#i... was going to make an eloquent point here but this... well. got out of hand

[joonie-beanie]

A Dragon's Constitution | [Neuvillette x Reader]

Summary: Iudex Neuvillette has been acting a little...strange, as of late. Worried about him, Sigewinne and Wriothesley come up with a plan to help lessen his load. “I’m lending you to Neuvillette for the week.” Well, being Neuvillette's assistant for a week shouldn't be that bad. Unless, of course, the reason Neuvillette has been acting strange is due to the fact that he's actually a dragon that has regained his full power, and now, with the return of said power, his body is experiencing things he's never known before now. Because that would be totally crazy...right? Content: Smut, Consensual Sex, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Rut, fem!reader Word Count: 10.8k Note: this occurs after "Doctor's Orders"

Sigewinne is the first to hear the rumors about Iudex Neuvillette—although Wriothesley isn’t far behind.

The first indication that something might be wrong with the Iudex is brought up in a letter—one penned by Sedene that is delivered to Sigewinne. In the letter, Sedene writes that since Fontaine has overcome its disaster, everything has been going well…except, Neuvillette has been behaving a little…strange.

Sedene does not elaborate on what exactly is wrong, and Sigewinne assumes that’s because she doesn’t know. Melusine have the ability to sense things, but the things they sense aren’t always accompanied with an answer.

And so, Sigewinne writes back telling Sedene to make sure Neuvillette is staying hydrated (since she knows he has been particularly busy as of late), and that she’ll try and make a trip to see him soon, when she has the time.

The following day, a new batch of wrongdoers arrive in the prison, and along with them—some speculations about Fontaine’s supreme judge.

“I think I deserve a retrial,” one of the men says, clearly frustrated. “I stated my case, but then Iudex Neuvillette actually blanked, and had to ask me to repeat myself! After I said everything so eloquently! That’s why I’m down here, man. I was so surprised by it that when I said my argument again, I sounded lame…this sucks.”

Listening from behind a nearby pillar, Wriothesley frowns to himself. 

Neuvillette getting distracted in court? Well, that’s certainly a first—and a worrying first, at that.

Before the day’s end, Wriothesley and Sigewinne seek each other out. Equally concerned about what they’ve been hearing, they spend the evening coming up with a plan. Something they might be able to do to help Neuvillette.

The next morning, you wake up and get ready—prepared to go and spend a few days below ground in the Fortress…only to find Wriothesley on your doorstep.

“Hi,” he says with a smile when you pull your front door open.

Your eyes go wide, and you glance either way down the street, wondering if you’re being pranked. 

When nothing seems suspicious, you reach out and touch Wriothesley’s chest to make sure he’s real.

He immediately rolls his eyes and snatches your hand, bringing it to his lips.

“Yes, I’m real. Yes, I’m here.”

“Good—but, why are you here?” you ask. 

Not that he isn’t welcome at your apartment, but…you just didn’t expect to see him here. On the surface. At your place of residence.

“Am I late or something? I thought we scheduled for me to come back to the Fortress today.”

“No, you are not late,” he reassures you. He gives your hand a little squeeze before allowing you to have it back.

“There’s been…a little change in your schedule.”

You cock an eyebrow at him.

“What kind of change?”

Does he want you to stay on the surface a few more days before coming back down? Considering he’s here, maybe he’s got some business on the surface, which would mean there’s no point in you going to the Fortress right now.

Wriothesley’s smile grows—little crow's feet appearing at the corner of his eyes.

“I’m lending you to Neuvillette for the week.”

…

Huh?

“Here.”

Wriothesley grabs your bag—the one slung over your arm and packed with items that should have tied you over while you stayed in the Fortress—and tosses it back into your apartment.

Then, he gently grabs your waist, pulls you out onto the street, and closes the door to your apartment behind you. He checks the door to make sure it’s locked, and when he finds that it is, he nods in satisfaction.

“C’mon, keep up,” he says, starting up the street. His boots are heavy against the pavement.

Blinking, you finally snap out of it and jog to catch up with him.

“Hold on, you—you’re lending me to Iudex Neuvillette?”

You’ve never known the man to have an assistant, and from what you’ve heard from Wriothesley and others, he tends to prefer working alone. Aside from that, he’s very skilled at his job, and typically doesn’t need help—even with the never ending case load.

“...did he consent to this?”

Wriothesley smiles, loving how smart you are.

“Not yet, but he will.”

The two of you turn a corner, heading towards an elevator that will take you up towards the Palais Mermonia. You narrow your eyes at Wriothesley. He waves you off.

“Sigewinne and I both heard that he seems a little…stressed lately. And we decided the best thing we could do right now, aside from giving him our support, would be lending him you. So, assuming he is in need of help, I don’t see why he would turn our offer down, considering how proficient you are.”

“While I appreciate the praise, I think you’re underestimating the pride of men,” you tell him, standing at his side as the two of you arrive at the elevator. Wriothesley hits the button to summon it to your floor.

“Hey, when I got busier than usual, I hired you,” he points out. You cock an eyebrow at him.

“I’m 99% sure the only reason you hired me was due to Sigewinne's influence. I bet she saw your stress growing and bugged you to get an assistant until you finally gave in.”

Wriothesley sighs.

“Sometimes I wish you weren’t so smart.”

You grin, holding your head high.

Finally, the elevator arrives on your floor. When the door opens, Wriothesley motions for you to board first. Then, he follows you on.

“So, let’s say Sigewinne did insist I hire an assistant. The result of doing so was positive. My work got easier, and my life improved. If we present that logic to Neuvillette, there’s no reason he should decline our help. Plus, he tends to listen to Sigewinne.”

You sigh, watching the city outside the glass doors of the elevator. You’re nearly to the floor the Palais Mermonia is on.

“If Neuvillette agrees that he wants the help, I have no issue being his assistant for the week.”

Wriothesley catches your silent drift of “you get the pleasure of trying to convince him to accept help, though”. 

Which is fine. He loves a good challenge.

“Sigewinne and I appreciate your cooperation,” he tells you sincerely.

Arriving on your floor, the elevator doors open, and you step out first—standing aside to allow Wriothesley to walk past you and lead the way. A few gazes are thrown your way as you go—people surprised to see the Duke of the Fortress above ground for once—but Wriothesley doesn’t react, so neither do you.

Sticking by his side, you follow him up the steps and through the front door of the building. 

“Duke Wriothesley,” Sedene greets as you near the doors of Neuvillette’s office. She runs up to the two of you, her eyes somewhat nervously shifting towards the office doors.

“Iudex Neuvillette, he…”

She wants to say that he’s not accepting visitors at the moment, but she can’t get the words out—obviously worried about him. Wriothesley flashes her a kind smile.

“Sigewinne sent us,” he tells her, relief immediately appearing on her face at his words. “Is Neuvillette in?”

“Yes, he is in,” she confirms, and then scuttles back over to her desk, only to return a moment later with a tray of tea (or, teacups and water?) in her hands. 

“Take this when you go in, that should help.”

“I appreciate that,” Wriothesley responds. You reach down to take the tray from her hands, quietly thanking her as well. She flashes you a smile, gives you a thumbs up, and then goes back to work.

You and Wriothesley glance at each other. Seeing you’re ready, he raps his knuckles on the door thrice, and enters the room when Neuvillette’s muffled and somewhat reluctant “come in” is heard from beyond the door.

Gripping the handle, Wriothesley pushes his way inside. You dutifully follow after him.

Once in the office—the door shutting softly behind you—you quickly realize that perhaps something is wrong with the Iudex. Because for a man known for his neatness, and professionalism, his office is quite…untidy, at the moment. 

Papers are scattered along his desk—piles uneven, and threatening to fall. And on the coffee table nearby, there are multiple cups, along with empty bottles of imported water. Not to mention books that are strewed around—some even on the floor.

Wriothesley takes quick stock of the state of the office before his gaze settles on Neuvillette, who is sitting at his desk. He's wearing his normal robes, and yet he looks…strangely disheveled. Perhaps it's the faint dark circles under his eyes, or the way his hair looks less kept than usual?

“I thought I instructed that there were to be no—oh, Wriothesley.”

Neuvillette's tone of measured annoyance softens the second he looks up and sees who it actually is that has entered his office. Then, he sighs, feeling ashamed of his initial attitude.

“I apologize. Did you request a meeting? I don't recall getting any correspondence about it, unless it was accidentally left off my calendar.”

“No need for apologies, Monsieur Neuvillette. I am the one who should be apologizing, as I did not reach out beforehand to let anyone know that I was coming.”

Wriothesley bows in slight apology, and you mirror him, figuring it's the right thing to do since you're technically also intruding.

“I know you're very busy, so I'll cut right to the chase to save us both time. Sigewinne and I are concerned about you, since we've both heard from multiple sources that you seem a little out of sorts as of late. So, in an attempt to help lessen your load, I'd like to offer you my assistant, Y/N, for the week.”

For the first time since you'd entered with Wriothesley, Neuvillette’s sharp eyes slide to you. You force a polite smile to your lips and—remembering the tray in your hands—move to set it on the nearby table.

Quickly filling one of the glasses with the water, you stride over to Neuvillette’s desk and offer it to him.

“Pleased to meet you,” you simply say. 

“And you as well,” he responds, keeping up formalities.

Taking the glass from your hand, Neuvillette takes a long sip of water, and you scoot back to Wriothesley’s side. Once Neuvillette has finished his drink, he places the glass down on his desk and sighs.

“I assure you that I am alright, and there is no need for concern.”

“I hate to disagree, but based on the state of your office, I can't believe that's true.”

Neuvillette’s gaze slides around his office, as if truly seeing it for the first time in days. His brows pinch together as he realizes Wriothesley is right. He hadn't noticed it'd become so messy…

“I will admit I have been a little…scattered, lately. But it's nothing I cannot handle. Lending me your assistant would only increase the burden of your own workload, which I cannot accept.”

“Actually,” Wriothesley is quick to counter. “I hired Y/N before the disaster, because much of my time was occupied watching the primordial sea gate, and preparing the Wingalet. Now that the disaster has passed, and things have relatively calmed down, my workload has greatly lessened. Meaning, I have no issue temporarily lending her to you.”

Knowing Wriothesley is only willing to give you up temporarily—meaning he'll want you back to himself at some point—makes you happy.

“Be that as it may, I will still have to decline your offer.”

Alright then, time to break out the big guns.

“I know since Furina stepped down as the Archon, you've only gotten busier,” Wriothesley tells him, fixing him with a concerned stare. “And because of that, Sigewinne is worried. If you could just accept Y/N's help for the week, I'm sure that would help put her mind at ease.”

The mention of Sigewinne causes Neuvillette to frown, so Wriothesley quickly lays it on thicker.

“I assure you that Y/N has been a great aide to me,” he says, his gaze meeting yours. “Sigewinne recommends her as well. If you allow her to help you for a few days, I have no doubt she’ll be of use to you. So please, Neuvillette.”

Neuvillette places his elbows on his desk and folds his hands together. It takes a few seconds, but eventually, he sighs.

“Fine. If Y/N is okay with this arrangement, I shall accept her help.”

Both men look your way. You smile.

“I’d be more than happy to help with whatever I can.”

Honestly, you hadn’t expected to find yourself here, and aren’t even sure what there is you can do to support him, but considering how tired he looks, you’ll surely try your best.

“Good! Glad that’s settled.”

With a happy grin—pleased that he has won the battle—Wriothesley turns to you. He cups the back of your head and drags you in—his lips pressing into your hair.

“I’ll come visit on Saturday to take her back into my care. Best of luck to you both,” he says, heading for the door. He waves his hand at you and Neuvillette over his shoulder, and without saying anything else, exits the office.

You stare at the closed door for a second, before you take a deep breath, plaster on a smile, and turn back to Neuvillette.

…only to find that he’s fixing you with a peculiar stare.

“Are you and Wriothesley seeing each other…?” he asks.

Ah, right, the way Wriothesley had kissed your head before leaving…

“We are not,” you assure him, taking a few steps towards his desk. “Since entering his employment the two of us have just become…fond of each other.”

Which isn’t a lie. You and Wriothesley are quite fond of each other—fond enough that every time you go to stay in the Fortress, you find yourself in his bed at least once (and not just because Sigewinne has instructed Wriothesley to continue having sex to keep his stress levels down). And no, you’re not dating, but that’s fine. You enjoy what you have with him right now, and honestly, it’d be a bad look if anyone found out Wriothesley was dating his assistant anyway.

“I see,” Neuvillette nods, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “I apologize for presuming.”

“No need to apologize, Monsieur,” you respond, stepping up beside his desk. You smile at him—softer, and more genuine this time.

“Now, what can I assist you with?”

While it takes a short while for Neuvillette to adjust to the idea of having an assistant to help with things, soon enough, the two of you come to an understanding.

He admits that he has been struggling to juggle court cases and new paperwork that needs to be signed off on now that the judicial system is changing (thanks to recent developments). So, you put forth the idea to allocate time to signing documents, and while you run things where they need to go afterwards, Neuvillette can address any cases on his docket. 

Not having any better idea, he goes with your plan.

While Neuvillette busies himself with signing paperwork, you flit around his office—cleaning up empty bottles and used cups, and putting abandoned books back on the shelves.

By the time you’ve finished organizing (taking your time to make sure everything is put back in its proper place), Neuvillette has finished reviewing his first stack of papers.

“These have all been signed off on,” he says, summoning you to his side. He points at the top right hand corner of the paper. “This area on each document will show you where it needs to be returned.”

“Understood,” you respond, taking the stack from him. You cradle the papers in your arms and leaf through the first few sheets while heading for the door. However, you quickly realize the documents aren’t grouped by which location they need to be dropped at.

So, you make a detour at the coffee table—gently sitting yourself on the sofa as you begin sorting the papers into smaller stacks, grouped by department. Once you’ve done that, you pile them all together again, and continue towards the door—unaware of the way Neuvillette’s lips tug into a smile at your actions.

Delivering documents where they need to go takes up the remainder of your morning, and by the time you’ve finished, your stomach is growling. So—figuring that Neuvillette won’t have stepped away from his desk yet—you decide to pick up something for the both of you.

“You've returned,” he says without looking up from the document in his hand as you step into his office. “I assume everything has been delivered?”

“Yes,” you respond with a nod, his gaze finally rising to look at you as he hears the sound of the bag in your hand, and smells the contents within. “And I grabbed us lunch. I assume you haven’t eaten?”

“I have not,” he confirms. His eyes watch you as you b-line for the coffee table and begin unpacking the take-out food. “I’m not sure what you like, but I figured I’d play it safe and go with soup, since you seem to enjoy…liquids.”

How else are you supposed to describe his taste when all you've seen him consume today is cup after cup of water?

Surprised, Neuvillette puts down the paper in his hand.

Standing from his chair, he makes his way over, staring at the clear broth of the consomme.

“...I think I'm beginning to see why Wriothesley enjoys having you as an assistant.”

“Oh? Sounds like Iudex Neuvillette is becoming fond of me too,” you say—very jokingly. “You may have to fight Wriothesley for me later. Assuming I stay as helpful during the remainder of the week.”

You half expect Neuvillette to say say something about how a fight won’t be necessary, as you're only a temporary loan, and he shouldn't need help beyond this week anyway—but instead, he cracks a smile, grabs his portion of the consomme, and says—

“I'll have to keep that in mind.”

—before he returns to his desk and continues working through his lunch.

In the afternoon, Neuvillette remains immersed in paperwork and other documents. You mostly spend your time making sure he has enough water available to drink, and fetching him any books or materials he asks for, so he doesn’t have to step away from his desk and break his concentration.

It’s a dynamic that works, and already, you can tell his stress has lessened—now that he’s caught up on many tasks. However, there’s still the slightest pinch to his brow, and a tiny flush on the skin of his neck despite the fact that it’s not overly hot in his office (at least, in your opinion. But maybe all that hair of his is warm?).

However, you don’t bother overthinking it. It’s still your first day assisting him. It would be crazy to think he’d suddenly be stress-free after a few hours in your care.

When the clock strikes 5, Neuvillette doesn’t miss a beat.

“You may go home for the day.”

You blink, looking around for the time.

“...will you continue working?”

“Yes, but that isn’t out of the ordinary,” Neuvillette responds, taking a sip from the glass of water on his desk. “However, your station doesn’t warrant you working overtime. You should go home now and enjoy your evening.”

You suppose he’s right…there are some things you can’t really assist him with anyway. Plus, you still have four more days working under him.

“Alright then, I won’t argue with you,” you respond. You gather up what little things you had brought with you, and then head for the door. But, before you go, you turn back to him.

“When should I come tomorrow? 8am?”

“9am will be fine.”

“Understood,” you nod, flashing him a smile. “Then, I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, Monsieur.”

“Good night, Y/N,” he responds in kind, watching you as you open the door and slip out of his office.

His gaze only lingers on the spot where you stood for a brief moment before he returns to his work.

The next day, you arrive at Neuvillette’s office at the agreed upon time, only to find that he’s getting ready to leave.

“I have some trials at the Opera Epiclese today,” he says. “You are welcome to join me.”

And really, who would pass up that offer?

So, without even setting your things down, you follow Neuvillette out of the building and to the Navia line—boarding an aquabus that will take you to the opera house.

Neuvillette garners a lot of attention as the two of you make your way to the building, but you do your best to tune out any stares or whispers. You think Neuvillette’s popularity among the people will never die.

“I have a guest today,” Neuvillette tells one of the staff members once you’ve entered the main hall. “Please make sure she is given a seat.”

“Of course,” they assure him, to which he nods. His eyes catch yours. 

“I will find you once the trials are over,” he says.

“Alright,” you respond. “Good luck.”

He cocks an eyebrow at your sentiment.

“Luck is typically not required,” he tells you. You feel a little heat of embarrassment rise on your skin, but the smile that appears at the corner of Neuvillette’s lips assures you he’s only joking with you. 

“Nonetheless, thank you.”

With that, he turns and heads up a staircase that will lead him upstairs to the judge’s seat.

You follow the staff member into the theater, still feeling a little warm.

As it turns out, Neuvillette has a full docket today. 

From morning to afternoon, you spend your day settled into your seat in the theater—watching prosecutors and defendants present evidence and argue back and forth.The cases draw most of your attention, but your gaze still strays to Neuvillette every so often, just to make sure he’s alright.

And he seems to be…for the most part.

Once or twice, you notice that his eyes are unfocused—staring off into the distance, and not at the person who is speaking. And when a recess is taken for lunch, and Neuvillette finds you to invite you to partake in lunch with him, you notice that the flush on his neck has returned.

Silently, you wonder if he’s getting sick…although you’ve never heard of Iudex Neuvillette being sick before now.

You make sure to send him back up to his stand with an extra bottle of water (which he downs quite quickly. Then, he even motions for one of the nearby employees to bring him more, which…also must be a little strange, considering you see some people in the audience watching Neuvillette, instead of the “show”).

By the time his docket has been cleared, and the two of you take the aquabus back to the city, the work day is over. You and Neuvillette bid each other farewell, and you return home.

Your third day is spent helping Neuvillette finish up paperwork related to the cases from the previous day. 

He remains flushed the entire time—the blush on his neck creeping up to his ears. He also begins sighing heavily every so often, and his requests for water become more frequent—to the point where Sedene, who guards Neuvillette’s stash of imported waters, even gets surprised by how quickly he’s going through them.

However, it’s not until the fourth day—when you see Neuvillette behind his desk, face flushed, sweat beading on his brow, and his official robes discarded due to how hot he is—that you finally have the guts to speak up.

“Monsieur,” you say hesitantly, remaining gentle despite the way his head nearly snaps up to look at you. 

“Is it possible that you’re sick?”

Neuvillette frowns at the suggestion, as if that’s impossible, but…after a few seconds, he seems contemplative.

“Would you be able to go to the library and fetch me a book?” he responds without answering your original question. He writes the title down on a piece of paper for you, and you take it—unable to say no.

After a short trip to the library, you recruit the help of the librarian, who points you in the right direction, and—soon enough—you find what Neuvillette has asked for.

A book on the history of the Dragon Authorities.

…huh.

