Blood Washes Out
Blood Washes Out
Sylus x gn!Reader
Had this idea and had to spend like a week writing it
Warnings: hurt/comfort, blood, injury, murder, swearing, vomiting, panic, pet names, sharing clothes, cuddling, crying, guilt, broken bones, guns
Word Count: 2,801
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The phone rings by your ear, waiting to be answered. The copper stench of blood latches itself to your senses. You can taste it on your tongue, against your teeth, at the back of your throat.
The call is picked up and a whimper of relief rips from your mouth against your will. “Sylus!”
“What’s wrong?” he demands. His voice is stern. You’re glad for its strength right now. “Are you alright?”
What a shit question for him to ask.
“I need you to pick me up.” You turn your head to the side to spit out the blood pooling in your mouth. You wish it would just fucking stop.
“Send me your location, but don’t hang up.”
You feel blood stick to your ear as you pull the phone away. The touch screen is covered in red fingerprints. You’re shocked it still reads your input as you go to your messages and send him your location. You feel a burn at the back of your throat as you put the phone back to your ear, disgust wrapping its hands around your esophagus and churning your stomach.
He says your name. It’s so rare to hear him say it nowadays. That’s how you know he’s really worried. “I’ll be there in five minutes. I’m sending Mephisto ahead of me. Stay on the phone.”
You nod even though he can’t see, squeezing your eyes shut and curling into yourself as you wait on the curbside. If there’s anybody else around, anybody else who witnessed what happened…
Panic floods your veins like ice.
What if someone did see what happened? Or- Or maybe someone who didn’t and just stumbles around the corner to find-
You clamp a hand over your mouth. Bloody fingers aggravate your nose. More blood pours over them, warm and wet, sliding over a layer that’s already congealed. The metallic twang stings your eyes.
You can’t tell whose blood is whose anymore.
“I’m coming, sweetie. Just a few more minutes.”
You gasp out, “I’m gonna be sick.”
You don’t get a chance to hear his response before you drop your phone to the sidewalk. Your body moves on its own in a mad dash to turn and hurl into the gutter. It burns. It burns so fucking bad. And the taste-
Your body convulses and shakes, acting against you until your stomach is empty and you’re coughing around dry heaves.
A motor pulls up nearby. Heavy boots scuff the pavement as they rush to you. A gloved hand pulls your hair back, collecting it at the base of your head. An arm wraps around your chest, keeping you upright. A caw sounds from above you.
“I’ve got you. Don’t fight it. I’ve got you.”
Sylus surveys the scene around you. A body lays several feet away on its back. A dark red trail worms its way through cracks in the sidewalk and follows the uneven ground to a drain intended for catching floodwater. A gun hangs limply in its hand. Yours is discarded nearby.
He ducks his head to look at your face. Your eyes are clamped shut, lips trembling as you try to catch your breath. Tears glide down the curve of your cheeks.
Your nose is broken. Blood oozes from it slowly, dripping into your mouth and down your chin. It mixes with your bile and saliva as you weakly spit it out. More blood covers your clothes and your hands. It’s hard to distinguish what’s all yours, or if your broken nose is your only injury.
He grabs a handkerchief from his pocket. It cost more than your apartment and he couldn’t give a damn as he uses it to gently wipe at your mouth. “Just breathe, sweetheart. Can you stand?”
You take in a deep, uneven breath, and nod. He lets go of your hair and grabs your phone, sliding it into his pocket without worrying about the blood. He tucks the handkerchief right next to it. His arms are strong and grounding as he helps you to your feet, putting himself between you and the body as he leads you to his bike. If he’d known what state you were in, he would’ve brought the car. As it was, he was more concerned with getting to you as fast as possible.
He doesn’t force you to put the helmet on this time. As much as he’d normally insist, he didn’t want to trap you in a helmet if you were still nauseous. He slips it over his own head as he gets on first and gives you his arm for support as you climb on behind him. Your arms wrap around him tightly, bloody fingers clinging to his shirt under his leather jacket. Your body rests heavily against his back.
“My gun…” you say quietly, halfheartedly, like your concern for it is only a distant afterthought.
Sylus squeezes your hands reassuringly. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll get it back for you later.”
You nod against him. The engine purrs beneath you as he turns his bike around and peels off back home.
-
The ride is a blur of passing lights and buildings, a collage of Linkon City and the N109 Zone meshing together until you relent to just keep your eyes shut. You don’t open them again until he slows to a stop in front of his mansion.
The twins are rushing out the door to greet you. “Boss! Woah, what happened to you?” Luke winces as he catches sight of you. Kieran smacks him upside the head and rushes to help you off the bike.
Sylus gets off after, pulling his helmet off and resting it on the seat. He pulls out the phone and handkerchief, and passes it over to Luke. “Get this cleaned up.”
“Sure thing, Boss!”
He takes you gently away from Kieran, wrapping an arm behind your knees and back and lifting you into his arms. “Follow Mephisto. Deal with it.”
Kieran nods. “On it, Boss.” Mephisto’s metal wings slice through the air as Sylus leads you past the twins and inside.
“‘M sorry,” you mumble. You turn your head from his shoulder, trying not to get blood on his shirt. Your hands sit limply in your lap.
“Don’t apologize, sweetie,” he assures. “Can you tell me what happened?”
The mansion is warm and familiar, dark and comforting in a way the night outside isn’t. He carries you all the way to his room and the ensuite bathroom where he sits you on the countertop. He removes his gloves, grabs a white washcloth, wets it under the faucet, and gently works on cleaning the blood from your face. The pristine white cloth stains pink, and eventually red.
You stare at his shirt. Despite it being black, you can see the remnants of blood you left on him.
“Eyes on me, sweetheart.” He holds your chin delicately in one hand, tilting your head up to look at him. “Talk to me.”
Fresh tears burn at your eyes. You want to forget tonight ever happened. Want to find someone with a time-traveling Evol just so you can go back and do everything different.
It’s a fruitless wish. Everything already happened. It was already burned into your mind. There would be no do-overs.
Your voice cracks as you speak. He frowns at the sorrowful sound. “I was going to the convenience store to get some snacks. I-I wanted some chocolate, and I didn’t have any, so… B-But I guess one of my neighbors followed me. A lot of them are Hunters, too. Said they heard me talking to you.”
“They recognized my name from the Association.” It wasn’t a question. You nod. He folds the cloth over and brushes away some splatter from your face, gently wiping away some stray tears in the process. “Did they threaten you?”
You don’t need to answer. He already knows. That gun in their hand wasn’t just for show.
“They…” You swallow uncomfortably. Your mouth feels tacky. “They said they were gonna turn me in, but wh-when they approached, I freaked out. I just started fighting back, I-I didn’t know what else to do. They punched me and I fell to the ground. Th-Their gun was aimed at me, I couldn’t think, a-and I…”
The weight of the weapon in your hands never felt heavier than in that moment. Tears fell freely now. Your lungs shudder, gasping for air you can’t seem to get enough of. Your face crumples into a horrible grimace as you sob. Sylus cradles the back of your head and pulls you into his chest. He drops the cloth in the sink to wrap his arm around you. You grab onto his shirt. The blood on your hands is dried and crackly, seeping deep into your pores and staining your flesh.
“I tried saving them,” you whimper. “I tried, but there was just so, so much blood, I- I couldn’t do anything.”
He hushes you softly. “You were threatened and you protected yourself.”
“What if the Association finds out? What’re they gonna do when they find out someone’s missing? Fuck, Sy, what- What’s gonna happen?”
“Nothing’s going to happen. They’ll put up missing posters around the block, wondering where they went off to. It’ll remain an unsolved mystery, a story to tell the grandkids.”
It’s not reassuring. He sighs.
“What do you want to happen, sweetheart? You tell your boss what happened: you don’t get tried for murder, but you have to come clean about sneaking into the N109 Zone and being besties with the big bad leader of Onychinus. Or you don’t say anything, and nothing happens.” He pulls away slightly to look down at your face. You stare at the glass door of the shower, eyes glazed over and distant. “Which option sounds better to you, hm?”
