You’d stopped by the Fortress of Meropide, expecting to hand him a small stack of documents and maybe share a quick word before heading back. But Wriothesley raised an eyebrow at you as soon as he noticed the lack of urgency in your expression.

“Oh, you’re not here for business?” His voice held that casual lilt he used when he already knew the answer. He leaned back in his chair, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “Alright then, perhaps we should sit down and discuss things in more detail.”

You were about to roll your eyes and ask, “Discuss what exactly?”—but you didn’t get the chance. His hand was already reaching out, tugging at your wrist, and in one smooth motion you found yourself settling not on the couch beside him, but squarely across his lap.

Your protest died quickly when you felt the solid warmth of him under you, the way his arms draped around your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. He tilted his head, smug, his breath brushing against your temple.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, all innocence—though his hand was already tracing lazy circles against your hip. “You said you weren’t here for business. That only leaves one other reason to visit me.”

The unspoken words were clear as his gaze softened, his smirk turning into something fonder. He hadn’t been asking you to “discuss” anything. What he meant was: Stay here. Rest with me. Let me have you close for a while.