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the-kr8tor · 1 day

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Once More to See You

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 8.4k

Synopsis: Like Alice in wonderland, you accidentally fall to another universe where everything is different from your universe, including your best friend, Hobie Brown. Will you be able to come home to your best friend before you get ripped apart molecule by molecule? Or will you fail and leave the love of your life wondering where you are for the rest of his life?

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader, CW Blood, CW violence, TW death, CW injury, CW vomit mention. Bestfriends to lovers (speedrun edition), established relationship, Hurt/comfort, Angst.

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Eyes almost crossed, back hunched and aching, you tinker at the tiny components of the inter dimensional watch Hobie started putting together. He brought it to you last night with a paper bag filled with your favourite takeout to bribe you in helping him. “It's for emergencies,” he said, “I don't trust that vampire from the future,” he grumbled in between bites of chips.

The soft music from your record player filters through the dimly lit room, save for your work lamp, the sun is just about setting in the horizon. You have the perfect view of the expansive London skyline just outside your window. It's a foggy day, clouds hanging above like cotton balls, fluffy and grey— rain's coming, you surmise from the unmistakable smell of petrichor. It's already raining somewhere, you think. And you worry immediately for him since he's still on patrol. Did he bring a raincoat with him at least? But knowing him, he'd just swing around while there's a downpour. And when you scold him while he's dripping wet, soaking your carpet, he'd just shrug and say, ‘I looked bloody good at it though’ to which you'd scoff, but secretly agree.

Distracted, you poke at the wrong wire with your metal pliers, a spark from the main power source shocks you, flinching and yelping, you check for any damages on your fingertips.

“Should've worn rubber gloves, love.” Hobie's sudden whisper in your ear makes you jump out of the stool, goosebumps appearing on your arms as he catches you before you land harshly on your back. “Got you. Maybe you should invent seatbelts on barstools, hm? You'd make a fortune from pubs alone. No more drunkards falling face first.” He jokes, arm snaked along your back, hand splayed over your ribs, and face dangerously close to your own.

You decide to quip back as revenge for making you almost fall. “I would invent it if you weren't dropping so many projects on my lap.” Still floating above the floors with the help from his hold, he fakes letting you go. You squeak, hands instinctively flying to his shoulders for support. Maybe you shouldn't have teased him when he's the only one standing between you and a bump on your head. “You little—”

He raises a pierced brow, “what'd you say again, love?” His mischievous smirk tells you that he's about to do it again, so you surrender. How could you fight him when he looks at you like you're the only person in the world that's worthy of his touch?

Lips clamping down, you still glare at him despite the overwhelming fondness for the man holding you in place.

“That's what I thought.” Chuckling, he sits you upright back on the stool, he even fixes your shirt for you. “There, lookin' mighty fit today, why are you all dressed up?”

It's your turn to quirk an eyebrow, “dressed up? Hobs I basically live in this shirt.” He unabashedly roams his eyes over to the old band shirt that he made himself once upon a time. “Bold of you to assume I have some place to go.” You say even with the searing heat from your cheeks, and clammy hands.

“We could go,” Hobie shrugs, hiding his sudden shyness, you have that effect on him. “There's a new building we could swing to, if we go now we could still catch the sunset.” He inches closer, hand smoothing down the goosebumps on your arms.

“It's gonna rain, Hobs.”

“How'd you know? You a weather girl now?”

“I can smell it, and also my knees feel it.”

“What are you eighty?” He says with a laugh. “Does that make you a cradle snatcher?” Half joking, he really wishes that you'd get the hint.

Eleven years of friendship and counting, you still haven't crossed that invisible line between friendship and something more. It's not from the lack of trying from Hobie's end, no, he has told you a few times that he fancied you, more than a best friend would. But you're too afraid to say it back, to say or even scream that you fancy him, or love him is the better way to put it. But you're afraid that it might not work out, that friendship is the best thing for the both of you, that all the longing looks thrown between you, and all the lingering touches were all just attraction because you've known each other for basically forever; and the feeling wouldn't last once you do get together.

You don't want to risk your friendship only for it to end in tears and heartache. No, you love him too much to hurt him like that, and he knows it too.

He was more bold with his feelings for you a few years before, years before he was bitten and was given the heavy responsibilities. But now that he bears the title of Spider-man, he's starting to think having a romantic relationship with you while he's tangled up in all the danger he faces everyday, isn't such a great idea. So his advances are much less now, Hobie just misses you, he suppose, that's probably why he asked for your help with his own batch of watches even though he can handle it on his own while he's blindfolded. An excuse to just see you, an excuse to be in your presence. Because if you can't be together, he'd settle for staying like this forever, just best friends.

Best friends who unequivocally love each other, best friends who are waiting for the right time. Even if it means waiting for forever.

You smile softly, knowing that his joke is a half wish. “That means you're a coffin snatcher then.”

Hobie leans closer, hands on top of your table that's behind you, arms caging you in. You can smell the leather on him, and the usual scent he sports when he's particularly in a good mood. You'd know, you gifted the cologne to him. He thinks you're uncomfortable because of the position, he was about to move away but you remedy that with a smile, and with your hand placed on the back of his elbow. He can feel how your pulse hammers against your skin.

“C’mon, love, the view's pretty up there.” His view right now can't compare though.

“I can see the view from here, besides, I still have work to do.”

He tilts his head, an act he knows you can't resist. “I’ll swing you back home quicker than you can say ‘cougar’” you laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners, and he thinks your smile is better than any sunset he has ever seen. “You've been cooped up in here for too long. When was the last time you've seen the sun—?” You open your mouth for a quip but he beats you to it, “not including seeing it from your windows.” Nodding, he raises both eyebrows, looking at you through his long lashes.

For a moment he thought you'd agree, that you bought into his charms. But you clear your throat, moving away, lips tightly closed like you refuse to spill any secrets. Or spill out a confession. I don't want to ruin this, you think, if I go, what would happen up there? Your mind runs through a thousand scenarios, a consequence of your genius mind. It's not all good, you suppose, and you're sure that whatever happens on top of that skyscraper, you'll never come back from it.

You love him, you really do, but he has a heavy burden to carry. You don't want to add to it. Leaning to the side, still sitting on the stool, he instinctively hovers his hand close to your side, just in case you fall off again.

“I fixed the problem on your watch by the way.” Changing the subject is good, changing the subject means you don't have to face reality.

“Yeah?” He acts nonchalant, yet, there's a lump in his throat that threatens to choke him. It's not all your fault, he thinks. All the tiptoeing around each other, all the heavy side glances aren't all your fault, it's his too. He might've faced a hundred or so dangers but he can't seem to find the courage to finally say those three magic words. Jaw tightening, he's not mad at you, he's mad at himself.

“Your initial power source didn't have enough juice. Hence why it can't generate the right particles for inter dimensional travel.”

Hobie leans on the table, hand still close to your waist, eyes roaming intently at your handiwork. You're good, too good at making these watches, even better than Miguel could be. Or he's just biased. You made it look good too, even with the hodgepodge of materials he gave you.

“You figured that out in less than twenty four hours?” He's in awe of you, he could've thought of that, but it would've taken him a tad longer. “Fuckin' brilliant,” he says under his breath.

You raise your chin proudly, “I did, it was easy-peasy.” It was not, you barely slept because you couldn't sleep not while this huge glaring problem sits at your work table. If it needs fixing, you're gonna get it fixed within the day or you think you'll crumble into dust. Especially if it's Hobie asking for help.

Hobie beams, he's incredibly proud of you, but, “you crossed your lines, love. If you want me to catch on fire then you did it brilliantly.”

“What?” Your smug smile melts, eyes scanning the colourful wires. Shoulders sagging, you glare at him. “No, it's not.”

“Yes it is,” chuckling, he takes your hand to guide and point it out for you. “Right there. Between the cooling system and the red wires.”

Eyes narrowed, nose wrinkling, he smiles at your cute expression. “I can't see— oh.” You see it, the mess of wires lies just under the new power source that you were so proud of. “Fuck.”

“You owe me,” Hobie pokes your side.

“No, I don't. Not all of us have super eyesight.”

“Really? Blamin’ my poor eyes?” Hobie widens his hazel eyes, brilliant swirls of colours mesmerize you.

“Your eyes are far from poor.” You shove his face away from you gently, smiling, you laugh at his fake glare. “Don't you have to patrol, spiderman?”

He surrenders, huffing, he takes his mask from his back pocket to put it back on his head. “Fine, just make sure to fix your wires, I don't want to come back to a crater the next time I visit.”

“I'll uncross them, don't worry. I'm not an amateur, y'know.”

Hobie pats your shoulder for now, maybe he'll pay you a visit again tonight just to make sure your flat didn't turn into ashes. You call him back before he could exit through your fire escape.

“Be careful, please?” Your worried tone makes him turn back around to face you. You imagine that he's at least smiling under his mask. “Just…I have no idea what to do with your watch if you suddenly croak.”

“Always so bloody sweet,” walking back towards you, he grins even though you can't see it. Your worries make you reach towards him. Holding him by the lapels of his leather jacket, you trace the little stitches he made. His spider senses tingle, and he hears how your heart quickens. “I'll be fine, yeah? Don't worry ‘bout me.”

“You know I'll always worry.” You whisper.

“I know, I'm like that too when it comes to you.” Your breath hitches in your throat. He shuts his senses down so he can't hear how fast your pulse thumps, or how you weakly swallow down your nerves. “Why don't I come back here tonight, ease that genius mind of yours.” He pokes your forehead, you nod. “Good, I'll bring takeout, that isn't instant ramen. Seriously, love, that shit ain't good for you.”

“It's tasty though.”

“You'll get kidney stones.” He begins to walk backwards, so he could still see your face as he goes. For some reason, he doesn't want to go. But he suppose that he always has this feeling whenever he visits.

“I've got a clean kidney,” you softly smile, waving goodbye, hoping that he comes back to you in one piece just like always.

“Sure you do,” one leg after the other, he exits from the window until you're staring into your open window and until his lingering scent fades.

“Right,” you sigh, slapping your cheeks to stay in the present, then turning around to continue your work.

For an hour you painstakingly untangle the wires with your tweezers, minutes turn into hours, and your empty stomach grumbles. Lower back aching once again. For a second you're just about finishing it, then a spark lights up, then a blinding explosion of colours.

You should've worn rubber gloves.

—

Hobie swings casually towards your flat, it's a lot harder to swing with one hand while the other holds onto the plastic bag filled with your favourite. Smiling under his mask, wind blowing towards him, buildings whizz past as he increases his speed.

The smell of smoke hits his nose. Then puffs of black tar greets him where your flat used to be.

Heart in his stomach. He lands on the pavement less gracefully, the bag slipping through his trembling fingers.

A crowd watches on at the burning building, pieces of glass lay under his boots, crunching as he stands frozen on the spot. His eyes roam for your familiar face, around the people that watch the blaze, grief curls around his throat when he doesn't find you amidst the throng of strangers. It slowly suffocates him.

Your name spills out of his lips, hoping with every utterance of your name you'll emerge unscathed. He feels dizzy.

A firefighter notices him. Hope blossoms in his chest when Hobie turns towards the uniformed man. But the forlorn face the man sports under the soot covering his skin says it all. “There's no survivors!” He yells above the sirens, Hobie crumbles to his feet. “There's no survivors. You're too late, Spiderman.”

He's too late. His ears ring, he could only hear the crackling of the fire whilst it eats away at you. Charred wood collapses, nose stinging from the smoke, vision blurry as tears silently fall.

You're gone. And all that's left of you are ashes that float down towards him like grotesque snowflakes. Sticking to his suit, heat clinging to his skin.

It's too soon, he had a lifetime with you. A sudden burst of rain pelts at him. You were right, rain was coming.

He should've tried harder to convince you to go out.

—

A swirl of neon colours whizz past as you fall into the kaleidoscope depths. Scream stuck in your throat, hand stinging from how you grip the watch, or what's left of it. It's now in your hand, jagged metal pieces piercing your skin. There's a light at the end of the tunnel, bracing yourself, you fall on the harsh concrete. The portal spits you out feet first, skidding across, body tumbling on the ground. You're otherwise unharmed despite the harsh landing.

Eyes adjusting in the light, you blink rapidly, shielding your eyesight from the intense sun.

Wait, the sun? Wasn't it sunset a few minutes ago?

Sitting up, you roam your eyes around where you landed. The familiar London skyline is to your right, while on your left are buildings you can't seem to recognize no matter how you try to remember.

“I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore.” You say, full of bewilderment. The watch worked, but in the way you wanted it to.

The roof where you landed on is dirty, full of abandoned broken furniture. Pots upon pots of dead plants stacked on top of the other. Good thing there isn't any broken glass or you'd be bleeding.

Propping yourself up, you stand up on two wobbly feet. Stomach churning, vision warbling, you think you're about to be sick. You can't believe Hobie does this on a daily basis.

You inhale sharply, trying to compose yourself and the instant ramen in your stomach. “Oh fuck.” Exhaling, you calm yourself down. Heart finally steadying to a normal rhythm, you sigh before you check the remains of the cracked watch in your hand. “Shit!” The broken pieces fall off from your palm as you look at it. “I'm fucked!”

Like a child throwing a tantrum, you kick a cardboard box, it soars across the roof. Groaning loudly, you stomp on the ground as if it was its fault that you're in another dimension.

You felt it before it happened. Something spreads inside you, like a bolt of lightning has struck you. The sensation starts from the crown of your head to your fingertips, goosebumps appearing on your skin, you glitch for only a second but it's enough to give you motion sickness.

“Oh my fuck—!” A blast from behind you reverberates, wind rushing around you, whipping your searing skin. “What the—?”

If being stuck in an alternative universe wasn't enough, a guy wearing huge mechanical wings is approaching you quickly. Too quickly.

Before you could duck, the cackling vulture grabs you from the roof. Lifting you up, the whiplash from his momentum almost breaks your neck.

“Got you!” He laughs in your ears, metallic claws digging into your biceps. A black slithering blob weaves around his bicep, crawling up to your own like a slimy worm.

“What the hell, old man!” You scream above the noisy exhaust of his wings. “Let me go! I was literally just standing there!”

He clicks his tongue, like he's chastising a child. “No, no, no, not until he gives me what I want. Then I'll think about letting you go, but it's a long drop.”

“Who—?” As he says the word ‘drop’ you look down, vertigo making you nauseous. You must be a hundred feet above the streets. You wish Hobie was here to save you. Tears in your eyes, panic sets in, making your hands tremble and your chest desperately heave in air.

A flash of red and black, a harsh crack of bone, and a splash of something warm on your cheek, you fall from the vulture’s hold.

Gasping, reaching for something, anything to hold onto, you get snatched up before you turn into a bloody street pancake.

A strong arm envelops you as you hug tighter, face hiding away from the harsh winds. Clinging onto the stranger, they seem oddly familiar under your touch. They smell familiar too, like your nose is so used to it that you can recognize it above anything else. Leather and bergamot, the scent he wears when he's in a good mood.

You raise your head to take a peek at your savior. The spikes on his head are dark and swirly, like an evil unicorn's horn. They don't shine in the sunlight anymore, it's the same deep shade as his mask. He no longer bears the resemblance of your Hobie. He feels like him, smells like him, even the warmth spreading to you is the same. There's a deep familiarity, yet, there's something amiss.

“Hobie?” You call, and when he shifts his head to gaze at you, his grip loosens.

Craning his neck down, the eyes of his mask widens. “Y/N?” He breathlessly asks, arm sliding off from shock. “Shit!”

“Hobie!” Briefly falling, he catches you immediately. You both land on a roof, his arms are around you, hand shielding your head from the collision as you both slide across the terracotta roof. Eyes closed, you hide your face on his chest as he bears the impact for you.

Hobie groans, glad that he's wearing leather that helped with lessening his injuries from the awkward fall. Opening his eyes, he thinks he has died when he sees your face look back at him.

Expression etched into worry, you check for any injuries on his body. You get a good look at his suit, it's different, way different than you saw him last. The only thing that stayed the same is his old leather vest, but it looks like it's more well worn than the last time you've seen it. There's marks on the leather, and holes where it's not supposed to be in. You'd mend it for him like always, but there's more pressing matters.

Hobie reaches for you, black cloth enveloping and swirling around his toned arms, showing a bit of his scarred skin. You don't miss how his hands tremble as he holds your face in his calloused hands. It's all familiar to you, yet, his hands are more rugged, rougher, but you know it's him. You could recognize his touch anywhere.

“Did the vulture finally get me?” You raise an eyebrow at his question. The heaviness in his chest slowly fades for the first time in years, he wants to tell you everything, to hold you forever in his arms until all the holes in his heart are filled by you once more. His thumbs wipe the crimson off of your cheek, an instinct of his.

“W-what?” You shake your head, and he relishes at the sound of your voice. The same voice he has only heard in your old voicemails that he plays before going to bed. “I think you have a concussion, Hobs.” Gently, you reach for his mask, he stops you before you could lift it away.

“Hobs,” he chuckles weakly, “I haven't heard of that name in years.”

You know this isn't your Hobie but you can't help but sympathize with him, you can hear the sadness and hurt laced with his deeper tone. You'd ask, but it isn't your place. Literally.

Hobie sits up with a groan, back cracking, the sound making you wince. “Sounds like you need to stretch more.” You joke.

He laughs, his mind tricks him, making him think of all the teasing you've said to him once upon a time.

“I think my back is beyond saving by just stretching.” Head leaning on his elbow, arm propped up by his knee, he still can't wrap his mind around your existence. “Which dimension did you come from?”

You straighten your back, lips curling into a smile. “How'd you know I'm not from here?”

Hobie reaches for his mask, for a moment he pauses. Still, with an apprehensive tug, he takes off his mask. Shock and confusion is evident in your expression. Reminding him of the time when he told you he was Spider-Man all those years ago.

“You're…old.” A hundred questions flood your mind at the sight of his crow’s feet that decorates his eyes. He has smile lines around his mouth, he still has piercings but there's less of them now. His hair is graying, patches of grey that weave around his locs. Under the wear of time on his face, you could recognize that face amidst a thousand faces. It's Hobie, but not your Hobie. “Definitely not in Kansas anymore.”

He chuckles deeply, he misses that humour of yours. “You look how I remember.” he whispers, you could barely hear his words.

You knit your eyebrows together. “Did I travel to the future instead of a different dimension?” The same sensation passes through you, rattling your bones and wracking your senses. You glitch once again. Stomach churning, you cough out harshly.

Shaking his head, Hobie stands up then he gives you a hand. “Not time travel,” you take his hand weakly, lifting you up, he worries for you. “Definitely from another universe. Come with me to the safehouse and we'll fix your watch, yeah?”

Nodding, you trust him completely. “Okay, just to remind you though, don't jostle me around too much—”

“You get motion sick from web swingin’, I know, I remember.” His heart aches, and you can see it hidden behind his hazel eyes.

