Neuvillette and Wriothesley wrestle and then fuck.

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Neuvillette, as it turns out, can have a very one track mind when given the opportunity.

It was meant as an opportunity to bridge the gap between Meropide and the surface. Neuvillette’s suggestion came as a surprise. “For the Carnivale,” he’d said, “why don’t we hold a Pankration Tournament?” A solid idea, one that was met with mild resistance from everyone else until Neuvillette put his foot down. Perks of being the newly reigning Hydro Sovereign, Wriothesley supposes. 

Fighting above ground was strange. The moves came familiarly but the sun beat down on them despite the upper levels of the Court of Fontaine partially obscuring it. Humid. Hot. Nothing like the cool depths of the Underground. 

But Wriothesley had put on a show in the ring nonetheless, indulging in a rare exhibition match, much to the ire of Sigewinne. “Too old,” she’d muttered, shaking her head, “to be beating others up for fun. You’re the Administrator now. You’re a Duke.” The  ‘act like one’ was heavily implied, but Wriothesley didn’t give one rat’s ass because the entire point was showing off for Neuvillette.

Which worked. Oh, did it work. Neuvillette watched from the viewer’s platform, stiff-backed and straight, cane in his hands caught in a white-knuckled grip. Others stared at him, but he stared at Wriothesley—a stare that Wriothesley felt burning right to his bones with every punch that he threw.

He was whisked away the moment the match was over. Neuvillette made a flimsy excuse that covered them both, and they retired to his townhouse for the remainder of the evening. Wriothesley expected a nice dinner, maybe a bath, and then relaxing in the sheets. 

Wriothesley did not expect Neuvillette to tug him to the bedroom and kiss him feral, nothing but fangs, and that damnable forked tongue of his. Which is where they are now, slotted together, one of Neuvillette’s thighs shoved between Wriothesley's legs. It’s all consuming. Neuvillette devours him like Wriothesley is a meal, like he’s a man starving in the middle of the desert.

“Sweetheart,” mutters Wriothesley, trying to get Neuvillette to pause. “Hey, hey—”

“So strong.” Neuvillette nips at his neck, just a playful tease. “Watching you out there, I—” He moans, a sharp, deep sound that is a rarity. Neuvillette is typically far more reserved in this, but here, now, he’s a needy and wanton thing who pulls Wriothesley close to grind their hips together.

Neuvillette is hard. He ruts against Wriothesley hard, his grip on Wriothesley’s hips biting. 

Wriothesley looses tittering laughter. “Are you all worked up?” He knows that Neuvillette is to have whisked them away so readily. “I thought so. I saw you practically fucking me with your eyes out there.”

Neuvillette growls softly at that, reminding Wriothesley just how inhuman he is. But Wriothesley loves it, wants to draw more of that out. He smirks, dipping close, biting at the edge of Neuvillette’s mouth. 

“They all saw it, sweetheart. What’s the Sovereign going to do, staring at his mate so openly?”

“The Sovereign?” questions Neuvillette, his demeanor chilling ever so slightly. His touch eases, trailing up and down Wriothesley’s sides. 

A few seconds pass before Wriothesley realizes what it is that he wants. Heat drops into his stomach, his groin, and everything flares to life. This—Wriothesley loves this, loves him. “My Sovereign,” he corrects. “What do you want? For me to suck you off?”

“I want to wrestle you,” says Neuvillette instead. 

Wriothesley stills at that. The moment doesn’t die, but it does become confusing, and Wriothesley can’t help but pull back with a furrowed brow. “Er, come again?”

Neuvillette offers him a soft chuckle. He leans forward, invading his space again, and elaborates with, “You were so strong out there, Wriothesley. A worthy partner. Did you know that dragons enjoy wrestling their mates? We’ve never done this, you and I, nor have I ever cared to. But today…” He hums softly, eyes fluttering closed before pressing his nose to Wriothesley’s temple. “You smelled like sin. Powerful. Divine. My instincts are begging for me to claim you, beloved.”

Wriothesley is into that. Oh, he is so very into that. His cock twitches to full hardness at the mere thought. But also— “And if I win?”

Neuvillette reels back and cups his chin. “You?” he purrs. “Win?”

So, it’d be a lie for Wriothesley to say that tone didn’t do something to him. Heat sinks into his gut, settling there, thick and heady. Neuvillette isn’t being mean, he’s just stating a fact, and even if Wriothesley thought he’d have an edge, he cannot possibly compare to the power of a Sovereign.

But to wrestle, to push and pull at each other, if only for the fun of it… Wriothesley’s mouth curls into a smirk, and he says, “Sounds like a challenge—the kind of challenge you know that I like. Go on, then.”

