#» within the fortress — ( wriothesley ) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yandere-daydreams · 5 months ago

Text

Title: Without Parole.

Pairing: Yandere!Neuvillette x Reader x Yandere!Wriothesley (Genshin).

Word Count: 3.8k.

TW: Implied Non/Con, Prolonged Imprisonment, Wrongful Imprisonment, Unhealthy Relationships, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Blood, Possessive Behavior, and Gratuitous Old Man Yaoi.

“You reek of mortal blood.”

Neuvillette watched through half-lidded eyes as Wriothesley glanced over his shoulder, a careless grin already tugging at the corner of his lips. He paused, letting the shirt he’d only just started to button hang limp over his chest, and turned to face Neuvillette properly – albeit, never removing himself from the edge of the mattress. “I wonder why,” he murmured, keeping his voice low, playful. “It’s not like I’ve been carrying six liters of the stuff around or anything.”

Neuvillette softened, as he always seemed to when gifted with Wriothesley’s full attention, but didn’t relent. “It’s not yours. You’ve never been so—” He couldn’t stop himself, grimacing. “—sweet.”

Such a simple description didn’t do justice to the extent of the wrongness currently laid over Wriothesley’s pointed, metallic scent. It was almost sickeningly saccharine; overripe fruit and overused perfume and sugar boiled to the point of caramelization. It was a haze more than anything, the type of numbing agent used to dull the senses and hide something more vile, more cutting. Neuvillette didn’t care for it, but then again, Neuvillette didn’t care for most things that placed himself between him and Wriothesley.

“…I don’t like it,” he admitted, nearly under his breath. He let his eyes fall shut and, as if in response, felt Wriothesley’s hand cupped his cheek, the calloused pad of his thumb tracing over his jaw. “Someone’s been putting their hands on you. If it’s one of your guards, I’ll have them transferred to—”

“Careful, love.” At least Wriothesley was delicate with his interruption. “You’re starting to sound a little jealous.”

Neuvillette stiffened, more out of reflex than anything. Despite his best attempts at self-restraint, possessiveness was simply in a dragon’s nature. No part of him wanted to treat Wriothesley like a precious object to be locked away without sympathy or softness, and even if he had any desire to be so domineering, it would’ve been impossible; he had his duties to Fontaine, and Wriothesley had his to the fortress that lied under its seas. Taking him away from his station would be irresponsible, if not cruel. Wriothesley was not a man who could live under the heel of another.

And yet, while the humanity within him knew Wriothesley could only ever be a lover (a distant one, at that), his draconic nature howled for something soft and pliable and able to be captured and kept, something he could dig his fangs into and never release. For a mate, as primal and primitive as the idea seemed.

He forced himself to relax, to exhale, to open his eyes and pull himself into a more respectable position. One hand found Wriothesley’s where it was laid over his cheek while the other found a thigh – his pointed nails burrowing into well-scared skin. Kissing Wriothesley came naturally, as unfamiliar as he’d once been with such human gestures of affection, and his lover posed no resistance, even as the defined points of Neuvillette’s teeth dragged across his bottom lip and the iron tinge of fresh blood joined the taste of Wriothesley’s mouth. Neuvillette couldn’t stop himself, letting out a raspy groan, pushing himself against Wriothesley with all the tenderness and all the misery of a wild animal, desperate not to tear apart what it loved most.

And, for the most part, Wriothesley was kind enough to pretend he felt the same.

He met you a month later, tucked within the iron walls of Wriothesley’s underworld.

You were already in his office, sitting at an ancient player piano he would’ve sworn hadn’t been there the last time he’d visited the fortress. He’d mistaken it for one of Wriothesley’s records, at first – your playing paced and melodic, hesitant in a way that could be regarded as pleasant if your listener happened to be rather patient. You only paused as he crested the staircase leading to Wriothesley’s loft, snapping towards Neuvillette with an expression only comparable to that of a small, frightened animal. You recognized him quickly enough, relaxing somewhat when you did, but not before he recognized you.

Or, rather, the sweetness you absolutely reeked of.

It was more overpowering than it had been, when he’d only been taking in the residuals of it left on Wriothesley. Rotting fruit abruptly seemed like an inaccurate comparison, too simple, too blatantly vitriolic. If your scent could be linked to anything, it would’ve had to be caramel – sugary and fresh and cloying in its inescapability. It took more self-control than it should’ve not to bare his teeth, not to let his anger rise to the point of visibility. It grew easier to control himself as your eyes fell back to the keys in front of you, as you shrunk into yourself – his presence not so great of a relief as to completely undo your meekness. “Monsieur Ludex,” you muttered, nearly under your breath. He had attempted not to think of Wriothesley’s hypothetical lover, but if he had, he might’ve pictured someone more brazen. “I… I’m not sure where His Grace is, at the moment. I know he’ll be returning eventually, but if you’re in a rush, you might be able to find him in—.”

“I can wait.”

It wasn’t a question, but you nodded regardless, never looking away from your instrument. It wasn’t until he fell into the seat slotted against the opposing wall that your hands found the keys and you spared him a quick, almost skittish glance over your shoulder. He caught your gaze and held it, and although he’d never confess it aloud, his more primal aspects relished in the way you seemed to wither under the weight of his gaze. “Please, don’t let my company disturb you.”

You didn’t need much more incentive than that. Admittedly, your playing was far from insufferable; not quite as polished as the musicians of the Opera Epiclese, but far from that of an amateur. It would’ve been impossible to guess how long he listened to you for; one song seeped into another without pause, forming a medley that you’d either memorized long ago or, more fantastically, made up as you went along. You seemed used to your instrument, too. Wriothesley must’ve had you play for him often.

It was also, admittedly, difficult to reconcile the image of you in front of him with that of the conniving, sugar-sweet seductor he had pictured upon first noticing the new tinge to Wriothesley’s scent. The bland, standard-issue clothing of a prisoner hung loose on your form, clearly a size too large by the most generous of measurements, and no aspect of your posture nor your expression communicated that you found any amount of comfort within the walls of Wriothesley’s office. When he thought to look, he could make out discoloration encircling your wrists, painted over your knuckles, but minor injuries were common in the fortress. It would’ve been unwise to make assumptions based only on a handful of bruises.

Your medley only faltered upon Wriothesley’s arrival – unpredictably abrupt and endearingly violent, you and Neuvillette given only a moment to acknowledge that the door to his office had opened before he showed himself. His attention fell to you, first, as did his affection. You bit back a grimace as he pulled you into a crushing embrace, his mouth brushing over your temple, then falling to the corner of your jaw, as if he intended there to be something more intimate than a fleeting kiss. Before he could make contact, though, his gaze darted to Neuvillette. There was an unpolished grin, a teasing glint in his eyes, and then he was drawing back from you, muttering something as he pulled away. Neuvillette forced himself not to want to hear it.

And yet, he watched intently as Wriothesley separated from you and came to him, instead. A single knee was propped against the worn velveteen cushions of the loveseat, two bandaged hands clasped over the bronze gilding of the backrest – Wriothesley once again choosing to put himself in the position of the cager, rather than the caged. Neuvillette allowed himself to be guided into a shallow kiss, but when Wriothesley pulled away, he didn’t chase after him. It was pathetic as far as shows of discontent went, but Wriothesley let out an airy, knowing chuckle regardless. “Do I owe this visit to business or pleasure, monsieur?”

“Business.”

Wriothesley’s grin quirked into a defined pout, but he didn’t protest. Neuvillette feigned disinterest as he collapsed into the chair behind his desk, and you fell back into your song as if you’d never missed a note. The conversation ranged from middlingly polite to stiflingly bureaucratic; Neuvillette careful not to broach any topic more personal than the number of prisoners the fortress should expect in the following six months. It was only as their discussion neared its end that you seemed to shift, your music drifting in and out of audibility as you pushed yourself to your feet and, after gathering the sheet music you hadn’t bothered to touch, started towards the staircase leading—

“(Y/n).”

Whatever Wriothesley might’ve been saying was immediately forgotten with a snap of his fingers, a vague beckoning gesture. You stiffened, but complied, leaving your burden on the corner of his desk as you shambled to your warden’s side. Your routine seemed practiced, albeit still rough around the edges. An arm lashed out as soon as you were close enough, catching you by the waist and dragging you into his lap, keeping you there with a forearm bared over your midriff.

It’s almost impressive, just how blank you manage to keep your impression – the pinnacle of passivity. Wriothesley was not so aloof.

“Monsieur Neuvillette’s been asking about you,” he started, his hand finding your wrist. You tried to pull away – an automatic response, Neuvillette guessed – but Wriothesley’s hold was tight, unyielding. “I’m sure you can find it within yourself to thank him for all the time he’s spent thinking about you, now, can’t you, dear?”

Your eyes flicker to the ground. “…thank you, sir.”

“And for keeping you company while I was away. I know how much you hate being alone.”

Your fist balled around the hem of Wriothesley’s coat. Neither of you seemed to notice. “Thank you, sir.”

“See what I have to deal with? I promise, they’re normally more well-behaved. It just takes them a few minutes to come out of their shell.” Wriothesley’s head bowed low as he guided your hand to his mouth. You didn’t resist, this time, only flinching into yourself as his pointed canines burrowed into the tender apex of your wrist. You held onto that shut-eyed, furrowed expression as the flat of Wriothesley’s tongue ran over the twin pair of puncture wounds and then, with no particular ceremony, held your wrist out for Neuvillette’s careful evaluation. “For your trouble, monsieur.”

Wriothesley’s intention was clear, as was Neuvillette’s refusal – signaled with little more than a quick shake of his head, a steeper arch to his frown.

He had no need to taste you. Not when his senses were so sharp compared to Wriothesley’s, so refined.

Not when he could already feel his twin cocks hardening against his thigh.

“No gratitude is needed.” He stood abruptly, eager to be on his feet. For whatever reason, Wriothesley’s office suddenly seemed several times smaller than it had, before. He could feel saliva pooling underneath his tongue, his vision growing sharp and predatory, and he fled with no further commentary; only nodding curtly to the fortress guards as he escaped from Wriothesley’s office altogether and started for the elevator, the only way back to the surface and all of its wonderous open air. It was an abuse of power, of position. Failing that, he could be tried for inappropriate conduct, or public indecency – something defined and sterile that Neuvillette could put a name to and assign an appropriate sentence. He needed to—

“Monsieur Ludex!”

He felt a smaller hand catch his sleeve and bit back the temptation to claw, to snap, to bite. Instead, he turned slowly, eyes flickering downward to find you standing behind him, glancing from side to side as you held the frill of his sleeve in a pale-knuckled grip. He could see a flush dusted over your cheeks, making out the slight, shallow panting you were attempting in vain to suppress. You must’ve been chasing after him for quite some time.

“It was—” You paused, swallowed, bowed your head. You cupped his hand between both of yours, clenching your eyes shut entirely. “It was an honor to meet you.”

He waited for you to release him, which after a stilted beat, you did hastily. “Likewise.”

You said nothing else, only nodding stiffly as he turned away from you. It wasn’t until he boarded the fortress’ elevator that he noticed the scrap of paper tucked into his glove; clearly torn from the corner of some yellowed sheet of music, if the measured bars and dotted notes were any indication. Two words had been messily scrawled across the yellowed parchment, almost endearing in their predictability. Despite himself, Neuvillette found himself smiling as he read over them.

‘Help me.’

It wasn’t difficult to find your file. It wasn’t kept in his office, but a smaller wing of the Palais Mermonia, one meant for trails that never made it to the Opera Epiclese. He opted to retrieve the file in the dead of night, so as not to disturb his dedicated staff, and review its contents in the privacy of his personal chambers.

No detail was particularly interesting, but he read over each page with a meticulous sort of care, careful not to let any word or figure go without loving appreciation. You were born to a small farming village north of the city, orphaned at the age of ten and released into your brother’s custody at twelve, after he served a minor stint in the very fortress you were currently resigned to. At eighteen, you enrolled into one of Fontaine’s premier preforming art academies on scholarship and withdrew at twenty due to familial difficulties, resigning from your position among the Opera Epiclese’s in-house orchestra in the same year. Your crime was equally unremarkable; petty theft, only a single count to which you plead guilty. Neuvillette wasn’t surprised. Theft was not an uncommon crime, especially for those unused to the overwhelming splendor of Fontaine’s courts, although it rarely resulted in a criminal change. He would have to look into the details of your case later on.

No, it wasn’t the crime itself that surprised him, but the sentencing information scrawled underneath it – the assigned length of your sentence, followed immediately by time served. The former was four weeks, the recommended length for first-time, non-violent offenses.

The latter, updated as of three days prior, was seventeen months.

Neuvillette rarely found the time for sleep, and when he did rest, he rarely dreamt. That night, he plagues with visions of Wriothesley kissing his neck, honey and caramel dripping from his lips and drowning them both.

The next morning, he penned a letter to Wriothesley – not as one lover to another, but the Ludex of Fontaine to the Duke of Meropide. The contents were blunt, polite, consisting of little more than a request as to the documentation behind your extended sentence. The letter he received back, delivered by one of Wriothesley’s couriers, contained no written response, but a tattered scrap of pure ivory silk, stained with scarlet blood and still damp with a transparent, viscous, saccharine substance.

He spent the remainder of the day with the cloth pressed against the lower half of his mouth, his fist moving over his cocks as he pictured you bound in silver at the bottom of the sea.

The arrangements were made as quickly as could be expected. Neuvillette took care to lend your plight his personal attention, muttering your name aloud for the first and only time when he had Wriothesley pinned to his desk, both cocks hilted entirely inside of his lover. His lover and yours, he supposed. He found that the thought no longer revolted him the way it once had.

Wriothesley, for his part, was agreeable. Where his enthusiasm failed, his dedication to maintaining peace within his fortress saw the matter through. Paperwork was drawn up and signed, guards were given their orders, and soon enough, he was standing at the entrance to the Fortress of Meropide, watching on as you blearily stumbled out of the rustic elevator – one of Wriothesley’s more trusted officers to either of your sides. He waved them off quickly. This was a joyous occasion, but a private one. He wanted no more witnesses than there absolutely had to be.

You were a doe-eyed thing; standing in daylight for the first time in more than a year. He’d chosen for an accommodating time of day, opted to schedule your release for the soften hours of a post-sunset twilight, but it seemed any amount of natural light would’ve been enough to render you senseless. It took a long moment for you to find your footing on solid land, another to remember to blink, and yet another for you to notice him. Instantly, he knew any amount of preparation he might’ve done was useless – his scheduling, especially.

Your smile was enough to rival the sun at its brightest.

“Monsieur Ludex!” Still unsteady, you wandered towards him, taking both of his hands into your own. You were tactile, despite your meekness. It wasn’t often Neuvillette was touched so casually. “I—I really can’t thank you enough, and I’m—I’m sorry for the hassle, but the warden, he wouldn’t let me go, and I didn’t know if you had any jurisdiction over the fortress, but Wriothesley wrote to you so often, and—”

“I ought to be the one apologizing.” He kept his tone gentle, even, only a touch warmer than the stunted greetings he’d exchanged with you weeks ago. Despite this, you melted as if addressed by your oldest, closest friend; your shoulders dropping and your eyes glimmering with all the radiance of a rising tide. “The inflation of your sentence was a grave and unforgivable foresight. If you wished to leave Fontaine altogether, I would understand.”

“I… I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” You released his hands, clasping them in front of your waist. Reluctantly, he allowed you to. “Honestly, sir, I’d really just like to go home.”

He couldn’t help but mirror your smile back, albeit not quite as shining. “If that’s so, then the necessary accommodations have already been made.”

With your arm tucked in his, you allowed him to escort you to a waiting carriage (secured as to avoid forcing to travel by sea so quickly after escaping your imprisonment underneath it). The first leg of your journey passed in comfortable silence, your attention rarely leaving the glass-paned window. As you passed through the countryside outside of the Court of Fontaine, you glanced toward him and beamed. “My village isn’t far from here. I don’t suppose you’ve contacted my brother?”

His response was a curt nod, a contemplative hum. “We’ll be arriving shortly.”

As you passed through the city’s gates, your smile dimmed some, taking on a strained undertone. “Is there anything in the city we have to do? I’m afraid I never got the chance to ask the other prisoners about release protocols.”

Once again, his response was brief. “You shouldn’t worry yourself with unnecessary specifics.”

As your carriage came to an ambling stop in front the Palais Mermonia, your smile fell away entirely. “Monsieur Ludex,” you tried once more, your voice now shaking so delectably, it nearly rivaled the sweetness of your scent. “I… I’m afraid I don’t understand what’s going on.”

This time, he made no attempt to answer you sincerely. “Please, call me Neuvillette.” And then, as he stepped out of the carriage and signaled for you to do the same, “Come with me.”

You shrunk into your seat, but even the most skittish creatures knew when to attempt submission rather than escape. Given another second’s worth of patience, you followed him up the palace’s steps and through its vacant halls, its usual attendants sent home in anticipation of your arrival. No part of him expected you to run, but there was a small, paranoid faction of his mind that had anticipated an attempt to distance yourself from him – a passing glance towards possible exits, a widening gap between you and him as you proceeded. Your eyes remained fixed on the floor in front of you, though, and you were never more than an arm’s length from his side. However Wriothesley had treated you, it had apparently not been with much leniency.

Finally, you reached his personal chambers. You paused for the first time as he ushered you through a pair of tall, wooden doors, but the hint of a scowl had you scurrying inside before he could think to flash his teeth. Still, you only made it a step or so into the room before coming to a halt yet again. Neuvillette didn’t have to imagine why. He was unable to dampen his grin as he followed your gaze to the far wall, or rather, to the four-poster bed slotted against it. He’d done the utmost to ensure your comfort, but rationally, he knew it wasn’t the Liyuan silk sheet or the down-stuffed comforter that had you so transfixed, nor the antique grand piano that stood some paces to the left.

No, as far he could tell, your eyes were solely locked onto the sleek, velvet-lined collar sitting on the center of the mattress, connected to the headboard by a thin, silver chain. He couldn’t be surprised that you were in such a state of shock.

Wriothesley had always preferred bronze.

“I suggest you get on the bed,” he started, a hand already moving towards the stiff collar of his suit. “You may undress if you wish, but I won’t force you to. Your cooperation is appreciated, but unnecessary.”

For a moment, you stayed where you were; motionless and quiet, trembling ever so slightly. For a moment, you didn’t do anything at all.

Then, with a quick nod and a sniffle of a sob, you moved towards the bed, as unhappy as you were obedient. It should’ve broken his heart to see you in such a state of distress, but for now, he could tolerate your misery, your scorn. It was only proper that a lover should be kept happy, but a mate’s discomfort could be tolerated.

And Neuvillette already knew you would make a wonderful mate.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #yandere neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #yandere wriothesley #wriothesley x reader

2K notes · View notes

earthtooz · 1 year ago

Note

Wrio the slay calling reading clingy so reader sleeps on couch …😊 thx

x : DISTANCE :*+ﾟ

in which: you overhear wriothesley calling your affection too much, so you respect his wishes and give him some space. yet, why does he not seem like it?

warnings: 5.6k words (why did it get so long), hurt/comfort, gn!reader and wriothesley are married, pet names, no spoilers but set in canon, misunderstandings and miscommunication af, slowburn??, you might tug your hair out at some parts lol sorry, fluff with angst but happy ending, it gets emotional.

a/n: okay this was definitely not my favourite piece, i was experimenting with writing styles and writing in an omnipresent pov... so sorry if it feels clunky at some bits. overall, i'm pretty happy! also sorry for not sticking to the original prompt

Perhaps today was a bad time, you think as you leave the Fortress of Meropide, anxiety churning in your stomach and doubt weighing on your mind. Despite Fontaine’s sunrays shining brightly upon you, you feel anything but warm.

What started as a visit to your husband with kind, wholesome intentions of delivering some lunch to him on your day off ended with a visit that left you riddled with questions. Coming at a time when he was in a meeting nearing its end, you didn’t even get the chance to speak to him, yet his words rattled around your head, replaying like a broken disc.

“How are you and your spouse?” A rich voice echoes from his office, door slightly ajar signifying that whatever discussion was happening within was coming to an end.

“Y/n and I? We’re amazing, thank you,” Wriothesley answers. “I’m always happiest whenever I’m with Y/n.”

