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rainbowxocs · 3 months

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Name: Joji Ritchi (譲治リッチ)

Nicknames: Oji-Sama (おじ-さま), Genkin-Kun (現金ーくん)

Age: 19.

Pronouns: He/Him. (in English.)

I Pronoun: Maro (麿) (Archaic First Person Pronoun used by noblemen.)

Sexuality: Polyamorous, Asexual, Panromantic.

Gender: GNC, Guy.

Species: Human.

Disorders: CPTSD, ADHD, Autism.

Religion: None.

Job: Heir to the Ritchi Foundation.

Lives in: Okutama, Japan, 2024.

Languages: Japanese, English.

Height: 5’4”

Race: Mixed (White, Asian.)

Ethnicity: British, Japanese.

Accent: Yamanote.

Weapon: Has Body Guards.

Alignment: Lawful Good.

Text Color: Purple.

Main Hobbies: Bonsai, Coloring, Embroidery, Puzzles, Ikebana, Tea Ceremonies, Swimming, Collecting.

Favorite Drink: Ceremonial Matcha, Honeycomb Lavender Coffee, Watermelon Boba.

Favorite Fruit: Ruby Roman Grapes, Densuke Black Watermelon.

Favorite Meals: Fugu, Wagyu Burgers, Toro Sushi, Unagi, Okonomiyaki, Caviar, Tamagoyaki, Uni, Takoyaki, Hotpot, Peking Duck.

Favorite Candy: Taiki Hana.

Favorite Dessert: Dalgona, Raindrop Cake, Coffee Jelly, Gotgam, Jelly Noodles, Byakuya Icecream, Strawberry Cake Roll.

Favorite Flower: Lily of the Valley’s.

Scent: Fancy Arabian Perfume.

Awareness: Not Aware (Effect: None.)

Birthday: March 3rd 2005 (Pisces, Rooster, A)

Theme:

Playlist:

Fun Facts: Is quite literally the richest person in Okutama. He doesn’t seem to have a grasp on how much money is actually worth though.

Special Interests: Tea Ceremonies, Royalty, Fairytales.

Stims: Loves Shiny Things, So many Shiny Things. All the visual stims. Also loves scented things like candles.

Stimboard: LINK

Moodboard: LINK

Fashion Board: LINK

Comfort Objects: Bag just, full of trinkets and gizmos he has collected over just walking around Okutama.

Family:

Susan Ritchi (Mother)

Omura Ritchi (Father)

Saiki Hanako (Nanny/Mother Figure.)

Friends: Kagayaki, Kakikomi, Hana.

Romance: Shoyu Mikoto (Girlfriend.)

Pets: Tanpopo (タンポポ) (Giant African Snail)

Brief Personality: Joji is incredibly sheltered, He means well but often doesn’t quite know things about the world outside of what he grew up in. He’s very kind and tries his best but is very naive. He genuinely would probably get in a big white van to help someone get their puppies out of the back. Bless him.

Brief Backstory:

Joji was born into riches, he had a silver spoon in his mouth. He didn’t know his mother as she died in childbirth, and his father inherited the legacy of being a “Ritchi” until Joji was old enough to inherit the fortune.

His father resented him because of this, not only had Joji “taken away” his wife but also he would eventually take away some of his power and status. So he decided to try and sabotage his son.

He kept Joji incredibly sheltered until highschool. Keeping him homeschooled and essentially trying to make sure he couldn’t and wouldn’t try to take his rightful place as heir to the fortune.

Joji is slowly realizing that maybe his father influences his decision making more than he could think. But he still loves his dad. He genuinely believes what his dad has taught him is true and that he is a “mistake”… But maybe that will change soon.

#joji ritchi #joji #the curse of okutama #oc #ocs #my art #oc reference #art #my oc #Spotify

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angelgoeslewd · 2 years

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Can you do Wren with a quiet PC who snaps violently at someone for being too annoying? Thank you so much

so i wasn't sure if i had Wren's character down correctly so i LITERALLY went n replayed DoL for this, which is what took forever lmfao BUT I FINALLY FINISHED YESSSS

pls accept this moodboard i made as an apology

idfk what style i wanted for him so i went with farmhand who doubles as a secret agent smuggler

🔮 summary: wren tries to figure out what exactly it is that you want.

⚠️ warnings: 18+ content, minors DNI, AFAB! reader, slight violence, drinking

Wren doesn't really know what to make of you, at first. Nor do you give him anything to help him figure out the cute little puzzle that's been dropped into his lap, most literally.

All he knows is that his boss was up and swearing about some new farmer that was a pain in his ass one morning, ruining his plans to take that farm boy's land, and he decided to take matters into his own hands and maybe he pay a little visit in order to sort things out, if you catch his drift.

So he put out his cigarette, slapped on his boots and hat, and took off with that new, sleek, black Appaloosa that had spots in the shape of a dog on its hind his boss had... acquired in his last bet on that horse race.

