned the aged seat, the door was just beyond it, it wouldnât take much of an excuse for him to walk past the wooden threshold.
However, he pans back to your anticipatory gaze still awaiting. It wouldnât be polite to deny such a simple gesture.Â
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.Â
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.Â
âPfft!-â Quickly your hand covers your mouth.Â
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, heâs 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.Â
âS-sorry, I just didnât expect you to⌠be so clumsy.â Giggles fragment your sentence along with a brief pause to collect yourself.Â
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.Â
Although he has been in this body for many, many years now, yet, Neuvillette hasnât acclimated to these fickle mortal attires.
If these garments werenât pushed into his hands by the Melusines and their bright-eyed stares, heâd prefer to not dawn them.Â
Neuvillette shuts his eyes. His lungs intake a deep breath, stifling the sway of these trivial inconveniences before they cause any ripples.
Once heâs certain there was no jagged edge to his stare, lilac hues peek back upon your figure.Â
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.Â
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.Â
âNeuvillette?â Your serene voice interlaces with the placid interlude.Â
He hums an answer.Â
âThat night by the entrance⌠you said âYou're bound to this cove as wellâ.â The pace of the needle slows.Â
âWhy did you say that?â You finish your question.Â
Observant, a characteristic of yours heâs always deemed quite commendable. Ever so keen on the nuances of his sentences.Â
The piercing stare of draconic eyes weighs on your shoulders, despite that the cadence of the needle didnât falter. A ripple makes its appearance within a placid pool.Â
âDo you really wish to know?â He warns.Â
You hum resolutely. A bitter taste creeps its way up his tongue, the recollection of the string of words which damned him here.Â
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.Â
âFor the rest of oneâs life, one shall never leave this cave deep beneath the tides. That is the curse set upon this body,â he reveals.Â
The needle stops.
âA curse?âŚâ you stammer out.Â
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.Â
ââŚFor the rest of oneâs life⌠well, how long do dragons live?âÂ
To mortals, itâs 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.Â
âThe 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.â He wonders if mortals could grasp such a concept.Â
âOhâŚâ Your tone grew more somber.Â
Judging from your tonality, you mustâve 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.Â
Even if dragons had long lives, it didnât mean the humiliation of immortality. The true cruelty of this seemingly kind curse.Â
âWhy?â Your voice just barely above a whisper.Â
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.Â
âBecause the people of Fontaine found my name and they wished for it.âÂ
Why did he give you his name? And why did you then give it away? There are many questions left unanswered by that tale.Â
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.Â
 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.Â
Perhaps, his ânaturalâ 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 mortalâs request?
The commandments of a false god and the howling thrashes of wind canât make a proud dragon bow, but the weight of love might be enough for a prideful beast to lower his head towards a mortal.Â
A traitor to his own fallen brethren is much too dignified of a title for Neuvillette. No, itâd be better to call him for what he is: A Fool.Â
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.Â
â⌠could it be wished away?â Your voice beckons his thoughts to return to the present.Â
Unlike how it was written in those tales, a curse canât be âbrokenâ. Not by a kiss, and not by clasping oneâs hands together in prayer.Â
âNot even a miracle could make a curse vanish, a curse only ever goes away once its clauses have been fulfilled.âÂ
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.Â
He shall remain in this sham of a body, unable to become the form he desired the most in the next life heâll never reach.
Not a human, not a dragon, just an atrocity somewhere in-between. This must be what humans call âpurgatoryâ. Â
âI seeâŚâ Your attention never leaves the half-stitched garment sprawled upon your lap.Â
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.Â
However, what is he to say? What words can salvage this situation? Neuvillette has no talent for small talk, he doesnât have the same mortal heart as yours to provide you with any solstice.Â
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.
Itâs strange, that rippling pool is swaying back to equilibrium. The surface returns to its placid rest as tension melts from his muscles.Â
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.Â
--------------------------------------------------------------
âMadame! Look I got more Pluie Lotuses!â Kiaraâs little steps rush across the marble floor.Â
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.Â
âKiaraâŚâ A subtle layer of disapproval emerges from lilac hues.
âRemember to dry off before entering the estate, the floors can become quite dangerous when wet.âÂ
âButâŚâ the flowers lower. âI wanted to show Madame the lotusesâŚâÂ
Thereâs 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.Â
âMy apologies, Kiara, I only meant to warn you.âÂ
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.Â
âThank you, theyâre wonderful, Kiara.â Your gentle chime breaks through the stalemate.Â
You take the bouquet from her mittened hands, placing them atop a counter, in exchange you offer her a towel.Â
âBut Neuvillette is right, itâs not good to run through the halls right after you returned from the waters. Itâs dangerous, okay?â Your voice as gentle as the towel rubbed over her hair and horns.Â
A content smile returns to her round cheeks as she diligently nods, promising that sheâll be more careful next time. Tail lifting up from the floor as the fluffy towel wipes away the ocean droplets.Â
Once fully dried, she joins her sisters. The Melusines cast shifting glances toward one another until one finally steps out from the crowd.Â
âMadameâŚâ Carole calls out softly, tugging a few times the hem of your long dress.Â
âHm?â Giving her your full attention, a towel set aside.Â
âI overheard you inquiring about names with Monsieur in the library once, could you beâŚâ Her eyes downcasted.Â
Oh. This time it was Neuvillette and you who exchanged glances, eyes both reflecting the same dread.
