“is it not unfair that i am the only one upholding the conversation in the bedroom?” he tuts, lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks, large hands holding your hips down to prevent them from bucking into the last unsheathed half of his cock. “i wish to hear your lips spell out all the things you wish for, 𝓶𝔂 𝓶𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽…,” the ancient words that left his throat makes your soft walls clench around him — but it’s not enough, not when he’s not giving you all of him.

your answer is a needy whimper and arms reaching up to pull him closer. for a moment, his eyes soften, and he obliges, placing a gentle kiss on your sweaty forehead as a few beats of your racing heart passes by.

then, as fast as it disappears, the playful glint returns. kyryll's thumb pulls on your bottom lip to free it from the clamping bite of your teeth, only to replace it with said digit. and he dares to look pleased with himself upon seeing more tears well in your eyes.

“hmm? i fear i’ve been away for too long, i must be reminded of how you wish to be brought to completion. please, grant me your mercy and do not make me into a bad lover.“

Little legs run towards him. One foot in front of the other. The delicate, gentle pitter patter of feet on the floor. He takes it all in—hardly blinks and hardly lets his focus shift on anything but the sight of his eyes and your smile on a round face coming closer and closer.

His. Yours. Hers. Her face is him and you and neither all at once. A face that is her own and takes up space in his mind with her own precious existence.

“Why hello there, my little light,” he grins, bending down to scoop her up into his arms. She leans in and presses a wet, messy kiss to his cheek. He beams—not a small, polite smile. No. A wide, upturned crescent on his lips that raises her to see the very joy that comes from her existence. “Were you well behaved for Mama today?”

“Mama mad,” she gasps.

Flins gasps too—such big emotions only deserve equally big reactions. “Mama is mad? Oh dear, that’s never good.”

“No good,” she shakes her head, “mama mad this much!”

She holds her arms open wired gesturing at the big pocket of empty space between her little palms. Children are visual learners, you tell him, they need to see to understand quantity.

He raises a brow, feigning shock on his face as he murmurs, “That much? My, my. That’s quite a lot. Is she mad at you?”

“No,” she gasps, “‘m good!”

“That you are,” he laughs, “I trust it. After all, I’ve trusted my little helper to look after Mama, hm?”

He holds out a pinky that she eagerly laces her own with, reminding herself of a promise that only seems to be between the two of them. (Look after Mama for me, okay, my little dove? he likes to tell her. Okay Papa! she always squeals back. It’s an oath they like to keep between themselves—two fae and the safety of their precious human.)

“Mama safe!” She says proudly, pointing to herself with a chubby finger. Flins grabs a hold of her wrist, bringing the tiny little appendage to his mouth before playfully nibbling, laughing under his breath at her squeals of joy. “No! Stop, Papa!”

“Don’t torment her, you fool,” you grumble.

“So I take it that it is I that is the object of your anger?” He sighs in faux misery, “Woe is to me, my darling. After I agonized over bringing my wife a decent catch for her evening meal.”

“Hmph,” you cross your arms, “what if something had happened to you and we hadn’t known?”

“The wild hunt does not attack this island very often,” he assures, “I take great care in ensuring that.”

“See?” You daughter whispers, leaning her forehead against Flins’s as though sharing a quiet secret, “Mama really, really mad.”

“Mama was worried,” you correct petulantly.

He smiles, feigning a look of utmost seriousness as he whispers to your little girl, “Shall we help Mama be less mad? Perhaps she needs some attention, wouldn’t you say?”

It happens quickly. She nods in excitement, and Flins beams in approval. Suddenly, two pairs of soft eyes that remind you of the sun herself turn to look at you, quickly closing whatever gap there once was. Your husband on one side, your daughter on the other. A cool pair of lips press a delicate flurry of kisses along your cheeks and forehead, while a messier pair of smaller, slightly warmer lips attacks the bridge of your nose.

Instantly, you melt, letting out a loose string of giggles. (How could you not? How could you cling to such fickle things like anger and fear when warmth insists on taking up room in your chest—filling you up lighter and lighter. And lighter so.)

“I believe it’s working, wouldn’t you say my little light? Mama is not mad—don’t you think?”

“Mama happy?” She asks you with a beam, just to be sure.

You giggle, rolling your eyes as you give your husband a playful shove as you bring your sweet, tiny bundle of energy to your lap. She looks up at you. Two eyes you’ve loved for so long carbon copied and cradled in your arms like a generous second gift. Your lips and dimples beaming back at you like proof that you deserve to be loved. (Why wouldn’t you? How could you not love all the parts of yourself when they are now parts of her? How could she be anything less than perfect?)

“Yes,” you sigh exasperatedly, “I guess I am. Since my little savior has helped me.”

You poke the tip of her nose. You still can’t decide if it’s his or yours—but that’s the part you like. The part where there is more time for her to grow into herself and show fill up for space in this world. The part where you will be there to learn all of it and know her for every inch of her. The part where you spend the rest of your life watching her and learning who she is.

“May I be forgiven for my dire mistakes?” Your husband presses his head against your shoulder.

You snort, rolling your eyes as you turn to press a chaste kiss to the crown of his head. “Perhaps if you sear me a wonderful dinner from your catch, then yes.”

“Then consider it a deal, my light.”

the day of your wedding, attendants scurried around the mansion, preparing for your departure, maids surrounded you, pulling and tightening strings on your dress, smacking more powdered makeup on your face. meanwhile, your stepmother sat regally in her plush divan, watchful eyes not missing a single detail.

“more rouge on her cheeks.” she drawled, disdain for this alien of a child hidden under a mask of polite smiles and pointed comments. dissatisfied with the tardiness of your maids, she stood up abruptly from her chair, dusting away invisible specks of blemish from her eyecatching red dress, before slinking across the room to circle you, eying you up and down.

“shoulders back.” she tutted, the guard of her fan harshly striking down on your shoulders.

you bit back a wince, the thought that today would be your final moments with this archons-forsaken family forever doing little to ease your anger. nevertheless, you squared back your shoulders, lest this vile witch decides upon a more severe punishment than a singular hit of the fan.

“head up.” the tip of her fan tapped in warning under your chin, tilting your head up at an uncomfortable angle.

“better.” an affirmative word of praise, though not one that let pride bloom in your heart, only a dejected sense of lonely isolation. this was the bare minimum expected of the eldest daughter of your father, the daughter from his first wife.

a pretty portrait, a valuable asset for your father to trade away, to the highest bidder, a bird in a cage, whose only tricks were etiquette, several foreign languages and elegant needlework.

with a warning glare, your stepmother stopped at the doorway, but not departing without a final caution. “do not mess this up for your family.”

the chatter of your maids fills the room after your stepmother leaves, empty praise falling naturally from their lips, desperate to ease the tension in the air. instead, their comments are a constant reminder that you will become a sacrifice to the ratnik of the north, a fatty meal for this monstrous creature.

regardless, you think to yourself, this fate is better than what your stepmother would have in mind had the duke not accepted your father’s proposal.

having completed their work of dressing up the bride to look like a porcelain doll, the final few maids depart from their room, the room falls into a hushed silence, easing your headache, caused by both the neverending conversations right by your ears and the wear on your mind from planning your escape routes once you arrive in the north.

quietly, the door cracks open once again. in the reflection of the mirror, you catch sight of your nanny’s greying hair. your beloved nanny, one of the few who had looked after you so lovingly, gently patching up every injury after being punished by your stepmother, was here to see you off.

