𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑!𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐗 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑!𝐘/𝐍

it always ends with i love you ft. wriothesley — in which you, a small floral shop owner, meet the duke of meropide by a chance encounter—and then you meet a bunch more too…but not so much by chance anymore

contains: 20.3k work count (please give it a chance i put my soul into it) ; female reader ; mature content—not suitable for minors ; strangers to friends to lovers ; flower shop au + florist reader ; reader has a small backstory regarding her dead father ; use of canon flowers and and lore, meaning i did my best so please be gentle on me with my botany facts ; heavy spoilers for wriothesley’s story quest and backstory, explores themes such as murder and hints at child exploitation and trafficking—all pertaining to his adopted home life ; slight oc’s because i gave a few of his adopted siblings names ; a fun neuvillette and clorinde appearance! ; a not so fun childe appearance + jealousy ; a short argument ; love confessions and getting together ; wriothesley is scared of love (anyone who had to kill their parents should be tbh) ; reader sits on his lap/lays on him ; there’s sex in every scene lol i got carried away—includes vaginal fingering ; cunnilingus ; nipple play ; hand + blow jobs ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie

the first time you meet wriothesley is by accident.

he doesn’t exactly come up to the surface regularly—he sees the sun frequently enough to remember what sunlight feels like if he tries to recall, but not enough that most people of fontaine would know he’s the duke of meropide just by looking at him.

he likes it that way. the duke is no small title, and he’d prefer the trip through the streets of the court without being stopped for idle chit-chat.

he doesn’t intend on stopping on his way to the palais, but you’re a bit of a unique circumstance.

he hears the smashing sound of something breaking before the scream, quickly glancing over his shoulder at the noise. nothing could have prepared him for a flower shop to be the source of such chaos—what could be chaotic about selling petals on a stem?

except you’re clumsily chasing after a man as he stumbles past your door, knocking over the potted plants on display in the process as you follow him.

the look of distress on your face as the pot falls and shatters compels him to investigate the scene. (of course, there’s a note of distress on your face before the pot falls, but the way it deepens when it does is almost criminal. your face is too lovely to have such creases in your forehead, even if he won’t admit as much out loud).

“stop! please,” you call, “you haven’t paid for those!”

thievery. wriothesley knows a thing or two about pocketing things that don’t belong to him.

first, it’s because he spends a portion of his life on the streets, surviving more than living. those moments reduce him down to a simple pocket thief at times. (he had standards for his crimes: never too much and only enough to survive for a bit. always from someone who dresses expensively and looks like they’re comfortable enough not to feel the damage to their wallets. and, of course, never from women).

second, it’s because people, on the streets or in the fortress, love to steal from those who are weak and vulnerable. people who are sleeping are of that classification of individuals, so wriothesley learns how to keep his things hidden and how to be a light sleeper. he’s never had too many things that are precious to him, of course, but he owns little enough that he’d notice his losses harshly should they come.

he hates thievery. partly because it reminds him of his past and the darkness that taints it, but mostly because it always involves someone innocent who doesn’t deserve to lose. not even a little.

his feet carry him over to the scene before he can stop himself—not that he would stop himself even if he did have control over his body, but it’s just that this particular circumstance seems to have him in some sort of trance. one that won’t allow him to look away from your face.

“please,” you follow the man past your shop’s door, “those are the last of my glaze lilies—i promised them in an order!”

the man running doesn’t seem to care about your pleas, snickering as he turns to give you an amused look, as if your distress is entertaining. he doesn’t make it far, though, before he bumps into a muscled chest.

“what the—”

wriothesley cuts him off, raising a brow. “i do believe the lovely lady here has asked for her flowers back. or did you miss that part?”

“and just who do you think you are, mister?” the man barks, glaring wriothesley up and down. (it’s a bit funny, considering he’s much shorter, so it takes a tad bit of effort on his part to give wriothesley the menacing once over it’s meant to be). “i don’t remember asking you what she asked.”

“oh me?” wriothesley cracks his knuckles casually, shrugging as he says, “duke of meropide at your service. i must say, i’m not very popular around here—not a lot of people know me, it seems.”

your jaw drops. the man’s face pales—which is a nice confirmation, at least, that he does have some sort of a brain.

“w-what? and just why would i believe that? you expect me to think the fortress’s duke is just prancing around the streets as if he hasn’t got duties? as if!”

wriothesley’s lips quirk up at the edges as he hums, fishing through the pocket of his shirt before he pulls out an envelope, sealed with the stamp of the iudex himself. there’s writing on it in clear letters, bold and italicized, as if just to mock the man.

to: duke wriothesley

from: iudex neuvillette

“that clear things up for you?” wriothesley asks, traces of a cheeky glint in his eyes as he raises a brow.

instantly, the man is clasping his hands, head bowing as a string of incoherent apologies flows past his shaky lips. “i-i’m sorry! i’ve never done anything like this before, you can check! my records are clean! i-it was a moment of weakness, but it won’t happen again, sir. p-please don’t take me to monsieur neuvillette. or court. or—”

“your first thieving gig, and you picked flowers?” wriothesley snorts, “i almost don’t want to bring you to court just save myself from the embarrassment.”

the man flushes, bashfully shrinking as he mumbles, “w-well i just…i just wanted to get flowers for my girlfriend for our anniversary and these…th-they’re her favorite you know? b-but they’re hard to come by since liyue is so far and…and the lady wouldn’t sell them to me so…you know…i uh…” the man trails off, wilting as wriothesley’s stares down, unimpressed. “i promised her i’d get them,” he adds, as if it’ll help.

“what a tragic sob story you got there,” wriothesley deadpans. “your girlfriend must love your honesty.”

“if i may interrupt,” you call from behind, making both men glance over to where you stand some distance away.

wriothesley forgot you were there, truthfully. but now that he’s taking in your appearance up closer, he can’t help but appreciate it. your features complement each other well—like an assortment of carefully arranged flowers, hand-picked one by one by celestia themselves.

“hello miss,” he nods, raising a hand to half-wave at you, “don’t worry, i’ll get this man out of your hair in a moment with your flowers too. just give me a sec—”

“no,” you say softly, “no it’s okay. he can keep some of them…i’m sure i can make do with a shorter hand than usual.”

he blinks. you couldn’t have possibly offered to let your thief keep his earnings at your expense, could you? he can’t decide if you're just that naive, just that foolish, or truly just that kind.

maybe all three, if he’s being honest.

“uh…are you sure?” he tilts his head in disbelief, “you want to let him keep the flowers?”

“partially,” you confirm, “it’s alright. everyone deserves flowers on their anniversary. especially their favorite.”

wriothesley decides you’re just that kind—and in some ways, it’s worse than being a bit on the naive side. at least you can sharpen yourself to become untrusting and skeptical if naivety gets you in trouble. kindness is as easy to take advantage of as it is to take for granted, and it’s not just something people like you can turn off like a switch.

“oh, thank you!” the man exclaims as soon as the words come out of your mouth, not wasting a second to grin at you as he says, “you’re really so kind! if you’d just tell the duke here that it was all a misunderstanding and that you’d like to drop all charges, then i’ll be on my way with partial the flowers—”

“make no mistake,” your hands find your hips as your face hardens with a certain strictness even he’s a bit startled by, “if you should come here and cause trouble again, i have the duke’s word to press double the charges next time. i would tread carefully if i were you—don’t ever let me catch you stealing from me again.”

wriothesley stares at you and gapes. he’s sorely mistaken about you—kindness is not the absence of your spitefulness, and the man shrinks back as you stare down at him expectantly.

“o-of course,” he says quickly, “it won’t happen again.”

“good,” you nod, “that’ll be five hundred mora, please.”

“b-but—”

“is there a problem?” you raise a menacing brow, making the man scramble to shake his head. 

“wow,” wriothesley snorts as the man scampers off after fishing enough mora from his pockets, “i suppose i underestimated your ability to handle the situation, miss.”

“i think i owe a good portion of my success to you, your grace,” you bow your head slightly, unable to meet his eyes as you nervously chuckle, “i don’t usually have robberies. the people in this area are familiar with me. they’re quite kind—i’ve never had someone as stubborn as him.”

“well, rest assured, if he bothers you again, you can come to find me for my word at court.”

“i’ll hold onto the offer,” you grin.

that chance meeting becomes history after a while. he comes and pays you a visit every time he’s at the surface, which isn’t all too often, but often enough that you start to look forward to at least one routine visit per month. sometimes, he teases you about whether or not you’ve had new thieves pay you a visit. other times, you make use of his strong hands and built muscles and cheekily order him around to move heavy bags of fertilizer around. 

he likes tea, you learn—he takes a very piqued interest in the jars of dried petals you keep on shelves, ones you tell him are good for making blends for tea, or to boil with water for natural remedies, or to make syrups for beverages like lemonade. it’s a slow, steady, blossoming friendship until, all at once, you feel incomplete without the routine visit from the fortress’s warden. you’re too reliant on the familiarity of explaining flowers, their origins, what stories they share, and what they mean—and likewise, you feel incomplete without his stories from the fortress, what the inmates are up to, and what changes he’s developing to make things better for the people under his wing. 

you like to think he feels the same way; otherwise, he wouldn’t come around as much as he does. 

sometimes he walks you home, and sometimes you invite him for tea. you drink coffee, but you don’t mind the trouble of brewing two beverages if it means some extra time with him in your cozy little home.

like today, where he sits comfortably at your dining table while you cut fresh bulle fruit as tea steeps in the hot water. he watches you with fond eyes, listening as you ramble intently about your recent endeavors at your flower shop.

“—and i think i’ve finally managed to grow a cactus from sumeru long enough to bloom my own henna berries,” you grin, looking at him brightly, pride settling into the crinkles of your eyes, “it did take some trial and error—fontaine rains far too often for cacti to survive, but this one i managed to grow indoors.”

“couldn’t you just get the berries delivered from sumeru? since you have plenty delivered from there already,” he asks in amusement. you huff, rolling your eyes as you walk over, setting the platter of fruit down before him. 

“of course, you’d want to take such a simple route—but plants are far more rewarding when you grow them yourself, you know. plus, every fruit i’ve managed to grow on my own here in fontaine has had a bit of a unique flavor as opposed to ones grown from their original nation. i’d like to see if that’s the case with these berries, too.”

“well, if that’s the case,” he hums, taking a slow sip from the tea you’ve brewed for him—it’s perfectly made to his liking, with two sugar cubes and piping hot just as you’ve learned he prefers. he closes his eyes and lets out a content sigh as the warmth trickles down his throat. “let me try one when they’re ready.”

“of course,” you brighten excitedly, as though the prospect of someone to share such a moment with is one you look forward to. there’s something that tickles in his chest, right beneath his ribcage, at the sight of your wide grin.

you chatter until the sun sets, warm, honeyed rays of orange and pink pouring through your windows and painting his skin vibrant hues. it’s about time for him to leave—you can tell even before he clears his throat and stands, grabbing the plate and mug and heading to the sink.

“i should go,” he says kindly, washing the dishes with so much familiarity that it almost feels domestic and natural to have him here. you shake the thought out of your head as quickly as it enters your head. “thank you for having me this evening.”

“oh, i think we’re past the formalities,” you huff a small laugh, “you’re doing my dishes.”

“technically they’re my dishes,” he chuckles, “since i did dirty them.”

you hum, walking over to where he stands as he turns the faucet off—until a small twist of your ankle has you gasping as you stumble forward. you brace yourself for the impact of the hardwood floor, but instead, you’re met with a firm yet soft chest as strong arms wrap around your waist and catch you before you can fall.

“oh,” you breathe as you open your eyes, staring into him with just as widened pupils as him. 

“are you okay?” he asks quietly, voice just barely audible as he whispers to you—he’s so close, so painfully close, you think the only reason you heard him was because of the proximity. 

“yeah,” you nod. it’s hardly a nod, really—if you were to move your head too much, you’d risk brushing your nose against his. or maybe even your lips. “i’m fine. thank you.”

“yeah, no problem,” his eyes are still trained on yours, and neither of you can find it in yourselves to pull away. you can’t, and he definitely doesn’t, and nothing seems to give as you stare at each other. you’re pressed against his chest, and his arms are wrapped around you, and there’s a strange beating in both of your chests that you think you can just barely make out.

they almost seem to beat in sync, rapid and untamed. so, so fast, you wonder if it’s even healthy.

you don’t know who does it first—or maybe it was the both of you. all you know is that one second, you’re staring at each other, and the next, your heads are tilted so that your lips meet tentatively. he hesitates at the first brush of your lips, but your hands cup his cheeks and pull him forward, making his eyes flutter shut as he shakily breathes into your mouth. it’s so slow, so dizzyingly slow, that you wonder if time has just stopped altogether to grant you a moment with no interruptions. 

he fits perfectly against you, the soft flesh of his cheeks spilling over your palms, your thumb rubbing affectionately into the skin as he nips at your lips, kissing you like he’s waited his whole life to feel you. the curves of his mouth connect with the curves of yours like pieces of a puzzle, like he was carved to match you from the same stone. 

you’re not sure how long you kiss like that, but slowly, it grows needier, more quick and hasty as your hands leave his cheeks to wander to his hair and gently tug at the strands as his hands wander to your waist and lower back, feeling every curve of you as he groans into your mouth. 

he tries to pull away, but you chase after him, unwilling to let go.

“w-wait,” he mumbles, “maybe we should stop—”

“you really want to?” you ask breathlessly, and all it takes is one glance down at your glossy, swollen lips for him to close his eyes and shiver.

“no,” he admits hoarsely, “i don’t. are…are you sure about this?”

“yes,” you whisper instantly.

he doesn’t waste a moment, quickly pulling you into your bedroom as you both collapse on the mattress. you climb onto his lap, crotch pressing against the semi-hardened erection in his pants, the press of your heat against his bulge earning a low, drawn-out groan from him that shoots straight to your clit with a dull ache. 

“sweetheart,” he says in between kisses, making you inhale sharply at the pet name, “you’re killing me here.”

“okay,” you smile against his mouth, pecking it sweetly before you add, “then let me do something about that.”

he doesn’t expect you to drop down between his legs, face to face with the obvious tent in his pants—wriothesley is a gentleman, a giver before he is a taker. his first instinct is to protest as he opens his mouth and starts to say, “hang on—you don’t have to—”

“i want to,” you pout, looking up at him, “please? i want to.”

when was the last time someone looked up at him like that, staring up at him like pleasing him is the only way they’ll survive? he doesn’t recall, doesn’t think it’s ever happened, in fact. he groans, head falling back against your bed frame as he nods slowly. 

“okay,” he concedes, lifting his hips up so you can pull his pants down his legs, leaving him in his boxers. there’s a wet patch where his tip meets the cloth, the evidence of pre cum drooling from his swollen head that makes you hum in satisfaction as you leave a tender kiss on the spot through the fabric. he gasps, hips jolting as his thighs clench at the teasing touch.

“can i?” you purr, hand rubbing soothingly over his tense thigh as he swallows and nods, looking anywhere but at you as he breathes harshly. 

“y-yes,” he grunts, “please.”

you’re freeing his cock as soon as he utters the plead, letting him spring free and meet the cool air. he hisses, gritting his teeth as his chest rises and falls erratically, labored breaths that he tries to use to calm himself as he stands painfully hard between his legs. 

“pretty,” you murmur, entranced at the sheer size of him—he’s flushed an almost painful red at his thick tip, leaking enough pre cum that you’d think he might have already had his release with the way it runs down the side of his hardened length. 

your hand wraps gently around the tip, thumb smearing the pre cum along the tip before coating the rest of his cock, using it as lubrication for the steady stroke of your hand along the girth. he throws his head back, groaning as his hips buck into your touch before he stops himself, frantically trying to keep himself still and let you take your time. 

“f-fuck,” he rasps, “that…that feels nice.”

“yeah?” you breathe, smiling as you press a kiss to his thigh as he chokes on a grunt while your hand slowly pumps him. “am i doing it right?”

“you’re doing just fine,” he assures, biting his lip as he finally can’t keep himself from bucking impatiently into your fist any longer, “feel free to do more, though.”

you giggle, pressing a soft kiss to his lip before gliding your tongue through his slit and watching as he melts against your bed frame at the gesture, body loosening up like he’s limbless as you slowly take him into your mouth, swallowing around his cock and bobbing your head, pumping the rest with your hand that you can’t fit down your throat. 

“shit,” he curses, hand cupping the back of your head as he guides you up and down his length, moaning your name when you swirl your tongue around the tip, “you…you’re so good at this, yeah? take me so well in that pretty mouth of yours.”

you hum around him, making him cry out at the vibrations around his cock, one hand running through his hair as he tries to keep himself grounded, the other still cradling the back of your head. he’s a gentleman, though, living up to one just as much as he always lets on to be when he doesn’t force you to take more of him by pushing your head down or burying himself deeper into your throat by fucking his hips into your mouth. he lets you do things at your own pace, and you think it’s enough when you feel the telling signs of his release as his panting grows harsher and his cock twitches in your mouth.

“w-wait, wait,” he says frantically, “i’ll cum—i’ll cum. not yet, not until i have you.”

you reluctantly pull away, a trail of spit connecting from your lips to his tip that makes him close his eyes and groan, clenching his jaw as his near-orgasm dies down to nothing again. his cock is achingly hard, hot and swollen and throbbing after denying himself for the sake of feeling you.

“c’mere,” he motions for you to climb onto his lap. you do, sitting on his thigh as he slowly trails a thumb under your shirt, rubbing the skin with a feather-light, heated touch that has you shivering against him. “you sure you want this?”

“i want it,” you whisper, leaning to press a kiss to his lips that he reciprocates with a low hum of approval, “with you.”

“such a sweet way with words,” he murmurs, slowly pulling your blouse over your head and unclasping your bra, tossing them to the side as he marvels at the view of your tits. “such a sweet view, too. beautiful.” 

you flush at the praise, looking away. but his hands grab at your breasts, large as they cup them and massage lightly, thumbs running over the pert nipples as you shudder and breathe out a light gasp. 

“wriothesley, need more—”

“give me a moment,” he shushes you, “and then i’ll give you what you want.”

he admires you like that for a bit, sat on his thigh as your eyes flutter shut and his thumbs tease your nipples, wetness pooling in your core that he can feel on his thigh—you’d be embarrassed, you really would, but it’s not as though his cock is any less leaky at the head. 

finally, he inhales sharply, sitting up slightly to unbutton his shirt, revealing the scars down his chest before he helps you out of your pants. you stare at the harsh, jagged lines that pain his skin, raised, discolored skin, the only evidence of some brutal, vicious past that he survived. 

your thumb traces down the lines, making him shiver at the fragileness behind the touch.

“where’d you get this?” you murmur, staring at him curiously. 

“hmm? oh the scar on my body? it's from a gash i got while battling a gigantic undersea monster that tried to take over the fortress of meropide…” he stares at you cheekily as you blink, looking at him unimpressed. “hah, just kidding.”

“do you ever take anything seriously?” you shake your head and huff, but there’s endearment on your face as you fight back a smile.

“on the contrary, milady,” he murmurs, grabbing your hips and pulling you back slightly, exposing your drenched cunt before he slowly sinks two fingers into your folds and curls them against the back of your walls, “i take this quite seriously.”

you gasp at the feeling, his digits rubbing against your walls and angling to hit a sensitive, achingly sweet spot at the back of your cunt. it’s precise, the way he pumps his fingers into you, slowly sinking in a third digit while you mewl and throw your head back. the heel of his palm catches against your clit, the sweet friction building your orgasm up slowly, slowly, until suddenly, you’re near the edge all at once. 

“c’mon, don’t hold back now,” he drawls, voice low and sweet and so attractive, you feel like the sound of him alone is enough to send you tumbling over the edge, “why don’t you be a sweet little thing and let go for me, hm?”

you do—instantly, you do, crying out his name is choked garbles as he works you through your orgasm with his fingers, still thrusting into you with a precise pace. finally, when you’re done clenching around him, he pulls his digits out, the slickness of your pussy coating them as he hums in satisfaction. 

“think you’re ready?” he asks softly, cradling the back of your head with his good hand as he pulls you closer, “or do you need one more from me?”

“i’m ready,” you huff impatiently, “i need you, need to feel you already.”

“okay, okay,” he laughs, amused but not anymore patient himself as his cock pulses between his legs, “i’m not trying to wait any longer, either. do you have a…uh…y-you know…”

you snort at the way he trails off awkwardly, flushing at the thought of asking for a condom as if he’s not completely nude under you. “no,” you giggle, pinching his cheek as he huffs, “but we don’t need one. it’s fine.”

“okay,” he nods slowly. his hands grab at your hips, firm yet so gentle with the way they lift you up and guide you to angle over his swollen cock, slowly helping you sink down on him as he chokes on a grunt when his head pushes past your folds. 

you gasp as soon as he intrudes into your tight hole, splitting you open on his thick girth as you take him inch by inch until you’re sat on his lap completely, buried completely with his length as his jaw clenches at the tight squeeze of you around him. 

“wri—wriothesley,” you sob brokenly, unable to say anything else besides cracked repeats of his name. he’s so big, buried so deep, and leaving you so full, you’re not sure if you have it in you to fuck onto him from this position. 

he takes things into his own hands, though—roughly grabbing your hips and pulling you back before helping you sink back down on him again, rolling his own hips upward to bury deeper into you. your head spins, and all you can think to do is weakly plant your hands onto his shoulders before you roll your hips, grinding down on his length and sloppily fucking yourself onto him.

he bullies past your folds, curves deliciously into the most intimate parts of you, fat tip slamming against the soft, sensitive spot that makes you see white. pleasure burns up your spine, building a coil in your belly that grows tighter, tighter, tighter—so close yet so far from snapping and letting you plummet into your second release. 

“that’s it,” he grunts, “fuck—you’re so tight, so good. i’ve…i’ve never felt anything so good. it’s like you were made for me, weren’t you? take me so well, fit around me so well.”

his hand moves to your clit, thumb pressing against the sensitive bundle of nerves and rubbing merciless circles against it as you mewl, head burying into his neck as your nails claw at his shoulder. everything is so good—so hot and filthy and leaves you impatiently desperate for some form of release. the friction of his cock dragging along every ridge leaves your mind hazed, and the harsh press of his tip against your sweet spot leaves your vision blurry. 

you’re not sure how you even have the strength to rock yourself onto his stiff length, but somehow you manage, and he seems keen on helping you, too, with rough, bruising hands that grip your waist with a punishingly tight grasp.

“c-can’t hold on much longer,” you cry, voice a strangled sob that’s muffled into his skin, “i’m s-so close. please.”

“me too,” he pants, voice just as strained as yours as he moans through a cracked voice when you clench down on his particularly tightly, “me too, sweetheart. i’m right there with you, alright? let go—c-c’mon.”

once more, you cum around him—this time on his cock instead of his fingers, and if the first time felt good, the second time is devastating. your vision practically goes white as your walls spasm around him, slick and dripping with your release and mixing with his own as he follows you not long after. his cock jolts, pumping hot, sticky ropes of his seed deep into you, and both of your bodies are slumped against one another as you barely roll your hips, sloppy pace with no rhythm as you focus on getting yourselves through the ecstasies of your orgasms. 

his thumb is still pressing against your clit, and your hands have left his shoulders to bury into his sweaty hair, tugging fiercely at the dark strands and making him groan at the mix of pain and pleasure. 

finally, you both ride out the final few waves, him slumping against your bed as you fall against his sturdy chest, face still buried into his neck. sweat clings to your skin, but you don’t mind the feeling of his damp skin against yours, not when the warmth of your body makes the afterglow feel so sweet. your fingers thread through his hair, soothing over his scalp with the rake of your nails where you’d just tugged so harshly, and his palms glide up and down your hips, rubbing gentleness back into the parts where he dug bruises along the skin. 

“wait, is that watering can supposed to be a dog?” he asks out of the blue, making you lift your head and look over your shoulder.

