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“I didn’t realize we’d known each other for so long now…”

More EN kaeya animation! took about a month to finish but its worth it for he…

frothing at the mouth rn

A Dragon's Constitution | [Neuvillette x Reader]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, I’m real. Yes, I’m here.”

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

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

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

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

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

You cock an eyebrow at him.

“What kind of change?”

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

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

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

…

Huh?

“Here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...did he consent to this?”

Wriothesley smiles, loving how smart you are.

“Not yet, but he will.”

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

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

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

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

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

Wriothesley sighs.

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

You grin, holding your head high.

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

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

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

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

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

Which is fine. He loves a good challenge.

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

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

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

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

“Iudex Neuvillette, he…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pleased to meet you,” you simply say. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alright then, time to break out the big guns.

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

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

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

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

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

Both men look your way. You smile.

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

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

“Good! Glad that’s settled.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now, what can I assist you with?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Surprised, Neuvillette puts down the paper in his hand.

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

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

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

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

“I'll have to keep that in mind.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You may go home for the day.”

You blink, looking around for the time.

“...will you continue working?”

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

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

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

“When should I come tomorrow? 8am?”

“9am will be fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

And really, who would pass up that offer?

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright,” you respond. “Good luck.”

He cocks an eyebrow at your sentiment.

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

“Nonetheless, thank you.”

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

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

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

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

And he seems to be…for the most part.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it possible that you’re sick?”

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

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

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

A book on the history of the Dragon Authorities.

…huh.

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

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

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

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

You jump to your feet.

“Neuvillette—?!”

“Leave.”

There’s an edge to his typically calm voice.

“What—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A scent that he wants to chase after.

He closes his eyes, stopping his train of thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you not to return here.”

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

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

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

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

“I sent you away for a reason.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You unconsciously grip the door knob tighter.

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

“Me,” he responds.

His words send electricity up your spine.

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

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

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

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

A rut.

The word hits you like a train.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Run.

Run.

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

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

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

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

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

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

In fact, it will probably be painful.

Your grip on the door handle tightens painfully.

You’re scared, but—

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

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

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

“Why didn’t you leave, you—”

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

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

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

Neuvillette huffs. His breath is hot on your skin.

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

The almighty Iudex—helpless to fight his instincts.

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

“This is wrong of me…”

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

A quiet laugh leaves you.

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

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

And, of course, it does.

He takes a deep breath—

“Thank you—”

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

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

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

He is absolutely going to swallow you whole.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He pries your legs apart. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first taste of his meal.

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

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

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

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

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

You keep forgetting that he's a dragon.

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

You've never felt anything akin to this before.

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

His sharp eyes slide open, meeting yours. 

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

Then, his tongue starts to move.

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

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

He can't stop. 

He bullies your g-spot incessantly.

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

You can't control yourself.

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

“Monsieur…Neuvillette, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

The sensation has you sharply intaking a breath.

“Neuvillette, you're—”

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

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

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

Finally, you're bare beneath him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You trust that he won't hurt you.

“Ah—!” 

He slips a second finger inside of you.

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

It's all so much. 

“Neuvillette—”

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

Neuvillette very nearly growls at the sensation.

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

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

Instantly, you lose it.

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

“Neuvillette—I’m gonna—”

“Cum.” 

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

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

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

Then, he finally relents.

Sitting back, Neuvillette takes a moment to survey you. 

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

You’re ready.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…oh.

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

Speaking of—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Drunk with desire, he actually growls.

“I—”

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

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

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

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

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

Neuvillette makes a happy, yet somewhat inhuman noise.

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

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

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

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

You’ve never felt so full.

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

…then, he begins to move his hips.

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

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

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

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

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

Ah…you’re going insane.

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

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

“Ahh…”

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

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

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

And what he sees makes his heart skip a beat.

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

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

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

He’s getting close.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You did so well,” he tells you. 

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

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

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

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

“However…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pushing the door open, he heads inside.

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

The sound of a throat being cleared comes from inside.

“Come in.”

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

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

“Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The office sits in silence for a moment. 

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

Wriothesley’s eyes scan over him.

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course,” Neuvillette responds immediately.

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

Both men smile.

“She’s a good assistant, isn’t she?”

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

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

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

Wriothesley hums.

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

Neuvillette cocks an eyebrow.

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

Understanding passes between them.

“Hmm…I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

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

Kneeling down beside you, Wriothesley pets your hair.

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

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

“I shall hope for the same.”

---

YOU👏HAVE👏EVERY👏MFING👏RIGHT👏TO👏BE👏PROUD😩😤😩😤🤌🤌✨✨🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

Helping A Friend Out

cw: sub!thoma, dom!reader, gn!reader, crying, handjob, penetration, cheating (implied ayato and thoma relationship)

a/n: this is probably one of the best i’ve ever written ngl

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Thoma could feel your stare digging through his back as he talked with the Traveler and Paimon. The thought made him nervous, although he tried to regain his composure while he continued his conversation.

“Thoma, are you alright?” Paimon asked him, seeing him a bit shaken up.

“Oh, me? Of course! I’m doing just fine! What was it you wanted to ask again?” He pardoned, this time actually listening to whatever the two in front of him were saying.

Despite giving an ear, he couldn’t ignore your eyes. And when he looked over, he shivered when he saw you lick your lips as if you were undressing him with your eyes. Thoma couldn’t help but to imagine himself being rimmed by your tongue, causing him to feel a slight disturbance from under.

“Thoma! You’re not listening to Paimon at all! Hmph!”

“Excuse my friend over here, it seems he’s a bit sick. Probably overworked himself at the Kamisato’s” Your voice lingered in his ear, before he knew it, you were placing your head on his shoulder.

Moreover, what were you insinuating with your words?

Paimon gasped as the Traveler remains unbothered. “A friend of Thoma’s? He’s reaaaally nice, you know? He always gets Paimon and the Traveller discounts when he treats us to food!”

“Is that so? I guess Thoma gets paid a lot by the Kamisato’s, huh? I wonder why…” You make eye contact with Thoma, who’s feeling a bit under the weather.

“Well, duh? Thoma’s the nicest!” Paimon exclaimed, making you laugh at her words. She’s not wrong at that.

“Sorry to cut off the conversation, but I must escort him home. A sick person should stay inside, after all.”

Traveler stepped in forward as if saying that they’d be willing to help. You only left them a smile before leaving, a suspicious look being given to you by the savior of Inazuma.

The walk to your abode was silent. However, Thoma could hear his heart pounding of what’s to come when he enters. Opening the door, you urged him to go inside.

“I see that you’re the talk of the city.”

“N-No, they were just exaggerating!” He defended himself, even knowing that you probably wouldn’t believe it.

“Well, I suppose that one’s money mustn’t go to waste. After all, Ayato surely must pay a lot for a night with you.” You had him fumbled, how did you know that he had a relationship with him?

“I-It’s nothing like that.”

“No need to lie to me, Thoma. So, how much is it?”

“It’s really nothing like what you’re thinking of…” He answered once more, Thoma didn’t seem to be lying to you from your observations. You finally concluded on what he was referring to.

“So lovers then. That would make sense. Still, of course Ayato would gift such extravagant riches, wouldn’t he?”

Ayato knew that this was wrong. He shouldn’t be responding to your flirtatious manner, just because his lover was currently busy doesn’t mean that he should be participating in such affairs. But who was he to say these things when he was having such lustful thoughts of you just from earlier.

“Aah!” Your hands feeling up his crotch accidentally made him moan, head rolling back to your chest.

“It must be hard having such a busy partner, right Thoma? He’s got you all pent up like this…”

“N-No! Hmm! Aah—hah! S-Stop it, (Name)…” You now travelled to his cock already erect and leaking precum just from your slight touches. He’s touch starved, poor thing.

Thoma is quivering from your strokes, it just felt so wrong but so, so good! What were you doing this to him? “Aren’t you so unfaithful? About to cum from a friend’s hand…”

“I-I’m not!! Hn!” He stuttered out, his cock being unable to take no more of your fondling.

“Hm? Why were you already hard while talking to the traveler then? Surely, you must not think I’m a fool to not realizing that you were fantasizing about me?”

Thoma cried out holding his best not to cum from someone else than Ayato. “I-I wasn’t thinking o-of you!”

“Yes, yes. Keep lying to me, darling.”

Thoma screamed uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face as he orgasmed not to his partner, but you. Before he was able to sort out his thoughts, he fell unconscious much to your demise.

That was the first and last time that Thoma would ever swore to go near you. Unfortunately things did not go to plan as he rests on his bed alone, no one next to him to give him warmth and instead of calling Ayato, he thinks of you.

Unbeknownst to him, his feet reached your door and you gladly opened up your place to him whenever he wants.

That was when his actions became a repetition and a routine. He couldn’t even count the nights he had spent in your place.

“(Name)! Agh! M-More!” Thoma wept for you as you continued hitting his prostate, pounding against him until he drools on the bed sheets like a dog.

His walls were yours now, you’ve done it so many times it actually felt like you were a part of him and it just felt wrong for you not to be inside him.

“Mm! Aah! S-So good!”

You spank him hard, making him choke on his own moans. He unconsciously drizzled some of him cum, dripping down to his thighs as you push him to the point that he faces the wall.

“(Name), P-Please! Let m-me!” He begged you, knowing that you’d get mad at him for finishing without your permission.

“Say it then, Thoma. Say what you truly are.”

“Aah! T-Thank you! I’m a little cumslut! I’m y-your cumslut! Only yours!”

“Good boy.”

Thoma finally orgasmed, every part of his body aching as you let him fall onto the floor on his own. Streaks of his fluids showered the wall, tainting it with all of his juices. Sadly, despite how many times you two had sex, he knew it would never blossomed into something more even if he knew he was starting to fall for you.

He returned to his place alone, thighs shaking from too much pleasure that you had given him only to be surprised that Ayato was right there waiting for him.

“Where were you, love?” He was worried for his lover, tired and breathless. Did someone ask him to deliver something this late at night?

Ah, he was so kind to him.

“I was helping a friend out.”

---

menthol | hayakawa aki

— SERIES MASTERLIST.

