➯ you set him ablaze. he can only hope you like watching him burn for you. alternatively: this love for you is consuming him, and it all comes out in a badly vomited confession after he corners you at a gala.
jujutsu kaisen
bleed me dry (m) [sukuna]
➯ where Itadori is your bottom-loving boyfriend and Sukuna reluctantly learns this vessel is the real curse. or: where seduction is a dangerous game, and the King of Curses loses.
captive (m) [gojo] [sukuna]
➯ they called you the queen of curses. itadori thinks you could rule the world if you wanted. or: you have two incredibly powerful men wrapped around your pretty little finger.
──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !! gojo loves using the “i’m married” card whenever he gets approached, because in his mind you guys are married.
the thing about being satoru gojo is that people look at him.
he’s used to it by now— the double takes, the whispered gossip, the way strangers feel entitled to his attention just because he happens to be tall and white-haired and annoyingly beautiful(so he’s been told). it’s exhausting, honestly, but he’s learned to deal with it over the years.
the second her manicured fingers land on satoru’s forearm, he knows exactly what’s coming.
he’s seen this script a hundred times. the coy smile, the slight tilt of the head, the way her lashes flutter like she’s got something in her eye. he’s been fielding these approaches for years, long before you came along, and he’s got it down to a fine art now.
“sorry,” he says, before she can even get a word out. “i’m married.”
the lie rolls off his tongue as easily as breathing. it’s not even really a lie, not in his head. you’re his girlfriend, yes, but you’re also the one. the endgame. the person he’s going to annoy for the rest of his natural life and probably well beyond that if he figures out how. in his mind, you’ve already got the ring, the shared last name, the matching toothbrushes in the bathroom. the paperwork is just a formality.
the woman’s face falls slightly, but she’s persistent. he’ll give her that. “oh, i don’t see a ring—”
“left it at home,” he says smoothly, already starting to edge away. “wife’d kill me if i lost it.”
he does have a ring. it’s just that it’s still sitting in the expensive jewellery shop that you always stare at when you guys pass by. he’s been meaning to go in and custom-make one that’s been appearing in his mind lately, one that would be unique and fitting only for you, but there’s no rush and the right moment just hasn’t shown up yet, because every time he looks at you, his brain short-circuits and he forgets how words work.
but that’s a problem for future satoru.
right now, present satoru is trying to escape this conversation without being rude, because you’re waiting for him in the car, most likely dozing off against the window with that cute pout on your lips.
he’s reaching for the strawberry milk with the cute cow on it, when he hears the click of heels behind him.
“excuse me?”
satoru doesn’t even turn around. his hand closes around the bottle anyway. “married,” he says, tossing it into his basket.
“oh! i—i wasn’t—”
“very married. disgustingly married. my wife is the most beautiful woman in the world and i think about her constantly.” he finally glances over his shoulder, offering a bland smile. “sorry.”
the woman blinks at him, then laughs nervously and retreats toward the chips aisle.
satoru turns back to the fridge, satisfied. it’s not even a lie anymore, not really. you’ve been his girlfriend for two years, and somewhere along the way— maybe when he watched you fall asleep on his couch with your glasses askew, or when you sent him a photo of a cat you saw on the street with the caption him, or when you laughed so hard at your own joke that you choked on water— he stopped thinking of you as just a girlfriend.
you’re his wife. you just don’t know it yet. there’s paperwork to do, and a ring to buy, and a question to ask, but in his head? you signed the papers months ago.
he grabs another bottle of milk because you like the chocolate one too, and heads to the checkout, basket swinging from his wrist. the cashier gives him an interested look but he only looks at you through the transparent doors that open and close, smiling when he sees you rubbing your eyes through the window and looking around sleepily.
.
.
.
the first thing satoru notices is that the afternoon sun is hitting just right against your hair, making it look like something out of a painting. the second thing he notices is the woman approaching.
he clocks her immediately— the way her eyes flick to him, the subtle once-over, the way she angles her body toward his. he’s seen this movie a hundred times. hell, he’s starred in it a hundred times.
“excuse me,” she says, all polite smile and batted lashes. “i’m so sorry to bother you, but i just had to say—you have the most stunning eyes i’ve ever seen.”
satoru feels you stiffen slightly beside him. your hand, which had been loosely linked with his, tightens just a fraction. he wants to squeeze back, to reassure you, but he’s also kind of… curious. because usually, when this happens, he’s alone. he gets to play his little game where he flashes an imaginary wedding ring and says sorry, i’m married with a soft, stupidly fond smile that he practices exclusively for the version of you that lives in his head.
but you’re right there and he’s never had to play that card with you within earshot before.
“oh,” he says, tilting his head. his glasses slip down his nose just enough for him to peer over them. “thanks.”
the woman takes the lack of immediate rejection as encouragement. “i don’t usually do this, but i was wondering if maybe you’d like to grab a coffee sometime? there’s a great place just around the corner—”
“no can do,” satoru interrupts, his voice softening at the edges. he feels your hand twitch again. “i’m married.”
the word hangs in the air. married. he’s said it a thousand times to strangers, to cashiers, to that one persistent guy at the bookstore who wouldn’t take a hint. but never like this, never with you standing right there by his side.
you go very still.
the woman blinks, glances at your interlocked hands, then back at his face. “oh. i’m sorry, i didn’t see a ring—”
“don’t need one,” he says simply, he’s not even looking at her anymore. he’s looking at you, at the way your lips have parted slightly, at the confusion and tenderness flickering across your face. “some things you just know.”
there’s a beat of silence. the woman mutters an apology and retreats. satoru doesn’t watch her go. he’s too busy watching you stare up at him like he’s grown a second head.
“married?” you repeat, your voice going breathy like it does when you’re trying not to laugh but also trying not to cry.
“well, yeah,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. he brings your joined hands up and presses a kiss to your knuckles, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. “i mean, not legally. yet. but in my head? you’ve had the ring for like eight months now. it’s very sparkly. you look great in it.”
you blink at him once, twice, and then you make a sound that’s half-giggle, half-gasp, shoving at his chest with your free hand. “satoru! you can’t just tell strangers we’re married!”
“why not?” he grins, bright and boyish and entirely unrepentant. “it’s gonna happen eventually. i’m just saving time.”
“you’re insane.”
“insanely in love, maybe.”
you groan, burying your face in his shoulder, and he feels you smile against his shirt. your ears are pink. he wants to bite them.
“you’ve been doing this the whole time?” you mumble into his collarbone. “every time someone flirts with you?”
“every. single. time.” he wraps his free arm around your waist and pulls you closer, resting his chin on top of your head. “you’re my wife in every way that matters. the government just doesn’t know it yet.”
you pull back just enough to look at him, and there’s something in your eyes that makes his chest ache— all shimmery and wondering, like you’re seeing him for the first time. you smile, small and private, and tug his sleeve. “c’mon, husband. my show starts in ten.”
he word husband hits him right in the stupid chest like a truck made of flowers.
he follows you out, already planning the ring. already knowing exactly what it’ll look like. already halfway down on one knee in his head.
you don’t know any of that, not yet. but you said it and now he’s never letting you go.
doctor's visit (ryland grace x gn!reader)
summary: you find it harder and harder to ignore the cute scientist that always sits next to you during your meetings
wc: 7k
cw: smut! submissive ryland and the glasses stay ON !! MINORS DNI !!
a/n: little nervous about this one :’) why’s ryland’s character so hard to get right?? enjoy!
It took everything in you to squash the laugh that threatened to bubble out of your throat when you beheld the man dubbed the “leading scientist in astrophage”. You weren’t sure what you expected, but the lanky man stumbling out of the jet, nearly falling backwards off the little ladder, wasn’t quite what you pictured. The second his foot touched the concrete landing pad, he hunched over to pick up a small orange traffic cone sitting next to the plane and proceeded to hurl whatever he’d last eaten into it.
Stratt grimaced, fidgeting anxiously next to you to get moving, and gestured for you to follow her once the scientist seemed to gather his bearings enough to stop heaving.
“Doctor Grace, how was your flight?” She asked.
He only replied with a thumbs up. A set of glasses were askew on the bridge of his nose and he didn’t move the orange cone far from his mouth when the two of you neared.
“Doctor Grace, this is Doctor (L/n) who’s here to make sure you’ve made it in one piece before we discuss your findings. Excuse me for a moment.”
As Stratt moved to discuss something with someone on the landing strip a couple of feet away, you took that as your queue to approach the man. He looked pale, watching wearily as you approached with a smile.
“Enjoy the view on the way here, Doctor?”
You wasted no time, moving to find the doctor’s free hand that wasn’t holding the vomit filled cone, to feel for his pulse. It was frantic, pounding against the pad of your fingers but unwavering. He let his hand fall limp in your hold, seemingly out of strength to do much besides stand in place.
“Well… I can’t say I saw much. I was unconscious for most of it. Loved the last bit though, when we’d landed and weren’t in the air anymore. Hey, do you have any water? Some guy gave me a pill and I think it’s still stuck in my throat.”
A smile creeped onto your face. You’d known this man for barely a minute but you could feel that he had a gravitating way about him. Something charming and sweet. Dropping his arm, you nodded to him and gave him the water bottle you’d brought along. You also held out a small white pill. He instantly shook his head.
“Ah, no thank you. Last time I took a pill from a stranger, I woke up on an aircraft carrier.”
“It’s dramamine, Doctor.”
A pause.
Defeat.
“Okay.”
You helped him open the bottle, as one of his hands was still occupied holding his puke cone, and watched as he gulped down mouthfuls of water to chase the dramamine.
“Pulse is strong. How’s your breathing?”
“Uh- fine, I guess?”
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
He adjusted his glasses with his wrist to finally properly fit over the bridge of his nose and blinked. “Two.”
You gave a firm pat to his back, which he groaned at. “Welcome aboard, Doctor Grace!”
-
While your first meeting was brief, that was not the last time you saw Doctor Ryland Grace. After he finally found his sea legs, he became a regular presence at every meeting in regards to Project Hail Mary.
You weren’t invited to many meetings, only joining when the meetings were about the health of the crew during their journey to Tau Ceti. The robot being constructed to care for the comatose astronauts was an impressive piece of technology unlike anything built before but it needed to be programmed perfectly to ensure the crew’s safety. If it went wrong- the crew would die and so would the rest of Earth.
That’s why you were brought aboard, to help bring up any possible problem that could happen with the crew on their trip and how the robot would handle it. You worked closely with a slew of other doctors, each of you bringing your own experience to the table.
As a Doctor specializing in neurology, your input was crucial. Being in a coma for several years was not ideal and could do some irreparable harm to the brain, which you disclosed as such in your meetings. It was an intricate dance, trying to solve the multitude of potential problems that came up with so many people with differing opinions
They also occasionally had you stationed as an on-call doctor when you weren’t discussing the mission, setting you up in the medical wing of the giant aircraft carrier to handle any ailments of the crew. You didn’t mind the busy work, it gave you something to do when you weren’t in the lab helping with the robot or fighting with a room full of scholars.
The first time Doctor Grace showed up to one of the medical meetings, he was 15 minutes late.
Stratt gave him a look that exuded annoyance as he scrambled to sit in the only empty chair at the table, which happened to be between you and the most powerful woman in the world.
“Sorry everybody,” he waved quickly in apology with an awkward laugh and dumped a folder of papers on the table. The room was dead silent. “This place is a maze! I got lost somewhere on deck C I think. They should really put up some signs.”
If Stratt wasn’t five feet away, you would’ve giggled. There were signs all over the ship. In several languages.
A cardiologist from Brazil tapped his pen against the metal table in agitation. “As I was saying…”
While the conversation buzzed on, discussing circulation and muscular atrophy that would arise from the crew's prone state for several years, you felt a shoe knock into yours. Turning your eyes away from the table, you were surprised to find Doctor Grace looking at you.
“Do you have an extra pen?” He whispered, not very quietly. He was leaning towards you like you were swapping secrets. The soft fabric of his quarter zip brushed against your arm.
Getting some glares from those sitting closest to you, you only nodded back and slipped an extra pen out of the spiral of your notebook.
“Thank you. Hey, you’re that doctor that checked up on me on my first day here, right? Thanks for that, by the way, the pill really helped. I nearly filled up that cone first though, that was a little embarrassing.”
He laughed, another awkward chuckle that had you glancing sidelong at him.
Someone who used humor when they were uncomfortable, it seemed.
Taking a quick look around the room to make sure no one was watching, you leant towards him, bringing your heads closer together. He startled back a bit but didn’t pull completely away.
“When I first got here, I got so seasick I accidentally puked all over my tour guide’s shoes. At least you made it to a cone.” You whispered, smiling at the memory.
Doctor Grace looked at you in shock, eyebrows raising into his hairline. “Really?!” He was really bad at whispering.
“Doctors, do you have an idea you’d like to share with the room?” The leading creator of the nurse robot, Doctor Lamai, peered at your hunched forms.
Jerking away from each other, Doctor Grace and yourself didn’t talk for the rest of the meeting but you had to fight a smile when he slipped you a folded note that just had a crude drawing of a puking face.
-
Any meeting that you attended after that, Ryland- as he’d asked you to call him- would find his place next to you. After learning how tough of a crowd most of the medical crew was, the two of you didn’t talk during the discussions again. But you did start passing notes like a couple of school children.
-
Did you know that the brain is a human’s fattiest organ? -R
Yes -(Y/n)
Really? -R
I’m a neurologist, Ryland. The brain is my job -(Y/n)
Oh yeah -R
Did you know that a human brain produces enough energy to power a small lightbulb? -R
-
This robot is basically like that big marshmallow doctor robot in that one movie -R
Baymax? -(Y/n)
Yeah that sounds right -R
Ours probably won’t be as cute as Baymax is -(Y/n)
Probably not. Maybe we should suggest something to make it cuter. Paint it in pink glitter and give it some eyes -R
Somehow I think that’ll make it even scarier than it already is. Go back to the drawing board -(Y/n)
-
I saw a bird today -R
What kind of bird? -(Y/n)
Seagull -R
Well, we are out at sea -(Y/n)
It’s a little too far out in the ocean to be seeing birds, don’t you think? They get tired -R
Maybe it was a stowaway? -(Y/n)
Poor guy :( -R
-
You learned a lot about Ryland over the next several weeks.
Ryland was full of fun facts and interesting thoughts. He’d barrage you with them any chance he had, and you would listen. While medical facts were mostly common knowledge to you, fun facts about anything else was always a pleasant conversation starter.
He taught you everything there is to know about astrophage and how it works, once even letting you visit him in his little personal lab to see the little microorganisms yourself. He’d carefully prepared a slide for you, making sure the focus was perfect before stepping back to let you peer into the microscope. When you started barraging him with questions, he was more than excited to answer- leading you around his mini lab with a hand on your back.
You learned that he has a mild shellfish allergy. A rather unfortunate finding. He spent a couple of hours in the medical wing laying on a cot, popping benadryl like candy and breaking out in hives after some cross-contamination with shrimp in the cafeteria kitchen.
His favorite animal is a fox and he has a surprising collection of fox related things to prove it.
He was a molecular biologist, now turned loud-and-proud middle school science teacher. He loves his students dearly and spent the greater part of several years revolving his life around their education.
He rarely ever swears. At least, not the actual words, but their modified, kid-friendly versions. He’d have teachers knocking down his apartment door if he swore in front of his class, unintentionally expanding their vocabulary.
When he was trying really hard not to laugh, he’d make this tiny snorting noise that sounds an awful lot like a spray bottle.
He doesn’t know how to use chopsticks. Not the right way, at least.
He has no immediate family, no pets and no partners.
He was an enigma really; someone that felt so out of place on this ship. Ryland felt too… normal to be here. Not in a negative way, just a… he-should’ve-never-been-dragged-into-this kind of way. He was too warm compared to most everyone else here. The aircraft carrier was bursting at the seams with cold government officials and specialists in every science or space related subject to ever exist. Many were too professional, too self absorbed to realize they had a stick up their ass.
Ryland was a breath of fresh air and you felt increasingly drawn to him every time you interacted.
It also didn’t hurt that he was attractive. Like… insanely attractive. His hair was perfectly messy every single day. He wore his glasses in such a way that you’d never seen anyone wear glasses before, hanging off one ear when he wasn’t using them. A near constant 5 o’clock shadow was always gracing his face. Despite his clothing choices which some around you found unprofessional, he pulled off everything he wore. His fox cardigan, his yellow rain coat, his cringy science-pun t-shirts. It shouldn’t, but it made him that much more alluring and it was getting harder and harder for you not to make a move.
You were friends- acquaintances at the least- but he’d never shown any interest. At least not that you’d seen. He was awkward sometimes but he was awkward with everyone. You didn’t want to make things weird, so you stuffed those feelings deep and filed them away for later. Plus, he was technically higher ranking than you in the Hail Mary hierarchy. He was Stratt’s right hand man. Maybe he didn’t want to ‘pull rank’.
These sorts of thoughts kept you up at night while you tried to ignore the sounds of the 3 other medical staff sleeping around you in your shared bunk. He wouldn’t get out of your head and you weren’t sure how much longer you could ignore that tightening string in your gut.
-
On Friday nights, the room on the ship that served as the social meeting place for many of the crew, equipped with a bar, was packed to the gills. You usually dropped by to say hi to the couple of coworkers and other doctors that you were friendly with but never staying for long. You just didn’t know anyone well enough to want to stay and chat. At least you didn’t… until one particular Friday night.