The company, who you have realised is Monsieur Neuvillette, responds. “That’s good to hear.”

“Although, Y/n has been quite… affectionate recently, to the point that it’s borderlining too much-”

The conversation is drowned out by a ring of an alarm on Wriothesley’s desk and the atmosphere from his office suddenly grows in tension. The voice of the two men turn from relaxed to alarmed in a matter of seconds, and that is when you decide it is probably time to take your leave, lest you intrude on whatever emergency has happened.

Dropping the lunch you brought for Wriothesley at reception, even the receptionist was confused by how quick your visit was since they typically lasted for an hour- even longer since Wriothesley likes to push the amount of time he gets with you. They don’t question it, though, merely nodding in understanding when you tell them to drop it off for him on your behalf.

Has Wriothesley always thought of your affection as too much? If it was overwhelming him, why didn’t he tell you? And why Neuvillette, the Chief Justice of Fontaine, of all people? You understood the nature of their relationship- how they both tend to confine in each other with whatever they are troubled by, but why couldn’t your husband come to you about this directly? You made an oath on your wedding day to be fully honest with each other and to never hide anything. Where did that promise go?

Arriving home with a heavy heart, you immediately flop onto the couch, arm covering your eyes as tears sting the corners of your eyes. Perhaps it’s time you lessen your displays of physical affection before you drive the love of your life away.

Wriothesley, looking down at the contents of your boxed lunch, feels his heart warm in his chest at your display of care. How fortunate he is to have someone like you, he thinks before eating, satisfying his hungry stomach that has been aching for food since half an hour ago. He wonders why you didn’t see him personally and dropped it off instead, he would have liked to eat with you beside him.

Whatever the reason, he’ll make sure to drop by your favourite bakery to purchase some conch madeleines as a thank you.

When he returns home later in the evening, you’re asleep on the couch, curled up with only a book on your chest to protect you from the chilly air seeping into the house. Wriothesley quickly lays his coat over you, bookmarking the page you were at before retreating to change into more relaxing clothes. You still have not roused when he returns and as much as it pains him to disturb you, he doesn’t want you napping too late lest it disturbs your sleep schedule.

“Y/n?” He gently shakes you. Slowly, you come to wakefulness, eyes fluttering open as you gaze up at your husband.

“Wriothesley? You’re home?” You murmur, rubbing your eyes whilst slowly sitting up. “What time is it?”

“Nearing six in the evening.”

“Oh my! I didn’t mean to sleep that long! I’ll go get dinner ready, you should rest, you must have had a long day-”

Silencing you with a warm kiss to your forehead, you don’t melt into it like you usually would, his words from earlier slamming back into you like a brick. He doesn’t notice the way you tense, merely brushing your hair away from your forehead.

“Don’t worry about dinner, I’ll cook,” Wriothesley offers, grabbing something he left on the table behind him. “Have some madeleines I bought for you whilst you wait.”

He places a bag of the baked goods in your hands and you smile at him, lips chapped and eyes still drowsy, yet Wriothesley thinks you’re the most beautiful being to ever exist.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.” The dark-haired leaves you with another kiss to your temple before turning around to go into the kitchen. However, you stop him with a tug on his wrist which you drop almost immediately when he turns around, acting as if his skin was an open flame that licked you.

“Darling, you have a sticker on your arm.” You reach up to grab the piece of adhesive, ripping it off him in one smooth motion.

“Those melusines,” he murmurs, rolling his eyes with a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. For how much Wriothesley scolds them, he cannot bring himself to actually get mad at them, letting the little creatures play pranks instead of reprimanding them.

“I’m surprised they keep getting by you. Maybe you need to sharpen your instincts.”

“Quiet, you,” there’s no bite to his words.

“They put a little crab on you,” you giggle. “Must be going through an ocean-themed sticker book. You had a little shell on you yesterday.”

“I did? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I find it funny.”

He sits down beside you, dinner momentarily forgotten. “Do you now?” The dark-haired murmurs. “Turns out my own spouse is against me also.”

“If it brings me amusement, why not let the melusines play their pranks a little longer?”

“You are an awful influence,” Wriothesley winds his arms around your torso, pushing you down into the pillows of the couch. There, you almost sink into him, lured by the warmth of his embrace, but the memory of what you overheard sinks into your gut like an icicle, and your smile fades.

You pat his shoulders in surrender. “Shouldn’t you be working on dinner, dear? It’s already quite late.” You pray he doesn’t notice the way you have suddenly altered the mood, drying the playful atmosphere.

If he does notice, he doesn’t comment on it, getting up with a groan before retreating into the kitchen.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

There’s a whistle from the doorway to your bedroom, low and appreciative, and the culprit is no one other than Wriothesley. He walks towards you, draping himself over your figure sat in front of the mirror. “Where are you going tonight?”

“Clorinde and I are going to dinner together,” you tell him nonchalantly, as if all of his weight wasn’t on your shoulders right now.

He pouts. “When will you be home?”

“Not too late, that’s for sure. We’re meeting at the other side of the Court of Fontaine, though.”

“An evening without my love, whatever shall I do?”

“You’ll live,” you smile before raising a necklace up to him. “Help me put this on?”

With a huff, he raises himself off your back and gently takes the jewellery from your hands, careful with the jewels that adorn it. His cold touch grazes against your exposed skin, sending shivers down your spine as he successfully clasps it together. When you meet his gaze in the mirror, it’s full of adoration and admiration, and you have to busy yourself with your hair lest it flusters you too much.

Standing up, you swiftly walk out of the bedroom and towards the front door. Wriothesley trails behind you without much thought. “I’ll get going now before I’m too late.”

“Do you need me to accompany you there?”

“It’s alright, thank you for offering.” Disappointment floods him like an ocean as he watches you put on your shoes. With one final fidget of your clothes, you deem yourself presentable and turn to him. “See you tonight, darling-”

“-Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?” Your eyes widen in alarm as you begin frantically patting yourself down. “I brought my wallet, keys? They’re here, what am I forgetting?”

Wriothesley pretends like your cluelessness doesn’t hurt more than it actually does. He taps his cheek. “A kiss.”

“Oh, of course. How could I be so careless?” you laugh, the corners of your eyes scrunching with delight. Wriothesley has a remark resting on the tip of his tongue but it quickly dies when you step forward, anchoring your hand on his chin before you press a kiss to his cheek; to both cheeks for good measure.

“Love you,” you murmur when parting.

The desire to keep you home is a burning one, and pleads of ‘stay’ threaten to spill from his mouth. There is nothing more he wants than to be in your arms, to cling to you until the weekend is over in the blink of an eye, but you are your own person, and no matter how needy he is, Wriothesley should not stand in the way of your fun.

“I love you more,” he sighs, holding open the front door for you. “Be back soon.”

“I’ll try. Bye dear!” You blow him a kiss before walking out of your garden.

He watches you leave with a heart heavy with longing, closing the front door once you’re out of sight and tries to sigh the feeling of emptiness away.

Later that night, Wriothesley greets you the second he hears the front door being unlocked, urgent strides allowing him to turn the corner just as you open the door, looking as pristine as you did when you left. There’s a small, tired smile on your face, but you look happy, blissful expression brightening when you see him.

“Hello, love,” you say, slipping your shoes off.

“Welcome back,” he says, embracing you with one, muscular arm whilst pulling you in for a kiss. Your hands unusually fly up to hold his shoulders and Wriothesley thinks he’s imagining the way you push him slightly, as if trying to get him out of your personal space. Yet your grasp on him was so tight, creating temporary divots in his skin that he doesn’t really know what you’re trying to do.

Why are you trying to push him away in the first place? The thought of you not wanting him near is upsetting enough to make him unknowingly tighten his grip around you, causing you to stumble into him from the momentum.

You look up at him, shocked whilst he gazes down at you with a storm of terror gathering in his eyes. For the first time since the two of you got married all those years ago, a rift forms.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Whatever occurred that night isn’t a topic of conversation, ever. The two of you retreated to bed after a quick conversation of how your evenings were before devolving into other topics, like what the week ahead had in store, restaurants you two should visit sometime, new boutiques and bakeries you’ve been hoping to explore- little chats that hold more meaning as the days roll by.

During it all, there was an undeniable heaviness to the conversation that made it slightly uncomfortable. Wriothesley cannot remove the memory of how you tried to push him away and you cannot forget the shocked look in his eyes. The more you picture it, the guiltier you feel, heart sinking in your chest.

You thought that it was what Wriothesley wanted: more space from you, an opportunity to breathe without you overwhelming his space.

So why do you feel so bad about respecting his wishes?

“What a lovely view!” You exclaim excitedly, running toward a patch on the grass that sits a few metres away from a nearby beach, the sound of waves meeting shore a soothing lullaby and a testament to how calm the day is. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you’re out on a picnic with the love of your life.

“Here’s a nice spot to set up, what do you think, Wriothesley?” You ask.

“Sounds amazing, darling,” he responds, setting down the picnic basket when you’ve laid out the blanket. You sit down with an unglamorous huff, leaning back onto your hands to let the morning sun soak into your features.

Morning picnics were one of yours and Wriothesley’s favourite date ideas. The best time to be together was before the sun would rise to its highest peak, bearing hot sunrays that make everything uncomfortable for everyone. Fontaine’s sun is never merciful either, which is why the nation is perfect for diving and all other water-related activities, but when you are simply walking around, it becomes rather suffocating.

The Fortress of Meropide’s administrator takes a seat beside you and you indulge by resting your head on his shoulder, hoping that he isn’t uncomfortable under your touch. The dark-haired hasn’t shaken you off yet, so you keep resting against him.

“How did you discover this place?” You ask.

“Siora told me of it, said that a passenger on the aquabus was talking to her about it. She thought that it sounded like a delightful place to take you to,” he answers and you can’t help but smile, fiddling with your fingers.

Melusines and their wholesome ways. You’ll find a way to thank Siora later. “How kind of her and how fortunate for us.”

“I take it you like it here then?”

“I love it,” you tuck your legs closer to your chest and Wriothesley leans back on his arms as well, letting your hands rest beside each other as the sea continues to crash on the shore before you. There are seals resting nearby too, ships pass by here and there, and seagulls stop near the two of you before flying away, but the only thing that matters to Wriothesley is you leaning on his shoulder.

Sharing with him the breakfast sandwiches you packed, no words are exchanged, merely the sound of waves crashing against the shore occupy the tranquil silence. It’s not until a few minutes later that Wriothesley speaks.

“Will you be visiting me at the office today?” He asks.

You tear your gaze away from the horizon. “Perhaps. Do you want me to?”

“Would I really be asking if I didn’t?”

“Please, forego the sass, your grace,” you snort and he rolls his eyes, an affectionate smile pulling on his lips.

“Seriously though, I would like you to. You know how dreary and boring weekends at the prison get, would be much better having you there.”

“Are you trying to butter me up?”

“Is it working?”

“Maybe,” you mutter, grinning. “Would you like me to bring lunch with me or shall we go find a place to eat?”

“How about takeout? Hey wait, now that I think about it, why didn’t you stay the other day when you brought lunch for me? I would have much rather seen your pretty face than the receptionist’s.”

You ignore the butterflies blooming in your stomach because of his compliment. “An emergency happened just as I reached there. I didn’t want to be caught in the middle of it, so I left.”

Confusion shines in his eyes, his expression giving away the cogwork ticking in his brain as he tries to pinpoint what emergency you could be referring to. When the pieces click, his eyes widen a little. “I see. You did the right thing, my love,” he presses a kiss to your cheek.

“I’ll visit you today,” you whisper, toying with the hem of your clothes as you wait for his response.

“Amazing. I’m looking forward to it, then”

You stay true to your word, walking down the path you recognise like the back of your hand. The guards need not think twice about welcoming you in, guiding you straight in the direction of Wriothesley’s office.

Since being with him, you’ve grown less and less afraid of how daunting the Fortress can feel, adapting to the chill knowing that there is someone in there who will set himself ablaze to keep you warm. Yet, today you walk in with apprehension clasped around your ankles, threatening to pull you under with each step.

It’s ridiculous, you know Wriothesley would never turn you away or shun you, but the mind is the worst enemy and yours can’t stop replaying the conversation you overheard weeks ago. You know Wriothesley could open those heavy doors of his and greet you with something more grim than loving and cast you aside, and you have to hold your breath when the guards knock on your behalf.

Your heart skips a beat when they push open the doors, revealing your husband crouched over his desk, hands mussed in his hair to keep them out of his eyes. He looks up at you and the way a smile manifests on his features is akin to that of fire melting ice, fatigue dissipating as you step inside his office.

“Hello, dear,” you greet, tone soft and controlled, unlike the thrashing of your gut.

“Hi,” he stands up and takes great strides towards you. Naturally, you open your arms for him; unnaturally, you merely hug him instead of greeting him with a kiss. Wriothesley keeps you locked in his arms as he digs his nose into your neck and you feel the way his eyes flutter close against your skin.

“Long day?”

“Draining too,” he murmurs.

“Oh dear, we cannot have your grace tired, whatever shall we do!” You gasp overdramatically, clearly poking fun at him because you are perhaps one of the only people who could do so in this entire building.

The dark-haired accepts it and doesn’t bother to correct your use of formalities. Instead, he retracts his head out of your neck to look at you with hopeful eyes instead. “You could give me a kiss.”

“Did you do anything today to earn it?”

“I need to earn my kisses now?”

“You should shut up sometimes,” you murmur before placing your hands along his jaw, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. He smiles against you, biting back a quip when his hand comes to the base of your neck, holding you against him. You can tell he needed the proximity, judging by his little exhale and the way his shoulders slouch, so you let him take his time and ignore the nagging in your heart.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Wriothesley is losing his mind. He has been since you left the Fortress of Meropide, and was left to freeze in the ache of your lack of affection. A goodbye kiss is customary between you two and when you didn’t give him one before leaving, it felt like a slap to the face. He would have much rather you just slapped him, actually, so what gives?

You’re not rejecting his advances, but you’re not explicitly initiating anything either. Does that mean he should back off, too? Did he do something to upset you, and if so, when? All this thinking and speculating is making him feel like a pathetic headless chicken who can’t even talk to his spouse-

“-Wait!” You exclaim, just as he was about to grab the knob to the front entrance and step out. Instead, Wriothesley turns around to be greeted by the sigh of you frantically scrambling to him, and his heart can’t help but come alive, silencing his thoughts.

Stopping to a slide before him, he can’t hold back a soft grin. Despite just wrangling out of the claws of sleep, you’re so breathtaking, delicate in the mornings when no one else is around but him. The dark-haired is grateful that only he is able to witness you like this, that you trust him with this vulnerable side of you.

You don’t meet his gaze, eyes pinned to his chest instead. “Your tie is crooked,” you murmur hands reaching out before he even gets a chance to look down. “Let me help you.”

How can he deny such a kind request of yours? You’re gentle with him, undoing his knot and weaving it together until it looks proper, but Wriothesley couldn’t care what his tie looks like. You could be making a total fool of him and he wouldn’t care, too entranced by your glow to tear his eyes away from you. There’s a little scrunch in your forehead as you concentrate, mouth slightly parted and you’re not oblivious to his gaze either, too familiar with the intensity of it to get shy.

Finally satisfied with your work, you let go, patting his shoulders and smoothing out any wrinkles in his garment. “There. All done.”

“Thank you, dear,” he murmurs.

Wriothesley is expecting a kiss from you, waits for the moment that you’ll rise onto your toes and place a peck on his lips to fill him with some energy for the day. He waits for the familiar feeling of your lips pressing against his, and waits for the rush of adrenaline that your touch always manages to ignite.

Except it never comes, and it hurts most to confess that some part of him preempted this. You step away from him without another word, or kiss, and his heart burns at your retraction, unease fluttering the lining of his stomach when you turn around to retreat into the living room. Wriothesley moves without thinking, a hand coming up to your waist to stop your steps as he forcefully pulls you back to him, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, one far more intense than the ones you usually give this early in the morning.

You notice the desperation that bleeds from him; a certain fervour uncharacteristic in situations of morning domesticity.

There’s a bright glimmer of surprise in your eyes when he pulls away, as if he had kissed away all your fatigue and shocked wakefulness into you.

“Have a good day at work,” you murmur, barely able to choke the words out.

“I will,” he replies, opening the door. You stay and watch him go, still trying to recover your breath over his passionate display of affection.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day his racing thoughts get to him is the eighth day of this strange treatment of yours. At this point, he’s become insatiable, barely able to hold it together as you remain in the centre of his world. He wants your affection again, he wants your displays of love, he wants you near him so badly that it’s driving him up the walls of the Fortress.

It’s irrational for him, a grown man, to skirt around his problems as if he was a teenager. For some reason, Wriothesley has no issue locking up and containing some of Fontaine’s most dangerous criminals, yet when it comes to you, he becomes a lovesick fool who craves everything his partner can give.

You still are not initiating any displays of affection, keeping to yourself unless it is him acting first.

But after being locked in his own study for hours, unable to distract himself from you when he was really meant to be reading some new court documents from Neuvillette, he snaps. Pushing his chair out with more force than necessary, he searches for you in the living room, where you are curled up in the corner, reading.

“Is everything alright?” Wriothesley’s interruption shocks you, and you jolt your head up to meet his gaze.

You are met with the sight of him leaned against the wall, muscular arms crossed over his chest. “Why wouldn’t they be?” You ask, not letting your gaze linger for too long on his arms before sitting up just a little straighter.

“Dunno. Just double checking.”

“Okay,” you hum softly, nodding. “Are you alright?”

“Me?” How could you switch this up on him so quickly?

“Yeah.”

“Fine, amazing, just dandy.”

You raise an eyebrow at your husband, not truly believing him but you decide it’s best not to press on. “Alright… but if anything is wrong, don’t be afraid to tell me.” You go back to your book and your hair falls perfectly in front of your face to hide it from him.

Wriothesley shifts his weight from one leg to the other, trying to find the words to speak up and ask why you were acting so weird. It’d been two hours and twenty-four minutes (and counting) since you last saw him when he disappeared into his study, were you not concerned for him in the slightest? Sure you dropped off a plate of fruit and refilled his teapot with hot water, but normally your check-ins would be a little more frequent, and a little more encouraging than just a morale boost through food.

Where was the cheek kiss you always gave him before you left?

Deciding not to press on any further, your husband sighs before leaving, his arms and heart feeling emptier than usual. You are only in the next room, but why do you feel like you’re on the other side of Teyvat?

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day Wriothesley snaps is the day Sigewinne asks him to be nicer to the guards of the Fortress because his foul mood is darkening the already glum prison. His subordinates must have sent her knowing that he couldn’t possibly lash out at her, and they were right, but she really didn’t need to comment on the way his veins have been more prominent recently, or how creases are forming on his forehead from how hard he’s been scowling. To top it off, she said that he should delay the appearance of wrinkles for as long as necessary, because there’s a good chance they’ll come earlier than he wants.

He’s not even a day over thirty, and yet, he is being reprimanded for ‘ageing’. But he knows the problem, and he’ll be damned if he lets it drag out for another day.

“Welcome home, baby-” your greeting is cut off unceremoniously by your husband, who practically drags you into his embrace, closing you in with no space for you to breathe or move. Your cries of alarm are muffled against his chest, and he easily picks you up before striding the path to your shared bedroom. There, he all but throws you onto the bed, your neck resting on the pillows as he climbs on after you. “Wriothesley?”

He shushes you.

“What-”

“-I need this,” he wraps around you like a vine and breathes you in with the fervour of a man starved.

When you try to shuffle away from under him, or at the very least sit up, Wriothesley groans, borderlining a growl as he tightens his arms around your middle. You don’t question or disobey his wants, merely sinking your head into the pillows in understanding that he must have had a particularly rough day.

So instead of repelling his touch, you give in and let a hand snake up to his hair, playing with it as you let Wriothesley lay atop you. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders melts away, and the way you’re scratching his scalp is enticing him to rest, except there is a barrier keeping him from reaching a haven of dreams and he won’t rest peacefully until he’s broken through it.

“Why have you been so distant lately?” He garbles, voice a lot shakier from the usual stoic Wriothesley that you are used to.

You heard him loud and clear, but a pathetic ‘pardon?’ slips past your lips.