Dutifully, you take the book back to Neuvillette after checking it out, and he thanks you—setting it off to the side until he has finished what he’s working on. It takes another hour or so, but finally, out of the corner of your eye, you see him reach for the book.

He flips through the pages until he finds the section he’s most interested in, and then he just…reads. For a while.

You keep yourself busy organizing paperwork in the meantime, and don’t pay him much mind. At least, until you hear a crunching sound.

Startled, you glance over at Neuvillette, only to find that his desk is cracked—his hand gripping it so hard that the wood has actually splintered.

You jump to your feet.

“Neuvillette—?!”

“Leave.”

There’s an edge to his typically calm voice.

“What—”

You’re unable to get more than a word out before his sharp eyes find you—his pupils like daggers.

“Leave,” he repeats, slightly more calm. Although, you swear you can almost hear a rumble in his chest.

Your heart sinks, worry blooming in your chest. Did you do something to upset him?

Seeing how your face twists, Neuvillette takes a deep breath.

“I apologize,” he says, his tone measured. His eyes meet yours for a long beat before he glances away, unable to look at you.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, and I appreciate your help until now, but I will no longer be needing your assistance. Please go home.”

Not understanding why he’s had a sudden change in demeanor, you want to prod him for answers about what’s going on, but…seeing the tenseness of his body, and the way his chest heaves, you decide to listen to his request.

Without further argument, you gather your things and quickly head for the door—only pausing to say one last thing before leaving.

“It was nice working with you, Monsieur Neuvillette,” you tell him, a smile tugging at your lips even though he refuses to look your way. “If you ever need my assistance again, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

The sound of the door shutting behind you is loud in Neuvillette’s ears, and once you’re gone, he finally lets go of his desk—chips of wood sprinkling the floor at his feet.

He attempts to take a deep breath to calm himself—but it has the opposite effect—his jaw clenching as his senses are flooded with the scents in his office, all of which seem more pungent than usual.

Leather book covers, fresh ink, Springvale water, his freshly washed robe, and a fleeting, sweet scent…

A scent that he wants to chase after.

He closes his eyes, stopping his train of thought.

Then, with shaking fingers, he picks up his pen and grabs a piece of paper.

As he drafts the notice of closure he intends to pass along to Sedene, a thunderstorm begins brewing outside his window.

On the morning of what should have been your fifth and final day in Neuvillette’s care, you wake up and find that you can’t simply let things be. 

You do your best to distract yourself with whatever chores in your apartment need doing, but it doesn’t work. You can’t stop thinking about Neuvillette—the flush on his skin, and the way his eyes had looked when he’d commanded you to leave.

It had all just felt so…out of character. You can’t help but worry about him.

So, despite the thunderstorm that’s been raging outside since you’d returned home the evening before, you decide to go and check on him.

You bundle yourself up in a coat and shoes that won’t be ruined by the rain, and then grab your umbrella—heading out into the storm.

As expected, not many people are out, which makes traversing the streets quite easy. You ride the elevator up to the Palais Mermonia alone, running up the steps and into the building to escape the rain.

In your hurry, you miss the notice that’s been posted on the doors to the building.

Once inside, you close your umbrella and prepare an apology to Sedene for dripping all over the floor, but to your surprise, she’s not at her desk. In fact, there’s not a soul in sight—the lights off, and the hall empty.

You’ve never heard of the Palais Mermonia shutting down before…

You take a step back towards the entrance as lightning illuminates the room—figuring it’s best if you leave. But…

Your gaze strays towards the doors to Neuvillette’s office, and after a beat, your feet begin moving on their own.

Assuming Neuvillette is here (because it’s not hard to imagine him working, even if everyone else is gone), you want to make sure he’s alright. 

So, you grip the handle to his office door, and quietly push your way inside.

A clap of thunder drowns out the sound of the office door clicking closed, and you take a step deeper inside, your eyes peering around the room.

In the darkness, you don't immediately spot anyone.

“Neuvillette?” you call out, just to be sure.

Before his name has finished leaving your lips, a shadow moves. Something rounding Neuvillette’s desk and heading towards you—snake-like eyes shining through the darkness.

Your heart jumps into your throat, and you trip over your feet in a panic as you rush to grab the handle of the office door—hoping to throw it open and dart outside before whatever monster you’ve just walked in on is able to get to you.

And really—it has to be a monster. It’s quicker than you—quicker than a normal human—crossing Neuvillette’s office in less than a second.

A scaled hand slams against the door beside your head, and little sound of fear is ripped from your throat. 

You're being prevented from leaving—the door not budging even when you try and discreetly tug at the handle.

Your chest shudders as you take a breath, and you squeeze your eyes shut, fearing the worst.

Even with your back turned, you know there's some sort of beast behind you. One that’s stronger than you. One that will probably end your life before you can beg for mercy— 

“I told you not to return here.”

The sound of Neuvillette’s voice beside your ear causes you to jolt.

He’s so close to you that you can feel his breath on your skin, and while realizing that it’s Neuvillette who is behind you should be a comfort, it’s also…frightening. 

You’re aware—like most Fontainians—that Iudex Neuvillette is not totally human, considering he has been presiding as the chief judge for more than a few centuries now, but…you’ve never seen him act like this.

“I…was worried about you. After yesterday,” you respond, finally finding your voice. 

“I sent you away for a reason.”

His voice is deeper than normal—a rumble vibrating in his chest as he speaks. 

His lips brush the shell of your ear, causing you to shiver. Goosebumps rise on your skin and your heart races faster despite your best efforts to stay calm. 

However, staying calm isn’t easy to do in this situation—especially when Neuvillette literally starts to glow.

The scales on his hand which you’d spotted early begin to softly shine blue in the dim light of the room—his nails curling and carving uneven lines into the wood of the door in front of you.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, your breath hitching when his free arm suddenly curls around you. His forearm rests between your breasts, his palm splaying over your sternum, and you feel him take a deep breath—almost like he’s inhaling your scent.

“I was trying to protect you,” he says, his nose brushing against the skin of your throat. He can feel your pulse raising—your heart thundering in your chest.

You unconsciously grip the door knob tighter.

“Protect me from what, exactly, Monsieur…?”

“Me,” he responds.

His words send electricity up your spine.

“The way I’ve been acting—the way I’ve been feeling recently—it’s very unusual, and something I’ve never experienced before,” he admits—his warmth bleeding into your back as his body curls around you.

“That’s why I had you retrieve that book for me when you questioned if I was ill. There was a small change in my…constitution, lately. One that only early generations of my kind have experienced. So I wanted to brush up on history, and see if I could find any clues. And I did.”

He takes another long breath, and you hear the wood of the door crunch as his grip tightens.

“Experiencing a lack of focus, increased appetite, increased body temperature, and increased sensitivity to certain scents are all signs of one thing. An impending rut.”

A rut.

The word hits you like a train.

“While having an assistant was a nice change, being around you only exacerbated the issue.”

He doubts you’d taken notice with how immersed you’d been in your own tasks this week, but Neuvillette has been watching you. The way you tuck your hair back when you’re reading, the way your ass looks when you bend down to gather papers, the scent of your perfume whenever you approach his desk…

At first, he’d been distraught by his own actions—not understanding why he was being so…improper towards you. But now he gets it.

His instincts have been itching for something to mate. And now that something is you.

Diligent, kind, and pretty…those traits, combined with being around you 8 hours a day, have made you an easy pick.

“That’s why I told you to leave. Why I closed down Palais Mermonia today—to spare anyone any trouble, and to try and deal with this on my own. But you just had to come back…”

The hand on your chest inches closer to your breast—fingers hovering above the soft mound of flesh—before Neuvillette catches himself, and backs off.

“I think I have enough willpower remaining to grant you one last chance,” he tells you, although his throat tightens as he speaks—as if saying such a thing pains him.

“I’ll release you, and when I do, run.”

Run.

Run.

Your instincts scream at you to do just that—the world moving in slow motion as Neuvillette takes a deep breath and takes a step back. 

His hands retract, momentarily relinquishing their hold on you and the door.

All you need to do now is twist the handle and dart outside. To leave him here, and not look back.

You turn the handle, and the door inches open. Behind you, you swear you hear something akin to a whine becoming trapped in Neuvillette’s throat. 

Despite his words, he doesn’t want you to leave. He’s only doing this out of consideration for you.

But…based on the way he’d spoken about his rut—the way he’d needed to read up on his symptoms to determine what exactly was going on—he’s obviously never had to deal with this before. And from what you know of ruts and heat cycles and the like, you doubt dealing with this alone will be enjoyable for him. 

In fact, it will probably be painful.

Your grip on the door handle tightens painfully.

You’re scared, but—

Slowly, you close the door—until it clicks, and you’re once again trapped inside the room with Neuvillette. 

You can’t leave him here to suffer on his own.

Neuvillette’s arms wrap around you. His nails dig into your skin through your shirt.

“Why didn’t you leave, you—”

His frustrated voice cuts off, and you can only assume he wants to call you some silly name, but can’t bring himself to. Ever polite, even in this state of his.

He rests his forehead on your shoulder, his long hair tickling your cheek. You reach up one of your hands and gently pet his hair.

“It didn’t feel right to leave you here. Alone,” you respond, and despite the way your heart is racing nervously, you still don’t regret your decision.

Neuvillette huffs. His breath is hot on your skin.

“I won’t be able to stop myself any longer,” he tells you. The truth in his words become apparent a moment later, when you feel his canines scrape your neck, and his pelvis grind against your ass. 

The almighty Iudex—helpless to fight his instincts.

“I know,” you say quietly. Your other hand gives his arm a little squeeze—a reassurance that you’ll be okay. 

“This is wrong of me…”

The frustration in his tone is quickly melting into desperation, his lips incessant at your neck.

A quiet laugh leaves you.

“Wriothesley and I…we already do this kind of thing together. So…if it helps, consider it a part of my job.”

Truthfully, you don’t consider it to be a part of your job. What you and Wriothesley have is not born out of obligation (although, neither is this). But you’re sure hearing such a thing from you will help put Neuvillette at ease, considering his penchant for propriety.

And, of course, it does.

He takes a deep breath—

“Thank you—”

—and then immediately grabs your chin, and turns your head so he can kiss you.

The noise of surprise you make is quickly drowned out by his tongue. A tongue that is longer than a humans, considering it pushes into the back of your mouth—nearly forcing past your uvula and down your throat.

The intense kiss has you fisting your hands in his shirt, your eyes squeezing shut as you attempt to reciprocate, but with every passing second, you realize that will be impossible.

He is absolutely going to swallow you whole.

His barrage of sloppy, passionate kisses go on for what seems like forever—your head actually beginning to swim as your body fights for oxygen.

Only when the first, pathetic whine leaves your throat does Neuvillette remember he needs to allow you to breathe. 

Retracting his tongue, a line of spit connects the two of you as you begin gasping for air.

However, Neuvillette is unable to wait for you to regain your bearings.

He grabs you by the backs of your thighs and hefts you into the air—your knees straddling either side of his torso as he carries you across his office, and over to the sofa.

He lays you down on the soft cushions, and you stare up at him, your skin flushed, eyes wide, and chest heaving.

He needs to see more of you. Needs to hear more cute sounds. Needs you all fucked out and stuffed with his—

Swooping down, Neuvillette captures your lips again. But this time, it’s more of a proper make-out—his lips melding against yours and your tongues rolling together as his hands trace your waist and settle near your hips.

You gasp into his mouth when you feel his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants. Then, a beat later, the hem of your panties.

Both items of clothing are in the way of what he wants.

In one swift move, he discards them both—stripping your lower half bare. He deposits your clothing on the floor beside the couch, and as he does so, he sits back—his gaze heavy with hunger as he admires you.

The intensity with which he regards you has you quickly feeling self-conscious, but before you can even think of trying to shield yourself from him, his hands are on your knees.

He pries your legs apart. 

You can't help the little gasp that leaves you—your pussy throbbing with nervous anticipation as his fingertips trace up your thighs.

His palms settle on your hips, and again, a noise is ripped out of you as he forces your lower half off the couch.

As if you weigh nothing more than a feather, Neuvillette drags you down the couch to meet him—your spine curving as he continues to manhandle you—lifting your pelvis farther and farther off the cushions, until your ass is resting on his chest, and your legs are thrown over his shoulders.

His gaze angles sharply downwards, to your cunt. And for a second, the pressure he exudes is truly that of a dragon—one that could unhinge its jaw and swallow you in one bite.

But while Neuvillette does open his mouth, he doesn’t bare any teeth.

No, the Hydro Dragon Sovereign actually wets his lips before he leans down to meet you.

The first taste of his meal.

You can’t help but hold your breath—your fingers curling into the couch cushions beneath you as Neuvillette’s tongue nudges between your folds.

He traces his tongue up—circling your clit, and making you jolt—before dragging it back down to the spot where your arousal has started to pool. You can feel the pressure of his tongue as he presses it at your entrance.

And for a few seconds, he doesn’t move. He just sits there, silently allowing your taste—your essence—to wash over his tongue. But once he's sure that he's memorized the taste of you—committed it to his memory as a sinful pleasure he’ll surely relish in during the millennia yet to come—he gets down to business.

His tongue nudges between your walls, his nose brushing up against the soft skin of your pussy as he makes his mouth flush with you. And as he does so, you (foolishly) assume he's as deep as he can go. That the stretch of your cunt around his tongue will be good preparation for what's likely to come, and he'll simply lap at you until he's satisfied.

…of course, if he was a normal man, that might be the case.

You keep forgetting that he's a dragon.

“Oh, fuck,” you pant, hips jumping in his hold as his tongue suddenly thickens and elongates. It twists deeper inside of you, filling up your cunt wholly.

You've never felt anything akin to this before.

“Monsieur—,” you say, breathless. You can't even think of what you want to say to him.

His sharp eyes slide open, meeting yours. 

He says nothing, doesn't dare to take his mouth off of you to speak—not willing to let a drop of you go to waste. But, he does give your leg a little squeeze—a small reassurance, you think.

Then, his tongue starts to move.

He fucks it inside of you with precise control—rolling it up against different areas inside of you until he locates that one special spot that makes you gasp. Your thighs tighten around his head, and your pussy clamps down on his tongue, causing a happy little rumble to resound inside Neuvillette’s chest.

He becomes relentless immediately, his nose brushing up against your clit as he continues grinding his tongue inside of you. Your body writhes, and he holds you tightly—his fingers pressing bruises into your skin where he touches you.

He can't stop. 

He bullies your g-spot incessantly.

You feel like you’re on fire—pleasure scorching away at the nerves that connect your brain to your body. 

You can't control yourself.

The moans and whines that escape you—the arousal that gushes over Neuvillette’s tongue as he continues fucking you…

“Monsieur…Neuvillette, I—”

Oh god, you can't even get a full sentence out. You want to warn him that you're going to cum—that you won't be able to hold back if his tongue continues moving inside of you like that—but he already knows. He can sense what's coming in the way your muscles tense, and your breath catches.

Cum, he wants to say, but doesn't—not daring to remove his mouth from you when you're on the precipice of an orgasm. 

Within seconds, you come undone—the walls of your pussy fluttering around him, and helpless whimpers falling from your lips.

And yet, even with you being mid-orgasm, a dragon that's drunk on the taste of you pushes for more. He folds you over—trying to reach deeper inside of you. 

The slick from your pussy overflows and drips down between the cheeks of your ass, and immediately, Neuvillette’s fingers are there—gathering it up and smearing it against your hole.

The sensation has you sharply intaking a breath.

“Neuvillette, you're—”

“Shh,” he says, for the first time retracting his tongue from inside of you. He kisses at your clit, his free hand trailing up your torso and beneath your shirt. 

“Lift your arms,” he says, his voice deep, and yet soft. The hunger in his gaze hasn't waned one bit, but knowing he has a mate to help him through his rut has put him somewhat at ease, and he doesn't want you to fear him.

Without arguing, you do as he says, and he manages to wrestle your shirt over your head. 

Finally, you're bare beneath him. 

He takes a second to admire you, his hand moving to rest against one of your breasts. He cups it with his palm, his thumb brushing against your hardened nipple, and when you immediately jolt in response—he almost smiles.

Almost, because he still has more work to do if he wants to fully indulge in you, and satisfy his own needs.

“I'll take care of you,” he promises. “Trust me.”

And before you can even think of how to respond, he slips one of his fingers into your ass. 

The gasp that leaves you quickly deteriorates into a lewd moan as his tongue once again returns to your cunt, and you swear it’s somehow even bigger than it was before. 

Not having forgotten his new discoveries, Neuvillette effortlessly locates that special little spot inside of you and begins assaulting it once more—reveling in the way your body shakes, and your ass flutters around his finger. 

He needs you pliant and ready for him, and it takes all of his willpower to not rush. To work at the pace your body needs.

Luckily, his mouth on your pussy and his hand on your breast helps loosen you up. The tension you'd first held—nervous about stepping into the dragon's clutches—begins melting away. 

You trust that he won't hurt you.

“Ah—!” 

He slips a second finger inside of you.

Compared to the incessant rub of his tongue inside you, the motion of his fingers is calmer—a purposeful, moderate pace—and the dueling sensations make your head spin.

It's all so much. 

“Neuvillette—”

You reach one of your hands up, needing to ground yourself with something—and you end up taking a fistful of his hair. 

Neuvillette very nearly growls at the sensation.

He needs to hear you say his name like that again. Actually, more than that, he needs to feel you clenching down on his—

Neuvillette groans into your pussy as you tug at his hair once more. In response, he retracts his tongue from inside you and drags it upwards—grinding it against your clit.

Instantly, you lose it.

A mix of curses, blabbers, and his name are drawn from you—your body squirming against the couch cushions as he laps at your neglected and sensitive clit. At the same time, he scissors his fingers inside your ass, testing to see if you’re stretched enough for one more—

“Neuvillette—I’m gonna—”

“Cum.” 

He says it this time—a low command partnered with the sensation of a third finger pressing inside of you. But before your brain can even digest the increased girth of his fingers, his mouth suctions back on your clit, and your toes curl.

“Fuck—!” you choke, your head pressing into the cushion as the tension inside of you snaps—pleasure rushing forth.

You unconsciously tug at Neuvillette’s hair and he takes a deep, long breath in through his nose. He’s careful to not stop the motion of his tongue or the grinding of his fingers inside of you until you begin to whine—your hand moving from his hair to his shoulder as you attempt to push him away.

Then, he finally relents.

Sitting back, Neuvillette takes a moment to survey you. 

Your chest heaving as you attempt to catch your breath, a few stray hairs sticking to the skin of your face, the slick arousal that’s smeared against your pussy, and the way you’re asshole flutters around nothing after he slowly removes his fingers…

You’re ready.

Still in the middle of catching your breath, you’re drawn back into reality by the sound of the rustling of clothes.

You peek your eyes open to find Neuvillette above you, shedding himself of his clothing. You hadn't noticed earlier, but he isn’t wearing his formal robes today. Maybe because he hadn't been expecting to see anyone, and therefore hadn’t bothered dressing up to the nines.

Neuvillette starts by loosening his tie, and then unbuttons his shirt—tossing both items down onto the floor, where they lay in a heap along with your own clothing. You expect his pants to be the next to go, but you both realize at the same moment that with his boots on, it will take more time than he wants to completely strip his bottom half.

Luckily, he doesn’t need to be completely naked to fuck you.

Popping the button and tugging down the zipper of his pants, you watch with bated breath as finally shoves his pants and underwear down. The fabric drags across his bulge as he does so, and you note for the first time how…substantial it is. 

He may actually be bigger than Wriothesley, which is something you were not expect—

Neuvillette finishes shoving his clothing down to his thighs, and you watch in pure shock as not one, but two heavy, ribbed, lightly glowing dicks spring out of his trousers.

…oh.

You hold your breath, unable to peel your eyes away from the sight of him. You’d never even considered that as a dragon, his sexual organs may be a bit different from that of a humans. You can understand now why he’d made a point to work your ass open…

Speaking of—

“Neuv—!” you gasp in surprise as he rubs his dicks between the folds of your pussy. You feel the head of one of his members catch at your entrance, but he doesn’t linger there—instead using his hand to guide it down to your ass.

