content: contrary to popular belief, the fire lord can't have everything he wants. however, even he’d admit that what he wanted was troublesome in itself, which is why he forces himself to be okay with having you by his side as his advisor.
[tw: MDNI, longfic, angst/fluff/smut, slowburn apothecary diaries coded, so much yearning and longing, porn with plot, there is no power imbalance he’s afraid of your father, zuko’s a little shit tho, we’re already married in his head]
notes: this was supposed to be a oneshot but then ideas kept popping up in my head and i thought, why don't i just turn this into a longfic like defiance?? lol. the plan is to follow these two around throughout a couple arcs, with the first one being them trying to navigate their feelings and attempting to go back to normal while trying to fix the shit show in the silk district.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
The twins! There’s nerdjo 🤭and then there’s fratjo too ig, I was really excited when i saw nerdjo trending so I grabbed the opportunity to draw him hehe
It's been years since you broke your own heart. Since the love of your life left on expedition, no longer your boyfriend. Since your world collapsed in on itself.Now he's on your threshold with that same easy smile, the exact same eyes as your son, and the truth you've been running from.
there is one part left- send an ask/dm/comment to be added to taglist
[ Reader ]
You weren't used to the silence.
At first, being able to work without having to have eyes in the back of your head was a relief. Raising a five year old in what was practically a herbologists' lab, was mentally exhausting. But now you had reached the third day working alone, the novelty of the quiet had worn off and it just felt... wrong.
There was a kind of guilt in the feeling. After all, you should feel pleased, relieved, that Varka had taken so enthusiastically to all that had been thrust upon him.
Instead you felt hollow.
You crushed the Calla Lilly beneath your blade harder than you meant to, sighing as the sap decorated the worn wood floor of the cottage. Another waste of an afternoon spent hiking and wading through the waters of Starfell Highland. Scraping the sad husk of Calla Lilly from the surface of your workbench, already becoming sticky, you checked the pungent tincture you had boiling.
You tried to focus on the task before you. The parenting break had meant you now had the time to restock your supplies, something well overdue. However, the more you tried to banish all the ache of longing from your chest, the more it reared its ugly head.
Of course you knew that no one with a modicum of self respect would turn around and want to play happy family after everything. This was, if anything, the best case scenario. Varka had reacted the best he could. You had expected this when you made your choices. You had anticipated this, had prepared yourself for it.
So why did it still hurt so much?
Knowing the two people you loved most in the world were out, forming their own memories without you, tasted bitter in your mouth on its own. But the thought that this was your forever, linked by co-parentage and nothing more, was suffocating.
You had done this all to yourself. It was the least you deserved.
Varka always had Leo home before sundown and worn out enough to make bedtimes easy. Sure, Leo would still babble your ear off, even around his toothbrush, about his day as you got him ready for sleep but he was out as soon as his head hit the pillow.
You were outside pulling in the laundry, the sun was cresting the hills, when Varka rounded the corner, Leo's little body curled in his broad arms and fast asleep.
Neither of you had spoken much during the previous pick ups and drop offs. Though that may have had more to do with your son making it difficult to get a word in edgeways. Now though, the quiet seemed to sit heavy with things left unsaid.
Varka dropped his chin, glancing down at the sleeping boy with a soft smile. Your heart compressed itself. As if he sensed it, those piercing blue eyes lifted to meet yours. You fought to keep the air in your lungs at the sight.
"I'll put him to bed if you want." His eyes didn't leave yours. His low voice, careful not to wake Leo, like a featherlike touch up your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
You cleared your throat quietly, a desperate attempt to tamp some of the intensity. "S-Sure. Go in in."
Varka moved past you and into the cottage as you stayed outside, grateful for the space between you and the cool chill that sunset heralded.
For such a large man, he moved deceptively quietly. You barely noticed his return until he was almost upon you.
"Can I help?" He gestured to the basket against your hip.
It took a beat before you nodded, part surprised by his question and part admiring the glow of his blond hair in the day's final, golden rays. Varka took the basket, half-full of laundry, easily from your grasp, calloused fingers brushing against your own as he did. You did your best not to cradle your hand like it had been burned, focused determinedly on extracting the last of your washing from their pegs.
You broke first, his unwavering gaze almost tangible on the nape your neck. "How has he been adjusting? Leo I mean."
"I dunno if I know him well enough to tell you."
You winced, back still to him and wishing you could melt into the ground. You pulled the corner of a sheet off the laundry line with more gusto than required.
"He seems fine but... he's still calling me both Grandmaster and Dad."
You turned to face him but Varka didn't seem upset. In fact, he seemed more like himself than he had done for the past month.
"He'll get the hang of it..." You offered. Keen to change to subject you continued quickly. "Will you be taking him tomorrow as well?"
Varka didn't reply immediately, helping you wrangle the bed sheet into the basket before setting it down to fix you with his full attention. "No, I have other plans in mind."
"Oh." You supposed it had been a miracle he had so much of the week uninterrupted by work.
"Are you free tomorrow?"
You blinked at him. He'd never been one for small talk but maybe he was trying to make things less awkward. "No, I don't have plans tomorrow."
He fixed you with that devastating grin of his. "Great. I'll meet you at the Good Hunter after I finish up."
Surely, you were misunderstanding something here. "But tomorrow is the parade."
Varka's grin was unwavering. "Yeah, I'll meet you straight after. Promise not to make a lady wait this time."
"Okay." You breathed, doing your best to tamp down the wilful bubble of hope blossoming in your chest.
genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection
summary.
in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.
author's note. this is just a short prologue to show how things end (yay happy endings!), but the two have a lot of trauma to go through before they reach endgame. i love kinich's character and design so i'm excited for this! interaction is highly appreciated :)
𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣
Kinich thinks he’s loved you since forever.
He has no way of proving that, of course; those years are long gone, and even if he had the opportunity to ask, he’s not sure his younger self would have a comprehensible answer. He can only see now that he’s come so far, when the memories are too murky to make sense of but the warmth remains—when he thinks of your smile and feels something akin to the weightlessness of grappling and flying through the trees.
He says “forever” because he really has no idea when it started—the realization came far after the feeling. He’d been before school age when he met you for the first time, and it’s been over a decade since then.
“Kinich!”
Your call interrupts his thoughts, and his gaze is drawn skyward—you’re standing somewhere far above him, on one of the walkways lining the cliffs of the Scions of the Canopy. You’re waving so wildly and ridiculously that it almost makes him smile.
“Are you coming down?” he calls through cupped hands, well-acquainted with this kind of long-distance communication. Sound tends to echo well between the cliffs here, and he’s sure you heard him when you offer an enthusiastic thumbs-up in return.
“Yup! I bought a few things, so I was hoping you could help me carry them home!”
Kinich rolls his eyes teasingly. “Somehow I doubt that you have enough Mora left to afford my services.”
You pout in reply. Ajaw decides to appear then, a malicious puff of smoke over Kinich’s shoulder. “Of course not! You better not be making fun of me, letting some mortal treat you like a servant! The Almighty Dragonlord, K’uhul Ajaw, won’t take this kind of disrespect—”
Ignoring his wordy introduction, you call down to Kinich again. “I’m coming down! Think fast!”
“—Don’t make me lau—wait, what?!”
Even Ajaw yelps in surprise as you take a running leap off the walkway, freefalling fast down the plane of the cliff. If he were any younger, Kinich might’ve had a heart attack. But you’ve been pushing your luck with him for years, and it comes as instinct when Kinich grapples up, deftly catching you in his arms with a light ‘oof’.
You’re holding a few boxes in your arms, he notices, and you smile.
“I bought some Puff Pops for us to share later. I was thinking we can do some climbing, or there’s this cave I’ve been meaning to explore.”
His heart does a sort of flip that cannot be attributed to the way you fly through the sky. It’s all so much: the sensation of your warmth pressed against him, the scent of the wind rushing past, and the laughter of his tribe members below. Their eyes shine as they watch the two of you pass above them, chuckling at the familiar sight.
And really, he can’t remember ever being this happy. When he thinks of how much it took to reach this point, the heartbreak and trauma aren’t the first things to come to mind. Instead, it’s you. The way you held him, the way you cried for him, the way you chased him. Always laughing, always in love.
Too lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice your curious stare for a moment. You poke at his cheek, and he startles, nearly dropping you both.
“Is something wrong?” you ask shyly, suddenly self-conscious of the box in your hands. “We don’t have to do any of that. Really, if you have a high-value job or something, I understand.”
Ajaw decides to butt-in again, reddened with rage. “Yes, all of that sucks! I mean, seriously, don’t you have anything better to do—”
“No, it’s great,” Kinich murmurs in reply, flicking Ajaw away with a strong hand—the Saurian’s roar dissipates with the wind. He holds you tighter against his chest. There’s nothing worth more to him than you. “That all sounds really, really amazing.”
As the two of you burst through the trees, laughing the whole way, he thinks that it doesn’t really matter when he started to love you. All that matters is that he doesn’t stop.
Varka x The anxious team coordinator who needs to watch over everyone (Part 2 - Final)
Warning: excuse mistakes please, angst
BIG WARNING: It ends on a cliffhanger and although I have ideas for this story, I don't have time to write it. BUT I am open to discuss it with everyone and what you think should happen or will happen next. Share your brainrot and pain! Perhaps you can write the continuation!
Other parts of this story: (Part 1)
Never in a hundred years would Adalbert see himself in this position.
They had been at the border of Natlan, on the edge of leaving the city behind and going into the next. A step closer to Nod-Krai.
As the second in command, Adalbert always took the rear of the expedition. Grand Master Varka took the front.
Imagine his surprise when his ears picked up galloping towards him. He squints to see who is approaching, it's from the front line and it only adds to his confusion when he sees it's none other than the Grand Master himself.
"Grand Master?" Adalbert starts, watching Varka maneuver his horse around to fall in step with his.
"Adalbert," the blond haired captain starts, pulling on the reigns to slow his horse. "You know the path to Nod-Krai, right?"
Adalbert looks closely at his leader's face, meeting the gaze of urgency. "I do..." Adalbert trails off, knowing that this conversation was going to go somewhere outrageous.
"Good," Varka praises with a grin, then quickly follows up with a command. "I need you to lead the front, choose someone else to hold the back,"
It was probably Adalbert's surprised face that signalled Varka to keep explaining, "I need to go back and look for Y/N,"
Varka wasn't all that good at hidden agendas, so he didn't find the need to conceal it.
Adalbert's brows furrow, "Sir...Natlan is a big place..."
It wasn't that Adalbert disliked the idea of looking for you. Every single soldier in the expedition was valuable and that included you. But knowing how organized, how careful, how on-the-dot you were, Adalbert couldn't help but think that you were not in the living realm with them anymore.
There was no way that you wouldn't get yourself back to camp on time, unless you were beyond the grave.
He tried to talk sense into the Grand Master, but in all honesty, if Y/N couldn't do it, then no one else could.
"Teyvat is a big place too, and look at us traversing it for nearly a year!" The grin slapped on Varka's face didn't fade. Adalbert's lips pursed into a thin line.
"Listen," Varka started again. "I'll catch up in 2 days, with or without Y/N," he paused to think of the specifics. "In 2 days, you should be setting up camp at the valleys of Tequemecan. Wait for me there,"
"...and if you don't come?"
"I will," the finality in Varka's voice was the deciding factor. Without another word he left Adalbert in charge and only with a promise of returning back.
"Missing, you say?" Mavuika's fingers brushed her chin, deep in thought.
Varka's first stop was none other than the Pyro Archon herself. Unlike last time where it had ended with a drinking contest, Varka wasted no time in telling Mavuika that he was one person down. In detail, he described how you looked. How you might have had a few knights with you that night and how you might have been looking for him.
"Oh!" It instantly clicked in Mavuika's mind. "I think I know who you mean..." She had, after all, handed you the key to Varka's room. "Unfortunately I've yet to receive any reports about injured outsiders nor missing ones... Except..."
Mavuika's eyes trail over to the grand, flickering fire in the middle of the room "The Masters of the Night Wind has yet to give me a report. Perhaps it's a good time to visit and check on them after the attack. Care to join me? You might find who you're looking for,"
Varka had no explanation as to why he didn't do this in the first place. Surely the Pyro Archon would know where you are or at least have some sort of clue. But in his silent panic, he admittedly hadn't been thinking straight.
People always thought that panic and fear was easily seen on a person's face. However, to those who were used to putting up a brave front, used to leading a whole country, those emotions are easily masked, just bubbling in silence.
Varka thought it was like drowning.
People always thought that drowning was loud. Splashing, screaming, cries for help. In reality, once the water pulls you in, it's silent. You struggle, you kick, you fight it, you try to swim up, but the water silences you even if your lungs scream for air and even if your chest burns.
All you might see are tiny ripples and bubbles on the surface.
That's how he was feeling right now.
Where could you be?
Following Mavuika's Flamestrider while he was on horseback was probably the only thing that kept him mildly occupied and distracted. It was harder than he thought to keep up and he had a feeling that Mavuika was exponentially slowing down for his sake.
One could tell that they were entering vicinity of the Masters of The Night Wind when Iktomisaurs start showing up. That, and the murals were cooler shades of blue and purple as opposed to the vibrant and warm oranges and reds.
Mavuika slowed to a stop. She pulled the helmet off of her head and swung her leg around to dismount her ride. Varka followed suit, marching right up behind Mavuika.
They come to what seemed to be the headquarters of the city. Mavuika exchanges a few words with the guards and the pair of them are led to another room.
The door opens into what seems to be a quaint resting area. Mavuika instantly recognizes the backs of Ororon and Citlali. Ororon is standing next to a bed, Citlali closer by the door.
Citlali turned to meet Mavuika's eyes, she knew the archon was coming. "I was just about to go and give you our report..." Mavuika could tell by Citlali's expression that there was something going on. She rarely hesitated and rarely bit her tongue.
"Go on..." the Pyro Archon urged.
Varka was all ears as well, hoping for something good. However, as his eyes flickered around the room, past the young man clad in what he could only describe as a bat-like hooded cape--Varka's eyes suddenly meet yours.
"Y/N!" Varka pushes past Mavuika and Citlali, almost brushing against the latter's shoulder, striding in quick and long steps towards the bed you were sitting on.
Citlali turns around to try and stop him, "Hey, wait, they're not--!"
At your position from the bed, sitting up and watching the group of three talking, then one of them suddenly and urgently rushes towards you. You can't help but look up at him with wide, surprised eyes.
Varka ignores the presence of Ororon and checks you over. Bandages around your head, another on your cheek and who knows how much more under the clothes you wear. Varka's struck with a deep-set regret, but he breathes out a sigh of relief.
"Had me worried for a second there," He gives you a sheepish smile and if you look closely, relief has washed over his face, but it only lasts for the fastest second. "I wouldn't know what to do if I went back without you. Everyone'd kill me and they would have to look for a new Grand Master,"
The room is silent.
No one speaks.
Not Mavuika. Not Citlali. Not Ororon.
Not you.
"Though I guess that wouldn't be all that bad, getting to retire," He chuckles, unaware of the dead air in the room.
You bite your lip as he talks. You look up at him with a concerned gaze. "...I'm... sorry,"
Varka only smiles at you, knowing that you were unnecessarily apologetic at times. He's about to tell you it's all fine. It's all good. Everything's in place and he hadn't lost you.
However, your words are faster than his. Your eyes definitely looking straight at him as you utter the words that finally pull him deep down into the depths of the water.
"Who are you...?"
and with three simple words, Varka struggles.
He kicks, he fights, he tries to swim up. Your words echoed over and over again.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: The devil with no sin nor memory and he who has held them all for centuries.
Word Count: 21.8k (get cozy)
Tags: Neuvillette x Fem!Reader, Slow burn, Slow fic, SMUT, NSFW, Historical AU, Fantasy AU?, Reincarnation AU, cursed!neuvillette, dragon!neuvillette, reincarnated!Reader, human!reader, Fluff, a lot of fluff, Melusines doing their best to play cupid, ex-lovers to lovers, slight enemies to lovers? ANGST, he's trying his best, dragon x human dynamics, Monsterfucking (two... I have no defense), cunnilingus(long tongue), marking, size kink? breeding kink, heat, overstimulation, hate sex? kinda?, slightly unhealthy dynamics (past life), dubcon, trust issues, immortal x mortal, slightly possessive!neuvillette, slightly yandere!neuvillette, TW: mild mention of blood, TW: descriptions of drowning, sin, and sacrifice. TW: Trauma from betrayal, themes of resentment, Infertility.
Author's Note: Wanted to try out a historical fantasy from Neuvillette's pov. I struggle with fantastical settings, so overlook any world-building confusion. Mihoyo won't give me his real name, and it's eating away at my sanity. Enjoy!
Somewhere deep beneath the waves, away from the omnipotent watch of false divinity, lies a village. A bustling home carved into an outcast cove nestled under the cover of suppressive tides.
One littered with tiny houses surrounding an impressive estate modeled much like the ones seen in those novels abandoned from capsized ships.
Would you believe that such a place exists?
Decorated with curious trinkets which sunk beneath the surface which had forsaken them, kept in this cove for so long that it was challenging to remember the azure hues.
Ornaments decorating the expanse of this once lonesome cave, almost enough to conceal its true origin: A prison.
A fool sentenced to this penitentiary masquerading as a home, now affectionately named ‘Merusea Village’.
Within that attentively built estate, a looming figure stood in front of a wall lined with neatly organized novels, lilac eyes running along the titles printed along each spine.
A collection saved from watery abandonment after falling overboard by the curious hands of Melusines. Amassed throughout the years until the shelves of this humble library were without vacancy.
Stopping a finger on a spine, he decided on the novel to pass the ever-plenty time bestowed upon him. He’s aware that each book amongst these shelves has been thumbed through by him.
But with enough years, the recollection of the contents contained within each one tends to become foggy.
It's fate that the novel selected in his hands just so happens to be a collection of tales.
Humans have many strange behaviors, one might even call them traditions. One particular tradition mortals seem to indulge in often is that of storytelling.
Lilac eyes browse through the pages, refreshing himself on the tale held within its faded covers.
----------
There once was a lovely kingdom amidst lush pastures and fertile lands where the townspeople sang and danced under the bright sunlight.
But one day the sun disappeared, concealed behind ashen clouds that cried a lonesome hymn, plaguing the unfortunate kingdom with rain.
The origin of the rain stemmed from the lonesomeness of a great dragon of water.
Thus, to stop the rain, the king sent out a princess to the dragon, declaring that the kingdom gates wouldn’t welcome her back if rain fell from the sky. She was sent off in a white gown.
Down below a flooded loch, the princess was offered to the weeping dragon. Looking up the princess saw the sorrowful pools in the beast’s eyes.
‘Hydro Dragon, oh Hydro Dragon, why do you cry?’ She asked.
Intrigued by the bravery of the young princess, the dragon answered: ‘Because I am lonely, I have no brethren left.’
Feeling pity the princess responded: ‘Hydro Dragon, oh Hydro Dragon, don’t cry. I will be lonely with you.’
So the princess befriended a lonesome dragon under the hymn of softening rain, with his loneliness soothed, the sun peeked back out from ashen clouds. But one day, pitiful tears fell from her eyes and the princess wept so bitterly.
The dragon could not bear seeing those tears stain her cheeks. He offered her pearls, jewels, and gold. Yet those bitter tears still fell, tainting the pristine water.
‘Beloved princess, why do you cry so bitterly?’ He implored.
‘I long to go home, I miss my kingdom,’ she revealed.
But she could not go home, for if she stepped foot away from the riverside the lonesome rain would start again. The colossal dragon could not leave the loch, but he could not bear seeing those bitter tears.
So he relented, telling the princess a secret. A secret all dragons buried deep within: His true name.
‘If you speak my name, my true name, then I can grant you one wish. But be careful, for there can only be one wish.’ The dragon whispered.
‘Do you wish to return to your kingdom, beloved princess?’ He asked.
The princess was silent for a long while, weighing the choices in her hand. She longed to return home, but she also longed to be by the side of her kind dragon.
Confident in her decision, she beckons the great dragon closer, until her lips could reach the side of his large head where his ear lay. After whispering his name, she tells the beast her wish.
‘I wish for you to become my prince, so we can return to the kingdom together, that way you won’t ever be lonely again.’
A clever wish he grants with a nod. Scales and claws shedding away until a handsome prince stood in front of her. Thus, hand in hand they returned from the loch to the warm welcome of the kingdom.
