#muse.wriothesley

[bywrios-moved]

sometimes, it’s easy to forget that wriothesley isn’t invincible.

he makes it seem so easy—fighting, that is. all quick, sharp movements and light footwork. it’s almost like he’s dancing as he circles his opponents in the pankration ring, fists held high to shield his face. and outside the ring, he’s aided by those gauntlets of his that pack one hell of a mean punch.

all this to say, wriothesley doesn’t often get hurt. but he is still just a man, and to err is human, as they also say.

and so you give him an apologetic smile as he sucks in a sharp breath between his teeth when you press a damp cotton swab to a cut on his cheek. he’d gotten it trying to break up a fight between a few inmates, and one of them got a lucky hit in. his large, warm hands rest on your knees as he sits across from you, caged in by his own legs to ensure you can get close enough. his thumbs draw idle shapes into your skirt as you clean up the little cut, and he lets his mind wander as he looks at you.

you’re too preoccupied to notice his lingering blue gaze as it traces the contours and dips of your face, over the ridge of your cheekbones and the delicate bow of your lips, before settling on your eyes. ones so full of warmth and sincerity, both things wriothesley once thought he’d never be so intimately familiar with.

but you proved him wrong. and oh, how he loves it. loves you.

when you pull away, your work done, he catches your wrist gently. he grins at the puzzled look on your face, and the way your head tilts to the side in confusion ever so slightly. archons take him, you’re so damn cute.

“i think you’re forgetting something, doc,” he teases, and you blink. your eyes flicker from his eyes to the cut and back, and you frown. wriothesley hums, and to help you along, he lets his eyes flicker noticeably down to your lips then back up—which immediately draws an exasperated noise from you.

“you want me to kiss it better?”

and he grins, charmingly boyish. “pretty please, princess?”

(it takes him giving you his best puppy dog eyes before you relent and press a chaste kiss to the cut. he all but melts against you, and you swear if he had a tail it would probably be wagging furiously right now.)

[bywrios-moved]

mornings with wriothesley aren’t slow, but they’re still calm. he and you have a routine that you’ve both fallen into, a seamless machine that has not once faltered. but sometimes the work does pile up, and when that happens, he tends to get a little forgetful.

in today’s case, he’s forgotten his cuffs, which he usually keeps on his belt. in truth, you don’t know why he bothers with them—if anyone was being rowdy, he could easily immobilise them with one hand (you’d know. from experience. but for totally different reasons, of course).

so before he can slip out the door, you hook your finger in one of his belt loops and tug him close. he lets you reel him in, not fighting your touch—as if he ever would—but there’s a curious tilt to his head that reminds you of a puppy.

“did you need something, love?” he asks, his voice low and gentle as it is in the mornings. you have the cuffs hidden behind your body, and offer him a teasing grin.

“you forgot something,” you sing-song, your tone light and airy.

wriothesley’s brow furrows, and you can see the cogs turning in his brain as he tries to figure out what exactly he’s missing. but then his handsome features relax, and he drops his fist into his palm as a gesture of ‘got it!’ you expect him to ask for the cuffs.

what you don’t expect is for him to lean down and kiss you sweetly on the lips.

he tastes like the morning tea you made for him, and the toothpaste you both use. you’re too stunned to kiss him back, and by the time you register what’s happening he’s already pulling back. his hands find your waist and he smiles affectionately down at you. “there. better?”

he looks so pleased with himself, and you can’t stop the flush rising from your neck all the way up to your cheeks. but slowly, you reveal the cuffs from behind your back and wriothesley blinks, then awkwardly chuckles. “ah.”

“it’s fine,” you mumble, pointedly not making eye contact. “that… was also nice.”

he grins at that, and gently takes the cuffs from your hands and locks them into place on his belt. he kisses your forehead, and his hands squeeze your hips affectionately. “yeah? i’ll keep that in mind for next time then, princess.”

[bywrios-moved]

recycling some old wrio works to kick off this little sideblog... imagine the people of the fortress starting to call you duchess. you blink the first time you hear it slip from the lips of one of the inmates, your brain taking a moment to process it. you ask the guy who said it if the duke knows, and he says, “sure thing, my lady, the duke knows everythin’ that goes on ‘round here. he even encouraged it." that last part makes you raise a brow but you keep it yourself for now.

you only confront wrio later that night when you’re in bed together, you lying on his chest and him running his fingers through your hair. you ask him and he laughs, a low rumble in his throat. “really? i had no idea.”

you give him a glare and pull the full name card and he folds. “okay, okay, maybe i know a little bit about what you’re talking about… do you not like it?”

“i mean— it’s not like we’re married,” you mumble, cheek smushed against his firm chest. wrio hums at that and then tilts your head up to look at him with a gentle finger beneath your chin.

“we could be,” he says softly, ice eyes so soft as he looks into yours—soft in a way only you will ever know. his suggestion makes you still, and you tell him not to joke around about things like that, and his expression turns serious.

“i’m not joking, sweetheart,” he says, firm but not overbearing, though you don’t miss the uncharacteristic way his voice falters, like he’s nervous. his hands go down to squeeze your waist as if to steady himself. “i’m— i would be honoured to be your husband. if you would have me. we don’t have to, of course, because i love you and you know that i do and a marriage will just be a piece of paper legalising that but i—“

you cut off his ramblings by kissing him and saying yes directly against his lips.

(as if you would ever say anything else.)