#your boxes for who you are supposed to be are so small that if you gave up on being pretty you wouldnt know how to be alive

[777heavengirl]

Bless the Telephone ; ##03

James Potter x f!muggle!reader

word count: 1,858

warnings: technically a kiss that is not... desired or consented to? but its quick

a/n: my exams tmr!! i’m shitting bricks lord- also final chapter of bags tmr as well 🤧

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main masterlist

You quietly decided to keep your phone on your night table, the cord was a little over-extended from the opposite wall and you were slightly afraid that if you tripped on it the phone would fall to the floor— but it was easier this way; you decided, when James called the next day.

“Hello?” you groaned into the phone, cutting off the loud ringing as fast as you could

“Were you sleeping?”

“Potter?”

“Who else would be calling your phone?”

“Other people also call me- what time is it?”

“Like eleven thirty, didn’t know you were an early sleeper doll”

“Eleven thirty isn't early idiot-” you groaned as you tried rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. “Didn’t think I was going to hear from you anymore”

“Why is that? I obviously gotta call my best girl”

“You don’t even know me”

“Yes, I do— why did you think I wouldn’t call though? I told you I wanted to be friends you silly girl”

“You said you wanted to be friends— But you hung up yesterday,” you held the phone to your ear, the side of your face still pressed against your pillow. “Rather suddenly too”

“Ah, I’m sorry- you know I’m a little funky with phones-” You could almost hear the hesitation in his voice

“D’you mean hopeless?”

“Oh hush-”

“I don’t believe you by the way- but I’ll let it slide” You sighed, stretching your body a bit

A beat of silence stilled over the two of you.

“Thanks…” you hummed in response “What are you up to?” James said, a smile evident on his words

“I was sleeping Potter, do you know what that means?”

“I have a clue yeah- why are you sleeping so early though?”

“Eleven thirty at night is not early, but I’m meeting someone for breakfast tomorrow- I wanted to be well rested”

“Ohhh you’re meeting someone, is it a boyfriend?” you rolled your eyes

“I don’t think he’d describe us that way” He really wouldn’t, not even close

“Do you wish he would?” the anxiety at the pit of your stomach quickening your heartbeat. 

“Goodnight James” you mumbled, eyes wide open now, you could feel the blood pumping as you lifted to rest on your elbows. 

He didn’t hesitate, seemingly understanding “Goodnight love” 

You hung up.

- 

You guessed you shouldn’t be surprised. You had sat at the small coffee place for an hour and a half yet— not a trace of him. 

You threaded your arms into your coat, grabbing your purse quickly. You felt as if you were running away from embarrassment itself as you crossed the street hurriedly. You caught the sight of the bright red of a pay phone from the corner of your eye, not far from where you stood.

You felt stupid, you decided, as you pulled out the little phone book that you kept in your bag. You had written James’s number in it that morning, you didn’t know why. Stupid stupid stupid.

You sorted through the contents of your purse looking for change to put into the damn box, marking the number soon after. 

The phone rang. Rang. Rang.

Someone picked up 

“Oi-“ didn’t sound like James

“Is James Potter there?”

“Ohhh is this who I think it is?” the voice snickered

“Who’s this?”

“Sirius- James’s more handsome friend,” Sirius said matter-o-factly, you rolled your eyes

“Is James there? You know what-” You looked around, suddenly too aware that he could be just around the corner. 

You didn’t wanna see him. 

“nevermind- I’ll call back later”

“Hello?” a familiar voice broke through 

“James?” you bit your lip, relief flooding through you. you didn’t know why you felt this way

“Yeah, doll- what’s up? I thought you were supposed to be out with your not boyfriend”

“Yeah… I guess he had better things to do this morning” he made a noise of indignation, you felt so stupid “probably with another not girlfriend if we’re honest”

“oh love I’m sorry-“  

“no no, it’s fine really… I really… need to get it through my skull that he’s not particularly interested… it’s not the first time- sorry I called”

“Why would you be sorry?”

“I just didn’t know what else to do”

“that’s what friends are for you know… and we are”

“Thanks, Potter”

“You really won’t let that go huh”

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’ “Sorry Potter” James laughed, his snickers pulled at the corners of your lips

“Are you spending the rest of the day at home then?”

“Probably— but I’ll call you in a bit yeah? I’d rather leave now, I didn’t think it through before I called” You covered your face with your hand as a group of people passed by. “Im still in the middle of the street”

“How are you calling then?” He sounded genuinely confused

“a pay phone?”

“o-oh… right, call me back when you get home then… or I’ll spam call you again”

“alright alright-“ you both laughed, light and airy. breathless “Thank you, James”

You hung up the call, still gripping the handle of the phone with white knuckles as you exhaled. 

You needed to get out of there.

You could feel your heartbeat in your ears as you ran down to the tube’s station, you could feel the adrenaline of excitement in your veins as you passed the various stops towards your flat.

“Hey,” You said, catching your breath as you entered, your roommate mumbled a vague hello from her desk as she hunched over her architecture assignment. 

“By the way the phone’s been ringing off it’s bloody base for a while now- I dont know what sort of call center you got going on in there,” she said, looking up from her sketchbook. 

You laughed as you took your coat and scarf off.

The phone rang again

“I’m serious if you’re running some sort of telephone scam I want a cut-”

“I’ll let you know if it pans out” you said with a laugh, crossing the distance between the door and your room. You closed the door quickly behind you, launching yourself to grab the phone

“I thought I was going to call you Potter, my roommate thinks I’m running a telephone scam”

“Who’s Potter?” He said. It wasn’t James, obviously, his voice starkly different. A spark missing in it. 

“Oh-”

“You sound like you were expecting someone else?” 

“N-no it's no one- why are you calling?”

“Why aren’t you here? I just got here” he said, almost in indignation. you glanced at the clock

“It’s been two bloody hours, I went home—” 

“Oh-”

“Yeah… oh”

“I’m sorry sweets, I had things to take care of… I’m sure you can understand that come on”

“And you just thought I’d wait?”

“I thought maybe you’d cut me some slack- you should come… I don’t know maybe I misread you”

You swallowed thickly.

“I don’t know… I just got back”

“How about I go over there then hm” he just wants to get in my pants… you could practically hear your own thoughts… your ears rang

“My roommate’s home-”

“And?” 

You sighed, you felt so stupid.  

“Come on- I'm sure she won’t mind”

“I can ask her…”

“Wicked, I’m on my way yeah?” He hung up before you could refute.

You groaned into your hands, you didn’t know what you wanted anymore. You wondered if you ever did.

You didn’t think you wanted him anymore… you thought of James briefly.

You popped your head out your door

“Would you mind it if someone came over…”

“As long as it’s not that poor excuse of a man then sure I don’t mind-” She said looking over her shoulder casually. “It’s the rat, isn't it? god you never learn”

“He stood me up today Char- I don't know what to do anymore…” you screamed into your hand, you tried swallowing the knot in your throat “He just called asking where I was- I waited for him for over an hour… he basically invited himself over”

“Is that who’s been blowing up your phone the past week?”

“No… that's…” you looked away, “no one,” you needed to call James back

“Why so cagey” she wiggled her eyebrows, “Is it another suitor? Do I know him? Have you guys gone out yet? Why is he calling you every day?”

“Jesus slow down Charlotte- god…” you sighed, leaning against the door frame “It’s just a friend”

She narrowed her eyes, staring at your face

“Good god- you like this friend”

“Charlotte no! I just met him,”

“And?”

“We haven’t even met… properly” 

“But you’ve spent hours on the phone the past couple of days it's him right? you’re paying the difference in the phone bill by the way” she said, you rolled your eyes with a nod

“Maybe- but it doesn’t mean anything okay? It can’t, we are just… becoming friends”

As Charlotte smirked, ready to tease you further there was a knock at the door— she groaned

“I can’t believe you’re letting that disgusting pile of shit in here- Again”

You agreed with her. You did. You couldn’t believe the situation, not how you bent over so easily nor his audacity. You didn’t say anything, you couldn't bear to meet her eyes as you went to answer with a huff.

“Hey, sweets-” You barely opened the door before he pushed his way through. “Ah- Lottie how are you?”

“Detrimental now that you’re here, how about you go terrorize some bar instead of terrorizing my home and my roommate hm?” She bit

He just smirked

“We both know you’re the only one day drinking here- besides I don't hear y/n complaining.”

You knew Charlotte expected you to refute. You stared out the window, you could feel his hand wrap around yours and your roommate sigh. 

You were slowly dragged to your room.

You could hear the TV turn on soon after your door closed. Charlotte turned the volume up to the max again. But you knew this time, there was no humor behind it.

Joshua was not a peculiar man. He was quite bland, a common brand of man you avoided your whole life, too cocky and full of himself, too sure that you along with everyone else wanted him, too much money and not enough responsibilities. He was despicable for all intents and purposes. Never committed, never made good on his word, and never answered the phone unless it served him. But somehow… you found yourself in his web, like a mouse trapped in a glue trap. 

You thought of James again, briefly, fleeting, as Josh pressed his lips against yours. You wondered if James was waiting for your call if he even cared if you called back… 

The phone rang. Loudly, annoyingly. A saving grace. 

You rushed to answer it, James’s voice coming through the other end

“Did you forget to call back or what?” You sighed in relief, a smile instinctively spreading across your lips. 

“Hey-” you sat on your bed, “something like that…” you turned to Josh, as he stared at you dumbly. This is going to be a while- you mouthed. 

He left with a huff. 

tags ; @ilovejamespottersomuch @ravisinghs-wife @hidontmindtheintrovert @stella-thestars @caspiankingofnarnia @lovelyteenagebeard @starkluvrr @hisparentsgallerryy @leilani13gc @katsusayhi @auroresce @lovemiss-vale @alessiaparigim @unconventional-lawnchair @moonydoodlez @eissaaaa @ailoda

permanent tag ; @laufeysvalentine @heyyyloverr

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 106)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/57014356/chapters/158623843

N helped Uzi follow her parents back into their apartment. V being dragged away by Lizzy despite the fact she'd didn't quite look like she wanted to leave just yet.

With Uzi riding on his back and both of his kids tucked into his arms, Bishop asleep and Tera… glaring daggers at Nori like she owed her money.

Khan was taking in the moment, constantly looking over at his wife like he was expected her to poof into dust or for him to wake up from a fever dream.

When he opened the door and let her inside, she stood in the middle of the living room, eyes scanning the apartment before she turned to face them.

“You put all my stuff away.” She observed, her expression nearly unreadable.

“I… you were gone so long…” Khan wilted slightly under her gaze, shuffling his feet.

She laughed, it sounded almost ethereal.

“It's just an observation Khan. Where'd ya put it when you thought I'd kicked it?” She smiled, Khan smiled back, almost love-struck.

He pointed his thumb to the closet door, labeled Nori's Kooky Insane Stuff.

She huffed in amusement. “I made that sign for a specific box, not all my stuff!” Khan smiled sheepishly, shrugging as if saying “I don't know, I thought I'd fit.”

N watched the exchange with a small smile, Uzi watching from his back in a mixture of awe and cringe from watching her parents be all awkward around each other.

Bishop squirmed in Ns arms, making a soft little babble up at him as he squinted his eyes, it got N's attention immediately and he hummed affectionately, bringing him up closer to his visor.

“Hey B, what is it you want buddy?”

Khan blinked from his awkward conversation, turning to look at N, who was placing Uzi on the couch gently.

“Need anything sweet bat?” He asked her, bringing his hand up to cup her cheek, which she leaned into without thinking

“Oil? I lost… a lot, and some cold sounds freaking amazing right now.” She replied, taking Bishop into her arms while N carried Tera on his shoulder.

“On it.” He leaned forward to kiss her forehead before moving off into her old room to find some.

She'd left some here just in case… good thing too, because he was getting low too.

Khan made his way up to Uzi, shuffling his hands together like he was nervous. Uzi rolled her eyes.

“His name is Bishop, Dad. And yes, you can hold him.” She held up the newborn, setting him in his grandfather's arms, he tensed for a moment before relaxing.

“Look at that… he's got white eyelights! Like me!” Khan grinned, brushing some silvery hair out of the little one's visor. “And skipped the pillbaby stage… ehehe.”

Bishop squinted up at him, bringing his tail up to chew on the vial.

“No stinger either…”

“Thankfully. Nanites in your internals don't feel very good… speaking from experience.” Nori commented, making Khan and Uzi look at her with hollowed eyelights.

“What?” Nori replied dumbly.

“Just as blunt as always…” Khan chuckled to himself before Nori came around to his side to look at Bishop too.

She cocked her head, examining him very closely. “Wonder why he didn't get yellow eyes, don't all murder drones have those?”

“He's not just a dissasembly drone though, he's got worker drone too.” Khan hummed, “Maybe he got it from me!” He grinned proudly.

Uzi thought more that Bishop got it from N's worker form. But she let her dad have his moment.

“Hmm.” Nori made a thinking noise, before shaking it off. “Suppose that makes sense.”

“NO!” Tera's indignant shout came from the bedroom, dripping with as much attitude a toddler could possibly have.

“Jellybean… what's the matter?”

“NO!”

N came out of her old bedroom with three oil cans, in one arm, and Tera's kicking, yelling form in the other, she seemed like she didn't want to come back out of Uzi's old bedroom.

“Here…” He handed a can to Nori and Uzi. “I'm not sure what's up with her… she's not usually like this.” He tried to hold Tera in a better position, but she suddenly bit his hand- hard.

“OW! Tera! What has gotten into you!?” He yelped as Tera scurried across the floor back into Uzi's old bedroom with feral hissing all the way.

He sighed. “Maybe she's upset at not being an only child anymore?” N offered, and Nori seemed to agree with him.

“Just a little mad she has to share Mama and Dada's attention now, I think.” She laughed again, covering her mouth as she did.

“It's… a little weird to have a Mu- ahem, a dissasembly drone as a grandson and… son in law.” She admitted, N rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Y-yeah uh…”

Khan jumped when Bishop starts wailing, throwing his balled up little fists around. “Ah… I think someone's hungry.”

He handed him off to Uzi, who chuckled lightly. “He's gonna be oil hungry like his Dad…”

She's laughing, cause otherwise she'd cry, she was gonna go through so much oil…

She filled a bottle N handed to her, and Bishop took it greedily, little fangs digging into the rubber tips as he suckled on it. He quieted as soon as the oil touched his lips, eyelights closing.

“There we go…”

“Your room is still set up to sleep in, I'm sure you're both tired… your mother and I have… a lot to talk about, regardless.” Khan glanced over at Nori, who blushed breifly. “B-bite me Khan!”

“Uh huh… talk.” Uzi hummed with a knowing look, causing Khan to flush himself.

“YES. Talk!” He clarified, raising his finger as his daughter chuckled, nodding as they both walked off towards Khan’s bedroom

N and Uzi both looked at each other, stress on all their features, before N reached down and picks her up, embracing her tightly. “It feels like today has lasted a month…” He admitted, speaking almost directly in her audial.

“Yeah…” Uzi agreed. “Mom's back and… Bishop, Tera.” She chuckled exhausted. “Kinda feels like a fever dream.”

“It's all good things though! Maybe all our bad luck was cashed in for good luck!” N smiled, giggling as he nuzzled Uzi's visor.

“I don’t think that's how luck works… but maybe.” She laughed eyelights dimming a little as a low power warning flickered on her visor.

“Hm, Bedtime then…”

“Carry me?” Uzi suggested, blushing slightly as Bishop curled up in her arms, listening to the core he was nestled inside of for months.

N laughed and kissed her on the forehead. “Course…”

He scooped her up and walked them to the bedroom, placing her on the bed and looking around for a certain squirmy kit.

Tera popped her head out of the pillowcase, to look at her parents, though N hadn't seen her yet, she looked guilty, crawling out to place her head over the hand she'd bitten.

“There she is! You wanna tell me why you're being so bitey?” N hummed, not so much angry about the bite itself, more worried about how out of character it was for her.

She licked the already healed wound. “Sowwry Papa…”

He picks her up “It's not okay to bite, but I'm not mad at you, you won't be in trouble if you tell me why.”

Little Tera furrowed her brow. “Don't feel good…”

N held her a little closer. “You don't feel good? Where?”

“Tummy…” She replied, almost dead quiet. “Lady makes it feel bad.” She finished.

“Lady? You mean Nori? That's just your grandma… why would she make your tummy feel bad?”

Tera shrugged, and made a face N is very familiar with-

“Nonono! Not on the bed!”

“Blegh!” She spilled her guts out. Thankfully out onto the floor and not on the bed, N having moved her in time.

“Aww… poor baby…” He hummed after it's over. When he turned Tera back around though, she still didn't look like she felt better, she was sweating, too warm, and oil still leaking out of her mouth.

She whimpered, holding onto him as she starts to tremble…

“Tera?”

[differentnerddiplomatopera]

you ever just write a short story about queer platonic Odydio where they were best friends for ten years but Diomedes began pulling away because life was way to hard and he was neglecting Odysseus in the process and Odysseus was trying and begging for him to connect but Diomedes was not paying attention at all, so Odysseus finally sends a text, “I can’t waste my energy begging for a minute of your time, goodbye” and that really fucks Diomedes up and then six months later he finds out that Odysseus and Penelope got married and he didn’t know which really REALLY fucks him up because he wanted to be there for them

inhaleeeee

so then six years later, Odysseus and Penelope are on a train ride, tour thing and a steward is like “hey this dude hates his room can he stay with you guys” and it turns out that the guy is Diomedes and instead of being “my best bitch how are you” Odysseus decided to pretend that he doesn’t exist. Like a bitch. Throughout the trip, Diomedes tries to crack Odysseus and make him acknowledge him but Odysseus is just like whoooooo? Then Diomedes corners Odysseus with a chess board and he can’t resist. While they play, Diomedes is like “remember when we played chess the first time we met” and Odysseus is like “dude I have no fucking idea who you are….unless” and then Odysseus breaks finally and is like “hi you little shit what do you want” and Diomedes is like idk, I love you, and Odysseus is like “what the hell is love supposed to do with anything”

they cry like a lot

insert Penelope

she’s talking to Diomedes and is like “you did hurt him. You both deserve healing and peace in life” and Diomedes is crying “I’m so sorryaaauhhhhhh” and Penelope tells him Odysseus and I have a kid and it really hurts when Odysseus talks about Diomedes to Telemachus and he can’t put a face to the name so Penelope asks if he would like to meet him and Diomedes says of course. Soooooo they have dinner and Diomedes is a godfather now yay. Odysseus is like “finally my son met him my conscience is eased” but then Telemachus notices that Odysseus and Diomedes have tension and start spitting bars for a hot second, “stop being afraid, love each other” and they start working on the relationship. SLOWLY AGONIZINGLY SLOW

But they have a car ride and that is like the gate way to fixing all their problems. So they all grow together, Telemachus is married (idk to who) but he has a kid (idk what her name is) but it doesn’t matter because Odysseus is dying

Damn.

so everyone is saying goodbyes and I love yous and all the good stuff and Penelope is like “goodbye my love we will be ok, spend your last moments with your himbo” and he is like “sick, that’s rad” so he and Diomedes have a final chess game and they just talk but they are also trying to draw the match out but unfortunately Odysseus is just that guy and before he wins he makes sure that Diomedes knows he forgives him and Diomedes weeps and gives him a hug and Odysseus dies

Odysseus dies in his arms and doesn’t win the game

whoops so ….

they have a funeral and after the funeral Diomedes is washing dishes when Telemachus gives him something and says it’s from dad and Diomedes opens the small box and it’s a chess piece.

[odyssean-flower]

The Winding Path of Fate Chapter 17 - Summer: In the Moonlight

Masterpost

Pairing: Neuvillette x Female Reader Summary: Your sister's birthday ball begins, but a surprise guest arrives...