—

After swinging across the city, and with you fighting the bile rising to your throat, you two finally make it to his safehouse that's masquerading as an old laundromat. You and older Hobie enter from the back door, and another door greets you, all thick steel and seemingly bullet proof.

He enters a set of codes on the numpad that you didn't notice until he was pressing numbers in. You don't bring out the fact that the passcode was your birthday.

The door beeps, an indication that it's unlocked. He looks at you over his shoulder, smiling softly at your nervous eyes.

“Stay behind me, yeah? Don't mind the lads. Or the whispers.”

“Whispers? Why would they gossip about me?”

“Nothin'” he turns back around. “Just stay close to me.”

“Okay, I wasn't planning to wander anyway, it looks like a small house so—” just as you say it, a long staircase leading down to what looks like the abyss makes you think otherwise. “Are you evil Hobie? You planning on bringing me to your little house of horrors to kill me?”

“Are you part of the sinister six?” He asks flatly, slightly enjoying the banter.

“No—”

“Then you've got nothin’ to worry ‘bout.” Hobie continues to walk down the stairs, heavy boots thudding against the concrete with every footstep. Darkness surrounds him quickly, you could only see the outline of him under the dark. He notices the way you stay on top of the stairs, hands wringing together. “I've got a torch if you're scared—”

“Yes!” You exclaim too fast. “I mean, sure, yeah.” He doesn't tease, for that you silently thank him. You hear a click, and then a torch coming from a gadget on his arm lights the way. “Thanks,” you whisper, finally catching up with him.

The stairs lead you down further, with only Hobie's torch guiding the way, you subtly hold the hem of his vest. If he minded, he never said anything. Ears popping, another door greets you at the end.

Hobie knocks, a rhythm that you can't quite place. A panel on the door slides open, a pair of eyes roams over to Hobie's face and then to yours. Brown eyes widening at the sight of you, they close the panel, then they open the metal door with a creak. Light escapes from the opening, and you shield your eyes from the sudden brightness.

“Holy fucking shit,” a female voice exclaims. Their cadence is full of surprise, and somewhat breathless. “W-what— how?”

“She's not from here,” Hobie explains, almost sounding forlorn at his own words.

Your eyes finally adjust, and you see an older Yuri gawking at you. She has aged well and gracefully, you think, as she sports the lighter hair with confidence and wrinkles barely noticeable.

“Yuri?” You still ask even though you're ninety nine percent sure that it's her.

“The one and only, gorgeous.” Without thinking, she drags you inside, pulling you in for a hug. You heard her sniffle, and you felt how her shoulders relaxed just from the hug alone. So you let her embrace you, with your hand awkwardly rubbing in an attempt to soothe her. Pulling away, she holds you at arm's length. She pats your shoulder, smoothing your sleeves, “still gorgeous, and still unfair.” Snorting, she lets you go, turning towards your companion. “Gwen's been waiting for you.”

Hobie gets flung back to the present, the simple sight of Yuri hugging you has brought him to the past, back when everything was better.

You stare at him, and he knows there's a lot of questions swimming in that genius mind of yours. He nods once wordlessly, not trusting his own mouth to form coherent words right now.

You follow him just as he instructed, Yuri reluctantly lets you go. Your nails dig into your sweaty palms, and eyes restlessly looking around the safe house. The place is expansive, walls high up, and when you look down, you see weathered tiles that have cracked from time. There's a train track in the middle, and you realize it's an old metro station. Instead of advertisements and train schedules on the walls, you see several monitors hanging on it, thousands of wires running through all of them, beeping and buzzing coming out of the computers. There's also weapon racks littered around the place, large and something that looks like it came from a sci-fi film.

There's a lot of people running around, all clad in the same style as Hobie. Leather, chains and metal spikes all adorning their forms. You quickly look away whenever you pass a stranger who widens their eyes at the sight of you.

Tugging at Hobie's vest, you peer at him. “Why does everyone give me that same look? And who's Gwen?”

He doesn't stop his strides, “Gwen's a friend, she knows you, kind of.” He decides to tease you. Maybe it's his brain trying to compensate for the time he hasn't done it. “Why? You jealous? Green eyed monster rearing its ugly mug?”

You scoff with a playful smile. “Technically, I don't know you, so…” his smile wavers, “there's no way I'd be jealous. Also you're…old.” His smile returns, there's a question that suddenly pops in your mind. “Are we a thing here?” You suppose you should ask just to get it away, and this isn't even the same Hobie back home so you don't lose anything by asking.

His face flattens, something passes by his eyes and he turns away. “Don't worry ‘bout it.”

“That's not answering my question, or any of my questions—”

“Gwen.” Hobie passes by you without sparing you a glance.

He enters a large open space that is full of computers and screens that blink and beep. There's a dozen or so people that walk around the area, all looking frazzled and tired. It looks like a command center of some sorts. A stranger bumps into you, accidentally shoving you by your shoulder.

“Sorry, I—” The man stops in his tracks, it's Ned, or at least this universe's version of Ned. The wrinkles around his eyes and white hair says that he must've been the same age as this Hobie. The clipboard in his hand falls from his grasp, eyes wide and watery, he gasps. “Y/N—”

Hobie appears next to you, “yeah it's her, Ned.”

“B-but…she's—”

Hobie shakes his head, wordlessly having a conversation with his best friend. “We'll talk later, I promise.” He softens his voice. The interaction has you more confused. They have a stare down with you caught in the middle.

You give Ned an apologetic smile. Crouching, you take the fallen clipboard, giving it back to him. “Here, sorry for bumping into you.”

His hand trembles as he takes it. “It's okay, I gotta go.” Rushing, he leaves you and Hobie.

“Is he okay? Please don't tell me you're working him to the bone.” You scold him.

“No, you know I'll never do that.”

“Just like I said, I technically don't know you.” Exasperated from all the dodging Hobie has done, you walk away and towards the command center where a large table sits in the middle and in-between a huge screen.

Hobie has forgotten has stubborn you can be, following behind you, he can already see Gwen looking furious just standing next to the table, all menacing like.

“Hobie, what the fuck did you do?” The sudden angry tone makes your skin jump, kind of reminding you of your days back in school. “Have you finally lost your damn mind?” The blond woman gestures towards you.

There's red streaks in her braided hair, clothes perfectly suited to her form. She stands out from the rest, she looks sporty in her varsity jacket and white trainers. But of course she wears a pair of leather pants and an old band shirt that says ‘fuck getting fridged!’ You have no idea what that means.

Before she could blow a gasket, you explain yourself. “It's not time travel actually,” you say, voice faltering once you notice all eyes are on you. “It's interdimensional travel— on accident! I didn't mean to.”

Gwen crosses her arms over her chest, “you a spiderperson? Do you answer to Miguel?”

“No, not a spiderperson, just some idiot who made a huge mistake by trying to make her own watch because my best friend asked me to.” You take the broken watch from your pocket to place it on the table. “See? I broke it.”

“Your Hobie asked you to help him?” Older Hobie asks, you nod, his eyes flick over to you and then the bracelet. “Sounds like something I would do.” He whispers to himself.

“Wait, you don't have a watch on you anymore? Then—” Gwen starts but your glitching interrupts her.

It was only two seconds but you felt like your insides were being ripped apart, and your eyeballs were getting scooped out by a spoon. Heaving, hands gripping on the table for balance, you cough loudly as Hobie pats your back.

“Motherfucker—! That one was worse than the last one.” You almost choke on your own spit. “Goddamnit.”

“I was about to ask why you're not glitching, I guess I got my answer.” Gwen hands you a water bottle. “Here.” Turning towards Hobie, who's already picking apart the bracelet, she sternly calls for his attention. “What do you plan with her?”

“Fix her watch then let her stay because she's Y/N.” He nonchalantly says, lying through his teeth to rile up his already mad right hand woman.

“Your real plan, Hobie.” She taps her foot impatiently, you still wonder what his words meant. “We don't have the time or the resources to help her right now. Especially when our little machine still hasn't turned on.”

“Would you rather have her molecules ripped apart or spare a few parts so she could go home?” Hobie places his hands on top of the table, eyes narrowed, challenging Gwen. Whilst you take in his words. “Our main focus still hasn't changed, she's a guest and if we don't help her she will die.” Inhaling, he continues, “you heard her, she has someone to go back too. Someone who's lookin' for her. Do you really want him to experience that kind of—” he stops after feeling your eyes on him. He clears his throat. “We'll help her fix the watch, it'll take me a few hours to finish it and we'll still be on schedule for the attack.”

You set aside your oncoming demise to ask him about ‘the attack’. “Schedule for what?”

Gwen visibly relaxes from your gaze, you surmise that this universe’s you has history with her. “We're gonna take down Osborn once and for all.”

You knit your brows together. “You haven't done that yet?”

Gwen and Hobie blinks in surprise, intrigued, everyone else who wasn't already eavesdropping looks at you expectantly.

“What do you mean ‘haven't?’” Gwen asks, eyebrow raised.

“We already did that in our dimension a few years ago. I still have a few scars from it.”

Hobie cranes his neck towards Gwen, hazel eyes suddenly forlorn, shoulders heavy, and jaw tightening. “You succeeded?”

It all hits you, they've failed in where you and your friends have succeeded. You gained where they've lost, and you feel for their pain, you for*his suffering. You now know why he gave you that look the first time he saw you.

Composing yourself, even though your chest feels heavy, you still act as if their revelation doesn't bother you, when it has impacted you like you're the one who lost. “Y-yeah, I mean everyone helped a lot. I just did the best I can.” You scratch the back of your neck, “we had this thing that can cripple the symbiote inside his men—”

Gwen takes out a small circular device from her pocket. “Like this?”

You shake your head, “no, we just hooked a bunch of amplifiers around the area and Hobie and his band played really fucking loud. My ears ring just thinking about it.”

“Yeah we all know about them hating loud sounds but that didn't work for us before.” Gwen and Hobie's hopes are dashed. “And after all the tries, we stopped trying that method.”

“Why don't you guys ask for help with spider society? I'm sure—”

Hobie cuts you off, scowling at his feet. “I did, I asked for help. And what did that vampire from 2099 say?” He grows frustrated, knuckles shaking, eyes looking away from you. “He refused, saying that no one could intervene. That this was my canon event, and if anybody helped that it'll put the multiverse into dangerous territory.” Shaking his head, the man before shows up, and Hobie turns away from him. “It's bullshit, that's why I left.”

“We did find out why sound doesn't disable the symbiotes. Osborn made some kind of shield around them.” Gwen pipes up, shifting the conversation before Hobie gets angrier from the mere mention of Miguel.

“Like armor?” You ask.

“Yes, it's invisible to the naked eye. Thanks to Hobie, we finally found their Achilles heel. If only we could get this damn device to work then we'll be free of him and his regime.” She continues.

“Maybe I can help—”

“No,” Hobie quickly says, hurt in his eyes, he avoids yours. “No, I'll get your watch fixed up and you can go.”

“But I may be able to help—”

“No,” he emphasizes, with a shaky breath, he calls for Yuri. “Take her to the extra room,” instructing Yuri, she smiles at you apologetically. “Stay there until your watch is fixed.”

“She might be right—” Gwen starts but Hobie ignores her.

You glitch once again, stomach turning inside out, this time you feel like your skin is being ripped away. Eyes rolling on the back of your head, head spiralling. The next thing you know, you're laying on top of a hard mattress. Groaning, vision adjusting, you sit up carefully.

Your eyes adjust to the dim light hanging above, a single light bulb that swings from a draft seeping out of a crack in the wall. The room is small, barely even fitting the single bed. Walls of grey concrete surround you on all sides, there's a few posters on the walls that are tacked lopsidedly. They're all worn down, like they're older than you from the looks of the fading ink. A singular guitar sits at the corner, black and cherry red, hundreds of stickers are placed on it, adding to the roses that are painted all over it. It screams Hobie, but not your Hobie. Just sitting on his bed makes you miss him, even though you know they are not the same.

Stretching your aching neck from awkward angles it was put through because of the glitching, you spot a polaroid picture sticking out from under the pillow. You don't want to be nosy, but seeing your own face smile at you has you reaching for the photograph.

It's you, but not you exactly. Your face is the same, clothes you can't recognize. The only thing you can recognize is the way you hold onto Hobie. This universe's Hobie. Cheek pressed on his own, mirrored smiles on both your lips, his arm around your waist, pulling you close as if you'd fade away. And your arms enveloping around him like you're shielding him from harm. There's one detail that jumps at you with how yellowed the paper is and how crumpled the corners are, you're both incredibly young.

“Oh,” There had been signs, and this now confirms it.

You look at the steel door as if you had x-ray vision, as if you can see through it and see the Hobie that this version of you had loved once upon a dimly lit pub where the polaroid was taken.

Placing the picture back where you found it, you test your shaky legs. You make it two steps before you start glitching out, tumbling towards the door, forehead pressed on the cold steel, you heave dryly.

There's tears in your eyes when you open the door. Silence greets you, the air is cold and stagnant, the lights that were blinking at you earlier are now dim enough that you have to feel your way towards the concrete hallway and out into the warm light. Your hands glide along the almost frozen walls, rough sandy concrete hitting your palms like sandpaper. Footsteps quiet to not rouse the sleeping crew.

Finally making it out, lungs cool, and teeth chattering, you feel sicker by the minute. Hobie stands next to the large console, back towards you. Metals clicking and grinding against each other, Hobie doesn't look over his shoulder from your presence.

You knock on the wall to not startle him and ruin his work. Hobie finally cranes his neck to look at you, shoulders tensed and eyebrows knitted together in either frustration or concentration.

“You okay?” You ask, voice echoing in the vast room.

“I should be askin’ you that.” He goes back to the table, immediately tinkering.

“Well, are you?”

“You're stubborn.”

“My best quality.”

You hear him softly chuckle thanks to the silence hanging in the air. Walking closer, you smile at the sight of his rubber gloves that protect his hands.

“So?” You ask again.

“Never better.” He flatly says, eyes focused on putting your watch together.

“Why'd you leave the society?”

“Thought you were smart?”

“I am, and a consequence of that is being utterly curious.”

Hobie sighs but doesn't stop working. “Creative differences.”

“Ah, I knew it. You and my Hobie would get along well.” Your words trail off when you see the same spherical tech sitting next to him. “Is that the thing you can't figure out?”

He spares it a glance. “Yeah, the bane of my existence.”

You go around him to look at it closely. Eyes narrowed, arms tucked, you lean closer. “I think—” you grab it before Hobie could stop you. The glitching must've taken a toll in your critical thinking because you crack it open like an egg in your hands. “That's your problem.”

“What the fuck?” He says breathlessly, almost yelling, eyes wide, hands already grabbing the tech to fix it. “What is wrong with you?”

“Thin shell.”

“We've established that you have a thin skull—”

“Rude, but I'm talking about that.” You point at the sphere while Hobie's cradling it like a baby. “the shell is too thin,” you take half of it, pointing out its faults. “See? You need to make the shell a bit thicker, put a pressure plate so that—”

Hobie has a growing smile. “When it's thrown it automatically turns on. With the thicker shell it can withstand it and with it helps distribute the energy more evenly. Shutting all the shields down around its vicinity without needing to push a button.” His eyes widen with realization with every word he says that you already know of. “That way we can arm every rebel with a hundred of these and take down Osborn's venoms without risking close combat. Fuckin' brilliant.” He looks at you in wonder. Embarrassment flickers in his eyes, he should've thought of that, yet, he didn't. You might not be his Y/N but you're worthy of her name.

“Sometimes the easier solution is the best.” Your next sentence has your hands shaking, he notices. “Was your Y/N as brilliant as me?” You finally ask.

Hobie's cheery face falls, “She was smart, but not that brilliant. Her bravery makes up for it.”

“I'm sorry.” Tears stick to your lashes, heart aching for the man before you.

“You are curious.” After years without you, he still has no idea how to respond to those exact words. “How you feelin’?”

“Me?”

“Finding out a version of you is dead must be fuckin' weird.”

You shake your head. “I first thought that I'd see an old wrinkly me.” A half joke. You smile at him to make him feel better, but with how forlorn those hazel eyes are, you might've made it all worse. You weren't lying, you wanted to see a glimpse of your future, but finding out the version of you here is long dead doesn't compare to the feeling of losing someone you've known for years, loved even. “It's terrifying, but it doesn't compare to how hurt you must be. Losing her, I mean.”

He didn't see you grow old. He didn't experience growing old with you.

Hobie clears his throat, “I know you're not her.”

“And I know you're not him. But it looks like we both share the same feelings for them respectively.”

“That obvious?”

“Hobie once told me that in every universe there's always someone for Spider-Man. So yes, it's obvious.” You give him an empathetic smile. “How'd you know it's the same for me?” For us?

“You talk about him like how I talk about her. Takes one to know one, love.” He holds your hand briefly, like it was acting on an old instinct. “Have you told him? How much you're bloody smitten? I have a feelin’ you haven't.”

You nervously chuckle, hands fiddling with a loose screw on the table. “Nope.”

“Let me guess, waitin’ for the right time? Scared of what would happen in the long run?” He says knowingly.

You don't look him in the eyes. “Yeah.”

Something flashes behind Hobie's eyes, after a beat of silence, he finally speaks. “She died protectin’ my crew, did you know that? She died protectin' me, and how do I thank her? Years of failing, years of fighting and we've only come close but never winning in the end.” Hobie sniffs, head raised to look at the graffiti painted on the ceiling. “If i just told her that I loved her, I would've had more time with her. Instead, I was a coward, all those years wasted because I'm a coward.” Hobie finally looks at you, the warm light from the lamp lights the trapped tears in his eyes. “Don't wait for the right time.”

You shake your head, heart clenching at the sight. “I don't think all those years were wasted. You loved her quietly, and I think she did too. Time spent together isn't wasted, just like your silent love. Love is never wasted.”

He smiles softly, the resemblance of a younger Hobie is etched under the small smile. “You would know.”

“I would know,” you smile back. Trepidation hangs around your neck like a two ton steel necklace. “How would I know that he feels the same way? What if it doesn't work out? Or worse, reject me?”

“His loss,” Hobie grins, a genuine one that you haven't seen this version of him sport. It's the only thing you need for reassurance. “But I highly doubt that will happen.”

Nodding, you feel determination where the heaviness once resided. “I'll tell him when I get back. I promise.” You say wholeheartedly.

“You better, don't make the same choices I did.” Hobie holds your hands like how someone holds a feather, gentle and kind. “At least I got to see her one last time, eh, love? A bit younger but beggars can't be choosers.” You feel something heavy on your wrist. Looking down, you see a working watch. Hobie slyly put it on you, it even has your dimension already keyed in on the screen. You look back at him, mouth slightly agape. “Too much power, that was the problem. Sometimes the easier solution is the best.” You laugh at him using your own words against you.