“darling [name],” she breathes, eyes glossy at the sight of you in a wedding dress, cheeks reddened with rouge and lips lined with vibrant ink. her rough hands caressed your cheeks, careful not to smudge the makeup on your face. her eyes search around your face, committing every freckle into her memory. 

“may your life be an easy path from now on.” unable to bottle up that wave churning inside of you, you throw your arms around your nanny, tears threatening to spill over and ruin the image of that painstakingly painted doll.

“don’t cry,” your nanny soothed, her hands patting your hair, aware of the numerous pins hidden within the hairstyle. she looked around fervently, before pressing a small wrapped handkerchief into your hands. 

“for the journey,” she whispered, a twinkle in her eyes, before reaching into her own hair and sliding out her hairpin, silver colour but the best a commoner could ever afford. she tugs hard at both ends of it, revealing a hidden blade within. “this deadly secret is something i hope you'll never come to use”

reaching behind you, your nanny nestles the hairpin amongst the rest of the sparkling jewels adorning your hair, giving your hand one more reassuring pat before leaving the room again.

though the whole household, staff and family included, have gathered out the front to send you off, you barely pay them any mind. that is, until your younger stepsister manages to wiggle out from behind her mother’s exaggerated dress and engulfing you in a hug.

“safe travels, sis!” she whispers in your ear, smiling through her tears. “send me lots of letters!”

you sneak a glance at her mother’s face. something tells you she wouldn’t receive them, no matter how many you write.

behind her powdered fan, your stepmother’s eyes narrow, whether it’s displeasure at her daughter clinging onto the bride in such an unsightly manner, or because she caught sight of that plain hairpin amidst your hair accessories, you’d never know.

with a heavy thud, the carriage door slammed shut, drawing a line between your old life, as the unwanted daughter of the first wife, and your uncertain future, as the to-be wife of a rumoured monstrous duke.

if the nobles had seen your departure, with a skeleton crew of guards and maids, they would have scorned you. although a disgraced household, their eldest daughter was being wedded off, even a lowly baron’s daughter would have been ashamed to be seen with such an entourage.

yet, tonight, you were grateful for lack of company in your carriage. it left you with silence, the rumble of wheels on the road background noise to your racing thoughts. once alone, you felt like you could breathe easier, that your every move wouldn’t be reported back to your father.

unwrapping the package nanny gave you, the warm, spicy scent of cardamom made your stomach grumble. you thought back to the times you stole away to the library, eating lakkaberry krumkakes while studying the maps of nod-krai.

between your family’s estate and the dukedom, there lay a heavily wooded area of forest. rumour had it that every night, a strange fog of purple mist would slither through the trees, poisoning the wildlife, turning them into vicious monsters of the wild hunt.

as the sun slowly sank below the horizons, throwing its dying rays through the trees. the branches of the forest seemed to reach closer, grabbing at the intricate decor of your carriage. 

the horses stamped their hooves, tossing their heads and snorting anxiously. your guards exchanged worried glances, their grip on their weapons knuckle-white. they were not getting paid enough for this shit.

from within the purple mist of the forest came that spine-chilling groan. shuffling feet inched closer, dragging across the foliage of dead leaves and snapping tree branches. a grunt, closer than before and seemingly coming from all sides. 

one of the guards began to pray to the moon goddess. a maid screamed. another guard dropped his sword. in a moment of frenzied chaos, the entourage fled, swallowed by the hungry purple mist.

left alone, the silence inside your carriage became thicker, almost stifling you in its stillness. you shrank back in your plush seat, hand reaching for that hairpin nanny gifted you. from behind your veil, you could make out the humanoid silhouette of the wild hunt, a blazing purple flame where their head should be.

grunting, they ambled closer, fists pounding against the carriage.

from out of the tendrils of mist, sparks of crackling blue began appearing. with each calculated zap and pop, the wild hunt began to fall. a pair of flaming blue eyes seemed to watch you from the mist.

the wild hunt began to fall back, the light of the blue flame too strong for them to handle. metal sang out as the polearm-wielding saviour came to your aid, fighting off the heavy axes of the larger monsters.

soon, the grumbling and singing of metal died away, until only the occasional crackle of electricity could be heard, radiating from a lantern, hanging from a polearm.

with a soft click, the carriage door opened. your blue haired saviour, with flaming blue eyes, bowed with a flourish.

“my lady, sorry for the unsettling welcome. i am kryll chudomirovich flins. allow me to escort you to my manor.”

taglist (open): @leehanscorydora, @pastelmitzuki, @nfekwefdskldm

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobatyun 2025 / づ ♡

more a/ns:

(ps pls correct me if i got anything culturally wrong i tried to search on google but it wasnt helping much ˙◠˙)

Odd little individuals they are indeed, humans, he thinks. He’s right here, pressed tightly against your body so that not even air can slip between you. You’re here and he’s there and he’s not quite sure exactly where you end and he begins—he only knows that you’re here. And he’s there. And you’re both here and there together.

“I am right here, my light,” he raises a brow. “I have been comfortably beside you the entirety of this fine evening.”

“Yeah,” you giggle, delicately tracing a finger along his naked chest as you press a kiss to his jaw. “Sure, that might be true. But I missed talking to you.”

“You may converse with me whenever you wish,” he blinks in mild confusion. “That much, surely, you are aware of?”

“Yes,” you huff, “I’m aware. But I still missed you when I wasn’t talking to you.”

“I confess, I do not wholly follow your reasoning,” he chuckles quietly, “but so long as you feel welcomed to speak to me whenever you desire, I am comforted.”

“It’s like…” you pout in concentration, lips forming a delicate downturned curve as you think. “It’s like there’s never enough of you, you know? I want to be with you—more. So it feels like I don’t have you enough, and I miss you.”

“Am I not sufficiently present with you, my dear?” He frowns. “If I have not been, I must extend my apologies—”

“No,” you shake your head, pressing a peck to his lips in reassurance. “You are. But I just want more of you. I like you.”

“Only like?” He gasps in mock offense.

“Love,” you snort, correcting yourself. “I love you, and I never have enough of you, no matter what you do, because I will always want more. Does that make sense?”

It doesn’t.

