Wriothesley X You - Tumblr Posts
“you’re an idiot.”
“really, doc? you’re gonna insult me after i came all this way to see you?”
you pause what you’re doing to stare down at wriothesley with a wholly unimpressed look. “you were wheeled in on a stretcher.”
(he’d even come in shirtless, one hand resting behind his head all laid out like a fontanian model in a clothing campaign.)
he dismisses the fact with a wave of his good hand, tsking. “only because sigewinne threatened to tranq me if i didn’t get on!”
you know for a fact that the head nurse is still stationed outside the infirmary in case his grace tries to leave without staying for overnight observation.
“she should have done it anyway,” you hum, taking his wrist and using it to carefully position his arm at his side. you nod at the nurse across from you holding the band to keep him steady. “deep breath now, your grace.”
wriothesley draws a breath and releases it quickly, grinning up at you. “so, what are you— fuck!”
“get him a sling,” you instruct, stifling a laugh as you let go of his arm and step back. “i’ll get him an ice pack.”
the two of you move around the infirmary, quickly gathering supplies as the duke lets loose a string of expletives that would make sigewinne faint.
it’s quite entertaining to see the duke pout, holding a heart-patterned ice pack to his shoulder. “i think i deserve a kiss for that.”
“a kiss is going to help with shoulder pain?”
“duh.”
this time, you don’t stifle your laughter as he closes his eyes and puckers his lips.
you pull a sticker from your pocket, pressing it to his waiting lips. “you were a very brave boy.”
his pucker turns into a pout as he uses his good hand to take the sticker off, sticking it to his discarded gauntlets. he looks more like a puppy than a wolf in this state.
with the worst of it out of the way, you begin tending to any scrapes or bruises.
it should be simple, but wriothesley doesn’t make it easy. he flexes playfully whenever your fingertips brush his biceps. insists on holding your hand when the antiseptic touches his wounds.
“okay, you’re all done,” you tell him, peeling off your gloves and tossing them into the bin. “but you will have to stay overnight so we can monitor you for any concussion symptoms.”
his brows raise as he clicks his tongue, smirking. “oh? are you asking me on a date?”
“no,” you say, tucking your clipboard under your arm. “i’m doing my due diligence as your physician.”
“but it’ll just be me and you and this very romantic lighting…”
“it’s dim light because someone keeps forgetting to put in the order for new ones.”
“they’re dim? hm, i didn’t notice. how could i when your smile lights up the room?”
you roll your eyes when he winks, but can’t help the heat you feel spreading across your face. “if you keep this up, i’ll have sigewinne and her tranquilizer gun stay overnight with you instead.”
“if i stop and you stay, will you at least have tea with me?” he asks, a hopeful glimmer in his eye.
“fine, i’ll stay. but only if i get to pick the tea,” you tell him, pulling a chair to the side of his bed and shedding your lab coat to get comfortable. “you’re especially insufferable when you’re injured, aren’t you?”
he reaches out and pulls the chair closer, so you’re sitting between his knees. “and yet, you’re finally succumbing to the temptation of my rock hard abs and winning personality.”
“no,” you deny, but you’d be lying if you said being this close to his spectacularly toned torso wasn’t doing…things to you. “it’s because you have liyue imported tea.”
“yeah,” he says, flashing you a charming, sinful smile that makes the fine hairs on the back of your neck raise, threatening to shatter your resolve. “if you say so.”
underground fighter wriothesley who absolutely melts whenever you patch him up n place the softest kisses over his bruises n stuff :((
- 🦋 anon
✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ WE, NOT I — WRIOTHESLEY.
contents. underground fighter! wriothesley, gn! reader (he gifts you flowers, perfume and a necklace though, so if that is fem! coded to you, there’s your warning), mentions of foster care and being orphaned (wriothesley), mentions of blood, bruises, and injuries (wriothesley), slight angst but overall fluff ending
money’s tight—has been for a while, actually. wriothesley doesn’t like to talk about it, doesn’t like to open up even though he knows you won’t think any less of him. but you notice the small things, always do.
it’s the way you buy groceries for two, the way he’s always over for dinner one way or another, the way he seems to spend more and more time at your place than his. money’s tight, even if he doesn’t like to admit it—and you could never force it out of him, but you think letting him stay with you while he can could help ease the burden of living even if a little.
he’s grateful—a little roundabout in the ways he shows it, but grateful all the same.
and then the presents start to come.
it’s small at first: those expensive macarons you like from that bakery, the bouquet of roses that couldn’t be cheap, a nice dinner he insists he can pay for every once in a while. and then it starts to get bigger: fancy tea from the side of town neither of you even think about shopping at, perfume from a brand you can’t even pronounce, a necklace that’s more than what you can afford yourself.
it starts out slow, and then all at once, wriothesley has what you imagine to be more money than he knows what to do with. because why else spoil you like this? why else blow money on things for you when he could be putting it towards himself?
not everyone gets to have a head start at life—wriothesley is proof of that. it’s hard, more than most people realize, to be orphaned so young and move through foster home after foster home. he’d gone to jail once too—he doesn’t talk about that either, and you never ask. it’s hard, more than anyone gives him credit for, to be knocked down by life so many times and make a living for yourself.
you can’t understand where the sudden change comes from, can’t pinpoint where along the line he started getting so comfortable. it’s not unwelcome, you would never want to watch him just barely scrap by, but it concerns you how he seems to have so much all at once.
and then you get your answer.
“what—what happened to you?” you ask in disbelief, eyeing the blood caked by his nose and around his knuckles. that’s the best of it, unfortunately—the gashes on his chest and the bruises somehow look even worse.
you’d consider him lucky that his ribs don’t seem cracked.
“just a fight,” he shrugs, not meeting your eyes. wriothesley is a lot of things: resourceful, conniving at times, and braver than most. good at lying is not one of them, however—at least not with you. “just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“where were you, then?” you challenge, staring at him hard enough that he doesn’t have to meet your eyes to shuffle uncomfortably in his spot. he doesn’t answer. you’re almost fed up. “wriothesley,” you say in a warning tone.
there’s a sense of finality he doesn’t like.
“what happened to wrio, sweetheart? you’re killin’ me here, i come home to you all bruised up and you’re here beating me down harder—”
“wriothesley, i’m worried about you,” you whisper tiredly. it’s defeated—it’s almost helpless. he frowns, finally looking up at you from his place between your legs as you sit on the bathroom counter.
“you don’t have to be,” he mumbles, “i can take care on my own. i always have.”
“there’s no being on your own when we’re together,” you shake your head. your hands fall to either side of your body, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. “don’t you understand? neither of us is supposed to be on our own anymore—not when the other is here.”
“yeah,” he crosses his arms—you try to ignore the wince he lets out as he moves, “and now you’re not handling things on your own anymore. i’m carrying my weight. just need to fight a guy or two.”
“you’re carrying your weight by fighting?” you blink at the realization. he doesn’t look you in your eyes, keeping them trained on the floor again. “oh my god—is that what these are from? because….because you’re fighting some punks in the middle of the night? that’s illegal—and you could get in trouble again—”
he doesn’t seem to like being reminded of his past. that’s clear when he clicks his teeth and glares at you. “and what am i supposed to do, stay cooped up in your place and eat your food?” he asks bitterly, making your brows furrow.
“not necessarily, but you can—”
“what, so i just live paycheck to paycheck and shower at your place and sleep in your bed so my water and electricity bills aren’t too high for the month?”
“wrio—”
“i’m earning, aren’t i? what’s the big deal?”
“the big deal is this,” you wave your hand exasperatedly, tears welling up by the lash line of your eyes as you stare at his bruises with trembling lips, “look at you. it’s not worth it if you come back to me like this.”
“but i come back,” he mumbles, taking your hand—he kisses the knuckles, rubs a rough thumb over the smooth skin before laying your palm against his cheek and sighing. “i always come back.”
you love wriothesley—have since the day you met him, you think. he’s easy to fall for like that, to feel your stomach go in twists and knots every time he makes a sarcastic joke and throws you a charming smile. life has been tough on the man you love, unfairly so. it’s hit him harder and harder and pushed him back to his knees before he ever got a chance to fully stand up.
he’s hitting back, now. maybe in a more literal sense than you’d hoped, but….but maybe you can help him if you can’t change him. maybe you can keep the pieces together until the plaster holds and they’re not so fragile anymore.
“i don’t like seeing you hurt,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss the broken skin on his cheekbone, “you don’t have to do all this. we were doing okay before that.”
we. he shudders at that. it’s always we and never i—even when you did all the heavy lifting. even when he was barely getting by and you were giving more than you should’ve had to, more than he should’ve needed. it’s always we. never i.
you and him.
“i know,” he melts, humming as your fingers thread into his tousled hair, scratching his scalp as he buries his face into your neck, “just let me save a bit more. and then i’ll do something real with myself. i promise.”
you pull away after a bit, taking in every bruise and every cut, every dry patch of blood and swollen patch of skin. it’s shaky at first, your voice when you finally speak.
“‘s all bruised,” you say quietly, running a finger over the marks littering his chest. he’s painfully still—doesn’t move a muscle as you lean in slowly and press a kiss to the purplish stain on his skin, gently trailing them to the next one, and the next one, and the next one. “you don’t deserve all this.”
“yeah?” he chuckles—its breathy, a little strained. your arms loop around his waist and bring him closer, “what a sweet thing,” he coos, “nobody ever treats me so gentle.”
you frown at that. the world is not gentle with wriothesley—you’ll have to be extra gentle to make up for it.
“you’ll be safe? you’ll pull out when it’s too much, right? and you’ll come back? without being too hurt, right? wrio, you can’t—”
“yeah, yeah, i got it,” he huffs, pressing his forehead to yours, letting your hands cup his cheeks. he leans closer to your touch, shudders as you slowly trace his cheek with your thumb, “just wait at home all pretty for me, yeah? i’ll bring you back something nice.”
“bring me back yourself in once piece,” you huff.
“done,” he smiles, “i’m strong, if you haven’t noticed.”
“yeah? explain this,” you challenge, pressing down on a bruise and making him wince.
“you should see the other guy,” he whines, burying his face back into your neck. you roll your eyes, there’s a scoff in your throat but a smile on your lips.
wriothesley is safe—for now, that’s all you can ask for.
“i love you,” you mumble, “so much. no matter what, okay?”
“no need to get so emotional on me, baby,” he chuckles—and then there’s a tightening of strong arms around your body, a kiss pressed delicately to your neck before a soft, “but i love you too” is murmured into your skin.
“i hope you’re ready to clean those cuts. they’ll sting for sure,” you grumble as you pull away. he grins—handsome, charming, yours.
“will you kiss them better?” he bats his lashes, making you snort.
“no.”
i might make this a reoccurring drabble series too idk yet. anyway you know what else he can beat up ?? this pussy ;)
settle down now
wriothesley x sick!reader taking care of you when you're sick 0.3k words fluff & comfort
wriothesley, who cuddles you when you whine for him – especially when you're sick.
"baaaabe!" he hears that soft, petulant whine and seconds later, you hear the soft thumps of his footsteps grow louder.
"hm?"
"i don't feel good." your face is smothered into the pillow, words muffled.
"i'm sorry you don't feel good, baby," wriothesley taps you on the back, signalling you to sit up straight. you do so immediately without fuss.
"i feel terrible." you let out a low moan. you feel a gentle kiss being pressed to your forehead as he pulls you onto his lap, tenderly moving you every so slightly to rest your head against the crook of his shoulder. he's so warm.
"i know, angel."
"i see the light nowwww."
he chuckles, and a small whimper escapes past your lips.
"you really don't feel good, huh?" you shake your head, squirming slightly in his arms. your husband presses another sweet kiss to your forehead before standing up, and you let out another soft whine in protest.
"i'm gonna carry you back to bed, darlin'." there is no room for argument, and he scoops you up into his arms. normally you would squeal and squirm, or let out an indignant protest, but you feel so horrible right now that you surrender all control to him.
you press your head against the crook of his shoulder and you nestle yourself in there – it'd be nice to be a bear right now, you think to yourself. cosy and warm. all tucked in.
"sleep tight, baby. i'll have some tea waiting for when you wake up, alright?" wriothesley deposits you into the warm blankets, laying one over you and pressing a goodnight kiss to your forehead.
stay.
you don't even realise that you've mumbled the word out loud, until he climbs into the sheets next to you – he's so warm and suddenly everything feels like it's going to be alright again.
"settle down, sweetheart." you feel him tuck you into his arms, nestled and spooned into the comfort of your husband.
the tea can wait, now that you have all the time in the world with him by your side.
l'avoir elle, c'est avoir les étoiles / / wriothesley . . .
wriothesley considered himself a pretty selfless man, until it came to you. wouldn’t you indulge him in his selfish desires for a moment of your time?
warnings: inspired by veil (manga), blind!reader, f!reader, ooc wriothesley?, wriothesley’s pov, mentions of smoking, mentions of neuvilette and sigewinne, fluff, domesticity
w/c: 1.25k
authors note: i reread veil and i need an aleksander to call my own hmu if ur a russian police officer w red hair Plz. art cred: ルル on twt
“wrio? what’s wrong?”
wriothesley fully opens his half lidded eyes, noting your appearance as you lay on the table before him, not wanting to disturb his contemplation.
the only sound at this time of the night being your voices, the distant echoes of droplets from the pipes in the wall, and the soft jazz playing from his gramophone. you slowly get up and approach him, light steps clicking against the stone floor.
your hands find their way to his face, a light stubble itching against your fingers. he sighs, leaning against you. “...nothin’ to worry your pretty little head about.”
you hum, obviously not believing his lie. you drag your fingers to the back of his head, lightly scratching his scalp. you lean in towards him, the couch dipping ever so slightly. “mhm. is it the fortress again? ‘nother fight?”
he chuckles, leaning his head back. the one thing he loved about you was your attentiveness. you’d read him like a book, or rather, feel.
you tilted your head in confusion, your pretty and ever-so-long lashes fluttering while closed against your skin. “what?”
“nothin’ angel. just admiring you.”
“y’know, if you wanted to distract me it’s not working. the way to my heart isn’t just built on flattery. and anyone could see through those big sighs of yours.” and you go again, flashing that cheeky smile as you always did, the same as when you two were younger.
he laughs lightly, “of course 'ts not. i know you better than that.”
“and i know you better than that,” your hands stop, and you look at him with the most serious face you could muster, “tell me.”
he sighs and shakes his head, “it’s a lot more complicated than that sweetheart, don’t wanna bore you to death.”
and with that you relent with your own deep sigh, leaning back into the couch and off of him. he misses your warmth.
“don’t be like that (y/n).” he looks at you through the sides of his eyes, then gently reaches for your hand, caressing it with his thumb. “you got so much to worry ‘bout already, with how many are coming in all roughed up.”
