nelle-y

[nelle-y]

MY GOD THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。12:06 AM — SAMPO KOSKI.

notes: friends/acquaintances to lovers, mutual pining but seemingly unrequited love, confessions (kind of lol), happy ending !!, not proof read and also idek if it’s in character but idk i just want to kiss him but he’s also rly punchable so we had to work with that okay

sampo is a bit shameless—it’s what anyone would tell you. personally, you would have to agree.

“so,” he drawls, “how about it, huh? you, me, a fancy little date—”

“no,” you interrupt—it’s immediate, your response, it comes through grit teeth. “you can forget it.”

“alright, alright,” he raises his hands in surrender, “no need to get all aggressive. the sampo koski will change your mind soon enough.”

you’ve lost count how many times he’s asked you this same question. maybe it’s admirable—the way he’s so persistent. maybe it’s dangerous—the way he always gets what he’s after. most people describe sampo koski as an added headache to the already difficult life of the underworld. he’s a bit too lively for his own good, you think. but you’d describe him as pretty words and perfect teeth and cologne that makes your head spin.

you hate it.

“there won’t be any mind changing,” you say promptly.

“oh, c’mon,” he insists, voice effortlessly honeyed and so painfully alluring. “what’s the worst that could happen, huh? we have a good time?” his lips curl into that smile if his. you swallow and look away.

a lot, you want to say. the worst that can happen is a lot.

and it’s easy, you think—to reach over and fix that strand of hair that’s fallen to the wrong side of his face. it’s easy to bump shoulders with him or turn and brush your noses together and feel his hot breath as he exhales.

but that would be toying with overstepping dangerous boundaries, boundaries that are very much set in place by yourself for your own sake. sampo has saved you one too many times from a hard spot—but he’s always managed to disappear just when you think he’s reliable too. he’s too good at bending things in his favor, a little too good at getting what he wants out of everything.

it’s not hard to think what he wants from you—and it’s not hard to imagine him disappearing once again once he’s got it. the difference is you think this time…well, you think this time might just crush you.

“sampo, do you want me to punch you?” you huff, crossing your arms.

it’s late. you’re not sure why he’s gone out of his way to walk you home, but he does and you’re a tad bit grateful. you’d rather not run into a vagrant on your way—and if you do, that’s happily sampo’s problem now.

there’s something about it, about the way he’s dedicated only when there’s something to gain out of it, about the way he’s so sweet and charming as he butters you up with his actions, about the way his smile is gentle around the corners just perfectly to crack your resolve.

he’s so good at what he does—and so painfully bad for your heart. your poor, fragile heart that’s so carefully locked away from his awaiting hand. you think to give it to him would be to hand the devil your soul and trust it’s safety.

you’re not so foolish.

“hey, we’re pals, you and i,” he nudges you with his shoulder. the contact is enough to make your breath pause. “how can you be so cruel?”

there’s a pout on his lips. a perfectly rehearsed, theatrical and conniving pout on his lips that’s meant to add to his charm and chip away at your composure until you give him exactly what he’s after. for a moment, you debate whether or not you’d rather just take on a vagrant or deal with the (very attractive) disaster next to you.

“we’re acquaintances at best,” you purse your lips. “very faintly acquainted acquaintances at that.”

“well that’s just mean,” he gasps, “after all the business deals we’ve had together? i thought i’d be on your good side by now.”

that’s all you think he sees anything as. a good business opportunity. maybe he’s a good friend—he never leaves you for dead and he never really lets you down when you need him most, but perhaps that’s for his own benefit at the end. how else can you have connections if they’re all dead? but you don’t think intimacy is a word sampo uses in his every day vocabulary—much less his every day routine.

“sampo,” you snap, “drop it.”

“hey,” he eyes you, “everything alright?”

you hate that he acts like that—like he cares as his lips curl into that soft frown and his eyes gloss over in concern. it’s so carefully crafted, that mask of his, the one he can turn on to mimic every emotion he might need to fool you that he really cares and he really wants to know if you’re okay.

and you’re not—but he doesn’t need to know that.

“everything would be fine if you quit asking for your stupid date,” you grumble, “cross me off your list for the day.”

he stops walking. you kick yourself for immediately noticing the lack of warmth as soon as he’s not beside you anymore.

“what?”

it’s a simple question. one word. one syllable. yet it says so much. the hurt in his voice, the genuine confusion, the slight shock and the underlying betrayal.

“why’d you stop walking,” you raise a brow, “it’s late and i’m tired—”

“you’re changing the subject,” he cuts you off, “what do you mean list?”

“c’mon sampo, let’s not play this game tonight,” you sigh, “i’m really tired.”

“and what game are we playing?”

“the game of playing dumb,” you snap, and this time, there’s a bit more bite to your words, “the game of asking around to worm your way into everyone’s pants.”

“everyone’s pants? i didn’t know sampo koski had such a reputation,” he chuckles in that playful way of his—but there’s no charm this time, just dryness. “i didn’t know you believed it too.”

“so what am i supposed to believe? that you want to go on a date for fun?”

“that’s usually what people do on dates,” he shrugs, “have fun with people they like.”

he looks a bit wounded. it makes your heart bleed and you don’t like it. his shoulders are slumped and his eyes aren’t looking directly into yours for once—it’s like you’ve peeled off that confidence he wears like a second skin and left something a lot more tender and raw underneath.

something a lot easier to sting with the burn of rejection.

admittedly, you never thought you’d see the day where you’d feel bad for sampo after your rejection. you always thought you’d feel bad for yourself—saying no to everything you want but can’t ever really have. but he makes you feel like he wanted it too….that he’s been craving you just as badly as you’ve been craving him all this time.

“what are you—”

“listen, i….” and then he trails off. like he doesn’t have the right words. like he doesn’t know what he wants to say and has everything he wants to get off his chest all at the same time. like he needs you to know what’s on his mind. in the end, he plasters a grin on his face—one that’s tight and forced as he chuckles, “let’s get ya home, yeah? sampo koski will have you delivered to your door in once piece in no time—”

“sampo,” you sigh, “what do you want from me?”

there’s defeat in your voice. maybe hope. definitely caution.

“a date,” is all he says. “i’ve only ever asked you,” he adds, “if that’s what you’re worried about. no side deals or anything.”

that last part comes with another chuckle that really has no humor at all. it’s dry and empty and maybe even a little bitter.