And they lived happily ever after.
----------
Ah, so it was that tale.
Judging from the age of the novel, he guesses it must be a rendition of a rendition.
Words and events twisted, embellished, and simplified. Until it became nothing more than a mere fable told to entertain the wandering minds of children.
A beloved tale of a maiden who got a dragon to give up his grand authority, stopping the flood of vengeance from drowning Fontaine.
This is what the origin of his damnation has turned into. The tales of the heroine’s feats sung and written throughout the narrative of time, passing from one generation’s lips to another’s ears.
However, he supposes this is expected of humans. It’s their tradition of storytelling, after all, mending a fallacy into a tale palatable to their conscious.
Or perhaps, these embellishments were added to compensate for the hollows caused by the frailty of mortal memory.
Patching over the holes with flowery words to distract readers from inaccuracies that were only compounded upon from the last.
Fontainians who came to believe in it, must not have known the dragon all that well, considering that they thought the proud dragon would bow to the whims of a meek human.
Placing a secret so simply in her hands at the mere sight of tears.
Did Fontainians not realize that the land they reside on once belonged solely to dragons? How preposterous it is that a sovereign couldn’t set foot upon his own land. Or did they forget why he couldn’t?
What a naive ending, did mortals truly believe that blood and water could dwell together without consequences? That simply wishing the dragon to become a human could resolve all troubles?
To overwrite everything with a ‘happily ever after’ which never happened?
Regardless of his reservations toward such fables, the Melusines always seem eager to gather around for such stories. The towering figure lacked the conviction to deny such requests.
From down the hall approaching closer came the pitter-patter of steps, he turned his tall frame toward the direction of the sound just as a few familiar faces revealed themselves from the library entrance.
“Monsieur Neuvillette! Come quickly! A human! A human appeared!” A group of Melusines tugs on the fabric of his slacks while pointing toward the phenomenon.
A mortal in this domain? A cavern hidden deep under the land and waters where the warmth of the sun couldn’t grace. How did such a being find their way into this sanctum? It’d be best that he alleviates their worries.
“Please lead the way.” Neuvillette closes the novel, returning it to the confines of its shelf.
His swift movements in time with the melusines’ frantic patter as they made their way out from his estate.
Soon the tops of the Melusines’ cozy homes of Merusea Village came into view, as did the murmuring of a distraught crowd.
“Excuse me.” His steps made their presence known, their heads perked up to look at him before parting a path for Neuvillette.
Upon the maroon pasture of Merusea Village was a blanket of silk and woven lace, snowy fabric surrounding the still figure of a human.
Treading closer Neuvillette kneels down while reaching out a hand, weaving his fingers under the fabric which obscures the mortal’s face.
“We found her while gathering offerings from the waters … Is she…” The anxious murmuring quiets to await his verdict.
“She has a pulse,” he reveals, fingertips detecting wisps of warmth along cold skin.
It was faint, but his attentive eyes caught onto the slow movement of her chest. The snowy fabric had greedily drunk up the essence of the sea. Cursing her to sink deeper below the tides.
To leave a mortal in such a state would be too cruel of a fate.
Neuvillette moves his hand to support her covered head as his other arm gathers the damp fabric under her legs.
Carefully, he stands back to his full height, cradling her limp body in his hold. An audience of fretful gazes follow his motions.
“Do not fret, she only requires some rest and a change of clothing, I’ll take her to my abode. Could you gather some cloth to dry down her body?” Neuvillette’s melodic voice just barely above a whisper, so as not to stir the figure in his arms.
His expression softens to offer the compassionate creatures some reassurance. With firm nods the Melusines scatter, determination alight in their bright irises as they sought the necessary items to care for their newfound guest.
The dampness of the heavy fabric seeps into his own attire as Neuvillette turns the knob to grant him entry into his abode.
Quietly ambling through the spacious halls, the master bedroom came into view. Neuvillette lays the limp form upon his sheets, ensuring that her head rests slowly upon the soft pillows.
Just as her figure sinks into the mattress, a chorus of metallic clinks catches his attention. Glancing down her body his lilac eyes discover the origin.
A pair of silver shackles encased around her ankles, the unforgiving metal digging into defenseless flesh.
Gingerly, he takes one ankle into his grasp to better observe the shackles.
This time he couldn’t fight against the deep frown as it debuted upon his lips. His eyes hone on how tightly those heavy chains were bound along the flesh.
Soon the unforgiving metal crashes down to the floor, he soothes the freed skin with his thumb while checking for any other possible wounds.
Lilac eyes travel up to her face for any sign of discomfort, only to be reminded that her face was concealed behind a shroud of lace.
How uncomfortable it must be to have a cold piece of fabric to cover one’s face. Neuvillette places her ankle back onto the bed.
His large hands took hold of the damp veil to lift it from her resting frame, revealing to his draconic eyes for the first time their face.
The veil stays suspended in the air as his hands cease all motion. Hardened gaze tracing over her features, the curve of her cheeks, the slope of her nose, and the structure of her face.
Repeated details he had long seared into his consciousness.
Within those mortal tales, there’s a wide variety of beasts and fearsome creatures. Dragons were depicted as such omnipotent beasts. But there’s a monster all other beast falls secondary to, the devil.
They didn’t possess the sharpest talons nor the largest fangs. No, what made them so horrifying is that they dawned the most enchanting faces.
He’s staring at it right now. The face of the devil who deceived him.
Those gods must be laughing at him right now. Those false idols, with their capricious fate and whims, who once must’ve shook hands with you to carry out their schemes all those years ago.
The scheme which imprisons him here in this humiliating form of the mortal creatures those false idols loved so much.
Yes, a devil, that must be what you are. For how did a meek mortal trick a dragon who once held the full authority of the tides?
His chest expands with a deep breath before a long exhale leaves him. Ah, yes that must be why this white gown has appeared before him again. He removes the senseless scrap of lace, checking once more for signs of discomfort before he turns his body away.
Finding himself outside the threshold of his bedroom as he closes the door behind him. He should wait here for the Melusines to arrive with a change of clothes and towels.
It’d buy him enough time to steadily return the tempestuous loch to a subdued ripple in a pond. His chest expands once more with a deep inhale.
A second cruel rendition unfolding once more in the narrative of time.
The crisp turn of a page resounds through the room. Lilac eyes glanced up from the text every so often to watch the steady rises and falls of your chest from his vantage point of a wooden chair pulled up to the bedside.
Heavy lashes still shut just as they were the day your drenched figure was pulled from the tides by merciful hands.
The journey to wisdom is lined with mistakes, mistakes providing teachings one must ingrain into their very being if they don’t wish to repeat such blunders again.
Just as how a burn seared into skin is a forever reminder that fire indeed burns indiscriminately.
A scar ingrained deep within him cries out for Neuvillette to withdraw from the fire which scorned him so long ago.
Alas, it’s duty which has sat him down beside your sleeping form. You’re the first guest this cove has seen in a long time, thus bringing you under the responsibility of the host, Neuvillette himself.
A stir brings his stoic gaze back away from his thoughts. Your chest rises with a long inhale as leaden lashes flutter open.
The cadence of your breaths begins to rise as more of your senses return to you. Fatigue evident in each slow drag of breath.
“Ah, I see you’ve awoken.” Neuvillette observes.
Your muscles momentarily forget their fatigue as your head snaps toward the owner of the deep voice. Eyes now wide and alert.
“My apologies, it wasn’t my intention to startle you.” He casts a glance toward the steaming bowl on the nightstand.
He could feel the weight of your stare travels up his figure. Do you perhaps remember him? Can you recall his lush snowy locks streaked with azure? Irises that held an all too familiar hue, a multitude of lilac shades much like a field of lavenders.
Does this ‘you’ remember the dragon you fooled?
“W-who are you?...” Your gaze was too cowardly to meet his.
Ah, have the cycle of death and rebirth washed those sins and memories?
The tonality of your trembling voice filled with puzzlement instead of recognition. He should’ve expected this much.
This you is nothing more than a stranger who shares the face of a devil.
“Where am I?” Another question leaves those lips in the absence of a response.
Just give him a moment, allow him to pacify the surging torrent within so their bitterness doesn’t seep into his words.
“You’re in our village!” A cheery voice joins the conversation.
Two pairs of eyes land upon a short figure with a pair of pastel horns. You blink once, then twice, then slowly thrice. Inquisitive eyes stared right back at you.
“W-what… are you?” Instinct commanding your body to retract deeper into the sheets.
A sharp cough halts your actions, drawing your attention back to the man as he lowers his hand down from his lips.
“She’s a Melusine, they prefer to be addressed using she/her pronouns,” he elucidates, an ever so subtle chastise in his tone.
“Oh…” You advert your gaze again, shame creeping onto your cheeks from your unintentional discourtesy.
A few breaths of silence follow, he observes you studying everything but the two figures just beside the bed.
Your fingers soothing over the soft cotton nightgown against your skin, a change from that restrictive and ornate dress.
“We, Melusines, helped you change out of that wet dress. Big sister Sedene said you’d get sick if we left you in that.”
It looks like your diverted gaze wasn’t as subtle as you originally thought. Sheepishly you extend your gratitude.
“Thank you…” Your words draw out, a brow quirked as your stare remained on her short form.
“Kiara!” She points to herself with a mitten hand.
“Thank you, Kiara.” You finish.
Her mittened hand then gestures to the towering man beside her.
“This is Monsieur Neuvillette! He’s the one who carried you here,” she announces.
“T-thank you, Monsieur Neuvillette.” You could only gather the courage to glance at the wall behind him.
“Just Neuvillette is fine,” his tone melodic and calm. “Are you able to sit up?”
Nodding your head, you attempt to fight through the fatigue of your muscles. Neuvillette and Kirara offer their assistance, his firm hands guiding your body up as Kirara adjusts the pillows to support your back.
Once you were situated, he reached for the bowl placed down earlier. A light clink sounds out from a spoon clattering about the porcelain dish. You glance at the contents, noting the clear amber broth.
“This should be kind on your stomach while providing you with some much-needed hydration and nutrients.” He holds out the soup.
A quivering hand attempts to reach up for the bowl, only for muscles to lose to fatigue as your arm limply falls back down to your side. Your strength has yet to return.
Another clink from the spoon resounds in the room as it gets taken into the grasp of an attentive hand. He holds out a spoonful of the warm soup, but your lips remain shut as a skeptical gaze meets his.
“Please forgive this inconvenience, but it’s best that you eat something to regain your strength.” The spoon remains unmoving in his hand.
There’s a rumbling stir within him. A voice snarls into his ear, interrogating him as to why his hand is feeding the very devil who once bit it.
“If you don’t eat you won’t get better.” Kiara’s eyes are riddled with concern as she observes your sealed lips.
That was his rebuttal to that snarl.
The Melusines simply don’t wish to see a human in such a pitiful state. Blissful in their ignorance of events that conspired long before their birth.
Dignity overpowered by the guilt of seeing such pure eyes marred with worry.
Soon your lips part, accepting the spoonful of broth delicately offered by him. After he observes you swallowing the first sip, Neuvillette holds out another spoonful. You part your lips again.
Neuvillette overrides the clamorous warnings of his instincts with the duty of being a ‘good host’, bringing another sip to your delicate lips.
With a regular diet of warm broth with servings of Bulle Fruit on the side, you were soon able to pick up the spoon yourself. The fatigue that plagued your bones finally leaves, allowing you to support your body off the mattress which had your shape imprinted into it.
The Melusines, seemingly born infatuated with humanity, would often gather about your bed.
They were curious about you just as you were about them. To them, you’re the creature from those fairytales he’s read them.
In exchange for your recollections of warm Summer days and descriptions of lush lilac fields swaying in a gentle breeze, they reveal more about this village.
About how the estate you were currently residing in was refurbished by their own-mittened hands, taking inspiration from the various books depicting what human abodes looked like.
The beds, drapes, and even rugs are all arranged by them to create a lovely abode. A drastic change to the worn and rampaged shell it once was before their meddling.
Perhaps if he never filled their naive minds with those tales, they wouldn’t be enamored with you and humanity.
Or maybe it’s the vibrance of your smile that drew their naive souls closer. A warmth like a flickering candlelight beckoning a moth closer.
What are the odds that the hands of fate stayed so faithful to the details of a heroine from so long ago?
From your image to your bewitching mannerisms, and alluring voice, they’re all identical replicas. You and the ‘devil’ from that tale.
Wisdom from a lesson learned long ago, he must not repeat the same mistake. He must not be enchanted by the same flame which scorned him. He must ensure a breadth between you and him, just as those tiresome voices call for.
However, Neuvillette understands he has a responsibility as a host. Thus, he regularly checked on your condition, then when you were well enough to stretch your legs he accompanied you on strolls. Maintaining a respectable distance away.
He guided you through the marble halls of the estate, showing the library and bath which were yours to access whenever you wanted.
Rooms illuminated with the muted glow of luminescence gems and pearls. Water sourced from a hidden freshwater spring.
Impassive eyes observe yours as you look in awe at the facilities and commendations hidden deep under the tides. Were they comparable to the ones you’ve encountered back on the surface?
This estate, these wide stone halls, those pearls and jewels once scattered about, were all made just to please the bitter tears of a mortal. Perhaps his first attempt was too subpar to quell the longing to return to the sunlight.
But gauging from the glimmer reflecting off your eyes, it seems the Melusines attempt was satisfactory at least.
Today’s stroll took you outside of the estate, Neuvillette accompanying you about a routine walk, watching from behind as your eyes scan the dim realm.
The lanterns lining the path of Melusine's home grace the maroon pastures and rocky walls in place of the faint wisps of sunlight offered by the depths of the sea.
Very much expected for a village beneath the waves and earth. Were you reminiscing about the warm grace of the sun you felt up there?
It’s not fair to compare the vast sky of the surface to their cavern hidden away from the eyes of the mortals, perhaps even the divine themselves.
“Monsieur Neuvillette?” You began today’s attempt at a conversation.
“Yes?” He hums in acknowledgment.
He keeps sentences brief, but informative. Counters to your attempts at conversation.
“I’m aware this might sound strange, but is there a dragon down here?” Turning back to face him.
His strides stop as a lull of silence falls over the both of you. The weight of his unshaken gaze upon your shoulders caused them to tense up.
Your hands find each other for comfort under his oppressive stare as he awaits the reason behind this odd inquiry.
“W-well you see, Fontaine has been having awful weather for years now. Saltwater ruining crops and persistent heavy rain, it’s because the Hydro Dragon is crying from his loneliness. I was selected and offered as his bride, to stop the rain, that’s what The Oratrice instructed,” you babble out.
“So…do you know where he is?” Sheepishly you glance up.
The lilac hues of his eyes connect with yours as his lips remain unmoving. Staring into your eyes as he contemplates what you have just revealed to him. Your hands fumble together as you await his response.
“So humans are still telling that local legend…” He sighs.
He has to rein it back. The torrent which threatens to brew within him. Deep breaths to remind himself about the nature of mortals.
Humans are fickle and meek creatures who constantly yearn for something divine to worship, a figurehead to guide them in the turbulence of life.
When faced with hardship and destitution, they believe such concepts to be punishment from above.
Thus, they invent traditions to appease those false idols. Going to great lengths in attempts to pacify those unseen forces, even if it meant sacrificing one of their own.
Perhaps this was the trait of mortals that made them so favored by the usurpers, their naive devotion feeding into the greed of selfish gods.
Maybe that’s why those false idols uprooted the land that belonged to dragons.
“I wonder just how far that fable has spread by now,” he sighs again.
His lashes flutter shut in exasperation as a huff leaves him. It was a moment before they flutter back open to hone in on you. There’s no use in keeping his identity from you any longer.
“Do I seem lonely in your eyes?” Baritone voice steady and low.
No sounds fall from your agape lips as your eyes reexamine his features, this time shamelessly ogling the peculiar details you’ve brushed off previously.
Do you notice it now? How his ears were a bit too pointed, or those two particular cerulean strands of ‘hair’ poking out from his snowy locks.
As you study the specifics of his eyes, do you now comprehend the sharp dark pupils that cut through the multitude of lilac shades? Much like a shadow cutting through a field of lavenders.
“You’re the Hydro Dragon,” you deduce.
He nods in confirmation. Only causing your eyes to scan over him again as your mind reels back from this revelation.
In those stories you’ve read back on the surface, how did they depict him? As a towering scaled beast with fangs and claws? Are you wondering why he’s not matching that description?
“I’m aware that my current shape might not convey such a presence, ” he answers your unspoken question.
He fights for his lips to remain stoic, not allowing the weight of a frown to pull them down. You don’t know, you don’t need to know, he reminds himself.
A detail excluded from the pages of that tale, the ‘princess’ would only ever look at him, would only ever smile at him when a dragon took on this shape. A form which mirrors humans.
In fact, she was so fond of this human shell of his that she cursed him to dwell within it for the rest of eternity.
Neuvillette takes another deep breath, quelling the stir once more. You look like you had more questions.
“So… does that mean the need for a bride is fictitious?” You clutch your hands tighter.
Some years ago, the Melusines were born from spilled blood. A new generation of successors of the brethren he once forsaken. Making this prison much less lonesome, voiding the accuracy of the sentence in that tale.
If that was the case, then why did the waters still rage? Why did the pittering of rain drown out all bird songs and tumults of perplexed citizens? Is there a way he could simplify the details missed by storytellers for generations?
After that ‘happily ever after’, a dragon cursed his devil just as she cursed him.
No, such expositions would be an unfair burden upon your shoulders.
“It’s not fictitious.” Turning to gaze out at the depths of the underground realm, he takes a breath before continuing.
“The land which your nation, Fontaine, resides on is stolen land,” he reveals. “More accurately all of what you know as ‘Teyvat’ was stolen from the dragons, my fellow brethren.”
The furrow in your brows deepens as you listen on.
“My brethren were banished to the depths for the sake of humanity. A dragon’s rage isn’t something that can be easily quelled.” He glances back at you.
“A union between a dragon and a human, a show of peace between the two species. Even if the origins of this ritual have been embellished heavily, it serves the same purpose to pacify the ancient dragon’s rage,” he concludes.
Neuvillette wonders if this tale was enough to satisfy your inquiry, if his attempt at the human practice was enough to simplify the events muddled and twisted by time.
Impassive eyes scan over your expression, not missing the glimmer ever so bright within.
“So… has the rain stopped?” Your hands almost clasped together in prayer.
He nods, the shine growing ever so luminous in those blameless irises, one he couldn’t resist the enchantment of. That all too familiar look in your eyes.
“That’s good.” A slow smile made its appearance upon plush lips.
Ah. He remembers what that look was called, voices of recollection pulling him away from the edge. Just before he fell into bewitchment once more.
That look wasn’t relief, nor was it salvation. It's duty. He takes a slow and deep inhale.
Just as it was all those years ago, the narrative of this tale did not stray away from the plot. He must be more careful.
There’s been a still lull engulfing the atmosphere down in a hidden cavern. So still in fact that walks amongst maroon patches of grass have stopped. Your body was well enough to explore the corners of the state without assistance.
No reason for him to remain by your side throughout the day, and no reason for you to shadow him.
Neuvillette and you keeping mostly to one’s self. It was just the natural progression of things. After all, the ritual had been completed and the tides had receded. You’ve served your duty once more.
A foreign aroma was wafting through the estate, strange enough for Neuvillette to leave the library to investigate the origins of this aroma.
Steps slowing as the clacker of pots and pans becomes more distinct. The entrance of the estate kitchen comes into view, and he peers in to see a few familiar faces.
“Oh? Monsieur!” Rhemia notices his presence.
An assortment of vegetables, spices, and even some meats from fresh catches were spread about the table as a pan sizzling over a crackling fire.
Ingredients gathered from offering dropped down below the tides. The recent influx could be attributed to how the hymn of the rain has ceased.
“Hello, Monsieur Neuvillette.” Your smile greets him.
Ah, he’s found the explanation behind the foreign aroma and why the variety spread of ingredients was being utilized in a kitchen that was once mainly created just to match those diagrams drawn in novels.
“I hope you don’t mind my use of the kitchen, I wanted something other than…Consomme Purete.” Wiping your hands with a rag.
Yes, Consomme Purete.
It was the dish served when you had first woken up, a light but nutritious soup that was kind on your stomach. It had the right amount of hydration balanced with nutrients to sustain oneself, a perfect dish.
