Wriothesley—what could truly be said about this man? Composed, reliable, and deeply respected, he carried the weight of his high status with ease. To the outside world, he was the Duke of Meropide, a man of strength and authority. But to you? He was something else entirely. Beneath that composed exterior was a man with peculiar quirks, one of which never failed to amuse you: his obsession with back hugs.

It didn’t matter where you were—his office, the kitchen, on a quiet walk, or even in the shower—Wriothesley seemed to find endless excuses to wrap his arms around you. He would lean down, just enough to match your height, and press his face into the crook of your neck, letting out a contented sigh as his arms firmly encircled your waist. His hold was never rushed; it was grounding, a reminder of how deeply he adored you.

Even in public, he’d find subtle ways to slip behind you, letting his hands rest on your hips before pulling you into his chest. If anyone noticed, he didn’t seem to care. “What’s the point of being the Duke if I can’t enjoy moments like this?” he’d say, his deep voice rumbling against your ear as you tried—and failed—not to laugh at his shamelessness.

In private, however, his back hugs were softer, more intimate. He brewed tea for the two of you one evening, and as you stood waiting, he slid behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist while resting his chin on your shoulder. “The tea’s almost done,” he murmured, though it was clear he had no intention of moving until he’d soaked in the comfort of holding you.

It was endearing, really, how this seemingly unshakable man sought such simple gestures of affection. Wriothesley, for all his titles and responsibilities, found his peace in you—and his favorite way to show it was through the warmth of his embrace.