(Doesn’t it, though? his heart screams. Doesn’t he feel the same way deep down in that bewildering organ that harbors every ounce of love in such a small, fragile network of tissue and muscle? Doesn’t he yearn to know every thought in your head and understand every emotion you feel? Doesn’t he long to count the lashes on your eyes and the strands of your hair? Doesn’t he crave to feel every inch of your skin and trace every line of your body?

He cannot witness or experience every part of you. Not all of them. He cannot watch your heart pump and see the proof of your existence with his own eyes, cannot watch your lungs expand and contract with every breath.

Never enough, he realizes. There is never enough of you, either. Even when you’re right there beside him.)

“Then perhaps I did not make myself sufficiently clear earlier,” he says smoothly, gently flipping you over so that he hovers above you. His lips find your neck, nipping at your skin before humming in approval at the sweetness of your scent. “Allow me, then, to offer you more of myself.”

He’s hard already. You shake your head in fond amusement again as you bring your thigh up between his legs, pressing into him and rubbing against the ache in his crotch. He groans, melting over you as he lets out soft breaths of pleasure.

“This is not exactly what I meant,” you whisper, “but I’m not complaining, either.”

Your fingers trace along the ridges of his muscled abdomen, feeling it flex beneath your touch before dipping lower—until you find the thick, lengthy cock standing fully erect. A teasing thumb smears the bead of pre-cum at its tip, making him shiver before you wrap your hand around him and squeeze. He moans softly—a delicate yet needy sound that shoots straight to your core.

“Is reminding you that I love you the quickest way to get you so excited?” you tease.

His ears flush a soft pink as he chuckles breathlessly, eyes fluttering shut when your thumb rolls over the swollen tip. “You unmake me, my dearest,” he murmurs, voice trembling in its restraint.

“Hmm,” you hum, smiling as you lean up to press your lips to his, kissing him softly and swallowing the low groans he lets slip against your mouth. “What a smooth talker. Perhaps that’s why I always let you get your way.”

He’s hot and heavy in your hand, thick and swollen with need—you trace the familiar vein along the side of his length with your thumb as you stroke up, satisfied with yourself when you feel his jaw slacken mid-kiss, an incoherent moan breaking free.

“F—fuck,” he gasps, “fuck, that…k-keep doing that,” he pleads.

“Feels good?” you tease.

“You do possess the most baffling habit of asking frivolous questions,” he huffs between strained breaths, pulling away from your lips to bury his head into the crook of your neck. You let him, pressing a tender kiss to his temple as your free hand buries itself in the long strands of his deep violet hair.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you respond cheekily. He doesn’t have time to offer a reply—he’s too busy letting out a choked, sharp grunt of pleasure as you tighten your grip and quicken your pace, stroking him mercilessly with the cruel, constant drag of your palm along his sensitive skin.

Flins is beautiful when he’s pleased. The sounds he makes are as polite and delicate as the man himself, yet tinged with desperation—something you enjoy far too much. You can feel your own bare cunt dripping, slick pooling between your thighs as you press your legs together to ease the ache. Still, you focus on him.

Sometimes, when you have him like this—intimate and bare and unguarded—you think the Gods may have sent him to you. They may have, in their rare benevolence, sent you a blessing in this lawless, archon-less land that you reside in.

“W-wait,” he pleads, “you…you must stop now or else…or else I will not last—”

“You don’t have to,” you murmur, “just let go. Please? I want you to cum. For me.”

Humans are as wicked as they are endearing, his mind thinks briefly. You are wickedly evil for saying words that will undo him like that—words that settle a sharp ache in his chest, making him forget the one building between his legs. For me, you say. As though it’s nothing. As though it’s merely a fact that everything he does is for you, shaped by you, influenced by you.

(And of course it’s true. Everything he does is an amalgamation of influences—and they began with you.)

“C-close,” he breathes, “I am so…so close.”

“Good,” you smile, pressing a tender, affectionate kiss to the crown of his head. “I love you. I love you so much, I always miss you. Even when you’re right here, you know that? I always, always want you.”

He falls apart at those devastating words. They stab through his chest and make him bleed raw before stitching him back together with nothing but affection. You love him. How fortunate he is that you have chosen him to love. How fortunate he is that you have allowed him—him, of all beings—to love you, too. (Or at least try. Flins will never be able to return the devotion you show him, he thinks. He is not capable of being as pure and worthy of you as you are of him.)

You feel him twitch in your hand, and then thick, warm ropes of release coat your palm as he lets out strangled gasps, tucking himself deeper into the crook of your neck. His hips move in tandem with your hand, rolling with the same steady rhythm of your strokes, fucking into your fist with desperate need. You feel the way his cock pulses as he spills into your touch, feel the hot rush of his ragged breaths against your skin, sending pinpricks of heat down your spine.

“M-my love,” he moans, unable to form proper sentences—reduced to little more than the precious sound of your name on his tongue. (It is all he can manage to say, all his mind can string together when he is barely hanging onto his composure and falling apart.)

“I love you,” you hum, stroking him through his orgasm, keeping the same punishing pace of your hand’s movement to work him through his high.

“Love you,” he breathes, voice breaking, “love you—always. Always.”

With one final shudder above you, he spills the last of his release. He slumps onto the mattress beside you, sweat clinging to his forehead, pale skin flushed a pretty, rosy shade. You take your clean hand and brush away the strands that cling to his damp forehead before cupping his cheek.

“Faring well?” you tease softly.

He shakes his head with a low, velvety chuckle. “In but a moment’s time, you shall have no cause for worry. I will return the favor most generously. It is, after all, the great fortune of a fae that his stamina so far exceeds that of a human.”

Her question makes your heart skip—heat rising on your skin.

“What?”

She doesn’t bother elaborating or giving you context, just waits for you to respond. You cough a little, feeling awkward, and wondering what kind of answer she’s looking for.

“Well…I mean. I think he’s a good boss. He’s friendly, and devoted to his job. He runs the prison well.”

Sigewinne nods, but doesn’t comment. Just keeps…staring.

Feeling pressured, you force yourself to think of more to say.

“Um…he’s deserving of his title and the respect he garners. I…enjoy speaking with him? Like when he invites me to partake in tea breaks. I dunno…he just kinda reminds me of a big, fluffy puppy. He looks scary but he’s actually pretty…cute, y’know?”

Finally, Sigewinne smiles. She takes your hand in her tiny ones, giving it a squeeze.

“Thank you for answering my question. You can go now.”

You blink at her dumbly, but nonetheless excuse yourself from the room.

Two days later, Wriothesley invites you to his office for tea. And to your surprise, when you walk in, you find Sigewinne waiting there as well.

“Thank you for coming!” she says as you enter the room. You flash her a smile, taking a seat in one of the open chairs around the table.

“Of course!”

“Sigewinne has a tea she wants us both to try,” Wriothesley explains, a fond look in his eyes as he watches the resident nurse flit around—pouring hot water into the teacups that have been set out.