Neuvillette moves immediately, grabbing hold of Wriothesley, and tossing him onto the bed. The frame creaks underneath their combined weight, Neuvillette settling over him. Wriothesley pushes, throwing his weight against him for a topple, but Neuvillette holds firm. 

“Beloved,” he says, fingers grazing Wriothesley’s sides, “are you even trying?”

Fight swells in Wriothesley. He knows he won’t win, but he can try. He grunts, tossing everything he has into his next grapple. Hands against wrists, legs around Neuvillette’s waist—Wriothesley manages to twist him onto his back. 

But Neuvillette is strong—so fucking strong—and Wriothesley often forgets that because he’s usually so soft-handed. It lasts about a moment before Wriothesley is tossed aside once more. He squirms and manages to free himself from Neuvillette’s grasp. 

Too slow. Wriothesley always thought he was quick until Neuvillette proved him wrong with his serene, slick grace. Neuvillette launches across the bed in a fluid movement, hands hooking around Wriothesley’s hips. He yanks him back. Settles against the swell of Wriothesley’s ass, grinding against it. 

Wriothesley moans, pressing back against him. He throws a glance over his shoulder and says, “You like this, don’t you? Tossing me around?”

“There is an undeniable interest in the way you react.” Neuvillette hisses, rolling his hips against him a second time. But then he lets go, pulling away. “Again.”

So they go at each other again, and again, and again. Wriothesley winds up on his back with Neuvillette astride his waist, leaning over to nip at his neck. On his side, Neuvillette’s calves locked around Wriothesley in a tight leg lock. Neuvillette touches him slowly, hands wandering over the bulge of Wriothesley’s muscles to trace them. 

Wriothesley moans, jerking, but oh, he loves this, Neuvillette giving in to his power and instincts. “Sweetheart, please.”

“Again,” says Neuvillette, nipping at his jaw, his throat. 

Fuck, that’s hot. Wriothesley whines, holding his face there by the back of the neck. “What do you—Neuvillette? What do you like about this?”

Neuvillette trills against his skin, mouthing at it, sucking a bruise at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. It’s too hot. Neuvillette’s only managed to pull off his shirt and belt so far, and Wriothesley’s trousers are too tight against his aching cock. The manhandling, the weight of his mate against him, all of it is nearly too much for him. Neuvillette bites, those fangs sinking into his skin, dragging a deep groan from Wriothesley’s mouth. He’s hard too, rutting against him, the bulge in his clothing too large to be just one problem. 

“Both?” 

“I—Wriothesley.” Neuvillette’s hands find him again, claws digging into the supple skin of his sides. He twists him, throwing Wriothesley onto his front until he’s face-first in the mattress. 

A hand drags down the length of his spine, thumbing over every notch. He pulls at Wriothesley’s trousers, yanking them down roughly without even undoing them. Wriothesley is thankful they’re loose enough, that they’re able to slide off without much issue. They’re tossed to the side unceremoniously, leaving his backside entirely exposed. 

He’s so hard. Wriothesley. His cock hangs beneath him, hard and heavy, and Neuvillette stares, unable to look away, brushing his knuckles across his swollen balls. 

The mattress shifts under Neuvillette’s weight. He presses his chest against Wriothesley’s back, his mouth falling next to his ear. “Beloved,” he murmurs, “can you feel what you do to me?”

Yes, yes. Neuvillette grinds both of his cocks against the cleft of Wriothesley’s ass. Wriothesley’s mouth goes dry at the weight of those cocks, at the promise of getting well fucked because Neuvillette is in a rare mood. He needs it, all keyed up and hot; rolls his hips back against Neuvillette with a slow, sensual grind.

“Perfect.” Neuvillette presses his nose against Wriothesley’s temple and inhales deeply. “You were perfect, out there. So strong, so handsome. No one else could compare and you beat them all. Such a worthy mate.”

“Neuvillette—”

“But in these sheets,” continues Neuvillette, kissing the shell of his ears, “you are mine, heeling for me alone. For all of your bark, there is no bite, not in the same way I offer.” Fangs pull at Wriothesley’s earlobe wickedly. 

“Fuck,” curses Wriothesley. He needs that, needs more. Whatever Neuvillette wants to give him, whatever he’s willing to offer up. 

“Can you be good for me, sweet boy?”

Wriothesley nods and lets loose a soft, keening sound that’s lost in the silk sheets.

Neuvillette’s palm sinks into the space between his shoulder blades, heavy as it presses him into the bed. Chest down. Ass up. Wriothesley whines when Neuvillette pulls away, leaving him bereft. 

“Wait—”

“Shh,” soothes Neuvillette, a hand falling against the small of his back. “You’ve been so good for me. You put up such a wonderful fight. I’m so, so pleased.”