The hunched form at the bar clad in that unmistakable fox cardigan caught your eye almost immediately. He was hard to miss.
This was the first time you’d seen Ryland here. You weren’t sure why he never came, but he was the one person on his whole ship you’d actually consider sharing a drink with.
Immediately making a bee-line for the bar, you saw that the doctor was flipping through several sheets of paper, head in his hand as he read. The people surrounding him at the counter were making light conversation, enjoying a beer and enjoying their Friday night.
Ryland was working.
“Y’know this room is supposed to be a reprieve from work, not somewhere you bring your work to, right?”
The blonde looked up in surprise as you squeezed to stand in the small empty space between him and the guy sitting on the barstool next to him. It was a tight fit, and Ryland immediately shuffled over an inch in his seat to give you some more room.
Or to avoid touching you, which didn’t sit right in your stomach.
His glasses were near falling off his nose. He looked tired.
“I know but I couldn't sleep so I decided to come here. I brought some homework because I needed something to keep my mind busy and so I don’t look like a total loser sitting here by myself. Is it working?”
“Well,” you hummed. “I don’t think you’re a loser but I might be a little biased.”
He smiled, twirling a pen between his long fingers over the papers. You nodded over to where a karaoke machine sat and the 3 Hail Mary crewmates sat with their extra counterparts. “Why don't you go join them? You know them well enough, right? You’re working with them all the time.”
Ryland shifted in his seat to look over his shoulder. His knee pressed against your thigh which made it extremely hard to focus on his answer.
“No, I don’t think I really fit in with their crowd.”
“Why not?”
“They’re brave. Strong. Sometimes I don't even know why I'm here to be honest. Why Stratt dragged me here. A humble middle school science teacher.” He laughed lightly, but it wasn’t a genuine one.
Your heart squeezed into a knot for this man who’d been uprooted from his comfortable life as a teacher and thrown into this madness without his consent just like many others. He felt unsure about his place here and besides Stratt who had him on a leash, he had no one, it seemed.
Besides you, you hoped.
You prayed he enjoyed your company enough to feel a little less alone.
“Well,” you leant back against the bar to properly look at him. He looked up at you over the golden frames of his glasses. “I’d say you have every right to be here. You discovered how to kill an astrophage and see what it's made of. You discovered how they breed and now we have the means to create a powerful fuel for the mission that will save humanity. All important things we might not have right now without you.”
Ryland huffed and drew a little circle on his paper. “I’m sure someone would’ve thought to poke an astrophage with a stick eventually. And learning how they breed didn’t take too much thinking either, surely someone would’ve-”
“You can't spend your whole life focusing on the ‘what if’s’, Ryland. We're here now thanks to you, whether you wanna see it that way or not.”
Finally, a real smile split his face and he nodded slowly. You couldn’t tell if he’d accepted your words as truth or not, but they at least lifted his spirits a little. Plus, a tiny bit of red painted his ears.
“Thanks, (Y/n). Can I… buy you a drink?”
Your stomach fluttered. “Yes, as long as it’s not anything too hard. I’ve got a shift tomorrow.”
He nodded quickly and signalled for the bartender. “Two beers please.”
Bottles in hand, you continued to lounge against the counter next to him, nursing the beverage and making small talk. He’d offered his seat to you but you refused.
Looking out over the crowd, you spotted two individuals huddled together in the dim corner of the room. Ryland noticed your gaze and turned to look too. When he beheld the two scientists tangled together, he shook his head and turned back to you with a raised brow.
“I think DuBois and Shapiro are hooking up.”
“Seems that way.”
“Dont you think it’s a little crazy? I mean, he’s going to be trucked off into space soon and she’ll be left here. What's the point in hooking up when it'll only end in tragedy? You’re just asking for heartbreak.” He shook his head, fiddling with the plastic label of his beer.
You shrugged. “I don't see any harm in it. Sure it’ll hurt eventually but why not live in the moment? Humans yearn for connection, it makes sense they’d want to have some sense of normalcy before the end of the world. It's probably nice to forget about the apocalypse and enjoy someone's company for a while, take your mind off the doom and gloom.”
Ryland was quiet after that, suddenly turning anxious if his ducked head was any indication. Had you said something wrong? You drained the rest of your beer.
“Is that something you find yourself doing?” He asked quietly, feigning nonchalance but his foot was bouncing erratically against the bar stool.
Nervous.
A smile began to creep onto your face. “Not currently.”
His foot stopped.
Relief.
“But… if the right person came along I wouldn’t be opposed.”
His hand squeezed the bottle and his shoulders drooped.
Disappointment.
“Oh… haven’t found the right one yet?” He picked up his head with a painfully fake smile and a nod, looking around the room like he was helping you scout the place. “Lots of interesting people on this ship. A pilot would be cool, huh?”
“Yeah but they’re a bit too cocky for my taste.”
He tapped his finger against his stacks of paper. “Okay, what about… another doctor? Or one of the government officials?”
You grimaced and he cringed back. “Right, no doctors or government workers. If not them, then… what are you looking for?”
Ryland’s eyes were searching yours for a glimpse, a hint of what you might be feeling.
With the tiniest bit of liquid courage running through your veins, you tapped your beer bottle against your leg and lightly began playing with the sleeve of his fox cardigan. He became impossibly still.
“Someone real. Down to earth. Not afraid to be themselves… a nice smile and a pretty face sure helps too.”
The doctor gulped and you reveled in the sight of his Adam's apple bobbing in the soft light of the room. He inclined his head once, fingers twitching against the bar. “I’ll keep an eye out for you.” He whispered.
Neither of you broke the heated eye contact until the man you were standing next to fell back in laugher and knocked you off your balance. You were able to recover quickly, but not before pressing even closer to the scientist and nearly falling into his lap. His hand had immediately planted onto your hip in an attempt to keep you steady. Being this close, you could feel the breath from his nose on yours. Your heart was pounding.
The room grew in volume as people flocked to gather around the karaoke machine that was playing a song you couldn’t even bother to name. Not while Ryland held all of your attention.
While his chest heaved, you slowly moved to stand properly on your own two feet but holding his gaze. You took the hem of his cardigan in your hand. It was so soft.
“Want to go for a walk?” You asked quietly, glancing at his stack of papers that were forgotten about long ago.
Ryland said nothing but started brushing his work into a haphazard pile good enough to hold in one arm and stood up. Standing at his full height, you were reminded again how tall the man was. When he offered his hand as a silent question, an inquiry to make sure he wasn’t reading anything wrong, you didn’t hesitate to take it. No one batted an eye at the two of you as you led him through the crowd and out into the silent metal hallways beyond.
-
Ryland could not unlock the door to his room fast enough.
He only had one key to his name while on the ship, you’d think it would be pretty easy to manage. In theory it was, but when his nerves were blasting through the roof and you were fiddling with the belt loop on the back of his pants, he got a little distracted.
You giggled as the scientist finally fished his key out of his pocket and proceeded to drop it on the floor with a clink.
“Sorry,” he strained, scooping it up from the floor and finally fumbling with the lock.
Once the door swung open and the two of you stepped inside, you did a quick observation of the room. It was extremely small, barely enough room for one person, let alone two. There was just enough space for a twin bed and a small desk attached to the wall. Rylands’s belongings were strewn everywhere there was space. While it was cramped, there was something he had in his room that you didn’t.
A window.
A tiny circular porthole- so small you couldn’t fit your head through it if it was able to open- but a window nonetheless. Your room was deep in the middle of the ship so no windows for you. As it was around midnight, there was nothing but inky blackness on the other side but you wondered what it would look like when it was daytime and the ocean was blue. For now, the soft glow of a tiny lamp kept the room illuminated.
“Oh god- don’t mind the mess. I don’t get many visitors.” He stood awkwardly in the center of the room, brushing some discarded clothes aside with his shoe. “But to be fair, it’s impossible to keep a room this small clean. I mean, no dresser, no closet. I’m not 100% sure but I think this used to be a storage-“
You liked to think you knew Ryland pretty well now, and knew when he was about to spiral into a rambling fit. He was especially prone when he was anxious. As much as you loved to hear him talk, now wasn’t the time.
When you took a step forward and fisted the lapels of his cardigan in your hands, his words died immediately.
When your hands tugged his body down and your lips slotted against his, his whole body froze up.
You didn’t push beyond a couple of seconds before pulling away a hair- keeping him close but giving him the room to decide if he wanted to stop or come back for more. For all you knew, he was just bringing you back to his room to show you his collection of fox things. Through lidded eyes, you watched as his eyelashes fluttered, dazing down at you in shock.
Suddenly worried that maybe you had indeed read things wrong, you began to ease up your grip on his collar. When his hands shot up to keep your head in place, cradling your jaw in his large palms and returned the kiss with eagerness, you smiled against him.
Months of brushing around each other snapped.
Your mouths were tangled in a heated dance- his body moving closer and pressing yours against the door, like he was trying to melt into you. He still had his glasses on, which meant you were being a little cautious of how close you pressed your face into his. You didn’t want to stab your eye on the rims, what a mood breaker that would be. But you didn’t want to ask him to take them off. In fact, you wanted to beg him to keep them on.
When his hands dropped to your waist to pull your hips together, you wound your arms around his neck, your hands immediately finding the back of his head- finally able to feel the mussed hair that snagged your attention day after day.
It was extremely soft, just as you’d imagined. Perfect, just like the rest of him.
Time blurred and you weren’t sure how long the two of you stood there, tasting each other like you were starving. Eventually, you decided it was much too hot in the tiny room and you were both wearing way too much clothing.
Dragging your hands from his hair to trail down the strong column of his neck, you dipped your hands into his cardigan, sliding your fingers over his shoulders and pushing the cream knitwear off in the process.
He shivered under your touch, when your fingers glanced over his biceps as the cardigan fell to his elbows. His hands let go of your waist to allow the fabric to fall to the floor in a pile. When his hands returned, they planted themselves on the door next to your waist.
It wasn’t to tower over you, or to trap you against him. No, it was because he needed something to keep him upright or he was at risk of squishing you entirely against the metal.
You broke the kiss with a soft gasp, chest heaving against his where his shirt stretched over the muscle.
You’d never seen Ryland without something thrown over the top of a t-shirt- always wearing some type of jacket or lab coat or something. Now that he was without one, your hands mapped over his arms and shoulders.
As he busied himself with your neck, gently nosing at the soft spot just behind your ear, you swore.
“Shit, Ryland. What are they feeding you in the cafeteria? Protein powder?”
He laughed against your skin, dipping his lips down to your shoulder. His scruff tickled and the metal of his glasses were ice cold compared to your heated skin. “No. I just… go to the gym sometimes.”
“Sometimes.”
“Mhm-“ he choked on his affirmation when you slid your hands up his abdomen to feel underneath his shirt. The muscle was warm and fluttered against your fingers.
“Can I see what else you’ve been hiding under all these layers?”
Clothes were shed in a record amount of time, save for the couple of extra seconds Ryland took to take off his pants because he almost tripped over his own feet. He did seem to hesitate when he got to his boxers, fiddling with the hem, but when you hooked your fingers into the elastic, he let the fabric fall.
Once every part of you was exposed to the chill, circulated air, Ryland began chasing your mouth again but stopped with a grunt when you pushed him back onto his bed.
The look on his face was priceless, enough so that you laughed as you knelt on the hard mattress and swung a leg over his hips to straddle him. If Ryland had been red before, it was nothing compared to the color of his face now. His eyes glanced over your body, appreciating but not lingering out of nervousness as he stammered.
“You want to-?”
Straightening his glasses on his face to fit properly, you nodded. “Is this ok?”
“Yes! Yes- I’ve just never… my ex was more traditional I guess so we never… She always liked me to be on top.” He let out a breathy laugh and a shy smile.
Everything about this man was so endearing.
“As fun as that sounds, I want to try this first. I can see you better this way.”
Another audible hitch in his breath as he nodded. “Okay.”
His large palms found purchase on your thighs and he sighed blissfully through his nose when you bent forward to kiss along his jaw. It feathered under your lips and he tilted his head back to happily give you more surface area to work with.
When you finally ground your hips down onto him, he bucked under the pressure. A completely unintentional gesture that had him apologizing. You chased that response, rhythmically moving your pelvis in tandem with his.
Ryland whimpered.
You’d be damned if you didn’t try to get him to make that sound a hundred times more before morning.
You spent several minutes exploring his neck with your tongue while keeping a firm pressure with your hips, gently swaying in circles against him. You found a spot right at the juncture between his neck and shoulder that had him moaning. By the time you eased up, red marks bloomed along his throat and Ryland was already breathless. Chest heaving against your palms, he looked heavily up at you through those glasses of his and gave you a shy, lopsided grin.
“That was nice.”
You raised a brow. “I’m gonna have to work harder if all I get is a ‘that was nice’, Ry.”
His smile dropped. “No! That’s not what I meant- I just… I’m gonna be honest it’s been a while since I’ve…” his voice quieted, letting you fill in the blanks.
You knew he had an ex- he’d brought her up occasionally in your conversations when the moment called for it- but you didn’t know how long ago that had been. If you had to guess, it was probably before he became a teacher. Which if what he was saying was true… then he’d hadn’t been with anyone since then and had gone several years without being intimate with anyone (besides himself, anyway).
Ryland took your momentary pause as a bad sign.
“Not that I haven’t wanted to! I’ve just been really busy. Teacher stuff. Grading. Lesson planning. And with a teacher’s salary on top of crippling student loan debt? Fancy restaurants can be a little too steep. Even fast food restaurants these days are getting expensive. I don’t even have a car! I bike to work! Can’t even afford a coffee date some months.”
Another rambling tangent. One of his pointer fingers tapped erratically at your thigh.
“Well, you’re in luck Ryland,” you state, pressing a hand to his chest to feel his heartbeat, just like you had when you first met. Just like before, it was pounding but for a whole different reason this time. “I don’t think there’s any high-end restaurants on this aircraft carrier so I don’t need any of that fancy treatment. What if we have cafeteria oatmeal and orange juice on the flight deck together tomorrow morning instead?”
He was nodding before you’d even finished your sentence. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”
“Good,” you smile, raising yourself up to kneel properly over him.
His neck bobbed when you finally took him in your hand. He was warm and firm, the perfect length and size without being too much.
You felt him resist the urge to buck into your fist, instead throwing his head back against the mattress with a groan, tightly squeezing your thighs with his hands to ground himself. He was already leaking into your palm within a couple pumps.
“I-I don’t know how long I’ll be able to-“
“We’ve got all night, Ry, don’t worry.”
He nodded, comforted by your words. He was soft as silk and overly sensitive, it seemed. With the help of your hand, the scientist came quickly, just as he feared he would, painting his abdomen white. You shushed him before he could even think about apologizing.
One positive thing about him going so long without intimacy meant his refractory period was minuscule. He was hard again in minutes, which he’d blushed about.
When you finally sank onto him, moving slowly both for yourself and Ryland’s sake, all thoughts left your mind besides the ones that revolved around the man underneath you. You didn’t care about the dying sun, or Project Hail Mary, or your job. By his expression, Ryland was feeling the same.
His hands were surely leaving bruises on your thighs but you didn’t care one bit. Not when your bodies fit together beautifully. Fully seated, hips locked, you could’ve cried at how he felt inside you. He was just the right size, brushing every spot he needed to and then some without being too overwhelming.
When you began to move, Ryland helped where he could- offering your body stability and putting those muscled arms of his to good use. The veins on his forearms were bulging and the tendons in his neck were prominent against his skin.
You didn’t know how soundproof the metal boxes the higher-ups deemed bedrooms were, but you doubted they would do a good job of masking any of the noises the two of you were making. Ryland was keeping quiet as much as he could manage, teeth grinding. You were a little less reserved, gasping and groaning as you bounced. Let his neighbors hear, you didn’t care. Not when you finally got your chance with the scientist you’d been eyeing since the moment he stepped out of that jet.
Just like he was perfect for you, you could tell you were providing enough relief for him in return because you could feel his thighs began to quake.
When he bucked up into you again, unable to resist, your hold on that string deep in your gut snapped and you saw white. Feeling you finish brought Ryland to the edge too. He was just barely able to find the strength to lift your body high enough to pull out before he came.
The next several seconds were spent breathing in tandem. Ryland was watching you like you hung the stars in the sky. With all of the movement, his glasses had skewed again. Huffing a laugh, you bent forward to straighten them and then pressed a long lingering kiss to his lips. You felt his fingers glide up your ribs then wander to your spine, pressing your chest tightly to his.
His glasses were foggy by the time you pulled away, your shared breath heating the lenses.
“You ok?” You asked, brushing a thumb over the dusting of facial hair along his jaw. He nodded into your palm.
“More than ok.”
-
You woke up to snoring.
Not the loud, reverberating kind, but a soft and soothing hum that blended perfectly with the constant moans and groans of the ship you’d become so accustomed to.
Blinking open your eyes, you stared at the metal ceiling. It took several seconds to remember where you were. For a moment, you assumed you were in your room but when tiny glimpses of sunlight danced over the walls and when a hand twitched lightly against your waist, the memory of last night came rushing back.
The bar, your conversation with the scientist, and then-
A soft smile erupted across your cheeks as they warmed. Ever so slowly lifting your hand, you brushed your fingers through the head of hair that was tucked into your neck.