PAIRING.  aki x bff fem!reader

LENGTH.  46.7k words  |  coauthor @akitachi

PLAYLIST.  nightdrive + sesh

SYNOPSIS.  after a string of casual dating mishaps leaves you unsatisfied, you find that the grass is greener in the front seat of your best friend’s car.

GENRE.  best friends to lovers, mutual pining bordering mutual obsession (they are down horrendous), catching feelings/getting together, not canon compliant: modern/no-devil/post-college!au

SERIES WARNINGS.  heavy adult content. this series is not suitable for minors. refer to all individual chapter warnings.

CHAPTER INDEX

join the series taglist to be notified when the series is complete  series completed 13/11/22 <3

01 | genesis (5.5k words)

SUMMARY.  stood up by your date at the last minute, you end up on a long, aimless drive with your best friend instead.

02 | elements (11.7k words)

SUMMARY.  smoking at midnight beside the lake, with the heavy rains of a summertime thunderstorm pelting the windows of aki’s car, he ruminates over the past, and you grasp at the future.

03 | blue dream (29.5k words)

SUMMARY.  reciprocated feelings come to a sudden head in a dizzying haze of frustration and desire.

view asks / discussion relating to this series here [ contains spoilers ]

---

the more i think about this book the sadder i get

what has hector ever done to me?

i hope that hector kills you. do you think i do not hope the same?

name one hero who was happy.

and perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone.

he is half of my soul, as the poets say.

in the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.

It Will Come Back

pairing - Scaramouche x f!reader (Au)

AN: This is a 3-4 part scara angst series. It does not make scara look good. If you're looking for scara comfort, this is not the series you should be reading. Reblogs are much appreciated and I would love your feedback to this :)

Word count - 5400

CW/TW: angst, insecurities, arguments/conflicts, jealousy, suggestive (nothing explicit), crying, heartbreak, mean! scara (sort of), unrequited love, hurt/no comfort

Header art credit

When he can't give you what you need but gives it oh so willingly to someone else...

PART 1 - Shatter me | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

In a dimly lit cafe, you sit across from Ayaka and Thoma, sipping at a lukewarm cup of tea. The ambiance is cozy, but the warmth of the place fails to reach you. Your gaze drifts toward the window, where raindrops streak down the glass.

"I know I should look after myself first," you confess. "But it's just... so hard."

Ayaka places a comforting hand on yours, her eyes filled with concern. "We understand, (Y/n). Living with him must be emotionally draining."

Thoma chimes in, his expression a mix of sympathy and frustration. "It sucks that you cannot change the dorm room arrangement until graduation. But at least there are only a few months left."

You nod, trying to force a smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes. "Yeah, just a few more months," you reply, sounding weary.

Ayaka leans in, her voice gentle. "You don't have to live there, you know. I know you already paid for the dorm, but you could stay with us. We have plenty of extra rooms, and Thoma already lives with us."

Ayato, who had been quiet until now, narrows his eyes and speaks with conviction. "She's right. You don't have to endure this. Come live with us. We'll take care of you."

Your heart swells with gratitude for their kindness, yet a heavy cloud of uncertainty lingers. "I appreciate it, really," you begin, "but... I don't want to run away from my problems.”

Ayato interjects gently, "I understand, but you already have a lot on your plate. The semester ends in a few months, and then you graduate. On top of that, you have reports to submit and jobs to apply for. Living under the same roof as Scaramouche is taking the life out of you."

Ayaka agrees, her eyes full of empathy. "You deserve so much better, (Y/n). Seeing Scaramouche with his new girlfriend is not something you need to experience."

Ayato adds thoughtfully, his eyes softening as he looks at you "You need to draw boundaries with him, especially concerning Miyo, she may be nice and sweet, but seeing them in what is supposed to be your safe space isn't easy on you and it isn't fair."

The weight of your situation bears down upon you, and you feel utterly exhausted, demotivated, burnt out, and mostly empty. The emotional toll of navigating an undefined relationship with Scaramouche, coupled with witnessing him move on with someone else, left you feeling like a ship adrift in stormy seas. You take a deep breath, feeling the heaviness in your chest, and reply with sincerity. "I know you all mean well, and I can't thank you enough for your support. I’ll see what I can do about it. But enough about me, what is going on in your lives?” You switch to a different topic, hoping it would distract you from your thoughts. As the rain outside intensifies, your mind drifts back to a vivid memory, a rainy day much like this one.

You had returned home from a college party; your steps unsteady from the effects of alcohol. Scaramouche, as he often did, had taken advantage of your non-confrontational nature and was munching on your leftovers, a smug grin playing on his lips.

"Hey," you slurred, your voice betraying a mix of anger and uncertainty. "That's... that's my food."

He looked up, his violet eyes meeting yours, a hint of surprise in his expression. "So what?" he retorted, feigning indifference. "You always let me have it anyway."

Your cheeks flushed with irritation, but the alcohol emboldened you, pushing you to speak up. "You can't just take whatever you want, Scaramouche! It's not fair!"

Setting the food aside, he stood up, closing the distance between you with an air of defiance. "Stop being a brat," he shot back. "It's just food."

Anger surged within you, fueled by a mix of alcohol and pent-up frustration. "I'm not a brat!" you countered; your voice tinged with indignation. "And you can't keep treating me like this!"

A tense silence hung between you, the room feeling smaller with every heartbeat. Emotions churned within you like a stormy sea, uncertain and volatile. But amidst the anger, there was something else, something magnetic and undeniable, pulling you both closer. Scaramouche's eyes bore into yours, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze, like an electric charge in the air. Your breath quickened, heart pounding in your chest, as if caught in the eye of a brewing tempest.

The storm of emotions reached its peak, and before you knew it, your lips were on his, a moment of reckless abandon and vulnerability. Time seemed to slow, the world around you fading away, leaving only the two of you entangled in a whirlwind of desire and frustration. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, and the taste of alcohol mingled with the sweetness of the rain outside. The sounds of soft moans and whispered words echoed in the room, like a melody that only the two of you could hear. The anger and frustration that had been pent up between you and him were all released through shared touches, an explosion of emotions that neither of you could resist. In the dim light of your room, his skin against yours felt electrifying, each touch igniting a fire within. It was a night of recklessness and vulnerability, a night when your world would spin on its axis, forever changing your relationship with Scaramouche.

And now, as you stand in front of your dorm room, the present looms before you like a daunting challenge. Your heart clenches with dread, knowing that the moment you step inside, you'll have to face him, the one who has become an intangible part of your life. The fear of having your heart broken anew grips you like a vice, but you know there is no escape from the reality that awaits you. Taking a deep breath, you turn the doorknob, and the room embraces you like an old friend. Yet, the warmth you once felt has been replaced by an icy chill. Your eyes dart around, seeking any sign of Scaramouche. Then, like a sharp blade, the sight of him cuddling on the couch with Miyo pierces your heart. A bowl of popcorn rests on his lap, and he playfully feeds her the kernels. The scene is so intimate, so tender, that it feels like a knife being twisted in your gut.

You force a polite smile as Miyo waves at you excitedly, her presence a constant reminder of what you lack. She invites you to join them, her friendly tone contrasting sharply with the storm of emotions swirling inside you. "We're having fun, come on (Y/n), join us. This movie is good!"

You decline her offer, offering a weak excuse of having work to do. The truth is that you can't bear to be near them, witnessing the affection he showers on her that was always reserved from you. It's not her fault, you know, but the jealousy and hurt gnaw at you nonetheless. She has everything from him that you longed for but never received.

As Miyo's face drops, you see her disappointment, and for a moment, a pang of guilt tugs at your heart. You know she means well, and her understanding demeanor only serves to amplify the turmoil within you. "Alright then, no worries. Good luck with your work," she says with a friendly smile.

Your response is curt as you mutter a quick, "Thank you," before hastily retreating to your room. The weight of emotions bears down on you, crashing into your chest like a tidal wave. You crash onto your bed, your heart heavy with pain and confusion. Three years – three long years you had been there for him, doing everything in your power to keep him happy. Yet, it now feels like you were nothing more than a convenience, a placeholder in his life until he found someone special for himself. The thought stabs at your heart, leaving a searing ache in its wake. It's not just the fact that he's moved on with someone else that hurts; it's the feeling of being forgotten, as if those three years meant nothing to him. The intimacy you shared, the emotions you poured into your undefined relationship, it all feels like a cruel joke now.

You recall the moments you spent together, the laughter, the tears, the shared experiences that bonded you. It was supposed to mean something – it was supposed to be enough. But now, it seems like all those moments were lost in the shadow of Miyo's presence. The ache in your chest intensifies as you wonder why you weren't enough for him. What did she have that you didn't? Was it her sweetness, her warmth, her ability to make him feel special? You find yourself drowning in a sea of self-doubt, questioning your worth and your place in his life. The room around you feels suffocating, the walls closing in as the weight of your emotions presses down on you. The pain of rejection, the bitterness of feeling replaced, it all swirls together into a storm of anguish that threatens to consume you.

The knock on your door startles you, and you take a moment to compose yourself before opening it. To your surprise and dismay, there stands Scara, his face contorted into a scowl. His voice carries a hiss as he demands, "What's your problem?"

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep your composure despite the turmoil inside. "Excuse me?"

Scara's anger seems to intensify as he snaps back, "Miyo has been trying to be nice to you, trying to hang out, and you keep turning her down, being very bitchy and closed off to her."

Your heart sinks, and anger bubbles up inside you. How dare he accuse you of being rude to Miyo when all you feel is the pain of seeing them together? Before you can respond, he continues, his words laced with exasperation and anger "She's going to be here often whether you like it or not because she is my girlfriend. The least you can do is be nice to her."

His words strike a nerve, and a mix of hurt and frustration washes over you. How can he be so insensitive? Doesn't he understand how difficult this is for you? You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the emotions are too overwhelming.

"I... I don't hate her," you manage to say, your voice shaking slightly. "It's just... seeing you two together... it's hard for me."

Scaramouche's scowl softens a fraction, but there's still a hint of annoyance in his eyes. "Look, I get that it's not easy for you," he mutters, his tone begrudgingly acknowledging your feelings. "But she's important to me, and I won't have you treating her like crap."