“yes,” you quirk a brow, watching as he lets out a small snort as he looks at the watering can by your plants in wonder.

“it’s pretty ugly.”

“rude!” you gasp, pulling away slightly as he shakes under you in laughter, “i think it’s adorable!”

“do you now?” he bites his lips, attempting to suppress the smile that threatens to take over, “you have…interesting taste.”

“oh, you’re dead to me,” you spit dramatically, collapsing back against his chest as you bury your head into his neck again. “dead to me, i say.”

“my apologies,” he snickers. his hand rubs slowly into your hip, quietly humming for a moment before he asks, “what made you so passionate about plants?”

“i can’t just really like them?” you challenge.

“sure,” he shrugs, eyeing the watering can again as he smiles, “but you don’t give the impression that you just happen to just really like leaves, and that’s it.”

“there’s more to plants than leaves,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. and then, much gentler this time, “my father was a scholar from sumeru. an herbologist.” your voice is a quiet murmur, a low hum as you speak into his neck while his hands are still rubbing into your hips, “i used to be fascinated by his journals and all the plants he’d seen. he died when i was young, so sometimes…sometimes i try to grow them here in fontaine myself. just to feel close to him.”

“do you?” he asks quietly, staring at the various plants that decorate your small home. it’s cozy, he thinks, so lively and warm that it almost doesn’t feel like you’re the only inhabitant. “do you feel close to him when you do?”

“if it works,” you admit, “it’s not always easy to recreate the same conditions they’re meant to grow in.”

“i think you do an impressive job,” he praises, earning a slow smile from you that he can feel curve into his skin, “i’ve yet to come across a flower shop in fontaine with as much variety as yours.”

“you flatter me, your grace,” you chuckle, pulling away as you stare at him, the tousled hair from where his hand ran through, the swollen bottom lip where his teeth sank in, the flushed skin where heat settled. you take all of it in slowly, admiring him as he looks up at you through lidded eyes.

“do i? i meant it seriously, not in flattery,” he raises a brow and smirks, “if i wanted to try flattery on you, i think i’d have some other choice words.”

“don’t be so insatiable,” you gently swat at his chest, earning a chuckle from him. “will you be able to stop by tomorrow?”

“i’m afraid not,” he sighs, “i have a meeting with some people from the palais tomorrow at the fortress. it’ll run a bit late.”

“oh,” you try to hide the disappointment in your voice, but he seems to sense it instantly. “that’s okay. i just had a blend i thought you might like to try—for tea, that is. it’s um…i dried the petals myself, and it’s new. i thought i’d let you be the first to try it to let me know what you think.”

you try not to giggle at the way he perks up at the mention of tea.

“ah, i’m afraid i won’t have time tomorrow. but…” he coughs, trailing off as he looks away, contemplating his words.

“but…?” you press.

“but…well, i have a few guards returning tomorrow from the surface from a few tasks i gave them. i could have them stop by the shop to escort you down to the fortress if that works for you…it’s okay if you can’t, though! i can always come by sometime this week when my duties aren’t as—”

“that sounds nice,” you cut him off, grinning widely, something close to excitement blooming across your features, brighter than any set of petals in your shop, he thinks. “you can give me an official tour of the fortress, perhaps. i’ve only ever heard about it through stories.”

“as you wish, my lady,” he winks.

he leaves not too long after—you try not to focus on his lingering scent in your sheets once you settle back in after bidding him goodbye. it’s oddly peaceful, being surrounded by him even when he’s not there, and sleep lulls over you quicker than usual. 

the scent is faded by the time you wake up, so you take one last deep breath to inhale it before you set off to get ready for the day, counting down the hours before you get to see him again.

——————————

as promised, a group of fortress guards stop by your shop, politely waiting for you to close up before you join them on their return. 

the fortress is darker than you expected—but not at all as small as your mind anticipated. in fact, it’s huge. you follow the guards, making idle chatter as they take you up an elevator, up, and up, and up—until finally, you finally arrive on the floor of his office. 

you’re so busy taking in all you can of the fortress that by the time they escort you to his office door, you remember why you’re here in the first place. to bring wriothesley dried petals of sweet flowers that you grew yourself—flowers often make for a wonderful tea blend, and learning his passionate liking for the drink makes you feel compelled to share with him every one of the various floral teas you’ve learned about in your time as a florist. 

you knock on the door of his office—except, oddly enough, there’s more than one voice you can make out from the room. you didn’t think his meeting would still be in session by the time you arrived, making you anxiously regret the knock as soon as your knuckles leave the surface of the door.  

but he answers before you can think too much of it. “come in,” his voice calls. 

“your grace,” you hum, stepping in, “if this is a bad time, then i can…”

you trail off. both fontaine’s chief justice and champion duelist stand in his office, gathered around his desk as he sits and sifts through files. of course, wriothesley is a duke, which is no small title by any means, but you’re caught more than a little off guard as you step in and share the room with two of fontaine’s more important figures in the justice system.

“no,” he says casually, “come in, you’re right on time. i was just telling miss clorinde about the delicious tea blend you would bring for her to try. she couldn’t wait a moment longer.”

“if you want to try it so badly, just say so,” she rolls her eyes.

“fine,” he huffs, lips curling into a slight pout, “i’d like to try the tea you promised me. clorinde will pass, though.”

“i think i’ll try it, as well,” she chimes in, suppressing a smile as wriothesley crosses his arms.

“but you just said—”

you giggle, walking over as you hand him the bag with dried petals, grinning at the amusing dynamic, and murmur, “i believe it would be the polite thing to do if you made an extra cup for the madam while making yours.”

“picking her side, are we? such an act of betrayal won’t be forgotten,” he huffs. still, almost as excited as a child opening a present, he opens the bag to add the petals to the tea maker he keeps at his desk. you watch with fondness at the action. “you still owe me a present, by the way. and tea won’t do—i’ve just received a batch.”

“then i suppose i can gift you a new tie,” clorinde hums, eyeing the loosened tie around his neck and making him furrow his brows as he subconsciously straightens it, “something that fits your neck better so you look a bit more put together.”

it’s almost like she sees through the both of you, eyeing between you and him with a hint of a knowing glint in her eyes. wriothesley scowls, giving her a petulant glare.

“there’s nothing wrong with my tie. i look just fine.”

“i do believe it’s a stylistic choice,” neuvillette pipes up from the side, “it doesn’t seem to be an issue with the tie itself.”

you snort at the way the joke flies over his head. “you’re right, monsieur,” you join in the banter, “i do believe his grace has a rather…unique choice of style.”

“i wonder if he ever plans to properly wear the coat he always seems to keep hanging over his shoulders,” clorinde adds, the earlier grin she attempted to fight back now fully curled into her lips. you laugh, much to wriothesley’s dismay.

“perhaps he just values being prepared,” you hum, “one can never tell when the fortress will suddenly be too cold. someone as busy as the duke surely can’t afford the wasted time to go and fetch a coat.”

“ah,” she nods, “i suppose you’re right. he is too busy learning legal codes as of late.”

“i take it that my gift has been useful, then?” neuvillette brightens, turning to a miserable wriothesley as he rubs his temples wearily.

“most helpful,” he sighs, not bothering to explain to the iudex that he’s once more missed the point of the joke. 

“oh, we’re only joking,” you laugh, taking the tea cup sitting at his desk and pouring him a glass of the now freshly brewed tea, “it’s all in good fun, your grace.”

“wriothesley is just fine,” he mumbles, “as you can see, this isn’t a very…formal meeting.” 

he watches as you carefully make his cup, one sugar cube as opposed to his usual two—before he can point it out, however, you beat him to it. “i know you’re particular about your tea. i can see it on your face you’re about to insist i give you two, but this is a very sweet blend as it is. one will suffice.”

“careful when it comes to his tea,” clorinde warns, “he’ll be in a foul mood all day if it doesn’t live up to his standards.”

“not true,” he grumbles. as if to prove a point, he takes a sip, slowly blinking before he looks at you with an awed grin, “it’s lovely. you’re right, it is just perfectly sweet with one cube.”

“perhaps you’re the only person he won’t make a fuss with then,” clorinde teases, “he’s got quite the list of grievances if i make him a cup of tea.”

“that’s because you don’t know how to make proper tea,” wriothesley rolls his eyes, “there’s a set of steps you’re meant to follow, you know.”

“water is a most simple beverage,” the iudex cuts in, “one that has many complexities in flavor, as well. perhaps you should consider it as a fitting option if tea gives you too much trouble.”

“i would hate to think of the wrath the poor inmates would have to face if he were to miss a single tea time,” you grin, fighting back a chuckle as wriothesley takes a tired sip from his cup, resigning himself to his fate as the target of your banter, “water simply won’t do.”

“well, i believe we should be off,” clorinde looks at neuvillette, “perhaps we should leave them to themselves.”

“ah, yes,” the chief justice nods politely, “there are many more files for me to read through at the office.”

“do you ever take the day off?” wriothesley raises a brow, “wouldn’t hurt.”

“even his dreams are of legal cases, i’m sure. he wouldn’t last a day on vacation,” clorinde hums.

“i don’t typically dream when i sleep,” neuvillette frowns, still so serious that you choke on a snort as you try to hold back you giggles. wriothesley looks at you with an amused grin, biting his lip to hide a chuckle himself.

“i’ll be seeing you,” he waves as the two leave, “and hopefully with my present ready next time,” he calls to clorinde with a pointed look. she rolls her eyes, fondly waving as she heads out the door.

“i didn’t know you were friends with such important people,” you murmur as they leave, making him raise a brow as he takes another sip.

“friends isn’t the best title for it—consider us work acquaintances.”

“with banter like that, i hardly believe it,” you chuckle, earning you a half-hearted glare from him over the rim of his tea cup.

“did you have your fun at my expense?” he asks dryly—but there’s no real bite to the words, “it seems you got along quite well with clorinde.”

“monsieur neuvillette is lovely too,” you giggle, “even if he’s not exactly…the earliest to catch onto jokes.”

he laughs at that, setting down his empty cup as he stands, eyeing the door to his office quickly before stepping closer to you, eyes staring down at your lips as you chew on the bottom and wait for him to make his move. 

“thank you for the tea,” he murmurs lowly, lips just barely a millimeter away from yours, “it was quite sweet. i enjoyed it.”

“there are plenty of other floral blends i have for you to try,” you hum. 

he grins, hands finding your waist before he whispers, “surely i couldn’t take all that from you without offering something in return, could i? i wouldn’t want it to seem like i'm taking bribes.”

“oh?” you breathe, grabbing a hold of his tie and tugging him closer until your lips meet his in a slow, heated kiss. it awakens a sick, insatiable heat in your core almost instantly. “what did you have in mind, your grace?”

he groans at the way your voice teasingly lilts at the title, hungrily chasing after your lips again. it’s more tongue than it is anything, messy and almost too scandalous to take place in his office where anyone could knock and come in at a moment’s notice. he seems to know it, too, because slowly, he guides you backward, slow steps that don’t interrupt the lock of your lips until your back meets a door.

“why don’t i show you,” he breathes—and then the doorknob is twisted open, and you’re gently pushed in with an arm curled around your waist to guide you. there’s a bedroom connected to his office, you realize. 

not entirely a shock—you’re sure the duke of the fortress has his own quarters to sleep in away from the other inmates, but it doesn’t surprise you less enough that you don’t pull away to take a glance around. 

it’s empty, mainly. not too many things besides a few scattered files and another tea maker with a few cups surrounding it at a desk in the corner. the sheets are dark grey, plain, and neatly made, with two pillows and nothing else. it has no more than what he needs, no more than what’s necessary. no hints of anything that’s his, anything that makes the room belong to him outside of being a mere sleeping quarters. 

“not one for decor?” you hum, wrapping your arms around his neck as your fingers fiddle with the collar of his shirt.

“i only come here at night to sleep,” he shrugs, “never felt the need.”

“everyone needs a space that’s theirs, don’t you think? even a few flowers would brighten the place up.”

“offering me more business?” he chuckles, making you roll your eyes, “and they’d die. there isn’t much sun down here.”

“i can think of a few options that would thrive,” you murmur.

“so it is business,” he quips. sigh exasperatedly, and he grins cheekily at you before you’re gently pushed to fall onto his bed, his body moving to hover over you as your legs wrap around his waist. his cock is semi-hard through his pants, and you wiggle your hips to press against it, the friction making him groan as you feel him stiffen even more from your actions. 

“i think i’d like my payment now,” you hum, making him raise a brow.

“eager?” he asks, making your hand travel to squeeze at his bulge.

“and you aren’t?” you challenge.

“fuck,” he grunts, shuddering at the feeling, “looks like you got me.”

it happens faster than you can process—the shedding of clothes, the way his fingers slowly sink into you, pumping in and out expertly as your head spins from the way he brushes against your sensitive spots. he’s quick, the way he stretches you apart with his digits, adding a second and third finger with little to no time to waste. you hardly have time to accommodate the third when you feel a familiar ache building up steadily. 

“c-close,” you say shakily, voice brokenly whispering against his mouth as he drinks up your moans, “i’m going to—”

“i know,” he hums, “shh. just let go—you’re doing so well.” 

the praise shatters you—you break at the way he sounds so in awe of you, of the way you suck his fingers into your slick cunt, so tight and wet with every clench. your back arches, and your hips roll into his hand, whimpering as his palm rolls over your sensitive clit. “god,” you gasp, “wriothesley, please.”

“please what?” he drawls, “you already got what you needed.”

“please let me feel you.”

“such a demanding price for some tea,” he sighs, “alright. i guess i can afford it.”

the nudge of his cock against your folds is enough to make you mewl, a sweet, whiny little cry that he groans at—every sound you make leaves an ache shooting up his stiff cock in the form of a twitch, like your every cry calls out to him. he responds with a rough thrust of his hips, burying himself into the depths of you, so deep and so close you can practically feel his pulse alongside yours. 

“so full,” you gasp, panting as you try to adjust to the sheer girth of him. he waits a moment, jaw clenched and teeth grit as he waits for you to nod your head and signal him to move.

“and you’re so tight,” he grunts, moaning softly against your ear as he nibbles on your earlobe, “i wouldn’t mind it if you charged interest either, just so you know. i’ll pay it over as many times as you want.”

“oh be quiet, would you?” you roll your eyes at his words at first, but then they roll back at the feeling of his thick, swollen tip pressing against the deep, sweet spot in the back of your walls. he lets out a breathy laugh, kissing the corner of your mouth so he doesn’t muffle the precious little moan you let out. 

“sure thing,” he hums, “i like listening to you more, anyway.”

“oh,” you gasp, “oh—wriothesley!” his finger teases over your clit, making your walls quiver around him as you feel your second orgasm creep up on you. “w-wait—i’m close.”

“why would i wait?” he asks in amusement, “that’s the idea.”

“t-together,” you whimper, pouting up at him through swollen lips and watery eyes, “please. please.”

he curses, closing his eyes and inhaling shakily at the way you look so fucked out, so drunkenly hazed on pleasure from the drag of his cock along your every ridge. you ask so sweetly—and who is he to deny such an innocent request?

“fuck—okay, sweetheart. fine by me,” he pants, rolling his hips harshly as he works himself to his own orgasm. his thumb teases your clit cruelly, fast and merciless one second, and a slow, bare feather’s touch the next. it keeps you right on the edge, a drooling mess of broken pleas as he finally approaches his own high. “close?”

“so close,” you gasp, twitching as he buries himself deep into you again.

“me too,” his voice cracks, “c-cum with me—please.”

hearing him plead sends you over the edge again—your first orgasm pales in comparison to your second. you didn’t even think that was possible, but the thick of his cock bullying into you is infinitely better than his nimble digits. the blunt head hits all the right spots, curves in all the right angles, and fucks you through your high expertly without even trying. 

you both cry out each other's names like prayers, muffled strings of curses, and breathy gasps that you swallow up between slow, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. finally, when the last few twitches of his cock finish painting his release into you, he slumps on the bed beside your body, body shaking in slight tremors as he catches his breath. 

“you okay?” he asks through a labored voice, “didn’t hurt you?”

“i’m okay,” you breathe, smiling softly. he closes his eyes, relaxing into the mattress, pulling the covers to tuck the both of you in before he stares up at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head while he seems to be deep in thought. “what’re you thinking about?” you murmur.

“just how good you got along with clorinde,” he hums quietly, almost in wonder. “she’s not exactly the easiest to banter with so quickly.”

“well, i guess it’s not too hard if it’s at your expense,” you tease.

“ah, yes,” he sighs, pretending to woefully shake his head, “i’ve been reduced to the butt of the joke one too many times today, it seems.”

he grins to himself at the sound of your quiet laughter, so soft and sweet, so perfectly filling up the quietness in the room, bouncing off the walls and ringing in his ears like a symphony. you stare up at the ceiling yourself, eyeing the pipes, the dark amber metal that makes up his home. it’s quiet like that for a bit—not awkward or uneasy, almost like you’ve known him for ages. almost like this is natural.

“can i ask you something?” you murmur after some time, shifting under the covers to face him. 

he raises a brow, looking at you curiously. “you’re scaring me with that look. going to confess some wicked crime you want me to help you hide?”

“it’s not like that,” you huff, rolling your eyes. carefully, as if treading unknown territories (you are, in all fairness), your fingers find his bicep, running along the skin soothingly. it’s an affectionate touch—you and wriothesley only touch each other for physical pleasure, nothing more. this is new, something you’re freshly navigating with a weak compass that points back and forth between your heart and your head, unsure whether to follow logic or emotion. 

“well, go ahead and ask,” he insists, “you’ve got me curious, anyway.”

“what…what did you serve for? when you were an inmate,” you say quietly. he tenses under your touch, muscles becoming rigid as you instantly regret the question. your fingers pull away at the same time as you start speaking, “it’s okay if you don’t want to answer! i just got curious and—”

his hand catches your retreating wrist, gently pulling it closer, closer, until your hand rests on his chest. this is definitely uncharted territory—but his hand firmly lays over yours as he presses your palm over his bare chest. 

“it’s fine,” he mumbles, “it’s not exactly something people in my inner circle don’t know.”

“oh,” you whisper, “i’ve been promoted to inner circle, huh?”

“you’ve seen me naked,” he snorts, eyeing you with a hint of amused disbelief, “you’ve sucked me off, in fact. i think there’s a special other circle inside the circle just for you.”

“okay, no need to get all…”

“all what?” he teases, waiting for you to finish.

“all uncouth about our activities!” you huff, face feeling hot as he grins.

he laughs, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you against his side so your cheek presses against a muscled pec as his warm hand traces circles into your hip. you gasp slightly at the sudden gesture but relax all too quickly, your own hand moving to rub into his chest slowly, feeling the rough scars and tracing them with your fingertips.

“i was adopted when i was young from an orphanage. when i was a bit older,” he swallows, voice quiet, serious—so oddly vulnerable, you think you’re talking to a new version of him altogether, “i found a diary in my mother’s drawer. i didn’t…i didn’t mean to snoop. i was just looking for some paper for my sister to color with.”

“you had a sister?” you ask softly, looking up to see his jaw tighten slightly. 

“i had quite a few siblings,” he admits, voice strained. “older and younger. my parents would adopt a few children at a time and raise them until they were old enough to be adopted into families of greater means. and then they’d adopt more younger children. i thought they were perfect parents,” his eyes stare off distantly, unfocused as they look up at the ceiling, hand mindlessly wandering along your hip as you listen.

“until…?”

“until i read that diary,” his voice hardens, still strained as he clenches his jaw and swallows thickly again, “they were records. of my older siblings, the ones i thought were adopted off. all of their names were followed by prices, and the ones who didn’t have prices had been crossed off. i didn’t understand until i saw my own name and my brother antoine’s. we had blank spaces next to ours.”

“how come?” you furrow your brows, looking at him in jarred curiosity. 

“because we weren’t sold yet,” he smiles ruefully, “i realized we were being sold off like livestock. and i started to piece together why i had never heard from any of my siblings even when they’d promised to write. i…i never knew what became of them.”

“oh, wriothesley,” you say gently, so delicate, he closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath. you press a soft kiss to his chest under you, hand moving up to cup his cheek, “what awful people.”

“i…i should have kept it to myself,” he whispers shakily, “i didn’t…i couldn’t figure out what to do, so i told antoine—i thought…i figured maybe…” he trails off, eyes closed once more as he breathes heavily, trying to collect the composure he fights so fiercely to keep.

“it’s okay,” you kiss his jaw, “we can forget about it. i’m sorry for—”

“no,” he shakes his head. “i want you to know.”

it should make you feel special—maybe even a little happy that he trusts you enough to want to share. but nothing about this makes you feel anything but pain—you can feel his pain, every inch of it. from the way his hand clasps around your waist in a shaky grip to ground himself to the way his jaw is tight under your lips as they press a soothing kiss to the angle of it. every part of him is in pain, and you can feel it. deep in your own bones, like a lingering ache. one that runs years deep, living in the deepest, most intimate parts of your body.

you don’t mind it, though. you don’t mind sharing his pain, not if it’s him.

“okay,” you nod slowly, “okay.”

he inhales sharply, taking a deep breath before he continues. “i told him because i knew we were next. i thought maybe we could have figured out a plan together. but he asked my mother about the diary, what the prices meant, and why we’d never heard from the others once they’d left. he was gone the next morning—my mother told us he was adopted, but i knew. i knew he was merely disposed of. and it was my fault.”

“it was not your fault,” you turn your head swiftly, looking up at him in disbelief as he scoffs and shakes his head.

“if i hadn’t told him, if i handled it on my own—”

“then what? he would have been fine? you don’t know that, what if he was sold off for something awful? or found out on his own without you? you were a child, and you didn’t know that he’d choose to do that.”

“but i still could have kept quiet,” he chuckles dryly, voice cracking as he adds, “i could have gotten us both out of there. on my own.”

“you shouldn’t have to have done it on your own,” you cup his cheek, bringing him to face you as your forehead presses against his, “you didn’t want to be on your own, did you?”

“no,” he admits, lips trembling, “i didn’t.”

“and that’s okay,” you murmur, rubbing a thumb over his cheekbone, “you didn’t deserve to be alone.”

“maybe it was for the better, though,” he sniffles.

“a lot of things are. we can’t hope to predict everything for what would turn out better.”

“he died,” wriothesley chokes, “my brother. he died that night—i…i knew he did. so i ran the next day, when my parents were busy, i snuck off and ran. i didn’t come back until a few years later and i…” his breath catches in his throat, glancing at you for a moment. there’s something fleeting in his eyes. doubt, maybe—perhaps even fear.

you’re not entirely sure, but you press a kiss to his lips, soft and tender, so unlike your usual heated ones. something that’s shared not for the sake of pleasure but for the sake of knowing you’re there—that he has you. you’re both here, together, just the two of you. he can feel your warmth, and you can feel his. 

it eases the tension somewhat, making his rigid muscles relax as he pulls you closer. 

you pull away first, murmuring a soft, “i don’t care what you did. whatever it is.”

“you say that now,” he chuckles weakly, “but you don’t even know what i did.”

“i don’t care,” you say seriously, “i don’t. whatever you did, it was because you didn’t have a choice.”

“i killed them,” he says against your mouth, such harsh, dark words that don’t belong against your soft, pure lips—he thinks he might have just tainted them. almost like you know his thoughts, you prove you don’t care when you peck his mouth lightly. “i killed them and set the other children free.”

“you were just a kid,” you breathe, “a baby.”

“a teenager,” he huffs a laugh hoarsely, “maybe not that young.”

“a baby to me,” you say firmly, “no one that young should be pushed to such extreme methods.”

