cw/tags: Very subtle mentions of scars and reader has stretch marks on her thighs. Oral sex (fem receiving) Neuv has a long dragon tongue, a bit of nipping/marking
notes: Hello hello I live... sometimes lol I bring another lil Neuvillette-centric short thing. I had this one on my head for a while and lemme tell you I got kinda emotional.... I love this man so much gcvdsvcgsjdvjsdv
Who would have guessed the pristine Iudex of Fontaine has scars?
Not that anyone would even have the chance to see them thanks to his opulent attire, but judging from his graceful personality and his line of work, it would be unthinkable to see the Chief Justice engage in a physical confrontation.
And yet here he is.
Neuvillette’s body is a work of art in itself, one that has you yearning, craving…
To run your fingers along his long hair. To cup his face and kiss him softly all over, loving fleeting kisses like a crystalfly’s touch. To feel the lean muscle on his arms, abdomen and back (it was somehow funny in an ironic way that he actually has a swimmer’s build. You giggle to yourself thinking who in Fontaine would have guessed. But oh, if only they knew…)
You hum contently as you lean forward on your knees and drape your body all over him, hugging him from behind. Your chest pressed to his back, his hair swept over to the side so it’s just skin on skin, warm and soft. You nuzzle at his shoulder and nip there, he shivers.
“I love you, did you know that?” You murmur.
A rare smile graces his lips as he turns over his shoulder to you, eyes filled with adoration. “I love you too.” He croons, leaning a bit in an attempt to rub against you like an affectionate cat.
Moments like these, of lazy soft mornings where the light filters through the curtains of his townhouse, are so rare and precious.
Basking on each other’s presence, enjoying each other’s warmth, cuddling in bed together and dozing off again or going for another round after your last night activities, unhurried and unworried. Whispering sweet nothings and talking in low hushes, as if the moment is so fragile and private it could pop like a bubble.
You sigh contentedly, resting your chin at his shoulder and running your hands along his arm, your fingers reaching his and lacing together.
Something catches your attention.
“Oh? What is this?” Your finger traces a silvery line along the inside of his forearm, long and faded almost all the way from his wrist to his elbow.
“Hm, that was…” His eyebrows flicker into a calculating frown, thinking, trying to reminisce. “I believe it was an altercation with one of the sea creatures-”
Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “They would attack you?”
“My memory is a little vague, I was… juvenile and unruly back then, and it’ll be only natural for any creature to attack if they feel threatened, even the most docile ones. I believe I disturbed a cherubic sea hare’s nest.”
It’s hard to imagine Neuvillette as ‘juvenile and unruly’ and the thought of a young curious dragon sticking his nose where he does not belong makes you chuckle.
Your hands continue to rub along his shoulders and then down his sides, you remember seeing another scar before, thinking it was the only one. A short one along his ribs, your thumb brushes at it gently “I know this one... do you have any others?”
“I believe I don’t. But you are more than welcome to investigate.” He gives you a little knowing smile. “And you, chérie?”
You blink at him, caught off-guard by the question “Mm?”
He takes that as invitation enough. Turning to you, he dedicates the same exploratory attention to your body as you did his, tracing your arms, cupping your breasts, kneading your muscles. Then his hands slip lower, steady and warm.
“What about these?” His hands brush gently along your upper thighs, tracing the stretch marks there, a mess of light and dark lines on your skin, messy and a little rough to the touch. Your breath hitches.
“T-those are…”
Ugly? Embarrassing? Hideous?
“…beautiful.” He murmurs and your eyes widen.
You stutter “W-what?”
“Like sunlight filtering through the water, ripples of light in the ocean floor” He explains “Glowing, peaceful, alive…”
You’re invaded with a feeling so strong it knocks the air out of you and your heart skips a beat. The way Neuvillette talks, there is no judgement or disgust in his words, only love. The purest deepest love. His thumb brushes along the marks, so reverent, honest in his appraisal and adoration, and your eyes water.
“I-I never thought of them like that…” You mumble and let out a little sniffle, tears springing to your eyes.
“Why do you cry, love?” He looks up at you. Sharp violet eyes studying your expression.
You let out a choked little laugh. Why? How do you explain you love him so much that your heart aches? How do you tell him that he lights up your world and makes every moment together feel perfect? How do you convey these raw feelings of joy and yearning that burn inside you?
“Just a little overwhelmed by feelings” You reply, rubbing away the tears. He dips down, his hair falling along and tickling your legs, and kisses the marks on your thigh. “N-Neuvi, please…” You don’t know what want. You want everything. You want him. The ache in your chest and the sting in your eyes is too much and not enough, all at once…
Your fingers bury themselves in white silken locks as Neuvillette continues to map your skin with his lips. Heat pools in your stomach, a pressure building between your legs the more he lavishes you and the closer he gets to that one spot.
You’re already wet when he nips at the skin of your inner thigh.
“A-ah!” You whimper, back arching. You’ve already fooled around this morning, but now you body was ready for more.