See, Wren likes dogs. They're cute. Obedient. Loyal. Guess that says something about him, huh? But more importantly, he likes training his dogs. It's fun to see all that hard work he put into forming a perfect response pay off, when they do something that seems so natural and so ingrained in them that they weren't doing two months ago.

So when Wren sees you, sweating in the midmorning sun, carrying around the buckets of slop for the pigs, yet still managing to look so put together (and dare he say... cute?) with all the flies buzzing around your head, he instantly sees the potential. You're gonna be his next project.

And while Remy is a perfectly good boss, one to keep happy, Wren has got to look out for his own interests.

So he heads back home, deciding that eventually, you'll probably make your way over here and fall right into his hand- Most. Literally.

The afternoon sun is just setting over the moor when you ride up. The smuggler licks his lips as he watches you from his steel patio table, whiskey and cigarette smoke from his buddies clouding his vision. He peers over his hand of cards, impressed with how well you can handle that Arabian.

They tend to run hot, much like Wren is feeling right now. They need a firm hand and an even firmer mind. There's gotta be something in the press of your stirrups and the pull of your reins in order to get 'em to listen to you, and honestly, Wren didn't expect that from that cute lil orphan he saw struggling to feed the pigs. Color him intrigued. Wondering what those soft, uncallused hands would feel like around his cock, he follows you with his eyes as you dismount, tie up your horse, and walk into the den of the snake he calls Boss.

You come out about half an hour later. Wren keeps pretty good tabs on his environment due to his line of work and if he has a special interest that makes him watch you a little closer than usual, well... who's gonna call him out on that?

That furrowed brow you're wearing probably means Remy didn't get to you, which, kinda excites him. You'll be sticking around for a little longer then? Great.

"Hey, you," He calls out. Tapping his cigarette in the ashtray, he looks back up to find you looking around, then pointing at yourself questioningly. "Yeah, you. Get over here."

You don't immediately listen to him, instead standing there, weighing your options. It pisses him off a little. We'll have to work on that. Won't we?

But you apparently decide he looks trustworthy enough, as trustworthy as anyone hanging around Remy can be, and make your way over to the table of men. They don't spare any glances towards you, instead deciding to direct them to Wren himself. He ignores them and shifts in his seat to face you.

"You look a little stressed," he comments, using this excuse to look you up and down. And what a sight you are. Did Alex give you those boots, or did you buy them yourself? He doubts you have another in your life, seeing as how frequently he sees you making your way up the farm road. They look good on you. They'd look even better off. "Wanna join us for a couple of games?"

The man next to Wren snickers, but it's cut off with a jab to the stomach under the table.

"...?"

"Oh ho ho, quiet one, hm? You know what they say about the quiet ones, don't you, Wren?" The man across from him is being extraordinarily obnoxious tonight. Wren shoots him a warning look, a raised eyebrow that dares him to continue. He. apparently, doesn't value his life and does so, "They say they're-"

He's cut off as quickly as he starts.

Wren doesn't even know what happened for a second. One minute, the man was there, sitting across from him with a cocky smirk, then, he's on the floor, holding his now bleeding nose and a boot next to his face. A boot?

Wren looks back to you at this point and when he does, he practically sees hearts.

You're on one leg. A striped sock on your left foot raised slightly into the air. Arm pitched forward as you haven't had time to retract it after throwing your boot.

"Does it say that if they're wearing steel-toed boots that you should shut the fuck up?" you murmur as you slowly right yourself, careful not to lose your balance, and this time, Wren is able to hear you as everyone else at the table is dead silent. "'Cause if not, I think they got the saying wrong."

Wren is the first to do anything, and when he does, he laughs. He laughs like he hasn't in a while. He doubles over, holding his stomach, much to the shock of his goons, who startle at the noise. No one else says anything in the meantime, just stealing glances at each other quietly.

Fearshockconfusion-

"My, my, you... you're a feisty one, huh?" He says, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Boss!" Exclaims the man that you've basically called a piece of shit, indignantly. Deservingly.

"Shut it. Or else you'll find them taking your spot on this team." Wren hopes he can keep the want out of his eyes when he turns back to you, hopes it doesn't scare you off when he hands you a cigarette (but he supposes if it does, then you're not the one he's been looking for-) and asks you for a game.

You stare at his hand, then back at the man on the floor, and nod. You can handle yourself here.

You end up with both your boots off by the end. And your shirt. While you down another shot of whiskey.

Surprisingly enough to him though, Wren has also lost some clothes, his hat, the red bandana he wears around his neck, and one of his boots. Though he hasn't lost that predatory smirk he keeps shooting you from across the table.

You've moved inside from the last few games, Wren's goons gather around the cottage to watch the game from the sidelines, while you silently bet and raise and fold. But Wren's playing this game for something much more valuable than you realize.

He deals another round.

He loses.

"Well then, that's another boot for me, huh?" He goes to pull it off, but you put your hand up, shaking your head.