“you’re oddly calm about sharing a bed with a murderer. was the sex that good?”

you roll over, laying on top of him, pulling a soft oof from his lips—you know it’s exaggerated. he’s strong and broad under you, capable of taking your weight and then some as his hands find your waist to keep you in place, eyes boring into yours. so bare and so easy for you to look into, to read, to see so plainly for all he is. 

he doesn’t even blink—as if he’s offering himself to you, trusting you to see as much as you want, see as much of him as he can show you. 

“is that all you see yourself as? a murderer?” you ask seriously.

“of course not,” he denies, breathing softly into your hands as they cradle his face, “but it’s the part of me that matters most. that defines me the most. whether i want it to or not.”

“not to me,” you shake your head, “and not to you either, i can tell.”

“i know why i did it,” he tells you, staring at you so intensely, you feel like maybe he’s seeing you more than you’re seeing him, “i did it for my siblings. because i knew it was the only way to get them out. no one else would do a thing. but when you strip my title as duke from me, whether you put me in the underworld or put me in the overworld, i am a murderer. that won’t change.”

“and?” you raise a brow, “do you regret it? what you did?”

“never,” he says instantly. he means it. “but i’m aware of what i am to others. what they see me as. i’m not naive enough to believe my past will go away.”

“and it shouldn’t,” you shake your head, “i don’t think it should. i don’t think murder is what matters most about you—i think a child raised like livestock, betrayed, and taken advantage of, matters most. a boy who willingly gave up his freedom so his siblings would have theirs is what matters most. a man who served his time and chose to stay so he could make things better for everyone who followed is what matters. death was a kind fate for your parents, wriothesley—i for one, believe there were more fitting fates for them. far crueler ones than a peaceful demise.”

he chuckles at that last part, staring at you in wonder, in slight amusement, in so much awe that you almost feel shy.

“now i’m really questioning if the sex was that good—you’re really rationalizing my crimes, aren’t you?”

“oh, you’re such an asshole, do you know that?” you huff, “i think that’s what defines you best. a complete, utter, shameless assho—oh.”

he kisses you—abruptly so. his lips are pressed hard and firm against you, kissing with so much conviction, so much need, you’d think that you were disintegrating in his arms, that this was his last opportunity to kiss you and commit how you feel to memory. 

“you sure it’s not my stamina?” he wiggles his brows, “how about my—”

“i’ll see to it that this is the last time we ever engage in such activities if that’s all you can focus on—”

“okay, okay,” he laughs, pouting as he pulls you down to lay on him, your head tucking under his chin as he kisses the crown of your head, “enough sex jokes. i promise.”

“so crass,” you scold, “have some decorum, will you?”

“my apologies, milady,” he sighs regretfully, voice exaggerated and theatrical as he adds, “i won’t allow myself to forget my manners again. from here on out, i’ll make sure to discuss more…gentlemanly topics for your liking.”

“you’re a real handful,” you sigh, “poor sigewinne. such a sweet little angel to put up with the likes of you.”

“you met her?” he smiles fondly at the mention of her.

“briefly, yes,” you nod, “the poor thing must be tired of your antics.”

“i’m on my best behavior around her!” he insists, “you can ask her.”

“i don’t think she’ll vouch for you, you know.”

“yeah, you’re probably right,” he withers in defeat.

you giggle, kissing his collarbone softly before nuzzling against him as he relaxes. it’s comfortably silent, just your body against his, warmth seeping between the space that hardly separates your bodies, spreading across your skin. you share your heat, and he shares his. it lulls you, slowly but surely, and you can feel it lull him, too as his breath slowly evens out under you. 

sleep is just a breath away from clutching you when you mumble, “wriothesley?”

“hmm?” comes his sleepy hum.

“thank you,” you whisper, yawning, “for trusting me. enough to tell me.”

“go to sleep,” he grunts tiredly, “you can be sappy and sentimental in the morning.”

“okay,” you grin tiredly, pressing closer into him, “i’ll hold you to it.”

sleep comes quickly after that—so easy, so natural in his arms, you wonder how you’ve rested all these years without him. 

——————————

your routine to meet with wriothesley ebbs and flows between the surface and the fortress. sometimes, he stops by just like before, and sometimes, he sends for guards to fetch you when he’s too busy to make an appearance himself. your meetings more or less end the same—catching your breath together, bare bodies huddled together in a tired mess as you share quiet, whispered words into each other’s skin. it’s a routine that both of you are too used to by now, that even a short gap of not seeing each other makes the both of you impatient for the next time you’ll get to see each other. 

on days you can’t afford to see each other, your days at the shop drag by slower when all you can do is think about him. sometimes, the guards will be relieved to come to escort you, woefully expressing the awful mood the duke has been in, shuddering as they recall how unpleasant he is to be around when he’s unhappy. they seem to insist your visits are what help end his supposed awful temperament—your instinct is always to flush and insist they must be mistaken.

but it’s an intimate sort of development—the way the two of you slowly learn to depend on each other for comfort. you on long days at the shop, him after tiresome affairs with the fortress. every delicate touch and every saccharine word you exchange slowly peels away the harsh layers of the week, leaving you raw and bare to each other. 

it’s nice. something you’ve grown a bit dependent on, in fact. a part of you would like to be scared, but wriothesley doesn’t let you fear anything—it’s just the kind of guy he is. everything about him feels too safe for you to consider being scared. 

you miss him terribly, too. you haven’t gotten a chance to see him in over a week—it’s the first week of spring, the blooming season for a number of flowers. you have shipments from across the continent—cecilias from mondstadt, silk jades from liyue, sakura blossoms from inazuma, and padisarahs from sumeru. there are plenty more—too many for you to list off the top of your head, but those are the ones you’re sure will sell out the quickest. 

there’s a certain man who stops by every day, a mop of ginger on his head and an interesting aura about him as he asks you if you’ve received kalpalata lotuses yet—they’re for my sister, he tells you, i bring them home for her every time i visit sumeru. but i won’t have a chance for quite a while.

you learn he’s a harbinger, the eleventh in rank, and hardly one to step foot in his homeland for too long at a time. but he’s due back, he tells you, for a project that won’t allow him to leave for quite some time. mingling with a fatui operative is hardly on your list of possibilities for the week, but you realize even a harbinger can appreciate the beauty of flowers. so you promise him your batch's biggest blooms as soon as they are delivered. 

and he’s patient, coming every day in hopes that they’ve been delivered, helping you organize the deliveries you do get, going as far as to join you to loch urania amidst a terrible storm to assist in picking lakelight lilies when you’re low. you appreciate the small companionship you’ve formed with him—childe, as he’s called, he tells you. a code name for his place as a harbinger that you relish in being given the knowledge of.  

the day finally comes when the lotuses are delivered, and for all his help and kindness, you try to repay him with a free bouquet. 

he declines persistently. “no, no miss,” he chuckles, waving his hands in dismissal as you offer the beautifully bundled flowers, “i couldn’t possibly accept them free of charge.”

“oh, don’t be silly,” you huff, “you’ve done plenty for me. an extra set of hands in the shop is as rare as glaze lilies blooming in midwinter!”

“i was happy to help,” he chirps, “i had a good time occupying myself as i waited to depart fontaine.”

“and archons know when the next time you’ll return is,” you sigh, “which is why you should accept these as a parting gift.”

“a parting gift, huh?” your eyes widen at the familiar voice—wriothesley. it’s been almost two weeks since you’ve heard it, and you beam as you look over at his approaching figure.

“wriothesley!” you hum, “what are you doing here?”

“thought i’d come to pay a visit,” he says gruffly, eyeing childe, who grins tightly at the warden. “i wasn’t banking on seeing an ex-inmate, though. what a shocking surprise.”

“the fortress’s duke in broad daylight,” childe coos, “what a fascinating sight.”

it’s tense—you can feel the atmosphere shift all too quickly as the two men stare each other down. 

“i didn’t know childe was a prisoner at the fortress,” you murmur, making the warden scoff as he glares at the harbinger.

“well,” childe shrugs, eyes sharp as they gaze at wriothesley, “i like to consider myself wrongly sentenced. justice isn’t always fair in the courts of fontaine, it seems.”

“ah, is that why you escaped from your sentence early?”

“i believe my escape proved to be quite helpful in saving the people of this nation in the end, didn’t it?” he asks, voice low, almost predatory, as wriothesley grits his jaw, glancing back at you before crossing his arms. 

“is the fatui boy giving you trouble?” he asks, making you shake your head frantically as the harbinger lets out a dry chuckle from the side. 

“oh, no!” you insist, “no, childe has been quite helpful, i promise. he’s given quite a hand, in fact!”

“is that so?” wriothesley perches a brow, tongue poking his cheek as he glares to the side at the smug ginger. 

“oh, absolutely,” childe nods, “you see, i’ve been offering the lovely lady my assistance as i waited on my delivery. we even visited loch urania together to pick lakelight lilies for a bouquet she needed to deliver.”

“he treated me to lunch,” you beam innocently. you might have missed the way wriothesley’s jaw tightens, but childe certainly doesn’t, making his grin spread even wider. “he’s nice, wriothesley, i promise. i hope you both can sort out whatever differences you had during his previous sentence.”

“perhaps next time, you could join us for lunch,” childe drawls, “it’ll be on me.”

“a kind offer,” the duke chuckles dryly, a rueful grin on his tight lips as he adds, “but i’ll have to decline.”

“please, i really insist you take these lotuses,” you hold the bouquet out to the harbinger, and much to wriothesley’s dismay, there’s an evident amount of extra care put into the floral packaging. your careful handwriting in soft, looped letters spelling out his name across the paper, with a heart beside it as though you took time to thoughtfully scribble each letter just for him. “give your sister my best regards.”

“you know his sister?” wriothesley grits.

“oh no,” you chuckle, “but he tells me of her. the flowers are for her!”

“like i said,” childe hums, taking out a heavy pouch of mora and placing it on your counter—both yours and wriothesley’s eyes widen at the sheer amount of mora you’re sure is inside. it’s undoubtedly far more than a small, simple bouquet would cost, but he waves it off like it’s nothing as he says, “i insist on giving you the payment you deserve. you’ve certainly made my last few days here at fontaine interesting. it’s made up for the less than…welcoming treatment from the beginning of my trip.”

wriothesley’s eye all but twitches. 

“that’s far too much to accept for a small bunch of kalpalata lotuses, you can’t—”

“consider it a payment in advance for the next time i return to fontaine,” he winks, “i’ll be sure to visit for more of your lovely flowers. i’m sure my mother will appreciate a bouquet too.”

with that, he waves at you, walking off with a grin as you sigh and shake your head fondly, waving him off as you call, “you’re quite the handful, you know. do visit again next time you’re here!”

“oh, i wouldn’t miss the opportunity for anything.”

wriothesley scoffs at the final exchange of words, watching the retreating figure of the harbinger with hardened, distant eyes while you exhale softly and grab the pouch of mora. 

“are all harbingers this loaded with mora, do you think?”

“who knows,” he mutters, looking away as he swallows before adding, “i came to visit on my way back to the fortress. i had business with neuvillette.”

“oh,” you hum, smiling as you ask, “is he doing well?”

“fine,” is all wriothesley says.

“that’s good,” you nod, “we haven’t been able to see each other in quite a bit, huh? i’d have visited, but the deliveries all week have kept me busy.”

“good thing you had the harbinger to lend a hand, huh?” he remarks, raising a brow.

“well, yeah, i suppose so,” you frown slightly, watching as he takes a slow, deep breath before fixing his tie. “is everything okay?”

“yeah,” he says instantly. “may i walk you home?”

“of course,” you smile—it doesn’t reach your eyes, and he wishes he could find it in himself to do something to reassure the lingering worry in your irises, but he doesn’t. instead, he quietly waits for you to close the shop, so uncharacteristically silent that you can practically feel the tension in the air tangibly.

the walk to your home is just as silent. wriothesley doesn’t say anything, and you don’t have the confidence to break the silence yourself. you’ve never seen him like this, so bothered and visibly so. you’re not entirely sure what brought it on, either—but you are sure it has something to do with childe. 

you finally reach your home after a long walk, quietly standing in front of the door as you turn to him and inspect his face. hard-lined lips, distant eyes, and crossed arms. he doesn’t look like the usual wriothesley you know—the one who grins and gives you a slight bow as he says, we’ve arrived at your lovely home, milady. 

“thank you for walking me,” you murmur, looking at him carefully as he nods.

“sure,” he responds flatly, “my pleasure.”

“you didn’t have to trouble yourself if you were tired from your meeting,” you add.

“not tired,” he shakes his head. “it was no trouble to me.”

“are you sure?” you raise a brow, sighing as you cross your own arms, “you don’t seem too happy to be here.”

“what do you mean?” he shrugs lamely, avoiding your question, your gaze. you know that one look into your eyes is all it takes to make him spill, and normally, you don’t take advantage of that, but you think tonight you will. 

because you’re tired of dancing around half-truths and coded words you have to decipher. you want one straight, laid-bare conversation with him. so you reach over and tilt his jaw, making him inhale sharply at your touch as you force him to face you and look at you. 

“what is up with you? and don’t even think about saying nothing.”

“nothing is up with me,” he mumbles stubbornly.

“wriothesley,” you warn, looking at him unimpressed, “i was not born yesterday.”

“my apologies,” he says sarcastically, a rueful smile curling on those chapped lips of his, “i suppose i’m just a bit shocked i’m not the only customer you offer your affections to. i suppose that was silly of me—it must be good for business.”

“excuse me?” you recoil, staring at him in disbelief. a little hurt, too—he regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, flinching slightly at the implications. “how dare you insinuate i’m a common whore?” 

“that’s not what i was trying to say at all,” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose, “it came out wrong.”

“then what were you trying to say?” you demand, looking at him expectantly, hands on your hips and a raise of your brows that almost mockingly tells him, i’d love to see you work your way out of this one. 

“you never told me you and the fatui boy were so close.” 

if there’s one thing wriothesley is good at, it’s shifting things to focus on other people. so he can observe. watch closely. take note of all the little things so he can figure out what he wants to know without asking at all. all without having anything told to him right out. it’s how he works—and you won’t entertain it. 

“the fatui boy has a name,” you point out.

“his name is not actually childe,” he snorts—there’s no real amusement in the action, just as sarcastic and sardonic as everything prior. “is that what you believe?”

“if you’re not going to say the problem with your words like an adult, i’m going to go inside,” you spit, “we’re both wasting time here if we’re just going to talk in circles.”

“yes, because i’m the one who’s not admitting things,” he chuckles dryly. 

you glare at him—because enough is enough, and you’re sick of taking one step forward just to stumble ten steps back. with one swift move, your hand grips his wrist firmly and yanks, pulling him to stumble into your home as the door slams behind him. you’re tired of having bystanders walk past you and listen to your pointless discussion, and you’re tired of getting nowhere the longer you stand outside. it feels like the more you talk, the less you know. every word he says confuses you more and more.

and that’s the thing about him—he never tells you things, not since that night he first opened up. you thought you broke some newfound trust, a new ground to walk on with him that leads somewhere further than just two people who seek each other out for pleasure. you feel something for him—and you thought he did too, but it’s always something vague or another with him and you’re tired of it. tired of wondering where you stand, what he wants, how he feels. you want to know, and tonight, even if it kills you, you’ll find out.

“what is it you want me to admit wriothesley? huh?” you scowl, “tell me so i can tell you what you need to know so you’ll finally answer my question. i’m tired of the back-and-forth game with you.”

“you don’t need to admit anything to me,” he shrugs, “it’s not my business.”

“you don’t even believe that yourself,” you scoff, “even i can tell that much. is this about childe? you don’t like me mingling with the fatui? he’s just friendly, that’s all. and good business.”

“right,” he nods slowly, disbelievingly. you almost see red—how dare he hint that you’re a liar. 

“what do you think i’m doing then?” you challenge, “let’s hear it. fraternizing with the fatui? is that the accusation you’ll pull out?”

“well, if he’s helping you pick flowers and buying you lunch, then you certainly can’t be strangers,” he smiles tightly, “perhaps next time he can join us in our canoodling too if you’d like.”

“so that’s what it is?” you shake your head exasperatedly, “you’re moody because you’re jealous?”

“i’m not jealous,” he narrows his eyes, “i have no reason to be.”

“i’d believe you sooner if you’d said the underwater beast really was the cause of your scars,” you scoff, pursing your lips. “why is it so hard for you to just speak your mind?”

“then let’s start with you,” he retorts, hands throwing up in the air as he takes a step closer and glares daggers at you, “why are you dancing around what your relationship with the harbinger is?”

“there is nothing between me and the harbinger! nothing at all, and i don’t appreciate you assuming things about me. i’ve only been intimate with you!”

“you don’t need to hide it,” he smiles bitterly. finally, as if the conversation has chipped away at his resolve enough that bits and pieces of his inner turmoil can show, you can see the lingering hurt in his gaze. the betrayal. the doubt and fear—all of it pools in his eyes, swimming in the many, many flecks of his eyes as you stare into them. “it’s not as though we’ve committed to anything here.”

“i’m not hiding anything,” you say firmly, “you don’t have to be jealous.”

“i’m not jealous,” he shakes his head. it feels like he’s convincing himself more than you. because more than you, admitting to himself he cares is hard. all of this is hard—you know that. the last time he dared to trust someone, to love someone, he’d lost more than he could fathom. more than he was ever ready to lose.

so you sigh, dropping your shoulders as you let the anger dissipate.

“i wouldn’t blame you if you were jealous,” you say softly, extending the olive branch with a slow, hesitant hand to his cheek. he stiffens, but he doesn’t pull away, “it would kill me, too, to think you were close to another woman. but the harbinger is a customer i’ve become friendly with and nothing more. don’t you believe me?”

he closes his eyes, letting out a shaky breath as he hesitantly leans into your palm, letting your thumb brush soothing strokes along the scar under his eye.

“i was jealous,” he admits, quiet. hoarse. strained. it takes every ounce of him to admit as much to you—the progress makes you smile softly. “i…i was so jealous i couldn’t think straight. and i took it out on you. i’m sorry.”

“maybe it’s time we had a discussion,” you say softly, “about…well, us. what it is we’re doing. it’s long overdue.”

“i’ve been avoiding it,” he confesses. 

“i know,” you murmur, smiling tightly, “i know you have. that’s why i didn’t bring it up. but we can’t dance around it forever.”

“i’m no good at this,” he opens his eyes, defeated and so lost, you can’t help but lean in and press a soft kiss to his jaw.

“you’re not so bad,” you hum, “give yourself a little more credit.”

“no,” he shakes his head, “you don’t understand. i’ve never been good at this…at trusting people and getting close to them. i don’t even have real friends—i see clorinde and neuvillette every few months, and briefly at that. one of them was the judge at my trial, and the other knows as much about me as the files say. i don’t like talking about my feelings, and i hate sharing things about myself. i’m not jealous of childe because he threatens me—even i know you’d never give a fatui member a chance. but i’m no good for a stroll in the park, or picking flowers, or lunch at a cafe. i live underwater in a large prison that i run, and i rarely come up—at least, not often enough to be a healthy, functioning member of society, that is.”

“so what?” you frown, “i don’t care. nothing is easy at first—isn’t that why we try? who says you have to share all your feelings immediately? we can work up to that slowly. this was sharing, wasn’t it? what you just did? that’s a step in the right direction.”

“and look how much we had to battle for that little bit,” he lets out a sharp, self-deprecating laugh that makes your heart ache, “you’ll grow tired of me.”

“you don’t get to decide that,” you shake your head stubbornly, “i would never grow tired of you. never you.”

“i might be a duke now, but i was a murderer in the past,” he adds, a low and cheap attempt to convince you he’s not worth it. you roll your eyes at the statement.

“i’m aware,” you say blandly, “i don’t care, wriothesley. i don’t. those are all excuses—if you want this, if you really want this like i do, because you care about me just like i care about you and you feel the same way, then you’d realize these are all petty excuses your head is coming up with. i’ll wait for you to be better at communicating if you promise you’ll try. and your past is just a small stain on the cloth that we can ignore.”

“it’s murder,” he says in disbelief.

“i said what i said,” you huff. he blinks once, then twice before letting out a breathy chuckle.

“you’re insane.”

“thank you,” you nod, grinning, “and you being at the fortress is just a small obstacle. we’ll make it work, you and me.”

“how?” he asks, voice small and unsure.

“you act like it’s impossible, you silly thing. i’ll come see you, and you’ll come see me, and we can spend nights together wherever is most convenient for the time. why are you overthinking it?” you ask like it’s obvious. maybe it is—maybe his brain just doesn’t let him see how simple of a solution it really is.

“the fortress is no place for someone who’s used to the surface—”

“enough excuses,” you scold firmly, “i won’t have any of it.”

“you don’t know what you’re getting into,” he shakes his head—you cup his cheeks, pulling his face close as you press soft, delicate kisses along his skin. like he’s fragile. like he needs to be handled with care. 

no one has ever handled wriothesley with care. even as a child when he was defenseless. when his parents saw a commodity to raise and sell like livestock instead of a child to love and cherish. when the streets saw a rat with dirty clothes and nimble fingers only good for theft. when he woke up in a hospital bed with cuffs to his hands, wrists shackled, and a caseworker sat a comfortable distance away, even without his gauntlets. when they saw him as nothing more than a murderer on trial as opposed to a child with no other way out. when the world showed him no mercy and left him to fend for himself in a dark, ruthless corner of the nation under the sea with no sun, no grass, no fresh air, and no hope.

no one has thought to treat wriothesley with gentleness, with kindness, with grace—as if he mattered. not until he made himself matter, taking what he wanted through a pen, paper, and meaningless title. 

no one until you. 

“i know exactly what i’m getting into,” you whisper, “you know what i see? when i look at you?”

“what? big muscles?” he teases, voice weak. a last, feeble attempt at keeping himself guarded. it’s useless, and he knows it as well as you do. he’s already far more vulnerable than he’s comfortable with. 

“a good man,” you say firmly, “a good man who is worth the effort. one who has a good heart and no one to share it with. someone who knows when change needs to happen and makes it happen. someone who knows a thing or two about second chances. who shows people mercy if they’re willing to be better—because that’s all he wants. for things to be better.”

“you’re giving me a lot more credit than i deserve, sweetheart,” he says shakily, trying to give you his usual smirk. his lips wobble, much to his dismay—you kiss them to help him hide the tremor like the angel you are. 

he’s not sure why the archons, celestia, or whoever is in charge of fate would send him such a perfect, pure angel in his arms. but they did. he’s certainly not one to miscount his blessings—they’ve been few and far between as is. 

“no,” you murmur, whispering between kisses, “i’m not. i’m giving you as much credit as you deserve. because no one has ever told you these things about you, and it’s time someone did.”

“doing the dirty work, huh?”

“i wish you’d stop with that,” you smile at him sadly, “i wish you would treat yourself with the same kindness you treat everyone else with. that you treat me with.”

“you’re an angel,” he murmurs, pecking your cheek, “that’s the difference.”

“you can’t be that bad if that’s the case,” you grin cheekily, “what kind of angel picks such an awful guy?”

“one who thinks the fatui harbingers make good friends,” he snorts, “one who’s a little on the naive side.”

“i like to think of it as seeing good in people,” you wink. 

he laughs, arms wrapping around you, pulling you flush against his chest as he kisses you. and kisses you. and kisses you—and kisses you some more until you’re forced to pull away and breathe. even then, he’s not satisfied, lips finding the sensitive skin along your collarbones, traveling up along your neck and finding your jaw, peppering soft presses of his lips until they hover over your mouth again.

“you good?” he asks smugly, “need a minute to catch your breath?”

“you’re such a pain,” you huff, pressing against his mouth and closing the gap as he hums against you. 

“what were you just saying about me just a few moments ago? something about a good man?”

“come here,” you sigh exasperatedly—and then you’re tugging him into your bedroom, stumbling and giggling as you both impatiently find the bed. you fall back, the mattress catching you along with him as he hovers over you and doesn’t waste a moment to nip at your neck.