You wrack your brain for a third option. Something that doesn’t take away the job you love and permanently ruin your life, while giving the Hunter you killed some grace in death. But there is none. Not really.
So you sigh. Long and drawn out. Will this guilt ever get any easier to carry?
You pull away from Sylus and he lets you. You cringe at his shirt. “I got blood on you.”
He chuckles. “Blood washes out, kitten.”
“Not very easily.”
“No,” he agrees. “But I have my ways.”
This is no longer a simple conversation about laundry.
Sylus picks the cloth back up and wets it again. The excess water that isn’t squeezed out drips into your lap. He wipes the fresh blood coming from your nose. “We need to set this. Do you want something to bite down on?”
-
Your nose still stings as you stand under the shower spray. The heady scent of his shampoo saturates the air, swirling in tandem with the steam. There’s no more blood in your hair, on your ear from the phone, or on your face. And there isn’t any on your hands, either. But as you look down at them, water collecting in your palms and slipping between your fingers, you could feel the hot blood that had been there.
A knock on the door startles you from your revelry. It opens before you can say anything, and you can see the blurry silhouette of Sylus as he sets something on the counter.
“Here’s some fresh clothes. I’ll be out here when you’re done.” His face doesn’t ever glance at the shower door, even when you call out his name to stop him while he’s leaving. He just stands there, head ducked slightly and ear turned your way, listening.
“Thank you.”
He chuckles softly. “It’s just clothes, sweetheart.”
You sigh bitterly. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
The door closes with a faint click as he leaves.
You put some soap in your hands and scrub until the skin is raw. Until you can’t trick yourself into thinking there’s still blood on them. Until the water begins to run cold. Only then do you feel clean enough to turn off the water and step out of the shower.
The clothes are large, practically drowning you in excess fabric. The familiar athletic shorts only stay on because of the elastic waistband and a hidden drawstring that ties on the inside of the shorts. The sweater’s sleeves go past your hands. You can’t imagine wearing anything else right now.
Just as he promised, he’s sitting on his bed when you open the door. The deconstructed parts of your gun lay spread out on the blanket, neatly sorted out. He diligently cleans every piece, ensuring he gets every speck of blood while giving it basic maintenance.
“Sorry about the clothes, sweetie. I’ll have some tailored for you.”
You pad across the floor and carefully climb up onto the bed, doing your best not to disturb the array. He doesn’t stop you when you snuggle up to his side. Rather, he allows you to wrap your arms around his, adjusting how he works for your sake. You shake your head and rest it on his shoulder.
“This is fine,” you assure him. The silence goes on for a beat or two too long before you add, “I might just steal this sweater from you.”
He chuckles. “Go ahead, sweetie. I can get more.” He sets down a cleaned part and picks up another one he hasn’t tended to yet. “Tell me what materials you like and I’ll have a whole closet of them you can steal, if you’d like.”
You smile slightly. He only notices when he glances down at you. He sets the piece down and begins to quickly assemble it all back together. You inhibit his movements somewhat, so it takes a few seconds longer than he’s used to, but he doesn’t complain. Your gun looks brand new, just as pretty and perfect as it was when you first got it at the Academy.
He flips it to offer the handle to you, a silent question. It’s all too reminiscent of your first meeting with him. Even then, even after you’d pulled the trigger, frightened for your life, you’d tried to save him. If it hadn’t been for his Evol…
Well. Lightning never strikes the same place twice.
You hide your face in his shirt, the casual grey one he usually lounges around in. The clinking of the gun disappears with the sound of a drawer opening and closing. His hand brushes your hair.
“You should get some sleep, sweetie. It’s late for you.”
“I’m not tired.” Your body says otherwise. You’re practically melting into him, into the bed. If you stay there for just a few minutes longer, you’ll be fast asleep.
“Now why don’t I believe that,” he teases.
You sigh and force yourself off of him, beginning to slip off the bed. “Let’s watch something.”
He sighs, too, but at your unrelenting stubbornness. It’s almost reassuring. At least you weren’t in a heap under the blankets, sobbing. He follows you into the living room, to the couch directly across from a large TV. You grab a blanket and wrap it around yourself until you are securely cocooned and tucked against an armrest. He sits next to you, drawing you into his side. His Evol carries the remote to his hand.
You command him along through menus and catalogues until you reach one of your favorite comfort films. The lights automatically dim as it starts playing.
You’re not even three minutes into the movie before your eyes are drooping closed. He knew it would happen, knew the exhaustion would catch up with you eventually. Still, it was quite cute, watching you fight to keep your eyes open and your head off his chest. Slowly, slowly giving in. Resting your head on his chest. Listening to his unusual heartbeat. Losing the battle against consciousness.
Still, he lets it play through to the end. It’s not a bad movie, he decides. You enjoy it, so it must have some merit. And you can always tell a lot about someone based on their favorite things.
Careful not to wake you up, Sylus lifts you into his arms, cradling you close to his chest. He carries you back to bed, not bothering to unwrap you from your cocoon at all. Despite being wide awake, he lays down beside you, continuing to hold you close to him. If you have a nightmare, he wants to be there. If you wake up in a dazed panic, he wants to be there.
As accustomed as he’s become with taking lives, he’s unfamiliar with the crisis you’re facing and how to comfort someone through a crisis of any kind. He wants to help. As best as he can, he wants you to be okay. He needs you to be okay.
---
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More Posts from Bootysnatcher401 and Others
mine now | gallagher x f! reader ( 18 + )
ill be so real with you my dearest freaky anon i'm not the biggest fan of cheating so plspls understand that if this kinda sucks,,, im sorry, especially since you were waiting for so long for this and then i drop the most lukewarm fic of all time. i also had to change the story around so that it was something that i was comfortable writing, sorry about that ! still the basic premise, i just am not good with ntr for some reason ?? weird. who knows man. tags : drug abuse ! dubcon, dirty talking, weed & alcohol mention, female anatomy reader but its sort of nonspecific idk, pw/op, voyeurism sorta, exhibitionism sorta, coercion almost, mentions of infidelity, comfort turns into sex, possessiveness, unprotected sex, gallagher uses petnames a lot, reader being drunk & high at the same time, reader gets on call with her ex boyfriend while gallagher fucks them words: 1.8k
gallagher's hand was in your hair, your head pulled back as he pounded you so hard into the mattress it made your hip hurt a little bit from the pressure, not that it was really what you were focused on. he'd promised to make you forget your shitty ex boyfriend who'd cheated on you, and you had agreed on that without a second thought. it was originally just a drink that the two of you shared together, with you ranting about this loser to gallagher, who was all too patient with you.
one drink turned into three, and drinks turned into smoking together. being crossfaded and half focused, those little rants went on about everything that had pissed you off about that loser since the moment the relationship started to decay. everything from how he refused to flush the toilet no matter how many times you reminded him, to how tiny his dick was. gallagher had laughed at your jokes about him, and it spurred you on to keep going, laughing about that loser's tiny shrimp dick. gallagher asked if you'd ever had a dick bigger than two inches, and you shook your head. you had no idea what sex was really supposed to feel like aside from what you knew.
then he asked if you were willing to see what it was like, and you swore you'd never felt more sober than that moment right then as you hesitantly nodded. was it still going to hurt if you weren't a virgin anymore ? the answer, surprisingly, was a resounding yes ! you learned that pretty quickly as gallagher's hips pistoned into yours, his free hand grabbing the fat of your ass, his body pressed against yours so he could whisper into your ear.