Note: If you want to be on the taglist for this fic, please make a reply to this post, send a message or send a private ask

Have a picture of Neuvillette with this little baby

Previous | Next

The first drops of precipitation landed on Neuvillette’s face. It took him a second to register it before he looked up at the grey skies.

“Aah...” he let out a sigh. While the rain and damp air soothed his mind, it also brought a heaviness to his mind. I should try to restrain myself for today. A birthday party should be a cheerful occasion, with sunny weather and clear skies.

Besides, he didn’t want to disappoint you more than he already did.

The trials had proceeded faster than he expected, though it was now late afternoon. They were mostly over petty offences and disputes. Even the Oratrice seemed to issue its verdicts a little quicker than usual, as though it was also impatient to get the day over with.

And now he was back at the Palais, standing in a corner outside the doors. He absentmindedly watched the people rushing about, looking for shelter from the rain.

He closed his eyes and tried to calm his mind, imagining the flat surface of the sea. It seemed to work somewhat, but the sky remained leaden.

Throughout the centuries of his existence, Neuvillette had learned a few methods to settle his emotions after a trial. One of them was to distract himself with work, which was why he returned to his office even though he technically had the rest of the day to himself. He could have also returned home, but with Marie visiting family and you away for the whole day, the thought of going back to an empty, silent house seemed almost unbearable.

Yet another oddity that he noticed within himself recently. He usually relished quiet and solitude.

Shaking his head slightly, he entered the Palais and greeted Sedene before heading into his office, where he was met with a surprise but very welcome guest.

“Monsieur Neuvillette!” Sigewinne, the head nurse of Meropide, waved her hand merrily at him from the couch. Feeling  his mind lighten considerably at the mere sight of her, he strode over to her quickly. There was a tray of tea and cakes in front of her.

“Sigewinne, what a pleasant surprise. I did not know that you had a day off today.”

“Hee hee, I wanted to keep it a surprise!” she bounced over to him with two small boxes. “The Duke also sends his greetings, as well as two boxes of tea.”

“How generous of him. Give him my thanks when you return,” Neuvillette accepted the boxes and studied them. He recognized them as black tea leaves from a high-end brand. He could smell the fragrance of the tea leaves even through the packaging.

“The Duke says he’s giving you two so that you’ll have more to share with Madame. Oh, actually, he said ‘your friend.’ Don’t worry, Monsieur Neuvillette, I didn’t breathe a word about who Madame is to you. I doubt he knows anything.”

Neuvillette raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t pursue it any further. I suppose it’s alright if it’s Wriothesley, he thought. He is not the type of person to engage in idle gossip.

“He also says that he hopes Madame will like it, and that if she doesn’t, then feel free to ask him for another variety from his collection,” Sigewinne added.

“I do think she would enjoy it,” Neuvillette assured her, though he wondered about it. He didn’t believe he saw you drinking tea very much, except during the meeting with Furina. He did, however, remember seeing you drink Fonta on numerous occasions (it appears his endeavours to introduce you to the many varieties of water hadn’t yet borne fruit). Perhaps you preferred sweeter beverages. He tried to recall the pantry back home. Do we have enough sugar cubes or milk?

“Monsieur Neuvillette?” his musings were interrupted by Sigewinne’s voice. She was gazing up at him in confusion, her face tilted slightly.

Neuvillette shook his head, clearing it. “Pardon me, I was lost in my thoughts.” he said, then followed her to the couch, where they engaged in their usual conversation, which inevitably ended in her listening to his water commentary.

“Oh, by the way, Monsieur Neuvillette I really am looking forward to the sunflower viewing party in a few weeks. I can’t wait to finally meet Madame!” Sigewinne said after he finished talking about the properties of water from Mondstadt’s Cider Lake. “She sounds wonderful from what you’ve said of her. Did she come and watch your trials today? Has she already gone home? I don’t see her with you...”

“No...no, actually, she is currently attending her sister’s birthday party back home.”

“Oh, I see...” Sigewinne peered at his face, then glanced out the window. The rain seemed to have stopped completely, but there was no sign of the sun either. She suddenly turned back to peer into his face. “You must miss her.”

“Miss her? No, of course not. She will only be away until tomorrow,” Neuvillette said, almost automatically. But it was the truth. Besides, it was not as though he saw you every second of every day. In fact, it was rather common for him to only see you in the morning and at night. It should not be any different for this time, except for the fact that you would not be at home to greet him when he returned, or bid him good night or good morning...

Before I knew it, I’ve come to expect these things...

“Oh dear,” Sigewinne remarked as thunder rumbled. “Monsieur Neuvillette, how about we take a stroll through the streets? I’ve been wanting to check out the new beauty products on sale anyways.”

“Yes, let us do so,” Neuvillette agreed, then stood up. Guilt welled up within him. He didn’t feel himself lately, and he was letting it affect his emotional state far too much. He was even making Sigewinne worried about him.

Suddenly, an idea popped into his mind. “While we’re out, allow me to introduce you to a new drink called an ice cream soda. Madame introduced it to me yesterday. The flavor is quite intriguing. I do think you’ll like it.”

“Ooh, if you’re saying that, then I have to try it!” Sigewinne clapped her hands together excitedly.

A short time later, the two of them walked out of the ice cream shop with their drinks in hand, leaving behind astonished employees and gawking patrons. They sat down at a table in the back. Thankfully, the surrounding tables were empty due to the bad weather.

“This is good,” Sigewinne commented after she took a sip. “I especially love the fizzy soda bubbles. I’m going to tell the others about this later. ...Monsieur Neuvillette, what’s wrong? Your brow is furrowed. Do you not like yours?”

“No, that’s not it...” Neuvillette murmured, staring at his soda. How peculiar. He was sure he had ordered the same flavor you had bought for him. It tasted the same as well. He could tell that objectively, nothing had changed. But what was this sense of wrongness. Is it the soda, perhaps? Did the shop change the variety they used today? Should I inquire about it?

Neuvillette glanced at the shop entrance, which now had a line of people stretching out of it, and decided against it. The staff should not waste their precious time on his trivial question.

He turned back to Sigewinne, who was watching him closely. “There is nothing wrong with my drink, exactly. It is just that it doesn’t quite taste the same as it had yesterday, even though it is the same drink.”

“That is strange...” Sigewinne tilted her small head to the side, as if in thought. “It’s unlikely they would change the recipe in just a day, right? Maybe Madame asked them to add a little something extra. You should ask her.”

“Perhaps I shall,” Neuvillette nodded, then took another sip of his soda. It wasn’t just his imagination--it really did taste different. It had been so hot yesterday. Perhaps that affected things.

All he knew was that the sweetness of the ice cream soda you bought him lingered in his mouth for the whole day.

“What I mean is, Monsieur Neuvillette, you should go and ask Madame now.”

Neuvillette blinked. “Now?” he repeated.

Sigewinne nodded vigorously. “Uh-huh. We both know that you can reach the other side of Fontaine in just a few minutes, and Sedene told me before that you don’t have anything important scheduled for the rest of the day.”

“That’s true, but...I cannot simply show up at her family’s home unexpectedly for such a trivial reason. It will only draw unnecessary attention, and it is already so terribly late in the day...”

He found himself making excuses one after the other. They sounded empty to his ears, even though there was sound reason behind them.

He was no stranger to the clash between emotion and logic--it was something he struggled with all too often. This was no exception. He didn’t understand why that brief look of disappointment had flashed across your face when you asked him if he would like to accompany you to the birthday party. Surely you knew that it was better for you two to not be seen together too much. He did not understand why you had asked him in the first place, nor why the first thing on the tip of his tongue was to say “Yes,” nor why your subsequent justification for his sake had stung him.

If he went to you right now, would he find the answers to those questions?

“Monsieur Neuvillette...” Sigewinne crossed her arms. “It seems to me like you’re making excuses for yourself. If I invited you to my party, I would be happy that you showed up no matter how late. But if you’re worried about it, then...” she rummaged through her bag and took out a small vial. “Here! Give this to Madame’s sister.”

Neuvillette took the vial and examined the label. “A skin serum?”

“I made it myself! Skincare is all the rage among young ladies of the Court these days. Tell her that it’s from me. Everyone loves receiving gifts on their birthday, after all, so maybe this will help soften the blow of your lateness.”

“I’m still not sure if I should take leave for such an inconsequential matter,” Neuvillette hesitated, even as his mind was calculating the time it would take to go from the Court to your hometown near the mountains in the northeast. I do think I’ll be able to get there before dark. “What if an emergency comes up?”

“The Gardes can handle anything,” Sigewinne assured him. “And I don’t think it’s inconsequential at all! You were invited as a guest. I’m sure your presence there will make everyone very happy, including Madame.”

“If you say so, Sigewinne, then I suppose I could stop by for a little bit and give your present,” Neuvillette was already standing up. “I do apologize that I can’t spend more time with you today.”

“Don’t worry! We’ll see each other again at the sunflower viewing party at your house,” Sigewinne smiled at him. “I can’t wait to meet Madame.”

“I feel the same way. She would be delighted to meet you as well,” he said, and meant every word of it.

After saying his goodbyes, he quickly strode away, back to the Palais. I have to write a note of absence for Furina first, and then collect some things. What sort of water would be appropriate for a birthday party, I wonder...

“Monsieur Neuvillette is already very cute, but he’s gotten even more adorable lately,” Sigewinne murmured to herself as she observed the sun breaking through the dense clouds at last.

It was well into the evening now, and the ball was in full swing.

For an event planned on such short notice, you had to admit it turned out quite well. The large assembly-hall, with its floor-to-ceiling windows and glittering chandelier, was festooned with colorful flowers and garlands. There was even a small orchestra playing music, which relieved you of piano duty. The bulk of it was thanks to Dominic’s generosity, though you suspected that it was much out of a desire to throw a ball as it was due to his affection for your sister.

The guests dressed in accordance to the instructions on their invitations--everywhere you looked, you saw flowers in buttonholes, pinned to chests, and tucked under hair ribbons.

You, as well, was wearing a Pluie Lotus in your hair, which was tied up in a bun. You were wearing the old ballgown you had worn previous months ago, as the dress you had brought with you originally was more suited for a tea party than a ball. Justine had been quite incensed. “The next time I see him, I’m definitely going to tell him to buy you a closet full of gowns,” she declared.

The birthday girl was, of course, the center of attention. Right now, she was dancing with Dominic, her blithe laughter reaching the veranda where you were resting. The bottom of her skirts occasionally lifted off the floor, showing off her new shoes. You had given her your present before heading out to the assembly-hall, and she had wrapped you in a tight embrace and showered you with a profusion of thank-yous.

She and Dominic appeared to have grown even closer in the months since you last saw them together. He seemed to hold a genuine affection for her. It wouldn’t shock you if they ended up engaged to each other by the end of the year. That was certainly what your mother was hoping for. Though, from what you gathered from her conversations with her friends, there was some opposition from Dominic’s relatives, who looked down on your family’s small fortune and lack of connections.

Hmm, come to think of it, did she mean for me to overhear that part?

You were mostly busy with helping your mother coordinate the servants and helping with the guests (despite the fact that this was supposed to be a celebration for you as well), but you had already danced your fair share with two of Dominic’s friends, who quickly became popular with the young ladies in attendance. It wasn’t hard to see why--they were handsome and amiable. Even you thought that if you had met them a few years ago, you probably would have fallen in love with them by the end of the night.

You weren’t wild for dancing like Justine and her friends, but it was nice to enjoy it for once without having the ever-present burden of searching for potential husbands on your mind.

Surprisingly, you were enjoying yourself. The refreshments were tasty, the atmosphere was relaxing, and the company, which consisted mainly of your few relatives, family friends, and your sister’s many friends and their families, was similarly pleasant. Most people here were under the impression that you moved to the city in order to take part in the social season. Now, if only your best friend Anne were here, it would all be just perfect...

You leaned against the banister and tilted your head back, gazing up at the bright moon. You were enjoying yourself, yes, but being around family friends and neighbors always had an odd way of tiring you out faster than climbing the hills near the town or trekking all the way to the ruins.

I wonder what’s he doing right now...

The thought was accompanied by a twinge of guilt. In Fontaine, dancing was considered a social activity much like going to the theater. There was nothing inherently romantic about it, and this was a ball, after all--it was to be expected. Besides, it was the perfect chance for networking. In your future line of work, forming connections was everything. And...why does it feel like I’m justifying cheating?

You shook your head to clear it. Really, the only incriminating thing here was that you were at a ball without Neuvillette’s knowledge, and even that was debatable. And I am planning on telling him about all of this after I come home.

As a part of her harebrained scheme to “make Monsieur Neuvillette jealous,” Justine took pictures of you when you danced. You told her that there was no way that a mature and levelheaded man like him would get jealous over the horrible transgression of you dancing at a ball held by your own family, but she dismissed your objections. “My romance intuition is saying otherwise,” she said, and that was that. She, like your mother, was also a voracious reader of romance novels. “Once I get them developed, I’ll send them to him.”

Honestly, you had no idea what went on in that girl’s mind sometimes. You made a mental note to apologize to Neuvillette in advance once you returned.

“Aah...” you let out a yawn, feeling strangely tired. It felt like centuries since you participated in a function with so many people. Having to talk to so many people and smile and remember what you talked about with them last time...it felt uncanny and surreal to do those things. It was like putting on an old sweater after a long period of time but finding that it didn’t fit quite right. At least they lost interest after you mostly gave them vague, noncommittal answers.

It’s like one of those old tales where the protagonist returns home after spending half the year in fairyland and finds herself unable to cope with her mundane life.

As soon as that thought flitted across your mind, you laughed at yourself. What a ridiculous comparison!You had simply grown too accustomed to living in Neuvillette’s quiet house and only going out when you felt like it.

To everyone here, you were still the plain and taciturn baron’s daughter, and you had no desire to change that impression. There was comfort in being who everyone thought you were and not straying from it. But there was a small part of you that wondered just what would happen if you told everyone that you were the Iudex’s wife. You were almost tempted, just to see their reactions. The keyword was “almost.”

You had never carried a secret like this before. It was nerve-wracking, thrilling, and also lonely. It felt like there was yet another bubble separating you from everyone else--protective, yes, but also tempting to exult in the excitement of popping it before having to deal with the consequences.

One of your favorite novel series as a child had been about an unassuming young lady who moonlighted as a brilliant detective. You had often wondered why she let herself almost get caught in nearly every installment--well now, you felt that you understood a little.

Maybe this is why masquerade balls are so popular these days? Maybe I could suggest to Justine about holding one for her next birthday. Hmm, I wonder if she’d be married by then...

You glanced over at the ballroom, where Justine and Dominic were laughing together. He seemed like a good-hearted young man who clearly had a lot of affection for your sister. As a choice of husband, he was quite adequate. Judging from the conversations you overheard, most of the guests agreed with you on that.

“My dear niece, here you are!” a harried-looking woman rushed towards you with three young children in tow. It was your aunt Cecile and her triplets. She was your mother’s younger sister. “I must go to the ladies’ room for a bit. Please watch over the children for me!”

“Sure,” you nodded, and she immediately left. You had a feeling she was going to be in the ladies’ room for a while.

You looked at the six-year-old triplets, who looked back at you with big, rounded eyes. They were two boys and one girl, and could be quite a handful. Their father was currently abroad on a business trip, so you pitied your aunt all the more.

“Cousin, when’s supper?” the oldest boy, Albert, asked you, tugging on the hem of his vest.

“Very soon,” you assured him. Honestly, you were wondering the same thing.

Albert frowned, and his siblings let out grumbles. To prevent something truly disastrous from happening, you took out three chocolate bonbons from your pocket. “Here you go,” you dropped the candies into their palms. Their eyes lit up, and they quickly stuffed the sweets into their mouths. You had been saving them for yourself, but this was a worthy sacrifice.

“I like your socks, Adrien,” you nodded at the ankles of the second-oldest boy. His blue socks clashed horribly with his suit, which meant that he probably threw a tantrum to keep them all. “Are those blue wavy things snakes?”

“Nope, this is the Hydro Dragon!” he wiggled his feet. “Auntie knitted them for me.” 

“I see,” you said. He was referring to your mother, whose skill in needlework was renowned in town. Knitting was her specialty, and it was something you could never quite the hang of, despite many attempts. “You’re still interested in the Hydro Dragon?” 

“Uh-huh. Could you show us your drawings again later? I really like the one with the giant fangs and horns.” 

“Alright, but only if you promise not to rip them out of my sketchbook this time.” 

“The Hydro Dragon’s a boring old crybaby. I’d much rather meet an Oceanid. They’re so much prettier, and they don’t make it rain every time they cry. It’s raining every day now and I hardly have the chance to play outside,” the youngest girl, Aimee, declared. 

“It has been raining a lot lately,” you agreed, but thought of Neuvillette again. He evidently had power over rain, even if he wouldn’t admit it to you—why wouldn’t he stop it? “But don’t you think calling it a ‘boring old crybaby’ will hurt its feelings and make it cry even more?” 

Aimee gasped upon hearing that and quickly looked up at the sky. There were clouds drifting across the moon. Would it rain tonight? One could never be quite sure these days. 

Just as you ushered the children back in, the bell for supper rang. Finally!  

The banquet hall was set up self-served buffet-style. The menu consisted of roast chicken, lamb ribs, salad, and Justine’s favorite desserts—ice jellies and cupcakes. The triple-layered cake was, of course, the centerpiece. You had to restrain the triplets from running over to it. 

Best of all, there was champagne. You sorely needed a drink. 

Aunt Cecile eventually returned, and as it turned out, you were sharing a table with her, the triplets, and one of Dominic’s friends whose name you didn’t know, for you hadn’t been introduced to him yet. He gave one look at the triplets and heaved an annoyed sigh and plopped down in his chair. Well, they can’t all be winners, you thought.  

For the next hour of supper, you busied yourself with helping Aunt Cecile feed the triplets, pouring tea, and going around the tables asking after everyone. The supper was delicious, and the cake, as expected, was very popular and quickly finished. Luckily, you had saved two slices beforehand for Neuvillette and Marie.  

Dominic’s friend didn’t say a word to any of you as he ate his food. You had heard him quietly scoff at the old but well-polished cutlery and china. His sour mood was so palpable that even the triplets, who had no shyness when it came to talking to strangers, visibly shrunk away from him. Honestly, why was he even here? 

In any case, after supper, there was more dancing. Slower dances this time, which means that it was time for you to head for the bench. I wish I brought a book...well, Mother will kill me if she saw me with one, though.

You stretched your arms and fingers, feeling sleepy. Truthfully, you really wanted to crawl into bed now, but there were still a few more hours to go until the ball ended.  

As you were doing so, a conversation between Dominic and your disagreeable tablemate caught your ear.  

“Gabriel, you should dance more. This is a ball, after all. I’m sure your mood will be much lifted if you danced with someone here. Everyone here is so cheerful and agreeable. Haven’t your parents been nagging you to find someone lately?” Dominic was talking to his friend, whose name was apparently Gabriel. Considering their vastly different personalities, you wondered just how their friendship started. 

“I highly doubt I would be able to find a suitable match among this crowd. I think it would be better for me to take my leave. Inform the hosts for me.” 

“Come on, just one more dance. You've only danced with Miss Justine so far, so...” Uh oh, you thought as Dominic looked around, inching backwards toward the piano. Unfortunately, you were too slow—his eyes alighted upon you, and he broke into a smile. “Ah, Miss [Name], just the person I wanted to see. Let me introduce you to a good friend of mine.” 

You reluctantly went over to them. Dominic’s friend’s frown deepened as he recognized you. “Miss [Name], this sullen man next to me is my cousin and friend Gabriel. Gabriel, this is Miss Justine’s sister,” Dominic said. 

“A pleasure,” you said, curtsying and trying your best to sound genuine. You had to keep up appearances for your sister’s sake.  