“I said, why have you been so distant lately?” This time, he’s firm, determination seeping into his tone as a hand of his sneaks out from underneath you to search for your hand. After patting around, he finds it and holds it gently, raising it to press a long kiss to your knuckles.

It’s silent. You don’t have anything to say in response and it’s past the grace period where you can give an excuse and make it sound like the truth, and Wriothesley looks up at you with expectant eyes. There’s hurt in them but as much as you’d like to mend the heartbroken expression of his, admitting the truth is difficult, because it has eaten you alive, gnawing at your heart for days on end.

“I…I don’t have it in me to tell you,” you murmur quietly, looking away and slipping your hand out of his, but Wriothesley is tired of this dance of yours and chases after your touch, this time roughly grasping your wrists. Not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you rooted.

“I didn’t do anything, did I?” He asks, raising your hand to his cheek.

Your voice is quiet when you confess. “If I said you didn’t, I’d be lying.”

The dark-haired stiffens. “What?”

“Nothing,” you cough.

“No, Y/n, be honest with me here.”

“You’re going to laugh at me, or find me ridiculous.” Wriothesley’s heart clenches at your admittance, frowning at the fractures of insecurity piercing you like glass, but most of all, he hates that he can’t stop you from feeling this way. “I thought what I did was what you wanted.”

“Which was?”

“Some distance, just- not me crowding your personal space all the time.”

“Why would I ever want that?”

“I can get overbearing sometimes, and I don’t know, just assumed that would annoy you.”

“You’re not telling me everything, I can tell something happened to make you feel this way. Please, darling, just tell me the truth. I promise you I won’t judge or think differently of you.”

You sigh. “I… I overheard you and Monsieur Neuvillette the other day- when I dropped off lunch. You said that my affection was sometimes too much, and that I was making you uncomfortable, so I thought that you wouldn’t want me to be around you anymore. I didn’t want to drive you away so I, y’know…”

Confusion fills him stomach like water and it takes a few moments before it hits him, the memory coming back to him. You heard his conversation out of context- he wasn’t complaining about you, no, quite the opposite, but it just seems that you weren’t there for the parts that mattered most, and now you can’t even bear to look him in the eye.

“Honey, please look at me,” his voice thins into a vulnerable whisper that pleads for you to glance his way so you can see how he is head over heels in love with you.

When your gaze finally meets his, he almost cracks under the weight of your sadness, and it dawns upon him that you can’t feel the adoration he holds for you, dripping from his heart into your hands. You can’t see the mountains he’d overcome just to end the day resting in your arms. You don’t know the extent he would go just to win your love.

It’s a fact that kicks at his knees, shuns him down and bruises his heart. If the Fortress of Meropide has taught him anything, it’s that there is no point holding your feelings back from living fully. There is no point to contain the human heart that has every desire to live with others, he has seen the sorrow of prisoners saying goodbye to loved ones, and how they dwell over words they should have said. Even his own time as a prisoner taught him so, because everytime he sat behind those bars, the faces of people he should have been more open to kept him awake at night.

Wriothesley would rather drown in primordial water than see you, the most important person in his life, hurting over his own negligence. You have been feeling half-loved because of him and he doesn’t know how he can make it up to you.

“You misunderstand. I wasn’t talking about you negatively, I was talking to Neuvillette about how loved you made me feel that way, and how grateful I am to have someone like you as my partner,” he confesses earnestly, eyes pleading for you to believe him.

You blink at him, comprehending his words carefully. “Really?” You ask.

“I would never think otherwise,” he whispers.

As if a weight was lifted from your shoulders, a smile pulls at your lips and suddenly, a laugh spills from them, causing your expression to scrunch up with joy, looking the most lively Wriothesley has seen you in a while. He laughs with you too, just a little.

“I’m sorry,” you confess through dying fits of laughter. “I shouldn’t have assumed like that, how stupid.”

He shakes his head, “you have nothing to apologise for, you’re not at fault. But I beg you, never hide things like this from me again and tell me whenever something bothers you.”

You nod, “I will.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

“Never ever think that I want to be away from you,” Wriothesley grumbles, hiding himself in the crook of your neck. “That was the worst week of my life.”

“Sorry for putting you through all that.”

“Stop apologising.” He demands. “Just, no more secrets.”

“I love you, Wriothesley.”

He sighs shakily, relief tangible in his tone. “I love you more.”

A damp patch forms on your collar bone right where his tears would fall, and you place a kiss on his forehead for each drop you feel on your skin. There is still much to discuss, much to mend between the two of you, but his hands run along your skin like he’s trying to memorise and mark you, so you never doubt his devotion again.

*sighs and puts hands on hips* i don't really like that ending either so don't judge lol

#genshin x reader #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley fluff #wriothesley x reader fluff #wriothesley x gn!reader #genshin fluff #genshin x reader fluff

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celestemona · 6 months ago

Text

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘'𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐒

and the kids ask them how did they fall in love.

pairing: dad & husband! alhaitham, cyno, kaedehara kazuha, kaveh, lyney, neuvillette, wriothesley x fem! reader

cw: original characters, slightly ooc to fit the plot, domesticity, fluff. use of farsi, arabic and japanese terms. there's a lot of dialogues but there's a plot. approximately 7.3k words. not beta-read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

Wriothesley

You watched Cameron and Éveline playing on the other side of the room as you tirelessly documented the files that had arrived from the courthouse that afternoon.

Wriothesley have been patrolling the prison’ Forbbiden Zone all day after receiving an information about some anomaly within the fortress, so you barely had seen your husband except for the brief greeting at breakfast.

Distracted with your work, you didn't even notice that both children had stopped building the wooden blocks and Cameron was sitting in the chair in front of you while Eve made herself comfortable on the sofa behind him.

“Mummy?” he called and you looked up from the papers at him and smiled.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“How did you and Daddy fall in love?”

Your son's sudden question took you by surprise, leaving you stunned for a few seconds. But you soon found yourself chuckling and ignoring your work to pay attention to the boy.

“Why the sudden curiosity, Cam? That's pretty out of your character, you know.”

Cameron shrugged.

“I just want to know how you and Daddy met.”

Smiling softly, you nodded.

“Very well. Let’s see… It all began a long time ago, when mommy was sentenced to the Fortress of Meropide,” you narrated in a reflexive tone and waved for Éveline to come closer to sit next to her friend.

“Back then, mama wasn’t the person she is today, you see. I was rude, I was always angry, I picked fights with anyone who crossed my way and I didn't let anyone get close to me. You could say I wasn't a very nice person to be around, and because I was in prison, it also meant I wasn't a good person either.”

“I simply couldn't get used to life down here as most of the prisoners do, nor do I could accept the sentence that was given to me. Therefore, I rebelled in every way I could and participated in the fights in the hope that someone would see some value in me and would send me back to the capital. But, well, at that time we had a not very nice director and the inmates cared more about themselves than about others.”

“Lo and behold, a year passed, your dad ascended as Duke and I was still hoping to be able to get out of here.”

“But then, the night of a new duel had arrived and barely I knew it'd be a night that'd change my life forever. It was the night I finally met your dad. Or better saying, where he became interested in me.”

“I remember it was a quick fight. I was already assured of victory but my opponent decided to bravely face me anyway. Although I was no longer the girl I was a year ago, I was still merciless in the face of a rival. Mostly of the Pankration Ring’s regulars knew my name because I made of it my reputation. That was one of the reasons your dad went to watch the fight that night. He wanted to see who was the person who was sending dozens and dozens of prisoners to Sigewinne,” you smirked at the kids making them giggling.

“When the fight ended, he came to me wanting to know more about me and asking all kinds of questions. Nevertheless I wasn't interested in relationship, preferring to stay away from every one of the Fortress. Furthermore, I had an exclusive grudge against men so I couldn’t stand his person,” you paused the story to see if Cameron would react negatively to this detail but the boy only seemed more interested by it.

“I don't remember very well what I said to him, however, it was clear that I wasn't interested and didn't want any kind of flattery from him. Needless to say it didn't work because your dad is as stubborn as a mule.”

“From that night, Wriothesley made a promise to himself to get closer to me and he fulfilled it very well as he kept following me everywhere.”

“It was extremely annoying and I couldn't understand what his curiosity about me was. After all, when I first arrived here he had never shown any sign of acknowledging my existence, so why at that moment?”

“Even though I still didn't understand him and tried at all costs to escape his sight, Wriothesley always found a way to find me and include me in his conversations. It was irritating to get so much attention from the new director of the Fortress of Meropide, and it was even scarier for me not to know what was his intentions either. But, over time, I got used to his presence and even started to yearn for it…”

“A couple of months later I dared to ask him why he insisted on getting closer to me,” you snorted at the memory as a small smile stretched your lips.

“What did he say?” Éveline asked curious.

“He said he wanted me to know that even though I kept pushing everyone away from me, he’d always come back. Because even though I thought I was doing better on my own, no one deserves to be alone and remain unseen.”

“It wasn’t the answer I expected but I felt like all my feelings—all the frustration, anger, sadness, and pain I was carrying at that time were validated, and he was seeing each of them.”

“After that, it took a while longer for me to accept that there was someone who cared about me, but I slowly opened my heart to him.”

“When I finally came to terms with my feelings, I still tested Wriothesley's loyalty a little bit more. I must say it was worth it to see him working hard for two years. Nonetheless, he was and still is the best choice I’ve ever made,” you finish the story and the children clap excitedly making you laugh in amusement.

Unexpectedly, a third person also claps and you see the said person leaning against the stair railing, smirking at you—probably he had been there since the beginning of the story.

“So you mean that all that time I was trying my best to have my feelings acknowledged you were testing me? That hurts, doll.”

You roll your eyes and turn your attention back to the children who were entertained by the scene.

“Just like I’ve said. It was worth each second.”

Neuvillette

“Mummy, daddy. How did you fall in love?” Éveline asks suddenly as she makes her presence known in your husband’s office, making both of you stop your tasks to stare at her.

“I was playing with Cam today and he asked his mama how she and Monsieur Wriothesley met and fell in love, and it was a very nice story! I want to know how you and papa met and fell in love too!” she says with a rare enthusiasm that makes you chuckle and Neuvillette smiles fondly.

“My my, if my beautiful Line isn’t curious today, huh?” you tease your daughter and leave a quick peck on her pale cheek soon after. “Well, let me see… Everything began when mama was sentenced to prison,” you chuckle when Éveline's blue eyes widen.

“No need to get your little head stewing with that, angel. It was years ago and mama didn’t stay there too long either. You see, your mom used to do some… inappropriate stuff and I ended up going to trial for that.”

Neuvillette snorted softly from his desk.

“Inappropriate is a very polite way for your mom to say she used to be involved with a lot of illegal matters, darling,” Neuvillette pointed out with a small smirk himself as he stopped his reading to stare at you.

“Oh, shush you, Neuvi. You say that as if it was an unforgivable crime when it wasn’t,” you roll your eyes in fake annoyance making Éveline giggle, “As I was saying, angel. Mama went to trial and, of course, your papa was the only one to conduct it.”

“You see, I already knew who was he—actually, who didn't? The just and benevolent but impartial Iudex of Fontaine. Although, I had never seen him in person until the day I had to show at court.”

“At that time I’d never admit it but I was very anxious to meet the head judge of Fontaine. When you get involved in reckless things, you think you're smarter than everyone and will never get caught, but little did I know that your dad had been tracking and watching me for ages.”

“And then when I finally stood in front of him, my nervousness strangely disappeared and became more like a curiosity. After all, I had only heard about the Iudex's morals and not his personality much less his appearance, so it was clear to everyone at the court that I was very intrigued by that man standing above me.”

“As the trial proceeded, he gave me a five-year sentence in the Fortress of Meropide which I managed to reduce by eight months for good behavior,” you winked at your daughter who kept listening to your storytelling, dazzled. “Not only did I refuse to be there in prison away from my own business, but I felt more motivated to return to the surface to learn more about your dad.”

“When I finally got back to the city, I used all my means to get your dad’s attention again—which actually worked several times since he likes to keep an eye on Fontaine’s order.”

“Then, the months were passing by and my curiosity and interest just kept growing. And suddenly, I caught myself falling in love with all the things I was learning about him.”

“Even though it was fun to use of wrong ways to get the attention of the man you like, it was also tiring. And that situation was also reaching a point where I felt like your dad wasn't giving me the signals I was expecting him to do, so I was also getting stressed. Maybe he isn’t as fond of me as I am of him, that was what I thought.”

“Nevertheless, I'm a very resilient woman. I didn't let myself sink into self-pity, much less feel sad about the lack of reciprocity in love so I opened a new business here in the capital saying I wanted to live a peaceful life, and see where it’d take me. Fortunately here I could make great friends, a lot of associates, and even more trades.”

“And contrary to my guessing, Neuvi eventually started to visit my store where we had more appropriate interactions and talks, much for my joy.”

“I kept falling in love with him every day, you know? Thankfully your dad is a gentleman and he didn't take too long to ask me on a date. From then on, we became almost inseparable. That’s our story.”

As you finish your love story, you could see your daughter’s eyes sparkling like two beautiful gems and a huge smile shining on her face. It made you happy that she enjoyed the story of how her parents met instead of getting mixed feelings by it—after all, the things you still do are better kept hidden until she’s older enough to understand them.

You and your family kept talking about the said topic for a while, but eventually, you had to say goodbye to them to leave for a meeting with some partners from your business which you already were late for.

Unbeknownst to you though, Éveline and Neuvillette who were still in the office, shared your love story once again. But this time, it was a version you still haven’t heard.

Perhaps you'd never know either as it became a secret shared only between father and daughter.

“I fell in love with your mom at the very moment I saw her.”

Lyney

The twins' little nimble footsteps could be heard throughout the house before it took them to the kitchen where you and Lyney were busy cleaning the lunch dishes.

“Mommy, mommy! Uncle Freminet just read a book to Quentin and me and we want to know how you and Daddy fell in love too!” exclaimed Corinne, smiling excitedly.

“Oh my. That was quite sudden,” you laughed as you dried the last dish of the day and put it away immediately to give your full attention to the children, “I bet it was a very romantic book for you to be so excited about.”

“It was!”, they exclaimed together making you and Lyney laugh.

“I don't see why not, then. It may not be as exciting as the tale Freminet read to you, but I think you'll like it too,” you say sitting at the table and placing Corinne on your lap while Lyney does the same with Quentin.

“Well, I think our story is much more charming than the one in the book that Uncle Freminet read to you,” replies your husband, sending you a wink, “You could say that like a fairy tale, the magician prince fell in love at first sight with the most beautiful princess in the entire kingdom.”

“Back in those days, a troupe of nomadic artists traveled throughout Teyvat bringing joy and laughter to their audiences. It was your mom’s family.”

“They traveled across all nations enchanting its residents with their music, acrobatics, but especially with their dance. And, believe it or not, they had never come to Fontaine until that day.”

“As a lover of the art of entertainment, I had to see for myself what a performance by the Pathfinder’s Troupe would be like, they who had a reputation that extended beyond the stars in the sky! Furthermore, as a colleague in the same department, I also wanted to give my final verdict. But truth to be told, daddy was just a little bit of jealous because of all the attention mama’s group was getting at that time,” he made a face at this specific memory that made you and the kids laugh.

“So when the night of the show came, I finally understood why they were such a success. All the troupe members had a bright, warm smile, seeming to love what they were doing. The music was loud and happy and even though you didn't know the language they sang in, you wanted to join them. It was a simple show, but funny and welcoming.”

“But then when it came time for your mom to take the stage, there wasn't a person in the audience who wasn't dazzled by her. Including me,” Lyney pauses as he smiles at the memory running through his mind. You smiled back.

“It was, and still is, the most beautiful performance I had ever seen. Not only did your mom look like a goddess at that moment, with her traditional clothing, makeup, and gold jewelry, but she mesmerized the audience with her movements.”

“Unfortunately, her dance didn’t last long and she soon left the stage, thanking us all for our presence.”

“Like several people enchanted by that beautiful dancer, I tried to approach her to say my compliments but—whether you two believe it or not, daddy was scared to death.”

“Why scared Daddy?” asked Quentin.

“Mama was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life. I didn't want to make a fool of myself in front of her, much less offend her with my words,” Lyney replies to which the two children nod as if they understood.

“Luckily, daddy always had a secret or two up his sleeve, and when I approached her, I did a little magic trick turning a tiny spark of my vision into a Rainbow Rose, which at the time I thought was my worst trick but it seemed to make your mom happy.”

“It was the most genuine and sweetest gesture anyone had ever made to me,” you extend your hand to your husband across the table and he takes it, placing a light kiss on your palm.

“We didn't have much time left together since she was traveling back to her hometown the next morning, and nor did I have the courage to invite her to dinner either, something that caused me deep regret and even made Aunt Lynette annoyed.”

“But before she left, I promised I’d see her again. And, luckily, a few months later, she and her troupe returned to Fontaine to perform a new show.”

“And then you said you loved each other?” Corinne asked innocently.

You and Lyney laughed, “No Rin. Far from it actually. Your dad could barely get close to me without him stuttering something indecipherable, turning around, and disappearing into the city streets,” you teased your husband which made him feel embarrassed.

“What can I say? You always seemed to get more beautiful each day and I had never been interested in anyone before. Besides, there were a lot of suitors vying for your attention so I figured you wouldn’t be interested in me.”

You roll your eyes in amusement, “And look where we are now.”

“So how did you start to love each other?” Quentin asks, still in doubt.

“After many failed attempts by your papa, he finally managed to invite me to dinner—which I accepted without thinking twice. After that, he felt more confident talking to me and asking me out,�� you say, “But there were also many times when we were away from each other due to our work.”

“I knew I loved the troupe and I loved being on the road traveling and performing in different countries but I was also in love with your papa. When I was with him… I knew I had found a home. So I left the troupe, came to Fontaine, confessed my feelings to him and, fortunately, he confessed me back.”

“And since then we have been living happily ever after. The end!” Lyney jokes and you and the twins giggles again.

“So! Did you like the story?” you ask.

Corinne is the first to nod eagerly. Her beautiful purple eyes shone like two amethysts in pure joy towards her parents' love story.

Quentin in turn…

“Meh. I thought Daddy had fight a dragon to save you.”

You and Lyney stare at each other for a while before laughing loudly, catching the attention of Lynette and Freminet as they enter the kitchen.

Yeah. You couldn't deny it. Fighting a dragon seemed more exciting in this case.

Kazuha

“It’s more precise to say that love has fallen on me,” Kazuha said as he sat Kazumi on his right leg and little Kiyomi on his left. His children looked at him with a confused expression making him chuckle.

“It was a long time ago. We were sailing on the waters east of Mondstadt when I felt an unknown agitation being carried by the wind currents.”

“You should know that it’s pretty rare to face sea creatures nowadays due to fishing, but at that time, it was an occurrence we faced quite often so we should've always be prepared for it. And as part of The Crux’s crew, it was my job to stay vigilant, so I immediately informed our captain and mates to stay alert and careful for a possible attack—although I must say I wasn’t alarmed as I should be. Something in my instincts told me to not be afraid,” he smiled at the memories.

“Then, as if to confirm my predictions, we saw a shadow crossing the skies and falling not soon after. No one seemed to react in time, however, I had instantly prepared myself with the help of my vision for whatever was coming to us.”

“That was when your mom fell directly into my arms, surprising everyone on the ship because I had just saved her life from a free fall after one of the wings of her wind glider broke,” the kids gasped and he kept softly smiling at them.

“I feared that your mama had hurt herself during the fall but when she finally looked at me she was giving me that gorgeous, bright smile of hers. I think it was at that exact moment where she had my heart.”

“Until that moment I had never seen someone so beautiful in my life. She looked stunning, wonderful. As radiant as the first sun ray of the morning.”

“I could see she was thanking me for saving her life as her lips kept moving, but all I could do at that moment was stare at her, completely mesmerized. It was quite impossible not to be that one who was falling in love at that very moment.”

“After that, she started accompanying us on some journeys and even took us on some of her adventures. I was in love with her free spirit, yes, but even more so with her person. It didn't take long for us to get closer, and starting to date her was as natural as having her in my life.”

“That's our story. It is still being written, however, this time we have you, our most beloved children, to share our memories with.”

