Tamashithe2nd - Tamashithe2nd

“ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐧 “

𝐩𝐫𝗼𝗺𝐩𝐭: 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝! 𝐧𝐞𝐮𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝗼𝐫𝗺𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝’𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝗺𝐞𝐚𝐧𝗼𝐫 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞

Content warnings: SFW, hurt/comfort, domestic arguments, arranged marriage, dubcon to said marriage, misunderstood feelings, brief mentions of gore??? (description of grievous bodily injury)

" welcome back caller 🪷! connecting your line as we speak! "

" new contact noted! caller 𝚗𝚎𝚞𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎 has been added to your phonebook! - love, 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟 𝑡-19 “

The night was clear, the moon radiant and seemingly beaming down upon the newly weds with a special smile embedded in it's waxing reflection.

It was a stark contrast to your own inner turmoil.

Perhaps you were resentful it was only your genetics that had landed you here. Maybe it was the dangling expectations that loomed overhead. But in all reality, you knew what bothered you. It was not Neuvillette nor was it the marriage. It was how quickly you were tossed to the wolves when "the greater good" became involved.

You had been previously described as invaluable to your family, a proud line of draconic warriors and protectors. Despite this, they seemed to eager to sell you off to Fontaine's Archon in the pursuit of preserving your species. It was utterly dehumanizing.

It wasn't as though you had any warning from your supposed "family" either, no. You and your siblings had been lined up, looked over and then called into a room for closer inspection. The length of your tail, your horns, the potency of your venom, fuck, it felt like they might as well have counted each and every one of the scales that adorned your body.

Not only was it a complete violation in terms of your own physical autonomy, it was a complete violation of your trust in your parents. You believed them to be your advocates, your protectors, and yet they were so eager to let a group of researchers poke and prod at you incessantly for hours on end.

Then, when it was decided you were the most physically and psychologically compatible with your to-be-husband, they were quick to pack you up and ship you off.

There were no warm, heart-felt, teary goodbyes. You were left to mourn your quiet life in the countryside of Fontaine to be sent crash-landing straight into the heart of a court of ruthless nobles by yourself. Sure, your siblings cried for you, but they weren't allowed to witness your departure. You were given a stern handshake from your father, a pair of kisses on each cheek from your mother, and a 'make us proud'.

You knew they were not affectionate people, but would they not shed a tear for their only son being sent to be picked and prodded at by rich snobs that could care less about your circumstances? Were they really so unfeeling they viewed you as some kind of transactional bargaining chip? Did your mother and father hate you so much they could view you as some kind of breeding mare only meant to take the yoke of carrying on your bloodline?

The elegant luxury that was your new bed stared back at you. The clean, pristine white sheets mocked you. The deep blue pillowcases and bedding only further drove a special hatred into your heart, reminded of your captor and the other unfortunate breeder that'd been tasked to settle down with you.

Everything felt unnaturally cold in the capital. There were so many rules and unspoken expectations in the form of social etiquette and manners it brought a familiar whirlpool of despair to your cranium the longer you thought about it.

It was just under a year ago you'd been plucked from your home; a year ago you would've been in a smaller, warmer bed surrounded by your loved ones. You didn't always have a full stomach, but the emptiness in your stomach was filled with the overflowing zest for life in your heart.

Every morning, you would wake up to your younger siblings climbing all over you and your bed. They'd demand you take them somewhere fun today, like you always did. You would brush your little sisters off with a laugh and tell them you were busy. Still, you'd let them drag you off to the bathrooms, where both of your older sisters would already be getting ready to start their house chores.

You'd braid your younger sisters' hair gingerly, pick them up off the stool in front of the mirror, twirl them around and shoo them off to have breakfast so you could get ready to tend to your family fields.

Swapped out with the tender love shared by family was a strict, punishing hand attached to a stricter etiquette instructor that seemed hellbent on breaking you into a perfect little house husband. Of course, your proud nature certainly didn't buckle to their whims, and they instead settled on making sure you wouldn't be an embarrassment.

Speaking of your future husband, you heard his careful steps towards the bed resound from behind you. He stopped just a few paces short of your figure, clearly sensing your disdain for the room and everyone in it.

"Is something the matter?"

Your lips pressed into a tight line, tail laying glumly on the intricately dyed carpet. The room was too large yet too small all at once. You wanted your space, yes, but you wanted to be embraced with that comfortable warmth again.

You wanted nothing more than to go home with one of your sisters tucked into your side and a storybook pushed into your bone-tired hands. You wanted nothing more than for your stomach to growl in the middle of the night with hunger pangs, knowing you went without so your siblings could grow tall and strong.

You wanted to throw up all the food you ate during the reception, erase the memories entirely, and run back to the countryside. You wanted to be free of the piercing stares, the dismissive shakes of the head when you panicked and forgot which fork to use for your salad.

Instead of trying to reason with your new husband, you gave a tired huff and went to sit down on your side of the bed. The plush material gave way to your body as your eyes scanned over your side of the bedroom. There was a small desk in the corner, but besides that it was largely barren.

In comparison, Neuvillette's side of the room seemed a little bit too cramped. You reasoned he was used to having the room to himself, he most likely had to clear all his belongings to one side in preparation for your arrival.

You hated that the transition to married life was easy for him.

He got to move all his stuff to one side, get used to sharing a bed at night, and wear a ring on his finger.

He knew nothing of your suffering.

Yet, curiously he followed after you, though he moved to his own area. The deafening silence caused your ears to ring, but you could care less. Eventually he, too, sighed when he sunk into the welcoming give of the mattress. He laid down quietly, keeping his distance.

"Goodnight, Husband."

The next morning, you were gone before the sun rose. Despite Neuvillette himself being an early riser, you seemed to have put him to shame with just how eager you were to leave your shared bedroom. He learned later that you busied yourself with the inner workings of the social sector.

It would be helpful to you, at the very least, to get used to socializing in a much more formal setting than you were likely used to. Still, he worried for you and how you would hold against the societal pressure that came with being married to the seemingly untouchable Iudex.

Despite your hatred for the socialites and the nobles of the court, the day you spent out quickly earned you a reputation as a "Cute Countryman", focused on chivalry and being as respectful as possible. It was laughable, really. Had they taken a moment to really think about it, they would've realized you were being respectful because you had no interest in learning about them on any kind of deeper level. Your eldest sister would've said they missed the forest for the trees.

You did find, however, a handful of nobles that were less than concerned with their public appearances. Specifically, her name was Navia, and you were happy to accompany her and the Spina de Rosula in their endeavors. In fact, this was what you busied yourself with most of the time. In the process, your name largely became synonymous with the organization and their influence throughout Poisson.

It wasn't much, you realized. But, the constant younger feminine presence brought a comfort to the gaping wounds in your heart. Spending much of your time with Navia started a few rumors throughout the Court, but they were quickly dismissed when a few prying eyes discovered you had plenty of sisters in your previous life.

About a month after your wedding, the matters of the Spina de Rosula managed to keep you late into the night and into the early hours of the morning.

As you returned home, you lamented the heavy downpour soaking your equally heavy suit and the extra cold that racked through your reptilian body. The moment you'd stepped through the doors of the Palais Mermonia, you were inundated with attendants pawing at your jacket to strip it off of you. You were quickly offered a towel, your belongings were whisked away from you, and in this little whirlwind, you were pushed towards the residential wing.

Despite having lived in the Court of Fontaine for just over a year, you would never become accustomed to the feeling of others in your personal space. It felt just as invasive as when the men in their fancy jackets came and measured you and your older sisters up and down, left, right, sideways and horizontal.

You stalked through the long hallway down to your marital chambers. You made a quick stop in your closet, changing out of your soaked street clothing and into something more palatable. The soft hug of the silk pajamas was comforting, but off putting in a way. It was as though you were a formerly feral cat now being domesticated. You hated the idea of surrendering yourself to the comforts of luxury, surrendering your dignity to become a loving little house husband. You would be provided for, more than comfortable, but that wouldn't stop you from longing for the outdoors.