Neuvillette’s tongue swipes along your folds, teasing your clit and making you jolt. He alternates between flicking at your core, and nipping and kissing at your groin and hips. Little gasps come from your parted lips, and goosebumps bloom all over your skin. He spreads your thighs, feasting on your juices and your fingers grip at his hair, whimpering.
His long draconic tongue breaches inside and you cry out.
“Neuv- Neuvillette…!” You sob and squirm at the stimulation, the dragon devours you with fervor, purring contently between your legs, fucking you with his tongue. His hands hold your hips with a little more force, though his thumb gently caresses your stretch marks.
You feel yourself clenching around him, your body hot, breath coming in rasping gasps and the pleasure builds and builds, the familiar tightness of an impending orgasm.
“I-I’m… ‘m gonna… oh fuck!” You cry out high pitched as you come, spilling into his eager mouth, coating his chin and making the hydro dragon grunt.
You shake through the aftershocks, overstimulating making your toes curl and nerves buzz. Neuvillette always likes to pull as much pleasure from you and this time it’s not different.
Even as you tug at his hair, he continues to lap at your folds and coaxing out your juices.
“N-Neuvi!” You gasp, back arching “I-I can’t! Please!”
Yet your lover doesn’t let up, instead his lips close around your swollen clit and suck, pushing you straight into a sudden second orgasm. You sob through the pleasure, mind blank, eyes rolled back, muscles heavy and loose like jelly.
Only then, when you succumb to his ministrations and he’s had his fill, does he let up.
“Si belle.” He rumbles, kissing the dip of your hip. “Si précieuse.” Kisses your inner thigh. “Si parfaite.”
You stare at him with half-lidded eyes, the pleasure sizzling to a gentle simmer. Your hands shakily pet through his hair, careful with his horns, and when he shifts to sit, you feel the length of his hard cock rub against your leg. A reminder of how you make him all worked up, insatiable.
You open your legs invitingly and he gladly follows through. The dragon crawls up your body, nipping and kissing as much skin as he can. His tongue slides over your nipple, tastes the sweat collected on your collarbone. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck as he lines up and buries himself inside you slowly, pulling a sigh from you.
“Look at me, chérie.” He asks, voice raspy and breathless
You comply, he cups your face and strokes your cheek lovingly, clearing the wetness from tears there. He kisses you, lips moving at the same slow tempo he sets for your lovemaking. Each thrust making you feel every inch of his cock, the thickness of him, how deep he reaches inside, so full.
Spent and tender after two orgasms, you moan quietly as Neuvillette takes his pleasure. Your body arches and jolts, legs clinging to his hips. It still feels good, electric sparks running along your veins as he picks up the pace. The kiss broken just so he can nibble at your neck, instincts guiding him to claim more intensely until finally he groans, long and low in relief as you feel his cock twitch and paint your insides.
“I love you more than words can say” You murmur, kissing the tip of his point ear as he rests his forehead on your shoulder, catching his breath. “Scars and all” You chuckle.
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The rain pours down in cold sheets all around you, but you remain impervious to it. A blessing, or a curse, of being a saltborn creature. The elements never affected you the way they did regular humans, or other people. Nevertheless, visibility remains poor, so you shield your eyes as you make your way down to the Cradle Lighthouse, where you first started your journey.
The walk through Skyspear Climb is long and arduous, and you know that this detour is a fool’s errand. Time was monotonic, and the chorus grew louder and louder. But something about the old man’s plea compelled you honour his wish. A whole day passed, filled with nothing but walking. The island was mostly devoid of trainers now. The infection had taken over every human being. Only Suit and his players were left. And even then you were not sure if the players were just mere conjectures to satisfy Suit’s needs. Red was gone, killed by your own hands. And that just left the old man.
You kept walking and walking, your mind consumed by thoughts. And before long, you arrive at the pier. He was there, looking over the sea. You place yourself beside him and join him in his silent survey. The sea looked… angry. Despite the cold rain, you feel a strange kind of heat emanating from it. Seamother…
After a few moments of standing in silence, the man spoke.
“I was created for a purpose, same as you were, same as any Wanderer is. And I took that burden willingly, same as you did, when I rose from the shallows.”
You are silent, waiting for him to continue. His gaze over the sea seemed to grow longer.
“I shed that burden willingly, when I met my daughter, Kara.”
“I do not know by which method or madness she was never infected. I knew that she wasn’t a Wanderer. And yet, she was safe.
For a time we looked after each other. At first, it was difficult, living with a human. They have needs and wants that are simply not in their control. Food, for instance. I learnt how to fish so that I could satisfy my daughter’s hungers. It wasn’t perfect, but we survived. But such a survival was meaningless. I knew that. And I knew my Kara knew that too. But I never expected her to confront the matter in the way she chose to do.”
He paused, closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“One day, she told me she’d made up her mind. She would challenge the Champion. I refused, of course. But she was not one to be shackled. My anecdotes could only strengthen her resolve, instead of breaking it.” He let out a short laugh. “In that regard, she was more of a Wanderer than I was.”