As he finished it, Kazuha noticed the dreamy and joyful expressions on both children's faces. Kiyomi seemed the most enchanted by the story since she had inherited the romantic spirit of both her parents while Kazumi pretended to be unimpressed when in fact, inwardly, he was eager for more details of it. The patriarch couldn’t hide his amusement at the view.

Both siblings showed excitedly their enthusiasm towards their parents’ love story with some funny and cute comments here and there which, eventually, drew your attention to the living room they were in.

When you walked in with a baby Haruki sleeping in your arms, your family stopped their conversation to stare at you which made you raise an eyebrow in confusion.

“What? Am I interrupting something? I heard a loud noise coming from here and came to see what you two little things were up to.”

Kazumi and Kiyomi looked briefly at each other before giggling cutely.

“Otochan was telling us the story of how you met and how he fell in love with you,” your daughter responds excitedly.

This immediately brings a smile to your face, making you walk over and sit on the couch next to them, adjusting Haru comfortably in your arms as you lean towards your two older children and husband.

“Oh, I love this story! Did you guys know? I literally fell for your dad!”

Kaveh

It was late at night and you and Kaveh were putting Zahra to sleep.

Normally, you and your husband would take turns with your daughter's nighttime routine so that the tasks wouldn’t be exhausting for only one person.

However, the little girl had woken up sick that morning and had demanded her both parents' attention all day, acting more whiny than usual. So it wasn't unexpected that she also asked for both parents to be with her at bedtime.

Lying in bed with Zahra, you stroked her blonde curls as she snuggled into the warmth of your embrace, happy for the attention she received. In turn, Kaveh was looking for a book from her mini library to read to her, although you could tell that he was having a hard time making the right choice since none of the options seemed to catch his daughter's attention.

“Umm… We have The Boar Princess, Flowers for Princess Fischl, and The Fox in the Dandelion Sea but Daddy doesn’t know if you want me to read one of those titles again,” Kaveh showed her the books but Zahra denied them.

“No! Daddy already read The Boar Princess yesterday and I don't like Princess Fischl,” she responds grumpily, which draws a sigh of defeat from the architect.

“Okay, I'm out of ideas. Azizam, I need help here.”

You giggled softly but went to your husband's aid, “Well... How about we change the scene a little and tell you a different story?”

Zahra's eyes suddenly widened in curiosity and she nodded enthusiastically.

“How about if we tell you something new? Something that doesn't even exist in books. The story of how Mommy and Daddy met!”

Kaveh, also seeming to brighten at your suggestion, takes the other spot on your daughter's tiny bed and wraps his arm around both of your waists.

“Ah, this is one of my favorite stories,” he comments, sending you a small smile.

“It’s better than The Boar Princess, mummy?” asks Zahra excitedly.

You laugh, “Much better than The Boar Princess, sweetheart. Honey, how about you do the honors?” you suggest in a mischievous tone that catches Kaveh off guard, but seeing that you weren't going to budge and his little princess seemed increasingly anxious, the architect cleared his throat before starting to recount about the day he finally met you.

“Let’s see… It was at a time when life was a bit of a rollercoaster for me.”

“You know, I’ve always been very passionate about my work and have always dedicated myself to the maximum to bring my projects to life. I was ambitious, hard-working, and had dozens of clients but I was also quite ignorant. It didn't matter how great my desire to build houses and palaces was, or how strong were my inspiration when my wallet didn't match my reality. Neither did my mental state...”

“Then one day I received a letter. It was the Liyue's Tianquan inviting me to participate in an exclusive civil construction project and my participation in this event would be of great honor.”

“When I saw that opportunity, I grabbed it without thinking about the consequences. After all, it wasn't every day that I received a chance like that, and even though my work had a certain popularity, not all clients were able to follow my ideas. So I imagined that being in a foreign environment with people who apparently valued my projects would be like reaching the purpose I wanted. Plus the paycheck seemed to be rewarding too.”

You snort in amusement at his last comment.

“So I went to Liyue and soon I was in a huge meeting room with professionals coming from all Teyvat. As the project meeting continued I found myself increasingly out of place by the suggestions my colleagues were making. They were so closed-minded. When they’re thinking about time, I wanted quality. While they wanted cost savings, I wanted to do something to make the people involved in that construction feel worthy of a home. It was disappointing and I was starting to get sick of that place.”

“That’s when your mama decided to speak out,” the man’s eyes twinkled briefly.

“Unlike those people who had simple and selfish ideals, your mom was brilliant, confident, and bold. Not only did she catch the attention of the men in that room with her beauty and elegance, but it was certainly her intelligence that captured the hearts of many that day. Including mine.”

“Until that moment I hadn’t given my opinion, but knowing that one of the main people in charge had a similar vision to mine, I felt excited to give my ideas. It was one of the moments I felt most anxious too.”

Zahra frowned, “Why Daddy?”

“I think at that moment I got it into my head that your mom had high expectations for me and I didn’t want to disappoint her.”

“But luckily that wasn't the case as she seemed to approve each of my ideas. That’s how we ended up forming a partnership.”

“As we worked together, I found myself liking her more and more. At the time, this was also a big obstacle for me as I didn’t like mixing my professional and personal relationships.”

"But— aah, your mama had a way of enchanting me every day. She appreciated my work and my dedication. She encouraged me to think bigger and challenged me to be bolder not only with my work but with myself. Somewhere along the way, our nightly sessions turned into conversations about life, ambitions, and even our struggles.”

“A few months later, when we finally finished the construction, I felt brave enough to confess my feelings to her, and guess what your mom said, Zaza?”

“What? What did she say Daddy?” she asked expectantly.

“Mama said she wouldn’t accept my feelings until I sorted my life out,” he huffed making you laugh and your daughter look at you in disbelief.

“Don’t look at me like that, Zaza. At the time it was the right decision to make. I was already in love with your papa as much as he was with me, but I knew he wasn't ready to get into a relationship when he wasn't okay with himself. I wanted someone who could provide me security and was confidence in themselves, and your daddy didn’t have those qualities.”

“Ouch, azizam. You don’t need to rub it in!”

“I’m just saying.”

Kaveh sighed resignedly, “Anyway, she said she wouldn’t accept my feelings but would wait for me as long as necessary.”

“After that, I returned to Sumeru but this time determined to prove myself to her. I used every means possible to resolve my financial, family, and personal issues. I worked tirelessly to find my path and build my own home. And almost two years later I traveled back to Liyue. But this time I was sure I wouldn't leave without my girl, and so I did,” he finishes the story, and you clap softly while Zahra smiles tiredly.

“It was a great story, azizam,” you comment, smiling, “But I think now it’s time to finish for today because our little princess needs to sleep well to wake up better tomorrow.”

Kaveh looks at his daughter's sleepy eyes and agrees.

You place Zahra back on her pillow and cover her with the blanket, placing a kiss on her forehead—Kaveh copying your gesture soon after.

Saying goodnight to the girl, you and your husband leave the room together, leaving the door ajar the way she liked it.

On the way to your room, you couldn't help but notice how Kaveh looked so down and you frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

He clicks his tongue and turns his face to the other side, mumbling, “I was just thinking you didn't need to say that I didn't look confident back then, you know? What about now, azizam? What will my own daughter think of me? She’ll think I’m lame!”

You roll your eyes.

“You surely look lame now.”

“Hey!”

Alhaitham

The heavy oak door creaked softly as Alhaitham entered the house, his mind finally relaxing after a long day at work.

Right in the living room, the scribe identified your very focused presence with what he presumed to be correcting tests and homework. So as not to make his arrival go unnoticed, Alhaitham approaches and gently touches your shoulders, making you jump in scared.

“I’m sorry, habibti. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says and you smile at him.

“It’s okay, dear,” you reach for his hand and squeeze it in greeting, “But you should learn to make a little more noise, Haitham. Your presence is as subtle as that of a cat. Anyway, welcome home.”

Alhaitham kisses the top of your head, “Thank you. Where is Hakim?”

You frown and look around the room but don't identify your son's presence anywhere.

“I am not sure, to be honest. He was here with me until a few minutes ago but I don't think watching his mother work is that fun. Maybe he's painting in his room? If he had gone out to play with the twins, he’d have told me,” You conclude.

Your husband nods, but the faint gleam of recognition in his eyes announces that he already has an idea where the child could be.

“Very well. I’ll change my clothes first and I’ll make us some tea right after, okay?”

You nod in thanks and turn your attention to the paperwork while Alhaitham disappears through the halls of the house.

Instead of making his way to your shared room, the scribe heads to the door of his office where he finds it ajar. Not surprised, Alhaitham approaches and through the small opening observes the brightly lit room as Hakim makes himself comfortable on the floor leafing through a specific book but surrounded by dozens of others—which he assumes have fallen to the floor as his son tried to reach them from the highest shelf.

A mixture of fatherly pride and affection surfaced beneath his stoic exterior.

Clearing his throat lightly, Alhaitham approaches with measured steps, not wanting to scare the boy.

“I thought I’d find you here,” he announces making Hakim jump in fright, just like his mother did. Alhaitham snorted in amusement.

“Sorry Baba. I know you don’t like anyone touching your things, but I was going to tidy everything up later.”

“It’s okay, Kim,” he replies calmly and sits down in the armchair located in the middle of the office, “What are you reading?”

Hakim smiles adorably showing off the book he was so interested in and Alhaitham couldn't help but chuckle.

“It’s a cool book!” comments the boy, “I can't read what's written because there are lots of strange letters and drawings but they're cool too.”

“I expect so. After all, your mother wrote this book.”

Hakim’s interest peaks, “Really?”

“Yes. It's one of my favorite ones, by the way. It was through it that I met her”, he pats his thighs inviting Hakim to sit on his lap which the boy accomplishes happily.

Hakim leans back against his father's warm chest, hugging the book affectionately, “How did you two meet, Baba?”

Alhaitham was silent for a few seconds before letting out a reflective sigh.

“It was at the same time that I was holding the position of Acting Grand Sage”, Alhaitham began, his voice taking on a nostalgic tone.

“Sumeru was going through great changes due to everything that had happened and, inevitably, Akademiya had been one of the main places affected by it. I ended up temporarily taking on the role of the great sage out of respect for Buer's wise decision, although it wasn't exactly the job I was looking for.”

“There were many responsibilities, many commitments, and daily there were dozens of issues to be resolved due to years, centuries of bad motivations. So you can imagine how exhausting it was to rebuild an entire institution from zero and be that person that people followed orders.”

“Until one day your mother suddenly appears as a new candidate for the position of professor in the Darshan of Haravatat.”

“I hadn't met her at first since our paths never seemed to cross. Yet the words in the halls of the Akademiya were always the same: the new professor was like a breath of fresh air in that old institution—beautiful, kind, with a passion for knowledge that matched her beauty.”

He paused, remembering the scene as if it were yesterday. “One afternoon, I found myself in the library again, buried in a book—absorbing all that knowledge with a hunger that had previously been unknown to me. Little did I know that it was her book that I was reading. Such insight, elegance, and dedication to details had uniquely captivated me.”

“I was pretty engrossed in the text when I heard footsteps approaching,” Alhaitham continued, with a hint of amusement in his tone. “She stood by my side and gently asked about the book, curious to know what I thought, and so our conversation began.”

“We didn't talk much that day as I was a much more reserved person, but she was exactly as the scholars’ whispers described her. Through the brief talk we had, I was able to explore philosophical thoughts and complexities of life that I had never explored before. Your mother had a way of drawing out my thoughts, of making me see beyond the surface and into the depths of existence. That’s what attracted me to her in the first place.”

“As days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, we met at the library quite often. Our discussions deepened, and with each talk, I found myself opening up in ways I hadn't before.”

“I think she knew back then that she had caught my attention, although it took her a little longer to realize that she had stolen my heart,” he chuckles softly. Hakim smiles in delight.

“We began spending more time together beyond the Akademiya strongholds, exploring the world around us. It made me realize how much I wanted her in my life. In that same way. Every day."

“And then one night, in our quiet sanctuary in that very hallway in the library, I told her those exact words,” Alhaitham's voice softened with love.

“She smiled that radiant smile of hers that illuminates even the darkest corners of my soul and said she felt the same way. At that moment, Hakim, it was like the stars aligned and everything fell into place.”

“That’s how I met your mother, Kim. In the silent corners of knowledge and amid the pages of her wisdom, our love story began—a story woven with understanding, respect, and a bond that grows stronger with each passing day.”

Alhaitham ends the story with a slight smile to which his son imitates him, admiringly.

“I hope one day I can meet someone like you and mama did, Baba.”

The scribe smirks in amusement, “I hope for the same, child.”

Not long after, you made your entrance into the office carrying in your hands a tray with three cups of tea and milk and Hakim's favorite cookies.

“I knew you boys were hiding out here,” you smile at your husband and son, completely oblivious to the story they just shared. “Come on. Let’s eat while the cookies are still warm.”

Cyno

The whole family was gathered in front of the fireplace reviewing some photos that you had captured and saved over the years.

From your days as an eremite to the twins' first steps, every moment was recorded in several photographs that you kept with the greatest care so that, from time to time, you could remember them again with a nostalgic feeling. And currently, this was one of those moments.

Aryan and Isaar were having fun with some older photos of Cyno, courtesy of Cyrus, while you and he organized the rest of the albums back into the box they belonged to.

It was a serene moment, of pure bliss and harmony. Something you wish you could capture with your kamera again, but you'd rather enjoy just being with the people you loved most.

“Hey Mama, what picture is that?” asks Isaar, breaking you out of your daydreams.

When you recognize the black and white, slightly blurred image, a giggle couldn't help but escape your lips.

“Aah, it's from our first date,” you reply happily, “If I'm not mistaken, Dehya and Candace had followed us that day and took this one. Nobody could believe that the emotionless and unapproachable General Mahamatra could go on a date with a beautiful girl, so I think they wanted to have proof that this day happened.”

Cyno snorts and the twins nod in understanding, smiling at each other.

“How did you and Baba meet?” Aryan asks shortly afterward, still mesmerized by the photo in his brother's hands.

You and Cyno locked eyes briefly and a mischievous smirk crossed your face as the flicker of a smile curved his lips.

“Well, you boys won't believe it, but it all started when I defeated your baba in a fight.”

The smile on Cyno's face immediately disappeared, being replaced by an expression of slight unbelief and confusion. “You didn't defeat me, hayati. I remember very well that it was a draw.”

You made a slight grimace as if you didn't believe the blasphemy your husband was saying, which left him more incredulous than before, and your children quite amused.

“These are irrelevant details, my love. Let’s pretend you never said that.”

“Anyway, I was a different person back then,” you continued, your eyes shining with a mixture of mischief and pride. “Living according to my clan's philosophy but in a more devious and rebellious way, if I may say so. I wanted to chart a path in a way that’d only suit me.”

“I used to do several illegal jobs for which the matras already persecuted me for, but it was deceiving the young and naive scholars from Akademiya that amused me and made my reputation grow among its guards. No need to give me that look, boys. Mama only took them to forbidden ruins and mausoleums in exchange for extra money,” you added the last part as you received strange looks from the twins.

Cyno, seeing the scene, snorted in amusement, “You’re not helping yourself, hayati.”

“If they want to hear the true and complete version they better be prepared to hear what happened,” you wrinkled your nose.

To save you from more possible judgments, Cyno resumed the thread, his deep voice cutting through the room. “I was immediately informed about the incidents that were occurring with certain frequency, and tasked with restoring order. It was supposed to be a job easily accomplished even by the lowest ranking among the matras, but not only were your mom’s activities not within the law, as no officer was a match for her strength either. Many scholars had not been discovered of their misconduct thanks to her,” he admitted, a slight affectionate smile crossing his face.

His subtle compliment made you shy.

“And just as your dad’s reputation preceded him, he tracked me like a bloodhound,” you said with a hint of admiration underlying your words. “Until one afternoon I caught myself off guard on the outskirts of the Sobek Oasis and he appeared announcing that he’d take me to the capital so I could have my punishment. I found him incredibly attractive at that moment, but I wasn't going to give in so easily either. In the end, we ended up fighting,” you giggled remembering the duel. Two forces of nature colliding: fire and thunder.

“It was a draw,” Cyno resumes saying it again, “Although I must admit your mom gave me a bit of a hard time. It was my first time facing a formidable opponent who was equal to me—I dare say even superior to my abilities.”

Isaar, the more curious of the twins, leaned forward, eyes wide with excitement, “What happened next?”

You exchanged a knowing look with your husband, silently communicating with him.

“Well, sometimes life surprises you,” you respond cryptically, reaching out to ruffle the child’s hair in affection.

Cyno's gaze softened imperceptibly as he continued, “Our paths continued to cross after our first meeting. While on one hand your mom seemed not to give up what she was doing, I felt increasingly motivated, challenged to stop her—after all, not only was this affecting the performance of the Akademiya students, but it was also tarnishing the reputation of the matras who weren’t managing to deal with that situation.”

“But as time passed and we kept facing each other, we also came to an understanding. Sometimes behind the clash of wills, there is a common thread. That’s how your mom and I realized we were stronger together than we were apart.”

Aryan, although quieter but no less attentive, absorbed his father's words with a thoughtful expression.

“So, it was like fate, Mama?” he mused aloud.

You smiled warmly at your children, your heart filling with maternal pride.

“Maybe it was. In an unpredictable way, but woven by the hands of fate,” you respond, your voice carrying the weight of years of shared history and love.

As the night progressed, you and Cyno continued to tell the twins your stories of adventures, challenges overcome, and the unshakable bond that had been born in infertile soil and blossomed into a deep, beautiful and lasting partnership.

2K notes · View notes

ilsanslut · 1 year ago

Text

꒷♡꒷ STRESS RELIEF!

♰ featuring: wriothesley [genshin impact]

♰ note: i’m in heat and all i can think about is a stressed and tired wriothesley eating out his pretty gf from the back to relieve his tension.

sypnosis: get you a man who will drown in your pussy and call it “stress relief”! wc: 2.6k content/trigger warning(s): 18+. smut. femme/female bodied!reader. messy pussy-eating. dominant/feral!wriothesley. marking. biting. spanking. squirting. cursing. hand-holding. groping. hair pulling. ꒷꒦

It was almost as though Wriothesley was being crushed under the constant pressure of his job as the warden within the shadowy confines of the Fortress of Meropide. The burden of his obligations bore down on him like the merciless force of the sea that imprisoned them all within the stronghold. When a problem arose or strife broke out among the prisoners, he was the one they all turned to for help. Today, on the other hand, appeared to be the day that he would be pushed to his breaking point. There was a mountain of paperwork that was piled high on top of his desk and seemed to never end; the pipes seemed to trickle and leak indefinitely, necessitating constant repair; the elevators are out of commission for maintenance, forcing everyone to use the forgotten, decrepit, and mildew-smelling stairwell; and, to top it all off, there is a 'Credit Coupon' thief swiping people's credits beneath their noses. And, not to mention, he had been so backed up with dealing with everyone else’s problems that he had already missed his afternoon tea.

Anyone near could feel the ominous aura radiating off of the iron doors of his office.

Though, amidst the chaos and tension, one beacon of solace shone through—you. His light in the darkness. The one thing keeping him sane.

Your warm smile and unwavering support were the calming forces that held the key to unlocking his cold heart. He craved the comforting words you spoke, the softness of your touch, and the calm you provided amidst the chaos of everyday life. You turned into a haven for him—a haven from the relentless pressure that felt like it would swallow him.

Which is exactly why you weren’t surprised when a guard came to you while you were aiding Sigewinne with a patient, informing you that the Duke requested your presence in his office immediately. Lunch was usually shared by the two of you, but you expected that he would be too overwhelmed with work to remember to eat, let alone take a break, given everything he has been going through. The two guards outside his office gave you a pitying glance as you got closer, understanding that things were not good. Nevertheless, they let you cross the bridge and into his office. You went in, and the first thing you saw was Wriothesley sitting on the bottom two steps, as if he were waiting for you. You noticed that his tie was unkempt, his jacket was completely abandoned, and his hair had a disheveled tousle that suggested he had either been tugging or running his hands through it for at least a while. That, and it was impossible to ignore the worn-out look in his faded hues.