They werenât supposed to know. They werenât supposed to hear those slapdash guesses.Â
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?Â
His mind was unable to conjure up an excuse, tongue unwilling to speak it. They werenât supposed to find out. Oh, what shall he do now?Â
âCould you be expecting?âÂ
Huh?
Two pairs of eyes widened with bewilderment, mind stunned into silence and lips just as confused.
Somehow theyâve huddled even closer than before, encircling you and him with their bright eyes and tails swaying with anticipation.Â
âWill there be a new addition to the village?âÂ
âHow long do we have to wait?âÂ
âAre we getting a brother or sister?âÂ
Their chatter and probes homogenized into a jumbled symphony his flustered conscious just couldnât distinguish. Trying to reel his senses back from this unexpected turn of events. Neuvillette clears his throat.Â
âNo,â he coughs out.Â
A collective âawâ resounds through the air, their tails and horns drooping down at the announcement. Guilt pierced its nail through his chest once more. However, he couldnât lie to their bright eyes.Â
âN-not, yet.â You add to his statement.Â
A wave of inquisitiveâohâ 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 canât make wine.Â
âThen, do you want a little prince or little princess?â Carole chirps.Â
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.Â
âIâd like to have a daughter, sweet and kind like all of you.â Your hand strokes her soft trestles.Â
Her head nuzzles into your palm as giggles fill the air. Only draconic eyes study the small smile upon your lips, dipped in bittersweetness.Â
Did you have a lover back on the surface in this life? Perhaps someone who was promised to you. A real prince this time.Â
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?
âMonsieurâŚâ Mamaere tugs on his slacks.Â
Neuvillette reigns his thoughts back from their escapade, he angles his head down.Â
âWhere does a baby come from?âÂ
The smile on your lips stiffen just as Neuvilletteâs body does.
If thereâs a god whoâs 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?
âOh dear! I just remembered.â Your hands clap together.
âThereâs a few ribbons and clips in the fabric room, do you girls mind getting them? So we can braid Monsieurâs hair?âÂ
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.Â
âThank you.â His posture drops slightly as a hefty sigh leaves him, lids shut for a moment of rest. Â
âOf course, SĂŠbastien.âÂ
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 couldnât recall all the past attempts.Â
âRegrettably, that is not my name.âÂ
âWas it at least a decent attempt?âÂ
He could hear the pout in your voice, one that didnât 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.Â
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 wasnât 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.
âDo you miss the sea?âÂ
Ah, it seems that his stare wasnât 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.Â
âI suppose itâs only natural for me to long for it.âÂ
After all these years, Neuvillette believes he has finally grasped it, an answer to that void filled with âwhysâ. 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.Â
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.
âHmm,â you hum in acknowledgment.Â
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.Â
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.Â
When a knot proves to be particularly stubborn, you tend to lend closer to hone in on the troublesome tangle.Â
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.Â
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 nowâŚ
Neuvillette clears his throat.Â
âI believe Iâm beginning to feel unwell, so please refrain from venturing into the cellar for the next few weeks. I should quarantine myself.â Too ashamed to turn back and face you.Â
âOh?...â 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.Â
A gloved hand reaches up to cover his nostrils, seeking some barrier between that tantalizing whiff.Â
âPlease, excuse meâŚâ He pulls away swiftly.Â
The sudden action mustâve jostled his hair too much, for the sultry sensation of your fingertips was felt along azure âstrandsâ.Â
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 theyâre supposed to be, anchoring those ravenous voices at bay momentarily.Â
He needs to leave now. For your sake.Â
Rushed strides stow a distance between his body and that delectable warmth of yours. His back turned to you as he couldnât bear to see the expression upon that saccharine face.Â
Just what expression were you making as a dragon retreated? Â
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.Â
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.Â
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, heâs still shivering.Â
A chill ingrained so deep itâs in his very bones, skin alight but bones frozen over, just what is this purgatory?Â
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 doesnât relent. A curse heâs 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.Â
From the depths of the torrent, heâs 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.Â
But he mustnât. 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, heâd rather be chained down here for the rest of eternity.Â
He must endure it for a bit longer, he knows itâll be over soon. The gale which sweeps through him is slowly lessening its blows.Â
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.Â
The heat hazed over his mind, conjuring up fantasies to appease the ever-unsettled water from its vapid reality.
