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You had met Wriothesley on a day like any other. The fortress was bustling with activity, guards patrolling, prisoners shuffling through their routines, and you, an administrator tasked with managing the endless paperwork that came with overseeing such a complex institution. Wriothesley, the Duke of Meropide, had always been a figure of authority and mystery, his presence commanding respect and admiration. His icy demeanor was formidable, yet there was a warmth that lurked beneath the surface, a warmth you had been fortunate enough to uncover.
It had started innocently enough.
The fortress was not a place for personal connections, after all. But there was something about the way his eyes lingered on you, the way your breath caught whenever he was near.
Late nights in the office, poring over documents and case files, had led to shared cups of tea and quiet conversations. Wriothesley’s wit and intelligence had drawn you in, and before long, the lines between professional and personal had begun to blur. Tall, imposing, with piercing blue eyes and a demeanor as cold as the Cryo Vision he wielded, Wriothesley was a figure of both admiration and intimidation. Many women in the fortress — and beyond — would have given anything for a chance to be close to him, to break through the icy exterior and find the man beneath.
It was during one such evening, months ago, that the tension had finally snapped.
You had been in the middle of reviewing a particularly convoluted case file when Wriothesley appeared in your office doorway.
He stood there, his presence commanding even in the subdued light, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "Working late again?" he asked, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that sent shivers down your spine.
You nodded, unable to tear your eyes away from him. "There's just so much to do. These new cases —"
"Can wait," he interrupted, stepping into the room. "You've been pushing yourself too hard lately."
He moved closer, his gaze never wavering, and you felt a flutter of nervous anticipation. Wriothesley had always been distant, maintaining a strict professionalism that left little room for personal interaction. Yet tonight, there was something different in his eyes, something that hinted at a deeper, more complex emotion. "You should take a break," he repeated, his voice softer now, almost gentle.
You managed a small smile, though your pulse quickened at his proximity. "Easier said than done."
He was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, the subtle scent of his cologne wrapping around you. The room seemed to shrink, the air thick with unspoken tension.
"Wriothesley," you began, unsure of what you were about to say, but he silenced you with a look.
"Do you ever stop to think about yourself?" he asked, his voice low and intense. "You're always taking care of everyone else, always working. When was the last time you did something for you?"
His words struck a chord, and you realized how little you had allowed yourself to relax, to simply be. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words died in your throat as he reached out, his rough hand cupping your cheek. "You deserve more," he whispered, his thumb brushing gently over your skin.
The touch was electric.
Without thinking, you leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed.
His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your lips met in a kiss that was both unexpected and utterly consuming. It was a kiss filled with months of pent-up desire, a kiss that spoke of all the things you had left unsaid.
He lifted you effortlessly, setting you on the edge of your desk, his body pressing against yours. The kiss deepened, growing more urgent, more desperate. His hands roamed over your body, exploring, claiming, as if he couldn't get enough of you.
"Wriothesley," you gasped when he finally broke the kiss, his lips trailing down the column of your neck, leaving a trail of burning kisses in their wake.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and teasing. "Tell me you don't want this."
But you couldn't. You didn't want him to stop. You wanted more — needed more. Your fingers tangled in his dark hair, pulling him closer, your body arching against his in a silent plea.
"Don't stop," you whispered, your voice trembling with need. "Please, don’t stop."
And this is how the affair began.
_______________________________________________________________________
The moon hung high over the vast expanse of Fontaine, casting its silvery light over the pristine streets and ancient structures of the city.
The dim, ethereal glow of the moonlight filtered through the frost-laden windows of the Fortress of Meropide, casting long shadows that danced and shifted across the cold stone floors. The fortress, cold and imposing by day, seemed almost intimate under the moon’s silver glow.
The evening was quiet, save for the occasional distant clanking of chains or the muffled murmurs of guards on patrol. Deep within the labyrinthine corridors of the Meropide Fortress, the air was thick with an intensity that was palpable, even in the dead of night. This fortress, both a prison and a sanctuary, hummed with the quiet activities of its inhabitants. Among them, two souls found solace in the shadows, bound by a secret that thrummed like a heartbeat.
It wasn’t an unusual hour for some people to be working, but then again, the fortress itself was an unusual place.
Wriothesley sat at his desk, the flickering light of the lantern illuminating his rugged features. His eyes, sharp and intense, scanned over the documents spread out before him. The Duke of Meropide was a man of duty and resolve, his dedication to maintaining order within the prison unyielding. Yet tonight, his thoughts were not solely on the responsibilities that weighed heavily on his shoulders.
You sat across the room, engrossed in your own work.
