in which: you don't visit wriothesley during his lunch break after last night's argument, so he goes to the court of fontaine just to see you.
warnings: approx. 1.9k words, PURE FLUFF, gn!reader x pathetic and soppy and lovesick wriothesley, canon setting, reader works at the court of fontaine, post-argument so very minimal angst, probs not in character LOL
a/n: there's not a lot of content regarding fontaine or wriothesley rn so i apologise if this isn't completely in character. what i do not apologise for, however, is the urge to make him as lovesick as possible.
There is a notable tension in the Fortress of Meropide, and although a prison isn’t a place for rainbows and sunshine, today it feels especially devastating. It seems that the lord of the prison is the one responsible for it.
Brooding at his desk, Wriothesley glances occasionally at the clock on his desk, growing more and more impatient with each document he has to read through. He is waiting for something: a knock on his door. He is waiting for the call of his name, the reason for their interruption, then your name will reach his ears and an unmatched excitement will bloom in his chest. Then you’ll slip through the doors with lunch for two, he’ll pull out a chair for you right beside him, and mask professionalism that betrays the eagerness your presence always brings out.
Your absence must be because of the argument that happened last night. One that remained unresolved because he went to bed before you, too furious to try to talk it out. Yet, when Wriothesley woke in the morning, a wave of guilt washed over him when you weren’t pressed against him like usual. Instead, you were on the other side of the mattress, further than an arm’s length away whilst turned away from him and Fontaine’s chilly mornings had never felt colder.
If he didn’t need to go to work much earlier than you, he would have waited until you had woken up to leave, but being the lord of the Fortress of Meropide meant that his presence was demanded. So, with a lingering kiss to your cheek and then your temple, he leaves into the dewy mornings of Fontaine, looking forward to his lunch break that the two of you often share together.
Except now, lunch is almost over and there hasn’t been a knock on his door. No one has called his name- not people he cared about, at least. You haven’t slipped through the heavy set of doors. You haven’t come down from the Court of Fontaine to visit him, and Wriothesley’s patience is thinning.
His fingers itch with the need to hold you, to tuck you close to his chest and just keep you there for a few moments as time pass by. Especially after last night, Wriothesley needs you now more than ever.
By the time there’s only one hour left in the work day, he snaps. Stands up from his seat with an unmatched sense of fervour because of the unnervingly quiet day and snatches his coat from the hanger, leaving documents unread as he makes a beeline for the exit of the prison. The guards listen attentively to Wriothesley’s final commands for the day in his absence and once the information is cemented, the dark-haired is off without another second wasted.
You, on the other hand, sit in your office drowned in piles upon piles of papers. Wriothesley is a passing thought every now and then, the memories of last night’s harsh argument settling like weights in your stomach. You miss Wriothesley, very dearly, and all you want is to settle things with him. However, the image of his furious eyes and clenched jaw terrifies you beyond belief, you’re not even sure if he’ll be calmer by the time you get home, so for the first time ever, you dread the idea of going home.
What you are completely unaware of, however, is your lover that is storming your way, desperate to receive the medicine that will cure his moodiness and irritation.
The knock on your door distracts you from the piles of papers on your desk.
“Who is it?” you call out, voice reverberating around the spaciousness of your office.
“It’s Wriothesley, can I come in?” His tone is sharp and leaves no room for you to reject him, but the mere sound of his voice causes you to stiffen, grip on your pen tightening as the papers before you lay forgotten.
What is Wriothesley doing here? He normally never comes up to the Court of Fontaine just to see you because leaving the prison would be far too neglectful. There was also half an hour before he was done for the day, so could there be official business that needs to be discussed? Something urgent, perhaps?
If it was urgent, then why come to you and not Monsieur Neuvillette- or even Lady Furina?
“Yeah- yes, you can come in,” you mutter.
When the door clicks open, Wriothesley practically barges through, door shutting behind him as he marches towards you. Getting up from your chair, you’re frightened with anticipation due to how intense his stance is.
“Is something the matter?” You begin, panic seeping into your voice as he pauses before you, determination setting his eyes ablaze as he eyes you down like prey. “Wriothesley, you’re scaring me, did something happen at the prison-”
“Where were you at lunch?” He demands.
You blink. “Excuse me?”
“Why didn’t you come visit?”
“Is… is why you came up here? To ask why I didn’t visit you during lunch?”
He nods, expression stern as usual save for a small pout.