“Thank you, do me a favour?”

“Tit for tat, huh?”

You giggle, then you face him seriously. “Crush Osborne. Fucking decimate him. Or I'll come back and bring the cavalry.”

Hobie's finger ghosts above the button. “You know where to find me, love.”

“And you know where I am.” You smile as the portal opens behind you. A gust of air breezes past you, eyelashes fluttering in the wind, a kaleidoscope of colors dancing on Hobie's face, illuminating his hopeful eyes. “I'm serious, if you need help—”

He slides his hands away from yours. “Go home, Y/N, your Hobie is lookin' for you.” With the mention of him, you give him one last smile for him to remember. You take a step back and fall back into the portal.

—

You fall unceremoniously on the wet pavement, body crashing on a pile of discarded boxes and metal trash cans. The crashing sound would've startled anybody and would have their attention, but no one seems to pay you mind as everyone stares at the ashy remnants of your flat. Groaning, you slap your forehead because of your stupidity. You feel relieved because you seem to be home. Everything seems to be in place, and everything seems to be normal.

“Fucking idiot.” You whisper breathlessly at the sight of your charred flat. Your relief gets washed away when you see Hobie in his suit kneeling down in agony whilst bystanders watch on in grief. Your eyes flick over to him and back to your flat, then back to him.

His shoulders are shaking, head in his hands, nails digging into his mask. You'd yell his name if not for the crowd. Instead, you walk to him, legs still wobbly but getting steady with every step. Soon enough, before you could make your presence known with your hand reaching for his shoulder, he moves his head so fast that you're afraid that his neck would snap. The eyes of his mask widens, standing up, he grabs you lightning quick.

Arms holding you close, you feel his warmth as he slides his hand to your pulse. Hobie sighs in relief, even laughing as he slots his face in the crook of your neck.

You mirror him, hands kneading on his back, telling him you're back and you're not going anywhere with the simple touch.

“I thought— where—?” he starts, but you press your lips on his cheek. He practically freezes in place even with his mask acting as a barrier.

“I love you,” you confess, just as promised, and truthfully. “I love you—!” In a half second after the words are uttered, he swings you both effortlessly on a rooftop, away from prying eyes.

Hobie steadies you on your feet, mask discarded in a heartbeat. “You mean it?”

“Of course I do.” You don't miss the sight of his tear stained cheeks. Your hands reach for him, thumbs rubbing softly on each cheek. “I love you, Hobie.”

“Good, then you don't mind me doin' this?” The warmth of his hand seeps through his gloves, that won't do, so he takes his gloves off to feel you. His bare hand is on your nape, the other is placed on your waist, fingers tapping on your skin lovingly.

You already know what he's asking. “Nope, not at all—”

With an inhale, he closes the distance, kissing you, taking your breath away.

You've fulfilled your promise.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

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firewasabeast · 1 day

Text

In This My Weakness

Summary: A week before the wedding, Buck gets a devastating call that his parents won't be coming.

read below or on ao3. I'm thinking of making a part two as well, but this fic can be read alone.

Tommy could tell something was wrong before Buck even hung up the phone. His smile had all but disappeared and the gleam that was usually always in his eyes was now replaced by a cloud of darkness.

Tommy's arm instinctually reached out to rest on the back of the couch, giving Buck the perfect spot to fall into. “What's wrong?” he asked, Buck gripping his phone tightly, staring down at it.

“They're uh- they're not coming,” Buck answered, his voice cracking.

Tommy was confused. He hadn't actually heard the phone call. Buck had been in the kitchen of their new place when he answered, then quickly stepped outside. Tommy had only been reading his facial expressions through the glass door.

“Who's not coming where?” he asked slowly.

Buck sighed. He bit the bottom of his lip before responding. Tommy knew that was something he'd do when he was trying not to let his emotions take over. “Mom and dad,” he replied, “to the wedding. They're not- um, they're not coming to the wedding.”

“What?!” Tommy turned to better face Buck on the couch. “What do you mean they're not coming to the wedding, Evan?”

Buck shrugged. Tommy knew he was barely holding it together, trying to play it down, make it seem like it didn't bother him as much as it really did. But, at least to Tommy, Buck was a terrible liar.

“Evan, honey, speak to me, please. Why aren't your parents coming to our wedding?”

Another shrug, but Buck looked away from his phone this time. He glanced over at Tommy, who could now see the redness in his eyes. He was fighting to keep the tears away.

“They, um, th- they said they had planned a cruise like a year ago and forgot until now, apparently.”

Tommy ran his hands through his hair, eyes wide, feeling more confused now than before. “I'm sorry, what? Evan, that doesn't make any sense.”

“I guess they didn't get insurance for the cruise, so if they cancel they don't get their money back, and they completely forgot until they got a reminder email this morning.” Buck shook his head and let out a laugh. “I guess I shouldn't be surprised.”

“No, you should very much be surprised. They can't get money back for a cruise so they cancel on their son's wedding? This doesn't make any sense. Should I call them? I'll call them.”

As Tommy went to reach for his phone, Buck laid a hand over his, stopping him. “No, Tommy, don't. I- I really appreciate it, but it's fine. Really. I'm fine.”

Buck patted Tommy's hand, then got up and started making his way back into the kitchen. He had been in the middle of cleaning some things up when he got the call, so he needed to go finish that.

Except, at least to Tommy, the conversation was very far from over. So he got up as well and followed Buck.

“I just don't get it,” he said. “Can they switch dates? I've had to do that for trips before.”

“I asked that. But whatever cruise they're going on doesn't go back to those same places for a few months, or something... I don't know. The answer was no, though.”

“What all did they say? I feel like I'm getting a third of the story here.”

“They said what I told you. Can't make it, have a cruise, no refunds, send their love... and a blender, I guess.”

“We already have two blenders.”

“And now we'll have a backup for our backup.” Since they got into the kitchen, Buck had been avoiding eye contact. He was keeping busy, moving dishes from the drain to their spots in the cabinet, clanging silverware together as he tossed them into a drawer, and even moving spices from their usual spots on the spice rack to new spots.

“Well, should we- should we change our date then?” Tommy asked. Yes, they both wanted to get married on the anniversary of the day they first met but, if they needed to adjust for the Buckley's, they would.

The question stopped Buck in his tracks. Still turned away from Tommy, he lowered his hands to rest them on the counter. “We're not changing our date.”

“Evan.”

“No,” he doubled down, firmer this time. “We're not changing our dates. If they can't make an effort to show up, then they just won't be there.”

Now Tommy was starting to get somewhere. Sometimes it took a minute, but Buck would always eventually let his true feelings out.

“If you're sure.”

“I am.” Buck finally turned to face Tommy. He wiped at his eyes, letting out a humorless laugh. “I really thought we were getting somewhere, you know? I thought... I thought they cared.”

“Ev, I think they care, they just-”

“Prioritize a cruise over our marriage.” Buck finished.

“We could Facetime them,” Tommy offered weakly.

Buck shook his head. “No, if they- if they can't show up they don't need to be there at all.” He wiped at his eyes again, but this time the tears couldn't be held back. He felt like a little kid again, his lip trembling, head down, trying to quiet his sobs so his parents couldn't hear him.

But his parents weren't there this time; Tommy was. He was there, and he was wrapping Buck up in a hug before Buck even realized he had crossed the room.

He held on tight, clutching the back of Tommy's shirt. His shoulders shook with the force of his cries, but Tommy held on.

He always held on. His strength, both mentally and physically, kept Buck upright during his toughest moments.

Buck did the same for Tommy too. That's why this relationship worked so perfectly. They didn't go fifty-fifty here; they both gave one hundred percent of themselves.

“I re- really wanted them th- there,” he managed to get out through little breaths.

“I know, I know,” Tommy soothed, running a hand up and down Buck's back.

“They were s- supposed to walk me down the a- aisle.” He pulled back from Tommy just enough to look up at him. “Oh God, what are we gonna do about that?”

“Hey, hey, don't worry about it,” Tommy said, bringing his hand up to Buck's face. He used his thumbs to gently wipe the tears from his cheeks. “We'll figure something out. We don't have to do the walking down the aisle, or my mom can walk us both, or we'll walk together, or-” he paused, “or you could ask Bobby and Athena.”

Buck sucked in another breath, contemplating the idea. “That's- You think they'd do that?”

Tommy smiled softly. “Of course they would. They wouldn't hesitate for a second.”

“Bobby's already doing the ceremony though.”

Tommy shrugged. “Doing things a little differently than normal is the Buckley way, isn't it?”

Buck managed a shaky laugh. “The Buckley-Kinard way now. Sorry you're stuck with me.”

Tommy shook his head. “I'm not.” He placed two fingers under Buck's chin, just like the night he first kissed Evan. The night he tried to play it cool, all while his heart was racing and mind filled with a million different thoughts. He kissed him softly, slowly. He could feel Buck's body relax, some of the weight from the last few minutes falling away.

“I love you, Evan.”

Buck reached up, running his hand through the back of Tommy's hair. There were a lot of people that told Buck they loved him. Some, he believed, others... not so much. But there was one person who he believed it every single time, and he was gonna marry that man in a week, no matter who was or wasn't there.

“I love you too.”

#evan buckley #bucktommy #911 #tommy kinard #buck x tommy #tevan #buck and tommy #buck tommy

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writers-potion · 20 hours

Note

I just found your account and really adore all of you prompts and tips! 💖I wanted to ask how to possibly display a teen character who is kind at first, then becomes more cold due to the heavy load of their trauma and even becoming a scary, calculated ,manipulative bully to their loved one. How could I portray the gradually shift/build up in their concerning behavior and attitude, as well as how they treat said loved one without immediately resorting to physical violence and name calling to show it?

Kind To Mean: Character Development

Hi! Thanks for the ask :)

When we experience bad things in life, there are broadly two ways to frame the situation: (1) finding responsibility in ourselves and (2) finding responsibility in the world.

The way we choose to distribute responsibility between the self and the external world is vary by circumstance. What's clear, however, is placing blame only on one side is almost never helpful.

For example: Child Abuse

The World's Responsibility: Child abuse is clearly something that a person can blame the abusers for. They can resent the neighbors who never helped them and be angry at the world for giving them such a bad, traumatising experience. If they keep living in this "blame the world" mindset for 20 years, however, their situation will not improve.

Individual's Responsibility: It is partly up to the individual to be responsible for their past trauma. They may have not chosen to be hurt but now that they are, they need to step up for themselves and work on a healing process. But if they swing too far and blame themselves for inducing abuse, it would be unhealthy too.

Show how your character swings like a pendulum between these two attitudes, slowly tipping more to an angry, blaming mindset.

Small Disappointments With the World

At first, your character will start in the middle. They may be suffering, but they're still open to trying to understand the world and maybe even find forgiveness/peace with it.

Then:

Show how they try to better the situation, but face failures. This doesn't have to be a big moment of rejection, but something that makes the character feel disappointed and hesitant.

Toxic meritocracy. Show side characters who have "you can do anything if you try" mindset. Slowly, your character will stop seeking help, believing that the people around them don't really want to help.

The loved one may be unable to fully understand/accept the feelings of the character. When someone is traumatized, it's a hard thing for their loved ones too; they may not know how they should react and sometimes, this can give rise to more friction between them.

Eventually, your character distances themselves from the world and kind of losses touch with reality. They feel lonely and cannot find any motivation to commuicate with the world.

Soon, they'll stop communicating rationally but only lash out emotionally at every little thing.

Small Disappointments With the Self

Your character will at times swing to the other side and blame themselves for the trauma.

Show how they become filled with hope, then fall even deeper into self hate. They may make an elaborate plan for "self development" but when it doesn't work out on Day 2, they abandon themselves.

Internalizing toxic meritocracy.

Show how they say harsh things they say to themselves at the loved one instead, knowing they shouldn't be saying it to them.

Lashing out can be a form of self protection. When the character knows that they're in a bad place, they may feel ashamed and not want to show it to their loved one. When the love one tries to help and get closer, the character will push.

Alternate between the extremes of self-blaming and world-blaming, especially when writing internal dialogue.

Your character will have moments when they "snap" and start lashing out suddenly. Build up to this moment by showing how the character "rehearses" such a thing in their head before they do it.

Here's an example:

Character: I'm such a loser who can't even go to the supermarket without trembling. Why am I like this? Loved One: "Hey, will you get some eggs for me?" Character: Oh no no no no no. I can't! She knows I'm scared of supermarkets, then why is she telling me to go? She wants to make me feel like a loser. God, she's looking at me as if I'm a loser that I probably am. I want to run, just run from this place -- Loved One: "You going or not?" [Character suddenly springs up from their chair, shoves the Loved One aside, and runs away]

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

💎If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram!

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jmliebert · 2 days

Text

fire and salt (aemond ff)

part I

summary: Vaella, daughter of Laenor Velaryon and Rhaenyra Targaryen, is caught in a web of political intrigue and family tension. She's about to marry Aemond Targaryen, a man who has despised her since childhood. Though the marriage is supposed to strengthen alliances, Vaella knows it could bring nothing but torment. Despite her fear, she is determined to find her place in King's Landing, where whispers can be as deadly as dragonfire. But the last thing she expects is to fall in love with someone she shouldn't—especially when it’s someone whose affection could lead to more turmoil than she can imagine...

word count: 3800

tags: complicated relationship, childhood trauma, mutual pining, eventual smut (not in the first part tho!)

author's note: well... I wanted to explore Aemond character more, push him to the edge, cross the line and see what's on the other side. I’d love to hear what you think of it <3

also! you can read it on ao3 ♡

The world was on fire. My limbs consumed by the searing heat. I writhed in agony as t he dragon tore into my body, its talons digging deep into my yielding flesh with a sickening crunch. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound escaped—only a silent, gasping struggle as my breath faltered and my lungs strained against the crushing weight of pain. Tears streamed down my cheeks, streaking my vision with a blur of terror and despair. The dragon's eyes, cold and pitiless, betrayed no hint of emotion as it devoured me alive. Its fangs, dripping with my blood, sank into my belly, ripping muscle and sinew with a brutal force. The beast's dark scales shimmered, then I woke up in a jolt, drenched in sweat, my heart racing as if still fleeing from the dragon’s embrace. But the slick wetness between my thighs was more alarming than any nightmare; it carried a chill that seeped deep into my bones.

Blood. The first sign that my destiny was no longer my own.

I sat still in my bed. My knife, always within reach, rested on the nightstand. I ran my fingers along its edge. I knew this moment would come—it was a grim certainty, woven into the fabric of any woman—but that didn't make it any easier to face. I'd told myself I was prepared, that I'd grown accustomed to the idea of leaving when the blood came. But when it finally did, I felt as if the earth beneath me shifted, unsteady, pulling me toward a path I had no choice but to walk.

I sat there for a long time, staring at the stone walls of my room, trying to push back the tide of dread. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if I could hide it, if I could somehow extend my time at Dragonstone. But the duty I was born into would not wait, and there was no escaping the grim reality of what awaited me. My fate had been sealed the moment my bloodline began, and now it was my turn to carry the burden.

So much would change now. I'd have to leave behind everything I knew—my mother, Jace, and Luke.

I would miss him most of all, Luke that is. I wanted to protect him for longer, but I knew I could not. My time at the Dragonstone was running short and Luke was growing up, as well as I. Now a role had to be play, and there was no turning back. The dragon's blood that ran through my veins demanded it. The salt of the sea that ran through my veins, demanded it as well, perhaps with even greater ferocity. The path ahead was carved in stone, and I would soon learn what it truly meant to carry the weight of my family's legacy.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

When my mother, Rhaenyra, entered the room, I was already dressed, combing my hair with deliberate strokes, over and over, as if each pass could erase the anxiety growing within me since the morning. My knife was hidden in the folds of my dress as always, its weight giving me strength. Sometimes I gripped the handle for a brief comfort, a silent reminder that not all power lay in dragons and thrones—sometimes it was just a sharp edge and a quick hand.

"The maester sent the ravens. We await the responses," my mother said, stepping closer to me. The reflection in the mirror caught us both—her regal bearing, the fine lines of her body, and my own younger visage, tense. She smiled at me, a soft expression that reassured me, even if it was for a brief second. "You have the most beautiful hair I have ever seen," she added, gently touching the waves cascading over my shoulders. "They remind me of your father.”

My father, Laenor Velaryon; the only son of Lord Corlys Velaryon and Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. Heir to Driftmark, who died so suddenly, his death casting a long shadow over House Velaryon. The mention of his name brought a sharp pang of grief. I didn't understand why, but every time my mother spoke about him, there was a flicker of anger beneath my sorrow, a heat I masked with a tight smile.

However my mother was right. I had inherited my father's hair—thick, white as freshly fallen snow—but I chose to wear it loose and flowing, while his had been twisted into dreadlocks, the mark of a seafarer. It might sound shallow, but I always felt a surge of pride when I thought of our shared hair, a bond to the legacy he left behind. In the sunlight, my hair shimmered like polished silver, cascading in long, graceful curls. It was my most prized possession, a connection to my father's spirit and the salt-washed halls of Driftmark. My height and lean frame were also part of his legacy as well as the fact that we both liked boys. However, while my romantic inclinations were celebrated, his were met with whispers and hushed disapproval.

From my mother however, I inherited the rest: the lilac eyes, that hinted at the dragons in my lineage, the golden hue of my skin that spoke of distant suns and warm sands and the sharp bone structure, high cheeks, strong jaw.

In the mirror's reflection, I saw both sides of my heritage: the dragon's fire and the seafarer's freedom. I was a daughter of Rhaenyra and Laenor, heir to two powerful houses that ruled over Westeros, yet I felt utterly powerless. Despite my roots, despite the blood of both dragonlords and seafarers, the world I was born into demanded everything while offering little in return. I was a princess by birthright, yet the weight of that title felt more like a shackle that already started to grow into my body.

"How did you manage it?" I asked my mother, my voice barely above a whisper. My eyes locked onto hers in the mirror reflection, searching for a hint of…something.

"Well, your father was a wonderful man," she replied after a moment, choosing her words with the kind of careful diplomacy she'd learned during years spend at court "Kind and good, I only wish you had the same."

It was true—Laenor had been a decent man, a rarity among the royals. He treated us with respect, he knew love and he knew kindness. But I knew Aemond wasn't likely to follow that path of gentleness. He just wasn’t born this way.

or perhaps, we made him this way

"Easy for you to say," I replied, a hint of bitterness creeping into my tone. "If I had to marry someone even slightly like Father, I wouldn't be as afraid.”

My mother sighed, her gaze softening as she placed a hand on my shoulder. "Aemond may not be perfect, but he's not a monster," she said, her voice steady and reassuring. "He's skilled in battle, and I've heard he spends a great deal of time in his chambers reading. You have that in common. And, remember, he's just a man—you can persuade him. And if things ever get too difficult, your grandsire Viserys will always be there to help, even if I'm not close by. You have more allies than you think, my dear Vaella.”

