#i would sell my siblings for just a chance

[empresskylo]

price hiking your skirt up, his mouth moving against yours, and ripping your tights because he’s too impatient to strip you properly. both of you gasping when he forcefully enters you. s’fuckin’ tight, love.

[euthymiya]

it always ends with i love you ft. wriothesley — in which you, a small floral shop owner, meet the duke of meropide by a chance encounter—and then you meet a bunch more too…but not so much by chance anymore

contains: 20.3k work count (please give it a chance i put my soul into it) ; female reader ; mature content—not suitable for minors ; strangers to friends to lovers ; flower shop au + florist reader ; reader has a small backstory regarding her dead father ; use of canon flowers and and lore, meaning i did my best so please be gentle on me with my botany facts ; heavy spoilers for wriothesley’s story quest and backstory, explores themes such as murder and hints at child exploitation and trafficking—all pertaining to his adopted home life ; slight oc’s because i gave a few of his adopted siblings names ; a fun neuvillette and clorinde appearance! ; a not so fun childe appearance + jealousy ; a short argument ; love confessions and getting together ; wriothesley is scared of love (anyone who had to kill their parents should be tbh) ; reader sits on his lap/lays on him ; there’s sex in every scene lol i got carried away—includes vaginal fingering ; cunnilingus ; nipple play ; hand + blow jobs ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie

the first time you meet wriothesley is by accident.

he doesn’t exactly come up to the surface regularly—he sees the sun frequently enough to remember what sunlight feels like if he tries to recall, but not enough that most people of fontaine would know he’s the duke of meropide just by looking at him.

he likes it that way. the duke is no small title, and he’d prefer the trip through the streets of the court without being stopped for idle chit-chat.

he doesn’t intend on stopping on his way to the palais, but you’re a bit of a unique circumstance.

he hears the smashing sound of something breaking before the scream, quickly glancing over his shoulder at the noise. nothing could have prepared him for a flower shop to be the source of such chaos—what could be chaotic about selling petals on a stem?

except you’re clumsily chasing after a man as he stumbles past your door, knocking over the potted plants on display in the process as you follow him.

the look of distress on your face as the pot falls and shatters compels him to investigate the scene. (of course, there’s a note of distress on your face before the pot falls, but the way it deepens when it does is almost criminal. your face is too lovely to have such creases in your forehead, even if he won’t admit as much out loud).

“stop! please,” you call, “you haven’t paid for those!”

thievery. wriothesley knows a thing or two about pocketing things that don’t belong to him.

first, it’s because he spends a portion of his life on the streets, surviving more than living. those moments reduce him down to a simple pocket thief at times. (he had standards for his crimes: never too much and only enough to survive for a bit. always from someone who dresses expensively and looks like they’re comfortable enough not to feel the damage to their wallets. and, of course, never from women).

second, it’s because people, on the streets or in the fortress, love to steal from those who are weak and vulnerable. people who are sleeping are of that classification of individuals, so wriothesley learns how to keep his things hidden and how to be a light sleeper. he’s never had too many things that are precious to him, of course, but he owns little enough that he’d notice his losses harshly should they come.

he hates thievery. partly because it reminds him of his past and the darkness that taints it, but mostly because it always involves someone innocent who doesn’t deserve to lose. not even a little.

his feet carry him over to the scene before he can stop himself—not that he would stop himself even if he did have control over his body, but it’s just that this particular circumstance seems to have him in some sort of trance. one that won’t allow him to look away from your face.

“please,” you follow the man past your shop’s door, “those are the last of my glaze lilies—i promised them in an order!”

the man running doesn’t seem to care about your pleas, snickering as he turns to give you an amused look, as if your distress is entertaining. he doesn’t make it far, though, before he bumps into a muscled chest.

“what the—”

wriothesley cuts him off, raising a brow. “i do believe the lovely lady here has asked for her flowers back. or did you miss that part?”

“and just who do you think you are, mister?” the man barks, glaring wriothesley up and down. (it’s a bit funny, considering he’s much shorter, so it takes a tad bit of effort on his part to give wriothesley the menacing once over it’s meant to be). “i don’t remember asking you what she asked.”

“oh me?” wriothesley cracks his knuckles casually, shrugging as he says, “duke of meropide at your service. i must say, i’m not very popular around here—not a lot of people know me, it seems.”

your jaw drops. the man’s face pales—which is a nice confirmation, at least, that he does have some sort of a brain.

“w-what? and just why would i believe that? you expect me to think the fortress’s duke is just prancing around the streets as if he hasn’t got duties? as if!”

wriothesley’s lips quirk up at the edges as he hums, fishing through the pocket of his shirt before he pulls out an envelope, sealed with the stamp of the iudex himself. there’s writing on it in clear letters, bold and italicized, as if just to mock the man.

to: duke wriothesley

from: iudex neuvillette

“that clear things up for you?” wriothesley asks, traces of a cheeky glint in his eyes as he raises a brow.

instantly, the man is clasping his hands, head bowing as a string of incoherent apologies flows past his shaky lips. “i-i’m sorry! i’ve never done anything like this before, you can check! my records are clean! i-it was a moment of weakness, but it won’t happen again, sir. p-please don’t take me to monsieur neuvillette. or court. or—”

“your first thieving gig, and you picked flowers?” wriothesley snorts, “i almost don’t want to bring you to court just save myself from the embarrassment.”

the man flushes, bashfully shrinking as he mumbles, “w-well i just…i just wanted to get flowers for my girlfriend for our anniversary and these…th-they’re her favorite you know? b-but they’re hard to come by since liyue is so far and…and the lady wouldn’t sell them to me so…you know…i uh…” the man trails off, wilting as wriothesley’s stares down, unimpressed. “i promised her i’d get them,” he adds, as if it’ll help.

“what a tragic sob story you got there,” wriothesley deadpans. “your girlfriend must love your honesty.”

“if i may interrupt,” you call from behind, making both men glance over to where you stand some distance away.

wriothesley forgot you were there, truthfully. but now that he’s taking in your appearance up closer, he can’t help but appreciate it. your features complement each other well—like an assortment of carefully arranged flowers, hand-picked one by one by celestia themselves.

“hello miss,” he nods, raising a hand to half-wave at you, “don’t worry, i’ll get this man out of your hair in a moment with your flowers too. just give me a sec—”

“no,” you say softly, “no it’s okay. he can keep some of them…i’m sure i can make do with a shorter hand than usual.”

he blinks. you couldn’t have possibly offered to let your thief keep his earnings at your expense, could you? he can’t decide if you're just that naive, just that foolish, or truly just that kind.

maybe all three, if he’s being honest.

“uh…are you sure?” he tilts his head in disbelief, “you want to let him keep the flowers?”

“partially,” you confirm, “it’s alright. everyone deserves flowers on their anniversary. especially their favorite.”

wriothesley decides you’re just that kind—and in some ways, it’s worse than being a bit on the naive side. at least you can sharpen yourself to become untrusting and skeptical if naivety gets you in trouble. kindness is as easy to take advantage of as it is to take for granted, and it’s not just something people like you can turn off like a switch.

“oh, thank you!” the man exclaims as soon as the words come out of your mouth, not wasting a second to grin at you as he says, “you’re really so kind! if you’d just tell the duke here that it was all a misunderstanding and that you’d like to drop all charges, then i’ll be on my way with partial the flowers—”

“make no mistake,” your hands find your hips as your face hardens with a certain strictness even he’s a bit startled by, “if you should come here and cause trouble again, i have the duke’s word to press double the charges next time. i would tread carefully if i were you—don’t ever let me catch you stealing from me again.”

wriothesley stares at you and gapes. he’s sorely mistaken about you—kindness is not the absence of your spitefulness, and the man shrinks back as you stare down at him expectantly.

“o-of course,” he says quickly, “it won’t happen again.”

“good,” you nod, “that’ll be five hundred mora, please.”

“b-but—”

“is there a problem?” you raise a menacing brow, making the man scramble to shake his head. 

“wow,” wriothesley snorts as the man scampers off after fishing enough mora from his pockets, “i suppose i underestimated your ability to handle the situation, miss.”

“i think i owe a good portion of my success to you, your grace,” you bow your head slightly, unable to meet his eyes as you nervously chuckle, “i don’t usually have robberies. the people in this area are familiar with me. they’re quite kind—i’ve never had someone as stubborn as him.”

“well, rest assured, if he bothers you again, you can come to find me for my word at court.”

“i’ll hold onto the offer,” you grin.

that chance meeting becomes history after a while. he comes and pays you a visit every time he’s at the surface, which isn’t all too often, but often enough that you start to look forward to at least one routine visit per month. sometimes, he teases you about whether or not you’ve had new thieves pay you a visit. other times, you make use of his strong hands and built muscles and cheekily order him around to move heavy bags of fertilizer around. 

he likes tea, you learn—he takes a very piqued interest in the jars of dried petals you keep on shelves, ones you tell him are good for making blends for tea, or to boil with water for natural remedies, or to make syrups for beverages like lemonade. it’s a slow, steady, blossoming friendship until, all at once, you feel incomplete without the routine visit from the fortress’s warden. you’re too reliant on the familiarity of explaining flowers, their origins, what stories they share, and what they mean—and likewise, you feel incomplete without his stories from the fortress, what the inmates are up to, and what changes he’s developing to make things better for the people under his wing. 

you like to think he feels the same way; otherwise, he wouldn’t come around as much as he does. 

sometimes he walks you home, and sometimes you invite him for tea. you drink coffee, but you don’t mind the trouble of brewing two beverages if it means some extra time with him in your cozy little home.

like today, where he sits comfortably at your dining table while you cut fresh bulle fruit as tea steeps in the hot water. he watches you with fond eyes, listening as you ramble intently about your recent endeavors at your flower shop.

“—and i think i’ve finally managed to grow a cactus from sumeru long enough to bloom my own henna berries,” you grin, looking at him brightly, pride settling into the crinkles of your eyes, “it did take some trial and error��fontaine rains far too often for cacti to survive, but this one i managed to grow indoors.”

“couldn’t you just get the berries delivered from sumeru? since you have plenty delivered from there already,” he asks in amusement. you huff, rolling your eyes as you walk over, setting the platter of fruit down before him. 

“of course, you’d want to take such a simple route—but plants are far more rewarding when you grow them yourself, you know. plus, every fruit i’ve managed to grow on my own here in fontaine has had a bit of a unique flavor as opposed to ones grown from their original nation. i’d like to see if that’s the case with these berries, too.”

“well, if that’s the case,” he hums, taking a slow sip from the tea you’ve brewed for him—it’s perfectly made to his liking, with two sugar cubes and piping hot just as you’ve learned he prefers. he closes his eyes and lets out a content sigh as the warmth trickles down his throat. “let me try one when they’re ready.”

“of course,” you brighten excitedly, as though the prospect of someone to share such a moment with is one you look forward to. there’s something that tickles in his chest, right beneath his ribcage, at the sight of your wide grin.

you chatter until the sun sets, warm, honeyed rays of orange and pink pouring through your windows and painting his skin vibrant hues. it’s about time for him to leave—you can tell even before he clears his throat and stands, grabbing the plate and mug and heading to the sink.

“i should go,” he says kindly, washing the dishes with so much familiarity that it almost feels domestic and natural to have him here. you shake the thought out of your head as quickly as it enters your head. “thank you for having me this evening.”

“oh, i think we’re past the formalities,” you huff a small laugh, “you’re doing my dishes.”

“technically they’re my dishes,” he chuckles, “since i did dirty them.”

you hum, walking over to where he stands as he turns the faucet off—until a small twist of your ankle has you gasping as you stumble forward. you brace yourself for the impact of the hardwood floor, but instead, you’re met with a firm yet soft chest as strong arms wrap around your waist and catch you before you can fall.

“oh,” you breathe as you open your eyes, staring into him with just as widened pupils as him. 

“are you okay?” he asks quietly, voice just barely audible as he whispers to you—he’s so close, so painfully close, you think the only reason you heard him was because of the proximity. 

“yeah,” you nod. it’s hardly a nod, really—if you were to move your head too much, you’d risk brushing your nose against his. or maybe even your lips. “i’m fine. thank you.”

“yeah, no problem,” his eyes are still trained on yours, and neither of you can find it in yourselves to pull away. you can’t, and he definitely doesn’t, and nothing seems to give as you stare at each other. you’re pressed against his chest, and his arms are wrapped around you, and there’s a strange beating in both of your chests that you think you can just barely make out.

they almost seem to beat in sync, rapid and untamed. so, so fast, you wonder if it’s even healthy.

you don’t know who does it first—or maybe it was the both of you. all you know is that one second, you’re staring at each other, and the next, your heads are tilted so that your lips meet tentatively. he hesitates at the first brush of your lips, but your hands cup his cheeks and pull him forward, making his eyes flutter shut as he shakily breathes into your mouth. it’s so slow, so dizzyingly slow, that you wonder if time has just stopped altogether to grant you a moment with no interruptions. 

he fits perfectly against you, the soft flesh of his cheeks spilling over your palms, your thumb rubbing affectionately into the skin as he nips at your lips, kissing you like he’s waited his whole life to feel you. the curves of his mouth connect with the curves of yours like pieces of a puzzle, like he was carved to match you from the same stone. 

you’re not sure how long you kiss like that, but slowly, it grows needier, more quick and hasty as your hands leave his cheeks to wander to his hair and gently tug at the strands as his hands wander to your waist and lower back, feeling every curve of you as he groans into your mouth. 

he tries to pull away, but you chase after him, unwilling to let go.

“w-wait,” he mumbles, “maybe we should stop—”

“you really want to?” you ask breathlessly, and all it takes is one glance down at your glossy, swollen lips for him to close his eyes and shiver.

“no,” he admits hoarsely, “i don’t. are…are you sure about this?”

“yes,” you whisper instantly.

he doesn’t waste a moment, quickly pulling you into your bedroom as you both collapse on the mattress. you climb onto his lap, crotch pressing against the semi-hardened erection in his pants, the press of your heat against his bulge earning a low, drawn-out groan from him that shoots straight to your clit with a dull ache. 

“sweetheart,” he says in between kisses, making you inhale sharply at the pet name, “you’re killing me here.”

“okay,” you smile against his mouth, pecking it sweetly before you add, “then let me do something about that.”

he doesn’t expect you to drop down between his legs, face to face with the obvious tent in his pants—wriothesley is a gentleman, a giver before he is a taker. his first instinct is to protest as he opens his mouth and starts to say, “hang on—you don’t have to—”

“i want to,” you pout, looking up at him, “please? i want to.”

when was the last time someone looked up at him like that, staring up at him like pleasing him is the only way they’ll survive? he doesn’t recall, doesn’t think it’s ever happened, in fact. he groans, head falling back against your bed frame as he nods slowly. 

“okay,” he concedes, lifting his hips up so you can pull his pants down his legs, leaving him in his boxers. there’s a wet patch where his tip meets the cloth, the evidence of pre cum drooling from his swollen head that makes you hum in satisfaction as you leave a tender kiss on the spot through the fabric. he gasps, hips jolting as his thighs clench at the teasing touch.

“can i?” you purr, hand rubbing soothingly over his tense thigh as he swallows and nods, looking anywhere but at you as he breathes harshly. 

“y-yes,” he grunts, “please.”

you’re freeing his cock as soon as he utters the plead, letting him spring free and meet the cool air. he hisses, gritting his teeth as his chest rises and falls erratically, labored breaths that he tries to use to calm himself as he stands painfully hard between his legs. 

“pretty,” you murmur, entranced at the sheer size of him—he’s flushed an almost painful red at his thick tip, leaking enough pre cum that you’d think he might have already had his release with the way it runs down the side of his hardened length. 

your hand wraps gently around the tip, thumb smearing the pre cum along the tip before coating the rest of his cock, using it as lubrication for the steady stroke of your hand along the girth. he throws his head back, groaning as his hips buck into your touch before he stops himself, frantically trying to keep himself still and let you take your time. 

“f-fuck,” he rasps, “that…that feels nice.”

“yeah?” you breathe, smiling as you press a kiss to his thigh as he chokes on a grunt while your hand slowly pumps him. “am i doing it right?”

“you’re doing just fine,” he assures, biting his lip as he finally can’t keep himself from bucking impatiently into your fist any longer, “feel free to do more, though.”

you giggle, pressing a soft kiss to his lip before gliding your tongue through his slit and watching as he melts against your bed frame at the gesture, body loosening up like he’s limbless as you slowly take him into your mouth, swallowing around his cock and bobbing your head, pumping the rest with your hand that you can’t fit down your throat. 

“shit,” he curses, hand cupping the back of your head as he guides you up and down his length, moaning your name when you swirl your tongue around the tip, “you…you’re so good at this, yeah? take me so well in that pretty mouth of yours.”

you hum around him, making him cry out at the vibrations around his cock, one hand running through his hair as he tries to keep himself grounded, the other still cradling the back of your head. he’s a gentleman, though, living up to one just as much as he always lets on to be when he doesn’t force you to take more of him by pushing your head down or burying himself deeper into your throat by fucking his hips into your mouth. he lets you do things at your own pace, and you think it’s enough when you feel the telling signs of his release as his panting grows harsher and his cock twitches in your mouth.

“w-wait, wait,” he says frantically, “i’ll cum—i’ll cum. not yet, not until i have you.”

you reluctantly pull away, a trail of spit connecting from your lips to his tip that makes him close his eyes and groan, clenching his jaw as his near-orgasm dies down to nothing again. his cock is achingly hard, hot and swollen and throbbing after denying himself for the sake of feeling you.

“c’mere,” he motions for you to climb onto his lap. you do, sitting on his thigh as he slowly trails a thumb under your shirt, rubbing the skin with a feather-light, heated touch that has you shivering against him. “you sure you want this?”

“i want it,” you whisper, leaning to press a kiss to his lips that he reciprocates with a low hum of approval, “with you.”

“such a sweet way with words,” he murmurs, slowly pulling your blouse over your head and unclasping your bra, tossing them to the side as he marvels at the view of your tits. “such a sweet view, too. beautiful.” 

you flush at the praise, looking away. but his hands grab at your breasts, large as they cup them and massage lightly, thumbs running over the pert nipples as you shudder and breathe out a light gasp. 

“wriothesley, need more—”

“give me a moment,” he shushes you, “and then i’ll give you what you want.”

he admires you like that for a bit, sat on his thigh as your eyes flutter shut and his thumbs tease your nipples, wetness pooling in your core that he can feel on his thigh—you’d be embarrassed, you really would, but it’s not as though his cock is any less leaky at the head. 

finally, he inhales sharply, sitting up slightly to unbutton his shirt, revealing the scars down his chest before he helps you out of your pants. you stare at the harsh, jagged lines that pain his skin, raised, discolored skin, the only evidence of some brutal, vicious past that he survived. 

your thumb traces down the lines, making him shiver at the fragileness behind the touch.

“where’d you get this?” you murmur, staring at him curiously. 

“hmm? oh the scar on my body? it's from a gash i got while battling a gigantic undersea monster that tried to take over the fortress of meropide…” he stares at you cheekily as you blink, looking at him unimpressed. “hah, just kidding.”

“do you ever take anything seriously?” you shake your head and huff, but there’s endearment on your face as you fight back a smile.

“on the contrary, milady,” he murmurs, grabbing your hips and pulling you back slightly, exposing your drenched cunt before he slowly sinks two fingers into your folds and curls them against the back of your walls, “i take this quite seriously.”

you gasp at the feeling, his digits rubbing against your walls and angling to hit a sensitive, achingly sweet spot at the back of your cunt. it’s precise, the way he pumps his fingers into you, slowly sinking in a third digit while you mewl and throw your head back. the heel of his palm catches against your clit, the sweet friction building your orgasm up slowly, slowly, until suddenly, you’re near the edge all at once. 

“c’mon, don’t hold back now,” he drawls, voice low and sweet and so attractive, you feel like the sound of him alone is enough to send you tumbling over the edge, “why don’t you be a sweet little thing and let go for me, hm?”

you do—instantly, you do, crying out his name is choked garbles as he works you through your orgasm with his fingers, still thrusting into you with a precise pace. finally, when you’re done clenching around him, he pulls his digits out, the slickness of your pussy coating them as he hums in satisfaction. 

“think you’re ready?” he asks softly, cradling the back of your head with his good hand as he pulls you closer, “or do you need one more from me?”

“i’m ready,” you huff impatiently, “i need you, need to feel you already.”

“okay, okay,” he laughs, amused but not anymore patient himself as his cock pulses between his legs, “i’m not trying to wait any longer, either. do you have a…uh…y-you know…”

you snort at the way he trails off awkwardly, flushing at the thought of asking for a condom as if he’s not completely nude under you. “no,” you giggle, pinching his cheek as he huffs, “but we don’t need one. it’s fine.”

“okay,” he nods slowly. his hands grab at your hips, firm yet so gentle with the way they lift you up and guide you to angle over his swollen cock, slowly helping you sink down on him as he chokes on a grunt when his head pushes past your folds. 

you gasp as soon as he intrudes into your tight hole, splitting you open on his thick girth as you take him inch by inch until you’re sat on his lap completely, buried completely with his length as his jaw clenches at the tight squeeze of you around him. 