âNeuvillette?â 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. Itâs nothing but a figment of his depraved lust.Â
âNeuvillette?âÂ
He buries his ears further into the down covers to block the alluring mirages. Tickling him to submit to the temptation. But he mustnât. Nothing more than a manifestation of lust.Â
 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.Â
Nothing but smoke and mirrors conjured by desire, a rigid arm expels out from the covers to dissipate the sirenâs lure.Â
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.Â
So like any greedy dragon, his claws enclose around temptation and drag it into his decrepit cave of blankets and sheets.Â
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.Â
âNeuvillette?âŚâÂ
His eyes snap open, realization flooding through him just as the chill that had been ingrained into his bones. This wasnât an illusion. You werenât an illusion.Â
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.Â
âAre you alright?...â The sapphire luminance of his elongated horns shines across those sinless eyes.Â
The strap of a nightgown halfway down your shoulder from when he snatched you beneath his savage form.Â
âYou⌠you shouldnât be here,â he breathes, voice unsteady and taut.Â
âYouâve been away for an awfully long time⌠I-â 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.Â
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.
âYou need to leave, quickly please.â 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.
â...But I missed youâŚâ You whisper.Â
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.Â
âLeave, please.â Donât tempt him like this.Â
â... Donât you miss me?...â Your hold doesnât 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.Â
âDonâtâŚâ He reasons, the last of his sensibility crying a warning of a sinful fruit.Â
âPlease, Neuvillette⌠wonât you hold me for just a bit? I missed you so muchâŚ.â The shift of your shoulder causes the nightgown to slip further off your shoulder.Â
Donât 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.Â
Donât show him such a sight, for heâll salivate to devour you until his teeth rot.
âPlease?...â Coaxing his head down so that his forehead rests against yours.Â
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.Â
And here you were offering a lustrous fruit, so juicy and filled of sin, in front of his famished eyes. A cruel, cruel mercy.Â
â... MayâŚMay I?â Itâs unbearable, this parchedness in his throat, would you be so kind to quench it?Â
Your sweet hum grants him permission. Eyes closed just as you turn a blind eye to his ravenousness, still stroking his tender cheeks. Neuvillette couldnât deny himself any more of the warmth heâs coveted for oh so long.Â
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.Â
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 heâs 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.Â
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.Â
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 heâd 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 wouldnât have any objects against him finally getting a taste, right?Â
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
Grip parting your legs from his path further. Those quivering calls of âNeuvilletteâand the pawing of your small hands against his head beckon him deeper.Â
Ah, redemption, itâs 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.Â
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. Itâs beastly how heâs devouring you. His tongue craves more of the delicacy heâs 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.Â
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 doesnât 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.Â
A guttural growl echoed. Tongue now plunging further, slithering back and forth along your walls. For being such a sweet sacrifice for him, heâll give a reward. Slithering tongue making sure to drag against that spot heâs memorized.
Judging from how your feet were arching off the sheets, it seems this sinful detail of yours was repeated as well.Â
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.Â
Thereâs 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.Â
Ohâs and ahâs 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 heâs 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.Â
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 couldnât deny their request any longer.
Back sitting up straight, his cocks thrumming against his abdomen, precum exuding out from their swollen heads. Â
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.Â
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, itâs dripping down his chin, yet why has his thirst grown greater than before?Â
Neuvillette was so⌠so close. If he had only endured it for another day or two, the gale within him wouldâve relented and retreated away in defeat. But oh how viciously itâs gloating in its victory. Getting a dragon to bow his head to its cardinal blows.Â
âDo you⌠feel better now, Neuvillette?â Slow pants leave your curled lips as your hands reach up to caress his taut face.Â
This brazenness, this shamelessness, this insolence. Ah, these characteristics have followed you through the grave and into this life as well. You werenât skilled enough this time around to hide your desire glazed across your pupils.Â
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.Â
âBetter?⌠youâve only fanned the flames, you devious woman.â A snarl from the depths of him.Â
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.Â
Did his mortal prison deceive you too much? Did his mild mannerisms trick you into believing that heâs a merciful soul? Or did you always ignore the warnings?
A monster with a human face is still a monster. To believe that oneâs 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.Â
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 mustâve cleared the daze from your mind, your head cants downwards to stare at the two oddities.Â
âA-are both of them going toâŚâ Your grip tightens on the sheets, a subconscious search for comfort.Â
Ah, now you remember danger. Now you realize your insolence to believe that a mere human could ever tame a proud dragon.Â
âThere wonât be any point in breaking you so quickly,â he snarls. Not missing the flutter of your hole as the weeping head dragged over it. It wouldnât be good to break you so quickly. His sweet little sacrifice.Â
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.Â
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.
Itâs 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.Â
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.Â
Surely your body remembers his. If not, then heâll ensure it does now, heâll engrain it into you for the next life.Â
One cock slid against the satin ridges of your walls, the other indulging along your searing skin and grinding against your clit. He canât deny how addictive your body always has been.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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?Â
âDo you wish to climax?â A polite façade purrs into your ear.Â
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.Â
âThatâs too bad.â
 His hips remain steady contrasting against the unevenness of your own pants, unaffected by your desperate mewls. Youâve been selfish enough, youâve been greedy enough. If he were to grant you a taste of ecstasy, then itâll be on his terms.Â
He hasnât 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, theyâre 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.Â
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.Â
Sinking his ravenous teeth into the tangle of the sheets beside your neck, he stifles the admission of his defeat.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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, heâll misunderstand.
