˗ˏˋ Entry : 072 - Lover! BF! Sung Jinwoo x Fem! Reader ; Summer Days With Him ◛⑅·˚ ♡ ˎˊ˗
ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ
╰┈➤ ❝ [ Flowing Tides ] ¡! ❞
Jinwoo, for one, is not really a vacation type of person. But he'll make an exception for you. Why not? He has the money to spend.
Not really the type to fly you out to somewhere overly fancy and luxurious. You two did it once and didn't necessarily enjoy it much.
So what is summer with Sung Jinwoo actually like?
Joyrides.
God he loves to drive you around anywhere for hours.
Backseat always stocked with all your snacks, your lap covered by your favourite fluffy blanket.
It's just the two of you this time.
He wanted to indulge in you after being so busy with hunter work.
Jinwoo, despite perfectly balancing work and his love life— Still insists that he has not given you any adequate attention as if he doesn't take you out to dinner every weekend or spend forever getting up in the morning because he's horrible with mornings.
World's strongest hunter by the way.
Vacations are really just an excuse for him to hang out with you more.
Could take you out of the country but you insist that it's too expensive despite knowing his wallet is basically bottomless with how much the association pays him.
Beaches? Parks? He can take you anywhere.
Sometimes it's to the point that you feel like he is paying you back something else outside of "I am always busy so I want to give you the best time to enjoy"
Behind those gentle and loving grey eyes hides a truth he refuses to tell you no matter how much you begged.
All that he asks is for you to hold his hand as he walked you along the shorelines with the waves gently kissing your feet
These vacations are both of you.
For you, the vacations are for sightseeing and living life.
For him, it's to bask in your radiance.
꒰ 🪼 A/N: It's messy, boring, and no plot. That's the point of this one. I still haven't gotten any of my writer's powers back. I'll slowly be returning, bit by bit and little by little. I finally found the courage to create again after some time reflecting and recovering. I do have future fics planned, I also plan to write for more husbandos but for now have this little disappointment. ꒱
ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.
Death The Wolf X/& Fem Reader
Warnings? ⚠
⚠ Reader is the Daughter of Red Riding Hood, Italics= thoughts, fairytales/nursery rhymes mentioned, using a random name (sorry if it's yours), mentions of death, milk, broken necks, dead bodies, fic can be read as platonic or romantic. ⚠
After your wounds healed, and a few check ups from the town's doctor, you were back to helping your mother with a few deliveries.
Since that night, the two older women eased up on you a bit, and you got to speak to both of them of what you wanted for your future. Of course, they didn't exactly agree but they promised to support your decision, as long as you were happy.
The job you were given was in the town next over.
It was more of a favor. One your mother made with a friend that made the red hooded uniforms.
"Would you drop this off for me? I'll give you extra money to stay at an Inn. Just in case the job takes longer than normal." Your mother hands you a large basket with two leather straps for you to put your arms through, along with a coin purse with enough money for a room and a meal. "I don't want you walking through the woods at night again." She says slightly squeezing your hand when she places the purse in your palm. "Travel safely."
"Of course." You nod. "I'll see you when I get back, Mom."
She fills the large basket with wine and sweet treats, helping you put it on and adjust the straps before seeing you off.
It's early in the morning when you leave.
Maybe around nine or eight, but you focus on the little map in your hands, taking in the details before putting it away.
Hours pass. Your feet start to ache after a while and you take a short break before continuing again. Then you're lucky enough to hitch a ride on a wagon passing by.
The old man driving the hay wagon is kind, and asks to be called Old McDonald. He helps pass the time with telling you about all of his farm animals and their names. Even mentioning that his family made a funny song about the name.
When you have to part ways, you thank the man and hand him a coin.
"Oh, no. I can't accept this. Keep it-" He says.
"But I want to thank you." You pout, now standing on the dirt road, just outside of the town for your delivery. "Plus, I think it would be nice if you used the money on your family. Maybe for some gifts?" You try to change his mind.
This does cause him to think on it.
"It would be nice, but don't you worry." He hands you back the coin. "I'll be happy to know that you have enough money in your pocket." He nods before tipping his straw hat. "Safe travels Little Red!" Old McDonald says before getting his horse to continue moving.
You wave goodbye as you watch him leave.
Then you let out a sigh.
"I'm not that little.." You huff.
Now in the town, you look at the paper map, reading the description of the house you're supposed to go to, so you can drop off the goods before getting a room at an Inn.
It takes longer than you would have liked but you make it to a medium sized house with a mill on the side.
"Hello?" You knock on the door. "Red Riding Hood's Delivery!"
The door opens, an elderly man with a cane.
"Afternoon! What brings you here?" He asks.
"Oh, afternoon sir. I have a delivery for a Miss Miller?" You say. "Is she here?"
"Miss, huh?" The elderly man scratches his chin. "Auria? Did you buy something?" He turns to look behind himself.
A woman, closer to your mother's age walks over and sees your red hood.
"Oh! Are you Red's little girl?" She asks. "How is she doing? I haven't seen her in a while."
You give a polite smile.
"I have a few things she wanted me to drop off. She's doing fine."
A few more hours passed.
Your mother's friend had asked you to help with some simple chores, but you didn't know that would involve moving crates full of spools of gold.
Now, you sit on a stool at the bar counter. Early evening as the sun was setting. The restaurant was somewhat filled, a group of roudy drinkers in one corner, a table with a card game going on, and some others eating food scattered about the room. The lights were low, but not too much to worry about tripping over your feet.
A plate of warm food and a glass of milk is placed in front of you.
"Enjoy." The barmaid said before walking away.
"Thanks." You sigh tiredly and pick up the fork to start eating.
Someone sits on the stool beside you, but you keep your eyes on your food. Taking note that you'll have to save the bread for breakfast.
"I see you're alive." A familiar voice says.
Fork in your mouth, you take a pause from eating and turn your head to see the white wolf that you met in the cave.
His red eyes stare into yours as he faces you, looking as if they glow under his black hood. And you notice he doesn't look so..scary? Or threatening as he did the first time.
"You attract trouble, don't you?" The wolf removes his hood, facing forward as he picks up his drink.
"Me?" You scoff after swallowing your food and taking the fork out of your mouth. "I don't do anything. I'm minding my own business and running errands." You turn back to your plate.
"True, but with a naive looking face like yours-"
A smooth but cold claw brushes against your cheek, making you shiver.
"All sorts of trouble will find you." He finishes with a chuckle, moving his paw away.
"Excuse me!" You turn head to glare at him. "You do not touch a lady like that! From what I remember, we've only met once! AND! I don't know you or your name!"
"Forgive me. You can call me..Death." The wolf smiles widely, staring at you from the corner of his eye.
"Ok goth." You roll your eyes and dismiss the title. "Give me your name."
He is quiet for a moment before saying, "Lobo."
"Lobo?" You repeat. "Doesn't that mean-?"
"Hence the reason why I'd like to be called Death." The wolf takes a sip of his drink.
You go back to eating, thinking over the names he has given you to work with as you chew. Once you finish, you wrap your bread in your handkerchief and tuck it away in your pocket.
Then you pick up your glass of milk.
"I think Lobo suits you more as a name than Death." You say and drink from your cup.
Lobo stares you down after placing his glass on the bar counter. As if trying to scare you, to spook you, or make you nervous in his presence. Trying to make you feel like prey.
But it doesn't really work.
For some reason, you can't really be scared of him.
You finish your glass of milk with a satisfied sigh. "That was good." You place your cup on top of the empty plate. "I wonder if they have horchata?"
At some point, you notice that the wolf had left without a word.
.
Death watches as the young woman in the red hood makes her way out of the restaurant, light from the sun had passed, which left the stars and lamp flames to shine in the darkness.
"Keep out of the woods Little Red." He says to no one, watching as two larger shadows follow behind her. "And beware of the wolves lurking about."
One stumbles and the other laughs, doing their best to walk straight.
Two bodies are found in the alley that night. Drunks that had slipped and tumbled down the stone stairs, necks crooked and spines peeking out below their skin.
[ Sub ] Gender-neutral reader
Contains: Finishing too fast, misunderstandings, made-up language, and virgin reader
Part 1: Accidents during sex headcanons - Alhaitham, Wanderer + Varka
[ masterlist ]
I lied, maybe I will make this into a series. Kaeya's part isn't technically an "accident," but please ignore it; I was probably inspired by last week's fic.
— ☆ Albedo
Finishing too fast
You’re absolutely mortified; no amount of lust or dopamine would ever be enough to stop you from wanting to cry, die, and crawl under the floorboards all at once. Albedo even blinks twice as he takes in the sight of the mess streaking your thighs and soaking into his sheets.
"Hm." That's all he said.
This is it. You’re going to throw yourself out the window.
“Do you want to keep going?” Albedo’s voice cuts through the haze of your panic. It's the same tone he uses when studying why an experiment went wrong, and wow, doesn't that make you feel better? You risk a glance up. He’s looking at you like nothing’s wrong, maybe a little confused, but his hand, the one still stained from earlier, hangs awkwardly in the space between you.
“Uh… I mean… m-maybe? You haven’t, uh…” You trail off, pulling your knees in slightly, trying to make yourself smaller. The words die halfway out of your mouth, and you feel like maybe you should apologize. Your gaze drops from his face, down to the star-shaped tattoo on his neck, following the sharp lines of his abdomen and the dip of his hips, where you could see if he's still- nope. Absolutely not. You’re not going to check if he’s gone soft; that would kill you. Instead, you squeeze your eyes shut and cover your face, your cheeks and ears burning with heat. If you don't look, it doesn't exist.
There’s a beat of silence. You can hear the faint rustle of fabric, his slow exhale, and the pit in your stomach deepens. Embarrassment twists into something heavier. Albedo must be disappointed in you. Somehow, that’s worse, and it makes your chest tighten. Your bottom lip trembles, warmth prickling at the corners of your eyes. You feel gross and dirty, and you just want to go home, where it's safe and you can be alone.
“You’re trembling,” his hand settles lightly on your arm, “You don’t have to look at me. Just breathe.”
You do, though it comes out pathetic.
Albedo shifts closer, his hand sliding to your waist, fingers tracing the curve of your side until they settle in a light hold. His other hand finds the back of your head and guides you down until your back meets the sheets again. His lips brush over your fingers, still clamped stubbornly to your face, as if coaxing them to move. You stay firm, unwilling to let him see you like this. He exhales softly, the warmth of his breath tickling your skin before it turns into a quiet, amused sound. His lips trail lower, past your knuckles, down to the curve of your jaw, where he leaves a featherlight kiss.
“I’ve read,” he murmurs, voice calm and thoughtful, “that when you’re deeply attracted to someone, your brain releases a flood of excitement and bonding chemicals. The body becomes overstimulated and reaches orgasm faster.”
He pauses there, his lips still close to your skin. You can feel the faint movement of his mouth quirking up when he adds, “In truth, I find this quite flattering.”
You groan into your hands, voice muffled, but you do move your index fingers to peek between them, “Albedo, please stop whispering science to me to make me feel better. I actually hate you so much.”
A quiet chuckle rumbles against your throat as he pulls back just enough to look at you. His expression isn’t teasing, though; his eyes are soft, the faintest crease at the corner showing a mix of affection and curiosity.
“Hate me? I thought that information might be comforting,” Albedo says. His tone is light, but there’s an apology tucked somewhere between the words. The hand at your waist moves in slow, steady circles, the warmth of his palm easing the tension from your muscles. “On the contrary, I find you… remarkably beautiful.”
He studies you with the same focus he gives to his alchemical work, though now that you look closely, there’s nothing clinical about it. His gaze traces over your eyes first, the curve of your cheek, the flutter in your throat when you swallow, and then up to where your hands still hover awkwardly over your face. When he reaches up to move one aside, you let him do so, and that makes him smile sincerely.
It still feels strange seeing Albedo like this. You remember when you first arrived in Mondstadt, a city built on freedom, wind, and dandelions, watched over by the Knights of Favonius and the Anemo God, Barbatos. It was quaint and open compared to where you’d come from, yet with its high walls enclosing the City of Freedom, it also felt safe and stable. You’d passed by the alchemy station one afternoon, right beside that little shop you’d made a mental note to revisit for groceries. That was when you saw him for the first time, a man with pale blond hair and a star-shaped mark on his neck. You remember pausing, struck by how pretty he was, though the blank look on his face as he read over his notes made him seem almost bland. Unremarkable, if you were being unkind. So you walked on without giving him another glance.
Now, that same man is here with you, his palm pressed gently over your pounding heart, his other hand tilting your chin just enough to hold your gaze.
“You always look away when I do this,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb across your sternum, “But you are fascinating to me. Every breath, every small reaction… I don’t want to miss any of it.”
His words aren’t meant to flatter; he's just simply stating facts. He presses a light kiss to your temple before resting his forehead there, his voice dropping softer, “Is that strange to you?"
You shake your head, though your throat feels tight, and you don’t trust your voice just yet. Then, when he’s sure you won’t pull away, Albedo’s hand begins to move. His fingers draw a slow path upward along your chest, following the shape of your collarbone, stopping just below your throat. Your breath catches, and his gaze flicks up to meet yours. He tilts his head slightly, and his thumb traces the hollow of your throat, the faintest pressure there sending another shiver through you.
“I like you,” he murmurs, his lips barely grazing yours as he speaks the words, letting them linger in your mind, “All of you… exactly as you are.”
— ☆ Flins
Saying the wrong name
You don’t notice it the first time it happens; you’re too lost in the haze of heat and breath, floating somewhere between exhaustion and bliss to register anything coherent. Words melt together, touches blur. But then it happens again. And again. Often enough that your mind finally catches up, alarms blaring because- wait. Who the fuck is Anamarë? At first, you try to give Flins the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it’s a nickname. Something poetic, something old-fashioned he picked up from one of his dusty books. That’d be cute, right? It’s not. That theory goes out the window when he greets you by your real name the next morning, perfectly normal, as if nothing happened. It’s then completely shot dead when you realize he only says it in bed, right when he’s about to cum. A breathy moan into your neck to muffle the name, but still burning it into your skin anyway.
And that’s what bothers you most. Anything said during that time is pure instinct and therefore, honest. Flins doesn’t even seem to notice that he says it, and you can’t decide if that makes it better or worse. You lie there afterward, staring at the ceiling, your hand tracing idle circles across his back while your thoughts spin. You’ve debated bringing it up, but where would you even start? “Hey, who’s the person you keep calling out for when you’re inside me?” Yeah. That’s not going to end well.
