#not that he'll let wanderer knows that but hes telling all of this to wrio like some high school boy meeting his idol mid way

[scarameownya]

wanderer probably doesnt bring up his past to niko a lot, but i cant help but think niko would think the name "kunikuzushi" (lit. "country destroyer") is the coolest shit ever

[meowkunas]

pairing: wriothesley x reader

summary: you really want to spend time with wriothesley right now.

word count: 1.1k+

warnings/tags: 18+, nsfw content (under the cut), umm praise from wriothesley??, kind of shy/insecure reader, fingering, fem/female bodied! reader, he calls you sweetheart and baby, i was gonna let him use his cuffs and then i forgot so he's extra gentle instead

a/n: i need him.

Every time you visit Wriothesley in his office, he knows it's because you're needy. You don't make the trip all the way there for no reason.

"I just missed you." You'll say, leaning against the table with a pout. It's the way you're avoiding eye contact with him and staring your shoes that gives you away. Not to mention the fact that you're standing right in front of his seat and forcing him to look at you instead of the paperwork he has on his desk.

He resists the urge to laugh. With a slow and precise movement, he leans forward so that he's meeting your gaze again. "Yeah? You just wanted to spend time with me?"

"Mhm." You feign innocence. Archons, you're even blushing.

"Still too nervous to use your words, huh?"

He watches as your shoulders tense. Guilt is written all over your features. He watches as you take a deep breath in to try to calm yourself, meeting his eyes with a flash of confidence this time. There's a rigidness in your form still though, and your mouth opens to say something. But he doesn't let you.

His hands clasp around your thighs, pushing them open so he can move forward on his seat to put himself between your legs. Before you can continue your sentence, he kisses you.

He knows you're about to apologise for something inane, like bothering him when he's clearly so busy, but he wants to remind you that he'll always make time for you. This isn't annoying for him. And it never will be. Besides, it's not like he can focus on anything while you're here.

It's a gentle kiss, and he lets himself part from you just a little before he's speaking again.

"Shh. I'll take care of you, okay?"

It's so quiet that you can hear how loud your breathing is. It's long, languid breaths at first, even as your heartbeat thuds quickly in your chest.

He's barely even touched you, and you still feel your breath hitch as he traces his fingers over your clothed pussy. You don't say anything, just letting his hands explore you and letting him squeeze and caress without complaint. He'll never tell you, but he likes holding you like this; likes knowing you're comfortable enough to let him just touch wherever. His hands never wander above your waist, and his motions slow as he tries to figure out what you're after today.

In exchange, you tentatively run your fingers through his hair. Once. Twice. And it takes you a couple seconds to realise that he's still just tracing his fingers over your thighs because he's waiting for you to ask for what you want. A small sound of frustration leaves your lips. This doesn't need to be this hard. But the soft intimacy of his hands touching you seems to add a knot in your throat. So you do the next best thing. You nudge his hand to where you actually want him to touch.

"There." A sigh of contentment leaves his lips. "That wasn't so hard, right?" And he still has the audacity to look up to you with a cheeky grin that sends your heart racing.

His fingers are gentle — pushing inside you and feeling, before they become searching, and all you can feel is a pleasure running up your legs and curling in your stomach. A breathy huff leaves your lips and that has him properly chuckling. You can't really help it if your hips jerk upwards to meet his touch a little better.

But he stills you easily.

He stands up, curving his arm around your waist and pulling you further to the edge of the table so you can't escape the way his fingers curve inside you.

"Wrio—" You moan against his ear, not entirely sure what you're asking for or what you're wanting, but wanting something nonetheless. He's quicker at thinking of it than your pleasured-muddled mind. His lips connect with yours again and you're barely able to kiss him back properly. It's all open mouthed, and a little sloppy. A warmth pulses through you as he traces his lips across your jaw forgivingly, down the side of your neck, nibbling lightly all the way. An uncontrolled whine from your throat has him huffing a laugh against your skin.

"Like this?" He mumbles, brushing his lips against your collarbones while his fingers push on a spot that has you moaning again.

A panic runs through your veins when you hear knocking at the door, and you put your hands on his shoulders, ready to stop him and scurry away. Except he's already murmuring out a reassurance against your neck before you can try.

"Shh, sweetheart. It would be a shame to end this now." He whispers casually. "They can wait." And really, with that purr in his voice, he could get you to do anything.

You let out a strained whine, trying to be quiet as he praises you, marking you with soft kisses across what bare skin he can get his mouth on. It's so easy for him to make you cum like this. And you do, with a sigh and with your eyes closed, as the knocking echoes through his office once more.

He's patient with you, tucking your shirt back over your shoulder where he pulled it down and you hadn't even noticed. His hand moves from your waist to your hair, tussling it. All while he's whispering sweet words to you.

"You okay? That was so good, baby. You were so good for telling me what you wanted, okay?"

You're barely listening, still trying to come down from the pleasure and trusting him to let him tidy up your frazzled form. Once he's finished, he kisses your forehead, sending a spark through your body. It's his way of giving you a small confidence booster as he leaves your side and walks around his desk and calling for whoever was knocking to come in. By then, he's already moved you to the more comfortable position of his chair.