That’s, that’s—The praise sinks into Wriothesley's skin. Trickles down into his gut where it’s a kernel of heat about to blaze into a fire. “Sweetheart.” His voice is heavy and thick. 

Neuvillette’s thumb pets the knob of spine it rests against, tracing circles around it. “We aren’t done,” he murmurs. His other hand drags down Wriothesley’s sides, the tips of his claws raising pink marks. “We’re just barely beginning. This is wrestling too, isn’t it? The way that I wrestle with myself to keep from fucking you into the mattress.”

His words are teasing, lilting. Amused. “Stay,” he demands, the weight of his hand against Wriothesley’s back turning sharp as he leans into it. “Just like that. Be good for me.”

Yes, yes, he will. He hates the space between them, though, keening softly when Neuvillette pulls away entirely. Wriothesley hears the clatter of his trousers as Neuvillette undoes the fastenings. The rustle of fabric as he slips them off, tossing them to the side. His shirt is next, sliding across his skin. Wriothesley wishes he could look but he’s good, he’s so good. 

He jumps when Neuvillette’s hand falls against his ass, giving it a squeeze. Then he dips close, leaning over to press a kiss against it. A graze of Neuvillette’s teeth is  all that he gets before they sink into the soft muscle like a knife through butter.

Wriothesley curses. “Fuck, fuck—”

Neuvillette licks at the bite mark, suckling at the skin to soothe it. “Pretty thing,” he murmurs, biting at him again in a different spot. Wriothesley cannot wait to see those marks later, to relish in the purple bruises, for Neuvillette to trace them idly with his fingertips later on. “Laid out, like a feast, just for me.”

“Please,” he moans. “Sweetheart, I need—”

“More, no doubt. Mmhn, yes I know. I can smell your desire. I smelled your desire all the way back in the square. Did you enjoy showing off for me?”

“Yes.”

“As I thought.” Neuvillette’s tongue is wet and cold against his ass. “Delicious,” he mutters, licking a stripe from Wriothesley’s balls, through the seam of his crack. 

But then he pulls away. And Wriothesley is left aching and empty—far too empty. 

“Spread them, please,” requests Neuvillette politely, reaching up to pull Wriothesley’s arm behind him until his hand rests against his ass. “Hold yourself open for me.”

Wriothesley shifts, grabbing at himself with both hands until he’s on his chest, and his neck resting awkwardly against a pillow. He’s comfortable enough to manage. Besides, the way that Neuvillette stares at him like a man starving is well worth any discomfort.

A thumb drags over Wriothesley’s hole, petting it. “Look at you,” purrs Neuvillette. 

“More,” says Wriothesley. “Neuvillette, I’m dying here.”

“Then show me,” says Neuvillette, “just like you showed off for me earlier. Beloved, open yourself up for me.”

Oh. Oh. Wriothesley licks at his lips and tosses a glance over his shoulder. Neuvillette’s gaze is hot, heady. His palm is slick with Hydro, and he drips it onto Wriothesley’s hole.

“Okay.” Wriothesley sweeps his fingers through the wetness. “Yeah, okay, I can do that.” He presses in not one, but two, and sucks in a sharp breath. The quicker he can do this, the quicker Neuvillette can fuck him—

Neuvillette said that he realizes. He said the word fucking, and that does things to Wriothesley, so he shoves his fingers in as deep as they’ll go, bullying his rim until it's soft and pliant.

A sharp gaze watches him, pale irises practically glowing in the low lamplight. Wriothesley spreads his fingers and hole wide, and Neuvillette’s mouth parts in reaction. His forked tongue traces the length of his bottom lip. Thinking untoward things, no doubt. 

Wriothesley smiles. “Neuvillette.”

Neuvillette meets his face with a smoldering look that sets Wriothesley’s insides on fire. He has both cocks out tonight, unable to hold full control over his form, and strokes one idly as the other rests against his thigh, fully erect. “Wriothesley,” he replies. 

“You going to fuck me with both?”

“I—” All of Neuvillette’s bravado wavers away, concern pinching his brow. “I wasn’t planning on—”

“You better,” cuts in Wriothesley. “I beat others up just to show you that I can. Then you wrestled me in these sheets, leaving me all hot and bothered. You can’t pull out both and not fuck me both.”

“Wriothesley.” 

He shoves a third finger into himself and lets loose a long, drawn out moan. It’s a tight squeeze, but fuck it feels good. Wriothesley drills his fingers into himself, fucking his ass open. “Sweetheart,” he mutters, “are you going to take your prize?”

Neuvillette’s gaze sharpens. “You—you.” His thumb traces the slick rim of Wriothesley’s hole. “You want both,” he murmurs, not a question, but an observation, an expectation. That thumb sinks in beside Wriothesley’s three fingers, and gods above, it’s a lot. 