Heâll believe the delusion that you love him.
Him and not the swaying flower fields of the sunkissed surface.Â
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.Â
Even in his heat-induced daze, heâs not naive enough to believe the sincerity presented in your eyes was anything other than duty.
He doesnât want to be reminded that those hands, which cup his face with such tenderness, are bound by a sense of duty.
A reminder that heâs merely just a stepping stone on the path of your true desire.
He doesnât want to see it.Â
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.Â
But such discontent couldnât 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 couldnât resist.
What to call this sensation, to scorn yet desire you just as much.Â
It wasnât 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.Â
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.Â
How strange, those lying lips of yours whimper for ârestâ and a âmoment to catch your breathâ. Yet your body is still so eagerly exposing itself to his eyes, agape cunt so eagerly twitching and slick.Â
You donât 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.Â
Youâve always been like this since the very first rendition.Â
If only you werenât so strong-willed. If only you werenât so clever to trick him. If only you werenât so enchanting.Â
Then he wouldnât have bent to your whims, the sea wouldâve cleansed out the mortal filth from stolen land. Then he wouldnât be trapped in this disgrace of a body. Then he wouldnât be in love with you.
The betrayal, the disgrace, and this punishment wouldâve never happened if only a fool didnât 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.Â
There wasnât 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.Â
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, itâs its turn to bully those weak spots with its thick head.Â
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 wonât allow you reprieve. No, not even for a moment. Heâll shatter your sanity and arrogance once and for all.Â
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.Â
Thereâs 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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
Ah, what if thereâs 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 canât 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.Â
Heâs done it once before, heâs 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?Â
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.Â
âTill death do us partâ, thatâs 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.Â
Itâs not like your muddled head would understand, nothing but mindless prattles and mewls from the suffocating pleasure only he could ever give you.
But thatâs fine, just drown nicely in lust and desire. Heâll always be waiting there at the bottom to drag you down deeper.Â
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.Â
Even as heâs 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.Â
A whisper resurfaces amidst the fog and clamor of instinct and rage.
However, itâs 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.Â
The accuracy that this wasnât love. No, what his instincts craved was not love, it was obsession.Â
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.Â
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.Â
Retreating away from the transgression almost committed, fangs repressed behind closed lips. Neuvillette presses a sweet kiss against the shallow wound.
 To love you isnât to steal you away from the embrace of the star whoâs forsaken him. Itâs to hoist you up to that beloved sunlight. Just where you belonged.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
With hands still entangled, he coaxes your body around. Granting him a mesmerizing view of your debauched face.
The face heâs 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.Â
Softness resurfaces in his bones, a tender kiss pressed upon your fingers. Soothing those tremors as he guides your consciousness back to reality.Â
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.Â
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.Â
Blood and water no matter how much theyâre mixed, wonât produce wine.
However, just for tonight in a realm heavy with lust, passion, and phantasm, theyâll craft a wine of delusion. One filled with nothing but wishful fantasy.Â
However, this wine of delusion shall be enough to quench the thirst of lascivious compulsions and vengeance.Â
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.Â
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.Â
A stir from muscle gradually awakening from slumber reflected in the wavelets of the bath. The sensation of a damp towel mustâve further jolted your senses back to alertness.Â
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.Â
âAre you hurting anywhere?â Neuvillette halts the towel.Â
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 heâs very much aware of your eyeâs every move. What an appalling sight it must be for you.Â
âIf I make you uncomfortable Iâll leave promptly, this was just the only solution I could find to bathe-â
âItâs fine, I donât mind.â 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.Â
âDoes it hurt?â A warm thumb traces soft circles along the rough scales along his hand.Â
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.Â
âIâm not quite sure as to why Iâm still in this⌠state.â Neuvillette gives a preemptive answer to the question he assumes to be hanging off your tongue.Â
âDo you⌠miss the sea?â However, it seems you had another inquiry hidden in your ever perplexing mind.Â
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.Â
âI suppose itâs natural that I yearn for itâŚâ
A hum was your only response, eyes hidden behind closed lashes. Neuvillette just couldnât decipher that smile of yours, curled lips reflected over the rippling surface of the steaming water.Â
--------------------------------------------------------------
âYour body is still delicate, please let us return back to the estate-â
âI might actually grow roots into that bed if Iâm to rest there any longer.â A pout was evident in your voice.Â
Taking a few greater strides, your body pulls in front of Neuvilletteâs 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.