Wriothesley greets whoever is behind the door with a twinkle in his eye, barely looking at whoever is speaking because he keeps taking glances at you. You're still perched all pretty on his chair, the perfect picture of attentiveness as though he didn't just finger you a few moments before. It's the small, impatient wriggle that you do on his chair that gets his full attention again. There's a look in your eyes and he knows he's not finished with you. Not yet.

He'll have to continue what he's started once this conversation is done. He did promise to take care of you after all.

[vilhelios]

-; I'LL TAKE CARE OF YOU. / IT'S ROTTEN WORK.

(NOT TO ME, NOT IF IT'S YOU) ; in which wriothesley lets you tend to his wounds after the dramatic affair with the beret society.

CW: not beta-read. cerberus chapter spoilers! gn!reader, slight hurt/comfort, fluff, mentions of blood, injury, and violence. mention of scars (+ my headcanons of how wrio got some of them), & finally, lovesick loser wrio!

"i'm telling you, sunshine, i can handle it myself."

at his words, your hands still, pristine rolls of gauze and bandages already soaking in red blood. a frown breaks across your countenance as you glare up at wriothesley, eyebrows furrowed. there will be no stopping this, you know; there will be days where your beloved duke returns to your arms with a new wound that you're sure will scar. days he brandishes blooming bruises on his knuckles, and you'll eventually press butterfly kisses to them. perhaps, he will crawl into your loving embrace, his warm home, with blood dripping from his fingertips. (grimly, you wonder how much of it will be his own. you know you'll thank the archons when it's not all his.)

with a sigh and a dab of the alcohol-soaked cotton against his exposed side, you mutter: "you always say that. look where that's got you now."

"it's just a scratch."

"wri, it's a bullet wound. you're lucky it only just grazed you."

"so... what i'm hearing is that it really is just a scratch."

now that earns him another glare (which he sheepishly smiles at).

"look, as stupid as it may sound," he sighs, clear blue eyes finding your own, "i didn't think dougier would have a gun with him." the duke's expression contorts ever so slightly, a weak hiss slipping from his gritted teeth, as you rub a cooling ointment against his angry, red wound. "didn't think he'd have that many gardemeks either."

(another comment, much quieter: "and i thought it'd be cool, really.")

and with that, you both fall into relative silence. the classical music playing from the office gramaphone, your steady breathing, and the occasional pained hiss from wriothesley (followed by your whispered string of apologies) permeate the space between. in the quiet, your mind eventually runs rampant with thoughts of your love getting injured. wriothesley may have proven to you time and time again that he would always return to your side, but he wasn't invincible. your gaze wanders, frowning further when you soak in the sight of the scars that mar his chest. they do nothing to comfort you.

"hey," wriothesley starts, when he notices your stare on the claw marks etched into the skin of his neck. they stretch downwards, the cruel tally marks stopping right above where his heart would be. you try not to think about how they could've easily torn out his throat. "i know you'll still worry about me, but i've been through much worse." he raises his own hand to trace the scars, playing with the black wraps around his neck; "and, as you can see... i fought and won."

( you know he has. he's told you all about them, once. on a sleepless night, where you two lay in bed and traced designs on each other's skin. his calloused fingers against your softer flesh, your touch along the lines of his many scars. some were from fierce sea creatures, he tells you, with a teasing lilt in his voice that makes you giggle. others from his time serving his sentence, fighting for his life in the ring. when you trace one along the back of his arm, smaller than the rest, his voice gets a little softer — he got it on the day he spilt his first blood. you had kissed along all his scars that night, and he had returned the favour with a shower of kisses along your cheeks.)

"promise me you'll be more careful." you say, as you unroll a new roll of gauze and begin wrapping it around his torso. it's a beat, and then two, and when he doesn't respond you turn your gaze back to him.

wriothesley frowns, now. he could do cheeky proclamations of victory, tell you he'll always crawl back to your side alive... but he can't promise you that. not with your current lives in meropide. "you know i can't—"

"wriothesley." the syllables roll off your tongue and he quickly seals his mouth shut—it's been a good, long while since his full name has graced your lips. (he much preferred wrio, or sweetie, or darling; something from you that made him kinder. softer.) "please?"

the silence comes back for a heartbeat. you think you feel tears pooling at the corner of your eyes—

"alright, alright. i'll try." he says, quickly relenting to your teary-eyed gaze. and when that's not good enough for you, highlighted by the pout of your lips and the slightly-aggressive tightening of his bandage wrappings, he says: "fine. i promise to be more careful. as best as i can."

a smile graces your lips. (wriothesley thinks he's seen the sun. you, his darling star, whose mere presence lights up his gloomy underworld.)

"sigewinne and i will keep you to it then."

he can't help the way he leans into your warmth as you press a quick, gentle peck to his temple nor can he help how he almost whines when you step away from him. his gaze is on you even as you pack up the first aid kit and make your way to the stairs (how cruel you are, leaving your lover while he toils in pain!) wriothesley stands from where he leans against his table, just as you reach the bottom of the stairs. he stands up a little straighter, smiles as you shout out:

"oh, and i heard from the traveller! your stunt did sound pretty cool."

a/n: happy birthday wriothesley! here's a very short, indulgent, not beta-read thing to celebrate his birthday and his c1 coming home during his banner! sorry if he's a little ooc or this is just. a really oddly worded / structured fic — this was very much so written in a haze after seeing his story quest cutscene... he's so dreamy. . ..