The only dish cooked in this kitchen, that was until today.
Removing a pan from the heat, you carefully transfer the contents onto a plate then place the pan back on the wood stove.
The rich aroma caused an audience of bright-eyed stares from the Melusines to center upon the steaming plate. Their tails make their excitement clear as they gaze upon a dish they’ve never seen before.
Was this a new passion of this life?... Or was it just one he never got the chance to witness?
Was this the devil before the role of a bride was forced upon her? A devil he’s never known, for all he saw was her performance to stop the deafening rain all those years ago.
His attention was brought back as the chime of cutlery against porcelain was heard, cooked veggies stabbed between the teeth of a fork.
Cupping a hand under the fork, your body leans down to the Melusine’s height, feeding them a bite of the fragrant dish. The wags of their tails increase in cadence as they chew.
“This is Tasses Ragout, tasty isn’t it?” The corners of your lips curl as you watch their little heads nod eagerly.
The suspicion melts from his gaze as he observes to the delight in their expressions, a few mitten hands tugging at the skirt of your gown for a bite. A giggle bubbles from your throat.
A scene mirroring that of a mother trying to appease the appetites of her ravenous young.
Soon your eyes connect and he straightens his posture. Brushing away the nonsensical musing, lilac hue advert away momentarily to recompose themselves before returning.
“Would you like a taste?” A fork offered in his direction, beckoning closer to take a bite.
There’s a myth he’s read about, of a forbidden apple held out by the tempter of all tempters, an apple so red and lustrous it made any mouth salivate.
“Thank you for the offer, however, I’ve already had my lunch.” He refrains.
A bite from that forbidden fruit was the genesis of disgrace and banishment. A betrayal of commandments once promised. Neuvillette won’t be deceived again.
Mittened hands grasping upon his coat and gloved hands as a circle of Melusines guides him through the winding halls, anticipation amping their voices.
There’s a chorus of giggles resounding through the halls, a joyous clamor of pattering steps against the marble floors.
The estate has been lively ever since your arrival in that white dress, a liveness which reaches his pointed ears even from behind closed doors.
Regardless, he allows himself to be towed by their skipping steps. Leading him to a room he recognizes as a space where many fabrics and gowns were collected and stored.
Garments made with the intent to be sold to Fontainians, but their crates were capsized over by the ravenous tides. Saved from watery abandonment by curious hands.
While this form of his could wear a few of those garments, the Melusines had statures much too short for pools of fabric to not drag along the ground. Thus, that collection of fabrics found themselves collecting dust.
Their steps abruptly stop just at the threshold of the door, mittened hands pressed up against their lips signaling for him to remain silent.
Soon their sights glance into the room as he follows, lilac eyes opening ever so slightly wider as they process the scene in front of him.
Evening gowns crafted by skilled tailors to be sold to Fontanian ladies, you had the right frame for those garments as well.
A trail of lustrous sapphire silk gathered behind your figure. The artistic stitching and pleating draping the silk around each curve of your body as if you were the only person meant to wear it.
A few Melusines fussing about the silk train, ever so curious of humanity, they must’ve requested for you to dawn the gown.
Just as they often had requested for him to dawn those fickle suits and coats for their enjoyment.
It seems you bent to their childish whims just as he does.
“How do you like it?” You ask your audience, twirling about in front of a mirror.
It’s different from those hardier dresses for when you wandered about the village and estate, in comparison this dress was much less practical.
“It’s beautiful, Madame!” Their round eyes were enamored.
“I’m glad, who knew you had such an aesthetic eye.” Your expression softens.
Bending down to Carole’s height, you scooped her up. Cradling her as your forehead touches her horns gently.
“Thank you for such a lovely dress.” Placing tender pats along her head, careful to not disturb her horns and hair.
Carole leans into your touch as your smile widens. Twirling once more with her in your arms, giggles ringing throughout the room.
Until your head peeked up, finally aware of the silent spectator just behind the door frame.
“Oh, hello Neuvillette,” you greet him with a smile he doesn’t return.
A tense lull creeps in, and a chill begins to mix with the quiet atmosphere. Lilac eyes pass over your form as Carole remains sat in your arms.
“Monsieur! Isn’t Madame pretty? Look!” Cheery and oblivious voices chime returning the warmth to the air.
Mitten hands release your skirt as they skitter toward his towering figure. Pride shines in their beaming smiles, awaiting validation of their handy work.
Steadfast eyes lowering themselves to the level of their short statures until the sharp edges gradually dissipate.
“A fine effort indeed.” A gloved hand extends to rest atop their heads.
Patting their heads tenderly as they closed their eyes in contentment
A warmth in those lilac hues, endearment no word could ever encapsulate fully.
“Are they your daughters?” Your head slants to the side.
His body stills, strictness reinstated in those violet irises just as they met yours. Studying that look within your polite smile, one which didn’t seem to reach your eyes.
Gloved hand ceasing all movement, his concentration now elsewhere. That expression ghosting your face, what does it mean?
“My apologies, was it too impudent of a question?” Your gaze adverts away, searching for reprieve in this heavy hush.
A deep breath as he formulates his response.
“I don’t share blood with them if that’s what you’re inquiring. However, they are the successors of my brethren.”
“Oh, I see,” you hum.
Neuvillette returns to patting their heads, while you readjust your hold on Carole. Subtly bouncing her, while turning back to face the standing mirror.
Casting a glance, he could discern the softness returning to that polite smile. Yet, the dragon has yet to unravel that luster in your irises.
An audience of bright eyes switches between the Monsieur and Madame.
“Bring these to her, you should greet the Madame!” Tiny hands push against Neuvillette’s back.
The traitorous clicks of his shoes against marble expose his approach.
Your head peers up from the book resting upon your lap, in the midst of reading a tale aloud to an audience.
Just in time to catch the tall figure of Neuvillette emerging into the library at the behest of the Melusines.
Lilac eyes meet yours ever so briefly before his gaze averts elsewhere. Gloved hand adjusting a bundle hidden a broad back, brings the other hand up to clear his throat.
“The Melusines found these when retrieving some offerings from the water, I believe you’ll enjoy them.” He presents their trinket.
A simple collection of dainty petals clustered together, pastel hues contrast against vivid virescent leaves. A quaint ribbon tied around the stems holding the bunch together held out in front of your face.
The recipient stares in round-eyed astonishment at the fragrant blooms before a smile melts into your lips.
“Thank you.” You accept the bouquet from his hand.
Admiring the rustic arrangement and the saccharine aroma as the Melusines sat around you leaned in closer to catch a whiff too.
“These are called Pluie Lotus up on the surface, they smell nice right?” Giggling lightly as you held the bouquet closer to their noses.
Grin ever present upon your lips as your soft eyes watch their marvel of such simple weeds. A bloom foreign to this realm abandoned by the sunlight.
There’s subtle slack in his posture, a budding smile just about to unfold just as your head peers back up. Every fiber in Neuvillette’s being tenses, goosebumps slithering up his nape.
Frozen there only able to witness your eyes study back and forth the hues of his irises and the periwinkle color tinting the fragile petals.
He watches an epiphany light up in your widened eyes as the bouquet was lifted higher, turning back to face him.
Don’t. Don’t say the words he knows are hanging off the tip of that honeyed tongue.
“They are the same lovely color as your eyes, Neuvillette.” You beam at him, the corners of your eyes crinkling from the stretch of your lips.
His posture returns to its rigid and upright state, a hand hidden from view balls up into a fist.
A sharpness threatening to break through leather confines and into his palm, as if they were attempting to grapple the surging torrent stirred up within himself.
Why? Why was this line from a script being recited word for every damn word? All said with that saccharine smile plastered over those wicked lips?
Indecipherable eyes narrow ever so slightly before he catches himself. Reining in the torrent just before it seethed out.
He clears his throat again to swallow back the bitterness.
“Do excuse me, please return to your reading session,” he utters his parting.
Promptly turning to return to his secludedness, stepping past the Melusines gathered by his side.
Swift strides through the empty halls leaving you to your peace and him to his peace, just as it should’ve been. Much to the pouts of a disappointed audience.
However, he didn’t have the mind to contemplate their discontent. Not when these rabid bellows drown out every other thought in their rancor.
Like a sea starved for vengeance, ravenous to settle a debt against those vile gods and their beloved creations.
A brass knob was abruptly twisted, hinges squealing in surprise as at the force as Neuvillette shuts it behind himself.
Ragged breathes resounding through the reprieve of his bedroom. Away from innocent bystanders and the devil who showed her face again after all these centuries for an encore.
Has he not been humiliated enough? He tugs at his cravat, freeing himself from the fickle decoration constricted about his neck in this already imprisoning body.
A form which binded him no matter how violently talons and fangs clawed and chewed, unable to leave a singular dent upon this damn curse.
This was humiliating enough, bound to this cove that separated him from the sea which cries for their sovereign.
He once believed this penitentiary was obscured away from the peeking eyes of capricious gods. Perhaps, he’s wrong.
Why is this fantasy being played out right in front of his eyes now after all these years?
To have you by his side, to have you reside in the home he craved out and inlaid pearls into, to see you smile and cradle young against your bodice. It’s insulting.
Because this was all he ever wanted. This was all he had ever wanted.
The lonesome dragon only ever yearned for a maiden’s endearment. He once believed she adored him back just the same.
Because while she lay within his arms under silken covers, her bare skin pressed against his mortal shape, her enchanting eyes always regarded him with such tenderness as her delicate hand stroked his cheek.
A glimmer he once believed was love.
The tale written along the parchment implied that the ‘princess’ loved the dragon. However, that was inaccurate. She never did.
For if she loved him, then she wouldn’t have deceived him.
She wouldn’t have ever whispered his secret to the town’s folk. Those foul creatures who then used his secret, which was once reserved solely for ‘you’.
Why? That simple question taunted him for decades as he rotted in this mocking solitude.
Why did ‘you’ yearn for the sun more than him? Was his love not enough to replace the warmth of a star? Was the home he made not enough when compared to the extravagance of humanity?
Or was it because blood and water, no matter how much they intertwine and mix, could never produce wine?
If… if the Melusines had been born just a few centuries earlier, then would you have been satisfied by his side? An answer he could already discern.
Because after his decades of solitude within these deridingly hushed walls, he finally accepted the truth.
She loved her people, they took up all the space of her heart, leaving no room for a prideful leviathan.
What a clever plan it all was, to distract a sovereign from his duty, cleansing stolen land with a flood of vengeance, by sending a maiden.
A woman so bewitching, so enchanting, and so lovely, that a proud dragon couldn’t resist bending to her whims. Spilling the secret hidden deep within him into her ear.
Abandoning his true form to be confined in the shape she favored the most. Then lured up to the surface, suspicions obstructed by the dazzlement of a false welcome from the nation of Fontaine.
Unaware until the scorching knife was already lodged in his back. Using the secret he had only ever told you, those meek creatures of the usurpers wished:
‘For the rest of one’s life, one shall never leave this cave deep beneath the tides’.
What a clever ploy, a masterly crafted master plan. Did that Oratrice bestow it upon mortals? Or was it your own little scheme? A devil in human skin who must’ve been enlisted by the god themselves.
That day when he was chained by that loch, you didn’t even bother to grace him with your presence.
You cruel, cruel devil whose heart only had room for her fellow citizens of Fontaine, whose eyes only ever glimmered with duty.
Neuvillette had finally comprehended the truth, he had made peace with the disgrace he brought upon himself.
So why did those vile false gods dangle you back in his face? They had already taken fragments of his authority.
Was his torment entertaining to them?
Lungs shaking with unsteady breaths, he could feel the pricks of scales dotted along his skin only for this body to swiftly reject it. A turmoil of draconic influence constrained by a mortal curse.
Like a beast kept in a cage much too small for it. If Neuvillette wishes for this agitation to cease, he must cease the stirred emotions.
Emotions don’t settle quickly once agitated like sand attempting to settle at the bottom of violent tides. He paces his shuddery inhales, biding in the solitude of his room until the storm dissipates.
To avoid the placid lake within him from thrashing violently to the woes from the throb of a wound which has yet to scar over, Neuvillette found it best to avoid your presence.
The lanterns outside the Melusine’s homes had long gone out as they followed their routine bedtime.
The expanse of the cavern dimmed to near blackness, the small creatures all tucked away soundly in their beds. A hushed ambiance provides a suitable environment for reflection.
His steps flatten the grass underneath as they accompany his strides with their rustling.
The absence of light had never bothered him, it’s within his nature to detest it. Any beast would withdraw away from the mere image of fire.
The rustle of the grass halts, a wispy aroma of smoke wafts towards him. It doesn’t take long to identify the origin. Only a small flicker broke through the shadows, candlewick fostering only a weak flame.
But it was enough to fend the shadows away from your frame.
The flame’s light caught on each subtle ripple of the pond you were kneeling over.
The seemingly unremarkable pool served as the sole entrance and exit to Merusea Village. Where the Melusines traveled through to gather food, fresh water, and trinkets swallowed up by the waves.
Cold waters catch the bitter droplets of your pained eyes in the reflection of the ripples upon the surface, the distorted silhouette of a weeping devil.
An unspoken gospel revealed to draconic pupils.
Under the rich aromas wafting from the kitchen, behind the diligently tailored gowns, and hidden in the cadence of your voice as you read tales aloud, laid the yearning for the rays of a bright star.
You’re human, a creature fleeting and meek by nature. Blood yearns to be with blood just as every drop of rain yearns to return to a cloud.
A sharp rustle of grass under a heavy step jolts your hunched-over posture straight, head whipping around to face the uninvited audience.
Once those weeping eyes recognize the brooding figure in front of them, your face adverts away from his direction. Shame evident upon your expression.
A concerned hand reaches out only to retract away, contrition marring his shut lips as Neuvillette diverts his eyes too.
Fire burns indiscriminately, even the dancing flame of a candle can sear its mark upon skin. Neuvillette knows this all too well, for the lesion he received from embracing that flame once still festers even after all these years.
However, lilac eyes pan back towards the orange glow illuminating your melancholic face. Warm hues contrast against the wet trails down your cheeks. There’s an ache more agonizing than a festering wound.
His steps advanced closer until he was knelt down by your slump frame. A benevolent touch lands upon your shoulder. Guiding you away from the taunting waters and into his arms, hiding your face in his broad shoulder.
Offering you a semblance of warmth in a coven shunned from the grace of gentle sunlight.
With your face away from his gaze, the cacophony of your sobs returns, digging your fingers into the folds of his dress shirt.
Echoed back mockingly by the cold cavern walls.
Perhaps a foolish dragon has yet to learn his lesson, still lured in that the brilliant light of a flame.
A gentle hand traces up along your back, softly brushing your hair away to reveal the skin of your nape to his sharp pupils.
Honed in upon untainted skin, the courts of rebirth may have removed the proof of your damnation, but not the hex itself.
Or maybe, a foolish dragon feels some responsibility for being the one to curse you to this fate.
A mark once imprinted upon your nape by a lonesome dragon, a heavy oath sworn to you engrained into the very fabric of your soul amidst the first rendition.
One which then became the cursed chains that sunk you under the unforgiving waters.
It’s said that love is heavy, a weight greater than the density of water. A heaviness which could sink anything and everyone under salty tides.
A heaviness originating from this accursed prison where a disgraced being resided.
Even as the earth above welcomed new generations as they said goodbye to bygone times.
The solitude of a fool turning into ravenous waves which seeped into soil until its appetite was satiated by the return of its beloved treasure.
It’s his fault that the tides stole you from the sunlight.
The courts of rebirth had already forgiven you of this burden, not a single memory remaining of that tale.
What right does he have to place it back upon you? There’s no point in punishing one for a sin that had been cleansed by the tides of time.
You didn’t deserve to be held away from the warmth of a benevolent sun.
To have been dragged down below to these depths. To have been stolen away from the warmth of the sun by the command of fickles gods and ancient grudges.
It’s much too severe of a sentence for you, someone who didn’t deserve to repent for a sin that wasn’t truly yours.
Is it okay for his hands to wipe away your tears when this cursed dragon was the cause of your agony?
Even if it’s wrong, Neuvillette holds you closer. Even if he didn’t have the right, he pressed your face in his shoulder. Allowing the vehemence of your tears to scorch his skin as you buried your cries into him.
Glancing at the pool you had been leaning over, he watches as the ripples of the surface taunt you and him the same.
Two beings whose bodies couldn’t embrace the tides. Two cursed beings who’ve been trapped in repeated play.
“It seems you’re bound to this prison as well.” He scorns those gods and ancient grudges, but he scorns himself the most.
Confined behind a human face and a human body, a traitor who’s lost his birthright over the waters who couldn’t welcome him.
How can a cursed dragon quell those choking sobs of yours? How can he atone for his selfish sin?
Neuvillette takes a deep breath just your tears continue to soak his skin. Steeling his resolve, he meditates on the one resolution he can offer you.
“Fontainians still tell a tale about a princess who wished a dragon to become a prince, yes?” He begins.
After a pause filled with hiccups and shaky breaths, you nod your head as an answer.
“It was when she spoke the dragon’s true name that he granted her one wish,” he recounts the tale, feeling the trembles of your shoulders.
“That part of the story isn’t fictitious,” he reveals.
Voices from the depths of his rationality whisper for him to stop, to expand no more upon this secret of his brethren. Clamorous warnings to a traitor to not repeat his past transgressions.
However, he obeys no edict from the heavens or origins. Not when an unjust punishment caused such heart-wrenching sobs.
“Names hold great significance to dragons. So much so, to whoever learns their true name, a wish can be granted.”
Slowly, your tear-stained face pulls away from his crinkled dress shirt. Finally meeting his lilac gaze. He notes the bewilderment which surrounds his reflection in your eyes.
“Is… your name not ‘Neuvillette’?” You inquire.
“It’s a surname bestowed upon me by the mortals of the land.”
“Then… What is your name?” A glimmer of optimism ever so subtly debuts in your eyes.
He could not tell you. No matter how beautifully that light shines, this was one ordinance he couldn’t ignore. All he could do was glance away as he shakes his head. Unable to bear the sight of that light extinguishing.
“That is what you must find for yourself.”
Perhaps this is his defiance of the plot which has been unraveling for so long. His attempt to step off that circular path, searching for a different end.
The silent audience of fate watching on with bemusement to where this rendition will lead.
“Oh?”
“Oh?”
What a peculiar occurrence, Neuvillette was just about to exit his study when he found himself just a breath’s width away from you. Instinctively, he takes a step back behind the threshold of the doorway.
Passive eyes studying your form, you must’ve been standing there for a while. A hand held up intending to knock on the oak door returns to your side as you stare at the floor.
“Is there something you need assistance with?” He continues to study you.
Lilac eyes observe as your fingers clasp together, a common habit of mortals when nervous, if he recalls the contents of a book correctly. Another minute passes before you take a deep breath.
“Is your name Guillaume?” You peer up.
Ah, so this is what you wished to inquire about.
The secret revealed to you that day beside an exit neither he nor you could cross. Guillaume, a name befitting of nobility. But unfortunately, not for a dragon.
He responds with a shake of his head, expression stiffening as he watches the corners of your lips drop ever so slightly.
“Oh…”
It seems his existence brings nothing but a frown upon those soft lips, Neuvillette felt it’s best to retreat from your sight.
This attempt was evidence of your determination to return to the embrace of a warm star.
It wouldn’t be right for him to interfere, despite those vile voice whispers murmuring from the depth of his mind. It wouldn’t be fair to you.
It’s best to maintain this distance between his hand and yours, for your sake and his.
Which begs the question, why were you still standing here in front of him?
“Is that all you wished to inquire?” Neuvillette hopes the Melusines will lift your spirits after he withdraws.
“Actually…” You began. “I made some soup and if you haven’t had lunch yet, would you like to try some?”
Although his stoic face might not reflect it, he’s positively baffled. Were ‘you’ always this enthusiastic about food?
The devil he knew before would view the freshest catches and clearest waters offered by a dragon with blasé reactions.
You used to recoil away from the fishes and meats he held out to you, they were only ever touched once he charred them over a fire.
Then again the kitchen back then was much more barren than the present, cabinets now decorated with bottles of fragrant spices and herbs.
Was it just a difference in palate? To reject such an invitation would be to squander a precious opportunity for investigation.
“The pleasure would be all mine.” He matches your strides as the two of you traverse toward the kitchen.