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, a mix of sadness and anger building inside you. "I'm not trying to treat her badly," you say, your voice steady. "I'm just trying to cope with everything, and it's hard for me to be around you two right now."

Scaramouche seems taken aback by the sincerity in your voice, but he quickly masks it with a defensive posture. "Well, you better figure it out," he retorts. "Because she's not going anywhere.”

It's not that you want to push Miyo away; it's just that seeing them together is a constant reminder of what you had with him and lost. You want to be happy for him, but it's hard when your heart feels like it's breaking every time you see them together. "I'll try," you say softly, the pain evident in your voice. "I'll try to be nicer, but please understand that it's not easy for me."

Scaramouche's expression softens slightly, and he lets out a sigh. "Fine," he grumbles, seeming to relent just a little. He turns to leave, and you can't help but feel a pang of sadness as you watch him go. The door closes, and you're left alone in your room, the storm of emotions still raging inside you.

You slide down against the door, your body shaking as tears and sobs break from you like a torrential downpour. Everything hurts so much. Your head feels heavy with a thousand thoughts, your heart aches with a pain you can't describe. Was Scaramouche ever this protective of you? You wonder bitterly. Probably not, you chuckle bitterly between sobs. He was always the one to roast you with insults, to chime in when his friends mocked you, to treat you like the butt of a joke. He always had a sense of superiority with everyone... everyone except her.

Miyo. The name feels like a knife in your chest. She came into his life, and suddenly everything changed. The tenderness he showed her was something you had yearned for, but he kept it locked away from you. It feels like betrayal, and the pain is unbearable. You had given so much of yourself to him, only to be tossed aside when someone new came along. As you sit there, feeling utterly broken and defeated, you can't help but question everything. Was there ever a chance for you two? Or were you destined to be the one who loved him more, while he gave his heart to someone else? The memory hits you like a tidal wave, pulling you into a painful flashback of a time not too long ago.

Scaramouche had been acting distant, colder and ruder than usual. The tension between you two was palpable, and it had finally reached its breaking point. You remember sitting in your kitchen over dinner.

"Is everything okay, Scara?" you had asked, trying to hide the nervous tremor in your voice. “You’ve been so closed off, recently.”

He stopped eating, frowning as he set his fork down. "Maybe it's time to end this… end this little charade of ours.," he said, his tone somber.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a lump form in your throat. "What do you mean?"

Scaramouche sighed, looking tired and conflicted. "I'm getting tired of us always arguing, always fighting," he admitted. "And I'm tired of you asking more from me, asking for something I can't offer you... something I don't want to offer you."

You felt your heart shatter at his words, but you refused to give up so easily. "I can be patient," you said, your voice filled with sincerity. “I am sorry, Scara. I didn’t mean to come off as pushy. I didn’t know it was affecting you like this.”

But he shakes his head, looking weary and defeated. "It's not about being ready," he says. "I think it's better for us to be just friends. You shouldn't get your hopes up."

Your heart clenches at his words, panic rising within you. You can't bear the thought of losing him, of going back to being just friends when your feelings for him are so much more. "Scara, you can't be doing this," Desperation laced in your voice. "Not now, not when I'm in love with you."

He looks away, unable to meet your gaze. "That's precisely why I can't allow this to continue," he murmurs. In that moment, it felt like your world was crumbling around you. The dinner you had prepared with so much love and hope now lay untouched on the table. He threw the rest of the food in the trash can, as if symbolizing the end of something beautiful yet broken.

You tried to hold back the tears, the pain of rejection and heartbreak too much to bear. You had given so much of yourself to him, and now he was pushing you away, leaving you feeling abandoned and lost. "I don't want to lose you," you said, your voice quivering. "I can't imagine my life without you."

He stood up, and you reached out, as if trying to hold on to him, to keep him from slipping away. As Scaramouche harshly pulls away, you can feel the sharp pain of rejection cutting through you. "I can't deal with this right now," he says angrily, his voice cold and distant. "I need to go."

You stand there, your arms still reaching out for him, but he doesn't look back as he leaves the dorm room, leaving you by yourself to deal with your breaking heart. The tears spill freely from your eyes as the reality of the situation sinks in. The one person you had poured your heart and soul into, the one who had once been so dear to you, had now become a stranger, cold and indifferent.

As you sit in front of your laptop, the memories of that painful night still haunt you. You try to focus on your reports, hoping that burying yourself in work will numb the pain, but it's no use. The ache in your heart is still there, a constant reminder of what you had lost. You remember how he said he would prepare his own meals from now on, how he told you not to wait on him anymore. It felt like he was trying to erase every trace of your connection, as if he wanted to forget that you had ever been a part of his life. The pain is heavy, and the weight of it feels suffocating. You wonder if it will ever end, if you will ever be able to move on from this heartbreak. Graduation feels like a distant hope, a glimmer of light in the darkness of your emotions. The pain is raw, the wounds still fresh, and you wonder if you will ever find the strength to heal. You wish for a reprieve from the anguish, for a way to escape the constant ache in your chest. In the midst of your turmoil, you find solace in the thought that someday, somehow, you will find the strength to mend your broken heart. Until then, you take each day as it comes, hoping that with time, the wounds will heal, the pain will lessen and maybe, just maybe, he will come back to you.

----------------------

In the dimly lit living room, Scaramouche returned to the couch, his eyes meeting Miyo's curious gaze. She snuggled against his chest as they continued to watch the movie, her warmth and presence grounding him. She was a comforting balm to his troubled soul, someone who seemed to understand him in ways he had never thought possible. The guilt of his recent confrontation with you still lingered, but he pushed it aside for the moment, trying to focus on the joy he found in Miyo's company.

"Is everything okay?" Miyo asked softly, her voice carrying genuine concern.

Scaramouche's gaze softened as he looked at her, a small smile gracing his lips. "Yeah, everything's fine," he reassured her. "Just had to discuss something about some bills with (y/n)."

Miyo nodded, accepting his answer without pressing further. She snuggled closer against him, finding comfort in his embrace. Scaramouche couldn't help but feel lucky to have found her. She was a beautiful soul, intelligent, confident, and kind. Despite knowing the truth about his royal heritage, she treated him like any other person, never letting his status define their relationship. (Y/n) didn’t treat you any differently as well, idiot. A voice in his head spoke. He pushed it away, trying to focus on the present, on the happiness he found with Miyo. But guilt gnawed at him, wondering if he had been too harsh on you earlier. He recalled the way you looked earlier. Pale, tired, with dark circles under your eyes - you seemed unwell. Had he misjudged the situation earlier? Were you not being mean to Miyo after all? Graduation was just two months away; maybe you were genuinely occupied with work.

He couldn't shake off the concern he felt for you, his thoughts wavering between the affection he had for Miyo and the lingering emotions he had for you. Scaramouche adored Miyo; she made him feel loved and understood. Yet, a part of him couldn't forget how he treated you. The thought of someone treating Miyo the way he treated you made his chest hurt. Scaramouche's mind drifted back to a time not too long ago when you had discovered the truth about him and Miyo.

It had been a few weeks since you confessed your love, and he had turned you down, leading to a growing distance between you two. He had been avoiding you, but it became difficult to do so since the two of you shared a dorm. He had met Miyo a few weeks before your confession, and he knew he wanted to see more of her. But he couldn't do that while still entangled in a confusing "situationship" with you. That's why he had to end things, for both your sake and his own.

He was careful not to bring Miyo up after he had began dating her. He didn’t know if it was out of consideration for your emotions or out of guilt but his relationship with Miyo was a well-hidden secret from you. However, he longed for Miyo to be with him. He thought you would be at the supermarket where you part-timed, not returning until late in the night. So, he had invited Miyo over to your shared dorm, hoping to spend some time alone with her. The two of them were making out in the kitchen when you unexpectedly walked in. The shock on your face was unmistakable, as if you had just witnessed a murder. Scaramouche quickly pushed Miyo away, and she straightened herself, apologizing to you.

"I-I'm sorry," Miyo stammered, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

You stood there, silent for a moment, before finally speaking in a barely audible voice. "What is going on?"

Scaramouche cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. "Miyo, this is (y/n)," he introduced you with an awkward gesture. "And (y/n), this is Miyo... my girlfriend."

The sparkle in your eyes immediately diminished as you tried to process this information. Scaramouche noticed your breaths became shallow and short as your eyes shifted between him and Miyo.

"Girlfriend..." you whispered, almost as if testing the word on your tongue.

The atmosphere in the room turned heavy as he noticed your lips quiver. Miyo knew about you, about the situationship. Scaramouche had no secrets with her. "I... I'll just go to my room," you managed to say, your voice trembling. "I... I forgot my wallet."

With that, you rushed to your room, and Scaramouche watched as you quickly reemerged, dashing out of the dorm in a hurry before he could say anything. He felt a pit forming in his stomach realizing that he had hurt you. Scaramouche knew he had to make amends somehow, but he also understood that it might be too late.

“I should head home,” Miyo speaks placing a reassuring hand on his chest. “I know you are worried about her. I am too. This wasn’t the best way for her to find out.” She sighed. “We need to give her some time and space to process this. Be nice to her, okay?”

Scaramouche nodded and kissed her softly on the lips. “You’re just amazing, you know that? To think of her even in a situation like this.” He tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear.

In that moment, as Miyo placed a reassuring hand on Scaramouche's chest, he felt understood in a way he hadn't expected. Her understanding and concern for you showed him the depth of her empathy and kindness. Any doubts he had about her over you vanished away, replaced by a newfound appreciation for the woman in his arms. With her understanding and support, the uncomfortable pit that had formed in Scaramouche's stomach began to ease. He knew he could count on Miyo, not just as a girlfriend but as a true companion who would stand by him through thick and thin.