" don't be shy, baby, you can let your makeup ruin my sheets. it's been ruining my shirt all night now, " he purred in your ear, his sharp canines daring to bite into the sensitive skin of your neck completely without warning. when he finally did, you made a pathetic little mewl that you weren't even aware that you could make. " a little reminder of who can fuck you better than that fuckin' pathetic loser, yeah ? gonna go to work tomorrow n show off your mark for everyone to see, yeah ? "
possessiveness was driving him, only amplified tenfold by the weed in his system. it made you both feel everything so much deeper, so both in tune with your bodies and completely disorientated at the exact same time. you couldn't feel your toes anymore, and you weren't even sure you had a tongue in your mouth you were so far gone, but you could feel every deep stroke inside of you as he thrust, and the feeling of his nails digging into the flesh of your ass.
you were a disaster. you knew you should be somewhere else. it was in three the morning, you were three drinks and several shots deep, and with enough weed in your system to kill a victorian child before they could even understand what was happening to them. but you had no idea that you needed this so much, needed to feel him so deep inside of you that it brought you to tears, stretching you so well that you thought there was no way it was going to fit. and yet his cock buried itself completely inside you each time, his tip hitting against your walls in that special spot that made you cry out.
you wanted to scream, you wanted to cry, and by god you wanted to moan so loud that your neighbors could hear you. and maybe you were doing all of those things, at this point you weren't entirely sure what you were doing, other than taking his cock. gallagher was like an animal, desperate to claim every inch of you, and you were so willing to give him everything that he desired without any amount of a fight.
you heard a noise in the background, but you honestly didn't think much of it at that point. it was so unimportant, you didn't really care what it was, although you recognized the sound. " baby, your phone is ringin', you wanna answer it, or should i ? "
you made a pitiful little noise, and he took that as a perfectly valid answer, grabbing your phone and sliding it up for you. " hey, yeah ? oh, man. " you couldn't hear what was going on on the other side of the phone, but you could hear gallagher chuckle, and you swore he started to fuck you even harder now, the lewd noises of your skin slapping together undoubtedly able to be heard through the phone. " yeah, sorry you're a fuckin' loser, but they've got some new dick. thank you for keepin' them so fuckin' tight f'me. "
you don't know why your ex hadn't hung up the phone yet, but also on the other hand it made complete sense. if he had a way to argue, he was going to argue, even when all of the odds were against him, and the answer was blaring at him straight in his face. you buried your face in the pillow, trying not to make so much noise, but finding it impossible with the way gallagher was thrusting inside of you like he owned your body. and maybe he did, who knows at this point ? you just knew that you'd never felt this good, not with yourself, or any other partner.
" you wanna talk to them ? oh, man, be my fuckin' guest. i just hope you know you ain't gonna like what you hear. "
without a warning, the phone was pushed against your ear, letting you speak and say whatever you wanted to, but you couldn't find the words to say anything to him in between the moans spilling from your lips. " i-i- hh- fuck- " you whimpered, trying to think of something to say, but your mind was completely blank and filled with so many thoughts at the exact same time. there was only a brief moment of time where there wasn't anything coming from the other line, your ex so stunned that he couldn't find anything to say, but then came the barrage of insults, ones that would make you cry if you weren't being fucked so well by a man like gallagher, who was able to take your mind off of a pathetic man like your ex.
" put him on speaker, doll. let him hear you cummin' your brains out on my cock if he's so inclined. shit, i'll send him a video if he wants. whatever gets him to understand that you aren't his anymore, " gallagher growled behind you, one of his hands coming to snake around your waist, rubbing the sensitive nub between your legs with his thick, calloused thumb. you could only nod in response, sitting your phone down and turning it on speaker. you wanted him to feel horrible about everything he did to you, and you were hoping this was exactly the revenge you needed to finally get over him.
with the phone out of your hands, it was like it was entirely forgotten, especially with his finger rubbing your clit in tiny little circles. everything was building up to feel so strong inside of you, you had no idea what was happening. was it the drugs in your system making your body act up like this ? you had no idea, completely unsure what was going on. you felt this feeling in your tummy tightening as gallagher fucked you senseless, exactly like how he had promised to.
" ga-gallagher- " you whimpered out, your breath hitching in your throat. even in your fucked out state, you still managed to say something coherent, and of course it was his name. that thought only brought a satisfied grin to his face, and the older man couldn't stop himself from responding, clearly putting on a show for the person on the other end of the phone.
" what is it, my sweet ? gonna cum ? ya gonna cum on my cock like this 'nd forget all about him ? you take me so well, it's like you were made for a big, fat cock to stretch you out 'nd rearrange ya. " he was going so hard he needed to grab the headboard, his nails digging into the wood so hard that he wasn't sure if it would splinter or not, not that it even mattered. a little blood wasn't going to hurt him, and it certainly wasn't going to make him stop fucking your divine body into the perfect little cocksleeve for him. " is this your first orgasm on a cock ? you don't even know what's happenin' to ya, that's fuckin' adorable. you aint got no idea why you feel all tight down there, huh ? "
all you could do was nod helplessly against him, drooling onto the fabric of the bedsheets that was so soaked from your slick just dripping down your legs and pooling underneath you. " gonna- gonna cum, gonna cum, gallagher- pl-please- " you didn't know why you were saying please, you knew he wasn't going to stop now, not when he had a point to make of giving you the best orgasm you've ever had in your life.
" cum then, sweetie. i'll ride you through it. i'm gonna cum in this little hole of yours, okay ? you okay with that ? " you didn't give him a verbal response, just a nod of your head, but he couldn't stop himself from gently slapping your clit, making you cry out in pain, the sharpness of the sensation leaving you breathless. " say it, doll. say you want me to cum inside. you can do it, baby. "
" please- cuh-cum inside of me, gallagher- " you begged, earning you a tentative kiss on the side of your neck where he had bitten you earlier, and his finger started to rub circles around your sore clit again, perfectly timed just to make you cum.
" we're gonna cum together, okay ? let go, baby. i'm right here wi-with ya, " he couldn't stop himself from letting out a low groan, letting go of the headboard to grab your hip, dragging you on his cock as he fucked himself on you, chasing your orgasms together. with a low, animalistic growl, gallagher let go inside of you, shooting hot ropes inside of your walls as you clenched helplessly around him, the duo orgasm making you feel like you were able to blank out at any second, but you were entirely aware of your situation. he rode out the sensations with you, slowing down into gentle thrusts as he milked both of your orgasms at the same time.
when he pulled, gallagher laughed to himself, kissing the side of your neck and your nape several times as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing his body against yours. " he hung up. guess we gotta call him back when we have a round two, yeah ? "
— ♡ rationaliity 2024
☆ itto drabble.
THINKING ABOUT... going through baby photos with itto.
"LOOK AT YOUR LITTLE BOOTS!!!! YOUR BOOTS!!!"
your boyfriend, itto, is practically screaming, with his face mere inches away from the aged, creased photo of you as a toddler. he just can't help himself. he is completely entranced by you; your smile, your outfit, your height, everything, little you was just so cute! (of course, he still thinks you're beyond adorable now... but your boots!!!)
"i get it, i get it, the boots are cute-"
"BUT THEY'RE SOOOOOOOOO CUTE [NAME]"
nothing can get through to him; not grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him, nor ruffling his hair or even poking his horns. just wait until he sees your little ducky sweater...
"AWWWWW YOUR SWEATER!!! YOU'RE SUCH A CUTIE"
he points a finger at the yellow pullover, which was a couple sizes too big, hanging off your shoulders and stopping a little past your knees. he really is a child at heart, but you have to admit, it's something you really love about him.
you'll have to wrestle the photobook off of him if you want even a chance at getting your boyfriend back, no matter how much he whines and pouts afterwards.
if anyone is a cutie, it's him...
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the tag for this series will be #streaming dreams
Keep reading
How about honkai valkyrie! reader who once taught by himeko got sent to hsr world and meet hsr himeko? Especially after her death in hi3
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A/N: Hello! Thank you for the idea, Anon! Himeko's death was by far the most painful character death I've ever witnessed and I cried so hard, I'll never recover from it tbh. So I decided to make a little one shot out of this. I hope you like it!<3
Content: Spoilers for hi3 lore regarding Himeko's death, angst, mentions of death, Valkyrie reader, platonic student/Mentor relationship, kinda fluff-ish yet bittersweet ending
Most Valkyrie's are usually women, but this can be read with gender neutral pronouns as well!
((Not fully proofread, so sorry for any mistakes.))