Settling down in a chair at a wooden table, Neuvillette watches as you ladle some soup into a bowl. Following your form as you set the bowl down in front of him. A pleasant aroma accompanies the steam emitting from the bowl.
“It’s Fontainian Onion Soup.” You hand a spoon over.
“Thank you.” He takes the utensil and scoops a hearty serving of the rich soup.
A distinct flavor of caramelized onions and the creaminess of cheese. The broth had been thickened with a bit of flour and the cheese added to the heavy mouth feel.
This dish certainly expresses the flavor preferences of humans… but could such a thick broth really be considered soup?
“Do you like it?” Your head tilts to the side as he feels your inquisitiveness.
Dabbing a napkin over his lips, he clears his throat.
“A fine dish indeed. Although increasing the liquid content and reducing the amount of fat could improve it,” he advises.
A hush falls over the kitchen, nothing but the occasional crackle of a fire filling the space.
“Oh… I’ll keep that in mind.” Your voice was restraining something.
As you turn away, Neuvillette catches the subtle shakes of your shoulders.
Ah, has he caused offense? He recalls how cooking and food preferences amongst humans tend to be a sore spot for most, some books going as far as to claim critics as attacks on one’s pride.
You had taken time out of your day to prepare a bowl for him, and he gave senseless comments in return.
“Ah, but it’s delicious regardless, thank you.” He has to remedy this situation.
The shakes of your shoulders increase, as a hand covers your lips.
“Thank you, Monsieur.” Your lips seem to be trying to stifle something.
After finishing your sentence, your lips pressed tighter together. He could see the corners twitching as they tried their best to remain neutral.
Before he could get another word in, you excused yourself. Leaving him in front of the warm soup.
In that moment, Neuvillette vows to himself that even if you were to hand him a piece of charcoal he’ll swallow it without a single complaint.
Your voice causes him to turn his attention away from the pages of a book this quiet evening.
You stood just off to the side of the bookshelf where he was browsing, a candle illuminating the curiosity held in your eyes. Presenting a name likely discovered from those very same shelves.
Dirges ring from the corners of his mind, warning him not to allow the light to approach so close.
However, where is a shadow supposed to withdraw to when the light seeks him?
Just as how the tide couldn’t run away from the shore for long. Steadfast and constant attempts to unravel the secrets held by the ebbs and flows.
Alas, he shakes his head again today, steeling his nerves as he catches the slight drop in your shoulders. Louis, Étienne, Théodore, and all those previous guesses, are names of heroes in Fontainian tales and epics.
Popularized to the point many boys were named after them, but no parent would ever want to name their child after a dragon, a beast.
He doubts the pages of history have ever recorded his name.
Your disheartened gaze couldn’t meet his, choosing to stare into the space beside him. He couldn’t fault you for that.
All your efforts of combing through old novels to search for obscured monikers just to be undone by a shake of a head.
He’s not sure how much longer he can endure being the origin of your melancholy.
“There’s a tear in your coat…”
Your voice brings him out of his thoughts, he glances at the spot your eyes were honed on and spots the aforementioned tear.
“Ah, I see. My apologies for being in such an unsightly state, ” he sighs. Lilac eyes ran along the jagged seams.
He should go find a replacement from his wardrobe, but you still looked like you had something to say.
“I can fix it if you’d like,” you offer.
It’s just a garment, a piece of cloth that fell off some merchant’s ship and found itself in the walls of a cove. There were plenty of other garments that suffered the same fate, picked up by pairs of curious mittened hands.
To replace this robe would be simple, but he notes the concealed eagerness in the fidget of your fingers. It must be rather dull for you down here for the past year, to the point you resorted to repairing old fabrics for enrichment.
Regrettably, Neuvillette admits he’s not the best host. He’s got no talent for small talk nor does he know how to entertain you, thus he left it up to the Melusines. However, he could at least do this much as a host.
“Thank you, I’d be grateful if you do.”
His steps in time with yours through the halls as an old storage room comes into view. Still filled with collections of folded gowns and coats.
As he observes the room, you guide him to a pair of wooden chairs, a box filled with needles and threads beside one. You place the candle down on a nearby table.
“I’ll take your coat.” Holding out your hands.
Following your request, he slips the robe off his shoulders, leaving him in a dress shirt and slacks.
Attentively you take the garment, settling down in a seat as your hand searches through the box. After your rummaging stopped, you glance back at him.
“It won’t take long, please have a seat.” Gesturing toward the other chair.
Lilac eyes scanned the aged seat, the door was just beyond it, it wouldn’t take much of an excuse for him to walk past the wooden threshold.
However, he pans back to your anticipatory gaze still awaiting. It wouldn’t be polite to deny such a simple gesture.
Thus, he heeds your request, ambling toward the empty seat, he begins to settle down just as a rip resonates through the air.
His body halts all movement just as yours did, toward pairs of eyes trained on the sleeve that had been caught on the edge of a wooden table.
The fibers of his shirt entangled with the jagged edges causing his sleeve to rip. Neuvillette truly has yet to acclimate to such fickle inconveniences.
“Pfft!-” Quickly your hand covers your mouth.
Lips pressed together as they tried their best to stifle the sounds threatening to leak out. Your shoulders shaking from the effort, just as they did that day in the kitchen.
Although his expression remains the same, he’s quite dumbfounded.
Unable to contain the sounds any longer, you erupt into a fit of giggles as he continues to stare. The bright chimes of your laughter fill the room, a melodic tune he had longed to hear for so long.
“S-sorry, I just didn’t expect you to… be so clumsy.” Giggles fragment your sentence along with a brief pause to collect yourself.
Clumsy. Yes, he remembers that word, an adjective you used to describe a dragon whenever he took on the shape you favored so much.
Of course, even a great beast like a dragon would totter and stumble when in such a foreign body.
Although he has been in this body for many, many years now, yet, Neuvillette hasn’t acclimated to these fickle mortal attires.
If these garments weren’t pushed into his hands by the Melusines and their bright-eyed stares, he’d prefer to not dawn them.
Neuvillette shuts his eyes. His lungs intake a deep breath, stifling the sway of these trivial inconveniences before they cause any ripples.
Once he’s certain there was no jagged edge to his stare, lilac hues peek back upon your figure.
By now those fits of giggles had faded into a tranquil lull, your content face focused on the stitches. Body relaxed against the back of the chair, weaving the needle through the sides of the tear.
Subconsciously, his frame begins to mimic yours, rigid muscles melting against the wooden support.
Lavender hues follow the disappearance of a sliver point, then catch its emergence from the fabric.
The torn and frayed edges draw closer and closer together by the coaxes of the thread, each stitch attentively placed by your graceful hands.
“Neuvillette?” Your serene voice interlaces with the placid interlude.
He hums an answer.
“That night by the entrance… you said ‘You're bound to this cove as well’.” The pace of the needle slows.
“Why did you say that?” You finish your question.
Observant, a characteristic of yours he’s always deemed quite commendable. Ever so keen on the nuances of his sentences.
The piercing stare of draconic eyes weighs on your shoulders, despite that the cadence of the needle didn’t falter. A ripple makes its appearance within a placid pool.
“Do you really wish to know?” He warns.
You hum resolutely. A bitter taste creeps its way up his tongue, the recollection of the string of words which damned him here.
Instinct advises him to swallow them back, to conceal his shame from your awaiting ears. However, answering the call of your curiosity should be enough of a repayment for repairing a coat.
“For the rest of one’s life, one shall never leave this cave deep beneath the tides. That is the curse set upon this body,” he reveals.
The needle stops.
“A curse?…” you stammer out.
Under your breath, Neuvillette hears you recount the disclosed secret. Repeating it to yourself as if to decipher the syntax, to find some answers to his condemnation.
The answer was sitting just in front of him.
“…For the rest of one’s life… well, how long do dragons live?”
To mortals, it’s time who is the reaper of their existence. From the moment a newborn sounds their first cry to the final draw of air on their deathbeds, it was the hands of a clock who ruled over them.
But such hands could not touch a being such as him.
“The life of a dragon begins and ends in the Fontemer Sea, born from it, made from it, and shall return to it to be born again.” He wonders if mortals could grasp such a concept.
“Oh…” Your tone grew more somber.
Judging from your tonality, you must’ve pieced the allusions together.
To be contained within these stone walls with only a pool of seawater he could not touch as the opening, is to bestow upon him immortality he never asked for.
For the Hydro Dragon could not return to the Fontemer Sea.
Even if dragons had long lives, it didn’t mean the humiliation of immortality. The true cruelty of this seemingly kind curse.
“Why?” Your voice just barely above a whisper.
Why was he cursed? Why is he in this sham of a mortal body? Why did he reveal the secrets of his brethren? All of this at the trifling sight of bitter tears.
“Because the people of Fontaine found my name and they wished for it.”
Why did he give you his name? And why did you then give it away? There are many questions left unanswered by that tale.
Why did a proud dragon bow to the whims of a mere mortal in that fairytale?
A creature as potent as a dragon should never bow, not to the ordinances of false gods, not to the turbulence of fate, and not to a mere mortal.
Why did a maiden wish for a dragon to become a human like them? Water is an adaptable element, able to take on any shape it pleases. However, it yearns to always return to its natural shape.
Perhaps, his ‘natural’ form appalled the devil too much. So much so, she used that one wish to confine him in the form she favored most.
More confoundingly, why did Neuvillette allow such a request? A creature favored by the usurpers dared to wish a dragon to abandon his heritage, to cross over the threshold of humanity just for their sake.
Why would a dragon ever bow to a mortal’s request?
The commandments of a false god and the howling thrashes of wind can’t make a proud dragon bow, but the weight of love might be enough for a prideful beast to lower his head towards a mortal.
A traitor to his own fallen brethren is much too dignified of a title for Neuvillette. No, it’d be better to call him for what he is: A Fool.
What a spectacle it was that day, even those fickle gods peered down just to watch. A fool who lost his form and authority was imprisoned beneath the tides.
A stir shakes that pool, whirling and writhing, the billows of bitterness mounting.
“… could it be wished away?” Your voice beckons his thoughts to return to the present.
Unlike how it was written in those tales, a curse can’t be ‘broken’. Not by a kiss, and not by clasping one’s hands together in prayer.
“Not even a miracle could make a curse vanish, a curse only ever goes away once its clauses have been fulfilled.”
Until the stars burn out, until the sky caves in on itself, or until the oceans of this uprooted world dry up, he shall remain here. The retribution a traitor deserves.
He shall remain in this sham of a body, unable to become the form he desired the most in the next life he’ll never reach.
Not a human, not a dragon, just an atrocity somewhere in-between. This must be what humans call ‘purgatory’.
“I see…” Your attention never leaves the half-stitched garment sprawled upon your lap.
A heavy silence fills the space between you and him once more. To conclude a conversation on such a doleful note would be a disgrace.
However, what is he to say? What words can salvage this situation? Neuvillette has no talent for small talk, he doesn’t have the same mortal heart as yours to provide you with any solstice.
Amidst his contemplation, a soft hum resounds through the quietude, and the melodic rhythm of a lullaby begins. It seems that you took matters into your own hands, ending the doleful silence at your own discretion.
Once more his back reclines into the wooden chair, pointed ears indulge themselves in a nostalgic tune.
It’s strange, that rippling pool is swaying back to equilibrium. The surface returns to its placid rest as tension melts from his muscles.
Unaware of the hushed pitter-patter of a curious audience, drawn in by the gentle song as their bright eyes peer ever from the cover of the door frame.
“Madame! Look I got more Pluie Lotuses!” Kiara’s little steps rush across the marble floor.
Getting up on the tips of her feet to show the bundle of fresh blooms, salty water still dripping from their petals, as her bangs stick flush to her face still damp from the sea. Her pink tail swaying behind her.
Your body turns in her direction just in time with Neuvillette.
“Kiara…” A subtle layer of disapproval emerges from lilac hues.
“Remember to dry off before entering the estate, the floors can become quite dangerous when wet.”
“But…” the flowers lower. “I wanted to show Madame the lotuses…”
There’s a drop in her tail and horns and a sharp sting to his chest. Her sisters were gathered around in a circle, a story having just concluded, he could feel their stares upon him. Adding to the sharpness of guilt.
“My apologies, Kiara, I only meant to warn you.”
She nods her head silently, tail still dragging on the floor. Ah, just what should he do? A frown begins to weigh down his face.
“Thank you, they’re wonderful, Kiara.” Your gentle chime breaks through the stalemate.
You take the bouquet from her mittened hands, placing them atop a counter, in exchange you offer her a towel.
“But Neuvillette is right, it’s not good to run through the halls right after you returned from the waters. It’s dangerous, okay?” Your voice as gentle as the towel rubbed over her hair and horns.
A content smile returns to her round cheeks as she diligently nods, promising that she’ll be more careful next time. Tail lifting up from the floor as the fluffy towel wipes away the ocean droplets.
Once fully dried, she joins her sisters. The Melusines cast shifting glances toward one another until one finally steps out from the crowd.
“Madame…” Carole calls out softly, tugging a few times the hem of your long dress.
“Hm?” Giving her your full attention, a towel set aside.
“I overheard you inquiring about names with Monsieur in the library once, could you be…” Her eyes downcasted.
Oh. This time it was Neuvillette and you who exchanged glances, eyes both reflecting the same dread.
They weren’t supposed to know. They weren’t supposed to hear those slapdash guesses.
He never meant for them to find out. Always careful to never discuss such matters in their earshot.
For how could he bear to tell them that their cozy village was actually a prison?
His mind was unable to conjure up an excuse, tongue unwilling to speak it. They weren’t supposed to find out. Oh, what shall he do now?
“Could you be expecting?”
Huh?
Two pairs of eyes widened with bewilderment, mind stunned into silence and lips just as confused.
Somehow they’ve huddled even closer than before, encircling you and him with their bright eyes and tails swaying with anticipation.
“Will there be a new addition to the village?”
“How long do we have to wait?”
“Are we getting a brother or sister?”
Their chatter and probes homogenized into a jumbled symphony his flustered conscious just couldn’t distinguish. Trying to reel his senses back from this unexpected turn of events. Neuvillette clears his throat.
“No,” he coughs out.
A collective ‘aw’ resounds through the air, their tails and horns drooping down at the announcement. Guilt pierced its nail through his chest once more. However, he couldn’t lie to their bright eyes.
“N-not, yet.” You add to his statement.
A wave of inquisitive‘oh’ ripples through the crowd. Tails picked up from the ground as the glimmer in their eyes returned.
A sweet lie sprinkled over the truth neither of you dare tell, that blood and water can’t make wine.
“Then, do you want a little prince or little princess?” Carole chirps.
You remain silent, only gazing down at their faces as they stare back.
A lilac stare was also focused upon you, his curiosity awakening at this question as well. He watches you take a slow breath before leaning down.
“I’d like to have a daughter, sweet and kind like all of you.” Your hand strokes her soft trestles.
Her head nuzzles into your palm as giggles fill the air. Only draconic eyes study the small smile upon your lips, dipped in bittersweetness.
Did you have a lover back on the surface in this life? Perhaps someone who was promised to you. A real prince this time.
Did you have dreams of basking in the grace of the sun, cradling a bundle as a pair of tiny fingers encase around your own?
Was this the hard-earned happy ending you yearned for?
“Monsieur…” Mamaere tugs on his slacks.
Neuvillette reigns his thoughts back from their escapade, he angles his head down.
“Where does a baby come from?”
The smile on your lips stiffen just as Neuvillette’s body does.
If there’s a god who’s peering into this cavern deep below the land and sea, must they send such dilemmas his way?
How does one navigate through this treacherous domain?
“Oh dear! I just remembered.” Your hands clap together.
“There’s a few ribbons and clips in the fabric room, do you girls mind getting them? So we can braid Monsieur’s hair?”
At once the Melusines stand at attention, focus diverted over their excitement at the prospect of decorating snowy locks.
The patters of their little steps trample down the hall, allowing you and Neuvillette a well-deserved moment of reprieve.
“Thank you.” His posture drops slightly as a hefty sigh leaves him, lids shut for a moment of rest.
“Of course, Sébastien.”
His eyes crack open, casting you a glance with a raised brow. The ghost of a grin barely contained by delicate lips. By this time, Neuvillette couldn’t recall all the past attempts.
“Regrettably, that is not my name.”
“Was it at least a decent attempt?”
He could hear the pout in your voice, one that didn’t last long before a light-hearted laugh follows it.
Closing his eyes once more as he indulges in those chimes, he nods ever so slightly. It was a good attempt, for it brought out those sounds he enjoyed.
His lashes flutter open at the sensation of his hair getting gathered in your tender hold. Passing the carved wooden teeth of a comb through his snowy locks.
Careful to not pull or tug on them as you coaxed the tangles out of their knots. The heaviness upon his shoulders leaves with a deep exhale which left his body, indulging in your attentive touches.
Subconsciously, his gaze trails up at the bundle of flowers resting along the wooden table. It wasn’t the periwinkle blush of the delicate petals that commanded his attention.
No, it was that salty, oceanic wisp mingled with the flora aroma. A fleeting essence of the sea.
“Do you miss the sea?”
Ah, it seems that his stare wasn’t as subtle as he had hoped. Neuvillette turns away from the flowers as if he had been caught amidst a scheme.
Facing in front of him, your paused hands signal your wait for his response.
“I suppose it’s only natural for me to long for it.”
After all these years, Neuvillette believes he has finally grasped it, an answer to that void filled with ‘whys’. As if he had seized the reflection of a star from the bottom of a deep lake.
Neuvillette thinks he understands why you and the devil yearned for the sunlight.
Perhaps the one similarity between proud dragons and arrogant humans. They both ache to return to where they came from.
One yearns for the sea. One yearns for land.
For there and only there, could their sins and grudges be purged. To gain the most restful sleep before the hands of fate shape them anew from the element.
“Hmm,” you hum in acknowledgment.
Fingers gentle and slow as they brushed through his hair. You hum a lullaby to accompany each pass of the comb. Melodies that made his ears yearn for more, craving for more sounds to leave your plush lips.
His hair had always been an inconvenience, capricious strands that were seemly curious of everything in his environment.
Snowy tresses find themselves gravitating towards door hinges, door knobs, and even the minuscule gaps in ornate furniture.
However, your patience hands untangled those unruly stands.
When a knot proves to be particularly stubborn, you tend to lend closer to hone in on the troublesome tangle.
It just so happens that a stubborn knot appeared, causing you to decrease the proximity between your bodies.
The heat radiating from your frame sends delightful pickles along his skin, a delicate warmth making his flesh grow feverish.
A hunger deep within begins to grumble and wallow, a greed that wishes to dig past those frivolous fragrances to get to the true taste he craves.
An ugly gluttony pleading to delve into your soft flesh. Ah, he recognizes the cause of this turbulence now…
Neuvillette clears his throat.
“I believe I’m beginning to feel unwell, so please refrain from venturing into the cellar for the next few weeks. I should quarantine myself.” Too ashamed to turn back and face you.
“Oh?...” The comb stops.
At this distance, he was well aware of your scent. A fine fragrance no water or bloom could hope to imitate. Concealed under a layer of lavish soaps and oils dropped from the surface was an aroma that was wholly yours and yours alone.
A gloved hand reaches up to cover his nostrils, seeking some barrier between that tantalizing whiff.
“Please, excuse me…” He pulls away swiftly.
The sudden action must’ve jostled his hair too much, for the sultry sensation of your fingertips was felt along azure ‘strands’.
Just a minor touch against his horns, yet shudders rack up his nape. His teeth sink into the flesh of his bottom lip, sharper than they’re supposed to be, anchoring those ravenous voices at bay momentarily.
He needs to leave now. For your sake.
Rushed strides stow a distance between his body and that delectable warmth of yours. His back turned to you as he couldn’t bear to see the expression upon that saccharine face.
Just what expression were you making as a dragon retreated?
The cellar of this estate was always cold, its stones never having once touched the sunlight before, thus they only brood in their frigidity. A somberness fitting to quell a heat which yearned to burn.
The fever has consumed his body wholly, each pant leaving trails of foggy wisps. Neuvillette burrows deeper into the hoard of sheets, pillows, and blankets. The brush of the soft fabrics prickles his skin.
How strange it is that despite the fever of heat igniting each corner of his flesh, despite the numerous thick covers twisting and burying his bare form, he’s still shivering.