“wri—wriothesley,” you sob brokenly, unable to say anything else besides cracked repeats of his name. he’s so big, buried so deep, and leaving you so full, you’re not sure if you have it in you to fuck onto him from this position. 

he takes things into his own hands, though—roughly grabbing your hips and pulling you back before helping you sink back down on him again, rolling his own hips upward to bury deeper into you. your head spins, and all you can think to do is weakly plant your hands onto his shoulders before you roll your hips, grinding down on his length and sloppily fucking yourself onto him.

he bullies past your folds, curves deliciously into the most intimate parts of you, fat tip slamming against the soft, sensitive spot that makes you see white. pleasure burns up your spine, building a coil in your belly that grows tighter, tighter, tighter—so close yet so far from snapping and letting you plummet into your second release. 

“that’s it,” he grunts, “fuck—you’re so tight, so good. i’ve…i’ve never felt anything so good. it’s like you were made for me, weren’t you? take me so well, fit around me so well.”

his hand moves to your clit, thumb pressing against the sensitive bundle of nerves and rubbing merciless circles against it as you mewl, head burying into his neck as your nails claw at his shoulder. everything is so good—so hot and filthy and leaves you impatiently desperate for some form of release. the friction of his cock dragging along every ridge leaves your mind hazed, and the harsh press of his tip against your sweet spot leaves your vision blurry. 

you’re not sure how you even have the strength to rock yourself onto his stiff length, but somehow you manage, and he seems keen on helping you, too, with rough, bruising hands that grip your waist with a punishingly tight grasp.

“c-can’t hold on much longer,” you cry, voice a strangled sob that’s muffled into his skin, “i’m s-so close. please.”

“me too,” he pants, voice just as strained as yours as he moans through a cracked voice when you clench down on his particularly tightly, “me too, sweetheart. i’m right there with you, alright? let go—c-c’mon.”

once more, you cum around him—this time on his cock instead of his fingers, and if the first time felt good, the second time is devastating. your vision practically goes white as your walls spasm around him, slick and dripping with your release and mixing with his own as he follows you not long after. his cock jolts, pumping hot, sticky ropes of his seed deep into you, and both of your bodies are slumped against one another as you barely roll your hips, sloppy pace with no rhythm as you focus on getting yourselves through the ecstasies of your orgasms. 

his thumb is still pressing against your clit, and your hands have left his shoulders to bury into his sweaty hair, tugging fiercely at the dark strands and making him groan at the mix of pain and pleasure. 

finally, you both ride out the final few waves, him slumping against your bed as you fall against his sturdy chest, face still buried into his neck. sweat clings to your skin, but you don’t mind the feeling of his damp skin against yours, not when the warmth of your body makes the afterglow feel so sweet. your fingers thread through his hair, soothing over his scalp with the rake of your nails where you’d just tugged so harshly, and his palms glide up and down your hips, rubbing gentleness back into the parts where he dug bruises along the skin. 

“wait, is that watering can supposed to be a dog?” he asks out of the blue, making you lift your head and look over your shoulder.

“yes,” you quirk a brow, watching as he lets out a small snort as he looks at the watering can by your plants in wonder.

“it’s pretty ugly.”

“rude!” you gasp, pulling away slightly as he shakes under you in laughter, “i think it’s adorable!”

“do you now?” he bites his lips, attempting to suppress the smile that threatens to take over, “you have…interesting taste.”

“oh, you’re dead to me,” you spit dramatically, collapsing back against his chest as you bury your head into his neck again. “dead to me, i say.”

“my apologies,” he snickers. his hand rubs slowly into your hip, quietly humming for a moment before he asks, “what made you so passionate about plants?”

“i can’t just really like them?” you challenge.

“sure,” he shrugs, eyeing the watering can again as he smiles, “but you don’t give the impression that you just happen to just really like leaves, and that’s it.”

“there’s more to plants than leaves,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. and then, much gentler this time, “my father was a scholar from sumeru. an herbologist.” your voice is a quiet murmur, a low hum as you speak into his neck while his hands are still rubbing into your hips, “i used to be fascinated by his journals and all the plants he’d seen. he died when i was young, so sometimes…sometimes i try to grow them here in fontaine myself. just to feel close to him.”

“do you?” he asks quietly, staring at the various plants that decorate your small home. it’s cozy, he thinks, so lively and warm that it almost doesn’t feel like you’re the only inhabitant. “do you feel close to him when you do?”

“if it works,” you admit, “it’s not always easy to recreate the same conditions they’re meant to grow in.”

“i think you do an impressive job,” he praises, earning a slow smile from you that he can feel curve into his skin, “i’ve yet to come across a flower shop in fontaine with as much variety as yours.”

“you flatter me, your grace,” you chuckle, pulling away as you stare at him, the tousled hair from where his hand ran through, the swollen bottom lip where his teeth sank in, the flushed skin where heat settled. you take all of it in slowly, admiring him as he looks up at you through lidded eyes.

“do i? i meant it seriously, not in flattery,” he raises a brow and smirks, “if i wanted to try flattery on you, i think i’d have some other choice words.”

“don’t be so insatiable,” you gently swat at his chest, earning a chuckle from him. “will you be able to stop by tomorrow?”

“i’m afraid not,” he sighs, “i have a meeting with some people from the palais tomorrow at the fortress. it’ll run a bit late.”

“oh,” you try to hide the disappointment in your voice, but he seems to sense it instantly. “that’s okay. i just had a blend i thought you might like to try—for tea, that is. it’s um…i dried the petals myself, and it’s new. i thought i’d let you be the first to try it to let me know what you think.”

you try not to giggle at the way he perks up at the mention of tea.

“ah, i’m afraid i won’t have time tomorrow. but…” he coughs, trailing off as he looks away, contemplating his words.

“but…?” you press.

“but…well, i have a few guards returning tomorrow from the surface from a few tasks i gave them. i could have them stop by the shop to escort you down to the fortress if that works for you…it’s okay if you can’t, though! i can always come by sometime this week when my duties aren’t as—”

“that sounds nice,” you cut him off, grinning widely, something close to excitement blooming across your features, brighter than any set of petals in your shop, he thinks. “you can give me an official tour of the fortress, perhaps. i’ve only ever heard about it through stories.”

“as you wish, my lady,” he winks.

he leaves not too long after—you try not to focus on his lingering scent in your sheets once you settle back in after bidding him goodbye. it’s oddly peaceful, being surrounded by him even when he’s not there, and sleep lulls over you quicker than usual. 

the scent is faded by the time you wake up, so you take one last deep breath to inhale it before you set off to get ready for the day, counting down the hours before you get to see him again.

——————————

as promised, a group of fortress guards stop by your shop, politely waiting for you to close up before you join them on their return. 

the fortress is darker than you expected—but not at all as small as your mind anticipated. in fact, it’s huge. you follow the guards, making idle chatter as they take you up an elevator, up, and up, and up—until finally, you finally arrive on the floor of his office. 

you’re so busy taking in all you can of the fortress that by the time they escort you to his office door, you remember why you’re here in the first place. to bring wriothesley dried petals of sweet flowers that you grew yourself—flowers often make for a wonderful tea blend, and learning his passionate liking for the drink makes you feel compelled to share with him every one of the various floral teas you’ve learned about in your time as a florist. 

you knock on the door of his office—except, oddly enough, there’s more than one voice you can make out from the room. you didn’t think his meeting would still be in session by the time you arrived, making you anxiously regret the knock as soon as your knuckles leave the surface of the door.  

but he answers before you can think too much of it. “come in,” his voice calls. 

“your grace,” you hum, stepping in, “if this is a bad time, then i can…”

you trail off. both fontaine’s chief justice and champion duelist stand in his office, gathered around his desk as he sits and sifts through files. of course, wriothesley is a duke, which is no small title by any means, but you’re caught more than a little off guard as you step in and share the room with two of fontaine’s more important figures in the justice system.

“no,” he says casually, “come in, you’re right on time. i was just telling miss clorinde about the delicious tea blend you would bring for her to try. she couldn’t wait a moment longer.”

“if you want to try it so badly, just say so,” she rolls her eyes.

“fine,” he huffs, lips curling into a slight pout, “i’d like to try the tea you promised me. clorinde will pass, though.”

“i think i’ll try it, as well,” she chimes in, suppressing a smile as wriothesley crosses his arms.

“but you just said—”

you giggle, walking over as you hand him the bag with dried petals, grinning at the amusing dynamic, and murmur, “i believe it would be the polite thing to do if you made an extra cup for the madam while making yours.”

“picking her side, are we? such an act of betrayal won’t be forgotten,” he huffs. still, almost as excited as a child opening a present, he opens the bag to add the petals to the tea maker he keeps at his desk. you watch with fondness at the action. “you still owe me a present, by the way. and tea won’t do—i’ve just received a batch.”

“then i suppose i can gift you a new tie,” clorinde hums, eyeing the loosened tie around his neck and making him furrow his brows as he subconsciously straightens it, “something that fits your neck better so you look a bit more put together.”

it’s almost like she sees through the both of you, eyeing between you and him with a hint of a knowing glint in her eyes. wriothesley scowls, giving her a petulant glare.

“there’s nothing wrong with my tie. i look just fine.”

“i do believe it’s a stylistic choice,” neuvillette pipes up from the side, “it doesn’t seem to be an issue with the tie itself.”

you snort at the way the joke flies over his head. “you’re right, monsieur,” you join in the banter, “i do believe his grace has a rather…unique choice of style.”

“i wonder if he ever plans to properly wear the coat he always seems to keep hanging over his shoulders,” clorinde adds, the earlier grin she attempted to fight back now fully curled into her lips. you laugh, much to wriothesley’s dismay.

“perhaps he just values being prepared,” you hum, “one can never tell when the fortress will suddenly be too cold. someone as busy as the duke surely can’t afford the wasted time to go and fetch a coat.”

“ah,” she nods, “i suppose you’re right. he is too busy learning legal codes as of late.”

“i take it that my gift has been useful, then?” neuvillette brightens, turning to a miserable wriothesley as he rubs his temples wearily.

“most helpful,” he sighs, not bothering to explain to the iudex that he’s once more missed the point of the joke. 

“oh, we’re only joking,” you laugh, taking the tea cup sitting at his desk and pouring him a glass of the now freshly brewed tea, “it’s all in good fun, your grace.”

“wriothesley is just fine,” he mumbles, “as you can see, this isn’t a very…formal meeting.” 

he watches as you carefully make his cup, one sugar cube as opposed to his usual two—before he can point it out, however, you beat him to it. “i know you’re particular about your tea. i can see it on your face you’re about to insist i give you two, but this is a very sweet blend as it is. one will suffice.”

“careful when it comes to his tea,” clorinde warns, “he’ll be in a foul mood all day if it doesn’t live up to his standards.”

“not true,” he grumbles. as if to prove a point, he takes a sip, slowly blinking before he looks at you with an awed grin, “it’s lovely. you’re right, it is just perfectly sweet with one cube.”

“perhaps you’re the only person he won’t make a fuss with then,” clorinde teases, “he’s got quite the list of grievances if i make him a cup of tea.”

“that’s because you don’t know how to make proper tea,” wriothesley rolls his eyes, “there’s a set of steps you’re meant to follow, you know.”

“water is a most simple beverage,” the iudex cuts in, “one that has many complexities in flavor, as well. perhaps you should consider it as a fitting option if tea gives you too much trouble.”

“i would hate to think of the wrath the poor inmates would have to face if he were to miss a single tea time,” you grin, fighting back a chuckle as wriothesley takes a tired sip from his cup, resigning himself to his fate as the target of your banter, “water simply won’t do.”

“well, i believe we should be off,” clorinde looks at neuvillette, “perhaps we should leave them to themselves.”

“ah, yes,” the chief justice nods politely, “there are many more files for me to read through at the office.”

“do you ever take the day off?” wriothesley raises a brow, “wouldn’t hurt.”

“even his dreams are of legal cases, i’m sure. he wouldn’t last a day on vacation,” clorinde hums.

“i don’t typically dream when i sleep,” neuvillette frowns, still so serious that you choke on a snort as you try to hold back you giggles. wriothesley looks at you with an amused grin, biting his lip to hide a chuckle himself.

“i’ll be seeing you,” he waves as the two leave, “and hopefully with my present ready next time,” he calls to clorinde with a pointed look. she rolls her eyes, fondly waving as she heads out the door.

“i didn’t know you were friends with such important people,” you murmur as they leave, making him raise a brow as he takes another sip.

“friends isn’t the best title for it—consider us work acquaintances.”

“with banter like that, i hardly believe it,” you chuckle, earning you a half-hearted glare from him over the rim of his tea cup.

“did you have your fun at my expense?” he asks dryly—but there’s no real bite to the words, “it seems you got along quite well with clorinde.”

“monsieur neuvillette is lovely too,” you giggle, “even if he’s not exactly…the earliest to catch onto jokes.”

he laughs at that, setting down his empty cup as he stands, eyeing the door to his office quickly before stepping closer to you, eyes staring down at your lips as you chew on the bottom and wait for him to make his move. 

“thank you for the tea,” he murmurs lowly, lips just barely a millimeter away from yours, “it was quite sweet. i enjoyed it.”

“there are plenty of other floral blends i have for you to try,” you hum. 

he grins, hands finding your waist before he whispers, “surely i couldn’t take all that from you without offering something in return, could i? i wouldn’t want it to seem like i'm taking bribes.”

“oh?” you breathe, grabbing a hold of his tie and tugging him closer until your lips meet his in a slow, heated kiss. it awakens a sick, insatiable heat in your core almost instantly. “what did you have in mind, your grace?”

he groans at the way your voice teasingly lilts at the title, hungrily chasing after your lips again. it’s more tongue than it is anything, messy and almost too scandalous to take place in his office where anyone could knock and come in at a moment’s notice. he seems to know it, too, because slowly, he guides you backward, slow steps that don’t interrupt the lock of your lips until your back meets a door.

“why don’t i show you,” he breathes—and then the doorknob is twisted open, and you’re gently pushed in with an arm curled around your waist to guide you. there’s a bedroom connected to his office, you realize. 

not entirely a shock—you’re sure the duke of the fortress has his own quarters to sleep in away from the other inmates, but it doesn’t surprise you less enough that you don’t pull away to take a glance around. 

it’s empty, mainly. not too many things besides a few scattered files and another tea maker with a few cups surrounding it at a desk in the corner. the sheets are dark grey, plain, and neatly made, with two pillows and nothing else. it has no more than what he needs, no more than what’s necessary. no hints of anything that’s his, anything that makes the room belong to him outside of being a mere sleeping quarters. 

“not one for decor?” you hum, wrapping your arms around his neck as your fingers fiddle with the collar of his shirt.

“i only come here at night to sleep,” he shrugs, “never felt the need.”

“everyone needs a space that’s theirs, don’t you think? even a few flowers would brighten the place up.”

“offering me more business?” he chuckles, making you roll your eyes, “and they’d die. there isn’t much sun down here.”

“i can think of a few options that would thrive,” you murmur.

“so it is business,” he quips. sigh exasperatedly, and he grins cheekily at you before you’re gently pushed to fall onto his bed, his body moving to hover over you as your legs wrap around his waist. his cock is semi-hard through his pants, and you wiggle your hips to press against it, the friction making him groan as you feel him stiffen even more from your actions. 

“i think i’d like my payment now,” you hum, making him raise a brow.

“eager?” he asks, making your hand travel to squeeze at his bulge.

“and you aren’t?” you challenge.

“fuck,” he grunts, shuddering at the feeling, “looks like you got me.”

it happens faster than you can process—the shedding of clothes, the way his fingers slowly sink into you, pumping in and out expertly as your head spins from the way he brushes against your sensitive spots. he’s quick, the way he stretches you apart with his digits, adding a second and third finger with little to no time to waste. you hardly have time to accommodate the third when you feel a familiar ache building up steadily. 

“c-close,” you say shakily, voice brokenly whispering against his mouth as he drinks up your moans, “i’m going to—”

“i know,” he hums, “shh. just let go—you’re doing so well.” 

the praise shatters you—you break at the way he sounds so in awe of you, of the way you suck his fingers into your slick cunt, so tight and wet with every clench. your back arches, and your hips roll into his hand, whimpering as his palm rolls over your sensitive clit. “god,” you gasp, “wriothesley, please.”

“please what?” he drawls, “you already got what you needed.”

“please let me feel you.”

“such a demanding price for some tea,” he sighs, “alright. i guess i can afford it.”

the nudge of his cock against your folds is enough to make you mewl, a sweet, whiny little cry that he groans at—every sound you make leaves an ache shooting up his stiff cock in the form of a twitch, like your every cry calls out to him. he responds with a rough thrust of his hips, burying himself into the depths of you, so deep and so close you can practically feel his pulse alongside yours. 

“so full,” you gasp, panting as you try to adjust to the sheer girth of him. he waits a moment, jaw clenched and teeth grit as he waits for you to nod your head and signal him to move.

“and you’re so tight,” he grunts, moaning softly against your ear as he nibbles on your earlobe, “i wouldn’t mind it if you charged interest either, just so you know. i’ll pay it over as many times as you want.”

“oh be quiet, would you?” you roll your eyes at his words at first, but then they roll back at the feeling of his thick, swollen tip pressing against the deep, sweet spot in the back of your walls. he lets out a breathy laugh, kissing the corner of your mouth so he doesn’t muffle the precious little moan you let out. 

“sure thing,” he hums, “i like listening to you more, anyway.”

“oh,” you gasp, “oh—wriothesley!” his finger teases over your clit, making your walls quiver around him as you feel your second orgasm creep up on you. “w-wait—i’m close.”

“why would i wait?” he asks in amusement, “that’s the idea.”

“t-together,” you whimper, pouting up at him through swollen lips and watery eyes, “please. please.”

he curses, closing his eyes and inhaling shakily at the way you look so fucked out, so drunkenly hazed on pleasure from the drag of his cock along your every ridge. you ask so sweetly—and who is he to deny such an innocent request?

“fuck—okay, sweetheart. fine by me,” he pants, rolling his hips harshly as he works himself to his own orgasm. his thumb teases your clit cruelly, fast and merciless one second, and a slow, bare feather’s touch the next. it keeps you right on the edge, a drooling mess of broken pleas as he finally approaches his own high. “close?”

“so close,” you gasp, twitching as he buries himself deep into you again.

“me too,” his voice cracks, “c-cum with me—please.”

hearing him plead sends you over the edge again—your first orgasm pales in comparison to your second. you didn’t even think that was possible, but the thick of his cock bullying into you is infinitely better than his nimble digits. the blunt head hits all the right spots, curves in all the right angles, and fucks you through your high expertly without even trying. 

you both cry out each other's names like prayers, muffled strings of curses, and breathy gasps that you swallow up between slow, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. finally, when the last few twitches of his cock finish painting his release into you, he slumps on the bed beside your body, body shaking in slight tremors as he catches his breath. 

“you okay?” he asks through a labored voice, “didn’t hurt you?”

“i’m okay,” you breathe, smiling softly. he closes his eyes, relaxing into the mattress, pulling the covers to tuck the both of you in before he stares up at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head while he seems to be deep in thought. “what’re you thinking about?” you murmur.

“just how good you got along with clorinde,” he hums quietly, almost in wonder. “she’s not exactly the easiest to banter with so quickly.”

“well, i guess it’s not too hard if it’s at your expense,” you tease.

“ah, yes,” he sighs, pretending to woefully shake his head, “i’ve been reduced to the butt of the joke one too many times today, it seems.”

he grins to himself at the sound of your quiet laughter, so soft and sweet, so perfectly filling up the quietness in the room, bouncing off the walls and ringing in his ears like a symphony. you stare up at the ceiling yourself, eyeing the pipes, the dark amber metal that makes up his home. it’s quiet like that for a bit—not awkward or uneasy, almost like you’ve known him for ages. almost like this is natural.

“can i ask you something?” you murmur after some time, shifting under the covers to face him. 

he raises a brow, looking at you curiously. “you’re scaring me with that look. going to confess some wicked crime you want me to help you hide?”

“it’s not like that,” you huff, rolling your eyes. carefully, as if treading unknown territories (you are, in all fairness), your fingers find his bicep, running along the skin soothingly. it’s an affectionate touch—you and wriothesley only touch each other for physical pleasure, nothing more. this is new, something you’re freshly navigating with a weak compass that points back and forth between your heart and your head, unsure whether to follow logic or emotion. 

“well, go ahead and ask,” he insists, “you’ve got me curious, anyway.”

“what…what did you serve for? when you were an inmate,” you say quietly. he tenses under your touch, muscles becoming rigid as you instantly regret the question. your fingers pull away at the same time as you start speaking, “it’s okay if you don’t want to answer! i just got curious and—”

his hand catches your retreating wrist, gently pulling it closer, closer, until your hand rests on his chest. this is definitely uncharted territory—but his hand firmly lays over yours as he presses your palm over his bare chest. 

