jaiden zhou

He'd close the door behind him without a sound and approach slowly rather than startling you, lowering himself beside you as he tried to figure out what had happened. "Hey." His voice would come out quieter than usual. You wouldn't respond, too overwhelmed by the crying to even notice him properly, so he'd crouch down beside you and look at your hidden face. "Hey. Look at me." He wouldn't demand it again when you couldn't. Instead, he'd sit down on the floor beside you, close enough that his knee nearly touched yours, and remain there while watching your breathing. The crying would continue, your hands still covering your face as each breath came out unevenly, and Wanderer would visibly struggle with what to do.

He's not someone who naturally knows how to comfort people with elaborate words, so his first instinct would be practical.

He'd notice the cup of water nearby and reach for it, placing it within your reach. When you didn't even seem to notice, he'd pick it up himself and hold it out. "Drink." Your hands would be shaking too badly to take it, prompting him to pause before carefully holding the cup for you without saying anything.

He'd wait patiently between each small sip, keeping the cup steady while your breathing remained uneven. Another particularly harsh sob would shake through you, forcing you to bow your head further into your hands, and he'd click his tongue under his breath.

"You're going to make yourself sick." The irritation wouldn't be directed at you so much as at the fact that he couldn't simply make whatever had caused this disappear. After another moment, he'd reach toward your hands, hesitating briefly before gently catching your wrists and lowering them enough to see your face. You'd instinctively try hiding again, but he wouldn't move away. "I'm not asking you to stop crying. Just breathe." He'd wait until you managed even one shaky breath before quietly guiding you through another. "Again. Slowly." His voice would remain low and steady, giving you something consistent to focus on while the worst of the sobbing gradually began to lose its force.

Once the crying finally became quieter, Wanderer wouldn't assume that meant you were suddenly fine. He'd stay seated beside you on the floor, watching your breathing carefully as you wiped at your face and tried to collect yourself, your back still resting weakly against the side of the bed because you clearly didn't have the strength to sit upright on your own.

An apology for making him worry would immediately earn a frown. "Don't say that." You'd probably look at him through tearful eyes, confused by the sharpness of his response, and he'd look away for a second before adding more quietly, "You don't need to apologize for this."

Eventually, exhaustion would make you lean toward him, and although he'd stiffen for half a second, he'd allow you to rest against his shoulder without complaint. His arm would come around you, awkward at first, before settling more securely around your shoulders once he realized you weren't pulling away.

His hand would begin rubbing your back in slow, absentminded motions, especially whenever your breathing hitched and threatened to start the crying all over again. You'd eventually begin explaining what had happened, and he'd listen without interrupting. He wouldn't fill the silence with unnecessary questions or immediately tell you how you should have handled things.

He'd simply let you speak, occasionally giving a quiet response so you knew he was still following.

The moment another person's involvement came up, however, his expression would change.

His eyes would narrow, his jaw tightening as he listened, and for a moment there would be something distinctly dangerous in his silence. "They did what?" He'd let you finish before saying anything else, but you would be able to tell that he was already memorizing every detail. Still, he wouldn't leave to confront anyone while you were like this. You'd remain his priority.

Exhaustion would eventually settle over you after all the crying, and rather than letting you remain slumped awkwardly against the bed, he'd gently pull you closer against his chest and keep you there.

One arm would remain firmly around your shoulders while his other hand slowly brushed through your hair, smoothing it away from your damp face whenever it stuck to your cheeks. He'd repeat the motion several times, fingertips moving gently through your hair before tracing down the back of your head and returning again.

His hand would occasionally drift to your back, rubbing slow circles whenever your breathing became uneven.

The room wouldn't stay silent for long, but Wanderer wouldn't resort to endlessly filling the silence with random stories either. Instead, once he noticed your breathing had begun to settle, his attention would turn toward you more deliberately, and he'd start talking about things he normally wouldn't bother saying aloud.

He might quietly mention some small habit of yours he'd noticed, recalling how you always did something a certain way or how you'd once complained about something so trivial that he'd secretly remembered it anyway.

"You know, you're actually terrible at pretending you're fine." He'd say it with the faintest hint of a smirk, brushing a strand of hair away from your damp cheek before continuing. "You always get quieter first. Then you start insisting nothing's wrong. It's not exactly difficult to figure out." There'd be no mockery behind it this time. If anything, his voice would carry an unusual gentleness as he admitted the little things he'd noticed about you over time.

He might mention how you always tried to take care of everyone else even when you were exhausted yourself, or how you'd become so accustomed to putting your own problems aside that you'd sometimes forget someone else might actually want to take care of you.

He'd grumble about how frustrating that habit was, but his hand would continue moving slowly through your hair as he spoke. "You're allowed to have bad days, you know. You don't have to make yourself useful every second just so people have a reason to keep you around." The words would come out more sincerely than he intended, and he'd briefly look away before adding something lighter to keep the moment from becoming too heavy. He might bring up Nahida and how she'd probably tell him he was being unusually considerate, only for him to scoff at the thought. "She'd probably give me that look again. The one where she already knows what I'm thinking and waits for me to figure it out myself."

A small, tired laugh from you would earn the faintest upward twitch at the corner of his mouth. He wouldn't point it out or congratulate himself for making you smile. He'd simply continue gently smoothing your hair back, occasionally resting his hand against the back of your head as you remained tucked against him.

As the last of your tears gradually dried, the conversation would become less about distracting you and more about reminding you of the things that were still there. He might quietly mention some place he'd like to take you someday, complain about something someone you both knew had done, or describe some ridiculous thing he'd witnessed earlier, but he'd keep circling back to you without even realizing it.

"You'd probably like it there," he'd remark casually before pausing, as though only then noticing that he'd started talking about taking you somewhere. He'd listen whenever you answered, occasionally correcting you, disagreeing just to keep the conversation going, or asking what you thought about something because he genuinely wanted to hear your opinion.

Whenever your voice faltered, his hand would instinctively return to your hair or slowly rub your back, grounding you without interrupting what you were saying. Eventually, your weight would settle more completely against his chest, the trembling almost entirely gone.

Wanderer would glance down at you, his expression noticeably softer than it had been when he'd first entered the room. "There. That's better." His fingers would lightly brush through your hair once more before he added, quieter this time, "You don't have to talk anymore." He'd let the silence return naturally after that, keeping you securely against him. Eventually, you'd become calm enough to rest fully against him without trembling, your weight settling against his chest while his arms remained securely around you. He'd lower his voice and glance down at you. "See? You're breathing normally again."

Embarrassment over having cried so badly in front of him would earn an almost offended expression. "You're embarrassed?" He'd click his tongue and shake his head. "I've seen you covered in dirt, exhausted, half-dead after traveling, and making considerably worse decisions. This isn't exactly the most shocking thing you've done."

The dry remark would be deliberate, something familiar enough to make the room feel normal again. Another small laugh from you would visibly relax his shoulders, though he'd pretend not to notice.

He'd simply pull you a little closer and continue brushing your hair away from your face, his voice gradually becoming quieter as he talked about increasingly meaningless things just to keep you company.

Eventually, you'd settle comfortably against him on the floor, no longer needing the bed to hold you upright because he was doing it for you.

Wanderer would make no attempt to move you away. He'd remain there with you in his arms, occasionally smoothing your hair or rubbing your back, quietly talking until the heaviness in the room had finally lifted enough for you to breathe without having to think about it.

To his relief, you are neither sleeping nor sobbing and there is not an overdue bill in sight. Instead, you are happily humming to yourself, setting a metal tray full of fluffy brown cakes onto the counter. The sweet scent of chocolate wafts over him just as you look up.

“Kinich,” you greet cheerfully.

He tries very hard not to focus on how quickly his heart races at your voice.

“Perfect timing, I just finished a new recipe I need someone to test out. You like grainfruit, right?”

Kinich pauses, just the name alone conjuring up a sickening aftertaste in his mouth. He absolutely does not like grainfruit. But—his eyes linger on the sweet curve of your lips—he doesn’t want to disappoint you. You are relying on him to test your new recipe so maybe he can suck it up just this once and—

“Just kidding,” you singsong before bursting into a fit of laughter. “You should have seen your face—ahaha—no worries, Malipo, no grainfruit here!”

His shoulders relax from a tension he did not realize he was carrying and a smile tugs at his own lips as you come over with a cake on a porcelain plate.

“This is Volcano Cake. It is quite challenging to make since the inside and outside have to be completely different consistencies at the same temperature, but I think it will be quite popular in the cooler months—well, assuming it actually tastes good of course.”

You stab into the cake with a small fork, tearing a piece apart to reveal a molten chocolate center that immediately begins to overflow and drip down the sides in distinct tracks like lava.

His eyes follow the piece of cake at the end of your fork until it stops, hovering just centimeters from his lips. When he looks up he is met with your expectant gaze, face close enough to count your lashes. Close enough to lean forward and—

His breath hitches.

Without breaking eye contact, Kinich leans forward to take the bite obediently, the tip of your fork sliding between his lips.

He watches as your gaze flickers down to his lips with the movement. You stare for a moment, dazed, as he slowly chews the piece. It melts on his tongue, sweet with the distinct bitter aftertaste of cacahuati.

It is delicious. He would tell you as much but he gets the sense that neither of you are truly interested in cake at the moment. Your eyelashes momentarily flutter before you look back up. The eye contact ignites a heat deep in his gut.

“How is it?”

Your words are barely above a whisper but something in your tone feels dangerous. His fingers twitch at his sides, muscles flexing with the need for action.

You have always been like this haven’t you? Teasing him. Testing his limits. Pushing him to the very edge of a cliff and daring him to jump.

Well, Kinich has always been a thrill-seeker.

Any hopes of receiving a proper answer from him are dashed when he grabs at your elbows and pulls you in closer, uncaring of the dish that falls from your grip and clatters on the ground.

His lips pressed against yours are more hungry and desperate than sweet but you reciprocate all the same. You redirect your hands to his hair, gripping at his messy locks on just the edge of too tight but he could care less. As long as you were like this, bodies melded together so tightly he can hardly tell where he ends and you begin, nothing else matters.

It is purely by instinct that he nips at your bottom lip—but then your lips part for him and he is suddenly introduced to a new possibility. His tongue presses toward, sliding wet and hot against your own. You let out a soft sound in his mouth and he thinks he has never wanted anything as desperately as he wants you to continue making those pretty sounds for him. The head in his gut earlier has intensified, burning red hot as it urges him to do things with your body he has only imagined in moments of weakness.

Everything about you is enticing–that is something he had known since the beginning despite his best efforts to ignore it. But now the false pretexes are gone and his hands move across your soft body with an eagerness to feel everything hiding beneath the layers of clothing he had imagined removing more times than he would ever admit.

Despite your valiant attempts to return his intensity and stay upright, his strength dwarves your own so he slips his hands to the back of your thighs just under ths curve of your ass and lifts.

“Kinich—!”

Your hands fly up to grip at his shoulders for support as you’re suddenly hoisted up and pivoted to be plopped unceremoniously on top of the counter. However, any complaints you might have had are abruptly cut off as Kinich presses his mouth right back onto yours. You wrap your legs around his waist and roll your hips into his in way that has him seeing stars and an embarrassingly pitchy moan escapes his lips. You back from the kiss with a smirk but his eyes catch on the thin strand of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his own.

“You look pretty worked up,” you tease as if your own face isn’t hot to the touch and your own shoulders aren’t heaving with your labored breaths.

“I want you,” Kinich says, straight to the point as always. “Please.”

Your teasing look cracks apart into something more desperate as you quickly nod in agreement and allow him to pick you up again while you direct him towards your private room in the back of the bakery.

Clothing and accessories are discarded carelessly, tugged off in the brief moments between kisses. Without his gloves, Kinich gropes at what he can, already addicted to the soft squish of your flesh beneath his calloused hands. The swell of your breasts, the planes of your stomach, the curve of your ass—he commits himself to mapping them all without bias. He wonders at how someone can be so soft in this world filled with monsters, both human and not. But that was his duty as a hero, wasn't it? Protecting vulnerable treasures.