I nodded reluctantly, my mother's words falling short of understanding. How could I seek solace from my grandsire when my greatest concern was Aemond's deep-seated hatred for me? Could I even sway my future husband to my will? Did I truly want to? The boy had harboured a simmering hatred for me since we were children—ever since the accident with his eye. His loathing wasn't just a passing grudge; it was deep-seated, like a smouldering ember waiting to ignite. The way he looked at me, like I was the source of all his misfortune, made my skin crawl. We didn’t see each others for years now, but I doubted something would change about his attitude. He could be as solid as a rock, never forgetting and at the end of the day, some part of me can’t even blame him.

Aemond wasn't a monster, at least not in the traditional sense, but his malice was palpable. His tongue, sharp and vicious, cut down anyone who stood in his way. And his loyalty, if he had any, was as uncertain as the shifting winds. I was expected to make a life with him, to find some common ground, but the truth was, I'd be walking a narrow path with an adversary who despised me.

It wasn’t fear of physical violence that troubled me—Aemond was too cunning for that, or so I thought. No, it was the venom in his words, the quiet contempt in his gaze, that made me wary. He had a way of turning the simplest interaction into a battle of wits, and I knew that he wouldn't hesitate to use our marriage as a weapon if it suited him. That's why my mother's assurances fell flat, and that’s why I felt so alone at that moment.

“I know, mother,” I responded, my voice steady despite the uncertainty raging within me. I touched my knife once more through the fabric of my dress.

Of course, we could always communicate through ravens; messages could be sent at a moment's notice. I could write with my bothers too. But something in my mother's eyes told me that even the swiftest crow couldn't always bring the answers we needed and not every word would be safe to write. I was to live in the King’s Landing after all. What’s more, there was an undercurrent of tension in our family, a creeping unease that made my skin prickle. I knew I had to be ready for whatever came next and something was coming, raging below the surface; for now.

I knew I'd need to watch everything—every look, every whisper, every seemingly innocent gesture. The times were growing darker, and the Targaryens were no strangers to family strife. I'd need to navigate this new reality with care, with vigilance, and most importantly, with an iron resolve.

If my time at King's Landing was going to be nothing but a sad and long duty, if my marriage was going to be a torment, I was determined to make it count for something. If I was to be a pawn in the game of thrones, then I would be a pawn with a purpose—an ally to my mother, a vigilant eye in the heart of the capital. That was the least I could do.

I had the blood of dragons in my veins and the salt of House Velaryon. To own my heritage meant embracing its legacy, with all its glories and tragedies. It wasn't just about surviving the inevitable treachery and deceit; it was about carving my own path, even if it was strewn with peril.

King's Landing was a viper's nest. But I was ready to play the game, to at least take my part in it. There would be whispers and watchful eyes, betrayals and broken promises, but I knew that if I stayed true to my lineage, I could turn threats into opportunities. It was time to claim my place, to find a meaning. To try.

But first, I had to marry Prince Aemond Targaryen.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

King's Landing, true to its nature, greeted us with its awful, but familiar stench—a noxious blend of unwashed bodies, decaying meat, and urine that lingered in the air. Jace, Baela and Daemon arrived on dragons, their majestic beasts cutting through the sky with breathtaking ease, almost gliding straight to the imposing walls of the Red Keep. Yet, I had no dragon to call my own. The egg that had cradled me in my infancy never hatched. However, over the years it transformed into a stone, a beautiful stone, but nonetheless a stone. Aemond’s egg didn’t hatch either, we had that one in common. Until he mastered Vhagar of course.

I remember this one time when we were all in the Dragonpit. Our little group of young princes and princesses forced to spend time together. The boys, cruel as only boys around this age can be, presented Aemond with a pig with wings attached to it.

“Look, it’s your dragon!” They jeered, their laughter reverberating through the cavernous space. I didn't join in their laughter though; the most I managed was a faint smile. It wasn’t that I was sorry for Aemond, but sorry for myself. I stood there frozen, my heart pounding with apprehension, fearing they would target me next, that there was a pig awaiting for me too, as I was lacking dragon just as well as Aemond did. Yet, the taunts like this never appeared.

I was spared the humiliation of a pig, thanks perhaps to the protective presence of my brothers, their unspoken loyalty serving as a shield against ridicule. Aemond wasn't as fortunate, growing up in the shadow of Aegon and his sister Helaena, while lovely, preferred the company of worms over that of other children. But my brothers were different. We were different. We were close, really close despite the whispers that spread through the castle like a black death. Whispers about their brown hair and Lord Commander of the City Watch. Or maybe we were close because of them.

Amidst the chaotic bustle of the streets, voices rose in a discordant symphony. Merchants clamoured to hawk their wares, beggars pleaded for alms, and the laughter of children echoed through the crowded thoroughfares. The city's myriad scents intermingled in the oppressive heat, wafting through the air in a dizzying array of aromas. Amidst the cacophony, the occasional cry of “Targaryen!" would appear.

Beads of sweat formed on my brow, their cool trails tracing paths down the sides of my temples. With a soft sigh that seemed to melt into the stifling air, I reached for the ornate fan, a futile attempt to save myself from the oppressive heat that enveloped us all. Yet, even as I fanned myself, seeking solace from the stuffy atmosphere, it was the weight of uncertainty that truly burdened me, hanging heavy in the humid air.

Joffrey, my youngest brother, fidgeted restlessly on the lap of his wet nurse, his chubby fingers grasping at the fabric of her dress as he squirmed in discomfort. Luke was pressed against my back, his presence both comforting and stifling in the suffocating heat. Despite the warmth, I couldn't bring myself to push him away. Absently, I ran my fingers through his curls. His hair bounced with each gentle caress.

My mother, Rhaenyra, accompanied me to the Red Keep that day as well. Seated before me, her regal bearing softened by the weight of her own concerns. She seemed lost in her own thoughts. It must have been hard for her too going back to the King’s Landing, though because of other reasons. Reasons I couldn’t fully grasp back then. The lines of worry etched upon her face. As our carriage trundled along the winding streets of city, the imposing walls of the Red Keep loomed ever closer and closer. My mother's hand found mine in a reassuring squeeze. And then, in the blink of an eye, everything unfolded rapidly.

The carriage doors were flung open, and we were officially announced. My mother departed first, I went after her. My steps were heavy with apprehension, my chest hollow with uncertainty. My mind empty and full of thoughts at the same time.

As I struggled to find my bearings, my gaze fell upon my grandsire Viserys, his aged frame leaning heavily on a cane, yet his eyes alight with genuine happiness as he embraced my mother with tenderness. Beside him stood Alicent, her smile beautiful, but revealing nothing of her thoughts. Her chestnut hair cascading in elegant waves over her shoulders. She was wearing a gown of verdant green and looked like a queen should look like; beautiful, untouchable and regal.

The procession was completed by Helaena, Aegon, and…Aemond.

Aemond.

He had changed over the years, that much was evident, but his face; I would always recognise it. It bore mark of a past injury, a stark contrast against his otherwise chiseled features. A sleek eye-patch adorned his visage, a constant reminder of what was. His bone structure was sharp, more reminiscent of a dragon's than a human. Raw and primal, but still; I couldn’t look away. His long, straight hair cascaded like molten silver, a striking contrast to the darkness that enveloped him. He exuded an aura of danger, a predator disguised in the guise of a man, his hands clasped behind his back.

As his gaze locked with mine, I felt a shiver, his eye piercing through the facade I crafted, leaving me feeling uncomfortably exposed. I didn’t like the vulnerability of it, but I guess he did as his lips curled into a smirk, a gesture that sent a wave of unease coursing through me.

"Uncle," I managed to utter, my voice betraying a hint of weakness as I struggled to maintain my composure in the face of his imposing presence.

"Princess Vaella," he replied, his voice smooth as silk as he reached out to kiss my hand, his eye never wavering from my own. His courtesy was almost disarming. With a flicker of hesitation, I tore my gaze from his, seeking refuge in the safety of elsewhere. And I found it in Aegon of all people.

Aegon was shorter and chubbier than his younger brother, his hair a tousled mess atop his head. “You look stunning today, Vaella!” Aegon blurted out and then leaned in closer. I could feel alcohol from his mouth. "I hear Aemond's been training with Vhagar a lot lately," Aegon mentioned offhandedly. "You'll have to get used to the smell of dragon dung, Vaella. It's not the most pleasant thing.”

"Perhaps, dear brother, if Vaella spends too much time in your close presence, she might succumb to alcohol poisoning before she ever gets the chance to smell dragon dung," Aemond quipped with a wry smile. "If you're truly concerned about her olfactory experience, Aegon, perhaps I should take her for a stroll in the gardens," Aemond suggested, his voice carrying a subtle undertone of invitation as he extended his arm towards me.

"Shall we, Princess Vaella?" Aemond's voice was as smooth as silk. A small, relieved laugh escaped my lips as I accepted his offer, slipping my arm through his. Together, we departed, leaving Aegon standing there with his mouth agape.

The gardens were as beautiful as always, but today they seemed to possess a quality that I hadn't fully appreciated before. Maybe it comes with a certain age. The vibrant blooms, of various colours, swayed gently in the breeze that carried the salty tang of the sea. Despite the relentless heat, the open air was a welcome reprieve from the stifling confines of the carriage. However, a sense of guardedness lingered within me. Aemond appeared calm and composed, though there was a hint of stiffness in his posture, an almost imperceptible tension.

Before our meeting I worried about the conversation—what would we talk about? Would the silence between us stretch into an awkward void? We hadn't spoken in so long, and our last encounter had been not the most pleasant one. Yet, as we made our way to the gardens, conversation flowed rather effortlessly between us.

“Do forgive me for my brother. He hadn’t change back since you last saw him.”

"No need to apologise. Aegon has always had a talent for…making memorable first impressions.” I replied, desperately wanting to sound casual and it paid off; Aemond smiled though it wasn’t even that good. I stole a quick glance at him, I looked at his eye-patch and something stirred within me. The Aemond standing beside me now was not the boy I remembered. He had grown into his own.

"Not everyone changes," Aemond mused, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon.

"So, you have?" I inquired, a small smile tugging at my lips.

"I'd like to think so," he replied after a moment of thought.

"I think you have. You seem different.”

"You've changed too, grown," he remarked.

“Grown?" I prodded gently, hoping for more.

"I'm certain every man in the kingdom, from peasant to the wealthiest, would vie for your favour," he declared.

"And do you?"

"I do. You're beautiful," he confessed, his words echoing those I had heard too often before. Is it the only thing they see in a woman?

"You flatter me, uncle.”

"I merely speak the truth," he assured me.

As silence settled between us, the distant calls of seagulls and the rustle of bushes filled the air. I allowed myself to gaze upon the sea for a moment, its blue expanse calling something deep inside me.

“Do you miss it?” Aemond inquired, his eyes following mine as they rested on the azure expanse.

“Hm?” I asked, lost in thoughts.

“The sea,” he clarified, his voice softer. My heart skipped a beat at those words. I knew what they meant.

“You know I do.”

He smiled somewhat sadly. "I wish you could go there more often. I would take you if you wanted,” he offered, little perplexed.

“Truly?” I asked, my voice betraying a childlike hopefulness that I didn’t like.

“Everything for my lady wife,” he declared.

Then just as we both got comfortable enough, I came back to something that I shouldn’t have; the past.

“You know, I still can't get over what happened that night," I said, my voice trembling with the emotions.

Aemond stiffened in a split of a second, his body tensing as if preparing for a blow. “Don’t," he declared firmly, his tone leaving little room for argument.

"But—" I began, my voice pleading.

"Vaella, I mean it," he interrupted, his voice sharp. His single eye bore into mine, a tempest of emotions swirling within its depths. "There are things best left in the past.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on me. "I just want you to know that not a day has passed without me thinking about it. I know words don't mean much, but I'm truly sorry.” I said, but it didn’t feel good. I felt stupid.

For a moment, we stood in silence, the tension between us palpable. The memories of that night hung heavily in the air, a barrier neither of us seemed able to cross. I could see the conflict in his face, the struggle to maintain his composure. He clenched his jaws and I could feel his body getting tense.

“You must be tired from the journey,” he finally said, his voice softer but still tinged with an underlying tension. “Let’s head back.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

you can find more of my works about aemond ♡here♡

#prince aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #prince aemond #aemond #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x fem!reader #toxic relationship #aemond angst #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon aemond #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #aemond imagine #hotd oc

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chirpingfromthebox · 1 day

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I forgot to post about this back when it came out. But this was an interview with two prominent figures from the management side of the PWHL from a few days back. I was expecting it to be a bit dry, but they actually address quite a few prominent questions.

I was originally going to skip doing this one as it's somewhat long, but I've been seeing a number of things they talked about coming up in discussions here, so I thought y'all might be interested to hear what they have to say.

I'll transcribe what I personally found to be the most interesting elements that came up, but know I'll be cutting down some of the remarks and only doing some of the questions, so definitely watch the video for the full story.

Since this is already going to be a massive post I'll spare you my musings on the answers.

Transcriptions of some of the questions under the break.

At the table are Senior Vice President of Hockey Operations Jayna Hefford & Advisory Board Member Stan Kasten.

And I believe this was after Game 2 of the finals and before the start of Game 3.

For context on who these two are in a bigger picture, what little I know is:

Jayna Hefford is a HIGHLY successful and influential former Canadian hockey player who's been working in the field of women's hockey ever since she retired from playing. If I tried to sum up her career we'd be here all day, so let's just say she's in the Hockey Hall of Fame for a reason.

Stan Kasten comes from a background of running/managing large sports teams, though mostly baseball. He is even the current president of the Los Angeles Dodgers and also one of the co-owners. He seems to have had a brief foray into hockey as the president of the NHL's Atlanta Thrashers for a few years. The Thrashers no longer exist and I think they moved and became what are now the Jets? (I dunno, I shouldn't be your source for NHL history, that's for sure.)

--------------- INTRODUCTIONS ---------------

STAN KASTEN: I can’t describe the pleasure this is for me to be here [at the Xcel Energy Center in Minnesota]. The last time I was here I told you that I thought that day, the 13,000*, really convinced us that we were going to make this work.

[* the first home game for Minnesota had an attendance of 13,316.]

But even then I couldn’t have imagined how the year would play out. How we would set attendance records, sponsorship records, and viewing records. So our media strategy was a success. But of course the thing that made it work, really, was what I said opening day: we got the hockey right.

And that’s because of Jayna [Hefford] and her staff. You know, we didn’t know our playoffs ‘til after the last game on the last day. Who could have imagined that we’d put together a system that would've worked out that perfectly. You see how close and competitive the playoffs have been. And as exciting as this is for all of us, we can’t wait to get started on year 2, because we know with all Summer to prepare, it’s gonna be even better.

JAYNA HEFFORD: When we kicked off this league we had a few goals and—at least on the hockey side—one of them was to create parity across the league. And through the draft and the player dispersal, the player signings that we put in place, we were able to do that.

And to Stan’s point, I don’t think we could have wrote the script any better the way it played out and came down to the last game of the regular season to decide who was in the playoffs. We certainly achieved that.

Secondly, innovation and creativity was a priority for us. We wanted to find ways to improve the game. To make it more engaging for fans, to make it fun. We didn’t want to change hockey in the traditionalism of hockey, but we wanted to do things a little bit differently.

So implementing the Jailbreak rule, implementing the pick your own opponent, the Gold Plan*. All of those things are new. But I think right now, and of course we’re going to debrief post-season, but right now the response from all of those things has been overwhelmingly positive. So we will continue to try to be creative and think outside the box and present the game in new ways to people.

[* It didn’t come into play this season, so in case anyone isn’t familiar: The Gold Plan is the system by which after a team is out of contention for the playoffs during the regular season, any wins they get would be factored into where they’d be placed in the draft order for next season. It was designed to be an incentive for teams out of the running to still play their hardest and strive for wins.]

...

So excited to be here now for the next two or three games. And really it’s been a remarkable, amazing journey this last number of years, but really this last 8 or 9 months. And as Stan said, I don’t think I could have envisioned this playing out the way it did. The excitement around this, and the response from our fans, and response from media. So we’re just thrilled with where it’s at and I know this is gonna wrap up in a really great way in the next number of days.

...

--------------- LOOKING AHEAD, WHAT ARE THE CHANGES/CHALLENGES FOR NEXT YEAR? ---------------

STAN: We didn’t have our business staff in place until about 60 days before the season started. So we have a lot we can still do.

The most obvious one was merchandise. Having, you know, the amount of inventory that we needed was a challenge for us. Getting an online business started, in two countries, that was a challenge. So all these two country problems are different than other leagues.

By the end of the season we did really well on merchandise. But we have more coming and more designs and greater inventory. The one good thing is that we sold everything that we could make. I mean, it was just flying off the shelves when we could get it to arenas. And the online business has been strong also. Those things are challenging when they’re start-ups, and as I said, they’re start-ups in two countries, so we know how to do it now. It’s gonna get a lot better going forward.

JAYNA: And I think what everybody is waiting for is names and logos. So that’s one big thing that’s coming. So I think that’ll be really exciting to be able to build those brands and make those brands significant in the markets and communities we’re in.

STAN: It’s interesting how the name thing played out. We did not start out to do that, but because the lead time required in these things, we just thought it was better to just skip that for now and just go with: PWHL and the location.

And that has had an amazing unintended consequence of anytime anyone has talked about any of our teams all year, you had to say “PWHL.” So our league has gotten more exposure in the first year of its existence than any league in history ‘cause they kept repeating our name.

Again, we didn’t plan it that way; it just worked out that way. And it was about mid-season that I started hearing from fans and players, “You know, we kinda like the name the way it is.”

We’re gonna have team names. And I invite people to adopt those names too. But you can feel free to continue to call it what you’ve always called it. And we will be selling merchandise with both of those names. So these names aren’t going away because they have become popular. But for those of you who like team names, we’ll be addressing that as well.

...

JAYNA: ...Of course we feel like we have incredible talent on the ice every night now, but putting the best on the ice is about putting the best on the ice. And we know there’s a number of incoming players. So it will get more challenging. Good players will have a hard time making this league. But when you think about the product we’re gonna put on the ice? It’s gonna continue to get significantly better every single year as we welcome in newer and younger players. Then at some point we’ll look to add teams, when that depth of talent is at the right place in our minds. But right now it’s just exciting to look at all the new and fresh talent that’s going to step in.

--------------- WHAT CAN YOU DO TO IMPROVE DIVERSITY AND ATTRACT MORE BLACK FANS TO THE GAMES? ---------------

JAYNA: I think the first thing is representation. And we have some incredible athletes in our league that continue to be great role models, be active in their communities. And when you think of Sophie Jaques and Sarah Nurse and players that continue to give back and become something that young girls can look up to? I think all of our players do that for a lot of different communities of people.

