#some emotional hurt/comfort at the end

[pastaxandria]

The Red Thread: Chapter 144

The Library of Pastaxandria has recorded for its shelves: Chapter 143 of The Red Thread.

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Chapter Summary:

Ciro’s focus remained fixed unerringly on Matt, the sensation of such a weighted gaze raising the hairs on the back of his neck, as did the words that followed. “You do not wish to hear my apology for my words, not because I do not mean it but because you do not think you deserve it.”

And Matt…

Flinched.

Wordcount: 5,788

Warnings for this chapter: slight angst in this chapter. There might also be a vague implication of self-harm too (Matt's habit of going to fight when he's feeling guilty) although I'm not sure it's out there enough to qualify for a warning, but I like to be careful.

Read me on AO3 because that’s where penguins hang out

[asgardian--angels]

I honestly just think it's funny that so many people have been watching ofmd as a 'comfort show' lmao like I'm over here specifically watching for the angst. I crave pain and suffering. As soon as High On A Rocky Ledge played in the pilot I was hooked because I knew I was in for intense emotional turmoil. Red Flags is now my favorite episode of the entire series. I honestly didn't expect Izzy to survive as long as he did. His fucked up relationship with Blackbeard has fed me so well.

Of course I adore the love story, and the fact that Ed and Stede's love is an absolute, an immutable fact, of the show's premise allows me to enjoy the angst all the more. But I feel like some people need to be reminded: David Jenkins never promised you fluff. He never promised no deaths, no tragedy, no violence, no difficult topics. Personally I think including a fair deal of all of those makes the hope, the love, and the comedy shine all the brighter and have more meaning. You don't have to agree, but you can't assign expectations to a show that never made such promises. There was never false advertising. David set out to tell the story of two troubled, complicated adults navigating love and a long-term relationship in an often harsh and unfair world, finding community and making meaningful gains in self-actualization along the way. Ultimately it is a 'feel good' story but it's a rocky and winding road meant to mirror the messiness of our real world. Maybe you need to step back and re-evaluate where canon ends and your headcanons begin, and what the 'goals' of the show actually are that may differ from what you're looking for in media, and not blame Jenkins et al. for 'betraying you' when they're just telling their story the way they set out to.

[themirokai]

Hob turned at a landing and his breath caught in his throat. He had never seen this room, of course, but he knew it in an instant. Stone columns, a water-filled moat, and suspended from chains in the middle: a cage of iron-bound glass.  Dream was lying in the bottom of the sphere, naked.

After Dream gets stuck in a nightmare of the Fawney Rig basement, Hob and Matthew help him get back to himself.

Seven - A Dreamling & Matthew the Emotional Support Raven Fic by MiroKai

Read Chapter 1 on AO3 or below the cut.

This story is a sequel to Loverboy, and while that isn't required reading, it does set up the relationships between Dream, Matthew, and Hob that I've delved into here.

Back in December I raffled off a ficlet in order to get to know new followers, and @icurlybooks was the winner! She asked for a fishbowl rescue fic, and while I didn't have any good ideas for a straight up fishbowl rescue, I was super inspired by Chapter 11 @ibrithir-was-here's Endless Heirs AU which everyone should go read right now. And instead of a ficlet I ended up with over 7k words and 3 chapters! The other two chapters will go up over the next week or so. Enjoy!

-----

It was getting dark, but Hob wasn’t worried. He continued along the path, using Dream’s pull to find his way through the Dreaming. Dream was probably just dealing with a nightmare, he assured himself. 

“CAW!” 

There was a flapping in the gloom around Hob’s feet. 

“Matthew?!”

“What the fuck, loverboy? You almost stepped on me!”

“Sorry! What are you doing just standing around in the dark?” 

Matthew didn’t speak for a moment and Hob squinted to try to see him in the darkness.

“You can feel him, right?” Matthew’s voice was quiet. 

“Yeah. He’s nearby. That way.” Hob pointed ahead into the murk. 