“next time you need help with flowers in a dangerous, stormy place, you ask me,” he says lowly, breath fanning over your skin and making you shiver, “you don’t need the fatui boy.”

“okay,” you laugh, breathless as your eyes flutter shut when he nibbles on the sensitive spot over your pulse point, “you might have to temporarily drop your duties as a duke for that, though.”

“consider it done.” his hands tug your blouse over your head, doing quick work to toss it somewhere on the floor as he grins at the lacey red bra you have on underneath. “this is new,” he comments, “i like this.”

“of course you do,” you grin in amusement, “so predictable.”

“hey,” he pouts, “i’m an easy guy to please. just need you, maybe a few accessories…i don’t ask for much.”

“well,” you look at him in anticipation, “are you going to stare all day? or are you going to take it off?”

his eyes darken—hazed with lust and desperation as he quickly works the bra off of you and tosses it off to the side, too, but not before he stares at the label quickly. “chioriya boutique,” he reads, nodding, “remind me to give her my thanks. and business, too, in the future.”

“shameless,” you scoff, shaking your head.

“grateful,” he corrects, grinning cheekily at you. you don’t even get a chance to retort before his lips are around your nipple, teeth lightly grazing the pebbled nub as he sucks, making you gasp as your hands find his head, cupping the back of it as your own head throws back against the pillows. 

“wri—”

“you know what i see when i see you?” he hums, pulling away from one nipple and latching onto the other, tongue rolling over it slowly as his thumb finds the other, not to leave it neglected, “i see the woman i would defy the gods themselves to possess. who i would commit far worse crimes for, and serve time all over again for. one who commands my every thought. do you know how many times i’ve neglected my duties just thinking about you alone? when i see you, i see the one thing that’s finally mine—mine alone.”

you whimper as his lips reattach themselves to your breast, sucking and grazing his tongue around one nipple and pinching and toying with the other with his hand. your hands tug at his hair, pulling a soft groan from his throat as he pulls away and stares at you. you’re a panting, heaving mess already—he grins in satisfaction.

“pretty,”  he hums, nuzzling his nose against your throat, right where your pulse is erratic, “so, so pretty.”

“all this flattery, and you’ve yet to do something,” you rasp, just to rile him up as he lets out a deep, gruff sound of disapproval, eyeing you with a raised brow.

“oh, you want me to do something, is that it? i thought we’d take our time,” he grazes his finger along your waist, tracing the edge of your skirt before looping his finger under it, tugging slowly, “but if you insist, i guess we can pick up the pace.”

he pulls the skirt down your legs, eyes widening as he takes in the matching red laced panties from the bra earlier—you grin cheekily as he does. “like this one too?”

“oh,” he chuckles, breathless, “sweetheart, you have no idea.” wriothesley is a giver—you’re reminded of this fact as soon as his head buries between your thighs enthusiastically, kissing your clit through the lace as your breath hitches. “did you pick this little set up just for me?”

“don’t be silly,” you tease, “i obviously got this for myself. consider yourself a lucky witness.”

“and a lucky witness i am indeed,” he nods, humming as he slowly, carefully inches the lace down your legs, admiring the way it contrasts against your sweet, supple skin. “i owe chioriya boutique my life. i’ll even give my thanks to madame chiori myself.”

“please do not,” you say in horror, making him chuckle, “that would be utterly undignified.”

he’s not even listening, you realize. his lips attach to your clit as soon as the fabric is discarded somewhere to the side like the rest, a soft groan rumbling from his chest as soon as he tastes you, spreading your legs for better access as he glides his tongue to your folds, pressing between your folds and looking up to watch as your head throws back with a soft gasp. 

“wriothesley,” you gasp, pulling his hair in a tight grip to ground yourself.

you’re the most gentle with him when you handle him—but you’re also the roughest. the way you grasp him so harshly, mercilessly in your grip, makes his eyes flutter shut in a sick, twisted sort of masochism. he loves the pain, the dull throb in his skull from your pleasure. 

“yeah, i’m right here, sweetheart,” he chuckles lowly, “feels good?”

“yes,” you whine, “s’good—so good.”

“i know,” he hums, pressing soft kisses to your clit, along your inner thigh, until he’s back to your folds, hovering over them as he whispers, “i can tell just from the way you’re dripping. isn’t that cute?”

you whine in embarrassment, closing your legs around him as he grins against your cunt, grinding down on his mouth until he’s back to devouring you, tongue slipping deep into you as far as he can, exploring your tight, wet hole with fervor. 

“close,” you whisper, voice bordering on broken, “i’m s-so close—oh, wriothesley!”

you come undone on his tongue with one more roll of his tongue over your clit, shaking as he sloppily eats you out through your high until your whole body is a shaking, quivering mess along with your walls. 

“got anything else from that boutique you want to show me?” he murmurs, moving back up to hover over you, burying his face into your neck as your arms snake around his shoulders, rubbing into his back.

“maybe,” you say vaguely, grinning, “it’s a secret. maybe if you behave, you’ll find out.”

“yeah?” he chuckles, “consider me on my best behavior, milady.”

“then take this off,” you tug at his shirt, pouting as you add, “not fair that i’m the only one undressed.”

“as you wish,” he agrees. you watch as he strips—it’s not embarrassing like the first time or two when you looked away with a hot face and ears. now it’s intimate, watching him bear his soul to you, with every scar and imperfection, every flaw and tainted part.

his cock is hard, standing between his legs as it throbs, a bead of pre cum coating the tip. your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him close again as you feel his hardened length poke at your thigh, making you press against it and pull a groan out of him.

“i want you,” you whisper, “i’ve never wanted anyone else. not like this. not like you. i don’t think i ever will.”

“you can’t have met too many people then,” he teases.

“oh, i meet plenty of people. romantic ones at that—flowers are a love language, you know.”

“and you still want me? they must all be taken.”

“they’re not you,” you correct, pulling him into a sweet, slow kiss, taking your time to mold your lips against him and feel him against you, “nothing close to you. no one comes close.”

the bees should come to your lips for nectar, he thinks. flowers bloom from your mouth, delicate and sweet petals that light up his world and color him every shade of love. 

“in that case,” he whispers, pulling away from your mouth to press a soft kiss to your nose, “i’m the luckiest man in fontaine. maybe teyvat.”

“i would agree,” you wink cheekily, “aren’t i such a lucky catch?”

“oh absolutely,” he laughs, amused, fond, so deeply enamored. then his lips are back on yours, and his hips are angled so that his cock teases your folds, grazing the entrance of your cunt as he coats his tip with your dripping slick. 

you both shudder at the feeling, gasping against each other’s mouths as you exchange hot, labored breaths. 

“i want you,” you repeat, “please.”

“you have me,” he whispers, letting out a soft moan as he pushes the tip past your entrance, “as long as you want.”

“that’ll be forever,” you say breathlessly, “think you can handle that long?”

“i’m sure i’ll manage.”

finally, he pushes all the way through, buried to the hilt and stretching you apart until he splits you open on his cock. he presses so deep into you, you can feel him nudge against that sweet, spongy spot without even trying. it’s like he was made for you—like the laws of this land declared him yours from birth and made him fit you in every way possible. the slot of his fingers with yours, the mold of his lips against you, the press of his cock into your cunt. all of it fits you so well, you wonder if you’ve lived your life just to find wriothesley. 

you both moan into each other’s mouths, strangled sounds that you swallow from each other’s mouths as your lips sloppily press into each other. 

“wr-wrio—fuck,” you stammer, nails raking along his back as he rolls his hips, slamming into your deepest, most rawest parts.

“yeah, baby,” he pants, kissing the corner of your mouth, “m’right here, sweetheart.”

you sob when a rough, callused thumb finds your clit, rubbing circles into the bundle of nerves perfectly in tune with the harsh thrusts that fill you so deep. deep—he’s so far into you, you wonder if you can feel him in your throat, in your lungs, and in your heart, knocking the air out of you as you breathlessly try to call his name. 

“faster,” you plead, clinging to him, “more—please, need more.”

“think you can take it?” he chuckles, cutting himself off with a strangled grunt when you squeeze around him particularly tightly, “i think you’re falling apart as is.”

“more,” you whine, back arching as your hips desperately buck up to meet his in tandem, trying to feel him closer, deeper, harder. 

“if that’s what you want,” he hums—you want to scoff at him, but you’re too delirious. you’d tease him for acting like he doesn’t want the same, like the ache of his cock doesn’t crave more friction, doesn’t want to slam into you with little to no self-control outside of chasing his pleasure. you feel so good around him—so good, his head falls to your shoulder as he pants harshly into your ear, murmuring stammered praises. “s-so good, sweetheart. you always take me so good, like the pretty thing you are. how in teyvat did i score the affections of fontaine’s most radiant lady? o-only the gods could know.”

“why don’t you ask them,” you breathe, head pressing against the pillow as your back arches and your toes curl when he slams his swollen tip against your sweet spot once more, hips rolling in perfect precision, “ask them how you got so blessed.”

“maybe i’ll ask the divinity right before me,” he hums smoothly, chuckling when you mewl as his thumb rubs faster into your clit, “how did i get so lucky?”

“because i need you,” you whine, “n-need you—only you.”

“what a sweet answer,” he groans, pumping his cock into you faster, feeling the familiar twitch indicating he’s close—and you are too. he can tell from the erratic squeeze of your walls. “always spoiling me, right sweetheart?”

“wriothesley,” you cry, “i-i’m close. m’so close, please. please.”

“no need to say please, baby,” he grunts, “you can have whatever you want. when you want it, yeah?”

and just like that, you break—his thumb is still rubbing those harsh circles into you swollen clit as you cum, clenching down on him through your high as your mouth parts and your head presses deeper into the pillow. he’s fucking into you, still slamming his hips into you as mercilessly as before, riding you through your orgasm as you chant his name. 

“wri—wriothesley,” you sob.

“yeah, sweetheart? what is it?” he teases—it doesn’t last long, though. his bravado falls apart as soon as the first twitch of his cock indicates his own orgasm. you feel the hot, sticky, endless ropes of cum fill you up, coating your walls as he stiffens over you and shudders, groaning lowly as he empties himself into your sweet cunt. “f-fuck, you feel so good—you’re the only one. the. only. one.”

his hips thrust into you to punctuate the words, cock pushing his release deeper into you, messy and leaking down your thighs and forming a ring at the base of his length. it’s so filthy you almost think it’s a sin. but how could it be when it feels so right, so good?

finally, he slumps over your body, spent and panting as he finishes. you catch your breath under him, labored breath one after the other as your sweaty skin clings against his own.

“you’re beautiful,” he murmurs after some time, kissing the damp skin of your neck.

“i know,” you whisper cheekily, making him chuckle as he rolls over, pulling you into his chest.

“so humble,” he snorts.

“of course,” you beam, “but feel free to leave more compliments.”

“oh don’t worry, i won’t run out any time soon.”

it’s quiet for a bit, apart from your giggles and his low chuckles. soft, peaceful, and so painfully comforting, you wonder if heaven itself wishes for a place beside wriothesley. 

“when you first came up to the surface after your sentence,” you mumble after a few moments of quietness, tracing small loops into his chest as he silently hums for you to continue, “what was the first thing you did?”

“i got a croissant,” he answers thoughtfully, thumb rubbing circles into your hip where his hand is comfortably rested.

you blink, tilting your head to look up at him. his lips curve into a knowing grin.

“pardon?”

he laughs—it’s a beautiful thing. like a boy, eyes crinkled and lips freely curved so wide, you’d think his cheeks were endless with the way they expand to accommodate for such a large stretch. it’s the one time he doesn’t seem like the rugged man you usually know. something younger, more innocent, more raw comes out when wriothesley laughs.

“they go well with tea,” he shrugs, looking down at you, quickly stealing a peck of your nose, “and…” his voice is softer as he trails off, smile faltering.

“and?” you press delicately. so delicately, you’d think you were speaking to a house of cards, one word that’s breathed too harshly away from toppling over.

“and i wanted to visit a bakery i went to as a kid,” he murmurs quietly, voice dropping to a whisper as if he’s admitting something he’s never told anyone. something tells you he just might be. “there was an old lady who used to feed me sometimes when i was a kid on the streets. after i ran away. she’d give me a chocolate croissant and warm tea. i thought…i thought maybe there was a chance she’d still …”

he swallows, cutting his words off just before his voice has the chance to break. it’s a measured gesture. you know it is because you know him. just like you know the feelings of petals and thorns with your eyes closed, you know wriothesley. just like you can tell flowers apart from scent alone, you have him memorized. just like you know what every petal and its origin means, you understand him like it’s your job, too.

except you get paid to do this with something better than mora. with open-mouthed kisses and lingering touches. with coffee in a mug to complement the tea next to it. with strong arms to shield you when rain pours hard over your unsuspecting heads. with a gentle voice that learns to whisper back the language you speak better than anything else.

it says you’re the one i need the most, like rainbow roses. i miss you so much, i ache for you, like mourning flowers. i’d shed blood for you to live, like dendrobiums. you’re what i desire more than anything else, like romaritimes. each word is carefully formed, fragile as it hangs from a singular point. like petals on a stem, his words blossom from the tip of his tongue, falling one by one to your awaiting hands as your thumb traces his lips.

they all tell you one thing—whether he says the words out loud or not, he tells you he loves you through the things he does say. every little promise, every compliment, every form of praise. they say one thing—i love you.

you have always felt loved around wriothesley. you know he loves you, even if you question it sometimes, even if you ache to hear it, you’re always reminded he does when those eyes soften as they look at you, training on you like they never want to look away.

he loves you. he loves you not. he loves you. he loves you not. he loves you.

he loves you.

he loves you.

he loves you.

it always ends with he loves you.

“was she?” you whisper, finger tracing up his chest, along his neck and jaw until it cups his cheek tenderly. he shivers at the touch. “was she still there?”

gentleness isn’t something wriothesley is very familiar with. it raids his skin, takes over the territory that’s only known harshness, and conquers the scarred patches that are barren and empty from all the pain and desolation.

“no,” his voice is barely audible. “her son owns it now. the croissants still taste the same, though.”

“some things never change, i suppose,” you smile softly, leaning closer as your nose presses against his, “even when everything else does. it’s not so bad if you hold onto what you can.”

“and what if you have nothing?” he challenges, closing his eyes when you kiss his jaw sweetly and slowly inhaling a soft breath.

“i’m sure that’s never true,” you murmur, “there’s always something.”

“yeah? how optimistic of you,” he chuckles.

“i’m serious,” you pout, “there’s always a way to make do. look at cacti. they go ages without water, don’t they? and did you know naku weeds can survive being struck by lightning?”

“do you just compare everything to plants?” he asks in amusement, eyeing you with a charmed glint.

“of course,” you huff, “don’t you compare things to what you love most?”

he looks at you for a moment. really looks at you. grazes his eyes over your supple skin he’s traced so many times, over the small crinkles by your eyes permanently etched from smiling so often, over the curve of your nose and lips he’s pressed his own against, over the two eyes that stare back at him and see him more than they do look.

and then he nods.

“yeah,” he admits, “i do.”

your lips are as sweet as the warm chocolate that coated his lips and chin as a child. your touch is as soft as the hands of his mother when he thought he could trust her. your eyes are as bright as the sun when he first saw it after years of dark, rusted walls. everything about you reminds him of his past, the better parts and the worst. all of it.

some of it is healing, and some of it hurts so raw he thinks he’ll bleed out. but your hands are dipped in gold, he thinks. they’d make the most infertile soil rich and filled with life, letting him blossom new again right where his blood spilled.

he’s reminded of you in everything he sees. tea reminds him of your coffee with too much milk. paperwork reminds him of how distressed you are by wasted pages and killed trees. his gauntlets remind him of your hands so small in comparison. he’s doomed, he thinks. cursed, even.

cursed to always remember you in everything.

so, of course, he compares everything to what he loves most. because why else would you reside in his mind so endlessly, taking up the space from one end all the way to the other? why else would you remind him of you in even the mundane of things if he didn’t love you so deeply, so purely, so easily, that you’re everywhere all at once, even when you’re nowhere in sight?

he presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes and inhaling sharply before letting out a slow, shaky breath.

“i lied,” he admits, making you frown.

“about?”

“about the first thing i did when i got to the surface,” he says quietly. “i went to my parents' graves.”

“to visit them?” you raise a confused eyebrow.

“no. to make sure they were really dead.”

“oh,” is all you say, staring into his eyes as he waits for you to say something more. “well, were they dead?”

“yes,” he snorts, closing his eyes and huffing out a small laugh. “very much so.”

“well, that’s a relief,” you giggle, “otherwise, you’d have served a sentence for murder for nothing.”

“good thing i didn’t, huh?”

“good thing you didn’t,” you nod, grinning as he stares at you softly.

“i’ll take you one of these days,” he hums quietly after a moment. you look surprised, eyes widening as you process the words.

“to your parents' grave?”

“to the bakery,” he rolls his eyes, letting out a breathy laugh. “i don’t think my dead mother would appreciate me bringing back a woman after i killed her.”

“oh, very funny,” you scowl, glaring at him.

“you think so?” he winks, laughing when you gently shove his face away, making his hand grab at your wrist and bite gently into the skin.

you squeal, giggling as he nibbles into your skin. “stop that, you brute!” you demand in between laughs.

it’s quiet for a moment as the laughter settles down, just you and him. him and you. silence echoing off the walls and warmth radiating between your bodies, the sheets clinging to your bare skin. you can feel his bare hip brush against yours. it’s intimate—far more intimate than either of you are used to, but not unwelcome.

he turns, pulling you into his arms and pressing your foreheads together. you think that’s his favorite position to be in—when your faces are so close, they touch. when his eyes can bore into yours. when he can feel the warmth of you tickling his skin as you breathe, as you talk, as you exist before him.

“you’ll like the croissants,” he adds quietly, thoughtfully, “the blackberry ones are particularly nice with the lemon and mint tea—”

you cut him off. before you can think. the words fly past your lips, swept with the breeze like dandelion seeds, and carried through the room as they find shelter in every little crevice. they’ll be here, in every corner, in every little place, a memento of your first real confession.

“i love you.”

he pauses as you cut him off, blinking as he stares at you. something flashes in his eyes—fear, excitement, a small bit of shock and doubt that makes your heartache. you can read him like a book.

it’s not doubt because he thinks you lie. it’s doubt because he thinks it shouldn’t be him. you know that, and you’re prepared to patiently prove him he’s wrong. little by little. day by day. one kiss at a time.

“that’s really enthusiastic,” he shoots you a teasing grin, too easy and too practiced for your liking, “if i knew you liked croissants that much—”

“no, wriothesley,” you say gently, like your words could rock the boat and topple you both into a dangerous, unforgiving current any moment. “i love you. i love when you tell me things you don’t like sharing, and i love when you show me things that are hard to revisit. i love you. because you try, and you’re good at trying. and that’s enough.”

“getting sentimental on me?” he asks hoarsely, smiling tightly.

your hand cups his cheek again, pulling him in so you can kiss the corner of his mouth as you whisper, “yes.” your lips find the other side of his mouth, still at the corner as you whisper again. “because you deserve to hear nice things. even the cheesy ones.”

his eyes close. one moment turns to two, and you let him take his time. let him swallow as he takes a shallow breath before he opens them again and looks at you.

he’s laid bare before you. in more ways than one. being nude is easier than being seen—he trusts you enough to let himself be both.

“you deserve to hear nice things, too,” he admits. it’s not the same as admitting he loves you too, but it’s as close as he can get—still difficult enough that his voice breaks. like it’s hard for him to confess something like this.

it is.

it’s hard for him to tell someone he loves them. the last time he did, he felt the sucker punch of betrayal in his guts, so young that he hardly understood what it meant to be betrayed at all. he watched the same eyes he used to think were his saviors die out as blood spilled in the living room, where his tiny feet padded across as he ran around and played. he misses them sometimes, even now.

his mother’s beautiful green eyes that greeted him in the mornings as she kissed him awake, warm and gentle on his forehead. his father’s deep blue ones that would look at him proudly as he grew and grew, clasping his shoulder with that firmly affectionate grip.

sometimes, he misses them, misses what he thought he had. other times, he’s glad he did it. sometimes, in the dead of night, when it’s just him, he mourns the old him. the one that didn’t have blood on his hands, the him that didn’t have to take two lives to set so many free. the version of him that was allowed to be a boy who existed freely, no taxes to pay for the love he so desperately wanted.

love is wicked like that—it creeps up on you, takes pieces of you, and changes you until you can hardly recognize yourself. until you can hardly recognize everyone around you. how long has it been since he’s seen his siblings? can he even still call them that? do they remember him? would he even recognize them?

he still loves them in his own way. his precious little sisters camille and lucie, and his sweet baby his brothers alexandre and nicolas—he came back and set them free just before it was their time. he didn’t want to leave them, but he had no choice. there were ones who left before him, a time that he can hardly remember anymore. a time before him and antoine. but he recalls them being so delicate with him just as older siblings should be. did they make it out of whatever fate they were sealed to? were they disposed of with no witnesses to bring their demises to justice? he doesn’t know. it’s easier not to know.

it’s easier not to love at all than to open up the risk of hurting. every person he’s ever loved has caused him pain. even the innocent siblings who did nothing wrong—all he’s ever known is pain. the pain of not having them around anymore. the pain of their quiet demise. the pain of setting them free and letting them go. the pain of never having them to himself like a proper family.

loving is so hard for him, so hard on him. so unforgiving to him. so cruel and harsh to him that he hides away behind guarded fists and loaded punches. and you know it, too—he knows you do because you reward his confession with the softest kiss you’ve ever given him as soon as he spills the words.

“i love you,” you murmur the sweet words into his mouth between warm kisses, “i love you. i love you.”

“say it again,” he pleads. it’s easier to let you love him than it is to love you—you don’t mind letting him be a little selfish. he deserves it, in fact.

“i love you. more than anything i’ve ever loved.”

“promise me,” he begs.

“i promise,” you say firmly. “and you don’t have to say it back, not yet. but i want you to know it because you should know you’re loved.”

all at once, the vines wrapped around his chest release, one petal blooming across his heart and arteries at a time until the nectar is running through his veins.

it’s warm. it’s sunny. it’s soft. it’s so, so safe. it doesn’t hurt. it never does with you. you never let it.

“i love you too,” he croaks. he shivers as he says it before he’s grinning slowly, chuckling in wonder as he lets the words sink in before he repeats again, “i love you.”

“yeah?” you beam, eyes crinkling as joy tucks itself into the crevices.

he nods. “yes. and your weird nature lectures.”

you pout, making him laugh. “hey—”

“and your annoyingly aromatic house with petals everywhere—”

“they’re not everywhere—”

“and that ugly dog watering can of yours—”

“it kind of reminds me of you, so—”

“i love them all, and i want them for the rest of my life. i hope you take it easy on the snapdragons, though. i think i’m allergic.”

“such a romantic at heart,” you grumble, rolling your eyes. but they’re glassy, swelling with unshed, precious little tears.

he kisses your eyelids as you close your eyes, murmuring, “i’m doing my best here. cut me some slack, i’ve never dated someone before.”

“oh, wriothesley,” you sniffle, tears coating your sun-soaked skin. and despite the evidence of tears, he’s never seen joy on your face like this before—so clear and radiant. “who taught you about romance? you’re hopeless.”

“hopelessly in love with you,” he shoots back smugly, wiggling his brows.

“i’m doomed,” you snort, letting out a watery chuckle.

“yeah,” he says cheekily, “you are. i hope you’re prepared.”

you kiss him in reply. he kisses you, too. you kiss each other. flowers bloom everywhere your lips touch—wriothesley swallows every petal gratefully.

you love him. you love him not. you love him. you love him not. you love him. you love him not.

you love him.

you love him.

you love him.

it always ends with you love him.

and he loves you, too. you both love each other. the words bounce from both of your tongues like you take turns tasting them, feeling them, familiarizing yourselves with them.

it doesn’t matter who whispers the words first or who murmurs them last. no matter who breaks the silence, it always ends with i love you.