Indeed, Doctor Ryland Grace was laying by your side, pressed impossibly close to your body due to the cramped nature of his bed, and blissfully asleep.
All feelings of hesitancy and shyness he’d had hours earlier were gone as he slept, the doctor partially draped over you- an arm slung over your waist, a leg thrown over one of yours and tucked between your thighs. He was snoring against your neck where his face was pressed. You were pretty sure he was drooling. His feathered hair was soft against your fingers, even more unkempt than usual.
You could’ve stayed like that for hours, warm and comfortable even in the pathetic excuse for a bed.
Several minutes passed before he began waking up, stirred by the gentle pass of your fingers along the short hair at the nape of his neck. He moved around slightly but didn’t move to pull away from your side.
He sighed against your skin, the fluttering of his eyelashes against your throat telling you he’d finally opened his eyes.
“Good morning,” you said quietly, not wanting to break the peaceful tranquility of the room that was rare to find on the bustling carrier.
You felt him blink a couple times before he responded, a smile sounding on his lips. “Morning.”
God, his voice was perfect- a rough, deep baritone thanks to hours of sleep. It had you turning your head towards him, pressing your lips to his hairline. You couldn’t see his face, but the stretch of stubble across your throat told you he’d smiled even more.
Several minutes went by in companionable silence, neither of you wanting to pull away. His fingers brushed lazily against your waist and yours didn’t stop thumbing through his hair.
You wondered after a while if he’d fallen back asleep before he mumbled a question. “What time is it?”
Peering over his head, you squinted at the small digital clock that sat on the tiny built-in desk.
“8:58.”
A pause.
Then panic.
Ryland shot upwards, unsticking himself from your body and scrambling out of the bed in a flurry of limbs and movement.
“Shhhhhiitake mushrooms!”
You watched from the bed, lightly amused as you watched him stumble around the cramped space in a frantic search for clothing. Lord above, he looked just as good from the back as he did the front.
“Something wrong?”
“I was supposed to go with Stratt to a crew meeting an hour ago.” He threw his legs into a pair of boxer briefs (which you were pretty certain were on backwards but he didn’t seem to notice or care), followed by a pair of jeans. “Kinda surprised she hasn’t barged in here already to get me up, actually i’m. She’s done it before.”
You just hummed, watching him slug a blue button up across his shoulders and struggle with the buttons. He threw a glare at you that had no fire behind it. “Will you show at least a little sympathy? She could probably throw me into the ship’s jail for this.” He missed a button at the top of his shirt, which meant the whole shirt was now fastened lopsided. He didn’t seem to notice that either.
“I’m not going to complain that we got an extra hour or two of sleep together.”
His cheeks bloomed. There’s that shyness. He didn’t fight your statement, instead busying himself with tugging a beanie over his bedhead. When he sat on the mattress next to you to start putting socks and shoes on, he searched the room with squinted eyes.
“Do y’know where my-“
You held out his glasses. At some point last night, you’d relieved him of the spectacles for his own comfort (and so you could kiss him as senseless as you wanted to) and carefully placed them under the bed where they’d be safe from being squished.
“Thank you.”
Looking a little less than put together, he started collecting the notepads and folders stuffed with papers on the small desk, gathering everything into his arms.
“Uh- well, we missed breakfast so how about we meet up for lunch? Or dinner? Or breakfast tomorrow? Or we don’t have to do anything together at all if you don’t want to. Totally your call, really.” He kept his gaze down at the papers, avoiding your gaze. You smiled.
“Well, I start my shift in an hour and can’t leave the medical wing until I’m relieved.”
His shoulders dropped a little.
“But… there’s no rules against having visitors.”
Ryland looked at you over the rims of his glasses, starting to smile himself. “Yeah? Ok! Yeah, I’ll- Do you have a preference for lunch? I’ll bring you something. Or I can get you a little bit of everything from the cafeteria? Do they allow that?”
You sat up with a laugh, holding the thin bedsheets against your chest to keep the last little bit of warmth from him against you. “I’ll get the same thing you’re having. I’m not picky.”
The doctor nodded to himself, shuffling toward the door with large strides. Twisting the handle, the door opened barely an inch before he doubled back like he forgot something. You expected him to search for something else he needed, not expecting him to rush over and press a fast kiss to your lips. It was your turn to blush.
“Right! Ok, I’ll get us something good. See you in a little bit! And lock the door on your way out, will you? Thanks!”
With his goodbye, he rushed out of the room, gently shut the door and began racing away. You heard his pounding footsteps reverberate the walls as he ran down the hall.
His room was too quiet now that he was gone, only the sounds of the ship keeping you company.
It took you several minutes to shake out of your star-struck stupor.
When the blonde showed up in your quiet office in the medical wing at 12pm sharp, precariously balancing two to-go boxes stuffed full with cafeteria food and harboring a broad smile, you quickly realized how much Doctor Ryland Grace already had you wrapped around his finger.
a/n: ryland grace: the people’s pillow princess. thank you for reading!
before yuuta left for africa, you remember him to be scrawny, about the same height as you, all elbows and knees. he would stutter when you caught his gaze for too long and your pinkies would hook when you walked home together, headphones shared, heads tilted close. behind the school building, you’d trade snacks and he’d blush when you brushed crumbs off of his shirt. sometimes you’d sit together on the curb, knees touching, as he let you doodle little shapes on his arm.
and you remember the kisses. quick, clumsy pecks that made you giggle. sometimes his eyes stayed open, as if to memorize your face. his fingers fumbled, shifting from your shoulders to your back again, unsure where to touch, but each kiss felt like a tiny discovery. a small, shared secret, leaving a lingering warmth on both your cheeks long after.
when he returned, you barely recognized him. you were surprised at how much had changed. you had to look up at him now; his shoulders were broader, his frame taller, and he moved with purpose. the nervous, fumbling gestures of before gone.
now, yuuta’s hands find your waist naturally. he’s less shy, more present, and he initiates contact without hesitation: brushes a strand of hair from your face, nudges you gently as you walk, leans closer when he laughs, adjusts your jacket without asking and lets his hand linger briefly on your lower back when guiding you.
and the awkward, clumsy pecks changed. his kisses are bolder, and he’s the one guiding you now. he chases your lips relentlessly, presses you against walls or the edge of tables, hands linger on your waist and lower back. each kiss lingers longer, heavier, more urgent than before, perhaps to make up for lost time. his hands roam along your body, leaving you breathless.
yuuta is more confident now. in himself, in what he wants from you. he knows he never wants the same distance between you two as there was when he was away. he wants you close, always close, and certain of the bond that ties you together. he isn’t the same blushing boy anymore when he’s over you, pulling his shirt off ♡
it’s not that wriothesley has been neglecting you. but god forbid a woman misses her boyfriend a bit too much.
★ featuring; wriothesley x f!reader
★ word count; 9.2k words
★ tags; modern au, established relationship, bodyguard wriothesley, emotional intimacy, healthy communication with your partner (yay!!), angst, fluff, SMUT (MDNI)
★ notes; this is a commission slash birthday gift for @joonie-beanie! everyone better wish bean a happy birthday (threatening). but also i haven't written for genshin in a hot minute, so forgive me if wrio is ooc (i don't think he is, but who am i to say!!!)
★ SMUT TAGS; rough sex, dirty talk, nicknames (sweetheart, good girl), body worship, cunnilingus, thigh riding, overstimulation, service top wriothesley, somnophilia, creampie
When you swiped right on Wriothesley all those years ago, you hadn’t really meant to.
In fact, it was Charlotte’s doing—your pink-haired, loud-mouthed work bestie who claimed you looked like you desperately needed to get laid. Blunt as she was, you couldn’t exactly argue, so you let her take your phone, roll her eyes at your half-filled bio, and start swiping with the same precision she used to schedule back-to-back meetings without mercy.
Charlotte had a reputation in the office: the matchmaking goddess. Every coworker she’d paired had at least made it through dinner without a red flag, which was more than most apps could promise. That’s the only reason you didn’t protest when she shoved your phone back into your hands, screen glowing with a photo of a very tall, very muscular, very attractive man.
“Wriothesley,” she read aloud smugly. “Twenty-nine. Lives downtown. Loves dogs. This guy’s your soulmate, I can feel it.”
Eh. You didn’t need a soulmate. You just needed a distraction.
So you nodded. She swiped. A flurry of hearts flooded the screen, and then: “It’s a Match!”
You didn’t expect much from that first date.
This Wriothesley person took you to dinner at some unassuming bistro near the edge of the city. He agreed to pick you up somewhere in the main district at your request. He told you that the restaurant wasn’t anything special, but the waitstaff greeted him by name and he tipped them double what you’d ever dream of spending on yourself. He also came with a dark coat and a voice so low it made your wine glass hum with each word.
You’d gone in expecting something casual—maybe even forgettable—but turns out, that date wasn’t a thinly veiled pretense for a one night stand. Wriothesley dropped you off at the main district again saying he’d enjoyed your company, and hoped he’d get to see you again next time.
Those last few words stuck with you though. Next time.
It wasn’t until the third date that you found out what he did for a living. You were sitting across from him in a dim booth, half-drunk on a tequila sunrise and the way his frost blue eyes crinkled when he laughed, when you finally asked.
“I work security,” Wriothesley said simply. “High-profile stuff. Government-related.”
That could’ve meant a dozen things, but the weight in his voice said it wasn’t just checking badges at a door.
“Well,” you said, offering up a sheepish smile. “I sit at a desk and answer emails for a living. So... not quite bodyguard-to-the-stars level.”
It was meant to be a joke, light and self-deprecating, but part of you meant it. His life sounded like something pulled from a spy thriller, whereas yours felt like the static in between radio stations. But Wriothesley didn’t laugh. He tilted his head, brow furrowing just slightly.
“Sounds exhausting,” he commented dryly. “I think I’d last five minutes before walking out.”
The way he said it made your cheeks warm because it wasn’t the words themselves, but the way he looked at you when he said them. Like your life, your effort, your everyday still mattered. Maybe that was the moment you first started thinking this could actually go somewhere.
Things didn’t explode into love right away.
There were no grand declarations or slow-motion kisses in the rain, but Wriothesley texted you every night, called you whenever you were both free, and took you out more than you expected. And when he stayed the night for the very first time, he made breakfast and folded your laundry before you could even protest. It was slow and intentional, set at a pace that never set alarm bells in your head, and somehow, that made it better.
A year in, he gave you a toothbrush in his bathroom. Two years, the two of you exchanged keys. By the third, you were fighting over paint swatches for a shared apartment with sun-warmed windows and enough closet space for both of your lives to unfold side by side.
Little by little, you and Wriothesley built a home, not just a place to sleep. The kind of home where laundry is always halfway done but no one minds because you both chip in without being asked. With the quiet rhythm of brushing teeth side by side, splitting chores when the world feels too heavy, and falling asleep tangled in limbs that speak more love than any words ever could.
It’s not glamorous, not like the movies. But it’s yours.
Even now, with the city in the midst of one political flare-up after another and Wriothesley wrapped tightly around Neuvillette’s every step like the shadow of a well-muscled bodyguard, your routine never breaks. He still comes home and peels off his coat like it weighs double what it should. He still presses a kiss to your hair—even if his lips barely graze your scalp before exhaustion pulls him under.
You’ve always been each other's safe place. When you're worn thin by the drag of a 9-to-5 desk job that leaves you staring at screens more than anything meaningful, Wriothesley’s quiet presence soothes you in more ways than one. And when he's bruised by the weight of guarding a man as important as the mayor, you're there for him, too.
But these past few days?
You feel a little… disconnected.
Wriothesley has been working six nights in a row now—long shifts that come with the close-range security detail. Neuvillette has been attending summit after summit, hosting visiting officials with so much tension in the air you can feel it clinging to your boyfriend when he finally walks through the door. He’s more exhausted than you’ve seen him since you got together.
You don’t fault him for it. How could you? He’s not just doing his job; he’s protecting someone. That’s who he is. That’s part of why you love him.
But gods, you’re tired too.
Sure, your job doesn’t have the physical strain his entails, but the mental grind has been eating you alive. There’s something about being around people all day—clients, coworkers, managers—that drains you in a way you can’t explain and lately, it’s been more than that.
You’re tense, too high-strung than you’d want to be. Your body aches not from work but from want. It’s because of the way Wriothesley’s voice scrapes low when he’s half-asleep. The way he brushes your shoulder when he’s passing by, his large hand spanning your back like he’s still half-protecting you even at home. The way he looks in the morning when his dark hair is mussed and his skin is still warm from sleep.
You want him.
But every night, when he comes home, it’s clear: he’s spent. He doesn’t even make it to bed sometimes. You’d find him knocked out on the couch with his boots still on, his fingers slack where they’d been fumbling for the remote. And you’d just sigh and kneel down to untie his laces like it doesn’t hurt.
Like your needs don’t count quite as much.
You’ve started to think maybe they don’t.
He’s working harder. He’s serving the city. You’re just... clocking in, filling out spreadsheets, trying not to cry in the break room. It doesn’t feel like enough to justify this low, gnawing ache inside you; the crawling restlessness that no warm bath or vibrating toy or late-night distraction can quite soothe.
You miss him, and it’s not just physical. It’s not just sex.
It’s connection.
But you’re starting to worry you’re being selfish just for wanting it.
Tonight, it’s quiet again.
You’re curled on the couch with your favorite blanket draped over your knees, all while the TV is murmuring some show you’re not really watching. The lamp you picked out a year ago with Wriothesley casts a soft gold glow across the living room, but it doesn’t feel warm tonight. Not when the other side of the couch is empty and the only sound is the ticking of the clock and the occasional rustle of wind through the balcony door.
You’ve already set out dinner. It wasn’t anything special, just something simple you picked up from the corner deli and left covered on the stove. But that was hours ago, and it’s probably gone cold already. You don’t even remember what time Wriothesley said he’d be back, if he even told you at all.
You hate this feeling—this hollow, irrational ache blooming in your chest.
You know he loves you. You know he’s trying. You’re not mad at him, but still... something tightens in your throat as you stare at the front door, willing it to open; wishing stupidly that just once, he would walk in and look as desperate for you as you are for him.
Your phone buzzes. It’s a message from him.
Leaving now. Be home soon.
You stare at the screen for a long moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard before you finally type: Okay. Be safe.
You delete the heart emoji at the end.
By the time the lock clicks and the door creaks open, you’re still on the couch, pretending you weren’t just crying into your sleeves two minutes ago. You paste on a smile that feels too thin and look up as Wriothesley steps inside, heavy-footed and drained, like the city dragged him behind it all day and spit him back out.
“Hey,” he says, his eyes finding you immediately. “You’re still up?”
You hum. “Wanted to make sure you ate something.”
He sighs as he shrugs off his coat, hanging it by the rack. “You didn’t have to.”
You know. But you did. You always do.
Wriothesley walks over to press a kiss to your forehead. It’s automatic and familiar, but not quite present. And when your boyfriend pulls away to make for the shower, you feel something inside you falter. You bite your tongue hard because if you speak, it’ll come out wrong, whiny and ungrateful even if you know you’re neither. But still—
“Wrio,” you say quietly, almost surprised you’ve spoken at all.
He pauses just when he’s halfway out of his shirt, brows furrowing slightly in concern when he turns to look at you. “Yeah? What’s wrong?”
You open your mouth to speak, but hesitate when you nearly choke on the words. You can’t cry—not over this. Not when he’s exhausted, and he’s already giving you what little he has left.
“It’s nothing,” you lie, tugging the blanket tighter around your legs.
Wriothesley doesn’t move for a moment, as if trying to decipher the tone of your voice. You half-expect him to dismiss it with a shrug, but then he walks back over and kneels in front of you, one calloused hand resting gently on your knee.
“Sweetheart,” he says, voice gentler now. “Talk to me. You’ve been quiet all week.”
You blink rapidly. It stings. “So have you.”
That makes something flicker in his expression—guilt, maybe.
You shake your head quickly, reaching to touch his cheek like you’re the one who should be reassuring him. “I know you’re busy. I’m not mad, I swear, I just... I think I’ve been pretending that I’m okay a little too hard.”
He catches your wrist, frowning. “You’re not okay?”
You press your lips together, voice barely above a whisper. “I guess… I just miss you a little too much.”
The silence between you hums with tension, and then, quietly, Wriothesley exhales and cups the back of your neck, his thumb brushing gently behind your ear. Your friends always say that your boyfriend has the coldest eyes they’ve ever seen, but it’s in these moments that you get to see the warmth just simmering beneath the glacial blue of his irises.
“I’m sorry,” Wriothesley says, so quietly it nearly breaks you. “I’ve been gone, even when I’m here. Haven’t I?”
You nod, not really trusting your voice.
Wriothesley doesn’t say anything else. He just rises, takes your hand, and leads you toward the bathroom with a touch so gentle it feels like a question, and you answer simply by not letting go.
The steam curls up from the showerhead when you step inside, the soft rush of water filling the space between your breaths. Wriothesley glances back, and you can feel the hesitancy in his touch as his fingers find the hem of your shirt. You let him lift it over your head, let him undress you like you might break if he moved too fast.
When he’s bare, too, you both step into the warmth.
It’s not rushed, or heated. The two of you stand beneath water and silence. Wriothesley lathers shampoo into your hair with careful fingers, like he’s trying to make up for all the days he’s been absent. His hands move slowly, massaging your scalp, and for a while, neither of you speaks.