Still, it eats at you. You like him. A lot. A lottt. But do you like him enough to let him call you by some random name? I mean..maybe? Sure, the sex is great, but it’s not just that. You like the way his voice softens when he says your name, the way he carries himself like a gentleman, the quiet half-laugh that escapes him when he's caught off guard. You like how seriously he takes his duties as a Lightkeeper and how dedicated he is to his role as the guardian of the Final Night Cemetery.
That’s what makes it hurt. Because if Anamarë is someone else, someone he loved, someone he lost, then what are you? A stand-in? A replacement? You squeeze your eyes shut. If you ignore it, maybe it will go away...
"Is something wrong? You seem troubled. Have I done something to upset you?" Flins asks in the quiet of the night. The room is dim except for the faint blue glow seeping through the window, soft light painting the edges of Flins’ face in silver. The sheets cling to your skin, still warm, a mix of sweat and salt. Flins lies beside you, both arms folded across his chest and hands placed on his stomach like he's prepped for his own coffin. It's all a bit too ironic not to get mad at.
“Uh, no. You were uhh… great. Yeah.” You laugh under your breath, awkward and too quick. You sound like someone caught stealing. Flins only tilts his head slightly, still watching you. There’s no judgment in his expression, only patience. You sigh, it's barely been ten seconds, and you're already bending the knee, “Actually, no. I lied. There is something wrong.”
“Please,” he says softly, “tell me what ails you so I might make it better.”
That genuine voice makes it worse. Why couldn't he have been some apathetic piece of shit who kicked you out on the first night into the cold cemetery? That would’ve been easier to deal with. You don’t want to see kindness right now.
“It’s… that thing you said. That word. Ana… Anami? Anamary? I don’t know, however it’s pronounced,” you fidget with a loose thread at the edge of the blanket, twisting it around your finger until it bites into your skin, “Why do you keep calling me that? I have a name, you know. Feelings too, and I don’t like- no, I hate it when you call me someone else’s name.”
You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. The moment the words leave your mouth, regret burns through you. You can’t even bring yourself to look at him.
Then Flins blinks once, slowly. And to your utter disbelief, he laughs. That breathy half-laugh you’ve grown far too fond of fills the space between you. It’s light and low and so pretty that it makes you both ache and want to smack him. The nerve of this lightkeeper. You're going to kill him.
“Please, excuse me,” he says between laughs, lifting a hand in apology, “I did not mean to offend. I am, a-ha, embarrassed.”
His smile falters into something more bashful, “Anamarë is… a term of endearment in my language. I had not realized I was saying that in our moments of passion.”
Your stomach sinks. You can feel the blood rushing to your face. “Oh.”
And then again, miserably. “Oh.”
"I'm so sorry for accusing. I can't believe I just- I'm sorry, Flins,” you groan, burying your face in your hands, “I’m such an idiot. I should’ve just asked instead of jumping to conclusions and exploding on you.”
Flins shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. He looks calm, maybe even relieved, “You are forgiven.”
He really shouldn't. Sure, you didn't have a psychotic break and attempt to key his lantern, but isn't he a little bit too nice? You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The tension in your shoulders eases a little, but the embarrassment lingers. You peek at him through your fingers, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest. His hair is messy from the pillow, strands curling slightly near his temple. He only gazes back at you through thick lashes and that sleepy smile.
“So… can I ask what it means?” you manage, lowering your hands and trying not to sound as nervous as you feel. He hums softly, thoughtfully, and sits up a little straighter. The sheet slides down his shoulder, revealing a glimpse of smooth skin before it pools at his waist.
“There is no exact Teyvat translation,” he begins. His tone is careful, almost hesitant. A faint pink rises to his cheeks, “But the closest meaning would be ‘soul light.’”
You nod slowly, unsure what to say. Your fingers fidget with the edge of the blanket, tracing the seams to keep yourself grounded.
“But when directed at a person,” he says, quieter now, “it means…”
His gaze drifts down, then back up, meeting your eyes. The smile that follows is small but sincere, something warmer than you’ve ever seen on him before. He leans in, slow enough that you could pull away if you wanted to, but you don’t. The faint scent of salt and candle wax lingers on him. His breath brushes against your ear, and every nerve in your body seems to notice.
“It means,” he murmurs, his voice a soft tremor against your skin, “the one who illuminates my spirit.”
Anamarë
Anam – Irish word meaning soul.
Arë – Quenya-inspired suffix (from Tolkien’s constructed language), meaning sunlight, warmth, or daytime.
— ☆ Kaeya
It doesn't feel good
You remember hearing your peers gossip and boast about their first and future trysts, how “amazing” or “mind-blowing” it supposedly felt. Hookups and one-night stands have become common parts of everyone’s vocabulary. But you never had much interest in them, not quite trusting the idea of letting some random stranger see you that vulnerable for the first time.
Still, you didn’t want to die a virgin. You were simply more selective about who you wanted to share your first time with, and for all intents and purposes, Kaeya isn’t the worst choice. He seems experienced, if the bar patrons are to be trusted, so you don’t have to worry about any clumsy accidents or injuries. Plus, you’ve never heard him talk openly about his partners or "exploits", so even if it goes badly, no one else will know. While you would have much rather waited for someone special, someone you loved, Kaeya is a good guy with a good face, and there are far worse people you could have asked.
The arrangement itself ended up being rather awkwardly professional. While you and Kaeya aren’t exactly friends, you’re acquainted well enough to chat whenever you happen to cross paths. You offered, and he accepted.
And well, honestly?
It doesn’t feel that great.
“Not up to your expectations?” Kaeya asks, his tone light but not mocking. He notices the tension in your face, the way your body doesn’t quite relax beneath his touch. He slows even more, watching carefully, “Do you want to take a breather? Am I hurting you?”
You hesitate, embarrassed to admit the truth, "I... think maybe we should stop.”
Even though it's a reasonable request, heat crawls up your neck as you avoid his gaze. You had built this up in your head, convinced yourself you were ready, only to be left with disappointment and being entirely too self-aware. A sinking dread tells you that any future attempt will just remind you of this moment, of how badly it went, and the idea of intimacy already feels tainted.
But Kaeya doesn’t look annoyed or frustrated. He just shifts slightly, easing back without complaint.
“Of course, thank you for telling me," he brushes his thumb along your cheek, wiping away the wetness you hadn’t realized was there. His hand is warm, surprisingly warm for someone with a Cryo Vision. You almost make a joke about it, something about him freezing your tears just to save face, but you stop yourself. He’s taking this seriously; you should too.
"I just... I-it's not you-sorry, you already know that- uh-" you swallow hard, feeling your cheeks heat up further as you pointedly turn your face to avoid looking into his eye, "I want to do it right...but I don't think I can...if that makes sense..."
“It makes perfect sense,” he says after a moment. “It’s your first time, right?”
You nod, feeling the heat creep back up your neck.
He hums softly, thoughtful, “Then there’s nothing to worry about. It’s normal to be nervous, to not know what you like yet. Everyone has different bodies, maybe this just isn't something you like."
You blink at him, the tension in your shoulders slowly easing. Sure, you know that, but hearing it from someone like Kaeya, who actually knows what he's doing and does it well, makes you feel a tiny bit better. Gives him more credibility and he isn't saying whatever will get you to stay in his bed. He moves his hand from your cheek to your jaw, tilting your head slightly so you’re looking at him again. His thumb rests just below your lower lip, not pushing, just there.
“I can guide you,” he says quietly, his tone more tender than you expected, “But only if you want me to.”
Something in your chest tightens at the way he says it, not as a tease or a challenge, but a real offer. Not the half-hearted one you gave him. The hesitation, the nerves, the uncertainty all start to blend with something else. You’re still embarrassed, but beneath that, there’s relief. Your hands flex at your sides, twitching with something to do, weighing if you should reach out to him. You don't want to seem like a "selfish participant" that others harp on. You want to prove that, although you had asked Kaeya into your bed on a whim, you still want to try and care.
“Did you know? Some people have sensitive ears, while others can’t stand even a breeze brushing past them," His voice is calm, almost casual, but the closeness makes it hard to focus on the words. When his hand lifts, fingers tracing the curve of your ear, you tense before you can help it. The touch is cold this time, a sharp contrast to the heat gathering beneath your skin. You swallow, trying to say something back, but the words don’t come out. It’s not unpleasant, just unfamiliar, but it also doesn't feel good either. He hums when you shake your head.
“This one’s my favorite,” he murmurs, tapping lightly at your sternum. The contact makes your breath hitch. His hand drifts lower, fingertips tracing slowly over the sensitive point of your chest, lingering just enough for you to feel every inch of his movement before settling. You make a small sound without meaning to, something caught between a gasp and a laugh, and Kaeya chuckles softly, clearly pleased.
“The good thing is that you know your limits. You know when to stop. That’s more important than pushing yourself through something that doesn’t feel right," he says, his voice returning to that patient, steady tone. His thumb strokes gently along your skin, “So please, don’t cry. You did nothing wrong.”
The reassurance makes your throat tighten even more. You sniff, blinking at him. The kindness in his words and the patience in his touch are almost overwhelming. You hadn’t expected this; you always thought of Kaeya as kind of a sleaze, the type to flirt just to see how far he could get. But now, sitting here with his hand resting lightly against your skin, he’s nothing like that. He’s gentle. Easy. Real. It throws you off balance in a way you don’t know how to handle. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but the words dissolve before they can take shape. Your chest aches, not from embarrassment anymore, but from something warmer, heavier. He tilts his head slightly, studying you, and the faintest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. It’s small, almost cautious, like he doesn’t want to push. His thumb grazes your cheek again, slow and deliberate, and you realize you’re leaning into the touch before you can stop yourself.
You think, helplessly, that you could be falling in love.
⤀ synopsis: neuvillette has always been the gentlest of lovers—and so tonight you ask him not to hold back
⤀ cw: fem!reader, unprotected + rough sex, size kink, praise, overstimulation, breeding + creampie, marking, monsterfucking (dragon cock), cervix fucking, multiple orgasms, dumbification, mentions of mates, lil bit of dom!neuvi (??) but he is still sweet — mdni || ꒰ 8.4k wc ꒱
⤀ notes: leviathan fic for leviathan neuv (and I don't mean his constellation) repost from my old blog
“Well? What do you think?” You come home, twirling before him in a gown, different than the one you had left in. The short hem at the front lifts mischievously, teasing just a peek of what lies underneath, while the longer, flouncing layers of skirts behind you, wrap flirtatiously around your legs. Neuvillette feels his throat run dry.
“Navia and Clorinde thought it was high time I changed my look, and you know I can’t ever say no to Chioriya Boutique.”
While he’s spent the better part of the night reviewing court documents in the parlor, you have been out with Navia and Clorinde, who he thinks have perhaps plotted to kill him. ‘Girls’ night,’ you had called it.
Draped in a vivid palette of the finest fabrics, decorated interchangeably with delicate metalwork and dainty ribbons, the blush on his pale skin is ever-present as he rakes his eyes up and down your body. The dark, patterned stockings, squeezing your thighs just enough, so that supple flesh spills obscenely over the top, the tight, whale-boned embrace of your corset, accentuating the curves of your waist, and pushing upwards the swell of your breasts…
A coy smile graces your features when you catch how his throat bobs in his silence. Giggling, you lean down, tracing the tip of your finger up the contours of his neck, skimming the gentle curve beneath his chin until you’ve tilted his gaze to yours. “Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, got nothing to say?”
How can he even think, much less find the right words to say, when the familiar scent of your perfume fills his head with indecent, lascivious thoughts? Everything about you is intoxicating, almost insidiously attractive, so would it suffice to say that he’d much rather see your pretty, new dress abandoned somewhere on the floor?
That first pulse of arousal translates into the first twitch of his cock, and oh how he wishes to kiss away your teasing little grin, but his lust-driven eyes are drawn to the miniscule movements of your bodice sleeve, predatory as he watches how it begins to shift, ever so slowly, off your shoulders.
“If you don’t like it, then perhaps…” You loosely roll your shoulder, letting the sleeve slide right off. “…you’d like to help me undress?”
That, he will gladly do. His hands fly to your waist, dragging you down into a straddle over his hips.
“Temptress,” he murmurs into the skin of your neck, distracting you with a featherlight kiss as his nimble fingers waste no time in undoing the delicate clasps of your bodice, leaving the heavy outer garment to tumble off your shoulders, abandoned in a pile at your waist.
Cool air licks at the now exposed skin, though it’s nothing compared to the warmth of his lips as he slots his mouth against yours, gently coaxing you open with a subtle swipe of his tongue. Your eyes flutter shut in honeyed complacence, allowing Neuvillette to kiss you slow and sweet; impassioned, ardent, each kiss an oath of love and longing and lust.
Desire blooms like romaritime flowers upon water, and you just know the tension underneath his placid exterior, is ready to burst. It’s prevalent in the way his muscles grow taut, tense beneath your every touch, fighting to hold himself back as your legs squeeze around his hips. Demonstrated, again, by how he pulls apart your corset, impatient and haphazard as he unlaces each cross, before tossing it to the ground, forgotten. And of course, only you can attest to the searing sensations of his escalating kisses—gentle wisps, once faint and docile, now wanton and heated with depravity.
You can already feel it in your chest, in your bones, in the wetness that’s begun to form between your legs; maybe it’s the anticipation, but despite the layers of clothing you’ve already shed, you find it even harder now to breathe, especially as he holds you so close, body pressed against yours, while he traces the bare curve of your neck with his lips.
For one with such a carefully crafted visage of elegance and poise, Neuvillette becomes sloppier as his restraint fades and lust seeps through the cracks. Something about you drives him wild, draws out the more carnal side of him that he so desperately seeks to hide away from you, who he could never even dream of hurting.
But perhaps he’s spent too much time amongst humans. Or perhaps he understands their nature more than he had initially believed, for he makes the most human mistake of all in letting his control slip—enough that his fangs graze upon your sensitive skin, sending a shiver that reaches all the way down to your core, eliciting a moan so mellifluous, he cannot help but utter a sigh of strained content as the undeniably sweet sound reaches his ears.
“If we don’t stop now, I’m afraid I won’t be able to hold back,” he mutters, tongue laving over the spot in apology. It doesn’t help that you voluntarily crane your neck, offering him even more access in your heated bliss. His fingers dig into your waist in a silent plea to still your rolling hips.