“yes…” you mumble, “but, it’s just us now.”
he can’t see your eyes, as they’re closed, but he was sure they’d be glossy now—he wishes you’d open them once more. wriothesley leans in and plants a small kiss against your forehead, then leans his own against it.
he knows your weakness for touch, for physical contact.
the way your delicate hands would softly caress every nook and cranny of a trinket he’d get you. the way you’d feel for a lamp when you thought things were too dim for your liking. the way you’d toy with the jewelry hanging on your neck, ears and wrists. it seemed like you couldn’t get enough.
he also knows about your compassion for him. always keeping tabs throughout the day, sending little sweets and snacks for him. you’d handle patients with sigewinne with gentleness, even when they were somewhat undeserving of it. and when you’d have work above ground, you make sure to send letters to sigewinne, keeping up with her updates about him.
wriothesley knows you miss living up in the city. he knows you long for the soft tunes that would be performed in the dim-lit streets at night, tossing a few mora into their hats lying on the sidewalk. he knows you miss keeping up with the latest fashion trends and splurging your money on tens of dresses. he knows you miss your old life with him.
and so in spite of this, you still stood by him. ever so selfless and caring.
but he couldn’t help himself out of his own selfishness.
wriothesley pulls you into his lap, his rough hands pushing back the few loose strands of hair in front of your face behind your ears. to everyone he’d be known as the fearless duke of meropide, to you, he’d just be plain old wriothesley. your loving, plain, old wriothesley.
you’re reluctant at first, a pout standing firm on your face. your delicate features almost give you away as he slowly snakes his arms around you. he pulls you closer by your waist and you give in just like putty in his palms.
your eyes are still comfortably closed, hands making their way lazily to his shoulders. you sniff the air around you two, scrunching your nose. “you’ve been smoking, my lord?”
“...no.”
“you’ve got all these rules around the fortress about extending prison time if anybody ever so as brings in a lighter, and yet you’re here, in your office, all cooped up and–”
you squeal as he puts his lips to yours to shut you up. you taste like crepes and jam, courtesy of neuvillette. the soft velvet feel of your lipstick smears against him, some even getting on his teeth. sigewinne was in his office just a day ago asking about what shade of red or pink would suit you. it appears she chose well. he smiles into the kiss, hands digging their way into your hair. he makes a note to thank both for the gifts.
you pull away with a slight gasp before resuming like the sly fox you were. you were always able to catch on quickly, as you’d learn a few things from him yourself.
you nibble on his lip. he lightly bites yours’ back.
you stifle your giggles at first, but then you laugh, and suddenly, your complexion was glowing — and he swore he’d seen an angel.
wriothesley looks up at you with a fondness in his eyes, hands now at your waist. he was sure he looked silly, with the reddish pink all over his lips, but he knew you wouldn’t care. really.
“shutting me up with a kiss… how original of you.”
“but you liked it, no?” that earns him a flick against his forehead, ouch.
you sit up straight, wiping the edges of your lips, “if you’ll excuse me, sir, i promised sigewinne i’d help her in stocking the medical cabinet. we’ve just received our shipment of gauze from fontaine.”
he knew you wouldn’t notice it, but he couldn’t help but look at you with longing in his eyes, wanting to shield you away and coop you inside his office, inside his arms.
but he lets you go with a sigh on his lips and a gentle kiss of his thumb on the apple of your cheek. “yes, ma’am,” he pauses before he adds on. “you want me to walk you there?”
you stand up and he gets up synonymously with you, tugging and fixing your clothes without a word. “it’s fine, i can get around the place myself, i’m not a damsel in need of help all the time.”
you turn on your tippy toes and press a chaste kiss to the side of his mouth before quickly grabbing your coat and leaving. “i’ll see you again soon, okay?”
he smiles after you, watching as you leave with your shoes clicking against the stone of the floor. he looks back at his desk with grimace, the piles of paperwork enough to sour his mood.
he grabs a cigarette and reaches for his pockets, trying to find the cool metal of his lighter. instead, it appears, he was met with something else.
“what…?”
he realizes now that you truly were too sly for your own good, as he was met with the very same lipstick gifted to you.
cheeky.
settle down now
wriothesley x sick!reader taking care of you when you're sick 0.3k words fluff & comfort
wriothesley, who cuddles you when you whine for him – especially when you're sick.
"baaaabe!" he hears that soft, petulant whine and seconds later, you hear the soft thumps of his footsteps grow louder.
"hm?"
"i don't feel good." your face is smothered into the pillow, words muffled.
"i'm sorry you don't feel good, baby," wriothesley taps you on the back, signalling you to sit up straight. you do so immediately without fuss.
"i feel terrible." you let out a low moan. you feel a gentle kiss being pressed to your forehead as he pulls you onto his lap, tenderly moving you every so slightly to rest your head against the crook of his shoulder. he's so warm.
"i know, angel."
"i see the light nowwww."
he chuckles, and a small whimper escapes past your lips.
"you really don't feel good, huh?" you shake your head, squirming slightly in his arms. your husband presses another sweet kiss to your forehead before standing up, and you let out another soft whine in protest.
"i'm gonna carry you back to bed, darlin'." there is no room for argument, and he scoops you up into his arms. normally you would squeal and squirm, or let out an indignant protest, but you feel so horrible right now that you surrender all control to him.
you press your head against the crook of his shoulder and you nestle yourself in there – it'd be nice to be a bear right now, you think to yourself. cosy and warm. all tucked in.
"sleep tight, baby. i'll have some tea waiting for when you wake up, alright?" wriothesley deposits you into the warm blankets, laying one over you and pressing a goodnight kiss to your forehead.
stay.
you don't even realise that you've mumbled the word out loud, until he climbs into the sheets next to you – he's so warm and suddenly everything feels like it's going to be alright again.
"settle down, sweetheart." you feel him tuck you into his arms, nestled and spooned into the comfort of your husband.
the tea can wait, now that you have all the time in the world with him by your side.
l'avoir elle, c'est avoir les étoiles / / wriothesley . . .
wriothesley considered himself a pretty selfless man, until it came to you. wouldn’t you indulge him in his selfish desires for a moment of your time?
warnings: inspired by veil (manga), blind!reader, f!reader, ooc wriothesley?, wriothesley’s pov, mentions of smoking, mentions of neuvilette and sigewinne, fluff, domesticity
w/c: 1.25k
authors note: i reread veil and i need an aleksander to call my own hmu if ur a russian police officer w red hair Plz. art cred: ルル on twt
“wrio? what’s wrong?”
wriothesley fully opens his half lidded eyes, noting your appearance as you lay on the table before him, not wanting to disturb his contemplation.
the only sound at this time of the night being your voices, the distant echoes of droplets from the pipes in the wall, and the soft jazz playing from his gramophone. you slowly get up and approach him, light steps clicking against the stone floor.
your hands find their way to his face, a light stubble itching against your fingers. he sighs, leaning against you. “...nothin’ to worry your pretty little head about.”
you hum, obviously not believing his lie. you drag your fingers to the back of his head, lightly scratching his scalp. you lean in towards him, the couch dipping ever so slightly. “mhm. is it the fortress again? ‘nother fight?”
he chuckles, leaning his head back. the one thing he loved about you was your attentiveness. you’d read him like a book, or rather, feel.
you tilted your head in confusion, your pretty and ever-so-long lashes fluttering while closed against your skin. “what?”
“nothin’ angel. just admiring you.”
“y’know, if you wanted to distract me it’s not working. the way to my heart isn’t just built on flattery. and anyone could see through those big sighs of yours.” and you go again, flashing that cheeky smile as you always did, the same as when you two were younger.
he laughs lightly, “of course 'ts not. i know you better than that.”
“and i know you better than that,” your hands stop, and you look at him with the most serious face you could muster, “tell me.”
he sighs and shakes his head, “it’s a lot more complicated than that sweetheart, don’t wanna bore you to death.”
and with that you relent with your own deep sigh, leaning back into the couch and off of him. he misses your warmth.
“don’t be like that (y/n).” he looks at you through the sides of his eyes, then gently reaches for your hand, caressing it with his thumb. “you got so much to worry ‘bout already, with how many are coming in all roughed up.”
“yes…” you mumble, “but, it’s just us now.”
he can’t see your eyes, as they’re closed, but he was sure they’d be glossy now—he wishes you’d open them once more. wriothesley leans in and plants a small kiss against your forehead, then leans his own against it.
he knows your weakness for touch, for physical contact.
the way your delicate hands would softly caress every nook and cranny of a trinket he’d get you. the way you’d feel for a lamp when you thought things were too dim for your liking. the way you’d toy with the jewelry hanging on your neck, ears and wrists. it seemed like you couldn’t get enough.
he also knows about your compassion for him. always keeping tabs throughout the day, sending little sweets and snacks for him. you’d handle patients with sigewinne with gentleness, even when they were somewhat undeserving of it. and when you’d have work above ground, you make sure to send letters to sigewinne, keeping up with her updates about him.
wriothesley knows you miss living up in the city. he knows you long for the soft tunes that would be performed in the dim-lit streets at night, tossing a few mora into their hats lying on the sidewalk. he knows you miss keeping up with the latest fashion trends and splurging your money on tens of dresses. he knows you miss your old life with him.
and so in spite of this, you still stood by him. ever so selfless and caring.
but he couldn’t help himself out of his own selfishness.
wriothesley pulls you into his lap, his rough hands pushing back the few loose strands of hair in front of your face behind your ears. to everyone he’d be known as the fearless duke of meropide, to you, he’d just be plain old wriothesley. your loving, plain, old wriothesley.
you’re reluctant at first, a pout standing firm on your face. your delicate features almost give you away as he slowly snakes his arms around you. he pulls you closer by your waist and you give in just like putty in his palms.
your eyes are still comfortably closed, hands making their way lazily to his shoulders. you sniff the air around you two, scrunching your nose. “you’ve been smoking, my lord?”
“...no.”
“you’ve got all these rules around the fortress about extending prison time if anybody ever so as brings in a lighter, and yet you’re here, in your office, all cooped up and–”
you squeal as he puts his lips to yours to shut you up. you taste like crepes and jam, courtesy of neuvillette. the soft velvet feel of your lipstick smears against him, some even getting on his teeth. sigewinne was in his office just a day ago asking about what shade of red or pink would suit you. it appears she chose well. he smiles into the kiss, hands digging their way into your hair. he makes a note to thank both for the gifts.
you pull away with a slight gasp before resuming like the sly fox you were. you were always able to catch on quickly, as you’d learn a few things from him yourself.
you nibble on his lip. he lightly bites yours’ back.
you stifle your giggles at first, but then you laugh, and suddenly, your complexion was glowing — and he swore he’d seen an angel.
wriothesley looks up at you with a fondness in his eyes, hands now at your waist. he was sure he looked silly, with the reddish pink all over his lips, but he knew you wouldn’t care. really.
“shutting me up with a kiss… how original of you.”
“but you liked it, no?” that earns him a flick against his forehead, ouch.
you sit up straight, wiping the edges of your lips, “if you’ll excuse me, sir, i promised sigewinne i’d help her in stocking the medical cabinet. we’ve just received our shipment of gauze from fontaine.”
he knew you wouldn’t notice it, but he couldn’t help but look at you with longing in his eyes, wanting to shield you away and coop you inside his office, inside his arms.
but he lets you go with a sigh on his lips and a gentle kiss of his thumb on the apple of your cheek. “yes, ma’am,” he pauses before he adds on. “you want me to walk you there?”
you stand up and he gets up synonymously with you, tugging and fixing your clothes without a word. “it’s fine, i can get around the place myself, i’m not a damsel in need of help all the time.”
you turn on your tippy toes and press a chaste kiss to the side of his mouth before quickly grabbing your coat and leaving. “i’ll see you again soon, okay?”
he smiles after you, watching as you leave with your shoes clicking against the stone of the floor. he looks back at his desk with grimace, the piles of paperwork enough to sour his mood.
he grabs a cigarette and reaches for his pockets, trying to find the cool metal of his lighter. instead, it appears, he was met with something else.
“what…?”
he realizes now that you truly were too sly for your own good, as he was met with the very same lipstick gifted to you.
cheeky.
Mutual Comfort
Content: comfort fluff headcanons, he comforts you and then he gets comforted too, gn reader, you/your, old writing of Wriothesley :p
-Should he say something? Obviously he should, he thinks as he watches your shoulders slump as you enter the shared sleeping quarters. Wriothesley, as big and burly as he is and uncaring on the outset, he cares too much for you to even take a step back to think things through. Rather, he thinks in stride, approaching you from behind, wrapping his arms around your stomach and burying his cold nose into the crook of your neck. His lips leave a feather light touch against the skin too, but instead of kissing it, he asks you what is wrong, in a tone so soft that it is nearly out of character for him.
-He rubs your hips as he goads you on to speak to him, please tell him what’s wrong, his touch says, how can he make it better, his kiss to your skin says, he has to do or say something that could possibly improve your mood or else he will crumble along with you
“Mon doux amour, tell me what is bothering you.. Don’t feel like this around me, like you have to hold it all to yourself. I’m not here just to look good or to act like a wall.. I’m your lover, your safe space, mon soleil..” he speaks into your ear, holding you against his chest as if you’d fall if he didn’t have his hands to hold you upright
-Slowly but surely, he pries away at your walls until you spill all the truth of your feelings to him. After he feels the need to stay with you for a while longer, to be your rock. His presence is not overwhelming or pressuring, and he gives you ample space and silence to make you comfortable and safe again. If you wish to be left alone completely, then he obliges, but not before telling you that you can always turn to him, either for advice, a simple chat or a tea service. It doesn’t matter. He will be there for you to lean on, and he will kiss every insecurity away from your thoughts
-The same sentiment goes for him, even if oftentimes he greatly prioritizes your wellbeing over his own. He knows his limits and that they are nearly skill high, but oftentimes, too, he neglects himself for the sake of longer work hours, especially when there’s an issue in the underworld that needs his attention. He doesn’t want to see this place fail, he is not some snob that likes to see people suffer. If he was, there’d be no infirmary, and no free meals, no entertainment, no coupons, nothing but prison cells and depression and a fortress that would eventually end up flooded
-So when he sees you enter his office with a tray of tea and some snacks, he knows he has gone too far. He buries his face in his hands as he sits at his table, embarrassed to look at you but not too embarrassed not to crack some joke on his expense. And by teasing you, he hopes to lessen the importance of the situation to remove the stress he sees in your eyes and your posture, clear worry written all over you
- ”Surely this isn’t what I think it is ? You’ve missed me? How come?” he grins a toothy grin, but his eyes give away how tired he is and the moment you propose the idea of a break he sighs and his head hangs lower. He knows he can’t persuade you to leave him to his work again and he knows he can’t sweet talk his way out. So he agrees to the tea, and the break, as he always does when you ask. He sits close to you rather than opposite of you. He is craving that contact he didn’t have for the few days he holed himself up in his work business.
-He is sure to touch you in some gentle manners. He runs his fingers up your forearm and then down, idly stroking the skin with the tips of his calloused fingers as he sips his tea, and then the next time he slides his fingers down towards your hand he sneaks his fingers between yours, interlocking your hands.
-He can’t help but feel at ease like this, and sometimes in situations like these, when it is just the two of you, you can easily catch him looking at you. Admiring you in such a way that is so pure and gentle. Like a puppy. He doesn’t even hide it, and when you catch him, the corners of his mouth twist upwards in a soft smile and his eyes sparkle as you give him attention. How sweet
-In the privacy of his office, he leans on to you now, his head on your shoulder and his soft breaths warming your skin
-Even when he is stressed, he doesn’t lack words to compliment you inside and outside, and at times he finds himself feeling overwhelmed with the love he feels. He never put his focus on love, and never really thought he’d find someone suitable for him, but now that he has that.. he is almost lost at navigating the territory. He just knows he’d do anything for you.
Translations:
Mon doux amour - my sweet love
mon soleil - my sun
Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.
it would be nice to sit somewhere quiet with you
pairing: wriothesley x reader
summary: wriothesley is getting used to having you in his life (fluff)
word count: 1.9k+
a/n: i just assumed he lives in the fortress of meropide + he has a voiceline about how his handcuffs are built differently and can't be unlocked by any old master key, which prompted this ! i love him sm and i want to treat him so kindly
"What's this?"
