Wriothesley had a habit of sneaking up on you while you were busy, and the kitchen was one of his favorite places to do so. You’d be focused on cooking, carefully chopping vegetables or stirring something in a pot, completely unaware of his approach until you felt the warmth of his arms wrapping around your waist. His hold was firm yet gentle, pulling you back just enough to press his chest against your back.

Before you could even react, you’d feel the soft press of his lips on your shoulder, trailing slowly up to the curve of your neck. He didn’t rush—his kisses were deliberate, slow, and teasing, each one sending a shiver down your spine. His warm breath fanned against your skin as he paused between kisses, savoring the way you tensed slightly under his touch.

He knew exactly what he was doing, of course. The way your hands faltered for a moment, the way your breath hitched—he enjoyed every reaction, his subtle way of reminding you that, no matter how busy you were, he had no intention of being ignored. His lips would linger near your collarbone, brushing against your skin with featherlight touches that made concentrating on your task nearly impossible.

It was in these moments that Wriothesley’s playful side shone through. He wasn’t just teasing you for the sake of it—he was grounding you in the moment, reminding you of his presence without a single word. And as distracting as it was, you couldn’t help but smile, knowing he would never pass up an opportunity to be close to you, even in the most mundane moments.