“look, i appreciate the dedication, but i’d rather not be that fun hook up on the side that—”

“hey! that’s just harsh,” he gasps, “you’d think so lowly of sampo koski? after everything we’ve been through?”

sampo is good at one thing—playing the ever dedicated, ever conniving, ever charming business man. he knows how to lace in sweet words and tempting offers like how the devil whispers sins into your ears. he never cracks, never lets that facade fall even when he’s backed into a corner.

except this time, you don’t think it’s a facade. you think it’s a wall to keep you from noticing the pure heartbreak in his eyes.

it fills you with guilt instantly. it makes you almost hate yourself for not seeing good in him. it makes you feel blind for not noticing all the signs he’s been dropping for so long—signs you know he’s never given anyone else.

who else does he bump shoulders with and walk home in the dark and flick foreheads and make time for even when he’s on a tight schedule? who else gets to hear him talk about his day for just the sake of talking without and not a guise for a deal?

for a second you feel bad—and then you decide that for once, you’ll do something about it.

“sampo koski is always disappearing,” you say softly, taking a step forward, “what if he disappears this time too?”

“sampo koski always comes back,” he reminds you, heart on his sleeve as he meets you half way.

“always?” you ask hopefully.

he nods, like it’s the surest thing he’s promised. “of course.”

“okay, sampo,” you chuckle breathlessly, whether in joy or in disbelief, you’re unsure. maybe both. your hand cups his cheeks and when he leans into it, you decide it’s definitely both. “let’s go on your date. you’re paying.”

“you didn’t have to bring money into it,” he pouts—but the excitement in his voice is almost tangible.

you giggle, squeeze his cheeks together as his hands find your waist. it’s dark and it’s late and you’re tired—but sampo koski is here and nothing else has ever mattered more.

“i expect only the best date from the sampo koski.”

“good,” he grins, charming as ever, a little extra only for you, “because sampo koski never disappoints.”

you kiss him after that. and every day too.

i have been bewitched by the meathead guys 😔

[nelle-y]

dude, he wants you so bad.

[nelle-y]

[nelle-y]

11 more cavities ong

he likes whenever you run a hand smoothly through the silk of his hair. kinich is lovestruck, and busy admiring the simplicity of moments like this.

you both didn't have to spend too much energy, neither of you had to even talk. two birds with one stone, he loves the memories you make in bed, fluffy and the other way.

especially when he gets to watch you, or feel your touch on his skin. he never thought he would've liked physical touch this much either.

he feels so special in your arms, his head fit right into the slot beside your nape. he finds himself stuck looking at your body. not even in a dirty way, he's just admiring—not believing that this is his.

he's happy to be called yours just as much, he especially loves to trace small shapes, and circles over your skin when you both are cuddles up together like animals looking for warmth in this cold weather (you both live in natlan)

his fingers are stuck intertwined with yours, just as how his emerald-amber orbs were starstruck, scanning your disshelved appearance. you could only imagine the hearts in his eyes.

loving him felt like Apple cider by beabadoobee; you both liked the same thing and rocked it out like two highschool kids listening to the same band with the same pair of earplugs.

or it could sound a lot like Soren by beabadoobee. he could stay here with you in bed forever just to see you like this endlessly as well. so busy just looking at your beauty, your elegance, even if you never considered yourself handsome, or pretty—you were everlastingly regal to him. juno, even.

your voice as sweet as honey whenever you spoke, no matter what tone, he knew ever since he heard that melody—that was the one he wanted to wake up to everyday.

like now, your slow breathing patterns that had helped him sleep through his insomnia, your head on his chest this time. he could only imagine how cute you would've looked if it were you spooning him. but all the same, he wished moments like this could last forever.

[nelle-y]

Revived flames pt. 2

Synopsis: Time for a date with Wriothesley! But paparazzi and journalists have been making it difficult to enjoy

C/W: Wriothesley x gn!reader, angst-fluff-angst-no comfort, fiance!Wriothesley, not proofread, irl book mentions (The Song of Achilles), soft smut (making out)

Note: Wriothesley was assigned Duke of the Fortress of Meropide like two years before this time

Part 1 here

—

What is to come of Wriothesley’s visit?

You expected late nights and early mornings, his cold touch against the warm sun, laughter and inside jokes to be shared.

But what actually happened?

You tolerated a roaring silence when you got home from the aquabus ride, watching the leaves dance from your window as the tea sat in front of you grew cold. Has the drink foretold your future with this man? Somehow you could almost cry from disappointment. So much for making up for lost time. You and your fiancé spent an hour like that, aimlessly seaching for conversation that could lead to the late nights you yearned.

You asked, “For how long will you be staying?”

He leaned back on his seat. “Just until tomorrow. You know the fortress always has trouble going on.”

For the first time in your lives you felt a wall between you, an awkwardness. You’re unsure if it’s the sudden change of environment he was uncomfortable with.

“Who is in charge there while you’re away?”

“Chief of the Marechaussee Hunter along with Clorinde. She knows how things go around the fortress, so I trust it’s in good hands. Have you been up to anything lately?” He takes a long sip of his tea, noticing how your eyes lit up when he asked you.

“I picked up a few books from the library recently. One is called ‘The Song of Achilles’, and archons, it is devastating!”

You ramble on about the plot of your recent read, your fiancé listening intently. Wriothesley sat there, cheeks reaching his ears. The way you explained it was messy, a lot of ‘and thens’ and unclear details, but he didn’t dare to interrupt that charming face.

“Oh, but I don’t want to spoil you,” you paused.

“No, continue. I’m sure I won’t have time to read once I get back to the fortress.” Both your teas have been finished at this point. “So what happens after they save Briseis?”

All Wriothesley could focus on was the light blush on your cheeks, how you graze your tongue on your lips, how you bite them when you discuss some spicy scenes. Archons, you are so breathtaking. Urges make him want to take you to the bedroom. But it’s too soon for that, he fears.

You couldn’t be happier with him right now. At last, it felt like how it should be, easy and fun, warm and comfortable. Hours pass and you’ve talked about books you plan to read, and gifts to buy Sigewinne. “Hey,” you started. “What about that dinner you promised me?”

“Oh shoot!” Wriothesley checked the time on your grandfather clock—6:30 p.m., “We should start getting ready, shouldn’t we?”

After you got ready, he was sitting in the living room wearing a gray tuxedo shirt, a deep red vest that shaped his torso well (yummy), and trousers that gave out that gyatt. His hair was parted to the side, a few strands flowing down his face. He looked at you like you were divine, a beauty no one could believe was possible. “Gorgeous, you are,” he muttered as he pulled you close, lips connecting with a spark.

Revived flames led you astray, feeling his breath on your neck, the bed as he pinned you down. He kissed your lips, the corners of your mouth, your cheeks, the edges of your jaw, and back to your lips. He made sure to give attention to the special place on your collarbone that made you groan under him.

“Wriothesley,” you breathed, to which he groaned back. “Wriothesley!” Your hands held his face—his soft, awe-struck face—in place. You were both panting against each other. “We can continue this when we get back from dinner. I’m getting a bit hungry.” Right on cue, your stomach lightly grumbled.