The question leaves your lips before Wriothesley has completely let go of the small, metallic item in his fist. It's rare for him to invite you out for lunch, especially when it's an offer to meet you in the heart of Fontaine's main city. His invitation arrived at your desk in the form of a handwritten note, stating the time and place.
It's where you find yourself sitting opposite him now -- in a small cafe within a hidden corner of the city. A mostly empty area, but serving a delicious choice of tea and sweets. His words, not yours.
A beat of silence passes between the two of you.
It's broken when you gasp in surprise, cupping the key with one of your hands and dropping it onto the other hand as though expecting it to disappear between your motions. "Oh, I didn't realise this was a special occasion."
"It's so you don't always have to ask when you come down to visit me." He explains plainly, as though his actions haven't caused a complete rewiring in your brain of what you can expect from Wriothesley. He brings out his own room key to compare with yours.
A look of delight crosses your face when you see that they look completely identical. Clearing his throat, he drops his key back into his pocket, leaning his chin onto the palm of his hand. If he lets down his guard anymore, he's certain he'll blush at the adorable way you're acting right now. An odd, panicked thud hits within his chest when he realises you're not even looking at him, too busy gazing down at the key he's given you fondly. His nervousness changes to a pleasant warmth when you look up at him with a smile on your face.
"Thank you."
Wriothesley shrugs, crossing his arms in what he hopes is a nonchalant motion. "If it's for you..." The words trail off quietly as a different train of thought crosses his mind. "I'm glad you liked it." He says instead.
In the fourth months since then, you've visited him exactly six times and stayed over once. Although he's starting to think that it doesn't count, considering you left before he'd woken up. Not that he can recall the note that you left behind for him clearly in his mind. Not that he's counting your visits or memorising your excuses for coming this far his way. And he's definitely not got an eye out for you, knowing when you step into the Fortress of Meropide and the times of your exits.
So, as he stands, eyeing the dark and empty room which should hold you in some corner but doesn't seem to, he gets a little panicky. He knows you entered the Fortress of Meropide a little over an hour ago, although he hasn't kept track of your whereabouts since then. It takes a second for the panicked flutter in his heart to register as worry. But it's rendered him slightly useless. All he's doing is staring at the mattress covered in the soft sheets you'd brought with you on one of your visits in a stupid way.
There's a click from the bathroom door and he just manages to get a glimpse of your silhouette before you've barrelled into his chest. Wriothesley lets out a sigh of relief, letting his hands tangle into your hair. The bathroom, of course.
He hadn't even thought to check whether there was a light peeking out from underneath the door of the bathroom.
"Hi." You mumble, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing lightly. Screw his dislike of surprises apparently. "Did I scare you?"
The subtle teasing tone in your voice has the corners of his lips twitching.
"Obviously." He replies. "Who doesn't turn on the light when they enter the room in complete darkness? Even if they're going to the bathroom to shower first." He interrupts you as he notices you open your mouth to retort back to his question. Without waiting another moment, his hand slides from your hair to your cheeks, using a thumb to stroke your skin gently. His other hand reaches to flick on the light switch, revealing your flushed cheeks from the warm shower.
"I missed you." You say quietly.
He returns your sappiness with a roll of his eyes and a grin. "Can't even go without me for a couple of days, huh?"
"Mhm." You twirl a piece of your hair around your finger in thought. His eyes catch the motion, deciding whether to intertwine his free hand with yours. "When did you get the body wash I liked?"
Without answering, he buries his head into the crook of your neck and breathes deeply. It's warm. You feel yourself squirm at the ticklish sensation, only relaxing once his hand comes up to the back of your neck and massages it. An image sprouts in your mind of a hand holding a kitten by the scruff of its neck and you laugh.
It's always been like this; feeling a little like a give-and-take, except he keeps giving and so do you. A mumbled 'what?' brushes over your shoulder. Something seems to bloom in his chest when he notices you've left things behind in his room again. You don't apologise for it anymore. He wonders exactly when that happened.
Maybe somewhere between the third and fourth time you came over just to sit on his bed with him.
"Nothing." You pull away from the hug to look him over. His hair is tousled a bit more than it usually is, as though he ran all the way here from one side of the fortress to the other. A smile threatens to spread over your face and you bite your lip to stop it from appearing.
Wriothesley raises an eyebrow. You look all warm and cozy after your shower, and he honestly just wants to bundle you up and fall asleep with you in his arms. As though you can see the thought crossing his mind, you untangle yourself from his arms immediately, flopping back onto the bed with your arms spread wide.
Your eyes are closed lazily and you let out a contented sigh. "Ahh, it's so nice that I can curl up in bed since I'm all showered and clean."
Wriothesley gives a throaty laugh at the sight of you. His hands rest on his hips now as he rakes his eyes over your form. "Fine, fine. Want to help?"
You shoot up in bed instantly, eyes wide. "Yes."
"C'mon! Let me see how many layers you're actually wearing."
"Don't dissect me like some kind of insect--"
Wriothesley isn't stopping any of your movements though. Maybe he had something a little more dirty in mind when he made the offer, but it seemed that all you wanted to do was undress him and curl back into bed. He can live with that.
The cape comes off his shoulders first, and surprisingly, it's heavy. A quiet settles over the both of you once you actually move to undress him, and you can feel his eyes scanning your every move. Every movement of your hands against his bare skin or every notice of your intense gaze at his layers of clothing sends a jolt of electricity through him.
It's difficult to tell what he's thinking when he gets like this. You fold his cape neatly in half and place it to the side. You'll start a pile, you decide. As you get to work on pulling off his tie, you realise too late that he'll probably want to hang it up.
Your eyes don't leave his exposed collarbones as you toss his tie over to the side. A guilty feeling weighs you down, and you look up at him, only to find him still watching you with a curious look on his face.
"What? You're pretty," You state, only slightly embarrassed that you've been caught. Before he can retort with anything, you give him a kiss just above his collarbone. Wriothesley takes in a visible sharp breath, and you feel like you've won something. The waistcoat slides off his arms with ease as he lets you nudge him wherever you want.
It's self-consciousness instead of guilt that creeps up onto your next as he still doesn't say a word, merely watching your movements with an intense gaze. You feel a heat burn across your cheeks. You don't even realise you're clenching your fists until one of his hands envelops yours and swipes a thumb over your knuckles.
"You wear so many layers." You're throwing the waistcoat to the side now, shaky hands unbuttoning his shirt.
"It's cold down here." He pauses, tilting his head to think. "And it looks professional."
You snort. "Mm, yes, your loose tie is very professional."
"It adds personality and it makes me look good."
"Not going to argue with that last part." You mumble as your fingers fiddle with his shirt buttons clumsily. Finally, you’re able to get everything off, leaving him shirtless. It’s easier to see his breathing this way. It’s mesmerising. You brush over the scars on his chest absentmindedly. The way his even breathing stutters as you do so brings you back to focus on what you're doing. “Ah, sorry.”
Before you can move away, he grabs your wrist, holding your splayed, apologetic hand in place. “It’s okay.” His voice is softer when he says that, almost shy. When he’s sure you’re not going to stop touching him, he lets go of your wrist. There are scars accumulated over years of fights and whatever else he hasn’t told you yet. Using just one finger, you trace the outline of a few of them on his chest and his stomach. The whole time, he keeps his breathing even, watching the thoughtful look on your face. As you slowly drop your hand back to your side, he asks a lingering question in his mind. “Can I touch you?”
“I just showered.” You pout, shoulders slumping slightly at his suggestion.
“Nothing else, I promise.”
Wriothesley takes his time. His hand nudges at the top of your loose, bedtime shirt until he can kiss you on your shoulder. Soft pecks trail up to your jawline and his hand tilts your head slightly so he can bite you gently. A tentative hand travels up to the bare skin under your shirt and squeezes the side of your waist. When you don’t object, he pulls the shirt off of you, returning to wrap his arms around you as soon as he does and pulling you close to him. Another kiss, on your cheek this time. Again, on the corner of your lips. And the last one, a yearning press of his lips against yours as his hand strokes your jaw.
He leans his forehead against yours and closes his eyes. “Just one more minute like this, and then I will be getting into the shower.”
It’s warm in bed next to you. He’s curled up behind you, still placing kisses against your neck and brushing your hair aside as you squirm in his hold. With his arm slung over your waist, there’s not very much you can do. Maybe he’s addicted to kissing your skin.
“I think I want to follow you around tomorrow.” You suggest hesitantly. There’s a small moment where you think he might actually say no to you, but he just nods and goes back to kissing your neck, brushing his lips down to your shoulder.
“It’s pretty boring though. All paperwork and other things that I probably should be doing but I’ll ignore for a bit. Until I can't."
You’ve known him a bit too long, you realise. There’s a distinct lilt to his voice that tells you he’s smiling as he’s saying it, even though he’s got you facing the other way so that you can’t see him.
“Don’t care.” A sigh leaves your lips as he gives you one more long kiss against your shoulder before pulling away. “I want to hang out with you.”
You thread your fingers with the hand wrapped around your midriff, fiddling with them as you drift off to sleep. Wriothesley watches the silhouette of you breathing before deciding to leave you be and pull you closer to him instead.
I think I’m afraid of losing you, he thinks. But maybe it’s still a bit too early to tell you that.
patching up
a/n: i think ik who my newest obsession is, gl on his banner!!
sigwinne sincerely has positive adjectives that she could use to describe the duke.
but at the moment, she’s certain that she certainly has more less than pleasant words in mind.
“your grace, please let me see your injury.”
incorrigible, aggravating, distressing, burdensome, enraging, stubborn-
“i’m fine, it's just a scratch”
a brat.
she’s really not sure how much longer she could keep her sanity with how headstrong wriothesley currently is, dismissing the very obvious gash on his chest accompanied with the VERY obvious pool of red staining his dark shirt around it. all she had wanted was to patch up the scratch so that it would not become infected - he should be grateful that she hadn't planned to mix up a new concoction for him to drink.
“sigwinne? is there something wrong?” your voice echos off the chambers of the hall, perking up both of their attentions. ah, she’s thought of a new idea. her eyes bore into his, reaching to be able to whisper in his ear.
“you know, i recently had an interesting conversation with her recently.” she knows the duke is interested in her next words. “she told me that she’s always wanted a man who is strong enough to carry her on her wedding day in her wedding dress.” she pulls back to see if the pieces of the puzzle clicked in his brain, yet the only thing she received is a slightly interested yet confused expression staring back at her. her eye twitches.
“ well, that means she's definitely looking at a certain prospect for her future lover, correct?” his eyes widen in realization. bingo.
“sigwinne? and your grace? what's wrong?” you finally appear at the door of the infirmary, your heels clanking against the metal floor as you descend the stairs.
“oh nothing much~” sigwinne replies, “just patching up this small scratch his grace sustained.” she grins in victory when she noticed wriothesley peel off the layers on his torso, leaving his chest bare and the gash finally accessible to treat. sigwinne can feel the heart jump out of wriothesley’s chest when your eyes sweep over to his form, and finally rest your stare dead on his chest (it's really just looking at the terrible wound but she supposes a man can dream).
“would you like to practice your skills on patching wounds? i'm sure his grace would not mind.”
“oh, if it is alright with him i suppose i would like to try.”
“mmh” wriothesley feels a little pathetic when he can't muster more than an affirmative nod, lest he shows he's desperate for you to be closer in proximity to him. how could he pass up this opportunity?
you beam at him, slightly bowing in gratitude before reaching for materials to work with. sigwinne skips to her desk, eager to observe from the side how much the duke is able to hold in. she observes how the duke shivers when your cold fingers press against his skin to observe the scratch, how his pale eyes trace your every movement and rests on your face more often than not, how he lightly moves to press himself closer to your hands whenever he could.
if she didn't know better, it looked as if the duke of the meropide fortress became a dog, chasing for the attention of its owner. oh how she can't wait to experiment more of how the duke completely melts around your presence, hopelessly pining for someone he believes wouldn't love a man like him, even though she can clearly see traces of pink tint your ears, hiding behind tuffs of hair.
𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇
synopsis: wriothesley finds out you have a crush on someone and somehow manages to guess it’s on literally everyone but himself
characters: wriothesley x gn!reader
wc: 1.4k
warnings: fluff, a tiny pinch of angst and insecurity, my poor attempt at humor, slight miscommunication, friends to lovers, coworkers to lovers, swearing, first time writing for wriothesley so he might be ooc
notes: i almost made this angst to fluff but then decided i need to stop adding angst into literally everything i write (even though there’s like a tiny pinch of angst in here too 🙄). anyway, wriothesley is a lot harder to write than i thought he would be so i apologize if he seems ooc here
“Heard you gotta crush on someone,” Wriothesley teases as he walks into his office where you sit on one of his couches. You don’t even hear him walk in, too engaged in the book you were reading to pass time until you had to go through hundreds of inmate records to find something Neuvillette had requested.
His declaration is so sudden it almost makes you spit out the tea you had stolen from him.
Your eyes go wide as you stare at where he moves to lean against the front of his desk, arms crossed and waiting for an answer with that stupid smirk of his, “Hey now, that tea is expensive, so don’t go wasting it, okay?”
“Who told you about that?” you press for answers, a hint of anger in your voice as you ignore his previous statement about the tea. He had plenty to spare anyway.
Wriothesley’s smirk widens a bit, “So it is true.”
Damn him.
You don’t even bother trying to make an excuse, knowing your best friend all too well. He’d pick apart your words like weeds in a garden, finding meaning in them that you hadn’t even intended.
“And what if it is true?” you cross your arms defensively, glaring at him from across the room.
“At least tell me who it is,” he says as he rests his palms on the wooden desk behind him. When you don’t give in to his pleading, he playfully scoffs, “Oh c’mon, I’m your best friend! It’s kinda an obligation for you to tell me these things.”
You turn away, fixating your gaze on a nearby wall adorned with some weird painting he had hung awhile back, “Oh yeah? Since when? Last I checked there aren’t any rule books for being friends with someone. I don’t have to tell you a damn thing.”
“It’s Neuvillette, isn’t it?” he smiles knowingly. Perhaps that was why you were always the one receiving tasks from the Chief Justice instead of him — a guess at best, but enough evidence to convince him Neuvillette was the one.
No, you idiot. It’s you.
You snap your head back toward him, “What? No! I don’t like Neuvillette…not like that, at least. He’s nice and all, but I don’t think I’d be able to date the guy.”
“Damn, I really thought I had that one,” Wriothesley mumbles in defeat, pushing himself off the desk and instead moving to walk around the room as he thinks. It scares you. The fact that he’s so particular with facts and little details that it’s only a matter of time before he collects all the pieces to the puzzle and figures out he’s the one you like. What would he say when that happens? “Too nice, huh? So you like someone a little colder, then.”
Damn it, he got you again!
You don’t answer him.
“Not even going to try to deny it?”
“No,” you grumble to yourself, slumping further into the couch, “you’re only going to dig further anyway.”
He gives a satisfied hum, “Right, so it’s Clorinde then. I mean c’mon, we don’t get a lot of visitors, so it has to be her. She fits the description too.”
You exhaustedly sigh and swipe a hand over your face dramatically, done with his antics, “It’s not her either. And there is no ‘description.’”
He perks up in a way that makes you way too uncomfortable, “Navia?”
“No, I’ve never even met her aside from like one time two years ago,” you refute, sliding further down on the couch to fully lie down and shut your eyes, “I don’t get why you’re so excited over this.”