âPlease just donât stray too far.â He relents, offering up his arm for support.Â
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.Â
âI believe this is far enough. â His arm pulls your frame closer, a subtle hesitance tainting his tone.Â
However, your body didnât budge. Resolute stance not moving even one bit watching your reflection warp and contort in the water. A deep breath echoes off the wall.Â
âNeuvillette⌠do you miss the sea?â Your stare parts with the water, now peering straight into his lilac hues.Â
âDo you miss the sea?â Youâve 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.Â
âYes, I do miss the sea.â His candid yearning.Â
There was a question his lips didnât dare ask, âDo you miss the sun?â, 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.Â
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?Â
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 wouldnât be fair to stall any longer, you deserve your happy ending.Â
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 wonât ever change, for a dragon is just as foolish as he was before.Â
âMy true name is-!â His voice was stunned as a pair of soft lips silenced him.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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?Â
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.Â
Ah, this whole time, did he not discover the false innocence in the irises of the deceptor of all deceptors?Â
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 werenât lies, all other monsters fall secondary to the devil. Even a dragon.Â
âWhy?â Was all he could muster, oh cruel devil why did you play him a fool once more?
âBecause I wanted to see you again⌠but I knew you wouldnât quite share the same sentiment since the moment I heard your voice⌠so I lied,â Those audacious eyes of yours never looked away.Â
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.
âIf you wanted to see me⌠then that day at the loch⌠why werenât you there?â The stir of the torrent within put a snarl into his throat.
Why must you keep lying to him?Â
Ah, from the start, Neuvillette shouldâve 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, heâs still within the embrace of your cruel hands. His body just wouldnât pull away.Â
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?Â
âThe nobles locked me away after those tyrants stole your name from my tongue, they locked me away.â Torment brewing in those irises which reflected him.Â
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.Â
âI 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.â Those bitter pools formed in your penitent eyes spill over.Â
This wasnât 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?Â
âAll I ever wanted was for you and me to walk amongst humanity⌠look where that got usâŚâ Tears descend from your cheeks and onto the grass below, a humorless chuckle.Â
Was this another lie falling from those saccharine lips of yours? Sugar dusted on the shell of a vile trick? Neuvillette wasnât sure anymore.Â
âThat foolish wish of mine⌠it mustâve been so painful. Iâm so sorry.â Your thumb traces over the scales dotted over his cheek, evidence of a draconic rebellion against a mortal condemnation.Â
Does your touch scorn or soothe him? Neuvillette wasnât sure anymore.Â
âIâm sorry. Iâll say sorry one thousand times if you wish.â A tremor in your voice.
The surge within him couldnât 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.Â
He takes a deep breath, collecting his resolve.Â
â...what⌠what do you wish for?â Just how will this rendition end? Neuvillette doesnât know.Â
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.Â
He hears your slow inhale, preparing your throat to speak your selfish desires.Â
âI wish for your curses to become mine alone to bear.â You reveal your selfish wish, pressing the voucher of freedom into his hands.Â
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 doesnât waiver as your finger tightens around his.Â
âGrant me my wish⌠please.â 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 itâs just his sense of responsibility and fairness that compelled him to fulfill this wish.Â
Or maybe, the dragon just couldnât help but submit to the whims of his beloved, a statement that remained no matter what rendition of the tale it was. Â
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.Â
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.Â
The ocean calls for him, so why is he still staring back at you? The one whoâll 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 couldnât bear to ask. Thus, you give the answer he seeks.Â
 âThink of it as my reparations to you, an overdue apology for my mistake, for making you to suffer so much.â That glimmer in your eyes, one he understands now.Â
Moving the hex to a body whose true master was the mistress of time, a body blessed with mortality. If a miracle isnât enough to make a curse break, then perhaps the tides of time could.Â
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.Â
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.Â
Until the pull of the ground makes its visible influence on your skin. Until your locks come to resemble the snowy shade youâve lovingly run your fingers through. Until the sweet earth hums for you to embrace it once more, you shall remain here.Â
What a clever scheme it all is, a masterful plan which could only ever be conjured by you. You devil, oh so devious, devil.Â
âYou can hate me, I won't hold it against you,â you whisper. âMay this tale end in your happiness, let me do this much for you.â
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.Â
âSilence⌠I wonât hear such deceit.â Snowy locks brushing against your fingertips.
âBut I wasnât lyingâŚâ 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 donât belong on your tongue.Â
âHow could I hate you?â he confesses.Â
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.Â
For the princess did love her dragon. Just as he loved her, all this time.Â
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.Â
âHow can I ever hate what Iâve coveted for so long?â He asks.Â
That ever-stirring torrent, that spiteful surge, where did it go? Those clamorous voices with their vengeful snarls and cynical bellows, why werenât they intrepid enough to direct those foul words toward you?Â
Not you, never you. How could they ever hate you, the heroine of a Fontainian fairytale theyâve pitifully yearned for so long?Â
âAm⌠am I loved then?â Your lashes were squeezed shut as if death was rapping upon them. Too cowardly to face the verdict.Â
âYes⌠yes, you devious devilâŚâ Neuvillette couldnât 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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
If he could be the happy ending you deserved, then he wouldnât mind in the slightest.Â
Fin~
Šď¸vivalabunbun DONâT PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.Â
#neuvillette x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#vivalabunbunfics#genshin impact x you#genshin smut#neuvillette smut#neuvillette angst#neuvillette fluff#yandere neuvillette#neuvillette x y/n#neuvillette x you#genshin fluff#genshin angst#genshin x you#neuvillete x reader
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hey!!
could i maybe get a roommate fic where carmyâs getting ridden and about to come and has no filter so it slips out that he loves her
Baby, Please.
itâs been on the tip of his tongue for too long. it was only a matter of time.
roommate!carmen berzatto x female reader
warnings - smut. cursing. carmyâs a bit pathetic at some points in this (youâre welcome)
word count - 2.4k
authors note - ah shit, here we go again. I always end writing carmy as a little bitch in these, sorry lmao (iâm not). but here it is!! a love confession!! will they ever talk about anything, I hear you ask? weâll seeâŚ
as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3
series masterlist. masterlist. inbox.