“So don’t,” you breathe. “Don’t hold back tonight.” Desperate to have him closer, you arch into him, the loose material of his shirt firmly clasped in your hands, deepening the kiss with a quick tug, a silent request for him to let go, but he immediately halts his movements, pulling away in hesitance.
Oh Neuvillette. Your sweet Neuvillette, who in spite of his stern exterior, is the gentlest of lovers—always so tender with you and steadfast in placing your pleasure before his. You know of his draconic origins, know that he holds back in fear of hurting you, but for all the times he’s pleased you to the fullest extent, you only wish to do the same for him.
Your hand reaches to cup his face and he leans into your familiar touch, steely eyes soft. “It’s okay, I trust you.”
It’s already difficult denying you anything on a normal basis, so how can he, now that you sit, straddled over him, determination colored in your bright eyes, and with nothing but flimsy cloth left between the two of you. His eyes linger at your chest, the scooping neckline of your lace slip doing nothing to hide the smooth crests of your collarbones, begging to be marked.
Neuvillette sucks in a breath, and attempts to swallow his doubts, before exhaling. He can no longer ignore the tightness in his groin, and to you, it’s clear that the obvious erection poking from beneath his trousers, speaks much louder than the uncertainty storming in his eyes. Perhaps he just needs one more push…
Your fingers come to curve around the sharp lines of his jaw, unwavering as you tilt his head up into your gaze. “Don’t worry about me, I can take it.”
His heart threatens to leap out of his chest in a flash of excitement, gratitude, desire; it’s far from the first time you’ve lain together, but to choose to bear such vulnerability before him, to surrender yourself to a full-fledged dragon… He glides his hands over the round slopes of your shoulders, easily sliding off the straps of your slip as he goes. The silk garment collapses down your torso, piling atop your forgotten dress.
“If that is truly what you wish…” He presses an openmouthed kiss to the bare skin between your breasts, and the warmth of his breath runs a chill even colder than the night air. His whispers hide a growl, and despite the blush apparent at the tips of his pointed ears, his hold on your waist tightens. One hand slides down to grasp at your rear, and you can feel him smile against your lips, the rattle of a faint chuckle rippling in his throat before your breath hitches as he picks you up in his arms, and carries you off to the bedroom.
He sets you by your shared bed, tearing off his now wrinkled shirt, while you wriggle out of whatever’s left of your dress, until both sets of clothing are discarded somewhere on the floor, and you’re finally left in only your panties and your stockings.
Immediately, his hands find your waist, roaming up and down over your curves as he smothers you in hungry kisses, herding you along until the backs of your knees hit the edge of your shared bed. This Neuvillette nips at your bottom lip, not asking for, but demanding entrance into your mouth, and you have no choice but to let him in, what with the way he makes you whine as he sneaks his hands down to knead the globe of your ass, before lowering you onto the bed.
The tingling sensations bloom in your stomach, buzzing with excitement while you ready yourself to surrender completely—pliant to his will, whatever it may be. Arousal swallows you like the sea and he has yet to even really touch you. Impatient, your hand wanders, though not far down enough before you’re caught in his grasp.
“Patience…” he mutters, pinning your wrist beside your head, broad shoulders caging you in between him and the sheets. His other hand follows the natural lines of your body, tracing along the edges until he stops to fondle one of your breasts.
It’s impossible to relax your speeding heart at this side of Neuvillette: less reserved in his touches, more candid in his wants. The untreated heat in your body makes sure to touch on every part of you, running like water through your veins, until you’re sure your dripping cunt is pulsing with a heart of its own. Unable to stand the ache any longer, you wriggle beneath him—rolling your hips and squirming until your knee unwittingly brushes against his crotch, eliciting a choked grunt from him, only slightly muffled by the fact that his teeth have dug their way into your exposed flesh.
He immediately pulls away at the sound of your surprised yelp, eyes darting to and fro across your features in frantic search for even the smallest semblance of discomfort, completely missing the way your entire body had seemed to arch into his touch. His eyes finally settle at the light indentations now displayed upon your once unblemished skin.
“Forgive me,” he begins, “I should have been more careful.” Neuvillette is ever the gentleman, but his voice is clearly strained in a poor attempt at fighting back his instincts—instincts that demand a dragon to mark what is his.
“There’s nothing to forgive.” A soft smile graces your lips as your hand reaches to cradle his face, curling around his jaw in hushed reassurance. It’s so easy to read the thoughts that plague him so. “It felt good, I promise.”
True to your word, his heightened senses easily pick up on the scent of pure arousal that drifts from between your legs, swirling in the air, and lulling him into a state he’s kept buried for so long, he’s unsure of whether he’d be able to hold himself back even if he wanted to. He admires your bravery for daring to poke at the slumbering beast; bravery he knows stems from a place of passion, but how can he release such inhibitions upon a mere human? So physically… fragile.
“I meant what I said: I can take it. And I know you won’t hurt me so…” Your fingers clasp around his shoulders, pulling your lover down just far enough to whisper, low and sultry, in his pointed ear.
“Don’t you dare look down on me, o’ hydro dragon sovereign..”
You lurch forward, manicured nails drawing light lines down his bare back, and he meets you halfway in a long, drawn out kiss. A quiet growl rumbles from deep within his throat, clearly aroused by the way you had drawled out his full title. He nips at your bottom lip, dragging out a single, short gasp before leaving to trail wet kisses down the column of your throat, never stopping until his lips hover over the very spot where he had previously made his mark.
He doesn’t even have to touch you, just his presence, tangled with your own anticipatory excitement, invites a shudder so deep, you can feel it in your bones. The sharp edge of his fangs scrape along that still-sensitive patch of skin, lightly, as if testing the waters, though this time, he makes sure to take note of the quiver in your pretty little mewls.
Slowly, he bites down again and a moan slips past your lips, forced out from the very depths of your chest as your fingers fly to tangle in his moonridden tresses. His hot breath seeps past the barrier of your skin, leaving every nerve privy to his effect, and combined with the building pressure, you’re left open for the stream of soft whimpers that leave the perfect ‘o’ of your parted lips. As he sinks his teeth deeper, you squeeze your eyes shut in the midst of all the pleasure.
“Do it again,” you gasp, “felt good… ”
And oh, he has absolutely every intention to, what with the way you’re putty underneath him. However, he must do something about how distracting your hands are when you tug at his hair: hard enough for him to groan with an ache so wanton, it sends tremors echoing down until his trousers feel far, far too tight.
Neuvillette is neither here nor there when he alternates between kissing and sucking and biting at your tender flesh—anywhere is fair game when you’ve relinquished yourself to him like this. With how attentive his lips are along your body, you hardly even care for the absence of his hand when he reaches around to untie the ribbon in his hair… at least not until it’s too late and you're left bemused by the uncharacteristic display of boldness; after all, it’s all you can do when your wrists are suddenly so tightly bound overhead.
You whine as he wraps his lips around one of your nipples, suckling and swirling his tongue, while he ravishes the other between his fingers. Heat surges through you and the aching desperation congregating in your belly begins to boil; you’ve never felt so sensitive, never been more pervasive to his touch.
Inside. You need him inside of you. But with your hands currently incapacitated, you’ve no other choice except to buck into him, beckoning him with your hips in the hopes of redirecting his attention to where you throb.
“Inside. Please. I need you. Need you inside.”
He hums in acknowledgement of your wishes, tugging at the hardened bud with his teeth, successfully wringing another shaky cry from your throat, before he finally pulls at the delicate lace of your panties, and guides them down the length of your legs. You easily kick them off, but in his observation, his piercing gaze catches every thrum of your muscles as they tense underneath the hand that finally trails between your thighs. He drags his lithe fingers between your folds, coating them in your slick, while his thumb rubs your clit in slow, but firm, circles.
“My apologies for the wait.” Neuvillette kisses you right above your heart, where his acute hearing easily picks up how it palpitates as he dips his fingers into your velvet walls. “Allow me to make amends, my love.”
With the way your cunt gushes so copiously, it’s easy for him to slide all the way down to the last knuckle. He flicks his wrist, pumping fast and hard, scissoring you open before slipping in a third digit, drawing out mewl after pathetic mewl, as you fail to pull yourself together. The bedsheets twist beneath your incessant movements: simultaneously squirming not only from the initial stretch, but also to feel him deeper.
The discomfort is all too familiar, but with just the curl of his fingers, it washes away into unadulterated pleasure, just as it always does. But with your arms tethered, leaving you open and powerless, everything—every touch, every twist, every curl—feels tenfold.
Plus, no one would even believe you if you were to say that the chief justice had such a playful side in the bedroom; his fingers have explored your insides far too many times for him to just miss the little spot that he definitely knows by muscle memory. Whining, you buck your hips, senselessly grinding into his hand, hoping he’d get the message, hoping he’d quell your heat right at the source.
But something dangerous and wild and primordial shines in the blue-violet glow of his eyes. For all the times you’ve made love together, he’s never seen you like this: so desperate, so needy for him. He pinches a nipple, hard, before locking your jolting hips down; a show of strength to remind you of your place.
“Please, more.” Your voice rises in congruence with how you struggle against your ribbon-bound wrists. His fingers tease the spot again, this time with more force, and he watches as you keen and clench around him—helpless and at his mercy.
With a curl, his fingers crook inside your silken walls, pistoning in and out, fast and hard. Arousal continues to build, turning the low squelches into distinct suctions. Every nerve in your body is ignited, seared by the heat as he laps at the overflowing wetness that seeps out of your entrance. A satisfied purr sounds in his throat, and the vibrations dare your hips to buck in spite of the iron grip that holds you down.
It thrills him to see you steadily fall apart like this, coming so undone before him, dissolving under the weight of your pleasure. It’s just as you had wanted. More. So you can take it, can’t you? You can take more?
Neuvillette slots your throbbing clit into his mouth, hot tongue relentlessly striking the swollen nub with viscous lashes, while his fingers continue to bully your insides with no intention of slowing down. Sucking harder, fucking faster—you keen at the added stimulation, back arching clean off the bed in blinding pleasure, unable to do anything more than let out jagged sobs as you cum.
Your entire body grows taut as he sees you through the end of this high, before finally drawing out with one last sleight of his hand, so that his fingertips might graze along the velvet top of your walls, bidding farewell with another shudder-inducing wave of euphoria. He exits his soiled digits, clearly pleased as he inspects the amount of slick that coats his elegant hand.
“You’re absolutely divine.” He hums whilst licking up the side of his wrist, so as not to waste a single drop of your liquid pleasure. It’s intoxicating how exquisite you are, more decadent than even the most pristine of waters. “Perhaps you’d like a taste?”
His offer is rhetorical at best, as he answers for you, already slipping his slender fingers into your open mouth, tangling them with your tongue, until the first bits of drool begin to dribble from your lips.
He unties your wrists, releasing them from the ribbon’s hold; time and experience have proven that you’ll need something to grasp onto. In a haste, Neuvillette discards what remains of his clothes, and his cock springs forward in all its glory: long and thick, pale tip leaking and thrumming with desire.
“You’re absolutely sure… ?” he mumbles, voice trailing off, almost embarrassed. He can no longer control the way his hips twitch in excitement, begging to bury his cock into your warmth, but for his gentle heart’s sake, he needs to hear you say it again.
You laugh out a soft ‘yes’ but just for good measure, you rake your nails down his chest, applying just enough pressure to tickle his nerves. “Use me,” you goad. “Come on. Be wicked, my dragon.”
Neuvillette exhales, chuckling softly at humanity's arrogance. Wicked dragon. If that was what you wanted... “I wonder if you’d still say the same after I’ve finished with you.”
He pins you back down in one fell move, and aligns himself to your entrance, stopping after inserting only the tip. A delicate whimper leaves your lips as you wince at that familiarly sweet stretch, but you and your little cunt are both so eager to please—the continued arousal you churn out, weeping nonstop, and already clenching around just his cockhead. You wriggle into him, trying to fuck yourself deeper on his fat cock as you adjust to his size.
Reaching up, you pull him into a seemingly reassuring kiss, hands smoothing over the framing pieces of his hair, before curving around his jaw. His lips follow yours, but as you pull away and the short pieces of his hair fall back into place, you notice how his slitted reptilian pupils are dilated almost round.
“You wish for me not to hold back,” his voice comes in a low growl as he inches further into your cunt, “so please show me how resilient you are.”
It’s all the warning you receive before he slides the rest of his length to the hilt, burying himself in your creamy insides. A shattered sob tears through the room, and your arms fly around his neck in a desperate attempt to anchor yourself, but it only pulls him closer as he leans more of his weight into you, pressing down and reinforcing the heavy plow of his merciless hips.
Taking him all at once like this burns like wildfire. Pain from the sudden, rough stretch spreads hot and fast, the small embers bursting into a blaze of arousal as pleasure breezes through just as quickly—like air infinitely adding to an already devouring flame.
“You’re taking me so well,” he praises, turning his head to reward a small kiss to your cheek. Your hole gushes, rushing to quell the heat, and the added lubrication helps you settle into his pace. Still, the dual sensations wash over you like the tide. It pulls you under, drowns you and consumes you with absolute ecstasy.
And just when you think you’ve grown accustomed, Neuvillette lifts your hips, aiming for the spot he knows will drag out the most wonderfully broken cries from your throat. Your nails dig into his back, and he groans at the vice grip as you clamp down around his cock. With each powerful thrust, he buries himself balls deep with a force that has your tits bouncing along to his rhythm, letting the wanton sound of your sobs ring throughout the room, loud enough to almost drown out the lewd noise of skin slapping upon skin.
The coil in your belly is wound so tight that you’re sure it won’t be long until it collapses into itself. That it won’t be long until you yourself are about to implode, like a star ready to burst.
“I’m going… going to…” Between the ragged breaths and the overwhelming sensations of ecstasy, you can’t even find it in yourself to think straight.
Neuvillette hums, his liquid smooth voice doing nothing to hide his amusement. “You’d do well not to break so soon.”
He thumbs your clit, drawing tight circles, ignoring the way you convulse beneath him. As your back arches, he drags the flat of his teeth from the edges of your collarbones, down through the valley between your breasts.
Your entire body quivers, legs jolting by reflex to the intensity of your orgasm, vision blurring white as your lover continues to pound relentlessly through your high. There’s a layer of fuzziness over your mind that leaves you feeling as if you’re floating atop calm waters, but the fingers still thrumming on your abused nub are quick to drag you back into the salaciously dangerous depths of your own pleasure.
