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jqnehr · 2 months

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les améthystes du ciel | neuvillette — part 16

two individuals under pressure to marry. one has the hydro archon on his back, and the other has her matchmaking friend pushing her along. when the two meet at a ball, and both in dire need of peace from two meddlesome females, what better arrangement is there than their own betrothal?

pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader warnings : uh, haha, SUGGESTIVE, some angst (you're overthinking again), this is sfw. word count : 8.4k (enjoy your food everyone <3) note : pls don't hate me too much for this one y'all

! not proof read

! do not copy, redistribute, translate, or use my work with or without credit in any way. thank you.

part fifteen⋮ masterlist ⋮ part seventeen

ao3 ⋮ playlist

...

Labelling the enthusiasm you presently feel for tonight as ‘excitement’ would be an understatement. More aptly, you’d say you’re buzzing with anticipation, and slight apprehension. It could be an ineffable mixture of all four—but, either way, you cannot wait.

Dressed in an elegant, flattering casual evening dress, you give yourself one final once-over in the floor-length mirror in your room, heart thumping in nervousness. Your gown for the night is modest and classy; the small waist-string dangling from a deftly tied bow provides an accentuation of your middle; moderately-high pumps that you haven’t broken-in yet, and you’re worried you’ll get blisters; a pair of lovely teardrop earrings that glitter just right when the light hits them, and a humble chain necklace with a star pendant that’s jewelled in the centre. Your selected hairstyle is a charming updo with two strands of your hair framing the sides of your face, fastened with a single hairpin that is subtly embellished with miniature and gemmed lumitoiles. This pin was gifted to you by Neuvillette himself just earlier this afternoon, and the note he had attached to the small, velvet box contained his ‘deep’ expression of regret for not being able to present it to you personally, but that he is looking forward to seeing you wear it tonight. A wave of excitement floods you at that thought. What will he think?

You’d taken great care with your makeup tonight—and much credit was due to the nimble hands of Anaïs helping you with putting on your dress and assembling your hair. And her skill with cosmetics was truly exceptional—you dare say yourself, you most certainly scrub up well. The way Anaïs styled your eyeliner is really quite exquisite.

“You look breathtaking, my lady.” Anaïs smiles at you in the mirror. “You needn’t fret so much. The Monsieur will be most impressed.” “…I hope so.” You have to physically restrain your hands from fidgeting with your hair, lest you pull it apart and ruin it. “I haven’t been so nervous in years. And it’s only for a magic show.” “And dinner.” The maid’s smile grows teasing. She steps forward to adjust your dress’s skirt, taking extra care to make sure it does not crease. “At an expensive Inazuman restaurant, no less. I’d say he’s spoiling you, and as he should.”

“Spoiling me?” You turn from the mirror to face her, shocked. “No. No, he couldn’t. Honestly, with the way I’ve been treating him lately…”

“Nonsense. The Chief Justice is too kind of a man to resent anyone for anything.” Not too sure about that. You try to hide your grimace. But it’s undeniable that he’s a most sincere person. Neuvillette is much too lenient with you, you think. Well, I simply must change my behaviour. That should resolve it, yes?

He’s one prone to sending too many mixed signals, and it leaves you confused also. Such is his invitation for tonight. So are we just going to ignore the contract now? You stare at yourself diffidently in the mirror, absentmindedly fidgeting with your engagement ring. I don’t want this to continue, but then I do…

Three quick knocks sound at your door, and Anaïs straightens from her patting of your skirts to answer. “Could that be him? But he said he’ll arrive to escort you at six…”

Your stomach drops and rolls in anxiety, with half a mind to hide. Did I overdo things with the bling? Or, is my makeup too little to actually—

“[Name]!” You could collapse in relief when you lay eyes on the angelic frame of Navia, her gold curls bouncing jovially as she bounds over to you, swiftly taking your hands. “My goodness! You look just gorgeous!” Her smile is bright and beaming, and suddenly, all your previous reluctances to see Navia after the stunt she pulled at the tea party has faded.

You awkwardly smile back, somewhat ruefully; feeling warm inside. “You think so?” “Oh, Neuvillette won’t be able to take his eyes off of you.” Navia’s baby blues sparkle with delight. “This dress does wonders for your figure. Who knows! The night may never end.”

You blush at her slick wink and suggestive tone, smacking her arm. “Don’t even! That won’t happen. Having dinner is enough.”

She rolls her eyes, letting go of your hands and placing her own on her hips with a huff, shooting you a mock-exasperated look. “I told you I wanted a goddaughter! How else am I supposed to get one if you two don’t hop to it?” If you weren’t so conscious of your perfect makeup, you would’ve put your head in your hands in agony. Either way, you groan and pinch the bridge of your nose, ears burning. “Enough, Navia! I tell you—that is not going to happen.” Any time soon. “Sure, sure. You know, this is what every couple-to-be says when they keep on denying their clear sexual attraction for one anoth—mmph!”

“Oh, look at the time!” You exclaim as you slap a hand over Navia’s mouth, muffling her next words that you did not need to hear. “Can’t keep Neuvillette waiting, haha! I’d best head off then!” “Argh, [Name]! You smeared my lipstick—!”

“Haha! The show starts at seven, and it is very nearly time! If you’ll excuse m—” “You idiot, wait a moment! It’s barely six, what are you on about?” Navia’s hand clamps down on your wrist and pulls you to a stop. “I came to tell you that I would be attending the show also.” “Really? Will you be sitting beside me?”

“No! I’ll be sitting somewhere else.” Navia shakes her head in actual exasperation now. “How rude of me would it be to tell Neuvillette that I’d be tagging along with you? Thus ruining any chances of you both sneaking a snog?” “Heavens, Navia!” You’re about to explode from embarrassment. “What have you been reading? Do I need to break into your home and go through your bookshelves? What in Teyvat is giving you these wild ideas?” “I didn’t want to have to break it to you so…cheesily, [Name], but you’re a blind idiot.” You find yourself being gently spun around in a circle as Navia scolds and inspects you. “I’ll come see you after the show. Where on earth did you get this lovely dress? And—oh, look at that hairpin!” “Neuvillette got it for me.” You don’t even realise how your tone sounds so affectionate when Navia stops and looks you right in the eye, deadpan. Her silence is a reply enough. “It was a considerate gesture! Don’t you overthink it now, Navia.” “I’m ‘overthinking’ it?” She prolongs her look for a moment longer before shaking her head in frustration. “You’re in denial. Anyway! Aren’t you excited? You’re finally getting to have a nice dinner alone with your husband. This wasn’t in the contract, was it?”

“…We’re making exceptions.” You look away, brushing some hair from your eyes. “For now.” Navia seems to have decided she’s teased you enough for the moment as she turns and saunters for the door, a swing in her step. “Well then! Must be time to go.” She opens the door. “I’ll see you lat—oh! Monsieur Neuvillette?” Lo and behold, there the man is, hand raised in the motion of knocking, seemingly rather taken aback. “Oh, hello, Miss Navia. I didn’t know you were visiting.” “Haha! Yes, I just stopped by to say hello to your wife.” You grimace at her purposeful wording, turning away; not wanting to face the man until the last minute. You have to gather your wits and nerves and sort yourself out before feeling brave enough to present yourself to the man. You’ve never felt so conscious about your appearance before. You give yourself one more look in the mirror, making sure your makeup is flawless, dress creaseless and everything perfectly in place. Will he like it? I wonder what he’ll say?

“I’ll see myself out now. Have fun, you two~!” With a flourish, out bounces Navia, dress trail and honey-blonde hair gliding out behind her as she disappears behind the door frame. Finally, Neuvillette enters, closing the door behind him and then stops dead in his tracks when he sees you.

You can’t gauge his reaction very well. “Uh, good evening, Neuvillette. I hope I haven’t overdone anything. Are the earrings too much? I did try to go for casual evening wear…” “No, no, you’re fine.” He’s trying very hard not to ogle you too much; eyes slowly trailing up and down your figure. Rooted in place, you only barely catch Anaïs turning away with a poorly-hidden grin on her face, exiting the room silently. “I just…you look stunning.”

“Thank you.” You drop your stare and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, hands trembling, blood racing. Neuvillette himself looks dashing tonight, dressed in his usual colour scheme of deep-sea blue and those dragon-scaled coattails of his. You always tend to feel bashful before this man, no matter the circumstance—but now, it’s a different story. You’re so relieved he approves. “Anaïs did a wonderful job.”

“She most certainly did.” He takes a few slow steps forward and stops right before you, taking your hand. He brings it up to his lips and places a chaste kiss to the top of it, staring at you piercingly through his lashes. “It almost makes me want to cancel our plans.”

“Sorry?” You blink, shocked, unable to process his words. Since when did he have such…humour? “I—what are you suggesting? I spent so long getting prepared this evening!” Neuvillette chuckles humorously, pulling you gently towards him so you can link arms. “I spoke in jest, beloved. You look absolutely breathtaking tonight. I believe I’ll have quite a fight on my hands trying to keep everyone other man’s off of you.” “Oh, you exaggerate.” You playfully smack his arm, turning your head away so he can’t see your bright red cheeks. You adjust your purse’s strap on your shoulder, ruffled. “We both know that no such thing shall happen. Now, shall we?”

“No need to fret now.” He doesn’t appear to be inclined to giving up his joking any time soon; completely breezing over your attempt to switch the topic. “For I am here. I know how to fight.”

“Neuvillette, really.” You don’t think you’ve ever blushed so much around one person before. “You’re just being silly now. There won’t be any fighting on your part, as there will be no one to fight. Now! Shall we?”

He seems to finally get the hint; heaving a breath of a laugh and shaking his head. “Alright, dearest. We shall set off now. We’ll be arriving home at about midnight, by the way. The show ends at nine, and our reservation is booked for nine-thirty.”

He opens the door and you both step out. Closing it behind him, he leads you down the hallway, continuing, “I am relieved that you enjoy Inazuman food.”

“Who doesn’t?” Maybe him, as he isn’t fond of foods without much sauce. “I believe you will simply guzzle the miso soup. I assume you aren’t too inclined to sake?” “I can drink alcohol, but it is not a preferred beverage, is all.” Neuvillette pauses beside you as you gather up your skirts to head down the steps for the carriage outside comfortably. His hold is strong and steady, more than prepared to catch you if you were to fall. “And I know you’re responsible, but I will not be pleased if you drank too much.”

“Why? What would you do if I did get drunk?” You both finally make it to the bottom of the steps and begin to stride toward the awaiting carriage. You throw him a coy grin. “I’d honestly love to see what your reaction would be.”

“Would you?” He gives you an intense sidelong look that immediately compels you to break stares with him, unless you were to be alright with him seeing your flushed face. Neuvillette says nothing more, helping you up into the carriage, giving a polite nod to the coachman, before settling in before you. He quirks a brow at you, slinging one leg over the other, posture upright and head tilted. “If so, then I will have you know now that I’d never let you have a sip of alcohol in my presence again.”

“What, you’re acting like my jailer!” You laugh, waving a hand at him. “It’s alright, Neuvillette, I’m responsible. I haven’t gotten wasted in years. Hangovers are much too uncomfortable.”

“Hm. I am very glad to hear that.” You can see why the Melusines view this man as a father figure—there he is, sitting so stiffly, hands clasped together upon his lap, staring you down with a most stern expression. One very much like a strict parent—except, his concern for you right now is out of more husbandly, friendly intentions. Deciding to tease him a little, you gather your skirts up and deftly hop across to sidle up to him, much too close for the reserved man to handle. And there you have it—his features swiftly morph from one of severity to surprise and astoundment. If you had looked a little more closely, you might’ve spotted how pink the tips of his ears became. “I—what are you doing, [Name]?” “Having a seat next to my husband, of course!” Oh, he’s terribly fun to tease. His flustered expressions never disappoint—they’re always so awfully adorable; with his lavender hues so wide and frame so tense, mouth parted into a comical ‘o’ shape. Thus, you place a hand on his lap—as he had uncrossed his legs to try and slide away to put more polite distance between you both—cornering him. You press your chest into his side, not fully aware of the nice frontal view you’re currently giving the poor man. You lean your cheek against his shoulder, smiling up at him. “Isn’t that what wives do?” “I—” Neuvillette’s eyes flit down to a certain area of your anterior before he hastily squeezes them shut, turning his face away. “…Please don’t torment me so, Madame.” “Torment?” And we’re using honorifics now? You want to play that game, Neuvillette? Alright, then. “Wherever did you get that from? Are you disliking this?” Your thumb slips up slightly beneath his robe and shirt, brushing against the bare skin just above the waistband of his trousers. The Iudex flinches roughly, and before you can even process what hits you, his hand grabs both of your wrists, and your back hits the cushioned seat below you with a whomph. Squeaking in surprise, the end of your hairpin digs uncomfortably into the back of your neck and you panic for a moment about the state of your hair—but the latching of teeth at the skin of your nape makes such worries instantly flee. Neuvillette nibbles at the side of your throat, and your chest heaves as you claw to regulate your breathing. “Neu-Neuvillette!”