You lean into him with your back against his chest, the spray of water hitting your shoulders, and his arms wrapped gently around your waist. There’s no space between you anymore—not physically, not emotionally—and that’s when he finally speaks.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
You shrug, pressing your lips in a thin smile. “I didn’t want to make it worse. You come home everyday looking like hell. I didn’t want to be another thing you had to carry.”
Wriothesley’s brow creases, and for a second, he looks like he wants to argue and tell you that you’re never a burden, not even close. But instead of speaking, he turns you around so he can pull you fully into his chest, burying his face in your wet shoulder like he’s the one who's been starved of touch.
“You’re not something I carry,” he murmurs. “You’re where I rest.”
Your breath catches in your throat, and a sob slips out before you can stop it—quiet and shaky. It feels more like relief than sadness. Wriothesley’s grip tightens like he hears it and needs to hold you through it, like he’s grounding himself in your heartbeat.
“I didn’t know it was getting this bad,” your boyfriend admits, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye. “You’ve been so good at holding everything down... I didn’t see how much you were holding it all in.”
You give him a watery smile, cheeks damp both from your tears and the shower. “Yeah, well. I’ve always been a little too good at pretending.”
He exhales, then presses a kiss to your forehead again. “No more pretending,” he says softly. “Okay? You don’t have to be strong all the time. Not with me.”
“I want to be,” you whisper.
“I know,” he replies, brushing a clump of soap suds just above your brow. “But wanting to be strong doesn’t mean you don’t get to fall apart alone. At least let me be there when you do.”
Wriothesley watches you intensely until you surrender with the barest nod of your head. He sighs, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead like it’s all the confirmation he needs.
The rest of the shower passes in wordless understanding. Wriothesley’s hands are steady as they move across your skin, careful in a way that makes your chest ache. He passes you the bar of soap without being asked. You tilt your head to rinse, and he guides the water away from your eyes with a gentle palm.
There’s nothing urgent here. Just the quiet act of being—of washing away the days between you, and slowly remembering that love isn’t something either of you has to carry alone.
You both dress for bed after the shower. The air in the bedroom is cooler than the bathroom steam, and you pull on one of your lighter nightgowns—thin straps, soft fabric, a hem that brushes just a bit too high on your thighs when you sit. You catch the way Wriothesley’s eyes flicker down just once before he turns quickly to pull on a clean shirt.
He doesn’t say anything about it.
You settle under the covers first, curling onto your side before he joins you not long after—close, but not close enough. He lies on his back as his arm brushes yours, eyes fixed on the ceiling like he’s engaged in a staring contest. You both breathe quietly for a while, cocooned in the kind of stillness that’s starting to feel more comfortable again.
Wriothesley speaks first.
“Things might settle down soon,” he murmurs. “Neuvillette just has a final round of meetings tomorrow, and I should be switching in with some of the other bodyguards. Might actually be home before midnight for once.”
You hum softly. “That’s nice. Maybe you can eat a hot dinner, too.”
He turns to look at you then, a small smile ghosting across his lips. “Maybe I just like it better when you reheat it for me. The extra effort equates to extra love.”
You nudge his arm with your elbow, smiling despite yourself. “You sap.”
Wriothesley chuckles softly and the sound warms you all the way down. For a few quiet moments, he asks about your work, and you give him the rundown of the usual mundane office grind—annoying emails, tight deadlines, and the coffee maker that mysteriously stopped working when you needed it most. He listens carefully like he always does.
But the entire time, you can feel it. That slow coil of tension in your belly, the lingering warmth from the shower, and the ache that never really left.
You’re not sure if it’s just you, but Wriothesley’s eyelids have dropped half-lidded, while he speaks with a tone that’s deeper than usual. His thigh is brushing yours now, and it makes you shift just a little closer. Then, almost reactionary, you feel his body tense beside you—barely perceptible, but you’ve been with him long enough to know when to wonder:
Does he feel it too?
But Wriothesley has always been a mindful man. Since you ended up crying in the shower, you’re pretty sure that he now thinks if he touches you now, he’ll break something delicate. It’s something you still haven’t decided whether you hate or love about him because you’re not fragile.
You’re burning.
Which spurs you to turn to your side and face him. The blanket slides with your hasty movement, and your nightgown pulls a little higher. Wriothesley’s frost blue eyes dip there again, lingering so much longer this time. He says nothing, but you see the way his hand twitches from where it rests on the sheets between you.
You reach for it without hesitation.
His fingers slip into the spaces between yours, warm and calloused and so much thicker than your own. You watch him as he watches you, and your heart simmers from… whatever’s growing here in the silence.
“I’m okay now,” you whisper.
His brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“I mean...” You shift closer, your knees brushing his. “I’m not gonna break, you know.”
Wriothesley’s gaze lingers for just a moment too long—still cautious, still holding himself back like he thinks he’s protecting you. It makes you want to grab his shoulders and shake him, but you’ve always had more composure than that.
But still, you’ve been together for years. You know Wriothesley, and even if it means swallowing your pride, saying what’s on your mind has always been the surest way to reach him.
“I want you,” you add softly. “If you want me too.”
The moment you murmur the words, it’s like a switch was flipped.
The control in his shoulders crumples all at once, like something inside him finally gives him permission to need—to take. He exhales sharply and sits up just enough to cup your cheek and pull you in like he’s been holding this moment behind his teeth for days.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice rough with restraint, “you have no idea how much.”
He kisses you before you can say anything else.
There’s nothing rushed about it. No hurried tearing of clothes, or frantic fumbling—only the slow, molten press of his mouth to yours as his fingers stroke along your cheek. You sigh into him, melting like wax under his hands. Wriothesley pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours with a shallow breath, his voice still heavy with restraint.
“You’ve been so patient with me. Always waiting. Always putting me first.”
You let out a soft whimper when his thumb grazes your lower lip, the sound slipping out before you can catch it. Your knees brush his as you lean in, drawn by the quiet gravity between you. Wriothesley’s frost-blue eyes crease at the corners, a faint smile tugging at his lips—those same eyes you gazed into on your very first date, wondering how someone so breathtaking could have ever made room in his world for you.
“Let me take care of you tonight,” he murmurs, the words curling hot against your skin. “Let me make it up to you. Please?”
You reply with a breathless nod.
That’s all he needs.
Your boyfriend moves to lower you back against the mattress with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. His hands roam over your body, calloused fingertips ghosting along your waist, your hips, every curve he knows by heart. Wriothesley doesn’t just touch you—he cherishes you, tracing every part of you like a man reacquainting himself with something precious.
“You’re so beautiful,” Wriothesley breathes, leaning down to kiss the slope of your shoulder, then your collarbone, making sure to let his lips linger on every patch of skin. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how hard you’ve been working too. You’ve been holding it all together so well.”
His voice grows softer as he speaks, words dipping between kisses, filling every breath with tender praise.
“Coming home late… still smiling for me. Waiting up, cooking dinner…” His teeth scrape lightly at the sensitive skin along your throat, pulling a gasp from your lips. “And I just… let you carry it all alone.”
“You didn’t mean to,” you breathe as you arch under his careful touch. His hands feel so big, so steady on your skin, like he’s holding you in place with nothing but devotion.
“But I did,” Wriothesley answers softly, eyes dark and warm all at once as he slowly peels your nightgown higher, slipping it over your head until you’re bare beneath him. “I should’ve been here. With you.”
Your breath stutters as the cool air meets your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his gaze—drinking in every inch of you like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. Wriothesley doesn’t rush to touch you again right away. He just looks at you for a moment, steady and unashamed.
“I missed you,” Wriothesley murmurs, more to himself than to you. “So much.”
Then his hands return—broad palms skimming up your sides, teasingly slow in their ascent until they cup your breasts with a reverence that leaves you trembling beneath him.
“Missed these too,” he mutters, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, making you gasp softly. He watches the way you bend into his touch, as if you need more because you do. You always do when it comes to him.
“You’ve been aching for this, haven’t you?” Wriothesley’s voice dips low as his fingers roll over the sensitive peaks, teasing them with practiced care, never too rough, but never quite enough either. You whimper, your back arching off the bed as his thumbs circle again and again, slow and torturous.
“Look at you,” he breathes. “So soft. So sensitive.”
Then his mouth replaces his hands.
He takes his time tasting you, tongue flicking softly over one nipple before drawing it fully into his mouth, sucking slow and deep until your fingers tangle in his dark hair and your breath comes out in shaky little gasps.
The wet heat of Wriothesley’s mouth, the way he swirls his tongue around you before gently grazing his teeth—it’s overwhelming in the best way. He lavishes one breast thoroughly before moving to the other, making sure to tease and kiss every inch in between, leaving love bites in places only he will ever see.
By the time his mouth moves to your other breast, you’re barely holding yourself together—trembling under his slow, relentless pace, breath breaking with every careful flick of his tongue. He takes you deeper into his mouth, sucking with deliberate pressure, then releasing with a soft, wet pop only to start all over again, worshiping you with a focus that makes your head spin.
That’s when he notices.
The subtle, helpless way your hips keep shifting—arching up, grinding down without even realizing it. You don’t even realize it. The soft friction of your thighs squeezing around his, your barely-there panties growing damper by the second as you subconsciously rut against the firm muscle of his leg, desperate for any sort of relief.
Wriothesley’s eyes darken immediately.
He pulls off your nipple with a sharp exhale, his gaze locking onto yours as a slow, wicked smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Oh?” His voice drops, rough with amusement, low enough to make you shiver. “Didn’t realize you were this needy, sweetheart.”
You freeze, heat rushing to your cheeks as you realize what you’ve been doing, but his hands are already sliding down—gripping your hips to hold you there, keeping you flush against the firm press of his thigh.
“So wet already,” he murmurs, dragging your hips down just enough to grind you deliberately against him. “You couldn’t wait, could you?” His tone is teasing, but fond—like he’s utterly charmed by your desperation. “Rubbing yourself on me like that… Cute.”
You let out a shaky whimper as he rocks you again, slower this time, making sure you feel every inch of the pressure against your aching core.
“Go on,” Wriothesley coaxes, his voice a low, velvety rasp. “Don’t hold back. Show me just how much you missed me.”
With that, he guides your hips once more—grinding you against his thigh while his lips find your chest again. He latches back onto your breast as he sucks deep and slow, coaxing broken sounds from your lips as the heat between your legs grows unbearable.
Wriothesley only smiles against your skin with a voice that’s dark and full of promise as he groans softly, “That’s it… there’s my good girl.”
You can barely meet his gaze, dizzy from the burn between your legs, but it doesn’t matter. He sees everything—feels everything. The wet patch growing on his skin, the way your hips twitch and stutter as you chase every little drag of friction.
“You’ve been so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs, kissing his way up your throat again. “So patient for me. But…”
His hands go still on your hips in an instant, holding you there right on the edge.
“…I’ve been patient too.”
The words rumble out of him like a warning, and before you can even catch your breath, Wriothesley flips you beneath him again in one smooth motion. Your lover pins you to the mattress, looming above you with eyes dark and ravenous, his breath hot against your lips. In a flash, he hooks his fingers under the band of your soaked underwear, dragging it down your thighs and tossing it aside without a second glance. His hands spread your legs wide, baring you fully to him, and the sheer hunger in his gaze makes your breath catch.
Your breath stutters, hips twitching beneath his touch as his thumb teases over your sensitive clit. As though he’s savoring every tiny jolt of your body under his hands while he pins you in place. His voice is a dangerous purr when he speaks, eyes locked to yours as he toys with you.
“Where do you want me?”
You can barely form words, already shaking from the overwhelming heat and tension, but he doesn’t need your answer. He already knows.
Wriothesley hums, the sound thick with amusement and something darker, more indulgent, as he leans down—pressing a lingering, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, just beside where you need him most. His lips drag slowly as he makes his way closer, that piercing gaze never once straying too far from yours.
“Poor thing,” Wriothesley coos, deceptively soft as he presses his lips to your other thigh, teasing you with more kisses that only make the ache worse. “You’ve been starving too.”
And then, without warning, he finally gives in.
He licks a broad, slow stripe through your folds, groaning low in his throat the second your taste hits his tongue—deep and guttural, like he’s been denied this far too long.
“Fuck,” he breathes against you, voice rough, almost dazed. “I missed this. Missed you.”
Before you can even gasp, he dives back in—devouring you with undeterred hunger, tongue flicking, curling, pressing just right, relentless and eager as he feasts on you like he’s making up for every night he came home too late, every hour he spent away.
He doesn’t just eat you out.
He worships you.
His hands grip your thighs, spreading you open wider as his tongue flicks against your clit—slow and precise, then faster, then back to languid strokes just to hear how your breath hitches. He drinks down every moan, every shudder, chasing every sound you make like it’s a reward. And he talks. Filthy, breathless praise slurred between licks, his voice deep and dark against your dripping heat.
“God, you taste so good… been dreaming of this for weeks.”
You sob out his name, thighs shaking as you clutch at his hair, but he doesn’t let up—if anything, your desperation only spurs him on.
“Don’t run from me, sweetheart,” Wriothesley growls, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your core as he sucks hard on your clit, drawing out a sharp cry from your lips. “You wanted this, remember?”
You nod, breathless, but it’s useless—he’s not letting you go.
He laps at you deeper, eating you like a man possessed. His thick fingers somehow end up sliding home into your wet channel, There is no escaping him when Wriothesley picks you apart with his tongue as if you’re the only thing he needs in the world.
And you realize—you are.
“Come on,” he coaxes, voice wrecked and desperate between strokes. “Let go for me. Let me have it.”
With the way he’s tasting you, relentless and perfect and starved—you don’t stand a chance. You shatter under him, legs trembling as your orgasm crashes over you, his name spilling from your lips in broken, breathless cries.
But Wriothesley doesn’t stop.
He doesn’t let you go.
If anything, he groans against you as if your taste only fuels him further, only sharpens his hunger. His hands tighten around your hips, pinning you down with an iron grip that leaves no chance to wriggle away from the overstimulation blazing through your body.
You thrash beneath him, sobbing, legs kicking helplessly against the sheets. But he holds you down with ease, strong arms locking you in place, his mouth still locked to your soaked core.
“Wri— Oh god. Wrio, please—” You can barely form words, voice breaking as your body jolts with every stroke of his tongue, every ruthless flick against your already oversensitive clit. But he’s gone completely lost in you as he drinks down every drop, licking you through each spasm and twitch of your trembling thighs.
“So good,” he rasps between hungry slurps, breath hot and wet against your slick skin. “So fucking sweet.”
He buries his face deeper, his grip bruising now, dragging you against his mouth again and again, forcing you to ride every last wave whether you can take it or not. You sob beneath him, trembling so hard it feels like you might break, but he loves it. He moans into you, devouring you like you’re his only salvation.
Your body’s already spiraling toward another high—too soon, too much, but his mouth won’t relent, and the pressure coils again before you can even breathe.
“No, no, I can’t—” you whimper, but it’s useless. He’s not listening. He refuses to stop.
“Shh,” Wriothesley hums darkly against you, sending another jolt through your core as his tongue flicks mercilessly over your clit, deliberate and devastating. “You can. You will.”
Then his voice drops even lower.
“You’re gonna come again for me, sweetheart,” he growls, dragging his tongue deeper, relentless and cruel in his hunger. “Be good and give it to me.”
As if your body is made solely to appease him, you fall apart all over again—screaming his name as your body convulses. Your vision goes white, another orgasm slamming through you so hard you can barely think, barely breathe.
You’re barely conscious of anything—your body still wracked with aftershocks, mind swimming in that heady, blissed-out haze—but you can feel him moving above you, finally letting go of your hips, his lips dragging one last kiss against your trembling inner thigh as he pulls back.
Wriothesley finally rises, breath hot and heavy, lips swollen and glistening from his relentless feast. His chest heaves with every ragged inhale as his frost blue eyes burn with something far more dangerous than hunger.
Still, there’s a softness beneath it all. He cups your face with a large, steady hand, thumb brushing tenderly over your tearstained cheek, as if he’s grounding himself after losing control.
“Did so well for me,” he rasps, voice low and rough from how wrecked he is. “Took it all like a good girl… but I’m not finished yet.”
You can only whimper, too dazed to speak, and that’s when he sits back—kneeling between your legs, towering above you with that broad, sculpted frame still dressed in his sleep clothes. You watch through hooded eyes, breath catching in your throat as he hooks his fingers beneath the hem of his loose shirt. Wriothesley lifts it slowly, dragging it up over his head in one smooth pull.
God.
You’ve seen him shirtless before, countless times, but it still hits you like a punch to the chest. Your boyfriend is all hard muscle and carved lines, every inch of him honed from years of brutal work. His stomach ripples as he tosses the shirt aside. Your eyes catch on the faint trail of dark hair leading down from his navel, tracing lower beneath the waistband of his pants.
Scars scatter across his torso, some faint and old, others more recent. They all cut through the otherwise perfect canvas of his body—making him look more devastatingly beautiful. You don’t even realize you’re staring until he speaks again.
“Keep looking at me like that,” Wriothesley murmurs, “and you’ll end up calling in sick tomorrow.”
Then he shoves his sweats down with little ceremony, pushing them past his hips and kicking them off with ease. You suck in a breath—he’s thick, flushed, already fully hard and aching for you. His cock curves heavily toward his stomach, leaking at the tip. The sight of him alone is enough to make your thighs clench together instinctively.