But as soon as your eyes met, his worn-out expression changed to something strange but familiar—something you had seen on many sultry nights spent by yourself with him in the past. His eyes were fixed on you, freezing you in place with an indisputable lust, a carnal hunger, and a burning desire. Pushing himself up from the steps, he moved toward you with calculated, deliberate steps, each one more heavy than the last, like a beast cornering its prey, his heavy steel boots clinking against the copper floors. Soon, he was towering over you, hands twitching at his sides as though he were refraining from tearing you apart where you stood.

“You look good.” You blurted, swallowing thickly in your throat, as you were cornered against the heavy steel of his office’s door.

He chuckled, throaty and sultry, as his hand met your waist, the other one coming to rest it’s forearm above your head as he caged you between the door and his muscular frame, “Yeah?”

His casual drawl had your knees going weak, threatening to buckle beneath you while his thumb rubbed slow, salacious circles into your hip. “I think I’ve been better.”

You shrugged nonchalantly with an indifferent hum, raising your hands to trail absentminedly over his large chest that bulged through his dress shirt, finally coming to toy with his tie. “Mhm. You missed lunch today, you know.”

“Did I?” His voice was husky—deep, the subtle rumble of his baritone voice going straight to your core causing your thighs to squeeze against one another—an action that didn’t go unnoticed by Wriothesley, who’s palms grew hungry on you, manuvering behind you to grope thick handfuls of your rear shamelessly. “I’ve been so swamped with work that it must’ve slipped my mind. But . . . I’m sure you understand, right, baby?” His arm that was poised above your head lowered, his partially gloved thumb stroking at the supple flesh of your cheek. “Why don’t you let me make it up to you, yeah? . . . I have an idea that will make us both happy.”

You had an idea as to what he was alluding to, but nonetheless, you nodded with a hum of agreement. This made Wriothesley smirk in response, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear so that he may lean in and press a kiss to your temple.

“Turn around.”

His dominant undertone left little room for argument as you did what he asked, turning around so that you were facing the metal door of his office. Without another moment's hesitation, you felt yourself pushed against it, your body pinned against Wriothesley's heated form with your cheek smushed against the cold metal face of the door. His body pressed firmly against yours, and you felt something unmistakable grinding into your ass, all the while his sharp canines drug themselves up your neck, a silent warning to stay put.

And you did.

Hot, sloppy kisses trailed themselves down the back of your neck as greedy palms groped and squeezed at your body wherever they could reach—almost as though they were attempting to alleviate tension with every heated touch. Sensing his descent, you eventually heard him drop to his knees behind you, his gloved hands reaching up to lift your skirt and turn it over to expose your plump, pliant rear. A growl, something animalistic and ravenous, came from the back of his throat, and one of those large palms rose for a split second before slapping your right cheek, making you squeal and making Wriothesley laugh.

“Careful, Y/N.” He chided, using his palms to massage the abused flesh as an imprint of his hand—ringed fingers and all—slowly began to appear on your ass. “This door may be thick, but this chamber echos. You don’t want the guards and—Gods know who else—hearing you on the other side, do you~?”

You felt your face heat up against the frigid door’s surface, now acutely aware of the silence on the other side, which meant his guards were now undoubtedly listening. Nonetheless, you nodded, casting a shy glance over your shoulder to your lover, who was already gazing up at you with half-lidded eyes and that salacious smirk on his face that just made your knees go weak and your folds gush with arousal.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that though,” He stated nonchalantly, leaning over to press a soft kiss against your ass as sinful digits reached up to peel your already soaked panties down your thighs until they pooled at your ankles. Wriothesley groaned inwardly, his pupils blown, as he used his thumbs to spread you apart in all your glory, admiring how your folds glistened in the dim lights of the lower floor of his office. “*I can’t promise that I’ll be going easy on you either, baby.”

Without saying another word, his hands reached out and took firm hold of both your cheeks, spreading them wide before plunging straight into your dripping folds. Immediately, your knees were buckling beneath you as a pleasured mewl escaped your lips, your nails dragging against the metal surface in an attempt to find purchase. With his hands leaving your ass to wrap around the front of your thighs, his tongue was unrelenting as it ruthlessly claimed every inch of your pussy to himself, drawing you closer to him so he could continue to devour you. His tongue was hot, heavy, and drooling as it spread you wide open, encircling your clit, and slurping up whatever delicious goodness you had to offer. His nose pressed deep into your wetness, drowning in your depths, but he did not seem to care in the slightest. He wanted more—craved more—and one thing about Wriothesley was that he was a man who got what he wanted.

His tongue and ravenous lips wrapped around your tender nub and sucked away like a starving man enjoying the sweetest nectar of life, leaving you a moaning mess above him and unable to stop your hips from moving on their own as you practically fucked yourself against his face. You didn’t care if the guards—or anyone else, for that matter—heard you. All you could focus on was how his sweltering and deft mouth had you practically creaming onto his selfish brims already.

“Wrio~!” You keened, nearly losing your footing had it not been for Wriothesley keeping you firmly in place by his grip. “I-I can’t! I-It’s too much!” You whimpered just as another cry drew from your lips from a jolt of pleasure from your nethers.

In response, you felt another sharp spank rain down on your ass, and Wriothesley finally withdrew, but only so that he could snarl out, “You can and you will. Fucking take it, Y/N.” He was breathless, panting—truly, a man starved in his most primal state.

He pulled away momentarily, strings of your arousal clinging to the lower half of his face, which was glistening in your translucent juices, to turn to your inner thighs. His jaw widened before clamping down harshly on your once supple flesh, biting and sucking the blood to it’s surface to leave furious marks in his wake.

“Wriothesley!” You wept with delight and surprise at the lewd action that made your folds rub together, and you were unable to ignore the disgustingly lewd squelching sound that came from your cunt.

He repeated the same action, this time on your ass cheek, taking the pliant flesh between his teeth and delivering yet another primal bite to your soft skin, effectively marking you. “Shit, Y/N.” His heated breath wafted over your clit, making you clench around nothing as he huffed and panted like a mutt against your thigh, an action that your attentive lover obviously noticed. “The things you do to me . . .~”

Without saying anything more, he plunged back into you, even more intense than before. With his deft fingers reaching around your front and rubbing quick, merciless circles onto your clit, he was aiming at his sole target, your sopping hole. Pushing his tongue in and out of your wetness, he slurped every last drop of your sweet juices onto his tongue. He was milking you like a machine—using your clit as the trigger to release more and more of your translucent fluids onto his tongue, which he rapaciously gluped down. All the while, your toes curled in your shoes, and as every one of his hot, heavy pants exhaled through his nose, you were able to feel it against your pretty asshole.

“Wrio, wrio, baby, please! R-Right there, I-I’m gonna . .” Your hasty pleas were cut off, your hand reaching back to tangle itself into your boyfriend’s smokey locks, holding him in place as you basically rode his tongue.

You felt him chuckling against your folds before you heard him, unable to stop the sharp cry that escaped you from the sudden vibration. His hand left your clit, however, it was soon replaced with his mouth in favor of meeting your hand with his own. He pried your death grip from his locks, intertwining his fingers with your own as his head shook back and forth between your thighs. His lips suckled away at you in such an unforgiving way that it made your head spin and your eyes roll to the back of your head. Anyone within the immediate vicinity could definitely hear the unabashed slurping and squleching sounds emanating from his efforts as they reverberated through his office's chambers.

He took your hand in his and massaged calming circles around your knuckles until you finally came undone in front of him, unable to contain your overwhelming euphoria. A series of cries and mewls left your lips, leaving you breathless as your juices came flooding out of you, drenching your lover’s face and attire in a torrent, which he happily gulped down. Had it not been for his grip on your frame, you most definitely would’ve collapsed, but he held you firmly against him, even using his face to support your weight at one point like your own personal seat—because it was. After all, he was yours just as much as you were his, and he’d be damned if anything tried to change that.

His hurried movements subsided during your high, his tongue now languidly stroking your folds to carry you through your blissful daze; still, you could not control your hips from lurching each time he touched your tender, pulsating nub. Before long, he began to back off, giving you some leverage and giving himself space to finally breathe. His hot breath wafted against your behind, his chest rising and falling with each breath, finally being kind enough to himself to give him the sweet, sweet oxygen his lungs had been begging for.

Slowly, he rose from behind you, your half-lidded gaze meeting his own through the tears that formed on your lash line, which he wiped away with a swipe of his thumb.

“Y’still with me, pretty?” He whispered in a honeyed drawl, placing a soft kiss against your shoulder as the hand that was holding your own moved to your bicep to rub soothing circles along your arm.

You nodded, albeit weakly, still recovering from the mind-shattering orgasm he had just put you through.

“Y’feel better now, Wrio?”

He responded with a hearty chuckle, rolling his neck in a tantilizing way that exposed his throbbing Adam’s apple and scarred throat. His gaze met your own again, this time with a familiar spark burning behind his dusky hues, “Ahh, a’litte bit.”

He leaned over you once again, his forearm resting above your head as his chest pressed against your back. You gasped, your hips jolting as you felt his rock-hard bulge pressing against you, just barely managing to graze your sopping folds.

“Still feeling a little ‘tense’ here . . . but you’d be willing to help me out,” He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. Although you couldn’t see him, you could practically feel the smirk beaming from his stupidly handsome face.

“Right, baby?”

Oh, he was going to be the death of you someday.

#genshin impact #genshin impact smut #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact headcanons #wriothesley #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #genshin wriothesley #wriothesley headcanons #wriothesley imagines #vampiiebitez

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rillian4e · 1 year ago

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Bad girls get punished or?

ft& Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Alhaitham, Scaramouche, Jing Yuan, IL Dan Heng

cw: nsfw, fem!reader, rough sex, pet names, praise kink, foul language, spanking, chocking, thigh riding, marking, breeding, degradation, teasing etc...

summary: you've been feeling neglected, and acting bratty towards your boyfriend which lead to him putting you in your place.

Neuvillette: riding, spanking, pet names

Neuvillette was fed up with your behaviour, he was trying to work, but you just had to sit and grind onto his lap, he had already told you to stay quiet while he finished some paperwork, and he would reward you but you didn't have any patience for that, instead giving into your desires which resulted in punishment.

Having you bent over his desk as he spanked your cute little butt, "Ow..! That hurts... Be more gentle!" you whined, feeling his big hand slap at your skin once again, there would be red marks for days surely, despite how it felt painful—you secretly enjoyed it, feeling more aroused than ever to have him punish you like this. Neuvillette could tell you were enjoying it, making him sigh, he was too forgiving at times like these, placing you to then ride his lap, wiping your tears away, "You're such a bad girl, cherié, I won't punish you any more, instead you'll have to ride me."

He muttered, looking at you before placing a gentle kiss on your cheek, "If you end up not needing my help, then I'll reward you by fucking you nice and full, what do you think, hm?"

You smiled delighted when you heard his words, he really was too forgiving towards you, but you knew that he would be the opposite when you get your reward, always making sure you're satisfied.

Wriothesley: cockwarming, rough sex, manhandling

While you were needy and horny, your lover was busy, having to handle some affair within the Fortress of Meropide. It didn't help that you wanted him so badly, you went ahead and visited him, only to find him buried with paperwork as he sipped his favorite tea. Wriothesley was used to your neediness, often indulging your desired as he missed the warmth of your cunt enveloping him as much as you too did, but he could just abandon all of his work, it was the busiest around this time period for the duke.

Even as you wore your pretty little skirt and top, he didn't give in to your pleas instead having you cockwarm him, "Mm...stay still, love. Just a few more hours, and I'll give you what you want."

you felt better when you heard his words but "a few more hours", was he crazy?! No way would you be able to wait that long, not when his cock was buried so deep inside your aching core—it was so hard to resist the temptation of rolling your hips and fucking yourself on his shaft. you tried your best to stay good, nuzzling his neck, but when you felt his hand rub your thigh up and down... you couldn't do it. instead lifting yourself up and then sinking onto his cock, the sensation making you moan, albeit it was a quick relief as Wriothesley then pulled you off his lap, clearly that was his last straw.

"You're not getting out of this, sweetheart. You know, I adore when you're being a brat, but it's time to punish you a little, turn around." ah...you fucked up.

you gulped before doing as told, without waiting any longer, Wriothesley pushed his cock inside your cunt, immediately picking up a relentless pace without giving you a moment to catch your breath.

Wriothesley made sure to fuck his seed deep into you, hopefully that would satiate you for some time, you had to leave his office with his cum dripping out of you cunt, you were praying that it wouldn't drip down your legs.

Alhaitham: soft Alhaitham, praise, pet names, comfort

The scribe was not pleased with your behaviour, he was trying to read his book in peace when you came, all flustered and begging Alhaitham to fuck you in the House of Daena, where plenty of other scholars are, yeah, he of course refused, it was a risk, and he wanted to read his book. you couldn't get yourself off, it's been far too long since you last had any Intimacy with Alhaitham due to how busy he'd gotten, and in his little free time, he always reads books which doesn't help that he isn't spending time with you. You were rambling on and on, but no use, Alhaitham wasn't budging.

You didn't understand why he was being eo mean, so cold, he didn't didn't wanna give you a kiss, you didn't even realize that you were crying when Alhaitham pulled you into a hug, a large hand patting your back in comforting circles, "Hush, don't cry, princess... I was being too harsh on you, it's just that I've been overwhelmed and stressed, but that's not an excuse, c'mere." Quickly he placed you to straddle his lap, stroking your cheek tenderly, "I'm very sorry, my love, please forgive me."

He resorted on making it up to you, bringing you home, and making the whole night about you two, his fat cock stretching your cunt as he peppered kisses all over your face and neck, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, a contrast to the way he was slamming desperately into your hole, he only then realized how much he had missed you.

"Such a good girl... My sweet, sweet girl, taking me so well, I'm proud of you..." He'd whisper into your ear, his hand rubbing tight circles on your clit, his sweet words only fueling your desires to be fucked dumb by him which he fulfilled.

Scaramouche: manhandling, foul language, use of pet names

Punishment is his favorite when you're being a brat, this was no exception. Who did you think you were, trying to make him jealous by flirting with other men? The moment you were home, Scaramouche had you in mating press—his length filling your womb to the brim, he knew you wanted this to happen, your gummy walls only clenching more around him at his harsh and degrading words.

"Did you think you successed, hm? Trying to make me jealous by giving other men your attention? Look at you, acting like a bitch in heat." he muttered, one of his hands squeezing your throat, putting firm pressure, enough for it to feel uncomfortable.

His rough pace only continuing till you cannot take it anymore, your legs trembling from the overwhelming pleasure and stimulation, Scaramouche feels no mercy for you, focusing on his pleasure and teaching you a lesson. "Did you seriously think anyone other than me could fuck you this good?" He asked, looking down at you, his eyes betraying no emotion, only gazing at you as if you're some pathetic worm.

"Answer me, slut." his grip on your throat tightened, you cried out, shaking your head, "N-No...only you! Only you...can f-fuck me this good..!" was the best you could speak out, hoping it was enough for him to forgive you.

Jing Yuan: thigh riding, praise, pet names

He was busy with paperwork, being a general wasn't easy, it meant that he would be busy most of the time which you understood when you became his lover, but that didn't mean you weren't desperate for his affection. Jing Yuan would only tell you to wait and be patient, pressing kisses on your head, it didn't help that you were horny for him. He didn't like the way you were trying to dry hump him, wanting to feel that much needed friction against your dripping core. "What did I tell you, sweetheart? To wait, did I not?"

He sighed as you tried your best to give him puppy eyes to make him cave in, when he saw you disobey his words once again, he gripped your waist,

"Mm...you're being a very needy thing today, I won't be giving in today, though."

he exclaimed, giving you a kiss on the lips before he had you rub yourself on his thigh, having to get yourself off alone, it frustrated you but it was better than nothing. You did like riding his thigh, but you wished he would just fuck you or at least let you ride his cock—you so badly needed his thick length inside your hole, the more you rubbed your clothed cunt against his thigh, the more you wished he'd help you, a small wet patch was already growing on your underwear.

Jing Yuan wrapped his hand around your waist, supporting you while his other scribbled on his paperwork. You were getting desperate to cum, moans escaping you as you rode his thigh with the desire to reach your climax.

"Close, my love? You're ruining my pants, such a messy girl." a low chuckle escaped his lips, taking his eyes off his paperwork to give you a little of his attention. His hands gripped your thighs as he lifted you up and down hard on his thigh.

Even though he only let you ride his thigh, it would suffice as long as he was the one helping you, it was a whole another feeling when he helped you.

IL Dan Heng: vaginal sex, edging, teasing, mean Dan Heng

You have been trying to tease your lover for the past few hours, playing with his sensitive horns which you knew was the easiest way to get his attention. Rubbing the ridges with gentle motions before pressing kisses on both of his horns, Dan Heng loved when you gave attention to his horns, but he was trying to read his book, not have you make him aroused. His attempts at making you stop failed, though. After having enough of you being a brat, his tail wrapped around your waist, eliciting a reaction out of you—was he finally gonna give in?

"You're too greedy, love. I was busy, and I would have made time for you, but not if you keep acting like a brat."

You thought he would give in, he always did after all, and he did. His cock was inside you, hitting all the right spots, it had you seeing stars. Dan Heng really is too kind is what you thought before he told you that you can't cum.

"I'm not giving you permission to cum, princess. That's your punishment, besides isn't this what you wanted, for me to fuck you stupid?"

Was he being for real? you were so close, yes, you did want him to fuck you, he was right about that but you wanted to cum, not have to be edged when you were so desperate to have an orgasm. nevertheless you did as you were told, having him cum inside you made you feel slightly better, albeit you wanted to come too.

You knew you were at fault and that this was your punishment for not listening, he did mention letting you cum if you were good enough, maybe he will feel sorry for you and let you, who knows.

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plumpybread · 2 months ago

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Do you kind of have something for Wriothesley? I remember the old lore you had about those within Fontaine who were always in denial about their weight and slowly would get larger, does that still apply here or has it shifted? I think the concept of him being skin and bones after getting into Meropide would be fun but slowly as he works his way up, he fills out more and more just becomes the largest person in the Prison.

I do remember what I wrote for Wriothesley a long time ago, yeeah, I'm pretty sure it was the first piece of content I mad for the AU? gosh, so long ago. Back then Neuvillette used to only be a measly 11 thousand pounds and was considered the heaviest person in Teyvat, but after the Fontaine rework he's the more reasonable millions of pounds he is now.

As for Wrio, I wrote him to be larger than average at less than 900lbs, but with the current Fontaine he's basically smaller than what's considered healthy, so he definitely needs a push up in terms of size.

I put him in the 1000-2500 tier for now since I like the dynamic I wrote with Lyney in the early stages of developing the AU and I didn't want him to be too big.

The "cécité liée au poids" thing I wrote for him and as a lore tidbit is likely something to be scrapped, since it was back when the largest Fontainians of all could only weigh a ton or two instead of hundreds and doesn't really hold up anymore since all Fontainians are desensitized to absurdly extreme obesity.

As much as I'd like to have Wriothesley be a hedonistic blob, I think I'll be keeping him around average-plump Fontainian range. Instead of being in denial about his size I think he would actively try to control his urges to overeat since he knows he has the very important responsibility of ruling over the Fortress of Meropide.

As a reference, Wrio would probably look like this drawing I made some time ago of him and Lyney being intimate as I was in the midst of making Fontaine a much more massive nation than on the first draft

#GenshinObesityAU #ask

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lyss-sketchbox · 4 months ago

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ok here’s my wriolette hot take. wriothesley fully doesn’t know what sex is. neuvillette does, he’s been around for 500 years and it’d be weird if he didn’t given his line of work. but wrios like 25. relationships within the fortress of meropide are so tight and taut that any kind of intimacy causes so much unrest that nobody even does it. sigewinne lied to him about the birds and the bees. so when it comes time for them to like. actually do it. wriothesleys like “wow mr iudex you have such a well decorated room” while neuvillette is doing his best to seductively take off his jacket

Youre right. It is a hot take and i disagree. But that is so funny

#i dont know how to draw the human body without clothes #excuse me while i go look up a detailed reference for neuvillettes legs and boots #lyss' sketch #genshin impact #genshin fanart #genshin #wriothesley #neuvillette #wriolette #neuvithesley

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far-too-many-muses · 3 months ago

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Starter for @snezhnayain-carrot-top!