ITS FINISHED. WOW. i never thought a flower shop drabble was going to turn into this—i actually had a completely different flower shop au idea that was going to be a long fic but i just wanted to write a tiny practice round drabble to get the itch out my system before i had time to sit down for the full fic. well as you can see…the practice run kind of took a mind of its own so now we have this. LOL. i think perhaps i will also write the other idea but we will see!!! this one kind of replaced the other one in my heart as flower shop wrio lore lol 🥸

ANYWAY!!! i hope you all enjoyed this as much as i enjoyed writing it. idk if wrio was ooc or not or if i did his past and trauma justice but i certainly tried!! all the things about his past with the siblings and his mother's diary and the croissant at the bakery are all headcanons i carefully crafted and hold so so so dear. they are my truth!!! and they make me fall in love with him so much more deeply :( anyway! if you liked it then as always, reblogs and comments are appreciated. now if you’ll excuse me, i will be doodling his name in pink glitter pen with hearts in my diary and giggling.

"landaucest" GO BACK TO FUCKING TWITTER INCESTARDS

While I’m on several rampages, why not add one to the list?

The oversexualization of Ellie.

This is a topic that’s been heavy on my mind since last year, and for a while I was extremely scared to talk abt it due to backlash, but now, I really don’t give a fuck. LGBTQ+ characters with proper non fetishized representation is so very rare, and Ellie Williams in my eyes is one of the most well articulated lgbtq+ characters there are in video game media,, just one problem, the fandom cannot stop sexualizing her.

While on this rampage, I’ll admit; yes I wrote smut at one point, yes I’ve sexualized Ellie, no I cannot stop someone from reading/writing smut nor do I want to. I’m not controlling anyone with this, this is my opinion on my blog. If you don’t like it, bye, if you feel targeted, maybe that’s because you’re the target.

A few smut fics here and there never hurt, at the beginning, the tlou fandom on tumblr was small, and I for one was on the edge of my seat with every new fic that came. I’m not entirely sure where the massive surge in Ellie fans came from, but idc enough to dig either, so I’ll leave it at that.

I don’t even know how to word a majority of what I’m saying, and that’s another reason as to why I haven’t posted about this, but I’m trying my best so bare w me. To put it lightly and simply; I’m sick (and quite frankly disgusted) with the oversexualization of Ellie Williams. I feel like a lot of people are brushing it off because alot of the people sexualizing her are women, but regardless of gender, sexualization in general is not a good thing,, but I have never in my life seen a character get sexualized as much as Ellie.

I can hear the arguments already with “she’s just a character” “then don’t read the fics” etc, and yes, she is just a character, but again, I’m still able to state my opinion on my blog. And two, I don’t read fics anymore nor do I write them, but obviously since I built this entire account off of Ellie/tlou, that’s all I see, and with seeing that, comes seeing constant sexualization of this character.

At the end of the day, do what you want, but AGAIN I’m entitled to my own opinions and this isn’t targeted towards anyone in specific. This is my blog where I share my thoughts.

Hello! As an SA survivor, I really appreciated your story with Naoya. My comfort character is Nanami and I was wondering if you could write something similar? Where reader has an anxiety attack bc of her trauma and finally tells nanami about it? She’s worried that he won’t accept her and nanami reminds her he’ll never do that. It’s a heavy topic so I completely understand if you want to pass on this! I appreciate your writing regardless so thank you for taking the time to write & post these stories :)

hii! i'm sorry it's taken me so long to respond (can you believe my last post was almost half a year ago :0) but thank you for the ask! i made this absurdly long because i love backstories but i hope you like it :)

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nanami x fem reader (she/her pronouns used) - fluff & comfort - pet names (darling, sweetheart, baby) - wc. 7.7k

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please note that there are mentions of SA (nothing explicit/graphic) after the little "exhibit" sections are over. if you aren't comfortable with mentions of past SA (ex: nanami asking if someone has "hurt" reader) please don't read past the little "exhibit" scenarios or don't read/expand the post at all :) again, it's pure fluff in the "exhibit a, b, c" parts, after that SA is discussed/alluded to

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Nanami Kento is an exceedingly patient man.

Exhibit A: The time you were an hour late to your first date.

—

“Come on, just trust me on this one!” Shoko exclaims as she pelts you with blueberries—your blueberries.

“Hey!” You glare at your best friend, snatching the bowl of fruit away before any more berries end up on the floor. “Do you know how much blueberries cost these days? They’re not in season right now and—”

“Blah blah,” Shoko sticks her tongue out at you. “I’m not saying you have to marry him.. It’s just one date!” She pauses, tone becoming uncharacteristically serious. “I’ve been friends with him since high school… He’s a really nice guy, very respectful.”

“Oh?” You quirk an eyebrow at your roommate, laughter bubbling over your lips. “Very respectful,” you’re giggling now, “I’m sure he’s veryy respectful.”

Shoko groans, hands scrubbing at her face. “You’re unbelievable—I need a cigarette,” she mutters.

“You’re unbelievable! You’re a med student who smokes!” you cry out, flinging an accusatory finger at her.

Shoko just snorts, waving a dismissive hand in your direction as she pats at her pockets for her lighter. “I’m serious though, I think he would be good for you.”

“Sure, he’s exactly what I need,” you reply dryly. “What was his name again? Nanami something—”

“Kento,” Shoko chimes in.

“—Nanami Kento,” you finish, twirling a blueberry between your thumb and index finger. “I’m sure he’s a great person. But you know there’s a reason why I’m never home when your guy friends are over…” You trail off, shrugging as if you’re unbothered, but Shoko sees the way your brows furrow and lips tremble. “Plus, I’m too busy with my dissertation and research to try to have a life,” you huff, easing the tension with some lighthearted humor, popping the berry into your mouth.

Shoko rolls her eyes at you good-naturedly, waggling her brows as she tries to lift your spirits. “What if I showed you a picture of him?”

-

Two photos, a not-so-slick mention of Nanami’s height by Shoko, and a sworn testament to his upstanding character later, you fold.

-

You, 6:47 PM

hey! i’m running late right now, there was an emergency at the lab. can we push the date from 7 to 8? i’m really sorry :(

Nanami Kento, 6:50 PM

Yes, of course. I hope everything is okay, take as long as you need.

You, 6:51 PM

thank you so much! again, i’m really sorry. i should be there by 8 :)

-

Nanami reads your text, slipping his phone into his pocket as he sighs. He had already arrived at the restaurant by the time he saw your first message—it’s too late to leave and come back now. He takes a seat in the waiting area, glancing at the bouquet in his lap. Shoko had threatened to break both his legs if he so much as breathed at you wrong tonight—he hopes you won’t find the flowers too much for a first date.

Nanami thinks back to what he knows about you. He remembers the first time he was at Shoko’s place: you were nowhere in sight (much to the dismay of Gojo, who kept asking Shoko to play matchmaker for him), but Shoko just explained that you were studying late at the library. Every time after that, it was another excuse: Shoko’s roommate can’t come because she’s busy in the lab, busy at the library, busy writing her dissertation, busy running simulations, busy reading papers, busy being a TA, busy meeting with her advisor. He’s only seen you once while at your apartment, and that was because he accidentally walked into your room thinking it was the bathroom: You’d been hunched over your desk, back to the door, and Nanami had immediately walked right back out into the hallway upon his realization that bathrooms didn’t usually contain beds and desks, shutting the door as quickly as possible so as to not disturb you. You hadn’t even turned around by the time he was gone.

That was the first and last time Nanami Kento ever saw you. At least until last week, when he received a text from Shoko detailing your contact info and a winky face, phone lighting up with a call from your roommate moments later.

“Hello?”

“Kentoooo!!! Guess what??” Shoko’s voice is all high pitched and giggly, barely containing her excitement.

Nanami thinks he knows exactly what she’s up to. “What is it?” he ventures.

“My roommate just agreed to go on a date! With you!!” Shoko’s glee is apparent, even through the tinny speaker on Nanami’s phone. “I just sent—”

“I never asked her out,” Nanami cuts in. He’s frowning slightly: not entirely opposed to the idea, just hoping Shoko hasn’t gone and planned your marriage without his knowledge.

Shoko’s sigh echoes loudly over the line, and Nanami winces at the earful he’s sure to be in for. “I know,” she’s rolling her eyes now. “That’s why—if you would just let me finish my sentence—I sent you her number so you could ask her yourself.”

Nanami’s quiet for a moment, thinking it over before he asks, “Why are you doing this?”

Shoko doesn’t miss a beat. “Because you’re both losers with no lives,” she laughs a little at her own joke, then slowly considers her next words. “And… I think you would treat her well—I know you would be good to her, and she deserves that.”

Nanami can tell how much Shoko cares about you, from the way she spoke about you to the way she threatened to buy 51% of his start up’s shares and tank the company if he ever hurt you. Yeah, he really hopes you don’t think he’s coming on too strong with the flowers.

So, Nanami sits in the restaurant patiently, checking his phone ever so often to make sure he hasn’t missed any messages from you, smiling and telling the hostess he’d like to wait a while longer to be seated. And when you do show up—17 minutes earlier than expected—he’s all smiles and reassurances. You’re feeling (and looking) frazzled, apologies spilling out from your mouth like a dam let loose as you follow him and the hostess to your table. But Nanami’s the quintessential gentleman: waving away your guilt and apologetic expression, pulling your chair out for you, handing you the beautiful arrangement of flowers, pouring you a glass of water to help calm you down, insisting you call him Kento.

And though most people wince and attempt to change the topic when you talk research, Kento’s patient as he listens to your ramblings on the roadblocks you face, the students you have to teach, the lack of common sense in the lab. He makes a point to ask questions about your research, finding it interesting because you find it interesting, loving the way your face lights up when you get to describe the implications of your findings.

You hate to admit it, already hearing Shoko’s “I told you so!” in your head as you think to yourself, but Nanami Kento might just be exactly what you need.

—

Exhibit B: The time you spent 4 consecutive days with your head in a toilet bowl.

—

Shoko Ieri, 1:58 PM

dude, what the hell are you doing right now???

Nanami Kento, 2:01 PM

What do you mean? I’m working.

Shoko Ieri, 2:01 PM

what could possibly be so important with your company that you’d be working right now??

Nanami Kento, 2:02 PM

It’s 2 PM on a Monday… Am I not supposed to be working right now?

Shoko Ieri, 2:02 PM

you’re so fucking dense you would sink in the dead sea. your girlfriend has been throwing up all day and you’re WORKING?

Nanami Kento, 2:02 PM

Throwing up? What do you mean??

**Incoming call from Nanami Kento**

“Hey assho—”

“What do you mean she’s been throwing up all day?” Kento’s voice is tinged with urgency and worry. “Is she okay? Are you there with her? Can you check her temperature? I’ll be there in—”

“Dude,” Shoko cuts in, “Don’t act like you didn’t know. There’s no way you didn’t know—I mean she’s been hurling like crazy since this morning, and you’re an asshole for not checking up on her.”

Kento’s shocked, and still extremely worried, trying to just get Shoko to focus so he can make sure you’re okay. “I really didn’t know, Ieri, she hasn’t texted me at all today.” His voice is strained, concern evident in his tone. “Please tell me you’re at home with her—is she okay?”

“Well…” Shoko considers how to best put your condition so as to not cause Kento a heart attack, a little confused on why you didn’t tell him anything. “She’s been throwing up pretty steadily throughout the day and she’s got a pretty bad fever.”

“How bad are we talking? I’m driving over right now.”

“104 degrees… 104.6 last I checked,” Shoko winces as she says it, knowing how bad it sounds.

“Oh my god.” The absolute terror in Kento’s voice makes Shoko wince even harder. “Ieri, we need to get her to a hospital—this is serious.”

Shoko shakes her head, reporting dejectedly, “She won’t go. I tried a couple hours ago but she said she doesn’t get paid enough by the school to afford an emergency visit.”

Kento’s at a loss for words.

“She said she’ll be fine since I’m ‘basically a doctor,’” Shoko finishes bitterly.

“T-that’s not… You’re not… Y-you’re just a med student—that’s not the same thing—” Kento thinks he might have a heart attack.

“I know, I know,” Shoko sighs. “But, I don’t think it’s anything too bad. She isn’t throwing up blood, her breath and heart rate are both pretty stable, and she was conscious enough to talk back to me when I tried to get her to the hospital.”

“Okay,” Kento says as he takes deep breaths, trying to not think about you dying or suffering or—“Okay. Okay. Okay. I’ll be there soon, then. We can talk later.”

“Alright. Drive safe—I don’t need another patient to look after,” Shoko jokes before hanging up.

5 minutes later, a stressed Nanami Kento is on your doorstep, rushing in as soon as Shoko answers the door, barely listening to what she’s saying as he moves towards your room. And then he’s inside, kneeling before your bed as his eyes dart over your figure, murmuring a gentle, “Hi baby, how are you feeling?”

You blink your eyes open, trying to pull yourself out of that feverish fog blanketing your mind as you slowly register who’s in your line of sight. No… It can’t be. How did he find out? He’s not supposed to be here—you didn’t tell him for a reason.

“Ken?…” You rub at your eyes, sitting up with a whimper as a wave of nausea hits you square in the stomach. “W-why are you here?”

“Because somebody told me you have a 104 fever, and it wasn’t you,” Kento tuts, tone disapproving but eyes gentle.

“Ieri…” you mumble, shaking your head slightly.

“Ieri,” he confirms, shaking his own head—this time at you. “We’ll talk more about that later… Right now, I need to make sure my darling is feeling okay.”

Your mind is still foggy, but your lips quirk up into a small smile as you tease in a small voice, “Your darling is feeling superb.” You give him a weak thumbs up and cheesy grin. “I feel great.”

“Really? Because there’s a bit of vomit on your chin right now,” Kento deadpans, secretly relieved you’re feeling well enough to joke.

And then you cry out in mock outrage, regretting it almost immediately as you clutch at your middle, the outburst costing you a fit of spasms and pain in your stomach. Kento’s mood sobers instantly as he gently rubs at your back, asks if there’s anything he can do for you, adjusting the pillows behind you to help ease you into a more comfortable position.

“You should go,” you whisper as you reach up to grip his hand.

“Now why would I do that?” Kento asks, smiling softly as he feels your hold on his hand tighten.

You turn your face into the pillows, mumbling out a muffled, “I’m sick… and gross. I can’t let you see me like this.” You groan, turning your head back to look at your boyfriend as you caution, “And you’re going to get sick.”

Kento just smiles as he cups your hand between his own. “You never look gross, and I won’t get sick because I don’t overwork myself.”

You huff out a tired sigh, weakly swatting at the hands wrapped around your own as you slur, “It’s rude to torment the sick and dying,” and turn on your side to face the wall—away from your amused caretaker.

-

For the next three days, Kento—with the help of Shoko, (not quite) M.D.—looks after you as you miraculously manage to regurgitate every bit of sustenance you consume. He’s cleaned that metal “throw-up” bowl on your nightstand—meant to be used in case you couldn’t get to the bathroom in time—more times that he can count. He’s changed your sheets, helped you to the bathroom, and dutifully cooked light soups and stews, spooning them into your mouth before inevitably patting your back reassuringly as you throw it up into the toilet. Most of all, he’s poked and prodded you with that goddamn thermometer: if you had the strength to, you’d steal it right out of his hands and tell him to quit being a mother hen.

But Kento just can’t help his worrying. To take care of you, he’s been staying the night over, sleeping on that couch in the living room he’s definitely too large for. Even Shoko feels a little bad for him, watching him dutifully set alarms for every other hour so he can check up on you throughout the night. The two of them work in tandem to make sure you’re okay, combining the power of Shoko’s education with Kento’s sheer stress to maximize your care.

And when you finally come to—when the haze clouding your thoughts finally clears—he’s just as patient and gentle as he has been over the past few days.

“You’ve gotta stop overworking yourself, sweetheart,” Kento murmurs into the top of your head.

“I can rest when I’m dead,” you protest, twisting from your position on his chest to make a show out of the dramatic wink you send his way.

Kento groans. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” he says with a sigh, helping you curl back up on top of him.

You giggle, breath fanning out against his collarbone, amused by Kento’s exasperation. “Thanks for taking care of me though, Ken. You’re the best,” you whisper softly, turning to pressing a kiss against his neck.

“Of course, darling,” he replies quietly, voice full of love. Then, louder, feigning nonchalance, Kento announces, “But if you don’t start taking better care of yourself, you’ll be on your own, and I’ll just watch from a distance and say ‘I told you so’ when you get sick.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me!” you pout, frowning at the thought of him purposely ignoring you.

Kento sighs, pretending to be upset, “You’re right. I wouldn’t do that.” He reports dejectedly, “I just love you too much,” practically able to feel your smile at his words against his skin. “But—” he leans down and tilts your head up to look at him, thumb and forefinger holding your chin in place to maintain steady eye contact. “—the next time you’re sick or in need of help, you’ll tell me directly.” His voice is serious, as firm as his grip on your chin and it makes you nervous, like you’re in trouble, eyes darting around to avoid his gaze. “No trying to hide it, no making me worry. I shouldn’t have found out about your fever from Ieri—you should have told me yourself. I don’t want you hiding things from me, especially if it’s about your health and well-being. Got it?”

You’ve tensed up against Kento, heart hammering in your throat as you feel a wave of guilt wash over you. His free hand moves to soothe your back—trying to show that he’s not angry with you—as he drops his hand from your chin, eyes tracking the way you hang your head to avoid looking at him.

And then, after a bout of anxiousness, you nod, stealing a glance up at Kento to gauge his mood as you start, “I’m sorry, Ken, I didn’t mean to worry you.” You take a deep breath before you continue, “I just didn’t want to bother you. I knew you’d drop everything if you heard I was sick and it wouldn’t have been fair for me to take advantage of you like that.” You pick at a piece of lint on his shirt, avoiding catching his eye and aiming for humor as you add, “And nobody wants to watch their partner throw up, it’s gross. I couldn’t let you fall out of love with me like that.”

Kento cracks a smile. “Darling, if you think throwing up in front of me is going to make me stop loving you, I need to do a much better job of showing you how much you mean to me.”

You huff out a laugh at that, but he’s not done, cupping your hands with his own as he looks down at you. “And you’re never a bother, baby, ever. I’m never going to be upset with you for letting me know you’re not feeling well—and you won’t be ‘taking advantage’ of me by letting me know. It’s my own choice to take care of you and it makes me happy to do it.”

You’re looking down at where Kento’s hands are wrapped around your own, but you nod, letting his words sink in as you duck your head back down into the crook of his neck. “Thanks, Ken,” you whisper, trying to hide how relieved and emotional him saying that makes you feel. “That means… a lot to me. I’ll promise I won’t hide things from you anymore.”

Your boyfriend smiles, replying with a soft “good girl” as he runs his thumb along the back of your hand. He’s glad you’re opening up, and as you doze off on him, exhausted from your past couple of days and lulled to sleep by the comfortable silence and gentle caresses, he feels a surge of affection settle over his heart.

—

Exhibit C: The time you he won a stuffed lion at the fair.

—

Today is a special day. There are no papers to grade, no students to teach, no presentations or talks to prepare, and your research has reached a point where you can confidently take a few days off to rest. Naturally, you decide to optimize this golden opportunity by doing only the essentials: Scheduling a long overdue doctor’s appointment, deep cleaning your apartment, spending as much time with Kento as possible, going to the fair…. Just the essentials!

So—essentially—you’re at the fair with Kento, ignoring your ever growing list of responsibilities in favor of overpriced food and rigged carnival games. Kento’s already sporting a large tote on one shoulder, ready to collect all the prizes you’re eager to win.

Three hours, six stuffed animals, a pizza, two churros, a basket of fries, five rides, and a petting zoo later, you find yourself surveying the prizes on display in front of the cursed ring toss.

“Awww, Ken look at that one!” You’re pointing to a stuffed lion sitting amongst the prizes. “It kinda looks like you, don’t you think?”

The face Kento’s making right now can only be described as… distaste. “No… Love, I don’t see the resemblance.”

“No, no, no, look at the color! It looks just like your hair,” you exclaim, gasping and pointing once more as you realize, “Hey! It even has a little frown on its face! Do you see it Ken?”

“I don’t frown that often,” Kento says with a frown. “I’m quite happy when I’m with you.”

You burst into a fit of laughter, wishing he could have watched himself say that. “Sure, Ken,” you drawl, patting him on the shoulder as you get in line for the game, set on winning his lion-lookalike.

However, after 4 tries and an absurd amount of money, you decide to call for backup.

"Kennn," you singsong as you turn to look at him with big, pleading eyes. "Can you help me win this game?"

Kento's heart sinks, feeling conflicted. On the one hand, he'd do anything to make you happy. On the other hand, if he helps you win the lion, he'll spend the rest of his days hearing "Awww.. Isn't he just so cute?? He looks just like you, baby!" about a stuffed, over-evolved house cat.

But, in the end, the little angel on his shoulder (with a voice that sounds suspiciously similar to yours) wins. As Kento steps up for his try, he half considers putting no effort in and losing the game just so you won’t be able to correlate his good looks to a stuffed animal. Then, he (or maybe the little angel up there) decides he can’t do that to you—it would just be too cruel.

So, Kento gets ready for his turn: rolling his sleeves up, passing you the bag on his shoulder, and sighing without meaning to.

His first try is a failure. Each of the 5 rings supplied magically bounced off the bottlenecks, frustrating him to no end. “This game is rigged, sweetheart. We should find something else to play,” Kento grumbles, turning away from the booth with an irritated expression.

You shake your head, insisting, “But this is the only game we’ve seen that has that stuffed lion!” Then, you bring out the big guns, clasping your hands together and widening your eyes, begging, “Please, Ken..”

Aaaand…. He’s a goner, always so soft and willing when it comes to you.

Reinvigorated by your pleading and determined to make you happy, your boyfriend sets out on a mission to win you that stuffed lion.

After his first try, Kento sighs so hard you think you might physically feel the wind from it tickling at your forehead.

After his second try, Kento turns to you and drops a sweet little kiss on your nose to remind himself why he’s subjecting himself to this frustrating torture.

After his third try, Kento runs a hand through his hair, readjusting his sleeves with more force than necessary as he squints menacingly at the table of glass bottles.

After his fourth try, you tug at his wrist, telling him, “You don’t have to keep trying, Ken. It’s okay.” You feel guilty watching him get more and more frustrated, but he smiles, patting the back of your hand as he tells you it’s okay.

After his fifth try, Kento looks up at the stuffed lion as he takes a deep, calming breath, trying to stay focused on winning the prize and not how annoying this blatantly rigged game is.

After his sixth try, you’re seriously impressed by Kento’s ability to remain calm. You practically had steam coming out of your ears with each of your missed throws, but he’s taking this like a champ—maybe you’ll read some of his self help books to learn his ways.

After his seventh try, Kento curses under his breath, beginning to lose his cool.

After his eighth try, Kento thinks it might be time to start believing in a deity: Maybe he would have won on his first or second try with divine intervention on his side.

And then! After returning to purchase almost ten consecutive attempts and officially creeping out the worker managing the booth, Kento’s fourth ring finally finds its place around the neck of a bottle!!

You jump up and down and clap in celebration, elated by Kento’s victory. He immediately turns toward you, excitement written across his features as he wraps you up in a hug. You’re giggling and pressing kisses onto his cheek, murmuring thank you’s against his skin as you both grin ear to ear—both entirely too old to be so elated over a win at the carnival.

And even as you tease him, holding the stuffed toy up next to his face in comparison, he thinks his patience may have just paid off.

—

Nanami Kento is an exceedingly patient man.

That’s why, as you break down in front of him, he’s patient.

Just minutes ago, you’d been okay—you’d been more than okay. Seated on Kento’s lap, breath heavy as he scattered kisses across your face—moving from cheek to nose to lips to forehead—you’d been beyond okay.