You laughed together, warmth embracing the cold air of your room. “Let us go, then, my love,” he said. You stood up and fixed your loose clothes, unable to recall when they were taken off. Wriothesley buckled his vest on and led you to the door.

Contrary to your last ride, this one was sweet. Hands were intertwined between you, like two children exploring new love. No one was there with you, only Elphane, and she stayed quiet as she observed you from time to time. The sea grew dark with the velvet sky, lending it to the stars to shine. Constellations slowly made their way into view, and you marveled at them. Wriothesley admired them as well, in your eyes, a soft smile creeping its way to his face. The warmth you longed for had returned to grace your shoulders in the form of the Duke, spreading to your back and arms as he covered you with his coat.

The aquabus had docked with a gentle sway, and Wriothesley helped you step onto the pier, his hand firm yet soft against yours. The restaurant he had chosen was tucked into the side of a hill, its warm lights spilling out onto the cobblestone path. Inside, candles flickered on every table, casting golden glows against the polished wood and silver accents. The two other guests in there suggested that this place wasn’t that popular—or too fancy to be affordable.

The maître d’ greeted Wriothesley by title, “Allow me to escort you to your seats, Your Grace,” bowing slightly before leading you to a secluded corner table by the window. Outside, the ocean sparkled under the moonlight, and for a moment, it felt as if the world had shrunk to just the two of you.

As the waiter poured your wine, Wriothesley leaned in, his blue-gray eyes softening as they met yours. “I hope this serves well as your birthday gift,” he said, his voice low.

“Just you and me?” You teased, hand brushing against his. “I’ll drink to that.”

He smiled, lifting his glass. “To us.”

“Oh, and the other couple there.” You shared a laugh as you drank from your glasses.

You talked endlessly through the first course, laughing over shared memories and exchanging stories about your lives apart. Wriothesley told you about the chaos in the fortress—the endless paperwork, the training sessions, and Sigewinne’s insistence on enforcing his tea breaks. You recounted your days in the city, the new hobbies you picked up, and the little adventures you had in his absence. For the first time in weeks, everything felt light, easy, and perfect.

But as dessert arrived, a flicker of movement outside the window caught your eye. Then another. You glaced toward the glass and saw shadows—figures moving closer, the unmistakable glint of cameras catching the candlelight.

“Wrio…” you whispered, nodding toward the window.

He followed your gaze, his expression hardening. His posture shifted subtly, one hand curling protectively around yours. “Stay calm” he murmured. “They’ll get bored if we don’t react.”

But the paparazzi didn’t seem interested in waiting. A flash of light filled the room, followed by another. The restaurant’s peaceful ambiance shattered as the first photographer stepped inside, camera poised. Then another. And another.

“Duke Wriothesley! Over here!”

“Who’s the lucky one tonight?”

“Are there wedding bells in the future?”

“Smile for us, darling!”

The questions came fast and relentless, their voices sharp and invasive. You felt exposed, vulnerable, like a circus animal on display. The other guests began whispering, stealing glances at your table. You could feel their curiosity prickling your skin like needles. You shrank back in your seat, instinctively gripping Wriothesley’s hand tighter. He flagged down the maître d’, who called for security, but the damage was already done. The ambiance of the evening was shattered. You could barely taste your meal anymore, your appetite replaced with a knot of unease.

He squeezed your hand gently. “Let’s get out of here.”

—

The ride home was quiet, the earlier warmth replaced by a heavier, unspoken weight compared to when he arrived. You stared out at the darkened sea, the stars blurred by the movement of the aquabus.

“I’m sorry all of that happened. It wasn’t my intention to make you go through that.” he said, voice filled with guilt.

“It’s not your fault,” you replied. He couldn’t tune out the sadness in your voice. Wriothesley held your hand, but it didn’t feel the same.

Your thoughts spiraled. Was this what life with him would always be like? Every moment under scrutiny, every outing a spectacle? The idea of always being on guard, of never enjoying something as simple as a dinner together without the world watching, was suffocating.

You glanced at Wriothesley. He looked weary, brows furrowed in thought. This wasn’t easy for him either, you knew that. But could love alone be enough to withstand this constant pressure?

—

The conversation happened the next morning. He was getting ready to return to the fortress, pulling on his coat as you stood in the doorway of your bedroom, clutching a blanket around your shoulders.

“Wriothesley,” you started, his name trembling with your voice. He turned to you, expression softening when he saw tears welling in your eyes.

“Hey,” he said gently. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, searching for the right words. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“What do you mean?” His voice was measured, but you could hear the faint tremor beneath it—a crack in the foundation of his composure.

“I mean…” you trailed off after a shaky breath, pulling your blanket closer to sheild you from the weight of the conversation. “The constant pressure, the cameras, the questions—it’s… suffocating.”

His face fell, the weight of your words sinking in. “You’re serious,” he said quietly, and he was met with silence. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then he reached out, cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “I love you,” he said. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

“I love you too,” you replied, your voice trembling.

He kissed your forehead, lingering there as if trying to memorize the feel of you. Then he stepped back, his eyes red but dry. “Take care of yourself,” he said, his voice hoarse.

And then he was gone.

—

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. It’s been 1 year and 3 months since you’ve seen Wriothesley. And though the ache in your chest remained, you found solace in the quiet life you had reclaimed. Wriothesley had thrown himself into his work, the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide once again untouchable and alone. You hoped he was okay. You hoped you both would be.

But sometimes, late at night, you’d think of the stars reflected in the sea and wonder if he ever thought of you too.

-the end.-

Taglist: @lunabarks123

[nelle-y]

Warning: angsty

You've been isekai'd to Teyvat.

For whatever reason it is, and whatever fantasy you've had of being whisked away into another world.

Maybe you woke up one day under the tree in Windrise.

Maybe you hated your life so much you wished so hard to be somewhere else and when you opened your eyes you were in the streets of Liyue.

Or maybe it was an unfortunate accident and you found yourself floating in the seas of Fontaine.

Regardless, you choose who picks you up.

Is it Diluc, who somehow finds you passed out in his vineyard?

Kinich who catches you when you just start falling out of the sky?

Alhaitham, who thinks it troublesome that he has to get you acquainted with Sumeru and the Akademiya?

Scaramouche who was suddenly led by the Aranara to where you appeared in the forest and slept?

You might think that going to a new world, Teyvat, of all places, would be exciting, but in reality, it would be frightening too.

No friends. No family. Monsters are out to get you. Nowhere to live.

Your chosen person, however, manages to keep you safe. Manages to get you more familiar with the world. Manages to build your life up in this unknown place.

They've taken care of you, have become your friend. Have become a lifeline for you.

