“You should’ve seen it, the recruits nearly burned down half the training yard,” he’d start, grinning despite the bad state of his cuts on his large, muscular arms and legs, “and don’t even get me started on Lohen,” he tuts, shaking his head, “I swear any day now he will actually kill me.”  Your gaze goes from observing his face to the cuts on his arm. “You’re still bleeding,” you’d point out, towards one of the worse cuts. You reached over to the side of the sink's cabinet, grabbing a towel, wringing it with warm water before pressing it onto the wound. Varks winced, “Barely,” he’d say, entirely unbothered, “You should’ve seen what I did to the trainee, he’s–” “Varka.” “It’s fine,” he’d laugh, though he'd go quiet when he finally realised your hand on his arm.

NSFW: Unbeknownst to you, Varka’s laugh cuts off, a heavy silence filling the room instead, with his chest expanding in a deep, shaky breath in – the boisterous, confident captain persona slowly fading into a different type of hunger. Before you could pull the towel away to wring it once more, his other massive scarred hand shot out of the warm water, wrapping around your wrist. With a swift, effortless heave, he drags you right over the lip of the tub, causing the water to splash violently over like a wave. You crash into his chest, now clothes see-through and plastering flatly against your skin, exposing the shape of your perky breasts and waist that drove him insane. 

He doesn’t give you a second to complain, pinning you down to the side of the tub in one fluid motion – his calloused, rough hands running up and down each fabric and curve of your skin. His hungry tongue tastes every corner of your mouth, causing you to whine, hands finding and gripping onto his blonde locks for stability. He doesn’t tease; he doesn’t think either,  immediately bucking his hips, slapping his hardened thick length against your wet-clothed cunt. “If you’re gonna see me like this… and touch me like that… don’t leave me halfway, sweetheart.”

SFW: .𖥔 ݁LOHEN would be found with an arm over the tub, hand drumming and fidgeting at the edge of the makeshift wooden bathspot just a little outside the expedition camp, with the water just reaching around the top of his chest. The complaints from the recruits about his smell got to him – from the endless nights of staying up on watch and, worst of it all, the stubborn smell of blood that clung to his skin and armour. Against all arguments, he was finally ordered to take a bath before someone else passed out during training (cough… and not because of the long hours of training).

You hadn’t expected company when you had decided to slip away from camp for the same reason. Before you even stepped foot close to the bath, you could hear an odd rhythm of scratching and tapping against something near. As you treaded carefully, pushing the curtain to the side, a dagger greeted your head – aimed – shot – embedded deep into the tree. Certainly, a warm welcome to the relaxing bath you planned.

“Oops,” he’d say, not even flinching, already reaching for another blade tucked in gods knows where, like it was natural for him. “Reflexes. Can’t really turn those off huh,”  “What is wrong with you? You could’ve killed me?” you yell, trying to collect yourself and the pile of towels and clothes you held in your hand. “Nah,” he’d shrug, finally cracking that annoying stupid grin of his, “Would’ve missed ya again.” he pauses, “probably.” “Lohen.” “Relax, relax,” he cooed, “I’m always prepared, I thought I taught you that?” leaning back against the wooden tub with his arms tucked relax behind his head, watching you with far too much amusement for someone who’d just nearly ended your life right at your face, “Didn’t think you were the type of person to wander this far from camp at this hour though.” his gaze narrowing towards you. “Same reason as you, don’t act like I don’t know,” you say, stepping closer inwards, “About all the recruits complaining about the smell,” that earned a short laugh from him easing his restlessness, “Fair. Mmm, I might as well share the water then” he says shifting over, nodding his head as a gesture to the spot right next to him… in the empty tub, “unless… you’re scared I’ll throw something else at you.” “You wouldn’t dare.” “...No”, he’d admit a little softer, “Not now, when I know its you.”

NSFW: Eventually, after a lot of mental back and forth and telling LOHEN to look the other way, you’d let the towel slip from your body — finding your footing into the narrow makeshift wooden tub next to him. 

His lazy smirk returns to his face. “You still look like you’re scared I’ll attack you again,” he murmurs smoothly near your ear. Smoothly, he’d stretch out his arm, slinging it over the wooden edge behind you. The warmth from his bicep brushed against your bare back, pricking into your skin – fingers drumming against the wood again. You don’t move. Then his hands drift down, leaving the edge of the tub, slowly sliding down your shoulder before his palm cups your inner thighs, tracing slow circles, parting your legs a little further, squeezing your sensitive skin. You’d try to scold his name, yet it fails, coming out as a breathy moan; he simply hums, continuing to test your limits as his fingers deliberately brush against your cunt, testing how wet and slick you’ve become simply from his touch. 

After he'd finished teasing you, his fingers entered inside you, working to stretch you out just for him. Before you react, his other hand snaps to your head, anchoring deep into your hair, tilting your head back to force you to look into his half-lidded stare. He’d lean in, breath hot, brushing against your lips, until he finally kisses you, nibbling on your bottom lip, swallowing your whimpers. “Now tell me, did you expect this attack mm?”