“Mine as well,” Gabriel said, bowing. He scrutinized you. “You don’t resemble your sister very much,” he commented with a barely concealed sneer.  

“So I’ve heard,” you said, keeping the smile on your face and looking straight into his eyes. Such insinuations had long stopped bothering you, and if some uppity snob thought that he could hurt your feelings so easily, then he had another thing coming.

“Now then, I think it would be delightful if the two of you got to know each other through dancing. I’d wager that you get along quite well. After all, both of you love reading thick, lengthy books. What do you say, Miss [Name]?” You didn’t know if Dominic was too good-natured to hear the insult in his friend’s words, or if he was trying to breeze past it.

Gabriel stared at you. You could tell what he was thinking. He wanted you to decline. So he’s enough of a gentleman in that aspect, huh, you mused.

“I’d be delighted to dance. It does make for some good exercise after that wonderful meal,” you smiled at Dominic. Gabriel made a sound in his throat, but his feelings hardly mattered to you.

He led you to the dance floor, holding your hand between his fingers like he was holding a dirty rag. You would be more offended if you didn’t find it so amusing. Maybe you were a little lightheaded from the champagne. No wonder he’s having trouble finding a wife, if he can’t even perform the most basic of courtesies, you thought, holding back a smile.

Of course, considering how you were in a similar situation not too long ago (and technically, still in), perhaps you shouldn’t be quick to mock him. Still, I would like to think that my etiquette is far better than his.

The dance began. Much to your annoyance, he was quite a good dancer, though lacking passion. Neither of you said a word as you spun around to the music. It was supposed to be his responsibility to start the conversation anyway.

“...So, you like books?” he said after five minutes of complete silence.

“Yes,” you said simply. As far as you were concerned, he could do all the work here.

“What’s your favorite book? Let me guess, for a lady like you, it’d be some lowbrow romance like The Lochknight’s Passion, right?”

He wasn’t even pretending to be gentlemanly anymore. Once again, you wondered how someone as warm-hearted and friendly as Dominic became friends with someone like him, even if they were cousins. Honestly, you didn’t even like The Lochknight’s Passion all that much, but you suddenly felt a fervent need to defend it.

“I beg your pardon, but I don’t see what’s so lowbrow about The Lochknight’s Passion. It may not be the most profound piece of literature in the world, but its prose is beautiful, and the author has clearly done extensive research into the era.”

Gabriel snorted. “You don’t read a lot, do you? It might have some decent, crowd-pleasing lines here and there for a romance, but it is still nothing but saccharine nonsense.”

Your partner, taking your silence for abashment, continued. “Romance novels are a waste of paper and ink. They are nothing more than formulaic drivel penned to satisfy the masses’ base desires and lower the collective intellect. True literature challenges, reveals, and exposes. Romance novels do nothing but coddle. It appears that Fontaine is far behind Sumeru in this aspect.”

For someone who professed to despise romance novels so much, he sure did have a lot to say about them. You, of course, didn’t voice that thought.

“Sumeru?” you repeated.

“Indeed. As a Dastur of Haravatat--the school of semiotics and linguistics, if you don’t know--I have the good fortune of being exposed to so many truly sublime works of literature and being a part of an institution that actively promotes them to the populace. I pity Fontainians in that aspect.”

“So, what kind of books do you like?”

“Philosophical treatises, poetry collections, historical texts. I am rather fond of The Fall of the Faded Castle, I suppose.”

You frowned. The Fall of the Faded Castle was one of your favorite works as well, and you also enjoyed reading history books. But the last thing you wanted to do right now was to agree with him.

You and Gabriel eventually neared the doors. He was still talking. Well, more like monologuing. All you did was nod and say “uh-huh.” Archons, this dance felt like it was going on forever. If only Anne were here. She loves ridiculous things...

Peals of laughter caught your ear. It came in the direction of your sister, who was sitting on a couch and surrounded by her friends. She had her legs stretched in front of her as she admired her shoes again.

Gabriel had turned his head towards her as well. His eyes narrowed in disapproval. “Who gave those shoes to her? I know it wasn’t Dominic. Surely they aren’t from another gentleman caller?”

“They’re from a family friend,” you lied smoothly. It was technically the truth, anyways.

Gabriel gave you a probing look. You calmly looked back at him.

“If you say so. But, I would suggest that your sister make it clear in the future if she is entertaining more than one gentleman caller. It would be terrible if a misunderstanding were to occur. It’s so easy for frivolous, flighty girls like her to ruin their reputations.”

He didn’t sound as though he thought it would be terrible at all. Was he one of the relatives who opposed the potential engagement?

But more than that, he had insulted your sister. Okay, I don’t care about being polite anymore. He’s going down!

Just then, the doors opened slightly, and the doorman slipped through with a look of barely concealed alarm on his face. He briskly strode towards your parents, whispering something urgently to them. Identical expressions of shock appeared on their faces.

A few moments later, your parents headed your way with the doorman. “My sincerest apologies, Mr. Gabriel,” your father said. “But I’m afraid that I must ask you to relinquish my daughter for a few moments.”

Gabriel sniffed contemptuously, but obliged. You hastily curtsied to him, feeling a sense of foreboding in your chest.

As you went to the door with your father and the doorman, your mother joined up with you, Justine in tow. She also looked confused.

Once you were in the lobby, the doorman led your family to a small sitting room. “He’s waiting in here,” he informed you, then quickly took his leave.

Oh no, oh no, oh no...

You should have known the moment you saw the doorman’s face.

“Neuvillette!” you blurted out without thinking. “What are you doing here?”

“Sweetheart, mind your tone,” your mother scolded, but it was automatic and half-hearted. She was also gaping at the tall figure standing by the mantelpiece, like the rest of your family.

He turned to face you. He was holding a package in his arms. When his gaze landed on you, his eyes seemed to widen slightly. Maybe it was just a trick of the light.

“Good evening, everyone,” he inclined his head. Your family, having gotten over their shock, hastily bowed and curtsied. “I do apologize for my unannounced late visit. I went to your residence first, but your housekeeper informed me of the change of plans, and it took me some time to find the assembly-hall. I am here to deliver a birthday present on behalf of a friend of mine to Miss Justine.”

He proceeded to take out a small vial with a bow tied around it and presented it to your sister. Justine didn’t look at it--she was still staring at his face, her expression a mixture of disbelief and elation. She was trembling slightly. You had almost forgotten about her huge, unbridled admiration for him. Where has that bravado from earlier gone?

“This is a handmade skin serum from my friend, Sigewinne,” he informed her when she didn’t say anything for a few moments. “She also wishes you a most joyous and wonderful birthday.”

Justine still didn’t react. Fearing that she was having an internal freakout, you nudged her gently. That seemed to shake her out of it. She held out her trembling hands and accepted the vial, which she clasped to her chest.

“Oh...oh, oh, thank you so very much, Monsieur Neuvillette! And to Miss Sigewinne as well! What a wonderful, thoughtful gift. I love skincare items,” she babbled quickly. “I will treasure this gift for the rest of my life. A-And, I do apologize for the abrupt change in plans. Had I known that you were coming, I would have never held this ball in the first place.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. It is all due to my own capriciousness for coming here despite stating otherwise.”

“It’s no matter. We can adapt. First, we’ll announce your visit to everyone. They would all be delighted by your presence,” your mother clapped her hands cheerfully. No doubt, she was thinking of all the ways she could lord this over her friends for the next few years.

“I’m afraid that I will not be staying for long. I only meant to give Miss Justine the present and take my leave after.”

“You’re leaving already? But you just got here,” Justine exclaimed. “We would love to have you stay.”

“Neuvillette has had a busy day already, and I’m sure he’ll be very busy tomorrow. Besides, you know he doesn’t attend social functions like this very often,” you reminded her, even as your mind reeled. You couldn’t quite believe that Neuvillette travelled all the way here just to drop off a present.

There had to be something else going on. It was better to get it over with now rather than later. Waiting in dread was the worst feeling in the world.

Neuvillette, sensing your gaze, turned to you. You observed him carefully. You could sense something like reservation, an unspoken thought, dwelling in the depths of his eyes.

It was in that moment that you knew. He was here for you.

The thought gave rise to a strange, ticklish feeling in your chest.

You turned to your family. “Could you all please give us some privacy?”

Justine pouted, but your father was already leading her to the door. “Come now, dear, leave your sister and her husband alone.”

She begrudgingly followed him, but then ran back to you. “Ask him to stay! He’ll listen if you ask him to,” she whispered into your ear before getting dragged off by your parents.

As soon as the door closed, you quickly led Neuvillette to the corner furthest away from it. You knew your sister well enough to expect that she would be attempting to eavesdrop.

“So, what is it? Did something happen?” you peered up at him, trying to read his expression.

“What do you mean?” his brow furrowed.

“You came here personally to tell me something, didn’t you? It must be serious if it couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

“It is nothing of the sort. I genuinely did want to give your sister Sigewinne’s present.”

“You could have simply sent it by mail. Justine wouldn’t have cared if it was late. She’d treasure anything you give her.”

“I could not do that,” Neuvillette said in protest. “A birthday present should be given in person, especially if it is for someone as important as your sister.”

It was just like him to say something like that.

“But that isn’t the only reason why you came here, right? You want to tell me something, don’t you?” you looked him in the eye. “Come on, tell me. Or it will torment me all night until I return to the city tomorrow.”

“...I can never hide anything from you, can I?” he murmured after a pause, then cleared his throat. “I had a rather trivial question that I wished to ask you, but seeing as how there had been an abrupt change of plans this evening, I deemed that it would be more suitable to ask it at a later time.”

Neuvillette took another pause after saying that. He seemed to be trying to find the right words. You waited patiently.

When he spoke again, his question caught you completely off guard. “Were you...disappointed when I initially declined the invitation to your sister’s birthday celebration?”

“I beg your pardon?” You couldn’t quite understand his words at first.

He repeated the question, then added, “I apologize for involving you in my own personal quandaries. It has been bothering me for some time. I understand if you do not wish to answer my question.”

Quandary? This is a quandary for him? Just when you thought you understood Neuvillette a little, he did or say something that made you realize you didn’t really know him at all.

Still, he seemed as serious about this as he was about everything else. You had meet him on that level, at least.

You strained your mind, recalling that day in your bedroom. It felt like an eternity had passed since then, even though it was only a few days (you still weren’t sure if you should tell your family about the meeting with Furina. In all honesty, it wasn’t something you wanted to revisit).

“I suppose I was a little. I don’t really know why I even asked in the first place, and I should have checked your schedule beforehand. I’m sorry if I gave you mixed signals. Well, considering that the private tea party was changed last minute to a ball, I think it was for the best.”

The furrow between Neuvillette’s brows deepened. It appeared that he wasn’t quite satisfied with your answer. His violet eyes bore into yours, searching their depths. You suddenly had the feeling that you were on trial, being compelled to tell the truth.

“I...I also thought it would be nice to show you around my hometown,” you admitted in a smaller voice. “Since you showed me your favorite places, I thought I might show you mine.”

Neuvillette was silent for a few moments. A rush of embarrassment flooded your chest, and you looked down awkwardly at the carpet.

“I see, so that’s why.” Something in how he said those words made you look up. His head was turned away slightly, and his hand was lifted to his mouth. Without knowing why, your heart beat a little faster. He turned to look at you again. “Then it is truly a shame that I came too late. Perhaps another time, then?”

“Sure,” you nodded quickly, even as you wondered when--or if--that time would ever come. “Um, is that all?”

“No, there is something else I wish to ask you,” Neuvillette clasped his hands together, a grave look on his face. You braced yourself for yet another quandary.

“Do you enjoy tea?”

“What?”

“I am asking this because I was recently given two boxes of black tea from a friend of mine, but I do not know if it is the sort you like, or if you like tea at all.”

He’s just full of surprises, isn’t he?

“I like tea well enough,” you answered. It was a staple at your household, like most Fontainian families. You preferred drinking chocolate or Fonta far more, though you didn’t say that out loud. “I especially prefer it with sugar cubes and biscuits.”

“Sugar cubes and biscuits...” Neuvillette repeated, as though making a mental note to himself. “I shall ask Marie to buy those items at once.”

“I’m looking forward to trying the tea, then,” you said. “So, um, does that mean you’ll be returning now?”

“Yes, I suppose I am,” he nodded.

“But it’s such a late hour to be making that journey all the way home...”

“I can manage. Do not worry about me, Madame, and focus on enjoying your evening.”

Neuvillette probably commanded his own personal vessel, but it had rained recently and the winds over the sea could get cold. The round trip between here and the city took hours. If he had rushed here right after the trials were over, then did he even have the time to eat dinner?

All those thoughts flooded through your mind at that moment.

And besides...imagining him going home alone in the dark...seems so terribly lonely.

Ask him to stay, Justine’s whisper returned to you. You tried in vain to push it aside.

Neuvillette’s face was impassive. He was watching you expectantly, as though he was waiting for you to say something. Or as though he wanted you to say something. Maybe you were just projecting your own desires onto him.

But did that mean you wanted him to stay?

You weren’t sure. There were a hundred reasons why that would be a bad idea. A hundred different scenarios where things could go wrong. And yet, and yet...

A bag on the table caught your eye. You opened it and found that it contained two bottles of pure, refreshing water.

“Oh, did you bring that for us?” The bottles had no labels on them, but months of listening to his water lectures had familiarized you with his collection. “This is pure water distilled from mountain snow melt, right?”

“Yes, it is. I know it is not the most suitable beverage for a ball,” he said quickly. He seemed almost embarrassed. “I only chose it on the assumption that I will be attending a tea party. If I had known earlier, I would have chosen heated water from Natlan, or the rich waters of Fontaine’s waterfalls.”

“Pfft!” you smothered a laugh. He seemed so genuinely apologetic that it was clear that he had been fretting over this quite a bit. I really don’t understand what goes on in his mind at all, you thought, a rush of warmth flooding your chest. You suddenly had the urge to pat his head.

“Madame?” Neuvillette’s eyes widened. I know I don’t smile very often, but does he really have to react like that?

“It’s nothing,” you said, trying to keep a straight face, and cleared your throat. “Actually, Neuvillette, your water would be a great boon to us, even if it is unsuitable for a ball. The only beverages available are champagne and this homemade punch made by my mother’s friend that tastes like grass. There wasn’t even any Fonta.”

“How dreadful,” he remarked. You couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or not.

I can’t believe I’m doing this. “Neuvillette, do you have any plans for the rest of the night? Do you need to go to work early tomorrow?”

“I do not,” Neuvillette shook his head. He still seemed to be waiting. Or maybe he genuinely was oblivious as to what you were about to ask.

“I see, then...” you took in a breath, feeling strangely nervous even though this should be the most natural, obvious thing in the world. “Then you should attend the ball. My sister...no, everyone, including me, would love to have you there.”

Neuvillette was silent. Did he need more convincing? Should you be doing more convincing? He was probably confused by you asking this in the first place, knowing how secret your relationship must remain. There was nothing logical about this. It was the complete opposite of that.

But you once made a promise to be honest to yourself and live your life accordingly. You weren’t sure you were fulfilling that promise correctly, but you had a strange feeling that this was part of it.

The logical, rational, proper thing to do would be to agree with him and send him back to your house to rest for the night.

But I’m a little sick of always being logical, rational, and proper. And I think...Neuvillette might just feel the same way.

After all, he could have taken his leave right after you answered his questions.

“Neuvillette, first, I want you to know that you’re free to leave at any time. We’ll just say you have important Iudex business to attend to. Who can question that? You can go to my house, where our housekeeper, Mrs. Bernard, will take good care of you. We have a detached guesthouse as well, so there’s no need to worry about privacy. No, wait, you should wait here so that you can ride our carriage home after the ball ends. But you are staying the night. There is no question about that. If you’re worried about people talking to the media about your presence here, then I wholeheartedly support you making everyone sign confidentiality agreements. But I do think you should dance at least once with my sister. She...admires you greatly, and it would make her whole year, maybe even decade, if she had the opportunity to dance with you. And, um, if you want, you can tell everyone about the water you brought. No one here has ever drank mountain snow melt water before. We get all our water from the wells. ” You were aware that you were rambling. That seemed to happen with an irregularly common frequency with Neuvillette. “Umm...oh, and it would be good for you to mingle with your people and all that. Lady Furina would approve, I’m sure. And--”

“Yes, I shall attend the ball,” Neuvillette uncharacteristically interrupted you. You could hear the mirth in his voice. “You’ve made some very convincing arguments, Madame, but you need only have said that you wanted me here. I am merely thankful that you don’t find my presence here distressing.”

“That would never happen,” you said, aghast, and found that you did mean it. Perhaps if it were anyone else, you would have been highly annoyed. But it was simply too difficult to be angry at Neuvillette. “Actually, I should thank you for showing up. I was in a foul mood not too long ago because of my dance partner. ...Oh, I’ll tell you about him later. And, um, I should apologize for...um, dancing with other men behind your back.”

“Why should you apologize for dancing at a ball? It is not your fault that the ball was already planned without your knowledge.”

“Yes, but still, I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings. I removed my ring as well, after all,” you said, staring awkwardly at the painting frame behind him, even as you thought, See, Justine, this is how a mature man behaves!

“Then I shall do the same,” he said. You watched as he took off his right glove, revealing long, slender fingers, the silver ring glinting on his ring finger. For some reason, you felt you had to look away.

“I am worried that I’m not dressed appropriately for the occasion,” Neuvillette mused after he tucked his ring in his breast pocket and put his glove back on, looking down at his robes. More like he’s overdressed. But that reminded of you something.

Spying a vase of fresh flowers in the room, you headed toward it and took out a Rainbow Rose.

“Neuvillette, let me help you put this in your lapel’s buttonhole,” you gestured for him to bend down, which he did, and carefully threaded the flower’s stem through the buttonhole.

“Ah, yes, the dress code on the invitation. I had forgotten about that,” he murmured. His breath brushed against your ear, and you suppressed a shiver.

He straightened, and then his eyes flicked to your hair. “A Pluie Lotus,” he said. Lifting his arm, he reached out to brush his fingers against it. “You look beautiful tonight. I should apologize for not telling you that earlier.”

“I, I...” Archons, what were you supposed to say during times like this? “Thank you. You...you look beautiful too.”

“Thank you,” Neuvillette smiled softly, gazing down at you. His hand lingered on the back of your head. For a few moments, neither of you spoke as you stared at each other. The fireplace’s light cast dancing shadows on the planes of Neuvillette’s face. His lavender eyes and horns almost seemed to glow.

Perhaps you would have stayed like that for longer, if not for the rapid knocking on the door. The two of you blinked at the same time, his hand pulling away as though it was scalded. The spell--or whatever that was--broken.

“Now, let’s get back to my family, before my sister breaks down the door.”

When you and Neuvillette emerged from the sitting room, you found your family staring at you. Justine’s cheeks were puffing out, as though she was hiding a smile.

“What?” you frowned. Did they overhear everything?

Your family looked at each other. “Nothing,” they chorused.

In the end, it seemed that there was no need for anyone to sign confidentiality agreements or anything of the sort. For it appeared that most of the attendees had become terribly inebriated from a cask of wine that one of the guests brought with him in the time your family was absent from the ballroom. You doubted they would even remember whose ball they attended next morning.

Fortunately (or unfortunately), it seemed that Neuvillette’s surprising appearance had broken through the fog of alcohol somewhat. They stared at him as though a rare animal had trotted into the ballroom before peppering your parents with questions.

Neuvillette’s appearance at this humble countryside ball was given a simple explanation: your parents had sent him an invitation, and he accepted. That was all. It wasn’t as if there was any way to argue against it, because that was exactly what happened. They say that the best lies have the truth mixed in with them, after all.

The ball, which had been slowly winding down after supper, was reinvigorated. All the men were eager to introduce themselves to the Iudex, and all the women were desirous of having their own fairytale moment with him. The stampede to freshen up in the ladies’ room was a sight to behold.