“Right,” Matthew said. “But I can’t get to him. It’s like… he’s locked me out but without a door. See if you can keep going.” 

Hob took a step forward and then another. As he passed Matthew he began to feel resistance, like something was pushing him back. Hob pushed harder and advanced. 

“There’s definitely a barrier,” he told Matthew, “but I think I can make it through.” 

“Good! Good. Go make sure he’s ok. I’ll - I’ll be here.”

Hob pressed on and the resistance decreased, the barrier apparently traversed. He became aware of the fact that there was a wood floor under his feet and walls around him. Another few steps and he was at the top of a staircase. He could see light flickering at the bottom. That was where Dream was, he could feel it. He took a breath and started downwards. 

Hob turned at a landing and his breath caught in his throat. He had never seen this room, of course, but he knew it in an instant. Stone columns, a water-filled moat, and suspended from chains in the middle: a cage of iron-bound glass. 

Dream was lying in the bottom of the sphere, naked. 

“Dream!” Hob dashed forward. 

Dream flinched at the sound of his voice, then sat up, moving like his muscles had forgotten how. 

Hob’s heart twisted at the flinch and shattered when he took in Dream’s body. Hob had seen Dream naked in a variety of forms, but never like this. His lover was all sinew and bone and muscle, as if his body had been stripped down to the least amount of mass needed to hold it together. 

“Dream…” Hob whispered, stepping forward more slowly. “My god, love, what’s happened? Where are we?” 

Dream brought his knees to his chest and hugged his arms around them, not looking at Hob. 

“I was in the Dreaming,” Hob continued, “I saw Matthew and I was coming to find you. Did I cross into somewhere else? Are you alright?” 

Dream’s eyes looked wet and he squeezed them shut, then shook his head. 

“Can you get out of there, love?” 

Still no response. 

Hob took a breath. This was wrong. That was definitely Dream in there and he felt certain that they were still in the Dreaming. He and Matthew had both felt Dream’s presence. He had to find a way to fix this. 

“Love, will it be alright if I break this? I won’t hurt you will I?” 

Dream hugged himself tighter and didn’t respond verbally but in the back of Hob’s mind there was a whisper. 

“Binding circle.” 

It didn’t happen often, but there were times when Dream couldn’t be bothered to speak out loud in the Dreaming. Usually when they were making love. Hob would just suddenly understand what Dream wanted him to know. This wasn’t quite like receiving direction on how Dream wanted to be touched, but it was familiar enough that Hob didn’t question it. 

He looked down at the floor and saw the circle of runes. Hob spit on it, then scuffed his shoe through it, leaving a large gap. 

When he turned back to Dream, his lover was finally looking up at him but was now visibly trembling. Hob pressed a hand to the glass. 

“I’ve broken the circle, love. Can you get out now?” 

Dream stared at him mutely, expression scared and miserable. 

Fuck. 

Hob took another breath. Okay. Dream had been teaching him how to manipulate the Dreaming. Hob closed his eyes. He knew he wouldn’t be able to disappear the cage, but he could probably get himself a tool. It would have to be something that he could picture vividly. He thought for a moment. 

Hob had spent most of 1865 and 1866 in America, building the Transcontinental Railroad. His Cantonese had never been better. He could still smell the dust and sweat, still taste the horrible coffee and beans, and still feel the sledgehammer in his hand. Hob focused on that memory. From the thick calluses on his palm and fingers, to the grain of the wood handle, to the weight of the thing. 

Hob opened his eyes to see the trusty sledgehammer in his right hand. Perfect. He raised it and looked back at Dream. 

“I’m going to break the glass, love, alright?”

Dream gave a tiny, slow nod. That would have to be good enough. 

“Alright, move back a bit, yeah? I don’t want it to cut you.” 

Dream scrabbled backwards until he was against the wall of the sphere farthest from Hob. 

Hob gave him a reassuring smile, and raised the sledgehammer. 