“it’s fine,” he mumbles, “it’s not exactly something people in my inner circle don’t know.”

“oh,” you whisper, “i’ve been promoted to inner circle, huh?”

“you’ve seen me naked,” he snorts, eyeing you with a hint of amused disbelief, “you’ve sucked me off, in fact. i think there’s a special other circle inside the circle just for you.”

“okay, no need to get all…”

“all what?” he teases, waiting for you to finish.

“all uncouth about our activities!” you huff, face feeling hot as he grins.

he laughs, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you against his side so your cheek presses against a muscled pec as his warm hand traces circles into your hip. you gasp slightly at the sudden gesture but relax all too quickly, your own hand moving to rub into his chest slowly, feeling the rough scars and tracing them with your fingertips.

“i was adopted when i was young from an orphanage. when i was a bit older,” he swallows, voice quiet, serious—so oddly vulnerable, you think you’re talking to a new version of him altogether, “i found a diary in my mother’s drawer. i didn’t…i didn’t mean to snoop. i was just looking for some paper for my sister to color with.”

“you had a sister?” you ask softly, looking up to see his jaw tighten slightly. 

“i had quite a few siblings,” he admits, voice strained. “older and younger. my parents would adopt a few children at a time and raise them until they were old enough to be adopted into families of greater means. and then they’d adopt more younger children. i thought they were perfect parents,” his eyes stare off distantly, unfocused as they look up at the ceiling, hand mindlessly wandering along your hip as you listen.

“until…?”

“until i read that diary,” his voice hardens, still strained as he clenches his jaw and swallows thickly again, “they were records. of my older siblings, the ones i thought were adopted off. all of their names were followed by prices, and the ones who didn’t have prices had been crossed off. i didn’t understand until i saw my own name and my brother antoine’s. we had blank spaces next to ours.”

“how come?” you furrow your brows, looking at him in jarred curiosity. 

“because we weren’t sold yet,” he smiles ruefully, “i realized we were being sold off like livestock. and i started to piece together why i had never heard from any of my siblings even when they’d promised to write. i…i never knew what became of them.”

“oh, wriothesley,” you say gently, so delicate, he closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath. you press a soft kiss to his chest under you, hand moving up to cup his cheek, “what awful people.”

“i…i should have kept it to myself,” he whispers shakily, “i didn’t…i couldn’t figure out what to do, so i told antoine—i thought…i figured maybe…” he trails off, eyes closed once more as he breathes heavily, trying to collect the composure he fights so fiercely to keep.

“it’s okay,” you kiss his jaw, “we can forget about it. i’m sorry for—”

“no,” he shakes his head. “i want you to know.”

it should make you feel special—maybe even a little happy that he trusts you enough to want to share. but nothing about this makes you feel anything but pain—you can feel his pain, every inch of it. from the way his hand clasps around your waist in a shaky grip to ground himself to the way his jaw is tight under your lips as they press a soothing kiss to the angle of it. every part of him is in pain, and you can feel it. deep in your own bones, like a lingering ache. one that runs years deep, living in the deepest, most intimate parts of your body.

you don’t mind it, though. you don’t mind sharing his pain, not if it’s him.

“okay,” you nod slowly, “okay.”

he inhales sharply, taking a deep breath before he continues. “i told him because i knew we were next. i thought maybe we could have figured out a plan together. but he asked my mother about the diary, what the prices meant, and why we’d never heard from the others once they’d left. he was gone the next morning—my mother told us he was adopted, but i knew. i knew he was merely disposed of. and it was my fault.”

“it was not your fault,” you turn your head swiftly, looking up at him in disbelief as he scoffs and shakes his head.

“if i hadn’t told him, if i handled it on my own—”

“then what? he would have been fine? you don’t know that, what if he was sold off for something awful? or found out on his own without you? you were a child, and you didn’t know that he’d choose to do that.”

“but i still could have kept quiet,” he chuckles dryly, voice cracking as he adds, “i could have gotten us both out of there. on my own.”

“you shouldn’t have to have done it on your own,” you cup his cheek, bringing him to face you as your forehead presses against his, “you didn’t want to be on your own, did you?”

“no,” he admits, lips trembling, “i didn’t.”

“and that’s okay,” you murmur, rubbing a thumb over his cheekbone, “you didn’t deserve to be alone.”

“maybe it was for the better, though,” he sniffles.

“a lot of things are. we can’t hope to predict everything for what would turn out better.”

“he died,” wriothesley chokes, “my brother. he died that night—i…i knew he did. so i ran the next day, when my parents were busy, i snuck off and ran. i didn’t come back until a few years later and i…” his breath catches in his throat, glancing at you for a moment. there’s something fleeting in his eyes. doubt, maybe—perhaps even fear.

you’re not entirely sure, but you press a kiss to his lips, soft and tender, so unlike your usual heated ones. something that’s shared not for the sake of pleasure but for the sake of knowing you’re there—that he has you. you’re both here, together, just the two of you. he can feel your warmth, and you can feel his. 

it eases the tension somewhat, making his rigid muscles relax as he pulls you closer. 

you pull away first, murmuring a soft, “i don’t care what you did. whatever it is.”

“you say that now,” he chuckles weakly, “but you don’t even know what i did.”

“i don’t care,” you say seriously, “i don’t. whatever you did, it was because you didn’t have a choice.”

“i killed them,” he says against your mouth, such harsh, dark words that don’t belong against your soft, pure lips—he thinks he might have just tainted them. almost like you know his thoughts, you prove you don’t care when you peck his mouth lightly. “i killed them and set the other children free.”

“you were just a kid,” you breathe, “a baby.”

“a teenager,” he huffs a laugh hoarsely, “maybe not that young.”

“a baby to me,” you say firmly, “no one that young should be pushed to such extreme methods.”

“you’re oddly calm about sharing a bed with a murderer. was the sex that good?”

you roll over, laying on top of him, pulling a soft oof from his lips—you know it’s exaggerated. he’s strong and broad under you, capable of taking your weight and then some as his hands find your waist to keep you in place, eyes boring into yours. so bare and so easy for you to look into, to read, to see so plainly for all he is. 

he doesn’t even blink—as if he’s offering himself to you, trusting you to see as much as you want, see as much of him as he can show you. 

“is that all you see yourself as? a murderer?” you ask seriously.

“of course not,” he denies, breathing softly into your hands as they cradle his face, “but it’s the part of me that matters most. that defines me the most. whether i want it to or not.”

“not to me,” you shake your head, “and not to you either, i can tell.”

“i know why i did it,” he tells you, staring at you so intensely, you feel like maybe he’s seeing you more than you’re seeing him, “i did it for my siblings. because i knew it was the only way to get them out. no one else would do a thing. but when you strip my title as duke from me, whether you put me in the underworld or put me in the overworld, i am a murderer. that won’t change.”

“and?” you raise a brow, “do you regret it? what you did?”

“never,” he says instantly. he means it. “but i’m aware of what i am to others. what they see me as. i’m not naive enough to believe my past will go away.”

“and it shouldn’t,” you shake your head, “i don’t think it should. i don’t think murder is what matters most about you—i think a child raised like livestock, betrayed, and taken advantage of, matters most. a boy who willingly gave up his freedom so his siblings would have theirs is what matters most. a man who served his time and chose to stay so he could make things better for everyone who followed is what matters. death was a kind fate for your parents, wriothesley—i for one, believe there were more fitting fates for them. far crueler ones than a peaceful demise.”

he chuckles at that last part, staring at you in wonder, in slight amusement, in so much awe that you almost feel shy.

“now i’m really questioning if the sex was that good—you’re really rationalizing my crimes, aren’t you?”

“oh, you’re such an asshole, do you know that?” you huff, “i think that’s what defines you best. a complete, utter, shameless assho—oh.”

he kisses you—abruptly so. his lips are pressed hard and firm against you, kissing with so much conviction, so much need, you’d think that you were disintegrating in his arms, that this was his last opportunity to kiss you and commit how you feel to memory. 

“you sure it’s not my stamina?” he wiggles his brows, “how about my—”

“i’ll see to it that this is the last time we ever engage in such activities if that’s all you can focus on—”

“okay, okay,” he laughs, pouting as he pulls you down to lay on him, your head tucking under his chin as he kisses the crown of your head, “enough sex jokes. i promise.”

“so crass,” you scold, “have some decorum, will you?”

“my apologies, milady,” he sighs regretfully, voice exaggerated and theatrical as he adds, “i won’t allow myself to forget my manners again. from here on out, i’ll make sure to discuss more…gentlemanly topics for your liking.”

“you’re a real handful,” you sigh, “poor sigewinne. such a sweet little angel to put up with the likes of you.”

“you met her?” he smiles fondly at the mention of her.

“briefly, yes,” you nod, “the poor thing must be tired of your antics.”

“i’m on my best behavior around her!” he insists, “you can ask her.”

“i don’t think she’ll vouch for you, you know.”

“yeah, you’re probably right,” he withers in defeat.

you giggle, kissing his collarbone softly before nuzzling against him as he relaxes. it’s comfortably silent, just your body against his, warmth seeping between the space that hardly separates your bodies, spreading across your skin. you share your heat, and he shares his. it lulls you, slowly but surely, and you can feel it lull him, too as his breath slowly evens out under you. 

sleep is just a breath away from clutching you when you mumble, “wriothesley?”

“hmm?” comes his sleepy hum.

“thank you,” you whisper, yawning, “for trusting me. enough to tell me.”

“go to sleep,” he grunts tiredly, “you can be sappy and sentimental in the morning.”

“okay,” you grin tiredly, pressing closer into him, “i’ll hold you to it.”

sleep comes quickly after that—so easy, so natural in his arms, you wonder how you’ve rested all these years without him. 

——————————

your routine to meet with wriothesley ebbs and flows between the surface and the fortress. sometimes, he stops by just like before, and sometimes, he sends for guards to fetch you when he’s too busy to make an appearance himself. your meetings more or less end the same—catching your breath together, bare bodies huddled together in a tired mess as you share quiet, whispered words into each other’s skin. it’s a routine that both of you are too used to by now, that even a short gap of not seeing each other makes the both of you impatient for the next time you’ll get to see each other. 

on days you can’t afford to see each other, your days at the shop drag by slower when all you can do is think about him. sometimes, the guards will be relieved to come to escort you, woefully expressing the awful mood the duke has been in, shuddering as they recall how unpleasant he is to be around when he’s unhappy. they seem to insist your visits are what help end his supposed awful temperament—your instinct is always to flush and insist they must be mistaken.

but it’s an intimate sort of development—the way the two of you slowly learn to depend on each other for comfort. you on long days at the shop, him after tiresome affairs with the fortress. every delicate touch and every saccharine word you exchange slowly peels away the harsh layers of the week, leaving you raw and bare to each other. 

it’s nice. something you’ve grown a bit dependent on, in fact. a part of you would like to be scared, but wriothesley doesn’t let you fear anything—it’s just the kind of guy he is. everything about him feels too safe for you to consider being scared. 

you miss him terribly, too. you haven’t gotten a chance to see him in over a week—it’s the first week of spring, the blooming season for a number of flowers. you have shipments from across the continent—cecilias from mondstadt, silk jades from liyue, sakura blossoms from inazuma, and padisarahs from sumeru. there are plenty more—too many for you to list off the top of your head, but those are the ones you’re sure will sell out the quickest. 

there’s a certain man who stops by every day, a mop of ginger on his head and an interesting aura about him as he asks you if you’ve received kalpalata lotuses yet—they’re for my sister, he tells you, i bring them home for her every time i visit sumeru. but i won’t have a chance for quite a while.

you learn he’s a harbinger, the eleventh in rank, and hardly one to step foot in his homeland for too long at a time. but he’s due back, he tells you, for a project that won’t allow him to leave for quite some time. mingling with a fatui operative is hardly on your list of possibilities for the week, but you realize even a harbinger can appreciate the beauty of flowers. so you promise him your batch's biggest blooms as soon as they are delivered. 

and he’s patient, coming every day in hopes that they’ve been delivered, helping you organize the deliveries you do get, going as far as to join you to loch urania amidst a terrible storm to assist in picking lakelight lilies when you’re low. you appreciate the small companionship you’ve formed with him—childe, as he’s called, he tells you. a code name for his place as a harbinger that you relish in being given the knowledge of.  

the day finally comes when the lotuses are delivered, and for all his help and kindness, you try to repay him with a free bouquet. 

he declines persistently. “no, no miss,” he chuckles, waving his hands in dismissal as you offer the beautifully bundled flowers, “i couldn’t possibly accept them free of charge.”

“oh, don’t be silly,” you huff, “you’ve done plenty for me. an extra set of hands in the shop is as rare as glaze lilies blooming in midwinter!”

“i was happy to help,” he chirps, “i had a good time occupying myself as i waited to depart fontaine.”

“and archons know when the next time you’ll return is,” you sigh, “which is why you should accept these as a parting gift.”

“a parting gift, huh?” your eyes widen at the familiar voice—wriothesley. it’s been almost two weeks since you’ve heard it, and you beam as you look over at his approaching figure.

“wriothesley!” you hum, “what are you doing here?”

“thought i’d come to pay a visit,” he says gruffly, eyeing childe, who grins tightly at the warden. “i wasn’t banking on seeing an ex-inmate, though. what a shocking surprise.”

“the fortress’s duke in broad daylight,” childe coos, “what a fascinating sight.”

it’s tense—you can feel the atmosphere shift all too quickly as the two men stare each other down. 

“i didn’t know childe was a prisoner at the fortress,” you murmur, making the warden scoff as he glares at the harbinger.

“well,” childe shrugs, eyes sharp as they gaze at wriothesley, “i like to consider myself wrongly sentenced. justice isn’t always fair in the courts of fontaine, it seems.”

“ah, is that why you escaped from your sentence early?”

“i believe my escape proved to be quite helpful in saving the people of this nation in the end, didn’t it?” he asks, voice low, almost predatory, as wriothesley grits his jaw, glancing back at you before crossing his arms. 

“is the fatui boy giving you trouble?” he asks, making you shake your head frantically as the harbinger lets out a dry chuckle from the side. 

“oh, no!” you insist, “no, childe has been quite helpful, i promise. he’s given quite a hand, in fact!”

“is that so?” wriothesley perches a brow, tongue poking his cheek as he glares to the side at the smug ginger. 

“oh, absolutely,” childe nods, “you see, i’ve been offering the lovely lady my assistance as i waited on my delivery. we even visited loch urania together to pick lakelight lilies for a bouquet she needed to deliver.”

“he treated me to lunch,” you beam innocently. you might have missed the way wriothesley’s jaw tightens, but childe certainly doesn’t, making his grin spread even wider. “he’s nice, wriothesley, i promise. i hope you both can sort out whatever differences you had during his previous sentence.”

“perhaps next time, you could join us for lunch,” childe drawls, “it’ll be on me.”

“a kind offer,” the duke chuckles dryly, a rueful grin on his tight lips as he adds, “but i’ll have to decline.”

“please, i really insist you take these lotuses,” you hold the bouquet out to the harbinger, and much to wriothesley’s dismay, there’s an evident amount of extra care put into the floral packaging. your careful handwriting in soft, looped letters spelling out his name across the paper, with a heart beside it as though you took time to thoughtfully scribble each letter just for him. “give your sister my best regards.”

“you know his sister?” wriothesley grits.

“oh no,” you chuckle, “but he tells me of her. the flowers are for her!”

“like i said,” childe hums, taking out a heavy pouch of mora and placing it on your counter—both yours and wriothesley’s eyes widen at the sheer amount of mora you’re sure is inside. it’s undoubtedly far more than a small, simple bouquet would cost, but he waves it off like it’s nothing as he says, “i insist on giving you the payment you deserve. you’ve certainly made my last few days here at fontaine interesting. it’s made up for the less than…welcoming treatment from the beginning of my trip.”

wriothesley’s eye all but twitches. 

“that’s far too much to accept for a small bunch of kalpalata lotuses, you can’t—”

“consider it a payment in advance for the next time i return to fontaine,” he winks, “i’ll be sure to visit for more of your lovely flowers. i’m sure my mother will appreciate a bouquet too.”

with that, he waves at you, walking off with a grin as you sigh and shake your head fondly, waving him off as you call, “you’re quite the handful, you know. do visit again next time you’re here!”

“oh, i wouldn’t miss the opportunity for anything.”

wriothesley scoffs at the final exchange of words, watching the retreating figure of the harbinger with hardened, distant eyes while you exhale softly and grab the pouch of mora. 

“are all harbingers this loaded with mora, do you think?”

“who knows,” he mutters, looking away as he swallows before adding, “i came to visit on my way back to the fortress. i had business with neuvillette.”

“oh,” you hum, smiling as you ask, “is he doing well?”

“fine,” is all wriothesley says.

“that’s good,” you nod, “we haven’t been able to see each other in quite a bit, huh? i’d have visited, but the deliveries all week have kept me busy.”

“good thing you had the harbinger to lend a hand, huh?” he remarks, raising a brow.

“well, yeah, i suppose so,” you frown slightly, watching as he takes a slow, deep breath before fixing his tie. “is everything okay?”

“yeah,” he says instantly. “may i walk you home?”

“of course,” you smile—it doesn’t reach your eyes, and he wishes he could find it in himself to do something to reassure the lingering worry in your irises, but he doesn’t. instead, he quietly waits for you to close the shop, so uncharacteristically silent that you can practically feel the tension in the air tangibly.

the walk to your home is just as silent. wriothesley doesn’t say anything, and you don’t have the confidence to break the silence yourself. you’ve never seen him like this, so bothered and visibly so. you’re not entirely sure what brought it on, either—but you are sure it has something to do with childe. 

you finally reach your home after a long walk, quietly standing in front of the door as you turn to him and inspect his face. hard-lined lips, distant eyes, and crossed arms. he doesn’t look like the usual wriothesley you know—the one who grins and gives you a slight bow as he says, we’ve arrived at your lovely home, milady. 

“thank you for walking me,” you murmur, looking at him carefully as he nods.

“sure,” he responds flatly, “my pleasure.”

“you didn’t have to trouble yourself if you were tired from your meeting,” you add.

“not tired,” he shakes his head. “it was no trouble to me.”

“are you sure?” you raise a brow, sighing as you cross your own arms, “you don’t seem too happy to be here.”

“what do you mean?” he shrugs lamely, avoiding your question, your gaze. you know that one look into your eyes is all it takes to make him spill, and normally, you don’t take advantage of that, but you think tonight you will. 

because you’re tired of dancing around half-truths and coded words you have to decipher. you want one straight, laid-bare conversation with him. so you reach over and tilt his jaw, making him inhale sharply at your touch as you force him to face you and look at you. 

“what is up with you? and don’t even think about saying nothing.”

“nothing is up with me,” he mumbles stubbornly.

“wriothesley,” you warn, looking at him unimpressed, “i was not born yesterday.”

“my apologies,” he says sarcastically, a rueful smile curling on those chapped lips of his, “i suppose i’m just a bit shocked i’m not the only customer you offer your affections to. i suppose that was silly of me—it must be good for business.”

“excuse me?” you recoil, staring at him in disbelief. a little hurt, too—he regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, flinching slightly at the implications. “how dare you insinuate i’m a common whore?” 

“that’s not what i was trying to say at all,” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose, “it came out wrong.”

“then what were you trying to say?” you demand, looking at him expectantly, hands on your hips and a raise of your brows that almost mockingly tells him, i’d love to see you work your way out of this one. 

“you never told me you and the fatui boy were so close.” 

if there’s one thing wriothesley is good at, it’s shifting things to focus on other people. so he can observe. watch closely. take note of all the little things so he can figure out what he wants to know without asking at all. all without having anything told to him right out. it’s how he works—and you won’t entertain it. 

“the fatui boy has a name,” you point out.

“his name is not actually childe,” he snorts—there’s no real amusement in the action, just as sarcastic and sardonic as everything prior. “is that what you believe?”

“if you’re not going to say the problem with your words like an adult, i’m going to go inside,” you spit, “we’re both wasting time here if we’re just going to talk in circles.”

“yes, because i’m the one who’s not admitting things,” he chuckles dryly. 

you glare at him—because enough is enough, and you’re sick of taking one step forward just to stumble ten steps back. with one swift move, your hand grips his wrist firmly and yanks, pulling him to stumble into your home as the door slams behind him. you’re tired of having bystanders walk past you and listen to your pointless discussion, and you’re tired of getting nowhere the longer you stand outside. it feels like the more you talk, the less you know. every word he says confuses you more and more.

and that’s the thing about him—he never tells you things, not since that night he first opened up. you thought you broke some newfound trust, a new ground to walk on with him that leads somewhere further than just two people who seek each other out for pleasure. you feel something for him—and you thought he did too, but it’s always something vague or another with him and you’re tired of it. tired of wondering where you stand, what he wants, how he feels. you want to know, and tonight, even if it kills you, you’ll find out.