The reason for the extended hours was legitimate enough — a particularly troublesome inmate required constant monitoring, and both of you had taken it upon yourselves to ensure the situation remained under control. No one questioned why you, an administrator with a keen eye for detail, would stay late into the night. And no one questioned why Wriothesley himself would remain long after most had retired to their quarters.
It had been months since the two of you first met.
As the clock ticked past midnight, you pushed back from your desk and stretched, the movement drawing Wriothesley's attention. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze dark and smoldering as it roamed over you. "Tired?" he asked, his voice oh so low.
"A little," you admitted, getting up from your desk, and crossing the room to stand before him. "But I don't mind. It's nice to have some quiet time to get things done."
“Need a break?” Wriothesley asked, his voice nothing but a soft rumble.
You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “I think we both do.”
With a swift movement, his hand reached out, capturing your wrist and pulling you gently towards him, and onto his lap, his arms encircling your waist. The heat of his body against yours was intoxicating, and you couldn’t suppress the shiver of anticipation that ran through you. Wriothesley’s hands roamed over your back, his touch firm and possessive. He tilted your chin up, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch.
“I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” he murmured, his voice husky with desire.
"We shouldn't..." you began, but your words trailed off as his lips found the sensitive spot on your neck, pressing a kiss that made you melt against him.
"We should," he countered, his voice a husky whisper against your skin. “I can’t help it. I’ve missed you, Y/N.”
His hands roamed over your body, deftly unfastening the buttons of your crisp white shirt. With a practiced touch, he pushed the fabric off your shoulders, revealing your soft skin to his hungry eyes. You could feel the intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes filled with desire as he cupped your breasts, still cradled in your lacy white bra, fondling them with his rough, impatient hands.
"I missed you too," you chuckled softly, your fingers weaving through his dark locks as you drew him nearer. "But we've spent the whole day together already," you pointed out.
A wry grin crept across his lips. "True, but I couldn't touch you the way I wanted."
The kiss that followed was anything but gentle. It was a desperate, hungry clash of lips and tongues, a collision of need and longing that had been building for hours.
You rose from his lap, hoisting the hems of your skirt up to provide yourself with more comfortable movements. Then, slowly, deliberately, you straddled his lap, your movements purposeful as you seated yourself comfortably. You ground your clothed pussy against the growing bulge in his pants.
"Fuuuuck," he growled, his voice low and guttural. His hands slid further under your skirt, finding the bare skin of your thighs and gripping them possessively.
With a deft movement, he lifted you onto the desk, the documents scattering to the floor, forgotten in the heat of the moment. His mouth never left yours as he positioned himself between your legs, dry humping against your pussy, his hands pulling you closer, anchoring you to him as his mouth trailed open mouthed kisses up your exposed neck.
You could feel his dick hardening within his dark gray pants, hard and insistent against you. "Wrio," you gasped, your head falling back as his lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin.
He silenced you with another kiss, his mouth trailing down your neck soon after, leaving a trail of burning kisses in its wake. His hands found the clasp of your bra, deftly undoing it and slipping the stripes down your shoulders, his touch sending shivers down your spine.
"Someone might hear..."
"Let them," he growled, his voice a mixture of command and need. "I don't fucking care."
His hands were everywhere, caressing, teasing, igniting fires wherever they touched. You arched against him, your body aching for more, for everything.
Wriothesley leaned in, his eager mouth enveloping one of your hardened nipples, drawing it into the heat of his mouth.
The sensation made you instinctively arch your back, a loud moan escaping your lips. “Oh, for the glory of Hydro Archon! Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you begged.
His tongue flicked around your hardened bud, sending jolts of pleasure through your body as he sucked on it hungrily. Meanwhile, his free hand fondled your other breast, teasing and caressing it with skilled precision. At the same time, his other hand, unoccupied but not idle, pushed against your left knee, urging you to part your legs wider for him.
You complied eagerly, granting him the access he craved.
As you spread your legs wider, he pressed the heel of his rough hand against your clothed pussy, rubbing you through your panties. The Duke pressed the heel of his rough hand against your clothed pussy, rubbing you through your panties. To his delight, he discovered a damp spot forming in the middle of the fabric, a clear indication of your heightened arousal. “Look at you, little one,” he mused, "You're already so wet for me. Mmmm, I can already smell your sweet scent. Look at what you're doing to me, Y/N," he exclaimed, gesturing toward his tented pants as he released your nipple from his mouth with a loud pop sound.
Finally, Wriothesley took a step back, lowering himself to kneel on the cool marble floor between your legs. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider as he settled himself between them, his broad shoulders keeping your legs firmly in place, preventing them from closing. He pushed the material of your panties aside, exposing your pretty pussy to his hungry eyes, your folds glistening with arousal. Leaning in, he inhaled your scent deeply, like a predator savoring its prey, and let out a low growl. "Mmmmm, fuuuuck, that's what I've been craving all day long."