Nothing had been too out of the ordinary: though Kento wasn’t a voracious and demanding lover, the two of you had shared more than a fair amount of kisses and “makeout sessions.” And you enjoyed these kisses, these “sessions,” but you also enjoyed keeping it at that, never progressing further than a few wandering touches and a lost shirt or two. Kento, always happy to follow your lead, to respect your boundaries, would never press further when you’d break away and ask to go to bed, to watch the movie, to cook dinner together.

Tonight, you planned on spending the night together at Kento’s apartment. Falling asleep and waking up next to Kento might be one of your favorite things in the world: his hair is always perfectly mussed, voice deep and raspy, and touch gentle and loving. You always wake up happy and warm all over when you feel his arm around your middle, breath hot on your ear as he murmurs a low “Good morning, darling.”

So, you show up at Kento’s place at around 6, a bag of groceries on your arm, just like usual. The two of you work together in the kitchen, each spoon feeding the other small taste-tests, just like usual. Dinner is a quiet, romantic affair, intimate and sweet, just like usual. After the wining and dining, you two curl up in bed and watch an episode of that show you’re slowly making your way through together, just like usual.

And when you end up straddling him, TV already shut off, fingers gently twisting in his soft, golden hair, Kento thinks he can get used to this being added to your usual. His hands are splayed out across your back, keeping you close to his chest as he smiles into your swollen, kiss-bitten lips. And when he starts dropping sweet little kisses—like a saint delivering small blessings—all over your face, who are you to hold back that little whimper in the back of your throat? Who is Kento to deny the surge of desire flaring low in his stomach at your reactions? His hands slip underneath your shirt, playing with the band of your bra as you squirm against him and tilt your head up to kiss him again. He moves further—further than he’s ever gone with you—and runs a finger along the underside of the waistband of your pants, brushing a knuckle against the soft skin of your pelvis.

That’s when everything changes.

The second you feel Kento touch you lower than your stomach you freeze up, jerking away from the soft kiss you’d been caught up in. Your eyes go wide and you scramble off of his lap, breath frantic as you try to calm the spike of panic blurring your senses. You’re trying to keep an eye on Kento—on his movements and expressions and demeanor—but it’s hard with how suddenly you’ve become overwhelmed and it makes you feel scared, the way you don’t know what exactly he’s going to do next.

It was just one touch, it’s okay. He doesn’t know, he didn’t mean it, he wasn’t trying to... It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s—

“Sweetheart? Are you okay? I’m not gonna hurt you, it’s okay,” Kento tries to soothe you, but you look at him like you’re… scared of him and he hates himself for frightening you so bad.

What happened?

He thinks he might have an idea of what may have set you off, and as your breathing becomes more and more erratic, he begins to worry.

“Baby,” Kento starts, tone gentle. “Has someone ever… hurt you like this? By touching you?”

The way you flinch at his words is enough to confirm his suspicions, but Kento stays quiet, waiting for you to respond.

You don’t want to tell him. Your eyes keep darting around, nervous gaze cast down onto the blanket as you think about how you should lie—

But, wait. You promised Kento that you wouldn’t hide things from him, that you’d tell him things about your health and well-being. You really shouldn’t lie to him, not about this, but you really don’t want to tell him.

You don’t want to tell him because you don’t want him to say that it was your fault, that maybe you deserved it. You don’t want to tell him because you don’t want him to start treating you like you’re dirty or shameful, like an embarrassing secret. You don’t want to tell him because you don’t want him to get angry at you for not telling him sooner, because maybe he wouldn’t have loved you all this time—wasted all this time—if he knew. You don’t want to tell him because you don’t want him to tell you that it isn’t a big deal, that you don’t have a right to be so upset over something like this, that you’re overreacting. You don’t want to tell him because you don’t want to ruin this peaceful little thing between you and him with your own issues and nightmares. You don’t want to tell him because—

Crap. You’ve been stuck in your own head for too long. The air feels thick with an awkwardly long silence as you scramble to mash together an appropriate response, but Kento’s patient and he waits without judgement, kind eyes filled with worry.

And you really don’t want to tell him, eyes welling up with tears because you’re stressed and anxious and not sure about what you’re supposed to do.

Finally, you decide to just lie, choking out a pained, “No—” as hot tears spill over your cheeks. You feel horrible and guilty for lying, knowing that Kento has never been anything but upfront and honest with you, but you’ve never been as good and brave as him so you let the lie spread its wings and shield you.

Your breath is coming out in short, stuttered pants as you try to fight the wave of anxiety attempting to drown you, hands coming up to cover your mouth in an attempt to muffle your choked sobs.

You feel horrible.

You feel horrible for lying.

You feel horrible because you ruined the moment of fun you were having with Kento.

You feel horrible for this breakdown, even if you know you can’t help it, because Kento doesn’t deserve to have to deal with this baggage he didn’t ask for.

You feel horrible because being with Kento has helped you come so far out of your shell, but now it feels like it’s all been ruined, like no matter how much progress you make, you’ll never be able to fully heal, fully escape.

You feel horrible because you can’t get those memories out of your head.

You feel horrible because you keep thinking about the last time someone touched you where Kento did.

You feel horrible for ever correlating Kento and his goodness to that person, even if it’s just in your head, even if you can’t help it, even if it’s involuntary because you’re scared.

You just feel horrible. You feel horrible about everything. And when Kento reaches for you, moving to try and gently tug at your wrist, worried about your frantic breathing and the way you seem to be trying to stop your breathing altogether with your shaking hands, you feel even worse.

When you see Kento’s hand move toward your face, you flinch so hard you choke, gasping behind your palm as you squeeze your eyes shut, shoulders tightening up with fear. You’re so on edge right now and your vision is too blurry with tears to properly gauge if he’s angry at you or not, so you just figure he is. You figure he’s seen through your lie and he’s upset with you, upset for a multitude of reasons that just overwhelm you further. You figure that if your tears dried you’d look up and find an angry Kento looming above you, brows pulled low and lips stretched into a disgusted sneer.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Kento gently murmurs, pulling his hand back, interrupting your self-destructive thoughts. “I need you to take a few deep breaths with me—think you can do that for me baby?”

Numbly, through all the noise in your mind, you follow Kento’s voice like a lifeline, nodding with an uncoordinated jerk of your neck.

“Good girl,” he praises you kindly. “Now I’m gonna need you to move your hands away from your mouth,” Kento instructs, adding softly, “Gotta stop holding your breath sweetheart, gotta let yourself breathe, even if your breathing isn’t quite right yet.”

Taking a shuddering breath, you nod again, dropping your hands from your mouth. But, once your hands drop, you stop trying to control your gasping breathing and begin to panic at the heavy heaving of your chest. Now, you’re breathing too irregularly and awkwardly: inhaling when you need to exhale and exhaling over your exhales and struggling to just take a solid breath in because your lungs won’t listen.

Because you’re breathing too rapidly, you’re simultaneously suffocating and breathing too much, escalating your panic. You’re scared and getting lightheaded and it’s too much—one hand comes up to muffle your mouth again almost immediately.

However, this time Kento is prepared, and his voice pulls you back to reality as he murmurs, “Ohhh, baby. It’s okay, it’s okay.” His voice is low and sweet and it makes you pause, instinctively wanting to listen. “I know it’s scary, but you have to keep your hand away from your mouth. Don’t try to restrict your breathing—there you go, there’s my good girl.”

You’ve tugged your hand away again, placing it in your lap as you blink up at Kento through watery lashes.

“Alright, sweetheart, now I want you to focus on your breathing. I’m going to take a few deep breaths and I want you to try to match your breathing with mine,” he says gently. “Does that sound okay?”

You nod shakily, panic ebbing slightly as you listen to his familiar voice and begin to follow the slow rhythm he sets.

“Inhale…. Exhale…”

“Inhale…” Exhale.

Inhale… Exhale….

“Good girl, that was perfect. You’re doing amazing, love,” he praises. You know he’s just being kind—your breath is stuttering and you’re involuntarily mixing up the inhales and exhales—but Kento’s reassurance makes you feel safe and calm regardless.

After a few more cycles of breath, the dizziness fades and oxygen begins steadily flowing through your lungs as you follow Kento’s lead.

Inhale… “Exhale…”

“Inhale… Exhale…”

Inhale… Exhale….

As you continue to try to control your breathing, you reach out to pick up his hand, trying to silently bridge the gap between you two, making the small first move to show him that you’re slowly becoming more comfortable and grounded. He lets you lace your hand in his, thumb comfortingly brushing against the skin of your hand, the touch gently reassuring you that you’re safe.

Soon, you feel confident enough to wordlessly move towards Kento, letting him wrap you up in a comforting embrace. Being in his arms always makes you feel better, and now that you’ve calmed down enough to realize that he’s not going to hurt you, you press yourself into his chest, searching for his steady patience and gentle manner. Your breathing has evened out, and your mind has cleared enough for you to begin flipping back on what just happened. Kento stays quiet, letting you sort through the cascade of emotions you just experienced, but the silence doesn’t feel hostile—it’s welcoming and patient.

You were kissing Kento, and then he.. he touched you and it freaked you out, and then he was talking to you and… And then he asked you a question. He asked if… He wanted to know if—

Oh my god. You lied to him.

Oh god. You need to apologize—own up to what you did and tell him the truth. But as you think about what to do, your breath begins to stumble over itself again and your heart rate picks up, anxiety taking over your senses.

Your eyes fill up with tears and you look up at Kento, saying in a small voice, “Ken? I… I lied to you… earlier.” Your words are continually interrupted by an emerging pattern of involuntary breaths and hiccups, but you continue on, “I… When y-you asked… S-someone has hurt—hurt me.. before… I lied to—to you.”

You’re fully crying now, and Kento tries calming you down, rubbing your back carefully, heart sinking at your tears and the way your breathing begins to turn into struggling gasps again.

“Oh, darling. I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into the top of your head, continuing to gently soothe your back. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Thank you for telling me—my brave, brave girl.”

Kento’s heart hurts. It hurts knowing that you’ve been hurt in the past, that you’re sobbing in his arms because someone hurt you. It hurts knowing that you felt too scared to tell him the truth, and it hurts even more knowing that you feel scared to admit that you lied. He wants you to feel comfortable with him—to know that you should never be scared of him.

“I-Im,” you choke out through gasping breaths, “‘m sorry—I’m sorry, so—sorry. I’m sorry, K-Ken.”

You’re not sure what you’re apologizing for, you just know that you need to be apologizing for something. Maybe you’re apologizing for lying. Maybe you’re apologizing for having been assaulted. Maybe you’re apologizing to try to appease Kento so he won’t be as angry with you for your betrayal—for not being the person he thought you were. Maybe you’re apologizing for not letting him continue to touch you—for stopping before you’re hurt again.

But Kento just shakes his head kindly, patting your back good-naturedly in response. “It’s okay sweetheart. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. Shhhh, shhhhhh, you’re okay, it’s okay, shhhhh,” he coaxes gently.

“I’m sorry—sorry, ‘m really sorry f-for lying to you.” You keep apologizing, barely registering his words to you. All of your guilt from everything has cumulated, and though you’re apologizing for lying, deep down you’re apologizing for much, much more.

“It’s okay, darling,” Kento tells you quietly, ever so patient as you choke on sob after sob. “I’m not upset with you, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong, I’m not angry, baby.”

His voice is so achingly gentle, and the way he rubs circles into your back makes your heart break and shatter. How can a person be filled with so much good? You expected anger and rejection, but Kento is being so accepting and sweet it makes you break down into tears. After being mistreated for so long, it feels odd to be embraced so wholly and kindly, and you feel like you don’t deserve to be treated with so much care.

Kento, however, is on a mission to make you feel better. He gracefully waves off your apologies, insisting that it’s okay, that you have nothing to be sorry for. Instead, he apologizes, bowing his head as he begs your forgiveness for overstepping your boundaries. When you shake your head vehemently, insisting he didn’t do anything wrong, he just scolds you gently, “You don’t need to take the blame for everything—it’s okay to give yourself a break. I know I hurt you, and I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I want you to know that I’m deeply sorry. I pushed you past what you were comfortable with and it’s not your fault, it’s mine.”

That makes you go quiet, the silence split only by your uneven and choppy breathing—remnants of the tears still sporadically tumbling from your lashes. Kento’s apology is earnest, and his insistence that you not blame yourself makes you see the situation in a new light.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s okay for you to give yourself a break once in a while. Maybe you didn’t do anything wrong and you’re just so used to being told it was your fault that you’ve come to believe it. Maybe, even if he didn’t mean you any harm, he still hurt you, and you deserved his apology for the way it scared you.

You’re silent for a little while longer, but then you reach up and pat him on the head, fluffy strands of hair ruffled by the act of affection.

“Thank you, Ken,” you tell him with a sweet, forgiving smile. “Thank you for apologizing, but I don’t blame you for what happened. You didn’t know my exact boundaries and you didn’t mean to hurt me. It’s okay, really.”

However, there’s still one more thing in the back of your mind bothering you.

“But… Do you still.. want to be with me? I mean, does it bother you that—that—” You break off, unable to finish your sentence.

“Hey, hey, hey. Look at me, love.” Kento pulls back slightly, one arm cradling your back as the other moves to wipe at a stray tear on your cheek. “This doesn’t change anything, okay? You’re still the same person I fell in love with, and I’m not ‘bothered’ by anything about you. Nothing about this is your fault, and I would never treat it as such.”

You nod, relief written all over your face as you breathe out, “Okay, okay.”

“Seriously,” he huffs. “Where are you getting these silly ideas from? I would never leave you, especially not over this.”

Kento seems almost offended that you think he’d stoop so low, tapping your nose as he clucks his tongue in disapproval. You just shrug self-consciously, a little flustered by how sincere he’s being.

“Okay, then,” you sigh dramatically, scrubbing away at the last of your tears. “I guess I’ll have to just take one for the team and stay with you forever—since you’re obviously so obsessed with me.”

“Oh yeah?” he murmurs, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. “You’re quite generous, entertaining this obsession.”

“Yup,” you confirm, waving a dismissive hand as you continue in a conspiratorial whisper, “It’s your lucky day. I’m running a one-night special where I grant the favors of my fans.” A grin is slowly making its way onto your face, and your smile bleeds into your tone when you tease, “Don’t get too excited though—I know it’s big news.”

Kento has the most lovesick look on his face as he looks down at you, shaking his head in amusement. “Well, I’m certainly one lucky fan.”

And you giggle at that, wrapping your arms around his middle as you snuggle into his hold. “You’re my favorite fan,” you mumble into his shirt, pressing your cheek against his chest to listen to his steady heartbeat.

“Hey, does that mean you have other fans you like?”

—

bonus:

“What are you watching?” You ask, poking your head over Kento’s shoulder to peek at the video he’s watching on his phone.

He jumps up, shutting off the screen immediately, stuttering, “N-nothing, darling.”

You’re unconvinced, reaching for his phone as you squint at him. “Really? You seem awfully jumpy for someone doing ‘nothing,’” you deadpan. Then, you narrow your eyes, accusing, “You better not be watching extra episodes of that kdrama you said you hated without me. I know you secretly love it—it’s okay, you can admit it!”

You’ve got a smug grin on your face and Kento doesn’t even try to fight it as you enter the passcode to his phone (your birthday, of course), accepting defeat and rubbing at his temples as the screen unlocks to the Youtube video he’d been watching. He’d rather endure the teasing than try to wrestle the device away from you and accidentally hurt or scare you in the process.

“‘Helping Someone Who Is Having A Panic Attack,’” you read out loud, glancing up at your boyfriend as your eyes widen, grin slowly fading. You click on his watch history, jaw dropping as you see his recently played videos.

What Is A Panic Attack?

How To Help Your Friend During A Panic Attack

Signs Of Hyperventilation And How To Stop Hyperventilating

Best Breathing Technique To Calm Panic Attacks And Anxiety

What NOT To Say To Someone Who Is Having An Anxiety Attack

“Oh my.. Oh my god. Oh my god, Ken.” Your eyes have welled up with tears. You can’t believe he’s been researching how to help you—you don’t even have words to describe how emotional this makes you feel.

Kento has a sheepish look on his face, a little embarrassed you caught him binging those videos. “Yeah… I uh..” He clears his throat awkwardly. “Just wanted to… yknow…” He shrugs, and it’s pathetic and lame and it makes you love him that much more. “Wanted to make sure I was doing the right thing… Just in case you ever get… scared.. again.” He coughs a little, looking self-conscious. “Not—not that I think it’ll happen again but—”

You cut him off before he can get another word in, practically suffocating him as you wrap him up in a tight hug. Your arms around his neck are squeezing, but Kento doesn’t make any moves to stop you. Instead, he wraps his arms around your waist, turning his head to press a kiss to your cheek as you whisper, “Thank you,” voice thick with emotion.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

—

if you've made it this far: thank you for reading :) please take care of yourself, and for all of my survivors out there, please know that it's not your fault, never will be your fault, and never has been your fault!! i love you all and i hope everybody has a great rest of their summer :D

i do (only exist for you)

word count: 1.8K content warnings: unhealthy relationship dynamics, objectification (not at reader), violence (relatively vague/not super explicit but not minor), emetophobia, they/them is used for reader

characters included: childe

a/n: this is a repost (heavily edited in some parts, lightly edited in others)! and a sequel to this. like the previous installment, you can read this as a standalone modern au thing, but it'll make more sense with the previous context. also on ao3! next part

the two of you aren’t actually married yet, but with the way your ajax treats you, you might as well be.

"I’ve placed your lunch in your bag along with the homework assignments you left out yesterday. remember to eat it this time, okay? and don’t forget the train leaves late today." you’re too sleepy to protest as he sticks your arms into a coat, one that you only realise is his once he’s done zipping it up.

"we’re going to the same class," you supply groggily, rubbing at your eye while he smoothes out your hair. "…didn’t you go to sleep after me? where do you get all this energy from?"

"yeah, but it feels more homely if I tell you all this before we leave the apartment." he says, smoothening out your hair again (you think he just likes having an excuse to touch you) and wrapping a scarf loosely around your neck.

you’re surprised he hasn’t started calling it our apartment at this point, but you’re not going to give him the idea lest he actually starts doing so.

he puts a surprising amount of effort into tucking the scarf into his coat properly, and you have to admit he’s very good at bundling you up. you feel super cozy. "being able to care for you is all the motivation I need to wake up early to make you breakfast."

you hum, pressing your head into his shoulder, close to drifting off again, until his words set in and you recoil. "wait wait, how early exactly? please tell me you got more than three hours of sleep."

he laughs heartily, his hand coming up to caress your cheek. "aww, are you worried about me?" you weakly swat at his arm and he laughs again. "don’t worry, don’t worry, not that early. I woke up at seven."

you sigh and he pulls you in for a kiss. when he pulls away, his eyes are full of adoration. "I love you."

"the bed was empty when I woke up at six briefly."

he chuckles again, but it has a nervous tinge this time. "aha, busted…"

you sigh once more, zipping up his coat for him. he beams down at you as you do, fondness dancing in the way his eyes creak whenever he’s in your presence. "come on, we’re going to be late."

"right," he says, picking up both of your bags and holding on to your hand and then somehow still locking the door behind you singlehandedly.

the two of you burst out laughing when you realise he forgot to take off his apron when you arrive and take off your coats.

"all the more to prove to everyone else I’m your soon-to-be husband." he winks at you, ruffling your hair when you tell him there’s still a couple years left before either of you graduate.

"ajax."

he sighs contently, nuzzling into you. "I love it when you say my name."

"ajax," you say his name slightly louder, "let me out."

the arms around you tighten. "no."

you groan, throwing your head back. "ajax, I need to load the washing machine."

he whines against the crook of your neck. "no, you don’t."

"ajax…"

"I can do it later, okay? don’t leave my arms."

"your arms are not the only thing trapping me here," you say, but his legs just tighten around you and you find yourself even more pressed against his chest. "and someone needs to do it."

he whines again. "I don’t like it when you leave my arms."

you poke his side, unimpressed. "we can hold hands while I do it then."

he tuts, pressing his face deeper into your hair. the next time he speaks, it’s directly above your ear. he sounds more serious than he usually does. "but you shouldn’t have to do any work. I wish you just sat back and let me do it all."

you sigh. this sort of conversation has been happening more and more frequently lately, especially since you accepted his proposal. "come on, not this again… a healthy relationship is about giving and taking in eq—"

"but I want to do all the giving and I want you to do all the taking." you close your mouth and stop talking when he presses you further into him. "I meant it, you know? I want to take care of you."

frustration seeps through his words when he speaks, more than you’ve ever heard from him before. "aren’t people supposed to like it when they’re spoiled? you’re the most special person in my life, and I want to do everything for you. you shouldn’t have to lift a finger, and I hate that this world is so against that. if this were…"

he cuts himself off and quiets for a few seconds. with your face still pressed against his chest, the only thing you can hear is your quiet breathing and his heartbeat.

"I hate that you won’t let me treat you like you should be treated."

"ajax…" your hand moves up from where it was resting on his back to comb through his hair gently.

he whimpers and squishes his face against the side of your head. "I really love it when you say my name."

both of you remain quiet for a bit. you’re tempted to forget about the laundry, close your eyes and drift off, when ajax speaks up again. "I’m yours. you shouldn’t hesitate to make use of me."

even in the heat of the moment, that sort of line sounds a lot more romantic in fiction.

he coos into your ear when you scratch his head lightly. "ajax, you don’t just exist to be used by others. there’s more to you than just that."

"I do," he insists, but quiets down and doesn’t argue further.

"I do only exist for you," he says again, a while later when you’ve pretty much fallen asleep in his arms.

even after two years of living together, you still refuse to use him as you should or let him treat you like you deserve to be treated. it makes him feel all sorts of bitter; he doesn’t want to (and doesn’t deserve to) force you into anything, but whenever you push him away, it stings.

whenever you put distance between the two of you and insist on straining yourself, he feels like he’s failed you. it just further drives home that he’s really so worthless that you can’t rely on him, and he knows this isn’t a problem getting stronger for you will fix.

it’s been a long, long time since he felt this useless. he loathes the feeling.

ajax stretches, not missing the opportunity to flex his body. "that was fun! I don’t mind if you cling onto me a bit more next time, though… you’re so cute when you get startled by the jumpscares."

"mhm, sure." you pay his obvious attempt at showing off no mind and instead let out a yawn. "want to get something to eat? I’m hungry."

"are you sure you don’t want to head home?" you nod, reaching for his hand. he intertwines his fingers with yours eagerly. "do you have any place in mind? my treat."

"it’s always your treat." you roll your eyes, but lead him towards the restaurant you’d been thinking of regardless.

"of course," he laughs. "what sort of fiancé would I be if I didn’t pay for your food?"

"what sort of fiancé does that make me, then?"

he laughs and you remember why you fell in love with him again.

"don’t be silly. it’s your job to get spoiled rotten by me." he tugs on your arm, pulling you closer to him, and presses his lips to your cheek.

"if you spoil me too much I’ll go bad for real, you know."

despite the joking undertone, he looks displeased and he tugs on your cheek, pouting. "of course not. and even if you did, I’ll still love you."

you huff, unable to stop yourself from laughing, and elbow him. "you’re so—"

you cut yourself off when you notice the hooded person standing imposingly in front of both of you. immediately, you feel ajax stiffen and step slightly in front of you, but he doesn’t seem particularly threatened so much as just wary and protective.

once he realises he’s been noticed, the man in front of the both of you tilts his head. "hand over all your money, and I won’t have to get violent."