You nod.

“I see.”

“Although, I don’t know why you won’t just steep the tea in the pot,” Wriothesley complains to her, just as Sigewinne places individual tea bags in each cup. “Are we not all being served the same tea?”

She cutely huffs.

“For your information, no we are not. Your and Y/N’s tea is unique.”

“Oh?” Wriothesley leans forward to look into the teacups as the colors from the herbs begin to bleed into the water. “What’s so unique about it?”

“You’ll see,” she responds with a playful look, one that causes Wriothesley to amusedly raise his eyebrows. However, he doesn’t say anything more—simply waiting for the tea to appropriately steep.

“...are you using the herbs I brought you?”

You can’t help but notice the smell wafting from the cup in front of you is a little familiar. Sigewinne nods.

“Wow! I’m surprised you noticed.”

“Ah, so this must be the reason you wanted me to lend you Y/N for a task the other day,” Wriothesley chimes in, his icy blue eyes once again shifting to Sigewinne. 

“Do I get to know what herbs you requested Y/N to bring you, exactly?”

The resident nurse shakes her head, quietly laughing when Wriothesley sighs and deflates back into his chair. 

“It’s meant to be a surprise! I want to see what you think about the taste without knowing the ingredients.”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

Folding your hands on your lap, the office descends into silence for a brief moment, the three of you intently watching the teacups in front of you. Then, Sigewinne finally claps her hands and declares—

“Okay, they’ve steeped long enough. Go ahead!”

“Finally,” Wriothesley happily mumbles, reaching forward to pick up the pristine little plate on which his cup of tea resides. He brings the cup to his nose, inhaling deeply, and then takes a tentative sip.

“Hmm…”

He frowns, his brows pinching as he tries to discern the flavors he’s tasting. 

Curiosity getting the better of you, you take a sip from your own cup—wincing as the hot liquid accidentally burns your tongue.

“So?” Sigewinne prompts, staring excitedly between the two of you.

“It’s…pleasant,” you respond, clearly not as big of a tea connoisseur as the Duke. “It has a hint of sweetness.”

“It tastes like a Rainbow Rose smells,” Wriothesley adds, taking another sip. His gaze slides to you. “Did you pick some for her?”

You shake your head.

“No, I didn’t. Or…at least I didn’t pick any fresh ones. I did go to a vendor and purchase something in a bottle that looked like crushed, pink dust.”

Sigewinne cutely laughs. 

“As expected of you, Your Grace. Yes, one of the ingredients is dried Rainbow Rose petals. Do you like it?”

Wriothesley makes a pleased sound.

“I do. The taste is light, but pleasant—like Y/N said.”

“Good! I want both of you to drink up.” 

Sigewinne finally picks up her own tea, and you can’t help but notice the difference in color when compared to yours and Wriothesley’s. She really is drinking something different…but why?

“Aye aye, captain,” Wriothesley responds, which makes Sigewinne laugh. You smile at the cute interaction between them, and have some more of your tea as well.

Together, the three of you engage in friendly conversation—catching up about recent topics while indulging in tea and a few different snacks that Wriothesley had pulled out for the occasion. As you drink, you can’t help but notice you feel…warm. A heat that spreads out from your stomach, and slowly creeps into your limbs.

You’ve never felt this way before but…maybe the tea is just extra hot today? 

You glance up to Wriothesley and notice that he’s a little flushed as well. Which is…reassuring? You think. Since you’re obviously not the only one affected.

“Oh! Y/N!” 

Sigewinne’s sudden call of your name draws you from your thoughts, and you look over at her. She smiles.

“I forgot to ask, but are you dating anyone?”

“Sigewinne,” Wriothesley gently scolds. He leans forward and sets his teacup on the table, the cup now empty.

His tone practically says “It’s not appropriate to ask questions like that” without actually saying it. Sigewinne pouts.

“Aww, c’mon. We’re all friends here! I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

Hearing that the melusine considers you to be a friend, you decide to grace her with an answer—ignoring the tingling of the taste buds on your tongue.

“No, I am not seeing anyone,” you inform her with a polite smile. Sigewinne nods happily at your answer, which makes your smile waver.

Is she happy you’re single?? Ouch.

“Okay, good,” she says. “I’d feel a little bad, otherwise.”

You blink in confusion at her words, watching her as she pops off her chair and heads towards the door. Wriothesley raises an eyebrow at her.

There’s sweat beading on his brow.

“Where are you going?”

“Away,” she responds. “To give you two some privacy.”

You and Wriothesley glance at each other, mirroring each other’s confusion.

Your tummy starts to ache.

“Why are you leaving us alone, exactly?”

Stopping just in front of the office doors, Sigewinne turns on her heel to face the two of you. There’s a smug grin on her face. 

“This is what happens when you don’t follow doctor’s orders.”

You frown, raising a hand to your chest, wondering why your heart is suddenly racing. 

What’s this about doctor’s orders?

You glance over at Wriothesley…only to see that he’s frozen in shock—his eyes wide with realization.

His pants feel too tight.

“Sigewinne, you did not—”

There’s an edge to his voice when he speaks, his eyes narrowing. He plants his feet on the floor and prepares to stand and confront her, but before he can blink, Sigewinne has drawn her pistol—a tranquilizing bullet hitting him square in the chest, where a little patch of skin is showing. 

He makes a noise of surprise, and quickly flops back into his chair to avoid falling on the floor—his limbs immediately going numb.

“Sigewinne!” you gasp. You’re not sure what’s going on, but the fact that she’d just shot Wriothesley is…

“It’s okay,” she says with a little sigh. “The effect will wear off in a few minutes. And…I’m sorry I scared you. Let me explain…”

She holsters her gun and smiles at you, trying to calm you down.

“As the nurse of the Fortress of Meropide, it is my duty to look after all residents, including Your Grace. And over the last few months, I’ve noticed him becoming more… irritable.”

“Sigewinne…,” Wriothesley mumbles, but the girl waves him off.

“After observing him for a while, I realized that his stress levels were getting high. And as his doctor, I recommended him a way to manage his stress, but he refused. He insisted tea was enough to soothe his nerves, but that’s simply not true. So…when you started working here, and I saw how well the two of you were getting along, I…got an idea.”

Sigewinne glances over at Wriothesley, noticing how he’s begun to shift his boots against the floor. 

Her tranquilizers won’t be in effect much longer. They never work as well on people Wriothesley’s size…

So, she decides to cut to the chase.

Reaching into her pocket, Sigewinne pulls out the DO NOT DISTURB sign you’d seen her making the other day. She holds it in front of her, and beams at you.

“Simply put, the Duke needs to have sexual intercourse to relieve his tension. After watching the two of you and seeing you interact on both physical and intellectual levels, I determined that you would be ideal partners for each other. So, I invited the both of you to partake in an aphrodisiac made from the herbs you gathered for me.”

