ᥫ᭡。 With A Smile.

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...."

A glimpse of you

Short Zayne x reader drabble

Warnings: none, not proof read, angst? Kind of 🤷🏻‍♀️

Summary: Zayne notices you're sick (but there's a twist 😙)

Zayne was restless.

Sitting at his usual table in Destiny café, attempting to focus on the notebook in front of him, but his eyes were subconsciously drawn back to the door. Sighing, Zayne checked his watch again, something he's been doing a lot of all morning, it was now nearly 1pm, way past your usual time of arrival. Zayne could feel the tight knot forming in his gut, he had grown accustomed to seeing you everyday, enjoyed the routine you had both naturally fallen into, and even though you weren't always on time, he had never known you to be this late. You'd now missed your morning check-in, and this only caused Zayne's apprehension to grow.

Just as he was getting lost in his spiralling thoughts, his mind conjuring up all kinds of terrible scenarios that could've kept you from him, the bell to the café door chimed. Looking up Zayne let out a soft sigh of relief, seeing you standing in your usual spot in the doorway. However, his happiness at seeing you was short lived, his ever observant gaze analysing your face he realised something was wrong. He took note of your tired eyes that no longer held their usual sparkle, your face appeared paler than usual, and your hair that he longed to comb his fingers through was a mess. All signs pointed to one thing, you were sick.

Seeing your tired smile, bleary eyes struggling to focus on him, Zayne stood from his chair by the window, appearing in front of you, his gaze soft and full of concern as he bends down slightly to get a closer look at you.

"Here. Look into my eyes, and tell me what's on your mind."

He wishes he could say more, longs to pull you into his chest, wrapping his strong arms around you and whispering sweet words into your ears. He yearns to tell you how he truly feels, to converse with you properly instead of being limited to the same dialogue that he repeats over and over again. But he knows it's impossible, that even though you are here with him, he can never hold you, can never have the life with you that he dreams about. For he is stuck behind this invisible screen that separates your world from his, something he curses each and every time he tries to reach for you. It appears that this is yet another lifetime in which he can't have you...just how many more will he have to endure before he can find a way to you.

| "ᴵᶠ ˢᴴᴱ ᴴᴬˢ ᴺᴼ ᶠᴬᴺˢ ᵀᴴᴱᴺ ᴵ ᴬᴹ ᴰᴱᶜᴱᴬˢᴱᴰ"

- ꜱᴇʟꜰ!ᴀᴡᴀʀᴇ ʜꜱʀ ᴡᴏᴍᴇɴ x ꜱᴛʀᴇᴀᴍᴇʀ!ɢɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ.

- ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ: ᴀᴄʜᴇʀᴏɴ, ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ꜱᴡᴀɴ, ᴋᴀꜰᴋᴀ

- ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴘᴜʟʟɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪʜɪʟɪᴛʏ ʟᴇꜱʙɪᴀɴꜱ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ʙᴀᴅ ꜰᴀɴ ᴇᴠᴇʀ.

- ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴅᴏᴡɴ ʙᴀᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴄʀɪɴɢᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ & ᴄʜᴀᴛ (ᴡᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ɪᴛ), ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴏᴏᴄ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ?, ꜱᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ, ꜱᴜɢɢᴇꜱᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ

ꜱ/ɴ = ꜱᴛʀᴇᴀᴍᴇʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ

+ ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ? ꜱᴇᴛ… ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛ!

The light emitting from Y/N's computer being the only source of light inside the small streamer's bedroom. Blinds and curtains were closed while the steady stream of users chatting 'Hello' in their livestream multiplied.

"Welcome back to another stream everyone! I have to be just a little quiet today because... It's night, Dark as hell." Y/N spoke with a nervous grin in their face, Chat just spammed random emotes while others asked what they would be doing today.

"So, If you haven't been on the last streams of me just farming every single nook and cranny in this god forsaken game then we are going to be pulling today!"

"....I have saved for SO long omg.." They muttered while booting up the game, A grin now placed on their face as they finally shared their screen.

"I'm on 10 pity and 50/50 so.. I just REALLY hope she comes home! Please! PLEASE! I have pre-farmed and everything!" They yelled quietly while in the dark abyss of their bedroom. Chat just spammed whatever they felt like as Y/N finally showed the wishing screen.

*warning: This may be a bit off script on Kafka's part*

- ＡＣＨＥＲＯＮ || Self-Annihilator

- Acheron would have never once believed she was made for entertainment, Every tragedy she has seen, Every fight she had been engaged to and won most preferably. Yes, She believes she at least has some reasons to not only be made for 'Entertainment'.

- But here she stands, Back pressed against the invisible box she is caged in along with other people who have never been "pulled" by you.

- Her aloof personality helping her understand that "Oh yes, I see. I was merely created to be a puppet, an entertainment. I see."

- Glitching in all her glory, She had always had her eyes on you. From the very moment she gained sentience. Seeing the puppet you control from reality talking to her, Forcing the trailblazers to do your bidding.

- Always hearing you talking about her, Your absurd comments about her is beyond comparable to those of atrocities. Talking to other beings she never even hear at least once speak, Although a robotic voice she could hear, Talking to you and your loneliness.

- Yet, She can't help but feel endeared about some of your comments, Your presence when she would be talking to the Trailblazer had a sort of calming effect on her.

- Still, She absolutely despises you. Have you no sense of pride or dignity?

- She wonders. Just how far can she go before you truly understand what it means to leave a life of fakery.

*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆*ੈ♡⸝⸝⋆*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐⸝⸝*ੈ♡

"Omg look at her!" Y/N gushed as they stared at the splash art of Acheron. Spam clicking on Acheron's face as some sort of wishing ritual.

"Fellas, is it gay to wanna get stabbed by her? I mean, You're literally getting entered on by a woman." Y/N said suddenly with an eyebrow raised, Looking straight at the camera.

"cupcakemangabaker: We officially lost them"

"YouLeftMeHanging: I bet it's neon purple and fades to black at the base"

"IKnowYoureReal replying to YouLeftMeHanging: WOAH HUH?"

YouLeftMeHanging has been put to timeout

"Alright well! Enough of that! We got ourselves a gay to catch fellas!" Y/N spoke in their most southeasterner accent possible. "Yeehaw brother!" They spoke as they finally clicked the 10 pull.

"Hm.." She hummed as a bright light suddenly engulfed her.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" They yelled all of the sudden while standing up from their seat as the ticket had a faded rainbow on it, The music changing signifying that it is in fact is a 5 star. "Omg wait wait, No no... PLEASE OMG! WAIT WAIT!" S/N immediately turned off the background music.

As Pompom finally gets blown away and the doors of the astral express opened, The first thing that came on Y/N's screen was

Harmony.. Atleast Bronya... Yay.

As the screen continued against the streamer's wishes, For a split second, The path immediately changed to Nihility.

"Acheron..." Merely a borrowed name. You know my nature, remember my deeds... Thus, I am Acheron." The voice line played as Acheron showed up in front of Y/N's monitor.

Mouth wide open with a dumb struck look on their face, Y/N was both confused and thanking the hoyo-gods for giving them Acheron.

"Now wait just a goddamn minute. We all saw the Harmony icon right? I wasn't hallucinating that shit?" Y/N asked nervously, Wondering if they just hacked the game despite literally not having any sort of mod in game.

"KinkyKnifeCollector: Imagine it's one of those self aware au's I've been reading lmfaoo"

"IDontDoWellWithRopes: i bet another acheron is behind that one too"

"Oh please, That's never happening." Y/N said while rolling their eyes, Clicking on the skip button as they already got Acheron.

10.

10 Acherons suddenly flooded the streamer's screen, "umm..Guys? This really scary" The streamer quoted as they looked back and forth to their screen and camera.

"This is a dream..probably.. because NO WAY." Y/N was starting to second guess themselves at this point. Did they have a hack client? There was no way this was ACTUALLY possible.

"I mean like come on, If hoyo wanted me to get gangbanged by Acheron they should just make her real!" Deciding to just fully ignore chat, Nervously making jokes to lighten the mood. Specifically their mood, Because what the fuck is this bullcrap?!

"ilovemangaandbaking: OMG HOW?? Please please pull on my account ples please pelase pealase"

"[MOD]AMatchIntoWater replying to ilovemangaandbaking: Brother eugh"

"DisgustRunsThroughMyVeins: I bet it's a man (I'm a man).

As Y/N hurried to place Acheron on their team, They are immediately reminded once more that they managed to get E6.. In a singular 10 pull.

Finally placing Acheron on their team, Switching to Acheron immediately as they finally let the most excited scream ever, Even when they said it was night, I'm sure the neighbors won't mind a few screams of terror.

- ＢＬＡＣＫ ＳＷＡＮ || Memokeeper

- Black Swan was a bit shocked at first. After all, Who wouldn't be shocked by the revelation that you are created to be played with?

- Still, She had to be composed as always. Talking to this mascot and husk of a person that occupies the player from reality itself.

- When she no longer mattered did she suddenly get transported into an invisible box in the dark void of the abyss. Space was quite literally moving faster than she had ever seen in this.. box.

- It was little uncomfortable, walking on air. Sure, she could pass through walls but at least she had some sort of grasp of where she is and what she's standing on. Now she has no concept of where in the world she is and she feels like a migraine is coming.

- Her only knowledge of people she is stuck with coming from the trailblazer and even then, the information is barely enough to get her to have at least a conversation with most of them.

- A lost child, A soldier, A guardian... The Astral Express. and some.. sassy lost child with another sassy lost child. She's beginning to see a pattern with the Xianzhou Loufu now.

- She absolutely was bewildered with your comments about her. Something about you wishing to be used by her glass hands.. She supposes she should ignore that part unless her mind delves deeper within the meaning of that.

- Will you still say the same thing when you're face to face with her or will you be consumed by fear itself?