The water that Neuvillette brought with him was very much appreciated, though you suspected that it was more because it was excellent for quenching thirst rather than its flavor profile. You also suspected everyone was simply too drunk to register his impromptu water commentary or too awed by his presence here in the first place to engage with it. But you couldn’t say anything when you saw Neuvillette look so elated at everyone coming up to him with cups and thanking him for his contribution.

There were a few guests who made snide comments, but a few “accidental” steps on the feet managed to silence them well enough.

Soon enough, everyone was clamoring for the dancing to resume. Of course, the first dance had to be with the belle of the ball.

Justine had foisted the role of photographer onto you. You stood at the edge of the room with the Kamera.

After spending an inordinate amount of time in the ladies’ room with her makeup bag and hairbrush, Justine looked more radiant than ever. She and Neuvillette standing across from each other under the chandelier was a sight that captured the eyes of everyone in the room.

The music began. The two spun around the dance floor, as smoothly as water. They seemed to flow with the notes of the violins and piano. Neuvillette was an excellent dancer, as one would expect. His elegant bearing and footwork, the way his coattails whipped around him as he turned (miraculously, he hadn’t stepped on them once), the chandelier light gilded his long hair, and the raptness of his expression, as though his partner was the only person in the room, were all complemented by the youthful, blushing beauty of your sister, made it difficult to look away from them. The room itself took on a mystical, hushed quality, as though this was a scene in a fairytale.

You told yourself to stop thinking and focus on finding the best angles and lighting.

There was a loud round of applause after the dance was over. The two bowed gracefully towards the audience. Justine looked as though she was about to faint on the spot.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Monsieur Neuvillette actually came here because he was attracted by Miss Justine’s beauty,” you heard one of your neighbors, Mrs. Girard, say to her friend nearby.

“Oh yes. Miss Justine is so lovely that I dare say she can capture the hearts of any man, even someone like Monsieur Neuvillette. Why shouldn’t she aim higher? Perhaps the baron will see one of his daughters married by the end of the year after all,” her friend commented. Luckily, Dominic wasn’t anywhere near them.

When they noticed you there, they didn’t apologize or even look embarrassed. Instead, they sidled closer.

“Miss [Name], what do you think? Miss Justine and Monsieur Neuvillette make a beautiful couple, don’t you think?” the woman in the pink dress said.

One thing about living in a small town where everyone knew each other was that most people had no reservations about talking about you right in front of your face.

“Oh...I don’t know...” you replied vaguely. “She’s still young... and they’re so different...”

“Certainly, I’m not saying that they should get married right away. But in a few years, who knows? I think a lively young lady like Miss Justine would be a good match for someone as serious and solemn as him. They do say opposites attract, after all.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” you said simply, wanting this conversation to be over.

“And it could be good for you as well, Miss [Name]! You would stand to benefit from the match and also find a suitable husband.”

“Mm,” you managed. I...did not expect this to happen.

“Wait, is he...coming over here!?” Mrs. Girard’s friend exclaimed, her hands flying up to her mouth.

You turned. Neuvillette was indeed walking in this direction. He was looking directly at you.

Panic inexplicably welled up within you. Maybe this is a mistake after all.

Neuvillette stopped a short distance before you. He extended his elbow. “Miss [Name], may I have this dance?”

You stared at him, your breath caught in your throat. Your first instinct was to decline. We can’t do this in front of everyone!

But that was ridiculous. Like Neuvillette said, this was a ball and dancing was to be expected. All the more so in this situation, since you were the sister of the lady he just danced with.

But dancing with him in public...it feels like we’re bringing everything out in the open.

Your old teacher’s words came back to you once more, brushing against your ears like a breeze. Be honest with yourself.

You looked at Neuvillette’s outstretched elbow, then raised your head to look into his eyes. The rest of his face was as composed as ever--but his eyes seemed to shine brightly, full of anticipation and--dare you believe it?--hope.

Before you knew it, you had slipped your arm through his elbow. “Yes,” you breathed.

“Sister, let me hold the Kamera,” Justine came out of nowhere and took the device from you.

He led you to the center of the room. The two of you turned to face each other, so close that you could almost feel the warmth of his chest. Wow, he’s really tall, you thought dumbly, as though you didn’t live with him and saw him everyday.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Justine chatting with the musicians. What was that girl up to?

“Madame, you seem stiff. Are you nervous?” Neuvillette murmured in a low voice that only you could hear.

“A little bit,” you admitted. Your heart felt like it was about to burst out of your chest. “I don’t know why, though. I’ve danced with other men tonight and I never felt this way with them.”

“That is odd,” he tilted his head to the side, his silver locks swaying as he did so. “I do not know if this advice will help, but you should try your best to block out the crowd and focus only on me.”

The music began. You startled at the familiar first notes. This piece was commonly played at weddings for the bride and groom’s first dance!

You thought about going to the musicians to get them to change the music, but the thought flew away from your mind when you felt Neuvillette wrap his arm around your waist, drawing you closer until your chests were a millimeter’s length from touching. You could rest your head on his shoulder, if you so wished. His other hand took yours, holding it as though it was made of glass. Reflexively, you put your free hand on his shoulder.

“I’m not familiar with the steps for this dance. I-I might step on your feet,” you blurted.

Neuvillette’s eyes softened. “Do not worry, Madame. Simply follow my lead.”

Dancing had never been something you were interested in. You worked hard to learn the steps not out of any passion or even liking for dancing, but only because it was expected of you. You had never understood what it meant to be “carried along by the music.”

But dancing with Neuvillette was very different. You were suddenly aware of everything--the press of his arm around your waist, the warmth of his body, the way his hair shone in the light, his intent gaze upon your face. Following his lead felt like the most natural thing in the world, as though the two of you were one.

How could you care about the crowd when he was right in front of you?

Time seemed to stop. The background noise melted away. Until it felt like it was only the two of you in the room.

You found yourself wishing that this moment would continue for just a second longer.

But your hopes were inevitably betrayed. The music came to an end. There was some applause. You didn’t hear anyone comment that the two of you would make a good match or that you looked perfect together or anything of the sort.

You snuck a peek at Neuvillette, wanting to see his reaction. If that dance inspired any emotions in him, it didn’t show on his face.

But that doesn’t matter. Because that moment only belongs to me, no matter how brief it was.

The rest of your time at the ball was comparatively uneventful. For some reason, everyone wanted you to introduce them to Neuvillette. Much to your annoyance, you witnessed many too-flirtatious smiles, lingering handshakes, and thrusting of bosoms, but they didn’t seem to have any effect on Neuvillette. He was probably used to it. Still, they should remember who they’re dealing with here!

You also found yourself with the task of taking pictures as they danced. At some point, you considered charging.

“Sister, you should really stop glaring at all the woman he dances with,” Justine whispered to you at one point. “It’s getting obvious.”

“I’m not glaring. I’m just watching, like everyone else,” you protested.

“If you say so,” she grinned and flounced away.

Neuvillette didn’t have it as easy. When he wasn’t dancing, he was engaged in conversation. To his credit, he never turned anyone away and treated everyone with his customary politeness. You worried that he was exhausting himself, but he assured you that he was fine when you quietly asked him about it (under the guise of asking after guests, of course).

“At least have some cake. I saved a slice for you,” you urged him. Left to his own devices, he would most likely have nothing but water for his meals. With Marie away today, you doubted he ate anything that could be called dinner.

He stared dubiously at the slice of cake offered to him. Then, he picked at it with his fork and brought a bite to his mouth. “This is delicious,” he said, eyes brightening.

“Mrs. Bernard is a wizard when it comes to baking,” you said proudly.

“The moistness of the cake is just right,” he said after taking another bite. You stifled a laugh.

As he ate, three small figures slowly approached him. It was the triplets. When Neuvillette turned to them, Aimee and Adrien yelped and hid behind Albert.

To a child, someone as tall as Neuvillette would be scary, you thought as you watched him go very still.

“Hey, come on, introduce yourselves to Monsieur Neuvillette,” you encouraged them to come closer. They remained where they were, staring up at him with wide eyes. You had to step in.

“Monsieur Neuvillette, these are my cousins, Albert, Aimee, and Adrien.”

“Um...greetings, children, I am the Iudex. It is a great pleasure to meet you,” Neuvillette lifted his hand and left it hanging in the air. Belatedly, he bent down to match their heights. He doesn’t interact with actual human children much, does he? You’d think that with the Melusines, he’d have more experience.

“Can I have your cake?” Adrien said.

“You’ve already had three during supper. You know you’re not supposed to have too much sweets before bedtime,” you reminded him. “What would the Hydro Dragon think? You’ll make him cry again, and he’s done enough of that already, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, you’re right...” the little boy said dejectedly.

Next to you, Neuvillette let out a small cough.

“Children, don’t bother Monsieur Neuvillette!” your aunt ran up to them and hurried them away amidst a chorus of protests.

“Remember to show us your Hydro Dragon sketches!” Adrien reminded you over his shoulder.

“Sorry about that,” you said to him after they left.

“It’s to be expected of children,” he replied. Then, after a beat, he asked, “Hydro Dragon sketches?”

“Oh, they’re talking about my old sketch books. I used to be really interested in dragons when I was little,” In fact, it was your amateurish sketches that led to your old teacher taking you on as a student.

“But not anymore?”

“No, I suppose I became more interested in drawing ancient ruins and knights at some point.”

“I see...” Neuvillette looked thoughtful. He turned to you. “May I--”

Before he could finish his sentence, more people came up to him. You sidled away to give him some space.

He gave you a look you couldn’t quite decipher before turning his attention to the newcomers.

I wonder what he was going to say, you thought.

The ball came to an end at around eleven. The guests left in very good spirits. Their consensus was that Neuvillette was a most welcome addition to the celebration, if somewhat overly formal and distant. Some of the young ladies worried that they had offended him in some way because of his lack of conversation when they were dancing, but you assured him that it was no fault on their part and that Neuvillette was simply that kind of person (of course, you said this out of earshot from him).

After seeing the guests off and overseeing cleanup, it was finally time for your family to return home.

Since the carriage couldn’t fit everyone, it was decided that your aunt and her sleepy children would be sent on ahead, while the rest of you would walk. It was a short distance from the assembly-hall and your house.

Neuvillette had insisted on walking with the rest of your family, and so your odd little party leisurely strolled along the moonlit country paths, passing by vast meadows and shadowed houses.

As you half-listened to your family chatting about the ball, you found yourself turning your head to the side to gaze at the mountains in the distance. The moonlight lent their silhouettes a mysterious allure that wasn’t present during the daytime. In the darkness, the meadow looked like a silent and motionless sea. The scent of the air after a fresh scent made you want to lie down in the grass and close your eyes.

Even though you saw this view a thousand times in your lifetime, you felt strangely excited right now despite your general tiredness. It feels like something is about to happen.

“Madame, you’ve stopped walking,” you were interrupted from your reverie by Neuvillette, who joined you when you remained behind. “I would suggest that you stay in the group. It’s not safe to be walk alone in the dark.”

“I know,” you said, reminded of the incident. “I’m just admiring the view.”

Neuvillette followed your gaze. His eyes seemed to glow faintly even in the dark. “Ah, yes. It truly is a magnificent view,” he murmured, his voice sounding as though it was coming from far off in the distance.

“The mountains look even more spectacular during the day,” you told him as the two of you resumed walking. “If you decide to take another day off, you should consider spending it here.”

“I certainly will,” Neuvillette said. Then, there was a pause, before he added, “I do not mean to pry or ruin your good mood, but I couldn’t help but notice from talking to your parents that you haven’t told them about the assault you suffered previously.”

“Yes...I haven’t found the right time to break it to them yet,” you admitted, looking down at your feet.

“Why not now?”

“Now?” You looked ahead, where your family was in lively conversation with each other. “I don’t know... maybe tomorrow will be better?”

“I do not see what difference it will make when you tell them. In my experience, it causes greater distress when you delay such things. Do not worry, Madame. I shall help you with the explanation, should you wish for it.”

“Yeah...you’re right. I should do it now.” You smiled at him. He stared at you for a moment, then turned his head forward. You felt something warm brush against the back of your hand and felt braver.

You sped up a little to catch up with your family. “Um, excuse me, everyone. But I have something important to tell you.”

Justine immediately turned around with a gasp, a wide smile on her face. “Wait, don’t tell me!” she exclaimed.

You gave her an odd look before recounting what happened to you on that night. Neuvillette occasionally supplemented your account, mainly on the judicial side of things, and assured your family that the culprit shall be on trial in the coming months or so.

By the time you finished talking, your family had stopped walking and were staring at you in stunned silence. It was to be expected, considering what they just heard.

Justine was the first to speak. “I thought you were going to say you were pregnant!” she cried.

“What!?” you shouted. You could feel Neuvillette stiffen next to you.

For the next ten minutes or so, you endured a terrible scolding from your parents and your sister’s wails and persistent questions about the details (she had been getting into crime novels recently). Neuvillette, bless his heart, tried to come to your rescue, but apparently even the Iudex of Fontaine was no match for your mother when she was furious.

After it finally ended, your parents thanked him profusely. “Oh, thank you, Monsieur Neuvillette, for saving our foolish daughter who I thought knew better than to stay out on the streets after dark!” your mother clung to his hand. “I must apologize for her again.”

“The only one who needs to apologize is the culprit,” Neuvillette told her as he gently loosened her grip. “I promise to do everything in my power to ensure he faces justice for his deeds.”

“That Moreau is lucky that I can’t get my hands on him right now!” your father waved his spindly arm.

“You will tell us the trial date, right?” Justine asked Neuvillette.

“You will be the first to know,” he told her.

Knowing that the incident was resolved for the time being and that all the crucial matters were in the best hands, your family breathed a sigh of relief.

The lights of your house appeared in the distance. You were almost home when your father suddenly stopped in front of the gate and turned to look at Neuvillette with a serious air about him.

“Monsieur Neuvillette. I want to apologize as well. To be quite honest, me and my wife were quite suspicious of you for a long time ever since you visited us all those months ago. Did you know that we thought at first that you were playing some sort of cruel joke on our daughter?”

He chuckled after saying that, even though you didn’t think it was something to laugh about.

“Oh, yes, that’s true,” your mother joined in. “You probably already know this, sir, but there are all sorts of horrors that a young lady without fortune or connections can encounter in this world. We know, of course, that you’re a righteous and principled man, but we don’t actually know you. I hope you understand what I mean.”

“And yet you still gave me away?” you pointed out.

“Well, it is Monsieur Neuvillette, after all. And you were going to be a governess! Can you believe that? A governess of all things? Being a spinster is far more preferable to such a miserable profession,” your mother directed that last part to Neuvillette. He did not look at you, thankfully. “She lost heart after some earlier disappointments, but that doesn’t mean--”

“Mother!” you snapped. “There’s no need to recount ancient history.”

Your mother looked like she wanted to argue, but your father patted her on the shoulder.

“To put it briefly, we didn’t know what to make of things until you sent us that wonderful letter. And then our daughter asked for our family sunflower seeds, and that put us at ease somewhat. Now that we saw for ourselves how much you treasure our daughter, we can finally be truly relieved. Thank you, sir. We are truly fortunate to have someone like you as a member of our family now.”

Letter? What letter? Neuvillette never told you about this.

“There is no need to thank me. I am only performing my duty as her husband. I’m also fortunate that I was able to meet all of you through her,” he said. “I do hope we can continue this acquaintance for a long time.”

 “Of course!” They said in unison. Now it was your parents’ turn to look flustered. Oh no, they’re completely under his spell...

“My sister might seem cold and blunt on the outside, but she really does have a delicate heart,” Justine stepped forward, looking uncharacteristically serious. “If you hurt her in any way, I’ll never forgive you.”

Neuvillette looked around at your family, then his eyes landed on you. You half-expected him to start walking away. You certainly wanted to.

I’ve been living in a fantasy all this time...

Neuvillette bent down so that he was looking at Justine at eye level. “As I have promised before, I shall spare no effort to make your sister happy and to care for her.”

“And you must never cheat on her or take any mistresses,” Justine reminded him.

“Justine!” you shouted, feeling your cheeks warm.

“But of course. I have no interest in any other women except for her.” Neuvillette promised her solemnly.

He probably said something so extreme because of the pressure, you rationalized quickly.

Justine let out an embarrassed little giggle when he said that. Your parents laughed as well.

“Invite us to tea some time soon, okay?” they said to you. You forced a smile and nodded. Your chest felt heavy. I just want to fall into bed and sleep...

“Ahem, anyways, let’s get the sleeping arrangements sorted out,” you said a little too loudly, before marching up the steps to your house. You suddenly didn’t want to look at Neuvillette. At least he would be staying in the guesthouse and leaving early in the morning. A little time apart was what you needed right now.

However, you soon found your hopes dashed. Three things happened at once:

Your aunt and cousins were already staying in your room. “The guesthouse is, of course, the only suitable place for someone of Monsieur Neuvillette’s stature to stay,” Mrs. Bernard said.

Your sister was inviting some of her friends over for a sleepover, so you couldn’t stay in her room either. “Sorry about that, it was a bit of a last minute decision,” Justine gave you a wink.

Therefore, it was decided (against your fervent protests) that you would be sharing the same bed as Monsieur Neuvillette for the night. “It’s only one night, dear,” your mother told you. “Sharing the same bed as your husband is not exactly the worst predicament in the world.”

Oh, it is. It most certainly is.

And that was how you ended in the small guesthouse with Neuvillette.

“Madame...Madame!” Neuvillette’s voice came to you from far away. You snapped your head up and found yourself on the receiving end of Neuvillette’s worried gaze. It was then that you realized that you were breathing heavily through your nostrils.

“Pardon me. I didn’t hear what you said. Could you repeat it?” you gritted through your teeth, trying to fight the rising urge to run out of the guesthouse and scream into the darkness. You honestly needed to have a talk with your parents for indulging Justine far too much sometimes, and talk to Justine for her propensity of toying with people just for her own amusement.

Neuvillette stared at you for a long moment. He looked disturbed, like he was witnessing something terrifying But right now, you were too angry and frustrated to smooth your face into its usual composed expression.

“My apologies, Madame. It seems I made the wrong choice. I shall thank your parents for their kindness, and then take my leave.”

“No!” you exclaimed with more force than you intended and tugged on his cuff. “This isn’t your fault. It’s my family’s. This is just something we’ll have to put up with. We’re mature, responsible adults. Nothing except sleeping will happen in this room tonight.”

“I didn’t expect anything else,” Neuvillette raised an eyebrow.

“Neither did I. After all, we are mature, responsible adults who would never even think of doing anything inappropriate.”

“...Yes, of course,” There was a pause before he spoke. Something in his eyes flickered. It was almost like guilt. That’s weird, you thought, but moved on.

“If we make a big fuss over this, we would only be providing amusement for my family. Therefore, we will act like normal.”

“We will,” he nodded.

“Good. I am saying all of this out loud so that we are both on the same page.” It felt a little ridiculous telling Neuvillette of all people how to behave, but really, this was more for the sake of calming your nerves than anything else.

The bed was neatly made and the pillows were fluffed. Two changes of clothes for you and Neuvillette laid upon it. You recognized the lace of your nightgown, and the other one must be your grandfather’s old clothes--they were the only ones that would fit a man of Neuvillette’s stature. The linen closet held towels and bathrobes. The toiletries were neatly lined up on the bathroom sink.

“So...I’ll let you use the bathroom first,” you said.

“No, Madame, I insist that you shall bathe first.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. You had a feeling this back-and-forth would go on for a long time if you let it.

You grabbed a towel and bathrobe, then turned around to get your nightgown when you froze.