Wriothesley’s gaze softens at the sight, his voice dipping low and tender as he crawls back over you, caging you beneath his weight, every hard inch of his body pressed to yours.
“Don’t worry,” he breathes, nuzzling against your throat, his hips slowly dragging the thick weight of him through your spit-slick folds. “I’ll be careful.”
His voice roughens as he exhales, the words slipping out like a secret meant only for you.
“I want to feel every part of you tonight.”
The head of his cock catches at your entrance, teasing the sensitive spot where you’re still pulsing from his prior ministrations. Wriothesley doesn’t rush—he just stays there for a beat, watching the way you squirm beneath him, your body strung tight with need, trembling and bare beneath his weight.
“Breathe for me,” he murmurs, kissing your temple as he rocks his hips forward.
You gasp—he’s thick, stretching you inch by inch, filling you with an aching, burning fullness that steals the air from your lungs. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into the strong muscles there, but Wriothesley doesn’t flinch. He just watches you, gaze locked on every little change in your expression, like he can feel every shiver inside you just as deeply.
“God… You feel like heaven,” he groans, voice fraying as he finally sinks all the way in—seated flush against you, filling you completely.
You can’t speak—you can barely think around the pressure, the overwhelming stretch that makes your body tremble from head to toe. He holds still for a moment, letting you adjust, letting you feel every throb of him inside you.
“You were made just for me, weren’t you?” Wriothesley whispers, his lips trailing down your cheek, your jaw, your throat, worshiping every inch he can reach. “Taking me so well. You love being split on my cock, don’t you?”
You let out a broken moan, nodding frantically as your hips shift in a silent plea. That’s all it takes for him to start moving—slow, deep thrusts that make you feel every thick drag of him inside you.
His pace is unhurried but devastating, hips grinding down with every stroke, hitting places inside you that make your breath catch in your throat. Wriothesley groans low against your skin, hands gripping your waist to keep you anchored as he rocks into you, steady and relentless.
“Been wanting this,” he pants, his voice wrecked and breathless in your ear. “Thought about it every damn night—wishing I was here instead of stuck out there, fucking missing you.”
He punctuates the words with a sharp thrust that has you keening beneath him, as if he’s trying to make up for every lonely night all at once. Forcing you to feel just how much he’s longed for you, how much this has been burning in him too.
“It’s been hell,” Wriothesley breathes, his voice fraying as he keeps his pace steady, grinding into you with slow, bruising rolls of his hips. His words fall against your skin, rough and tender all at once. “Coming home too late… seeing you waiting up for me every night, even when you’re dead on your feet yourself.”
You whimper, overwhelmed by the fullness and the weight of his confession both.
“I hated it,” he groans, his pace stuttering slightly as he sinks even deeper. “Hated watching you drift away from me. Hate pretending everything’s fine when all I want to do is keep you right here under me. Where you belong.”
The honesty and filth that coat his words makes you shudder, body arching toward him, helpless to the way his words spark against every nerve ending.
You nod shakily beneath him—too breathless to speak, but it doesn’t matter. He can feel everything in the way your body tightens around him, in the soft, broken sounds spilling from your lips every time he rocks deep. Wriothesley swallows them all with a kiss, lips messy and desperate, as if trying to drink down every ounce of your need.
His hips grind deeper, slower, his voice dragging low from his chest, half-gone with restraint. “Nothing else feels like this,” he groans against your mouth. “Nothing else… feels like you.”
And god, it’s true. You’ve tried. In those long, aching nights when Wriothesley wasn’t home, when the cold side of the bed stayed empty and you’d buried yourself in pillows that didn’t hold his scent, you tried. Fingers, toys, anything to fill the space he left behind. But nothing ever compared to this.
Nothing ever stretches you the way he does, dragging against every spot inside you that makes your toes curl and your head spin. Nothing else burned like this, leaving you trembling and tearful under the weight of his need.
Nothing else makes you feel this full—this loved.
Your thoughts blur as you claw at his back, nails raking down the ridges of muscle and scars you know by heart. Your voice comes out wrecked, half-sobbing into his shoulder. “It’s not enough. N-Nothing else is ever enough. I only want you, Wriothesley.”
That makes him curse, loud and raw, hips snapping just a little harder as he holds you down, grinding deep into your tight pussy. “Say it again.”
“Only you—only you make me feel this good.”
Wriothesley groans like it’s tearing him apart.
“That’s right,” he grits out, every thrust sending shocks through you. “No one else gets to touch you like this. No one else gets to have you.”
Your walls tighten around him at those words, and his pace falters, grinding in deeper, staying there, as he cradles your face with one trembling hand. When he kisses the tears away, you feel your heart ache for him even more.
“I’m gonna give you everything,” he whispers, voice breaking apart with emotion and heat, his forehead pressed to yours. “Every second we’ve missed, every fucking bit of it.” And he means it—each roll of his hips packed with unspoken apologies, with longing and love so thick it almost hurts. He’s not just fucking you.
He’s reclaiming you.
You can feel it building fast, the knot in your stomach wound tight from everything he’s already done to you, from the weeks apart to the way he holds you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered. Every deep, grinding thrust pushes you closer, and you cling to him, nails pressing crescents into his skin, chasing every bit of him with shaking hips.
Wriothesley feels it too.
“That’s it,” he groans, voice low and frayed, his breath hot against your cheek. “Let go for me again, sweetheart… I’ve got you.”
His words undo you completely.
You fall apart with a sob, the pleasure crashing through you, overwhelming and hot, tightening every muscle as your poor, abused pussy clenches around him. Your body locks up, trembling as your climax hits and stars burn behind your eyelids.
Wriothesley shudders at the feeling—your body gripping him so tightly it rips a ragged moan from his throat. He’s right there with you, his pace faltering as he fights to keep from unraveling too soon, but it’s useless. You’re too tight, too warm, too perfect wrapped around him like this.
“Mine,” he rasps, his rhythm losing all control as he drives into you even deeper, grinding to the hilt, buried completely inside you.. “All fucking mine—”
He spills into you with a groan, his hips locked tight against yours, the warmth of him filling you completely as he pulses deep inside. You feel everything—every twitch, every wave of his release spilling into you—and it only makes you tighten around him more, dragging out every last drop.
For a while, Wriothesley doesn’t move. He simply stays there, holding you close as his chest heaves with every labored breath. You notice his arms shaking as he cradles your face, as if afraid you’ll slip away, and you respond with a breathless laugh. You lean into the warmth of his chest, fingers tracing lazy shapes along the scars on his back.
“Y’know, you always overdo it…” you murmur sweetly despite the jab in your words. “You could’ve just said you missed me instead of nearly breaking my pelvis.”
Your boyfriend snorts. “Sweetheart, we both know you wanted to be folded in half beneath me for weeks. No need to act so coy with me.”
You make a sound of outrage—weak and breathless, given the state he’s left you in—but it only makes him laugh, the kind of sound that warms your chest.
“As if you weren’t grinding on me in your sleep last week,” Wriothesley mutters against your hair, voice husky but amused, his arms tightening around you as he shifts to pull the blanket over your bodies. “Or moaning my name when you thought I wasn’t listening.”
“Lies,” you mumble stubbornly, tucking your face against his throat, too drowsy and satisfied to argue properly. “You’re full of it.”
He just hums, pressing one last kiss to your forehead before you both start slipping into that soft, boneless quiet—his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek, his body still nestled inside yours, too lazy to part.
But hours later, when the moon has shifted and everything’s hushed and hazy, you stir awake to the slow, instinctive roll of his hips against yours.
You’re still wrapped around him, your bodies tangled and sticky with warmth, and even in his sleep, Wriothesley’s cock is thick and hard between your thighs, grinding up with needy, helpless thrusts as he breathes raggedly against your neck. You blink, hazy and half-lost in the fog of sleep, but when you shift your hips in answer, you feel the quiet groan he spills against your skin.
Still half-asleep, he mutters your name, slurring it like a plea.
You don’t stand a chance—not with the way he slides himself along the mess between your legs, driven by sheer need. All you can do is cling to him, letting him take what he wants, pulling you both under all over again.
You don’t know what possesses you. Maybe it’s the heady, aching fullness still lingering between your legs, or maybe it’s the low, guttural sound Wriothesley makes with every slow grind against your slick folds. But you tilt your hips anyway, just enough to guide him back inside you.
A soft, broken gasp slips from your lips the moment he catches, the thick head of his cock pressing right where your body is still tender and dripping from before. He slides into your soiled cunt with little resistance—everything still messy, still so wet, and it’s obscene how easily he fills you again.
You both groan, the sound low and guttural in the dark.
Wriothesley stirs at the sensation, his breath hitching against your skin, but he doesn’t fully wake just yet. His body simply moves on instinct, hips rolling slow and deep as he sinks fully inside, grinding against every oversensitive spot within you.
Despite himself, his hands roam, heavy and uncoordinated but hungry—palms dragging over your waist, up your ribs, before settling on your breasts with a rough, possessive squeeze.
“Mmh… Mine…” he mutters against your throat.
His thumbs rub lazily over your nipples, teasing circles that send shivers down your spine even as his hips continue that deep, drugging rhythm—slow, thick strokes that never quite pull out fully, always grinding back in to the hilt. You can’t help the soft, breathy moans that escape you, half-lost in sleep yourself, body too pliant, too soaked and overstimulated to do anything but take him.
“Good girl,” Wriothesley breathes in that same drowsy murmur, his lips pressing clumsy, open-mouthed kisses along your neck. “Always so good for me… fuck, you feel so perfect.”
Your thighs tremble with every lazy thrust, his cock dragging through the combined mess of your earlier highs, every stroke a filthy reminder of how many times he’s already claimed you tonight, but none of it matters. You let him have you anyway, let him grind into you again and again, too far gone to care about anything but the warmth of him buried deep inside.
Despite yourself, you meet him willingly, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper, as if you’re just as insatiable as he is.
“You’re gonna keep me up all night at this rate,” you manage to tease, though your voice is wrecked, breathless from the slow burn of his cock dragging against every sore, swollen spot inside you. Wriothesley only lets out a dark, sleepy laugh right against your ear.
“Good,” he rasps, grinding in deep enough to make your toes curl. “I’m not done with you yet.”
You don’t even have time to catch your breath before Wriothesley shifts, the drag of his cock somehow sharper as he finally rouses fully from the fog of sleep. His breath is hot against your skin, rough and ragged, the weight of him pressing down on you as he starts to move in earnest—slow, steady thrusts that grind into every spot that makes your body jolt and tighten around him.
“So fucking sweet,” he groans, still slurred from sleep, but every word dripping with hunger. His hips roll deeper, languid and thick, as if savoring every wet, obscene sound of your bodies grinding together in the dark. “You just keep letting me in…”
You can barely respond—you’re too far gone, too soft and overstimulated, your cunt fluttering around him with every lazy thrust. It’s filthy, the way he slips through your earlier mess, grinding it deeper, making you feel every bit of it of his release still sticky and present.
But when his hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen nub with terrifying ease, you gasp—a high, broken sound that echoes in the quiet. Wriothesley groans right with you, his thumb circling your clit in slow, devastatingly gentle strokes.
“Gotta help you along, sweetheart,” he mutters, his voice half a purr, half a growl as he watches your face twist in helpless pleasure. “Don’t want you falling behind…”
It’s too much. His cock grinding deep, his fingers working you with lazy precision—it has your body locking tight, your hips jerking against him despite yourself.
“Wrio— ah! Too much—” you whimper, but he only hushes you, his lips curling into a dark, sleepy smile against your throat.
“You can take it. You always do, my perfect girl,” he rasps, pressing harder against your clit as he rocks into you even deeper. “Just one more. Give me one more.”
The pressure crests too fast for you to keep up with, but there’s no stopping it. His cock drags through your gummy walls, his fingers never relenting, and you can feel yourself slipping under again, shaking violently as another orgasm curls tight in your belly.
“Come on, sweetheart. Milk my cock again—show me how much you love being filled up like this…” Wriothesley groans, voice wrecked and desperate now as his pace picks up, hips grinding messily into yours.
You break into him with a sob, white hot ecstasy crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your aching pussy clamps down tight around his cock, and Wriothesley curses with a sharp hiss, hips stuttering as he grinds in deep.
“Fuck—fuck, just like that—”
He’s not far behind, your orgasm dragging him right over the edge with you. His hips lock tight against yours, buried to the hilt, as he spills inside again with a long, shuddering groan—filling you up once more as your body still flutters around him through the aftershocks.
You both stay like that for a while—panting, tangled, drenched in sweat and stickiness and heat, too spent to even think of moving. But you’re too blissed out and filled with cum and love to care.
Eventually, your breathing starts to slow, though neither of you moves—too exhausted, too warm in the tangled knot of limbs and sheets and fading tremors. His cock is still nestled deep inside you, softening but not quite slipping out, the heat of him still leaking from where your bodies remain joined. Wriothesley hums quietly against your temple, barely more than a rasped breath. He strokes slow, soothing circles over your hips, your back, as if to calm the aftershocks still fluttering through you both.
“I love you,” he murmurs, almost slurred with sleep again. But it’s steady—like the words were always meant to be there, tucked between your heartbeats.
You smile, too dazed and sore to do anything but melt into him.
“Love you too,” you whisper back, fingers curling lazily into his sweat-damp hair.
You tug him down for a soft kiss, lips brushing more than pressing, but it’s enough. He groans faintly in response—somewhere between contentment and pride, the sound rumbling in his chest where it’s pressed against yours. And then, in that same drowsy haze, Wriothesley’s hand drifts from your waist down to your thigh, hooking it around his hips again.
“Better clear your morning,” he mutters against your skin, more to himself than to you. “You won’t be leaving this bed anytime soon.”
You laugh softly, not even bothering to argue because deep down, you know he’s right.
When you finally fall back asleep, your last blurry thought is that you’ll definitely be calling in sick.
The message from Charlotte pops up just as you’re halfway through your afternoon reports.
Get down to the lobby. Right now.
You frown, obviously puzzled as you rack your brain for what could have prompted this. Did you order something? Did you forget a courier drop-off? Were you in trouble with someone from the front desk?
Still puzzled, you grab your phone and make your way downstairs, muttering to yourself the whole way. Whatever it is, it better not be another one of Charlotte’s ridiculous pranks. But the second the elevator doors open, your breath catches.
Wriothesley is standing right there in the middle of the lobby.
Your boyfriend is dressed in his bodyguard uniform, looking every bit the part—broad shoulders, fitted black, looking painfully good and very out of place in the sleek office space. He’s holding an enormous bouquet of flowers that looks like it came straight from a fairytale. Your heart jumps to your throat as every head in the lobby turns toward him.
“What the—what the hell are you doing here?!” you hiss the moment you stomp over, your face burning as you try to shrink into yourself. “Aren’t you on the clock? Neuvillette’s going to kill you—”
But Wriothesley only flashes that infuriating, calm smile of his, completely unfazed by the growing audience of office workers gathering around you. He steps forward and presses the bouquet into your hands.
“Didn’t think I’d forget my girlfriend’s birthday, did you?”
The words hit harder than they should, spoken like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and your whole face burns hotter.
You sputter uselessly, gaping at the sheer audacity of him—your boyfriend, standing here in full uniform like some dark knight from a drama, handing you the most beautiful bouquet you’ve ever seen, while half your office gawks.
Charlotte, from somewhere behind you, lets out a delighted little squeal. You catch her openly snapping photos, giggling behind her phone like she’s watching her favorite rom-com unfold live.
“W-Wriothesley, I swear to god—”
“Relax.” He leans in close, lips brushing your ear in a way that makes your knees nearly buckle. “I cleared it with the mayor. Just think of it like I’m on my lunch break.”
Then, even lower, he murmurs, “Besides… I figured you’d want something to look forward to after work.” His gaze flicks down before he adds with a wicked glint, “Dinner first. Then we’ll celebrate properly tonight. You’ll get to unwrap another present later.”
You almost faint.
Before you can say another word, Wriothesley straightens, presses a kiss to your cheek—in front of everyone—then turns to leave. His confident stride is slow and smug, leaving you standing there with the bouquet in hand.
Charlotte giggles beside you, utterly delighted as she keeps taking pictures. “Told you he was your soulmate~” she teases, while you bury your face in the flowers—face burning, heart impossibly full.
But honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.