“I was swamped with work,” you half-lie, gesturing to the desk behind you and although there is clear evidence on your table through the form of stacked folders and paper, a storm of uncertainty brews in his blue eyes. “I couldn’t visit if I wanted to get these done, I apologise.”
The dark-haired frowns. “Is that it?”
“Yes. That’s all.” His eyebrows furrow, creating crease marks in his forehead that you want to kiss away, alleviating his worries, but you hold yourself back from doing so in fear that Wriothesley does not want you touching him.
However, a switch is flicked when Wriothesley’s stern expression softens, melting into one resembling a kicked dog. “So you’re not upset with me?”
“Oh, is that also on your mind?”
“Of course, I don’t like it when you’re upset with me,” your lover mutters, looking away bashfully to conceal the reddening of his cheeks. “You aren’t though, right?”
“No, not upset. Scared, maybe, but definitely not upset.”
His eyes are glossy when he looks back at you. “Scared, why are you scared?”
“W-we didn’t end on a good note last night,” you rub your wrist nervously. “I didn’t know if you would be happy with seeing me. On top of that, you can be really intimidating sometimes, so admittedly, I was a little scared to come see you just in case that you did not want me there.”
Wriothesley visually deflates with your last statement, shoulders dropping and eyes glistening as he murmurs a small, pathetic, “is that so?”
He wonders what part about him ever made it seem like he never wants you beside him, and the thought that he had frightened you enough to prevent you visiting him is an upsetting one. You must see it in his eyes with the way you frantically begin to explain yourself.
“Oh no, darling, I didn’t mean it like that-”
He turns his head away again, disappointed in himself. It’s one thing for his prisoners to consider him intimidating but it’s another for you, his own lover, to think so as well, and the thought that he had scared you creates insurmountable shame to swell within him. Yet, his whirlwind of anxieties ceases when your hand goes to cup his cheek, gently prompting him to look at you. Then, a kiss is pressed to the corner of his lips, and his heart skips a beat at the sensation, love blocking his airways when you pull away to smile up at him.
“As scary as you might be, oh great lord of the Fortress of Meropide, I also know you will never hurt me,” you reassure. “Rather, I feel safest when I’m around you, please never doubt that.”
Wriothesley sighs, hand snaking up to grip your waist and pull you closer to him. “Thank you, my love. But I beg, even if you assume I am upset with you, please keep visiting my office during lunch, it is the part of the day I look forward to most.”
“If that is your request then maybe you just need to be good and listen to me instead of arguing until your head pops off,” you tease, patting his face twice and he huffs before muttering an ‘understood’. Anything to see you. “Is there something else you need from my office?”
“No, just wanted to see you,” he looks at the brown paper bag in his hands. “I brought you lunch, just in case you didn’t eat.”
“Wriothesley,” you melt, “how thoughtful of you. I’ll make sure to eat it when I finish reading those contracts.”
“You should eat now, though. Don’t drown yourself in work, it’s not healthy.”
“I wish it were that easy, but these piles were dumped on my desk this morning and were assigned to be done by the end of the week.”
The hand that was on your waist comes up to gently hover over your cheek and Wriothesley studies you, icy eyes hardening due to the fatigue present in your expression. You grab his wrist, trying to diverge his attention, but you should know better than assuming that your wellbeing isn’t of utmost importance to him. “Unacceptable, I should have a word with your supervisor-”
“-no, no, Wriothesley! I insist, this is manageable.”
He frowns, deep and serious before surrendering to your pleas. “Fine, but if it doesn’t get better by the end of the week, then I will be interfering.”
“If you do so, my supervisor will be too scared to come in for a month,” you squeeze his wrist and gently guide it away from your face, ignorant to how your neglect for your own health hurts Wriothesley as well. He knows you love your job, but he still thinks that you deserve to live life carefree, that you should get everything you want without ever lifting a finger. “It’s alright, dear, you mustn’t worry about me when your work is a thousand times more stressful.”
“Impossible.” He worries about you every second of the day. Telling Wriothesley to stop fretting over you would be like telling him to stop breathing. “Now eat.”
You yelp when he pulls you towards your chair, sitting you down. From the paper bag, he takes out a sandwich, one that you recognise is from one of fontaine’s favourite cafés, and he carefully unwraps it before raising it to your mouth.
“Wriothesley… this is a little embarrassing,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around yourself.
He doesn’t say anything, just persistently stares at you, gaze intense enough for you to give in. As you lean in to take the first bite, you are bashfully looking away from your lover, who wears a pleased expression, satisfied with the fact that you’re letting him take care of you.