"hah," ajax barks, sardonic and entirely foreign to your ears. "I don’t think so."

the next few moments go by in a flash.

grunting, the attempted mugger pulls out a knife and dives forward. you barely register how you’ve stepped back out of instinct before he’s completely soaked and there’s a large gash across his torso.

nobody moves for a couple seconds, until the guy’s eyes trail down hesitantly and he goes white. his arms immediately come to cradle his stomach. "what the fuck—"

it takes you another second to realise what’s happened. bile rises up your throat.

there’s a part of you that’s relieved it’s winter, that the sun has already set and there’s not too many people around, that you’re not about to get robbed at knifepoint.

"I’ll kill you if you touch them." your fiancé’s tone is much darker than you’ve ever heard when he speaks. you’ve always known he wasn’t the type to shy away from conflict, but the way he says it just after cutting open someone else makes the hair on your arms raise.

"you fucking bitch—" the other guy doesn’t get a chance to get anything else out before ajax kicks him. you feel your stomach tense at the squelching sound he makes when ajax’s foot comes into contact with his torso.

you feel worse when he grabs the man’s hair and wrist, a pained shout and loud crunch accompanying the drop of the knife.

the hairs at the base of your head rise at his tone. "I told you, don’t touch them." you block out the rest of what he says, but from the way the mugger’s face pales even further it can’t have been anything good.

you swallow down the urge to vomit and tug on ajax’s sleeve. for a moment, you’re worried he’s going to turn violent on you, but it barely takes him a second to turn to you, and when he does his face is relaxed and smiling like he usually does.

whatever your expression looks like, he softens as soon as he sees it. his hands are off the mugger soon and then he’s all but pulling you into his chest. you think you hear the guy run off, but it’s hard to focus on anything but the way ajax soothingly rubs your back and murmurs apologies into the crown of your head.

if he feels how much you’re shaking, he doesn’t comment on it. or rather, he just apologises more.

you have a feeling he’s apologising more for the fact that you saw him like that and that he scared you than what he actually did.

and above all, you hate the part of you that feels exhilarated about him loving you.

aftercare with abby <3

summary: abby taking care of reader after an eventful evening together.

warnings: mentions of sex, descriptions of nudity. no outbreak/modern!au. short n sweet fluff <33

a/n: my first abby work ahhh. i love my big sexy gf!! pic cred: hyujies on pinterest

don’t stop talking about palestine

tlou2 is based on the israeli occupation of palestine. don’t not purchase tlou-related products. i don’t mind making silly little fics abt silly little pixels but if ur interacting with my posts, know that i am in full support of palestine and palestinians

✧

7:48pm.

abby glanced at the clock on her bedside table, reading the time quickly before turning her focus back to you. the setting sun painted the room in a beautiful orange hue, illuminating every corner. though the sunlight never looked more gorgeous than when it landed on you.

you were laid on your stomach, hands placed under your cheek as deep breaths escaped parted lips. and while the comforter was stretched over your hips, the skin of your back glowed, and abby swore she saw a sparkle dancing across your body. perhaps it was the sweat from the evening’s previous endeavors, or her eyes playing tricks on her, but then again her eyes always saw stars when it came to you.

you were absolutely ruined.

by the time she got done with you, your legs hardly had the energy to carry you to the bathroom. in fact the blonde had to do so herself.

“tired you out, huh pretty girl?” she’d tease, making you blush and bury your face in her neck as she carried you bridal style over the threshold and into the bathroom.

she carefully took a damp wash cloth to clean your inner thighs. “open up for me, baby.” the entire time you’re sleepily mumbling sweet nothings in her ear with a cheek on her shoulder.

“i love you so much abigail,” you’d whisper. to which she’d always reply, “i love you more.” no matter how much you tried to fight her on the subject, it was but a losing battle.

after getting cleaned up, you both had fallen asleep in each other’s arms, the soft beating of your girlfriend’s heart lulling you to sleep.

that was hours ago.

abby had woken up before you, rubbing her eyes and checking the time, seeing you both had been asleep for nearly two hours. usually, she’d wait for you to wake up so you’d decide together on what to eat. though, it was getting late, and most restaurants would be closing within the hour.

she could softly shake you awake or go grab something quick for the two of you, but if she’s learned anything in the past two years, it’s to never interrupt your beauty rest and don’t leave you alone while you’re asleep.

the taller girl ponders momentarily, though the growl of her stomach is what pushes her to climb out of bed, careful not to wake you.

she throws on a comfortable outfit, walking out the closet to give your forehead a quick kiss.

once she’s got to her car she sends a quick text in case you were to wake when she’s gone.

to my love: hey baby, just stepped out to grab dinner. be back soon ❤️

✧

"𝐁𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐨𝐧!" ᡣ𐭩

synopsis: You get a call from an old add you posted regarding babysitting, and it happens to be one of your old highschool counselors. Wait- he has kids??

tags: dilf!Wrio x college student!reader, praise, oral, penetration, creampie,

wrd cnt: 2.3k

a/n: this has got to be one of my top 3 fics good lord

Babysitting was just a side hustle, and you'd usually end your services before 8pm, just in time to take a shower and be in bed by 9. This time, your plan was moreover….derailed from the start.

You got a very urgent call from an old friend, could you even call it a friend?

One of your highschool admission councilors caught wind of an online ad in regards to childcare on a pretty popular website, and you recognized the number all too well.

Mr. Wriothesley, who helped you write your entrance exam essay was now contacting you for a babysitte. Why does he need a babysitter...? As far as you knew he wasn’t married.

You dare not decline, not through text anyway. It was the least you could do for him, after all...but it was a stressful time for you and really needed a break.

But it had been a few years, and you were reluctant on how your relationship would even function at this point.

You were well over the age that you'd known him in highschool, and he'd surely see you as an adult now...but best to keep things professional, as much as you could.

It was a little hard to decline, especially when you just parked your car in his driveway and get greeted by him at the door; a small child launched over his shoulder as you can see another run around in the kitchen with a box of cereal.

Shaving cream was smudged on one side of his face while you notice droplets of humidity left from what seemed to be an early morning shower cascade across his bare chest, and his bulging shoulders, pants covering him with a belt undone. Makes sense why he so eagerly needed some assistance.

"Y/n! Thank you so much for coming over today on short notice...Meet these two troublemakers". He jests.

You reply with a smile and say hello to what seem to be his children, a small boy and his younger sister.

"It's nice to meet you!" You say, the children unamused as they run off to go do whatever maniacs do.

"I'm sorry we can't have a longer conversation- I'm running late to work. But! l'll keep in contact throughout the day and whatever's in the kitchen is yours, be home around 7:30, thanks again!" Wriothesley said, finishing his run on sentence in haste while grabbing a shirt off the wooden hooks and stepping down to his parked car, door slamming shut on his way out.

Well...aside from no directions or rules you were pretty prepared so you let it slide, he needed the slack, cleary

But there was only so much you could give him.

You treated his kids like any others, prepared them a nice meal...or three, and did all the things like pretend to be the mailman when playing house and help them solve the 10k puzzle piece at least halfway short of 800 pieces to go, while managing to put them to bed around 7.

But there was no word from Wrio other than the bihourly checkup that would sometimes be skipped.

8 o’clock rolled around and you were still sitting down on his couch, flipping through late night television and waiting for anyone to show up so you could leave.

His kids were great, of course a lot to deal with, but great. Still, you needed to get back home and study for a midterm.

It's finally around 8:50 and you hear the keys jingle inside the doorknob, your head turning so fast it might fall off.

"Y/n...how are ya?" Wrio says, a big smile on his face once he sees you, a book bag handing off his shoulder. You catch yourselves looking at him a little too long already, almost forgetting how annoyed you were at his behavior.

His tone was mellow as he could sense the little ones are sleeping. In a similar whisper, but more passive tone, you reply "great...l left the key on the table, thanks so much again", picking up your bag and attempting to leave.

"Hey hey- what's the matter? Don't you wanna catch up a little over some dinner?" Wrio says, softly shaking the box of takeout in his hand.

"Mr. Wriothesley...I really have to g-"

"Mister? Oh darling don't be so formal, we're both grownups now."

You chuckle politely, trying your best not to snap.

"It's really late and I-"

"Come on, you've earned it! Let’s catch up, tell me how my favorite student is doing!”

"Mr. Wriothesley! you said you'd be home before 8 and it's almost 9...and I have a lot to get back to!" You exclaim, forgetting yourself and the children upstairs.

Eyes slightly widened, Wrio placed down the coat draped over his arm onto the couch, moving closer to you before setting the rest of his things down to the side table.

"Y/n...I'm sorry, I had to stay a little late but I should have let you know, what's wrong?" "I'm sorry for raising my voice- I just...l've been stressed and I wasn't really in the babysitting gig for a while but I didn't want to say no to your request and didn’t know how…”

Surprising you further, Wriothesely makes his way closer to you, a large hand pressing against your back in a tight embrace, his chin resting on your head in a warm hug, you felt his chest against yours and you almost forgot yourself again.

Wriothesley smelled like comfort and he made you feel it even more.

Stroking the back of your head with his large palm, he soothed you.

"It's okay y/n, I know it gets hard, you know I appreciate you making time for this, if you can’t do it again I completely understand your feelings honey.”

You could feel yourself melt into him, his stature almost encapsulated yours.

You almost roll your eyes at the feeling of his strong arms holding you, grazing up and down your back and waist as he parts himself from you to look down, meeting your gaze after the embrace.

His eyes were so inviting and you placed your hands on his shoulders, barely thinking straight.

But you soon met again, this time with your lips.

It was unsolicited, unexpected, but that made it even better.

You couldn't even remember why you were so angry before, what you had to prepare for tomorrow morning.

His hands held your face on each side, slipping his tongue against yours slowly, so slowly.

All that was left in your mind was how strong Wriothesley was, how easily he picked you up and how his hands felt underneath your thighs as you were in his grasp, how he carried you back onto the couch, pressing you into the cushions as he hovered over you, one hand on the trim of the sofa and another on your waist, his tongue moving with yours.

This was your college counselor?

Right now he was anything but that.

All you could focus on was how good it felt when he kissed your neck, how his lips sucked and nippled at your warm skin.

"Fuck..right there, don't stop-“

Wrio slightly chuckles, "I never expected my star student to be so demanding..."

"Just do it..." You urged.

"I think you'd ought to treat me with a little more respect, don't you think so?" He replied.

His thumb found your hard nipple, playing with it through the thin fabric of your shirt, slightly teasing it through your bra.

"Wrio..."

"What happened to Mr.? You dropped that pretty fast...l kinda turned me on." He smirked.

"Please.... Mr. Wriothesley.." You pleaded, dragging down your shirt and bra to reveal your breasts, placing his own hand onto your chest and making him squeeze you.

"That's more like it." His lips say before latching onto your tits, tongue fixated on circling around and over one of your nipples as his fingers pinched the other, his knee grinding into the area inbetween your legs in the meanwhile.

"Mr. Wrio-"

Strands of spit attach to you as he comes up with a breathless reply "Yes sweetheart?"

"More..." You beg.

"More? More what." Wriothesley asks.

"More of this..?" His fingers pinch your nipples, watching you squirm.

"Or this?" His knee pressing against your lower region harder.

"Y-yes...there" You say, grinding yourself into his knee in response.

"Such a naughty girl..." He mentions, unbuckling his belt as he pulls you up by the neck.

"Wait-…..what if they wake up?" You ask in concern.

"They won’t if you can keep quiet." He says, a small wink before he kisses you once more.

The sight was almost surreal. Before you, sat your highschool counselor on the couch, his arm over the rest of the couch with his cock in the other hand, and you had to admit it was big...you almost didn't know if it could fit anywhere.

But you had to try, right?

"Come here princess" Wrio said, cupping your face to bring you down to his crotch, making you lay down further with your face right infront of it.

Hesitantly, you started stroking his cock, feeling how thick it was in your hand, barely able to touch thumb and middle finger together. You gave his tip a few kitten licks, sucking on it and swirling your tongue across the slit where his precum oozed out.

"Don't tease. suck it- ahh! properly..fuck y/n... look at me." He grunts, pulling your hair up higher, using it to pull you deeper into his cock as he forces you to look into his eyes.

"Yes- now you're getting it...smart girl, just like that."

You watch Wriothesley brows furrow and his head get thrown back from pleasure, the pool of arousal only growing now inbetween your legs.

"Ahh- yes, just like that, keep going hun." He pants, his hand tangled up in your hair as he's unbutton his shirt now, laying bare to your wandering eyes.

Before you get a chance to come up for some more air, you feel his trapped hand keep you on his cock some more.

"You're gonna swallow it right baby? For me yeah?" He asks, whispering almost before you feel splashes of cum enter your mouth, running down your throat and coating your lips.

Wrio pants harder and watches intently as you lick up ever drop he's spilled out, collecting it with your finger as you suck it all for him.

"That's my girl." He says proudly.

"Mr. Wrio..." You whisper, climbing on top of him now, making your way up as you sit on top of him.

Before you can even voice your thoughts, his lips are back to yours, kissing you like he'd never done it before.

He practically yanks off your clothes, starting with your bottoms; throwing them to the floor and leaving you only in your panties.

You can't believe what a tease he is himself after scolding you for it...

"Wrio...stop teasing."

"What was that? I didn't hear you y/n" He says, fingers rolling back and forth on your panties, feeling the wetness soak them up as he kisses your pretty nipples and sucks on them lightly, just how he knows you like it.

"You're so wet.... did you love tasting my cock that much?" He giggles, looking up to your eyes with a nipple still in his mouth.

"Mmh- Fuck!" You have to hold a hand against your mouth as you feel him pull aside your panties and stick his fat cock inside your cunt without warning.

“So much profanity” He mutters, taking a large hand to spank you, making you squeal right through your palm.

He runs his hand up and down the side of your figure, a single finger trailing up and in between your breasts, going down as he puts a palm to your lower stomach, feeling the tip of his cock that's thrusting inside you as he presses down on it further.

"Mmmm...that feel good? I’m so deep inside you pretty." Wrio says, smirking up at you as he watches your face burn up while he slams you down on his cock harder.

He hit the spongy spot deep in your pussy over and over again, every hit felt like a shock of pleasure riveting up your spine. You could almost pass out.

But you didn't want him to stop, you wanted more, you needed every last drop of him inside you to feel completely whole.

And that's exactly what you got. It felt like hours went by of his thick cock stretching your hole, you could feel how sore your ass was from slapping against his thighs. The sounds so sinful it made you blush. You could tell Wriothesely was so close, the way his pulled you closer to him, pressing your bodies together while he grinding you into him, doing all the work for you after you worked so hard for him. "Y/n....fuck, fuck, fuck... you're gonna make me cum already..."

You felt tears trickle down your eyelids as it became too much, pleasure washed over you as you came all over his cock, a white ring forming at the base of his member. The sight only driving him into his own pleasure, a pleasure that painted the walls of your cunt completely white; dripping out slowly from your little hole as Wrio pulls his cock out, just to plug himself back in again.

'fucking hell…you're so cute when you cum” he coos, “youre available next friday right?"

Surely you'd be free that day.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

CHILDE FINDING YOU

This basically is a small interlude to the two Dottore's part. Kinda part 1.5? Anyhow, it was requested by @nicebonescomrade after I asked them if they wanted me to write something soooo...here we are. <3

Warnings: Same as ever. Implied torture and referenced gore; angst

Part 1 and Part 2 can be found through those links.

Enjoy!

- Lilith

Childe turned his nose up at the smell of rotten eggs and spoilt food penetrating his nose. Not even the lingering smell of iron and burnt skin could make it better. What the hell was Dottore doing? All his other labs, even once given up on, were in a better condition than this shithole. Or maybe that's exactly why he had chosen it. Whatever he had been doing here, it must have been something bad if the Tsaritsa had ordered him and Scaramouche to get in and get out.

Although admittedly his orders were a bit different. Whereas the Balladeer was to go in and get the crazy Doctor, he got tasked with retrieving the latest experiment he'd been working on. Despite his questions and digging the Electro holder for more information, he went in blind as everyone refused to tell him more.

"It was of the utmost priority."

Childe groaned and stuck out his tongue at the air. If it was so important, why wasn't he told more? He didn't even know what to look for!

Lost in thoughts as he was, he almost walked passed a certain room. He halted, light shining at a table in the middle of the circular hall. Several other desks and tables had been stacked with rows upon rows of books, papers, vials and what more. But that wasn't what had caught his eyes.

Childe rubbed at them and blinked, unsure if his sight hadn't played tricks on him. But no.

There, in the center of it all, lay a still body. Long, tangled hair crowned their head like a halo. He slowly stepped closer until he was able to make out more details, like the golden and bronze specks on the table and clothes. Or the Delusion with a to him unknown symbol in their chest, barely hidden by the thin stretch of skin that had grown on top of it. Or the emptiness of their eyes.

He would have presumed it was a corpse if their chest hadn't been moving up and down.

Childe didn't know what to think. It was clear that this was the experiment he was to retrieve...yet he still failed to understand why. They didn't look very responsive anyhow.

"Hey comrade, are you in there?", he asked, gently tapping the side of their head. For a few seconds their pupils moved to stare at him, only to go back to looking up at the ceiling.

That second had been enough for Childe to understand.

Memories flashed before his eyes, statues and crude drawings he'd found in the depth of the Abyss. A face that looked eerily like the one he was staring at right now. Whispers of a god, the Creator of it all.

Childe's shaking fingers reached out and touched a still liquid pool of gold, bringing them up to his nose. The iron stench penetrated his nose immediately.

This was...this was the One. The Creator. His God who had guided him through the Abyss.

Childe fell to his knees right there at his God's side with bated breath. He took their hand, marvelling at the soft skin and slender, although skeletal fingers. He noticed more, then. The bones that showed through their thin clothes, and the scars and cuts and bruises littering their body.

"What has he done to you?", he whispered as the horror sank in. And guilt. Oh so much guilt. Why hadn't he realized sooner that their God had come to Teyvat, to them? Why did it have to be that psychotic bastard to find them first?

Childe stood up with renowned fervor. His orders were clear. Bring their God back to the Tsaritsa. And he would, because there him, the Cryo Archon and the other trusted Harbingers would work on healing their God.

And, most important of all...they'd make Dottore pay for his actions.

He slid his arms below their back and knees, careful and soft. The complete opposite of what he was. But his God needed a steadying and comforting presence now, and he'd do his best to be just that. There was more than enough time to show them his love for fights and be accepted for it in Snezhnaya.

Childe placed an airy kiss on their forehead, even though they didn't react to anything else he'd been doing.

"Don't worry, Your Grace. You'll find back to us and your body in to time. And I'll be there for every step of the way."

Are you feeling happy?

Aventurine avoids all the popular teen hang-out spots like fast food restaurants, arcades, bowling arenas, etc. Because he didn't get to experience all those in his own childhood and feels out of place and unworthy to be there.

The same for family-oriented places, like amusement parks, or water parks, cause, what family?

That's why he hides himself in casinos or other adult places, where everyone else is as desperate and pathetic as him, just so he won't have to witness the life he never got (or according to him, never can)

So, when you take him out to such places, he had previously avoided like the plague, teaching him all those silly fast food hacks, and playing on the slides or swings meant for kids, it isn't just a silly date like you think, for him it's a therapeutic experience, healing his inner child.

Are you still happy?

More fluff

I can treat you better

A little concept I wanted to try for a while, I see this done with male characters a lot and I wanted to experiment on my waifus.

Game: Genshin Impact

Characters: CEO!Ningguang, Teacher!Lisa, Milf!La Signora (referred as Rosalyne) x fem!reader

Type: Fluff hcs and drabble, Modern AU

Contains: Broken marriages, infidelity (not with reader), comforting, teacher-student relationship (Lisa), age-gap (Lisa and Signora)

Marriage is supposed to be the ultimate union between lovers, a symbol of togetherness and eternal love. However, not every marriage ends as well as it began. Love shouldn't fade away but sometimes it does, or perhaps it never existed in the first place and was just a matter of convenience.....

CEO!Ningguang who owns the most successful business in the country that she started by her own efforts. A meticulous and hard-working woman who has lines of suitors but everyone knows she's already given her heart to her husband, a simple man she met in college and fell in love with. He promised to support her in her business venture and always stuck right by her side the more she built her empire.

Ningguang is highly successful in life, she has money and a loving partner- what more could one ask for? You are her secretary, her right-hand woman, who has assissted her since the beginning. The first and only secretary she has had because you are perfect for the job. You have had a crush on her for the longest time, but you knew how happy she is with her husband so you simply continue supporting her from the sidelines.

However, her marriage started becoming rocky recently. Ningguang spent too much time at work, doing overtime almost every day for the last 6 months and rarely spending time with her partner. Ningguang never stopped climbing the success ladder, she wanted more and she was determined to work for it. Her husband, on the other hand, became a stay-at-home husband because.... why does he need to work when his wife is the richest woman in the world?

Ningguang became more stressed as days passed, she was making deals with all these demanding companies all the while trying to keep her marriage at bay. Many times, you heard her arguing with him on the phone, his voice would be so loud that you could clearly make out the curses and accusations he threw at her. It frustrated you. How dare he say all that to her? How dare he think of her this way?

Ningguang was working hard for her future with him, she was not greedy for money. She wanted to give him and her eventual children the best life she could, all of this hard work was for him. Yet, he seemed to have never realized that. The more days Ningguang spent cooped in her office, the more apart she became with him. Until the day you heard her crying for the first time in your life....

"Ms Ningguang, the documents you want—" you stepped inside Ningguang's office but stopped mid-sentence as you heard her sniffle. She was seated on her table, holding her head in frustration and looking at something on her phone.

"Ms Ningguang, are you okay? What happened?" You were genuinely worried, the woman you loved was crying and you wanted to do something. Ningguang quickly wiped away her tears and switched off her phone screen before standing up and looking at you firmly, "Ah, Y/n, thank you. I had been looking for these for a while."

She avoided your question. You knew something was seriously wrong now. You wanted to ask more but decided to not pester her and continued with the work you had brought in, she came into her 'work mode' almost immediately. She always impressed you so much. The two of you finished the work for the day then you invited her to a diner for a simple meal, hoping to lighten her mood. You had a hearty meal together and drank a few glasses of alcohol to unwind, she became a bit tipsy and leaned on the bar table while you prepared to leave the place and escort her home.

"Earlier.... my apologies for avoiding your question." Ningguang suddenly spoke causing you to stop your actions and listen to her.

"N-No, ma'am, it's okay. You are not obliged to tell me everything...."

She sighed then took out her phone and scrolled to a particular photo then showed you the screen, your eyes immediately widening in shock.

"Is this.... your husband? And that woman...." Yes, it was a photo of her husband with another woman, and they looked very intimate like a couple. It could be brushed off as friends but the position was.... too intimate for friends, the woman was all over him and he was very much into her as well. Now, you realized why Ningguang was potentially crying at that time. You stayed silent and looked at Ningguang with sympathy while she simply let out a bitter chuckle.

"What do you think? They are just friends? That's what I want to believe as well but I have never seen her around him before, we know each other's friend groups well enough. Either she's a new addition during the time I have been away or...."

She trailed off and you noticed tears forming in her eyes. You felt infuriated. She did not deserve this at all.

"....I suggest you should talk to him and clear up things, having doubts and misinterpretating can lead to unnecessary conflicts between you two. You should take some time off from work, I'll handle everything for you, ma'am."

Ningguang pinched her temple and pondered for a moment before nodding, "I know, you are right. But hypothetically speaking, if this is what I think this is then.... what should I do? I....I don't know how to face him."

"You shouldn't think of that possibility, ma'am. He loves you, doesn't he? You should trust that and talk to him openly. I....don't think he would do this to you; you are amazing and so beautiful, it could just be a misunderstanding."

You wanted to comfort her and give her some hope but deep down, you weren't so sure yourself. The picture was too obvious to be misunderstood, but you didn't want to see Ningguang upset. She finally smiled a little and nodded then you helped her stand up and escorted her to her car. She was more drunk now and leaned on your shoulder, wrapping her arms around your body and snuggling into your neck.