With a slow, deliberate motion, he leaned in and pressed his mouth against your glistening folds. His tongue darted out, and Wriothesley began with a teasing flick of his tongue, running it lightly along your folds, just enough to make you shiver with anticipation. He lingered at your entrance, tracing slow, deliberate circles around it with the tip of his tongue, savoring the way your body responded to his touch. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he delved deeper, his tongue pressing against your clit in a firm, tantalizing stroke.
He alternated between long, languid licks and quick, teasing flicks, his mouth exploring every inch of your cunny with a hunger that left you breathless. He sucked gently on your clit, rolling it between his lips, then released it with a soft pop, only to dive back in, his tongue moving with an expert precision that had you writhing beneath him.
As his mouth worked its magic, his fingers joined in the fray, sliding one, then two digits inside you, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot that made stars burst behind your closed eyelids. He pumped his fingers in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue, his movements growing more urgent as he felt you tightening around him.
"You taste so good," he murmured between licks, his voice thick with desire. "I could do this all night."
He sucked harder on your clit, his tongue lapping at you with increasing fervor. He nipped at your folds, the slight edge of pain only heightening your pleasure, making you gasp and arch your back as you lay your upper body flat on his desk. His growls of satisfaction sent vibrations through your core, adding to the mounting pleasure building inside you.
Your hands clung to him, fingers tangling in his hair as you rode the waves of sensation. He seemed to know exactly what you needed, adjusting his pace and pressure, his tongue darting and swirling with a skill that left you trembling.
Wriothesley reveled in the power he had over you, the way your body responded so eagerly to his touch.
He sucked your clit into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub as he applied just the right amount of pressure.
You moaned loudly, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him to continue as you slowly ground your pussy against his face, even though your legs were shaking at the moment as pleasure became unbearable.
His hands roamed up your body, one of them moving up your body to knead your breast while the other stayed firm on your thigh, keeping you spread open for him. He moved his tongue lower, dipping it into your entrance, tasting you deeply before returning to your clit. “My mother taught me to always finish my goddamn food, so forgive me, doll, but respectfully I don’t give a shit if your legs are shaking. And don’t try to crawl away.”
You could feel the tension building within you, the coil tightening with every flick of his tongue, every suck, every nip, every thrust of his fingers.
Wriothesley's fingers moved with relentless intensity, plunging in and out of your drenched pussy, each thrust creating wet, lewd sounds that echoed throughout the room. His mouth was equally fervent, his tongue lapping at your folds, his hums of satisfaction blending with the obscene noises. The combination of his skilled fingers and eager tongue drove you wild.
When you finally came, it was with a cry of his name, your body trembling as the wave of pleasure crashed over you.
He didn't stop, his tongue continuing its relentless assault, drawing out your orgasm until you were left breathless and spent. Only then he looked up at you after, his lips glistening with your arousal, a satisfied smirk on his face. "That's my good, good girl," he praised.
Finally, after he had drunk in every last drop of your cum, Wriothesley moved up, his mouth leaving your throbbing core.
He stood and began unbuttoning his dark shirt, revealing the hard lines of his muscular chest and well-defined abs. His fingers moved deftly to his leather belt, unbuckling it and then opening his fly with deliberate slowness. He pushed his uniform pants low enough to free his rock-hard cock, which twitched at the sight of your messy, disheveled state laid out before him.
Taking hold of his cock, he stroked it slowly a few times, making sure to coat it with your wetness that was previously coating his fingers, spreading the slickness from the tip to the base of his throbbing member.
The sight of it only made you more desperate for him.
"Look at you," he murmured, his voice a rough whisper filled with desire. "So ready for me." He positioned himself between your legs, his eyes dark with desire.
He pulled you by your legs, positioning you at the edge of the desk, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. His hands gripped your hips, his touch firm and possessive as he lined himself with you.
You could feel the hard head of his cock, sticky with precum, pressing against your entrance, a promise of what was to come.
With one swift, powerful motion, he entered you, filling you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain that left you gasping for breath. He set a steady, intense rhythm, his hips driving into you with a force that made your whole body shudder.
Wriothesley's grip on your hips was firm, his eyes locked onto yours as he fucked you, the connection between you deep and primal. The wet sounds, the slap of skin against skin, and his low, guttural moans filled the room, a symphony of raw, unrestrained passion. Each thrust brought you closer to the edge, your body responding eagerly to his, the pleasure building until it was almost too much to bear.
"You're mine," he growled, his pace quickening, his thrusts becoming more urgent. "Only mine."
"Yes," you moaned, your fingers digging into his broad shoulders. "Only yours, Wrio!"
He moved faster, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more demanding, driving you to the brink of madness. The tip of his cock kissed your cervix with each of his thrusts.