As the movie came to an end, Miyo had fallen asleep, snuggled against him. Scaramouche couldn't help but chuckle at how adorable she looked, her peaceful expression bringing a sense of calm to his heart. He placed a tender kiss on top of her head, feeling a mix of love and protectiveness toward her. Graduation season was upon them, and it had been a challenging time for all of them. He knew Miyo was working hard, juggling her studies and other responsibilities. In contrast, Scaramouche felt a sense of privilege, knowing that his path was set as a prince of Inazuma, despite his strained relationship with his mother, the queen. Graduation was supposed to mark a new beginning, a fresh chapter in their lives, but for Scaramouche, it felt more like a burden, a heavy cloak of expectations and obligations he had to carry. He couldn't help but wonder if he was truly ready for the responsibilities that awaited him as a prince. Despite his achievements and his position, there was always a sense of disappointment from his mother, the queen, which weighed heavily on him.

He knew that he had a responsibility to fulfill, but in that moment, with Miyo by his side, he felt a sense of solace. She was the one who made him feel like he could be himself, without the burden of expectations. Miyo saw him for who he truly was and accepted him, flaws and all. Scaramouche felt a deep gratitude for having her in his life, especially during times of uncertainty and pressure.

Scaramouche's senses were heightened as he heard the door to your room creak open, the sound like a haunting echo in the quiet space. You had been skittish ever since the day you discovered Scaramouche and Miyo in the kitchen, and he couldn't help but notice how seldom you were in the dorm lately. You would leave early in the morning and return late at night, prompting his concern for your well-being. He often wondered if you were getting enough sleep or if something else was troubling you.

He knew you weren't alright. Your weary appearance betrayed the emotional turmoil you were going through. Without making a sound or drawing too much attention to yourself, you walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out a carton of milk. Scaramouche inwardly cursed himself, realizing that he had run out of milk and had used your supply to make Miyo hot chocolate. He had planned to replace it with a new carton tomorrow, but now it seemed like a careless oversight.

Seeing you sigh and throw the empty carton away, he mumbled an apology to you, hoping to ease the tension between you. "I'm sorry about the milk," he said, his voice soft and sincere.

You looked at him, and he noticed the tear tracks on your cheeks, causing a pang of guilt to shoot through him. He tried to brush it off, attempting to maintain a sense of normalcy. "It's just milk, (y/n)," he said, attempting to downplay the situation. "No need to be so dramatic about it. I’ll buy you some more tomorrow, okay?"

But the emotions he saw in your eyes told a different story. It was clear that there was more going on beneath the surface, and he wished he could reach out to you, comfort you in some way. But the weight of Miyo sleeping on his chest kept him in place, unable to move.

You quickly wiped away your tears, your eyes becoming hollow with all the emotions pooling inside them. "It's fine," you replied in a voice that cracked slightly, trying to maintain a façade of strength.

As you hurriedly rushed back to your room, he couldn't help but notice your hand gripping your stomach. Were you hungry? He had noticed that your shelves in the fridge were bare, indicating that you might not be taking care of yourself properly. As he sat there, still holding Miyo in his arms, the weight of the situation weighed heavily on his mind. He couldn't help but feel like he had let you down, and the guilt gnawed at him. Scaramouche knew that he needed to address the situation, to find a way to talk to you and make amends, but the fear of rejection and the complexity of his feelings held him back.

Despite not being together anymore, Scaramouche couldn't help but feel a lingering fondness for you. He missed talking to you, sharing inside jokes, and having spicy meals together where he would laugh at your expense as you danced around due to the heat of the food. There was a sense of comfort and familiarity with you that he had grown accustomed to, and it frustrated him that you wouldn't accept what he offered to you – friendship. In his mind, he couldn't understand why you were so stuck on the notion of loving him and having him love you back. It was unfair to him, he felt, as he had made his intentions clear from the start. He never wanted to give you the place that Miyo now held in his heart. He wasn't sure why he couldn't reciprocate your feelings, but he knew that it wasn't something he could force. He couldn't understand why you held onto that hope, even when he had rejected you.

Maybe it was because of your uncertainty. Scaramouche couldn't help but notice that you never seemed to decide anything for yourself. Your lack of self-esteem also played a role; you didn't seem to value yourself as much as you deserved. How could you expect him to love you when you placed your worth so low? The constant arguments between you two weighed on his mind as well. They always ended with you in tears, and it left him feeling drained and frustrated. Miyo, on the other hand, brought ease and stability to his life. She was confident, knew what she wanted, and had a clear goal in life - to become a diplomat in the Inazuma court. In contrast, he couldn't help but feel that you lacked direction and purpose. You never seemed to have a plan or a clear vision for your future. It made him question whether a long-term relationship with you would have been sustainable.

While he respected your opinions and advice, he couldn't help but feel weighed down by the constant nagging. You would urge him to study harder, to work towards proving himself, even though everything seemed to be already set for him as a prince. While he complained about how disappointed his mother was with him, instead of agreeing, you would encourage him to communicate with her. It felt like you were pushing him, never letting him be by himself. It was hard to let go of the hurt and frustration, but at the same time, he couldn't help but miss the connection you once shared. He wished things could have been different, that you could have been the person you needed you to be – a friend.

Scaramouche carefully picked up Miyo in his arms, cradling her gently as he carried her to his room. He walked with soft, measured steps, mindful not to wake her from her peaceful slumber. As he passed through the living room, his foot accidentally knocked over a pile of unread mail, scattering envelopes across the floor. His eyes caught sight of a particular envelope, distinct from the others. It was from Mondstadt, and it bore your name on it. The sight of it caused a pang of curiosity to stir within him, but he hesitated to pick it up. He knew that mail was private, and he shouldn't intrude into your personal space.

Without thinking much of it, Scaramouche walked towards his room, still holding Miyo in his arms. He placed her gently on the bed, making sure she was comfortable and covered with a blanket. She sighed softly, settling into a deeper slumber. Scaramouche climbed into bed beside Miyo, wrapping his arms around her as he pulled her close. He found solace in the warmth of her body and the steady rhythm of her breathing. In that moment, as he lay beside her, he pushed aside the thoughts of you. He chose to focus on the present, on the love and comfort he found with Miyo.

Next

AN: my dumbass forgot to let y’all know to let me know if you want to be in a tag list for this series 😭

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i def already reblogged this... WHO CARES ITS AMAZING really punches u where it hurts yk

#are you leaving? are you leaving me?

—how would they react if you stormed off after an argument (for the first time) and they thought you were leaving them for good? 

CHARACTERS. Aether, Albedo, Ayato, Childe, Cyno, Dainsleif, Diluc, Gorou Heizou, Itto, Kaeya, Kazuha, Scaramouche, Thoma, Venti, Xiao, Zhongli; gn! Raader

THEMES. Angst; Hurt (no or with) comfort; can be reversed comfort too; has varying intensities so there are others that has fluff/crack (im looking at you heizou and kazu)

WARNINGS. may emphasize venti’s drinking on his part 

NOTES. I was supposed to post another one but I really can’t stand not answering this request so good luck with two consecutive angst everyone~ I’ll post the other one next week! 

ZHONGLI would look rather calm, no matter how big the argument was. He normally would not let the argument go further, but today was rather stressful, even for someone like him. With all the arguments at work and also to those who would ask for his help even when he was just on his way home, and now, everything piled up and he… maybe he needed a bit of rest. 

“Let us discuss this tomorrow, beloved, I-”

However, all he heard was the sound of the doors closing, and there was no sight of you in the room.  

He sighs heavily, thinking that you probably had only gone out of the room to calm down. Of course, he only realized he was the only one in the house when he woke up and there’s still not a sight of you beside him. Startled, he stood up and found himself scavenging the entire house—could you have left him?—this thought was all in his mind but as soon as he turned to the living room, there you were, sleeping so peacefully on the couch. He heaves out a sigh immediately, kneeling in front of you, taking your hands to his and bringing them to his lips. He had never in this life felt so anxious—it had been awhile, he thinks, but maybe this was more…-

“Zhongli?” He heard you call for his name by then, but before you could fully comprehend what was happening, he was hushing at you, whispering so slowly to not awaken you any further. 

“There’s no need to wake, my love.” It’s going to be alright. 

┌───────── ·  ·  ·  · ꒰⚘݄꒱₊

XIAO and you had been arguing for the whole week. Actually, he only showed up today after being gone for three straight days. Three! And now he expects you to pretend that everything is okay? 

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THANK U FOR THIS MATEPIECE 🐜🦟🦟🕺✨🕺🫶💪🫶

Like a Moth to the Flame

Series: Avatar: The Last Airbender Pairing: Zuko x Reader Genre/Content: Not Safe For Worms - Stress relief sex, fuckbuddies, temperature play/inappropriate use of firebending, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, no pronouns really but Reader-chan has AFAB equipment Word count: 4610

Summary: You are with the Gaang at Zuko’s family’s abandoned vacation home on Ember Island. Sozin’s Comet is due to return in three days’ time. The entire squad is stressed, especially Zuko. You approach him that evening in an attempt to help him alleviate some of his tension. 

A/N: So uh, I’ve been in kind of a slump as of late, and the pandemic shit didn’t help, even though it granted me all this free time. Thank you ATLA for rekindling my old flame for Zuzu though uwu it’s a 15 year long crush, and hooo boy I’m glad I did this. I’ll be interested to see what y’all think ;;; I hope you enjoy. Read on my AO3, or continue reading below.

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・゜゜・． tell me about love (show me how) | gojo satoru

◌ wc: 7.3k ◌ summary: you teach gojo how to love.  ◌ warnings: wrote this with f!reader in mind but idt i mentioned anything specific so it should be gn as well!, descriptions of blood (typical jjk canon type stuff), shibuya onwards manga spoilers, implied minor character death, there are swears, suggestive bit at the end (but it’s funny!), lots of internal thoughts/dialogues  ◌ a/n: this piece relates to my short blurb, do you believe in love? but isn’t necessarily a sequel to it! explores a lot on gojo internal struggles and beliefs (or at least the version of gojo i envision for this universe)! timeline is a bit ambiguous because it hops through a lot of in-betweens but it’s linear for the most part! also placed my own (optimistic and probably unrealistic) predictions of how things will pan out but i don’t go too much into it! i would also like to shoutout @stellamancer for leaving such lovely comments on dybil that it actually kinda pushed me to write this longer piece connected to it!! ◌ part ii of conversations on love: i | ii

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

When Gojo has love for the taking, he makes no move to reach for it. 