A chill ingrained so deep it’s in his very bones, skin alight but bones frozen over, just what is this purgatory?
Annually it happens, a period where primal instincts exude past the rigid confines of a mortal form. Making its influence in the resurgence of draconic features over the mortal flesh that traps him.
No matter how raw his true form claws to be released, the mortal prison doesn’t relent. A curse he’s brought upon himself.
Laceratations of gluttony and cardinal sin sink deeper with each provocation. The creeks of the floorboards above and the sweet voice which leaked through the woods, the morsels of you that stirred the waters of instinct.
From the depths of the torrent, he’s so desperately suppressing came the unquenchable thirst to lure you in. Beckon you down to this shadowy cellar so that the ugly and primal waters could swallow you wholly.
But he mustn’t. Those soft touches and smiles had just been bestowed upon him, the twine of trust still delicate. How could he ever squander such privileges? For those lovely eyes of yours to look at him filled with nothing but fear and disgust, he’d rather be chained down here for the rest of eternity.
He must endure it for a bit longer, he knows it’ll be over soon. The gale which sweeps through him is slowly lessening its blows.
Even if the waters of primitive instincts howled and stormed, Neuvillette refused to leave this tangle of blankets and pillows. An unwavering grip refusing to submit to those demands. Thus nature had to find its own way to subsist off a drought.
The heat hazed over his mind, conjuring up fantasies to appease the ever-unsettled water from its vapid reality.
“Neuvillette?” A soft voice calls out.
Just like now. Desire fogs up his senses to create a delusion, mimicking the way your warm voice beckons him. It’s nothing but a figment of his depraved lust.
“Neuvillette?”
He buries his ears further into the down covers to block the alluring mirages. Tickling him to submit to the temptation. But he mustn’t. Nothing more than a manifestation of lust.
The phantom donning your sweet voice calls out for him, and gentle touches send shivers through his nerves. Ah, he must vanquish this mirage before the fraying line of his self-restraint splinters apart.
Nothing but smoke and mirrors conjured by desire, a rigid arm expels out from the covers to dissipate the siren’s lure.
However, it wraps around something warm, a heat which his fever wails for. Intrinsically his shivering body covets that warmth, to be buried flush against the source so that this chill may finally stop its torment.
So like any greedy dragon, his claws enclose around temptation and drag it into his decrepit cave of blankets and sheets.
A satisfied purr judders through his stalwart body, a warmth which could finally reach his very bones. Thus, he burrows his face deeper into the shoulder of this phantom, a lovely aroma beckoning him to pull their soft body closer.
“Neuvillette?…”
His eyes snap open, realization flooding through him just as the chill that had been ingrained into his bones. This wasn’t an illusion. You weren’t an illusion.
He tears himself away, just as a moth does once they realize a hypnotic flame had set their wings alight. Trembly arms firmly planted on either side of your body, snowy locks falling onto your face.
“Are you alright?...” The sapphire luminance of his elongated horns shines across those sinless eyes.
The strap of a nightgown halfway down your shoulder from when he snatched you beneath his savage form.
“You… you shouldn’t be here,” he breathes, voice unsteady and taut.
“You’ve been away for an awfully long time… I-” Your eyes were blown wide and lips pressed together, aghast gaze not daring to glance down at the raging rigidness pressed against the silk of your nightgown.
Frenzied shivers of pleasure jostles through his veins, tremors racking his body all the way to the tips of his horns. In desperation his rigidnesses pleaded to feel you, throbbing so painfully a hiss leaves his lips.
“You need to leave, quickly please.” Leave before he traps you again.
Before this pathetic excuse of a sovereign loses against himself, before he makes a fool of himself. Neuvillette tries to pull away, against the weeping wishes of his erections. Face too ashamed to even look at you, but a pair of tender hands guides his cheeks back.
“...But I missed you…” You whisper.
Why are your hands embracing his face in this unsightly state? Are they not appalled by the patches of scales littered across them? Like a flame reaching out towards a moth.
“Leave, please.” Don’t tempt him like this.
“... Don’t you miss me?...” Your hold doesn’t budge.
Why do you look at him like that? Irises filled with warmth as his image is reflected in the flickering candlelight. Gazing wholly up at him. A cerulean glow tinting your hair and supple body.
“Don’t…” He reasons, the last of his sensibility crying a warning of a sinful fruit.
“Please, Neuvillette… won’t you hold me for just a bit? I missed you so much….” The shift of your shoulder causes the nightgown to slip further off your shoulder.
Don’t call out to him like that. No, not as your bewitching body was so close to his. The glow of a candle illuminating the curve of your cheeks, disheveled hair framing your wide eyes.
Don’t show him such a sight, for he’ll salivate to devour you until his teeth rot.
“Please?...” Coaxing his head down so that his forehead rests against yours.
Your warmth, your soft touches, and your delectable aroma, they parch his throat so much it pained him. Just as painful as attempting to swallow down sand from a hellish desert, it aches and lacerates his throat.
And here you were offering a lustrous fruit, so juicy and filled of sin, in front of his famished eyes. A cruel, cruel mercy.
“... May…May I?” It’s unbearable, this parchedness in his throat, would you be so kind to quench it?
Your sweet hum grants him permission. Eyes closed just as you turn a blind eye to his ravenousness, still stroking his tender cheeks. Neuvillette couldn’t deny himself any more of the warmth he’s coveted for oh so long.
Thus, he delves head-first into the glimmer of that enchanting flame. Burying his nose into the crook of your neck, so vulnerable and complacent, to hoard your bewitching fragrance all for himself. His skin flushed against yours as his bones delight in your heat.
The reigns of self-respect slip out from his hands as they let go in favor of running along your curves and edges. Each feature, your shoulders, and hips, aligns with details he’s long ingrained into his memory.
His fervor touches pushing down the silk fabric which dare disturb his worship. Nevuillette cants his head up momentarily, puffs of smothering breaths clouding the frosty air.
Lilac eyes drink up how the chilly air made your delectable breast perky, trailing down the goosebumps lining your torso, and landing on your exposed thighs.
A dryness itches in his throat as callused hands bite into the tender skin and he parts those placid legs away.
Oh, how could one ever take their eyes off that shiny, succulent fruit held out so openly in the hands of the tempter of all tempters?
They reveal to him the oasis he’d been hallucinating these grueling weeks. The tip of a serpentine tongue slips across his parched lips.
Since you so brazenly offered your body up to him, you wouldn’t have any objects against him finally getting a taste, right?
His foreboding figure traverses downwards until his delirious face is right between the cusp of his salvation and demise.
Dilated pupils peering up at you for approval, an invocation for clemency from this drought. A merciful hand graces his cheeks once more, granting him his salvation and demise.
His tongue escapes past his parched lips, as lengthy as it was insatiable, it licks a slow and passionate strip up your slit. A taste he once would only recount in the depths of his recollections.
Does this new body of yours still have the same weaknesses? Will you still writhe in madness if he sucks on that delectable little nub? Or how about those hidden points concealed deep within?
Could this tongue of his bring you past the brink of insanity in this life as well?
There was only one way for Neuvillette to grasp the answers he sought. A long tongue slips past the entrance of your satin walls, welcomed with a lewd squelch.
Grip parting your legs from his path further. Those quivering calls of ‘Neuvillette’and the pawing of your small hands against his head beckon him deeper.
Ah, redemption, it’s far too late for him now. For Nevillette has taken a bite out from that forbidden fruit, the evidence of it was dripping down his chin.
Ah, these slick velvety walls, he missed them. They clamp down with such ferocity along this beastly tongue, extensive enough to reach the deepest cavern of you.
A divine nectar begins to pool, Neuvillette retracts his tongue just enough for the heavenly taste to slide down his throat. Your sweet musk sends his olfactory system into chaos, rampant tongue returning to ravish you.
Not one drop of restraint left within him. It’s beastly how he’s devouring you. His tongue craves more of the delicacy he’s denied himself these past years, a thirst no water could quench. Wet muscles sliding up the whole length of your slit in a meticulous long lap, his nose bumping into your clit.
Your mewls and sobs echo off the walls when he flicks his tongue over that sensitive nub. Your body jolts violently as the length of his tongue ventures into the honeypot, toes curling in the air, but his iron-clad grip doesn’t allow any room for escape.
Delicate fingers now entangled into his tussled locks, grasping onto illuminated horns. You were likely trying to find something to ground your dissipating sanity, how unfortunate that your actions only flamed the fires.
A guttural growl echoed. Tongue now plunging further, slithering back and forth along your walls. For being such a sweet sacrifice for him, he’ll give a reward. Slithering tongue making sure to drag against that spot he’s memorized.
Judging from how your feet were arching off the sheets, it seems this sinful detail of yours was repeated as well.
Your body writhes, no longer docile under the white searing pleasure frying the ends of every nerve within your being. Unrelenting rhythm slipping in and out of your convulsing walls, your body twitching and flailing in reaction.
Trying to find some way to handle this surcharge of sensations. Legs instinctively wanting to shut together as if to cease this turbulent sensation, unfortunately, your pitiful strength gave no resistance against his rigid hold.
He could feel your muscles begin to seize up, slick walls clamping harder on his writhing tongue. Was this foreign sensation too much for you already?
His long tongue explores every last crevice, tastebuds lapping against those weak spots deep within as his nose bumps and grinds against that lewd clit. This unsightly side of you.
There’s more fervor in the lashes of his tongue, slurping up the nectar trickling out your greed, mixing with his spit dripping down his chin.
Your legs trashing but unable to go anywhere in his unrelenting hold, only able to pull on his silky locks for dear life as sobs tumble out. A flood of arousal adds to the mess on his chin. One he gladly laps up.
Oh’s and ah’s were the only choked sounds your lips could make as your eyes rolled to the back of your scrambled mind.
Neuvillette still relishing in the elixir he’s denied himself for too long, not even the purest water could compare. Reveling in the taste until every last drip ran down his parched throat.
Pulling away, a trail connects his lips with your quivering folds. Callous hands dig further into your legs, making room for his body. Watching as the movements of your chest slowed, his brute figure engulfed your frame.
The ache was unbearable now, each impatient throb reprimanding him for delaying their greed. Neuvillette couldn’t deny their request any longer.
Back sitting up straight, his cocks thrumming against his abdomen, precum exuding out from their swollen heads.
The cool air did little to calm the throbs of his fervors, the girthy shaft standing tall as its engorged tip weeped precum, its twin weeping just the same.
They hover over the softness of your belly, sharp pupils trail up the shadow they cast, heralding to where they crave to be buried.
The heat of his body was suffocating, the burn in his throat greater than ever before. But why? He had drank from that forbidden oasis, it’s dripping down his chin, yet why has his thirst grown greater than before?
Neuvillette was so… so close. If he had only endured it for another day or two, the gale within him would’ve relented and retreated away in defeat. But oh how viciously it’s gloating in its victory. Getting a dragon to bow his head to its cardinal blows.
“Do you… feel better now, Neuvillette?” Slow pants leave your curled lips as your hands reach up to caress his taut face.
This brazenness, this shamelessness, this insolence. Ah, these characteristics have followed you through the grave and into this life as well. You weren’t skilled enough this time around to hide your desire glazed across your pupils.
Did you do this in hopes of making him indebted to you? Offer your sweet body in return for stealing his name from his locked lips? Was this why you traversed down to this dark cellar so late in such flimsy silks?
That gleam in those deceptive eyes, the audacity to believe you could tame the sea with just a flick of your finger. You devious temptress.
“Better?… you’ve only fanned the flames, you devious woman.” A snarl from the depths of him.
Before another word could leave your lips one torrid hand pins your wrist to the sheets. Nails much too sharp to be human dig into those fickle and troublesome fabrics hiding your skin from his touch.
An all too satisfying rip resounding through the air along with your yelp. Scraps join the tangle of sheets.
Did his mortal prison deceive you too much? Did his mild mannerisms trick you into believing that he’s a merciful soul? Or did you always ignore the warnings?
A monster with a human face is still a monster. To believe that one’s patience is endless, only a human could be this impertinent.
His other vascular hand slides down the curves of your body, settling on your hip as your legs hook behind his firm thighs. The ridges of his lower cock drag against your slick folds, wetting his girth from its leaking tip sliding down against your swollen clit.
Precum mixes with the concoction as the glossiness spreads about his length. A pair of shaky breaths mingle as Neuvillette positions his engorged tip at your dripping entrance.
The sensation must’ve cleared the daze from your mind, your head cants downwards to stare at the two oddities.
“A-are both of them going to…” Your grip tightens on the sheets, a subconscious search for comfort.
Ah, now you remember danger. Now you realize your insolence to believe that a mere human could ever tame a proud dragon.
“There won’t be any point in breaking you so quickly,” he snarls. Not missing the flutter of your hole as the weeping head dragged over it. It wouldn’t be good to break you so quickly. His sweet little sacrifice.
Taking the erection which hung lower, he rubs its flushed tip along your slit. Each flinch and tremble sparked gratification through his veins.
The lashes of his tongue had aided in the preparation of these sinful walls, but the girth of his beastly tongue could not compare to the thickness pressed against these leaking folds.
The ghost of his breath flutters over your prickling skin. Neuvillette takes deeper breaths as the weight pressed against your core grew, the bulbous tip inching past the puckering entrance.
The stretch was maddening despite the restrained pace. Your walls fluctuate in a surging dance between clamping down and trying to remain relaxed.
As Neuvillette sinks his girth in bit by bit, its envious twin slithers against your aching clit. The sensitive bundle of nerves drags against each ridge and vein, sending jolts of searing pleasure through him and causing your satin walls to flutter.
A velvety sack kisses against your slick folds, signaling that his length has reached its end. The fat tip of its twin resting just above your naval indicated just how deeply he was buried, trapped between your soft flesh and his sculpted body.
It’s crowded inside you, girth parting and stretching these satin walls while the length is pressed against the deepest most intimate part of you.
Forcing delectable little whimpers and gasps from your haughty lips. Quivering legs now locking ankles behind his back, like a pitiable attempt to hamper him.
That arrogance disgraced to nothing but obscenity upon a wanton face. To see the devil so helpless and lewd under the manipulation of a dragon. What a wonderful sight.
Surely your body remembers his. If not, then he’ll ensure it does now, he’ll engrain it into you for the next life.
One cock slid against the satin ridges of your walls, the other indulging along your searing skin and grinding against your clit. He can’t deny how addictive your body always has been.
Dragging as far back as your locked legs would allow him, the flushed head of one dick kisses your twitching clit, and he sinks back in.
Grunts and purrs reverberate through his throat, teeth clenching as your heat engulfs him again. Reaching deeper into your welcoming core as your lips fall open.
His pace is methodical and controlled to his liking. Drawing out his cock inch by thick inch, sloppy trails of arousal caught on each ridge.
Each time making your core empty and yearning to clench around his girth. Just as a whine would leave your drooling lips, his hips would return to you what your core longed for.
Pushing each tantalizing inch to stroke your starved walls until his skin claps against yours with a wet kiss. Back and forth, back and forth the resounding slaps echoed. Mingling with his low groans and your pitched gasps, creating a sacrilegious yet divine hymn.
Your hand rakes deeper into his toned back possessed by desperation.
A few snowy strands are trapped between your writhing fingers. Pulling him closer to your smoldering skin, causing your clit to grind intensely against his swollen cock, as its twin twitches within your velvety folds.
Those babbles falling from your fed lips, were they pleas for him to bestow upon you leniency or begging him to speed up?
“Do you wish to climax?” A polite façade purrs into your ear.
Lilac eyes were not ignorant to how a devil keens under his body, her gaze drunk off a feverish potion of lust and desire. He could feel it, these velvet walls aching for more, for his girth to jostle your core more, to extinguish this all-consuming ache within you.
“That’s too bad.”
His hips remain steady contrasting against the unevenness of your own pants, unaffected by your desperate mewls. You’ve been selfish enough, you’ve been greedy enough. If he were to grant you a taste of ecstasy, then it’ll be on his terms.
He hasn’t gotten his fill yet, no, he wants to pound his shape forever into these lewd walls. The way they contract and squeeze around his girth with each drive of his hips, they’re practically begging him to.
Thus, he accelerates just a bit more, then a bit more, then a bit more again. Nearly folding you with how flushed he was against you.
The heavy scent of lust, the smothering heat, his unrelenting and unshakable thrusts amalgamating into a spark. One which set the both of you ablaze. Your nails digging into his skin and eyes reaching the back of your head. Sobs and incoherent prattles resound through the room.
Your devious walls clamped around his length with maddening convulsions, gummy muscles suckling to guide his throbbing head to your deepest greed. It was too much.
Neuvillette was powerless as his body pressed yours deeper into the damp sheets, trying to grasp onto any fleeting wisps of control as euphoria overtook him.
Sinking his ravenous teeth into the tangle of the sheets beside your neck, he stifles the admission of his defeat.
A heftiness is spilled within your walls and paints the expanse of your skin in an all-consuming wave. Thick release coating every corner of your core, to finally quell that ravaging heat.
Each subsequent twitch pours more into your crowded cavity and stains your skin. The filthiness of it all seemingly prolongs your sinful depravity.
Chest expanding with pants, pressing your erected nipples against his taut chest. Neuvillette remains buried against you, brutish arms holding your body flush against his.
As if to anchor you, to not allow the turbulent waves of madness to sweep you far from him, or him from you. Keeping your quiver body safe against his.
In the darkness behind his shut lashes, he felt it. Your soft caresses his silky tresses and heaving body. Even as your body heaves and quivers in exhaustion, why must you touch him so tenderly?
Why must you be so cruel? If your hands keep caressing his clammy skin, stroking his peeking scales, he’ll misunderstand.
He’ll believe the delusion that you love him.
Him and not the swaying flower fields of the sunkissed surface.
Whispers cut through the haze of lust and passion, warnings crying for Neuvillette to escape. So he pulls his face from the tangle of sheets, lungs huffing as his eyes find yours.
Exhaustion muddles the hues of your gaze, but not enough to completely smother that glimmer still present. Ah, he knows that that glimmer was.
Even in his heat-induced daze, he’s not naive enough to believe the sincerity presented in your eyes was anything other than duty.
He doesn’t want to be reminded that those hands, which cup his face with such tenderness, are bound by a sense of duty.
A reminder that he’s merely just a stepping stone on the path of your true desire.
He doesn’t want to see it.
The head of his cock parting with a deafening squelch. A darkened gaze follows the pool forming between your splayed legs. Disgruntlement muddles lilac hues.
But such discontent couldn’t last long when the twitch of a neglected length protests. Its bulbous tip longed for its turn within those sticky walls. A primal ordinance he couldn’t resist.
What to call this sensation, to scorn yet desire you just as much.
It wasn’t long before your hips were maneuvered up, your plush ass now up in the air as your quivering arms and face pressed into the sullied sheets.
As one hand supports your unsteady hips. Sharp eyes surveying the puffiness of your cunt, glistening with temptation and dripping with sin.
Hooked fingers slides up the weeping slit, collecting the sacrilegious mixture. Earning an addictive whimper from you when his digits pulled away. Spreading them in front of his gaze, tracing over the stringy nectar stretched between them.
How strange, those lying lips of yours whimper for ‘rest’ and a ‘moment to catch your breath’. Yet your body is still so eagerly exposing itself to his eyes, agape cunt so eagerly twitching and slick.
You don’t even try to writhe yourself away from his hold, not even a single attempt to hide yourself from his hunger.
How skilled you are at fanning the flames, perhaps it's a talent inherent to devils like you. The tempter of all tempters.
You’ve always been like this since the very first rendition.
If only you weren’t so strong-willed. If only you weren’t so clever to trick him. If only you weren’t so enchanting.
Then he wouldn’t have bent to your whims, the sea would’ve cleansed out the mortal filth from stolen land. Then he wouldn’t be trapped in this disgrace of a body. Then he wouldn’t be in love with you.
The betrayal, the disgrace, and this punishment would’ve never happened if only a fool didn’t surrender everything for a mere, fleeting creature.
Why must you make him repeat the same mistake again?
There it was again, that surging torrent within him making its voice known in the echoes of his mind. Whispering the hint on how a dragon would defeat the flame that had scorched him those years ago.
Smother the flame with the tides of depravity and vulgarity. Taint your arrogance with shame.
There wasn’t an ounce of gentleness remaining within his eyes, a beastly hunger taking its place.
Yes, you must pay the debt of reducing him to such a humiliating state.