SFW: .𖥔 ݁ Neuvillette would be found with his eyes closed, head tipped back against the tiles and throat bare to the ceiling, with his long white hair slipped loose, sticking across his wide chest and afloat in the tub.

You would find him tucked away in the Palais private bath with steam curling around him, accompanied by the sound of bitter rain hitting the window pane. When you entered after the silence as the permission to answer – he wasn’t startled, long knowing already that it was you the second your footsteps had entered the hallway to his palace. You would try to explain to him why you were there, because you were simply worried about him (and because of the endless downpour of rain cough). Although still a little confused and amused, he’d offer you a few words with a faint smile.

“I’m here to— It was a long day today,” you finally spluttered out, fiddling with the ending hem of your shirt. “You can go back to sleep”, he replies, cutting you off. “I can’t not until I know you’re–”  “Still breathing? Safe in my own bathtub?” he remarks, almost amused through his apparent exhaustion. “Don’t do that…” you mutter, your shirt now bunched up inside your fist, “don’t make me sound so foolish.” A brief pause. His eyes find yours, the sound of water shifting as he turns his head towards you, “I am not laughing at you…” his voice steadier now, “I simply find it strange that you would brave the rain at this hour, for something so trivial as my company.”  “This isn’t a trivial matter to me,” you stated firmly facing him. “... Stay then, if you’d like.”

NSFW: You couldn’t have said when it happened or how – only that you were seated at the edge of the bathtub, legs submerged in the warm water, resting at your calves. And Neuvillette, in turn, seemed unaware of when his temple had come against your knee as if it naturally belonged there the entire night. Before you even knew it, you would be inside the bath, clothes wet, straddled across his abdomen with hands clawing onto his large back for support. It started gently with light peppering kisses along your legs until it wasn’t. 

His tongue pushed inside your mouth while his delicate fingers fondled your breasts in slow circular motions, rolling his abdomen in desperate need for any friction against your clothed cunt. Yet you couldn’t care less about any of the clothes; the only thing on your mind was how badly you wanted him to keep touching you like this. “Stay with me,” he presses another kiss against your lips, “please, mon amour,” he pants, “just for tonight, I need you to stay here.”

SFW: .𖥔 ݁ WRIOTHESLEY would be found sunken low in the tub, with his messy, usual unbrushed wolfy hair deflated and clinging flatly against his head. The water would be still, almost too silent, missing the sounds of chaos from his usual sloshing and scrubbing.

He would be tucked away in his quarters below the fortress; the absence of chaotic splashing, complaints of how the tea was too cold, or his encounters with haughty ministers, and mutters about paperwork was the first thing that struck you. It was quiet. Still. And importantly, he didn’t even react the moment you entered; he didn’t look up right away or call out to you, his eyes fixed somewhere deep inside the water, someplace you didn’t understand yet.

“Hard day today,” he’d finally say, voice flat, “it was a case involving a kid, an orphan. He was my age when I–” his voice broke. He didn’t elaborate much further, jaw tightening right before he stopped. You’d move in closer without a word, kneeling by the tub’s edge, looking up at him. That was the exact moment when you saw something that made your heart sink – a small tear he couldn’t manage to blink away, slowly sliding down his cheek. “Hey–” your hand instinctively moving to his cheek without a second thought, reaching to brush it away with your thumb. He flinched, just slightly from surprise, before letting out a long breath. “Didn’t realise I was that soft now,” he’d mutter, a little embarrassed. “You’re not soft. I just know you Wrio.” A brief pause, where his eyes would finally meet yours – the man you knew behind the warden title.  “If you’re staying, just know that you’re gonna get the real thing…” he said quieter, eyes dropping to the water again, “just this, just me.”   Your thumb softly drew circles on his cheek. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

NSFW: .𖥔 ݁ WRIOTHESLEY went entirely still, letting the quiet sound of sloshing drown amongst the heavy silence of steam pumps and engines. Slowly, he tilted his head to the side, peering through the messy curtains of his bangs to look up at you with that stare. As you’re about to say something, his large scarred hand slides towards your neck, slowly sliding behind your neck – fingers entangling gently in your hair with his touch trembling slightly as he guides you over the tub.  The warm water swells over the edges, soaking through your lap and clothes. Gently, he holds and pulls you down onto his lap, holding you flush against his bare chest.

He digs his face into the crook of your neck, breathing shakily and low under your skin as he tilts his hips to move his length inside you. He’s slow this time, neither teasing nor fast like it usually is – sliding in heavy and achy before reaching your deepest spot. He’d hold himself deep inside you still, gently sucking the side of your neck, his palms smooth over your wet back, tracing the line of your spine with a tingling sensation like he was trying to drown the ghosts of his memories inside your body. A ragged sigh escapes his lips, forehead resting against yours, “Don’t leave me…”