You dried your hair off with the towel the staff at the door had provided you with, being extra careful to not be too rough with the horns. You tilted your head side to side to get the remaining rainwater out of your ears before stepping through the door that connected your dressing chambers with your sleeping chambers.

The room was quiet, and yet the lamplights had remained switched on. Soft snores were emanating from the man on his side of the bed, but he was still sitting up, propped on the headboard with more documents strewn across his lap.

You realized bitterly that he'd tried to wait up for you, ensure your safe arrival home. You hated the soft fondness that coursed through your bloodstream. You hated it just as much as you hated your inability to harbor any ill will towards Neuvillette.

The man had been nothing short of a gentleman to you the moment you walked down the aisle. The short kiss at the altar had been sweet, to the point, and he let you control it's duration. He let you take his hand and lead him back down the aisle and to the reception venue. He hadn't fussed in the face of your silence when the two of you got home, he hadn't complained that you never made yourself available to his various invitations for lunch.

You should've been appreciative of his attempts to make you comfortable, but you couldn't bring yourself to. If anything, you wanted him to be some selfish, evil, brutish older man that took advantage of you just like all the others. You wanted, desperately, for a reason to hate him like you hated all that declared themselves followers of Focalors.

But you simply couldn't.

Your pride wouldn't allow you to love him as your husband, but it also prevented you from hating him without reason.

In the end, he was a victim of this marriage as much as you were. He had not been the one to make these arrangements, he hadn't been the one to order those men into your home or the one that deemed you the most compatible with himself. He could've been sleeping beside another who returned his affections in full, someone who could love him unabashedly. Perhaps your older sisters would've been more skilled in navigating their inner turmoil. But you were not your kind, intelligent, and endlessly patient older sisters.

You had been a farmer, you had been an older brother, but just as quickly as you learned to love those titles they'd been stripped away from you in the span of mere hours.

You were a husband now, a noble.

You let your hatred for those titles consume you, but only for a moment. You wanted to throw your towel at him harshly to wake him up, to yell and scream at him for hurting you, but you knew you had no right. The very second you took a moment to gaze upon his unconscious serenity, you felt your resolve crack and shatter again.

So, instead you took to carefully plucking each paper off of his lap carefully, commandeering his quill from his dominant hand and gently laying them out for him on his desk. The amount of domesticity that coursed through made you feel indignant and pathetic, but for all the care he showed you, you could put your pride aside to do this one small thing for him.

You did your best to lay out the papers in the order you'd remembered them sprawled out on the bedspread. Afterwards, you very gently positioned him to rest and turned out the lights.

Despite the man laying asleep next to you and the ache of fatigue taking over your mind, you seemed to be unable to quiet the various conflicts taking place in the recesses of your consciousness.

If you continued to stay beside Neuvillette, how long would it be until you folded?

"Is he in the gardens?"

Neuvillette carefully adjusted his cravat, violet eyes gazing off into the expanse of greenery behind the Palais Mermonia. As of late, you had been avoiding him in his entirety.

Even on nights you didn't happen to be busy, you would be out and about. He'd grown tired of trying to wait up for you to return home. However, Fontaine was enjoying an extra long rainy season.

Formerly, you would be the one waiting for him to return home. You would be in bed, book in your lap, head beginning to droop. The two of you would exchange pleasantries while he would ready himself for bed. Every single night, you would wait for him to be tucked into bed before you would allow yourself to lay down. It had been endearing, cute even.

He knew it would difficult for you to settle into life married to him. He wanted to give you ample time and space to get used to it, but each and every day there was an ache in his heart when you continued to ignore him, refuse to acknowledge him.

He would fall asleep before you got home and then you would be gone early in the morning. Despite his hurt, he worried for your sleep schedule. Surely, your energy was suffering and you were most likely fatigued throughout the day. As your husband, one of his many duties was to ensure your health and happiness.

He was tired, in all honesty. He didn't care if you continued to be cold to him, as long as you would actually be there. The two of you might not have had the most conventional romance, but Neuvillette still found himself craving some kind of acknowledgement. You didn't need to love him, to be nice to him even, as long as you would be there for him again.

"His grace is currently enjoying tea at the pavilion, would you like this servant to announce your presence?"

The Iudex raised his hand dismissively, "There's no need for that. Please, allow us some alone time."

With a curt bow and a pivot of the foot, the attendant was heading back inside the residential wing of the Palais. This left you and the hydro dragon sovereign alone in the gardens.

Carefully, quietly, he paced towards the far end of the property towards the pavilion. His hands balled into clammy fists by his side. Normally, he was calm and reserved, and yet you managed to knock him off of his usually steady feet. He did his best to relax, flexing and unflexing his fingers.

Soon enough, he was greeted with the back of your lovely figure. Long elk-line horns reaching towards the sky, draconic tail brushed to the side to squeeze underneath an armrest so it could come to rest on the concrete behind your plush seat. It swept back and forth as you took in the scenery.

Even though his steps were nearly silent, the barely audible 'swish, swish' of your tail came to a halt. Before he could speak, there was a small clink of the highest quality porcelain money could buy meeting porcelain. You threw a negligible glance over your shoulder.

Even in what was your act of defiance against him, he couldn't help but allow his breath to catch in his throat at the sight of your countenance. Your eyes met with the same familiar silver violet hue, a small huff passing your nostrils before you turned your attention back to the array of pastries and the half-empty kettle of tea.

He tried to speak, but found his throat unbearably dry. Quickly, he cleared it, trying to formulate some kind of greeting in his mind. His mouth opened and shut a few times before he managed to stammer out, "Would you care if I joined you?"

He experimentally stepped in closer, hands coming to rest on the back of your chair. He took in the annoying twitch of your tail smacking against his shin, feeling his heart sink when he watched you stand from your chair. "There's no need. If you wish to enjoy time in the gardens, I won't bother you."

"Ah, but I see you haven't yet finished your own time in the pavilion." He pushed tentatively, gloved hands tensing on the wooden frame of where you'd been perched previously. Your tail carefully untangled itself from the arm of the chair. He noted your expression, examining it thoughtfully.

"If you wish to take my spot, I don't see a need, frankly." You crossed your arms across your chest, completely abandoning the pleasant shine of the sun on your skin and the half-eaten sweets on your plate.

His pressed into a line, considering his words carefully. Clouds began to circle overhead, blotting out the sweet radiance of Celestia in all of their haste. "Perhaps I wanted to share some time with you in the sun, would that be too much to ask?"

He'd meant it genuinely, but as soon as your lips turned downward into a frown, he knew he'd chosen his words wrong. "I am not your plaything, Monsieur. If you'll excuse me, I have much more pressing matters to attend to."

You went to turn on your heel, walk back into your shared home, but he interrupted you, "Wait-"

Your eyes shut indignantly, you took a deep breath through your nose before letting it out in the sound of a sigh. You turned back towards him, "What is it?"

You could sense the remorse brewing in his tone. You also took note of the light drizzle beginning to settle in the garden. There went your plan to sunbathe from the comfort of your small study instead. "I hadn't meant to offend you or insinuate that you were some commodity to me, if I did so please allow me to extend my sincerest apologies."

You hated that your own pity circled in the pits of your stomach. You still had no reason to hate him, no reason to deny him your affections, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to let him in either. You hated him, you hated him and all of his sweetness. You hated him and the feeling of trust you'd built for him in your heart.

"No, Monsieur Neuvillette. You simply bore me." The moment the words tumbled from your lips, you automatically regretted it. However, you couldn't stop yourself from pressing him further. "You come home from work and expect me to be happy to see a tired, haggard shell of a proud sovereign. You allow humans to string you along and work for them when they could care less if you and your sorry little "cute countryman" of a husband dropped dead so long as another Iudex would take your place."

You turned again on your foot, each fat drop of water falling from the sky burning into your skin as you went to retreat from him entirely.