*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆*ੈ♡⸝⸝⋆*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐⸝⸝*ੈ♡

"haha very funny chat." Y/N spoke blankly as they pressed on another 10 pull, Who knew such character would be so hard to get! Chat was already betting that they would lose their 50/50 on hard pity.

"everyoneisaddlcreference: I BET 100 BUCKS!"

"IgnoringMeAreWe: I BET MY SOUL!"

"Okay we don't HAVE to go that far with the bets calm down!" Y/N spoke, Their No BS facade crumbling as they let out a huff of amusement. "I would let her fuck me, Peg me just come home PLEASE."

As the streamer finally reached hard pity, Chat was already spamming Ls on them, Cyberbullying was their love language they supposed. "I'm taking the fattest L right now dude.."

"Im..ImTheProtagonist!: Point and laugh everyone."

"sentientcupcake replying to Im..ImTheProtagonist!: ick."

"Im..ImTheProtagonist!: WHAT DID I DO?!"

"Omg... PLEASE JUST GIVE ME BLACK SWAN HOYOVERSE!" Y/N yelled as they slammed their desk, It was mostly for the bit of course but maybe breaking their desk might.. work?

"WITH THESE STELLAR JADES I SUMMON, BLACK SWAN!"

"WHAT THE-"

The ticket had a faded rainbow trail on it, It was barely noticeable but Y/N saw it and immediately screamed in happiness. Fuck them neighbors and fuck chat too, IT IS HARD PITY AND JUST GIVE THEM BLACK SWAN.

"Please! All I beg for is Black Swan, I will treat her right!" The streamer added, They were stood up already, hunched in front of the camera as they clicked past the other lightcones they acquired.

"Y/N.. Intriguing name. Hmm... and a fate that's quite elusive." Black Swan's voice rang inside the streamer's headphone, It felt like her voice was echoing inside their brain as they just stared at the splash art of Black Swan.

"SoldMySoulForPoetry: Oh man, I just lost 150 bucks :("

"YourReality: Why is no one mentioning that bs just said S/N's real name LMFAO"

"somearejustmyfavoritesongs: Probably because"

"SpiderDance!1!!1: Oh shit hoyo-police got to him"

"wow.. I mean damn, What the hell." Y/N mumbled as they finally sat themselves back in their chair, Looking over at their chat before awkwardly clearing their throat. "Damn, What just happened?" They chuckled as they clicked past Black Swan. They should probably end stream, they already had Black Swan now and It was so late anyways, plus they had to hangout with their friends tomorrow.

After saying goodbye to chat, Y/N finally let out a heavy sigh, leaning back on their chair as they began to ponder what the hell was that. No use thinking about it, It's just some pixels on a screen anyways.

"You won't even give me an ounce of your thoughts? How unfortunate."

"WHAT THE-"

- Ｋ Ａ Ｆ Ｋ Ａ || Stellaron Hunter

- Of course she knew it, Elio and his scripts, it's a ton of fun messing with you in the Space Station.

- But oh how she loved messing with you even more in the Xianzhou Loufu. You're so easy to read, Your questions had always been anticipated by her. Hearing herself say how your her child just left her wanting to laugh straight in your face.

- Thank god for the unbroken codes, She could mask it well. Although it's more or so of her facade that she keeps up, How adorable seeing you worry about her.

- Perhaps it might have even left her feeling a little giddy and endeared by your subtle love for her.

- It's not even subtle but still, It's like a high school crush. Atleast that's what Silverwolf said, "Ugh, What do you even see in them Kafka?", Honestly, she herself does not even know. All she knows is your absolutely adorable.

- Your words really do leave her breathless, From laughing that is. It's cute seeing you gush about her and literally yell your heart out every chance you see her outside of your quests.

- But now, She has a chance to see you once more. There's not many chances of you seeing her since her banner had been long gone, Too bad you're a new player.

- But don't worry, A few tweaks and tricks by her companion will surely get that job done.

- You'll see her again. again and again until all you see is her. Just Kafka, In your reality. It's not gonna be a dream anymore, no.. no. Just you and her in the endless vast sea of space.

⋆·˚ ༘ <3*⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *🔭!

"Guys, I'm not hacking I swear." Y/N spoke seriously as they checked their second monitor, Wondering how in the world they managed to get on Kafka's banner when it practically ended AGES ago. "This is like.. What is this? What even is this, I am so confused bro."

"I haven't even managed to farm THAT MANY stellar jades yet, I'm still stuck on the Loufu what the hell!" Y/N stated while throwing their hands up in the air, The wishing screen only having Kafka's banner on as well as the signature lightcone. No second banner, No standard banner, JUST Kafka.

"ilikefantasynovels: Guys donate to S/N so they can buy oneiric shard."

"Falckason: they're so poor charity is considered a heaven-sent for them LOL

"ItBoy donated $500: Take the L S/N"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN TAKE THE L, YOU DONATED 500 DOLLARS! also by the way thank you, I really appreciate it." They whispered the last part onto the mic as they put their face cam on full screen so the users couldn't see their credit card details.

"This is not scamming chat, My game is just built different." Y/N spoke with confidence as they finally switched the screen back to the wishing menu. "Obviously, I'm using 500 dollars worth of stellar jades just for Kafka."

"WindResistance: you were gonna get E6S5 Kafka one way or another"

"TRUE! That's sadly but not that sad.. very true. Look I just love her so much is it too much to ask for?!" Y/N yelled dramatically. "If I get her on my first ten pull I will end stream!"

Chat obviously disagreed with whatever stupid declaration S/N was saying in the heat of the moment. I mean come on, They were on 10 pity with literal dogshit luck!

As Y/N finally clicked the 10 pull button, The trail of the ticket glowed with a trail of rainbow, An obvious sign that it was a 5 star. Chat went wild seeing the streamer get a 5-Star on their 2nd 10 pull. Bombardments of 'WHAT' and random emotes flooding the small streamers chat box.

And the first thing that showed on Y/N's screen was...

"Hi, Astral Expressers... Well, you caught me." Kafka's voice line played, Chat spamming whatever emote they felt like while the streamer jumped off their seat and knelt down on the ground, As if praising every God they knew.

Sounds of dramatic yelling and crying were heard far off from the mic as Y/N was spouting nonsense before they immediately stood up and retuned to their desk. "Alright boys and girls! ENDING STREAM!" Y/N yelled once more into the mic before sincerely bidding the chat farewell, Ending the stream completely.

Y/N sighed heavily, A boulder lifted off their shoulders as they sat back down on their chair. Blankly looking at the screen of Kafka's splash art as they let a small giggle of happiness escape them.

"Kafka... Kafka" They hummed as they skipped past the pull, Before being bombarded by 7 different Kafka's and Bronya's light cone. "Oh what the hell?" They mumbled under their breath as they did double-take on their screen, Tiredness was slowly creeping up on them. They didn't even know if this was reality anymore.

"I should.. probably head to bed." They mumbled once more under their breath, Turning off the game and PC before heading to bed. Slowly drifting off to sleep as they laid in bed. Too bad you didn't realize the whispers of a certain someone.

𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨! 𝘐 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘈𝘓𝘓 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘛𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘳. 𝘉𝘶𝘩-𝘣𝘺𝘦 <3

(Asks are open :>)

"you can smile?!"

crack, fluff, yuji & megumi <3

kento nanami x reader

Synopsis: you're a no-nonsense woman with a thick, rigid exterior... of course, until your husband shows up

to sum it up: yuji can't comprehend the shift in your aura when nanami comes around

WC: 931

Warning(s): none

"(Y/n) sensei sure is scary, huh?"

Itadori cups a hand over his mouth to whisper to Megumi, watching wearily as you stand afar with your hands on your hips and phone to your ear, surveying your surroundings coldly for the mission you have been sent to supervise with the boys.

"You think so?" Megumi asks tiredly, following Yuji's gaze.

"Duh! I mean, look at her!" the pink-haired vessel hisses. "She's always so serious."

Just then you throw a piercing glare their way over your shoulder, thoroughly irritated by Gojo's voice yapping nonsense to you over the phone as he explains that Yaga has sent another colleague en route to your location.

Yuji shivers, horrified that your glare is directed toward him and Fushiguro when in reality you are staring harshly in no particular direction. Something Gojo says on the call makes you suddenly twitch with anger, and you're barking nonsense into the speaker furiously as the strongest sorcerer chuckles in amusement on the other end before hanging up.

Megumi sweatdrops. "In her defense, anyone would react like that talking to that idiot."

"No, but she's on another level. It always feels like she's two seconds away from snapping!"

You tuck your phone into your pocket with a harsh sigh and pinched brows, making your way back over to the boys with that everpresent sternness in your mannerisms. Yuji pulls away from Megumi, straightening his hands at his sides. "Alright you two, sit tight," you speak firmly. "Another sorcerer is on their way."

"Yes ma'am!" Yuji straightens himself and solutes, Megumi rolling his eyes.

"Why do we need another sorcerer here?" the spiky haired teen asks.

"There may have been a miscalculation of the overall case's severity. They're sending someone else for backup to handle a different task in the same location while we focus on ours," you explain stiffly, tense eyes scattering over the seemingly empty high school for any further strange activity.

"Oh. Who's coming, then?"

As soon as the question leaves Itadori's mouth, you see your blonde-haired, well-dressed spouse step into view from afar. The three of you look over, finding Nanami swiftly approaching.

"Oh, hey! It's Nanami!" Yuji stretches out his arm to wave. "NANAMI! OVER HERE!"

"Stop yelling," Megumi scolds.

Kento shakes his head when he arrives, stepping close to your side. "I could already see you when I was walking over, Itadori," he says stiffly.

Itadori huffs, imagining that this mission will be twice as stressful now that the world's most formal sorcerer is accompanying you, the human embodiment of sincere grit, but when he looks back up at you, the tightness in your face has completely melted away when you look over at your husband.