Word reached the warden quickly that the 11th harbinger had managed to make his way into the fortress bringing a half-hearted sigh to his lips as he headed out of his office to face the man, crossing his arms over his chest once he was in front of the ginger.

"How’d you land yourself in here again? Any purpose behind this surprise visit? "

#» Within the fortress — ( Wriothesley )#snezhnayain-carrot-top #Starter #( WAVES !!!!! )

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umemiyan · 3 months ago

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𝙋𝙐𝙕𝙕𝙇𝙀 𝙋𝙄𝙀𝘾𝙀𝙎.

( 𝖪𝖨𝖭𝖪𝖳𝖮𝖡𝖤𝖱 𝖶𝖤𝖤𝖪 #1 ･ 𝘖𝘔𝘌𝘎𝘈𝘝𝘌𝘙𝘚𝘌 )

𝗔𝗟𝗣𝗛𝗔!𝗪𝗥𝗜𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗦𝗟𝗘𝗬 𝗫 𝗕𝗘𝗧𝗔!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ 18+ only, mdni / omegaverse / reader has a vagina but no gendered pronouns / some imbalanced power dynamics due to wriothesley's position / very brief mentions of + allusions to: crime, prostitution, underage sex / elements of size kink / knotting / biting / a bit of blood / 4.2k words

i know what you're probably thinking: robin, why not omega reader?? well, i thought about it, but then i liked this idea better lol. one of my favorite personal omegaverse headcanons is that betas are able to somewhat hormonally shift to try and temporarily fill the role required by an individual they are in close proximity to, and if exposed long enough, can even become almost a pseudo version of an alpha or omega—at least when it comes to pheromones and maybe some slight physical and behavioral changes. so that's my inspiration, and there are definitely some elements of it in this piece. i hope you enjoy! (dividers by cafekitsune)

The Duke didn’t earn respect through fear but instead through actions that proved he deserved such esteem; however, you had become aware of the fact that he’d always been rather adept at keeping secrets, and while it was more often than not for the good of others, you couldn’t help but wonder what sorts of things he kept locked away for his own sake as well.

Wriothesley was notoriously difficult to get close to despite his knack for making connections, and after becoming more acquainted with him following your arrival at the Fortress, your curiosity was inevitably piqued. It was nigh impossible not to be intrigued by the highly competent and fiercely handsome administrator of exiles, especially when he had always treated you like something of an equal—a friend, even—yet kept himself at an emotional distance. You concluded it was silly to assume you might ever have a chance at being privy to his private thoughts, but it couldn’t hurt to daydream of the possibility once in a while. There certainly wasn’t much else for you to do down here.

But what you hadn’t really expected was for one of his secrets to be revealed like this.

Sure, he had the disposition for it; in fact, your original inclination upon meeting Wriothesley for the first time was to think that he could be nothing other than a true alpha, his burly figure and authoritative presence lending well to most of the stereotypes. But he never commented on the matter, nor was there any other indication that such was the case. Your fellow inmates held speculation on occasion, but generally came to the conclusion that the Duke was nothing more than a beta gifted with the chops to get things done.

They were wrong. Because that’s what he wanted them to think.

Wriothesley detested the thought of the masses believing his accomplishments were due to his status as an alpha. That was simply never his goal nor his motivation, for all he’d ever wanted was for everyone to be on a relatively equal playing field. In all honesty, his biology had been nothing more than a distracting irritation along the way, clouding his mind when he usually preferred clear judgment. He wasn’t a stiff without a penchant for fun, but being forced to surrender to the impulses of his body hadn’t always gone well for him in the past.

His self-control was unparalleled when assisted by the strong cocktail of hormonal suppressants that Sigewinne was able to regularly administer to him in secret. Not everything was completely erased after having been on the medication for so long, but it was usually more than enough to keep himself in check without having to go to extremes. But it seems his luck had finally run out.

Wriothesley’s office has become a prison within a prison, keeping him locked inside whilst keeping everyone else at bay.

“Please do not disturb the Duke. He is recovering from an illness,” Sigewinne had said, but even several days later, you haven’t seen a single trace of him. You wonder just how bad of an illness this actually is to have him isolated in the administrative office rather than the infirmary, and it leaves you feeling worried for the man you trust most down in this little corner of the ocean.

Perhaps it’s silly, but having a chat with him after bringing the latest edition of The Steambird to his office every day has become your most beloved routine. It makes you feel as though you’re doing something worthwhile, and it gives you an excuse to see him more regularly than most might—perhaps even have a warm cup of tea if you’re lucky. He also seems to enjoy your company well enough, or at least that’s what you’ve always hoped.

With fresh newsprint between your fingertips, you think surely it can’t be too bad of an idea to check up on him now.

You convince the guards to let you through with the promise of leaving the paper at the inside of the door along with some items you had bought at the cafeteria with your extra credit coupons. You’re sure someone had to have been bringing him regular meals, but it couldn’t hurt to have a little something extra if he had the appetite for it. Warm food could do wonders when you weren’t feeling well.

Upon entering the large doors to the office, you call out, “Wriothesley? Sir? It’s just me. I’ve come to bring you the paper and a few things to eat.”

You hate to sit the items directly on the ground, so you use one of the spare boxes in the lower lobby as a makeshift table, hoping it’ll be easier for him to reach as well.

“I know you haven’t been feeling well, but I just wanted to check in on you.”

You are met with nothing but silence and assume that perhaps you had stumbled in on Wriothesley while he was sleeping, but as you grow closer to the winding stairwell, your ears pick up on the faintest of noises; it sounds like someone huffing and groaning in discomfort, and you are immediately stricken with concern.

Taking the next few stairs upwards, you call out once more. “Your Grace? Are you alright?”

It’s really none of your business, but you simply can’t help yourself.

“I’m fine,” he rasps between heavy breaths, making you freeze in your tracks. “Just… stay down there.”

You are inclined to obey given his insistent tone and subsequent silence, but the moment another painful-sounding cry pierces the air, you can’t stop your feet from scrambling up the rest of the staircase.

As soon as you reach the top, your eyes begin scanning the room for the visual of an ill and impaired individual, expecting to find him immobilized on the office’s sofa or even the cold, hard floor, but you are met with nothing of the sort.

Wriothesley sits limp in the desk chair with an unbuttoned vest, shirt and trousers, skin drenched in a feverish sweat, and a heavy, swollen cock pulsing out the remnants of an unsatisfactory orgasm. His legs are spread wide and covered with release, chest heaving and glistening in the low light alongside the protruding knot that your gaze can’t help but fixate upon.

“I told you to stay away,” he says with breathy defeat, far too exhausted to try and cover himself up like any half-decent man might. He’s been caught and seen for the animal he truly is, so there’s no use in attempting to deny it now. He hasn’t the energy.

With wide eyes, your heart pounds. “You’re an alpha,” you state rather matter-of-factly, frozen in place, almost as if trying to convince yourself of the reality staring you straight in the face.

“What gave it away?” Wriothesley replies while wiping the sweat from his brow. He apparently still has the capacity for a touch of sarcasm.

You can smell it now—the potent pheromones circulating throughout the air, casting a thick shadow over the room, even for someone with the nose of a beta like yourself. Wriothesley is so deep in a rut that it’s impossible for anyone not to notice, which is precisely why you assume he’s been locked here in the office with no contact for days on end.

And by the look of him, isolation hasn’t provided much relief.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were—“

“Don’t,” he stops you, finally working to shove himself beneath the confines of clothing despite the perpetual aching hardness between his legs. “Just… please don’t tell anyone about this.”

You cannot begin to fathom why that is his first request, but you have no reason not to try and honor it. It seems you’ve finally gotten your glimpse into the Duke’s private life, albeit not quite in the way you had anticipated.

Searching for the right words to say, you try and open your mouth to form some sort of response before he speaks again.

“Sigewinne is the only one who knows,” he adds, sinking further into his chair, “but I wouldn’t put it past Clorinde to have some idea.”

You are able to infer from that information alone that he has been using the medical expertise of the head nurse to conceal his biological truth, but it would appear that not even her assistance is enough to keep such things indefinitely at bay. You deduce that Wriothesley has been sentenced to ride out a rut that is far overdue, judging by the iron grip it currently has on him.

You are glued to the spot, standing and staring as you sort each piece of information within your mind. Meanwhile, Wriothesley steeps in the humiliation.

He wishes you would go back down the stairs, taking the secret and your increasingly potent scent with you while leaving him to hope you might have it in your heart to keep this to yourself. He’d rather not be gawked at like an animal in a cage, but he supposes that’s more or less what he has actually come to be. Perhaps it’s what he’s always been.

But you don’t leave, and he doesn’t have the strength to make you. Even if an aggressive streak were to be triggered and brought to the surface, Wriothesley doesn’t think he’d be able to make you the subject of it. Ironically, that frightens him.

He finds your presence alluring but your silence deafening, his own heavy breaths being all that fills the air until you finally decide to make a move.

Instead of walking away, you step forward. He eyes you, almost as though you’re predator and he’s prey.

“I can help,” you say, a certain decisive tone coloring your voice.

“What?” he replies, taken aback. It’s an admittedly enticing offer given his current state, but is entirely inappropriate nonetheless. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not? I’ve done it before. Once.” It’s a half-truth—you’ve been with an alpha once in your life, but it was in exchange for mora, and certainly not during a rut. But something is compelling you to convince him of your capabilities.

Wriothesley’s cock throbs with each step you take closer to the desk, the energy in the air intensifying beyond comprehension. He can’t imagine using a beta to ease his suffering, forcing someone’s body to accommodate him when it isn’t truly meant to, but every second that passes brings him closer to seeing that he’s fighting somewhat of a losing battle.

It’s not that he hadn’t thought of it before; hell, you’d flashed through his mind several times before he’d blown a thick, wasted load all over himself to try and break the fever. But to succumb to this weakness… it would damage his pride, and the walls he’d so expertly built around himself along with it.

When you’re inches away from the front of his desk, Wriothesley uses his remaining willpower to rise to his feet and make a display that will hopefully ward you off. He plants his palms flat against the wood, leering forward with an expression that looks more pained than authentically wrathful. “You need to leave. Now.”

Were this any other situation, you might be stricken with fear that would prompt you to obey such an intimidating command, but just as he feels compelled to preserve his dignity, you feel the pull of biology and personal conviction keeping you rooted in place. The Duke’s voice does indeed cause your stomach to flip with the sting of anxiety, but it ultimately doesn’t affect your decision.

You lean forward and mimic his position, pressing your weight against the desk until you’re at eye level with him, resolve completely unwavering. “Wriothesley. Let me help you.”

You possess a determination he can’t help but respect, padded with a layer of genuine concern, and he can feel your breath like a warm breeze dancing across his skin. Mixed with the modest yet sturdy quality of your scent—an aroma that he swears only keeps getting sweeter by the minute—it dopes him up like a drug.

Neither of you is entirely sure who was the first to lean into the kiss, but Wriothesley does know that he had every intent of doing it regardless. And now that your lips are on his, coating his tongue in a layer of honey, he finds himself somehow possessing both a raging inferno of thoughts and the utmost clarity of mind.

Truthfully, he hasn’t done this in years. Not since he’d first presented as a teen and mindlessly tracked down the nearest omega in the Fortress. She had been more than willing to break him in, and Wriothesley still has yet to decide whether that was a blessing or a curse.

You’re uncertain of whether you’re driven by the physical need to ease another’s pain or your own selfish inner desires, but none of that will really matter by the time this is over with. All you can focus on in the present is the way he pushes his tongue into your mouth like he’s exploring, consuming, rectifying. There’s almost something juvenile about it.

You climb over the width of the desk to lessen the distance between you, knees dragging over wood until you can properly sit yourself in front of him. Wriothesley happily accommodates you with a couple of strong arms pulling you forward so that he may press himself between your thighs, opening them up to provide him with more access your scent.

“I could smell you coming up the stairs,” he pants between frantic kisses, bulge grinding against your center like an omen.

“You’ve been pent-up for way too long if you’re smelling betas,” you reply. It’s not untrue, but the smell of him has weaseled its way around your senses as well, stronger and with more allure. Perhaps this is what happens when you accidentally spend too much time with an alpha in hiding.

Writothesley nudges your jaw with his nose and cascades kisses down your neck like he’s been your lover for a hundred different lifetimes. “Yeah, well maybe I just really like this beta,” he says before tonguing over your scent gland with a nice, slow drag, instincts more in control than anything. You’ve broken him down like a man made of straw.

Little by little, he practically coaxes the pheromones out of you, your body working on overdrive to try and compensate for what you lack. It doesn’t hit quite the same as it might if you were an omega, but Wriothesley hardly knows this difference, and even if he did, he doesn’t care; this is the only relief he’s felt in days—years, even.

Your fingers wrap around his length, and he hisses against your throat, hips reflexively bucking forward in the search for more. He’s hot and throbbing, aching to be buried in a warm cunt that he can claim with a knot, and it’s never felt so good to be completely at the mercy of his own instinctive drive. In his compromised state of mind, Wriothesley wonders why it is that he’s been fighting it off for so long.

“I think that’s just the rut talking,” you say, breathing into his mouth as you pump his cock a few times for good measure, every inch already standing at attention for you. A fountain of pre-cum dribbles from the head and down the underside of his shaft, and you’d like to believe it’s because of the way he feels about you, but you wouldn’t be willing to bet very much on it.

However, he challenges your sentiment.

“Not a chance,” Wriothesley states rather assuredly, slamming his lips into yours for another selfish taste. You’re curious as to whether or not it’s the truth, and if it is, how long he’s been managing to keep this secret as well. But, once again, the logistics of it don’t matter, because he’s leaning you back until your spine makes contact with the desk, completely intent on sealing the deal either way.

Your shoes are pulled off with haste, as well as everything from the waist down, his brute strength hardly requiring him to fiddle with any intricacies involved in your clothing. Wriothesley is simply desperate to see your dripping slit with his own eyes and run a thumb through it, spreading the relatively meager amount of slick around your folds and sizing up the little hole that’s tucked inside.

He won’t fit. He’s not supposed to.

But it’ll be tight. So tight. He can already feel the squeeze.

With a bead of sweat racing down his temple and a rough thumb circling around your entrance, he asks for clarification. “Are you sure about this?”

You wish he’d move higher, press his fingerprint to your clit or at the very least stick the digit inside you, but he exercises more patience than your typical alpha might. How long will it last? You don’t dare try and find out, instead nodding your head with confidence. “Yes. I’m sure.” Your back arches off the surface, seeking more stimulation between your thighs. “It’ll be fine.”

Your scent swirls around his head like an aphrodisiac, and the consent is all he requires to further indulge. Wriothesley steps back and bends forward to seek the smell at its source, letting the fantastical feeling overtake him and launch a wave of desire straight down to his cock. His nervous system is ordering him to do nothing other than fuck and fill, but even so, he licks filthily up your slit with desperation, collecting you upon his tongue to get one last hit to fuel the high.

The sensation pushes a shiver through your center all the way to the tips of your fingers, and you’ve never fed off of someone’s need in a manner such as this until now. You might not offer exactly what nature dictates he requires, but the utter lust that drips from his mouth and the gaze of those icy blue eyes makes you believe for a moment that perhaps you really do. He taps the heavy head of his cock between your folds, and it somehow feels more right than most anything thing else in your life leading up to this point.

Wriothesley is captivated by the slick sensation of sliding himself along your pussy, watching the sticky fluid claim the majority of his length with its clear shine. His heart pounds from the intimacy of it until he’s pushing inside, no longer able to keep himself from being inside you.

It’s a quick coupling—pulsing tip dragging forward until it reaches your limits a second later, parting you around him with a burn that makes your nostrils flare. He doesn’t slam his hips into yours because there’s still a few spare inches he can’t quite work inside, and now that you’re stretched around him, you’re grateful for His Grace’s mercy.

Your determination had caused you to overlook the sheer size of him—or rather overestimate your own ability to receive it—because Wriothesley fills your insides to a degree with which you were hitherto unfamiliar. To turn back now, however, would be to admit cowardice and defeat, an embarrassment you should not wish to bring upon yourself were he even to allow you, and truthfully… you aren’t entirely opposed to this feeling of fullness, whether it brings discomfort or not.

Your thighs tremble at the same frequency as your lower lip, but you otherwise maintain a face of bravery as the Duke begins to move his hips, forcing you open again and again until you begin to accept his body as part of your own. He drops to hover over you with a growl that echoes along your throat before teeth graze over it, keen on sinking into flesh but still strong enough to refrain—that is, until your first moan wraps around his ear like your arms around his back, coaxing him into allowing himself to be free.

Wriothesley’s fingers anchor themselves into your hips as he moves into you with an increasing intensity, pushing a little more of his length into you each time now that your cunt has decided to receive it with a sticky, wet noise upon every thrust. He can feel your walls trying to allow him to carve a space inside them despite the lingering resistance that dizzies him, making him have to add a little more force behind each movement of his hips so that you can’t successfully shut him out.

It’s as though he’s invading your entire being—cock reaching your throat and stealing your breath, heavy rib cage weighing upon your chest until it seems as though your bones might fuse together into an anomaly. If he could speak or show you the inner workings of his mind, you’d know that he feels the same way, and while the overwhelm brings forth a sudden surge of anxiety, neither of you would alter the suffocation.

Who says your bodies weren’t meant for each other? Sometimes the wrong puzzle pieces still fit together.

Once he’s managed to nestle every inch inside of you, even down to where the knot will start to swell sooner rather than later, the force of Wriothesley’s thrusts reach a caliber that shifts the massive desk beneath you. He bruises your hips with every slam and every squeeze of his fingertips, but it all pales in comparison to the way the pleasure blooms within you each time his broad tip nudges against your favorite spot. That paired with the dark, coarse hair that grinds into your clit makes you incapable of acknowledging anything else.

Your fingers grasp at his shirt while he huffs and grunts in your ear, cock stretching out your hole and effectively making it his, even if only in his mind. He kisses you until someone’s lip is nicked open by teeth and spreading copper between your tongues until moments later, you sense an increase in his pace.

“Bite down wherever you can,” he tells you breathlessly between the groans falling from his lips, and you search his face with a confused look in your eye. “Just do it,” he insists.

Wriothesley feels the base of his cock beginning to swell, release inevitable now that he’s had his fill. He buries his face so that he can feel your pulse and push into you with all he has, and as he feels you obey his command, teeth sinking into the flesh of where his shoulder meets his neck, he can’t help but return the favor, stinging you with his own canines.

The rush of pain and the growl he emits has you spasming around his cock in an instant, vision going dark and a small gush of fluid splashing around the knot that pops into your hole immediately after. Your eyes shoot open at the feeling as Wriothesley stills himself almost entirely, cum rushing out against your womb in thick ropes until you feel completely full of fire. All you can do is bite down harder with a whimper as your entire body tenses from the pain, meanwhile Wriothesley mindlessly rocks his hips like an animal to fuck himself deeper until there’s absolutely no room left for him inside you.

Tears brim at your eyes even after the worst of the burn is over, and you didn’t think you could feel any fuller than you did before, but he has proven you wrong once again.

Wriothesley shudders and heaves for breath above you, releasing you from his bite and re-orienting himself post-euphoria. You follow suit and slowly bring your mouth away from his skin, only to see a small trickle of blood making its way down his collarbone and dropping directly onto your clothing. You hadn’t even noticed the metallic taste on your tongue until now.

He takes note of your wet lashes and feels an ache of regret deep within his chest. Although he could hardly begin to describe the heavenly experience that had just consumed him, he is unable to separate himself from the guilt of what he has done to you.

“Let me take you to the infirmary,” he pants, even as his body grows boneless while he is still locked inside you indefinitely. You find it ironic given that he is the one who drips with blood, but you wouldn’t even notice if you had been punctured as well.

Your body learns to relax around the intrusion and lets you finally release the breath you’d kept trapped high up in your lungs, granting you the faculty of speech.

“No,” you reply, knowing full well that having the Duke escort you in his arms across the Fortress, each of you doused in sweat and each other’s scent, would only mean the mass unveiling of his secret. “Just… let me rest here for a moment.” Given the way his hips are sealed against yours, rest is your only option.