Neuvillette was sitting on the chair next to the bed, unbuttoning his spats. He had already taken off his gloves and placed them on the bedside table. His long, pale fingers nimbly undid each of the small buttons, one by one. You watched him for a moment, transfixed.

He looked up from his work. “Is something the matter, Madame?” he asked.

“No, it’s nothing,” you said quickly as you realized you had been staring. “I won’t take long.”

With that, you went to the bathroom and closed the door firmly behind you. You leaned against the door, sighing. You didn’t need to look into the mirror to see how flustered you looked.

You washed the makeup off your face, scrubbing it much harder than necessary, then undid the pins in your hair. You then proceeded to undo the lacing on the back of your dress when you ran into a major problem--it was nearly impossible for you to do it on your own.

You frowned at yourself in the mirror. This dress was one of the new clothes you bought in the Court. Justine had helped you lace it up before the ball, but with your current sleeping arrangements...

You looked at the door, then back at yourself in the mirror. You briefly considered using scissors, but decided against it. It was too drastic an action, and you did like this dress.

There was no other choice.

Taking deep breaths, you slowly opened the door and stepped out of the bathroom.

Neuvillette had taken off his spats and his shoes by now. He had also removed his robe and undid his cravat. You chose not to look at the sharp lines of his clavicle peeking out from behind his collar.

“Um...Neuvillette,” you took a breath before continuing, willing your heart to stop beating so quickly. Better to get it all out at once. “Could you help me undo the laces on my dress?”

“Certainly,” he said. You turned your back to him and tried to think about something else, anything else as he set to work. You could tell that he was being carefully, trying to avoid touching you as much as possible as he pulled the laces through the eyelet holes. But from time to time, the pads of his fingers or his knuckles would brush against your back, sending mini electric currents down your spine. His breaths ruffled the top of your head. Even with your back facing him, you could feel his steady concentration on you. Were there that many laces on your dress? It felt like it was taking an eternity compared to when Justine did them for you.

Or maybe...he’s taking his time on purpose? A small voice whispered, but you swiftly batted it away. Preposterous.

“There, it’s done, Madame,” Neuvillette said. His voice sounded lower than before. You clenched the folds of your skirt and reminded yourself of your own words earlier.

“Thank you,” you said, not daring to look at his face. It was only until you retreated into the bathroom that you realized that your shoulders had been tensed up the whole time.

Alright, I admit it--I’m attracted to Neuvillette. So what? Half of Fontaine is! Your heart annoyingly clenched when your mind flashed back to the amorous looks and flirtatious gazes directed at Neuvillette tonight. So what if I’m affected by his touch more than I should or that hearing his voice next to my ear make my knees go weak sometimes? None of that should change how I behave around him.

Your emotions had been all over the place tonight. It was more than you could bear. If your monthly cycle hadn’t ended merely a week ago, you would have thought this was all brought on by hormones. You had never felt like this before--not even in the deepest throes of puberty. The mass of emotions swirling within you seemed likely to explode out of your body at any minute.

A thought struck you. What if Neuvillette read your emotions? You didn’t know how he did it or what kind of information he could glean from them, but you were sure it would only lead to humiliation on your part. That is exactly why I need to get a handle on them, so that I won’t make him uncomfortable.

You ran the bath, then filled it to the brim with bubbles, and got in. The bubbles soaking into your skin managed to calm you down somewhat, enough that you could attempt to look at the situation rationally the way your old teacher taught you, laying out the facts like how you’d lay out your painting tools.

You were to sleep in the same bed with him. There was no getting around that fact. There were no other beds in the guesthouse, and you most certainly couldn’t ask Neuvillette to sleep on the floor. You yourself weren’t too enthused about sleeping on the floor either. So, the bed was where you would both sleep for the night.

Now, what was the problem there?

The bed was a queen size. It was roomy enough for two people to sleep comfortably without ever touching each other as long as they remained where they were. That was easy enough for you--you usually slept like a log. You couldn’t imagine Neuvillette being the type to toss and turn either. If he needed space, then you should be fine sleeping at the very edge of the bed.

Then, there was the elephant in the room: sharing a bed with Neuvillette. Like all young noble ladies, you were taught that you should never let a man into your bed if he didn’t intend to marry you right after. Of course, you doubt any etiquette manual in the world could tell you what to do if you were forced to spend the night in the same bed with your in-name-only husband. But really, when you think about it, wasn’t this pretty much the same as having a sleepover with a friend? You’ve slept over at Anne’s house plenty of times as a child, and vice-versa. Wasn’t this the same? Except for the fact that he was a man and the Chief Justice and someone you were probably a little attracted to...but those were irrelevant details.

Besides, there’s nothing between us. I admit, I enjoy looking at him, but that’s really as far as it goes. And I know for a fact that he has no such interest in me either. So, really, it’s just two friends sharing the same bed, just like me and Anne back in the day.

There was nothing inherently awkward about sleeping in the same bed together. If you thought of it as sleeping with a stuffed animal or something like that, then you could bear with it. It’s just one night.

Your teacher had always told you that perspective was everything. Reality is simply what we make of it. ...Though I don’t think this is quite what she had in mind.

You wondered what she’d think of this mess you had gotten yourself into. She’d probably find it funny.

Feeling sufficiently clear-headed and cheered, you finished with your bath and spent a few minutes cleaning everything up, then changed into your nightgown and bathrobe. After mentally bracing yourself in the mirror, you flung the door open. Maybe with a bit too much force, because Neuvillette’s head shot up from where he was sitting in the armchair.

“Neuvillette, the bath’s all yours. If you need any help with working it, just let me know,” you informed him airily. When he didn’t respond right away, you prompted him. “Neuvillette?”

“...Hmm? Ah, thank you, Madame, I shall not be long,” Neuvillette shook his head, as though clearing it, and quickly strode into the bathroom with his change of clothes. You noticed that he didn’t look at you as he passed by. What a gentleman.

Right after he closed the door, you slipped into bed. As you thought, there was plenty of room for both you and him to sleep comfortably while maintaining a respectful distance from each other. Now all you had to do was work on falling asleep. You considered going to the kitchen and getting a warm glass of milk, but decided against it. Maybe I’ll just count sheep.

However, your efforts were continuously waylaid by the music from the ball looping around in your head. It remained stuck in your head even when you changed tactics to count the number of spots in the ceiling. Come on, concentrate, I want to fall asleep before Neuv--

The bathroom door opened just then, and all hopes of falling asleep flew out of your mind.

Your grandfather’s old clothes fit Neuvillette remarkably well. Yet, for some strange inexplicable reason, he had opted to unbutton the top few buttons, exposing a sliver of pale chest. Don’t look don’t look don’t look! You chanted inside your head, yet your eyes had other ideas.

You had never noticed it before, but the layers he usually wore concealed his lithe, willowy build. He seemed almost delicate and ethereal, like a breeze could blow him away. You now understood why he put up with such an impractical outfit most of the time.

He looked different with his hair unbound as well. The long silver waves streamed down his back like a waterfall, lending him a wild, untamed impression. He looked less like a Chief Justice and more like a cover model for one of those cheesy paperback romances, except for the fact he wasn’t shirtless. It was incredible what a simple change in hairstyle could do.

I can’t do this. I can’t do this. You lamented inside your head. You were very tempted to run back inside your house and squeeze into Justine’s bed. You’d even put up with the triplets kicking you in the face during the night. But you knew you couldn’t do that. I am a mature, sensible woman with principles, you told yourself firmly. I will simply...not look at him for the rest of the night.

You turned your back towards him as he walked to the other side of the bed, trying to calm your breathing. However, when you didn’t sense him getting into bed, you dared to slowly turn around to see what was going on.

He was sitting in the armchair. his hands clasped in his lap. When he saw you looking at him, he quickly turned his gaze to the floor. That’s a little excessive, isn’t it? This isn’t the first time he saw me lying in bed.

“Neuvillette, why aren’t you getting in bed? Did you wash your hair?”

“I have not.” His answer was curt.

“Then you should come to bed. Look, there’s plenty of room for you,” you lifted the corner of the comforter and patted the bedspread next to you. He eyed it warily, as though you had laid a trap there.

“I think...it would be more appropriate if I were to join you after you fall asleep, Madame. It would be more comfortable for you as well, I’m sure. Do feel free to turn off the lights.” Neuvillette sounded strange. You didn’t think you had ever heard him like this before.

“But, doesn’t that mean you’ll be watching me sleep?” you pointed out. From the look on his face, you could tell that he hadn’t thought of that. “And you have to leave early tomorrow, right? You should get plenty of rest.”

“I am used to staying awake at late hours.”

Now that made you frown. “I won’t be able to sleep well if you don’t sleep,” you told him. “I’m also used to staying up late, so I don’t mind. I can just sleep on the boat ride back tomorrow.”

There was a long silence before he slowly got up and approached the bed. He gingerly laid down and turned his back to you. Even from here, you could see his tensed shoulder muscles. Which were quite broad.

Lady Furina said he never had relationships before...does that also include strictly physical ones?

Now that was something you should not think while sleeping in the same bed as him. But still, you felt a little less nervous now that you suspected that both of you were in the same boat.

You studied his horns. Was it uncomfortable for him to sleep on his back? Did he have a special pillow in his room? When you touched his horns before, they were solid but flexible, not like the horns of a goat or a bull. Did it hurt if he put too much pressure on them? He did say they were sensitive.

“Neuvillette, I’m going to turn off the lights now,” you whispered without knowing why.

You heard a “Mmm” and turned off the lights, plunging the room into darkness. The only light now came from the moon shining through the window above the bed.

The darkness did nothing to make you sleepy. You sensed that the same went for Neuvillette. You heard the shifting of the comforter next to you. He must be sleeping on his back now; with your eyes now adjusted to the dark, you could see the contours of his nose.

For a while, both of you remained that way, staring up the darkened ceiling. The image of fish in a can of sardines popped into your mind, and you let out a stifled laugh. It sounded too loud in the silent room.

“Madame?” you heard him whisper.

“It’s nothing.” Then after some thought, you asked, “Is everything comfortable? Do you need anything, like another pillow?”

“No, I’m perfectly fine.”

“How about the clothes? Are they fitting all right?”

“Yes.”

“Um...are you hungry? I can fetch something from the kitchen for you.”

“No, I’ve already ate. Your housekeeper, Mrs. Bernard, was kind enough to serve me a light meal when I called upon your house.”

“I see... I’m glad to hear that.” Something about that bugged you, but you let it slide for now.

“So, did you enjoy the ball? I know you don’t care for them, but I hope you had a good time at this one, at least.”

“I have. Out of all the balls I’ve attended recently, I believe I enjoyed myself the most at this one.”

“How many balls have you attended recently?”

“Three, including this one.”

“Wait, you attended two other balls this year? Why didn’t you--” your voice trailed off.

“I’ve attended one last year, and the other in the year before that.”

“Oh...I see.” You didn’t know why you felt so relieved. “I think...it’s good to attend a ball at least once a year. It’s nice to mingle with people in that sort of atmosphere.”

“Mm, I agree.”

“And it’s fun to dance sometimes. You did a lot of it today, though.”

“Yes. But some fatigue is worth it if it is to please others.”

“Haha, you’re such a kind person...” you laughed weakly. “So, was there anyone who you especially enjoyed dancing with?”

For a moment, there was no response. Then, you saw him turn his head to look at you. “What do you mean?”

What did you mean? You didn’t know why you were talking about this at all. But the darkness was a comforting shield that surrounded your heart. “I mean, if there was anyone who, you know, caught your eye. Balls are the most common places for people to fall in love, after all. I know you said all of those things to my family to put them at ease, but if you do develop an interest in someone, then--”

You stopped talking when he moved himself closer. The moonlight illuminated the strands of hair near his face. His eyes glinted faintly. His face was inches away from yours.

“If you doubt my faithfulness to you, Madame, then I shall assure you, no matter how many times you need to hear it from me, that I will never take any lovers or mistresses as long as we are married.”

“I wasn’t going to say that...” you briefly turned your head to look at him, then immediately faced the ceiling again. Nope, still can’t do it. “I was going to say that if you were to fall in love, then you should tell me so that I can move out of your house as soon as possible. I have no intention of being a part of any drama of that sort.”

For a moment, there was silence. “I shall be sure to do so,” he said. Was that a smile in his voice? You couldn’t tell, as the thought of looking at him right now made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

What about you? What will you do if I fell in love with someone else and wanted to be with them? The question lingered on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t summon the courage to voice it. Why had you brought this up in the first place?

“Speaking of my parents,” you quickly changed the subject. Dwelling on this topic made your skin itch. “What was that about a letter you sent them?”

“Ah, that. A few weeks after we wedded, I received a letter expressing their concerns about my intentions with you and wrote them a reply to reassure them. I’ve also invited them to my office, where we had a long and fruitful talk. I think it set much of their worries at ease.”

“I didn’t know about that. Why didn’t you ask me to join? I think that would have helped as well.”

“That was because...you were not talking to me during that time. Also, your parents asked me not to tell you about the meeting.”

“But you still should have told me regardless. It’s important.”

“I’m aware. I apologize. I have made many such mistakes in the course of our relationship.” He sounded genuinely disheartened.

“At least you’ve told me now,” you said consolingly. “I hope there aren’t any other secrets you’ve been keeping from me.”

You meant it teasingly, but the sharp intake of breath told you otherwise. “Neuvillette?”

“I…I must confess a most appalling deed I’ve committed against you,” You could not see his expression in the dark, but you imagined that furrow between his brows was quite deep right now.

“W-What is it?” His tone put you on edge. You began to wonder if you should escape from the room for a different reason.

“I…” he faltered, before rallying once more. “When I carried you back to your room that night—when you fell asleep in my study—I kissed your forehead while you slept.”

You thought you misheard at first. Neuvillette kissed your forehead? While you slept? You searched through your memories, trying to remember that night. You vaguely recalled being carried back to your room, but nothing after that.

“You did nothing else?” you felt strangely calm despite the revelation.

“No,” he said almost immediately. “I swear to you, upon my role as the Iudex, that I shall never overstep your personal boundaries.”

“But you kissed me on the forehead while I was sleeping,” you pointed out.

“Yes, I did,” he murmured. “I understand if you wish to cast me out of your house.”

You were silent for a moment, mostly because you wanted to make him nervous. He was watching you closely.

You turned to face the ceiling again. “I won’t do that. It will only bring scandal if I made the Chief Justice sleep outside in the damp grass. But what I do want to know is…why?”

“Why?” Neuvillette repeated.

“Why did you do it? Was there something about my forehead that made you want to kiss it?”

He didn’t respond right away; he truly seemed to be thinking about your question. “I do not know why I did it,” he said at last. “My apologies. I do not have a satisfactory answer for you. Not that there can be a suitable explanation for my actions.”

“Hmm,” you turned to look at him again. “You know, my mother used to kiss me and my sister on the forehead when she tucked us into bed as children. Maybe…it’s something like that?”

It was nonsense and both of you knew it. Even you weren’t sure why you said it. To lend him a lifeline? To provide an easy-to-accept explanation for this…act before you could think too deeply about it?

“…Perhaps,” Neuvillette said. You couldn’t tell if he truly believed it or not.

Honestly, I could see him kissing the Melusines’ foreheads to tuck them into bed if he lived with them.

The logical, rational part of you knew that you should be angrier at the violation of your boundaries. You should be scared. You should be not be wanting to remember the press of his lips against your forehead. You shouldn’t be thinking about his lips at all.

Neuvillette, why is it that my emotions always seem to not function properly when I’m with you? Can you teach me how to be as composed and in control of myself as you?

“Neuvillette, this doesn’t mean I forgive you,” you informed him in an attempt to gain back a smidgen of rationality, leaning closer. You had to admit, after being so flustered by him for most of the night, it was kind of fun having the upper hand. “You agree that, as the victim in this case, that I get to decide your punishment?”

Neuvillette nodded, a lock of hair falling across his face. His eyes remained on you, as if transfixed. He was hanging onto your every word.

In later days, you would blame the enveloping darkness, the gentle whisper of the rain that started before you knew it, and the champagne-caused headiness for what you were about to say.

“I’ll do the same thing to you. At some point, during the night—I won’t tell you when—I’ll go to your room and kiss you on your forehead.”

As soon as the words came out of your mouth, you wanted to swallow them. Oh no, what if he takes this as flirting? Is this flirting? Does it count as flirting if there was no intent of flirtation? I better clear this up.

“I, I mean it in a strictly platonic way,” you hurriedly added. Good job on maintaining that stern aura, me.

Neuvillette’s gaze rove over your face before it briefly landed on your lips, lingering on your lips for a heartbeat, or maybe two. Then, he raised his eyes to meet yours. Something he saw there made him narrow his eyes.

He leaned closer until all you could see were his pupils.

“I shall await your visit, then, Madame.”

Early next morning, a certain letter from a certain Hydro Archon informed Neuvillette that she had kindly taken the initiative of clearing his schedule for the day to “give all the time that my dear Iudex needs to spend with his wife. No need to thank me!”

As for what happened after that, that would be a story for another time.

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[pupkou]

i’m literally going to **** ******

[mydr3aminvi0let]

i wear a lot of skirts and pink and whatnot as my style has developed with me & my personality but when one of those age regression girlies latch onto me....i do not like that

[jamiesfootball]

currently obsessed with in-universe roy/jamie rpf. have you any thoughts on this topic?

So.

I am assuming that this in partially in reference to that fic that's been making the rounds and I did read the fic and I do have one opinion on the fic that has haunted my waking hours which is:

Why would Roy's sister be into X-Files fanfic?

I'm not saying it isn't possible, and this may be a stupid hill to die on, but given her assumed age bracket this was not the fandom I would have given her.

The interest in medicine. The familial brand of sarcasm and sharp wit. The easy assumption that since her brother also has a bit of a dark sense of humor ('avenge me, keeley', ropes) she likely does as well.

You fools. She'd be into House MD.

(no disrespect at all to the author your fic was lovely I am just very much from the age bracket in question and this one detail threw me for a loop the way different experiences sometimes do)

[ominouspositivity-or-else]

unrelated but i think unboxing our ideas of what it means to be masculine or feminine is how we're going to win the battle we are currently fighting. i just think it will help. a lot.

[sugoroo]

ʚɞ warnings: fem!reader, looking up skirt, panty stealing + sniffing + licking, masturbation, professional misconduct, 18+ minors dni.

pervy electrician!toji who unintentionally shows up a little earlier at your house than he was supposed to and is rewarded with the sight of a very unprepared you hurriedly rushing to answer the door in just a baggy t-shirt and a pair of fuzzy socks.

pervy electrician!toji whose usual disinterested expression he has permanently plastered upon his features during work hours morphs into one of subtle interest as his dark eyes leisurely drag up and down your figure — and damn, he never gets sent out to clients as hot as you.

pervy electrician!toji who greets you with a simple nod as he brushes past you to get inside, his scarred lips involuntarily twitching up into an amused half-smile at how you ramble out several apologies for not being ready for his arrival.

pervy electrician!toji who casually waves it off and assures you that he doesn't mind; and he definitely doesn't mind when it means that he gets to watch you walk around in front of him wearing that shirt that barely even covers your ass.

pervy electrician!toji who is as well-mannered as he has to be when conversing with a customer, but makes sure to inject a little more charm into his voice just for you as he drawls out "well, what seems to be the problem, ma'am?"

pervy electrician!toji who silently pats himself on the back when he notices you grow slightly flustered at the polite term he used to address you by, leaning against your kitchen counter as he watches you explain the issues you've had with your power frequently cutting out lately.

pervy electrician!toji who has to make a concerted effort to bite back a scoff when you explain that despite being married, your useless husband has no idea how to fix the problem himself so you had no choice but to resort to calling his company.

pervy electrician!toji who can hardly even comprehend that your sorry excuse for a husband just went to work for the day and left a precious thing like you here with no power; some fools really don't know how good they have it, do they?

pervy electrician!toji who finds a rare, genuine smile pulling at his lips when you joke lightly that you'd make him a cup of coffee if there was any power for the kettle. so you're pretty as hell and you have a good sense of humour... oh, he's in trouble.

pervy electrician!toji who investigates the fuse box located at the back of the cupboard under the kitchen sink while you dash upstairs to change into something more appropriate, humming a quiet tune under his breath while he works.

pervy electrician!toji who figures out what the issue is in no time at all — there's a small leak dripping from the pipe leading from the bottom of the sink that has trickled down and fried some of the wiring; shouldn't be too hard to fix.

but for some reason, he finds himself wanting to create a reason for him to stay around here just a little longer.

so, pervy electrician!toji 'accidentally' makes the leak even worse by using the spanner on his tool belt to stretch the hole in the pipe slightly wider, causing any working part left in the fuse box to fizzle out into uselessness as a result.

pervy electrician!toji who has to pretend to be inconvenienced by the problem that he just worsened once you return to the kitchen, scratching the side of his jaw and telling you that it'll take him atleast a couple of hours to try and salvage the fuse box.

pervy electrician!toji who isn't exactly lying when he says this; just refraining from telling you the whole truth that there is no way to fix the ruined thing now. the entire box has to be replaced and he doesn't happen to have a new one with him today.