And I think the one thing that’s really special about our league is- I feel it every game I’m at, it doesn’t matter what market we’re in, is that there’s a sense of inclusivity in our buildings. People are here and they’re excited and they’re happy and they feel welcome, regardless of who they are. And they feel free to be themselves. I’ve talked to many, many people that have never felt this way in a hockey rink. So we’ll continue to do that on the culture side.

I think what we want to do is continue to grow the game for young girls and I don’t think there’s any limits on who those young girls are. We want people to fall in love with the game. And I think we approach our business side and staffing side the same way. We want to bring people in who love the game and we want to bring people in that represent different communities.

--------------- WHAT ARE THE PLANS FOR NEW YORK TO POSSIBLY PLAY IN ONE VENUE INSTEAD OF THE THREE OR FOUR THEY USED THIS SEASON? ---------------

STAN: When the season is over we’re gonna review everything. Every city, every venue that we’re in, and we’re going to try to improve. We’re aware of the New York situation. It wasn’t ideal this year. But we’ll see what ways we can improve the situation. We’re not ready to say here today which way we’re going to go or what we’re going to do. But I can tell you that certainly one of the things we’re going to spend a lot of time looking at.

REPORTER: What do you guys think is the ideal venue situation?

STAN: The ideal venue situation is to play in the biggest NHL venue in every city. And merit playing there. We’re not always there yet in every market. But in big markets, as you might know, the big venues are there because there are a lot of events and a lot of teams in those cities. That gets into availabilities. We don’t want to be in a big venue, but have to play on a Tuesday morning, right? We wanna play on weekend nights or nights in general.

So it’s a complicated matrix of considerations that goes into where we choose to play, when we choose to play, what’s good for the team, what’s good for the visiting team, how we travel. It’s complicated.

It’s complicated with 6, it’ll be more complicated the bigger we grow and the more games we have. Those will be good problems, but we don’t ignore it. We’re thinking about all of it. And you saw in this year when we found an opportunity that we thought would work for our fans in cities where we could go to big venues, we did it. I would call them experiments and in general I’d say those experiments were all wildly successful.

--------------- WHEN CAN WE EXPECT NAMES AND LOGOS? ---------------

STAN: Sometime this Summer. I don’t have an exact time, but you should be counting the days.

--------------- HOW DID THE GATE RECEIPT REVENUE COMPARE TO WHAT YOU EXPECTED? ---------------

STAN: I will tell you that, yes, it exceeded what we thought we were going to- it exceeded our early projections. But that’s partially because we made the strategy decision to also greatly exceed our expected expenses.

Let me give you an example. You know how women’s hockey games have been broadcast in the past, right? Single camera from upstairs. It isn’t what we chose to do. We made the conscious choice to spend a lot of money to make it a major league professional broadcast. And I think all of you who watched our games would agree. That’s what we delivered. It was expensive. But we think it’s gonna pay off for us in the long run.

Additionally we didn’t hire three people and slowly build each franchise. We went right to 120 people by opening day and now we’re over 200 people. So that was a lot of expense that we didn’t expect right away, but we said, “you know what? We’re all in. So let’s do year 4 expenses in year 1.”

So yeah, and that resulted in a lot more revenue. And that’s why we think our decision to invest in the league, which is what I call expenses, was the right one. We’re on the right track. The investments we made are paying off.

--------------- WHAT CAN YOU TELL US ABOUT NEXT SEASON’S SCHEDULE, NUMBER OF GAMES, AND POSSIBLE NEUTRAL-SITE GAMES? ---------------

JAYNA: Well, in terms of number of games the league will go up to 30. And that’s in our CBA that 24 regular games in the inaugural season will move to a minimum of 30 next year. In terms of neutral site games, we do expect that there will be more of those next season. I don’t have a timeline for our schedule to be done yet, but we do expect more games, more neutral-site games next season.

--------------- WHAT WAS THE CONSENSUS ON THE OFFICIATING THIS SEASON IN THE LEAGUE? ---------------

JAYNA: I don’t know if you’ll ever get a collection of people that all agree on officiating in any sport, in any league. So we’re actually really happy with where we’re at.

We set out initially to find the best officials we could find. We worked closely with the NHL, the AHL, Hockey Canada, USA Hockey, to select the top officials. We obviously also adjusted the standard of play to this league. It’s not full body checking, but there is an increased level of physicality in the game. So I think we spent the early months of the season really trying to figure out where that line is and get people comfortable with it.

Now where we’re at I think players have figured it out to some extent. Of course not everyone’s going to agree on that. But the way I see the players playing the game now, and their awareness of positions they’re in, and to be ready for that physicality has changed. So, are we right there? We’re probably not right there yet. But we’re really happy with where we’re at, we think the officials have done an incredible job in the league this season.

--------------- ARE THERE PLANS FOR DRAFTED PLAYERS WHO MIGHT NOT MAKE THE PWHL ROSTERS? ---------------

JAYNA: I think trying to figure out what the right solution for that is in the short term is at the top of our list of things to do. You know, building one league in 9 months, but to build a whole ecosystem for hockey? It’s just not something that we can do right now. But we are thinking creatively around places that players could play if they don’t end up on our 23 or 26 player rosters next season. So it’s a bit of a work in progress. But in speaking to number of stakeholders there’s many many people that want to figure out a solution to this so that we can keep more women in playing the game at the highest level.

--------------- DO YOU LOOK AT THE LEAGUE AS A “WOMEN’S SPORTS” SUCCESS STORY OR HAS IT MOVED BEYOND THAT? ---------------

JAYNA: I think that we are very different from most men’s leagues. I think we’re very different than many women’s leagues. I’d like to see us stand on our own as a sports league. But in saying that I also believe that this time for women’s sports and the success of one feels like it’s a success for all. We’re all big fans and collaborate with folks in the WNBA and the NWSL, and it feels like we’re all working together to raise women’s sports. So I don’t know if that’s an appropriate answer, but I feel it’s a little of both.

--------------- HOW DO THE INVESTORS FEEL ABOUT THIS FIRST SEASON? ---------------

STAN: I have one investor, he is ecstatic.

...

--------------- WHAT IS THE POTENTIAL FOR DOING A BEST OF 7 GAMES SERIES IN THE FUTURE? ---------------

JAYNA: This is a little bit like getting asked about expansion 3 months in. Great question. Would I love to see a best of 7 series? We’re sitting here 1-1, you know of course I would. But I think we’re really excited about the format we have now. This is new for women’s hockey. Even the best players in the world who’ve won multiple Olympic gold medals have not played in a best of 5 series. I think we’re seeing that it’s challenging. There’s a lot of travel, there’s fatigue, the volume that they’re experiencing is huge

So I think we’re really good where we’re at right now. Somewhere along the line I could see us maybe expanding, but again, year 1? The two best of 5 series have been a really great format for us.

STAN: And that comes from someone who’s won 4 Olympic gold medals.

JAYNA: [laughing] I’ve never played in a best of 5 series either.

STAN: Exactly.

--------------- end of interview ---------------

#pwhl #jayna hefford #stan kasten #Youtube

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bubblegyu00 · 1 day

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riize reactions when you're crying with the door locked ??

all luv,

- 🍓

riize reaction - crying behind a locked door

warnings - angst, crying, panic attacks, suicide joke, cursing

a/n - STOP I LOVE THIS WHAT

not proofread ...

shotaro -

you just felt so tired, and all you needed was a hug – but shotaro was never there to give you one.

you knew it wasn't his fault in any way, but you just wish he wasn't always so busy. but it's not like you could tell him that, because you know that whenever he does have that limited time off, he spends it all with you. and even if you did want to tell him, you couldn't because whenever that big smile of his appears you forget everything.

so you're currently in your bedroom crying on the floor, wondering why you couldn't just be fine without him? he does just fine without you. your thoughts get interrupted when the front door opens and you hear your boyfriend's voice echo throughout your house. " baby I'm home! " you scramble to your feet to lock the door of your bedroom. you can't let him see you like this. he shouldn't make him feel bad whenever he leaves for work. " where are you? ". your breathing stopped when he attempted to open the door and failed. " babe? ". hearing his voice this close to you immediately made you break down into uncontrollable sobs. " oh no, baby what's wrong?! " he kept attempting to open the door and you crawled into a ball on the bed. " can you open the door for me? please? " " I don't want y-you.... to see me like this " shotaro's heart broke knowing that his favorite person was crying by themselves. " baby you're beautiful no matter what. I'll always love you, so please open the door for me. hm? ". you slowly crawled off of the bed and trudged towards the door. the minute you unlocked it, he burst in and pulled you into a bone crushing hug.

don't ever do that again, I was so scared . . .

eunseok -

you flinched as your front door slammed. your boyfriend had just left after a fight you two had just had. you were just confronting him on how he was always late, or forgetting dates. " if you're gonna be always late to a date, then let's just not go on dates. " " I'm trying my hardest okay? ' you knew he was always so busy, but if he knew he wouldn't be able to keep the promises, then why'd he make them in the first place?

when eunseok finally decided to come back and apologize, he didn't see you in the spot he last saw you. he searched through the house until he heard soft cries from the bedroom. " are you in there? " eunseok said as he knocked softly. " can I come in? " you wiped your tears with the sleeves of your ( his ) sweatshirt. " go away. " eunseok moved to open the door, but the handle wouldn't budge. " honey I'm sorry, please let me in " he suddenly hated himself for leaving and not trying to work it out immediately. " I'm sorry I left, but I'm here now. just let me in princess. " when you finally opened the door, his heart broke at the sight of you. the mascara stains on your ( his ) sleeves, your red puffy eyes, your glossy lips which he could tell you've been biting. it was all his fault, so all he could do was pull you into the softest, gentlest hug he's ever given you. he kissed the top of your head and whispered into your hair

I'm sorry baby, I won't leave anymore, I promise . . .

sungchan -

you ever so slowly tried to wriggle out of your boyfriend's strong arms. he groaned and held onto you tighter in hopes you wouldn't leave. " baby I have to go shower! " " nuh uh " you giggled and kissed the top of his head before you tiptoed from your bed to the bathroom.

when all of a sudden you felt this overwhelming guilt that you didn't deserve sungchan. you could hardly breathe, and your heartbeat started picking up in pace. even the fans thought that you didn't deserve him, so why are you being selfish and holding him back? tears escaped your eyes as you focused on trying to breathe. " love? are you alright? " the ringing in your ears almost drowned out sungchan's words, but you could still hear him. " can you hear me? " your back was against the wall facing the door. you were curled up into a ball and were trying to stay silent. " c'mon babygirl, talk to me " soon enough though, sungchan had found the key to the bathroom and opened the door. he let out a shaky sigh as he saw you in the midst of a panic attack. he pulled you off of the ground and held you like a baby. you sobbed into his shoulder as he left chaste kisses on your head.

it's okay baby, channie's here . . .

wonbin -

all you wanted was a break. really, all you needed was a break. you’re boss has been making you work your ass off, and even the weekends aren’t an escape from work. working day in and day out was so tiring for you, and you it’s like you could never catch up on the work. you laid in bed on your phone, watching your friends instagram stories of them partying. oh how badly you wished you could’ve been there. before you knew it – tears were streaming slowly down your cheeks. you sniffled a bit, and tried your best to wipe them up – which failed because they felt like they’d never stop.

in the midst of everything, you heard your front door open. you started to panic until you realized it was just your boyfriend. “ surprise!! “ for a moment all of the panic left your body. you thought he’d still be on tour, but it seemed he had come home early. but all the panic hit you again when you realized your current state. you quickly locked your bedroom door and ran to the mirror to try and cover up the fact that you’d been crying. “ are you in here? “ you heard the door knob jingle as you rushed to splash cool water on your face. “ um… can I come in? “ “ one sec! “ you tucked your hair behind your ears whilst taking deep breaths. you slowly trudged over to the door and opened it, revealing wonbin’s panicked expression. “ I didn’t know you were- “ “ have you been crying? “ your heart dropped when those words left his mouth. the last thing you wanted to do was make him worried. “ no? my allergies have just been acting up- “ “ no, you’ve been crying. “ he immediately brushed the hair out of your eyes and felt the wetness on your eyelashes. “ you don’t have to lie. “ the softness of his tone brought tears back to your waterline – threatening to fall.

why’s my pretty baby crying . . . ?

seunghan -

“ can you go staple the stack of papers on my desk please? “ seunghan was currently sitting on the couch trying to get last minute things done on his laptop. “ sure. “ you got up from the couch and shuffled upstairs to his bedroom. you gathered the papers from his desk and put them into a neat file. when you went to press down on the stapler, you didn’t move your finger out of the way fast enough. now the pain of the staple in your finger wasn’t what made you panic, but the sight of it made you gag. tears gathered at your waterline as you counted from 3 mentally, in order to pull it out. once you got to 1 and the staple was out of your finger, the tears finally fell down your face. “ hannie! do you have bandaids?! “ you tried to keep your tone relaxed, but you knew it definitely sounded panicked. “ why?! “ “ uh… “ worried, seunghan stood from the couch and headed towards his room.

when you heard his footsteps, you immediately locked the door. you don’t know why you did it, but maybe it’d be better if he didn’t know the clumsy mistake you just made. “ why’d you lock the door? “ “ because! “ seunghan recognized the tone in your voice and he tried to open the door once more. “ are you crying? “ “ no! “ your boyfriend sighed and just stood outside of the door. “ [name]… open the door. “ you groaned as you put your hand onto the knob. “ if I let you in, you promise not to laugh? “ “ I promise. “ as soon as seunghan heard the click, he opened the door. when he saw your finger, he took your hand into his. “ did you staple your finger…? “ “ maybe… “ his lip quivered as he tried to hold in a laugh. “ seunghan! “ “ I’m not laughing! “ you pulled your hand away from him and scrunched your face up at him. he snorted and kissed your forehead. “ did you pull it out yourself? “ “ yes seunghan! I’m not gonna leave it in my fucking finger! “

you’re adorable . . .

sohee -

you were lying in bed next to sohee, just scrolling on tiktok. that was until you saw a video of a girl pranking her boyfriend by crying behind a locked door. you looked behind you to see if sohee was looking at your phone, but he was clueless. you slowly crawled out of bed and walked into the bathroom. you set up the camera and started sniffling.

not even a minute later, you heard the bed sheets rustle and the floorboards creak. “ are you crying? “ sohee said as he attempted to open the bathroom door. “ no.. “ “ what’s wrong baby? “ you pretended to let out sobs while you looked at the camera. “ nothing.. “ “ just tell me, hm? “ you smiled as you came up with a response. “ you said that I should dye my hair… do you think I’m ugly with my hair now? “ “ WHAT?! “ sohee’s jaw dropped as you tried to keep in your laughs. “ NO?! YOU ASKED ME IF YOU SHOULD DYE YOUR HAIR AND I SAID YOU’D LOOK GOOD EITHER WAY?! “ “ so I’m not perfect now? “ he scoffed his disbelief at your words. “ if you’re in there crying because I said you should dye your hair, I will fling myself off of the roof right now. “ you finally broke character and let out a chuckle. when you opened the door, you laughed even harder at his expression.

that wasn’t funny, I was actually worried . . .

anton -

“ sweetie pie baby face I’m home! “ anton’s voice echoed through the house as he put his stuff down. when he didn’t see the lights on downstairs, he assumed you were just laying in bed. while he was walking up the stairs, he heard soft cries come from the door. when he heard went to turn the handle, it wouldn’t budge. “ [name]? “ you were currently asleep, but having a dream about your boyfriend leaving you. “ honey? “ when you didn’t answer the second time, he went downstairs to search for the key. once he opened the door, he was relieved to see you were asleep. he sat on the bed and pulled you into his arms. your eyes fluttered open and you hugged him when realized it was just him. “ I thought you left. “ “ hm? “ anton wipes the tears off of your chin as you smiled up at him.

“ in my dream you left me. “ your boyfriend kissed the top of your head and chuckled. “ he really fumbled then, ‘dunno what he was thinking. “ you shook your head while cuddling into his chest.

I would never leave you, I promise . . .