"You are pathetic, as such I don't wish to see you or spend time with you. In the future, do not seek me out."

About a year into your avoidance of him and this sad excuse of a marriage, Neuvillette was awoken in the night by a strangled scream.

Before he could process it was you who made the sound, he was overwhelmed with the noise of pitiful crying and the sensation of wetness pushed against the crook of his neck. He could tell you were doing your best not to shatter his eardrums with loud cries, your chest shaking with each heaving breath you took.

In your desperation, he realized, you'd thrown off your covers, shot up like a rocket and you were clinging onto him like he'd vanish if you'd taken your hands off of him for a mere second. One of your arms secured him snuggly into your chest by the waist, the other combing through beautifully silvery locks.

Groggily, he called out your name, stirring from his deep slumber. His arm rested on the one you'd draped around his abdomen, face flushing a pleasant pink from the sudden intimacy of your actions. "What on earth has you so frightened at such an ungodly hour?"

You didn't answer him, instead opting to press your nose further into his neck. Effectively hiding your face, you babbled nonsense noises into his skin, never full words or sentences, cut off syllables and hushed sobs. You hands raked across his scalp like a madman.

Despite the clear fear in each and every one of your incessant affection, Neuvillette couldn't help the soft purr that resounded from the back of his throat. He squirmed in your grasp, moving so his back wasn't pressed up against your chest, but instead the two of you lay face to face.

His own hands reached up to your scalp, sleepily toying with a few loose strands that stuck up around your rather large antler-like horns. In this position, he could properly see the harsh rise and fall of your chest, hyperventilating at some vision he hadn't been privy to. "What makes you so afraid, my dear?"

Usually, you would've scowled at his use of a petname, but instead, when he reached from your hair to your face to stroke some of your tears off your cheek you leaned into his hand. The tears fell faster from your eyes as your hand wrapped around his wrist like a vice. Your actions begged him to keep his hand there, to use his comforting touch to get rid of the horrible things that plagued your mind.

He could feel your sorrow begin to translate into his own tragedy, his heart cracking at the sight of someone usually so reserved and filled with hate turn into nothing more than a tall child. A tall child that clung unto him like a frightened baby would its mother. His sharp features softened as a light drizzle began to knock at the windows of the Palais Mermonia.

It was a few more minutes of quietly holding one another before you could finally clear your breath enough to speak, "N-Neuvillette," you cried, painfully tugging at his heart strings, "Forgive me, please, forgive me-" You cut yourself off as another sob racked your being.

He stayed silent for a moment, his fingers interlacing with your own shaky hands. "What are you talking about?"

You shook your head, knocking your forehead against his rather unceremoniously. "I-I have truly been so awful to you- so utterly horrible to the one person who has done nothing but love me and patiently wait for me." You pressed a devastatingly hungry kiss to his cheek.

"You've done no such thing," he reassured, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. His ears lit up an embarrassingly dark red hue. Still, it seemed his words were no help to the wounds upon your aching heart.

"I don't care, if I must- If I must, I'll use the rest of my pitiful life to make it up to you, I don't ever want you to have a day that goes by where you don't know how much I appreciate you-" You sniffled against the skin of his cheek. "You deserved so much better than my hateful words and avoidance. The only thing I haven't done to you is lay my hands on you. Archons, I could never even begin to think-"

He called your name again, soft against your face, his teasingly airy laugh cut through the frigid air of the bedroom, "What horrors must you have seen to have changed your mind this quickly?"

Your face flustered a pink of your own, "Don't laugh at me! This is serious!" Even through the obvious annoyance in your throat, a certain sadness plucked at Neuvillette's heart in accordance with the quaking tremble in your tone.

He apologized to you with a soft kiss on the cheek, tentatively pushing the boundaries that had previously been established in your relationship. To his own surprise, you let out a content hum and settled against his figure again. "I apologize, but you must understand me."

You nodded, nuzzling a hand further into his palm, removing your grip from his wrist to wrap around his waist again. Despite the appeasement radiating from your body language, your voice was still huffy in it's response, "Of course, I understand you." You tugged him ever closer to yourself, scooting around to rest your head against his chest.

The sound of his heartbeat acting an impromptu lullaby as your eyes glided shut. His thumb caressed your cheek with an unspoken softness as he stared down at the tear tracks staining your beautiful features. Still, even in your sadness, your clear adoration of the man in your grasp shone through.

It was enough to make the the steadfast Iudex begin to crumble, suddenly taken with just how intimate the moment was between a formerly touch repulsed man and his longing husband.

You were curled up, just about wrapped around him like a blanket. You clouded every one of his senses, he could tell that he clouded a majority of your own in turn. What terrible thing did you see that caused your hatred for him to wilt like an aged rose? To bloom again as a newfound love and devotion to him?

He wondered to himself if he would ever find out.

But for now, he could enjoy the quiet and nervous, but also bold and blind reach for his affections.

The rain quieted to a stop outside of the window, the clouds beginning to sail across the soft winds. He twirled a lock of your hair around his finger, relishing the further slump of your body against his own.

You practically melted into him, your tail coming up to ghost around his shin. The small hairs on the end of it tickled just the slightest bit, prompting a loving smile to adorn his features. Against the crown of your head, he pressed his lips again. Then again as you finally wrapped your extra appendage around his leg.

It might not have meant much to Neuvillette, the lowering of your defenses in such a vulnerable display of your inner workings. But, his quiet comfort and understanding meant the world to you.

And so, before you allowed yourself to drift back to sleep, you promised to cherish him properly this time around.

There was a quiet rap on his door before your horns peeked from behind it, followed shortly by your face.

Yes, the night before had been nice, you had been through something rough, but he hadn't exactly expected the changes to be instantaneous. You had harbored a deep seated hatred for him for so long, it seemed as though you were a new person the next morning when he woke up to you still curled up around him.

He'd dismissed that as something unimportant, most likely the result of terrible sleep. Not to mention, your sleep schedule had always been much worse off than his own. Keeping this in mind, he snaked his way out of bed and gave you a kiss on the forehead before he made his way to your shared closet.

He pulled on his expensive suit, and, as usual, he skipped breakfast in the residential suite to get straight to work. He would have breakfast brought in later. Imagine his surprise when you were the one to turn up at his door, still in your pajamas, breakfast in hand.

You had the small cart loaded to the brim with his favorites, things he hadn't known you'd noticed. There was a kettle of tea and two cups perched on top of the precarious tower of breakfast luxuries. He found comfort in the fact you looked well-rested and eager.

"What are you doing here?"

You yawned, arching your back upward to get a good stretch in. It was apparent you'd just barely woken up before suddenly deciding to treat him. "Is it really so strange for me to bring you breakfast?"

He hummed, contemplatively, "I suppose it wouldn't be in any other circumstances, but I didn't know you were aware of my office's location. You certainly haven't visited me before."

You waved off his concern with your hand dismissively, yawning into your palm again. You pushed the cart towards his desk, towering over him from behind as you laid one of the two porcelain cups on the table. You poured him a cup before you retreated to seat yourself in a chair in front of his desk. "Even if I don't visit, it isn't strange that I know the layout of my own home."

He nodded again, letting the scent of tea waft up his nose. He noted your much more casual demeanor when you poured your own glass. You settled on grabbing a pastry from the bottom of the stack, allowing yourself to eat casually around him. Usually, when the two of you were forced to share a meal at some kind of event or other, you were prim and proper to the point of being mechanical.

It was rare to see you so... relaxed.

The sun shining on your face from behind him, hair still tousled, pajamas loosely hanging onto your figure, and crumbs all over your face. It brought a special warmth to the pit of his stomach, even more so when his hand reached out for your face to gently dab away the remains of your snack from your lips.

Instead of insisting on doing it yourself, you pressed yourself into his awaiting hand and simply let him do as he pleased. He couldn't help the fond smile that stretched across his cheeks. Lowering his hand back to the table, he allowed himself to take in the sight of you, half-awake and eager to spend time with him.