His neglected cock prods against that greedy cunt of yours. Unmerciful hands bruising the plushness of your hips.
The sinful concoction from the previous sessions allowed his tormented length into your walls without resistance.
The neglected cock finally indulging in the spasms of your abused walls, it’s its turn to bully those weak spots with its thick head.
Sobs sung in broken chokes leave your drooling lips. Trembling fingers enmeshed into the fabric as if to find some ground for your senses to land after their fall from euphoria.
He won’t allow you reprieve. No, not even for a moment. He’ll shatter your sanity and arrogance once and for all.
Nothing interrupted the pistoning of his hips as he fucked you through overstimulation, heavy balls slamming against your swollen lips.
The previous twin cock was now experiencing the hard nub of your engorged clit running along its veins and ridges.
There’s no room for an exchange of words. No, the two of you have long been pasted that point.
No sandy ground beneath as the two of you sank under the ravenous tides of primal instincts and pleasure.
Cacophonous growls, whimpers, and sobs filling the absence along with the thwacks of skin against skin echoed back from the cellar walls.
You keen under the ram of his hips, jostled head writhing against the soiled sheets. The motion allows your hair to fall over your shoulders.
Exposing an untainted patch of skin. Sharp pupils watching how beads of sweat trailing down your nape reflect the azure glow of his body.
An itch assailing his fangs even has his hips continue their barrage against your soft ass. Those lovely vulgar moans wane out from his hearing as his senses could only obsess over the untarnished expanse.
Ah, what if there’s a way for him to pin you here until the stars themselves burn out? You were given to him as his bride.
An offering made to him.
So why can’t he forever confine you within his clutches? Just as you were the original sin which damned him to this cove.
Long tongue dragging along the fresh skin, feeling the jolts of your body.
He’s done it once before, he’s cursed you before. Imprinting a curse upon your very soul, one which followed you through the hands of death and even when the hands of life reformed your body from the earth.
Why not renew it?
Neuvillette pins your upper body further into the tangled bedding, one hand abandoning your hips in favor of raveling in the mess of fabric.
Your heated skin felt against his exhilarated fangs, hungry to sink into your nape.
‘Till death do us part’, that’s not enough.
Such fleeting mortal oaths are much too meek for dragons.
No, those atrocious murmurs in his thoughts command him to curse you in the next life. And the next one, and the one after that as well.
It’s not like your muddled head would understand, nothing but mindless prattles and mewls from the suffocating pleasure only he could ever give you.
But that’s fine, just drown nicely in lust and desire. He’ll always be waiting there at the bottom to drag you down deeper.
Just as the tips of his pointed teeth broke through quivering skin, delicate fingers grasp upon a burly hand.
Intertwining their grasp together upon rumpled linen, a subconscious search for comfort.
An action that remits an iota of reason back to his foggy mind, hazy eyes moving toward the sight of your hand clutched around his.
Even as he’s ravishing your weeping walls, flooding your body with his filthy essence which trickles down your thighs and ass, and chasing his own carnal needs… you still reach for him.
Shamelessly pulling his touch closer, even when the throes of rapture banished all thought from your jostled mind.
A whisper resurfaces amidst the fog and clamor of instinct and rage.
However, it’s a whisper which made his incisors dare not budge another inch. The inkling of truth which he thought he had silenced within the depths of his heart.
The accuracy that this wasn’t love. No, what his instincts craved was not love, it was obsession.
For love was not this sadistic possession, not to curse you just to ease his own damnation.
No, love is supposed to be much like the warmth of your palm flushed against his knuckles.
He remembers now, the lesson you taught him all those years ago. A demonstration witnessed with his own eyes.
Love was sacrifice, just as how you offered yourself to the tides, quelling the rage of a vengeful dragon. Because you loved your village too much to allow them to drown.
Retreating away from the transgression almost committed, fangs repressed behind closed lips. Neuvillette presses a sweet kiss against the shallow wound.
To love you isn’t to steal you away from the embrace of the star who’s forsaken him. It’s to hoist you up to that beloved sunlight. Just where you belonged.
Oh, how could he not love you?
The bride offered to a dragon in a white dress who once dared to command the great beast to stand still as she braided flowers into his hair.
A brazenness contrasted with the gentleness of her smile.
The voices of heart and cruelty rang out in vociferous battle in his mind, Neuvillette buries his face into your shoulder. Pursuing the savor of your skin, pinning you deeper into the tangle of bedding.
Providing more simulation for the pulsing cock wedged against your swollen clit and messy sheets. The neediness of his movements exposed just how close his undoing was.
The hand on your abdomen pulled you impossibly close, adding pressure to the bulging outline of his cock.
Amplifying the ecstasy coursing through your veins, abused walls clamping down on each ridge and each vein of his heft girth. The shape engrained into your wanton core, marvelous sobs and mewls echoing off the empty walls.
Soon those moans become shattered in your throat, eyes rolling back further with each heavy thrust and slap of his balls. Lungs cease all function as rapture unravels you wholly and exhilaration becomes your undoing.
Sloppy contractions mix the repercussions of multitudinous ruination, dripping out your convulsing cunt. Just before a hot surge replenishes the brood that oozed out on the sullied sheets.
Grunts vibrate against your back reminding your body to breathe.
Thick ropes paint your belly and sheets, making an absolute mess. Contracting walls trying but failing to contain the aftershocks from his cock buried deep within, already stretched to their limits, capacity long exceeded. Shudders rack your body and his the same.
With hands still entangled, he coaxes your body around. Granting him a mesmerizing view of your debauched face.
The face he’s so enamored with that he bows his down closer, bodies still connected as he wishes to echt every last detail of you into his being. So that eternity may remember you.
Softness resurfaces in his bones, a tender kiss pressed upon your fingers. Soothing those tremors as he guides your consciousness back to reality.
He holds you, remaining inside as to contain his greed spilled deep inside. The heftiness of his cock prods against your shuddering walls. Every last fiber of your being overstimulated with pulsing pleasure.
Yet, your hand refused to let go. Still holding him toward your exhausted figure in the dying light of the candle.
Whimpers and coos exchanging in a duet of devotion, a hymn so placate it quells the vapid torrents ever so slightly.
Placid fingers drawing circles into your sore back. A gentle lilac gaze keeping watch as your teary eyes retire behind heavy lashes.
Blood and water no matter how much they’re mixed, won’t produce wine.
However, just for tonight in a realm heavy with lust, passion, and phantasm, they’ll craft a wine of delusion. One filled with nothing but wishful fantasy.
This wine of delusion shall be enough to quench the thirst of lascivious compulsions and vengeance.
The gentle caresses of steam ghost past your leaden lashes, lukewarm ripples lap against your skin. Your sore body propped up against the porcelain, as Neuvillette drags a dampened towel along your skin.
A pang of guilt stung him each time the cloth passed over a discolored imprint. No amount of diligent rubs would purify your skin of those bruises in the shape of his fingers.
A stir from muscle gradually awakening from slumber reflected in the wavelets of the bath. The sensation of a damp towel must’ve further jolted your senses back to alertness.
A cerulean glow glistens off the polished surface as your vision finally centers on the figure rising warm water over your limp body.
Attentive eyes immediately connect with yours as he scans your expression for discomfort.
“Are you hurting anywhere?” Neuvillette halts the towel.
You respond with a slow shake, your throat must be too sore to answer. Despite how he tries to conceal them behind a robe, blotches of azure painted along his fair skin.
Proof that draconic influence was still in rebellion of his body. All the while he’s very much aware of your eye’s every move. What an appalling sight it must be for you.
“If I make you uncomfortable I’ll leave promptly, this was just the only solution I could find to bathe-”
“It’s fine, I don’t mind.” Voice hoarse as your frame melts closer to his, delicate fingers intertwining with between the spaces of his own scaly fingers.
Allowing your breaths to minge in tandem in the steam-damped tiles of the tranquil bathroom.
“Does it hurt?” A warm thumb traces soft circles along the rough scales along his hand.
Did you catch the subtle twitches and jolts of his muscles? A mortal body rejecting draconic influences, draconic influences revolting against a mortal cage. Still, he shakes his head. Lilac gaze watching your eyes trail between the scales and his eyes with skepticism.
“I’m not quite sure as to why I’m still in this… state.” Neuvillette gives a preemptive answer to the question he assumes to be hanging off your tongue.
“Do you… miss the sea?” However, it seems you had another inquiry hidden in your ever perplexing mind.
A deep sigh resonates through the tranquil air. He stares at the tips of his fingers dipped into the warm water, a taunting substitute for the sea that called for him.
“I suppose it’s natural that I yearn for it…”
A hum was your only response, eyes hidden behind closed lashes. Neuvillette just couldn’t decipher that smile of yours, curled lips reflected over the rippling surface of the steaming water.
“Your body is still delicate, please let us return back to the estate-”
“I might actually grow roots into that bed if I’m to rest there any longer.” A pout was evident in your voice.
Taking a few greater strides, your body pulls in front of Neuvillette’s pace. It was only momentary of course, for he swiftly rejoins your side.
Observant eyes not missing the subtle wobble in your steps along the pastures of the village.
“Please just don’t stray too far.” He relents, offering up his arm for support.
With a gracious smile, your arm curls around his, interlocking your fingers with his as two pairs of steps ambled along the grass.
Soon a familiar pool of water came into view, enticing two pairs of eyes with its glimmering ripples.
What it strange sight those waters showed, a cursed dragon who yearned for his place and a cursed mortal who longed for the sun, two cursed beings holding hands in the reflection along the pristine surface.
“I believe this is far enough. ” His arm pulls your frame closer, a subtle hesitance tainting his tone.
However, your body didn’t budge. Resolute stance not moving even one bit watching your reflection warp and contort in the water. A deep breath echoes off the wall.
“Neuvillette… do you miss the sea?” Your stare parts with the water, now peering straight into his lilac hues.
‘Do you miss the sea?’ You’ve asked him this question many times. He's always given a composite response, but maybe his flowery words diluted the meaning too much to your ears.
“Yes, I do miss the sea.” His candid yearning.
There was a question his lips didn’t dare ask, ‘Do you miss the sun?’, Neuvillette wanted to riposte your questions with this question of his.
But he knew it would be pointless, for he already knew the answer. Wordlessly written all over your melancholic stare into the pond, the longing to return to the sun, to be with blood and not water.
To love you, would be to hoist you up to where you longed to be, in the embrace of the warm sun. Neuvillette had thought he made up his resolve long ago.
However, would it be too selfish of him to wish to turn back?
To convince you to back into the tranquil estate where the Melusines await your return with those dishes you taught them how to cook.
Or maybe would at least try on those gowns still untouched? Could you wait until all those books in the library were read through by your sweet voice?
Would you be oh so kind enough to hold his hand just for a moment longer? At the very least, would you allow him to memorize your warmth?
His grip on your hands tightens ever so briefly, a shaky breath trembles in his chest before he releases it along with the tension in his fingers.
No, it wouldn’t be fair to stall any longer, you deserve your happy ending.
Calmly, the dragon bows his head closer to yours. Ignoring the aggrieved voices that cried for him to swallow back to secret just about to spill from his tongue.
The ending of this tale won’t ever change, for a dragon is just as foolish as he was before.
“My true name is-!” His voice was stunned as a pair of soft lips silenced him.
Your lips pressed against his own, forcing back the secret. His bewildered eyes hone in upon your face, but your lashes were shut as your hands pull his face closer. The resolve wanes from his bones as he sinks into your embrace.
As your lips pull away, gasping for breath. He places his hands atop yours, searching your face for an answer. All he got was that indecipherable smile.
Pulling his face down closer to yours again, your lips find themselves right next to his pointed ears. Under a faint breath which left your parted lips came the secret he kept locked away.
Since when? When did you find his name? Or… did you know this whole time?
Neuvillette reels back in the embrace of your cruel hands. Lilac eyes stare deep into yours, peering through the cracks in that enchanting façade of yours.
Ah, this whole time, did he not discover the false innocence in the irises of the deceptor of all deceptors?
A foolish moth fell for the deception of a devil once again, flying to the flicker of a candle until his wings were charred off into ash.
Those sentences written upon parchment weren’t lies, all other monsters fall secondary to the devil. Even a dragon.
“Why?” Was all he could muster, oh cruel devil why did you play him a fool once more?
“Because I wanted to see you again… but I knew you wouldn’t quite share the same sentiment since the moment I heard your voice… so I lied,” Those audacious eyes of yours never looked away.
Ah, how could he forget how crafty and observant a devil is with her schemes? The charming enchantment as she performs her deceptions. Speaking shameless lies with those bewitching lips.
“If you wanted to see me… then that day at the loch… why weren’t you there?” The stir of the torrent within put a snarl into his throat.
Why must you keep lying to him?
Ah, from the start, Neuvillette should’ve listened to the clamorous cries of his instincts. To withdraw away from the flame, to extinguish the hell fires before they left another lesson learned upon his skin.
Yet, he’s still within the embrace of your cruel hands. His body just wouldn’t pull away.
Just what is this level of stupidity called? For a moth to still crave the warmth of the flame which charred its wings into ash. Just what is this lunacy called?
“The nobles locked me away after those tyrants stole your name from my tongue, they locked me away.” Torment brewing in those irises which reflected him.
A chill staggers the surge of the torrent, an icy sting which stupefied the rampaging currents.
For generations upon generations of scribes and poets never penned this detail down in any rendition of a classically beloved tale.
“I begged them, I banged against the bars of the cell, even clawed at the stone walls until my fingers were raw, but they left me there to rot in the cold… I just wanted to see you one last time, just once more.” Those bitter pools formed in your penitent eyes spill over.
This wasn’t how the tale was supposed to end. The maiden, who deceived a dragon for her people, was supposed to be hailed a hero. You were supposed to have a happy ending, so why didn't you get that?
“All I ever wanted was for you and me to walk amongst humanity… look where that got us…” Tears descend from your cheeks and onto the grass below, a humorless chuckle.
Was this another lie falling from those saccharine lips of yours? Sugar dusted on the shell of a vile trick? Neuvillette wasn’t sure anymore.
“That foolish wish of mine… it must’ve been so painful. I’m so sorry.” Your thumb traces over the scales dotted over his cheek, evidence of a draconic rebellion against a mortal condemnation.
Does your touch scorn or soothe him? Neuvillette wasn’t sure anymore.
“I’m sorry. I’ll say sorry one thousand times if you wish.” A tremor in your voice.
The surge within him couldn’t sustain itself, faltering and receding back to a placid, pathetic ripple. Perhaps… It's tired.
Tired of holding onto this futile grudge. Not when the bitter answers its tides were ravenous for had finally sunk in.
He takes a deep breath, collecting his resolve.
“...what… what do you wish for?” Just how will this rendition end? Neuvillette doesn’t know.
But he knows his hands should hold onto yours, desperately etching the details of your tender touch into its memory. Rations to sustain him for the rest of a solitary eternity.
He hears your slow inhale, preparing your throat to speak your selfish desires.
“I wish for your curses to become mine alone to bear.” You reveal your selfish wish, pressing the voucher of freedom into his hands.
He had that look on his face again. Disbelief stupefied each muscle of his dashing face, wide eyes peering into yours trying to find the hint of a jest. Your gaze doesn’t waiver as your finger tightens around his.
“Grant me my wish… please.” Lips stretching with a reassuring smile.
His lips press into a thin line, face returning to its place between your warm hands, he takes a deep breath. Perhaps it’s just his sense of responsibility and fairness that compelled him to fulfill this wish.
Or maybe, the dragon just couldn’t help but submit to the whims of his beloved, a statement that remained no matter what rendition of the tale it was.
Releasing the breath he held, the shift in the air was palpable, a lightness in his chest. The pond off to the side billows momentarily, drawing focus toward its excited ripples.
Releasing his hold, feet leading him to the side of the saltwater before his mind could process his own actions.
He could hear it again, the hymns of the water singing the end of his exile. Reaching out a hand, it sinks past the cool surface, the tides welcoming back their prince with mellow kisses.
The ocean calls for him, so why is he still staring back at you? The one who’ll never embrace the sea again for the rest of her life, nor ever feel the sway of Summer days in a field full of Pluie Lotus. His eyes conveyed a question his lips couldn’t bear to ask. Thus, you give the answer he seeks.
“Think of it as my reparations to you, an overdue apology for my mistake, for making you to suffer so much.” That glimmer in your eyes, one he understands now.
Moving the hex to a body whose true master was the mistress of time, a body blessed with mortality. If a miracle isn’t enough to make a curse break, then perhaps the tides of time could.
Taking a piece of the curse with each tick of a clock, just like how the waves take with it grains of sand from warm beaches.
Once a withered mortal body is called back to the earth, the clauses will be fulfilled after many centuries. Unsettled grudges eroded away like those sandy banks.
Until the pull of the ground makes its visible influence on your skin. Until your locks come to resemble the snowy shade you’ve lovingly run your fingers through. Until the sweet earth hums for you to embrace it once more, you shall remain here.
What a clever scheme it all is, a masterful plan which could only ever be conjured by you. You devil, oh so devious, devil.
“You can hate me, I won't hold it against you,” you whisper. “May this tale end in your happiness, let me do this much for you.”
A bitter bile festers at those lies of yours. How could such lies fall from your lips so easily when they always left such a vile taste upon his tongue?
Gaze honed in upon your frame, watching the gentle smile hold back the slight quiver of your shoulders. He stands back up, slow strides returning him to your side. Taking your hands into his larger ones, placing your soft touch back along his cheeks.
“Silence… I won’t hear such deceit.” Snowy locks brushing against your fingertips.
“But I wasn’t lying…” Confusion furrows your brow, but your hands remain cupping his face.
Moving away, he studies the rivulets of regret and anguish that leave bitter trails down your cheeks. He swallows back the objections clawing up his throat, such vile words don’t belong on your tongue.
“How could I hate you?” he confesses.
Neuvillette has finally come to a realization. All those renditions, all those differing retellings of a classic tale. He had read them all wrong, basis clouding his interpretation.
For the princess did love her dragon. Just as he loved her, all this time.
Together in the depths of a cave away from the prying eyes of the divine. Breaths in time with one another as they stand in the embrace of one another, until the dragon bows his head back down.
Touching his forehead to hers, so that maybe Neuvillette could get a glimpse into that ever mystical mind of yours.
“How can I ever hate what I’ve coveted for so long?” He asks.
That ever-stirring torrent, that spiteful surge, where did it go? Those clamorous voices with their vengeful snarls and cynical bellows, why weren’t they intrepid enough to direct those foul words toward you?
Not you, never you. How could they ever hate you, the heroine of a Fontainian fairytale they’ve pitifully yearned for so long?
“Am… am I loved then?” Your lashes were squeezed shut as if death was rapping upon them. Too cowardly to face the verdict.
“Yes… yes, you devious devil…” Neuvillette couldn’t help but chuckle at such an endearing sight.
He feels your fingers tense around his skin, astonishment in the features of your face. It soon melts away into those welling pools as a smile pushes against the corners of your eyes.
Pressing your forehead to his, a warm droplet rolls down your cheek and over the curve of your lips. He simply rests his head against yours.
Only now in the last sentence of this retelling of a tale which has been twisted, distorted, and embellished away from the initial narrative did an unwritten truth emerge.
A clever maiden was just as foolish as a proud dragon. The weight of their foolishness was so great it dragged them beneath the waves and kept them in a cove deep away from the prying eyes of gods.
However, if this idiotic dragon could intertwine his fingers with yours. If he could be by your side until the hands of time call you back to the earth in this final rendition.
If he could be the happy ending you deserved, then he wouldn’t mind in the slightest.
summary: where you are in an arranged marriage with him and you rarely ever see him
warning: somewhat traditional housewife roles, negative thoughts
What a cruel fate it was, to fall in love with a man who neither loves or hates you.
To spend long, cold nights alone. A large, indifferent room divided by two separate futons.
You knew that your husband was a busy man. He worked all night, barely resting during the day, and every time you’ve caught glimpse of his office, there was always a huge mess laying around on his desk. But having been married to him for such a long time, you felt that the distance between you two grew longer and longer every day.
In the morning, you would greet him with the biggest smile you could muster. He would greet you back with the same gentle smile everyday. At this point, you knew what his real smile looked like. You don’t recall when the last time he’s ever given you one.