Wriothesley thinks for a moment before squinting his eyes, “Don’t tell me you have a crush on a prisoner?”
You teasingly peek an eye open while leaning back to look at him, “And if I did?”
“You better not,” he warns, pointing a stern finger at you like you were a prisoner and not his coworker.
You laugh to yourself at his sudden change of mood, “Relax, I was only joking!”
“Not funny,” he says unamused, prepared to pull out the prison’s rule book and slap it over your head if you did, “I’m really runnin’ out of people here.”
“Yeah, okay,” you say sarcastically, resisting the urge to roll your eyes, “thousands of people live in Fontaine. You’ll figure it out eventually.”
You really hope he doesn’t.
The following ten minutes consist of Wriothesley irritatingly pacing around the room and mumbling all sorts of names to himself. Some of which you recognized, others you had never even heard of before. And, despite all of your countless no’s to his guesses, he never gives up. Nor does he realize the answer is right in front of him.
“Just give it up already,” you finally interrupt as he stops in front of you.
A heavy sigh falls from Wriothesley’s lips as he collapses onto the couch, narrowly missing where your legs were outstretched. Defeatedly, he lays his head against the back of the sofa, shutting his eyes as he thinks a little harder. “Oh my god,” he says suddenly, head shooting up to look at you, “…don’t tell me.”
No way. Did he figure it out?
Your breath captures in your throat as his eyes flicker back and forth between your own, searching for some sort of truth. He knows. Your best friend knows that you have feelings for him — and not just the platonic kind.
His brows furrow and his face morphs into one of disgust. It makes your heart drop; the way he’s looking at you.
He doesn’t feel the same way.
“I can’t believe it,” he clicks his tongue in disgust, crossing his arms and turning his attention away from you, “you like Furina.”
Your jaw drops to the floor and suddenly you don’t feel bad anymore, “I actually can’t believe you just said that. Archons, I think you need to visit Sigewinne. I mean, seriously! Furina? Of all people!”
He grins and shrugs carelessly, “I don’t know? She was the last person I could think of.”
“Something is seriously wrong with you.”
“Clearly not so wrong that I couldn’t figure out that the person you actually like is me.”
“Oh please, I don’t even—wait, what? You knew?!”
A boisterous laugh erupts suddenly as you stare at him with wide eyes. You sit up on the couch quickly, slapping his shoulder as he continues to laugh, “Sorry, sorry!”
You don’t find it amusing, “I—when did you figure it out?”
His laugh eventually subsides into a drawn out sigh and his blue eyes soften a bit as they gaze into your own, “I’m not an idiot, you know? I wouldn’t be running this place if I was.”
“Right,” you mumble awkwardly, averting your gaze from his, “so, um, were you just doing all that to lighten the mood so you could let me down easily or…?”
“Or…what?” Wriothesley mocks you, a playful smirk pulling at his lips.
You roll your eyes with a scoff, “don’t make me say it.”
He spares you, luckily. It’s unlike him, but he doesn’t care to joke with you any longer when the subject is so serious, “Yes, I feel the same way. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“No, I totally wanted to hear you say you hate me and want me dead,” you say sarcastically, trying to fight a smile.
“I’m being serious, I really do like you,” Wriothesley presses, ignoring the way you’re becoming awkward from the nervousness floating in the air.
You finally exhale the breath you had been guarding in your chest, relieved that this didn’t go as horribly as you once thought it would.
The alarm sounding for dinner goes off after and you both stand from your places on the couch, “So what do we do now that that’s out of the way?”
Wriothesley falls into step next to you, holding the doors to his office open to let you out first, “We have our first date in the cafeteria, of course.”
Your face drops and you stop in your tracks to glare at him, “That better be a joke.”
He laughs it off quickly, not thinking you’d take it so seriously. Eagerly, he grabs your hand tightly in his as he pulls you to the exit of the Fortress, “Relax, I’m just teasing you! You deserve only the best, after all.”
“You are so annoying.”
“Only for you, sweetheart.”
— out of this world (and into another) : genshin impact
premise: you could've sworn the transmigration curse didn't have an effect on you... so what exactly are you doing here?! (alternatively, you tumble straight into your favorite video game; and you're kinda fucked)
...or, a genshin manhwa otome game inspired au.
act i: scaramouche, alhaitham, wriothesley.
↳ act ii: lyney, neuvilette, kazuha, kaeya. (next)
warnings. fem!reader but can be imagined as genderless if u'd like hehe, a shit ton of manhwa tropes in one, this is a hot mess aka not proofread all that much, half clunky half decent writing
a/n: as promised via the poll heh,, while i do plan to make this an actual au, im not that sure ^^; just the tip of the iceberg here tho!!
MAIN MASTERLIST | AU MASTERLIST (coming soon)
YOU — unsuspecting civilian turnt transmigrator
you've always been too attached to fictional characters for your own good.
yes, even the ones that are remarkably irredeemable (the power of a backstory is very formidable) and complex (complexity is a virtue!)
villains have always been destined to die, be cursed, or destined to curse others. it was heartbreaking, really. you've wished for a chance to rewrite their fates for them to find even a sliver of happiness, even when the fate of their plot says otherwise.
which is why when you find yourself awake into the game of your dreams, “Teyvat's Seven Stars”, like any lover of cliche novel and manhwa tropes, this is the time you think that maybe life wasn't so shitty on you.
....there's only one tiny, teensy, itty bitty problem here, actually.
you're not the protagonist. you're not even one of the protagonist's faithful friends and underlings that light protagonist's road to conquering the world and its men (and as of the 4.0 update, it's women); no, you're none of those.
you're a no name extra, and not to mention, a character involved with the game's main villain characters who are coincidentally the love interests of the game's black route!
[ unlock transmigration package: ultimate transmigrator's route ( ????? MODE ) ]
[ no ] [ yes ]
( 国崩 ) SCARAMOUCHE — the tyrant
“as of today, you will be engaged to crown prince kunikuzushi, who is her grace the shogun's rightful heir to the throne.”
when given approval to stare at your so-called soon to be husband, you expect the worst, mostly. the multitudes of character dialogue you've played through detailing his rather discourteous personality (which basically meant he was a huge asshole) don't exactly paint a pretty picture.
however...
who was this tender hearted looking scaramouche that ‘obliterated armies in the blink of an eye?’ the t in tyrant stands for tyrannical, not timid!
eyes like lighting framed by the longest eyelashes you've ever seen and an unfairly pretty face, comparable to a fair lotus. after fawning over his otherworldly countenance, a sinking realization of dread pools in your stomach.
oh, you are so screwed.
essentially tied to the indigo-haired ticking time bomb of a future tyrant due to the strong standing of your family for a period of until the main story starts, you're destined to never get crown prince scaramouche's affection, being his fiancée who scaramouche is arranged to for political means only.
not to mention, you're in an even more deadly position; of all the characters you switched souls with, it's the one that essentially dies by their own fiancé's hand because they were horrible to him! what atrocious luck!
frantic, you wrack up about three ways to survive.
plan a) win over the shogun's favor by being an appropriate partner unlike the original flavor of this body, who resorted to bullying the innocent prince and unknowingly digging their own grave or b) be a guiding friend to scaramouche as he learns the ways of the world and c) make sure you don't end up giving the protagonist a bad ending via his twisted personality.
weighing all these options, you decide to do all three in hopes to cement a life instead of a deathflag. prevention is better than the cure (aka: the protagonist) after all!
(you may also just want to spend time with your favorite character. having a time limit and a sign that says ‘i'll die in the future!’ should at least warrant you extra time to show some affection to scaramouche, at least.)
so, you do what anyone in your position would do: give affection! lots of it.
admittedly, it wasn't all flowers and rainbows. scaramouche—ahem, kunikuzushi—was very shy and reserved indeed, with his mother ei even worse off! (besides, who trains and studies all day and has to stop crying every time they were injured?! that was just too much!)
it was rather hard at first, the frigid atmosphere of the usually silent Tenshukaku Palace almost impossible to permeate. but with your amazing charm (read: deathflag radar) and social skills, you manage to let the members of the Royal family open up to you.
speaking words of praise in ei's cooking (a very difficult feat to accomplish), spending afternoons with your fiancé and teaching him ‘how to be a shoujo worthy male lead, name-version’ (very confusing to explain), and the cherry on top, driving away that vile teacher of his—the Doctor—once word got out that he'd been taking advantage of scaramouche as a political puppet king in the future. trauma enabler destroyed! look at your immeasurable powers!
(“you're not a failure.” clasping kunikuzushi's hands in yours as he reels back from you. damn that doctor.
his tears shot a wave of heartache through you. you can't bear to see your favorite in such suffering. “whatever happens in the future, i won't abandon you.
no matter what, i'll always be on your side, okay?”
kunikuzushi looks at you with something in his eyes—something like adoration. “do you promise that?”
“yeah.” you say without hesitation, the glow of the sunlight hitting your face so dazzlingly that kunikuzushi's eyes widen that his mouth hangs agape in awe. “i promise, kuni.”)
to your greatest delight, your efforts worked in your favor.
ei now spends time with her son, and though it's almost always just a tad bit awkward, you and the guuji yae miko get the two to strike up conversation, and overtime, kunikuzushi becomes more open to you.
(“[name], what kind of man is your type?”
“huh? well...” you think for a while. this was a great opportunity to say it, right? that life changing protagonist quote!
“to me, the only person i'll ever like the most is you, kunikuzushi.”
“do you really, really mean that?” and oh, he looks so cute—flustered and red from your words. worth it.
“yup! now, i made some shimi chazuke, try some—”)
(admittedly, lots of favoritism is involved.)
—and while you reap the fruits of your hard work, you spend warm, sunlit afternoons with ei at tea, even learning about other nations from scaramouche's aunt nahida and even befriended a few of his future affiliates—childe (though for some reason, kunikuzushi always pulls you away from him whenever he spots the two of you together), signora (she tolerates you, you think) and etcetera.
(“then, if i do well, can you kiss me on the cheek, [name]?”
you agree, much to his delight. scaramouche avoids the gaze of a certain pink haired fox eyeing him questionably. unbeknownst to you, he glares at the woman's scrutiny.)
unprecedented things unrelated to the plot happen too; like how your family, which basically only saw you as a political bargaining chip and an unwanted child they could get rid of easily—no longer sent you any demeaning letters demanding money once scaramouche found out....
(“they've been leeching off of you for how long?” so scary... is this was kunikuzushi is like when he's worried?)
(“...kunikuzushi, how long will you keep up that weak-hearted facade of yours? if they find out how.... dishonest you are....”
“i don't need the reminders of a foxy old hag that doesn't know her place. this is fine as it is.”)
(you don't need to know.)
but, you're nothing compared to the inevitable flow of the plot. inazuma is wracked with war, and it just so happened that you'd been unceremoniously kidnapped by a certain resistance leader's trusted general, used as a hostage bargain for approximately the majority of your life. in the worst moments in your dreary cell, there's only one thought in your mind.
....kunikuzushi's face, devastated when he tries to reach for you, before slipping away from him like sand— face morphing into an unbridled state of rage that's too natural, too familiar. when did he learn to make a face like that?
(they say the kingdom was wracked with thunderstorms all night that day.)
afterwards, fate doesn't make it kind for you.
years go by in the blink of an eye, with your capture fervently forgotten in the midst of the growing animosity of the two conflicting forces.
although you did hear that yae sent out a search party for you while at the resistance's base, the shogun's forces never reached you.
eventually, you got released secretly by sympathy of kokomi, the leader of the resistance, who felt pity for you getting caught in the crossfire. letting you go under the condition that you'd likely never meet any of the precious characters you've gotten to know and change was a heavy price to pay, but you didn't have any choice.
indeed, no matter how much you tried to divert the plot, your duty as an extra has ended, and you were even lucky to even be alive. you could only hope that your fiancé—ex-fiancé—took note of your lessons well, bidding farewell to inazuma as you hop on the boat to mondsdat.
by now, you at least hoped that scaramouche and the protagonist met, his true chance at happiness starting now that you were basically dead.
(even if your heart felt like breaking into a million pieces.)
....is what you thought would happen, but why is it that after three years from your supposed capture, inazuma was still at war?
“that crazy prince... he's still working to find his former fiancée... and he's razing almost every village apart looking for them!”
“—didn't the shogunate say that whoever finds her would receive almost 3 million mora?”
“the entire lot of them are lunatics, i tell you. all because of a missing person, too!”
what's more, why was it still going because of you?!
( 艾尔海森 ) AL-HAITHAM: the information guild master
to be fair, normal people don't really run into one of their favorite characters often after transmigrating.
but to be fair, again, you certainly didn't think you'd actually be in your favorite video game franchise caged in bed with essentially one of its main love interests.
eyes wide and unceremoniously looking—definitely not ogling— at the toned body that's currently enveloping you in its arms, the soft tuft of ashy gray hair caressing the crook of your neck, murmuring incoherent mumbles of—is that another language?
???????
you blink, looking down at the bare body currently embracing you. oh. oh.
you're an extra.
you're just an extra, but why are you in bed, currently being served breakfast by the most gorgeous man you've ever laid your eyes on, with a pretty view of the rainforests' canopy?
“you should lie down. if i recall, sufficient sleep is required in order for the human body to perform its basic bodily functions. although our partnership is temporary, to let you fall to harm is a situation i'd like to avoid as much as possible.”
“....what?”
“...?”
the guild master, al-haitham, is a character in Teyvat's Seven Stars that is heavily debated on whether he's technically a villain or not. in the game, he's the right hand of sumeru's leader, nahida, working as the overseer of the AKASHA, a guild that gathers information to the nation's leader. he's a pretty shady character—always working behind the scenes and very unfalteringly blunt—and a ‘villain’ for crown prince scaramouche's route, helping the protagonist escape his clutches.
he's often the subject of comedic ire, his banters with a certain broke architect always the highlight of any bonafide al-haitham fan.
“we're expected to work together by lord kusanali's decree in the duration of investigating the hivemind project the lord suspects the baron siraj is partaking in.”
right, that one scene in the game where al-haitham needed to go undercover to infiltrate a coup de etat staged by one of the factions against nahida... right... what.
you were that extra! the one that fell in love with him and pined for his affection!
(“well, i get that part, but does sleeping together really have to play a part in this...?”
al-haitham gives you a mere quirk of the lip, tilting his head. “we do have to play the part of a married couple in dire straights, do we not? this cover is more efficient.
...besides, i don't have anything to complain about. you're certainly better company than kaveh.” )
in truth, al-haitham wasn't bad company. far from it. aside from the internal giggling and fangirling (you) and the incredible stack of books (alhaitham) that you have to see more than the grey haired man on a daily basis, the two of you work out a rapport that stems from memories of the body you transmigrated in.
he's nice to be around, surprisingly considerate when he wants to be—he tells you about the books he always reads....
(who even reads ‘20 Tongues Language Memorization Guidebook: A Basic Overview of Vocabulary and Terms’ for enjoyment?
the content makes your head run in circles because of how complicated it is; but who wouldn't like to listen to an extremely attractive man overexplain to you with a calm and pretty voice?)
...is generous enough to provide meals and cook dinners that have you crying tears of gratitude because you know how awful yours compares (it was either too bland or too seasoned; al-haitham is surprisingly picky when he wants to be)
(you assigned al-haitham the title of “absolute s-tier husband material”— his capabilities are out of this world!)
by chance, you once gave al-haitham a little tidbit of information that proved to be valuable later in the investigation—courtesy of your avid game knowledge—when you two had been lost to the psychological illusion magic cast by siraj when you two finally broke in his estate.