Though some of them may bark and complain about how you know nothing at all, or seem to scoff at your problems. (Scaramouche, Xiao, Alhaitham)

And some might be hot or cold. You don't know if they care or not, cause sometimes they're nice, and the next they pull away (Diluc, Dainsleif, Kazuha)

Then there's ones who genuinely have taught you about Teyvat. Have integrated your existence into their every day life. (Tighnari, Neuvillette, Baizhu, Kaveh, Thoma)

And the ones who gave you purpose. Since you're here now, it's important to feel that you belong. (Wriothesley, Zhongli, Albedo, Cyno, Kinich)

In some ways because they were the ones who found you they do feel responsible for you. Inevitably, you spend a lot of time together. Where he goes, you usually go too, sometimes even in dangerous situations.

And so, what happens then, when, one day, out of the blue, you tell him:

"I found a way back home,"

By that time he might have already forgotten that you weren't from this world. That you had somewhere to go back to. That you could actually disappear just as easily as you appeared into his life. That next to him was not really your original place.

So, what then?

(I'd write this for every male character if I had the time)

[nelle-y]

Not alone

Contents: Diluc Ragnvindr x GN reader, comfort angst

Words: 473

The evening was stiff with the winter cold and the gloomy clouds sailing overhead. Diluc had found you in the corner of your bedroom, huddled not on the bed beside it, pressed against the wall,your arms around your knees. He didn’t need to ask to know that the weather and the recent activities brought more out of you than you cared to admit, memories opened old wounds and you were now bleeding before him. 

His gloves slip from his hands one by one as he approaches you, crouching down beside you and finding your cold hand in his warm one. His scarred fingers curl around it, bringing it up closer so his lips could press against the knuckles. His lips linger, pressed against the skin as you hide your face away in your knees, finding the world smaller and more manageable that way. It was all too much, too much, you wonder how you pushed it this far, how you found the strength to walk back home after each tiring shift, where does it all come from? It puzzled you even more why Diluc cared enough to try and comfort you, knowing how stubborn you can be. Yet, deep inside you knew it was because he was selfless in the heart of his heart. He wanted to help, not just you but everyone - his nights were spent toiling away so the people of Mondstadt remained safe. 

A cracked whimper fell from your mouth and you shrunk in on yourself further, your hand jumping from his grasp. Like a leaf against the snow you do your best to hold yourself to your roots, no matter how unpromising or cold they now have become. The storm tears at you, but you don’t give into it, even if giving into it means staying whole.

For a moment he panics, watching how you shied back into the corner of your self made prison. But his will- his need to offer you any semblance of comfort doesn’t waver and he reaches forward. His hands slowly find purchase on your shoulders, sliding around until he has you leaning forward and accepting the embrace. You sob into his chest, his layered outfit cushioning your head, the scent of winter still faintly clinging onto him. 

He is warm to the touch. Arms envelop you tighter, holding you closer, Diluc is no longer crouching before you, but he is sitting down propped up against the bed with you in his hold.

“I’m here.. I’m here..” He can be heard whispering, his nose finding the top of your head, nuzzling into your ever so gently. Fingers run through your hair, smoothing it down before he rubs at your nape, repeating the motions as you show your wounded soul to him through sniffled and hiccuped words. He listens, he understands.

You’re not alone. 

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[nelle-y]

You are the embodiment of fairness...

is what Neuvillette believes. There is not a single hair on your body that is selfish. Not a single thought in your mind that strays into evil thoughts.

The Chief Justice is just as fair, just as sensible. Though on you, he stays his gaze for a moment longer. Allows the slightest tug upward of his lips as you discuss the latest trial with him. The difference between the two of you? He doesn't think that he is as "well-behaved" as you are. There have definitely been times where he had thought to abandon his gentlemanly and prestigious image, just to lean in and brush his fingers on your cheek. Thankfully, so far, he hasn't done so, even though the two of you had decided to enter a romantic relationship.

The Chief Justice was very guarded, but so were you. The two of you were never seen together, only in the privacy of his home or yours did the two of you enjoy each other's company. Perhaps only his most trusted Melusines knew. Professionalism was important.

"I hope the next trial resolves to your liking, Neuvillette," you smile knowing what his answer would be.

"It isn't my thoughts that are important, Y/N-" he starts and he finishes his sentence at the same time as you chide in with him.

"It's the evidence. I know, I know,"

You bid him goodbye rather curtly, not even a kiss, just a brief pat on the arm. It's working hours, and it's not the time to do such a thing.

Working hours.

As the Chief Justice sat in court, trial in session, he locks eyes with you, the accused. He recognizes the confusion in your eyes as genuine, the hidden panic behind clear as day.

"Neuvil--Your honour," You catch yourself, voice trembling a little. "This is a mistake, it wasn't me,"

and yet all the evidence points to you. Photographs, witness accounts, the hat that you'd left behind in the crime scene. No matter which way you look, the answer was you.

"Guilty," was all he could muster, when he usually said more. His hand looked for the oratrice, hoping that the machine would give him something different, but he already knew it in his heart.

"According to the judgement of the Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale, the accused, L/N Y/N is..."

One second.

Two.

Three seconds.

Four.

The crowd started to bristle a little.

At five he opened his mouth, and closed it again, gritting his teeth in secret.

At six, he repeated his own words. "Guilty,"

Cheers erupted from the audience, he could not bring himself to look at your face, though he heard you loud and clear.

"No! NO! This is a mistake! I didn't kill anyone!" Your hysterics were comparable to a mother who had lost her child. To a hardworking man watching his hard earned house burn down.

"NEUVILLETTE PLEASE!"

The Gardes struggled, just as they always did, but you pushed forward, unable to understand nor accept what happened. At that moment you had not noticed the tears of desperation running down your cheeks.

You were going to that underwater prison forever. Dark and alone. What if the sea swallowed you? Or worse, what if the silence swallowed you? All by yourself hundreds of feet below, drowning was such an easy possibility.

Neuvillette almost grimaces, but keeps his face hard as stone. There are a thousand things running in his mind...but the Oratrice was absolute, and so was its verdict.

"Bring the accused to The Fortress of Meropide,"

The wails you let out haunted him, more than any other trial had.

Author's Note: Hello! This is just a quick update, literally wrote it in 30 minutes so excuse any pronoun slips or mistakes! I just wanted to let everyone know I am great and still playing Genshin! Just a quick reminder that The Ruthless Prince is still available on Amazon in paperback and all my previous works are still accessible in my Masterlist!

Do let me know what you think of this one though, and if you think I should turn it into a full fic!

[nelle-y]

Revived Flames pt. 1

Synopsis: You and Wriothesley had always been close with each other, but since he started working more hours in the fortress, it seems that connection is fading…

C/W: Wriothesley x gn!reader, slight angst (it aint there yet but it’s coming!), fiance!Wriothesley, literally one paragraph is suggestive, slightly proofread

Note: this was kinda hard to write, I couldn’t think of anything so this one’s a bit short

—

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Almost a year has passed since you’ve seen Wriothesley, now. It was unfair, being apart from the love of your life, the ache in your chest tearing you to shreds as days flew by.