Looking down, you meet eyes with a pair of shadowed indigo ones, his head tilted into the crook of your neck. “You temptress. Must you push me to ruin your lovely makeup and dress, right in here, right now?” His free hand brushes against your left thigh, which is propped up upon the curve of his waist, fingers ghosting over your dress’s skirt. The material has begun to ride up your leg, and you can physically see your chest pounding erratically with the speed of your heart rate. You’re speechless, just staring at him with wide eyes, unable to move. Neuvillette’s present expression is awfully similar to that of when you both had a moment in the kitchen, his gaze much too piercing for you to hold. Voice rumbling against your nape, he continues, “You really do look so lovely this evening. It would be a shame to rip it all off of you, after the amount of work you put into it.”

“I…” It’s quite easy to tell that Neuvillette means what he says. “You’ve never…done this before.”

The glint in his eye is carnal, and the look goes right to your core. You make no move to push him away, and he slowly emerges from your throat, hovering above you. His shoulders are enough to cage you in. “Mm. Let’s just say you’ve pushed me a bit too far.”

You jump when a gloved hand slowly trails its way up the outer side of your thigh, dipping beneath your skirt. “Oh! Why, you’re eager—!”

“Eager?” Neuvillette adjusts his hold on your wrists. It’s almost frightening, really, how easily he can overpower you. His entire palm is enough to engulf both of your hands into his grip securely. But you don’t squirm or try to escape. No, you stay right where you are, like putty beneath his form. This position is sending your imagination quite wild—what would it be like in a bed chamber, with nothing but the moon for light, spilling in and over and across his disrobed frame? With you, right below him, just as now, tearing at the sheets for grounding? It isn’t something you can see yourself denying.

“Hm, well, when you have a wife whose favourite pastime is to taunt her husband—then, yes, I suppose so.” The kind, quiet Chief Justice you’ve come to know so well is merely figmental right now, replaced with a man of lascivious eyes and blistering touch. He, by instinct, parts your legs a little bit and moves to settle between them. “What will she do when she is finally shown up?” “Does it frustrate you that much?” You recollect your wits enough to flash a small, sly grin and make the (rather foolish) decision of pushing his buttons even more. “Well, then, if you’re so eager, kiss me. Ruin my lipstick.”

Neuvillette’s brows flick up in surprise. “…What?” “Kiss me,” you repeat, lifting your leg and resting upon the small of his back snugly, pulling him in closer to your centre. He jolts in surprise; the grasp he has on your hip beneath your skirts inadvertently tightening. “Go ahead and kiss me.”

He stares and bites down on his own lower lip, hesitating, debating. You wish one of your hands were free to swipe a thumb across that lip, to feel its softness against your own. Good thing you have some lipstick in your purse, ready to be reapplied if the need arises. And it looks like it will.

After a moment of clear contemplation, Neuvillette seems to have finally made his decision as he removes his hand from your hip, moving to cup your cheek so tenderly, tilting your chin down to give him easier access to your mouth. Your breathing quickens, reduced to brisk little inhales, heart pummelling at your ribcage. He finally lets go of your wrists, arm slipping beneath the small, natural arch of your back and lifting you up, now pressed against his middle fully. Your free hands seem to have a life of their own; shifting to wind themselves around his neck, and as he hoists you up to essentially straddle his lap, your face now lingers above his. Your breaths mingle, you breathe in that crisp, husky scent of his, and he moves to smother your mouth with his own.

This is the moment you’ve been dreaming of since the night on the beach. You’re finally continuing what shouldn’t have been overthought and should have been finished back then, right now. You’re ready to proudly parade into the Opera Epiclese with swollen lips and smeared lipstick if it means you’ve finally gotten the kiss you have been needing for not weeks, but months now.

His lips just brush against yours when the carriage rolls to a halt and the coachman knocks on the door. “Monsieur and Madame! We’ve arrived at the Main Station.”

And the spell, once more, is broken. You slump against him in disappointment, and he sighs deeply, wearily. Gently, he pries your hands off him, kindly adjusting your skirts and tightening your hairpin for you in two swift movements. You quickly take out a compact mirror from your purse and inspect your appearance thoroughly, cheeks scathingly hot. He places you from his lap and onto the carriage seat, avoiding your eyes. “…Alright.”

Of all times. Of all damn times to get interrupted. You spray on some perfume and touch your mascara up a little, snapping your compact mirror shut with a sharp clack, shoving it into your purse. We’re not finished. I’m going to corner him again as soon as I get the chance. No way are you leaving this whole thing unfinished for a second time. And you’ll make sure he won’t, either.

You notice Neuvillette giving you a wary look from your periphery, but you ignore it, quickly gathering up your skirts and taking his hand to step down from the carriage. Now you both must board the aquabus, and suffer through an agonisingly long ride across the harbour to Erinnyes, where the Opera Epiclese is located. You suppose this is no large change of routine for the man at your arm, who silently guides you towards the boarding dock. He regularly travels from the Court to Erinnyes for hearings much too often. And, as expected, a Melusine is awaiting the both of you dutifully at the bow of the aquabus. She chirps a bright greeting to the Chief Justice, who responds with a soft smile and word.

“Oh! And the Madame is here!” The Melusine, Elphane, brightens even more at the sight of you. “I was wondering why you were coming out here at such an hour, Monsieur Neuvillette. You must be taking Madame on a date!” “A date…yes.” You both shuffle a little bit as you settle onto the seats, side by side, with a small bit of distance between you. For the best. “We’re going to see Lyney and Lynette’s magic show.”

“How exciting!” Elphane claps her small paws together elatedly. “Oh, Madame, isn’t Monsieur Neuvillette just so kind? Surely you’re both going to have a candlelight dinner afterwards!”

“Uh—not quite,” you laugh awkwardly. “We will be having dinner, but there won’t be any…candles.” “Are you averse to such an idea, Madame?” Now Neuvillette seems to have decided to join in on the fun, having apparently gotten over the little ‘physical altercation’ you both got into in the carriage mere minutes ago. Such a realisation stings you a little. Is he unaffected by this? Maybe his aloofness is finally getting the better of him—however, now is an awful time for it to happen.

Unbeknownst to you, Neuvillette is only trying to lighten the mood. Trying. The look on your face tells him that he’s failing miserably. Wracking his brains for some other, maybe more appropriate method (he’s always been absolutely terrible at cracking and understanding jokes), he attempts a smile. “Is this not a private outing between us? Isn’t it meant to be…well, romantic?” Elphane gasps quite audibly, before she slaps her paws over her mouth. You both look at her questioningly. “Don’t mind me! I’m not here. Please continue!”

“…I suppose so,” you carry on rather subduedly, eyeing the Melusine. She’s watching you both with wide, sparkling eyes, utterly immersed in…this. You do suppose it’d be rather interesting to hear the reclusive, abstinent Chief Justice talk about romance. With a woman at his side. A woman that is his wife. And then that makes you remember the contract, and that you both should really not be doing this—it’s bound to get back to Furina somehow, and she’ll be on your backs about it in an instant—but you find you don’t care. You’re getting that kiss from him. You’re determined to pin him against the wall in a secluded, empty hall somewhere in the opera hall if necessary. And with that rather searing glint in his eye that he’s had since you both emerged from the carriage, you’re almost confident he feels the same.

“Well! Dear me, but I’m sure my sisters will be utterly overjoyed to hear the news,” Elphane giggles and claps her paws together once more. “You must be so happy, Neuvillette, being with a woman like the Madame here.”

“…Yes. I do suppose I am.” He looks at you, the breeze brushes his bangs aside a bit, providing you full exposure to the sheer intensity of his stare. Breathless, you thank the gods for the cool breeze and poor lighting so that he isn’t able to fully see the effect his words and soft inclination just had on you. Neuvillette doesn’t appear to be done, though. “Who knew such advantages could be taken out of such a hapless situation?”

“Oh, but is it really unfortunate?” Elphane adds, giggling. You and Neuvillette haven’t stopped staring at each other. “Because it seems to be going pretty well!”

“Yes, uh, well…” You finally break gazes and look down at your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. “Never does any harm to make good of something…inauspicious.”

Elphane and Neuvillette begin quietly chatting, the former occasionally throwing some good-natured, teasing quips in your direction, to which you smile and laugh awkwardly at. In your silence, you’re beginning to overthink things again: do I really deserve to ask that of him? Do you even have the right to take it that big of a step forward—to totally disregard that line that’s now so blurry, you can’t really see it anymore? You always forget to ask him what he wants, you always just assume. Since when was I like this? Have I always been like this? Even the cool night breeze and full moon isn’t enough to calm you. Shall I take a step back? Oh, what was I thinking, telling him to kiss me?

You would write it off as a ‘spur-of-the-moment’ thing, but it was a fully conscious decision. You wanted it—so badly, you were ready to throw dignity into the wind. Your marcid emotions are now so inordinate; even just his presence sends you haywire, an incalescent burn that will maul you to shreds. It’s happened before, but why is this experience so much more intensely agonising than the last?

You’ve gone over this so many times before; battled with yourself to just leave and never look back—but you don’t want to. Does he want you to leave? It doesn’t seem like it, but will he turn on you? Like how you’ve turned on yourself?

You’re yanked the gloom of your thoughts when a warm hand rests itself upon your shoulder and pats it, the individual calling for your attention. Neuvillette is speaking to you. “[Name]? Are you alright? You’re so silent.” “Uh—oh, I’m quite fine, thank you.” You school your features back into your usual mask of impassivity. “Have we arrived?” “Not just yet.” Damn you, Neuvillette. Those eyes, so clear and teeming with solicitude. Such compassion, like he’s experienced this exact scourge himself before, but never had anyone to sincerely ask if he was all right. The man is so full of empathy, and readily imparts it to others, but he’s never had such a thing endowed upon him. How can you not love someone like him?

“Is there something on my face?” Neuvillette’s soft clearing of his throat and retraction from you spears you as much as it startles you. “Oh! No, there’s nothing, I just tend to stare…at random things when lost in thought.”

“…I see.” Great. I’ve made him uncomfortable. Seems to be a poor habit of yours, putting people in awkward positions. The reputation you’re beginning to amass will eventually proceed you. You suppose it’s a given for someone as reprehensible as yourself; it amazes you people such as Navia have stuck by your side for so long. What is the appeal within you? What compelled Neuvillette to be inclined toward you in the first place?

You look at him fleetingly, and he’s as beautiful as ever; the cast of the moon and its veneer of shine upon him befits the man entirely. You adore and detest how looking up at the moon from the day you leave and on will bring his face to the forefront of your mind—even for years subsequent. They say he stands out most when seated upon that eminent chair of his in the Opera Epiclese, but you’ve come to disagree. Neuvillette is at his peak when relaxed and within his element, not tense with the pressure of the Oratrice and the deafening jeers of the onlookers. He shines the most when bathed in the gentle glow of the moon, and when he stands with his face turned to the sky as the rain tumbles down.

You’d like to say he is most riveting when next to you, but that’s much too vain of a statement to express. How ironic is it; you’re thinking of his correlation to the moon, while you’re ‘mooning’ over the man right now—and when alone. You reason that one would have to blind—to be brainless to not love this man in some kind of way. To the Melusines, he is a kindly father figure, and maybe even to Furina also; to you, he is a friend you consider an anchor, someone who understands you deeply—to a raw, emotional level, and someone you don’t want to be friends with. You want to be able to call him your husband as how a woman would refer fondly to the man she loves, and is to spend the remainder of her life with. Does he think the same? Or would he be averse to such a thing?

Maybe you aren’t seeing the bigger picture here. There are signs you refuse to see—and even now, you disregard such a train of thought. The high and adrenaline rush that raced through your veins in the carriage is coming down now, leaving you with the low that dashes your spirits further. He’s a drug that will drive you to death.