Soon enough, the moment was over when you yawned again and stood up from your chair. You gestured towards the cart, "Your breakfast is served, I'll be back soon enough after I get changed."

His eyebrows raised, "You'll be back?"

You nodded, not really all that shocked at his surprise. "I've occupied much of my time with the workings of the Spina de Rosula, but I haven't a clue what happens in this office of yours. Surely, as your husband it's one of my duties to make sure you aren't overworking yourself."

His brows furrowed again, conflicted. He was happy to be in your company after so long alone, but he didn't know if he was the one dreaming now. Would this dream transition to a nightmare when you went back to the way you were before? Even with the sun beaming down on his back, he wondered whether or not the feeling was genuine the longer he stared at you.

Would he have to wake up and be greeted with the cold reality of your absence from the bed once again?

"I..." he closed his mouth, resting his quill against the table. "Are you sure you want to bore yourself with the paperwork? I'm sure there are more interesting things you can do with your day."

You huffed, "What could be more important than your health? Even if I'm not home when you get into bed, our attendants still notice when you come home later. Starting today, it will stop." You put your hands on your hips, scanning his written archives of cases. "Now, as much as I love lounging in my sleepwear, your place of work isn't exactly appropriate for that."

He didn't respond, more so trying to decipher this blooming dread at the pit of his stomach. He had finally gotten just an ounce of attention from you, but he still feared the worst. When you realized your nightmare was just a silly little vision conjured up by your imagination, would you continue to ignore him?

Should he bother trying to enjoy this time? To get attached again? Would he be able to bear it if you were to sever the tie with more hurtful words and venom that dripped from your lips like honey?

Just as you went to walk away from him and towards the door to his office, he called your name. He hadn't really thought through what he wanted to say, but he did, however, know he wanted to say something. As you turned to look at him, alert but confused all the same, he considered dismissing you entirely.

But there was this gnawing feeling in his gut that he desperately need to solve if he wanted to be able to focus on his work.

"You say that there is nothing more important to you than my health, but in the same vein, you worry me with such sudden changes. Please, when you return, can we discuss what happened last night before anything goes further?"

'I'd seen lifetimes ahead of us Neuvillette, lifetimes you could hardly imagine. I saw our beginning and I saw our end.'

"Neuvillette?" you called out blindly into the dark. The door to your bedroom was just slightly ajar, it allowed an eerie sliver of light to trail out into the large corridor of the residential wing. In your many years of marriage to the Iudex, he hadn't waiting up for you since the first year the two of you had been wed.

After all, he knew better.

Was this some kind of special occasion? You could only speculate as the many discrepancies in your routine began to swirl through your mind. There was nobody that had come to greet you at the door, nobody to take your belongings off your or rip your jacket off. There was nobody to usher you towards your shared bedroom.

Despite your lack of real status within Fontainian society, nobody would've dared to insult the Iudex's spouse so.

Had Neuvillette asked for them all to be cleared out for some kind of special dinner where it would be just the two of you in the home? That didn't make any sense either. Neither of you celebrated your birthdays, you didn't celebrate an anniversary, you often left on holidays. So what exactly was happening?

You called out again, your voice trembling, "Neuvillette, this isn't funny. What are you up to?"

Something was terribly wrong, you realized. Terribly, terribly wrong. You summoned your blade quietly at your side as you approached the door that was just barely open.

You regretted that you hadn't come home sooner.

The formerly blue and turquoise carpet had turned to an ugly shade of brown, some parts so saturated in crimson you could no longer see the patterns you often traced with your eyes when you were bored and home alone.

You froze, unable to really process what could be happening.

The first thought in your mind was that Neuvillette had murdered someone and expected you to be out long enough he could clean the mess.

But who would Neuvillette murder? He had no reason to dirty his hands when a man of his status had so many connections.

And so, you realized what had actually happened when your eyes trailed to source of the pooling liquid.

A blood-curdling scream ripped itself from your throat as you rushed forwards at the sight of your spouse all but decapitated on the floor. His beautiful, beautiful neck has been sliced so cleanly it was obvious to tell which side of the blade had been sharpened for combat. You reached desperately for him, despite knowing he was likely gone.

You pulled his limp body into your lap, your jaw agape as you struggled to comprehend what you were seeing. You used one hand to keep his head on his neck, the other holding his blood-stained face in a gentle caress.

Even in his death, he was lovely. The peace in his colorless eyes was telling as he succumbed to eternal rest. You were upset, yet you felt you had no right to be. The man had pined after you for decades and you couldn't so much as muster the ability to spend an anniversary with him, to come home an lay next to him in bed a reasonable hour.

You had never been there for him to wake up to, you had never been the one to take care of him when he was ill or weak. You had never responded to his desperate invitations for lunch nor had you ever spared a glance at his attempts to be romantic. You set the bouquets he sent to your study in a vase and you let them die when you couldn't be bothered to water or care for them.

Why was it you were so devestated?

You swore to yourself you would never love him, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to part from his body. Perhaps, if you held him together for long enough, he would revive and you would be able to nag him like you always did when he didn't take proper care of himself.

Behind the both of you, a tall man loomed. His silhouette was intimidating, but you couldn't be bothered to care when you were faced with the devastation of loss that shattered your heart. You only really cared to pay him any attention when he stepped in closer to the both of you.

"Don't you dare come any closer."

You snarled at him, clutching Neuvillette's corpse closer to your heart. You refused to look at him, but the intensity in your tone cause him to pause for just a moment.

It didn't last long, seeing as mere seconds later he continued to close in like a predator would prey. A mocking laugh slipped past his lips as he looked down upon the sorry scene. "Will you stop me? You already failed to protect your husband once."

You pressed a soft kiss to Neuvillette's forehead before you stood up on shaky legs to face his murderer. You were met with only one of his eyes before you pointed your blade at him. There was a black mask draped over the side of his face, painted in an electric blue that matched the iris you could see.

"I may have been unable to protect him, but that doesn't mean I am unable to protect what he sought to protect." Your blade made contact with his chest, daring you to make the move to kill him.

"What I am here to retrieve is none of your concern, perhaps you would be happier if it were in my care than that of Focalors." He wrapped his fingers around the point of your sword. "After all, she is the one that forced you into this predicament."

You made a quick move to jab the blade into his chest, watching the shock wash over his face, before he promptly raised his own blade. You pulled your weapon out of him, watching the blood pour from the wound before it miraculously closed up once again.

"What was once Neuvillette's duty is now my duty to protect in his absence, you will not leave with his gnosis, harbinger."

"I see."

Neuvillette held your hands in his own across his desk, rubbing the back of your hands with his gloved thumbs. You let the small action comfort you, letting out a soft sigh.

There was a small smile on your face as you continued on with your little story, "I'm proud to say that the two of us ended in a stalemate. I was much worse for wear, but ultimately, someone managed to scare the harbinger off. I later succumbed to injuries, but for a short moment, I felt as though I could die peacefully knowing I fulfilled the duty you could not."

Your husband hummed in response. "Is this why you are so insistent on making sure I know I am loved?"

You nodded quickly in response, "Precisely. In that moment, the moment I realized you were gone without so much as a farewell, it was only then I truly came to terms with how I felt about you." You gave his hands a light squeeze, "It was only when I was too late did I realize I would be able to love you without guilt."

The Iudex cleared his throat, trying to hide the pinkening of his cheeks with his fist. "I understand, but I fear that your visions of the future have answered the questions of our relationship, but raised more about the potential future of Fontaine. Eventually, someone will come to retrieve the gnosis, but now that you've chosen to change the course of history, will that also mean the future will also change?"

You pursed your lips carefully, "I don't know, Neuvillette. I fear I can't answer those questions myself. I only know what I did, what I saw, and what happened in that specific scenario."

He paused again, letting his fingertips fall back into your embrace, "This is... indeed troubling."