He didn’t have to hit it hard: the weight of the hammer was enough to break through. The tricky part was wielding it delicately enough to open a hole big enough for Dream to get through without cutting himself, and without bringing the whole thing crashing down on them. 

He managed it after a minute, then dropped the sledgehammer, which dissolved into shadows before it hit the ground. Hob reached his hand through the hole towards Dream. 

“Come on, love. I’ve got you.” 

When Dream hesitated, Hob reached further into the sphere. The only part of Dream he could reach was one foot and ankle, but he gently wrapped his hand over the cold skin and stroked his thumb over Dream’s ankle bone. 

“Come out, Dream. Let’s fix this.” 

Slowly, moving without any of his normal grace, Dream inched himself out of the sphere and Hob pulled him directly into his arms. Dream was only as tall as Hob’s chin, and he sagged his slight weight against Hob’s chest. 

“Hob.” Dream’s voice was faint and cracked. 

“I’ve got you,” Hob whispered, stroking Dream’s hair and his back over and over. “I’ve got you, you’re okay.” 

Dream was still trembling in Hob’s embrace. 

“How about some clothes, love?” Hob asked gently, wondering if Dream could manifest his robe of shadows or his star-filled coat. 

Dream made a small noise in the back of his throat but no clothing appeared. 

“Alright,” Hob soothed, rubbing Dream’s arms, “it’s okay. I did well enough with the sledgehammer, let’s see if I can get something.” He thought for a moment. “How about that throw blanket from my couch that you like? The soft blue one.” 

Hob closed his eyes and pictured the feel of the fleece blanket. Saw himself pull it off the couch and wrap it around Dream’s shoulders. When he opened his eyes, the blanket was there, enveloping Dream. Hob allowed himself a momentary flare of pride. 

Dream took a breath, and the trembling stopped. “Thank you,” he murmured. 

Hob wrapped his arm around Dream’s back. “Should we get you back to the palace?” 

Dream shook his head quickly. “The Waking. Please.” 

Hob frowned, but considering where they were, he supposed the request wasn’t surprising. 

“Of course, love. Can we tell Matthew that’s where we’re going? He said you had locked him out. I think he’s already worried sick about you.” 

Dream grimaced and a shudder ran through him. A moment later and the scene around them brightened. It was the same horrible room, just slightly less dark. 

“Boss?” Matthew was suddenly flying towards them but nearly stopped in the air when he saw where they were. “Holy shit! Boss! What the fuck?” 

Dream flinched and bowed his head, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Sorry!” Matthew said much more quietly as he landed and hopped towards them. “I’m sorry! Are you okay?” 

“We’re going to the Waking,” Hob said, drawing Dream closer. “Matthew, will you tell Lucienne?”

Matthew looked between them, his mouth hanging open before he collected himself. “Yeah, um, of course. Hob, what is going on?”

Hob glanced at Dream then gave Matthew a sympathetic grimace. “I wish I knew, mate. But we’ll figure it out. We’ll be at my flat. Come check in, in a little while, yeah?”  

“Yeah. Okay.” The raven’s tone was definitely not okay.  

Hob sighed. He knew Matthew was nothing if not resilient so he turned back to his primary concern. 

“Dream, if I just wake up will you come with me?” 

A tiny nod. 

Matthew hopped closer. “Boss, I’m sorry I startled you. I - I just… I just want you to be okay.” 

“I know, Matthew,” Dream whispered. 

Hob tried to give Matthew an encouraging nod, then forced himself awake.

Hob opened his eyes in his bed. Dream was still in his arms, naked and wrapped in the fuzzy blue blanket. Hob leaned forward to kiss his forehead. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly. “Do you want some clothes?” 

“Yes,” Dream whispered. “Please.” 

Hob pulled himself out of bed and over to his dresser, where he retrieved a thick sweatshirt and pajama bottoms. He helped Dream into them, then perched beside where he sat on the edge of the bed. 

“You don’t need to talk until you’re ready,” Hob said, rubbing Dream’s back. “But if you can tell me anything that you need or want, I’ll make it happen.” 