“You’ll be okay,” he says, sensing your apprehension. 

He doesn’t look at you, though, as he says those words—his voice tight with desperation. He can’t wait anymore, so he has to believe them. Has to believe that he’s done enough to prepare you for what’s to come.

Gripping his length tightly, Neuvillette nudges his dick inside your asshole. 

It’s a tight fit—one that has you choking on a whine and grasping at his wrist—your nails digging into his skin. It’s not painful, but it’s still a lot—your chest shuddering as he continues to inch himself deeper inside of you.

As he does so, his other cock grinds against your pussy—helplessly waiting for its own turn to be inside of you, precum leaking from his slit and smearing against your skin.

“Gods,” he pants, a waver in his voice. His eyes are aglow as he watches himself slowly sink into your ass—the friction positively heavenly—and soon enough, he’s fully inside of you, his hips flush with your bottom. 

Your breaths coming quick, and your hand still holding tight around his wrist, the two of you meet eyes.

Then, the last little thread of Neuvillette’s sanity finally crumbles in the face of his overwhelming need to rut.

Claws digging into the flesh of one of your thighs, he forces it wider open, and grabs his second cock with his other hand.

“Neuvillette, wait—,” you try to say, but it’s no use. Even with your ass still adjusting to his intrusion, Neuvillette shoves the head of his cock into your pussy. 

“Oh, fuck—!” you cry, your fingernails digging crescents into his skin. 

Already drenched from Neuvillette’s previous actions, he expects your pussy to take him easier, but with your ass full, and your body struggling to relax, it proves challenging. He can only get his length half way inside of you before you’re gripping him so tightly that he can’t move another inch.

Drunk with desire, he actually growls.

“I—”

I’m sorry, you want to say, but can’t get the words out. You just need a minute to adjust. You can do this for him—want to do this for him—but—

“Hush,” he mumbles, close, and then his lips are on yours. 

His body cages you in as he kisses you—one of his hands resting beside your head, while the other finds the small of your back, rubbing circles into your flesh.

“You’ve been doing so well for me,” he tells you, breathless. “Taking everything I give, responding so perfectly to everything.”

His words of praise go straight to your pussy, and you whine as he pushes deeper inside of you—your walls relaxing enough to allow him farther in.

Neuvillette makes a happy, yet somewhat inhuman noise.

“That's it, good girl…just a bit more.”

Hearing such words from the esteemed Iudex—his hand warm on your back, and his lips soft on your skin…you want nothing more than to please him.

Taking a shaky little breath, you dispel the tension in your body. 

Immediately, Neuvillette takes advantage. With one last nudge, he stuffs the rest of his cock inside of you.

You’ve never felt so full.

Overcome with joy—a satisfaction deep within him that he’s never felt before—Neuvillette kisses you once more. 

…then, he begins to move his hips.

You cry out, your body shaking in his hold, but he doesn’t let you go. 

The slow, full rock of his hips very quickly deteriorates into quick, desperate thrusts—his cocks stretching out your holes.

The sensation is like nothing you’ve experienced before, and you find yourself helpless to do anything at all. You can hear your own voice, but don’t know what you’re saying, or if the sounds you’re making are words at all. Because while it’s your pussy and ass that are being made a mess of, your brain feels equally as scrambled—unable to conjure even one intelligent thought.

Right now, you’re just a dragon's mindless breeding hole.

The sloppy sound of sex fills Neuvillette’s office, and while it is nearly drowned out by the downpour happening outside—thick droplets of rain pelting against the windows—the plap of Neuvillette’s balls against your ass is impossible to miss. 

Ah…you’re going insane.

A tiny sob slips past your lips, tears beading at the corners of your eyes. 

Your whole body feels like it’s on fire—each stroke of Neuvillette’s cocks pushing you closer and closer to the edge of another orgasm. 

“Ahh…”

The heady sound from Neuvillette catches your attention, and you peak your eyes open, staring up at the dragon above you.

Never before have you seen him look so debauched—his hair falling out from his braid, and his face and chest flushed. His eyes remain focused on the space where his body meets yours, mesmerized by the way your body accepts him in full—nearly sucking him in, now that you’ve adjusted and any discomfort has turned to pleasure.

Only when he hears you sob again—a pathetic, desirous little sound—does his gaze stray upwards.

And what he sees makes his heart skip a beat.

He’s not sure he’s ever witnessed a sight so sinful. The plush of your lips, the unshed tears that wet your eyes, and the bounce of your breasts with each of his thrusts. 

Before he knows it, he’s leaning down to kiss you. 

You whine into his mouth, your arms lifting to hug around his shoulders as he closes the distance between your bodies. He groans as your nails leave tracks against his porcelain skin, but he doesn’t relent. 

He’s getting close.

And, judging by the way you whimper—your pussy and ass clenching down on him—you must be close too.

Spurred on, Neuvillette kisses you again and again—his kisses open-mouthed and sloppy as his tongue dances around your own. Drool and tears quickly paint your cheeks, but you’re helpless to do anything about it.

Right now, all you know is that you’re going to cum. The stretch of his cocks—the way they rub against your walls as he continues fucking into you with abandon—it’s too much. Your muscles tense, and Neuvillette’s brows pinch together as your holes suddenly tighten on him.

“Neuvillette,” you sob, the sound of his name broken as you speak it against his lips. 

“Y/N,” he pants in turn. His rhythm becomes careless as he begins to lose it as well, but he continues to fuck you the best he can despite the constricting of your walls.

It’s only a few seconds longer before you come undone—your body shaking and nails digging into his back as you orgasm. Broken little sounds escape from your mouth as waves of pleasure tear through you, and the sensation of you cumming is ultimately what does Neuvillette in as well.

With one last buck of his hips, the Iudex buries himself inside of you and cums.

His chest shudders as you milk him dry, and you struggle to keep your eyes open—feeling utterly boneless now that the tension inside of you has gone.

For a minute, the two of you stay as you are—basking in the afterglow of your orgasms. Then, Neuvillette sits back and slowly pulls out of you. 

You make a quiet noise, feeling yourself clench around nothing once you’re no longer stuffed with his cocks, and he smiles at the sound, sensing a hint of disappointment.

“You did so well,” he tells you. 

Placing his hands on your waist, he gently maneuvers you to allow himself room to lay down on his side beside you. 

The feel of his arm wrapping around you and pulling you snuggly back against his body causes a contented sigh to leave your lips, and after a few seconds, you muster up the energy to speak.

“I take it you feel a bit better now?”

“Much,” he responds, and you can feel the smile on his lips as he presses them to your cheek. 

“However…”

He peppers another kiss against your cheek, and then your jaw, and neck. At the same time, his fingers ghost down your abdomen, until his palm is resting on your lower tummy. 

With gentle pressure, he urges your ass back against him—his hips inching forward at the same time—and shockingly, you realize that he’s still hard.

“...it seems that I’m not satisfied quite yet.”

When Wriothesley emerges from the Fortress the next day, the downpour he’d caught word of from some of the prison guards has stopped—only a few clouds littering the blue sky.

Hopefully this is a good sign, he thinks to himself, starting on his way to the aquabus station. 

He takes the line into the city, intending first to visit Neuvillette at the Palais—to hear about how his week fared with the help of an assistant. Then, once that’s done, he’ll go and visit you at your apartment to…catch up.

Smiling to himself, Wriothesley departs the aquabus and takes the path towards Nevuillette’s office. (Because somehow, he doubts the Iudex is at home relaxing like most people do on their days off.)

As he trudges up the steps to the Palais Mermonia, he steps on a wet piece of paper in front of the door. It’s the handmade notice that had been posted on the door two evenings prior, and had subsequently blown off in the storms that followed—but Wriothesley doesn’t think anything of it.

Pushing the door open, he heads inside.

“Neuvillette?” he calls gently, his knuckles rapping against the door to the Iudex’s office. 

The sound of a throat being cleared comes from inside.

“Come in.”

“I figured I’d find you here,” Wriothesley jokes as he steps inside, spotting Neuvillette as his normal place behind his desk. However, what isn’t normal is the fact that there’s a person sleeping on his couch—their body shrouded with a blanket, and an assortment of untouched food and a glass of water on the coffee table beside them.

Immediately Wriothesley freezes, confused about what’s going on, but…when he looks a bit closerr, he realizes the hair popping out from the top of the blanket, and the scent of the person on his couch are all too familiar.

“Y/N?”

Wriothesley walks up to the sofa, blinking in surprise when he sees that it is indeed you who is passed out—your face just barely peeking from beneath the blankets that have been snuggly wrapped around you.

“You know, Neuvillette, when I lent her to you for the week, I didn’t expect you to work her until the point of exhaustion,” he jokes, looking over towards Neuvillette with a playful hint of a grin. He expects Neuvillette to sigh and apologize, but the abashed look he is instead faced with causes Wriothesley to pause once more. 

It’s then that the Duke notices a small pile of clothes neatly folded on the floor next to the sofa, along with your shoes. 

Hesitantly, Wriothesley grips the edge of the blanket and slowly tugs it away from your body. 

He’s met with the sight of naked shoulders, and a neck peppered with small bites and bruises.

Just as slowly as he’d moved the blanket down, he tugs it back up.

The office sits in silence for a moment. 

“She is…unharmed,” Neuvillette finally speaks, moving a strand of hair away from his face. “Her current state is my fault.”

Wriothesley’s eyes scan over him.

“Compared to when I last saw you, you seem to be faring much better.”

His words cause the blush on Neuvillette’s face to deepen, and Wriothesley cracks a small smile, letting loose a sigh.

“Ahh, to think even the almighty Iudex would fare poorly due to unfulfilled needs.”

“It’s a bit more complex than that,” Neuvillette says with a sigh of his own, prompting Wriothesley to raise an eyebrow. However, when Neuvillette doesn’t speak right away—unsure about divulging the specifics that lead to this outcome—Wriothesley decides to not push it.

“Well, whatever the reason, I trust that you haven’t hurt her, and that she consented to whatever took place here.”

“Of course,” Neuvillette responds immediately.

Standing up from his chair, he walks over and stands beside Wriothesley—reaching down to brush a gloved finger against your cheek. You stir only slightly—nuzzling your face into the pillow your head rests upon.

Both men smile.

“She’s a good assistant, isn’t she?”

“She is; one that works with care and compassion for the one she is helping. She performed well beyond her duties.”

“You can see now why I like her,” Wriothesley says softly, and Neuvillette can see the fondness in his gaze as he regards you.

“She did tell me that she and you are not necessarily in a committed relationship, but…I apologize regardless if I crossed any sort of line.”

Wriothesley hums.

“While the thought of sharing her with anyone else like that does make me feel a bit…possessive…she did consent to what occurred, based on your words. And, honestly speaking, I’m glad it was you over anyone else.”

Neuvillette cocks an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“I trust you,” Wriothesley tells him. “Although, you having sex is not a thought that had crossed my mind before now. It makes me curious as to what exactly you did to her while the two of you were alone.”

“I assure you a majority of her time in my care was spent with her performing her standard duties as an assistant, and nothing else. As to what happened beyond that, well…I’m not sure I possess the courage to recall such details aloud.”

Wriothesley opens his mouth to assure Neuvillette he was just teasing, but the dragon continues before the Duke can interrupt.

“I suppose if you’d like to know, next time—should there be one—you’ll simply have to be present.”

Catching the meaning of his words, Wriothesley meets his gaze. 

Understanding passes between them.

“Hmm…I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“Once Y/N has recovered, and when you next return to the surface, I’ll have to invite you both for a meal,” Neuvillette says, turning back towards his desk. “In the end, the support from you both did alleviate the issue that plagued me. It’s only right to repay such kindness when I’m next given the opportunity.”

Kneeling down beside you, Wriothesley pets your hair.

“Well, it would be a shame to pass up on such an offer. I certainly hope that fate grants the opportunity for our schedules to align.”

Taking a seat behind his desk, a small smile appears on Neuvillette’s lips.

“I shall hope for the same.”

[ellecdc]

Hi darling, maybe you have this request already, but I just found it funny that I literally woke up at 2am with thoughts of how did Poly!moonwater and reader got together and typed this on my phone half asleep

Marauders taking over every part of my life now, ngl. Your writing especially, I'm literally in here morning, noon, and night the past weeks just enjoying your fics 🥹

Love you, please take care always 💜

LOL Mimi you are so stinking cute, waking up in a panic because you NEED to know how poly!moonwater came to be 😭😭😭😭 I love you

I can't really think of a one shot of this because I think it would be a slow progression, so I'm going to make it headcanons!

the origins of poly!moonwater x reader headcanons

you're totally right, they would have absolutely met in the library - perhaps tutoring group? Remus was tutoring in DADA (obvs), Reg maybe potions and reader....you can choose?

And I always picture tutoring like, in the library with the textbooks, discussing the concepts (not actual physical practice which would require them to actually duel, cast, mix potions etc)

I do imagine reader x reggie being friends first, though Remus was always friendly with them

I picture Reggie and reader to be same age/year so they would have classes together and such

I think perhaps Remus would notice lingering glances between reggie and reader and would decide to befriend them in an attempt to play match maker for the notoriously stand-offish Black and the very quiet you

Regulus would have at first been VERY confused, startled, and generally concerned when his brother's friend started sitting at his table in the library

I think this would be because he was a) slightly worried something was wrong with Sirius, b) convinced this was a prank, and c) shy because he definitely found the werewolf attractive and really (hated that he) liked how calm and assured the older boy seemed to be

"To what do I owe this....pleasure...Lupin?" He asked cautiously

Remus would have been all smiles at that. "Oh, I assure you that the pleasure is all mine, baby Black."

Regulus hated that

"So...you and L/N, hm?"

Regulus turned a beautiful shade of pink in Remus' opinion

"I assure you I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Hm. So I guess your lingering glances and shy smiles mean nothing?"

"Nope."

"And hers? Do they mean nothing as well?"

That caught Regulus' attention.

"What do you want, Lupin?"

"Is it a crime for me to want my best friends little brother to be happy?"

Regulus scowled. "As you so eloquently pointed out, Lupin, I'm a Black. I don't deserve happiness."

Remus sighed sadly at that. "I disagree. Besides, there's worse things to be, Black. Trust me."

"What, like a Gryffindor?" Regulus muttered what he thought was quietly, but Remus let out a hearty laugh.

"Exactly"

So Remus decided to be a scheming little menace and mediate conversations between you two

"Hello baby Black!" Remus called out joyously one day, dragging you behind him by the crook of your elbow - you looked horrified. "Look who I found!"

Remus bodily sat you down at Regulus' library table and sat in a chair beside you near the exit, almost daring you to try to flee.

"Hello Lupin....hello, L/N." Regulus offered, knowing exactly what Remus was doing, but he couldn't pretend he wasn't at least a little pleased that you (and he) had joined him

You offered a small smile and a quiet hello in return

Remus looked between the two of you with the biggest smile on his face like he was watching two of his 1st year DADA students internalize a lesson they'd been working on for far too long

"How are your tutoring sessions going?" Remus asked, which seemed to spark some conversation and allowed the two of you to relax a little

you shared stories of some of the silly feuds of the first years, mistakes they made, crushes they had on each other - "oh that's good to know! I'm going to make them partner up next week" - and such

"Were we ever that small? they all seem so little" you commented.

"I don't think Lupin was ever that small." Regulus commented unintentionally which horrified him. He vowed to never say another thing to the two of you ever again. But that vow was broken the second he heard the sweet sound of your laugh at his comment, and Remus couldn't help but laugh too - watching you like this version of you was perhaps the most beautiful he'd ever seen you.

"I'll have you know I was average height in first year." Remus defended

"Yeah." you agreed disbelievingly, "average height for a fifth year - what do they feed you in Wales?"

Remus decided he actually really liked hanging out with you and Regulus, never mind his role of matchmaker.

hanging out with the two of you was like finding shelter in the middle of a thunderstorm - you dulled the sound of rain pouring down on him, offering him a safe, warm, dry place to recuperate from the chaos

Regulus was funny in a way that seemed to surprise even Regulus himself - so used to keeping his thoughts to himself. It was refreshing for Remus to see a personality come out so innocently and effortlessly - not performative in the slightest

you were very comfortable to let silence linger - never feeling the need to fill lulls in the conversation that didn't require it

and for being so quiet, Remus was very happy to discover how excited you got about things

"Reg! Remus!" You called (albeit quietly) one day as you came running into the library to show them a copy of some first year's essay on [insert subject you tutor]. "Look! Little Archie got an outstanding on his essay!"

Regulus and Remus were equally as enthusiastic as you (which would have looked very strange to anyone watching from the outside), both far more proud of you than either were of 'little Archie'.

But it was when Regulus noticed you blushing when Remus gave you a 'celebratory' hug that lasted far longer than strictly necessary that an idea of his own was formulated

"You know that Lupin has been trying to play matchmaker with us?" He asked as he approached you at the end of one of your shared classes.

You looked at him oddly.

"Disappointed?" He asked, mistaking your look for disappointment.

You were a little disappointed, albeit not for the reason's Regulus was suggesting

You had always had a little crush on Regulus throughout school, but you found that you really liked Remus too. And you liked spending time with Regulus and Remus - you looked forward to your little 'study/tutoring dates' as you'd taken to calling them. You were equally as excited when sharing a hello with Regulus in the halls as you were Remus, and...well...you kind of perhaps hoped they felt the same way. You were also certain Remus and Regulus felt that way about each other which didn't completely upset you.

"Really? I thought he just loved our company." you deadpanned instead, ignoring the subtle tightness in your chest.

Regulus' face morphed into a devious grin, however. "Oh...but I think he does. And I think you do too." he said, taking a chance and straightening your school tie, gently pulling you slightly closer to him. He swore he could feel the heat radiating from your cheeks as you swallowed thickly.

"What do you want, Black?"

Regulus smirked as he made eye contact with you. "You? Him? Both."

Your pupils dilated as your eyes flit between both of his, chancing a glance down to his lips as he licked them.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Remus was really looking forward to your study date today. He'd been trying to keep track of James all day who was on day four of no ADHD medication, talking Sirius off a cliff (aka, convincing him not to hex Mulciber at every given moment) and his only support through all of this was Peter (which was not very much support at all). He was very much looking forward to the calm oasis the two of you provided him

He was very embarrassed and ashamed when his heart plummeted to see the two of you walking in hand-in-hand, looking particularly infatuated

"What's this?" He said in faux excitement, only having to clear the lump in his throat once.

You smiled shyly while Regulus smiled victoriously.

"Your plan worked, Lupin. We've decided to give this a try." Regulus explained, holding your joined hands up and pressing a kiss to the back of your hand.

Remus chuckled but it sounded manic even to his own ears.

"Well! Wonderful!" he shouted about 4 octaves higher than usual. "I guess my work here is done." He admitted as he slowly and dishearteningly packed his things.

"Hey, not so fast." You chided softly, placing a gentle hand on his forearm. "What about you?"

"What about me?" He asked quietly, pretending your hand on him wasn't throwing him for a frenzy.

"We'll return the favour." Regulus explained. "Tell us who you like, and we'll make sure you get them."

Remus let out a humourless chuckle. "I don't think that's possible."

"No?" You asked innocently. Too innocently if you asked Remus.

"Come on. Tell us about them." Regulus said as he sat on the table to look down at Remus, body facing him in his chair. "Perhaps she has....beautiful eyes...." He said sultrily, looking pointedly at you. "Or lovely hair...." He added, twisting a lock between his fingers. "Or a smile capable of convincing you of just about anything."

Remus' heart was beating frantically. They were on to him. They saw right through him, surely, but not because they were missing half of it.

"Or..." You carried on. "Maybe he has black curls that fall disturbingly perfect....or grey eyes that make you feel so vulnerable yet build you up.....or has constellations of freckles lining him that you want nothing more than to memorize."

Remus let out a pained groan. He was caught.

"I'm sorry." He admitted into his hands.

"For what, Remus?" Regulus asked quietly, and Remus nearly sobbed. That was the first time he ever referred to him with his given name.

"I didn't mean to." He admitted. fall for both of you he admitted quietly in his mind

"Mean to what, Remus?" you asked, causing him to groan again.