You shook your head, "The only thing I can promise you is that I will be by your side throughout it all. I'm afraid for if the time arises when I will once again be unable to protect you." You swallowed some spit down your throat, "To see you in such a state is a sight I will not forget for the rest of my life, nor will I forget it in every single lifetime that follows. I wouldn't be able to live with myself should something like that happen to you again."

He could see the vulnerable tears well up in your eyes once again, likely being confronted with the image of his headless body, cold in your arms. The rain that tickled the glass of his study picked up as he reached towards your face.

His fingertips cradled your jaw sweetly, his blank expression distorting into one of anguish. "Please don't cry, beloved, it only hurts the both of us."

You took his free hand in both of yours, squeezing it insistently. "You must promise me in this life, if nothing else, that you will live. You may not remember the years we spent together, but I do. Each and every memory between the two of us from my past life is one I will cherish forever, but I want to make new ones with you."

The rain on the window slowly began to dissipate as an awkward smile graced his features. "You can't expect me to be used to hearing you say these kinds of things, my dear. I hardly ever hear your voice and suddenly you're pouring your heart out to me. At least give me a moment to recover."

You wiped your own brewing tears away from your eyes, letting out a chuckle at his words. "Never."

He let out his own airy chortle. "And why wouldn't that be?"

You kissed the palm that rested on your cheek softly, tenderly. You let yourself bathe in the sight of a flustered Iudex as you smiled at him, truly and genuinely again. "I've held my tongue for far too long already, I can't stand to let my precious husband go on forever not knowing that he is the one I will treasure forever."

He tugged at his collar playfully, "I didn't take you to be a charmer."

Your smile widened, allowing your teeth to be put on full display, "Like I've told you time and time again, I must make up for lost time."

Neuvillette smiled back, though it was more dim, "What if I am not the same Neuvillette you remember?"

You shook your head, "Nonsense, don't think such strange things. If you aren't the same Neuvillette, I will simply have to fall in love with you all over again."

Quick as a whip, you stood from your seat across from him at his desk, looming over his chair as you leaned down and playfully pepper kisses on the exposed area of his neck just above his shirt collar.

He gave a hearty laugh, holding your face off of his neck after just a few short seconds, "Easy now, you've only just told me that you're willing to offer me your heart, aren't you being a little too forward?"

You smiled against his hands, pressing another kiss to his temple. "Do you not like it?"

He did his best to feign annoyance, but he wasn't fooling anyone, "That isn't what I said."

"Then must you be so suspicious of me? Let me shower my lover with kisses!"

He called your name, reprimanding you gently, "I thought you were supposed to be helping me with my work, Monsieur."

You sighed, "And now, you're the one being formal with me. Is my love not a good way to destress from your endless papers?"

Neuvillette was overwhelmed, but it was a good kind of overwhelmed. The kind that made his insides warm and fuzzy, the kind that made his face burn a bright red.

He squirmed under the pure adoration and determination in your eyes, but he chose to allow himself to succumb to your whims. "I suppose you're right."

With a triumphant smirk, the moment his hands loosened from the sides of your face, your lips were upon his exposed face in moments. Peppering each ridge and valley with the tender caress of your lips. You positively drank in his boisterous laughter.

You hadn't been able to give him the love he deserved before, but you were certain you would not fail in this lifetime.

You told him that no matter how much he changed from your previous incarnation, you would fall in love with him. The only thing left was for you to get him to fall in love with you.

Not only in this life, but every life time that would follow it.

there's a note on the side of the phone booth, read it?

" thank you francis forever by mitski we all say in unison "

THIS IS A REPOSTED WORK FROM MY ORIGINAL ACCOUNT BEFORE IT CRAPPED AND DIED ON ME

I USED TO BE FOUND AT @steadybear

I FEAR YOU WILL HAVE TO DEAL WITH SEEING @bigtedbear INSTEAD FROM NOW ON

gem i found on twitter

I can't imagine how scared he was when he first met Ruka after escaping

Y'know, there are panels in Kaiser's backstory where books are shown:

So, does it means that he taught himself how to read and write? Or someone else helped him? Like, it was indirectly hinted that he did know people—those thieves if you know what I mean—so maybe someone else taught him?

And after he bought the soccer ball, there's what seems to be a soccer magazine at the corner of one panel:

No point in having it if you can't read it, y'know.

I mean, the books weren't that necessary in any of the above panels, but at the same time maybe they are just there for the sake of detailing?

However, don't you think that it's rather a more than minor plot hole that Kaiser is literate? Yes, yes, I understand that this isn't something important to a manga like Blue Lock, but it just.. feels odd to me. I mean, someone with a background like him is expected to be unable to read and write—you getting me?

But oh well, many major details were skipped during the early Blue Lock days, so maybe this is just one of those things too.

slow days at gutiokipanja

Wrio the slay calling reading clingy so reader sleeps on couch …😊 thx

x : DISTANCE :*+ﾟ

in which: you overhear wriothesley calling your affection too much, so you respect his wishes and give him some space. yet, why does he not seem like it?

warnings: 5.6k words (why did it get so long), hurt/comfort, gn!reader and wriothesley are married, pet names, no spoilers but set in canon, misunderstandings and miscommunication af, slowburn??, you might tug your hair out at some parts lol sorry, fluff with angst but happy ending, it gets emotional.

a/n: okay this was definitely not my favourite piece, i was experimenting with writing styles and writing in an omnipresent pov... so sorry if it feels clunky at some bits. overall, i'm pretty happy! also sorry for not sticking to the original prompt

Perhaps today was a bad time, you think as you leave the Fortress of Meropide, anxiety churning in your stomach and doubt weighing on your mind. Despite Fontaine’s sunrays shining brightly upon you, you feel anything but warm.  

What started as a visit to your husband with kind, wholesome intentions of delivering some lunch to him on your day off ended with a visit that left you riddled with questions. Coming at a time when he was in a meeting nearing its end, you didn’t even get the chance to speak to him, yet his words rattled around your head, replaying like a broken disc. 

“How are you and your spouse?” A rich voice echoes from his office, door slightly ajar signifying that whatever discussion was happening within was coming to an end.

“Y/n and I? We’re amazing, thank you,” Wriothesley answers. “I’m always happiest whenever I’m with Y/n.” 

The company, who you have realised is Monsieur Neuvillette, responds. “That’s good to hear.”

“Although, Y/n has been quite… affectionate recently, to the point that it’s borderlining too much-”

The conversation is drowned out by a ring of an alarm on Wriothesley’s desk and the atmosphere from his office suddenly grows in tension. The voice of the two men turn from relaxed to alarmed in a matter of seconds, and that is when you decide it is probably time to take your leave, lest you intrude on whatever emergency has happened.

Dropping the lunch you brought for Wriothesley at reception, even the receptionist was confused by how quick your visit was since they typically lasted for an hour- even longer since Wriothesley likes to push the amount of time he gets with you. They don’t question it, though, merely nodding in understanding when you tell them to drop it off for him on your behalf.

Has Wriothesley always thought of your affection as too much? If it was overwhelming him, why didn’t he tell you? And why Neuvillette, the Chief Justice of Fontaine, of all people? You understood the nature of their relationship- how they both tend to confine in each other with whatever they are troubled by, but why couldn’t your husband come to you about this directly? You made an oath on your wedding day to be fully honest with each other and to never hide anything. Where did that promise go?

Arriving home with a heavy heart, you immediately flop onto the couch, arm covering your eyes as tears sting the corners of your eyes. Perhaps it’s time you lessen your displays of physical affection before you drive the love of your life away.

Wriothesley, looking down at the contents of your boxed lunch, feels his heart warm in his chest at your display of care. How fortunate he is to have someone like you, he thinks before eating, satisfying his hungry stomach that has been aching for food since half an hour ago. He wonders why you didn’t see him personally and dropped it off instead, he would have liked to eat with you beside him.  