“You…you drugged us?” you gape, completely thrown by everything she’s just told you. She immediately gets defensive, her cheeks puffing.

“I medicated you,” she corrects. “And in the end, I’m only acting as a doctor. This all could have been avoided if Your Grace had just taken care of his own needs, as I’d insisted. Since he didn’t, I could only logically assume it's because it’s his preference to have a partner, rather than going at it solo. So, if you want to blame anyone for this, please blame him.”

“Sigewinne—” 

Gripping the arms of his chair, Wriothesley breathes out a heavy sigh and begins to push himself up. You can’t help but notice his face is much redder now, and you’re not sure if it’s from embarrassment, the effects of the drugs, or both.

Seeing that Wriothesley has nearly regained his strength, Sigewinne hurries to exit his office.

“Anyway! The effects of the tea should wear off in a few hours, but only if you relieve yourselves. Otherwise, it will last much longer. So I suggest you let loose and indulge yourselves. You like each other! Enjoy this time!”

Wriothesley opens his mouth to say something, but his words catch in his throat the second Sigewinne opens his office door. He doesn’t want anyone outside of his office walls to hear him or know what’s going on.

“I’ll hang this sign on the door,” Sigewinne continues, her voice hushing. “So no one comes in while you two are…busy. Just remove it once you’re done, okay? Have fun!”

With a supportive little fist pump, Sigewinne then closes the door, leaving you and Wriothesley alone.

A few long beats of silence pass, then Wriothesley finally sighs.

"I…apologize for this. I never meant for you to get roped in."

You turn to look at him, only to find that he's standing with his back to you, his hand raising to rub at the back of his head.

You can see his muscles flexing as he does so, and you hate to admit that it causes the heat inside you to grow.

"It's…not your fault," you respond, laughing a little awkwardly. "I doubt it's easy to follow directions when your doctor tells you to jack off to rectify your hardass-ness."

Wriothesley glances at you over his shoulder.

"Have I been acting like a hardass?"

"You've been a little snippy at times," you tell him, smoothing your sweaty palms down your legs. Seriously, your clothes are starting to make you feel claustrophobic…

"Not to me, specifically. But I've noticed it towards some of the prison residents."

"Shit," he sighs, rubbing his temples. You continue to watch him, your eyes wandering the expanse of his back. For a second, you don't understand why he won't face you. Then it clicks.

"...are you…hard? Is that why you're not turning around?"

"It's…pretty bad," Wriothesley admits, his shoulder sagging in defeat. "I don't know what all was in that tea but…as an aphrodisiac, it's doing its job."

"Yeah…," you agree, swallowing heavily. You can feel wet arousal pooling on the fabric of your panties. His office has also started to feel like a sauna, but you're not sure if it's the air that's hot, or your body.

However, you're still not willing to breach the topic of "relief" with him. You haven't reached that level of desperation…yet .

So, you think of something else to carry the conversation in the meantime.

"So…Sigewinne said you like me?"

"Ah, you caught that."

He laughs a little, and begins pacing around the room, still careful to keep his back to you. You can't help but notice his stride is a little…impeded.

"If I'm being frank—yes, I do. You've been…a pleasure to have around, since I hired you. Actually, one of the reasons I picked you in the first place was because of how you acted during your interview. Most people are scared of me and therefore talk cautiously. You're certainly respectful, of course, but…you're a bit playful, as well. And I found that quality to be attractive."

"Ah, so I charmed you," you respond playfully. "Remind me to add that point to my resume later. "Managed to woo the Lord of the Fortress of Meropide". That sounds pretty good—"

"And there you go again," Wriothesley laughs. He steps behind the chair he'd been sitting in previously, and then finally turns to face you—the back of the chair tall enough that his lower half is out of sight. 

"Although, if I recall her words correctly, Sigewinne stated that we "like each other". So, is there something you'd like to say as well?"

Your eyes go wide, and you feel more blood rush into your head. Wriothesley smiles, wide enough to show teeth. 

"C’mon now. It's not fair that I praise you and get nothing in return."

You pout.

"To be fair, I didn't know why Sigewinne suddenly asked me what I thought of you…"

"That’s understandable, but still. I'd like to know what you told her."

Wriothesley maintains his playful demeanor, despite the way his knuckles begin to turn white at his sides—a deep-seated need slowly sinking its claws into him.

You sigh.

"I just…told her that you're a good boss, and are deserving of your titles and the respect you garner…"

You trail off, suddenly remembering the last thing you'd told Sigewinne during that conversation. Wriothesley clearly notices there's something you're leaving out, one of his eyebrows raising.

"And?"

You take a deep breath.

"That you're a cute puppy."

He blinks in shock.

"...excuse me?"

Oh god, you wanna phase through the floor.

"I said that even though you look scary, you're really just like a big…cute…puppy."

For a moment, Wriothesley can only stare at you. Then, he throws his head back and laughs. 

Embarrassed, you plant your palms on your thighs and push to your feet, instinctively wanting to run away…only to realize that your legs have gone weak. 

With a distraught noise, you flop back into your chair. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Wriothesley notices.

He coughs, pulling himself back together.

"Well, I've certainly never heard myself described in such a way before. I can't say I totally hate it, but I'm not sure if I agree with the term "puppy"."

You force an awkward laugh, finally losing steam as the arousal inside you begins to cloud your thoughts. Sigewinne obviously wasn't messing around when making her aphrodisiac…you've never felt so horny before that it has literally hindered your mental and physical faculties.

The office is silent for a few tense moments, but finally, Wriothesley heaves a heavy sigh. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his shoulders slumping as he hangs his head.

"You may revoke your good opinion of me, considering how inappropriate it is for a boss to even consider such a thing, but…I think my dick is gonna explode soon, so I'll just come out and ask."

You swallow, anticipating his next words.

"Would you be…interested in having sex?"

Your body shivers in excitement at the idea, the lustful part of your brain screaming at you to jump him already.

"I…would," you admit, managing to keep it together. Wriothesley's entire body jolts impatiently at your words, but he’s able to keep himself grounded. 

"I don't think I'll be able to survive…this without some relief. And…I trust you. So…"

"So we're in agreement," Wrioslethely supplies, waiting for your confirmation. You nod your head. 

"We are."

In the next beat, he's is crossing the space between you, a "thank god" barely making it past his lips before he crashes them into yours.

Immediately, you’re groaning into him—your arms wrapping around his neck and his hands finding the backs of your thighs. He lifts you from your chair easily—your chests pressing together as he holds you close.

You’ve always been acutely aware of how large Wriothesley is, but you don’t think it fully sinks in until now—as he manhandles you with ease, quite literally carrying you with one arm as the other sneaks beneath your shirt and tugs it over your head.

You’re forced to break the kiss as he does so, but the second the fabric has been discarded, you’re tangling your fingers in his hair and dragging him in for another. 