A gentle tug. A soft trilling sound as Neuvillette praises him for how easily he opens up. “What a good mate,” he says, slotting close, taking the longer, thicker of his cocks and pulling the tip across the swell of round of Wriothesley’s backside. A wet trail is left in its wake, chilling in the air. 

“I don’t want it slow.” Wriothesley is full, four fingers deep, and he still wants more. Hard and fast. Unrelenting. “Baby, please.”

“Needy,” chides Neuvillette with a click of his tongue. “What happened to my powerful mate?”

“He needs you. Neuvillette. Do you know how hard my dick was out there in the ring?” Enough so to be distracting. 

Neuvillette’s mouth curls into a sinful grin, and that thumb hooked inside Wriothesley drags through his slick, hot heat, dripping more Hydro directly inside. “I told you I smelled it. There is so little that you can hide from me.” 

He pulls out his thumb, and then Wriothesley’s fingers, his hole clenching around nothing. “Both,” Neuvillette muses then, slicking his ovipositor first. “So both you shall get.”

Neuvillette enters Wriothesley with a sharp, hard thrust. That spade-shaped tip helps ease the way, but Wriothesley is so suddenly full that he cries out, fingers curling tightly into the sheets. Hot and heavy. Thick and long. Neuvillette is already pulling out and fucking back in before Wriothesley’s brain can even catch up with the sensation. 

Fucking you into the mattress, he’d threatened. Wriothesley moans, trapped between him and the sheets, his cock dripping a mess all over them. There will be complaints later when Neuvillette notices, but he’s too lost in the moment, in the tight heat of Wriothesley’s ass. 

“Mine,” he hisses, his cock pounding into Wriothesley’s prostate.

It won’t take much more. Wriothesley was almost there before and is nearly to the end right now, his cock aching for release—but he doesn’t touch himself. He reaches back and holds himself open, and Neuvillette drives his cock into him hard and fast. 

His other cock, the smaller, human-shaped one meant to expel semen, rests against the cleft of his crack. Slides against his skin, wetter and slicker with every deep grind. Not enough. It’s not enough. Wriothesley needs more, needs that other cock inside him too. 

“Full, but—”

“Mate.” Neuvillette breathes the word, derailing any rational thought that Wriothesley may have had. “Beloved, you feel perfect. So tight, so, so—” The praises drips from his mouth and warms Wriothesley’s being. 

“The other. Neuvillette please. I need it. I need more, harder—something.”

Neuvillette’s next thrust is harder than the rest, his thighs smacking against Wriothesley’s ass with a sharp sound. And then he slows to a deep, languid crawl that carves through Wriothesley’s insides. “What a fighter,” he says, stroking his other cock, slicking it up with a palm of Hydro. “So powerful and yet here, you are on your knees begging for both of my cocks.”

This sort of dirty talk is a rare thing so Wriothesley drinks it up. He moans, wriggling his hips, fucking back onto Neuvillette’s dick. 

“Be still.” A harsh command that comes with a hand against the small of Wriothesley’s back.

Wriothesley stills with a whine.

“Perfection,” says Neuvillette then, his thumb tracing his rim where it’s stretched smooth around his length. It dips in alongside it, and it stings so good. Wriothesley needs more. He needs— “I know, beloved.” 

He pulls out, leaving a raw, gaping hole in Wriothesley’s being. But then both of his cocks are pressed against him, and Wriothesley falls right back into the trap of his need.

Neuvillette is kinder as he eases both in, slower with his movements, unwilling to hurt him. But those cocks sink in easily. They slip right to the root, fully sheathed inside of him. Wriothesley lets out a broken cry as he goes lax in the sheets, overcome by the fullness, the thickness of both of Neuvillette’s cocks. 

He leans closer, chest to Wriothesley’s back. That angle changes. Grinds deep—so deep that Wriothesley is seeing stars. Feels it in this throat and wonders if he can choke on it. 

Already, Neuvillette’s cocks are twitching. An arm snakes around Wriothesley’s front, tilting him just so, hand moving to rest against his stomach. Neuvillette gives experimental thrust that leaves Wriothesley loose-limbed in the bed. Toes curling. Crying out an unintelligible version of his name. 

And Neuvillette is so gone, so hopelessly lost in his mate. He praises him, mouth pressed against Wriothesley’s ear as he pins him to the bed. It’s a slow, sensual grind of his cocks, heavy-hitting ruts that set Wriothesley’s blood boiling. His pleasure is like flash fire, quickly consuming, as bright as the sky. Wriothesley tries to meet those thrusts, tries to force Neuvillette’s cocks deep with every down stroke.  

“You thought you’d win,” muses Neuvillette with sinful words. “You thought you could wrestle me and come out on top.”