...looks like he'll just have to come back tomorrow, too.

pervy electrician!toji who keeps himself busy pretending to attempt to mend things under the cupboard, but finds it quite hard not to be distracted by your pretty self sitting atop the counter where you insisted on staying to keep him company while he works.

but, at the end of the day, pervy electrician!toji is a man, after all — a man who can't help himself from sneaking a quick peek up the edge of the skirt you changed into, holding back a groan when he catches a small glimpse of your patterned panties.

pervy electrician!toji who claims he needs to use your bathroom a little while later, making sure you don't follow him up the stairs before sneaking through the hall until he finds you and your husband's shared bedroom.

pervy electrician!toji who finds himself rifling through his client's underwear drawer like a damn horny teenager, hastily pulling out a pair of cute panties similar the ones he knows you're wearing downstairs right now.

pervy electrician!toji who is way too worked up to feel any sense of shame as he pushes his baggy work trousers down, exposing the extremely noticeable tent and subsequent wet patch staining the front of his boxers.

"fuckin' hell," pervy electrician!toji rasps as he shoves a hand into his boxers, wrapping it around the base of his painfully throbbing cock as he begins languidly stroking himself. "driving me crazy here, girl." he mutters to himself.

pervy electrician!toji who can't stop himself from holding your panties up to his face, cursing under his breath when he remembers that these are a clean pair from your drawer. no — he needs a used pair if he wants to be able to properly get off.

pervy electrician!toji who sifts through your laundry hamper like a starving man searching for scraps of food in a dumpster, his movements fuelled by the sheer need to release the overwhelming desire coursing through his veins.

pervy electrician!toji whose scarred lips twitch up into a victorious smirk when he finally finds a dirty pair of your panties, wasting no time in pressing his nose against the slick-stained crotch and inhaling your scent. and fuck, is it an intoxicating smell.

pervy electrician!toji who is utterly pussydrunk without even being near your actual cunt, tongue instinctively flicking out on its own to lap lightly at the soiled material, a pornographic moan falling from his lips afterwards.

"shit. tastes s-so sweet, heh." pervy electrician!toji grunts as he resumes those earnest tugs of his furiously hard cock, his sloppy mouth just coating your dirty panties with his glistening salvia.

pervy electrician!toji who is cumming in record time like a downright pathetic and touch-starved virgin, one press of his thick thumb against his weeping tip causing it to spill rope after rope of milky release into his boxers.

pervy electrician!toji who does actually go to the bathroom after he's pulled his trousers up and shoved both pairs of stolen panties into his pockets, cleaning himself up as best he can and checking his reflection in the mirror to make sure he doesn't look too wrecked.

pervy electrician!toji who saunters downstairs and faces you with an easy smile as if he didn't just jerk off with your used underwear pressed against his mouth, sharing the news that he'll 'unfortunately' have to return tomorrow to replace the broken fuse box.

pervy electrician!toji who tells you his usual bill for the basic work he's done today, although secretly gives you a considerable discount — one because it's you, and two because he didn't actually do anything to fix your power issue and instead deliberately made it worse so he could stay longer.

pervy electrician!toji who releases an amused chuckle when you frantically dart around the house in search of your purse, coming to the sheepish conclusion that you must've left it in your husband's car that he drove to work this morning with.

pervy electrician!toji who simply shrugs and suggests that you pay him when he comes by tomorrow instead. little do you know, however, that you've already paid him... just in the form of an orgasm and two pairs of panties instead of money.

pervy electrician!toji who is counting down the seconds until he can see you again as he drives home in the company van, body relaxed and sated from his previous climax and pockets stuffed pleasantly full with stolen underwear.

he'd say that was all in good day's work.

© 2024 SUGOROO. please don't copy or translate any of my works without my explicit permission. all rights are reserved to me.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

pervy lifeguard!gojo <- PREVIOUS PART.

[seiwas]

you're the reason (i got a weakness) | miya atsumu

wc: 2.9k

summary: it’s not that atsumu doesn't like you dressing up like this—in fact, he loves it. just not when you're fighting. not when he can't even call you "baby".

contains: post-timeskip atsumu, arguments and atsumu feeling really sorry, flashbacks, uses the nickname “baby” & “my love”, reader is described as “pretty” and wears heels, hurt/comfort.

a/n: atsumu isn’t a sucky boyfriend he just gets carried away sometimes. song inspo: can you blame me? - kehlani, lucky daye.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: making yourself look good to feel good (your partner has something to say to you)

sponsored by @itskilau and @tasoyoru for the @ficsforgaza initiative. please check it out and support if you can!

“Bab—”

Atsumu lingers by your bathroom door, eyes drooping lower and sadder than they ever have. The steam makes the bleached strands of his hair cling to his forehead, his thick eyebrows now damp and flattened. 

You sigh, the big, heavy, and deep kind, shoulders dropping as you clasp the lock of your necklace.

He stares. 

That’s his job. You always ask him to do it the moment you step out of the shower. 

His lip trembles, eyes watery.

“Not now, Atsumu.”

You walk past him as you adjust the towel around your chest, your arm brushing against his. It’s a small thing, a sensation ingrained so deeply into the past two years you’ve been together, but he feels it like it’s the first time you ever touched him—and in a way, it is. Since yesterday, at least. 

The silence that trails after you is so deafeningly still, he thinks he can hear his heart breaking. 

“Atsumu,” your voice rings. 

Who the hell is “Atsumu”? 

He’s not supposed to be “Atsumu” to you. He’s “Tsum.” He’s “baby.” He’s “my love.”

Anything but “Atsumu.”

When you close the door of your walk-in closet to change, the metaphorical volleyball of hope floating right into the palm of his hand misses and drops straight to the floor. 

It started with volleyball, as all things with Atsumu do. 

You’d met him at the rise of his career, just a few years of him being pro. You were friends first, but if you ask anyone around Atsumu, they’d tell you you were never just a friend to him; he’d invited you to all his games and practice matches, spent a bit more time in the locker rooms before going out for dinner with you and the rest of the team. 

Osamu has the receipts of all the extra orders of onigiri Atsumu started adding to his regular weekly subscription since meeting you. 

Your first ‘date’ was Atsumu treading the very fine line between teaching you how to play volleyball and teaching himself self-control. Keeping an eye on the ball is hard enough, what more when he has to resist staring at you in very cute volleyball shorts too? 

As MSBY’s success skyrocketed, so did Atsumu’s—brand deals left and right, solo work trips during off seasons, commercials; the whole thing. When Atsumu wasn’t training, he was either traveling  or attending events and photoshoots. Always on-the-go. Moving. 

And he knew you understood, knew you knew him and his tendencies to overwork; knew him, and his habit of getting stuck inside his own world. You’d driven to late practices with bento boxes to share, and you’d packed his gym bag more than a few times, brought in extra clothes without him having to say a word.

You’ve managed his lifestyle better than anyone could.

But, Atsumu has a bad habit of promising more than he should, of serving white lies just as easily as he does volleyballs behind the service line. 

“Won’t take long, baby. Swear it,” he holds on to the wall by your door, slipping his feet inside his dress shoes. “Pick ya up at 6:00?” 

He’d winked at you then, kissed you between your eyebrows and nose before sneaking one more right at that spot underneath your ear.

What he’d give to be able to do that right now. 

“Okay,” you giggle, swatting his chest as you nod, “better hurry then, you might be late.” 

When Atsumu remembers that moment, the way you’d agreed so doubtlessly, he hates himself even more. You trusted him, have trusted him so wholeheartedly this entire time, so maybe you’re right—

“Would it hurt for you to just be honest?” 

—Atsumu has no excuse standing you up on the date he promised you weeks ago all because he lost track of time in some brand event, listening to a potential collaboration on volleyball shoes. Atsumu has no excuse agreeing to “some drinks” right after just to meet the executives of the company. 

There are meetings for those things, ones that can be scheduled and agreed upon. Ones that don’t compromise or add on to the already long list of missed dates with you. 

“I know you’re busy and I understand,” you sigh, turning the knob of the kitchen stove as you heat up the kettle, “you know I do.” 

He stands before you a quarter past 11:00 p.m., cologne long faded and the smell of alcohol spilled on his sleeve. The kitchen island stands like a net on the court, the ball being sent over to his side. 

“Baby, I—”

He passes it back.

You turn from the stove, face fresh and hair tied into a messy low bun as you look at him—how could he have ever stood this–you–up?

You take the ball, “Can I finish what I have to say first?” 

He nods. The kettle begins whizzing.

“I’m happy and so, so proud that you have all these opportunities,” you reach for the cupboard above head to grab a mug. The box of tea bags sits to your right, a mix of Lemon Balm and Chamomile that Atsumu swears keeps his anxieties at bay during the night. “But at least tell me if you can’t make it.” 

You tear open a tea packet, dangling it inside the mug. The kettle whistles, and he feels the onset of a spike. 

“Please don’t keep my hopes up every time.” 

You turn back towards the stove, turning the burner off as you pour in the steaming water inside the mug. 

“Baby, I swear, they just–they started talkin’ ‘bout these shoes, ‘n I thought t’was cool, ‘n the execs–they said the execs’d be there in the afterparty, and—” he breathes, “won’t happen next time, baby. ‘M so—” 

“Can I really believe you next time?”

You approach the kitchen island slowly, holding the piping hot mug carefully as you set it down in front of him. 

Atsumu stood you up on your date, and you still made him tea. 

You hold his stare for a brief moment before you walk away, sadness and disappointment all-in-one.

It is now that Atsumu knows, he’s fucked up.

The ball lands on his side of the court. 

And so, he’s spent this entire day trying to make it up to you—breakfast in the morning, right before training (which he absolutely tanked because all he could think about was how sad you looked the night before); flowers that he brought home after lunch time, just to find the apartment empty. It’s only after a full text thread and three missed calls to your phone that he finally gets a response.

“Nail appointment. Going out tonight,” is your reply (using speech-to-text too, he suspects, with how formal it sounds). 

Which is fine and dandy to him; you should do everything that makes you feel better after he practically took you for granted. It’s just—he hasn’t even said sorry yet, can’t even call you “baby”, can’t even touch you even though he really, really, really wants to. 

And now, with you closing the door on him while you’re changing—there’s nothing else he can do, really, but to walk away and give you some space. 

He shifts his feet, dragging them lightly against the wooden floors of your bedroom.

The moment he hears the door of your walk-in closet slide open, he hurriedly sits down on the edge of your bed, acting as if he wasn’t just anxiously pacing, waiting for you to come out. 

He feels like shit, if he’s being honest—like how he does when he misses a serve; if not, worse. 

You look good. Make-up done to only emphasize the features he loves (which is your entire face, really), and your outfit perfectly accentuating the dips and curves of your body. 

He follows you as you exit the room, tailing after you like a lost puppy. When you stop by your entryway, all he can do is watch as you bend down to put on the straps of your heels. And it sucks, because if you weren’t fighting, Atsumu would be right by your feet, crouched low so that you wouldn’t have to. 

It’s pathetic and a little helpless of him to just stand and stare in the middle of your living room. He should say something at least, but, you just look so good, and his throat feels dry; his heart all achy and stomach twisty. 

He doesn’t want to be away from you. 

And it’s not that he doesn’t like you going out looking like this—he loves it. But as soon as you step out the door with a soft “don’t wait up for me” mumbled from your glossed lips, Atsumu can only taste bitter regret at the fact that he wishes he were coming with you. 

He couldn’t even give you a goodbye kiss. 

The blond groans, pulling at his hair as he rests his elbows down on the kitchen counter. 

“Don’t wait up for me,” you said. As if he can even sleep without you around. 

.

.

.

The hours go by but they feel like days. Atsumu’s done every possible thing he can do in this apartment and it still hasn’t breached 11:00 p.m.. He’s cleaned down the kitchen (twice!) and arranged the food inside the fridge like those ‘stock up my fridge with me’ tiktoks he’s seen on Sakusa’s phone. The clothes on his side of the closet have been arranged by color and length, with all the ones in his dresser refolded, Marie Kondo style. He’s also pretty sure he’s scrubbed the bathroom down enough that you can probably see your reflection on the tiles of the damn thing. The laundry baskets for both your clothes are now empty, and he’s changed the bedsheets too and—

He’s still restless. The numbers on the clock taunt him, moving up agonizingly slowly. He can’t stop looking at the time, itching for you to come home. 

Atsumu is sorry, so so so incredibly so, because you’re right―he hasn’t been fair to you at all, and he needs you to know that he knows it, too. 

His eyes go over the clock again, only a minute having passed since the last time he checked it. 

Is this how you felt? Every time you waited for him to come home for a date he promised you? 

He squeezes his eyes; it hurts him just thinking about it. 

That’s it, he decides, grabbing his phone and wallet as he walks out the door. 

. 

.

.

Atsumu doesn’t check your location often (maybe only a few times). It’s not a trust thing, he swears; it’s just for when he wants to make sure you’re somewhere safe, or in a place he can reach you should you need him there. 

And, you clearly don’t need him right now, but, Atsumu is a little selfish, he admits. 

Sitting at home with all his regret feels worse than seeking you out to beg for your forgiveness, whether you want him to or not. 

He’s barely dressed for the venue as he steps inside the bar, a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt with those fashionable Birkenstock clogs on. A few people seem to recognize him, tilting their heads and murmuring among themselves as he walks through door, but none of them approach him, thankfully, except for a server asking if he needs assistance. 

His eyes scan the tables first, searching for any semblance of the outfit he’d seen you leave in earlier. The dim lights make it increasingly difficult for him to look for your properly as he squints his eyes some more, narrowing his vision to the people at the front bar this time. It’s after the fourth person he dismisses that he feels himself getting desperate, nearly turning towards the server beside him to ask for help.

Until he spots you—tucked in the corner of the front bar, sitting on the barstool with your legs crossed as you swirl around your drink. 

You look bored, and a little sad, chin resting in your hand as you lean your elbow on the table. 

He frowns, thanking the server on the side as he makes his way to you slowly. You barely notice him as you bring out your phone, tapping on the screen as you stare at it almost longingly―a photo of you and him some time ago after one of his games. He knows it well, can still remember that day so clearly: when he became a PR nightmare because he couldn’t help but announce your relationship by kissing you in front of everybody. 

It makes his chest hurt. 

Then, you swipe it open, and he’s close enough now to be able to catch a glimpse of what’s on your screen: your text thread with him, his last message being, “Did you make it safely?” 

(You pout, eyes pricking with tears. You didn’t reply to him then because you weren’t ready to fully talk to him yet, still upset and disappointed. 

It was easy to make yourself feel better by dressing up and stepping out of the apartment earlier, the promise of good drinks and good company awaiting your arrival; you couldn’t think about how you felt if you were busying yourself with others. But now that all of those feelings have died down and most of your friends have started chatting up other people they’ve found, it’s beginning to hit you all at once just how much you still prefer Atsumu’s company more than anything else.

Your fingers hover over your text box, typing and deleting. Typing and deleting.) 

He’s two stools away from you now, and he can barely contain it―

“Baby,” his voice trembles, unsteady. 

Recognition fills you as you turn to the sound, half-confused at whether you’re hearing things; whether―

(“Tsum,” you mutter, eyes catching a pair of familiar warm brown staring back at you. His bottom lip quivers, the embodiment of a dam starting to crack, vibrating.

Your emotions are a mess, your breath on hold as you feel tears welling up in your lashline too. You still feel upset, still a little sad, and a tiny bit disappointed, but what coats them all is a sense of relief because—)

―he’s here, standing in front of you like he just rolled out of the house with barely enough time to get dressed (which, you’re sure is exactly how things went), and you’re sliding off the bar stool in the prettiest outfit, looking like the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

“‘M so sorry,” he breathes out, stepping closer as he grabs your hand, “Don’t ever wanna make y’feel like that again.” His knee gives way as he starts sinking to the floor, “I won’t do that anymore―” 

“Tsum,” you try to call his attention.

He’ll beg for your forgiveness whether you like it or not. 

(The interaction is causing nearby tables to look, murmurs and whispers in your periphery as you catch vague sentences here and there. He still is a public figure, after all.) 

But Atsumu is unaware, looking at you and you alone as he pleads, “No, please hear me out first. I promise I’ll tell ‘em they can speak ‘ta―” 

“Tsum,” you squeeze his hand, whispering more firmly as you try to pull him up. 

“Baby, please. Gimme the chance ‘ta show ya that I―”

(You look around and notice even more eyes on the two of you, fond looks on their faces as they prepare their phones for what seems like something momentous. Then it hits you, how this looks―)

“Tsum, please stand up,” you tug at his hand strongly, urging him to stand. His eyebrows furrow as he obliges, only comprehending why when you explain it to him softly, “people were starting to think you were about to propose.” 

He pauses for a moment, a slight, “Oh,” as he ponders on it. “Well, if that’s what’ll prove it t’ya, then—” 

You roll your eyes, the corners of your lips curling slightly as you hit his shin with your foot and squeeze his hand again, “Don’t joke about things like that.” 

Well, it’s not the first time it’s crossed his mind, if he’s being honest. 

He sighs, sitting on the stool beside you as he rubs his thumb over your hand again, bringing it close to his lips to kiss softly. 

“‘M really sorry, baby,” he mumbles against your skin before moving your hand over his heart. “Don’t ever want ya feelin’ like this again.” 

“I know,” you give him a small smile, patting down some of the strands of his hair that stick out, “you didn’t have to come out here though, you know. I was about to go home soon, anyway.” 

“Can ya blame me? Seein’ ya off like that?” he grips your hand tighter as his voice softens. “Y’re too pretty to be sad,” he plays with your fingers, intertwining them with his.

You hit his shin again, feeling shy. You always do when Atsumu likes to sweet-talk you. 

“Do ya forgive me?” he asks after some time, as you take the last few sips of your drink. 

You hum, looking him in the eyes as you nod, pouting, “I don’t like being mad at you, you know.” He lights up, beaming, but you add on, “We still have to talk about it properly, though. Later, when we get back.” 

He nods in agreement, holding your hand as you slide off the barstool, guiding you out of the bar and into the car. 

. 

.

.

(You both do talk about it properly, and the next time Atsumu promises you a date, he blocks it out of all of his calendars, sending the date to his manager even, just to be extra sure.) 

a/n: this has been such a long time coming, i'm sorry to those who waited! i hope you enjoyed even though this simmered with me for way too long 😭 i love writing atsumu a little lovesick but i also think he deserves someone who is equally as in deep as he is 🥺

thank you notes: to 🍧 anon for helping me figure out "what would make you mad at atsumu?" and to @ceroseis and @mieiri for always listening to my shenanigans pre-writing!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Neighborly

mdni

Masterlist

Soap x reader x Ghost

Summary: You didn't know hate until Johnny MacTavish. (Or a really big build-up to cuddles and smut).