There were times, however, when your heart would waltz into revived flames when he wrote to you—much like today, your birthday.

The greatest gift of all, just a sliver of him to embrace; you eagerly approached your mailbox. A white envelope hid inside, a postage stamp to your address at the back along with a drawing of the Fortress of Meropide decorating it. You opened the letter to read its contents, almost tripping your way inside your home.

“My dearest Y/N,

May the archons bring you the happiest of birthdays. Every morning I wake, I always find myself fondling for your warmth.”

Oh, fondling. You’re riled up from imagining it—his hands grasping the sheets as he urged closer to rapture—biting a swirk from your face.

He asks about the events you’ve come across, if you had any new friends and so on. He updates you on his life at the fortress, how Sigewinne has been getting along with the inmates, and how much he misses you.

“Though I may not be with you today, I will be in two weeks time. The Iudex has granted me a short vacation after celebrating the 25th anniversary of the Fortress of Meropide. So, prepare your finest clothes, my dear, for I will be taking you to the finest restaurant in town. I intend to make up for lost time, if you’ll allow me.”

Of course you’ll allow it! Your heart leaps with joy as a childish smile paints your cheeks. You press the letter against your chest and sigh.

The ink from your pen bleeds through the paper as you ponder your response. Should you even? The post office takes several days—maybe a week or two—to send a letter. He would already be with you by the time it reaches his office. You wouldn’t want to be impolite, though. Maybe you should write back; there’s nothing wrong with responding to your fiancé.

After all, you were always close with each other.

—

Two weeks have passed since your birthday. You have no idea if he’s even received your letter; the postal office was always understaffed, there were only so few mailmen to deliver thousands of packages.

You mentioned you would be waiting at the Fountain of Lucine the day of his arrival, so there was where you sat. You waited, and waited… and waited… and waited. Your dolled up hair was starting to lose its shape from the heat, sweat forming on your forehead from anticipation.

After a few minutes, your fiance finally made his way to your view. As you remembered: pools of blue shaded the same eyes, strands of grey highlighted the same dark hair. It’s Wriothesley! Him and his foxy smirk.

“Wriothesley!”

“Y/N!”

Your name sounds so fresh and new with his voice, especially after all this time. You reach for a hug, but he leans for a kiss. This leads to a struggle of whether to kiss or hug. After some ohs and uhms, you finally settle with a small embrace—his arms on your waist and yours around his neck. You let go after he kisses you on the cheek.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you smile.

There’s a silence you weren’t used to feeling with Wriothesley. Usually, silence would be comfortable, but this felt… off? Like you were brand new acquaintances. You desperately search for conversation, only to be interrupted by him, “Oh, happy belated birthday!” He hands you a trinket made of wires and mechanical parts. “Sigewinne made this for you.”

“Awh, it’s adorable! Tell her I said thank you.”

He nods, smiling at you. The silence takes over once again. What now? “Shall we head off?” He picks up his luggage.

“Where?” You look at him cluelessly.

“…I actually don’t know.”

“Maybe we could go home, and drop off your stuff?”

“Yes, of course.”

So you went home—the walk to the Navia Line was silent, fingers itching to intertwine. Again and again, your pinkies were nearly touching, and your shoulders were inches away from brushing. The desire was there, and you both yearned for this moment, so why weren’t you seizing it?

“How was the celebration at the fortress?” You ask, sat beside him on the aquabus, Elphane giving her tour for the other passengers.

“It was so-so. The only thing that changed was the food—Tasses Ragout, lasagna, macarons, and local sodas. Other than that, business was usual that day.”

“Ah,” should you express sympathy for the lack of celebration? Did Wriothesley even expect a fancy party? Was he sad about it? It’s difficult to read his face now, it’s gone more stoic than you remember. You say nothing after that, and he doesn’t ask any questions. Not a word was said the rest of the ride.

-to be continued-

Part 2 is hereee

[nelle-y]

Hi guys!

I made a yt channel called Nelle-tales!

If you like folksy, pop, and indie music, consider listening to my songs and subscribing to my channel!

All I Know is my favorite composition so far. I wrote it about young academic achievers and people pleasers (such as myself🥹) wondering what happens when they can’t impress anyone anymore, when someone better comes along, and when they run out of energy for themselves. If you relate to that, try checking it out!

So far, I don’t have a proper schedule for posting—I just upload when I want pfpffp—but I try my best to upload at least once a month.

For my covers, I don’t take much requests, but if the song is in my range and if I know it (and if copyright won’t bite me in the ass), I’ll consider covering it!

None of my songs are on spotify since I don’t really know how to upload there… I heard I have to pay for it(?) and I don’t have the money soooo yeah they’re only on yt for now.

Right now, I’m working on an EP called idk tbh and I posted one of the songs I’ll include there titled When I say Goodbye. It’s about saying goodbye to someone you know you’ll miss greatly.

Some songs in the EP will be inspired by Genshin characters and Good Omens! (currently in the writing process for one of them—I’ll be posting snippets soon)

Anyways check it out!

[nelle-y]

Beautiful Eyes

Ineffable husbands fluff oneshot

Note: These two have my whole life ong

—

18XX Paris, France

Crowley couldn’t see any stars up close. The galaxies he made, the various colors he painted the universe with; he could never refine them anymore, or at least marvel at them.

Only now, though, did he notice the angel’s eyes glimmered with those stars as he ate a fine crepe, Crowley having a cup of coffee. A smile crept onto Aziraphale’s cheeks as he swallowed the last slice. “Mm, that was delightful,” he said.

Crowley stuck his focus on the star-shaped irises that seemed to hold everything that was dear to him. Must he be so beautiful? Was he aware of his grace? Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled with the chandelier above them, shades of blue and brown creating a hazel hue he could stare at for hours.

The angel blinked, and Crowley was smitten.

“Angel,” the demon uttered. “Did you know your eyes twinkle when you smile?”

Aziraphale wiped the sugar from the corners of his lips. “Do they?”

“Yeah, like stars. It’s pretty.”

The angel smiled at him—almost teasingly—with love, as he always does. “Thank you. That was a nice compliment coming from you.”

Crowley’s lips curled, sneering at his playful remark. “That was not nice, that was…” He looked back at the gleeful angel whose lips may have brightened his whole day. “Observant.”

Aziraphale chuckled, “Whatever you say, Crowley. So, what would you like to do now?”

At that moment, the demon was grateful that God allowed him one star to gaze upon.

—the end—

[nelle-y]

THIS.

I just finished Season 2 of Good Omens and I am FUCKING TRAUMATIZED.

I CAN'T ANYMORE

WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT ENDING

LIKE WHAT THE FUCK

IF SEASON 3 DOESN'T GET A GOOD ENDING I AM GONNA END IT ALL

[nelle-y]

Now let me just say…

WHAT THE FUCK.