“what is it you want me to admit wriothesley? huh?” you scowl, “tell me so i can tell you what you need to know so you’ll finally answer my question. i’m tired of the back-and-forth game with you.”

“you don’t need to admit anything to me,” he shrugs, “it’s not my business.”

“you don’t even believe that yourself,” you scoff, “even i can tell that much. is this about childe? you don’t like me mingling with the fatui? he’s just friendly, that’s all. and good business.”

“right,” he nods slowly, disbelievingly. you almost see red—how dare he hint that you’re a liar. 

“what do you think i’m doing then?” you challenge, “let’s hear it. fraternizing with the fatui? is that the accusation you’ll pull out?”

“well, if he’s helping you pick flowers and buying you lunch, then you certainly can’t be strangers,” he smiles tightly, “perhaps next time he can join us in our canoodling too if you’d like.”

“so that’s what it is?” you shake your head exasperatedly, “you’re moody because you’re jealous?”

“i’m not jealous,” he narrows his eyes, “i have no reason to be.”

“i’d believe you sooner if you’d said the underwater beast really was the cause of your scars,” you scoff, pursing your lips. “why is it so hard for you to just speak your mind?”

“then let’s start with you,” he retorts, hands throwing up in the air as he takes a step closer and glares daggers at you, “why are you dancing around what your relationship with the harbinger is?”

“there is nothing between me and the harbinger! nothing at all, and i don’t appreciate you assuming things about me. i’ve only been intimate with you!”

“you don’t need to hide it,” he smiles bitterly. finally, as if the conversation has chipped away at his resolve enough that bits and pieces of his inner turmoil can show, you can see the lingering hurt in his gaze. the betrayal. the doubt and fear—all of it pools in his eyes, swimming in the many, many flecks of his eyes as you stare into them. “it’s not as though we’ve committed to anything here.”

“i’m not hiding anything,” you say firmly, “you don’t have to be jealous.”

“i’m not jealous,” he shakes his head. it feels like he’s convincing himself more than you. because more than you, admitting to himself he cares is hard. all of this is hard—you know that. the last time he dared to trust someone, to love someone, he’d lost more than he could fathom. more than he was ever ready to lose.

so you sigh, dropping your shoulders as you let the anger dissipate.

“i wouldn’t blame you if you were jealous,” you say softly, extending the olive branch with a slow, hesitant hand to his cheek. he stiffens, but he doesn’t pull away, “it would kill me, too, to think you were close to another woman. but the harbinger is a customer i’ve become friendly with and nothing more. don’t you believe me?”

he closes his eyes, letting out a shaky breath as he hesitantly leans into your palm, letting your thumb brush soothing strokes along the scar under his eye.

“i was jealous,” he admits, quiet. hoarse. strained. it takes every ounce of him to admit as much to you—the progress makes you smile softly. “i…i was so jealous i couldn’t think straight. and i took it out on you. i’m sorry.”

“maybe it’s time we had a discussion,” you say softly, “about…well, us. what it is we’re doing. it’s long overdue.”

“i’ve been avoiding it,” he confesses. 

“i know,” you murmur, smiling tightly, “i know you have. that’s why i didn’t bring it up. but we can’t dance around it forever.”

“i’m no good at this,” he opens his eyes, defeated and so lost, you can’t help but lean in and press a soft kiss to his jaw.

“you’re not so bad,” you hum, “give yourself a little more credit.”

“no,” he shakes his head, “you don’t understand. i’ve never been good at this…at trusting people and getting close to them. i don’t even have real friends—i see clorinde and neuvillette every few months, and briefly at that. one of them was the judge at my trial, and the other knows as much about me as the files say. i don’t like talking about my feelings, and i hate sharing things about myself. i’m not jealous of childe because he threatens me—even i know you’d never give a fatui member a chance. but i’m no good for a stroll in the park, or picking flowers, or lunch at a cafe. i live underwater in a large prison that i run, and i rarely come up—at least, not often enough to be a healthy, functioning member of society, that is.”

“so what?” you frown, “i don’t care. nothing is easy at first—isn’t that why we try? who says you have to share all your feelings immediately? we can work up to that slowly. this was sharing, wasn’t it? what you just did? that’s a step in the right direction.”

“and look how much we had to battle for that little bit,” he lets out a sharp, self-deprecating laugh that makes your heart ache, “you’ll grow tired of me.”

“you don’t get to decide that,” you shake your head stubbornly, “i would never grow tired of you. never you.”

“i might be a duke now, but i was a murderer in the past,” he adds, a low and cheap attempt to convince you he’s not worth it. you roll your eyes at the statement.

“i’m aware,” you say blandly, “i don’t care, wriothesley. i don’t. those are all excuses—if you want this, if you really want this like i do, because you care about me just like i care about you and you feel the same way, then you’d realize these are all petty excuses your head is coming up with. i’ll wait for you to be better at communicating if you promise you’ll try. and your past is just a small stain on the cloth that we can ignore.”

“it’s murder,” he says in disbelief.

“i said what i said,” you huff. he blinks once, then twice before letting out a breathy chuckle.

“you’re insane.”

“thank you,” you nod, grinning, “and you being at the fortress is just a small obstacle. we’ll make it work, you and me.”

“how?” he asks, voice small and unsure.

“you act like it’s impossible, you silly thing. i’ll come see you, and you’ll come see me, and we can spend nights together wherever is most convenient for the time. why are you overthinking it?” you ask like it’s obvious. maybe it is—maybe his brain just doesn’t let him see how simple of a solution it really is.

“the fortress is no place for someone who’s used to the surface—”

“enough excuses,” you scold firmly, “i won’t have any of it.”

“you don’t know what you’re getting into,” he shakes his head—you cup his cheeks, pulling his face close as you press soft, delicate kisses along his skin. like he’s fragile. like he needs to be handled with care. 

no one has ever handled wriothesley with care. even as a child when he was defenseless. when his parents saw a commodity to raise and sell like livestock instead of a child to love and cherish. when the streets saw a rat with dirty clothes and nimble fingers only good for theft. when he woke up in a hospital bed with cuffs to his hands, wrists shackled, and a caseworker sat a comfortable distance away, even without his gauntlets. when they saw him as nothing more than a murderer on trial as opposed to a child with no other way out. when the world showed him no mercy and left him to fend for himself in a dark, ruthless corner of the nation under the sea with no sun, no grass, no fresh air, and no hope.

no one has thought to treat wriothesley with gentleness, with kindness, with grace—as if he mattered. not until he made himself matter, taking what he wanted through a pen, paper, and meaningless title. 

no one until you. 

“i know exactly what i’m getting into,” you whisper, “you know what i see? when i look at you?”

“what? big muscles?” he teases, voice weak. a last, feeble attempt at keeping himself guarded. it’s useless, and he knows it as well as you do. he’s already far more vulnerable than he’s comfortable with. 

“a good man,” you say firmly, “a good man who is worth the effort. one who has a good heart and no one to share it with. someone who knows when change needs to happen and makes it happen. someone who knows a thing or two about second chances. who shows people mercy if they’re willing to be better—because that’s all he wants. for things to be better.”

“you’re giving me a lot more credit than i deserve, sweetheart,” he says shakily, trying to give you his usual smirk. his lips wobble, much to his dismay—you kiss them to help him hide the tremor like the angel you are. 

he’s not sure why the archons, celestia, or whoever is in charge of fate would send him such a perfect, pure angel in his arms. but they did. he’s certainly not one to miscount his blessings—they’ve been few and far between as is. 

“no,” you murmur, whispering between kisses, “i’m not. i’m giving you as much credit as you deserve. because no one has ever told you these things about you, and it’s time someone did.”

“doing the dirty work, huh?”

“i wish you’d stop with that,” you smile at him sadly, “i wish you would treat yourself with the same kindness you treat everyone else with. that you treat me with.”

“you’re an angel,” he murmurs, pecking your cheek, “that’s the difference.”

“you can’t be that bad if that’s the case,” you grin cheekily, “what kind of angel picks such an awful guy?”

“one who thinks the fatui harbingers make good friends,” he snorts, “one who’s a little on the naive side.”

“i like to think of it as seeing good in people,” you wink. 

he laughs, arms wrapping around you, pulling you flush against his chest as he kisses you. and kisses you. and kisses you—and kisses you some more until you’re forced to pull away and breathe. even then, he’s not satisfied, lips finding the sensitive skin along your collarbones, traveling up along your neck and finding your jaw, peppering soft presses of his lips until they hover over your mouth again.

“you good?” he asks smugly, “need a minute to catch your breath?”

“you’re such a pain,” you huff, pressing against his mouth and closing the gap as he hums against you. 

“what were you just saying about me just a few moments ago? something about a good man?”

“come here,” you sigh exasperatedly—and then you’re tugging him into your bedroom, stumbling and giggling as you both impatiently find the bed. you fall back, the mattress catching you along with him as he hovers over you and doesn’t waste a moment to nip at your neck.

“next time you need help with flowers in a dangerous, stormy place, you ask me,” he says lowly, breath fanning over your skin and making you shiver, “you don’t need the fatui boy.”

“okay,” you laugh, breathless as your eyes flutter shut when he nibbles on the sensitive spot over your pulse point, “you might have to temporarily drop your duties as a duke for that, though.”

“consider it done.” his hands tug your blouse over your head, doing quick work to toss it somewhere on the floor as he grins at the lacey red bra you have on underneath. “this is new,” he comments, “i like this.”

“of course you do,” you grin in amusement, “so predictable.”

“hey,” he pouts, “i’m an easy guy to please. just need you, maybe a few accessories…i don’t ask for much.”

“well,” you look at him in anticipation, “are you going to stare all day? or are you going to take it off?”

his eyes darken—hazed with lust and desperation as he quickly works the bra off of you and tosses it off to the side, too, but not before he stares at the label quickly. “chioriya boutique,” he reads, nodding, “remind me to give her my thanks. and business, too, in the future.”

“shameless,” you scoff, shaking your head.

“grateful,” he corrects, grinning cheekily at you. you don’t even get a chance to retort before his lips are around your nipple, teeth lightly grazing the pebbled nub as he sucks, making you gasp as your hands find his head, cupping the back of it as your own head throws back against the pillows. 

“wri—”

“you know what i see when i see you?” he hums, pulling away from one nipple and latching onto the other, tongue rolling over it slowly as his thumb finds the other, not to leave it neglected, “i see the woman i would defy the gods themselves to possess. who i would commit far worse crimes for, and serve time all over again for. one who commands my every thought. do you know how many times i’ve neglected my duties just thinking about you alone? when i see you, i see the one thing that’s finally mine—mine alone.”

you whimper as his lips reattach themselves to your breast, sucking and grazing his tongue around one nipple and pinching and toying with the other with his hand. your hands tug at his hair, pulling a soft groan from his throat as he pulls away and stares at you. you’re a panting, heaving mess already—he grins in satisfaction.

“pretty,”  he hums, nuzzling his nose against your throat, right where your pulse is erratic, “so, so pretty.”

“all this flattery, and you’ve yet to do something,” you rasp, just to rile him up as he lets out a deep, gruff sound of disapproval, eyeing you with a raised brow.

“oh, you want me to do something, is that it? i thought we’d take our time,” he grazes his finger along your waist, tracing the edge of your skirt before looping his finger under it, tugging slowly, “but if you insist, i guess we can pick up the pace.”

he pulls the skirt down your legs, eyes widening as he takes in the matching red laced panties from the bra earlier—you grin cheekily as he does. “like this one too?”

“oh,” he chuckles, breathless, “sweetheart, you have no idea.” wriothesley is a giver—you’re reminded of this fact as soon as his head buries between your thighs enthusiastically, kissing your clit through the lace as your breath hitches. “did you pick this little set up just for me?”

“don’t be silly,” you tease, “i obviously got this for myself. consider yourself a lucky witness.”

“and a lucky witness i am indeed,” he nods, humming as he slowly, carefully inches the lace down your legs, admiring the way it contrasts against your sweet, supple skin. “i owe chioriya boutique my life. i’ll even give my thanks to madame chiori myself.”

“please do not,” you say in horror, making him chuckle, “that would be utterly undignified.”

he’s not even listening, you realize. his lips attach to your clit as soon as the fabric is discarded somewhere to the side like the rest, a soft groan rumbling from his chest as soon as he tastes you, spreading your legs for better access as he glides his tongue to your folds, pressing between your folds and looking up to watch as your head throws back with a soft gasp. 

“wriothesley,” you gasp, pulling his hair in a tight grip to ground yourself.

you’re the most gentle with him when you handle him—but you’re also the roughest. the way you grasp him so harshly, mercilessly in your grip, makes his eyes flutter shut in a sick, twisted sort of masochism. he loves the pain, the dull throb in his skull from your pleasure. 

“yeah, i’m right here, sweetheart,” he chuckles lowly, “feels good?”

“yes,” you whine, “s’good—so good.”

“i know,” he hums, pressing soft kisses to your clit, along your inner thigh, until he’s back to your folds, hovering over them as he whispers, “i can tell just from the way you’re dripping. isn’t that cute?”

you whine in embarrassment, closing your legs around him as he grins against your cunt, grinding down on his mouth until he’s back to devouring you, tongue slipping deep into you as far as he can, exploring your tight, wet hole with fervor. 

“close,” you whisper, voice bordering on broken, “i’m s-so close—oh, wriothesley!”

you come undone on his tongue with one more roll of his tongue over your clit, shaking as he sloppily eats you out through your high until your whole body is a shaking, quivering mess along with your walls. 

“got anything else from that boutique you want to show me?” he murmurs, moving back up to hover over you, burying his face into your neck as your arms snake around his shoulders, rubbing into his back.

“maybe,” you say vaguely, grinning, “it’s a secret. maybe if you behave, you’ll find out.”

“yeah?” he chuckles, “consider me on my best behavior, milady.”

“then take this off,” you tug at his shirt, pouting as you add, “not fair that i’m the only one undressed.”

“as you wish,” he agrees. you watch as he strips—it’s not embarrassing like the first time or two when you looked away with a hot face and ears. now it’s intimate, watching him bear his soul to you, with every scar and imperfection, every flaw and tainted part.

his cock is hard, standing between his legs as it throbs, a bead of pre cum coating the tip. your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him close again as you feel his hardened length poke at your thigh, making you press against it and pull a groan out of him.

“i want you,” you whisper, “i’ve never wanted anyone else. not like this. not like you. i don’t think i ever will.”

“you can’t have met too many people then,” he teases.

“oh, i meet plenty of people. romantic ones at that—flowers are a love language, you know.”

“and you still want me? they must all be taken.”

“they’re not you,” you correct, pulling him into a sweet, slow kiss, taking your time to mold your lips against him and feel him against you, “nothing close to you. no one comes close.”

the bees should come to your lips for nectar, he thinks. flowers bloom from your mouth, delicate and sweet petals that light up his world and color him every shade of love. 

“in that case,” he whispers, pulling away from your mouth to press a soft kiss to your nose, “i’m the luckiest man in fontaine. maybe teyvat.”

“i would agree,” you wink cheekily, “aren’t i such a lucky catch?”

“oh absolutely,” he laughs, amused, fond, so deeply enamored. then his lips are back on yours, and his hips are angled so that his cock teases your folds, grazing the entrance of your cunt as he coats his tip with your dripping slick. 

you both shudder at the feeling, gasping against each other’s mouths as you exchange hot, labored breaths. 

“i want you,” you repeat, “please.”

“you have me,” he whispers, letting out a soft moan as he pushes the tip past your entrance, “as long as you want.”

“that’ll be forever,” you say breathlessly, “think you can handle that long?”

“i’m sure i’ll manage.”

finally, he pushes all the way through, buried to the hilt and stretching you apart until he splits you open on his cock. he presses so deep into you, you can feel him nudge against that sweet, spongy spot without even trying. it’s like he was made for you—like the laws of this land declared him yours from birth and made him fit you in every way possible. the slot of his fingers with yours, the mold of his lips against you, the press of his cock into your cunt. all of it fits you so well, you wonder if you’ve lived your life just to find wriothesley. 

you both moan into each other’s mouths, strangled sounds that you swallow from each other’s mouths as your lips sloppily press into each other. 

“wr-wrio—fuck,” you stammer, nails raking along his back as he rolls his hips, slamming into your deepest, most rawest parts.

“yeah, baby,” he pants, kissing the corner of your mouth, “m’right here, sweetheart.”

you sob when a rough, callused thumb finds your clit, rubbing circles into the bundle of nerves perfectly in tune with the harsh thrusts that fill you so deep. deep—he’s so far into you, you wonder if you can feel him in your throat, in your lungs, and in your heart, knocking the air out of you as you breathlessly try to call his name. 

“faster,” you plead, clinging to him, “more—please, need more.”

“think you can take it?” he chuckles, cutting himself off with a strangled grunt when you squeeze around him particularly tightly, “i think you’re falling apart as is.”

“more,” you whine, back arching as your hips desperately buck up to meet his in tandem, trying to feel him closer, deeper, harder. 

“if that’s what you want,” he hums—you want to scoff at him, but you’re too delirious. you’d tease him for acting like he doesn’t want the same, like the ache of his cock doesn’t crave more friction, doesn’t want to slam into you with little to no self-control outside of chasing his pleasure. you feel so good around him—so good, his head falls to your shoulder as he pants harshly into your ear, murmuring stammered praises. “s-so good, sweetheart. you always take me so good, like the pretty thing you are. how in teyvat did i score the affections of fontaine’s most radiant lady? o-only the gods could know.”

“why don’t you ask them,” you breathe, head pressing against the pillow as your back arches and your toes curl when he slams his swollen tip against your sweet spot once more, hips rolling in perfect precision, “ask them how you got so blessed.”

“maybe i’ll ask the divinity right before me,” he hums smoothly, chuckling when you mewl as his thumb rubs faster into your clit, “how did i get so lucky?”

“because i need you,” you whine, “n-need you—only you.”

“what a sweet answer,” he groans, pumping his cock into you faster, feeling the familiar twitch indicating he’s close—and you are too. he can tell from the erratic squeeze of your walls. “always spoiling me, right sweetheart?”

“wriothesley,” you cry, “i-i’m close. m’so close, please. please.”

“no need to say please, baby,” he grunts, “you can have whatever you want. when you want it, yeah?”

and just like that, you break—his thumb is still rubbing those harsh circles into you swollen clit as you cum, clenching down on him through your high as your mouth parts and your head presses deeper into the pillow. he’s fucking into you, still slamming his hips into you as mercilessly as before, riding you through your orgasm as you chant his name. 

“wri—wriothesley,” you sob.

“yeah, sweetheart? what is it?” he teases—it doesn’t last long, though. his bravado falls apart as soon as the first twitch of his cock indicates his own orgasm. you feel the hot, sticky, endless ropes of cum fill you up, coating your walls as he stiffens over you and shudders, groaning lowly as he empties himself into your sweet cunt. “f-fuck, you feel so good—you’re the only one. the. only. one.”

his hips thrust into you to punctuate the words, cock pushing his release deeper into you, messy and leaking down your thighs and forming a ring at the base of his length. it’s so filthy you almost think it’s a sin. but how could it be when it feels so right, so good?

finally, he slumps over your body, spent and panting as he finishes. you catch your breath under him, labored breath one after the other as your sweaty skin clings against his own.

“you’re beautiful,” he murmurs after some time, kissing the damp skin of your neck.

“i know,” you whisper cheekily, making him chuckle as he rolls over, pulling you into his chest.

“so humble,” he snorts.

“of course,” you beam, “but feel free to leave more compliments.”

“oh don’t worry, i won’t run out any time soon.”

it’s quiet for a bit, apart from your giggles and his low chuckles. soft, peaceful, and so painfully comforting, you wonder if heaven itself wishes for a place beside wriothesley. 

“when you first came up to the surface after your sentence,” you mumble after a few moments of quietness, tracing small loops into his chest as he silently hums for you to continue, “what was the first thing you did?”

“i got a croissant,” he answers thoughtfully, thumb rubbing circles into your hip where his hand is comfortably rested.

you blink, tilting your head to look up at him. his lips curve into a knowing grin.

“pardon?”

he laughs—it’s a beautiful thing. like a boy, eyes crinkled and lips freely curved so wide, you’d think his cheeks were endless with the way they expand to accommodate for such a large stretch. it’s the one time he doesn’t seem like the rugged man you usually know. something younger, more innocent, more raw comes out when wriothesley laughs.

“they go well with tea,” he shrugs, looking down at you, quickly stealing a peck of your nose, “and…” his voice is softer as he trails off, smile faltering.

“and?” you press delicately. so delicately, you’d think you were speaking to a house of cards, one word that’s breathed too harshly away from toppling over.