(“whatever happens, if siraj messes with your mind, just make sure to think of me instead of anything else.” al-haitham lets his hand find yours.
“you once asked me if i trusted you, [name].”
“....” you're treated to one of al-haitham's rare smiles, one that warms you up from within. “i do. so don't let yourself get hurt.”)
however, your temporary partner had faltered for once, flinching when siraj took the form of his old grandmother who'd passed to exploit al-haitham's mind, hesitating and frozen in place while siraj inched ever closer to finding out his weakness.
and you couldn't stand it, the character you cared for—the al-haitham that always had a plan, always knew how to stay calm, had looked so unsure and hopeless.
(“wake up, al-haitham!”
with you cradling his face, al-haitham stares back at the only constant in the memories of his grief, eyes meeting yours. “you don't have to do it all alone. i'm right here, aren't i? believe in me.”)
your (fake) husband snaps back to reality, finally allowing enough time to apprehend siraj and put a stop to his malicious project.
(“thank you.” al-haitham tells you solemnly. it hits you that this may be the last time you may ever see him. “i'm grateful that you brought me back to y— to my senses.”
there's a sincerity in your voice that rings from your heart. “anytime, al-haitham.”)
you thought that was the end of it.
defeating siraj meant you two no longer had to associate with each other, but somehow, to your great surprise, al-haitham doesn't stick to the plot at all. you were sure you didn't interfere with the game, though?
for some reason, al-haitham doesn't erase himself from your life, unlike the original route's flow.
in fact, he's become... easy to run into, a constant in your otherwise mundane life. he takes you out to lambad's tavern for an occasional drink, says he's lending you his headphones when you find yourself overwhelmed by the city (you were never good with noises) and even helps you out as you vent your problems to him.
(the day after, said problem conveniently disappears. how strange....)
and most of all, allowing you to enter his personal space... leaving kaveh's jaw dropping when he accuses al-haitham of having a lover.
“you're always going who knows where with them! what else is there to figure out?”
“...we are merely friends.”
“a friend that you let into your personal library? do they know that you still keep the ‘fake’ ring in a box inside the closet?” kaveh laughs. “nice try, al-haitham.”
(after all, kaveh could never unsee the way al-haitham's eyes softened at the feeling of the head on his shoulder lean onto him, with you no doubt asleep. he even took his headphones off! kaveh has never seen him actually take them off in order to keep the person who's sleeping on his shoulder as undisturbed as possible.
in fact, kaveh doesn't think he's ever seen al-haitham be this touchy or considerate with anyone this much before.
.....and most importantly, kaveh would never forget the way al-haitham, a man who found no merit in politeness and preferred bluntness, a man who preferred solitude rather than company—deliberately getting close to someone—pressing a fleeting kiss on the crown of your head.
kaveh blinks. it seems even the throes of love can reach even the most unconquerable of peaks....)
( 莱欧斯利 ) WRIOTHESLEY — the monster duke of the north
“—i need you to gather information on duke wriothesley. serve him undercover as one of the prisoners of the fortress.”
the duke of meropide—a man swamped with terrible rumors. they say he was exiled from the nation due to murdering his entire family. they say he possessed a face worthy of the title of a beast— grotesque, littered in scars. they say that any who end up in his estate, the iron prison of the north, meropide, never saw the light of day again.
(“only criminals of the worst kind are fated to be sentenced there. nobody returns, so we've stopped questioning it...” )
so to say you're not fearing for your life that bad right now is a massive understatement.
“now, mind telling me how you were able to sneak into the most impenetrable prison in all the land, miss prisoner?”
how did it end up like this?
so you wake up and find yourself in jail. lovely.
seriously, of all the places you can transmigrate into, why did it have to be fontaine?! Teyvat's Seven Stars chapter 4's main starting point, the nation of justice is littered with dark themes and high difficulty capture targets.
.... such is the case with the man in front of you. unlike what the rumors of him say, duke wriothesley paints a rugged yet dashing picture of a nobleman, even if he was —if you recall— one of the hardest capture targets to conquer in the game.
a villain character who you played once during one game route, acting as the driving force during one of the love events of one of the protagonist's other love interest, lyney. duke wriothesley almost assassinates lyney's younger brother, freminent, leading lyney to rally up a certain group to bring the nobleman down.... a typical side character villain, who's existence was added as late as 3 patches away from lyney's.
(even inazuma would be better than this! at least the tyrant route could be avoided, and let's not mention the easy sumeru route as well...)
“well, miss prisoner, cat got your tongue?”
in summary: fortunately for you, the body you transmigrated is in the position to spy on the current affairs of the fortress of meropide, with courtesy and with permission of one of Fontaine's leaders, neuvillette. unfortunately for you, it seems our dear monsieur wasn't able to inform wriothesley beforehand, leading to the current situation.
aka, you're pressed dangerously close to wriothesley's chest, with a knife at his throat and his hands pinning you against the wall, noses almost touching. you're not sure if this is even the kind of tension that two people who are trying to kill each other are supposed to have...
(“i'm an ally!” you sputter out. wriothesley raises an eyebrow at you. “monsieur neuvillette sent me.”
“how am i supposed to trust you after i saw you slinking around here, knife at my throat?” he replies, eyes narrowing. “i know that i'm labelled as a beast, but i don't really know what came over that pretty little head of yours when trying to sneak into my chambers.”
what does he take you for?! “...are you accusing me of something indecent?!”
“just saying — i've met lots of prisoners with your excuse, my lady.”
“i'm prepared to use this knife, you know.”
“hah.” wriothesley grins. “how aggressive. more aggressive than most. do you want me that bad?”
“stop twisting my words!”)
in any case, you hate wriothesley. you know he's one of the characters in Teyvat's Seven Stars and is a villain for one of the easy love interest routes in the game, but his personality is... a real piece of work.
you'd rather the protective and kind kazuha, or even the charming and elusive lyney! why did it have to be him?
not only did he not believe you, he even told you to prove your authenticity! you're just glad that his assistant sigewinne had been there to vouch for you — you're not sure if you'd even be on your two feet right now if she didn't.
so now you're stuck constantly on your feet, running to and fro — helping the dark-haired man record new prisoners, establishing trading routes to the main city of Fontaine, and treating other prisoners of the fortress with sigewinne.
your biggest surprise by far, though, is just how... different the duke is from the rumors. his scars were merely battle scars of honor (to which sigewinne rolls her eyes, “your grace, please stop trying to look cool”) he got from various succession fights, not scars to show how he was cursed to turn into a beast. he has a love for tea, but always seems to have a cup of your favorite blend with him when you feel tired after a long day of working (laboring) for him and the estate.
(“your daily report of new convicts, your grace.”
“-this is the tea you like, your grace. i've prepared it in advance.”
“you're very adamant on proving yourself. aren't you sick of such tasks by now, miss prisoner?”
“no.” wriothesley's expression screams 'why not?' on it. “ it's because of my own misjudgement of you.”
“...elaborate.”
“i may have had unnecessary prejudices on your conduct thus far. but you're... not like what the rumors paint you out to be.” you say sincerely. “you're more amazing and incredible than anyone else. i truly do admire you.”
wriothesley's expression; you couldn't decipher it. “i see.”)
he's battered, but caring. sigewinne makes you watch (in horror) as she doodles cartoonish looking characters on his face when he's asleep — wriothesley never fusses, only an exasperated sigh to his assistant. he's harsh with his tasks and duties, but is the first to rush you into sigewinne's infirmary to tend to you after you pass out from overwork.
(“don't worry, [name]. the duke may not look it, but he's very gentle!” sigewinne giggles. humoring the little girl who was the first to show you actual decency in this place, you try to nod. sigewinne doesn't seem convinced.
“i'm serious! after all, compared to other people who've snuck into the fortress, you're the first he's treated this way.” she says cheerily.
“what does that mean?” you can't help but scoff at that. “so he just works someone to the bone from the get go?” you shudder. damn production zone...
sigewinne blinks. “ oh no, not like that. it's just that he's never been so lenient before. in fact, when you fainted, he even gave me the order to prioritize treating you over anything else.”)
well, this wasn't exactly what you thought you would be doing when you transmigrated into your favorite game, but you suppose you can take it.
besides, you'd miss a certain duke otherwise. life truly is full of strange twists....
a/n: thank you for making it this far! if anyone asks why wriothesley's was short, listen, this was completely impulsive and i was out of inspiration LOL, but i do hope you enjoy! look forward to new parts though hehe :3
@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.
—THE COLOR OF YOU [ wriothesley x reader ]
![THE COLOR OF YOU [ Wriothesley X Reader ]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/84f1bf3bdefe2b54a21216cffa31fab0/8e851cbc912d16c3-c1/s500x750/8e1716b049b478126b7ae02d4f84afe2acb51434.png)
“your cheeks are pretty when they're blue.”
wriothesley x gn!reader | wc: 953
contents: just a cute little wriothesley drabble 😽, established relationship, completely based on the idea that wriothesley is colorblind and can’t tell the difference between red and blue, not proofread at all i’m not entirely sure what possessed me to write about him but it was deep and carnal
You think that there’s nothing more hilarious than Wriothesley trying to figure out colors.
“(Y/n),” his frustration comes out restrained, a ghost of pout playing on his lips, “It’s not funny.”
You hug your pillow, a mischievous grin playing on your face as he stares a the two ties that lie on his bed. His pout grows deeper, his nose twitching as his eyes peruse the individual fabrics, tapping his foot impatiently.
See, a long time ago, Wriothesley decided to spice up his attire for his new job; he wanted to match his Cryo Vision so he picked out beautiful black clothes with stunning blue highlights to make his Vision pop. It turns out that his Vision did pop, but for the completely wrong reasons— and all it took was a guard saying “I love the red!” for him to realize that he had been horribly, horribly wrong. He bought an actual blue tie in a panic before he realized that he didn’t have enough money for a whole new color scheme, and he gave up on that idea. He kept the tie for safekeeping, but he never expected you to use it against him, lying it next to the red one he normally wears on a peaceful morning that he feels like he shouldn’t have been punished for. He knows that one shade is darker than the other, he just can't remember which one.
“I have to go to work soon!” He looks at you with pleading eyes, “Babe, please.”
“You don’t have to go to work,” you pat the side of the bed next to you, a simple smile on your face, “You could just skip.”
Here, Wriothesley is faced with a terrible, terrible choice. On one hand, his gorgeous partner is lying ever so beautifully on his bed wearing his shirt— what little motivation he had to go to work when he woke up in your arms is dashed. On the other, he really should go to work today, it really shouldn't be this easy for his resolve to break when his passion for his work easily trumps almost anything else.
“Five minutes.” He compromises, “Five minutes and you tell me which tie is which.”
“Awful offer, try 15 minutes and we'll see what I say.”
15 minutes would make him far too late.
“Is it this one?” He grabs one, holding it up to your face. Your smile doesn't change, and he picks up the other one, pointing to it with a raised eyebrow and a worried expression.
“You're an awful negotiator, Wrio.” You tease, and he sighs, letting them both drop.
“No minutes and I'll take you out for dinner tonight.” He bargains— you think it’s positively adorable that he thinks he’ll get to go with just dinner.
“Dinner and we get to dance with Icewind Suite at the Court.”
“Dinner and Lyney’s magic show in three days.”
You grin triumphantly.
“Deal.” You bound out of the bed, happily taking your place next to him, grabbing one of the ties before hanging the other one up.
He can't even be mad at you when you coil the tie over his neck, flipping one end over the other and looping it through, tightening it ever so slightly. The sunlight peeks through your red curtains, and his eyes shift outside as a reminder to start the new day. He has a job to do, after all, an important one, one that he can't skip despite how much he might want to.
You take this as an opportunity to kiss him, ambushing his lips with yours as he lets out a muffled squeak in surprise. Your tongue brushes against his and he tilts his head, tangling your hair into his fingers as he cradles your jaw.
You really love kissing Wriothesley like this, you love how it always sends shivers down your spine seeing the man who’s normally so stoic be caught off-guard, and you love the feeling of him melting into your lips.
“Looks like I got you to stay the extra five minutes after all.” You smile cheekily between soft pecks, leading him against the wall of your bedroom, he stumbles, his hand catching his body on the windowsill.
“I really should go.” He murmurs, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips again. You pepper his face with kisses and despite his gentle protests, he doesn’t move—he kisses you like guarding the prison isn’t his job, being devoted to you is— like he would love nothing more than to capture your lips with his forever.
You love watching him lose his damn mind over you.
“Okay— okay— enough, you devil,” he hisses, his eyes glazed and warm skin, he places kisses on your feverish skin, “Your cheeks are pretty when they’re blue.”
You look like you match his Cryo Vision, and he thinks that he’d like to wear you to work someday. He likes the contradiction in the way you look, you bear the color that's known for its icy and unforgiving cold, yet you're warm to the touch, your soft breaths echoing on his wrists, the tension making it far too hard for him to breathe.
“They match my lips?” You step away, adjusting his tie. You wonder what he’d look like if you had his vision, and when you replace his red blush with blue, you can say with absolute certainty that he’d look more gorgeous than you could bear.
“They do.” He confirms your notions with one last kiss on top of your head.
He takes one last look in the mirror, fixing his tousled hair with a huff before his hand reaches towards the doorknob that leads to your living room.
“Oh, and Wrio!” You call out his name innocently, and he turns around, “Both of the ties were red, I hid the blue one under the bed. Sorry about that.”
a/n: first time out of the alhaitham tag mom pick me up i'm scared
im actually devastated i have to skip him and neuvillette for navia. the things i do for the people i love :(
— of northern dukes and snowstorms. !nsfw!
it could’ve been right out of a romance book, you and wriothesley in some abandoned hut in the middle of the forest, while a snowstorm was raging outside. the two of you wanted to travel to the court of fontaine, a long journey, and had been surprised by the weather.
and now, he was trying to warm the small house up by lighting a fire, after having shaken off snow from his cloak. you’re freezing and the still small fire wasn’t helping yet. so you took his cloak over yours, snuggling deep into the warm and thick fabric that smelled of him.
“i’m sorry, darlin’,” he grumbled, sitting next to you on the sofa. “didn’t think it would snow this early, winter barely started.”
“don’t worry, wrio”, you mumbled back, still shivering. “it’s not like we can change anything.” in answer, he leaned his body towards you and took you in his arms. making sure the cloaks were now draped over the both of you, slowly moving his hands up and down your back. you snuggle into his hold, content to be held by him and slowly warming up.
it ended with your cloaks spread out in front of the fireplace, clothes peeled off and frantic moving hips. you’re flushed and your skin almost feverish. no longer you’re freezing, instead you’re shaking and moaning, screaming his name and clinging onto him. he leaves you speechless, almost sobbing, because— because he’s so good to you, praising you and loving you, it ends up with tears running down your cheeks. only for him to gently kiss them away, while his hips never flatter that brutal rhythm he set from the start. seeing you like this was exactly what your duke wanted.
after all, every true northman knows how to warm their lovers during a violent storm, bringing forth enough passion to protect them from the cold.
Wriothesley has fallen asleep on the job.
It's not a surprise, not in the least. He's spent more time at the Fortress of Meropide than he has at home lately, overworking himself with an unfathomable amount of new inmates to house.
He's always taken his work quite seriously, both as a show of gratitude to the people of Fontaine and to protect his pride in having the most inescapable prison in the entire nation. And more than that, he's always refused your help much to your chagrin.