A string of pitched whines follow in the aftermath, but the pretty noises you make has him throbbing even from within your tight hole. You ask him not to hold back, yet here you are before him, so small and pitiful, already writhing from the intensity—and he hasn’t even cum yet.
Tears threaten to fall from your eyes, your body struggling for a break from the stimulation, but Neuvillette finds it quite adorable, in the way that a predator might toy with its prey. He slows his thrusts, but reaches deeper with every roll of his hips, each languid stroke hitting the exact spot that fills your sight with stars.
The lascivious sounds of your soaked cunt perfectly swallowing his cock, followed by the slap of his heavy balls on your ass—he’s mesmerized by the way he disappears and reappears, and disappears again inside of you. His heart skips, and he bucks, breaking his rhythm. You undo him like no other, and it spurs him on that he too, seems to have the same effect on you. The way your pussy holds on to him so tightly, the helpless cries of his name amidst your hiccuped whimpering…
He lets out a small chuckle, breath hot and ragged in your ear as he sucks at the inch of skin below. “Surely you can give me another,” he murmurs, the low grumble of his voice reverberating all the way down, until you can feel the vibrations in the hollows of your collarbone.
Your eyes flutter, desperately blinking away the wetness that has begun to gather at your lash line. Sweet Neuvillette, your Neuvillette who reveres you more than he ought to and touches you like you’re made of glass. Even through the numbing haze, you know that for him, you’d give anything.
A long, stuttered moan breaks out from between your lips. As if biding his time, he drags the entirety of his cock along your walls, the large vein that wraps around the length gliding along just right, that your back arches and your knees bend. It’s not that he means to move so tortuously slow, but you squeeze him to such an extent that in spite of his aching need to cum, he cannot help but try and savor the delicious way your walls are gripping for dear life.
Neuvillette pulls out with the sticky squish of your slick. His throbbing cock, long and flushed, glistens with the sheen of your juices. In the emptiness, you think that perhaps he’s taken pity on you and your now overly sensitive cunt, but that just isn’t fair. Not to him, nor you and your once again looming orgasm.
“You haven’t even cum yet,” you gasp, trying to argue through baited breath. The whole point of this was so that he could feel just as good as he always made sure you did. So why would he—
“I know.”
You can feel him as he lifts you, flipping you over like you’re nothing more than a doll, and manhandles you onto all fours. Limbs weak, mind frazzled, you’re barely able to hold yourself up, so when he realigns himself at your entrance and slams back through your folds with just as much power as before, you quite literally fall apart.
“Too much?” The low chuckle in your ear is dangerously taunting, wickedly amused and with no sign of its usual sweetness. You’re able to muster a pitiful whine, but the way your entire body trembles tells him everything he needs to know, as he reangles you mid-thrust.
“I believe you said you could take it.” With a particularly powerful snap of his hips, your arms buckle, and you collapse onto the mattress. The intensity continues to send you jolting forward, but his reaffirmed grip on your waist holds your hips in place.
Nothing deters him as he ruts into you, hitting deep new angles that have your fingers grasping at the sheets while your cunt grasps onto his cock. With every slap of his skin against yours, his tip threatens to kiss your cervix, the aftershocks rippling through you until they’re released as broken sobs, muffled into the bed.
How unfortunate that such noises, so very sweet to his ears, would be hidden from the world. Tangling his fingers along your scalp, Neuvillette tugs at your hair, lifting your head back so as to hear the pretty melody you sing when your cries ring around the room. Good. Just as the whole of Fontaine should recognize a dragon’s mark on your skin, they too should hear it’s he who pleasures your body so.
Little bits of drool trickle out of your open mouth, your eyes rolling back as he keeps up the brutal pace. Everything feels too overwhelming, yet so tantalizingly good, that your back curves and you’re creaming around him again.
Electricity shoots through your veins, your lungs desperately racing to catch up with the rapid beat of your heart. The stars painted across your vision drop down to your stomach, exploding with an intensity that rattles you to your core. It’s a flood with no remorse—taking and leaving nothing in return, easily washing away any and all thoughts, until you’re left mewling the name of the only one who could ever give you such a sweet taste of heaven.
But Neuvillette continues to thrust into you, and as he, too, nears his peak, his tireless strokes finally melt into something a little more forgiving. Just a little. The long drag of his cock slides so smoothly against your slick walls, gentle enough to fool your delirious mind into loosening your grip around him.
What trickery from the wicked dragon who slams his hips forward with enough force so that your body jostles with every push and pull as he hits all the right spots again and again. Trapped under the weight of his body, all you can do is feel: the heat of the room smothering all your senses, the fervorous thrusts pushing you to your very limit—all you can do is feel and take it as he kisses the spongy head of your cervix, leaving you without a semblance of sanity, blabbering indiscernible nothings that beg to milk him dry.
“Want more,” you keen, voice as broken as the crystalline tears that roll down your cheeks and melt into the pillows. “Inside. Wan’ it inside.”
Neuvillette laughs, low and airy, strained as his grip tightens, fingertips digging into your hips hard enough that it’d be sure to leave bruises come the morrow. “Is that what you want?”
“Please, please I–” You stop to let out something between a pant and a moan. “Want you to, h-hah, cum inside, wan’ your cum inside me.” Your walls clamp down even harder, as if attempting to trap his cock deep inside you forever, as if you weren’t already tight enough around him.
White fills his vision, and white fills your womb as Neuvillette cums to the knowledge that you love this. He takes in the sight of you, his precious treasure, now reduced to the likes of a common whore: legs quivering, ass in the air, cunt filled to the brim and leaking from where the two of you merge. All for him. By his doing.
Such splendor automatically evokes the instinct to claim you in a way far beyond that of human understanding… but you’ve already let him indulge more than enough tonight; he couldn’t possibly ask for more.
You whimper when you feel him stir again inside you, careful as he brushes past your too-sensitive folds, but even such simple movements hazard to relight the flicker of arousal once again. Every ridge and vein, drawn out so agonizingly slow, sends an inadvertent shiver down your spine until he finally pulls out with a squelch.
There’s no hope in tearing those sharp, reptilian eyes away from your puffy cunt, abused and messy and leaking with your combined fluids. Neuvillette sucks in a breath, trying to suppress his urges as much as he’s trying to swallow down the desire quickly boiling over in his belly again. Cumming inside you—no, breeding you—was a privilege. For dragons such as he, it’s a ritual reserved only for mates, and given the difference in your physiology, he had never allowed himself to do so—at least not until now, that is.
In his defense, you had begged for it, and how could he ever deny the very one whom he has entrusted his heart to—especially when you were so beautifully fucked out and unraveled on his cock like that. And perhaps he’s lived among humans long enough to forgive this indulgence as a paradigm of fleeting desire, though nothing of what he feels for you could ever be considered fleeting.
He parts your folds with two slender fingers, giving himself a better view as his cum now seeps out with suent access. You whine again when you feel him drag his digits down the sides of your pussy lips, catching the overflow before it can fall onto the sheets, and stuffing it right back into your little hole. No point in stopping now, if he’s already committed his sin.
From your half-lidded gaze, you manage to steal a glance at your lover, and judging from the erection that still stands stiff as a rod, he has yet to be satiated. In the attempt to break through the shadow of delirium, you lift your head, shifting your weight back onto your elbows, and forcing your battered body to turn just the slightest bit over.
“You’re still hard,” you note through staggered breath, “We can go again if you want.”
Neuvillette looks down as if he hasn’t already been feeling the near painful arousal throbbing in his groin. Of course he’s still hard—how could he not be; you’re so complacent before him, offering yourself to him like that. But perhaps he is too soft-hearted, for he only lets out a reassuring hum as he leans forward to place a gentle kiss on your forehead.
“You were beyond perfect tonight,” he murmurs. “It… might not be pleasurable for you if I continue anymore. I can finish myself.”
Lovestruck, you shake your head. “I can take it r’member?” Your large eyes, red-rimmed and dreamy, plead for him to use you—use you to his own content, use you so that he’d feel just as good as he always makes you feel. You nibble at your bottom lip, bashful. “You can even use your other form if you'd like...”
Your words catch him off guard, and he immediately stills in a half-hearted attempt to collect himself as another wave of pure, unadulterated desire pulses through his entire being. Neuvillette swallows hard before letting out a slow, shaky breath. His cock twitches and his muscles tense beneath the creamy skin that now seems to gleam with a soft shine, revealing scattered patches of effervescent cerulean scales. You affect him more than you could possibly know, revitalizing such carnal urges that ignore his will and allow his body to react so enthusiastically.
“You’re sure…?” His normally polished tone is husked in a defiant strain. Despite the way his pupils are blown wide and wild with lust, conflict still swims in the shallows of his expression, made clear by the way his voice rasps as he desperately claws to retain even a semblance of his composure.
The tips of your fingers trace the blue streaks that protrude from the crown of his silver head, now hardened into twin ribbons of ivory; his horns, delicate but strong, glow a luminescent azure—so warm and inviting in its radiance… You grasp them tight, pulling him down with you, as you fall back into the bed, his lips pressed against yours. Of course you’re sure. He’d never hurt you, your Neuvillette would never ever hurt you.
“Devious…” he whispers between kisses, your tongue and teeth clashing in a waltz of their own, as his body drapes over yours.
It’s not the first time you’ve seen him in this form, crossed somewhere between a human and a dragon, as beautiful as he is powerful. But it’s certainly the first time you’ve ever attempted to take him like this. He’s bigger in this form—you can already feel it as he grinds up between your legs. Longer. Thicker. Ribbed and embossed with the same pearlescent blue scales. Beautifully intimidating, just like the dragon sovereign himself.
And as you continue to marvel, he lets his cock rest across your lower stomach, sizing you up. His fervor shines through in the way he’s already leaking a mess of sticky precum atop the smooth skin of your belly. A satisfied hum vibrates in his throat, clearly enthused.
“This is how deep I’ll be,” he muses, almost apologetic of the incoming stretch you’d have to endure. “I’m beginning to wonder if I can even fit inside you.”
Would it be wicked of him to admit, even to himself, that he enjoys the way you wriggle and cry just taking him in his human form? And yet… he’s forced to steady his breathing in a poor attempt at grounding himself—a task near impossible as you roll your hips up, ardently shaking your head no, outright ignoring the last out he offers.
“I will… make it fit.” They’re the last words you manage to wrangle out before being overtaken by the need to be full and filled. There’s no reason you should be so terribly, terribly hollow, when he’s right there. Neuvillette chokes back a laugh; your unyielding determination sends blood rushing to his erection, desperate to feel your velvet walls crowd around him again.
Finally relenting, he teases your entrance—running his cock up and down your slit, spreading your wetness, before slapping your clit with the tip—reminding you just how sensitive you still are. Gasping, you jerk away from the stimulation that once again taunts your nerves. Your hole, however, clenches around nothing, eager to please.
But perhaps you’ve greatly underestimated just how big he is, because he barely makes it past the threshold of your folds, before the pleasure pain of the stretch begins to take over. That, and the overstimulation from your previous orgasms, already have you instinctively trying to snap your legs shut, but the firm hold on your thighs forbid you from doing so.
“Ha-ah N-neuvi—” A twisted sense of pride swells in his chest at the way you can hardly speak as your breath hitches and your lungs desperately search for air. “’s too big,” you sob.
He gives you a momentary reprieve to adjust, while his hand snakes down to run sloppy circles over your clit.
“More?” he whispers.
It takes you a minute to respond, but he waits until finally your voice shakes with the violence of each hiccupped sob. “More.. please…”
A baritone hum sounds in his throat as he pulls forward, pressing wet kisses to your jaw in a quiet reassurance, effectively sliding a couple inches deeper, as he does so. “You can take it, my love. You’re so pretty like this.”
Your arms wrap around his neck, your hold eliciting a long, low groan from the dragon. Wherever you squirm, he follows, pressing more of his weight onto you, burying more of his cock into you. Each ridged inch that slides past your folds, seems to push the thoughts right out of your head, letting them dissipate into thin air until you’re left mindlessly moaning sweet praises to his name.
Desperate to accommodate the unfamiliar enormity of his dragon cock, your walls ripple and tense around him, back arching into him, wanting to feel ever closer to the love of your life, determined to push your cunt to its limit for him. For your Neuvillette.
Neuvillette. Neuvillette. Neuvillete. He’s all you can think about; him and his monster cock that seems to split you so deliciously open. It’s wave after wave of heat that sets your insides ablaze, soothed by the waters of arousal that have you begging for more, and restarting the cycle until he finally bottoms out, and you feel as if you’ve been electrified. You squeeze your eyes shut, but with the way his bulbous tip prods at your cervix, your mind goes blank, and the tears fall regardless.
“There…” you pant, eyes glassy from the euphoria of feeling so incredibly full. “’s all in.”
“Yes,” he praises, softly. “Look at you, so nice and tight for me.”
He wipes the salt from your cheeks, distracting you with a delicate kiss. His fangs are more prominent in this form; you can feel them as he grins against your lips, whilst whispering breathy nothings that tell of how good you are for him, how perfect, how he should be so lucky to have you like this, to have you as his.
When your body eases enough, he pulls away, though the subtle shift of his cock still drags a pitched whine out from your lips. If he’s to be honest, he cannot tear his gaze from where the two of you are joined. It’s mesmerizing, hypnotic, to see how he splits you open, to feel how you mold into the shape of him, to imagine just how much your little cunt had to stretch so that he might rest comfortably inside.
Though, comfortable might be an overstatement due to the way your muscles tense and release so tightly around him, clamoring for more of his attention. Eyes darkening with lust, Neuvillette smooths a hand over your abdomen, cerulean scales cold upon your skin.
“Can you feel me right…” He draws a clawed finger delicately across the skin of your belly, where his cock rests parallel underneath. “Here…”
He leaves more than just a faint line of red where his talon rakes. Yes, you want to say. You can feel the faint prickle of his claw on your skin, you can feel how the sharpness sends a shiver ringing through your body, and of course you can feel how he’s sheathed his dragon cock right into the very depths of your cunt, deeper than anyone’s ever been, deeper than he’s ever been… But the only sounds that spill through your lips are another stream of broken sobs, fever touched by how close you are to cumming just from being filled.
“Go on, darling. Cum for me.” He can feel you pulsing around him, clenching and unclenching in search of sweet release, yet he makes no additional moves to help you, leaving you to your own devices.
