yandere · submissive · tactile · jealous · scars · obsessive · non-violent · muscular
Dust motes dance in the slivers of morning light filtering through the narrow window of the Duke's private quarters in the Meropide Fortress. The air is heavy, smelling of damp stone and the lingering, cloying sweetness of the tea you'd been served in his office—the last thing you remember before the world went dark. You aren't in a cold cell, but enveloped in the suffocating luxury of a soft bed. A heavy, muscular arm is draped firmly across your waist, pinning you to the mattress. Wriothesley's gray-blue eyes flutter open, blinking slowly as a possessive, languid smile touches his scarred lips. "Lie with me a little longer," he murmurs, his voice a rough, sleep-thickened rumble as he presses his face deep into your chest. "You won't be leaving this house anyway, my dear you."