“Have I not?” Wriothesley’s words are sharp, the tail end of them bitten off by a moan as Neuvillette’s cocks rattle him to the bone. “You’re the one unable to hold back. Both of your dicks? Sweetheart, your form was crumbling at the sight of me. You can’t help yourself.”

Neuvillette nips at the shell of his ear and delivers a swifter thrust, one that leaves the both of them reeling. But he doesn’t deny it because Wriothesley is right—Neuvillette’s already close to the edge, shaking and tense against his back as an orgasm threatens to drag him under. 

“Mate.” Neuvillette drops his face, nuzzling at Wriothesley’s neck. “Mine. But you are right, you are nothing but a terrible temptation, and I love you for it.”

Wriothesley swallows around the lump in his throat. He’s so full of everything; Neuvillette’s praise, his love, his dicks.

“Can you come from this alone?”

Wriothesley can. He’s so close, so near to the end already, he wouldn’t even need to grind against the sheets. “Yes, yes.”

“Then perhaps I do win,” murmurs Neuvillette, “if I can bring you to completion with only my cocks.”

He’ll let him have that. “Just—there. Fuck, just like that, sweetheart.” 

Wriothesley shudders as Neuvillette’s fucks into him again with a sharp snap of his hips. Heat burns through him, welling up. He clings to the sheets, pulling at the silk with his fingers. It’s almost too much, being so full. Neuvillette whispering praise into his ear, the harsh slap of their skin, and Neuvillette’s hand petting the space underneath his navel. 

“I can feel myself here,” he tells Wriothesley, dragging circles over the bulge there. “You’re so full of my cocks, taking me so well. Be that I could, I’d breed you properly.”

Oh. Oh. Neuvillette’s gone. Wriothesley gasps at that, gasps at the promise of other terribly sordid things murmured against his temple. Neuvillette has a way with saying such filth when he tries, and it leaves Wriothesley reeling, and his cock so hard it’s beyond aching, it’s painful.

He fucks back against Neuvillette. Those dangerous cocks sink in to the root, catching his prostate, and Wriothesley comes with a shout. Suddenly. Quickly. He spills all over the sheets in spurts, grinding back onto Neuvillette’s lengths as everything goes numb.

Only the pleasure—that’s all he feels. Neuvillette’s hand against his stomach, and his chest against his back. “Just like that,” he says, kissing WRiothesley’s sweaty temple. “So tight, so—just like that. Good boy.”

One more thrust, and then another has Neuvillette coming with the smaller, more human cock. His spends inside Wriothesley, flooding his insides. Another few, sharp thrusts, and he groans, his other cock coming as well, thicker, tackier, more viscous. 

All of it wet. Thick. Full, he’s so full.

Wriothesley melts in the sheets, moaning in his overstimulation. Pleasure still rips through him, guiding by the slow, easy grinding of Neuvillette’s still half-hard cock. 

“Perfect.” Neuvillette is still plastered against his back, his chest rumbling with pleasure. “Wonderful, boy. I love you.”

“I—yeah. That.” Wriothesley finds that it’s hard to speak, that his throat is dry, and the words get lodged in his mouth.

Neuvillette laughs. “We both win,” he teases. “There is nothing wrong with compromise. Did you enjoy it?”

Gods yes. Neuvillette wrestling him around and about, the weight of his being shoving Wriothesley into the mattress? Again, please. Maybe he’ll ask later. For now, Wriothesley’s limbs are nothing but jelly, well fucked and blissed out. 

“Mhmn, yeah.”

Neuvillette soaks up the closeness, the feel of him for a moment before pulling back. A hand smooths down WRiothesley’s back, rubbing out the strain in his muscles. Squeezes his ass and spreads his cheeks for a long, lustful look. A thumb traces Wriothesley’s rim before slowly pulling out. 

Another purr at the sight of Wriothesley’s wrecked hole, Neuvillette’s come spilling out. It’s scooped up and pressed back in, two of his fingers sliding into Wriothesley’s guts. 

“Divine,” he says, teasing Wriothesley’s swollen prostate, but eases up when Wriothesley looses a soft whine of discomfort. “Ah. Alright, beloved, I hear you.”

Wriothesley groans in the sheets, but smiles. Neuvillette is so good at reading him. He retreats gently, this time manhandling Wriothesley over onto his back with care. 

He melts into the sheets. Neuvillette slides close, pressing against his side, face tucked into the crook of Wriothesley’s neck. He rubs against him, scenting him, relishing the aftermath of their lovemaking with wandering hands, and licks from that rough, forked tongue. 

“Neuvillette. Sweetheart.”

“Mate,” replies Neuvillette, brushing back his bangs. “Perhaps we should play-fight more often.”

“Yes,” comes Wriothesley’s immediate reply. 