Whatever the reason, he’ll make sure to drop by your favourite bakery to purchase some conch madeleines as a thank you. 

When he returns home later in the evening, you’re asleep on the couch, curled up with only a book on your chest to protect you from the chilly air seeping into the house. Wriothesley quickly lays his coat over you, bookmarking the page you were at before retreating to change into more relaxing clothes. You still have not roused when he returns and as much as it pains him to disturb you, he doesn’t want you napping too late lest it disturbs your sleep schedule.

“Y/n?” He gently shakes you. Slowly, you come to wakefulness, eyes fluttering open as you gaze up at your husband.

“Wriothesley? You’re home?” You murmur, rubbing your eyes whilst slowly sitting up. “What time is it?”

“Nearing six in the evening.”

“Oh my! I didn’t mean to sleep that long! I’ll go get dinner ready, you should rest, you must have had a long day-”

Silencing you with a warm kiss to your forehead, you don’t melt into it like you usually would, his words from earlier slamming back into you like a brick. He doesn’t notice the way you tense, merely brushing your hair away from your forehead.

“Don’t worry about dinner, I’ll cook,” Wriothesley offers, grabbing something he left on the table behind him. “Have some madeleines I bought for you whilst you wait.”

He places a bag of the baked goods in your hands and you smile at him, lips chapped and eyes still drowsy, yet Wriothesley thinks you’re the most beautiful being to ever exist. 

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.” The dark-haired leaves you with another kiss to your temple before turning around to go into the kitchen. However, you stop him with a tug on his wrist which you drop almost immediately when he turns around, acting as if his skin was an open flame that licked you. 

“Darling, you have a sticker on your arm.” You reach up to grab the piece of adhesive, ripping it off him in one smooth motion. 

“Those melusines,” he murmurs, rolling his eyes with a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. For how much Wriothesley scolds them, he cannot bring himself to actually get mad at them, letting the little creatures play pranks instead of reprimanding them. 

“I’m surprised they keep getting by you. Maybe you need to sharpen your instincts.”

“Quiet, you,” there’s no bite to his words.

“They put a little crab on you,” you giggle. “Must be going through an ocean-themed sticker book. You had a little shell on you yesterday.”

“I did? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I find it funny.” 

He sits down beside you, dinner momentarily forgotten. “Do you now?” The dark-haired murmurs. “Turns out my own spouse is against me also.”

“If it brings me amusement, why not let the melusines play their pranks a little longer?”

“You are an awful influence,” Wriothesley winds his arms around your torso, pushing you down into the pillows of the couch. There, you almost sink into him, lured by the warmth of his embrace, but the memory of what you overheard sinks into your gut like an icicle, and your smile fades.

You pat his shoulders in surrender. “Shouldn’t you be working on dinner, dear? It’s already quite late.” You pray he doesn’t notice the way you have suddenly altered the mood, drying the playful atmosphere.

If he does notice, he doesn’t comment on it, getting up with a groan before retreating into the kitchen. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

There’s a whistle from the doorway to your bedroom, low and appreciative, and the culprit is no one other than Wriothesley. He walks towards you, draping himself over your figure sat in front of the mirror. “Where are you going tonight?”

“Clorinde and I are going to dinner together,” you tell him nonchalantly, as if all of his weight wasn’t on your shoulders right now. 

He pouts. “When will you be home?”

“Not too late, that’s for sure. We’re meeting at the other side of the Court of Fontaine, though.”

“An evening without my love, whatever shall I do?”

“You’ll live,” you smile before raising a necklace up to him. “Help me put this on?”

With a huff, he raises himself off your back and gently takes the jewellery from your hands, careful with the jewels that adorn it. His cold touch grazes against your exposed skin, sending shivers down your spine as he successfully clasps it together. When you meet his gaze in the mirror, it’s full of adoration and admiration, and you have to busy yourself with your hair lest it flusters you too much. 

Standing up, you swiftly walk out of the bedroom and towards the front door. Wriothesley trails behind you without much thought. “I’ll get going now before I’m too late.”

“Do you need me to accompany you there?” 

“It’s alright, thank you for offering.” Disappointment floods him like an ocean as he watches you put on your shoes. With one final fidget of your clothes, you deem yourself presentable and turn to him. “See you tonight, darling-”

“-Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?” Your eyes widen in alarm as you begin frantically patting yourself down. “I brought my wallet, keys? They’re here, what am I forgetting?”

Wriothesley pretends like your cluelessness doesn’t hurt more than it actually does. He taps his cheek. “A kiss.”

“Oh, of course. How could I be so careless?” you laugh, the corners of your eyes scrunching with delight. Wriothesley has a remark resting on the tip of his tongue but it quickly dies when you step forward, anchoring your hand on his chin before you press a kiss to his cheek; to both cheeks for good measure. 

“Love you,” you murmur when parting. 

The desire to keep you home is a burning one, and pleads of ‘stay’ threaten to spill from his mouth. There is nothing more he wants than to be in your arms, to cling to you until the weekend is over in the blink of an eye, but you are your own person, and no matter how needy he is, Wriothesley should not stand in the way of your fun. 

“I love you more,” he sighs, holding open the front door for you. “Be back soon.”

“I’ll try. Bye dear!” You blow him a kiss before walking out of your garden.  

He watches you leave with a heart heavy with longing, closing the front door once you’re out of sight and tries to sigh the feeling of emptiness away. 

Later that night, Wriothesley greets you the second he hears the front door being unlocked, urgent strides allowing him to turn the corner just as you open the door, looking as pristine as you did when you left. There’s a small, tired smile on your face, but you look happy, blissful expression brightening when you see him. 

“Hello, love,” you say, slipping your shoes off.

“Welcome back,” he says, embracing you with one, muscular arm whilst pulling you in for a kiss. Your hands unusually fly up to hold his shoulders and Wriothesley thinks he’s imagining the way you push him slightly, as if trying to get him out of your personal space. Yet your grasp on him was so tight, creating temporary divots in his skin that he doesn’t really know what you’re trying to do.

Why are you trying to push him away in the first place? The thought of you not wanting him near is upsetting enough to make him unknowingly tighten his grip around you, causing you to stumble into him from the momentum. 

You look up at him, shocked whilst he gazes down at you with a storm of terror gathering in his eyes. For the first time since the two of you got married all those years ago, a rift forms.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Whatever occurred that night isn’t a topic of conversation, ever. The two of you retreated to bed after a quick conversation of how your evenings were before devolving into other topics, like what the week ahead had in store, restaurants you two should visit sometime, new boutiques and bakeries you’ve been hoping to explore- little chats that hold more meaning as the days roll by.

During it all, there was an undeniable heaviness to the conversation that made it slightly uncomfortable. Wriothesley cannot remove the memory of how you tried to push him away and you cannot forget the shocked look in his eyes. The more you picture it, the guiltier you feel, heart sinking in your chest.

You thought that it was what Wriothesley wanted: more space from you, an opportunity to breathe without you overwhelming his space.

So why do you feel so bad about respecting his wishes?

“What a lovely view!” You exclaim excitedly, running toward a patch on the grass that sits a few metres away from a nearby beach, the sound of waves meeting shore a soothing lullaby and a testament to how calm the day is. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you’re out on a picnic with the love of your life.

“Here’s a nice spot to set up, what do you think, Wriothesley?” You ask.

“Sounds amazing, darling,” he responds, setting down the picnic basket when you’ve laid out the blanket. You sit down with an unglamorous huff, leaning back onto your hands to let the morning sun soak into your features.

Morning picnics were one of yours and Wriothesley’s favourite date ideas. The best time to be together was before the sun would rise to its highest peak, bearing hot sunrays that make everything uncomfortable for everyone. Fontaine’s sun is never merciful either, which is why the nation is perfect for diving and all other water-related activities, but when you are simply walking around, it becomes rather suffocating.