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spiralingsights · 1 year

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lmao i LOVE being unable to say anything ever because it gets me and my fiance in trouble <3 <3 <3 <3 it would have been SO much easier for me to have moved in with my grandma rather than MORE volatile people :/

#i'm being sarcastic btw i fucking hate it here #i'm so sick of having to watch every little thing i say #i'm fucking SORRY that you're choosing to guilt us about food even though I NEVER FUCKING EAT #and then point out to your child that i don't fucking eat and that i'm going to eat even LESS if you're going to guilt me about it #if you know how my mother felt living with me then why don't you try being in MY shoes huh??#do YOU want to feel like eating will get you in trouble?? or get yelled at for not doing the dishes immediately??#because i PROMISE that you won't enjoy it #ugh #i just wish i wasn't living my life on a house of eggshells at all fucking times #i can't wait to be out of here #i was literally just trying to express my discomfort with feeling like i'm a huge fucking burden #you shouldn't have even been listening in #you shouldn't have even SAID what you said in the first place #jack.anger #jack.rant

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corfisers · 6 months

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i really need to finish this one day

#one of my fave ideas but i keep getting stuck or starting over. third time's the charm hopefully #anyways. posting it as an excuse to rant because i'm losing my mind over this rn for no reason #incoherent but i just need to Talk or my brain won't shut up #you ever think about how fucked up it is that aoi feels guilty over what happened. i do. i think about her a lot #he can't even look at me. we aren't even blood related but he still had to go to jail because of me. i still love him #in reality none of it is her fault. it shouldn't be about doumeki in the first place. baby girl you were 15 when it happened.#you can say that yashiro is cruel in his dismissiveness (on the surface) of doumeki's trauma but you can see where he's coming from #you got a glimpse of what your sister was going through? of what i went through? and now you're sooo guilty over it? and who does it help?#doumeki's so focused on his own feelings that he ignored aoi when they were living together. “saves” her by pure chance #proceeds to focus on his guilt and ignore her again. if yashiro didn't get involved she'd be sitting in the rain for god knows how long #yet she still loves and to some degree idolizes him #yashiro and aoi both saying that doumeki isn't the type of person to be a yakuza too. doumeki's good doumeki's better than that #and then ch 24 happens. where yashiro says that he's going to throw up and doumeki's response is “i probably won't stop even if you do”#“guess i am like my father after all” and yashiro still goes “you're not. you're pure and im the problem”#(touches doumeki's face. rare gentle gesture. he's gentle afterwards too before leaving. man.)#he's not cruel enough to repeat what he said in the earlier conversation and he doesn't actually believe it anyway #but i wish yashiro was cruel there. it shouldn't have been about doumeki and his feelings. again.#something about yashiro throwing a knife at another person and it flying back at him huh #for all the talk about how doumeki supposedly romanticizes yashiro it really is the other way around. always has been #which is a whole other conversation but yeah. everything about aoi and yashiro in relation to doumeki makes me so fucking sad #but this is also what i mean when i say that aoi doesn't haunt the narrative per se but still has this weird presence?#she's in the parallels. she's in the brief but important mentions. she's in the “your sister was lucky she had you”.#wips tag

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your-god-empress-lavender · 2 months

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Henrow blorbo

first off, ohmyfuckinggodyouaresocoolllllllllllllllll

secondly, what ya workin' on currently? <- is deathly interested, yes please please please info dump if you have the spoons

- Ryan

Bonjour my furry friend. At the moment i'm mostly working on getting a job so that i can afford rent, but when i'm not doing that, i'm working on designing some new N-substituted 5MeO-tryptamines (in order to avoid being banned for breaking tumblr TOS, i can't say exactly what for, but if you look up 5MeO-tryptamines, you should see). So far i've only managed to make things that make me super sleepy (and maybe a tiny bit inebriated), so presumably my body is mainly metabolizing them into melatonin. I also have been working on working through the details of making a rocket engine which relies on both muon catalyzed fusion and z-pinch fusion (mostly because even though i know it's way above what i'm probably capable of, i just love space so much i desperately need to see it for myself and i figure that since rockets are so absurdly expensive, the only way i'll end up in space is if we can get a whole new generation of ultra-efficient rockets (for example, given p-N14 fusion, if we manage to get 1% or more (i don't really expect more than 0.1% max, but still) of the hydrogen fusing with nitrogen, we'd be able to put 150 tons on the moon from earth with only using about enough fuel to fill a small car (instead of needing a skyscraper sized rocket to send maybe 30 tons)). Now, if it were as easy as my calculations show it to be, i can't imagine how there are any rockets flown that aren't fusion, but seeing as i haven't even made a working proof of concept yet, i'm not in a position to criticize the thousands of aerospace engineers who are working on conventional chemical rockets. I love fusion because it's simultaneously so easy (i live pretty close to an old uranium mine where i can actually pan some uranium out of the creek near me, then use that uranium to make a neutron source (B10(α,n)) which is really just fusion between helium and boron, happening at room temperature because of how high energy the α particles released by uranium are) and so absurdly difficult (without catalysts like muons, it requires absurdly high temperatures and pressures that almost always take more energy put in than they can give out). Anyway, i've also been sorta working on studying a material that a while back i got way too excited over and may have called a room temperature superconductor (almost certainly not the case), but in an attempt to make it more pure and study it for real i've been trying to work on the exact calculations of its composition and finding a better way to heat it up to high temperatures (i might just but it in a flat-bottomed flask, especially since it finally warmed up enough for me to go back outside where the fumes released by its production won't make folks mad).

And then there's the biological experiments, currently with electroceutical tissue modifications since most of the other projects i have planned require me to have a gene printer capable of reliably printing genes thousands of base pairs long and i'm not sure when i'll be able to build that. The most recent thing i've been working on is really exciting because if it works it means that i've successfully done something that has never been done before to a human body (and given the long lasting pain in that part of my thigh, it seems very possible it is working), but i'm hesitant about sharing what the project is because i don't really want folks putting gap junction blockers, calcium channel blockers, and sodium channel blockers into open wounds without knowing how to do it safely and correctly to get the desired results and not just a really messed up wound. If/when this experiment turns out well, i might give directions in private, but i'm still somewhat hesitant due to the risks inherent in this (the biggest and most likely is literally giving yourself a form of cancer, something i'm not eager for others to risk). Soon i might try chemical dedifferentiation of skin cells (thinking on my back or upper arms) followed by some mildly dangerous experiments to test how reliably i can make it turn into other cell types. And while i haven't made good work on it in a while, i've also been trying to make something similar to shimmer from arcane (ideally not addictive or harmful to the user, but most importantly the quick energy burst, decreased pain, and increased regenerative abilities (obviously it won't be anywhere near as dramatic as in the show, so calling it shimmer may not really make sense, but it is where i got the inspiration)).

Then i suppose there's the battery project i was talking about in my last post, and i'm also trying to learn how to make alcohol under my desk (i mean, it's super easy, it just doesn't taste great). There might be a few more things i'm working on but rn i'm super eepy and have talked about a lot already. If this seems like i'm doing a lot or impressive, also note that i'm actively failing out of college (for my own pride: the material is super easy and mostly i already know it, i just can't stand wasting so much of my time doing homework that doesn't help anyone or anything) and not yet working a job, so i have a lot of time and so much free brainspace to think about and do all this. I also work very slowly on each thing because i keep bouncing back and forth between all of them and almost always end up adding new projects before i've finished the old ones and so i almost never see a project all the way through to completion (at least some of the bio projects are just sitting in my body and i am just waiting to see how they turn out in the next 2-3 months, so those necessarily will see completion, even if it's failure). I really hope i see the fusion rocket to completion because if i don't think i'll ever be able to see the earth from afar or the moon from up close.

#idk #answer to your ask #i hope this is mostly complete #also wow this is long #that's what she said #i'm kinda surprised how many projects i have #i don't often count them #but yeah here they are #i promise i'm not trying to use this for evil #also college kinda sucks because everyone assumes you know nothing and are incapable of learning #not saying you shouldn't go but just that in my experience it ain't worth it #you can learn so much more from the internet and free courses offered online (oer and mit opencourseware are good starting places)#also now that i've shared these projects i hope that makes me feel more accountable and have more need to actually finish all of them #i have so much schoolwork i gotta do and probably won't #1.37 gpa first semester was impressively bad #legitimately went into college thinking i would be challenged and enjoy it but now it's like #“wow i know all of this and yet i am required to spend 8+ hours on homework each day in order to pass even with perfect test scores”#anyway sorry that probably sounds like i'm being super annoying #these tags are getting super long #byeeeeee

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l-e-g-i-o-n-losh · 9 months

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Sometimes i wonder if gaining weight would ever be viable or if it would double fuck my mystery joints to have to carry more (i have in the past been directly ordered by nurses to gain a little weight and prescribed supplements to do so but 1) they are spensive and 2) dad starts waxing fatphobic about "my health" when my ribs are still clearly visible) and then i get caught up in a completely theoretical dysphoria paradox loop about going to the trouble of finally getting top surgery only to gain weight and distribute fat right back to the bust and whether i would actually ever feel ok with my body under any circumstances. Idk.

I think about things like surgery and hrt a lot more than i have since we originally came out bc i feel like if I'm trying to shape my adult life into something i actually want to live then thats a huge component and I've already put it off a decade, but at the same time i still feel so stupid and anxious trying to look into it bc i dont even have regular healthcare and the state of our nation is so sucks and although i feel like i really know who I'm becoming or at least trying to i do NOT feel like i have enough cred to convince dad that i am capable of permanent adult life decisions, especially with how he doesn't even like the thought of me getting my ears pierced. He's always going to feel some degree of posession over my body and like its ok to manipulate me or stalk me or whatever if he "knows better" and its in my "best interest" and right now its not a problem bc we're a household and he gets a lot of managerial power anyways so it doesn't come up much but i always worry in the back of my mind what would happen if i ever did Really move out again.

He wants me to "act my age" and hit normal benchmarks like getting a job and dating and shit but like when am i Ever going to have time to work or meet people socially when I'm a 24/7 live in assistant and where am i going to get the PRIVACY to get to know somebody like that, even IF i wanted to, which i SHOULDN'T HAVE TO. He suggested arranging like zoom playdates for me once so i wouldn't get under socialized. That is NOT going to make me "normal" dude.

#songs that the hyades shall sing #idk sorry idk why im venting rn i just feel anxious and i dont have anywhere else to talk abt this stuff #hes so liberal panic prone abt trans regret especially bc of how he judges certain trans ppl in his personal life #and like he 'respects' me but also I'll 'always be his kid' including his sense of control #and we fucking. begged for blockers or something before we even knew what they were. desperately asked if there was a way for it Not to be #like that and got dismissed and then learned we were trans and found out blockers were real and it Didnt have to be like that and begged #AGAIN and were violently dysphoric and got hit with the 'but what if it's a phase' and 'i don't want you to regret changing your body'#and worst of all the 'well if you're fine with changing your body what grounds do you have to reject medication that will change your brain'#and 'you could always make changes as an adult when you're REALLY sure' (said with the No You Wont tone)#so we shut up and waited and it's been TEN YEARS and we ARE an adult and we've ALWAYS been sure. and he keeps bringing up the #'you know they're finding 25 isn't even a developed brain yet?' like. i knew it was a lie in the first place but i wanted to hope #but having all this pseudoscience culture war crap to back up his moving goalposts is just. i KNOW i can't and shouldn't have to wait for #his approval of my identity. but he's in all my medical shit and he pays for my bus fare so how would i even Try to get help #without having to prove something to him he can ultimately just decide not to believe

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theood · 11 months

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Suddenly so stressed about everything 👍

#grandpa said he's probably gonna turn in his license soon #whicj good i agree he should. still haven't gotten mine though. if he does there goes getting a job. going anywhere. there goes my paychecks #for SIX months if I can even get my license. amd if he does get rid of it that means I legally csn only practice on the weekends when my d #ads here. in his truck. a thing you shouldn't practice in first time.#i just wont have money. I'll have to pay to go to work. to get home from work. to go to the store. eveything. i wont ever get out of here #and i can't get to the store to pick up my needles to do my shots. let alone to get to the clinic. everything was starting to look up for me #not to be pessimistic but I really fucking let myself think anything good would ever happen. and look what happened. what always happens to #me. it got pulled out from under me because I don't deserve it. don't deserve to be happy.#im never fucking leaving. I'm going to rot here. i csnt save myself. I'm useless. no place will hire me or even call back. i dont know why #i bother with it. i was so happy to transition finally and this just keeps happening to me. * ****** **** **** ** i dont see any reason *#* **** *****. *****'* ** ****** ***** *'* *****#elias.zip

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hailsatanacab · 6 months

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Family Dinners - dpxdc

"Holy shit, you're Bruce Wayne!" Danny gaped, jabbing a finger at the man sitting at the head of the table.

The bustling dining room goes silent as everyone turns to look at him.

"Danny, who did you think was going to be here?" Tim asks, disbelief plain in his voice and Danny feels his face flush red.

"Sorry, I, uh, I guess I just never put it together. Tim Drake-Wayne. Wayne Manor. It, uh, makes sense now." He laughs sheepishly and scrubs at his neck before slumping back down into his chair.

"Well," Tim says with an indulgent sigh, "at least I know you're not just friends with me for my connections."

"Yeah, I'm really sorry, I just never thought about it, I guess."

Danny sinks lower as everyone around him laughs. Come to dinner, he said, the food is the best, he said, ignore the family, he said. Danny really wishes he'd listened to Tim and just ignored them—almost as much as he's regretting accepting the offer in the first place—but... he's having dinner with Batman.

Ancients, that's so weird!

The last time he saw Batman was in the future and, suffice it to say, it was not going well. There hadn't really been time for family dinners there.

Wait. Family dinners?

He peers around the table, openly gawking at everyone as it all clicks into place.

"Everything alright, Danny? Now realising who everyone else is?" Tim asks with a roll of his eyes.

"Uh... something like that..." Danny mumbles as everyone laughs again.

From further down the table, the smallest Wayne scoffs and clicks his tongue.

"I thought you said he was smart, Drake?"

"So, you all do it, too, then?" he asks, ignoring the jibe. Danny's only a little bit jealous as he thinks of how much easier they must have it, how much easier it'd be if his family had been on his side, too. "You all work together?"

"Nah," Dick says from across the table with a brilliant grin. "Tim's the only one that works with Bruce, we all have different jobs. I'm a police officer in Bludhaven."

"Disgusting." Danny blurts out without thinking—because seriously, what kind of self-respecting vigilante would also be a police officer?—before clapping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

The whole table laughs again, the loudest being the blonde girl a few spaces down from Dick. Look, Danny wasn't really paying attention to names when they were all paraded in front of him. Dick only gets remembered because his name is a joke.

Come on, Danny, recover!

"That's, uh, not what I meant, though."

"Oh?" Dick asks, cocking his head slightly to the side. Is it Danny's imagination or does his smile tense slightly?

"Yeah, I mean like, you know, in costume. It must make it so much easier to have everyone together like this."

"Costume? What do you mean?"

Yeah, Danny's not imagining it, everyone tenses up at that. It's really only now that he's realising that this probably isn't how he should bring up that he knows about their... night time activities. In fact, he probably shouldn't be bringing it up at all.

"Uuhhh..." Danny looks wildly around the table as he continues making his stupid noise. Think, think, think! There must be a way out of this!

"Danny?" Tim asks, looking concerned.

"Oh, Ancients, this isn't how I wanted it to go at all," he mutters, slipping even further into his chair. He's almost on the floor now and he so, so wishes it could just swallow him up.

His real first meeting with Batman was meant to be cool! He had planned to be Phantom, maybe save them from a tight spot, prove his worth as a mysterious and powerful ally as thanks for the help Batman gave him in the future.

"Danny, what are you talking about?" Tim starts tugging on his sleeve in an attempt to pull him back up from his pit of despair.

Eventually, Danny relents and sits up straighter, hiding his face in his hands and whining all the while.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't expect him to be here and it threw me off so now I look stupid and it's so embarrassing!" he wails, flailing his arms wide. "Why wouldn't you warn me that Batman was your adopted dad, Tim? Couldn't you have let me know?"

"I'm sorry, what? Danny are you alright? There's no way Bruce can be Batman, look at him!"

"Yeah," the blonde girl laughs from the bottom of the table, "look at him! That's a wet noodle of a man! Batman can actually do things, B is incapable of pretty much everything."

"Thank you, Stephanie," Bruce sighs, massaging his forehead.

It's... Those are the first words Danny's heard Batman say since everything went down and it's enough to knock him out of his embarrassment.

It's really good to hear his voice again. Especially now, when it's strong and healthy and full of personality—even if that personality is little more than a tired father right now—far better than how it had been, at the end.

Danny sits up, back straight, and grins. He's got this. He remembers it perfectly. Some people count sheep to fall asleep, Danny repeats his mantra to be certain that he'll never forget it.

"Gamma alpha upsilon tau iota mu epsilon, 42, 63, 28, 1 colon 65 dash 9."

Once again, the whole table falls into silence.

"Holy shit..." breathes the other D name (Duke? Danny's pretty sure he's Signal) from opposite Stephanie. "Isn't that...?"

"The time travelling code." The littlest Wayne says stiffly. "We have met in the future?"

"That's not just the time travelling code, Dami." Dick says, looking between Danny and Bruce. "That's the family time travelling code."

Danny's grin freezes in place.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"1 colon 65 dash 9." Dick explains, still flicking between him and Bruce. "It means you've been adopted into the family and we should all treat you as such, no questions asked."

"Tell you what, I'm about to ask a question." Danny says, dumbstruck. "You just told me it was a code to identify time travellers, not anything about being adopted! What the hell, B?"

Bruce looks about as shellshocked as Danny feels.

"We must have been close," he says finally, after opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water a few times.

"No! Not that close!" Danny reels back, taking a deep breath ready to refute it all, but... "Well, I mean, you found me when I first got stuck, and you helped me get better despite being... And then we fought together against the, uh, bad guy, before he, um, he... before you couldn't."

An uncomfortable beat passes while they all pick up on what Danny tried so hard not to say.

"So, you're not from the future, then, you travelled there and came back?" Tim asks, breaking the tension and leaning forward with a glint in his eye.

"Yeah, it was a whole end of the world thing, but don't worry about it," Danny says with a hand wave, "It's all kosher now, won't ever happen."

"What did happen?"

"Seriously, don't worry about it, we cool."

"How long in the future was it?"

"About ten years? You were pretty spry for an old man, B," Danny laughs, wishing they'd get off the topic of what happened and get back to the adoption bit.

Everyone shares degrees of a cautious smile as they relax out of the shock, and Dick—whose grin is the biggest—says, "No wonder you got the family code, you're already riffing on him like one of us. How long were you there for?"

"A week, before I managed to get back to my present and stop him then."

"A week? Jeez, B, that has to set some kind of record, seriously."

"Oh!" Danny says, sitting bolt upright and blinking in surprise before pointing at Dick and bouncing in his seat. "You're Nightwing!"

"What?"

"That's exactly what Nightwing said when Batman told me the code! Makes so much more sense now."

Dick laughs and claps his hands, delighted.

"You were not formally adopted?" The grumpy small one—Dami?—asks, his face pinched.

"I didn't even know I was informally adopted."

"And your parents? Are they alive or dead?"

"Damian, stop—"

"They were dead in the future, but they're alive now." Danny says, looking down. He fiddles with the tablecloth, twisting the fabric around his fingers as he fights down the pang of sadness that he always feels when he thinks of them now. He forces a bright smile on his face and hopes it doesn’t look too strained. "I just, uh, can't talk to them much, anymore."

"Damian," Dick warns, "1 colon 65 dash 9. Treat them as family, no questions asked."

"This is Damian treating him as family, the little turd has no manners." Tim scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he gently bumps shoulders with Danny to knock him out of his funk. Danny can't help but send him a watery smile.

"I have the most exemplary manners, Drake, unlike some people." Damian spits, crossing his arms with a pout. "I was merely ascertaining his status to see how he could possibly fit into the family."

"I know this is all a bit sudden, Danny," Bruce smiles, ignoring Damian and reaching out to lay a warm hand on his arm, "for all of us. But if I felt strongly enough to give you that code after spending a week with you in the future, then you are more than welcome in this family, if you so choose it. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we'd like to get to know you a bit more."

"I know a threat when I hear it, Bruce." Danny snorts. "But, yeah, I get it. I'm sorry this is all so weird, it really wasn't how I wanted to find you again, but... I'm glad I did."

"So are we, Danny." Dick says, with a warm smile. "And formally or not, 1 colon 65 dash 9 means you're family. Welcome to the fun house! No take backs or refunds, sorry. You're stuck with us."

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #batpham #hailsatanacrab🦀🦀writes #look. this has been in my mind for so long guys so long - and idk if its canon that the batfam have codes for time travel situations or what #but i feel like ive seen it before and if its not canon it should be #so here - how i think that would be funny to go down #i have so many thoughts about TUE and its place in a dpxdc crossover like holy shit there's so many ways it can go!!#i have another wip in the works thats kinda similar to this but with superman and i cannot wait to work on it again #there are so many ways i wanted this to go but i just couldnt get there - i wanted to keep it on the shorter side but like #perhaps ill have to expand #i just love the idea that like. theres a stranger at your table who knows you and knows you well. who knows the secret that youd die to keep #there's a stranger at your table and he says something and you know he's family. you know you're strangers but now...#now you have to be something more #oh man theres so many juicy ways it can go and I KNOW I DID NONE OF THEM #i want to write this whole plot again and make it angstier #(me with everything)#anyway! sorry love you all hope you enjoy it!!