You find him asleep at his desk, piles of paperwork buried under his head as a makeshift pillow. He snores softly, meaning that he must have just knocked out recently.
A quiet sigh escapes you as you tread over to his sleeping form, draping the coat dangling on the back of his chair over his body as a temporary blanket. Fontaine is chilly, and despite his unusual warmth, risking Wriothesley getting sick is the last thing you want in the world.
It strikes you then. He's asleep. Asleep, in front of you, completely vulnerable and unknowingly allowing you to observe every part of him without judgement: the slow rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes, human and alive; the hair that's fallen out of place and over the eyes which you love so much; the light murmurs of his recited dreams leaving his lips yet unintelligible.
You're surprised that it's never dawned on you before. You've rarely had the chance to see him sleep.
Wriothesley always roused before the crack of dawn, waking you after him with his lips pressed to your forehead. "Good morning, pretty," he would greet you before taking off for the day. And he was so warm to hold at night that you would often fall asleep before him, comforted by the slow beating of his heart against your ear.
It's a strange sight to see him looking so unguarded, all evidence of the torment of his busy day washed out of his expression as he snores.
You shouldn't. You know you shouldn't. But you can't help it. The Kamera is pulled from your bag before you can stop yourself, fingers nimbly getting the lens ready without stirring him. You're just about to take a picture worth a thousand words when—
"Mornin', pretty."
You almost drop the Kamera out of surprise, clutching it to your chest while you glare at the smugness written all over his face. There's a gruffness and slur to his voice that makes you weak in the knees, so unlike how you're used to hearing him in the mornings when he's already had his coffee.
His steely eyes peer up at you curiously as you try and stammer out a weak excuse, to little avail. You should have known that the Lord of the Fortress of Meropide would have sharp enough senses to wake with even the smallest disturbance. He sits up straight, the coat hanging on his shoulders falling off onto the seat.
(It makes him melt that you've attempted to keep him warm, even though it seems like you've come all the way out to the Fortress at such an hour just to check up on him.)
He looks around. "No one escorted you?"
You bashfully avert your eyes, fumbling around with your Kamera and trying pathetically to hide it behind your back as if you weren't caught red-handed already.
"The guards let me in."
"But you came alone?"
His frown deepens when you nod. Wriothesley gathers up his remaining papers into one pile and shoves them aside before striding over to you. "Have a guard escort you home. It's dangerous to go back alone," is his demand.
"You're not coming home tonight?" You ask quietly, lips pulling back into a small pout of disappointment. His heart aches at the thought that he may have been neglecting you in the last few days, even more than he had been neglecting himself.
"I have to finish up some things," he tells you with the slightest bit of guilt bleeding into his words. He runs a hand through his hair before sighing. "Why don't you stay here tonight?"
It's a lame offer, asking the love of his life to sleep in such a dinky, run-down place. But the light that explodes in your eyes and smile tell him that you don't care. You never would, so long as you were by his side.
"Okay," you whisper, and he kisses you in apology.
That night, at an hour so late that not even the prisoners make a peep, he realizes that your Kamera is still set down on the coffee table beside your resting form. He has drowned you in his coat and a spare blanket, laid you out across his office couch, and though it's not luxurious you seem to be resting well.
Just a few more days. A few more days of processing all of the new papers sent by Neuvillette and he would be free to come home to your loving arms and fall asleep in your shared bed. For now, this would have to suffice.
The man gathers you up into his arms and slides beneath you, holding you atop his chest like he always does. He's careful not to wake you as he settles in to call it a night.
There's a faint shutter as he holds the device up in the air and takes a picture of the both of you, with your body curled up against his and his arm around your waist.
He presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head. "Goodnight, pretty."
("When did you take this?!"
"You don't like it?" He asks you nonchalantly, eyes busy with reading the morning Steambird.
"I didn't say that," you grumble, flustered at how he's holding you in the image. Did he always hold you so close? So protectively?
Wriothesley smiles at you with his lips on the rim of his mug. "You snore, by the way."
"Shut up!")
© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.
ೃ⁀➷ YOU LOOKIN'? ★
pair. wriothesley x reader. nsfw content ahead
cw: afab!reader but no pronouns used. cockwarming, established relationships, biting, needy wriothesley ... i think that's all but let me know if i missed anything that needs a warning ｡◕ ‿ ◕｡
Wriothesley has poor self-control. When it comes to you, at least. It's a fact of life— something that you've always known even before you were married. It has its perks.
"Eyes over here."
You know he meant to sound demanding, but the choke in his voice betrays him. He's buried so deep into you right now, cock sheathed entirely into your walls with no intention of retreating. It's knocking the breath from your lungs.
"Baby," you croon sweetly, head thrown back onto his shoulder. Your eyes are boring into his, wet and messy from the tears of your previous orgasm. The sight only makes his dick throb inside of you.
It was his idea to have you cockwarm him in the first place. It was his curiosity that got the better of him. It was his fault that he came home in such a sour mood and immediately threw himself into your arms, all needy kisses and bites.
So why is he the one not in control?
His jaw is clenched so tight that he can feel it getting sore, fingers digging harshly into the flesh of your hips to keep you steady. He needs you to be steady lest he blow his load pathetically early.
You whine in what he can only imagine is partly protest, partly pleasure, and then he presses a kiss to the spot just below your ear that makes you nearly scurry away from him.
"I told you to fucking look at me," he rasps when you squirm in your spot.
It's a futile attempt to escape his teasing; with his knees spreading yours further apart and your back against his chest, you're completely caged up and at his mercy.
His fingers find your chin and tug your head back to his shoulder so that he can watch you blink up at him with trembling lips. It makes it too hard for him to restrain himself when you look so pretty all spread out like this.
A low hum of satisfaction escapes him when one of his hands trails down between your legs to your embarrassingly exposed cunt, already sopping from his previous abuse. Wriothesley can't help it— his thumb pressing slow, languid circles into your clit the way he's done a hundred times before, like second nature to give in to you.
Your back curls against his chest and he squeezes your flesh harder to still your movements, hissing at the grind of your pussy up and down his length in response to his touch.
"Please," you breathe out when he kisses the wet spot of saliva gathering in the corner of your lip, "I need you to move."
"I move when I decide to move," he grunts despite the way his sanity is slipping with each passing second.
But then your eyes meet his again, expression so flustered and fucked out that his cock aches to feel every squeeze of your pussy around him, and he breaks.
You've always had this sick and twisted sort of spell cast on him. He's so easily enchanted by the little noises you squeak out and the way tears gather at your lashes with even the slightest of movements.
You bewitched him. A siren's call.
"Shit," he groans, hips snapping up into you so suddenly and roughly that you squeal in surprise. "Screw that."
His teeth sink into your shoulder so sharp you know he's leaving a mark of some sort. The flat of his tongue smooths the spot over as he pants against you, finally throwing all inhibition to the wind and deciding that, fuck it, you feel too good for him to just stay stagnant.
"Be good for me, yeah?" He mutters out through grit teeth, lips pressed to the shell of your ear. His hand finds your throat and pulls you back so he can meet your eyes again. And from this angle, he can also see the sinking of his painfully hard dick into your cunt with every bullying thrust. Just the sight of the gleaming ring of arousal around the base of his cock nearly makes him cum. "Be good and I'll treat you real nice," he promises.
Wriothesley has poor self-control, but at the end of the day, he always knows how to make it up to you.
© SINRINN 2023 — do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my work to other platforms.
—PORTRAITS | WRIOTHESLEY
so, it turns out wriothesley has a thing for painters (he just has a thing for you). cw. f!reader, reader hails from liyue, just fluff
wriothesley really is content with his life. he's happy with his job, he's fortunate to own a small area away from the prison to relax whenever he needs to, and he's perfectly satisfied without a partner. no, he’s not brimming with that bursting vitality that once proved him to be incredibly youthful and he’s not as boisterous as he used to be, but he’s certainly not old either. he knows he's aging; he has to pluck a stray gray hair from his black locks every once in a while and he has to work out a little bit harder, but he honestly couldn't care less about it. it’s something everyone and everything goes through, so why should he be racing against the clock of time?
that is, until his guards start gossiping.
he's not sure when exactly the mood of the prison started shifting, but at some point along the way, guards started getting bolder with their statements about him, and “archons, the duke is so responsible!” started to turn into “isn't the duke a little too old to be without a partner?”, and it turns out that he actually doesn’t do that well under scrutiny because he finds himself wondering the same thing.
the melusines tell him that he needs to get his portrait taken—since he lives in the fortress, there aren’t many families that are willing to marry their daughters to a man who has never made any public appearances. although he's not completely sure if he wants to follow the courting rules of royal families in fontaine, surely the melusines know more about casual dating than he does. first impressions are extremely important when it comes to proper courting of course, and he needs to look his best for a future prospect after all (with his face, the melusines agree that he should have no trouble finding one).
so here he is, waiting patiently for the agreed painter to find their way down the fortress; he’s nervous to meet you, how could he not be? every person who steps foot into the prison comes from a different background with contrasting experiences that led them to where they are now, and yet, most regret coming down whether they're a prisoner or not—how would a famous painter hailing from liyue think of him? he doesn't know much about liyue (hell, he doesn't even remember much of what fontaine is like), only that its culture is far different from the little he does know. he doesn't want to be a bad host (it's been a while since he's even hosted somebody anyways), but he understands that the cold steel walls that surround the prison make it hard for someone to feel welcome, especially in comparison with liyue's vast mountains and open air.
and then he sees you.
the elevator couldn’t possibly trap your beauty from behind its rusted metal and corroded screws but then the doors open and you turn around and, oh, you’re quite spectacular, aren’t you?
you have your paint set in one hand and a backpack that he assumes holds your canvas slung over one shoulder, your eyes wide and your mouth agape as you step down the stairs, taking in the blue sea and steel walls surrounding you. your outfit matches you and your hair frames your face ever so effortlessly—he wonders if all people from liyue are as eye-catching as you are. you walk down the stairs like you're a god itself, coming down to greet the mortals that you rule.
then, you do something unexpected.
his skin feels aflame when you tiptoe and your head nears his. you kiss the air right next to his ears; one, two, and fuck, you might as well be kissing his skin directly by how your warm breath fan at his cheeks.
"'m sorry," you smile sheepishly when you pull away, "i heard that was a customary thing in fontaine?"
you're flirting with him.
wriothesley can see through people an instant, he is a warden afterall, and your face was far too close to his for far too long, not to mention the confident smile you don as you stare up at him, your hand on your hip as you smirk.
how dare some painter have the gall to flirt with a man who's hired her to paint his future wedding picture? and how is he infinitely more attracted to you because of it?
he can hear his guards whisper gossip from the entrance and he feels his face getting redder, bowing his head down to hide his embarrassment before he leads you to the scenic room where you're to paint him.
the painting goes fine, he thinks.
he can't stop looking at you, not with the way your lashes flutter when you so much as blink, not with the way you curve your lips when you make small talk, not with the way your wrist flicks ever so gracefully when your brush moves against the canvas, painting out the freckles that dot the skin under his eyes.
you talk about your rise to fame in liyue, he talks about his infamy in fontaine. "there's no way they hate you," you snort, "i mean, look at you!" he thinks your eyes flicker up to his more often than you need to—that your eyes travel up and down the veins on his arms and linger at the tie hangs loosely at his chest, but he's not complaining.
you finish a few hours later, and unfortunately, he's just not satisfied when the painting.
"...can you redo it?" he feels bad when your face falls in disappointment (somehow, even your disappointed face is attractive), "it's the scenery! i just don't think...the sea is flattering on me?"
it's a shit excuse, he knows that he's surrounded by the sea at all times, but he's not in the right headspace to think of something smarter.
"oh! alright," the smile on your face returns, "where would you want it?"
anywhere with you.
"maybe above ground? there's a beautiful café up there that we could visit, and i'll pay you again, of course."
"...right." you nod, the cogs in your head turning (is he really—?), "...and i'm sure you will be paying for the food?"
"i am a gentleman."
how dare some warden have the gall to flirt with a woman whom he's hired to paint his future wedding picture? and how are you infinitely more attracted to him because of it?
"it's a date, then," your smile grows wider, and his heartbeat grows faster when you reach your hand out to him, "i imagine i'll see you soon, then?"
he can't help but linger his lips on your skin when he kisses your hand. he's a noble man to his core, but who is he to refuse when your eyes grin at him so enticingly?
he wonders if you can feel the pulse that threatens to escape his heart, the fire that burns in his chest at the thought of seeing you again. he can hardly wait.
"soon, m'lady. very soon."
something tells you that if everything works the way you hope it will, wriothesley won't need another painting again.
genshin knew what they were doing when they made wriothesley 'cause what the fuck.
𝓯𝓸𝓷𝓭𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓫𝓪𝓫𝔂 𝓭𝓸𝓵𝓵 𓈒 ˖ ࣪ 𝜗𝜚
wriothesley x sub!f!reader . nsfw — mdni . established relationship ﾉ daddy kink ﾉ breeding ﾉ oral [ m -> f ] ﾉ dirty talkin' ooo finger suckin' ooooo (๑ ˃̵͈́ᵕ˂̵͈̀ ) ﾉ infantilization + mindbreak ﾉ praise ﾉ lotsa petnames [ babydoll + little girl + princess + sweetheart + baby ] ﾉ sappie wuvie dovie sex bcos ! ! well :3 it's me !
the fortress of meropide’s pankration ring is vacant now— three hours after the stronghold’s annual boxing spectacle, two hours after champagne showers, one hour after all the prisoners and gardes have made their way back to their sleeping quarters.
the fortress of meropide’s pankration ring is vacant now, nearly— it’s pitch black, nearly, save for the warm yellow flickers of the half-functioning light fixture hanging above the ring’s canvas, the image it casts on the rusty steel walls of two bodies pressed together.
a dancing shadow of your back curling into a perfect arch off the floor, the tilts and turns of wriothesley’s head as he fervently suckles on your clit with alcohol-stained lips, the heels of your frilly-socked feet digging further into his shoulder blades, toes wriggling within the lavender fabric.
“daddy—!”
“pussy tastes so good—”
“pleasepleaseplease— won’t last if you keep— h-huuughh…”
“so fuckin’ sweet— shit, babydoll.”
it’s not like your lover to dirty talk you like this— obscenely and unabashedly and so greedily— licking and sucking and slurping and huffing, blunt nails digging into the plush of your thighs, past the white stockings he’s fortuitously torn off your legs where he now leaves little mauve moons upon your skin.
your lover is usually all grunts and groans and whines that get tangled in his throat— but you adore it when he gets like this. you adore it when he gets all touchy and clingy and desperate for your love after he’s knocked back a couple drinks, you adore the carnivorous growl in his voice when he tells you, fuck, princess, need you so bad, you adore the shower of praise and kisses and bold touches where his heart lies in his fingertips and he smudges lines of pink and red all over your flesh.
“pretty little pussy’s all mine… look at you, sweet thing practically drooling for daddy, yeah?” wriothesley moans, speaking more to your cunt instead of you, and pulls away, slick strung in a thin ribbon that connects his lip to the pearl of your clit. he watches how your hole twitches and clamps around air as it searches for something that only he can give you— hungry and ready with how much of your sticky cream oozes from it and drips down the globe of your ass, soaks the silk of his scarlet boxing robe that you lay atop of.
and your daddy’s right— it is practically drooling, so pathetically leaking for him.