The tension from last night’s dispute hasn’t completely melted away, there are still things that need to be discussed calmly, but as you keep trying to push his hand away and battle Wriothesley’s indestructible stubbornness, he knows it will work out in the end. You love him and he loves you, and if you ever forget to visit him during lunch break again, then he’ll have to tear himself away from the prison and come up, just to meet you.
gojo stands in front of you in a rather imposing manner, hands on his hips and legs spread apart. he's blocking the way to the staircase so you have to either smash through the window behind you and brace yourself for a brief fall from the third floor of the building or entertain gojo's thoughts for a moment—which everyone at jujutsu high would agree is the worse option.
gojo must've noticed you steal a glance behind you because he lets out a loud sigh. "i hope you're not thinking of jumping out the window again. yaga would somehow find a way to blame me for it."
"well, it was your fault that time," you grumble. "and i paid off the damages last time anyway."
“how was it my fault though?!” he exclaims, exasperatedly waving his arms around.
"because of what you..." your voice falters, blood rushing to your face as the memory resurfaces. you were certain you had completely banished the memory of gojo's confession last summer from your mind, but now that you're stuttering, it's clear that the only thing you really did was lie to yourself.
"because i told you i was in love with you?" gojo finishes instead, clearly unfazed by the subject matter while you're trying your damnedest to keep from resembling a tomato. "you know, jumping out of windows is a really bad form of an avoidance mechanism. just saying."
"can we forget about the window?!" you snap.
"only if you give me a straight answer."
gojo isn't teasing in the slightest this time. even though it rarely happens, he's being serious with you, and you're starting to think maybe shoko wasn't exaggerating about gojo being restless these past few weeks you've been actively avoiding him.
the truth is, you haven't been able to answer gojo because you didn't know what to say. shoko said it wasn't as complicated as you were making it out to be. 'just flat-out reject him, it'd be good for his ego every once in a while,' she said. her advice is sound—you do agree that gojo needs a little humbling every now and then—but it doesn't take into account the secret that maybe... perhaps... you're a little in love with him too.
and it's terrible because this is the first time you're experiencing something like this. all your life, boys have steered clear of you romantically because of your headscarf. you wouldn't have it any other way too. living vicariously through the outrageous escapades mei likes to tell you and the girls was more than enough to satiate your curiosity.
but gojo didn't let anything stop him from seeing right through you.
at the start of the year, you made the conscious decision to ignore him completely. firstly, because all the girls agreed, but secondly, if you were being really honest, because gojo was the prettiest man you've ever seen. you didn't like that his presence drew your attention so easily and you didn't like how lowering your gaze before him was a losing battle.
of course, your plans were upended when you had to partner with gojo for your first mission. to this day, you still think it's a direct test from God because one mission became two, then three. it seemed that the teachers at jujutsu high believed you and gojo made a good team, thanks to your consistently high success rates, that they almost always paired you up for missions now.
it was probably inevitable that getting caught in multiple life-or-death situations and constantly saving each other's asses would result in the development of certain feelings, right?
however, the only thing that stood in the way of you and gojo are your principles, guided by your faith. dating simply isn't on the table for you but because you've never been in this specific situation before, you didn't know how to go about conveying it. as bad as it sounds, you feel almost embarrassed about having to explain this about yourself, even though you have no reason to be.
just tell gojo the truth.
would he laugh at you? would he treat you differently? would it create a distance in this friendship you've come to cherish? things suddenly changing and becoming different is what you're worried about the most. you like having gojo as a partner during missions not because he's capable and extremely strong, but because he somehow brings out the best in you, he pushes you to the limits of your own potential, and truly makes you feel like you can become the sorcerer you always wanted to be.
but leaving things the way they are now isn't exactly helping your friendship either. finally, you look gojo straight in the eye.
"do you want me to be honest?"
"yes, brutally honest, please."
you let out a resigned sigh, really wishing you could tell him you had no feelings for him whatsoever. "the truth is, i feel the same."
gojo brightens for a second but you hold your hand up to keep him from interrupting.
"but i didn't want to tell you because it really doesn't matter. nothing can happen between us."
"what do you mean?"
your fingers fiddle mindlessly with the ends of your headscarf, a tell that you're trying to calm your nerves. "i don't... date."
you're holding your breath. he's either going to make light of this situation by forcibly brushing aside his own feelings or he'll try to draw out a discussion on the theology and creed of your faith.