⟢ end notes: oh this was extra filthy... it has been A While since i locked in and wrote smut this emotional and passionate and— *sighs dreamily* ohh to be wriothesley's girl... i very truly enjoyed writing this, so i hope you enjoyed reading too :3c thank you again to my beloved bean for trusting me to write this for you!!! i am always happy to go back to my roots (the genshin men...) to bring ur delusions to life <3 happiest birthday!!!
the door clicks shut behind ichigo, the sound pulling you from your daze on the couch. it's been weeks—months, really—since you've seen him, the weight of the thousand-year blood war keeping him away, fighting battles that reshaped everything.
but now he's home, finally, the tension of the world outside melting from his shoulders as he kicks off his shoes and lets out a long, relieved sigh. he stretches his arms overhead, the simple motion making his shirt ride up just enough to reveal a sliver of his midriff, and that's when it hits you like a gut punch.
he's… different. glowingly so. the harsh lights of battlefields and endless days under the sun have painted his skin in a deep, golden tan, warm and radiant like he's been forged in sunlight itself. it clings to every inch of him, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw, the strong column of his neck, making his orange hair pop even brighter against the bronze hue. you stare, mouth going dry, as he turns to face you fully, that easy smile breaking across his face—the one reserved just for home, for you.
but it's not just the tan. god, it's everything else. he's bulked up, his frame broader, muscles honed sharper from the relentless grind of war. his shoulders strain against the fabric of his shirt, deltoids and traps swelling with power that wasn't there before, or maybe it was, hidden under the chaos.
his chest heaves subtly with each breath, pecs defined and thick, pressing outward like they could shield you from anything. and his arms—fuck, his arms. biceps that flex involuntarily as he runs a hand through his hair, veins tracing paths over forearms that look like they could crush stone.
you can't look away. your brain shorts out, thoughts scattering as he steps closer, oblivious at first to the way your eyes devour him. "hey," he says softly, voice rough from disuse but warm, like honey over gravel. he drops his bag by the door and crosses the room in a few strides, his thighs—thick and corded—straining the seams of his pants with every movement. the tan makes it all pop, golden skin glowing under the soft lamp light, inviting touch.
he reaches you, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, but you barely register it. your hands move on their own, fingers itching to confirm what your eyes are screaming. you grab his wrist, pulling his arm closer, tracing the swell of his bicep with trembling fingertips. it's solid, unyielding, bigger than you remember, the muscle jumping under your touch as if alive with the battles he's won.
"ichigo…" you murmur, voice dazed, entranced. he chuckles lightly, thinking it's just relief at his return, but you can't stop. your other hand slides up his chest, palm flattening over the hard plane of his pec, feeling the heat of his skin through the shirt, the steady thump of his heart.
"whoa, what's gotten into you?" he asks, but there's amusement in his tone, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek. you don't answer—can't, really—because you're lost in him. the way his abs ripple under your exploring fingers as you tug at his shirt, bunching the fabric up to expose more of that golden tan.
his stomach is a masterpiece now, ridges of muscle etched deep, v-lines dipping low toward his waistband, all kissed by the sun's glow. you lean in, pressing your lips to the warm skin just above his navel, inhaling the faint scent of sweat and victory that clings to him.
he tenses, breath catching, but you can't help yourself. your hands roam greedier now, shoving his shirt higher, over his head in one fluid motion. it hits the floor, and there he is—shirtless, relaxed but powerful, every inch of his torso on display.
all that golden skin begging to be worshiped.
you trace the lines of his collarbone, down to his nipples, thumbs circling the dark peaks until they harden under your touch. he groans low, hands settling on your hips, but you're in control, braindead with need.
"you've… changed," you whisper, eyes wide as you take in his shoulders again, how they roll with power when he shifts. your fingers dig into the meat of his delts, squeezing, marveling at the size, the strength. he's always been fit, but this? this is a warrior's body, built for protection, for dominance. you press closer, mouth trailing kisses along his chest, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of his skin. he tastes like summer, like survival, and it makes your core clench with want.
ichigo's hands tighten on you, pulling you flush against him, but you push him back gently, guiding him to sit on the couch. he goes willingly, eyes darkening as he watches you straddle his lap, your gaze never leaving his form. from this angle, his thighs feel like iron under you, massive and unmovable, the tan making them look endless. you grind down instinctively, feeling the growing bulge in his pants, but your focus is on him—peeling off the rest of his clothes with frantic hands.
pants shoved down, his cock springs free, thick and heavy, veins pulsing along the length, the base nestled in a thatch of hair against skin that's just as golden as the rest. but you don't linger there yet; your hands are on his thighs, kneading the quads that bulge with every subtle flex, tracing up to his hips, narrow but powerful, leading to that v that makes your mouth water. you lean down, burying your face against his abs, nuzzling the ridges, lips and tongue mapping every dip and swell.
"fuck, you're… so strong now," you breathe, voice muffled against him, hands sliding up to grip his pecs, squeezing the firm muscle as you lick a stripe up his sternum. he bucks under you, a ragged moan escaping, his cock twitching against your thigh. but you're entranced, lost in the golden expanse of him, the way his bigger frame fills your vision, your world.
your fingers trace his biceps again as he lifts an arm to wrap around you, feeling the bicep peak under your palm—bigger, harder, a testament to the hell he's endured and conquered.
he finally snaps a little, hands roaming your back, but you bat them away playfully, wanting to savor. "let me… just look at you. touch you." you kiss his neck, sucking at the pulse point where tan meets the edge of his jaw, then lower, to his shoulder, biting lightly into the deltoid that makes him hiss. his body is a drug, pulling you under, and you can't help grinding harder, your pussy soaking through your clothes as you worship him.
eventually, the tension builds too much. you shift, freeing yourself from your pants, and sink down onto his cock with a gasp, the stretch of his thickness—enhanced by his new strength—filling you perfectly. he groans, head falling back, exposing more of that golden throat for you to latch onto. you ride him slow at first, hands braced on his chest, fingers splaying over the pecs that flex with every thrust up into you. his abs contract, helping him drive deeper, the tan glowing with a sheen of sweat now.
you're braindead for him, movements fueled by pure awe, whispering praises between moans—'so big… so strong… love this body'—as you clench around him. his hands finally grip your ass, guiding but letting you lead, his bigger frame a solid anchor beneath you. the room fills with the slap of skin, your cries mingling with his grunts, until he flips you suddenly, that newfound power on full display as he pins you down, pounding into you with controlled ferocity.
his golden form looms over you, muscles rippling, tan skin slick and shining, and you come undone, nails raking down his back, lost in the entranced haze of him—home, relaxed, and utterly yours.
Can I please get something with someone talking about going after Kanto Mikey’s oblivious but sweet girlfriend. Dark impulse activated. 🔪
“say that again.”
kanto manjiro sano (mikey) x fem!reader
warnings: dark impulse mikey, possessiveness, threats
you don’t hear it.
but mikey does.
the moment it slips past the guy’s lips—careless, playful, stupid—something in him stills.
he was just a shadow in the back of the room a second ago. quiet. unreadable.
but now?
now he’s listening.
"—you seen that girl mikey’s always with? real cute. wonder if she’s as sweet in bed as she looks on his arm."
someone chuckles.
someone else whistles.
"bet she wouldn’t mind a guy who actually knows how to smile. mikey always looks half-dead. think she’d let me—"
crack.
the guy doesn't finish the sentence.
because mikey’s chair scrapes back slow. deliberate.
and the next sound is the sharp, ugly thud of knuckles slamming bone.
you weren’t even in the room.
but he heard it.
you—his soft little girl who still thinks the world is kind.
who wears his hoodie like it’s armor.
who doesn’t know half the shit he’s done just to keep that smile on your face safe.
you would’ve smiled at the guy if he approached you.
probably would’ve been nice. too nice. that’s just who you are.
but mikey knows what guys like that mean.
and now?
so does he.
the guy’s on the floor. blood in his mouth. gasping.
“what the hell, man?! it was just a joke!”
mikey’s voice is low. flat. too calm.
but his eyes? his eyes are pitch black.
“say it again.”
his foot comes down, hard, right beside the guy’s head.
“go on,” he whispers. “you were brave enough a second ago. finish the joke.”
silence.
everyone in the room holds their breath.
mikey crouches down—slow, almost casual. and when he speaks, it’s still soft.
“you think you can look at her like that? think you can talk about her like she’s something you can take?”
he tilts his head. the corner of his lip twitches—not a smile.
“you think you can walk out of here with your tongue still in your mouth?”
he laughs then. quietly.
“nah.”
a pause. a hum.
“you don’t get to want her. you don’t get to see her. you don’t even get to say her name.”
and then he leans in real close, whispers—
“you ever breathe in her direction again, i’ll bury you before sunset.”
his fist tightens.
but before he can throw another punch, his phone buzzes.
it’s a text.
you: what time r u coming over? i miss u
he reads it.
his expression softens instantly. like someone flipped a switch.
he pockets the phone. stands. straightens his hoodie.
then he turns his back on the room—on the guy still bleeding on the floor—and walks off like none of it ever happened.
later that night, you greet him with sleepy eyes and open arms. you don’t ask why he smells like cigarette smoke and dust. you just press a kiss to his cheek and murmur, “missed you.”
and he pulls you into his chest. breathes you in.
like you’re his only tether to the earth.
because you are.
and you’ll never know what it took to keep it that way.
currently thinking about men who pack monstrously huge cocks, yet haven’t the faintest idea on how to use them properly...
there’s something ironic in it — the way their size betrays their presence. all that cock, and still so so sensitive, fluttering under the lightest graze of your fingertips.
they can barely last five minutes with you, hips jerking, balls aching with weight, heavy and full, begging for release like it’s a burden they’ve never learned to carry.
its definitely a sight for sore eyes: watching them bounce back on you, the plushness of their ass slamming into your hips with a frantic sort of rhythm, cock flopping hopelessly against their stomach with each thrust.
it’s obscene, ridiculous even, the way it slaps, glossed with so much slick that they’re forced to trail a digit along the underside just to gather the dripping mess of their own arousal.
of course, it’s not about size, most say. it’s about the motion of the ocean.
and yes, they do know how to roll their hips like a filthy little whore for you — that much they’ve mastered. they grind and swivel and moan with every bit of heat they can muster, like they’re performing in front of a large crowd — as if their life depends on it, using you as their own personal dildo.
but truthfully, the only thing they’re good at is taking cock. yours, specifically.
you do have to remind them of this, though — gently at first, and then, less so obvious — especially when they start to get cocky about it, throwing around wild ideas about topping you instead, smacking their cock against your cheek before you're sticking a knuckle up their ass.
it never lasts, or works, for that matter.
you’ve learned to read that devilish glint in their eyes, the one that spells trouble, the one that ends with them face down, ass up, hole exposed to the drafty air, and begging with tears in their eyes.
men with big cocks don’t always carry egos to match, but the ones who do… they tend to get bold, cheeky, and a little bit audacious.
Toji suspects he has hit ovulation. Or something awfully close to it.
He wakes up with a semi, grumpy and incredibly annoyed at the sun for existing. And fine, sure, the sun’s not exactly a new development – but this feels worse. Different. Like his blood’s grown teeth and it’s humming and oh, he smells something good wafting from the kitchen.
He blames the gym on his way downstairs. Grumbling something about the pre-workout, the lack of cooldown. Whatever. Then blames the weather and his cheap laundry detergent and the neighbor’s stupid windchimes (which sound like shit, mind you. noises with the bearability level of a lactose intolerant in denial shitting all over a toilet bowl).
But then he sees you plating a pancake, and every excuse he’s been building since sunrise crumbles.
He stops at the foot of the staircase. Stares.
Not in the “wow, she’s pretty” kind of way – you are, of course. That’s a given. That’s just gravity, at this point.
No. This feels biological. Like something in him decided to clock in, and his emotions are finally functioning right again, and god save him, he needs to fuck you so bad it hurts.
He scratches the back of his neck, trying to pass off the static beneath his skin as underlying irritation.
Except irritation doesn’t make him feel like this.
Doesn’t make his palms itch, or his throat go dry, or his brain go blessedly, horrifyingly, blank when you turn to him with a smile. Your pretty lips move, and you’re saying something – maybe a good morning, maybe a question about syrup. He blinks, sluggish. Too slow to catch the words.
“Yeah,” he nods, playing off whatever this feeling is with a lazy grin.
“Yeah what?”
“Yeah.. baby?”
He has no idea what he’s saying.
Toji can handle this. Whatever it is – hormones, low blood sugar, divine punishment – he’s gone through worse. He’s fine. He’ll be fine.
So he sits down across from you like a functioning human being, fork in one hand, knife in the other. Pretending that the sight of you leaning over to take the syrup and pour it for him doesn’t make his pulse thunder in his ears.
You’re the problem.
No.
No, he’s the problem, and everything you’re doing is only making his problem worse. The clink of cutlery against your plate and the lazy curl of steam from the pancakes you made for him and the way you tilt your head when you smile up, at him.
It’s domestic.
Harmless.
Lethal.
He cuts into his pancake, if only to have something to do with his hands. Salivating.
For what, he’s not sure.
Toji wonders, briefly, if he’s always been this much of a fucking idiot.
This is breakfast. Not a mating ritual. But his body doesn’t seem to agree – blood still humming, heat crawling up his spine, energy sifting and curling with weight in his stomach.
And so, in a moment of poor motor coordination, his knife slips.
Clatters to the floor.
“Nice one,” you tease, about to rise to help.
He cuts you off with a halfhearted glare and crouches before you can move. “I’ve got it.”
Except he really, really doesn’t.
Because when his fingers close over the handle of the butter knife and he raises his head, he’s eye level with your pretty pussy. Clothed in cotton, covered by nothing else but your panties, his shirt rising up on your body. Exposing your thighs.
“Toji? Did you– oh–”
And without really processing it, his hands come up around your hips. Pulling you to the edge of your seat.
Is he delusional, or does your cunt smell like syrup?
Maybe he is ovulating.
Maybe you are.
He’d like it if you were.
His fingers hook in your panties and drag them to the side. He presses a gentle kiss to your inner thigh. Smiles all wide-eyed when he sees your cunt clench involuntarily.
You frown, trying to look below the table – to no avail, as he’s directly beneath it.
“Toji, what’re you doing?”
“Eating breakfast.”
His tone comes out matter-of-fact. Like it’s his god given right to get his syrup straight from the source. And when you open your mouth to retort, you’re cut off by a whine – because without warning, his mouth is on you. Tongue dragging flat and slow along your folds, parting them with a deliberate kind of pressure. Flicking up to circle your clit before dipping back down. You gasp, fingers gripping the edge of the table, thighs trembling on either side of his head – and he just smiles cruelly against your cunt.
“Sweet,” he murmurs. Vibration humming straight through you, nose nuzzling against your clit. Inhaling deeply. “Fuck, so sweet.”
His tongue swirls messy, spreading out your slick. And you try to shift, or to push him away with a foot to his chest – only for him to prop your legs up over his shoulders for better leverage. Thumbs digging into the plush of your upper thighs to keep you spread wide. Another long lick, this one direct to your clit before dipping lower, and you feel the tip of his tongue probing. Pushing inside just enough to tease before shying away.
“At least eat your pancakes first,” you scold. Half-hearted. Body betraying you as your pussy clenches around nothing.
He chuckles against you, the sound muffled. Wet.
“Nah. I’m good here.”
Then he’s back at it, tongue thrusting back in. Deeper. Fucking into you with shallow, insistent strokes, while his thumb finds your clit. The table above creaks faintly as you lean forward, biting your lip to stifle a moan.
He’s relentless. Obsessed with every inch, everything about you – the way your walls flutter, the slick sounds filling the space. His hands slide further up, big palms resting warm against your inner thighs as he spreads you wider. Exposing your cunt fully to his mouth. He flattens his tongue again, lapping from below and then up to your clit in a single broad stroke, collecting every drop like it’s the sweetest nectar.
And then, hoarse and ragged, his voice breaks through the haze.
“Why the hell’re you so sweet?”
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t pull away. Murmurs it right against your folds, mumbling things without thought.
“Like honey. Driiiipping. My pretty pussy.. gotta clean you up, huh?”
His words send a fresh wave of arousal flooding out, and he groans in approval. Lips closing around your clit.
Two of his fingers join in. Digging into your cunt with an obscene squelch – sliding into your soaked entrance with ease.
He doesn’t just push them in.
He does it achingly slow, pads of his fingers rough against your walls. Exploring and bullying in and stretching you out until he’s knuckle deep inside and you’re pulsing around him.
He crooks them without a second thought.
Not for your pleasure, but to hit that spot that has your clit pressing further into his mouth – a spot that makes your eyes roll back with a cry.
Toji knows where you’re sensitive. All the spots inside you that have you melting into his hold. And he uses the curl of his fingers to scrape and press right against them, relentless. At the same time, his tongue swirls around your clit, sucking with a greedy, rhythmic pace.
Your breath breaks into a whimper. Lost in the fervid, focused attention of his mouth, and the brutal thrusts of his fingers.
He pistons them in deep. Almost to the hilt. Before dragging them out all slow and agonizing, letting your gushing cunt milk every inch of the retreat.
You shiver, back arching into the touch. “You– oh, fuck.. cumming, cumming–”
“Attagirl.”
The vibrations zip right from his tongue to your clit. He scissors his fingers out, laughing when you tremble – back arching as the world dissolves into ringing white noise.
Your cunt spasms around him, clenching and contracting and desperately clinging to the sensation as your high washes over you. Pulling the digits in deeper, even as he holds them steady.
A long, shaky sigh escapes you,
and for some reason, Toji can’t stop.
It’s not like he doesn’t hear your cries, or notice the way your pussy flutters helplessly and milks him in – he just doesn’t want to let go. You’re sweet, so sweet, and he’s still hungry. Still searching for more.
So he goes back for seconds.
His tongue flattens, working against your clit to draw out every last shudder and whimper. Fingers flexing deep inside to stretch you out. He pumps them slow, curling them right against that sensitive spot once more – then faster when your walls clench tight, gripping his knuckles. Twists his wrist. Finds an easier angle and starts pumping, faster, until you’re gripping onto the arms of the chair for dear life, head thrown back with an incoherent whine. Downright filthy sounds fill the dining room – slick coating his hand, dripping down his chin.
God. He’s greedy.