Your hip still tingles with the aftermath of his touch. How you crave for it. The gods abhor you.

“You’re lost in thought again, [Name]. What has you looking so sad?” Will you stop being so kind? You wish you had the strength to glare at him. Now, you’re incapable of even being annoyed with him. You long to hate him, you long to have him make you his. Mustering some semblance of a smile, you shake your head weakly. “I’m alright. Are you looking forward to the show? I am.”

Neuvillette’s gaze and silence lingers for a brief few seconds more before he warily nods and responds. “…I suppose so. Is this your first time seeing the two live?” “Uh, yes, it is.” You avoid his stare, turning to ‘admire’ the view instead. “Let’s hope nothing goes awry like how their previous one did. The one that put them on trial, I mean.” “Yes.” He’s staring holes into the side of your face; you look down at your lap and hands to avert from it even more. “I’m sure all will be fine. We have good seats, therefore it will be an enjoyable experience for you.”

“I believe so.” Remembering Navia’s presence at the show gives you some comfort. “I hope I am not overdressed.”

“Even if you were, it wouldn’t matter.” Neuvillette seems to have a knack for flirting; he takes your hand and places yet another soft kiss to the top of it. “You look like an angel. It’s almost annoying how I am not the only one who will lay eyes upon you tonight. It makes me want to keep this sight for myself.” Your eyes become round at his words; you throw a frantic look in the innocent Elphane’s direction, who looks on with a vaguely perplexed expression. What is he implying? “Enough with your blandishments! I cannot stand it when people lie to my face, Neuvillette.” Ha! The irony…

“Ah, that we have in common, but I am not lying.” The aquabus finally arrives at its stop at Marcotte Station, and you both bid farewell to Elphane as you hop off, beginning your brief walk to the Opera. Your arms are entwined; Neuvillette bends down to whisper into your ear: “My words are not empty. Don’t you wish to continue our unfinished little escapade in the carriage elsewhere sometime later?” Gasping, you trip, stumbling forward. Your foot comes loose from your shoe, leaving the pump on its side upon the pavement. “Oh, Neuvillette, you idiot! Don’t say such things at random!”

He chuckles deeply, turning to retrieve the shoe, smirking at you. You’re out of breath; your face is probably the colour of a tomato. “Your reaction told me all I needed to know. Good thing you didn’t twist your ankle, hm?” “And it would’ve been your fault if I did!” Your emotions are too high-strung to handle this right now. “Give me my shoe. I’ll put it on.”

Neuvillette responds by sweeping you up and swiftly placing you down on a nearby park bench. The action was too fast for you to comprehend immediately, leaving you disoriented. “Oh!”

He kneels before you, pushing the hem of your skirts up, gently holding your ankle as he slips your high heel back onto your foot. It’s the bare minimum for a gentleman, but it hits you right where you’re weak. The Chief Justice, the most important man in this country, kneeling before me? You’re so undeserving, but here you are. He just stares up at you for a moment, head tilted and the corners of his mouth curled into a smug smile, unmoving. Great, he’s getting ready to tease me again. “Isn’t it so convenient that we’re in rather isolated seats for the show? We won’t be interrupted this time.”

It’s like he’s become a whole new person! You’re glad you’re not wearing a shawl, you’re too hot and bothered for this. Standing abruptly, you turn to stride away, flustered enormously. “I take it back! Don’t become a poet, Neuvillette. I misjudged your affinity for it.”

“Why? Is it because only you want to hear such things?” Neuvillette immediately catches your wrist and pulls you toward him, eyes crinkled up in amusement. “That can be arranged. Somewhere dark, private, without a soul around—”

“Oh, please stop!” You put your face in your hands and let out a cry. “You’re embarrassing me! Oh, I shouldn’t have provoked you in the carriage…”

Gentle hands squeeze your shoulders as a chuckle rumbles from his chest, almost sympathetic. “Do I still get that kiss?”

You’re about to combust. “…Later. Let’s go, or we’ll be late for the show.”

・・・・

When you both arrive at the Opera and enter the theatre, the entire room falls silent.

Arm-in-arm with the Chief Justice, you force yourself to keep your head high as you both make your way through the aisles of the Opera and make your way up for your private seats. Soft music is playing as a “THE SHOW WILL BEGIN SOON” projection is displayed across the drawn curtains of the stage. Shyness and humiliation is like an invisible hand trying to push your head down, but you resist, keeping your eyes up and ahead, expression carefully blank. Every eye in the room is on you both; whispers filter about the area, each one filled with shock, each one so sickly enthused with this sudden turn of events. Yes, it is a good thing you’re both seated far from everyone else—there would be no way you’d be left alone.

It’s ten minutes to seven, and you both arrive at your designated seats. These seats are only a little way away from the ones you last sat in and in which you had a panic attack; overlooking the stage at an ideal angle. You examine the guests for Navia’s familiar head of blonde hair and classy hat. You soon spot her, and relax back in your chair, breathing a humourless laugh, whispering, “Well, don’t we have some lovely memories here?” “To you, maybe,” he softly replies. “But standing out on the balcony with you was quite nice. Don’t you agree?” “If you say so.” You settle into your seat, adjusting your skirts, opening up your paper bag of Conch Madeleines you’d purchased at in the foyer café. “Care for one?” “I’m alright, thank you.” Neuvillette waves his hand and summons two eloquently-designed cups out of thin air, each filled with water. Handing you one, he turns to face the stage again. “This batch of water I ordered from Inazuma is quite decadent.” “I believe it would be.” You take a quick sip and place it to the side, deciding not to mention that it just tastes like regular water, maybe a tad bit crisper. “Oh, but you really are missing out on these Conch Madeleines. They’re still hot from the oven, and they’re divine.” “Well, then, all the more for you to enjoy, yes?” Neuvillette crosses one leg over the other, settling into his seat. “I’m quite alright with water, but thank you for the offer.”

“If you say so!” With that, you take a bite, humming at its sweet taste. This one has a bit of a lemony flavour, with cream inside. Good thing you bought more than three. You have two hours worth of entertainment to get through, best you savour them each instead of eating them all before the show even starts.

Soft murmurs flit throughout the hall, the subject of their hushed, breathless conversations clear: it is not excitement about the upcoming show, no—it’s excitement over the star pair of Fontaine sitting just above them in the VIP docks. The only thing that finally silences them is the sudden burst of music that apprises everyone that the show is finally beginning.

Drums roll, the theatre darkens, and the curtains swish aside, the single spotlight illuminating the centre of the stage and the individual standing in an extravagant pose upon it. It’s instantly obvious who it is; with his head bowed and signature top hat dipped down over his eyes, Lyney holds up his free hand with five playing cards spread out through the cracks of his fingers. Then, with a flourish, he throws up his hat, tosses the cards out in front of him, and disappears.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome, our lovely guests this evening, to the one and only Lyney and Lynette’s Magic Show!” The cards flutter down to the stage floor, the spotlight still shining upon that area, with no Lyney to be seen. Only his smooth voice rings out, “We dearly hope you will enjoy tonight’s spectacle, for we’ve prepared many delightful sights to be seen.” And then silence falls. The spotlight goes out, and everything is left in darkness once more.

Then, suddenly, after a few tense seconds, a burst of orange-red flames and sparks flare across the stage, with Lyney coming swinging down from some kind of trapeze unseen above. He has cards in his hands again, with some sailing in an arch above him, completely defying the laws of physics. “First off, we have a most enthralling extravaganza of pyrotechnics powered by yours truly! If you are afraid of the curtains and surroundings catching fire, not to worry; my first stunt for the evening is this.” With a snap of his fingers, a previously-invisible square in the centre of the stage roars aflame, so bright and hot, the people seated at the front recoil and fan themselves from the heat. Shocked murmurs ripple throughout the crowd, while Lyney grins from his position onstage.

“Oh, yes, I will be walking face-first into this wall of fire.” He pops his hat off his head, spins it smoothly around one finger for a second before holding it out to the audience. “And within my trusty top hat is the sole item to put out this blaze before it burns me up—or will it?” The magician whirls around fluidly on one heel, strolling amiably towards the blustering flames, apparently unaware of the horrified audience who sit, mouths agape, in silence. “Let’s have a look-see, shall we?” Continuing to amble worry-free towards direct danger, he shuffles through the contents of his ‘bottomless’ top hat, humming thoughtfully. “Hm. It appears the item is nowhere to be seen.” Lyney throws an insouciant, catlike grin over his shoulder to the audience. “Any guesses, my lovely guests?” “Where’s Lynette?!” One member yells. “Surely she is the key to putting out the fire before you kill yourself?!”

“Excellent guess! Unfortunately, mon ami, you are wrong.” Lyney continues to meander casually toward the flames, aggravatingly slow, his pace unrelenting. Even though you know he’s going to be fine—at least, you hope so, considering how wrong his last show went—you grip at your seat handle and lean forward breathlessly, bag of conch madeleines lying on your lap, forgotten. The magician then stops in his tracks and swings around on the balls of his feet, pointing to the audience. “One of you shall be my saviour! One of you sits in a seat that holds the ‘key’ to my survival. Which one of you could it be?” The entire procession exchanges glances; people hop up to check their seats, stooping to look underneath and find the item Lyney needs before it’s ‘too late’. The boy grins rather diabolically as he watches everyone fuss about and gradually descend into chaos. You throw a glance in Neuvillette’s direction—although his expression is his usual business-like coolness, there’s a hint of amusement gracing that full mouth of his. He seems to be faintly enjoying the unfolding of such disarray right before him.

“There is hope, all!” Lyney’s sing-song voice abruptly rings out and brings everyone to a halt. “For we are honoured with the presence of two very esteemed guests tonight; I’m sure most of you know who I am talking about…” Suddenly, you’re blinded—your conch madeleines tumble off your lap at your surprise, and you lift a hand to shield your eyes from the intensity of the spotlight now upon you and Neuvillette. “Please give a warm welcome to the one and only Chief Justice, Monsieur Neuvillette—and his lovely wife, Madame Neuvillette!”

“Did—did you know about this?” You hiss at Neuvillette, cheeks hot with humiliation and surprise. You cannot stand being caught off-guard and put in the spotlight—and in this case, you literally are. “What is going on?” “I—I wasn’t told about this,” he whispers hurriedly back, not looking very impressed himself. He stands. “Master Lyney, what is the meaning of this?” “Not to worry, Monsieur!” Lyney jovially responds, completely unbothered by the Iudex’s withering stare, sweeping an elegant arm in your direction. “For, most unexpectedly, the Madame here happens to be seated upon the very means of my viability!”

Confused, you lean forward, mustering the courage to answer, “Young man, it would’ve been more optimal if you had notified me beforehand.”

“But that takes away the wonderful element of surprise, which I strive for!” He doesn’t seem to fully understand the embarrassment he’s forced you into. This is going to make major headlines, and what a headache is that going to be. “So, if you please, Madame—I politely implore you to hand over the item so everything will continue on smoothly!” Something in his tone tells you to do the opposite—and you, genuinely curious as to the full extent of this huge trick he’s playing, go along with it. “…No. I don’t think I will.” The audience gasps, Neuvillette whips around to gawk at you, and Lyney’s eyes light up. Aha.

“Well, then!” The magician feigns betrayal and spins around to saunter toward the inferno once more. “If my lady orders me to, I must oblige!” Settling back down into your seat, you lean your cheek against your hand as you watch on, rather invested. Neuvillette heaves a sigh, sitting down also, and the spotlight disappears from hovering over the both of you. It’s a relief, though the audience takes their time with turning back from gawping at you both as if you were two exotic animals in a zoo. Maybe that is essentially what you are to them. People to idolise, and thus people to ridicule. Society has always been the same.

You had found the ‘item’ Lyney had ‘lost’ under the back cushion of your seat; a small remote-like gadget, its purpose obvious. Along with a small note instructing you what to do and when to do it, you have begun to find this quite amusing, despite the abrupt, rather unideal circumstances.

Apparently, everyone in the audience is concerningly gullible, as they irregularly throw harrowing glares in your direction. How they managed to believe that you’re actually going to let Lyney die in the ‘fire’ beats you. Ignoring them, you await your cue.

Lyney throws one final, beseeching look in your direction (what an astounding actor, you think, impressed), before wailing, “this is the end!” dramatically and stepping entirely into the flames. You’re finding the audience’s reactions much more interesting than the actual show; the majority of the people in attendance gasp and cry out in dismay at Lyney’s ‘demise’. Hitched silence falls, and with no sound from Lyney, you count down in your head for your cue, before hitting the button.