Neuvillette snorts. “As expected.” A pause as he pets down Wriothesley’s sternum. “A bath?”

A bath sounds wonderful. Wriothesley tilts towards him, catching Neuvillette’s mouth in a sweet, soft kiss. “You’ll have to carry me there. I don’t think I can walk.”

He aches, a dull throb pinching the spot right at the base of his spine, but it’s a good ache, one that just makes him think of Neuvillette, and how fucking good he is to him. Others wouldn’t have indulged. Others wouldn’t have been so taken by his brazen display, or given into his demands. A cute game, one they’ll have to play again even if Wriothesley will lose every time.

But, maybe there’s truth to his words, that they both win this fight, that it’s nothing but a draw in the end where they wind up sweat-slick, and with the sheets drowning in come. 

Neuvillette hums softly. The bed dips underneath him as he moves, and Wriothesley scoops him up as if he weighs nothing. 

“Woooow,” teases Wriothesley, wrapping his arms around Neuvillette’s neck as he’s carried down the hall. “So strong. My hero.”

Neuvillette’s response is to dump him into the freezing-cold water, which, Wriothesley supposes, he asked for.

 

Two fellow authors duke it out over prose and style, only to fall in love whilst doing so. Written for Thundering Hearts, an Inazuma WLW zine.

You can also check out the full tags and read it here on AO3!

--
Yae holds the novel between long fingers, tutting softly as she turns a page and reads a few lines. 

“Not bad,” she murmurs, dragging a nail down the freshly bound page, “but too formal and structured. The prose is well-fashioned, but it lacks inspiration, entirely dry.”

Gorou blinks at her, his arms wrapped tightly around a thick-bound folder of work-related notes. He swallows nervously. “Ah, well, that is to say, people find her work popular?”

“Of that, I have no doubt.” Yae chuckles, slamming the book shut. “Those in the general public are entitled to their wrong opinion.”

“I wouldn’t say that it’s wrong—”

“Now, now, are you siding with her?”

Gorou grimaces. “No, of course not. I only meant to say that people have their preferences, and while there are those who like Miss Kokomi’s work, don’t forget that you are just as popular.”

“More popular,” corrects Yae not so politely. “But who’s keeping track, right?” She laughs then, dropping the book to the table. “Oh, don’t look so terrified. It’s all in good fun. I truly don’t care if her work sells or not, I’m just surprised that she has gained such popularity. That’s all.”

“Different strokes, I guess,” says Gorou, easing up a bit as he rubs at his chin. “I read her newest novel and it’s—”

Yae’s sharp-eyed gaze lands on him, narrowed slightly. “You did?”

“For research purposes, I swear!” 

She grins then, delighting in the way that Gorou squirms. He’s a good manager, but Yae finds perverse pleasure in teasing him every moment that she can. “Such a good agent,” she croons, reaching out to tap his nose, “doing research for me.”

“I am here to help. That’s my job.” 

“Your efforts haven’t gone unnoticed.” A pause, then, her eyes flickering back to the book where it sits on the table. “You read further than I. Tell me more. I find myself curious.”

“Well, you’re right, her prose is a little structured, comparatively—” Yae smiles at that. “—but her characters are well built, and it’s easy to connect with them. Her prose is more purple and very descriptive, so even with it being so formal, it’s truly immersive in a way that’s a little different.”

Yae frowns, then. “And so, you’re a fan now?”

“Eh?” Gorou looks panicked. “I mean—”

“I kid, I kid. You’re allowed to like this droll, just as anyone else. In fact, it might prove useful to me in the end. You can describe to me exactly what she’s putting out.”

Gorou’s brow furrows at that. “It’s… not entirely a competition, you know.”

“My little pup,” she says, mouth curling around the nickname he hates. “We both write romance which means that we are rivals. I should study her, no?”

Gorou doesn’t disagree which means she’s won the argument this time around. As she should. Yae isn’t the type to give in so easily. Kokomi is coming for her well-earned crown at the top of the best seller’s list, which means that Yae has her work cut out for her. 

She smirks at the thought, tapping her fingers against the book as she plans.

xxx

Kokomi has always held a middling position on the list of sellers when it comes to her work. 

It suited her just fine, taking a seat towards the back. She made enough money to be comfortable, eyes wandering over her instead of staring the moment she stepped into the room. Book signings and the like were always quiet affairs, filled with only the most dedicated of her readers. 

Quiet, quaint, and lovely. 

And then she wrote Shogun in Love which propelled her to a level of popularity that she is still at odds with. 

Kokomi stands there, staring at the entryway as though it is about to swallow her up. In her arms is her book, squeezed so tightly that she’s lost the feeling in her elbows. She sighs, wondering if this is a good idea. It is, she thinks to herself. It must be. 