"What do you guys want from me?"

"Just you." You admitted shyly.

He looked at the two of you dumbfounded. You had the grace to look slightly abashed at the request. But though Regulus sat with an air of casualness, Remus could see the slight dusting on his cheeks giving away his nerves.

"You're not serious?" He asked dumbly.

"No, thank goodness. I'd look terrible in red." Regulus joked, surprising a manic bark of laughter from him.

"Both of you want me?" He asked disbelievingly

"Do you want us?" You asked, still shyly but unbelievably brave in your vulnerability

"more than anything..." Remus admitted

Regulus' face morphed into a cocky grin as he stood from the table and walked around it. "Then it's settled." he said plainly as he sat at his place.

"And what exactly is settled?" Remus asked, looking between you as you sat in your place beside him and Regulus as he took out a book.

"You're both mine, and I'm both of yours, and you're each others. We're together, Remus. Do keep up."

Remus knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. He accepted this new reality and never looked back.

AN: (I wrote this during my lecture so I apologize for any errors)

[kitorin]

sweet dreams.

in which, nanami kento finally goes on a long overdue vacation

contents. nanami kento x gn!reader, 2.965k words, fluff but then heavy angst (mcd and hurt no comfort), mentions of murder (true crime stuff) but no detail of it, reader is a coward and really can't handle horror (sorry that's just me projecting)

"What did you do?"

Guilt makes your lips purse, tongue swiping over them out of habit. You didn't want to call him, to interrupt him during the night shift he ever so loathes, contributing to the things he has to do.

But with demons lurking in the dark and the sense of impending doom beginning to latch onto you, it felt necessary, especially when fear decided to be quite clingy.

"I got scared."

A tired sigh comes from the phone. "How many times do I have to tell you not to watch anything disturbing at night?"

"This documentary got really interesting. I wanted to know what happened next..." Explicit content was fine, with Kento there to cling onto and his never-ending reassurance. Your husband watched these intense shows and documentaries without so much of a flinch, unfazed by quite literally everything displayed on the screen.

You, on the other hand, was a completely different case.

The slightest raise in volume managed to steal a scream from you, and jump scares had you flinching just a bit too hard. The mere build up and suspense of the music had your heart racing, even if nothing happened and it served as a little trick.

"I'm so sorry Ken, I'll hang up so you can focus on work." You're an adult, you shouldn't be so cowardly towards a mere genre of entertainment, and you should know better not to consume it.

Your thumb reaches for the red button, and your emotions hold you back, while rationality argues not to.

"No. Neither of us are going to be hanging up."

One part of you celebrates quietly, while another insists. "But you're working. Overtime nonetheless, and I know you hate those shifts. It's best to get everything done as soon as possible and get out of there."

His voice is raspy, garnished by a sultry tone. "Love, I belong to you, not my job. I do appreciate your thoughts, but you're more important than a mere paycheck."

Fuck. There it is, his eloquent, smooth way with words.

"Still. I can wait." That was a lie, though one you were willing to utter if it meant he'd prioritise his job. "Besides, what about that higher up you mentioned? The irritating one that's childish and overtalkative?"

Kento chuckles. "He's here, but he takes his job seriously and is highly capable. I'm on break anyways. Talk to me. If you can."

"I read about the Sapporo murder case. I still feel like the culprits from the case is going to sneak up on me. Or one of the zombies from Happiness." You adored the show and its cast, but god forbid you sit through another one of its jump scares.

"That's fine, it's normal. The point of this type of media is so scare. A lot of effort is put into making sure they elicit emotion." You cling onto every word he speaks, the world around you still there, only a bit blurry now. "Breathe in through your nose for four second, pause for two. Then breathe out through your mout for another eight."

Have you brushed your teeth?"

Kento hums as a response when you answer yes.

"Where are you right now?"

"In bed, but I need to clean up and turn off some lights before I sleep."

"Ignore it. I'll do it when I'm home."

"Are you sure?" There was no point in asking that, not when you'd rather not move away from the security of the doona. "You're going to be exhausted by the time you're home."

"Doesn't matter to me." Genuine indifference to the matter displays itself in Kento's tone. "I took a nap earlier, had a coffee or two as well. I'm going to be alright—" Something in the background echoes, though you could barely decipher what you were hearing, the furious tone of the voice concerned you.

"Who was that...? Is your boss mad at you? Wait but it doesn't make sense for a boss to give you a nickname—"

For a moment or two, Kento remained silent. "No, just an enthusiastic intern. He's talkative and sometimes loud but he's a good kid."

Your former worry dissipates, so quick that it almost seemed like it was never there in the first place. "Nanamin, was it?"

He sighs, the two of you know damn well that you'll refuse to forget that one.

"It's cute! Nanamin. I like how it sounds."

Voice softening, he replies with a chuckle. "I feel like you'd get along well."

"You should invite him over then. He must adore you if he's calling out to you that much."

"If that's true then I'd say the feeling is quite mutual." All you have is his voice, yet you can say without a doubt that he's beaming, a subtlety only you'll ever know— one of the many which compose the love between the two of you.

"Keep working." You whisper as a yawn claws out of your throat.

"Are you sure? Are you okay now?"

You nod, though he can't see it. "I am. Just listening to you helps a lot."

"I'm glad."

"Do your best at work, okay? And make sure you stay safe on the way home?" You hold back a grin, even though you're alone in your shared bedroom. "I have a surprise for you when you get home."

Kento piques with curiosity. "Really?"

"Yup, I think you'll love it." You stare at your bedside table, where tickets to Malaysia were stored. "I hope you do, at least."

"If it's coming from you of course I'll love it sweetheart." It's miraculous really, how you've been together for so long yet you have to suppress the urge to squeal over his sweet words. "My boss is going to start making me work again, good night darling. Sweet dreams, love."

You fall asleep with ease that night, this time with welcomed thoughts of spending time with Kento on the shore of Kuantan, running around whilst cherishing the cold, salty water licking at your ankles; rather than the intrusive thoughts from earlier.

"You could've kept talking to them. I wouldn't've told anyone even if it took a lot of time."

Fushiguro Megumi is examining the sharpness of his blade when he reassures his teacher Nanami Kento, not looking up from his weapon, seated by the railing of the bridge.

"I appreciate that, but it'd be wrong of you." He moves his shoulders in circles, loosening his tie to wrap it around his knuckles. "I can teach you other methods."

"Pardon?"

Nanami crouches in front of Megumi. "Your breathing changed when I told them how to." The student doesn't respond. "It varies from person to person, I've tested out a lot."

Megumi still doesn't answer, averting his gaze towards the weapon that he held down.

"Fushiguro - kun. Are you scared?"

The younger finally speaks once more. "... I guess." Hesitation presents itself in his words, barely stable and his reluctance to maintain eye contact. "I won't let that stop me from completing my tasks—"

"It's okay. You're merely sixteen, you're not even old enough to drink, nor get your driver's licence."

Megumi returns to silence.

"Look at me." And so Megumi does. "To be a child is not a sin. I'm perfectly fine with withdrawing you from this operation if it's too much."

"Wouldn't that get you in trouble?"

Indeed he would. He'd tolerate plenty of discipline and anger from the higher ups. But Nanami Kento knows too well what it's like to risk you and your peers for a 'greater good', at nonetheless a ridiculously young age too—an age where you're supposed to go to regular school and be regular, stupid kids figuring themselves out; not witnessing the death of the ones dear to your heart with the sight of their corpses forever imprinted into your mind, nor have the stench of blood memorised meticulously instead of historical dates or mathematical formulas.

If it were up to him, he'd prohibit such exploitation of children. None should be performing such tasks, even if born with an advantageous cursed technique.

If the higher ups adopted the same philosophy as him, Haibara would be alive and well, and Nanami wouldn't feel his stomach lurch whenever he sees a bowl of rice, nor flinch whenever he hears the mention of Geto Suguru. 

'I don't mind if it means you'll be at ease. Gojo can protect me, and if I'm unable to extract you from this operation then I'll handle everything."

Megumi takes a deep breath. "I shouldn't run away. I'll do my best. I have Tsumiki I need to return to. We should go find Itadori now."

“If you say so then, but it’s still my duty to protect you.” With a final, strong tug he tightens his tie around his knuckles. “I can't guarantee any results, not in this instable world and career. What I can promise, is that I will protect you with my life."

A determined nod from Megumi is all he needs.

Quick and efficient; that's the plan. Shibuya was already a mess, and all he wanted was the security of your arms within the four walls he calls 'home'.

"Thank you for having us."

Megumi, the one with the messy, black hair speaks coldly, though very politely, his manners were courteous and so was Yuuji. They'd come to your door and introduced themselves as interns at Kento's company. Now, they were seated in your living room, on your couch.

"Don't mention it, Ken's always been fond of the interns." You already miss him, he must've stayed overnight at the company again. "Are you okay with first names?"

Both nod.

You smile. "So, Yuuji, Megumi, what have you come here for?"

Yuuji speaks first. "It's about Nanamin, I mean Nanami—"

Without malicious attempt you cut him off. "Nanamin is fine, I overheard you calling him that last night. He was fond of it, it was quite cute after all." You chuckle to yourself at it. 

The boy swallows, appearing apprehensive. He sounded so enthusiastic last night, perhaps he was the type who needed to warm up towards people first.

"Well, um."

You don't say anything, giving him time to respond comfortably.

"Nanami sensei passed away last night." Megumi finishes what Yuuji couldn't.

Your heart drops.

Temptation to make an accusation of a prank attempts to claw out of your throat, but with how their expressions scream nausea and discomfort, it'd be rude to do so.

That explained why he never kept his promise of finishing up on chores, knowing Kento he would’ve done everything to make sure he made it home to do as he said he would. 

"What happened?" It doesn't feel right— and it isn't at all, but you have to figure out the truth, even if this all doesn't seem real.

"There was a fire." Yuuji whispers, barely loud enough and coherent with the tremble of his voice. "And he didn't make it out in time."

You remain silent, so does Megumi. Yuuji bites his lip, suppressing what seemed to be a sob.

"I see."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. If only—" It drowns out in his bawling. "It was my fault. He—"

He completely lacked incoherency now, hiccuping as tears rolled down his cheeks.

"He helped us first." Megumi once again continues Yuuji's words. "But they recovered his body, we brought you his ashes."

He pulls out a package from his shoulder bag, wrapping it to reveal a pale blue funerary urn. Megumi places it onto the table.

"I'm sorry. If I had been capable of protecting myself he wouldn't've died saving me."

Your gaze meets Megumi’s, you're too afraid to properly acknowledge the urn, where your boyfriend was supposedly resting.

Silence permeates the air, Yuuji bites his sleeve to suppress his crying and Megumi breathes shakily.

"Don't apologise. You have no reason to. Neither of you." You've barely known the two, but the way Yuuji was sobbing broke your heart, and how both seemed to genuinely believe they caused Kento's passing. "It's not your fault. I don't think it is, and he would agree with him. He made the choice to help you, because he cared deeply for both of you. You can cry freely, I won't stop you." You muster a smile, hoping it'll be comforting in some sort of way. They're only kids, they can't be blaming themselves for the death of another they didn't cause.

Yuuji's teeth release the sleeve of his hoodie, hiccuping out what sounded like a thank you. You push a tissue box towards him, to which he accepts the offer.

"You idiot…” Megumi sniffles a bit.

“It’s okay, you’re going to be fine.” You pat him on the back, rubbing it too. You give him your phone, opening a new contact. “I’d like to invite you two to the funeral, can I have your contact details? In the meantime I’ll make some tea.”

You earn a nod, and are quick to retreat into the kitchen, hand holding your mouth shut as you slowly cry, pleading for Yuuji and Megumi to be unable to hear. 

"Kento! We're here, at Kuantan!"

After a long flight and travel, you finally arrived at your destination, you had dropped your luggage off at the accommodation, the urn Megumi had given you was held up against your chest.

I've always wanted to go to Kuantan, in Malaysia. One day I'd like to build a house on a secluded beach and live there. Of course with you, if you were okay with it.

You take off your sandals, tossing them away as you approach the shoreline, the coolness of the water catching you off guard. You continue walking, until it reaches halfway up your calves.

Off goes the lid of the urn, and you toss the ashes into the beach, watching the waves swallow Kento whole. It's not long before the urn is empty, you've never had to scatter someone's ashes, yet it felt like something was missing.

In all honesty, you have no idea if Kento wanted to be cremated, you've never touched on the subject of death, probably because the two of you were so young.

But something tells you this is the right decision. Kuantan's beautiful, and he wanted to go when work and money permitted him to do so. He'd loved to read a book under the shade of that large tree over there, and would've wanted to try fishing at the rock ledge nearby. It was just the two of you here, even better.

Fuck.

As you watch him swim into the ocean, you notice the tears threatening to spill. You don't bother trying to avoid it, not that you would've been able to.

"It's not fair!" You yell, out into the ocean. You don't blame Yuuji, or Megumi, or anyone, but you're still livid. "I miss you, I miss you so much that it gets hard to breathe."

The ring box feels heavy in your pocket.

"If you had to leave this world early you could've done it later." Your cry becomes a sob. "Just one month, then I could've fucking proposed. I don't need a honeymoon or marriage, I just want your fucking answer."

In an ideal world, you'd like to think that he would've accepted without hesitation, but that fantasy doesn't compare to the pain of remaining oblivious to his answer forever.

"Who's going to comfort me now? Who am I going to spend the rest of my life with? Who am I going to cook dinner with? What about Yuuji and Megumi? They had to finish their internships without you. Do you know how hard Yuuji cried when he came to tell me you passed away?"

By no means are you mad at Kento, you could never. But anger that slowly accumulated in your heart for the past few months, and had erupted. The empty coldness of your bed stings, and the amount of cutlery required being halved overwhelms you with misery. You can’t even laugh at his high school photos anymore, the amusement from his ridiculous haircut can’t triumph over the fact that he had passed away a mere ten years later. 

You’d much rather store it all away, each and every possession and photo of the man. The sight of his favourite mug serves as a harsh reminder that morning coffee with him will never happen. Listening to old voice mails seemed reassuring and almost lulled you to sleep, until you had to come to terms that he was truly gone once more. 

But at least sound can be captured.

What about his scent? Eventually his clothes would lose their scent, they probably were already on that course, even with your refusal to wash them. Touch can’t be preserved, you can cling onto the memory of your skin against his for as long as you want, but you’ll never truly experience it again.

“Goodbye Kento!” Despite your miserable state you pull yourself together just enough so you can see him off with a smile. “I love you, so so much. More than anything in the world, I always will! Thank you, for being there. Th-thank you for loving me.”

You've lost the energy to yell, throat now hoarse. You venture deeper into the shore, not caring about your clothes getting wet, as your face gets soaked with your own tears.

Who's fault is it? Was it the culprit of the fire (if there was one)? Or perhaps yours, for not proposing earlier. Maybe then he would've been safe and sound in Kuantan, after taking leave. Perchance it was the heavens deciding they’d rather just not authorise him to spend the rest of his name.

Whoever it was, it doesn't matter. Nothing could bring back the warmth of Nanami Kento. 

taglist (send ask to be added) : @yuzurins, @pokkomi, @chigirizzz

© kitorin : do not repost, plagiarize, change, or translate

[thegoodwitchglinda]

First Meet

malleus draconia x reader

reader is not yuu and is placed in pomefiore

summary: you’re a new student at NRC who caught the attention of malleus draconia, and he makes it his mission to recruit you for his club and get to know you.

p.s this is a repost of an older fic I wrote and then deleted, in case it seems familiar to anyone. The structuring may be different, though.

—————————————

The hustle and bustle in and around the hallways of NRC was something you’d have to grow used to, being a new student here was exciting, and also the cause of a little nervousness. It was reminiscent of your first day at school. It was of little surprise to you when you were initially placed in pomefiore, despite it seeming that many of the students there were carbon copies of each other and that you didn’t perfectly fit the mould, you appreciated beauty and perfection.

No longer feeling like a deer in headlights, now that your first couple of days had past, you felt it necessary to go for a wander, and explore the school you were destined to spend the next four years in. It was a spectacle to behold, the school was made in resemblance of the finest castles and littered with intricacies despite its large size. At certain points and corners of the school, you could even observe many different gargoyles and grotesques and even though you may not have not known a lot about them or the differences, they caught the interest of your artistic eye.

After nightfall, you headed out with a canvas in tow. Partly (mostly) because you didn’t want to appear strange by painting a picture behind the school, during the middle of the day, but there was also a nice serenity that accompanied the quiet of the night and the dark, enthralling sky, lit with stars.

Malleus was out on one his daily, late-night escapades, and this time saw an unfamiliar person en route. Usually, this would be something to ignore, but this time it was a little different. They were quite studiously examining a gargoyle, and eloquently relaying it’s features onto a canvas.

Perhaps clouded in a moment of hope, the fae forewent any thoughts that the person may not have any personal interest in gargoyles, but rather just the art that they were to produce, instead, he set his sights on recruiting them as a member of his club.

After roughly an hour and a half had passed since you’d initially went out, you decided it was time to pack up and go back to pomefiore. You opened the door to your room quietly, careful not to wake any of your other roommates up, and went to sleep - completely unaware of who you’ve recently intrigued.

Morning arrived, and the sunlight seeped through the windows, letting you know it was time to wake. After letting your eyes adjust to the light, you got up and readied yourself for the day. There was of course still a hint of mysticism that accompanied attending NRC, but there was also a newly found comfort in the normalcy you’d just attained.

Having finished a fair share of your classes for the day without any major difficulty, your next stop was to the cafeteria for lunch. There were always a surprising amount of options available, and you were in the middle of deciding which one to pick, when something - or rather someone would happen to snap your newfound normalcy right in half.

Wait, what was happening right now? THE Malleus Draconia had waltzed up to you and started talking out of nowhere? Well, this was unexpected. You looked around to make sure he was definitely talking to you, but with how he was staring right at you and how everyone else was occupied with their own business, he was definitely talking to you.

“And I do believe that you would make a good member of the Gargoyle Study Club, if you would like to join.”

Oh, oops. You hadn’t really listened to most of what he’d said, but why was he wanting you to join a study club for gargoyles? Was that even a thing? You looked up at him, only to notice the seriousness on his face. It seemed that this was something he truly cares about, and honestly despite the randomness of it all, you couldn’t help but find it a little cute. Not wanting the situation to turn awkward and not knowing what else to say, you plastered a dorky smile on your face and said “Sure, I can do that!”

His eyes started to sparkle like a child on Christmas at your response, before he nodded and walked away again. This was actually a pretty good thing, in all honesty! With how exclusive and secluded this school is, you didn’t have any previous connections or friendships with anyone around, and joining a club would be a great way to solve the issue.

There was one small problem though, you couldn’t recall Malleus giving any details about when or where the club was. You’d just have to find out on your own, after you’ve eaten your lunch, that was.

The day had ended and ultimately you’d obtained no new information about said club, it seemed like most people didn’t even know that there was a gargoyle study club. Could this have just been an annoying prank?

Maybe, but he did seem quite serious… it was a good thing you’d made a mental note of the green band around his arm when he’d originally started talking to you. He was a diasomnia student, and tomorrow was a Saturday. That was your mind made up, you’d just have to ask Malleus for details about the club yourself.

Once again, daytime struck and you got ready, this time heading for diasomnia, instead of the main building of NRC. When you arrived, you noticed that their dormitory was also quite fantastical, it was however quite different from the interior of pomefiore.

Now that you were here, you felt like a fish out of water, and you also couldn’t be sure if malleus would even be here or where he would be, but it’s not like you’d be here for long anyways. Your eyes landed on a tall boy, that stood out due to his light green hair that was slicked back. Might as well ask him, right?

Hesitantly you walked up to him and greeted him to catch his attention. As if he could immediately tell you weren’t a student of his dorm, he gazed at you with a look of scrutiny. …aha, that was off-putting but you’d already started talking to him, might as well finish it, right? “Hi, do you know where I can find malleus, or if he’s even here?” Seemingly upon hearing the fae’s name, the green-haired boy went off on a tangent. Switching between droning on about how perfect malleus is and how a ‘mere human’ shouldn’t even think of interacting with him. It was as if he was having an argument with himself, and if his boisterous shouting wasn’t directed towards you, would’ve been quite funny.