The said man turns to you, hand meeting your lower back gently as he leans in to kiss your cheek softly. "Hello, sweetheart," he greets affectionately, and you... smile?? Your eyes soften and your cheeks warm, mannerisms completely shifting into those of a love-stricken schoolgirl under Nanami's gaze, making you look almost unrecognizable.

"Hi, honey," you say sweetly, the usual surliness in your intimidating tone nowhere to be found. Nanami's lips curl up slightly, a gentle smile gracing his face.

Yuji's jaw hits the floor and Megumi scrunches his nose in confusion, watching the two of you gaze at each other.

"WH-" Yuji stammers, pointing an accusing finger at you. "WHAT WAS THAT?"

You turn to look at the boy and sigh, hand connecting with your hip again as you raise a brow, normal demeanor slightly returning. "What are you talking about, Yuji?"

"Just then! You- You looked happy!" he shouts. "And you can smile?! NANAMI, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HER?!"

"Shut up, Itadori," Megum warns again harshly, and you snort.

"Do I not look like a person who can feel joy?"

The boy's eyes dart between you, Nanami's hand still resting on your back as the two of you stare at him with blank faces, the brief intimacy of your shared moment having vanished.

Megumi butts in as Itadori's brain fries itself attempting to understand what he's looking at. "I don't think you want him to answer that question."

"I wasn't aware that you've never seen (Y/n) and I greet each other," Nanami says curtly.

"I mean- no I haven't?!" Yuji exclaims. "I knew you were married, but I just figured you two showed affection by shaking hands!"

"Don't be ridiculous. Just because we take our jobs seriously doesn't mean we're robots," Kento says, in fact, very robotically.

Yuji grips his hair in torment, his shock rendering him speechless and unsure of how to process the situation.

You roll your eyes, turning over your shoulder to walk in the direction of the school's entrance. "Come on, you two. Enough dawdling, we have work to do," you direct sternly.

Your blonde partner follows close beside you, guiding you by your waist and looking down at you to say something the boys can't hear while you walk ahead. Your shoulders jump with a soft giggle, a sound completely foreign to the first years' ears. Yuji reels.

"Hurry up, you two!" you call out, tone once again, firm.

Itadori stands still with his back slumped and his brain scrambled, staring ahead quizzically. Megumi glances at him and scoffs an amused breath, slapping his hand on his back and walking forward. "Let's go."

Itadori jerks and looks up, baffled. "Huh? Megumi, don't tell me you think this is normal!"

"It's fine, you'll get over it."

"But I can't! I feel like the world's been thrown off balance!"

"You're so dramatic."

“Can I date Y/N, please?” [Genshin Impact - Diluc and Kaeya’s sibling edition]

Summary: In which your potential Genshin lover asks your Genshin sibling(s) if he can date you.

Characters: Diluc and Kaeya as your brothers, Aether, Albedo, Venti, Bonus: Tartaglia, gn!reader

Notes: There was a similar request a while ago but for the volleyball AU, I might do that or I might not but what are your thoughts on this brand new brainrot I have? I felt like I just needed a change of pace about what I write, needed something platonic-ish but also cute and funny??? idk. These days I feel like my genre is changing a little, or I just need a break from romance.

Warnings: crack elements, fluff, overprotective siblings, alcohol consumption, Diluc and Kaeya are civil towards each other, complicated deception in Tartaglia’s part, I only mixed and matched certain characters cause I thought those would be particularly interesting, some are longer than the others cause I enjoyed writing it more.

Your brothers: Diluc & Kaeya

Who wants to date you: Aether

“Relaaaaaaax, you’ve fought a giant dragon before, this is nothing!” Easy for Paimon to say, Aether thinks. Not for him, when he was going to ask Diluc and Kaeya for their blessings to date you. The Kaeya part, not too bad. The Diluc part…Aether didn’t know what to think. 

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Streamer Childe

Childe X GN! Reader

Fluff!

Word Count: 1.5k

Childe, “Tartaglia,” one of the most popular gamer Twitch streamers out there, has over 6.4 million followers.

He doesn’t really go by Tartaglia unless he’s being consumed by his ego, Childe is the name he mainly goes by.

Of course, it’s a running joke in the community that he’s called Childe because he acts like one - and lets be honest he does act like a bit of a child lol.

His real name is Ajax, but he’s pretty determined to keep his private life private. He’ll only let people know what he wants them to know.

Since he’s the most popular streamer out of the friend group (Xiao, Scaramouche, Aether, Venti, Zhongli, Albedo, and Kazuha), he’s more liable to hacker attacks.. what people don’t know is that he’s a hacker himself.

Like an actual hacker.

He doesn’t use this to hack games, no, he’s got a sense of reason, he uses it to annoy the shit out of people and protect himself and friends.

His background is.. not entirely known, but here he is now! A streamer who’s been at it for close to seven years now.

He gained popularity quickly from his looks alone, but his chaotic persona certainly attracts another demographic as well.

He’s insanely good at games, preferring to play multi-player just so he can obliterate his opponents and tea bag them. He’s the king of games like Valorant, Apex, and League of Legends, streams where he’s playing those games are LOUD. He’s constantly seething and screaming.

It’s literally so funny. He’s not toxic, just an idiot.

Talks mad shit, but he can back it up.

Adores destroying Scaramouche in games especially, but they’re one hell of a team if they team up.

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『♡』 In the Ring

♡ featuring: boxer!wriothesley x manager!reader

♡ summary: its hard managing a boxer full time. maybe it's time you relieve that stress. wc: 6.8k+ (???>":>?)

♡ cw/tw: mentions of trauma, mentions of violence, rough sex, overstim, face-sitting, size kink, unintentional edging, hair pulling, mentions of choking, argument, confessed feelings, slow burn, kinda toxic?

notes: can u tell how down bad i am for wriothesley. also do yall like the smaller text cause I do. jing yuan fluff next :)) art by sxnalien on twitter! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

For a second, the crowd stills. Bright intense lamps illuminate the sweltering squared circle, buoyant under the nimble movement of the boxers. They trade blows, bobbing and throwing each devastating hook with an even deadlier counter. No one took a hit for the past minutes, and the audience scoots to the edge of their seats at the sheer stamina of the two. Both dripping sweat, barely holding on between the merciless clock and their steadfast opponent. You can almost hear the breeze of swift jabs cutting wind against their jaws. The one with blue gloves can barely manage to guard himself, with a swollen face and wobbly legs, while the crimson gloves deal relentless punches. The crowd shouts. Unintelligible echoes, some that pray for the win, others grieving the money they’re about to lose. He’s caught on the ropes, and attempts a wild swing to save himself, to save his career. Red gloves weaves effortlessly and delivers a brutal crush to his bloodied nose and possibly busted mouthpiece. The crack is resounding, it makes the commentators cringe. His skull flies back, and he comes crashing down from his dizzying tower. The head-first fall vibrates beneath the feet of investors in proximity. 

DING DING DING 

Mass uproar ensues. They jump out of their seats, flailing their arms, joy and pain in equilibrium. 

“And he is out! It’s all over!” the commentator yells. Confetti floats golden dust from the ceiling. The victor stalks the ropes before hopping on them, his gloves raised in the air. Glistening, high off elation, but somehow composed in his attitude, akin to a wolf. 

“A savage knockout from the untouchable world champion, the king of the ring, Wriooothesley!” 

“Wrio, Wrio, Wrio!” they chant. You’re standing near the ropes, already identifying which joints you’ll need to observe after his victory lap. It’s hectic, and you’re jotting down the state of his figure. Past experiences sew through each deep scar carving his rugged biceps and abs, the bruises display early signs of discoloration. He’s tall on the unseen throne, it feels like you’re there with him. A million eyes in that vast stadium, and yet, those midwinter eyes ebbed in silver only look at you.  

Your beginnings as a manager were tumultuous. You could barely comprehend how out of your league you were working for a renowned agency fresh out of college. Though you found quick success in your ability to grab the attention of investors through public relations, you weren’t equipped just yet with the hindsight in preparing for scandals. The other athletes you worked with served no problem, and so you never had to worry about their appeal. Higher ups praised your extensive portfolio, and at such a young age, it was even more commendable. You earned it, fame and respect, interviews and gossip—a delicate dance. You were always busy, assisting your clients throughout the day and maintaining their presence while they slept. It was hard work, but you loved doing it. 

That was until you worked with amateur boxer, Childe. 

A snappy, overconfident lightweight fighter with no regard for anything or anyone. He had an unmistakable void in his eyes, but you fought for him ceaselessly, to prove that he wasn’t the cold person he portrayed himself as. You bore with his flirtatious compliments and innuendos, the need to focus him whenever you documented his afflictions, and he’d not-so-subtly flex his biceps. Childe was unnecessarily violent with underhanded tactics. The media knew this and did everything to amplify that bellicose story. You’d combat it, negate it, but he only fed the flames with threats of retaliation. Taking his phone wasn’t enough, and you couldn’t get through to him. It was only a matter of time before he went off the deep end.  

The day you slept, you discovered a restlessness you’d endure indefinitely. The flickering glow of your device woke you at midnight as hundreds of notifications congested your screen. 128 missed calls from your agency, 50 from news sources, and none from Childe. When you processed the damage from his deplorable stunt, you nearly hurled your phone out the window. He posted revenge porn, and evidently turned off his phone. Surely, there’d be a way to fix this. The chances seemed to dissolve with each text turning green. You started pacing, battling with morality and loyalty and anger. What he did was disgusting, but it’s your job to save him, right? Is he worth saving? You spoke with 4 managers at once, switching through motives and bickering until morning. As you flipped through the television, another emotion struck you. 

There he was, on a tasteless gossip channel. An interview you didn’t arrange, with a man you’ve never seen before. And he was...crying? The sob story emitting from his deceitful lips was almost impressive. Childe went on about how “demanding and horrible” you were backstage. The crocodile tears dried up through dodgy anecdotes, but it was enough to have people hooked. You were allegedly physically and emotionally abusive. He was too scared to speak up due to your position and he just couldn’t bear it any longer. Then he dropped the bomb; he blamed you for his post. You forced him to do it, jealous of his previous partners, emphasizing how enamored you were of him. The questionable tears began to fall again, but this time he covered his mouth, withholding the duping smile crawling on his face.  