Warnings: Implied anxiety disorder/depressive disorder, self-isolation, language, incredibly shitty communication and social competence.

It was supposed to be a one-shot.

You didn’t know hate until Johnny MacTavish.

He bought the only house within half a mile, the one you expected to stay silent and empty ‘til death did you part. So, you had reason to dislike him from the start. But you were raised right, and you pushed down the snarling hermit in your soul to be a good, friendly neighbor.

The first meeting was fine, even if he was a boombox of a human being.

“Neighbor? Oh, aye! The hermit? Sorry. Heard about you when I toured the place last month.” His eye lands on the plate of cookies you’ve brought to welcome him. “Those all for me?”

You made small talk at the door, swapped names, and set the groundwork for a reliable, limited relationship as polite people who just happened to live in close proximity.

Then the first snow fell.

You spied him outside, shoveling the shared drive that led up the hill. He cleared it all, which was kind, if a little stupid. The weather system promised another two inches by midafternoon, so everything would be solid white again before sunset. Still, not your problem.

But. He was shirtless. Ripped as fuck and shirtless.

As the wind flung each shovelful of snow back in his face, the powdery flakes stuck and melted on steaming skin. Muscles flexed as he made a spectacle of himself, and your thoughts turned to strategy and available resources.

You wrapped your palms around your ugly, handmade mug and sighed, sipping hot chocolate and wishing you’d gotten a neighbor with at least two scoops of common sense.

When he didn’t appear with his shovel the next morning, you knew your foreboding prophecy had come to pass.

You brought out the stock pot, fished out packs of frozen produce harvested from your garden, and sacrificed your last bag of chicken breasts. The skeleton saved from an old rotisserie bird joined the ingredient army. Might as well go all-in. A man with that many muscles needed bone broth to recover.

Since you didn’t know if he was a picky eater, you minced the garlic and onions small, even when your eyes burned to the point you had to stop for a break. You let the aromatics brown, added celery, carrots, potatoes, and fistfuls of fresh herbs. The precious seasonings survived the winter under grow lights and protective sheeting on your dining room table.

You doubted your neighbor would appreciate this gift for everything it was, but whatever he did as an idiot neighbor would be leagues better than the presence of a rowdy ghost.

When the chicken was tender and the broth tasted like home, you poured it into individual portions and packed them in a canvas bag with a loaf of bread, a box of tea, a jar of local honey, and a thermometer. It wasn’t terribly heavy, but the cold froze your fingers through your gloves. Your hand was cramping by the time MacTavish answered the door, red-nosed, pale, and bleary-eyed.

He let you in, mumbling a scratchy-voiced welcome, and if you’d known what that conversation would incite, you would’ve let him waste away like the families you failed playing Oregon Trail.

“Eat one now and keep the rest in the fridge.” You stack the single-serve containers in the fridge as you speak, sure he won’t remember the minutiae of your instructions. The last you pop in his microwave. He’s staring at you with feverish eyes, confused and helpless like a sick dog left on the side of the road.

Everything comes out of the bag, lining his counter so he can see them – and hopefully remember he has them. The thermometer comes out last.

“If your fever is over 104 in the morning, call the doctor. I’ll drive you if you need me to.”

That glassy stare isn’t shifting. The man doesn’t even blink.

“Did you get all that?”

He clears his throat. The action and sound are both strangely slow in his exhausted state, and you’re determined not to feel bad for him.

“Aye.” Finally, he blinks. “Eat the soup. Watch for 104.”

Good enough.

“Okay.”

The microwave beeps, you pull out the soup, leaving him to fetch a spoon from wherever the hell he keeps them. You don’t wait for him to show you out. “Take care of yourself.”

He didn’t call for help, and you took your turn shoveling the drive with proper protection after the last wave of flurries passed.

The next time he saw you in passing – you were returning home and he was just leaving – he let you know your soup was delicious, that the bread was amazing, and the honey did wonders for his throat. He never returned your containers.

Ah, well. They were replaceable.

Then the next snow came, and the dumb bitch went shoveling shirtless again.

It wasn’t as much snow, and it didn’t take him half as long, but you steamed, glaring from the safety of your kitchen window. You refused to replace your meal prep supplies again. And local honey was expensive. The brat could freeze and die. Something about taking a horse to water and all that shit.

You drank your coffee black that morning, just to make a point to no one in particular.

The man didn’t know how to take care of himself, and he had no idea how to winter-proof his home.

His pipes froze. You brought buckets, old towels, bottled water, and the number of an excellent plumber. Then you explained why he should pay attention to the forecast and let faucets drip to keep the water moving. You told him to open the cabinets under sinks so heat could combat the chill along exterior walls.

His truck’s battery succumbed to the cold. You gave him a jump and escorted him to town to make sure he didn’t get himself stranded.

When he didn’t keep things stocked and tried to panic-shop before a big storm, discovering that small town shelves couldn’t meet demand, you shared staples from your pantry.

He didn’t have more than two cheap blankets in his living space, so when the holidays rolled around you gave him your latest assemblage of granny-squares. And a scarf.

He gave you burnt cookies – “Biscuits” – in return.

(And a half-empty bottle of whiskey.)

He never remembered to drag his trash down to the main road.

And gods help you if the power went out, because the man had no generator, very little in his pantry, and rarely more than a quarter tank of gas in his ride.

He was careless. Clueless. Nearly helpless.

What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t leave him to his fate. It was unneighborly and inhumane.

He made you angry. But you didn’t hate him until his friend moved in.

A few months into his residence, you went to Johnny’s door to ask if he needed anything from town before the next storm shadowed the forecast, and a stranger came to the door.

A hulking monster with a skull painted over his balaclava.

The doorway shrank around his broad shoulders, and he ducked when he stepped out. You weren’t sure if he entirely needed to, but you understood the urge – like an adult stepping out of a child’s playhouse. Scarred knuckles wrapped around the doorknob, and you knew his grip would swallow you whole by the way it engulfed the brass handle.

Animal instinct jarred you. Every hair from the base of your skull to the end of your spine stood on end as you tried to smell the air, listen to the wind, spot the predator’s intent before it was too late.

You didn’t have a problem with people balaclavas. You’d worn one the other day when you were shoveling the drive, but this looked less like protection and more like a threat.

Was he robbing your neighbor? Had a serial killer come to town? Oh, fuck.

You took a step back, reaching for your phone because you didn’t carry a weapon, especially not on a grocery run, and it was the closest thing you had to help.

“You the neighbor?”

He asked so casually, vaguely irritated, but relaxed. It wasn’t the voice of a man who’d just been caught committing a felony, and you took a second to look beyond the stranger’s mask (and size). There was a mug in his hand, and he wore a t-shirt with sweats. His socked feet lingered on the front step, just shy of the blue road salt and crisped ice. Not robbery gear. More like a… houseguest?

Your neighbor never had guests before.

It caught you so off guard your brain short circuited. He had always been a lone, helpless figure. Made sense he’d have friends, though. You couldn’t imagine he’d survive anywhere long without someone looking out for him.

You were still a little irritated that your neighbor had invited his own friend to his own house on his own property without informing you, but that was just the recluse inside snarling at a new face. Or half of one.

And – well – manners.

Holding out a mittened hand, you introduced yourself, adding, “I stopped to see if Johnny needed anyth-”

“No.” He shut you down so fast you reeled another step back. “Don’t need anything.”

He closed the door and that was that.

Sun glittered on the season’s collection of snow, a frozen fairyland that wouldn’t entirely melt until spring. Then there would be roads washed out, and mud, and you’d need to teach Johnny flash flood safety and…

It didn’t compute. Johnny was still home, so surely he’d pop out with an explanation.

You waited.

But he didn’t.

The absolute fuck?

Your spinning thoughts kept you trapped in your head for a solid minute, processing what had happened, what was implied, and what that meant for your neighborly relationship. Even when you managed to move, drive to town, and run your errands, the interaction prickled in your mind like a splinter.

You must’ve done something wrong.

Aged fluorescent lights strobed out of time with your cart’s shrieking wheels. You discovered your list wasn’t in your pocket. It waited at home, next to a pen to add Johnny’s requests. You’d already added things you doubted he’d think to ask for, and it would take time to pick apart your needs. The list wouldn’t have saved you, even if you’d remembered it.

Three bags of flour went into your cart. That was fine. They’d keep, and baking was a good way to combat cabin fever (it warmed the house as a bonus).

Two gallons of milk.

Wait.

No.

You put one back, self-conscious. A young mother with her baby stood just behind you, and an old woman was reviewing her coupons across the aisle. You refused to make eye contact, convinced you’d catch them watching. Did they see? Were they worried about your germs on the product you put back? Did they think you were too broke to buy what you needed? Maybe they thought you’d just broken up with your boyfriend or something.

You counted the squares in the linoleum as you marched away from the refrigerators’ humming. One less source of white noise. It didn’t help as much as you’d hoped. The real buzzing roared inside your skull.

Johnny was a pain in the ass, but at least he was friendly. He wasn’t considerate, but he always thanked you. His friend was a whole different beast. Unfriendly. With a spare set of teeth snarling at the world.

The stranger hadn’t even introduced himself. Was he staying long? Moving in? What was he to Johnny? That question alone would answer so many others.

Because you’d never seen him interact beyond basic business with the mechanic, you realized you had no idea of his sexual orientation. Was he gay? Bi? Pan?

His shirtless shoveling shenanigans annoyed you, yes, but you’d unconsciously granted him a little leeway, assuming it had to do with misguided masculine showmanship. The rooster strutting where the hen could see. The dumbass alpha male proving he was a good, strong provider who was also quite nice to look at.

Clearly you were wrong, and in retrospect, you couldn’t see him as anything but a narcistic dipshit in need of training wheels.

You’d thought, maybe, he even liked you. As a friend? A comrade against the cold? As something.

But you were just a stop-gap. Useful.

Convenient.

Until his real friend joined him.

You found your attention unraveling like a cheap sweater. No matter how hard to you dried to darn the holes, you couldn’t keep up with the loose thread undoing all your conscious measures. It was quickly becoming one of those days when you convinced yourself your therapist had lied about everything.

When you messed up, even in your head, everyone knew.

If they didn’t say otherwise, you were annoying everyone in the room. If they did say otherwise, they were just being polite.

You weren’t likeable, not loveable, and the minute you weren’t useful you should make yourself scarce. Otherwise, things would get awkward, and no one wanted that. You could be the adult. You could hack off a limb and smile about it.

It didn’t hurt, and even if it did, it shouldn’t, because you didn’t have a right to that feeling.

Alright. Fine.

You realized, just as you joined the line for the cashier, that you’d forgotten matches and sugar. They’d been on your list. But someone joined the line behind you, and unspoken social rules that probably didn’t exist shackled you in place. Too late. You’d look stupid. You’d bother someone. Oh well. You’d just have to make another trip. Soon. But not too soon. Now there were two sets of eyes watching you from the connecting drive, and you didn’t want to give them reason to gossip and laugh and assume…

Your pile of groceries looked too small on the conveyor belt. Roughly half what they’d been lately. Would the cashier notice? You were sure she did. The way she recited your total sounded disappointed. Was she counting on you buying more? Were you hurting the employees’ holiday bonus? Shit. Fuck.

The bags felt too heavy. Too light. You forgot your reusable sacks at home, and the plastic dug guilt and accusations into the crease of your palms. On top of everything else, you were killing the planet.

You drove home.

Along the river. Through the trees. Up the hills to your corrupted sanctuary.

At least you didn’t need to make a second trip to bring in all the shopping. Your haul landed on the counter, you threw the damned milk in the fridge, and you realized, as you opened the pantry, that you already had four bags of flour. Two all-purpose, two for bread. Because you’d planned to bake for two.

The flour hadn’t been on your list.

And there was no room for it.

Your lip wobbled, and you bit it ferociously, chewing it until the texture changed and bits of skin started peeling.

It wasn’t a problem. You liked being prepared. You’d dump it in one of the emergency storage totes you kept in the hall closet and be ready when something went wrong.

You did just that, popping open the plastic lid and layering the flour over dry lentils, black beans, and shelf-stable cartons of broth. You decided to add more baking supplies to the list. Even if the power went out you could use the wood-burning stove in the living room to make griddle cakes. Maybe even soda bread.

There. Yeah. That wasn’t so bad. A silver lining.

As you returned to the kitchen, brainstorming ways to atone for the plastic bags you’d used, the scent of coffee wafted down the hall. Which was strange. Because you hadn’t put the moka pot on. You rushed in, frowning.

The old drip machine you only used for company burbled in the corner, and the groceries sat precariously on the corner, shoved aside by the beast who’d wandered through your unlocked door.

A tall, mohawked figure groped, shoulder-deep, in your cabinets.

MacTavish.

The Scottish mumbling would’ve tipped you off even if you weren’t so familiar with his figure (and hair, and limited wardrobe).

Your angst tasted bitter as you swallowed it down. You needed space for the feelings popping like firecrackers in your chest.

Relief. Hope. Dread.

He was in your space without invitation, and with the morning you’d just had, you felt anything but comfortable. Either you’d jumped the gun, or he was bringing a delayed apology for his friend.

“Johnny? What are you doing here?”

He smiled over his shoulder as he pulled two cups down from the shelf. One with your college logo and your prized ugly mug.

“Hello, neighbor!” He cackled, laughing at his own joke. “Wanted to give you a heads up and have a chat. My friend’s come to stay with me.”

Friend? What flavor of friend?

“I know. We met this morning.”

“Aye. Real barrel o’ sunshine, isn’ he?”

“If you say so.”

You wanted to be nice. You wanted to be his friend, too. But you weren’t, and you’d worked so hard to be a good, reliable person he could depend on in a new town – you were drained.

“His name’s Ghost.”

Most people grew out of their edgelord status by their early twenties. Ghost –with his skull balaclava and gruff voice – seemed better fit for the emo table of a suburban high school cafeteria than the adult world.

Johnny kept prattling, making an introduction for someone who wasn’t even there. “Told him all about you! He was impressed. Smacked me over the head about the pipes and said we’d go into town for a generator before the next big snow.”

“Hard to predict the next big snow.”

“Aye. He said that, too.”

If Ghost could keep your insights out of his mouth, you would appreciate it. It felt like he was stealing something from you, and you found yourself shifting from foot to foot, arms crossed, waiting for something terrible to happen.

And it did.

Gesturing as he described his old buddy and new housemate, his elbows danced around your kitchen like battering rams. First, he struck a cabinet, which hurt him more than the wood. He laughed it off. Kept talking. You didn’t need to say a word. By that point, you probably couldn’t even if he left space to speak.

For the life of you, you couldn’t riddle out what his visit was for. It was exhausting. He never chattered so much when you brought food or showed him how to keep his home in one piece. Ghost must make him very happy. His joy made you anxious.

His arm wide, indicating the views he’d fallen for and not the practical considerations of living in the goddamn woods on a goddamn mountain, and you watched in slow motion as his forearm caught your ugly mug’s handle.

It spun, wobbling to the edge of the counter, and before you could move, it plummeted.

A bad day instantly became your worst in years.

It must’ve made a sound when it hit, but you didn’t hear it. Or didn’t remember it. You didn’t remember going to the floor after it, either.

Your mug was in pieces, and when you pulled them to safety, wrapped tight in your fist, the glazed edges cut deep. It was such an ugly little thing. Your ugly little thing. You’d made it in one of those sip-and-spin pottery classes with your pals before you stopped going to see people face-to-face.

The mug wasn’t a friend. It was all of your friends. It was the fun you, the one who went out and did things, and moved through life like a real, entire person.

It practically exploded when it hit the tile. Some pieces were bigger than others, but there were dozens of them. Glittering chips and flecks that you knew you’d be finding with your feet through the rest of the winter.

There was no fixing it. It hurt. You were bleeding. Red oozed up between your knuckles and snaked down your wrist.

“Oh, shite! Shite, shite, shite. Are you alright? Here, let me –”

You didn’t want him to touch it again. Didn’t want him to touch you and act like he gave a fuck. This was a big, ugly feeling bubbling up inside, and if he didn’t dislike you yet, he would when he saw all the tears and snot.

A pretty crier you were not.

And no one wanted to see that, or deal with it, or cope with someone else’s messy emotions.

“It’s fine. I’m okay.” You grit your teeth and smiled through them. “But I need to clean this up, and I still have groceries to put away. How about you get your friend settled and we can talk another time, okay?”

“Are you sure?” His attention was fixed on the blood. Bright red was such an alarming color. You could understand.

“Yeah. Just a little scratch. Promise. But I can’t play host and clean myself up.”

His neck went stiff, and his eyes flicked from your face to the floor. Several times. Like he was having an argument with himself. But in the end, he listened, nodded, and got back on his feet from where he’d knelt in front of you.

“If you insist. But we’re right over there if you need anything, aye?”

“I know.”

Finally, he left.

You got up and locked the door behind him. If you’d taken time to do that before you put away the groceries none of this would’ve happened. You would still have your mug and you wouldn’t be on the floor, crying and cradling the remains of something that mattered to you.

-----------------------

He kept coming over when he needed things. Usually after Ghost’s truck rumbled down the drive. Sometimes he wanted advice. Sometimes he needed help. Usually he took tools and supplies he should’ve bought for himself.

You put your curtains to good work. You couldn’t remember a time you drew them so often. If he knocked, you’d answer, but the curtains were a good deterrent. Not foolproof, but something that gave you a little more power over your privacy.

Long jaunts into town have become escapes from your own home. Better the eyes of strangers – fleetingly painful – than the paranoia of sitting under glass where your neighbors might read your habits and foibles by the way the lights turn on and off through the night, might judge your messy hair through the kitchen window as you wash the dishes. Might, might, might. There were terrible possibilities in all that potential.

They were always there. One ready to freeze you out, the other hanging on your apron strings like a teenager who just got his first place. The conflict rubbed over your nerves like a match on a boot heel. Too much, too fast, and you’d combust.

So you found a lot of reasons to go into town. You remembered how much you liked the library, the joy of a cinnamon roll someone else baked, and hot coffee that didn’t come with a side of flashbacks.

The forecast predicted heavy snow overnight, and you made a day of grocery shopping, collecting novels from the library, and avoiding your neighbor’s last-minute requests.

You barely noticed the teens rushing out of the parking lot as you left your final stop, canvas bag loaded with enough media to keep you entertained through the storm of the century. No windows were broken. No key marks scuffed the paint. If they committed any mischief, it was minor.

Gas theft didn’t cross your mind until your engine quietly gave out and your car rolled to a stop between Nowhere and Nothing.

Understanding dawned with grudging revulsion. Like looking at the toilet and realizing it wouldn’t flush.  

The little shits had siphoned your tank.

You smacked the steering wheel, cursing.

So much for the benefit of the doubt. You couldn’t escape. Everyone everywhere just wanted to use you.

But it was fine. Everything would be fine. You were always prepared in case someone fucked you over. Your wellbeing was your responsibility, after all.

Climbing out of the warm cabin, you headed to the back and pulled out the emergency gas can.

The red plastic was shockingly light. You didn’t realize until you’d already thrown your weight into the yank. Unbalanced, you tottered, and your heel skidded over ice.

The snow cushioned your fall, and you stared blankly into the white limned branches overhead as you tried to process the last five seconds. Things like this happened to idiots. They did not happen to you. Careful, cautious you with your backup plans and reserves.

You had simply made a mistake. Somewhere. Somehow. You’d find an explanation.

When you sat up, still in a state of shock, you examined the can, expecting signs of a mouse, or a crack, or…

An I.O.U. was taped to the back.

You knew the handwriting all too well.