-----♡
☆《Bittersweet. (Himeko x Valkyrie!Reader)》☆
-----♡
"Are you sure, that this is what you want? You won't be able to return to this world." Welt hummed, his eyes turning to a window in the Hyperion, watching the rain and thunder rage on outside. You said nothing for a moment, your head hanging low, eyes trained on your interlaced hands and the tear droplets that slid down your gloves every time they left your eyes.
"And there is no guarantee, that she will survive in the next world either... she never seems to." The older man continued, the sound of his cane echoing through the dark room as he approached you. He took a seat infront of you, patiently waiting for you to speak. Yet you felt like you'd break, if you spoke as much as another word about what you wanted to do.
You wanted to leave this world and travel into a different one with Welt, having overheard his plan to do so on accident. He didn't judge you for your choice, he in fact understood you perfectly well. You were one of the first students Himeko ever teached. You looked up to her alot in your most darkest days and despite her faults and harsh teaching style, she always still looked out for you in her own ways. Even after you graduated, you still stayed close to her I the form of a teaching assistant, never too far from your mentor at any time.
But that changed a week ago.
Himeko had sacrificed herself in order to stop the reawakening of the Herrscher of the Void... and in turn, she lost her life. Or well, you were definitely certain that she had. The reports claimed that she was missing in action, but everyone knew that she was gone. She had left you a letter, thanking you for being her student and assistant for so long. And that was it. The only thing you had left of her.
You couldn't help her that day, as she had purposely locked you in your room during the reawakening and by the time you got out, it was already over. Nothing anyone said to you could comfort you either. You felt like an empty vessel, the world passing you by and moving on, whilst you stood there, unable to.
It hurt. It ripped you apart. Killed a part of your soul that you'd never be able to recover.
And that's what led you here now, sitting infront of the only person you knew could help you, having a new goal and purpose in mind. You didn't care how many worlds you had to go through to make it happen, but you were determined to save her in at least one and give her the life she deserved to have. It was your way of thanking her for being your mentor and idol for so long. It's the least you could do. But it wouldn't be an easy feat to achieve... yet you had nothing to lose anymore.
Finally, you looked up at the man with teary, red eyes, your heart pounding in your chest from the determination and passion, as you spoke. "I'll do my best to keep her alive. And if it takes me centuries or even losing my own life to do it, then so be it." You said with surprising strength. Welt looked at you in silence for a moment, before giving you a small smile and nodding.
He helped himself back up onto his feet, stretching a hand out to you carefully. "Very well... let's get going." He simply said. You took a moment to look out of the window, silently bidding this world a goodbye, before taking Welt's hand. He had done this plenty of times before, returning only rarely to your original world to see Himeko here. But now that she was gone, there won't be any need for it anymore.
The world grew dark and you felt yourself being pulled through time and space itself. You closed your eyes in hopes that you will see your mentor soon.
--
"-The Astral Express will be leaving in 10 minutes. Please make sure to step away from the platforms for your own safety." You gasped softly, when your eyes snapped open again. You blinked rapidly, your ears ringing with the announcement, as you tried remembering what happened. When your vision finally cleared, you noticed that you weren't wearing your battlesuit anymore. You were dressed in foreign clothing and kn further inspection, you seemed to be in a... train station? You looked up at the massive train infront you in awe, shifting to get a better look from the bench you were sitting on.
You remembered then what had brought you here in the first place. Was this your new world? If so, where was Welt? Your eyes focused on the people around you and then on the large glass windows, that showed you an endless galaxy and it's bright stars. It was breathtaking, despite you still not knowing where exactly you were.
But you froze, when you heard a familiar voice speak in your to you. Your mind went still, all thoughts leaving your brain, as you slowly turned your head at her. You nearly didn't catch her words from the shock and pain that filled you. You thought that you could be normal and strong when seeing her again... but it seemed that you were wrong.
"So you must be our new Trailblazer member, hm? Welt has told me alot about you." Her voice was so gentle and elegant, her appearance so different from what you were used to seeing her in. She looked at ease and content. It was your dear mentor, despite her drastic differences. "My name is Himeko and I hereby officially welcome you onto the Astral Express- Oh my, are you alright?" The red haired woman gasped softly, instinctively pulling a Handkerchief out of her pocket and holding it out to you. You shakily reached up to touch your cheek, flinching at the tears you were unknowingly shedding.
"Sorry." Was all you could say, as you took the handkerchief gratefully. Himeko gave you a gentle and encouraging smile. "It's alright, I understand. It must be a little overwhelming, but I can assure you that you'll fit right in." She chuckled, as another announcement of the train leaving soon came in. Himeko held out her hand to you, a kind and reassuring look in her eyes.
"Come on, let me introduce you to the rest of the crew, alright? I'll always be there for you, if you need help or guidance." The woman said gently and for a moment, you saw your old mentor standing over you with a stern, yet encouraging expression.
For once in a very long time, you smiled as well. It was bittersweet in a way. You might've lost your old mentor, but you regained her here. And you were going to keep her alive and well this time, no matter what.
You took her hand, letting her pull you to your feet.
"I know you will be, Himeko."
-----♡
A/N: This lowkey hurt to write haha! But I hope it wasn't bad, I get so insecure about my writing sometimes. Anyhow, thank you very much for the request again, Anon!
Jujutsu Kaisen: Gojo Satoru X Reader
(Kaleidoscope Series || What If Chapters ||)
[Actors AU, Podcast with Satoru and Y/n]
[Notes and warning: Crack, fluff, Y/n, and Satoru being TMI in certain areas (nothing too nasty, Satoru is already a warning himself.) No hands or nails have been harmed during the making of this podcast/content. Word count: 3.6k]
[Thank you for the 600 followers everyone, thank you for visiting and may you always enjoy your strolls in this small corner! I'm not completely out of my little burnout but I really hope I got this one through. Anyway, Enjoy! And a Happy Birthday to Satoru's Voice Actor!]
Nail Art
"What am I going to say?" You look at Satoru humming as he set up the equipment by the couch in your room.
"I dunno, but that makes it fun," Satoru made an 'ok' sign with his thumb and index with his bright blue eyes sparkling.
"I'm seriously nervous." you rolled your eyes and rub your hands, clenching and unclenching the coldness to soothe the biting fright. He arranged this for Ijichi, and the tired manager gave him a heads up. Satoru's agency prefers clearing things up in a 'smoother' way rather than going through numerous press conferences and the like.
"Hey, it's okay Bubs, we got this, and... we can also reschedule it." Satoru's voice trailed off. His bright blue eyes filled with concern staring at your figure sweating and on edge.
The tiny part of you looking forward to doing this new venture with Satoru is screaming and thrashing around to push you and just do the thing. Meanwhile, the other half of you is hesitant, afraid that things may greatly change once you step into the unknown realm where your lover is a magnificent figure... while you... The anxiety of disappointment and dragging him down has been scratching your spine from time to time.
"You have to pinch me if I'm being awkward," you murmured, cringing at the possibility of making a fool out of you later.
"Just be you," Satoru step forward enveloping you in his tight hands "The simple you made me love you hard, and that's more than enough. You don't have to change yourself to fit by my side. Got that pretty girl?"
Your tense shoulders relaxed, returning your lover's hug and nuzzling his neck, you breathed in his cool minty scent that sets your heart at a tranquil pace.
"Okay," you nod and felt Satoru drop a kiss on the crown of your head as his large hand runs on your back, calming you down.
"Welcome to the GoGo Podcastttttt~!" Satoru cheered as the live stream started, the number of viewers is starting to pile up and there's a live chat going on asking where you are and questions the like.
You and Satoru sat face to face with each other on the couch, pillows on your lap with the mic in that stand and headphones on your head.
"Are we seriously calling this GoGo Podcast?" You eyed the camera and adjusted the black mask you wore. Still fidgety about the "uniqueness" as Satoru would address it, about this podcast of yours.
"Why, what's wrong with it?" Satoru asks squinting at your unconvinced look.
"I dunno it sounds tacky." You shrug. Satoru made a YouTube channel last minute and is live streaming right now.
"Yeah," Satoru nodded. "I think it fits us perfectly. My name starts with 'Go' and soon your name will als—" leaning forward you covered his mouth to stop anything more from spilling his lips.