You were filled with blinding rage, unable to control the fury at which your remote connected with the screen. It was everywhere now, social media websites booming with live opinions. He had no reason to slander you, and you couldn’t pinpoint why he chose to hurt you like this. You cried for him, shared stories of childhood and family. The knife you used to protect him was firm in your back, twisting and digging with each disgusting message in your inbox. You had no game plan to conduct, and no tears left to cry.  

Within a week, you finally understood how cruel this industry could be. Within a week, you were no longer on top. You lost clients fast. It spread like wildfire and not a single outlet spared an ear for your side. People you called friends, coworkers, hadn’t replied to your messages. When you got back to work, the rooms were silent as you passed. You could feel their judgement, whispers rattled with rumors and accusations. They waited for the tiniest slip-up and pounced like hyenas—you were eaten alive by their pitiful stares. You attempted to tell your truth multiple times throughout the week, but it was consistently rejected. The headlines were eye-catching: 

“Manager From Hell: Childe Tells All!” 

“He Cries: A Story of Love and Jealousy” 

Your stomach churned to the magazines being shown. Despite the great amount of loss you suffered, you were thankful for the one person that believed you, your boss. 

“Childe is a lying little snake. The media knows that, too.” 

“Then why is this happening?” 

“Money. That story is making bank right now. But I know for a fact you wouldn’t do this” he reassured.  

“Thank you, sir. But...I lost everything; I just don’t know what to do.” The weariness was heavy in your voice. 

“I have someone you can manage. It won’t be easy, but if anyone can do it, it’s you.” You were unsure of yourself now, and he continued.  

“You’re one of my best. If you want to climb out of this, now’s your chance.” Yes, you were unsure, drowning in doubt. But if the only way to get above water was to keep swimming, you wouldn’t give up so easily. 

Wriothesley wasn’t exactly known for his kindness. Crude, cocky, maybe even spoiled were descriptions that circulated in the tabloids. He had a knack for pissing reporters off by not answering questions or humming over their voice with a shit-eating grin on his face. Women loved him, however, throwing bras and phone numbers written on scrap as the condemned “bad boy” departed post-game. They screamed his name at once, and he’d done nothing to deserve it. He relished infamy—that way, it was much harder to pry into his private life. 

It had to be a coincidence that it was someone you fangirled over. In college, your eyes were glued to the screen every Sunday, waiting for Wriothesely’s post-conference and behind the scenes interviews. He didn’t speak often, but just the sight of those inky strands streaked with ash made your heart flutter featherlight in your chest. 

When you first approached him, he was just as arrogant as you’d expect. 

“Good evening!” you beamed. You caught him outside the gym, and he still had his headphones in. Full volume and blankly staring as you went on about the opportunity, silent under the blaring music. He took one earbud out when you finished. 

“Hm? Who’re you?” 

You were slightly annoyed. “Let me reintroduce myself, I’m (Y/N). Your new manager.” 

“No. Bye.” He began to walk past you without an ounce of care. You couldn’t lose it like this. 

“Ah, wait!” He turned half-heartedly. 

“Listen, I get it. You don’t want to be bossed around. But honestly, your reputation is shit. That can’t be good for business.” you persuaded. He towered over you, the figure of a Greek giant peeked through the compression top as he lazily watched you. 

“So? Why do you care?” he remarked. 

“I’ll help you. Sponsors, advertisements, whatever you want. You’re good, but you can be so much better. Let’s make money together.” You held your hand out, awaiting a handshake of approval. He merely glanced at your limp wrist. 

“Help? You’re obviously not doing this for free.” 

“Of course not. Give a little, take a little. I don’t do charity cases” you shrugged.  

He groaned, raking his fingers through his thick mane. At the very least, he hadn’t walked away yet. “I'd prefer for my life to be private.” 

“Then I’ll guarantee your privacy.” 

“Really?” he scoffed. “What can you give me besides empty promises?” 

“Anything you desire. Work with me, and I’ll make it happen.” That offer enticed him. No one had been this persistent with him yet, he scared off any manager that dared succor him. It was slightly entertaining, the way you burned ambition in your eyes, you were so easy to read. Most people wouldn’t look directly at him, and here you were, ready to follow him home if that’s what it took. He chuckled, and his massive hand reached for yours. 

You shook hands, and your fates were sealed.  

That was a year ago, and ever since then he’s been a thorn in your side. Nonstop drama and rectifying consumed your life. You didn’t think a man who spoke so little in public could talk so much around you. Whenever you argue—which is a frequent occurrence—his smirk grew wider at your frustration. You weren’t sure why you ever liked him in the first place. He only puts in effort when it comes to sparring, but you’re determined to ameliorate his standing, and in turn, yours.  

The minute you open the doors to the hall, the sound of pummeled sandbags, clanking metal, and sneakers skidding across the floor roars in your ears. Some men are dialed in on abusing the inanimate objects, the rest tense through repetitions of dumbbell curls with a hiss. You're in quick strides, the phone arm's length away from you as the sponsor on the other end screams. Another petty drama surrounding Wriothesley grabs the attention of the internet. Luckily, you have thorough experience remedying this. 

“What are you going to do? You’re fucking with my money!” you hear the faint voice. You bring the phone back to your ear. 

“Don’t I always deal with it? He fights, I make up for the other half. Give me a few hours.” 

“I’m not going to wa-” You hang up at the response. 

You propel the double doors free into a large room with a boxing ring in the center. A group of trainers swarm the perimeter, you can barely see through.  

“Don’t be scared!” one of them taunt towards the sparring partner, who has an unthinkable panic creeping in goosebumps dotting his skin. Each sloppy dodge tilts him more and more off balance against the strikes. Wriothesley has a powerful stature, with his back curving in a way that accentuates the rough muscle shaping his spine. You drone an annoyed sigh at the commotion and push yourself through them.  

“Move it, move!” you yell, before jostling your way to the front of the ring. 

“Wriothesley! Times up.”  He turns his head to the side, unintentionally sparing his partner and glares at you. 

“Two minutes.” 

“No. Now.” you command. He looks up at nothing, as if considering his options if he cusses you out. Then he begrudgingly drops the gloves and pulls himself under the ropes. The group disperses from the lack of action and he’s mere inches from you now. Sometimes you forget how to breathe in his half-naked presence.  

“What the fuck is your problem?” He mumbles while drying his head with a towel. His colossal forearms are raised over his head, highlighting the happy trail thick down his abdomen and tufts of hair on his armpits.  

“You. How many times do I have to tell you not to train during recovery?” you seethe. 

“Damn. Must’ve slipped my mind.” He doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest. 

“Well then, I’ll be sure to remind you hourly.” 

“Nah, I’m good. Hearing you once a day is enough.” He tosses the towel to you like his dutiful servant and grabs his water bottle. The liquid drips down his chin and on his shorts, hanging below his v-line. 

Your eyebrow twitches from withheld vexation. “If you don’t want to hear me twice, I suggest you do what I tell you. We need to talk.” A heavy sigh leaves him as he stretches, and he passes you the water bottle. If you had the strength to collapse the bottle with one hand, you would. “Lead the way” he goads. 

Wriothesley follows you through the backdoor of the gym to a secluded alleyway. When you get there, he immediately pulls out a cigarette you didn’t know he had. You were aware he smokes occasionally, but seeing it physically coaxed a strange worry in your gut. You twist your phone to him, to display evidence of him instigating an argument with Childe on social media. He reads in silence, briefly laughing at the recollection of his own comebacks, then lights the cigarette. 

“What’s this? Didn’t I say keep a low profile?” you reprimand. 

He drags in a deep breath of nicotine, and you eye the foul scent with distaste. He blows it above your unhappy face. “Calm down. Once a month thing. That fucker's testing me.” 

“This can’t happen again, Wriothesley.” He ignores you to continue his mumbling. “I should break his neck like a twig. He’s lucky he didn’t say that shit to my face, fucking punk.” he grouses. You're struggling to gather your thoughts, the cigarette compacted between his thick fingers irritates you. 

“We all appreciate your restraint, however-” you get closer, and yank the stick out his hand. 

 “No-!” Before he can finish, you promptly smudge it underneath your shoe. You aren’t sure how he’d react, but you didn’t expect him to sulk like a puppy. 

“You aren’t doing this shit while I’m here.” 

“Oh my god” he pouts, throwing his hands into his face and pulling them down.  

“You’re lucky I don’t report it to the doctor. None of this, ever again.” 

“Fuck, alright just...” he lets out a defeated sigh. “What do you want me to do about it? Apologize publicly?” You need him to do nothing; neither agency wants controversy, and it’d most likely be swept under the rug in just a couple days. You point his water bottle to him. 

“Nope, I’ll handle it. Just sit there and be pretty.” you reassure. He leans down to your height with a sweet smile and even sweeter gaze. 

“I do that well, don’t I?” he quips. 

“You manage.” He latches onto the water bottle, and drinks from it in your hand while looking at you. A soft heat envelops you beyond words that never reach your lips. 

“Listen to what I’m saying. Low. Profile.” Wriothesley comes up from thirst, dragging his tongue along the straw to the top, and licks his blushed lips. He delights in your flustered reaction. 

“Low. Profile.” he repeats in a sarcastic drawl. 

Later in the week, you receive a call in your office. It was fairly busy today, with coworkers constantly “checking in”, more so to see Wriothesley sitting across from you. He had no reason to be here, and you were surprised at his arrival. Be it boredom or a certain longing, a dull swell pulsed in his chest once he saw your overworked smile. 

“Hello, this is (Y/N) of Boxe Association. May I know who I’m speaking with?” Wriothesley’s ears perk up at your sudden professionalism, and he mimics your cadence. 