Upon hearing the commotion, another boy you hadn’t seen before decided to make an appearance. He asked you why you were looking for their dorm leader, but not before scolding the other boy for making a commotion before even hearing you out. You explained that you were looking for him to ask for details about the club he’d invited to you, much to the surprise of the two infront of you.

The second boy simply let out a chuckle, “I think our Malleus is finally making friends! You’ll be able to find him in the library.” You nodded and thanked the boy before leaving, diasomnia having certainly left a unique impression on you. After arriving at the library, it didn’t take long to find the man you’d been looking for. He was sitting in the library, focused on reading a cook-book. He looked quite elegant and paired with his focus and not wanting to disrupt his reading, you were slightly apprehensive about approaching him.

Luckily or unluckily, you didn’t have to, because he picked up on your absentminded staring, and approached you himself. “Did you need something, Y/N?”

“Oh, yeah! It’s about that club you mentioned, I wasn’t too sure about when or where it was, or even if I needed to officially sign up, I was wondering if you could tell me about it?”

Malleus looked contemplative for a second before speaking, “Yes, it seems that I’ve neglected to properly inform you.” Malleus continued, giving you the details on the club, and to your surprise it seemed that the club was in fact, a real thing. Solving the mystery of the gargoyle club let you enjoy the rest of your weekend, all the way up until Monday.

Once again, it was lunch, and this time you were going to spend it with malleus whilst studying gargoyles. You walked out to the front of the school, spotted malleus, and said hello. You were however, wondering where everyone else was. When you asked, malleus kept up a neutral facade, but felt slightly defeated in having to say, “regrettably we are the only two current members”

Oh, well I guess that explains why barely anyone knew about the club. It seemed kind of sad though, being the only one fascinated enough with gargoyles and running a club all by himself, wasn’t he lonely?

No matter, the two of you would just have to make the most of it! Malleus showed you many different gargoyles around the school, it was nice for you, getting to discover a little more of NRC, though Malleus was also a little surprised by how inquisitive you were - his assumption that you were also a gargoyle enthusiast seems to have been incorrect.

Regardless, he enjoyed it, your lack of knowledge surrounding the subject allowed him to discuss and explain his passion to another person who was willing to listen. To you, it was quite endearing how someone regarded as a person to be scared of was also at heart just another normal person, getting incredibly excited and focused about an unusual topic.

These meetings, as a club activity were weekly, but it didn’t take very long for you and malleus to genuinely become friends, every now and then you’d wave to each other in the halls - and your weekly meet-ups were no longer strictly about gargoyles. The two of you would take the time to talk about your day or anything new catching either of your interests.

A couple of months into your friendship, you’d realised you hadn’t even exchanged numbers with malleus, so you asked him about it. Instead of getting his phone number though, you found that he was truly quite… hopeless with technology. This was unexpected for someone like malleus, considering how knowledgeable and apt he was with just about everything. One thing it wasn’t though, was an issue.

It was your turn to take the dragon man by surprise when you’d sent a carrier pigeon to his window, with a letter clutched between its claws. Not having many friends here aside from his dorm-mates, who could freely speak to him in person, had him questioning who the letter was from, could it have been someone from Briar Valley? No, it was just you, his first friend.

The letter was penned in purple ink, and with no specific subject matter, simply talking about random things and asking questions about his well-being. Malleus smiled, holding the letter in his hands, it felt nice having someone care for him instead of being scared of him. But recently he may have started thinking that it’s also nice to care about another person.

He tucked the letter away into a drawer, but it would take him a little longer to tuck it away in his thoughts, as he started penning back his response. And again, just like your Monday meetings, penning letters back and forth quickly became the normal between the two of you.

Despite the familiarity he now associated with you, there was a strange unfamiliarity to the whole situation. Never in malleus’s life did he thing he’d be snuggling into the crook of a human’s neck, whilst listening to them read, studying with someone else, being friends and being vulnerable with someone else. It felt like he’d experienced a lot of firsts with you, and that was something he wanted to continue doing.

Yes, that was right. He’d have to come to terms with it. He cherished you, the way you could make him feel special, how you’d accepted his quirks with open arms and befriended him regardless of your weird, first meet, the way you took an interest in him - exactly how he’d taken an interest in you. That’s why he had to come to terms with it when he cupped your hand in his and said ever-so-gently that he loved you.

[overleftdown]

this is going to be my somewhat-brief analysis (buckle in, it's not brief at all) of preluding scenes to farleigh and olivers... scene, lmao. because i can't read micro-expressions and social cues IRL, but i can for movies! also, i want to give my understanding of farleigh's character using the most substantial part of his arc. i disagree so much with a lot of people's takes on farleigh. i needed to talk extensively about it.

[0:58:46] farleigh makes eye contact with a footman. this is one of the footmen that farleigh mentions to felix in a later scene, which i'll also go into. what's interesting about this subtle interaction is how wildly differently you could consider it, depending on how you choose to view farleigh as a character. if you go the "mirror of oliver," route, then this eye contact could be the moment farleigh decides the route he's going to take to confront felix.

on the other hand, the hand that i believe makes more sense, farleigh is genuine in his confrontation with felix. the eye contact he shares with the footman is reciprocated; the footman holds it, even as his body pulls back and his head turns. this gives the idea that they are making a connection. the expression farleigh makes afterwards is also an indication that farleigh isn't plotting or scheming to earn pity points; he feels a connection and comradery with the only other black people at saltburn. when the footman turns away, unneeded anymore (this can be a parallel to farleigh), farleigh glances down, back up, then purses his lips. he looks dejected, in my opinion. this is immediately followed by farleigh's dig at oliver; "i think oliver looks like he'd rather throw himself out of a window.

food for thought.

[0:59:9] elsbeth: you can invite all your friends. farleigh: what friends?

this can obviously be a petty dig. and it is, in some ways. but i think a lot of these petty digs are because farleigh has been here before. he has watched his cousin drag home mediocre and tragic (presumably) white boys for perceived self-benefit. whether felix wants entertainment, wants to quell his guilty conscious (both of which are motivations for his mother), felix seems to have these fleeting possessive relationships with the friends he brings back to saltburn. he could also be queer and deeply repressed, lmfao.

i digress; farleigh is sick and tired. the first thing he says to oliver, before oliver even got to felix, was bitchy as all hell. after that, farleigh had more incentive to belittle oliver; yes, his comments about mannerisms, class, and overall character were petty. they were also all of the qualities that farleigh couldn't afford to have. farleigh is pointing out that oliver has no social life, yet still gets a 200-person party full of people that don't even know his name. this is tragically unfair, at least in farleigh's mind.

[1:01:25] felix: and fucking farleigh, what a little shit stirrer. oliver: well, someone has to entertain us all. felix: ...right. oliver: that's why we love him.

there's a clear disregard of humanity and depth, when felix concedes that farleigh is "entertainment." the sheer fact that felix would immediately believe oliver, a "stranger (as venetia so eloquently puts)" over a close family member, is odd on it's own. there are probably more reasons for distrust; everyone in saltburn is a shit stirrer, and farleigh does put on a particularly good show.

that's intentional, though. farleigh is very intentionally entertainment. otherwise, why would the cattons keep him around? they're welcoming people to their house as family, because they want a break from the reality of soul sucking wealth. because they want entertainment. elsbeth with her friend, who's only real personality traits are being pitiful and visibly different. felix, with his summer pet projects like oliver. farleigh can't be a temporary show; he needs to keep coming back. he needs sir james to support his mother.

[1:02:40] farleigh: i'm not saying my mother isn't completely idiotic when it comes to money. felix: you just have to be firm with her. farleigh: well i can't call her and tell her no! felix: i know, i know, you've said that. i know, i understand. farleigh: no, you don't know! you don't, it's humiliating. felix: it's very hard.

felix's approach to discussing other people's issues--that he does not relate to--makes me giggle sometimes. not that he's malicious or a fumbling idiot, but because of this scene specifically. in just this chunk of dialogue, you have the "i understand" and "you don't understand" conflict. an age old one. a common representation of someone who has never lived a specific struggle yet frames themselves as knowledgeable. felix seems to enjoy the "it's very hard" verbiage. the manner in which he speaks to oliver about his supposed impoverishment and struggles is very similar to the way he speaks to farleigh, in this scene.

i don't know what else to say about this. you can make your own inferences on felix's dialogue, i suppose.

[1:02:50] farleigh: i'm sorry, but it's a bit fucking shitty. you're all throwing oliver a party for 200 people while my mother lives in squalor. felix: well, she's hardly living in squalor, mate. farleigh: well she can't pay her bills so she will be! okay? at the rate she's going, she will be.

GAH. again, this dialogue can be considered in two different ways. farleigh could be hyperbolizing in order to play into the catton savior complex. or he could be completely genuine in his anxiety surrounding his mother's finances. it's very important that you recognize the fact that farleigh isn't arguing about himself, in this situation. he's talking about his mother. later in the conversation, he recenters himself as a person of color. but the original conflict is about whether or not his mom is living comfortably. this arguably affects him, but not entirely. he could continue to maintain his oxford-student-and-saltburn-resident character and continue to frolic around while his mom struggles to make responsible decisions.

[1:03:02] felix: right, well that's exactly why dads concerned about helping her. he doesn't want to enable her. he wants her to learn how to stand on her own two feet. farleigh: yeah, like he does?

and farleigh ate.

[1:03:09] farleigh: i mean, you know how this looks, right? making me come to you with a begging bowl. felix: what are you implying? farleigh: i think you know what i'm implying, felix. why don't you ask liam and joshua? felix: who... who the fuck are liam and joshua!? farleigh: ...your footmen.

farleigh's mannerisms in this portion of the scene GAG me. the easy confidence, the self-assured and confrontational attitude. the cocky wave of his shoulders and tilt of his head. he smirks, scoffs, makes and holds eye contact as emphasis to what he is accusing. the way he says "i think you know what i'm implying" even though i'm not quite sure if felix did. this really hammers in the implicit nature of the cattons' treatment of farleigh.

[1:03:33] felix: oh, oh. that is... that is low, farleigh. farleigh: okay. felix: jesus christ, mate! seriously, is that where you wanna take this!? farleigh: right. felix: make it a race thing!? what the fuck! i mean, we're your family, we hardly even notice that you're... different, or anything like that! farleigh: mmm. felix: i never know our footmen's names!

GAGGED. i eat up this scene and lick my fingers. "wohohoho, i don't see color! i can't believe you'd make it a race thing!" i know i should cut felix some slack, but this is just a little too real. although i've cut farleigh some slack for his classism.

the complete change in farleigh's mannerisms from the previous timestamp to this one is EDIBLE. i can't cope with it. his smile as felix says "that is low" is so painfully real. it says "i've been here before and maybe i was expecting this." for a second, felix is almost entertainingly cliche. then the exasperation hits. farleigh just looks tired. he blinks rapidly, smooths over his eyebrow with his hand, vocalizes his disbelief in felix's denial. "we hardly even notice you're different," to which farleigh crosses his arms (defensive), raises his eyebrows, nods along.

i won't include the final few lines of this conversation cuz i'm blabbing FAR too much, but farleigh's expressions of absolutely exhaustion and disappointment as felix says they've "been more generous then most"... i'm so sick. it doesn't matter what other families would do, because this family passes out charity like it's their favorite pastime. farleigh is your best american girl.

oliver, overhearing this conversation, immediately knows what his next plan of action is. compare himself to farleigh. and really, it's funny, because oliver misses the obvious differences between him and farleigh. just like everyone else. he will never feel different, not in the same way farleigh does. not with farleigh's relationship to the cattons, the legacy of his parents, and his blackness.

[1:06:32] (godfather's karaoke scene, AKA apple bottom jeans. he's a disgusting manchild and he throws his jacket at his wife.) is it odd to point out that another one of the only visible black characters is being degraded/mistreated/disregarded? not crazy, right? especially following the conversation about bias two scenes ago.

[1:07:02] farleigh: y'know, i think i'd fuck richard the III. he's so insecure, so you'd know he'd put in the work, right? oliver: or you could just fuck me, right?

here, i think there's a level of projection that farleigh is using in his line about insecurity. not only is it made known that farleigh uses sex as a tool (with teachers, specifically), but it's also made known that farleigh believes/knows that he is treated differently due to his race and/or family history. oliver seems to have clocked this, considering he relates himself to richard the III, then tells farleigh they have similar experiences.

[1:07:34] oliver: y'know, if you ever wanna talk to anyone, you can talk to me, farleigh. farleigh: ...what do you mean? oliver: well, i know you're going through a hard time at home. i know how that feels, when things are so precarious. it's terrifying... and lonely. and it must be so fucking weird, having to ask them for everything. and i know you fucking hate me. farleigh: i... i don't hate you. oliver: but... if you ever wanted me to talk to them, to see if there's... if i can help in any way... just ask. farleigh: ...okay.

i love this movie. have i said that yet? i bet you definitely couldn't tell by this post. this conversation is so... there's so much to talk about.

i'll start with some of my favorite of farleigh's mannerisms/expressions. when oliver first cuts their... tensions with "you can talk to me," farleigh pulls back slightly, sits up slightly, looks across oliver's face. there's a level of shock to it, but. farleigh was comfortable with oliver, his sworn enemy, flirting with him. yet, he pulled back at a genuine offer of support. some see this as farleigh always wanting oliver sexually, but i think it's more nuanced than that. when oliver says "terrifying... and lonely" that's when the camera cuts back to farleigh. he previously wore a half-smile that is now dropping; "lonely" was the hardest word to swallow. his lip is quivering. he looks up in an almost-eye roll when he says, "i don't hate you." he's laughing when oliver finishes, like he finds it all funny, yet the way he says "okay" makes him seem genuine. however... clearly not, considering the next portion of this scene!

even though oliver is lying out of his ass, everything he's saying is a description of farleigh. people grossly misunderstand farleigh's character, even when it's laid onto a banquette sized table through this portion of the movie. he's insecure, desperate, terrified, unsure, and lonely. farleigh, with so many friends and so many scandalous choices, is so fucking lonely. he knows he doesn't belong here, so he jams his ill-fitting puzzle piece into the saltburn jigsaw and crosses his fingers.

he tells oliver he doesn't hate him, and he looks like he's struggling to spit it out. he looks up towards the ceiling, closes his eyes like he's gathering himself. again, people take this as a bonding moment. the next portion of the scene contradicts this. honestly, i'm not completely sure, either. i think he's honest when he says he doesn't hate oliver. so, what? he's jealous, definitely. he wants to hold the same power as oliver, a foreign entity with somehow so much more privilege than farleigh. maybe that bred a certain kind of infatuation; the need to emulate what you'll never be. of course, he sees himself in the boys felix brings home; they, just like farleigh, need or want something from the cattons (although i object to the idea that farleigh is somehow "a mirror" of oliver). do what you will with this word vomit, i don't know where i'm going here.

and OH MY GOD "if you ever wanted me to talk to them, to see if there's... if i can help in any way," is diabolical. so terribly diabolical. the sheer idea that oliver knows, is pummeling it into farleigh's face, that he has authority over farleigh's life like that? that he knew felix for six months and he can somehow "talk to" farleigh's family about treating farleigh better... vomit inducing. farleigh is actually your best american girl.

[1:09:39] (karaoke scene) elsbeth, so uncomfortable with the idea that oliver is using them. i suppose that's the manner of wealthy people; they don't want to believe that they're only good for their money. but... they did that to themselves, in a way. they enjoy the pet projects, the charity work, the ego boost that comes with inviting the "lesser" to saltburn. hanjob on a haybale, golden big boy summer, right? everyone in the room is scandalized. farleigh is having the time of his fucking life. yet, here's the kicker,

[1:10:10] oliver: this is your song too, farleigh. come finish it. farleigh: only if you insist!

and then farleigh gives the performance of his life, by the way. people died. but... nobody is uncomfortable. literally no one. no one shudders or gasps at the scandal of oliver saying "this is your song, too" over the karaoke microphone; everyone heard. nobody cares. they all know. they start clapping farleigh on, cheering. elsbeth relaxes back onto her bed of cushions, because farleigh is entertaining. the change in mood is soooo... interesting.

[1:10:45] curse this scene, i don't even want to talk about it. it was hot, oliver and farleigh are so homoerotic, whatever yadayada. just like every other sexual scene in this movie, it is riddled with a suffocating kind of uncomfortable tension. we are made intimate third-party witnesses to carnal, sinful, emotionally ambiguous scenes. when i pointed out farleigh seemed more comfortable with flirting then comfort, when i said farleigh uses sex as a tool, when i said farleigh was projecting with "he's so insecure, so you know he'd put in the work." i just overthink. but any person that has sexual relationships with teachers needs intensive therapy and that cannot be denied. however, it's oliver, that uses sex as a tool throughout this movie. another uncomfortable parallel between the two characters.

something about farleigh's expression throughout this scene is... kind of hurtful. the way the moonlight just barely illuminates the light in his eyes, whereas any detail of oliver's face is shrouded in darkness. it make's farleigh look young, innocent, real. (sidenote, as i'm watching, i have to mention this. the way farleigh says that second "no" is so funny. "...no...?" LMFAO). man, i don't even know what to say, past this. the whole dominant dynamic, farleigh saying "i'm going to behave" is a little too painful considering the context leading up to this scene. it's freaky. it's so very oliver.

this is way too long but i could make so many more connections with their final confrontation at oliver's birthday party. i'm drowning in thoughts. what i really wanted to highlight was how ambiguous farleigh's character is, and how differently a lot of his scenes can be perceived. i've decided that farleigh is a sympathetic character, similar to oliver but so much less powerful. some people hate farleigh! so. there's that. the end! thanks to anyone who read this whole thing!

[thosewildcharms]

Your rhetorical questions have lit up my brain lol like what if Rick had met Michonne and Andre first instead of Morgan and Duane? 🤯 But anyway on a separate note, it’s so wild to see Rick and Shane’s first scene and Rick laughing along to Shane’s mysoginistic weird ass rant in light of who he is now. He really was just some emotionally repressed small town guy, And while Lori telling Rick “I wonder if you even care about us” in front of Carl was horrible, I wonder what Rick could’ve done or not done that would make her feel that way? And Shane said women’s problem is they don’t know how to turn off a light switch, to which Rick says part of the problem is he’s the one who’s leaving light switches on; I hate to be missing something that’s probably obvious but what did he mean with that?

oh that's a great idea for an AU anon. your mind!

this got long because who am i, so under a read more it goes.

maybe i got my rickgirl blinders on and am giving him too much credit but i thought rick was laughing at least somewhat incredulously at shane's speech (he was at the very least shaking his head a lot until the very end) but yes present-day rick would probably not have entertained that quite so much lol. but to kind of go along with that, my interpretation of light switch thing was rick kind of dismissing shane's, as you pointed out, misogynistic joke by saying he's the one with the issue turning off lights, and also to shift the conversation into the Actual Problems he and lori are having. also in retrospect it kinda feels like the show was lowkey already telling us lori and shane were more suited for each other than lori and rick but i could be reading into that. but listen metaphors have a habit of flying right over my (probably) autistic little head so i could also be missing some hidden meaning there.

as for the fight with lori, there's a flashback (i think in season 2?) where lori is talking to a friend about that same fight and she admits that she was the one who was being the asshole and how she got even more pissed off over how even-tempered and reasonable he was in response. from rick's perspective, he said he would try to talk about his feelings only for it to seem like lori didn't actually want to hear them after all. honestly i think they were just fundamentally incompatible, as we saw over and over in seasons 1 and 2. it wasn't anyone's fault, and their fights probably escalated because they didn't even know how to argue the way the other person wanted them to.

and not to constantly compare rick/lori to richonne, but rick similarly almost never yells or gets mean the few times we see him and michonne argue. the couple of times he did in towl were such an anomaly it set off alarm bells for michonne that something was really wrong with him (and also the situation was just objectively insane). but michonne and rick know how to disagree without getting ugly, and she certainly never has to try to provoke him into communicating because they have a fundamental understanding of each other that rick and lori never had. for sure rick learned from his mistakes with lori but i don't think the rick who was with lori was an entirely different person who said horrible things to his wife. he couldn't express himself the way we see he can with michonne because he just didn't have that type of connection with lori. and to be fair, lori didn't feel that with rick either, and again, that's okay. they probably should have just called it quits well before rick got shot. @cantstayawaycani and @jonesywrites go into this far more eloquently than I did here in their very excellent towl season 1 reaction video that you should definitely watch, because it's wonderful from start to finish.