“and i wanted to visit a bakery i went to as a kid,” he murmurs quietly, voice dropping to a whisper as if he’s admitting something he’s never told anyone. something tells you he just might be. “there was an old lady who used to feed me sometimes when i was a kid on the streets. after i ran away. she’d give me a chocolate croissant and warm tea. i thought…i thought maybe there was a chance she’d still …”

he swallows, cutting his words off just before his voice has the chance to break. it’s a measured gesture. you know it is because you know him. just like you know the feelings of petals and thorns with your eyes closed, you know wriothesley. just like you can tell flowers apart from scent alone, you have him memorized. just like you know what every petal and its origin means, you understand him like it’s your job, too.

except you get paid to do this with something better than mora. with open-mouthed kisses and lingering touches. with coffee in a mug to complement the tea next to it. with strong arms to shield you when rain pours hard over your unsuspecting heads. with a gentle voice that learns to whisper back the language you speak better than anything else.

it says you’re the one i need the most, like rainbow roses. i miss you so much, i ache for you, like mourning flowers. i’d shed blood for you to live, like dendrobiums. you’re what i desire more than anything else, like romaritimes. each word is carefully formed, fragile as it hangs from a singular point. like petals on a stem, his words blossom from the tip of his tongue, falling one by one to your awaiting hands as your thumb traces his lips.

they all tell you one thing—whether he says the words out loud or not, he tells you he loves you through the things he does say. every little promise, every compliment, every form of praise. they say one thing—i love you.

you have always felt loved around wriothesley. you know he loves you, even if you question it sometimes, even if you ache to hear it, you’re always reminded he does when those eyes soften as they look at you, training on you like they never want to look away.

he loves you. he loves you not. he loves you. he loves you not. he loves you.

he loves you.

he loves you.

he loves you.

it always ends with he loves you.

“was she?” you whisper, finger tracing up his chest, along his neck and jaw until it cups his cheek tenderly. he shivers at the touch. “was she still there?”

gentleness isn’t something wriothesley is very familiar with. it raids his skin, takes over the territory that’s only known harshness, and conquers the scarred patches that are barren and empty from all the pain and desolation.

“no,” his voice is barely audible. “her son owns it now. the croissants still taste the same, though.”

“some things never change, i suppose,” you smile softly, leaning closer as your nose presses against his, “even when everything else does. it’s not so bad if you hold onto what you can.”

“and what if you have nothing?” he challenges, closing his eyes when you kiss his jaw sweetly and slowly inhaling a soft breath.

“i’m sure that’s never true,” you murmur, “there’s always something.”

“yeah? how optimistic of you,” he chuckles.

“i’m serious,” you pout, “there’s always a way to make do. look at cacti. they go ages without water, don’t they? and did you know naku weeds can survive being struck by lightning?”

“do you just compare everything to plants?” he asks in amusement, eyeing you with a charmed glint.

“of course,” you huff, “don’t you compare things to what you love most?”

he looks at you for a moment. really looks at you. grazes his eyes over your supple skin he’s traced so many times, over the small crinkles by your eyes permanently etched from smiling so often, over the curve of your nose and lips he’s pressed his own against, over the two eyes that stare back at him and see him more than they do look.

and then he nods.

“yeah,” he admits, “i do.”

your lips are as sweet as the warm chocolate that coated his lips and chin as a child. your touch is as soft as the hands of his mother when he thought he could trust her. your eyes are as bright as the sun when he first saw it after years of dark, rusted walls. everything about you reminds him of his past, the better parts and the worst. all of it.

some of it is healing, and some of it hurts so raw he thinks he’ll bleed out. but your hands are dipped in gold, he thinks. they’d make the most infertile soil rich and filled with life, letting him blossom new again right where his blood spilled.

he’s reminded of you in everything he sees. tea reminds him of your coffee with too much milk. paperwork reminds him of how distressed you are by wasted pages and killed trees. his gauntlets remind him of your hands so small in comparison. he’s doomed, he thinks. cursed, even.

cursed to always remember you in everything.

so, of course, he compares everything to what he loves most. because why else would you reside in his mind so endlessly, taking up the space from one end all the way to the other? why else would you remind him of you in even the mundane of things if he didn’t love you so deeply, so purely, so easily, that you’re everywhere all at once, even when you’re nowhere in sight?

he presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes and inhaling sharply before letting out a slow, shaky breath.

“i lied,” he admits, making you frown.

“about?”

“about the first thing i did when i got to the surface,” he says quietly. “i went to my parents' graves.”

“to visit them?” you raise a confused eyebrow.

“no. to make sure they were really dead.”

“oh,” is all you say, staring into his eyes as he waits for you to say something more. “well, were they dead?”

“yes,” he snorts, closing his eyes and huffing out a small laugh. “very much so.”

“well, that’s a relief,” you giggle, “otherwise, you’d have served a sentence for murder for nothing.”

“good thing i didn’t, huh?”

“good thing you didn’t,” you nod, grinning as he stares at you softly.

“i’ll take you one of these days,” he hums quietly after a moment. you look surprised, eyes widening as you process the words.

“to your parents' grave?”

“to the bakery,” he rolls his eyes, letting out a breathy laugh. “i don’t think my dead mother would appreciate me bringing back a woman after i killed her.”

“oh, very funny,” you scowl, glaring at him.

“you think so?” he winks, laughing when you gently shove his face away, making his hand grab at your wrist and bite gently into the skin.

you squeal, giggling as he nibbles into your skin. “stop that, you brute!” you demand in between laughs.

it’s quiet for a moment as the laughter settles down, just you and him. him and you. silence echoing off the walls and warmth radiating between your bodies, the sheets clinging to your bare skin. you can feel his bare hip brush against yours. it’s intimate—far more intimate than either of you are used to, but not unwelcome.

he turns, pulling you into his arms and pressing your foreheads together. you think that’s his favorite position to be in—when your faces are so close, they touch. when his eyes can bore into yours. when he can feel the warmth of you tickling his skin as you breathe, as you talk, as you exist before him.

“you’ll like the croissants,” he adds quietly, thoughtfully, “the blackberry ones are particularly nice with the lemon and mint tea—”

you cut him off. before you can think. the words fly past your lips, swept with the breeze like dandelion seeds, and carried through the room as they find shelter in every little crevice. they’ll be here, in every corner, in every little place, a memento of your first real confession.

“i love you.”

he pauses as you cut him off, blinking as he stares at you. something flashes in his eyes—fear, excitement, a small bit of shock and doubt that makes your heartache. you can read him like a book.

it’s not doubt because he thinks you lie. it’s doubt because he thinks it shouldn’t be him. you know that, and you’re prepared to patiently prove him he’s wrong. little by little. day by day. one kiss at a time.

“that’s really enthusiastic,” he shoots you a teasing grin, too easy and too practiced for your liking, “if i knew you liked croissants that much—”

“no, wriothesley,” you say gently, like your words could rock the boat and topple you both into a dangerous, unforgiving current any moment. “i love you. i love when you tell me things you don’t like sharing, and i love when you show me things that are hard to revisit. i love you. because you try, and you’re good at trying. and that’s enough.”

“getting sentimental on me?” he asks hoarsely, smiling tightly.

your hand cups his cheek again, pulling him in so you can kiss the corner of his mouth as you whisper, “yes.” your lips find the other side of his mouth, still at the corner as you whisper again. “because you deserve to hear nice things. even the cheesy ones.”

his eyes close. one moment turns to two, and you let him take his time. let him swallow as he takes a shallow breath before he opens them again and looks at you.

he’s laid bare before you. in more ways than one. being nude is easier than being seen—he trusts you enough to let himself be both.

“you deserve to hear nice things, too,” he admits. it’s not the same as admitting he loves you too, but it’s as close as he can get—still difficult enough that his voice breaks. like it’s hard for him to confess something like this.

it is.

it’s hard for him to tell someone he loves them. the last time he did, he felt the sucker punch of betrayal in his guts, so young that he hardly understood what it meant to be betrayed at all. he watched the same eyes he used to think were his saviors die out as blood spilled in the living room, where his tiny feet padded across as he ran around and played. he misses them sometimes, even now.

his mother’s beautiful green eyes that greeted him in the mornings as she kissed him awake, warm and gentle on his forehead. his father’s deep blue ones that would look at him proudly as he grew and grew, clasping his shoulder with that firmly affectionate grip.

sometimes, he misses them, misses what he thought he had. other times, he’s glad he did it. sometimes, in the dead of night, when it’s just him, he mourns the old him. the one that didn’t have blood on his hands, the him that didn’t have to take two lives to set so many free. the version of him that was allowed to be a boy who existed freely, no taxes to pay for the love he so desperately wanted.

love is wicked like that—it creeps up on you, takes pieces of you, and changes you until you can hardly recognize yourself. until you can hardly recognize everyone around you. how long has it been since he’s seen his siblings? can he even still call them that? do they remember him? would he even recognize them?

he still loves them in his own way. his precious little sisters camille and lucie, and his sweet baby his brothers alexandre and nicolas—he came back and set them free just before it was their time. he didn’t want to leave them, but he had no choice. there were ones who left before him, a time that he can hardly remember anymore. a time before him and antoine. but he recalls them being so delicate with him just as older siblings should be. did they make it out of whatever fate they were sealed to? were they disposed of with no witnesses to bring their demises to justice? he doesn’t know. it’s easier not to know.

it’s easier not to love at all than to open up the risk of hurting. every person he’s ever loved has caused him pain. even the innocent siblings who did nothing wrong—all he’s ever known is pain. the pain of not having them around anymore. the pain of their quiet demise. the pain of setting them free and letting them go. the pain of never having them to himself like a proper family.

loving is so hard for him, so hard on him. so unforgiving to him. so cruel and harsh to him that he hides away behind guarded fists and loaded punches. and you know it, too—he knows you do because you reward his confession with the softest kiss you’ve ever given him as soon as he spills the words.

“i love you,” you murmur the sweet words into his mouth between warm kisses, “i love you. i love you.”

“say it again,” he pleads. it’s easier to let you love him than it is to love you—you don’t mind letting him be a little selfish. he deserves it, in fact.

“i love you. more than anything i’ve ever loved.”

“promise me,” he begs.

“i promise,” you say firmly. “and you don’t have to say it back, not yet. but i want you to know it because you should know you’re loved.”

all at once, the vines wrapped around his chest release, one petal blooming across his heart and arteries at a time until the nectar is running through his veins.

it’s warm. it’s sunny. it’s soft. it’s so, so safe. it doesn’t hurt. it never does with you. you never let it.

“i love you too,” he croaks. he shivers as he says it before he’s grinning slowly, chuckling in wonder as he lets the words sink in before he repeats again, “i love you.”

“yeah?” you beam, eyes crinkling as joy tucks itself into the crevices.

he nods. “yes. and your weird nature lectures.”

you pout, making him laugh. “hey—”

“and your annoyingly aromatic house with petals everywhere—”

“they’re not everywhere—”

“and that ugly dog watering can of yours—”

“it kind of reminds me of you, so—”

“i love them all, and i want them for the rest of my life. i hope you take it easy on the snapdragons, though. i think i’m allergic.”

“such a romantic at heart,” you grumble, rolling your eyes. but they’re glassy, swelling with unshed, precious little tears.

he kisses your eyelids as you close your eyes, murmuring, “i’m doing my best here. cut me some slack, i’ve never dated someone before.”

“oh, wriothesley,” you sniffle, tears coating your sun-soaked skin. and despite the evidence of tears, he’s never seen joy on your face like this before—so clear and radiant. “who taught you about romance? you’re hopeless.”

“hopelessly in love with you,” he shoots back smugly, wiggling his brows.

“i’m doomed,” you snort, letting out a watery chuckle.

“yeah,” he says cheekily, “you are. i hope you’re prepared.”

you kiss him in reply. he kisses you, too. you kiss each other. flowers bloom everywhere your lips touch—wriothesley swallows every petal gratefully.

you love him. you love him not. you love him. you love him not. you love him. you love him not.

you love him.

you love him.

you love him.

it always ends with you love him.

and he loves you, too. you both love each other. the words bounce from both of your tongues like you take turns tasting them, feeling them, familiarizing yourselves with them.

it doesn’t matter who whispers the words first or who murmurs them last. no matter who breaks the silence, it always ends with i love you.

ITS FINISHED. WOW. i never thought a flower shop drabble was going to turn into this—i actually had a completely different flower shop au idea that was going to be a long fic but i just wanted to write a tiny practice round drabble to get the itch out my system before i had time to sit down for the full fic. well as you can see…the practice run kind of took a mind of its own so now we have this. LOL. i think perhaps i will also write the other idea but we will see!!! this one kind of replaced the other one in my heart as flower shop wrio lore lol 🥸

ANYWAY!!! i hope you all enjoyed this as much as i enjoyed writing it. idk if wrio was ooc or not or if i did his past and trauma justice but i certainly tried!! all the things about his past with the siblings and his mother's diary and the croissant at the bakery are all headcanons i carefully crafted and hold so so so dear. they are my truth!!! and they make me fall in love with him so much more deeply :( anyway! if you liked it then as always, reblogs and comments are appreciated. now if you’ll excuse me, i will be doodling his name in pink glitter pen with hearts in my diary and giggling.

[hellothisisangle]

Cae is stunning! What is his backstory?

It’s been on my mind for a while! Just never wrote anything down.

The bhaalspawn baby appeared outside Baldur’s gate and was found by some farmhands who took him in. Bhaal must have missed the mark a bit when he was sired.

He toiled on the farm like their many other children (more kids=more labor), but he was out of place and bullied for being a tiefling among all humans. The urges then began showing from time to time and Scelaritas appeared before him, trying to coax the young bhaal spawn. Caelum, child that he was, didn’t understand. He told his adoptives, but they said to him that it was an evil fey creature and to stay away from it.

He would sometimes sneak to the city, stealing resplendent things he could get his hands on, then be harassed by the fellow children or beat by their parents if they caught him with anything good. His aptitude for music began showing itself around this time as well, as he would sing or make makeshift instruments. Only after a particular incident, where he killed (accidentally or otherwise) one of the children’s pet rabbits, did they decide to sell him off to a slave trader, thinking he really was a devil child all along.

The trader recognized Caelum’s talent and potential, dressed him up and presented him to well-off enough families. One of them accepted him in as something like an exotic bird. Caelum began to realize his issue with the urges, how wrong they were, and he did his best to suppress them as he knew that the position he was in now was his best chance at living a decent life. They didn’t love him but he got pretty much everything else he wanted. He just had to not think about the darker thoughts that creeped in… or hide the evidence better. Scelaritas again attempted to appear before him, but Caelum would completely ignore him, thinking no good could come from indulging him.

As he grew older he was sent to college. He was fairly popular and wildly charasmatic, thus certain odd behaviors were excused. But the urges grew ever stronger. To talk his classmates into meeting him at secluded places, to do unspeakable things to anyone who trusted him. He satiated the cravings with his own flesh, gaining his fascination with self harm. He knew he couldn’t continue like this. The next time Scelaritas appeared, he gave in, and was swept away to the cult beneath the city.

Everything from then on felt exceptionally “right”. He was allowed to do whatever he wanted, free to be who he thought he really was. Because it always felt like an inevitability. He thought he finally, actually had a family who understood him, and he devoted himself completely to it. He was around 20 here, and Orin was a child. They got along pretty well, her always insisting they had a sibling rivalry but Caelum never took her seriously. In between this time he rose up in the ranks of the cult and grew close to Gortash. A decade passed before Orin betrayed him and that’s where the start of the game begins. (and that fic I wrote)

[seaslugfanclub]

Ok umm this is my first ask ever and im so so nervous but i love your writing and i was wondering if you could write scenarios of reader and king magnifico(or any villain really) just being friends? Like they’re just silly best friends or smth and they dont know how it happened but they were just friends one day? If you dont want to thats fine i just thought it would be funny

The Disney villains fandom has a serious lack of Magnifico x readers, shame on all of you

Magnifico and (Y/N)’s reluctant Friendship

————————————

Magnifico gives off newley divorced dad vibes

He’s fragile rn

When the company brought his Hologram to life, (Y/N) was the first person he met at the park. They explained where he was and introduced him to the other villains

He doesn’t get along with the villains, because honestly? He’s not really a villain

We’ve seen what real villains do when granting others wishes. Selling souls, stealing voices, turning people into frogs…

And god knows Holo!Asha ruined any chance at him getting along with the “good guys”

So who can he turn to? (Y/N), The strange park attendant who’s basically got a harem of theater majors

Understandably, he’s not the most thrilled about his situation

But after (Y/N) sat with Magnifico and let him rant to them for 2 hours (as well as patting his back as he cried) the ex-king began opening up

(Y/N) helped him look at the bright side, at least he’s not responsible for an entire kingdom anymore. He doesn’t have the weight of keeping so many people safe

Magnifico still has the idea that he only has value if he does something of service, so he likes to help (Y/N) with their daily tasks (I.e following them around and micromanaging)

(Y/N)’s total weakness is Magnificos big wet eyes, one look at him and they crumble

But (Y/N) is also super annoying, like a younger sibling

Magnifico: I’m worried about what others think about me.

(Y/N): don’t worry dude. No one thinks about you.

(Y/N) like to help Magnifico with his hair, that shits soft as hell

(Y/N) introduced Magnifico to those cheesy shirts with text on them, now he has a secret closet full of them

His favorite is “I’m not a stepdad, I’m a dad who stepped up” (no one sees him as a father figure)

[germhammy]

“Home is where the ‘ OH MY GOD!! Wednesday! There’s a skunk in the living room!!’”

Enid: -shrieking- There’s a skunk!

Pugsley: actually there’s three of them! A boy and two girls. They are siblings!

Wednesday: they are adorable. What are their names?

Pugsley: i thought we each could name one! -Picking up one of the girl skunks handing her to his sister-

The little skunk made happy little squeaks as Wednesday pet her chin.

Wednesday: such an adorable little stinker you are. I shall name you Bianca. -more happy squeaky noises- you like that, Bianca?

Enid: -as she was handed a skunk- Did you just name yours Bianca?

Wednesday: yes. Beautiful stinker.

Pugsley: -holding his skunk- I’m gonna name him Phineas

Enid: -looking at her skunk- Do you like the name Flower? -sneaky noises from the skunk-

Gomez: -entering- Ah! You’re home. I see Pugsley has given you the skunks. Have you named them?

Pugsley: Yes! Phineas, Bianca and Flower!

Gomez: What lovely names. Mi Diablo? Isn’t Bianca the name of your fencing teammate?

Wednesday: yes

Gomez: -shaking his head- I got some wonderful new cigars. Would the three of you care to join me?

Enid: ick. No. Sorry, Gomez

Gomez: quite all right. Cigars are not for everybody

Granny: -from Gomez’s study- Gomez? Are you joining me or what?

Gomez: on my way

Wednesday put her skunk down

Wednesday: Bianca, go and be mischievous. I must talk to Granny.

Enid and Pugsley put their skunks down. The skunk siblings began to play. Wednesday went into the study following her father.

Granny: Would you like a cigar, Wenny?

Wednesday: Enid would smell it on me. But I wanted to relay a message from Vincent Thorpe. We ran into him and his son at the steakhouse. He is cleaning out the house Billie lived in for sale. He wanted to know if you wanted to go through her things for some momentos and treasures

Granny: that would be lovely! She died so suddenly she never got the chance to make a will leaving them to me or anyone. It does make me happy Vincent did not immediately sell them off.

Wednesday: I can give you his cell phone number or get an email.

Granny: I do not like computers or email. I can text him

Wednesday: all right. I will give you his number tomorrow. I understand your dislike of computers and email. I must endure them unfortunately. But mother’s help is very much appreciated. Enjoy your cigars, Granny, father

[mikachusblog]

Aria lore!

I have posted Aria before here and here, but I wanted to have at least one post dedicated to his lore and backstory on my blog! See it as a proper introduction kinda.. though it'll mainly just be me blabbering.. you can read about him under the cut! ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১

Aria Nazari, gen 5 of my legacy, 17 years old, he/him, half persian. Bisexual, currently in the closet.

Traits: party animal, music lover Aspiration: aspiring party planner Home: evergreen harbor Likes: piano, singing, snowboarding, streetwear fashion, high energy sims, deep conversations, tattoos, dyeing (frying) his hair, 80s rock, being the center of attention (but only when it's positive), manga, videogames, carrot cake Dislikes: public displays of affection, small talk, the color yellow, shrimp, cucumbers, being told what to do, the smell of scented candles

Bio! Writing this made me realise i made him go through sm this poor kid

Raised by parents consumed by addiction, Aria and his two older siblings had to fend for themselves, growing up under very poor circumstances. He keeps minimal contact with his siblings in present day.

Aria was put into a foster system at age 10, following the death of his parents. After being placed into his first foster home, he met Mable and Nathan at school. The trio quickly became inseparable.

Mable is Aria's closest friend, the one person he confides in. Nathan was his first in a lot of aspects; his first love, first kiss and first relationship. Before this blooming love got the chance to develop any further, Nathan passed away in a motorcycle accident. This marked the end of the few years of genuine happiness in Aria's life.

He bounced between various foster homes, his charismatic spirit and histrionic personality disorder masking the scars of a deeply traumatic childhood. His journey took a turn when he was placed with a new foster family, a couple determinded to offer him warmth and stability, albeit for just one year.