Jazz music blares, the flames intensify, and Lyney’s silhouette is outlined against the curtains’ backdrop as he makes his signature pose. “And there you have it, everyone—Madame Neuvillette is a true heroine!”

Brief silence, and then the entire hall erupts into thunderous applause. It appears as if everyone loves you now. Neuvillette throws you an amused smile, to which you grin back at.

The subsequent acts for the rest of the show were just one amazing spectacle after another—when Lynette came onstage, summoning a mini-tornado (that managed to not make a bit of mess, wondrously) with her Vision that even made your hair blow around a bit, the crowd went crazy. Lyney did some neat tricks for the little children that got them all starry-eyed and excited, Lynette poured a cup of tea from a teapot without even holding it, Lyney presented a young woman in the front row with a bouquet of wildflowers and equally flowery words and the twins ended their show with a most baffling trick shot—Lyney had disappeared behind the curtain, leaving Lynette alone to continue entertainment, before a huge ‘malfunctioning’ Gardemek trudged onstage. And thus did Lynette and the Gardemek ‘spar’—for only a pretend battle, it was really quite realistic and transfixing. The performance displayed Lynette’s combat prowess and her strength intensely, leaving you dazed with admiration. Oh, how I’d love to have a Vision and learn to wield a weapon like that! Another pipe dream of yours, however; it is unlikely that you would ever do anything noteworthy enough to garner a Vision from the gods. It would be cool to have one, but then again, you’re unsure if you’re fully inclined to being ‘favoured’ like so from the divine, considering all of their track records. You’d never been very religious or devout—the Archons’ existence is a given and very much real, however, you just don’t care. You chalk it up to Archons such as Furina giving deities a rather bad look. But that’s a bit biased, you suppose.

Either way, when the two hosts give their graceful bows and farewells with a flourish, you quickly turn to Neuvillette with wide eyes. “Now, wasn’t that just marvellous?”

“It most certainly was,” the man answers, fidgeting with his cravat. It is rather hot in the opera hall, and you quickly stand, ready to depart. Sitting down for two hours certainly is so stiffening; you turn away a bit and stretch, a few bones popping nicely. There’s a rustle of clothing from beside you, and the Iudex holds out an arm. “You enjoyed that, it seems.” “Oh, thoroughly!” You’ve never been to see Lyney and Lynette live before, and you really weren’t disappointed. No wonder they are so famous. “Those two are exceptionally talented at what they do. That performance with the Gardemek and Lynette? Goodness, if only I had a Kamera on me to record it!”

Neuvillette chuckles. “Well, then, it appears you’re quite unbothered by that unexpected little hiccup before.” He smiles down at you. “You looked most uncomfortable and embarrassed, being put on the spot like that. I’m sure they’re relieved you took it the right way in the end.” “Oh, yes, I would’ve appreciated it if they’d let me know beforehand so I could consciously play along and put a bit more of a show,” you say coolly, gathering up your skirts to head down the steps to the ground floor from your seating dock. “But, it turned out for the best, did it not? Though, the audience didn’t like me much.” “C’est la vie, non?” Neuvillette pats your hand amiably. “Such is the life of a high-profile person. It is truly no walk in the park.”

“And you’ve been handling it for centuries, Neuvillette.” You shake your head in slight incredulity, rather confounded at his resilience. Perhaps that’s what you admire about him the most. “It must get so wearisome. Hopefully we will dine in a seat far away from everyone else, and won’t be disturbed by the press.” “It is an Inazuma restaurant; over there, they have little private rooms for people to eat in. It’s the same here.” He guides you toward the entrance, where people are still filing out. “And that reminds me—how about a…stroll on the beach afterwards?”

“That sounds lovely, Neuvillette.” You both stride toward the awaiting carriage. Now you two must travel back to the Court on an aquabus again; at least now, the mood is more relaxed. Best to leave the conversation for what happened in the carriage for another time. You don’t know how you will manage to walk along the sand in your dress, though. “You must be trying to get in as much reprieve as you can before you are drowned in work again, no?” He sighs. “You are correct. And we must prepare for the banquet on Friday. We don’t have to—” “[Name]!” You both pause at the call, and you turn to see Navia waving for you a distance away. She makes her way over, nodding politely to the Chief Justice. “Apologies for interrupting, Your Honour. I just came to greet your wife.”

You’re glad to see her, but you’re not impressed with her tricky wording, again. Neuvillette also looks rather perplexed at her phrasing, but he obscures it well. “Ah, of course, Miss Navia. Would you like me to step away to give you both some privacy?” “No! That’s quite alright, but thank you, Neuvillette,” Navia assures him, beaming. Then she turns to you. “I only came to say hello and goodbye. And that I can’t attend the banquet.”

“What?” Dread pools within you. “Surely you can try to, Navia? How will I manage without you?” “You will manage just fine, actually,” she sternly replies, arching a brow. “You’ve got Neuvillette here and Clorinde just told me she’d be coming along too, having been coerced into it by a certain Archon. So! You’ll have a few friends there. You can’t rely on me forever, you know.” Not wishing to make yourself seem like a helpless child in need of coddling, you stiffly nod at her. “Alright. Where are you going this time, then, if you’re too busy to attend? Not investigating André, I hope.” Navia blinks, before letting out a laugh with the slightest, almost undetectable tremor within it. “No, no, of course not! I’ve got another case on my back, one more demanding, frankly. Well then! I’ll see you sometime soon, okay? Take care!”

You know she’s just running away from you, but you let her go, rather fatigued and, most of all, hungry. You watch Navia’s fading figure for a moment more before turning to the Iudex. “Alright, let’s head off, Neuvillette.”

You have a very busy week ahead of you. You surmise it’s best to do what Neuvillette is doing—savour what reprieve you have left before diving head-first back into the pandemonium Furina so kindly built for you both.

hey guys 🫡 how are y'all...? 🙂

when I said you guys would be out for my blood, I meant it. I can hear the marching, battle cries and war drums already 🥲

ANYWAY! yet another unnecessarily long chapter, but y'all had a long wait so I swooped in for the rescue 🥰 even tho this chapter is a HOT mess, I hoped u all still enjoyed 🙏

they will kiss soon. rest assured. I know it sounds like an empty promise but it WILL happen eventually 🤭 in the very near future 💛 just not yet <3

taglist!

@shiroonekoo @just-here-reading @avyakaslana @eternal-dokja @confusedparticle @xitrinez @tanspostsblog @vcatson @sek0ya @loving-august @mxyarylla @ultigoblin @constantlyoverthinking @pvbbyb0y @lynettezzp @esthelily @furblrwurblr @sangoqueenkoko @lacunaanonymoused

#⌗ ༘ ⋆｡𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐒❜ works #genshin impact #genshin #neuvillette #fontaine #neuvilette genshin #chief justice neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #furina #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette x female reader #neuvillette x you #neuvillette x y/n

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jqnehr · 3 months

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𓂃₊ ⊹ 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 & 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 : 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭.

⟡ ꒰ 𝐳𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 ꒱ ⨾ he plays along. you want to be smart? two can play that game. he’s better at staying silent than you. although a bit confused at why he’s so content with remaining quiet and not whining about the attention you’re keeping from him, it doesn’t take you long to work out why. zayne’s probably glad to have a moment of reprieve from your seemingly unceasing chatter (that he enjoys, though he’ll never admit it) to read, work or eat in peace. so, it ends with you breaking the silence, and him giving you the silent treatment. he’s too slick for you.

⭒ ꒰ 𝐱𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 ꒱ ⨾ is absolutely sure he’s done something wrong. did he say something that struck a nerve without him realising it? is it because he threw your favourite t-shirt into the hamper last night? or is it because of the last two pieces of bread he burned in the toaster this morning, since he can’t cook to save his life? xavier wants to ask you why and what’s wrong, but he’s a bit afraid to. you get this wild glint in your eye whenever you’re pissed, and it actually scares him (but he’ll never admit it because, come on—him, a seasoned soldier, essentially, who kills wanderers without a blink, is afraid of his girlfriend? yes. yes, he is). so he gives you space, looking like a kicked puppy, and you fold, feeling awful about it. all’s well that ends well.

⊹ ꒰ 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥 ꒱ ⨾ not only is he a yapper, but he’s a nagger. he’ll pester and pester and pester you, until you actually grow annoyed, and the silent treatment becomes real. then, he’ll leave post-it notes stuck around the place, with cute little illustrations of chibi-you with devil horns and fiery breath, and some of your favourite snacks next to it. rafayel’s like a little kid sometimes, with his pouting and whines and puppy-dog eyes, which never work on you. he spams you with texts of cooking videos, saying ‘we should make this tonight’, as if you guys have the ingredients to. ever clingy, he silently wraps his arms around your middle and buries his face into your neck, and you don’t have the heart to reject his touch. he’s an idiot, but when he sends you cat videos on an hourly basis even though he hates them, maybe he isn’t so bad.

im back with yet another cringeass headcanons list. this is me while writing this and y'all while reading it 🔥

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jqnehr · 3 months

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𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐲

you and zayne enjoy a picnic together.

word count: 1.6k contains: fluff, crack, my shitty writing strikes again zayne x reader so!! with the poll voting zayne as the winner, I have presented you with the fic y'all wanted!! this idea came to me in the nick of time when I saw his memory of him peeling an apple. and, due to receiving a few asks about xavier, his fic will be uploaded today or sometime this week!!

“do you like your apples peeled?” zayne’s hazel-green eyes are obscured by his raven fringe. he’s already peeling the apple in his hand, relaxed against the picnic mat you’d both laid out upon the grass, basket beside him. today’s little date involved you coercing zayne into finally taking a day off, much to his reluctance. you made sure he’d dressed appropriately—in comfortable, warm casual clothes with a woollen cardigan to keep himself from the cold. not that he’d really feel it, anyway—his evol seems to boost his resilience to the somewhat chilly air. still, you’re making sure all precautions are taken.

“I do,” you respond, straightening from the picnic basket you were just rummaging through, looking for the paper cups you swear you packed. the 2 litre bottle of fizzy lemonade you’d picked up at the convenience store on the way here sits beside you, still chilled, and the sun is beginning to rise quite high in the sky, its rays becoming rather toasty. you’d long shed yourself of your sweater, now acting as a pillow to lie back on to look up at the sky. it’s a lovely day today, hardly a cloud overhead, the breeze soft and with a slight bite. “I packed the paper cups, right?” “I wouldn’t know.” as per usual, zayne never misses a chance to poke playfully at you with those toneless words of his. “you’re the one who forced me out of my car today just as I was entering the hospital. you practically kidnapped me.”

“you can file a report once you get back to your apartment, then,” you shoot back promptly, biting back a grin. “can’t blame you if you did—you look positively distressed right now. you’re just itching to head back and work yourself to death, aren’t you?”

zayne finishes peeling the apple and pulls out the small wooden cutting board you’d also packed for this very reason. he picks up a small knife and slices the apple into six pieces. “maybe I should file for a restraining order. that way, I’ll finally be able to work in peace, hm?”

“you’ll be able to die from overwork in peace, too, and then this world would have lost its best cardiac surgeon.” you reach for a piece of apple and munch on it, peering teasingly up at the man before you through your lashes. “and I’d have lost the love of my life. don’t you think that’s such an unfair trade?”

you catch the flicker of a wince—well, more like a cringe—flash across zayne’s face before it’s stone again. your grin widens at his brief reaction. he side-eyes you, fully aware of just what you’re up to. “for once, you’ve actually said something that makes sense. keep on eating that apple, there, [name]. an apple a day will keep you away.”

you smack his arm at his words, hand meeting solid muscle through his clothes, and he barely flinches. it’s not like you’d ever slap him very hard, anyway. “you’re an idiot. and you’re a cardiac surgeon. what’s me eating an apple going to do to keep me away from your services?”

his eyes narrow at your wording. “the saying, for your information, is actually true—eating apples in fact decreases the chances of heart disease. it also lowers your risk of high blood pressure. I’ll give you a bouquet of apples next time.”

“you seem to be in no rush to get away from nor get back to your office.” you pointedly avoid the slices of apple on his lap and reach over for the tiramisu and spoon you’d sneaked into the basket while he wasn’t looking. zayne eyes it—not with hunger, but with poorly hidden distaste. his expression doesn’t go unnoticed. “oh, zayne—it’s not like I have these kinds of desserts everyday. rid your mind of work and relax a little, alright? I’m young, and I’m not going to collapse from a heart attack from one bite.”