[bi-ss]

~ Ties that bind ~

Bucky x reader- arranged marriage.

Summary: You agreed to arrange marriage when you were little, after seeing who you are to marry. You wish you could go back.

WARNINGS: swearing, mentions on getting drink, idk what else lemme know.

(Also, for the people annoying me about when this will be out i do have otherthings going on and if i say its almost done i just need to read it over doesnt mean imma drop everything and finish it lol x)

You feel like you've been driving for ages but its only been 15 minutes max, his hand keeps twitching on the gear stick like he wants to talk but doesn't know what to talk about, so you start up the conversation instead to be nice.

"So what colour is the bathroom? Black, white, grey?" You wanted to know so your towels matched and your robe and skincare products, no one will be going in there, but just in case.

"We're getting married in 3 weeks, and you're more worried about my bathroom -" he scoffs seemingly more stressed than you in this moment in time.

You roll your eyes as you go to look out the window again "just so I know what to unpack first, you know the necessities" you interrupted him with no shame what so ever, you realised your been driving for a very long time, suspicious long so you took a guess to put him in the hot seat and to seem smarter and more calm and confident then you really are.

"We aren't going to yours, are we?" You say blankly and calmly which, from where your sitting looked like it freaked him out a bit, only for a second, though.

"No. We're not. We're going to the main house. " woah ok, straight to the the point, I guess that was what you thought, but you nodded and hummed at his confession. There you were again sitting in silence. Wait, main house? You thought as you pulled into the longest driveway in the world, like stupidly long, and it like gravely and uncomfortable but at the end of the stupidly long driveway was a castle like Manor, which would do you just fine. The gravel driveway was lined with cypress trees and beyond the thin row of them there were big front lawns, you smiled to your self when you saw a older looking man on one a drivable lawn mowers, you don't know why you always found them funny.

When you arrived at the front (finally) you got out of the blacked out car, to see James stopped at the front midway to open it for you, you took note of the sad empty flower boxes under 2 big windows and 2 small plant pots next to the front door, James opened the door for you to see the shiniest polished white marble floors you've ever seen, the grand stair case also white marble but looked more gritty with a dark grey carpet drapped over them, the ceiling feld the most eloquent depictions of angels, flowers and small animals, the ceiling also held one of the most stunning chandeliers you've even seen, it's off white with diamonds looking as if their falling from it like rain. You could live here, you thought.

You were interrupted by a heavy bang, looking over to see what it was, but it was just James bringing in your bags, the necessities. He huffed a little before asking "Ill have someone bring your bags up to our room later, in the meantime go look around" you nodded silently, thinking, "I guess you have work to do.. so do I, I have to make sure your closet will be big enough. " You smiled at him before turning to walk up the stairs while the door opened and closed behind him as he left.

You realised looking down the long corridor full of dark wooden doors that you weren't told which door was yours, but then you thought of what a great excuse that was to snoop around and snoop you did. You must have spent hours just walking around opening and closing random doors to rooms your sure you weren't meant to be in, like a dark blue bed room with mens clothes all over the floor and the smell of expensive cologne that ever man wears to feel rich, or the power blue room that looks childish but also mature all at once, you liked it, was all well until you entered a room you knew you shouldn't be in, his office.

It was underwhelming, to say the least, old worn-out desk with papers shattered on every inch of it and lovely painting of his parents on their wedding day on the wall behind his desk to left 2 massive windows looking out to the small side garden with a green house and other gardening things, there were bookshelfs up against the wall from his desk to the door on the right, when you turned you was a little cosy seated area, with 2 sofas that sit 3 people facing a fire place with an arm chair tucked in the corner, it was peaceful you liked it, until the doors burst open and a small man walked in.

"You shouldn't be in here lady, why are you in here?" He spat at you like he owned the place, 2 can play that game.

"I'm waiting for James..-" you weren't even done before this 5'4 nobody started speaking over you, you weren't entitled or you didn't think you were but you already didnt like him one bit.

"First, it's Mr Barnes to you, and second, he's getting ready for something important so you'll have to leave now" alright fuck this, you thought if James didn't even tell his staff you were coming or even what you looking like he mustn't care right? Either way , you're going home to your house as you can already come to dread the problems ahead.

"Oh alright then, tell Mr Barnes I was here and to give me a ring" you smiled at the tiny man as you quickly left his office and gracefully made your way down the marble stair case, you looked up as your were at the bottom going for you door to see him smiling and waving so you blow him a kiss and left closing the door calling your bestfriend to come pick you up and get ready for some serious gossip.

Once she finally got there in her soft yellow mini, getting in you first mentioned how it took for 45 minutes then apologised as it wasn't easy to find surprisingly then you went on about how James just picked you up, what you think was flirting he tried to do in your bedroom then took you to his real house, left you like some cheap tart and the cherry on top he didn't bother notifying his staff about you.

"You know what, let's go to mine. Get pissed have a great time, then have a sleepover because that's not it right there" spoke your bestfriend since collage, you used to hate each other, you can't remember why but you both did.

"I can't have an event to go to tomorrow.." You pulled a disappointed face looking at her from the corner of your eye. You saw her with a look of 'wtf is she serious' while side eyeing you, "I guess I could get tispy for a little" you were so confident but your loving bff gave a small laugh before shutting up and forcing herself to considerate on the road, but you knew deep down that you'll get tipsy and wake up in the desert drenched in water somehow dressed as a tele-tubby.

TAGS: @learis @unaxv @cjand10 @pattiemac1 @coffee-winter-and-silence @scott-loki-barnes

[silverfoxstole]

Recording Shada in 2002.

From DWM 330, May 2003:

PAUL MCGANN

INTERVIEW BY GARY GILLATT

We first spoke in Vancouver in 1996…

[sings] Ah yes, I remember it well…

…And here we are in Bristol, years later, with James Fox and Andrew Sachs. Would you ever have thought it?

Well, when my agent was telling me about it, I thought we had a bad line. She said, ‘James Fox is in it, and Andrew Sachs, and so-and-so and such-and-such’ and I assumed I was mishearing. I mean, how could it be?

Were you familiar with the work of Douglas Adams?

Not really, only Hitchhiker’s Guide. I’m not a sci-fi reader at all, that’s not my thing. I didn’t really know a great deal about Adams – I certainly didn’t realise he was this amazing polymath. But Lalla speaks so eloquently and passionately about him, and I’ve come to understand why he was so well-loved and respected, and, of course, the quality of the script speaks for itself.

Are you enjoying playing the script?

Well, compared to last year’s plays, and the year before, you can definitely tell it’s from a different source. It has a different tack, and a whole different kind of wit. If you were at a blind tasting, and shown just a page or two of every script we’ve done, you’d easily spot that this one came from somewhere else, from a very fertile mind. It’s great stuff.

Everyone seems to have treated the script with great respect. Almost every line seems to be debated as you all try to get the best of out it.

Comedy is a very serious business. If it was a so-called straight drama, you probably wouldn’t find that much discussion.

So it’s exacting work?

Oh yes, very much so. If a thing is meant to be funny, you’ve got to make sure it’s funny, so you’ve got to get it right. In drama, your main directions are ‘quicker’, ‘slower’, ‘louder’, ‘quieter’. But on something like this you have to watch how you spin every word. It’s not something you can be lazy about.

I hear you’re missing India Fisher…

I sure am. Every time the studio door opens, I think she’s going to walk through. It’s the association with this place, where we do all these plays, and this is the first one we’ve done without her, so it seems very strange. She’ll be back next year, though, won’t she?

I certainly hope so. Will you?

Well, yes, that’s in the planning stages. Apparently, as was revealed to me yesterday, 2003 is the 40th anniversary of Doctor Who, and they’re planning something of a special with me and Davison and Sylv and Colin Baker. I think they’re going to have us as some sort of barbershop quartet or something.

So you’re still finding it fun, being the Doctor?

You sound very sure of yourself when you ask that… You’ve phrased the question to get the answer you want, I think!

Well, I guess as a fan, I’d like to think that Doctor Who likes being Doctor Who…

Well, I’ll put your mind at rest, then, because I am still enjoying it. I like working on audios more than on screen. Day in, day out, it’s just more of a laugh. Doing the visual work, on TV or in pictures, you never get to hang around with the rest of the cast. Here we can swap stories in the green room, or go off in a gang to the pub for lunch. When you’re working on pictures it’s not like that. You go in, do your little bit, and then you’re shunted off to a trailer out of the way. This is much more fun. It’s what being an actor is all about, and I have Doctor Who to thank for that opportunity.

Extracts from the recording of Shada:

The Doctor decides it’s time to get to the point. “What have you done with the Professor’s mind?” he asks.

“It will be put to a more useful purpose,” replies Skagra, haughtily.

“I would argue that it was serving a very useful purpose where it was.” ”Not to me.”

“You realise he died?” says the Doctor.

“Only his mind was of use to me,” says Skagra. “Not his life.”

“You take a very proprietorial attitude to people’s brains,” responds the Doctor, calmly.

“It seems to me,” says Skagra, his voice rising slightly, “that the Time Lords take a very proprietorial view of the Universe.”

There is a pause.

“Hold on,” says Lalla Ward, looking across the room to Nick, the director. “Surely the Doctor would be more accurate about his reference there. Skagra hasn’t stolen the Professor’s brain, only his mind.”

“That’s right,” agrees Andrew Sachs, dropping his thin, high Skagra voice. “The actual brains stay in their heads, don’t they?”

“It’s a good point,” replies Nick. “I imagine that Douglas was trying to avoid repetition of the word ‘mind’.”

“Well Douglas should have known better,” says Lalla, firmly. “And it’s a bit silly to worry about repetition of the word ‘mind’ now. It’s all ‘I want your mind, I want his mind’ for the next 60 pages.”

“So would you like me to change ‘brain’ to ‘mind’ on that line?” queries Paul McGann. “Because, y’know, I think the Doctor would be far more accurate about his reference there.”

—-

The Krag commander growls its greeting to Skagra. “What are your orders, my Lord?”

Andrew Sachs peers over his script. “Cod and chips twice, please. And a carton of mushy peas.”

—-

Paul McGann is recording assorted screams and moans to signify the Doctor’s mistreatment by Skagra’s mind-sucking sphere. “Argh!” he groans, “Aargh…ugh…aaargh!”

“Thanks, Paul,” says Nick. “That’s just brilliant.”

“Three years at RADA for that!” laughs Paul gleefully. “Would you like me to do some more?”

Nick smiles and turns to Andrew Sachs. “Now could we just do your lines as the sphere attacks the Doctor again?” Andrew nods and clears his throat. “This time, Doctor,” sneers the icy voice of Skagra, “This time no one will come to your rescue. I shall have your mind.” It’s chilling stuff.

“Y’know,” says Paul, “I believe you!”

“Poor Skagra,” says Andrew. “I have the feeling he’s a very lonely man. I think he needs a wife and kids. A talking spaceship’s no real substitute for the love of a good woman, is it?”

—-

Skagra has some seriously sexy transport, and the Doctor is stealing it.

“Ship!” shouts the Doctor. “Activate all re-aligned drive circuits.”

“Something very strange is happening,” says the ship, all sultry sibilance.

“Ta-daa!” cheers the Doctor.

Hannah Gordon is in a separate sound booth. “Should I be getting more roused there?” she asks over the loudspeaker.

“I don’t think so,” says Nick. “Just keep it honey-voiced and seductive.”

In the gallery, artist Lee Sullivan crosses his legs. “I don’t think I can take much more,” he says. “I may have to leave the room. I never found myself attracted to a spaceship before!”

In the studio, Sean Biggerstaff is fidgeting with his headphones. “It’s very strange working with a sexy, disembodied voice in your ear,” he says.

“I can’t see any downside to that,” muses Paul.

“Hey, that’s me you’re talking about,” replies Hannah in a sexy, disembodied way.

—-

An invisible spaceship,” smiles Lalla. “Such a brilliant idea from Douglas.”

“And now we have an invisible spaceship on audio,” adds Paul.

“Douglas would have laughed at that. It’s just so marvellously perverse.”

“Shall we go and explore it?”

“Oh, yes, let’s explore…”

[starsandhughes]

Penalty Box Series— Quinn Hughes Edition (Seven)

23-24 Season Masterlist

previous: six

next: eight

OCTOBER 31, 2023

again: THESE STATS ARE BASED OFF THE ACTUAL DAY!

p.s. i skipped the rags game

yourusername

liked by _eliaspettersson, _quinnhughes, and 12,566 others

yourusername welcome back to my postgame penalty box update show: WHO RUNS THE WORLD? QUINN! edition!

with his first assist on laffy taffy's goal, quinn got his 250th career point! this makes him the second fastest active defenseman to reach 250 points in under 300 games! he did it in 292 games, which equaled the 12th fewest of all time!

but let's not forget the other two assists tonight! his three assists tonight gave him his 48th career multi-point game, his 19th three point game, and his 14th three assists game! he now has 18 total career assists against nashville, which ties his total against the oilers for the most assists he has against any one team! (note that he's played the oilers more because of the 20-21 season where van played them 10 times)

john said that it's "a hughes lead in the east and the west" during the game, and here's why:

quinn has 11 points, so he is 1st for dmen, and tied for 7th overall! he also has a (+/-) of +11, which leads THE ENTIRE LEAGUE!

jack leads the entire league in points AND assists with 18 and 13, and luke is tied for second for all rookies in points and assists!

quinn and luke are tied for 4th in power play points for dmen overall, luke is 2nd for all rookies, and jack is tied for 1st for all skaters!

i’m so proud of my nuckies for their 5-2 win against the preds, my brothers, and most of all, my best friend💙 i love you way past infinity!

p.s. PETEY! MY BLONDE KING! INSTEAD OF GOING TRICK-OR-TREATING, YOU WENT HAT-TRICKING! congratulations on your second career hatty, and your first at home! i love you, and i’m so proud of you! keep an eye out for your hatty medal in the mail!

p.s.s. quinn is the first player in CANUCKS HISTORY to have a +10 rating during the first seven games! i asked for a record breaking season, and i’m getting it!

tagged _quinnhughes and _eliaspettersson

view all 227 comments

_quinnhughes oh you and your stats (i love you way past beyond💙)

yourusername it's a flex!! be proud!! the girlies love a self confident man!!

oliviaabonn yes we do🤍

yourusername see! (@/oliviaabonn i miss you)

oliviaabonn (@/yourusername i miss you)

_quinnhughes alright point taken! i am proud of myself

yourusername woooowwww, cocky much?

_quinnhughes i should've seen that coming

user65 ALL HAIL THE SKATE JERSEYS

jackhughes ME?? GETTING PRAISE IN A QUINN POST?? WHO ARE YOU??

yourusername "thank you, sissy! i love you and my biggest accomplishment is being your twin brother/soulmate" (jack) "you're so welcome, jacky boy! i love you more <3" (me)

jackhughes sure

yourusername you're so good to me🥰

trevorzegras @/jackhughes you're so well spoken

jackhughes @/trevorzegras thanks, man! i’m proud to be eloquent

_quinnhughes @/jackhughes you googled that word, didn't you?

jackhughes @_quinnhughes you can't even prove that, can you?

user76 I'M LOVING CANUCKS HOCKEY

user52 who needs sports net to tell me stats when i have sissy?

yourusername they should hire me fr

_eliaspettersson i don't get my medal specially delivered in person? i see how it is... it's a good thing i love you, too, sissy

yourusername blame my fiancé!

_eliaspettersson you're coming to see us play the stars!

yourusername OH YEAH THAT IS SOON

trevorzegras @/yourusername did you just forget a stars game?!

_quinnhughes @/yourusername who are you and what have you done with my sister?

_eliaspettersson @/trevorzegras @_quinnhughes don't attack her while i’m trying to get my medal

yourusername i’m having a crisis

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes @_eliaspettersson she's not kidding she just screamed into my shirt

_eliaspettersson @/trevorzegras so be nicer to her

colecaufield @_quinnhughes petey and sissy are your matthew and sissy, aren't they?

_quinnhughes @/colecaufield i don't want to talk about it

canucks we love our boys!

yourusername WE REALLY DO!!

user6 HUGHES NATION RISE

lhughes_06 thank you, sissy! i love you and my biggest accomplishment is being your little brother❤️

jackhughes what is the reason for ass kissing? she holds no power over you

lhughes_06 @/jackhughes she holds secrets

yourusername awww! i love you, too, lukey moosey! it's an honor being your big sister❤️

_quinnhughes this was supposed to be my post and it was barely even my caption

yourusername @_quinnhughes it was 87.5% your pictures! 88.888889% if you count the penalty count!

_quinnhughes @/yourusername i do not

yourusername @_quinnhughes it was 87.5% your pictures! not including the one of you and demmer, that's 75% your pictures! and out of 22 sentences, 13 are just pertaining to you and only you, which is 59.091%, and 2 more include you, which brings you up to 15 sentences making the caption 68.1818% yours! so out of 22 sentences and we'll say 8 pictures (30 parts), 19 parts are only about you which makes the post 63.333% JUST yours, and 22/30 parts include you, which makes the post 73.333% about you! AND only one pic is a meme!

_quinnhughes @/yourusername ... thank you

yourusername @_quinnhughes you're welcome, huggy!💙

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes she did that with her own calculator and everything

_alexturcotte when they do math for you>🥵

yourusername @_alexturcotte ;)

user12 did sissy just... spitefully show love?

user99 how has no one addressed the fact that sissy has been calling sam lafferty "laffy taffy"😭 she hasn't even met him that's so cute

yourusername i facetimed quinn to meet everyone new to the team so that i could get their interests for their goodie bags! he loves his nickname!

user99 STOP THAT'S SO CUTE

colecaufield where's my praise, mm? i set an nhl record this season!

yourusername p.s.s.s. SHOUTOUT TO MY BEST FRIEND NUMBER TWO FOR NOW HOLDING THE NHL RECORD FOR FEWEST GAMES TO SCORE SIX CAREER OT GOALS! HE DID IT IN 130 GAMES! he has surpassed brayden point, who's record was 190! i love you, and i’m so proud! (p.s.s.s.s. i’m glad your surgery went well @.kdach77 ! your care package has been mailed! i love you!)

colecaufield i don't even get the caption?! and it's not even all about me?! i see how it is

yourusername quinn already had an aneurysm! i don't think i wanna kill him! and kirby died! i love him!

kdach77 @/yourusername thank you, sister hughes! i love you, too!

_quinnhughes @/yourusername THINK?!

yourusername @_quinnhughes sometimes you get on my nerves

yourusername @/kdach77 MWAH🤍

jackhughes HA

trevorzegras my girl is so sweet❤️ i love you, forever

_alexturcotte y/n deserves a nobel peace prize for how kind she is❤️

lhughes_06 i’m so glad i have a role model like sissy❤️

yourusername i love my fans <3 (@/trevorzegras i love you, always❤️)

_eliaspettersson added this post to their story

canucks added this post to their story

[beautifulpersonpeach]

bpp lemme be sappy and incoherent for a min…

i saw this tiktok of bts’ solo era so far and i just wanna say that i’m glad that they know army doesn’t expect anything from them but music. GOOD MUSIC. like historically so many idols have gone on to do non music things after their peaks but bts knows that the core of their fandom are music fans. fans of THEIR music especially. bts as a whole prides themselves as being musicians and army prides ourselves as being fans of musicians.

idk. i guess i just wanted to appreciate how diverse this era has been musically and how proud i am of them doing the music they want even if i dont always enjoy it cuz someone else is bound to, yknow? i’m so freaking proud of their output. they’re amazing

***

It just tugs on your heartstrings doesn’t it? Even Jin who doesn’t have a full album yet, the song he made with Coldplay in only a few months doesn’t feel rushed or half-assed. It feels like a (sappy) sweet letter (in Chris Martin’s ink) from a friend you’ll be seeing before too long.