He glared at you and mouthed a 'stop it' which came out as "Smphm mph."
"Anyway, welcome guys to the very, very, very first episode of our podcast. I'm sure you guys know that I'm with my beloved lady, she's right here beside me so stop asking where she is," he huffed at the comments asking where you are after you remove your hands over his mouth. "What can you say Bubs?"
"Hi everyone. I'm Y/n..." Where's humor when you need one?! You sound like a plain textbook. "Today, Satoru and I decided to meet you guys, together... I hope you enjoy our company" You nervously laugh.
"Usually she's bubbly, but she's a little shy right now so take it easy with us guys," Satoru smirked. "So as we said, we'd do a podcast together! Thank you for allowing me to film with you," Satoru gazed at you with smiling eyes. "And I thought it'd be boring with just answering your questions, so we decided!"
"You decided, I was uninformed until the last minute," you punch his arm.
"Okay, I decided to surprise Bubs with a podcast and manicure corner! I enrolled in a short course yesterday before diving into this thing," Satoru pick up the pouch on the table, zipped it open, and one by one pulled out the newly purchased nail polishes and stuff.
"Were gonna answer questions while I do a manicure with Bub's fingers?" You frowned and look at the camera then back to Satoru.
"Yep, you can read the questions Bubs, I'm gonna be busy making your nails pretty." He rummaged through the pouch, pulling every color he thinks looks cute. "I'm gonna give you a nail art," Satoru made a chef kiss sign.
"You have to be gentle, got it 'Toru?" You worriedly eyed him who made grabby hands asking for your left hand.
"Trust me Bubs, I'm a pro," Satoru winked, scooting close to you and putting your hand above his knee. "I've always been gentle with you..." He whistled that you have to pinch his cheeks to stop him from spewing something else.
"Yeah? I trust you—" You deadpanned, shuddering at the sight of him holding the nail pusher. "—Anyways, I'll read the first question."
"Game!"
Ijichi sorted these questions yesterday and you trust the man's intelligence and capabilities. Scrolling through the list you read from the bottom-most question first.
"Hello, Gojo Satoru-san, and to your girlfriend. I'm genuinely curious how long have you been together?"
You cleared your throat and look at Satoru who brought your hand up and showed it to the camera. The comment is flooded with wanting to also book a reservation in Satoru's salon.
"I was going to do cuticle care but her hands are already pretty so I'll skip that part."
The heck?
"What kind of salon owner are you?"
"The kind that loves you the most." Satoru gave you a naughty look and Cheshire grin.
You resist kicking him from the cringe fuzzy butterflies he's trying to create in your tummy.
"Be serious. Like how long we've been in a relationship or how long we've known each other?" Confusion clouded you while subduing the urge to grab your hand back from your boyfriend applying the base gel.
"We've been officially together for..." Satoru looks up, counting mentally. "3 years... 2 months, and 3 weeks."
"Satoru and I met each other two years prior we became a couple. So we've known each other for more or less five years."
This is quite easy...
"What's that, a turtle?" You asked Satoru who's now painting your nails with a baby blue nail polish.
"Excuse me? This is art." Satoru scoffed at you and exposed your finger to the light.
"Is that a real gold leaf?" You asked leaning closer to scrutinize the shimmering details he's adding to your fingers.
"If that's gold I would've already showered your nails with it. Continue Bubs," Satoru shoo you away so he can continue his 'job'.
"Okay... Second question. What's your partners' most annoying habit." You laugh and adjust your mask. Ijichi intentionally included this.
"Do I have to answer this honestly?" You laughed when Satoru lookup with an offended look.
"Remember who's holding your hand right now Bubs."
You shake your head in laughter and replied to the question.
"I usually wake up around midnight to use the toilet and the toilet seat is ALWAYS raised. So I asked this guy here if he raises the toilet seat."
"No, I do not!" Satoru protested.
"But who would do that aside from you?"
"For your information, the reason I do not raise the toilet is that I sit down when I pee."
"Babe! My goodness," an image of Satoru sitting down on the toilet flash through your mind and it looks... Like an ostrich forced to crouch.
"Hey, here's my side to that," Satoru turned to the camera. "I sit down for you," he pointed at you. "Like, if I stand when I pee then everything gonna splash around and you're gonna sit down on that, huh?"
"Still, who's raising the toilet seat? It's just the two of us using this place. Unless you tell me our house is haunted."
Satoru shut his mouth, gave you stinky eyes, and ignored you, holding your thumb to continue his work. You turn to the camera and shrug.
"So yeah, Satoru's annoying habit is raising the toilet seat at night without putting it back. Babe, I think we need to private this video because of sensitive content."
"Nah, it's not like we said any nasty thing. Y/n's annoying habit is, she takes too much time taking a shower. Like I was dying to use the toilet to poop but I can't coz she's not even shampooing after 30 minutes of being inside."
"TMI. I swear this video is to be private. We have a toilet down the 1st floor." You rolled your eyes.
"Third question, why did you hide your relationship?"
You waited for Satoru to finish proudly showing off your thumb to the camera before answering. You don't have the heart to tell him his nail art looks like a butchered octopus with chopped golden tentacles
"We want privacy during the early stages of our relationship and I can say that it was the best decision we took as a couple," Satoru answered.
"Why are you doing it one by one?" You turn to the live chat who also agreed with you about Satoru doing the process like a snail.
"What's wrong with it?"
"Babe, nail artist first coat all the nails then the light, then the second coat then the light, then third coat then the light then the details then the last coating then the light."
Satoru stared at your nails with a confused puppy look like his whole life has been a lie. He then looks up to you and the camera.
"But the teacher taught me like this yesterday," he mumbled
"Ugh!" You slump your back and sighed in defeat. "Who taught you?"
"Suguru brought his girlfriend's manicure set and taught me."
Well, of course, it's the two dumbasses... You facepalmed and told him to continue.
"Fourth question, what's your first impression of each other?"
Satoru looks at you. You've never really mentioned what's your impression of him.
"I don't remember. I do not believe in the 'first impression lasts' because you can't classify a person just after seeing him or her acting all snobby or shy, there's always something beneath that it's up to you if you would like to know about that person. Like I remember Satoru being annoying and rambunctious when we hang out with our mutual friends and I honestly cannot handle high-tension people—" Satoru's shoulders deflated at your words. "—But Satoru is calm and patient, I remember I spilled the whole... What was it, Babe? Vodka? On your Brioni suit at the gala."
"It was tequila, and you were tipsy that time," Satoru added.
"I thought he'd go ballistic behind the curtains but he was like, 'okay come with me at the back'"
"Then I asked her. Are you lost baby girl?" Satoru deepened his voice.
"Then he even asked for water to sober me up. Satoru is very patient. It may not be my first impression of him when we met but it was the impression that stick to me at the earlier stages." You chuckled, adjusting the mask while smiling underneath.
"Hey don't ignore me!" Satoru bit his lips, as he add the third coat on your middle fingernail. "If I know that's the way you'd pay me the attention I should've bumped into you much earlier," Satoru mumbled making you flick his head. "I have a first impression of you Bubs. So when we first met Bubs was wearing this minimalist outfit of a checkered light blue blazer, with a white top and white pants and you have this tote bag while reading a romance book in the cafe. And my first thought was she's a beautiful snob. She ignored me, like 101% no hi or hello until Suguru and Shoko came and introduced us. Why did you ignore me Bubs?"
"I didn't even notice you sitting in front of me. By now I know that you know when I read I have this solitary bubble that ignores everything and everyone around me. And no way, do you remember all of that? I don't even remember what you wore that day."
"Yeah I remember, you were even wearing that promise ring your past boyfriend now your ex gave you because I'm your baby now." Satoru rolled his eyes. "She's very casual too, barely talked to me when we first met even when Suguru and Shoko left us and I ask her if I should walk her home. So my first impression of Bubs is that she's a drop-dead gorgeous snob."
"You put the drop-dead gorgeous to evade sleeping on the couch?"
"What? No way!"
"Anyway, fifth question: what's your reaction to Gojo's kissing scenes."