If Miss Ayaka and Thoma were busy, and you dined alone with your husband, the table would be silent. You didn’t know what to say, and he’d also be reading over papers while eating, so you were afraid to disturb him. If the two were present, or if there were any other guests, Ayato would be more active in the conversation, joking lightheartedly and appearing like he was actually enjoying himself.
This man did not treat you unkindly despite having these feelings that lurked in your chest. In fact, it was the opposite. He was a true gentleman every time you interacted with him. He would open the door for you while you two walked together. He would pull out the chair when you wanted to sit. He would hold your hand and escort you to any event, or if you were getting on/off a carriage.
But it was all superficial. It felt like he was forcing himself to do these actions for you. You couldn’t even tell what his intentions are for doing so. You couldn’t tell if he just disliked you, disliked this arranged marriage, or if he just wanted people to see what a loving husband he was, that everything was okay right now even though it really wasn’t.
From touchless nights to meaningless small talk, your heart ached at the thought of everything. You don’t ever recall the last time he’s kissed you on the lips in private. You don’t recall the last time he’s ever opened up to you about the depths of his heart, from the things that scared him the most, to the things that has made him truly happy.
And while you know that a relationship thrives off of communication, you couldn’t help but feel scared. You were scared that the man in front of you would grow even colder, shutting off the depths of his heart forever, pushing you away if you were to ever confront him. Maybe he’d even take it to an extreme and call off the marriage with you, telling you that he never loved you, as this was really only an arrangement between your two families. Maybe he was in love with someone else prior to this marriage, and he has only reserved his heart for them all of these years.
You have seen his darker sides. He doesn’t think that anyone has noticed, but you have. You were always watching him, after all.
A more mischievous side of him existed deep down in there, a certain sly foxiness that could even rival Guuji Yae herself. Sometimes, it would scare you to see that forced smile on his face as if what lingered in his mind were true thoughts darker than what he had initially led on.
But despite his flaws, despite the mask he constantly wore around, you loved him. You loved him so much it hurt. You loved how he cared for people despite them being complete strangers to him. You loved his gentle smile as he holds your hand so tenderly when you accidentally trip. How could a man be so kind, yet so cruel to your heart?
And even as you laid in bed most nights alone, shedding tears as if you were the dark side of the crystal moon longing for the light of the sun, you still loved him regardless.
You were in your futon all alone as of this moment, staring at the ceiling. The room was pitch black and silent, other than the occasional sounds of the residual droplets from the passing rain. Ayato would never let you rest in a room that was cold, so the temperature was heated comfortably, yet you couldn’t help but bundle yourself up under the covers even more.
It was cold without him. You didn’t even realize when the last time he had actually went to bed in this room you both allegedly shared.
But it didn’t matter anyways because his futon laid far away from yours.
Your own husband wouldn’t even come near you when you’re together in the same room. You didn’t know if he just wanted to be respectful as a formality between husband and wife, or if he is repulsed by being in the same vicinity as you, but it hurt regardless.
You sighed as you covered your face with the blanket, trying to get rid of these harboring thoughts. It was no use, no matter what you did, you couldn’t stop thinking about your relationship with him every single night. He is what plagues your mind at night, like a thorn lodged deep in a fingertip. It was only soon that you will be bleeding out your love for him.
How could you make a scene about all of this anyways? You've seen how hard he works. You knew that everything he did, it was for the sake of protecting his family and home. Who were you to complain about how busy he was? That was another reason why you continued to keep silent. You thought that your worries meant nothing compared to his own.
Your mind was racing a mile per minute, and you knew you weren't able to get any sleep like this. You got up and out of your futon as you decided to go for a stroll around the estate. The guards protected the outside and prevented from anybody from coming in. As long as you walked around inside, there should be no problem with you strolling the corridors, so long as you remained quiet.
Lighting up a candle, you started meandering through the halls, your footsteps nearly silent with no goal or destination in mind. You didn't even realize your feet had automatically taken you to the doors of his office, the same door that you have stared at many times, knowing that your husband was in there, but you had no reason or courage to open. You see the dimly lit light through the translucent paper sheets, and you knew that tonight was going to be another long night with no rest for him.
You sighed, not remembering the last time you had been in his office, and you were about to step away, but the door suddenly slides open rather violently. You flinch in shock because you didn’t expect for anything to happen, as he usually never notices your presence.
"Who is there?" He said in a serious tone, and you were finally greeted by the man who plagued your every thought and dreams. His hand laid on the hilt of his sword, almost as if he was ready to strike down any intruder who was lurking in the shadows. But instead of drawing his sword, he blinked a few times, realizing it was just you who stood there. He instantly let go of the sword and his expression relaxed a bit, although his eyebrows were furrowed slightly to show confusion. "Y/n? What are you doing here? It is almost 2am right now."
His presence stunned you for a second before you snapped out of the current awe-struck daze you were in. It had been quite a while since you've seen his face. He was rarely home anymore, but when he was, he would be holed up in his office. You only ever see him to greet him when he returned back home, and sometimes when he leaves, as he had a habit of sneaking out secretly every so often.
"Oh." You were flustered at this unexpected situation. "I had trouble sleeping, so I decided to go for a walk..."
"Is something troubling you?" He asked in concern. "If it is work-related with the household, then I know Ayaka would be happy to give you a hand.”
"It's not that..." You shook your head. You didn't want him to worry about you, so you tell him a small lie. "It's just one of those nights..."
"I see."
"Have you been faring well?" You then asked him.
He gave you a small, gentle smile, but you have seen this many times. It was one of the masks he wore when he wasn’t telling the truth.
"I've been doing alright," he replied. Anybody would've believed him, as he would never appear disheveled in front of anybody, but from the way his eyes had a slight dark tint underneath them and the mess that apparently was his desk with papers and pens strewn everywhere, you knew that he was far from so. "I was actually looking to take a break soon from my paperwork. Since you probably will be up for a little bit, would you care to join me?"
An invitation from him was rare, and you immediately jumped ship. You nodded. "Let me go prepare some tea."
"Oh, there's no need to do that."
"Nonsense," you gave him a reassuring smile, knowing what he was going to say. He was so considerate as always, not wanting to trouble you. "It will only be a few.”
You start to walk down the hall to head to the kitchen, but you were surprised to hear footsteps behind you. Before you knew it, Ayato was walking beside you, and you could hear your heart thumping in your chest.
"Ayato?" You questioned.
It was dim, as the candle was the only thing that lit the dark halls, so you can barely make out his expression.
"I'll tag along with you then." He said softly, as to not wake anybody else up. "It will be a good change of pace from being stuck in my office all night."
To you, he was so hard to read at times. If he was accompanying you, he surely must have his reasons, as he had never used any of his personal time on you before. He only accompanied you outside when he had a special meeting at an event that required for both spouses to arrive. Those were the only times when he was somewhat affectionate. That was why you were nervous when he decided to come along with you, thinking he had an ulterior motive like he usual does. But a small, small part of you hoped that it was something else; that he wanted to join you because he missed you and just wanted to idly chat.
You stepped into the kitchen and then lit a brighter lantern to illuminate the room using your own candle. But before you could do anything else, you watched as Ayato's hand pushed a portion of your hair aside. You couldn't help but feel your cheeks heat up at the action, your eyes making its way towards him now that you were able to see his face.
He wore a gentle smile on his face as he looked down at you tenderly. A rare expression indeed, you’ve only noted him to give this look to Ayaka. It made your heart hurt a little as it thumped away in your chest, feeling like you could soar to the moon and never come back.
"Your hair was getting close to the flames, so I didn't want it to burn,” he explained.
"Oh..." You didn't know what else you could say. "Thank you..."
With that, you started boiling the kettle of water, your body moving to find tea leaves. Ayato watches on without speaking a word, and you two drift into a somewhat lulling silence.
As you prepared your leaves, Ayato interrupted the silence no sooner than later.
“There’s another event that the Kanjou Commission is hosting,” he said. There it was. He needed you to attend another political event with him. You were once so naive to think that he would actually spend time with you just because he wanted to. You knew he hated small talk and would rather get straight to the point. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind attending it with me.”
Of course you didn’t mind, if it meant that you would be spending more time with him. But even if you did expect for this, you were still disappointed.
“Sure. When will it be?”
“In two months. They’re hosting a party event to discuss upcoming financial plans for the winter.”
You nodded, your hands a little rougher than usual as you crushed up the dried tea leaves in the mortar. Usually you would hide your emotions well, but it definitely showed in the way you pounded at the leaves.
If Ayato had noticed your switch in moods, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he went over to the cabinet to grab two cups for the tea.
“I appreciate it. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”
Another blatant lie fueled only by courtesy. He always says this whenever you did a favor for him. If you were to truly ask for a favor, he would have Thoma somehow fulfill it, or he would say that he was too busy to do it himself, and that he would make it up later. He would send a gift, picked out by either Thoma or Ayaka of course, to later apologize for not fulfilling your promise.
And although it has only happened four or five times before you’d stop asking him for favors, knowing that he was too busy to fulfill them, it still left a bitter feeling within you.
You felt that it was selfish for you to feel this way. You knew that he had lost his parents at a young age, having to resume the role as the leader of the Yashiro Commission and head of the Kamisato Clan very early in life. You thought it wasn’t right for you to feel bitter about small things like this. Yet, as you glanced at the man in front of you, who barely looked at you and instead stared at the bright full moon outside, your heart ached at this solemn expression— one that loomed with fatigue and tiredness.
Maybe what you truly longed for was his happiness. Maybe you wanted to share that happiness with him, although you knew it would be a long shot. So long as he was the head of the Yashiro Commission, the leader of the Shuumatsuban, there will always be a distance between you two, as he prioritized things differently from any other typical person. Even though he was in the same room as you right now, as the moon peaked through the small window, the cicadas singing in the distance, he still looked as alone as ever. Like there was an unmeasurable length between you two, and you were too afraid to cross it, in fear that you would never be able to reach him.
The kettle soon starts to heat up, and you take it off the flame to start steeping the tea leaves. A few minutes of silence passed, and you wondered then if he was going to leave immediately after he finished his tea. It was still hot, so you had a couple more minutes left with him, right?
You poured the tea carefully in the cup and then proceeded to hand it over to him.
“It’s hot, so be careful.”
“Thank you,” he smiled at you and graciously accepted the tea. He picked it up to his lips, blowing it a few times as he inhaled the scent. “This smells like a different type of tea than the one you served at the event the other day.”
You remembered that event. You were attending a birthday party for an old couple who were close friends with the Kamisato’s. You brewed that tea with extra care, knowing that Ayato was going to drink it on that very occasion.
“It was truly delicious,” he complimented and you felt your heart soar at his words once more. “I know I never told you this, but it was one of my favorite hot teas.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” I smiled, making note to remember that information. “This one that I brewed helps with stress and calms the mind.”
He took a sip once the tea is cooled down a bit more. “I can see how this one can have that effect. It’s a very mild, but calming flavor. It’s a good choice for you to brew this, since it will probably help you sleep.”
Actually, you had brewed it for him, so that he wouldn’t stress so much, but you held your tongue back. Instead, you took a sip of the hot tea, trying to match his pace so that you both could finish at the same time.
“I hope you like it,” you said.
“I do enjoy it quite a bit,” he replied with a small smile on his face. “I will take it to my office and savor it. I appreciate you willing to spend time with me.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
“I hope you get some sleep soon, and try not to stay awake for too long,” your husband stated. “Please pardon me, I must return to my work.”
You forced out a smile in return, knowing that he had cut his time off with you short on purpose.
“Have a good night, Ayato.”
He gave a small nod as he walked out with the tea in his hand. You waited for the door to fully shut before you leaned on the counter with your back pressed to it.
He didn't even wait to finish the tea before he left. He just went straight to the point, pushing you aside as if your feelings had never mattered to him in the first place.
Your hands gripped the ceramic tea cup tightly. It felt like if you had held it tight enough, it would shatter and break, scalding your skin like the way your husband did just now.
Your tears dripped into the tea, the salty solution messing with the delicate taste of the drink as you sipped it, not wanting anything to go to waste. What was once a calming, smooth taste was now bitter.
So, so bitter.
It was another cruel, lonely night that awaited you.
YOUR fingers are gentle as you thread them through sora’s hair, carefully threading the strands together until it’s a braided crown of blue. you’ve just finished tucking in the last bits of hair into her braid when you see the coloring; it’s faint, but her light blue has begun to shift to a deeper indigo at her roots.
“okaasan, am i pretty yet?” her light indigo irises are fixed on you through the reflecting vanity mirror. sora had sensed your halt in motion, her smile innocent and inquiring.
you bring an easy smile to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her hair before reassuring her. “you have always been the most beautiful to me.” your hands move to adjust to the collar of her formal dress, the light purple blossoms peeking out just over her shoulders. you had this dress made just before you left the kamisato estate, hopeful that she might be able to wear it during summer festivities rather than a trial between two dominant clans.
a reality which you seem to be so detached from as of late.
it had been a couple months since you’ve moved out of your old residence, a decision you made in the best interest of you and your daughter, and yet you can’t help the strange welling in your heart at the thought of having to set foot inside once more.
a house once full of unity, now harboring distrust and tension, you had no choice to bring sora back to it. as the sole heir to the hayashi matriarch and the only child of the head of the yashiro commission, sora could not be absent.
“sora,” you begin, “i just want you to know… that, uhm…” there’s a lump in your throat and something tickles at your tear ducts. your daughter turns to face you on her chair, her smaller hands coming to cup around your face as her expression fills with worry. “i’m alright, flower, no need to worry.” you bring a hand to place on hers, thumb rubbing softly against the back of her hand in comfort.
“after today, if somethings don’t go the way i planned,” you explain, “i don’t want you to think for even a second that i don’t love you. not ever.” the thought of having to give her up had been tormenting you the past few weeks after the elders had brought into question succession for both clans with the continuance of a divorce.
between the yashiro commission and the hayashi clan, there was only one legitimate heir. and you’re sure everyone who was anyone in the room would want a claim to your sora.
“everything will be alright as long as i’m with mama,” sora replies quietly, offering a soft smile. there was absolutely nothing you wouldn’t do for this little girl.
you press a soft kiss to her forehead. “let’s hope that never changes.”
holding her hand in yours, the two of you leave the room, making it down the hall to the grand room where the most important meetings are held. the few elders which had gathered outside the door lower their gazes and bow, offering you their respects. The guards outside the door stand in position of salute, only moving back to a position of attention when you nod.
there are whispers among the few which you pass on your way towards the doors, their voices hushed but not quiet enough for you to miss.
“a pity the yashiro commission has to incur such a loss over a petty issue,” one criticizes.
“you’d think as a matriarch she’d be more understanding and mature,” the other replies. “it seems ridiculous to stage such a trial between clans, no?”
sora looks up at you with confusion in her eyes, and you simply bring a soft smile to your face, shaking your head in dismissal. “you pay them no mind, flower.” you stop just before the doors, your free hand coming to signal to the door keepers. “vermin who mooch off of their diluted family ties hold no opinion in the court of nobility.”
there are some hushed gasps behind you and you see your daughter giggle, the doors coming to open before you to reveal a larger room of gathering nobles. directly in front of you at the grand table, kamisato ayato sits beside his younger sister, an image of placid indifference reflected in his figure.
the elders seated in the room took to their feet, offering a bow of acknowledgement as you approached the room. ayato was delayed in his response, standing moments later and offering a deep bow.
you bowed in response, sinking deeply before returning back to your full height. Akane appeared at your side at once, ushering sora to the side seats where she could sit but remain in proximity to you.
“matriarch of the hayashi clan, i, kamisato ayato, head of the kamisato clan, greet you humbly. regardless of the outcome, i wish all good intentions during this trial.” his voice is smooth and courteous, but void of any emotion, yet another twist to the knife in your heart.
“i, hayashi y/n, head of the hayashi clan, wish you well in this fair trial and hope you accept the ruling without protest,” you reply, smile soft and polite.
you see his jaw tick at this, a feeling of satisfaction settling deep in your bones.
when the doors open one final time, it is everyone’s turn to bow, for the raiden shogun comes waltzing in, voice calm and level when she asks, “shall we get started then?”
"SHE was born on the kamisato estate, by natural laws she is the kamisato clan’s right!” an elder at the table, whom you recognize to be one of the most senior among those gathered from the opposing party. she only ever liked the number on the profit amount your marriage brought her. “this is inarguably–”
one of the elders from your side stands from his chair, violet eyes seething at the remark. “inarguable? it was not in the contractual agreement!”
the air is tense with anger, confusion, and stubbornness, all of which you remain aware of yet quiet. your eyes are trained on your husband, his eyes also never leaving yours since the moment the both of you sat down.
it isn’t until the raiden shogun speaks do the two of you avert your eyes to her. “why are the lot of you discussing the little girl as if she’s a mere object? Have you any respect for the child?” her violet eyes are narrowed and gaze is pointed, as if to pierce straight through anyone who might answer her conjecture incorrectly.
“n-no, almighty s-shogun–”
another elder stands, trembling before the archon. “please, we didn’t mean any insolence–”
“and yet,” raiden continues, “i have yet to hear anything remotely negotiable in the past two hours i’ve been stuck sitting in this chair. tell me, have you any idea what the girl is like? taken the time to understand who sora is?”
at this, ayato flinches, the question itself more indirectly intended for him.
“it is true that by natural law sora is entitled to the kamisato clan,” raiden begins, the faces of all those in favor of the aforementioned clan lighting up in delight, “but after further examination of the justification for the divorce, it would seem that she is, inarguably, the rightful heir to the hayashi clan.”
protest begins to break out amongst the elders and you feel the heat clawing at the back of your throat, the tickle of electricity in the air as everyone begins to overwhelm you. before you can react, there is a burst of blue, water form the shape of blades pointed at every elder in the room.
“all of you, hush!” it is your husband, hands clenched on the table and expression tight with rage. “had it not been for any of you, we would never be in this mess to begin with!”
the room is silent but for the ticking of the clock. his words ring through your head, a mixture of confusion and anger swirling in the pit of your stomach.
“the elders?” your voice is just barely a whisper. “i spent nearly a decade wasting away in a loveless marriage and you want to blame the elders?!”
your husbands eyes are wide when they meet yours, his mouth open as if his words were not meant to be his.
you laugh coldly. “i knew you were a low creature, but i had never thought you to be pathetic enough to continue blaming everyone but yourself–”
“i do blame myself! i am the only one i blame!” ayato’s eyes are a mix of desperate blue and you’re not sure what to think of it. “i sleep alone and walk past empty rooms where you and sora used to play. i sit at an empty table where we used to eat. i waste away in a home of ghost and absent memories, do not tell me that i do not blame myself!”
“then where were you?” you think he’s unbelievable. “where. were. you? i brought her into this world alone. she received her vision without you. her first summer festival, without you. archons, ayato! where were you?!”
“i thought you hated me!”
“you’re the one who told me we were married for politics!”
“because i wanted you to hurt!”
“why?”
“because i love you!” he is huffing and attempting to catching his breath. he runs his hands through his hair frustratedly, looking around at the room of eyes all on him. lowering his voice, he continues, “from the moment i met you, i loved you, and i have never felt like i was enough and thought of bringing you anything but happiness did terrible things to me.”
you swallow the lump inn your throat. “so you abandoned me?”
he can’t meet your eyes. “i felt if you were too close, you might discover the worst of me. that maybe if you–”
“no. no, ayato, don’t be cruel,” you interrupt, shaking your head. You will not hear any of this. you stand from your chair, a look of anguish on your face when you meet those beautiful cerulean irises. “you have no right to say that.”
he stands too, hand almost reaching towards you. “my dearest–”
“no!” your voice cracks and you pick up the skirt of your dress, back up towards the doors which you came in. “you can curse at me, insult me, do your worst, but you have no right to plead your love to me!”
sora stands from her chair and comes running to you, her small hands clasping at yours. you gather her in your arms, ordering the guards to open the doors. you turn to face your husband who, having rushed from the other side of the table, stands just meters away from you.