“the bad habits you’re forming now will accumulate up and will eventually transpire in your old age—”

you answer by shoving the spoonful of tiramisu into his mouth, cutting him off. zayne’s eyes widen, and he coughs a little when he unintentionally inhales the cocoa powder dusted atop the dessert in surprise. you choke back your laughter. “it’s nice, huh? want some more?” zayne shoots you a look that has you torn between excitement and intimidation. he slowly lifts a hand to wrap around yours that holds the spoon in his mouth. his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows the dessert and takes the utensil from his mouth, tongue flicking out to lick up what’s left of the cream at the corner of his mouth. it may seem like a perfectly normal action, but it’s making your imagination run wild. the bastard knows what he’s doing, but he still arches a ‘clueless’ eyebrow, eyes glinting with amusement. “what’s got you so silent now?” “ahem!” you quickly retreat, stabbing the spoon back into the tiramisu, taking a bite yourself, uncaring whether he also licked the spoon or not. indirect kiss, I guess? you cringe at your own thoughts. ew, don’t be weird. “anyways, moving on. there’s another container of this in there for you, if you want it.”

“no, thank you, I have a diet to keep to.”

you roll your eyes, pointing your spoon at him. “boy, you have a bigger sweet tooth than me. do you think I don’t see all those chocolates you sneak? I’m amazed you don’t have a head full of rotten teeth.”

“I just wish to keep my current body shape and weight.” zayne unclips the lid of a plastic container full of neatly sliced fruit, something he probably packed himself. he glances up at you without moving his head, through his long lashes. “a body shape you enjoy a little too much.”

you blush. “wh-whatever! there’s no harm in indulging yourself from time to time, you know?”

“like how you adore indulging yourself in me all the time?” “okay! I get it! I get your point.” your face is about to explode into flames. you go back to stabbing at your tiramisu, bested and smarting. you shift on the mat to sit with your legs at your side, leaning against the trunk of the tree beside you both, muttering to yourself, “it’s not as if you don’t like it either…”

“what was that?” he’d heard you loud and clear, but he enjoys watching you flush and squirm.

“nothing! nothing at all.” it’s like you’re a teenager again, innocent and oblivious and very prone to blushing. whenever zayne dresses and talks and looks at you like that, you feel like a victorian man seeing a woman’s ankles for the first time.

flustered silence from you and smug quietude from zayne is all that reigns for a few moments, the man watching the park’s distant bubbling fountain absently, popping a grape into his mouth occasionally. you two had picked a rather secluded space—far away from the sound of traffic and squealing children and frollicking dogs, underneath the shade of a tree, the area quiet and private. also, his sharp, handsome features are now rather well-known to the populace after that article on him being the top cardiac surgeon at asko hospital and in the world went viral. you found all the teenage girls going crazy over him in the comments rather amusing. now, you’re unfailing in teasing him about his fanclub whenever you get the chance. too bad zayne just doesn’t care. he hardly ever reacts to your jests.

your embarrassment eventually fades and soon you’re looking for something else to annoy him with. however, zayne seems to have sensed your plotting as he turns his head towards you, chin propped in his hand as his elbow leans against the side of his knee. “whatever you’re up to this time, I wouldn’t bother.”

you sniff indignantly, playing innocent. “you’re paranoid. I just wanted some grapes.”

he obliges, handing the container to you. “did you find the paper cups?”

“no. I think I forgot them.” you make to rummage through the picnic basket again. “there’s a can of sparkling water in here, if you want it.” you hold it up, reading the label. “lime-flavoured. I thought I got berry.”

“it’s alright.” zayne’s quiet voice holds no inflection of annoyance—or anything, really. as usual. “is it still cold?” condensation rolls down the can’s side, but it has heated to room temperature. “no. a shame. would you like it?” “here.” he holds out his hand for it, and you promptly comply. but instead of cracking it open, the ice-blue glow of his evol envelops the can. soon, he’s handing it back to you. “there you go. you look thirsty.”

“uh, thanks.” surprised, you listen and stare at the hiss and bubble of the sparkling water reacting to you opening the can. “are you sure you don’t want any? there’s another can in there, if you’d like it.”

zayne smiles at you. the rare sight always strips you of your breath. “that’s alright. here, eat the rest of this apple.” he places the small chopping board with the slices of apple on it upon your lap. he leans back and places his cheek upon his fist, watching you fondly. “it’s good for you.”

you throw one more smart comment his way. “if anyone’s giving me a heart attack here, it’s you, doc.”

it’s funny how he’s changed his tone now. “that means you get to keep seeing me.”

“aren’t you the one adamantly against heart problems?”

“not when it involves you sticking around.”

you grin. “so you won’t file for a restraining order?”

zayne chuckles. “I’ll drop off a basket of apples in front of your apartment every week instead.”

“and keep a bowl in your office?”

“and keep a bowl in my office.”

wow. I didn't expect my headcanons drabble to blow up bro. tyasm for your support 😭🙏

masterlist

#⌗ ༘ ⋆｡𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐒❜ works !#ᝰ dividers by @/hitobaby !#the banner up top w zayne in it is made by me!! please do not use with or without credit <3 #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #zayne x reader #zayne x you #zayne love and deepspace x reader #zayne love and deepspace #zayne #love and deepspace imagines #love and deepspace drabbles #oracleofstars

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jqnehr · 3 months

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les améthystes du ciel | neuvillette — part 14

pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader warnings : crack and (attempts at) funny ha-ha humour at the start (massive failure), ANGST (again, surprise surprise), ermmm idk what else, this is sfw. word count : 4.5k (another short one...) note : SOSOSOSOSOOOO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO GET OUT, school has been WHOOPING my ass (and love and deepspace is taking up all the remaining gb in my brain) and I've hardly had time (and motivation 😔) to write 💔💔 BUT ANYWAYS!! better late than never <33

! not proof read

! do not copy, redistribute, translate, or use my work with or without credit in any way. thank you.

part thirteen ⋮ masterlist ⋮ part fifteen

ao3 ⋮ playlist

...

“My goodness, Neuvillette, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with such heavy eyebags.”

Neuvillette releases a sigh through his nose and continues perusing the documents before him, not even glancing up at the Duke of Meropide. “How fortunate am I to have a friend that is unfailing in pointing out the obvious.”

“In all seriousness, though, are you alright? You look like you haven’t slept a wink for a week.” Wriothesley’s perceptiveness strikes again. The Chief Justice dips his quill into the ink jar and scribbles his signature on the dotted line of a paper upon some recently-overseen hearing. “I haven’t.”

“And you’re not your usual amiable self either. You know, if you’re worried about your wife, there’s a nice Inazuman restaurant that just opened downtown. The Tonkotsu Ramen is divine.”

“I don’t even know if she likes Inazuman food.” Neuvillette isn’t really in the mood to entertain Wriothesley’s company today, but the dark-haired man seems to be making no move to leave. The warden of the Fortress appears to be more than eager to give the Iudex some unsolicited love advice from the ‘love expert’—Wriothesley’s words, not his.

“Everybody likes Inazuman food. Oh, and did you hear that Lyney and Lynette’s holding a massive magic show in two weeks? Maybe you could take her along, have some fun.”

“Did you forget that this marriage is contractual? There isn’t any real reason to take her on dates, Wriothesley.” The Duke’s eyes widen in incredulity at his words. “You don’t mean that. I can just tell that the very cause for your lack of sleep as of late is the very woman you don’t have ‘any real reason’ to take on a date. Do you think I’m stupid? You’re like an open book, Neuvillette.” “The thing that I don’t understand is how adamant you all seem to be on making us into a happy, loving couple. Have you been colluding with Furina in secret?” “She’s had a few cups of tea with me, but that’s besides the point. Isn’t the Madame bedridden with an awful cold right now? I bought some of my favourite tea up here so you and I could share some, but maybe you could take it and have it with her instead. What kind of husband would you be if you didn’t help nurse your ill wife back to health?”

That worries Neuvillette. “Do you think she’d be offended by my lack of checking-in and visits? I already had some chicken soup made for her yesterday, though.” Wriothesley’s spirits lift once he sees he’s starting to get through to the clueless man. “If I was your wife, I’d be insulted, whether contractually married or not. And chicken soup, Neuvillette? How cliché. I bet you told her maid to not let her know you requested it for her.” Neuvillette’s subsequent silence was answer enough.

Wriothesley rolls his eyes. “Whatever happened last week that caused this rift between you two is just silly. So, tell me—what did happen?” “Uh…” Neuvillette’s ears flush red at the memories that instantly flood him. “N-Nothing much.” “Did you two kiss or something? Oh, yeah, real scandalous. It’s almost as if husbands and wives don’t do that kind of thing!”

“We’re husband and wife on paper and by arrangement only, Wriothesley. It would be going against the contract to initiate any kind of intimate contact with each other like that. And no, we didn’t ‘kiss’. It was just…” The Duke leans forward in anticipation for the Iudex’s answer. “Well?”

“…Well, we ran into each other at the beach in the dead of night and talked.”

“Did you two do the deed?” “No!” The Chief Justice’s entire face flares bright pink at Wriothesley’s innuendo. “Goodness, Wriothesley, how on earth did you come to that conclusion? Did you just come here today to bother me about such private matters?”

“Yeah. Anyway, you’re blushing like a maiden on her wedding night. If you just ‘talked’, didn’t ‘kiss’ and didn’t get it on, then why are you so hesitant to divulge what unseemly act you both committed on the beach that night?” “Alright, since you keep insisting—we almost did.” “As in, almost kissed or almost had se—”

“Kissed! Kissed—we almost kissed.” Neuvillette waves a hand in front of face in defeat, trying to ease his embarrassment. He didn’t want to think about how if they weren’t interrupted, it probably would’ve escalated way further. Archons, I sound like a right idiot. He shoots the smug man before him a look. “What books have you been reading? You’re making me seem like an airheaded teenage girl giggling about her first kiss to her gaggle of friends.”

Wriothesley looks almost offended. “The only things I have time to read are reports upon convicts and the management of the Fortress, Your Honour. And I’m sorry, but I really didn’t know you were so sensitive about this matter. As if I didn’t see how you carried her out of the tea party, all bridal style and everything. Looked way too real to just be an act. Isn’t that just so interesting?” Neuvillette purses his lips, throwing Wriothesley a side-long glance. “You have just as wild of an imagination as Furina. I’ll take up your suggestion about the tea, though.” “What about the magic show and restaurant? You could go dine at the restaurant after the show. Don’t you think she’d like that?”

Quiet, the Iudex stares blankly at the document before him, contemplating. Would that be overstepping my bounds…? Oh, to hell with it—I’ve already done so too many times to count. What hurt is a small date going to do?

“…Alright. Your counsel is sound, I suppose.”

“Of course it is. Oh, and do you know when the banquet will be?” “…In two weeks’ time. What day is the show?” “It’s on the Tuesday.”

“The banquet’s on the Friday. Are you going to attend?” “Furina’s…coerced me into attending. I’m going to be stampeded by frenzied mothers desperate to marry off their equally crazed daughters again.” “Careful, or—how do the youngsters call it these days?—she’ll ‘hitch’ you up with someone, too.”

Wriothesley gives him a look. “You sound like a ninety-year-old.”

Neuvillette side-eyes him in return. “And why do you think that is? I can never keep up with the ever-changing colloquialism of the kids these days.”

The Duke shakes his head in amusement, seeing he’s succeeded in his mission and thus can leave. “Alright, old man. Send my get-well wishes to your wife for me. And don’t tell her I sent the tea. It’s supposed to be all you.”

Neuvillette is too polite of a person to tell someone outright to get lost, so he opts to wave for the door. “Yes, yes, I get it, Wriothesley. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of things to attend to, or would you like me to assign you some documents to peruse for me?” Wriothesley instantly gets the message and hurries for the door before Neuvillette can follow through with his threat. “I’ve got a date with the Pankration Ring, so sorry. Have fun with your wife!”

His office door quickly clicks shut. Neuvillette shakes his head and continues on with his work, perturbed.

・・・・

Neuvillette debated with himself over whether he should deliver the tea to you anonymously, say Wriothesley heard of your sickness and sent it out of friendly well-wishes, or just man-up and go personally brew it for you.

Eventually, Neuvillette decided on the latter.