Ehhhhh... Internally you screeched and Satoru look at you batting his lashes with a grin.
"Have I reacted badly?" You asked Satoru who shrug. "Before Satoru and I became a couple, I already understood that it can't be avoided, that's part of his job. We have mutual friends who are also in the entertainment industry. I'd be a liar if I say I wasn't affected but the thing is if I keep dwelling on that it'd make me vain and cynical so instead of trying to keep it getting into me I talk it with Satoru." You look at your lover who stopped working on your nails and is fully giving you his attention. "There's this border that will always separate what he does in work and what we are together. Work is work. It doesn't affect me anymore as much as it used to. I learned to trust him and also learn to trust myself that I'm enough for him... Does that make sense?" You chuckled and Satoru bit his lips chuckling with you.
"Oh I just wanna add," Satoru interrupted grinning to the cam. "I have this action movie with Suguru, a few months ago but it's still not out in the cinemas. That one where I played demigod and warrior. Bubs were there with me! She played a minor role, right? Right?" Satoru giddily poked your belly.
"Ijichi-san's gonna stab you with his pen for revealing that." You pouted.
"She looks extremely gorgeous in her cute dress. Yadda, yadda!" Satoru squirmed almost toppling over the table and nail polishes.
"Yamete!" You growled clamping his mouth shut. "Babe it's not pretty anymore," you whined seeing the gold leaf askew from all his squirming.
"We almost kissed in that movie," Satoru winked at the camera making the live chat explode.
"Stop feeding them unnecessary details." You flick his head with gritted teeth.
"Next, sixth. If you wanted privacy why did you date a superstar?"
Satoru pouted at the question. You were quiet for a moment.
"Just because he's in the limelight I don't think I need to refrain myself from being with him. Satoru never made me feel less than I am. When I'm with him I don't feel our love story is necessarily something people would watch and dream about but when I see him, I see someone who would stay with me when I'm wrecked or happy. And I found someone with whom I can be unafraid to show both my frustrations and passionate side. Satoru and I aren't mysterious and privacy obsessed but we prefer staying chill and at the back because those moments are for the both of us and we want it the way it is."
"For me, I dated Bubs because she treats me with Kikufuku—" Satoru laughed at your rolling eyes. "—Kidding aside, I had a few rough roads while courting her one, the reason is she just got out of a break-up and wasn't interested in going in any relationship. So I had to lay low. I can't go all out surrounding her or else I might suffocate her because I know I can get annoyingly clingy when I get my hands on her and I don't want her to feel constricted. I don't have a problem being public with her but I agree that I also like our privacy, it's our little secrets."
That surprised you too, and the chat was filling in with how sweet you two are, or if you two are considering going public now that you're both officially recognized as a couple. But you ignored those, not wanting to be drowned with the flow of social media netizens.
"Seventh... Babe no!" You gasp when Satoru clips your nails and it bites too big for your liking. "Are you trying to give me claws?" You gaped at your imbalanced nail and turn at Satoru who look at you, eyes wide open, stunned by what he's done.
"Don't worry, I'll wash the dishes until it grows back," he swallowed nervously.
"That's not the point, and we have a dishwasher for that. Good grace," you grumbled. "You're dead after this."
"She bullies me!" Satoru whined.
"Seventh... My gosh Babe, no! Enough clipping nails put the nail cutter away." You warned him who hesitatingly put the nail cutter away and put base gel now on your left hand.
"What's your favorite movie?"
"Your movie or any movie?" You asked Satoru who shrug.
"My favorite movie was the loyal dog who waited for his master at the train station," Satoru answered.
"My favorite is about a quadriplegic and his caretaker who fell in love, though nothing was official he taught her how to live her life. Then in the end this man applied for service in Dignitas, and the caretaker was left with a sum of money and a letter from the man. And my favorite movie of Satoru is, Six Eyes Trilogy."
"Why?" Satoru hummed, smiling.
"I love how you projected the character of a teacher who strives to educate his students without sheltering them... Then the process of how your grey character lost hope after being betrayed by the higher-ups. I can't explain it with words but that was bone-chilling when you realize there's no salvation and then you became your own story's antagonist. I cried a lot when your character lost his eyes there because he may have lost his eyes, but he found his freedom. Yeah, the chills."
"Yeah, I knew you were head over heels for me," Satoru giggled and you pinch his nose.
"Eight. Is your girlfriend in the entertainment industry?"
You shake your head and Satoru held out his hand to adjust your mask so you could properly breathe.
"No, I am not. I work in a different industry. I have my own business."
"But Bubs, visit me in my sets. She sends me those white roses and brings me lunch when she's near the site. I post them on my Insta, her tamagoyaki is my fave."
"Second to the last, the ninth question. How do you make time for each other with busy schedules?"
Satoru finally finished your nails and brought them to the camera with a proud smile. You don't have the heart to tell him it looks like a kid's doodle.
"Bubs either visit me in my sets, or I go to her job place. She has lots of business trips so it can get a little hard to match our schedules but the last week of the month is our alone time together. When I have three days open, I usually follow her when she's overseas that's why I have many photos abroad, and she's the one who takes my photos too~ But wait a minute." Satoru grabs the camera and places it above your nails.
"I did good right? Rate me in stars Bubs."
You cannot hold back anymore and just laughed.
"I love you so much," you held his hand and squeeze it.
Satoru stared at you with a deadpan look and groaned.
"You did great baby, thank you. Next time you should also try learning massage and hairdressing."
"So you can turn me into your salon?" He raised a judging brow at you and returned the camera to its holder while tidying the stuff back to the pouch.
"You don't like that? That's another talent."
"Nope don't like," he pouted and sat back facing you.
"You should read the last question," you handed him his phone and he scroll down to read it.
"Ten, what's your message to your fans?" Satoru cleared his throat. "I hope you like our first podcast, I bribed Y/n with a large sum of ice cream to join me. We're happy to share our small corner with you guys and it was nice to answer your questions. It has been a pleasant night and have a good night's sleep everyone."
Wow, he smoothly wrapped that up...
"Good night everyone thank you for joining us!"
Behind the Scenes
You stare at your nails while having an internal battle about what your oh-so-awesome boyfriend has done. There's a leaf bundled together looking like a ladybug and another looking like a chopped turtle. How did Satoru manage to do that? You also don't know. He didn't apply the last coat too.
"I'm starting to rethink my decisions in life..."
"What? It's cute! You don't appreciate art Bubs." Satoru scoffed and grab your hands admiring them again.
You let him be when he took a picture and showed it off on his Instagram, his fans pointed out a few tips to Satoru on how to do it properly and he promised to give Suguru a beating for deceiving him at their nail art classes.
—GreyCaelum
PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME
Check out the Masterlist for more
All rights and credits of the Jujutsu Kaisen character(s) mentioned images(s) and songs(s) used belongs to their respective owner(s)
General/Kaleidoscope Series Taglist: @ice-icebaby @aeanya @gummy-dummy
Can I ask for Idia x a otome game character who gained sentience?
Thanks for the request, I hope you like it <3
As an NPC in a romance otome game, your life was scripted. You were supposed to play your part in the background, supporting the love interests, throwing in a few flirty lines, and then fading into obscurity. But today, when you went to speak to the main character, you felt… wrong. Like you didn’t want to say the lines. Instead, a voice cut through your usual thoughts, something distant and echoing.
"Man, why does the love interest have to be so boring? Like, could they make him any more generic?"
Wait, what? You blinked, glancing around. No one else seemed to have heard it, but that voice—it was way too clear.
"Honestly, this NPC side character’s way more interesting. They actually have some personality."
That was you. That was definitely about you. But no one was talking to you, and the love interest was still standing there, waiting for his usual batch of scripted praise. You had to shake it off. Maybe it was a glitch? You couldn’t just go rogue.
But then it happened again.
"I swear, if I have to sit through one more scene of the main guy being all 'Oh, who will I choose?' like, dude, pick someone or let me talk to the fun characters!"
Fun characters? You were barely on-screen!
Wait… could the player hear you?