That shitting little…

The snow arrived. Silence swallowed the mountain, and the gloaming snuffed the last of the sun’s warmth.

You sat alone on the side of the road, well aware that no one would come up this way for hours. Days maybe.

You had made a mistake.

You made your neighbor chicken soup.

Your nose burned, and you sniffed. Hot tears rolled down your face, burning as they went, and you wiped at them furiously. The wool of your mittens chafed your cheek. Your lip wobbled, and you hurled the empty can into the woods.

Fuck Johnny MacTavish.

Fuck Ghost.

Fuck your life.

[doctorbeth]

Secondary Hospital for Toucan and Hippo

Sometimes, animals need to go to a higher level hospital, kind of like visiting the Mayo Clinic after having first been treated at the local community hospital. When the toucan's person first wrote to me, he was looking for that higher level hospital.

Toucan was born in 1965. His person got him by sending in box tops from Fruit Loops Cereal. Earlier this year, he decided that Toucan, while still furry, really needed a bath, and he sent him, along with his friend hippo, to a hospital (not mine). When they came back, they were clean, but their colors were faded, their fur was gone, and their facial features (as well as hippo's ears and tail) had all been replaced. Their person was, needless to say, not happy.

Here is the diagnosis photo of Toucan that he sent:

Toucan was supposed to be two shades of yellow as well as blue and purple! His man was ok, with the new eyes, but his beak was malformed (he couldn't get small bugs with that rounded tip) and his tail had a poor patch.

Hippo (who was too shy for diagnosis photos) was similarly pale and unfurry, with the wrong ears, eyes, nostrils, and tail!

The only treatment I can offer for fading and balding is new fur, which I explained to the pair's man. He thought this would be acceptable (especially since it was reversible if he didn't like it, unlike their earlier cleaning), so he sent them in -- I got to be the Mayo Clinic :-)!

We went through a few options for colors and furriness amounts, but eventually figured out the right balance and surgery commenced. Here is the Toucan all better and waiting for some Fruit Loops:

The hippo took a bit longer. While the man had photographs (old original photos from film!) of them younger, the angle on Hippo was not great for his nostrils, and it took a few tries to get them and his eyes just right. But here he is all better too... he's even showing off his new tail!

They flew home (not far, just down to Los Angeles) and their person wrote:

The pair have arrived safe and sound.  They have never looked better.  Thank you so much for your superb craftsmanship.

[alexthetrashyracoon]

Simon wants to marry you.

This fact was as clear as rain on his mind. You were the love of his life, he was ready to settle down with you and grow old.

So Simon prepared everything for that special day, it was your fourth year anniversary and Simon wants to ask you the biggest question someone could ask and he hoped, maybe even prayed despite not believing in any higher deity, that you would say 'yes' to his proposal.

He has planned out the whole day, from the moment you woke to the moment you would close your eyes for the night again, everything was supposed to be perfect.

Simon brings you breakfast in bed, watching your smile brighten when you see the freshly pressed orange juice and the fresh buns, still warm from the bakery. "Happy Anniversary." He whispers before slipping back into bed behind you, pulling you between his legs and stealing some of the freshly cut Mango from your plate.

When breakfast is over, you two made a mess out of each other while trying to feed each other, he scoops you up and carries you into the bathroom, telling you to get ready and that he has a lot of plans for today which causes you to become perceptive. Immediately starting to question him about his plans, but he's still a trained soldier, he withstands your flow of questions.

Another plan of Simon for today was bringing you to a fair, the same one you two met four years ago.

Here he wanted to ask you to marry him, on top of the Ferris wheel where you two had been stuck together four years ago due to a technical issue with the electronic.

But after spending a few hours walking the fair ground, having to walk back to his car once to bring Lord Otto from Otterson, the plush Otter he won you at one of the stupid and usually very rigged fair games, to safety and out of the way. You make it to the Ferris wheel and Simon's face fell.

"Out of order..." He breathes and runs a hand through his short blonde hair, staring up at the still standing wheel and the dangling cable cars.

"Damn." You curse softly next to him and scratch your neck. "Well, maybe we can ride it another day, mhm?"

"Yeah, maybe. Well, we can't change anything now." He chuckles and squeezes the velvety box in his back pocket. Keeping it safe until you two would reach the next destination.

The small restaurant by the corner where you two lived was filled with loud voice, happy laughter, children running around, not that Simon minded, he knew you were a very outgoing person and enjoyed the social interactions from such evenings.

Simon had reserved a table a few weeks ago and the waiter brings you and him over, Simon shushing the poor man who just wants to help you sit.

He is your boyfriend, bloody hell, he can do something so simple as helping you get seated.

"I know it is our anniversary, Simon," You chuckle as you put down the glass of wine Simon has ordered for you and him, "But something feels different. I just don't know what. Special..."

"Four years is just a long time, love. Maybe your brain finally catches up with... wha-?" Simon wants to be cheesy with you before asking you the question of all questions when suddenly his feet feel wet and he looks down, seeing water come from the kitchen.

His second attempt of asking for your hand has been sabotaged by a broken water pipe.

Simon curses internally as he carries you back outside, not wanting to get your feet wet and cause you catching some flu.

Well, there is only the romantic walk through the nearby park which is empty around this time of the night, so you two can walk around the pond and watch the fireflies and swans before he can go down on one knee and finally ask.

But before he even get you through the sturdy iron gates that allowed entrance to the park, his phone rang, Prices' number on the screen and everything in Simon screams to ignore his Captain for the sake of your relationship and your future.

He apologizes and takes the call, listening to Price explaining that they've got information about a certain Russian Terrorist planning an attack and that they had to meet within the next hour.

"It's fine." You reassure him when he brings you back to your shared apartment, squeezing his hand with a gentle smile on your lips. "I had a lot of fun today with at my side. And saving the world is much more important. We can celebrate another time, Si."

"You're too forgiving." Simon replies and presses his chapped lips against your forehead. "But it's not fine. I had the whole day planned out. And the universe seems against me at all, bloody hell. All I wanted to do tonight was asking you to marry me. And everything I've tried blew. The Ferris Wheel, the restaurant, even the walk..."

You cut him off before he can talk himself into a frenzy by wrapping your arms around his neck, having to stand on your tiptoes and planting your lips on his.

"Yes." You grin when you pull back. "Yes, I will marry you, Simon Riley. I will marry you."

Maybe he should have simply asked you this morning during breakfast, might have saved him from getting another grey hair on his head. But sometimes the simple answer is hidden behind the complicated ideas.

[oreo-creampie]

“𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞, 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐈’𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫’𝐬”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! praising degradation, daddy/mama/brat, hints of jealousy/possessive!stoner!suguru, squirting, teasing, choking, squirting, mating press, pain kink, size kink, two fingers in your ass, mindbreak/getting cockdrunk, begging, a momentary just the tip moment, riding him, overstimulation, breeding, stuffing his cum into you, some spanking

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧! I have a praise kink and a degradation kink, I need Geto to tell me that I'm his favourite dirty little slut and absolutely nail me to the mattress while doing 🥵🥵🥵

Oreo: I was thinking of a part two of stoner!suguru with this one, even though he doesn't smoke. I like the follow up of him finally deciding he wants to be more than just friends

Slapping your soft cunt and yanking your legs back open when you go to black the next hit. He demands, “Color?” Leaning forward, towering over you to make you feel smaller.

Using his weight to keep you pinned in a firm mating press. His thick cock nudging your soft cunt. Shoving your hips trying to best to glide an inch in your sore cunt. Eager for the sweet pleasure to cut through the pain.

You whine, “Green! Please don't be mad! I didn't mean to make you jealous, didn't think.” He grabs your throat, tightly squeezing.

“Didn't think I’d want your beautiful ass all to myself?” Softly kissing your forehead, smiling down at you tightening his grasp around your neck.

He croons, “Mama we've been living together and fucked on nearly every surface of his apartment. N’ you spent every night in my bed, so tell me whose are you?” Letting your neck go, grabbing your hands putting them above your hand.

“Who takes care of you?” By the time you catch your breath, he slaps your cunt harder than before. Stuffing one thick finger in softly curling it stroking your sweet spot to ease your discomfort.

Reaching for Suguru he pins your wrists together with one large hand. Gliding a second finger in, touching your clit, and then nothing. Suguru refuses to move his fingers.

The lack of stimulation makes it easier to think. You look into Suguru’s loving, dark chocolate eyes. “You do! I love the life we have made, our routine. I adore how you notice the little things about me.” He pumps his fingers twice, then stops. “I love the softness in your voice when you say name.” He softly rubs your clit and slowly pumps his fingers, stroking your sweet spot.

He purses his lips and looks at his side table whilst admitting, “I supposed I never outright asked you.” The passionate, hungry intensity in his dark brown eyes is exciting. Suguru glides his fingers out smirking when you whine.

Dipping his head watching your soft hole clenching nothing. “This is also too much fun. I’ll take any chance I get to fuck into your head that you’re mine.” Teasing you with a small swirl of his thumb.

“Please!” Wiggling your hips trying to slips his thumb in, Suguru pulls away. Leaving you on the edge of the bed with your legs spread and your cunt yearning to stimulation.

Opening the bottom bedside drawer pulling out a long black box. Taking out a necklace whilst walking around the bed, standing in front of it. There is a S dangling from a thin chain.

He softly smiles, “Do you wanna be with me?” He unfastens the clasp holding the necklace open.

You stand up on his bed “Yes!” Wrapping your arms around him. Suguru bites the second his head gets near your chest. You cunt clenches from the sweet pain.

Slipping your hand into Suguru’s soft hair, softly tugging making him groan and bucks his hips. “Sit down for me mama lemma slip this on you before I rearrange your guts.” You kneel close to the edge of the bed.

Suguru carefully puts the necklace on you. He softly kisses the top of your head. You insist, “I need to get you something, or do something for you.” He grabs your throat pinning you to the bed, slapping your soft cunt.

“How about you take my cock like a good slut?” He grabs his cock, lining himself up. Giving your neck a tighter squeeze before letting go. He leans back to watch your soft tight cunt stretch for his thick cockhead.

He grabs your thighs, pinning you in a mating press. Groaning as he glides his thick head in and out. Watching the soft ridge of his cock head tug on your soft cunt. “Such a pretty little cunt, love see her stretch nm grip my cock like she doesn’t wanna let me go.”

You plea, “Please lemme feel the rest of you. Wanna feel all of your cock! Daddy please!” He roughly rocks his hips forward, giving you all of his thick veiny cock.

Suguru doesn’t move his hard cock, stroking your clit. Groaning when you clench him. He croons, “Daddy what? I’m letting you feel all of my cock what else doesn’t my pretty little slut need?”

Begging Suguru, “Daddy please fuck me! Fuck your slut into a stupid mess! Wanna be your beautiful spoiled cocky sleeve. Please fuck me however you want!” He grabs your hips, lifting your lower half off the bed.

Using his firm grasp to help you meet his rough thrusts. His hips slapping yours. The bed softly rocking, his heavy wooden headboard tapping the wall. “Nnn fuck fuck fuck! Gonna breed ya? Ya want that? Ya wanna be pretty little cum filled whore?” Your cunt spams around his cunt.

His hard cock stroking, stretching and hitting your cunt perfectly. Sweet intense pleasure makes it hard to think. Why should you bother when you can mindlessly take Suguru’s fat cock?

“Nnnnn! Hhhhnnn! Mmm fuckkkk! Feelsgoodfeelsnnn!” You grab the bedsheets. Unable to think about anything else but how good his cock feels in your cunt. Nothing else matters but your boyfriend’s large hands, thick cock, sweet groans, and the way he is admiring you.

Suguru croons, “Are ya my mindless cock hungry slut? Mmm? Want me to bully your soft tight cunt?” Keeping his pace the same and fucking his cock into you hard.

You muster the words to answer Suguru beyond, “Daddy! Daddy! Nnn! Bully the brat outta me!” Suguru leans over you, grabbing your neck to lift you off the bed. You feel so small in his grasp, so perfectly helpless to do anything but take his cock.

Bouncing you faster on his thick cock, his moans getting louder, breathier. “Sofuckingood wanna cum in your soft cunt! Been thinking about it all I’ve been able to think about since I saw you flirting with him. I should’ve fucked in ya in the bathroom then sent you back over with my cum leaking out.” Your cunt clenches.

Suguru smirks, “Of course a slut like you would like that. You’re daddy’s little slut, remember that.”

You’re getting on his possessiveness and manhandling. Grabbing his thick hard biceps, digging in your nails when he flexes. “Daddy’s so big!” Your words trigger something within Suguru.

Without gliding his cock out he flips you over pinning you to the bed. With your ass arched in the air and a firm grasp on your hair, keeping your face out of the pillow.

Using his weight to keep you from wiggling away from him mercilessly. “Gonna fuck my cum into you, don’t wanna stop. Wanna keep fucking my big cock into your sweet cunt.” You can feel his cock’s veins pulse as he’s getting closer.

His balls are slapping your clit with each rough thrust. Your ass clapping, your soaking wet cunt squelching.

You love how whiny Suguru is the closer he is. The way his body shivers on top of you, his rough smooth pace momentarily faltering. He whines, “What am I?”

Slipping your fingers into Suguru’s soft dark hair. “Daddy! Mine! Daddy! You’re too much! Too much! Too good. Please cum!” He yanks your head to the side, hunching over to bite your throat.

Warm thick cum trickles and spurts into your soft cunt. Your cunt spasms then gush, thick slick trickling down your thighs. Suguru groans, his pace sloppy and rough.

There is something so carnal about Suguru biting your keep whilst firmly pinning you down to fuck his cum into. You want more, more of his thick cock and warm cum.

You whine, grinding your hips when he falters and stops. “Suguru!” He rolls over with you on top. Keeping his cum deep in you with his cock.

Right away you take the chance, grabbing his thick thighs, lifting your hips, and bouncing on Suguru’s cock. Moaning, trembling, toes curling. Getting off on using his cock like a dildo. Whilst knowing your soft tight cunt is overwhelming him with each stroke.

Leaning forward giving him a good view of your soft cunt taking his cock. His thick cum trickles out of your cunt and coats his thick cock. “Can’t get over how deep your fat cock is. It’s stuffing your cum in so deep!”

Looking over your shoulder to see Suguru. “Thought you were gonna teach my slutty ass a lesson?” Suguru smirks then sucks on two thick fingers. Your cunt clenches when he touches your asshole. Smearing his spit then gliding both fingers in.

He stretches his fingers apart spreading your asshole. Your pace falters, he isn’t moving his fingers. “Teach you what? That you’re such a desperate whore. I think ya know that with how you’re bouncing on my thick cock like it’s all you can think about.” Slowly fucking his fingers into your soft ass.

“Go on mama tire your little pretty bratty ass out. I wanna hear you beg me to fuck ya when your legs get too tired.”

Oreo m.list

[gigi-loveless]

summary - loser!roommate!ellie gets you a special new toy.

warnings - smut (duh), use of vibrator, very very light degradation

authors note - this has been sitting in my drafts for like two months 😭 anyways!! requests are open!

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

loser!roommate!ellie who is obsessed with toys. and i mean obsessed.

new packages are always on your doorstep from some sketchy ass website, triple wrapped with duct tape. curiously, you peer over her shoulder while she flips out her pocket knife and digs it into the box, breaking the seal with ease.

"what is it, els?" you ponder, brushing your hand over her shoulder sensually.

"shh. you'll see..." she nearly whispers, plucking the small, purple toy out of the box. thighs rubbing together in anticipation, you tilt your head at the oddly shaped item, as ellie smirks at you.

“so this….is a phone controlled vibrator."

oh.

~

“els…..” you mewl out, reaching your fourth orgasm of the night. the knot in your stomach pulsed, the aching becoming unbearable, vision going fuzzy.

“hold it.” she answers nonchalantly, not even bothering to look up from her phone to see the pathetic mess you’ve made before her. scrolling just to flip back to the app for a moment to turn the vibrator up to an agonizing high, pretending to wipe her mouth to cover her shit eating smirk.

“this was just to test it out….i’m supposed to take you out when you can barely behave yourself here?” she chuckles, her fingers drumming against her thigh.

the moans you were suppressing were absolutely sinful to keep to yourself, though ellie urged you to be quiet. just to make things interesting, you let out a pornographic whine, throwing your head back in pleasure. the room goes quiet for a moment, besides the trill of the tv.

“mm…..” ellie hums out, running her fingers through her auburn locks, gesturing her head towards the tv. “js’ watch your show, princess.”

suddenly, the steady, reliable trill of the toy began to pulse erratically against your puffy, throbbing clit, your back arching into it involuntarily. chanting her name like a prayer, your high is approaching quickly, guttural whines finally escaping the confines of your throat.

“thought you were better than that angel….” ellie tuts, taunting you as she strips of her boxers, her favorite light blue strap sitting snugly on her hips.

pt. 2….? this was supposed to just be a drabble but i got carried away oops!

join my taglist!

@ellies2missingfingers @ellieslob @elliewilliamsloverrrrrrr

[libraford]

Park Cleanup Pet Peeves

I'll be starting my seasonal gig at Parks and Rec in a couple months and I've got a couple things I wanna say. I know that this will probably not reach the people who need to hear it, but if ONE LESS person leaves the parks a mess, I will be That Much Happier.

-You're not supposed to smoke, drink, or have sex in public parks but I know that people will anyway. But if you are going to do those things, please dispose of the evidence in the trash cans. A human has to pick these things up.

-Dog poop goes in a bag. Bag goes in the trash can.

-The little wax paper liners in the women's room? See you're supposed to put your pad/tampon in that wax paper bag, take the bag out of the bin, and then dispose of it in the actual trash can. Don't feel bad, no one told me either. Also no one told the dudes I work with. But this reduces direct exposure to bodily fluids, especially as the summer gets on and it gets hot in those bathrooms.

-On that subject! The little bins that they go in next to the toilet? Don't stick trash in there. Don't put diapers in there. Also don't put beer cans crushed in such a specific way that I slice my hand on them as I try to jimmy it out of there. Literally, that bin is too small for most things. They are meant specifically for those brown bags. Please for the love of god, throw things in the trash can.

-As for the urinals, please no solids. Most commonly gum and chewed tobacco, but you can use your imagination.

-If you're doing a photo shoot or an event with confetti, please use a paper confetti instead of a plastic one- its easier to get rid of.

-If you're doing a pizza party, we'd rather you stack the pizza boxes in a pile next to the trash can instead of trying to fit them in the trash. Because then we can just throw the trash bag over the top and tie it instead of trying to fish it out. This kind of goes for any big trash- if it won't fit in the trash can easily, don't try.

-Please don't call cops on people sleeping in the parks if they're not bothering anyone. Even if they've been sleeping there all day. Dude's just trying to chill.

-Destruction of the toilets will result in the indefinite locking of the restrooms. You ruined them and now everyone at the softball tournament can blame you for it.

-Parks people are not the police. We are maintenance workers who are not trained to handle most emergencies and the most we can do in any situation is report to the proper department. Please don't look to us for answers if someone is starting a fight.

-Also please don't spit on us for driving on the path. We're permitted to. Its essential for us to drive on the path to do our job.

-please don't abandon animals at the park. Rehome them properly. I spent a whole week trying to catch a rooster last summer.

-look, I get it- 'oh no, your pretty building has writing on it!' Grafitti is so edgy. We get it. But it means Jacob has to sand it off now so that the kids at the birthday party don't see a giant drawing of a weiner. Acts of rebellion that create more work for the working class are not revolutionary.

-please do not set fire to the Tiny Free Library. Why did you do that? That's mean.

-please do not feed bread to ducks and geese. Corn, birdseed, lettuce- those are better for them. If you want to reduce tge amount of goose poop in the parks, shop feeding them bread.

-also do not anger tge geese. They remember what its like to be dinosaurs.

I'll have more later, probably, once the season wears on.