Dream sat with his shoulders hunched and palms pressed into the bed on either side of his legs. “Would you. Open the window?” 

Hob glanced outside. “It’s raining.” 

“I know.” Dream’s head hung lower. “I … the air. And outside. Please.” 

Shit, that damn glass sphere was airtight, wasn’t it? 

“Of course!” Hob sprung to his feet. “Of course.” 

When Hob returned to the bed, Dream was laying down with his eyes closed. Hob was about to head for the armchair in the corner when thin fingers closed around his wrist. 

“Hold me?” 

Hob smiled and climbed back into bed. 

Hob wasn’t sure how long he dozed, holding Dream’s body against his and listening to the rain. 

“There are seven.” 

Hob stirred himself. “Seven?” 

“Seven people. Living. Who saw me. In the cage.” 

Hob was wide awake now and listening intently, his arms tight around Dream’s chest. 

“The guards were told that I was a dangerous monster. Trapped in a human form in the cage. But a danger to all mankind if I ever escaped.” 

Dream was faced away from him and Hob placed a gentle kiss on his shoulder blade. 

“I did nothing to disabuse them of this notion. It was, after all, largely correct.” 

Hob pressed his forehead against Dream’s back. 

“They all dream of me sometimes.”

Hob felt his breath catch in his throat. He hadn’t thought of that. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Dream had told him that Burgess had been punished, but what of the guards?

“At first I was distracted by the search for my tools and rebuilding the Dreaming and then Rose. And lately their dreams of me are mostly nightmares in which a monstrous facsimile of me stalks and preys upon them.” 

Good, Hob thought. He hoped they were terrified to close their eyes. 

“But one of them. Dreamed the actual memory of me and I -” 

Dream curled into himself, squeezed his eyes shut. 

Hob pulled him closer. “It’s alright,” he murmured. 

“I got caught in it!” Dream’s voice was a harsh whisper. “Ridiculous and weak. It was a dream! The paltry dream of a mortal human!” 

Hob freed one of his hands to stroke Dream’s hair. “It wasn’t just a dream though, was it? It was a memory. Your memory of something horrible. There must be precious few mortals in creation who have ever been able to do that to you. And it sounds like there are only seven - in the entire universe - who can do it now. Of course it caught you off guard, love.” 

Hob pressed more kisses to Dream’s shoulder, and Dream gave a shuddering breath but seemed to relax a little. 

“I only managed to push the dreamer out and close myself off before I was lost in it,” he murmured after a moment. 

“You will never stay lost for long again, Dream. I promise you.” Resolve tightened in Hob’s gut. He would keep that promise. 

Dream squeezed Hob’s arm in acknowledgment, and they let the silence stretch. 

“Um, tap tap?” 

Hob and Dream both started and looked up at the window to find a very wet Matthew standing on the sill. 

“Sorry,” Matthew said, ducking his head, “I would normally tap on the glass but it’s open so… can I come in?” 

“Yes, Matthew,” Dream said, pushing himself up to sit. 

Matthew shook himself vigorously, fluffing out his feathers and spraying water over the sill. He looked around him with an expression Hob had come to recognize as embarrassment. 

“Uh, sorry Hob.” 

Hob, now leaning against the headboard, gave a dismissive wave. “Don’t worry about it.” 

Matthew flew to the foot of the bed where he perched. 

“Boss? Are you okay?” 

“I am… better. Than I was.” 

“Good! Good. Um.” Matthew shifted from foot to foot. “Can I … ask what happened?” 

Dream pinched the bridge of his nose. “One of the people who guarded my prison dreamed of the memory of me and I was … caught in the dream.”

“Oh shit,” Matthew said quietly, hopping closer to Dream. “That must have been terrible. I’m so sorry.” 

Dream grimaced and swallowed, then reached forward to stroke a finger over Matthew’s head. 

“Do you know why I was locked out but Hob wasn’t?” Matthew asked. 

Dream gave a shuddering sigh. “I did that.” His voice was barely more than a whisper. 