“fuckin’ gorgeous.”
a glob of saliva builds under his tongue at the sight, and he gathers it in the purse of his lips before spitting it out onto your pussy, watching the frothy bubbles cling to your skin, laughing lowly when you begin to whimper and writhe beneath him, knead biscuits on his chest in a weak attempt to push him away.
“daddy, ‘s embarrassing when you look, o-oh—!” your protests are shushed when he collects the stringy mixture of his spit and your slick from your pussy and moves back up to meet your lips, kiss you messily.
“ah, ah, ahhh… don’t get all shy on m’now, sweetheart.”
the peach champagne on his tongue hits you after the sugary saltiness of your release, and evidently, you realize he must be drunk by the slur of his words, the greedy paws that cup your pussy, and then grab at your hips, your waist, your breasts.
a sharp glint of bright white has one of your eyes squeezing shut when wriothesley shifts to look down at you, his smile nothing short of beguiling. his frame is wide— broad shoulders and a strapping chest and sinewy arms that you’re caged under, the gold of the medal hanging loosely off his veiny neck reflecting the light from above.
and, oh, wriothesley thinks you look so pretty when the heavy metal thuds against your cheek amidst his soft swaying— he thinks you’ll look even prettier with his victory wrapped around your neck, because what’s his is yours, yours is his; you belong to him and he belongs to you.
he wouldn’t have it any other way.
bringing the gold up to his lips, he places a sweet kiss on it, lowering the medal back down to you so you can place another one right on top of his, baritone voice losing it’s primal growl and replaced with something more silky, loving. “fuck, couldn’t have won this without you.”
your fingers scrabble at one of wriothesley’s hands, holding it tight to your chest— to your heart— because you think the sheer sincerity in his voice is enough to have you losing balance and falling into an abyssal love. but that’s okay, that’s where you belong, deep, drowning in it, because you love him, you love him, you love him.
“love you, i love you, daddy— so, so much; love you forever…”
and the fortress’ duke thinks you just might kill him, with that admission.
with that milky, fuzzy, adoring look in your eyes, and how you press his palm to your heart, serve him your entire soul on a diamond-embedded platter— it cuts into his chest and carves deep into his flesh. your words are flames, and they are but dew on his skin, soothing and healing.
something knots in his throat; and all of a sudden he feels overwhelmed— by the rush of alcohol in his blood, by how sweet you’re being for him, by the painful ache of his leaky cock as he slides the length up and down your folds, each of his movements decorated by a tiny whimper that’s pried from your throat.
“fuuuuck, haha— love your daddy that much, huh? well, i love you, princess. love you even after forever.” wriothesley hunches over so close to you, cupping your cheeks with such delicate care— as if you’re crafted from the finest porcelain— before he kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you, shoving an eternity’s worth of promises and secrets down into your lungs.
he pulls back shortly thereafter to admire your kiss-swollen lips, wiping the pearls that dew at your lashes from just how achingly painful your weeping cunt feels— from how awfully you need to have your daddy inside you.
“inside— nghhh, wanna feel you inside, wanna—”
“i know, i know, but can you be a big girl ‘nd wait a little longer? can y’do that for daddy?” he shushes you with a sweet coo and prod of his thumb at the swell of your bottom lip, gathering the drool that sits there, before you obediently take the digit into your mouth. his cock jumps against your clit and wriothesley doesn’t realize that his mouth has been watering at the show you’ve been putting on for him until a drop of spit lands on your shoulder— your smaller fingers lightly wrapping around his wrist to hold his hand in place, sucking and swirling your tongue around his thumb, licking the tip repeatedly and hollowing your cheeks, giving his thumb the same attention and care you would his cock.
“a-awhhh, shit— you’re such a good girl, mhm?”
your hips grind up mindlessly against your lover’s cock at his praise and your mind fogs up in submission, taking the digit deeper, deeper, suckling and licking until you’re drivelling spit down your chin, giggling stupidly and coating his heart in fondant. “mhmmm, hehe—! wanna be your good girl, daddy…”
“yeah? archons, you’re so cute,” he chuckles with you, shaking his head at how you’ve already gone featherbrained from so much as a mere suckle of his finger, pinching your cheek softly within his thumb and forefinger. “gonna put it in now, ‘kay? gonna give you your cock ‘nd you’re gonna take it; like my good little girl.”
with his free hand, he holds the heavy weight of his cock in the palm, tapping it over your clit and thumbing at his slit to coax more pre out from it, using the glossy cream to lubricate you further as he slowly pushes his aching, flushed tip past the tight ring of muscle lining your entrance. there’s a lewd, wet pop that follows when he gets his bulbous head settled in between your sticky walls, and he can’t suppress the noise— something in between a groan and laugh— that escapes him.
“fuuuck me, y’hear that?” squelch, squelch, squelch. “haha, that’s my liquid luck.”
“uh huh, ‘s yours, daddy— ‘s all yours, i’m all youuurs,” your voice comes out as a sweet, broken keen, one that dizzies wriothesley and has blood flooding his cock.
“a-ah, you’re gonna be the death of me, i swear…” his breathing picks up as he shallowly thrusts himself deeper into your cunt— it hugs him like a vice— like it loves him, his cock, like it wants to milk it dry.
and without warning, he sinks fully inside of you until he’s buried deep in your sopping cunt— it’s a perfect fit. where his oozing tip is pressed up snugly against your cervix, every ridge and vein hitting all the right spots that line your walls.
you drawl out a pitchy whine of his designation at the sudden split of his cock, hiccuping on your breath as he leans his whole weight on you and pushes your thighs back to meet your chest until the backs of your knees land on his shoulders, hips gyrating to grind his pubic bone down on your puffy bud. it soothes the sharp tremors of pain ripping through your core, washing them over with waves of pleasure, and you can only arch your chest up into his almost instinctually, fingers finding his face to trace sloppy stars over high-set cheekbones.
“daddy, daddyyyy, i wanna k-kiss…”
your boyfriend smiles adoringly in response, not ignoring the heavy throbs and twitches of his cock within your drooling cunt at how fucking stunning you look underneath him: pouty and glassy-eyed as you weakly tug him closer by the lanyard of his medal, all ditsy and limbs pliable like the sweet little baby doll of his that you are, head near empty with nothing but daddy, daddy, daddy on your brain.
wriothesley finds himself unable to do anything but indulge your desperation, brushing his lips against yours softly— once, twice, until he feels your velvety breath settle in his lungs, and then he’s left craving more.
“ohhh, baby, so tight.” his hips begin to rock against yours, and with each drag of his fat cock along your gummy walls, a hot knot begins to boil in the pit of your stomach.
your lips break free from wriothesley’s when his thumb finds your clit, feeling him trace his name over the sensitive nub, gazing up at him through your dumbed out doe eyes, tongue caught in between your teeth in a dreamy little smile. because he looks so handsome like this, so, so gorgeous with raven and sleet slicked back by his fingers and the small strands that bounce and fall and curl around the pinch of his brows— it’s like he’s made of stardust and moonshine and tufts of clouds from the celestial skies because your daddy’s just so incredibly beautiful that it give you such a strong kick, one that sends you toppling back into the deep end and has you drowning in his love.
“you won me this gold medal, what d’you wan’ in return? a ring? fuck— i’d give you the whole universe if you asked. put the fuckin’ oceans in the sky for you.”
an erotic mewl escapes you from how romantic he’s being and you’re almost certain he doesn’t realize the effect his champagne-kissed words have on you— your toes curl and hips grind up mindlessly into his, pussy throbbing on his cock when your clit brushes against the cream-frosted hairs at the base.
the hard clamp of your walls peels a low groan from him, head hanging low and medal gently slapping your cheek with each slow, deep stroke, “s-shit, you like that, huh? tell me what you want, sweetheart—"
“want your cum— want it inside— in here,” you cut him off with needy babbles as you bring his palms to your tummy, laying them gently over the love bites that scatter your flesh likes the stars scatter the night sky— an eternal reminder that you’re his. “please, pretty pleaseee— wanna make you a papa— mhnn!”
and then he’s plunging into you deeper than ever before, cutting your words short, breaking them off into pitchy little pants as he presses his crotch flush against your messy, web-coated folds and swirls the tip of his dick deliciously over that one spongy spot where you’ve been needing to feel him the most.
“awh, you wanna make me a daddy? but i already am one, aren’t i?” he teases, runs his knuckles under your jaw and tugs on the plump of your lip with his teeth.
flustered by his words, you whine, shake your head petulantly and try to hide your face from him with the back of your hand. squeeze your eyes shut bashfully. melt his heart into icing and frost cupcakes with it. “nuh uhhh, you know ’s not what i mean…”
it’s staggering— how adorable you’re being for him, with your sweet pleas and darling little whines, he can’t help but huff out a growl through gritted teeth before leaning down to gather your lips in a kiss; it’s filled with so much love and so much fervour when he swallows your pretty cries with his tongue in your mouth and, fuck, he’s certain that even the mere thought of stuffing you full of his seed is enough to bring him down to his knees.
“perfect— you’re my perfect little doll, yeah? gonna make you a mother, gonna make you my wife, gonna make you the happiest girl alive.”
and it’s all so much, too much, the thumb he has pressed flat against your tongue to pacify your sobs, the promises he washes your tears away with, the sound of gold thudding harshly against the canvas of the floor when he thrusts into you at a different angle— one that has the tip of his cock knocking at the sponge of your cervix in a way where your hips rock up into his own. “daddydaddydaddy, please, ‘m gonna cum, you’re gonna make me cuuuum—!”
“my sweet girl’s already fucked silly? got nothin’ but cock on your little brain, uh huh?”
“uh huh, uh huhhhh— wan’ daddy’s cock, wan’ daddy’s cum, wanna— mmph!”
your mindless babbling pulls a harsh guttural noise deep from wriothesley’s stomach, his vision doubling at the shaky lilt to your voice, at the manicured nails that dig into his biceps and claw red wings there— an eternal reminder that he’s yours. “oh, baby, that’s it, there you go— c’mon, be a big girl and cum all over my cock.”
“n-no! nonono, wanna cum with youuu—” you cut him off with a sharp keen, wailing out when you feel him start to thrust harder, faster, pearls of your slick and his pre spluttering out to fall as dewdrops on your thighs. doing your best to wrap your arms around his neck amidst the jostles of your body, you pull wriothesley in closer, closer, until his lips meet yours and there’s no space for air between the two of you.
he can’t help but crumble to ashes as you weep into the kiss, as you cling to him— it’s heart-wrenchingly cute how badly you need him. your slurred whimpers of, daddy, daddy please cum— wan’ it in me f’ever, remind him of just how much he loves you, so much, it reminds him that he is the only one for you in this timeline and every other, he is the only one that can ever make you feel this way— and, fuck, it fills him with a rush that he’s certain he’ll never find in anything else. the knot of fire that treads up his spine coils tighter on itself at the sound of your pitchy breaths and pathetic whines.
it brings wriothesley to the heavens, and soon enough, he’s prattling on and tripping over his words just as you had been, drooling drivelling from his lips like a fucking dog.
“shiiit, all those pretty fuckin’ sounds you make, h-hah, gonna make me cum, baby— you want that? wanna make daddy cum? want his seed so deep inside ya? yeah, ohhh, i know you do, c’mon then, milk this fuckin’ cock, ’s all yours.”
and so, you moan and whimper and cry out for your daddy, goaded by his words and his cock moulding your cunt to the shape of him, toes curling and tapping helplessly over his shoulder, your orgasm flying through you from head to toe. “fuck, fuck fuck, daddy— ‘m cum’ng— cummiiiing, daddyyy—!”
it’s nothing short of endearing, how you clutch at the nape of his neck and whimper in the junction of his neck, little incoherent mumbles falling onto deaf ears. because when you cum, wriothesley cums too, seeing white, a strangled whine ripping from his throat when tiny squirts push past your hole where the creamy base of his cock sticks to your cunt and thick ribbons of his milk paint the walls of your womb.
your heart dances with wriothesley’s when they meet on the tip of his tongue, his nose brushing against yours with so much delicate care and a boyish chuckle pushing past him when your hips swirl in cute little motions to catch your clit on his pubic bone, grinding up and chasing his cock to keep it plugging you full. “wrio.”
it comes out as a sniffle, and he can’t help but blush at the small pout you send his way.
“yeah, princess?” he moves back to pull out of you, but your legs slip down from his shoulders in between his arms to wrap around his waist, ensuring his full length is kept inside your stuffed hole.
“if you move it’ll all leak out,” you whine, pitchy and puerile, “don’t want it to— wan’ it to stay in me forever and ever…”
his seed as a sliver of him in your tummy, a sliver of his love kept in your body until the end of time— his head falls forward into your neck where he can only bring himself to huff out an endearing laugh and repeat your words, “forever ‘nd ever, huh…?”
“mhm… forever ‘nd ever ‘nd even after that.”
you tug on the medal’s lanyard to prompt him to meet your gaze, absolutely cockdrunk and bambi-eyed with your bottom lip tugged coyly into your top teeth— wriothesley knows that look well, you cheeky little minx; and you giggle when you clamp down around him once more, coaxing another tiny rope of milk from his slit, evident by a sharp moan that escapes him mid-breath.
“you’re killin’ me, sweetheart.”
he's dizzy— either from all the alcohol or the intensity of his high or a mix of both, but he still manages to bar you to his chest with two steady hands against your back and raise you both so that you’re sitting upright on the floor, and you cry out at the shift in position, at how his cock is nestled so incredibly deep inside that you swear you can feel him piercing your womb.
and it’s a sound that so sweet, so tooth-rottingly sweet, because wriothesley can’t help but mutter out small proclamations of his love as he lays them all over your face, can’t help the excruciating ache in his limbs and muscles and the uncomfortable twist and turn of his organs because, archons, he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.
“gold looks good on you, wrio,” you whisper, cheeks burning with warmth and popping like corn from how wide your smile is, from the accidental tickle of his fleeting touches.
you’re floating— high on his love, floating higher, higher, until you’re swimming in the oceans he put in the sky for you, the waterfalls up in the clouds.
the loss of his touch brings you back down to earth— his fingers are sticky, sweet and salty with drying champagne and a mix of your releases, but he could care less when he removes the medal from his neck and hangs it around yours, carefully laying the gold flat on your sternum, right above your heart.
and maybe he jumps the gun a little when he rubs your ring finger and searches for something that’s not there— his soul fanning across your face in sweet breaths when he starts thinking about white picket fences and a little angel with his hair, your eyes, his nose, your smile— the most beautiful blessing of all.
“well, i think it looks better on you.”
do u evr hate a character so much you wnt to write the most unabashedly horny smut for them . bcos i do ♡ anw hehe :3 tusm for readin ! ! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و i hope u liked dis n' it made u just as flustered as i felt when writing ⭐️ pls consider commenting ﾉ reblogging if u enjoyed aaa ( =v= ) it wld make mi so happie yayayayyy ! !
DAY 28 — BODYGUARD AU
kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3
a/n. this can be seen as a continuation of my previous bodyguard au fic with wriothesley, make sure to check it out as well if you're interested, anyways, enjoy loves!