And you’re so good for him.
He doesn’t ease up, even as your thighs clamp around his head, bucking involuntarily into his mouth. Just groans low, dragging his tongue down your cunt to meet the base of his fingers, nestled inside you.
Your own fingers tangle in his dark hair, pulling – and he groans again, more guttural than before. The sound reverberating through your syrupy cunt.
“Please,” you gasp, voice cracking, “Toji, m’gonna–”
“–you’re sweet.”
Toji’s not listening.
He can’t even hear you. Mumbling into your cunt, drunk on the taste.
“My pretty, pretty girl.” His tongue slurs the words out, gaze half-lidded and focused nowhere in particular. “Taste so good. Gimme more. More. More.”
His tongue pushes in alongside his fingers. Digits crooking downward so he can taste up, swirling around to gather your slick. Your legs tremble, toes curling – and the overstimulation borders on pain. The good kind. The ache that twists into pleasure, sharp and unrelenting and inescapable in Toji’s hold. He laps at you, swallowing – nose bumping your clit with every eager movement.
And just as your body gives out and you slip into another orgasm, his lips close in a cruel suction around your clit once more. Tongue swirling as the waves crash over you, your pussy spasming wildly around his lengthy fingers – soaking, rivulets dripping obscene down his wrist.
He drinks you in without complaint, letting you ride it out on his face. Lips curved in a wide, wild grin. Keeping his fingers buried deep, thrusting through your high and prolonging the feeling until you’re sobbing his name.
When your climax fades, Toji withdraws his fingers slowly. Pupils blasted as he watches the way your hole clenches around nothing, as if begging to be filled again.
He brings those slick digits to his mouth and sucks them clean with deliberate slowness, watching the way your puffy pussy begs for more.
“Fuck, you taste like heaven,” he whispers. Hoarse.
He leans back in and laps through your sticky folds one last time – one last taste.
Then he reaches down, fingers closing around the handle of the knife lying beneath your seat. Holds it up. A mockery of a domestic moment.
“Told you I got it,” Toji rasps. Rising and throwing the knife onto the table with a clatter.
Before you can process anything at all, he’s standing. Licking his glistening bottom lip, then a long stripe from his wrist – where your slick has dripped down – before hauling you forward by your hips. Right out of the chair.
You let out a surprised yelp as he sits down and lands you hard atop his lap. His big hands bracketing your hips to grind your bare cunt down against his length, pressing against you through his boxers.
The fabric’s rough and hot against your already sensitive clit, friction sending a jolt through your entire body. Your slick soaks right through to his cock, and he rocks his hips. A slow, deliberate grind, smearing your warmth along his pulsing length.
You let out a stunned little noise, and Toji laughs. Head dipping down to kiss up your neck almost obsessively.
His hands leave your hips. Slip beneath your shirt, up, until they’re palming your breasts with rough enthusiasm. Thumbs grazing your hard nipples, circling before flicking. Playing.
“Look at the mess you made, baby.”
His voice is a demeaning coo in your ear. But he’s satisfied, with you in his arms. Soaked and somehow just as gorgeous as always. If not more so,
“S’sticky now,” Toji grins. “Gotta take you upstairs and clean you up the right way.”
His hands slip back down around your waist, muscles flexing as his hips roll against you one more time. Before he lifts you up.
The pancakes sit on the table as you’re lugged upstairs. A sad little afterthought.
it’s doomed y’all. i wanna come back and post stuff on tumblr but it’s impossible since tags stopped working ages ago and i have no idea how to make them work again
hello hello! i’m doing well, how are you? yeah unfortunately all my new content goes directly to ao3 (user is same as this one, bloomyagi) since tags stopped working on tumblr :(( so i’m still kicking and writing but it won’t be on this tumblr anymore :(
𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: xiao, kazuha, thoma, scaramouche, and aether
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: the type of boys you can fuck until they break, finger open until they can't take it, and the type you can jerk off until they're milked completely dry.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): this shit nsfw, subby genshin boys, dom reader, mentions of reader having a dick/ strap-on (just read as cock lol), fingering ( giving ), anal sex, tentacles, double penetration, handjobs, nipple play, bondage, overstimulation, humiliation, mind break, oral ( giving ), deepthroating, outdoor sex, degradation ( lots of it lmao ), sexual punishment, sex toys, semi-public sex, puppy play, 69-ing, masturbation, mating press
𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫: gender neutral
𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠: first fuck ー 6black, jhené aiko
because i'm horny as fuck and i'd like to have my own bby boy thank you very much ( `ε´ )
nsfw below!
" Hnghh, finally, home at last," you sighed happily and you stretched out your arms, popping your bones in the process. It had been such a long day today, and you'd promised your precious boy that you would've been back sooner, but jeez, to think you'd be held back this late.
" 'Mm so tired," you mumbled as you placed your bag onto the floor, already forgetting about it, and becoming more focused on greeting your beloved. He was probably busy, seeing as how he didn't greet you like he normally would. You smiled to yourself, already knowing why. No matter, you'd come to greet him yourself.
You opened the bedroom door, already perking up once you heard him shuffling around. " Sorry I was late sweetie, today was a long day." You smiled wistfully as you approached him.
" Did you have a good day?"
" Mmpf! Hnghh, mmff!"
Well, he couldn't properly answer you, seeing as how his mouth was completely gagged, muffling any noises that he would've made. He was completely naked, his pretty little cock standing upright and an angry red, with spurts of previous orgasms splattered across his tummy. His nipples hadn't fared much better, seeing as how the tentacles you'd placed on earlier were still sucking away, the lewd wet sound filling the air.
But what really fired you up, was the good amount of slimy tentacles that were slamming into him like crazy, fucking him like he was their personal cocksleeve. Several had kept his legs spread apart, so he wouldn't try and resist the endless amount of pleasure the ones buried deep inside were giving him. From what you could tell, all of the tentacles you'd left him with had each had their turn with him, and then some.
His once vibrant eyes had become hazy, long since pleasured-dazed and too fucked out to focus on anything else except for the stretch of his cute ass, and his pretty nipples being sucked on. But they turned onto you, and you saw something akin to relief briefly flicker in them. That, and he made a particularly happy sound, albeit muffled.
" Were you a good boy today?" you smiled, acting as if you weren't the reason he was a lewd mess in the first place. His eyes teared up more as if he were begging you to hurry up and take the tentacles out already. He left out more muffled cries as he squirmed even more, desperate to have your touch on his bare body.
" My my, eager are we sweetie?" you snickered, pushing back the stray hairs on his flushed forehead, before pressing a gentle kiss onto his forehead as lovingly as you could. You smiled warmly at him, as he continued to squirm, even attempting to have your legs press against his lower half, but you wouldn't let him.
" If you stop pushing your hips like a dog, then I might give you a reward" you cooed softly as you slipped your fingers under the gag, your other hand busy untying it, until it finally fell from his drool-stained lips, the sticky liquid having thoroughly soaked it. You pulled away to admire your handiwork, taking note of his labored breathing.
" P-pleashe-hngh! pleashe take them ouwt.." he babbled, silently sobbing as he attempted to push himself closer to you. " Hmm, impatient as ever I see," you sighed in feigned disappointment, a slight pout on your lips. You lowered your hand before extending your pointer finger between his chest, and then slowly trailing it downwards until your fingertip was on his leaking head. He let out a whimper, his cock twitching at your touch.
With that, you wrapped your hand tightly around the base of his leaking erection drawing out a yelp from the man beneath you.
"guhh-w-wait, n-not-ooh!"
You grinned, already having planned to not let him have any relief just yet. Yes, it was cruel, but you wanted to see him cry, you wanted to see him pushed over the edge, you wanted to see him completely fucked out until he couldn't even think or walk anymore.
You wanted to break him.
" You can cum a few more times, can't you sweetie?"
𝐗𝐈𝐀𝐎
Xiao is so pretty when he's underneath you, his once cold and gruff facade now melted away, and in its place a fucked out mess of a man who can barely even walk. Surely if anyone were to see him like this, they'd get the shock of their life. The Vigilant Yaksha himself, bent over like he's some common whore, taking your cock so so deep and cumming all over himself.
His nipples are sensitive, especially when you pinch them between your fingers and tug on them to get his attention. Poor Xiao has had you do this to him, but out in public, where anyone could see. His lithe body is trembling in your tight embrace as you pinch and tug on his pretty nipples, with no ounce of shame or embarrassment in any of your actions. Even when he hisses at you to quit it, or warning you of a nearby passerby, you pay no heed to his words, just continuing to toy with the cute nubs.
Xiao's moans are so incredibly adorable and when he first moaned, it rather caught you off guard to how cute and lewd they sounded, especially, well, coming from someone like him. They're so breathy, high-pitched, slightly feminine even. And his voice always seems to come out like this when you toy with any of his sensitive spots; that's when his cold and rough facade melts away, and what's left is a flustered mess of a man who can barely hide the growing bulge in his pants.
Bondage works quite well with Xiao, more so than one would think that it would. But after some careful wording and consideration, you've got the yaksha right where you want him. His pretty little cock spurting out cum as your fingers massage his prostate over and over, and you'll watch quite eagerly as he's pushed beyond his limits. It helps with the fact that he can't push away your fingers as they harshly pinch his cute nipples, or grip your wrists tightly as your jerk him off into the nth orgasm.
He always looks so cute with your cock stuffed down his tight little throat, his cheeks hollowed out, and wet gagging noises filling the air. He starts out with little kitten licks, gently lapping at the tip and all over the member. But of course, you're not satisfied with something as trifling as that and force your cock all the way down his tight throat. Gripping his long teal locks, you'll facefuck him, his pretty tears and cries only fueling you even further. And when you finally reach your peak, you shove your cock as deep as it can go, keeping him pressed against your crotch until you're satisfied, and eventually pull him off.
Overstimulating and pushing Xiao past his limits is always so much fun since he can't do anything but take what you give him. No matter how much he tells you that it's too much, or that he can't possibly cum anymore, you won't stop until you've practically milked him dry. You've made him cum so many times at a time that he began to squirt like he was a whore. Whether it be your hand jerking his little cock off, your cock slamming into his tight hole, or your tentacles having their turns with him, you'll happily push Xiao beyond his limits until he breaks.
Xiao is such a good boy and hardly ever does anything to garner any punishments; always doing anything you ask, even if it is a rather humiliating feat. The most he's done to rebel if at all, would be his embarrassed expression, his movements halted. But still, you like to give the occasional punishment, as a way to see that crying face of his. So you'll have your tentacles play with him, toy around with him until he breaks, while you watch in excitement, waiting for him to crumble before you.
" Woah, Xiao look, you really came so much!" You chirped excitedly, your ( eye color ) eyes brightening as you watched said man tremble, his head thrown back against your shoulder. He was sat upon your lap, your cock buried deep within his tight ass while your fingers twisted and tugged on his pink nipples. " You came from having your nipples played with huh?" you continued, not even really needing him to answer, but still posing the question anyway.
" Urk! Guhh-! I-I-ooh! ( n-name )-Oughh-!"
Hmm, figures, he couldn't really answer you after having several orgasms wrenched out of him and cumming like he was a girl. Well, no matter, he was doing a rather good job, so you'd wait until he calmed down a bit more.
" ( n-name ), please I-I-
Oughh! w-wait, n-not so-oohh!"
Xiao cried out as your hips began to rut into his, not caring about his already sensitive state, your fingers twisting his poor nipples until they became an irritated red. His cries and moans would halt with each and every thrust of your cock into his hole, his mind being turned into even more of a jumbled mess. He couldn't focus on anything except for how hard you were fucking him and how good you made him feel.
And you soaked it all up eagerly, watching and listening as he began to slowly crumble, his many orgasms making his mind blank and fall apart. You wanted to see that face of his, watch as he lost all coherency as you fucked him dumb. Even as you gently kissed his cheek, you were still waiting for him to fall apart in your arms. And you were a rather patient person; you could wait.
" You're so adorable, Xiao."
𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐇𝐀
Kazuha is so adorable when he's being pushed past his limitsーhis adorable cries as his tight little hole is being filled to the brim, the way he gets so excited from how you whisper absolute filth into his ears while he's trying his best to hide his growing erection, and you absolutely revel in it all.
He seems to like it when you either have him bent over the nearest surface, forcing him to grip whatever leverage he can while your cock fucks into him, or when you forcibly push his face down into the mattress, forcing his ass upwards and left to be fucked open by you, which you'll gladly take. Either way, you'll slam yourself deeply into him with each thrust, going all the way to the hilt and your hips meet his own, causing Kazuha to yelp and moan out at the sensation of feeling so so full.
You can get away with fucking Kazuha out in the open, where the maple leaves lazily drift to the ground, or where sakura trees blossom petals flit down onto the ground. It was supposed to be a nice sightseeing date, but to hell with that, you're horny as fuck i see you. He tries to desperately whimper that you're out in the open and that anyone could see the two of you, but a harsh squeeze to his little cock has him go quiet, but if you were to strain your ears, you'd hear muffled whimpers as you jerk him off, or the lewd squelching of your hips meeting his behind as you fuck him against a tree, not caring if anyone witnesses the samurai being fucked like a whore.
Another good boy that hardly ever acts out and he hardly ever goes against what you ask of him. He's a romantic at heart, so of course, he'd do anything you'd ask of him. But of course, Kazuha is too cute for his own good, and forcing him to endure a punishment is just too exciting to pass up. You quite like using both two tentacles; one preoccupied with curling itself deeper and deeper into his tight ass, while you use the other as a makeshift onahole of sorts, suckling on his pretty little cock and swallowing up his spurts of cum. The only thing Kazuha can do is just sit back and take it, since you won't be letting him go any time soon, no matter how much he cries or begs.
You can sometimes be woken up by soft lithe kisses to your upper body, and a gentle pressure against your crotch, with Kazuha's grey locks tickling your jaw. He knows how tired you are from adventuring and fighting monsters, but he really needs your cock in him right now, so please put in already, please? You won't have to do anything, Kazuha will happily ride you with no complaints whatsoever. You'd normally be pissed off at being woken up so damn early, but Kazu's whimpers as he takes your cock all the way is quite the morning wakeup, so you don't mind too much. Plus you won't have to do much, just sit back as Kazuha rides you like a needy slut and cums all over his tummy.
Kazuha is known for his rather poetic responses, and when you're pounding into him, that's no exception. He normally starts out murmuring about how good it feels, and how you're so so big, and how his ass was molded for your cock only. It's pretty tame, loving even, as he tells you how much he loves you and how he's so happy. But, of course, there is a twist. If you fucked him long and hard enough, he'll eventually crack, and his words will become more lecherous. He'll mindlessly babble about how your cock is so damn big and he loves it so much, even telling you how tasty your cum is in his mouth, and the list goes on. He can be filthy when he wants to be.
You once got incredibly horny, and Kazuha's tight, red leggings weren't exactly helping you either. So you did what you could doーyou ripped a hole in the thin fabric right where his cute little hole was, causing him to yelp rather loudly. He tries to protest and ask what in archons name are you doing, but he doesn't get too far in his words before you slam yourself inside of him, hard. He was, of course, pissed afterward and made you buy him a new pair of leggings and wouldn't let you fuck him for a good amount of time. But if he's up for it, and his leggings are getting worn out, he'll let you fuck him, and it excites him more than he lets on.
" P-pleashe-hngh-I-I can't-oughh!"
" Now now Kazu, this is your punishment and you'll just have to accept it," you spoke matter of factly, waving off his loud cries and moans as he twitched next to you, his pretty red eyes crossed and his lips curled as his teeth grit together. " Pleashe-ahh-I-I didn't do anything-guhhh!" His hips bucked upwards as another orgasm was pushed out of him, the slimy tentacle wrapped around his cute little cock swallowing up the release.
Well, he wasn't wrong, he didn't misbehave or act out; in fact, he hardly ever did so. But you were bored and horny and Kazuha just so happened to be the entertainment you needed. Besides, he looked cute with his ass stuffed full of tentacles, and it suited him nicely. You didn't do much to touch him, only twisting his pretty nipples when you felt he wasn't moaning or responding enough. They were sensitive too, so it always made him produce the adorable noises you wanted to hear from him.
" Oughhhh-Ahhhh-Guhhhh-!"
" ( n-name ) hnghh-p-pleashe, I-I-aahhn-!"
Kazuha cried out as another countless orgasm was wrenched out of his poor body, the thin amount of cum barely visible, if it weren't the tentacle making an almost gulping-like motion as it swallowed up his cum. His puffy red eyes were focused onto you, silently begging for you to pull the appendages out. Heh, you almost chuckled at his pathetic state, but you held it in, but you couldn't hide everything. You couldn't wipe away the perverted smirk, and you knew your cute Kazu saw it too, judging from his eyes widening and his body flinching.
How pathetically cute.
" Aww, don't worry Kazu, I'll bring you some more playmates," you breathed out, already reaching for your drawer, where other tentacles were awaiting their turn with Kazuha.
" So be a good boy and take it, 'kay?"
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐀
Thoma is the human embodiment of a puppy, and it very clearly shows when you have his knees pushed back to his shoulders. He lives for your praise and affection and will do anything to have you call him a good boy, even if it means him being fucked dumb until he can't walk or think anymore. He's such a good puppyーyour adorable lewd puppy.