Wriothesley admittedly cares little for his reputation at the moment—not when your well-being has crept into his chest and taken immediate priority. He certainly isn’t opposed to spending an inappropriate amount of time welded against you, appreciating how beautiful you look misted by sweat and bearing the imprint of his teeth, but he knows that the longer you’re here, the more he’s going to want you for good.

“I’d be happy to oblige, but…” he pauses and presses his forehead to yours, “if you stay here, I’m only gonna end up wanting to do that all over again.”

#wriothesley x reader #wriothesley smut #genshin x reader #kinktober 2024.#re: wriothesley #my writing.

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sashiavi · 11 months ago

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this has been rotting in my documents since October </3 abandoned kinktober prompt I just couldn't get out of my head :((

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♡𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗♡ Wriothesley x Reader - wrio finds you stuck in a wall

→ᴰᵃʳᵏ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ ᵂᵃʳⁿᶦⁿᵍ←

ᵀʰᶦˢ ᴾᶦᵉᶜᵉ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃᶦⁿˢ ᵀʰᵉᵐᵉˢ ᴼᶠ ⁻ ᴰᵘᵇᶜᵒⁿ|ᴰᵘᵐᵇᶦᶠᶦᶜᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ|ˢᵗᵘᶜᵏᵃᵍᵉ| ᴿᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ ᴰᶦˢᶜʳᵉᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᴵˢ ᴬᵈᵛᶦˢᵉᵈ

•· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·····.•🍑•.····· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·•

Well, well. What an amusing predicament. Wriothesley certainly didn't expect his morning to turn out so… Interestingly.

The Duke makes his rounds through the Fortress of Metropide twice a day. Once in the morning and again during the young hours of the night, right when the sun sets. Not that its rays could be seen so far down under the surface of the sea, but the sentiment was there. Wriothesely would often be seen passing through the establishment's pleasantries, always making a stop by the inmate sleeping quarters, he ought to have an idea of exactly whom he had in his Fortress.. Right?

He ventures further than the guards are assigned, boots clicking coolly against the metallic flooring, echoing through the high domed ceilings of the holding pods. The Duke makes an effort into personally peeking a look into each isolated cell, sometimes striking up a small conversation with an inmate or two. The man knew all-too-well just how lonesome time in prison was, he could at least acknowledge their existences.

Speaking of, his mind wanders as he approaches a specific cell, isolated and cold - Away from the rest, segregated by the Fortress’ rule of separating cases, depending on their verdict - Wriothesley flitters back to a conversation he held the night before -

- “Now, what's a girl like you doing here in my Fortress?” Wriothesley leans himself upon the bars of your cell. The area was quiet, isolated with little inhabitants, even more so during the day time, while inmates congregated within the public area of the fortress. You jump slightly, whipping around to face him.

“Oh, you know.. Stuff..” You reply, looking a little shameless towards him. He had an inkling that you were up to no good. But he’d bite.

“How’s the Fortress treating you? Despite the whole prison aspect,” He chuckles to himself, earning your own laugh, dancing in his ears.

“It’s.. a little boring in here,” He watches your eyes wander around the cell.

“Well- At least you have that poster there, plenty of fun to stare at, I’m sure.” Wriothesley lets his eyes crinkle. The poster was large, stuck to the wall haphazardly, crooked and torn on one corner. “That thing could cover up anything,” He side comments. He watches your interest pique, head tilting in what he could only describe as thought - A stupid one he thinks.

“I wouldn't try it, you just might escape. I can't have that happen, now can I?” He winks, finally continuing his evening round throughout the section of the fortress.

All of that circles back to the now, as Wriothesley approaches your cell on his morning patrol. Something stirs in his chest, a tickling inkling. He nearly half expects you to have followed his gracious ‘advice’ - If you could even call it that.

Lo and behold, the Duke spots a special individual poking out from the cracked cell wall. Your lower half nearly dangles from the partition, practically on tippy toes, ankles surely close to giving out from the awkward position. The poster from the night before lays perfectly on the floor next to your frame, comically outlining just how bad you had messed up. He nearly chuckles at the sudden jolt of your body as he unlocks the cell door, craning it open with an obnoxious creak.

“Well.. Aren’t you something?” His heavy boots resonate through the near barren cell, echoing as he makes his way towards your predicament.

You helplessly squirm, whining out of your throat as you fruitlessly struggle in your impromptu confines. Wriothesley stares down at you in utter bemusement, his face cracking with an audacious downturned smile; not that you could see his face through the thick prison wall. Poor You. All lodged and stuck.

"Y-Your Grace! It's not what it looks like-" Your voice manages through the wall, a little muffled to the ear. However, Wriothesley was sure you hadn’t even broken into the adjacent room.

"It's exactly what it looks like. Who knew you'd actually try it." He almost laughs. It wasn’t like you were going to go anywhere - Last he checked, the Fontainian Ocean was right outside their door.

“Seemed like a decent idea..” Wriothesley has to strain to hear your mumble.

“We’re far under the water dear.. Or did you forget in your haste?” This time, he makes no effort to stifle his laugh, chuckling out loud when your form visibly slumps - Whether out of embarrassment or defeat - He was thoroughly amused.

“Hmm.. Now, what do we do with you?” Wriothesley teases. He cranes his body, bending his back with purpose, inspecting the damage you had added to the already faulty wall. How you had managed to wiggle your way in this far, he hadn't a clue. Your body noticeably tenses, you make an attempt to find a proper footing, easily failing from the height of the hole.

“P-Please Your Grace- I’ll do anything, really! Anything you want just- please don’t add time for this..”

“You’ll do.. Anything…?” Call him confused, what were you on about?

“Yes, anything- ch-chores? Solitary? I’ll be good I swear, really- Or you could..” You trail off, leaving the Duke to sit with his whirring brain for a moment. “You.. Can take me… Use me how you want- Please~ Y-You’re stressed right? U-Use me.. Do whatever you wanna-” You sounded nearly delirious. Your pretty ass shakes, brushing up against the front of his pants, a feeble attempt to press back into him.

Were you trying to bargain with him? Wriothesley was more than ready to pull you out, maybe give a little slap on the wrist and send you on your merry way. But now? The Duke couldn't help but indulge in the feeling of his pants tightening around his groin. The idea of taking your pretty self, stuck helplessly in the wall. He couldn't refuse your offer, right? Not when you sounded so eager. Not when you begged for him, for his body, for his thick aching cock, threatening to burst the seam of his trousers.

Before he can properly stop himself - Not that he was really going to - Wriothesley finds his hands on the soft swell of your ass, squeezing the flesh in his palms. You jolt under his touch, footing slipping slightly against the floor that barely brushed against your toes. Wriothesley breathes hard from his nose, hooking his fingers into the cut of your waistband, pulling the fabric over your form. He hears a whimper from beyond the wall.

“Y-Your Grace…The wall..” Your voice wobbles, body tensing against the brush of his hands.

“What? Having second thoughts?” He can’t help but tease you, squishing his fingers into the soft meat of your ass, digging his hands into your half-on pants. You did say anything. You gasp out, voice cracking with muffled little pleas. ‘Never’ you say ‘Want it bad - so bad’.

Your pants come off quickly, thrown to the floor in a crumple. Wriothesley’s hands are on you again, spreading the fat of your ass apart, marvelling at the pretty swell of your pussy hugged against your panties. He watches your plush thighs squish together, rubbing and squirming in his hold, he couldn't tell if you were wiggling away or keening into him. Not that you could go anywhere. The thought irks a chuckle out of Wriothesley. His fingers wander again, caressing over the soft skin of your ass, digging them in and jiggling cheekily. His thumbs slide over and hook into the elastic of your panties, hugging around the thick of your legs. He meanly tugs at the snappy material, pulling it up and taught, forcing the fabric to cling achingly against your cunt. His tongue instinctively pokes from behind his lips, itching to lap at the pretty wet spot that had formed over the fabric.

Wriothesley swallows thickly, eyes locked on your pretty cunt, head swimming with the short, hiccuped whines that cut through the wall. You babble and cry, repeating his title over and over - Your Grace, Your Grace - begging him to just touch. To do anything - Anything.

Your pretty voice gets to him and he finds himself nearly ripping your drenched panties off of you. He pulls them down, leaving them dangling off of your legs, showing off your wet cunt just for him. Gods, he wasn't disappointed. Your pretty pussy peeks from behind the swell of your thighs, already dripping wet, all over yourself. He swears he twitches, breath hissing through his teeth, cold on your core. The sweet jump you make - as best as you could - sends him reeling.

Wriothesley’s thick fingers tentatively poke at your dripping pussy, catching your sweet, dribbly slick on his fingertips. He awes at how it webs between his fingers, how you’d managed to work yourself up with your own babbling. Perhaps the wall aided a little - Showing off your bottom half, on full display just for him to enjoy, your own vision obscured. You wouldn't see anything coming. The thought runs straight to his cock, making itself well known again against the fly of his trousers.

Wriothesley licks against his lips, enamoured at the pretty string of your slick on his fingers, sticking between his digits like a lattice. He needs more. He wastes no time, easily slipping in two of his fingers, knuckle deep right into the doughy swell of your hole. Gods, you felt so soft. Silky to his touch, pussy pretty and plushy and warm. The squeal that muffles through the wall forces him to sink his teeth into his own bottom lip. Toying with you came to him naturally. Ever so easy with you all snug and stuck, silly enough to try and swindle him and escape your commitment to the Fortress.

“W-Wriothesley… your g-grace..” He ignores you, fingers digging into the sweet, supple curve of your cunt. He curls them downward, earning the prettiest, muffled cries through the wall. He releases a breath he didn't even know he was holding. Wriothesley thrusts his fingers hard. Pressing meanly into the achy swollen bump in your core, getting a kick out of the lewd suckling squelch of your pussy on his fingers. Your poor legs practically give out, ankles going limp, your body holding itself up thanks to the wall hugging your body. Your voice crackles through the cement, whiney and keening, babbling dumb nonsensical begs and pleads to him. Your slick pools against his knuckles, threatening to overturn the snug fit of his rings on his fingers. He can't help but stare, locked in, mind reeling with the way your cunt wrapped around his digits. He couldn't help but wonder just what that pretty little thing would look like, all red and puffy, hugging on his thick cock.

He shamelessly lets out his own groan. Finally managing to remove his fingers, watching in awe as your slick drips off of them, connecting him to you with a thin, dribbly line.

Just a taste…

The thought zaps through his brain, tongue shamelessly poking its way past his teeth, running over his lips with a quick tilt of his head.

Wriothesley wastes no time. Wrapping his lips against your slick cunt, eyes rolling hard into the back of his skull. Fuck. Your taste on his tongue, sweet and tangy, oh so decadently coating his throat. Archons, he laps and suckles, nearly sinking his teeth into the heat of your core, into the puffy swell of your pussy lips. You keen back into him, whining never-ending, absolutely ceaseless, voice managing to pierce through the heavy material of the wall you’d stuck yourself in. That thought charges through his mind again. Poor little you, all stuck and lodged in the wall all for him to play with. The man was sure he would cream in his own pants if he kept up. He barely registers his knees beginning to ache under the heavy pressure of his own body meeting the floor. Since when had he managed to sink down? Finding his hands back on your plushy ass cheeks? Chin dribbling slobber and slick, sticking wetly to the scratchy stubble shadowing over his face? He couldn't take it anymore.

Wriothesley stands with a start, ignoring the stiff crack of his knees in favour of unbuckling his godforsaken pants. His hands are clumsy, large palms pawing at the metal of his trousers, his belt suddenly too intricate for his rough, fervent body to figure out - Not with how his mind reels, with the sight of you stuck in the wall, pretty pussy drooling, on display all for him. He barely shoves his pants to his thighs, the material wrapping around his legs in a mess. His cock weeps as it's free, slapping up into his stomach, heavy balls hanging over the waist of his trousers. He leaks beads of sticky pre, messing up the surface of his dress shirt. Wriothesley groans out loud, hand coming up to wrap around the base of his cock, squeezing it up and down to ease the hot tension pulsing through his thick cock vein.

He was sure you heard the cold clink of his belt, the only inkling of what was to come for you. He can't help but jerk his length off to the sight of you, shamelessly stalling just to mess with your head. No matter how much you squirm and beg, crying out as best as you could, stupidly asking for a reply to gather any kind of indication of what he was about to do to you. He stays silent.

Wriothesley meanly slaps his cock over the sticky, wet folds of your achy cunt, he chuckles when you jump again, going absolutely crazy for your every little reaction. Your pussy sounded so pretty on his tip, all wet and sticky as he slapped and rubbed against it. His fat tip slides over your warm, slick folds, craning his hips forward, catching against your sopping hole, earning him the softest gasps from within the wall. Your little jumps all but spur him all the more on.

“M’ not even in yet.. Pussy’s already tryin’ to suck me in,” Wriothesley pokes his tip against your hole, catching it against the warm, supple squeeze of your cunt. He growls through his teeth, head quickly draining of any cohesive decision making. Your babbling continues through the wall, your hips crane up into his own, wiggling and catching back on the thick head of his dick. Gods, that does it. You were insatiable, all stuck waiting for him to come along and ravage your pretty cunt with his cock.

It all urges him to dive in, give your poor cunt no warning for his thick, dribbling cock.

And so he does.

“Fuuuckk” Wriothesley can’t help but groan, finally feeling the sweet swell of your cunt enveloped the fat length of his cock. He has to bite into his thumb, just to slow himself down, let himself relish in the sweet squeeze of your cunt on his cock. Gods the way you wrapped around him, silky soft walls hugging on his length. He can't help but awe at the way your achy pussy squeezed on him, all puffy and sore from neglect. His hands find your hips, one of the only parts free from the wall.

“Your Grace~.. So big- so biiig… Filling me up- please please… please” Your silly voice cracks through the wall. Wriothesley digs his fingers into the flesh of your hips, purposely lifting your poor legs off of the floor, leveraging your body just for him to use. You squirm in his hold, easily forcing him to grip you tighter.

“Fuck, stay still. Gonna make me go crazy..” Wriothesley finds himself mindlessly rocking his thick cock into your silky cunny, humping his hips against your ass like some kind of dog in rut. Archons, he could get used to this. His own personal little wall slut, always there for him to use and abuse. His eyes roll at the idea, his snapping hard, earning a loud hiccuped cry from within the thick wall. The hot squelch that follows has him nearly drooling, mouth dropped open in a soft frown, eyes locked on to his heavy cock sliding in and out of your dumb cunt. He fucks his hips hard again, cock head smacking into the deepest parts of your pussy.

Wriothesley doesn't remember speeding up. But he sure as hell won't be slowing down - not anytime soon. Your gushy pussy squelches on his cock, dribbling down your thighs, messing all over your poor aching legs. Wriothesley’s fingers keep a hold of your hips, rocking them slightly to meet his brutal pace. He doesn't have to crane his ears to hear your pretty moans, effortlessly reaping through the solid wall, barely muffled by the sheer loudness of your voice.

Fuck, he didn’t care about the noise. Let everyone hear them. What were they going to do about it? What were you going to do about it? About getting all stuck in this wall, going against the Fortress’ protocol? Seducing the Duke of the Meropide, forcing him to fuck your dumb brains out to teach you a lesson? A growl resonates from his throat, hips snapping hard, clapping into the sweet swell of your ass cheeks as he fucks up your cunt.

Wriothesley’s eyes wander, locking down on the sweet jiggle of your ass and the puffy red throb of your cunt on his cock. A heavy breath makes its way through his nose, eyes hyper focused on the pretty, creamy ring around his length as he fucks his hips against you, slowly leaking its way on to his pants. An ache builds in his pelvis, thick vein pulsing on the underside of his cock. Your moans don't stop, legs continuously squirming in his grasp, body stuck in the juncture of your silly wall. He thinks you beg, maybe you scream, crying out for him to keep going, to fill you up to cum hard and deep and mess up your insides.

Wriothesley drops your legs, forcing you to dangle, his hands press into the wall above, grinding his hips upwards, stabbing your pussy impossibly deeper with his length. Sweat beads off of his nose, his calves cramp and ache with every thrust he makes, but Gods, he wasn't going to stop. He finds himself moaning out loud, complementing the pretty noises that creak through the wall. Your pussy hugs on his length, squeezing nice and tight, wrapping around his fat tip every time he slams it back into you.

His teeth grit hard. Eyes still locked on to the messy slide of his length, in and out, in and out. He was coming close. So fucking close.

Wriothesley’s brow scrunches, relishing in the aching squeeze of your messy pussy on his cock. He couldn't take it anymore. The creamy ring he’d fucked out of you, the pretty ripple of your ass on his hips, how juicy and gushy your cunt was on his length. Gods, it was all so much. His hips snap, pace faltering, clapping his hips in heated staccatos, dragging his length out and slamming right back in with a hard smack. You cry with every thrust, silky cunt squeezing on his tip, babbling his name over and over and over.

He finally spills with a deep, hard fuck. His thick tip spurts hot rivulets of cum into your silky pussy. He messes your insides with white, fucking himself through his orgasm, humping up on your cunt, mounting your pussy with his cock. His throat growls with every fuck, sweat beads off of the tip of his nose, he watches his hot spurts leak steadily out of your hole, leaking around the base of his length. He can’t help but nestle right into your cunt, relishing in the sweet squeeze of your milky walls on him, he cranes his hips every so often, teasing his aching tip with your soft insides.

You kick and whine as eventually, he pulls out, dribbling his hot white cum down your thighs.

“No~ need more! More more!” Your muffled voice cries, pitifully wiggling within the hug of the wall, attempting to squirm your way out.

Wriothesley chuckles hotly, eying off the sweet gush of cum that drools out of your puffy pussy. His mouth waters, salivating like a dog. Surely he could take you out of the wall a little later? You’d understand. You’d been a great little wall slut for him so far, so why not indulge for as long as he wanted? Maybe he'd let you cum, spray and mess all over yourself - He could even let you out as a reward.

His finger comes up to caress over your spent hole, scooping up the leaking slick that coated your poor pussy. The cry he earns makes his half-hard cock stiffen, bobbing to life with a flex.

Archons, weren’t you something?

hnnnnnng gg g wrio wooof wOof - my longest fics are always wrio </3

Idk what possessed me to create this- I hope you enjoyed ;3

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Thank You For Reading! Comments Are Always, Always Appreciated! Ilysm <333

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#ʚ•*°SashiAvi Writes°*•ɞ #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin x y/n #afab reader #genshin impact smut #wriothesley x you #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x y/n #wriothesley #wrio x reader #genshin wriothesley #genshin x reader #genshin impact

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wri0thesley · 7 months ago

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cw: cunnilingus, not sfw, arranged marriage reader wearing a gown (no pronouns). based on this post from a few days ago. 3.1k

There's a pout on your pretty mouth that Wriothesley is utterly itching to kiss off.

It’s an expression he’s grown rather used to on the face of his spouse; somebody as properly born and bred to society as you finds themselves a touch adrift when faced with Wriothesley’s own gruff manner, his inability to kowtow to the strictures that Fontainian society attempts to place on those who have ascended to its lofty heights.

Unfortunately, when his availability had become common knowledge and eager parents had flocked to him in order to hawk their beloved children like so many lovely wares, he had found himself exceedingly drawn to you. To the stiff little way you held yourself and inclined your head, the way your voice had shook - the way that you hadn’t immediately tried to flutter your lashes and laugh at things that were not jokes.

It had not hurt that your family, though fine of name and lineage, had fallen somewhat into financial difficulty. Some parents had withdrawn their offspring from the game of courtship when it had become clear that though Wriothesley now had the title of ‘Duke’, he was still at heart a former criminal, and not the genteel fawning aristocrat they had expected to find.

(A title is not enough to take back over half a life spent in the fortress of Meropide, after all; not enough to scrub the memory of noses crunching beneath his fists, of what it feels like to end someone’s life even if it is for the greater good).