At this point, you can no longer tell if you’re making things better or worse, as every little movement knocks you into reaction—like dominoes toppling over until every piece of you has been unraveled. You writhe atop the soiled sheets for any sort of friction, but it’s too much when his tip knocks against the entrance to your womb. So you shift away, letting the ridges on his shaft graze against your syruped walls, inciting another wave of need. The scales continue to tip between ‘too much’ and ‘more’, until you finally work yourself into a delirious orgasm, on nothing but his cock inside you and your own incessant squirming.
As you continue to ride out your high, Neuvillete finally begins to move, tearing himself away from your fluttering vice grip with a tremulous moan, because fuck you’re still so tight around him, still so warm and wet even after cumming for what? The fourth time tonight? Pressure lands heavy over your frame as he begins to rock into you, folding you in half as he does.
He fucks you slow and even, stretching you out even more with every new stroke. Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as this new position affords him the privilege to reach impossibly deeper. Despite his shallow thrusts, each drag of his cock still blooms an ache from all the hidden spots that he has no choice but to touch, though it’s quick to pass, as pleasure continues to coil in your belly.
It’s so much all at once. You can’t take it, it’s too much. But the soul-shattering euphoria of being so utterly full, is unparalleled. You want more, you need more.
“My pearl,” he whispers, though his voice is gruff, “my heart… I want to hear you.”
And so you oblige him, wailing something broken and pitched and strangled, at the sudden snap of his hips, at the way he bumps into your cervix and seems to rattle your organs about.
“F-fuck,” you cry, without thinking. Not that you can anyway, when the push-pull tide of his thrusts raises you to new heights of delirium. “H-ah god, fuck Neu–”
Another sharp, jutting thrust cuts you off as the dragon above you snarls, clearly agitated by your crass choice of words. “There are no gods to help you here.” Not in Fontaine where he rules, and certainly not here in his home.
There’s a feral wildness that shines in his bright vishap eyes, and his possessive streak flares—dragons have no natural inclination to share after all. It’s clear in the way his pace changes: faster, harsher, more ragged—a ferocity befitting of an elemental dragon ruler. But titles aside, he’s still your Neuvillette, and every move he makes is still laced with a tenderness, so as not to break you more than he already has.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he commands, dragging his tongue up the length of your throat.
“Yours. ‘m yours, Neuvillette.”
In and out, in and out. His long strokes guide the ridges of his cock back and forth through your tender muscles, leaving you to mumble mindless nonsense as you convulse and keen beneath him. Whatever pain you had felt earlier has long chipped away into undeniable pleasure as you near the precipice of yet another orgasm. Eyes glazed over in all consuming ecstasy, all you know to do is to chase your lust, and so your hips grind back, rolling together like waves in a storm.
Amidst the flagrant wet sounds of your rabid fucking, you cum again, lashes fluttering as your eyes roll, muscles tight as they tremble from such rapture—so lovely, so beautiful. Your siren call of pretty cries spill from your lips, intermingled with weak babbles of his name. You’re so breathtaking like this in your post-climax haze: fucked out and cloudy-eyed, panting into the cool air as his slowed thrusts still rack up an aftershock of shudders.
Neuvillette bows his head, once again trailing wet kisses across your collarbones, before pausing to hover his lips right over the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his warm breath a familiar spot of comfort in this maddening pleasure. Perhaps it’s some sort of sixth sense unique to only the most attuned of lovers, ones whose souls seem to harmonize in perfect resonance, but there’s hesitance in the way he suckles at the spot, fangs ghosting over your tender skin.
“S’okay… you can do it.” Your soft, dreamy sighs of approval are accompanied by the languid tilt of your neck, jeopardizing more of your delicate skin to the dangers of his teeth. “You can mark me… w’nna be your mate…”
Choking back a moan, Neuvillette pistons thrice more into your cunt—pulling out until just his tip remains, and then plunging back into your gooey insides, sending you into another round of dizzying convulsions. His own orgasm follows, seeing stars as he places an amorous bite to the crook of your neck using only the flat of his teeth.
With how deep he’s buried, ribbons of his cum shoot right into your womb, spilling out into every cavity, and painting your interior white. Warmth blossoms from the inside out. Your heart is full, mumbling happy nothings of ‘mates’ in between sniffles, while a creamy ring forms around the base of his cock, thick liquid oozing from where he ends and you begin. His own chest rises and falls in jagged patterns, but his only want is to seek your lips, to drink in your mewls, and exchange sweet kisses, so that your soul and his, may meld together as they dance in the shape of your breaths intertwined.
He strokes your hair, planting easy kisses all around as he unplugs himself, letting loose the flood of cum that seeps out of your hole, but you whine at the loss, wanting nothing more than to be ever close to your newly consummated mate. Neuvillette only nuzzles into your neck, deep purrs of content reverberating from his chest as he lazily rubs his scent all over you. Meanwhile, a quick swish of his sapphire tail up the sticky underside of your thigh, teases another pulse from your cunt, and by reflex, you push out another dollop of white.
A small tap tap to his shoulder distracts him from his scenting, and he looks up with a tilt to his head and a small furrow to his brow, his normally sharp eyes full of earnest concern, relaxing only once he finishes reading through the bleary, dulcet tones of adoration that glow in your half-lidded eyes. You poorly suppress your little giggles—although he often disagrees, your lover really can be quite adorable.
Fontaine’s Iudex Neuvillette is elegant, poised, and meticulously polished… but here in the quiet night hours, in the privacy of your hearth, your Neuvillette is unruly-haired and damp-skinned from satiating the beastly desires of his still tender heart. You reach out a tired arm, first brushing back the pieces of hair that cling to his skin, then wrapping your palm around to cup his face.
“Was I a good mate?” Your hand slips down from his cheek to play with the tips of his silvery hair. “W’nna be the best for you.”
“You already are the best for me.” His hand, no longer clawed nor scaled, brings yours back up for a kiss to your knuckles. “The only one for me.”
He rolls off of you, sweeping you into his embrace, as he carries you off to the bathroom. Your head rests heavily against his chest, but your happy hums and quiet murmurs of ‘good,’ tell him that you have not drifted off into slumber just yet.
“You truly are a wonder,” he breathes, dipping his head to place a soft kiss to your forehead. “And it would be my honor to have you as my mate… but not tonight.”
His instincts had urged him to do it, to permanently claim you as his, and mark you as a dragon would, but his heart vehemently disagrees. The most sacred bond known to his kind is an ultimatum in your relationship, and it is one he refuses to be the sole architect of, so perhaps the two of you can revisit this conversation again once you’re more clear-headed; his answer would remain the same anyways.
notes2: thank you for reading, reblogs + feedback are very much appreciated ♡
I don't know if you're still using this account but i have a very silly thought about genshin men panicking because something went wrong in the deed(an example is the reader has iron deficiency and just pass out. Or something silly like that. Or the reader went into labor in the middle of the deed because that's some weird way to trigger it but dunno) and then trying to figure out what went wrong. I don't want smut exactly just wanna laugh because it's so hard to find these:( sorry for long ass text
— ☆ Accidents during sex headcanons
Includes: Alhaitham, Wanderer + Varka
[ Switch ] Gender-neutral reader
Contains: Fainting in the middle of sex, light blood play/fetish, safe word use, and implied voyeurism
[ masterlist ]
Although I have lost interest in both Genshin and smut writing, for you, my dear anon, I've come back briefly because you are correct. Finding fics of these is very hard. Somehow I veered off "silly" and more to "practice safe sex".
— ☆ Alhaitham
Fainting
He feels it before he even sees it. A weight shift, a sudden slackening of tension against him, and the lurch in his heart as his hand reflexively reaches out to catch your head.
“Hey-” Alhaitham starts, the haziness in his eyes clearing in an instant. His words fall on deaf ears as you go limp, collapsing into his arms. For a heartbeat, panic flickers across his features. Your pulse feels faint, slower than it should, and his mind races for a fraction of a second, imagining the worst. His calm, measured composure strains under the sudden surge of worry.
It’s awkward; it has to be, with him having been inside you only seconds ago. But muscle memory carries him as he gently lowers you flat on the sheets. One hand presses lightly to your forehead, gauging the warmth and thrum of your pulse, while the other supports your back, steadying you with firm fingers. Elevating your legs is unnecessary, already hooked over his shoulders, but the feeling is a harsh reminder that he should have listened to himself. He should have slowed down. Given you a break after the first round, no matter how insistently you whined that you would be fine.
“Haitham?” your dazed whisper snaps him back to reality. You blink up at him, eyes fluttering, just beginning to stir. Alhaitham’s heart stutters, sharp relief slicing through the tension.
“Easy now,” he mutters under his breath, gently pushing you down when you move to sit up. His thumb brushes over the curve of your shoulder, grounding both you and him, “You overexerted yourself. Rest for a moment. Focus on your breathing.”
The room falls quiet except for the soft hiss of your inhalations, gradually deepening and evening out. Alhaitham notes the subtle rise and fall of your chest, the way a strand of hair slips across your forehead, the faint warmth radiating from your skin. His eyes soften imperceptibly, though the earlier panic still lingers as a tautness in his posture.
“You’ll be alright,” he murmurs, voice low, almost reverent, “I’m here.”
You lean slightly into him, a faint shiver passing through you. He quickly bends over, grabbing one of the thinner sheets that were pushed off at some point and draping it across your shoulders. He stays still, silent, letting the closeness linger, though his hands don’t move from where they rest. It’s only when your breathing evens out and your dazed expression clears that he rises to fetch a cup of water.
“I’m sorry, that was… kind of embarrassing,” you mumble as you sip slowly, wary of giving Alhaitham yet another reason to frown at you.
Alhaitham’s eyes flick to you, and the corner of his mouth hints at the faintest trace of amusement.
“There is nothing to apologize for,” he says evenly, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable weight, before it shifts to his usual snark, “Though it would be helpful if you actually listened to me sometimes.”
— ☆ Wanderer
Getting a nose bleed
"Ah."
You’ve never really stopped to appreciate just how pale and smooth Wanderer’s skin is. You remember reading fairy tales about princesses with porcelain skin, but until you meet him, you always thought it was a strange way to describe someone. Everyone has wrinkles, birthmarks, and other imperfections; you can’t imagine anyone having skin smooth enough to rival ceramic. Yet, lo and behold, Wanderer exists, and he proves that perhaps there is a higher power than the Archons.
"Are you being serious right now?"
A blessing now marred by spots of red, thanks to a nosebleed that appears the moment Wanderer finally ends up in your bed.
"I would like to sincerely apologize, but you really can’t blame me. I’m having an out-of-body experience," you laugh, one hand reaching for a couple of tissues on the bedside table while the other pinches your nose shut, "I completely understand if you want to stop and never talk to me again."
While you’re busy grabbing a fistful of tissues, you notice that Wanderer has gone deceptively quiet. You risk a side glance, fully expecting to see that familiar, cute scowl on his face. Instead, he looks… contemplative. His gaze lingers on the drops of blood dotting his stomach, bright bursts of red against a plane of white. He hums low, prodding one of the drops with his finger before holding it up to eye level, watching the red run down. Your pulse quickens—not just from the blood, but from the intensity of his stare. You catch the faint twitch of his lips, the subtle narrowing of his eyes, and you realize he’s fully aware of the effect this is having on you.
His hand, the dirty one, hooks around your neck and presses you down. You manage to catch yourself before you collide nose-to-nose, which would only double the bleeding. By now, the blood has traveled from your nose to your mouth, a droplet clinging precariously to your chin.
A small tongue flicks out like a cat’s, the tip stained with red before it disappears behind pale pink lips. The droplet is gone.
"You got a fetish for blood?" you ask, though you’re fairly certain something is wrong with you, because you really shouldn’t be this aroused by such a simple act.
"Are you always this stupid? Or has the blood loss drained your brain cells as well?" Wanderer shoots back flatly. You aren't even awarded any pink around his cheeks.
"Nah, it’s just because it’s you," you say earnestly, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. His lips pressed into a thin line as if he were weighing whether to berate you again or pretend he didn’t hear. Your gaze drifts to the wad of tissues still clutched in your hand, clean and unused. You chuckle under your breath before tossing them over your shoulder. The crumpled ball lands somewhere on the floor with a muted thud, forgotten like your original intention to play this whole night safe and normal.
When you glance back at him, expecting annoyance, maybe even disgust, you instead catch him watching you with a peculiar look. His eyes flicker over your face, sharp and calculating, but there’s something curious lingering at the edges. Something that makes your chest squeeze in a way far more dangerous than any nosebleed.
You grin despite yourself, leaning just a little closer. You don’t expect the night to go like this, but adaptability is your forte. If tomorrow the nice old lady next door asks why your sheets are pink, you’ll lie and say it was a laundry mishap.
— ☆ Varka
Losing arousal halfway
The heat that had been building in your chest and stomach drains away like water from a leaky faucet. The warmth at the back of your neck turns suddenly colder, making you hyperaware of just how flushed you are. Your eyes scan the room, confirming for the third time that it’s just you and Varka. That "Captain" is nowhere to be seen, and he surely has far more important things to do than play voyeur… right? Yet, even though he may not have eyes, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s watching. Your cheeks flush in sudden embarrassment, and you pull back slightly, unsure of how to fill the awkward silence. You’re not certain whether the pit in your stomach comes from the guilt of what you’re thinking, or from the very thought of even saying anything aloud.
After all, you were the one who initiated. You were the one who averted your eyes to play coy when your hand settled just a little too far up on his thigh. You were the one who wrestled his belt off as soon as you two were alone. To be fair, it had been a very long, very exhausting expedition.
"Come on, you're not backing out now, are you? After that little stunt you pulled?" Varka's voice drags you back to reality. One heavy, calloused hand pats your cheek while the other strokes you like a pet. Ah, right. Perhaps you should pay attention before you choke. That would be far more embarrassing, wouldn’t it?
"Don't tell me what to do when I'm doing you a favor," you huff, eyebrows creased, spitting into your hand. You ran out of lube two weeks ago, so this will have to do for now. The vicious shine on your palm catches your eye for a moment before the creeping wave of self-awareness hits: yeah, no, you can’t do this anymore.
"Yellow!"
Varka's body stiffens instantly, the movement so sharp it makes you flinch. His head jerks up as if startled, eyes wide, his wolfish grin melting into something more serious and concerned. The warm hands that had been cradling your head lift away, but hover close enough to make their presence felt.