It’s unusual for him to be so restrained, being born into greed and predetermined purpose—a one-man clan fated to hold power close to God. There exists a hunger within him, insatiable and stubborn, unstoppable until he gets what he wants. It’s all he’s ever known: to take and devour, simply because he can. 

Yet with this, he doesn’t. He can’t seem to. 

“I think I’ll always want to be with you, Satoru.” 

When you offer your heart to Gojo, he looks at you softly. 

You catch his eyes and see the sky, bright, with flecks of light floating on his irises like cotton clouds in its periphery. It’s different from the piercing blue you’re used to—a terrifying riptide that washes you away. 

It wasn’t intended as a confession, but Gojo always takes whatever you have to say. He commits it to memory each time; how could he not? Words that come from you flow so naturally, so earnestly that the air around you shifts all on its own.

His lips part slightly, red spatterings lining pink inner corners before they close again. He doesn’t say anything, but you know Gojo and the fingerprints of his soul—the way he bites his lips to withhold himself from speaking. 

It’s dangerous, he thinks, how you make wanting something so complicated seem so simple.

He takes a small breath, then you feel it, pressed against you—the faint signatures of his cursed energy overlaying his entirety. It tickles a little. You don’t remember the last time he put it up around you.

A million things run through Gojo’s mind for every split second he breathes, but at this point in time, he counts a million and one—one thought that if he touches you by infinity instead of his hands, he can have this good thing for now, that this is the only way how. 

And you’d think this a rejection if any, but he doesn’t move away from you, and the red blooming at the tips of his ears says more than he ever could. 

────────────

The subtle intimacy you share with Gojo grows sporadically, from knuckles brushing to pinkies touching. He stands next to you more often, a few inches closer than he used to and sometimes, still, with an infinity connecting you.

────────────

When you hold Gojo’s hand for the first time, he jolts very slightly, as if you’ve shocked him. He’s started to put his infinity down around you again, and you continue the limbo of whatever it is you both are—except this time, he’s made it clearer, just a little bit. 

It’s the last few leaves of fall and Gojo skips to an ice cream stand like a pre-schooler on early dismissal. You follow, shaking your head but smiling; he’s the only adult you know that still acts like he’s 5. 

“You’re like a horse.” you jest, stopping next to him in line.

“You’re a snail.” he huffs, side-eyeing you, like a child. 

You gasp, hitting his arm. He fake-winces, but that’s all it is; Gojo’s the strongest and you don’t know of any human touch that has managed to hurt him, except—

Yeah. Your eyes trail to the side of his neck, hidden in the shadows of his jawline; there’s really nothing, but sometimes you blink and see red, oozing, gushing, leaking—you shake away the thought.  

When he receives his ice cream cone stacked with vanilla-strawberry-vanilla and rainbow sprinkles on top, the smile on his face parallels the sun. He looks cozy, beaming against the autumn breeze blowing on his thick gray hoodie. You wonder if he feels just as warm.

(Maybe that’s why you do it, then).

Just as Gojo turns to give you the cone, you reach for his other hand tentatively, shyly. You want to give him an out if he can’t take this, but he doesn’t move. He twitches a little, like he’s been caught off guard, but that’s it. 

You catch his eyes widen briefly, just a little bit, before turning into the same soft skies frequenting them lately. 

“Sorry, is this okay?” you whisper, peering up at him. 

He stares at you for a while, his hand in yours unmoving. You leave a sliver of space between your palms, your own version of his infinity, just in case. And he takes it all in: how tiny your hand is wrapped around his, how gently you speak—how warm he feels now amidst this autumn breeze. 

“The strawberry’s really good,” he finally replies, pressing the dessert closer to you, “try it.” 

You give him one last look before you indulge in his request. Gojo’s always been good at that: pushing and pulling—pushing you away with non-answers only to pull you back in with something else. 

But he doesn’t let go of your hand, so you keep yours there, palms nearly touching. You make a point not to mention how the parts that do touch become clammy for the rest of the afternoon. 

────────────

You start to think that your relationship with Gojo is going somewhere, then he disappears (‘gets sealed’ might be the more proper term). 

His absence is deafening. You’ve all lost so much, and it hurts, but you carry on knowing full well that this is what being a jujutsu sorcerer means. There aren’t many left to fight his fight, so you do what you can to. You stay with Shoko, mostly, if not going back and forth with Utahime. And the students, the kids—you can’t even bear to think about what they’re going through. 

Nights are the hardest, when the world is quiet but your mind is loud. There are too many questions you can’t find the answers to.

What will Gojo come back to? Then the scarier thought: Will he even come back? 

You don’t want to doubt him, ever, but your mind continues to play back that day, like a final memory. The unintentional confession; his eyes like the sky. 

You don’t want it to be the last important thing you tell him. 

“I should start looking into retirement plans, like Nanamin.” you raise an eyebrow, questioning. Gojo’s never spoken this far into the future before, most especially his. 

“Work is shit now for you too?” you scoff, leaning back on the wooden ledge. 

Gojo rolls his eyes; he isn’t wearing his blindfold today. 

“Well, after I remove the old geezers and change everything, there won’t be much left to do.” 

You hum in response. He does make a point. 

“Also, Megumi won’t need me anymore,” he pouts, whining, “who else will want me around?” 

You try to hold back your laugh, wanting so badly to tell him that Megumi doesn’t even really like him around already to begin with—but you figure breaking Gojo’s heart isn’t really something you want to do if you value your peace. 

“I don’t know,” you reply, shifting your weight, “I think I’ll always want to be with you, Satoru.” 

Even now, especially now. You wish you were with him, too. 

────────────

The day you hear of Gojo’s potential return, you drop your breakfast outside the 7-eleven near Jujutsu Tech. You’re supposed to meet up with Utahime for a weekly check-in but your feet take you to Shoko, and the footsteps in your heart have never echoed louder. 

This is the first good news in a while—especially after finding out about the state of Megumi and what happened to Tsumiki, your sweet girl Tsumiki. 

When Gojo comes back, it’s like he never left. He pops out of the box joking the same way, talking the same way. He proves himself to be the strongest all the same, and when he wins—there are scars, but he wins and that fact stays the same. 

So, when you reach for his hand now and he moves away, you’re stuck wondering what’s changed. 

────────────

You let it stay that way for a while, your understanding extending to Gojo the way it always has—you don’t push, and he gives you what he can. It honestly isn’t all that bad, because at least he’s still talking to you the way he always has.

Jujutsu society is still shaken from its core. You and all who have survived bear the task of building everything from the ground up; it’s exhausting, especially since most of you are still mourning. 

Megumi’s been put in an induced coma; you understand why but it still tugs at your heart when Shoko tells you it might take a while. Everyone else has been assigned to sweep through the rest of Japan, just to ensure that any remaining curses are taken care of. 

You see Yuuji and Yuuta visit Megumi sometimes, along with Maki and Toge when they’re free. Gojo’s there pretty often too, using healing sessions with Shoko as an excuse to see the boy he’s practically raised at 17, with you. 

And while Gojo’s smiles to everyone else remain as charming as ever, you can always tell when they’re untrue. 

“Are you okay?” 

You find Gojo a little after midnight on the rooftop of the faculty building. The city always looks pretty from up here—a sea of lights reflected up on the sky. In the many years you’ve known Gojo, you notice that he always comes to places like this to think; you also know that he’s been here almost every single night since being unsealed. 

Sneaking up on Gojo is almost impossible; he senses you before he hears you, sees the familiar traces of your cursed energy through his six eyes. 

“Can’t sleep thinking about me?” he teases, looking straight ahead.

The steps you take towards him are careful, afraid of running him off like you seem to be lately. You sit beside him and shrug, “These days, yeah.”

It’s times like this when Gojo forgets how honest you can be, how he takes your word for everything, completely. 

It’s threatening, he thinks, how you can say so much with so little. 

“Well, maybe I can suggest—” 

“Seriously, Satoru,” you grip the ledge tightly, knuckles turning white, “please.” 

You tend to let Gojo dodge your questions a lot of the time, his elusiveness a hallmark of who he is. So you never sound like you do now, serious, pleading. 

Gojo fiddles with his fingers, pondering. He hums lowly before speaking, “Does it matter?” 

It hurts you a little, how that’s even a question. He should know better than to ask that to you. 

“It matters to me, Satoru,” you sigh, “you know it does.”

You barely catch the way his brows furrow at your response, but there are creases on his blindfold that can’t be created by anything else. And Gojo knows—is so painfully aware of the way you care. 

Since coming back, he’s never felt like he’s fully returned. It’s an odd existence of in-between, like he’s everything and nothing all at the same time. The emotions are even worse, overloading his senses with feelings he can never pinpoint. 

How does he tell you that he must be fucked in the head? That every second in his mind is another step closer to insanity? That he’s lost your tether on Satoru in pursuit of Gojo—of being a god? 

“I’ll tell you,” he starts, “but you have to look away.”

You’ve always treated Gojo tenderly, patiently, and he knows, without a doubt, that no matter what he says you will continue to do the same. But he can’t allow that, not anymore. Not after the way you looked at him that day.

“Okay,” you mutter, turning your head the other way. 

He breathes out and you can almost picture it: half-bitten lips and eyes like low tide. 

“I’m okay,” he says to the back of your head, “you have nothing to worry about.” 

A breeze picks up and brushes past your neck. It’s a lie. He knows it, knows you know it too, but—

it’s easier this way, he thinks, to give you answers when you’re not looking.

Gojo’s never found a weakness he can’t work around, but he might have just found one with you—in your eyes, that read through his every lie. If you turn around now, he’ll want to tell you everything.

“Satoru,” you whisper, letting his name fill the air. You get it—him, and even when you don’t, you try damn hard to because you refuse to let Gojo carry all of it on his own. 

There are crescent indents on your palm from squeezing your knuckles too hard. You think, is this how you form shallow cuts on your heart?

“It’s just me,” you continue, facing him when you say it. 

He takes you all in—your eyes that hold the city lights, your lips, the only vessel that handles his name so delicately. It’s that look on your face again and Gojo’s hit with the overwhelming truth that whatever it is, he feels the same. 