Now, he stands hovering outside of your bedroom door, hand raised to knock, but hesitance keeps him back. He’s worried you’re sleeping, and would disturb you—and that’s why you knock, idiot—or, if you’re awake, subject himself to even more embarrassment upon the remembrance of what almost happened a week ago. This is a bad, bad idea.

He almost leaps out of his skin when your voice calls out from behind the door, a slightly muffled: “Neuvillette, I know you’re out there. Stop dawdling and come in.” Resigning himself to his fate, he clicks open the door and shuffles in, embarrassed. “My apologies. I was worried you were sleeping and that I would be disturbing you.” You haven’t looked up from the book you’re reading. He recognises the book title with a start—The Soul of a Human. The box of tea in his hand almost slips out of his grip at his shock. “Well, you were fretting over it outside my door for five minutes.”

“I…apologise. Am I intruding?” He understands why you would be grumpy—your voice is awfully stuffy from the cold, and your face is pale. And lo and behold—you’re in the very same nightgown as you were that night. Neuvillette averts his gaze, ears burning. Ugh, what’s going on?

“No, you’re alright.” You pick up a bookmark to your side and slide it into the book, closing it, giving him your full attention. You look up at him, before your stare falls to the item in his hold. “What’s that you’ve got there?” “Oh, uh…” He glances down at it, searching for the right words. Wriothesley told me not to tell her he sent it… Neuvillette finally manages out, “…I brought some tea to clear your head. Care for a cup?” “How thoughtful of you!” An abrupt swell of pride at your thrilled affirmation envelops him, and confuses him. Ignoring it best he can, he ahems and turns for the coffee table. There’s a rustle of bedsheets and covers and you’re padding across the carpet for him. “Here, I’ll go ask Anaïs for a fresh pot of tea.”

“No, you must rest.” Neuvillette doesn’t even think before he’s already put a hand upon your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks for the door. You turn to look up at him in surprise, and he quickly removes his hand. “Erm—I can go and ask her. Just relax. You need as much bed rest as you can get, yes?” You stare at him silently, and he takes in your appearance. Hair unbrushed, up in a messy bun with wild strands of it flaring out, lips pale and chapped, nose red with your cold and your eyes are sunken with fatigue. I was a fool, staying out for as long as we did that night. But, despite it all, seeing your complexion bare and sickly, he’s rather struck with admiration.

He doesn’t realise he’s staring even more intensely than you when your quiet call of his name snaps him from his stupor. Blinking, Neuvillette takes a small step back. “Uh, sorry? Yes, I’ll go brew it.”

“That’s not what I sai—” But he’s already rushing for the door, leaving your hand outstretched in a feeble motion to stop him. Now it’s your turn to blink in bewilderment.

Man, he sure likes to stare. The bouts of chills you’ve been getting are traceless now, heat left in its place. You’ve never had someone look at you so appreciatively, and you’re sure you look like a gremlin right now. Neuvillette was dead silent and just studying you intently, like he was looking at the moon.

You move to pull open a window, disliking how abruptly hot the room has gotten. Should I do something about my appearance? He’s already seen you practically naked, and that thought makes you blush even more. Anxiously patting at your hair, you head for the bathroom and take a look at your reflection, almost recoiling in disgust. I look ghastly! You quickly run the tap water, splashing at your face, sucking in a breath at the chill of it. Goodness, no wonder he ran out of here! I look like something out of a nightmare.

You jump when the sound of your bedroom door clicking open reaches you and, with a rush of panic, you whirl around and shut the bathroom door. Soft footsteps pause, and Neuvillette’s voice calls out, “[Name], are you alright?” “Fine! Just—one moment, please.” You hurriedly pat your face and hands dry, then moving to yank your hair tie from your bun, wincing at the sharp pull. That’s right, I haven’t brushed my hair for a few days, I was so sick! It must be a rat’s nest, and I probably have split ends now! No matter how much you try to pry the tie from your hair, it won’t budge, and it hurts like hell.

Okay, stop panicking. Why are you even panicking anyway? It’s not like you can help looking so dreadful at present. What are you trying to do—impress him?

“Ow, ow, ow, ow,” you softly whimper, bent over the sink awkwardly, gently trying to untangle the snag your hair tie has hit. You forget Neuvillette has exceptional hearing when three soft taps knock on the bathroom door.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You sound like you’re in pain.” He catches you by surprise, and you jump, hand still in your hair, ripping some strands out. Involuntarily, you yelp, cursing under your breath, arms sore from the angle. You hear Neuvillette’s polite, “I’m coming in” before the door clicks open.

Great. I wouldn’t blame him if he started laughing. One look in the mirror and it’s quite clear just how ridiculous you look right now. Hair flopping over your face, the end of it still tied together. Hot with humiliation, you rush to explain. “I…was trying to untie my hair, since it’s been up like this for a few days—” “Would you like some help?” Neuvillette shuts the door and approaches, hands reaching for your hair slowly, as if awaiting your permission. Seeing no other way, you nod feebly, your hair bouncing comically with the movement. “…Yes, please.” Neuvillette begins to remove his gloves; biting down on the material covering his middle finger and sliding it off smoothly. The action is so minimal, so natural—but you can’t help but find the sight extremely attractive. His eyes meet yours, and he tilts his head slightly in silent inquiry to your ogling of him. You look away, fidgeting. Things are starting to get out of hand.

At least there isn’t a hint of amusement in his face—he doesn’t seem to find your current state funny at all. You were expecting him to tease you, maybe chuckle at your silly state, but he’s perfectly expressionless. As usual, you suppose. Although, he does seem to smile a lot at you. His eyes are soft, too.

“Where is it tangled?” His voice is quiet. Neuvillette’s fingers wind into your hair, quickly finding the hair tie and observing the state of it. You have to keep your head bowed awkwardly—but you suppose it’s nice that he’s significantly taller than you, so you don’t have to lean over too far. You reach up and lightly grab his hand, guiding it to where it is specifically twisted. “There. It’s knotted, I think.”

“Mm, it is.” His fingers are gentle, never tugging or pulling, just carefully working away at untying the knot in your hair as best he can. “It’s not so bad it has to be cut, though. You are fortunate.”

Relief fills you. “I’m glad. I suppose you have to deal with such incidents yourself with your hair?”

Neuvillette chuckles. Gods, his laugh is so nice. “From time to time, yes. But I take very good care of my hair. Wouldn’t it be so silly if the Chief Justice oversaw a trial with matted hair?” “They wouldn’t let you in,” you laugh back, straightening slightly as your back muscles are beginning to ache. “Do you ever tie your hair up? Or try different hairstyles?” “I…can’t say I have.” Neuvillette shakes his hand, some strands of your hair falling to the floor, before he continues untangling your hair again. “I think I prefer it out, with just the ends tied.”

“I see.” You’re the opposite—having your hair down all the time gets in your way. So, you opt to have it up in a hair claw or gathered on top of your head in a messy bun. You really can’t fathom how Neuvillette gets around so easily without sitting on his hair or getting it stuck in doors. But then again, you suppose, he has been wandering around like this for centuries, so he ought to have learned how to manage it by now.

But the little girl in you always wants to reach for his hair. It looks perfect to braid and brush to your heart’s content, but you wouldn’t dare ask. All you know is that it’s soft and very well-kept, considering its lucent shine and the handful of times he’s picked you up and you had to hold onto his neck.

Such a train of thought makes you curious—what’s his morning routine? Nightly routine? Does he put his hair up in a net before sleeping? How long does it take him to brush it out each morning? Doesn’t it get bothersome at times? Has he ever had a haircut? And what are those blue things in his hair?

You voice that last question. “Neuvillette, what are those pretty blue ornaments hanging down from your head?” The movement of his hands in your hair freezes, and you immediately wish you could take your words back. You and your big mouth, [Name]! Haven’t you learned how to mind your business yet? Biting down on the inside of your right cheek, you move to apologise. “I’m sorry if it was a personal question, they’re just so peculi—”

“They’re, uh…” His quiet reply silences you, and Neuvillette begins to untangle your hair again. “I can understand why you’re curious. I can’t explain it, but they’re just…well…” “I dare say, they look like antennas,” you offer amiably, hoping to ease his clear awkwardness. “Or horns?” Then you giggle lightly. “Are you a dragon or something?”

Neuvillette swallows, beginning to sweat bullets. You just hit the nail on the head, and I can’t even tell you. He really can’t think of an excuse for them, but he isn’t about to indulge you in his secret. “I’ve been around for a long time, [Name], so surely it can’t be strange to realise that I may be some kind of mystical creature.”

“You said you’re not a vishap, so are you a dragon?”

“…Not exactly. I can’t really tell you, to be frank.” Sometimes, he wishes you weren’t so perceptive. It’s a valuable trait, yes, and he admires you for it, but it’s uncomfortable when he witnesses you practically unravelling his own secrets he’s kept very down-low right before his very eyes. Your quiet, observant demeanour is worth its weight in gold, but he wasn’t aware that you had been silently studying him also.

Well, it makes sense, if you think about it. You’re both married, and live in the same residence. It would be more logical to consider it strange if you weren’t curious about him—as he is you.

“Oh, I won’t pry, then.” It isn’t that factor that bothers him, he’s just a bit worried you’ll become suspicious, connect the dots—and it’s game over for him. If you haven’t already.

Silence reigns for a few moments, Neuvillette just gently unknotting your hair from the tie before finally pulling the band from your hair completely, holding it out to you. With the de-tanglement came a lot of pulled hairs, and a clump of some is still latched onto the tie. “There you are. Would you like to shower and wash your hair before joining me for tea?” “Uh, yes, I will.” Embarrassment fills you again. You glance at yourself in the mirror, letting loose a humourless laugh. “I look ridiculous.”

Neuvillette surprises you by patting your head, much like he does to the Melusines he’s so fond of. He’s smiling at you with that same gentle smile, too. “You look cute, if anything. There’s no need to be embarrassed. Things like this happen.” You stare at him. He thinks I look…cute?

Neuvillette appears to be perturbed by his own words. His eyes widen a fraction. “Uh—that is, there’s no need to put yourself down. Feel free to take your time.”

You, again, don’t get a chance to answer as he’s already whirled around and shut the door behind him.

・・・・

The bathroom door clicks open and you step out, towel wrapped around your head, hair up. You look and feel much more refreshed than before, face washed and moisturised. Neuvillette glances up from the newspaper he was reading and turns to you. “You look much better. I managed to keep the tea warm. Care for some?” “Of course.” You take a seat beside him, briefly shooting a glance towards the newspaper. And, as expected, the headlines are still going on about the announcement of Neuvillette’s marriage. One of the most notable headlines, Will There Be A Wedding? lines the top of the front page, along with a long string of columns holding articles on the matter.

“The Steambird is just eating this up.” You’re somewhat amused. You’ve, effectively, thrown the entirety of Fontaine into chaos. There’s a picture of you both at the tea party someone must’ve managed to snap just in time—Neuvillette’s lips upon your cheek, your expression perfectly surprised—displayed across the front page. You pick up the paper and begin reading the first few sentences of the article aloud, “For once, Fontaine has been graced with something much more exciting and shocking than the latest murder mystery resolved at the trials—the very man known for overseeing such hearings, Iudex Neuvillette, has recently announced his marriage to a young woman, Madame [Name].” It’s so ludicrous. Furina must be overjoyed.

You hear Neuvillette sigh from beside you, then the trickle of tea being poured sounds. “It gets better. The subtle slights thrown your way, in particular, are especially riveting.” Sarcasm drips from his tone. “I don’t recommend reading it. I’ve half a mind to send for them to halt publication of such an offensive article.”

“No need, I was prepared for this.” Society is fueled by vanity. Everyone likely expected Neuvillette, an unreachable, enigmatic figure with the face of an angel, to follow down a fairy-tale storyline. He would choose a woman equal to him in appearance, someone gorgeous and loveable, not someone who looks like every other person you pass by on the street. Not someone normal.

You’ve long grown a thick skin to scornful comments from those around you—commonly people you don’t even know, and who don’t know you—but it hurts a bit to be compared to the man next to you. So you opt to ask him what he thinks of your appearance.

“Well, Neuvillette, what is your opinion on me?” You brace yourself for the worst. But he’s too nice a person to give it to you straight. Perhaps his hesitance to confide in you of his true, maybe even superficial, views on you is a factor that could wound you deeply.

