#🎫 // wriothesley

[fabricated-misslieness]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: wriothesley x gn reader

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: you're afraid of (cock)roaches so you call him to help

ʀᴇ𝐐: no ~ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 304 ~ part 2

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: swearing, murder of cockroach, crackfic

ᴍᴀʏʙ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: based off a real experience, written at ~11 pm

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Picture this: you're minding your own business, pissing away at your toilet, and then you see a cockroach, on your shower wall.

"WRIO!!!"

With the way you're screaming all hell for him, he thinks it's a big emergency, an SOS type thing. That's why he comes rushing over.

Seeing you cowering away at the bathroom door, but certainly not in immediate danger, he calms down. "What?"

"Cockroach."

He sighs, "Just hit it with a shoe."

"I am NOT hitting it with a shoe. Can you SEE the size of that thing??"

He heaves an even heavier sigh and takes off his house slipper, then heads off into the shower half barefoot.

He closes the shower door, for your sake, and smacks the cockroach dead. It takes a few smacks, which leaves you mortified, then asks for toilet paper.

The next minute, the cockroach is spinning circles down the toilet water whirlpool, wrapped in its paper coffin.

You sigh with relief, leaning your head against the door dramatically as if you'd done all the work.

Wriothesley laughs and comes over to chide you about it, all while teasing you as well; but you stop him with a hand on his chest, enforcing an arm's length of distance between you two.

"Wash your hands."

"I didn't touch it with my hands."

You scrunch up your nose at him. He sighs, again, but obeys like the good boyfriend he is.

"Thank you..." You mutter, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your head into his broad back as he washes his hands.

"Yeah, yeah." He huffs out a laugh, "You're lucky I love you."

"That, I am."

Why do you have a boyfriend, if not to kill cockroaches for you? True romance lies in the murder of the disgusting little things on behalf of one's beloved.

[fabricated-misslieness]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: wriothesley x gn reader

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: swearing, death of cockroach

part 1

ᴍᴀʏʙ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: also based off a true story

☾⋆☆⋆☽

The ONE time you decide to kill a cockroach yourself, you miss, and guess what?

IT COMES FLYING AT YOU.

You've never screamed like this before, you think, as you hurriedly swat at it with the shoe you were holding, just narrowly avoiding its flying path. It vanishes behind the bed, and you're out the door within the minute.

Within the same minute, or perhaps the next, you find your boyfriend. "Wrio, there's a cockroach behind the bed."

"What do you want me to do about it?" What a bitch.

Some other time you might've replied sarcastically, 'maybe kill it?' but you're too traumatized by your recent brush with death that you respond quickly, "Kill it."

He sighs.

You catch up with your pet as Wriothesley makes his way to the bedroom, petting it to calm yourself and asking, "Do you wanna hunt a cockroach? Yes you do~"

When you go back to the bedroom again, he's already there, and he's moved the bed. "Can't see it."

Fuck.

"Turn on your phone light, help me out." And so you do.

And then what? He can't find it. He shakes the curtains, it's not there. He's shining the light over the floor, toeing dangerously at piles of built up, ignored dust, and he can't find it.

But you can, and it's on your fucking sheets. "There." You point, frozen in place.

You think to offer him a shoe, but no, he reaches for it with his bare hands, and he grabs it, like it's nothing.

The next moment, he stumbles, accidentally letting it go. The cockroach lands on the floor, quickly trying to scurry away, but Wriothesley is faster. He smacks it, bare hand unleashing a fuck ton of force against the roach and the floor, and it dies just like that.

He doesn't even grab a paper this time; he takes it by the antenna and disappears into a toilet.

As you fix the bed back in place, chanting la Ave Maria under your breath, you hear the toilet flush. Phew.

Wriothesley's leaning against the doorway to the bathroom, his hands are wet, clean.

His stare is nothing but slightly disappointed as you prance on over. "It flew at me."

He says nothing for a second, though his face does change. "Damn."

Some years ago you did a biology bug collection project, cockroaches allowed, and you had your father catch one for you, while you watched (a valiant man, bare-handed as well). You'd pinned it in place at school, but you were wearing gloves then, and it was dead.

A shudder goes down your spine.

"C'mere." Wriothesley says, and you oblige. There is nothing better in the world than a hug from your valiant boyfriend. "Feelin' better now?"

Muffled into his sweater and spoken with shame, you say, "Yeah..."