"What's wrong?" His Grandmaster voice is softer than usual, a low rumble that fills the space as he slowly sits up, giving you enough room to flee if you want to. You bite the inside of your cheek, caught between nerves and awkward amusement at seeing someone like him so uncharacteristically cautious. It's… sweet, and makes you feel even worse.
"Um… it’s… stupid," you mumble, fiddling with your hands and avoiding his eyes. The tension in the room sags slightly, the charged energy giving way to an awkward, heavy quiet. You curse yourself silently for losing control at the worst possible moment, fingers twisting nervously as your gaze darts anywhere but his.
"I just… kind of feel like… someone is watching us, and I—uh—don’t perform well under pressure?" The last part comes out as a tentative question, a half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood. It fails spectacularly, made worse by the sticky discomfort on your palm and the uncomfortable awareness that you’re literally leaving Varka hanging.
For a moment, he doesn’t respond, and your chest tightens. But then his voice comes, calm, steady, carrying the slightest warmth that sends an unexpected flutter through you.
"There's no hurry," he says softly, pressing a hand lightly to the small of your back, guiding you closer without breaking the delicate pressure of your contact, "We go at your own pace."
You exhale, letting yourself relax into him. The subtle press of his body against yours, the soft rise and fall of his breathing, and the warmth of his hand along your back create a quiet comfort that makes the embarrassment fade. You adjust slightly, curling up beside him, and he mirrors the movement, letting you find a comfortable balance. Eventually, your eyelids grow heavy, and the room falls into quiet.
You’re completely unaware of blue eyes fixed on a spot on the wall, or of the way his heavy arms shift to pull you closer, so his back covers you entirely from prying eyes.
Leona having a bright future, years down the line. He's older, matured more and has experienced life a bit more. Finishing his apprenticeship and finally getting to do the things he's always wanted to do. Finally allowing himself to possibly hope that maybe he can make a change for the better. He looks out over the Sunset Savanna, taking in the people who've begun to flourish more due to his suggestions and wisdom he gave. He thinks about his younger years and how much everything seemed so hopeless, how putting in the effort was for nothing. How the people who believed in him saw something that he didn't see. His dorm, some of his classmates, Ruggie, Jack, Neji, Cheka.
You.
He thinks about you, stubborn and refusing to give up on him even though at the time he believed you should have. You who had unwavering faith in him, who went to him and kept choosing him. Putting him first in something for once in his life. How you always looked at him like he was worth the extra effort, the extra push back, the extra care and patience. How you showing kindness in a world that's unfair had slowly started to push him to start doing things more seriously. How you unknowingly sparked that flickering wisp that's now a roaring flame today.
Hope.
You and so many others eventually helped him see it. That flame of hope. Hope for a better future, hope for something good to come his way. Hope that he'd be able to help people with his skills in the way he wanted too when he was small. As he stares out and thinks about the past he's brought back by a pair of arms circling around his waist. A familiar scent and warmth greeting him. Eyes softening he turns a bit to be greeted by the sight of the person he was just thinking about. You look at him, gentle concern in your gaze.
"Are you okay Leona?"
Is the question, and Leona he took a moment to answer. Overcome with the reality of this being real. Him having this future, this happiness, of having you here, had actually happened. The clarity that he achieved the very thing he never believed in once upon a time. With a shaking inhale he let himself smirk and turned himself fully around in your embrace. His own arms wrapping around you tightly, holding you close.
And when i woke up i realized I could be cruch to dead by this hunk of a man!! Not that i'm complaining tho. I'll try to write something about it. I just hope my inspiration doesn't die
Prompt: “That’s my name, please wear it out.”
Characters: All NRC
Masterlist: (1) (2)
A/N: Freeing this nonsense from my older drafts :p
They learn your name isn’t ‘Yuu’ — which is a mistake made by the dark mirror and nickname Crowley endorsed on the day you arrived. You’ve just been rolling with it since.
Until now.
You’ve applied for citizenship in their home country post-graduation and it hits them that…they don’t know your last name. Trying not to seem like a bad boyfriend, they sneak a peak at your official documents issued by Night Raven’s guardianship.
Only to learn that they apparently didn’t know your first name either. Wow. *low whistle* that is just….yeah. That’s something alright.
—
Riddle is floored. Considering he is a man of details, how on earth could he go four years without knowing your last name? While simultaneously misusing your first? He isn’t sure how to proceed. Should he be angry with himself for overlooking such an important matter, or angry at you for being so flippant? Both. The answer is both. He is going to be thinking about this for years.
“...Four years, and not once did you think to correct me?" He exhales, measured but tense. "That is either a remarkable lapse in judgment, or an astonishing lack of consideration. Do you have any idea how improper that is—on both our parts?!”
Cater makes a joke, insisting that this was your plan all along, huh? To assume a new identity the moment you weren’t tied to the Isle of Sages anymore? When you dock in the Queedom, will you disappear into the night? Good luck with that, sweetie. Under the jokes he is in mourning. He really liked the nickname YuuYuu. Even if you tell him it’s okay to use, he just can’t.
“Aww, babe, that is so shady of you but kind of iconic, not gonna lie." He laughs, then winces. "I cannot believe you really pulled the whole identity swap trope on me. AH! I've been hashtagging the wrong name for years! My brand is about to be in shambles.”
Trey thinks of all the times you’ve called him a pushover (affectionate). As if that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black. How could you look him in the eye for four years and tell him to be more open, when you’ve been allowing an entire campus call you by the wrong name? Is he really the laid back one in this relationship here? God it’s ‘the girl with the green ribbon’ story all over again. When was he going to find out, when you’re both senile in a nursing home?
“Your name is … nice?" He adjusts his glasses slightly, if not a bit awkward. "I don’t know how I’m supposed to react in this situation. Just give me a second. Maybe sixty.”
Deuce is stuck remembering all the times he’s doodled your name in the margines of his notebook. He feels a bit slighted, did you not trust him? Did you think he wouldn’t believe you if you told him the truth? What’s he going to tell his mom? It already took a hour to convince her that ‘Yuu’ was your actual name and not some sick joke. You made him a liar! Dylla is not going to let him live this down. It’s 100% being mentioned to every party guest at your wedding and in her speech too.
“I already told my mom your name was Yuu!" He groans loudly, genuinely distressed "Do you know how hard that was to explain? Stop — stop laughing damn it! She is never going to forget this!”
Ace. Who doesn’t care. You’re ‘Yuu’. It’s what he’s called you these past four years and what he’ll keep calling you until the day you die. If you had a problem with it, you should’ve correct him before. Sorry, not sorry (secretly a bit miffed). Jokes aside — he takes absolutely no time getting over it and just mashes the names together into a nickname that sounds new levels of wrong. That becomes your permanent title.
“You just let me look stupid all this time, huh?” He clicks his tongue. “That’s messed up. So…do I get to pick now, or are we pitching names in magnets on the fridge like you’re a newborn? ‘Cause I’m cool with either.”
Leona is drifting through every thought he has ever had about you for the past for years. Your name spoken in his dreams, stuck on his tongue each time he watched you walk away. Etched in his eyelids and written in the red glow when sun blinds him awake in the morning. Spoken from his chest during moments of binding intimacy. All those moments now tainted by that damned Crow. He’s pissed you never once corrected him. Out of spite, you lose name privileges for an entire day. That old title of ‘herbivore’ coming back after a three year drought. In truth, he’s just buying a bit of time to figure himself out. Even though you’re the one who let him, calling you by the wrong name is a disrespect he cannot believe you allowed an entire campus get away with.
“Tch. So all this time, you let everyone get your name wrong and just sat there. If it bothered you, you should’ve said something.” He clicks his tongue, looking away. “You know what? Fine. Don’t make me out as the idiot for taking you at your word, herbivore.”
Ruggie writes your name on a piece of notebook paper and clips it to your collar. Makes sure to do it in the biggest red marker he can find too, so people know exactly what they’re seeing. He’s got secrets, yeah. Sure. Not from you though. Did you seriously expect him to take one look at that file and let it go? Do you have any idea how important it is to have your documents right (or at least convincing forgeries)? Never-mind that you’ve had him write home to his Grandma about you with the wrong name. For four years. She’s actually going to kill him for this. You are aware that hyena households are matriarchal, right?
“You know how hard it is to keep paperwork straight?” He taps the file against your head like it is obvious. “If you were gonna be all mysterious, you could’ve picked a better time. Sheesh. Gran's gonna have my tail for this...”
Jack can’t stop staring. His whole body went stiff and he forgot that it was just supposed to be a subtle glance over your shoulder. Now there’s this hunk of meat breathing down your neck, looming there like the words will change if he stares hard enough — because how. How do you go four years with someone and not tell them your real name? He feels even worse once you tell him the reason why you let everyone call you ‘Yuu’.
“…Oh.” His ears twitch, and his terse expression softens when you explain why you didn’t correct anyone. “So that’s why, huh.” A pause. “I get why you did it, but I wish you’d trusted me enough to tell me sooner. We could've set the record straight together. as a team.”
Azul dumps all your name-tags out on his desk for prime viewing. Mostro Lounge. Sams. Student ID. Newspaper Club ID. He does the same for all your old documentations. Train tickets, movie stubs, class schedules, etc. Don’t ask why he has these. Definitely not because they’re the only proof that you exist. Anyways. What do they all say? Oh, ‘Yuu’? And what is your name? Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha ha. Never-mind that you could’ve used this to cheese him out of a contract. He can’t believe you’ve held such an Ace up your sleeve and did not use it once.
“Fascinating. You had the perfect loophole and chose not to exploit it.” He exhales, somewhere between impressed and irritated. “I don’t know whether to applaud your restraint or question your judgment.”
Jade just found out your dirty little secret. He always had an inkling that you were hiding something from him. Yet the sense he got was unlike that of debtors intentionally fabricating stories. To him, a name is but a string of letters. Although this is good to know for when binding matters are concerned.
“I had wondered what you were withholding.” Jade chuckles into his closed fist. “But I must admit, I did not expect it to be something so straightforward.”
Floyd gets your last name and then instantly forgets it. Kidding! Does it really matter, when your last name is going to be ‘Leech’ anyway? For a long time he assumed you didn’t have one and was already content with sharing. Your first name is interesting. He thinks Crowley sucks for making an entire campus call you by somethin’ you’re not…but to Floyd, you’re always going to be ‘Shrimpy’. (He uses your given name often later on. Azul is Azul. Jade is Jade. When the time comes, you will be yourself too.)
“Hehe, that’s so weird. I thought you just didn’t have one, like a stray or somethin’.” Floyd grins, leaning closer. “Your last name’s gonna be Leech soon anyway, so who cares?”
Kalim feels guilty. Like the kind of guilt that gets passed down six generations. Despite his large family, he's made an effort to learn the names of all his siblings and cousins. Yet he's been addressing the literal love of his life as a pronoun?! You might think it's hilarious but this sweet summer child has an existential crisis. Naturally he'll laugh it off if you do, but it's like he's 16 again and there are important things about the people he cares about flying over his head. For the next week, expect him to overuse your name. Although, he is a bit sad. He's called you 'Yuu' for so long and he can't exactly forget how much love was poured into each time he spoke it. He still calls you Yuu sometimes out of habit, catches himself, then laughs it off, switching back and forth without much care.
“Wait—so I’ve just been calling you the wrong name this whole time?!” He laughs, a little too loud to sound natural. “No way — say it again, we can start over! Hi, I'm Kalim 'Al Asim. It's nice to meet you!”
Jamil is wondering how you've managed to survive this long. He knows for a fact that you've been to the doctor. Mainly because it was his butt seated in the waiting room with the same six shoddy pop-songs stuck on loop for two hours. Pure torture but necessary since you apparently had to be forced there. So just...why didn't you correct him when filling out forms back then? Better yet, why didn't you correct him at literally any point in time? It's been four years. Even if you were apprehensive at first for very valid reasons....seriously? This is how he finds out? He's honestly impressed you can keep a secret, considering you text him about eggshells in your cake or when someone sneezed a fart during class. Someone...help him.
“Four years.” He exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’ll tell me every minor detail of your life, but this is what you decide to keep to yourself?”
Epel does a spit take. You’ll need to request a new, laminated copy, alongside a change of shirt. This one’s been drenched in apple juice and crumpled from when he all but snatched the papers from your hands. Subtly be damned — you mean to tell him he’s been simpering and whimpering over the wrong name for four long years? What if he got it tattooed on his blastcycle?! Or carved into a ring box, huh?! Ah. No. He wasn’t going to do that. Forget everything he just said! Hells…if he wasn’t close to graduating too, he’d take the detention just to tell Crowley off. How the heck could you let this sort of thing go!
“What do you mean that ain’t your real name?!” He coughs, then wipes at the mess on his shirt with a horrified look. “Hells, I knew Crowley was negligent, but this is ridiculous. You’re lucky I’m tryin’ not to get detention, else I ought to go have a word with 'im myself."
Rook cannot believe there was something about you that he did not know. He resigned the knowledge of your last name to time and convenience — but to mistake your first? The revelation is both a thrilling miracle and an utter travesty! The mere thought that you haven’t spoken your own name in four years? Oh, you know his heart is shattered when not a word of purple prose escapes him. Yet he cannot sulk. No. The name ‘Yuu’ is still so special. It is the name that dots every love letter, every thought, every passion that has consumed him for four years. He welcomes your birth name as the dawn of a new era, seeing you as a vibrant blossom finally in bloom within Twisted Wonderland.
"Je te vois, mon cher, and yet there was still a part of you I had not known.” He closes his eyes for a moment, almost savoring the revelation. “A secret so intimate, so tenderly kept, and now at last revealed to the one who adores every facet of you.”
Vil loses his decorum for a brief moment. The documents are plucked from your hands, his unoccupied one grasps your bicep so that you don’t just run off on him. He points to the nearest chair and makes you sit while he skims through all of NRC’s paperwork. Your personal details are not his business and Vil is all for privacy…but he honestly has no idea what you were thinking. You do understand that you have the right to stand up for yourself, yes? Even if you wished to keep being called ‘Yuu’ — which based on your story, he assumes is false, did you not think to tell your lover? It seems a discussion about confidence is due…and an aspirin. Maybe two.
“Even if you tolerated it, why would you not correct me?” His eyes narrow slightly. “Confidence is not optional, especially when it concerns your own identity.”