“Opinion?” He echoes, surprised. Neuvillette sets down his cup upon the saucer in his hand with a soft clink, mauve eyes rather bemused. “…Could you be a little more specific?” You have to choose your words carefully—you don’t want your deep-seated, pushed-down insecurities revealed, nor do you want to look like you’re fishing for compliments. For attention. You just want honesty, not flattery. “Erm…well, have you found that you would have rathered a more comely wife?” “I will be perfectly frank.” Neuvillette places his cup and saucer on the coffee table before you both, before leaning back and facing you fully. “I am not someone who goes for what’s on the outside. However, in this sense and our situation, I never had a choice anyway—not that that’s turned out to be a bad thing.” He, too, seems to be having trouble wording it right. “What I mean to say is, I like you. Your personality. And it’s very easy to look past all those superficial, facile ideals of beauty and appeal once you understand the heart of who you’re dealing with.”

Yeah, he should’ve been a poet. You want to tease him, but now is not the time. You also didn’t expect his words to comfort you so much. Beauty is a double-edged sword, and so is being average. Then it hits you—wait, could this be considered a…confession, of sorts?

“So, you’re saying…you don’t care about my appearance? Like how the entire country and Furina does?” “I never did. Why do you think I chose you? If I wanted a beautiful woman, I need only have taken my pick. I could send a letter to some nobleman with a particularly attractive young daughter and solved all his problems with marrying her off. But I didn’t. Although this situation is unromantic and unideal, that doesn’t mean I wanted it to be unrealistic.”

His words make you ponder. He had options, but he selected me. “…You could still say you had no choice, Neuvillette. The only reason I wound up here is because we danced and sent the ball rolling—a ball Furina herself put there, waiting for someone to kick.”

“Yes, you could. But you had a level head, could manage yourself under pressure, and you’re not the type to take much to heart. I needed someone rational, and it seemed like you were the only logical woman there.”

But it’s not like you were different from all the others. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, really. You give him a rather rueful smile. “You’ve misunderstood me once more, Neuvillette.”

“Sorry?” He almost flinches at your words. “Misunderstood you? How do you mean?” “I am not some sensation. We were both in sticky situations and we both appeared before each other in the nick of time. And I didn’t see you talking to any other woman apart from Clorinde that night. You didn’t try to seek someone out—it’s like you just hoped the right person would come along. And they did.” Neuvillette’s gaze drops, hurt flashing across his features. You feel pierced, like you just hurt yourself too, but you push that guilt down. This is not going how I intended it to. Miscommunication strikes again. And it’s the only thing you’re both capable of, because you have some silly little piece of paper to stick to and blurring lines to stay behind.

It’s frustrating, actually. You want to know more, but the contract says no. You’ve both come so close to breaking those rules you set for yourselves, only to pull away just in time. A chemistry you never asked for sputtered to life between you both, but it’s something to be adamantly—indefatigably—avoided. Why is it such torture?

Torment like no other. Ha. You’re talking as if you know what this is. But you don’t. And you won’t. All you know is that you can’t.

“I…” Neuvillette seems to be at a loss for words. “I’m not sure what to say.” “It’s alright.” You lean forward and pat his hand, which is curled into a tightly clenched fist. “You didn’t have a choice. This isn’t your fault.” But it will be your fault if this continues on and becomes something it shouldn’t. No matter how you strain to touch his face, you will be lost beneath the waves.

did I post this MINUTES after my announcement of how it'll be up today? yes. yes I did.

anyways HELLOOOOO AGAIN EVERYONE!! so nice to see you all once more <3 I hope you're healthy and well and don't have 4 massive cavities to be filled like I do!! 🥰

again, so sorry this took ten years. ive had other projects (love and deepspace) that I've been slaving away on and school assignments (that im procrastinating from) on my plate as well :((( BUT!! not to worry, for chapter 14 is here 🤭‼️

HOPE YOU ENJOYED!! and recovered from the last one. cause WOW 😨 I need to seek professional help ☺️

taglist!

#⌗ ༘ ⋆｡𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐒❜ works !#neuvillette #genshin #chief justice neuvillette #neuvilette genshin #fontaine #neuvillette x reader #genshin x reader #neuvillette x you #neuvillette x female reader #genshin neuvillette #furina #genshin impact

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jqnehr · 3 months

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les améthystes du ciel | neuvillette — part 15

pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader warnings : suggestive (again) and ANGST BABYY, this is sfw. word count : 4.1k (yet ANOTHER short one...) note : hey guys!! ☺️

! not proof read

! do not copy, redistribute, translate, or use my work with or without credit in any way. thank you.

part fourteen⋮ masterlist ⋮ part sixteen

ao3 ⋮ playlist

...

You are bored. Navia is out of town for the week, Furina has (thankfully) been leaving you alone as of late, you haven’t had a reply back from your brother when you sent him a letter yesterday, and Neuvillette is avoiding you.

Neuvillette is avoiding you.

Did I really offend him that much? Should you apologise? For telling the truth, when it needed to be said? You had really just given him a reality check, told him where you lie—and where he thus lies, also.

You’ve always been rather harsh with your words. Maybe you could’ve gone about it more nicely, more gently. Because, if there’s one thing you’ve found in the time you’ve known Neuvillette, is that he’s rather a sensitive soul.

If he gets offended or hurt, he hides it away. And he likes to take strolls in the rain when he’s sad, too. An empathetic man, you’ve caught that unmistakably glimmering sheen of tears hinting at that lash line of his.

The first time was when you were both in the garden at the ball that night, in the pouring rain. You thought his eyes were wet from the rain, and the tracks of droplets streaming down his cheeks were just rain water, but maybe you were mistaken.

You’re watching him right now, seated at your window, overlooking the garden and harbour. It’s raining buckets, as it has for the past three days since you both had that conversation, and he’s holed himself away to sulk, probably. Now he’s out in the open—his satiny, ivory hair limp with the rain. Neuvillette stands, form ramrod straight, hands behind his back, face turned to the sea, still.

You stare shamelessly, leg propped up on your window seat, arm resting on your upright knee, watching him. I want to talk to him. But he clearly wishes to be alone in the rain, without an umbrella, as expected. A man as resolute and introverted as him would likely be unappreciative of the company from the very cause of his present misery, say, and his entire demeanour right now just screams ‘leave me alone’.

Neuvillette’s head turns, and you now have a full view of his flawless side-profile. His bangs are plastered to his forehead and right cheek, eyes downcast. Then they flicker up, his form turns around a bit more, and thus, he’s staring right at you.

You don’t flinch away or pull the curtain in embarrassment at being caught. No. You stay seated, calm, ignoring how your stomach did drop in dread once you were sighted. You, frankly, don’t know why you remained still. Even from this distance and height, you can feel his direct stare you’re meeting without hesitance intensely. It’s unwavering and vacant.

Spheroids of rain water stream down the window pane in opalescent beads, warping his pale image vaguely. It’s strange how smoothly his form melds into the droplets’ reflection. Similar to how he seemed to coalesce with the water when he emerged from it that night. It’s how he seems to belong in the rain. And it’s how his touch sears, yet soothes. Romantic, almost; but, above all, confounding. Something you long for, but something unprocurable.

Water drips, water escapes—but its effect is lasting. It lingers, as he does in the corner of your mind. Maybe that’s why, when you finally turn from the window, you sense his stare remain, as the memory of the man forever will even after you leave for good.

・・・・

Lately, Neuvillette has been making the first move. He never really took himself to be that kind of person. According to a book he once read on human psychology, when someone is in love, they will go above and beyond for the subject of their affections. Is this what that is? Something you only see in operas and romance novels?

That only confused the Hydro Sovereign further. And it was something Lady Furina, ever sharp-eyed, swiftly picked up on.

“‘I won’t ever fall in love’, you said,” she sing-songed, waltzing up to his desk. Neuvillette almost snapped off the head of his fountain pen with the pressure he subconsciously applied in irritation at her sudden, unbidden entrance. Here we go. “‘It’s just an arrangement’, you said. ‘There would be no strings attached’, you said.”

He shot her a rather weak glare. “…Your point?”

Furina’s jovial front suddenly faded, replaced with concern. “Neuvillette, you look drained. What exactly happened?”

The Chief Justice had no interest in accepting her pity. “Nothing of your concern. I just…”

“Hm.” Furina was tempted to open her mouth and express the triumph she held over how this stone statue of a man seemed to finally be feeling something. But, although with many faults, gloating is not one of them. Lady Furina is not a cruel girl. It really seems as if everything’s going to plan. Although, these two idiots are just in denial. Let’s pull this one on him.

“Wriothesley told me about the Inazuman restaurant and the magic show. It’s on Tuesday, is it not? Well, that’s in two days. So, Neuvillette—I order you to get off your chuff and go and invite her to attend with you right this instant.” Furina crossed her arms, ignoring the Iudex’s stunned-into-silence expression. “And have dinner with her at the restaurant afterwards. Go on! Clear this misunderstanding or whatever between the two of you up immediately. It’s torture to witness.”

“Lady Furina, it really isn’t that simple—” “Excuse, excuses—honestly, Neuvillette, surely you can do better than that?” She thus slammed a palm down flat upon his desk, rattling his ink jar he caught just in time and sending some of his papers flying. He was too bewildered to reprimand her for such carelessness. “In case your old age is really starting to get to you and you didn’t hear me the first time: I said, I order you. Hurry up! Sweep her off her feet and woo her with sushi. As they say—the quickest way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach.”

What a load of rot. Neuvillette opened his mouth to say that it’s probably too late to book tickets and procure suitable seats for the show—but, of course, Furina may have always been rather disorganised, but she’s never unprepared. He was silenced before the words were even spoken as she held up two VIP tickets in front of his face. “Don’t worry, I acquired tickets in advance. What did I just say, Neuvillette? Go and invite her out on a lovely little evening date tout de suite!”

And that’s how he ended up here, outside of your room again, like a lovesick fool, vying for his wife’s attention. He really wonders how idiotic he looks right now.

Neuvillette almost leaps out of his skin when Anaïs appears beside him, surprised at his own presence. “Monsieur? Are you looking for the Madame?” “Uh—yes, I am. Is she inside?” He hastily clears his throat and collects himself. He thought it was you for a second—that would’ve been much more embarrassing.

“No, not at present. She told me she was heading out. Madame did not specify where.”

Instead of feeling relief like he expected to, disappointment washed over the man. Blinking in confusion at his own sentiments, Neuvillette gives a swift nod to the maid and turns. “Alright, thank you, Anaïs.”

Is she visiting her brother? Best leave her to it, then. He does need time to find the right words on how to successfully invite you to attend with him. It’s been a few days since he spotted you staring down at him from your bedroom window, the silence between you two stretched and taut, and it irritates him like the intolerable itch of a mosquito bite. Something that you can get your mind off for a little while, before it always pops up again.

The last thing Neuvillette wants to appear as is clingy. But why won’t you ever make the first move? You’ve shown him what it’s like to want something so intensely, and as a man who has never asked for much—in fact, anything—in his life, why must it be now? Why must it be someone? Why must it be someone who will eventually, inevitably, slip from his hold?

He abruptly thinks back to how overwhelming the desire to have you was—how intensely he wanted to ravish you that night on the beach. Savour your mouth, ravish that figure of yours, make you ascend and see the stars in all their enrapturing beauty.

Neuvillette’s face flares, probably the shade of a tomato. Running a hand over his face is exasperation at his own untoward thoughts of his wife, he continues along the hall, turns the corner in the direction of his office, and slams into someone.

Someone a lot smaller than him. He sends the person almost flying—he didn’t realise he was practically marching, storming, down the hallway. In the nick of time, Neuvillette grasps the person’s upper arm and steadies them.

“Oh, my deepest apologies—” The Chief Justice’s words are cut short once he recognises just who he slammed into. “Oh.”

You’re clutching his forearm to keep your balance, pressed to him, forehead throbbing. “Goodness, Neuvillette, what’s got you in such a hurry?” You don’t sound to be in the best of moods. Is she alright? His hands linger on your arms even as you pull away to create polite distance. Dammit, I’m always reaching for her.

Your forehead is red from where you smacked it on his chest. And, before he can think better of it—it’s like I never think these days—Neuvillette’s brushing gentle fingers across the bruise, sweeping your hair to the side, tilting your head up so he can observe the injury closely. He hardly notices your sharp intake of breath and reddening ears. All he’s thinking about is how your forehead probably needs ice.