He was hesitant about attempting to get close to them, as he knew how easily his previous foster homes had dropped him. Conflicts and strained relationships followed, as Aria's behaviour was far from exemplary in high school. His foster parents Deryn and Xin Yi's love for him however, remained.

Mable kept in contact with him throughout the years following their separation, but the two didn't get to see each other again until their senior year of high school. They reunited at age 17, when Aria moved back to Evergreen Harbor to live with Deryn and Xin Yi purely by chance. He told Mable about the nature of his relationship with Nathan, which came as no surprise to her. She literally had her suspicions since day 1.

Aria met his next love interest, Niamh, at a party. Immediate attraction and easy-flowing conversations followed. He eventually asked her out on a date. Despite Aria's initial trust in his ability to move on from Nathan, frequent panic attacks and feelings of guilt proved the opposite. Niamh confronted him on the night of prom with a false rumour about him cheating on her. He hesitantly went along with it despite it being untrue, thinking it would be an easier and less painful way out compared to coming clean about his relationship with his dead friend. Didn't go as planned obviously, both of them were heartbroken and Aria got his ass beat by Niamh's best friend Nika.

He is currently prepping his uni application with Mable. The two are aiming to go to Britechester together.

Some random facts

Music has always been an outlet for Aria, ever since his elementary school teacher introduced him to the piano. He's a talented singer too!

He's afraid of death and the dark.

He smokes and grows his own weed but stays away from other drugs.

He picked up babysitting as a side gig, partially to avoid raising his foster parents suspicions regarding the money he makes from selling weed.

[the-sinful-voice-witch]

I love JAYSTEPH, hear me out! 🙌:

The Robin who died by the fans and the Robin that resurrected by the fans... Is so poetic yet some people is against it, but I just fell in love with them and I want to support this ship after I was finally able to let go Timsteph and I know theres people who will be Timsteph forever and others that strongly dislike Jaysteph but I think there's more people that are just simply unconvinced so I have nothing to lose if I play business woman and try to sell this potential romance to them, it deserves a chance! Let's see the arguments against it that didn't convince me first:

Steph becoming Barbara 2.0... (what a bat-list she had: Dick, Jason, Tim in a video game and fucking Batman 💀 got her pregnant once, but I didn't disliked it when she was briefly with Luke fox) But the only options for Steph that are bat family members aside Tim are Cassandra and Jason because... Dick, Damian, Duke, Luke, Kate, Barbara 😂? Eh NOPE. And even if Barbara and Jason had a thing once it was doomed from the beginning, Babs and Jay only had in common being Joker victims and Babs follows 100% Batman's ideals (while Steph mindset allows her to understand better Jason's point). Also I think Jason idealized her, it felt like they weren't on the same "level"(Timsteph has the same problem, Steph used to kinda idealize Tim too),but with JaySteph feels different, I think they would see each other as equals, the vibes I get are that they could relate to each other better. Not to mention that if they start a relationship now it won't be the same as another Robin-Batgirl attempt, remember that when it was with Babs it was described as a long term crush he had on her (like Dick) while with Steph not only she was also a Robin (that went through a similar struggle as him), first she was Spoiler, her own independent vigilante persona (with a background Jason could totally relate with) that was 100% unrelated to Batman before she even became a Batgirl (a heroine that was independent from Batman but was inspired on him unlike The Spoiler) and currently she uses both Spoiler and Batgirl titles, in anycase this would be another Robin-Batgirl situation if it was with Damian, because Steph was Damian's Batgirl (they even reminded Dick his olds days with Babs) but he was 10 and she was 18 so obviously NOPE. The relationship would start NOW as their current selves by realizing mutually how much they understand each other better than anyone, they aren't joined by the Joker they would be drawn because of their personalities and the struggles they had with their own families and the rejection they suffered from the BAT-family (at different times but the struggle is the same). This is something neither Tim or Babs can fully understand.

They're like "siblings". Ha! NOPE. Strongly disagree. They aren't related biologically or legally and Steph isn't even in Bruce care like Duke, she is basically... " Your kid's best friend who eats your fridge food" and with the issue about her dating Tim's brother, some people who pulls the sibling card are completely fine with Steph being with Cassandra... So dating Tim's brother is not ok but is ok to date his sister? 🤨 And bringing back the first argument the only ones I see as Steph's 100% sibling figures are: Barbara who is the big sister figure and acts like one and Damian who is indisputably his annoying little brother but why is Jason seen as her brother? Because of the banter? That doesn't immediately make you a sibling, you know friends to lovers and rivals to lovers and enemies to lovers also have banter right?

Their respective most popular ships in the past: for Tim I already made a post about it and Artemis... I totally understand Jason 🥵😍, between her and Ravager I prefer her because Rose seems to be more like a very good friend with very sexy benefits but with Artemis there's more emotional connection... But my issue with her is the immortality factor (i mean the fact that she won't die of old age, she being hundreds of years old I don't care) and that Artemis deep down has too much "independent" Vibes, I mean that I don't see her wanting the long term relationship, she can't have it anyway because of her immortality. And there was the problem that it was perceived as another Amazon-bat attempt in a "trinity"(with bizarro) and as much as some people liked wonderbat (not me, it was a bit awkward) in the end it doesn't work well (look at Damian and WonderGirl Cassie in DCeased).

Some sort of fantasy about an "age gap", this one is ridiculous. Some people believe that Jason is super old for Stephanie... Well in that case Stephanie was way super old for Tim too 🙄, I'll just get to the point: Jason died at 15 and only lasted dead 6 months, Tim became Robin at 13 and Stephanie is one year older than Tim, they met when he was 14 and she was 15 so... Do the math, is being one year older than her TOO OLD??🤡 one year and half maybe? If we count the 6 month dead. I mean I know he sometimes looks older because of the way they draw him, like a huge muscle chunk and sometimes he has a beard (ajj I hate beards). And yes, I know they changed their ages currently but at much he is only TWO years older than her and she is over 18 or 19 so... Like I said the age gap argument is a fairy tale.

"They never or barely interacted before", just what kind of argument is this?🤡Do you want Steph to only be attached forever to the Batgirls and Tim or just be alone? Jason has been more allowed than her to interact with other people, how unfair but the point is... they'll have to start someday don't they!? Or just because they barely interacted in the past it means they can't interact more in the future? Is really that unbelievable that they could start hanging out more often and bonding? Is that weird? Have you never suddenly talked with someone you know but you barely interacted before and realized you had more in common with them than you thought? That's something extremely normal to happen! I don't see how it would be out of place with Jason and Steph 🤷‍♀️.

Now let's see how this ship started and it's potential:

The ship existed before they actually met, people already shipped the possibility: the two failed dead Robins and (yes I'm counting Steph as dead because her dead was meant to be permanent), but they never met before the new 52 reboot and when it actually happened... It was a classic not very relevant banter, the second time he was impressed with her with how she dealt with the Scarecrow and after that there was barely interaction... But then we got these exactly interactions that made me ship them very hard, passionately and strongly in Task Force Z:

ok, I'm an anime consumer, this kind of tiny details affect me very seriously, when you are used to see relationships in comics where the couple simply jump to sexy time right away and suck face hard and fall in love or feel attracted instantly we forget about the little things that makes us blush with yearning... you know, the moment something changes in how you see someone even if you still didn't noticed it and you just feel funny and don't know why. In this comic panels the relationship is not romantic and hasn't even begin being romantic, they aren't in love or are feeling attraction yet and that still remains to be seen but what is happening here is a change, is a start! Is the beginning and they way he reacts to her really get me fangirl squealing LOOK AT HIS FACE!!! Specially when she touches his wounded cheek... You can't convince me that this guy isn't touch starved and not so used to receive affectionate touching 😭, suddenly after a big beating he received Kindness from someone unexpected but that we all know... relates to him better than anyone in the bat-family but the best part is that she isn't there to just pamper him a little she just decided to have a nicer approach to him, she gave him coffee, she treated his face wound and she gave him a talk of tough love, she doesn't take his side 100% but she let's him know she is still a friend and then the last pages of the issue:

She was the only one who wanted to say goodbye because once again she understands him and because of that she is more tolerant and forgiving towards his actions than the others while still not being dumb and knowing he still is up to trouble and again... The little touches always get me, the way she caresses his hand with the plane ticket gets me screaming more than their hug 😭😭😭 ah this is also their first hug! And I'm kinda pissed because the height is WRONG! Jason is taller than her! It shouldn't look like she is hugging Tim😒.

All right now my official points about why I love this potential relationship:

This is very important, this needs to be a SLOW BURN, I know jaystephers, I know you want kisses and hot moments but NOPE, that can't happen anytime soon, first we need a lot of little details and little touches, emotional conversations that don't end in kissing but in hugging, a lot of little meaningful looks and gestures, we need the rest of the fans that are not convinced, to get used to see them together interacting but not specifically obviously romantically, it has to be wholesome but we can't jump and shove the ship down people's throats, that's a turn off. Keep in mind that usually DC writers write love like a switch on and off, look at what they did with Nightwing! Just how many true loves has he had? A lot of bullcrap text about how much he is in love and obsessed with every new girl and not to mention Tim (let's hope he sticks to his NPC cardboard walking bisexuality proof boyfriend and stops fooling around with Steph, our girl deserves better). A new love that has hit hard has to be believable, the potential with their personalities gives for a lot to work with: Jason is a tough bad moody broody boy who is actually very emotional and sensitive and so affection starved he fell into Damian trap when he hugged him, Jason just melted into the hug (before he got hit with a taser, Damian you little shit...) and thats where Stephanie comes, Steph is someone completely open, eager, sweet, foward and unapologetic with her affections and here Mister pride and prejudice lover Jason has a romantic side. Jaystephers I'm serious, this can't be rushed, absolutely not and I'm being insistent because I came from reading an insane amount of jaysteph fanfics that almost all of them end up being porn with plot, I mean really good plot and also very skilled written porn... but still! "BONK" 🔨 go to horny jail! That can't happen in the comics 😂😂. With a slow burn unconvinced people will have enough time to process just how good is this ship. Simply it has to become a Romantic friendship before a potential romance and then an actual romance.

They have come a long way on their personalities, currently they aren't the same as they were before so if they started now it wouldn't be like the chaotic kind of toxic mess that it was Timsteph, because at that time they were insecure and irrational teenagers, honestly the writers messed them up a lot and I guess there's still a risk a new writer will fuck them up too but I'd like to think that if some writer goes for it they really have to like this ship and will try not to make it a complete toxic or cringy or a messed up disaster, if a writer chooses to do it I want to think is because they saw how much in common they have, how much their personalities are compatible, how good they would work together and how much they can relate to each other. What I mean is that there is a background where they can start even though they were never that close before and is all starting now, there is a lot of material to work! They don't have to make up things they only have to let it flow naturally, just put them together in a room and let them interact. I mean, right now he is a grumpy bad boy and Steph is a perky ballbuster, let's see how that goes.

The potential Romanticism of this couple is something really underrated, the two failures as Robins that walked on the same path, they own to have yet the "talk" About their respectives deaths and the subject about how Steph failed as a Robin because of being a reminder of Jason, they should talk about had him not died he would have been the one meeting her instead of Tim and wonder how things would have been then... They should team up more often and strengthen their bond, the need to build a romantic friendship, a dynamic that could drive us crazy and by the time they start flirting is going to be the BEST!! Just remember how Steph flirts shamelessly on duty 🤭🤭 but with Tim it was a bit boring, he always turns her down because he is such a good serious soldier 😑 and gets mad but with Jason? Unless he is specifically grumpy about something he would totally flirt back and totally flirt in front of villains while fighting until the villains can't take it anymore and just ask to be knocked out 😂😂😂 and also the chance to piss off Tim is just too good, I need to see it 😂😂😂. I mean, one I love about most Jaysteph fanfics is that Tim is always fucking pissed and grossed out about Jason dating Steph but normally is never about jealousy he is just overprotective (but casually they also add a jealous Damian who can't help but criticize Steph's taste in men 😂😂, I think is canon that he had a bit of a platonic crush on her when they met).

They have a lot of similarities but they aren't exactly the same, the things they have in common actually was used as an argument against it saying that just like with Babs he only had in common being a joker's victim, people thinks "dying" Is the only thing he has in common with Steph and they are very wrong: They both are members of Gotham's lowest class, both had drug addict mothers and criminal fathers, also Jason's real mom betrayed him and sold him out to the Joker and Stephanie's dad orchestrated a kidnapping of her and in the new 52 he kidnapped her and her killed her (even if he didn't meant to) and had to get revived by Lazarus pit goo, the way they died was also caused by the same stubborn need of proving themselves to Batman, doing something extremely reckless, also I have to point out that Steph has been compared to Dick, Barbara, Tim and Jason but it was her similarities with Jason what doomed her before DC decided to revive her, the writers did a messed up job with the principal reasons Batman rejected her so adamantly at some point but the principal one was that she reminded him of Jason and ironically he trying to prevent her from getting the same fate was what drove her to act and ending up like Jason and they both were officially the first black sheeps of the bat-family. But even with all that their personalities are both opposites and complimentary, I mean that despite having a similar trauma, when Steph came "back from the death" (The first "death") she became more positive and hopeful than before, she used to be more cynical and angry and unlike Jason whose resurrection was just as traumatic as his death and was not in his right mind, Steph returned to Gotham to once again try to belong and be a proper vigilante, she wanted to keep trying and do the right thing and fight to be accepted unlike Jason who at first he only wanted revenge. Steph can understand where he is coming from and be more indulgent to him than the rest of the family but at the same time she would stop him from going too far, she has the bravery to fight off trauma like the fear toxin and the will to never give up, so I see how she would never give up on Jason.

And don't you dare give me crap about this ship being absurd or something because this is not even the most out of the blue couple DC has ever done! I already mentioned Tim and Barbara🤬, Batman and Barbara💀 but also Raven and Damian 😒, Damian and wonder girl Cassie 😐Batman and wonder woman😒, Superman and wonder woman😐, green lantern Jonh and hawkegirl🥰, Superboy and miss martian😍, Lego Batman and Lego Barbara🤪, Martian Manhunter and Rose Wilson😶, beast boy and Rose Wilson🤯 (married and with a daughter), Jason and fucking Taliah (damians mother) had sex with him 💀(I hope he had at least 18) Dick and Helena Wayne 💀, Dick and Zatanna😑, Batman and Zatanna🙄, Jason and Starfire🙅‍♀️ and recently Jimmy Olsen and Supergirl 🤔 so.... Really? Jaysteph is so out of the blue and weird that should never happen? 🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄 I'm not even asking to make it happen in the main canon! Most of these ships didn't happen in the main canon, who cares about the main canon? THE MAIN CANON KILLED ALFRED (you committed a blaspheme DC) and also the main canon destroyed Jon Kent childhood by aging him up 🤬🤬, this is why the main canon is not important anymore, this is why alternative universe and independent comics are more popular, like Supersons, Family Wayne adventures or the teen Titans series drawn by Piccolo... So is asking for too much to have Jaysteph somewhere? An animated show? An alternative universe comic? A fucking webtoon?? There's not a good convincing reason to not give a chance to these couple! Let them have a chance!! 😣😣😣😭😭🙏🙏🙏

[brokenpieces-72]

could we please get a part two for the lion!reader x horangi fic? 🙏🙏

Yes you can. You also get a little treat because why not.

Leo

CoD Hybrid AU | Navigation

Why did you have to be nervous, he was going to bug you about it as soon as he saw you. It was embarrassing enough that you were here. Come on, you’re a lion, buck up. You straighten, and take a deep breath, puffing out your chest. It was just a thank you get together. You had enough money to set proper boundaries and even get your siblings a better situation as well. Horangi had stepped in, and helped you, you owed him at least some food.

“You are up.” A cocky voice said. You looked up and saw a familiar face. Or at least you recognized the voice. Horangi had his neck warmer over his mouth and nose, and wearing glasses. He blended in perfectly with the rest of them, clothed in jackets, gloves and hats. You yourself had your leather jacket on and your scarf. Horangi looked well enough. You swore you could see his cheeky grin even with it covered.

“Did I say I wasn’t?” You asked.

“You said sure I’ll take you for food when we’re in the same neighbourhood.” Horangi pointed out. He wasn’t wrong.

“Any preference or are you at my mercy?” You asked him. Horangi shrugged. He wasn’t a picky eater to begin with. Though you noticed he’s more observant. You offered him your arm and smiled, tugging him along. Your touch seemed to let him relax more as you took him to your favourite restaurant.

Before then König was asking Horangi about you. Of course Spirit got curious as well. Horangi rolled his eyes, assuring you it was just a meeting among two friends, two coworkers.

“Simon and Johnny are coworkers and they do more than just work.” Spirit pointed out. König snickered at the blunt statement.

“Just a friend. Konig can vouch for me.”

“Since when?” Konig asked, with a stupid smile on his face. Horangi had half a mind to shoo both of them away but honestly, you’re one of the nicest things to happen to him.

A big crowded area would make Konig uncomfortable. You know Horangi, and he doesn’t mind crowds. Easier for him to lay low, and avoid people. A small night market was perfect for the occasion. Food stands and booths for you both to try, and plenty of friendly people. Horangi may be out of his element but he was impressed. You were so relaxed. Sure you didn’t have people coming after you for debts, but when last he saw you, you seemed reserved, headstrong and quiet. Yet here you were smiling and messing around at booths selling crafts. Maybe the holidays brought that out of you.

“You could probably take the sunglasses off, I doubt there will be anyone here who wants to collect money from you.” You told him. Horangi was caught off guard by what you said, so it gave you the chance to take off his sunglasses for him. Now you understood why he left them on. There was the remains of a nasty black eye, thankfully healing and useable but enough to make you were. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Horangi asked, trying to turn away and move on. You stared him down, tail whipping from side to side behind you. Horangi made a small growl, as you tugged him forward. He tried to pull away but you pointed out the kids running past behind him. Horangi refused to look at you. You took a quick glance and pulled him aside. He begrudgingly came with you so you could talk more privately finding a small alley.

“What happened?” You repeated. Horangi kept looking down the alley instead of at you. Ugh, of course he had to be such a trope. You took him by the chin and made him face you. “Start… talking.”

You voice could send chills down his spine, while relaxing him at the same time. If anyone would understand it was you. He told you what happened with him and Spirit, and the guilt he felt. “I put a kid in danger, just for going outside. I covered up, and nearly got her killed, and then I messaged you to see if you wanted to go out, and then… I didn’t want anything to happen to you.”

There is a moment of silence between you two as you consider everything he told you. You sighed, annoyed. “Really?”

“What?” Horangi shrugged, still refusing to make eye contact until you crossed your arms.

“You think I can’t take care of myself? I’m not a child.” You told him. “And clearly you know that otherwise you wouldn’t come out with me. If you need a break say the word, and we can find another alley. It’s not like I didn’t come without some defence.”

You gave him a warm smile and held his arm. Horangi wasn’t used to the tender side of you but he had to admit it was kind of hot.

“If I need a break?”

“Say the word.” You told him. “This is my way of saying thank you, and making you uncomfortable is the last thing I want.”

Horangi got this glint in his eye, one you’d seen before, his tail brushing your leg. Your face was turning pink, but you guess it was from the cold air.

“Shall we continue then?” He asked. You gave him a smirk and tugged him back to the market smiling and chatting with him. It was a good night, and it didn’t take long for there to be a light snow fall.

The market is filled with plenty of things to do, it's like a small fair. Kids were enjoying maple syrup on snow, some bean bag toss games, and of course snowballs being thrown. You and Horangi ducked stepped out of the way of a few throws. Then you felt a hard packed one fired at your back. You laughed, but it did kind of hurt.

Horangi looked up and saw it was some adult human. Didn't apologize either just smiled looking smug. He attacked a defenseless person in the back, and he was acting smug. Horangi barked at him, saying something in Korean, but you tugged him away. There was some barked comments about his masculinity and hybrids being dirty animals. You flipped them off continuing your stroll.

"Could've fought back." Horangi grumbled.

"And then there would be a fight, and the kids around would get scared, police would be called, fingers would be pointed and nothing would really get resolved." You told him. "We would give them what they want and get nothing out of it."

Horangi had to admit you had a point. You worked for Kortac as a mercenary but you were getting paid, you were getting what you wanted. Equal exchange. Starting a fight here, there would be nothing but problems. Although he had to ask one thing.

"So when you punched the guy at the convenience store...?" Horangi asked.

"Well he was a pig. Needed to be put in his place." You said, folding your arms. "And he was teasing Konig about his height."

Horangi chuckled. You always had to be the bigger person one way or another. It was attractive. Wait.

Horangi waited just outside a small store front, not wanting to be in the way of the other shoppers while you browsed the tables. The mask was back over his face, but it was more as a neck warmer. It seemed to intimidate a few people, which was fine with him. At least it was less likely for him to be hit with snowball. While he focused on you, everyone seemed to ignore him. Except one.