Your action evokes a pleased little rumble inside his chest.

“You taste sweet,” he mumbles, his palm roaming over the exposed skin of your back. The warmth of his skin against yours makes you ache.

“It’s probably the aphrodisiac,” you reply breathlessly, a shiver raking your spine when you feel his fingers toy at the waistband of your pants.

“Hmm, shall we posit your theory?”

Before you can even think to ask what he means, the room is spinning—too many things happening at once. However, it’s nearly impossible to miss the feel of your pants being shucked down your legs.

When everything settles, you find that you’re no longer chest to chest with Wriothesley, but rather, face to dick.

“Wh—”

Your cheeks heat up as you finally digest the position he’s put you in—your ass in his face, and his crotch in yours—his body now firmly planted in a chair as he spreads his thighs and makes himself comfortable.

“Wriothesley!” you say in shock, your palms gripping his legs for support as you attempt to turn and face him. However, you quickly realize with the position he has chosen, you’re fairly helpless to do anything—completely at his mercy as he locks his arms around your legs and grips your ass in his hands.

“Hm?” he responds nonchalantly, one of his fingers slipping under the edge of your panties. You shift a little, trying to glare at him, but only succeed in having his clothed dick poke you in the cheek. He tenses at the sensation, and you feel his cock strain helplessly against the fabric of his pants—begging for more friction.

“I’m just testing your theory, like I said,” he continues, a surprised mewl tearing from your throat as he leans his head forward and nuzzles his nose in the damp fabric of your panties.

“If you think it’s the aphrodisiac making you sweet, let’s see if it’s also having that effect elsewhere—”

Before you can protest, Wriothesley is tugging the crotch of your underwear aside—his tongue licking a hot, languid strip between your folds. You gasp at the feeling, your nails digging into his thighs through the layer of clothes that he wears.

Above you, the Duke makes a pleased sound, repeating his previous action—noting the way your body writhes against his hold. His fingers grip your ass tighter, his brows furrowing as he presses his tongue inside your entrance—your arousal quickly coating his taste buds.

“Yep,” he mutters after a moment, his voice tight and his throat bobbing as he harshly swallows. “You taste…addicting.”

His words have your cunt squeezing around nothing, although he quickly dives back in and rectifies that problem—stretching your walls out around his tongue. 

“Fuck…,” you pant, your head dropping as your strength wanes. Your muscles progressively start to feel like jelly, thanks to his ministrations. Especially, when he moves his mouth to your clit and begins rolling his tongue around it—a whine escaping you as the desire inside of you sears white hot.

And yet, despite the way Wriothesley presses on—groaning into your pussy as he eats you out—you’d be remiss to forget about the fact that he’s currently affected by the aphrodisiac as well, and has his own needs that need to be taken care of.

So, gathering what strength you have, you manage to push yourself up onto your forearms—your hands moving to the waistband of his pants. You frantically work open the button and zipper of his slacks, and then hook your fingers under the elastic of his underwear, tugging the band down.

…only to have his freed cock immediately spring up and smack you in the face.

Your eyes go wide, and in normal circumstances, you’d expect Wriothesley to laugh at the comedy of what has just occurred. However, too immersed in the way your cunt tastes and feels, and the way your body continues to twitch in his hold, he doesn’t even notice. And, too amazed by the sheer size of Wriothesley’s dick as you finally lean your head back and get a good look at him, you don’t bother saying anything.

No, instead you simply part your lips and take the head of his cock into your mouth—sucking lightly, your tongue teasing at his slit. The groan that’s immediately torn from his throat is involuntary—the sound becoming muffled by your pussy as he momentarily stops to savor the feeling of your mouth on his dick—your tongue flattening on the underside of his shaft as you slowly take more of him into your mouth.

Then, he goes back to eating you out with renewed fervor—your eyes nearly rolling back into your skull when he sucks at your clit.

The room quickly fills with the sound of sloppy and messy oral, your head bobbing up and down Wriothesley’s cock. Saliva drips down his length, his pre-cum smearing against your tongue, and you can’t help but moan.

Everything feels so good—from Wriothesley’s tongue on your cunt, to the way his cock fills up your mouth…

“Fuck,” Wriothesley growls. His fingers move to pull at the folds of your pussy, spreading you open wider. You can feel his hot breath on your skin as he moves his mouth back to your clit, where he then stays—his tongue flicking rhythmically against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

The pace and motion he settles on is one that you know will very quickly damn you, and he figures this out as well based on the way your thighs begin to shake in his grasp. Your body attempts to jolt away from him—trying to escape the onslaught of pleasure he intends to give—but he leaves no wiggle room. He holds you tighter, enjoying the feeling of your mouth on his cock, and how your efforts slowly start to crumble along with your sanity.

“I…,” you mumble the word around dick, trying to warn him of the orgasm you can feel quickly approaching. Your entire body swims with arousal, your head feeling light. 

“Keep going, sweetheart,” he pants. “Let’s cum together.”

You feel his cock throb against your tongue, and, dutifully, you do your best to continue sucking him off—your lips once again suctioning around his shaft. Your actions immediately evoke a pleased groan from the Duke, and you feel his thighs tense in your grasp—his own orgasm quickly approaching.

However, despite your best efforts to continue, everything falls apart the second your climax finally crests.

With a cry, you come undone—your body writhing in his hold. You go brainless almost immediately, the strength in your arms wavering, and Wriothesley’s cock stuffing into your cheek—your hot breath fanning over his length.

Luckily, the vulgarity of the entire situation is enough to push Wriothesley over the finish line—his dick painting the inside of your mouth with his cum. And to his surprise, once he’s spent, you actually pull your head back, close your lips, and swallow.

Shit, he thinks. 

His dick is just starting to soften, and yet somehow, it’s also already getting hard again.

There’s a few beats of quiet that are filled only with the sound of you and Wriothesley panting. Then, once he’s caught his breath, he says—

“Let’s get you right side up.”

—and the world spins again.

Honestly, the fact that he can manhandle you this easily is criminal.

“You okay?” he asks, sitting you on one of his thighs. He brushes a few stray hairs from your face, staring at you with a hint of concern.

You nod your head, grateful that the carnal desire you’ve been afflicted with is clearly less, now that you and Wriothesley have both gotten off. But…even despite that, you still feel hot and tingly. Like you want more.

You glance down at his lap.

“Mmm. Seems like you’re in the same predicament as me.”

“Think you can handle another round?” he asks. You meet his eyes, playfully raising your eyebrows.

“I’m almost tempted to say no, and see what you do.”

Wriothesley rolls his eyes, his hands grabbing your waist, and in the next moment, you find yourself slung over his shoulder.

“Hey—!” you protest, attempting to look at him, but he only caresses your ass with his free hand.