“Hm. Shall we go get an ice pack for you?” Maybe he should put some distance between the both of you before he pins you against the wall. Have you always been this attractive? The press doesn’t know what they’re talking about, labelling you as ‘unalluring’. He’d love to while the night away with you in his arms.

Archons, what was that? Since when was he thinking like a hormonal, thoughtless teenager? Gods, he needs a glass of water to soothe his buzzing nerves. He’d love you to accompany him, but he’s a bit worried about what he’d do once you were both alone.

At times, he doesn’t even register what you’re saying, just zoning out and listening to the sound of your voice. Like now. But his rather foggy state of mind right now only just comprehends your assent to getting something to ease your bruised forehead.

It’s like it’s instinctual, how he wraps his arm around your shoulders, providing you support you don’t need. It’s just natural, leaning into you so comfortably, as if he’s been doing this for years. A pit forms and yawns within his stomach. To let the heart rule the head is a capricious, fatal mistake many before him have made, and the results commonly proved calamitous. Such impulsive behaviours were something Neuvillette initially believed were beyond him; something he was incapable of—and that’s the misconception. Just because you do not understand it, does not mean you lack the ability to enact it yourself. An enactment that keeps the noose around his neck, seconds away from the trapdoor at his feet giving way.

You do not pull from or reject his hold. It’s a criminally pleasant surprise Neuvillette is welcomed with, and the chasm gaping within him widens just a bit more. Is this so wrong? By Liyuean standards, yes: the Chief Justice is currently committing an unforgivable, inadmissible felony. The greatest of slights to the Geo Archon’s widespread, influential ideals. Such that has been adapted by many other societies—including the one he sits in that exalted chair and judges himself.

You both enter the kitchen, the area usually so bustling, now devoid of fellow human life as the staff is presently on break. They would not be back for about another hour, leaving the pair plenty of time to do as required for the Madame’s rather sore forehead.

Neuvillette sits you down upon a stool he pulls up for you and rushes over for the freezer room, where the Cryo-infused room holds all necessary for refrigeration, preservation of meats and other perishables, and, of course, ice packs. He selects a sizable one and wraps it in a kitchen cloth, before approaching you once more.

He thought you’d protest; make a fuss and insist you’re fine—but, to his (again) pleasant surprise, you sit there quietly, eyes on him as he makes his way over, the coldness of the ice pack seeping through the cloth and into his palm. Neuvillette finds himself rather perturbed by the intensity of your gaze.

“Here you are.” He presses it to your forehead. “It must hurt, no?” “Not really.” You haven’t taken your eyes off him once in the duration of him approaching you and placing the ice pack to your head. Once you are holding the frosty item to yourself securely, he takes a step back, placing respectful distance between the two of you. Neuvillette flicks his stare away, while you continue in that rather soft tone of yours. “Although, you do have a rather hard chest. Who knew you had such a physique beneath those ornate robes of yours?” Is she…flirting? Such an incomprehensible facet of humanity for him, but one that nonetheless leaves his ears flushing. The Iudex preoccupies himself with getting a glass of water. “…I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.” “Neuvillette, you have the figure of a god.” You tilt your head at him, something he doesn’t appear to notice. “And you’re such a homebody. Where do you get the time? Apart from going for the odd swim, of course. I do believe I’ve asked this question many times before, but you never gave me a definitive answer.”

Neuvillette gulps down the water, relishing the coolness of it advancing throughout his body. The room’s getting rather hot. He fidgets with his collar, untightening it slightly. Why is such a question getting me so flustered? Perhaps it’s the memories your words bring with them. You’re evidently referring to a night the both of you most certainly remember. Neuvillette taps the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief somewhat anxiously, placing the glass down upon the counter with an almost-too-loud clink. “I just…well, when I can, I do a wee bit of fitness. It’s…optimal for relieving stress.”

“‘A wee bit’?” The stool creaks and your shoes tap against the tiled floor as you stand, sidling up to him, hip upon the bench’s steel corner. What on earth’s gotten into her now? It’s just going to send him down the rabbit hole again. Maybe this time, he’ll do what he’s been wanting to since that one eventful night and regret it all over again. The glass still within his hold could splinter at any given moment due to the tightening grip he has on it; clawing at his self-control to ground himself. Neuvillette watches your every move warily. Your expression remains rather blank, but your unwavering stare states otherwise. He gulps. “You must have a lot of free time on your hands, then. A lot more than you let on. Could now be such an example, perhaps?” “I—” His words are cut off by his own sharp inhale when your right hand plants itself on his forearm. Oh, no… “Madame, I would advise you…” Neuvillette strives to sound authoritative, but he can’t manage the tone. It’s embarrassing, how much his skin burns as if flames licked at it instead of his wife’s mere hand. He swallows heavier this time. “Please…”

“What’s wrong, Chief Justice?” She’s so confusing! One moment you’re so off-putting, so enforcing of the contract’s regulations, so adamantly avoidant of his company—and then you’re doing this, sending mixed signals and playing around with his feelings again!

I need to do something about this. Something like redrawing the line. Even if it rips that hole in him open wider some more.

Your low hum is enough of a trigger—in a flash, you’re pinned against the counter, large and warm gloved hands clutching your hips, his left knee between your legs, torso pressed to his. It leaves you gasping, your own hands splayed out upon his chest, faces much too near. Taken off guard, your mind is left to abruptly rewind back to the last time you were both in this close and amatory of a pose—not in the bathroom when he kindly untangled your hair for you, but when you both stood alone on the beach, your chin tipped up towards his by the man’s gentle fingers. And now, he doesn’t look so impressed.

“My dearest wife,” he murmurs lowly, breath fanning across your mouth. “Please do not attempt to dupe me so. It’s quite misleading.” “Dupe?” You repeat, beginning to return to your senses, but you’re still nonetheless startled. Flustered. “And misleading? Dearest husband, please do elaborate.”

A familiar brush of fingers to your cheek—something he’s fond of doing, it appears, considering how many times he’s touched you so. So gentle, but his sudden grip to your chin is not so tender. Now, it holds inflections of exasperation—of frustration. Mauve, slitted eyes glint with a storm. His brow has a pinch. “You cannot act so distant and then so intimate whenever you like. I am not some whimsy of yours to toy with when it suits you.” That makes you frown, your feelings pierced. “Now you’ve confused me. Who said I’m toying with you? I’m trying to get somewhere here.”

“Somewhere?” It’s his turn to repeat your own previous words. Neuvillette tilts his head, and it’s in a scarily fitting position for him to lean forward and…what did you say?

The impact of your phrasing hits you, and you attempt to flinch back, but you’re held securely in place against the counter and your husband. He ceases your squirming with his forbidding hold. Dammit! You fool of a woman! Despite his clamped-down hold upon you, you keep wiggling to get away, panic seizing you. “I…! That is—” Neuvillette’s hold is too resistant, it’s like trying to wriggle free of a vice. He keeps staring at you, his previous amenity traceless. “If you let me go, I’ll explain—” “Oh, yes, you will, and then you’ll lie—and, well, [Name]…” You’ve never seen this side of him before. It’s frightening you. I’ve really blown it this time, haven’t I? His hand holds your chin firmly in place, grip powerful, yet not painful; his expression is much more excruciating than that. This is the first time you’ve witnessed Neuvillette’s anger directed at you. “…As one who is not predisposed to lying, I therefore deeply dislike it when others do so without so much as a thought for those around them. I cannot stand manipulators.”

Oh gods, oh gods. You know he’d never harm you in such a way, but you’re getting recollections. Not now! Not. Now! Please, not now! Too close. If you act up now, it’ll just look like you’re pulling at more strings to bend him to your will—something you’ve never intended to do, and you’ve effectively hurt yourself and Neuvillette by making him even think you’re like that—and considering his present expression and mood, it won’t sail well. Your breathing is becoming increasingly erratic, but the Iudex doesn’t appear to take notice. “So, if you will, do tell me your true intentions, lest I do something the contract strictly outlines not to do.”

You pause, breathless. “…What?”

“You’re too tempting.” His hand now drops down to rest against the curve of your waist, grip tight. Neuvillette’s other hand leans against the counter’s edge. “And you’re frustrating. Is it so wrong to indulge a little?” Oh… Maybe this is a rerun of the night at the beach. Maybe this time, the sexual tension will get too much. Maybe he’s right—it’s clear the desire is mutual. You’re both toeing the line. Will it turn out fine? Or will this be a turning point—breaking point in your relationship?

It won’t be contractual anymore. That’s the daunting reality. It’ll be harder for you both to give your final goodbyes to each other when the contract timeline runs out. Coming down from the high will be a ruinous, catastrophic crash. And to think you’ll be proving Furina right—your pride won’t have any of that.

Is it so wrong to indulge a little? Were his soft words, and you’re wondering that too. You’ve been pondering—overthinking—that for weeks. You quite agree with him—it’s so frustrating. Why is everything you want always out of reach? Is it so wrong to be happy?

“I just…” You begin, placing your hand on the dip from his shoulder to his collarbone, running a fingernail over the button on his shirt just waiting to be popped. Your blood thumps in your ears. “I didn’t mean to offend you…”

“No.” Neuvillette’s hand is back to tipping your chin upwards again. Long lashes frame fervid violet hues that rove over your face intensely. They seem to linger on your mouth. “But you confuse me. How can you push me away and pull me back so thoughtlessly, never once considering my feelings?” “What are you on about, Neuvillette?” It seems to him as if you’re just not getting it—or, maybe more plausibly, you don’t want to. Must he spell it out? Must he dive into the uncharted waters that lay murkily calm before him? Must he risk it all?

“You cannot create another misunderstanding between us and then go on to pretend as if nothing happened. How am I supposed to feel?” His eyes convey such disheartenment and implorement, your heart is left to drop. Oh. Yes, he’s owed an apology for how I spoke to him a few days ago. How am I supposed to put this, though?

“I’m sorry, Neuvillette, I just—” Don’t try to make excuses now. It’d just incriminate yourself further. And the one thing you’ve found you fear the most of late is him turning his back on you. Could you handle the rest of your life with more regrets? Would you be able to live out the remainder of your days with the torment of what could’ve been?

With those thoughts, you quieten, wracking your brain for the right words. “I’m just confused—of course, that’s no excuse for hurting you, but, I…” This is getting increasingly difficult, what with his proximity and touch and unyielding stare. He’s silent, waiting for you to continue, showing no signs of stepping back and letting you breathe normally once more. You find you can’t reciprocate his gaze. Fidgeting with his outer robe’s collar, you finally muster the words and courage to go on. “Do you understand me when I say I want to grow closer to you, but I just can’t?” Neuvillette remains quiet, and it shoots panic into you. “Surely you understand! I mean, there’s the contract to worry about, then there’s making sure we don’t prove Furina right, and then there’s my past that just—ugh! I know I haven't explained everything in detail, but—I’m confused! Should we, or should we not? It’s like you said—is it so wrong to just indulge a little?” Again, he prolongs his silence, just staring at you, grip nowhere near as tight anymore. And then, he releases you. He steps back; he puts distance between you both. Is this the feeling of messing everything up bad? It’s a wash of dread submerging you, an anchor weighed to your ankle, wrenching you down. Neuvillette’s hands drop limply to his side, much like how you feel inwardly right now, and he opens his mouth once more to speak. You brace yourself. “…Join me for dinner,” he says after a moment of horrid, heavy, permeating silence. “I have tickets to Lyney and Lynette’s next magic show, and there’s a new Inazuman restaurant that recently opened nearby. Let’s go on a date.”

He wants to try. You want to kiss him breathless right now. He wants to try! He wants to risk it, as you do. He wants to try with you. The relief you feel almost outweighs the joy sprouting back up within you.

“Sure.” You messed up so badly, you failed miserably at trying to take it a step further, but Neuvillette, ever the forgiving, kind man, pushes that aside and offers you a hand. He’s wholehearted. That’s what gives you courage. “Let’s have dinner together.”

here u guys go. some people have been nagging me on ao3 for things to move along and lucky for y'all because that was in plan (but ig patience is truly a virtue many lack /lh)

ANYWAYS! I served, but did not eat. sorry for yet another disappointing meal y'all, a feast will be coming SOON ‼��🥰🙏

taglist!

#⌗ ༘ ⋆｡𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐒❜ works !#genshin impact #genshin #neuvillette #chief justice neuvillette #fontaine #neuvilette genshin #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin imagines #neuvilette fanart #neuvillette x you #neuvilette x reader #neuvillette x female reader #neuvillette x reader #wriothesley #sigewinne #furina

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