────────────

There’s a secret Gojo keeps, one he’s certain he’ll never tell you: that when he looks at you upon his return and finds an emotion he can’t name, he’s never felt so afraid.  

He takes in the shadows under your eyes and the sunkenness of your cheeks—the number of blinks it takes you to reign in tears on the brink of leaking. Your voice shakes when you say his name.

Shoko tells him about it because she knows you never will—about how you’ve been running yourself dry, speeding through colonies to gather intel for any possible way to break the seal. She tells him about the sleepless nights, how she catches you standing outside his office at 3 a.m. before travelling to Utahime the next morning. 

And he cannot comprehend it at first, cannot understand how he’s caused you to crumble this way. 

If this is all because of him, how you’ve broken yourself all for his sake, he can’t allow it. To see you ruin yourself over him, over anyone ever—you deserve better.

So, when Gojo has love for the taking, he makes no move to reach for it; he cannot possibly take any more from you if this is what is left of you when he does. 

────────────

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you catch him by the door of the conference room. 

Rebuilding an entire society requires work and apparently a lot of meetings. Gojo doesn’t usually go to most of them, leaving you and Utahime to carry the chunk of his attendance when he’s not there. In the rare times that he does go, he makes it a point to be the last one in and the first one out. Utahime hates him for it but you don’t blame him—he isn’t exactly amicable with other figures of authority.

He pauses when he steps out of the door, hands in pockets as he turns to face you. 

You’re not mad or anything, just stating the fact. You lean against the wall next to you, keeping your arms crossed. There are still people filing out of the conference room, some eyeing the two of you curiously as they pass by.

Gojo glances at them before clearing his throat, “Right, I’ve been avoiding the paperwork you left in my office,” he speaks louder, practically announcing it to everyone in the vicinity, “let’s finish it now.” 

You don’t know whether it’s irritating that Gojo’s so terribly bad at acting, or comforting that he still can’t, for the life of him, successfully lie to you. 

He motions for you to follow him as he strolls down the hallway. You intentionally lag a few steps behind, careful not to encroach on his space lest it make him avoid you any more than he already is.

Stepping into Gojo’s office after so long feels weird, like you belong here but only to a memory of it—as if closing the door behind you feels like activating a muscle you haven’t for a while. It’s been months after all. 

Your eyes skim over the entire room, zeroing in on the stacks of paper lined up on his desk; paperwork has always been Gojo’s least favorite part of the job, often leaving you to do them with him (or alone, when you’re feeling generous). Not much has changed in his office; the mini living space still exists to the left of the room, with little bits of you in its interiors—the pillows, the coffee table books. 

Gojo plops down on the sofa chair and props his feet up on the ottoman, giving four scrolls to his phone before pocketing it. He has the audacity to casually offer you the seat across from him, as if nothing’s wrong—as if he hasn’t been avoiding you for god’s sake. 

Ever since the rooftop, he’s canceled lunch with you six times for reasons that you’re now realizing are less likely to be true. He’s kept a distance of at least one person in between you at all times, and to this day, you still don’t understand why. 

You sigh, taking a seat and leaning back to cross your legs. 

“You’re so bad at acting.” you start.

Being with Gojo for so long, you’ve come to realize that there’s no point being angry with him when your heart can never take it. 

“I technically wasn’t lying.” he replies, sticking an index finger up. 

“Yeah, I can see that,” you snicker, nodding to his desk. 

It’s always like this with Gojo: he pulls you in and you follow. No matter the distance between you, when you sit down together like this, it still always flows so easily. The banter you’ve built together over a decade and more shines through no matter what state your relationship is in. 

Neither of you say anything until Gojo replaces his blindfold for his sunglasses, placing the piece of cloth on the coffee table. 

You break the silence. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” you ask quietly. Gojo aches at that, how you still choose to regard him so kindly. 

There’s a war in his head right now—a million thoughts and one. Why has he been avoiding you? 

Gojo’s a pretty bad communicator; for how much he talks, he doesn’t really say much—and maybe that’s the root of all this. There are too many things he wants to say but can’t formulate in the right way. 

“If it’s something I did, can you at least let me know?” you continue. Gojo frowns, how can you be wronged yet still think of yourself as the one to blame? 

“Why do you do that?” he tuts, head tilting sideways as his hands dig deeper into his pockets. 

“Do what?” you furrow your brows, confused. 

“You didn’t do anything, so don’t worry about it.” he says dismissively. 

You arch an eyebrow; he has it all wrong. 

“Satoru, I’m not worried because I feel guilty,” you sit up, inching towards the edge of your seat, “I’m worried because you’re pushing me away.” your voice is level, but your pupils shake.

Something grips at his chest seeing you this way; together or apart, he seems to be the main contributor to your heartache. 

You wonder if confronting him like this is any good if he’s not going to say anything anyway. 

“If you want space, that’s okay, I get it, but,” you exhale, “at least just tell me why.” 

This entire time avoiding you, Gojo’s had you on his mind—the million and one. He’s come to terms with what he feels when you’re together, and how it amplifies when you’re not. 

It’s shitty of him to practically ghost you, not just in text but in real life too. But he’s thought about it logically, really, that removing himself from your life should be just like ripping off a bandaid—painful but quick. At least that way, you’d get over it fast. 

He’d been resigned to doing that and that was the plan—until now. 

All it takes is seeing that look in your eyes, and his resolve falls apart. 

“I can’t.” he speaks softly. The part that hurts the most is that beneath his sunglasses, you still see eyes holding the sky. 

You think you want to cry. 

You take this as your answer and close your eyes, taking a deep breath before getting up to leave. If this is goodbye, you don’t want your last interaction to be an awkward standstill of him watching you bawl in his office chair. 

You push yourself up with the armrest only to sit back down—because Gojo is right in front of you, blocking your way. His infinity is up but touching, creating tingles on your knees.

“Wait,” he swallows, a franticness you’ve never seen before. His head stays down as he bites his lips, sunglasses hanging by his fingertips. You wonder what he wants to say; you want to tell him that it’s just you—that you’ll always want to hear it all. 

What comes next is unlike any version of Satoru you have ever known—nervous and uncertain, almost like he’s afraid. He lowers himself, slowly coming down to his knees in front of you. A giant of a man so small in your presence. 

“I don’t know how.” he mutters, dropping his sunglasses to the floor. 

You blink once, twice, still surprised by what’s in front of you. Gojo has always towered above you, has always known how to do anything and everything so effortlessly without fail. 

Watching him now, with every inhale and exhale dragging in slow motion, you do your best not to startle him. 

“How to what?” you whisper like it’s fragile. 

He looks up, eyes locking with yours. A reaction happens in that moment—the split second of all his thoughts collapsing into one. You see a clear sky, blue and bright as day, the Satoru he saves for you—while he sees you, with that look on your face, the one that he knows has always only meant love. 

The sincerity in your gaze overwhelms him—makes him look away before it becomes too much. Red blooms at the tips of his ears as he bites the inner corners of his lips, fingers grabbing at the fabric of his pants. You’re afraid he might run away again, but he doesn’t and stays right where you are. 

“You know…” he looks to the side, pouting, “whatever you do….”

“Like…?” you coax lightly, trying hard to hide the small smile forming on your lips. 

You wonder how many versions of Satoru you’ll meet in your lifetime, and if this one, shy and nervous, will be one you’ll fit into the crevices of your heart just like all the others. 

He grips his pants tighter, fabric bunching under his fingers, “When you hold my hand… those things. You get it.” 

And you do (get it), so you don’t push, taking whatever Gojo has to give you like you always have. 

The tension relieves from you slowly, comforted by the fact that at least he’s given you his reasons now (no matter how vague they still seem to be). That at least there are no non-answers this time. 

You tell yourself that it’s okay, that you’re content as long as Gojo’s in your life even without the possibility of becoming something more. 

“Ok—”

But there’s always one thing you forget about Gojo—

“So show me how.”

—in the moments you least expect it, he speaks the words that matter most. 

────────────

You choose to show him slowly, gently, like the trickling introduction of water to a man who is first learning how to drink. 

In the first few weeks of you and Gojo readjusting to one another, he turns on his infinity again—but only when he gets close enough to touch you. Lunches together happen more often, dinners sometimes too. Then he puts his infinity down, indefinitely. 

For the most part, your relationship falls into the usual steps of your dynamic with Gojo; there’s no pressure for anything and he likes that, appreciates the time you’re giving him to learn things at his own pace. 

It grows organically that way: knuckles brushing as you both reach for the stapler, pinkies touching whenever you walk side-by-side during site visits—until you’re able to hold his hand fully again, leaving that little infinity between your palms for him to close (hopefully, one day). 

────────────

The faculty room is cold, especially during winter. The heating system is never warm enough to keep your hands from shaking whenever you mix your morning coffee. 

“So loud so early,” Gojo saunters into the kitchen like he owns the place, hands in pockets as he approaches the pantry. 

You stop mixing, ceasing the clinking of the spoon against your mug. “How are you not freezing?” 

He shrugs, grabbing his box of (heavily sugared) cereal. “I guess I’m just hot.” he says, turning to wiggle his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes and set your coffee on the table, Gojo following with a bowl brimming with cereal and milk. 

Mornings usually consist of you and Gojo, with an occasional new hire who has an early class that day. Most of the time, it’s just you two though, with Shoko coming in much closer to lunch time already. 

“Want some?” he asks, holding out his spoon.

It’s routine—Gojo asks and you decline, choosing to save yourself from the cavities that he somehow manages to evade despite having a diet of 80% sugar. 

Today though, you’re feeling a little adventurous. 

You nod, opening your mouth. Gojo’s eyes widen, nearly dropping the spoon at your request. You see the flush of his cheeks and smile, corners of your mouth extending wider. The spoon is shoved to your mouth too quickly, almost like he’s embarrassed to feed you (considering he’s never before). 

“Too sweet,” you say, your face scrunching at the copious amount of sugar you’ll feel for days. 

“Like me, right?” Gojo winks from beside you. 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Gojo throughout this whole relationship trial period, he recovers from any state within a nanosecond. There’s no end to how shameless he can be. 

“Sure,” you drawl sarcastically and Gojo smiles like it’s high praise. 

You sip your coffee slowly, revelling in the heat that flows down your throat.