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buryustogether · 1 month

Text

songbird

the ghoul x f!reader

summary: you used to be a singer in your vault - that skill comes in handy when you least expect it, and least want to use it. but who are you to say no when cooper tells you to sing for him?

wc: 5.7k

warnings: swearing, talk of murder, blood, alcohol, gun violence, sexual tension, smut, fingering, p in v sex, biting, possessive sex, possessive cooper

You had to admit - if you and your companion didn't find shelter soon, one of you was going to drop and the other wouldn't hesitate to feast on what was left.

The deserts of the Wasteland were harsh - you had known that the moment you stepped out of your vault those months ago and you had been faced with nothing but a searing sun, sand that got stuck places it shouldn't have, and creatures and fellow people alike who would risk it all simply for a quick grab at the pack on your back. But it seemed like this past week, God or Satan or whoever the fuck was controlling this shitshow of a world was in a bad mood. The heat was unbearable, even at night when the chilly winds should have weaseled their way beneath your vault suit and cooled your burning skin. Creatures mutated by the long-settled radiation were feeling the anger of the wasteland, as well, charging without warning or provocation. To top off a less than perfect week, your water supply had run out yesterday, and unless the skies opened up and released a storm of rad-infested hail upon your head, you weren't sure you would find any more before you keeled over and kicked it.

Struggling to plant your feet stable in the mounds of sand beneath you as you made your way between the shells of buildings that had once stood tall and proud, you glanced over your shoulder at your companion. Cooper was better adapted for this kind of environment than you were, what with his hardened skin and the wide brim of his hat shielding his face, but even he looked worse for wear. When he picked up his head, seeming to feel your eyes on him, you quickly averted your gaze and set your attention back on moving one foot in front of the other.

"Fuck're you lookin' at?" he said, his voice raspy as he called out through the dry air.

"Nothing," you snipped back, refusing to give him the satisfaction of facing him again. "Just wondering if I'm going to have to carry you the rest of the way, asshole."

The heat was making you both snappy - you hated it.

Your first meeting with Cooper hadn't gone smoothly. Hell, your second or third hadn't, either. You weren't exactly sure when you had fallen into a more comfortable presence around one another, but it sure as shit hadn't happened overnight. You'd been only half a day fresh from your vault when you'd seen him scavenging madly over a mess of bodies he'd dropped where they stood, searching for a number of vials kept in their pockets that he let drip into his open mouth like a fountain of youth. When you had called out a friendly hello to him, he'd nearly shot your brains out. Cooper had taken in your shocked expression - as you'd clearly never seen a ghoul before - as well as the stark blue of your vault suit and the pack over your shoulders, then promptly told you to scoot your ass back around to wherever the hell you had come from. Of course, you hadn't. You'd followed him from a distance, watching as he'd picked his way across the dusty sands until he'd wrangled you with the lasso at his hip, told you to fuck right off, and left you tied to a number of old pipes in the basement of a nearly collapsed building.

A day later, you'd tracked his footprints in the sand to a little settlement, where you hadn't ducked away quick enough to avoid his gaze. He'd threatened to blow your brains out if he caught you following him again. He'd only half-delivered on that promise when, not ten hours later, he'd planted a fist-sized hole in the skull of a raider attempting to cut your throat for the Pip-Boy affixed to your wrist.

From then on, he'd simply chosen to ignore you as you followed behind him like a lost dog, intent on staying with the biggest, baddest wolf in the yard. After a week, he'd tossed you a part of his rations. A week after that, he'd - not too gently - invited you to sit at the campfire with him when he saw you shivering beneath your thin, vault-issued blanket a good few yards away.

Somewhere along the way you'd started to talk. Started to share - at least, you had. Cooper had simply tucked his hat over his eyes and pretended not to listen while you rattled about this and that until he physically couldn't take it anymore and told you to go the fuck to sleep.

These months later, having accompanied him all this time, you didn't hesitate to call him a friend. Maybe something more, if you let the ache between your legs when you looked at him speak for you, but you knew it was a fantasy and nothing more, so you decided to stick with 'friend.'

Back in the present, you swallowed and winced when your throat barked with a bout of pain in response. You didn't think you'd make it another mile, let alone five, which was how far Cooper claimed the nearest town was. Despite the months you'd spent adapting out here to the wastelands, you were still attempting to cope with the hardships that came with it. Vault life wasn't anything like this; there was always water to drink, beds to sleep in. Cool air to bask in when it got just the slightest bit too hot. Of course, you didn't voice these complains to your companion. If you did, you had no doubt he'd tell you to shut the fuck up and deal with it.

Just as you were about to ask if you could take a short break and get away from the harsh sun beating on your back like repeated blows from a red-hot hammer, a gloved hand wrapped around your arm and held you in place. You jerked to a stop, nearly falling back on your ass as Cooper held you where you stood. You prepared a strongly-worded question as to just what he was doing before you followed his gaze downward, to where a small handful of pairs of footprints traveled perpendicular to yours. Together, you tilted your heads to the left where the foreign prints were headed, and it was there you found a small slope leading downward into what may have once been a shopping mall. From where you stood, you were able to see that the glass dome around the center of the mall had been shattered, letting out the gentle sound of music and human hollers.

You exchanged a look with Cooper, each of you sunken from the iron-fisted heat weighing you down, then slid down the sandy slope after him when he took off toward the shopping mall.

If there was one thing you had learned about Cooper since planting yourself at his side and refusing to leave, it was that he valued silence above almost everything else. You, on the other hand, had come from a talkative vault, where gossip reached every end of every chamber only an hour - at max - after anything noteworthy had happened. Your companion had once called you the biggest yap he'd ever heard, and you would have taken it for a compliment had he not told you to shove it a moment after. The two of you had been silent nearly the entire day now, save for a few venomous barks at each other, and you cleared your scratchy throat in an attempt to lighten your shitty moods.

"I used to read about shopping malls in the magazines," you said, leaning your weight backwards as the sandy slope shifted downward. "They had all kinds of stores inside."

"Thanks for the reminder," Cooper bit back, quickening his stride. "Would have fuckin' forgot without you here."

You let your eyes roll into the back of your head as you struggled to catch up to him, your boots digging into the uneven earth beneath you. "When I was a kid, a few of my friends and I would draw pictures of clothes - because, you know, we only had our suits - and then spread them across one of our rooms and pretend to shop. It was stupid, but it we made entertainment where we could."

"Now, was this before you started pretending to be Billie Holliday?"

You gave him a sideways glance. "Who's that?"

Cooper shook his head and took off ahead of you. "Jesus fuckin' Christ."

During one of your, as your companion called them, yap sessions, you had confided in him that your vault valued the arts above anything else. Since you were a child, they had encouraged you to find something you enjoyed, as long as you were able to call yourself an artist. Painting hadn't worked out too well. Writing had been a bust. But then you'd discovered singing - a way in which you were able to express yourself without actually saying how you felt. You could drape the tunes in metaphors and similes, bump the second verse from the first, and when you were done, everyone would get to their feet to applaud as if your songs were the best things they'd ever heard. Cooper hadn't expressed much interest in this, instead taking to calling you a songbird with her wings clipped when he deemed you were at your lowest and needed to be kicked while you were down.

Of course, you hadn't shown him - you would have to be long dead for that - but over the course of the few months you'd known him, you had confided in your notebook carried in your pack all the little things you'd come up with that complimented his persona. How the gold at his heels called for you with each step he took. The way his hands, encased behind leather that creaked, held a smoke so delicately you could have imagined it was you. The rasping curl of his words when he smiled while he spoke and how each word cast a spell that made you want to follow him until the sun exploded and the earth was gone.

Cooper was an enigma you couldn't help but wonder after, and every scrap of himself he tossed to you led you on like a dog on a leash.

The music and echoing sound of laughter from deep inside the shopping mall became louder as the pair of you approached, eyes scanning for snipers on the roof or guards posted at the busted-out windows. There wasn't a person in sight, only mannequins stripped of their clothing hanging out the openings and long-shredded posters clinging to broken glass. Cooper led the way inside, picking a path across the wreckage and rubble stacked haphazardly against the entrance. You felt your pulse tick up when he produced his gun from the worn holster at his side, tapping his trigger finger against the side of the firearm in time with the music winding its way down the wide corridors.

As you followed your companion through the shopping mall, you couldn't help but ogle at the numerous attractions you passed. Shops had been boarded up and torn open again, giving you a glimpse of tattered clothes still on hangers, books tipped over on shelves, pre-war machines behind display cases that were covered in two hundred years' worth of dirt and grime. Gang signs and dirty catchphrases had been spraypainted along the walls and windows in a rainbow of colors. In the center of the long aisle you were wandering, a carousel meant for children sat neglected, still fitted with cartoonish horses who had seen better days than these.

"Did you used to come to these often?" you asked as you stepped across a mannequin missing its head.

"Shut the fuck up for a minute." Cooper raised a hand to pair with his little spat, silencing you from asking any further questions. His tongue darted out between his cracked lips as he placed his steps carefully around shattered glass and wind-up toys that would declare your position to the entire mall. He led you around a few wide corners before coming to a stop behind an old escalator, motioning for you to take cover. You crouched to peer around the other side, pulling your bag strap tighter over your shoulder. You were met with a sight that made your lips part in wonder.

Made up in the center of the mall's large atrium, directly beneath where the glass dome had been broken out, a small encampment of people had established what looked like a tiny town. Tents rested just inside nearby shop windows and winking Christmas lights had been strung above their heads. Lanterns cast shadows along the faces of the camp's locals as they milled back and forth, sharing dinners, reading from books - and dancing. Booming from a solar-powered stereo was a symphony of fiddles and guitars, harmonies of trumpets and clapping in time with the beat. A woman's tinny voice came through the speakers and she reminisced about an old lover who had gotten away. As you watched the people dance and stamp their feet along with the music, you found yourself drumming your fingers along, as well.

You were so engrossed in the music that you nearly missed what Cooper had his watchful eye on; the fridge-sized container with several spigots on its sides marked with a large piece of paper that read 'Clean Water.'

You and Cooper ducked back behind the escalator.

"Bunch of fuckin' idiots," said Cooper as he pulled a red-capped round from his bandolier and loaded it into his gun's chamber. "That shit'll attract every goddamn raider and feral within the mile."

"They're just having fun," you said, unsure of why you felt so defensive of these people you didn't even know. Maybe it was because they reminded you of your fellow vault dwellers back home. There had been a dance or performance like this nearly every night.

Cooper scoffed. "Fun like this gets you killed, little lady."

Your eyes widened as you watched him pull back the hammer of his firearm. "You're not going to just go up there and start shooting, are you?" You knew for a fact that he would. You'd seen him do it before - draw his pistol and start spinning the trigger because a raider or flock of ferals had what he wanted. But this - this was something different. Before he could do anything more, you reached out and grabbed his upper arm in a grasp so tight your knuckles paled. He flashed you a dark, dangerous look from beneath the brim of his hat, but you refused to let go. "Cooper, these people are innocent. They haven't done anything to us."

"Listen here, dollface, and listen well," he said, quickly spinning you around so that your back was pressed against the escalator. He caged you in, his gun hand still in your grasp and his other arm propped against the wall beside your head. You tried your damndest to not flush when you felt his breath on you, when his hips came just inches from pressing up against yours. "If we're goin' to be carryin' on this little arrangement, you need to learn to keep that pretty mouth of yours shut when I tell you to shut it. Now, I know you vaulties think everyone and their mama is goin' to repay that silly kindness of yours, but do not be mistaken. Keep yappin' and I will drink my fill of that there water while I make you watch, and then I'll tip the rest of it onto the floor. You hear me?"

You were at a loss for words, your tongue dry and your knees beginning to feel wobbly from the lack of water and proper rest. Just when you were about to let your eyes fall back down and accept that he was going to clear out the settlement for their water, footsteps echoed past where the two of you stood. Cooper snapped around and raised his pistol, his other arm still caging you in, and aimed down the barrel at a few young men approaching the rest of the locals beneath the glass dome. Instead of yelling, instead of dropping their belongings and begging for their lives while they pissed their pants in the presence of a ghoul, the men waved and smiled friendly grins.

"No need to hide," one said, gesturing the pair of you toward the others. "Y'all are welcome to come and make yourselves cozy. The more the merrier!"

They continued on, greeted by the other locals with shouts of welcome backs and fond hugs, paying no mind to the wide eyes and parted lips of you and your companion. Breaking away from Cooper's little cage he had created with himself and the wall - as much as it pained you to - you peeked back around the escalator. The young men pointed your way, and a number of people waved in kind and beckoned you forward. You found yourself taking a few steps toward the inviting sight of fresh water and the smell of food being cooked over one of the fires when Cooper snagged you by the back of your suit's collar and pulled you back into cover.

"Where on this good green earth you think you're goin'?" he said in a hushed tone, bringing your face close to his with a commanding grip on your jaw. Another flutter of excitement, of blood rush, bubbled to life in the pit of your stomach and began to travel south, but you suppressed the urge to lean into his touch. You didn't pull away, either.

"They invited us," you said, your eyes wandering back over to the light flickering from the lanterns and fires. "It's rude to turn down an invitation."

Cooper harrumphed and released you a little harsher than necessary. "What you've got is a one-way ticket to bein' on tomorrow's menu, sweetheart," he said, tilting his head to follow your gaze and keep eye contact when you looked away. "If you've about had your fill of the real world up here topside, then be my guest. Go and let'em fatten you up. I'll pour one out for 'ya tonight."

Deciding not to wonder if he would actually pour one out for you, if you really meant that much, you scoffed and shook your head. "You know it's okay to let your guard down every once in a while. Smile, maybe? Wave back? No wonder you're so damn bitter, old man."

Cooper stared down at you, and you wondered briefly if he was considering slamming your head into the side of the escalator. Would he drag you away with him, you thought? Or would he leave you for the strangers just around the corner. After what seemed an eternity, he hummed a short little note and nodded his head toward the camp. "You want to play friends, little lady? Go ahead. See how far that gets you before I've got to turn around and put one between the eyes of a man who's not lookin' just for the sake of lookin'."

With the faintest hint of a smile, you blinked up at him. "You'd turn around for me?" you asked in a murmur.

He matched your heated gaze, dark eyes intense and flaring a torch in your belly. "I suppose you'll just have to find out one of these days."

Swallowing thick, you took a breath, then turned and led him toward the little encampment of people. Heads turned as the pair of you approached, and you found that most of them smiled. You waved to those who offered little shakes of their hands, trailed by a ghoul stalking in his own shadow and resting the crook of his palm on his pistol. You were met by a kind-faced woman near the large tank of water, and she was forced to speak loudly to be heard over the sound of the thumping music.

"You folks just get in?" she said, already fixing two bowls of stew from a large pot simmering over a fire.

You broke yourself from the staring match you were having with the pot, the same one Cooper was still stuck in. Although, he may have been watching the chickens that roamed inside a little pen nearby as he licked his lips. "Yes, ma'am," you said over the trill of the woman's singing. You so desperately wished you knew the words so you could sing along. "I hope we're not imposing."

"Not at all!" A bowl of stew was pushed into your hands, and you forced yourself to be polite and not spoon it down your throat immediately. At your side, your companion gave the rim of the bowl a lick with the tip of his tongue before tipping it to slurp up. "We pride ourselves in being an open community. We might be small, but that just means there's more to share." The tin cups of water she handed over didn't last but five seconds before she was refilling them. "Make yourselves comfortable and stay however long you like. All we ask is that you keep your weapons holstered and don't disturb the music."

You and Cooper took seats at a dining table that had been dragged over from the cafeteria, neither of you speaking much as you both wolfed down what was in the bowls in front of you. Both of your spoons went untouched, each electing instead to drink up the strangely-colored meat floating around inside. Cooper finished much faster than you, and shucked off his gloves so that he could dip his scarred finger in to collect what juices were left. When he was finished, the bowl looked as though it hadn't even been used.

Watching him with a small smile, you let up from your own bowl and said, "I'm waiting."

"For what, exactly, little lady?"

"Your apology." You lapped up the rest of your stew before politely setting your bowl inside of his. "You wanted to -" You hesitated and glanced over your shoulder to make sure no one was too close to hear you. "You know." Then you settled a rather self-satisfied smirk over your features. "And look where we are now. So I'd like my apology now."

Cooper sucked on his finger, ensuring he was getting every last morsel of the stew that he could, and your attention was pulled down to where his lips wrapped around his digit. A part of you began to imagine it was yours. He noticed you staring and grinned wide. "And you know what I'm waitin' for, darlin'?"

"What?"

"For you to walk yourself over there and get me seconds."

You rolled your eyes, but nevertheless grabbed your stacked bowls and began to make your way over to where the woman was tending to the pot. "You'd better be thinking about your apology," you called over your shoulder. When you turned back around you nearly collided into someone retreating back to their spot with their own dinner. You jerked to the side, attempting to get out of their way first, and in doing so rammed yourself into the stereo set on a table in the center of the little camp. You watched in horror, bowls clasped to your chest, as the stereo tumbled over the edge of its pedestal and fell to the floor, where it shattered into what must have been hundreds of pieces. The camp became shrouded in a tense, shocked silence as every eye in the mall turned to face you and look upon your sin.

"I..." Your voice carried through the atrium and down the corridors of the shopping mall, sounding like an isolated cry for help. "I'm so sorry. I - I didn't mean to, I really didn't. Here, I might be able to fix it." You bent down to try and gather the pieces with your free hand, and the moment you did, a number of the camp locals drew weapons to aim in your direction.

"Now," came that familiar drawl behind you as you heard a hammer lock into place. "Are we really goin' to be killin' each other over some silly radio?" asked Cooper, and you felt some of your nerves ease slightly when you felt his chest press against your back.

A man to your right hissed. "You killed him!"

You shook your head viciously. "No, no! I - I didn't kill anyone. I'm sorry, I really am."

"You killed Sterry!" a woman accused.

"Sterry?" You looked down at the broken stereo and began to scoop up the bigger pieces you could find. "I - I can fix Sterry, I swear -"

"There's no fixing Sterry," moaned the woman who had served you stew as she sunk into the closest bench, looking as though she were about to faint. "He's dead. And you've killed us all."

You glanced back at Cooper, who wielded both his pistols now, each pointed in a different direction toward locals who had drawn their weapons. He offered a shrouded look that screamed, 'Now, didn't I tell you so, sweetheart?' You took a shuddering breath and faced the woman who had served you. "What do you mean?" you asked.