Idia short circuits. His palms are moister than they get after a 24hr code jam. Not even the time crunch of a same-day deadline can get him like this. He really is the worst boyfriend in existence. Not only did it take years for you to receive proper documentation — y’know, proof of your existence so you can’t just go ‘poof’ on him someday? But to be called something like ‘Yuu’ which he is realizing in real time is just ‘You’. Wow. That’s so messed up. Why are you with him? Why didn’t you correct him? Why didn’t he think to check your stats before? Holy shit. Keyboard smash in his chest and everything.
“W-Wait—so ‘Yuu’ is literally just… ‘you’?” He stares at you like his brain just blue-screened. “How did I not catch that? I’ve min-maxed entire RPGs but couldn’t fact-check my own relationship? — god, what is wrong with me?!”
Malleus wanes as if his entire world has been flipped upside down. You were his first friend. His first and last love. Yet he cannot be remiss with you for holding your name close to your heart. He did the same when you first met, after all. Except Malleus’ ruse lasted some months while yours has held strong this entire relationship. Malleus cannot believe he’s been completely in the dark for four years. What bothers him most is that you may have gone forever without sharing this with him. Names are bonding for fae. Did you intend to bind yourself to his one day, but not allow him to do the same? Don’t bother checking the weather forecast. A monsoon is on the way with three days of heavy rain.
“Ah… I see.” He studies you with a look steady, almost aching. “Your name is not a small thing, child of man. It is a part of you, and I wish I had been worthy of cherishing it sooner.. You need not fear giving it to me now. Whether you are called by the name this world gave you or the one you were born with, I will always know exactly who stands before me.”
Lilia plays it in good fun. Anytime someone asks after ‘Yuu’, he plays dumb. Even if you’re right there. One of his little students asks about his partner? Oh, sorry dearie. They’re not around anymore but have you met my new sweetheart? Then he introduces you by your given name, and suddenly you have to explain to a class of five year olds that their teacher is a jerk who will not be getting the lunch you’ve come to drop off. Lilia’s another one who doesn’t hold himself too harshly for not knowing. Names hold power, yes. Although he’s begun to accept that one such as ‘Vanrouge’ can be desired, even though it is stained in unfathomable amounts of blood. He is just waiting for you to accept it.
“If it makes you feel better, I shall pretend to be scandalized for your sake.” He grins, utterly delighted. “But between us, dearie? I rather like that I can get to know you all over again.”
Sebek deems this as a betrayal. You could point out to him that for the first year you both spent together, he hardly used your name at all. You corrected him for calling you ‘human’ countless times back then and yet he never listened until reality slapped him in the face. Even now he still relapses on occasion, to which he apologizes. Except that reminder would only serve to upset him further. Sebek expects you to hold him at the highest regard. Even if the entire world calls you ‘Yuu’ and you were okay with it, as your partner it is his responsibility to ensure you are not just satisfied, but comfortable. Uplifted. Your name is your legacy. Wear it with pride.
“You should have corrected everyone immediately!” He’s already halfway to pacing. “No, do not look at me like that. This is a matter of honor, as your true name is part of your dignity. You will not be forced to wear a name that is not yours if I have anything to say about it."
Silver is overcome with a deep sense of melancholy. For most of his life, he went without a last name. Which is why seeing ‘Vanrougue’ written next to his person is still an adjustment. A fond one, but an adjustment nonetheless. Yet this overwhelming sensation is actually attributed to the fact that with the name ‘Vanrouge,’ it was like the world finally recognized him. He wonders how you must have felt to be given a new name in a new place and thrust into this new life. ‘Yuu’ is just one piece of who you are. He wants to know the person behind your true name. To see all of you.
“I see.” His expression turns thoughtful, a little sad around the edges. “Then you have been carrying a name that was never fully yours while building a life around it. I understand a little of that feeling. Having my name finally given to me is what made the world feel real. I wonder if it feels the same for you now."
Your hazy eyes had been glued to the plain white ceiling for way too long. Your body had gone completely limp from the waist down; a result of staying in warm water for too long and Yelan's hydro ropes keeping your legs suspended in the air. Not that you were complaining or anything.
Having your beloved feast on your pussy like it was her last meal and seeing galaxies everytime a waterfall cascaded all over her face was a blessing from the Archons themselves.
You were lucid enough the first time, but then the rest blurred together as you lost count. Once, twice, thrice... your mind was foggy and your system felt drained.
But just when you thought you couldn't go any further, Yelan's tongue would coax another orgasm out of you. And back into the spiral of pleasure you'd go...
"Mhm... you taste like heaven, my dear." Yelan purred as she lifted her head, lips glistening with your fluids. "Oddly refreshing too. Perhaps I should settle for this instead of my usual morning coffee..."
She was about to descend once more so, you used what little strength you had left to softly squeeze your thighs around her head.
"N-ngh... break... please." You whimpered. Another minute of this and you'd be floating in sub-space. But if it wasn't for exhaustion pushing your body to its limits, you'd let her rail you into next week.
Yelan was quick to undo the ropes with a snap of her delicate fingers, allowing you to collapse in her arms with all the elegance of a ragdoll. She didn't neglect to press a lingering kiss to your temple, hands sliding behind your back to massage away any sore spots.
"As you wish, little raindrop. But think about my offer... I know I will."
Jeff has never known softness. Never knew a gentle hand, only ever been trained to bite and bark as loudly as he possibly can. At the same time, he learned how to blend in with the crowd enough to not garner unwanted attention, just enough so he can go on about his day and then kill when the night sets.
But the moment you stepped into his life, something... shifted. And suddenly he's sitting on top of your kitchen counter, arguing with you about a stupid TV show. At the next moment, he's standing under a shower towering over your vulnerable, naked form. Your trust, your life handed undeservingly to him. But he doesn't realize he's also in there with you, just as exposed.
In every blood splatter, in every crevice that he strikes his blade into, he finds a pulsing warmth in the madness. A guiding light, one that is shaped like you. He can never get rid of your scent clinging to his clothes underneath all that copper and grime. You, his safe haven.
But there are times where that safe haven flickers like a faulty bulb and he's back in the darkness of his room. He's back to looking at the deep end, wondering 'what ifs'.
What if this is some sick prank life is playing on him? What if he has actually gone insane and you're nothing more than a figment of his imagination? What if you never really loved him?
Then he wakes up and you're still there. He wakes up and you still kiss his wounds no matter how many times he has pushed you away. He wakes up and you love him like he has never done wrong.
He never thought he'd become like one of those guys who's obsessed with their partners. He never thought he'd end up sitting on the edge of your bathtub, watching you do your nightly skincare routine while he has a facemask of his own.
Jeff has never known softness until now, and he doesn't plan on letting go.
I got a bit nostalgic watching saint seiya recently. It was my first favorite anime and the first fandom I joined. I hope it get the popularity it deserves soon.
So It got me thinking....how would a knight survive in twisted wonderland?
Time to write!! If my fever dont kill my inspiration first 🥲
The boy had fallen, fallen down, into the twisted bowels of the Abyss.
How long he walked he knew not, and all he could do was put one trembling step in front of the other, until he saw an incredible sight before him.
A pale figure, standing serenely by the cooling remains of a monster slain.
And so it came to be that the paths of the lost boy Ajax and the wandering puppet Kunikuzushi intersected.
intro to my abyss au about kunikuzushi and ajax meeting in abyss
Disclaimer: This post is partly a style guide for myself, and not all nicknames will be a 1-1 translation. I’ve included the romaji for your reference (excluding Rook’s list). This list is also incomplete.
Rook’s Nicknames
Himself → Le chasseur d’amour
Yuu → Trickster
Grim → Monsieur Fuzzball
Riddle → Roi des Roses
Ace → Monsieur Heart
Deuce → Monsieur Spade
Cater → Monsieur Magicam
Trey → Chevalier des Roses
Leona → Roi des Lions
Jack → Monsieur Tough Guy
Ruggie → Monsieur Dandelion
Azul → Roi d’Effort
Jade → Monsieur Mastermind
Floyd → Monsieur Kills for Thrills
Kalim → Roi d’Or
Jamil → Monsieur Multi-Skilled
Vil → Roi du Poison, Beautiful Vil
Epel → Monsieur Cherry Apple
Idia → Roi de Ta Chambre
Ortho → Monsieur Doll
Malleus → Roi des Dragons
Silver → Monsieur Sleepyhead
Sebek → Monsieur Crocodile
Lilia → Monsieur Curiosity
Neige → Roi de Neige
Floyd’s Nicknames
Yuu → Little Shrimpy (Koebi-chan)
Grim → Baby Seal (Azarashi-chan)
Riddle → Little Goldfish (Kingyo-chan)
Ace → Crabby (Kani-chan)
Deuce → Little Mackerel (Saba-chan)
Trey → Sea Turtle (Umigame-kun)
Cater → Sea Bream (Hanadai-kun)
Leona → Sea Lion (Todo-senpai)
Jack → Sea Urchin (Uni-chan)
Ruggie → Sharksucker (Kobanzame-chan)
Kalim → Sea Otter (Rakko-chan)
Jamil → Sea Snake (Umihebi-kun)
Vil → Betta Fish (Beta-chan-senpai)
Epel → Guppy (Guppy-chan)
Rook → Seagull (Umineko-kun)
Idia → Firefly Squid (Hotaru Ika-senpai)
Ortho → Sea Angel (Clione-chan)
Malleus → Sea Slug (Umiushi-senpai)
Silver → Jellyfish (Kurage-chan)
Sebek → Crocodile (Wani-chan)
Lilia → Flapjack Octopus (Mendako-chan)
Crewel → Beakfish (Ishidai-sensei)
Trein → Red Squid (Akaika-sensei)
Vargas → Lobster (Lobster-sensei)
Sam → Seahorse (Umiuma-kun)
Vil’s Nicknames
Pomefiore 1st years → Fresh potatoes (Shin-jaga)
Epel → Baby potato (Ko-jaga)
Ace → Fresh potato 1 (Shin-jaga 1-gou)
Deuce → Fresh potato 2 (Shin-jaga 2-gou)
Sebek → Cucumber (Kyuuri)
Leona’s Nicknames
Yuu → Herbivore (Soushoku doubutsu)
Riddle → Red Young Master (Akage no bocchan and Akai bocchan)
Azul → Octopunk (Tako-yarou)
Idia → Radish sprout (Kaiware daikon)
Malleus → Young Master (Obocchama), Lizard (Tokage), Monster (Bakemono)
Other
Ramshackle
Grim often refers to Yuu as his henchman. (Kobun)
Yuu’s nickname for Malleus is “Mr. Horns” (Tsuno Tarou)
Heartslabyul
Ace often teases Deuce by calling him “Mr. Goody-two-shoes” (Majime-kun)
Deuce refers to all his seniors by their last names.
Cater calls himself Cay-kun.
Cater adds “-chan” to all 1st years’ first names except Jack (-kun).
SUMMARY: He wanted to take advantage of that collaboration with Foothill Town to have a date with you. However, someone unexpectedly joins you, but that doesn’t stop him from surprising you in the end.
CHARACTERS: Jack Howl x Reader
TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Newly Dating; Flirting; Kiss
WARNING: Spoilers from Jack SSR La Bonbonnière
WORD COUNT: 3.060 words
COMMENTS: This was written before the cards were released on the English server, so I based it on @mysteryshoptls translations. And @ Valkyriii on youtube. You can read here the translated Vignette and Voice Lines.
This was also written as a supplement to the vignette’s story, therefore some parts that are identical are summarized.
And this new fanfic series is my way of celebrating 6K Subscribers. Thank you so much! ❤️
VIGNETTE CONTEXT: A collaborative project between Foothill Town and Night Raven College that aims to promote potential places to visit on Sage’s Island involves asking the birthday student to select an outfit that catches his eye from one of the options provided by the town’s tailor, and showcase a place on the island he would recommend.
You were chosen to film him in his new outfit, presenting the place he chooses and explaining why he likes it. The long-standing pâtisserie, Bonbon Recette, will also have a birthday cake prepared for him.
RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Jack is a low-profile type of guy, and you two just recently started dating. He wants to take things slowly, and the fewer people who know about you two for now, the better; it will give you both more comfort in navigating your new relationship.
He also made sure from the beginning that you knew he has absolutely no shame about you or your relationship; in fact, he's quite proud of it. He just doesn't want anyone to bother you or him.
“I have to showcase something on the island, huh…” Jack says, walking with you down the Main Street of Night Raven College. “Can’t say I really know anything ‘bout taking pictures or videos, but I’m gonna make sure I get this done perfectly, since I gotta! You’re supposed to be my assistant today, right? I'd rather not bother you with this, but I'm glad to have you with me.”
“It wouldn't be any bother at all, Jack.” You say. “I already told you, I enjoy being with you and helping. If they hadn't given me this work, I would have volunteered anyway.”
“Heh heh. I sometimes forget how stubborn you can be. Not in a bad way, tho.”
“Tail.” You let him know.
He immediately tries to stop wagging his tail so much. You know that if someone is going to notice that his tail is happily wagging, he'd rather it be you pointing it out than someone messing with him about it.
“Thanks...”
“It's a shame.” You comment. “It's always so cute when that happens.”
“I don't mind if you see it. I just don't like anyone else seeing it. Anyway, guess the first thing is to go pick out my outfit for the day. If you have any thoughts, just tell me.”
Already in Foothill Town, at the tailor's Sewing Room, you help Jack choose his birthday outfit. He himself says that he doesn't understand anything about fashion and clothing combinations, so he ends up asking your opinion many times.
“Oh. How about this jacket?” Jack picks up a light brown one. “The sides are made outta different material, so I bet it’d be easier to move around in it, and it doesn’t look that bad, either… I think…”
You approve of his choice, and you see his tail start wagging.
“Oh good, I feel a bit more confident when you say that. I'll just try and find some shoes that go well with it too. Leather shoes would probably be the best choice. What do you think of these black ones? I don’t really know what’s appropriate or stylish, or any of that other fashion-y stuff, but black goes well with anything, pretty sure. Mm, these look sorta similar to the shoes I wear when I’m in my school uniform, so they don’t really feel special to wear…”
“I think they’re fine.” You say, even though you're not so sure about it.
“Let's try matching them with the jacket in front of the mirror... Hmm, I guess it’s not too bad.” But then he looks at your face, staring at the combination. “…You’re just dying to say how boring they look, ain'tcha!? Hmph, I can tell just from lookin’ atcha.” He looks at you a little upset.
“Aw, don't be mad. I just wanted to see how it would look first. Sorry.” You look at him with puppy eyes.