“What? Why? Boss, I could have helped you.” 

Hob noted with approval that Matthew kept his tone gentle. 

“Jessamy tried to help me,” Dream whispered, drawing into himself. 

“Oh, Boss,” Matthew’s voice cracked with emotion and he hopped into Dream’s lap. 

Dream gathered the raven into his arms. “I could not bear to see you killed, Matthew.” 

Matthew pressed the top of his head against Dream’s chest. “I get it. I’m so sorry you went through that, Boss. But I’m here and you’re here, and it’s gonna be okay.” 

Hob moved closer to Dream so that their sides were touching, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He leaned over to kiss Dream’s hair. 

Matthew looked up after a beat. “I guess knowing your boyfriend can’t die has some advantages huh?” 

Hob chuckled. “One or two.” 

They sat quietly for several minutes, Hob holding Dream and Dream stroking Matthew, before Matthew spoke up again. 

“So how do we make sure this doesn’t happen again? Or if it does happen, how do we get you out quicker?” 

Hob cleared his throat. “I have an idea for the former.” 

Both Matthew and Dream looked at him. 

“The seven people, the ones who are living and have memories of you that they could dream about, do you know who they are?” Hob asked. 

“Their books are in the Library,” Dream answered hesitantly. 

Hob nodded. “Good.” 

Matthew cocked his head to the side. “Why is that good?” 

“It’s good,” Hob said, looking out the window, “because I can borrow the books from Lucienne and then I can find those seven people and I can kill them.” 

“What?!” Matthew squawked. 

Dream shifted away and turned to look at Hob, holding Matthew closer against his chest. “That is not the purpose of my Library, Hob Gadling.” 

Hob shrugged. “If you don’t want me to use the books then I’ll find them another way. They can’t be too hard to track down. I’m resourceful.” 

Dream’s frown deepened. “You would take greater vengeance than I myself can take?”

“It’s a bit of vengeance,” Hob said, turning to fully face Dream, “but it’s more to protect you from this happening again. You can’t kill mortals who aren’t active threats, but I can.” 

“You’re just going to murder seven people?” Matthew’s eyes looked like they were going to bug out of his head. 

Hob sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Matthew, I’ve fought in a dozen wars. I’ve been a criminal of various stripes involving a wide range of violent acts. I’ve been in any number of fights that I’ve chosen to end… decisively. Seven people…” he took a deep breath and shook his head. “It’s a drop in the bucket. A big drop, but still a drop.” He reached out to cup Dream’s cheek, locking eyes with him. “And if it keeps you from this pain?” Hob shrugged. “I’ve done far worse for less.” 

“Okay, wait.” Matthew hopped out of Dream’s arms and onto the bed where he could face both of them. “Boss, there has to be another solution than letting Stabby McMurderpants loose on seven people!” 

Hob decided that he rather liked ‘Stabby McMurderpants’. 

“One of them,” Dream said softly, looking down at his hands, “broke the binding circle, which allowed me to escape. He was Alex Burgess’s lover but he was not involved in Jessamy’s murder or the original trap. I would not see him harmed.” 

“Well,” Hob reasoned, “if I take out the other six that will greatly reduce the chances of someone dreaming of you.” 

“No,” Matthew said firmly. “There’s another way. Boss, you took away Joanna Constantine’s nightmare memory, didn’t you?” 

“Yes,” Dream said slowly. 

“So you can do that with these people, can’t you?” Matthew asked. 

“I … would need to touch the dream to remove it from their minds.” 

Hob covered Dream’s hand with his own. “Could you get caught in it if you touched it?” 

Dream looked away from both of them and nodded. 

“Not worth the risk,” Hob said. “Let me take care of it.” He squeezed Dream’s hand. 

“But Boss, what if we were there with you when you touched the dream? Couldn’t we keep you from getting caught?” 

“I do not know. Perhaps.” 

“Well, Bloodthirsty Killerson here seemed to do a pretty quick job of pulling you out once he got to you so if he was there from the start it seems like he could get you right back out again.” 