“Can I have half of that?” you point to his bowl. Gojo looks at you, confused, but slides it over anyway.

What happens next is an abomination to Gojo’s eyes—pure absolute disgust: you pour half of his cereal into your coffee and mix, taking a sip and crunching on a few pieces every now and then. 

His face contorts into complete distaste, horror and revulsion in the way his mouth hangs open. 

“What are you doing? That’s gross!” he nearly yells, reaching over to bring your mug down. His hand goes over yours for a moment, still causing gallops in his heartbeat. 

You laugh, giggling as he processes what you’d wasted his cereal on. It honestly doesn’t taste that bad, you think. 

“You’re weird,” he says to you, the grin on his face uncontained. This morning, he feels fond, like the butterflies in his stomach are warm, tickling him from the inside. “Give me.” he motions to your mug. 

You hold it up for him to take a sip but he wraps a hand around yours when he tastes, sticking his tongue out once the bitterness of your coffee hits. You set the mug down but his hand takes yours, interlacing your fingers together. 

Gojo doesn’t normally reach for your hand, much less interlace them together—a recent evolution to your hand-holding. But this feels nice, how your fingers fit right in the spaces of his. 

You turn to him, a shy smile on your face. The tips of his ears are red but he looks at you the same, “Your hands were cold,” he pouts, “is this– is this okay?” 

“Yeah, it’s warm. Thank you, Satoru.” you nod, beaming. He hopes you see the light in his eyes, how it feels to be ignited within him only when he’s spending breakfasts like this with you. 

────────────

Shoko asks what you are and you don’t know what to tell her other than you’re happy and it’s good. Gojo’s existence is loud and vibrant, easy to spot from miles away—but he cares for you discreetly, in the hand that gently rests on your lower back while crossing the street, and the seemingly unlimited supply of your favorite coffee when you have no recollection of restocking it ever. 

He gives you a new mug for Christmas, one with little cereals painted all over while you give him his own tube of hand cream that he claims always smells like you. 

During the faculty New Year celebration, you hear one of the new hires make a move on Gojo, and you aren’t bothered by it or anything, simply walking past to sip your sake by the couch. You can hear them talk a bit from the kitchen, but you try not to pry despite how curious you are about his response. 

Until—

“I’m taken,” you hear Gojo say bluntly. 

Everything rings in your ears after that. The countdown music is loud, but your heart beats louder; there are murmurs and footsteps around you, but only one man crouches down to check on you, glass of water in hand. 

You snap out of it and see blue, the sky—a familiar light; you don’t think you can control the smile on your face, the alcohol lowering your inhibitions to paint on something lovesick. 

And when he smiles back, pink lips stretching wide—oh your heart can’t take it. He places one hand on your knee, rubbing gently. You hear it faintly, how he asks if you’re okay, but all you can do is nod, words failing to express how you feel right now.  

The countdown starts. 3 — and you take his face in your hands, squishing his cheeks to an image of him many, many years ago. 2 — you go closer and his eyes go wide, a mixture of panic and surprise, but soft at the same time. 1 — you lean in and he closes his eyes, his chest on rampage. Then it lands, there, on the tip of his nose: a delicate peck and the smell of sake mixed with mint (like the lip balm you always carry around in your pocket). 

When you pull away from him, you’re smiling the biggest he’s ever seen, and he doesn’t know it, but he does the same. 

────────────

That kiss to his nose serves as the catalyst to the months that follow: Gojo becomes more comfortable touching you now, and though he blushes every single time, there’s nothing to be ashamed of because you do too. Shoko can’t believe the slow burn this is taking you both, but you think you like it—like the slow drizzle of honey on Gojo’s favorite breakfast waffles. 

“How is it?” you ask, watching as Gojo takes a big bite. 

“D Beft.” he replies, mouth full as he chews. You take the seat beside him and take a spoonful. 

“There’s a secret ingredient.” you say mischievously, wiggling your eyebrows. 

He swallows before he scoffs, “What?” cutting up another piece, “Love?” 

You’re surprised because he says it so casually, and Gojo’s never talked about love, has never even mentioned the word since this shift in your relationship. He realizes a beat late by the expression on your face and gets flustered, thinking of how to brush it off like it didn’t just happen. 

You had meant to say that you used that infused sugar he buys whenever he goes to Kyoto, but… you suppose love works too. He should know by now, right? 

“If it is?” you whisper, putting down your spoon. 

Gojo doesn’t know how to approach this, really, but he’s learned leaps and bounds to back out now. So he clears his throat and composes himself then says, “Good. ‘Cause that’s what I put in your coffee too.” 

You laugh and the tension dissipates; there are hearts in your eyes for how hard Gojo has tried after denying himself of this for so long. 

He stares at you—at the laugh lines by your eyes and the soft curves of your lips, the moment moving much too slow. He’s drawn in until you’re all too close, a few centimeters from your noses touching. 

Your laughter dies and your cheeks feel like they’re on fire; he’s so close you think he might kiss you. The signs are there—his eyes scaling your face to focus on your lips, his tongue peeping ever so slightly to wet his lips. So you wait. 

But he doesn’t, because he moves away after wiping his thumb on the side of your mouth. Even though you know there was nothing there. 

Gojo continues to eat, blabbering about a site visit he’s assigned to next week, but you don’t miss the way his ears are fully red and how he’s biting his lips to death.

•

The tension this time is different; instead of a growing rift, you can’t seem to be close enough. Every time you part ways, he lets go of your hand more reluctantly—as if he wants to say more, do more, but stops himself while he still can. 

When he leaves for missions, you kiss his cheek, pulling him in by the hand and lingering there, shyly. He gets embarrassingly red but tries to cover it up by telling you not to miss him too much (even though you know you will, and he knows he’ll miss you more). 

Your near-kisses with Gojo happen more frequently, and it comes to a point where he even manages to land one on your forehead, while you fall asleep next to him on his office couch. 

It’s driving you crazy, this tension. You try to kiss him a few times on the lips, but he evades them each time. You’ve caught Gojo staring at your lips more times than you can count; if that isn’t a sign, you don’t know what is. 

It’s insane, now that Gojo thinks about it, how he’s come so far yet the prospect of kissing you properly still scares him. What if he fucks up? Doesn’t do it right? What if it’s not how he wants you to be kissed? 

There’s that secret Gojo will never tell you, of how seeing that look on you has never gotten him more afraid. And he’s worked through that now, but it’s evolved into something else: how Gojo is now afraid of love, more than anything else, not because of loss but because he might not know how. 

And kissing you, loving you this way—he’s never done it before, doesn’t know how to make you feel love without his lips shaking and heart palpitating; how to do it while letting you know he feels the same. 

•

It happens during an assignment to exorcise curses out of town. They aren’t as bad as they used to be, but they’re still stronger than what any of the available sorcerers right now can handle. 

You don’t remember the last time you saw Gojo use his technique that way—almost forgotten how powerful and ruthless he can be. Every time since, holding your hand, keeping you close—he’s just been your Satoru. 

Your apartment for the weekend is a two-bedroom unit with one bathroom and a decently sized living area and kitchenette; Gojo always chooses the room in front of the bathroom because he tends to wake up in the middle of the night to pee (information you know from your many other assignments with him before). Still, going as what you are now—it feels different. 

There’s a charged air between you as you move around the unit; you make your nightly tea while Gojo looks through the groceries for some crackers. It’s peaceful and quiet—domestic almost, but there are goosebumps on your skin for reasons you can’t explain. Being around Gojo lately has felt that way.

He brushes past you to throw the finished packet of crackers and the feeling intensifies; it’s not awkward, just tense, like anticipation sitting deep in your bellies, waiting on each other to make the first move. 

He announces that he’ll use the bathroom first, if you don’t mind, and you motion for him to go ahead. Your mind is fuzzy and having Gojo around seems to only make it worse.

When you walk past the bathroom and straight to your room, you hear Gojo humming that soft pop tune from a popular girl group playing on the radio earlier. You giggle, thinking it’s sweet—how he sings obnoxiously around everyone else but is actually pretty good when it’s just him, alone. 

You still have the rest of the weekend in this area, having agreed to monitor the site and any nearby areas for other suspicious activity contributing to such a large curse, but at least the worst of it is over (maybe just to you though; Gojo hates paperwork). 

The sound of running water stops and you hear the bathroom door swing open. You don’t see Gojo when you exit your room but he leaves the door open to release any remaining steam. Gathering your things, you head straight in. 

There’s a reason why people say showers are good for the mind but you still don’t know what it is, because the only thought plaguing your head right now is Gojo—and whether you should greet him goodnight, if you should kiss his cheek or hug him tight. The tension between you now is palpable, almost like an electric current waiting to zap on both ends. 

Your mind is so out of it that you don't realize you’re missing your skincare bag until after you finish brushing your teeth and dressing for bed. You open the bathroom door with the sole intention of going back to your room to get it, but instead, you’re met with a wall of chest.

Gojo’s eyes are wide, bright blue with damp strands of white falling like curtains barely shielding the sky. He’s just as surprised as you are, toothbrush in his hand as you hold up the towel wrapped around your head. 

You’ve seen Gojo in his pajamas many times before—white long sleeves with gray cotton pants, but your eyes trail to his collarbones and the way the bathroom lights cast it under a soft glow. The redness on his cheeks, a visual manifestation of the heat on yours. 

Gojo can’t stop staring at your lips, at how soft they look—at how soft you look fresh out of the shower. The little baby hairs sticking out under your towel are cute, and he leans in without knowing—a pull he can’t seem to resist. For once in his life, Gojo’s mind is still. 

You try to meet him halfway, tiptoeing, but you’re a little out of your element; you don’t know where to put your hands and your heart’s about to explode out of your chest. When your noses touch, you can’t breathe, closing your eyes while you wait for it. 

But it doesn’t come. 

You feel Gojo’s breath stilling before speeding up into little exhales. Something is wrong. You open your eyes and find him staring back at you, a version of Gojo you haven’t seen in a while—that you rarely see ever, except that day during your confrontation in his office. 

Concern laces your features and you move back a little, hands coming up to caress his cheeks. His eyes still look frantic, but they focus on you when you cup his cheeks so gently. 