The Fortress of Meropide’s administrator takes a seat beside you and you indulge by resting your head on his shoulder, hoping that he isn’t uncomfortable under your touch. The dark-haired hasn’t shaken you off yet, so you keep resting against him.

“How did you discover this place?” You ask.

“Siora told me of it, said that a passenger on the aquabus was talking to her about it. She thought that it sounded like a delightful place to take you to,” he answers and you can’t help but smile, fiddling with your fingers.

Melusines and their wholesome ways. You’ll find a way to thank Siora later. “How kind of her and how fortunate for us.”

“I take it you like it here then?”

“I love it,” you tuck your legs closer to your chest and Wriothesley leans back on his arms as well, letting your hands rest beside each other as the sea continues to crash on the shore before you. There are seals resting nearby too, ships pass by here and there, and seagulls stop near the two of you before flying away, but the only thing that matters to Wriothesley is you leaning on his shoulder.

Sharing with him the breakfast sandwiches you packed, no words are exchanged, merely the sound of waves crashing against the shore occupy the tranquil silence. It’s not until a few minutes later that Wriothesley speaks. 

“Will you be visiting me at the office today?” He asks.

You tear your gaze away from the horizon. “Perhaps. Do you want me to?”

“Would I really be asking if I didn’t?”

“Please, forego the sass, your grace,” you snort and he rolls his eyes, an affectionate smile pulling on his lips. 

“Seriously though, I would like you to. You know how dreary and boring weekends at the prison get, would be much better having you there.”

“Are you trying to butter me up?”

“Is it working?” 

“Maybe,” you mutter, grinning. “Would you like me to bring lunch with me or shall we go find a place to eat?”

“How about takeout? Hey wait, now that I think about it, why didn’t you stay the other day when you brought lunch for me? I would have much rather seen your pretty face than the receptionist’s.”

You ignore the butterflies blooming in your stomach because of his compliment. “An emergency happened just as I reached there. I didn’t want to be caught in the middle of it, so I left.”

Confusion shines in his eyes, his expression giving away the cogwork ticking in his brain as he tries to pinpoint what emergency you could be referring to. When the pieces click, his eyes widen a little. “I see. You did the right thing, my love,” he presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“I’ll visit you today,” you whisper, toying with the hem of your clothes as you wait for his response. 

“Amazing. I’m looking forward to it, then”

You stay true to your word, walking down the path you recognise like the back of your hand. The guards need not think twice about welcoming you in, guiding you straight in the direction of Wriothesley’s office. 

Since being with him, you’ve grown less and less afraid of how daunting the Fortress can feel, adapting to the chill knowing that there is someone in there who will set himself ablaze to keep you warm. Yet, today you walk in with apprehension clasped around your ankles, threatening to pull you under with each step. 

It’s ridiculous, you know Wriothesley would never turn you away or shun you, but the mind is the worst enemy and yours can’t stop replaying the conversation you overheard weeks ago. You know Wriothesley could open those heavy doors of his and greet you with something more grim than loving and cast you aside, and you have to hold your breath when the guards knock on your behalf.

Your heart skips a beat when they push open the doors, revealing your husband crouched over his desk, hands mussed in his hair to keep them out of his eyes. He looks up at you and the way a smile manifests on his features is akin to that of fire melting ice, fatigue dissipating as you step inside his office.  

“Hello, dear,” you greet, tone soft and controlled, unlike the thrashing of your gut.

“Hi,” he stands up and takes great strides towards you. Naturally, you open your arms for him; unnaturally, you merely hug him instead of greeting him with a kiss. Wriothesley keeps you locked in his arms as he digs his nose into your neck and you feel the way his eyes flutter close against your skin.

“Long day?”

“Draining too,” he murmurs. 

“Oh dear, we cannot have your grace tired, whatever shall we do!” You gasp overdramatically, clearly poking fun at him because you are perhaps one of the only people who could do so in this entire building. 

The dark-haired accepts it and doesn’t bother to correct your use of formalities. Instead, he retracts his head out of your neck to look at you with hopeful eyes instead. “You could give me a kiss.” 

“Did you do anything today to earn it?”

“I need to earn my kisses now?”

“You should shut up sometimes,” you murmur before placing your hands along his jaw, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. He smiles against you, biting back a quip when his hand comes to the base of your neck, holding you against him. You can tell he needed the proximity, judging by his little exhale and the way his shoulders slouch, so you let him take his time and ignore the nagging in your heart.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Wriothesley is losing his mind. He has been since you left the Fortress of Meropide, and was left to freeze in the ache of your lack of affection. A goodbye kiss is customary between you two and when you didn’t give him one before leaving, it felt like a slap to the face. He would have much rather you just slapped him, actually, so what gives? 

You’re not rejecting his advances, but you’re not explicitly initiating anything either. Does that mean he should back off, too? Did he do something to upset you, and if so, when? All this thinking and speculating is making him feel like a pathetic headless chicken who can’t even talk to his spouse-

“-Wait!” You exclaim, just as he was about to grab the knob to the front entrance and step out. Instead, Wriothesley turns around to be greeted by the sigh of you frantically scrambling to him, and his heart can’t help but come alive, silencing his thoughts.

Stopping to a slide before him, he can’t hold back a soft grin. Despite just wrangling out of the claws of sleep, you’re so breathtaking, delicate in the mornings when no one else is around but him. The dark-haired is grateful that only he is able to witness you like this, that you trust him with this vulnerable side of you.

You don’t meet his gaze, eyes pinned to his chest instead. “Your tie is crooked,” you murmur hands reaching out before he even gets a chance to look down. “Let me help you.”

How can he deny such a kind request of yours? You’re gentle with him, undoing his knot and weaving it together until it looks proper, but Wriothesley couldn’t care what his tie looks like. You could be making a total fool of him and he wouldn’t care, too entranced by your glow to tear his eyes away from you. There’s a little scrunch in your forehead as you concentrate, mouth slightly parted and you’re not oblivious to his gaze either, too familiar with the intensity of it to get shy. 

Finally satisfied with your work, you let go, patting his shoulders and smoothing out any wrinkles in his garment. “There. All done.” 

“Thank you, dear,” he murmurs. 

Wriothesley is expecting a kiss from you, waits for the moment that you’ll rise onto your toes and place a peck on his lips to fill him with some energy for the day. He waits for the familiar feeling of your lips pressing against his, and waits for the rush of adrenaline that your touch always manages to ignite.

Except it never comes, and it hurts most to confess that some part of him preempted this. You step away from him without another word, or kiss, and his heart burns at your retraction, unease fluttering the lining of his stomach when you turn around to retreat into the living room. Wriothesley moves without thinking, a hand coming up to your waist to stop your steps as he forcefully pulls you back to him, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, one far more intense than the ones you usually give this early in the morning. 

You notice the desperation that bleeds from him; a certain fervour uncharacteristic in situations of morning domesticity. 

There’s a bright glimmer of surprise in your eyes when he pulls away, as if he had kissed away all your fatigue and shocked wakefulness into you. 

“Have a good day at work,” you murmur, barely able to choke the words out. 

“I will,” he replies, opening the door. You stay and watch him go, still trying to recover your breath over his passionate display of affection. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day his racing thoughts get to him is the eighth day of this strange treatment of yours. At this point, he’s become insatiable, barely able to hold it together as you remain in the centre of his world. He wants your affection again, he wants your displays of love, he wants you near him so badly that it’s driving him up the walls of the Fortress. 

It’s irrational for him, a grown man, to skirt around his problems as if he was a teenager. For some reason, Wriothesley has no issue locking up and containing some of Fontaine’s most dangerous criminals, yet when it comes to you, he becomes a lovesick fool who craves everything his partner can give. 

You still are not initiating any displays of affection, keeping to yourself unless it is him acting first. 

But after being locked in his own study for hours, unable to distract himself from you when he was really meant to be reading some new court documents from Neuvillette, he snaps. Pushing his chair out with more force than necessary, he searches for you in the living room, where you are curled up in the corner, reading.