“If you have that much spunk left in you, you can handle another round,” he says, carrying you down the nearby staircase, to the floor below his office. “But, I’ll be kind this time and make you more comfortable.”

His boots echo against the metal floor as he walks, and for a second, you wonder where exactly he’s taking you. But, soon after, Wriothesley pushes through a nearby door, and you find yourself in a moderately sized bedroom.

It must be his, you realize, feeling a little silly that you’d never pondered before now where the Master of the prison actually sleeps.

“Here we are.”

Wriothesley gently deposits you onto his bed, and then immediately reaches for his tie. You watch him with bated breath, your heart doing a tiny flip as you realize that he’s finally stripping out of his clothes. He opts to leave on the leather belts encircling his arms and neck, instead focusing the bulk of his time on shedding his suit, and undoing the many buckles on his boots. 

By the time he’s finished—his erect cock once again sitting heavy between his legs—you’re practically drooling at the sight of him.

His lips twitch into a little smile.

“I’m happy to know that you like what you see. However, in the time I spent undressing myself, you couldn’t be bothered to remove what little clothing you have left? C’mon now, are you waiting for me to wrestle you out of them?”

Still feeling cheeky, you flash him a grin.

“Hm, I’d like to see you try.”

Wriothesley immediately cocks an eyebrow, his eyes glinting at the challenge you’ve just issued, and your attitude wavers, realizing what it is you’ve done. You open your mouth to say you’re only teasing—your hands already raising behind your back to undo the clasp of your bra—but it’s too late.

In one swift motion, Wriothesley grabs your ankle and twists you onto your stomach—his weight settling above you as he kneels onto the bed. You shiver when his knuckles brush against your skin—his fingers swiftly undoing your bra.

“You’re just a little brat, aren’t you…” 

He speaks the words fondly, with a hint of amusement, and yet, they still go straight to your cunt. 

“Don’t say things like that,” you respond, instinctively raising your hips when Wriothesley hooks his fingers on your underwear and begins tugging them down your thighs. He stares intently at your backside as he does so, an idea popping into his mind.

“Why? Because you like it too much?”

He discards your panties on the floor along with the rest of the clothes you’d both shed, and then grabs your knees, forcing you to spread your legs, so he can properly settle between them. 

Another blush rises on your face at his words, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. At your lack of response, Wriothesely continues.

“In my understanding, brats tend to like it a little rougher, so…” 

His hands ghost up your thighs, to your hips, and he grips you tightly—forcing your lower half off the bed until you’re propped up on your knees—his cock sitting heavy against your ass.

“...what say we continue like this, hm?”

Bracing yourself on your forearms, you turn your head back to look at him—your body tensing as you watch him fist his cock and drag it downward, between the lips of your pussy. 

His icy eyes catch yours.

“Any objection?”

“...no,” you mumble, your fingers anticipatedly fisting in the sheets. 

Wriothesley nods—

“Good.”

—and then presses the head of his cock inside you.

Immediately, you drop your forehead against the mattress—willing your body to relax for him as he slowly inches inside of you.

His tongue had certainly been enjoyable, but this? Fuck. Nothing compares to the sensation of him slowly stuffing you inch by inch—the girth of his cock positively delicious as he forces your cunt to stretch to accommodate him.

It’s so much that by the time he’s fully seated inside of you, your body is shaking—your breath coming out in quick, desperately little pants.

Seeing your reaction, Wriothesely soothes a hand up your spine, his warm palm settling between your shoulder blades. He decides to start slow—to give you a little more time to adjust to him. 

And honestly, he’d love to take his time in general—to really savor the sight of you beneath him, your cunt swallowing his cock so perfectly, but alas. The effects of the aphrodisiac make him impatient with need, and it’s not long before he’s moving faster—little gasps and whines finding their way past your lips as he begins fucking you back onto his cock.

“Ahh…seriously you’re…so fucking tight,” he curses. His fingers dig into the plush of your hip—his jaw clenching, and his racing heart pumping lust through his veins.

Your cunt clamping on his dick seriously might be his personal slice of heaven.

“Wrio, I—,” you can’t even get the words out, your brain short-circuiting. You can’t think straight anymore—not with his cock rubbing you in all the right spots, making a mess of your insides, and quickly rocketing you towards another—

Wait, no, it’s only been a minute—!

“Fuck! ” 

You choke the word out, your spine curving and your knuckles turning white as your second orgasm of the night is unexpectedly forced out of you—your pussy spasming around Wriothesley’s dick.

The last of your strength officially drained, you collapse forward onto the mattress, your cheek smushing into the covers.

…however, Wriothesley doesn’t allow your lower half to fall along with the rest of you—his hold on your hips keeping your twitching pussy firmly planted on his still-hard dick.

“We’re not done yet, sweetheart,” he reminds you, his cock continuing to languidly drag between your walls, drawing out the tail end of your pleasure.

You can’t help but whimper at his words, already feeling a bit oversensitive thanks to two consecutive orgasms. Wriothesley does his best to soothe your frayed nerves.

Leaning over you, he gently tangles his fist in your hair—coaxing your head off the mattress so he can kiss you. 

The kiss is messy, but sweet—the angle of your bodies forcing his cock deeper inside of you, his hips completely flush against your ass.

“You’re doing so good,” he tells you, peppering a trail of kisses against your cheek, and across your jaw. His praise causes you to whimper, a shiver raking up your spine when his tongue drags across your skin—his teeth nipping at the nape of your neck.

His actions successfully get you to relax—your body becoming more pliable in his grasp as he once again begins to move. And soon enough, the wet sound of sex fills his bedroom once more.

Wanting to help him cum (and to feel his seed fill you), you do your best to help Wriothesley along—purposefully flexing the walls of your pussy as he fucks you. However, in doing so, you accidentally start yourself down the path of yet another orgasm…

Feeling the familiar, aching pleasure beginning to build inside of you once again, you quickly stop what you’re doing. You think that a third orgasm honestly might kill you, but…it’s too late.

Wriothesley has already noticed your growing arousal, and decides that he likes it better when the two of you cum together.

So, he sneaks one of his hands between the apex of your legs, and begins rubbing at your clit.

The garbled, desperate cry that leaves your mouth immediately becomes seared in his mind for a long time to come.

“No, Wrio, I…I can’t. I—”

Your words come out jumbled, tears beading on your lash line.

Momentarily removing his hand from your clit, he once again reaches forward and grips your hair—pulling your head back so he can kiss you. His lips swallow up your worries.

“You can,” he insists, his voice whispering in your ear, and his hot breath fanning over your skin. 

“I want you to cum with me, pretty girl. You can do it.”

You give no protest aside from a cute little whine, and that's good enough for Wriothesley.

Releasing your hair, his hand finds your clit once more.

He then proceeds to fuck you into the mattress—pursuing his orgasm with abandon. A groan leaves his mouth at the way your pussy starts clamping on his dick once again—tightening up with each pass of his fingers across your clit—your pussy slick and messy with your own arousal.