Carmen automatically smiles when he hears your keys clinking against the lock in the front door.
As soon as he clocks it, he rolls his eyes at himself. Youâre not supposed to get butterflies in your stomach when your roommate comes home on a random Thursday evening.
And yet here he is, sitting on the couch, trying to play it cool - as if he hasnât been waiting for your return for the last hour and a half.
Youâre usually back from work before he is, and suddenly heâs grateful for it. He couldnât do this everyday. Sitting, waiting for you to come home as if youâve been gone for months rather than nine or so hours. The apartment feels a little bigger, a little colder without you in it. Carmy wonders how he lived here for so long without you.
You swing the door open, kicking off your shoes instantly. Throwing your bag onto the counter, you take in the sight of your home. Itâs clean, tidied, more organised than youâve seen it in a while. Carmyâs been putting the work in while youâve been gone.
âWhat happened, Carmen? Are you okay?â
âW-what?â
âWere you stress cleaning?â
He laughs, all full and warm.
âNo, babe. Just regular cleaning.â
He rises from the couch, coming over to press a kiss into your cheek before slipping your jacket off your shoulders and hanging it up behind you.
âCarmen, whatâs that smell?â
âTomato and basil slow baked rigatoni. Homemade garlic bread. And then, if you have any room left⌠my homemade snickerdoodles.â
âDid you⌠cook for me?â
âYes I did, baby. Itâs the least I can do after youâve been at work all day.â
Itâs all so domestic, so thoughtful, so heartfelt, that you donât know whether to laugh or cry. You step forward into his space, looping your arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his lips. He grins at you when you pull away.
âWhat was that for?â
âA thank you,â you whisper, kissing him again. âI really won the roommate lottery, huh?â
âWe both did,â he chuckles, covering your face in kisses while you squirm in his arms.
Eventually, he lets you go, but not before raking his eyes up and down your figure very slowly. He takes you in - your work clothes, the way your hair is falling out slightly, your bare feet. As much as you want to let him devour you, youâre starving. A different kind of hunger to his.
âDinner first. That after.â
âWhat after?â he plays coy, trying to fight the smirk off his face.
âDon��t play dumb, Berzatto. Itâs not a good look on you.â
With that, you leave the kitchen to get changed, laughing as you go.
âľÂ âľÂ  ¡ă âľÂ ăă * ¡ âľ
You sink further into Carmyâs side on the couch, trying desperately to pay attention to the vintage sitcom thatâs playing on the TV.
All you can focus on are the rough fingertips tracing patterns on the bare skin of your thigh. They keep getting higher, brushing the seam of your pyjama shorts occasionally. Every so often, Carmy leans in to press a kiss onto your temple, into your hair, behind your ear. You rest your head on his chest, soothed by the steady beat of his heart.
âThat was the best meal Iâve had in a long time, you know.â
âYeah?â
âYeah. I could eat that pasta every day for the rest of my life and die a happy woman.â
Carmy laughs, and the sound rumbles through both of you.
âI donât cook for you often enough.â
You sit up, then, turning in your seat to look him in the eyes.
âCarmen. You cook for me almost every day.â
âYeah, but⌠not really.â
âWhat the hell are you talking about?â
âMost of the time when Iâm cooking at home, Iâm trying a new recipe, or perfecting an old one - for the restaurant. And then we both eat it for dinner. But tonight, I actually picked a recipe I knew youâd love, and made it for you. Because I donât cook for you often enough.â
You lean in to press a gentle kiss to his lips, smiling as you do it.
âYou know I donât mind either way, right? Whatever you make is always delicious. Except for that weird duck mousse from last week. That was⌠awful.â
He shoves you playfully, laughing when you topple backwards onto the couch cushions. Climbing onto you, he digs his fingers into your ribs, chuckling as you try to squirm away from him.
âStop, before I kick you in the stomach or something,â you plead, wrapping your legs around his waist to try and keep him still.
When that doesnât work, you resort to dirtier tactics. You roll your hips up into his, watching as his face changes when he realises what youâre doing. The tickling stops, replaced by fingertips gripping your sides in a completely different way.
âFuck,â he murmurs into your neck as he drops his head down. âYou know exactly what youâre doing. Minx.â
âWell you wouldnât stop, soâŚâ
âYouâre usually telling me not to stop, honey. âOh, Carmen, donât stop baby, donât stopââŚâ
You laugh as he mocks you, half in disbelief, half in amusement.