“Is everything alright?” Wriothesley’s interruption shocks you, and you jolt your head up to meet his gaze. 

You are met with the sight of him leaned against the wall, muscular arms crossed over his chest. “Why wouldn’t they be?” You ask, not letting your gaze linger for too long on his arms before sitting up just a little straighter.

“Dunno. Just double checking.”

“Okay,” you hum softly, nodding. “Are you alright?”

“Me?” How could you switch this up on him so quickly?

“Yeah.”

“Fine, amazing, just dandy.” 

You raise an eyebrow at your husband, not truly believing him but you decide it’s best not to press on. “Alright… but if anything is wrong, don’t be afraid to tell me.” You go back to your book and your hair falls perfectly in front of your face to hide it from him.

Wriothesley shifts his weight from one leg to the other, trying to find the words to speak up and ask why you were acting so weird. It’d been two hours and twenty-four minutes (and counting) since you last saw him when he disappeared into his study, were you not concerned for him in the slightest? Sure you dropped off a plate of fruit and refilled his teapot with hot water, but normally your check-ins would be a little more frequent, and a little more encouraging than just a morale boost through food. 

Where was the cheek kiss you always gave him before you left?

Deciding not to press on any further, your husband sighs before leaving, his arms and heart feeling emptier than usual. You are only in the next room, but why do you feel like you’re on the other side of Teyvat?

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day Wriothesley snaps is the day Sigewinne asks him to be nicer to the guards of the Fortress because his foul mood is darkening the already glum prison. His subordinates must have sent her knowing that he couldn’t possibly lash out at her, and they were right, but she really didn’t need to comment on the way his veins have been more prominent recently, or how creases are forming on his forehead from how hard he’s been scowling. To top it off, she said that he should delay the appearance of wrinkles for as long as necessary, because there’s a good chance they’ll come earlier than he wants.

He’s not even a day over thirty, and yet, he is being reprimanded for ‘ageing’. But he knows the problem, and he’ll be damned if he lets it drag out for another day. 

“Welcome home, baby-” your greeting is cut off unceremoniously by your husband, who practically drags you into his embrace, closing you in with no space for you to breathe or move. Your cries of alarm are muffled against his chest, and he easily picks you up before striding the path to your shared bedroom. There, he all but throws you onto the bed, your neck resting on the pillows as he climbs on after you. “Wriothesley?”

He shushes you.

“What-”

“-I need this,” he wraps around you like a vine and breathes you in with the fervour of a man starved. 

When you try to shuffle away from under him, or at the very least sit up, Wriothesley groans, borderlining a growl as he tightens his arms around your middle. You don’t question or disobey his wants, merely sinking your head into the pillows in understanding that he must have had a particularly rough day. 

So instead of repelling his touch, you give in and let a hand snake up to his hair, playing with it as you let Wriothesley lay atop you. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders melts away, and the way you’re scratching his scalp is enticing him to rest, except there is a barrier keeping him from reaching a haven of dreams and he won’t rest peacefully until he’s broken through it.

“Why have you been so distant lately?” He garbles, voice a lot shakier from the usual stoic Wriothesley that you are used to.

You heard him loud and clear, but a pathetic ‘pardon?’ slips past your lips.

“I said, why have you been so distant lately?” This time, he’s firm, determination seeping into his tone as a hand of his sneaks out from underneath you to search for your hand. After patting around, he finds it and holds it gently, raising it to press a long kiss to your knuckles. 

It’s silent. You don’t have anything to say in response and it’s past the grace period where you can give an excuse and make it sound like the truth, and Wriothesley looks up at you with expectant eyes. There’s hurt in them but as much as you’d like to mend the heartbroken expression of his, admitting the truth is difficult, because it has eaten you alive, gnawing at your heart for days on end. 

“I…I don’t have it in me to tell you,” you murmur quietly, looking away and slipping your hand out of his, but Wriothesley is tired of this dance of yours and chases after your touch, this time roughly grasping your wrists. Not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you rooted. 

“I didn’t do anything, did I?” He asks, raising your hand to his cheek. 

Your voice is quiet when you confess. “If I said you didn’t, I’d be lying.” 

The dark-haired stiffens. “What?” 

“Nothing,” you cough.

“No, Y/n, be honest with me here.”

“You’re going to laugh at me, or find me ridiculous.” Wriothesley’s heart clenches at your admittance, frowning at the fractures of insecurity piercing you like glass, but most of all, he hates that he can’t stop you from feeling this way. “I thought what I did was what you wanted.”  

“Which was?” 

“Some distance, just- not me crowding your personal space all the time.”

“Why would I ever want that?”

“I can get overbearing sometimes, and I don’t know, just assumed that would annoy you.”

“You’re not telling me everything, I can tell something happened to make you feel this way. Please, darling, just tell me the truth. I promise you I won’t judge or think differently of you.” 

You sigh. “I… I overheard you and Monsieur Neuvillette the other day- when I dropped off lunch. You said that my affection was sometimes too much, and that I was making you uncomfortable, so I thought that you wouldn’t want me to be around you anymore. I didn’t want to drive you away so I, y’know…”

Confusion fills him stomach like water and it takes a few moments before it hits him, the memory coming back to him. You heard his conversation out of context- he wasn’t complaining about you, no, quite the opposite, but it just seems that you weren’t there for the parts that mattered most, and now you can’t even bear to look him in the eye. 

“Honey, please look at me,” his voice thins into a vulnerable whisper that pleads for you to glance his way so you can see how he is head over heels in love with you. 

When your gaze finally meets his, he almost cracks under the weight of your sadness, and it dawns upon him that you can’t feel the adoration he holds for you, dripping from his heart into your hands. You can’t see the mountains he’d overcome just to end the day resting in your arms. You don’t know the extent he would go just to win your love.

It’s a fact that kicks at his knees, shuns him down and bruises his heart. If the Fortress of Meropide has taught him anything, it’s that there is no point holding your feelings back from living fully. There is no point to contain the human heart that has every desire to live with others, he has seen the sorrow of prisoners saying goodbye to loved ones, and how they dwell over words they should have said. Even his own time as a prisoner taught him so, because everytime he sat behind those bars, the faces of people he should have been more open to kept him awake at night. 

Wriothesley would rather drown in primordial water than see you, the most important person in his life, hurting over his own negligence. You have been feeling half-loved because of him and he doesn’t know how he can make it up to you.

“You misunderstand. I wasn’t talking about you negatively, I was talking to Neuvillette about how loved you made me feel that way, and how grateful I am to have someone like you as my partner,” he confesses earnestly, eyes pleading for you to believe him.

You blink at him, comprehending his words carefully. “Really?” You ask.

“I would never think otherwise,” he whispers.

As if a weight was lifted from your shoulders, a smile pulls at your lips and suddenly, a laugh spills from them, causing your expression to scrunch up with joy, looking the most lively Wriothesley has seen you in a while. He laughs with you too, just a little. 

“I’m sorry,” you confess through dying fits of laughter. “I shouldn’t have assumed like that, how stupid.”

He shakes his head, “you have nothing to apologise for, you’re not at fault. But I beg you, never hide things like this from me again and tell me whenever something bothers you.”

You nod, “I will.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

“Never ever think that I want to be away from you,” Wriothesley grumbles, hiding himself in the crook of your neck. “That was the worst week of my life.” 

“Sorry for putting you through all that.”

“Stop apologising.” He demands. “Just, no more secrets.” 

“I love you, Wriothesley.” 

He sighs shakily, relief tangible in his tone. “I love you more.”

A damp patch forms on your collar bone right where his tears would fall, and you place a kiss on his forehead for each drop you feel on your skin. There is still much to discuss, much to mend between the two of you, but his hands run along your skin like he’s trying to memorise and mark you, so you never doubt his devotion again. 

*sighs and puts hands on hips* i don't really like that ending either so don't judge lol

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