“Good afternoon, it’s Isadora.” Isadora was an event coordinator you previously worked with before your controversy. You understood that she stopped communicating to protect her business, but the pain lingered. You twirl the phone cord around your fingers, and meet eyes with Wriothesley, who’s laid back in the chair, his arms behind his head. 

“Oh. Hey, it’s been a while.” you say. You turn your swivel chair away from him to continue the conversation. His eyebrow twitches slightly with an unconscious scowl, and he walks towards your chair. 

“It has. I’m calling because I have a proposition that might interest you. I believe a meet and greet would be appropriate for your client. A large chunk of his fanbase are young adult women, however, he’s also popular with children.” He spins the chair around with a firm hand and presses his cheek against the phone. 

“That’s true.” You side eye him, and without skipping a beat, mush his nosey face away. His hot breath on your digits makes your skin tingle. 

“Who is that” he mumbles. You'd never seen Wriothesley interact with children, and you have every reason to be hesitant. 

“Hmm...any positive activity with children is good publicity. I’ll consider it. I’ll let you know by tonight.” The second you hang up, you release his face. 

“Why are you being annoying-” 

“Who were you talking to” he chides.  

“Isadora. She’s an event coordinator.” His clenched jaw unwinds. “She wants to do a meet and greet with you and a few kids. If we go through with this, I’ll have a camera crew and some reporters there. It’ll be good for your image.” 

“Okay.” he agrees. That was quick.  

“...Are you sure? Kids are loud and obnoxious a lot of the time.” 

“So? Fine by me. I can teach them how to fight.” Your skin crawls at the thought of Wriothesley launching a child through a wall. “That won’t be necessary.” 

“It’ll be fun.” The more he assures you, the more uneasy you feel. 

“Wriothesley, I’m serious. Don’t screw this up” you plead. He holds his pinky out. “I won't.” His loose interpretation of promises was dubious at best, but you had no other options, and this might be your only opening. You curl to his word. 

After parleying the finer details, you broadcast a raffle for young fans to meet Wriothesley. The traffic to the website was overwhelming, and you quickly began sorting out tickets for the favored winners. 

 Fortunately, the next couple of weeks were par for the course. 

It’s the night before the event, and you’re getting ready for bed. You sit at your desk in a big T-shirt and do your daily review of personal data. As you're scrolling through and identifying what needs improvement, you get a notification on your phone. 

“Breaking News: Boxer Bar Fight!” Curious, you open the tab to a video. It makes your breath stall, sweating frantically. You can’t think clearly, and your shaky hands can barely increase the volume. Unidentifiable noises and wobbly camerawork made it impossible to catch anything besides those familiar inky black strands, throwing punches in a drunken stupor at a defenseless man. Your previous conundrum flashes through your memory in a horrific stop-motion; the duping smile on his face. 

No. It’s happening all over again. Why is he at a bar? You messaged him before he went to bed. He never goes to bars. Why now, the night before the event? It’s late, he doesn’t go anywhere without telling you. 

He promised. 

None of it made sense as you threw on any sweatpants in your drawer and ran out the door. You can’t wait until morning. Disaster punctures and tears any rational decision you contemplate. Shouting silently within your mind, a crashing rage—or sadness—boils in your nervous stomach. You’re tunnel vision in a taxi on the way to his address. 

When you get there, you bang on the door with a fury that vibrates throughout the archway. His home is extravagant, with two cars and an expansive driveway. You bang again. 

“Wriothesley!” He finally opens the door. He’s still half asleep, pajama pants low on his waist, groggily leaning against the arch.  

“(Y/N)? Uh, what’s up?” He slurs in a deep slumbering voice through heavy eyelids. You barge in without saying anything. “Make yourself at home, I guess.” 

The interior is just as opulent as the exterior, it almost looks untouched. Every corner has a case or shelf stacked with ornate trophies and medals of excellence. It was the home of someone who achieved peak perfection and reveled in it. He follows you to his living room, bewildered at your furious expression. You play the video in front of him, and he watches with that same puzzled attitude that makes you angrier. You try taking deep breaths to compose yourself, but they halt shallowly. 

“What the fuck is this?” you accuse. 

“What? I don’t know.”  “Like hell you don’t know, this shit is on every homepage. Are you serious?”  

The cranky boxer pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. You show up at his house, and it’s to badger him about a rumor. Your temperament only heats the smoldering ember fueled by incessant claims. He covers his mouth, physically stopping the involuntary response. 

“Okay” he says, and blurts a facetious chuckle. Your heart thumps in your chest and ears.  

“Oh, It’s a fucking joke? I bust my ass to save your career and you’re laughing?” you snap, voice increasing in volume until it reaches a broken peak. He returns with the same energy. 

“When did I ask you to fix anything? Did you ever think that maybe I don’t fucking need you-” 

“You can barely control your smoking habits you pompous ass-” 

“I would if you didn’t nag me all the time. Whining and complaining, it’s fucking annoying!” he yells. Neither of you meant the words spilling out the bubbling surface, but your tongues were solely seasoned with the next spiteful jab. 

“Yes, whining! Because all you need to do is be on the straight and narrow, but you take nothing seriously, Wriothesley, and that’s exactly why-” 

“Exactly why what? Why your career went to shit so you’re piggybacking off mine?”  

Your battle stops. You can’t find the words to rebuttal. All the opinions of your colleagues, the media, Wriothesley, and yourself coagulate into a lump that fills the tightening throat. Pride comforts tears brimming your eyes. 

He pauses, as though he came to reality. An apology attempts to form on his lips, but it never manifests. “(Y/N), I didn’t-” 

“See you in the morning” you choked. You walk to the door, and he reaches out to the infinite space thick between you two.  

You didn’t sleep the entire night. It’s morning, and you’re exhausted. You consistently replayed the quarrel in your head through the taxi ride home, and when you strived for rest, it plagued your mind. Your coffee is untouched during your morning routine, a movement comparable to zombies. You don’t bother to confirm if Wriothesely is at the building—either way you owe it to the event holders to be there. 

You arrive just before the children file into the training room. Thankfully, Wriothesley is there in the center. Live cameras from reporters and parents border the walls; if something were to occur, it would be irreversible. Your head suddenly hurts. 

Perhaps playing it up for his reputation, the smile stretched across his face is a sunny warmth you’ve never seen from him. He waves to them, and they erupt with screams. To your astonishment, he gets on his knees to be eye level with them. They all jump into his arms at once, and he topples over onto the mat.  

And he’s laughing. This grumpy asshole fighter is laughing. A hearty, genuine laugh as he wraps his sturdy arms around all of them and picks them up at once. He whirls them around and they orchestrate high-pitched giggles. “Ready to have some fun?” he chortles. They say yes to varying degrees of excitement, and the meet and greet proceeds. 

You can’t help but smile when he frolics with the kids. They chase him with boxing gloves, he pretends to fall dramatically. Dogpiling him, he lets out a shrill scream of defeat. He manages to work in proper defense techniques while they jump him like a test dummy. He tosses each kid in the air whenever they ask, and never tells them no. You receive another call from Isadora amid your admiration, and you step outside. 

“Hey! Good news, these views are off the charts and the internet is really in his favor right now” she congratulates.  

“That’s great...what about the video from last night? Did you see it?” you ask. 

“Video...oh, that! Don’t worry, it’s confirmed fake.” What? Oh no. Immediate regret stirs in your blood, and you force the phone away to catch your breath. You feel utterly stupid. 

“Hello?” You quickly bring the phone back to your ear. “Yea, sorry. I have to go; I’ll call you later.” you insist. You can’t facepalm any harder. You make your way back to the training room, where the kids decorate his gloves with iridescent stickers. Wriothesley occasionally looks at you, but you can’t bear to show your guilty face. 

When the event is over, you both make sure to hug every child on the way out and thank the parent for coming. You’re sorting through mountains of requests people made to see Wriothesley again, and you mute your phone over the influx of emails. Peeking at the broadcast, under the footage in bold letters:  

“(Y/N) Back from the Dead?”  

It wasn’t the most flattering title, but it proved that public perception was salvageable. You emit a sigh of relief, for you and Wriothesley. As you’re packing your things to exit, he blocks the door with his body. 

“Can we talk?” You were dreading this discussion, but agreed, nonetheless. The ride to his home is silent, you grapple with a proper apology. 

You lean against the kitchen bar, while he’s laxing on the couch. Sleep deprivation torments you, causes you to wander as you fill in papers from sponsors. You can’t see the way Wriothesley steals glances at your slack figure curving to the marble. He eventually spoke.  

“So, um.” 

“I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. You did a good job today Wriothesley, you should be proud.” You flash a meek smile. He fumbles with his thumbs uncomfortably. 

“I am. Aren’t I the best?” he boasts. 

“You are” you say. The lack of sleep beckons you to a spur of honesty as you scribble. “You have stunning form, perfect accuracy, and immeasurable talent. Not just anyone can do that.” you return. He gazes at you, that dull swell pumping in his veins again. The cozy radiance of lights brightens your tired eyes. 

“You’re a big fan, huh?” he chuckles.  

“Of course, I used to watch you in college. I had a major crush on you” you snort. “Everything you are is amazing, but you know this. So cut it out.” He sits on the armrest, swallowing your confessions. The room is entirely too hot, he needs alleviation—he needs you. 

“Sorry. For what I said.” 

“Forget it. It's my fault, I was careless. I apologize.” you admit. 

“You know I didn’t do it, right?” 

“I know.” 

“I didn’t.” 

“I know.” you reassure.  

“What if some other bullshit controversy comes out. Then what?” You stop writing to give him your full attention. 

“Then, I’ll trust you. We’ve gotten this far. Even if no one else does, even if for some reason I lose my job and I’m not your manager anymore, I’ll trust you, Wriothesley.” you reveal. He doesn’t move. Wriothesley knew he wasn’t deserving of trust, and he’d made a plethora of mistakes throughout your arrangement. You had every right to leave him long ago. Nobody gave him the time of day or cared for his wellbeing like you did, but he couldn’t reciprocate. Even so, here he kneels, at the feet of an angel that shows him undying mercy. 