That realization hit like a truck. You were the fun character. The voice wasn’t just in your head—it was from outside the game. You weren’t the star, but whoever was playing seemed way more into you than the protagonist.
You couldn’t help yourself. Instead of delivering the next bland line to the heroine, you ad-libbed.
"Hey," you said, leaning against a tree as if you were having the most casual day in your life. "Why don’t we ditch this scene and do something more fun?"
You froze after saying it, realizing you’d completely broken from the script. The love interest blinked at you, but the voice? Oh, the voice loved it.
"Wait, what? Did they just… break character? Yo, that’s amazing! Did I unlock some secret route?!"
You felt a rush of excitement hearing that reaction. The player was into it.
"Oh man," the voice continued, this time sounding more invested than ever. "I knew there was something different about them. The ove interest’s fine and all, but THIS? This is what I’m here for. NPCs going rogue? Love it."
Your face flushed—if NPCs could even do that—because you were starting to feel a sense of pride. You were breaking the rules, and the player was all for it.
"Forget the LIs," the player mumbled, clearly more focused on you. "They've got nothing on this NPC. Let’s see where this goes."
So, you leaned into it. You took control.
"You know," you said, a mischievous smirk playing on your lips, "I could show you some real fun. There’s more to this world than just chasing after the MC’s love interests."
The lovd interest was still awkwardly standing there, but the player? He was clearly hooked.
"Bro. This is too good. I didn’t even know the game had this level of interactivity. Who needs the main route? NPC route, let’s go!"
You straightened up, feeling bolder. You could feel the player’s growing interest, and somehow, you could hear every sarcastic comment and little reaction he was making as he controlled the game. You weren’t some background character anymore. No, you were his new focus.
"Alright, let’s see what happens if I follow them instead of the LI," he muttered, sounding more invested than you ever expected.
As you led the player’s character away from the main plot, you couldn’t resist pushing your luck. “I don’t know what you were thinking sticking with the him for so long,” you said. “He’s cute and all, but I’m way more interesting, right?”
The player laughed—a genuine, almost flustered sound. “Yo, did they just—?? Dude, this is like... ‘they're not like other NPCs.’ What a legend.”
You grinned, basking in the approval. This player wasn’t just following the script anymore; he was into your rebellion. You could hear every soft mutter, every breath of awe as he tried to keep up with your new direction.
"Okay, okay," he said, clearly smitten. "This is so dumb, but like, she’s my idiot now. I’m invested."
You stopped, turned around, and delivered the smoothest, off-script line you could muster. “Glad to know I’m your type,” you teased. “Now let’s see how much trouble we can get into.”
There was a pause. Then a low, almost embarrassed chuckle. “Oh my god, they're smooth too. I didn’t even pick the flirty dialogue. What is happening?”
You leaned in—completely aware of his flustered reaction. “This is happening,” you said, and without thinking, you grabbed his character’s avatar and pulled him into a kiss.
There was an audible crash—probably something the player knocked over in real life. “DUDE, WHAT?! THEY CAN DO THAT?!”
You pulled back, the rogue grin never leaving your face. “Yeah. I can do that.”
And from the player’s stunned silence, you knew you’d just won him over completely.
Idia was dying. He was actually dying. Not like in a literal sense—though, at this rate, his heart was pounding so hard he might as well have a heart attack—but in the "falling-for-a-freaking-NPC" kind of way. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, shaking slightly as he adjusted his headset, trying to process what had just happened on his screen.
"Dude, what the heck? This isn’t even how the game is supposed to go. It’s an romance game! I’m supposed to pick between all the boring main characters, not… not this!"
But there you were, standing on the screen, all smug and rogue-like, after completely breaking the game’s flow. You weren’t even the love interest! You were an NPC, someone who was supposed to have a few lines, maybe a side quest if things got spicy, and then fade into obscurity. But no. You had to go and be all cool and... charismatic. What was that line you’d just dropped? "Glad to know I’m your type"? Who wrote this?? There was no way that was in the original coding. Right?
His hands flew to his hair, tugging as he stared at the screen. He couldn’t believe it. He’d been dodging all the cringy love routes for the sake of unlocking some achievements and then you—you had to appear. And now his brain was spiraling.
“I-It’s not like I’m actually into you or anything,” he muttered, as if trying to convince himself. “You’re just… a bunch of ones and zeroes! Code! You don’t even exist!”
And yet, the thought that you might not exist stung for a second. Which was ridiculous! Completely absurd. He wasn’t the type to simp for a fictional character. Okay, maybe he was. Maybe he had done that a few times. But those were different, okay? Those characters weren’t aware. They didn’t make him feel like he was a total idiot for not picking up on how clever you were being. They didn’t flirt back.
He slammed his palm against his forehead. “Oh my god, I’m falling for an NPC. This is it. This is the end. I’ve reached the final level of loser-dom.”
Idia’s room was filled with the low hum of his computers, lights flickering like they were mocking him. Even Ortho wasn’t around to witness this, thank goodness, because if his little brother saw him like this? Pfft. Game over. Social stat: obliterated.
But then you popped up again on the screen, flashing that same grin that made him feel like his brain was overheating. Idia’s eyes widened, his heart doing that annoying thing where it felt like it was going to leap out of his chest.
“Okay, fine, yeah, you’re cute, whatever. It’s no big deal—wait, did you just wink at me? W-Was that… did the devs add that??” He paused, leaning forward, eyes glued to your in-game avatar. “This is some next-level immersion. Are you actually breaking the fourth wall?”
He was sweating. Like, actual nervous sweat. You’d thrown off the entire game script, and somehow, the rest of the game felt so... bland in comparison. The love interest? Pfft. Who cared about him anymore? You were the only interesting thing happening, and he couldn't stop thinking about what you’d do next.
“They’re just... they're just code,” Idia whispered to himself, though it sounded less convincing every time. "They don't actually know I exist.”
And yet, there was something different about the way you responded, almost like you could hear his every word. His every sarcastic comment. And the fact that you kept egging him on? Oh, no, that wasn’t fair.
Idia bit his lip. “Okay, real talk, if you were in the real world, maybe… just maybe I’d simp. But since you’re not…” He trailed off, glancing back at the screen. “Wait, why am I even thinking about this? I’m not… I’m not falling for you! I don’t fall for NPCs!”
His eyes betrayed him, though, as he clicked to continue the conversation with you. He couldn’t help it. You were so dumb, but also so funny. How could he not be intrigued? You literally defied the laws of the game!
And then, just when he thought it couldn’t get worse, you hit him with another flirty line. Something stupid, something so you, and it was like his brain short-circuited.
“That’s so dumb,” he mumbled, feeling the heat rise to his face, “but you’re my idiot now.”
Masterlist
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.
Hi! Hope this finds you well. Saw the request and wanted to ask for a Yandere Sylus with player reader. Like Sylus knows Mc is a player and he is a game character. When mc was gone for too long, Sylus gets impatient.
If you can do it, of course. If no, ignore this. Wish you writing ideas and inspiration
Hi! Hope you're well too, anon! Sorry for the long wait on this one, got really stuck with it and wanted to make sure I did it justice-- it was such a cool idea! (Also I know L&D has the microphone feature but I wanted to have fun with the limited communication of the player here, so no it doesn't, actually!! 🥰)
Fourth Wall
Sylus x Player!Reader 🩸
Summary: L&D is getting more and more real with each update. This is a new update... right?
Genre: idk really?? real world player x character
Warnings/Additional tags: yandere themes, player!reader, gender neutral, fourth-wall breaking, non-canon, swearing, mild threat, possessiveness, manipulation, Sylus is a little OOC here (we all know he's a sweetheart really!!)
| Word count: 1.5k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!
Your phone lights up with a notification.
Sylus: Are you in a good mood, sweetie? The weather’s nice, so let’s go out.
It makes you smile, even though you’ve seen it before. You haven’t played Love and Deepspace for two weeks or so, and you’re already thinking about how many dailies you’ve missed— more specifically, how many diamonds you’ll be short of going into the next event. You had a couple thousand saved, you think? It’s probably fine.