Kinich gently drops you onto the plush of your mattress but you quickly sit up to tug at the fabric around his hips pointedly. The thick material of his insulated jumpsuit is one of the last few pieces of clothing separating the two of you, your own dress and his black undershirt discarded somewhere between the kitchen and bed. Kinich obeys your silent request without hesitation, unbuckling the belt and pushing the layers of fabric down in one fluid move.

The moment his bare flesh is revealed you freeze, gaping at his hardened length.

Kinich pauses.

He is somewhat aware of his size, having seen his fair share of illustrative literature and visited more than a few public bath houses. He assumed himself to be average in most circumstances, at least when he doesn’t have the physical effects of a beautiful woman bare before him. Seeing himself before you now, you staring at his erection with genuine shock, he begins to second guess his previous assessments.

“Is it…” Kinich pauses to find a word, “sufficient for this task?”

His voice finally draws your gaze away from his crotch, eyes still wide as saucers.

“You’re huge, Kinich, how—” you cut yourself off abruptly and your look morphs something mischevious that already has him dreading what you might say next.

“I should have expected no less from the Great Malipo Kinich.”

Archons, not that again.

At his irritated expression you burst into a peel of giggles. The sound makes his heart throb nearly as much as his erection and Kinich decides it is entirely too overwhelming to be both horny and endeared so he settles with focusing on the former.

Kinich silently prompts you to lie down flat on your back as he busies himself with peppering soft kisses down your neck. He takes his time moving down, down, down until he reaches the curve of your bare hips. You’re squirming now, growing impatient in a way that tempts him to tease you as payback for all the times you’ve teased him–but he won’t.

Not tonight, at least.

He grips the fat of your thighs to spread your legs wide open, eyes mapping the newly revealed skin in equal measures of greed and analysis. You’re puffy and dripping, wetness smeared between your inner thighs and matting the tufts of hair around your entrance. The view is nothing short of inspirational to Kinich’s assessing gaze. His mind races with the possibilities, the many things he could do to you—most of which he hopes you would quite enjoy—but he recognized the significance of making a good impression tonight. He needs to provide exceptional service so that you will give him this privilege again and again.

His thoughts are interrupted by your attempt to squirm beneath his firm grip. You whine out a complaint about how his staring is embarrassing but Kinich tunes it out to focus. Seventy percent of one’s energy should go to investigating, he thinks. Ten percent to making a final decision, he ducks down, and the remainder for execution—

A sharp mewl escapes your lips as Kinich slides his tongue deeply between your folds, curling upwards until the tip catches against your clit. He tongues around the swollen nub, savoring the silkiness of your flesh, before diving back below to repeat the motion all over again.

When he finally releases his grip on your thighs they immediately close around the sides of his head, nearly trapping him, but he has a better use for his hands.

He uses his thumbs to pull the outer lips of your cunt open, exposing more of the slippery inner folds to his tongue. When he dips down again the tip of his tongue catches on the rim of your leaking hole, prompting your back to arch and one hand to fly to hair, gripping a fistful.

Kinich prods at the entrance, teasing it, before moving back up to instead rapidly flick his tongue against your throbbing nub. You cry out some mix of frustration and pleasure that has his lips curling into a smirk against you. He decides to show you some mercy in the form of pressing his blunt middle finger against your hole and pushing in deep. Your hips jerk in surprise but he continues to press forward, not stopping until the last knuckle. His lips close around your clit to suck at the same time he pulls his finger back before pushing it back in and setting a rhythm. If you were wet before you’re sopping now, the mix of your juices and his saliva making his movements frictionless and it isn’t long before he’s pushing his ring finger in alongside the first.

The sounds escaping you are sinful, both the breathy keens coming from your throat and the illicit squelches of your pussy. It has him leaking, cock desperate to experience the pulsating warmth wrapped around his fingers. But he ignores his body's urges to focus on pleasuring you, your heady taste on his tongue Kinich suddenly pushes a third finger in and you pull at his hair hard enough to rip out a few strands, hips bucking into him while his tongue swirls around your clit. He doesn’t relent until you’re seizing around him, walls spasming while your thighs squeeze tight against his skull and stutter out incoherent variations of his name. Kinich helps you ride through your orgasm, lapping up at the increased wetness while his fingers massage your inner walls.

When your muscles finally begin to relax he moves his fingers, pressing a final polite peck to your sensitive clit before sitting up.

The bottom half of his face is sticky with your juices—he suspects that is why you are avoiding eye contact right now–but it doesn’t deter him from leaning over to kiss you, drowning out your surprised squeak with hot presses of his mouth. He only pulls away when you are breathless, eyes half lidded and pupils blown as you gaze up at him with desire. His breath catches.

“Can I put it inside?”

You glance down briefly, his erection swollen and leaky as he patiently waits for your permission, before you let out a breathy yes.

Kinich moves quickly, slotting his hips between your thighs with one hand on the inside of your knee while the other grips at himself, guiding the tip to your entrance.

Seeing them right next to each other like this, Kinich begins to understand your previous shock. The size difference between the fat head of his cock and your tiny hole is nearly obscene. His mind betrays him with indecent thoughts, vivid images of folding you into a much more creative position. The idea of testing your body's limits makes him throb but he bookmarks those thoughts for later. Tonight is about proving himself as an adequate lover, he can make you scream another time.

Your hands fist at the sheets and you softly whine for him to hurry up already and so he does.

Kinich pushes in, blunt head pressing into your entrance and applying relentless pressure until it breaches. You gasp and he reaches up to grab one of your hands on instinct, fingers tightly interlocking as he continues to press forward. His attention flickers between watching your cute expressions twist with each centimeter and watching your cute hole being stretched open and forced to accept his cock. By the time he bottoms out your eyes are squeezed tightly shut and Kinich has to take a steady breath to calm himself down. He is certain that ejaculating immediately after entering you is within the top five worst things that could possibly happen to him right now.

Kinich leans down to pepper kisses against your cheeks and the corner of your mouth, distracting himself from the searing heat of your walls wrapped so tightly around him. You reciprocate sweetly, giggling and releasing the sheets to card your fingers through his dark hair gently. After a few moments, when he feels more composed. he leans back to adjust his hold. The hand pressing on the inside of your knee shifts to grip under it and he raises your leg a little higher so that the top of your thigh presses into the curve of your stomach. His other hand remains next to your head, pinning your hand down as you squeeze his fingers in anticipation.

When his hips begin to draw back you tighten up around him, like your body is begging him not to leave. The thought makes him a little light-headed but he manages to pull out to the tip before using his strength to thrust back to the hilt. You cry out his name and the sound sends goosebumps down his arms. He falters for a moment before repeating the motion, pulling out only to thrust back in, beginning to seat a steady pace punctuated by your stuttered moans and his own soft grunts.

Your pleased sounds, the searing warmth of you sucking him in on every movement, the sticky plap, plap, plap of his hips meeting yours—it is nearly overwhelming every one of his senses. It makes his heart race faster than standing at the peak of any towering cliffs or facing any pack of snarling saurians at close combat ever has. The sensations are completely foreign yet the primality of it activates the instincts he didn't know he had. The need to please you drives him to tilt his hips to catch on a part inside of you that makes you moan fuck, r-right there and squeeze around him so deliciously that he does it again and again and again—

“T-talk to me,” you gasp against his ear.

The request completely throws him off and his movements come to an abrupt halt while his brain scrambles to focus on anything that isn’t how good you feel long enough to decode what you just said.

“...about what?”

There is a brief pause before you are suddenly bursting into laughter and Kinich feels his face heat up. You laughing in his face might also be in the top five worst things to be happening right now. Luckily, the toothy grin you shoot him is cute enough to distract him from his sudden desire to jump off a cliff.

“I mean like,” you explain between giggles, “tell me how you feel. I want to hear you feel good."

The innocence of your words makes his chest throb again and he silently nods before resuming his previous rhythm.

He considers the request in earnest. Kinich has never been much of a talker but—you release a sharp cry when he accidentally hits a particularly sensitive spot inside of you and his stomach clenches—he certainly understood the appeal of a partner's voice. And he if it is something that will please you, Kinich will do anything.

He swallows thickly.

“You feel good,” he murmurs hesitantly, “very tight.”

He thrusts in with a particularly loud squelch. “—and wet.”

They are simply observations but the way you react, whimpering while your walls squeezing around him so tightly he can barely move--you must like it. He lets go of your hand and readjusts his position to drive more force behind every thrusts and the salacious cry that escapes you makes his hips stutter. His control is rapidly slipping and he ducks down to kiss you in a feeble attempt to ground himself. Your arms wrap around his sturdy shoulders, chests sliding against each other as he continues to lose himself to an animalistic pace inside of you.

“I want to do this… all the t-time,” he confesses hotly into your mouth. You moan your approval, drool escaping the sides of your lips as you press up into him.

“I want to—ah—make you f-feel good and…” his hands are gripping the sheets next to your head so tight his knuckles turn white, arms lightly trembling with strain as he relentlessly slams his hips against your own.

“Want to c-come home—fuck—have you spread out like this e-every night…f'me…only me—"

“Me too,” you gasp against his ear sweetly, hugging him close as he ruins you, “K-Kinich—ahh—I...I like you so much!”

The coil in his gut snaps and he releases inside of you with a strangled sound. He has just enough cognizance to slip one hand down and rub against the bundle of nerves above your entrance, desperate for you to finish with him and you do. You cum on his cock with an unrestrained moan of his name that he will undoubtedly be replaying in his head over and over for the rest of his life.

The minutes following are calm. His ears are still slightly ringing but his pounding heartbeat has finally begun to slow down when he finally gathers the mental strength to lift himself off of you. When he looks down you're a mess, sweaty and panting with unfocused eyes various fluids smeared against your flushed skin. His eyes dip down to place where he had just been and the sight of your battered cunt drooling with thick globs of his essence feels like a punch to the gut, reigniting the flame of his hunger.

"Ajaw was right," you announce.

The mere utterance of that name effectively quells any semblance of arousal and Kinich shoots you a pointed glare. You immediately grin.

"You are a total sap, Malipo. Cumming as soon as I say I like you, ha!"

Kinich does not reward you with a reply, instead reaching over for one of the earlier discarded clothing items—his black undershirt it seems—to gently wipe the mess from your thighs before it dries. He avoids the areas that make you twitch with sensitivity and cleans you to the best of his abilities before tossing the item back to the floor.

Laundry will be hell tomorrow, he distantly notes, but likely no worse than the typical stains of saurian viscera and his own blood. Your inquisitive gaze remains pinned to his face, watching as he untangles the several layers of sheets and thick comforter around you to pull them over your body instead.

He is considering asking why on Teyvat you have so many layers on your bed in the dead of Natlan summer when your soft voice cuts the silence first. gles the layers of sheets and thick comforter around you to pull them over your body instead. He is considering asking why on Teyvat you have so many layers on your bed in the dead of Natlan summer when your soft voice cuts the silence first.

"Do you like me?"

The question makes him freeze, eyes snapping to your own to try and read your expression. Your tone was curious and genuine—something that makes his stomach churn uncomfortably.

You must know, he thinks, you're always reading him so well, certain of his feelings without him ever saying a word. You must have read it in the way he inexplicably spends so many hours at the bakery each week, the way he talks to you more than he has ever spoken to anyone, the way he just reached the pinnacle of human connection with you just now—

Kinich pauses as your request from earlier flashes in his mind.

Maybe you just want him to say it aloud... he could certainly do that. Maybe he can finally muster up the courage to give you that emerald necklace that has been waiting in the bottom of his back pocket for days. He could just open his mouth and tell you right now that he likes you but—

Kinich's expression must change in a way you can't read because you tilt your head with furrowed brow in that cute way you always do when you don't quite understand something.