Unable to think straight, you can only hold on for dear life—clinging to his sheets like a lifeline. You can’t even process the sounds that are coming out of your own mouth—a damned, desperate symphony moans.

To Wriothesley, it all sounds like a siren's cry—beckoning him closer to the edge.

“Shit,” he pants, feeling his cock throb, and his balls tighten. The motion of his fingers on your clit quickens—your toes curling as the coil of pleasure in your tummy continues to wind—so close to snapping.

Sweat beading on his brow, Wriothesley leans forward, curling his body against yours. His teeth nip at the shell of your ear, his husky voice sending goosebumps across your skin.

“So good for me…,” he breathes, his hips smacking into your ass. His broad strokes deteriorate into needy rutting, and the sensation has you quite literally sobbing—his cock now incessantly grinding into your g-spot.

You can’t take it anymore.

Shoving your face into the mattress, you bite the sheets and scream—your entire body shaking as you cum for a third time, your cunt milking around Wriothesley’s cock.

He curses at the feeling, his face burying in your neck. Wrapping his arms around you, he hugs you to his body—fucking inside of you a few more times before finally joining you in ecstasy. 

His teeth sink into you as his orgasms peaks, a heady groan muffled against your skin as his balls empty—pumping you full of his cum.

It’s not until the intensity of his pleasure has died down that Wriothesley ultimately releases you from his hold—your lower half immediately flopping down onto the bed, and his softening cock slipping out of you.

The Duke takes a moment to simply look at you, and how fucked out you are. Your eyes bleary, skin flushed, and the imprint of his teeth engraved in your flesh.

He grunts at the sight, and settles in beside you—his arm curling around your waist as he tugs you back against him. His tongue immediately begins lapping at the bite mark he’d inflicted, attempting to soothe the sting.

After a few seconds, you begin shaking, and Wriothesley immediately pauses, scared that he’s hurt you in some way.

…only to realize that you’re laughing.

“...puppy…”

He props himself up, glancing at you.

“What?”

“You really are like a puppy,” you giggle, your finger lifting to brush a stray tear from your eye. “The way you bit me, and then immediately started licking at it in apology. So cute…”

You break into another tiny fit of laughter, and Wriothesley rolls his eyes, yet can’t help cracking a smile.

“Well, I’m glad to know I didn’t break you, at the very least.”

His hand rubs against your waist.

“...right?”

Finally getting ahold of yourself, you roll onto your back and smile at him, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek. He immediately leans into your touch, and it makes your heart flutter.

“I’m not broken, no. Just…sore. And gross. And sweaty.”

Wriothesley chuckles.

“Well, I think I can rectify some of those issues. I do have a bathroom, with a tub.”

“Wow,” you respond, watching him as he scoots to the edge of the mattress and gets to his feet. He waits a second for you to join him, but you don’t move.

“My…limbs feel like jello,” you admit, raising your arm and flopping it back down bonelessly for emphasis. Wriothesley rolls his eyes, but nonetheless leans over the bed and scoops you into his arms.

You rest your cheek against his chest, admiring for the first time how soft it really is.

“Whatever shall I do with you,” he playfully sighs, carrying you into the adjacent bathroom. He sets you on the vanity, moving over to the tub and turning on the tap for the hot water. You hum.

“Mmm, I can think of a few things you can do. The first of which is helping me into the bath once it’s ready.”

Wriothesley quietly chuckles. Returning to your side, he takes your hand, and brings it to his lips.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Once the tub has filled, the Duke keeps true to his word—once again carefully cradling you in his arms as he seats himself in the tub basin, before positioning you in the space between his legs.

The steaming water immediately soothes the ache of your body, and you sigh in relief—sinking back against Wriothesley’s body. He lightly wraps one arm around your waist, the other resting on the edge of the tub.

For a few long minutes, the two of you bask in silence, simply enjoying the refreshing feel of the bath. 

…then, you start to notice something beginning to grow—pressing at your back.

“...really? Is the aphrodisiac still getting to you that much?”

“No,” he admits after a beat, leaning forward to kiss your neck. “I think this one is actually all me.”

You roll your eyes, but nonetheless crane your head to the side—allowing him access to more of your skin as his mouth begins to wander.

“I thought I made it clear that my limbs are jello right now.”

“I can work with that,” he responds, and you feel him grin. His hand slowly trails down your stomach, and between your legs.

“I’ll do all the work. You just get to make pretty sounds and feel good.”

His fingers slide between the folds of your pussy, and you jolt as he passes over your overly-sensitive clit. But seriously…how are you going to say no to him?

“What am I going to do with you?” you sigh, echoing his earlier words. His chest rumbles with laughter, and he grabs your chin with his free hand—turning your head so he can kiss you.

“Mmm, I can think of a few things.”

The next morning, you find yourself in a back in your clothes, standing beside Wriothesley just inside his office door.

“I’ll go first,” you say, to which he nods. “I have some errands to run anyway. You can wait a minute and then come out after me.”

“Sounds good.”

The two of you stare at each other for a second, before you finally square your shoulders, and reach for the door handle. 

Before you can twist it, Wriothesley catches your wrist. When you look back at him, you find that there’s a blush on his cheeks.

“So, I’ll…see you later?”

His suddenly bashful demeanor causes you to smile. Pressing onto your toes, you cup his cheeks and softly kiss him. He immediately grabs your waist—deepening the kiss.

“You’ll see me later,” you promise. 

With that, the two of you finally separate, and you disappear through his office door.

Wriothesley takes a deep breath at your departure, combing a hand through his hair as he waits for the right moment to make his own exit.

To be safe, he decides to wait a good few minutes. But finally, he opens his door—preparing to venture into the main area of the fortress, and make his normal rounds.

…however, he only makes it a step before remembering the sign Sigewinne had made.

With a sigh, he immediately backtracks and tears the DO NOT DISTURB sign off of his door, crumpling it between his palms.

When he turns back around, he nearly jumps—Sigewinne standing right in front of him.

“So,” she says, a pleased grin on her face. “How’d it go?”

Narrowing his eyes, Wriothesley only stares ahead, and walks past her. She easily follows after him.

“The fact that you’re out and about this early in the day means something likely happened between you and Y/N.”

“No comment,” Wriothesley responds, which makes Sigewinne giggle. They pass by a few prisoners as Wriothesley makes a B-line for the elevator to the production zone. Once there, Sigewinne squeezes herself in along with him.

As the elevator begins to descend, only a few seconds pass in silence, before Sigewinne asks one last question.

“As your doctor, it’s my recommendation that you continue to regularly relieve your stress. So, are you going to be dutifully carrying out my orders from now on?”

Wriothesley makes a little face, glancing away from her.

“...maybe.”

Sigewinne smiles. 

That’s good enough for her.