"I want something else," You say, and Wren is intrigued. His brow raises, his smirk gets a little longer, he can feel his face warp into an expression a wolf gives the rabbit who asks to play hide and seek, but he can't help it. He's enjoying your hunger for gambling immensely, even more since you can keep up with him.

"Oh? And what would that be, little one?"

"I want you to smash a window in Remy's mansion," You spit out. There's venom in your voice; apparently, that little 'meeting' didn't go too well, huh?

The room is immediately quiets, despite how low you've said it, heads turning towards you in disbelief that you've literally just said that while sitting in the cottage of Remy's second-hand man, practically rubbing elbows with him. They then turn to Wren, watching his amused smile drip off his face like butter in the hot sun.

"Boss," one of them pushes off the wall. "Do want us to throw them out-" He's cut off with a hand from Wren, slowly retreating back to his place.

Wren drops his hand, looking down at the cards laying on the table for a second before he sighs and sits back in his chair, raising his eyes to meet yours, holding the gaze. "Do you know what you're asking of me? Do you know how much Remy pays? How much it would cost for you-"

"I'm not going to pay."

"Excuse me—”

"Not in cash."

A laugh. "And what could you have that I possibly want? That would be enough to potentially cost me my meal ticket, my men's pay, all this niceness right here?"

You bit your lip. Slowly, you rise from your seat and hook your fingers in the waistband of your bottoms.

"Me."

Wren's eyebrows shoot up. He is suddenly very, very hungry.

You drop your bottoms.

He licks his lips.

You're everywhere.

Wren's obsessed with it.

Your mouth on his fingers, drooling all over them, on his thighs, grinding yourself against them, in his lap as Wren thrusts up into you, grabbing onto the table in front of you to try and keep him from bucking you into the air like a stallion. Moans pour from your lips as his other hand, rough, callused, dirty with dirt and sweat and god knows what else, snakes around to your front and nudge open your knees, skin catching skin as he runs his hands up your thighs to your slit, finding your clit between your folds.

He still doesn't know what to make of you, more do than talk, how you got him to the point of needing to watch his cock in and out of you, how you were able to play him as well as you play blackjack... it's like you were crafted for him, made to fit in his hands and react exactly how he wanted you too.

"Knew you'd be a good rider," he pants, not giving you a second to recover before he's dropping both his hands to lift you from behind your thighs... and my god, are you soft there. He can feel the muscle of your leg, trained and firm; it's no wonder how you could control that horse. With legs like that, you could break the will of even the strongest of animals.

He needs to feel it around his cock. Now.

You slide down his front, letting his cock slide out of you, and bending at the waist to lean over onto the table, like you've been waiting for him to let you down so you could taunt him with your pretty ass, pussy pushed together by the swell of your thighs.

He can't stop touching you, fingers caressing the back of your knee all up your thighs to trace the outline of your pussy. Then it's in your hair, gripping the back of your neck and pulling you up, so he can lick your ear with his deep, raspy voice.

"Darlin', you're making it real hard not to take a picture of your adorable little pussy and keep it framed," he whispers, letting his fingers push into your for emphasis. You shake your head as much as you can, trying to ease the pressure on your scalp by grabbing his hand to alleviate some of your weight. He sees red. "You not gonna answer me? You can moan on my cock, like a whore, but you won't beg for me not to flaunt the most gorgeous piece of ass I've ever had the pleasure to ruin?"

"Not dignified enough for me to answer," you hiss back.

No one, not even his dick of a boss, pisses him off quite as much as you do. He doesn't know what it is about you, something makes him want to grab the riding crop Remy uses on the difficult ones so he can train you properly. He loves the challenge.

"Be that way then." He slams you back down onto the card table, forcing your legs open and shoving his cock between your thighs. You clench them together, the warm pressure making Wren sigh in pleasure. You let him use your body, let the thrusts push you back and forth, as Wren fucks your thighs, keeping his hand in your hair the whole time. You are drunk on the feeling of his cock rubbing against your pussy, if you tilt your hips justttt so, you can feel it rub against your clit, sparks flying up your spine, pushing you further and further into the haze of sex and alcohol you've wandered into.

"You gonna be a doll and let me cum on your thighs? Or am I going to have to ask for that nicely too?” He mocks.

"As long as you feed it to me after." Wren laughs.

"You got yourself a deal. Easiest-" He pushes against you violently. "-One-" Another jerk of his cock. "-I've ever-" Another. "-Made." And you feel the heat of cum on your pussy, slick and sticky and wet, dripping down to your thighs.

Looking down, you can see the trail run, a copious amount still pooled. You look back, to Wren, who has a smirk on his face, like the cat that's caught the canary.

"You gonna say thank you? Or am I gonna have to fuck that out of you too?"

#dol #degrees of lewdity #wren the smuggler #angelic songs #did i fucking do a shit ton of research on horses for this?#yes #yes i did #.SMS SENT #🍩 of dol

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