𖧡 — including — wriothesley
𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, bodyguard au, a little mean wriothesley & very teasing wriothesley, fingering & against the wall, some dirty talk and ugh he's a little asshole honestly
bodyguard wriothesley was watching you, always watching you throughout the day, leisurely, and your heart suddenly skips a beat when he calls you, "princess," again, your breathing turning shallow as his broad body stands before you, slowly pressing you against the cold stonewall in the middle of the night— and it doesn't matter on how many times he would take the opportunity to tease you, he will always pull the same, coarse reactions out from your body and mind.
without dissembling, it excites you, a liquid hotness coursing through your pumping veins and leaving tingles all over your spine when he first cradles your cheek. his nostrils flaring as he focuses on your silent pleas— spotlights the pout on your pretty face and your teeth digging into your bottom lip as he lifts your head by your chin, his eyes searing through you.
bodyguard wriothesley who chuckles lowly, his lidded eyes as deep and dark as the ocean itself, "what's wrong, boss?" he teases, his grip holding you firmly against the wall as one hand slowly travelled south before looping his digits under your skirt until resting right above the waistband of your panties. "don't tell me you're actually nervous?" he whispers, almost cruelly and it drives you insane, the moment he says it, the moment he cups in between your legs and feel how you've already messed up your underwear.
"i'm not nervous," you rasp back and feel how your blood rises, "and i'm not paying you for this, you know,"
he chuckles wetly, "not paying me for this, yeah?" his breath tickling your ear.
by now, your nipples have hardened and sticked through the thin material of your dress, and of course, he had noticed it, salivated at the sight because he watched you, he has always watched you— you're so pretty it makes his head spin, and even though you could be mean, a little brat to be exact, as your bodyguard he has to endure it because later on, he will always have the chance to pay you back.
bodyguard wriothesley who drags one finger over your wet folds before circling it across the little pearl hidden in between the flesh, smiling viciously as you rest your head against his broad and strong chest then moan out, his onslaught of touches proving to be comforting on the reactive, thin skin on your core. he presses into you now, solely focused on that pressure between your thighs when you swallow him inside, breathing heavily into his clothed body.
"well, look at you," wriothesley smiles, his gesturing mocking as he cocks a brow, "who knew my boss was so desperate, so wet and so willing to—"
"shut up!" you mewl back angrily, then whine when he pumps a second finger in, faster and harder in and out of your tight hole clamping down on his digits.
your legs shake and twitch, and you notice how your slickness had not only covered his entire hand, but began to run and gather over the insides of your thighs— you're trembling, the small winces like music to his eager ears as bodyguard wriothesley continues to send violent tremors all over the expanse of your wet sex, the soft flesh of your walls sucking him in until he was knuckles deep pumping in and out, in and out, his facial expression vicious and alluring all in the same breath.
bodyguard wriothesley who likes when you're breathing heavily due to his sweet ministrations on your wet pussy, your body pitching forward as your hips desperately ride his fingers to catch your buzzing pleasure by the root, so you could cum and feel satiated all over again.
your hands becoming clammy as you cling yourself against him, your erotic puffs of air rolling from your tongue all the way to his smooth lips being just a hairbreadth away.
a loud, cruel laugh buzzes over your pouted lips when he laps the flat of his tongue inside your mouth before circling his pink muscle over your own, never letting go of the strong and deep thrusts into your pussy rolling over his digits so fucking heavenly that the obvious growing pain in his groin was not as bad as it actually was— now, your vision was blurred and a heavy weight of pressure gathers on your throbbing cunt, it's just so hot when he touches you, so disgustingly hot and you love it dearly.
"come on, princess," he whispers, "cum for me, i'll protect you," and your teeth were knocking against his as it's more tongue than actual making out taking place as you whine out strongly at the tingling vibrations being instantly set free— your belly tight as bodyguard wriothesley easily overpowers you with two long, thick fingers splitting you in half, his hand unforgivingly thrusting up into your heat as you violently cum all over him without warning, eyes rolled back and drool running from the corners of your mouth when he coaxes a strong orgasm out of your trembling frame.
your complete figure melts forward and rests against his chest as he wraps one hand around your waist to allow your frail body to sink against his entirely.
"good.. very good," wriothesley coos proudly at you, still tracing slow shapes all over your swollen walls as he pumps into them ever so slightly, catching on to your little whimpers and sniffles— he grins, of course he did, a mocking smile lingering on his glowing face as he slants his lips towards the shell of your ear,
"now it's your turn, boss."
©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify
𐑺 ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ FIGHTER, WRIOTHESLEY.
you find yourself still getting used to your boyfriends lifestyle, but that doesn’t mean you don’t want to help him out wherever you can.
summary. fem reader. blood mention. boxer scenario. reader is wearing a dress. wriothesley is a tease. you help him to wrap his knuckles / clean his wounds. a little rough play. exhibitonism (infirmary). he calls you princess. wc, 1.9k.
note. ig this isn’t really an au since he does fight in the fortress sometimes! hopefully the characterisation isn’t too horrible regardless ૮꒰៸៸ "◞ ◟៸៸꒱ა let me know if you enjoyed! ❤︎
“tell me if it’s too tight, okay?”
you murmur softly as you wrap the dark material around wriothesley’s already bruised knuckles, sending him a pretty look from beneath your lashes as he sways slightly on the stool infront of you.
“wrio?” you hum softly, making sure your boyfriend‘s still with you— and conscious, considering the considerable amount of crimson that decorates his hands and clothes.
but his eyes are on you and he still manages to shoot you a wobblier, but still cocky smirk so you know he’s fine. “nothing i cant handle.“ he breathes, followed by a groan when you squeeze his arm a little too tight, just to check. you know he’s teasing you but that doesn’t stop the way you really do worry when you notice his bloodied knuckles smearing against the now ruined fabric of your dress.
you grab his hand gently for closer inspection of the open wound, and you’re surprised when he lets you so easily, his jaw clenching slightly when you sigh, “i’ll clean this before i start on the rest of you,” you huff and wriothesley shoots you another lazy smile before nodding softly “well aren’t you lovely.” his tone still a little teasing despite his current state.
you’re quick to push him gently against the desk in the infirmary as he tries to stand to stretch, shooting him a cute frown before grabbing a little first aid kit that sigewinne always left out for you. it had became a necessity since you both started dating.
you pull out a few wipes to dab them gently across his knuckles, while you watch wriothesley hiss and steady himself by wrapping his other arm around your waist, pulling you in closer.
“doesn’t the duke have other matters to attend to, other than worrying me?” you mumble, bringing his knuckles up to your lips before you place a gentle kiss on the split skin. you glance up at your boyfriend as his chest heaves softly at the gesture, his eyes already on you, to focus on the bright crimson that was now smeared across your lips.
“eh, i guess this kinda comes with the job.“ wriothesley groans, his eyes dark and primal when he watches your tongue peek out to clean up the blood on your lips, before swallowing and blinking up at him so obliviously. you’re so fucking pretty and innocent, such a contrast to his imposing, dominant figure.
he was once a convict afterall, albeit hes served his sentence now, he finds himself a little lucky than most that despite all that he’s still been blessed with an angel like you. hes gotten himself to a pretty comfortable place in life.
you feel his arm around you tighten momentarily before his bloodied hand comes to wrap around your jaw, and he pushes himself up straight again, something warm bursting to heat along his neck.
“the duke extends his regards, you know.. and it would be my honour to return the favour to you.” wriothesley grunts, cocking his head a bit and smoothing his thumb over your lower lip as he lets his heavy, lidded gaze sweeping over your features.
there’s a beat of silence after, the room only filled with both of your soft pants—lust and desire heavy in the air. “you’re free now, right?” the duke breathes, allowing himself to chuckle lowly when your lust-blown pupils meet his and nod out a yes before he flips your positions.
wriothesley turns you to face the desk and bends you over—allowing you to see the hungry glint in his eyes in the rusted mirror. his previously bloody hand squeezes the back of your neck to keep you pressed against the cold, wooden counter.
you whimper quietly, a little impatient while your hips sway eagerly but you hear him unbuckle his pants, pushing through the heavy layers of his clothes behind you and he sighs with the sudden sexual freedom pulling down his boxers gives him. you feel the already glistening head of his cock slide between your thighs a few moments later before he reaches to flip your skirt up over your ass.
“so, this is like my prize, right?” wriothesley growls as he leans forward, grabbing his cock at the base before guiding it to slide along your already embarrassingly slick pussy. he deliberately rolls the thick head under the hood of your clit with every stroke, watching your thighs twitch with each needy grind as you push back into him — rubbing yourself all over him while his hands curl into your skin.
it’s dizzying, the effect you have on him, shit—one starry-eyed look from you could bring the duke to his fucking knees and his head only feels fuzzier when your lust blown pupils meet his own in the clouded mirror. he stares at you, heavy lidded with parted lips, despite the mess of his dual-toned hair and the marks along his pretty features that’ll definitely bruise tomorrow.
“oh yeah, you’re real lovely.” he grumbles, letting out another airy laugh but still, he won’t fuck you yet. even though it takes every single ounce of his self restraint to pull his cock away from you — especially when he hears that sweet whine slip from your lips at the loss of contact before his slender fingers are curling around your figure to rub sticky circles into your clit.
“even after all this time still gotta stretch you out, huh? i wouldn’t wanna hurt my girl.” you can hear the change in wriothesley’s voice, the way his tone drops, dripping with want and need and followed by his rough movements. hes all sharp edges and harsh lines because he’s losing it, there’s nothing practiced about the way his fingers are moving against you, but he can still feel the way your slick is growing in intensity when he sinks his fingers into your twitching hole.
you still hiss at the stretch before it’s quickly overcome with the desire that boils in your stomach, feeling him twist his wrist in languid circles. he buries his thick digits into your walls, stretching you around them until you’re leaning the weight of your ass against his hips in a plea.
“please, wrio—fuck me.” you breathe and you feel wriothesley hiss as he leans forward to trail a kiss along the dip of your shoulder. he pulls his hand away to wrap it around the base of his cock and tap it teasingly along your clit — smirking at the way your body twitches.
“hmm? oh, i didn’t know you were the one giving orders now, princess.” he slurs, goading but his voice comes out needier than he expects when he rests his forehead against your shoulder, prodding his cock at the your flexing hole before he’s finally, finally sinking into your plush cunt. he was used to being the one in power, like some all-knowing figure with every your grace that he heard. but you had him so weak, he kind of liked it. “anything else you want?”
you’re babbling at the stretch — dreamy moans of his name and ‘ts too much, too big and wriothesley doesn’t think you’ve ever sounded prettier as he curses roughly. “hm, no? this was what you wanted.. right?”
theres a mixture of want and carnal need throbbing in his cock as he pushes into you. feeling you twitch and twist, grab at his silky uniform shirt when he grazes past your swollen, sweet spots and you reward the spread of his cock with another dizzying squeeze.
wriothesley had always been thick, no matter how many times he’s fucked you — moulded your insides to the shape of his cock you were always so tight around him. you clench hard until he’s smearing messy kisses along your shoulder, and his hands are almost curling fists into your hips.
he grunts, followed by a satisfied moan from your pouty lips when he finally bottoms out — you’re so full and his hips press tightly against yours for a few moments. his fingers flex almost too hard in the skin as he readjusts his feet with an almost dark smirk and draws his hips back, slamming back into you immediately after.
the pace he starts is almost animalistic, each thrust feels heavy and sharp, the blunt head of his cock sliding along every sweet spot perfectly and it feels like he’s igniting every nerve ending in your body as you jolt beneath him. “wrio—p-please.” you whimper, surprised you can still form a sentence with how wriothesley has your head spinning.
it feels like he’s fucking almost every word and coherent thought out of your mind that isn’t his name or how good he’s making you feel, and the sound of his pants and growls between your moans only makes you feel even better. every wet smack of his hips making the countless potions and notes on the desk infront of you shake.
wriothesley growls against your skin, his sharp teeth grazing the nape of your neck before his tongue laves over the skin after. his narrowed gaze meets yours in the mirror just as he’s angling your hips higher against his own, the new angle allowing him to shove his cock deeper into your pussy while the lewd, wet squelching noises bouncing around the infirmary every time his hips slam against yours grow louder.
you’re pretty sure sigewinne said she wouldn’t be back for a while, and the other inmates tend to avoid anywhere the duke happens to be. you hope they do atleast.
“what’s going on in that pretty head, hm?” wriothesley pants, snapping you out of your little daze— barely with how he’s making the room spin.
but he loves you like this, so fucking pretty and dumb on his cock and the sight only makes his pace increase, each smack of his hips loud and clapping as his lips tilt slightly when you arch into him. he pulls you further into his chest before you feel his fingers trace their way between your legs, reaching around to find your clit, toying and rolling the sensitive nub.
you let out a babble of his name from your pouty lips, one that’s whispery and choked and you watch the dukes eyes almost roll into the back of his head in the mirror at the sound. your walls squeeze and clamp down around him even harder until he’s throbbing inside of you, each quick thrust feel like it’s leaving you breathless and driven by the same determination that would burn in him during a fight.
“phew, you’re not going easy on me huh?” wriothesley groans, his jaw slack and coloured hair sticking slightly to the light sheen of sweat across his forehead. but despite how fucked out he is, he still finds it in him to shoot you a handsome, cocky smirk when he notices you staring.
“‘m so close, wrio—“ he finds a certain sort of pride in how ruined you look before he pulls you up and taut against his chest while your head tilts back, resting on his shoulder and allowing him an even better view in the mirror infront of you both as he continues to ram into you mercilessly.
wriothesley’s deliberately staving off his own orgasm so he can allow himself to drink in the sight of you looking so pretty and fucked-out, so desperate to make him feel good.
“uh oh, already? because i’m nowhere near done with you yet.”
© gojoath. do not copy, repost, modify or translate my works. please refrain from copying my layouts / themes.
cw. breeding + marking, fem! reader
wriothesley knows that you like to be bred as much as he loved claiming you in such vulgar way, and every muscle in his body seems to focus as he grinds his hot load inside the tight hole— most likely edging himself on until he's overstimulated and cums a lot harder, better, so your cunt twitches after every new roll of his hips.
because do not misunderstand the duke, okay? wriothesley needs to be sure it's all getting in there, has to be certain that it will reach you entirely, precisely so your belly could be all warm and cosy, so your womb was full of him and he can mark you up in an expressive type of way.
fuck, you know he means it when he tells you that he will fuck you all night until your body takes over his musky scent, claiming his territory so no one in teyvat will even dare to question if you're taken or not.
they will simply know.
however, it's intimate when wriothesley does it, utterly gentle when he slowly grinds the spilled cum back into your hole as you're whining out his name in sweet, little trembles— your figure spent and mind barely listening, your soul too captivated by his thick shaft splitting you in half and aching your thighs until you simply cannot part them more.
his large palms keep them up for you though, just in place which was draped up his shoulders, greedily squeezing and pressing at the flesh of your thighs as he fucks his load back into you.
you're leaving it to wriothesley's strong hold to steady and pleasure you at the same time— your walls forever memorizing the outlines of his length as you flinch within a shaky breath when you listen to the wetness that accompanied the lewd snaps of his hips.
needless to say, you enjoyed it whenever wriothesley was so rough with you to the point where you're seeing glimmering stars and then helplessly climax around his cock, sense the throbs of his dripping dick melt into your soused walls as he claims his territory again and again and again.
but now, you smile to yourself, because there was just something in how he held you so sweetly and precious when tightly locked in between his strong arms— sweat covered chests intertwined within each other as he tiredly glances down at you, a soft noise that was more a whisper than anything manifesting an appreciation across his entire face.
wriothesley was just so enthralled by your beauty— he doesn't see the difference between having you all glammed up or fucked out with your mascara sticking to your cheeks. he loves you at all times, voices just how much he loved this, loved you, and how deeply it turned him on that you adored it too.
©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify