𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: After beginning work as a doctor at the Fortress of Meropide, Siegwinne decides you and the Duke are a good match, and will do anything in her power to get you to together, even if she has to take drastic measures.
Or, alternatively, Siegwinne adds a little something extra to the Duke's tea. Chaos ensues.
As soon as the suture needle so much as touched the man sitting before you, he was already flinching away.
“That hurts!” He cried, “please, doctor, be gentle with me.”
It was almost laughable, really. Monsieur Phillip was a hardened criminal, or so you’d been told. He was a career criminal, you remembered the Duke remarking, and he’d been sentenced to serve time in the Fortress of Meropide for a myriad of things, such as assault, and even attempted murder, but here he was, a hulking mass of a man, whimpering in pain at the slightest prick of a needle.
“Hush,” you said, tutting gently, “the quicker I start, the quicker it’s over. Now hold still.”
He flinched back again, eyeing the needle like it was out to get him. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Please try and relax. I can assure you, I did go to medical school.”
Before he could say anything else, you made the first stitch, carefully, but quickly enough so as not to cause him too much pain. Even with the numbing gel you’d applied, it seemed that the patient’s pain threshold was quite low. It usually removed enough sensation that any leftover pain would be no more than a pinch, but even with that, you could see tears beading at his lash line.
A hardened criminal, indeed.
You finished the sutures quickly before bandaging the injured shoulder and giving Phillip some care instructions.
“And,” you said, “no more getting into altercations about work times, okay?”
Phillip sighed, casting his eyes away from you.
“Yes, ma’am.”
You smiled, kindly. “That’s doctor to you.”
It wasn’t wholly unexpected. Men tended to have lower pain tolerances than women did. You’d given stitches to many people before, and when it came to whining, the men tended to be the most common offenders.
After Phillip left, you checked up on a woman who was resting in one of the infirmary beds, and after taking her temperature and walking away with your clipboard, you nearly tripped over Siegwinne, who had somehow snuck into your path without you noticing.
“Archons,” you exclaimed, a hand flying over your heart, “I need to put a bell on you.”
Siegwinne ignored your remark. “May I see the patient’s chart?”
You handed it to her. “The patient shows signs of improvement. Her fever has broken, and her delirium has started to clear up. She should make a full recovery.”
Siegwinne hummed meaningfully. “Very good. I was worried about that one. I am glad to hear she is healing well.”
You nodded, then turned, starting towards your desk, but before you could make it, Siegwinne called your name, making you pause.
“Yes?”
Her expression remained impassive, eyes curious, unsuspecting, and she tucked the clipboard under her arm as she closed the distance between you.
“Have you seen the Duke today?”
There it was. You didn’t know what you’d been expecting aside from this. Ever since Siegwinne had caught onto the fact that you’d developed a crush on the Duke, she’d tried to do everything in her power to set you up with him. In the beginning, that was all it was. A crush. It was a crush in the same way one would develop an infatuation with a colleague or schoolmate, based on their appearance or the limited positive interactions they had with them. It was no secret that Wriothesley was an attractive man. He was tall, and handsome, anyone with eyes could see that. You’d heard the whispers among female inmates and guards alike. You were not unique in feeling some form of attraction to him.
But to Siegwinne, your silly crush was an opportunity.
“You’re a good woman,” she told you, “and His Grace is always stressed. I fear for his health. I think you would be the right person to keep him company. You are a good match. Your influence and affection would do him much good.”
Siegwinne came to you with this a few months after you’d started work at the Fortress, completely out of nowhere, stunning you to silence. You had no idea how she’d caught on to your feelings, and when you expressed as much, she went into a rambling tangent about human behavior, something about the dilation of pupils, and how she’d been taking notes, and that was when you cut her off.
“Absolutely not.”
But nevertheless, she persisted.
Siegweinne’s matchmaking attempts rarely ended conclusively, since she tended to see things as a logical cause and effect, and did not at all fit the way any normal human would attempt to court another. They mostly involved putting you and Wriothesley into situations that forced you to speak or interact with one another, with little to no regard to how much said situations were an inconvenience to you. Her first attempt, as such, embarrassingly enough, involved telling the Duke you’d had some kind of accident with an inmate, and when he came to the infirmary to check in, finding you unharmed and working at your desk, all that ensued was a lot of confusion. You wondered why he’d come all that way to see you, and he was surprised to find you not laying on one of the infirmary beds.
But, what her attempts did do, was make the way you felt about Wriothesley, which was no more than a passing fancy at first, grow into something more.
And despite your best efforts, that only made Siegwinne latch on even harder.
“Hello?” Siegwinne said, shaking you from your thoughts, “I believe it is polite to answer a question when asked one, or have human customs changed?”
You brushed off her unintentional rudeness, instead answering what she’d asked you.
“No,” you said, “I have not seen His Grace today. He’s a busy man, Siegwinne. You know that.”
“Well, you should go see him.”
You sighed, leaning down to take your clipboard from under her arm, then crossing to your desk.
“I don’t have a reason to go see him,” you said, sitting down, “and like I said, His Grace is a busy man.”
She didn’t push after that, simply going back to work as you did yours, and you tried to put it out of your mind. You and Wriothesley were friends, you’d say. Even though you usually found yourselves meeting in less than normal circumstances, you were still fond of him. You enjoyed his frank, matter-of-fact personality, and dry sense of humor, and he seemed to enjoy your company as well. Your relationship was as casual as it could be between you and a man who was technically your boss, and friendly enough that you had conversations outside of work related matters. You’d never let Siegwinne know this, but her repeated and clumsy attempts at setting you up were not without some benefits.
That was fine, you supposed. You’d bonded over Siegwinne and her antics, and built a friendship over a shared love of tea, as well as an author you both enjoyed, among other common interests. But that was it. As much as Siegwinne, and, begrudgingly, you, would like to say otherwise, you and The Duke were only friends.
And, it seemed, as you settled into that fact quite comfortably, Siegwinne only grew more brazen in her attempts at Melusine style matchmaking.
Her latest attempt involved trying to shut you in a locked room with The Duke, which failed when Wriothesley produced the master key in order to open the door. It happened a little over a week ago, which made you nervous, because Siegwinne didn’t like letting too much time pass between her less than gentle shoves. You were almost completely certain that Wriothesley knew what was happening, he’d have to be stupid not to, though he hadn’t said anything about it. This was probably to spare you from any further embarrassment, which you appreciated.
The situation was hopeless. You knew that well. But Siegwinne didn’t, and that was beginning to become a problem. You didn’t know why you’d let her get away with this for the handful of months that you had, but maybe, deep down, you hoped that something would actually come from all her meddling.
And apart from that, you had a certain degree of professionalism to uphold. Wriothesley was your boss, and you were both his employee and his doctor. As much as you found yourself wishing otherwise, pursuing your feelings, even if that was an option, just wasn’t ethical.
But still, you could dream, you supposed. Dreaming was harmless.
“I need you to run an errand for me.”
You turned in your chair, raising an eyebrow at Siegwinne, who was staring over at you innocently, a thermos in her hands. You looked at it, then back at her, puzzled.
“Siegwinne, I’m not in the mood.”
She frowned. “To do your job? How unbecoming. I’m simply asking you to deliver this tea to the Duke. His Grace is suffering from a headache. I delivered some to him this morning, but the problem still persists.”
You glanced at the thermos again. “Tea? What’s in it?”
She immediately became defensive, and for a moment, you almost felt guilty for doubting her.
“Medicine!” She cried, “what do you take me for? I’ve brewed a painkiller into the tea. It should help with His Grace’s headache. If you don’t trust me, you can take a sip yourself.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Why can’t you do it?”
Her brows pinched together in annoyance, and maybe a little indignance. “I have to go see a patient, thank you. A young man is complaining of nausea, and finds it hard to stand because of it, so I am going to see him in his cell. Now, will you bring His Grace the tea, or not?”
You sighed. In your own mind, your hesitance was completely justified. Siegwinne had tried to trick you into being alone with Wriothesley many times before this, but then again, if the Duke was actually feeling unwell, and you refused to bring him medicine, what kind of doctor would you be?
And so, you relented. With another sigh, you stood, snatching the thermos from Siegwinne’s outstretched hand.
“Fine,” you said, “I’ll be back as soon as I drop it off.”
If Siegwinne was disappointed by this, she hid it well. She simply nodded, then crossed over to her desk to busy herself with her medical bag. You glanced over a few more things at your own desk before scooping up the thermos and leaving the infirmary after calling a quick few words of parting to Siegwinne, who only nodded.
You shivered a little as you left the infirmary. Siegwinne tended to keep it warmer there, with a space heater sitting in the corner to combat the cold dampness of the rest of the Fortress of Meropide. It was better for the patients, she said, if they had somewhere nice and warm to rest and recover. You were fairly certain she also said something about humans and their preference for warmth, but that wasn’t important at present.
The clang of your boots against the metal floors rang out as you walked, head held high, thermos in your grip. The air smelled of iron and brine, a scent you’d grown used to in the time you’d been working in the Fortress. Artificial light cast everything in a sort of ominous hue, and the low strength of it left everything in partial shadow. It used to make you nervous, not knowing what hid behind them, using them like masks. Now you knew that whatever was waiting for you was something you could handle.
You glanced down at the thermos in your hands. It was warm, likely just brewed. There was no way Siegwinne would have you serve the Duke cold tea. The thermos was plain; unassuming. It was slate gray, probably stainless steel. You turned it over in your hands, studying it. It was just tea. You had no reason to think it was anything other than that. But with Siegwinne, you’d learned to expect the unexpected.
Absently, you stepped into the elevator to take you down to the administrative floor. The car jerked, and with a mechanical clank, began to move. You turned the thermos over in your hands again. It’s just tea. For the Duke. Your poor, ailing boss. You twisted your mouth. It was fine. There was no way Siegwinne would ever do anything to actually harm Wriothesley. You tapped your nails against the surface of the thermos, almost jumping from your skin when the elevator came to an abrupt stop as it reached its destination, jostling you where you stood and ejecting you from your tangled thoughts.
You sighed as you left the elevator, tucking the thermos into your arms and against your chest. Everything was fine. If Siegwinne took anything seriously, it was health. You’d caught her staring intently at you on many occasions, and when you asked her about it, she told you she was making sure you were healthy, in a very matter-of-fact tone, like it was obvious. She may be odd, but she wasn’t going to try and harm anyone.
As you reached the doors to the Duke’s office, you reached into the pocket of your skirt, digging out the key to the lock. Because of the Fortress’s status as a prison, it was only natural that important areas such as the office of the warden would remain locked. The only way to get in was if you had a key or if you were invited by Wriothesley himself. There was also the off chance that the Duke left the doors unlocked, but that was uncommon. Regardless, before you put the key in the lock, you raised your hand, knocking on the door with a great clang.
“Your Grace?” you called, though it was unlikely he heard you through the thick steel, “I’ll be coming in now. I have some tea for you.”
And with that, you pushed the key into place, twisting. With a grunt of effort, you pushed the doors open.
It was as you were opening the door that you heard him, calling to you. It was muffled under the mechanical clank of the doors, making you only vaguely aware of his call of your name, and you hurried to close the door to answer him. The lock clicked as you did, signifying that the mechanism had reset to its previous locked state.
You expected Wriothesley to call out to you again after your lack of response, or even possibly to come see you. It was unlikely that Siegwinne would send you on an errand without previously announcing your arrival. But instead, you were met with silence. You gripped the thermos more tightly, hesitating.
“Your Grace?”
You heard something else then. A soft intake of breath, only able to be heard because of the complete lack of noise, save for the quiet hum of machinery from beyond the doors. Then, you could hear him clearing his throat.
“Yes,” you heard Wriothsley say, from up the stairs, “up here.”
You sighed, relieved, as you made your way up the curving staircase and into the main office.
And as for things you expected to see, this was not among them.
Wriothesley was sitting at his desk, but he looked more than a little disheveled. His coat had been discarded, draped over the back of his chair, and his tie was undone, hanging loose around his neck. His waistcoat was also unbuttoned, as were the top two buttons of the dress shirt he wore underneath the garment. His gloves had also been removed, laying out on his desk beside an empty teacup. His hair was tousled, more than usual, and his face…
You furrowed your brows, suddenly concerned. His face was flushed, a deep pink settled in the apples of his cheeks, very evident against his usually pale skin. Breath, feather soft, expelled itself through parted lips, almost too quickly, as he looked over at you, brows pinching together, as if pained or troubled before the expression calmed. Wriothesley straightened, clearing his throat again, and he was hurriedly fixing his clothing, deft fingers doing up the buttons of his shirt, smoothing back over his hair.
His eyes fell to the thermos in your hands, lingering, before sliding up to your face.
You stared at him, your concern growing more by the second, and after a beat, you crossed to the desk, setting the thermos down.
“Your Grace,” you said, “I’ve brought you painkillers for your headache, but you look… May I examine you? You do not look like you’re feeling well.”
“Examine me,” he repeated, then took a slow breath, squeezing his eyes shut before shaking his head, as if clearing away a fog. He swallowed, raking a hand through his hair, and it was then that you spotted sweat beading on his forehead.
“Yes,” you said, gently, already in doctor mode, “please, let me help.”
He cleared his throat, for what was probably the third time, and you narrowed your eyes. You were rapidly beginning to get suspicious in addition to concerned. There was something he wasn’t telling you. Absently, you found yourself mentally scolding yourself for neglecting to bring your medical bag.
“I’m fine,” he said, though he certainly didn’t look fine, “please, don’t trouble yourself. You’ve come all this way for me, so would you at least sit with me for a cup of tea?”
You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift. It was fine, though, you supposed. Staying around wasn’t a terrible idea. It would give you a chance to more closely study the Duke’s behavior, and try and figure out what the problem might be. And so, you stepped to the table off to the side, picking a clean tea cup from the collection displayed there.
“I don’t need any, really,” you said as you leaned over to take the thermos from the desk, “Siegwinne made this for you, for your head. I am happy to sit and talk with you, though, if you want me to.”
Wriothesley smiled easily. “If you like, I can brew you a cup from my personal collection of teas. What do you like?”
You flushed, feeling special, and you turned to busy yourself with arranging his cup of tea to hide the pink in your cheeks.
“You already know my preferences, Your Grace,” you said, over your shoulder, “just a cup of earl gray is fine.”
You heard shuffling, then the sound of a drawer being pulled open, and you knew the Duke was rifling through the collection of teas he kept stored in his desk. Shifting your focus, you removed the small travel cup attached to the top of the thermos, then unscrewed the lid. Immediately, you were hit with the scent of the tea. It was unexpectedly sweet, and sort of floral. It certainly wasn’t the Duke’s usual style, that was for sure. You took another lungful of it, and could make out notes of various medicinal herbs, including rosemary and feverfew, both known to help with headaches. You could also smell a hint of lavender. But there was still that floral, sort of rosy scent, undercut by the bitter, citrus aroma of the feverfew. It smelled a bit like rainbow roses; of petrichor and morning dew and sweet fresh petals. It certainly had herbs in it, some of which were known to help with what the Duke needed, but the combination of them that you were able to discern was puzzling to say the least.
You put it out of your mind, chalking up the roses to being there to help with the bitterness of the feverfew. With a sigh, you poured the steaming liquid into the teacup. It was sort of a deep rouge color, bordering on purple. A nice color, you decided, and not entirely unexpected with what was contained in the tea. You placed the cup on a saucer, then carried it, alongside the still half filled thermos over to the desk, setting them before the Duke. In exchange, he handed you the tea bag you’d requested, which you accepted gladly.
After you’d filled a cup with boiling water, which the Duke always seemed to have on hand in any nearby kettle, ready for a quick cup. You added the tea bag, as well as a few spoonfuls of sugar, then took your seat on the couch by the tea table.
Wriothesley’s face twisted as he took the first sip from his cup, seemingly troubled.
“It’s very sweet.”
You tilted your head. “Is it not to your liking? I’ll be sure to tell Siegwinne to tweak the recipe.”
Wriothesley waved a dismissive hand. “No,” he said, “I just wasn’t expecting it. It’s not my usual style, but I don’t dislike it.”
You nodded meaningfully, blowing over your tea once more.
“How are things over in the infirmary?” He asked, and you sat up straighter, engaged.
“Fine. The usual. I had a man who was scared of needles just before I came over,” you said, “I’d barely touched him before he was telling me to stop.”
Wriothesley laughed, amused. He took another swallow of tea.
“Oh, really?” He said, “Monsieur Phillip, I suspect? That man always gets into brawls, but is terrified of medical treatment. And he never wins those brawls. The gardes always have to pull the other guy off of him.”
You hid your smile behind your teacup. “I know,” you said, “Siegwinne is always scolding him when he comes in for being reckless.”
Wriothesley rested his head on a closed fist, thoughtful, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
“Maybe a few rounds in the Pankration Ring would do him some good,” he said, and you raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t go putting any ideas in his head,” you said, “he might become a permanent resident of the infirmary if he starts entering into any matches.”
Wriothesley made a face, pale blue eyes moving to rest somewhere in the depths of his teacup. “Maybe he’d pick up a few things about proper combat, though.”
It was your turn to laugh. “Maybe, but at the cost of his health.”
You enjoyed this. It was hardly the first time you’d been invited to stay for tea, in addition to being personally invited to tea a handful of times before. Wriothesley’s presence was pleasant and inviting, despite his intimidating stature and appearance. His height dwarfed many other people, and you’d seen few as tall as he was, save for the Iudex, who was far more slim than the Duke was. Where Monsieur Neuvillette was tall and lithe, Wriothesley was broad and powerfully built. His sheer size alone, made only more prominent by the bulky coat he wore around his shoulders, was enough to intimidate anyone.
But despite that, he was an amicable and good-humored man, earnest and straightforward. He made you feel at ease, and your growing affection for him settled low and warm in the spot behind your heart.
His face was getting more pink, you noticed, with a start. You took another sip of tea, watching him closely. His brow furrowed, just briefly, and he was fiddling with the bands of leather around his throat, as if they were suddenly too tight. He shifted in his seat, seemingly uncomfortable.
“Your Grace?” You said, and he seemed to snap out of whatever had overtaken him, regarding you with raised eyebrows and an expectant expression.
“Sorry,” he said, “what were you saying?”
You studied him, eyes narrowed, and he laughed, a little awkwardly.
“You’re doing that thing Siegwinne does,” he said, “the thing she does with her eyes. I don’t know how you replicated it so perfectly. There’s nothing wrong, I promise. It’s just suddenly kind of hot in here. Do you feel that?”
You shook your head. In fact, to you, the room was cold. Just as cold as the rest of the Fortress, save for the infirmary. It was the reason for the thermal lining in the pale blue overcoat of your uniform, the color that marked you as medical staff, as well as the reason for the thicker uniform fabric worn by the majority of the other general staff.
“No,” you said, and Wriothesley looked puzzled.
“Oh,” he muttered, puzzled, “I was warm earlier, but I’m starting to get… hot now. I don’t suppose that’s normal?”
You cracked a smile at that. “No, I don’t think so.”
A spell of silence passed before your mind snapped back to what he’d just said.
“You were feeling overly warm earlier? When did that start?”
Wriothesley furrowed his brows, considering your question before answering. He took another sip from his cup, then poured more of the contents of the thermos into it.
“This morning,” he said, “I can’t pinpoint exactly when it started, but it was maybe shortly after I had a cup of tea.”
You snorted, amused. “You realize how little that narrows it down, don’t you? You drink more tea than anyone I know, Your Grace. I need a measure of time, not cups of tea.”
He chuckled at that. “I apologize. I believe it was after Siegwinne delivered the tea she made for my head. Which is feeling much better, by the way. I think what I’ve been drinking while we’ve been chatting has helped kick the rest of it. I’m almost finished with the thermos.”
Suddenly, you made the connection.
Almost robotically, and with learned efficiency, you went over the contents that you’d smelled in the tea, along with their uses. Feverfew, maybe some lavender, and rosemary. All of those had various uses, though they all had one thing in common, which was pain relief. Finally, there was the rainbow rose. The petals and buds were used for medicinal purposes, and could be used as such, similarly to common red roses, for anything ranging from headaches to a sore throat.
Something was missing. Something was wrong. The scent itself had been off.
“The tea,” you said, “from before. Was it sweet?”
Wriothesley nodded, taking another gulp, and finally, pouring the last of the contents of the thermos into the cup. “This brew is sweeter, though.”
You stood, then reached for his teacup, bringing it to your nose and inhaling. You caught the same things as before, but as you mulled them over, something else clicked.
Siegwinne wouldn’t. Would she?
“It’s really hot,” Wriothesley said, and you could see the sweat beaded at his hairline, sticking the hair at his temples to his skin, cresting down his cheekbone.
You reached out, and when the back of your hand made contact with his burning forehead, he flinched, making a soft sound in surprise and alarm.
“Why is your skin so much colder than mine?”
Your skin wasn’t cold. In fact, your body was at an average temperature, kept warm by the layers of clothing you were wearing. By your own assessment, your hands were probably relatively warm. You frowned, reaching into your pocket and withdrawing your penlight, circling the desk to situate yourself closer to the Duke.
The way he was looking at you when you drew closer was strange. Almost hungry. Famished, ice blue hues swept over your form, and you watched as his hands, previously resting on the desk, folded in front of him, over his lap.
You moved closer, leaning halfway over to him, hand making contact with his face to tilt it towards you. He flinched at your touch, breath shuddering, and you studied his eyes closely before muttering a warning and shining your light into his face, instructing him to follow the light with his gaze.
“This isn’t… necessary,” he protested, weakly, and you ignored him. His pupils were blown wide, dark pits in the center of the sky blue of his irises.
“Mydriasis,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him as you switched off your light and pocketed it.
Your hand dropped from his face to just under where his jaw met his throat. You pushed aside the leather straps, just enough to access his pulse point, pressing two fingers to the spot. His heart was racing, quick and erratic, and you felt him shudder, breath heavy, his jaw setting tightly as your hands drifted across his skin, probing and searching. His skin was burning with heat, feverishly so, and coupled with the elevated heart rate, the blown pupils, and the way he seemed to flinch whenever you made contact with his skin directly, you could only make one conclusion.
“So,” you said, backing up to stand up straight, “this started after you had the first brew Siegwinne dropped off, yes?”
Wriothesley nodded. “It did.”
His voice. It had dropped several octaves in the time you’d been examining him, and you cursed the effect it had on you, coursing hot through your bloodstream. It felt so deeply unprofessional for a doctor to even think of her patient in the way the brief thoughts that fluttered through your mind suggested you do.
“Is it worse after this second batch?” You forced yourself to say.
He huffed a laugh. “You could say that.”
And it was then when you noticed, from where you were standing, that Wriothesley’s belt was undone. Rosy hues colored your cheeks as you yanked your gaze away.
“You need to tell me all of your symptoms,” you said, “spare no detail.”
Panic briefly flashed across his face as he crossed and uncrossed his legs.
“Hot,” he said, “I feel far too warm. Do I have a fever?”
You narrowed your eyes. He was purposely hiding the truth, but nonetheless, you answered.
“Yes,” you said, “but I believe it’s because your body is overheated and not because you're fighting an infection. I just said not to leave anything out, Your Grace, please tell me everything. As your doctor, I–”
“I’m… Archons, I don’t want to say it,” he paused, searching, almost frantically for something else to focus on. “What was in that tea?”
You swallowed, leaning back to rest against the desk.
“Herbs,” you said, “rosemary, feverfew, and lavender. All meant to help with pain and headaches. But I could also smell rainbow roses.”
Wriothesley brightened. “Yes, I thought that was what I tasted. It brings such a unique flavor to the table, don’t you agree?”
You fought a smile, endeared by him, but now was hardly the time. You needed to figure out what was wrong with him, not to discuss tea.
“Yes,” you said, “but it was strange. Too sweet. It only gets to that level when the powdered roots of a Sumeru rose are included alongside the powdered roots of a rainbow rose, in which case the combination can make–”
Oh. Oh.
As you were talking, it clicked into place. The scent, which you’d thought was much too sweet before, suddenly made sense. Sumeru rose must have been the final ingredient. It was flavorless when consumed, but smelled quite sweet. When combined with rainbow roses, the scent of the two grew overpoweringly saccharine. Unless diluted, it would almost resemble a syrup. If the rainbow rose petals were boiled alongside the powdered roots of the Sumeru rose, it could become a powerful medicine able to soothe a bad cough. But if the roots of both plants were powdered, the results were…
You cursed yourself for being so stupid. Of course, Siegwinne would see nothing wrong with this. Medicine was medicine, regardless of what the outcome of its ingestion spelled, so long as it got the desired result. To her, the suggestion of something unbecoming would be taken with great offense.
“‘Can make?’” Wriothesley supplied, and were already imagining the ways in which you were going to rip Siegwinne a new one.
“I need your symptoms. Now. I am a doctor, Your Grace, I promise I will be as non judgemental as possible, just please–”
“Damn it,” he interjected, face hidden in his hands, “I’m aroused.”
Anything you’d just been about to say left your mind, swept away by dread, because you knew what was happening.
Siegwinne was evil. You could already picture her expectant, innocent face, asking just how her little ‘experiment’ had gone, and it filled you with boiling rage.
Though, there was also the fact that she could simply be misinformed. Melusines had different reactions to some medicines than humans did, and it was equally possible that she simply thought that, if dosed with the tea, the Duke’s feelings for you, if he had any, would just be made more prominent. For her sake, you hoped it was the latter.
“Aroused,” you parroted, trying hard to stay professional and failing miserably, because this was unethical on so many levels, “tell me more about that.”
He made a strangled, startled sound. “You want to know more?”
You wanted to melt into the floor. “I need to know how strong the dose you’ve been given is.”
“Dose?!” He said, “of what?”
You refused to look at him. “When mixed together, the powdered roots of a Sumeru rose and a rainbow rose create a powerful aphrodisiac. I believe the first dose you received was a weaker version, and this one is much stronger.”
Silence followed as Wriothesley took in the information, then cleared his throat.
“Do you have an antidote?”
You raised your head to look at him properly. He looked almost haggard, the flush from his face creeping down his neck.
“There… kind of isn’t one.”
Wriothesley made a sound of frustration in the back of his throat, hands raising to card through his hand, and it was then that you noticed it. Now that his hands were no longer hiding it, you could see it, there, outlined against the dark fabric of his slacks.
He was hard.
A wave of suffocating, shameful arousal washed over you, and you forced yourself to look away, to ignore it.
You could only begin to imagine how he was feeling. The way you were feeling was nothing compared to him, his condition undoubtedly much more intense than your own physical reaction in response to his arousal, and you could feel his eyes on you as you scrambled to find a solution.
“What am I going to do then?” He asked, “it’s getting… I’m sorry, It’s getting rather unbearable. I tried everything. It’s impossible to ignore, and I know I can’t use my hands.”
You spared him a glance. “Why?”
“Because,” he said, “I was already trying that. It wasn’t enough.”
Oh. The unbuckled belt. His disheveled state when you’d walked in. He’d already been dealing with the effects of the first dose, or at least attempting to. The call of your name, as you were entering the office. The silence before he summoned you up to the second floor.
Fuck. He’d been thinking of you.
That had to be one of the hottest things you’d ever heard, professionalism be damned. Arousal rolled over you like a breaking wave, making you bite into your lower lip.
You knew what needed to happen. You knew the effects of this particular drug would take, and you knew that the only way to relieve his symptoms was either to very painfully wait it out or to… find relief. In this case, that entailed another person.
“You need to have sexual intercourse,” you said, “or you can wait it out.”
Wriothesley cleared his throat. “Wait it out,” he said, “right, I can do that. How long will that take?”
You twisted your hands together. “It… depends. You were likely given a pretty strong dose, even for someone your size. By my estimate, it would probably take several hours for it to work its way out of your system.”
He chuckled dryly, humorlessly. “Great.”
You cleared your throat. “Do you have someone I could… call? A girlfriend?”
He snorted, as if amused by the idea. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
That would make sense, you supposed, if he was calling out your name, and not the name of another woman.
“We both know what Siegwinne is doing,” Wriothesley said, “not just with this, but for the past few months. I can’t pretend I’m not fond of you, and neither of us can pretend there isn’t something between us.”
It was like the ground dropped out from under you at the sheer brazenness of his admission. You stared at him, thunderstruck.
“You… what?”
A cavalcade of thoughts crashed together as you rapidly attempted to process what he meant by that, but he barely gave you any time before he started speaking again.
“Look,” he said, “if you don’t feel the same, I can accept that. I’ll wait it out, and we can pretend this never even happened. But if you do, are you even… slightly interested in um… helping me? Because honestly, I feel like I’m about to explode.”
Heat coiled low in your stomach, threatening to overtake you as the lovely rasp of his voice made any of your logical thoughts close to meaningless. This was so vastly unprofessional. He was your boss, and you were his doctor. But something dangerously close to want was settling neatly over that space you usually reserved, that you looked to for reassurance about your professional standing with the Duke, to tell you that your feelings for him, ever growing, were improper.
And when you turned, watching his face, the way his hungry gaze traced your body through your uniform, something in you snapped, and you threw caution to the wind.
Head lowered, face flushed, you swallowed your rationality and any remaining hesitance you had left.
“I suppose,” you said, “I could use my hands.”
Wriothesley’s body jolted in anticipation, and his eyes betrayed his hesitance, darkened to steel blue with lust as he nodded once, then once more.
“Hands,” he repeated, “yes, hands are good. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”
You found it touching that he was at least trying to take your comfort into account, even when he was drowning in desire, and you took a slow step forward as he shifted, pulling his chair out enough to allow you room to situate yourself on the floor in front of him. As you took another step, he took his coat from the back of his chair and laid it at his feet, another gesture you appreciated.
Once you reached him, you knelt down between his thighs, and he watched you with burning eyes, flinching when your palms smoothed over his clothed thighs, jaw tightening. Medical curiosity echoed briefly in the back of your mind, taking note of just how sensitive the drug had made him to the simplest of touches, how he shivered as your nails grazed against the insides of his strong thighs.
Fuck, he was radiating heat. So much so that it was beginning to affect you, and you shifted back on your knees to remove the overcoat layer of your uniform, leaving you in the blouse and underskirt beneath it. Wriothesley’s eyes followed your motions with rapt attention, and when you moved forward again, settling, you felt him jolt when your palm met his leg once again.
This close up, you could see it, just how much he was straining against his trousers, his erection pressed against his zipper, and hesitantly, you cupped it in your hand.
The Duke gasped at your touch, fingers twitching where he’d curled them around the armrests of his chair, then tightening in a white-knuckled grip as you ever-so-gently squeezed. He twitched against your palm, and you removed his belt entirely, dropping it to the floor with a clatter before you were unfastening his button and zipper.
You palmed him through the fabric of his underwear, and you could already feel how big he was just from that. A sort of eagerness threaded its way into the burn of your arousal as you pushed away any remaining layers, pulling him free.
Fuck. He was so thick, and when you slowly wrapped your hand around him, your fingers just barely met. He was long, too, though you supposed it made sense for a man of his size. He was flushed red, painfully hard, and when you squeezed, you felt him twitch once more, his body tightening like a coiled spring. His hands tightened their grip on the armrests, flexing, and you felt his hips shift forward, unconsciously.
The first stroke made his head roll back, the sound he let out one of relief, just from that simple touch alone. It made you squirm in place, the sound of his voice and the stricken hitch of his breath causing the desperation of his arousal to bleed into your own building need. Precum was beaded at his tip, and you almost wanted to lean forward to lap it up, especially as more leaked out in response to the way you were stroking him in slow, even movements.
Heavy breath expelled through clenched teeth, followed by a low, low groan as your thumb found his tip, rubbing in slow circles, and it was then that you leaned forward, giving into temptation as your tongue pressed to the underside of the head of his cock in a slow lick.
“Oh,” he gasped, “oh, you don’t have to– oh, fuck.”
He cut himself off as you lapped at his slit, groaning through his teeth. He was already completely lost to pleasure as you pumped the base of him, and when you took him into your mouth, sucking on the tip, you heard him curse, a sound drawn out with a low, decadent groan.
“You said your hands– oh!”
Arousal was settling low and smoldering hot in the pit of your stomach, pooling between your thighs, and you whined as he whispered your name. You released him from your mouth, hands moving to rest on his thighs, and you dragged your tongue up and along the underside of his dick, gathering up any precum that had dribbled down. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his slacks, lips grazing the side of his shaft, and he repeated your name, louder, voice twisted with an urgency that made your blood sing.
It was embarrassing, just how quick you’d gotten like this, punch drunk on the reactions he gave you, the way his body reacted to your touch. It filled you with an addicting sort of power, one that threatened to overtake you if you weren’t careful. But right then, all you wanted was to add fuel to the ever growing fire. And, with the way he was breathing, rough and ragged and broken, you doubted he’d be opposed to that.
Your tongue flicked out, against the fold of skin just below his tip, and he tensed, crying out helplessly. When you finally took him in your mouth, fully, his head fell back against his chair, a feral groan tearing itself from his throat as your tongue pressed firm against him. Your hand moved from his leg to encircle the base of him again, squeezing and stroking in tandem with the slow bob of your head, and making the Duke gasp at the sensations.
When you sucked, just a little, Wriothesley babbled a string of curses, hips twitching up towards your mouth, and when you ducked down, bobbing your head, one of his hands flew from the armrest to the back of your head. You thought he’d push, or maybe take control, but all he did was lace his fingers into your hair, unmoving. His body shuddered under the roll of your tongue, under the press of your free hand to his stomach, creeping under the layers of clothing covering him, his skin fever hot against your own.
You took him deeper, and he twitched, hips jumping as you hollowed out your cheeks, drawing back before surging forward once again. You relaxed your jaw further as his hips bucked, and he muttered an apology, breathless and feverish. His head pitched back as you rubbed your thumb against his base, and he twitched again, sharply. When you looked up at him, through your lashes, he was gazing down at you with hooded, burning eyes. There was desperation in his cool blue hues, a wordless plea for anything, everything you could give him.
And with everything you had, you delivered.
You dropped your jaw, swallowing as much of him as you can, drinking in the sound of his breath shuddering, tapering off into a low moan. You sped up, gradually, and the sounds he made were so madly erotic that you found yourself aching to reach between your thighs and take care of your own growing need, but you could hardly focus on anything apart from taking him as deep as possible without choking. The sheer girth of him was enough to make your jaw sore, and when you moved forward again, he hit the back of your throat, making tears catch in your lashes.
“Fuck,” he groaned, drawing the word out with the sound, long and low and you kneened around him, making him curse and buck.
The hand not tangled in your hair raised to his face, balling tight, and he bit down on his fist, stifling his uncontrolled cries of ecstasy, eyes squeezing shut, brows pinching in concentration. He was trembling beneath your touches, twitching against your tongue, and when you moved back to suck on the tip, slow and indolent, the noise that left his mouth was nothing short of pornographic.
“Yeah,” he seethed, voice breathy, needy, “fuck, yeah, don’t stop.”
Not a chance in hell you were doing that. You clamped your thighs together, squeezing around nothing, and you knew you were soaked, evident in the way your panties were sticking to your skin, your thighs tacky with sweat and the soak of your own arousal. Your hand curled into a fist where it rested on his stomach, then flattening once more and flexing, searching for anything to anchor yourself. When you took him into your mouth once more, fully, he bucked his hips, groaning with no regard for volume. He was close, teetering on that edge, evident from the way his grip on your hair grew tighter, the way you could feel the muscles in his stomach tensing, and when you took him deep and sucked, he moaned, long and low, the sound almost forced from his fraying lungs. The sensitivity had to be maddening, you decided, and you’d use that to your full advantage.
Slowly, you pulled back, lapping at the leaking tip, hand working tirelessly at the base of him, and you barely had any warning before he tipped over the edge, back arching, breath all but leaving him. You shifted back in surprise, reflexively, and cum painted itself across your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, the seam of your lips. You closed your eyes in an attempt to keep anything from getting into them before you were hurrying to take him in your mouth, sealing your lips around him. His hand was fisting in your hair, and the sound he made, a low, breathless groan, was one of sheer, debauched relief.
You sucked, and he let out an obscene moan as you swallowed down his cum, hips jerking, the hand previously fisted between his teeth flattening against the desk, palm slamming down, just once, and you heard the rasp of wood under fingernails as he moved to grip the edge.
You slowed, working him through the intensity of his orgasm, as he twitched and throbbed under your touch, the sheer volume of cum surprising you. It leaked from your mouth, down your chin, and you did your best to swallow as much of it as you could. He slumped, boneless, against his chair, and when you moved to clean him with your tongue, you got to listen to the delightful sound of him gasping from oversensitivity.
“Fuck,” you heard him say, dazed and utterly breathless, “fuck.”
Slowly, you drew back, and his eyes followed you, breath hitching and gaze darkening as he took in your appearance. The sight of you, knelt before him, covered in his cum, was enough to make him groan aloud, cheeks flaring pink.
“Archons,” he said, “that has to be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
You let out a short, breathless chuckle.
“Do you have a rag or something?”
He nodded, once, and you stood on shaking legs before leaning sideways against the desk, and he pulled you closer, gently wiping your face clean with a tissue before depositing it in the trash situated under his desk.
“How do you feel?” You asked, and he huffed what may have been a laugh, nearly disbelieving.
“That was… Incredible. But I’m still, um…”
You crooked an eyebrow, watching him, expectantly.
He looked almost guilty. “I’m still hard.”
Oh. Oh.
You weren’t completely surprised. You didn’t know if a blowjob alone would be enough to work the drug from his system, and clearly, it wasn’t. Not that you minded. Your own arousal was a steady pulse below your skin, working like a second heartbeat. Desire coursed through you, and you pressed your thighs together once more. You wanted it. You already knew that. You wanted him.
“Alright,” you said, and what was left of any phantom of resolve, or the shreds of your until recently professional relationship with him all but vaporized, “sit back.”
“You don’t have to,” he started, the protest as fragile as glass, but you cut him off.
“I want to. I’ve… wanted this– you– for a while. So please, Your Grace– Wriothesley. I want it all. If you’ll have me.”
That was all it took. With a low, shuddering breath, a signal of his rapidly fraying restraint, he was yanking you forward and into his lap, his fingers working the buttons of your blouse open, hurriedly shucking it down your shoulders once undone. He made quick work of the ties fastening your skirt to your body, and you briefly shuffled off of him to drop it to the floor, along with your stockings, before resituating yourself on his lap.
“If I’ll have you?” He rumbled, the low, rough ombre of his voice sending prongs of lightning down your spine, and he yanked you closer, mouth dragging along the curve of your jaw.
“How could I possibly refuse?”
And then, for the first time, he was kissing you.
His lips were burning hot against yours, and your fingers found his hair, threading into messy locks, nails dragging against his scalp. He huffed a sigh into your lips as he nudged his tongue between them, tilting his head to slot his mouth more firmly against yours, and when his tongue dragged against yours, you moaned, low and soft, into his mouth. He kissed you slow and deep, almost a juxtaposition to the way he was feverishly running his hands, large and calloused, down your body, and when his fingers grazed over the patch of nerves just where your lowest rib met the curve of your waist, you shuddered in his hold.
You could taste the tea he’d been drinking on his tongue, cloyingly sweet, and it was almost too much when mixed with the heady, spiced smell of his cologne. Everything about him was overwhelming you in the best way possible, rendering you pliable and soft in his hands. Fuck, Wriothesley needed his own warning label. It was almost funny, really, just how riled up you were when he was the one who had been drugged with an aphrodisiac.
His teeth caught your lower lip as he drew back, tugging, before he was diving back in, hands planted firmly on your hips, and you let out a stuttering gasp as he pulled you forward, his bare cock pressing against your stomach.
The way he shuddered at the contact was enough to make your head spin with arousal, and when you shifted forward once more, just to see what he’d do, the grip on your hips grew to nearly bruising.
“You have no idea,” he husked, low and rough, the very threads of his sanity slipping from between his fingers, “how hard you’re making it to hold back.”
His words shot straight between your thighs, and you rolled your hips again, loving the way he stiffened. You felt his palm, dragging slowly up your body, then finally moving to cup your breast through the fabric of your bra, squeezing. You arched your chest into his touch, his name whisper soft on your lips.
He unfastened your bra after some fumbling, his coordination clearly beginning to become impacted by the drug. Once the garment was discarded, he barely gave you time to breathe, and you gasped when his head dipped down, mouth dragging across the valley of your breasts, skating along the side of one before his lips found one of your nipples, drawing it into the heat of his mouth.
He groaned at the taste of you, indulgent, as he laved his tongue over your flesh, hands sliding up to grip your waist, holding you in place, allowing him to explore the newly exposed skin with his mouth as much as he pleased. He was strong, his grip like iron, but it didn’t prevent you from slowly rocking your hips, rubbing your clothed cunt against his bare cock, and the way he groaned into your skin was a sound of delirious pleasure.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, almost disbelieving, “fuck, I’m a lucky man.”
His tender words made your heartbeat quicken, and you squeezed him closer, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. Your hands slid down his chest, fingers catching on the buttons of his shirt, and you quickly unfastened them, pushing the cloth away to smooth your palms over his bare skin. Gently, you pushed him back against the chair you were both situated in to look at him, and the sight before you was almost too much.
You already knew he was muscular, that much was obvious by just looking at him. But beneath his clothing, among thickly corded muscle was a patchwork of scarred flesh. You’d known about some scars; three of them crept up over the collar of his shirt, partially hidden by the straps he wore around his throat. There was also a collection of them on his arms, and of course, the one under his right eye. The ones that were hidden wove their way across his chest like a roadmap, some of them faint, and others more prominent, pale threads across his already pale skin. You laid your palm against him, tracing the one closest, and he shuddered, leaning into your touch, eyes fluttering closed. Your fingers skimmed down his chest, to his trim waist, and when your thumb caught in the deep v at his waist, he let out a soft grunt.
One of his hands moved from your waist to your hip, squeezing the plush flesh, then migrated to the apex of your thighs, and when his middle finger rubbed you through the sodden fabric of your panties, a high, breathy whine tore itself from your throat. He pressed harder, and your back arched, eyes falling half-lidded when he circled your clit through the fabric.
Then, without warning, he was pushing the cloth aside, and the feel of his calloused finger dragging across your entrance was enough to make you jerk in his hold.
He dipped his head, forehead making contact with your shoulder, and it took you a moment to realize he was watching himself, observing the sight of his hand between your legs. When your hips twitched, he used his opposite hand to hold you steady, effectively forcing you to stay in place as he did what he pleased with your body.
“Please,” you whispered, and that was all it took for him to tire of his teasing, sinking his finger inside you with a slow, indulgent movement.
You gasped, the sound bleeding into a moan when his finger curled inside of you, and he pushed you down, forcing you to take him to the knuckle. You whispered his name as he curled his finger again, and when he added a second finger, you squeezed your eyes shut. He groaned at the sound it made when he thrust his fingers into you, the lewd, embarrassing schlick of you around him, and you had to take a moment for your jumbled thoughts to catch up with you. His fingers were so much thicker than your own, not to mention longer, and he was hitting spots you didn’t even know existed. He thrust again, and you cried out, hips twitching, causing him to tighten his grip.
The curl of his fingers hit a spot inside of you that made you see stars, and when he felt the way it made you tighten around him, he began to abuse it with everything he had.
“Oh, Gods,” he groaned, “you’re so wet.”
You could do no more than gasp as his palm ground against your clit, and he held you there, forcing you to take it as he pressed in slow, maddening twists of his wrist before replacing his palm with his thumb.
It was arousing how easily he could manhandle you, and you had absolutely no desire to fight against him as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. You were getting close, embarrassingly quickly, and you could do nothing to stop yourself from hurtling towards that end, walls throbbing and contracting around his fingers.
One of your hands shot between you, encircling his thick wrist, and you weren’t sure what the purpose of that was, either to push him deeper or simply to find purchase, but you did know that your desperation made his dick twitch where it was pressed between you, forcing him to stifle a groan.
You convulsed in his hold, hips jerking in his iron grip, his name on your lips, and with a final press of his thumb against your clit, you came hard around his fingers, biting down into his shoulder, and he worked you through it with slow thrusts that made stars and celestial bodies dance across your closed eyelids. You called his name, urgent and drawn out, yet high and needy, and he replied with a groan of his own, his free hand flying from where he was holding you in place to wrap around his own cock, palming it, thumbing the head, forcing a moan from between his teeth.
You slumped heavily against him as you fell from your high, and when he withdrew his fingers, you let out a shuddering breath, the sensitivity sending your thoughts into nonsense. Your head was spinning, thoughts in a daze, and all you could feel was him as he panted for breath.
Seconds of silence, only interrupted by heavy breathing, passed before you rose on unsteady legs to discard your panties before you were settling over him once more, and he watched with hazy eyes as you shifted forward, pressing your bare cunt against the underside of his shaft in a slow grind. His mouth fell open in a silent cry, brows pinching upwards, the sensitivity clearly unbearable. Suffocating, maddening lust worked its way through your bloodstream like a toxin, and you knew he needed more, from the way his hips rutted up in halfway thrusts as you rubbed against him.
“Fuck,” he choked, head falling back as the tip of his cock caught against you, “I wanna–”
You rocked forward, and his entire body jolted, tearing a groan from deep in his chest.
“What do you want?” You asked, breathless, and he lifted his head to look at you, the fog of desire in his eyes downright sinful.
He yanked you close, trapping his cock between your bodies, and into a frenzied kiss, his restraint all but gone as he unabashedly moaned at the feel of your skin.
“I want,” he husked, mouth pressing open kisses against your jaw, and he stopped, breath hot against your ear, “to be inside you.”
Your breath left you in a rush, and you drew him into a deep kiss, one he returned with vigor, hands smoothing down your body to grab at your hips, pressing you forward and against him once more, and when you pulled back, his eyes were wild with desperation and maddening lust.
“I don’t have protection,” he said, and you shook your head, dismissing him.
“I’m on birth control,” you said. Siegwinne made the tonic you took, something she supplied even to female inmates to help with lightening periods. But right now, it would be used for its intended purpose. Wriothesley nodded as he took this information in, seemingly relaxing a little.
“Please,” he mumbled, and you blinked, surprised to hear him beg for anything, but you were hardly going to deny him, “I’m going insane. I need you.”
You took a shuddering breath as you shifted up, using one hand to brace yourself as you took his cock in your hand, pressing him against you. You both cried out in unison at the feeling, even the slightest whisper of much needed friction enough to make you feel lightheaded, and you felt his hands grasp your hips, urging you downwards.
You sank down, slowly, and even the tip of him was a stretch, a dull ache blossoming as you pressed closer. Both hands landed on his shoulders, breath heavy, and he groaned lowly at the sensation.
“Slow,” he said, fighting for control, “c’mon, you can take me. Relax, deep breaths.”
You nodded, once, as you did as he instructed. Your knees shuffled as you pressed yourself down, met with more resistance, and forcing you to stop, gasping for air. He was only halfway in and you already felt full, stretched to accommodate him. It was unfamiliar and new, and you weren’t used to this, but his grip was tightening, and with a deep breath, you thrust down, taking the rest of him in one quick motion.
The sting of the stretch danced across your frayed nerves like a livewire, and you grit your teeth, head slumping forward as Wriothesley let out a long, low groan, both of his hands rushing to your hips, squeezing, keeping you in place.
A string of curses left his lips as his head fell back, and you could feel him throb inside of you, so deep you could hardly believe it, stuffed full to the brim.
“Just– oh, or you could just take it all. Fuck,” he quieted, breathing heavily, before speaking again, “are you– did that hurt you? Are you okay?”
The pain wasn’t horrible, and you hesitated to even call it pain. It was just an ache, dull and unpleasant, but you’d been wet enough that taking him hadn’t caused you any actual damage. You sat still as you adjusted, the aching burn of the stretch rapidly fading into something maddening, replaced by a desperate need.
“I’m fine,” you said, voice strained, “I’m okay.”
He nodded, once, before drawing you close, linking your mouth to his in a kiss far more gentle than you’d expected. You felt him throb, and when you squeezed, you got the pleasure of hearing him groan your name.
“You’re so tight. Please, please– yeah–”
His head fell back as you rocked your hips, lifting yourself up, only to sink back down, and when you repeated the action, he groaned helplessly, a string of almost nonsensical praises spilling past his lips, only serving to make you want to wreck him even further.
Sheer, uncontained relief was tangled inextricably with every sound he made, his hands squeezing your hips as you took him again, and again, and again, and oh fuck, you felt like you were being split open, impaling yourself repeatedly on his fat cock. The burn from before turned into pure ecstasy, the stretch of him inside of you intoxicating, and you buried your face into the crook of his neck as you moaned out his name. He wasn’t even bothering to stay quiet, not that it mattered, nobody could hear from outside the heavy office doors, which was an advantage right then.
You keened as his hips rose to meet you, the base of his dick rubbing against your clit. You sank down, taking him fully, ejecting any rational or sensical thought from your head, grinding in deep, easy circles, and you could feel blunt nails digging into your hips as he held you in place, totally drunk on pleasure.
His grip eased as you slid back up before taking him again, and he was kissing you frantically, one of his hands flattening against your breast, rolling the nipple under the rough pad of his thumb, making you whimper into his mouth.
“Faster,” he hissed, pulling back to meet your eyes, “faster, ride me faster.”
You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, using them as leverage to move yourself faster, arching your back as the new speed made you see stars, and you whined, burning pleasure shooting through you at the grind of his cock against your clit.
“Good girl,” he groaned, dizzy with pleasure, “yeah, just like that.”
You could feel yourself getting close again, and you groaned his name as you swiveled your hips. Your thighs were beginning to burn with the exertion, even with just the short time you’d been moving at this pace, and when he felt you shudder, his hands found your waist, helping you along.
“That’s it, gorgeous,” Wriothesley panted, “that’s it, fuck me just like that.”
He was moving you with his own hands, easily, and you tried your best to move along with him, swiveling your hips whenever he bottomed out, and his head fell back in rapture, gasping for air.
Your orgasm was approaching fast, and you were helpless to its pull as you sped up, chasing after it frantically, the sound that filtered through your clenched teeth one of desperation. You felt like you were losing yourself, and when you sank your teeth into the soft flesh of his throat, an unrestrained groan fell past his lips, his hips bucking up with enough force to make you see stars. When his thumb pressed against your clit, you tipped over the edge hard, stilling as you clung to him, sobbing his name into the curve of his shoulder.
You tightened to a vice grip around him, throbbing as your climax crashed over you, and you heard him growl at the sensation, hips bucking, still working his cock up into your messy cunt. Before you could even start to come down from your high, you were moving, and the frigid steel of the floor met your back, rapidly heating from contact with your skin. One of his hands gripped at your leg, tucking beneath your knee and holding it up, and then he was driving forwards, hips slapping against yours as he filled you once more.
He paused, shaken by the intensity of the sensation, before his head pitched forward, breath heavy, and he was thrusting again with a renewed vigor, nails digging into your flesh.
His name was the only thing on your tongue as he fucked you, so good it made you feel like your head was emptying itself out. His mouth found yours as he leaned forward, supporting his weight on his forearm, laid beside your head, giving him more freedom to do what he pleased with his hips. The base of his dick was rubbing against your clit once again, and you whined, squirming beneath him, but he wasn’t letting up.
“Wriothesley,” you gasped, head fuzzy, completely cock drunk as he broke the kiss to mouth at your neck, “deeper.”
He groaned, low and indulgent, and when his hips snapped forward, filling you completely, your back arched against his chest.
“Deeper?” he repeated, the baritone timbre of his voice lowered to an uneven bass, “you want it deeper? That what you want, gorgeous?”
“Please,” you sobbed, “please, give it to me.”
A low, rough chuckle was the only warning you got before he was thrusting forward, hips flush against yours, and he repeated the action, again, and again, and again, making you bite your lip to keep from wailing at the intensity of it all.
“Oh, fuck,” you heard him gasp, stricken, indulgent, “fuck, yeah, that’s it.”
It felt so good you could hardly think, and when you babbled his name, lust drunk and fucked dumb, he pressed soft kisses along the column of your throat, almost like a reward, a thank you for letting him do this to you.
His pace was growing sloppy, but he showed no signs of letting up, and in the back of your mind, you figured was probably just going to keep on going, even if he came. It was rapidly beginning to become far too much for you, and you moaned, high and breathy, when he rammed himself all the way in, grinding his hips before pulling out less than a quarter of the way, then thrusting back in. He was so deep, and you writhed under him, fingernails scraping against the floor before you were clinging to him. He was moaning, low and breathless, the way he was moving causing you to helplessly spasm around him, forcing you violently over the edge when the base of him rubbed just right against your aching clit.
You could feel tears, beading at your lashline as the sensitivity became maddening, but he wasn’t letting up, even as you arched and bucked and wailed beneath him, the intensity of your climax rendering you incoherent. He knew exactly what he was doing, just how to push every button he needed to, and you were halfway between deliriously begging for more or sobbing at the sensitivity.
A string of curses left his lips as he came, gushing hot and thick inside of you, but he wasn’t even pausing, even as his groans tapered into breathy moans from the way he was overstimulating himself. You could feel him, throbbing, pulsing inside of you as he filled you, uncaring of the way his cum dripped out of you. The sound of it, combined with the slap of skin against skin, was unbelievably lewd, but you hardly had the wherewithal to even think, let alone be any kind of embarrassed. If anything, it only drove you higher.
“Fuck,” Wrothesley cursed, low and broken, “I need it again, please, again– fuck!”
He shifted back, grabbing at your legs and pressing them down beside you, and you thanked the Archons you were flexible as he continued, leaning forward once he had you in the position he liked and taking your body with abandon. He was hardly bothering to hold back his strength as he hammered into you, and your head fell back against the floor with a soft thud, eyes rolling back.
You’d never felt like this before in your life. Your legs were growing sore, and your back was going to be stiff from the way he was fucking you into the floor, but you didn’t care, not as you got to listen to the way he was saying your name like a prayer, how he was caressing and kissing your body like it was sacred. Exhaustion was a heavy weight against the blurred edges of your mind, and all you could do was lay there and take it as he chased after what he so desperately needed.
It didn’t take long for him to grow close again, and he whispered your name as his end quickly approached. You yanked him into a kiss, which he returned with a groan of ecstasy, and then, with a final, deep, shuddering thrust, he was cumming. The force of it made his entire body tremble, and the sound he made was one of satiated, relieved bliss as he emptied himself out inside of you, the heat of him almost suffocating, burning you from the inside out.
His hips jerked with unconscious movements and spasms as he drifted down from the staggering height of his climax, his breath heavy, and he slumped, weakened, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. His mouth pressed lazy kisses against your skin, and you lifted a hand to run it through his hair as he finally, finally began to grow soft inside of you.
The two of you lay there, still joined, for what felt like hours, bathing in each other’s warmth and the afterglow of it all. His breath fanned across your skin, feather soft as he lifted his head to join your lips together, before he slowly pulled out, rolling off of you, dazed.
“Are you hurt?” He asked, voice hoarse, and you arched your back, flexing your body. You winced at the soreness. You were undoubtedly going to have bruises from how hard he had been gripping you.
“I’m fine,” you said, “are you–”
He snorted.
“Yeah,” he said, “that uh… that did the trick.”
You laughed, a little breathlessly. You didn’t know how you’d be able to stand after that, genuinely. Your legs felt like jelly, and a deep, all consuming exhaustion was settling over your senses.
“You think it’s gone?” You asked, “the drug, I mean.”
He looked at you sidelong. “I don’t feel uncontrollably horny anymore, so I’d say so.”
Wriothesley sat up, flexing his shoulders. He tucked himself back into his pants, and then he was gathering you into his arms, rising to his feet.
“What are you doing?” You asked, and he raised an eyebrow at you.
“Taking you to the bath,” he said, “I have a bathtub, in my living quarters.”
You relaxed, settling into his arms. “Oh.”
His living quarters were attached to the office, through a door you’d somehow never noticed before. You were far too tired to take in any of the details of it, instead opting to close your eyes and rest your head on the nearest comfortable spot on Wriothesley’s chest, which he didn’t seem to mind at all.
He set you in the tub, and after the water was run, you were surprised to see him climbing in along with you. It wasn’t unwelcome, and seeing him completely bare was hardly a bad thing, and you were pleasantly happy when he began to gently wash you, and once he was finished, he tugged you back, settling you against his chest.
The bathroom was silent, save for the musical sound of running water, and you allowed yourself to close your eyes, settling into the comfortable atmosphere.
“I meant what I said, you know,” Wriothesley said, and you opened your eyes to look up at him.
“What?” You asked.
“About being fond of you,” he said, “you’re… an amazing woman. I want–”
You leaned up, kissing him, and effectively giving him an answer to his thoughts. He sighed into the kiss, content, one large hand rising to cup your face, thumb smoothing over your cheekbone.
“I guess Siegwinne succeeded,” you said, and Wriothesley smiled, amused.
“I guess she did.”
You stayed in the bath much longer than you expected, until the water became cold, and once that happened, Wriothesley whisked you off to the bed, tucking you under the covers after supplying you with one of his shirts to wear. You smiled when he joined you, now dressed in a pair of sweats, chest left bare, and curled up beside you, tucking you close to his chest.
Sleep came quickly after the lights were switched off, the exhaustion from before spreading over you like wildfire.
And, when he thought you were asleep, you felt him, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head, his body relaxing against yours.
BONUS:
You were agonizingly sore. Your stiff muscles had stiff muscles, and while Wriothesley was sheepish, and apologetic, and promised he’d treat you to dinner to make it up (which you would be taking him up on), it made walking back to the infirmary the next morning a little difficult.
What was even worse was the look on Siegwinne’s face when you entered, ruby red eyes knowing as she watched you approach.
“How’s the duke?” She asked, and you handed her the accursed thermos without saying anything.
“Fine,” you said, slumping down into your chair with a sigh.
She smiled. “Good. Are you seeing him again tonight?”
You turned, brows furrowed. “How did you know about that?”
She shrugged, unbothered. “Someone saw you leaving his office this morning. I suppose what I put in the tea worked a little too well.”
You stared at her. “Siegwinne, you put an aphrodisiac in his tea.”
She paused, concerned. “No I didn’t. I put a supplement to further enhance his desire for you. If we’re being frank, it’s closer to a love potion. Just to get rid of any inhibitions. It’s medicine. But it isn’t meant to cause anything like–”
You rolled back your sore shoulders. “Yeah, well, it did.”
Her face went pale, but she briefly covered it up. “I… suppose I miscalculated.”
You laughed, then. Really laughed. It startled Siegwinne, who stared at you with growing concern.
“It’s fine,” you said, “whatever, Siegwinne. At least you don’t have to keep going with trying to set us up. Focus your energy on making ‘love potions’ that aren’t aphrodisiacs in humans, okay?”
She flushed, quiet, then nodded, once, her eyes taking on a determined look. You were beginning to regret saying anything.
With a smile, and a good natured nod, she put her hands on her hips, ever the dutiful nurse.
— warnings. — fem! reader, biting (mentions of blood), marking you up, oral (fem! receiving), dirty talk
⚝ CYNO
with cyno's facial expression being unreadable as he's towering above you, he sinks his teeth right below your collarbone like he's staking his claim— truly, placing his sharp canines like an executioner's precision or rather a scholar's fascination? and when your back arches at his sinful procedure, when your breath catches like a caught bird in your throat, he exhales like he's satisfied some ancient hunger.
his bites burn like a brand— lingering long after the pain was gone, with a sharpened, bone chilling control, each mark placed not in a frenzy but in precision you only see in battles, a discipline so complete it burned you from within.
his cock slip and slides into you as his teeth sink on your neck mid thrust, right as your nails rake red lines down his shoulder blades to support your shuddering body from the way cyno has been manhandling you all night— yet, the man doesn't even flinch, no, he just groans as if he likes it, coming low from deep inside his chest as though the taste of your skin and the contort of your pussy around his cock was something he must devour in full.
his fingers dig into your hips as he grounds you, holding you in place when he thrusts up again, adding up on rhythm this time— going from slower and more focused on marking you up to brutal, dragging against the walls of your body like he's carving his path into you, the sheer feeling of your drenched pussy convulsing around him like that, over and over milking his cock of all its worth was making his thrusts turn a little sloppy.
"you'll remember this," cyno groans lowly, dragging his tongue over the fresh mark, "no matter where you go, who you see, this mark, this ache, this stretch, it's mine," as the moans bubbling within your throat fail you at last, lost in the depth of your own disarray as your body welcomes to battering sparks in your belly, caught in the brutal grip of his cock splitting you with a suffocating force.
every motion of his rhythm, every shift of his hips, pull something tight inside of you— a yearning and a desperate want, your breathing hitching, unable to get used to his pace as each greedy roll of hips stretch you, devour you slow and consuming, until you were crushed by him entirely.
his cock felt impossibly thick inside you, each thrust a promise written in spit and bruises as the aching bloom of another bite just landed under your jaw, coaxing out tiny, precious whines from your strained throat.
and when cyno licks the blood from his bottom lip, smiling with enjoyment like he's swallowed your soul, you realize he hasn't even cum himself yet— naturally, he's edged himself on for hours since he doesn't plan to give himself any solace, not until your body was dripping with his teeth marks first.
your mind was drifting, lost in the haze of his name, a whisper that clung to you like smoke as his scent wrapped around you, heavy and persistent before pulling you deeper into the fog of him, until you could hardly remember where you end and where he begins.
it's as if every thought was branded by cyno— echoing endlessly in the hollow of your chest.
⚝ DILUC
diluc's teeth scrape against the inside of your thigh first— testing the waters with his touch being blistering, like a tremor on the edge of the abyss and well, the master of the dawn winery wasn't sure if he'll fall for the addictiveness of you— yet little does he realize he's already looking over the edge, licking his lips and enjoying the way you react and taste.
he groans when you flinch against him, or when your legs tremble open and part wider for him the moment his sharp teeth graze at the pulsing flesh, the sound of his grunts accompanying his bites so low it straight up melted into your skin like liquid heat.
diluc's mouth moves up next, his tongue dragging saliva along your flesh before he bites down again, this time slightly harder and searing, so it'll properly sting, "let them see," he breathes, voice all smoke and fire as he sucks a bruise into the softness of your lower area, right above your clit, "let them know you're mine before you can even speak and say it yourself, love."
he holds you close, the heat of his body a constant reminder of the battle raging inside him— a conflict between control and the undeniable hunger that only you could satisfy, in fact, he's a man driven by deep emotions, and every gesture of affection from him reflected that inner fire, tempered by his normally reserved nature.
he presses his tongue into your clit next, thick and burning as he laps at the sensitive pearl, your body opening up to him so hard you sob out and hide your hands within his hair— your fingers clawing at his strands and digging him deeper into your cunt, nails dragging over his scalp like you're trying to ground yourself through the overstimulation and the wetness of his tongue.
your legs crush his head as your skin turns all sticky with sweat and spit and the wet slap of his tongue repeatedly lapping over your pussy as he slides his wet muscle between your folds with that feverish, balmy pace— his hand now searching one of your own to tangle his fingers within it, while the other was gripping at your thigh and pushing you into his mouth, fucking you with his tongue so wet and wild it felt like you might break apart any second.
to your surprise, diluc bites again— not hard, silly, but catching you off guard as he teasingly grazes his teeth over the sensitive skin, shamelessly groaning into your pussy like he's only just begun.
"no one else could made you fall apart like this, right?" diluc breathes, his voice wrecked, trembling at the edges of awe and delirium as the flicks of his tongue showed the opposite, battering you up, "you were built to come undone under me."
⚝ TIGHNARI
tighnari presses his nose into your neck first, his breathing stagnated and hot against your skin as he takes in your scent, whispering sweet nothings you honestly couldn't even decipher— it's something about that low, vibrating choice of tone that barely counted as anything but pure love.
although then, then he bites— utterly fast and sharp without you seeing it coming at all as the pain sinks into the spot between your neck and collarbone, your legs seizing up instantly, twitching violently as your moans break into whines and cries of his name, like something inside you snapped from the sharp press of teeth, from the way you took it.
"you're always so sensitive, crying already," tighnari mocks you a little, licking the aching spot blooming across your skin, "you're so easy to mark up, you're taking it so well," as his kisses remain precise, attempting to decipher the unspoken language of your skin, each press of his lips a careful investigation into your deepest desires.
you were entranced by your boyfriend, you feel it with every snap of his hips— every thick, punishing inch shoving inside you as your body turns soaked, squelching each time he grinds his cock in, the filthy noise becoming even louder when he pushes out as your thighs quiver around his hips.
in all honesty, tighnari wasn't even trying to be gentle with you, he wants to see you clutching at the sheets and demanding more, dizzy from the filth he's putting on you, more so from how full you were as he looks down on where your bodies connected, his tail coiling tightly around your ankle like he cannot stand any distance between you.
his teeth sink in again— just under your ear this time, where it'll definitely hurt and turn you on the most as your vision blurs when your walls clench tight around his length, choking his cock and milking him like your body's gone utterly feral.
tighnari sounds starved for you, yeah, like he's been crawling through a lifetime of thirst just to end up here, fucked so deep inside of you and getting milked by your walls as he cannot tell where he would end up without you as his breath shudders at your ear, hips pressing in like he wanted to disappear inside and never come back.
although, his voice always remains soft, a little aloof too, but there's a certain pressure in it— a quiet insistence, as if he's asking for permission to learn the depths of you a bit more, not simply to possess or claim you, but to understand your pleasure and memorize what you liked the most.
⚝ ALHAITHAM
with the precision of someone calculating the limits of reason, alhaitham's hands move with each touch resembling a quiet experiment whereas you— his willing subject, lets him bite down like he's tasting you— quiet and calculated as his mouth seals over the dip of your breast when you cry out, not just from the pain but from the claim of it, the quiet violence of his precision.
"do you see what you do to me?" alhaitham whispers as he seals your skin with teeth and tongue, dragging the bruise out slowly and watching the inflamed splotch rise like he's planting something unique into your skin, "you whine so easily for me," his presence looms like an unfinished sentence, always on the verge of something deeper, something more, testing your limits without speaking a word.
his cock was heavy inside of you, yet moving slow, stretching your cunt open with every roll of hips, making you slick from the base to your thighs but putting the most attention on your neck.
you're pinned beneath him, legs folded back, belly trembling from how fast he hits your most sensitive parts as he suppresses any noises coming from his throat— instead, he watches, alhaitham watches like a scholar and a sinner both, his eyes dark with need, tracking every flutter of your cunt like it's the only truth he's ever believed in, the blissful expression battered all over your face was a sight to die for.
you feel like you're being studied and destroyed all at once, your back arching in tune with his movements as your eyes roll back into your head, his hips shifting his angle when you scream the moment he changes the grip on your hips, fucking into you hard.
alhaitham slants forward to cage you within his big arms, hugging you, his large hands cupping behind your head in order to prevent you from bumping against the head board as he attacks a tender spot deep inside your warmth, catching every twitch and swallow of your pussy on his cock.
"i could write a thesis on how you fall apart," he admits bluntly with that damned smirk on his face, biting the underside of your jaw now as his tongue slowly drags over the mark afterwards, "but it's so much more satisfying to make you show me instead."
fem reader x diluc, wriothesley, childe, alhaitham & ayato ( separate ) ; dry humping. teasing. somno in childe’s. fem oral receiving. morning sex. one thigh slap in childe’s. sorry these are quite short. petnames used; sweetheart, my dear. wc. 1k words max. ₊ 𓂃 masterlist.
⭒ DILUC
You already have a suspicion that Diluc’s awake by the way his arms are squeezing tight around your waist, making sure that your back is kept flush tight against his chest as you both rest in bed now. Though after a few moments, it doesn’t seem like he’s trying to hide it when he leans forward to bury his first kiss of the day into the back of your head, followed by a sleepy sort of groan as he rests himself even closer against you.
It has become a sort of routine at this point. Your lover will give you a wordless kiss that’s meant as a good morning before he leaves the bed to tend to his duties— then he’ll make sure to coax you awake with the next before he leaves the house.
The latter always seeming to quietly ease you from sleep as Diluc’s hand cups your cheek, and he crouches down at your side to watch you wake softly as he asks how you slept.
But today is different, because you’re already awake… not to mention needy, and your lover is still resting beside you in bed. He’s not as close as you need him to be, but close enough for you to know that you can’t let him go just yet.
“Are you awake?” You exhale softly, though it’s turns into a cheeky sort of question when it’s accompanied by a languid grind of your hips, pressing them back into Diluc’s. You make sure to use just enough pressure for your ass to graze along his already semi-hard cock, feeling it throb at the friction as his large hands squeeze tight into your skin.
It earns you a grunt from him, “You’re up early.” But he doesn’t stop you, and that’s reason enough for you to continue your needy little thrusts back. If anything, he watches you like he’s completely enamoured— at your mercy. Having to take a deep inhale before he’s eagerly offering you with a thrust of his own.
“I know.. I didn’t want you to go yet.” You’re pouting as you reply to Diluc, and he seems to like that as he offers you a particularly rough press of his hips. He’s rock hard now, almost leaking against the fabric of his underwear but the last thing on his mind are his duties for the day when he’s got you in such a state.
What sort of husband would he be if he left his love like this? And in such an adorable state too.
“Well, that won’t do. It seems I best stick around then, sweetheart.” His words purr and you gasp out as you feel Diluc’s large palms explore the curves of your body — taking a slow handful of your breast as you hurry to eagerly shove your panties to the side, urging him closer. And even despite the clouded state of your mind— you still find him to be quite charming. Mostly in the way you feel him immediately fumble with the waistband of his boxer shorts, before it’s followed by the hard press of his cock against your thighs as you lift up your leg to accommodate him. To welcome him.
You feel yourself keen with the first heavy swipe of him, his shaft grazing along your already slick folds, and the man over you offers you a low grunt in appreciation for how wet you are already.
You’re both already breathing deep, finding yourselves to be quite sensitive in your sleepy states. But Diluc wastes no time as he let’s the blunt head of his cock split through your folds, following the movement with a kiss smeared the side of your throat before it catches under the hood of your clit, and you both twitch. His huge body feels like it looms over you, and the next draw back of his hips makes him press against the twitching entrance of your cunt, before it’s followed by a shaky exhale when he begins to finally sink into you.
“Afterall, I can always spare some e-extra time for you.”
⭒ WRIOTHESLEY
It almost felt like a dream waking up to Wriothesley. Not only because he was actually in your bed on the surface, but because he was so utterly handsome as he lies next to you now. He seems to still be sleeping soundly, softly snoring as one of his hands rest on his stomach — the other stays quite tightly wrapped around your waist to keep your pressed into his side.
He’s as warm as always as you try to nuzzle yourself closer — basking in the proximity and taking the chance to admire his features as you find yourself tracing your finger across his scarred chest. He was addicting to look at — even with his mess of a bed head, he seemed to be sleeping quite soundly for someone who didn’t sleep much at all.
Against your better judgement, and while lost in your little affectionate, drowsy haze— you opt to secretly press a long kiss against Wriothesley’s rough jawline as you blink up at him. Letting your lashes flutter before you’re nuzzling back into the pillow beneath you. And you do have every intention of falling asleep before it’s disrupted with your lovers next breath.
“Someone’s awake early.” He grumbles, voice thick with sleep and oh so delicious. Apparently, he wasn’t asleep at all. Though you’re not too sure when he woke up — the realisation makes you huff.
“Says you. How long have you been awake exactly?” You poke your finger into his chest, yet Wriothesley seems to catch it quite easily before it can do any true damage. He brings it up to his lips with his next grumble,
“Oh, that is classified information that you don’t need to know. My lips are sealed.” Despite the fact he still looks a little drowsy, you can still see the teasing sort of glow in the icy blue of his eyes when he finally peeks them open to look at you. And his huge body rolls onto his side a second later as he brings himself to face you, keeping you held tight.
“But, if you’re looking for breakfast, well.. you’ve come to the right place. So what may I get the lady, hm?” Wriothesley wiggles a brow at you, and if he didn’t look so devilishly handsome you think you’d flick that expression off of his face. But he’s pulled you close enough for you to be able to feel the heavy press of his cock straining against your abdomen, and now you can’t focus on anything but.
“You’re ridiculous.” You scoff as your concentration wavers.
“Hm? What’s that? You just were looking at me like you were particularly hungry is all, care to explain why that was? Or have I gotten the wrong idea?” But Wriothesley seems to pick up on your thoughts quite quickly. It’s slow at first, experimental, the first roll of his clothed cock against your body and it makes you both gasp as he drags you into him— pressing you closer as your body begins to move in tandem. You angle yourself up needily until he’s able to graze himself between your legs, and you see the way it makes him smirk.
It doesn’t take you both too long before you’re lost in eachother. There’s a sudden shift in the air of your bedroom as you both take a breath, and it’s quite quickly that you find yourself succumbing to the push and pull of his hands as you try to grind up eagerly for more.
Your bodies appear to move seamlessly together as your clothed pussy grinds against Wriothesley’s bulge. the tight press of your skin against his bare chest feels like fucking silk, making him groan as you reach up to wrap your fingers around his shoulders. And he quickly finds himself reaching down to hook your thigh over his hips so he can allow himself a better angle.
Though that also only seems to allow him a better view to notice the wet patch that’s quickly forming in your panties.
“Oh? And what is all this from I wonder?” Wriothesley smirks down at you as he leans in to bury a kiss into your hairline, followed by a few more against your other features. His teasing drawl makes you squeeze your fingernails into his shoulders, brows furrowing with pleasure aswell as an undercurrent of playful frustration.
But that expression alone makes him throb.
“I’m not telling you.” You huff back, a little stubbornly but he seems to love that reaction as his large palms squeeze into your skin. The sudden grip makes you gasp, and Wriothesley takes that opportunity to up his efforts of rutting into you. Until the pleasure swirls and warms your skin with every eager grind of his cock and your body rocks into his desperately to keep up. You can almost feel every sensitive ridge and vein of his cock with how close he feels, even through his boxer shorts. Paired with gentle, teasing presses of his lips against your cheeks as he pants against you.
“Careful now, or I just might assume you’ve been dreaming of me, sweetheart. You gonna confess? Or should I resort to other measures.”
⭒ CHILDE
It’s still early, you think to yourself as you feel yourself wake to the still dark sky outside of your window. Your mind is still a little hazy, thick from sleep and drowsiness and the room is barely visible with the lack of natural light. But despite all of that, you’re still able to feel the first shocking slurp against your cunt — the sudden pleasure making you jolt from where you rest.
“Oh? Finally awake? You kept me waiting.” Childe goads from where his body rests now — buried beneath the comforter that rests along your body with your thighs thrown over his shoulders. He’s like a famished animal as he eagerly buries himself into the intimate skin between your thighs. How long has he been there?
“Ajax?” You yawn, drowsy but still quick to find his exact location when his next hum in acknowledgment is mumbled against your cunt. It sends a pleasurable vibration through your body until your back is arching against the mattress, and your fingers find his auburn hair to twist at the roots and pull.
The sharp surge of pain makes Childe groan against your folds, shaking his head between them as he rolls his tongue along the wet taste of your slick. It’s absolutely filthy the way your body responds, you’re barely awake, but you’re still managing to grind up to meet every messy movement of his mouth, letting him bathe you in needy swirls of the wet muscle as your thighs shake.
You don’t know if it’s the sleep that’s clouding your system now— maybe it’s made you more sensitive… or maybe it’s because the Harbinger has been palming at your body for a while.
You hear Childe slurp and smack at the slick between your thighs, his large palms gripping tightly at your hips as he almost drags you along his mouth — rocking you into him as he drinks up everything you have to offer. You’re not surprised he’s got so much energy so early, he was insatiable at the best of times— for battle… for you. This was no surprise.
Not that you are complaining at all when you feel his tongue press deeper into your pussy with his next breath, squeezing between the tight ring of your walls and it makes your hands fist at his roots even tighter. Your grip makes him moan against you at the sting, followed by the dizzying throb of his cock against the mattress. You knew exactly what he liked.
But Childe’s already got you so close, you can feel the beginnings of your orgasm bursting to warm across your thighs with every mindless roll of his tongue along your walls. And he’s only driven to give you even more when he feels you twitch tight around the muscle, and he buries himself deeper to grind his nose against your clit.
You’re already a panting mess, left pliant above him in a mess of bedsheets as you press your head back against the pillows, and he truly loves nothing more than starting his days like this.
Childe’s appreciation for your state is evident in the next growl he gives you, following it with another hungry smack of his lips against your folds. He slurps at your slick before swallowing loudly, curling his tongue at the entrance of your cunt before he’s trailing it higher and bathing your clit in strong licks. But just as you begin to melt into the pillows, heels digging into the bedsheets as you try to steal more— you jolt suddenly when he palm comes down heavy on your thigh.
The sting almost makes your legs snap shut around his cheeks at how good it feels. And you feel Childe smirk against your folds when he realises,
“Come on now, don’t hold back on me.”
⭒ ALHAITHAM
It was certainly unusual for you to wake up before Alhaitham. Usually it was him coaxing you from your rest, but it seems today the Scribe needed a few extra minutes himself as he stays resting next to you now. He’s breathing softly as you offer him a drowsy blink, admiring how he seems to glow in the morning sunrise as you lie on your side. He’s all cut muscle and clean lines, his hair resting softly across his features as his eyes rest closed and it makes you smile to yourself as you take him in.
Eventually, after not being able to hold yourself back for much longer, you let yourself be the one to wake him up this time. So you start by pushing yourself a little closer on the mattress, gently as to not wake him too soon before your hand is outstretched and you let your fingertips close the distance.
You start soft, leaving featherlight touches across the toned muscle of Alhaitham’s bicep— your words even softer as you blink at him. “Haitham? Wake up.” you exhale, and your fingers trail up even higher, following the curves of muscle across his shoulders and chest until his brows scrunch at the sensation and it makes you feel giddy.
You watch the way his eyes move slightly beneath his eyelids before he’s squinting at you, only offering you a grunt before he’s reaching out suddenly to pull you into his chest. Until you’re close enough for him to rest his chin on the top of your head with his next exhale. He sounds like he’s already quite comfortable again.
But with the new closer proximity, it only lets you feel the way Alhaitham’s heavy cock is already straining against the fabric of his boxer shorts. Now pressing tight against your skin as you shimmy and grind yourself closer— trying to play it off like you’re getting comfortable instead of… desperate for more.
“Seems one of you was awake before even me.” You opt to joke lightheartedly, teasing him as you poke your fingers into the Scribe’s side. It makes him jolt before he’s mumbling drowsy complaints beneath his breath, squeezing his arms around you tighter like it’ll make you stop.
“Hah, very funny. It’s a natural occurrence.” Alhaitham’s voice is still deep with sleep, lower than his usual tone, but the sound only seems to make the desire that twists in your abdomen feel even thicker. It’s even harder for you to ignore with every syllable he groans out. But still you try as you manage to respond to him quickly… given his adorable drowsy state.
“Oh? I thought maybe you just had a crush on me.” He snorts at that one when you feign disappointment. Like you haven’t been together long enough for you to be living together. But even despite your teasing, you still help him pull down your panties when you feel his hands rest against your lower back. His touch warm as you try to push yourself even closer and he hugs you into him in response.
“In truth, I’m surprised that wasn’t already obvious.” Alhaitham’s words make you warm slightly— the small reassurance making you bite down on your lower lip as you try hard not to beam up at him. So instead, you busy yourself with something else as you pull yourself away from him, pushing your hands down the front of his waistband to take a slow handful of his cock as you hear him groan.
You give the heavy weight of him a few languid strokes, making his breathing stutter before you feel his large palm reach to hook blindly beneath your thigh with the next. He makes short work of pulling it over his hips, just as you push down the remaining fabric over his cock, and he thanks you with a grumbled kiss smeared against your temple as you hug close again.
It was quite dangerous for you to look at Alhaitham in a state like this, but it’s hard not to when his inquisitive gaze is looking at you with such an adoring gentleness. You could blame it on the fact he’s just woken up, but with the way he’s holding you tight you know it’s more than just that as you reach between your bodies to line his cock up.
“Is this your way of confessing?” You giggle again as your fingers wrap around him and his eyes narrow at you cheekily before you swipe the tip through your folds. The soft touch makes you both tremble as you feel his hands squeeze into your waist, and he offers you a playful scoff before he’s taking the opportunity to push even closer. His cock pressing through your folds to bare down hard on your clit until your toes curl.
“Hm, maybe I should teach you how to sit still when you sleep. Then we could avoid these sort of problems.”
⭒ AYATO
It always felt particularly nice to wake up next to Ayato — especially given how rare the occurrence was. Usually he’d be gone quite early — leaving you in tucked sheets and his lingering warmth. But the intimate moments like these where you were truly able to bask in the commissioner, being able to have him all to yourself before he had to leave to attend to his duties… were quite the luxury.
So, to make sure you spend it wisely, he wakes you gently. Starting softly with a press of his lips along the dip of your shoulder, his chest pressing tight against your back as he coaxes you from the serenity of your dreams and deeper into him instead.
“Sleep well?” Ayato breathes, his tone lower and more ragged than others may be used to, but not you. It tells you that he’s not been awake long himself, the rougher undercurrent giving him away as it lacks his usual unwavering tone. But it seems part of him must’ve woken up earlier than the rest, making itself known when you feel his cock press against the swell of your ass as he pulls you closer.
“I did. It must be because you’re so comfortable.. and you?” You flatter him, and it earns you laugh exhaled along the sensitive spots on your throat. Though it’s closely followed by the movement of his fingertips across your stomach, and suddenly you’re helping him pull your panties to the side as he palms at your thighs to spread you wider.
Ayato’s fingers trace softly along your intimate skin before he’s pressing them between your legs, rubbing your clit lightly with two of them— he satiates you with another press of his lips on your neck, before he draws back. Smiling to himself.
“Why ofcourse I did. You are here afterall, my dear. It is to be expected.” His voice sounds as a lower hum, and it doesn’t take him long before he’s peeling back the layers of his yukata and lining his cock up to push into you.
You’re barely prepped, barely even awake but the immediate, pleasurable sting that Ayato offers you only makes you draw even nearer as your words break into something breathier, prettier.
“I wish you didn’t have to go.” You hum, selfishly— though meant lighthearted and sweet when you feel the commissioners cock graze along the sensitive spots inside of you. The friction has you grinding back into him, pushing more of his cock deeper into the saccharine squeeze of your pussy like you’re trying to convince him to stay.
He wishes he could. But with your efforts, it only takes a few seconds before Ayato’s hips are tight against yours, and he’s drawing back with his next breath against your throat to begin a pace. Followed by another soft chuckle that he buries into your skin.
“You know how I hate leaving you, sweetheart. Fret not, I’ll have breakfast prepared for you at once. Surely that will satiate you until my timely return, hm?”
louis is, without a doubt, a walking embodiment of affection. it was as if God sent louis down to the world as an apology for how pathetic some men turned out to be. there is a mixture of both animosity and caution imprinted in his ruby eyes, and yet, when it rests on you, you will find neither of those emotions, there is only love, and there is an abundance of it—every ounce of it, reserved only for you. the apple of his eyes. love radiates from him in the smallest gestures, in the way he notices the things in you that no one else does. he can sense the faint rasp in your voice before you fall sick, his concern already brewing before you have even acknowledged it yourself. and when he starts worrying about you, it is only good for you to listen to him instead of arguing against him.
when you are out together, louis is ever-watchful, ever present, like a guardian angel tasked to protect you and deliver body-aching misery to those who want to harm you. his arm will always find its place around your waist or his hand will gently link with yours. whichever you prefer, it doesn’t matter to him, so long as you are within his reach. if you stray too far, tension pulls taut in his chest. he needs to be close to you, not because he doubts your independence, but because the thought of not being able to protect you gnaws at his peace. it doesn’t stop there. prior to you leaving for work, he never fails to ask, “what time are you getting off work?”, his voice steady and warm as he fixes your blouse, “i’ll pick you up on my way back from the headquarters.” and he always does—no matter the weather. he will come pick you up even when he is drenched in rain water. because to louis, love means showing up, time and time again, without fail.
louis’ love leans more toward the practical side, woven into the fabric of your day in ways that makes your life easier and simpler. a pretty being like you deserves no stress, he thinks, i will take care of you for as long as I can. he folds your clothes with quiet care, dries your hair on nights when you are too tired to do it yourself, braids it with hands so gentle they could calm a storm. loose shoelaces? he is already down on his knee to tie them before you even have to ask. he has lost count on how many times he has to carry you to bed. But he never complains. he finds delight in taking care of you. it gives him a sense of purpose for his existence—other than being the head of MI6. he is a constant presence, smoothing the edges of your busy life with a patience that is as deep and vast as the five oceans combined. in a way, it doesn’t make his affections any less sensual.
even with his own demanding schedule, louis always carves out time for you. it’s in the way he insists on cooking dinner for the two of you, finding solace in the quiet intimacy of shared meals. those evenings are his sanctuary, where the clamour of work fades, and the world narrows to just you and him, a soft hum of connection that neither of you needs to speak aloud. but most of all, he finds joy in seeing you eat. watching your cheeks become round as you chew your food, and knowing that you are healthy because of him. being a secret agent is no easy feat, but in the midst of whatever hardship he encounters in his job, he thinks of you—i have my girl to feed at home. i have to come home.
when he speaks to you, his words are deliberate. even when he is cross with you, he can never bring himself to shout at you. You are delicate, but perhaps, he is just as delicate as you—his heart always on the verge of collapsing that you can see tears pooling in the edge of his eyes before he can even utter a word. you will never catch him calling you anything careless or with words that belittles you. he has some sort of code, you notice. you name is reserved only for moments where he subtly demands your utmost attention. he calls you with a nickname that only the two of you know when he is upset with you. but on other days, you become “my darling,” “my plum,” “sweetheart,” or his personal favourite, “my love.” these words are his vows, spoken in the way only by a man who loves deeply, and is completely, perfectly and incandescently happy to be with you.
Fred’s way of displaying affection is delicate, almost hesitant—like a young flower bud wanting to bloom but afraid that he might not be as elegant as the rest—as though he is afraid of doing things wrong, of not meeting your expectations enough. He likes you so much, it damn near bursts his chest, that it almost paralyzes him. He does not want to disappoint you—not ever. He wants you to look at him feeling worthy of your love. At first, he thought he wanted to be just like any other man. But grand gestures are for the kind of men who do not stumble over their words when they are nervous. And you, precious, Fred can’t help but be rendered speechless at the mere sight of you. But that doesn’t mean his efforts to show you his love are any less heartfelt, any less extraordinary. If anything, he compensates for his ordinariness by going out of his way to do the things he does not have a taste for—all so he could flatter you because he knows it will make you happy.
Fred is not a man of many words, but he is thoughtful to a fault, albeit there is a flicker of spontaneity toward it. While he may not be one to send you grand bouquets, he is the kind of man who would smoothly pluck a flower from the side of a road or an unsuspecting vendor’s cart with a small grin, just to surprise you with it mid-conversation because the flower reminded him of your beauty. The kind of man who shows up with your favourite treats because they make your eyes shine in the most childlike way. He is more than prepared to lend you his ear and undivided attention when you need to rant about the inconveniences in your life, no matter how big or small. He loves to hear your voice, every octave echoing in the hollow parts of his chest. He also knows that you are more capable of handling things on your own. It is one of the many things he admires about you. Your quiet strength resonates with him. And yet, he always asks, “Do you need any help?” There is no pressure in the question. No ulterior motive, just a genuine question. And when he does this, he silently wishes you would not deny him. If he can be honest, his heart swells just a little when you pause, smile softly, and nod—an unspoken invitation from you to let him into your world, which is a privilege he does not take lightly.
All he wants is to be by your side, to do things with you—not out of necessity, but because he believes that it is through small, shared moments that he feels closest to you. He treats you like how he treats his roses—with tender precision and ever-watchful eyes. Watching you focus, catching glimpses of the way your mind works, learning the rhythms of you through every task that you do–it’s his way of knowing you better, of planting himself into your life so he could grow roots and one day be a stalk for you to rely on.
When your birthday approaches, he will stay up all night in secret, determined to bake your favourite cake—despite having no idea how to bake one at all. No worries, Fred has a strong penchant for learning new things—and if those things are related to you, it gives him all the more reason to strive for the best. You will probably wake up to find the kitchen an absolute disaster: flour dusting the counters like fresh snow, bowls stacked haphazardly, and Fred standing there looking a little exhausted but immensely proud as he puts the finishing touches on a lopsided birthday cake. His hair is a mess, the top of his shirt unbuttoned, but his sheepish grin is so earnest that you can’t help but smile.
Fred’s affection may not be as flamboyant and intense like fireworks crackling across a midnight sky, but it illuminates like a sparkler in your fingers, for Fred only wants to burn in your hold. He wants to be the steady glow of a candlelight that accompanies you in the dark. And if he were to peter out, let him lay in your own two arms. He doesn’t just love you; he merges himself into your soul. With Fred, you feel known. You feel seen. Your existence is celebrated with every rise and fall of his breath, in the gentle strides he makes as he walks toward you to envelope you in a tight hug after a long day. “I’m proud of you, princess,” he will say, holding you like a hard-won prize. And that, more than any grand gesture, is what makes his love unforgettable.
❤︎ daughter of the ceo of a prominent company! reader who had once been one of the key investors in the blue lock project. skip a couple of years later, reader’s parent’s faith in its success is validated since many blue lock graduates now dominated the world of soccer, securing spots on top teams like paris x gen, bastard münchen, fc barcha, manshine city, ubers, and the like. and it just so happens that reader’s parent’s company is one of the most prestigious sponsors, promoting multiple teams as their marketing strategy. with their meteoric rise captivating the global stage, your parent’s interest is piqued once more. and so, they devise a plan—an almost, no, undoubtedly the most diabolical scheme yet. they will decide which team to sponsor more based on whom you, their rich and beautiful—but for some mysteriously reason single to the bone—daughter, would choose as your future husband.
however … you are in the dark about their plans.
perhaps your perpetual singleness stemmed from your domineering parents (don’t old money people are?), or perhaps it was that very old money madness that led them to orchestrate their most audacious move yet. so, when they ordered you to embark on a secluded vacation with some of the world’s top soccer players—strictly and personally handpicked by them, of course—you found yourself in an overwhelming dilemma.
enter the boys—each one having heard of your parents’ proposal: if any one of them could win your heart and marry their daughter before the New Year, they would be granted a lifetime sponsorship. tempted by the irresistible promise of wealth and support, the boys are ready to do anything and everything to claim you as their prize.
SYNOPSIS ❤︎ So … you’ve finally hit it — the scariest moment of your accidentally brilliant author career: literary rock bottom. Writer’s block has come for your life. Maybe you should have seen this existential dread creeping up your life when your debut novel blew up overnight and accidentally made you famous.
Is it the soul-crushing city life? The relentless noise of social media? No. It’s definitely your editor breathing down your neck, demanding the next big thing. Whatever the cause, your brain has flatlined. The blinking cursor on your Google Doc now feels like a countdown to creative death. Every attempt to write ends in existential spirals and way too much caffeine. So you do what any stressed, royalty-rich author would do: vanish.
Greece sounds like the perfect place to do just that — the sun, sea, the cuisine, and absolutely no chance of running into anyone who knows your name or your book. You can be a stranger in a beautiful country … or so you thought.
Because apparently, the universe — or fate or karma, or whoever’s got your file in the celestial HR department — has decided to make your life a lot harder. One by one, familiar faces from your past began to show up. And as if that wasn’t chaotic enough, your ongoing misadventures somehow attract a few new faces too. Major plot twist: they all seem to know each other. Now, you’re trapped in what was supposed to be your peaceful, healing vacation — which has rapidly mutated into not only a surreal, sun-drenched reunion tour of the men from chapters you thought you had already closed, but also a battleground for the ones who wishes to write their name down in the history of your life. So much for solitude. So much for peace. And honestly, you should have just stayed home and cried into your Google Docs page.
ᯓ★ an nsfw blue lock fanfic series(?) featuring author!reader + filthy rich soccer players in their mid to late twenties who have their own agendas to have you for themselves.
You haven’t spoken to him in years — not since he decided to join the Blue Lock facility. It was like his presence vanished from the face of the Earth. The next thing you know, his face and name are suddenly everywhere: plastered across posters in public spaces and transportations, in newsfeeds, and on advertisement boards. You notice how much he has grown, and there was something in his eyes that feels different, but you can’t pinpoint what. To say you’re surprised would be an understatement. And when you accidentally bump into him during a walk through the traditional market on your holiday, you’re at a complete loss for words. He claims the encounter is “entirely” coincidental, and while his reason for being in Greece is the same as yours, what you don’t know is that Isagi Yoichi isn’t here just for sunsets and souvlaki. No… he’s got unfinished business. It’s safe to say he’s not just trying to revive a childhood friendship — not anymore. Now that he’s got you in his sights, he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re not parted from him ever again.
The Destroyer aka Itoshi Rin
tw: the hot neighbour trope, tsundere! itoshi rin, slightly dominant! reader, enemies to lovers, slow burn, degradation kink,
If there’s one thing you have in common with Itoshi Rin, it’s that your vacation house happens to be in the same area as his childhood home. In other words, he’s your neighbor. And you’ve never liked your neighbor — despite what the old ladies in the neighborhood say about him being tall and handsome, if not “a little too intense” (not your words, obviously). With the way his cold gaze seems to judge you from across the street like he’s the district’s unofficial vibe cop, it’s hard to find a single redeeming quality. And somehow, the two of you always find new ways to spark a petty feud. It started small — your cat sneaking into his balcony at midnight, his packages constantly landing at your door instead of his — but the irritation only grew from there. This summer, you were finally free: traveling abroad, leaving the pettiness behind. No Rin. No neighbor drama. Bliss. So imagine your absolute bewilderment when you run into him in Greece — of all places. You’re convinced you’ve been cursed. And the feeling? Completely mutual. Rin isn’t exactly thrilled to see you either. And yet, despite every attempt to steer clear of each other, you and him keep colliding — like fate, or sheer spite, refuses to let you stay apart. But the worst part? The more he annoys you … the more you’re starting to think it might not be hate fueling your pent-up emotions after all.
The Soccer Prodigy aka Itoshi Sae
tw: strangers to lovers trope, love at first sight, clumsy!reader, slow burn, drunk sex, not so darkish content because this man yearns like an immortal he just needs love let’s give it to him
You’re not into soccer — not even a little. You couldn’t name a single powerhouse team if your life depended on it. So how were you supposed to know that the guy you made a stellar first impression on (which involved spilling coffee on his limited-edition, branded white shirt) turned out to be international football royalty and a walking tabloid headline: Itoshi Sae? By the time you realized who he was, it was already too late. The damage was done — to his shirt, to your reputation, and possibly to your will to live. Now, you’re far too mortified to set foot in that café again. You’ve tried writing in other places, but none of them have that perfect ambience — the sea breeze, the quiet chatter, the coffee that hits just bitter enough to feel poetic. So here you are, clinging to the hope that the Fates might spare your already cursed soul… and that Sae won’t show up there again. But this is Greece — the land of grand tragedies — and one of the greatest is this: the Fates, in their divine comedy, have apparently tied your thread of life to his. And every time you cross paths — because of course you do — you’re always in the middle of some minor disaster. You’re not sure what’s worse — that he keeps witnessing your slow descent into chaos, or that he seems to be taking interest in it. As if your astrologically doomed luck is the most entertaining thing he’s seen all week.
The Hero aka Kunigami Rensuke
tw: secret admirer's trope, senior! kunigami rensuke (a year above you), possessive behaviour
Running into Kunigami Rensuke during your vacation was not on your vacation itinerary — but maybe it should have been. Out of all the people you have come to genuinely like (note: platonically), Rensuke still holds a top-tier spot. Hard to forget the guy who helped you survive that cursed elective class back in university. But maybe it's what they call a 'blessing in disguise' because if you haven't met a charming guy like him back in university, you would have sworn off men for the rest of your life. There was literally nothing to hate about him — patient and kind and considerate — the man is literally a saint. But you were too oblivious to notice back then as to why a man of his caliber is single. You just think he's chill and kind just like that — the 'cool guy friend'. For Rensuke, it has been ages since he last spoke with you but seeing you again feels like the universe was finally in his favour. He silently makes a vow: this time, he's not leaving this archipelago without telling you how he feels. No hesitation. No more waiting around. You've always meant more to him than you knew — and now that you're within his grasp, once again, he's ready to prove it.
The Corporate Millionaire aka Mikage Reo
cw: high school exes, dubcon, manipulation
One name you swore you’d never want to hear again? Mikage Reo — your high school ex-boyfriend, now filed permanently in the archives of your emotional regret folder. Things ended, and not on good terms. But you made your peace with it. There was some small comfort in knowing the two of you had taken completely different paths — until, of course, his annoyingly perfect face started showing up on TV after he inherited the CEO position at Mikage Corporation. Still, you managed to live with it … until your so-called “wounds” rip open again when you unexpectedly spot him boarding the same cruise as you. And no, he’s not alone. Along with the emotional baggage clearly marked as “unresolved feelings”, he’s brought a friend — tall, attractive, and definitely not here to make your life easier. Originally, Reo’s plan was a chill vacation around Greece with his best friend. But now that you’re in the picture? It looks like he’s making a few edits to that itinerary — starting with trying to win you back.
The Lazy Genius aka Nagi Seishiro
tw: second male lead trope, possessive and obsessive behaviour
Now, here's one face you're not familiar with, but you've got a feeling you've seen this guy somewhere before: Reo's ever-present teammate and emotional support introvert. Nagi Seishiro didn't come to Greece by choice — he was dragged by Reo and not wanting to hear his endless complaints of how he'd be lonely and bored without him, Seishiro begrudgingly accepted his invitation. He finds no joy in going for holidays. He would rather be at home, wrapped in a blanket, playing games without looking at the clock. He expected absolutely nothing from this trip — until he met you — a pretty little thing who he knows he'll probably have no chance with. He has heard of your past history with Reo. Not to mention, who would choose someone like him? Detached, gloomy and more interested in screen than real life? But then you smiled at him. Once. Maybe twice. Maybe it's the way you call his name — so kind and gentle and caring — qualities Seishiro has yet to feel in his life. You unknowingly altered his brain chemistry, and just like any other gamers, he enjoys a hard challenge: he is going to make you his and his only.
welcome to crownview country club, one of the most premier country clubs in existence. whether you're savoring a round on our championship golf course, enjoying the serenity of our world-class spa, or indulging in gourmet dining crafted by our award-winning chefs, crownview provides a retreat like no other.
as you navigate the greens, let the warmth of our renowned beverage cart girls, affectionately known as the club's crown jewels, enhance your experience. these girls are dedicated to providing exceptional customer service, and are here for your every need, on and off the course.
alternatively: you — young, sweet, naive you — think you just won the jackpot by securing a job this summer break as a beverage cart girl at a country club you can't even dream of ever joining. how unfortunate that you just didn't know what types of customers you'd have to service and how far the club's "above and beyond" approach really extends...
ᝰ.ᐟ a nsfw longfic one shot collection featuring a sweet, vulnerable reader + a different archetype of customer who will always hold the power in this dynamic
✦ meet the regulars ✦
the new owner aka satoru gojo
warnings power imbalance, dark content, degradation, extortion, misogyny
you're good at your job. you're hardworking and never let your smile slip off your face, even when the customers get too handsy or too condescending with you. you don't mess up orders, and you always maintain the position that the customer is always right. but with this new regular — who's arrogant and mean and downright nasty — you're not sure how long you can keep up with your fake smiles around him. little do you know, he's making a game of how far he can go before you break. oh, and that little stunt you pulled? where you tried to report his "awful behavior" to your manager? that was cute. really cute. but as the new owner of this country club, there's no one that can do anything about whatever he does. he owns this place, and by extension, that means he owns you.
attending your dream private college on scholarship comes with a lot more challenges than you anticipated. for starters, you don't fit in with any of your classmates and struggle to find friends. your scholarship covers tuition, and that's about it. while your peers are off on vacation, you'll be spending the summer break trying to save up enough money to cover rent and basic living expenses. it's shaping up to be a boring summer, until you keep running into one of your classmates: he plays on the golf team for your school, and apparently, he just can't get enough of the sport... or you.
the corporate powerhouse aka tetsurou kuroo
warnings dark content, praise kink, degradation, dubcon, slight fear play, misogyny
one of the worst groups of men to encounter on the golf course? definitely the men who work in corporate. the ones who conduct client meetings on the course and definitely contribute nothing beneficial to society. to them, employees of the establishments they frequent are no more than "the help", but when you're a pretty young thing, whipping out the pitiful broke college student story, you end up sparking the interest of a ceo with a major savior complex.
the soldier aka caleb
warnings age gap, size kink, possessive behavior, dark-ish content
forced to take a break from his special forces team, this soldier is restless and struggling to acclimate back to regular society. his old friends keep dragging him to their weekly golf meetups, but he can't see the appeal. that is, until he meets you. sweet and soft, the exact opposite of everything he's had to encounter these past few years, you are exactly what he wants — no, needs — in order to properly enjoy civilian life.
the not-so secret admirer aka yuuta okkotsu
warnings yandere, babytrapping, obsessive&possessive behavior, dark content
you're used to rich guys who are major jerks, and as one of the wealthiest members of this club, you're certain that he must be no different. but then he surprises you; he is different. where others are cocky, condescending, quick to remind you of your place (beneath them), he's kind and a little bit awkward. shy, and always apologizing, worrying that he's bothering you. he's sweet. you like him, but maybe not as much as he obviously likes you. first comes the insane tips, then the extravagant gifts (that you're not allowed to refuse), and any resistance on your end has him revealing a colder side to him, an almost scary side, that frightens you into agreeing with whatever he tells you to do. he's so rich because he never gives up, and never takes no for an answer — and you'll learn this lesson, too.
if there’s one thing william excels at—aside from intricately orchestrating the demise of corrupt aristocrats in shakespearean fashion—it’s keeping his word. he rarely forgives, and he never forgets, whether it be a fault or a vow. he’s not one to make a promise out of the blue. because the moment he says the words, “i promise you,” he takes on the role akin to God—he will serve.
but when you asked him to promise that he’d take better care of himself, he found it difficult to abide it at first. looking into your eyes, william realises there is nothing that he would not do for you, even if it means going against the logic in his own mind. but he has no doubts to give you everything, he won’t hesitate to sacrifice himself—Hell, he will work with the devil and burn the world for you if it means he could give you Heaven. he promises to make you happy. a promise made is a promise kept and the last thing he will ever do is disappoint you. the man already damned himself before he laid his eyes on you, and now that he’s with you, no amount of redemption arcs will ever restore his dignity if you are ever displeased with him.
william is hyper-observant—even more so when it comes to you. you need not tell him words, he only needs to gaze at you, his pupils going back and forth to examine the curve of your eyebrows—whether they’re creased or relaxed. every small detail, from the quiet rhythm of your habits, the nuances of your moods, he took it upon himself to remember them and brainstorm every possibility that will closely determine what you’re feeling on a specific day. if he could remember shakespeare lines, surely, he can keep a record of your diverse demeanour. after all, he sees people like they are poetry, and you happen to be his favourite of all.
he doesn’t stop there. because he notices, therefore, he acts. he feels glad that he can utilise that sharp mind of his not just for strategy and vengeance, but to make your life a little brighter in ways you might not even notice at first. whether you notice it or not, it doesn’t matter, for william only cares to see your smile knowing that he is the cause behind it. his little gestures may seem insignificant at first, but it accumulates, and you will feel it’s impact later on, that how with william, somehow your life feels easier.
furthermore, you need not question his loyalty. still, there is a touch of possessiveness within his loyalty towards you. william can’t help but bristle when you find yourself in the company of too many men (too many to his liking, of course). at the same time, he doesn’t want to appear overbearing. it’s not that he doesn’t trust you—he does—but he knows all too well how wretched men can be. yet, william would never forbid you to go out with them. he respects your independence too much to cage you, even if his protective insticts beg him to.
so, when there are those times where you need to leave him for a little while, he will approach your figure standing by the door, brush his lips to your temple and murmur, “be careful,” before you go. or, if he wants you to stay with him a little longer, but he knows you can not, his voice softens in a way that’s enough to split your heart, making you feel terrible to leave his side. and you’d be compelled to stare into his ruby eyes, gleaming with mercy and anticipation, “i’ll await for your return, my love. come home soon. come home to me.”
rnnsdrms™. do not plagiarize, translate, share my works on any social media site and ai engine. support writers by reblogging their work.
their kinks pt. 2 !
✩ genshin boys hcs x gn!reader
↳ ft. haitham, childe, wriothesley, ayato
HAITHAM is obsessed with your size difference. he towers over you, not only when you stand next to him, but even now, as you lay under him, you seem so small compared to him. no amount of prep or foreplay can ever get you used to how fucking big he is. the way he can pin both your arms above your head with just one hand, how he can effortlessly take control at any second. it's alluring; the mere thought of you under him makes his head spin <3
CHILDE's having a great time fucking you through your clothes. you're on his lap, perched right on top of that bulge that he's so proud of you for causing. he rocks his hips and digs his fingers into your sides, straining against your soaked panties. he loves watching you get more and more desperate, trying to find a better angle where you could actually feel him, but he's never been one to rush things <3
WRIOTHESLEY is a gentleman in his daily life, but when it comes to sex, he's vicious. he loves biting, digging his teeth into the elegant crook of your neck while he's deep inside you. he'll make sure to never hurt you, obviously he'll be gentle enough; but he gets a huge thrill out of having your sweet skin between his teeth, pulling your lip along with him while he kisses you <3
AYATO is easily the most refined man in all of inazuma. but no one knows that he's got you bent over in front of his mirror, making you watch yourself while you're moaning his name in the most undignified way. the way he works your body, he knows just how you like it. and it seemed like a waste to him if you couldn't see yourself while he fucks you, so deep, so hard, so sweet <3
strangely enough, despite albert’s tarnished reputation among the nobility, his popularity with the ladies of any social standing never seems to wane. however, you won’t deny (it’s not the same as admitting it, though) that he is blessed with a regal face structure enough to rival a prince; his calm, sophisticated aura, accompanied by his gentle tone of voice and amiable smile, makes him an even more formidable bachelor.
oh, poor the men of london! but if you were as naive as most of the ladies of london, who are all too quick to give their affections away in hopes of gaining a little attention, you might not have found yourself in his clutches. because, perhaps, men are creatures who flourish when there is a thrill of a challenge. and albert saw you as one. you were the mysterious island in the distance. his mind has charted its course, and he won’t anchor until he succeeds in reaching his destination: you.
you would have thought that a man of his caliber and notoriety would have had no trouble charming a potential suitor. it was only after you were with him that you realised he had gone through all the trouble to impress you, even at the expense of his dignity. at first, you thought he would lavish you with ephemeral joys and sweet nothings, which is a trade he excelled in to impress the opposite sex. again, it was only later you knew that wasn’t something he prides himself on. it had merely been a mask to hide his true self. albert knows that people liked to be pleased, and that they are more likely to behave cordially when one told them the things they wanted to hear. but not with you. oh no, he could never do such a shallow thing toward you. with you, it was the other way around: he became the one at lost for words.
uncovering his duality had been a bewildering surprise to you. in front of the world, he had adorned an actor’s mantle, and yet before you, he is as lost as an innocent child. you find it sweet, albeit slightly hilarious (much to his embarrassment) that he appears to be reserved with his display of affections for you. and you have no qualms about it. you know now, that his love comes in soft whispers and moments of unwavering gazes, and they have slowly slipped into the lonely spaces of your life, just like whenever his hand reaches for yours when walking down a dark alley. you feel the timidity of it, and in addition to his desperation for your love betraying his cold emerald eyes, there was no room in your heart to torment him further.
but certain situations do call for grand public displays of affection. if he notices a man getting too close to you, his hand quickly finds its place around your waist, pulling you firmly, closer to the warmth of his body. he may give a kind a smile or two to the man, but only you can feel the pressure of his fingers seeping through your clothes. if a woman throws herself at him? you need not worry. he doesn’t waste another glance, choosing instead to kiss you in a way that leaves no room for doubt. sometimes, his actions, ones fueled by jealousy, catches you off-guard. but you can’t help but fight back a smile that threatens to reveal your thoughts about how adorable his silent fury is.
albert’s love language is unconventional. another discovery you unravelled despite what the aristocratic ladies gossip about when they bat their eyelashes at him. “the finest bachelor in london” and “london’s prince” are just some of the labels you have heard about him when you attend social events. and you still hear it even after albert dropped his aristocratic title. by now, you know that his charms that they all fall for is a farce, one he wears because he has learned it’s easier to indulge their attention than fight it. because, if anything, albert’s behaviour is a far cry from a prince. if only they know how many times albert almost burned the kitchen; how he would bring you the charred remains of his cooking with a sheepish grin because to him, it wasn’t the result that mattered, it was the effort. it didn’t matter that he almost hurt himself when he tried deboning a fish because he doesn’t want you to choke on them; or how he would give the oddest compliments such as putting his hand over your head when you’re trying out new heels. “hmm, you are at the perfect height to kiss me, shall we give it a go?”
he speaks eloquently, yet chooses not to drown you in “i love you”s. no. albert believes in a love that speaks through actions rather than words. you will not hear him say it often, but when he does, it wears down every burden on your shoulders. you feel the immense generosity of it. he always celebrates your victories, no matter how big or small. when you rise, he rises with you. and you can find him amongst the crowd, looking at you with a quiet pride in his eyes, silently announcing to the world, “that’s her. that’s my woman. my halo. my saving grace.”
rnnsdrms™. do not plagiarize, translate, share my works on any social media site and ai engine. support writers by reblogging their work.
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