His nipples are so so sensitiveーeven just the slightest brush of your fingertips has his adorable cock getting hard at the snap of a finger. It's no surprise that he can just cum from them alone, the pretty pink nubs being pinched and twisted in between your fingers as he cums for the nth time that night. It's actually quite fun to force orgasms out of his already sensitive body with nothing but his nipples, his pleads for you to stop only drowned out by his cries and moans. Poor Thoma practically loses his mind from the pleasure alone and can't do anything but cum like the cute, dumb puppy he is.
You like to stick your cock in between his pecs and slowly slide your cock up and down between the two muscles. At first, Thoma was incredibly confused and embarrassed, but now he welcomes your cock in between his chest, even pressing the muscles together to fuck the member more easily. He'll even happily suck on the tip whenever it pushes upwards, asking you if you love his chest that much and telling you how much he loves your cock.
On your free days, he likes to wake up before you and make the two of you breakfast, complete with a pretty apron and all! Of course, when you awaken and sleepily wobble into the kitchen, your appetite begins to rise, but not only for the food. Thoma looks so tempting with that apron, and his pretty waist is doing wonders for your now spiking horniness. He tries to whine that your food will be ruined and that this can wait, but your fingers spreading apart his clenched ass has him going quiet within seconds. He eventually relents and lets you fuck him against the counter, whimpering all the while and gripping the counter till his knuckles go white. If you fuck him for a good amount but decide to stop, he'll whine and cry out for you to continue. It's advisable to do so unless you want a very needy and sexually frustrated Thoma attached to your side the whole day. But, then again, is that necessarily bad?
Thoma has the bad habit of pulling you into the nearest deserted alleyway and kissing you feverishly, his hands fumbling with your pants, desperate to have your cock spring out. As soon as your cock has been freed from the confines of your pants, Thoma gets to work immediatelyーstroking and licking the member all over, even pressing soft kisses all over it as well. But before you know it, the dirty blonde is sloppily sucking you off, desperate to have your cock snug in his mouth. He doesn't even mind when you start facefucking him, eagerly grabbing your hips and swallowing up everything you give to him. He isn't exactly quiet eitherーlewdly moaning as your bury your cock deep down his throat. You have to practically trigger his gag reflex just to shut him up, but even that is not nearly enough. He won't stop lewdly moaning and you've nearly been caught because of it.
It's already pretty obvious, but Thoma looovess being praised by you, normally when he's done a good job at cleaning around the Kamisato estate. But he just really loves it when you praise him for his much lewder accomplishments, such as being stuffed full with tentacles and not touching himself when he had to go out for a few errands. If he had a dog tail, it'd be a whirlwind, wagging happily from all of your praises as you fuck him dumb on your cock. You could've been mean that particular session, calling him mean names, jerking him off until he cums all over his pretty tummy, and he'll expectantly look up at you and ask if he did a good job. Bonus points if you rub his headーhe gets even happier and clingier if that's even possible.
He's a bit embarrassed to admit it, but Thoma loves it when you fuck him dumbーfuck him like he's your lewd cocksleeve, and push him beyond his limits even while he's sobbing and moaning. He will cry out in protest at first, but keep going and continue to fuck him into the mattress, and Thoma will end up with those pretty hearts in his eyes. He'll push you down and eagerly ride you himself, so so desperate to have your cock buried as deep inside of him as it can go. He'll mindlessly babble about how good everything feels and how your cock is making him feel so so good. Don't be surprised if he refuses to stop kissing youーhe doesn't care how sloppy it is, he just wantsーno, needs your lips on his.
" Oooh-Oughhh-Y-yesh-!M-more, gimme moreee-!"
Thoma squealed loudly, throwing back his head as your cock pulled another countless orgasm out of his trembling body. His nails dug into your forearms, causing you to wince at the stinging sensation and hiss lowly from the pain. You'd normally try to swat away the source of the pain to try and relieve it, but you'd finally gotten what you'd wanted out of your cute lewd puppy.
You fucked him completely dumbーhis mind utterly breaking from the sheer pleasure of your cock slamming into his now abused prostate and wrenching countless orgasms out of his pretty cock. You were honestly surprised that he had even lasted this long, considering you'd been using his tight hole for quite some time. But either way, it filled you with perverted excitement to see him broken like this, drooling all over himself like an excited puppy.
" Oughhhh-I love your cock sho much-guhhhh-s-sho big-! I love masters' cock sho much! O-ooohh-!"
You let out a heated huff as Thoma sloppily grinned down at you, his hips desperately rolling to shove your cock as deep inside of his hole as it could go. He was even jerking himself off too, even when you told him that he couldn't touch himself. Thoma looked and was acting just like a lewd whoreーa cute cock slut who was too pleasure drunk to even stop himself from bouncing on your cock.
" What-hnghh-did I say about touching yourself?" you slightly glared at him, a hand now grasped tightly onto his hand that had been feverishly jerking off his pathetic cock. He whimpered dumbly, quickly retracting his appendage and his bounces seemed to somewhat slow down. Huh, guess he did still have some sense in that brain of his.
" hic-S-sorry-'m sorry, pleashe," he hiccuped as his lips trembled, trying to keep his cries in," Just want-hic-your cock-"
You sighed, not even close to resisting his sad puppy eyes. He was lucky he was so damn adorable. " Stop crying Thoma, you're fine," he visibly brightened up, his cock twitching against his tummy in eager arousal. He had done little to stop his hips movements, still riding you oh so eagerly.
' He's not listening is he...'
" C-can I move? P-pleashe, lemme move, pleashe," he pleaded," I-I'll be a good boy, pleashe-"
You deadpanned as he began to rut his hips like a dog in heat, seemingly not even caring whether or not you'd give the green light for him. Well, whatever, you wanted to watch him fuck himself stupid on your cock some more, so there was no harm in letting him have his fun.
" Go ahead puppy, I'm not stopping you."
𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄
Scaramouche is an absolute brat who really tests the limits of your patience. He acts so goddamn high and mighty, carrying himself about like he owns the damn world. Hell, even you're not safe from his pretentious behavior, and you swear you're about to tear the man a new one. What a shame reallyーif his subordinates saw how ruthlessly he was being fucked by you and moaning like a filthy whore, they'd question if that's the same man who curb-stomped some poor Fatui agent just moments ago for no reason.
Since he's just so happy to always say the most infuriating things with that filthy mouth of his, then you'll happily use it how you damn well, please. When you first prod your cock against his cheek, Scaramouche taunts you for your blatant arousal and even makes the threat of not touching you. He eventually goes on to jerk you off, agonizinglyーteasingly sucking on the tip and smirking as he prevents another orgasm. And honestly, you've had enough of his bullshit and shove your cock down his tight throat not caring for his muffled cries and gagged moansーall you care about is using his mouth for your own pleasure and shutting him up.
He's just like a cute little kittyーalways so moody and bristling up when he gets angry over every small detail and happening within his radius. That's what you keep insisting to him, even while he's giving you the worst death stare while he's wearing said cat ears and a pretty cat butt plug holed in his pretty hole. He's hissing out insults under his breath like the bitch he is, but you aren't having it, telling him to sit and be a good kitty, and you won't be taking no for answer. You even mockingly pet his head and promise him a treat if he behaves. Unbeknownst to him, that so-called reward likely involves him being fucked in a mating press and kept there until you're satisfied. But for now, you'll settle with tangling your fingers through his indigo locks and call him your good kitty.
Since you're always doing the work when it comes to fucking Scara dumb, it can get pretty tiring, y'know? Always dealing with his bratty ass can really tire a person out, and you just need a break from being the one who does all the action. That, and you just want to be incredibly cruel to him, especially if you've gotten him nearly to his peak but pull away, leaving him to have to do it himself. You'll lie back on the plush mattress and tell him to ride you himself, that you're tired so he's gotta do it this time. He obviously gets pissed, but clampers onto your lap regardless and eases your cock into his tight hole, trying to hide his whimpers and muffling them behind his lithe hand. Give him enough time, and he's bouncing on your cock like the slut he is, moaning while he's cumming all over his pretty tummy. It's such a lewd sight.
Scaramouche absolutely breaks if you stuff his pretty hole full to the absolute brim. For example, it's usually a good handful of wriggling tentacles sliding in and out of him, filling his creamy hole to the brim and curling deeper and deeper inside of him. They happily play with his lewd body, curling around his perky nipples and swallowing up his cute little cock, each having their way with him. You do nothing to aid him, only cooing at how this really suits him since he seems to enjoy being violated in such a lewd manner. He starts to babble about how he's really gonna break when you align your cock against his already filled hole and cums on the spot when you slam yourself inside, too delirious on the sensation of being fucked full to even resist anything.
He gets off on you taking him from behind, slamming into him with little restraint while he drools from the mind-numbing pleasure. Poor Scaramouche is getting taken in so many waysーagainst the wall, bent over the bed, on his elbows and knees on the pristine floor, you name it. He hates how he can't even jerk off his pathetic little cock in tune with your thrusts like he normally does, and he can't even try and kiss youーhe's secretly soft for his lips against yours shhh.
It may seem like it pisses him off, but subtly fondle him when he's supposed to be out on another mission. He jolts when he feels your fingers draw formless shapes on the back of his neck, and hisses for you to quit acting like a child ironic ain't it, and to focus. But you continue, eventually making it to pinching his nipples through his silken clothes, and gently grabbing his cute little bulge, while Scara is doing his absolute best to keep his composure and not crumble into the lewd whore you want him to be. He suddenly makes a high-pitched noise, and you feel a warm wetness on your palm, and realize that your adorable Scara came in his pants, like a pervert, and out on a mission nonetheless. He'll try to glare at you, but he's simultaneously trying to hide both the now visible wet patch on his shorts and his adorable bulge from his still lingering arousal.
Scaramouche's pretty mouth hung open as your cock grazed his prostate again, the sensation shooting pleasure all throughout his lithe body. Even though his back was to you, and you couldn't see his adorable face, you were he was gritting his teeth tightly in a pathetically weak attempt to hide those god-awful lewd noises he knew you loved hearing.
" B-bastard-hiii-f-fucking pervert-oughhh-!"
" Hm? Did you say something Scara?" you cruelly cooed, gripping his forearms even tighter as you pressed your hips taut against his ass, pulling out a muffled yelp from your cute kitty. You drew your head near the tips of his flushing ears and blew a puff of hot air onto the reddened skin, making him whimper and his body jolt.
" You're so pretty Scara y'know? Too bad such a pretty face has such a filthy mouth," you mocked a defeated sigh, resting your chin on his pale shoulder as you let go of his arms and gently hugged his waist. Ahh, you loved moments like these where you could lovingly hold him and-
" Y-you fucking pervert..."
Ahー
You really couldn't have just one nice moment with this damn brat, could you?
" Hahhh, so mean Scara, and here I was trying to be nice to you" " H-huh?" You unwrapped your arms, and without warning, pushed his face into the plush mattress, causing him to yelp loudly, even more so with your hand bruisingly pressed against the nape of his neck.
" W-wait y-you-!"
" You wanted to act like a bitch, so I'll treat you like one."
And then you slammed yourself inside of him, hard.
" Oughhhh-N-no-oughhhhh!"
He moanedーcried out as his hands scrambled to grab onto anything to stabilize himself from your harsh thrusts. What he could grab was the nearest pillow, and Scaramouche didn't take his chances. From what you could hear, he'd bitten the pillow to muffle his lewd moans as you pounded into him like he was just a cocksleeve for you.
And a part of him enjoyed that.
" Wow, you're such a perv Scara. You're seriously enjoying this?"
" Hnghhh-Ghhhhh-"
You grinned as he began to shudder, clearly close to another orgasm that would week his body even further.
" What am I gonna do with you baby," you sighed, both out of feigned disappointment and pleasure," I have such a lewd pervert of a boyfriend."
" Ghhh-Shunh uphhh-oughhh-!"
" Tsk tsk, Scara, you never learn, do you? It's okay, I'll teach you," you continued, gently smiling as you began to pull your cock out," So be a good boy and take it all."
And with that, you slammed yourself back inside.
𝐀𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑
Aether is such a hard workerーalways completing commissions on time and helping out the people of Teyvat. He's always overworked and doing others' jobs for them to the point of always passing out when he comes back to your shared abode. So of course you'll spoil your cute traveler! Whether it be pressing a flurry of kisses all over his face as he bounces on your cock or his knees being pushed back to his shoulders as you nearly fold his body in half, you'll spoil your baby boy and melt all of his stresses away.
Poor baby can't handle it when you overstimulate his adorable body in any way. He hiccups and freely sobs as the pleasure becomes too much for his body to handle and ends up clinging onto you, begging for mercy, even though you both know that you won't be stopping anytime soon. He can only embrace you tightly as you continue to fuck him dumb, cumming all over his pretty tummy until he can't cum anymore.
When the two of you go out on a date, you'll occasionally lace aphrodisiacs into his meals, all with his prior consent and awareness of course. It turns into a lewd game of sorts, with your hands softly grazing his most sensitive spotsーlike a butterfly wing brushing against his skin. With a soft ' shhh', you warn him to keep his noises in and to not palm himself, unless he's really that desperate for a punishment. He has to sit there and push down his rising arousalーlike ocean wavesーuntil he can be brought into a more secluded place. Then, he can cum like a good boy.
Aether loves it when you pull him on top of you whilst you lay down and slap your cock against his cheek, and he doesn't need you to verbally tell him what to do. He's already sucking away, slowly but surely taking your cock deeper into his mouth until it sits snug in his tight wet throat. He, of course, moans loudlyーso cutely tooーwhen you swallow his adorable cock up completely. Cute Aether ends up cumming multiple times in your warm mouth, thrusting into the warm cavern as he chases orgasm after orgasm.
You love to jerk off your precious Aether with an onahole, or in this case, one of your pretty tentacles. Cradling his head to your chest, you hold him like he's a baby, which, to be fair, he does look like one since he's desperately sucking away on your perky nipples. He can only fist the clothes in his hands as the tentacle lewdly swallows up his adorable cock, gulping down his cum at every release. Your nipples may end up sore and riddling with indents from his teeth, but it's worth it to watch him fall apart in such a lewd manner.
He gets so redーlike a pretty cherryーwhen you tell him to touch himself and you'll watch. Aether's golden eyes will shimmer in the dim, fading lights of your bedroom as he slides off his pants, then boxers, and finally, his cute little cock springs out, already twitching and leaking pretty beads of cum all over his tummy. He starts slow, wrapping his hand around his cock and rubbing his most sensitive areas, then he finally begins to fuck his hand rapidly, cutely, and desperately chasing his orgasm. He gets so into it that he slides two fingers into his cute hole, fingering himself to completion as he spurts his cum all over his pretty tummy.
Aether has never properly verbally admitted, but he just loves it when you're fucking him so hard into the mattress that you end up putting him into a mating press. When it first happened, he was so embarrassed and desperately covered his pretty face to hide his sinful noises. You obviously can't have that so you push his hands above his head and force out his cute moans and choked cries as your cock grazes his prostate. Over time, he doesn't bother covering his face, now happily moaning out at how good it feels and how he loves you so much and to give it to him.
" W-wait what are you-oughhh-!"
Aether's golden eyes widened as your hands pressed against his claves, pushing them back his shoulders, with your cock pushing itself deeper into his tight ass in the process. He frantically glanced up at you, trying to get your attention but to little avail as you pressed your weight into his body beneath yours.
" Have you ever heard of a mating press Aether?" you cooed, grinning as he shook his head 'no.' How cute, he was struggling to accommodate to the position he'd been pushed into and how your cock had been pushed deeper inside of him. You could tell by his muffled whimpers and how he was gripping the loose bedsheets in his fist, taking in deep breaths as part of his adorable struggle.
You grunted as you'd pulled your cock out of his ass just enough, before thrusting back in, building up a rhythm as your cock dove in and out of his ass, spreading open his hot walls over and over.
" Nononono-Ghhhhh-Hnghhhhh-Oughhhhh-!"
Aahh, your Aether was just too cute, his moans were so precious and fragile and the way his body reacted to each of your advances aroused you so much. It only made you want to fuck him even harder and violate his body further.
" You're so cute Aether, my precious baby looks so cute being fucked by my cock," you groaned out, with said blonde moaning out in response. But by the looks of it, he was too distracted with how you were fucking him stupid, and he couldn't even so much as do a thing.
" Hnghhh-p-pleashe-Oughhhhh-!"
His golden eyes began to widen and shake in their sockets as his orgasm started to build up. To be honest, you thought he was already cumming, given how much pre-cum had been practically oozing out of his adorable little cock. He really was enjoying this, wasn't he?
" You're such a lewd perv Aether," you sighed dramatically, ignoring his cries as he came all over himself, drooling and sobbing freely from the sheer intensity of the pleasure raking his cute body.
" Don't worry, I'll take reeaal good care of you, 'kay?"
All you received in response were loud moans and cries as Aether seemingly tried to weakly refute, but seeing as how happily his cock was twitching, he was looking forward to it.
im sorry i don’t know how to love you. but i know how to touch you gently. the water is so hot. it is dizzying to be with you. it smells clean. you are clean and so holy. did you know i like being with you? did you know that this is the only thing ive ever wanted is to make sure you are so cared for. i love your hands. touch me. it doesn’t have to be sexual. i just like your hands. i love the way you look under the haze of water. i want to drown with you. give yourself to me, even if it kills us both. don’t slip or fall. ill make sure you are safe. you are safe here