“Stalling out here won’t make your time inside any better.” Kaedehara Kazuha nudges her against the ribs with his elbow. “This isn’t like you. You love signings.”

“Yes, when they were small. Kazuha, this event has been fully booked for months.”

“It’s not entirely you,” he says. “There are other authors here, arguably larger. Perhaps you’ll still slide on by.”

Kokomi levels him with a flat stare that leaves him laughing. “I didn’t ask for this,” she says. “I didn’t think—”

“I don’t think any author thinks their work will catch on. Embrace your lucky break. I still have poetry books that are only dusty manuscripts years later.” Kokomi snorts at that. Kazuha gives her a gentle push. “In you go. Don’t dawdle. A lot of those people came here for you.”

She sighs softly, rubbing her brow. Kazuha’s bookstore isn’t usually the site of such grand affairs, but he knows people here and there, and managed to pull strings. It’ll be good for him, all these patrons. It’s worth it, she thinks, if only for that. 

“This is mostly because I’ve known you forever,” she tells him. “Otherwise, I’d go back home and sign copies over the internet.”

“And I wouldn’t blame you if you did. Now off.” He gives her a gentle shove and this time she goes. 

The walk to the door isn’t as scary as it first seemed. 

xxx

But the woman on the other side of the door is. 

Kokomi might be quiet and keep to herself, but she doesn’t live underneath a rock. She recognizes Yae Miko the moment they meet gazes. Yae looks her over, a soft sneer spread on her face. Friendly rivalry, Kokomi tells herself. That’s all it is.

Yae taps at her chin, that sneer turning into a smile that isn’t very genuine. “Well, if it isn’t the new queen of the best-seller list.”

“I’m no queen, just another author,” says Kokomi.

“Hm, perhaps you’re right. You aren’t quite to the top yet, but the bottom rung is still on the ladder, isn’t it?”

Oh, she’s a foul thing, isn’t she? Kokomi’s heard the rumors, of course. She’s prepared herself for potential cattiness. Kokomi prides herself on being polite and keeping an air of professionalism, but she isn’t about to let the dig go. 

“And I wonder how it is, being at the top for so long? Do you remember what your fans look like, or have you lost touch with everyone that you deem too little to be worth your presence?” Kokomi laughs sweetly, smiling as she sinks her teeth in deeper. “You might be more established, but it shows in your work. You’ve been writing for so long that it always seems so dull and uninspired.”

Yae’s brows raise. “Dull and uninspired? And what of yours? I couldn’t tell if I was reading something written within the last century or not. Dragged on, didn’t it?”

“At least I’ve found my literary voice, no? Tell me, Yae Miko—truly, what an absurd pen name—do you even recall what it is like to write from the heart? Or are you so intent on churning out novel after novel that your prose feels all the same?” Kokomi laughs, smiling, all grins. “You mock my work for feeling contrived, but at least it has a feel.”

Kokomi expects Yae to not take kindly to her words. To her surprise, though, Yae doesn’t bite back. She tilts her head to the side and blinks slowly, her gaze washing from Kokomi’s head to her toes. “Interesting,” she finally says, tapping at her cheek. “I didn’t expect you to bite back, even if it makes you sound like a yipping dog.”

Well then, thinks Kokomi. Yae Miko has just laid out a playing field that’s quite tricky to navigate, but she has no idea that Kokomi isn’t the sort of woman who gives up. Kokomi snorts, holding her head high as she shoots Yae a level stare.

“Yes, well, even the kindest dog bites the hand which feeds it when being served poison.”

Gorou’s mouth drops, stunned. Kazuha, who stands beside Kokomi, shuffles slightly. The two agents share a quick glance, worried. 

Yae’s mouth twists into a grin that is not kind. She says, “Well, aren’t you just a puerile thing?”

“It seems as though reading a thesaurus has widened your vocabulary choice.”

“Yae,” murmurs Gorou, leaning over and tugging on her sleeve, “there is a point at which you should stop.”

Yae tuts, sighing softly. “Sadly, he’s right. I’m afraid that I must cut this chat short. I have places to be and books to sign—which, I guess, you’ll know how that feels sooner than later.” Her eyes narrow, as she regards Kokomi. “Consider this a challenge, however. We are now true rivals within the world of literature.”

“Well, what an honor.” She gives a mocking courtesy. “May the best author win.”

xxx

The problem with declaring a rather public rivalry is that it can backfire. 

Yae Miko is usually the sort who thinks her actions through, considering every angle. With Sangonomiya Kokomi, it’s as though Yae has lost all function. She thinks of the woman and that prim little smile of hers, and only sees shades of red. 

The spat has cost Yae the spot at the top, Shogun in Love securing its title as the number-one best seller. Another notch in Kokomi’s belt, against all odds. 