Hob brought Dream’s hand to his mouth and kissed his fingers. “If Matthew’s right and this is a viable way to permanently eliminate those dreams, I could have the sledgehammer ready to go, love.” 

-----

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 2 is up now!

Thanks to @once-in-a-blue-moon-rising for her encouragement and ridiculously helpful beta reading.

Thanks also to @karalynlovescake and @tryan-a-bex for giving the first two chapters of this an early read when I was craving some feedback.

You can find my master post for the Matthew the Emotional Support Raven series here.

[sysig]

Lose myself to you (Patreon)

[soft-serve-soymilk]

Continuing to craft my little adventure for Minty and it’s really coming together :>

[dutybcrne]

Me BSing hcs like: The fact that Kae is not only able to create a shield when he is dangerously low HP but also the fact that he is able to regenerate HP when he hits opponents with Frostgnaw is definitely due to him receiving his Vision when Diluc had tried to kill him in their Confrontation...but could it be possible that his familial ties to the Abyss Order could have influenced that HP drain of his-

[vergina-spva]

Dear CLTCL readers, I am wondering...

Either way, Law is gonna cry.

[candlebel]

I cared. I still do. I still think of you and I still cry over you. You were importat to me. You still are.

[archergray]

I never expected to write a Call of Duty fic, but stranger things had happen, right? Sometimes you have a duty to write a fic and it's calling you ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Summary: Simon Riley never cared about soulmates. It’s a shame then that his soulmate cared about him very, very much. And when your soulmate is John MacTavish, you find you got yourself an equally stubborn match. You just need to realise it first. Or: AU in which your soulmate’s scars appear on your body, but they’re in colour. It changed a lot, but at the same time, it didn’t change a thing.

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Eleven/Amy/Rory Update!

And here we have it: the fic focusing on Amy's pregnancy as well as ft. Rings of Akhaten (because that episode is SO GOOD for character moments/exploring the Doctor's really questionable mental state), with a lot of emotional exploration for Amy, a bit of casually emotionally devastating miscommunication, some hurt/comfort, a cameo from my best boy Brian Williams, a bit of casual foreshadowing, some absolute joy, and, well...let's just say you'll probably hate me for the cliffhanger ending, but I promise you I'm healing things in the next update!

@blufox3542

[yoru]

i think i’m going into my jojo phase again…

[thursdayglrl]

pathologically nonconfrontational people r always like but I hate confrontation arguments are scary and the confrontation in question is like, setting a normal ass boundary or asking someone if they can reschedule. which is not actually a confrontation or an argument, but will probably turn into one if you keep not addressing it until a) one of you blows up, b) you end up resenting the other person for hurting you even though you never told them anything, c) the other person finds out you've essentially been letting them hurt you and is upset that you didn't say anything and probably also hurt that you didn't trust them

[myheartxmyman]

'Let me be the own to show you a love that doesn't hurt. One where you won't have to heal from'

[earthtooz]

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

x : DISTANCE :*+ﾟ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nearing six in the evening.”

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you murmur.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I did? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I find it funny.” 

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

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

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

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

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

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

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

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

He pouts. “When will you be home?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you need me to accompany you there?” 

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

“-Aren’t you forgetting something?”

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

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

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

“Love you,” you murmur when parting. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I take it you like it here then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you trying to butter me up?”

“Is it working?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Long day?”

“Draining too,” he murmurs. 

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

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

“Did you do anything today to earn it?”

“I need to earn my kisses now?”

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

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, dear,” he murmurs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dunno. Just double checking.”

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

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

“Yeah.”

“Fine, amazing, just dandy.” 

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

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

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

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

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

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

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

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

He shushes you.

“What-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The dark-haired stiffens. “What?” 

“Nothing,” you cough.

“No, Y/n, be honest with me here.”

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

“Which was?” 

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

“Why would I ever want that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I would never think otherwise,” he whispers.