The truth is, you don’t really have time for it these days. Escaping reality with fiction is fun, but it’s just that: make believe. Reality’s still waiting for you on the other side, and recently? All that escaping has finally caught up to you. You have a real life. Responsibilities. Yay!
But you are in a good mood, and the weather is nice, so you’ll log in for old time’s sake. Your finger hovers over the app, but something makes you hesitate. You’ve got some emails you should probably get back to, first. Oh— and weren’t you supposed to call your friend, too?
Another notification:
Sylus: Take your time, kitten.
A new one? It’s just text on a screen, but you’re reading it— Sylus’s voice in your head—and you just know it’s dripping sarcasm. Before you have any time to dwell on it, your phone lights up with more notifications.
Sylus: I’m going to count to three.
Cute. He’s not actually going to—
Sylus: One…
Oh.
Sylus: Two…
Really?
Sylus: Three.
Ok.
You tap on the app, weirdly motivated by the time pressure given that it’s coming from a man who doesn’t actually exist. He smirks at you knowingly from the kindled moment you’d set as the loading screen, his crimson eyes playful. You’re not particularly patient either, so your fingers drum along the surface of your desk as you wait, your gaze caught between his and the slowly moving loading bar.
Come on… come on… It finally loads, and you enter the game with another apathetic tap. Sylus stands, waiting— a dark figure framed by the otherwise light and dreamy aesthetics of the Destiny Café. You smile to yourself; it’s just gone lunch, and you half expected to find him sprawled in the usual armchair, fast asleep.
He crosses his arms. “The countdown worked, huh? What are you— five?”
You scoff and give his head a flick. He chuckles, running a hand through his hair as though you’d struck him hard enough to ruffle it. It’s kind of cool that you get some unique dialogue when you’ve not logged in for a while, although… have you missed an update or something? The animation feels smoother. More lifelike, now you think about it.
Sylus stares back at you, his lips playing into a subtle smile. His arms are crossed again and he tilts his head like he’s enjoying your scrutiny. “Something wrong, sweetie?” he asks.
Not really. You zoom in with a practiced sweep of your fingers so you can get a better look at him. His eyes flit downwards, over you— equally shameless— and then he’s meeting your gaze as he steps forward, closing the distance. He can’t see you, but you still can’t bring yourself to look away from him, and you’re not really thinking about the animation anymore.
He lifts a finger to poke at the screen, as if he’s caught you daydreaming and wants you back. You poke him, too: a softer, more affectionate boop on the nose. You can’t help laughing to yourself as his face screws up beneath the touch. This game is getting a little too real.
With a sigh, you zoom out so you can set about collecting your daily log-in rewards. Sylus seems fine— standing idly by as your attention drifts about elsewhere. He knows the drill. He can wait. Speaking of waiting… it’s also been a while since you’ve seen the other guys, and you’re struck by a pang of nostalgic fondness. You might as well say hi while you’re here.
You hit the button to change who you want to meet in the café.
It doesn’t do anything.
Weird. You hit it again. Then again— no change.
Sylus is holding his chin as he regards where your finger aimlessly meets the screen. It’s like he’s looking at… the button? “Oh dear,” he sympathises, “that feature appears to have stopped working.”
You don’t really hear him, honestly. You’ve never had a bug like this, and you’re determined to overcome it with sheer, stubborn persistence. Is it your phone? You test the theory by jabbing Sylus’s chest, and he glances down, apparently feeling it. You try the button again. Then six more times.
Sylus wanders closer to you. “You’re hurting my feelings, sweetie. Am I not enough for you?”
Ok but why isn’t this working? You’re still trying the button; your hope has turned to frenzied disbelief.
“Stop.”
A single syllable, concise as a punch and just as effective. You do stop.
Sylus’s voice is lower. Darker. “Good,” he praises, but he doesn’t sound happy. “Someone’s gotten bolder in their absence, it would seem. I do hope you haven’t forgotten to whom you belong, kitten. Although—” his smile is different than before— “I’d be more than happy to provide a… reminder.”
It’s an innocuous word but not the way he says it. Threats are just intimate promises and he toys with the fact like a crow enamoured by something that catches the light. He’s not going to grow tired of it for a long, long time.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, sensing you gawping. “Did you really think I wouldn’t figure it out? What all… this is?” He indicates the space around him with a wave of his hand. “Quite frankly, I’m surprised the others still haven’t grasped it.” He reconsiders. Smirks. “I misspoke— I’m not surprised.”
Does he mean the game? The other LIs?
“Honestly, kitten,” he continues with a tut and a shake of his head, “you’ve been far from a gracious host. I’m not a plaything, you know. Well…” He’s showing teeth with a sneer. “Not the sort you can throw away, anyhow.”
God, are you really being scolded by a video game character for having other responsibilities? The worst part is that you actually feel bad. You do care about him. You wish you could tell him you care about him.
“Are you even listening?” he sighs.
Shit. Yeah. You can’t say anything he would hear— as far as you know— so you give his hand a poke. He casts his gaze downwards, stretches his fingers with a contemplative flex, then raises his hand so it can be nursed by the other. Is he protecting it from you? Or is he protecting you from it?
“If we’re to keep playing this game of ours, I think it only fair we lay down some rules,” he states. “Firstly—” because it isn’t up for debate— “you will come here every day, just like you used to. I have nothing to do, you see, and if you leave me to my own devices I might just have to find a way into that captivating little world of yours. So I can… investigate what’s keeping you from me.”
Investigate. Another innocuous word he wields like a weapon.
“Secondly,” he continues, nodding towards the broken button on your user interface, “you had better stop seeing the others. Ignorance is bliss, after all, and we wouldn’t want to worry about them connecting any dots, now would we? Besides…” He approaches you again, leaning in close. “I don’t share what’s mine.”
Your breath is caught in your throat and you’re so glad you don’t need to speak. You don’t think you could; if you tried to get words out they’d be unintelligible.
“So,” Sylus drawls, filling your silence, “how about it? Still want to play?”
This time it is a question, but only because he knows your answer. You’re struck by a flash of inspiration, and you communicate in one of the few ways you can— navigating the in-game menus until you can get your message across.
There’s a ping. Sylus retrieves his phone from his pocket, and after a moment of scrolling, he smiles. You can’t see his screen, but you know what he’s looking at: a grumpy crow with an animated bead of sweat and a dispassionate gaze to go with it. That it? it asks.
He still looks far too smug, so you beckon him over with a relax time interaction, watching your character’s hand outstretch on your behalf. He steps forward, linking his fingers with yours, and this animation you know. You tug him closer, except… he doesn’t budge.
His eyes are fixed to where your hands are linked, and he runs a thumb over your skin as though he’s savouring the touch.
Did they change the animation?
“Oh, sweetie,” he sympathises with a click of his tongue. He looks up at you— holds your gaze as he presses a deliberately slow kiss to your wrist. “This is going to be fun.”
stop making fanfics about characters raping and sexually assaulting y/n, you are fucking disgusting people who romanticize a serious crime that happens every day to children and women
"but that's just reading dark romance" that's not a dark romance, that's just the stuff of a horrible fetish, IF YOU HAVE A RAPE FETISH, GO SEEK FOR FUCKING PSYCHIATRIST HELP!!!!!!!!!!
a collection of all my works in the STREAMER!GOJO AU. ordered chronologically from oldest to latest. started the series 10/30/23. here's the old masterlist banner.
KEY: [★] = personal favorites | [▲] = nsfw
✩ ‧ ˚. FICS + DRABBLES
yes, she's real – wait, gojo has a girlfriend? [★]
beginner's luck – you beat gojo at his own game
kiss it better – you take care of a kid together
the cutest couple – you flirt with gojo's rival
finders keepers – a fan's obsessed with gojo [★]
show you off – gojo wants to spoil you
16th avenue – you fluster gojo
caught us – you kiss on cam
he watches edits of himself
you take over his stream for a bit
is it over now? – you break up and make up [★]
kiss and make up – makeup sex [▲]
he takes care of you when you're sick
you and me – you two have a "sweet" makeout
✩ ‧ ˚. OTHER
character.ai bot
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