𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐀𝐘 “𝐋𝐄𝐓'𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐎𝐔𝐓” 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐈𝐌

Gojo. Geto. Sukuna. Nanami. Choso. Toji. Megumi. Itadori. Yuta.

◈ — 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

“Say no more.” He'd grab your face in an instant and press his lips against yours. He would immediately get touchy all over your body, and for not even a few seconds, he's already slipping his tongue in, savoring your taste with hunger. He'd pull away for a moment before devouring your lips with his own, your mouth would be invaded by his tongue once more before pressing you against the nearby wall.

◈ — 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

“You want to make out? Alright, love. Let's go somewhere private, we can make out there as much as you want.” He'd place his hands on your wrist and lead you toward the bedroom. His lips would immediately find yours, soft but deep kisses at first before it gets heated. He doesn't mind if you want to be on the top or him on the top. Rest assured, he's not giving your lips a break either way. “Now I know what you need to do to convince me.”

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231010 ATEEZ 🌶 BOUNCY INTRO

you don’t like to kiss satoru when he wears his blindfold.

you understand why he wears it, and you don’t have any problem with it besides how distanced you feel from him when he tries to be intimate with it on. so while you never ask him to take it off, you simply refuse to engage him when he wears it. 

you felt guilty even feeling this way in the first place—after all, satoru’s health came before your own selfish wants. but you still couldn’t help your uneasiness when trying to be affectionate with him while half his face was completely blocked off from you. 

and satoru doesn’t like this. he’s not immensely clingy, or at least not often enough to call him clingy, but he does like to have you near him, tuck you into his side and steal a slow kiss or two from you on occasion. especially when he’s feeling stressed or annoyed does he seek out your soothing touch, which tended to be pretty often from how demanding the higher ups are of him. 

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Play Time Is Over

Wriothesley X female reader

Warnings -> Spice, reader is handcuffed

“I’m sorry, okay!” You pleaded, twisting to look at the male behind you - the male who’s lap you were currently sitting on.

Wriothesley almost looked bored as he read over a document, his elbow braced against the arm of the chair, cheek resting on his fist. He didn’t even look up when he spoke. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think? You had your chance to apologize a while ago, and you didn’t take it.”

“I didn’t think you would handcuff me!”

The corners of his lips twitched, confirming what you already knew. He was getting enjoyment out of this. “What is that phrase you like to use? ‘Mess around and find out?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out so instead, you huffed and turned away. Though you feigned annoyance and irritation, really, you were more surprised at how things ended up this way. You couldn’t be mad at him because- well, you dug your own grave this time. You had to admit that much. But how were you supposed to resist teasing him when he looked so attractive and brooding alone in his office?

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Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

Your boyfriend has been stolen from right under your very nose, you think.

"Hi sweetie," Wriothesley coos, standing at the entrance of the Fortress of Meropide. Not even waiting for you at his office— no, whole ass standing at the entrance. You roll your eyes playfully at the sickly sugariness in his tone, a presentation so different from the mysterious and rather composed Duke most people know him as.

Wriothesley keeps the wide grin on his face as you approach him, eyes glittering even more as you approach. You're so used to this kind of welcome now, used to Wriothesley's cooing and doting and quiet, barely contained excitement. As you near, it doesn't even surprise you anymore when he smiles happily, gives you a small kiss on the cheek as a welcome— then promptly drops to his haunches, hands immediately going to pet the Black-Back Hound at your side.

"D'ya miss me, pretty?" He coos to her, and the little menace eats up Wriothesley's attention as if he doesn't do the exact same thing every time you visit with her. She wags her tail, yipping in joy and pushing back into his hand, which just makes Wriothesley's expression melt even more.

You let him have a few more seconds with her as she drops to the floor and asks for belly rubs with a big open-mouthed smile and a lolling tongue. Wriothesley happily obliges, helpless to her wagging tail, and baby talks her the entire time.

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♜ wriothesley and his big hands.

slightly suggestive in one paragraph, but romantically so :3

covered in callouses and scars, one wouldn’t imagine wriothesley’s hands to be a symbol of anything all too romantic. but he is nothing if not gentle—when it comes to you, at least.

the iron fists that he uses to keep the fortress of meropide under lock and key are the same ones that rest on your waist to find comfort, the same ones that tug you close at night, the same ones that cradle your face like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held.

his hands are rough and scary. his hands are the softest things you’ve ever felt.

he is incapable of consciously doing anything that would bring you harm. he has only ever laid you down—gently, carefully—kissing you, worshipping you. he wants to be able to see your face no matter what; he wants to be able to hold it no matter what. he wants access to all of you—he wants to be intimate with you.

wriothesley is a big man, but it has never scared you. he has done things less than desirable to land himself in a place like the fortress of meropide, but it has never scared you. his hands are rough; his hands are big; his hands are covered in blood—but it has never scared you.

the scars that run down his neck, stripe his chest, crowd his arms: you trace each one with your fingers—your small, soft fingers—and he shivers as if you possess a cryo vision of your own. your untainted, un-calloused hands touch each intersection and cluster of healed wounds with absolute fascination, listening so intimately to the stories tattooed on his body by his own spilt blood, as if the stretched skin were the grooves on a record, your little hands the needle on the player; as if by tracing these grooves, the memories recorded in their wake would unfold.

just as a music player reads the language of its disc, you have the unique understanding of the language on wriothesley’s skin.

he secretly prides himself that he is able to protect you. that he alone can provide you the comfort and stability you desire—no other man. it is wriothesley, even with the sutures that litter his body, who has the privilege of being yours, and of having you as his own. to you, his scars are not a measure of his worth. his scars are not some separate, unfortunate feature that you are merely excusing in order to love him, no—they’re included in the contract. they are a part of what it means to love him.

the gracious nature of his authority commands respect from anyone who knows his name—and there is no man who does not. he is greatly loved by all, and he is greatly feared by all—but not by you. they love him for what he does; they love him as the man he presents himself to be in small, carefully crafted fragments.

yours is the privilege to love him as a whole, and it is yours alone.

so how are we feeling wriothesley nation (i still dont know how to pronounce his name, i use the korean voiceover) (also reblogs are appreciated because i’m just getting started here)

you're mad at him.

you're mad at him and he knows it. you've been giving wriothesley the silent treatment ever since you arrived at the fortress of meropide, bandages in hand and a flurry of curses erupting nonstop from your mouth.

not a single word has been uttered between you since you sat him down in his office. despite refusing to speak to him, much less look him in the eye, you're dutifully bandaging up his raw knuckles like you remember sigewinne showing you back when she decided to go on vacation.

"it's very easy," her voice rings in your ears. you bite your tongue to prevent yourself from snarking back at her imaginary presence.

you only hoped she was enjoying herself up on the surface, accompanying neuvillette for the first time in ages. while she absolutely did deserve a vacation, you wished that she had given wriothesley a stern set of instructions to take care of himself in her absence.

if she did, maybe you wouldn't have had to come all the way down here just to witness him in such a state. your poor heart can't take this kind of worry.

the warden has come out the pankration the most unscathed, only sporting a split lip and bloody nose. his knuckles are red and cut, but it's nothing in comparison to the two inmates who had decided it was a good idea to incite a riot in what should be a controlled environment of the prison.

physically, he's fine. emotionally, he's having a complete meltdown.

he can't take this silence anymore; can't bear having you be upset with him, knowing that he should have been more careful about rushing in to stop the riot himself. the prison is crawling with guards for a reason, yet in his haste he decided it would be faster to intervene alone.

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HONGJOONG ✶ ELLE SINGAPORE