You cried out his name, your body trembling with the force of your pleasure, your mind lost in a haze of sensation.
“You feel so fucking good,” he murmured, his lips pressing against your ear. “So perfect for me.”
“Wrio,” you gasped, your voice a plea and a promise. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your bodies moving in perfect harmony.
The world outside ceased to exist; it was just you and him, lost in a moment of pure ecstasy.
He thrust harder, his movements becoming frantic, his need for you overwhelming. “My little cockslut. My personal fucking whore,” he snarled through clenched teeth. A bead of sweat formed on his temple and rolled down his perfectly shaped cheek.
You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you matched his thrusts, lifting and lowering your hips, moaning like a bitch in heat.
Wriothesley was the first to reach his peak, his thrusts growing more urgent and sloppy as he neared his release. With a deep, guttural growl, he spilled his thick seed deep inside you, the hot flood filling you completely. His body shuddered with the force of his climax, his grip on your hips tightening as he emptied himself into you. “Oh, fuuuuuuck yeah, fuck yeah,” the dark-haired man growled, gently spanking your clit with his hand a few times.
The sensation of his cum filling you and his continuous assault on your pussy pushed you over the edge. You came moments later, your inner walls clenching rhythmically around his dick, massaging his shaft as if trying to milk it dry of every last drop of his precious cum. The intensity of your orgasm made you cry out, your body trembling and your nails digging into his shoulders as waves of pleasure crashed over you. The rhythmic contractions of your pussy around his cock sent aftershocks through both of you, prolonging the ecstasy of the moment.
He held you close, his breath ragged, his body covered in sweat.
For a moment, you stayed like that, his cock still buried in your hot, drenched pussy.
Then, slowly, he pulled away, a grin spreading across his lips as he marveled at how his cum dripped out of you, forming a small puddle on the floor right under his desk. "Perfect," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You’re absolutely fucking perfect. Fuck. I'll never get enough of this," he murmured, running a hand through his messy bangs in an attempt to make himself presentable again.
He wiped his cock with a paper towel he pulled from his desk drawer, then adjusted his trousers and buttoned his shirt, leaving the last three buttons open to cool down himself faster.
Suddenly, you both heard footsteps approaching, growing louder with each step.
Panic set in as you jumped off the desk, hastily helping Wriothesley gather the scattered documents. You quickly began buttoning your shirt, realizing too late that your bra was missing. Glancing at Wriothesley, you saw it in his hands. He gave you a mischievous look and tucked your bra into his pants pocket, flashing you a devilish grin. “You need to work for it.”
"You're unbelievable, you bastard," you whispered, shaking your head as you hurriedly pulled your skirt back into place and adjusted your panties.
Just as you managed to sit back at your desk, there was a brief knock to the door.
Before Wriothesley could respond, the door opened to reveal none other than Neuvillette, the Iudex of Fontaine himself. He gave you a polite nod, which you returned with a slight bow, struggling to maintain a composed expression. Your thoughts were consumed by the cold, damp sensation of your panties, soaked with both your juices and Wriothesley's cum.
"Good evening," Neuvillette said, his voice formal and detached.
Wriothesley, ever the picture of composed authority, straightened up and addressed Neuvillette, his demeanor cool and collected. "What brings you here at this hour?"
Neuvillette's eyes scanned the room before settling on Wriothesley. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important," he said, his tone as formal as ever.
"Not at all," Wriothesley replied smoothly, straightening up as he slowly improved his shirt, giving you a look. "We were just wrapping up some paperwork."
Neuvillette's gaze lingered on Wriothesley for a moment longer than necessary, a hint of suspicion flickering in his eyes. "I see," he replied, his tone still formal but with a subtle edge to it.
You felt a flush creeping up your neck as you tried to compose yourself, your heart hammering in your chest. You were certain Neuvillette could sense something was off, but to your relief, he didn't comment on your flushed cheeks or the way your breaths came out in uneven puffs.
"Very well," Neuvillette said finally, breaking the tension with a polite smile. "I won't keep you any longer. I brought some documents for you to go through. I trust everything is under control here?"
Wriothesley nodded, his own smile strained. "Of course, everything is in order."
With a final nod, Neuvillette took his leave, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, the tension draining from your body as you exchanged a relieved glance with Wriothesley. "That was close," you murmured, grateful for the near-miss.
Wriothesley chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Too close for comfort. We'll have to be more careful in the future. Even though I wouldn’t mind having an audience.”
You shook your head in disbelief. This man had some nerves! Then, you returned to your work, knowing that come morning, you would return to your roles, to the pretense of professionalism. But for now, in the quiet sanctuary of his office, you were his, and he was yours, if only for a fleeting, precious moment, away from prying eyes and probing questions.