[nelle-y]

Can someone pls be the Crowley to my Aziraphale😔

[nelle-y]

Mate this made me cry

A Call Home That Will Not Be Answered

| Kaeya's past creeps up on him and he's usually ready to drink and forget but this particular one broke the camel's proverbial back.

TW: Really bad dreams, panic attack episode, mentions of alcohol, 2,3k words because I'm feeling angsty today

“I’m sorry, but sparing you will do me more harm than good,” Kaeya murmured as your body fell to the ground. The thud of your motionless body seemed to mock him, but he needed this to happen.

For his plan.

For their plan.

But did it really need to be this way?

Kaeya awoke with a gasp.

Wiping away his tearful eyes, he trained his gaze on the cracked ceiling above him before screwing them shut. He tried to steady his breath and count the numbers as you had taught him to do when he felt overwhelmed, but he couldn’t get past 3. Kaeya let out a curse. This wasn’t working.

He knew it was a dream. It had to be.

Knowing this, why did it feel so real? Why was this one so different from the other dreams he had had? Why was he so scared to open his eyes and see you not there?

He needed comfort.

He needed confirmation.

He needed you.

So, braving himself and clenching his fists, Kaeya turned onto his side. His eyes remained tightly shut; whether from fear or strength, he couldn’t tell. His hands snaked through the crumpled sheets on his side of the bed, slowly reaching over to your side. He hoped to feel something—the softness of your arm or perhaps the warmth of your chest. Anything.

Yet he was met with nothing.

Cold sheets greeted him as he opened his eyes wide. All he saw were the unwrinkled cotton fabric on your side of the bed—the half he swore you had occupied not too many hours ago. The half he himself often occupied with you when the nightmares got too real.

But maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was no dream. Not this time, at least.

Kaeya stood and rushed over to the empty side of the bed. He did not know why he needed to check again even though it was already so clearly decided that no one was there; he just couldn’t believe it.

Did he kill you? Did he take your life as he had dreamt of a hundred times over? Had he shot you, stabbed you, or torn your heart out as his mind had fooled him into believing over and over again?

Was he never forgiven in the first place?

Where are you?

The sight was all it took to get him down on his knees, wailing. His throat tightened as he cried out loud for you to come back. Your name left his lips in a way that was so broken, so disheartened—like a call home that he knew would not be answered.

While the events in the room transpired, you were in the kitchen, sighing at your restless state. You couldn’t sleep at the moment. Your biological clock had shifted after repeatedly waking up at this time of the night to pick up your drunken lover from Angel’s Share for the past week.

You were aware of Kaeya’s habits when stressed. It’s not pretty, but he’s only human. You understood the occasions when work got too much and he needed to unwind with a glass or two before he was ready to share the burden with you. Lately, however, he’s been drinking his weight in wine, and you can’t get him to tell you why. You’ve even tried asking the red-headed tavern keeper, but, to no avail, he was also in the dark. You wished there was something you could do to fix it all for him.

It was getting better, though.

Or at least, you thought so.

Loud, strangled yells broke you out of your cluttered thoughts. Your feet moved before you could even register what was happening. Pushing the bedroom door open, you were met with a sight that broke a piece of your heart—perhaps to give to the man who had none left to break.

Kaeya was crumpled on the floor, weeping over you. His head was buried in his knees as he rocked himself back and forth while your name tumbled out of his mouth in strangled notes like a fervent prayer. He reached for a sudden painful yell, the anguish seeping and pouring out of the single syllable in droves. Then he quieted down, releasing tired, teary murmurs that escaped in tandem with the heaving of his sobbing chest.

Come back, please.

You inched closer to him, hesitant, in case you startled the already scared man. Gradually, you reached your hands out to hold him. At the slightest feeling of your touch, Kaeya’s breath hitched, but you wouldn’t let go. Kaeya whimpered as tired tears racked through him once more. Panic and pain clawed at him from the inside, trying to climb out of his heart through his raw throat.

“No… please… don’t make it feel like you’re here when you’re… not,” Kaeya’s splintered voice whispered. He was frightened.

Still, you urged him to open his eyes, but he shook his head harshly. Dark inky hair fell over his sealed eyes as he curled into himself even more, like a child with no one to comfort him, shying away from your warmth.

“You’re not real! I can’t handle it if… if… I open my eyes and see no one… please just… just go away…”

Your heart broke as you looked at the defeated man in front of you. You’d seen tears, yes, but you’d never seen this.

You murmured words, laden with love and affection, into his ear. You hoped it was enough to bring him out of his head. You knew how scary a place it was for him sometimes. All you did wasn’t enough, however, as he cried out even more at the fear of this all being a trick his cruel mind was playing on him.

You took a deep breath before you started humming. It wasn’t the most beautiful of songs, you admitted. Your throat carried a crackly tune at best, but you noticed that Kaeya’s breathing had calmed down a bit.

Less erratic, less scared.

Your humming continued until Kaeya’s tears slowed. You tried again to coax him into opening his eyes. You let endless streams of promises come out—promises that you were here, promises that you wouldn’t disappear, and promises that you’d always stay.

Taking a shuddering breath, Kaeya let himself trust the person he loved with all he had left. His glassy, swollen eyes opened slowly to meet your equally teary eyes.

When gold and blue met with your irises, Kaeya collapsed into your secure hold. He didn’t dare loosen his grip, much less let go; and you wouldn’t have it any other way either. Kaeya buried his head into the side of your neck, holding onto you like a lifeline, a ray of light in his abyss. He felt that if he were to let go, you’d disappear for good.

The two of you stayed in this position for a bit over an hour, perhaps even longer. Silence kept its grip on the room as the both of you focused on feeling each other. Kaeya did not have the heart or courage to tell you of the darkness he harbors in his subconscious; maybe later he might find the courage, but not now—not when he had just started breathing again. You didn’t ask him about it either, knowing that he would come to you when he was ready. It didn’t matter right now, anyway. All that mattered was that...

“You’re here.”

“I'll always be.”

a.n. First genshin fic, yum!

Hope you enjoyed the read!

[nelle-y]

I just got 11 cavities from this

PICK YOUR DOMESTIC HUSBAND 🛒

WHICH HUSBAND IS ON THE DOMESTICITY MENU TODAY?

featuring: diluc, alhaitham, zhongli, wriothesley, neuvillette.

synopsis: glimpses into married life with the genshin men.

warnings: implied fem!reader, occasional pet names, ooc (I have a sparse idea how diluc works, mention of "activities" (just mention I can't write smut pls), silly goofy ah loser coded men, mild swearing (damn, heck)

a/n: *stretching my back and crunching my neck.* I'm back from the dead. apologies for the choppy writing. thanks for the support on the other posts, if only I could write 50-page essays thanking everyone. <33 :')) not proofread.