“you are a cruel man, kamisato ayato.” your eyes are sharp with hatred, your expression twisted with pain. you bow in acknowledgement to the raiden shogun, who nods back. you meet the gazes of all the elders in the room before replying, “this trial is over, i will hear no more of your grievances.”
and you turn and run. you escape. you leave with sora in your arms your past on your tail.
synopsis ┊ thrust into the spotlight, ken sato had easily become the next big thing tokyo had seen in decades. alongside his fame came the inevitable string of rumors, of which sprung forth scandals and discrediting information against his image. of course the obvious and most rational solution would be to address them like every other celebrity, but this was ken sato; nothing would ever be rational with him, which is how you wound up with a ring on your finger and the sato name in your papers.
pairing ┊ ken sato x fem-PA!reader, ken sato x fake-wife!reader
warnings ┊ mild cursing, eventual smut, mentions of alcohol, all events in ultraman: rising take place a year after kenji moves back to japan
word count ┊ 3.2k
author’s note ┊ YAPPEE! part two officially out- so sorry for the wait EUEUEU… hehe hope the things that happen in this chapter make up for it being a few days late :p also, i will not be accepting anymore tag list requests! this is due to the amount of users that i can tag per post T^T … nonetheless, i hope you guys enjoy the chap! happy reading :D
p.s. i will be blocking the people who message me (rudely) to “hurry up” with the next chapters. i understand most, if not, all of you are excited to read the next chapters, but please do understand that i have my own schedule too :,)
prev. | next
YOU HELD YOUR HEAD IN YOUR HANDS, GROANING INTO YOUR PALMS. In front of you sat the thorn at your side, Ken Sato. He had just finished reading- or rather, skimming through the files you had stayed up compiling. You peeked at him through your fingers before standing up to erase yet another column of pros and cons from the board.
Taking a swig from the energy drink he had brought you, you shake your head as you try to figure out what to do next. Truth be told, you were just eager to leave. You had two weeks left until you could finally let these burdensome tasks go, all you wanted was for Ken to go along with your last few instructions so as to make your exit easier.
“I don’t get what’s so hard about this, Ken.” You say, turning back around to face him. “You pick a girl, you ‘date’ her for a bit, and then you ‘split up’ amicably. Simple as that.”
He tilted his head at you, a sarcastic smile on his lips. “Oh sure, yeah. Let me just go out with a random girl and act like I’m head over heels in love with her.”
“Yes, exactly that.” You reply with the same tone, going back to your seat. “Now you’re getting it!”
He rolls his eyes, placing the stapled papers back on your desk. “I get it, I fucked up. But I still don’t get why you’re so…” He pauses, pressing his lips into a thin line and gesturing with his hands. “Persistent in actually trying to get me to date someone for the sake of my screw up.”
“And I don’t get why I have to keep reminding you of why I need to do this.” You lean back into your chair while pinching the bridge of your nose. “You were the one who-”
“-’Told the entire world you were in love’, yes I know! You’ve only said that like, what, a hundred times over?” He cuts you off, crossing his arms. “I know what I did. But I also know that I have a choice in this matter, don’t I?”
You go to reply but stop when you register his words. You knew that, obviously, which is why you had multiple plans. You were giving him the chance to choose, were you not? The various notes and drafted project plans were proof of that. They were all laid out right in front of him, what more could he possibly want? You look at him briefly, your eyes scanning his expression before darting back to the things scattered atop your desk.
“I’m giving you choices.” You say flatly, slowly looking back up at him.
“No, you’re giving me options and expecting me to choose.” He counters, his hand gesturing towards the papers. “I’m talking about my choice. My plan, suggestion, whatever you want to call it.”
“So what is your plan? Because as far as I’m concerned, you don’t seem to actually have one.” You reply, brows slightly furrowing at his stubbornness.
“And that’s the point. I don’t need a plan,” He pauses, pointing his finger directly onto one of the outlines and it towards you. “I just need to ride it out.”
You let out a scoff, stunned at how Ken was still treating this so lightly. The corners of your lips tug up a bit, and you end up letting out a soft laugh in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Am I, though?” He leans back, maintaining eye contact with you. “It’s the choice that takes the least effort. And besides, I thought you liked it when I kept things private.”
“Oh, don’t circle this back to me.” You say, pointing a finger at him. “Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to address your little mishaps?”
“Yes, I do. Which is why I’m trying to help you.” He says a-matter-of-factly, his eyebrows raising as if to emphasize how much he understands what your job entails.
“No, you don’t.” You argue back, mimicking his crossed arms.
“Were you always this stubborn?” Ken says, catching you off guard.
You feel your features scrunch up in confusion and annoyance, narrowed eyes slanting even more as this back-and-forth of yours keeps going. “You’re one to talk.”
At that he smirks slightly, rolling his eyes as he pokes a tongue into his cheek. The audacity of this man to act annoyed. You think, all the while you continue to glare at him. You close your eyes for the umpteenth time that morning, taking in a deep breath as your nails dig into your palms. Despite wanting to calm yourself down, his words rang in your head like an unwanted mantra.
His choice.
Would it be so bad to give Ken free reign on this? Granted, he was the one who caused it. Why be the one to clean up his mess- again, for that matter? You pinch the bridge of your nose, shaking your head once more. You could never understand how his mind worked, and you figured you probably never would. You tapped against the desk with your pen, bouncing your leg as you pondered on what to do.
Your plan? Everything sets sail smoothly, with only the liability being either party slips up. Which, in your defense, you could cover up in the blink of an eye. His plan? No plotline with room for spontaneous detail sharing whenever he pleased. More work for you, more freedom for him. You stopped tapping then, clicking your pen into place. In your moment of contemplation, you had realized then this entire thing was useless. His plan, your plan, all the plans. None of them mattered, not if the end result was going to be the same.
Goddamnit, you hated Ken Sato.
You flip one of the stapled pieces of paper over, drawing over the blank side. “The start of your first full season with the Giants is in less than fourteen days. By then we would need to have already released another press release- ideally before your conference.”
Ken jumps slightly, caught off guard by your sudden return to work mode. He watches as you line up different keywords with boxy arrows, all of which lead up to the ‘end’ of his lie. “What exactly am I looking at?”
You flash him a smile, albeit a fake one, and slide the paper to him. “Your plan.” Leaning back in your chair, you make a show of stretching your arms. “You’re right, we should go with your plan.”
He laughs then, noting the lingering hints of sarcasm in your tone. “[Y/N], what are you doing?”
“Giving you your choice.” You reply with a small shrug.
“Yeah, I can see that.” He says, his smile slightly faltering. “But… why?”
“It’s your life, isn’t it?” You tilt your head to the side, your lips pressed into a thin line.
Now it’s his turn to be confused and annoyed. The way he understood this, you were letting him win. You were waving a white flag, surrendering to his incessant pleading. He scrunched his brows, still trying to process your words. You continued to sit there, waiting eerily patiently for him to respond.
“And you’re serious about this?” He questions once more, hesitant to believe that you of all people would back down so quickly.
“Mhm,” You hum, fiddling with your thumbs. “I’m just your assistant. Well, for two more weeks, that is.”
He felt like he was being played. He blinked at you, mouth slightly agape. The you that was sitting in front of him now was different from the you thirty-six hours ago. Yesterday, you were desperate for him to follow your plans. He recalled your words, ‘If you're actually as sorry as you say you are, you’ll do as I say.’ But now that you’re telling him to do exactly what he wants, he’s nervous.
Nervous that he finally caused you to hate him for good.
“If you’re done sitting there like I said something stupid, you can go. Coach wants to see the team, it’d be in your best favor not to be on his bad side two weeks before playoffs.” You say, not even looking at him directly.
He clears his throat, licking his lips. “Right, well, okay.” He stands up, sliding himself into his jacket before walking towards the door. “See you, then.”
You only hum in response, still not looking at him as you continue fixing all of the papers on your desk. Just before he’s fully out of your office though, you call out to him.
“Yeah?” He answers immediately, peeking his head through the door.
“Have fun riding it out.” You say, flashing him a smile. A real one, this time.
A WEEK HAD GONE BY JUST LIKE THAT. Surprisingly, Ken had been able to keep things under control. Even his comments to street paparazzis were concise, almost as if you were the one who coached him his lines. While you had expected him to do nothing, just as he suggested, you hadn’t expected him to last this long without an intervention from you.
You sat by your window as your body sunk into your armchair, your eyes threatening to close. The early blue hues of the morning had started to break through the night sky, the clouds slowly parting to clear the sky. You typed vigorously against the keys of your laptop, eyes following the blinking cursor to prevent yourself from falling asleep right then and there.
You had been up for hours constructing your updated résumé, keeping all your needed information concise and in one page. Despite having a well-rounded history in regards to jobs, the lingering fear of keeping yourself afloat was an inevitable burden you were scared of accidentally fulfilling. You had family, yes, but relying on them did something to your pride. Most especially since you had been low-contact ever since you abruptly moved to the city.
Seeking help from friends was another option that was off the table. In all your years of working in the entertainment industry, the amount of people you had let into your life dwindled as you realized people’s true intentions. You had merely three people left in your life, and that was by far more than enough to keep you sane throughout the rest of your life.
You sighed heavily, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. Truth be told, despite the factor of having to deal with Ken, this job has been the best in terms of your benefits. He was much like you- little circle, low-contact. Even his own team was a limited number, leaving you to deal with other jobs and tasks that would otherwise be done by different people. Yes, the workload was tiring, but the pay was enough to keep you alive ten times over. You could only say a silent prayer to whoever was listening to bless you once more once you let go of this for good.
You sat back, finally satisfied with the way your page was laid out. You faced towards your window, closing your eyes as your breathing steadied. The birds were starting to chirp, the sun casting a foggy glow through the clouds. In this moment of solitude, you allowed yourself to relax; it was more than deserved. Not like anything could happen in your sleep, right?
WRONG, SO VERY WRONG. You groaned as you were awakened by the continuous buzzing of your phone. At first you had thought it was an alarm you had accidentally forgotten to shut off, but when it continued on, you eventually had to force yourself to wake up.
The sun was high up now, bright rays peeking through your blinds. You squinted, uncurling yourself from your chair as you got up and stretched. You yawned, scratching your head as you finally unlocked your phone. You were greeted with an endless stream of notifications, your mail app and other social media platforms pinging by the second. There was also the factor of the loud noise outside, though you made it out to be some kind of commotion or parade.
Your screen then flashed the caller ID of an unknown number, followed by another sea of notifications. You blink yourself awake, now slightly worried at just how much texts and emails you had been receiving. Did Ken do something? Did someone die? Did Ken die?
Before you could even open any of the messages, you hear the familiar ringtone of one of your closest friends. You slide to answer, pressing your phone up to your ear. “Ami? What’s up, what’s wrong?”
She laughed, and you could practically see her shaking her head at you. “I’m guessing you just woke up? Check literally any news outlet right now, you’re gonna wanna see this.”
What the hell was going on? You mumbled something in reply, putting her on speaker as you did what she asked.
You wished you hadn’t. In bold, bright red letters, the article’s headline read:
Extra Innings in the Press Box: Ken Sato’s Hidden Romance with Assistant Revealed!
What you saw next nearly had you chucking your phone into the nearest wall. Attached right under the headline was you and Ken. You and Ken. You let out a curse, and you could hear the sighs coming from Ami on the other line. The picture was clearly shot from a hidden vantage point, the branches from the trees blocking the camera proof of it. Despite the distance, though, yours and Ken’s faces were clearly visible.
“What the fuck!” You yell, now fully awake eyes wide in confusion. “When was this released? H-How did-”
“Two hours ago. Apparently some passerby sold the picture to the press, and said passerby just happened to be paparazzi.” Ami cuts you off, her tone serious yet concerned. “Trust me, if I had known something like this was going to be released, I would’ve done something about it.”
You left your phone on the kitchen counter as you paced back and forth, your hand glued to your forehead as you tried to wrap your mind around what was happening. Obviously it wasn’t true, you of all people knew that. But nobody else did, and that was the problem.
“Ami what the hell is happening?” You manage to breathe out, still pacing. “This is all so-”
“Much? Yeah, I know.” She cuts you off again, and you can hear the bustling sounds from her office. “My own publisher is on my neck for this, God only knows what you’re going through. Are you okay? If you need help this could technically be classified as invasion of-”
“I do need help because this whole thing isn’t-” You start, but are ultimately cut off again when you hear the sounds grow louder outside.
“[Y/N]? ‘You there?” Ami’s muffled voice calls out as you walk towards your window, peeking down to where the commotion was coming from.
“Oh shit.” You gasp out, eyes widening even more as you realize the noises were coming from the sea of reporters and photographers waiting outside your townhouse.
You swallowed hard, stepping back from the window with a hand to your mouth. This cannot be happening, this had to be some sick nightmare. Stumbling towards your phone, you mumbled some reply about needing to go before abruptly hanging up the call. Rude, perhaps, but Ami would understand.
In the span of two hours of that damn article being released, eager and greedy gossip outlets had found your address and swarmed your only safe space. You held your phone close to your chest, running up to your room as you tried to catch your breath. You closed your eyes once more, breathing in and out heavily. The more you tried to convince yourself that this wasn’t happening, the more you slowly realized that it actually was.
You opened your phone once more, muting all your socials and other messaging apps. You needed to think, and you needed to act fast. By memory, your fingers automatically scroll for Ken’s legal team. Having gotten him out of falsified defamations multiple times, acting during these types of situations was almost a second habit. But this didn’t involve just him, it involved you. You were a part of this mess, you couldn’t be the one to solve it.
A mantra of curses conjured up in your head, and you delete the previous number you had dialed in. Think, damnit. Think, think, think. You thought to yourself, nervously chewing on your bottom lip as you prayed for a solution to be presented to you. An alternative popped up into your brain then. Albeit that alternative was stupid, but it was something.
You dialed his number, anxiously waiting as it rang.
KEN WAS ON HIS BREAK, SITTING ON THE BENCH AS HE WIPED THE SWEAT OFF HIS FOREHEAD. Playoffs were about to start, and Shimura was working them to the bone to make sure everyone had their head in the game. He let out a deep breath through his nose, arms resting on his knees as tried to calm down after a few laps around the stadium. The rest of his teammates seemed to be reacting obnoxiously over something, though he didn’t have the energy to feign enthusiasm.
One of his teammates teasingly nudged him then, giving him a playful grin. “Your secret’s out, huh? All this time you were with her.”
Ken laughed it off, still oblivious to the fact that nearly all of Japan now knew the face of his supposed girlfriend. He noted the specification in his tone, as if he were referring to a mutual friend of theirs. Which, again, was impossible- nobody but you knew the secret he was hiding. He gave them a nod before returning back to his own space.
He felt his watch buzz against his wrist, and he was all but surprised to see you calling him on your day off. He sat up straight then, grabbing his phone to answer the call. He had to admit, he answered a little too excitedly. Or nervously. He couldn’t differentiate the two, not when it involved you. Ever since the start of this stunt, something in him shifts whenever you or anything related to you gets mentioned. He brushed it off as some sort of familiarity attachment, the weight of your sudden resignation still heavy on his shoulders.
Was he sad to let you go? Maybe, he wasn’t entirely sure. Aside from the fact that he had Mina, you did your job well. You knew the ins and outs of everything he liked and disliked, you kept him organized and on track. Sure, losing you would be another hurdle he would have to get over, but that doesn’t mean he would be… impotent without you. He clears his throat before he finally brings the phone up to his ear.
“Hey-” He starts, but stops when he notices the frantic panic in your voice. “Woah, hey slow down. What happened?”
“You happened.” You reply then, albeit through a shaky breath.
“What?” He questions, brows furrowing in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s exactly as I said. You happened,” You paused, taking in a deep breath. “And now I need your help. Please.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
No one is doing it like Monkey D. Luffy. He’s a god. He’s a wanted criminal. He’s an idiot. He is an impeccable judge of character. He will punch an eight year old in the face. He forgets to mention people who are incredibly important to him. He’s an asexual icon. He has absolutely no marketable skills. He’s a selfish asshole. He has a very strong moral code that he decides entirely in the moment and will never explain to anyone ever.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
synopsis ┊ thrust into the spotlight, ken sato had easily become the next big thing tokyo had seen in decades. alongside his fame came the inevitable string of rumors, of which sprung forth scandals and discrediting information against his image. of course the obvious and most rational solution would be to address them like every other celebrity, but this was ken sato; nothing would ever be rational with him, which is how you wound up with a ring on your finger and the sato name in your papers.
pairing ┊ ken sato x fem-PA!reader, ken sato x fake-wife!reader
warnings ┊ mild cursing, eventual smut, mentions of alcohol, all events in ultraman: rising take place a year after kenji moves back to japan, RUMORS isn’t related to anything that happens in this series
word count ┊ 798
author’s note ┊ YAY i finally wrote it! i really love the fake dating/marriage convenience trope and i’ve been itching to write it with kenji. this is highly inspired by one my favorite books of all time, terms & conditions by lauren asher! if you enjoy fake dating i highly recommend reading it. as mentioned at the top, this is only the prologue! i'll be putting out part one and the series masterlist asap hehe... as always, happy reading!
prev. | next
SOMETIMES YOU WONDERED IF ANYTHING YOU SAID EVER STUCK WITH KEN. For the past year and a half, you had the supposed “dream life” that every assistant yearned for. It confused you, really, as you tried to ponder on what part of your job was envious. Were the late nights drafting NDA breaches so desirable? What about the press statements after altercations, were those résumé worthy? You let out a deep sigh as you watched Ken from the TV in his dressing room, crossing your arms as you sunk deeper into the couch.
He was on a press tour for his latest collaboration, his overconfident persona charming everyone left and right. You had to physically stop yourself from rolling your eyes when he used his signature flair to charm the show’s host. At least he was sticking to the script… for the most part. He wore the product, threw in a few adlibs, and of course, flirted. Be it a talk show host or a random photographer on the street, Ken always found a way to leave people smitten with him- save except you.
It’s not like you were actively trying to hate him, he just made it so easy. At first you thought it was just some awkward phase, like he was just trying to adjust to working with a new team. But then he just kept doing the same things over and over again. A brawl with an opposing team member? Just another Sunday night. A rumor about having a fling with yet another supermodel? Sounds just about right.
“I mean of course I have to thank my team,” Ken’s voice cut through your train of thought. “It was a dream of mine to play for the Giants as a kid, now I actually get to do it.”
Tone it down, asshole. You thought to yourself, noting the sarcasm laced in his words. Of course the general public wouldn’t have caught on, but you had no doubt his coach and the other players would. Then again, he’d been relatively untouchable because of his rank in the sports world. You poked your tongue into your cheek, shaking your head as you sat through the rest of his interview. The clock on the wall counted down the remaining time, the bright red numbers casting a reflection on the screen. Two minutes left, and all he had to do was to keep the act up…
…Until he didn’t. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what was about to happen next.
“Now I don’t want to hold here any longer, but you know I have to ask it,” The host teased, almost like an overexcited child ready to tattle. “Any special someone back home?”
Ken chuckled, just like he usually did when asked the question. “Cheeky question,” He paused and grinned, his eyebrow raised slightly as he shrugged his shoulders. “What if there was?”
“Well, is there?” The host pushed, his tone eager to have the Ken Sato answer such a juicy question. He gestured toward the crowd before he continued. “I mean there are a lot of fans here today who would love to know more…”
“Yeah? And if I said yes, then what?” He replied, his smile growing brighter and his eyes shining.
The crowd cheered even harder, itching to find out the truth. You shared the same sentiments, trying to figure out what the hell Ken was up to now. Did he have a girlfriend? If he did, why didn’t anyone know about it? You stood up straight now, your right hand deathly gripping the remote. What the hell do you have up your sleeve, Kenji Sato? Your inner voice seemed to yell as you waited for him to speak up.
“I mean only time will tell, yeah?” The host replied, leaning back in his seat. “C’mon Ken, it’s not nice to keep secrets.”
Ken mimicked the host’s moves, leaning back into his sofa chair as well. He shrugged his shoulders, licking his lips as he fiddled with his fingers. He bit the inside of his cheek, and though it was brief you caught it. You knew that look; his look of contemplation. Your grip on the remote was still taut as your breathing seemed to quicken the longer he waited. Granted it was only a few seconds, but those seconds felt like hours.
He tilted his head slightly then, his eyes staring directly at the camera. It slowly zoomed closer to focus entirely on him, and he let out a small laugh before he finally replied. His gaze was strong, and it almost felt like he was actually looking at you.
“Yeah, yeah I do.” He finally said, throwing in a lovesick smile for good measure. “And she’s the best damn thing in my life right now.”
What the AP photo story neglected to show was that this garden is in memory of Bassem Abu Rahmah, killed by Israeli forces with a tear gas to the chest in 2009 in Bil’in. The garden was planted and is maintained by Bassem’s mother.