There was a tug on his jacket, that he at first thought was just the material getting caught on something. He brushed it aside, and then he felt a small hand. When Horangi looked down, he found a young boy staring up at him, and politely saying "Excuse me."

Horangi wasn't really used to kids, it had been a while since he'd seen any of his younger relatives. He raised a brow, and then looked around. Where was the boy's parents? The boy said again, "Excuse me?"

"Uhh... yes?" Horangi replied.

"Are you a hybrid?" The boy asked.

"Yes." Horangi answered. The boy's eyes seemed to widen as he asked what kind of hybrid Horangi was. Horangi knelt down so he could talk to the boy a little easier. It was getting pretty crowded, and he didn't want to kid swept up, though he guessed the boy may already have been based on the absence of a parent. The boy was honestly just curious about Horangi and haetaes, asking what Horangi could do, and what it was like.

When you came back from purchasing a small gift, you found the pleasant sight of Horangi letting the boy touch his tail. You also looked around for the child's guardians as you can over.

"You making friends?" You asked Horangi who looked up with the boy. Before Horangi could answer, the boy spoke up.

"Are you a lion?" He asked. You smiled, answering him. Then it was you getting overloaded with questions. You don't mind, he isn't asking anything rude, and you welcome curiousity. You don't mind him touching your tail either. He's having fun but you are concerned about his safety.

"Are your parents nearby?" You asked. The boy stopped looking at your tail and then looked around. Had he not noticed them missing? There was a worried and panicked look on his face, and Horangi stepped in immediately.

"Hey, it's okay. We'll find them. Do you remember where they were last?" Horangi asked. The boy looked on the brink of tears as he shook his head. You stood up and looked around for a security guard or maybe a volunteer running some of the activities.

"Did they have a spot for you to go if got lost?" You asked. The little boy nodded, sniffling. "Do you want us to take you there?"

The boy nodded again. You took the little one's hand as Horangi stood up, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be looking frantic or worried.

Thankfully as soon as you arrived at the spot the boy led you too, the mother was there, and rushed over to hug her child, checking that he was okay, while the boy was apologizing. The woman thanked you both profusely. Honestly it wasn't a problem at all, he was so polite. You waved good bye to your little friend as the mother took him into the crowd, carrying him.

"Not what I thought this thank you would look like." You said, sitting at a table with some food. Horangi shrugged, taking another bite of food.

"Not the worst reunion I've had." He pointed out. Now was a better time than any. You set the small gift bag on the table.

"Not sure if you celebrate but happy early holidays." You said. Horangi was a bit surpised, staring at the back for a moment, before takin it to opened it up. Inside was a necklace with a symbol cut out of wood. A symbol Horangi recognized, symbolizing luck.

"Not one for superstition, but I figured you could use all you could get." You said. Horangi smiled. Jewellery wasn't much his thing, but this, this he would wear. Could tuck it into his shirt if he needed.

"Worried you might lose me?" He teased.

"You know most people would just say thank you." You argued, deflecting the question. Horangi gave you that cheeky grin and you smiled back. Damn that grin was hot. You coughed realizing you were staring. Your face was turning warm.

"Your cheeks are rosy. You cold?" Horangi asked casually.

“Why don't we find a warm drink after this." You said, focusing on your food and avoiding the question.

“Thank you for the gift. I appreciate it.” He said. You relaxed. It would hopefully make him feel safer on missions.

You and Horangi had found warm cider, and a park bench to relax on to people watch. Horangi was still looking around, you were too. You didn’t have very long with each other, maybe a couple more days or so before Horangi had to ship out again. Still, you wanted all the details.

“A wraith? Really?” You said, sipping your drink, while keeping your voice low.

“Caught me off guard too.” Horangi admitted. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“And Konig has more control?”

“Yeah that kid… that kid does something to you. It’s weird.” Horangi said, sipping his cider. He noticed your coy smile. “What?”

“Nothing.” You said. Something about the snow in his hair, and the scars peeking from behind his cup made him adorable and handsome all at once. You wondered if it was part of the lure a yokai could have. Horangi tries to ignore you, but then you get a thought in your head. You’d had this thought before but it was from a distance. And private.

“You know… I didn’t want to say it, cause of your pride.” Horangi started.

“My pride?” You asked, your smile now a scowl of confusion.

“Oh please you think you’re hot shit and you know it.” Horangi said with a raised brow.

“Cause I am hot shit, but go on. Tell me whatever it is that could wound or support my pride.” You commanded, puffing up your chest.

“You…um… you fight good.” He said. That took the wind out of your sail a bit. It was a nice compliment just… not what you’d hoped for.

“Thanks.” You said, feeling a little disappointed. You finished your drink and Horangi finished his quickly after. Suddenly he told you he needed a minute, so you followed him. Okay a little odd. Where was this going? He took you to the alley and you kept scanning the area. Nothing but happy people with a few tired and blank faces. No one trying to cover up their intentions. Horangi started to pace a little. You let him stir for a bit. It would go away. He was overwhelmed. You have a crazy idea. You approach him carefully and take hold of his shoulders. “Hey… what's wrong?"

Horangi stopped as soon as you got in front of him, looking at you. That red on his cheeks wasn't from the cold, and neither was yours. Horangi is still at war with himself because for the longest time he has been hiding, keeping a low profile while taking out higher ones. You weren't an easy target yourself, so he had little to fear for your well being. And he was still debating whether he wanted more than what he had. Once again, he refused to look at you.

"Nothing." Horangi answered after a brief moment of eye contact. Your tail flicked up, and a hand went to his neck. You found the sweet spot easily, and he started involuntarily chuffing. "It's nothing."

"Nothing is wrong?" You asked.

"Nothing at all." He said standing up straight.

"Good..." You said. Another moment passes, and both of you look around. Now was your chance. Horangi noticed your hand was still on his neck and moved his hand to remove it. Then your soft touch became firm. You tugged his mask down in one quick clean motion. You took your shot.

You kissed him. Horangi's eyes widened before relaxing and kissing you back. Your arms went around his neck, while he wrapped his arms around your waist and torso. You two weren't going to see each other for a while. This time was a thank you for the help with your family, but it was a chance to meet up, and see the person who meant a lot to you. You felt his tail go loosely around your leg. The world seemed muffled as you just focused and lost yourself in the moment.

After what felt like hours, your lips parted and you take a moment. Then you realized what had just happened, and you don't think your face has ever felt this red in your life. Now neither of you can make eye contact, and neither of you know what to say.

"S-sorry." You said. Horangi gave you a look. Yeah you couldn't believe you said that either. Then he started to snicker, and you punched him in the arm out of embarrassment. "Shut up!"

"What are you gonna do, kiss me again?" He asked with that same smug and cheeky smile. This joker.

"And what if I do?" You asked, folding your arms. Horangi had the best time when he got you to pout like that. It didn't look like a pout, you hid it well, but he could tell. Horangi's tail hadn't left your leg. He just smiled. The question still remained about what exactly just happened, but he didn't care. That could be discussed at a later date. Instead he gave you a kiss on the cheek.

"We should keep going." You said, still flustered. Horangi just grinned, and you wanted to smack him.

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666 @bestbookfriends @thriving-n-jiving @cutiecusp @shikigami-the-paper-spirit

[yet-another-haven-of-dollya]

Please, how do I make money fast in dol?? I've always played with cheats on cuz I'm a pussy. I've gotten better from my past no cheats on playthroughs, but still, I still would like to know from the pro, my favorite dol account. Please, tell us your ways🛐

Huh... And here I thought money is the last thing you need to worry about when you've been playing long enough on one save. Alright, I doubt anything I'm gonna say is new, but since you asked so nicely, I'll go into details with my 4 PCs and highlight their most rewarded methods.

In general, early game is always tricky since your stats are low. High Math grade and higher certain stats make things easier.

1. Lya

- She used to be a massage staff at the Spa. High enough beauty (4/6 if I remember right) or hand skill is required to work there, and high dance skill make it fairly safe. Higher promiscuity and skuldugery open chances for lewder things and more money.

- Antique hunting. At the lake. High swimming skill recommended. And down the sewer too. I only intended to grind her skuldugery, but then she started to get attached to Winter so she go hunt antique for him ever since. Then the old church yard too. Still the Ivory necklace is a no.

- Dancing jobs. Charlie's Danube street job and at the brothel. Not the strip club but the brothel. Higher skuldugery can only be grinded while encountering so yeah, she work at the brothel for a pretty long time and install the vending machine there too.

- Be a model at Niki's studio.

- Working at Sirris' adult toy shop and selling flowers at the market sometime.

- Alex farm. Invested in the Farm, make things automatic and safe, then brought things to the Harvest street for sale. It's pretty okay and leisurely too.

- The doting Hawk spouse. Yes. Sometimes she goes to the tower to relax, getting away from the dirty town. When you're with the Hawk you just have to sleep, bath, sing all day, maybe walk around the moor a bit, be pretty and wait for the goodest bord to bring things back to you and sell them to Landry later.

2. Lyah

- Being Avery escort. Yeah help very much in the early game. He still keep her company sometime now.

- Steal things from people. He make the most out of his Devil tf to get into encounter, steal, then tell people to stop. Work like a champ. His skuldugery went up fastest out of all 4 PCs.

- Bartender at Strip Club. He works there for fun and to look out for Darryl, but sometimes encounter happen. So it still counts. Vending machine still installed at the Brothel.

- Chef. The ultimate way to make money. Even without Cow tf he still make a LOT out of it, being devoid of purity and lactating mean he has lots of bodily fluids to spare. Just a few hours of "work" and remember to save some for his wife, and the money is insane.

3. Kariya

- Doing odd jobs in the street. Usually to get into encounters.

- Working at the Agency.

- Seducing someone randomly at the Pub, the Farm, at nights,... You name it.

- Get up early and pick the locks of every house or building before they open for the day.

- Playing cards with Wren. Every-single-day. They often just continue untill the lewd part happen. That's their fav part anw. And running around butt-naked with Wren too.

- Dancing and Private shows at the Brothel. Mostly for fun but their money primarily comes from these activities. Briar's most fav worker for sure.

4. "Nyan"

- Working at the Dog Pound and Sam's Cafe (waiter only)

- Doing odd jobs in the street for Housekeeping skill, sometime pick locks and steal from Danube street.

- Temple monthly allowance. Even at max Grace it's not much, but still better than nothing.

- Charlie's dancing job. Charlie offered the safe job, but Nyan often asked for the more dangerous one. Jordan asked him to investigate anyway.

- Antique hunting in the lake, etc... Nyan is still in the build, so he mostly stick with his older siblings safer choices.

Okay, there, I think that's basically things I can recall for now. Also since all my PCs are Robin protectors, they mainly stick to safer paths and don't go away from the Orphanage for too long unless they can't help it. So huge chance there are many more ways to make bigger bucks that I'm not aware of yet. Still, hope this helps!

[theyellowhedgehog]

Goldfish

Snippet of my Ripple Effect AU.

Don't worry kids, it's not drug. - Probably Tim Drake

It was a nice Sunday. Damian was minding his own business in the living room casually reading his book on poisonous animals. He would focus on his book, but it is rather hard to when you have two people looking at you with judgement as if he is like a nuisance existence of a gum sticking on someone's else shoes.

"What?" he asked gracefully.

Neither Jason nor Stephanie answered for a while, only giving him stinky eyes. And when they decided to reply, it make Damian wonder if he heard it wrong.

"Excuse me?" Damian looked at them confused.

Jason puffs his chest up and hisses out, "I ask, what's like being friend with a drug dealer?"

Nope, Damian didn't hear it wrong.

Damian slowly close his book, bookmarking the page on poisonous tree frogs before looking at his one official brother and one unofficial sister.

Damian was in a good mood, so he asked them patiently, "What make you come to that conclusion?"

This time it was Stephanie that answered him, "Your rich friend that just appear out of nowhere," Tim, which Damian automatically translated, "I saw him at the corner of the alley, giving out packets to children!"

"What? Tim would never sell drugs." Damian put his full faith in his best friend.

"Yeah? Then why else would a young white rich guy with sketchy clothes be standing at the corner of the burger alley with a box behind him?" Jason shove his phone into Damian's face.

Damian saw the photo Jason took was of someone who look like Tim. Nope, that's Tim alright. The picture is taken when Tim was handing out an inflated white packet to a 6 years old child, who was smiling so brightly.

"Guys, whatever he is selling, it is not drugs." Because it clearly doesn't look like how a normal transaction with dealers would look like.

"That's what he wants you to believe!" Stephanie points at Damian.

Damian just looked deadpan at his unofficial sister, and whipped out his phone. "Want me to call him for you?"

Before they could have a chance to stop him, Damian was already on speed dial with Tim.

After three beats, Tim picked up. "Hey,Dames, What's up?"

Damian just looked amused with the look his two siblings were giving him, "Where are you right now?"

"At the burger place at Crime Alley. Why?" Tim answered without missing a beat, ignoring the 'Aha!' from Damian's call background.

"Nothing, I'm coming there. Wait for me."

Damian hung up with an 'okay' from Tim and looked at Jason and Stephanie. He stood up and grabbed his keys. "Come on, what are you waiting for?"

Jason and Stephanie grumpily followed saying, "If you warn him beforehand, he is going to hide his evidence!!"

"Yeah!"

"Just get on the car already."

When they arrived, they saw Tim. Jason looked behind him to see the cardboard box still there.

"Tim," Damian greeted. He put each of his hand on each shoulder of his two siblings' . "Jason and Stephanie are curious of what you are selling in those cardboard boxes."

Tim looked behind him, and looked at Jason and Stephanie again confused. "Do you guys want to buy goldfish?"

"I knew it!- What?" Jason stopped in his track.

Tim took out two bags of goldfish, "You want one? I'll give it to you for free." He gave one to Jason, "This one is Marti, he likes to eat alot. So you must feed him moderately." He handed one to Stephanie, "This is Juice. I think it's a female, but it's still too small to tell."

Both Jason and Stephanie were speechless.

"You were selling goldfish this whole time?!"

"Yeah?" Tim looked at them confused and looked up to Damian.

Damian hold back a smile, "They thought you were selling drugs."

"Oh..." Tim came to a realisation. He looked at his clothes and at his set up, "It does look like that, doesn't it?" he hums.

Jason points at him in frustration, "Why are you even selling goldfish in crime alley?! Scratch that, why are you even selling goldfish? you are rich!"

Tim was about to reply when they were interupped by a small voice.

"Hi, are you Tim?" it was a young girl at least 10 years old.

"Are you Risa?" Tim asked and the little girl nodded. Tim searched for something in the cardboard box and pulled out a bag of goldfish. "Here, this is the one you ordered."

"Thanks you," the little girl carefully hugged the bag and ran back to her mom who was waiting not far from here.

"Well, they were ordered. I came here so it'll be easier for them to pick up their order."

Jason and Stephanie looked like they do not buy it at all.Tim looked at his goldfish in their hands, "So, you aren't here to buy goldfish?" Ready to take back his goldfish.

"No!" both of them shouted in unison.

Damian dropped of his brother and sister and drove to the Drake manor to sent Tim home.

"Oh, you should totally come see your grandchildren!"

"Excuse me, my what?"

That evening, Damian learnt that he had 2 batches of grandchildren in Gotham and another batch in Montana.

Tim Drake's side hustle is selling Goldfish.

[ripdragonbeans]

Not Him, I Swear // modern!Aegon II x Reader // Part 2

Summary: Aegon goes through with his promise to ask you out.

CW: afab reader, profanity, eventual smut, Aegon being an ass, oh but he has feelings??????

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

You woke up the next morning to a quiet room. Normally when you'd stay the night at the sibling’s apartment Helaena soft snoring would full her bedroom as well as Aegon’s loud snoring filling the entire apartment itself. You figured Helaena and Jace stayed with whoever they ended up with or at the frat house, too exhausted to come back. Unlike how they probably felt, you were fairly well rested, if not a little shaken from the encounter with Jason but a little happy with your walk with Aegon.

Aegon. You were slightly surprised that he wasn't here at his own apartment but he never really came over here anyway. He spent most of his time at the frat house.

Sitting up, you stretched your arms high and took a deep breath, ready to take on the day. Despite the small amount of partying you did, though it was really just having one drink, you felt good. You felt even better when you saw you had a text from Aegon.

Morning kitten :) lunch at 1?

You smiled at the messagage. Even after last night you never really expected Aegon to go through with his offer. Yet here you were, blushing and smiling over his text.

See you at 1 <3

The heart at the end seemed a little risky but it was one you were more than willing to make. Almost as soon as you sent it Aegon replied with his own little heart.

You looked at the time. Ten in the morning. Only three more hours.

“Now that was a party,” claimed Helaena. She was sprawled out on the couch with a happily dazed look that's been there since she arrived.

“It sure was.” You let out a breath. “I actually, um, found someone there.”

Helaena's eyes shot to yours immediately as she scooted closer to you on the couch.

“Tell. Me. More.”

You rubbed the wrist that Jason grabbed last night. “It wasn't exactly a good thing but it wasn't bad, either.”

Helaena looked at you expectantly.

“Jason saw me.”

Helaena went into protective mode. “If that fucker hurt you, I swear -”

“He didn't! Or at least he didn't get a chance to. Someone helped me out.”

“And are you going to tell me who this person is?” She dragged out the last word.

You looked at the ground when you murmured his name. “Aegon.”

Helaena blinked in surprise. “I'm sorry, what?”

“Aegon,” you repeated. “It was Aegon who helped me. He stopped Jason from grabbing me -”

“JASON GRABBED YOU?”

“Yes! Now let me continue, please!”

Helaena huffed but nodded at you to continue.

“He stopped Jason from grabbing me and pretended that he was my boyfriend so Jason would leave me alone. I went along with it and even kissed him on the cheek to sell it.”

“You kissed my brother’s cheek to get Jason to leave you alone?” she scrunched her nose in disgust.

“Yeah, and it worked because guys only back off when another guy is involved.”

“Ugh, men.”

For a while you and Helaena sat in silence, each doing your own thing on your phones, just enjoying each other’s company.

“Oh, and he asked me out,” you whispered quickly.

Helaena’s head shot up. “I'm sorry, what?”

“He asked me out,” you mumbled.

“I hear what you're saying but I don't believe it. My brother doesn't just ask someone out after they've said no multiple times.”

You rolled your eyes. “He almost didn't if that makes you feel better.”

“No, that's not what I meant, you know - ugh - just keep going.”

“After he walked me here -”

“He walked you here and didn't try to get into your pants?”

“Hey, he was being respectful,” you countered.

Helaena scoffed at the thought of that.

“Anyway, he asked me out after he walked me here.” You decided to leave out Aegon saying he would protect you.

“Hm. Okay.” Helaena’s eyes sharpened into slits as she looked at you, contemplating everything that she just learned. “Just…be careful okay? I'm assuming you already accepted the date. He can be an ass and I don't want you to get hurt again.”

“I don't think I will.” You smiled and didn't fight the blush that was creeping up your neck.

“Got her,” Aegon announced when he came downstairs.

Cregan shut his eyes tight and covered his ears. “Shhh, quiet. You're too loud.”

“I'm not too loud, you're hungover. Saw you making out with Helaena’s friend. How’d that go?”

“Great, it went great.” Cregan was still covering his face.

“I have a game plan,” Aegon started. “it's easy, all I have to do is get her to fall in love with me, then bam, she's in my bed and I win.”

“Win? What's there to win? We never made a bet.”

“Let's make a bet now, then. Give me two weeks with her and she'll be begging for me.”

“I bet you're gonna fuck it all up and get smacked by either her or Helaena.” Cregan removed his hands from his head and opened his eyes. “You can't keep up an act for that long.”

“All part of the bet.” Aegon smiled to himself.

You would be his best story, the girl who hid herself away only to open up to him.

Down to forty five minutes left and your nerves still haven't gone away. If anything, they've gotten worse.

“Maybe I should cancel, Hel,” you said as you paced back and forth in her room.

Helaena continued reading her book but offered her two cents. “As much as I'd love for you to cancel, purely because it's Aegon and I honestly don't trust him all that much and I'll wring his neck if he hurts you,” she sighed, "you deserve to go on at least one date that makes you happy.”

You looked at your friend with pure love, no one else would protect you like this. She would always be at your side.

“Thank you, Hel,” you smiled. “Will you, um, help me figure out what I'm gonna wear. It's a lunch date and I don't know what the plan is.” You blushed at the lack of knowledge.

“Knowing Aegon it'll probably be something ridiculous.” She opened up the closet and shuffled around your side. You were there so often you have a second closet at this apartment. “How about this?”

Helaena raised up a pair of ripped jeans and a black top. “You can pair it with your boots and that dark corduroy jacket! Casual but still able to move while looking super cute!”

You walked to Helaena and reached out to the outfit. “Absolutely perfect, Hel.”

Right at you finished dressing there was a knock at the door.

“Hey, Hel, is my girl with you?” Aegon called.

“Yeah! And she's not your girl yet so calm down. She's putting on the finishing touches!” Helaena turned back to you and held your hands. “Are you ready for this?”