"so...," gojo cocks his head to the side as if trying to find an explanation for himself, "is it like, the whole thing with celibacy?"
"no," you shake your head, doing the most to keep from sighing in relief. "we're allowed to get married and everything. so, just no dating."
"oh, cool. so i can just ask you to marry me, then?"
what?
the word you manage to say doesn't come out any more intelligent. "huh?"
"i think it's fair," gojo says, nodding to himself as if he's genuinely contemplating the thought. you're trying to look for signs that he's just teasing but you can't find any. "marriage is kind of like a binding vow, right? there's a bunch of conditions to be met and responsibilities to uphold? i like that. it'll show you how serious i am about you."
"'toru, what are you talking about... you can't just say all these things!"
"okay, so what should i do?"
why is he being so serious?!
"you'll have to talk to my father," you scoff, hoping and praying that he's joking. you also say it in hopes that the mere prospect of approaching your father would scare him off, like it usually does, according to stories you've heard.
but instead of laughing and scampering away, gojo nods again. "is it better if i give him a call or come over? i should probably come over right?"
without waiting for you to respond, gojo turns on his heel and makes his way down the stairs while muttering to himself about the preparations he'll have to make, like what he'll wear and what gifts to bring your parents.
you're still standing at the top of the steps with your mouth hanging open while your brain attempts to process what just happened when gojo's head pops back into view.
"are you okay with that, by the way?"
"with what?" you manage to say.
"getting married. i'm crazy about you and, luckily for me, you feel the same—"
"hold on, i never said anything about being crazy—"
"let's do it, then," he cuts in swiftly.
you blink at the ease in his speech. the small voice in the back of your mind, the same one that probably goes bonkers every time gojo needs to pull off his blindfold during a mission, letting his hair fall and his blue eyes glow, is telling you to trust him. your heart is beating out of your chest as you look down at him from where you stood.
"you make it sound like it's as easy as taking on the next semi-grade 1 mission."
"nah, it has to be as tough as a special grade, at the least," gojo laughs. "it's always fun whenever i'm with you though and i'd be lying if i say i haven't thought about having you at my side for the rest of my life."
just trust him.
"you're actually serious?"
gojo smiles, "dead serious."
you glance over your shoulder again to the window behind you but not a single nerve in your body is telling you to run away. you stop fighting and let a smile of your own spread across your face.
synopsis you’re going to be the death of oikawa. he can’t think of a better way to go.
tags she/her pronouns used, crime lord! oikawa but this is light-hearted i promise, exes to lovers, my attempt at a romcom, fluff, slow burn-ish, mutual pining (so much of it. oikawa’s needy.), crime au/ non-canonverse.
notes @blueparadis hello! it’s me, your secret cupid from @suyacho’s event! i’m sorry for being so late, but i hope you enjoy reading this <3 inspired by +this! and here’s a +fic tag! happy reading :+) !!
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Maybe 7 in the morning isn’t the best time to vent out his childish woes, but Oikawa believes complaining is a healthy outlet and that there’s no time like the present.
So the nudging on Iwaizumi’s arm and the ringing in Matsukawa’s ears follows naturally, expectedly. A lifetime together has made their nerves accustomed to his grating.
“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whines, crossing his arms over his chest. The glare he directs at the television is far from kind, but none of the men in the room can take him seriously when he follows up with, “They really couldn’t have used a better picture of me? This is broadcast nation-wide — nation-wide, Iwa-chan! And now everyone’s going to think I’m some hotshot crime lord who can’t do something as simple as his hair.” In true Oikawa fashion, he completes his tirade with a flourish of sweeping arms, falling back onto the sofa with theatrics fit for The Globe. “Why is life so cruel?”
Three men share one look as Oikawa huffs, uttering curses to his coffered ceiling. Matsukawa shrugs, Hanamaki grins, and Iwaizumi’s left to sigh. A lifetime together has made a fickle thing of their patience.
tags established relationship, fluff, university au
notes the instagram video reader sent rin is +this (the 'he smiled against her lips' trend... don't judge me it was the first thing that came up when i searched couple trends </3) & that's the video rin's referring to in the last texts!! dont mind my drawing either LMAOO
itoshi rin as your stoic knight who stands firm by your side as other men try for your hand in marriage. itoshi rin who has to watch as you dance with them all through the night, not quite understanding why the sight of your hand in another's — why the thought of it staying there for the rest of your life — has his stomach turning so painfully. itoshi rin who wants to be the only one you keep by your side.