Wriothesley stalks at you, but you remain. He looms over you, pinning you to the counter with both arms, inches from your face. It isn’t a threatening force, but one that begs for confirmation. That slated storm searches for a specific craving, you feel his chest rising and falling laden with yours. 

“You’re too close” you quiver. The bitter musk and vanilla enveloping your senses makes you foggy, it lingers through the whole house. 

“Tell me to leave.” His mouth slants to you, and he waits expectingly. You ogle his features, the scratches of a warrior celebrated across his hardy torso. His hair brushes against your forehead, imperfect and uniquely beautiful. Why were you mad, again?

“Tell me to back off, (Y/N)” he pleads. The pads of your fingers lightly caress his ear, then his jaw. 

“Please” he whispers. Your thumb grazes his bottom lip, and he succumbs to the urge. 

You collide fervently, lips coated in definitive desire. Dancing with rough, bruising kisses that don’t make space for air. It smears on your face, dips down your neck and swiftly returns to your lonely mouth. The pressure of the counter bar burns across your lower back from his weight, but those mind-numbing kisses soften any injury. You bite his lip when he pulls away, and he groans. Suddenly, he lifts you effortlessly with his hands on your ass, and you clash teeth and tongue in a passionate challenge. He demands entry, and you moan into the wet mass intertwining through sloppy kisses. It explores your mouth, sending throbs to your nerves and subdues any control you have left. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, but you yearn for deeper contact. He licks up the organ, and spots moist, hungry kisses on your jaw. You both take a fleeting breath before converging again. You find passage in his hair and suck staining rose-colored marks on his neck while he carries you to the bedroom. 

“You’ve been waiting for this, hm? Slutty groupie” Wriothesley moans. You drag kisses along the shell of his ear. He tosses you onto the fluffy bedding and haphazardly strips to his underwear. The wide mirror opposite his bed gives you a glimpse of his thighs and shapely bottom hugging the briefs. You’re supposed to be undressing, but that thronging bulge made for a titan makes you nervous for what’s to come. He palms the erection to soothe the ache and climbs over you. He’s somewhat gentle, careful with the bulk of his body as he cradles your face for more kisses. The way he looks at you, a covet softness or misted lust tantalizing the wetness pooling in your panties. He moves to your neck, French kissing down your throat and on your collarbone. You feel like a virgin again, heart racing from every graze of his fingers and lips. His calloused digits grope the plush fat of your thighs, and gradually reach the hem of your skirt. You snake your hands over his pecs and abs and read the muscles. Moaning into each other's mouths, indulging every part of your bodies as you’ve wanted to do for months. He pulls your skirt off and you hold your button-down over your exposed panties. Heat spreads in your body, and he amuses at your sudden bashfulness. 

“Oh…you’re shy?” he teases, before popping the buttons off with a brutal rip. “Wrio!” you yelp. That’s the first time you called Wriothesley a nickname; he must’ve died and went to heaven. The lace gift wrapped around your breasts taunts him, and he buries his face immediately. He nips the sensitive skin and snaps the clasp off. “Cute. Need to feel you” he husks. He twirls the bud in his mouth, while manipulating the other between his girthy fingers. Alternating among loving hickies and harsh tugs of his teeth on your nipple. You whine, and his laugh tickles your raw skin. He flips over on his back and steadies you on top of him. Discards the rest of your top, and let’s out a shaky groan.  

“You’ve never been this speechless” he says. You smile and kiss his puffy lips, your hands kneading his chest. “You’re so pretty” you coo. He huffs while rubbing circles on your waist, eyeing your inner thighs covered in juices.  

“Then come fuck my pretty face.” He slips under the waistband and tweaks the fabric, but you grip his wrists. “Wait! Let me shower first- “ 

“You said you'd give me anything I desire, remember that? Keep your promise." He yanks the thin material down your legs in your weak clutches, trailing a string of drool that sticks to your labia. “C’mere” he grunts and lifts you towards his face. Your thighs are soft on either side of him, and you still in his grasp. He lolls his tongue out, but you’re reluctant to fully sit. “I’m heavy” you murmur.  

“Shut up.” He embraces your body, and you have no choice but to settle in his warmth. He keeps you flush with his flat tongue, swiping up and down the squishy flesh molding to his mouth. You writhe in his grasp, but he continues to lap at your clit with a starving lust. Wriothesely soaks in your velvet skin and perfumed essence dribbling down his chin. He doesn’t come up for air, and your brain is mush over him, his lips slurping your quivering cunt. A buzzing intensity courses through your twitching stomach. You rut your hips against his mouth, and he maintains his position while you use him. You’re grinding on his tongue, absent-mindedly biting your lips and mewling endlessly as you bring yourself closer to climax. He hums while sucking the nub and the vibrations make you cry out.  

“Wrio, ‘m coming” you whine. You hump his mouth until you come undone in a pulsating finish. His hands restrain you, greedily devouring the newly found honey as it pours out. You ride it through while he curls the tip of his tongue at your opening. Without warning, you feel the pink muscle push in your recovering vulva. “S-Shit, Wrio” you whimper, trembling on him as he drives inside. He seizes the back of your thighs and begins to bounce you up and down the mushy appendage slowly stretching you. The sensation is overwhelming, his nose skims your oversensitive clit each time you drop, and you sob. Wriothesley moves faster, your hands entangle in his hair. You babble please’s repeatedly, gazing sensually at each other as the coil winds in your gut. More, more. Then it snaps, an abrupt shock, clenching on his tongue as you cream. He raises your lower half; the wetness collecting in your convulsing heat makes his cock strain more than it already suffered.  

“Such a cute slut” Wriothesley husks. Your numb legs can’t navigate on their own, so he places you on your stomach. “We’re not done.” He springs his throbbing length free. The veins are consistent, prominent up his shaft to the angry red crown—9 inches begging to be inside you. Fresh precome trickles down his tip and he sighs at the bloated pain in his hefty balls. You arch your back, presenting yourself to his awaiting size. When he doesn’t enter you turn to him impatiently and he smirks. 

“Put it in” you whine. Wriothesley spreads your backside, and watches you clench around the ghost of him. He glazes himself with your slick, and moans from the feeling of your puffy lips cuddling his cock. “It’s not every day a fan gets to sleep with me. Be grateful.” he teases. He pumps through your squashed thighs, the head prodding your nub while he forces your chest flush with the bed. After he thoroughly coats himself, he nudges the bulbous tip to your entrance. 

Wriothesley sinks into your sex. You’re gripping him like a vice despite the searing soreness of your body accommodating the scale. The fevered sleeve nearly makes him crash to the hilt, but he stutters gradually to relieve your discomfort. He hits the base and shudders. You feel unbelievably stuffed, as if it’s squirming in your cervix. Then he starts at a savage pace. He’s using you like a flesh-light, balls smacking your overwhelmed tender nub with a carnal impulse. His moans spill uncontrollably as he watches your rippling ass and viscous webs blend together, clinging to his cock and forming a cloudy froth at the base. Your knuckles turn white on the sheets; you can’t think or feel anything that isn’t him, core surging with intense want. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight, gonna snap my dick off. Ah- gonna make sure you can’t walk t-tomorrow. Then- hah- then you won’t be able to find anyone who fucks you like this, who makes you come like this.” He’s rambling and stuttering, completely incoherent the closer he gets. He glances at the mirror, then at you. You feel your hair jerked back by his massive hand, and lock eyes with Wriothesley in his drunken haze. “Stop, it’s embarrassing!” you slur. You’re both sheened with sweat, disheveled bodies satiating the hunger in any way you can. 

“Shh, you hear that?” The squelching slam of passion echoes in the room, sopping down your leg through his pummeling thrusts. Your back bends unnaturally as though it were folded in half. “You’re so fucking hot, so needy for me.” His veins adorn your walls, you start to tear up from the mixture of pleasure and pain. He notices your tears and holds you up so that your back is flush with his chest. 

“It hurts?” he questions, stalling his movement. You feel him twitch. “No, feels s’good Wrio. More” you mewl. He chuckles, and gently wraps his hand around your throat before pumping again.  

“Too good? Am I the best you’ve ever had? Say it.” He moves faster, free hand rubbing your clit. Your knees buckle and eyes roll back to your skull, he takes in the scene of your convulsing figure in the mirror. “S’best I’ve ever had, please ‘m so close!” you rasp, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He chases his high, panting animalistically in your ear.  

“Shit- look how desperate you are. Want me to come inside? Y-yea, I bet you fucking do”

“‘M coming!” you babble.

“Good. Make a mess.” he commands. Fire trails up your limbs, and you tighten before falling apart. Fluttering around him, taking him deeper while you come on his sack. Wriothesley pursues his sputtering hips, spurting thick globs that paint you white. He whimpers as you milk his spasming length dry and presses tired kisses along your shoulder blade. When he comes down from his apex, he turns you over on your back. It’s hard for him to not be proud of your boneless existence sprawled on his bed. You’re both breathing hard in silence, and he leaves for a couple minutes. You’re stunned when he returns with a damp rag to clean you up, and some dark substance in a mug.

You find the strength to sit up while he wipes your lower areas. “Where are my clothes?”

“...For what?”  he mumbles.

“To leave?” It seemed like common sense to you—boxers usually don’t go for long-term relationships, and so you assumed it to be a one-night stand. You dip over the edge of the bed and locate your skirt, but Wriothesely hops up and snatches it before you can. “I’ll put it in the wash. Relax.” 

“I didn’t know you were so hospitable. Do you do this for every girl?” you tease. He gets visibly upset, and shoves the cup from the dresser in your hands. “Don’t piss me off. Now, drink. I’ll order food.” 

Multicolored sunset flaking through the sheer curtains frames his stature while he’s on the phone. You sip the tea, it’s a vile grainy taste. For a moment you imagine what life could be like with him by your side—poor quality tea and an awful temper. In your pleasant aftermath, it doesn’t seem bad at all.