"I'm in love with you," he blurts.

Pause.

"...I think."

Kinich is nothing if not honest—maybe to a fault. But love is not something he can remember fondly. His experiences with love start with the heavy hands of his father and end at the bottom of a cliff. And, as painful as it was, it was still the only way he knew love, ugly and twisted but still peppered with laughter and smiles and the bittersweet taste of chocolate. He thinks you are something a little different, more akin to the warmth and comfort of his mother—but she left.

And he really hopes you won't leave.

Your face breaks into a wide grin and Kinich is releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down on top of you and under the inferno of your ten billion unnecessary blankets but he doesn't utter a word of complaint. His arms wrap around your waist, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

but this proved sorta difficult. with how consistent he was with his training. then there was the missions. and when he wasn’t occupied by that? he was worshipping his stupid staff and meditating! was it impossible for him to find time to get you off? seemed like it.

and it was even more infuriating how he acted like nothing had happened that night - which was probably for the better for both of you. but not even a glance your way to give you a knowing look, nope. nothing. just the same, cold brat you knew before. and it did hurt a little. that he acted no different, acted unaffected, when you were nothing but affected.

finally, you find yourself from free time. the whole day off, actually! perfect. and, since you’re perfectly fine with Enjin, you decide to check in with him to ask if team Akuta has any special plans. nothing. also perfect. this means, in theory, Zanka should be all by himself, and free for you! and that theory became a beautiful reality when you peeked through the cracked door of his bedroom.

there’s a warm golden tint to the room from the sunset that’s pouring in through the window. he sits on the edge of his bed closest to the window, back facing you, posture straight. he’s sitting cross-legged with his beloved staff balanced delicately across his lap. what a sight. and as much as it felt rude interrupting, you could also argue that it was rude for him to leave you on the edge of an orgasm and rush out!

you give the door a little push, and step inside. his head lifts a little, but he doesn’t actually look back until he hears the door shut behind you.

“what’re ya doin in here..?”

“wow. what a warm welcome. i think you know what for, Zanka,”

zanka sighs, because he did sorta bring it upon himself, so it’s not like he can complain. he props Aibo up against the wall, stands up, and walks over to you.

“what? it’s not like you planned anything or gave me a time or date. can’t be mad at me for showing up.”

“i’m busy.” he says bluntly.

“too busy for me?”

that made him hesitate. he really wasn’t, and saying yes or no out loud both didn’t sound good. so he said nothing. just walked past you and locked the door.

ᯓ★

your knees dig into the mattress on either side of zanka’s hips, pinning him below you. he grunts quietly, fingertips digging into your waist while you grind down on him.

“j-jesus christ, not even a warning or-”

“shut up.”

“yes m’am…”

he’s like a completely different person from the closet the other night - breathing uneven while he tried to derive as much pleasure as he can from the pitiful dry humping that’s going on. even worse for him? your panties are off. the fabric of his pants are the only thing separating him from your wet heat.

zanka can’t take it anymore. he’s gripping your hips tightly, trying to grind you down on him better, when his hands quickly retreat to his waistband. you grab his face in your hands when you notice.

“nope. say please first.”

he must’ve winced at the thought.

because zanka nijiku didn’t beg.

but, looking up at you with those navy eyes - tinged with annoyed devotion - he hesitantly mumbled.

“…please.”

“much better.”

he won’t admit the way he feels his cheeks heat up at your tone. it’s there, just not something he’ll own up to. the button of his pants gets undone with ease, nimble fingers sliding them down just enough to free himself to finally be a little closer to what he so desperately needed. but you had different plans, because this whole payback thing just kept getting funner for you.

you sink to your knees in front of him, wrapping a hand around the base of his cock. he sucks in a breath, and barely has any time to react before you’re pumping your hand up and down his dick. his abs tense immediately under your free hand.

he gets close fairly quickly, hips bucking up into your warm fist, breaths shaky as he nears his limit. just as he’s about to finish, though? you press a light kiss to his tip, and pull away, leaving him to whine at the ruined orgasm.

but that frustration turns into submission in no time. because he’d do anything to experience that again and actually finish.

he’s pulling you up to his lap quickly, but not lining himself up just yet. he really needs to win you over. his hands hold your waist, not too tight, and he’s looking up at you so, so obediently.

“please..please, let me have you.”

he pants quietly, desperation seeping from his voice in ways you’d never heard before. and it was beautiful.

you sink down slowly, and he lets out a sigh of relief that could be interpreted as a whimper if you thought about it hard enough. but neither of you were thinking right now. he just needed to be bottomed out in your warm, gooey walls that he’d only dreamt of experiencing.

his fingers slide down to your hips and he just anchors himself there once you reach the base. he hides his face in your forehead, moaning quietly from the sensation. then..his lips.

you feel his lips press to your neck when you start to move up and down on him. sucking and nibbling while he weakly thrusts up into you, slow but rhythmic.

after a few minutes, you notice him speeding up. losing his rhythm, and instead growing sloppier. with each thrust he sucks in your neck a little harder, and he’s switched spots plenty of times just to mark your neck all over.

he spills over with a choked off groan, flooding you with a hot wetness. he muffles himself by biting into the side of your neck while his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against his body, and apologizing for finishing so early.

“sorry, i just..really needed that. promise…i promise, i’ll let you cum, i just need a minute,”

he rambles, sounding pathetic as ever but so adorable. he’s way too grateful for getting to experience you like this, and it definitely shows.

A/N : all i can say is i am SO sorry for how long this took😢😢😢 i’ve been crazy busy with wig styling and prop making and all that crap, so i hope this is like..enjoyable enough and meets the invisible expectations that might be there…love u all!!

painful as it is to admit, he’s beautiful. sharp jawline, real intense eyes. if he wasn’t such a prick all the time, you think you’d fall for him. but no. he goes out of his way to bother you. so it’s natural for you to retaliate, and give him hell back. it’s only fair.

well, fast forward. you’ve been on this same hate train for a few months, when this new cleaner joins. he’s a Sphereite, too. so he steals the attention for a while, no big deal. you even find out through the grapevine that Zanka will be his mentor, to which you just mumble “that’s rough..”

but this Sphere kid, Rudo, is so special that they end up throwing this welcome-to-the-ground party for him. on one hand, what’s the hype? on the other hand, who would pass up an opportunity to party? just like Riyo said, it’s just an excuse for everyone to get wasted.

so you do exactly that.

but it looks like you aren’t the only one with the idea. after a handful of shots and too much dancing, you slump down in a chair in a dim corner. to your drunk dismay, you’ve plopped yourself down right next to Zanka. great.

“get lost.”

“no..you get lost.”

he just grumbles, no energy to argue further. you’re surprised him of all people got wasted, but who are you to judge?

after a few back and forth comments, you sorta just give up, and slump over, leaning onto his shoulder.

“the fuck d’ya think yer doing..?!”

he said, brows furrowed. you mumble back something that’s slurred by the alcohol. after a second, you lift your head to look up at him. your thumb brushes the corner of his mouth.

“you had something on your face…”

he was too stunned to speak. but that also meant he was stunned to deny the growing flush on his cheeks.

without thinking much - because why would you? - you moved your hand from lightly brushing the corner of his mouth to cupping his cheek fully. you lean forward with little to no hesitation, pressing your lips to his firmly. and before either of you know it, everything’s blurred into the two of you making out. and then it snaps back - people can most definitely see you two right now. so the solution?

you pretend you’re fighting. it’s normal, usual, expected. except you aren’t dragging him by the collar to a storage closet for the sole purpose of sparring…

the door shuts, and Zanka backs up against the wall, squished in as you’re trying to figure out the lock. you’re about to panic about the risk of being caught when he gets impatient. he grabs your waist, spins you around and crashes his lips onto yours.

any worries about the others simmer away as your mouth moves against his with a desperate fervor that’s been built up for months. the locked away thoughts of “i’m so mad he’s fine” finally coming to light now that you know neither of you care.

he barely pulls away to tug your shirt over your head, leaning back a little just to admire.

“hard to hate ya with tits like these..”

he mutters, leaning forward again to kiss you, hard and quick and honestly a little messy, with your back pressed against some boxes. but he can’t help but pull away again to just look down at his favorite sight - he swears his mouth must be watering.

“f-fuck, they..sit so perfect,”

he whispers, as if your breasts are some holy grail that he just can’t take his eyes off of. his hands find their way to your back to unclasp your bra, the only thing holding him back.

once it’s finally off, he starts to leave warm open-mouthed kisses all across your chest, wherever his lips can reach. he groans against the soft skin while his hand kneads the other breast. his free hand glides along your stomach once, then down, until his fingertips finally brush just barely underneath the waistband of your pants.

he looks up at you, and when he sees you - biting down on your lip and holding onto the boxes behind you eagerly - he’s told all he needs to know. his hand dips down, under your jeans and straight to your clothed core. his fingers brush your panties, and his breath catches.

“yer nasty..” he says, looking back up at you, face a little scrunched up. “this wet? already?? didn’t even do anythin’ yet…”

but it’s not like a drop stops him from wanting to explore an ocean.

he frantically unbuttons your pants, and tugs them down in one quick pull along with your panties. he pushes you back a little, so you’re sitting on one of the stacked boxes, legs up. he pushes your thighs up so your legs are in the air.

“hold ‘em.”

he instructs firmly. you hook your hands on the backs of your knees, keeping your legs suspended like he said. he’s not wasting a second, taking off his shirt just to shove it in your mouth before diving right in.

the shirt was a good idea, judging by the whine that leaves your lips once he plunges two fingers into you. no teasing, no warm-up. just straight into it like he’s rushing in to kill a trash beast.

“be quiet, will ya?” he tsks, pulling his fingers out real slow before shoving them back in. he starts to piston his fingers in and out of you rapidly, curling them up so perfectly to put pressure on the top of your spongy walls. he’s getting an earful of your beautifully muffled moans and whimpers, so that’s only encouraging him to be more of a little shit.

“yeah? there?” he asks almost tauntingly, because the moment you nod desperately, he pulls his fingers out halfway, and starts applying pressure there. it’s the wrong spot, the wrong angle, not deep enough. and he knows that, you can see it on his face.

you try to buck your hips up, and squirm a little bit so he has to go deeper. that backfires, earning you a smack on the thigh.

“who d’ya think you are, hm?” he sneers, slowing his fingers to a stop. he gives them a few more weak thrusts of his hand before pulling it out, and rubbing the same two fingers down hard on your clit. he watched as your body jerked from that one touch, the reaction you gave.

and without letting you cum at all, he decided he was done. you could’ve slapped him if your mind wasn’t all fogged up.

he takes his shirt from your mouth, slipping it back on without a care in the world for your saliva on some bits. he wipes his fingers off on his pants, and bends down to pick up your discarded clothes to help you get dressed. your hands have long since left your legs, and you’re sitting upright on the box, still naked.

“i didn’t even cum yet, i wasn’t even close..!” you protest weakly. all you’re met with?

“i know,”

he sounded so calm it was infuriating. until he added,

“means ya gotta come see me another time to pick up where we left off, right?”

oh. that changes things.

“yeah..right.” you nod, reaching down to your lap where he’s put your clothes. you clasp your bra back on while he slides your panties up your legs, zero regard for the wetness there. then was your pants, then your shirt.

“i’m leaving first. wait a few minutes, so it don’t look weird, m’kay?” he said quietly. but before he left?

this boy had the nerve to go over, cup the side of your face, and kiss your cheek before he left without another word.

"wait- my love - slow down-" Zuko's hands tremble at your hips. his cock is caught between his stomach and your jerking hips.

his precum smears over your panties. the mess mixes with your own slick and causes the garment to cling to your sticky clit. you can feel the ridges of his cock through the soaked fabric.

his pouty lips are blushed red and slick with saliva from when you tried to devour him through a bruising kiss. his eyes are wide, hazed over with lust and bit of confusion.

he doesn't quite know what he's done wrong. one moment he's having a mundane conversation in the banquet hall with some councilmen's daughter and the next he's being dragged from her, to your shared chambers by you.

he had went to question why in the hall leading there, but you fixed him with a look so severe he thought better of it. he'd just wait til you both got somewhere private.

once you got to your room, everything happen so fast.

you didn't even wait to fully undress him. his royal robes were haphazardly tugged and pulled from his chiseled frame and he was forced backward onto your shared bed. he tried to speak, to question where this bout of frustration came from, but the words dissipate from his tongue when you reach into his pants to fist his shaft to life.

you're slinging mean words in his direction as you do so and despite himself, Zuko can't help the way his cock jumps in your palm.

he did always like when you were mean.

but this time, he wasn't even doing anything to provoke your anger. he has no idea what's going on, beside your pussy grinding on his dick.

"w-what- ngh- wrong?" the fire bender tries again just as you line his cockhead with your dripping hole, having moved your panties to the side. the swollen head glides across your gooey folds and both you and Zuko groan.

"you let that woman flirt with you tonight," you huff out from above him, glare in your eyes as you regarded him, "I'm showing you who you're married to."

zuko's eyebrow knit together as he recalls early. his face drops at the realization. you thought he was entertaining her.

he rushes to speak, "Princess, it was just a - ahh, wait - polite conversation. I di-"

You don't let him finish. instead, you begin your descent down his length. you pelvis jerks as you sink down, taking him deeper and deeper, until he's sheathed to the hilt. every inch of him bullies your pussy wide, your gummy walls expanding to accommodate his size. your cunt constricts around him, once, twice, three times before Zuko and you let out twin sobs.

his thighs tremble between your own and his cock spasms against that spot deep inside you. precum gushes out from where your pussy meets the base of his length and leaks down onto his balls.

you don't move for a moment. zuko doesn't know whether youre taking the time to adjust to his size or you're just being a fucking tease, but he's halfway delirious. his heart hammers in his chest as he begins to shallowly thrust into you, needing some relief.

you press your palm on his toned abdomen, pushing his hips back flat on the bed. zuko eyes water and he garbles out a plea, "Please, fuck me."

You raise a brow, indifferent to your husbands needy whining. You have to work a bit to come off nonchalant, with his cock delicously strectching you but you don't mind. you have a lesson to teach.

"who does this cock belong to?" you lean down, slow, eyes a bit wild, firey in a way that tells Zuko you're pissed despite the mess betwen your legs. your breasts lay heavy on zuko's chest and he shudders, a heated breath brushing over your cupid's bow.

the fire lord can't get the words out fast enough, "You - baby. it's yours- I'm yours- fuck, baby please."

you grin down at him as you brace your palms on his heated chest. you raise your hips until only his weeping head is engulfed in your clenching pussy and you bear down on him. zuko chokes out a sob, his jaw goes slack and his tongue lulls out.

you start riding him. his hips meet yours with a splat! sound that echoes across your bed chamber. the bed sqeaks with every impact of your ass against zuko's pelvis.

your greedy pussy engulfs him to the hilt everytime, taking him so deep that your clit grinds against the sculpted plane of his abs. your cunt floods the space where your arousal meets.

your husband moans at the sticky button slobbering a trail over him.

a pearlescent ring forms around zuko's base, disappearing with every mean roll, grind, and drop of your wet heat. you plunge zuko deep inside you, ass recoiling against the muscled flesh of his thighs.

you're so far gone at the feeling of your husband's cock spearing you, you can only mumble words of possesion, "Mine. Mine, Mine."

It comes out in repetitive, sharp bursts. you basically spit the words at him as you bounce on his cock, matching every declaration with the drop of your hips.

zuko doesnt care much, it seems, because he was whimpering back everything you needed to hear.

"Yours. Yours. Yours."

his stomach contracts, and his eyes go wide when your needy pussy sucks him back in and your words become filthier.

"who else can fuck you like this?" you sneer.

zuko fingers dig into your hips and his own begin to raise off the bed to fuck up into you.

he's going to cum, but you wont let him if he doesnt answer you. you slow your bounces and the Fire Lord's face crumbles pathetically.

Zuko cries out immediately trying to buck into you,"N-no one. Please. I need-" You don't allow Zuko to finish. You regain momentum immediately, rocking your hips back and forth over your husband's pulsating girth.

He cums with his cockhead nudged against your g-spot. Milky fluid floods your pussy and Zuko cock slips from you. He's huffing, lips swollen, dick spent and eyes tired. He begins to babble, singing your praises as he comes down from his high. About how he loves you and that there's no one else better for him.

You grin at the praises.

But it's not enough. You're not sated. In fact, you were starved . So drunk on his desperate moans and weeping cock. You were eager to show the Lord who he belonged to.

You seize his cock in a greedy hand and slip Zuko right back into you. Amber eyes widen and a pained groan erupted from Zuko's lips.

"Wait!-"

"I'm going to milk you dry, Lord Zuko," You roll you hips, and a wet, needy sound drips from Zuko's lips, "Maybe then you'll think better of letting others flirt with you."

It stayed heavy on your mind. It wasn’t as if you didn’t have the natural urges for intimacy, you were a grown woman after all, but the right opportunity never seemed to preset itself, and that wasn’t a fact you often dwelled on. You didn’t want to give yourself up to a one-night stand, risk a bad first experience, but you also rarely had time to go on dates and uncover a real connection.

So you avoided it all together.

However, it’d be a lie to say you haven’t been under extra stress lately. Not for any particular reason, you’ve just seemed more prone to feeling overwhelmed. You’ve tried mediation, yoga, breathing exercises, more midday walks. Nothing has seemed to work.

One of your friends recommended sex.

And surprisingly, you haven’t been able to stop considering it. The more people you talk to about it, the more people who vouch for the fact that it’s the perfect thing to help you relieve how tense you’ve been.

But you can’t just spontaneously go out and bring someone to bed, at least not yet. You need a way to break the ice, have a nice first experience full of trust and comfort to erase your hesitance. After that, you can be impetuous. Stop fearing something not working out, because it won’t be your first encounter, and it won’t be your last.

So, you need to find someone to lose your virginity to. Someone you trust, who you know respects you and wouldn’t take advantage of your vulnerability for their own gain. 

There’s one person in your life who fits that description, and you’re on your way down to see him right now.

-

Wriothesley smiles at you when you reach his office at the top of the staircase, but it falls a fraction when you don’t return it. You’re nervous, is all. It isn’t everyday that you ask someone, whose relationship with you has been entirely platonic up to this point, if they’d be willing to have sex with you purely so you can gain the confidence to go out and do so with other people.

God. He might never want to talk to you again.

“Hi,” you greet, forcing the word out through the smallest opening in your windpipe. Your throat feels all clogged up, your anxiety visible everywhere from the spike in your heart rate to the way your fingers are nervously fidgeting with your shirt.

Wriothesley frowns when you take a seat across from him, a cup of tea already prepared in front of you. He’s clearly picked up on your state. “Are you feeling alright?”

You manage a nod, cupping your hands around the warm ceramic cup. “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m just…” You knit your eyebrows together, your mouth hanging open as you reluctantly meet his eyes. His brows are resting low above his blue hues, a crease between them enunciating his concern. “I wanted to talk about something.”

Wriothesley grins at that. “You can talk about whatever you want. Is something troubling you?”

“I—Well, sort of.” You settle on. “Do you remember what I brought up a few weeks ago?”

Wriothesley chuckles, taking a sip from his own tea, the cup already half empty. You showed up a little bit later than usual, but only because you turned around about five times on the way here before ultimately deciding you had to at least try. “I’m going to need you to be a little more specific.”

Right. You’ve talked about a lot of things. Still, you were hoping he’d get the message just so you wouldn’t have to say it.

“We were talking about dating,” you confirm, and Wriothesley offers you a brief nod. “Um, I mentioned a… Lack of experience.”

Wriothesley looks you up and down, his face twisting like he’s surprised to see you bring this up again. You suppose he did dismiss the subject quite swiftly last time. “I see. Yes, I remember.”

“Okay. Perfect.” You drop your hands to your thighs, nervously flattening your palms over the fabric of your skirt. “It’s about that.”

He nods slowly, his confusion radiating off of him in a way that somehow makes you feel warmer. For a man that’s meant to personify ice, you consider him anything but cold. “Alright.”

You clear your throat, and suddenly your train of thought is lost to the currents on the other side of these metal walls. You bite down on your lip, looking anywhere but his eyes. 

Will you have sex with me?

Too blunt. Way too blunt. 

“Um,” you nearly choke. “When we spoke, and I told you that I, um, have never really gone further than kissing with anyone.”

Wriothesley nods along again, like the trajectory of this conversation even has him too freaked out to verbally guide you along your rambling. You’ve been vulnerable with him before, with embarrassing childhood stories or your deepest insecurities. You probably looked similar to how you do now, shying away from his gaze while also over analyzing every muscle in his face, the most microscopic movements, wanting to know what each word makes him think of you.

Then, he would help you along, shooting out encouraging sentences about how your secrets were safe with him and how he thought too highly of the woman you were now to be too judgmental of any mistakes made in the past. It was a grace you offered him, too, when he told you about how he wound up in the fortress in the first place.

However, you always thought what he did back then, despite how the court viewed it, was a perfect reflection of the man he grew into. Selfless. Assertive. Caring. A person willing to put their bodies and their images on the line in favour of another who might need their help, especially those more vulnerable than them.

You falling face-first into a mud puddle in front of all your peers at the ripe age of seven was surely not a reflection of who you are now. At least, you hope he didn’t think so.

“You said something to me,” you continue finally. “You said, ‘really? You?’”

Wriothesley cocks an eyebrow, one hand wrapped around his teacup and his opposite forearm resting against his desk. He leans forward, as invested in what you have to say as ever. “Um, I did say that, yes.”

“What did you mean by that?”

Wriothesley barks out a small laugh, his rested arm coming up to his jaw as his eyes flicker away for a second. Awkwardness from him is an odd sight. Even when he opened up to you about his life, each word was without stuttering or hesitance, and he held your eyes during even the most gruesome details. Now he can barely look at you.

“I just meant, well, look at you.” He gestures to you subtly, and your face shifts. “I was just caught off guard to find that opportunities haven’t arose for you already.”

“I…” You start, thrown off even more by how he started that sentence. Look at you. Look at what? What is anything he says ever supposed to mean? “Opportunities have come around, I had boyfriends when I was in school and stuff, it’s been more of a choice thing.”

He drops his arm to the desk again. “Hm. May I ask why?”

You shrug, pulling your chair a bit closer, some of your tenseness easing away now that you’ve managed to begin the discussion. However, you’ve yet to ask him to sleep with you in a friendly-favour way. “I didn’t want to give that part of myself to someone who would make me regret it, or look back at it with resentment. I want to have a good first experience, and I’ve never met anyone that made me confident it would be good with them.”

You meet his eyes, finally, looking you over in thought. “That’s respectable.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is it?”

“It’s just admirable that you’ve maintained that respect for yourself, and didn’t lose it to teenage impulsiveness or the similar urges that come with adulthood. I respect that, is all. The restraint, I suppose.”

The compliment, if that’s what you would call it, drills it’s way into your bloodstream, a new, unfamiliar warmth flowing through your veins. 

“And did you?” You ask quietly. 

He chuckles, dropping his head. “Well, I’ve been a free man for quite some time. I’m not in the same boat as you, but there’s nothing significant enough in my list of experiences to dwell on.”

Comforting. You think. Maybe?

He looks up at you again, rolling his shoulders like he’s trying to ease out the tension of such a delicate subject. “Is that all you wanted to discuss?”

“Uh, no.” You confirm quickly. You can quite literally see the way his body stiffens once more. “I’ve, uh, been thinking lately.”

“Okay. And?”

“I’ve been stressed out.” You say quickly. “You know how busy I’ve been, I mean, you’ve been busy, too, with paperwork and a rise in inmate incidents and—”

He utters your name to cut you off, your eyes snapping to his.

“May I ask, does this subject still pertain to your virginity?”

You nod weakly. You don’t believe you ever worded it so bluntly yourself, but alright.

Wriothesley looks confused, sipping his tea. “…Alright. Go on.”

You huff. “Again, I’ve been really stressed, and I haven’t been able to figure out how to feel better. I’ve gone on more walks, I got into yoga, I’ve been sleeping more, eating healthier, I even paid a visit to Sigewinne while visiting a few weeks ago, and she prescribed me medication that hasn’t done a thing.”

Wriothesley furrows his eyebrows, a deep frown enveloping his features. “I’m sorry. You never mentioned this to me. I have herbal teas that help me when—”

“Thank you, Wrio, but that’s not…” You grip the edge of the desk, sighing. “I’ve tried everything. The teas, the exercises, name it, I gave it a shot. To no avail. I started talking to a lot of my friends about it, and the only thing any of them have recommended me that I haven’t already tried is, well,” you pause for a moment. “Sex.”

He freezes, eyebrows firmly planted high on his forehead, the pale skin crinkled in surprise.

“Oh.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. Which is a little bit of a roadblock for me, as I’ve explained.”

Wriothesley carefully places his teacup down, the ceramic hitting the plate with a soft clink that manages to rattle you. “I see.”

“I can’t just…” You breathe deeply, your voice shaking with the vulnerability of all this. “Go out and find someone to help me alleviate my stress. Like I said, I at least want my first time to matter, to be memorable and comfortable. Then, after that, I can be reckless without it tainting a milestone that’s important to me.” 

You pray that your words make sense to him. That he doesn’t think you’re being silly or unreasonable. 

He watches you closely, taking in your words. “Have you tried…” He makes a face, halfway between a cringe and an embarrassed scowl. “Doing it yourself?”

Your heart skips a beat. “Uh—Um, yeah, I tried. It’s not really the same.”

It’s true. If anything, trying to handle it yourself just stressed you out more, because it suffocated you with the feeling of it not being enough. You need more.

Him. To be specific. You need him.

You haven’t quite found a solid opening into confessing that yet.

Wriothesley wets his bottom lip. “Okay.” He enunciates the word. “I—What—What’s your plan, then?”

You’re my plan.

“I want that option,” you mumble. All your blood, equipped with the extra warmth he orchestrated, floods your face. “To be able to go out and let off some steam when I get like this. But like I said, I need to have a good first experience first.” You study his plain expression, whatever is going on inside his head barely displaying on his masculine features. “Does that make sense?”

You can feel yourself stalling, word-vomiting all over his wooden desk. You feel a different kind of exposed than you have with him in the past. Not less comfortable, but more expectant. More scary, maybe. Like it holds more weight.

Wriothesley huffs, sluggishly leaning back in his seat, his limbs stiff and constantly readjusting like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “Um, I mean, alright. Yeah, that makes sense. I know some men that I trust would be good to you, and I’m sure they’d be—”

No. God no. 

“No—Wriothesley, I don’t want a stranger.”

“I know.” He nods. “It wouldn’t be a stranger. Do you remember Nick? He was at that event Furina invited us to last month, you guys seemed to get along—”

“I don’t know Nick, Wriothesley. I don’t trust him. Especially not with this.”

Wriothesley stares you down, the gears turning in his head. You can tell by the narrowness of his eyes and the slight redness in his cheeks that he has an idea of what you might be implying, but doesn’t want to say it out loud.

“So.” Wriothesley clears his throat, sitting up a little, clearly restless. “Do you have a plan?”

“Somewhat.” You murmur.

“And?” He cocks an eyebrow.

You take a deep breath. The worst he can say is no. At least you’ll know you tried. Maybe then you can just go out, find someone random and hope for the best. But you’ll be glad you tried with him.

“I just really want it to be with someone I trust. That’s my biggest condition.” You reiterate, pulling your chair in again, even closer to him when he leans forward in sync with your movement. “I don’t have a lot of men in my life I trust…” 

You stare at the liquid in your tea cup.

“Except for you.”

Wriothesley’s breath hitches, the noise only loud enough that you just barely catch it. You keep your eyes down, unable to draw your gaze to his, but you picture his reaction vividly in your head. Eyes blown wide, lips parted, hands gripping the armrests of his chair. Whether he does those things out of shock, disgust, or something else entirely, is the fear that makes you refuse to face him.

He says your name, but still, you keep your head down.

“What are you saying?” His voice is controlled, but deeper than before. 

“I just…” Just say it. Stop stalling. “Okay.” You sigh. “I understand if this isn’t something you’re comfortable with, if you say no I won’t take it to heart and we can just… Forget this ever happened.”

You finally meet his eyes. Whatever expression he wore before must’ve fizzled out, because his face has shifted to something more neutral, listening intently while watching you closely. 

“I’m asking if you’ll do it. If you’ll sleep with me. Just once! It doesn’t have to mean anything—It won’t mean anything. I just don’t trust anyone else.”

Wriothesley doesn’t speak right away. His eyes widen for a fraction of a second before settling again, indicative of the fact he had already caught on and was simply waiting for his suspicions to be confirmed.

He opens and closes his mouth, then pushes his eyebrows together and looks away.

“I really do understand if you don’t want to.” You say to the side of his face, hands lifted in front of you in a surrender gesture. “You don’t have to sugarcoat a rejection. It’s okay, I can handle it. I just figured I’d ask.”

He draws his gaze to yours, eyebrows still pressed low, and he breathes deeply through his nose.

“If I said no, what would be your next move?” He asks, a bit strained. 

“Uhm, I’d probably just resort to, I don’t know, A Nick type or something. Just hope for the best. But—” You shake your hands. “Don’t worry about that. Seriously. It’s not your responsibility, I’ll be fine. I only want you to say yes if you want to.”

He says your name, resting both forearms against the desk in front of him. “Are you… Sure about this?”

You manage a nod, dropping your hands back to your lap and intertwining your fingers. “Yes. I’ve had a lot of time to think it over. I trust you, and I mean, I’ve always wanted an excuse to break that ice for myself. I’ve just never met anyone to do it with.”

He nods slowly. 

“It really doesn’t have to mean anything,” you repeat in a whisper. “Just think of it as a favour for a friend.”

He laughs at that lightheartedly, lifting one hand off the desk to run it over his hair. “You know, I’ve had many favours asked of me in my time, but never something like this.”

His calm demeanour soothes you, his normal self shining through the awkwardness. Even if he ultimately decides to turn you down, at least he doesn’t seem to find the proposition off putting.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” you tell him. “I can give you time to think.” You blink, a million thoughts rushing through your brain. “…I could write up a contract.

“A contra—What? No—No, you don’t need to—Archons. I don’t…” He sighs, looking at you. “If I can do something to help you, I always want to do it. No matter what it is. I just never expected anything… Like this.”

You smile softly. “I never thought I’d be asking it, either.”

He nods along, biting down on his lip. 

“So, to confirm…” He straightens. “Just once. You lose your virginity to me, and then you…” He urges you to finish the sentence for him.

“Won’t have to be so anxious about sex in the future,” you verify. “I can be like my friends, go out and have one night stands without worrying too much about bad or inadequate experiences, because it’ll just become a small tick on my… Sexual timeline with no significance.”

You cringe at yourself.

“Sexual timeline, huh?”

“Shut up.” You grumble, squeezing your own hand in your lap.

He grins, crossing his arms over his wide chest, the backrest of his chair holding his weight as he loosens up a bit. “Okay.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Okay?”

“Okay. I’ll do it.” He nods. “I’d much rather it be me than a stranger or someone you don’t fully trust. If this whole good-first-experience-to-break-the-ice,” a mouthful, really, “is important to you, then it’s important to me, too.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Alright.” You nod quickly. “Thank you. Uhm…”

“Maybe I should come to your place?” He offers gently. “Above the surface? Sometime this weekend?”

You nod again, your words jumbling together in your throat. This weekend. “My place, yeah, okay. Uh, Saturday night?”

He smiles. “Good for me. I’ll be there.”

Holy shit. Holy shit. He said yes. You didn’t really think he’d say yes. 

“Okay. I’ll, uh…” You stand on legs that feel like jelly, leaving your tea behind. “Go now. I’ll see you then.”

Wriothesley doesn’t encourage you to stay longer like he usually would, but you don’t take it as something negative. He understands if you stay another second, you might melt to a puddle of humiliation on the floor.

He bids you farewell, repeating the circumstances of your plans one more time before sending you off, and part of you feels like he did so just to tease you. The second the elevator out of the fortress hits the surface, the Fontaine air hitting your skin everywhere it’s exposed, it really dawns on you.

You’re going to have sex with Wriothesley.

Holy. Shit.

-

What the fuck did people do before a hook up?

You did the routine stuff, things you were able to easily come to the conclusion needed to be done. You cleaned your apartment. You took a long shower, almost three hours in length with everything you felt should be covered in there. You nearly passed out four times, but managed. 

And then you started freaking out. What will he think if you put in too much effort to be presentable? Will he believe you’re trying to court him? That your tangent about this being meaningless was nothing but a cover-up? That this is all a ploy to get in his pants?

And then, there’s the fear if you don’t put in a lot of effort. Might he believe that you don’t respect him, don’t find him worthy of the most put-together version of yourself? That you don’t care to make this enjoyable for him, too?

Ultimately, you decided you’d rather feel good about yourself, but the fears that he’ll believe this means more to you than it does lingers.

You put on your nicest dress, a length that goes to your mid-thighs and a colour awfully close to that of the tie Wriothesley often wears. You doused yourself in a perfume he complimented once. You decided against candles and rose petals, but you did brew a tea you have on hand that you know he enjoys.

You quickly opted out of alcohol. Being inebriated would take away from the whole point of this experience. 

You spend enough time on your hair to look nice, but not so much so that you’ll be upset if it gets ruined. Jewellery that’s easy on the eye, but also comfortable and easily discardable if you decide to do such.

By far, the hardest thing to pick was what to put under the dress.

You were worried if you opted for your nicest lace set, that you bought on a whim and never let another person see, he’d, again, think you were genuinely trying to seduce him. But, he’s a man, and he has needs, too. It felt only fair to do whatever you could to help this be something he found enjoyment in.

But, what difference would it make if he’s not even attracted to you?

…

You chose the lace set. It’s red and black and leaves almost nothing to imagination. Just looking at yourself in the mirror made you feel a level of scandalous you never really have before.

Now, the time you two agreed on is rapidly approaching. You’re reapplying your lip gloss for the nth time, having wiped it off countless times already by nervously nibbling on your lip. You’re reconsidering every choice you made tonight. You’re thinking he might not even show up. You—

Three knocks at the front door nearly make you yelp, dropping your gloss onto your vanity with a muted bang.

You hastily collect it, dropping it in the drawer and slamming it shut. 

You start to rush to the front door, but slow down a bit as you fear seeming too eager. When you reach the door, you take a deep breath before turning the lock and pulling it open.

Wriothesley stands there, and his eyes widen for a moment when he takes in your appearance. His outfit is nicer than usual, but nothing you haven’t seen him wear before. He holds flowers. Your favourite.

He brought you flowers?

“Hi,” you greet, your voice quiet and shaky.

Wriothesley offers you a kind smile. “Hello. You look nice.”

You take the flowers when he holds them out to you, mumbling a quick thank you before inviting him in and rushing to the kitchen to put the flowers in a vase filled with water from your sink. He follows close behind, taking in your organized apartment, his gaze continuously flickering back to you and your outfit.

“You didn’t have to doll yourself up so nicely for me,” he tells you, and you turn to face him. “Don’t get me wrong, you look amazing, but I didn’t agree to this on the condition that—”

“I know,” you interrupt, flattening your palms over the front of your dress, Wriothesley’s eyes trailing your movement, his throat bobbing with a thick swallow. “I just—I’m new at this, y’know? It felt right to… Look nice.”

“You always look nice,” he insists, which flusters you. “But, if your objective was to amplify that, you’ve been considerably successful.”

You smile nervously, his tender words making your head feel fuzzy. You appreciate the environment he’s trying to create more than you can put into words, especially not right now. You’re not sure you can manage more than two sentences. “Uh—Thank you, Wriothesley. You look lovely, too.”

“Aw, shucks,” he grins, walking over to the counter and leaning his hip against it, his body barely a foot from yours.

“I made tea,” you spit out. “Would you like some?”

He hesitates before nodding. “If you’d like to have tea first, of course we can.”

You nod back. The two of you take a seat across from each other with your respective teacups, blending into nonsensical conversation almost immediately that nearly makes you forget the circumstances of tonight. Your anxious tics fade out of frequency, and your tense muscles relax. You’re reminded how easy it is to be calm with him, and the more he studies each comfortable movement you make, the more you think that was exactly his goal.

Wriothesley drinks the rest of his tea, your eyes watching the way his throat moves as he swallows it down.

It’s impending now, and while realizing such does still make a hint of that nervousness return, it returns with something else. Something unfamiliar. Something eager.

Wriothesley meets your eyes, and you offer him a soft smile in which he returns. He leans his forearms forward against your kitchen table.

He says your name gently. “I want to give you a chance to back out of this. Of course, at any time, you change your mind, and we stop. But I just want to remind you that there’s no pressure on you.”

“I know,” you assure him, folding your hands together in your lap. “I haven’t changed my mind.” You pause, watching him closely. “Have you?”

He shakes his head before you even get both words out. “Of course not. I would just hate for you to think I’m expecting anything from you besides your trust.”

“You have my trust,” you tell him.

He nods. “Then we’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” you repeat, your eyes gliding from his empty cup to yours, also bone-dry. You flush.

“Uh…” You look at him, and he raises an eyebrow. “Should we go to my room, maybe?”

“If that’s what you would like,” he responds easily.

You offer him a brief nod before standing on uneasy feet. His passiveness, his willingness to let you have full control, is almost something you’re averse to. He’s the one with more experience, but you don’t exactly know how to ask him to take the reins. You don’t want this night to peak with the dull request of should you put that inside me, maybe?

As you walk down the hallway, overthinking every movement of one foot in front of the other, something else floods your mind. You imagine him in control, him bringing the assertiveness you’ve witnessed in the fortress to this experience. It makes something twist low in your stomach, and if he weren’t no more than a foot behind you, you’re sure you wouldn’t be able to fight off a more physical reaction to the thought.

The way he doesn’t even have to raise his voice to demand respect in the underworld, how just the cock of an eyebrow will have even the most unruly prisoners compliant at his feet. You can see yourself being just as obedient, becoming putty in his hands at a single murmured request.

That was the whole point of this. He’s the only one you can trust with that, trust to put him in full control and do with your body what he understands both of you will enjoy.

You start to feel that twist in your stomach blend into that physical reaction, a tingling sensation flushing your skin and making your clothes feel too tight, the apartment feel too hot.

Once you’re standing in the middle of your bedroom, you turn to him. He scans the room, illuminated by only a lamp on the right-hand side. Your bed is made nicely, curtains closed, floor vacuumed, smelling faintly of the fragrance you coated yourself in shortly before his arrival.

The two of you lock eyes. The lighting in this room reminds you of that in the fortress when it gets to be dark outside. The metal stronghold is close enough to the surface that the shifting of day and night lightens or darkens the surrounding ocean, dimming the interior through the glass windows. 

Those times are when you’ve most often had the pleasure of seeing Wriothesley in his element, commanding abidance with ease.

Fuck. You can feel his eyes everywhere.

“How do you want to do this?” Wriothesley asks suddenly, the quiet question followed by your name, said in a way that makes you throb. You didn’t think you could get to this point so quickly with nothing but your imagination and a little bit of eye contact. “Would you prefer to maintain control?”

The fact a man of his calibre would even offer submission to you is exactly why you knew from the get-go you could trust him.

You shake your head. “No,” you confess hoarsely. “I wouldn’t even really know what to do.”

Wriothesley nods, the ease in the action making you think he expected that answer. “So, you’d like me to be the director here?”

You pinch the fabric of your dress on either side of your thighs, half-fidgeting, half trying to contain how trapped and warm he’s making you feel. “If that’s… Alright with you.”

He grins. “Of course. I can handle it. Being in charge is my job.”

He steps closer, and all you can bring yourself to do is stare, your feet bolted to the ground beneath you.

“Can I kiss you, then?”

Holy shit. You had barely even considered this. I mean, you got the whole platonic-sex thing out of the way, but you didn’t discuss kissing. You didn’t prepare yourself for kissing.

You nod without a thought in the world, a purely reflexive response, like your instincts and the need starting to course through your veins are taking control of your body like a puppeteer. 

His calloused hand finds the side of your face, his fingers sliding over your hair. You sink into his touch, dropping your eyes to his lips as he leans closer, your own parting in preparation.

The second his mouth presses against yours, the warmth surges through you at a degree so intense your hands immediately find his shoulders for support. You feel the hard bone hiding beneath the fabric of his shirt, and when you squeeze, it feels like the shape was perfectly crafted to be in your palm. You melt into the kiss, into his figure, pressing yourself to him firmly.

He’s so articulate, and God, it’s paying off in your favour. His lips move against yours with a level of precision only such a disciplined man could possess, and when his hand that isn’t on your face glides to your lower back, even more of your nervousness, if any even existed anymore, fades into sheer excitement.

You hook one arm over the back of his neck, pushing up onto the tips of your toes, kissing him with more fervour. The action greatly contradicts your plead to give him full control, however, he doesn’t fight you on it. Instead, he matches the pace you’ve set to regain dominance, guiding the movement of your feet until the two of you separate just long enough for you to collapse back on your bed.

You try to prop yourself back up on your elbows, but Wriothesley slips his hands under your body to sweep them out from under you, pinning both your wrists above your head in one swift movement. Your next exhale comes out as a whine, and he drinks up the sound by pressing his mouth back on yours.

“This okay?” He mumbles against your lips, a roughness to his voice that greatly differs from the one that appears in his exhaustion or frustration. No, what he’s feeling right now is something you’ve never had the pleasure of knowing before this moment.

You prop your knees up, squeezing around his hips, slotting him perfectly against your body with no escape. Your dress rides up your legs, bunching up around your thighs. You nod once, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“I’d appreciate if you’d use your words,” he suggests, his lips grazing along your face until he’s planting kisses across your jaw.

“Yes,” you breathe, tugging the dark strands by the root. “It’s okay.”

He groans at the pull, but doesn’t deter you, dropping his face further as he starts kissing and sucking at your neck. You tilt your head back, granting him as much access to your skin as possible.

It’s hard to ignore how much more intimate this feels than what you expected. What you expected was sex, which of course, is an extremely intimate act, but you also prepared for sex. You didn’t prepare for the taste of him, faintly resembling a mix of mint and the flavour of the tea you brewed for him, the combination working through your bloodstream like an aphrodisiac. You didn’t prepare for the feeling of his mouth on your neck, taking the first opportunity to mark you, sucking and biting the skin in a way that would surely linger for days to come, a reminder of what the two of you had done. These weren’t the kinds of deeds you thought people performed for one night together. 

Were you going to complain about it?

Like hell you were.

You mumble his name in response to his teeth sinking into the skin above your collarbone, and he grunts in response, his hips shifting between your thighs. Holy shit.

His mouth travels back up to yours, less careful this time, like he’s already come to realize how welcome he is against you. He pulls your lip between his teeth and bites until you gasp, using the opportunity to slide his tongue against yours.

You moan at the feeling, your hand that isn’t knotted up in his hair clutching the fabric on his side for support. You let him take the lead without any battle for dominance, entirely consumed by his kiss, in the way he conducts it. 

You’re suddenly shifted further up the bed, your head elevated as he tucks a pillow beneath it. You pant, watching with stars in your eyes as he sits up between your thighs, kneeling with your legs tossed loosely around his hips. Your mouth waters.

He shrugs off the top layer of his shirt, revealing a plain white tee beneath it. In a silly way, the simplicity of it once again makes this feel more intimate, almost too much so. You aren’t used to seeing him look so casual, so comfortable. This should be reserved for something different. Something real.

Your train of thought derails when he throws the shirt away and reaches for his belt.

The sound of it being unbuckled is like the crack of a whip, sending jolts of electricity all throughout your body. The sightis something else entirely, the way his lips are parted, chest rising and falling, as the most calm and collected man you’ve ever known fumbles with the accessory like he’s lost all sense of coordination.

You reach forward without thinking, and Wriothesley drops his arms to his sides with a groan when you tug the belt out of his pant loops for him. He’s quick to collect it from your hands, tossing it carelessly onto the floor beside your bed. 

His hands slide up the outside of your thighs, your red dress scrunched up around your waist, your lace underwear barely hiding behind the rolls of fabric. You watch Wriothesley’s face as he examines you, eyebrows furrowed in a deep concentration.

“Can I lift this?” He purrs, his voice a melody that entirely disarms you. You’re gone. You’re entirely gone. You’re beneath him, you’re warm, you’re bothered, and you are gone.

You get halfway through a nod before your lips part. “Yes.”

Wriothesley doesn’t miss your consideration of his prior command. “Good girl,” he praises, pushing your dress higher.

Archons. Add that to the list of things you didn’t expect from casual sex.

He curses at the sight of your underwear, and your skin warms. Red and black lace, the colour scheme happening to match that of his regular uniform. He can’t seem to peel his eyes away, a few beats of silence passing as neither of you make a move.

“Are you okay?” You ask quietly.

He blinks, snapping out of it. “I—Yes. Of course I am.” His hands start sliding up and down your thighs again, a soothing gesture that barely serves its purpose. “I just—Fuck.”

You swallow hard, pushing yourself up a bit. Wriothesley doesn’t coax you back down again, he just watches as you hook your hands under the bundled up dress, peeling it off the top of your head. The noise Wriothesley produces borders on a whine, like the action has fully defeated him.

He helps you strip it entirely, adding it to the pile started by his black blazer and belt. He takes in the sight of your matching articles, the lace bra and underwear, gently guiding you back onto your forearms so he can get a full view of you.

You can’t imagine how erotic the vision is. You’re before him, legs wrapped around his hips, thighs separated, entirely at his disposal wearing nothing but two small, revealing pieces of clothing that also happen to mimic colours he associates with himself. You worry it’s too personal, but he doesn’t wear the face of a man urging to complain.

“You are…” He shakes his head, breathless. “Sneaky.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “I’m what?”

“I’m just starting to think this whole proposition was a ruse to kill me,” he confirms, his gaze not leaving you once. “You should know it’s working.”

You manage a smile. “Didn’t take you as a man to surrender so easily, Your Grace.”

He chuckles lowly. “I usually wouldn’t.” His hand is on your stomach now, enveloping the space between your bra and underwear. “I’m a lot of things,” he utters your name, “but I’m not foolish enough to fail to pick my battles.”

You bring both your hands to his, one wrapping around his wrist while the other finds a few of his fingers, holding him flush to you. “And what battle are you picking?”

“The one where I die right here,” he says without missing a beat. “At your hands. I’d go a lucky man.”

Was that a casual thing to say?

Regardless of the way the words go over in your head, your body reacts to them by greedily popping up and forcing him to lean back over you. Your mouths slot back together, and the way you’re depriving him of oxygen makes it believable that you truly are trying to kill him.

You slide a palm up the front of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his scarred skin. He doesn’t shy away from you. He’s never hidden from you, in fact, you’ve already seen the permanent markings of his past that are forever engraved in his skin, and it’s because he chose to show you.

Something crosses your mind, the way this encounter isn’t just about your belief in him. He’s putting himself on the line here, too, offering you vulnerability, offering you his trust.

Wriothesley takes your wandering hand as in invitation to tug the fabric over his head, discarding of it. Both your hands are exploring now, planted just above the hem of his pants and gliding upwards until they’re clutching his bare shoulders.

You push, guiding him to lean off you just enough for you to take in the sight of him. The ragged lines cutting through his skin, a canvas of pain he endured before you even knew his name.

His next breath is uneven.

You meet his eyes, his gaze locked on yours, like he’s studying your reaction to the sight of him in this context.

“I think you’re beautiful,” you tell him, voice quiet, like you’re trying to enunciate how those words are only for him, despite how alone you already are. They aren’t even for the echos between the walls, the four words are for nothing but his own ears.

His jaw tightens, his eyes trailing down your body before flashing back to your awaiting stare. “I think you’re…” He swallows. “Perfect.”

Your breath hitches, reaching for his shoulders instinctively. His words, his touch, it all feels too real. Too honest, too against the words you two shared in his office mere days ago.

You should push him away, tell him how your heartfelt promise of this being meaningless is already starting to fade from reality. You don’t even know how to define the difference between meaningless and meaningful sex, you have no comparisons to make, but you wouldn’t pin a single thing he’s said or done to the former. 

You should really tell him.

But you think he might already know.

He says your name, and you look to him with expectant eyes.

His hands travel downward, hooking under the lace that’s currently the only thing separating him from the flood of arousal he’s already created. 

“Can this come off?”

You whine, your heart rate picking up before you nod.

“Words,” he reminds you, his thumb suddenly finding and pressing against your clit through the fabric. You moan, your neck arching, head pressing against the pillow he placed. You can’t spit out a word right away, clutching the sheets as he draws firm, slow circles, pleasurable but insufficient. “Come on, baby. You can do it.”

Gods. Who’s trying to kill who, again?

You buck against his hand, nodding again. “Yes—Yes.”

He doesn’t waste a moment following your verbal approval, situating himself off the bed, your legs untangling from around his waist. He gently tugs you back down to the edge of the mattress, and then he’s delicately pulling the fabric down and off.

You gasp at the feeling of the cold air hitting you. Wriothesley curses, seeing the way you’re dripping helplessly for him despite the fact he’s barely touched you. He forces your thighs open wide, and your eyes screw shut at the feeling of his gaze studying you, spread open for him like this.

“Fuck…” He says lowly. “Can I touch you?”

You shift, gripping the sheets tighter, your eyes opening. Your voice comes out strained and whiny. “Of course you can, Wriothesley.”

“Archons,” he chokes out, and then he’s lowering to his knees before you. Your legs rest on either side of his figure, held open by his shoulders between your thighs. One of his hands inch up the bed, finding yours.

His hand envelopes yours, encouraging you to release your death grip on the sheets. “It’s okay,” he assures you, first are foremost. “Relax for me, baby. I’ve got you.”

You nod, his tender words and action working in his favour. You manage to loosen up your tense muscles, taking long, deep breaths per his command. “I trust you,” you whisper, allowing him to intertwine his fingers with yours.

He grunts, his other arm wrapping around your thigh, forcing it up onto his shoulder. “Good.”

His palm flattens against your lower stomach, his thumb poking out and finding your clit again. You gasp out, back arching at the feeling of his skin against you. He applies the perfect amount of pressure, rubbing slow circles experimentally, like he’s doing his best to understand your body.

“Wriothesley,” you moan.

“Oh, fuck.” He drops his head to your inner thigh, nipping at the skin there. You gasp again. “You’re killing me, saying my name like that.”

You exhale shakily. “Noted,” you manage, forcing words out despite the way the pleasure shooting you makes your wind pipe feel small. “That’s my goal, according to you, right?”

He chuckles, moving his head to lick a stripe up your cunt, collecting your wetness until he’s moving his thumb away to lap at your clit. You cry out at the sensation, squeezing his hand and darting your free one to grip his hair. 

He pulls back, and when you crane your neck to look at him, you see yourself coating his lips, and he looks fucking drunkon you, a competitive glimmer in his gaze. He meets your eyes and grins. “We’ll see if I don’t take you out first.”

Your comeback dies in your throat when his lips wrap around your clit, sucking firmly. You whimper his name, spurring him on as he hungrily works at you, and fuck if this feels like the amount of effort anyone would put in as a favour for a friend. It feels so real it would scare you if you had time to worry.

“Gods,” he murmurs. “You have no idea how good you taste.”

“Wriothesley,” you whine. “Don’t… Say that.”

He laughs lowly. “Why? Am I winning?”

Your chin tilts back, eyes fluttering shut. “For now.”

He hums, pressing the vibration right against you. “We’ll see about that.”

His thumb pokes back out, drawing those same firm circles on your clit as his tongue starts to tease your fluttering hole. Your grip on his hand tightens, and you buck against his face, making him chuckle.

“Eager,” he notes, though the way the word emerges from his throat makes it seem like he’s more amused than mocking. 

All you can manage is a nod.

His tongue dips inside you, just barely, but it makes you moan out anyway. He repeats the action, dipping in and out of you over and over again, before his hand retreats from your clit and his mouth is back. 

“Shit, Wriothesley,” you choke out.

“I know,” he mumbles reassuringly against you, before suddenly doubling his efforts. His tongue strokes your clit, deliberate and hungry. You squirm and moan, sputtering out incoherent pleads as he periodically responds with choked praises. He sucks hard, a flick of his tongue making you writhe. His hand, which he had resting on your stomach, moves until he’s probing your opening with his fingertip.

Your breath hitches, opening your eyes to catch the moment he peers up at you, silently asking for permission.

He lets you off the hook with a nod this time, sluggishly licking your clit as he presses his middle finger inside your cunt. You pull your lip between your teeth at the feeling, good but unfamiliar, foreign but undeniably him. This wasn’t ever the part that worried you, your lack of partners didn’t take away from your natural inclinations to explore your own body, it was always about who would take permanent residence in your list of lived experiences as being your first time.

With each passing second, you are infinitely happier with your choice.

His finger drags against your walls, his ministrations on your clit never faltering. He rolls his tongue over you again and again, suctioning in a way that has you nearly pulling his dark hair out at the root. He simply grunts, and you’re sure a bullet wound wouldn’t be able to hinder him at this point as he finds the perfect point to curve his finger, and suddenly a coil is winding tight deep in your stomach. You gasp his name.

He recognizes your warning, humming as he continues to devour you with reverence. His finger caresses that spot inside of you just right, and it isn’t long until you’re shaking, holding your breath as you barrel so close to the edge.

“Let go,” he murmurs against you, and it sounds the most like a demand out of anything he’s said all night. “Go on, baby.”

His words, the authority behind them, are the last push until you completely shatter for him. You cry out, your body thrashing as he pulls his hand from yours to hold you down at the hip. He works you through every wave, studying the way you moan and twitch for him, and only when you make a whine-like noise of defiance at the overstimulation does he pull back.

He’s panting, both his hands on the tops of your thighs now as he studies the way you slowly float back down to this plane of reality. You’re near limp against the bed, and only when you peer down at him does he ascend back up your body, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Are you okay?” He asks gently, stroking the side of your face.

You lean into his touch. “Mhm…” 

“Don’t believe that counts as a word,” he notes, a hint of humour in his tone. Your eyes flutter open, meeting the frost hues staring down at you. There’s a look in his eyes you can’t place, but it makes you feel like your heart is swelling to three times the size, and you imagine you’re mimicking the expression as you look up at him.

It feels almost natural, holding his gaze in this way. Somehow, it feels even more natural than your friendly lunches spent in each other’s company, or your casual conversations about the weather or your careers that precede deeper ones about things you’ve only ever shared with one another. 

It’s a look you’ve only ever offered him, fuelled by a feeling only he’s ever drawn out of you.

What is this?

Your mouth twitches up in a small smile. “I’m okay.” Your hand threads through his hair. “Should I do something for you?”

His eyebrows knit together. “Hm?”

You swallow hard. “To help you…”

Realization flashes in his eyes, and he laughs lowly before reaching for your free hand, guiding it until he’s pressing your palm to the front of his pants. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

Your breath hitches, heart racing as you feel the bulge insistently pressing against the thin fabric. He keeps his hands over yours, and when you start to massage the tent in his pants, he pulls you away.

You whine his name.

He shushes you by pressing his mouth to yours, and the taste of yourself on his lips is so erotic it makes you buck your hips against his. He grunts, hooking one of your legs over his waist before he grinds himself against your bare pussy. He keeps kissing you, maddeningly slow, rocking his hips with precision.

“Oh Gods,” you whimper against him, slinging an arm over his neck, the other grasping his side.

He says your name, pulling back from you and meeting your eyes. “We can stop here,” he offers, pressing a peck to the corner of your mouth. 

You shake your head. “No—I want to keep going.” You blink at him. “Do you want to stop?”

“No—Archons, not at all.” He sounds almost offended. “But more than anything, I want to give you whatever the hell you want.”

You press your hips up, clenching around nothing at the sensation of his hardness rubbing against you. “I want you.”

He curses, dropping his forehead to yours. “Gods—I want you, too.”

One of his hands travel upwards, cupping your breast through the lace. You tilt your head back, listening to his heavy breathing. He sounds like he’s barely keeping himself together, like every bone in his body is screaming with how desperately he wants to be inside of you, but he’s utilizing his restraint to focus on you and your needs above himself.

“Take it off,” you tell him.

He’s quick to take you up on that, helping you lean up so he can reach for your back and unclip the garment. He’s gentle as he pulls the straps down your shoulders, and his eyes study it one more time with appreciation before tossing it aside. 

He swallows when he looks down at you, now fully naked and on total display for him. You expected to feel awkward or exposed, but you don’t. Not now. Not with him.

He leans down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth as he continues to fondle your other breast. You grip his shoulders, letting him do what he pleases. His mouth travels to the curve under your chest, sucking and biting enough to leave more marks in his wake.

He thumbs your nipple, taking the nub between his thumb and pointer finger before squeezing gently. You whimper, bucking your hips again.

“You’re doing so well,” he tells you, voice thick with arousal. “You’re such a good girl, you know that?”

“For you,” you murmur without thinking, mind fogged by your need for him.

“Yeah?” He pushes, dragging his lips over your chest, up until he can put his forehead against yours again. “For me?”

You nod rapidly, your hands reaching for his pants, gripping the hem.

“Just me?”

Fuck. Two words further prove to you that this has become nothing like what it was supposed to be. Nothing about this is serving the purpose it was meant to, because hell if you were going to use this incredible experience as motivation to go out and have other mediocre experiences with mediocre men. Your stomach twists just thinking about it, being anywhere but here, with anyone but him.

You start to push down his pants. “Yes,” you breathe. “Just you.”

He doesn’t stop you, mumbling something under his breath as he instead helps you discard of the clothing until he’s kicking it off his feet. He stands then, readjusting you on the mattress again, slipping that pillow back under your head, and he reaches for another to place beneath your lower back. You trust the way he situates you, laying there obediently, waiting for him.

He grabs his pants for a moment, reaching in the pocket for his wallet, and then in his wallet for a condom.

You watch with anticipation as he hooks his fingers in his boxers before he’s pulling them down, too, freeing his cock. Your thighs push together automatically at the sight of him. He’s big, and the head is flushed and dripping precum down his thick shaft. He doesn’t give you the pleasure of ogling for long, crawling back on the bed and pulling your legs open before kneeling between them. You whine at the sight of him ripping open the rectangular package before he’s rolling the condom onto his length.

Your heart pounds against your chest. He catches the bewildered look on your face, dropping down to plant kisses all over your skin, anywhere he can reach, until he feels you start to relax under his lips.

“You’re still sure?” He murmurs.

“Yes,” you say, your voice betraying you with the slightest shake.

“I’m going to take care of you,” he promises, getting so close that his mouth it right by your ear, and his chest is against yours. “I’ll be gentle, alright?”

You nod, both your arms wrapping around his shoulders. He takes this as an invitation to reach between your bodies, grabbing his cock at the base and sliding the tip from your entrance all the way up to your clit, collecting your arousal. You choke out a whine every time he drags back up, nudging the oversensitive bundle of nerves firmly, and eventually, he presses the head against your opening until he’s just barely pressed inside of you.

You gasp at the slight stretch, your head falling back against the pillow. “Wriothesley.”

“I know,” he says, voice rough. His lips find yours, and even as you struggle to reciprocate at the feeling of him pushing you open, it soothes you. “Such a good girl.”

Your arms tighten around him, holding him flush to you as he rocks his hips, filling you another couple inches. You blubber out his name in the midst of a string of moans and gasps, your walls aching around the intrusion. He pauses momentarily, letting you adjust.

“Look how good you’re doing,” he purrs, mouth hovering just above yours. “Taking me so well, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” You cry, moving one hand to his shoulder so you can dig crescents into his bare skin. He grunts.

“There you go,” he encourages. “Just hold onto me, sweetheart. I have you.”

Does he ever.

All the air in your lungs rushes out when he finally starts to press forward again, filling you slowly, and Wriothesley grunts at the way your walls clench around him as his cock bullies it’s way deeper into you. He studies you, every movement, every breath, only giving you more when he’s sure you can take it, and he makes these judgments without you needing to say a word.

You cry out when he fills you completely, his hips flush against yours. The overload of sensation makes you feel like you’re already falling apart for him, breathing in quick moans and squeezing around him like you’re trying to pull him impossibly deeper.

“Fuck,” he curses, bracing an elbow next to your head, making you feel beautifully caged in by his form, trapping you somewhere you’d happily stay forever. “Look at you. Taking all of me.” He kisses you once. “Good girl.”

The praise sends a pleasurable jolt through your bones, your hips shifting in a way that makes him feel deeper. You tremble, unable to form words, and he doesn’t push you. He just peers down at the way he has you filled to the brim, and then his gaze snaps back to your face, all needy and fucked-out, and he’s not even close to done with you yet.

His trails kisses all over your face, down your neck, between your breasts, and you feel like you’re being worshipped. Wriothesley was never one to be too outspoken about the presence of Gods in the world you two shared, but in this moment, you’re sure that would change if you yourself had such status. He praises every inch of you like an altar with no hesitance, no shame.

“You can move,” you manage to tell him, your words ending in a squeal when he shifts the slightest bit.

He adjusts himself above you, one arm resting beside your head again, while the other reaches for your hand, limp against the bed, and interlocks your fingers. You squeeze when he draws his hips back, until you’re only about halfway full of him, and then he thrusts forward once more.

The sounds he pulls from your throat only motivates him further, and he sets a steady, cautious pace, stuffing you to the brim over, and over again. He groans from above you, the feeling of you around him tearing him apart bit by bit. You can’t do anything but helplessly squirm and moan beneath the weight of him, soaking in the soothing kisses and bites he smothers you with as he fucks you.

“Harder,” you gasp out, back arching into his chest, his skin warm and coated in a layer of sweat. “I can take it.”

“Shit,” he murmurs, dropping his forehead to your shoulder as he fulfills your request. He pulls his hips back further than before, and then he drives back into you all at once. He coughs out your name, your entire body jerking with the punishing thrust. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, his cock dragging along all the right parts of you as he sets a new pace. 

He begins fucking you with abandon, his hips snapping against yours until your eyes are screwed shut so tight you’re seeing stars. Your nails rake down his back, layering old scars with new scratches, covering bad reminders with what can only be described as the best you’ve ever felt in your life. You angle your hips to let him in deeper, and he slams against a part of you that makes you scream.

“Wriothesley—Wriothesley, oh God.” You cry, clinging to him like he’s your only lifeline.

“There you go, baby,” he growls, his pace never faltering as he presses his mouth by your ear. “Keep screaming for me. Let all of Fontaine know who’s fucking you.”

Like your body physically rejects the idea of not obeying him, every snap of his hips makes you scream for him again. You blabber nonsensically, about how good he makes you feel, about how bad you need him, and the last thing on your mind is how far from casual this is. 

His hand retreats from yours, landing on your hip to hold your writhing body still. He grinds all the way to the hilt, and you’re already longing for the feeling of being this close to him before it’s even over.

Just like all your friends said, you can feel all your stress, all the worries of the last week, last month, last year, whisk away under his touch. The pit that’s been living in your stomach explodes and paints the rest of your body with the warmth between you and Wriothesley, and the terrors that have been plaguing your restless mind reform to the shape of his perfect face. He’s all you can see, all you can feel, all you can afford to let haunt you.

When his thrusts pick back up, he’s moved his hand from your hip so he can rub your clit as he fills you. You shriek, a shudder washing over you.

He kisses you again, leaving you with nothing to do but hold onto him and let him drink up every sound you make. His hand leaves you hurling towards your peak, and he chases after it, deliberately fucking into all the right spots as his hands works tirelessly at your clit.

“Come for me,” he urges against your lips, the strain in his voice giving away just how close he is to tipping over the edge with you. “It’s okay, baby.”

He undoes you with his words, your orgasm crashing over you so powerfully you’re left in an absolute daze, all tense muscles and throaty cries, pulsating around his twitching cock. You can do nothing but greedily take the continuation of his bruising thrusts as he works you through the climax, and by the time you’ve come down enough to remember your own name, Wriothesley groans it as he presses all the way into you before spilling into the condom.

He huffs above you, keeping himself buried deep as you both use the sounds of each other’s breathing to ground yourselves. You’re still holding onto him, and he slowly starts to kiss your cheeks, and then your temple, your forehead, your eyelids, mumbling praise after praise like he’s never known something more magnificent.

“Beautiful,” he says quietly, and you hum. “Did so well. So proud of you.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck. “So fucking happy you asked me for this.”

“Me too,” you whisper back, chest rising and falling under the reassuring pressure of his body on yours.

He slowly pulls out of you, groaning as he leans off like it physically pains him to separate from your embrace. You lay there, feeling weightless with all of your limbs so tuckered out they’re near numb. Your eyes beg to flutter shut, but you can’t bring yourself to exit this moment yet, watching him as he slowly navigates around your room, discarding off the condom before pulling nothing but his boxers back on. 

He offers you a reassuring smile, promising his return, before dipping into your bathroom. He returns with a damp cloth, and he doesn’t let you move an inch to assist him as he cleans you up. 

When he’s finished, he finds a pair of underwear and a large tee shirt in your drawers and redresses you with a tenderness so potent it makes you ache. He lifts you into his arms, sitting against your headboard and placing you in his lap.

You clutch his shoulders as he kisses at your neck, soothing the raw marks he left behind. You relax against him, allowing him to tend to you.

He says your name, bringing your attention back to him. You lean back, half-lidded eyes meeting his.

He cups the side of your face, his gaze flickering all over you, studying you like he’s trying to commit you to memory.

He swallows hard. “You’re happy?” He asks gently.

You smile softly. “With your favour for a friend?”

He chuckles at your sarcastic tone, the skin on his face flushed a light pink. “Among other things.”

You cup each side of his neck, feeling so deprived of the closeness already. You don’t know if it’s because you’re still coming down from what just happened, but your want to be near him feels more real than anything.

“Plan went a little off the rails,” you admit warily.

He cocks an eyebrow. “Yeah? What part?”

“The not-meaning-anything part.” 

He pulls you forward, your foreheads pressing together. His breath trembles, one of his hands sliding up and down your back through your shirt. “You’ve never meant anything but everything to me.” He nuzzles his face in your neck. “Fuck, I swear, if you were serious about seeing other guys after this…”

You giggle, hugging him. “I won’t,” you promise, your face pressed against his hair. “Like I said,” you whisper. “Just you, Wriothesley.”

✿ Author's note: second solo wrio fic wooo!!! my biggest roadblock in writing wrio is not wanting to give him too much sexual experience because it seems ooc but also wanting to make him an exceptional lover because that''s my truth. let's just say he reads a lot!!!! hope u guys enjoyed :)))

Lohen

“Oh?”

He watched as you hurled yourself towards his direction, intrigue and a hint of puzzlement sketched onto his face

Depending on the time of day, there's a 50% chance Lohen would open his arms and catch you so that the two of you would fall together, as well as another 50% chance that he'll wait right up until the moment you're almost in front of him, step aside and then catch you just as you were about to fall face first into the ground. What can he say? An eye for an eye, a surprise for a surprise.

Honestly, he finds your trust in him rather endearing. Even though you know that he has a million tricks up his sleeves, you still chose to run towards him at full speed with your arms wide open, not caring if he was in the mood to catch you or not. It made his heart sing with pride, knowing that you had such blind trust in him.

Fortunately for you, he decided to play nice today and catch you immediately. The moment he tosses everything away and your body hits his, one of his hands curls around the back of your head while his other arm slyly snakes around your waist, keeping you pressed as closely to him as possible even when his back hits the gravel below.

“Too bad. Such tricks just aren’t enough to catch me off guard, darling.”

He doesn't try to fight back the wolfish grin surfacing on his face, nor say a word back when you start complaining. Only when you start trying to lift yourself off of him does he make his move. In the blink of an eye, he rolls over and pins you down into the same patch of gravel he was once lying on top, trailing his hand slowly from the back of your head down the back of your neck, all the way to your collarbones.

“Next time, don't announce yourself before you start running— not like that would stop me from sensing your presence beforehand anyways~”

Xiao

“Absolutely, 100%” the sequel

Wouldn't even think before dropping everything to catch up to you. He would even take a few steps forward to lessen the amount of time it would take for you to reach him before patiently waiting for your arrival with his arms wide open, counting down the seconds until you found your way home

Just like the first time he caught you back at the Jade Chamber, his arms are firmly wrapped around yours. Only this time, instead of them being over your shoulders, they are pressed closely yet warmly against your back, gently pushing you to fall deeper into his arms until your head hits his chest

“Did you need me?”

He asks in a calm, steady voice, thinking that any matter that required you to run to his side with such urgency without calling his name was one of utmost importance. If you had called, he would've undoubtedly reached your side in a moment's notice, perhaps even before his name had fully even left your lips. Too quickly? Nonsense. In his eyes, that was the least he should do.

When you told him that you simply wanted to see if he would drop everything just to catch you, he would blink in surprise before letting out a scoff so soft that it couldn't be called anything but fondness.

“If you think our bond was that weak, you needn't test me. I wouldn’t have appeared before you if you didn't mean anything to me.”

After a flicker of hesitation passed his face, he lowered his face and awkwardly nuzzled his forehead against yours, suppressing the urge to look away in order to whisper against your lips.

“... Since you're here now, can you stay a little longer? There’s a plate of almond tofu here that I would like you to try… Who made it?... I… cannot say.”

Kinich

“Ajaw”

“???”

“Catch”

“！？！？ KINICH YOU @%£@%@£@%£@@%@%£@££@%@%%@£@”

Tosses everything to Ajaw and forces him to catch it all before opening his arms as wide as possible, readily bracing for your impact

Honestly, if he had more time to prepare, he would’ve preferred putting everything aside to make better preparations on how to catch you. However, since the things he was holding onto were needn't to complete a commission, he had no choice but to rely his closest companion (which unfortunately had to be Ajaw) and improvise on the spot

Luckily, all that time he spent carrying you around his house before had taught him all he needed to know. Before you had even reached him, he took a few steps forward and waited for you to skid to a stop. Once you did, he ceremoniously placed one arm behind your knee, one arm behind your back and BAM— a princess carry.

“... Should I ask?”

He raises a questioning brow, waiting for you to speak. Once you finish your explanation, he simply sighs before pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head, looking down at you with a mix of exasperation and affection.

“The price for scaring me doesn't come cheap. I hope you're ready to pay for that stunt you just pulled tonight.”