From Hoseok producing the beauty that is Jack in the Box; to Joon’s archive of his 20s with some of the best collaborations for a Korean artist in Indigo; to Jimin’s episodic processing of the personal struggles he dealt with during the pandemic in FACE; to Yoongi’s culmination of the AGUST D trilogy in D-DAY; to Taehyung’s expression of the music that most feels like him in Layover; and finally, Jungkook pushing himself out of his comfort zone to make a full album in a language he doesn’t speak, showcasing his skill set of ever-improving vocal ability, in classic pop songs in several genres that he’s selected to showcase his personal taste.

All the boys have done well. The assignment was to serve music, and they’ve all delivered. Some songs are more my taste than others, but I can acknowledge the work they’ve all done and I respect it.

And this isn’t really what you’re talking about Anon, but please let me go on a short tangent here.

I’ve seen chatter here and there about how Jungkook isn’t mature in his interview answers. About how he apparently comes across as a clueless puppet who can’t articulate his views eloquently, but like I said about the discourse around Jimin’s apparent lack of contribution to BTS, or Jin’s apparent lack of skill - sometimes that criticism is warranted, but most of the time people who say things like this frankly have no idea what they’re talking about.

A few of you have sent me asks months back, to give my view on Jungkook the way I’ve done about Jimin, Yoongi, Hoseok etc recently. I didn’t answer because I was waiting for Golden. Now that the album’s out, I’m sitting with it and will respond to those asks before too long.

But before that, I want to draw attention to this excerpt from Jungkook’s interview in The Atlantic.

*

In my draft reply to the asks wanting me to talk about Jungkook, I start with saying he’s a very simple person. That’s both his charm and the thing that confuses a lot of people about him, because many of us are anything but simple, so when faced with a man like him living the life he’s living, some people respond with suspicion or bewilderment.

Simple motivations, simple words, simple considerations - this is what I’ve observed in JK for the past 10 years. He’s younger than all the members but no less intelligent that the rest of the guys on average. He knows how to communicate what he means, he just usually has a preference to do it simply, and that’s what he did in that paragraph.

I’m excited to see how he’s going to become a global pop star, even bigger than he is now, because he’s certainly got the talent and skill to show real results. I’m proud of all the projects the boys have put out so far.

By their own words, one point of Chapter 2 was to showcase their individual colours, to show the world who makes up a group like BTS, so people could more clearly see what each member brings to the table, while the guys push themselves to learn new things, expand their skillsets, and hone their individual artistry to create a stronger, more nimble group.

*

So far so good. It seems to be going according to plan despite everything lol. I’m excited to get Joon’s next work, PJM2, Hobi’s release, Jin’s album, and all the other goodies lined up for us in Chapter 2. It’s been a trip and it’s only going to get wilder.

[waywardmillennial]

watchergate & where we go from here...

To start at the end, I purchased my annual Watcher TV subscription on April 20th because I wanted to support them when it felt like so many others were not. I'm cancelling another subscription to make this work with my budget, and I'm very happy with this!

Watcher has always made high quality, entertaining content that I love, and I'm happy to support them as they try to grow like they've always wanted to so they can bring on more creators and give us more diverse art.

So, moving forward, I'm going to be posting about Watcher TV when it comes out - spoiler parties with the sexy moots! - and I'll be blocking any and all haters I see. 💜💜💜

(read more bc ofc this got long)

To walk this back and give a little history/context, *ahem* [sotto Byron voice]

April 12, 2024: Watcher announced they had a surprise coming for us in a week's time. The news came in the form of a very spirited ad-read in the Mystery Files s2 finale. And afterwards there were a few blogs posting about it, but I commented to a friend that my dash had been devoid of Watcher posts (oh, how that sweet summer child would grow to long for a day such as that).

There were some corkboard theories, and I broke down the new logo design, but nothing big happened until the following Thursday.

April 18, 2024: I saw the leak for the announcement. It was on reddit and a sock tumblr blog was made sending the link out to people. I didn't post it or share it because it wasn't my news to share. I wanted to wait to see how they were going to explain it.

Maybe I should have said at the time (but it's fine if you don't believe me now I guess) but I was hoping Watcher TV would become like their enhanced Patreon replacement, where the new shows like "Puppet History Karaoke" and "Road Files" would be exclusive, and some other perks like early access. [note: if Apollo is laughing at him right now, I'd kindly request he stuff that red ball somewhere Helios doesn't shine]

I imagined some people would be mad at the streaming news but it didn't prepare me for how bad it would get...

April 19, 2024: Most of us know what happened. The announcement was not well received. Watcher's silence right after wasn't helping, but I don't think many people were willing to give them any grace for their pre-planned trip to the UK and instead demanded answers immediately.

Do I think maybe their announcement could have been timed better? Or maybe given a different tone? Perhaps. But either way what they were trying to communicate was not what people chose to hear, and the response from many viewers was, to choose a very formal phrase here, absolute bonker banana balls insane.

The main anti-streamer "arguments" I saw basically boiled down into these categories:

"high production tv quality content is what they want to make, but we don't want that - we only want them to sit in a blank room and talk to each other with blue and yellow text like the bfu days!!"

"Steven's the one behind all this bc he's rich and greedy and only eats gold"

"they already make enough money off their patreon why are they doing this?? they should have consulted [insert other yt-er here]"

"they've become the capitalist elite that we swore to destroy! so we have to tear them down from their thrones!!"

Even now, feeling better than I have in days, I don't have the energy to say why each of those takes completely misses the point of who they are as a company, as creators, and as human beings. But there are some eloquent posts in my #watchergate tag, or my other post, if you're interested.

April 22, 2024: We got the Watcher update - giving people access to all videos after a month on the new streamer - and that seemed to placate a lot of viewers and those on the fence. But it was also the day I learned about that horrible petition against Steven, and I'd been following all this drama for several days (foregoing some self-care) and so I had a little meltdown...

Even though the new setup is closer to what I'd hoped for like 10 days ago, I hate how we arrived at it. It's shown people that they can bully creators to get them to compromise on their company. In fact, I've seen accounts celebrating this.

Opinions like this have given me trust issues when it comes to the Watcher fandom at large now. As many of my beloved mutuals have said, I'm going to be wary of accounts that follow me and be applying that blocking feature liberally.

I can also only imagine how things like this must have broken some of the trust that the Watcher crew feels for us - fightingfuries really said it best. If they do start distancing themselves on socials and things, I wouldn't really blame them.

I don't have more to say, other than I'm going to support them as much as I can, for as long as they continue to make content. I'm going to send the team a care package. And I hope in time we'll earn back their trust.

Now I'll let Ryan Bergara play me out...

As for the question of why we decided to launch our own platform, when we started Watcher in 2020, we wanted to create shows that we were proud of, that we had ownership over, and that would provide you the caliber of content that we felt you deserved. However, we were finding it harder and harder to stay relevant to advertisers and the constantly changing YouTube landscape. We faced some incredibly challenging decisions. We didn't want to compromise our content to ensure they met advertising requirements. And we definitely did not want to lay people off that have brought Watcher to life behind the scenes. And we didn't want to bring Watcher to a close, which would have happened if we stayed solely on YouTube. - An Update, April 22, 2024

[needle-noggins]

My book club reading this morning started with me goofing on Legato and etc., but then I got hit with the cafe scene. Let's talk about it, because I've been ready to bring up the body autonomy/exploitation/rape stuff for a while. This is going to get heavy, so fair warning.

Spoilers for Trigun Stampede, which I'll compare this to, in case anyone here is coming into the book club completely blind to Trigun (I assume most fans at this point have seen Stampede).

So. Damn. This is where the very heavy theme of bodily autonomy and exploitation really comes into the story. Obviously we have the conflict between the slavers and Legato. These girls are going to be sold for organ harvesting, but first... yeah, those slavers are fucking awful. Legato kills them by forcing them to kill themselves/each other, and Legato frees the girls. I think this is the first time we see what Legato's powers are - he makes people's bodies to move against their will. He later muses on this scene, wondering why he felt sympathy for the girls and spared them. If you've read Trigun Maximum before, you know why.

I want to compare this to Stampede, because it's the easiest way for me to talk about this theme without spoiling more of Trimax. When I watched Stampede for the first time, I remember being floored by the tank scene with Vash and Knives. Vash floating helplessly, paralyzed by Knives, his roots extending to the plants in the tank, and the reveal of those plants being pregnant. Knives boasting about making new Independents. It was so heavy that I had to pause the show and walk around for a bit. I still can't totally watch it.

Then, when I read Trimax, I saw just how much of a recurring theme this is in the story on a whole. OK, Nightow, that's fucking painful and kind of triggering for a lot of folks - so why does the story have to include this?

Well. It highlights just how horrible Knives, Legato, and other people can be, but more importantly, it's central to the entire plot and its resolution. We have to look at the other side of the conflict and zoom out a bit. In all versions of Trigun, there is exploitation - of the plants, of innocent people, of Vash's power. And, in all versions of Trigun, there's the struggle to find freedom and autonomy against it, specifically. Knives struggles to give the plants freedom (or his version of it). Vash struggles to free humanity from Knives (who not only kills indiscriminately, but also exploits people to kill for him. Hello, Wolfwood). Vash also struggles to find freedom from Knives, who uses Vash's powers against his will. That's a really boiled-down version of the central conflict.

So, what happens in this conflict?

Vash heals plants who have been damaged by humans' exploits. Vash helps people in any way he can, no matter who they are - because he wants what's best for humanity - all of it. And, at least in Tristamp, who saves Vash when Knives is using him? Fucking Meryl. Meryl, who jumps head-first into danger to save Vash. I could write an essay on Tristamp Meryl's character development in alone, but I won't (yet).

There's exploitation and rape and terrible abuse, but there's help. There's healing facilitated by others, sometimes others who have experienced something similar. I'm sure someone else can say this much more eloquently than me, but I wanted to get the conversation started.

[trudemaethien]

If you're still looking for writing prompts, I got:

Echo/Fi for the ship and "Exchange, Integrity and Trouble" for the word prompts! (You did say words, so hope 3 is enough!)

They sorta took the bit in their teeth and ran away with it, lol. prompts what prompts? 😅

“Hey, is that Ghez Hokan’s— I thought you died!”

“No, but didn’t you die?”

“You two…know each other?”

The commando in the grey beskar doffs his helmet and in unison two eyebrows on two different faces go up as they swing in incredulous unison to Hunter, as if questioning their acquaintance is the abnormal part of this encounter, and not an RC and an ARC somehow knowing each other on sight. Those groups didn’t usually play well together.

“How do you know each other?” Tech interjects.

The commando grins, brilliant and lopsided and says, “Well, y’see what ha’happened was, Eya’ka here—”

Echo promptly makes a rude noise over him. “Nuh-uh, you lost the right to baby-name me fair and square, Ei-Oh-One-Fi.”

“You cheated,” Fi slings back, immediately heated. At least one of the other commandos is laughing under his T-visor.

“You wish I had to—”

“—if I coulda proved—”

“—cheat to beat your ass.”

Echo’s smile is out in full force, cocky and blinding, dimples and all. Hunter glances at the rest of the batch to see if they’re seeing what he’s seeing. The commando’s squadmates look just as far behind.

Fi purses his lips and visibly decides to take the better part of valor on this particular battlefield. “Cadet 21-0408,” he resumes, “did not beat my ass. He had a gambling problem. He bet outrageously against my trainee squad on some trumped up bullshit dare, and then mercilessly extorted us for all we were worth when he won on a technicality.”

This must not be his trainee squad, then. Hunter winces internally, but Echo is shaking with silent laughter. “You sure know how to hold onto a grudge, Fi’ika,” he quips.

“That’s n-not all you held onto,” Fi grumbles, fondly disgruntled.

Echo is still smirking. “No, no it was not,” he says, and that’s—he’s flirting? With this asshole? It almost sounds like they had a fling… The commandos look like it’s news to them too, but not all that shocking. Good. Some of those cohorts could be real pricks about inter-unit relationships.

Wrecker’s picking up on it too. “You guys…?” He points from one to the other eloquently and then ruins it with a blatantly obscene gesture that means a lot more than fucking.

“No!” Fi squawks, but Echo is still laughing, so Hunter really doubts the veracity of his denial. “I meant his kama,” he tries to excuse.

But hadn’t Echo not gotten that until he’d passed ARC Training?

“Can hang onto that anytime,” Echo flirts.

The laughing commando in purple and brown beskar’gam leans over, even with his comms muted, obviously dying of hilarity.

“I never—” Fi protests, trying futilely to defend himself but only making it seem more and more likely to be true.

“Mmm, I seem to recall—” Echo says, gearing up to cause even more trouble no doubt, and Fi has had enough. He tackles him to slap a hand over his mouth. Echo stumbles and twists, Fi slips, and the entire audience of two squads starts forward abortively to try and help.

With a whine of servos, Echo manages to turn their fall into something less drastic, but they end up in a tangled heap of grey and red-edged kamas on the ground anyway.

“Osik,” Fi says, winded, “can’t tussle like tubies anymore, can we?”

Echo pats his ass. “A repeat of last time is right out too.”

“Everyone who witnessed anything that may or may not have happened is dead,” Fi says hastily, the grief being trotted out old and worn, barely remarkable. “You can’t prove a thing.”

“Just us left, old boy,” Echo agrees pensively, then turns wicked again, helping Fi sit up. “Bet I could make you make that noise again, though.”

The atmosphere shifts back from the precipice of grief to a much more pleasant sort of remembrance. The Mandos call that aay’han, Hunter recalls due to their current company.

“No! What noise? There was no noise. There was no noise!” Fi protests as around them the rest of their adopted squads join in the laughter.

Young and Old, Merry and Bold 🔒 https://archiveofourown.org/works/51930292

[moorishflower]

Have begun writing a sort of...anachronistic fantasy setting inspired a lot by Discworld and it's reached the point where I think it's successfully grabbed my attention so here, have a snippet

It might be a bit disingenuous to say that the city has walked through a doorway, but to Hob’s ale-soaked and slightly wobbly view, that’s precisely what happens. He goes through the five step process of sobering up in a record time of a few seconds – these steps being cotton-mouth, thirst, salivation, headache, and relief – and abruptly finds himself no longer needing to use his staff as a counterweight against his skull to keep himself upright.

The man is beautiful. Therein is the comparison to the city, though Hob couldn’t have imagined how beautiful. There’s a woman beside him, tugging him inside, and they’re talking (“Come on, then. What are you waiting for?” she asks, and he answers, “Very well. But I do not see what purpose this will serve.”), but most of Hob’s higher intelligence has been reserved for the cataloguing of the man’s sheer presence.

He’s a severe-looking man, dressed head to toe in black robes, and with a black hood pulled up over the crown of his black hair, as if he thinks it will do anything to hide precisely how gorgeous he is. His skin’s the sort of translucent, delicate paleness of ivory sheared thin as paper, and when he accepts a tankard from his lady Hob can see the web of fine blue veins standing out on the backs of his hands. His reverie is briefly interrupted by a snort of amusement as he watches the man give the contents of his tankard a wary look before surreptitiously setting it down. Probably for the best. A man like that is the sort who’s used to…to fine wines and smears of fig jam on toast, and suchlike. What is a man like that doing here?

He makes a motion to the bartender, who rolls their eyes so hard it’s a wonder they don’t fly right out of their skull, and briefly abandons their duty of further begriming the bartop in order to lean in close. The beautiful man turns his head; his eyes are so blue, like chips of ice or cornflowers or the sky in summer, and Hob’s mouth goes dry again.

“Who…” he says, and then clears his throat. “Who is that?”

“Some nob, maybe.” The bartender eloquently displays what they think of nobs with a telling flick of their fingers. “Never seen him before.”

“I’ve got to know him,” Hob insists. “I’ve got to…to introduce myself to him?”

The bartender laughs. If one were realistic, one might call it a snigger. “You? Talking to him?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“You couldn’t catch his attention in a thousand years. A hundred-thousand. If’n you never died, you still wouldn’t have half the time you’d need.”

“I know death,” Hob insists. “I’ve seen death. My whole family was wiped out by the plague.”

“You’re a fool.”

“Nobody has to die,” he says, feeling increasingly desperate. He must sound like an absolute fool, but he can’t seem to stop his mouth. The bartender has given him an option, absurd as it is, and Hob’s fool brain is determined to take it. “The only reason people die is... s'cause everyone does it. You all just go along with it. But not me. I've made up my mind. I'm not going to die.” The man is looking at him. Hob’s heart soars somewhere up behind his Adam’s apple and lodges there, wriggling like an excited puppy. There is something special about this man. Not just for the fact that he’s beautiful, but something other, something more. He’s more real than the rest of the room, real in the way that the scholars over at the University talk about quantum, whatever that is. You could line this man up alongside eight twins of him, and Hob thinks he could pick the real one out every time.

[visions--of--collisions]

for @jennsterjay who went with 5 (PG)

EXCERPT: remember when we didn't know who to be? (Spiderverse, Hobie/Miles, G, Post-Canon)

A welcome sight greets him at the kitchen table. Billie’s in her high chair with Miles’ tablet - judging by the stickers - propped on the table in front of her, waving a tiny fist in the vague direction of her mouth as her eyes follow something on the screen. She does a startled little flail when she notices him. ‘Ibby!’ she says, and drops what she was holding to reach for him; it’s mangled beyond recognition, but there’s cubes of mango scattered across the tray in front of her, and one or two in the bottom of her moulded bib, so he knows those little hands are a sticky, pulpy nightmare.

Hobie couldn’t give less of a shit, frankly. ‘Young Bill!’

Billie squeals in response, and he reaches out to let her grip his fingers in a pincer hold he swears gets tighter every time he sees her. She promptly uses them to start trying to leverage herself out of her chair, huffing determinedly. Hobie laughs, delightedly. A girl after his own heart. 'Alright, easy, I ain’t going nowhere,' he soothes, and works his hands free to lift her out. Billie kicks her feet excitedly, even getting a few decent hits in on him while Hobie settles her on his hip, whereupon she gets straight to work on widening the holes in his jumper.

The water stops running at the kitchen sink. Hobie glances over just as Miles’ Dad turns to meet him, wiping his hands dry on a tea towel.

Hobie has to give it to him; the man’s got an eloquent way of raising his eyebrows. ‘Ay, and here’s the Old Bill!’ He clicks and makes a finger gun with his free hand. Billie turns in his hold and reaches for it. Hobie resists the urge to comment on her being her Father’s daughter, even though he knows Miles would laugh (despite himself). ‘Afternoon, Mr. Morales.’

‘Hobart,’ Jefferson drawls. He side-eyes Miles, who’s cramming the last few plates into the dishwasher beside him. ‘You going ahead with your little plan, then?’

'Yep.' Miles straightens and accepts the towel Jefferson passes to him. 'See, it'll be fine! I can't be Spiderman if I'm dragging my baby sister around, but there'll still be one here - you know, if something comes up while we're out there.'

'Wiya,' Billie agrees. Hobie rearranges his fingers into web-slinging formation and grins when she reaches for them with both hands, this time.

Miles points at her. 'Exactly.'

Jefferson scoffs and tugs the towel out of his hands. 'Dragging her around,' he mutters. 'You better not be dragging my baby girl around out there.'

‘Dad. Come on.’ Miles flashes Hobie a disbelieving look even as he’s trying to maintain his patented Good Mama’s Boy smile. Hobie helps himself to a piece of Billie’s mango without comment. ‘I’ve done this a dozen times already. It’s literally just for the afternoon. We’re gonna take a cab there and back, so we’ll be out on the street for a fraction of that …’

Hobie pops some fruit into Billie’s mouth, which she chews on with the renewed enthusiasm of someone seeing another person enjoying the same food. ‘Whereabouts we headed, then? A bit nippy for the park, ain’t it?’

This is, apparently, the wrong question to ask. Miles’ nose wrinkles in a wince as Jeff cranes his head around the fridge door he’s just opened. The man looks at Hobie with round eyes before he turns them on his son. ‘And you’re telling me this boy doesn’t even know what the plan is?’