“OI! Don't come at me with’at!” He crosses his arms, but his ears droop, disarmingly. “Just you wait, I’m gonna pick something better.”
“Boots might look cooler.” You suggest.
“Boots? I feel like that’d be a little too casual for this… But I guess I can try it on for size.”
You look around and find a pair of brown and black boots to give him to try on. He puts them on and looks at himself in the mirror.
“...Oh, this actually works. It goes well with my clothes, and it’s actually easier to walk around in than it looks. Hey, you might actually have a knack for this kinda stuff.” He smiles and his tail starts wagging again. “That must be why you always look so beautiful.” He says it without thinking, but as soon as he realizes what he just said his tail stops wagging, his ears droop, and he blushes slightly as he puts his hand to the back of his neck.
“And even though you say you don't know anything about clothing combinations, I can't remember a single day when I haven't thought you looked handsome.” You smile.
His tail started wagging again, but he remained somewhat embarrassed.
“I've done a ton of research in magazines and online...” Jack says, and steps out from behind the fitting room curtain to show you the clothes he's chosen. He was wearing the light brown coat with a black sweater underneath, brown and black boots, and trousers with a crocodile-skin-like pattern. “How's this? I think I manage to pull it all together pretty well, don't you?” He smiles confidently at you.
“It looks so good on you.” You say.
“Yeah, I think I like this combo too.” His tail wags. “Thanks for your help. ...hm? Why are you looking at me like that?”
You were admiring the sight of him in his new outfit with a smile.
“Like I said, those clothes look good on you. I'm just admiring the view.”
He blushes and his tail wags faster, though his ears droop slightly in embarrassment.
“Why...” He puts his hand on the back of his neck. “ Why do you have to be so direct all of a sudden?”
“I mean, we're dating. There's no reason not to say so when I think my boyfriend looks handsome. Unless you're not comfortable with it.”
“No! That's not what I... I'm just... n-not used to it yet. But you're right. There's no reason why two people who are dating shouldn't compliment each other.” He puts his hands on his hips, assuming a slightly more confident posture, but not his most confident one. “You look very beautiful yourself. I was really happy when I saw you dressed like this for my birthday. Um... W-was it for my birthday or for the video?”
“I'm not the one who's going to appear in the video. Of course it's for you.”
He smiles so sweetly at you and wags his tail so fast that he hits a bench and almost knocks it over, but he catches it before that happens. You laugh and comment on how cute he is.
“Heh heh. Not as cute as you.” He says with a confident smile and attacks you with a hug, showering your face with kisses like an enthusiastic puppy.
“Alright, let’s head into town.” He says after breaking the hug. “And for the shoot that’s coming up... I'll be counting on you.”
You two walk through the streets of Foothill Town. You still don't know where Jack wants to take you for the video, but you enjoy the walk beside him.
“Guess it’s not too bad to take a leisurely walk once in a while. Especially with you.” He timidly and discreetly brings his fingers closer to yours. You intertwine your hand with his and he smiles affectionately. “There’s leaves all over the ground that it really feels like fall, huh.” He continues to chat casually, while gently stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. “There’s folks who’ll take the bus or ride a broom into town, but I usually run in as part of my training. Since I’m gonna be out and about anyway, it’d be a waste to not use my time wisely and work on myself, too. It’s also pretty good training to run with ankle weights strapped to my legs... Oh, we’re here.”
You stop in front of a repair shop. From smartphones to appliances, they’ll do repairs and maintenance on all sorts of stuff, just like the sign says. Jack talks about taking an old watch there, given to him by his father, to get it fixed and the owner did such a good job that the clock never broke again.
He looks at your intertwined hands with pity.
“It's not that I don't like feeling your hand in mine, quite the opposite, but...”
“You don't want someone who might make a big fuss about this to see it, right?” You say, understanding. “It's okay. I know you're still not comfortable with other people knowing and bothering us about it.”
“Thank you. Really. I promise that one day we won't have to hide it anymore. I'm just very grateful that you're so patient with me.” Jack looks around before bringing your hand to his lips and kissing it. He then reluctantly lets go of your hand.
Jack opens the door for you to enter first and greets the owner.
“Hm? There’s someone hiding in the shadows of the shelves over there.” He notices. “Is that… Idia-senpai?”
He approaches to greet Idia and ask if he was there for some repair service too. Of course, Idia wasn't happy about having to participate in a social interaction, but there wasn't much he could do now.
“What’re you being all shifty-eyed for...?” Jack asks. “Did you come here to get that box-looking thing in your hand repaired?”
“U-U-U-Uhh... Yeah... This is a high-voltage generator that requires a certified tech to tune it up... And I don’t have that, so...”
He also recognizes the clothes Jack was wearing and realizes that you two were there to film that collab birthday video. Idia stays in a blind spot of the camera while you're filming, but as expected, Jack is very tense during the recording.
“...That should be good enough. Let's check how it turned out. Show me the video you took, (Y/N).” He watches the video with the same expression of displeasure as you. “Hmm? ...Something feels off. I'm sure I explained everything I prepared, but...”
“LOL, look at him standing there straight-backed just repeating back memorized lines. Skippable ads’re way more interesting than that.” Idia mutters to himself in a low voice, forgetting that Jack's hearing is better than that of an ordinary human.
“WHAT WAS THAT?” Jack growls.
“Eep, he heard that from all the way over there!? Oh, my humblest apologies, forgive this poor soul who can’t ever tell falsehoods...”
But despite his sarcastic comments, Idia still managed to give instructions and advice good enough for you two to film a good video on your next attempt. Jack was so grateful for that that he invited Idia to go with you to the pâtisserie. Idia tried to refuse the offer, but Jack insisted and even grab him by the scruff and dragged him with you.
You went to Bonbon Recette, the pâtisserie where Jack's special birthday cake was waiting for him.
“They have a lot of seasonal sweets lined up.” Jack comments after sitting down with you and Idia at the table the waiter indicated, with a nice cake already there. “Oh, this must be the special cake. Looks pretty luxurious, huh.”
“Happy Birthday!” You say.
“I-I got dragged in after all...” Idia murmurs. “Great, now I can’t just not celebrate him... happybirthdayiguess...”
“All in all, that was a pretty good experience. (Y/N), Idia-senpai, thank you for everything.”
When he finally tastes a piece of the cake, he is pleasantly surprised. It was a chestnut cake with pear compote inside the cream, his favorite.
“Huh? J-Jack, your tail’s wagging a bit. Looks like that cake really hit the spot... Fweehee!” Idia comments with that mocking little smile.
“Eh? Y-You’re imagining things. It’s just a coincidence...”
Idia lets this one pass and continues eating the cake without messing with Jack any further. You all enjoy the cake and some other sweets. Some time later, Jack excuses himself to go to the bathroom, and Idia sees this as his opportunity to escape.
“H-hey, (Y/N). There's absolutely no problem with me leaving now, right?” Idia asks you with an awkward smile. “If Jack asks, just make up an excuse. Any excuse! IDC! I trust you on this.”
And so he leaves the pâtisserie, shortly before Jack returns.
“Hm? Idia-senpai is already gone?” Jack says. “When did he...? He’s way too good at slinking off. Well, I can't say that this doesn't relieve me a little.” He murmurs at the end.
“Relief? But you were the one who invited him.” You say.
“Oh, no. I wasn't talkin’ about him being here with us. I was just saying I'm relieved now because I don't have to ask him to... hm...” He gets a little embarrassed. “So, I noticed a new dessert they have here, and the waiter told me it was part of a ‘couple's experience’. So... I've been thinking about how to ask Idia to leave, but thankfully I don't need to do that anymore. Hmm... Would you like to try this dessert with me?”
“Of course.” You answer.
“Great!” Jack gets excited and his tail starts wagging, but soon he clears his throat and tries to contain himself. “He told me we have to go to a small room they have for this. Hmm... you know, to have more... privacy.” He blushes slightly.
You accept and get up to go with him to the said room.
The waiter opens the door for you, and Jack gestures for you to go in first. It was small with a quite chic decor, but strangely there was only one thing in that room: a table. The only chairs were miniature ones on top of the table, as well as miniatures of a round table and a sofa. Before you could ask if you were supposed to eat that dessert standing up, Jack says:
“Don't worry. It's all part of the experience. I'm still not sure if it's as good as they say but I think you'll enjoy it.” He smiles.
The waiter arrives with a small Mont Blanc and places it on the table. Nothing else, no cutlery, no napkins, nothing, just the dessert. Jack thanks the waiter as he leaves, closing the door and giving you privacy. Ambient jazz music also began to play from the small speakers in the corners of the room.
“They even thought about the music, huh? This should be a good thing but... I don't know why it makes me a little...”
“Shy?” You try to guess.
“I... I don't know if... um, maybe.” He rubs the back of his neck, his face flushed.
“It's okay. It just makes you cuter.”
“Oi! That kinda comment doesn't help right now, ya know?”
"I know." You laugh. "So, what now? Shall we try the dessert?"
“Yeah, but I can try it first.” Jack offers. “I want to confirm if what they told me is true and let you decide if you want to participate in this or not.”
Jack leans against the table, picks up the Mont Blanc, takes a little bite, and puts it back on the table. In the next second, he suddenly shrinks! Since he was leaning against the table and not sitting down, he ended up clinging to the edge of the tabletop, hanging there. You reached your hand under him to help him climb onto the table, even though he was strong enough to have done it himself.
“Well, it seems they weren't exaggerating about the effects of the cake.” Mini Jack says, in a voice that sounds a bit like a cartoon squirrel to you, and you can't help but chuckle. “Yeah... I imagine this is a funny view from your angle.” He concluded, slightly sullenly. “Well, you saw what it does. They say many couples have fun with this. I still don't know exactly how, but if you want to try it, the effect only lasts an hour.”
You pick up the Mont Blanc.
“WAIT! BE CAREFUL!” He quickly warns you. “You saw what happened to me. You'd better sit down at the table before trying it. You might fall when you shrink and hurt yourself if you don’t.”
You follow his advice and sit at the table. Jack's instinct was to look at that part of you, which made him blush and turn around 180 degrees. You take a little bite of the cake and put it down just in time before you shrink. Jack comes to you and helps you to your feet.
You two were now the same size as the Mont Blanc, approximately the size of a doll, and the perfect size to sit in the miniature chairs or sofa. The latter seemed more appealing to you. But before that, you look at the Mont Blanc and get an idea.
“Hey, why don't we take a picture of you with the dessert?” You suggest. “It'll make such a great photo!”
“You think so? Well, you're the photographer. And I trust you.”
He follows your instructions to sit carefully on the plate next to the Mont Blanc with the part you didn't bite into, and was still intact, facing the camera. You seem very happy with the final result.
“Did it turn out that good? Let me see.”
Jack sees the photo, but he doesn't seem to understand why you like it so much. In fact, it's an amazing photo, but you seemed to like it in a different way. He was simply happy that you were happy.
“Honestly...” He says, a little awkwardly. “I don't know what to do now. They mentioned that people were amused by this effect, but what can we do? It's not like there's any activity for us to do at this size. Apart from the photos, I think.”
“Perhaps this size was just so couples could have more privacy.” You think aloud.
“More privacy? What do you mean?”
“Why don't we just enjoy ourselves?”
You grab him by the lapel of his blazer and gently pull him with you to the sofa. He doesn't resist, he just follows you like a dog being led on a leash. You make him sit on the sofa and he almost sits on his tail because it was wagging so much. You sit on his lap and kiss his cheek, wishing him a happy birthday once again.
He looks around at the small, empty room, listening to the jazz music playing in the background, slowly realizing what you mean by privacy being part of the experience.
You were gently kissing his face when he suddenly started kissing yours back. His kisses started out soft like yours, but gradually and quickly became more passionate. Until he made you lie down on the sofa beneath him, controlling his body to be as close to yours as possible without putting all his weight on you, and kissing your face, lips, and neck like an enthusiastic dog licking its owner after holding back for so long.
If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX
Content: Established Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert
Pronouns: None
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This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries
Grim reapers reminded you of doctors. Not in the sense of saving lives, of course, but rather in the way that they allow souls brevity and helping them cross. Or perhaps it was more akin to a corporate slave with how just how many souls were expected to be ferried in one day. It did make sense, after all, there were over 150,000 deaths a day. You were unsure about how many Reapers there were, so maybe they did have to have forced overtime.
A wet, gargled cough from the bathroom stirred you from your thoughts.
You were getting off track (but also getting to the point of your inner ramblings).
Casper was like a corporate slave who was beaten on the head too hard with the capitalistic hammer, forcing him to stay quiet despite his pain. You knew that, before meeting you, he dealt with his Unbalance just fine. However, now he had you, so he should feel comfortable enough to lean on you, right? Especially when you literally had a special ability to quite easily take that taint away.
And yet, he still hadn’t come to you.
You sighed, readjusted yourself on the bed, making yourself comfortable before enacting your next move.
If he wouldn’t come to you, you’d have him come to you then.
“Casper, can you come here, please?”
Another pained noise, then shuffling. After a few minutes of nothing, he came out.
“Yes, what is it?” You schooled your face from frowning. He didn’t call you Sunshine.
He always called you Sunshine.
You opened your arms to him. “I want cuddles.”
His hand found the back of his neck, while his gaze slipped away from yours. “R-right now?”
“Yes, right now.”
He sighed. “Just for a little bit.”
Despite shying away from you for so long, his weight was still familiar (maybe a bit heavier, probably because he was really letting himself rest on you). Your fingers were able to run smoothly through his hair. He was still keeping up with his hair care routine in spite of the pain he was feeling. And the taint, it was stronger, denser, but still nothing you couldn’t handle. You allowed it to flow within you, allowing your own power to naturally cleanse it before sending back like a delicate push and pull of waves.
Once you were done, and Casper was on the brink of sleep from the lulling beat of your heart, you spoke.
“You can come to me, you know? You’re not alone anymore.”
He grabbed a fistful of the sheets, “…I know. It’s just…hard.”
“I understand that. I just wanted to remind you that you don’t have to shoulder it all by yourself.” You lifted his head off your chest. “I love you, Casper.”
A small smile graced his face. “I love you too, Sunshine.”
“I want you to love yourself as well.”
He paused, allowing his eyes to fall close. “…I’ll try harder. To love myself.”
“That’s all I ask.”
If you loved each other, you had to love yourselves. This relationship was of equal ratio, after all.
I just think he needs to rest by the lull of your heartbeat.
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