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

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

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

You nod, “I will.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

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

“Sorry for putting you through all that.”

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

“I love you, Wriothesley.” 

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

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

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

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[sanemisstalker]

NSFW /// KNY characters who I think cum particularly hard/ a lot. This could have a part two, I'm eepy, srry.

CW/ Non specific gendered/genitalia reader / Cum... like an insane amount of cum / BDSM Dynamic (ENMU)/ Light Gore (ENMU)/ tbh, Enmu. / Cum-swapping (AKAZA)

Sanemi Shinazugawa

-Cums hards AND a lot.

-Sanemi isn't quite sure why is body is the way it is, maybe it's his breath control mixed with the insane amount of testosterone and panic pumping through his veins on the daily, but Sanemi doesn't struggle to get it up.

-he struggles to stay flaccid. He's far more likely to be hard at any given moment. Not that he's excited, his dick is just permanently stuck at half mast. It takes an insane, highly emotional amount to get him entirely flaccid.

-I think Sanemi's orgasm absolutely shreds him everytime, unanimously. Does that stop him from getting it up in another ten minutes? Absolutely not. I just truly think he's a medical anomaly.

-He cums prematurely, but what does it matter? It literally didn't go down, he's still fucking going, now he's just like, in tears about it.

-I think Sanemi's eyes get really wide and he gets lock jaw, and he seethes and he tries to hold back any noise, but it just shreds the poor guys throat, and now he's sore, and it hurts him to moan, but he just can't help it, you feel so fucking good- and all for him? It's all for him?

-Shakes. Sobs. Sounds incredibly desperate, don't let the facade fool you. If he loves you, he's a crier.

-Also physically cums a lot. Not just by how many orgasms, but by how much each time is. I think he's got an obnoxiously low set of balls. He's made to breed, the poor bastard. If he can't let go in you, both of you are covered in it by the end of the night.

-Sanemi has yet to tap out before you.

Kyōjurō Rengoku

-Cums a lot.

-Rengoku has good stamina, but once he cums, he's done for, no more. He can keep going if he really wants to, or if you look like you really need him, but chances are the first round wad more than enough.

-vocal, but in a fatherly way. Sex with Rengoku is probably very... comfortable.

-Until he cums and now you're sticky from your chest to your upper thigh. The range of his shot is insane. He cums buckets, and he barely blinks. His breathing gets a little ragged, and his chest a little shakey, but that's it.

-He needs to go night night after, though. Feeling any amount of joy that doesn't come from stuffing his face does a number on him emotionally and physically. He needs a cuddle and a conversation about... idk, taxes after.

-Won't beg to cum in you, but really, really wants to.

-He always pulls out like a gentleman (if you can be much of a gentleman when you're balls deep), but you can always tell that he wants to see your face so bad when he pumps you full.

-Will not ask. That'd be rude.

-Talks you through your orgasm, but that's another post for another day.

Enmu

-Fuck, I just know he's a screamer. He cums so hard.

-This guy's a fucking mess, but it takes work.

-Enmu is such a good submissive that you're always shocked when he decides to mouth off to you, or when he forgets a command. Not too shocked, though. It's very clearly intentional. It always is.

-He gives himself a bit in between each 'screw up' to make sure he's edged himself mentally properly (very hard, he's almost always some kind of aroused, and he's prone to cumming untouched, so that build up is a little diificult.)

-While he doesn't struggle to ask for things, and his dignity is subzero, Enmu still appreciates a stray chase here and there. After all, it's the only thing mentally stimulating enough for him to cum.

-In any normal dynamic with Enmu, he isn't often left using his dick. So when you've got a spear through his wrists, locking them behind his back, one hand pulling his hair, the other jerking his cock with thoughtless speed-

-Enmu can never cum harder than when he's recieving borderline abuse. His dick looks irritated, going untouched for months previous, and now it's receiving all this attention. Can you blame him for being this loud?