You took in a deep breath. “As ready as I'll ever be,” you smiled at her.

She gave your hands one squeeze before letting go and opening up the door.

Aegon stood there in his usual graphic T-shirt and faded black jeans with a lopsided grin on his face.

“We ready to go?” He asked you.

“Yes, all ready.”

“Hold up!” Helaena interjected. “You,” looking at Aegon, “better not fuck her up. I'm glad you stopped Jason from doing whatever but I will still end you if you hurt her.”

“Relax, sis, I have this all under control.” He stepped around her and held out his hand.

For a beat you simply stared at him and his outstretched hand. This was it. The plunge into the pool. Taking a rattled breath, you took his hand and he led you out to the front door.

“I'll promise I'll text you when we get to wherever!” You yelled back at Helaena.

And off you two went.

A small café was the choice for lunch. Aegon swore up and down it was the best place for a cozy afternoon.

“Didn't think you to be the chilled out first date kind of guy,” you joked as you sat down.

Aegon ran a hand through his hair. “You're actually the first girl I've taken out on a date in a few years.” He chuckled. “Because, you know, we just usually fuck and nothing happens and - shit, sorry probably shouldn't talk about that.”

“I know your past, Aeg. That's why I'm surprised about this.”

“After the frat party I wanted to reach out.”

“Well, thank you for that,” you smiled.

The two of you drank your coffees in a comfortable silence. Gazing out the window you thought about what the future would hold if Aemond asked you to be his girlfriend. You saw yourself as happy, happy again. You refused for something like the relationship with Jason to happen again. Never.

Out of the corner of your eye you caught Aegon staring at you.

“What is it?” You gave him a shy smile.

Aegon continued to stare at you, amazed at your beauty and the simple ease he felt when he was around you. He brushed off that ease as his confidence in the bet.

“It's nothing, don't worry. I just…” he trailed off.

“It's just?”

“I'm lucky to be here with you. Jason never deserved you.” The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

Blush crept up your face and you bowed your head in embarrassment.

“That's really sweet, Aeg.”

He cocked his head. “You don't believe it?”

“I mean - it’s just. It's complicated.” You didn't want to spill your soul to him. At least not yet. You quickly changed the subject. “I've been really wanting to check out this art museum. Wanna go tomorrow? I'll pay the entry price since you paid for today.”

A smile kicked up on the edges of his mouth. “Yeah, sure. I'm not really a museum guy but I'll give it a shot if it means spending time with you.”

You laughed. It sounded like music to Aegon but he shook it off.

Standing up, he offered you his hand. “Shall we head back to the humble dwelling place?” He said in a mock fancy voice.

You took his hand and curtsied. “Why, yes, my dear.”

The two of you laughed as you left the cafe and headed back.

A few blocks into the walk Aegon pulled you under a large oak. “I figured since the apartment would probably be a little crowded we could stop by here for a bit.” He held your waist and cupped your face as he slowly leaned down. He brought his lips to your ear and whispered, “may I kiss you?”

The question sent a bolt of excitement through your body.

“Such a gentleman,” you joked. “Kiss me, Aegon.”

He closed the small gap between you two with a gentle kiss. His arm snaked around your waist and pulled you close. A small sound made its way out of you and he smiled against you. He deepened the kiss, his tongue running against yours for permission. You gladly opened up for him. The feeling of him inside you brought a wave of pleasure. You wanted more, gods you wanted so much more, but you knew you had to stop.

Begrudgingly, you pulled yourself away from Aegon.

“As much as I'd love to continue this, I want to take it slow.” Out of embarrassment you avoided looking him in the eye. “Last time I let myself get caught up in the rush of it all and it ended painfully. I don't want to do that again.”

Aegon tilted your head up by the chin. “I can do that. It's all on your call.”

“Thank you, Aeg.” Pulling him down from the nape if his neck you pressed your forehead against his.

Aegon should've been happy with his date with you but it only worried him. There was a small tinge of guilt in the back of his head. He wasn't supposed to be falling for you but it seemed his descent had begun.

[whiskers-my-beloved]

Hi! Not sure if you already read it before, there's an interview of Kenichi Iwao, old writer and designer for RE1. He mentioned about his idea of Wesker as a person which I thought pretty interesting. I'm not keen posting on my personal acc, I hope I don't bother you https://www.crimson-head.com/interviews/kenichi-iwao

Q: What is the full story of Wesker including his ultimate goal and duties in the mansion as researcher and chief security officer?

KI: I imagined that he was in a special forces setting. Unmarried with no siblings, but was born into an ordinary American middle-class family. However, he was already too formed and believed the world to be worthless. He was a genius with scant feelings. He enjoyed ordinary family vacations, even displayed excellent grades in sport, but his heart was always cold and he was acting to blend himself into society. He was a clear-headed but tragic individual lacking human emotions. The only way he could live was to self-affirm his intense elitism.

Wesker was using the giant organization Umbrella and had his own separate ambition to create a second humanity of his own design. For that reason he believed that the Tyrant, which produces the Tyrant Virus, would also be useful as a resource to threaten Umbrella. Umbrella's aim was to sell the Tyrant to every country as a weapon and take advantage of every nation's weakness and substantially control them, but as they advanced that plan, Wesker aimed for another objective... To filter humanity using the Tyrant... he was scheming mass extinction and forced evolution. Ultimately the Tyrant was going to gain the ability to manipulate the virus and design living things. It was a “Creator.”

So to Iwao's vision in early days, Wesker has been always a disturbing nutjob from the start, even before his new background "Wesker children" came to existence in RE5. Even RE1 novel written by SD Perry, Wesker is described as someone who brings a something-is-not-right kind of feeling towards anyone with a decent sense of intuition, mainly Chris and Jill, even though he acts "normal" outside. And he's also enamoured with tyrant, your comic is spot on when you focus on Wesker's obsession with tyrant haha

Hello there! First of all thank you so much for this ask. And apologize for taking so long so answer you anon ;×;

And you could never bother me anon! It's all okay, I really don't mind getting asks (as my bio says, asks open) and if you all like to be anons instead of using your mains to ask that's all okay too ❤️

This was very interesting. Albert Wesker from back then RE1 to know changed a lot I feel. He didn't feel particular special back then in re1. He was just a guy that was stupid enougg to get killed by his creation. Well he didn't make T-002 personally I think.

All the added backstory for him is cool don’t get me wrong. The whole bit about him being a Wesker child , how much of a bastard Spencer was. He got a living sister and a son too. Shame we never got too see any of them on screen together ;×;

With my wesker x tyrant reader comic I wanted to show how of an obsession he has with them. I played the og RE1 and he really gave me the vibe that he *really* cares for it. And the way he died was so pathetic...like man I would feel bad for him if the translation and voice acting weren't so bad.

The outwordly normal guy but reqlly fucked up on the inside is really cool to me. They were all surpised about his betray and pissed. So he wasn’t a bad captain to his team. If only the game wasn’t so bad at showing this. I am pretty sure most people understood he was the bad guy, the way he dressed and acted were so sus. How I wish the game tried to hide it harder that Wesker was the main bad guy ;×;

Anyways, I do think that given the chance he would create a new tyrant that listens to himm 100%. Worst case and it goes berserk he killd it and restarts again. The tyrant reader in the comic got lucky in a way. Wesker thought it was a failure at first glance. Turns out the tyrant reader had fallen inlove with him

[penisbrigade]

and the worst part is, i would sell my soul for my siblings too. if i had any chance, any at all, even if it meant killing me instead, id do it. i am no better than dean and he is no worse than i am. i was raised presbyterian with southern baptist influences and the resounding, prevailing belief was that of self sacrifice, bloody and gory, with no happy ending. it’s a jesus metaphor, its distinctly ungodly, it’s exactly what christ wanted, its immoral unethical and insane. dean wasn’t worth anything if he wasn’t a martyr. i wasn’t worth anything if i wasn’t a submissive perfect victim. and the same for the other. interchangeable, just the same, abused and religiously traumatized, only children. i would die and i would kill and i would maim and murder and bleed for my family. i say the winchesters are crazy, stupid, codependent, out of their minds, but it really is like reading a new bible and finding understanding i didn’t get with the first one.

[yallemagne]

Finally posting my feelings on season 3 of X-Men: TAS. Ughhh.

Episode 1 & 2: Out of the Past

Looooove Gambit and Jubilee’s continued sibling relationship. 

Yuriko: “You killed my father!” Logan: “I didn’t!” Yuriko: “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Don’t got much else to say other than ugh this leads into the space shenanigans and I haaaaate that. 

Episode 3, 4, 5, 6, 7: The Phoenix Saga

This saga is a drag but that doesn’t mean I didn’t get emotional when Jean and Scott parted. Seriously, when they kissed?? And Jean’s hair lit up like it was aflame? Fucking sexy as hell can I be them? These two are romance incarnate. 

Episode 8: No Mutant is an Island

Scott is so fucking done and I love that for him. He deserves a chance to go apeshit. Says he’s sick of playing “den mother”??? Oh my god. Speaking truth to power. Especially since Logan’s absence clearly marks that he’s already gone off to sulk, Scott deserves some sulk time for himself. 

THE ORPHANAGE. RUSTY!!! RUSTY COLLINS!! My darling Russell. 

“He’s just not used to the loving discipline a boy his age needs.” Kill this pervert. “After only two days I already love you like a son.” SCOTT KILL THIS PERVERT!!

Killgrave’s using these fucking kids as a scapegoat and the crimes they’re blamed for in his stead are what keep them from getting the help they need. I fucking hate this cunt. 

THEY DUMPED SCOTT IN THE POOL??? DOG?? What are y’all gonna do when a man is found drowned in your pool? Say “whoops guess he couldn't swim”??

I don’t like this Sarah chick. I’m sorry but like Killgrave is the most suspect guy ever, and she endangered the lives and futures of those children because “no one else would take them”. All that bullshit about her seeing the mutant kids as family? Girl, you got rid of them. She’s just gonna sell them to the highest bidder again because that’s what she did last time. 

I don't like that the message is "acceptance and tolerance is earned not forced" no, tolerance is NOT earned. Under no circumstances should a child be forced to EARN the right to live. Killgrave is wrong because he's a human trafficker using children to commit crimes. And obv his plan to groom the kids to become politicians would have never worked because his actions have gotten the kids in trouble with the authorities before, meaning they are distrusted by society because of HIM.

Episode 9: Obsession

I’m just gonna take a wild guess and say the Ming Dynasty scroll was planted to lure Archangel in. 

Warren is a fucking prick. Worthington is a dumb cunt and I hate him. “Deep down, he is still Warren Worthington!” Well, Warren Worthington is a bit of an angsty prick, so that ain’t saying much Rogue. Rogue and her sympathy for bitter blue bastards is gonna be her downfall. 

“Xavier was right, it is sentient! We can speak to it!” Uhh… or the ship just has Siri, McCoy. 

“Ship, you are a work of art.” “Thank you, Henry McCoy. You have no idea what a pleasure it is to interface with someone who appreciates the subtleties of my programming.”  Okay damn. I stand corrected. And Hank is about to wine and dine a ship. Jioegpoi Hank getting shocked for attempting to hack the ship and the ship apologizing. Wolverine and Cyclops are just standing there like “why are we here playing voyeur to this weird shit?”

I knew it, the scroll was planted. I fucking called it.

They need to stop giving Hank compelling love interests and then getting rid of them by the end of the episode. 

THEY SHOT APOCALYPSE INTO SPACE LIKE KARS. 

Episode 10: Longshot

Logan teaching Jubilee to drive!!! And he’s wearing a fuckin’ cowboy hat and a bolo tie. Why is he dressed for the rodeo? And he’s just such a dad for the rest of the episode, he recognizes Jubilee’s crush on Longshot and IMMEDIATELY goes into Dad Mode. 

“Bad doggie! No biscuit. We got leash laws in this town, mutt.” I fucking Love Wolverine. 

“Allowing me to scan his mind must be Longshot’s decision.” We love a king who respects consent. 

I fucking love Domo’s nicknames for Mojo. 

Yeah, I think I love Longshot. And I think most of the reason is just that I’ve read Exiles but ya know. He really is a heartthrob. He’s cliché but it’s a fun cliché. 

Honourable mention: that ram guy who threw away his gun to pull out a knife. 

Jubilee outfit without the coat is cute. Lol but they kept accidentally animating her with the coat on. 

Episode 11: Cold Comfort

BOBBYYYYY. Gay boy what are you doing here? Lol Bobby was the golden child, that much is obvious. At the same time he’s like “I was never good enough for you!” Dude Xavier let you get away with everything and that bred resentment in your teammates. 

Scott’s been wearing a bomber jacket recently and it just makes me miss Morph more

“What’s with those two? I’ve never seen the Professor so angry.”Daddy issues. “It’s a surrogate father-son dynamic with unresolved issues of dominance.” Wow damn I was right. 

Bobby: *insults Scott* Logan: *unsheathes claws* “Only I can call Cyke a goody goody.”

Jubilee looking up the records <333

FORGE???

QUICKSILVEr????

…Havok? oh gee.

Love Logan calling out that the government is employing mutants to police mutants. Forge says they're helping but like... Jaguars. Faces.

WHAT THE FUCK POLARIS. Polaris you absolute piece. “You wouldn’t have supported my decision so we faked my disappearance.” Who does that? Imagine needing to have absolutely no pushback in your decision-making, so to avoid having an argument with your boyfriend you fake your own kidnapping and start dating someone else without ever breaking up with the first guy. I wouldn’t hold it against her if it were just a simple misunderstanding, like if she left a note but he thought she wrote it under duress, but she purposely led him to believe that she needed to be rescued. 

They need to stop introducing characters that could be permanent additions to the team and then squandering that.

Episode 12 & 13: Savage Land, Strange Heart

Who is this chicken lady? I can’t take her seriously, she looks like a chicken. 

Rogue and Storm are lowkey dating and I love it. 

NO ONE KNOWS HOW TO CLOSE THEIR EYES. Who knows? Maybe it isn’t as simple as closing your eyes or looking away… but then why have Sauron repeat the phrase “look into my eyes” if you don’t actually have to look for him to control you? It’s stupid. 

“Well, next time Storm is kidnapped, I’ll make sure they take her someplace nice.”

The Savage Lands are fucking boring oh my god. 

I’m guessing… Sinister was in the soil when they last left… they’re saying Garokk is in the soil… hmm?? I’m probably wrong tho… it actually is just Garokk, that’s boring.

WOLVERINE TACKLING AND PETTING ZABU!! Fucking adorable.

Episode 14, 15, 16, 17: The Dark Phoenix

This whole saga gave me the ick. It made me sick to watch. It’s is just a very disgusting storyline. First, Phoenix invalidates Jean’s free will, then the motherfuckin’ Rape Syndicate drops in and invalidates Phoenix’s free will. It’s just very gross and I felt like I was playing voyeur to some gross man’s fantasy. OH WAIT I literally fucking was because of that creep character I refuse to remember the name of.

“Ohoho! Looks like you’ve been having fun without me! Where’s the Cajun?” kinky

Who the fuck are these silk-stocking wearing hoes? “Tradition demands that this power be wielded by us” Ah, so they’re white supremacists. 

Every woman wants a piece of Scott. Callisto wanted a piece, Dazzler wanted a piece, The Phoenix is staying in Jean’s body because she wants a piece. “Dark pleasure of destruction” Fancy words for saying you want to peg that man. 

KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF OF HER. GET A JOB. STOP FUCKING TOUCHING HER YOU CREEP. I scream. They do not listen. But hahahaha Scott’s beautiful eyes broke her out of the creep’s rape fantasy. 

DAZZLER YOU PIECE. I know it’s hard to resist Scott’s charms but you do NOT spring a kiss on a man. Literally this whole thing is caused by people not respecting consent. The only reason Scott and Jean’s psychic rapport was broken was because Dazzler couldn’t fucking keep her hands to herself. And it's SOOO forced bc he could have just sent Gambit to play bodyguard.

These guys are fucking governing Genosha in ’97. Whose bright idea was it to put the Rape Syndicate in charge of a sovereign nation?

“I know what you’re thinking, bub. Question is: “Can I get Wolverine before he turns me into shish kabob with his claws?” Well bub, seeing as these claws are adamantium: the strongest metal known and can slice through vanadium steel like hot butter, you gotta ask yourself: “Do I feel lucky?””

“Lousy year.” *drops wine bottle on man’s dick*

I just love unhinged Wolverine quotes.

“I need no help from a woman to destroy the X-Men.” What a surprise. The head creep is a misogynist. Question: if Shaw can absorb any energy, can he absorb the energy of me ripping his spinal cord from his back? Asking for a friend.

Just when I think it’s over this damn saga still won’t end. Lilandra I thought I was done with you, woman. You come back into my life to fridge Jean Grey a second time, you piece. 

Scott/Jean has captured my mind and soul. They’re perfect. I love them so much. 

Episode 18: Orphan’s End

What an on-the-nose title for an episode where Cyclops learns his father is alive. Oh by the way that was mentioned before, his father is a space pirate. 

Cyclops mockingly calling Corsair “dad” fuels me. Let him tear his father a new one. 

Corsair says that if he’d known his children were alive nothing could have stopped him from coming back. Girly you never even looked, deadbeat. Just assumed your sons were dead for convenience, motherfucker. 

Episode 19: Love in Vain

We need a codeword for when Rogue gets dragged into some bullshit by toxic people from her past. Girl has had too much. Cody gave me bad vibes from the beginning. 

The fact that they defeat the Brood by talking to their sentient fish space ship? Two for two on sentient ships saving the day this season.  

Logan trying to comfort Rogue but her gravitating toward Gambit, the one whose affections she spurned going after the one that got away… I just got a lotta feelings, okay?

Season 1

Season 2

[jamethinks]

Tonight's rant is gonna be about my baby Demetrius, i know the general public don't really care about the Dessies but I do and i dont really vibe with that whole Deme got a lobotomy theory. Idk on one side i get it and i don't put it past them to write that into the story because it is an interesting angle but to me he just immediately gave off accidentally autistic vibes. A gifted kid with no social skills who doesn't understand people. He didn't give off mysterious convoluted backstory just overstimulated nerd whole doesn't know how to talk to a 6 year old.

And don't get me wrong I love wacky theories but I just feel like it's still kinda weird to say and if canon then would leave a bitter in my (and only my) mouth (based on my own interpretations of the character. it would not be a moral judgement of the creator nor material).

For me, my best theories about him (aside him just being autistic) were:

he feels threatened by Damian, like a sibling rivalry thing (least likely)

he grew up under a lot of pressure from his parents to be excellent and is now kinda jaded and just blanked out about everything and that's why his brain was blank

he just didn't socialize a lot, not a lot of friends and stuff, so he just really did not know what to say to Damian. Just an awkward moment.

Obviously, a major difference between Damian and Demetrius is that Damian is definitely more normal. I feel like he wants to be like his brother but there is a fundamental difference between the two of them ('tism) that is probably also the reason Donovan just isn't as interested in Damian. I think the story is a bit limited by the age of the characters vs the narrative they're trying to sell, like it's objectively insane for a father to already decide his son has no potential at six years old and I know rich people are irrational but let's be for real. I just feel it would work better if he was old and actually had the chance to fail but again idk maybe Deme started school at 3 who knows.

Another angle I had floating around in my head is that Damian was not wanted, like he was 100% a mistake and just was not supposed to be born. His parents just wanted one to take over the company and now they got a second one who's kinda useless and just burdensome. And so Deme was born to be an heir and was raised to be his father's successor and so while he got a lot of attention he didn't get a lot of affection. But for Damian he interpreted it as his brother having done something to earn that attention and he is now trying to gain it himself through academics the thing his brother is good at. And that frustrates Deme because it's like 1) you're setting yourself for failure and 2) now i feel even more isolated because not even my brother gets it.

My hand is falling asleep so we end it here but just some thoughts idk

[balladofmyramblings]

The similarities between Katniss and Tigris are actually heartbreaking if you think about it.

The idea that they might have had to sell themselves into prostitution

They both had to learn to provide and cook for their families at a very young age

They both had younger siblings/cousins in their life who they couldn’t save

The fact they always took care of said younger siblings/cousins before themselves

The fact they both had dead dads

The fact that both of their maternal figures weren’t that maternal

The fact they both had to work jobs that would seem unfavorable to anyone else, but that they liked

The fact that they both had boys they thought they had no future or chance with

This is just off the top of my head, too. But the similarities in what they had to do are so crazy.

Also just to point out, the similarities between Katniss and Tigris mostly being about what they had to do and the similarities between Katniss and Lucy Gray being mostly personality wise speaks volumes about the capitol vs. district, and how she was able to unite them both.

Katniss had to do things for the hunger games in the capital. However, most of her internal thoughts are echoed in Lucy Gray.

Honestly, the similarities between all three of them are quite scary. Like I’m rereading this list and Lucy Gray fits a lot of them.

Anywho just some good for thought! Feel free to add more, I find them fascinating.