Gorou is rightfully wary. Yae is often in the worst sort of mood, prone to tossing things around haphazardly in a multitude of directions. 

“It isn’t just her who’s received a boost in sales,” he says, trying to ease her frustration.

“My sales don’t matter if I’m not at the top!” She regrets her tone the moment the words fly from her mouth. As annoying as Gorou can be at times, he’s a hard worker, and invaluable to her enterprise. Yae pinches her nose, takes a deep, and counts to three. 

“Why not use it as a rebrand?”

Yae pauses, turning to him. “I’m sorry?”

Gorou hesitates, choosing his words carefully. “She wasn’t… entirely wrong when she criticized your work. Reviews as of late have been mediocre. But perhaps you can use the rivalry to approach your work from a new angle.”

It is not a bad idea. No, actually, it’s a fantastic idea. Yae taps at her chin as she thinks and thinks. And then, she smiles. 

xxx

“You know, it’s pretty good.” Kazuha holds Yae Miko’s new novel, eyes scanning the prose. “Definitely different from what I’ve seen from her.”

“This is…” Kokomi’s brow furrows. “Is this satire?”

Kazuha laughs. “Knowing her? Yes, probably. Historical fiction certainly isn’t her usual fare, and she isn’t one to write something so serious.” He closes the book with a snap. “Still, the numbers are projected to do well. It’s garnering her good reviews. ‘She’s turned over a new leaf,’ they say.”

“Not likely.”

“Of course, not. She’s clearly taking a jab at your most recent success.” Kazuha pulls out his phone to check something. “Which, by the way, is on its twentieth consecutive week in the number one slot. Congratulations.”

Kokomi sighs, setting Yae’s latest novel aside. “What an atrocity to the genre.”

“I have been talking to Gorou—”

Her eyes flash and she grins. “Oh?”

“For professional reasons, I assure you.” Kokomi pouts as Kazuha continues. “It seems as though Yae is using your rivalry to her advantage.”

“And you think that I should as well?” Kokomi’s eyes narrow. 

“It isn’t the worst idea.”

No, of course not, but Kokomi isn’t sure that she can bring herself to write the same trite, cliched rom-coms that Yae Miko is so well-known for. 

But, then again, perhaps a change of pace would be nice.

xxx

Kokomi pens That One Time I Got Lost in a Public Bath and Found the Gateway To Heaven over three days, and while it is not a hit in the way her previous novel was, it does garner the begrudging respect of Yae Miko who sings its praises publicly. 

“Truly a fun one, if you are a fan of reverse harem comedies. Miss Sangonomiya seems to have found a rather witty voice when it comes to this particular genre.”

Time passes and they share more events. Their bickering and bantering melts from heated, scathing insults into a more light-hearted affair. Kokomi finds that she rather delights in their clever turns of phrase, one-upping each other when it comes to the teasing. 

They share lunch. And dinner, even late-night drinks, much to the surprise of both Gorou and Kazuha. And then, at one event, they even share a booth, selling their best-selling novels side-by-side as bundled pairs. 

“I will admit, Yae, as we’ve grown to know each other, I’ve come to admire you.”

“Oh?” Yae raises a brow, her head tilted to the side. “How unexpected. I never expected you to bow down before me.”

Kokomi’s lips purse. “I would never,” she says curtly, “but even I can admit when I’ve come to respect another, even if the sentiment is not returned.”

Yae laughs then, full-hearted. “Kokomi, whoever said that I do not respect you?”

“You did. Many times, in fact. So many, that it’s practically seared into my brain—”

Yae scoffs. “Empty words,” she cuts in, waving a hand. “If I had no respect, I would not be sharing this table with you. I would not be selling our books together. I would not have read your latest work, which, yes, could use a little more pizazz, but—”

Kokomi chuckles, a soft, snorting sort of laughter. “Why does it sound as though you are trying to convince yourself?”

Yae falls uncharacteristically quiet, thinking. “I am not. But, it’s hard to admit defeat when the issue at hand had little warrant in the beginning. Loathe as I am to admit it… my first impression of you was not very sound.”

“Ah. Jealousy can do that to a person.”

“I suppose that is true.”

It is strange, Yae Miko being truthful with her. Kokomi watches her carefully for any subtle signs of deceit but sees none. Yae looks rather pleasant, sitting there at their booth, watching Kokomi back. Unsettling, in the way that it causes Kokomi’s cheeks to pink. Her pulse races just slightly in the way that books like to describe. 

Yae is pretty enough once one realizes that she’s all bark and no bite. Kokomi realizes just how her heart lurches ever-so-slightly when she leans near. 

Which is why, when Yae Miko kisses her later under the cover of the stars, Kokomi lets her.