DILUC 🍷

PRODUCT NAME: BREAKFAST AND KISSES IN BED. Diluc always hated the Knights of Favonius… 

He hated how most of them just stand around like buffoons and do not partake in any actual work that involves saving Mondstadt. He wouldn’t admit that he enjoys playing Batman. He hated them all except for one.

One he was willing to forgive all flaws of. "Knight of Favonius…always so inefficient,”  He scoffed at the pathetic sight of the hilichurls trying to dry roast a few knights roped to a wooden stick for their dinner. “Seriously, You’re so right Master Diluc.” Diluc’s head turned so fast at the sound of a new voice. When did you get here? Were you always there and how did he not sense you around?

That’s simply how you always were. A hard worker amidst slackers – he always termed despite Jean trying to explain that others work hard too. Perhaps that’s what caught his attention, honestly, he would never know what did. “G’morning…” He murmured against your skin, head buried in the crook of your neck, your flushed bare back pressed against him. “5 more minutes…” he heard your soft and groggy voice evoking a chuckle from the usually passive man. “Have I ever told you…how beautiful you are?” Diluc muttered against your skin. You smiled and turned around, “You always do. I remember my Dark-Knight Hero crying at the altar.” You pressed a finger against his chest, while he scoffed at the memory. “Don’t remind me about that, Kaeya doesn’t let me live that down…” He sighed, his brother consistently brought up the matter of him crying whenever he was losing an argument. Foul play if you ask anyone. “So…breakfast downstairs or in the bed?” He planted a kiss on your cheek while you hummed out a response, “Bed, you didn’t exactly go easy on me the previous night.” You recalled the events of the passionate night the day before. The honeymoon phase never seemed to end. “I am so sorry–” He panicked,” You're not in pain are you? I promise I’ll be gentle– I knew I should’ve been more considerat–” You stopped him by pressing a kiss against his lips. He groaned at the feeling of your soft lips touching his hands tangling themselves in your hair.

“I’m kidding silly… you should stop taking things so seriously unless you want me to start searching for grey hairs amidst those red locks of yours.” You snickered out seeing him release a breath of relief.

If the Darknight Hero really does exist, he's probably just someone in disguise. When he gets up in the morning to brush his teeth, it's the real him. He was his real him in front of you. People may call him a loser for such vulnerability…he was a loser for you.

ALHAITHAM 🌱

PRODUCT NAME: READING BOOKS OUT LOUD. One would say married to someone like Alhaitham was nothing short of a nightmare. They weren't 100% right. Shrouded beneath the aloof and meticulous personality resided someone who was in complete denial towards being loved. He loves it.

Who was he kidding? Nobody in a million years thought someone could put up with his insufferable personality — said Kaveh, his unpaying tenant. That was until he ran into you during his time as the newly appointed Scribe. You were like a painter, splashing heaps of paint in his 90s black-and-white life. Was eating ice cream always this enjoyable or was it because it was with you? Was the gossip between co-workers always this interesting or was it because it included you?

Why was his heart having an entire Queen’s rock and roll concert talking to you? Was it cardiac arrest or– He almost shuddered at the thought of it being what they called love.

“You’ve got flour on your face, sweetheart.” His teal eyes blinked amusingly into yours, a faint smile curling up his lips. You must have saved a nation in your previous life to land this man as your husband. Beige shirt perfectly sculpting around his abs – contrary to him calling himself “feeble,” hair slightly tousled and slight sleepiness in his eyes. He might not act like it but he was a little child whose needs had to be tended to like the coffee mug in his hands which you made, like usual. You wouldn’t want a cranky Alhaitham now, would you? “Hmpf, not my fault, this cooking book is completely bogus!” You rubbed your cheeks with the back of your hand, wiping away any remaining flour. “This is so boring…if only someone could provide their poor wife with some entertainment.” You always resorted to theatrics to get him to do things for you, albeit begrudgingly. “No, the same tactic is not going to work again.” “Please…” “No…” He groaned, tone almost pleading not to put him through the torture again. “During better or worse!” You resorted to the ace up to your sleeve. WEDDING VOWS! “Stop quoting the wedding vows.” He sighed in defeat. The most intellectually gifted man in the nation couldn't win against his own wife. Ironical. He got up and grabbed a book out of the bookshelf; a small fraction of his much larger library.

“Miss Elizabeth,” Alhaitham lazily flipped through the pages earning a rebuke. “More emotion! You are ruining the scene.” Alhaitham sighed and cleared his throat, “I love you most ardently…” His tone was feathery soft, emotion surging in it. A smile crept up as he stared at you endearingly.

“That’s much better. Though I seriously think Mr Darcy should’ve said– Miss Elizabeth, allow me to kiseth thy lovely lips.” You mimicked the deep voice of the character with the failing British accent. “Please have mercy on Jane Austen’s ghost and let her enjoy the afterlife.” Alhaitham chuckled and continued reading as you continued baking.  It was a shame that a man of such talent only paid attention to the truth itself and not to the people around him. If only the searching eyes of the ordinary say the exception to his indifference, you.

This was your biosphere, just you, him, novels and food encapsulated inside your small home.

ZHONGLI 🪨

PRODUCT NAME: ALWAYS ON HIS MIND. What is the best but the most useless flex you have? Being married to the Geo Archon. The inability to just tell the whole world that you are married to the frigging god was painful. You yourself were surprised by your ability to control yourself. Zhongli was a man of carefully curated words. Instead of words, straight-up poetry flew out of his mouth. Everyone knew how much he adored his wife, every vendor, every acquaintance, heck even Venti. Wangsheng Funeral Parlor's mysterious consultant. Handsome, elegant, and surpassingly learned. Excellent memory. A master of courtesy and rules. The amount of poor women who have tried to grab his attention. "Mr.Zhongli, how does this look?" the woman, who he remembered meeting over a history discussion 17 days ago. "Hm?" his amber eyes shifted to gaze at the hairpiece the lady was holding. "Most exquisite.." He remarked, seemingly going into deep thought. Instead of a compliment, he said something that made the woman back away, "Such beautiful craftsmanship...may I ask you to tell me where you found this? I wish to buy one for my wife–" he paused, seeing the lady vanished after pointing at the shop where she got it from. "Zhongli, you should be able to tell why people approach you..." Hutao sighed, standing beside the rather oblivious gentleman. "Let's just continue...we've got customers to find!" Hutao started walking alongside the railing, hoping to find people in need of funeral services. "Maybe we should go and ask peopl– Zhongli??" Hutao looked around for the Consultant, who was caught up chatting with a shopkeeper over some earrings. "Zhongli!" Hutao called out to him, causing his head to turn towards the director. "Oh, apologies...It seems I got too carried away. These earrings caught my eye...I'm sure [Name} would love them.." he mumbled, staring at the jewellery. "I'll take them." "Mister Zhongli? What about the payment..." The shopkeeper meekly asked, causing Zhongli to turn his head fully at Hutao; gazing expectantly. Hutao should've expected this... "Zhongli, we are out here to find customers! Not buying gifts for [Name], her birthday is months away!" "They say the best things should be done first. After all, why must I wait for one specific day to express my love for my beloved?" Zhongli asked curiously and Hutao shaked her head; love was clearly out of her expertise. Zhongli, he is particular about everything. He only attended the best operas and focused on the perfect ratio for the creation of an authentic dish.  On a typical day, all you will glean from him is a few pieces of useless trivia, because he particularly enjoys sharing these fun tidbits with you. He was particular about you and your likings. A smile on your face was what he wanted by the end of the day. For being someone alive for 6000 years, he could proudly say that he loved and cherished something– someone.