-His legs shake, his whole body recoils. He drools and screams- laughs and wails. He cries with the brightest smile you've ever seen. His hips buck up. You're not being gentle, and he's so, so happy. The orgasm is ripping through every nerve in his body.

-He feels like he's in the sun again.

-He's hoping Muzan can see him look so pathetic. You're just hoping the demon lord stays out of your man's head.

Akaza

-cums like a horse.

-a lover, truly. That's the only word encompassing enough to describe Akaza's efforts sexually. He's a fantastic lover.

-... who can go for hours... days even and never get tired. Every orgasm blows off his shoulders- It's all about you. It always has been, it always will be.

-You've made him cum hard before, it's a rarity, but it's possible... Its just nothing feels as good to him as watching you cum, so he'll do whatever must be done-

-and if that means pumping you full again and again, until you're leaking from every accessible orifice, so be it.

-He'll lick your hole clean, reveling in the way you twitch after your.... you lost count after the fifth one. That won't stop him from tongue fucking you.

-His cum tastes... shockingly good. You like to give him head, and then come up to give him a kiss. He'll pull your tongue down, wanting to see it in your mouth just before you swallow. You always look so proud of yourself. He can't help but reward you with a kiss before you even get it down.

-there's way to much for one swallow. You can barely manage to keep all of it in your mouth while showing him. Your effort is precious, though.

-Akaza looks really good with cum on his lips. It's one of the only times you see him really flustered.

[slvthrs]

thinkin' of coriolanus and his insane breeding n ownership kink...

Coriolanus Snow loves ownership.

It's disgusting but he sees you as his pretty little thing that he needs to protect and keep safe. Your body and soul belongs to him and your all his to take care of and to ravish.

Late at night in the comfort of your plush duvet, in your families penthouse suite with adornments worth more than the snow's apartments, Coryo sneaks into your bed. Pressing your body against him, drawing out moans and gasps from your lips. You mewl under his touch and writing in pain and pleasure as his hands dip between your folds to stretch you out.

The last thing Coriolanus wants is his pet to get hurt.

His thumb fervently circles your clit, opening your thighs even further as the boy slips in another finger. He watches your face contort into emotions of pain and pleasure drawing another orgasm out of your, "Your so precious, c'mon give me one more."

And one turns to 2 more and turns to 5 until Coryo finally decides you deserve to get fucked.

It's a privilege, to have his dick inside you, he expects you to be begging and desperate. He berates you, watching you beg like a common whore but in the end you get what you want. In the dead of night with your parents in another room- none the wiser- he takes you, ruining you, for any other man. In his eyes you belong to him and no one can take you from him.

Your moans echo in the walls and skin slap together as Coryo has you bent, with your knees hooked over his shoulders and his dick pounding into you unforgivingly.

The angle reaches all the right spots, all the places your fingers counldn't reach, essentially making it so you can't even cum without him helping you- which was of course what he wanted.

You we be so desperate that you would end up calling Coryo. at the dead of night, crying over the phone at how much you needed him to take care of you, how your "hands didn't feel as good as his" or how you "needed him.' And that's all he needed to here before rushing to your place.

Every single time without fail Coryo would hope you would get pregnant.

He knows it's stupid- your far to young for kids and in reality Coryo would be a horrible dad. But the idea of you, his precious thing, so full and round with his kid.

How vulnerable you would be and how he would protect you, keep you stuck at home, making you play the eager housewife whilst he could come home from some high paying job- able to take care of you three.

Sometimes his mind disgusted him.

One time he thought of some lowlife from the higher districts, 10, 11, 12 even, finding you, perhaps he was a tribute, no matter how- but he thought how the man would try to hurt you and how he could fight him off. How he would hit the man, watch the fear in his eyes as he took his life, keeping you safe.

He swears he never came harder that night. Filling you up and your screamed into a pillow.

Coriolanus Snow loves ownership. And he specifically loves owning you.

ik coryo seems like kinda an ass in this but i wanted to make smth that as kinda more true to how evil he rlly was- dw tho imma make smth thats a lil more nice n delusional 😭