“We fought; I told her she couldn’t do it. And she set out to prove me wrong. It has been ages since we last spoke.
He turned to face you. You turn your gaze upwards to meet his eyes. They’re filled with a strange sort of resignation.
“I don’t know if she has forgiven me, and I don’t know if she can. As a father, I had only one purpose: to prepare my daughter for what’s to come. I like to think I have succeeded in that regard. But that purpose is at its end.
And as a Wanderer, I gave up my role when I chose to shoulder the responsibility of raising Kara.”
“…You’ve fought Red, haven’t you?”
You are surprised, you clutch your bag protectively, where the Azure Flute rested.
He chuckled. “I met Red a long time ago. When he too, was like you. Full of energy and vigour, and a wish to see the champion gone. But then he found out about the truth of the Island’s woes. And his spirit broke. When I last saw him. He said that he was going to wait out the rest of the island’s days with Arceus. But he’s gone now… and you have the flute with you.”
“I’ve told you my stories. That’s my offering to you, as a fellow Wanderer. As a father, I only ask you to exercise caution. The monster will not be easily defeated. But my time is over as well. I have one last request.”
In that moment, when he caught his breath, you realise what he’s about to ask of you. And you decide right there that this was one wish of his that you couldn’t-wouldn’t honour.
“No,” you say, your voice hoarse from disuse.
The old man looked resigned. “I understand. What I’m asking is not easily done. But…”
“No,” you say again, more forcefully this time. “This has gone on for long enough. I will not kill another. The only one that deserves to go,” your voice rises, and with it the finality of your statement falls upon the both of you with a hammer. “Is the monster.”
For the first time since you’ve met him, the old man seemed truly surprised. “I… knew you had a fire in you, a willingness to overcome all odds no matter what, but this…” he trailed off.
“Red’s death will not be in vain. My journey is nearing its end. And after, we’ll go, together to search for Kara. I promise you this.” You speak with so much conviction, you wonder if you’re trying to convince yourself of your words.
The old man turned his gaze towards the sea. “Very well, then. I will wait for you here. Now go. Time is running out. I wish you farewell at the Journey’s End.”
You catch a final glimpse of his figure, tiny against the sea, as you’re swept up into the clouds by the Memory of Flight.
Title: This is a Story About Mothers
& throat linings torn out with the knife of a spade
you spit out blood & you
swallow it all down. everything left unsaid.
this is a story about mothers
but forget the daughters & / everything
is about daughters.
i love you, i do everything
for you / fuck you
damn you to hell & damn me.
reach into the mirror & pull
your mother out, won’t you be a dear.
let you kiss my pride,
teeth snagging on the scab.
oh daughter, you can drive away but
i’ll always be with you /
& the snake eats its tail.
forget the daughters,
this is a story about mothers.
A collection of dust and feathers, blood and half degraded flesh. In the feathers, two stand out. Mismatched shades of orange than the rest,
The feeling of gritty dust and blood is wet and sticky under her face. The pain in her gut is blinding, but blinking away the spots, she can see a dust-covered figure advancing toward her friend. She tries to say his name, tries to reach out to him, tries to do anything, but all that comes out of her mouth is a weak whisper of his name. She can do nothing but watch as the figure cuts her friend down, can only watch as his body falls to the ground and begins to join the choking dust in the air.
A tear snakes its way down her face, clearing a thin path through the grime on her cheek.
The figure turns around, and even through the blurriness and spots in her vision she can see his manic grin. He slowly advances towards her, twirling his dust and blood covered knife. Her hand trembles, still outstretched toward her friend's decaying corpse.
No.
She won't go down quietly or easily.
She owes that much to her friends.
Her hand curls into a fist as he gets closer. She slams it into the dirt, rocks and coarse dirt biting at her knuckles, bloodying them even further. She pushes her battered body to its knees, then to its feet. She grasps her sword, the blade gleaming like a thousand stars, and she rises to her full height. She knows she won't last long. It's a downright miracle she hasn't succumbed to her injuries yet.
The twisted man in front of her just smiles, but she can see a hint of wariness in his eyes. She can see several slashes in his shirt from where she attacked him earlier, and a faint feeling of smugness blooms in her chest at the sight.
He's not infallible.
He can be killed.
But in her heart, she knows that she won't be the one to do so. She's on her last dregs of health with no help in sight, lost in a maze beneath the surface, face to face with a relentless killer.
But that doesn't mean she won't try.
With a scream filled with anguish and rage, she points her sword at the man, calling upon the ancient spirits she knows linger out of sight around her. They burst into action, flames licking across their spectral bodies as they dive at the man. She doesn't waste another moment, lunging forward and slashing across his chest in quick succession. They slice through bone with a satisfying cracking sound, and she allows the smallest of grins to grace her face as the man shouts in pain and staggers back against the onslaught of attacks.
He stops moving backwards as the spirits finally dissipate, red and blue eyes in dark sockets glaring into her very soul, face twisted into a snarl. He lunges, knife ready to carve her to pieces, and she faintly registers a sharp pain in her shoulder, then her body hitting the ground.
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