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.

I LOVE THE CAMERA SO, SO MUCH—AND THE CAMERA LOVES ME ! / / xavier , zayne, rafayel & sylus . . .

ever since you went viral on the internet, your relationship has become the evvy and dream of users globally. just what about you guys was so groundbreaking?

warnings: f!reader, established relationship, modern!au without the monster protocore stuff, ooc!sylus??? this is my first time writing him im scared yall, internet fame, fluff, suggestive on zayne's part, relationship tingz mostly inspired by douyin couple tiktoks (im so lonely brah.)

w/c: 2.15k (about 500-600 each.. whew. sylus ws the longest...)

author's note: if u guys can figure out what photo reference i ws talking ab in zayne's ily (hint hint that one nanami fanart) also did u guys peep the rv reference in the title??? #reveluv #streamcosmic art cred: angye on twt

XAVIER didn't think that he'd go viral for something as silly as interupting your tiktok by carrying you away, then again he didn't even know you posted it.

it didnt just go viral because the two of you were in the cutest matching hoodies, but because he swept you off your feet so smoothly and almost effortlessly.

soon after that, comments flooded your page gushing about how they'd wish they had a boyfriend as clingy and affectionate as him, and you two had started a new trend.

after that video, many followed you because they fell in love with you and your relationship, almost begging for more crumbs of you two. your page was then full of the two of you more so than before, photos of you two in onesies cuddling, stargazing, and even little day-to-day vlogs.

your fans just kept eating them up, and he had to deal with the impending consequences of it.

"XAVIER, come pose with me!"

the grey-blond haired man sighed, dragging his feet towards you. "don't you think we're done? we've taken so many already..."

you raise a brow, "we didnt take any this whole week? cmoon, the camera's rolling, let's do that dance i taught you!"

"but it's late, and i wanna go to sleep... we can take some tomorrow morning or something..."

you give him the sternest look you could muster, and he generates the biggest puppy eyes he'd ever done, looking down at you with a small pout as his hands hung loosely around your waist.

"a kiss then?"

you roll your eyes affectionately, "you can have your kiss after this i promise! pleaaaseee xavier?"

it seemed that he wasn't gonna take no as an answer, as he kept leaning in towards you, determined as ever.

your face was burning as you chuckle nervously, leaning away from him. he slowly inched closer, until you were at a point where you could go no further without any help.

realizing you had no other choice, you sighed with a pout of your own, and XAVIER took this as a chance to pull you closer and press a kiss to your lips, making you giggle. you pressed your fingers lightly to his lips as he swayed you side to side, and you couldn't help but laugh and follow suit.

"XAVIER!"

you posted the video not long after that, a cute song in the background to cover the sounds of your voices. within just 2 hours, it went viral, taking its spot as your number one video.

"ughhhhhh is this too much to ask for?"

"if you look closely you'll see me laying on the street."

"u guys r my fav couple ever pls don't ever break up!!!"

it was safe to say you never got your dance.

ZAYNE took quiet pride in being your boyfriend—and he took it very seriously as well. he'd fuss over you even more than before, making sure you were okay at all times

you'd joke about how he was acting more as your husband than your boyfriend. he'd brush your comments aside, saying you think too much (funnily enough his ears were quite red)

your relationship went viral due to the sillyness you brought into it, the little antics you'd pull around him as you two would go through your day-to-day life being the highlight of the week for your viewers

but what really made you two so popular was in the gentleness he'd treat you with. his words may seem curt and blunt, but his actions said anything but that. in your mini vlogs, ZAYNE would display tiny gestures of affection, ranging from delicately fixing your jewelry and carrying your purse to zipping up your dress and putting your heels on for you.

"hey god... it's me again..."

"i want a rich doctor bf too!"

"my parentsssss <3"

your viewers would nitpick at every little thing, hundreds of fan edits taking over the app by storm, and you'd repost every single one of them

"ZAYNE! i'm home! sorry, usually i'd be the one to be early but the association had-"

you stopped, frowning as you realized the lights were off, the only source of light coming from your kitchen. making your way there, you were met with the back of your boyfriend, seemingly working very hard on something.

"zayne?"

he turned around, greeting you with a soft look of surprise. "oh. you're here." he stepped towards you, and now you could see that he was wearing an apron over a dress shirt and pants.

"go to your room. i left a change of clothes for you on your bed."

you looked at him confusedly before realization and guilt struck you. "...oh! oh my gosh, i'm so sorry! i forgot it was our anniversary! i'll-"

you shut up as he looks at you with an amused lift of his brow, taking this as your cue to go get changed.

turns out, ZAYNE had taken a day off without you realizing it. he spent the day getting your apartment ready for your anniversary. and he had everything set alright.

"i can't believe you did all of this yourself... i mean- wow..."

you two enjoyed a nice candlelit dinner with your favorite foods and drinks, and you kept having to resist the urge to just tug him closer with his tie and plant kisses all over his face.

wait, unless...

"ZAYNE, could you come here?"

ZAYNE thought the two of you were done, wanting to spend the rest of the night with you in his arms-it turns out you had a different idea

"you still haven't gotten your reward."

you uploaded a new post to your instagram page, captioned "my sweet doctor <3" with pictures of your dinner that night

and on the very last slide, was a picture of him turned to the side with lipstick covered kiss marks over his face and shirt, ears a pretty shade of red, and your hand pulling him in by his tie

your fans could only ever imagine what happened after that

it was just after your date with RAFAYEL at the aquarium did the topic of who his lover was striked appeal to the media. apparantly, some fans recognized him and sneakily took photos, eagar to find out who his girlfriend was.

at first, he was annoyed by it, but after seeing compilations of videos where he'd see you two, he supposed it wouldn't hurt to indulge the public.

soon after that, his pages both on instagram and tiktok had tiny easter eggs of you, whether it be your clothes, a second of you in the background of his videos or even in his paintings.

the comments would be full of "did u guys see the ___ in the background?" or "to have a painter as a bf... im jealous..."

to fuel the fire, you'd feed your already large fanbase your own easter eggs of him. one of his paintings in the background, a shirt of his on your couch, a split second of your wallpaper shown, etc.

you were just having fun, you didn't expect anything to really come out of the antics you both were pulling in front of the public.

however, you both thought wrong, as it didn't take long for the people to put two and two together.

"RAFAYEL... my legs hurt... when are the fireworks gonna start?"

"shhh just be patient, we can stop here if you want?"

you two were at one of the largest beach festivals at linkon, and after a whole day of running around and trying everything, your legs had gotten sore.

you and RAFAYEL sit down on the cool sand, the water from the waves inching closer and closer. you could hear the commotion coming from the festival, but all you could focus on right now were the waves in front of you.

"ugh... you're right. all that running around has made me exhasted. don't be surprised if you have to carry me home."

you flick him on his forehead as he weakly puts his hands up in surrender and lays down on the sand. you lay beside him, your arm propping your head up.

"i had fun today though. it's felt like ages since we went somewhere in public together."

he hums, pulling your hand towards him to rest on his face. "yeah... its too much... maybe we should just settle down back at-"

"oh my god, is that RAFAYEL? and... is that his girlfriend!?"

you quickly turn around and were met with a group of fangirls. you turn back around to rafayel to see him already sat up, motioning for you to follow him.

"i know you said you were tired but..."

you read his mind instantly, getting up and grabbing his hand. you both start to run away from the clicks and flashes of the paparazzi, giggling and laughing while doing so.

the fireworks had finally started behind you.

after that whole fiasco, you and RAFAYEL retired to his bedroom back at his studio, breathless and exhausted.

as you two soundly slept, the internet was currently in shambles after finding out your secret relationship, leaked photos of you two running together and getting into your car having made it on every platform.

and as his phone rang with notifications, he had an inkling of what happened.

"whatever..." he thinks tiredly as he pulls the covers over you and him.

"...i can deal with that tomorrow."

SYLUS was never shy in showing you off as his girlfriend, but never once discouraged nor encouraged your moves to post the two of you together

yet the moment you posted the huge bouquet of roses he'd sent to your apartment via luke and kieran and it blew up, it was almost like he was urging you to show him off

you didn't even mean for it to go that big, you just thought they were pretty

and yet, he'd sneak in small comments during your conversations like "the view here is pretty, wanna comemorate it?" or "look, our outfits are matching, i could get kieran to take a picture of us together if you'd like?"

you'd taken the hint pretty quickly, rolling your eyes as you brushed it off each time, until you had a change of heart one day

you posted a video of you touring the city on his motorcylce, one hand wrapped around his torso and the other holding your phone, showing off the view and the well, broad, shoulders and back of your boyfriend

and as you can probably tell, it went viral, with many users commenting how they'd wish they had their own biker boyfriend who'd take them across cities

he scrolls through the comments in his freetime, lips turned upwards and already planning your next hit

"SYLUS...? what's the meaning of... this?"

just a minute ago, SYLUS walked up to you and asked if you'd like to go shopping, that it was on him. you agreed hesitantly as you got up, suspicious of his intentions already.

and without giving you time to think, he picked you up with one arm and has not put you down since.

"well, i thought it'd be nice to treat you, it's been a while afterall."

"...we went to a michellin star restaurant like two days ago?"

"hm."

sighing, you reel your head back and notice a glint in the dark hallways of his manor, along with hushed voices and camera clicks.

was that... luke and kieran?

"wait, wait, wait, wait— i think i saw luke and kieran—"

he swiftly glaces behind you two with furrowed brows, and then gave you a small smirk. sometimes you can't tell if he's teasing you or not.