“Satoru,” you whisper, voice grounding. His breaths slow down a little. 

You realize that it must be true then, what they say, that those who love to be feared, fear to be loved, because you’ve never seen anyone afraid of something so good as Gojo is of this. 

“Satoru,” you repeat, massaging his temples with your thumb, “we don’t have to if you don’t want to.” 

Gojo hates it, how you’ve always had to adjust for him. He hates that he can’t give you this one thing, hates that you’re still so patient, that he’s still so afraid. He swallows, closing his eyes tight before opening them again. 

“I want to,” he chokes out, “I just don’t know—”

You chuckle, without judgment, “I don’t either,” you lean forward, foreheads touching, “but do you want to try together?”

You learn that Gojo sees himself so differently from how you do—and maybe that’s everyone, but Gojo tends to say things while doing the other. He says he can’t bother with kids, but continues to take so many of them under his wing anyway; he calls your cereal concoction disgusting but tries it regardless; and he says he can’t think about love, doesn’t know how, but proceeds to try so much harder, everyday. 

When you look at Gojo, you see a heart so big, so capable, that he can’t see it himself. 

You nudge his nose with yours and he breathes deeply, closing his eyes once again. If he doesn’t do this now, how much longer till he does? 

Gojo hums before nodding his head slightly. His hands come up to cover yours, toothbrush wedged in the spaces between his fingers; they’re clammy, he’s sure, but he’s kept you waiting long enough. 

When you kiss Gojo for the first time, everything trembles—his pupils, his lips, the breath he takes. It’s all shaky and nervous, but your lips touch and all you know is that you like it there. He’s a little bit stiff but you don’t mind, pressing closer just for a little bit before pulling away. 

Gojo keeps your hands in place, half-lidded eyes staring at you lazily. His ears are fully red now but he’s giving you a look you’ve never seen before—like lightning crackling in the gaps between his eyelids. 

When you kiss Gojo for the first time, you don’t expect it to be by the bathroom door of a rented apartment, while away on a mission. You don’t expect it to be in your pajamas, towel wrapped in your hair as you’re getting ready for bed. You definitely don’t expect him to guide your hands down his neck while he places his on your lower back, squeezing lightly before pulling you in to kiss you again. 

This time, his lips move more pliantly, parting yours slightly; he tastes mint, mixed with the strawberry candy he had earlier and it’s nothing he could have ever imagined before, but is now everything he’s ever wanted. The push and pull between you is magnetic, soft lips and the intermingling of something steamy in the air. All Gojo can think of now is to take, to devour—to keep you with him, like this, always. 

You wonder if Gojo is lying—that he’s never done this before, because you don’t think you can kiss anyone after this and not think of his lips on yours. 

By the time you part, the air is significantly warmer. Your fingers thread through the hair at the base of his neck and you smile, sighing. Gojo looks warm, with his swollen lips and red cheeks. 

“That…” you trail off, nudging his nose. 

Gojo looks at you fondly; to ever even think he could have this now, with you—he doesn’t believe in god but you must be his prayer come true. 

“We can practice a bit more, I think.” he pulls you closer, hands gripping your hips. 

You feel it against you, something solid and firm against your stomach and your eyes go wide at the realization; Gojo does the same. 

“Satoru, you–” he moves back and freezes, untangling himself from you completely. There’s a faint outline on the crotch of his pants and your whole face goes red. 

“Let me use the bathroom real quick.” he panics, rushing past you and closing the bathroom door. 

You stand there stunned for a good minute before you shake out of it, laughing. Gojo yells about how you’re being so mean, making fun of him when he’s like this, but you aren’t—not really. 

It’s been a long time getting to this point with Gojo, but considering all things, you think, this might just be the beginning.

---

—𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦

✦ wet dream hc’s feat. heizou, tighnari, kazuha, diluc 

✦ warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact

✦ disclaimer: afab!reader with no set pronouns, clothed sex (heizou), fingering (heizou), biting (heizou), exhibitionism (tighnari), blowjob (tighnari), facial (tighnari), aphrodisiacs (tighnari), masturbation (kazuha), face-sitting (diluc), squirting (diluc), unedited

Waking up completely drenched in sweat, hair sticking to his forehead was something Heizou wasn’t expecting. All he could do was suck in his breath feeling the sheets rub against his thick, pulsating cock. His juniper eyes bore down into your sleeping, watching your chest rise and fall as he zoned out on your peeking cleavage and taut nipples through the thin fabric of your shirt.

With a shaky breath, Heizou could help but press his side against your behind—cock nestled between your plush ass as his lips dragged against your sensitive neck waking you up. He heard you simply laugh at him, shaking your hip causing him to suck another breath in. 

As you tease him, asking him to use words to describe what he wants you turned over to see a slightly irritated look morphing to a cruel smirk before his hands wandered beneath your pajama bottoms—nimble fingers grazing against your clit. You whined, trying to grind your clit deeper into his touch as his fingers dragged and flicked the small bundle of nerves before slowly dipping into your newly wet cunt.

His lips dragged against your earbud, telling you how you should never egg him on when he is in this state.  His name echoed from your lips as he ground his needy clothed cock against your ass trying to resist the soft moans threatening to come out. He could feel your soft walls beginning to cave into his fingers, now curled and brushing that spongy spot inside of you. 

As you shifted, legs shivering in pleasure wiggling from his grip as you couldn’t help yourself, Heizou’s pearly whites sunk down on your nape hips raised and bucking as a stain made its way to his briefs. He could only lowly moan, feeling his warm cum seep through his clothes and upper thighs—fingers still plowing through you, riding your own orgasm out. 

As a researcher, Tighnari wasn’t afraid of trying the various mushrooms of the forest to write in his survival guide. His philosophy was, that it’s better he experience it than unexpecting ones. He didn’t expect popping an interesting pink mushroom that his body would immediately flush, cock hardening.

His head felt like it was on a cloud as half-lidded jade eyes shockingly gazed down at you between his thighs. As he struggled, asking you just how you managed to get to his location, your fingers already made their way to his pants, others on his inner thigh. The way you licked your lips as you slowly revealed his cock, springing forth and slapping against his lower stomach.

As if in a trace, you sat in between his legs, telling him he could do absolutely whatever he wanted with just a pretty much. Shoving a growl down his throat, the hazy Tighnari couldn’t help pressing his heavy cock against your cheeks. God, they felt so soft under it, precum now glistening on it. You smiled, pressing a kiss on his tip before completely taking him into your mouth.

You bobbed your head, as Tighnari's head fell against the base of the tree, feeling you slurp and slobber against his length. He could feel the flat of your tongue pressing against one of his prominent veins, ripping another moan from his lips. His hips began to jump, pushing his cock even deeper into your mouth as you began to gag as a string of Sumerian curses came from Tighnari.

He pushed you away, pumping his cock rapidly as thick ropes of his cum shot out, staining your face, as you timidly looked up at him with glossy lips. A lazy smile fell onto Tighnari, seeing you slowly take your pants down, opening your legs to reveal your pretty sobbing cunt…

But with a gasp, Tighnari shot up from the forest floor, body hot and cock pulsating as he looked around in the direction seeing the mushrooms below him. He could only wince as he palmed his cock, leaning his head against one of the trees as he moved up from his position. To keep his reputation, maybe he should leave out the details of what this mushroom could do to you. 

Traveling with you could be a little more difficult than Kazuha liked to admit, simply because you always managed to pull at the strings that unleashed his lust. He could only stare at a wall, trying to ignore his heavy cock pulsating beneath the sheets, before softly sighing and getting up from your shared bed.

He left the tent walking up to a nearby pond, staring at the moonlight’s reflection. Bags were under his eyes as this spell of lust has haunted him since he woke up from a dream. He sighed, slowly disrobing before letting his body submerged in the cool water. As Kazuha rested against the shallow side, his hands slowly wrapped around his length, squeezing it with a gasp.

His teeth dug against his bottom lip, slowly fisting his cock beneath the water, covering his mouth that was beginning to softly moan out. His stomach tensed, gliding his fingers along his sensitive tip trying to desperately reenact whenever you would grace him with your touch. Even as his hips shook in pleasure as he came, the relief was only momentary before he felt hard again under his touch. 

He wanted to feel your cunt instead of his hand. He wanted to hear the whispers of your moans, not the winds. He wanted you so bad, so desperately that his dreams plagued themselves every night of different positions he would take you in. 

It was when he felt your hands touch the one that was wrapped around his cock, was when he realized his lust had invaded all aspects of his senses too. He could feel your chest press against him, lips pressing against his back—reprimanding him for not getting you sooner.

But as Kazuha slowly opened his eyes, seeing daylight creep into the small tent he realized…all of that was simply a dream. He didn’t go outside, you didn’t join him, but the tent beneath his sheets remained the same.

He just needed to go ahead and tell you his needs at this point.

The dreams Diluc had of you were so vivid. There was one particular recurring dream he refuses to tell you about, regardless of how many nights he woke up and privately deal with his “issues” once he had this dream.

In this dream, you would be laying on top of him, the perfect view of your cunt clutching on absolutely nothing. He could see just how wet you were, your slick even coming down to drip on his face, hovering below it. And suddenly, after admiring the view, you’d finally put your weight down—letting his senses completely wrap themselves into your beautiful hole.

You should squeeze his legs against his head, hands reaching up to grab your chest as his tongue lapped up and sucked on your clit as if he was completely starved. The blunt of his nails would dig into your plush thighs, as he finally dart his tongue completely inside of you, nose nudging your sensitive nub instead. 

Hearing your voice waver, repeating his name over and over again made Diluc’s cock throb, even more, precum completely coating his length. As he sucked more and more, it wouldn’t take long before you would completely cover your face, squirt shooting out as he happily drank and lapped up every part of it, only for your to grind on his face more and start the process all over again until he finally woke up.

Even as he got up in bed, cock was animated and ready to be touched —you finally caught him only to be surprised by the massive bulge beneath his briefs. He finally came clean to you, discussing this dream seemingly haunting him wherever he went, only for you to get on top of him asking why not make the dream a reality.

It’s safe to say, the two of you didn’t sleep that night.