"....It's my fault, isn't it? It's all because of how neglectful I have been, I have barely spent any time with him. Everyone says I'm married to my work now, he waits for me every day and I come home late then leave early morning without talking to him at all. This was bound to happen, it's all my fault..."

She was rambling, blaming herself for everything. You hated seeing her this way, you knew how much she loved him. "But...But I have been holding back so much as well. I also have needs! We haven't touched each other in so long....and he goes and finds someone else."

CEO!Ningguang who later talks to her husband and finds out it was a misunderstanding, the woman really was a new friend he made. The smile on her face returned and she became more relaxed, there was no greater joy for you than to see her being happy again. She thanked you for your advice and started having a better work-life balance.

You supported Ningguang even more and sent her home early so she could spend time with him; although, you never stopped doubting him because that photo was way too suspicious and you felt he was lying just to take advantage of her and her money. You became a comfort person for Ningguang, a shoulder to cry on whenever she needed it. She shared with you her personal things and regularly asked for suggestions for her love life.

You thought all things were going well until one day when you came across another photo of him with that same woman from before. Once again, Ningguang was sobbing in her office that night while holding you close and rambling. She revealed that she had planned to talk about having children with him soon and also booked a vacation to spend time together but now she could no longer go about it.

You couldn't see her this way. You comforted her and slowly told her that she should reconsider her marriage. He was cheating on her and using her money. You didn't know if his love was ever real, but you were bound to believe it wasn't. It infuriated you to see such an amazing woman like Ningguang go through this, you wanted to be there for her and help her as much as possible.

She eventually divorced and cut all connections with him and his family, even buying a separate house for herself and sending him far away. You could see her true self returning, she felt liberal and free after all this time. And she wasn't blind to ignore all the help you gave her; spending late nights in her stead to complete her work so she could enjoy.... why were you so supportive of her? She started seeing you differently and wondered if there was more to you.

"You are an idiot, Y/n." Ningguang overheard you talking with a colleague one day during your coffee break and she hid around the corner and listened in.

"Who in their right mind helps patch up the marriage of the woman she loves?! If it was me, I would have used that to come between them and taken her!" your colleague spoke with a chuckle, Ningguang's eyes widening at the statement. You loved her? You did all that.... all the while being in love with her? The time you spent advising her and helping her be with her husband.... you loved her all that time?

"Don't be ridiculous! She.... she loved him and I just wanted to see her happy, even if not with me. Besides, I'm not in her league at all. I'm fine with how things are and now that she's no longer bound to him, she can be herself and do what makes her happy."

Ningguang's heart skipped a beat, you did so much for her just to see her happy.... even her ex-husband never did that. It was always her being the giver in the relationship and she barely received anything in return from him, now she realized the true meaning of love. She realized how blind she had been, there was someone doing everything for her just the way she had been doing for him.

CEO!Ningguang who starts falling for you, seeing you as more than just a secretary or friend. She tries to be around you more, makes you accompany her to more places than before. She invites you to her house under the guise of working, just to spend more time with you because your presence is so comforting to her. She is still recovering from her broken marriage, but with you she feels loved.

She plans to confess in the near future if you don't, and till then tries to understand you better as a person. She realizes how much she has always liked you but was too blinded to see it. But what she didn't see coming was when you handed in your resignation notice one faithful day....

"Resignation? Why all of a sudden? Is the salary not up to your requirements? Is there too much work pressure? I don't see how there isn't any room for negotiation if you find something unsatisfactory here, Y/n." Ningguang was perplexed, almost on the verge of breaking down. Why were you doing this? Were you really going to bury your feelings and leave?

"No ma'am, none of that. Everything is good here; the salary and work environment, I like everything and I don't mind the work pressure either because it's very rewarding."

"Then why? I believe I deserve to hear a proper reason for this. You are one of my oldest and best employees, have you been offered a better deal somewhere else?"

Ningguang attempted to negotiate with you to make you stay; aside from how used to she was to you and your working style, she truly didn't want you to leave.

"....Are you really going to leave just like this? Without even telling me your true feelings?!" Ningguang's voice raised as she paced around the table and stood in front of you, looking at you firmly. You were confused as to what she meant, but she soon answered your doubts.

"This is how your love is, Y/n?! You'll run away without speaking a word?! You also want to leave me?!"

Your eyes widened, how did she know? And why was she being this way? You were about to say something but Ningguang grabbed your collar and pulled you into a passionate kiss, her lips kissed yours feverishly as if she wanted to own you and keep you here forever.

"Don't you dare leave me.... Is that clear?" Ningguang whispered against your lips as she pulled away from the kiss, leaving you breathless and astonished. You had no idea when she found out about your feelings but now that the cat was out of the bag, you didn't want to hold back either.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I....I love you very much, Ms Ningguang. I want to be with you and I promise to treat you well, I want to keep you happy forever."

Teacher!Lisa who is the sweetest and most beloved teacher at your university. Currently in your first year, she teaches you chemistry and let's just say the entire university has a crush on her to some extent, teachers and students alike. A kind, hardworking and sincere woman who has been teaching for 6-7 years now and has never had a complaint against her. But to everyone's vain, she's happily married for 5 years to a man arranged by her parents.

Lisa loves teaching and interacting with her students, she's always ready to put in the extra effort for struggling students and very patiently deals with problematic cases. She's usually soft spoken and pleasant to be around, but anger her and she can be quite strict and terrifying as well even if it's extremely rare to see her that way. As her student, you don't miss any of her classes due to how much you love to attend them.

Lisa eventually became your class tutor and you showed utmost enthusiasm to be the class representative in order to help her, but truthfully you just wanted to be with her more. Your classmates called you a teacher's pet but you didn't care, you genuinely wanted to help Ms Lisa and care for her just like she cares for you. You eventually grow close with her as you spend time outside of classes, doing some work or the other and chatting along.

Lisa rarely talked about her family which wasn't surprising as you were just a student, but you discovered that even with her colleagues she rarely ever shared anything and seemed to dislike the topic altogether. Everyone assumed her marriage was good considering how sweet and lovable she was, she'd make a perfect wife. But little does everyone know her dark reality....

"Ah, Y/n. Do you mind opening the window? It's gotten really warm these days...." Ms Lisa sighed and fanned her face as sweat trickled down her forehead, the two of you were sitting in the staff room during afternoon. She had called you to do some work and you agreed as it was your free lecture; coincidentally, the staff room was also empty right now as other teachers had gone for classes.

You nodded to her and stood up to slide open the nearby window and let the cool breeze flow in. You then turned around to walk back to your place when you saw Ms Lisa remove her coat and pull up her sleeves which caused you to glace at a peculiar cut on her wrist.

"Ma'am, did you get hurt?" you came closer and asked in a concerned tone. She realized where you were pointing and quickly slid her sleeve back down to hide the scar before letting out a forced smile.

"Oh, it's nothing. I accidentally brushed my hair straightener there."

"....I see, please take care of yourself."

You weren't easily convinced that's all it was but you were unable to know more. You worried about her, you hoped everything was fine.

Teacher!Lisa who actually has a toxic good-for-nothing husband living off her hard-earned money. A regular drunkard who lost his job after their marriage, she was forced to marry him because he used to be well off but in reality, he was doing illegal work that eventually got him caught and put on house arrest. She is the sole breadwinner of their household and struggles every day to make ends meet.

Lisa never let anyone know the truth about her marriage, not even her parents. She knew they wanted the best for her when they made her marry him and he did appear to be nice back then. She regularly argues with him and looks after him when she comes home, all the while managing work from the university and her basic duties.

Lisa's husband recently became violent and started hitting her during their arguments. She was coming to her breaking point but she couldn't leave him; after all, she fell in love with him after their marriage. He was handsome and gentlemanly in the beginning; despite being an arranged marriage, they got along and liked each other. She hated seeing him in this state and promised to keep supporting him even when nobody else does.

But everyone has a breaking point, and Lisa was nearing hers too. She hated having to tolerate such treatment every day, she wanted to be a good teacher and be with her students who bring her joy without having to worry about going back to a dreadful home. Then one day, her husband crossed even more borders. Now she had to live with him cheating on her as well? How could she walk into her house just to find another woman in bed with her good-for-nothing husband?

Lisa had no words and packed up her essentials then left, she did not need any explanations or excuses. How could he do that? What did she not do for him? And how is she lacking in appearance or sex drive that he'd go for some random woman? She gave him everything and he never recognized it, she had enough. She found herself at a bus stop, eyes filled with tears and no idea of what to do. That's when a miracle happened.

"Ms Lisa?! What are you doing here at this hour?!" your voice called out to her from behind, and she turned around to see you walk up to her with an excited look.

"I'm just...." she trailed off and your eyes fell on the bag she was carrying, tear stains on her face.

"What happened? Are you okay?" you asked softly and stepped closer, gently caressing her arm.

"...What about you, Y/n? Why are you out so late?" she averted your question.

"O-Oh, I'm just returning from my part-time work. My flat is nearby, would you like to come?"

"Do you live with anyone else?"

"No, it's an independent flat. I.... didn't really want a roommate."

Lisa ponders for a while and eventually agrees to come with you. A humble abode perfect for a single person, she found a strange sense of calmness and comfort in your apartment. You offered her some beverage and you found out she hadn't eaten anything since afternoon, feeling appalled and immediately went to cook for her. She trusted you, she wanted to be away from her life for now.

"Uh, sorry, I don't have too many ingredients right now. I was going to go shopping this weekend, I hope you don't mind pasta...."

Lisa looked at the plate you put in front of her, a small smile appearing on her face. "Pasta is my favorite dish, actually. But it's been a long time since I had it, thank you."

You smiled back, you knew something was up. The cheerful Ms Lisa was strangely quiet, seemingly holding back a lot of her emotions. Eventually, she finally opened up to you and told you everything about her husband- from the abuse to cheating. You were terrified hearing the horrors she faced, yet presented herself to be happy at the university, nobody could guess she faced all of that every day.

You offered her to stay at your place for as long as she wants, and that she should report him to police and talk to her parents. A divorce was the obvious couse of action, but you were in no place to advice that to her. You only hoped to comfort her and provide her a home until this passed. That night, you laid in bed together and Ms Lisa held you as she cried out, eventually falling asleep in your arms. If only she knew how much you loved her, right from the first day you saw her....

Teacher!Lisa who talks to her parents the next day and tells them everything. They feel devastated hearing what their daughter went through, and they assist her in a successful divorce where she gets maintenance claims and a secret property he had. It was a messy court case given the illegal work of the husband, but she triumphed and obtained her justice.

The case went on for a few months and Ms Lisa lived with you all this time. She helped you in your studies and enabled you to become the topper in her class, though she never used any unfair means to help you. It was sometimes hard to hide the fact that you were living together, but you both made it work. Ms Lisa wasn't open for a new relationship yet, It was true she really loved him and it was hard to move on despite all the terrible things he did.

Ms Lisa and you grow closer than ever during the time she lives with you. You act like a happily married couple more than she ever did with her ex-husband. She said she'll do all household chores to pay you for allowing her to live there, though you really didn't mind either way. You cook together, watch movies, laugh and share past memories, study, have shopping dates and what not.

Lisa did not know it yet but she was deeply in love with you, she had forgotten how it felt to be treated with love and given importance. She wondered about your love life now, if you have someone you like or wish to date. You tell her you want to focus on studies and career, but there is indeed someone you like. She becomes curious, even slightly jealous realizing the gap between you and her.

One night, you were out until late drinking with some friends. You returned home in a drunk state and Lisa was ready to tend to you. While she was surprised you had this side to herself, she was more pleased to know more about you and wanted to care for you. She was already an expert in tending to drunkards, and you were unironically so adorable acting as one.

"Ms Lisaaaa~ You are so beautiful, you know thatttt?~" you slurred as she carried you to the bed, chuckling along the way.

"You teach... so welllll.... and you are so sweettttt~"

"Yes yes, I know. You have said that even as sober~" she whispered, laying you down then going to fetch some water for you. You curled up in your pillow and when she came back, you looked so cute to her.

"I love you... Ms Lisa... I love you so much...." you slurred in a drunken state, catching her by surprise.

She smiles and gives you the water then you immediately pass out while hugging her, your head laying on her soft bosom. Lisa caresses your head and kisses your forehead in return, "Say that when you are sober, I'll give you an answer you'll like~"

It was last day of your second year, you still had 2 more years to spend at the university. You wanted to wait till graduation but couldn't anymore, you wanted to confess. And it seems, Ms Lisa was having similar thoughts. Only you both knew how much you held back when you lived under the same roof. You find her in am empty classroom waiting for you.

"I love you, Ms Lisa. I have loved you since last year, and I want to date you. But um... I understand if you don't want to, so please don't feel forced to give me—"

Your words were blocked as Lisa pulled you close and connected her lips with you in a passionate and loving kiss. Her arms wrapped around your neck as she pushed you to the wall and continued kissing, her tongue already slipping in and dancing with yours.

"Took you long enough to say that, Y/n~"

"You... knew? Since when?"

"Hehe, that's my secret~" she winked at you then jumped in for another kiss, completely devouring you this time. She knew you would treat her well, she felt at home with you and she was confident she would love you forever now.

Milf!Rosalyne, a 31-year-old who is your new neighbor. She recently moved to the apartment in front with her husband and 4-year-old son. You were 16 when the family moved in, you welcomed them along with your mother and acted as good neighbors. Rosalyne was a pleasant housewife while her husband worked in the military hence often leaving her and their son home alone.

Rosalyne used to take home tuitions and manage the entire household by herself, you eventually ended up visiting her to help around and just give her company. She was lovely and overall amazing to talk to, you discovered she did the same course you were planning to do and took some advice from her.

You often had dinner at her place on the days her husband was home. You would play with her son and secretly observe how lovey-dovey they were, it was clear they deeply loved each other and nothing could come in between. You used to watch them giggle in the kitchen, cuddle on the sofa and share small kisses throughout the day.

Rosalyne often commented how you were like a helpful big sister for her son as you helped him in studies and played together, which meant she likely saw you as a child which wasn't surprising. She found you mature for your age and admitted liking your company and it was a bonus that her son did too. She was a great mother, extremely loving and supportive.

However, you moved away to another city at 18 for studies for 4 years. Now you have returned as you found a job in your hometown and decided to live in your parent's apartment as they moved out. You harbored a crush on Rosalyne back when you regularly met her, you couldn't help but feel jealous of her husband.

You reminisced your memories of your home as you climbed the steps to your apartment. 4 years passsed yet much didn't change about the place, and you were having a sense of deja-vu. The first thing you noticed was your neighbor's door, hoping the nameplate was still the name you remembered and, it indeed was. You felt happy as well as nervous meeting her again; how was she now? would she have changed in all this time?

Once you settled your things in your apartment, you decided to finally visit the woman you have had a crush on for years. You thought being away for 4 years would make you let go of these feelings, but you never stopped thinking about her. You didn't know what she thought of you, but it was more than likely she would only see you as a friend at most.

You rang her doorbell and waited in anticipation until the door finally opened, and your breath was taken away. She looked as beautiful as the day you first saw her, it felt like you fell in love with her all over again. She scanned your figure from head-to-toe until her eyes widened as she realized who was standing in front.

"Y/n?! Oh my god, it's been so long!" Rosalyne chimed and lunged forward to hug you affectionately, hearing her call your name sent butterflies in your stomach and the hug made your heart skip a beat. You were glad to see she remembered you so fondly.

"It's been long indeed. How have you been, aunty?"

"Awh, stop that. Just call me by my name, I don't want to feel old~" Rosalyne giggled and lightly punched your shoulder before holding your wrist and pulling you inside her house. Her house mostly looked the same, but there was something strangely missing that you couldn't pinpoint. She made you sit on the sofa while she brought some water and snacks for you.

"How is Ray?" that was her son's name.

"Oh, he's been fine. He's at school right now, I'm sure he'd be delighted to see you again!~"

You chatted away as you caught up with each other, you told her you are back to living her as you found a job and she seemed really happy to have you around again.

"How's uncle been? Will he be coming back anytime soon?" you asked in a casual manner, but the answer was unexpected.

"Rostam.... passed away 3 years ago. He died on a field mission."

You didn't know what to say. You observed her looking down with a sad look and touch her wedding ring, likely reminiscing about him. You apologized for speaking that but she assured it was fine, your parents never mentioned that he died 3 years ago otherwise you wouldn't have asked. You felt deeply saddened for her and wondered how she was handling things on her own all this time.

You went back to your place with a happier remark, you offered to help her whenever she required and promised to be there for her. You later on met her son in the evening and had dinner at her place, it felt just like old times for you and you were glad she was still here and you could meet her.

Milf!Rosalyne who works multiple jobs a week to make ends meet. The military provides for the housing out of respect for her husband's service, but she has to look after everything else on her own. She takes tuitions on the weekend and works as a receptionist in a hotel during the week, also doing some additional online work whenever she can.

She had wished to find a job related to her degree but all those jobs require long working hours away from home and she couldn't do that, her son was her first priority. She was fortunate to have a pretty face and a model-like figure even at her age, but it was also a curse sometimes in this field of work.

You ended up meeting her at her place of work one day, you had come there for a meeting. You were shocked to discover she had to work this kind of job now, you really wished to help her. You tried asking your boss if there was an opening but they were not hiring, and Rosalyne also denied due to the unsuitable work hours but she appreciated your thought.

Rosalyne also faced problems in dating life now. To no surprise, not many people were willing to get together with a 37 year old single mother. Some expressed disgust without even bothering to know what happened to her husband, while some were unwilling to take on the responsibilty of a child so soon. She had not moved on from her husband but she was trying for her son's sake, to give him a father. But none of the people she met made it easy for her.

It was a Saturday evening and you were planning to stay home to rest. You had been working a lot ever since you moved here and hadn't got much time for yourself, you even weren't able to meet Rosalyne as much as you had hoped to. An unexpected ring of your doorbell called you to the front door and you find none other than Rosalyne standing with a soft smile on her face.

"Are you free by any chance today, Y/n?"

"Oh, sure I am. Do you need some help?"

"Well.... want to hangout together at my place? We can order some food and just watch some movie or show if you'd like."

Your eyes widened in surprise at her invitation, you were ready to accept right away but didn't want to appear too eager.

"Ah, that would be great. But what about Ray?"

"I sent him to my mother's place for the weekend. He had been wanting to visit for some time."

You suddenly became nervous realizing you'd be alone with her at her house. You accepted and made your way to her apartment, you offered to bring some food out of respect but she assured you it was fine and that you can order whatever you like. You ordered some pizza and snacks, while Rosalyne also bought out the wine she had and offered you a glass.

Now, here you were sitting on her couch with wine in hand and watching some random movie you both agreed upon. You had not talked much all this time, you mainly exchanged some work stories and vented frustrations. Rosalyne shared some things about her son that happened to him at school, she always appeared so happy to talk about him. She really was a great mother.

Some time passed and more wine later, she was clearly tipsy. She leaned on your shoulder and was in a soppy state now as she started venting about how hard things have been for her in finding a new partner, and the constant harrassment she faces at work yet nobody is ready for a serious relationship as soon as they hear about her son.

"Tell me, Y/n.... what am I lacking? There's all these men who flirt with me all day but the moment I set up dates and reveal the truth, they all leave.... How is it so wrong for a 37 year old single mother to find someone new?!"

She was babbling in a drunken state while holding you. There was absolutely nothing lacking in her, she was perfect in your eyes and you wouldn't even think twice about dating her, heck even marrying her. You wanted to be there for her not just as a friend but more. But you had no idea if she ever saw you that way, or if she even liked women in the first place and how her son would react to that.

"I never wanted this, Y/n.... what did I do wrong? Ray doesn't deserve this, I want to give him a complete family.... I want to have a complete family.... But Rostam... he betrayed me...."

You were caught by surprise, "Betray you? What do you mean, Rosalyne?"

"He.... he cheated on me, I found out he cheated on me years ago after Ray was born. He hid it all this time.... I discovered this at his funeral.... I don't know what to think, I can't even remember him the same way anymore.... How could he?! What did I do to deserve this....?"

She was crying while holding you now. You felt anger rise in you hearing this secret, it was quite unbelievable to you he did that when you recall how lovey-dovey they used to be and Rostam seemed like a good man. Your desire to support and love her increased even more now, you couldn't bear seeing her in this state. So much happened to her while you were away, you wished you were here.

"No! Nothing is wrong with you and you are not lacking anything! You are beautiful and strong! You are an amazing mother, Ray loves you very much! You have been so resilient all this time, I actually admire you so much for doing everything on your own. I.... Please know I'll help you! In any way! Please don't put yourself down this way, Rosa!"

You chanted before hugging her tightly, trying to convery how serious you were and really wanted her to be well. You pulled away to look at her and saw her face reddened up as she gazed at you with a needy look before placing her hands on your shoulders and leaning close.

"Any way? Then.... date me, Y/n." You were shocked beyond belief but the next thing she did was worse. She leaned in and softly kissed you, it was a gentle kiss at first then you felt her push you down and straddle you then kiss deeper. You knew this was wrong, she was clearly drunk and swept away by her emotions. But the feeling of her lips on yours made you entranced, you have wanted to kiss her for so long.

"Yes... you will be good. Ray likes you too... I can explain to him.... Be with me, Y/n, please?"

She pulled you closer by your collar and went in for another kiss, you didn't expect to make out with her this way. You felt she was being desperate by choosing you this way, you could tell she likely didn't love you and wanted you just for her son's sake as you are the only one who gave her attention and expressed willingness. Rosalyne passed out before you could answer her, and you almost felt relieved.

Rosalyne apologized to you the next day for all her actions, she genuinely felt guilty for all the things she said and did. It gave you enough indication that she really didn't like you romantically and that you stood no chance. You forgave her rather easily, you really couldn't complain experiencing that. She saw you as a good friend and you'd try to maintain that.

However, your feelings started overwhelming you and you tried to make some distance from her for some time to be able to move on and remain a friend. You ended up ghosting her texts and calls, and also rejecting all her invites to spend time together by making up some excuse for work.

Rosalyne felt you were avoiding due to that day, and she hated that so much. You were the only one she had, she didn't realize when she started liking you romantically. She knew it was wrong of her to use you but she didn't mean to, she wanted to make amends and do things right. She couldn't bear being away from you.

"Y/n, may I borrow some rice?" Rosalyne came to your house one day asking for some rice like a good neighbor.

"O-Oh sure, come in." you subsconsciously let her inside and asked her to come to the kitchen. She watched you take out the rice then silently walked up to you and hugged you from behind, catching you off guard.

"R-Rosalyne?"

"I'm sorry.... I'm so sorry for that day, Y/n. I know I did something very wrong, but please don't punish me this way..... You have become so distant, so closed off, you avoid me so much. You can hate me all you want, but please don't leave me.... not you too, please...."

Her arms tightened around you and you could tell she was weeping. You hated seeing her in this state, you never wanted to make her cry.

"....I can never hate you, Rosalyne. And I'm not ignoring you because of that. It's just.... I like you. No, I love you. I love you very much, I have loved you for years. I loved you 6 years ago too.... I want to be there for you and help you, I really do. But... I need some time to move on and forget these feelings so that I can be a true friend for you...."

Rosalyne let go of the hug and enabled you to turn around to face her. Her eyes were filled with tears, a tear rolled down her cheek and you gently smiled then wiped it away and cupped her face.

"I don't expect you to love me, it's okay. But just.... give me some time. I'm not strong enough to move on from you if you keep doing these things...."

Rosalyne's heart skipped a beat and before she knew it, her body moved on it's own to push you towards the counter as her lips relentlessly seeked yours. Her arms wrapped around your neck and she passionately kissed you, this time she was completely sober and knew what she was doing. You kissed for god knows how long, you were a panting mess by the time she stopped.

".....I love you too, Y/n. I want to be together because I love you and not for Ray's sake. I want to spend the rest of my life with you...."