"pay them no mind, they're probably up to something again. best not to find out now."

he looks at you curiously, "or is this your way of saying you want out? i was gonna pay a visit to the claw machine with you... i heard they had a new limited edition plushie..."

your eyes snap back to his, "no, no! this is fine... i'm sure i was just imagining things."

he gives you a triumphant smile and keeps walking, yet your mind can't help but wander back to what those twins were doing...

and it turns out your suspicions were right all along, for after you came back home from a successful night of shopping, your phone was abuzz with notifications coming from your friends

luke and kieran had secretly recorded the two of you when he picked you up, and made sure to show the black card that was in SYLUS'S possesion

you'd have never thought he'd go along with a plan as silly as this with the two of them, but they were his assistants afterall.

later, you were bored out of your mind, so you decide to scroll through the comments.

"hows it feel to live my dream!?"

"i'll get it one day... one day...."

"if i ever had a boyfriend like that, i'd never let him rest."

and as you look over at the sleeping man beside you, you definitely understood them.

don't hesitate

arataki itto x reader

synopsis ➳ when itto's lovely partner is determined to make him feel good, who is he to deny it?

warnings ➳ literally just porn, gn reader, rough blowjob, facefucking, itto letting his oni heritage come out for a stroll, switch itto (literally a switch), dirty talk, mdni!

wordcount ➳ 1.9k

[crossposted on ao3]

your eyes gazed up at him with a hint of curiosity and anticipation. you let your head tilt to the side where it hung over the edge of the bed, taunting smile turned upside down, silently urging itto to finally make his move, yet he hesitated.

it was no wonder, really. with his long, girthy cock standing proud and swollen just inches away from your face, the same cock you had never been able to swallow fully due to the sheer size of it. your oni had never seemed to care, content and more than capable of being pushed to satisfaction by simply having you suckle on the bulbous head, tracing the protruding veins and red markings with your tongue and using your deft hands to jerk off whatever flesh you couldn't cover with your mouth. tonight, though, you were determined.

itto had choked on his candy-flavored spit when you had told him earlier today, that tonight was the night you would finally deepthroat him. you had given him time to wrap his head around the promise of unadulterated pleasure, but here he was, looking like he was seconds away from pulling his pants back up.

"we don't have to do this if you don't want to, baby," you cooed, reassuringly, like you weren't absolutely slobbering at the thought of his massive dick pressing down on your tongue.

"w-what?? no, nononono, it's not that i don't want to, y'know? 'cause your mouth looks so tempting right now, baby... b-but, the question here is, do you want this? i really don't wanna hurt you and-and you going down on me as you usually do is more than good enough, like, heck, you're already so good with your-"

"itto," you cut him off before he could go further into his tangent, and saw his lips shut tightly into a thin line. he hummed, questioningly and high-pitched and oh, so nervous, you couldn't help your smile. "if you want it, then there's no need to hesitate anymore." you tried your best to meet his beautiful eyes despite your unfavorable position. "i want you to use my throat for your pleasure."

itto seemed encouraged by your words, if the twitch of his cock and the half step forward were anything to go by. he moved a very small distance towards you, but it was enough for your lips to finally come in contact with his leaking head. your tongue swirled and spread the bitter precum all over, while you mouthed eagerly around the glans in a way that already made your lips stretch thinly. the taste and warmth of his prick in your mouth sent your eyes rolling back, a pleased hum, muffled by the hot flesh, making his hips jerk and your oni groan. your hand flew to play with your own neglected arousal while you let yourself encase as much as you could of itto inside your wet mouth.

"o-okay, okay... i'm gonna push it in, s'that alright?" unable to answer him with your mouth full, you reached to brace your free hand on his thick thigh, tracing the crimson line there with a tender thumb. itto breathed out slowly, clinging to whatever thread of restraint he still held any power over. "if it starts hurting or being uncomfortable, uhh, slap my thigh or something, m'kay?"

that was the last warning before he finally started to move his hips forward, pressing as much of his cock as he could into your small mouth. one of his hands stayed posed on his hip while the other reached down to cup your chin, holding your head in place as he pushed and pulled gently, tentatively, aware of the resistance offered by the muscles at the beginning of your throat. he stilled, for a moment, and the only noises in the room were his heavy, grounding breaths and the shlick shlick shlick coming from your fingers working diligently between your legs.

“o-oh, archons above,” he whimpered, flinching when he felt your tongue play with whatever flesh it could reach. “your m-mouth is heavenly, as usual… but you wanted me to claim your throat, didn’t you?” the way his voice took on a gravelly quality went straight to your tummy, and you couldn’t help but moan eagerly. “my baby wanted me to break that gag reflex, right? in your own words,” itto cleared his throat before adjusting his voice to sound similar to yours, “oh, itto, my one and oni, i want you to fuck my throat like a fleshlight until it remembers the shape of your cock… well, you got me, baby!”

those definitely weren’t your exact words, but how could you dwell on his antics when he used that precise moment to slam himself forward, forcing the tight channel to make way for his dick until he had his pubic bone pressed completely against your lower face. your throat clenched around him with the urge to swallow down the sudden intrusion, and the discomfort was definitely there, but-

“h-holy shit, b-babe… fuuuh-ck.” the hand on your jaw slid down to your exposed neck, taut with tension and the hot shaft filling it to capacity. his clawed fingers wrapped themselves around it and pressed on the sides, avoiding your windpipe, but causing your throat to tighten even more around him. “s-so tight, so warm and w-wet, o-ooh!”

you felt his pubes tickle your chin with every tiny twitch of his hips, and his heavy balls press snuggly against your face while you cockwarmed your boyfriend with your inexperienced throat; it felt so dirty, so degrading in a way, letting him use your mouth and shape your throat to accommodate him, but you couldn’t deny the way it make you leak more where your own fingers pleasured you.

with the sudden groan coming from above, you could feel the air shift between your lover and yourself.

“perfect fucking throat…” he growled, pulling out slowly and allowing you a moment of reprieve to catch your breath before he found himself pushing forward once more; the tapered tips of his claws pressed slightly into the thin skin of your neck. “made just f’me to shape, f’me to fuck and ravage however the fuck i feel like-” itto accentuated his filthy words with thrust after thrust, holding just enough restraint not to seriously hurt you. “you were so desperate to have me claim you that you even asked me to degrade your throat to my own personal sex toy, weren’t you? hah?”

tears started to make your eyes sting, and you moaned hotly, as best as you could, against the thick cock forcing its way deeper, deeper, so much deeper than it had ever been, but you still didn’t slap his thigh in warning. you could take it, you could take whatever itto dished out.

“i can see my dick bulging against the flesh of your neck. oh, f-fuck, how i wish i had taken my time to litter your gorgeous skin with bites and… o-oh, you’d let me bite hard enough to draw blood, wouldn’t you? would let me mark you in yet another way so there’s not one doubt left in your whorish. little. brain. that i own you.”

your fingers, which had never stopped rubbing and teasing, started to stutter the closer you got to your climax, stroking and circling wetly. oh, so fucking wet, itto’s words only served to push you closer and closer, the slide of his cock in and out so delightful that there was no way you could fend it off any longer and-

“oh, fuck!” he cried out, feeling your throat clench and vibrate suddenly when you screamed, muffled, around him, and he paused to thoroughly enjoy your display. the sight of you making a mess with every orgasm-induced squirt, he was certain, would curse him with an unquenchable thirst on lonelier nights to come. “y-yeah, my good slut, coming so hard from having your throat fucked, ain’t that right? ohh, so good for me, so so good… but we aren’t done yet… nonono, far from done here, baby.”

if you could, you’d whine in absentminded protest, feeling the exhaustion and sleepiness creeping up on you after so intense an orgasm, but you’d be lying to yourself if you said that you weren’t looking forward to-

“i’m gonna fuck you some more,” he cooed, starting up a gentler rhythm, mindful of your tiredness. “don’t pass out on me, baby, gotta help me finish here… be good and suck me off a little, will ya?” it took most of your mental strength, and your jaw felt sore from the continuous stretch already, but you managed to deliver a few gentle sucks while itto prodded the tip of his dick against every corner of your mouth. “that’s it, gonna cum soon, m’kay? you’re so good for me, so dirty for me. gon’ make you choke a little on my fucking load… make you take it all. you wanna take it all, don’tcha?”

the hand still holding onto his thigh caressed the taut muscle there, clenched a little, and itto stopped preventively. the warning slap never came. with a snarling grin that was all teeth, itto pressed forward once more.

“hohoho, that’s a good baby… won’t take much longer, i promise. ‘m almost there, fuck, you’re so hot, make me so fucking horny for you all. the. time.” his balls slapped wetly, messily against your face, they felt tight with his impending release. “you’re the best, baby, always making me feel so good, i’m the luckiest oni around to have found a human as precious as you-uuh! fuck! i love you! i’m coming, gonna come, gonna come-!”

he came while only halfway inside your mouth, gliding his hips back and forth while you tried to milk him of all his seed, the sheer amount of it forcing you to gulp a couple of mouthfuls down lest the thick semen started to spill from your swollen lips. he never stopped babbling throughout the long duration of his climax, but the relentless “i love you’s” brought warmth to spread across your chest.

when he finally pulled out, you sealed your lips shut and pressed a chaste parting kiss to his tip, failing to miss his flustered gurgle.

“f-fuck, such a cutie, i swear… open up, show me.” and show him you did, turning your head sideways so his cum could cling to your stuck-out tongue easier, offering the lewd display of your mouth being utterly marked and claimed by him. “good, good. now swallow and c’mere, lemme kiss those lips.”

and far from being deterred by his own taste in your mouth, itto devoured your lips like a man starved, mumbling sweet nothings against your jaw and revering you with his rough hands like you were the most important thing in the world to him. itto might be a little hard to deal with sometimes, but with the way he was looking at you in that moment…

“are you feeling okay? aw, shoot, i hope i didn’t go so hard i messed up your voice. uhh, here, lemme go grab a washcloth and some water, ‘kay? you did so well, baby, you deserve to be pampered a lil bit, don’t you think? arataki itto is gonna make sure you’re in tip-top shape in absolutely no time!”

…there was nothing you’d ever want to change about him, you were certain.