âYouâre such a dick.â
âYou still want me though, huh?â
The atmosphere in the room shifts, tension thickening in the air. Carmyâs eyes go dark as he looks down at you, gaze raking across your face. You nod in response to his question, chewing at your bottom lip.
âYou gonna let me thank you for dinner properly, Berzatto?
Who is he to say no to an offer like that?
You tighten your legs around his waist and pull his hips down to yours, flipping you both over on the couch. You settle with your thighs on either side of his, your weight keeping him anchored down to the cushions.
âYou look so pretty underneath me,â you whisper, tracing the features of his face with your gentle fingertips. âPretty, pretty boy.â
Carmyâs hips buck up into yours at the praise.
âYouâre so fucking predictable,â you giggle as he groans. âYou love this, donât you?â
âLove what?â
His voice is all strained and breathy already, and you canât help but laugh.
âBeing my bitch.â
He chuckles and rolls his eyes, but his tightening grip on your waist gives him away. You lean in to press your forehead to his, breathing him in for a moment. Carmy tilts his head up to meet your lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth as you whine.
You tangle your fingers into his hair, melding your lips against his. You let him explore your mouth, winding your hips down into him in a steady motion. You lean back to pull his shirt over his head, yours following suit shortly afterwards and ending up in a pile on the floor.
Carmy kisses his way across your chest, nipping and sucking as he goes. Youâre way past the donât leave marks stage. Neither of you care anymore. You rake your nails down his stomach, smirking when he shudders, goosebumps rising across his skin.
You tip forward to bite at the muscle of Carmyâs neck, licking a stripe up his throat as you go. He tastes like his minty shower gel and cinnamon sugar from the snickerdoodles. Itâs the perfect combination to make your mouth water.
He tangles his fingers into the waistband of your pyjama shorts, trying to tug them down. You go to stand up to help him, but the whine he lets out stops you in your tracks.
âDonât go anywhere.â
âCarmen, if you want my pants off, you need to let me stand up.â
âYou can do it here.â
He pulls you back down into his lap, ignoring your raised eyebrows. You manage to slip your shorts and panties down one leg, rising awkwardly on the other to try and get them off. You kick them to the floor, chuckling as you settle back over Carmyâs hips.
âHappy now?â
âVery happy,â he mumbles, reattaching his lips to your jaw. âThe happiest. Got the prettiest girl in the world naked in my lap right now.â
Heat rises across your chest at the compliment, head ducking down to avoid his eyes.
âShut up,â you mutter, tugging down the waistband of Carmyâs sweatpants.
You pull them and his boxers off in one fell swoop, dropping them onto the floor. When you take him in your hand, he reaches out and grabs your wrist, looking up at you through thick lashes.
âWait, baby.â
You freeze instantly, finally meeting his gaze.
âWhatâs wrong?â
âNothings wrong. Just need to get you ready first.â
You shake your head, gentle smile on your face. Heâs always thinking about you. Selfless boy.
âI am more than ready, Carmen.â
When he looks at you with skepticism in his eyes, you decide to make a point.
You trail your fingers down your stomach, pulling them through your wetness when you reach it. Sliding a digit inside, you rock your hips, throwing your head back. You can both hear how ready you are, and it makes Carmy groan.
âOh, fuck.â
Heâs whispering in awe, careful not to spook you when youâre so clearly in your own little world. You add another finger, and Carmy has to grip your hips as hard as he can to stop himself from flipping you over and having his way with you.
You remove your fingers and shove them straight into Carmyâs mouth, panting as he laves his tongue around them. You both whine in unison. Always so in sync.
âIâm more than ready,â you whisper into his jaw. âPromise.â
âI believe you,â he croaks, wrecked already. âPlease.â
âYouâre so pretty when you beg.â
You line him up, sinking down ever so slowly. You want to feel every inch, every ridge, every movement. You donât want to miss anything.
You both drop your heads back in bliss, chests heaving against each other. Youâre adjusting, while Carmyâs trying to get a hold of himself. He doesnât want it to be over too quickly, but it so easily could be if he isnât careful. He runs his hands up and down the bare skin of your back, admiring how soft you are.
âYouâre so fuckinâ tight,â he says through gritted teeth. âShit, baby.â
âYou feel so good. So big, Carmen. Fuck.â
âDonât do that.â
âDo what?â you canât help but tease, running your thumb over his bottom lip.
âTalk like that. Fuck.â
âOh,â you laugh in fake realisation. âYou like it a little too much, huh?â
He leans his head forward to rest on your chest, gasping when you lift your hips up to drop them back down. Itâs all so slick, so easy. Itâs like youâre made for each other, made to fit together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.
You canât help but want to push him a little further. Heâs always so quietly domineering, so seemingly in control, that you love when he allows himself to fray at the edges slightly. Youâd be lying if you said it didnât get you off.