"Wait here, Director Hu...Perhaps I should get those flowers over there to accompany the hairpin and earrings..."

WRIOTHESLEY 🐺

PRODUCT NAME: BATTLE TO BUY A DOG OR NOT.

"Wriothesley, I want a dog!" You crossed your arms, staring down at the Duke who was glued to the chair in his office. “But why? That’s just unnecessary responsibility…” Wriothesley sighed, rubbing his temples. This was the 3rd time this month you’ve brought up this topic. Was he that incompetent in terms of filling his role as your significant other? Perhaps not with the never-ending paperwork. Oh, how he wished people would just stop committing crimes. “I get lonely in the Fortress…I want a child.” You put forth your point by using the term ’ child’. Child, dog same thing. You hoped to finally convince him this time.

“We have Sigewinne.” Wriothesley pointed at the head nurse prepping tea in the room with the back of his pen. “I am sorry, Your Grace but playing the role of the child is out of my job description.” The Melusine replied indifferently, pouring freshly seeped tea into the three cups. “Fine, we will go get one…I’ll schedule a meeting with the owner of the pet shelter. Happy?” He asked you, chin resting on his palm. Perhaps getting a dog was a good idea as he was guilty of being unable to spend quality time with you… “No way…” “Isn’t that..?” “The Duke of the Meropide–” “He rarely appears in public..” Wriothesley held out the door to the shelter for you, hoping you would go in and it would finally save him from the gaze of curious onlookers. The two of you walked in, only to be pounced upon by a big dog. “Kal! You sly dog! I knew I shouldn’t have let you out!” The caretaker yelled at the big ball of black fur who had tackled Wriothesley to the floor and was aggressively licking his face, tail wagging in delight. “Are you okay?” You asked your fallen husband, who just chuckled in response. “I am good just– Okay stop! I understand your gesture of love.” Wriothesley got up as the dog encircled him. “This one is so adorable…” you gasped at the cuteness radiating from the dog and its big brown eyes. “You’ve got a keen eye! This is Kal, Shiloh Shepard, one of the finest dogs out there.” The caretaker combed her fingers through the thick and groomed black coat of the canine. “He seems to have taken a liking to the Duke.” The caretaker continued as the dog ran back to Wriothesley, peppering his face with licks. “He even looks like you.” You teased as Wriothesley stared at you in disbelief. You did not just compare him to a dog…he even did a double take at the dog to confirm. “We will take this one then…” He chuckled in amusement. Never had he imagined marrying you and on top of that getting a four-legged beast. Needless to say, Wriothesley proudly walked out of the shelter, holding the big dog in his hands like a child. It felt complete ever since getting Kal; like your own little family. Wriothesley wouldn’t admit it but he loved the dog, despite it hogging all of your love and attention. He didn’t expect to be fighting over cuddling rights with a dog!? 

He watched you and Kal sleep peacefully on the couch, keeping him company while he finished up his work. He felt a sense of gratitude…people of the Fortress knew little of the crime he once committed. The only one who still remembers it like yesterday is Wriothesley himself. And no matter how much glory or repute he has earned, he still considers himself to be the same old Wriothesley he's always known.Neither a good person nor a complete villain. He's just another soul, still living on in this world. However, your eyes always reassured him in ways he couldn’t describe. Everything was perfect…

[Name]!! YOURDAMN DOG PISSED ON MY COAT!! Maybe not that perfect…whoops.

NEUVILLETTE 🌊

PRODUCT NAME: HELPING THE OTHER DRESS.

Monsieur Neuvillette, The Iudex of Fontaine, always wondered how his life had come to this. 500 years of serving his position as the Beacon of Justice, a lovely, beaming baker somehow broke the monotony. Well, calling you just a baker was now an insult. With your ring finger bejewelled, with one of the rarest gems– an ode to his undying loyalty and representation of his eternal love. “It’s astounding how a covert mission conducted by melusines could’ve landed someone such as myself a lady like her…” He muttered to himself, seeing his full form in the mirror. “Talking to yourself, again?” You leaned against the door frame, lopsidedly smiling at the peculiar antics of Fontaine’s most distinguished man. “Ah, apologies…I didn’t think you would notice me conversing with myself. Now I find myself in a rather awkward predicament.” He chuckled. Dear god, this man was so beautiful that his beauty was almost blinding with the morning sun perfectly hitting his face.

“Say ah,” You requested and he complied. Who better to take constructive criticism from other than your husband? “New filling?” He covered his mouth while chewing on the croissant. “Yup, how is it? I was experimenting with some Rainbow Roses and these Inazuman berries I bought.” You blinked curiously, waiting for some input. “Hmm it is very pleasant, it is fascinating how you manage to maintain the freshness of the fruit…” You smiled at his compliment, before noticing him struggling with the jabot around his neck. “Need help?” You offered and he nodded his head. “This is absurd..it usually isn’t this difficult.” He frustrated replied, it was amusing to see the cool and collected man all worked up about clothing. “I suggest simplifying your outfit.” You attached the jabot and secured it in with the teardrop brooch, fixing the ruffles. 

“Thank you. I do prefer my outfit as it conveys the message I wish for it to convey.” He explained before staring at you. You knew that look, he looked at you with his eyebrows slightly creased when he was hesitating from saying something. “What is it?” “Do I get a goodbye kiss before I leave?” “Pfft! I didn’t think you would take that seriously!” Conclusion: this man was wayyy to cute.

Neuvillette is a solitary person. Neuvillette is not known for his personal desires.

He was deemed as someone with unassailable impartiality. If only they knew that perhaps the Iudex was just a wee bit biased.

a/n 2.0: the crust will come off...hopefully. i wonder if it's possible to guess which one of them is my favourite??

don't steal, copy, plagiarise, or translate.

©definitelysel

[nelle-y]

All hail the cult of xyx

This joke was stewing in my head for a few minutes and I've put way too much effort into it, man's too fun to draw

I'll make different art in the future I swear, xyxspeed o7