‘Well - the broad strokes!’ Miles insists. He’s doing his best not to get sharp or defensive about it, Hobie can tell. Billie makes a querulous noise, and Miles lowers his arms as his attention diverts her way. Hobie turns the hip she’s perched on towards him, and he exhales loudly, crossing the kitchen to take her.

Hobie’s a bit too conscious of Jeff’s eyes on them as they pass her between them. He tucks his hands into his back pockets, pushing out his chest like someone who’s confident and unworried and not excruciatingly aware of the pocket fluff migrating towards his mango-sticky fingers. ‘The plan was to give your Mum some time to rest, weren’t it?’ he asks, trying not to sound too pointed about it. Miles nods like it wasn’t his idea in the first place; like he even needs the reminder. Hobie curbs the instinct to put his shoulder in between them - to give Miles shelter he doesn’t need. ‘While we’re running the Mayday Contingency, obviously,’ he adds, like it’s an afterthought and not the first thing Miles texted him about this morning. ‘Bills not being a Spiderbaby makes that twice as easy, I expect.’

He glances over at Jeff and is a bit surprised to see him watching Miles with his brows drawn. He meets Hobie’s eye for a stilted moment and then leans back, his chest expanding with a sigh. ‘Mayday … as in, Parker’s kid, Mayday? Or is this one of those situations where the name’s pulling double duty?’

Hobie grimaces slightly and tilts a hand from side to side. ‘Bit of both, yeah.’

‘You already asked me this question, Dad, the last time we talked about this.’ Hobie blinks, and turns to find Miles seated at the table, arranging Billie in his lap so she can sit back against him, her little arms looped overtop his. He gives her some fingers to clutch at; bends down and sideways so she can see his face. Hobie knows his expression is doing something truly stupid when Billie looks at her brother and smiles, automatic, like a little lightbulb going on, so he keeps his back to Jeff as he squats down and catches one of her kicking feet. Miles grins at her visible distraction and leans in to kiss her cheek. He very determinedly keeps his eyes on his sister when he says: 'You really think I'd let anything happen to her?'

The kitchen is quiet for a bit, even with the noise of Miles’ tablet and Billie telling Hobie exactly how she feels about having her toes tugged on (the reviews are in and they agree: he should get kicked in the chin.) Jefferson mutters to himself before the fridge door thunks shut. ‘It’s not about anything you’d let happen, Miles. You know that.’

Hobie tries to control his expression when he looks up at his friend, because Miles already knows how he feels about so-called authority figures having opinions on personal autonomy and influence. Jeff himself knows, at this point. Besides that, Miles should always know Hobie’s on his side, but he doesn’t want to give him any reason to doubt it.

Miles’ eyes are still flicking across his face when Hobie feels Jeff’s presence behind him, and he sees him glance up like he can’t help himself before refocusing on Billie. Jeff reaches past Hobie’s shoulder to gather up the condiments left out on the table; he bites down on the urge to offer a hand that spending any amount of time in the Morales’ kitchen quickly makes second nature - even and especially when it means Miles’ Mom gets to tease her son about his friends “showing him up” until he’s flustered and whiny. Oblivious to the mood, Billie coos up at her Dad as Miles grabs his tablet and turns it to face her, and Hobie spends a good minute or so wondering whether they’re actually going to be leaving the flat today before Jeff bends down to kiss his daughter’s head and elbow his son as he straightens up again. ‘Cool it with that,’ he scolds him quietly. ‘Your Mom already said you could go, didn’t she?’

[TBC]

[sevensymbols]

THE WICKED WAYS

summary: as a new semester begins, you’re faced with your biggest challenge yet; don’t fall for your english literature professor. warnings: aged up!johnny, dilf!johnny, college professor!johnny, johnny has a big dong, praise kink, sex with your professor, dirty talk, cumshot word count: 3,7k read on ao3 instead

This semester would prove to be harder than any before. 

Not because you had to do more work or anything, but because you signed up for English literature simply because you liked reading, thinking that’s all you’d be required to do, but here you were, trying so hard to ignore the ache between your legs when your professor walked in.

Mr. Johnny Suh was over six feet of sun-kissed skin, pure laughter on a nice day and complete seriousness when he needed to be. His knowledge of literature was impressive, to the point where you’d wonder if he ever did anything other than read. But most importantly, he was stupidly handsome, and ever since he walked through the door on your first day of class, he stole your heart.

There was just something about his aura, about the way he spoke, something about the crinkles by his eyes and his heart-shaped lips. You fell for his mind too, he could be eloquent but he was also quick with a witty comeback when he needed to as well.

Every lecture he would recommend a book for the class to read. And every time you would read it and take notes for the chance he will ask you what you thought of it. Yet, he didn’t even know your name.

Last week, the book was Nadja by André Breton.

“So,” Mr. Suh exhaled, looking around the classroom. “Remember the book I talked about last week?”

“Yes,” some students answered.

“I was wondering if anyone here has read it - please raise your hands if you did.”

You and a few other people raised their hands.

“Well,” Mr. Suh paused, looking down at his papers, “what did you think of it?”

“It was quite difficult to read, to be honest,” one girl admitted. “The passage of time was confusing.”

“Anyone else?”

You wanted to speak, you wanted to tell him how you felt while reading it, how much Nadja’s life story impacted you, and suddenly you felt your hand raising. Panicked, you put it down and cursed at yourself for even thinking of having a conversation with him, no way are you mentally prepared for his eyes to meet yours. When nobody else said anything, Mr. Suh began to explain. “You see, Breton doesn’t care about the passage of time. He doesn’t care about the reader or anyone, his main focus is Nadja, the girl he fell for, and at that moment it was like the world stopped moving, there was only one person on his mind.”

Well doesn’t that sound familiar.

“You have to understand that people do mad things for love. Here, Breton openly cheats on his wife, because he is in l- no, obsessed with the idea of Nadja. She is his muse, his everything - obsession makes you do crazy things.”

Am I obsessed? you thought to yourself. No, it’s just a silly little crush and it will go away. People change.

When the lecture ended, you were about to pick your bag up when one of the straps got tangled in your chair. People poured out of the classroom as you struggled to pull it off, you felt a hand on your shoulder. Then, four words.

“Do you need help?”

You turned around to see Mr. Suh standing there, in his white shirt with two buttons undone and his stack of papers in his left hand.

“I- uh, no it’s fine,” you mumbled, pulling on the bag to finally get it off, only for it to spill all the contents out. “Shit.”

“I got you, I got you,” Mr. Suh repeats as he bends down to help you. You watch his slender hands pick up your pencils, your water bottle, and finally your notebook. He stops and looks at it carefully and you freeze when you realize what’s written there. 

It takes Mr. Suh a minute or two before he’s finished reading. You nervously stare at his face, watch as his eyes skim over the page. When he’s done, he shoots you a warm smile. “This is really good, you know. You really captured the appeal of Nadja. I thought I saw you raising your hand, why didn’t you?”

“Oh, uh, I-” your cheeks burned. You were absolutely not prepared for this, all you wanted was for him to give you back your stuff so you could go. “I just thought it wasn’t worth saying, it’s just some notes I took while reading it, it’s nothing special.”

“It seems special enough to me,” Mr. Suh said. “Do you write at all?”

“I... yeah, sometimes, but I just write for myself.” You mentally slapped yourself for telling him. Why is he getting everything so easily out of you?

“I would love to read it sometime... will you let me?”

You looked into his eyes and for the first time, he looked into yours. You’ve never seen him up close - not that you can recall at least, and you were mesmerized by the way he was looking at you like you were the only person that mattered. “S-sure,” you laughed nervously.

“Good,” was all he said before handing you your things, his fingers brushing against yours ever so lightly. Lightheaded, you quickly threw everything in your bag and scrambled to the door without saying goodbye. “Wait!”

You instantly halted, pulling back your hand that was stretching to the doorknob. You turned around slowly.

“What’s your name?”

“___,” you said.

“___,” he repeated after you, “I’m looking forward to seeing you next week, ___.”

When you got back to your dorm, you threw your bag on the ground and jumped on your bed. What the hell happened today? You could not believe that you actually spoke with Mr. Suh. And it was so awkward! Could it have been more awkward?

One thing was certain - you had to come prepared for next week.

The leaves outside are all turning different warm colors as you watch them from the window of your classroom. Mr. Suh is wearing a black shirt with a vest over it and you can barely focus on what he’s saying, your breathing heavy when you think about your brief encounter last week. He probably doesn’t remember it and yet it’s all you can think about. You look at your hand and inspect it, thinking about how his fingers touched yours. Probably not on purpose, but it was still a big moment for you.

Mr. Suh ends the lecture with “Try and see all the details in the world, as small as they can be,” and you think that’s all for today.

Until you hear your name fall from his lips.

Some students look at you, confused as to what prompted him to call on you, some students pass you, not caring. You look at Mr. Suh, clutching your bag in your hand and he smiles. “Can I speak with you for a moment?”

You feel your body pulling itself towards him like a moth to a flame, heart pounding so much you can see it through your chest.

No one is there to witness your conversation. Mr. Suh sits down and offers you a chair next to him. You wonder if he can see your heartbeat as well.

“I hope I’m not messing up your schedule,” is the first thing he says.

“No, you’re- it’s fine,” you say. Truthfully, you have nothing planned for the day - and you usually don’t - but you also think appearing busy makes you more interesting.

“I was wondering if you have anything you wrote with you here?” he pauses, and when you don’t say anything, he adds, “you know, like we talked about last week?”

“Oh, uh... yeah.” You rummage through your bag as you internally scream at yourself. What are you doing? Why would you show him this?

You pull out a spiral notebook. The corners are bent, the cover is scribbled over and the spiral has a ribbon braided into it. “I, um, i write my stuff here.”

Mr. Suh takes the notebook from you and he is only on the second page when he gets a call.

“Hey! Yeah, yeah. Around three? I haven’t seen it yet, but I’ll look into it. Yeah, bye.”

He looks at you. “I’m so sorry, but I have to go,” he grabs your notebook, “I will return it asap, I promise,” and hurries out of the classroom.

“Wait!” You want to scream at him to give it back, you want to catch him and snatch it from his hands, but all you can do is sigh. Then you think about all the little drawings you have there, the notes from other lectures and you wonder how this 40-ish year old man is going to react when he sees it. You think of all the embarrassing poems you don’t get to tear out and you think to yourself that he’s probably never going to want to continue talking after this.

You cannot wait for your next lecture. Well, maybe “cannot wait” isn’t the right term. You can’t sleep thinking about your hot teacher reading your silly little poems. He was probably laughing while reading, you think. You wear your prettiest dress and knee socks and you shiver during your walk to the lecture hall. You want this day to be over and done with. You just want your notebook back and who knows, maybe this is the last day you and Mr. Suh talk.

You certainly hope not.

This day seems to be different. The way Mr. Suh speaks is the same, but there is a hint of something in the air. You wonder if other students feel it too. You listen to the lecture, take notes, but your mind keeps drifting away to your notebook and what Mr. Suh thought of your writing. His lecture is very short today, he even ends it early - and you have a weird gut feeling about it.

There are a few other students that want to speak to Mr. Suh, so you wait in line when finally it’s your turn. “Hello, I-”

“Oh, ___. I have read your stuff, but I left your notebook in my office, do you mind coming with me to retrieve it?”

“Sure,” you nod and you follow him down the hallway to his office.

When you get there, you look around and take everything in, your mind taking pictures of the wall art, the stack of papers on his desk, the dim light coming through the shut blinds. His room smells nice, warm, it’s a complicated feeling you have. You look at all the books he has there, and there really are many books; scattered around the room, in towers, under his desk, on the windowsill. Your thoughts are suddenly interrupted by Mr. Suh’s voice.

“So,” he finally says and you realize how long you have been eyeing his office for. “I’ve read it all.”

He’s holding your notebook in his hands and you so desperately want to snatch it from his hands and run away, never looking back. instead you look at him, almost in shame. “Yeah?”

“I really enjoyed reading all your poems and... other writings. I think you’re very talented, and I mean it.”

You don’t realize it right away but you’re holding your breath, ready for him to say “but... I also think you’re a weirdo and I want nothing to do with you, goodbye.”

But it never happens.

“I especially liked one poem in particular.”

If you were nervous before, you can’t describe what you’re feeling now. Mr. Suh flips through your notebook, before stopping at an untitled poem and showing it to you. The poem reads:

I sit in the back and stare, I sit and stare at you, my eyes wide. So many other flowers around but I’m picking you, You speak and you sound like the rain I want you to rain on me, soak me with your raindrops Cover my body in kisses But you can’t, and you won’t So I sit in the back and stare.

You laugh nervously. You know who you wrote this poem about, but does he?

“I wonder what you meant by it, you know.”

You don’t want to give anything away, so you just blink. “What do you think?”

“I think,” he says, putting the notebook on his desk before fixing his gaze on you, “that it’s about your English literature teacher. I think you sit in the back of the class and watch him every week talk about books, but all you want to do is to let him fuck you.”

You’re speechless; you want to say something, to argue, to deny everything, and you open your mouth but no words come out. You can’t believe what words he used, you’ve never heard him swear before. He takes a few steps towards you, bends down and puts his lips next to your ear.

“Also, putting my initials in a heart next to the poem helped me figure that out as well.”

“No!” Your voice finally finds you. You’re feeling lightheaded again. “It’s not- you’ve got it all wrong, I’m sorry Mr. Suh, but it’s not like that at all.”

“Cut the crap, ___. I hate liars. Do you know what I do with liars?”

You look down, defeated. “N-no?”

His lips crash onto yours and you can’t believe what is happening. It’s the kind of kiss you see with lovers who haven’t seen each other in ages. teeth clashing, tongues intertwining. He’s a great kisser, and sure, you’ve kissed before, but no one has made kissing feel this good. He bites your lower lip and leaves open mouth kisses down your neck to your collarbone before coming back to your lips. You moan into his mouth.

“Wait,” you pant, pushing him away. “We shouldn’t do this.”

He looks at you, eyes hungry and dark. “I know we shouldn’t. But our professional relationship is over anyway, if we stop now, nothing’s gonna change about the way we feel for each other.”

How we feel for each other. Does that mean he likes me too? Your thoughts ran wild and before you know it, you are the one kissing him, undoing the buttons on his shirt. You see his abs and you’re surprised how in shape he is. You start to wonder what he’s doing in his free time, is it really just books?

When his shirt is off, Mr. Suh is the one to stop asking you to turn around so he can unzip your dress. “You wore this for me, didn’t you? You little minx.”

When you don’t answer, he pulls your hair to tilt your head back. “Answer me.”

“Yes, yes I did, god,” you pant, and he takes his sweet time pulling the zipper down and kissing your back that is slowly revealed to him. He’s touching you gently, but there’s a certain neediness to his touch. He lets your dress fall to the ground and you’re glad you didn’t wear a bra today.

“Turn around for me.” You do and as soon as he’s met with your chest, he latches onto your breast, sucking your hardened nipple. Your back arches and you moan and thread your fingers through his soft hair in pure bliss. 

“M-more, I need more,” you whisper, eyes shutting in pleasure.

“My little girl needs more, huh?” Mr. Suh chuckles, looking up at you. His hand travels down your chest, fingers tracing your belly, until they reach the waistband of your panties. “May I?”

You nod like your life depends on it. “Please, I want it.”

You lean against his desk and he cups your sex, feeling your damp panties against his palm. He pulls your panties down slowly and discards them somewhere - you don’t even see where, all you can focus on are his hands, his fingers-

A loud moan echoes through the small office when his fingers enter you, curling inside you. “Shh, my good girl, you need to be quiet,” Mr. Suh tells you, watching your face intently. your eyebrows furrowed, bottom lip caught between your teeth; you look like an absolute goddess to him. “Need to prepare you for my cock.”

There’s just something about him talking dirty to you that has your head spinning, everything about him is so intoxicating - his smell, his words, his body. He’s focused on how your body reacts, skillful fingers plunging in and out of you, your arousal dripping down his hand and onto the carpeted floor. “God, you’re so wet. How long has it been since you’ve had a dick in you?”

It takes you a while to respond, your mind clouded with pleasure. “Ah, too long,” you moan out, bucking your hips against his hand.

“You’re so eager,” he chuckles, but in reality he’s eager too, his dick twitching in his pants every time you let out a whine. When your whines increase, he suddenly stops, leaving you empty and gasping for air.

“Why did you stop?”

Suddenly he’s hovering above you and you feel small, but he only smirks. “As much as I would love for you to come undone on my fingers, I need to feel you now.”

And he does; you grab the edge of the desk in anticipation and watch him as he takes his pants off, then his boxers, his member slapping against his stomach upon release. You almost gasp at his size, he’s long and girthy, looks like one of those you’ve seen on porn sites. Mr. Suh sees your reaction and chuckles, pulls out a condom to roll down his length, guides his dick towards your entrance and you hold your breath, expecting the stretch.

A single tear rolls down your cheek as he slowly pushes in and he catches it with his lips, kissing it away. You swear that is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

Soon enough, he starts moving, a series of moans leaving your lips, even though he’s going slow, afraid to hurt you in any way. “You can go faster,” you whisper and he is never one to pass up a challenge - pulling out almost entirely before slamming back into your pussy full-force. This sends you back, your elbows shake from trying to hold your upper body and he moans, the most sinful moan you’ve ever heard.

At this point his pace is fast as he pistons in and out of you and you no longer want to hold the table, instead going for his biceps. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” he grunts and suddenly both of you are very aware of the fact that this is still a public place, not a bedroom far away from curious eyes. Mr. Suh covers your mouth, shushing your moans. “When we’re alone, you can be as loud as you want, but right now it’s too risky baby,” he explains and your heart palpitates at the though of this not being just a one time thing.

“You’re so dirty, coming here to fuck your teacher. What would your classmates think if they saw you here, getting pounded by this big fucking cock, huh?”

You moan, nails digging into his skin. He props his left leg on the desk to find a better angle.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I’m going to make you mine, I- fuck, no one is ever going to fuck you as good as i fuck you.”

“Mr. Suh, please,” you plead, brows furrowing, lips bleeding from how many times you bit them.

“Please what? My little girl is so fucked out she can’t even speak huh?” he mocks, but ultimately slows down so you can speak.

“Please let me cum, p-please!”

“You can cum, baby,” he whispers and you do just that, with him still inside you, continuing to push into you. His thrusts are becoming sloppy and he pulls out, breathing heavily. “Get on your knees.”

You slide of the table, body sweaty and hot and kneel before him, waiting for next instructions.

“Open your mouth,” he orders, jerking off and you watch him in awe, sweat glistening on his biceps, abs and down his v-line. You watch his face, scrunched up in pleasure and you open your mouth both in submission and total adoration.

Hot cum shoots down your throat, part of it getting on your cheek and you swallow like a good girl, opening your empty mouth again like a pornstar, so he can see what a good job you’ve done. Instead, he crouches down in front of you and your lips meet again - you don’t realize it but you’re shaking, and he rubs your arms slowly while he makes out with you, both of you breathing heavily, bodies close together.

Finally, he plants a kiss on your forehead. “You’ve been such a good girl. My good girl,” he trails off, and you feel how nervous he is calling you his even though he had no problem doing so just a few moments ago.

When you both catch your breath, he helps you get up from the floor. Gives you a tissue to clean yourself and offers you a cup of coffee, which you decline. You get dressed in silence, it’s like everything was said, but you don’t want it to end, no, not yet, you don’t want this to be over. Your thoughts are interrupted by Mr. Suh saying your name.

“Yes?”

“I hope you understand how important it is for you to not tell anyone what happened here,” he says, and it’s the serious Mr. Suh again.

“Of course,” you nod and bend down to pick up your bag from the floor when he stops you.

“That being said, I hope this wasn’t the last time. I... I really like you, you know. It’s not just because you’re a good fuck.”

You chuckle. “Thanks. I also hope it’s not the last time.”

Mr. Suh smiles at you, with teeth and all, and kisses your forehead once again. “Then, how about tomorrow at my place?”

“I would love that.”