Your family, though, had needed the boost; the Mora and the prestige. And so you had remained achingly polite and maddeningly prim and proper and so very obviously inexperienced that the sweetness of it all made the back of Wriothesley’s teeth ache.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask him, in a soft whisper, as his hand fastens firmly but not bruisingly about your upper arm; as your husband maneuvers you away from the chatter of the ballroom. “You’ve barely greeted anyone--”

He knows you are scandalised; that your parents have taught you to be the gracious party guest, to bow and chatter idly and wax poetic about crystal champagne glasses. But Wriothesley has spoken to Chief Justice Neuvillette (just as out of place and adrift here as Wriothesley himself), and he considers that his duty properly done. He has no desire to do the things that are expected of him.

Not when that pout on your face - the way the light hits the glimmering petals of your lower lip - is begging to be kissed within an inch of its life, and the moonlight streaming through the windows is illuminating the curves of you in your pretty gown, and he knows that you will squirm and squeak and call him a dirty old man in that way he loves, your voice pitching with desire you’re still not sure about, the moment he has you alone at his mercy in one of the shadowed hallways of tonight’s party.

“Just to get some air,” he says, giving a smile that’s all wolf-bared teeth to the closest gentleman who dares to give you both a briefly disapproving look. “Isn’t it just so horribly stuffy in there?”

Your nose wrinkles, between your brows creasing. Wriothesley thinks about kissing every place the flesh furrows on your face, covering you in them until you’re helpless to do anything but laugh. He always feels like a hero when he has managed a laugh out of you; you seem to give them so rarely, and it’s such a darling little bell of a noise.

“It’s barely been ten minutes,” you settle on, the faintest hint of reproach in your voice. “It’s really not polite . . .”

What is not polite, he thinks, is the way that the run of his thoughts have turned to your dress, cut low enough to make people think indecent thoughts about you. There are no manners, either, to the fact he is thinking about the perfume he had watched you dab on this evening, and wondering how long he’d have to rut into you until the only thing that people could smell on you would be the musk of his ownership.

“They’ll live,” Wriothesley says firmly, steering you out into the hallway. “You ought to know nobody here really wants my esteemed company.”

There’s no bitterness in his voice. Wriothesley does not want to be beloved of this particular roiling mass of humanity; the aristocracy, in his experience, is all artifice. He may spend his time with criminals, but at least the criminal underclasses are usually honest about what they want. They’ve been taught that ‘you do not get if you do not ask, do not try, do not work for it’ - these people, this gathering of society schmoozers . . . they get simply by being born.

Of course, since he married you, there have been more invitations than before.

Part of it is curiosity - what kind of spouse will the Duke of the Fortress take? One like him, who does not conform? Some of them want nothing more than to ogle at you and find out your secrets, poke you in your softest parts so they know if you will be a weakness that they can later exploit. Wriothesley finds these people distasteful - at least some of the invitations come from those who have already met you, who have been charmed by your pretty manners and sweet way of speaking, who are hoping that perhaps you will be some calming influence on your uncivilised brute of a husband. He still doesn’t like these invitations, of course (any event in which he is forced to put on a stiffly starched shirt and button it to his throat, to fuss with cravats and tailcoats when he’d rather stick to his own clothes, are not generally met with much pleasure for him), but at least you always seem thrilled to get them.

It’s because of you he had accepted this one. When you had brought the invitation to him all bright-eyed and chirping, like a pretty magpie with a shiny coin, he had not been able to think of an excuse faced with you looking so utterly thrilled . . . and so he’d helped you choose a dress (he does so love you in black and red, and if he had chosen something cut low in the chest for reasons of his own, who is going to blame him when they see you?), and had travelled out of the Fortress in order to please you.

He’d only lasted ten minutes, but perhaps after he’s pleased himself the two of you can go back out into the throes and he will have the memory of what you’ve just done to dwell on as he pretends to care about the difference between the fish fork and the dessert fork.

“That’s just because you don’t let them see the real you,” you begin, but Wriothesley has seen what looks like a likely little hallway - secluded and dark, only one or two doorways leading off of it. He tugs at you, and though you offer a token resistance, you allow yourself after a moment to be pulled into the little alcove, and for your husband to cage you against a wall. Your breath catches, your lashes fluttering as your eyes flit to take in the breadth of him, the muscles, the way you are inescapably caught by him - and Wriothesley does not miss the desire that dances over your gaze. “Your Grace--”

“Mmm?” He asks, raising an eyebrow, lowering his face closer to yours so that he can see himself reflected in your eyes. His cock twitches at the way you bite your lip unconsciously, and he knows from the little gasp that you do not miss the sensation of it against you. “Am I doing something untoward again, sweetheart?”

He lets his voice roughen a touch on the word; the patois of the criminal flavouring it in a way that reminds you he is dangerous, and you pout so sweetly and let out the quietest little whine that he doesn’t know how he stops himself from having his way with you right then and there. There are many untoward things he would like to do to you; many untoward things he is planning on doing to you, right here, in public.

“It’s indecent . . .” You gasp - but you still wrap your arms around his neck, and still pull him in to let him kiss you hot and hungry and fierce as a wolf. He cannot get enough of the way you taste beneath him; there is sugar that lingers on your lips even when he hasn’t seen you imbibe anything but a single glass of champagne when offered. He wants to devour you; to taste every part of you, until his mouth only remembers the lingering remnants of your own.

You gasp, pressing your body - soft and impossibly pliable - against his wherever you can reach him, hard planes of muscle meeting the softer give of your flesh beneath your gown.

“You seem to like it well enough,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to whisper it into the delicate shell of your ear, delighting in the way the words make you shiver. You try to school your face to sternness, but your own desire betrays you even as you try and pull your dignity around you like a cloak.

“B-But, Your Grace, in public--”

“Mm . . . doesn’t the thrill of being caught make it seem all the sweeter?” He gives you a grin that shines like the sharks that sometimes float past the Fortress, serenely serrated. You squeak in a cross between dismay and longing as he sinks to the floor, and his big, scarred hands find the hem of your gown to begin pushing it up your ankles.

The frills and fripperies of lace and ribbons look almost wicked, in those hands; fine, delicate concoctions of fabric and satin that were not made to be man-handled. You shiver at the thought of his grip ripping through them; of fine fabrics being rent asunder in his hands as you know he is capable of.

“We shouldn’t--” You whisper, in that pitching whine of ‘don’t’ that is only a step away from ‘please don’t stop’.

His palms - he will not even grudgingly wear full gloves - feel cool, even through your stockings, as he slides them up your calf. His chuckle is a rough-spurred thing, and before you can say anything further he has disappeared beneath your skirts entirely, and you find yourself clinging to the moulding on the wall behind you to try and get some semblance of purchase.

He tugs at one of the ribbons that keeps your stockings held up, and from the hot puff of air against your bare thigh, you know he has done so with his teeth. Your pulse flutters in your throat, your vision fair spotting with the mixture of feelings that Wriothesley’s actions are drawing forth from you - desire and shame and wanting and need and unsurety, all mixing together inside of you in a cocktail of arousal so potent you barely know how you stand it.

A wet, open-mouthed kiss is pressed to the spot above your stocking, on your bare thigh. You feel the graze of his teeth against the soft skin, unseen by anyone aside from him. Unmarked by anyone aside from him (you have learnt that the Duke is very fond of using his teeth, during his bed-chamber escapades; you have learnt more at his mouth and his fingers and his mercy than you had ever thought that you would have cause to know).

Wriothesley’s cock is so hard in his too-tight formal trousers that he can barely think of anything but the pulse between his thighs, but the moment he has his head beneath your skirts and he can scent your arousal on the air, all thoughts of tending to his own almost-painful erection instead turn to tasting you, smelling you, burying himself inside of you until you are a helpless mess.

He knows that logically you taste, probably, of the oils and the powders and the lotions you use, on your skin and in your bath. Perhaps a touch of your own sweat - but to Wriothesley, the taste that lingers on the tip of his tongue as he takes his time kissing up your thigh, working towards the apex between them, is nothing short of ambrosial. He can hear his own breaths, hard and panting, but he has never been the kind of man who lets himself feel shamed for doing what he wants.

“You’re dripping,” he grunts, and the muscles in your thighs jump, tensing, as if you’re cringing at what he has said - and though he cannot see you from his place beneath the skirts of your gown, he can gladly imagine the expression on your face. You’re darling. He wants to kiss you until you can’t breathe and fuck you until you can’t walk; but for now . . .

He settles by kissing over the softness of your mound, letting his hot breath once more fan out over that most intimate part of you. He hears you whine again from somewhere above him;

“Wriothesley, you’re being obscene . . .”

He lets his mouth fully envelope your cunt; lets his tongue lathe out across your folds, flickering against your clit in a way that makes you violently jerk. The moan that you let out is muffled - one of your own (gloved, as is right and proper in society) hands has flown up to your mouth. Though he will miss the sound of your enjoyment unencumbered, he supposes it is better for privacy if you at least make an attempt.

“So you want me to stop?” He growls, the taste of your slick lingering on his tongue, honey-thick and just as sweet. To drive in the point of what you would be missing, he lets himself give your clit - the swollen nub standing to attention, as if begging him for more - a kitten lick.

“Don’t even think about it, you scoundrel,” you say, whisper-soft and gasping, and Wriothesley knows you cannot possibly fail to sense the curve of his lips against your cunt.

“As you wish,” he says. “Never let it be said that I don’t take my duties as a Duke and a gentleman seriously.”

And he returns to his task with voracious excitement.

He has done this to you before, but never in public - never with you standing, never with the threat of discovery looming over his head . . . he finds he does indeed quite enjoy the thrill, so he takes his sweet time exploring your folds with his tongue, letting himself be even wetter and messier than he’d normally be.

The sound is indeed obscene, as he delves the tip of his tongue between your folds - as he finds your pulsing entrance and toys with it, slipping just a little of the flexible muscle inside of the channel until he feels you try and clamp down on it, before he returns to the wet circling of your fluttering hole.

His nose presses directly into the softness of your mound, grinding against your clit with every slight adjustment of his head. Normally, you’d at least be able to tug on his hair as he did this (and he’s rather fond of that too - the way you do even that so neatly, so apologetically), but now you are entirely at his mercy and it is obvious from the tremble in your thigh, as if you are going to swoon to the floor at any moment.

You shift to rest more against the wall and Wriothesley takes that as an excuse to manhandle you - he takes one of your thighs and slings it over his shoulder, unbalancing you but for a moment - but giving him far better access to the spot between your legs.

Far easier, like this, for him to use thumb and forefinger to tease the lips of your labia apart and to settle his mouth around the pearl of your clit.

You jerk in surprise again, more soft muffled whimpering coming from above. He can make out a few of the words - ‘scoundrel, rake, you filthy pervert, Wriothesley Your Grace please don’t stop--’

He is not a cruel husband, so he does not.

Your clit, pulsing with need, is drawn into his mouth - and Wriothesley takes great pleasure in suckling upon it the way that one might a particularly delicious candy, his tongue lathing over and over and over. You squirm in his grip, and he imagines your face as it always is when you are close to the edge. You tremble and sweat and shake for him and Wriothesley needs you to fall apart like he needs air.

He redoubles his efforts; his other hand clenches on your inner thigh, his forefinger finding the pulsing, clenching hole of your sex. As he sucks, he gently inserts just the tip of it inside of you, and oh, you are greedy for more than his mouth--

You come with a strangled cry that is not quite caught by your glove - a clamping of your thighs around Wriothesley’s ears, and a gush of wetness that Wriothesley is more than happy to let flow into his open mouth and down his chin, to stain the collar of his starched white shirt.

When your aftershocks are over - when you are trembling not so violently, and he trusts you to stand on your own two feet, he presses a kiss to your cunt before he returns your leg to the ground.

He disentangles himself from your skirts, his knees only aching a little - nothing, really, compared to the inescapable pulse of his cock where it’s longing to be pressed hot and deep inside of you. He does not bother wiping his mouth of your release - and when you see him, his face shiny and wet with the proof of your enjoyment, you huff in embarrassment and avoid his gaze.

You’re the sweetest little thing, he thinks again fondly. Even though you had moments ago been rutting against his mouth like the most brazen and desperate creature in Teyvat . . . now, faced with the proof of what you’ve done, you’ve gone over all proper again.

Deftly and firmly, he takes your chin in his hand and presses a kiss against your mouth, making sure your own taste lingers on the soft petals of your lips. He makes sure he takes full control of it; that it is a press of his ownership of you like his seal pressing into wax on the missives he writes down in the depths of the Fortress. If only you knew just how much of him you owned in turn.

“I think,” he says, his voice thick, “I feel much improved. And you were right, sweetheart, about it being rude to leave a party so quickly. Should we return back to the ballroom?”

#writing #genshin impact posting #not sfw text #wriothesley x reader #drabble #genshin impact x reader #wriothesley smut #genshin impact smut

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koenigami · 1 month ago

Text

lose myself. tags : suggestive, smut?, fem!reader, wolf!wriothesley, rut, mentions of suppressants wc : 1,7k synopsis : when his agony becomes too unbearable, neither you nor him are able to control yourselves masterlist

The air is thick in the Fortress. Everyone has already been warned to refrain from approaching the corridor in which the Duke’s chamber was situated, let alone seek the warden himself out. Of course, no one in their right mind would even dare to do so, as everyone who resided within the fortress was well aware of this very specific yearly occurrence.

Yet, as your careful steps echoed through the vacant hallway, it was obvious that your mind was far from its right place. The cutlery and porcelain clinked on the tray in your hands, yet the sound was akin to a whisper compared to the low grunts and painful moans that you could already hear from afar. The rattling of chains and cuffs got louder the closer you stepped to the thick steel doors.

Trying to swallow past the thick lump in your throat, you breathed. In and out, several times, before you exhaled deeply one last time and dared to push through the doors.

It was dark. You could barely see in front of you if it weren’t for the light from the hallway slipping inside through the crack of the door. And then you saw him.

A sliver of blue caught your eyes and made you briefly freeze in place, letting your sight adjust to the barely illuminated room.

He was sitting on his bed, one leg lazily stretched out on the mattress while the other was pulled up towards his chest. The next thing that caught your eye were obviously the chains that were attached to the wall behind him and clinked with each miniscule movement that he made. With his cuffed hands in his lap, Wriothesley slowly lifted his head, ragged breaths turning quiet for mere seconds.

It seemed as if he had only now taken notice of your presence, which was nothing less than concerning as this man’s senses were always heightened. Always the first to hear someone approaching, and the best at recognising people solely by their smell.

“So sweet.” He had once whispered, lips brushing against your ear as he approached you in the cantine. “Could smell you all the way to my office, my love.”

Once you deemed yourself ready, you eventually dared to round the bed and set the tray down on his nightstand. Too many pills, suppressants, littered its surface, and your breath hitched when you took note of the deep claw-like scratches along the wooden piece of furniture.

“What are you-” He cleared his throat. “What are you doing here? Who let you in?”

“I let myself in.” You explained matter-of-factly, trying to keep your voice steady and controlled, pretending that you weren’t perturbed by his current state. “This is my bedroom too in case you forgot.”

Usually, Wriothesley’s deep timber laugh would make your stomach flutter, your own lips curve into a sweet content smile. But something about it seemed darker this time, almost intimidating. It made your heartbeat climb up to your throat, and your palms sweat and twitch uncontrollably. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

His head limply fell back on the headboard, his naked throat and torso on full display and glistening with light traces of sweat in the dimly lit room. With deep laboured breaths, his chest heaved and you could see how flushed the scarred skin was. “I don’t want you near me when I’m like this.”

The next smartass remark was already on your tongue until you noticed the reddened flesh along his wrists. You wondered how hard he must have been pulling on his restraints for his skin to look so raw.

The bed creaked beneath your weight as you joined him, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress just so you could inspect his wounds better. With a feather light touch, you let the pads of your fingers trail over his wrists, your movements halting at each hitch and deep exhale of his breath.

He must be in so much pain, you thought. Nonetheless, as you were sitting here in front of him, he gave his all to keep his composure since he was well aware that you worried. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” You gulped and looked up at him, taking in his dishevelled state. From the sweaty strands of hair falling over his eyes, to the dark circles underneath his eyes, everything about him screamed agony.

“Y/n.” He gritted through his teeth, the sharp white canines glinting underneath the muzzle. “Go. Away.”

With an annoyed groan, he forcefully banged his head back against the headboard when you ignored his words and instead reached for the glass of water on the tray. With the cold glass in one hand, and the end of the straw in the other, you carefully guided it through an opening of the wired muzzle and nudged his lips with it. “Come on, you must be thirsty.”

Surprised but also relieved, you sighed when he complied and started sucking on the end of the straw. With two, three hard sucks, the glass was almost empty when he guzzled and had to pull back and cough a few times. “Slow down.” You instructed gently.

“Argh- Shit!” The handcuff jingled when he suddenly moaned, his forehead scrunching as he squeezed his eyes shut. Quickly, you set the glass aside yet all you could do was watch his body turn rigid, the muscles beneath his hot skin tensing as another gruesome wave of pain washed over him.

Almost instinctively, your hands reached out towards him to feel him, calm him, comfort him-

But in that same instant your world was turned upside down and it took you a while to realise that Wriothesley had pinned you beneath him. His restrained hands briefly brushed along the top of your head as his elbows dug into the mattress, the man shakily hovering above you and breathing so heavily you could feel each warm exhale on your face.

“Darling, you have to go.” He stressed again, though this time you could discern something different besides annoyance in his voice. Desperation. However, you weren’t sure whether he was desperate to save you from himself or to keep you here with him.

Your eyes stung when a broken whine escaped him as your hand grazed the base of his ears. You watched them twitch several times with each touch of yours before they flattened on his head, his breath hitching when his body tensed up again. “Wri’, let me help you. Please.”

Slowly, as if fearing to scare away a wild wounded animal, your palm trailed down his chest. “Don’t.” The hoarse whisper sent a rush through your body. His heart was beating so fast. Your hand trailed furtner down to his abs. “Darling.” He warned, while he was still as tense as ever, but his words did not match his body language as he didn’t shy away. Until your fingertips slid along the waistband of his pants, until you could feel the thick clothed bulge. Fuck, he was so hard-

“Oh, fucking hell- Stop.” He shouted, probably loud enough for whoever was lingering down the hall to hear him. Yet you didn’t so much as blink or twitch a finger in response.

Instead, he watched as your hands gently settled on each side of his face, and he knew what you were going to do. Wriothesley’s hands tightened into fists, the thick cold material of the cuffs digging further into his skin, though all he could feel right now was your body beneath his. How warm and soft you felt, how good you smelled, how beautiful you looked.

With a soft “click”, the muzzle loosened and fell from his face before you discarded it and haphazardly threw it somewhere to the side.

Bites and indents of his teeth could be clearly seen along his lower lip from all the times he must have bitten down on it. You tenderly cupped his cheek, and watched his nostrils flare as your thumb traced his marred mouth.

Wriothesley swore he could feel his dick twitch solely at the soft gasp you let out when he parted his lips, and his wet tongue tasted the digit. With a deep hum, he closed his eyes and started sucking on your thumb, the tip of his tongue ever so often tickling your skin until he pulled back with a wet pop.

“Wriothesley. Come on.” Your entire body was shaking at this point with anticipation. “Let me take care of you. I know you won’t hurt me.” At least not more than you could handle.

He huffed but could not control himself from leaning down to press his nose against your neck. How he was able to refrain himself from sinking his teeth into your neck and littering it with bites and hickeys, he didn’t know himself. “How do you know?”

“I just know.” It was a weak whisper, yet carried so much more weight with the way you were looking at him. Eyes so full of life, so full of tenderness, so full of love. Love for him.

Times and times he had wondered how you could do something like that. Love him, that is. But over and over, again and again, you had proved that some things simply did not need an explanation. Some things were given like the blue in the sky, or the constant change of seasons. Nobody questioned them. And so you had also made it clear to him to not ever allow himself to question your feelings for him.

When the bed creaked again, and Wriothesley witnessed you lift your hips up to slip your garments down, that oh-so-sweet scent invaded his senses, and you could see how the last ounce of his resolve crumbled. His ears twitched as he watched you unbutton his pants and tug the zipper down, so damn slowly. And before you had even a chance to wrap your hand around him, he was already bucking his hips into your palm, his chest and neck all flushed.

“Fuck, fuck. Fine, but I’ll keep the handcuffs on.” He rasped, but grinned wickedly when he heard you whimper once his teeth found their way in your soft flesh.

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