The woman placed her head in her hand as if she'd already accepted her fate. It was a daunting sight, the face of a woman so cheery and joyful such a short time ago, now deflated as though someone had let out all her air. "This place," she said, gesturing vaguely to the mall around you. "It's infested." The word was so heavy you felt as though you nearly choked on it. "Infested with creatures that will tear us limb from limb now that you've ruined everything. The music! The music was what kept them away, and now that it's gone..."

As if on cue, from the darkness of one of the long-winding corridors straight ahead, there came the bone-rattling sound of a feral hissing and snapping its weathered jaw. A few of the locals scrambled back as the creature emerged from the inky blackness, arms twisted and eyes sunken so far back into its skull they looked like they were forever pointed toward the sky. It took a rushed few steps forward before Cooper's arm rotated and he put a hole between its eyes. The feral dropped to the floor, leaking dark blood that stained the tile floor.

"Stop being so dramatic, Uma," said an older gentleman who stooped at your feet to begin gathering the pieces of Sterry. You immediately dropped to your knees to help. "We've fixed Sterry before, and we'll fix him again. It won't take long. But while we do, we'll need something to drive those creatures off..."

Your stomach dropped when, as you stood to hand over the pieces of the stereo, you felt Cooper's hands - still fitted with his pistols - rest heavily on your shoulders. "Well, then, y'all folks are in luck," he drawled, and you could practically hear the smirk playing his lips as he spoke. "I've got my very own songbird right here. I'd be happy to lend her to 'ya if, say... you filled our flasks from that there tank when the time comes for us to leave."

"Cooper," you hissed through your teeth as you spun around to face him. Singing for your vault was one thing, but singing for a bunch of strangers in the middle of an infested mall while ferals stumbled from the darkness all around you? He may as well have tossed you back out into the wastes. "You are not going to fucking trade me -"

"Done," said the old man as he sat down and began to sort Sterry's pieces. "Have your girl start singing - anything her heart desires. Just long enough for me to fix old Sterry here."

Giving the man a mock salute that didn't quite raise to his brow, Cooper shoved you onto a bench so that you stood over the rest of the camp. From this angle, they were all able to see your petrified expression and your hands shaking at your sides. "You heard the man," your companion said and smacked the back of your knee. "Get to it, songbird."

"Cooper, I can't -"

Before you were able to finish, Cooper turned, his ears pricking at something yours did not pick up, and dropped another feral that had been silently stalking the camp from the other side. A few of the locals yelped in terror, fleeing into shopfronts and tents.

"Sing for me, sweetheart," Cooper said. He sent you a wink, tipped his hat, then unleashed another round of lead into the darkness which only his eyes could penetrate.

You felt as if you were going to vomit. Sweat began to form on the back of your neck as you fisted your hands and swayed slightly where you stood on the bench. Turning your head, you met the eyes of a few camp locals watching you from their hideouts, their expressions filled with fear, anger, anticipation. They were waiting. Expecting. Needing. Attempting to push down the swelling that was beginning to form in your throat, you looked down at Cooper as he emptied his pistols of empty shells before reloading in order to fend off the ferals attacking the camp - the very camp he'd wanted to take out not half an hour ago.

He'd told you to sing for him. So you'd sing. For him, and only him.

Clearing your mouth and opening your lips, you took a breath and forced yourself to sing. "Death will come from where the earth meets the sky." Your voice wobbled slightly, rusty from having not singing since you left your vault. That, along with the fear and dehydration sitting on your tongue. "The sand is scorched beneath his step, the future decided by his eye." As you sang, the miniature explosions banging from the barrels of Cooper's pistols created a short, quick beat you unconsciously began to tap your foot along to. "He'll come for you all in the end, you'll never be free... he'll come for you all, but never for me."

Ferals shrieked in response to the gunfire, to the song torn right from your notebook in your pack, and one by one, like stage performers who had practiced this dance a hundred times, they dropped at the feet of the camp.

"Death's got a girl who croons his songs, which is why he never stays for long. He's got to run back to his lady, just as harsh as he, he's coming for you, but he's running back to me." As you sang you realized your voice was getting louder, louder, swelling until it filled the mall's atrium and every corridor far beyond. You tapped your heel along with the rhythm you'd created, closing your eyes and imagining an audience of one; a ghoul with his arms slung out across the chairs beside him and a knowing smirk playing his thin lips. It pulled you forward, pulled forth a song you hadn't realized was already in you. "He might sound mean, but I swear, he's kind. He's just got to peer into these eyes of mine. I'll ride with him, and he'll follow me, leaving behind a trail of blood far as the eye can see. Oh, my baby's got teeth to bite and a gun to blow, see his smoke and soon you'll know. Death ain't my man, he's my right hand. He'll come for you all in the end, you'll never be free... he'll come for you all, but never for me."

You had just been nearing a second verse when, from where it rested before the old man on the table, the stereo jumped back to life and filled the atrium with thrumming, pulsing folk music. It drowned out your voice, silenced you like a gunshot, and the ferals teetering on the edge of the darkness leading to the rest of the mall stumbled back into their hiding places. The camp locals slowly emerged from their hiding places, chattering excitedly about Sterry and his newfound love of life. Feeling a little stupid still standing on the bench, you climbed down and shuffled away toward where you had been originally sitting.

Taking a seat, you rested your forehead on your arms and exhaled a shaky breath. What had you been thinking? Singing a song for the man you'd become hopelessly fascinated with while he was just a few feet away, battling ferals who were intent on tearing out your throat and taking your voice with it? You were such a fucking idiot. You wouldn't be surprised if he told you to never open your mouth again.

Just as promised, your flasks were filled to the brims with fresh water before you went on your way, leaving the mall atrium and the singing, dancing camp locals behind as you picked your way back outside. Neither you nor Cooper said much as you continued your trek to nowhere, leaving a pair of footprints like echoes in your wake. Your cheeks remained flushed long after the mall had disappeared into the horizon, and long after you picked out an abandoned building to set up camp for the night. For once, it wasn't from the heat.

You sat across the lantern and what light it cast from Cooper, who stared into the little beacon as if he were watching the most fascinating flick within its glass. You held your notebook in your lap, thumb marking your place as your tried to write, but nothing would come to mind save for the things you'd sung about today. Mortification stirred like a serpent in your belly, and you briefly considered excusing yourself to get up and throw up outside.

"Let me see that book you've got there."

Your head lifted at Cooper's request - more of a demand - and unconsciously tightened your grip around your notebook. Your notebook - full of songs, melodies, lyrics. The most recent half of which you had written about the ghoul staring at you. "This?" you said, your trembling voice giving way to your nerves. You forced out a chuckle and smacked it shut. "It's nothing worth looking at."

"Why not?" he said, voice rasping lower than the baritone he usually held it at. You swore his gaze was hotter than the sun during the day and the fires at night. "You got more songs 'bout little old me in there?"

Fuck, he knew. Fuck all, he knew. You felt your flush deepen as you pointedly tucked your notebook into the bottom of your pack and flipped the top shut. "I... I don't know what you're talking about," you said, avoiding his eyes. Instead you focused on the fraying tip of your boot. "I wrote that a long time ago. Back in my vault."

"Uh huh." Cooper stared you down for so long you thought that perhaps time had frozen. Then he took a barely-there breath. "Come over here, songbird. Let me get a good look at you."

For a long, long moment, you remained still as you ever had been. What was he saying? Normally the only time he let you close to him was when he invaded your personal space to deliver a shove or to smack your knee or thigh to tell you to get a move on. Your breath hitched when you finally lifted your head and found his gaze boring into yours, heavier than a ton and white hot like a branding iron.

"I ain't goin' to tell you again, pretty girl."

As if he had you on a fucking leash - because you swore he did - you found yourself pitching forward, crawling on your hands and knees toward him. He spread his legs slightly, enough to give you room to fit between them, and hesitantly, so very carefully, you rested yourself against his front. His rough, scarred hands, free of his gloves, came up to rest on the swell of your hips as if they were made to be there, fitting like puzzle pieces against your skin beneath your vault suit. You stared up at him, backlit by the lantern light, and let his thumb drag down your bottom lip until it slipped from his touch.

"Didn't think my songbird had such desire in her," Cooper chuckled, his warm breath fanning across your face.

You relished in the goosebumps that crawled over the planes of your skin. "I... I don't..."

"Oh, you'd be dead wrong if you said that little ditty you sang today wasn't all about desire." He settled back deeper where he sat, giving you more room to settle against him between the columns of his thighs. Your lower belly rested against his crotch, where you felt the hard outline of his cock straining against his trousers. Your heart skipped a beat or three. "If you wanted to ride with death, sweetheart, all you needed to do was ask."

Cooper sealed his lips to yours without word or warning, pulling a surprised little noise from the back of your throat that he swallowed up with fervor. As the initial shock faded, you found your eyes slipping shut and your mouth moving against his, lips opening without fight when his tongue demanded to explore your own. Bracing yourself with one hand against his thigh, you reached up with your other and cradled the back of his head, knocking off his hat in the process.

Swift to get a move on, to feel you against him and swallow up more of your sounds, Cooper easily flipped you around so that you were now lying flat on your back and he was hovering over your prone form. Both tingling excitement and nauseating nerves pulled groans from your lips as he moved to pressing harsh kisses and nips to the column of your neck, licking up red spots that would surely bruise come morning time. He shucked off his duster and abandoned it somewhere behind him, at the same time, by some skill you had no idea anyone possessed, also grasping at the zipper of your vault suit to pull it down as far as it would go.

It didn't take long for you to shimmy out of the suit, leaving you in just your underwear, the seams of which he traced with his calloused finger. It sent a chill running up your spine despite the heat prodding at your skin.

"My songbird sounds real pretty when she's singin'," Cooper muttered as he sucked a bruise into the swell of one breast over the cup of your bra. "I bet she sounds even better screamin' for me."

His hand plunged beneath the waistband of your panties and began to explore your folds, pulling a long, whining moan from your lips. He ate you and your whimpers up, devouring your lips like he wanted to eat you whole - maybe he did - while his middle finger ran up and down your cunt a few times before deftly finding your clit and applying a bit of pressure to the sensitive bud. You cried out. It had been far too long since you'd seen any real action. It didn't take long before your folds were soaked, and he was able to gingerly nudge his finger past the entrance of your pussy. It felt foreign to have another person thrusting their finger in and out of you, building you up to a kind of high you hadn't known since far before you left your vault. In less than a few minutes - something he would surely tease you about later - you felt that familiar coil snap in your stomach and you soaked his hand with a loud, throat-rattling wail that escaped your lips and flew right past his.

Cooper pulled back with a self-satisfied smirk and pulled his hand from your panties, lifting his spread hand to show you to slick you'd coated his digits with. You were only able to huff for breath and watch with hooded eyes as he brought his fingers to his mouth and used his skillful tongue to lick off your cum. You briefly wondered what else that tongue of his could do, what it would feel like to have him lap up your pussy like it was the only thing to guarantee him his daily hit of medicine.

"Sweet as honey, baby," he cooed, bracing himself with one hand while the other worked on the buckle of his belt. "Well. Maybe Tennessee honey. You ever had a taste of that?" He knew you hadn't. But that didn't stop his smirk from growing in size when you numbly shook your head. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it, baby. We'll get you a lick one day. 'Til then..."

Your limbs dancing with pins and needles, you lifted your hips to help him tug off your panties. "I'll just have to settle for what I've got," you exhaled with a hazy smile.

Cooper grinned wide, a smile that bordered on the edge of dark, as he tugged down his trousers just enough for his cock to spring free. He was thick - larger than you'd expected - and his member was rough and scarred like the rest of him. It made you want to feel him all the more. "I'll promise you somethin', darlin," he said as he positioned himself at your entrance and you locked your legs around his waist, heels digging into the edge of his gun belt. "I'm better than anything else you'll taste these days." With that he slid into you, filling you at once to the brim like he just couldn't wait to feel you from the inside. A loud, sharp yelp escaped your lips as your back arched instinctively, curling yourself up into him. He only waited a few moments for you to adjust before he started moving, pulling himself out to the tip before thrusting back inside your welcoming cunt. You were able to feel each and every ridge of him, every scar, and you swore you were getting drunk from just the feeling.

"Fuckin' shit, girl," he groaned, moving to press the flat of his hand to the base of your neck so that he could keep you in place while he fucked you. "Better than I could've fuckin' dreamed."

Cooper's thrusts began to increase in speed, your moans and whimpers accompanied by his low, almost growling snarls he panted against the shell of your ear. You couldn't believe this was happening. You were being fucked by the ghoul you'd been following all these months, the ghoul you'd been watching and studying and falling hopelessly for. And it felt good. It felt so fucking good, a part of you wasn't entirely convinced this entire scenario wasn't a dream concocted by the recesses of your mind.

"God, Coop," you heard yourself moan as your nails dug crescent moons into the fabric of his shirt. "Feels so fucking good..."

"Atta girl," he muttered, moving his head down so that he could suck at the junction where your neck met your shoulder. "Such a sweet little songbird." His grip on your hips tightened as his movements increased even further. "Might just have to fuck you good every night so I can hear you sing for me."

You panted deep as you felt your second orgasm of the night approaching at an alarming rate. Your hips bucked up to meet his with each thrust, the sound of skin on skin filling the abandoned building in which you had taken shelter. "Don't have to - ah! - even ask. I'll sing for you any time, Coop."

Cooper's breaths came shorter, sharper, and it wasn't long before he came with a harsh bite against your shoulder, one that spilled blood into his awaiting mouth and pulled your own orgasm from deep within your depths. You shuddered and cried for him, tugging him close and holding him there for several minutes after your highs had faded and your breaths evened.

Finally, he pulled himself off of you. A short whine escaped you when he slipped from your heat, and he chuckled low before tossing you your panties to slip back on. When you were both covered again, you sat up and crossed your legs as you basked in the afterglow of what had just taken place. Cooper dug around in his saddlebag for a moment before producing his inhaler and drinking up a shot of his medicine, shaking his head against the sudden buzz that came with it as he sat back on his elbows and stared at the lantern light.

"I..." You struggled to find the words so desperately clawing at your chest. "I hope you don't..."

Cooper reached up and pulled your wrist out from under you, causing you to fall back on the ground beside him with an 'umph.' He let his arm cushion your fall before sweeping a few strands of hair from your face and giving you that crooked smirk which made your legs fall numb all over again. "Oh, don't you worry yourself, songbird," he said. "I ain't lettin' you fly away from me any time soon."

#fallout #fallout show #fallout amazon #the ghoul #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #the ghoul smut #cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #cooper howard smut #fallout imagines #fallout one shot #fallout smut #the ghoul x y/n #cooper howard x y/n

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devilishcupid · 1 year

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CARBON COPY | Miguel O'Hara

☆ premise: trying to find miles morales in earth-42, he encounters you. or at least, a version of you.

☆ pairing: miguel o'hara x fem!alt universe!reader

☆ warnings: across the spiderverse spoilers, pregnant!reader, clueless!reader, angst, hurt no comfort, miguel's pov, some swearing

☆ a/n: oh my god. across the spiderverse is literally a masterpiece. into the spiderverse already is, but the spiderverse team said, "we can do better." they didn't have to, but they did.

"Do you really think this is a good idea?" Jessica asked through the commlink. "This is risky, even by your standards."

"It doesn't matter. The quicker we find Miles, the quicker we get out of here." Miguel muttered into his earpiece as he walked through the busy streets of Earth-42's New York.

"Yes, but blending in? For all we know, a version of us exists here."

"Which is why you need to stop talking and start looking, Jess." Miguel hissed a little too loud, earning looks from a few passerbys. He winced. Jessica had a point. If a version of them did exist in this universe, it would be best not to bring attention to themselves.

"Miguel!"

And... that was now thrown out of the window. Cursing under his breath, he turned around reluctantly to face the person who called him—only to find that it was you.

His eyes widened, and his lips parted at the sight of you. Never in a million years did he expect to see her again. But here you were, the absolute spitting image of her. Your clothes were exactly the same things she would wear, your hair and makeup done the same way.

Finding different versions of people in different universes was not uncommon. There's literally a society uniting the different universes' own Spider-people, for God's sake. But Miguel didn't expect this. He didn't expect a carbon copy of his dead wife on a universe where Spider-Man did not exist.

He should've said he wasn't Miguel, that you were mistaking him for someone else. Hell, he shouldn't have stopped and turned around in the first place. He didn't know what came over him, but in a second, he had his arms wrapped around your body.

"Miguel, hon, are you okay?" You asked, your voice laced with surprise and concern. You had no clue that the man who was hugging you was not your husband. At least, not your husband in this universe.

Miguel grunted in response, his ability to string words together to form a sentence rendered broken by your presence. He squeezed you tighter. He couldn't believe he was holding you in his arms.

You weren't the same woman he fell in love with. He knows this. But he couldn't help himself. You looked exactly like her. Felt exactly like her. Sounded exactly like her. Shit, you even smelled like her.

"Damn it, Miguel, keep it together! She's not your wife!"

Hearing Jess' voice snapped Miguel out of his stupor. Remembering his mission, why he was there in the first place, he pulled away from you. He didn't want to. He wanted to hold you longer. But he knew that if he did, he wouldn't have been able to stop.

"Honey, what's wrong?" You asked, cupping his face in your hands. God, how he missed feeling the warmth of your palms. "You're acting weird."

"I'm fine, sweetheart." He gave you a small smile, his hands wrapping around yours and his lips pressing a kiss on each of your wrists. "I just missed you, that's all."

You laughed. "What are you talking about? You saw me this morning."

Miguel could only chuckle in an attempt to hide his sadness. What was only hours for you was months for him. "Right. I did."

"Are you sure you're okay, though?" You asked again, eyebrows furrowing and the corners of your lips downturned.

"Don't worry about it, darling. I am."

He wasn't. But you didn't need to know that. You didn't need to know that in another universe, the two of you were married. You didn't need to know that you had a daughter together. You didn't need to know that he loved you and your daughter more than life itself, only for him to lose you both.

"Listen, I have to go. I'm having lunch with a friend. But I'll see you later at Doctor Nguyen's, okay?" You placed your hands on your stomach, a smile forming on your face. "I can't wait to see her again."

Miguel swallowed the lump in his throat before forcing himself to smile. Only now he noticed the bump on your stomach, carrying a different Miguel's Gabriella. "Yeah, me too."

With a kiss goodbye on his cheek, you walked away, blissfully unaware that he was not your Miguel. He watched as you disappeared around the corner, knowing it was the first and last time he was ever going to see you again.

But that didn't matter. He'll find Miles. He'll make sure the canon isn't destroyed. He'll make sure another version of himself wouldn't have to suffer the loss of his family the same way he did. He'll make sure you and your kid were safe.

#˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ doll's fics #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #spider-man #spiderman #across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse spoilers #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman x reader #spider-man x reader #spiderman 2099 #spider-man 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spider-man 2099 x reader #oscar isaac #oscar isaac x reader

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joonie-beanie · 1 month

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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.

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.”

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