âSo you donât want me to tell you how youâre filling me up just right? That youâre so big, that you feel so fucking good? That I could sit here for hours? That Iâve never had it like this with anyone?â
Carmyâs hips buck up involuntarily, and you chuckle a little cruelly.
âBaby, please.â
âOkay, Carmen. Okay.â
You press a sugary sweet kiss to his lips before settling your hands on his broad shoulders to give yourself some stability. You set a steady rhythm, winding your hips up and gliding them back down with a clear purpose. Your knees ache, and your hips are being held open a little too wide, but you feel delirious with it, high off the pleasure. Itâs good. So good.
âShit, honey. Fuck. Sâgood, yeah? So good. Keep going, donât stop.â
Youâve always found his babbling amusing, but right now thereâs nothing funny about the way the sound of his voice pushes you undeniably closer and closer to the edge. You never want him to stop talking.
Carmy moves one hand from your hip to between your legs, rubbing soft but intentional circles onto your clit. It sets your nerves alight, whole body buzzing with anticipation.
You keep your rhythm going, even as itâs getting harder and harder to concentrate. You can feel that Carmyâs close, that heâs sitting on a knifeâs edge waiting for you. You realise, suddenly, that you want him to come before you. You want to undo him.
You move one hand to tangle in his hair, while the other settles at his throat. You donât squeeze too hard, just enough to turn his moans into breathy little ah ah ahs.
âBaby, please. Fuck, so close. So good, honey. Youâre so good.â
Your grip tightens in his curls, making him groan. Your hips get faster, and so do his fingers on your clit, the pressure more insistent now.
âFuck, yeah, thatâs it, donât stop baby. Fuck, I love this. I love you. Keep going, so close. Atta girl.â
Your brain is too lost in your actions to register his words. Instead, you press your forehead to his, kissing him gently in contrast to the violent slam of your hips. This juxtaposition seems to be Carmyâs undoing, his grip on your hip tightening so much you hope itâll bruise.
He emits the most gorgeous moan youâve ever heard when he comes, which sends you straight over the edge. You tighten like a vice, whole body shuddering with it. Your climax seems to last forever, every single one of your nerves fried and frayed.
You both come down slowly, foreheads pressed together and lungs heaving. Youâre panting into his mouth, smoothing out his hair where your fingers have ruffled it. Carmyâs arms wrap around your back, pulling you in so youâre chest to chest as he presses a kiss to your temple. You sit like this for a while, completely at peace in each otherâs company.
Eventually, after what could have been hours but was probably minutes, you break the silence.
âSo we should probably talk about the I love you, huh?â
@jazminsjaz @buendiabebeta @kingsqueensandvagabonds
#and they were roommates#roommate!carmen berzatto x reader#roommate!carmen berzatto#roommate!carmy berzatto x reader#roommate!carmy berzatto#carmen berzatto x reader smut#carmen berzatto fluff#carmen berzatto smut#carmen berzatto x reader fluff#carmy berzatto x reader smut#carmy berzatto fluff#carmy berzatto smut#carmy berzatto x reader fluff#carmen berzatto imagine#carmy berzatto imagine#carmy berzatto x reader#the bear smut#the bear x reader#the bear fluff#the bear imagine
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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 inđ
ATEEZ MASTERLIST
Hongjoong â Gryffindor
The Poor Prefect That Nobody Takes Seriously
"I swear to god, if I see another damn chocolate frog loose in the dorm, I'llâ" 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 yearsâhe'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" prefectâthe 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 dayâI 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 forâ"
"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 againâthe 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 likeâ
"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 youâhow 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 timeâdon'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 himâbecause, honestly, he might just be their favourite prefect.
Seonghwa â 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 mandrakeâI'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 shelfâplease 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 embarrassingânow 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 secretâeveryone 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 Slytherinsâa 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 familyâand everyone elseâto 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 thereâ" 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 backâeveryone, 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 beautifulâa love that was finally ready to thrive in the open, with all the joy and light that came with it.
Yunho â 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 championâthe 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 Yunhoâthe 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 accurateâhe 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 mindâthe 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 valueâit 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 timeâfor 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 armsâthe one person he cared for most.
Yeosang â Ravenclaw
The Annoying Ace
"Hey, Kang! What'd you get for Potions? There's no way you aced it this timeâit 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 difficultâit 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 himâalways 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 thenâand 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 Ravenclawâthe 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 himâan 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 â 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 bookâagain. "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 rivalâhis 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 triedâand failedâto 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.
"Iâuhâyes, 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 â 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'sâand your father'sâexpectations."
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 himâthe 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 itâhis 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, thoughâeffortlessly 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 seeâcarefree, 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 fineâa 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 â 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 teammateâanother Beaterâshouted, 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 comeâespecially 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 oppositeâa 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 rivalryâpetty 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 heritageâand the word "Mudblood" slicing through the airâleft 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 youânot 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 aliveâit 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 â 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 stoppedâright 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 lipsâso 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 mindâperhaps 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 himâthough, 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 youâalmost 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.
"YouâŚ" 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 reelingâit 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 senseâit 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 eyesâa 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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